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_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.