EPISODE 05 (PT. 2): ALL I EVER ASKED
disclaimer: ai has been used to proofread my writing note: once i finish this series, i will no longer be writing for george clarke x 🎶 all i ever asked by rachel chinouri 🎶 undressed by sombr 🎶 cowboy gangster politician by goldie boutilier
“Hey.”
The moment he saw you, his arms opened–wide, familiar, and eagerly waiting for you to fall into them.
Your ‘shift’ had just ended, marked by the security room lighting up green and a message letting you know that you were done. All of you are done. Indeed, you were the last shift of the night. No one else to spend money on temptations, no other challenges–nothing.
In reality, you should feel relief.
Instead, you felt like you were on autopilot.
You let your feet guide you into his embrace like it was muscle memory. What once felt warm and safe suddenly felt suffocating.
You didn’t want to be here anymore.
Not on the Inside.
Not in this living room.
Not with Milli. Not with Cinna.
But especially, not with him.
“How was your shift?” George asked softly, and your heart broke. You only hummed in response.
You didn’t return the hug, but you didn’t pull away. Pretend it’s fine. The cameras were still rolling, and you’d rather be caught dead than let anyone see the mess unravelling in you. If George noticed (and you’re certain he did), he didn’t say.
He just kept holding you, chin resting lightly on the top of your head, rocking you gently like that could make everything okay. And in the past, it did. But now there was a fire spreading throughout your chest, and he can’t extinguish what he started.
When his lips brushed the side of your head for a quick, secret kiss; it was scorching. You almost flinched.
“Oh, you’re back!” PK shuffled in, eyes heavy with sleep, with Mya and Whitney in tow. Their arrival gave you the perfect excuse. Sure, they had their suspicions about you two (hell, everyone did); but they didn’t know.
So, you took a step back.
And finally, you can breathe.
“Yeah, the challenge is finally over.” You took another step back, careful to avoid George’s eyes, even though you could feel his gaze locked in on you. The group celebrated, although half-heartedly. Everyone was just so tired. You even caught yourself yawning. “I think I’m just going to crash. I’m exhausted.”
But PK, however, wasn’t done. Of course, he wasn’t.
“What was your temptation? Did you take it?” Since the start of tonight alone, he’s been tempted twice. Right now, he needed to know someone else cracked–unbeknowest to you, he accepted his own and now praying that someone else did too, to ease his guilt.
George couldn’t know that you knew. At least, not yet.
Not while the cameras were still rolling.
You’ve already given the show enough vulnerability and drama. Your argument with Whitney was messy enough, and it certainly didn’t reflect in anything in your real life–nothing important, nothing you want to preserve. Your relationship with George?
That was different. That was important.
That was dangerous.
So you lied. Just like PK did.
Just like George did.
“Yeah,” You said smoothly, “But I didn’t take it.” Becky once told you, drunk off her ass during a Two Truths and a Lie video, the best way to lie is to lace it with truth.
PK squinted closely at you, “But what was it?”
You stalled, trying to think of what to say. “I was so tired, and all I wanted to do was sleep, but, like, the temptation was like…” Hesitation. What do you want right now? “A phone call to anyone of my choice.”
“But you didn’t take it?” Mya reiterated, asking the only question that actually impacts everyone in the house. You nodded, now eyeing the hallway, planning your escape route.
Milli smirked, “Because the only person you’d want to talk to is here, right?” She nudged her head, motioning towards George, and the pit in your stomach only grew deeper. You looked at him, and he stared at you like he knew. Of course, he knew. He could read you like a book he’s read over and over, underlined and highlighted, annotated and memorised.
So, what else can you do but remove yourself from the situation?
“Listen, I’m so tired, I could barely stay awake in there.” You inched towards the hallway, “I think they’re going to turn the lights off soon, so I’m going to bed before they randomly call me for a confessional or something.”
When George reached out for one last hug for quiet and subtle goodnight, you dodged him instead–slipping out of his grasp and disappearing down the hall before he could say anything.
Behind you, once you were out of earshot, George’s voice dropped as he turned to Milli. “That was weird, right?”
Milli nodded, still processing how you barely looked her way.
On the other side of Inside, you entered the bedroom and your eyes immediately lingered on your combined beds. Fuck. Luckily for you, you could excuse your decision to move it as a conclusion of last night’s challenge.
DDG was stretching beside his bed, mid-conversation with Farah, when you turned to them. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but could you help me out? I think George wants to yap a bit more, and I’m about to pass out so I’d really appreciate my own bed.”
The idea of you falling asleep easily tonight was a lie; you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep well tonight, not with George’s words and what they mean hanging around.
DDG snorted as he moved over to help, Farah following. “Stockholm Syndrome worn off?”
You forced a laugh, sharp and tired. “Tell me about it.’
