Sweet Dreams

―   𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊   𝐎𝐍𝐄.     Saddle Tramp by Marty Robbins

“They call my a drifter, they say I’m no good; I’ll never amount to a thing. Well, I may be a drifter and I may be no good; there’s joy in this song that I sing. Saddle tramp, saddle tramp; I’m as free as the breeze and I ride where I please.”

―   𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊   𝐓𝐖𝐎.      Sweet Dreams by Angel Olsen

“And I love you most, I love you most, when I first find love in myself; and I’ll give to you, give it all to you, when I first find it in myself.”

―   𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊   𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄.   Nature Boy by Nat King Cole

“There was a boy; a very strange, enchanted boy. They say he wandered very far, very far, over land and sea... a little shy and sad of eye - but very wise was he. And then one day, one magic day, he passed my way, and while we spoke of many things, fools and kings, this he said to me: The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.”

―   𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊   𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑.      Jubilee Street by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds

“I’m transformin’; I’m vibratin’; I’m glowing; I’m flying, look at me now.”

―   𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊   𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄.    I’ll Never Get Out of This World Alive by Hank Williams

"I’m not gonna worry, wrinkles in my brow, ‘cause nothing’s never gonna be alright nohow.”

Nearly laughing mid sip, Trois brought down his glass as quickly -and gently- as he could. Sure, it might not have been the same way he would’ve said it, but that didn’t meant it wasn’t a sentiment that Trois agreed with 1000%. “Certainly! It’s a very different feeling then buying something off the rack, off a shelf filled with 50 or so of the same thing. These pieces all have life, they come with their own stories and quirks.”

“It’s honestly quite difficult to imagine my home without them-” His gaze traveled around the small space as he spoke “Would it be more spacious? Well perhaps, but, no doubt it would be colder for it.” Completjng their circuit, his eyes turned back to Job, and he might’ve paused to take one last bite of dinner before an idea hot him that had his face lighting up with a smile.

“Now that you mention it, would you perhaps like to go through my things?” Okay so it sounded strange from his end too, but Trois forced himself to continue “With limits of course but, I’ve only just realized I believe my old house robe would fit you.” And who was he kidding, he loved answering questions about all his things.

Job is unable to help but mimic the gesture, lips spreading out in a bright, broad grin and shoulders trembling with subdued laughter - it only comes too easily in the face of Trois’ own beaming smile, even if Job’s own does falter, ever-so-slightly, at his host’s latter offer. Something feels wrong - immoral, almost - in the thought of sifting through Trois’ belongings after the very warm welcome he’s extended Job. However, the hypocrisy of it in light of Job’s earlier statement about thrift shopping does not escape him, and the slight unease that’s minutely taken over him soon washes off and away, replaced with a mixture of excitement and intrigue.

“O-oh, uh -- that’s -- much obliged, Trois. Thanks.” Though never easy to accept charity, it’s become an inseparable part of his life over the course of the past twelve-or-so years. His ears flush a light shade of pink but, save for that, he makes no other mention of it, briefly rolling his lips into the hollow of his mouth and chewing on their tips. “‘Fraid I ain’t got much to offer in return. Just my clothes and some odd stuff from the side of the road.” Interesting rocks, colorful shards of glass found at the beach and smoothed over by the tides, dried flowers stuck between the pages of his leatherbound journal. 

“Maybe.” One of Juni’s signature contagious grins quickly engulfs his face as Job presses them against the side of the stables, starting off as a coy smile that spreads from ear to ear then splits to show off his adorably crooked teeth. His brown eyes are bright with admiration as he beams up at him, toned arms draping themselves around Job’s shoulders as he leans in. His chin tilts upwards so they their lips might meet, his loose hold around the other tightening on first contact and bringing them even closer together.

Beneath Job’s creeping finger tips, Juni’s belly tenses, his back arching away from them towards the wall as a giggle is muffled against their lips. The kiss is broken and replaced with several smaller pecks between words, “That’s ticklish.”

Even with a gesture as common as a kiss, countless of which already shared between them, keeping Job’s cool in the face of Junior's marveling gaze is harder than one might think. How can he so easily make his heart feel so light, as though no other people exist in the world but the two of them?

