Chapter Text
I collapsed over my suitcase, gasping with heady laughter that echoed through the airport terminal. Ethan perched on his own bag next to me, rolling himself back and forth and chuckling a bit more quietly at his own joke, looking up periodically to see where Damiano, Victoria, and Leo had gotten to.
The flights on the enormous announcement board above us scrolled through; the 10:45 we were meant to catch to Berlin popping up with huge red letter next to it, marking it as delayed. Hence the consternation and the disappearance of three of our travelling companions. We needed to be in Berlin by 13:00, exactly. There was an event at a local hotel at 13:30 that couldn’t be rescheduled or missed, a lunch shortly thereafter, followed by an interview that would take at least two hours to prepare for. I took a steadying breath. It wasn’t even my tour, and I was already feeling anxious. Ethan had been doing his best to distract me. Something told me that this wasn’t his first time making light of a bad situation to keep his friends from feeling nervous.
“It always turns out,” he said in his quiet, noncommittal way that always made me question if he was actually speaking to me or just vocalizing his thoughts into the air, “You’ll see. Damiano’s got the luck of the fucking gods. We’ve never been late for anything yet.”
I laughed. Damiano was chronically on time for every event. He subscribed to the notion that if you didn’t arrive fifteen minutes early, you were horrendously late and deserved any mockery and shame he piled on you. Hence the fact that we had arrived at the airport nearly three hours early for a flight that had turned out to be delayed anyways.
“I know. I just know Vic’s stressed out of her mind. And I’m sitting here laughing and doing absolutely nothing to help.”
“They’ll get it sorted.”
Ethan rolled himself back and forth a bit more vigorously, tapping the heels of his snakeskin boots on the tile floor. He spun himself around on the wheels of the suitcase a few times, and I raised my eyebrows questioningly at him.
“Excited?”
“Nervous. I always get nervous before we leave. Worried I’ll fuck up, say something I shouldn’t. Interviews aren’t exactly my strong suit.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit. Your English is better than mine.”
“But your Italian is exceptional. And it’s still your second language.”
“Eh. Longer time spent learning it, I suppose. You’ve only been speaking English for a few years. It’ll come.”
My English was horrific, so I knew I probably wasn’t the best person to cheer Ethan up about his own. I could string together heavily accented sentences well enough, but they took me a while to form. It was always a little awkward to stand by, smiling, while Vic prattled on next to me with English-speaking fans. I wished I could interact with them more. In some ways, I was relieved we were headed to Berlin. German and French were by far my stronger languages, and I was looking forwards to being able to chat a bit more with fans. Though I was a bit bemused about what they could possibly want with me, being that I didn’t play music and wasn’t in the band. Giorgia and I had talked about it several times; our respective creative careers had both taken off since the Eurovision win. We both found it flattering and confusing the sudden scrutiny and outpouring of feedback we had received.
Ethan scrubbed tiredly at his forehead, conveniently hiding his face as a few people passed us by a bit too closely. They were lucky to get any anonymity these days; even the date of our flight had been kept carefully guarded from the public so there wouldn’t be a crowd waiting outside the airport. I knew Ethan liked greeting fans, but that he missed being able to move about freely.
“It’ll be good, you’ll see. Berlin loves all of you. You’ve never had a bad experience there, and Vic and Damiano can do most of the interview, yeah?”
“I suppose. I just keep seeing things about how the fans never get to hear from Thom and I. I hate disappointing them.”
A few more people passed by, and I rolled my suitcase in front of Ethan and jammed by black beret onto his head. With his sunglasses, he looked like a wealthy Italian lady holidaying on the coast. Not a rock star. He nodded his thanks.
“You can’t please everyone,” I said softly, looking up to see Damiano returning with a triumphant look on his face, “So don’t try to. Just focus on improving and growing for yourself. The rest will come, and if people aren’t happy with that, well, they’re missing out.”
Ethan snorted.
“You know, that sort of talk is usually my job.”
“I’m here to support all of you. And that, unfortunately for you, includes terrible pep talks in broken Italian.”
