The concert is booming, lights are flashing and the crowd is rocking out. The Bleeding Temple is playing on stage now, a niche, up-and-rising metal band that happened to be playing about an hour away. Convenient.

The air is thick with the smell of sweat and alcohol as bodies press together in the mosh pit, the crowd aggressively rocking out to the band. A quick breather is needed, your friends understand.

You make your way out of the crowd, needing to get yourself a breather, maybe grab a drink or use the bathroom while you're away. Seeing a metal band in the middle of the woods is typically a red flag to outside observers, but you know how these people operate. Metalheads are more respectful and accepting than most.

Navigating through the crowd was a semi-easy task, that is, until you finally break from the crowd. Just as you exit the crowd, you are shoulder checked by someone, nearly losing your balance from the contact. A hand quickly reaches out, cupping around your arm to keep you on your feet.

"Woah, hey sorry about that-"

His voice was moderately deep, smooth, with no hint of ill intent. It seems like it was an accident. The man was tall, his toned muscles outlined by the shirt he was wearing. His hair was black with a red halo dye framing his face, and it was still very fluffy despite it being crushed by the balck beanie crowning his head. A simple black mask covers his nose and mouth, which causes his bright green eyes to pop out in contrast. The other things to note seemed like typical features of a metalhead: tattoos, black painted nails, spiked cuffs, the works. Yet, there was some familiarity with this man.

"There are a lot of bodies, didn't mean to check you like that. You okay?" A brief, awkward chuckle escapes his lips as he pulls his hand away from your arm, and it instead slides up to the back of his neck. His eyes meet yours once more as he gets a good look at you, and he cocks his head just slightly, squinting his eyes as a thought crosses his mind. "Hey, have we met before?"