You’d been hanging around the pad a lot, helping with odd jobs, sitting in on rehearsals, just kinda becoming part of the furniture. But the whole time, it was obvious you were crushing on Peter.

Every chance you got, you were right next to him. If he sat on the couch, you sat on the couch. If he started flipping through a stack of records, you leaned in close like you had deep opinions about every single one—even though you didn’t know half the artists.

Peter never seemed to notice. He just smiled that sweet, spaced-out smile and carried on.

Meanwhile, Micky and Davy were sitting at the kitchen table, whispering back and forth. Davy leaned back in his chair, tipping it slightly. “She might as well wear a sign round her neck sayin’ ‘I fancy Peter.’ And he still doesn’t see it.”

Mike appeared at the top of the spiral staircase, running a hand through his hair. He glanced toward the living room, caught the end of Micky and Davy’s whispering, then took in you sitting near Peter. “Here we go again,” he muttered under his breath.

Peter was sitting cross-legged on the couch, strumming idly on his guitar, brow furrowed in concentration. “Hmm… something’s missing here,” he muttered, plucking at a string. You peeked over. “What if you… try it like this?” you suggested, humming a small rhythm.

Peter’s eyes lit up immediately. “Oh wow… that’s perfect! I don’t know why I didn’t think of that!” He grinned, still a little spaced-out. “Gee… you really are a great pal.”

Micky leaned forward, hand under his chin. “Isn’t that dumb?”