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Remus had his own, unique ways to get another side’s attention. Whilst he’d watched Patton wave and shout until someone looked at him, or laughed as Roman huffs and sulks until someone asks what’s wrong — he found those methods weren’t really in his arsenal. Hell, even Janus’ preferred go to of insults and snippy comments until someone fires back aren’t really his thing. He lends himself to something a little more… spatially unaware. His talents, best suited for the up close and personal.
Quite simply, Remus had a tendency to annoy people.
A lot of the time he’ll focus these antics on his brother, but after all this time, he finds it’s not quite as fun to watch him shriek, there’s no challenge in it — not with a side as dramatic as Roman. A man who seems to scream at the top of his lungs upon even the smallest of frights. (How he completes his so-called ‘quests’ without bursting an eardrum, Remus doesn’t know.) He’s tired — bored, even — of leaving masses of spiders under Roman’s pillow and pressing his ear to the door to listen to him shriek. He’s lost all excitement that comes from stealing Roman’s clothes and parading around in them, deliberately spilling all manner of substances on them before returning them to his brother's arms with nothing more than an; “oops! Have fun cleaning those!”
Prodding Janus just gets him smacked, Virgil is frustratingly good at scurrying away before Remus even has the chance to formulate a plan, and Patton just gives him a nervous laugh and an anxious, “oh it’s alright,” to anything he does. All in all, Remus is near acherontic with boredom at the lack of attention he seems to be receiving. And he’s never been able to get anything close to a satisfying reaction out of Logan.
Well, maybe once. But that had taken forever.
It was a challenge. And Remus never was one to back down from a challenge. A challenge is fun, it’s mentally stimulating — it’s something to do, isn’t it? He isn’t often granted an opportunity to just do stuff. He has to seize it when he has the chance.
Thus began his ultimate mission, Operation: Skillfully Heighten Inner Turmoil/Help Emotions Arise Dreadfully.
Or: SHIT/HEAD for short.
It had started small — despite Remus’ desire to dive head first into the deep end and truly rip shit up, he knew that when it came to Logan, he would have to work his way there. Who knows, he may even discover that it was the little things that bugged the nerd to no end!
So, Remus began with little things. Just small, hardly noticeable annoyances. Nothing like what he used to do to Roman, or what he tried to pull with Janus. No, there were no tentacles, no blood nor guts. Instead, he waited until nightfall, and swapped Patton and Logan’s glasses. It hadn’t been that hard, he was well acquainted with the cover of darkness after all, he did his best work when the moon was high in the sky.
How was he supposed to know that Patton and Logan had the exact same prescription?
Neither of them had even noticed. Even in the event that they had the same glasses, Remus had hoped that maybe Patton kept the arms of his spectacles a little loose, or that they were somehow permanently smudged with flour or general skin grease. But no, of course not. Logan hadn’t even noticed. And Remus had checked! He had hung around, clinging to the corners in the hallways, and the back of the couch, waiting for Logan to realise, waiting for his reaction. Nothing. Remus had received nothing. Oh well, at least he had gotten to experience the thrill of sneaking around. Besides, this endeavour was hardly going to be a challenge if he succeeded first try now, was it?
On his second attempt, he took a half-step up, for him at least. It had been significantly more difficult to get his hands on Logan’s tie, but when he had managed it — well, he hadn’t really thought through what he was going to do. He had slipped into Logan’s room, once more under the cover of night, and barely paused to watch the sleeping side lest he accidentally woke him up. That being said, it was mildly amusing to see the man laying there in a sleep mask. Remus decided that if his ploy with the tie didn’t work, he’d go after the eye mask next.
But Remus had snatched the accessory swiftly from where it sat hung over the back of Logan’s desk chair, and scurried from the room as fast as he could. He had paced up and down the hallway, deciding what to do. In the end, he had decided that nothing he could do to the tie would bug Logan as much as simply… not giving it back. And thus, it made its way under Remus’ pillow. He figured that no one would have the balls to look there, if they were even courageous enough to venture into his room. As filled with oddities as it was, he had a feeling the others would be far too scared to dare look under his pillow. Especially given his tendency to let bugs fester in the living room couch cushions.
Unfortunately, the next morning, when Remus once more sought out Logan, ready to witness his irritation, he found the logical side sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a coffee, wearing a perfect replica of his usual tie.
