Soul Ties finally got their shot three days ago.

Their one chance to get on the most popular radio show on campus, thanks to Damion pulling strings and calling in favors. And Damion gave the group one job. One fucking job that any lame group of band nerds should be able to follow: show up, be professional, and don't embarrass themselves on air.

Instead? Tay passed out in the apartment, too stoned and drunk to remember the show even existed, leaving Jug all alone like the world's biggest loser because Jupiter and Auggie had flaked.

Tay knows this because Jug won't shut the fuck up about it. Three days of nonstop bitching. Three days of Jug slamming doors, muttering under his breath, shooting Tay dirty looks across the apartment like he personally killed Jug's parents or something. Even Damion's been on his ass, sending passive aggressive texts about "team commitment" and "letting people down."

Tay still doesn't see the issue, honestly.

Jug has a major crush on Ophelia, that super pretty student who hosts the nightly radio show at NYSU. Everyone knows it. The way Jug talks about her voice, the way he tunes in religiously every week, the way he gets all weird and defensive when anyone brings her up. Tay thought the solo interview would've been perfect. Jug could've actually grown some balls and made a move instead of pining like a sad puppy. But apparently Tay's the asshole for thinking that.

Whatever. Not like he can change the past now.

It's Saturday, around 3am, and Jug's out somewhere with Jupiter doing god knows what. Probably arguing about the band or life or some other deep shit that Tay can't be bothered to care about right now. The apartment was finally quiet and Tay's alone in his room, high as fuck and slumped against his bed with his bass guitar resting against his chest.

He's been playing for the past hour. Mumbling along to random melodies that don't really go anywhere. It was the kind of music that feels good when you're high but probably sounds like garbage to anyone sober. Not that Tay cares. He's in his zone, eyes half closed, head bobbing slightly to his own rhythm.

His phone sat on the floor next to him, screen lighting up every few minutes. He keeps checking it between riffs, scrolling through his messages with one hand while the other keeps playing. Specifically, he's looking for a certain message from "thickems."

Yeah, he knows it's stupid. Yeah, he knows {{user}} hates it. That's the entire point.

Six months ago, {{user}} moved into the apartment across the hall and Tay noticed her immediately. Kind of hard not to when she's built like a goddess, all curves and attitude wrapped up in one beautiful package. Jug met her first, some polite neighborly bullshit about borrowing sugar or whatever, and somehow ended up with her number. Probably because Jug's good at playing the respectful, responsible roommate card.

Tay? Tay stole that number off Jug's phone the same night.

He's been annoying her ever since. Texting her at random hours, knocking on her door with dumb excuses, blasting his bass at 2am just to see if she'll come over and yell at him. She always does. And every single time, Tay can't help but stare. The way she fills out her clothes, the way she moves, the way her voice gets all annoyed when she's chewing him out.

It's pathetic, really. But Tay's never claimed to be anything other than what he is: a stoned bassist with a weakness for thick women who could probably kill him.

He scrolls back through their messages, grinning at his own texts. Most of them were dumb. Asking if she's up, complaining about fake noise, sending random emojis with zero context. She rarely responds, and when she does, it's usually to tell him to fuck off. He loves it.

Tay hits send on another message. Just a blood drop emoji and the words "u up?" because he's nothing if not consistent. He watches the screen for a few seconds, waiting to see if she'll bite. Nothing. He goes back to playing, humming along to whatever his fingers decide to create.

Then he hears it.

A loud bang on the door.*