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How much do you want to bet that Luca was just sat there imagining tasting the honey on Florence’s tongue? How does she cope???
scorpioooszn 1 hour ago
@lightupthenight you can’t just SAY that oh my god now i have to drop everything and write a fic about this
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In Zurich, they get recognized in public for the first time. They’re having drinks in a beer garden, fresh off a boat tour on the Limmat, when a group of teenage girls appears at their table, shyly asking for an autograph. In the ensuing chaos of everyone scrambling to find a pen, Florence exchanges a giddy, disbelieving glance with Luca next to her.
One of the girls must notice. She looks between them and says, in faintly accented English, “You two are so cute.”
“Oh, um,” Luca says, flushing.
“Thank you,” says Florence.
“Found it!” Miray exclaims, triumphantly holding up a pen.
After a brief back-and-forth about what to get signed, one of the girls hands them a paperback copy of Carmilla, the receipt from the bookstore where she bought it still tucked inside. Florence is helplessly charmed and signs her name on the front page with the easy flourish she’s been practicing since she was fifteen and scribbling her autograph in the margins of her textbooks.
It feels better than she could’ve imagined. When she pictured this moment as a teenager, she was always alone. But if that were the case, she never would’ve gotten to see Toni’s awkward half smile when the girls compliment her outfit or Miray’s pink-cheeked delight as she dots her i with a little heart or Luca’s tongue peeking through her teeth as she writes out her name in capital letters, muttering a sheepish apology about not having a cool signature yet.
It’s another first to add to her collection from the summer: first sound check, first show, first time on the radio, first fan encounter. Florence doesn’t know if it’s the beer on a half-empty stomach or the warm July evening or just the head rush of being recognized, but she can’t stop grinning, one arm looped around Luca as they all squeeze together for a selfie, feeling Luca’s shoulders shake with flustered laughter the entire time.
Something tender and nostalgic wells in her chest at the realization that this part of the tour is almost over. It ebbs and flows all throughout the evening—through finishing her drink and sitting in the beer garden until the fairy lights come on, through eating enough chocolate on the walk back to the hostel to feel slightly sick and resting her forehead against Luca’s shoulder on the lift on the way up to their room. In the close, secret space between their bodies, she grazes Luca’s knuckles with the back of her hand, a soft breath getting caught in her chest when she feels Luca’s knuckles brush hers in turn. It feels a bit like grief, then: the thought that in a matter of days, they’ll go back to real life, where they’ll only see each other for practice and Florence won’t have any excuse to be this close to Luca again.
The doors of the lift open with a ding. Florence steps out before Luca, trying to push down the preemptive mourning before it can take root.
“What are your guys’ plans for when we’re back in London?” Miray asks as they wait in the dressing room the next night. She’s perched on the armrest of one of the sofas, her feet in Toni’s lap.
“Work on more songs,” says Florence.
“Spend time with my girlfriend,” answers Toni.
“Sleep,” mutters Luca.
“Shh,” says Izzy, grasping Luca’s chin to get her to look at her. They’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing each other. Izzy is halfway through applying Luca’s eyeliner, her large hand cupping Luca’s jaw. The sight still makes something poisonous and green rear its head somewhere deep in Florence’s chest. She does her best to hold it down.
“What about you?” Florence asks, turning her attention back to Miray.
“Visit my parents, I think.” Miray smiles.
Florence hums softly and darts a look at her phone. Her call with Saturn Records is in five minutes.
“I’m going to go outside for a minute,” she says, getting to her feet. “I promised my mum I’d call her before the show.”
Her talking to her mother is such a regular occurrence, the others barely acknowledge her leaving. Florence tries to tamp down the guilt that comes with telling a white lie and slips out into the hallway. The venue’s basement is lit by a buzzing neon tube that throws harsh light onto the walls, which are covered in stickers and Sharpie markings. Florence follows the corridor around a corner, takes the stairs two at a time, and emerges in the staff parking garage. Leaning against the concrete wall, she stares down at her phone. One minute to go.
She’s not sure why she hasn’t told the others about this call. She thinks it has something to do with wanting to wait and see what Linda Norton has to say before she gets their hopes up—the same reason why she hasn’t told any of them about the demos she’s been sending out to record labels. She’s the one who convinced them to start a band with her and drop everything to go on tour. If there’s positive news, she’ll share it. They’ve made it far enough to get their foot in the door of the music industry; all they need is one yes for it to swing all the way open. Until then, what’s the use in telling them about the rejections and the radio silence?
Exhaling slowly, she tips her head back against the wall. She can feel the Wheel of Fortune card shift against her skin where she’s tucked it into her bra, like she does before every show.
Even though she was bracing for it, she still jumps when her phone buzzes with an incoming call, the sound jarringly loud in the silent parking garage. She waits one second, two—Don’t seem desperate, don’t let them know they’re your only chance—before she picks up. “Florence Gibson speaking.”
“This is Linda Norton,” a female voice crackles through the speaker. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me. How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you. How are you?”
“I’m good,” Linda Norton says. Her accent is distinctly American, though Florence can’t tell from which state. “I’d like to speak to you about a potential opportunity. Like I said in my email, Saturn Records is a relatively new record label. We were founded five months ago and have since signed half a dozen new artists, with a focus on young, diverse talent.”
