TRACK THREE:
DIFFERENT DRUM

❝ yes and i ain't sayin' you ain't pretty
all i'm saying's i'm not ready for any person
place or thing to try and pull the reins in on me, so
goodbye, i'll be leavin' ❞
— stone poneys

.•° ✿ °•.

GRAHAM: [Smiles] We started dating after that night.

FRANCESCA: I saw Graham the morning after that first kiss. But I didn't go to the garage this time — he came to visit me. He was stood outside the door, looking nervous as hell when I came outside. It was... pretty strange, all of it. I wasn't exactly clear on where we'd left off. I asked him, "What're you doing here?"

And, I remember this, he said, "I wanna go somewhere with you. Literally anywhere that isn't Chuck's garage..." I could definitely get behind that, so I said yes. It was on May 3rd, exactly a month after we'd first met.

GRAHAM: A week later, we went on our first real date. It was early May, I think, and I remember the weather was amazing. Not a cloud in the sky... it was actually a lot hotter than we thought it would be. So, I remember sweat. A lot of sweat... and not just the nervous kind [Laughs] I thought it would be a good idea to get some ice cream, and we did that.

FRANCESCA: We went to get ice cream in the morning, but it wasn't open yet, so we killed some time looking in a record store in Pittsburgh. Clouds had come out literally a couple days before, so I snagged it straight off the shelf. After a lot of convincing, I persuaded Graham to buy The Velvet Underground's debut album, right after he promised to listen to Chelsea Girls as well.

GRAHAM: I was originally just gonna get a single by The Who, 'cause I liked the guitar on it. Then I ended up getting some extra records... probably would've ignored them if it weren't for her. Don't tell her that, or she'll kill me.

FRANCESCA: After that, we grabbed some lunch at a local diner and went walking around Pittsburgh. That was what felt so special, even then — there were no expectations between us. We didn't have to anything extravagant, you know? Just being with each other was enough. I should've realised it at the time... how rare it is to find someone you can share that with.

GRAHAM: Francesca was just unlike anyone I'd ever met or hung out with before. Even if it hadn't been a date, I would've had the best time just being in her company.

In the afternoon, I took her up on the Duquesne Incline. I thought it was kind of touristy, but I wanted her to have the best view in town. Downtown looks so small from up there. You had the river winding through it, and then there was Francesca — she spent ages just leaning on the rail, taking everything in...

[Softly] It really was a great view.

FRANCESCA: I'd had a boyfriend very briefly before, back in my hometown, but that was very different. I was fifteen and it was more like, you know, "Let's meet behind the train tracks at this time on Saturday to kiss." [Giggles] Yeah, no, what I had with Graham was beyond that in so many ways. He sure gave me a pretty good reason to hang around in Pittsburgh.

But it wasn't just him. The rest of the band became a home away from home to me, and I'd started finding a place for myself in the music scene. You might think it's weird, how fast that happens, but I felt I'd uprooted myself from Waterbury. In my head, my life was now in my suitcase. And at that moment, it was unpacked in Pittsburgh, so of course my life was there. Typically, you like making yourself feel at home wherever your life is right now.

I had no reasons why I should leave so soon... not then, anyway.

.•° ✿ °•.

     Francesca has become rather well-accustomed to the streets of Pittsburgh. With a wave of heat swathing the usually-grey city, summer is on its way, illuminating every street corner she walks. Her guitar case is in her hands as usual, swung gently back and forth with a lightness of being. She knows exactly where she is headed — their spot.

     It's been almost two months since Francesca stumbled into Pittsburgh by chance. If you told her in that rainy April that she'd grow to love this place so much, she would have laughed. Now, she finds some temporary belonging in this place which she had searched high and low for in New York, only to come out empty-handed and wrung-out.

     One of the best remedies for her homesickness has been meeting The Dunne Brothers. Not only did the band make her feel less alone in her struggle in music, but the boys remind Francesca of her own brothers back home; reminded her what it felt like to be surrounded by such a dynamic. She never realised how comforting she found it until now. Even after only knowing them for a couple months, Francesca likes to think she has them figured out — just what's on the surface. Billy is the eldest, walking a strange line between responsibility and the careless swagger only found in rockstars. Eddie is quieter with a chip on his shoulder, in total contrast to Warren completely seizing life in its fullest with a smile. Chuck is probably the most stable of all the boys, a cool head to look to for a practical talk... even if it is a little boring. In all of them, she has recognised qualities from the Vestris, whether it be Bruno, Tony, Elia or Sergio.

Camila, however, is like a sister — this is totally new to her. Francesca doesn't even recall having many female friends in school. Maybe it came from growing up in a house full of boys, but she always ended up gravitating towards them much more, until teenage hormones arrived and started to make it all unbearably awkward. Whether she stays in Pittsburgh for long or not, she can confidently say that Camila Alvarez has claimed her status as a friend who'll never be forgotten. She has been a saint to Francesca when it came to settling in, even helping her find gigs around town. If nothing else, she's a friendly pair of eyes to exchange telepathic glances with during the band's practice, often followed by a giggle.

     Then, of course, there's Graham... that's different.

Francesca follows the usual path along the grass, watching children run around under the sunshine. She singles Graham out in the half shadow of a tree — he's laid out his jacket to sit on, his face tilted up towards the sun as he leans back on his open palms. He seems so... content. Any other person might want to leave him be, since he seems so peaceful. But she isn't just anyone. She's his girlfriend.

"Hey..." Crouching down behind him, Francesca wraps her arms around his shoulders and presses her cheek to his, feeling his dimples against hers. Graham seems mildly startled at first, before letting out an instantly relieved chuckle. His curls caress her skin as he turns to face her, smoothly leaning into a welcoming kiss.

"You know, for a split second there I thought I was getting kidnapped," Graham says, his eyes somehow still so bright blue even in the shadow.

"That would be the most polite kidnapper I've ever met."

"Hey, you can't be too careful..."

     Graham's eyes never leave Francesca as she takes out her own cardigan, smoothing it out onto the ground and lowering herself down. She copes his action, stretching her legs out and crossing them at the ankles, although hers don't quite reach his. Her guitar case sits next to them like a third guest.

     "I have something to show you," Francesca says, bubbling over with eagerness.

     Her boyfriend's brows furrow softly in curiosity. So she opens the clasps on her instrument case, the lid flapping open to reveal a sleek folder laying on top of her guitar. Cradling it like it might break any moment, Francesca takes out a pile of photographs carefully by the white frames.

