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“It’s nice how well everyone’s getting along,” Miray says.

Florence follows her gaze out the laundromat’s front window. Toni, Izzy, and Luca are standing on the pavement, laughing over something on Izzy’s phone. Izzy says something that makes the tips of Luca’s ears turn pink and receives a gentle shove from Luca in return.

“She fits,” Florence says, tearing her eyes away when the sight of Luca’s grin makes her stomach lurch in a most unfortunate way.

“Do you think she’ll stay with us after the tour is over?”

They’ve never explicitly talked about it. The idea that Luca might not stay feels like missing a step going down the stairs; wrong, jarring. “I hope so,” she says, trying to tamp down the panicked little flutter in her chest. “I mean. Probably?”

Miray’s eyes are on her, warm and curious. “Did you never ask her?”

Florence shakes her head.

“What do you two do when you sneak out in the evenings, anyway?”

“We’re not sneaking out,” Florence protests. “I literally invited you along last time.”

“Okay,” Miray says in a tone that makes it sound more like If you say so.

“We just talk,” Florence says, trying not to sound defensive. They do just talk. “It’s really nothing exciting.”

Miray hums. Her fingers fiddle with one of the buttons on her denim overalls as she says, “I’m sure she’ll stay. She got the tattoo and everything.”

“Right,” Florence says. She looks down at her own tattoo, still safely wrapped in plastic. After a moment, she directs her attention back to Miray. “How are you doing? I feel like we’ve barely spoken since we left London.”

“We’ve been busy.” Miray smiles. “I’m good. A bit exhausted. I’m glad we get to have a break in London before we continue.”

“Are you homesick?”

“A little bit?” The plastic chair creaks as Miray shifts. “I miss my family, I think. I feel like I haven’t seen them in ages, even though it’s only been two weeks.”

Florence feels abruptly guilty. Miray visits her family in Oxford every other weekend. Florence could come with her—her mum lives only minutes from Miray’s parents—but she only does so every other month. Truth is, she hasn’t even thought about missing her mum since they left for tour. Then again, they speak on the phone almost every single day.

“How’s Acelya?” she asks.

“She’s good.” Miray’s smile softens the way it always does when she talks about her sister. “Planning for her gap year. Apparently, she’s going to Australia for work-and-travel.”

“Your sister is so cool,” Florence says.

“Hey,” Miray protests. “So are we! We’re literally touring with a rock band!”

“Ah, yes,” Florence says, gesturing at their surroundings. “Laundromats. Living solely off fast food and petrol station snacks. Sleeping five to a hostel room. So glam.”

As if on cue, the dryer chimes in with an aggressive beep. Florence launches out of her chair. “That’s us.”

Miray trails after her. “She doesn’t have to know about this part. The pictures from our shows do look really cool.”

Together, she and Miray set about folding their laundry. Florence resolutely does not blush as she pulls out a pair of Luca’s boxer shorts, or a sports bra that looks just like the one she wore when they had sex, or the horrible T-shirt that says Overworked and underfucked. Where does she even get these things?

They’re halfway through the load when the door slams open and Luca bursts inside, Izzy hot on her heels. “Luca couldn’t help herself,” Izzy is reading from her phone. “She had wanted to do this ever since the show ended. She kissed Florence, hard, their tongues battling for dominance. ‘Luca,’ Florence gasped. ‘Please. I need—’”

“Florence, help,” Luca says breathlessly as she ducks behind Florence, trying to bring distance between her and Izzy.

Izzy keeps going. “‘I know what you need,’ Luca said. ‘Get on the bed.’ Florence was already lying down on the mattress. Luca—”

“Oh my God,” Florence says when she understands what’s happening. Luca is shaking with silent laughter behind her, her face tucked between Florence’s shoulder blades.

“Luca took her time taking off her own shirt as she looked down at Florence, spread out on the bed.” Izzy hops on top of the dryer. “‘Have you ever done this before?’” She meets Florence’s gaze. In a ridiculous, breathy drawl, she continues, “‘No,’ Florence said shyly. ‘Will you show me how it works?’”