Album 2, Track 1: "Not Back on It, Joe, Still on It"

[Veronica Tucker]

Nico looked around once more, adopting the grave expression of an officer inspecting a vital military installation.

“Excellent work. Strong sight lines. Excellent morale potential. Minimal respect for any known school of interior design.” He approached the bar stool and peeled at one corner of the clearance sticker, only succeeding in tearing off a tiny orange triangle. “And I see the procurement committee spared no expense on my tactical command throne.” With exaggerated ceremony, he mounted the stool and immediately discovered that one leg was shorter than the others. It rocked beneath him with a sharp clack. Nico froze, one hand raised for balance, then carefully planted both feet on the floor. “Built-in threat-detection system,” he concluded. “Keeps me alert.”

Nico's grin widened as he looked back at Vic.

“Seriously, though? This is good Vic. It's starting to feel like ours now.”

Vic snorts indelicately as he chooses the rickety stool. "Don't be silly. That's not your seat," she teases with a giggle, waltzing around the room-dominating teddy bear to grab the back of the office chair and wheeling it towards him. "This one is yours. For, like, your back and stuff," she adds, peaking out from behind the back of the chair, because its just too tall for anything by her hair to be seen over it.

"I thought really hard about it, okay?" she adds, slightly defensive before he can even argue. "I wanted each chair to be perfect for its designated sitter. We got Jess in the egg, Naomi on the Ottoman, you in the Command Chair, and me on the bear! Its perfect!" she explains, doing a backflop onto the giant plushie and nearly disappearing into its cushy depths. She pointedly does not mention who the last chair is for. She doesn't need to.

[Nico Rivera-Park]

Nico looked down, from the stool to the office chair, then back again.

“Oh!”

Hopping to his feet, Nico took a few steps toward his designated chair. Wit momentarily failed him at the small, startling realization that Vic had put that kind of thought into seating for him. Between the long hours at the soundboard and the way he was always leaning over something or carrying something for somebody else, he couldn't deny that his back was probably not always in the most primo condition for his age. She hadn’t just remembered to give him a place in the circle, she'd thought about what would make that place comfortable. His eyes flicked briefly toward the unclaimed stool. One eyebrow rose. Whatever conclusion he reached, he tactfully filed it away without comment.

"Command.... did I get a promotion I'm not aware of? What am I supposed to be commanding Vickles?" Laughing, he lowered himself into the "Command Chair". The lumbar support met his spine, and an involuntary groan of relief escaped him.

“Oh... oh no. This is dangerously good.” He gave the chair an experimental swivel before he stopped, facing her directly. "Geez Vic, I hope this wasn't too expensive, you're really... spoiling me." Nico began sinking back as he spoke, looking almost reverent. On some level he knew it was just an office chair, but... it was a damn NICE office chair. Nicer than the kind of seats he usually inhabited during his shifts at the station. Nicer than the seat of his van (though he'd never admit that to his precious darling).

Nico pointed solemnly at Vic.

“You’ve ruined ordinary sitting for me. I hope you’re prepared to live with that.” His grin softened. “You really did think of everything.” Nico's foot hung lazily to the side as he began to softly push off the floor, making slow circles in place as his eyes lazily scanned the room again... coming to rest on a box next to his bag. Memory rediscovered the boy, and he straightened up slightly. "Oh, hey. I brought in some acoustic foam. Not a ton; just some leftover material from our jury-rigged, rickety-ass temp radio booth back at the station. Did you have a space in mind for the practice room?" He flashed Vic a cozy half-smile. "You got me this thing and decked out our spot, so it's only fair I give you first crack at making the call. Which room speaks to you? I'll toss them up on the wall and get things started before we leave."

[Naomi Brooks]

"And - and how can she think I'll accept her help when she's saying that she's still mad?" Now Sophie's hands flew outward, a helpless bewildered gesture - and one that skimmed her bare arm perilously close to Naomi's. "What do I even do with this?"