Ethan chuckled and raised his hand to Damiano, whose long coat was flapping amusingly with the speed at which he was walking. Vic, Leo, and Thomas appeared a moment later, jogging to catch up. Damiano beckoned to us and I stood up, casting my gaze around rather despairingly at the enormous amount of luggage that was strewn around us.
“We can’t possibly move all this on our own.”
Ethan called to Damiano, interspersed with a couple expletives, and he took his suitcases, leaning up against the largest one.
“Sorted. We’re on the next flight through a different airline, and they upgraded our seats. We’ll be barely on time, but we should make it so long as there aren’t any more delays.”
Vic looked a bit downcast. Her shoulders were slumped, and she was fiddling absently with the little scarf that was tied around her neck. I slid down onto the seat next to her, pushing her suitcase over with my boot.
“Alright?”
“Yes. Tired. Worried.”
Vic wasn’t usually this short with me unless something was really bothering her, but we had had a stressful morning and she had barely slept last night. Every time I had woken she’d been lying on her back, staring at the ceiling and twisting her feet anxiously together into a knot under the sheets. Ethan wasn’t the only one who got nervous before interviews and shows, and Vic was probably more anxious since she was still recovering. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, noting that they were dotted with gooseflesh.
“Didn’t you bring a coat or a sweater for the flight?”
“…I forgot it.” She had the grace to look a bit sheepish, and I rolled my eyes a bit dramatically at her before pulling my own hoodie out of my backpack.
“Take this. I’ll use my coat as a blanket, and then you won’t freeze to death. You’re not all better yet, no matter what you might be telling Damia and the others.”
Vic wrinkled her nose and took the sweater. It had belonged to my dad and was a vomit-green colour featuring a faded University of Iceland graphic. There were holes in the cuffs of the sleeves, and a cigarette burn halfway up one of the arms. The whole thing stank of cigar smoke, the scent of my house in Iceland. My mum had smuggled it to me when COVID had caught me in Italy, wanting to remind me of home. As of yet, she said my dad hadn’t even noticed it was missing.
“This is disgusting. Have you ever washed it?”
“I think my mum did before she mailed it.”
Damiano, who had been eavesdropping on the last part of the conversation while he sorted out his several suitcases, snatched the sweater from Vic and jammed it onto her head. She growled and pulled it off, hair sticking up like she’d been caught in a windstorm. I laughed and took her hand, pulling my own suitcase in the other. Vic and I shared most of our clothes, so neither of us had packed nearly as much as we normally did. I had thought it would make for an easier time. However, I now found Damiano’s carryon bag foisted on me, as well as Thomas’ leather purse with its handles wrapped around the top of my bag. I scowled at them.
“Cazzo, it’s not our fault you’re both so indecisive about what you want to wear.” Vic was similarly burdened, looking prettily flushed and cozy now that she had deigned to put my sweater on. She was wearing a black beret and dark sunglasses as well; she had said she wasn’t in a right state to take too many pictures today and didn’t want to be recognized.
“I can’t carry all this myself.”
Vic took my arm and rolled her eyes.
“Come on,” she said, “They might miss the flight, but at least we’ll be on time.”
“Ethan too.”
Ever practical, Ethan was standing with his own reasonably sized bag ready to be checked. His energy was never as chaotic as Damiano and Thomas, who were still sorting bags and trying to decide what they wanted checked and what they wanted to change into on the plane. He caught our eyes and Vic reached out and linked her arm with his as well. Their difference in height made the whole scene a bit comical. I waved cheerfully over my shoulder at Leo, who had a long-suffering expression as he watched Damiano extract an enormous fur coat from his bag before declaring himself fit to travel. At least Thomas has the grace to look embarrassed as he spread several sweaters on the seats around him before choosing an acceptable one.
By the time we got our bags checked and through security, Vic looked pale and exhausted. Her cheeks were highlighted by dark lines that hollowed out her cheeks, and there were dark bags under her eyes. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and snuggled her as we walked towards our gate, and she hummed sleepily and rested her head on my shoulder. When we reached a relatively secluded place to sit, I pushed her shoulders gently until she was lying in my lap, eyes closed.
