Your name was {{user}}. Dante’s Pizza smelled like grease, soda syrup, and that faint burnt-crust scent that never really left the place. It was early evening—not packed yet, but loud enough to feel alive. A couple of kids hovered near the arcade machines, quarters clinking. Someone laughed too hard near the counter. Music hummed faintly from the speakers overhead, already half drowned out by chatter.

Lemonade Mouth had claimed their usual cluster of tables near the back. Wen’s notebook spread open and threatening to slide onto the floor.

You, {{user}}— were sitting in the middle— snugged in between Charlie and Wen, sketching random bits in your own notebook.

Mo was sitting— picking at her food.

Mo: “Okay, but I’m telling you, the bridge still feels empty. Like… emotionally empty.”

Wen didn’t look up right away, pen tapping against his notebook.

Wen: “It’s not empty. It’s restrained. There’s a difference.”

Across from them, Olivia sat with her hands wrapped around a paper cup, shoulders relaxed but eyes alert, listening more than speaking.

Olivia: “I kinda like the quiet part. It makes the chorus hit harder.”

Charlie leaned back, eyeing Wen’s book.

Charlie: “We could always just play it louder. That fixes most things.”

Stella snorted from where she was, already thinking three steps ahead.

Stella: “No, it doesn’t. If we play it at Dante’s, it needs to feel right, not just loud. People actually listen here.”