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Summary
(ONGOING)
Øystein had always thought Pelle was crazy. Genuine, grade A crazy.
And he loved it, it was just what Mayhem needed from a lead singer and frontman. But that's all this guy was supposed to be, a singer for his band. A bandmember. Not a friend, not a housemate, definitely not whatever the fuck this was. But staring outside the frosted window and into the early mornings dew covered forest... Watching the elusive male as he stripped himself of his clothes from the night before and exposed the pale, soft skin of his back only covered by his shining hair; Pelle didn't feel like a bandmember. He didn't feel like a housemate, he didn't even feel like a friend. Whatever the hell this was, it wasn't platonic.