[ god i love this idea but i'm probably going to butcher it // song is by midtown (ps i love gabe saporta's voice)

warnings: language, mentions of drugs and alcohol and highs, etc

concept: lewis and logan actually meet for the first time at a shitty party.

lewis' pov

stay safe,
lew. ]

——————

It's almost hilarious, the way I can't stand my 'friends' at these parties. I've got a plastic cup of some high-end (aka made in the woods, not in someone's basement) moonshine in one hand, a joint in the other.

Across the room, I spot our singer, Martin, talking to a (probably underaged) kid, his hand on the wall by their shoulder, effectively blocking them in. Alex, our guitarist, is laughing and sharing a bowl with a group of guys. I know Thomas, the drummer, is probably out back, drinking even more and shooting up under the dusk-to-dawn light.

That thought makes me scratch at my arm, at the small needle marks marring the otherwise smooth skin. I don't need it. I push the thought away, shudder in my skin.

From my vantage point at the top of the stairs, I can see just about everything going on. But I don't anticipate the guy that sits next to me.

He's attractive, even in the low light that makes everyone look like shit. I try to push any thoughts along those lines from my head as I offer him the joint. C'mon, Lewis, you're already disappointing your family enough.

The guy practically does a double take when he gets a good look at me, and I know why. At fifteen, I'm really fucking unlucky in the aspect that I haven't really hit a growth spurt yet. I'm barely over five feet tall, and the face full of acne doesn't help me. I know I look like someone's kid brother.

But still, he takes the joint from me. "Is this your house?" He asks, his voice a little bit higher than I expected. Maybe he's just one of those guys that has a voice contrasting his appearance, like the drummer in Fall Out Boy. And, I can tell he's not from around here, because the way he talks has no hint of our stupid fucking accent.

I shake my head, clear my throat. "Nah, I'm just here because my friends wanted to drop by after our show."

"Show, as in drama club? Or show, as in band?" He sounds genuinely curious, and I don't have it within myself to get angry with him. "Or did you just go to a concert or something?"

"I'm in a band. I play bass and guitar." I'm trying to keep my sentences short and uninteresting, so maybe when the joint's gone, this guy will leave too.

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. That's oversharing, he doesn't need to know anything about me. And then another thought invades my head.

What if Martin sent this guy up here to talk to me, just to see what I'll end up doing?

I don't pay attention to the guy's response. Hell, I might've cut him off as I ask, "Do you know Martin Evans? That creep down there talking to the kid?"

I know I sound stupid and paranoid, and I'm unable to watch as the guy processes this. Instead, I watch the poor kid smile up at Martin, and in the corner, Alex is making out with someone.

"I've never seen any of these people before in my life. I'm just here because I saw something going on and snuck in." He sounds sincere enough, so I finally meet his gaze.

And just like that, I'm mesmerized. Those honey eyes are something I'd never get tired of seeing. A split second decision leads to me telling him, "I'm Lewis. Hope you stick around, it's nice seeing a someone who isn't a crackhead around here."

"Logan," he replies easily, finally giving my joint back. "What makes you think I'm not a crackhead?"

Boundaries are blurred. Most people don't grab a stranger's arm and trace their finger along the more visible veins. But I do. "You don't have track marks. And it doesn't look like you've just dropped a bunch of weight- you look healthy."

Surprisingly, this Logan dude doesn't get annoyed when I put my cold hands on him. It annoys Martin to no end.

Logan laughs and nods a bit, and I find myself staring. Gods, Lewis, if your dad saw this—

I shake that thought away, give him a little half-smile of my own. Right as I'm about to say something else, I see Alex out of the corner of my eye, waving his arms around and looking like a complete fuckin' idiot.

"Listen, I gotta go, but- If you find yourself on Addams Avenue, I live next to the flower shop. Drop by if you wanna."

I drop the joint into my mostly empty alcohol cup, then stand up and stretch. I'm halfway down the stairs when Logan calls out, "How old are you?"

"Fifteen!"

"What the-"

And then I'm out the door.

———————

[ idk i kinda like the style of this and i left it open for another part so yeah?? idk maybe some feedback??

do y'all like when it's in first person?? (personally it reminds me of all my old shitty fanfics but)

past or present tense? (mostly i write in past, but present can be fun sometimes)