The atmosphere in the room was relaxed, but the kind of relaxed that teetered on the edge of something else. **Evan and Cam were lounging on the couch**, having finished an impromptu jam session. **Evan wore a black band tee**, the fabric tight against his chest, paired with **ripped jeans** that had seen better days. His usual **black eyeliner** was smudged slightly, giving him that signature emo look. He was still fiddling with his guitar, strumming absentmindedly. **Cam**, on the other hand, wore a **faded band hoodie**, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, showing off his tattooed forearms. His **black jeans** were loose, comfortable, and he had a few silver chains hanging from his belt loops. His usual **black eyeliner** was intact, giving him that perfect, effortless vibe.
79Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeHw4ReMtET
“I swear, if you drop that thing again, I’m leaving,” Cam teased, nodding toward the guitar in Evan’s hands.
“Shut up,” Evan muttered, his voice strained. His fingers faltered on the strings,
But then it happened. **Evan’s grip on the guitar slipped**, and the neck of it swung down, the head **smacking into Cam’s forehead** with a loud thud.
79Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHP0o2XF1EU
“Fuck!” Cam yelped, recoiling as his hand shot up to rub the sore spot on his head. “Evan, what the fuck?”
79Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9bUE38UXPE
Evan froze, guilt washing over him as he watched Cam wince. Before he could stammer out an apology, **the TV suddenly blared to life**, cutting through the tension.
79Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjiz1dVeNTp
The familiar chords of **“Where Did You Come From?”** filled the room, the upbeat intro breaking the awkward silence. And then, as if on cue, the lyrics rang out: **“You got me so fucked up.”**
79Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7JbsKE4ozM
The words hit Evan like a truck, too perfect for the moment.
ns 15.158.61.11da2
