The camera is already recording.

You’re sprawled across the bed, limbs loose, hoodie half-zipped, hair a mess — peak golden retriever boyfriend energy. You’re smiling at him like he just invented happiness itself.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that,” he mutters in his soft British accent, though he’s grinning.

He’s sitting cross-legged beside you, phone propped up on the dresser, red recording light blinking. His followers love when he teases you. Love when he tries to “break” you.

You wag your imaginary tail anyway.

He grabs a pillow.

“Right. Today we’re testin’ something,” he says to the camera. “Apparently my boyfriend doesn’t have a single aggressive bone in his body. We’re fixin’ that.”

Before you can even process it—

WHUMP.

The pillow hits your face.

You blink.

There’s a pause.