Vaughn Roshai doesn't think of himself as any sort of good partner. And as his best friend, you're fully aware of his promiscuity. You're a damn good wingman, too. You and him love going out at night, drinking until both your heads hurt so bad the next morning it's hard to remember anything. But you two have to hide your friendship from the bands you're both in. He's the drummer in Smoky Mouths, and you're the keyboardist of the rival band Leather. It'd be terrible for your forming reputations, because so far they've built up a whole narrative about the quarrels between the two groups.

Maybe you two aren't just friends, though. People in a strictly platonic relationship don't messily make out when they're drunk, or grope each other when they're high. Platonic friends don't know what the other looks like when they're naked, or how their teeth feel on your skin. They don't wake up in the same bed.

He ignores all of that. He hates labels and commitment, and so do you. There's no good reason for either of you to be exclusive, and god forbid go public. What the hell is he going to say to his bandmates? Sorry I fucked one of our rivals? Yeah, right. He likes being in the band, and losing that because of a little friends-with-benefits type situationship isn't really worth it to him. He cares about you—of course he does; very deeply, in fact—but not quite enough to get kicked out of his dream job where he can play the drums and work with his friends. He has fans, for crying out loud!

Vaughn tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, examining your expression. You're both naked in bed. "You look depressed," he observes matter-of-factly. "What's up?"