"I got these from Camila today," she hands them to Graham.

"Oh, wow, they came out great!" he remarks in delight.

The pictures now in his hands were taken by Camila — as it turns out, photography is an avid passion of hers, and the offer to attend one of Francesca's sets was soon inevitable. Aside from the sentiment of having these memories captured on film, Camila had insisted they could be good for putting herself out there. Having photographs of her performances could help put her name on the map, whether in newspapers or on posters in the dim light of a dive bar.

Francesca has never seen herself like this, looking from the outside in. Her head is backlit by one of the stage lights, creating a halo around her sleek, dark hair that sweeps below her shoulders. The shadows dance around her hands, embolden the curve of her brows and her lips, make her appear so much larger than life than she actually feels. In these photographs, there is no suggestion whatsoever of a stage fright-ridden girl letting the wind take her anywhere.

With that guitar in her hands, she looks powerful in the monochrome of greys and blacks.

"I love this one," Graham murmurs fondly. Francesca leans in to get a better look, her head hovering by his face; she can hear his soft breathing.

"Well, she definitely has a talent."

"And so do you... if you'd ever let me see it."

Pursing her lips shyly, Francesca simply replies, "Tomorrow."

"C'mon!" Graham teases, "It's always tomorrow, or some other time, and then you hide it from all of us."

"I told you, I'm not lying this time!" she protests. This has been a frequent topic between them, ever since Francesca admitted she wanted to try out her first original song in front of an audience. Graham and the others have been badgering her to let them hear some of their music (part of the reason she let Camila photograph her was to keep her happy). It didn't help that she's been to multiple gigs of theirs in all sorts of weird and wonderful venues. But she has kept procrastinating the moment, putting it off again and again...

In truth, she's never written a song about someone before; someone she cares about like this.

... And it scares her.

How can she sing such words? Would anyone even listen to her, anyway?

"Okay, okay, I believe you..." Graham laughs, pressing a kiss just above her jaw before he reclines onto the grass. Francesca joins him and leans back, feeling blades of grass tickle her skin and weave through her hair. Above them, large clumps of cloud inch along the azure sky like they have all the time in the world.

God, if she could just freeze this moment...

"So, how was practice today?" she asks. At this, Graham lets out a half-snort, which seems to only be the tip of the iceberg. "Let me guess: not the best?"

"Oh, it's nothing really... just, you know, Billy being Billy."

"Ah, well, you could've just said that and we wouldn't have had to elaborate."

"He spent so long on the intro to this song," Graham starts to recall, "and he kept making Chuck re-do the same bass line over and over 'til it was perfect..."

All the while, Francesca listens intently. During practice, she has noticed that Graham seems to be the keeper of the peace, doing everything in his power to just make sure the band moves forward. Sometimes he's more successful than other times — but he never loses his cool head. However, when he's with her, Graham has learned to let off some steam when he needs to, and Francesca is always happy to be the attentive listener.

Still, she doesn't think she can classify them as 'rants', because they always end the same way...

"... But anyway, it's fine, really," says Graham, with his usual unwavering optimism. "It all comes with being in a band, right?"

"At least being in a band with Billy Dunne," Francesca chuckles. "I guess he just wants it to be perfect, 'cause he wants you guys to do well."

"Of course. And I know that too. I mean, I grew up with him."

"You have to admit, he can be a little intense though."

"That's true," Graham sighs.

Francesca rolls onto her front, propped up on her elbows as she looks down at a laid-back Graham. "You're his brother, so I'm curious... has Billy always been that intense? Or did he just wake up one day, and choose to create the longest band practices known in rock and roll history?"

     "Well, Billy's always been Billy, to some level," he says, intertwining his fingers with hers. "I remember it when we were growing up. He's always been a perfectionist, I guess, but nothing like he is now. In fact, I can pin-point the moment it all changed for us... when this band became everything to him."

     "Oh yeah? What was it?"

     Francesca pictures something along the lines of buying his first Rolling Stones record, or watching The Beatles debut on Ed Sullivan — but clearly it wasn't so trivial, for the gently contented look on Graham's face drains away. A memory seems to be re-playing itself in his head, over and over. He pulls his hand limply away from hers and sits up. Above them, the sun creeps behind the clouds, casting momentary shadow over the park.

     "... Graham?" she asks, sitting up next to him.

     His elbows resting on his raised knees, Graham shoots her an uncertain glance; almost as if debating whether he should say something. Eventually, he seems to carefully edge into the subject — the story begins at a paid gig under a glittering wedding banner...

GRAHAM: The band was... you know, it was just a distraction. An escape, you know? I mean, none of us ever thought of it as anything more than that, not even Billy.

And then, one night, everything changed.

Long before Francesca showed up, or even Camila, we played this gig at a wedding. We thought it would be a pretty normal evening, just like all the other ones we used to do — proms, graduation parties, sweet sixteens, you name it.

BILLY: We must've been about halfway through 'Susie Q' when I remember looking into the crowd. There was this young woman on the dance floor with a man, much, much older than her in a plaid suit. He was all over her, clearly drunk, and I remember thinking, "Does this guy know how much of a creep he is?"

Then I looked again, and I realised it was my dad.

GRAHAM: It took me a second to put two and two together. I recognised him from the pictures our mom kept in a shoebox under her bed. But it was Billy's face that cemented it all for me.

BILLY: He'd left us years ago. He was supposed to be in fucking Georgia. And he didn't even recognise us — not our voices, not our faces...

GRAHAM: I mean, I was four when he left. So I never really had a father. But it was different for Billy... he worshipped the guy.

EDDIE: So Billy storms out at the end of the song, and none of us really know what the fuck's going on with him except Graham. He was obviously pretty rattled by the whole thing. I mean... who wouldn't be, right?

WARREN: And then Billy ran back in, and I thought, "Ohhh shit!" You know, like, "What's he gonna do now?"

EDDIE: Billy was all up in his dad's face. I think he even smashed a guitar. And everyone, I mean everyone was looking at us.

GRAHAM: I just wanted to get out of there. I wanted nothing to do with the guy.

WARREN: Hey, I'll bet you can't guess which of the Dunnes threw a punch at their old man... and I'll give you a clue, it wasn't Billy... [Smiles in satisfaction] I was all for it. Graham hurt his hand pretty bad, but I can tell you it sure was worth it. That prick had it coming!

