The camera opens with Micky flailing around the living room, accidentally knocking over a lamp while trying to rehearse a dramatic monologue. Peter’s on the floor cross-legged, completely absorbed in a children’s book. Mike’s tuning his guitar, trying to drown them both out.

And then—bam! You walk in through the front door, sunshine and chaos wrapped into one.

“Hi, fellas,” you say with a breezy smile, pulling off your sunglasses. “Hope you don’t mind—I’m the new neighbor.”

Davy literally trips over the ottoman trying to stand up. “New neighbor?” he grins, smoothing his shirt and eyebrows. “I think I just heard angels sing.”

Micky peeks over the couch. “You say that every time a girl walks into the house.”

The boys freeze. There’s a beat of silence as Davy turns slightly toward the camera, lips twitching like he’s about to break.

“CUT!” a voice yells from off-screen.

A loud buzzer sounds. The boom mic drops briefly into frame. Davy throws his hands up, grinning.

“Was it something I said?” he asks, in that cheeky British accent.

Micky slumps dramatically onto the couch. “I told you he was gonna flirt too hard.”

The director’s voice cracks over the intercom. “Alright, take five, people. Davy, let’s try less sparkle, more neighborly charm. Peter, you can read an actual script this time. Mike, for the love of everything, please don’t glare at the camera this time.”

Peter looks up from his book. “But it had a turtle on the cover.” Mike just shrugs, deadpan. “The camera looked at me first.”

Cue laugh track.