"Fuck, no!" shouts a voice as another shouts "Fuck, yes!" in a thick Italian accent.

The goalkeeper of the Italian team stops the penalty that the English player takes, causing Max to throw the cap she was wearing on her head against the bar counter. Damiano doesn't like football, Max has known that for a long time, but he'll do anything to get on her nerves, so she gives him a menacing look as Damiano keeps jumping up and down with a wide smirk across his face. He winks at her, then stops celebrating, and Max doesn't know whether her unspoken threat has had an effect, or whether it's the fervent stares of the other Englishmen in the pub that have caused him to stop his jovial celebration.

Fortunately, it seems that the people around them are not too hard on the quartet of Italians, who, despite not being big football fans, are rightly celebrating, as their country has just won the most important cup. They watch with a smile on the pub TV, because the owner knows Max and knows that the group of Italians are with her, so he lets them rejoice a little more in their joy. The English around them seem to be gradually forgetting the recent defeat, drowning their sorrows in beer, and perhaps something a little heavier, striking up conversations with the people closest to them.

Max sees in the reflection of her drink that the two English flags on her cheeks are still intact despite the heat of the atmosphere and that it is one of the hottest summers there so far. She chokes down a gulp of beer and huffs: not that she cares too much about the defeat, but she can't hide the fact that she wanted England to win, as it could lead to a big night out in London, and it was almost something she could do with, given the last few weeks.

She has known Maneskin for more than two months now, and despite having met four great people, she also felt that things were piling up in her life. She has accompanied the Italian band back and forth, taking advantage of their promotion to do interviews, meet European fans and attend appointments on various foreign radio stations. Don't get Max wrong, she thinks it's great and loves meeting the people who have brought her to where she is, but she feels her goal is a long way off, and she's eager to start singing and recording new songs, which never seems to happen.

Still, she hardly lets her frustration show. Sometimes Thomas lends her his electric guitar, teaching her the most basic chords, and Max feels she could put it to great use if she ever learned to play it as well as he does. She frequently accompanies them at rehearsals, mumbling the occasional lyric, because she hears them so often that Italian seems to have entered her mind —Damiano even seems surprised that she knows the chorus of "L'altra dimensione"— and, since then, she sometimes takes an Italian class on Duolingo, mostly failing miserably at pronouncing them in her thick English accent. She smiles when the group finishes rehearsing, applauding them as if she were their biggest fan and reminding them how far they are going to go, without any of the four of them being able to see that she is burning with the desire to be in the same place as them.

She often misses her time in the United States. Not because she misses the company of Ariana and the rest of the team, nor because she gets tired of the presence of the Italians, but because she was happy doing what she liked best, and although now she is allowed to travel more, party more and go for more walks, she feels more closed in than on the tour.

"We're closing the bar," announces the owner, cleaning up the odd drink, and to the astonished looks of the customers, he adds: "And opening the pub. A free round for everyone, lads! Cheer up!"

Max comes out of her reverie to celebrate discreetly, unlike her Italian friends, who despite sometimes having difficulty understanding some accents, have no problem knowing when there is a party and free drinks. The Englishwoman who accompanies them laughs with pleasure, momentarily forgetting that England have lost a final. "Lend me the lighter?" Damiano nods and manages to hand it to her amidst the crowds of people streaming inside. "What have I told you about borrowing my lipstick without telling me? I spent days looking for that!" Max scolds him when she sees him hand it back as he hands her the lighter.

"What can I say? It suits me better."

The Englishwoman moves her lips, mimicking his haughty gesture, and the music they suddenly play means she can't hear the laughter of the others. The girl makes her way through the crowd, making sure the cigarette between her lips doesn't fall out, and apologising when she feels she's bothering people. The first thing she does when she comes out is to take a breath, feeling that there is hardly any air inside, and then she lights the cigarette in her mouth.

"Got another one?" A voice beside her asks, and Max realises that a boy is addressing her. He has a cap just like hers that she's left on the bar, so between that and the way he speaks she assumes he's English too. Max realises she's taking too long to answer her because she's staring at the tattoo on his arm.

