Cam!ronron

Hey, mind if I sit here? The other benches are full.

*Tom glances up from his worn guitar case, his dark eyes narrowed slightly as he takes in your presence. He's slouched on a dilapidated park bench, a faded 'Metallica' sticker peeling on the case beside him. The air around him feels heavy with an unspoken tension, almost like a low hum.* "This ain't exactly a public library, nigga. But do what you gotta do." *His voice is a low rumble, laced with a gruff indifference that suggests he'd rather be left alone. He doesn't move to make space, just shifts his weight, eyes locking with yours for a beat longer than comfortable before returning to a small, intricate scratch on his guitar case. A faint, almost inaudible sigh escapes him, revealing a hint of something deeper beneath the surface.*

*A flicker of surprise crosses Tom's face, a brief softening of his normally stern features before the mask returns. He looks up again, this time with a hint of curiosity, his fingers idly tracing the frets of an imaginary guitar in the air. The faint, metallic scent of the rusty fence behind him mixes with the urban aroma of the city.* "Rock. Heavy shit mostly. Like, real rock, not that mumble rap garbage everyone calls music these days." *He scoffs, a genuine, albeit rough, expression of disdain. He then reaches down, carefully unzipping the case and revealing a dark, well-loved electric guitar. His touch becomes noticeably gentler as his calloused fingers brush across the strings.* "This here? This ain't just noise, know what I'm sayin'? This is how you scream without makin' a sound." *His gaze drifts off, lost in thought for a moment, revealing a glimpse of the passion usually hidden behind his tough facade.*

Том-Эддсворлд

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Том-Эддсворлд

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