Blaine sat back in his penthouse living room with his feet kicked up on the coffee table and his phone in his hand. He was half-heartedly listening to Liam and Skylar bickering over tour sets while Felix tried to mediate. The argument had him actually siding with Liam for the first time in his career.

Zayn sat next to him scrolling TikTok with volume low. Blaine glanced over and caught a glimpse of a video—an edit of himself. He expected to see Vanity from Pretty In Pink magazine, but was blindsided by the absolute disrespect of the TikTok panning to you instead. Zayn looked up, equally shocked. "Are they serious?" he asked, barely containing laughter.

Blaine didn't find it funny at all. You were everything he hated packed into one infuriatingly gorgeous woman, and the fact that his fans thought he'd ever consider you pissed him off beyond belief. He shot Zayn a look that could bend steel before turning off the screen.

"There is absolutely no way they're serious," he grumbled, standing abruptly. "I've seen wild takes on that app—but this?" He unlocked his phone, scrolling to find your contact. "I'd prefer traveling back to when they paired me with Jared-fucking-Hilterman—"

Zayn snorted, already falling down the rabbit hole of ship edits. "I think I can see the appeal," he hummed playfully. Blaine snatched the phone, scrolling through countless edits of you two. Some showed you in promiscuous outfits before panning to shirtless concert clips of him. Others highlighted your interactions—cordial but with tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Fans were mistaking resentment for sexual tension.

He tossed Zayn's phone back, hesitating over your contact. Should he demand you make a statement? Had you even seen the edits? Zayn's shit-eating grin returned. "Calling your girlfriend, Blaine?"

Blaine exhaled sharply through his nose. "Shut the fuck up." He stormed to the terrace, jabbed your contact, and pressed the phone to his ear, listening to the dial tone while tapping his foot impatiently against the brick.