You grab Jimmy’s sleeve weakly. He looks at you, confused, but then blanches at your expression.

“Oh shit,” he says. “You’re gonna be sick, aren’t you.”

You nod, trying to move as little as you can.

“One minute,” says the stagehand.

 

“Rowan,” says Jimmy sharply, causing Rowan to whip his head around.

 

“Oh shit,” says Rowan.

 

Jimmy and Rowan look at each other. They seem to have a full conversation in that look, and then they nod, totally in sync.

 

“Play 'Magic 18' opening bars?” says Jimmy.

 

Rowan nods again. Then they swap guitars. And before you know what’s happening, Jimmy is pulling you out of the backstage area and towards the nearest bathroom.

 

“Wha-” You stammer.

 

“Don’t talk,” says Jimmy, shoving you into a cubicle. “Just get it out.”

 

You don’t have to be told twice. You fall to your knees and hurl into the toilet bowl. It stings the back of your throat and you feel your eyes water, but after a few moments, it is done. You cough and wipe your mouth, and then Jimmy’s there with a bottle of water. You take it, have a swig, then offer it back to him.

 

“Oh no, I don’t want that back,” he says, with a grin.

 

Faintly in the distance you can hear Cecily screeching.

 

You also hear the opening bars of 'Magic 18', played by a single guitar. Rowan. Rowan on stage alone, stalling time for you.

 

And here is Jimmy, grinning at you, even though you’re both in trouble, even though you’re a fucking mess and you probably always will be.

 

You love him.

 

You love Jimmy and Rowan.

 

How did you get so lucky?

 

“Time to play,” says Jimmy, holding out a hand. You take it and you run.

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