Page 31 of The Encore’s Crown

“Finally,” Rithy calls, already cross-legged on the floor with chopsticks in hand. “I was about to start eating the furniture.”

I snort and set the whole spread on the ground for him to distribute, our time-tested ritual. I stand just as the door bangs again, louder this time, followed by Ronan’s voice echoing in the hallway.

“Open up, you giant bastard, I can fucking smell it.”

I barely get the latch undone before the door bursts open and the room fills all at once with noise, laughter, and bodies. Ronan barrels in first with Freja on his heels, both of them talking over each other. Rafe follows, arms full of more bags, snacks and drinks from the local convenience store, Kasia laughing behind him as she tries to keep everything from spilling out.

Natalia slips in last, quiet, hands tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie, hair loose around her shoulders. Not hiding exactly, just softer. Different. She hesitates for half a second when she sees me, like she’s checking the temperature of the room before stepping fully into it. Our eyes meet and she blushes, an honest bloom across her cheeks like she’s forgotten how to armor herself. She doesn’t look away and neither do I.

Something in me stalls, like the world skipped a beat and forgot to start again. My heart flips with a jolt of panic, with the echo of Seoul, with the memory of dawn and the quiet we shared when there were no eyes on us.

Rithy clears his throat loudly. “Alright, you’ve seen each other before. Sit. Eat.”

I hear Rafe clear his throat too, a soft warning or reminder, but I don’t look at him. I keep my eyes on Natalia until she ducks her head, embarrassed and laughing under her breath as she moves into the room. I breathe out slowly, steadying myself.

We eat on the floor like always, boxes cracked open, steam curling up around us, plastic bowls balanced on knees. Ronan steals half my rice without asking. Freja swats his hand and takes some too. Rafe passes Kasia a piece of steak, and she kisses his cheek when he trades her a mushroom in return. It all feels so normal, easy and good. Almost too good.

“You were crazy tonight,” Ronan says around a mouthful of noodles, pointing his chopsticks at me. “Like… fucking offensive levels of locked in.”

Freja nods. “Yeah. You were the altar tonight, Bomos. Everything rested on you and you didn’t even flinch.”

Rithy grins at me, proud and unguarded. “Told you. When my brother is on, the rest of us just ride it.”

I shrug, uncomfortable with the praise but warmed by it all the same. “It’s not a one-man show.”

“Don’t ruin the moment, you unfeeling rock,” Ronan says with a grin.

I glance up without thinking and Rafe is already looking at me. He reaches out and pats my shoulder once, solid and kind. “We wouldn’t be here without you,” he says simply. “Not like this.”

Something inside me threatens to crack wide open, because he’s right. This room, this band, this ritual of bad posture and good food and the history we never speak aloud, it’s the only family structure that never hurt. The one Rithy and I carved out with scraped knuckles and swallowed fear. The one that pulled us out of a house where hiding under blankets was survival and turned it into something loud and chosen and ours.

I look around the room, at Ronan’s easy sprawl, Freja’s bright laughter, Kasia curled into Rafe’s side. At Rithy, my little brother, my reason for fighting, eating like he’s starving even though he hasn’t known true hunger in years. The memories flicker at the edges: splitting a pack of crackers for dinner, stomachs aching until Mom came home after midnight from her second job.

Then my eyes find Natalia again. She’s listening more than talking, smiling when someone catches her eye, knees drawn close to her chest. When she feels me looking, she glances up, tentative and hopeful. She’s beautiful, real in a way that makes something deep inside me twist hard. If we choose this and it goes wrong, the way all the rest did, I wouldn’t just lose her. I might lose this. The band, the trust. Rafe and Kasia pulling away because I hurt her. Rithy trying to defend me. Ronan stuck in the middle, pretending he’s neutral even when he isn’t. One crack in the wrong place and it could fracture everything we’ve built.

The only family that ever held.

It feels cruel, so fucking unfair, like the universe finally handed me something solid only to ask which limb I’m willing to cut off to keep the rest intact. I stare down at the food I’ve stopped eating and swallow against the tightness clawing at my throat. Is it really a choice? Or is there a dream world where I don’t have to amputate one part of my life to keep the other alive?

Natalia laughs softly at something Kasia says, warmth threading through her voice, and it hits me again with full force. I don’t know the answer yet.

I just know I’ve never wanted anything the way I want both.

Chapter 15

Temples For Grief

Natalia

Ishould be vibrating with inspiration in a place like this, the kind of location influencers would sell their souls to shoot content in. Sensō-ji, Tokyo’s oldest Buddhist temple, is the kind of place people come to for blessings, fortune slips, and quiet reflection.

Rafe suggested it, he’s sweet like that, overly thoughtful sometimes, the kind of man who believes beauty and tradition might soften a wound. Kasia lit up at the idea, something eased in her posture like she needed it. I didn’t want to be the one who ruined the moment for her, so I said yes.

I shouldn’t have.

All I want to do is grab a bottle of vodka and go stand in a mechanic's shop. Smell the grease, the oil, the way Piotr always smelled after he finished work and gave me the biggest hugs. I'd complain, of course, but I loved them anyway. Everything beautiful about this place makes me feel ugly on the inside, like I'm broken, permanently. The date on the calendar burns behind my eyes. A year today and no amount of temples, sightseeing or polite grief rituals are going to make that feel easier.

The temple is stunning with its long red beams, curling incense and a sky that looks close enough to touch, but I barely see any of it. Every tourist clicking a photo feels like noise, each whispered prayer an intrusion. Even the steps I take feel like walking on someone else’s grief.