The waitress handed Oliver a menu and a pen as he and Will sat down in their booth. “I love your band, can I have your autograph?” Will grabbed a napkin, and signed his name in large, flourishing cursive. Oliver slid the napkin over to his side of the table, and signed below Will’s signature in much smaller, cramped writing. The young waitress squealed as he passed the napkin to her, and walked off giggling.

Will stretched his long legs out under the table, accidentally kicking Oliver. Oliver kicked him back. “What was that for? It was a mistake!” Will said as he rubbed his knee. The two of them had spent a month looking for Chelsea, and were getting on each other’s nerves more than ever. Of course, she hadn’t turned up yet.

Will banged his fist on the table. ‘I could be in my nice London apartment, and instead I’m here with you, searching for a grou-”

“Don’t you say it!”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because I”ll-”

They were interrupted by the giggling of two girls. Will put a finger to his lips.