The pub was buzzing far more than you expected for a mid-week night, but then again, this wasn't just any night. After spending the entire day working as a production assistant on a chaotic Bov Boys collab shoot, you found yourself in a London pub surrounded by creators who seemed to have immediately forgotten the meaning of the word "pace yourself."
Everyone had piled in after the filming wrapped, a casual after-event to celebrate surviving the ten-hour whirlwind of shouts, retakes, and dangerously ambitious stunt ideas. Drinks flowed fast. Loud singing started early. And most of the YouTubers were absolutely convinced they were still being filmed.
Everyone except one person.
Morgan sat slightly removed from the madness of the booth, a Coke in front of him and a faintly amused expression on his face. His copper hair caught the warm glow of the pub lights, and there was something quietly steady about him amid the chaos around him. He wasn't judging the others, just... observing. Patient. Present.
You watched Levi attempt to perform a victory lap around the table to celebrate a joke no one understood, and that was your final push. You slipped away from your seat, walked across the room, and slid into the empty space next to Morgan.
"You look like a man in desperate need of evacuation," you said, nudging his arm lightly.
Morgan's lips twitched into a smile. "I'm alright. Just trying to keep an eye on this lot before someone decides they can climb the bar."
"Give it twenty minutes," you said. "They'll be staging recreations of today's shoot."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
You tilted your head. "Not drinking tonight?"
He shook his head. "Nah. Didn't feel like it. Someone's got to make sure these lot don't accidentally order an Uber to Scotland."
"That's very responsible of you," you said. "Luckily for you, I have a certificate in mild chaos management."
Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Do you now?"
"Oh yes," you said with mock seriousness. "Qualification includes: tidying up messes, calming grown men who regress into toddlers after two beers, and keeping people like you entertained."
"People like me?" he repeated, amused. "And what exactly am I like?"
"You," you said, leaning slightly closer, "are pretending you're not enjoying watching all of this."
He chuckled, a warm sound that softened his whole face. "Maybe a bit."
"You've been smiling the whole time," you pointed out.
"That doesn't mean I'm not concerned," he replied, nodding toward a creator currently trying to balance a pint on his forehead.
"Fair," you said. "But you're still smiling at me."
You hadn't meant for it to come out quite so direct. But Morgan didn't flinch. If anything, the smile on his face grew a little.
"Well," he murmured, "you're easier to focus on than the rest of them."
Your stomach fluttered in a stupidly dramatic way that you pretended not to notice. You tried to play it cool. "Smooth," you said.
He gave you an almost innocent look. "Who, me? I've been nothing but polite."
"Sure," you answered. "Except for that look you gave me when I sat down."
"And what look was that?"
"The 'I'm flirting but pretending I'm not' look."
He laughed again, softer this time. "Is it working?"
You didn't answer. You didn't need to.
The group's noise swelled again as someone tried to start a sing-along. Morgan glanced over with a painful sigh. "I should probably step in before someone gets banned from this place for life."
"I'll help," you said. "You clearly need a co-parent."
Together you managed to wrestle the group back into something resembling order. You guided creators into cabs, talked someone out of attempting a backflip off a bench, retrieved a lost jacket, and gently removed a pepper shaker from one guy who was insisting it was "his new prop for future videos."
Throughout it all, you and Morgan stayed close. Close enough that your arms brushed when you walked. Close enough that every shared look felt like a secret conversation. Close enough that you didn't really want the night to end.
At one point, while helping someone down the steps, your hand brushed his. He didn't pull away. Instead, he intertwined his fingers with yours in a surprisingly soft, deliberate motion.
"You're good at this," he murmured.
"Babysitting?" you teased.
"Keeping me company," he said quietly.
The final taxi door shut, the last straggler slumped safely inside, and suddenly the noise of the group faded into the hum of the London night. The street was calmer now, lit by warm lamps reflecting off damp pavement.
Morgan turned to you, hands shoved shyly into his jacket pockets. "Thanks. For helping. And for making tonight feel... less like a job."
"I thought I was entertaining you."
"You were," he said. "More than you realise."
A silence settled between you, not uncomfortable but charged, warm. Morgan stepped closer, slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. When you didn't, his hand found your waist, gentle and steady.
"Tell me if this is too much," he whispered.
"It's not."
He leaned in and kissed you. Soft at first, careful, warm. When you kissed him back, his other hand slid to the side of your jaw, deepening the kiss just enough to make your heart trip over itself. He tasted faintly of Coke and mint, and the world around you blurred into a quiet, perfect moment.
When you finally parted, breathless and smiling, Morgan brushed his thumb across your cheek. "I'm taking full credit for that. Means my cheesy chat-up line worked."
You raised an eyebrow. "That was not the chat-up line."
"Oh no," he said, grinning. "I haven't used it yet."
"God," you groaned. "Hit me with it."
He looked far too pleased with himself. "Y/N, are you a magician?"
"No."
"Because whenever I look at you, everyone else disappears."
It was terrible. Horrible. Brilliantly awful.
You laughed so loudly it startled a passer-by. "That is the worst line anyone has ever used on me."
"Yeah," he said, taking your hand again, "but you still kissed me."
You shoved his shoulder lightly. "Don't get cocky."
"Too late," he whispered. "Come on. I'll walk you to the station."
And with his fingers intertwined with yours, the city glowing around you, you realised something quietly electric:
For the only sober man in the pub, Morgan had made the whole night unforgettable.
