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She puts down the towel and shuffles back into the main room. Picking up her phone, she types, What are you doing here?

Toeing out of her sneakers, Luca holds up two pizza boxes. “I wanted to make sure you had something proper to eat.”

The urge to cry grows even stronger. It’s such a simple kindness, delivered to her without asking for anything in return. She doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Is it okay if I stay, or did you want to be alone?” Luca asks.

Stay, Florence types immediately.

It must’ve started pouring while Florence was in the bathroom. Luca shakes her head the way a dog might, sending drops flying, and offers her a lopsided smile. “Okay. Do you want to watch something?”

Florence goes to get out her laptop while Luca sets down the food. She brought two pizzas and two bottles of juice—black currant, Florence’s very specific favorite.

They squeeze onto Luca’s bed, partly because it’s a bottom bunk and partly because, out of the two of them, she’s less likely to get upset about crumbs in the bedding. Luca wedges the pillow behind their backs so they can lean against the wall and balance the pizza boxes on their laps. The laptop is at the far end of the bed, playing Before Sunrise at a low volume. With the downpour outside, the room has gotten dark enough for them to turn on the little lamp next to the bed.

Florence feels something inside of her settle. It’s easy to be silent with Luca, their thighs pressed together as they work their way through their respective pizzas. Every once in a while, Luca will make a comment about the film that makes Florence laugh softly through her nose. She’s as fidgety as ever, but Florence has gotten used to it by now.

After they’ve finished the pizza, they set the boxes aside and stretch out on the mattress. Or, at least, they try; the bed is once again too narrow for both of them to comfortably fit on.

“Hang on,” Luca murmurs. She shuffles around a bit and gently urges Florence to lift her head. Florence lets herself be moved and finds herself curled up against Luca, her head resting on Luca’s chest and Luca’s arm wrapped around her.

“Okay?” Luca asks.

Florence nods. Closing her eyes, she breathes in her scent, sweat and sunscreen and something uniquely Luca. She doesn’t know when it became so familiar to her. She doesn’t know when any of this did.

Before Sunrise keeps playing. Florence doesn’t need to open her eyes to know what’s happening on the screen; she’s seen the film enough times with Miray to know it by heart. Wrapped up in Luca’s warmth, she allows herself to drift, only humming out a pleased noise when Luca’s hand settles in her hair.

“I miss your voice,” Luca says quietly.

Florence’s breath hitches. Luca sounds like she spoke without thinking; she’s not even expecting a response. Her fingers are still stroking clumsily over Florence’s hair.

It’s so nice. Everything about it, from the warm rumble of Luca’s voice to the sound of her steady heartbeat under Florence’s ear. It’s nice enough to make Florence’s eyes sting.

“Hey,” Luca whispers. Her thumb sweeps over Florence’s temple. “Don’t cry.”

Her next breath stutters out of her as more of a sob. She turns her head, hiding her face in the crook of Luca’s neck.

It’s not just that she can’t talk. It’s that Luca is holding her and Florence isn’t supposed to let her. It’s the call with Saturn Records scheduled in three days. It’s her father being flayed by the media and her message to him that’s been left on read for weeks. It’s thousands of strangers thinking she’s dating Luca when they haven’t even kissed once. It’s the dread in her stomach when she thinks about the tour coming to an end and the fact that Saturn Records is still the only label to have reached out to her. It’s fleeting touches and too-long glances and learning how Luca breathes when she’s asleep. It’s two weeks of overwhelming hope and anxiety and confusion and the senseless gnawing hunger she’s known for years that has only grown stronger now that it has tasted blood.

She has never learned how to want in moderation. If her longing were a well, she would shatter every bone in her body hitting its bottom.

“Florence,” Luca says softly. “Look at me.”

Florence only burrows farther into the warm crook of Luca’s neck. With her skin damp from the rain, she smells exactly as she did the first time they met. The memory makes Florence’s chest hurt.

“Please.”

Sniffing, Florence lifts her head. Luca’s face is inches away from hers. Her hazel eyes are the warmest that Florence has ever seen, and the worry in them only makes Florence cry harder. She bites down on her tongue to hold back the small noise trying to tear itself free.

“Hey,” Luca says. Her hands move to cup Florence’s face, wiping away the tears on her cheeks while she shushes her and murmurs silly, meaningless things, like she’s comforting an animal, or maybe a small child. “Shhh. It’s okay. You’re all right.”

No, I’m not, Florence wants to say. I think I made a horrible mistake when I let you join the band because looking at you hurts. Because I want you in ways that I shouldn’t. Because I know exactly what we could have had, and now I will always miss you even when you’re right here.

Luca gazes at her like she can hear every thought that passes through her. And God, Florence hates the look on her face. She hates seeing Luca sad. Her face isn’t built for it.

“I’m sorry,” Florence whispers helplessly. She’s not sure what she’s apologizing for. Everything, probably.

The furrow between Luca’s brow deepens. “Stop it,” she says.