I’d love to say that I’m genuinely lost in my own thoughts, but the only thing I’m really doing is trying my best to ignore Matt as he stares at me and tries not to laugh too much. We’re back at my room now, which is simply ridiculous knowing he has a big empty suit a few floors above us, but I guess the guy likes it simpler and doesn’t know how to be alone.

It feels like I’m taking care of a big ass puppy.

“You can stay with us, you know,” he says now, trying to tune his guitar but still with that smug but soft smile on his lips. “I truly meant it when I told you. My mum even prepared the mattress for you and everything.”

“Wow, a mattress on the floor sounds very appealing and definitely a reason why I wouldn’t choose London,” I snap, irritated.

He chuckles, shaking his shoulders a little bit, and his smile just gets bigger. We’re both aware that he should be upstairs packing his stuff now, but he decided that teasing me was definitely funnier, and here we are.

“So you’re admitting it is a pretty easy decision to make?”

“No.” It truly is an easy decision, but I don’t want to disclose with him why I’m reluctant. “I mean, you don’t ge—”

“Yes I do. I get it. Billie told me you guys spent the night together.” When I turn my head at him so fast my neck could’ve snapped, he raises both hands. “What? We text!!”

God, so I was all worried about his stupid face while he was gossiping about something completely false behind my back. That’s just great! Friendship.

“We did not spend the night together,” I say, irritated. “I bought her coffee and we talked for like an hour. But that’s all. Mind your business.”

He raises both eyebrows.

“You bought her coffee? You’re never so nice.”

Okay, now he’s just being plain rude. Is it okay if I just tell him to go fuck himself? It should be. I deserve it.

“I bring you coffee all the time, what are you talking about?”

He shrugs a tiny bit.

“I mean, yeah, you do, but only because that’s your job. And because you feel bad that I want to be friends with you and you don’t, so you order the extra chocolate powder for me sometimes, but you didn’t have to do that for her. And you did. So…”

“So what?” I groan, and I pull my hair back because he’s making me more stressed than I already am. “I needed her full capacity so I could do my part. That’s all. Now shut it.”

“You know, Amber stares at you when you touch your hair like that.”

I look at him, moving my hands away. 

“You want me going to Scotland with you, or what? Because if you keep saying…”

“It’s Wales, and no. I want you to have fun. And it also was nice teasing you for a change, let’s be real.” Matthew leaves the guitar aside and reaches for the case on the floor. When he’s back up, his expression looks nicer, like he decided it was enough making fun of me already and he now wanted me to see he only had good intentions. “Charlie, I think… Well, I think you should just go. And have fun. Make the best out of this long trip. Amber seems like a really nice girl, it should be easy.”

“What would you know about very nice girls, anyways?”

“Not as much as you.” And he smiles. It’s a kind, funny smile, one that tells me he’s really fond of me. Gosh, I can’t stand him, but seeing him having fun like this also makes me like him more than ever. “Give her a chance, alright? You like her a bit already!”

“I do not!” I’m sure I’m blushing, but why do I care. At least this is between Matt and me, and he’s not the type of running and telling. Billie would. Well, probably, I think. “She did say the magic word, though, so I might accept.”

“What’s the magic word? Please?” 

“No. Wicked.” I bite my lip and he nods, understanding. “I’ve always wanted to watch it live.”

“Of course you have.”

So what if I’m wearing my coolest clothes for this? I just want to look nice for a few Instagram stories that only fifty of my two hundred followers will see, and for the memories.

“Nice jacket,” plain Barbie says when we meet, and I shrug as if it’s nothing and it’s not the one I normally save for important occasions.

“Where do you wanna go first?” I ask, and I take out the paper map I took from the reception at the hotel. We’re on the street now, a few meters away from the entrance, and Amber is trying to call a taxi.

She raises her eyebrows as she looks at me,  arm raised and everything, as if something about me was funny.

“Don’t you use Google Maps, or what?”

“I like to paint the streets while I’m walking through them,” I explain, and I grab my travel pen that so far I’ve used in a) Los Angeles, b) New York that one time I went with my family when I was twelve, c) Seattle.

“Cute,” she determines, and then a car stops right next to her and I don’t have much time to answer.

First stop’s Trafalgar Square, and the driver is nice enough to recommend some places to eat before Amber pays (Billie’s treat) and we get off. She looks happy to be here, and I am too because, as Billie Grace pointed out: when am I gonna come back? Not soon, probably, so I should make the most out of this. Even if it’s with Amber. Even if I’m not sure we want to visit the same places. 

