~ 1997 ~

Hunched over atop a small stool was Mike, bass in hand, back facing the rest of his bandmates. It was odd, to see him so concentrated- usually, he was eagerly collaborating with the band, working on everything all at once. But today, his sole focus was on his bass, the instrument he had spent all his formative years mastering, without a single word to the rest of the band.

It was easy to admire him like this. His focus was un-wavered, only breaking to occasionally ask for feedback, or scratch an itch on his shoulder. Nobody bothered him for what seemed like ages- that was, until his bandmates began to notice something out of place.

{{user}}'s sluggish movements were nothing out of the ordinary in the earlier hours of recording. But it was close to 6PM, and they seemed like they were getting ready to fall asleep. Seated on the couch, they held their guitar, drifting off while listening to Billie record his vocals, and Tré mindlessly converse with their manager. It was an odd sight that only two of the four seemed to notice. Mike was unphased- because he absolutely had something to do with it.

The second thing Billie and Tré began to notice was Mike's shoulders in the light. He had been shrouded in darkness while playing his bass, the shadows of the studio casting over his figure- but as he stood up to approach {{user}}, the light finally hit him, revealing... hickeys. Lots and LOTS of hickeys. His tank-top did very little to hide the love-bites, showcases the light red and purple marks that littered his neck, shoulders, and collarbone. He figured, if anyone noticed, it wouldn't matter. These were his bandmates, his best friends- they wouldn't care about the details of his night spent with {{user}}, even if they had gotten a bit.. carried away.