st_rummer | for Jag - valentine's day

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for Jag - valentine's day

Coby hadn't given much thought to Valentine's day other than knowing it was coming up – hard to miss when Caroline had exploded hearts and gold cherubs over every available surface – until he'd had to explain the holiday to Kash and his friend. It wasn't as though any of the people he was sleeping with would expect anything of him. As far as he knew, some of them weren't from worlds where Valentine's day was a thing, and even the ones who were knew he wasn't the exclusive type. He'd rather show them how he felt when he was with them anyway, because he felt it, not because some calendar told him too.

Valentine's day was just a day.

When that day came, though, being caught between happy couples happily coupling, unhappy singles who couldn't look forward to half-price chocolate, and fat foil babies with wings that felt creepier than the description, it all felt like a terrible way to spend the day. He'd gone down long enough to throw together things to eat, because he wasn't sad sack moping, but he didn't stick around. At least he'd been here long enough he'd learned to ignore the Valentine's pink of his hearts and romance room. It was as good a place as any to work on this song that was refusing to come together the way he knew it could. He sat at his keyboard, trying the melody over and over with slight tweaks, leaning over to make notes on a, yes pink, notepad he'd picked up at the gift shop, then sticking the pencil behind his ear to try another variation.

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Coby walked out the balcony, face lifted toward the sky. Not meaning away from Jag, but needing to move, maybe feel there was more than wall-to-wall explosion of pink.

"I don't know. Sometimes things get turned upside down and inside out. When I'm in the middle of it, there's no way to see how fucked up choices are or who I'm hurting. Or how I'm hurting myself."

It felt like it was 'away from Jag', and it felt horrible in its own right, like Jag had fucked up the right way to react, and now Coby was pulling away. He shrank a little in his seat, watching Coby with muted eyes. It didn't help that what Coby was saying sounded, so much, like that fucking curse he'd been under.

There wasn't really anything to say to it, so he looked down at his hands in his lap, one of them holding the glass, his thumb playing with the rings on his other hand, he now realised. He stopped fiddling, and looked up and over at Coby. "I'm sorry."

For whatever he'd done, or failed to do, and for Coby have to go through this at all, never mind over and over again, by the sound of it. Never mind wishing his Emma was here. If his angel could help Coby, then Jag wished Anael was here, because no one should have to go through that shit.

It was easier breathing with the night sky above him, and Coby turned, leaning ass against the railing so he faced Jag again. "It is what it is. And I don't know, maybe I'm past the worst of it, teenage hormones and bad life choices making it worse than it has to be.

"For now, it's all good. As long as I remember that can change, I'm going to enjoy it while I've got it. And make my apologies for when I don't."

"I don't think it's anything you ought to apologise for," Jag said, but very tentatively. He also felt as if he could never apologise enough for what he had done when cursed. But it was different - Jag remembered everything. And it all still felt like him, like things he might have done, might still do if he wasn't careful. Of course it was different.

He scratched at his bearded jaw, then dropped his hand. "But I hope so. That the worst is behind you, I mean."

Coby's shoulders rolled, aware of how the weight would settle if his wings were out, deciding not to manifest them now. "There's a difference between when I ought to apologize and when I need to. When I feel the need to, I mean." Then there were the things that deserved an apology, whether it was his fault or not.

"...yeah," Jag agreed in a sigh, something very much like relief at hearing someone put into words something that felt so right, but he'd never known to articulate. Something he'd struggled with so much. "That's true enough."

But this wasn't about him, and he didn't want to make it about him. He took a large drink from his glass, then looked back at Coby. "Is it because of - what you were?"

"Probably?" Fuck if he knew for sure. "What I was, who I've been."

He ran his hand through his hair again. "Not like there's anything in the DSM to explain what I am. Even Anael's never met anybody else me." There were the ones who Fell. And peris, who'd retired. Coby wasn't really either of those.

"But it fits. My head's not big enough for everything I shouldn't know. Most of the time, I don't know any of it. But maybe... I don't know, sometimes stuff bleeds through."

Jag had no idea what the DSM was, but it didn't matter enough to ask. He really wanted to go over and hug Coby, but Coby had put distance between them for a reason, and so he stayed in place, rubbing the palm of his free hand over his thigh. "I'm sorry," he said again, sympathy, not apology.

God might have given Coby a gift, but it was a cruel one, he reckoned.

"Yeah." With a brief shudder, Coby shook off the things he couldn't do anything about it. No use dwelling on what might happen. Better to just take it as it came.

He pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket, took one for himself, then held the pack out toward Jag. "Want one?"

Jag frowned briefly as he looked around the room, trying to remember where he'd put his. But in the end, he stood and joined Coby on the balcony. "Cheers," he thanked him as he took the cigarette, stuck it between his lips, and lit both it and Coby's with a little flourish of one hand. He settled beside him, shoulder to shoulder, nothing more, so Coby could easily move away if he wanted.

And he forced himself to move on from the conversation they'd been having.

"So you've never really celebrated Valentine's Day either?" he asked, raising eyebrows as he looked at Coby.

