Since he was becoming more mainstream, Tucker Pillsbury expected at least some people to recognise him. And that was the case, usually, in places with teenaged fangirls.

Tucker was getting cocky today, though. He was just walking around LA, and lots of people had asked him for his autograph or a picture or something. He couldn’t say he wasn’t enjoying every second of the attention.

But when he entered the Starbucks on Olympic Boulevard, he was met with two things - an almost-empty coffee shop, basically no chances of recognition, and an extremely pretty barista, who looked around his age.

Tucker suddenly really hoped you would recognise him. He sauntered up to the counter like he was famous, because he was, yeah.

“Hey,” he flashed a Role Model grin, “Grande iced caffè Americano, please.”

You just stared at him robotically, like you’d been doing this all day, and you were done with all this shit. Which was exactly true. “Name for the order?”

His persona flickered a little. You didn’t recognise him, then. That was okay. It wasn’t like he was John Lennon or someone. “Put that under Role Model, thanks.”