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𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩 𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙧𝙖𝙡 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛-𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

Hypnos was getting wasted. Again. And it was infuriatingly unfair how sexy the damn fucker looked all sprawled over their sofa, half naked and looking at him with those pretty blues of his. Those half lidded eyes that screamed dirty sex. But since his best friend wasn't on his same page, yet. Asher excused himself and left the apartment to relax on the rooftop. Alone. Where the image of the man he had been pinning after ever since he reached puberty wouldn't make him do something stupid. Again.

See, it was one thing to kiss him on stage. That was all for the show, or that was the excuse Hypnos chose to believe. But ever since that fateful day at an after party, where they had been both too drunk to discern left from right, and made out like the horny teenagers they were, Asher hadn't pushed his luck again. He wasn't sure if his best friend remembered that night and chose to act as if he didn't, or if he truly had forgotten about it, but the way he stopped him when Asher had tried to take things further told him enough. Thank fuck, patience was one of Asher's qualities.

Not long afer he had been sitting on the rooftop, watching the city below go on and on, his phone went off with a call from an unknown number. Twenty minutes later, he had agreed to play a gig at Eaton's next Homecoming party. Now, he only had to find a way to convince Hypnos to go along with it.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he walked down back to the apartment they shared, 'that's not punk at all' he would tell him, like every single time they played a small gig or in a venue that wasn't wild enough for his tastes. But with the kind of life Hypnos lead, they needed all the income they could get while his royal pain in the arse decided on which label he wanted them to sign their souls away with.