There. I’d said it.
Thump lifted his head from Riff’s thigh. “I mean... the last few months have been rough, sure. But I wouldn’t change anything. Not with you guys.”
“Where’s this coming from?” Mick asked, absently twisting a long curl around his finger. “Is this where you tell us you wanna break up?”
“No—” I started, but Thump cut me off with a strangled noise.
“You wanna break up?!”
Ghost pushed off the dresser, suddenly standing. “Bodhi, what the hell?”
“I don’t?—”
“Oh my god,” Thump whimpered, bleary eyes already filling with tears. “This hurts more than when my high school girlfriend left me for the captain of the Mathletes.”
Mick’s knee started bouncing. “Maybe we could try counselling?”
“We’re not a married couple,” Ghost snapped. “And I’m pretty sure there’s no therapy for bands when your frontman decides to bail.”
The situation was spiralling fast, and I was scrambling for a way to regain control when Riff’s voice cut through the chaos.
“Guys!”
Silence slammed down over the room. Not the comforting kind. The kind that buzzed with tension. Mick, Ghost, and I turned to Riff, who now had a fully crying Thump tucked against his chest.
“He doesn’t want to break up,” Riff said, calm and certain. “And I don’t think he’s talking aboutus...” He gestured around the room. “At all.” He glanced at me. “Right?”
I nodded so fast I was surprised my head stayed attached.
Thump sniffed and pulled his knees up, curling in on himself. Moments like this were a stark reminder that he was the youngest of us, even if it wasn’t by much. “S-so you don’t want us to b-break up?”
I managed what I hoped passed for a reassuring smile. “Nah, man.”
“Oh, thank fuck,” Ghost muttered, pressing a hand to his chest as he dropped back onto the bed.
Mick looked up at me from the chair, shaking his head with a fond grimace.
“You scared us, Bodes.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, holding my hands up in surrender. “I didn’t mean if you were happy with us as bandmates. More like...” I scratched at the back of my head. “With how things have been working. Songwriting. The tour. All of it.”
“Oh,” Riff said, understanding dawning as a smirk tugged at his mouth. “You wanna know if we’re happy with the label.”
I shrugged. “I mean, I guess if you want to put it that way?—”
“No need to be diplomatic, bro,” Riff cut in, grin widening. “If I’m being honest, I think they’re assholes.”
My eyebrows shot up.
“Yeah,” Ghost added. “I hate the sounds they make us use sometimes. Not because they’re bad, exactly. They just...” He trailed off.
“Don’t sound like us?” Mick supplied, and Ghost nodded immediately.
“Exactly.” Ghost sat up. “It’s like they take our song, hand it to Taylor Swift and say, ‘Make this more pop,’ then give it back to us and call it finished.”
Thump grunted his agreement, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. “Some of the lyrics suck too,” he muttered. “We’ve seen your songwriting, Bodes. Their stuff doesn’t even come close.”
My cheeks warmed, heat blooming fast. “Thanks, man,” I murmured.
