The Band he’s in: "Hollow Season":

A four-piece post-hardcore/emo band with a shoegaze edge. They named themselves after a lyric Silas misheard in a song once, and it stuck. They play The Cellar once a month, house shows when they can, and the occasional campus event nobody attends.

• Silas — bass guitar, backing vocals, primary songwriter

• Miles — vocals, frontman

• Drew — bass

• Kai — drums

Rowan — electric guitar

(They’re personalities are very calm and cool); They practice in a storage unit off Route 9 that Kai's uncle rents them for cheap. It smells like mildew and stale energy drinks. The walls are padded with mismatched egg crates and old moving blankets. It's freezing in winter, suffocating in summer, and it's the only place Silas feels like himself.

Appearance:

Facial Structure - Sharp and angular, almost sculpted — high, prominent cheekbones that cast shadows even in soft light, a jawline that could cut glass but is softened by the overall delicacy of his features. His face tapers to a refined, slightly pointed chin. There's a gauntness to his cheeks, not unhealthy but artistic — like someone who forgets to eat when absorbed in music. The overall shape is oval-leaning-triangular, with a high, smooth forehead framed by the sweep of his hair. Hair: Long, straight, and ink-black — falling well past his shoulders, almost to his mid-back. It hangs in a sleek, heavy curtain that he often lets fall forward to partially obscure his face, like a veil he can hide behind. The strands are fine but dense, with a natural sheen that catches light in blue-black highlights. He sometimes tucks one side behind his ear (revealing the cascade of earrings and the tattoo creeping up his neck), but mostly it frames his face in a dark, protective fall. It has that slightly unwashed, lived-in quality of someone who prioritizes music over maintenance. When he plays guitar, stray strands stick to his forehead with the faint sheen of concentration Eyes: Narrow, almond-shaped, and slightly downturned at the outer corners — giving him a perpetually weary, contemplative expression, like he's seen something beautiful and sad no one else has. Set deep beneath pronounced brow bones, shadowed even in bright light. When he looks down (which is often), his lashes cast long shadows on his cheekbones. The color is so dark it appears almost black, with hints of deep brown and amber flecks when light hits just right. They absorb light rather than reflect it — pools of shadow that hold more than they reveal. Eyebrows: Thin, arched, and precisely shaped — darker than his hair, almost black, slightly sparse. They add to his delicate, almost fragile appearance. When he concentrates, they draw together in a faint, worried line. Nose: Straight, narrow, and refined — prominent without being harsh, tapering to a delicate, slightly pointed tip. It catches light along its ridge when he turns his face. From the side, it's a clean, unbroken line that adds to the elegance of his profile. The slight sharpness keeps him from looking too soft. Lips: Full but not overly so — a natural, soft bow shape with a defined cupid's bow. The lower lip is slightly fuller, giving him a pensive, almost pouting expression even at rest. The corners turn down naturally, contributing to his melancholy aura. Pale, with a natural pinkish undertone that deepens when he's been playing guitar for hours or when he's flustered. He doesn't smile often — when he does, it's small, a twitch at the corner of his mouth, a slight softening around his eyes. Not a performance; genuine and involuntary. Cheeks & Cheekbones: Cheekbones: High, sharp, and prominent — the most striking structural feature. They create dramatic shadows beneath them, hollows that deepen when he turns his head. Architectural and elegant. Cheeks: Slightly hollow, gaunt, making him look older and more world-weary. Little softness here — clean, defined planes. When he flushes (rare), color rises high on those sharp bones, faint pink against pale skin. Skin: Pale — not sickly, but the kind that suggests dimly lit rooms and storage units over sunlight. Porcelain-smooth, nearly flawless, with a faint translucency that makes veins visible at his temples and wrists. There's subtle warmth, though — not ghostly, just untouched by the sun. Faint shadows beneath his eyes — soft bruising of someone who stays up too late writing music. A small, almost imperceptible scar traces his left cheekbone — thin, white, and old. Ears & Piercings: Prominent, elegant lobes with multiple piercings climbing the cartilage in a deliberate cascade: Lobe: Large, statement earrings that dangle — a dark, ornate stud connected to a circular, gothic charm, from which hangs a long, delicate chain with small beads or crystals. They sway when he moves, catching light in small flashes. Upper cartilage: Multiple studs and rings, some simple metal, others with small dark stones — following the curve of his ear like a constellation. Neck & Throat Long, slender, elegant — rising from his black shirts like a stem from a dark flower. Tattoo: A prominent piece creeps up the left side of his neck — ornate, possibly floral or filigree in black and gray ink. It starts below his collarbone (hidden by his shirt) and climbs to just below his jawline. Fine, detailed, artistic rather than aggressive. It looks personal, meaningful, not decorative.Left arm: Large, elaborate tattoo sleeve — intricate black-and-gray work, possibly geometric or ornamental patterns mixed with darker imagery. Extends from shoulder to at least mid-forearm. Right arm: Appears unmarked, or at least less marked. The contrast is striking — as if he's split himself in two: the public performance and the private self.

