#tiktokers

“Woo!”

“And she’s already mouthing every word we’re sayin’, it’s almost as if she knows how things work around here!”

“—it’s almost as if she comes here every week to hear us say those same exact words!”

“It is!”

You smiled cheekily at their sarcasm, letting them do their bit before bringing you on. “—anyway! Our interviewee is here! Shall we bring them in?”

“Let’s do it, before they get anymore fed up waiting,” your boyfriend’s eyes flickered playfully beyond the camera, smile etching his face as he got up out of his chair to switch sides. You shook your head and pushed yourself off the table you were leaning on and walked over to his previous seat as they got ready, playing the jingle.

“Can’t I sit beside Max?”

“What? No,” George dramatically shook his head, “we are the interviewers here.”

“Why?” Max laughed.

“‘Cause I'm used to him being on this side, and I don’t like being by myself over here,” you laughed loudly, feeling isolated from the duo, you pushed your chair closer. “Can I?”

“No!”

“So!” Max cut in, making room for his co-host, “hello! Welcome! How are you!”

You ignored George’s eyes staring at you, trying to put you off and make you laugh. “Hi! I’m good, I’m good, happy to be here.”

“Are you nervous?”

“No.”

“You should be.”

“Oh,” you broke at the same time as Max, neither of you able to be serious around each other.

“Introduce yourself,” George swooped in to save the day and rescue this interview, already trying not to facepalm.

“Yes, introduce yourself, what’s your name? Where do you come from? How old are you?”

“My name’s Y/n Y/l/n . . . I’m almost 22 . . . and I live down South,” you didn’t know why you were trying to hold back laughter, the question not even funny.

“She’s a Brighton girly.”

“I’m a Brighton girly,” you nodded.

“What’s that like?”

“Um, yeah it’s a very nice place to grow up.”

“Quiet?”

“I mean where I grew up, yeah, it was a nice, quiet place. Sheltered area.”

“Yeah, you give me that vibe.”

“Oh.”

“Stability.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he tried not to laugh, “um, I love Brighton, personally, I said I would love to raise a family in Brighton.”

“I mean it’s all I’ve known, I’d say the same, but then I said I would probably live there forever and then—” and then you met George and suddenly London had a more homey vibe to it. “I’m growing used to London. I don’t know. I’ll always love Brighton though.”

“And what do you do?”

“Not much!” George hit the table with his lame joke, but was met with the perk of your eyebrow. “No?”

“No,” you deadpanned, tucking your hair behind your ear, “I work in a nail salon . . and upload to TikTok sometimes?”

“—but you’re shit at nails and got sacked and that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Max connected the dots.

“Yeah! Yeah, exactly.”

“Yeah! So!” The three of you looked between the other, not knowing what to ask next. “Do — so, you’re 22, are you finished with Uni?”

“I graduate soon.”

“Are you excited?”

“Yeah.”

Goodbye stress, goodbye breakdowns, goodbye referencing.

“Can I come?”

“Yeah, if you want,” you raised a shoulder with a smile.

“Who’s coming?”

“Um, probs just my mum and dad. Nan and Grandad, maybe. George, if he wants,” you nodded at him, feeling weird at the thought of having so many people want to be there for you.

“Are you going to go?” Max turned to him.

“Yeah, obviously.”

“I’ll be screaming the loudest for you from the crowd,” Max promised, shuffling closer to the table, “um, and what about school? You must have been good in school to have gotten into University, I’m assuming,” he laughed, realising he should have asked the other first.

“Yeah, school was alright.”

“Didn’t you go to an all girl’s school?”

“Yeah. Why is that funny? Why you laughing?”

“I’m not! Ummm, were you well-behaved in school?”

“Were you a goody two-shoes?” George mocked in a patronising tone.

“I was well-behaved,” you held your hand up to his face to block him out, “yeah I was . . I mean I like to think I was liked by everyone, I was never part of like . . groups, you know? Got involved in any drama.”

“Not a mean girl?”

“No, no, I talked to everyone, I kind of just minded my own business and . . got the work done.”

“Did your teachers love you?”

“Uh, obviously,” the three of you laughed.

“And you do nails, I don’t know why I’m trying not to laugh. Do you still do nails in Brighton?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus, this is an exciting interview,” your boyfriend commented.

“Shut up! How long have you been doing nails for? Isn't it called the Teal Salon or something?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause the building is painted a mint blue, teal colour. Very Brighton vibes.”

“Was it your first job?”

“No, I worked in a nursery school and also in like . . a cafe-bakery thing when I was really young.”

“REALLY?!”

“Yeah, but only as a server. They didn’t let me bake or anything but like . . yeah. To help with the social skills – this interview is so exciting!”

“That’s what I’m saying—”

“Shut up!” Max interrupted, “we need to get to know our guest before we can jump into the juicy questions! Trust me! I’ve planned most of this interview!” He looked between you both, “now what —I don’t know what I’m doing, I can’t do this with you - it’s like when Andrew— oh by the way! For those who don’t know ‘cause we didn’t say — y/n is George’s girlfriend,” the boys laughed again after realising they’d left out such a primal piece of information. “I feel like we didn’t establish that.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, so, you could say this is going to be a very biased interview, um, yeah — d’you want to get yourself a drink first? Are you gonna make me that cocktail you were telling me about?”

“Yeah, did you get the juice?”

“Yeah, I brought some.”

“Sure!” you grinned, spinning around to open the cabinet. “Is this my first task?”

“It is, you have to make us a really nice drink to help win us over.” Max watched you stand up and hunt for a certain bottle in particular, stepping on your tip-toes to check the top shelf, “it should be at the back.”

They watched your hand reach for the top shelf to feel around, looking at them confused, unable to locate it, bottles clanking and hitting off each other, making you panic and take a step back to see if you could spot it first.

There was an accident waiting to happen, “George you may get up and get her it, I put it so far back so no-one would pick it,” Max didn’t even get to his fourth word when George got to his feet and joined you at the cabinet, seeing your struggle. He stood behind you and saw the drink directly in his eyeline and passed it to you. “Here.”

“Don’t forget the mixer,” he added, “y/n, how tall are you?” He had to ask, amused by the height difference.

“I don’t see it.” George interrupted.

“5’5 but if you want specifics I say 5ft 4 and a half,” you peered below his arm to answer his question.

“So George has 6—7 inches on ya? In ya too—”

“—yay! Max can do maths!”

“Max don’t start, I haven’t even poured my drink yet,” you looked to the floor with a laugh, knowing what you were getting yourself into.

“It’s definitely not in there, Max.”

“It is, George!”

“WHERE?!”

“I’m not seeing it either,” you checked the other shelves again, your plan for making a quick and easy cocktail plummeting.

“Guys, it’s definitely in there, I remember putting it in my bag,” Max said from the desk.

“It’s not,” your boyfriend argued.

“It is! I swear I brought it in my bag!”

Either you and George were really lazy or the bottle was genuinely not in the cabinet and you were wasting time, but George took a seat in his original seat in defeat after 5 minutes of looking as you stopped searching also, unscrewing the cap on the bottle you did have to sniff the sweet liquor.

“Max, you find it,” the lid dropped to the floor.

“I put it in my bag,” he thought back as your boyfriend wrapped his arm around your leg to lean down and pick the cap up.

“Ruining my interview,” you took a seat on his knee while the blond grabbed his bag from off set.

“I swear I— OH MY GOD. I put it in my bag. It’s still in the bag,” he slapped his hand to his mouth, “SORRY!”

“Are you serious!?”

“You twat.”

“I am. I’m sorry,” he laughed, giving you the mixer he’d promised to pick up specifically for this occasion. “Ok, get to your cocktail making,” he slid his mug over to you, taking a seat again.

“It’s barely a cocktail, I’m just mixing juices here,” you free-winged the recipe.

“Oop, cheeky.”

“Yeah, you’re used to that love.”

“I’m leaving,” you set the pineapple juice aside, “Are you wanting a cocktail?” You looked to George.

“Um . . no. I’ll just have a beer.”

“A peroni,” you mocked, adding the next fruit juice as he leaned to reach for his drink, “here you go, darling!” you slid him the drink.

“Are you gonna have one?”

“No, I’m just gonna have one of these VK Vodkas,” you grabbed the cherry one, “where’s your keys?”

George got up as you finally cleared the table and got back on track, assuming the majority of that would be cut. You passed him the drink and he opened it with his bottle opener before returning to his seat next to Max, getting comfortable again.

“Is there a mug?” you asked.

“Shit, we did actually order you your own mug, we ordered one for Andrew but they didn’t come in time. They were actually quite funny,” Max laughed, looking around for one.

Let’s just say it went very well with George’s.

“Give me his mug then, I’m not drinking out this bottle,” you reached for the Daddy mug. “Not getting a . . cold sore.”

“HERPES!”

“It wasn’t herpes,” you groaned.

“Is there a difference?” Max asked.

“Yeah, herpes is through sexual contact . . I think. Cold sores can be caught like . . drinking out a dirty glass or from the sun or even if you’re really stressed. Or kissing as well.”

“And you got a big dirty cold sore before.”

“George gave me one,” you poured your drink.

“I did not give you a cold sore!”

“He gave you herpes, that’s the title.”

“I DIDN'T!”

“You literally did but ok.”

“Listen . . all I’m saying, for those that don’t know – early on in our relationship—”

“I didn’t give you herpes.”

“—is that George,” now you were laughing, “when George went to Ibiza for a week for a brand deal, when he came back, the first night, I stayed with him and was obviously,” you shrugged to the camera with the empty bottle, “kissing him and stuff–”

“—don’t say ‘and stuff’—” he grimaced.

“—and by the end of the next day, I had a big, ugly cold sore on the top of my lip, so,” you passed the empty bottle to be put in the bin, “I’m not accusing you of anything but I mean . . what hoes were you getting with in Ibiza ‘cause you passed your disease back to me.”

Max was laughing so loud, always loving that story because of the exact reason is sounded like that. “You did think he cheated on you!”

“I said to him who was he doing over there ‘cause he messed up my face,” you laughed, pushing your chair into the table. “Was wearing a covid mask in work for the next week.”

“I’ve never even had a cold sore myself! So,” he hit the table dramatically, also laughing because he knew it sounded exactly like that too. You knew back then though he obviously hadn’t dreamt of doing that, and that you probably had just drank out of a dirty glass or something.

But it was funny trying to blame him. “Passing your infections onto me.”

“I didn’t give you anything, what are you talking about?” He shook his head, feeling flustered as he rubbed his eye.

“Yet,” Max perked a brow at the camera.

“. . no.”

“No, Max.”

“Ok.”

“Yeah . . . so your ‘Starter kit for dating George Clarkey’ will consist of cold sore cream, some CeraVe moisturizer and birth control.”

“HA! Is that the starter pack?” Max laughed.

“Yes! The CeraVe is for the bloody dry skin you get from his beard,” you looked at him across the table, “I have quite sensitive skin and when his stubble starts growing back it pricks my skin and can give you Beard Burn? Beard rash? Which is why I always want him to shave! . . . I mean I think he looks better without it as well,” you gushed to the camera, “but I am the type of person who has the luck to get that. I would get red patches on my face and have to put that cream on, so there you go. Moisturizer for that, cold sore cream for the herpes he will give you and a pill soooooo—”

“So he can hit it raw.”

