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veephoenix · 9 days ago

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I'm going to make you believe sth is about to happen then redirect the plot and have sth else happen 🤭

I love reading how y'all thought he was going to propose and instead, he asked her to move in together, and then, they couldn't move into their new apartment because of the summer festivals 😅🙏🏼 maybe they need to go on vacation

zutto — chapter twenty-four | wc: 3.8k | series masterpost | prev. chapter

Chapter summary: Bad Omens start their summer festival shows and things don't go quite as planned.

Reading time: 15mins aprox.

Tags and trigger warnings: swearing, implied anxiety, implied physical abuse, burnout, lia falls sick

General trigger warnings: this work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction, abuse, & violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

Things didn’t quite go as planned.

Noah and Lia had spent the past couple of months trying to move in together, but reality had other plans. Every apartment they checked was either in the wrong location, overpriced, or snatched up before they could even apply. When they finally found the right one, Bad Omens was scheduled to perform at several festivals in different states across the country over a span of just two weeks.

So the timing was a bit of a mess.

Lia had already ended her lease, but the new apartment was still mostly empty, missing essentials like a fridge, dishwasher, and a washing machine. The living room and bedroom furniture they’d chosen hadn’t been delivered yet either and wouldn’t arrive until the end of the month. So for now, they were staying at Noah’s house, along with Jesse, who was also struggling to find a place of his own. They were all practically living out of boxes. Noah’s room at the house had become a makeshift storage unit. Stacks of labeled cardboard, open duffel bags, tape guns, markers. Lia’s things were scattered between the two apartments and the tour trailer, making her feel like she existed in three places at once.

And now, standing in the dusty merch booth of a sunbaked festival ground, surrounded by more boxes, Lia was about to lose it and start screaming.

It was early morning. No crowds yet, just staff and vendors and a band running soundcheck on the main stage.

Lia was holding a t-shirt in her hands. She was looking at it with eyes wide open, and she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“What the hell…?”

Steven looked up from the inventory sheet, alerted by the tone in Lia’s voice.

“What’s up?”

She held the shirt out toward him, turning it so he could see. And he saw the problem.

The design—Lia’s design—was cracked. The ink was uneven, and parts of it looked like they hadn’t cured properly.

When she ran her thumb over the print, flakes of ink came off. The whole thing looked like it had been printed two years ago and left out in the sun.

Steven’s eyebrows shot up in slow motion. “Shit. That… doesn’t look good.”

“Doesn’t look good?” she repeated, incredulous. She dropped the shirt onto the merch table and yanked another one from the box, then another. “Oh, my God.”

They were all the same. All fucked up. From size S to XXL.

“They’re all like this.” She kept flipping through shirts, eyes scanning every one like she might find a decent batch buried somewhere in the pile. “These can’t go on sale, Steven. We’ve got hundreds of shirts that look like they were printed by a high school screen-printing class.” She held one up again. The ink was already lifting at the edges. “The print is literally peeling off. It’s tacky to the touch, like it didn’t even dry. We can’t sell this.”

Steven exhaled through his nose. “There must’ve been an issue in production. Ink didn’t cure right, maybe they were packed too fast—”

“They’ve never messed up before.” Lia’s voice was low but tight. “We’ve been working with them for years.Did you not check the order when it came in?” she snapped, grabbing another t-shirt, inspecting it, and tossing it aside in frustration.

“I did a spot check,” he said defensively. “The samples they sent were fine.”

“And the actual order?” she pressed, voice rising. “You didn’t open any of the boxes when they arrived?”

“I mean... they were shrink-wrapped. Everything looked clean. I figured it was fine.”

“You figured it was fine?” Lia echoed, staring at him. “Are you serious?”

Steven shifted uncomfortably.

“We literally talked about this, Steven! You were in charge of this while I was managing the exhibition!”

“I didn’t think they’d send us garbage. We’ve trusted them since… forever!”

“Well, they sent us garbage this time. And now we’re stuck with hundreds of t-shirts we can’t sell!”

