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canarydarity · 2 years ago

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strawberry wine (and all the time we used to have)

They hadn’t thought it worth it to ready both horses to pop over to Grian’s for a quick minute, so they’d just shared the one. Of course, a quick minute it was not, and the brief welcome back visit turned into why don’t you stay for dinner, which turned into I think I have some ale, which turned into, well, sharing one horse riding home in the post-midnight darkness, full and a little bit tipsy.

Which was how Tango knew with certainty by the way Jimmy was slumped behind him—head resting on the back of his shoulder, his forehead to Tango’s neck—that he’d fallen asleep. Jimmy’s sleep-slackened hands, which had once been wrapped around Tango’s waist (for practicality reasons, of course, they were sharing one horse, after all) had fallen loose and rested on Tango’s thighs.

He made sure to keep their pace slow, trying not to jostle them enough that the lack of a true hold would cause much of a problem. They weren’t that far from home, anyway, and Tango didn’t mind going slow.

The night was cold, but Jimmy against his back was keeping him warm, and Tango could hardly complain about that. It was quiet, but only if you were talking in terms of speech or manmade noise; crickets and cicadas were singing in loud conjunction, and leaves and branches rustled in the wind picking up the melody; the occasional night bird would call out, and it’s friend or long-lost lover would reply in kind.

Jimmy made a small noise in his sleep, and Tango chuckled, adjusting his grip on the reigns and doing his best to keep them steady. In the distance, he could almost make out the lantern light that marked the end of their long dirt drive, and Tango felt undoubtedly a little disappointed; he would take a few more minutes of this ride if he could. Then again, when it came to Jimmy, he’d always take a few more minutes whenever they were offered.

And he’d remind Jimmy of that whenever he needed him to, as it seemed he often did; by design or not, Jimmy was stuck with him now, and Tango would wheedle and barter for as many minutes as the universe would give them.

Tango remembered a night soon after they’d first settled down where Jimmy had sat him on the couch and started talking very seriously about a curse; it was meant to be a warning, but he twisted his hands together as he explained that it always came too late to change anything, and so it was labeled a curse instead. After time, it seemed more like a burden. Where Jimmy went, disaster followed—or so he’d said.

Tango wasn’t inclined to believe in curses. He’d initially wanted to laugh, actually; he didn’t, because Jimmy seemed deeply unnerved yet certain about what he was saying, and Tango would never laugh about something that was upsetting him. It wasn’t even that he didn’t think there was any truth in it; he believed that things had happened to Jimmy and that his luck was more rotten than most—but he would be damned if he believed Jimmy had anything to do with it; that Jimmy called it upon himself simply by existing; that he, in some cosmically fucked up way, asked for it by finding happiness again and again, taunting some sick version of fate. No, Tango couldn’t believe that.

How could something as wonderful as him—as them—ever be cursed?

That was what he’d found so laughable. And he’d think it again a thousand times in the months that followed; when they’d tamed their first horse—the same one Jimmy had fallen off of an hour later, trying to ride before they’d obtained a saddle (Adequate, the same one they were sharing now); when their first winter came and Tango learned that Jimmy practically nested when it turned cold, layering every single blanket and pillow in the house into one pile as if he’d never be warm again; when he saw the way that Jimmy always somehow expertly knew what every animal needed with just a quick inspection (especially the cows, as those were his favorite).

Surely no curse could attach itself to such things. There was no room for that kind of poison to grow here, there were no roots for it to latch onto. Tango would make sure to stop it before it could. They were careful—safe, even; they double-checked the crops for infestation and they inspected the house and the barn for disrepair and they did the latch on every window on every floor before going to bed.

Still, sometimes he felt time loom a little too heavily over them, or became too aware of its presence. In the end, he’d decided it didn’t matter how much of it they got: he’d take all that he was offered. And if some of that time had to be reserved for these extra safety measures and reassurances, he would not tire and he would not complain; not if they eased Jimmy’s mind, even if only slightly.

Not if it got Jimmy to stop looking at him like he was calculating how much time they had left. He’d been doing it a lot less than he used to; after that first discussion about curses and time and the not-mentioned-but-still-thought-of end, Tango would sometimes catch Jimmy’s gaze lingering on him, his eyebrows drawn together and his mouth a thin line. It took him some time to catalog that look and understand what Jimmy was doing: bracing. He was running the numbers on all his worst-case scenarios and determining their end, when he’d need to be ready for it by.

Tango didn’t want Jimmy looking at him and wondering when he’d be gone. Then again, wasn’t he doing the same thing, now? Reminiscing on them before they’d even ended?

