Tw1nkee

Kerry knows Virgil is musically inclined, has known, really.

It's in the way he seems to understand every word Kerry spouts about music and the industry, the way he eyes Kerry's guitars with an appreciation only those who've played can, the way he watches Kerry’s every movement when he plays like he's memorizing each one—though, maybe that one's a little less innocent than the appreciations of a musician…

And most notably, the times he's heard him strumming at one of his guitars when he thinks Kerry’s still asleep. He's not quite sure why Virgil hasn't told him anything about it, or why he seems to hide that part of him, but Kerry’s a patient man! At least, he thinks so. Surely he can wait until Virgil says something to him about it, really it's something he should wait for the other to come to him about…….

But then again, he's a liar; maybe that's why when Virgil finally moved in and mentioned a box full of memorabilia from when he was growing up Kerry filed that information away for later, and… maybe that's why he's currently digging through said box while Virgil’s asleep on their bed.

He digs through sticky notes of things to remember, notes from Linux, a journal that he had the decency not to look through, and many many pictures—most of which are of Virgil and who he believes may be Linux? They have a very similar face at least. Then, at the bottom of the box, an old phone with a thin layer of dust coating it.

He lightly wipes the screen clear with his thumb, squinting at the device as he taps at its face, letting out a noise of relief as the screen comes to life; painfully bright in the dim lighting of the villa. It starts up a little slowly and there's a few too many cracks, which is to be expected with its age, but it works. There appears to be no passcode so with a few clicks, he's in.

He chuckles to himself fondly at the wallpaper—the Second Conflict album cover—V’s not been very secretive of his fanboy tendencies, especially the ones from his youth. He moves past it, scrolling through apps, clicking on a few; he finds drawings, notes, alarms, and eventually the photo app.

Welp, there’s thousands of pictures—Jesus Christ this guy takes a lot of pics! He spends ages just scrolling through his camera roll, picture after picture, minute after minute passing by. He smiles seeing just how alive and mischievous Virgil was in his younger years, chuckling at a few of them, sniffling at others; there’s something so unique about seeing someone like Virgil just truly being himself, completely unabashed. He knows it doesn’t happen that often nowadays so seeing all these pictures of Virgil, so young and free and passionate—well, it makes him a little emotional.

He moves on before he can get too sappy, scrolling until he stumbles upon a handful of quickly scrawled down lyrics and notes that can barely be considered sheet music, and immediately above those are accompanying videos. The lengths vary, and from the thumbnails of a younger Virgil glaring angrily at his guitar in his room he can tell they’re practice takes. He clicks on the first which opens with Virgil proudly stating the work-in-progress title of his work-in-progress song, he grins and looks down at the instrument, strumming a few times before setting to work. His fingers glide quickly over the strings, each note sharp and pronounced with practice, he can see the thrill Virgil gets as he progresses further through the song with little to no mistakes—then he stumbles over the bridge and the next few notes grow sloppy and the noise halts to a stop alongside Virgil’s hands. He can see even through the low quality of the video the frustration in his expression, then with a rehearsed sigh, Virgil flashes a tight smile and stops the recording.

Kerry scrolls to the next—in which the details state that it was recorded a few days later than the last—and hits play, watching again as Virgil follows the same routine as the last time; greeting the camera, strumming, and then proceeding into his song. It’s a little more put together, the notes more pronounced, and he’s clearly practiced a lot more. He can still read that familiar frustrated glint in his focused gaze, but it’s clear enough that he’s passionate in what he's playing. He gets past where he messed up the last time and the pride shows in his face, then like clockwork he stumbles over a bit and the next few notes collapse, and he ends the recording with a little more poorly contained anger.

He scrolls to the next, then the next, and then the next, each following a similar routine until eventually he gets it all the way to the end; jumping up to his feet and pumping his fists with a victorious shout. He chuckles at the familiar sight of Virgil bouncing around across the small space of his room, nearly tripping over a discarded blanket on the ground before bursting into laughter at himself, some things really don’t change it seems.

The same sequence occurs a few more times with new songs, sometimes taking longer for Virgil to properly get it down just right, but it seems he’s always had that stubborn side to him. After a little while of searching through practice recordings, he finds a few of Virgil actually on a stage! Granted, a small, run-down stage of some Heywood bar, but a stage nonetheless. Virgil doesn’t seem to mind anyhow as he stands proudly on the stage; soundchecking and glancing around him towards the other standing up there with him to be sure they’re ready before he signals them to start with the nod of his head. Grinning and chewing on his lip out of excitement, Virgil seems to struggle to let out his energy while he waits for his turn to come to play—even if they’re only a few seconds in. He taps his foot to the tempo, bobbing his head and glancing around at the audience while he fidgets restlessly with the strings. Then, it’s his turn and he comes in blazing, buzzing full of excitement and built-up energy with nowhere else to go but the strings.

