The three teammates were exchanging glances, but Ronan acted like he didn't even notice. His speech flowed on without a hitch, steady and unrushed, as if he were just talking to himself.
"She worked really hard. She wanted to survive, so she tried learning all kinds of skills. Sadly, she wasn't quick or efficient at picking things up. After two years, all she managed to master was sewing on buttons. But she was thrilled—finally, she'd learned something."
"And to cheer her on, her family and friends kept telling her she was doing great—which, to be fair, she was. She sewed those buttons like a pro. Over time, she started believing she was the best button-sewer in the world. Whenever I'd visit my friend's place, she'd come over, look at me all serious, and say, 'Ronan, I can sew buttons. Want me to teach you?'"
"I knew she meant well, but I always turned her down."
For the first time, Ronan's story got interrupted. Oli sat up straight, blinking in disbelief. "Why?" he asked, like he couldn't trust his ears. Before they knew it, they'd all gotten sucked into Ronan's tale.
Ronan flashed Oli a grin. "First, I already know how to sew buttons, so I didn't need her lessons. Second, I was scared she'd stab me with the needle—and I didn't want to hurt her back. That wouldn't be fair."
Pfft.
Oli couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing. But then he caught himself, feeling bad for "mocking" the girl. He toned down the grin, shook his head, and mumbled something inaudible—like an alien language no one could decipher.
Maxim looked like he wanted to say something. He didn't get why Ronan was telling this story or what point he was driving at. But after hesitating a few times, he swallowed his words.
Ronan wasn't joking around, though. He kept going. "Every time she saw me, she'd ask the same thing: 'Ronan, I'm the best button-sewer in the world. Want to learn from me?' It turned into our little ritual, like asking what I had for lunch."
Cliff didn't get Ronan's angle either—or what the story was supposed to mean. But he listened intently, more focused than Oli or Maxim, without a flicker of extra emotion. His eyes held a quiet, thoughtful depth.
"Then today, Scooter made me think of that girl again." Out of nowhere, Ronan pivoted, tying it to what happened today. Everyone's heads filled with question marks—even Alice couldn't connect the dots.
Ronan let out a soft chuckle. "Look, that girl tried hard at a lot of things, but sewing buttons was all she was good at. Over time, she convinced herself she was the best in the world and that everyone had to learn from her—like there were no other options."
"But we all know sewing buttons is just a tiny speck in the vast sea of life's skills. No need to get that excited or proud about it. If we only focus on something like that, we're just frogs stuck at the bottom of a well."
"What I'm saying is, is Scooter great at sewing buttons? Sure, he's amazing—maybe a button-sewing master. But do we need to learn it from him? Not really. I said no to the girl, and I'd say no to Scooter too. That doesn't mean Scooter's wrong, but it doesn't mean I'm wrong either."
"There's a whole world out there beyond sewing buttons. And the world Scooter knows? It's not the whole picture."
With that, the story wrapped up.
"So, I don't think Scooter's situation is the end of the road. If anything, it might be the turning point where we go all in. The real question is—do we have the guts and grit to make it happen?"
Ronan's gaze landed on each band member, one by one. They all sank into thought, a flicker of understanding dawning in their eyes—not crystal clear, but close. Lingering doubts swirled as they glanced at each other, searching for answers.
Maxim and Cliff's eyes met briefly. No words passed, and they quickly looked away, but the tension in the air started to crack and soften. It was a small start, but a good one.
Cliff watched Ronan quietly, catching his attention. Ronan shot him a curious look. After a pause, Cliff said hesitantly, "…You seem different somehow."
Truth be told, that was something Ronan had been worried about all along—
He and Ronan-Cooper were two separate souls. Their ways of handling things, their personalities, habits, and everyday preferences were probably miles apart. How could he keep the band and family from noticing and dragging him off to Area 51 for dissection? That question had haunted him since the very first night.
Now, facing Cliff's comment, Ronan's heart skipped a beat—especially with Alice right there. But he played it off with a surprised look. "Different how?"
Cliff squinted slightly. "I can't put my finger on it. Just… something's off."
Ronan relaxed inside. As long as it wasn't something concrete, he was fine. If, say, he used to be allergic to seafood but now ate it without issue—that kind of hard fact could raise red flags. Subjective stuff, though? That was looser. People change, after all.
On the surface, he gave a faint smile, tinged with a bit of helplessness and感慨. "If I don't change, then this really is the end."
It was a short, simple line, but it hit the band hard, pulling them into their own thoughts. Even Alice's eyes softened with a trace of sympathy.
These past few days, it wasn't just Ronan who'd changed. All three bandmates had shifted in some way. Plus, Ronan had been through a brutal fever, teetering on the edge of life and death, only to collapse on stage. That kind of ordeal? Of course it'd leave a mark.
After that brief exchange, silence fell again. The band's communication still felt clunky, the vibe between them visibly strained.
"Wait, Ronan—why do I feel like you're throwing shade at Scooter?" Oli finally snapped out of it, blurting out his confusion loud and clear.
Ronan's eyes crinkled into crescent moons. He didn't say a word, but his expression said it all. He shushed Oli with a finger to his lips—"Shh"—pretty much confirming Oli's hunch. That got Maxim and Cliff chuckling too.
The awkward, stiff atmosphere eased up, and little by little, they started slipping back into their old, familiar rhythm.