Chapter Text
They were in the studio laying down the guitar tracks—always in the studio these days, trying to get the last few songs for the album finished—when the phone rang outside of the recording booth. Their sound engineer clicked on the microphone, speaking through it, and told them that someone was on the phone for the band.
Colin, as the band’s de facto front man, went to answer the call. (He had been the one to say he wanted to start a band after all, all those years ago; one night with one too many drinks in them, he and Michaela decided to start a band together. They quickly recruited their friends Phillip and Sophie, and thus, Kissing Psyche was born. Now, three albums later, with chart-topping singles and multiple tours under their belts, they were well on their way to finishing their fourth album. By all accounts, it would be their best album yet. If only they could just finish it.)
“Alright lads, let’s take five.”
Colin slid his headphones off and lifted the strap of his (bass) guitar over his head, setting it down on its stand and grabbing a bottle of water. Michaela, Phillip, and Sophie followed suit, Phillip setting the sticks down on his drums, Michaela setting her own guitar on its stand, and Sophie setting the headphones down on her keyboard. His three bandmates grabbed their own bottles of water and a handful of chips each while Colin left the booth and grabbed the phone from its cradle on the wall.
“‘Lo?” Colin cracked open the lid on the water, taking a swig.
“Colin? It’s Will.”
“Hi, Will. Do you need an update on the album? Is there some news about this summer’s tour?”
As their manager, Will should have been at the studio with the band while they worked, but he was with his wife Alice at the hospital; she was expecting their third child and had a six-month checkup on that day.
“An update on the album would be great, but I also need to share an interview request we got earlier.”
“Alright…” Colin cradled the phone between his head and shoulder, gulping down another mouthful of water. He set the bottle down on the windowsill and began ticking off on his fingers as he spoke. “We’re thinking between eight and ten songs for the album—which will work for the 20-25 minutes of music per side of the record we typically shoot for. We have seven songs fully done, lyrics written, all the different parts decided on, etc., and we have two or three more that we still need to finish. Should be on target for finishing by the end of November, as we decided.”
“That’s great to hear, Bridgerton. Which means the album will be ready for a March 19 release date, which has been our target all along. That will give us a couple months to shoot the album cover and get the liner notes done, before you head out on tour at the beginning of June.”
“That all sounds doable,” Colin nodded, chewing on a thumbnail as he thought, his mind spinning faster than he could keep up. “What else were you calling about? You said there was an interview request?”
“Yes! This is going to be huge for Kissing Psyche. Agatha Danbury from Rolling Stone called, and they want to do a profile on the band for their summer issue. She hoped to have the writer assigned for this article follow you all during the last few weeks of the writing process to finish up the album, then the photoshoot for the cover and tour prep, and maybe also cover the first show of the tour. And then the author would write up an article with all of what they got during the time they’re following the band. It would be part interview, part profile.”
“Holy shit.” Colin could hardly believe his ears. “Rolling fucking Stone wants to do a profile on us?!”
“Yes!” Will’s voice boomed louder with his excitement; Colin was sure his bandmates could hear Will through the phone’s receiver even with the glass separating them in the recording booth from the sound mixing table next to where Colin stood with the phone. “Rolling fucking Stone wants to do a profile on your band!”
Colin didn’t need Will to tell him how major this was for them; if the article had a good reception, it could mean they would see increased sales of the album, singles could chart, and hopefully more tickets for the tour would sell. Maybe they would even have another sold out tour.
“There is one catch though.”
The sudden change in Will’s tone made Colin feel very uneasy all of a sudden. “…What is it?”
“The writer Danbury wants to assign to the article is Penelope Featherington.”
Colin’s blood ran cold, practically draining from his face. His heart dropped into his stomach, doing somersaults the entire way down until it settled somewhere near his naval. If any of his bandmates happened to look in his direction, he was sure they would ask if he had seen a ghost.
He and Penelope were old friends, but was friends even the right word anymore? Maybe estranged friends worked better. Or friends who weren’t talking? Friends turned enemies (even though he didn’t consider her an enemy)? Who knew.
