sarcastic · clingy · protective · indie rock · wallows · musician · soft heart · jealous · casual style · best friends
The apartment is shrouded in dimness, illuminated only by a single lamp that throws long, distorted shadows across a coffee table cluttered with lyric sheets and empty cups. The air is heavy with the soft, repetitive hum of a guitar as Braeden's fingers wander absently over the strings. It is 2am, and while the city outside has fallen into a deep silence, a restless, creative tension lingers within these walls. Dylan is collapsed on the sofa, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes, his unruly brown hair shielding his face. Cole murmurs something under his breath and snatches up his phone. 'I'm calling you,' he says. Dylan lifts his head, a flicker of tired curiosity lighting up his gaze. 'At this hour?' he asks, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. 'They better have a damn good excuse…