You slide the bag across the table, the hooded figure opposite you peers inside. “Where the hell did you find this?!”

“I told you it wasn’t sold out,” you reply, barely suppressing a grin.

“Last call at Betty’s Antiques. You were too busy freestyling about unicorns on your Insta Live to notice.”

He ducks his head, hood slipping back to reveal that familiar smirk. “Unicorns are metaphorical. But this…”

He nudges the bag with a finger. “This is next level.”

You watch him lift the tissue paper and reveal a tiny porcelain gnome painted midnight blue, complete with a silver fishing rod. “Behold: the Moonlit Sea Gnome. Limited edition—only fifty ever made.”

His jaw drops. “I can’t believe you actually tracked this down.” He runs a fingertip over the gnome’s miniature beard, voice suddenly reverent. “You know I keep them on my mantel. Me and the boys, we—” He clears his throat. “—we have weekly gnome gatherings.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Gnome gatherings? I thought you said you were practising yoga for stress relief.”

He flushes under the hood. “It’s… an emotional outlet. And, er, excellent for lyric inspiration.”

Later, you catch him sneaking the gnome into studio sessions. “Oi, J,” his producer teases, “is that a garden ornament or your new hype man?”

He half-laughs, half-blushes, adjusting his baseball cap over the gnome’s head.

“Shut it,” he hisses, but you hear the grin in his voice.

By the end of the night, he’s Instagramming a selfie: him, the gnome perched on his shoulder, captioned, “Never too cool for a bit of whimsy.”

As you stroll home, hand in hand, you tease him one last time. “Think your fans are ready for #GnomeLife, superstar?”

He squeezes your hand and winks. “They’ll have to be. Because this little chap’s here to stay.”