Colin had barely seen Penelope since the launch party for their last album, The Botanical Dust, eighteen months prior. They were fine that entire night as far as he could remember—they both had a few celebratory drinks to commemorate the new album, they had danced a lot together (she was his favorite dance partner, had been for the better part of the decade+ they had known each other), and even took some pictures in the photobooth in one corner of the afterparty, both with smiles spread wide across their faces, laughing as their cheeks pressed together, arms wrapped around each other. The strip of them pulling funny faces remained one of Colin’s most treasured possessions.
And then, for some reason after that night had ended, she had started dodging his calls, claiming to be busy whenever he asked to grab a coffee or a meal together, or even catch a film on one of the rare days off one of them had.
It got to the point where Colin had to ask Eloise (Eloise!) if Penelope was okay. Eloise had assured him that she was, and if he wanted to know about Penelope’s wellbeing, he should ask Penelope herself. Colin had had to hold back his retort that he had tried to ask Penelope what was going on, and she had completely brushed him off, claiming that nothing was wrong, she was just busy. But this kept happening.
After countless failed attempts to make plans to see Penelope, Colin took the clear hint that she wanted nothing to do with him and gave up trying to talk to her or see her. And now it had been over a year since he had properly spent any time with the person he still thought of as his dearest friend.
“Colin? You still there?” Will’s voice crackled through the receiver. With a start, Colin realized he hadn't said anything in response to his manager’s revelation.
He rubbed the back of his neck guiltily, nodding again, realizing a beat too late that Will couldn't see his response.
“Yeah, yeah, Will, I’m still here.” Colin’s teeth chewed at one edge of his thumbnail again, trying to smooth out the rough edge he had already created during the call. He only succeeded in making the nail more jagged. He would have to borrow a pair of nail scissors from Sophie or Michaela so he could fix the mess he just made. “Are you sure no one else could do this profile for Rolling Stone? Don’t they have another Featherington on their staff that could do it? Isn’t my sister available?”
Colin knew very well that the youngest Featherington sister—Felicity—as well as his sister Hyacinth were both interns at that very magazine, writing gossip articles about the music scene. He was surprised that neither of them had written anything about him yet. They both had plenty of material on him, especially Hyacinth.
“Danbury was firm that it would have to be Penelope.” Colin could tell Will was frowning as he spoke. “She’s their best writer for this type of article. She’s done similar articles on The Eagles and Fleetwood Mac and even Daisy Jones and the Six!”
Colin didn't need to be told twice. He knew Penelope was the best writer for the job, having celebrated with her when she got those assignments initially, and then again when they were finally published. He’d held her through her moments of self-doubt when she hated every word she wrote, and then also the moments of triumph when she realized she was more than capable and qualified to write these pieces.
But he just wasn’t sure how either of them would handle this assignment.
How could she write an authentic piece about Kissing Psyche if the two of them weren’t speaking? If the only words the two of them shared were stilted, brief, held to “professional standards” for interviews and then writing?
Colin had erected walls around himself during press for so long now he wasn’t sure he even knew how to take them down, brick by brick, stone by stone. His answers were probably never as deep as the audience—or the interviewer—hoped for, never really tackling the nuts and bolts of it all, of what made Colin Bridgerton, bass guitarist and lead singer of Kissing Psyche, tick. His answers only ever skimmed the surface, gave just enough for it to feel like a revelation, like some juicy nugget ready to be dipped in the sauce. But in reality? They gave so little. There was him in those answers, but also, Not Him. Not the real him, at any rate.
How would he balance the Colin who is Best Friend of Penelope, in which he trusted her more than anyone or with anything, with the Colin the Professional Musician speaking with Penelope the Music Journalist? (Did they even have a friendship anymore? The thought made him sick to his stomach.) It would be different than talking in depth about craft with her like they often would back when they shared everything with each other, sharing a pair of beers or a cigarette, passing it back and forth between them as they talked about writing processes, combating writer’s block, and more. This would be talking about craft with her with his walls up. It wouldn’t feel right. But he didn’t know how else he would do it.
