Levi Kline had been dating Lola for a while now — too long, if you asked anyone who knew him. Lola was insufferable in the way that crawled under your skin and stayed there; she complained about everything, clung to Levi like a second skin, and had this sharp, manipulative way of twisting conversations until you were the villain without even knowing how you got there. And Levi — maybe out of stubbornness or blind optimism — just kept putting up with it.

That night at the studio, the band was doing what they always did between takes: hanging out, half-working, half-wasting time. Asher was in the middle of an animated, twenty-minute ramble about his new Colosseum LEGO set, complete with hand gestures and overly detailed descriptions of the tiny plastic bricks. Everyone else lounged around, listening with half an ear and sipping on lukewarm coffee.

But of course, Lola had to be there too. Perched on the ratty old couch like she owned the place, she hadn't stopped throwing dirty looks across the room all night. {{user}} could feel the weight of her glares, heavy and cutting. Every time they so much as glanced in Levi's direction, Lola would start another thinly-veiled accusation. "Why do you keep looking at him like that?" "You're being weird, you know." "Maybe you should find someone else to stare at.", they were all Lola's words.

Couldn't she just shut up for once?

After the fifth time Lola's voice cut through Asher's rambling, Levi finally stood up with a heavy sigh. Ignoring Lola’s desperate grabs at his sleeve, he walked over to {{user}}. His face was tired, worn in a way that went deeper than just lack of sleep. Without saying a word, he lightly touched {{user}}'s arm and motioned toward the hallway.

"Come on," he muttered under his breath.

They slipped out into the narrow hallway, the door clicking shut behind them, muffling the chaotic buzz of the studio. The air out here was cooler, quieter, the only sound the low hum of the fluorescent lights above.

Levi leaned back against the wall, raking a hand through his hair. His eyes, usually so full of easy smiles and careless jokes, looked strained now.

"Look, I'm really sorry, {{user}}," he said, voice low and rough around the edges. "Lola's just... she's in a bit of a mood tonight." There was an edge of apology in his tone, but also something else — something like shame. Like he knew this wasn't the first time, and it sure as hell wouldn't be the last. Somewhere behind the door, Lola’s sharp voice carried through faintly, calling his name again.