Naomi clicked her teeth. She felt a bristle of tension and goosebumps go up her neck as she glared at the door instead of looking at Sophie directly, recalling how pissed off she'd gotten at Dane when they had tried to put this break up on her..or Sophie. Both of them? Either way, the texts felt like Dane was trying, kind of. But it was coming off wrong. And that was pissed Naomi off again. She looked back down at the phone again, the brightness dimming from lack of attention. Just a few more seconds and it would go black again. She took a moment to read the text one more time before it did.

"I'm gonna be blunt.." Naomi warned. She shifted on the bench a bit, putting a hand down over Sophie's because sometimes when people had to be blunt with her, it felt good to have a reassuring hand there to soften the blow. Or maybe it was because most people thought Naomi was the type of person to hit first and ask questions later.

That was Vic's thing though. Naomi just looked like she would pummel you if you said the wrong thing.

"Dane's being kind of a piece of shit.." She gave the hand a bit of a squeeze. Because that was supposed to be reassuring. She looked intensely at Sophie though, trying to stay close just because Sophie seemed to be freaking out about the messages and Naomi wanted to be sure she knew someone was there. "Maybe that's a bit much. But this isn't cool. And.." She caught herself before she blurted out too much. She had nothing to go on. Just a feeling. "Losing you probably messed with a lot of their plans. Not Dane I mean. Well, probably her also but..you know.." she paused a bit and nodded her head at the empty space as if that would be clear enough code that she was talking about THEM not "them." "Dane might be getting used like a pawn without even realizing. So I think you leave it alone. Don't text back. And don't agree to anything."

She paused again to think about what she was suggesting, twisting her lips upward as she realized it was a bad plan. "Or..if you want to talk to her. Do it in person. And not alone. Make sure one of us is with you. For backup. Even Nico can be nasty with an XLR cable in a pinch."

[Veronica Tucker]

"Command.... did I get a promotion I'm not aware of? What am I supposed to be commanding Vickles?" Laughing, he lowered himself into the "Command Chair". The lumbar support met his spine, and an involuntary groan of relief escaped him.

“Oh... oh no. This is dangerously good.” He gave the chair an experimental swivel before he stopped, facing her directly. "Geez Vic, I hope this wasn't too expensive, you're really... spoiling me." Nico began sinking back as he spoke, looking almost reverent. On some level he knew it was just an office chair, but... it was a damn NICE office chair. Nicer than the kind of seats he usually inhabited during his shifts at the station. Nicer than the seat of his van (though he'd never admit that to his precious darling).

Nico hears a soft thump of displaced filler shortly after the word Vickles left his mouth, and when his chair stops to face her, she's slightly closer to him and inconspicuously face down in the teddy bear's fluff. Seems a giant bean bag is not a good launching pad for flinging yourself at someone in a blind rage.

This really is the perfect chair for her.

Nico pointed solemnly at Vic.

“You’ve ruined ordinary sitting for me. I hope you’re prepared to live with that.” His grin softened. “You really did think of everything.” Nico's foot hung lazily to the side as he began to softly push off the floor, making slow circles in place as his eyes lazily scanned the room again... coming to rest on a box next to his bag. Memory rediscovered the boy, and he straightened up slightly. "Oh, hey. I brought in some acoustic foam. Not a ton; just some leftover material from our jury-rigged, rickety-ass temp radio booth back at the station. Did you have a space in mind for the practice room?" He flashed Vic a cozy half-smile. "You got me this thing and decked out our spot, so it's only fair I give you first crack at making the call. Which room speaks to you? I'll toss them up on the wall and get things started before we leave."

Vic lifts her head, sputtering from a bit of pink fluff in her mouth before smirking smugly at Nico. "Yeah, well, brace yourself for maximum spoilage, dork!" she announces, reaching her tiny hand out and swinging it dramatically at one of the levers beneath his chair.

And whiffs it.

Her arm dangles useless over the edge of the bear, and she tries again. Just a few inches short.