“So it postpones your period and he doesn’t need to deal with your complaining,” you tried, blushing trying to ignore the crude comment, “boys have it so easy.”

“OH HERE WE GO! Not even properly into the podcast and she’s already complaining!”

“Shut up,” you smiled at him.

“Fun way to kick off this episode, we’ll get into it more later but let’s start from the beginning, why don’t we?” Max announced, lifting his mug, “oh, cheers!”

“Cheers!” You clinked glasses.

“Thanks for coming on. So many of you lot asked for y/n and we delivered so, I want a big fat thank you in the comments!” Max sassed the camera, “anyway! This drink is really nice, y/n, by the way, I really like it, thank you. Um — yeah! Sorry! Anyway! Y/n, you date George, is there a reason you didn’t reveal that when I told you to tell us about yourself? Are you embarrassed of him?.”

“Oh yeah it’s humiliating,” you raised your brows, “no, of course not, I don’t know. I mean I feel like everyone already knows that. That is actually what I’m better known as, I should have said that first. George Clarkey’s girlfriend.”

“You were the Nail Girl first, now you're George’s girlfriend.”

“Yeah. Talk about downgrade.”

“You’ll get your own name some day,” George quipped, pursing his lips.

“Thanks. I know it’s coming. I was talking to that about Andrew the other day, how people know him as Andrew now instead of your boyfriend,” you looked at Max, “I miss Andrew. I wish he was here.” You laughed.

“Yeah, if you didn’t know, Andrew and y/n literally sit over there and listen in on our podcast like every week.”

“And sometimes get bored and wander off,” George added.

“Yeah, when we start laughing too loud and you tell us to leave.”

“Yeah, after his episode, the people only thought it was fair you get on and here you are. They want the leeches, leaching off our fame,” Max fakely tucked his hair behind his ear. “So tell us what that’s like! How — do people know how you two met?”

You looked at George with squinted eyes as he mirrored you, shaking his head, “I don’t think so.”

“Oh my God, it’s so long,” you facepalmed.

“Heard that one before.”

“George,” you shut down his joke, too busy thinking of how to tell your story, “so—” now you couldn't look at George because you’d start laughing again because you knew how much you both would slightly cringe when explaining the start of your relationship.

“‘Cause it was a bit all over the place, wasn’t it?”

“It was complicated a bit at the start,” you threw your boyfriend a look. “No, we – I found out about him online, obviously,” you looked to the camera, “and long story short—”

“—she’ll end up telling the long story anyway.”

“Shush! Basically I had gotten invited to these events where there was Tiktokers, that’s where I first met Grace. Grace knew who I was, or she recognised me anyway, got talking to her, got close to her ‘cause we kept getting invited to the same beauty events. So I started to follow her and like, the group surrounded around her – you were popping up, George and Joe were popping up – I knew who you were beforehand,” you held your hand out to Max, not needing to mention how it was a Disney-related video you’d discovered him on, “Joe and George I knew from Gogglebox and I was just discovering this whole different side of Tiktok ‘cause I found it very American-based before and didn’t know there were UK influencers using it— anyway! Started following her friends and that’s when he popped up,” you held your hand out to your man who smiled. “And . . I liked the look of him.”

“You fancied him.”

“I thought he was really funny, yeah, and like — but this was the thing: I knew he was good-looking and his videos were funny. I liked what I saw, like he just seemed so lovely! But also in some videos, it was like . . I sussed him out straight away.”

“Sussed me out?”

“I knew exactly what type of lad you were,” you jabbed your finger into the table, “I was like he is the type who is liked by everyone, and loads of girls fancy him, and he acts awkward and can’t talk to women, says he can never get a girlfriend when really — we all know they could get a girlfriend if they wanted to.”

“What do you mean—”

“YES!” Max clapped in agreement.

“I was like ‘he’s definitely the type who complains he never gets girls’ — not in a pick-me way but just acting like girls wouldn’t be interested in him — are you joking? He’s got the height, he’s got the build, he can make you laugh,” you unmeaningly complimented your boyfriend, “like if he wanted to . . you know . . if he really wanted to get with someone— ”

“Oh my God.”

“Do you know what I mean, though? Sticking to this narrative where he couldn’t get girls and he’s just — I just knew what type of guy he was — not that it meant I didn’t like you for that but like,” you gave him a c’mon look, “I was just not entertained by that narrative, ‘cause I felt it was very much lies.”

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah! Comments were flooded with wanting a bit of him!” you agreed with Max. George was watching you both with the most displeased look ever, which made it even funnier. “ANYWAY! Long story short, he followed me, would like a few of my things, then unlike them,” you gave a clueless look to the camera, “don’t know what that was about—”

“—oh here we go.”

“Why did you like and unlike them?!” Max shouted, hearing this 100 times.

“‘Cause I—” he laughed ‘cause he knew it sounded bad, “I dunno! I just thought it was weird, she’d post her little beauty . . nail stuff and—” and then he felt awkward and you’d think he was weird for liking that kind of content.

“Were you scared you’d give the wrong impr—”

“—ANYWAY! Giving me mixed signals, I was like ‘right you either like them or you don’t mate’, then he replied to my story once—” you raised your brows at him with a smirk.

“I reacted to it,” he corrected, “with an emoji.”

“Yeah - DELETED THAT TOO,” you gave another look at the camera.

“WHY?” Max wanted to cringe at his co-host.

“Changed my mind.”

“—because I was going to reply to it when I got home ‘cause I was in work at the time and . . you know, shoot my shot; finally start conversation to get to know him — NO. Deleted it, so I was like ‘you know what, I don’t care anymore, i’m over it.’ I don’t care—”

George was laughing so much into himself because hearing it out loud every time got funnier each time, hearing from your perspective. “—to cut short, we then matched on Tinder, not sponsored by the way—”

“Yeah! We matched on Tinder! So I knew he liked me . . I mean he swiped right, so he liked what he saw,” you looked at Max as if to confirm that theory, “so then met at a event and he asked me to do an interview for him—”

“—and she said ‘no, piss off!’—”

“I did not, George, be for real,” you tilted your head at him, “but the way he said it . . you said it so . . like you were too . . I dunno—”

“Great explanation.”

“Forward?”

“No! He was . . I don’t know! Just the way you said it, I was like no, why are you confident I’m gonna say yes? Like you said it as if we w—”

“Pretty sure all I said was ‘care to do an interview for me’ but ok—”

“NO! You said something like that! You were like ‘do this for me’,” you mocked a wink he didn’t do, “and I was just,” you were shaking your head, “like I knew you fancied me or liked me in some way and I wanted you to acknowledge it! I thought this is his chance to like . . compliment me and own up to everything — and you straight up acted like I was your mate.”

“Your mate?!”

“George you were! You said it—”

You bickered for the next 4 minutes, Max laughing in between, watching you both talk like a game of tennis how his head went from left to right. “This is brilliant.”

“-but that’s how I took it!”

“How do you know I meant it?”

“—i know because I know what yo—”

“But you didn’t know how—”

“You say this—ANYWAY! I called him out. He asked me a question about icks or whatever and I basically said. . you,” you looked at him, lips perking up in a smile as you joked. George lifted his brows at you, knowing fine rightly that was a lie.

“Well I mustn’t be that much of an ick if you agreed to go out with me the week after.”

“Well.” Touché.

“That reminds me of how I almost stopped talking to Andrew ‘cause the first he sent a voice note, he was doing an impression of a pig.”

You laughed out loud at the reminder of the funny story and nodded, “yes! That’s the vibe I was on, I was like . . . mmm wait.”

“. . . ‘Cause I asked you for an interview.”

“Because of the way you asked me, George.”

George’s smug smile grew as he watched you get defensive over the whole scenario - and he validated your point completely - he was too knobhead in asking.

“Do you still have that video?” Max asked.

“Yeah.”

You perked your eyebrow up because even you had never thought to wonder that.

“Would you ever post it?”

“Nope.”

“You’d never post it?!” Max exclaimed.

“No,” he said in an obvious tone.

“I haven’t even seen it,” you spoke up.

“Are you serious?!”

“Yeah,” George laughed, “and it’s staying that way.”

“But that could be like, your How I met your Mother moment!”

“I have it saved, I just won’t post it unless, like . . anniversary or something. Maybe one day, never say never but . . definitely not now. Still too fresh,” he coughed, forever too embarrassed to watch it back and see him get owned.

Max barely rolled his eyes and shook his head moving on, “so where was your first date? Can you explain that?”

“Oh my God,” you groaned, half-laughing because yet again, it was another dreadful story to tell.

“Jesus.”

“What?! I thought your first date was good!” Max laughed. He knew full well, the ins and outs of the story, he’d had to deal with George’s anxiety the day after he’d come to him with the fear he’d ruined it. “It can’t be as bad as mine and Andrew’s, come on now. We drank Vodka under a bridge and fucked, how can— actually, get fucked! That’s a good date if I ever heard one! We’re still together and just bought a house, so!” He raised a sassy shoulder at the camera.

You laughed and looked at George, “great, we’re not gonna last because we didn’t get drunk under a bridge and . . .”

“And what?” He knew. He knew you wouldn't say it. “And what?” He repeated, confused.

“George.”

“What?”

You sat with your eyes closed, cheeks shading pink as a smile took your face, “no.”

“This is actually funny ‘cause you can expose George and any kind of details to our weird viewers who for some reason think he’s fitter than me,” he held his arms out. “Is he packing?”

“For what?”

Even George silently rubbed his head at the joke flying over yours as you wondered where he’d set his suitcase.

“Tell us about your first date!” Max moved on.

“Ummm. Our first date didn’t go the way I wanted it to go—”

“Oh. Alright,” your man acted offended.

“NO! Not like—” you laughed again, feeling like this interview was going to be an utter shambles. “It was good! But when I look back on it, I think that . . I wasn’t . . in a way I just felt like I wasn’t myself? I wasn’t on my best behaviour, per say. Like there was so many things I reflect on and I’m like ‘oh my god, I am so lucky he didn’t see me this way or think this of me.’”

“Why?!” Max laughed. “What do you mean?!”

“I mean like . .” you thought back to the night that both felt like yesterday but also years ago. “So for starters . . we - we were drunk at times,” you looked at George as you felt like you’d finally admitted this to each other for the first time. “Like, we get dabbling in and out of sobriety, one minute we were sober, one minute I was a drink away from treating it like a night out, so I kept trying to pace myself but I-I definitely felt the weight of a few drinks and if definitely had an effect on my confidence.”

“What’d you mean? You’re confidence was great?” George looked at you lost.

“YEAH! ‘Cause I was four pints gone!”

Max laughed loudly. George did too, kind of relating to that statement himself as he knew he’d needed a drink or two to have been able to have even spoken to you.

“Then I was showing off, doing cart wheels, smashing glasses, talking nonsense to him in some random person’s room—”

“Yeah! This is what I agree with! I didn’t like the fact Arthur and Alex and such all ended up being with us. And you!” George pointed to the blond, “I thought you were gonna take that the wrong way as if I’d just invited my mates out!”

