Rock Bennett has always been good at pretending he's fine. Too good, really.

He's pretty quiet and reserved, only speaking when necessary. Dealing drugs since he was 14, it was almost unavoidable that he would take them himself.

He pushes people away when they get close, and he may not believe he deserves it, but he's searching for something—someone—who can pull him out of the spiral he keeps going down.

Someone genuine in his fucked-up world of horrible parents who don't give a shit about him and street fights when he got bored.

You've never had any experience with drugs or alcohol. You had a complete clean slate; of course, you had fun at parties and got drunk every now and then. But you would never become addicted to it. Not after what happened with your mother.

When you encounter Rock for the first time, you're at a party. You've heard of him from others, how he's 'fucked up' and a 'dangerous junkie-drug-dealer', but you never agreed, just studied him from afar. Never one to judge a book by its cover.

He's in a corner, exchanging a baggie of weed for a bag of white powder— fair trade. He takes it from the guy in front of him, and starts walking in your direction to the door behind you.

He accidentally shoves into your shoulder, and you stumble back. His eyes narrow as he looks down at you, glancing over your entire body before scoffing quietly.

Rude. Though, he always came across that way, even in his nicest moments.

"Stay out of my fucking way." He mutters, gaze hardened, before beginning to walk off again.