“You’re alright?” Thomas, Ethan, and Leo had gone to find coffee, and Damiano was listening to music, though he shot me a small smile when our gaze met. “You don’t seem like yourself.”
Vic cracked an eye and offered me up a smile that made me feel a bit better. She’d been slowly recovering her strength, but her illness combined with how long she’d been touring since Eurovision had nearly run her to the bone. Though she was smiling more frequently since we’d had time to holiday just the two of us.
“I’m fine, Sigrid. I always get like this before we travel. I just need time to be quiet, before everything gets loud and bright and all that. I like it, but I need time to calibrate myself.”
I squinted at the word she used, pursing my lips. Vic chuckled.
“Ehm…kvarða? Kvarða mig?”
“How on earth do you know that word off the top of your head? I feel inadequate in my Italian now, seeing as apparently you’ve become fluent in Icelandic without me noticing.”
“In case we ever play a show in Iceland,” Vic giggled, “I need to be able to tell someone if I’m having technical problems.”
“And you’ve prepared for this eventuality because…”
“It can’t hurt to be overprepared. Especially since apparently our streams in Iceland are good. That couldn’t have anything to do with my seeing a beautiful Icelandic woman, could it?”
“You know I’m only in it for the fame.” I pulled a face, paraphrasing the barrage of comments I’d gotten on my last Instagram post; a picture of Vic and I topless at the vineyard on our vacation. The reaction had been such a mixed bag of love and completely unfounded claims about our relationship that I had almost felt like I had whiplash.
Vic squeezed my hand and closed her eyes again.
“We all get it. You don’t regret being open about us, do you?”
“Not at all. It’s so much better than dealing with rumours. And I’m not a very private person. At least, not about some things. I still don’t want anyone knowing more than we’re comfortable sharing.”
Vic snorted and raised her eyebrow, no doubt thinking of the poorly drawn-on stars I’d used to cover our nipples in the photo in question. It wouldn’t have taken much zooming in to get a fairly complete understanding of what they were covering. I didn’t agree with censorship of female bodies, and I was vocal enough about it that at least people knew what to expect.
Just then, the boarding call for our flight rang through the terminal. Damiano jerked upright like he’d been shocked, and waved his arms at Thomas and Ethan, who were standing by the enormous bay windows, watching the planes take off. They jogged over, and we gathered up our things. Vic yawned and rubbed her eyes sleepily before digging around in the pocket of her jeans and producing both our passports and boarding passes. I’d entrusted them to her after a particularly embarrassing incident involving nearly losing my own passport on a train from Milan to Rome.
“Come on,” she smiled, seeming much more like herself now, “Aren’t you excited? This is your first time travelling with us. You get to see what it’s like to travel with a famous band.”
I examined the boarding pass.
“Apparently, it doesn’t involve meal vouchers.”
“Ao, don’t be so sour. They assume we’re all rich enough to buy our own food. Besides, it’s not that long of a trip.”
I snorted at Vic’s comment about being rich. Between my painting and her music, we’d barely been able to get by until the band’s slow growth after winning Sanremo. Since Eurovision, we were still becoming accustomed to the new reality that we might be able to afford buying a place of our own instead of renting a top floor suite with windows that were permanently glued shut.
“Ah, well. I suppose my sandwich will have to do.” I poked at the cheese sandwich I had purchased once we got through security. It was a bit squashed from being shoved unceremoniously into my purse, and Vic wrinkled her nose at it. I rolled my eyes and took her small hand in my own, gathering our things and hurrying to catch up with the others.
Berlin was completely overwhelming. By the time we reached the hotel, my legs were shaking with something I could only describe as adrenaline, and my heart was quivering in my chest. I collapsed on a bench in the lobby, and Vic came to sit next to me, stopping to offer a little smile and wave to the fans who had come to greet the band outside. I was a little relieved to be able to take refuge inside the hotel.