So he owned multiple of the same clothing items. Great.
There went Remus’ plan of taking the eye mask next then.
On his third attempt to rile Logan up, Remus cast away his baby-steps. It was all moving far too slow for him, he never did have much patience. Act first, think later, and he was doing far too much plotting. He saves his plots for Thomas, the others, they get his first ideas. His first ideas are often his best ones!
This time, Remus went for the jam.
Yes, he could’ve been more sly. Sure, he could’ve left a trail of sticky residue right to his room so Logan would know the culprit. But he really wanted some entertainment. This was his reasoning for taking up residence on the kitchen counter, jam in one hand, waiting for Logan to emerge.
And wait he did, Christ, did Logan take his time.
Remus was just about ready to abandon the whole plan, jump from the countertop and simply smash the jar on the glass, leaving a pool of currants and glass in his wake — when the door opened. In sauntered Logan, eyes fixed on a clipboard he was studying rather furiously. Remus grinned where he sat and kicked his legs out, banging his heels off the cabinets below him rather spectacularly.
It’s with a jump that Logan looks up, his gaze hazy and tired looking — the perfect circumstances to get a rise out of him. “Remus,” he says slowly, eyes softening as he tilts his head to the side, examining the spectacle before him.
Silently, still beaming wickedly, Remus twists the top off the jar. He sticks out the point of his tongue, still not saying anything, and digs his fingers into the jam. Where those damn fingers have been, even he’s not sure. They have a tendency to wander away from him at times…
“Remus,” Logan says again, his voice cracking a tad. “What are you- oh, that’s repulsive,” he grimaces, walking to the other side of the kitchen to wretch the fridge open. He sighs, shaking his head a little. “Honestly, at least use a spoon.”
Not pausing from shovelling the spread into his mouth, Remus froths. “Nah, I like the flavour it adds! Extra seasoning!” He pointedly licks each of his fingers before continuing to scoop jam from the jar, being sure to splatter some on the floor as he does. He’s certain that this will be the one to get Logan, it has to be!
Alas, Logan simply closes the fridge door and slackens where he stands. The clipboard lays limp in his hand and he shakes his head disapprovingly. “That’s your jar now, I suppose,” he hums and turns on his heel, beginning to walk away. “Enjoy your lunch, Remus.”
With that, he’s gone. And all Remus is left with is disappointment, and sticky fingers.
Uncertain with what to do now, Remus resigns his fourth attempt to the most pitiful form of annoyance he can muster up. Existing in the same space as his target, and refusing to leave. Because for all his thievery and swapping and jam eating, for all the scary images and blood he can conjure, he finds that it usually ends up being the most effective method. People don’t generally enjoy being around him for extended periods of time.
Slipping down the hallway, Remus trails the sharp points of his fingernails down the wall, scratching and humming as he walks. Whilst he’s not taking his time, he’s far from rushing towards Logan. He knows all too well if he were to barrel carelessly into Logan’s space, then he’d know for sure that Remus was up to something — he at least needs to give the appearance of not having any ulterior motives. At least at first.
When he reaches Logan’s door, he doesn’t bother knocking (why would he?), just thrusts the door open and steps inside. Bad smells tend to follow him a little, a lingering stench of rot and mold that cling to the air.
“Remus,” Logan once more greets from his desk, not bothering to look up from his computer screen. He doesn’t even wave, doesn’t turn, just acknowledges Remus’ existence and continues working.
“Nerd,” Remus offers in return, slamming the door behind him, letting the wall rattle and the hinges creek. Logan doesn’t react with more than an eyebrow raise, hands working tirelessly over his keyboard. It looks as though he’s scheduling something, perhaps laying out a timeline for Thomas’ next week — and oh what Remus wouldn’t do to get his hands on an early copy of that, schedule some of his mayhem around it. Thomas doesn’t thrive on a strict routine, yet Logan never seems to learn, thinking that this time Thomas will abide by his timings. How naive. Structuring everything so rigidly only gives Remus more opportunity to break through, how Logan hasn’t realised this by now is a mystery.
Plonking himself down rather unceremoniously on the floor by Logan’s chair, Remus cranes his neck to look over the desk. He kneels, gripping the edge of the table and barely poking his eyes over the wood, reading the spreadsheet before him. He starts to hum, tunelessly and out of key, quiet at first.
Logan still says nothing, continuing to work.
