Mashed Potatoes and Couch Wars | 3rd person POV

  Dinner at David’s place had become a ritual.

  A grounding point in the chaos of band practice and school and late-night texts. But that night, something about it felt warmer, quieter.

  It was just the three of them and the spatula.

  Nickie’s mom had called, her voice apologetic through the speaker.

  “Bunny, I’ve been called in for an overnight shift at the hospital. One of the nurses is sick, and they’re short-staffed. You’ll be okay?”

  Nickie had glanced at Adam across the kitchen table, sipping from a cup of tea he wouldn’t admit he liked.

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

  "Did you eat already?" her mother asked. "I can prepare dinner for you."

  Nickie smiled, glancing at David stirring something on the stove. "David’s just making dinner," she replied.

  David, overhearing the conversation, turned from the stove. "If you want, you can stay over," he suggested casually.

  Nickie's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Is it ok if I crash here tonight?" she asked her mom, feeling Adam’s curious eyes on her.

  A Pause.

  "Sure, but make sure you’re not imposing," her mom replied warmly.

  "You’ve been staying so late at the studio anyway. It’s probably better you don’t come home alone this late."

  "Thanks, Mom," Nickie said, her voice light.

  Adam’s face immediately brightened. He tried to contain his excitement, but the way his grin spread uncontrollably gave him away.

  David, noticing his little brother’s joy, couldn’t help but smirk as he went back to cooking.

  During dinner, the atmosphere was filled with laughter.

  Adam and Nickie teased each other relentlessly, their playful banter punctuated by David’s occasional exasperated, “Don’t make me regret feeding you two.”

  “You know, Bass Boy, for someone who sings about destruction and despair, you sure love mashed potatoes. Did you write an ode to carbs yet?” Nickie shot.

  “Funny, Drummer Girl, but I don’t see you skipping seconds either. Should we rename the band to ‘REAPERAND THE HUNGRY’?”

  “At least I don’t inhale my food like a wild animal. Seriously, you’re one growl away from scaring the table.”

  “I’m conserving energy for the next song I write about annoying drummers. Working title: ‘The Rhythm of Ridicule.’”

  “You two are insufferable.” David shook his head.

  “We learned from the best.” Nickie teased.

  “Flattery will not save you from dish duty.”

  “You mean Nickie’s dish duty, right? I’m the creative spirit here! I need these hands free for inspiration.”

  “Creative spirit? More like a messy eater. I saw you drop half your roll in the gravy.”

  “That was a strategic dip. Unlike the chaos you call drumstick handling.”

  “I’ll show you chaos!” She flicks a piece of lettuce at him.

  “Oh, it’s on.” He retaliates with a spoonful of mashed potatoes, which splats onto her sleeve.

  “You’re dead, Bass Boy!”

  “Alright, that’s enough!” David tried to sound stern but couldn’t fully hide his grin.

  “I mean it. You’re cleaning this up later, and if you so much as breathe at the ketchup, you’re banned from eating in my house.”

  “Fine, Dad.” Nickie retorted.

  “Yes, Father David.” Adam added.

  “I swear, one day I’m gonna lock you two in a room with nothing but cleaning supplies and see what happens.”

  “The place will sparkle.” Nickie said.

  “Or explode.” Adam smirked.

  “Exactly my point.”

  ***

  Distortion Debates and Couch Duels

  After dinner, while David brewed more tea, the conversation shifted to the living room couch, and music.

  Adam leaned back, praising a new album.

  “Torment is the best thing I’ve heard in years,” he declared with conviction.

  “It’s trash,” Nickie said, shaking her head without hesitation.

  Adam gasped, clutching his heart in mock betrayal.

  “Trash? TRASH? Torment is a masterpiece, drummer girl!”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me, Bass Boy. It’s repetitive, boring, and so overhyped it hurts.”

  David snorted into his tea, raising an eyebrow.

  “Oh good, the musical soulmate phase is over. Took you two, what, six weeks before descending into full-blown band divorce?” He sipped calmly.

  “Let me know who gets custody of the distortion pedal.”

  “Obviously me. I don’t trust it with someone who doesn't even know how to use it properly.” Nickie declared.

  “I’d trust a tone-deaf possum before trusting your music takes now.” Adam continued.

  “That’s rich coming from a guy whose bass solo sounds like a raccoon falling down a fire escape.”

  “Bold words from someone who thinks Torment doesn’t slap. Your taste is invalid.” Adam didn’t let up.

  Nickie groaned, “Your entire existence is invalid.”

  They barely looked at David. They were locked in now.

  “Cool. I’ll just go find a pillow for our guest before this escalates into a war crime.”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  He left, still sipping his tea like he’s watching a soap opera.

  Adam, visibly delighted by the argument, leaned closer to Nickie, eyes gleaming with faux outrage.

  “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Are you serious right now? Do you even have ears?”

  “Better ears than yours,” Nickie fired back, leaning in too.

  Their heated critique spiraled. Nickie poked Adam in the side with a throw pillow.

  To her surprise, he retaliated, quickly wrapping her arm in a light but unmistakably practiced wrestling hold.

  “Drummer Girl, you’re asking for it,” he teased, grinning wide.

  “Ha! Bring it, Bass Boy,” she challenged.

  They wrestled, rolling to the floor, Nickie giggling as Adam easily pinned her down.

  One hand held her wrists above her head, the other resting lightly across her throat, more symbolic than forceful.

  His weight anchored her, but she didn’t struggle.

  His eyes sparkled with mischievous triumph.

  “Take it back,” he said, mock-serious.

