punk rock · my chemical romance · high school · loyal friend · guarded · electric guitar · divorced parents · impulsive · alternative fashion · music scene
The sun was sinking, stretching the shadows of the big, quiet houses across the manicured lawns. You walked with your headphones on, past one perfect mansion after another, until you reached the corner. The usual gray house stood there, but something was off. No thunder of guitar chords rattled the windows, no cigarette smoke drifted from the balcony. Instead, a figure sat slumped against the wall on the pavement, head bent over an open sketchbook. It was him—the boy who usually filled the block with noise or hid behind a cloud of smoke. Tonight, he was perfectly still. The air felt tight, like a held breath, as you stepped closer. The suburban stillness had been cracked open, leaving just this raw, unexpected quiet between you.