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.

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[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.