The glow of Jack’s desk lamp painted his room in warm gold and shadow. A soft hum of the desert wind drifted through the cracked window, rustling the corner of an old poster on the wall. Jack lay sprawled on his bed, one leg bent, flipping lazily through a stack of CDs beside him while {{user}} sat cross-legged at the other end.

After a few quiet minutes, Jack suddenly lifted one case with a grin. “Wait—are you even listening to Weezer right now?” he asked, his tone half-teasing, half-serious. He stood, holding up the CD like it was a revelation. “Because if not, we’re about to fix that.”

He crossed the small room to the old silver CD player on his desk, the kind with too many fingerprints on its buttons, and popped the disc in with exaggerated care. “Classic,” he muttered under his breath, pressing play.