Under Control.

chapter thirty four.

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By the time everyone finally makes it to Nora's apartment, there's a mad rush through the door, and then Cat and Nora disappear into the bedroom, leaving the rest of them to fend for themselves.

Nick makes a beeline for the kitchen window, immediately lighting up while hanging half-in and half-out of the place in a way that looks uncomfortable, while also somehow maintaining a languorously unfazed air about himself all the while. Nikolai plants himself firmly on the new couch — the one that Albert had helped Nora to haul up the stairs several weeks ago, past all of her neighbours that he was still deeply suspicious of but still without complaining — and picks up one from the stack of books that are scattered across her coffee table. This sofa is un-besmirched by bodily fluids brought in from the outside by hopelessly ailed singers. And even though he was the one who predicted that Nora would get rid of the old settee in the first place, this one does not carry the memory of Julian's body on it — not yet.

Fab immediately spots the oversized chalkboard that lives just beyond the kitchen island, and so he spends his time waiting happily doodling over every little bit of spare space he can find, and in the end, all that's left is a gap where Nora's haphazard shopping list is scrawled. And Albert, for his part, spends most of his time checking his watch and pacing, and then before he even has the chance to get properly worked up about anything — lateness, or changes of heart — Nora is back in his line of sight and so is Cat.

Nora looks like herself again, he thinks. She's wearing jeans and Chucks with a creamy linen shirt and a black bra, and the only thing that's even slightly out of place about her is the blazer she's kept on, although now she's got it slung over one shoulder.

'In case of an emergency meeting?' Albert prods, relieved that the time she'd spent out of his reach hasn't lead to her barricading herself in her bedroom and refusing to come out with them, after all.

'Well,' Nora heads into the kitchen, locking the window again behind Nick and picking up and tossing several bits of miscellanea into her handbag on her way through. 'I figure if I need to make an emergency escape, the accountant blazer is just the ticket.'

'Scare the hipsters with tailoring?'

Albert is happy that Nora looks happy, and so he's not bothered to contend with the little warning she's just issued to him about sneaking out if she feels like she needs to. All he cares about is getting them back out the door again and to the venue on time, and all of that before the one they've left behind — Julian — has too much time to work himself up into a spiral.

And that, which lead them to the third part of Albert's plan.

The last, secret part that only he knew about.

Operation Distract and Cheer Up: Nora Edition.

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The show is good.

It is, in fact, great — as is their reputation at this point. It's hot and heavy and loud and sweaty and fun. It's an absolute riot, boozy and hazy and everything in-between, and everyone was having the absolute time of their lives. Everyone, that is, except for one person.

Julian did not have a good show. He was great, sounded like he always did (also great), but anyone who had attempted to tell him as much since he'd hobbled off the stage had been met with an icy glare and a pout that would break your heart. But, luckily for Nora, Julian had already broken her heart. And so she was somewhat impervious to further inflictions caused by his sad doe eyes and his grumpy, puppy-dog face.

Julian hadn't so much as noticed Nora since she'd gotten here. She'd broken off from the rest of the band once Albert had been satisfied that she wasn't going to try and slip out, after which point she'd spent most of the gig enjoying herself at a safe distance from the pit. Away from Julian's stool, and out of his line of sight.