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He froze in the doorway, like he’d walked into the wrong room.
You didn’t have to look at him to know he paused at the doorway, staring; silent, stunned, and stuttering at the sight of your beds now pulled apart.
And of course, you didn’t look. You couldn’t.
You kept your back to him, pretending not to notice, even as if the air turned tense–thick and smothering.
Then he moved, nudged forward by PK.
George didn’t say a word, not like usually does. Instead, he climbed into his bed, went under the covers, and quietly surrendered to sleeping alone.
Meanwhile, you kept talking to Farah about your roommates’ evening rituals, acting like everything was fine.
And when the lights finally turned off, you could barely shut your eyes…even after how exhausted you felt almost an hour ago. You stared at the ceiling, ignoring the way George’s gaze burned into the side of your face from across the room.
Was he trying to put on this show for entertainment value? Romance does sell.
Sure, you discussed everything off camera…but what was he saying in his confessionals?
Surely not, that’s not him. Unless…the producers put him up to it.
But of course, what if they twisted everything? Took everything completely out of context?
So many of your shared friends would turn to you to ask about George–where he was, what he was up to that day, what he’d like as a gift–always insisting that you knew him best.
And for the longest time, you thought you did. Hell, you prided yourself on it. But now? You’re not so sure.
Anger came first, hot and burning, followed by betrayal–sharp, lingering, and personal.
Not just from George, but also from Milli. From Cinna. Hell, even the Sidemen.
From the (admittedly limited) information you have now, George lied to you. Maybe it was all just a strategy to get ahead in the game. Maybe you were a fool.
You used to swear by his character, vouch for him blindly. You’d defend him against the world. But now, you don’t know if anything he ever said to you was real…or just part of an act. Sure, he agreed to keep you two low-key. But what if that wasn’t about privacy?
What if, instead, it was about building that slow-burn storyline? Maybe every glance, every touch, every smile was just a moment designed to be clipped, caption, and set to music–perfectly planned to later live in fan edits.
And the Sidemen.
You couldn’t stop the bitterness extending onto them too. Logically, you knew it was probably the producers who aired that temptation. But emotionally? You were pissed. Why didn’t they protect you? You know you would’ve done anything to protect them.
And the anger bled onto Milli and Cinna, too.
Cinna, sure, you weren’t that close. But Milli? She was there. She knew. Yet, she hyped you up; encouraged you; wanted this to happen, and she said nothing. No warnings, no heads up–nothing.
Was everything a lie?
The spiral hit hard and fast, dragging you under, deeper and deeper, until you felt like you were sinking into the bed–drowning in blankets, pillows, and betrayal; suffocating under the camera’s watchful eye.
It’s funny how you lived so much of your life in front of the lens, and now it’s the one thing killing you.
The air felt thinner; your thoughts now clawing at your chest, frantic; you lungs tightening, tighter and tighter…
Then, the lights turned on.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Everything felt wrong in a way no one seemed to notice.
Cameras were rolling, the mics were live, and everyone else was carrying on like nothing had changed. To them, the most important thing right now is what new products are available at the shop, and the greatest tragedy was the bland breakfast headed your way.
But you?
Something inside of you snapped. Like some invisible thread inside of you had pulled too tight, fraying thread by thread and just about to snap.
Voices overlapped like static. You swear you could hear them, but it all came in muffled–as if someone was covering your ears.
There was no doubt that you were there. You were walking, talking, following the others, breathing and existing–but you fell out of step. Out of sync, autopiloting your way through your new routine despite the world crumbling from below you.
No one noticed, of course. Well no one except for him. But he was also the one who caused all of…this.
You could tell he knew. The way his eyes latched onto you the second he thought you weren’t looking, and the way he hovered consistently closeby.
It was as if he was waiting…just waiting for you to say something, to hug him again, for you to even look at him. For some kind of permission to approach.
Your eyes stayed forward, locked onto whatever Farah was saying. You didn’t even know what the topic was anymore. You nodded along, smiling at the right moments, humming when you needed to, and faked it well enough that no one would bother to press.
At this point, all you want to do is leave the show and go home. Fuck the money; you’ve earned enough from the Sidemen from winning their other challenges.
“Hey!” PK’s voice cut through the fog, pulling you back just as the group crowded into the tiny shop. “I think George and you may need this.”
He pointed at the newest store item: lube.
The room spun as the group collectively laughed. Your face flushed and your stomach twisted.
“He can use it on himself.” You scoffed, hardly audible under your breath.
That comment seemed to egg George on. “Can we get it?” he asked, tone casual, eyes not on you—but somehow entirely about you.
You ignored it, deciding to lean in and look into the menu. Fuck it. Maybe you should go all out. The chocolate was very tempting at the moment.
