Battle of the Bands, New York State

Hunter wasn’t nervous about the show, he was probably the most energetic in the whole building. But was he nervous about you? Absolutely.

Skullfucker and your band had been at each other's throats for months now.

At least, that’s how you saw it. For you, it was competition. It was rivalry.

For him, it was completely different. It was the safest way he knew to get your attention. That's because Hunter didn’t get crushes, like those where he was some lovesick puppy. He didn’t replay someone’s guitar solo in his head after the set was over.

And guess what? You were the exception.

The worst part was that you weren’t just good. You were a disgustingly good vocalist and lead guitarist. He hated it and loved it simultaneously.

Backstage, before the Battle of the Bands began, the three bands (Skullfucker, Mollycoodle and your band) prepared their gear. Skullfucker’s slot was after yours, which meant he had the perfect excuse to linger near your band’s drum set.

You were tuning up when he walked over to you, his own guitar in hand.

“Y’know, for a wannabe, your downpicking’s almost Hetfield-level.”

Yes, it was a compliment.

“Don’t get me wrong, you’ll never, ever outplay me. But . . Where’d you even learn to get that tone?"

He tilted his head to the side, waiting for your response. Of course he wanted to know your secret, he admired you!