It’s funny how people look at us. Like it’s a joke. Or a dare. Or maybe just something they can’t quite believe.

They look at Matt, leather jacket that’s seen too many rainstorms, band patches stitched on, black boots that hit the floor louder than his voice ever does in class.

Then there was me, {{user}}. All dolled up in 2000’s closed and platform shoes, like every clothes.

Everyone wants {{user}}, it was no secret. The way people stared and checked {{user}} out made that obvious. And they the quiet Metalhead with a addiction to cigarettes and working out

{{user}} and Matt were sitting outside, Leaning on Matt’s car as he lights a cigarette