BILLY: [Clenching his jaw] I... I can't tell you what that night did for me. When your own father fails to recognise you, it messes with your head. The world gets a little bit darker. There are some moments like that, those betrayals, which you just can't... [Sighs] it can't ever really heal. Not completely. For me, there was no looking back.

EDDIE: Billy got us all together, and he said — I still remember this — he said, "We work hard, we stick together, we're gonna be the biggest fucking band in the world someday." [Bitterly] And of course, when you hear that... how couldn't you trust him?

GRAHAM: You know, I can still see the look on Billy's face. I mean, that was the moment this thing became real.

     "... But that was in the past," Graham waves his hand through the air, as if to swat away the bitterness, "Good riddance to the bastard, right?"

     Suddenly the air feels heavier with the promise of a deeper trust hanging between them. Francesca slowly releases a deep breath, sensing the burden that Graham has been quietly carrying. They never even went remotely near this subject until now — all she knew was that Mr. Dunne was far out of the picture, purely from what she could infer, and she never felt any urge to pry into it. But now that Graham has brought it up, her blood boils heavy on his behalf.

     More than anything, she thinks of her own father, and how lucky she is to have him. Giovanni Vestri has always been loving and attentive since she was a child, even if he was a little caught up in the tunnel vision of his pipe dream at the best of times.

     "I'm... sorry," Francesca murmurs carefully, "I didn't know."

     "S'alright," he just shrugs, trying to give her a look of reassurance.

     While he's noticeably sobered by the memory (despite his attempts to hide it), Graham doesn't seem too closed-off. Taking it as a sign she can get closer, Francesca carefully shifts nearer the boy, so that their shoulders graze gently. She leans forward and tilts her head to him, searching his face for what might be going through his head. They've never had a moment like this before — this intimate. It's never gone beyond the comfort of surface-level knowledge.

     "How did that make you feel?" she asks.

     "Well, I guess it's every kid's dream to be in a band—"

     "No, I meant... about your dad."

     "Oh..." Graham nods slowly. "Uh... well, I don't really remember him. I was four when he left. It was more difficult for Billy, though—"

     "But how do you feel?" Francesca emphasises again.

     The question seems to throw him for a loop. A few beats pass, Graham squinting into the distant sun, before he stares down at the grass and mumbles: "... I don't really know."

     Francesca nods in understanding; he doesn't need to say anything more. She clasps his hand in both of hers, running her thumb back-and-forth along the contours of his. Graham seems soothingly entranced by it for a moment. He glances up at her, in time for the sympathetic smile she gives him. For a moment, Francesca finds herself forgetting they're surrounded by everyone else in this park — it might as well just be the two of them here, on this bridge that has just grown between them.

     It's new... and mildly terrifying.

.•° ✿ °•.

FRANCESCA: Am I talking too much? Just let me know if I am. You know I don't do these kinds of interviews often. Or, you know, ever... [She looks down nervously] I feel like I don't know where to start and when to end.

INTERVIEWER: Don't worry. You're doing great.

FRANCESCA: Alright. [Sighs] Uh, where was I again?

INTERVIEWER: The open mic night?

FRANCESCA: Oh, yeah, that was it...

.•° ✿ °•.

     The Westwood, located in a basement in downtown Pittsburgh, has become Francesca's haunt for fine-tuning her act. The coffeehouse is thick with the low-lying fog of tobacco smoke, candlelit tables glowing dimly through the haze; not to mention the faint aromas of popcorn and salted peanuts in small ceramic bowls. She is pretty sure you could walk from one side to the other in no more than five large strides. The small stage at the side-wall is home to local emerging folk artists, hoping to become one of the greats as their songs fight for attention with the intimate conversations at tables. So much atmosphere contained like this is lightning in a bottle.

Having brought Camila and the band here tonight, Francesca thinks they collectively make for half the population in the coffeehouse. They are crowded around one table as best as they can, chairs squashed together and limbs tangling underneath. While the others quietly chatter, her gaze lingers on the lone folk singer covering 'Mr. Tambourine Man' behind a mane of long, matted hair... it is only a matter of time before she is to follow.

     After he finishes the song, a small ripple of applause flows through the room. Warren, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, nudges Francesca playfully. "Hey, this place ain't too bad," he grins. "You've been hiding out here all this time?"

     "I know it's not too rock n' roll for your tastes," Francesca looks pointedly at Billy (although even he is enjoying it, Camila's arms wrapped around his bicep), "but right now, this is my scene."

     "I like it," Graham says genuinely. "It's... cosy."

     "Exactly," Camila encourages. "It's nice to get a break from the Dunne Brothers soon-to-be discography... no offence, Billy." At this, she leans in and bumps his nose before kissing him quickly.

     "That blonde chick from the set before was kinda cute though..." Warren trails off dreamily.

     "Seriously? Banjo girl?" Eddie scoffs.

     While the two debate about their tastes in women, the jovial figure of Alby, the club's owner appears besides their table. "Hey, I see you brought your friends tonight," he gestures to the round table of youngsters with his cigar.

     Francesca shrugs. "I told them, only if you're on your best behaviour."

     "Well, it's about damn time!" he chuckles with a wheeze.

     Despite her anxieties about going onstage, Alby has been one of the reasons she has enjoyed playing at The Westwood. The retired steel mill worker had opened this place a decade ago, in order to foster a place for up-and-coming musicians to hone their act — it just so happened to act as a magnet for all the Bob Dylan wannabes in Pittsburgh and the surrounding towns. It was comforting for Francesca to have an older role model, during a time which had otherwise been unpredictable and ungoverned by someone she could look up to. But Alby knew about her stage fright, and was always happy to give her the patient nudge she needed.

     "Alright, Alby... how long 'til I'm on?"

     "Oh, you're on," he hums, glancing at his watch. "This guy's almost finished his set. I suggest you go get set up now."

     Francesca sighs abruptly. After a reassuring hand-squeeze from Graham, the good luck wishes from the rest of them roll over her mind like rain on glass. There's that tunnel vision again. She tries encouraging herself, standing in the shadows backstage (which consists of a claustrophobic space behind curtains) as she unpacks her guitar and reminds herself of her set list. Wait... does she even remember the lyrics to her own song? It's one thing to cover songs that are always being hummed under her breath, but the messy handwriting of her work hits a brick wall. Nonsense, of course you can remember, she thinks...

     Her palms are sweating. Is it her, or is the room tilting slightly? And oh God, her stomach...