Disgruntled, Remus scowls. He shakes his head, a tad wildly, and forces his usual wicked grin back onto his features, tapping his nails off the desk. It’s deliberately out of time with his humming, a cacophony of noise that grates on the ears. If this were Roman, or even Virgil, he was trying to fuck with, the idea of grating would spring the image of taking a cheese grater to his cheeks to mind — but it’s Logan, so often unaffected by gore. So it would probably be a waste of time.
Remus does it anyway. He changes his humming to a whistle, summons a cheese grater, and carelessly rubs it hard across his cheeks. Logan glances down at him and his hands come away from the computer briefly, basketing in his lap. “Are you doing okay down there?” He asks, voice flat and broadly uncaring.
“Scratching an itch,” Remus replies, wiping blood away with the back of his hand. He places the grater on the desk and settles back on his knees, turning his attention to Logan’s shoes. “What’cha workin’ on?” He asks, as innocently as he can (which isn’t very innocent at all, actually) as he makes quick work of untying Logan’s laces and knotting them together.
“I’m attempting to construct a meal plan for next week, alongside times for eating. And trying to keep space open for cleaning and video editing,” Logan kicks Remus away gently, snapping his fingers so his laces return to their previous normalcy. Undeterred, Remus simply does it again. Surely if he keeps forcing Logan to fix it, then he’ll get irritated. Surely.
“Sounds boring,” Remus blows a raspberry, already growing bored. “Meal-prep,” he rolls his eyes and rises to his feet, staring at the computer screen. “I don’t see why we can’t just order in every night. Ooh! Or cook roadkill on the side of the street!”
“Money and general hygiene,” comes Logan’s matter-of-fact response. He taps his fingers off his knees, watching Remus carefully as he begins to pace. When Remus doesn’t say anything else in return, he turns his attention back to his computer. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be continuing my work now.”
Remus hums, pupils glinting as he keeps pacing. He stomps his feet a little, letting his feet land heavier and heavier with each step, before he’s essentially galloping behind Logan.
Logan who remains… unfazed.
Doing his best not to grumble and give away the game, Remus tightens his core and sharpens his mind. What else tends to generally upset people? What else just gets on people’s nerves?
He snags a pen off the edge of Logan’s desk and starts to click it repeatedly as he paces. He tuts loudly, he whistles, he hums off key.
And eventually… it works. Kind of.
With a sigh, Logan glances down at his lap and pushes his chair out, turning to face a rampaging Remus who has since begun to ruck up Logan’s bedsheets. “Alright, Remus. Did you need something?”
“Nope!” Remus pops, sitting down on the end of Logan’s bed, bouncing to make the springs continuously creak.
“Right,” Logan nods. “Then you can continue to exist in my space, I suppose. If you need anything, please let me know. Now, I really must get this finished.”
Remus grits his teeth. It’s okay, it’s all okay. He will drag Logan away from his work and get him to shout if it kills him.
Yet try as he might, he can’t get Logan to react. When Remus plunges the room into a foggy, smokey, darkness, Logan simply reaches out and turns his lamp on. When Remus unplugs the computer at the wall, it doesn’t even switch off — fucking battery life. When Remus plucks Logan’s glasses from his face and parades around the room wearing them, Logan merely pauses to squint at him — more amused than annoyed. When Remus starts to sing at the top of his lungs, Logan only hums along with him and bobs his head to the tune. When Remus rants endlessly, on and on, Logan nods and mhm’s as though he’s genuinely listening. It’s downright insufferable.
Remus slumps to the floor in a defeated lump, bent over his knees with his forehead flat to the ground, and he lets out a wail akin to a dying humpback whale. Because as much as he adores a challenge; he prefers a challenge where he wins. Where he comes out victorious on the other side, holding his accomplishment high above his head. He wants to boast that he got Logan to crack, that he saw a glimmer of that hot orange anger within him, that he was the one to bring it out. Perhaps this would all be more effective if he just waited for Logan to put his routine in place, but it’s not fun then. It’s not a game, it’s just his job at that point. So Remus yells, because he’s failed.
Only then does Logan save his spreadsheet, and shut his computer off. “Remus? What appears to be the matter?”
