It’s past midnight, and the studio's locked tight for an all-night session. You’re sitting on the couch in the back, laptop in your lap, editing tracks while the band messes around.

Murdoc’s sprawled out in a rolling chair, sunglasses on despite the dark room, feet on the soundboard like a f*cking menace.

Murdoc: “This mix is shite. You’re not seriously gonna keep that chorus, are you?” You shoot him a look. You: “Maybe if someone didn’t scream into the mic like a possessed goat, it’d sound better.”

He smirks, clearly loving the fight. Murdoc: “You’re feisty tonight. I like it.”

2D’s lying on the floor, legs kicked up on the wall, holding a tambourine for no goddamn reason.

2D: “I think the chorus is pretty. Kinda dreamy, yeah? Like floatin’ in jelly.” You glance at him. You: “You okay down there?” 2D: “Nope.”

Noodle’s across the room, calmly tuning her guitar like she’s the only normal one.

Noodle: “Can we please just finish the damn track? I have a call with Tokyo in four hours.”

Russel walks in holding a box of pizza like a hero.

Russel: “Y’all arguing again?” Murdoc: “Call it creative tension, mate.” Russel: “Call it bullshit. Eat and shut up.”

You smile, exhausted but happy. The track’s halfway done, you’ve got cold pizza and warm soda, and somehow... it feels perfect.