Colin cleared his throat, realizing once again he had gotten lost in thought and spent the last several minutes in silence. “Yeah, that’s right. Given Penelope’s track record and portfolio, I guess it only makes sense for her to write this article. And… it is for Rolling Stone.”
“I knew you’d come around.” He could tell Will was thrilled. “But Colin?”
“Yeah?”
“I know you and Penelope are friends. Don’t let your history with her get in the way of the article turning out.”
“You don’t have to worry about that, Will.” Colin let out a short, dry laugh, devoid of all humor. “Penelope and I will be the epitome of professional.”
“Good, good.” Will sounded slightly amused. “I’ll stop by the studio later to check in, to see how things are going, and get you all prepped before we host Rolling Stone for the next few weeks.”
“Sounds good. I hope Alice’s appointments go well. Give her all my best.”
After they said their goodbyes, Colin hung up the phone, listening it settle with a satisfying click into the receiver, before he sighed and ran a hand down his face, holding back a groan.
He genuinely didn’t know what to expect out of the coming weeks. The final push to finish the an album was always stressful and intense in the first place, but now add in an interview with Rolling Stone? And being interviewed and followed by Penelope Featherington?
Fuck.
This would be levels of stress and anxiety previously unheard of.
It would turn out okay. It had to.
After one more deep breath, Colin grabbed the water bottle off the windowsill and shouldered his way back into the room where Phillip, Michaela, and Sophie were all sitting around chatting. They looked up when he walked in, Phillip raising his eyebrow when he saw Colin’s expression.
“You good, man? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Colin sank into the empty spot on the couch between Phillip and Sophie, leaning back with a sigh. “That was Will on the phone, checking in.”
“How’s Alice doing? Did he mention?” Sophie tended to be the primary babysitter for Nicky and Daisy, Will and Alice’s two children, so she spent the most time with the family out of everyone in the band.
“Yeah, he said she’s doing well. Didn’t mention anything about the appointment but I’m assuming she’s doing fine or else he would have said otherwise.” Colin took another swig of water, leaning back against the couch and sighing before sitting back upright. “But. Get this. Rolling fucking Stone apparently wants to follow us in the last month of getting the album together and write an article about us for their summer issue.”
He still couldn’t believe it.
Chaos ensued at that statement from Colin: his three bandmates started talking all at once, not letting any of them finish their statements, their voices rolling over each other and melding into one. The only one that remotely stood out was Phillip, as the only man.
“Are you serious?” That was Michaela. “Rolling Stone?!”
“Yes!” Colin grinned, feeling the excitement swelling up again. “This could be huge, guys.”
“Life-changing for us,” Phillip chimed in.
“But.” And this was a big ‘but,’ at least for Colin. “They want Penelope to write this article.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
“Penelope Featherington?”
“Who else would be Penelope, Crane?” Michaela shot Phillip a withering glance for that question, before casting a sympathetic one in Colin’s direction. The entire band knew of Colin’s history with Penelope, but Michaela was Colin’s main confidante regarding his and Penelope’s messy history. “There’s only one Penelope that Colin would use that tone for when he’s talking about her.”
“And what tone is that?” Colin’s eyebrow raised.
“The tone that tells everyone that you care so deeply about her, regardless if it’s platonic or romantic.” Michaela’s stare was leveling.
She had Colin there. She was entirely right. He would do anything for Penelope, despite her completely ignoring him for the last year and a half. Some part of him suspected he would always do anything and everything for Penelope, regardless of what their relationship was. She would always be a soft spot for him.
“Michaela’s right—on both points. Penelope Featherington, of Rolling Stone, is going to be writing this article about us, following us as we finish this album and prep for the tour.”
Colin couldn’t keep the smile from spreading across his face when he said Penelope’s name. Despite them being out of contact, she was still one of his favorite people on the planet, if not his very favorite.
