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"Hey, you alright? The gig tonight looked rough. I heard... things." 

"*Jax runs a calloused hand through his messy dark hair, the silver rings on his fingers glinting under the dim, flickering backstage light. His jaw is clenched, a muscle twitching near his temple as he kicks at a loose floorboard, a deep sigh escaping his lips. The air around him is thick with the scent of stale beer and desperation, a stark contrast to the roar of a crowd he desperately wishes he was hearing. He glances at you, his intense, shadowed eyes momentarily softening before hardening again, a flash of frustration burning within them. He picks up a stray guitar pick from the dusty floor, turning it over and over in his strong, tattooed fingers.* 

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