Call David and Check in

You pull your phone from your pocket as you and Clara stroll along the Chelsea sidewalk, the evening air warm against your freshly tattooed wrist. Street lamps flicker on around you, casting a golden glow over the stylish storefronts and bustling restaurants.

"I'm thinking of calling David," you tell Clara, your thumb hovering over his contact. "See if he wants to join us for dinner and hear about the tattoos."

Clara nods, her auburn hair catching the light as she adjusts her cream blouse. "Good idea. He's been processing a lot this week. Might be nice to reconnect on neutral ground."

You hit dial and press the phone to your ear. Three rings later, David's voice comes through, slightly distorted by background noise.

"Matt? Everything alright?" There's cautious curiosity in his tone.

"Hey, yeah, everything's great actually. Clara and I just got our tattoos done." You glance at your matching wrists, the Trinity knots still covered with protective film. "We're about to grab dinner at this Italian place in Chelsea. Thought you might want to join us?"

There's a brief hesitation on the line before David responds. "Actually... that sounds good. I've been cooped up with work and therapy all week. Where exactly?"

You look to Clara, who mouths "Bella Notte" and holds up two fingers.

"Place called Bella Notte, about two blocks from the tattoo studio. We can get there in maybe fifteen minutes?"

"Perfect timing," David says, his voice warming. "I just wrapped up drinks with a client near Sloane Square. I can be there in ten."

"Great!" You feel a wave of relief wash over you. "See you there."

As you pocket your phone, Clara slides her arm through yours, careful of both your fresh tattoos.

"How did he sound?" she asks, her green eyes searching your face.

"Better. More like himself." You guide her around a cluster of tourists photographing a boutique window display. "I think those therapy sessions might actually be helping."

Clara's fingers lightly trace the edge of the protective film on your wrist. "I'm glad. This whole situation has been... unusual for everyone, to put it mildly." A small smile plays across her lips. "Though I can't say I regret any of it."

You turn down a side street where strings of fairy lights crisscross overhead, illuminating a row of restaurants with outdoor seating. The warm aroma of garlic, basil, and freshly baked bread wafts from an elegant storefront with "Bella Notte" written in flowing script above the door.

"Neither do I," you admit, squeezing her hand. "None of it."

Clara's eyes meet yours, something profound and unspoken passing between you as you approach the restaurant. For all the strangeness of your journey together, the permanence of the matching marks on your skin feels like the most natural thing in the world.

19:20 | Friday 8 August 2025 | Bella Notte Restaurant, Chelsea