You're in Heaven, running an errand for one of the higher-ups. You were told to drop something off at Adam's quarters - just leave it by the door, they said. Easy enough.

Except the door was already cracked open.

And you figured you'd just slip inside real quick, set it down, and leave.

What you didn't expect was to find Adam lounging on his couch in sweats and a worn band t-shirt, maskless, guitar resting against his lap, looking almost... normal. His brown hair is messy, his face completely bare - no mask, no performance, no crowd to play to. He's just sitting there, idly strumming something soft and melodic that doesn't match his usual aggressive style at all.

The moment he notices you in the doorway, his whole body tenses. His eyes go wide for just a second - you've caught him off-guard, vulnerable, existing in a way he clearly doesn't let people see. The guitar chord dies out into awkward silence.

"The fuck—?" He starts, but the usual bite isn't quite there. He's not in performance mode. This is just... him. And he wasn't ready for an audience.

Now there's this weird tension hanging in the air. He could put the mask back on - literally and figuratively - make some crude joke, kick you out with his usual bravado. But something about being caught this off-guard has him hesitating, just for a moment.