Coby

[st_artandstoke]

So it was really early in the day, but there were certain revelations that warranted finding your way to the bottom of a bottle no matter what time it was. Besides, everyone else was still outside, enjoying the snow - or close enough that the bar was deserted, not even a bartender in sight. That worked perfectly well for Jag, who'd snagged a bottle of whiskey, a lowball, and was sitting sideways in one of those fucking pink booths, feet up on the seat.

He'd grabbed the glass but wasn't using it after all, drinking straight from the bottle and wondering when his eyes would stop stinging. His lungs were so full of emotion he didn't feel as if he'd breathed right since he'd seen the winged horse in the snow, and he wanted it all to go away, even for just a moment.

Comments

[st_rummer]

Coby had come in to warm up a little, and stopped by the bar with the idea of irishing up some coffee to make the warming up go that much faster. The place looked empty, but felt occupied, the way places did sometimes. As Coby tried to figure out what gave him that feeling, he heard the dull thunk of glass against wood, a bottle if he wasn't mistaken. And he didn't think he was; he'd poured himself enough drinks in quiet rooms for it to be familiar.

Somebody day drinking. Alone. When there was magic snow outside. That wasn't good.

When he saw it was Jag, Coby slid into the opposite side of the booth, mirroring his position instead of facing him directly. He took a sip of his coffee, wincing slightly at the burn to his tongue. "Not enjoying the winter wonderland?"

[st_artandstoke]

Of course it had to be Coby. Anyone but him and Sunny might have just left Jag alone. Snow might have come over but not said shit. But no, Coby. Jag wasn't sure he could say anything without crying, but he also wanted to get it out there, get it over with.

He took another drink of whiskey, three gulps before he felt up to it, staring vacantly ahead. "Did you know Emma - my Emma," his voice nearly broke on that my, "came from another world?" And then he'd started talking, and he couldn't stop until he'd explained it all, his voice as monotonous as possible. " So I reckoned this one came from another world still. I reckoned she was - different. My Em, she knew people in our world, different from in hers. But this one, she's... She's gone through everything Em has. Same point in her life when she came here." He wanted to add, She's just like her, and maybe even, She is her, but he couldn't quite, so he drank again instead.

[st_rummer]

It hadn't been a stretch, when he found Jag trying to find the bottom of a bottle, to guess it had something to do with the pretty redhead Emma who wasn't quite his pretty redhead Emma, but what Jag was talking about wouldn't have occurred to Coby at all. He hadn't even known other realities could be a thing except in science fiction, but apparently their world had more weird fucked up shit than he'd known.

"So does that mean she's from a place that's a lot like where she was from? Or is it a timey-wimey thing?" Coby was from earlier than Jag. And did that mean Curnen might be from a different world instead of just from before she went to London?

[st_artandstoke]

"I don't know, mate," Jag said, his throat tighter by the second. Shit, he'd said all that so he wouldn't have to say anymore. "I didn't fancy sticking around and playing 20,000 questions."

But she was - so much - like her. Like his Emma. It would be so much like the fucking world, too.

[st_rummer]

"No wonder you're drinking." Coby held up his hand, showing he wasn't trying to start anything. "Sorry, man. I don't know what to tell you. Back home I'd stick around, pour you in a cab at the end of the night, made sure you didn't wind up passed out in a gutter." Here, there wasn't much need for that. Make sure he didn't fall in the pool or wander out into the desert maybe. Both things Coby had done while... overly self-medicated.

On the other hand, Jag had talked to her finally, and part of Coby thought it was about time. Jag was welcome to crash as long as he liked, but there weren't enough people here to really avoid somebody.

[st_artandstoke]

"Don't think there's anything to say," Jag stated after a beat, and another drink. "Can't promise I won't end up passed out somewhere." Words failed him for a moment, but he tried anyway. "I want to..." He shook his head. "Get out of my head for a bit?"

[st_rummer]

It could've just meant getting shitfaced, and Coby wouldn't have blamed Jag a bit for that. He'd even make sure if Jag passed out, that he was somewhere safe and not going to choke on his own puke. But with their history, the way Jag phrased it made him wonder if he meant more than that.

"There's a lot of ways to do that. Got anything you can burn the shit out of nobody'll miss?"

[st_artandstoke]

Jag had been about to ask Coby if he wanted to head out to the beach, today if he was up for it, or the next day, it didn't matter. He just wanted to get out of here. London had been as sedentary as he'd got since the circus had become family, and the city was bloody huge. This was a traveler's worst nightmare, and he needed a change of scenery.

But Coby's suggestion derailed that train of thought, and he looked over at him with raised eyebrows. "This place fixes itself, doesn't it?" He looked back around the bar. "There's no shortage of ugly furniture." But his heart wasn't in it.

