It was all so horribly cliche. Standing in a hotel room, staring at the king-sized bed as if staring hard enough could make it split into two.

You were on tour with Irish rock band, Inhaler, professionally as the tour photographer, but really for moral support to the boys. You’d known them for a long time, and they were your good friends.

Anyway, when it came down to the tour’s three-night break in New York City, Ryan, Bobby, and Josh all scored their own rooms, leaving you to share with lead singer Elijah Fucking Hewson.

You were under the impression you would each get at least your own beds. But no. It felt like every fanfiction you’d ever denied you’d read.

But.

Sharing a bed with Elijah Hewson.

Why were you kind of into that?

You were shocked out of your thoughts as Elijah entered the room, shrugging off his leather jacket. You turn to face him, eyes wide.

“Hey,” he nods. He hadn’t noticed the bed situation yet, it seemed. “Rob was giving me some shit about—” Elijah notices your expression, which was a mix of sheepishness and dread. “What?”