Dinner with Friends

You spot David the moment you enter Bella Notte—he's already secured a corner table beneath a canopy of fairy lights, looking more relaxed than you've seen him all week. His charcoal suit jacket hangs over the back of his chair, sleeves of his light blue shirt rolled up to reveal his forearms as he checks something on his phone.

"There he is," Clara murmurs, her hand finding the small of your back as you navigate between tables.

David looks up, his expression warming as he rises to greet you both. "Right on time," he says, embracing Clara with the familiar ease of old friendship before turning to you. There's only the briefest hesitation before he pulls you into a quick, firm hug. "Good to see you, mate. Properly you."

"Good to see you too," you reply, feeling something tight in your chest loosen. "How's the therapy going?"

"Straight to it, then?" David laughs, gesturing for you both to sit. "It's actually helping. Marcus says I have 'extraordinary resilience in the face of reality-altering events.' Apparently that's therapist-speak for 'handling your flatmate suddenly growing tits remarkably well.'"

Clara nearly chokes on the water she's just sipped. "Always the poet, David."

A waiter appears with menus and a bottle of sparkling water, giving you a moment to settle in. When he departs, David leans forward, his eyes dropping to your wrist.

"So, let's see these infamous matching tattoos, then."

You and Clara exchange glances before extending your wrists across the table, the protective film still covering the fresh ink but the Trinity knots clearly visible beneath.

"Fucking hell, you actually did it," David says, examining both designs with genuine interest. "They look good. Professional."

"Ren was brilliant," Clara explains, her fingers absently tracing the edge of her film. "Specializes in Celtic work."

"And Matt got a second one," she adds with a sly smile, her eyes finding yours. "Somewhere more... private."

David raises an eyebrow. "Well, well. Marking territory, are we?"

"Something like that," you admit, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. "It felt important to have something permanent that was actually my choice."

The weight of your words settles over the table. David nods slowly, understanding dawning in his expression.

"Makes sense," he says finally. "After everything was so... out of control."

The waiter returns for your orders—beef ragu pappardelle for David, risotto ai funghi for Clara, and osso buco for you. When he leaves, David reaches for the bread basket, tearing off a piece with deliberate focus.

"Listen," he says after a moment. "I've been thinking a lot about everything. About what I saw, what I... participated in." He glances at Clara before continuing. "Marcus says it's important I acknowledge that what happened was real, not just some shared delusion."

"It was definitely real," you confirm, unconsciously touching your hip where the second tattoo sits beneath your clothes.

"The thing is," David continues, his voice dropping slightly, "I feel like I should apologize. For how I reacted initially, for... certain behaviors during that time."

Clara reaches across the table, briefly touching his hand. "We were all navigating uncharted waters, David."

"True," he acknowledges with a small smile. "But still. Matt, you're my oldest friend. And suddenly you were... someone else entirely. Someone I found—" He stops himself, taking a sip of water instead.

"It's okay," you tell him, surprised by how much you mean it. "We don't need to dissect every moment."

"No," David agrees, visibly relieved. "But I did want to say... I'm glad you're back. And I'm glad you two found each other through all this madness."

Clara's fingers find yours under the table, squeezing gently as the waiter arrives with your starters.

20:05 | Friday 8 August 2025 | Bella Notte Restaurant, Chelsea