he strummed at one of his deep red vintage guitars, cigarette dangling from his lips while his slender fingers pull at the strings.

you stare at him in awe, sitting down on the floor as you watch him through your gentle doe eyes. he adored having his sweet girl watch him play with such admiration.

he glances up you through his cold, slightly hooded eyes, taking the cigarette from his plump lips and exhaling a puff of smoke.

“you like it, baby?” he asks in a raspy tone.