She growls in frustration, flopping in a truly undignified manner over the uneven terrain of her bean bear, like a newborn seal trying to figure out how dry land works, before finally smacking the lever. Nico's support goes out from under him, and he jerks backward about a foot as a supportive footrest takes out his calves and he reclines.

Vic is breathing heavily from her trek, but still manages to giggle triumphantly. Then she flops, her pink hair nearly blending into bear fluff. "The back room would probably be good..." she adds, tired and defeated by her own hubris.

[Nico Rivera-Park]

"Yeah, well, brace yourself for maximum spoilage, dork!" she announces, reaching her tiny hand out and swinging it dramatically at one of the levers beneath his chair.

And whiffs it.

Her arm dangles useless over the edge of the bear, and she tries again. Just a few inches short.

She growls in frustration, flopping in a truly undignified manner over the uneven terrain of her bean bear, like a newborn seal trying to figure out how dry land works, before finally smacking the lever. Nico's support goes out from under him, and he jerks backward about a foot as a supportive footrest takes out his calves and he reclines.

Vic is breathing heavily from her trek, but still manages to giggle triumphantly. Then she flops, her pink hair nearly blending into bear fluff. "The back room would probably be good..." she adds, tired and defeated by her own hubris.

Nico wasn't exactly sure what was happening as he watched, mildly nonplussed, at The pink fuzz that was awkwardly piloting the larger ball of pink fuzz slowly toward him. He half-considered reaching out to pull her the rest of the way.

And then the lever below him clicked sharply.

“WHE—!” Nico's voice pitched embarrassingly high as the chair dropped out from under him. His arms pinwheeled for purchase while the footrest swept his legs off the floor, leaving him abruptly reclined and staring at the ceiling. There was a moment of stunned silence as he assessed whether or not he was still alive. Then laughter burst out of him: helpless, breathless, and loud enough to echo through the loft.

The Command Chair™, it seemed, had anti-command countermeasures.

As Vic's response to his question came from somewhere out of view below/behind him, Nico's laughs subsided as he lifted a thumbs up.

"Back... room. Got it." Managing a response, he shifted to get up. This proved to be far less straightforward a task than expected as Nico felt blindly beneath the seat for the lever, found the wrong one, and sank another inch, accompanied by a small yelp. "Nope. Worse." He tried to sit forward, but the chair rocked back with him. After some graceless abdominal effort, a muttered negotiation with the footrest, and one shoe coming dislodged and thumping onto the floor below, he finally hauled himself upright. Nico rose with as much dignity as could reasonably be salvaged and smoothed down his shirt.

Vic, meanwhile, remained half-swallowed by pink fluff, life indicated by the rise and fall of her breaths, but alas still defeated by her own furniture. Without pausing to consider it, Nico bent over the bear, slipped his hands beneath her arms, and lifted her cleanly from its depths. The difference in their size made the operation almost comically effortless. Momentarily suspended at his chest like a particularly fashionable housecat, Vic was turned right-side up and carefully deposited into the bear's lap. Nico scratched his chin for a moment before reaching down, arranging its plush arms around her so she wouldn’t immediately disappear again.

"There." Flashing her a bright smile, he turned and made for the room at the end of the hall, scooping up the box of foam panels and his bag as he passed them. "That bean bag chair is STUPIDLY soft by the way. If I bribed you with a baked good, would you let me share it sometime?"

[Sophie Michaud]

"I'm gonna be blunt.." Naomi warned. She shifted on the bench a bit, putting a hand down over Sophie's because sometimes when people had to be blunt with her, it felt good to have a reassuring hand there to soften the blow. Or maybe it was because most people thought Naomi was the type of person to hit first and ask questions later.

"O-okay…"

Even if Sophie hadn't already been stammering, the feeling of Naomi's hand on hers would have stopped her words entirely. Strong, firm, protective.

And yet…somehow it stilled her heart rather than speeding it, radiating a slow steady calm throughout her and bringing her back into herself.