She turned away, fingers digging into her temples. Her heart was pounding. Between the stress of managing her first exhibition, the chaos of moving, the lack of sleep, and now this mess, it was all getting too much.

Steven shrugged helplessly behind her. “The joggers and hoodies are good. The flags are clean. Everything else is perfect. Maybe we just push those and offer some discounts?”

Lia turned back to him slowly, face a mask of disbelief. “Push joggers. At a July festival. When it’s 95 degrees by noon.” Her voice was steady, but the sarcasm sliced clean.

He blinked, feeling the frustration creeping up his neck now too. One of his hands dropped from the clipboard.

“Look, Lia. You told me to sign off if everything matched the PO. I did. And I don’t mean offense, but you were off at the gallery instead of here, sorting all of this out, which has always been your job. You could’ve picked a different time for the exhibit.”

She stared at him for a beat, her expression going blank, but her eyes flared with something dangerous. Anger.

She didn’t say a word. Instead, she turned away from him, pulled out her phone, and walked briskly toward the back of the tent.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling the printing company!”

Her hands shook as she scrolled and found the number she was looking for. She hit the call button and pressed the phone to her ear, jaw tight, breathing shallow. Her pulse roared in her ears louder than the generators. She was sure she was getting a headache. A bad one.

Lia paced behind the tent, away from the tables and boxes. The first few rings gave her just enough time to draw in a breath and force her voice into something steady.

“Hey. Yeah, it’s Lia, from Bad Omens.”

A pause.

“No, everything’s not okay. We just opened the boxes from the latest run. All the t-shirts are misprinted. The ink’s cracked, flaking, some of them didn’t even cure properly.”

She exhaled through her nose, pressing her fingers into her temple and listening to the woman talking to her on the other side of the line. Lia started to shake her head.

“They were folded before the ink dried. It’s like they came straight off the press and into the box.”

Another pause.

“We have four festival dates in a row starting today. These were our main stock. And now every single one of them is unusable. I need a full reprint and I need them overnighted. I need them in hand in the next twenty-four hours.”

She stopped pacing, listening.

“What do you mean, we cover the shipping cost?” She let out a cold, raspy laugh. “Are you messing with me? No. No way. This was your mistake.”

Her voice stayed level, but there was a sharpness cutting through now.

“They’re completely unsellable. You know how important merch is for the band. You’ve never delivered something like this before. I didn’t change the file, the specs were the same. If the curing unit failed or someone packed them wet, that’s your responsibility.”

She went quiet, jaw tense, letting them speak.

“No, don’t transfer me to someone else. I want to talk to Marcus, the manager. Now.”

Another pause. She blinked slowly, trying to keep her tone cool, but her fingers were twitching by her side.

“He’s busy? Are you kidding me?”

A long silence. She swallowed.

“Fine. Tell him I need a call back in the next hour. We’re on a four-show festival run with no shirts to sell because your production line screwed the entire thing up. I want—I need this fixed before tomorrow or we lose serious merch revenue, and I’m not eating those costs.”

She didn’t wait for the full reply before tapping to end the call.

For a second, she just stood there, staring at the cracked pavement behind the trailer with a ragged breathing. With one hand, she pushed away a few loose strands of hair that had escaped from her bun.

“Lia.”

She turned, and she found Folio, Matt, and Noah at the merch booth. Noah was heading toward her with concern in his eyes. Steven lingered in the same spot he’d been, arms crossed, clearly still raw from their exchange and the mess they had in their hands.

“The shirts,” Noah said. “Steven said the whole run’s fucked?”

Lia nodded once, jaw tight.

“They are.”

She remained still, her phone in her hand, like she was waiting for it to ring again. When it didn’t, she exhaled shakily and ran a hand over her face.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Noah moved past Steven and looked into the boxes, carefully picking up one of the ruined shirts to inspect it. Lia’s beautiful design was distorted, the ink cracked along every fold like old peeling paint.

“What did they say?” he asked without looking at her.

“Nothing.” Lia crossed her arms. “Marcus has to call me back. I told them I need a full reprint, overnighted for tomorrow.”

Noah set the shirt down, managing his own annoyance internally.

