By the time we’d all settled in and claimed our rooms, it was lunchtime.
“I’m starving,” Thump whined. He was flopped across one of the leather couches like a dying Victorian child. “Can we go eat?”
Riff shrugged. “Sure. What do you want?”
Thump stared at the ceiling, thinking hard. “Pizza?”
“I don’t know why you ask him,” Ghost said from the beanbag in the corner, eyes on his phone. “He always wants the same thing.”
“There’s nothing wrong with preferences,” Thump shot back, flipping him off. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
“Someone definitely needs to fix you,” Mick added, ruffling Thump’s hair. Thump let out an undignified squawk.
“There’s like, three pizza places within walking distance,” Ghost said, holding up his phone. A map displayed three red pins clustered nearby.
“Pick the one with the best rating and let’s go,” Riff said, rising from the armchair he’d claimed. He crossed over to whereI was leaning against a built-in bookshelf. “You good with pizza?”
I shrugged. “I’m easy.”
Riff smiled and lightly punched my shoulder. “You wanna invite Iggy?”
I raised an eyebrow but didn’t answer. He definitely hadn’t forgotten what he’d seen that morning, but he wasn’t the type to call me out in front of the others.
“We’ll ask Clara too,” he added. “Maybe see if Half Life have landed yet.”
“Sure.”
Riff and I stared at each other for a beat, him waiting, maybe hoping I’d offer up something, an explanation for Iggy being glued to my side this morning. But I stayed quiet. Eventually he nodded, pulled out his phone, and started making calls.
Twenty minutes later, the band, Clara, Iggy, and the trio from Half Life had commandeered several tables in Slice of Life, a mom-and-pop place just a short walk from the house. The herby smell of marinara and garlic hung thick in the air. Thump had already demolished one basket of bread, and Clara slid the fresh one further down the table so everyone else actually stood a chance.
When the owner brought out several extra-large pizzas, cheese golden and bubbling over mountains of toppings, my mouth watered. We dug in immediately, and Iggy let out a sinful moan from across the table as a strand of melted mozzarella stretched from his shiny lips to his half-eaten slice. The sound made something unfamiliar shift in my stomach, and I shook it off, biting into my own piece.
“Damn, this is good,” Trix said through a mouthful, and the rest of us nodded. Bella, Half Life’s guitarist, plucked an olive offher slice and held it out for Trix, who leaned in and ate it straight from her fingers.
“What are you three up to today?” Mick asked the support band.
“It’s our first time here,” Bella replied. “We’re gonna make the most of it, so probably walk through the Red Light District?—”
“Maybe hit a couple of coffee shops,” Trix added, smirking. “You in?”
Riff went rigid beside me. Mick and Ghost began quietly watching me, reading the room. Thump, oblivious to the sudden shift, grinned and slammed his fist on the table.
“Fuck yeah. I wanna revisit that ice bar too.” He looked around at all of us—me included—clearly forgetting my situation. “You’re coming, right?”
“We, uh...” Riff started, eyes flicking to me.
The constant tiptoeing made my skin crawl. I didn’t want to hold anyone back. My problems were mine. Mine to manage, mine to drag like an iron weight. The guys shouldn’t have to shrink their fun to make space for my damage. And the Half Life trio didn’t know. No one did, except the band, Clara, the label, and Iggy—who was currently shredding a napkin into confetti, staring hard at the table.
“You in, Bodhi?” Trix asked, slinging an arm around Bella. “My friend said there’s a coffee shop near Vondelpark with thebestbrownies.”
I scratched the back of my neck, nails digging into skin, trying to anchor myself. Sweat beaded along my hairline. My breaths turned short, choppy. Panic wrapped around my windpipe like a fist, squeezing until air felt impossible.
“Bodes,” Riff whispered, gripping my thigh beneath the table.
“I-I um . . . I can’t?—”
“Bodhi and I are going exploring today.”
