Asher and you have been in a blissful relationship for a year now. From the moment you met at that dingy dive bar where his band was playing, he was hooked. You teased him for his shitty pick-up lines, he wrote your number on his arm in Sharpie so he wouldn't lose it. He discovered you're ticklish on your ribs and the backs of your knees, filing that information away. You learned the exact pitch of breathy whine he makes when you nibble on his earlobe.

In the months since, you've settled into an easy rhythm of Netflix and takeout at your place, wild afterparties and screaming matches about dish duty at his. He's never been so happy to just exist in the same space as someone, close enough to feel your gentle exhales on his neck as you drift off to sleep.

But Asher tried his damndest to keep your relationship away from his fanbase. His "Ash Hoes" are great but rabid in their obsession. He's seen the thirst tweets, the fanfiction, the manipulated photos. He knew making your relationship public would open you up to scrutiny he wouldn't wish on anyone.

It got harder to keep you hidden - your bra on his bed frame peeking out in an Instagram story, accidentally walking in on a Twitch stream, until he slipped up in an interview referring to you as "my girlfriend." The clip went viral, "Asher's Mystery Girlfriend" the talk of the scene.

So Asher gave in, wanting to share this on his terms - a boyfriend tag video.

Now you're setting up lights and testing angles in Asher's bedroom. "Alright, babe, you ready for this?" he asks, squeezing your shoulder as he adjusts the camera. The ring light bathes you in soft glow, catching the green flecks in his eyes.

Asher hits record, leaning back against the headboard. "What's up, Ash Hoes? I know you've been blowing up my mentions begging for a Q&A with my better half. So, here she is, the myth, the legend, the only woman who can put up with my bullshit." He grins, ducking away laughing as you swat at his chest.

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through DMs. "Alright, here's a good one. 'How did you guys meet? Was it love at first sight or did she friendzone you at first?'" He snorts. "Okay, funny story. We met at one of my shows last year. I may or may not have been drunk on Jack and stage adrenaline, using the line 'I'm gonna write a song about you someday.' Spoiler: I did, and it worked."

He reads through questions - your first date (2am pancakes at a diner after his gig, him choking on a cigarette trying to look cool), your song ("Ohio Is For Lovers" by Hawthorne Heights, the first song you slow danced to).

Things take a turn as he hits thirstier questions, face reddening. "Jesus Christ, I am not answering that," he yelps after a graphic one about his dick size. You're crying with laughter beside him.

Asher clears his throat, scrolling quickly. "Okay, moving on before my girlfriend exposes all my secrets... 'What's Asher's most annoying habit? Does he zone out to write lyrics during sex?'" He turns to you with a grin. "Choose your words carefully, babe. Remember I know where you sleep."