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]

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.