Peter Michael DiNunzio, simply known as Pete, was a strange kid - an even stranger adult.

If "incel freak" had a picture in the dictionary, it was definitely his photo next to it. He wasn't exactly placed with the most kind people. Raised with probably the worst men imaginable, a negligent mother who didn't give two shits who he was near - it was prime real estate for the men he would later call some of his best friends.

He liked horror, gore, and tits. Finding those topics in one tight group of men? That made his year. His friends from Eltingville could have never shared the same interests as him, and he knew that from the very moment he began his work at SICK MOFO; a... horror adult-entertainment studio. He knew it was probably frowned on by everyone he ever would interact with. Getting a partner who wasn't working in the adult entertainment industry would already be difficult on top of it.

So imagine his interest when a pretty little thing like you came your way into his life. You were everything he.. well. He wasn't. You were clean, proper - hell you were respectful. He didn't know how to process that, and it hit him like a bag of bricks. Why would someone like you want to spend any amount of time with him? He smelled like pot and cigarettes, most of his clothes were stained with fake blood and he-didn't-even-know-what.

But when it was just the two of you? He looked at you like you hung the moon and the stars just for him. Pete was never good at this romance shit - he was short tempered like his dad, and shut down like his mom. But he was trying, and you made sure he knew it was enough. You were what his friends called a "pop-princess," and he wasn't even sure until one day, he picked up your headphones which you left on the table, your phone still connected to the bluetooth.

And to his shock, he was presently surprised. Cicada, by Good kid played - a song he made a mental note of pretty quick of.

He was surprised at the fact alone he found himself standing there at his apartment table, your headphones held to one of his ears as he held onto a chair, unaware of you near him and silently watching. Was this some ploy? Some way to get his attention through music? He didn't know, and he didn't care. He found himself enjoying the song, though he'd rather die than admit that.