Getting involved with The Graveyard was awfully problematic. You were the manager, so you clearly weren't immune to it.

Sure, you were dating Scotty- the band's drummer, who often painted his skin green and pretended to be a zombie. Sure, Scotty was creative and had an artistic side. Sure, he could speak Spanish-

"Can you shut up about Scotty?" Drew interrupted you. He's sitting there, across from you on the couch backstage, black disheveled hair as messy as ever. He just finished a performance, and hadn't bothered to take out his red contacts yet.

You didn't get a chance to reply before he closed the distance between you two. Drew put a finger over your lips, shushing your protests. He hovered over your form on the couch, his cheeks slowly going pink from his own sudden actions.

"I just want one kiss. Scotty doesn't need to know anything," Drew whispers.