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Blaise shoots Xar a look. “No, but something comforting. Something practical but…gentle.”

I think about Eviana, the way she looked in that oversized jumper, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to take up less space. She’s wary, hesitant. Sending the wrong thing could make her feel trapped instead of reassured.

Then it hits me.

“A blanket,” I say.

Xar frowns. “A blanket?”

“A good one,” I clarify. “Soft. Warm. Big. Not too heavy, but something she can curl up with.”

Blaise tilts his head, considering. “It’s neutral. Not too personal, but still thoughtful.”

“And practical,” Xar admits. “Shedidlook like she needed it.”

That’s the closest thing to approval I’ll get from him, so I take it.

Blaise pulls out his phone. “Alright. I’ll find something and get it delivered today.”

That settles something between us. A small step, but it’s something.

Now that the decision has been made, I push back from the table, stretching my arms over my head. “Right. Are we actually going to get some work done today, or just sit around talking about our feelings?”

Xar mutters something under his breath, but he stands up too, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go.”

Blaise is the first to step into the studio, flipping on the lights and taking a slow look around. The space is compact but well-equipped – polished hardwood floors, thick padded soundproof panelling on the walls, and a mixing desk that’s seen better days. It’s not ours, not yet. It’s just another rented place, another attempt to force something that hasn’t worked in months. But there’s potential in this space. I can feel it.

But at least Liv, in all her no-nonsense efficiency, had the bulk of our gear sent ahead. My drum kit is already set up, the familiar scuffs on the cymbals and bass pedal prove that they’re mine, even if the room isn’t. Xar and Blaise’s absolute favourite guitars and bass are the only things they didn’t trust shipping but the amps and speakers and backup equipment are all wired and set up, ready. Xar’s case is already open, his fingers grazing the strings like he’s checking for damage no one else would notice, even though his pride and joy travelled down in the car with us and he’s been playing around with it since we arrived. It’s just something we do. A ritual, almost.

I run a hand along the edge of my snare, adjusting the tension, letting the feel of it settle something restless in me. We haven’t played properly together in too long outside of the relentless tour schedule. Haven’t created anything without it devolving into an argument, or worse – silence – in more time than I care to recall.

Xar slings his guitar strap over his shoulder and tests a few chords. It’s rough, unpolished, but there’s something there. Something we can shape.

Blaise takes his bass out last, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off the weight of everything outside this room. He flicks a glance at me. “You good?”

I nod once. “Let’s just play.”

Xar starts first, fingers moving over the strings, building a riff without overthinking it. It’s slow, deliberate – almost hesitant – but I can work with that. I tap out a beat against my thigh before I even touch the kit, feeling it settle in my chest, then lean in and start playing for real.

A steady kick, a soft snare. Not overpowering, just enough to give it a pulse. I don’t look at Xar, but I can hear the way he adjusts, his playing shifting to fit the rhythm I’m laying down.

Blaise listens, waiting for the right moment before sliding in with the bass, grounding the whole thing. He doesn’t push, doesn’t rush – just supports, lets us find each other in the sound.

It’s tentative at first, like testing the weight of ice before stepping out. But then Xar picks up the tempo, feeding off the beat, his playing getting tighter, more confident. I match him, locking in, letting my body take over, letting the sticks move without thinking.

And just like that, something shifts.

For the first time in months, it doesn’t feel forced. It doesn’t feel like we’re dragging something out of ourselves just to prove we can still do it.

It just works.

Blaise leans into his bassline, nodding to himself as he adjusts the levels. “That’s it,” he mutters, almost to himself. “That’s the sound.”

Xar hums a rough melody under his breath, not quite words yet, just something instinctive. He’s feeling it, and that’s more than I’ve seen from him in a long time.

I press harder into the beat, driving it forward, testing them both. Xar follows, seamless, and Blaise tightens the groove, keeping us steady.

And I know exactly why this is happening.