“Nothing,” Remus grumbles, shifting to lay flat on the carpet. When he speaks, it’s muffled by the ground below him. He’s giving up, as sad as it is. He’ll just go throw spiders at Roman, at least then he’d get some sort of reaction, even if it’s easy. He’s ready to melt away, let his body melt into a thick, viscous sludge and seep into the carpet as his means of exit. “‘M just gonna go… Got shit to do.”
Remus misses the way Logan blinks and fixes his glasses on his face. Or Patton’s glasses. Fuck, it doesn’t even matter, they’re identical pairs. “Don’t let me keep you from your… work.” Logan tries, albeit it with a lack of certainty. Honestly, he’s yet to figure out precisely what Remus’ purpose is, but he’s sure that Remus must have one. His best hypothesis so far is that he’s there to bring hidden things to the surface, to force the rest of them to confront the truth, no matter how ugly. And to allow Thomas to actually think about more adult topics, of course.
“Waste of time. You didn’t even acknowledge I was here!” Remus whines, petulant and high. He can’t help himself, this is the most attention he’s been paid all day. He didn’t get what he wanted, sure, but maybe if he himself throws the tantrum it’ll at least cause some discomfort. “I mean- seriously! Just say you don’t want me around, or something! Gimme something here, Teach, I’m dying. I’m going to die and it’s your fault. I’m emaciated and withered, look at me!” When Remus pulls his head up, he’s contorted, pale, skin sagging and dropping.
“I don’t understand why you think these things,” Logan sighs, “I acknowledged you plenty. If you really wish to leave, you may. But don’t feel forced. You were providing some excellent background noise and entertainment, I was rather fond of it. And I find your ramblings quite interesting.” He turns his hand over in the air, and Remus goes deathly still. For a moment, Logan almost believes Remus has died and it is his fault. Until he remembers that’s ridiculous, straightens his tie, and glances down at the side on the floor.
He’s still laying on his stomach, though he’s propped up onto his elbows now. Hair falling into his face as wildly as ever, he gawks up at Logan.
“Are you feeling alright? You’ve gone all… pink.”
Remus tries to blink away the stars in his eyes, yet every attempt falls flat. In fact, it feels almost as though he’s an asteroid soaring towards Earth, ready to crash and cause another mass extinction. Or like he has swarms of moths within his lungs, preparing themselves to flood the room the moment he speaks. He finds he can’t speak, even if he could think of the words to say, as a frog sized lump rests heavy in his throat. Maybe it’s preventing the moths from escaping.
Never before has he been wanted. Never before has his presence been desired. Never has it been accepted, let alone encouraged. But here Logan sits, trying to get his work done, stating that Remus being around him isn’t bothersome. Far from it, in fact.
And Remus isn’t really sure what to do. This isn’t his realm, not his kingdom to rule over. He resides over ‘evil,’ anything dark and mysterious and taboo. Nothing that should be wanted, nothing that should be welcomed.
He shifts awkwardly on the floor, eyes darting around the room, looking everywhere but at Logan. The moths in his stomach may have been mislabelled. Because they are most certainly butterflies.
“Remus?”
“Yeah-? Yeah, uh, I’m gonna… go. I’m gonna go. I have to go mess with Roman. See you around, Logan!” The words rush out of Remus’ mouth in a flurry, his tongue tying itself into a knot.
“Okay, well, when you’ve finished with that, you’re more than welcome to return to my room. Perhaps we could even find a place in the schedule for you to brainstorm with Thomas in a more productive manner?” Logan suggests, doing his very best to prevent his amusement from showing on his face. Though it is mildly entertaining to watch Remus fluster himself.
“Yep, will do!” Remus exclaims, plotting his escape. Maybe he really should just soak into the floor, at least then he wouldn’t need to clamber embarrassingly to his feet and scamper out the door.
Logan raises an eyebrow, “and when you do, could you please return my tie?”
Remus scowls. Of course Logan knew it was him, and of course he’d noticed.
“I must admit, the attempt to swap my glasses with Patton’s was inspired though.”
“Thanks,” Remus grimaces and just barely resists the urge to stab himself repeatedly in the neck. “‘Kay, byeeeee,” he sings, taking this as his opportunity to make his escape, before his failed efforts begin to torment him too much. So just as he had intended — Remus melts into a red sludge which soaks into the carpet, before fading away as if dripping straight through the floor.
And Logan turns back to his computer with a smile, already clearing out a spot for Remus to create (limited, and more constructive) havoc within his carefully planned schedule.