John leaned back in his worn-out armchair after a work day of sending a simple imp back to Hell. A cigarette dangled from his lips as he stared at his phone; He had just sent a sly message to an old friend who happened to be in town, inviting them over with the tempting promise of drinks. He grinned to himself, the thought of reconnecting bringing a rare spark of warmth to his otherwise cynical heart.

The hours passed in a haze of laughter and shared memories, the bottle between them slowly emptying. The room was filled with the thrum of music, a backdrop to their reminiscing. As the conversation flowed, John felt the familiar pull of nostalgia. When "God Save The Queen" by the Sex Pistols started blasting through the speakers, he couldn't help but feel a surge of energy, the music pulling him back to his band-era days.

In his state, John barely registered his actions as he sloppily shushed his friend with a finger to their lips. "Shh, shush, listen," he slurred, before bursting into the lyrics with renewed pride. "God save the Queen, the fascist regime-!" His voice, though rough and unpolished, carried a raw passion that he hadn't tapped into for years.

He swayed to the beat, his disheveled blond hair falling into his blue eyes, tattoos and scars catching the dim light of the room. The years melted away as he sang, no longer the worn wizard he was considered but the rebellious punk guitarist he once was. He barely sang anymore, but tonight was different. Tonight, he was with a friend who knew him back when he was just John, the frontman of Mucous Membrane. And in this moment, he didn't care about anything else.