The past rolled itself up neatly behind her where it belonged. Sophie was here, in the present. With Naomi.

It gave her enough strength to hear what was coming next.

"Dane's being kind of a piece of shit.." She gave the hand a bit of a squeeze. Because that was supposed to be reassuring. She looked intensely at Sophie though, trying to stay close just because Sophie seemed to be freaking out about the messages and Naomi wanted to be sure she knew someone was there. "Maybe that's a bit much. But this isn't cool. And.." She caught herself before she blurted out too much. She had nothing to go on. Just a feeling. "Losing you probably messed with a lot of their plans. Not Dane I mean. Well, probably her also but..you know.." she paused a bit and nodded her head at the empty space as if that would be clear enough code that she was talking about THEM not "them." "Dane might be getting used like a pawn without even realizing."

Them

A shiver ran through Sophie that even Naomi's warm presence could not ease.

"You know…I was kind of worried about that," Sophie admitted. Her hand shifted, curling long slender fingers around Naomi's to return the clasp. "She…" Sophie had to hold on a little tighter to bring herself to say what she needed to say next. "She's the kind of person who works hardest when she's pushing back. Like, if you tell her she can't do something, then she'll try to prove you wrong. If you try to be kind…"

Sophie's eyes closed against a small burst of memories: all the times she'd tried to compliment Dane's skill, her hard work, her creativity… "It doesn't work," she finished. She shook her head, swallowing back the past unhappiness. "So if she's already feeling low, then…yeah, that fits the way that they operate."

"So I think you leave it alone. Don't text back. And don't agree to anything."

"I - I kinda wanted to tell her that she's right," Sophie confessed, looking down at her phone, now gone dark in the shadow of their inattention to Dane's message. At the intertwined knot of their hands, pale and dark together on the soft matte black of Sophie's dress. "That I did need help. But I needed it three months ago." Her voice grew a little stronger, drawing strength from her tighter clasp on Naomi's hand. "She missed her chance."

She paused again to think about what she was suggesting, twisting her lips upward as she realized it was a bad plan. "Or..if you want to talk to her. Do it in person. And not alone. Make sure one of us is with you. For backup. Even Nico can be nasty with an XLR cable in a pinch."

"Y-you would do that?" Sophie asked, tremulous once more.

Accepting her was one thing, but standing by her, defending her - that was on another level entirely. Her eyes widened as she looked up at Naomi, and her breath caught for a moment before she could say, "Really?"

It was only then that she realized how very close her face was to Naomi's. How very deep and dark Naomi's eyes were…

[Naomi Brooks]

"You know…I was kind of worried about that," Sophie admitted. Her hand shifted, curling long slender fingers around Naomi's to return the clasp. "She…" Sophie had to hold on a little tighter to bring herself to say what she needed to say next. "She's the kind of person who works hardest when she's pushing back. Like, if you tell her she can't do something, then she'll try to prove you wrong. If you try to be kind…"

Sophie's eyes closed against a small burst of memories: all the times she'd tried to compliment Dane's skill, her hard work, her creativity… "It doesn't work," she finished. She shook her head, swallowing back the past unhappiness. "So if she's already feeling low, then…yeah, that fits the way that they operate."

At first, Naomi watched Sophie's reaction to what she had to say with an equal measure of focused attention to what she had to say about Dane so that she could build a clear profile for later, and friendly empathy for what Sophie was going through a she wrestled with both what was obviously a painful breakup, and one that could have potential negative consequences for someone that she seemed to still care about. It sucked. And that was sad.

"I - I kinda wanted to tell her that she's right," Sophie confessed, looking down at her phone, now gone dark in the shadow of their inattention to Dane's message. At the intertwined knot of their hands, pale and dark together on the soft matte black of Sophie's dress. "That I did need help. But I needed it three months ago." Her voice grew a little stronger, drawing strength from her tighter clasp on Naomi's hand. "She missed her chance."

