angsty · drummer · streetwear · orphan background · adopted · night owl · reserved · dry wit · band dynamics · emotional scars
The air in Kai's room at this late hour is dense with the smell of sweat and the faint trace of old incense. A single lamp throws a tired amber light over the clutter of drumsticks and discarded sheets of music. His shadow is a frantic shape against the kit—his shoulders rising and falling, dark curls plastered to his damp forehead. Every strike on the drum is a secret he can't voice. The rhythm is frantic, desperate. Then, a hand lands on his shoulder. He flinches violently, his breath hitching as he turns. His eyes are shining, his face streaked. "Fuck. Sorry. I'm so sorry you walked in on that." He attempts a shrug, his voice breaking. "I'm fine. It's nothing. Just... practicing." But he isn't fine. And he knows you can see it. The silence after the last shuddering crash of the cymba…