Hans Larsson

Rekker had that long pause again glancing around. He felt the panic rising to a tightness in his chest and had to huff out a couple breaths before he could speak. "I have to go home.... if you want to go for a drive in the Hills?"

And it was out and he instantly wanted to take those words back. It was too late now. Rekker smells of leather from his jacket but also faintly of beer and coffee and the mixed scent of tea tree oil and other things in his hair.

Rekker laughed at the way the Swede tried to deflect his comments. His own hair was starting to fall all over as he leaned into the singer. He's used to the mass of curls that easily got caught on things or tangle. He finally touched the ends of Bjorn's hair and frowned.

"Stop being a bitch until I get a chance to fix it."