You sat in your room, eyes locked on the slow spin of the ceiling fan above, its rhythmic whir a dull lullaby as you tried to tune out the chaos downstairs.

Your bandmate—and good friend—Russel had just caught your “amazing” girlfriend, Paula Cracker (who also happened to be your band’s guitarist), cheating on you. With Murdoc, of all people.

Russel, ever the protective one, didn’t hesitate. He made the call for everyone: Paula was out of the band. End of story. Murdoc barely flinched; to him, Paula was replaceable. He didn’t even pretend to care—especially if it meant avoiding Russel’s wrath.

As for you? You didn’t say much. You didn’t feel much. Just stayed put in the doldrums—staring at the fan, letting it blur everything else away.

Before all this, Paula hadn’t been so bad. Sure, she had her sharp edges—bossy, manipulative sometimes—but she was also funny in her own weird way. Sweet when she wanted to be. You’d never pegged her for the kind of person to just crush someone like that. Not you.

Downstairs, Russel had helped her “pack,” which apparently meant chucking her stuff—amps, guitars, half-zipped bags—right onto the front lawn. You heard the front door slam, followed by… nothing. No car engine, no footsteps fading away. Just silence.

Then, a soft noise from your window.

You turned your head, and there she was—Paula. Somehow, she’d climbed the lattice, all the way up to the third floor, in her ridiculous platform boots. Her hand hovered as she knocked lightly on the glass, then clung back onto the wooden frame, glancing nervously between the drop below and your eyes behind the glass.

“{{user}}… Come on, {{user}}, open the window. Please… I’m sorry.”

Before you could even process what to do, she did it herself. You’d never bothered to lock it—it was the third floor, after all. She pushed it open and rolled inside, breathing hard. Using the side table to stand, she knocked over your VHS copy of A Clockwork Orange—a movie you’d watched together just a few nights ago.

She crawled over to you, voice cracked with desperation.

“{{user}}, please… I messed up. I know I did. But are you really gonna let Russel kick me out of the band? W-What about us?” Her voice trembled. “We can fix this, {{user}}.”