Day off

The scent of coffee and warm toast filled my hotel room as the four of us sat around, mugs in hand, stealing bites from a shared plate of food. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a soft glow over the space. It was rare to have a morning like this—a slow one. No rushing to rehearsals, no immediate pressure to be stage-ready. A rare day off.

Tara sighed, stretching her legs over Freddie's lap. "So, what's the plan for today?"

Freddie grinned, sipping his coffee. "Lena's room is obviously the best, so... dinner party here tonight."

I raised an eyebrow at them. "Oh? And when exactly was I going to be consulted on this?"

Stefani smirked, leaning back against the couch. "Right now."

I huffed, shaking my head. But honestly? It wasn't the worst idea. Everyone on the tour could use a night to unwind, and I didn't mind hosting.

"Fine," I said, setting my mug down. "Dinner party here. But—" I sat up, glancing between them, "—we're going out again after."

Freddie let out a laugh. "Didn't get enough last night?"

I smirked. "I never do."

Stefani rolled her eyes but smiled. "You really don't know how to sit still, do you?"

I shrugged. "I can't afford to."

She leaned forward slightly. "You could just hang out with us today, though."

I knew what she was getting at. I knew she meant well. But I couldn't. I wouldn't.

"I have to maintain my body," I said simply, standing up. "I'm going for my run, and I have a ballet class today. I'll see you guys later."

I didn't wait for more protests. I had a routine, and nothing—not even them—was going to throw me off track.

⸻

The dance studio was light-filled, floor-to-ceiling windows casting golden streaks across the polished wood. The air smelled of rosin and sweat, a scent I had grown to love over the years. It grounded me.

I moved through the class with ease, each plié and pirouette an extension of muscle memory. It wasn't about being the best here. It was about control. Precision. Discipline.

After class, I rented the studio next door, needing a moment to be alone with my body and my movement.

I pressed play on my playlist, letting the music dictate my movements as I drifted across the floor. My breathing deepened, my heart syncing with the rhythm. It was cathartic, dancing freely with no choreography to follow.

Then, the next song started.

My stomach clenched. My breath hitched.

I hadn't heard it in months, but the opening notes were enough.

Her song.

The grief hit me before I could stop it. A cold rush down my spine. I kept moving at first, trying to shake it off, but my chest tightened, and suddenly, my legs felt heavy.

I stopped.

My reflection in the mirror blurred as my vision clouded with tears. My hands clenched into fists as I willed myself to stay composed.

I failed.

A single sob broke from my throat before I could silence it.

I turned away from the mirror, wiping at my face quickly.

Not here. Not now.

I forced in a deep breath, then another, before shutting off the music entirely.

⸻

By the time I was back at my hotel room, I had done everything I could to shove the memory away.

Standing in front of the mirror, I adjusted the straps of my little black dress, smoothing the fabric over my curves. The silky material clung to me just right, elegant yet subtly seductive. The dim lighting of my hotel room cast a golden hue over my light caramel skin, highlighting the soft glow along my shoulders and collarbones.

I leaned in closer to the mirror, tilting my chin slightly as I traced the last bit of eyeliner along my upper lash line. The deep black made my green eyes stand out even more, the contrast striking against my complexion. They caught the light just enough to shimmer—a mix of hazel and emerald, shifting with every glance.

My hair was pulled up into an updo of cascading curls, thick and dark brown, each strand meticulously placed but still effortless. A few tendrils framed my face, softening the look, but the rest was pinned high, adding an air of classic beauty to the ensemble.

Stepping back, I smoothed a hand down my dress once more, taking in the full image. Strong yet feminine. Sensual but not obvious. I knew I looked beautiful—maybe even breathtaking—but tonight wasn't about that.

Tonight was about forgetting.

But that sinking feeling in my chest hadn't left.

The first guests arrived, and I greeted them warmly, smiling as if nothing was wrong. Laughter and conversation filled the space, drinks clinking, plates being passed around. The distraction was working—at least for a little while.

Then, I felt it creeping back in.

I slipped away from the dining area, heading straight to my suitcase. I knelt down, fingers finding the small white bag tucked in one of the side pockets.

As I quickly inhaled the contents, I barely had time to react before a voice cut through the moment.

"Skipping out on your own party?"

I flinched, stuffing the bag back into my suitcase before turning.

Stefani stood in the doorway, leaning against it casually, but her eyes weren't playful like before. She had seen.

I let out a breath, trying to shake it off. "Just needed a second."

She didn't move. "Lena."

I forced a smirk. "You caught me. Busted."

She wasn't laughing. Instead, she walked toward me, kneeling down so we were at eye level.

"Tell me what's wrong," she said softly.

I shook my head, looking away. "I'm fine."

She reached out, her hands settling around my waist, grounding me. "If not right now... please tell me later. I can't stand to see you upset."

Her voice was too soft, too warm. It made my throat tighten again, and I hated it.

I swallowed, forcing myself to focus. "Pass me a joint?"

She searched my face for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. Come on."

The party outside was getting louder, the bass thumping through the walls as voices rose in laughter. Someone had turned the music up, the rhythm shifting into something slower, sultrier.

I lay back on my bed, my body sinking into the plush mattress, the joint burning between my fingers. Smoke curled lazily from my lips as I watched Stefani move.

She was dancing.

Not for anyone. Not for the crowd outside. Just for herself. Yes she was probably high, but she always oozed the essence of pure freedom.

Her body swayed effortlessly to the beat, her platinum hair catching the dim light, her hands trailing down her sides like she was savoring every movement. There was something about the way she did it—completely unfiltered, completely in the moment—that made it impossible to look away.

I took another slow drag, my lids growing heavy, my entire body warm and weightless. She kept moving, rolling her hips in time with the music, her fingers ghosting over her stomach before pushing back through her hair. I couldn't tell if she was even aware of me watching. Or maybe she was, and she just didn't care.

Then, suddenly, she turned her head, catching my gaze.

"Don't look at me like that," she said, voice light but edged with something else.

I arched a brow, exhaling a stream of smoke. "Like what?"

Her lips curled slightly, but her eyes stayed locked on mine, unblinking, unshaken. "Like you want me to come to you."

A slow heat unfurled in my stomach. My head buzzed with the high, but I was still sober enough to feel the tension settling thick in the air.

I tilted my head, voice low. "Maybe I do."

The second I said it, something flickered in her expression. A shift. A pause. The kind of moment that made the air feel electric.

But before I could figure out what it meant—

"Lena, get your ass up!"

The door burst open, and I jolted slightly, letting out a breathless laugh as I flopped back onto the bed. Tara's voice rang through the room, cutting through the haze like a knife.

I turned my head just as she strode in, hands on her hips.

"You are not gonna spend the whole damn party locked in here," she declared.

I groaned dramatically, stretching my limbs across the bed. "I was enjoying my peace."

"Yeah, well, enjoy it later. Come on."

She marched over and grabbed my wrist, yanking me up. I stumbled to my feet, still laughing, my head light.

As I steadied myself, Stefani stepped in close, leaning in just enough for me to feel the warmth of her breath against my ear.

"I hope I can have you to myself on the dance floor tonight," she murmured.

My breath caught. It was barely anything—a whisper, a suggestion—but it sank into me like a spark catching dry wood.

Before I could react, Tara pulled me through the door and back into the noise. The music, the people, the heat of the room swallowed me whole.

But even as I rejoined the party, Stefani's words lingered in my mind, curling around my thoughts like smoke.