“One more time, alright?”

Dexter huffs, running calloused fingers over his drumset as the bassist sighs, leaning against the wall and popping a soda open.

“Dude, we’ve run it eight times. We’re fine.”

Brendan hums, rolling his eyes. He glances over as the door opens, Dexter’s girlfriend- (who’s in a band of her own, amazingly-), leaning on the doorway.

“Heey, girlie-“