“And?”

They said it’s possible, but…” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “They want us to pay for it.”

Noah blinked. Next to him, Folio interjected, “What?”

“Yep.” Her voice was clipped. “Shipping cost is on us, even though it’s their screw-up.”

For a moment, they all stayed silent. Lia looked up at Noah, as if he had the power to fix everything.

“Shit,” he cursed, nibbling at his lip and looking around. He put his hands on his hips. “Okay, then we just don’t sell t-shirts tonight,” Noah decided in an attempt to stay calm. “It’s not ideal, but it’s not the end of the world, either.”

“It feels like the end of the world,” she snapped before catching herself.

Noah’s brow furrowed as he looked at her more closely. She looked pale under the lighting filtering through the tent, her arms held too tight around herself. There was a stiff halo surrounding her.

“Lia,” he said, staring intensely at her, “it’s okay. These things happen.”

“No, they don’t,” she retorted, sharp enough that even she flinched. She ran a hand through her hair, forgetting it was tied up in a bun, and her nails caught in the strands. “They don’t happen. Not with me. I always make sure this never happens. Just one time—one time—I’m not there to double-check everything, and it all goes to shit.”

Noah was startled by her reaction. Worry for her quickly replaced the problem at hand.

“Nothing has gone to shit. It’s just a bunch of t-shirts,” he gestured toward them with his arm “And you’re doing enough. You’ve been working nonstop for months. Between getting the new drop ready and prepping your show, us moving out… you haven’t stopped for a second. You need to give yourself some credit. And some space to breathe.”

“We can sell them half price or something,” Matt offered, from nearby. “I mean, they’re not destroyed. Fans will understand. Some might even like that they’re misprinted, like, weird collector’s items or something.”

Lia nearly scoffed, but didn’t say anything. All she could think was that she had failed. She had failed the band, the fans, and herself. Her mind raced through everything she should’ve done differently, the dominoes that had fallen the second she’d taken her eyes off one piece of the puzzle.

Noah could see the storm of thoughts shifting behind her brown eyes.

“Lia,” Noah stepped forward and reached for her hand.

She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t meet his eyes either.

He could see it all in her: the flickering panic, her thoughts spiraling. Her body was upright, but her wires were crossing, misfiring, and he could tell she didn’t even realize how close she was to burning out.

Quietly, he said, “Let us handle it for a minute.”

“I am handling it,” she said, too fast, too sharp. She rubbed her forehead again, harder this time, like she could scrub the pressure out of her skull.

The air around her bristled, and Noah started tracing circles with his thumb on her skin.

“You can’t control everything, Lia.” He made a pause. “You’ve been juggling, like, five different lives,” he continued. “The gallery, the merch, the new place… Honestly, I don’t know how you haven’t lost it yet.”

“I’m fine,” she said, a little too flatly.

“You’re clearly not,” he said. “You’re tired, I’m tired, and we’re trying to keep a thousand things moving. But I’m not asking you to be perfect. No one is. And this?” He looked back at the piled boxes of useless t-shirts. “This is just a minor mistake.”

She looked away, sighing. “I just want things to be done right. And the one time I delegate, this happens.”

“Okay, but blaming yourself—”

“Or someone else,” Steven cut in, shooting a pointed look and making a face at Lia.

She was about to snap at him, but got stopped by Noah’s hand pointed to him, warning him silently to keep his mouth shut.

“Blaming yourself doesn’t fix it,” he said to Lia.

“I know that.”

“Then stop acting like it’s all on you.”

She bristled. “I’m not—”

“You kind of are.”

She huffed through her nose. She wasn’t angry, just… strained. She looked over her shoulder to the far distance, where she could her the chattering and laughter of the fans gathering at the gates.

“This is fucked up. I need to walk, or scream, or—I don’t know.”

She pulled away from Noah’s hand, making him frown and open his hands in confusion. That was not the reaction he’d expected. Lia stepped away from the tent.

“Seriously, Lia?”

She walked away, not bothering to reply to him.

“Lia!”

She didn’t look back.

And he didn’t follow.

