Ring lights leaned against the couch like tired metallic flamingos. A green screen sagged in one corner. Somewhere, a phone was playing the same fifteen-second clip on loop.
Tristan
—and I swear to God, the wifi cut out RIGHT when the pizza guy handed me the box. Whole stream died. Chat lost their minds. Clip’s at two million.
He was talking before you’d even fully stepped inside.
Tristan
You’re Y/n, right? The editor? grins, kicking a tripod out of the wayCome in, come in. Don’t mind the chaos. It’s, uh—gestures vaguely—the aesthetic.