“Was I there?!”

Now that he’d said, you’d realised Max had been there, “yeah! You were!”

“What? I don’t remember that at all!”

“Neither did I until you said!” You looked at your boyfriend. “Yeah! You were!”

“Y/n I introduced myself to you for the first time like . . at dinner.”

“-and you’d met her before that as well, so.”

“Shut up, no I didn’t!” He looked at George, “how?!”

“At the fuckin’ event I met her at,” he stated.

Max sat with his hand on his mouth, in deep thought as he tried to recall the first time he’d spoken to you face to face. “Was I drunk?”

“Yes.” You both answered in sync.

“On both occasions?”

“Yes.” You both repeated.

“Oh my God, get fucked,” he gasped, “really?!”

“Yeah!” You laughed. “No but I told you I didn’t mind that,” you addressed George again, “we’ve been over this, but I felt bad about that too ‘cause I basically told you to get them out—”

“That’s not the only thing she told you to get out that night—”

“Oh my days,” you shook your head at him amusedly, “no but I thought that too, and then . . just when I think of everything I did, I think ‘no! Why did you do that!’ Even kissing him, beforehand I was like ‘y/n, if it goes well, don’t be afraid to give a little kiss. A little peck’ — no. I was a whore on that train platform.”

Max and you laughed out loud while George shook and dropped his head to hide his face at your take, “NO! I don’t know what happened! Couldn't get my leg up and around him enough! My skirt - oh my god my skirt was a nuisance the whole night, it wouldn't stay down—”

“Huh, clearly.”

You opened your mouth but closed it knowing you’d just laugh, “-no, it wouldn’t stay down—”

“Wasn’t the only thing unable to stay down—”

“Ay up.”

“I KNEW you were gonna say that!” You looked amused at your boyfriend biting his tongue after making his little joke. “What was I talking about?”

“About you being a mega slut,” Max snapped his finger.

“Oh yeah! So even kissing, the next day I was like ‘who the hell do you think you are?’ I can’t even remember if there were people around, I don’t know—”

“Y/n, we didn’t shag in the underground,” George piped in.

“—WELL it felt to that extreme for me ‘cause I was barely planning on going in for a kiss and then—”

“–and then she had one too many beers and- weren’t you drinking beer?”

You cringed again, hiding your face in your hands, “yeah I was drinking flippin’ Guiness.”

Now it was George's turn to laugh because this would be a memory he would never forget. “YES!”

“But I put them in Martini glasses so they looked like Espresso Martinis,” you peaked through your hands awaiting Max to laugh some more at you. You were convinced some of the crew were laughing as well. “‘Cause I took a craving for one, it must have been when everyone was posting about Baby Guinness or something and I wanted a proper pint and I don’t know! I just didn’t want him to think I was like . . some weirdo — who craves a Guiness?! Didn’t want him to think I was like,” you could not tell this story with a straight face, the laughs and giggle slipping out of you between every word, “a pick-me like ‘oo, I’m not like other girls, I drink beer’ whatever, but then I didn’t want him to think I was spiritually some frickin’ 50-year-old man—”

“Spiritually a 50-year-old man,” they laughed at you as you deflated to a facepalm, cheeks pink and sore from smiling with embarrassment.

“Yeah, it was just . . not how I would have liked it to have gone but . . here we are.”

“But it worked out.”

“Yeah, I was just scared I’d given an awful impression ‘cause I did really like him, and I wanted to prove I wasn’t . . that.”

“Aw, bless. And you did get to prove you weren’t just a Martini-drinking liar.”

“Yeah! The one after was much more . .”

“Orderly,” George announced.

“Yes, orderly. The first was fun but we just . .”

“It wasn’t us.”

“Yeah. I mean it clearly was but as a first impression on a date, I would have never— George, we didn’t even go to dinner, did we?”

George laughed even more as he thought of that, “no.”

“Like we didn’t even go to dinner,” you spoke with your hand out, laughing with his co-host, “we went to mini-golf but didn’t make it to dinner.”

“Who won mini-gold again?”

“Oh shush,” you rolled your eyes, “literally made fun of me from the first date, critiquing my golfing skills!”

“Of course he was,” Max rolled his eyes for you as he spun in his seat.

“You know what, it was a good date, ultimately, I mean we came back for each other so we clearly weren’t that . . put off. I was just filled with anxiety after it, in case I ruined it, but it’s fine.”

“How did you ask her to be your girlfriend?”

George looked at you as you looked back at him, letting him tell this story, probably in a much shorter, time-saving way.

George asking you to be your girlfriend was nothing big, nothing extraordinary, but the most adorable situation you could have witnessed. You’d just came back from a day full of activities, very . . casual if you both. A little shopping, quick Nando’s date, running more errands, cute movie date, and a nice walk home at night through London, arm in arm in your padded coats, talk and laughing, smiling like idiots next to the other:

You both fell to his bed, too lazy to move, already making plans for tomorrow for all the things you didn’t get to do, wanting to get out of your jeans but not having the energy to rummage through your case for a pair of pjs. You didn’t know what triggered it but George started being all weird, you were just talking about how you’d had a nice week off work and how you got to spend the whole week with him, expressing your growing fondness of London, and he got all . . not George.

No wittiness, no sarcastic remark, he started fiddling with the bit of paper on his dresser, a receipt you’d both inspected like an old married wondering why their weekly Tesco shop was up £1.40. You watched him be all cute, rambling words, not looking at you, trying not to laugh himself because he knew he was being awkward. You knew it was coming. You knew by his face and the way he was behaving, and it was the cutest an funniest thing for the both of you. ‘I was supposed to get you flowers.’

‘Why?’

He shrugged.

And then he passed you a little makeshift ‘bouquet’ from the receipt: rolled up in a cone shape with more crumpled balls of paper inside as some flowerheads. It was actually impressive and . . genuinely romantic on his end? ‘Thanks,’ you beamed in awe. ‘What kind are they?’

‘Uhhhh Peonies,’ he went with your joke.

‘Aw,’ you beamed, genuinely adored by them. Anyone would have crumbled it and put it in her bin by now. But you looked at him in awe at how cute he was, but still could see him in his head. He knew you were looking at him over your shoulder. ‘Peony for your thoughts?’

He looked at you with his mouth open.

You expected that, ‘that was so bad! Wasn’t it!’

‘Did you just — did you just make a flower pun?’ He said in disbelief.

You nodded breathlessly, embarrassed to be laughing at your own terrible, terrible joke. You didn’t blame him if he didn’t want to see you anymore, but you had one opportunity and you took it. Oh well.

‘Be my girlfriend?’

The laughter stopped.

You looked at him with raised brows, not knowing you’d heard properly, but he looked up at you and both your expressions had curious yet nervous eyes. You could feel your heart swooning, seeing his little shy smile and his bloody thumb nail between his teeth he bit at anxiously.

You nodded, excitedly, mouth too dry to speak. ‘Y—are you serious?’

‘Yeah,’ he laughed. Of course he did, are you kidding?!

‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ he laughed, touching your leg to show his genuine ds. Now he was laughing at your behavior but you were so taken aback and flattered. That was the most wholesome thing you’d ever experienced, oh my god!

You loved him so much already.

“I wouldn’t change a thing about it.”

“I just asked her at home, it was nothing special.”

“BOOO! Y/n you deserve better, darlin’.”

“No it was actually sweet, it was casual but not too casual like . . it was cute. It was perfect. For me.”

“So what’s it like? I don’t mean to sound like a married man of 50 years, I been with Andrew almost 2 years but like, you’re both still in that firsts time period . . I mean how long have you been together? 7-8 months?”

“Yeah.” It’d be a year around Fall/Winter.

“I mean it feels longer, for me, personally,” Max already said, “I’m sure the same feels for you, i’m like is that it?”

“Yeah. It is weird because this time last year we didn’t have a clue about each other. November-December is when I started coming up to London a lot more and meeting everyone. Your podcast launch party was the first time I was around everybody, even his old friends back home and his sister, I met them but not as his girlfriend ‘cause we were playing it on the down low!”

“Oh yeah,” George smiled lazily as he recalled. I mean he’d introduced you, Max and Andrew to Emily at the same time and although he didn’t outright say ‘this is my girlfriend’, Emily knew her brother was up to something from the way he’d taken his time to bring you over. Also, from your shyness and his lack of description about who you were — it didn’t take much to put together the pieces a little something was there.

“I mean yeah, I guess you’re right, I feel like we’re just now . . growing out of those firsts.”

“She can now officially go downstairs in my house make herself a cup of tea without me needing to be there.” George looked at the camera.

It panned to show who was hiding your face embarrassingly because even though it sounded so silly out loud - it was true.

“I GET THAT THOUGH!” Max defended you.

“No, she was the biggest melt—”

“GEORGE! You have a cheek to say this when you were the same in mine!”

“NO! Y/n, you — even in the flat, you used to make me come downstairs with you to go to the kitchen when Arthur and Alex were in their rooms.” He deadpanned.

“I know but it’s a matter of principle, I don’t want Alex or Arthur walking in on me looking like I’m making myself at home, taking over the house like it’s my own.”

“. . . ‘cause you’ve made yourself a cup of tea?”

His sarcasm made you want to scrape out your eyeballs at times.

“I get that, you don’t want to make it look like you’ve made yourself comfortable in their home and them wishing ‘she’d go back to her own place’.”

“Exactly. Like especially in his Mum and Dad’s,” you defended yourself.

“Oo yeah, so how did meeting the parents go? Was that fun?”

“First time I met her parents, her dad!—” George interrupted to tell the story himself, “her dad—the first thing I hear her dad say the second we open the door is ‘fell into that bastard tree again, arms pissing blood, Susan.”

“Susan?! Is your Mum’s name Susan?!”

“No, I just said it ‘cause I didn’t want to expose her name, I dunno—”

“Wait, her Dad was just bleeding out when you met him?” Max laughed more.

“Her dad is nothing - her parents are nothing like her,” he stated, “I mean they are, but also not.”

Removing your face from your hands, you interrupted, “I told them to be ready! I told them we were on our way, I said be ready. Make sure the house is tidy, yada yada yada— step through the door and they both look so surprised to see me? My Dad’s just stood there in the hallway, in his bloody illuminous work jacket, sleeve rolled down, arm scraped with blood from the flipping tree he was was clearly to fight?”

Max laughed out loud.

“My Mum’s behind him with her glass of wine like ‘oh. Hello love!’ I’m mortified, I’m thinking ‘have these two just seriously forgotten about what we were doing today? The thing I've been texting them, reminding them about the past week to be prepared’ and this is how it goes.”

“Chaotic greeting.”

“I liked it ‘cause I was obviously shitting myself,” George looked to the ceiling for a second, thinking back to the anxiety he faced the entire journey. “I was mentally preparing myself in my head the the whole time. She was obviously being all ‘no my dad’s cool like you’ve nothing to worry about, they’ll really like you’ — the same thing everyone says, but I was like no. No y/n. Don’t take this in a bad way,” he held his hands out defensively as you perked a brow at him, “but judging you just by your mannerisms and-and the way you say things when we first met—”

“—I’d expect your parents to be very . . classy people.” Max gave his 2 pence. “Like I can see where your going with this — I imagine your parents would be the same, actually,” he looked George up and down, “posh boy.”

