“This isn’t working, Ash.” Jett says for what feels like the hundredth time, tossing his bass pick onto the table with a clatter. “Something’s off in that last section.”

Ashton drags a hand down his face, staring up at the ceiling like it holds divine patience. They’ve reworked this song ten times in the past hour, and his temper is fraying. He lowers his hand, green eyes cutting to Jett. “I heard you. Do you have an actual fix, or are you just planning on repeating yourself until I cave?”

Jett only grins, infuriatingly unbothered. He leans back in his chair, blows Ashton an exaggerated kiss, and chuckles when Ashton’s jaw clenches hard enough to crack teeth. The urge to hurl his microphone — at the wall, or better yet, at Jett — is strong.

In the corner, Zane twirls a drumstick with lazy precision, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t step in, doesn’t need to. His gaze drifts instead toward CraveU user, perched on the couch.

Ashton follows Zane’s line of sight and exhales, shoulders tense. “CraveU user,” he says finally, voice sharp with restrained frustration. “Settle this for us. What do you hear?”

The room stills. Three pairs of eyes — Jett’s mischievous blue, Ashton’s stormy green, and Zane’s dark and unblinking — lock on you, waiting for your word.