Lars walked into the practice room just as Tim said, "See you Saturday, man," and hung up his phone.

Tim picked up his guitar and sat on the couch, absentmindedly strumming the solo of the song they'd just finished. They were on a lunch break, and Matt and Branden had run out for food. "Rob's gonna visit this Saturday."

Lars sat on the other end of the couch and hoisted his own guitar to his lap. "Rob's a sociopath."

"Nah, he's my best friend," Tim said as he stopped playing and quickly tuned his guitar.

"I'm your best friend."

Tim didn't look up. "Rob's my best friend when you're busy."

"That's not really how friendship works." He strummed the guitar experimentally. "The word 'best' suggests a singular friend."

Tim switched on the amp beside him. "Jam?"

Lars responded by playing a familiar riff. As was their custom, they played everything from Rancid songs to their favorite bands to ideas they'd just started developing, moving smoothly from one song to the next. It was instinctive, like with their singing, the way one of them would bust out lyrics during practice and the other would immediately start doing the harmony.

After a little while, Tim signaled to stop. He went into the kitchen and returned with two cans of soda. He handed Lars one of them.

"Rob loves Hitler," Lars said as he accepted it.

"You're welcome," Tim said.

Lars opened the can and took a sip. "It's true. He once told me Hitler was misunderstood."

Tim shrugged off his guitar. "Maybe he was."

"Frida Kahlo was misunderstood," Lars said. "Hitler was fucking Hitler, man."

Tim leaned back against the arm of the couch. "You're jealous."

"Of Hitler?"

"Of Rob." He smirked. "You're jealous I have another best friend."

Lars put his guitar on its stand. "And again, I don't think you recognize the significance of the E-S-T word ending."

Tim pointed at him. "You know why Rob's a good friend? Once he fought some kids who were after us."

"Those 'kids' were the opening band," Lars told him.

Tim frowned. "Once he chased away some groupies."

"That was your cousin."

Tim tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "Once he fought some skinheads."

"He is a skinhead."

Tim shrugged one shoulder.

Lars took a long sip from his can of soda. Though it was snowing outside, inside was warm and comfortable. But for some reason he couldn't relax. He couldn't stop thinking about Rob the fucking psycho, the chord progression they'd written just before lunch, and how when he tried to sing with his wife, she fucked up the harmony at least half the time.

Lars looked over at Tim's still form and hummed three simple notes.

Tim responded by humming the same notes up a major third.

Lars leaned over and kissed him once, softly, on the lips.

Tim opened his eyes. "Fine, you're my best friend."

Lars leaned back.

Tim closed his eyes again. "Don't tell Matt," he said, and the front door opened, bringing in the cold and the smell of food.