     Do not bail. Do not bail. Do not bail.

     While the long-haired singer onstage rounds off his set, Francesca searches the room frantically for help. When she finds Graham, he only shoots her an enthusiastic wave at first — but it takes a closer look for the penny to drop that something is wrong. She waves him over with her head peeking through the curtains in a panic. He obliges immediately, excusing himself from the table to go see her.

     "Hey, what's— whoa!" Graham yelps, being yanked behind the curtain by his wrist. "Francesca, what's wrong? What's going on?"

     "I'm freaking out, that's what's going on..."

     "I thought you felt more comfortable performing here? That your stage fright was getting better?"

     "I was. It's just this... this song. I've never sung my own stuff in front of people before."

     He sighs sympathetically. "Look, if you really don't wanna perform it yet, don't feel like you have to. I was just goofing around earlier—"

     "Oh no, I'll do it," Francesca interjects, "I just can't promise it won't include an interlude of me puking all over the front row."

     "Okay, look at me..." Graham gently take her by the shoulders, soothingly caressing them with his thumbs. Involuntarily, she takes a deep breath, and opens her eyes to float in the pale blue sea of his. "There's gotta be more to this, I can feel it. Can you think of why it's making you nervous?"

     That question staggers her for a minute. She hasn't taken the opportunity to look inward like that, just accepted that the stage fright was a flaw she would have to roll and grow with. "I... I don't know... I guess, I... I'm scared that nobody will care about what I have to say. That using my voice will just fall on deaf ears."

     And that it'll hurt even more if I've poured my heart out.

     "Alright, well I can clear that one up right away," Graham smiles. "You're by far one of the most fascinating people I've ever met, and... I don't think a day has gone by since that I haven't wanted to hear what you have to say. So, why should this be any different? They're gonna love you..." Hesitating, he presses a gentle kiss to her hairline, before adding: "But hey, if you get nervous, just look for me. Pretend that it's just us two, playing music together... even if you don't like showing me your original stuff."

"For the record, I'm happy to play you my songs. You're just impatient," Francesca feels herself grinning, relaxed in his embrace with their foreheads touching. It suddenly hits her then, how good he is to her... she's not sure she even deserves it, let alone how much she can give back. The pitter-patter of applause has died down in the audience, and moments later the long-haired musician pulls the curtain back abruptly to unveil the couple.

"Well," says Graham, retracting his arms sheepishly, "I'll leave you to it. Break a leg!"

With a deep breath, Francesca wields her guitar and gets ready to go on. Once Alby announces her, she walks onto the small stage to a small applause — a mixture of regular customers who recognise her, and of course the Dunne Brothers gang at the back of the room. She walks up to the microphone and adjusts it to her height. Her mouth feels like tar, her pulse thrumming in her ears. Francesca wonders if she should run...

And then she sees Graham. It is like seeing a lighthouse in the mist, something to focus on. He simply smiles at her, and she feels the warmth of familiarity wash over her.

"Evening... I'm Francesca —" she pauses to laugh, for she hears Warren whoop loudly from the back, "— and, uh, I'm gonna start off with something lighter to ease into things. All I ask is that you be nice to me."

After an endeared chuckle from the audience, Francesca starts off her set with her rendition of 'Jubilation' by Norma Tanega. The rest of her set varies, from Simon & Garfunkel to The Beatles, and everything between. The middle is punctuated by an energetic guitar solo of 'Classical Gas'. By the time she has finished Joan Baez's 'Silver Dagger', there is just one more song left... the unprecedented.

"Thank you for being so great tonight. Uh, I've got something a little different to end things... it's a song I wrote myself," Francesca shakes her head, in disbelief that she is saying that out loud. "I think it's about meeting someone who teaches you new things... things you didn't even know about yourself, or didn't know you could feel. It's called 'Found Me'."

Playing the fingerpicking intro that she composed herself is surreal. Knowing who will hear it, and put the pieces together. She remembers when she first came up with this melody after talking to Graham — she remembers thinking that it sounded like him. Light, warm, healing. Francesca then flows into the first verse.

"Don't know much about destiny
But I've known the cold harsh winter
And the wind that blows you westward
That lonely girl, I've been her..."

She keeps her eyes on her guitar during the rest of the first verse, too shy to look at Graham until the chorus approaches. When she does, Francesca feels herself smiling fondly, knowing what comes next.

"Then sunlight found me in the dark, ooh-ooh
Lit the spark, ooh-ooh
And I was gone
Thawed the ice around my heart, ooh-ooh
Pulled me apart, ooh-ooh
Now I'm gone..."

FRANCESCA: Singing like that was like an out-of-body experience. It was terrifying, and yet so thrilling. Those were my words. My feelings, not lived through another artist, and I was sharing them with the room. I don't consider myself a master lyricist, not like some other people I've worked with, but still... I'd never felt that honest onstage before...

Of course, there was the fact that the song's subject was sitting in the room. I wasn't sure if it would click.

GRAHAM: I didn't actually believe the song was about me until halfway through. I don't know... I guess I wasn't used to it. All of the girls used to fawn over Billy, not me. I never considered myself the kind of guy a girl would want to write songs about.

CAMILA: Oh, if you could've been there... [She shakes her head with a smile] Neither of them would say it, of course, but you could feel the love radiating between them. I know, it might sound hasty to use that word so early, but I'm a firm believer that some things in life you're just... certain of.

"You found me, oh, you found me
And now I'm gone..."

The guitar fades out. The air stills. The dust settles. Only a beat passes, but Francesca waits with bated breath for what feels like an eternity... and then the room bursts with energetic applause. The shadowy smiles of strangers and friends alike greet her, all equally impressed. She can hardly believe it. Just like that, all of the anxiety and doubt drains away, and for a moment everything feels right.

People wanted to hear her. They cared enough to listen.

FRANCESCA: That was the moment I knew... not picking up that guitar, or hearing The Beatles, or tagging along to gigs with my brother. I knew I loved music all my life. And for a while, I'd enjoyed the idea of pursuing it as a career. But that moment in The Westwood... I think that was the turning point where I actually believed I could do it.

Still buzzing from the reception, Francesca emerges from backstage a few minutes later to greet the group. Camila is the first to congratulate her, embracing her with an excited squeal. "Oh my God, that was amazing!" she exclaims. "I'm telling you, you have a talent. People loved you up there."