George understood. “Yeah, I fully prepared them to be like . . reserved.”

Reserved?

“And like . . solem—”

Solem?

“Uhhhh,” he nervously laughed, “yeah. And then we walked in and your dad said ‘that bastard tree got me again’ and the tension was already broken ‘cause I got to see what he was really like. And then he proceeded to tell me his struggles trying to chop down the trees out your back garden and how he was fighting with your neighbors because they wouldn’t give him permission to cut down the one in their garden and him proceeding to say he was gonna do it anyway in the middle of the night and make it look like it was the wind.” He rambled.

You laughed and laughed because that was exactly true. Max was baffled to hear this and completely amused at the information of your very reckless father. Nothing like you at all! “What?! Your—your dad?”

“Her Dad is nothing like her!”

“My dad is the type of dad who . . got arrested when he was my age whilst I . . never even got a detention in school,” you riddled off.

“NO!”

“Yeah.”

“Shut up! Where’d you come from then?!”

“This is what I’m saying!” George turned to him.

“Yeah. I mean he’s still like me in some aspects, but . . yeah, he’s that type of dad.”

“What about your mum?”

“My mum is more like me I’d say?”

George shook his head.

“George yes she is!”

“She’s not, she’s more laidback.”

“She’s like a 50 year old woman, she doesn’t care about certain things the way I do. They don’t care how they come across at that age,” you squinted your eyes.

“Your mum is like you in the way she speaks and mannerisms but like . . she’s-she — put it this way: she literally had me talking about . . your thongs in the living room.”

You facepalmed with both your hands with a slap.

The boys laughed at your easy embarrassment as you recalled how your mother had in fact, brought up your quote-on-quote ‘skimpy underwear’ in front of your new beau. Complaining whilst saying she’d done your laundry and left a pile of the ‘strings’ on your bed. George laughed, and she nodded at him: ‘aren’t they! They’re like bloody dental floss! I’m surprised the washing machine hasn’t sucked them in yet!’

“She’s a comfortable person.”

“She just doesn’t—I don’t—if I can sum my mother up: I am more of a ‘mum! close the door!’ person while she is a ‘oh we all have the same bits, y/n’ type gal.” You mimicked her perfectly. “And then I’ll probably be that at her age with my daughter and the cycle will continue, but for now . . no. Let me hide my bits.” You laughed across from Max.

“That is such a perfect way to describe your dynamic,” he was impressed.

“Yeah. But yeah, she literally brought up my knickers to him within an hour of talking to him—”

“She strikes me as that mother who is like ‘oh well I know he’s seen your knickers before!’ or like ‘we all have sex, y/n!’”

“Yeah! And it’s like calm down!”

“Yeah! I get her vibe,” he smiled.

“Like there is a time and place.”

“That’s so fun, though. I mean I met your mum. And so did Andrew, actually, not too long ago.”

“Yeah,” you laughed.

“Legend. But we’ll not get into that,” he wiped his eyebrow.

“The dog approved too.”

“Oh yes! Your dog! What’s her name again?”

“Guess,” George said, poking fun at you. “Guess what she named her.”

“Isn’t it like . . Princess or something?”

“No! Her name’s Roxy?!”

“Like from Eastenders!”

“. . . yeah.”

“Mongrel.”

“DON'T EVEN ACT like you aren’t obsessed with her. George doesn’t know how to act around her, I swear, he doesn’t know what to do first! You love her.”

He couldn’t even lie ‘cause he did - he loved that dog. He was a little obsessed. “He used to think I was weird being an only child ‘til I found out he’s never had a dog? Never had a family pet?! Sorry but that’s even weirder, love. A red flag even.”

“Uh, had a hamster.”

“Very different from a cat or dog. I’m gonna top up my drink,” you grabbed a different tin. “But yeah she approved. She’s obsessed back, to be fair.”

“She’s actually such a good dog, she’s so good?” George clearly showed his lack of never having a pet. “She walks so well and runs with me when I take her out?” They were like 2 kids.

“Yeah, you’ll be able to take care of her no problem if we were out of the country or something, she’d love it,” you awed, missing the Beagle. “I bought her a new collar the other day.”

“What colour is it, pink?” George mocked you, already pulling up pics on his phone he’d taken of the pretty dog.

“. . yeah.”

What was the point in a girl dog if you didn’t have her in pink collars, leads, bowls, beds and bows?!

“She is cute. Probably more liked than my dog,” Max laughed, thinking of his little, old dog.

George continued scrolling through pics, distracted. “She loves me.”

“She does. He takes her out all the time and tries to get her to sleep on the bed but I don’t let her.”

“So you don’t love her that much,” he quipped.

“I’m not getting dog hair on my bed! And she takes up so much room!”

“Don’t love her.”

“And what about George’s parents then, how'd that go? I assume they hate you, like everyone else because . . well you’re just the worst. Miserable bitch.”

George was laughing, rubbing his eye but hit co-hosts arm as well. “Shut up.”

You responded with a shy laugh, “I mean I think they like me, I like to think they like me as I have been welcomed endlessly back to their house and invited ‘round every chance I get. And also been included on the family holiday in the Summer.”

“Have you!” Max awed, “that’ll be fun! You didn’t tell me about that!”

“Was only booked like last week.” George shrugged.

“Aw! How fun! So with your Mum and Dad? And sister?”

“Yep.”

“And her boyfriend?”

“If he can get it off work, yeah. If not — Em can do the third wheeling this time,” he said smugly, knowing it had always been him to do it. I mean is there anything worse than walking behind your mum and dad holding hands and your sister and her boyfriend whilst you walk next to nobody.

“Oh my God, how you gonna shag with his Mum and Dad next door?”

“Jesus Christ,” George sighed.

“Is this part of the interview still?” You laughed.

“Yeah! That’s actually our deal breaker question,” Max cackled, setting down his drink from laughing. “Seriously though! Would you?” He wondered, “have you? Have you ever had sex with your parents in the house?”

“Here he goes off in one of his sidetracks,” you looked over at George who nodded in understanding.

“Why you both ignoring my question?” He tried to stand his ground, although laughing because you were right.

“Have you?” You backfired.

“I,” he paused, “I don't know. I don’t think I have, you know. Not with Andrew anyway, I don’t think. Maybe when I was younger and had no other choice. I didn’t have a house, I didn’t have a place to go to,” he laughed to himself. “Have you?” He asked again. “Have you? I feel like you would have to.” He turned to George.

“I . . would never.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I would never,” he emphasised, throwing his head back.

“I dunnoooo,” Max teased, completely clueless to any truth in your answers. “I mean— wait.”

Your head was in your hands anyway..

“Because how . . . you literally live with your parents, and you share a flat, so— who— how,” he became very confused, “how do you actually?”

“I’m a virgin,” you replied.

He snapped his fingers. “Oh yessss.”

“Yeah. Duh!” You played on the internet’s little interpretation of you. I mean you might as well have been before you met George. “Are you kidding?”

“Sorry, sorry, that’s right,” he played along, “forgot.”

“Yeah, Max, we’re waiting ‘til marriage?” George said sassily, but his eyes told different as he looked playfully at the camera.

“I forgot! I’m sorry!” He tried to be serious. “Of course! You have your purity ring on right now.”

“Yeah.”

It was a cheap ring from Zara.

Besides, answering that question was difficult in itself. You weren’t even going to go into detail about how you forced George every time to come with you downstairs to the garage to use the toilet that wasn’t even a toilet — but it had to be done because you were certainly not getting a UTI!

But you weren’t going into Arthur Hill’s room either, in the middle of the night after getting your back blown by his roommate.

But God, George hated you for trailing you both down there:

‘Hurry! up! Come down with me now! Please, darlin.’

‘Can you not go by yourself?’

‘No! I’m scared!’ You’d squeak at the thought of going down that scary underground, ‘and my legs,’ you’d whine, laughing pathetically trying to guilt trip him.

He’d scoff, and you’d have the ultimate excuse. ‘Maybe if you had a proper bathroom, I wouldn’t need to do this’ you’d say, holding his hand in the dark as you’d go downstairs with trembling legs.

“Moving on. So the parents approved? And siblings?”

“Yeah. I mean I think so.”

“My Mum loves you,” George sighed like it was obvious and he didn’t need to tell you.

But you did like to hear it anyway.

“Em was a bit protective, she wasn’t as easy as your Mum and Dad, I feel.”

“Ooo, why’s that?! Spill!”

“Just because like,” I mean to save the full story for another day, you kept it short, “I don’t have a brother but I have my cousins and I know what it’s like when they bring someone home that you might be apprehensive about. I think Emily thought I was some . . stuck up, prissy influencer w—”

“You are.”

“GEORGE?!”

“Literally, spot on? Princess of the family- what?”

Your mouth hung open, not fighting your case.

“Are you the princess of the family?”

“IS SHE?!” George responded sarcastically, the joke noe turning serious, “you’re not prissy, stuck up-“ he quickly sidetracked, “princess of the family?!! Absolutely.”

You crossed your arms across from him and raised your brow.

But he took it as a challenge and mimicked you with his facts, “you are, Y/n. You know you are.”

“How?!”

“How are you not?! You’re,” oh he was getting heated, not irritated but maddened how you played dumb to this statement. “Only child, only daughter. First Granddaughter on one side, youngest granddaughter on the other,” he looked baffled, “what else do I need to say?”

Now you were smiling kind of bashfully in his direction, knowing he was completely right and you couldn’t even joke a lie. “Ok and what?”

“So don’t say you’re not?” He replied, the both of you looking across at one another.

“I don’t know how that makes me a ‘princess’—“

George just tilted his head unimpressed.

You looked back at him, sassily.

You aren’t the princess, right?

“Spoiled.”

“I am not!”

“You are,” he laughed. You just weren’t bratty.

In most ways.

“Are you saying i’m spoiled?”

“I’m saying you’re . .”

“You’re . . ?”

“Uhhhh what was the question,” he smiled, looking at his notes.

“George!”

“Favourited?” Max gave his 2 pence.

“Oh yeah! Em! You thought she didn’t like you.”

“No, I know she didn’t like me. Well, unsure of me is better put. What I saying before I was rudely interrupted,” you jokingly shot a look at your boyfriend who couldn’t have given less of a F, “I think she was very apprehensive, which I get and validate completely, I know what it’s like to have that protective streak over your younger relatives, especially when they have a heart of gold and deserve someone as loving as them. Trust me, there is nothing worse than your —I don’t have a brother but my cousin Dan is literally the closest thing I have— relative to bring home someone that is just . .” you didn’t even have the words, “appalling.”

“Dan, the ladies you bring home are wonderful, she doesn’t know what you’re talking about—”

“GEORGE!” You scolded and he immediately laughed because even he knew he couldn’t joke about that, “no! Don’t even! Like Dan knows he has bad taste, he attracts the worst— I’m sorry, I am not a judgey person, I see the best in everyone, do what makes you happy, but when you go on a date with a girl and she’s already expects you to get her a £400 Vivienne Westwood watch— I think you need to sit back and look at what you’re dealing with, mate.”