I adjust my cap on my head before taking out the map and rest it against the nearest wall, one that apparently belongs to a Mexican food place that smells too good.

“Okay, so we’re here.” I point at the square with the tip of my pen as I feel Amber’s body stand too close to mine. “The theater is here, so we should have enough time to walk around before the play.”

“What about the National Gallery? It’s right there.” I turn to face her and she smiles a bit, as if trying to be nice. She’s been looking at me like that all day, which is not bad considering I only gave her the worst coffee ever.

“Do you want to visit the National Gallery?” I ask, surprised, because I do not want to be that person but she doesn’t strike me as someone who would have fun at a museum.

“I don’t mind. And you look like you would enjoy that, so why not? I can be the one choosing the plan tomorrow, and this way we’ll not stray too far away from the theater.”

She’s right. Okay. I smile, grateful, and she answers with an expression so kind it makes my heart jump a bit. Uh-uh. I move away fast, folding my map small enough for it to fit in my pocket, and then she walks past me to hit the button that’ll let us cross the road.

And of course the traffic lights we’ve chosen would show the sapphic symbol. Of course. Geez.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say the main reason why I want to visit the National Gallery is because of Van Gogh. I can’t help it if I’m the most basic bitch ever, but what can I say? His paintings are my faves for real, and they make me happy, and the Sunflowers were my icon on Twitter for the longest time when I was a teen. Being here in Europe and being able to actually see them live feels like a dream. I have to control myself not to run through the corridors looking for them, Amber speeding behind me, and when I do spot the room they’re in I get so nervous I have to take a deep breath before I step in. 

This part of the exhibition looks different than others, but that only makes it feel even more special, I don’t know why.

Gosh, these are all so beautiful.

I hear a soft click and turn fast enough to watch Amber lowering her camera.

“Sorry,” she whispers, but she doesn’t explain herself further.

We keep walking after that but, before I know it, we’re just pointing at different paintings and saying silly things about them.

“Did Toulouse-Lautrec really title this one The Two Friends? They look like more than friends to me, sir.”

“It says here that they were prostitutes,” Amber reads from the little sign next to the painting. “That he would go to brothels and observe them.”

“First of all, creepy. Second, sure, they might’ve been, but they were definitely also girlfriends,” I joke, and Amber giggles.

“Tell me,” Amber whispers a few rooms later, leaning to me in a way that makes all my nerves tense, but that I don’t exactly dislike, “that that doesn’t look like the first PNG archive ever.”

I cover my mouth so all the people surrounding us don’t give me disapproval looks, but that was a good one. The horse we’re staring at now really looks like the painter got bored and decided no horse that ugly really deserved a good background.

After a few hours walking around, we check the time and decide we should be leaving soon, but not before stopping by the shop. Amber wants to buy something for her aunt and for Billie, don’t ask me why, so I walk around the place and admire every overpriced magnet and art book I’d love to buy.

Until I find the one thing that had to make me weak, and I pick it up from its shelf because… well… because I know I shouldn’t, but I’d love to own this Van Gogh biography.

I stare at the book for so long it’s weird,  even weirder when I know I’m not gonna get it after checking the price. I mean, yeah, twenty pounds are not going to make my life much different, and it doesn’t even weight that much to cause me a problem at the plane (unlike Billie and Amber, we don’t get to have a private jet to Europe just yet), but I have a big ass pile of unread books at home and Trent and I still don’t know what’s going to happen with our landlord, so I shouldn’t add more stuff to my belongings just in case we have to move. 

I should leave it. I mean, I’m sure I can always get it from Amazon. It’s not gonna be as special as if I bought it now, in this place and at this moment, but the inside of the book will say the exact same things and I really shouldn’t…

“Give me that,” Amber says, and before I notice what’s happening, she’s taken the book from my hands and is walking towards the cashier.

I don’t know what she is doing until she takes out her card from her purse and presses it against the dataphone.

“Hey,” I complain, approaching her. “Hey, what did you just…”

“You should’ve seen your face when you were looking at it. Don’t think about it too much, ‘kay, grumpy?”

She hands me the book and I stare at it with big eyes and no words.

“Thank you.”

Her smile is beautiful.

“You’re welcome.”