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When she opens the back doors of the van, Florence catches a glimpse of Luca’s ginger hair. Her heart gives a little lurch, but she tamps down the feeling. Tour is starting. The time for useless pining is over.
Between Florence, Izzy, and Miray, they make quick work of stowing away their luggage. It’s a tight fit—they’re going to have to play Tetris at every stop to retrieve their overnight bags and instruments.
Once they’re done, Izzy holds the door open for Florence with a flourish. “M’lady.”
Tentatively, Florence pokes her head inside the van. The seats are as worn down as the rest of the vehicle, and the stuffy air inside carries the scent of old weed and the cloying vanilla air freshener currently dangling from the rearview mirror.
Sitting on the right-hand side of the backseat, Luca offers Florence a sheepish smile while she turns something small and square over in her hands. “Hey.”
“Today, maybe?” Izzy asks behind her, drumming her hands impatiently on the roof of the van.
Florence gets in. Sliding into the middle seat brings her closer to Luca than they’ve been since Luca joined the band. Florence can smell the lingering scent of shampoo on Luca’s damp hair as she reaches for the seat belt, fingers fumbling it twice before she manages to fasten it.
Izzy slides in behind her, slamming the door shut with terrifying finality.
Once everyone is seated, Toni looks at Florence through the rearview mirror and puts on her sunglasses. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” she says, a touch breathless. “Let’s do this.”
A second later, they’re off.
The drive to Paris takes eight hours. Florence dozes off while they’re in the Channel Tunnel, only startling awake again when they reach France. Around noon, they stop at a rest stop for lunch, and Miray and Toni swap seats. Izzy’s offer to drive is quickly shut down, as is her request for the aux.
The entire time, Florence is acutely aware of Luca’s presence next to her. It’s impossible not to be touching her; after a few hours, she gets used to the feeling of their knees knocking, the warm brush of skin where their arms are pressed together.
“Nervous?” she asks eventually, watching Luca play with her fidget cube.
Luca’s brows furrow, confused, before she looks down at her hands. “Oh,” she says. “No. Just bad at sitting still.”
Florence has noticed. She doesn’t think Luca’s right leg has stopped bouncing for the entirety of the journey. “Not much longer, now,” she says.
“Yeah.” Luca glances at her, skittish. “Are you? Nervous?”
“No,” Florence lies. “I’m excited for this.”
Luca’s thumb clicks the little switch on one side of the fidget cube, on and off, on and off. “At least we’ll all be going on together.”
“Perks of being in a band.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“Have you ever performed on your own?” Luca asks.
“Only when I was little,” Florence says. “I don’t think I’d be suited for a solo career. I like knowing someone has my back up there.”
“We will,” Luca says, so earnestly that Florence has to look away.
The hostel they booked for the night is, frankly put, a shithole.
Miray apologizes as she hands out their room keys in the lobby. “It was the cheapest one I could find that wasn’t on the other side of the city.”
“It’s all right,” Florence says. “It’s only two nights.”
Miray winces. “I think this might actually be one of our better accommodations.”
They split up to ride the lift so no one from the hostel staff questions why there are five of them moving in when they only paid for four. Florence is the last one to step foot into the room. It’s barely large enough for all of them to stand in, crowded together between the two metal bunk beds. The yellow carpet is stained in places, and the window looks straight at a brick wall.
“I call dibs on the top bunk,” Izzy says, already swinging her overnight bag onto the bed.
