“They let us do what we wanted at the start,” Mick said, gaze drifting to the window. “But the more money we made, the more control we lost.”
“That’s because we’re their cash cow,” Ghost spat.
“Why—” My voice cracked, and I stopped to clear my throat. “Why didn’t you guys say anything?”
Riff shrugged, smile turning a little sad. “Why didn’t you?”
“I just...” I dragged a hand down my face. “I didn’t want to sound ungrateful.”
Mick let out a short laugh. Then Ghost joined in. Then Riff. Thump snorted, and suddenly it was contagious. Before I knew it, all five of us were laughing so hard it hurt. The kind of laughter that stole your breath and left your stomach aching.
Mick doubled over in the chair, clutching his middle. Riff tipped his head back against the wall. Thump’s face scrunched up, eyes wet again, but this time from laughter. Ghost draped an arm over his face.
And me? I bent forward, hands braced on my knees, wheezing as tears streamed down my cheeks. Some fromlaughing. Some from grief. From everything we’d lost along the way.
On paper, it did sound ungrateful. The label had given us a career, a platform, a name people recognised. We had the fans we did because of them. But a cage with gilded bars was still a cage. And over time, the space we had to move, to breathe, to be ourselves, had shrunk until it barely existed.
As the laughter faded, leaving only sore abs and lingering smiles, the room fell quiet again. But this silence was different. It wasn’t heavy. It was expectant. Hopeful. I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs until it almost hurt, then exhaled as I straightened. I looked around the room at my bandmates. My brothers.
For the first time in years, I felt steady.
Everything I loved was right here. The only thing missing was pink hair, emerald eyes, and a mouth full of sass.
“So,” Riff said eventually, stretching the word out. “What does this mean for us?”
I curled my toes into the carpet, grounding myself.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said firmly. “None of us are.”
Thump sagged in visible relief against Riff’s chest, and Riff’s hand smoothed down his back, grounding him.
“I just—” I paused, choosing my words carefully. “I don’t want us to wake up one day and realise we stopped recognising what we’re doing. Or why we started doing it in the first place.”
Ghost tilted his head, watching me closely now. Mick leaned forward in the chair.
“We’ve been pushing non-stop,” I continued. “Tour after tour. Album after album. Press. Expectations stacked on expectations. And I know we’re lucky. I know that. But somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like ours.”
Thump sniffed. “I still like drums,” he offered weakly.
“I like drums too,” I said, a ghost of a smile tugging at mymouth. “That’s kind of the point. I want us to remember who we were before all of this got... so loud. Before music became something we survived instead of something we loved.”
Riff spoke then, voice low and even. Grounded. The kind of voice that had talked me off ledges more times than I could count.
“We’ve always been a band,” he said. “But we’ve also always been each other’s safety net. When one of us wobbles, the rest close ranks. That’s never changed.”
He looked at me directly. No judgement or fear. Just certainty.
“You don’t have to carry this alone, brother.”
Ghost nodded once. “If you’re asking whether I’m willing to slow down, or shake things up, or piss off the label a little...” His mouth quirked. “Yeah. I’m in.”
Mick followed. “Same. I didn’t sign up to be a product. I signed up to make noise with you idiots.”
Thump lifted his head, eyes still glassy but earnest. “I just want us to stay... us.”
Riff squeezed him gently, then looked back at me. “So say it,” he murmured. “What do you actuallywant?”
I swallowed, heart thudding.