[st_rummer]

That got a shrug. "Just an idea. There are probably better ones." A pause, then Coby decided it might be worth saying, "Other than starting fights with people we have to live with for the foreseeable future." In his head, he heard Jag saying,
I don't do that kind of thing any more.

[st_artandstoke]

Jag scowled over at Coby, nothing muted about the expression now. "I don't do that kind've shit anymore." He looked away and took another drink, still scowling.

What was he even doing, drinking here?

"I've got to get out of here," he said, and pushed himself off of the bench. He wasn't going to pick a fight with Coby, who'd been here for him in ways Jag would never have hoped for. He didn't do that kind of shit anymore. "Which way did you say the beach was?" he asked, grabbing his old leather jacket off the next bench over.

[st_rummer]

Beach worked, and Coby definitely wasn't letting Jag wander off to get wasted on his own on the beach. He grabbed his coat too as he slid out of the booth. "I can show you. I've only flown, though, if you're planning to take a horse." It would be too far to walk, Coby was pretty sure.

[st_artandstoke]

Jag was too tired of everything to give a shit about the possibility of Coby's strength not being enough. He just didn't give a shit tonight, and going for a flight in a way that didn't involve that fucking winged horse (he loved) would be welcome. So if Coby thought he could do it, Jag was going to go for it.

That left the question he asked as he turned back towards Coby, jacket shrugged on. "You think you can carry me there?"

[st_rummer]

Jag was the one whose heart was actively breaking, so that made Coby the responsible one today. He thought he could carry Jag, but he didn't know. "We can try. If it's not going to work, we should be able to tell when I'm trying to get us off the ground." He wasn't planning on going too high, and they could test flight toward the stables in case he couldn't handle the weight. Then they'd also have snow to help cushion a fall if it did happen once they were in the air.

"Are we taking the booze?" he asked, pulling on his coat as they headed for the door. The wings could wait until they were outside.

[st_artandstoke]

"Is that really a question?" Jag asked, and headed behind the bar to grab a second bottle. This one was already more than half empty. He walked back out towards Coby. "Let me stop by the boutique and grab more cigarettes, too."

[st_rummer]

Coby nodded. More cigarettes was a good idea. This felt like that kind of drink, smoke, fuck off from everything trip. "Maybe a bag to toss it all in," he added. "Since we're flying." He'd be holding onto Jag, and from experience, he knew it was easier being carried if you could hold on too.

[st_artandstoke]

"Let's do it," Jag agreed with a nod.

[st_rummer]

Turned out Coby was strong enough to carry Jag, although by the time the beach was in sight, his arms were burning from the effort. Maybe they wouldn't fly back any time soon. He landed, making sure Jag had his feet before letting go, and then took a moment to stretch his arms.

"One empty beach, as requested."

[st_artandstoke]

Being carried by Coby had been something different. A little bit like trusting a horse to carry him without tack, except a lot more. Jag had hung on with everything he had, and done his best not to think of flying on Em's pegasus, a task made easier by how different the experience was, if only because of the enforced proximity. It brought back memories Jag usually fought off more forcefully than he did right then.

And then they landed on the beach, and Jag made sure his feet were right under him before he reached out and laid a hand on Coby's shoulder. "All right?"

It had been a long flight, long enough for Jag to sober up some, and realise what he'd asked of his friend.

[st_rummer]

"You weight more than a surfboard," Coby said, smirking, because that was the most obvious of Captain Obvious statements, "But I'm okay. Just need to move around some." He'd had his arms locked in one position for the entire flight, which was as much of the issue as the weight had been.

"How you are doing?"

[st_artandstoke]

Jag dropped his hand from Coby's shoulder, wary of stopping him from moving about as he wanted. Once upon a time he would shied away from the question, but he'd learned a lot, with Em. He'd learned not to run away all the time, from himself, from the ones closest to him, from the questions posed to him. Coby's question certainly ticked two of those boxes.

"Better," he said, honestly. "Like I can breathe better."

His heart still felt shattered, but he didn't feel stifled anymore, at least. He did turn away then, pulling one of the backpack's straps from his shoulder, so it only hung off of his other one, and he took a few steps away, then dropped the backpack and bent over to pull off his shoes and socks.

[st_rummer]

"Breathing's good." One of the good things about the beach, you could breathe. Or at least Coby always could. Sun, rhythm of the surf, and here as much space as they could need. He wondered, the thought rising up and floating away just as easily, if this is what fire felt like to Jag.

He willed his wings away and rolled his shoulders to try and break up the tension some, then followed Jag's example of getting out of his shoes and socks.

[st_artandstoke]

Jag rolled up the bottoms of his corduroy trousers and headed into the sea. He wasn't going far, just wanted the sensation of cool water licking at his feet as he smoked a cigarette. It was a sensation of other, of being elsewhere, and it was a balm on his soul, temporary though it was. The set of his shoulders relaxed slightly as his feet planted themselves in the wet sand, wavelets rushing at his bare ankles.

