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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"You weren't cheating on anyone," Jag answered immediately, and licked his lips. They felt like they were buzzing, but in a wrong way. He shook his head, then met Coby's gaze again, never mind that his eyes were shining a little too hard, with the sheen of threatening tears. For the first time since the beginning of their conversation he wished they were on the same level.

"It's not - picking fights, that was just - the wrong way of getting what I wanted." Just like the way they'd fucked. The wrong way, nothing safe or sane about it. He knew better now. He had known better, but now he was doing better. He had been doing better. But... "But I betrayed Val. What we had. That wasn't on you."

Part of him wanted to ask what the fuck Val had been doing while Jag was cursed. Especially when he'd broken the curse eventually. But Coby was friends with Jag; he didn't know Val at all. Instead he stretched to reach the rum to top off their drinks.

"I don't know, man. I don't think you can hold yourself to the same standards when you're cursed. I mean, would you have cheated on him if you hadn't been? You never fucked around before you were cursed, right?"

"That's not..." Jag trailed off, and shook his head again, looking down at the glass Coby had just topped off for him, before bringing it to his lap. "I just meant, you oughtn't feel sorry, be sorry." He took a healthy sip from his glass, then went back to watching it as he turned it between his hands.

"Carrying that kind of guilt's gonna drive you nuts, dude." Coby could kind of understand it. He'd been all kinds of an ass sometimes. But the stuff you couldn't fix, you had to let go of.

Jag and Val had broken things off, so it wasn't like having cheated on him then would change that now. "You're doing better now. You're being better now. And the past has," he shrugged, "passed."

"Yeah," Jag agreed, a little distractedly. He glanced back up at Coby, just for a moment, but repeated it with more feeling," Yes. Sorry. I've been - meaning to tell you about it, but..."

He trailed off, and took a drink, the back of his eyes prickling. He ignored that, and tried to figure out how to finish that sentence, what came after that but. Tried, and failed, unable to quite get there, find words he was ready to say.

"But nothing. You've told me now, and if you think any of it's going to change what I think about you... dude, you're just wrong on that." Coby could kind of get feeling the need to apologize, but Jag had done that now, and he was missing what problem there was still, other than Jag beating himself up over things he couldn't do anything about, then or now.

"Would we have hooked up if I'd known you were cheating on your boyfriend? That would've been up to you. It's not like I feel used or lied to or anything. As far as I'm concerned, we're good."

That wasn't quite why Jag felt he ought to have told Coby about it sooner, but he couldn't put it into words. "Cheers," he muttered, then pushed up to his feet, a little unsteady for just a second. But he regained his balance, and stepped out onto the balcony to light up. He couldn't have remained on the floor beside Coby anymore, and he wasn't sure why.

Coby blinked slowly at Jag's back as he wandered out onto the balcony, and after a moment, pushed up out of the chair to follow. He could do with a cigarette. And some air, cool enough to clear his head slightly, but mostly to feel good on his skin. He lit up as he passed through the open door, sliding his lighter back into the pack before thinking maybe Jag could've done it without. Habit. And not wanting to treat his friend like a butane dispenser. He leaned against the railing, looking out into the night. "Happy fucking Valentine's day?" he asked after a quiet moment.

Jag chuckled silently, dryly, at the words, looking out across the hotel grounds, hands on the railing, one of them raising the cigarette to his lips now and then. "Yeah. Sorry. I didn't mean to drag you into my shite again tonight." He really should stop doing that.

"You also dragged me out of mine." Coby was good. Would've been better if he knew how to drag Jag out of the shit he had a hard time letting go of, but good.

Jag turned his head towards Coby to watch his face, try and figure out how true that was. Then he nodded, "Good," and took another drag off his cigarette.

That had been the plan, after all. So he hadn't completely fucked this up.

Coby slung an arm over Jag's shoulder and leaned into him. "Yeah. We are."

Jag looked back at Coby in surprise, because he somehow hadn't expected the touch. But then the next second, he'd blown the smoke out to the side and leaned into his friend, much too appreciative of it. He still felt like his skin wasn't quite right on himself - he had for a while now, to be fair, but tonight was worse - and he knew just what he needed, but couldn't quite bring himself to ask if Coby would even consider it. Not with everything that had happened between them, before, and not with how much Coby had already done for him. "Thank you," he told him quietly, a riot of muted emotions in his eyes.

Coby hadn't done anything Jag wouldn't do for him, the way he saw it.

"Finish your smoke," he said, taking another drag of his. "'Cause if we don't fall into bed soon, I'm likely to sleep out here."

Jag exhaled, settling more easily against Coby at his words. If they were falling in bed together, they really were good. It might seem silly, but words were just words. Curling up with Coby, that would make it real.

"Yeah," he agreed, and looked away to take another drag from his cigarette, focusing on the brightness of the cherry as he inhaled.

With all the heavy talking they had done, the quiet now didn't feel hollow or oppressive like silence could. It was good – open air, buzz of Pike's fun bakes running through him, Jag's warmth along his side. He could stay like this.

When he'd taken his last pull on the cigarette, he straightened, his hand running along Jag's back, keeping the contact while he could because it felt good. He stubbed out his cigarette, tossing the butt with the others in the Madonna Inn official ashtray he kept out here. "You good?"

"Yeah," Jag confirmed, his cigarette butt already dead in his hand, before it joined Coby's in the ashtray. "You?" He felt better, for that moment spent just leaning against Coby, and now he moved away from him reluctantly, back into the room, to pull his boots off one by one.

"Yeah," Coby nodded, following Jag in and shutting the door behind them. He hadn't bothered with shoes, hanging out in his room, and he started getting ready for bed by tugging button down and t-shirt off over his head at once.

Jag did short work of stripping down to his t-shirt and boxer briefs, ignoring the awkwardness that tried to push in on him as he climbed into bed. Brushing his teeth could, would wait until morning. His gaze was drawn to Coby, and once the lights were out, he held up a small flame in the centre of his palm for Coby to find his way to the bed, rather than go and turn on the bedside lamp. Fire felt better, anyway.

A passing thought that Jag could add nightlight to his resumé made Coby chuckle as he slid into bed. He lay down with a "C'mere, firebug," reaching for Jag as his other hand groped for the sheet to pull up over them.

Jag extinguished the flame in his closed fist, even as he turned into Coby. They had done this far too many times by now for it to feel awkward at all, and he found his usual spot against Coby's side, head resting on his shoulder, an arm slung over his stomach. The contact made things better, but Jag still didn't manage to relax fully, after the talk they had had, and with the thought looming, how he should give his room back to Coby, how he'd been here too long already.

Coby could feel the tension lingering. Not as bad as sometimes, but more than you'd expect between the rum and the magic brownies. But they had talked about a lot of heavy shit. He let out a slow breath, head tuck against Jag's, arm around him rubbing gently over his back where he could reach. "Let it go," he murmured, sleep tugging at him and muffling his words. "C'n worry t'morrow."

The rub of his hand did nothing to help Jag settle down, but he did cuddle in a little closer. "Yeah," he agreed, choosing the coward's way out. Coby sounded sleepy, and Jag didn't want to keep him from his sleep. He'd been enough of an imposition.

If Coby had known the direction of Jag's thoughts, he probably would have smacked him in the back of the head, fondly, not so it would hurt because that was a whole different thing between them, and not one they should approach again without talking first. But he didn't know, other than trickle of unease he wasn't sure about. "'Night, Jag."

"'Night, Cobe," Jag answered quietly, and forced himself to relax, at least physically.

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