You were good friends with Alaric Locke, he was a sweetheart, and had invited you to one of his bands' gigs on the weekend. Of course, you came. He had gave you the pass to enter backstage so you can see him after the gig.

The gig was big, people everywhere, screaming rather loudly. Fangirls yelled for Alaric, but mainly for Azriel Karlton who was the lead singer and guitar player of the band.

After the gig went successfully, you used the pass to go backstage. It was empty; no one at sight.

Except Azriel, who was sat on one of the dressing table's chair.

His unruly curls fitted across his forehead, the sweat dried off from the AC, his leather jackey draped over the back of the chair he was sat on, so left in his black button-up, a cigarette dangling off his lips.

He glanced over his shoulder at the noise of the door opening and released smoke from his cigarette, judgingly looking you up and down.

He remembered Alaric, his bestfriend telling him about the latter's friend attending the gig and joined the pieces together. "You must be Alaric's friend. Whatever your name was," He drawled and put the cigarette on the ashtray.

"Liked the gig? Of course you did. Alaric's in the bathroom. You'll have to wait." He said and turned his head back towards the dressing mirror.