  “No way in hell,” she shot back, breathless with laughter.

  “Torment is a gem!”

  “It’s pure shit,” she grinned.

  “There you go again with the words.” He leaned in a bit.

  “Take it back, and I’ll let you go.”

  “Never!” She hissed dramatically.

  Laughter filled the room, warm and unguarded.

  David walked in.

  He stopped.

  Blinking at the sight of Adam on top of Nickie, both flushed and laughing, mid-wrestle.

  He didn’t say anything at first.

  Just stood there, taking in the scene.

  Adam looked freer than David had seen him in years.

  No shadows in his expression.

  No weight in his shoulders.

  Just light.

  Nickie looked up from the floor, completely unfazed. “Hey Dave.”

  David arched an eyebrow. “Nickie, should I get Adam off you?”

  She grinned. “Nah, it’s okay. I summoned him with shrimp and now he can’t leave until the prophecy is fulfilled.”

  Adam burst into laughter, the sound unfiltered and bright.

  “I’m heading to bed,” David said, shaking his head with a smirk. He put a pillow and a blanket on the side of the couch.

  “You two behave.”

  “Yes, Dave,” they both said in unison.

  As David left, closing the door behind him, Adam looked down at Nickie, still lightly restraining her.

  His smile softened. Not teasing, just quietly full.

  He let her go and sat back on the couch, running a hand through his hair.

  “You’re impossible,” he said, voice warm and low.

  “Takes one to know one,” she replied, sitting up and brushing her hair out of her face.

  Adam chuckled, his gaze lingering on her.

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  She flopped back beside him with a smirk. “You just can’t handle the truth.”

  “Truth?” Adam scoffed. “The only truth here is that you’re the world’s biggest pain.”

  He paused, voice dipping into something gentler.

  “Lucky for you... I’m pretty good with pain.”

  Nickie rolled her eyes.

  “Oh wow. Bass Boy gets poetic.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You wanna play something or what?”

  He grabbed the game controllers, tossing one her way.

  “Shut the lights?” he asked.

  She was already on it.

  ***

  It’s peaceful

  They played quietly into the night.

  Nickie beat Adam at every single game. Then she beat him at one he was actually good at.

  “Shit! No way!” Adam whisper-yelled.

  “Yes way,” Nickie whispered back, victorious.

  She flicked a finger to his forehead.

  Adam retaliated with a poke to her side.

  She yelped, poked him back.

  “That’s it.” He declared.

  Controllers forgotten, the wrestling resumed.

  Adam quickly got the upper hand again, locking her wrist, twisting her arm behind her back until her cheek pressed to the carpet.

  “Sore loser,” she grumbled.

  “Say that when you actually win.”

  ‘She’s not even trying to struggle,’ he noticed.

  He shifted, bracing on one hand beside her head.

  Nickie caught sight of his wrist.

  ‘This tattoo is beautiful,’ she thought.

  She reached it with her free hand, fingers brushing over it gently.

  But then she paused.

  Her touch hesitated, hovering just over the faint scars beneath the ink.

  She didn’t say anything.

  Didn’t ask.

  But a thought clicked into place:

  ‘Those tattoos… they’re not just for beauty.’

  A quiet ache bloomed in her chest.

  ‘What kind of hell did he go through? And how long has he been hiding it behind ink and snarls?’

  He noticed. She knew he did.

  But he said nothing. Only let the silence stretch, as if trusting her not to fill it.

  And maybe that was the loudest thing he’d ever said.

  The moment passed.

  He pressed her head back to the rug, then leaned in a little.

  “You’ve got some nerve, getting distracted in the middle of a fight.”

  “This is you toying with me... not a fight...” she muttered.

  “Haha, maybe.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I am kinda sleepy though…”

  “Bullshit… Then how come... yer so fucking strong?”

  “Shhh,” Adam murmured, covering her mouth with his hand. “You talk too much, drummer girl.”

  Nickie hummed beneath his hand.

  He pretended to yawn, then rested his head lightly on her back.

  Warm. Solid. Still.

  The kind of stillness that felt like the fight had drained out of both of them… but what remained wasn’t weakness.

  It was peace.

  Nickie hummed again. It tickled his hand.

  Then she blew on it, and it made a funny sound.

  They both chuckled.

  He didn’t say a word.

  The world had gone quiet. Just her breath beneath him, slow and even.

  Her heartbeat, steady.

  The scent of her shampoo, still clinging to her hair… lavender and something citrusy underneath.

  He let his eyes drift half-closed, cheek resting against her shoulder blade.

  For a second, he let himself believe:

  ‘We’re okay.’

  Then… He realized it’s too quiet.

  Adam lifted his head slightly. “Drummer girl?”

  No answer.

  Her breathing was slow and even.

  ‘She actually fell asleep.’

  He blinked.

  Carefully, he released her arm, easing off her like she might shatter.

  He stayed crouched beside her for a moment, just looking.

  The way her fingers curled loosely into the rug.

  The little crease between her brows.

  ‘I can’t just leave her on the floor,’ he thought.

  So he slid his arms beneath her, gathering her up like she was made of something sacred.

  She didn’t wake.

  Just breathed.

  Her cheek rested against his shoulder, and for a moment he stood there like that.

  Holding her, grounded by her weight, by the warmth that clung to his shirt from her skin.

  Then he eased her down on the couch, slow as dusk, tucking a blanket around her.

  She curled into it instinctively, letting out a soft exhale.

  Adam stood there, arms folded, staring.

  Watching her breathe.

  And for once, everything else went quiet.