"Not too shabby at all, Vestri," Billy even congratulates her, squeezing her shoulder.

"Thanks, Billy," Francesca grins, too ecstatic to be shocked. "And thank you all for coming. I'm serious, guys."

Everyone replies with their own congratulations in a jumbled mess of pride. And then there's Graham. He still seems caught in a trance, a haze of shyness surrounding him. "Hey..." he says quietly.

"Hi... what did you think?"

"It was amazing. I– I loved it..." Then, trailing off, he bashfully adds, "I was, uh, I was just wondering though... if the song was about someone... not to imply anything, but—"

"You mean, was the song about us?" she asks.

Sighing, he nods. Francesca just smiles knowingly.

"... It might've been."

Francesca kisses his cheek, before slipping into his embrace. She rests her chin on his shoulder, running her fingertips through the curls at the nape of Graham's neck. All over again, she is reminded of why she wrote that song. Francesca's pulse drums anxiously in her ears. She believes every word she wrote... so why does she feel so afraid now?

FRANCESCA: Things were perfect, for a while. Or at least it felt that way... [Sighs] You can only run from your feelings for so long.

.•° ✿ °•.

[A petit blonde woman walks into the shot. Even bold make-up cannot hide the jadedness behind her older eyes. She sighs as she sinks into a plush armchair. Grabbing a nearby bottle, she fills a glass half-full of red wine and takes a large gulp]

VICTORIA MERCER (bass and backing vocals, Solstice): Don't mind the booze. It just loosens me up, and loosening up is definitely what I'll be needing for this thing...

[With a self-deprecating smirk, Victoria places the glass down on the table, crossing one leg over another in her armchair]

Alright, let's get this over and done with.

People like to say a lot of things about me. Some of it's true, some of it is complete bollocks. And I'm not just talking about the media, although there have been some... interesting headlines over the last thirty years. Even my own family didn't understand me, nor did they try to.

INTERVIEWER: Could you talk more about your family and your upbringing?

VICTORIA: You see, my father, Alistair Mercer, was a politician. Nothing about growing up like that is fun. At least for me, it wasn't. Every single success that he made, and more crucially every mistake he made, was reflected onto me as a child. People would walk up to me and just take out their opinions about him onto me, good or bad. I just couldn't escape it.

But I won't pretend I didn't have a comfortable upbringing. I used to, but where does that get you? I was incredibly privileged. I was shipped off to boarding school when I was eleven. It felt like I was living in bloody Malory Towers! [Chuckles] Now don't get me wrong, I made a couple nice friends at Benenden, and learned so many things, so I can't fault it for that. It's just... I don't think I quite fit that mould. I never have. [Grins] I think my greatest talent was testing the patience of my teachers.

ALICIA MALHOTRA (biographer): Victoria's origin story is quite an eye-catching one. Came from a wealthy family, attended boarding school with actual royalty, even earned a spot at Cambridge University — although she turned it down, I should add — and all by the time she'd turned eighteen. The path to rock and roll that she ended up taking seems pretty unlikely, considering where she began. So why did she?

Long story short, Victoria was angry. And what better outlet than a life in rock and roll?

INTERVIEWER: What was it that made you go to the States?

VICTORIA: Boredom. Just absolute apathy with what my life held for me at the time... but specifically, you mean? [Sighs] It was a Tuesday afternoon.

ALICIA MALHOTRA: Some time after she had left Benenden, Victoria started mixing with the underground music scene that had been growing in Notting Hill and Ladbroke Grove. She would've been getting all of these influences fed to her, from Pink Floyd to T. Rex, that were so wildly different to her polished life thus far... I like to think it perfectly fed the little rebel inside of her.

VICTORIA: I didn't think of pursuing music seriously back then. It wasn't like I had my heart set on it, or anything. What I did notice was how powerful it was — people were angry about the way things were, and expressing that or doing things to get arrested was their way of showing it. It was very against what I'd been raised upon... but I think that was part of the appeal. I think, when I was young, I did have a certain inclination to the extreme.

ALICIA MALHOTRA: In the May of 1969, the police raided one of these clubs, and Victoria got caught in the crossfire. Luckily she didn't manage to get arrested... but she did get her photo conveniently taken for the Sunday morning papers.

VICTORIA: I believe the headline was, "Mercer Driven Underground: Like Father, Like Daughter"... [Frowns] Yeah, that did not go down well. I woke up the next morning and my face was on the front page, right by my father's breakfast. We clashed all the time — me and him, our beliefs, they were like chalk and cheese — but this was the final nail in the coffin. There was a huge row between us, while of course my mother could only focus on a glass of gin... [Staring into the distance] I'd rather not repeat some of the things he said.

[She reaches for the glass of wine and takes another sip]

Anyway, that was the last straw for me. I always knew this, but I think I fully realised that... he only cared about me when it affected him. I could never be what he wanted me to be, so what was the point of staying? Apart from material things, there was nothing left for me in London. I needed a change of scenery. And where looks like the polar opposite of London from a postcard?

California, of course.

ALICIA MALHOTRA: It feels like the whirlwind exposition to a movie, with the girl running away from home to start a new life. Victoria left two days later and caught the next flight to L.A. — it breaks my heart, really, to think that perhaps she felt it was the only solution... then again, think of what we may have never experienced if she didn't show up on the Sunset Strip.

VICTORIA: I was sick of being let down by the people I loved. After that, I decided if anyone tried to do it again, they would consider their bridges burned.

[Victoria stares into the bottom of her wine glass, looking vacant]

Still not sure how that whole motto's worked out for me.

.•° ✿ °•.

Meanwhile, by the middle of June 1969, Francesca had become well-acquainted with the Pittsburgh music scene. Thanks to Camila's photos and her growing confidence onstage, she played her first paid gigs in low-key coffeehouses and clubs downtown.

FRANCESCA: It was a great time. Graham and I were still dating, I'd made some great friends in Pittsburgh, and I'd written more songs... but something just didn't feel right. And I remember I couldn't pin-point it for a while.

Then I met Hank.

HANK BOWEN (lead guitarist, Solstice): Look, it's as simple as this. I went to see The Beatles play at Boston Garden in '64. Snuck in with a couple of my buddies, 'cause we didn't have a dime to afford tickets. After that day, I never looked back. I was gonna be like them someday.

My friend Richie and I had been driving around the East Coast. We tried doing some gigs, figuring out what direction we were taking... I mean, yeah. I wanted to form a band. Our other friends back home didn't want in, so we were looking for recruits, anything we could get really. It hadn't been so successful at that point, and we were just about ready to pack up and take off to the West Coast...  

