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“Leaf? Are you there?” he heard someone call. Footsteps echoed on the deck outside, and moments later, Andrej appeared in the open patio door. “Hi! Is Tristan here? I was upstairs with him, but he’s not there.”

Leaf nodded, and Andrej let himself in, coming into the kitchen.

“You look a bit pale, man,” Andrej observed, surveying the chaos with raised eyebrows. As he strolled casually into the living room, Leaf followed him and nearly bumped into him. Andrej had unexpectedly stopped, staring at the supplies in shock.

“What the hell, Leaf? Are you already out of it? It’s noon, for God’s sake!”

“Stop it,” Leaf remarked quietly. “This isn’t …”

“What? Not what it looks like?” Andrej exclaimed. “Get it together already. This is unbearable!”

Leaf couldn’t find the right words. He raised his hand and noticed his cigarette had burned down. Feeling defeated, he shook his head.

If what José had told him yesterday was true, Andrej was definitely the wrong person to talk to about drugs. But Andrej suddenly sighed and took a step toward him.

“Leaf. We’re going on tour,” he said in an admonishing voice. “Don’t screw this up!”

Letting out an irritated sigh, Leaf returned to the kitchen to stub out his cigarette in an empty food container.

“What’s your problem?” Andrej demanded, following him. “I don’t always feel great either, but I don’t get wasted every day because of it.”

Leaf gripped the sink with both hands and gritted his teeth. He had just gotten himself back on track with drugs. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

Andrej grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him around. He held Leaf by both arms and shook him. “Stop it already! I don’t know what you’re blaming yourself for or punishing yourself for, but … Stop. It.”

Leaf’s muscles tensed as Andrej’s grip seared against his bare skin, the heat feeling like his blood was about to boil over. With a surge of strength, he shoved Andrej away, sending the bassist stumbling backward into the fridge. Leaf’s breath hitched, his trembling hand clenching into a fist as he fixed his gaze on him.

“Leaf.”

“No! You stop! I got this!”

“You’re just fooling yourself,” Andrej retorted. “This shit here doesn’t justify anything. Plus, you’re not just ruining yourself, but the whole band!”

Leaf growled and took a step toward Andrej. “You can wait by your car. Get out of my sight. Get out!”

18

–––––

Downtown

Tristan leaned against the window, his arm propped up as he observed the world through dark sunglasses, pushing aside the thought of going to an interview.

When it came to interviews, he had mixed feelings. Ever since their first album skyrocketed and Nightstalker embarked on their first tour as headliners, he noticed a change in the questions the interviewers were asking and the level of interest surrounding the band.

While he loved discussing his songs and delving into the meaning of his lyrics with reporters, there was a growing interest in their personal lives as the tour progressed.

People were now curious about their lives that they would never have shared with the world. Things that weren’t really important suddenly gained a grotesque entertainment appeal just because Nightstalker had become world-famous.

“What happened?” he asked, breaking the silence between him and Andrej.

“What do you mean?”

“You guys argued. About what?”

Andrej briefly turned his head, then focused his gaze back on the road. “Nothing important.”

“If it wasn’t important, you wouldn’t have been yelling at each other.”