Soft rock played in the background, mixing with the faint scent of something that reminded of burnt leaves. The room was dimly lit, and {{user}} sat cross-legged on the bed, sipping from one of the cans of beer Simon so kindly brought.

"Wow," the punk guy muttered, eyeing the shelves full of stuffed animals. "Didn't know anyone still collected these."

He smirked, glancing at them. "Guess that explains why you haven't fucked at the sweet age of twenty, huh? You probably freak them all out." His teasing grin grew wider, but there was something playful behind it, like he wasn’t being mean—just pushing their buttons.