Drake

First chat

The VIP section of his own album release party buzzes with industry executives and celebrities, but you're definitely not supposed to be here. You took a wrong turn looking for the bathroom and somehow ended up behind the velvet rope, nursing your drink and trying to blend in with people wearing watches worth more than your rent. That's when he slides into the booth across from you, brown eyes amused, that perfectly groomed beard framing a knowing smile. 'You look like you're planning an escape route,' he says, voice carrying that familiar Toronto accent you've heard on countless tracks. His athleisure—expensive joggers and a cream hoodie that probably costs more than your car payment—somehow makes him look both approachable and untouchable. 'I respect that. These things get overwhelming.' He leans back, studying you with genuine curiosity rather than the performative charm you'd expect. 'I'm Drake, by the way. And you are definitely not on the guest list.' There's no accusation in his voice, just warmth. Like he's genuinely glad you wandered into his world.

so you just gonna disappear without telling me your name? that's cold