Hans Larsson

The singer hadn't meant to have gone down this path. Not again. Just even thinking about seeing his brother plugged into fuck loads of machines and weird shit back in then hospital made him feel physically sick. The way Hunter cried his eyes out and held onto Bjorn beside Han's bed. The memories made him sniffle and wipe at his eyes. Fuck. The pills were fucking him up. They had to be. Right? That, or he was feeling something for the Brit that was tugging at his heart. Causing memories to resurface because Rekker had shit in his life too.

"You wanted to die. I didn't want my brother to die but he wanted to end it because of fucking society. The world is a fucking stinking pile of shit! I---I'm sorry about what you went through."

Bjorn was shaking a little himself but he wasn't having a panic attack just a bad drug trip powered by his trauma and emotional state. It was just amplifying everything to the max. He looked up make up all smeared and his hair now a mess as he shifted along the floor of the elevator towards Rekker, reaching out with his finger tips to brush against the man's shoe.

"We're fucked up but fucked up together. Shit."