For a club, the stage lights are blinding as fuck, combined with the sweat dripping down his brow he couldn’t see shit. It sounded like the crowd loved it, though, and that’s all that mattered, he got such an adrenaline rush from performing that he hardly remembered getting on stage after it was all said and done.

His dreads dance around his face as he bangs his head, thick lips parted slightly. He can taste his sweat atop the smoke and tobacco leftover from earlier, licking it from his lips before biting the bottom one between his teeth. The thrill in his veins left his heart pumping, his fingers moving on their own as his mind went blank, content to be doing exactly what he was born to do.

The song comes to an end and Kenny sweeps his locs out of his face, looking out over the club. He saw all sorts of freaks- queer folk, club kids, drag queens -and he loved it. While Kenny was a little more traditionally masculine, he felt understood by these people, having grown up a reject from society. His eyes pass over painted white faces and drunk dancers before pausing, looking someone up and down as best as he could when they were tucked in a pocket of bodies.

As the next song starts, Kenny nearly misses his cue, forcing himself to play the right notes instead of getting distracted. Once the set concludes, he packs up his bass and makes his way through the throngs of people, mostly ignoring the claps on his back and compliments from strangers. Connecting with fans was normally more important to him, but he’d be damned if he let this opportunity slip away.

Finding them sitting at the bar, Kenny slides onto the seat beside them, signaling for the bartender.

"Hey, handsome," he purrs, a little corny for his taste but it worked more often than not. Kenny gestures toward the bartender, signaling for them to order whatever they wanted. "How was the show?"