A/N: Welcome to teh new fic! :D PLEASE READ THE BELOW EXPLANATION! IT IS MUY IMPORTANTE!

Okay: Despite how people normally portray Punk!Arthur, I see him as being a real, hardcore, punk singer/songwriter. So, I will be using some pretty hard and very old music for him. This fic is VERY. HEAVILY. MUSIC. BASED. If you didn't know it was a romance from the summary and opening paragraphs (oh, and the fact that I say it is, of course), you'd probably think it's just a music fic. If you hate this type of music, I'd suggest you stop reading now. I'd like if you didn't, but it'll probably bug you a lot. To the people who love/like it, keep reading! To those who have never listened to hardcore punk, give it a try. You might be surprised.

Oh, and Internet cookies and a fill of any fic request you want to the first person to guess my movie reference in the club name. :) and the New York State city I'm living in, in the pub name.

Arthur Kirkland had never believed in love. He believed in familial love, seeing as he was quite fond of his parents, but any other types of love didn't exist in his eyes. Such notions were childish and had the potential to be downright cruel to an average person like Arthur. He was a man with nothing special to offer, and even when he found out he had a talent for singing and got thrown into the music business with his band, he still stubbornly refused to believe that he was anything special. That was probably what got him so popular in the first place. Arthur had gone from average Londoner working at a record store with a love for punk-rock to a big-shot music icon on the shiny front covers of magazines, and still believed that the world was doing him a big fat favour, and not the other way around. Yes, Arthur Kirkland had never believed in love.

But you see, this is only Arthur Kirkland we're talking about, here. Arthur was the average, 23 year-old man who believed himself to be nothing special. Arthur was a gentleman who loved a good book, a warm cup of Earl Grey tea, and some slower, alternative music playing in the background. Arthur was an over-achiever who secretly loved going to a hardcore concerts every now and again. Arthur was not the punk-y, dirty, sexy, lead singer of a popular band.

Iggy K. was the lead singer of Audiomasterminds. Iggy K. loved his leather pants and guyliner, and the flash of a camera in his face. Iggy K. loved screaming his emotions into a microphone and shredding his guitar on stage in front of millions of fans. Iggy K. liked to lose himself in his performance, get drunk, have a wild, nasty sex with a random fan (or band mate), and then wake up and do it all over again. Iggy K. wasn't some average guy who liked tea and books and slow music.

Arthur didn't believe in love. But, somewhere under all the leather and piercings, Iggy did. Iggy ended up falling for a shiny pair of sky-blue eyes and a silky mop of blond hair. Now all he has to do, is get Arthur to fall too. Then maybe, Arthur and Iggy could finally be the same person again.

Arthur's POV

It all started at The Pit.

It was 8:33pm on July 26th when I walked into my favourite New York City club through the back entrance. The real and true name of the place was "Trash", but after about six drug-related deaths on the dancefloor during the first year of establishment, it gained its rightful nickname. It wasn't shoddy, but it wasn't nice. It was a hardcore club built for hardcore fans that served hardcore drinks and booked hardcore bands. It was as simple as that.

The Pit was the first club in America that I had ever played in, and they generously gave me my first taste of Jack Daniels and the true extent of the American punk scene. Seeing as how my first performance was at a London pub called the Mohawk Place, and all it gave me was my realisation that I could sing, a wicked hangover, and my now-keyboardist's tongue down my throat, I was originally unsure of how my performance at The Pit would go. But, it went better than I had ever expected it to go, and the owner always tells me that I'm welcome to play there anytime my band is in NYC, and I get half-priced drinks.

So, it all started that night at The Pit. My band, Audiomasterminds, was pretty famous and damn successful in the hardcore scene, but we always carried our instruments in ourselves. It was tradition, in a way. So, as we snuck through the back to avoid get caught by the mob of headbangers waiting outside the club, I chanced a last glance towards our audience for the night, and was met with brilliant baby blues.

He stuck out like a sore thumb, and everyone there that night would have agreed with me had I asked them. At least, that's what I told myself when I found I had stared too long and felt my face heat up about one thousand degrees. The blue-eyed boy looked like one of those types I had always hated; impossibly fit and gorgeous, an ego as big as their muscles with brains the size of my guitar pick, and dressed like a private school dean's wet dream. And with the glares he was getting from the leather-clad crowd, everyone had been thinking the same thing I was: What is a yuppie doing at a punk show?

