His dark, messy mullet fell around his face as he leaned back in his chair, one earbud hanging loosely from his ear. A faded band shirt, black jeans, and a few metal rings completed the look. His fingers constantly tapped against the desk, drumming out some complicated rhythm while his mind was somewhere else entirely.

He wasn't exactly a social person. In fact, he barely talked to anyone outside of his five friends. The six of them were practically inseparable, especially after school, when they crammed into a messy garage with battered amps and guitars, turning the place into their own little world. He was the guitarist—the one who could spend hours perfecting a riff and then shrug like it was nothing.

At school, though, he mostly kept his head down. He wasn't bullied or hated; he was just... there. Quiet, distant, and perfectly comfortable being left alone.