just_another | (open)

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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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"It's not about sex," Joel insists and he almost says he hasn't had sex in seven years, that if he can't control himself after all that time, something is deeply wrong, but he manages to keep it to himself. "I just... I wouldn't like it if he was platonic sleeping on someone else."

He pauses, as if he's only realized something. "I'd be jealous. I wouldn't like it."

"Man, you're all soft on the guy!" Bach reaches for the bottle again. "You have to point him out to me sometimes, but clearly he has some things going for him."

Joel nods his agreement, because he is soft on Spencer, but it's more than that, too. So much more and he can't explain it and doesn't even know if it matters anymore. Spencer probably doesn't want to see him.

"He's smart," he says, even though Bach hasn't asked. "He's the smartest person I've ever met and he's..." His lips twitch faintly. "His smile. He has the best smile."

"You sound like a teenage girl, man. Did you even get a touch in?" He grins. "Book smart? Life smart? People smart? Is he the piece that completes you, all that sweet stuff?"

He thinks of their first kiss, panicked, scared, kissing Spencer desperately because he'd had to, because he'd been too afraid to do anything else and he nods and shrugs at the same time. "I don't know yet," he says, except that isn't true. "I just know... I'm an idiot and I shouldn't be getting drunk in my store while he's alone."

"Thanks, man. I'm nothing and no-one now? This place really gets me at my worst."

He offers the almost empty bottle. "Maybe you should try talking. After tomorrow. And the hangover."

"I said he's alone, not that I am," Joel answers with a faint snort of laughter. Despite his mood, he finds himself wanting to reassure Bach and he squints, then says, "You're a good guy. I don't like having a lot of people around, but I like having you around."

"Really?" People don't tell him that as often as they used to, and when they used to, it was because he sang and played and touched and the other was softened up by all three of those things. People didn't really want Bach around for him. "Okay, I'm taking your drunk word for it and will keep it as a pillow in my empty bed. Stupid cat."

"Yeah, you're... you're easy to talk to," Joel says, running one hand over his eyes. It's not something he has a lot of experience with, but even despite the compliments he hasn't known what to do with, he's comfortable around Bach. "What happened to your cat?"

"She doesn't wants to be around me. Eats at night, flees as soon as I come close. Ever since I .." He puts his hands up. "fixed myself. Riley says it's because cats know when something's wrong with you, so that's amazing. Now I'm alone and cold and silent."

"Fixed yourself?" Joel echoes, curious and interested despite himself. "What does that mean? How does a person fix themselves?" And how does one know what needs to be fixed? How does a person decide if they're broken? Joel's always considered himself a little bit broken, but he knows not everyone would look at him in such a way.

"Some weird magic hoodoo voodoo thing, I had to think a rash away. It's bullshit, but something went wrong and now I'm just a sack of bones and blood." He looks around for more bottles.
"Do you have anything else?"

"Just beer," Joel says, pointing to the remaining bottles he's put behind the counter. "You had to think a rash away and something went wrong?" He's struggling to sit up on the couch, to look at Bach more seriously and he's in no state to make decisions about his life, he won't tell Bach what he can do, not right now, but it has him thinking anyway. Maybe he'll be able to help.

"Beers."

He tuts, but gets two anyway. "Pretty much. Lara Quinn again. Although forget about that name because eeeveryone seems to be her number one fan in this place. I needed to get comfortable and stuff. And gone it was."

"Lara..." He trails off, not entirely sure how to finish that thought. Lara has done more for him than most people in this town and even when he'd been furious with her for having told Lou his secret, he knows there are few people who would look after him the way he knows she would. "You and she don't get along?"

He's not sure he follows the connection, but he knows he's too drunk to be of much use for anything right now.

"Me and she don't get along. I think she wants me to join her club and doesn't like hearing no. Ever. In any way. Okay, maybe in bed, but we didn't get that far. She's really good when she's on her back."
He gulps down the half-warm beer. "Your beer's disgusting, man."

"Do you ever think," Joel says slowly, getting himself into a sitting position, "That it seems like everyone is Lara's biggest fan because you say crude things about her like that?" It's not an accusation, really, just a genuine question, but there is a part of him that's prepared to defend her if it turns into more. Lara's one of the few people who has been good to him for a long time and he knows that's true of a lot of people. She's done a lot of good.

"What club?" he asks, then makes a face. "My beer is fine."

"Crude? Like rude because I only like her when I have sex with her? I thought that was honest. Another people here seem to love. 'Share your feelings, be comfortable with your feelings, lemme touch you until you're so tight that you'll explode'. Honesty."

He puts the beer away, gets up. "Don't do this to me, Joel. Give me some room to breathe."

"Crude because there's clearly a lack of respect for her as a person," Joel answers and although he thinks he's too drunk for this, he can't not say something. Even if Lara wasn't his friend, he takes issue with such comments and while he hasn't often been social enough to hear such things, he has no intention of letting it simply go. "I like you, I meant what I said, but I also won't listen to dismissive comments treating women as nothing more than sex objects regardless of who they are without speaking up. You can be honest about your lack of respect for her, that's fine, but I'm going to be honest in my distaste for it."

"I mean - no, whatever. This isn't Siren Cove, this is Quinn Cove. Women have been nothing more than that, Joel. Just like I'm no more than that but nooo let's all act like we're more than animals."

He meets his eyes. "I was looking for a chance to feel better, not get 'Bach is shit' from another corner. Don't hurt yourself getting into bed. It's not nice for the one that will find you in the morning."

"We are more than animals," Joel answers, holding Bach's gaze steadily. "And we're all deserving of respect." Then he laughs, a dry, harsh sound, not a laugh of amusement at all. "That you're taking my refusal to accept your disrespect as a personal insult says a lot. It's possible to enjoy someone's company without agreeing with every word that comes out of their mouth. It's possible to have conflict without interpreting it as someone telling another that they're shit."

But he's tired and he's drunk and his mind keeps wandering back to Spencer. "My door is always open. And for the record, were someone to say such things about you, I wouldn't stand for it either."

"Respect is to be earned, not to be the default. Thank my mother for that. And company is more nice when you're not fighting, Joel. Especially not when it comes from a sweet corner."

His face softens. "Seriously, maybe don't even try the stairs. Sleep on the couch."

"If you consider this a fight, I'd hate for you to hear the way my sister and I speak to each other," he says with a snort before he rubs his hand over his face. The stairs are steep and they're far away and although he's managed to sit up, Bach is right. The couch will be fine.

"Make sure to come back for your computer lesson," he says. "When I'm sober."

"Will I ever, or did you leave her behind in another life? Joel, man, I never had the chance for this. Ordinary stuff. Family. Something that looks like friendship. All of that outside singing and performing like a bearded monkey. So no, I don't know and I'm sorry. But I do know what I like and don't like, and I'm not going to apologize for that."

He pulls his hair back. "Sorry for your night."

"No, they come here every July to visit," Joel answers before he slumps back down against the couch cushions, looking at Bach, studying him. "You can come out for dinner when they're here," he decides on impulse, not entirely sure why, but for all he disagrees with what Bach has said about Lara, he does like him and the thought that he hasn't had any real friendships puts a weight on Joel's chest.

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