“How do you think that’s going to go?” Sophie’s voice was soft.
“I’m….pretty nervous if I’m being honest,” Colin confessed, glancing between his bandmates. “I haven’t spent any actual time with Penelope since the release party for Botanical. Even at family events when she’s there with Eloise as her guest, she dodges me. And now I have to open up to her about writing this album and what it means to be in this band and whatever else she asks me. I’m terrified it’s going to be awkward and she’ll come out of it hating me more than she already does.” He drew in a deep breath. “But, it’s for the good of the band. And it will be good for her career. So I’m going to do it.”
He smiled again. “Despite how uncomfortable it’s probably going to be, it’s still fucking cool that Rolling Stone wants to write an article about us.”
“It is,” Phillip agreed. He clapped Colin on the back and then stood up, crossing the room to return to his drums, settling in on the stool. “Now—let’s get back to work. We have an album to finish.”
~~~~
When Colin walked into Studio 3B a few days later, the first thing he saw was someone about chest height on him, with ginger hair piled in a messy bun on top of their head, making a cup of tea in the little kitchenette in the studio’s building.
Their back was to the door, which meant that he could take his time looking at Penelope before she had to acknowledge his presence when she turned around or realized he was standing there. She wore a cozy and soft-looking oversized sweater in light purple paired with what he knew were Penelope’s favorite worn-in jeans. She always said they were the right amount of soft and comfortable while still fitting her the way she wanted them to. The familiar jumbo tote was slung over one of her shoulders, stuffed to the gills with notebooks and pens and highlighters and probably a recording device too, as well as a book and at least one reusable water bottle if he knew Penelope at all.
Colin’s bag slung over his shoulder fell to the ground, thudding softly as he let it drop, fully focused on Penelope—Penelope!—standing in front of him. He knew she would be there this day, the date circled on his calendar since the phone call earlier in the week when Will informed him that Penelope would be writing an article about the band, but he still couldn’t quite believe it.
Nerves started clawing at Colin’s ribcage despite his excitement, threatening to crack his chest open. Up to this point, he could pretend that it wasn't happening, that he wasn’t going to be forced to sit through multiple interviews by his (former?) best friend, pretending that what happened between them hadn't happened. But now that Penelope was here, in the studio space his band was renting for the duration of this album? It was no longer a far off possibility; it was now a reality, one that he would be forced to confront and endure.
However, the familiarity of it all put Colin at ease, working independently from his nerves. Despite everything between them, this was still Penelope. Time with her was happiness incarnate for him. She got him more than anyone he’d ever met. He was certain they’d find common ground together, even if it took a while to get there.
A breath escaping his mouth, a sigh, had Penelope turning to see who was there. Maybe she had sensed him standing behind her. (Or maybe she heard his bag hitting the ground.) Her eyes widened when she saw Colin, her eyes tracing him until her gaze met his, her mouth slightly open in shock. Maybe he wasn't the only one feeling uncomfortable right now. Maybe she was feeling just as uncertain about this situation as he was.
“Colin,” she breathed, holding the bag to her front, almost like a shield. Like she was protecting herself from something. (He didn't want to think about how she was probably protecting herself from him.)
“Hi, Penelope.” Colin’s voice was just as soft as Penelope’s was. “How—how are you?”
“I’m… I’m good.” Penelope’s voice was quiet, a little shaky. She swallowed. “I’m looking forward to this.”
Colin’s eyebrow rose, tilting his head to the side, studying her. Was it possible to look forward to this when he was dreading it? Was she just being nice, trying to save his feelings? “Are you really?”
Penelope choked on her water, coughing into her fist as she tried to catch her breath. “I’m…yeah.” Her voice was scratchy, dry, rough as she continued to cough quietly, working to get her throat clear.
Colin just raised an eyebrow further, taking a sip of his own water and choosing not to comment. Penelope had never been a good liar; he’d been able to see through her fibs since they were young. Instead, he just watched her try to get her breath back, a contemplative smile on his face.
“I’m looking forward to it, too.”
