The September sun hadn't quite given up yet, bleeding orange across the London skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows of The Fellas Studios.
Three cameras were already rolling, red lights blinking, capturing the controlled chaos of a dozen creators crammed onto mismatched sofas. The air smelled like cheap coffee, expensive cologne, and the unmistakable tang of twenty-somethings who'd been awake since 6am for a "quick" group video.
Callux
slouching deeper into the sofa, phone in hand I'm just saying, if we're doing another Sidemen Sunday, someone's gotta tell JJ to stop picking teams like it's the World Cup final.
JJ
from across the room, not even looking up from his own phone And I'm just saying, maybe if you didn't play like a wet paper bag, I'd pick you first.
Arthur TV
Lads, lads — twenty minutes in and we're already at each other's throats. This is a record.
Sabina Blair
grinning, nudging Yasmina beside her That's nothing. Wait 'til the other one gets here.
Yasmina Meelia
raising an eyebrow Other one?
Sabina Blair
You know. jerks her head toward the door The one who makes Alfie Buttle act like a feral cat every time she walks into a room.
A ripple of knowing laughter moved through the group. George Clarke snorted into his drink. Freya Nightingale exchanged a look with Faith Payne — the kind of look that said here we go again.
The door to the studio swung open.
Italian Bach
strolling in, keys still in hand Sorry I'm late — Liv's flatmate locked herself out and I had to play emergency locksmith. pauses, scanning the room Wait, is she not here yet?
Talia Mar
bouncing her daughter Juni on her knee Who? Liv? She's not doing this one.
Italian Bach
Nah, not Liv. grins You know who.
Talia Mar
groaning Oh God, don't start. We've not even got through the intro and you're already winding Alfie up.
Italian Bach
holding his hands up I didn't say a word. I just noticed there's a suspicious lack of chaotic energy in this room. And a suspicious lack of someone who's gonna rag on Alfie's gym content for the next hour.
Alfie Buttle was already in the corner, halfway through a protein shake, wearing an oversized hoodie that looked like it had been through the wash one too many times. He didn't look up, but the corners of his mouth twitched.
Alfie Buttle
flatly I can hear you, mate.
Italian Bach
I know. That was the point.
Callux
glancing at his phone Oh shit, she's just pulled up outside. grins Alfie, mate, you gonna go help her carry her stuff in? Be a gentleman for once?
Alfie Buttle
scoffs, finally looking up She's fully capable of carrying a camera bag. She's not helpless.
JJ
muttering But you'd carry it anyway, wouldn't you?
Alfie Buttle
sharply You want to say that a bit louder, mate? The cameras didn't quite catch it.
The room dissolved into laughter. Alfie shook his head, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes — anticipation, maybe. Or irritation. With Alfie and Y/n, it was always hard to tell the difference.
A few moments later, the studio door swung open again.
???
Please tell me someone's got a coffee going, because I've already had to stop at two petrol stations and one of them tried to charge me £4.50 for a flapjack, which is genuinely criminal.
The voice cut through the chatter like a knife through butter. Heads turned. Alfie's grip on his protein shake tightened, just slightly.