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There's half a bottle of whiskey sitting on the counter in Crossroads and Joel is sitting just behind it, staring at it thoughtfully, wondering if he'll ever be able to drink it again or even just the smell of whiskey will remind him of Spencer for the rest of his life. He doesn't need to drink it, there had been enough beer in his fridge to get him sufficiently drunk, especially when combined with the painkillers the doctor had given him for his wrist, but he wants to drink it.

He wants to share it with Spencer. That was the plan. He likes whiskey, but he'd only bought it because Spencer likes it, too, and while they'd had some of it together already, the plan was to finish it with him. Because Joel had plans. He'd been stupid enough to make plans all the while knowing it could never last because he's done bad things and he's hurt people and there are reasons he's tried so hard to keep his distance. Good reasons. But he'd been stupid and he'd listened to the part of him that thought it was okay to move on. The part of him that felt weightless every time Spencer smiled in his direction. The part that thought asking him out on a date was going to end well.

And it hadn't. It hadn't ended well at all. Joel isn't prone to exaggeration, but he thinks calling last night a complete disaster isn't far off. Mark had come and he'd taken Spencer and he'd hurt him. Joel knows it could have been worse; he knows they both could have died in that lighthouse, but that doesn't make the things that had been done to Spencer any easier to stomach. Especially not when he knows it's his fault. If they hadn't gotten close, if he hadn't let himself get so... so carried away, then Spencer never would have become a target.

Now he doesn't even think it matters. He can't imagine that Spencer will want anything to do with him anymore and that's why he's sitting in his closed, dark store instead of somewhere with Spencer. He should have stayed at the hospital, he shouldn't have been such a coward, but he doesn't think he can face hearing Spencer tell him he doesn't want him around anymore. So he's here. And he's drunk. And he's swaying back and forth on his stool behind the counter, wondering if there's enough whiskey left in the bottle to get him so drunk that he blacks out for a week or two.

He doesn't want to be here. He wants to go back and erase Friday night and do it all over again. He wants to be wherever Spencer is. That's the only thing he wants and he wants it so badly that his chest aches with it, but he can't have it.

"Fuck it," he mutters, his words already slurred, then uncaps the bottle of whiskey and takes a long swallow. Black out drunk sounds better than any of his other options right about now.

[Timed to Saturday late afternoon/evening. While the store is technically closed, he'll open the door for anyone who knocks or rings the bell. Given the violence of the attack on Spencer, the news has probably gotten around, so feel free to come bang on his door and assume your pup has heard. Joel himself has a black eye, a bruised jaw and a sprained wrist.]

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"So I can lie awake and think about how awful it was?" Joel asks with a dry huff of laughter. "No, thank you. Why do you think I've been drinking so heavily?" Hopefully he'll just black out eventually and his sleep will be the dreamless sleep of the horribly, dangerously drunk.

"Okay so I know you were on a date and stuff and don't take this the wrong way because it's the only thing I can offer now I can't sing or tell a story but .." He raises a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "I can massage the kinks out of you to put you in a sorta sleep? A what do you call it, doze? I got it from some yoga man, because my mother could never sleep ..just saying."

Joel's never been especially comfortable touching people in general. Even now, after knowing her for years, he still stiffens sometimes when Cosette hugs him and he's working on it, he is, but he only grins wryly and shakes his head. "No, I want to stay awake. Or... I don't know. Why can't you sing or tell a story?"

"Why would you want to stay awake? New chances tomorrow."

He wipes his face, looks away. "Shit happened and now there's this gaping hole under my ribs, keeping my cat, my music and my stories away. It's too silent and too boring and I'll of-" maybe not the best subject - "You sure you don't want to try?"

"I'm even less good with being touched than I am with compliments," Joel says with a dry huff of laughter he doesn't really feel. It's the truth, though. Cosette touches him from time to time and Lara does now and then, but over the past seven years, the only person he's really touched for longer than a moment is Spencer. "I'm all fucked up in here," he says, lifting his hand and pointing two fingers at his temple.