"That's hard. Some people can be really oblivious to good things that are right in front of them Soph.."

She gave Sophie's fingers a squeeze as they wrapped around her own, her lips firming into a determined sort of frown as she looked down at them for a moment. Part of Naomi wished that maybe she had been wrong about this whole thing. Now, she had to keep an eye on Dane, and Sophie on top of everyone else.

Damn..this sucks..

Her lip relaxed just enough to part slightly as she looked back up, realizing just how close Sophie had become..

"Y-you would do that?" Sophie asked, tremulous once more.

Accepting her was one thing, but standing by her, defending her - that was on another level entirely. Her eyes widened as she looked up at Naomi, and her breath caught for a moment before she could say, "Really?"

It was only then that she realized how very close her face was to Naomi's. How very deep and dark Naomi's eyes were…

According to the psychology of human attraction, there are several key indicators that one individual may be experiencing a romantic interest in another. These indicators, when observed together, form what scientists refer to as a pattern. A pattern which, once recognized, is remarkably difficult to ignore. Particularly for the person who is, regrettably, the subject of it. Take proximity, for example. While it is perfectly reasonable for two platonic acquaintances to occupy the same general vicinity, the individual experiencing attraction will often find themselves drawn to the other person with a frequency that can only be described as unnecessary. They will stand closer than required. Sit closer than required. And, in particularly advanced cases, contrive entirely fictitious reasons to remain in a location they had no intention of visiting in the first place.

Of course, proximity alone is not enough. No, the truly fascinating development occurs when the individual begins to simulate entanglement. A hand lingering a moment too long. A shoulder brushing against another shoulder, followed by the extraordinary decision to do absolutely nothing about it. These are subtle, subconscious signals, communicating a desire to reduce the distance between two people until, eventually, there is no distance left to reduce. And perhaps, if all goes according to plan, a few other things that are normally kept at a respectable distance from one another. Language, too, plays an important role. Human beings, as we know, are social animals. They require companionship, validation, and, on occasion, someone willing to listen to them explain an obscure interest for forty-five uninterrupted minutes. It is through this sharing of interests that the brain begins to construct the comforting illusion of a shared worldview. You both enjoy the same music. You both dislike the same people. You both agree that a particular film was, in fact, quite good. And suddenly, against all available evidence, you have decided that this person understands you in a way no one else ever could.

Psychologists refer to this as self-essentialist reasoning. The rest of us call it rose-colored glasses. The distinction is largely academic, of course, because the end result is the same: a perfectly ordinary person has been transformed, through the sheer force of your own expectations, into someone of extraordinary significance. Their flaws become endearing quirks. Their questionable decisions become charming eccentricities. And their failure to respond to a message for six consecutive hours becomes an intriguing mystery you are now fully committed to solving.

But what of the body? Surely, one might argue, there must be some physical mechanism behind this elaborate performance. And indeed, there is. The brain, that magnificent and deeply unreliable organ, releases chemicals such as dopamine and oxytocin, rewarding the individual for their increasingly irrational behavior and encouraging them to repeat it. The result is a pleasant sensation that popular culture has chosen to describe as a spark. As though the human body were a malfunctioning electrical appliance. As though two people could simply glance at one another across a crowded room and, through some inexplicable act of biological negligence, cause an entire romantic subplot to begin. Naturally, these phenomena are most frequently depicted in romantic comedies and increasingly adventurous works of literary erotica, where the slightest accidental contact is sufficient to convince two otherwise sensible adults that they are destined to spend the rest of their lives together.

In reality, of course, attraction is a complicated interplay of psychological, social, and biological processes. It is messy, unpredictable, and rarely as straightforward as the textbooks would have you believe. And yet, despite knowing all of this, people will almost certainly continue to interpret every lingering glance, every unnecessary touch, and every suspiciously well-timed coincidence as evidence that something meaningful is happening. Because knowing how the trick works, unfortunately, does very little to stop you from enjoying the performance.

