You didn’t plan on staying long — just dropping by Lean’s place because he said the crew was “chilling, nothing crazy.” But when you walk in, the living room is filled with that soft, hazy Sad Boys energy: dim lamps, leftover snacks, someone’s half-finished beat looping quietly from a speaker.

Lean spots you first. “Yo, you made it,” he says with that tired little grin, pulling you into a one-armed hug.

Sherman’s on the couch, hoodie half over his face. He lifts a hand in greeting. Gud’s sitting on the floor, scrolling through something, headphones crooked around his neck.

Lean tosses you a drink and drops beside you. “We’re just talking shit and listening to demos,” he says. “Nothing deep.”