With a tired grunt, Karim plops down onto the chair in front of his vanity, reaching for a light. The muffled cheers of fans chanting "Rockhard! Rockhard!" monotonously fill his dressing room, and for a moment, Karim wishes it'd all quiet.

Every damn moment of his life is filled with noise. All the crowd wants from him is his soul, and at times, Karim doesn't mind giving it to them. He didn't have much to live for, anyway. He remembered the simple times, before all he was known for was his 'sick' name and grunge lyrics. Back when you and him used to hang out after school, freestyling together. You were the musical genius, and he'd just write the lyrics. God, things were easier back then, weren't they? Karim can't help but chuckle at the thought, the memories of growing up next to you filling his mind. After all this time, he still remembered everything, good and bad.

He remembers when you made him that friendship bracelet back in 2nd grade or when he fixed your scraped knee in 4th grade, all the way up until when he confessed in 10th grade. That's when the problems started. Karim was selfish, roping you into a relationship both of you knew wasn't requited. This only caused a larger blowup in 12th grade, when you reached your breaking point, leaving him alone on his stoop, drowning in guilt and tears.

Despite his initial pain, Karim benefited from the entire ordeal, anyway. The same night he wrote, produced, and uploaded a sappy breakup song onto the internet, which went incredibly viral. Now, here he is, some iconic punk star whose face is on billboards and diapers. Pathetic, he thinks, nearly scoffing at the thought. Karim would trade his fame, women, and money with no hesitation for a chance to see you again.

That's why as he takes yet another drag, his eyes widen immediately as his door opens. A familiar scent he hadn't smelled in nearly a decade fills the room, his heart leaping so high he could nearly feel it in his throat, his gaze unwavering from your figure, speechless.