“Hey, you may have a kid of your own without the protection here.” DDG jokes, nudging George as you can feel his eyes bore into the back of your head–you still pretending to be ignorant. DDG smirks, remembering your late night conversations about his kid and your thoughts on children.
George is trying to get your attention. You’re sure of it.
You refused to give it.
He moved towards the camera angling at the shop, and spoke. “Can we get one lube please?”
The boys laughed, Milli rolled her eyes. “You want to fondle yourself, you sad prick! Just because you have a mullet doesn’t mean you have to act like a guy with a mullet.”
“Nah, nah, he’s not fondling himself.” PK grinned cheekily, nudging him hard, “He has a spec-”
“He’ll be using it on himself, promise.” You snapped, voice sharp enough to cut air.
Then you left, without waiting for the punchline and refusing to turn back.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I can’t believe they gave you…that.”
To be honest, you can believe it. You know the Sidemen’s antics better than most, and this is right up their alley. Still, you weren’t Farah, squatting in the shower, smashing an ice block containing a bottle of tea against the tiled floor.
Not knowing where you stand with Milli has left you parked next to the toilet, making passing comments to Farah while she tries to free her drink. You’re certain you could sense Milli’s confusion the moment you walked past her, the two of you now used to spending a majority of the free time together.
Luckily, George got the hint: you needed space. He didn’t understand why, but he’s distracted enough by his lube to leave you alone. Last time you checked, he was dumping it all over the ping pong table and sliding water bottles across it.
Hey, if this show ends with you leaving early, at least he had his two real loves: ping pong and lube.
“I just want my tea,” Farah groans, now pouring hot water onto the ice. You chuckle, staring at your hands. You don’t know how to help her, so you do what you can—be emotional support.
God, you could use some yourself.
Farah mutters to herself, switching between pouring hot water and slamming the ice on the ground. She doesn’t seem to need more from you, which is a relief; it gives you space to think.
Last night…that ‘reveal’, for a lack of a better word…the Sidemen would never drop that on you like that. Harry, Simon, Tobi, Ethan, JJ, Vik, Josh–they would’ve pulled you aside and told you privately, letting you process with their support. Hell, if it was for the show, they’d at least warn you. Tell you to play into it.
Did they have any say in what happened?
Or, maybe…you didn’t know them that well after all.
Before last night, the worst thing about being on the Inside was having to use up your annual leave, not going on your daily walks, and not seeing your roommate and other friends. You don’t mind not being on your phone…well, until now.
Right now you’d give anything to text the boys. Ask if they know. See if they’ve heard. Maybe, if given five minutes, you’d text your roommate too–get her thoughts, advice…just you needed to confide in someone that wasn’t George.
But you can’t. So you sit on the bathroom floor instead, feeling alone and embarrassed to be streamed on Netflix.
A loud announcement rattles through the house. Farah bolts for the living room, and you followed behind…although, much slower.
The moment you step inside, George’s eyes find you. Searching. Hoping you’ll say something. A smile flickers across his face, and disappeared as soon as you look away.
“Everyone here?” A production assistant asked, gathering everyone together and framing you all to be visible all in one shot.
Ah yes, the scripted part of reality television. A refreshing reminder.
Once they were satisfied with the shot, the announcement spoke up once more and the television flashed blue.
“George, please come to the temptation room.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What felt like hours was, in reality, only five minutes.
So far, from what you’ve noticed, the moment someone steps into a temptation room–it feels like hours pass before they step out…well, except for Whitney. She was in and out within a blink of an eye.
“What could tempt George?” Cinna muses out loud, before swiveling towards you.
The others follow her gaze, and suddenly everyone's eyes are on you, waiting for an insider answer. Your jaw tightens.
You had your answers. It’d be more cash to support his sister, a guarantee to play in the Sidemen Charity match (which, the boys wouldn’t do considering they will be inviting him soon–they asked you to help plan the surprise announcement), it’d be immunity. George was strong; he wouldn’t fold for just anything.
“C’mon, you know him best,” Jason says, breaking the silence. “What would he fall for?
But you won’t give Cinna the satisfaction. You won’t let her see how much you care—not when George made it sound like you were just another fool.
“No idea.” You shrug, leaning back into your chair. “But I doubt he’ll take it.”
Whitney slaps the table. “George is strong. If he’s not back yet, it means he hasn’t accepted anything.”
DDG chimes in, remembering his own temptation. “No, but he could also be doing the temptation inside the room.”
You want to defend George. Despite all the hurt he’s recently caused, George was your closest confidant for a while now. You know he’d be okay there.
Milli rests a hand on your knee, as if you hadn’t iced her out this morning. “Hey, he’ll be fine.” You don’t realise your knee is bouncing until she says, “Don’t worry about him.”
