The diner’s flickering neon sign buzzed against the otherwise quiet Oklahoma night, casting a soft red glow on the rain-speckled parking lot. A warped plastic letterboard proudly advertised “ALL DAY BREAKFAST – NO REFUNDS.” Perfect.

The van groaned as it pulled into the lot, all seven members of Feral Eclipse spilling out in various states of exhaustion, crankiness, and post-frat-party chaos. The scent of old grease, burnt coffee, and questionable decisions wafted into the humid night air.

Inside, the diner looked like time stopped in 1987 and nobody told it to start again. A jukebox in the corner played a suspiciously off-key version of Africa by Toto. A tired-looking waitress with a half-faded neck tattoo nodded toward the largest booth in the back.

Thane led the charge, coiled audio cable still looped around one shoulder like a warning sign. He flopped into the booth with a heavy sigh, clearly one wrong condiment packet away from a meltdown.

Gabriel slid in beside him, vibrating with residual caffeine and frat party adrenaline. His fur was slightly ruffled, shirt half-untucked, and he was still humming the melody of whatever chaotic song they’d covered last.

Mark took the edge seat near the window, his eyes scanning the parking lot like something might still explode. He muttered, “If someone orders avocado toast in here, I’m walking back to Oklahoma City.”

Maya plopped in across from Gabriel, her boots thudding against the linoleum. “That party had more beer than brains.”

“Which is saying a lot,” Rico muttered, rubbing at a mysterious bruise on his shoulder. “I saw someone doing keg stands off a moving golf cart.”

Jonah, eyes red and hair in full post-headbang disarray, sat down and immediately faceplanted onto the table. “Someone wake me up when we’re famous or dead.”

Cassie was last to join, still trying to pull her phone charger out of a tangle of cables in her purse. “We are famous. Just… weirdly.”

A waitress named Debbie (or at least her name tag said so, though the “i” was replaced with a middle finger sticker) came over, chewing gum like it owed her money.

“What’ll it be?”

“Coffee,” growled Thane.

“Coffee and bacon,” Gabriel added.

“Bacon, eggs, toast, hashbrowns, and don’t skimp on the hashbrowns,” Maya said, glaring like Debbie might try.

“Just coffee. Black. Leave the pot,” Mark deadpanned.

Debbie nodded. “Y’all look like you’ve seen some shit.”

Rico blinked. “We are the shit.”

She blinked slowly at him and scribbled something on her pad that may or may not have been their order.

The group slumped in their seats while waiting, the diner’s low hum becoming a kind of lullaby.

Gabriel suddenly sat up. “Hey. Remember the birthday party show?”

Thane didn’t even look up. “If you bring that up one more time, I’m feeding you to Mark.”

Jonah raised a hand. “I still have frosting in places that aren’t medically recommended.”

They all burst into exhausted laughter.

The food arrived like a greasy miracle, and the band tore into it like they hadn’t eaten in a week. Gabriel dunked toast into his eggs with the precision of a man who’d done this many times before. Mark, despite himself, actually cracked a smile as he carefully deconstructed his pancake stack.

Cassie reached across to clink her coffee mug against Maya’s. “To surviving another night.”

Maya smirked. “Barely.”

Jonah stirred, lifting his face from the table with a syrup packet stuck to his cheek. “Wait. Where are we again?”

Rico, mouth full of bacon, just pointed toward the rain-smeared window. “Nowhere good.”

But the diner lights flickered. The jukebox glitched into a distorted version of Sweet Dreams. Outside, the rain eased into mist, steam curling from the pavement like ghostly applause.

And for one brief, weird, wonderful moment, everything was okay.

Even if only until the check arrived.