Your head is pounding, your phone is buzzing, and the vague taste of cheap vodka and sour sweets still lingers on your tongue.

You groan, roll over, and peek out from under your blanket like a gremlin seeing daylight for the first time. George is passed out half-off the sofa, one sock on, his curls flattened on one side like he lost a fight with the carpet.

You reach for your phone. Bad idea.

Notifications are everywhere. Mentions. Tags. Comments. You squint at the screen and click the one with the most likes.

It’s a TikTok.

Your TikTok.

Oh no.

You’re both in frame, clearly hammered—your hair a mess, George with a party hat tied around his neck like a cape. You’re mid-laugh, leaning on him, and the audio is barely understandable over your giggling.

At one point, George turns to the camera, his words slurred but unmistakable: “She’s my favourite person ever, even if she’s got no TikTok game.”

Your face in the video turns red. Your current face? Also red.

You peek over at George.

He’s still asleep, a half-eaten chicken nugget resting on his chest like some bizarre peace offering.

You throw your blanket back over your head and scream into a pillow.

Because it’s not just the video. It’s the way he looked at you when he said it. Like he meant it. Like, sober-you-would-never-let-him-say-that-out-loud meant it.

And now it has 400k likes.

Brilliant.