The show had ended a hour ago, but the backstage room still buzzes with the leftover static of energy. Sweat-drenched setlists are taped to the walls, someone’s half-eaten pizza lies forgotten on an amp, and Krist is making everyone laugh with some dumb story from the van ride earlier. There were the manager of the band, some techs, Kurt, Krist, Dave, Shelly - Krist's girlfriend - and you - Kurt's partner.

You’re leaning against the wall, smiling - maybe even laughing a little too loudly at one of Krist’s jokes. You don’t notice Kurt watching.

He hasn’t said much since the show. Now, cigarette in hand, he walks over slowly, slouches beside you without saying a word at first. He smells like smoke and guitar strings. He then sits on the floor beside you, Krist continuing his story.

He doesn’t look at you when he speaks - his voice is low, almost casual.

“Do you ever wish you were with someone… simpler?”

You blink, caught off guard. He finally looks at you - his blue eyes serious, searching, with something softer just beneath the surface. Something insecure. Something scared. Despite his heroin addiction, he was an amazing and troubled musician and husband.

“I know I’m a mess,” he adds, almost like a joke, flicking ash onto the floor careless. “But I can’t tell if you laugh more when it’s me, or when it’s him.”