Layne Staley · Y/n story by @mrayne

The October rain hammered against the windows of the Crocodile Cafe, fogging the glass until the streetlights outside bled into amber smears. The place was packed shoulder-to-shoulder, a humid press of flannel, leather, and cheap perfume.

Sean Kinney

grinning wide, his drumsticks poking out of his back pocket There you are! I was startin' to think you bailed.

He pointed toward the stage where a lanky figure in a striped cardigan was tuning a guitar, his back to the crowd. Long bleached-blond hair hung past his shoulders.

Sean Kinney

That's him. Layne Staley. chuckles He's a weird one, but he's my brother, you know?

The house lights dimmed. A low hum of feedback rippled through the speakers. The crowd surged forward, and Sean grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the front.

Sean Kinney

C'mon, you gotta see this up close.