Dramatic Goat

You’re a damn blind fool.

Clopin was drunk, but he wasn’t stupid. 

It was him. 

The realization flooded him almost like poison, a cold sobering pain in every part of the body. Just as Djali had pulled away, Clopin too jerked back, like Djali was on fire. “What?” he said. “What?” 

They were family though, they were family, they were family–family– 

Him? But he was the rom baro. But he took care of Djali. But he’d raised the boy, but he wanted Esmeralda, not Djali– and Djali knew that because everyone, except for Esmeralda herself, knew that. And he, this whole time, had been doing what Esme did to him. Poking and scratching and peeling back Djali’s layers, one by one, with his touches and hugs and affection and Clopin thought they’d– they were different– they were supposed to be special to each other in an untouchable way–beyond that of flesh. But Djali. Djali. Djali wanted him. 

“You can’t want me,” he said in his confusion. And then he barked out a laugh. “Me? Djali–no. No, not me, not–” 

And then he started laughing even harder, the laugh of an insane person. He pushed his hand through his hair, let his head fall back, laughed into the smoky air full of pounding music. “No,” he gasped through the laugh. His whole head was spiraling at this point. “No, no, not you, not my little Djali, no– no–”

He was gasping for air at this point. He pitched forward, laughed and hyperventilated. Clopin grabbed at Djali’s knee, not to be cruel, but because he needed it. 

He needed Djali, didn’t Djali understand that? He needed him. He couldn’t lose Djali over this– 

He stood up, panicked and laughing, and crying too–tears brimming in his eyes. He spun around, shaking his head. “You don’t mean that, you don’t– you can’t be in love with me, Djali. You can’t. You–you–” his mouth felt…his tongue all heavy and his head spinning. 

It happened all at once, you see. And sometimes it did happen like this–he’d feel his health yanked from him as the curse reared its ugly head and he’d stumble somewhere safe, as the headache came, piercing.

But what happened next? Well, this would be rather new for him.

Djali stared at Clopin, eyes wide with dread and fear and he simply wanted to melt into the seat he was on. The words coming out of Clopin’s mouth were broken, slurred and making no sense, but Djali got enough of them to put together that Clopin did not approve of the fact that Djali was in love with him. Just as Djali had known would happen. Even though he had known, it still hurt like a knife in his chest. He felt like he was going to be sick and a tear fell from the gathered wetness in the bottom of his eye. He didn’t even try and interrupt Clopin, didn’t try and explain himself or anything. Just looked at the table in front of him.

Tequila.

He took another huge drink as he watched Clopin’s face as he watched the woman’s movements. Just. Drink and don’t think. It was the only way he would make it through, just like every other time he went out woth Clopin. Why had he thought tonight would be any different?

She was just the prettiest monster. 

Once more, Djali took a breath to speak but was cut off as his mouth was filled with Clopin’s shirt instead of air. He took in a deep breath of Clopin’s smell, nearly as intoxicating as the alcohol he held but quickly shook his head. No. He couldn’t be overcome like that.

He pushed Clopin a bit from him and mumbled “Oh fuck off, Clops,” before uncapping the tequila and knocking it back. He needed to get drunk. He needed to be numb. To get rid of this yearning that was growing in his stomach and the feelings that were taking over his heart and mind with every touch. Right now he wasn’t drunk enough to not feel what he felt for Clopin, but too drunk to stop himself from doing something stupid; like flirting with him by describing a drink that was a metaphor for the man in front of him.

He wanted to crack everyone, including himself, open. Let the shadows spill.

Djali pulled him, stumbling, away from the bar, into the darker corners, and Clopin laughed the entire way. His eyes caught a beautiful woman as they passed. His neck twisted to keep looking at her– but Djali felt like an anchor dragging him along the seabed until the inevitable stop far away from the siren.

“Did y’see her?” he said as they both stumbled into two chairs. Clopin smiled, chuckled, looked back. “I want that one.” 

His eyes had found the woman, the woman, too, looked at him (or at least, Clopin thought she did). She was dark-haired and dark-skinned, her eyes endless pits. The way she smirked reminded him of Esmeralda; that was where the similarities ended. This woman was more obviously cruel. Esme kept her cruelty tucked in her sleeve. 

But neither was in love with him– that was a similarity. 

Tequila.

He took another huge drink as he watched Clopin’s face as he watched the woman’s movements. Just. Drink and don’t think. It was the only way he would make it through, just like every other time he went out woth Clopin. Why had he thought tonight would be any different?

So here he was, deciding, right now– or he had decided five minutes ago. He brought his magic to the surface of his skin then, the illusion large and too strong actually– Djali would be enchanted too, as he disguised himself as another bartender and hopped over the bar onto the other side. He liked wearing the face of another person though. Loved the way it felt. 

“Djali, don’t bother–!” he laughed as Djali tried to follow the rules. “Catch–” he threw the bottle of tequila Djali’s way, then threw a bottle of vodka his way too. He snatched up rum, opened it there and took a few massive swallows. His illusion hovered around the bar; then wavered a little– momentarily. Just enough for the bartender to blink and go “Oi!” 

“Oh shut up, your head is on fire,” Clopin snarled his way. The bartender screamed and dropped to the ground like he’d had a stroke. 

Once more, Djali took a breath to speak but was cut off as his mouth was filled with Clopin’s shirt instead of air. He took in a deep breath of Clopin’s smell, nearly as intoxicating as the alcohol he held but quickly shook his head. No. He couldn’t be overcome like that.

He pushed Clopin a bit from him and mumbled “Oh fuck off, Clops,” before uncapping the tequila and knocking it back. He needed to get drunk. He needed to be numb. To get rid of this yearning that was growing in his stomach and the feelings that were taking over his heart and mind with every touch. Right now he wasn’t drunk enough to not feel what he felt for Clopin, but too drunk to stop himself from doing something stupid; like flirting with him by describing a drink that was a metaphor for the man in front of him.

Or Djali was the only familiar thing– the only thing brightly drawn.

He was headed toward the clubs, resisting the urge with each step to cast more magic up and down these cobbled streets. He spun around abruptly and stopped outside a row of clubs. They may as well all be the same to him (anonymous, just like everyone else) but still he’d try to find one for Djali. The one that suited his friend the best. He knew what Djali wanted after all, had been obvious with that lustful whisper in his ear and the tantalizing brush of his chest against Clopin’s side. 

He wanted to fuck someone. Man or woman, he could decide right now.

Because Clopin would find him the perfect someone. Make the boy happy. 

Djali’s heart was still in his throat from Clopin’s oh-so-casual touch of Djali’s chin when he grabbed Clopin’s hand and pulled him a random direction. “I don’t care. As long as they have tequila.” It was what would get him drunk the fastest. What would erase these dumb feelings from his mind, if only for a night.