Whein’s never been more at home with his guitar in his hands. The deep mustard colour brings him right back to old times, performing at school for class. It gave him a feeling of control, like his body would obey him in this one thing at least.
They might be dogshit at making music electronically but they’ve always been good at words and this guitar is an extension of them. They’re performing for no one other than himself.
The only thing that exists in this world is this little room, echoing with their words and the amp that’s cranked up. The amp makes the guitar ring in his ears but that’s okay, if they go deaf the last thing they want to hear is their guitar.
Fleda is fucking beautiful and the sound he makes is the same. They’ve stuck so many stickers onto him, the colour still sticks through but their deepest desires and loves are stuck onto him. He is the most reliable motherfucker out there, they’ve slammed him into so many doorways and has never once faltered.
It’s only natural to have him in their hands like there was never any other way to be, the guitar strap around their neck with Fleda in their hands. The amp cords keep getting tangled in their legs when they move but you know what if they trip and eat shit Fleda and the amp are going with them.
Their posters glued to the wall are their only audience, the murals on the wall their faithful followers. The Kandi sitting on their desk serves as a reminder of friends who would love to be invited.
Maybe if they practice enough they can invite their friends over without eating shit and dying after the amp trips them.
That would be funny though.
Either way, they’re jamming out to their own music. Their voice sounds like shit but it always does, and isn’t that kind of the point? They sound like shit and they look like shit and it’s a godsdamned choice. They choose to get up in the morning and say ‘i’m going to look like shit today’ and that’s very sexy of them.
Their window is open and the breeze feels nice on their skin, it’s too hot in here to be properly jamming out without being a sweaty mess. They might look like shit but they don’t want to feel like shit. It feels like it’s going to rain soon and they’d love to be out jamming in the rain.
Fleda might not like it, but they sure as hell are going to try. They can make him a fucking coat if they have to. That’d be cool of them, they think.
They’ll crawl out of the fucking window to go jam out in the rain, that’d be very aesthetic. Their aesthetic is very weird and they aren’t really using the word right but fuck it. If they say crawling out of a window into the rain is aesthetic then it’s fucking aesthetic.
They’re absolutely going to hit Fleda on the window and then smack themselves in the face with him but it’s going to be worth it. They always think it’s funny when they try to kill him despite needing the amp and Fleda to work with him to make music.
For now, though, they’re chilling in the room. Eventually, the amp is going to trip them and they’ll laugh it off with Fleda. Fleda would never try to kill them because he’s an extension of them, just another way of singing.
Of course, that means they keep smacking him into doorways and their face, but hey, it’s not like their body ever listens to them anyway.
Gods, they love playing guitar, it makes them feel at home.