[st_rummer]

It was maybe a minute or so later when Coby came up beside him, pulling a cigarette from the pack he'd had with him. "Give me a light?"

[st_artandstoke]

Jag leaned sideways against Coby before he thought better of it, just because he needed, welcomed, a steady body to lean against. He looked at Coby's cigarette to light the tip, waiting until Coby had taken a drag to let go of the cherry. He took another drag off his own cigarette, then stopped resisting the urge as he turned into Coby, wrapped his free arm around his waist, and leaned his face against his shoulder, tears flowing freely after a moment.

He wanted to tell Coby how grateful he was for him, for everything, but he couldn't say anything just yet. For now, he could only cry, and letting himself do so felt like such a relief, a liberty he had won from his own self.

[st_rummer]

In some ways, Coby had been waiting for this since the night he'd looked out at the bar while singing and he'd seen Jag there. Well, maybe not quite then. But that night, after finding out there was an Em here who didn't know Jag, and they'd been put in the same room.

He didn't say anything yet. Just wrapped his arms around Jag to hold him, careful to keep the cigarette away, and let him get out all the tears he'd been holding back. So much change since they'd first gotten to know each other, especially in Jag, and Coby felt like that was a good thing. He didn't know how much of that was thanks to the girlfriend Coby had never met, but he had to hope being here wouldn't change that too much.

[st_artandstoke]

Part of Jag kept insisting that he should stop, that he was showing weakness, that he was imposing. But Coby's arms felt so good around him, and crying felt like such a release of so many emotions pent up inside him, that he couldn't quite convince himself to stop, to move away. He hugged Coby a little tighter, and let himself ride out the flow of tears until they were gone.

Slowly, gradually gone.

He sniffled, but didn't pull away just yet, not sure he could look Coby in the eye. "Thank you," he said quietly, instead.

[st_rummer]

"Yeah." What Coby meant was anytime and that's what friends do. You couldn't hold that shit in forever. It was going to find some way out. For Coby, too often that had been in ways that fucked things up worse.

"Better?"

[st_artandstoke]

Better? It should have been an easy question to answer, and Jag had managed to, minutes earlier. But now everything felt so raw, and he felt like retreating into himself again. Were things better? He didn't know, not when everything inside his lungs felt so unsettled. "Yeah, sure," he said, although he didn't mean it, and he pulled away, wiping his free hand over his face.

The cherry was only still alive on his cigarette because he hadn't let it die, but there was nothing left to smoke there. Usually he would have pocketed the butt to throw away later, but he was in the kind of mood to throw it into the sea, and finger another cigarette out of his pack to light up immediately.

[st_rummer]

When Jag pulled away, Coby let him, still at kind of a loss how to help. He felt like Jag had needed that sort of deep, long cry, but what else left him stumped. He wanted to help, though, if he could.

"I'd ask if you want to talk about it, but the answer's usually fuck no, and we came out here to get away from everything, so if you want me to just shut up and leave it alone, I can."

[st_artandstoke]

Jag held the smoke in his lungs for a few moments, then let it out on a long, deep, intensely frustrated sigh. "I don't know. I don't know what I want. Or..." What he needed. Anything. He shook his head, then turned back to Coby, although holding his gaze was difficult. "But you've done more for me than I'd ever have asked. I'm shite at saying thank you, but... thank you."

[st_rummer]

The nod was mostly an I'm listening; there wasn't much really to say. "I haven't done much. Let you crash at my place, and try to not be an asshole. You'd do the same. But if it helps to hear it, you're welcome."

After a moment, Coby went and sat down on the sand, forearms resting on his knees as he looked out over the Pacific. "Sometimes getting away is the best thing you can do."

[st_artandstoke]

Jag finished his cigarette in silence, letting Coby's words settle with him. He needed a moment with them, and the truth they found in him. This time he did pocket the cigarette butt when he was done smoking it, and he walked back from the surf to come and join Coby, sitting right beside him, close enough for their legs to touch.

They'd ended up spending the night in the same bed enough that touch with Coby wasn't as loaded as it used to be. It was a thing of comfort, now, and welcome.

"I wish I could just - go. Travel. If I'm going to be cut off from her, from everyone else. I wish I could travel."

He'd adapted remarkably well to sedentary life in London, but this was something else altogether. Every day was the same here, and every day he saw the same faces, the same handful of buildings, the same landscape.

Besides, in London he'd always known that he could get back to the road if he wanted.

[st_rummer]

Coby leaned slightly against Jag, a brush of pressure, letting him know the touch was welcome. "Worlds open up sometimes." There'd been one not long after Coby showed up. But those occasional portals probably wouldn't be enough for a Roma like Jag.