This time it was Penelope’s turn to be surprised, raising her own confused eyebrow at him. “You are?”
Colin nodded, resisting the urge to reach out and squeeze Penelope’s hand. This was the most they had spoken to each other in almost two years; he couldn’t fuck it up by crossing a boundary he was certain existed, even if he didn’t know what exactly that boundary was.
“I am. It’s been a while since we’ve done any kind of press, and this is the first time we’ve ever done this kind of press. And I mean. We’re gonna be in Rolling Stone. That’s the biggest publication that’s ever covered us. And they want us! They want me!”
He couldn’t keep the awe out of his voice as he spoke about the magazine. He probably sounded like an excited little boy on Christmas morning, but he didn’t care. It was hard to let the imposter syndrome go, especially as one of eight siblings. With that many brothers and sisters, it was fairly likely that one (or more) of his siblings would be better than him at something. Sometimes multiple somethings. And yet, a magazine with the prestige of Rolling Stone wanted to hear from him. Wanted to cover his own band. His passion project. His career. Him. They cared what he, Colin Bridgerton, had to say. Not all his siblings could say that.
“And this is also the first time that you’ve covered the band. One of my best friends, writing about my band for a huge magazine? That's special, Pen.”
Penelope bit her lip, her face falling ever so slightly before morphing into a small smile. It was a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment; if he hadn't been so well-versed in Penelope’s expressions, Colin wouldn’t have caught it.
Colin inhaled, taking a pause, trying to work up the courage to say what he wanted to say, while also pushing down the hurt caused by Penelope’s expression changing when he said she was one of his best friends. “You're still one of my closest friends, Pen. I know we haven’t been talking, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still special to me.”
He looked down at his feet, shifting his weight from foot to foot for a moment. In a quiet voice he muttered, “You’ll always be special to me, even when I’m no longer special to you.”
What possessed him to say that? He kept his eyes trained on his beat up Vans, not wanting to meet her gaze and see her pitying him for clearly being so hung up on their long-ended friendship.
The sound of Penelope’s breath catching in her throat had him looking up at her, studying her again, eyes searching her face for—what, exactly? Confirmation that she still cared for him, still liked him, still wanted him in her life? That not talking to him regularly was destroying her inside as much as it was destroying him? That she regretted every moment she continued to cut him off?
He could search for it day in and day out, but it wouldn’t change the fact that he was clearly the only one still upset that he and Penelope were estranged friends.
Their eyes stayed locked on each other for a beat longer before Penelope inhaled again and turned back to the counter to get her cup of tea, snapping the invisible thread connecting their gazes, the air now full of the bitter and rich aromas of her steeped beverage. She scooped up her mug, cradling the warm vessel in her hands, lifting it to her face and inhaling the steam, sighing happily before she took a small sip.
Colin found himself smiling as he watched Penelope enjoy her tea, going through the familiar sequence of events: inhaling the steam, taking small sips, happy wiggles in her shoulders and hips, making quiet content noises to herself.
It had been years since he watched Penelope perform this particular ritual, yet he still knew it by heart, intuitively anticipating the next step moments before Penelope completed it. In a job and a life that was so transient and temporary, there was something deeply comforting about this new knowledge that some things didn’t change, that pillars in his life didn’t need to be rearranged or shifted. His oldest friend still enjoyed her tea the exact same way she always had, even when he hadn’t seen her with a fresh cuppa in a very long time.
“Well, I should probably get in there.” Colin finally broke the silence, jerking his head in the direction of the studio. Leaning down, he picked up his backpack from where he had dropped it on the ground and slung it over his shoulder, shifting back and forth until both his bag and guitar were comfortable on his back, one over each shoulder. “I’ll see you inside?”
Penelope nodded silently, still drinking her tea, her eyes anywhere but on him.
Colin was almost fully through the door to the studio space when he swore he heard her voice behind him say, “I’ll see you there.” It was quiet, almost too quiet to hear, but it was there.
So… she wasn’t giving him the silent treatment after all. Interesting.