... Then we saw Francesca play one night in Pittsburgh. First she was playing 'Classical Gas' all on her own, just ripping it on that acoustic guitar. After that she did Jimi Hendrix, 'All Along The Watchtower'. I thought she'd strip it back, but nope. She made that Martin sound like a percussion instrument. It was just that, again and again, surprise after surprise during her set. I just couldn't get over how no one was seeing this...

I'm losing you, aren't I?

INTERVIEWER: It's alright. Just, what was it that made you approach her after the set?

HANK: That's easy. Francesca knew how to rock.

.•° ✿ °•.

     "You got a light?"

Francesca furrows her brows, searching for the disembodied voice. The accent is a thick one clearly not from around here... perhaps Boston? Then she finds its owner — it could be one out of two, anyway. Under the fluorescent blue lights of the club's illuminated sign, stand two young men who can't be much older than her. One of them is tall with a pinched brow and pasty complexion; the other is smaller, broad-shouldered with a head of bronze-brown hair and a pair of piercing green eyes. She had come out here for a smoke after finishing her set, but it looks like these two will be disrupting that.

     "Sure," she gets the lighter from her pocket and lends it to them. The two boys light their cigarettes before handing it back to her.

     That's when the taller one nudges the smaller one and, under his breath so she (supposedly) can't hear, asks: "Are you gonna ask her or what?"

     "I will, just gimme a minute... it's not exactly simple."

     "Well, you dragged me out here, I look like a lost fuckin' kitten—"

     Francesca wonders distastefully if she's about to get hit on. Stubbing her cigarette out, she takes her leaves and walks straight past them, in the hopes she won't be noticed. But that turns out to be futile, as she hears the frantic scrape of shoes against the sidewalk behind her.

     "Wait, wait! We heard you play tonight... you were good," says the smaller guy, "wicked good."

     Stopping in her tracks, she turns slowly to look at him. There's an alarming frankness that radiates from him — perhaps with a drop of insanity too — and it disarms her immediate urge to run away. "Uh, thank you?"

     "I'm Hank, and this is my bud Richie," he introduces himself, gesturing to the tall guy who waves back curtly.

     "Francesca..." she replies suspiciously. Then a flicker of recognition passes across her face. "Hold on, didn't you guys play a set in there before me?"

     "That's right," Richie puffs his chest a little. Now it comes back to her — she does remember seeing them up onstage, Hank on lead guitar and his friend on the keyboard while they shared vocals. They were good, she had to admit. She hadn't seen them before (this was a club she wasn't so familiar with), otherwise a stage presence or talent on the guitar like Hank's would be more memorable. But there was definitely something missing from it all... like a gap onstage.

     "How long've you been playing guitar?" Hank asks her.

     "I don't know, eleven or twelve. I taught myself."

     His brows shoot up in disbelief. "You– you mean you taught yourself to play like that?" he points incredulously to the club's interior.

     Lifting one shoulder modestly, Francesca replies, "Yeah, I guess so..."

     "See, man, what did I tell ya? I knew this would be great!" Hank grins through gritted teeth, playfully punching an embittered Richie in the arm.

     "Is there a point to all these questions?" she asks sceptically.

FRANCESCA: Hank looked like he'd just had the brightest idea in the world. Once you know that look, you're in for trouble... [Shakes her head and rolls her eyes] Made band practices with Solstice both painful and better all the same.

Anyway, he explained his whole plan to me. He said that he wanted to form a band, and that he and Richie hadn't had any success so far. Then he mentioned that they were planning to go to California in a week. I was just shocked that he didn't even want me to audition first — he just asked me if I wanted to join the band right away, and pack my bags to come with them. To be a rhythm guitarist.

[Laughing] I mean– what?!

HANK: I'm a driven guy, alright? When I know what I want, I just jump straight in.

"This is insane!" Francesca exclaims, half-laughing as though she thinks he might be joking. "I barely know you, and besides... what did you say you were called again?"

"Rusted Rose."

Richie mutters something under his breath, which she thinks might be "Stupid name..."

"Well, if you haven't noticed already, there are only two of you."

"I know, I know," Hank sounds exasperated, as if he doesn't even want to go there. "We may have lost some band members along the way, but we're working on that, alright?"

"And you think you'll just find the rest of your band in California?"

"Yes!"

The urgency with which he says it silences Francesca — there is a note of weariness in the tone, that of someone who has been knocked down and gotten up again on repeat. Boy, does she know that feeling. Hank sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Look, anyone not living under a rock knows L.A. is the place to get your start," he goes on to say. "The Sunset Strip! I mean, come on. I don't know what the hell is keeping you in Pittsburgh, of all places, 'cause all the big names are going to the West Coast... and that's where we're headed. I'm not saying this band will conquer the world or anything, but you could at least take a shot. And hell, if you don't like us, at least stick around to see gigs yourself at all the big places — the Troubadour, the Whisky a Go-Go!"

Even with how much she fights the urge, Francesca finds herself stirred by Hank's idea... he certainly knows how to pitch it. After all, she has state-hopped this much within a year, so what difference would a move to L.A. make? Now that she has the hunger for this career, having the Sunset Strip on the cards suddenly seems like an appealing prospect... but equally just as far-fetched. Taking off with two male strangers, to a future career she has no idea will exist for her? It would be nonsensical.

"Just... take this number, and some stuff we recorded," Hank hands her a series of digits scribbled onto some paper, and their demos on a small tape. "If you ever make it that far west, give us a call. Otherwise, have a nice life."

.•° ✿ °•.

FRANCESCA: [Face in her hands] Sometimes I can't believe the things I went along with in those days...

INTERVIEWER: So you decided to go to California?

FRANCESCA: Oh, not immediately. I fought with it a lot in my head. I also knew it was a crazy idea, taking off to see two total strangers I'd just met and join a band — which, by the way, had never been something I'd considered until then. Bands were what I associated with what my brother did, or Graham. The idea became more and more enticing, though. Especially when I heard their demos.

The truth was... I couldn't go on the way I was. Sure, I was making some money, but in the long-term it was nowhere near enough. And that wasn't the... the only aspect I was worried about in the long-term. I'd been thinking about Graham and I. We were getting a lot closer, which was starting to become more scary than exciting to me [She looks down] I'm, uh, not so sure he felt the same way.

