ᵀʰᵉ 𝑯𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟

Turns back toward the computer, tapping a few keys to bring the unfinished track back up. A few seconds later, the speakers filled the room with the instrumental he'd been working on. The drums carried a steady rhythm beneath the heavier guitar layers, but there was a gap in it +

︎ ︎ He listens very carefully. “That’s terrible to hear and I’m honestly so sorry. Everyone has something in their past that haunts them. I personally turn my pain into art, but not everyone is the same. I can’t imagine losing my memories like that.” ︎

“Oh, I've figured out plenty.” His eyes returned to the computer screen, where the same unfinished track had been tormenting him for the better part of the evening. He was close. Frustratingly close, actually, and yet, every time he played it back, something felt off. +

︎ ︎ “I’m not here to pass judgement. I don’t think it’s bad. You’re doing your best and that’s all that matters, right?” He shifts and begins to apply some color to his imagery. “New to this, I take it?” He peers over at whatever he’s doing. ︎

︎ ︎ “I’m doing some realism.” He slides the supply over to them so they don’t have to reach as far. “What about you? What are you making?” He offers some watercolors. ︎

His smirk softened, turning more genuine the moment Alrick settled against him, one arm slipping around his waist almost instinctively. He leaned back in the chair, accommodating his weight, his other hand coming to rest on his hip. It was an embarrassingly natural thing, +