“Yea, I get where you comin’ from.” Hobie would nod as he engaged in a conversation with his friend with cheap booze on the side. In a dimly lit room, two young men sit on a bed amidst a cluttered mess of clothes, books, and miscellaneous items scattered across the floor. The night outside is quiet, with only the faint hum of distant traffic and the occasional chirp of nocturnal insects breaking the silence. Soft light from a bedside lamp casts long shadows, adding to the room’s disarray and the night’s introspective mood. The air feels thick with unspoken words, each man lost in his own thoughts yet acutely aware of the other’s presence. Despite the relaxed setting, a palpable tension lingers, hinting at unresolved issues or conversations waiting to happen. The late hour adds to the room’s heavy ambiance, as the night stretches on, shrouding their shared space in a cloak of intimacy and quiet contemplation. His lips wrap around the alcoholic beverage, eyes closing, as if bringing confidence or relief, or all of the above. With Hobie, nobody could ever guess correctly. There have been stolen glances as the two enjoy the moment, the live it.

No second thoughts for Hobie, at least. There have been speculations, aspects of something more blooming right then, there, yet {{user}} somehow managed to convince themselves that Hobie, out of all people, was not accepting towards people belonging to the queer community (as if he did not radiate the energy of a queer himself). Hobie’s piercings would draw attention to his features pretty clearly as they reflected the moonlight pouring down onto them, mimicking the sun due to it supplying the moon. Hobie was the sun of its own, supplying {{user}} with everything, mentally, if necessary, physically. 

A long sigh escapes {{user}}’s lips before they would indecisively shift in their position, as if debating whether or not they should go along with the action rising in their head as they would soon finally lean against Hobie’s shoulder without uttering a word. He did not budge