A surprisingly nice gesture.

Getting through the entrance took longer than I expected. There were security lines stretching across the plaza, and every few seconds another group of people would cheer when someone spotted the arena doors opening further ahead. I kept one hand on my wallet, making sure the ticket was still safely inside, while Trish stayed close beside me. Eventually, we made it through security and into the main concourse.

The noise hit us immediately. Music was playing over the speakers, people were shouting to each other, and everywhere I looked there were fans wearing The Weeknd shirts, hoodies and jackets. The whole place seemed to be buzzing with excitement.

“Wow,” Trish said, looking around.

“Pretty impressive, huh?”

“Yeah.”

We walked a little farther before Trish stopped suddenly. “Merch,” she yelled, pointing into the distance.

I followed her gaze toward a large merchandise stand surrounded by people. “You want to go?”

“Obviously.”

I laughed. “Of course you do.”

We joined the line, and I looked at what Trish was wearing. Her white Fleetwood Mac shirt was already looking pretty old, with the print slightly faded from being washed so many times.

“Is that shirt older than you?”

She looked down at it. “Excuse me?”

“I said, is that shirt older than you?”

She gave me a look. “Very funny.”

“I'm serious. Did your mum buy that for you?”

“No. And at least mine is a proper band shirt.”

I looked down at my own grey The Who shirt. “What's wrong with mine?”

“Nothing. Except it looks like you found it in your dad's closet.”

I stared at her for a second. “Wow.”

She grinned. “What?”

“You've been waiting all night to say that, haven't you?”

“Maybe.”

I shook my head. “You're getting brave.”

“Maybe I feel comfortable around you.”

Something about the way she said it made me look at her for a second longer than I intended to.

“Good,” I said.

She smiled even brighter than she had been already.

The line moved forward, and we eventually reached the front. Trish immediately started looking through the shirts, checking different designs and sizes.

“You should get one,” I said.

She glanced at me. “I was thinking about it.”

“You can't come to The Weeknd and not get a shirt.”

“You're getting one?”

“Probably.”

She held up a black shirt with The Weeknd's name across the front.

“What about this one?”

“That's pretty good.”

She looked at the price tag and frowned slightly. “Maybe not.”

I noticed the hesitation. “How much?”

She turned the tag toward me.

I looked at it. “That's it?”

“It's expensive.”

“I've got it.”

She looked at me. “What?”

“I'll buy it.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “No. You don't have to.”

“I know.”

“Seriously, I can pay for it.”

“I found a free ticket on the floor today. Buying you a shirt seems like the universe's way of making sure I don't get too lucky.”

She laughed. “That's not how luck works.”

“Sure it is.”

She looked at the shirt again, then back at me. “You're really serious?”

“Completely.”

For a moment she just stared at me. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Thank you.” Before I could say anything else, Trish suddenly stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me in a surprisingly tight hug.

I froze for half a second before laughing and hugging her back.

“Wow,” I said when she finally let go. “I didn't realise a T-shirt was worth that much.”

She laughed, looking slightly embarrassed. “Shut up. I'm just really happy.”

“I can tell.”

I handed the shirt to the guy behind the counter and paid for it along with one for myself. When I handed hers back to her, she looked genuinely pleased.

“You're welcome,” I said, happy to see her joy.

She hugged the shirt against her chest.

“You're actually pretty nice sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Don't push it.”

I laughed, and she laughed too.

As we walked away from the stand, Trish slipped her new shirt into the bag and looked over at me.

“So, what made you decide to bring me tonight?”

I shrugged. “You wanted to go.”

“That isn't really an answer.”

“It is.”

She smiled. “Okay.”

There was something different about the way she was looking at me now. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but it made me suddenly aware that we were walking side by side through a crowded arena and that, for once, I wasn't thinking about Rebecca.

We followed the signs toward the seating sections, checking our tickets as we went.

“This way,” I said, pointing toward our section.

Trish followed me until we reached the entrance to the seating area. I pulled out my ticket. She pulled hers out too. We both looked down, seeing different numbers.

“Wait,” I said.

“What?”

I held my ticket next to hers.

“Our sections are different.”

She frowned and checked hers again.

“No way.”

I looked at the numbers again.

“Yeah.”

She stared at me. “So we're not sitting together?”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

For a few seconds, neither of us said anything. We'd spent the entire evening getting here together. We'd driven together, walked together, gone through security together, bought merch together, and now, suddenly, we were supposed to go our separate ways. It didn’t seem right.

Trish looked at me. “So... what do we do?”