Maybe this weirdly-insistent cycle of grief rehearsal that they were stuck in was the curse—daring them to waste all their time worrying about their ending, and therefore, bringing it about themselves.

Tango didn’t think it was a bad thing to miss things—to know you’d miss things; to know you had something good and didn’t want to see it leave. To be aware that when—if, he would not validate the idea of a curse by saying when—things ended he’d wish they hadn’t.

If he could lose Jimmy, he would; but he can’t, so he won’t. It was as simple as that.

And, anyway, things had been better. Time seemed to move slower in the recent months. He’d catch Jimmy humming in his free time instead of performing doomsday math. He’d brought home more animals—the second horse, the cows, some chickens—let himself get settled. And occasionally—just occasionally—Tango would find him making a mindless comment about the future; he’d say, in a few months, we could— or what we should do next year instead is—

Progress; they’d been making progress.

Jimmy had said he was a disaster, he brought disaster—but disasters were only disastrous because they could have been prevented and weren’t. Tango didn’t mind the extra precautions, not if it meant they got to have this, and not if it meant more nights like this one—Jimmy feeling safe enough to fall asleep without notice, sharing one horse, exhausted but in the good way; in the way that meant a hard days work had passed and a night with friends was enjoyed.

The stable was just up ahead, and he’d definitely have to wake Jimmy up to get him inside. When he felt like he’d stalled as long as he could—because the night was indeed cold and getting colder and the longer they did this the higher the chance one or both of them would fall became—Tango eased them to a stop right inside the barn door, giving Adequate a good pat as he did.

“Jimmy,” Tango jostled his shoulder a little, hoping to wake Jimmy up without startling him too much. “Jim, hun. Wake up.”

Jimmy shifted a little on his back; it really would be their luck to make it all the way home safely, but then have Jimmy fall off the horse as Tango tried to wake him up. Tango reached one of his hands backward, knowing it’d be useless at that angle but keeping it there just in case.

“Jim, hey…Jimmy, wake up!” He turned his head to the side trying to look behind him as much as he could.

At this Jimmy did startle awake, and had Tango not felt it in the weight being removed from his back then he would have in the way Jimmy frantically grabbed his waist again when he tilted just a little. Tango grabbed his arm as well, and Adequate took a step or two in place.

“Woah, woahwoahwoah, okay,” Tango said, trying to re-instill calm.

But Jimmy was too tired to panic, anyway. When they were once again secure all he said was, “oh my gosh, I fell asleep on the horse!” In a way that Tango knew was more for his own sleep-deprived processing than Tango’s needing to be told.

“Yeah, I know, cowboy!” Tango laughed in reply, regardless. “You must’ve been tired.”

Jimmy climbed down from Adequate and Tango glanced to the side where he knew he’d finally be able to see him again. He watched Jimmy rub a hand over his face, not bothering to erase the bewildered expression away when he did. Tango laughed at him again, fondly, and Jimmy caught his eye and smiled back.

“I cannot believe that just happened, I’m—oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, you had to ride back with me like that the whole way didn’t you? I didn’t mea—” Jimmy’s expression was turning from shy amusement to disbelief to worry and then even further past that as it often did.

“Jim?”

“Wha—yeah?” Jimmy stopped, one hand on Adequate’s reigns the other on the horse's broad shoulder. He looked up at Tango, eyes wide.

“Shut up.”

“Yeah, right—alright.” Jimmy smiled, “need help down?”

Tango did not need help down, but he sure would like it. He grabbed Jimmy’s outstretched hand, swung his leg over Adequate, and dropped to the ground. He watched Jimmy lead Adequate back to his stall, whispering to the horse as he went.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Adequate, hope we weren’t too much trouble for you. You’re a good horse, though, aren’t you, yeah…” Tango smiled as Jimmy paused; others might think he’d just run out of things to say, but Tango knew he was giving space for Adequate to respond as if the horse actually would.

This moment—if he could only have just this moment over and over again, he thinks he’d be okay with that; if they couldn’t have all the ones passed it or as many as they could grab in a mad dash for more, Tango would happily live here, right now, floundering under the weight of such quiet satisfaction and impossible domesticity. It doesn’t even have to be this one specifically, he’d take any of the other dozen like it. This was the kind of mundanity he’d never get bored of, not if it saved them all the rest.

He understood then, with sudden clarity, that the privilege of having had this would always be worth more than the chance of losing it. The following realization hits just as hard; that Jimmy must have known this too—must have known it all along —or he would’ve turned tail and ran before his diaster-formulas had even finished computing.