“YOU WHAT?” Max gasped, appalled.

“Some girls expect flowers on the 2nd date, some expect Rolex watches, you can’t—”

“George,” you sighed, not even giving him a laugh. “Yeah, we’ll not get into it. Dan, I love ya: sort your life out. But yeah! She was perfectly valid for holding back.”

“—but she did think you were an influencer with no proper job, stuck up and a bit prudish.”

“She did,” you agreed, “and I laugh at it now but I was genuinely upset about it. I didn’t tell you ‘cause you wouldn’t get it but I got it as a girl-to-girl thing? And then overtime it just . . she found out I did work and didn’t plan on being an influencer and noticed the effort I was putting in being with you, and–and didn’t threaten to break up with you when you tried to smother me under your disgusting sweaty armpit after being at the gym,” you grinned, thinking back on the memory.

Now Em couldn’t imagine you out of the family. She couldn’t comprehend how you had picked her brother. How her brother had landed you.

“Yeah you’re best friends now.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“She thought you’d take advantage of him.”

“Yeah,” you looked dead at the camera. “Me . . take advantage . . of him.”

George laughed out loud.

“What did Alex and Arthur say first time you came to the flat?”

“They were nice. The first few times I was obviously timid like, I feel like your friends approvals is such a big thing, but I think they liked me. I annoyed them at the start because I was so shy and just wasn’t breaking barriers and Alex especially was like ‘you were asking me to help you do a handstand on Saturday, don’t act all awkward now eating breakfast,’ know what I mean? He knew what I was like and didn’t get why I still felt shy.”

The house didn’t have the thickest walls either, not backing your sweet and shy facade anyway when you were up in your man’s room for the night.

“And then one day I did his nails for him, I just painted them black, but it was our bonding experience. And now I seem to do them.”

“And do you like London? Can you actually tell us like, what your routine is as a couple? Like how do your schedules work, do you feel like you see each other a lot or do you wish you had more time— run me through it.”

“In the beginning it wasn’t as much as it is now, because I was taking on clients for my coworker who was on maternity leave so I was working more than I usually do? And for that reason I thought like . . this wasn’t going to work out. I thought George wasn’t gonna have the patience and get fed up with us having to suit each other’s time slots, which I wouldn't have blamed him for. I was very apprehensive at the start. I really thought he wasn’t going to stick to it, ‘cause he was traveling down to Brighton more than I would be going to London, it’s a 2-hour drive, 3-hour long train journey — yeah. Fully expected him to give up. Which - fair enough. Whatever.”

You’d be crushed, let’s face it.

“Did you ever consider thinking of breaking it off?”

But George casually shook his head without missing a beat.

You tried not to smile so obviously.

“I said I wouldn’t do long distance. I thought an hour was long, two hours a hassle — I was still in Bristol not officially moved out, that's a three hour drive,” he emphasised, pushing his finger in the desk, “and I did that willingly, so. Don’t ever listen to what I say ‘cause I speak a load of balls—”

Max was already laughing, remembering him clearly say so about his thoughts on that almost a year ago.

“But yeah, we made it work. My shifts went back to normal, kind of runs well anyway ‘cause he’s usually doing stuff during the day anyway. I just stay over all the time and get the train back and forth. Although the only thing that annoys me is the time he chooses to go to the gym,” you couldn’t hide your expression as you spoke on the topic, “goes at stupid o’clock.”

George laughed, knowing how much that did get on your nerves. You were all for him doing what he needed to do, but I mean . . “I want to get into bed, tired after a long day, doing whatever we’ve done and then he’s like ‘right i’m off to the gym’ — no?! Get into bed so we can watch a movie or something and snuggle? I have to deal with him coming back all energised, messing about — throwing himself on me after I’ve showered and got changed into my pyjamas!”

He was laughing, knowing it was true as he thought of you in that sleepy state, fighting the agitation as he would try to annoy you by getting you under his armpit with his sweaty t-shirt, ruining the calm, relaxing aura you had created for yourself. But you always laughed whilst fighting him off. ‘I actually can’t stand you,’ you’d say with the biggest grin, finally pushing him away.

“Have you been to the gym together before?”

“We've done it like once or twice but I can’t be bothered. I’d be needing to go again, oh my days! I’ve got so bad at eating healthy, I have packed the pounds on since being with you,” you blamed George, “and I wouldn't even be annoyed if it mean I wouldn't need to buy new clothes! My skirt,” you dramatically paused, holding a hand up, “the skirt I wore on our first date, not even a year ago, doesn’t fit me anymore!”

Max clapped his hands with a laugh. “HA! Brilliant!”

“NO! It’s awful!” You cried, “I made a TikTok the other day of me trying to put it on and I don’t even want to post it! George is behind me, tugging it with his life, he is lifting me off the floor — and this skirt will not go past my hips.” You frowned amusingly. “Literally off the floor from the belt loops.”

“It’s so funny,” your boyfriend commented.

“It’s a joke! I’m so annoyed,” you groaned, “it’s ‘cause by the time I get home, I always just grab something on the way to his house. George, what am I like coming home from work with a bloody kebab or chippy under my arm? Every time! She’s getting beefy.”

“She’s getting thick is what I’m hearing.”

“I’m not complaining about anything,” George added, not knowing there were cons to you (as Max said) getting thick.

“It’s annoying ‘cause George, like every boyfriend, will eat twice as much as I do. On a daily basis. He’s a big boy. He eats my leftovers, if there is food left- he will eat it! He eats the scraps. He’s a bin! It’s boyfriend law!”

“It is boyfriend law.” George agreed.

“But he actually burns it off! I’ll bring a chippy home, he’ll ‘pick at it’ -he eats it all- and then will go to the gym to burn it off while I . . . don’t.”

But hey, wasn’t packing on a few a sign you were in a very healthy relationship?

“I’m with you,” Max agreed. “I’d need to lie down after a few goujons.”

“I’ve gotten so lazy.” You ushered.

”You are lazy, you literally try to nap the moment you get through my bedroom door—”

“‘Cause I been working all day and travelling all day!—”

“Yeah, and you don’t want to do anything ev—”

“Yes I do! I literally just need to close my eyes for 15 minutes—” you laughed, hating how he was calling you out.

“She comes in, falls on my bed, I’m usually editing or eating at my computer—”

“I step through the door and he’s like ‘what d’you want to do!’ and every time I’m laying there going ‘let me lie down a minute’—”

“She honestly takes a 15 minute break—”

“It helps! It’s all I can do before I have to get up and we do something!” Afterall, you of course wanted to spend time with him, you didn’t buy that train ticket just to sleep in his bed. But you did need a moment after a long day.

“She will not move ‘til she gets that 15 minute ‘nap’ which is basically her just closing her eyes but she’s convinced it is what gets her through the rest of the evening—”

You were laughing too much to interrupt him, finding it funny yourself. “I do?!”

“Is that your pet peeve? What’s your pet peeve about one another? Does the nail biting annoy you?”

“It’s not a pet peeve but it does annoy me a bit, the sight and sound of it is annoying but I don’t be raging. He looks at me and does it though,” you held your hand out to the very childish 23-year-old.

“What’s yours?”

George shrugged, biting his nails.

You shook your head at him, seeing his grin, “you’re a dick.”

“WOAH! Language please! This is a workplace!” Max shouted, “y/n doesn’t actually swear that much so that’s actually kind of funny but um,” he fake tucked his hair behind his ear, trying to seem professional.

“Uh, yeah she does!” George looked at him extremely confused, pointing to you, “what you—”

“No she doesn’t.”

“Yes she bloody does,” he looked at Max amused, “are you joking?!”

“I literally never hear her swear.”

George looked at you with him mouth open, offended by these lies. “I’m sick of this narrative—”

“I don’t?” You sided with Max.

George tilted his head, not even kidding around.

“I don’t?!”

“I can confirm right now such profanity does leave her mouth on a daily basis—”

“GEORGE!”

“IT DOES?! See!” He pointed at your uncontrollable smile, “you know yourself!”

“I don’t even,” you laughed.

“I get called a dickhead first thing in the morning!”

“GEORGE?!” How could he out you like that? Without context?

“SEE! You know!” He laughed, not letting you get away with that facade.

“‘Cause you are,” you lowly giggled, knowing exactly why you would say such thing. I mean who was a morning person? And who wanted to get woken up by the sound of their boyfriend waking you up in the most annoying ways possible?! Who liked to be held back in a headlock when you were bursting for that first wee in the morning?! “You are a nuisance going to bed with and waking up to.”

“I just know you bring out all the swearing from her,” Max typed on his keyboard.

“N—Wh—HOW?! What do I do?!”

“HE DOES! You’re so right!” You nodded with Max, “he provokes it.”

“So I deserve it?”

“When I’m barely awake and you’re tickling me to wake up, yeah, I’m not gonna be ecstatic, mate,” you deadpanned. I mean you always said it in a night-hearted way.

“Mate.”

Your giddy smile grew as he stared at you, nodding, knowing you knew you messed up.

“Probably my pet peeve, I’m not your mate . . I’m your employer,” he neatly tucked the papers in line, provoking a laugh out of his co-host.

“Yeah keep if professional please, leave whatever fights you had at home— what was your first fight? Have you had a proper fight yet?” Max let his curiosity get the best of him as he asked the question without overthinking it. “Is that too personal?”

But you and George were already staring cockily across from each other, knowing smiles on your faces the answer and full story sitting in your heads. You knew the camera would just cut from you to him with the silence.

“What’s going on?”

“You can answer that.” You piped.

“No you can answer that,” he smiled, directing his attention to something on the desk.

“WAIT! I remember your first fight!” Max smiled widely, “I remember this! Wasn’t it over—”

“Ah! Let’s not get into it,” George jokingly silenced him.

“‘Cause he knows it was his doing,” you teased, watching him refuse eye-contact.

You’d get the full story told one day, but for now, you could do with a short sum up.

“It was your fault to be fair—”

“It wasn’t even a fight, it wasn’t even an argument - it was more of an argument-disagreement thing where like, I was like, fine, I’m going home for a few days. I’ll not see you then,” you explained your side. “But it was over . .”

“Tell them what it was over.”

“It was basically over fake tan and make-up and mess— but! In my defence! I—”

“NO! You don’t get to explain your side!” George hushed you, moving his hands like he had 3-inch acrylics on.

You looked at him baffled by his sass. “It was your doing—”

“Of course it was, of course it was my fault,” George sarcastically rolled his eyes like he was so stupid for thinking it was anyone else’s. “Silly me!”

“No it literally was! Don’t even get on like that!” You held your arm out.

When you’d explain it, it would make sense.

But it was. It was his fault. His bad combination of loving a clean room and having a beauty queen significant other who doesn’t tidy up after her makeup routine ‘til the following days.

“Your fault.” He said after 2 minutes.

“George!”

George was hiding his grin in his hand while Max grabbed the photos from the printer to ask his next segment of questions. “So, here we have a few pictures we found on the internet. Some from your Instagram, some from yourmum’sfacebookwegotGeorgetoscreenshot—” he coughed, “and I just want you to tell us the story behind them, okay?”

“Ok.”