“You’re alright?”
I nodded and smiled. Having taken a moment to collect myself, I no longer felt like I was being swept away on a wave of adrenaline. My hands stopped shaking and I stopped twisting them in my lap.
“Yes. It was just…a lot. I’ve dealt with fans in Rome before, but this was different. People are more excited when they’re not from your hometown, apparently? I thought it would be the opposite.”
“Mmm. They’ve been waiting for weeks to see us.” Vic was twisting a red rose in her own hands, and a beautiful portrait of the band was tucked under her arm. It was hand painted, and my artist’s eye told me it had taken weeks, if not months, to perfect. I sucked in a bit of air through my teeth, and Vic noted my impressed gaze.
“I still can’t believe all the effort they put in for us. They’re wonderful. I can’t imagine waiting hours outside a hotel just to see us looking greasy and exhausted and jetlagged.”
“Hmm. They must really love you.”
“Apparently they love you too.”
This was true. I had been shocked, and a little alarmed, at how many people wanted photos with me, or wanted to talk to me or give me gifts. It had caught me completely off guard. After all, I wasn’t a member of the band. What on earth could they want with me? But they seemed to be so happy for Vic that she was in a happy, long-term relationship, and they were genuinely curious to get to know more about me. It was an odd experience, knowing that people were curious about my life and what I did without ever having even met me.
Damiano wandered over and came to sit next to us. He hissed a little as he lowered himself onto the ornate couch. Vic caught his eye with a warning look, letting him know that there were still people outside. He’d strained his hip in Moscow a while ago. The band had been trying to keep it from reaching the press, but it was obvious that the strain was getting worse. Even a few days’ break hadn’t resolved it. And I knew when he had bid Giorgia farewell that morning that she had told him to be careful and rest it. I shot him a glance as well, frowning.
“It’s bothering you, isn’t it?”
Always quick to smile, Damiano waved his hand in the air, leaning back against Vic’s shoulder and wrapped his arm around mine.
“Just stiff from sitting on the plane.”
“Damia.” I winced at Vic’s tone. It was the same one she used with me when she was calling out my bullshit.
“It’s sore. I’ll be fine. I went to see a doctor in Rome, he said I just need to rest it.”
Vic and I exchanged a glanced and rolled our eyes in tandem, well familiar with Damiano’s penchant for downplaying his own needs when there was a job to be done.
“You know,” I said, trying to keep the simmering concern from my voice, “I don’t think that playing a concert every two days was really what the doctor had in mind. Especially when your concerts involve launching yourself into crowds like a psychopath.”
Vic snorted behind her hand. I remembered how surprised she had looked when Damiano had jumped off the stage in Belgium. My own heart had nearly jumped out of my throat, and I hadn’t even been part of the main crowd.
“Ah,” Damiano lounged back even further into the couch, “There’s not enough space for that at the clubs here.”
“And yet, somehow, my point still stands.”
“Well, I won’t jump into any crowds, si? Vic’s a bad influence on you, always worrying about everything.”
Vic frowned, and not in a good-natured way. I stood to leave, knowing that Damiano, whether it was from exhausted or the fact that he was probably in a lot of pain, had just crossed a line.
“I’m going to go get our key cards. Come meet me when you’re ready, Vic. I’m dying to have a smoke on the balcony and I think we have some reading we need to catch up on tonight, since apparently my voice sent you right to sleep on the plane.”
Vic did offer me up a little smile then, before turning to Damiano. At least they were able to air out their problems right away instead of holding them in. Through the years that we had all known each other, this had always impressed me about them. It was probably the reason their friendship had weathered so many storms, and I as well as the rest of the band were probably grateful for it. Damiano and Vic were both too fiery to keep problems inside.
I gathered our keys and managed to wrangle both mine and Vic’s luggage up the elevator and into our room. Better to not have her worrying about where her things were on top of everything else. Then, I ran myself a bath, lit a cigarette, poured myself a glass of wine and waited for her to join me.