Coby upchinned his thanks for the light and leaned into where their shoulders touched, appreciating the closeness. "Sometimes. I mean, I dated some girls who'd couch me if I got Valentine's dad wrong. Or I've gone out with a friend when we weren't exclusive, but didn't want to be alone when it felt like everybody was being all coupley. But a lot of times, I worked. It's a good night for somebody who's mostly got love songs."

"Oh, you must've made a killing in pubs," Jag agreed as the thought hit. He was glad to feel Coby leaning against him, and breathed a little easier for it.

"I didn't do too bad." Coby would've been a musician if he didn't make a cent off it, but that didn't mean he wasn't glad he made enough for the things he needed. "And it was good usually, watching a bunch of people all being in love."

This year, here at the inn, he wasn't sure he could stomach it. It made him think of how much Anael would enjoy it, and made missing his angel harder than it already was.

Jag didn't miss that 'usually', or the fact Coby hadn't been planning on spending tonight at the bar, either. He shifted on his feet, leaning a little more squarely against Coby, as he took another drag off his cigarette, focusing for a moment on the low buzz he owed to the cake. He wouldn't ask about tonight; they'd already had one hard conversation, and that was one more than he'd planned on having. Unless, of course, Coby wanted to have one, but that would be up to him.

"Well, if you want to play tonight, I'm not going to complain," he ended up saying, looking at Coby by his side, a small smile on his lips. It was a simple offer. Either way, as Coby would say, it was all good.

Coby glanced over at Jag, a similar smile appearing for how easy it was with him. They finished their smokes, not needing to fill the space with words. And after, he went back in, leaving the door open onto the balcony, the night air cooling but not chilled yet. He played for awhile, just him and his guitar, old favorites blending from one to another. "Hey. Got any more of that cake?"

Jag had elected for sitting on the floor, by the balcony, and eventually ended up lying on his back, playing with fire as Coby played. It was a callback to his days with Victor, and also nothing like it at all. No one was using anyone here, and he was just relaxed in the moment, helped along by the lowkey buzz of the Flame Hands and Coby's voice as he sang.

The question had him kill his flames, and look over at Coby with raised eyebrows. Then he sat up, and stretched out towards the box of cakes, then moved over to Coby on his knees (there was no point standing up) to get it to him. "There's still quite a few," he said, and plopped his arse down again. (No point standing up. Really.)

By this point, you had to call Coby in the armchair a sprawl more than anything else, and he had to sit up some, setting the guitar off to the side, to take the box and choose a bite of the dark chocolaty one Jag had liked. his other hand smoothed over Jag's hair. Not consciously, but because it felt natural, contact and touch they both loved.

Jag inhaled happily as Coby's hand stroked through his hair - and smiled as he saw which cake he chose. "Like it?" he asked, leaning his shoulder against Coby's knee.

Coby mmmed around the taste of chocolate and cinnamon in his mouth. He could see why Jag liked it, the weed an excellent bonus. "You were right. Pike's a baking genius." His hand continued to run along Jag's hair, enjoying his buzz and imagining he could feel the bump from what he'd just eaten, when he knew that would take awhile to kick in.

Jag smiled lazily and rested his head on Coby's thigh, playing with a lick of flame, winding it around his fingers. "It's called Flame Hands, that one is."

Coby watched the play of flame around Jag's hand, distracted a long moment from remembering he wanted to answer. "No wonder it's your favorite." Chocolate and cinnamon were good reasons too, but come on, Flame Hands, what could be more appropriate?

"Hey, it's delicious, too," Jag protested, but lazily. He was watching the flame, too, as it wound its way around and between his fingers.

"There's something..." He killed the flame, frowning slightly, and looked up at Coby. "I think I need to talk to you about something. But this might be the worst moment. And it's a downer."

It probably was the worst moment, or maybe it was the best? Jag really wasn't sure.

His mom would say all timing is right timing, and Coby could hear her saying it. He didn't always believe it, but right now, if Jag needed to talk...

"You listened to me missing Anael and talking about my high-speed crazy train. I think we can survive a not-fun thing you need to talk about." He wouldn't go so far as to say Jag could always talk to him, for the previously discussed not always being himself. But he tried to be somebody Jag could talk to.

"What's up?"

Edited 2018-02-28 19:53 (UTC)

It was one thing to say, hey, I want to tell you about this thing and quite another to actually do it, actually talk about it, and Jag's gaze dropped again as he straightened up from leaning against Coby's knee, a small frown on his brow.

"It's..." He licked his lips, forced himself to look up from his hands, not to create more fire, he needed to do this, not be distracted. He met Coby's gaze, his own eyes full of not quite muted emotions. "About that night. When we got into those fights, and... About what was going on with me."

The way Jag was acting, whatever it was, it was something serious. Coby sat up better, giving him his attention. He didn't have to ask which night. Some of it was a blur – they had had a lot to drink before they went back to Coby's and added weed to the mix – but the highlights, those he remembered.

"I got the idea you were going through a rough time." With Val, if Coby had to guess, but Jag needed to tell the story his way. Coby just wanted to show he knew the night and give Jag an opening to share.

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