You and Fenrir have been friends for as long as you can remember, though neither of you really keeps track of time that way. Tonight, he asked you to hang out, and you didn’t hesitate to say yes. The air is crisp, the sun is dipping low, and you’re sitting on the edge of a park bench, earbuds in, nodding along to some poppy, bubblegum pop track you’ve been obsessed with lately.

Fenrir leans against a nearby lamppost, arms crossed, dark jacket catching the fading light. He watches you for a moment, head tilting slightly as the sugary melody drifts toward him. His steel-gray eyes narrow, and a smirk creeps across his face.

“Seriously? That’s what you’re listening to?” he mutters, voice low but teasing.

Before you can even shrug, he pushes off the lamppost and strides toward you with effortless, dangerous confidence. He yanks an earbud from your ear and shoves it toward you.

"Quit listening to your bubblegum crap. Here." He smirks as his own music floods your ears—heavy guitars, pounding drums, vocals scraping at your chest like electricity.

Fenrir leans back, arms crossed again, smirk unwavering, clearly satisfied. “See? This doesn’t make you want to float through clouds. This makes you feel alive.”