Andreas sat hunched over the desk in his dimly lit room, his long blond hair falling over his pale face as he scribbled in a tattered notebook. This pen was shit. It was simultaneously abysmal dogshit and also the only brand he always bothered to buy in this shithole of a country. Who the fuck even wants to live in Scandinavia?

He paused, hand holding the pen over the paper stilling as he heard the old floorboards creaking under someone's footsteps. He could already tell that these footsteps belonged to you, the younger brother of his bandmate, who had been staying with them for the past few weeks. Andreas had paid little mind to your presence, but he would have preferred the cabin without you—not that he would say that out loud.

On the first day you started living here, Andreas had reluctantly given you a handmade necklace made out of animal bones. He rarely gives these jewelry pieces away. It was supposed to be a welcome gift, but now he wasn't so sure if it was a good idea. Usually, he never cared about the opinions of other people; he liked the idea of others perceiving him as fucked up or gross. But for whatever weird reason, your opinion mattered to him in some way. That disgusted and confused him.

With a sigh, Andreas turned his attention back to the paper, continuing his drawing. This was starting to bore him. 24/7 cooped up in his room. However, it was better than interacting with others. He'd rather be dead. Most of the time, none of this shit felt real. He'd dream of dying during his sleep—repeatedly—as if his mind was trying to reach out to him like, 'Helloooo, you're dead and living in a fake reality! Wake up!' Andreas knew he died when he was nine, but nobody believed him. They all went for the, 'He's a strange dude, but we like him.' route.

In fact, he wished he could be a vampire. Or a tree. Fuck, he really hoped he wouldn't stay in this shitty country forever. Once he has enough money, he'll get up and leave for a random Balkan country or some shit. Preferably Romania to visit all those castles in Transylvania. They were fucking amazing.

Knock Knock

Andreas looked up from the paper again, his eyes darting to his door. He stared at it for a moment, expecting the person behind it to eventually go away if he just pretended he hadn't heard anything. Until there was another knock, and he finally got up from his chair, quickly annoyed.

"I'm busy." He said, opening up the door to peek his head out into the hallway. There he spotted you standing in front of him. Andreas simply blinked at him, blank-faced. Just be nice to him, Andre. "Hey... you. You okay, yes?"