Sarah leaves...

Sarah swishes out of the room, and you swallow awkwardly, looking around the room. There’s a gay guy you don’t recognise – okay, maybe he’s not gay, but he’s wearing the largest hipster glasses you’ve ever seen, plus a crop top and a pink Mohican. He’s looking at you with undisguised interest, while his companion – a shorter girl with freckles and a tight bun – is determinedly avoiding your eyes.

Sarah’s gone for what feels like an eternity, but is probably only about a minute.

Then she pokes her head around the corner. ‘All right, James. Come on.’

It takes you a moment to figure out what that means – and then your heart leaps –

And when you walk into the next room, Emma is sitting there, wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe, looking as tired and tense and apprehensive as you’ve ever seen her.

None of which matters, because even with purple shadows under her eyes and no make-up on and a lip that’s ragged where she’s been chewing it, she’s still impossibly beautiful.

She’s still Emma Watson – your Emma Watson – and you’ve crossed the room in two quick strides before you know what’s happened.

‘Hi,’ you say, quietly. Emma looks up at you uncertainly.

‘Hi,’ she echoes, softly. Behind her, Sarah looks like she’s restraining herself from rolling her eyes with some difficulty.

‘Okay. You kids talk. I’ll be outside if you need me.’

The door’s barely shut behind her before you’ve started to speak.

‘I’m sorry, Emma. I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted or if you needed more space or if I shouldn’t have come here. But…’

You hesitate for a moment before ploughing on. ‘I miss you like crazy, and I hate this, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I literally can’t stop – you’re there every time I close my eyes and I can’t sleep.’

You don’t dare look at Emma; the words just keep tumbling out. ‘And I’m sorry and I shouldn’t have got angry, because he’s your ex and exes are fucking horrible. And I know it feels like everything’s gone really fast, and it’s all a bit overwhelming, and you don’t know if you can trust me, and I know I can’t do anything about that – except prove to you, every day, that I’m in this for the right reasons.’

‘But…’ You look down at the boxes in your hands. ‘I miss you so much. And I think you’re amazing, and funny, and lovely, and unbelievably caring, and obviously you’re beautiful and gorgeous and everything but that’s not the point. The point is…’

You take a deep breath. ‘The point is, I brought pizza,’ you finish, ‘and I just wanted to… look after you tonight, if you’ll let me.’