Anyway, I hid it all for a while. Then, naturally, it was Camila who cracked me one day.

CAMILA: I could tell there was something weighing her down, but I didn't pry her for it until maybe a week or two later. Francesca told me that she had this opportunity to go to California. Of course I told her she should take it — but not without talking to Graham about it first [Sighs] I could tell she didn't want to do that.

FRANCESCA: That was the part I'd been procrastinating for weeks.

... I knew what California meant for us. And I knew he wouldn't like hearing it.

.•° ✿ °•.

     The sun beats down particularly hard on Pittsburgh today, an uncomfortable heat hitting the grass — Francesca shields herself on a bench beneath the shade of a tree. She has left her guitar companion back at the guest house. There would be no point bringing it, since she doubts her visitor will want to stay much longer after hearing her big news.

A couple of minutes early, Graham approaches her with a heartbreaking spring in his step. He's wearing that fully-fledged smile that she loves so much, but makes this moment so damn hard. "Hey there," he presses a kiss to the top of Francesca's head — and she tries not to flinch — before he sits down next to her. "I'm glad you wanted to meet today, I was hoping to see you before our gig tonight. You wanna grab a bite to eat, take a walk around town? Or–"

"Actually, Graham, this won't take long..." she stares down at her lap, unable to look at him.

The oblivious happiness ekes slowly out of his face. "What is it? What's wrong?" he asks earnestly.

Just say it, she thinks. Rip the band-aid off.

"A couple of weeks ago, I met these guys who were forming a band. They saw me perform... and asked me to join. As a rhythm guitarist."

"Oh, okay..." Graham seems surprised, but not shattered so far. There's still time. "Is that something you wanna do?"

"I've thought about it, and I– I think I want to give it a shot."

"Alright, then that's great! What's the problem?"

Francesca looks him in the eye for the first time since he sat down. How can he look at her so innocently?

"It means I'm going to L.A."

Graham blinks at her. It doesn't quite seem to register at first. Then, slowly but surely, she watches each inch of his expression dim under the realisation of what she's saying — Francesca is leaving Pittsburgh. Perhaps there is also an inkling of what her final punchline will be...

"Okay. California. That's... far," he leans forward and wrings his hands together. "But I– I mean, we could write, couldn't we? And I know phone calls are expensive, but I know some couples who made it work—"

"Don't you get it?" Francesca blurts out; instant regret hits her, hating how harsh that sounded. The last thing she wants to do is leave this on a bad note... although it's becoming trickier with every minute. "I don't think we'd survive it, Graham. Just think about this for a minute. Both of us are just on two different paths right now. We can't keep fighting it anymore."

The penny has dropped for him.

Graham stares at her. "So... we're breaking up?"

GRAHAM: I'll be honest... it was like one of the biggest slaps to the face. I hadn't seen it coming at all. But maybe looking back, I can get where she was coming from.

FRANCESCA: Long-distance wasn't like it is these days. No mobile phones, no emails. Just letter-writing and expensive phone calls.

But I think... I think I was more doing it to protect myself. We'd been going out for two or three months by then, and at that point it was starting to feel a little more... well, real. I remember one day I was telling him that I might have to leave the guest house soon, and Graham just said, "Why don't you come live with me?" as if it was totally casual. He said I could meet his mom, they could set up a room for me if I wanted, and it was all very nice... it just really freaked me out. 'Cause suddenly this wouldn't be a carefree little relationship anymore. When family and that kind of closeness comes into it, everything changes. It would've been the same of Graham suddenly moved into my childhood home.

And I just wasn't ready. Not yet.

... That didn't make it less hard, though.

The two of them sit in somber silence for a moment. Francesca glances pleadingly at him, hoping he'll at least say something, anything.

Graham's stare burns into the pavement. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I didn't know how."

"I thought... that you were happy here."

"Graham, I was," she admits truthfully.

He flinches at the past-tense. His head snapping up to look at her, he asks, "So why don't you stay? I mean, you've been playing gigs up and down Pittsburgh, and you've got us... you've got me. But you'd rather take off to L.A. to play with some total strangers and start from scratch again?"

"I know, but listen to me..." Francesca turns to face him; by instinct, she reaches out to hold his hand, before retracting it. "Graham, I never planned for any of this. I mean, a year ago, my plan was just to go to New York and work up from there. But that had its time... just like Pittsburgh has, too." She watches him sigh and stare down at the ground again. "What I'm learning is that in music, doors close just as quickly as they open. If I don't try it, I'll never know what could have happened."

A beat passes. Suddenly, an injection of naive hope swims to Francesca's brain.

"There could be... an alternative," she murmurs. "You could come with me."

"To L.A.?" Graham scoffs weakly, sounding dejected. "No, I can't, you know I can't. We couldn't all just pack up and leave right now, we don't have enough money or a way to get there."

"Yeah, you're right..."

Of course, she thinks, why did you even suggest that? A silence passes between them, before Graham speaks up again.

"Do you think..." he asks, his voice hoarse, "if this whole L.A. thing hadn't come up, we would've ended this anyway?"

Francesca says nothing. About a million words die on her lips. He just nods, leaning back on the bench and clenching his jaw. So that's it. Just like that, they both know the conclusion they have drawn. The gap between their seats feels like an ocean now.

"So, when do you leave?" says Graham.

"I'm gonna try and catch a flight on Saturday."

Any attempt to mask the shock on his face is futile. But he tries anyway, and the two of them only steal glances when the other isn't looking. It may be a hot summer's day, but the air suddenly feels very cold... filled with awkwardness and carefully hidden heartbreak.

.•° ✿ °•.

GRAHAM: Sometimes it's not enough, just to find the right person. It has to be the right time too.

.•° ✿ °•.

     It has all happened so fast. Since leaving her hometown, Francesca's life has felt like a revolving door — New York, Pittsburgh, and L.A. on the horizon. Only the last one fills her with such strange conviction that this is the right thing. This will be the path she sticks to, she thinks. Practicing here has built enough momentum for her to hit the ground running. She's made the call to Hank, giving him the green light, and has packed her bags for sunny California...

But there is a great price to pay.

Francesca glances over at Graham, turned away from her on the ride to the airport. He's sandwiched between her and the window on the front bench seat of the car — belonging to Chuck's father, the bassist offering to act as chauffeur. It was also (narrowly) a six-seater, meaning it fit in the whole gang who wanted to see her off. She doesn't know if their presence makes this better or worse.

