Smack, smack.
Smack, smack.
Ronan was eating with unusual focus, as if it were the most important thing in the world. After finishing the first one, he even rinsed his mouth with mineral water, took a few deep breaths to make sure his taste buds weren't numbed by the sauces, and only then started on the second.
"Hey, there you guys are."
He'd barely taken his first bite when Maxim's voice reached his ears.
Maxim stood awkwardly beside the table, hands fidgeting with no idea where to put them. He glanced at Ronan and Ollie, then at Cliff, before his gaze finally settled on Alice. Trying to force a cheerful tone, he said, "Can we not film right now? I feel like I'm in such a state that I could skip makeup and go straight to being an extra on The Walking Dead. Atlanta's not even that far from here."
Alice didn't respond. She just pointed her camera at Maxim.
Whirr, whirr.
Whirr, whirr.
The sound of Alice's camera hummed, mingling with faint voices nearby, making the awkward atmosphere even more noticeable.
Maxim was so uncomfortable he didn't know what to do with his hands or feet. Then Ronan's calm voice broke through, easing the tension.
"Want some breakfast?" Ronan slid another hot dog toward him. There was a flicker of reluctance in his eyes, a quiet resentment as he asked, "Since Cliff already has one, I can't play favorites." Though it felt like he was cutting out a piece of himself, he pushed the hot dog forward with teary determination. Ouch, that hurts.
Maxim waved his hands quickly. "No, no, I'll get my own…" But then he turned and saw the long, long line at the hot dog stand, and his words trailed off. Clearing his throat, he said, "Well, thanks then." Accepting Ronan's kindness, he circled around to sit on Ollie's side—far from Cliff.
"I'll line up again later to get you another one," Maxim added before taking the hot dog. Ronan's gloomy expression instantly brightened, and he handed it over with enthusiasm. Maxim chuckled. "I remember you talking about this hot dog stand nonstop yesterday. You said you absolutely had to try it after the full moon party ended. And here we are!"
A smile danced in Ronan's eyes as words spilled out naturally. "It's not perfect, but it's definitely worth lining up for once. That said, I wouldn't make a special trip again. If I happened to pass by and there wasn't a line, though, I'd grab one for breakfast or a snack."
Compared to Cliff, Maxim wasn't in much better shape. The shadow between his brows hadn't fully lifted. He nodded absently at Ronan's chatter, not really catching what was said after that.
Maxim had said he needed some quiet time, but he hadn't stayed away long before coming back. His tangled thoughts probably hadn't improved much.
Still… even sitting quietly didn't bring answers. They were trapped in a rut. Anger and pain clouded their vision, leaving them blind. Talking to themselves only dragged them deeper, and the outcome… well, there might not be any other way out.
So how long would it take him to figure things out?
A day? Two?
They'd already struggled for seven years. Before this bar tour, they'd been wrestling with it mentally for nearly a year, still without answers. What could a mere two or five days change?
After circling back, Maxim returned. He wasn't even sure why, nor did he know what else to do. Unexpectedly, Cliff was back too. But Maxim and Cliff avoided eye contact, let alone conversation. The tension between them remained thick, and Ollie wasn't much different.
What happened had happened. They couldn't pretend otherwise.
After Ronan finished raving about the hot dog, he dove into his second one with even more care and focus than the first, as if it were the last hot dog on Earth. Every chew was deliberate, savoring the sauces and ingredients.
The air fell silent.
It was raw and stiff, awkward and messy. Their eyes didn't even meet. Maxim and Cliff probably had no idea what their food tasted like, while Ronan and Ollie enjoyed theirs—one oblivious, the other pretending to be. Neither paid any mind to the other two.
After finishing his second hot dog, Ronan still seemed unsatisfied. He took a big gulp of cola, his whole body relaxing as a contented smile spread across his face. Wiping his sticky fingers with a napkin, he glanced at the others, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "So, what do you guys think?"
Maxim, Cliff, and Alice all gave him a look that was hard to describe. Only Ollie nodded. "I really like the texture."
Ronan flashed a wide grin and high-fived Ollie in celebration, his cheerful energy completely ignoring the three others sitting there.
But how could Ronan not notice the subtle tension? And how could Ollie not know what they were facing?
They just didn't know how to handle the situation yet, so they were stuck in this awkward limbo for now.
Ollie shot Ronan a glance, silently asking: What do we do?
Ronan returned a faint smile and a reassuring look that said, Don't worry. Then he spoke up, though his words were… odd.
"Did you know I once had a friend whose sister had a high fever as a kid? It left her reaction time way slower than most people, and she struggled to take care of herself."
Huh?
What was this about?
Did Ronan know what he was doing? Why was he suddenly telling a random story out of nowhere—and a weird one at that?
Maxim and Cliff both turned to Ollie, assuming he and Ronan had talked about something related to this while they were gone. But Ollie was just as confused, with no answers to give. It was so absurd he didn't even know how to react.
Still, feeling their stares, Ollie refused to back down. He put on a poker face and glared back confidently, his expression saying: Just keep listening. Why so many questions?
Normally, Ollie wouldn't act like this, and Maxim and Cliff would've called him out right away. But the situation was too strange. Seeing Ollie's reaction, they swallowed their words and looked away. Then Ronan kept going.
Utter nonsense.
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