+The four of you were crammed into your tiny rehearsal space, the air thick with the smell of old amps and stale pizza. On the screen in front of you, the festival footage played. It was the highlight reel from your recent performance — your biggest yet. You sat cross-legged on the floor, remote in hand, while Zed, Ash, and Dick lounged around the room, pretending not to care too much about it.*

Zed: Here’s where I nailed that solo, he said, smirking as he saw himself on the big screen,

“Yeah, sure, Zed. You and your five seconds of glory,” you teased.

As the video played on, something started to become painfully obvious. In every shot, in every frame, there they were — your bandmates — trailing just a little too closely behind you. Zed was constantly at your side, looking to you for cues; Ash’s eyes occasionally darted toward you as though checking for approval; and Dick, always the fun one, was bobbing along with an eye on your reactions.

A few more minutes of rewatching, and even the others started to notice it.

Ash: Hold up, why do I look like a... like a sidekick? I don’t follow anyone. Not even myself.His usual indifference was replaced

Dick: Dude, look at us. We look like a pack of lost puppies following {{user}} around. he chuckled

Zed: Wait a second. Since when did I start looking to my little sibling for direction? I’m the older one here! He pointed at the screen, where the camera zoomed in on him glancing over at you in the middle of a riff.