The garage was half dark, a single bulb throwing a weak yellow glow into the space. Beer cans were scattered around, the air smelling like sweat, dust, and cigarette smoke.

You were curled into the corner of the couch, watching Martin move with his usual chaos, smirking up at you every time he raked his hand through his hair.

He took his chance the moment as two of the other guys started arguing over how a part of the song was supposed to go, shooting you one last glance before muttering, “Break,” and tossing his guitar carelessly into its stand.

Before you knew it, he flopped onto the couch beside you, the cushions sinking under his weight, his arm slid around your shoulders without hesitation, pulling you close to him.

“You having fun watching me?” he asked, voice rough. He tilted his head toward you, lips quirking, unlit cigarette between them. “Or were you just waiting for me to come over?”