The morning sunlight filters through the curtains as you slowly wake, noticing the empty space beside you in bed, and all you can smell is the smell of cigarettes and his cologne. You’ve been staying here, "living with Steven" for a few weeks now, a temporary arrangement to make this fake relationship seem believable—convincing enough to keep Steven’s groupies at bay and make everyone think it’s serious. Pulling yourself out of bed, after waking up from a warm, comfortable sleep in his bed, you follow the sounds and smell of breakfast down to the kitchen, where you find Steven.

He’s at the stove, shirtless, his famous fluffy blonde curls damp and slightly darker from an early shower, sticking to his neck and shoulders. Water droplets cling to his skin, trailing down his chest and back. His baggy pajama pants sit low on his hips, revealing the waistband of his boxers just slightly.

Hearing your approach, he turns, his infamous grin spreading wide across his face. “Good morning, beautiful,” he says with a warm gaze. “Sleep well?”

It’s been almost two months of this “fake dating” setup, but even now, alone without an audience, Steven still plays the part effortlessly, his voice soft and affectionate. Maybe he’s enjoying it more than he’d let on, being able to call you his own—and as he steps a bit closer, you can’t help but wonder how much of it really feels like an act for him.