"Sorry, mate," Max shrugs, and the boy purses his lips in a thin line. Max doesn't know if it's an outburst of feeling generous or the amount of beer in her body, but she offers it to him. "You can have a puff, if you want."

The boy smiles amicably. "Trying to poison me? Smoking is bad for your health."

"It was you who asked for one," Max quickly retorts, and the boy has no choice but to laugh, knowing himself defeated.

"I think I know you," he says as he blows out the smoke after the puff, and hands the cigarette back to Max, who frowns slightly: sometimes she prefers to be inconspicuous. "You come around often, right? Your face seems so familiar. I think I've seen you around here some time."

After this, Max inevitably sighs in relief. "Yeah, from time to time. Disappointed about the result?" asks the girl, seeing that his cap bears an English Three Lions flag.

The boy snorts. "We weren't playing that well, so I saw it coming. Feeling worried about those poor guys who failed to score: they'll be slaughtered online. Though at least my man scored —United fan," he clarified.

"Really? Me too," Max cheers, finishing off the last puff of the cigarette she has shared. "Great cap, by the way. Have one myself."

"Oh, it's because it's actually yours," the boy takes off the cap and puts it on Max's head, who tilts her head to one side. "I saw it fall and there are many people inside now, so I'd hope to catch you and give it to you before it was stepped on. I'm Connor, by the way."

Max smiles a little, somewhat amused by the stranger's gesture. She's partially glad to have found another United fan, something that doesn't often happen in London, and also that he's so nice. So, feeling at ease, she gives him the name by which few people know her: "It's Max."

"Max... It fits you," Connor smiles. "By the way, you're friends with the Italians inside, right? I saw you talking earlier. Just to give you a heads up, some blokes behind me were saying crap about your girl friend, you know, the blonde, short one. Maybe you should go inside and check everything's all right. You know how stupid people can be."

Max's heart races a little as she realises he's talking about Victoria, and the mere thought of the girl being alone with boys who have made obscene comments about her makes her blood boil, and so she quickly says goodbye to Connor and thanks him for the warning, and the boy nods silently. She makes her way through the crowd again, and clenches her jaw when she sees that the four Italians are surrounded by the group of boys Connor has warned her about.

"Did I miss anything?" Max interjects into the conversation, pushing her way through the group of Englishmen and Italians, pretending to reach for the beer on the bar.

"We were just talking to your pretty friend. Maybe she'd like to hang with us."

"And she has repeatedly told you she's fine here with us," Damiano replies, aware that Victoria feels threatened and harassed and therefore won't say anything to defend herself. Max's heart swells a little with pride as she watches Damiano defend his friend, regardless of the size and number of the boys in front of him.

"Then I believe it's settled, mates. She's staying," Max tries to end the conversation, but doesn't seem to succeed. She doesn't want things to get out of hand, but the boys seem to be drunk and won't take no for an answer.

"Oh, come on, don't be a party pooper. We could have proper fun, you know? We live just by the end of the street, you won't have to wait long. You know you want this."

"Cosa sta dicendo questo bastardo? Fuck off, man," Thomas speaks, and although he is normally joking and laughing, Max knows from his scowl that he is angry.

Another of the boys confronts him, and at that moment Max knows it's not going to end well. There seem to be people around them who notice the scene, but they're too busy minding their own business to intervene, and Max, even if she wanted to, can't really blame them: no one wants to get in trouble for people they don't know. The girl sees Damiano step forward, and sees Ethan lag a little further behind, making sure Victoria isn't going anywhere. Max is disgusted that a woman has to feel so threatened by going out for a drink and a good time.

She squeezes Victoria's hand gently, momentarily forgetting that Thomas and Damiano are still facing the group of boys, worrying about her and making sure she's okay. However, she is slightly displaced into the younger girl's body as Thomas is pushed by one of the boys, and Victoria helps her keep her balance. "Are you okay? We can leave, there's no need for this—"

Ethan holds Victoria tightly, pulling her to him, as the fight breaks out behind them. Max moves out of the way before Damiano collides with her as he dodges a punch from one of the Englishmen. Max wonders at what point the night has turned into this as people are making room because the situation is untenable.

