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Even though I don’t deserve his help.

After the last tour, it was solely thanks to Tristan that he could give up cocaine. Tristan hadn’t let him out of his sight, driven him to the groups, and stood by him when he couldn’t take it anymore. They had talked for hours, written songs, watched movies … Milo had often come by and cooked for them.

It was a one-time mistake. Nothing more.

That was the only thing Leaf could still hold on to, the only thing that gave him hope that not everything was lost.

And now go in there!

Leaf pushed himself and stepped out of the car.

Just get yourself together, and everything will be fine.

They were in the middle of a song when he entered the rehearsal room.

Tristan stopped singing and smiled at him. Andrej glanced over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in surprise, while José finished the beat. Leaf had never felt so foreign within his own walls, as if he didn’t have permission to be here.

“Hi,” Tristan whispered, his voice echoing through the PA, sending a chill down Leaf’s spine.

He placed his wallet and phone on the small table, where he noticed the ripped bag from Valerie’s.

“There’s still a sandwich left for you,” Tristan said, this time turning away from the microphone.

“Thanks.”

What have I done to deserve this?

But his stomach was screaming for something edible, so he unwrapped it and took a bite. When he turned to the guys, Tristan appeared in front of him, his dark eyes filled with longing. Leaf paused in chewing, attempting to break free from his gaze but unable to do so.

“I don’t blame you,” Tristan whispered, so only he could hear. “Not in this matter. Never.”

Leaf’s pulse shot up, and the guilt made itself felt again. He had left Tristan alone after a beautiful afternoon, just to do what?

Tristan gave him a kiss and he retrieved his guitar before heading back to the others. Leaf took another bite, then sat down on the couch with his Gibson to tune it. While doing so, he finished the sandwich. He slung the guitar over his shoulder, walked over to the amp, and plugged it in. It was only then that he noticed the others waiting for him.

“Sorry,” he muttered and struck a chord to check the volume. He hastily adjusted the knob a bit more, then took his place.

Tristan stood by the microphone stand, dressed in black jeans and a loosely fitted black shirt, watching him with gentle eyes. His joy at Leaf finally showing up was practically palpable. But beyond that relief, Tristan’s very presence provided Leaf with the courage he needed.

“Where were you?” Andrej demanded.

Leaf tried to ignore him, shaking his head. Surely, Andrej didn’t want to hear what he had been up to for the past twelve hours. Leaf knew himself that he had screwed up, but it couldn’t be changed at that moment.

“Leaf, it seems like you don’t get what we’re doing here.”

With his eyes on the floor, Leaf pressed his lips together and composed himself. He then straightened up to his full height. Andrej had approached him, but Leaf was a bit taller and now looked down on him. “Please, just leave me alone.”

Frustrated, Andrej knitted his brow. “We have a world tour coming up. Not to mention we have a gig the day after tomorrow.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Leaf cried out. “You make sure nobody forgets it! I’ve got this! Let’s just play already.”

Whether that was the case would soon be revealed, but he didn’t feel like arguing with Andrej any longer. As he turned away, he noticed a new setlist on the floor.

“Let’s start over,” Tristan decided, setting the guitar aside.

Leaf showed nothing—no anger toward Andrej, no guilt, and no longing for Tristan. The kiss had already unsettled him, conflicting with the punishment he had imposed on himself. None of yesterday afternoon did, but the time with Tristan had been too memorable for him to feel bad about it. His time at Nathan’s was currently tearing him apart. Bowing his head in remorse, he let his hair fall like a curtain, shielding him from the world outside, as he played his arpeggios.

It took a few bars, but as he felt the joy and desire awaken in him through playing, he breathed a sigh of relief. His fingers raced over the frets, the strings, the guitar neck, up and down, and Leaf immersed himself in the music. When the notes went deep, he leaned slightly forward; when they rose, he leaned back. His fingers worked smoothly, as if they had never done anything else, and the aftereffects of the high took him to other realms.