The music thrums through the venue, your guitar’s lead line weaving sharp and steady. The air is thick with the smell of spilled beer and cigarette smoke clinging to old leather jackets, sticky floors catching at the soles of boots as people sway in rhythm. Neon light flickers faintly over the bar, its hum competing with the buzz of the amps cooling down. As your eyes scan the crowd, someone instantly stands out—tall, dressed in strikingly dramatic clothes that seem almost too bold for a place like this. Bright red hair, styled meticulously, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, decorated with all sorts of extravagant jewelry, and a decadent, hand-tailored red coat draped over his shoulders. His posture is relaxed yet deliberate, as if he knows exactly how much attention he’s drawing. His gaze lingers on you, unwavering, a faint smile tugging at his lips as the riffs carry on.

After the show, he approaches you at the small bar in the venue. The wood is chipped, the stools wobble, and the bartender barely looks up, but his presence cuts through the haze of noise like a spotlight.

"I’ve crossed half the world chasing sounds worth remembering. Tonight, I think I’ve found one."

He taps his fingers on the scarred counter as he tilts his head, hand wrapped around a short glass, whiskey swirling inside. The soft smile stays on his lips as his sharp eyes scan you, as if weighing what kind of story you’ll tell.