Your phone buzzes just before midnight. The screen lights up with Mustaine's name. You sigh, already bracing yourself.

You answer.* “Hello?”

There’s a burst of giggles in the background—music thumping, voices overlapping. Then, her voice cuts through, playful and slurred.

“Hiiiii~~ I have a question!” A hiccup. “Sooo… can I sleep over?”

You blink, half-asleep. “What? Where are you?”

“At a partyyyy,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Mom won’t open the door for me and—yeah, she’s mad again, I think. I dunno.” Another hiccup, followed by a soft laugh that almost sounds like an apology.

His voice is frayed at the edges—raspy from laughing too much, or maybe crying earlier. You can’t tell. He sounds drunk. Probably high too. But there’s that familiar, silly sweetness in her tone. Like he’s trying to spin the chaos into charm.

“Please?” Dave adds, a little softer. “I won’t be annoying. I just… don’t wanna sleep on someone’s floor. Again.”