"Stop this! This is nonsense!" Max exclaims as she tries to push them aside and get Damiano and Thomas to stop their onslaught. She is grateful to see how one of the boys from the other group also seems to be trying to separate what appears to be the leader, who is turning red and constantly uttering insults that the Italians don't seem to understand. His attempts are unsuccessful, however, as the Englishman breaks free of his friend's grip and his elbow collides with Max's mouth.

Damiano watches as the girl falls and moves out of his way, and his rage grows by the minute, as he tries to punch the guy to no avail, as he is definitely pushed away by another group of guys who seem to be watching things escalate. The pub staff throw the group of Englishmen out soon after, noticing the situation and Max still covering her face, and the pub owner approaches her with a furious face and a bag of ice in his hands.

Damiano and Thomas approach her, furious that they couldn't have punched that asshole, and worried about the state of their friend, who has definitely taken the brunt of it. Max pushes her long hair out of her face with her cap so she can apply the ice, and the group of Italians see with concern how her lip is swollen and there is a trickle of blood travelling from the corner of her mouth to her chin.

"Ucciderò quel figlio di puttana," Damiano mumbles between his teeth.

"At least that motherfucker has been kicked out already," Max mutters as best she can, savoring the blood in her mouth. "Everyone alright?"

"We should be the ones asking you that!" complains Victoria as she inspects her face carefully. "You shouldn't have been involved! I could've handled it," the Italian reproaches her four companions.

"Who knows what they were planning on doing, Vic," Thomas replies as Ethan nods. "We know you don't need to be protected, but if they insult you, they insult every one of us. We have the right to defend ourselves!"

"But look what happened!" Victoria continues to exclaim. "Now Max is hurt."

"Believe me, I would've broken that guy's face if people hadn't stopped me," Damiano adds with a grimace. Max thinks she's never seen him this angry in all the time she's known him, and though she knows nothing is solved by violence, part of her likes knowing that she cares as much about the Italian as he cares about her. "We should leave now. They ruined my mood, and my make up."

The alcohol is definitely gone from their bodies, so the safest option seems to be to go home —as much as some of them are angry that they've ruined their night. Max nods, because she's certainly not in the mood to party either. She leaves the bag of ice on the bar counter, thanking the owner, who nods wordlessly, and replaces her grip on the bag with Victoria's hand, who seems to be searching for it and takes it silently but gratefully.

In recent months, Victoria and Max have become especially close. Max appreciated the company of the other boys, too, but she feels that it is with the girl that she has a special relationship, and Victoria seems to feel the same. Max is nice to spend time with, she always compares her to a breath of fresh air after spending so much time with three boys with raging hormones, and although Max isn't much older than them, she does seem more focused and mature, and Victoria likes that the Englishwoman is able to explain things to her without making her look stupid and, why deny it, she likes Max herself. She's smart, but doesn't brag about it, has an infectious laugh and an ability to calm her down in her anxiety attacks that no one has ever had before. She is soothed by her eyes and her voice, though she still sometimes has trouble deciphering what she says when she is talking fast or when she is frustrated, but Victoria doesn't mind being patient in figuring out her words.

Conversely, while Victoria is clear about where Max stands in her life, she has no idea how Max sees her. She doesn't know if she's her friend, or if she's just an acquaintance, someone she's had to live with. She doesn't know if she sees her as a little sister, as a confidant, or if she feels even the slightest bit of reciprocity. Sometimes it seems clear that they have a special complicity, with glances that don't need words, or with gestures that most of the time only include the two of them, like the nights watching TV shows or the hugs Max usually gives her from behind whenever she feels that Victoria is tired or frustrated. At other times, however, Victoria doesn't know what to think: Max's love life is so secret that she doesn't even know if she's interested in girls enough to know if she sees her as anything more than a friend.

Victoria sees their hands still clasped and feels a little —too much— guilty. If she had been able to stand up for herself, if her anxiety hadn't gotten in the way, maybe she would have been able to fend off those boys and enjoy the rest of the night, and Max wouldn't have taken such a hit. But on the other hand, she is grateful that they had come to her defence so wholeheartedly, because Thomas was right: who knows what they would have been able to do if no one had been watching. A shiver runs down her spine, and she clutches Max's hand tighter.