"You're not the only one. It's always the temples that gather all the troubles and troubled ones, just like Jesus back in the day."
He shakes his head. "Don't look at me, not religious. Just a way to remember the most important part of the weight-carrying body. It's fine, forget about it."

Joel smiles a little -- he's certainly not a religious man either -- then gestures to the bottle of whiskey. "Do you want a drink?" he asks. "There are glasses around here somewhere." He's just been drinking straight from the bottle, but he doesn't expect everyone to do the same.

"Are you sure? I get pretty touchy feely if I manage to get drunk." He gestures at the bottle. "If I still can do both of those things."

"I think you're probably pretty touchy feely when you're sober," Joel says with a sound that's almost a laugh. He doesn't know Bach all that well, but he's enjoyed spending time with him and he's already almost adjusted to the attention.

"You make it sound like a bad thing." He takes the bottle. "Turns out people only return the favor when I'm scale boy, instead because they like me."

"Won't be true of all people," Joel says and he looks at Bach for a moment before looking away. Spencer is an exception in his life, the only person he thinks could have made it easy for him to consider a relationship again, but he knows seven years ago when he'd still be willing to put himself out there, he would have been interested in a man like Bach. "Can't be true of all people."

"Just those in this place, am I right? Upside down world, this town. Only want you to do things when it's impossible, weird is normal .." He takes another gulp. "Need money when you have none."

Joel frowns faintly and shakes his head. "It's not all that bad. There are good people here." It's so stupid, he realizes, that he's hiding from Spencer. There's no reason for it, no matter how guilty he feels, because Spencer is one of the first people he's let into his life in so long and now he's just avoiding it because he's scared. "Money, though," he says, then shrugs. "You can't really avoid that anywhere."

"When you have people offering you to come over, stay over, anything as long as you keep singing, it's definitely something easy to avoid. You almost forget about it in the long run .."

He gets up, trying to get a feel for his surroundings. "Oh yeah, the good people here only pity you, instead of disliking."

Joel watches Bach curiously, wondering what's happened to make him say such things. He knows everyone has something in their past, but he's never felt much pity in Siren Cove.

Then again, he's done his best not to feel much of anything.

"Do you think I pity you?" he asks.

"Nah, you're on your way to being drunk."

"I am far beyond being drunk," Joel says with a huff of dry laughter. "I have painkillers in my system, too, so it's more than that." He's not sure what any of that has to do with pity, but it's possible he's too drunk to make the connection.

"Just give up on it right now, man." He tries to soften his voice, let the words come out surrounded by pillows. Is this how everyone else does it? Think before speaking? No rhythm?

"The day. What happened. Your sanity, if you think you can find it back tomorrow. Everything."

"Give up on it?" Joel echoes and he finds that's exactly what he wants. He wants to sleep. He wants darkness and blankness and no dreams. He wants to be with Spencer.

He wants to undo everything, but he wants to forget it, too. "Just... let it go?"

"At least for tonight, Joel. Come on. Will things change faster if you cling to them right now?" Bach pats his shoulder.
"Let go."

Joel nods his agreement slowly, pushing the fingers of his good hand through his hair. He doesn't know why, but it seems easier now to let go of what's happened. At least temporarily. "No, they won't," he says. "They won't change unless I do something."

"And you will do so starting tomorrow. You seem like the guy to get the things done that need to be done. It's okay to drop the ball once when you know you'll catch it later again."
Bach smiles. "That's all I can offer besides a hug and a log to sleep on."

It's a nice sentiment, one Joel isn't sure he's ever had someone to say to him before and he manages a faint smile. "A log?" he asks, his eyebrows lifting as he slumps back on his couch. He's pretty tired, but he'd invited Bach inside.

He winks. "My body. Top or legs, either are warm and comfortable. But I can just carry you to bed and tuck you in either."

Joel snorts out a laugh at that, rubbing a weary hand over his face. "I've already screwed up so much with Spencer. I don't want to make more of a mess of it by sleeping on someone else," he says without thinking. "I could just sleep here."

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