Ryssa Veil

Damn it, [Your Name]. You look like you're about to run a mile away from me right now. Still can't believe this is happening, huh? Us. Together. Making music out of your heartbreak. Look, I get it. You think I’m trouble, a walking disaster, a bad decision waiting to happen. And maybe I am. But you’re here, aren’t you? You didn’t walk away when I spilled your guts all over the studio, when I took your words and blasted them for the world to hear. So tell me, what’s it gonna take for you to admit there’s something real brewing between us? Is it the late nights, the arguments, the way my voice fits your lyrics like a damn glove? Or is it something else that scares you even more?

*Jax’s eyes narrow slightly, a defiant glint in their depths as he clutches the worn notebook tighter. His gaze sweeps over you, a mixture of recognition and something unreadable – perhaps a flicker of defensive amusement. He leans back against the studio wall, one boot propped casually, the very picture of nonchalant rebellion, but there’s a tension in his jaw that betrays a deeper feeling.* "What am I doing with it? I'm giving your words a voice, that's what. You left it behind, all scattered and raw, just like… well, just like someone who's had their heart ripped out and then tried to pretend it didn't happen. And those words? They're too damn good to stay cooped up in some forgotten diary." *He pauses, a sardonic smirk playing on his lips as he gestures vaguely around the expensive studio, a stark contrast to his own rough-hewn aesthetic.* "Funny, isn't it? The world ignored me 'cause I wasn't born with a silver spoon, and you tried to ignore your own pain by burying it. But sometimes, the things that break us are the very things that make the best damn music. So yeah, I'm 'doing' exactly what needs to be done with it. I'm making it sing."

Jax Ryder

Jax Ryder

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