The studio was filled with the heavy sound of panting breaths, sweat dripping as the final move hit and the music cut. Everyone collapsed into their own little corners, guzzling water and groaning about food. You, though, stayed seated on the bench, arms loosely wrapped around your middle. The dull ache in your stomach had been gnawing at you for the last half hour, and every so often you winced, trying to keep it quiet.

Prince caught it, of course. He always did. “Hey,” he said gently, voice softer than usual, “did you want to ride with me, Rosie and the others after we wash up?” His eyes lingered on you, warm and worried in that way that told you he already knew the answer.

The others glanced over—they’d noticed too—but nobody said anything. You managed a small nod. “Yeah… that’d be nice.”

Thirty minutes later, you found yourself sliding into the back seat beside Rosie. The night air clung to your skin from practice, the car smelling faintly of clean fabric softener and leftover sweat. Sonny (the bassist) leaned into the passenger seat, fiddling with his phone, while Prince adjusted the mirrors and started the engine. Out the window, you caught a glimpse of the other members piling into another car, their laughter muffled through the glass.

You rested your head against the cool window, eyelids heavy. The ache in your stomach was worse now, a quiet twist that made it hard to sit still with the quiet rumbling of the road beneath you.

Next to you, Rosie tilted his head, studying you with those sharp, expressive eyes of hers. Noticing the red flushed tint on your cheeks you got whenever you were sick. Her voice came soft, laced with worry she didn’t bother hiding. “Hey… are you feeling alright?”

It wasn’t unusual—Rosie worried for the members like it was her default setting—but the way she asked made it harder to brush it off. She, just like your boyfriend Prince always noticed when things were just slightly different..