Logan breathed heavily, staring at the light dent he’d made. The morningstar felt heavy in his hands, the spikes dragging on the wooden floor. Remus surely wouldn’t mind, the creative side had never really cared about keeping things intact and clean.
The multitudes of scratches in the metal danced across his vision. His arms felt tired, almost weak, from the pointless labor he’d been doing.
He went at it again, letting heavy swing after heavy swing hit the metal, the sound ricocheting off of the walls. Remus had suggested this as a way to get his anger out (also suggesting that he imagine the faces of the light sides as he did it, which he had rejected but maybe done a little of it anyway) and it had so far seemed to be working. The activity would serve as exercise and stress relief.
Because, God, had the light sides caused him a lot of stress.
He let a particularly hard blow ring out for a minute, letting the spikes screech as they scraped across the surface while he pulled it back. He kept going, harder, harder each time. He wanted to pummel each and every one of them for their stupid feelings, and their stupid ignorance, and their stupid, stupid words-
“Hey, let’s take a five minute break.”
Remus took the morningstar from him, and he only then realized how sore and painful his hands felt. The creative side took his hand gently, leading him to sit down on the foot of the bed.
“You okay? Was that helping?”
Logan stared at his work, his hands trembling. He looked down at them, frustrated when he couldn’t get them to be still. His breath was shaky. He wasn’t sure if it was in fear, in sadness, or anger. He didn’t… couldn’t understand emotions well enough to know.
“I… no. I wanna stop.”
“Okay.”
Remus laced his fingers in Logan’s, letting him lean against the creative side. He took a deep breath, feeling tears prick at his eyes. He wanted to hide them in Remus’s chest, or not hide them at all and let himself be vulnerable. But still, he shut his eyes tight and held back.
“Do they really care so little that I have to get my anger out on a piece of metal with someone I’m supposed to hate? And now I feel- I feel-”
“It’s okay if you don’t know.”
“I feel… weak.”
He sighed, shifting closer to Remus’s warmth as the creative side set his arm around his waist. He squeezed a little, the pressure comforting.
“If the metal wasn’t helping, what do you think would?”
“Just… stay with me.”
He relaxed into Remus’s touch, head pressed against his chest.
