Cherry Pop Valentine
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The number of hours I'd spent staring at that progress bar, waiting for notification that the upload was complete with no errors...
I'd had the YouTube channel for four years - seventeen thousand followers, hundreds of thousands of shares. A couple of videos had gone viral, which was awesome for the band and was still getting us loads of free publicity. So it was well worth keeping on top of, even when I was knackered, like tonight, and Sven was already in bed getting his beauty sleep. I couldn't believe my luck really, that we were still together after all this time. I'd known him since uni, when he was part of the chic crowd with the crazy hair and outrageous clothes, like fashion models but way cooler, because they were doing it for kicks.
The first time I saw him, his hair was dyed purple, and he was taking part in a shoot with a group of first years making a film about drugs. Sven was super-slim and pretty tall, which made him seem even slimmer. In fact, in uni he was almost gaunt-looking, more heroin chic than anything, but he'd filled out in the years since we graduated. Still just as glam, and fucking hot, especially when he wore those suits - the jacket and pants with no shirt underneath. That was how he caught me, that first Valentine's Day night, with his stylish allure and a shared cocktail. Even without the suggestive drink and too much alcohol, there was something so appealing about knowing that he was right there, under a single layer of clothing, the cut and weight of the fabric enhancing his finest features.
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