𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧' 𝐆𝐮𝐲 ➺ 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓎 & 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃

(43) 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵

A/N

Here's the next one! I'm sorry it took a while to update, I've been having a bit of motivation loss haha. Hope you enjoy, this is sort of a filler chapter more than anything.

Thank you for sticking with me. Good things to come!

***slightly NSFW, but not entirely***

C x

---

June, 1973

Reid uses a variety of methods when it comes to seeking out new and pure talent. One of which includes visiting recording studios of all calibres: there's always a chance of obscure and independent groups of aspiring musicians jamming in a closed off live room. John Reid, being just as young as some of these said musicians, will take as many opportunities to give them their own opportunities. This is where his charming personality helps with...

"Bollocks this!"

I looked up from my paper at the window into the live room, where Brian rested his foot up on one of the many amps, the Red Special across his thigh. He was grumbling under his breath, rushing to replace a broken string. I resumed my work, pen immediately hitting paper. My wrist was hurting, but I couldn't stop. I seemed to have a rush of inspiration and motivation that day, but it just so happened that it was the same day I promised Brian to go with him to Trident. He wanted to lay some stuff down and practice as he felt guilty about missing a recording session when we were up North.

So, what I did was take all of my uni stuff with me to the studio so I could be there and get work done. What a good girlfriend I am.

My dissertation was almost finished – I'd realised how much easier it was to write about John Reid now that I'd met him and had a chance to get his vibes first hand and in person. I knew I had at least three more paragraphs to go, but it was nothing compared to what I had already written. I just hoped it would be enough to pass the year.

Sitting next to a monitor wasn't exactly the smartest idea I'd ever had. I'll tell you that right now. Brian started strumming once he'd recovered the broken string. The full stop I was writing turned into a straight line, the sudden noise of his guitar catching me off guard.

The notes of his plucking, the velocity and the rhythm exuded angst and emotion. Since we came back from my parents' house, Brian's mood had lowered somewhat. He'd promised me it wasn't anything I'd done, as at first, I wasn't entirely sure why he was acting the way he was. Of course, being me, I'd gotten very anxious and paranoid – at one point, we almost got into an argument because I didn't believe he wasn't angry at me.

I looked up again from my work, and stared over at Brian. His face was contorted, very obviously taking out his frustrations through music, which was something I was happy he could do. Many people go through their teens and their twenties without an outlet, and they usually end up acting out. Not Brian. When he needed to exude some energy, he would almost always rely on creating music – most of the time, it resulted in a hit song. Well, it wasn't a hit publicly, but I knew it would be one day.

This time, it was obvious he was angry. Very angry. His riff was grungy, thick and heavy. It was actually pretty catchy. As much as I loved hearing him play, he was definitely about to break another string, if not more, if he carried on as angry as he did.

So, I put my pen down and made my way into the live room, trying my hardest to block out the insane sound. I knew I wouldn't be able to get his attention by calling his name, so I just held my hand out into his peripheral sight, clicking my fingers. He stopped strumming and looked up at me, his expression still as angry as it was whilst playing.