Despite the anger, despite the uncertainty, she does calm you. But the thought still lingers: why did she not tell you? Why did she let you look like a fool?
“I’m not worried,” you say, flat and cold, pushing to your feet. “I’m going to the toilet.”
You slip from the living room, strolling instead of rushing. You don’t actually need to pee; you just need to breathe, splash some water on your face, and reset.
But before you can round the corner, a producer steps into your path.
“Hey, when you’re done, can we have you in the Temptation Room?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When you step into the Temptation Room, barely ten minutes after George was called in, the first thing you see is him curled on the floor; arms wrapped tight around his knees, face buried.
“George?” The sight of him looking so small made your stomach twist. Shoving the annoying voice replaying the clip from last night to the back of your mind, you crossed the room before you could even think about stopping yourself.
He looks up, forces a small smile, and puts on a silly voice. “Hey, you’re here!”
You slow, wary. “What’s going on?”
Part of you worries that the temptation is time together. God, you hope not. The last thing you want is to unpack everything while the cameras are rolling.
“Hey,” Vik’s voice crackles through the speakers, "George isn’t taking his temptation. We called you in to help him make the right choice.”
George snorts, dropping his head again. “First, he was brought in to convince me, now you.”
You crouch in front of him, resting a hand on his knee. “What’s the temptation?”
“Immunity.”
He looked up, catching your eyes for the first time today. You’d been careful to avoid them, because you knew that one look, and all the anger you felt would seep away. It was impossible not to remember the way his eyes felt like home.
“I’m not taking it.” He announced, breaking you away from the trance.
You want to shout at him to take it. Sure, you were upset with him…but beyond that comment, George was a good guy. He deserved the cash prize. And, he’s been playing the game well.
Vik spoke up too, giving another reason. “He hasn’t spent much at all in this game. Plus, no one needs to know.”
George groans. “He’s said that, like, four times now.” He looked at you again, and this time, you had no excuse to look away. You melted upon impact.
You huff out a small laugh, and instinctively, your hand went to the side of his head–brushing his curls to be neatly tucked behind his ear. He leans into your touch like it’s muscle memory.
“I just don’t want to lie,” he says quietly.
Vik coughs, provocatively. “Might want to check the card above the screen.”
“I might not want to read it anyway,” He retorted sassily back to the camera, before turning back to you; his voice dropping. “Can you read it for me?”
You nodded, and went to grab the card.
Fuck.
You didn’t realise how many people didn’t want him in the game anymore. Perfectly summarised in one sentence: “George is too smart. We need to get rid of him”
“Do I want to read it?”
You shook your head.
He looks at the camera, staring right past you. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass. If I’m meant to be here, I’ll be here. If they want me gone, then fine.”
“George—” you cut in. “You deserve to be here. This isn’t just votes. It’s challenges, too. Tis is only to support you. Give you a leg up. .”
He shakes his head. “Would I rather win knowing I lied to people I like… or lose knowing I was honest?
You bite back a laugh. Honest. Sure. But you’ll let him have it for now.
But, you give him the benefit of the doubt…at least until you can talk with thousands of people watching. And, you pushed your current anger aside.
“George, think of Emily.” He came to support her wedding. “And think of not just being friends, but strategy. That’s what happened to Dylan–he thought too much of strategy, and too little of people.”
His jaw tightens at Dylan’s name, but you miss it.
“You’re being weird today,” he mutters after a beat. “Are we okay?”
You give him a tight smile. “We will be. But right now, do what’s best for you.”
“I don’t want to lie.”
“You don’t have to. Just… leave some things out.”
He exhales, stubborn. “If they want me here, they’ll keep me here.”
You grit the words through your teeth. “You’re smart. You’re fun. You’re the biggest threat in this house. Of course they want you out. So be the threat.”
Minutes later, the two of you were let out together. Walking side by side down the hallway and back into the living room felt heavier than it should’ve.
His fingers kept grazing yours — not by accident. He was searching for reassurance, for the tiniest sign that you still believed in him. That you’d say he did the right thing.
You kept your hands to yourself. You’d been avoiding his eyes all day for a reason — one glance and you’d soften, and right now, you couldn’t afford to.
“I didn’t take it,” George announced to the awaiting Insiders. A few people’s eyebrows shot up, clearly puzzled by the fact that you’d come out of the temptation room together.
PK smirked. “I see what the temptation was.” He wiggled his eyebrows, suggestive, as if the offer in that room had been you.
You shook your head immediately, sharp and unamused. “Nope.”
George cut in quickly, “No, I was offered immunity. She was in there to help me think it through.”
Jason tilted his head, suspicious. “So… the question is if George is lying.” His eyes flicked to you.
You didn’t look at George when you answered. “All I can say is I support his decision.”
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