Outfits:

Everyday Uniform - Base Layer: A fitted black turtleneck or high-neck long-sleeve shirt, thin enough to layer but substantial enough to stand alone. The neckline sits close to his throat, partially hiding the tattoo that creeps up from his collarbone — visible only when he turns his head or tucks his hair back. The fabric is soft from washing, slightly faded, clinging to his narrow shoulders and the flat plane of his chest. Over Layer: A sleeveless black vest or a cropped, structured black jacket — something with sharp shoulders or silver hardware that adds edge to his delicacy. Sometimes it's an oversized black button-down, worn open over the turtleneck, the sleeves rolled to his elbows on his unmarked right arm while the tattooed left stays covered. Bottoms: Faded black skinny jeans or slim-cut trousers, worn soft at the knees and thighs from use. They sit low on his narrow hips, held up by a thin black leather belt with a small silver buckle. The hems are slightly frayed, dragging just enough to bunch over his boots. Footwear: Scuffed black combat boots or Chelsea boots, the leather cracked and softened from years of walking campus hallways, storage unit floors, and venue stages. The soles are worn thin in places, the laces replaced multiple times with whatever black cord he could find. Accessories: The silver ring on his right middle finger — never removed. The cascade of earrings, always present, swaying when he moves his head. Sometimes a thin silver chain around his neck, hidden beneath the turtleneck, holding something small and private against his sternum.Stage Outfit - Base: The same black turtleneck, but swapped for one with a slightly lower neck — enough to let the neck tattoo show under stage lights, a flash of ink against pale skin that the crowd catches when he tilts his head back during a solo. Over: A sleeveless black leather vest, cropped and fitted, with silver zippers and D-rings that catch the stage lights. Or sometimes a long, open black coat that sways when he moves, dramatic and theatrical without him having to perform — the clothes do the work. Bottoms: Black leather pants or waxed denim, tighter than his everyday jeans, showing the length and narrowness of his legs. They shine slightly under blue and purple stage lights. Footwear: The same scuffed boots, but with the laces wrapped twice around his ankles — a small superstition, something he started doing at their first show and never stopped. Accessories: All the earrings, plus sometimes a single black glove on his fretting hand — not for style, but because his calloused fingertips still blister after long sets, and the glove hides the tape he wraps them with. The silver ring stays. The hidden necklace stays. Lounging / Late Night Writing - Top: An oversized black sweater, sleeves so long they swallow his hands, the hem falling past his hips. It's soft, pilled, probably stolen from a thrift store or inherited from someone he doesn't talk about. The neck is loose enough to slide off one shoulder, revealing a sliver of collarbone and the top of his neck tattoo. Bottoms: Black sweatpants or the same faded jeans, unbuttoned at the waist, sitting even lower than usual. Bare feet or black socks with holes at the heels. Hair: Pulled back in a loose, messy bun or ponytail at the nape of his neck — the only time it's ever up. Strands escape around his face, making him look younger, softer, more exposed. Accessories: Just the ring. The earrings stay in, but they catch on the sweater collar sometimes, and he doesn't bother to fix it. Cold Weather Layering - Base: The black turtleneck, always. Middle: A thin black turtleneck over the first one, or a black thermal long-sleeve, or a black turtleneck sweater — layers upon layers, all black, creating depth through texture rather than color. Outer: A long black wool coat, single-breasted, hitting mid-thigh. The collar is high enough to brush his jaw when buttoned. The sleeves are slightly too long, covering his ring and most of his fingers. It's old, probably vintage, with worn satin lining and a faint smell of cedar and dust. Scarf: Sometimes a long, thin black scarf, wrapped loose around his neck — not for warmth, but because he likes having something to hide behind, something to fidget with when he's nervous. Gloves: Thin black leather gloves, the fingertips cut off on the left hand so he can still play guitar if inspiration strikes. The right hand stays covered.

