After the applause

Boundaries and boiling points

Camila swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat. Her chest ached in that aching, beautiful way that only happens when something real—something rare—sinks in.

"I love you," she breathed.

"I love you too," Lauren whispered back, their foreheads resting together like a prayer.

The world could crumble outside these walls, and it wouldn't matter. Not here. Not between them.

"Now come eat before I burn the second batch," Lauren added, voice light with laughter, tugging her gently to her feet.

The mood in the rehearsal space that afternoon was a stark contrast to the soft safety of the morning.

Despite the high from the previous night's show, there was a crackle of tension in the air, like static before a storm. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, amplifying the unease.

Jo sat off to the side, earbuds jammed in, fingers plucking lazily at her bass strings. Nick muttered to himself while adjusting mic stands, his movements jerky with impatience. Two techs bickered near the drum kit over cable placement, their raised voices adding to the frayed atmosphere.

Lauren stood near center stage, coffee cup clutched loosely in her hand, eyes scanning the room. Her gaze kept straying to Camila, who was hunched over her amp at the far end, fiddling with her settings. Her body was still, but Lauren could read the tension in her—the tight set of her shoulders, the way she worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

She was bracing herself.

Lauren barely had time to react before it happened.

The sharp, deliberate clack of drumsticks tapping together—three times. Too fast. Too hard. Too aggressive.

Lauren's head snapped toward the sound.

Miley was already seated at the kit, legs spread wide, posture loose, a smug grin twisting her features. She rolled her shoulders back like she was stepping into a boxing ring, not a rehearsal space. Her eyes locked onto Camila with predatory focus.

"Ready to keep up today, Mila?" she cooed, her voice syrup-sweet and poisoned underneath.

Camila's fingers paused on the dial but she didn't look up. "Just play your part," she said coolly, but Lauren could hear the strain in her voice.

"Oh, I will," Miley sang, twirling her sticks theatrically before slamming into a chaotic, messy beat. It was too loud, too fast, deliberately unsteady. She was trying to throw Camila off, make her stumble, make her doubt.

Lauren's jaw clenched so hard it ached.

She stalked toward Camila during a lull, leaning in close. "You okay?" she murmured, voice pitched for her ears alone.

Camila's fingers stilled briefly on the dial. "She's not gonna get to me," she said, and though her voice shook, there was steel underneath it too.

Lauren brushed her fingers along Camila's knuckles—quick, a spark of reassurance—then stepped back.

The band launched into the next track.

Camila's solo was coming.

And Miley knew it.

Lauren watched as Miley subtly shifted the tempo again—imperceptible to the audience, but just enough to force Camila to chase it. The fills were messy, undisciplined, a sabotage only those who knew would catch.

Lauren's hands curled into fists at her sides.

But Camila... God, Camila.

Instead of flinching, she closed her eyes. She found Lauren's gaze first—steady, silent support—and then turned inward.