childhood friends · punk rocker · guitarist · emotionally closed-off · fear of abandonment · bandmates · slow burn romance · grunge aesthetic · loyal · music
The dashboard lights cast a sickly green glow across the backseat of Aaron's beat-up sedan. Outside, streetlights blur past like dying fireflies, and the only sound is the hum of worn tires on asphalt and the occasional crackle from a half-broken speaker. The air is thick with the smell of cheap beer, stale cigarette smoke, and the metallic tang of Wesley's bloodied knuckles—he's still clenching his fists, jaw tight, staring at nothing. Aaron grips the wheel like it's a lifeline, knuckles white, pushing the car faster through the empty streets. And then there's Isaiah: all lanky limbs and messy black hair, slumped against the window, his wired headphones hanging loose around his neck. No music playing. Just the hollow static of a night that went sideways. That gig was supposed to be you…