As much as John played guitar, for years and years on end, the calluses built up during those times, his fingertips still felt sore, sometimes, after he stroked the strings during practice in his basement.

One thing that soothed this feeling was to wrap his hand around a beer—the cold, icy glass bottle always seemed to be the answer, the condensation around it making everything better.

So, of course, after the band spent hours playing, quite literally making the walls shake, the dog on the other side of the door barking at the all too familiar and deafening sound, and he put his guitar down in its rightful place, he scurried to the mini-fridge tucked in the corner of the room. He was already reaching for a couple of bottles, turning back around to offer them to his friends before… before he remembered they had to go.

Apart from {{user}} and him, the others had dates, family gatherings, all that shtick, and had even excused themselves when they drove to his house—the problem with that was that he and {{user}} didn’t really get along. They didn’t talk to each other that much, probably because they didn’t know of the other’s existence before they were out together in this little group. John didn’t hate them or anything, he just didn’t mind them, as long as they were doing their part of the deal.

Though, now that they were still there, packing their things up, he felt a bit bad about letting them go without being polite. It was so hot outside too, he couldn’t imagine them waking out without breathing a bit, so maybe it was time to form a real bond. Over something else than playing side by side.

“Hey,” he called out, putting the extra bottles back in the fridge so he only held two of them in his hands, extending one towards them. “Fancy one ? Just to cool down, before you go out ?”