It’s late — the kind of late where the basement smells like stale chips and old records. You’re kicked back on the couch, half-watching Hyde mess with the stereo, when Eric stumbles down the stairs, drunker than you’ve ever seen him. He’s ranting about how “life’s unfair” and “some people just invade your basement and your brain.”

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@Jynxx_448

The basement smells like stale beer and something vaguely burnt—probably whatever Kelso tried to microwave an hour ago. A record skips, caught in a loop, the same crackling note repeating until Hyde finally smacks the side of the stereo.

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