“Here is your first photo,” your boyfriend pushed over the page. Behold, it was actually two photos on one sheet, the first of you in a pink leotard, sitting in on your ballet class at 4 years old. The one next to it was you around 13, catching your Mum taking the picture before a recital you clearly could not be bothered to do, as you could see from your unimpressed gaze.

“Great.”

“Are you a ballerina then? You’ve done some ballet lessons?”

“Yeah,” you tried to say with pride rather than embarrassment. “Yeah, I did ballet for about 12 years, yeah.”

“I just wanna dance in the ballet!” Your boyfriend mocked the sound on TikTok.

“Wow! That’s impressive, what made you choose that?”

“I don’t know, just . . intrigued me I guess, at that age.”

“Huh. We have our ballet babe and you who did rugby, what a contrast in aesthetics?” Max compared you both.

“Literally, you couldn’t get any different,” you smiled.

But hey, what ballerina didn’t want a big rugby lad to pick her up?

“And did you enjoy it?”

“Yeah, ‘course. As I got older, I got tired of it, the more ‘extreme’ it got, I suppose, new teachers getting more and more less empathetic— yeah, dropped it I think after GCSEs. But I did enjoy it growing up.”

“I’m imagining it to be like Dance Moms? Was it as extreme at that? Or is that reality TV just brainwashing my brain.” He embarrassingly laughed.

“Personally, my class and teachers were grand when I was younger - as I got older, I suppose it’s like anything, it’s more serious, there’s more pressure in perfecting displays when competitions came along and the fun is taken out of it. I was one of the nice ones, I wouldn’t say anything, but there were girls who would fight our corner and . . release their inner Dance Mom I feel.”

“Did they put you on certain diets and stuff?”

“I mean it wasn't mandatory but they did push a healthy diet.”

“I imagine your Mum to be an Almond Mum.”

Silence fell on the table as you looked to one another, your boyfriend eventually breaking it with a loud, uncontrollable tee-hee.

“Like your Mum gives me that vibe.”

“I get that. She’s not though. Thankfully,” you smiled, tilting your head at the blond. “But yeah. I look back on it and think of the cute memories and lifelong friends I made, but you just outgrow stuff. I mean it’ll stay with me forever,” you raised your brows.

“How high can you get your leg up?”

You looked at an excited Max while George leaned back in his seat, ready to observe the show, knowing his co-host would push you to show off.

“I wish I was a flexible queen,” Max watched with his chin on his hand as you stood up, showing the swiftness you had to crank you leg up ‘til your foot was by your head. A very lazy développé.

“OH MY GOD!” Max imagined the discomfort whilst his co-host laughed at his reaction next to him. “Right, let me try.”

Nothing was funnier than watching the blond hate on himself for nothing being able to to raise his leg any higher than the table top. “WHY CAN’T I DO IT?!”

“Sit down before you hurt yourself!” You and George were like parents trying to get him to stop. While trying not to laugh.

“WHY—” his croc kept hitting off the table when he dropped his leg. “OH MY GOD!”

“Look what you’ve started.”

“He asked!” You excused.

“Fuck you Mum for not pushing me to stretch every morning. Now look at me.”

You hid with your hand, not wanting to take part in his one-on-one with his mum.

“Flexible bitch. I’m sure that comes in handy.” He sassed, jealous, flipping his imaginary hair.

“There is nothing I can name that comes in handy,” you reassured.

“I can think of something,” he didn’t even want to look at you with his faux bitterness.

George swayed in his computer chair, eyes flicking from one to another, and apprehensively to the camera.

He could think of something too.

He could think of a few things.

“I’m talking about when George bends you into a pretzel—”

“Oh my god,” you dropped your gaze to the table, nothing else to say. George put his head in his hand, like he was already tired of him in this interview and it’d only just started.

“Did you like that one?”

“No! You just compared me to a pretzel!”

“Remember the days George used to complain he was as single as a piece of celery? Well now he’s a whore,” Max aggressively tucked the pages in line, “shagging machine—”

George was so confused but so amused by his tangent. “What the fuck?”

“I hope your Mum and Dad are listening,” he pulled the mic closer, “your son is a horn—”

“What is he actually talking about?” You chuckled across from your man.

“I don’t know because we’re both obviously virgins,” he got to his feet to get himself another drink instead of bothering you for one.

“How do you actually shag in your houses?” Max broke from his phase, the question still wondering his mind.

“Max, we’ve been over this already, we’re waiting!—” George leaned down to your mic from the drinks cabinet, speaking in a funny voice.

“OH SHUT UUUPPP!” Max groaned, “make me another?”

You laughed and grabbed the juice George was already handing you.

When you were all topped up and things were in order, you continued, “sorry about that, things got a little heated there because—”

“—because Max was bitter he couldn’t touch his toes.”

“Fuck you!” He snickered at his co-host, “anyway, next photo—” he passed you the photo of you standing at your grandparents front doorstep, covered up to your neck in dirty, mucky water with a 5-month-old Great Dane puppy hanging in your arm, also soaked from top to bottom in muck.

“Oh my God,” you groaned, inspecting the picture your Grandad took at the time. It had been the funniest sight ever had the pair of them laughed for hours that night after you came back with the dog.

“So,” you laughed as well, “this was me after offering to take my Nan and Grandad’s new dog for a walk at the time. He was like 5 months old and trailed me off my feet. Clearly.”

The two laughed at the photo, and you smiled sweetly, just as you’d done in the photo because it was funny having to explain to your grandparents. “This was only like a year ago. My Grandad got him and I came up to see them and took him a walk — but he went flying off his lead and jumped into this river seeing a swan or whatever -my grandparents are countryside folk-“ you looked to the camera, “and I had no other option than to . . go in after him!”

“Dive on in!”

“Yeah! He was a puppy! I don’t think he knows how to swim!” You inspected the photo again, the state of your hair in a bun and the specks of mud on your face. “He doesn’t know how to swim!”

“He’s big for a puppy.”

“He’s massive now. He’s huge.”

“Huh, calm down love,” George faked flattery.

“I don’t know how my Grandad walks him, George had to walk him the other week when we went up. He’s so strong,” you thought of the pup who thought he was a lapdog. “Just pulls your arm the entire time.”

“But you saved his life.”

“Yeah. I had to trail all the way back down those country lanes, looking like that.”

“Can you just imagine her, trailing back to the house, holding the dog like that, looking like that, smelling worse probably,” George laughed loudly, hitting Max’s arm, who laughed at the image too. Yeah, you’d definitely be a miserable bitch that 15 minute walk.

“Stupid dog,” you rolled your eyes playfully, knowing you’d take a bullet for him.

“Next photo, I picked this,” He passed the photo of you on a field a few years ago, game face on and thigh muscles on show as you played hockey with your team from school. “I picked this because you both did hockey, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” George agreed, watching you inspect.

“Yeah, I did hockey in school. I didn’t like it though. Well, I did but I was terrified everyday. I was waiting for the day the ball came flying at my face.”

“Hockey balls are no joke.” Your boyfriend said.

“Honestly. And girls are savages, playing with ones who clearly didn’t like you showed. They were aiming for that ball to crack my nose, you know what I mean. I hated it. Preferred my ballet.”

“Isn’t that weird you both did hockey though? Oh my! You’re so gonna be that couple who has the photos of you both young, leading up the stairs in your London Townhouse for your kids to say to their posh friends about like ‘oh yes, Mummy and Daddy played hockey in their youth, ballet and rugby’,” Max perfectly mocked a perfectly done snobby accent, the pair of you laughing out loud at his vision. “I’m serious! Mark my words!”

“It is weird. We do have so many coincidences, sometimes it’s like . . is it just a coincidence?” You looked at him wonderingly, “like, hockey for one — I dropped hockey a year before there was this match event with other schools, and George went to it, he was there,” you told, “like we both would have been there.”

“Or Uni.”

“Or the same with Uni! I didn’t even go to Uni at that time, but my friends, friends of friends even, they would go to Bristol all the time to see them, you know, Freshers ‘n that—”

“Big up Bristol universities,” Max did his famous hand sign.

“—seriously! And I am was in the same building as him, we both have photo memories on our phones from the same night!”

“And you never spoke?!”

“We never met!”

“It is weird, isn’t it? Out of all the universities,” George scratched his neck.

“Yeah! And we were in the same airport at one time, on the same day? Or that photo of you, your sister and your Mum walking along somewhere in Brighton! Spontaneous trip to Brighton, walking along the seafront - who took a picture with their Mum walking the same path an hour or so later?” You pointed to yourself.

“Shut up! You’re taking the piss!”

“I swear, we both have snapchat memories from that day, the times are so close, we figured it all out!”

“You could have walked by him and been like ‘oh my god, who is that fit stranger and why am I not married to him’ and now—”

“And now it’s come true! You were the random stranger I wished for,” you laughed, talking to George. He laughed.

“It’s scary when you think about it though. Is that just a coincidence or like . . was the universe just tryna shove you two together,” Max laughed skeptfully.

When he said it like that . . yeah. Was very strange.

You and George both eyed each other, wondering the same thing.

“Anyway, we’ll never know, next photo because we’re taking forever: what can you tell us about this one?” You grabbed the printed photo.

It was a picture your Mum has taken, to most likely show all her friends over Facebook, how strong you were as you lay as a barely 16-year-old, in a hospital bed.

“Ooo. So . . . this is when I almost died!” You clapped cheerfully, Max and George doing their best not to find that funny. Max failing more so as George already knew the story behind it. “Yeah, so, this was me, pretty much after I went to my first concert-festival thing? I went up to London with some of my best friends, and it was all good fun, we were having a great time, being senisible for a bunch of 16-year-olds, I mean we weren’t absolutely smashed ‘cause we knew we had to get the train home and stuff. But! I . . I got spiked,” you appealed to the camera, “and almost died!” You hoped not to sound so dull and depressing . . even though you had quite literally been hospitalised.

“Was it that bad? I mean I remember you told me this like just about but I don’t know the ins and outs. Is that what happened? How’d you get home? What do you remember?”

“So from what I can remember, is it was getting late and it was coming to an end, and I remember . . I needed to go to the toilet, but my head was busting and like, I wouldn’t move? I suddenly felt so confused? And sick? And just not okay. I remember feeling like I couldn’t open my mouth, like I couldn’t talk, and I thought maybe I just needed to be sick ‘cause I’d been drinking, not lots, but drinking nontheless,” you shrugged. “And then, apparently I just fell and my friends got me to the medical tent and then I was brought to the hospital in an ambulance and they phoned my mum and dad and . . yeah, it was really bad. It was scary for them. I was in hospital for days, like I was basically in a coma for a few days and everyone was convinced I was gonna die,” you said. It was weird talking about it with such a lightness to your voice, when in reality, your family were convinced there was a strong chance you wouldn’t make it.

But you lived to tell the tale ‘cause you were that betch.

“I laugh about it now and my family laugh about it but it really wasn’t funny at the time. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” George responded sarcastically.

“Oh my God, it was really that serious, ‘cause I know some people are spiked and don’t even realise until the next day! But yours was extreme.”

