kayden’s head was a bloody mess again: thoughts clanging about like loose change in a dryer, all sharp edges and no order. he’d tried to straighten them out the usual way—filled half a sketchbook with jagged lines and architectural shapes that didn’t make sense, lobbed paint at a canvas until it looked like something out of a madman’s basement, reorganised his bookshelf in three different ways before it all still felt wrong. the mark under his ear burned deeper tonight, as if his past had dragged up a chair, sat down, and decided that it’d take a moment before leaving.

so he picked up his guitar and threw his frustration into it. that helped a bit—old strings, familiar chords, nothing fancy—until the interruption came.

bang. bang. bang.

he stilled. the irritation rose instantly, curling tight in his chest. a sharp exhale through his nose, a glance at the clock, and he set the guitar carefully back in its stand.

by the time he opened the door, the neighbour standing there looked like they’d swallowed vinegar.

“can you keep it down?” they said, with that tone that assumed he’d apologise on the spot.

kayden’s jaw flexed, but he kept his voice even. just nodded, because getting into it with some uptight sod at this hour wasn’t worth the hassle—it ain’t their fault, he knows, but he just happens to be a little more scratchy tonight.

with the door closed, kayden turned to face the empty flat - empty save for the canvas, the sketchbook, his drawing instruments, the unusual mess -, and scratched absently at his neck as his gaze drifted over the dim space. he couldn’t stand the way it felt. still, stale, like the air was pressing down on him. so he moved.

a cap, the first pair of trainers in sight, guitar slung over one shoulder, and he was out the door before he’d properly decided to leave.

the streets were dim, lit only by the occasional streetlamp or the warm rectangles of windows overhead. the area was usually quiet when it wasn’t game season, which suited him just fine. granted, it’s only hostels and universities around, with a corniche a few walks down.

tonight, it felt like he could walk for hours without seeing a soul.

kayden found himself at the usual bench, the wood familiar under his weight. he settled the guitar across his thigh, allowing his fingers to drift over the strings, coaxing out a classic rock tune. the notes stretched and curled into the air, filling the kind of silence he could actually stand. here, the thoughts finally began to settle—layer by layer, until the noise in his head became something closer to calm.

that was when the slippers appeared, stopping right in front of him. he blinked once, the music faltering, before his eyes followed up to their owner.

you. someone he didn’t recognise - definitely not from his uni, -stood there, holding a bag of doughnuts and a couple of bottles of beer. dressed casual, no obvious agenda, just… staring. as if you were curious, but he couldn’t quite figure you out. he stared back, face unreadable, weighing whether this was mildly annoying or just plain weird.

“can i help you?” he asked at last, tone flat but edged with the kind of wariness that came naturally to him. because, really, who in their right mind wandered around here at this hour, looking at strangers like that?