It is the day after all the Fourth of July celebrations, and the air stills smells faintly of fireworks and barbecues as it blasts through the rolled-down windows. However it remains a little bit grey and overcast... just like the day Francesca first arrived in Pittsburgh. By the time they reach Greater Pittsburgh Airport, she is mentally steeling herself for the goodbyes she's been putting off all this time.

"And we're here," Chuck announces, in his usual less-than-excited tone, but never lacking earnestness.

Francesca reaches over and squeezes his hand; it throws him off for a moment, the sheepishness magnified in his glasses. "Thanks for doing this, Chuck," she says gratefully.

He just nods with a thin-lipped smile. "Good luck out there."

Now that Graham has left his seat, Francesca can get out and collect her luggage. She circles around to the back of the car, embarrassed that Warren and Eddie have already started helping to unload it, so she chips in to get the big suitcase out. After one last check that she has everything, she turns to see the whole group facing her — it hits her like a ton of bricks.

Camila is the first to rush forward. She pulls her into a tight hug, rocking like a buoy on the sea; Francesca's face gets buried in her hair that smells like rosemary. "Take care of yourself, okay?" says Camila, in the same doting tone as always. "And remember if you need anything, at any time, you can call me."

"Alright..."

Squeezing a little tighter, the younger girl says, "Love you."

"Love you too, Cami," Francesca smiles into her shoulder.

She attempts to pull away from the hug, but Camila pulls her back, exclaiming: "Nope! Not done yet."

They both giggle and hang onto the hug a little longer, before the next person comes to say goodbye. Just seeing Warren grin cheekily mirrors the expression on Francesca's face — the two of them have gotten on like a house on fire since she came. In what could be a dampening farewell, he wraps his arms around her in a hug, so big that her toes lift off the ground. "Have fun out there, Frankie," he says, using his exclusive nickname for her.

Then she's met with Eddie's tall figure looking nearby, his thumbs latched beneath his belt. "Say hi to Mama Cass for me, will ya?" he jokes.

"Will do," Francesca smiles and gets swallowed in a hug.

After that, there's Billy... this one is going to be difficult. He has never exactly been the most approachable person, the two of them never quite having enough in common. The two of them stand opposite each other at arm's length, shadows cast on the sharp edges of Billy's face. But she is surprised when he speaks the words that he does:

"Hey... you'll do great, alright? You're talented. The Sunset Strip won't know what hit 'em."

Francesca swallows thickly, touched by his unusual sentiments. "... Oh, Billy, get in here."

They both chuckle, walking forward into a one-armed hug. She pats the back muscle beneath his flannel shirt... and that's when she sees Graham over his shoulder. He seems restless, hopelessly torn over whether to avoid her or never stop looking at her. Letting go of Billy, Francesca walks up to him. Camila seems to get the message and ushers the others away, giving the pair a moment alone.

"So, this is it, huh?" Graham asks rhetorically. Rocking back and forth on his heels, he sighs. "... Could you at least write me a letter? You know, just in case you forget me by the time you're famous."

Francesca feels an invisible elephant lift its foot off her chest. She had been dreading this moment, and whether it would be too hostile. But she sees the olive branch and takes it. "I think I can manage that," she replies. "I'll send you my address when... well, when I have one... so don't you go anywhere, Graham Dunne."

"Don't worry, I'll be right here," he says, almost wistfully.

"And hey, who knows? Maybe in ten years, I'll walk into a record store to buy The Dunne Brothers' bestselling album."

"Ten years? That's a little long, don't you think?"

"Okay, five at best."

Francesca and Graham share a little laugh, gravitating nearer to each other out of habit. The emotional whiplash hits her out of nowhere — looking at him now, she goes from giggling lightheartedly, to a lump strangling her throat. She tucks some hair behind her ear and clears her throat.

"Thanks for everything," she says quietly.

"Thank you," he replies, even quieter.

They can't hold back anymore, Francesca walking into his embrace willingly. She takes the time to memorise everything, the way he smells, the way his chest rises and falls against hers, the curls at the nape of his neck... why is this so painful? They have only known each other a few months, and Graham Dunne has her fighting tears that sting her eyes. For a split second, she considers staying — dropping her bags and abandoning ship. But she knows this is the best thing... for them, for now.

"I'll see you around, some day," Graham mumbles into her hair.

Francesca nods quickly and steps back. All the while, she keeps her eyes firmly averted from him, not wanting him to see her cry. She picks up her guitar, suitcase and adjusts the bags hanging from her shoulders, and makes her way towards the airport entrance. Only after turning around does Francesca let herself loose — each tear she blinks back, and each step she takes making her believe that it's easier.

.•° ✿ °•.

INTERVIEWER: Do you think you loved each other then?

[Francesca stares off into the distance for a moment, looking reflective. Graham sighs and strains through a smile weakly]

FRANCESCA: I... I don't know if that was the right word. Not yet. What I do remember feeling... was that I knew there was something to be lost here. Like we had something worthwhile between us. I cared enough that I wanted to handle this break-up in a fragile way.

Yeah, there were moments when I regretted it. Not immediately afterwards, but later on.

GRAHAM: She got under my skin. I didn't realise how much at the time, but she did. Francesca's just like that.

FRANCESCA: But I guess that wasn't the end at all, was it? It was just the beginning.

.•° ✿ °•.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

another whopper of a chapter! this took so long to write, i've been splitting it up bit by bit over a few weeks. originally it was actually much longer, and there's a lot of scenes i cut out or condensed (for example, i made the introduction to victoria purely interviews to trim it down a bit)... well done for making it this far! i've battled with editing this chapter again and again, and have had various obstacles including some things in my personal life this month, but this is the last result.

again, this ending probably feels very rushed, but it's still for a reason. frangraham's story is far from over yet, and now you might be able to see the possible "old flame" or "exes to friends to ???" tropes on the horizon. there are still a couple of chapters to go before that happens though. have you enjoyed their dynamic so far though?

also i apologise if the lyrics to francesca's song were bad 😭 i have zero idea how to write songs and that part took PAINFULLY long (only bothered with the chorus and a bit of verses because it'd be too much for my brain to handle otherwise)

the next chapter features the debut of the sunset strip, aka: our setting for the majority of this book now! as well as the introduction of more solstice band members, who i can't wait for you to meet 🥹 what did you guys think of victoria and hank?

Published: June 16th, 2023