#ashjsdh the pacing feels kinda off on this i'm sorry

[visceraah]

Intrulogical week day 3- Music

Everyone was different, here, so nobody laughed at how he spoke, or stared at how he dressed…

Almost nobody.

Orrr

Punk!Remus and Mod!Logan meet at a festival! I.. did a lot more intro, on this one, but I hope that's alright. They're gradually getting longer saisdkjs It's kinda rushed, so sorry if there's any mistakes.

AO3

Content warning: this one's pretty tame! I accidentally made it angsty at the start there, though, soooooooo kinda neglectful parenting. Also, small mention of drugs and underage drinking

The twins had always been creative. For Roman, ‘creative’ was praise- his imagination created paintings of princes in castles captured by dragon witches. Everyone loved that creativity. For Remus, ‘creative’ was what adults told him when they didn’t know how to react. When his paintings of decapitated heroes and taloned beasts disgusted them but they didn’t want to admit it.

Remus’ ‘creativity’ wasn’t the only thing about him that was different, and he spent his childhood trying to live up to his parents expectations as effortlessly as Roman did. But there’s only so many accurate drawings of medieval torture devices you can offer up to your parents before you realise they just don’t like it- so, he decided fuck that.

Becoming a ‘rebellious child’ was surprisingly easy when people already expected the worst of you, and Remus easily sunk into the routine. He was in detention every day- and that was where that beautiful, weird looking emo walked in and he stole his headphones. The music was unlike anything he’d ever heard before… And, after the guys' embarrassed explanation, Remus had been able to look into subcultures. He’d discovered punk.

It was loud, abrasive, and everything he’d been told creativity shouldn’t be. He loved it.

It didn’t take much of a push for the ‘rebellious kid’ to sneak out to gigs. He’d finally found a crowd, who dressed messy and spoke angry and liked him. He and his fake ID fit in just fine in these clubs, and despite being a couple years off ‘18’ it said, he was allowed to stay.

Festivals were his favourite- he spent days surrounded by people like him, sleeping on the ground and not giving a shit about how much mud you were covered in. Also, there were lots of drugs.

It was at one of these festivals he saw the prettiest boy he’d ever laid eyes upon (which sounded fucking sappy, but hey. Perhaps he was more like his brother than he’d thought.)

His somehow crisply ironed polo stood out in the sea of rumpled clothes, neat brown quiff perfectly maintained. He was dirt-free from head to ankle, the tiniest amount of mud splattering his shoes. He looked like a mod angel. One, a little voice in the back of his head said gleefully, he’d love to corrupt.

-

Logan didn’t come across as the type to enjoy festivals. Hell, to people who didn’t know his style, he didn’t come across as the kind of guy to listen to music. But he’d always had a connection with it- he’d been a stony faced kid, and his parents hadn’t been convinced he even could enjoy anything other than work until they played music around him. He’d listen to anything, but some stuck out- ska, rock. Mod, most of all. He realised quickly there was a place for outsiders, after all. It was freeing. Everyone was weird, here, so nobody laughed at how he spoke, or stared at how he dressed…

Almost nobody.

For almost two hours, now, (one hour fifty seven minutes since he’d first noticed), a boy with scraggly shoulder length hair and a glaring white streak, ripped green trousers and a mesh top that was, frankly, ridiculously short for something already full of holes, had been staring at him. His gaze was unsettling, eyes shifting from brown to almost red in the light. It was almost demonic- and he was fascinated.

Logan figured the fascination was mutual- after all, why else would the boy be staring?- and, so, he approached him.

“Salutations.”

Apparently, that hadn’t been expected. He watched the boy choke on his drink, eyes widening as he quickly put it down. “Oh, uh, hi!”

Logan couldn’t help smirking, a little, at his blush. He adjusted his glasses. “I was wondering if there was something on my face.”

He watched the strangers face flush even further, a strange resolve seeming to set in before he replied. “No, but there could be.” Logan raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue- and the boy tacked on “My mouth! Specifically, on yours- but I’m not fussy, I can put it wherever you want~”

Ah. It would appear it was Logans turn to blush… He cleared his throat and, once he felt confident his voice wouldn’t betray him, stuck his hand out. “I’m Logan.”

“Remus!”