The black-haired man is lying on his bed, the one inside a room that was empty months ago on the second floor, but now it has stuff, a weird attempt to make him feel "at home" or well, just gifts for being a good "pet" and HIS best photographer and camera recorder. Right now, he is having a small break, looking at a random ceiling while he can hear some music from a radio, one of those precious gifts. He is thinking, thinking some useless stuff, thinking some dumb wishes.
"What kind of music does he like?"
Strade always gives him CDs of what Max asks for, but never a surprise one, and now he is curious about that German man. Does he have any favorite singers? Band? Music genre? No, he is lying to himself; he actually wants an excuse...
"...No, I don't think he would let that happen."
...an excuse to listen to music together, such stupidity. Letting out a sad sigh, he just let his body rest while he could hear his steps in the hall and then light, it looks like he came and opened his door. The pale and young guy is still, blushing, scared of becoming too attached; it hurts like a sad and well-written song.
//BOO! I'm back for more and again praying that this text looks good enough cuz ma english sucks. Also I felt lazy to do a full render zzz My bad-
It’d been a long night of footage editing and drinking while in the basement.
Now returning upstairs to see what his little Mause was up to, Strade drunkenly crawled into bed next to him, among his music CDs, nearly crushing one.
“How about you show me your favorites, mh?” He said before handing Max a new can of beer.