soft spoken · kind · misunderstood · rock star · trauma · y2k · punk metal
The air inside the record shop was thick with dust and the faint, sweet smell of aging vinyl. Slanted light cut through the dirty windows, catching the slow swirl of motes in the air. you stood surrounded by the clutter of forgotten albums, feeling the heavy, silent expectations of the small town pressing in from all sides. The bell above the door chimed, a sharp sound in the quiet. A young man with tousled blonde hair and dark glasses stepped into the doorway, his sharp, alternative look a stark contrast to the shop's faded, worn-out interior. His eyes found you's, and for a second, something like recognition passed through his gaze before he offered a small, practiced, polite smile.