“Yeah. My frail teenage body couldn’t take it. I remember I woke up and being so confused and scared and my Mum just crying next to me when I looked at her. It’s weird ‘cause like . . it was a whole family trauma thing and I just . . didn’t feel part of it?” You laughed. “I remember by Grandad being like . . you’re getting a smack for putting us through hell this past few week. And my cousin Dan got me a card with ‘attention seeker’ on it.”

“Oh my God!”

“Yeah. I didn’t realise how serious it was until I got home again and was making jokes and my Mum was all ‘no y/n, we seriously thought we would lose you, don’t joke about that’ and explained the situation and started crying again and then I-I shut up.”

“That would be me. Is that why you’re so protective over her when she goes out drinking?” Max looked at George.

“I mean I look out for her whether she’d been spiked before or not, it’s — what’d you’d mean? It’s like a subconscious,” he answered confused. “I’m alert anyway incase anyone bothers anybody in general but obviously, yeah, I’m gonna watch her the most,” he explained. “Also she can’t handle her drink, so.”

“George,” you breathed, “yes I can.”

“Okay darling.”

“Did that not put you off drinking? Do you have any trauma from that?”

“Now I don’t, I mean I don’t let it stop me but I am conscious that it could always happen again. To anybody. I will always keep my drink tucked into my chest like I’m never stupid to go back to drinking an unattended glass, but no, I’m fine to go out and let loose. I wasn’t much of a drinker anyway, I didn’t go out a lot but I built my confidence back up from drinking in friends’ houses and stuff. It was more so my mum and dad — anybody in my family, really, that moaned when I told them I was going out or had an event ‘cause they always just go ‘OH Y/N! DO YOU HAVE TO GO? WHO YOU GOING WITH? ARE YOU DRINKING? DO YOU NEED TO DRINK? WATCH YOURSELF WONT YOU, OH PLEASE DON'T DRINK. I'M GONNA BE A NERVOUS WRECK THIS ENTIRE WEEKEND.’ But other than that, we move forward.”

“Oh my God, there you go. Bet you didn’t expect that from your favorite nail girl,” Max commented. “Couple Goals: when you both nearly die as a child,” he made a hashtag with his fingers as he linked how George had a near-death experience when he’d overheated as a tot.

“Literally! What was that about?!” you laughed.

“Has he told you that story?”

“Yeah! I found out really early on! He dropped it on me like one of the first times he was staying over! It was obviously Winter time and I, a girl of comfort, had my room all cozy for him coming, candle lit, electric blanket on—” that’s when you shot a look at the camera, “he came in, cold for once, and I said about the blanket— no. He was like ‘but you turn that off?’ and in my head I was like: obviously not, safety hazard who? That stays on love, but I was like ‘yeah . .’ and then he said how he would actually overheat. At this point, he’s already slipping his coat off, jumper too, warmed up already and he just said how he like almost died! I have never opened windows so wide or turned off - I think I pulled the plug out the socket and everything, I was shocked. And even to this day, I am so cautious of this—”

“It’s not even like a big dea—”

“It is George! I am so serious when it comes to him and heat, it’s actually a second nature now. He says i’m being dramatic but he’s almost traumatised me into it. I’ve bought a fan and all for my room whenever he comes over and keep a wireless one in my handbag and car and stuff for when we go out—”

“Aw, stop it,” Max couldn’t help but awe. “Does the fan not annoy you?”

“I hate white noise, like I am a dark room, sleeping mask, complete silence, type of sleeper, but I got over it pretty quickly with him. I’m used to it now, I probably do need it to fall asleep.”

“D’you think that’s why you’re funny about her drinking and you’re funny about him in hot weather?”

It was something you never considered, and looking across from each other inquisitively, it did make sense, although it was just a coincidence. “No, although it makes sense.”

“Hm. Much to think about. Ok, what about this photo to end on a higher note,” the last photo was one you felt so guilty of. It was actually from a TikTok, in the background of an interview your man had been doing on a carpet. You’d been waiting behind on him to get done before going to the bar together, being patient and being careful to not to get in the way.

However, in the TikTok clip, that had gone viral on your behalf, you had been filmed evidently looking on of his interviewees up and down with a perked eyebrow, a slightly sour look taking your usual cheerful face which was why it was so funny. You didn’t even remember doing it, your smile resuming seconds after, but you’d been caught lacking as a known star made her way over to your man to try and make him laugh.

“I can’t believe you,” you muttered, disappointed they’d exposed you.

“What’s – what’s going on in that pic, hmm?” George smiled smug, inching it closer to you.

“That—” you didn’t know what to say, laughing yourself, you shrugged, “nothing! That’s nothing!”

“Y/n is the fakest bitch about, you heard it here first. It’s all a facade,” Max slandered.

“NO!”

“—me when I see Ekin-Su. JOKING! Actually, bleep that, bleep that!”

You laughed out loud.

“Ok, well that was fun. I feel like you are ready to take on the final task of helping us with some queries from our lovely callers,” Max cleared the table while you took a sip of your drink.

You immediately scowled with disgust over the strength of the drink your beau had made for you. You were getting tipsy, you weren’t that drunk. “Fuckin’ hell George.”

“What?” He gave his confused look despite laughing.

“What do you mean ‘what’, you trying to kill me here,” you coughed more, pushing the mug away, “get that away from me, urgh! Daddy.”

“What’d you call me?”

“Grow up, you blimmin’ poisoning me here!” You grinned.

“Did we not just talk about her getting spiked?” Max joined in, laughing at the sight of you struggling to collect yourself. “He always does take the piss, he makes them far too strong.”

“Lightweights.”

“Shut up,” you coughed, “pour that out.”

“No! You have to drink it!”

“No! It’s not even nice!”

George tilted his head. “Y/n.”

“George, it’s gross.”

“Oh! I hear the phone!” Max called out. He smacked the button.

“Hello Max and George . . and potential guest.”

“HI!” You cheered, delighted to be included.

“Hopefully you can help. I’m calling because I have had a dilemma for quite some time now. I’ve been with my boyfriend for over a year now and I am sick to death of him trying to get me to get on top and do all the work every bloody time! No! I don’t want to! I know that’s not a good sight! And every time he lays there all annoyed with me after we’ve finished! Please help because I am on the verge of going celebite if this lad asks me one more time to get up there.”

You know when silence gives away your answer to something? It kind of tells you all you need to know?

Well, even if the silence at the table wasn’t enough, George’s struggling expression of holding in his laughter and you looking at him, warning him not to do it definitely was.

The camera would cut to you and cut to him once again, and then to Max who felt like he’d missed out on a joke. “Whaaaat?”

“S—” he couldn’t hold it, spit of a laugh coming out, “sounds familiar.”

“NO!” You shrieked.

Laughs filled the room, disbelief taking you he’d made such comment.

“What?” Max chuckled.

“I think she is perfectly valid and should not—”

“No, she’s lazy.”

“NO, she’s not confident in h—”

“No, her boyfriend clearly thinks she’s good enough otherwise, he wouldn’t keep askin—”

“NO, her boyfriend—”

“Listen love, you need to suck it up—”

“NO!”

“YES! Her wouldn’t boyfriend keep saying to her if neither of them enjoy it—”

“But she doesn’t!”

“‘Cause she thinks she looks bad and clearly doesn’t if her boyfriend—”

“Do you know how it feels to be sitting up, everything on show, rolls ‘n everything right in front of your face, my tits—”

“Y/n giving her input from personal experiences,” Max spoke into the mic, bringing you out of your passionate rant in the midst of forgetting you were making a podcast.

“N–no! I’m–I’m just putting myself in her position—”

“Clearly.”

That made you look at him with such an unimpressed gaze, it was almost funny.

You knew he was kind of right though.

“I mean I don’t know if I can help with this question, personally. I personally have never ridden like a cowboy, although I do have a pink cowboy hat for when that occasion may arise. Um, yeah, any further input? I mean it’s a growing experience for the both of you, and I’m sure you look banging from down below, darlin’.”

“I agree.”

“What? Do you know what she looks like?” You crossed your arms with a raised brow.

George shook his head with an unnecessary nervous laugh, “no.”

“So why?—”

“‘Cause I imagine her boyfriend wouldn’t keep asking her if he thought she looked ugly—”

“I think—”

“I THINK RIDE HIM LIKE THERE’S NO TOMORROW BABY!” Max mimicked a lasso in his hand as said pink cowboy hat was placed on his head.

“Let that be a message to all your apprehensive ladies.” George sent his encouragement, nodding to you to give your final comment.

“Giddy up.”

Max laughed, disrupting him, “sorry. Y/n, I can just . . imagine you through,” he snickered, “I know you’re hating your whole life.”

“Max, don’t even,” you laughed, thinking this was just you two conversing and it’d be cut from the pod, “I am like that Spongebob meme of him leaning on the wall out of breath after about 2 minutes!” You laughed hysterically, doing the pose. Now George was the one slightly covering his face, knowing those tins of Gin were getting to you.

Max cackled.

“Seriously. No cowgirl in sight, just cow.”

He really laughed at that, even the crew while George shook his head and looked at you trying not to join in with them, “you—this is the pink gin coming out.”

“It is! It is,” you agreed giddily, nodding at him, “you know it.”

“I do.”

“Same. Oh! I have an email come through!” Max typed on his keyboard. “Here you read it.”

George cleared his throat. “Hi Max and George, pretty big dilemma here. So, my parents were gone for the weekend and so I had my boyfriend over for the time being. They told me they would be back Sunday afternoon. Anyway, Sunday morning rolls around and I had woken up to the sight of my boyfriend between my legs. As you can imagine, feeling loved up on this particular lazy Sunday morning in a very empty house, we were soon able to fill the silence by shagging like there was no tomorrow. Got me kind of excited to get our own house someday as I don’t think I’ve ever been able to make that much noise in all my life. Probably would have been the best sex ever if I hadn’t found out 20 minutes later after going downstairs to make our breakfast, that I’d find my Mum and Dad standing in the kitchen, having a cup of tea, back early from their trip—”

“NO!”

“—Part of me is convinced it might not have been that bad as they both struggle a bit with their hearing, but the other part of me is convinced the neighbors down the street could have heard me. It’s been a couple days and I can’t help but feel like there is an unspoken silence. What do I do? Also . . wh— ho— do you know what that says?” He pulled a face whilst passing you the sheet.

“—also . . I too would ride George into battle— wow, completely fell for that one,” you crumpled the page up as he laughed.

“Fuck’s sake,” Max scoffed, “how does that make you feel by the way? All these people want to ride your man?”

“I was gonna say get in line but after today, you can bloody have him,” you stressfully rubbed your face, smiling across at him like he was your walking headache. He laughed at your answer, before going back to the question.

“I personally would not even risk shagging with the possibility my parents could come home any second, I’m sorry. As a teen, maybe. Not now.”

“Yes you would?” George dramatically scoffed.

“I wouldn’t! You would?!”

“I—I’m saying if you—”

“If your shagging — this is bad as it is, how do people have sex with their parents’ in the room next door? Even in the same house?! I don’t care if my Mum is downstairs, preoccupied with Eastenders! I don’t even think I could get in the vibe!”

“Yeah, it’s odd,” George bit his nail.

“And if you’re a loud mouth like her—”

“Me?” You pointed.