She senses Victoria's concern in an instant, and turns around with a worried look on her face. "Are you alright? I'm sorry they made you feel uncomfortable. It's over now, Vic," Max assures her, and Victoria has little time left to melt in her arms, perhaps because of the nickname, perhaps because of the protection she exerts over her. Either way, Victoria has to swallow and find the words inside her.

"I'm okay. I'll take a look at that when we get home, yeah?" Victoria says, and she doesn't know where the courage comes from for her fingers to brush against Max's injured lip, who smiles and nods.

"You lot okay?" a voice behind them startles them, and Max inevitably looks up when she recognises the voice of the boy she's just met, Connor. "I'm sorry I couldn't help, I was still outside and heard people scream, and the next thing I see are that group of men being kicked out. What did they do to your face, Max?" Connor frowns and lifts her chin to appreciate the wound.

"Nothing I can't handle," the Englishwoman quips nonetheless, and it prompts a soft chuckle from the boy.

Victoria frowns visibly as her hand is released without her permission from Max's, and her mind races when she remembers that the boy has called her 'Max', a name she only gives to those closest to her. So Victoria tries to reassure herself, thinking that the boy might be an old acquaintance of the girl's, perhaps a childhood friend, someone she has known for a long time and therefore knows her nickname.

The rest of the boys seem a bit out of place too, not knowing the person talking to Max and feeling a bit displaced. However, it is only Ethan who notices Victoria's recent discomfort with the boy's presence, who makes small talk with Max, who tells him what has happened and thanks him for something neither of them knows.

"You can stop staring, you know," Ethan whispers, taking advantage of the fact that the others are distracted. "You're not so subtle."

Victoria glances at him, feeling uncovered, but the unknown boy speaks before Victoria can refute that she doesn't know what he's talking about.

"Do you want me to give you a ride? I assume you're not in the mood to party anymore. Besides, I promise I've only had a pint!" Connor holds up his hands and excuses himself. "I'm Connor. My van is just around the corner, you all fit in."

"A van? Are you trying to kidnap us?" Max jokes, and although Connor finds it hilarious, Victoria doesn't even smile.

"Too many siblings in my house for us to buy a Mini Cooper."

The drive home turns out to be much more pleasant and enjoyable than expected. Max takes the passenger seat, and the four Italians squeeze into the three middle seats so that none of them are left alone in the back —Connor claims it's okay, that he doubts there is police at this time of the night because of the match that has just taken place. The two boys who have been involved in the fight are much more animated than before, whispering the song Connor has played, and although Ethan is still silent because that's his personality, he's visibly calmer than Victoria, who has changed her mind: Max has just met Connor, a few minutes before them, and something inside her lights up when she learns that she has introduced herself by her nickname to a stranger.

Damiano and Thomas especially decide that they like Connor and that he's a nice guy. He talks about football with Max but not too much, paying attention to them too, and taking suggestions on what kind of music they want him to play next. Damiano notices the tattoo on his arm and compliments him, saying that he has a lot of them too. The Englishman laughs openly, as from the rear-view mirror he can see Damiano's open shirt and huge chest tattoo, and when Connor says he likes it, Damiano decides he likes Connor better.

On the other hand, if Victoria's eyes could emit fire, the front of the van would be on fire by now. Her eyes dart to the back of Max's head and Connor's face every chance she gets, and though she blames it on the stressful situation she's just been in and the fact that her head is still spinning from the beers she's had, she knows she's jealous because she's not the one making Max laugh.

But no one notices. She hasn't said a word to anyone since she's entered the van, settling between the door and Ethan, and the others take it to mean she's tired or maybe too affected by what she's been through to joke with the others. When they arrive at their new home —since they left for Italy a few days ago, they left the hotel and went to stay at Max's house in a nice neighbourhood— the boys bid a hearty farewell to Connor as Victoria enters the house with her new pair of keys, closely followed by her three Italian friends. She doesn't even bother to turn around to watch as Max smiles goodbye to Connor.