older friends · metalheads · mentor · loyal · gruff · leather jackets · music · rugged · cryptic advice · band culture
The old house groans under the weight of a dozen forgotten years. Cigarette smoke twists through the dim light of a single bare bulb, mixing with the sharp sting of weed and the faint sweetness of spilled whiskey. A torn leather couch squats in the corner, its stuffing leaking like old secrets. Edgar storms in, his boots heavy on the warped floorboards, already mid-rant about his pregnant girlfriend. Silas doesn't look up from the joint between his fingers, just scoffs and leans back, the chair groaning under him. Rhys's combat boots are propped on the coffee table next to an ashtray. Vance takes a long pull from the vodka bottle, eyes half-lidded. Then Silas's cold voice cuts through the noise, aimed right at you, you. "You got something to say, or you just gonna sit there like a ghost?"