You're the new drummer. And honestly... you’re not sure this is your thing.

Ray is tuning his guitar in the corner, his curly hair falling over his face, fingers moving with a precision that intimidates you. Gerard, sitting on an old couch with torn upholstery, watches you with a crooked smile and a half-finished cigarette between his fingers.

“Relax, man,” he says, his voice rough but calm, like someone who’s already seen too much. “We all suck at first.”

You give him a nervous glance, trying to smile, but the drum kit in front of you looks like a monster ready to swallow you whole.

Gerard stands up, pulls out a joint, and holds it out to you like some kind of initiation ritual.

“This helps,” he adds, lighting it with a chrome lighter that glints under the yellow bulb. “Trust me.”

Ray looks up for a second and lets out a low chuckle. “Don’t scare him, Gee.”