“Tango?”

Tango looked back at Jimmy, standing before him yet again, a concerned look on his face; Tango was not often the one caught lost in thought.

“Ready to go home?”

Home—he could have said ready to go inside, or simply, ready to go considering they were really only a 50-foot walk from their front door, but he’d chosen to say home. This house, this place they’d built and lived in together that was really so much more than the walls and roof it was made of. Tango would never forget the first time Jimmy had off-handedly called it home a few months ago; he hadn’t gotten used to it since, and he didn’t think he ever would.

Tango smiled, “ready as I’ll ever be, partner.” His fake country accent wasn’t good, but that was why he did it.

“That was… bad,” Jimmy said—though he laughed, which Tango considered a success.

“Howdy partner,” he emphasized the accent more this time, spinning Jimmy around and pushing him towards the door. “Yee-haw! rootin’, tootin’, and shootin’...I don’t know. What else do cowboys say?”

“Tango, oh my gosh, stop.” Jimmy pushed him lightly as they started on the path toward the house, but Tango swiftly recovered, swinging an arm around Jimmy’s shoulder when he came back (which was somewhat of a feat, him being a bit shorter).

“Oh come on, give me another one. You oughta know, don’t you, mister strong-and-capable ranch hand. Cowboyificate me!”

“Tango, those two are not at the same thing,” Jimmy protested.

“Okay, now I know you’re lying to me—my accent’s probably not even that bad!”

The concept of time was so far away as to have been forgotten again as they made the short walk to their front door; for all they knew, there was only this, this picture—Tango teasing Jimmy, Jimmy pretending to be upset about it and indulging him anyway. It was always these moments, the random inconsequential ones that made Tango forget about it all in the end. The amount of time they might not have, the possibility of their ending being predisposed, the concept of missing something he hadn’t yet lost. Tango wished whatever time they did have left was exactly like this; filled with endless moments of meaningless nonsense—he wished they could feel such peaceful insignificance forever.

(love is fast asleep on a dirt road with your head on my shoulder or whatever it was the song said idk. read on ao3 here)

#blatant strawberry wine by noah kahan propaganda #no one look at me im embarrassed #this is digustingly soft and i hhngghhdfjkg #folks this songs ruined my life if you cant tell #i recommend you listen to it before or after or during reading every. line of this fic is based off that song.#worm writes #strawberry wine #team rancher #team rancher fic #double life #double life fic #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #tango tek #tangotek #life series fic #rancher duo

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listerbirdloml · 1 year ago

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The Death of Your Dog, The Stretch of Our Skin.

Summary: At fourteen, Rowan's dog died. At fifteen, Jimmy's grandmother died. And now, at twenty, Lister has lost his father.

Characters: Alister 'Lister' Bird, Jimmy Kaga-Ricci, Rowan Omondi, Piero Ricci, Chiara Ricci, Graham Duncan, Mention of Cecily Wills and Louise Bird.

Warnings: Death of an animal, grief, self effacing thoughts, strong language, minor violence, someone says the wh*re word, someone also tries to say a racial slur but they do not manage to.

Ships: Bicci kiss teehee

Word Count: 4.6k

just a little thing I wrote about the ark boys comforting one another through different types of grief. PLEASE BE KIND IVE NEVER PUBLISHED ANY WRITING BEFORE LMAO

Tilly Omondi.

When they were fourteen, Rowans dog died.

It had been a truly unremarkable day at school. They played in the music room, ate their lunch, attended their afternoon lessons, and then walked to Rowans. He had the better gaming system out of him and Jimmy, and he even had the new Red Dead Redemption game. He’d gotten his mum to buy it the day it came out, and now they were all excited to see how it was. Especially Lister, since he didn’t have a play station or anything of his own.

As they walked down the road to Rowans, conversation flew freely among them. Per usual, it was dominated by Lister and whatever random topic entered his mind. Jimmy was content to sit back and listen, chipping in whenever he thought of something relevant to say. Meanwhile, Rowan was more than happy to shut down particularly stupid conversations Lister started or rise up to the challenge whenever Lister turned to teasing him.

When they arrived at Rowans home, the three boys began untying their show laces and shucking off their winter coats. It wasn’t exactly freezing anymore, but it was cold enough for the jackets to still shelter them from the Kent winds. Earlier in the winter, Rowan noticed Listers coat wasn’t the warmest, so he’d given him one of his own under the guise of wanting to get rid of it.

