Chapter 10: Lazy Sunday Vibes

The world seemed quieter, slower, as though everyone collectively decided to hit pause. In their small apartment, the lethargy was tangible. Wes was still sprawled on his bed, dead to the world, while Diego tinkered with his guitar on the couch. Strumming a few chords, he hummed a tune but kept glancing at the clock.

"Wes, wake up," Diego called, tossing a pillow at him. No response. Wes grunted and buried his face deeper into his blanket, completely uninterested in the idea of waking up. Diego chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

"Lazy as ever," he muttered, grabbing his jacket. It was clear Wes wasn't moving anytime soon. Diego decided to step out for a quick bite, leaving his sleeping roommate behind.

Meanwhile, Rich stood under the steaming spray of his shower. The warmth was soothing, but his mind raced. Images of the slap from Olivia looped in his head like a movie on repeat. It wasn't just the sting of her hand—it was the embarrassment, the guilt. Why had he fallen? Why had their lips accidentally met? And why had she reacted so... personally?

Rich shook his head, letting the water cascade over his face, hoping it would wash away the memory. Just as he stepped out of the shower, his phone buzzed on the bathroom counter. It was the manager from the production.

"We're doing reshoots tomorrow," the manager said bluntly. "Be there on time. No excuses."

Rich sighed, wrapping a towel around his waist. The manager didn't say whether Olivia would be there, but Rich's gut told him she would be. He dried off, stared at his reflection in the fogged mirror, and exhaled deeply.

On the other side of town, Olivia sat in her small but cozy apartment, her breakfast untouched. The slap replayed in her mind, and a pang of guilt weighed heavy on her chest. She hadn't meant to react so strongly, but the emotions of the moment—the scene, the accident, Rich's closeness—all overwhelmed her.

Her phone buzzed on the table, pulling her out of her thoughts. It was the same message Rich received: a call for reshoots. Olivia hesitated, her fingers hovering over her phone. The first thought that came to mind was Rich. Would he be there? What would she even say to him if he was? Shaking her head, she resolved to apologize—somehow.

Diego, on the other hand, was gearing up for something far more exciting. He had landed a gig as part of a music festival—not the main act, but as a front act. It wasn't the most glamorous role, but it was still a big deal for him. Thousands of people would be there, and the pay was decent. Diego was determined to make the most of it.

As the sun set and the festival grounds filled with eager attendees, Diego stood backstage, his guitar slung across his shoulder. He took a deep breath, tuning out the noise of the crowd. When it was his turn, he walked onto the stage with confidence.

His first song was a fusion of rock, pop, and soul—his signature style. The crowd was a mix of those who paid attention and those busy grabbing food from nearby stalls. But Diego didn't mind. He played as though he were performing for a packed stadium, his fingers gliding over the strings with ease.

After the gig, Diego felt a wave of satisfaction wash over him. He decided to visit Lolo Tomas back in their hometown. When he arrived, Lolo Tomas was busy in the field, tending to his crops. Diego brought food and shared stories about his performance and his new friends in the city. Lolo Tomas listened intently, a proud smile on his face.

"You're doing great, hijo," Lolo Tomas said, patting Diego on the shoulder. "But don't forget to visit me, ah? Even when you're famous."

Diego laughed and hugged his grandfather. That night, he slept peacefully in his old room, comforted by the familiarity of home.

Back in the city, Wes and Brad closed the coffee shop at the same time. The two decided to head home together, with Brad offering to drop Wes off at the apartment. When they arrived, the place was eerily quiet—Diego was still out, and Rich hadn't returned.

"You wanna hang out for a bit?" Wes asked.

Brad hesitated but agreed. The two grabbed a couple of beers and headed to the rooftop. The city lights sparkled below them, the cold air carrying a sense of calm. They sat on the edge, their legs dangling as they sipped their drinks.

"So, what's your story?" Brad asked, breaking the silence.

Wes took a moment before answering. "I've always loved painting. It's my escape, you know? But life happened, and I had to put that dream on hold."

Brad nodded, taking a swig of his beer. "I get it. My family expects a lot from me. We're well off, but that comes with its own set of pressures. Sometimes I wish I could just… be free."

Their conversation flowed naturally, each opening up in ways they hadn't before. The connection between them grew stronger with each passing minute.

As the night wore on, Brad decided it was time to leave. But as he stood, he noticed Wes had fallen asleep in his chair, his head tilted to the side. Brad chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're really something, Wes."

He carefully lifted Wes, struggling a bit under his weight. "Man, you need to lay off the midnight snacks," Brad muttered, half-joking as he carried him to his bed.

When he finally laid Wes down, Brad started to pull away, but Wes, still half-asleep, grabbed his shirt. The sudden tug caused Brad to lose his balance, and he fell forward. His lips accidentally brushed against Wes's forehead, sending a jolt of surprise through him.

Brad froze, his heart racing. In the dim light, he could see Wes's peaceful expression, completely unaware of what had just happened. Brad's face flushed, and he quickly stood, muttering to himself. "Get a grip, Brad."

As he turned to leave, his foot accidentally brushed against Wes's leg. The unexpected contact made Brad's cheeks burn even more.

"This is a disaster," he whispered, closing the door behind him.

The next morning, Brad couldn't shake the events of the night before. He threw himself into work at the coffee shop, trying to stay busy. Wes, on the other hand, woke up feeling refreshed but slightly confused. He couldn't remember much after their rooftop conversation but shrugged it off as the result of a long day.

Diego, back from his visit to Lolo Tomas, wandered into a small shop in the city that sold potions and charms. The place smelled of incense and mystery, and Diego couldn't help but be intrigued.

"Looking for something specific?" an old fortune teller asked, her voice raspy but kind.

"Just a lucky charm," Diego replied with a grin. "I could use some good vibes."

The fortune teller handed him a small amulet and said, "Hold on to this. Fame and fortune are in your future, but patience is key."

Diego thanked her and left the shop, feeling a mix of curiosity and hope.

As the day ended, each of them found themselves reflecting on their paths. Rich prepared for the reshoot, Olivia rehearsed her lines, Diego strummed his guitar, Wes painted, and Brad stared out the window of the coffee shop, lost in thought. Though their lives were vastly different, fate had a funny way of intertwining their stories—a connection they were only beginning to understand.