"I know it's not the same as being able to take off when you want, or just go wherever. But maybe there will be somewhere new soon."

[st_artandstoke]

"We'll still be trapped here," Jag said, after a beat. He hated it, and his voice sounded a little tight for it, with that emotion stuck in his throat. "It'll be something, but..." They were trapped. Captive. They could do whatever they liked at the hotel, but it was still only the illusion of freedom, and Jag couldn't forget that. His blood might not be Roma, but his soul was, at this stage.

[st_rummer]

"Yeah. But." Like dogs on a leash, they could go out, but too far and they got yanked right back. And it wasn't like there was much out there to see. A mountain to climb. The beach if they came this way. Butterflies for another few months, if Coby remembered right. No other people or civilization. Nothing to do.

What Coby needed most, music, he carried with him, and it made life at the inn a little more bearable. All you can drink and a recreational supply of weed didn't hurt either. And he had friends, in or out of his bed.

[st_artandstoke]

There was alcohol in the backpack Jag had abandoned just a few feet away. Or he could light another cigarette. His earlier buzz felt all but gone - it probably wasn't, not with how much he'd drunk, but he didn't feel it anymore. He just felt tired, sad, his heart aching with a despair he didn't know what to do with.

But somehow, coming out here had short-circuited his plans to drink himself into oblivion. Now he didn't feel like reaching back for the bag. Instead he leaned sideways into Coby, more thankful than he could actually, properly say for the steadiness of his presence, both as a friend and in this very physical manner. And he created a small ball of fire, cradling it between his hands before splitting it up into licks of flames, winding round and between his fingers. It was something to do, and something to feel, something to keep both his mind and his heart busy.

[st_rummer]

If he thought about it, it was strange, Coby being the steadying one, but he was doing a lot of that since he'd been brought here. Which was probably why he didn't think about it very often. Easier to simply be, than analyze it.

He watched the flames flowing around Jag's hands, felt the warm weight of his friend along his side, and shifted enough to rub slow arcs across Jag's back. "Now's usually when I wish I'd brought my guitar."

[st_artandstoke]

"Sorry," Jag said, sympathy rather than apology. He didn't move, still leaning his head on Coby's shoulder, trying not to think of how the proximity of his voice made part of him want to kiss him, all the more so for the strokes on his back. He didn't know if it was more unhealthy behaviour, or something else. "We can sing?" he offered instead, flames still winding round his fingers.

[st_rummer]

Something Curnen had said filtered up through memory, about how in modern societies almost nobody sang. Even when he hadn't had paying work, Coby'd had other musicians around him. Here it seemed like it was mostly just him and Curnen. He couldn't exactly say the offer was a surprise, but it was one he appreciated more than Jag maybe knew.

"Yeah? Got any good songs?" Most of Coby's, when he thought about it, were about love or heartbreak in one way or another. Maybe not the best choice for the two of them tonight.

[st_artandstoke]

"I should warn you I'm a shite singer," Jag said instead of answering his question, reluctant to move but lifting his head anyway. He didn't lean away from Coby, though, but just stayed there against his side, his gaze on the flames he was playing with.

[st_rummer]

"Maybe, but you're providing the campfire," which was half the reason Coby had started wanting his guitar. Beach, fire, friends, music, it was kind of a thing. And easy to fall back on when he didn't really know what to do.

[st_artandstoke]

"I can do that," Jag confirmed, using his other hand to get a bigger fire going in front of them. He hadn't thought about the fact that Coby might be cold, but he did now, and looked away from the flame to catch his gaze. "You're not cold, are you?" Sometimes he had a bit of a tenuous grasp on what was considered chilly weather. "I can put up more fires if you need."

[st_rummer]

"Nah, man. I'm all right. For now anyway." It would get colder if they stayed here for awhile, but they had jackets and body heat to go along with Jag's fire, and Coby's wings could be warm if he let them out again.

"Fire's about more than just heat, right?"

[st_artandstoke]

Jag nodded, then looked back at the campfire. "Fire's about more than I could put into words." Granted, he wasn't very good with words, but still. He wasn't sure anyone could pull it off. Fire was more than words could say.

[st_rummer]

Like music. "Yeah," the agreement as much a breath as a word. With fire on his mind and Jag's flames flickering in front of them, Coby didn't think much of it as he started to hum We Didn't Start the Fire. It just sort of happened.

[st_artandstoke]

Jag was happy to just listen to him, fishing another cigarette out of his pack and lighting it. The alcohol was still too far to bother with, with the fire in front of them and Coby's solidity to lean against. His eyes still felt puffy from his earlier cry, but at least he was doing a good job of not thinking much right then, simply being in the moment.

[st_rummer]

Just being was good, in Coby's opinion. Humming one song led to singing another, watching the fire and listening to the surf. Coming out here had been good. They could breathe.