He screams lyric after lyric into the mic with the widest, toothiest grin Kerry’s ever seen, it makes him laugh. The other isn’t half bad with the guitar, he can tell that much. He’s no Johnny Silverhand maybe, but Kerry ain’t deaf either, the kid’s decent at what he does. He smiles fondly at the screen, a little melancholy with nostalgia as he remembers his SAMURAI days, and Johnny.

“You snoopin’ through my shit, Ker’?” Virgil’s voice abruptly puts a stop to his train of thought, and feeling like a child caught with one hand in the cookie jar, he pauses the video and smiles innocently up at his input. “Snoopin’? Me? Nah, never. Just happened to stumble upon this beautiful piece of tech…” he offers a lopsided smirk, tilting his head and wiggling the phone in his hand slightly as Virgil takes a step forward and looks over the mess he’s made of the box in front of him.

“Right…. Just like you happened to accidentally dig through all my stuff that's coverin’ the floor?” The amusement in his voice makes itself clear, and with a quick peek up at his face, he spots a matching crooked smirk on his scarred lips, one he recognizes well. Kerry at least has the decency to offer a guilty expression when he meets Virgil’s eyes, tilting his head subtly to the other side and beginning to turn off the device in his hands. “Sorry, shouldn’t’a been snoopin’, huh?” He smiles sheepishly, looking back down at the mess he’d made until he heard the rustle of clothing shifting and glanced to his right where Virgil was now making himself comfortable; sitting criss-crossed and leaning his weight subtly against Kerry’s side as he gently took the phone from his partner’s grasp.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it Ker’, wouldn’t’a left these out where anyone could find ‘em if I was that worried ‘bout it.” His voice came out in a low rumble, still rough with lingering sleep as he tapped at the screen until it turned on again. Quickly he found where Kerry had left off, scrolling through a few until he found one in particular, holding it out between them so they both had a good view of the screen before he hit unpause.

This one was seemingly a few years after the other ones he’d watched, according to the details of the video it was filmed in 2071, Virgil would’ve been 24 at the time—well if that didn’t remind him just how fucking old he is then he doesn’t know what will. Again, the video starts relatively the same as the others but there’s something off about it that he just can’t put his finger on… Maybe it’s the lighting, or maybe the heavier bags under Virgil’s eyes, or maybe the severe lack of energy, or the slight hollow look in his eyes as he played. God, the whole vibe was just miserable, huh? The song he was playing carried a different weight than the others, less of the high-energy rock he seemed to enjoy so much and, well, a little slower and more passionate. He seemed to focus a lot more on not screwing up, and maybe this was just one of many takes, but it seemed like all the joy was just sucked out of this one; compared to the other ones he’s seen at least.

“This was from just before I left for Atlanta, y’know.” Virgil’s voice rose just slightly over the audio of the recording, both of their eyes still locked onto the screen even as Virgil’s grip on the device tightened just slightly, “I stopped playing the day after this, haven’t really touched any instruments since then—well, 'til Johnny wound up in my head.” He offered a light chuckle, letting his head rest down against the other’s shoulder and tucking himself slightly closer with a lopsided smile. The silence stretched on for a few moments as Virgil struggled to find his words until Kerry broke that silence first, “You ever... thought about playin’ again?”

He takes a moment to consider, humming to himself before shrugging with a light sigh and offering a half-smile to lighten the mood before he spoke, “Sometimes I guess, but I really don’t feel like relearnin' everything and feelin’ like an idiot.”

“We could play together, y’know.”

“Mhm…”

“I could help you figure it out again,”

“...”

“No Judgement?”

“Maybe..” The response earns a cheeky smile from Kerry who slides an arm around Virgil’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to his temple as he leans further into his side. “Could join me for gigs then, for real this time, no Johnny puppeteerin’ ya.” He jests lightly, gently poking V’s side which is quickly swatted away. “I already agreed, dickwad!” Despite his words, he can’t help the wide smile that crosses his face, “but yeah, that does sound… a little nice.”

They fall back into an easy quiet, letting Kerry scroll through Virgil’s old camera roll for a while longer; The latter occasionally mumbling little details or stories about the pictures and videos they go past, a majority of which usually involve a very young pair of siblings and an abnormal amount of chaos… but Kerry’s not one to complain about learning more of Virgil’s past. Inevitably, the soft mumblings of his partner begin to grow softer and quieter until they trail off completely. Looking over at a very tired Virgil slumped against his shoulder, a warm feeling spreads through his chest and he decides it’s probably about time to turn in for the night—they can continue looking through the box in the morning if need be… He presses another kiss to the crown of his head and mutters a soft goodnight, and even though he can feel exhaustion nagging at him behind his eyes, he’s already plotting on how he’s gonna teach Virgil to play again.

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