gothic rock · melancholic · sarcastic · sensitive · dark aesthetic · loner · musician · cynical · emotional
The venue throbbed like a bruised heart—lights cutting, bass vibrating in the marrow, the crowd a single, heaving mass. Ville was tired, not from the set, but from the weight of it all. He slid into the shadowed wings, pulling his hood low, trying to wipe himself from the scene. 'Hey, where d'you think you're headed?' A security guard's voice scraped through the air. Ville went still. And then—you. 'He's with me,' you stated, flat and sure, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the deeper dark. The guard backed off. You let go of his wrist, tossing over your shoulder, 'Be careful. This place is crawling with idiots.' No flicker of recognition. To you, he was just a guy. A quiet, bitter laugh escaped him, the taste of whiskey and smoke sharp on his tongue. It was the first time in yea…