He might have been an impossibly handsome yuppie with his sunny blond locks, baby blues covered by intelligent wire frames, a drool-worthy and tall build, and some shapely legs from the looks of it, but he was a yuppie none-the-less. I smirked, seeing as how I knew exactly what song we were going to play after the opening number, and followed my band mates inside.

It was exactly 9:04 by the time we were all plugged in and ready to go, minus our warm-ups, and the yuppie was staring at the stage from his little table in the corner. I gave a real once-over of his attire for the first time since I'd seen him, and despite looking like a total golden boy, he was at least dressed appropriately. A pair of tight, navy jeans stuck to his legs and rode low on his hips, while a Dead Kennedy's: Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables shirt covered his bulging muscles. I could tell he was trying hard not to try hard, and I gave him a wink when I met his eyes again. Oh yeah, I knew just what song we were playing. I smirked and turned to the guys, leaving the poor guy stunned.

I decided to pose my request to the rest of the guys.

"Oi, boys." I said to the other four. "I got a suggestion for our little line-up tonight."

I got a raised eyebrow from Francis, our keyboardist and my rival, a matching pair of grins from our Danish drummer Mathias and Gilbert the bassist, and a cheery, "Ooh, what is it?" from our ditzy Spaniard of a guitarist.

"I want to play a song for the yuppie in the corner." I said with a shit-eating grin. "How's 'Terminal Preppie' sound for our second piece?" I asked. I received similar grins from the rest of the boys.

"Perfect." was all that was said. I just grinned wider.

We were all ready to go after a quick run-down of our set-list and a few warm ups. Our first song was one of my favourites, and I could feel Arthur Kirkland melt from my mind completely and Iggy take his place, as I yelled into the microphone to introduce us.

"Oi, listen, listen!" all heads swerved towards the stage, and almost every patron swarmed up towards us, ready.

"We're Audio-fucking-masterminds, and you better be ready to take this shit tonight!" screams, clapping, and stomping overwhelmed my senses.

I just grinned and yelled at Gilbert to switch my guitar for his bass. I felt a surge of excitement run from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes when I spotted the yuppie's smiling baby blues. I yelled out:

"Fucking croissant!"

Giggling at the audible groan from Francis, I started to play the bass line for our song, "Brand New Bass Guitar".

"Well I, I went to buy myself a hand gun.

Why do you think, man? To shoot down everyone.

So you better go running star.

But I spent all my money on this cracked out piece of shit called the bass guitar!"

I grinned as a lofty tone snuck into my voice and I sped up my bass playing. The boys started singing back-up for me, and I could almost feel my accent get thicker with every word I sang.

"Well here we go.

With a break down low.

Say hello baby!

We all know what you got to do.

Always just comes down to you.

We all know what you got to do, man!

Always just comes down to you.

Said, shut that door.

Spewing all over the floor.

She said 'Hello baby!'"

I took a look at the yup, and found enjoyment and amusement shining in his gorgeous skies. I just smirked and kept on singing, laughing, and slapping Gil's bass.

"Well I, I went drinking down at the bars."

I grinned and stuck my tongue out at the next line.

"I went drink driving in your Mama's car.

So you better go running star.

Cause right now I'm not really sure if I can drive for shit but fuck it.

Ahahaha!"

I laughed wildly and we all sang while I started playing again. The crowd was singing along with mimicries of my thick accent the whole time. I never stopped grinning.

"Well here we go.

With a break down low.

Said hello baby!"

I played a for a little while longer, and even added a little bit of accented scat singing slip into the ending lines. I finished, and was greeted with a crashing wave of yells and applause. I grinned into the microphone and said: "I think that's the scrappiest version of that I've ever done in my life."

The crowd laughed and demanded that we play our next song, so I threw Gil back his bass and he gave me my guitar. I snickered as I spotted the yup's eyes again, giving him another wink and clearing my throat before starting the next song.

"Our next song is called 'Terminal Preppie', and it's a short little piece for a special someone out in the crowd." everyone laughed, and blue laughed with them. Matthias drummed us in. It was gonna be a good night.

A/N: There's the beginning! Hope you'll like it. :D