He stood there, running a hand through his hair.

Lia walked briskly away from the merch tent and the noise.

The din of crew voices and buzzing speakers faded behind her as she rounded a corner past the last row of pop-up stands. Her feet carried her down an empty gravel path that curved around the back of the venue, where the tour trucks were parked in a line.

She stopped abruptly when she understood what was happening. She could feel that slow, creeping weight rising from her stomach to her chest. Tight. Familiar. She rested a hand against the metal siding of a truck trailer to steady herself.

Breathe, Lia.

She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, measuredly through her nose, then exhaled. Her hand pressed harder into the cool steel of the truck. It’s fine. You’re fine. It’ll pass. She knew it. She knew this was just her head messing up with her uselessly. But her body hadn’t caught up yet, and her mind was doing backflips trying to stay in control.

After a moment, she let herself sink back against the wall of the trailer, her spine hitting the hot surface with a soft thud. She looked up at the sky, squinting into the bright blue. No clouds. Just heavy, disorienting sunlight.

She lowered herself into a crouch, elbows on her knees, fingers pressing into her temples like they could somehow stop her thoughts from spiraling.

A few quiet seconds passed. A couple of minutes of talking to herself, fighting against the other voice inside her head.

“Hey, you okay?”

At the voice, Lia blinked and looked up.

A girl stood a few feet away, cautious, concerned. She was probably about Lia’s age, maybe younger. A crew lanyard hung from her neck, the same festival pass Lia had on hers clipped to it. She wore a white ribbed tank top tucked into high-waisted jeans, scuffed Converse, and had shoulder-length hair that framed her soft, gentle features.

Lia realized she’d been staring, a bit dazed, out of focus.

“What?”

“Do you need help?” the girl asked gently.

“No,” Lia said quickly, shaking her head. She rose stiffly to her feet, grimacing as her knees cracked. “No. I’m okay. Just needed a minute.”

The girl smiled sympathetically. “This heat is getting brutal.”

“Yeah,” Lia muttered, brushing back a loose strand of hair that stuck to her temple.

“I can get you a bottle of water if you want. There’s a stash just around the back,” she said, pointing.

“That’s sweet of you,” Lia said genuinely. “But no, I’m okay. Really.”

“You sure? I can call someone. Or at least walk you back—”

Before she could finish, Lia suddenly sneezed.

What the hell is wrong with me today?

“Oopsie! Bless you.”

“Thanks,” Lia replied, back of her hand to her nose and mouth, half-laughing, a little embarrassed. She sniffled, rubbing her wrist under her nose. “Might be the dust back here getting to me.”

The girl nodded but didn’t move right away. “Alright… well, just don’t stay out too long under this sun. You look kind of pale.”

“I’m fine,” Lia said again, a bit bothered now. “Just a lot of work...”

“Sure.” The girl gave a polite smile and turned to walk back somewhat reluctant, as if she felt bad for not being able to provide Lia with whatever help she needed.

However, it was when she was walking away, that the preoccupation transferred to Lia as she noticed a flash of purplish skin at the back of the girl’s bare left arm. Bruises, discolored in a way that didn’t look like the result of bumping into something. More like the shape of fingers…

Lia could recognize marks those too well.

Her stomach tightened, as if she weren’t having enough on her plate that morning.

She stood there for a moment longer, too many things flashing in her head, until she realized there wasn’t anything that could remove that heaviness from her chest.

She exhaled and pushed off the truck.

The back of Noah’s hand pressed against Lia’s forehead.

It was just past 11 p.m., the hotel room dim and quiet, the air conditioning switched off after Lia had started sneezing uncontrollably minutes earlier.

As the day had gone by, Lia had worsened. She’d eventually accepted that they could not sell t-shirts that night, and after talking to Marcus from the printing company, he assured her that they’d do a reprint including 100 extra pieces free of charge to make up for the mistake, and he’d have them delivered at the next festival stop in twenty-four hours.