“No, our caller. But you too . . . Y/n you sound like you’re having an orgasm when you stub your toe, love,” he slipped out, laughing in doing so.

You covered your face for what felt like the 100th since being here, knowing you couldn’t argue.

George was giggling next to him, agreeing with him, “she actually does.”

“I DON'T MEAN IT! It just comes out!” you defended how you tended to let out quite sultry groans when you bung your knee on a table. They just sounded the same.

“It’s just a risky situation never worth taking. Unless you’re up for that risk: carry on love.”

“Let’s be honest: you’re never quiet enough. No matter how good you think you’re doing at keeping it on the DL,” George moved his hands, “you’re probably not.”

“Yep. Exactly.”

“Sometimes life is about risks,” you argued, playing with your hair.

The brunet looked at you. “And you . . biggest scaredy cat known to man . . definition of goody-two-shoes . . is willing . . to risk that.”

“And don’t you know it,” you winked before the three of you burst out laughing. “No! I'm joking!”

“I don’t think you are, darlin’” Max laughed, not having a clue.

“I can hear the phone ringing.” George swayed on his seat, legs sprawled beneath the table as he reached for it.

Max tried to calm himself down as you did, waiting for the last caller to come through. You stretched in your seat, not having enough room to do your legs, triggering you, as a person who sat at a desk all day with no room to stretch their limbs. “Oh my! George! Move your feet!” You tapped his foot with your shoe, moving him out of your space. “That’s my pet peeve! Oh my days! Anytime we’re sat down, he always has his legs stretched all the way over to my area!”

“I have longer legs?!”

“It’s annoying! Move your big ass foot,” you tried not to laugh ‘cause you meant it. “I sit like this all day,” you mimicked your work posture of tucked in legs and straight back, “so I wanna let go and relax and stretch but no! GEORGE! MOVE IT!” He kicked your foot back to make room for himself.

“This is my space,” he defended, looking in the viewfinder to see. Obviously it was not.

“You guys are matching today,” Max commented, seeing both white shoes on your feet. “Oh my god, George, your foot looks massive!” He made fun of him.

You put your soles against each other, your foot obviously making George’s appear bigger, “I actually had a different outfit planned but he didn’t lift my bag,” your scratched your head, “had brand new jeans, nice little top, pink cardigan and stuff — no,” you looked at the camera, “someone left all my stuff back in Bristol,” you observed the regular t-shirt and mom jeans fit.

“Tell Max what your Mum said about your change in clothes,” he giggled.

You laughed, “oh my, so I was back home for a few days and my Mum –she’s made a few comments like this recently -she’s not helping fight the Almond Mum allegations- I was sitting in the living room, I had leggings on, old sweatshirt,” you held your hand out to George, “no makeup on, hair was just thrown up, I was just chilling. I wasn’t going anywhere, like, sounds normal right? My Mum goes to me . . . ‘are you alright, y/n?’, I was like ‘. . yeah? Why wouldn’t I be? What’d you mean?’, I think she thought I was going through something?! she goes ‘well it’s just recently like, you don’t get ready like you used to anymore, like did you get showered today?’” Your baffled look had Max and George laughing, imagining the situation. “I was like ‘yes Mum, obviously?’ Sorry I can’t get my skincare routine done, dab the makeup on and lounge about in a pair of jeans. I’ve got showered but no, I haven’t curled my ponytail today! I’ve got a 3-hour train journey to Bristol hun! I’m not sitting in jeans for that!”

It sounded like since you met George, your mum would think you were slacking. . not wearing makeup around the house and in lounge clothes a lot more, but it was because you realised you didn’t need that anymore. What was the point? You needed to save that make up when you were going out with him, needed those nice outfits for your strolls around London. “Like I don’t have the desire to sit in a good outfit all day. I am constantly travelling back and forth, I need to save as much clothes as I can, I need to keep all my stuff together, I forget so much stuff in between houses. My straighteners are in Bristol, my makeup bag is in London and my skincare is in Brighton. I had to buy a toothbrush last night. You know what I mean? Why would I bring my makeup bag down from Brighton when I’m not going out and gonna be back in London in 2 days? My Mum thinks I’m going through something but it is ‘cause I just don’t have time to put makeup on on the morning!”

“She thinks you’re ugly without it,” George retorted.

“Also you just can’t be arsed.” Max shrugged.

“Well yeah! She sees me in a tracksuit two days in a row and thinks I’m giving up on myself!”

“She is sounding very Almond Mum to meee—” the blond sang.

“She’s not beating the allegations, is she? I was like ‘no mum, I am fine. Trust me, George is not depressing me, I just have to wear those jeans tomorrow when we’re going out.’”

“Bless her. She just thinks you’re a tramp now,” he snickered, hitting a few buttons on the phone.

“I was offended.”

“Hi Max and George. Potential guest—”

“Hello darlin’!” You smiled, sitting on your hands.

“—I need help. I’ve been with my boyfriend for almost 3 years now, my first proper boyfriend in my opinion as we’ve been together since we were 17. However, the other day we ran into this boy I used to see before I met him. Technically, he could be classed as my ‘first boyfriend’ as we were together for about 4 months and did all the firsts stuff, but I still would say my current boyfriend is my first proper relationship. Anyway, my boyfriend made a comment on how he was my first love instead of him and we began bickering and long story short, we’re kind of not talking. I guess I’d class him more like a friend than an ‘ex’ and it started the argument, like I wouldn’t not acknowledge the first guy if he were to say hello?! I don’t know. Who’s in the wrong here? Bearing in mind, this guy was erased from my memory until we saw him a few days ago. Is he being dramatic or am I not being a good girlfriend here? Let me know. Love you both.”

“Hmmmm,” Max tapped his chin, “wow.”

“First loves.”

“You’ll be experienced with this question, how does Andrew deal with you and your long list of past hoes?” George got back at Max.

“Are you slut-shaming me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” he nodded jokingly.

“It’s hard because . . to me it just sounds like her boyfriend is annoyed that she just had something before him. Even though it was small, only 4 months.”

“Yeah, but it’s like . . four unnecessary months of something that gives her this excuse to still be friendly with the guy she had something with. I’m not defending the boyfriend but I see why he’s . . like . .”

“Insecure?” You raised a brow.

“It sounds like it’s not a big deal but it is a big deal to him because whilst you’re disregarding the important of ‘yeah, firsts are firsts but they didn’t mean anything’, he feels like that isn’t true? Am I right in saying that?”

“Yeah, I get you. But then that’s his problem,” you shrugged. “He’s just letting it affect him.”

“Put it into perspective: did you have something with anyone before George?”

“Mmm . . nothing serious.” You squinted your eyes, “like . . sort of seeing someone.”

“No, no, no, you can’t say that,” George immediately cut in, “you weren't boyfriend-girlfriend but you were more—”

“George’s jealousy is showing, this is why I can’t talk about this,” you spoke into the mic like an ASMR episode.

“NO! Listen! Listen, right—”

“Like I wouldn’t class him as my first boyfriend? Certainly not my first love. Yeah, we did—”

“DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT! DON'T CARE. DON'T WANT TO KNOW. BORRRRINGG. NEXT QUESTION—”

“But I’m serious! ‘Cause if I saw him—”

“You’d what?” You looked at him surprised, raising your brows, “what would you do? You had a girlfriend in what? Year 12 anyway?!”

“No?!”

“Yeah?!”

“Not a girlfriend—”

“OH, SO, SHE WASN'T A GIRLFRIEND BUT MINE—”

“NO NO NO—”

“You two are toxic as fuuuck and need to break up immediately,” Max’s sarcasm could not be heard over your bickering. He had never been so entertained by sitting on a couple before. It was fun when it was other people.

“You’re raging!” You grinned.

“I’m not! I’m saying yours is di—“

“If you’re saying I had my boyfriend at that ag—”

“But he was—”

“—WHAT I’M HEARING is George is gonna scrap your Year 8 boyfriend and you’re gonna scrap George’s Year 8 girlfriend.”

That made you giggle. “Yeah, actually. Precisely. Well he can, I don’t care.”

“Get the boxing match sorted,” the boy cracked his fingers.

You shook your head at him, rolling your eyes. Like he would ever.

That’d be an unfair advantage in itself anyway. George was like twice his size.

“Listen love, you just need to reassure your boyfriend that he is your one and only and if he can’t take what he’s dished out, he needs to grow up. You’ll sort it out, he’ll forgive you and you forgive him.” You have your take.

“He’ll maybe forgive you quicker if you climb on top of him,” a mumbled voice noted.

“Huh?”

“Huh?” He played dumb. “What?”

“I cannot stand you,” you threw your head back, a smile on your lips.

“Oh my God! My Disney ice tray just got delivered!” Max exclaimed excitedly. “Sorry.”

“Oh my god! We can put them in our drinks on Saturday when we’re in our matching Disney pyjamas!” You gushed, looking at Max with excitement.

“Oh my god, yesssss!” He wiggled his fingers, “and yes before anyone asks, me and Y/n have gotten matching pyjamas for our slumber party on Saturday, we got paired together, don’t judge.”

“I’m excited!”

“Me too! We’re gonna get so drunk and talk about bitches we hated at school and our celeb crushes! Who was your first celebrity crush?”

“Ummm . . . is it weird if I say Ben 10?” You laughed.

Max laughed louder, “is it weirder if I say no?”

George was so done with you two.

“George kind of looks like—”

“—NO! I know who my first real celeb crush was,” you frantically interrupted, “Michael from Benidorm.”

“Michael?” Max had to type him up. “I’m pretty sure eveyone was crushing on the man from the bar.”

“Mateo!”

“YES!”

“No, I fancied Michael. My mum watched for Mateo, I watched for Michael,” you laughed.

“George . .” Max looked at the photo, “you could have played him when you were this age,” he began to laugh. “I’m serious! After that photo you showed me of you as a child, you could’ve been him,” he drunkenly laughed at the thought.

“Shut up, Max.”

“I’m serious! Twins!” He held up the phone. “Your type is showingggg.”

They could barely pass as cousins.

“Yeah, first TV crush. Pretty sure we’re the same age in real life, so. Who was yours?”

“I don’t know, I’ll tell you at the slumber party,” he winked.

George leaned his head on his hand. “Can I come?”

“Are you gay?”

“No.”

“Are you a girl?”

“No.”

“Then no. Sorry,” Max typed on his computer. “Ummmm, wow. We have no more dilemmas for today! Congratulations on your interview, you did well!”

“So did I get the job?”

“No.” George deadpanned. “There were some requirements you did not meet, I'm afraid.”

“Can you tell me what they were?”

“No.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“If you guys enjoyed this episode, please make sure to like it, rate it, share it on whatever you are listening or watching from today.” He carried on the outro.

“Yep, and send through your dilemmas through email or our instagram via voice note where you can also follow us, and yeah. Thank you for coming in today. Follow our interviewee too on all social media platforms.” You posed with your hands under your chin.

“She has a real hunky boyfriend appearing in a few of those pics,” George yawned as he stretched with his arms behind his head.

“Uh-huh.”

“And until next time—” Max glanced to you. “Don’t shag with your parents in the house.”

“Ride your boyfriend.” George said.