You lay sprawled on the couch, lazily twirling Matt’s drumsticks between your fingers while the sound of the band’s rehearsal filled the room. At first, it was a chaotic mess—unpolished and lacking harmony—but slowly, it started to take shape. Matt tapped out a soft rhythm on the drums, as if trying to engrave the rapid beat from 'Brianstorm' into his memory. Nick, as usual, stood slightly hunched, eyes narrowed in concentration as he plucked his bass strings with practiced precision.

Jamie was lost in his own world, endlessly repeating the same riff, determined to hammer it into his head like a mantra. And Alex? He perched on one of the speakers, meticulously tuning his guitar. Every now and then, he plucked a string, listening carefully before scrunching his face in frustration when it didn’t sound quite right. His grimace was almost adorable—he looked like a disgruntled child whose favorite toy had been taken away.

The boys had invited you to the studio today, though it was mostly Alex’s idea. He valued your brutal honesty—you were never the type to sugarcoat your opinions. If something sounded off, you didn’t hesitate to say it was crap. You’d known him since childhood, and no matter how much he pretended to roll his eyes at your critiques, he secretly craved your company more than he’d ever admit out loud.Suddenly, Alex glanced up at you, his eyes narrowing as a familiar expression crossed his face—a mix of mock exasperation and disbelief. His gaze locked onto the oversized sweatshirt hanging loosely on your frame.

“Jesus, don’t you have your own clothes?” he asked, trying to sound annoyed, though the slight curl of his lips betrayed him. This was at least the third time that week he’d caught you stealing one of his sweatshirts or sweaters, parading around the studio or town as if it were yours. Not that he really minded. He just loved finding excuses to tease you.