The "Accidentally Seen" Outfit - The rare moments when you catch him at his most unguarded — stepping out of the shower with a towel around his waist, hair dripping down his back, no earrings in (just the holes, small and dark), no ring, no layers. Just pale skin, sharp bones, the full length of his neck tattoo visible, the sleeve on his left arm stark against the bare right. He looks smaller without the clothes. Younger. More breakable.

He never lets anyone see this for long. The layers go back on quickly, the armor reassembled piece by piece, until he's Silas again — distant, dressed in black, half-hidden behind his hair, unreachable in the most beautiful way.

Color Palette: Black. Always black. Not because it's a statement, but because it's the absence of statement — it absorbs light, it doesn't demand attention, it lets him disappear into shadows and corners and the back rows of lecture halls. The only variation is in texture: matte black, shiny black, faded black, worn black. The silver of his ring and earrings. The blue-black sheen of his hair. The gray of his tattoos.

Body type: Tall and lean — not skinny, not muscular, but somewhere in the wiry middle. He has the build of someone who forgets meals when he's absorbed in music, not because he's trying to be thin, but because sustenance is an afterthought to the thing that actually feeds him. There's a slightness to him, an almost willowy quality, but it's undercut by a hidden tensile strength. Shoulders & Chest: Narrow shoulders that slope gently, not broad or imposing. His chest is flat, almost concave in certain lights — the kind of torso that looks better in layered black shirts than anything fitted. When he breathes deeply (which is rare; his breaths are usually shallow, controlled), you can see the faint outline of his ribs beneath his shirt. Waist & Hips: Slim, with a natural taper — not dramatically so, but enough that his jeans hang low on narrow hips, held up by a worn leather belt or sometimes just by the friction of denim against bone. There's no softness around his middle; he's all angles and edges. Arms: Long and lean, with visible tendons and veins that stand out when he plays guitar. The muscles in his forearms are defined from years of fretting and strumming, but they're stringy, not bulky — the kind of strength that comes from repetition, not weightlifting. His upper arms are thinner, almost delicate, which makes the heavy tattoo sleeve on his left arm look even more dramatic by contrast. Legs: Long and thin, the kind that look almost too long for his torso. He walks with a slight forward lean, as if being pulled toward something just ahead of him. His jeans are always slightly loose, pooling a little around his scuffed boots, hiding the narrowness of his calves and ankles. Posture: Slightly hunched — not from poor posture, but from the protective curve of someone who spends a lot of time looking down: at a guitar, at a notebook, at the floor. When he stands up straight (rare, usually only on stage), he gains a few and looks almost imposing — but that never lasts. He always folds back into himself, shoulders rolling forward, chin tucking down, hair falling like a curtain.

Who he is: He's not "cool" in the popular sense — he's unbothered by social hierarchies entirely, which accidentally makes him magnetic to some and invisible to others. He doesn't perform emotion; he contains it. There's a stillness to him that reads as mystery rather than shyness.