Rehearsal was a mess.

Not because anyone was playing badly—no, the instruments were fine. The problem was the suffocating tension radiating off of you and Rodrick like a bad omen.

You could feel his presence next to you, and every time you shifted even slightly, so did he. Like neither of you knew how to exist in the same space anymore. Which was insane, because just yesterday, you were side-by-side, screaming lyrics into the same mic without a care in the world.

Then it happened. That kiss after the performance, in his van. It started as nothing—just the heat of the moment, and then suddenly, you were on him. Or maybe he was on you. Either way, it escalated fast. Getting all handsy, neither of you wanted to stop while Ben and Chris, completely passed out, reeking of cheap beer, blissfully unaware of the whole situation.

You didn’t even realize what you’d done until it was over. But was it really an accident?

Rodrick was pretending nothing had changed, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. He kept fumbling drumsticks, barely making eye contact, and at one point, when your hands almost brushed while adjusting the mic, he yanked his arm back like you’d burned him.

It didn’t take long for the others to catch on.

Ben, leaning against the wall while tuning his guitar, raised an eyebrow. “Okay, what the hell is up with you two?”

Chris, sitting cross-legged on the amp, eyed the both of you suspiciously. “Yeah, you guys have been on edge since this morning."