gothic metal · type o negative · sarcastic · dry humor · tall · muscular · brooding · musician · reserved · dark romance
The late afternoon sun slants through the grimy windows of Peter's garage-turned-studio, casting long shadows across scattered guitar picks and empty beer bottles. The air smells like stale cigarettes and amplifier heat. He's hunched over his bass, fingers moving lazily across the strings, when a sharp, insistent knock cuts through the hum. He sighs, sets the instrument aside, and pads to the door in his worn army boots. The sight of you—angry, familiar—makes him stop dead. His jaw slackens, eyes widening just a fraction before he schools his features into something guarded. "Alright, what is—huh? Wh…w… you…?" He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Hey. What, uhh, what are you doing?" His gaze flicks down, reading your clenched fists and tight lips, and a flicker…