Nickie burst through the studio door like a chaos storm in boots, carrying a bag that looked like it barely survived a war and radiating pure drummer energy.

  “I brought cookies and bad decisions!” she announced.

  David looked up from tuning his guitar, raising an eyebrow. “Are they edible, or metaphors?”

  “Both,” she grinned, tossing the bag onto the couch and immediately heading for the drum set.

  Adam was already plugging in his bass, barely sparing her a glance. "You planning on weaponizing sugar today or just your cymbals?"

  “Depends,” she said. “You planning on making any more ears bleed with your solo distortion therapy?”

  David chuckled. “Alright, children. Instruments, not insults.”

  “He started it,” Nickie muttered as she adjusted her snare.

  “You’re lucky you’re not terrible,” Adam said. “Or I’d start filing noise complaints.”

  David looked between them, grinning.

  He had no idea how they were already bickering like siblings, but he loved it.

  Then, Nickie stretched her arms overhead, twisting side to side with her drumsticks gripped tightly in both hands.

  David rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck with a grimace, like he was gearing up for battle.

  Adam slid on his finger sleeves with practiced care, flexing each hand like he was testing the strings before even touching them.

  Nickie called, “Ready when you are, Goblin.”

  Adam responded with a low, rumbling chord. “Let’s melt some faces.”

  ***

  The practice kicked into gear, each note hitting harder than the last.

  Adam's bass thundered through the walls while Nickie pounded the drums like the kit owed her money.

  David kept pace, grinning at the mess they were making: a glorious, tight, aggressive mess.

  Halfway through the second run of their new song, Adam cranked the gain a little too high, sending a feedback squeal through the room.

  Nickie winced. She yanked one earplug half out.

  "Jesus! Warn me next time before summoning Satan’s kazoo, will you?"

  “Warning is for amateurs,” Adam grinned. “I’m here for the real experience.”

  “I swear,” she muttered, “One more blast like that and I’m gonna start hearing colors.”

  “Wait till you start tasting sound,” Adam said, adjusting a pedal. “That’s next level.”

  A few minutes later, a stick snapped mid-fill.

  The sharp crack rang out like a gunshot. Nickie blinked at the splintered wood in her hand.

  Adam paused mid-riff, eyes wide. “Holy shit, did you just break that mid-roll?” he said.

  David grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Damn. She’s not holding back.”

  Nickie smirked as she grabbed a backup. “It was defective.”

  “Sure it was. Totally not because you hit like you’re trying to summon a god.” David teased.

  “No wonder the kit flinched when you walked in.” Adam added.

  “Keep talking, bass boy. You’re next.”

  “We might actually have to start budgeting for her stick casualties.”

  ***

  The band practice wrapped up in a blur of sweat and static.

  Adam dropped his bass onto its stand and grabbed a water bottle, shirt sticking to his back.

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  Across the room, Nickie was stretching her arms out, flushed but clearly satisfied, that familiar spark in her eyes still burning hot.

  David leaned against his amp, arms crossed, wearing the smug grin he always wore when things were going well.

  “Alright, rockstars,” he said, “Let’s talk schedule. Three times a week sound good?”

  Nickie didn’t hesitate. “Wednesdays, Saturdays, and Sundays work for me. Gives me time to finish my homework and recover.”

  Adam raised an eyebrow, still catching his breath. “Recover? Please. You’re the one pounding away like the damn Energizer Bunny.”

  Nickie stuck her tongue out at him, which only made him grin wider.

  “But weekends? Really?”

  She smirked. “What, you got a hot date or something, Bass Boy?”

  “Yeah, I double-booked despair and self-loathing. Gonna be a wild night.” Adam deadpanned.

  David chuckled. “Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays it is. And I’m setting a rule: no skipping unless you’re on your deathbed.” He looked straight at Adam. “Looking at you.”

  Adam gestured toward himself, mock-offended. “What? I’m here, aren’t I?”

  David didn’t budge. “Heard you skipped half your classes this week.”

  “You heard wrong,” Adam muttered. “It was more like seventy percent.”

  David crossed his arms in full disappointed-dad mode. “School’s important, man. You don't want the principal to call Mom.”

  Adam snorted and stared at the floor. “Don’t think she even knows I’m in high school.”

  The room went still for half a second.

  Then Nickie, never one to let awkward silence win, straightened and said, “Okay, so… Wednesdays for jamming, Saturdays for writing?”

  Adam looked up. “Writing? What do you mean?”

  “You know, writing songs?” She gave him a look like it should’ve been obvious.

  “I guess,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s not like I’ve got a notebook full of lyrics or anything.”

  He absolutely did.

  “Good,” Nickie replied. “Let’s make something raw, then. No cheesy poetry.”

  David laughed under his breath. “She’s already keeping you in check.”

  Adam balled up a paper towel and tossed it at him. “Shut up.”

  David caught it, tossed it in the trash without looking, and said, “So... band names?”

  Nickie tilted her head, thinking. “What’s the vibe we’re going for?”

  Adam didn’t even hesitate. “Heavy. Raw. Something that makes people feel like they’ve been punched in the gut.”

  Nickie grinned. “So... Gut Punch?”

  Both of them stared at her.

  Then they laughed.

  “Yeah, no,” David said, shaking his head.

  “Fine,” she huffed. “How about Reaper Hell? It’s short, dark, sounds cool.”

  Adam tilted his head, considering it.

  The word reaper hit something in his gut.

  After the first time they played together, he remembered thinking they sounded like they were about to reap souls.

  “That’s... not bad,” he said.

  David nodded. “It’s got a ring to it. What if we tweak it, though? Add something of ours?”

  “What, like our names?” Adam asked.

  “Exactly,” David said.

  Nickie snapped her fingers. “Initials?”

  David’s eyes lit up. “Wait, get this: A for Adam, N for Nickie, D for David. REAPERAND.”

  They all went quiet for a moment.

  It felt like a name that belonged to them. Then they all nodded to each other.

  “For now. Let's give it some time, see if it fits.”

  David clapped his hands together.

  “K. So, If we’re gonna gig soon, we need a tight setlist.”

  Nickie’s voice came from somewhere behind her cymbals. “How many songs do you guys have written?”

  Adam raised two fingers. “Two. Well, one and a half, technically.”

  “Are we doing any covers?” she asked, sitting back on her stool. “Or just originals?”

  “Fuck covers,” Adam said. “Original stuff only.”

  “Guess we better get to work then.”

  Just then, her stomach growled audibly. She glanced down like it had betrayed her.

  “What about food?” she mumbled. “I’ll be starving by the end of every session.”

  David grinned. “I’ll keep some snacks here.”

  Adam narrowed his eyes. “What kind of snacks?”

  David raised a brow. “Don’t push it.”

  By the time they packed up, the room still buzzed with momentum. The amps were cooling down, the strings had gone silent, and sweat stuck to their necks… but the feeling in the air hadn’t gone anywhere.

  For all their teasing and jabs, they all felt it.

  This wasn’t just a jam session.

  This was something real.