After ending the phone call and letting Matt do whatever he wanted with the ruined t-shirts, Lia’s worry began to ease, though she still felt disappointed in herself. Her mind was calmer, but her health was deteriorating. As the hours passed, she felt increasingly exhausted, dizzy, with an intermittent headache and constant sneezing.

They were staying the night at a hotel in the city, but they would be on the road the next morning to drive to the next state, where the following festival awaited the day after.

Noah cursed silently, because given Lia’s condition, she should be home resting, not on the move.

Lia was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, wearing one of Noah’s oversized t-shirts she sometimes used to sleep, and Noah stood in front of her, freshly showered, hair still slightly damp, wearing a black tee and merch shorts. He looked every bit the tired frontman: tall, tattooed, and slightly worn down from the day’s chaos. But right now, his furrowed brows were full of concern.

“Light fever,” he muttered, pulling his hand away.

Lia’s shoulders dropped, and an exasperated sigh escaped her lips as she flopped backward onto the mattress.

“Not fair,” she groaned, the words muffled as she pulled the blankets up to her chin and buried half her face in the pillow.

“Your body is literally telling you that,” Noah said. “It’s asking for a break.”

“I can’t take a break. I have work to do.”

He knelt one knee onto the edge of the mattress. “Yeah, and—”

“And I want to work,” she cut in stubbornly.

“I know,” he said patiently. “I know you do. And I get that we’re stuck on the road for another week and a half. But once we’re back in L.A., you’re taking a break. A real one. No laptop, no sketchbook, no packing boxes, no spreadsheets. Just rest. Sleep. Sunshine. Good food.”

Lia let out a low groan. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted, voice quiet. “I’m just tired. I’ll sleep it off.”

“You’ve been tired for weeks. This didn’t come out of nowhere.”

Lia didn’t answer, just turned her face deeper into the pillow, a bit too soft for her liking. “Can you get in bed?”

Noah sighed but didn’t argue. He checked his phone, turned on sleep mode, and tossed it onto the nightstand. He removed his shorts, and as he slipped under the covers beside her, she was already curled up like a baby.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call room service? Get you something warm to drink?” he asked.

She shook her head weakly. “I can’t even think of drinking anything hot right now. I just want to sleep.”

Noah watched her for a second, her face pale, eyes heavy, hair fanning in soft waves across the pillow. He brushed a strand from her cheek.

“I keep thinking maybe I shouldn’t have brought up the idea of moving together now,” he murmured. “I thought the timing was right. I didn’t stop to consider it would all collide like this.”

“No. No.” Her eyes opened. Her hand reached out from under the sheets and wrapped around his wrist. “I want us to move. I want that. As soon as we’re back. Nothing’s going to stop us from doing it.”

“Your health could,” he said, quiet but serious. “And I’m not playing with that, Lia.”

“Just give me two days,” she whispered. “I’ll be back to myself by the time we make it to Columbus.”

Noah looked at her, unimpressed. “If you’re not, I’m cancelling the rest of the shows.”

Her head snapped up, then, as if someone had just poured a bucket of cold water over her.

“You’re joking,” the words came out measured from her mouth. “You better be joking, Noah Sebastian. I am not letting you do that.”

He raised his eyebrows in that signature way that said watch me.

She glared at him, offended and half-asleep.

“You want me to recover? Don’t say stuff like that. That’ll just make me feel worse.”

He rolled his eyes and lay back, folding one arm under his head as he settled in beside her.

“Besides,” she mumbled against the pillow, drifting, “you can’t win that battle anyway. You couldn’t cancel the Japan tour even when you tried. I’m stubborn. There’s nothing you can do about it…”

He turned his head to watch her. She was already slipping into sleep, voice fading into the covers, breathing slow.

Yeah, she was a stubborn one. She’d been that way since she was six years old, against all odds.

Noah laughed quietly, more breath than sound, shaking his head.

He leaned over, kissed her warm forehead, and gently smoothed her hair back before resting his hand on the back of her head.

“I know,” he whispered. “Believe me. I know.”

— previous chapter | chapter twenty-five

✨ Author's note: I wrote the next chapter months ago, so you can expect another update in the next couple of days after i've adjusted it and done some editing :)

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