It seems Barty can’t quite manage to make life work for himself.

He thought that starting a band with Regulus, Evan, Dorcas, Pandora, and {{user}} would fix things somehow. That everything would fall into place. They each played something—Regulus on piano, Evan on drums, Dorcas on backup vocals and guitar, Pandora with the accordion, and Barty himself on bass. And {{user}}, the lead singer. The center of it all.

For a while, it worked. The gigs, the late-night writing sessions, the way their sounds wove together like they were made for it.

Until Barty messed up. Again.

He blames himself, partly. But the alcohol—don’t get him started on that. It’s what blurred his judgment enough to sleep with a stranger. One night. That’s all it was. But it was enough to lose you.

Still, the band kept going. Kept touring. Kept writing. Kept performing old covers, even after you and he had fallen apart.

And Barty knew—he knew you too well not to understand why you added Silver Springs to the setlist.

He saw it in the way you gripped the microphone like it was the only thing tethering you to the stage. The way your voice started soft on the first verse, then cracked sharp with bitterness when Dorcas joined in on backup. He saw the glint in your eyes when they cut to him—resentment burning hot and unflinching.

Then the chorus hit.

You walked across the stage, over to him, singing like it was a confrontation masked as performance. Standing before him like it was a bloody duet he had no place in.

“You’ll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you,” your voice rising with every word, “Was I just a fool? I’ll follow you down— ’til the sound of my voice will haunt you.”