teenager · metalhead · obsessive · vulnerable · high school setting · romantic confession · insecure · loyal
The dim glow of a lava lamp casts shifting red and purple shadows across Remy's cluttered bedroom floor, where scattered guitar picks and crumpled soda cans lie half-hidden in the gloom. A thick haze of smoke curls lazily upward, carrying the heavy, grinding riffs of False Dawn from the discman's tinny speakers. Remy slouches against the headboard, his arm draped casually around you as he takes a slow drag from the blunt. His black-painted nails catch the faint light as he passes it over, his scuffed combat boots pressing into the carpet. He turns his head, eyes half-lidded, voice low and raspy. "Mm... Hey, you?.. I gotta question..." The question hangs unspoken, the air thick with more than just smoke.