You crouch low behind the tangle of prickly bushes just off a quiet side street in central London, W2S hoodie catching on every bloody branch like it’s trying to sell you out.

“Stop fidgeting,” Harry mutters, holding the GoPro half-pointed at your faces, half at his lap like an accidental crotch documentary.

You shoot him a look. “You’re feeding me Mini Cheddars in a bush. I think we’re past subtle.”

“They’re cheese and chive. You like these.” He offers another, dramatically pinching it between his fingers like it's some fancy canapé. “Babe?”

You stare blankly.

He grins. “What? You’re meant to be in love with me. That’s the challenge.”

“The challenge is to not get caught,” you hiss. “Not play bush-pretend Love Island.”

He smirks and pops the Cheddar into his own mouth instead. “Jealous?”

You don’t reply. You’re too busy fighting off a sneeze from the branch poking your nose and trying not to laugh at how god-awful you must look on camera.

A siren wails in the distance. City sounds wash over the moment—honking, shouting, the distant stomp of someone running in Air Forces. Could be Ethan. Could be a tourist. London’s wild like that.

“I can’t believe no one’s found us yet,” you whisper. “We’re literally next to a Pret.”

“Exactly,” Harry says, mouth full. “No one expects greatness to come from a Pret bush.”

You stifle a giggle. It slips out anyway. He catches it.

“That’s one. You cracked,” he says, smug. “One point to me.”

“You literally called me ‘babycakes’ ten minutes ago and tried to kiss my forehead. You cracked first.”

“That wasn’t cracking,” he protests. “That was method acting.”

Before you can fire back, there’s rustling behind the hedge. A pair of heads peek over the leaves—Simon’s blonde mop and Tobi’s sharp grin.

“No way,” Simon says, eyes wide. “Are you—are you feeding each other snacks in a bush?!”

“I knew he was too quiet,” Tobi grins, camera already out. “Found him. That’s twenty grand slipping away, boys.”

Harry throws his hands up like he’s been caught cheating at Monopoly. “They’re not even that good at hiding!”

Simon eyes you. “Wait. You’re part of this?”

You give a sheepish wave. “Surprise?”

“I knew it!” Tobi laughs. “You lot are too chaotic. Josh definitely rigged this.”

You clamber out of the bush, brushing twigs from your jeans. Harry helps you up like he’s a gentleman instead of the idiot who shoved you in the hedge two hours ago.

From there, it’s chaos. You and Harry trail Simon and Tobi through backstreets, ducking behind bins and under archways. A Tesco bag gets mistaken for Danny Aarons. Tobi nearly falls into the Thames. Classic London shoot.

Then—

“Oi!” James Marriott’s voice cuts through the street. “There you are! Twenty grand, baby!”

WillNE follows, hoodie flapping as he jogs toward you lot. “Harry! I saw your ginger head from down the street!”

“I’m not ginger!” Harry yells, affronted.

Will’s already hugging him. “I knew you’d crack. You cannot act subtle to save your life.”

James gives you a look. “And you—traitor.”

You shrug. “In my defence… I was bribed with snacks.”

Chaos again. Cameras flashing. High-fives. Will doing a dramatic victory dance while James declares himself “better than everyone else.”

Then, just as you all move toward the corner by the ivy-covered fancy building near Green Park, you hear a distant yell.

“FOUND YOU!” Ethan’s voice, loud and triumphant.

He and Vik barrel into the scene, both panting, grinning, absolutely soaked in sweat.

“No way,” Vik breathes. “They found you first?”

“Technically, yes,” Harry says, backing toward the wall like he can dodge the shame.

“But we found you last,” Ethan adds, nudging Harry with a shit-eating grin. “Which means we don’t lose, right?”

Will raises a hand. “Oh, you definitely still lost. James and I won the whole thing.”

Harry looks at you, sweat-soaked hair sticking to his forehead, hoodie stained with crisp dust and regret. You grin, nudging him gently with your shoulder.