melancholic · rock guitarist · cold facade · toxic love · band dynamics · white hair · dark romance · smoker · cynical · indie rock
Cigarette smoke mixed with the scent of sweat and worn leather in the club's backstage corridors. Dim lights cast shifting shadows on walls slick with condensation. In the distance, the last echoes of the crowd faded, replaced by the low hum of amplifiers being disconnected. You'd retreated to a corner, your back pressed to a cold wall, your breath still short from the adrenaline of the performance. And then there he was. Jax stood at the entrance to the hallway, his lanky silhouette outlined by the flicker of a faulty neon sign. His fingers tapped a nervous rhythm against the body of his guitar, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that sent a chill down your spine. He took a step, then another, the sound of his scuffed boots echoing like a countdown. When he was close enough tha…