It becomes harder still when the tug of his arms beckons Job closer and the muscles in his stomach twitch under Job’s wandering hands, causing him to produce that infectious, carefree giggle Job will never hear enough of. Were he not so familiar with his own workings, he’d have thought it laughable when the crotch of his dusty jeans grows just a little tighter around his hips, a telltale pressure quickly mounting in the pit of his stomach.

The vagueness of Job’s words on their journey to the diner does not escape Xeno, but he doesn’t seek to press Job any further for what busy might mean. He offers a simple nod instead, understanding absent of judgement as he listens to Job, though there’s admiration in his glances despite the disappointment lacing his friend’s voice.

A quiet thanks passes Xeno’s lips as he steps through the opened door, warm relief expanding in his chest as he takes in the quiet diner. Something about the daytime makes him feel more jittery and he’s thankful for the emptiness. Still, he finds himself leading them to the booth nearest to the door, barely noticing the automatic calculation of escape routes that flashes through his mind.

“This good?” he asks, gently setting down the guitar. He treats his own bag with much less care, swinging it down onto the floor by their feet before sliding into one side of the booth, checking the door once before refocusing his gaze on Job. His right hand moves to fiddle with the hem of his hoodie’s sleeve as he recalls Job’s earlier words.

“That’s okay though, right?” Xeno says tentatively. He clears his throat, pushing more certainty into his voice. “I mean, the stuff about your writing. It’s normal, you know. Pretty sure all the greats deal with that kinda stuff. You just gotta give yourself time and you’ll get there. I’m sure of it.” A grin pushes its way onto his face a moment later, impossible to tame. “Shit, I still can’t believe you’re here.”

Regret still weighs heavy in Job’s chest as he nods at Xeno’s inquiry and slides into his booth seat, dumping his own knapsack by their feet in much the similar fashion as Xeno does his own bag. Still, the care with which his companion treats Job’s beaten guitar, which has certainly seen better days and has been treated with very little regard by its previous owners is enough to put a faint smile on his lips, despite it all. 

He’s a bad liar, always has been, the truth always seeping through sooner rather than later and showing much too easily on his face - yet, at the same time, Job can’t help but think that it oughtn’t come so easily to him. There is lying for pure necessity - for survival - and though he hates it, though it goes against his very nature and strong-held beliefs, Job recognizes, still, that he must, sometimes - that it is simply unavoidable. He’s accepted that. But there’s nothing gained by lying to Xeno, who knows him far more intimately than anybody else Job can speak of; especially not about something as inconsequential as his nonexistent career as a singer-songwriter. 

Having busied himself by picking at a callus on the palm of his hand, his eyes dart back up to Xeno when he speaks again. He’s never seen Xeno speak with even half as much conviction about himself, or much of anything at all, for that matter, and though Job isn’t quite certain that he believes himself to be one of the greats, or even one of the decents - a sight as rare and heartwarming as the grin on Xeno’s face is enough to put all worries out of his mind. The road can’t be all that bad with the funny way it seems to have of always bringing them back together.

With the biscuits almost immediately forgotten, his fingers lace tightly with Job’s, allowing him to pull them together until their shoulders touch. From there, Juni rests a cheek against Job’s shoulder and wraps his free hand around the upper part of his arm. It doesn’t make walking any easier, but he finds the longing to be close irresistible. The feeling had been mounting all day; ever since they were forced to detach from each other in the morning. He yearned to kiss Job’s sweet face every time a dopey smile stretched across his lips, to be shoulder to shoulder when they took a breather from back breaking farm work, to wrap his arms around Job’s waist from behind as he cooked–but they’d been within eyeshot of his father all day and he couldn’t risk letting the cat out of the bag before he was ready. Now that they’re alone, Juni intends to make the most out of their hour before dinner.

“Mm. Big talk,” he mumbles, nuzzling into the flannel of Job’s shirt. The moment when they’re far enough out of sight to kiss and hold each other without restraint can’t come soon enough.

Peering down at the boy pressing his face to his shoulder, Job gives his hand a firm squeeze, thumb stroking back and forth over his knuckles. It’s moments like this that have him so very sweet on Junior; he seems to have the unique ability of transporting Job back, feeling brand new to the experience as though no faces have ever been pressed into his shoulder before, no fingers intertwined with his. The position may be a clumsy one, hips brushing together as they walk side-by-side, and Job does stub his toes against Juni’s heel a couple of times - but he cannot help but drive the awkwardness farther and leans down to press a kiss to the top of Junior’s head.