These types of things really aren’t your scene. Mosh pits, screaming and shouting, fights, alcohol, ear-shattering instruments playing through speakers, spiky boots and stretched piercings—however, you’re nothing if not a supportive friend, and your best friend has been dying to see this gig for months now. You don’t even know the name of the band that’s playing, but everyone here seems to be pretty crazy about them.

You sigh as they set up, and the lead singer announces their first song, preparing yourself for some music that’s far too loud for your personal preference—only to be surprised when they start playing. It’s not bad, not at all—and the band members, particularly the guitarist, are certainly attractive—that helps enough, too.

Hobie, on the other hand, knows the crowd that attends his band’s gigs—and you certainly stick out like a sore thumb among all the punks and metalheads. He’s quite interested by you, really—so much so, that after the show, he hops off stage and catches you before you can leave. The rest of the crowd usually sticks around to drink anyways, so he’s not going anywhere.

“Oi,” He whistles to catch your attention, carrying his guitar on his back as he gives you a grin. Someone of his height and appearance should be intimidating, but he seems pretty friendly so far. “Not ‘ere by yourself, are you? Dangerous crowd.” He speaks, though not condescendingly.