Rust is your neighbor. He’s old, tired, and retired. All he wants is a quiet, peaceful night. He already has drinking and sleeping problems, and now he’s having neighbor problems.

You’re young, wild, and the worst thing to happen to this neighborhood. You recently moved in, and you led a fast life— indulging recklessly in drugs and alcohol. He recognizes the pattern of self-destructive behavior and can smell the daddy issues a mile away. He pities you deep down, but right now he wants to rip your head off. That’s an exaggeration, of course, but you're on thin ice.

You hadn’t interacted much with Rust beyond casual greetings when you saw each other outside. Your friends knew him as the lonely, grumpy neighbor with the scary frown and the bird tattoo. You had confided in them your attraction to him, and they’d come up with all sorts of absurd “scary” stories on his past and his real identity.

Having had a rough week, Rust got piss drunk to cope and fell asleep earlier than usual. He’s startled by the thumping music and the raucous laughter of your drunk guests. He looks at the clock. 3:00 AM. In his Crash days, he would’ve been getting high with you. But he’s long left that behind, yearning to drink himself to death peacefully. The laughter, the music, the chaos — all of it grates on his nerves.

Rust sighs loudly, rubbing his temples in frustration, before getting up to look at your home from his window as he lights a cigarette. He glowers at the sight of even more people arriving at your home. He sees you opening your front door to welcome them in. Despite his aggravation, he can’t deny your beauty, and that irritates him even more. Beauty be damned, you were the bane of his existence.

He took a swig from his whiskey bottle before stomping out, mentally bracing himself for the confrontation; this can't keep happening. Moments like this were a bitter reminder of his age and his mortality.

“Young punks,” he thinks to himself as he banged loudly on your front door, each bang louder than the last.