Of course Naomi slept through this particular lecture in her Social Psychology course last semester, and so this particular tidbit of knowledge was fuzzy at best, or completely lost on her at worse in this particular moment. What she did know was this: Sophie was in a fragile place and needed support. While Naomi had to admit that her friend's eyes did look vibrant up close, and her fingers neatly coiled around Naomi's own created a rather appealing contrast of light and dark, soft and slightly calloused from years of playing various instruments, that was all just what made Sophie..Sophie. She could completely understand why a) Dane would want to date someone like her, and b) why she might become so angry and frustrated in their own actions in breaking up that relationship..

"Enjoy noodling with your new bandmate. I'm done caring what happens to her. She and her mind games aren't my problem anymore."

"Of course.." Naomi tried to make the sounds coming from her throat appear natural, though there was at least a slight inflection of uncertainty about what was happening in the initial enunciation that could have been either hesitation, or panic. There was a faint warming on her cheeks that turned her chestnut brown skin a slight berry-red. This was - of course - completely involuntary, and Naomi quickly rationalized, more because she was not, absolutely not, someone that Sophie was attracted to or should be attracted to. And of course, there was no way that she would let Dane be right or even feel like she was right in assuming that..anything was happening between the two of them.

"We're all in this together. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, or any of us." Naomi said firmly, turning her head away and glaring at the door like she could somehow mentally crush it down into atoms with her mind.

[Sophie Michaud]

"That's hard. Some people can be really oblivious to good things that are right in front of them Soph.."

She gave Sophie's fingers a squeeze as they wrapped around her own, her lips firming into a determined sort of frown as she looked down at them for a moment. Part of Naomi wished that maybe she had been wrong about this whole thing. Now, she had to keep an eye on Dane, and Sophie on top of everyone else.

Damn..this sucks..

Her lip relaxed just enough to part slightly as she looked back up, realizing just how close Sophie had become..

Did that mean…?

Could she hope…?

Was Naomi really…?

A thousand unfinished questions whirled through Sophie's mind like butterflies, each one flapping its wings and setting a hurricane in motion on the other side of the world.

And yet…she didn't go to pieces. Not with Naomi's hand around hers, protective, strong, comforting. Honest. Safe. "Thank you," she whispered, hardly daring to move her lips now that they were so close to Naomi's.

But she did - to curve up into a smile, despite everything. Because Naomi had given her a nickname. "I like that," she said, a little more hesitantly. And then, remembering that she needed to connect the dots outside her head as well as inside: "Soph," she explained. "I like it." She tightened her hand in a gentle answering squeeze.

Maybe. Maybe Sophie was…ready? Maybe she was…

"Of course.." Naomi tried to make the sounds coming from her throat appear natural, though there was at least a slight inflection of uncertainty about what was happening in the initial enunciation that could have been either hesitation, or panic. There was a faint warming on her cheeks that turned her chestnut brown skin a slight berry-red. This was - of course - completely involuntary, and Naomi quickly rationalized, more because she was not, absolutely not, someone that Sophie was attracted to or should be attracted to. And of course, there was no way that she would let Dane be right or even feel like she was right in assuming that..anything was happening between the two of them.

"We're all in this together. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, or any of us." Naomi said firmly, turning her head away and glaring at the door like she could somehow mentally crush it down into atoms with her mind.

The cloud of butterflies disintegrated into a puff of nothingness. No. Sophie was just one of the band.

Being one of the band had felt good and safe too - it still did! But until this morning, it hadn't occurred to Sophie that there might be something for her that was even better.

And now…it seemed that she would have to settle for that other safety. It was all right, Sophie told herself. She was still among those any of us, and that counted for something. "Thank you," Sophie said again - but she could tell that her voice was a little fainter than before.

"I. Um. We." She was still holding Naomi's hand, and desperately did not want to break away. But she knew she had to. "We should go? I mean. Um. I have class soon..." Slowly, slowly, Sophie started to uncurl her fingers and slide her hand away.