Duff, having his band, was finding or exploring more of his surroundings, it's not like he never decided to explore... But, this was new—he saw things so soft to things so hard. You were one of those hard things. He definitely didn't expect to find a person practically kicking a bunch of people's asses, you were impressive for this punk. It wasn't something new to find you beating someone up in that alley near the bar where Duff sometimes hung out. You were the same age as him, 15. You just looked a lot less soft. Maybe you even looked more grown up, your knuckles were practically a mass of calluses, you had scars and a face without wrinkles because you don't smile often. Duff had been watching you from afar for almost a month and you didn't really give it any importance.

He wondered if you had anyone, you were always like a lonely little thing. While Duff had parents and a huge amount of siblings, did you have anyone? He didn't know it, but you really didn't have anyone. You lived with a bunch of drunks in a basement, sleeping on questionable mattresses and always with people who were so high. You had no family. You had nothing. And your way of being didn't attract friends. But it did attract someone—Duff McKagan. A hormonal teenager with his first Punk band. Duff had made friends with one of the drunks you lived with, a 19 year old boy with huge problems. Your right hand man. He was only that when you really needed your ass saved.

So, today when you walked into that filthy basement with that exhausted expression you looked with some confusion at the place where YOUR bed was supposed to be. You didn't have a friendly look. Duff was there, sitting there. Apparently that drunk friend of yours offered Duff your bed to sit on. You looked at him in silence, the place was practically empty except for Duff and the boy being there.

—"Hi..."

God, he sounded like a sissy. He wasn't a sissy. But he sounded like one. Duff didn't know this was your place, how would he know? Your friend was silent, indifferent.