When Rowan opened the door, the lack of four legs bounding towards them was immediately noticeable. Tilly, the Omondi family dog, was a little white Jack Russell with the sweetest of nature. She was a lap dog at heart, rarely barking. She was always found greeting anyone who entered their home at the door, her little tail wagging while she waited to be greeted in return.

"Mum?" Rowan called out pensively, thinking perhaps she’d taken an impromptu walk with the little dog. There was noise from the kitchen, as though someone was startled at the idea of Rowan being home at the time he was.

"Hi sweetheart." Came the call from Rowans mother, but she didn’t leave the kitchen. Lister thought he could hear a waver in her voice. But then again, he was starting to believe he was hardwired to detect the negative emotions people portrayed. even if they weren’t there. "Uh, Ro, can you come to the kitchen, please?" Rowan glanced at his two friends who waited in the doorway, all three clearly confused. With a gesture signalling the other two to wait, Rowan headed down the hallway and disappeared into his kitchen.

Standing just the two of them, Lister suddenly ran out of words. He was entirely focused on a loose thread in his school shirt, and Jimmy was too nervous to start a conversation himself. If it wasn’t in band practise or their shared history lesson, Jimmy found it difficult to talk with Lister. He found the other equally intimidating as he was admirable.

The blonde had definitely made huge progress with his confidence around the two friends, but deep down he was still pretty shy. He still held the fear that he was only there because he knew how to play the drums. He was a friend of convenience until Jimmy and Rowan could afford another drummer or even meet a better one. A drummer who wasn’t self-taught like he was, someone who could actually afford the lessons needed to become successful. While he still had these fears and and worries, he had begun to use them for the better. He was worried about being replaced in their band, and so he practised as hard as possible. He was worried about being replaced in their lives, and so he made as big a space for himself as he could. A space big enough that they would sorely miss him should he leave it.

"So uh-" Biting the bullet, Lister had gone to say something. But as he did, Rowan reappeared down the hallway, shoulders slumped, and face a mixture of shock and tears. All trace of nerves or awkwardness had immediately subsided from the two left in the hallway, both meeting Rowan half way. Jimmy put a hand on his shoulder, his own face contorted with worry. Lister didn’t doubt that Jimmy had thought up every single worst-case scenario he could.

"Tilly died."

There were two sharp inhales, and then silence.

Neither seemed particularly sure how to continue, but they both knew that their friend needed them. And so in a fluid motion, Lister and Jimmy had wrapped Rowan in a big group hug, pretending not to notice the way his body was wracked with sobs.

"There was a- a car." Rowans explanation was met with shushes. Lister knew that talking about it more would just upset Rowan, and he had plenty of time in the upcoming days to process the loss. Right now, he was allowed to just feel it. Feel it, with the safety of his two closest friends.

They stood in the Omondi garden, with Lister on one side of Rowan and Jimmy on the other. They both had a head leaning on Rowans shoulders, arms around his middle as he cried. His mother and sister had cried too, but nowhere near as much as Rowan. He had always been particularly close to the little dog.

His dad had just rested Tilly in the ground and let Rowan lay her favourite toys and treats with her before he began to refill the dirt.

Lister had never been to a funeral. Neither had Jimmy.

When Lister was ten, his grandmother on his dad's side passed away. Even though he had been very close with her, his dad didn’t want him at the funeral. He didn’t want Lister to have to stay the few days at his new home; his wife and new kids clearly objected to the older boy’s presence in what was their family home. It wasn’t exactly like he could own a pet either, the landlord of the flat he lived in with his mum was very clear about that.

Jimmy had never been to a funeral because no one in his family had died yet. There had been the rare distant aunty or several times great grand-something or other, but no one closely related to him. The thought alone of losing anyone in his family made him want to lie in the ground alongside Tilly.

"It’s okay, mate." It was Lister speaking, which wasn’t always the safest bet in a rocky situation. But Rowan was too upset to form words, and Jimmy was too scared he’d say the wrong ones.

There’s silence between the trio for a moment, until Lister starts speaking again. "Hey Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Can dogs go to heaven?"

"Well... they’re creatures made by God? So, I would assume so."

"Me too! I think if any creature on earth should enjoy an eternity of peace and happiness, it’s dogs. Not humans." He turned his body to face Rowan. "And when your time comes, you can wave up at her."

There’s silence before Rowan chokes out a loud and abrupt laugh. He covers his mouth, his shoulders shaking from laughter even as the tears freely flow down his cheeks. Jimmy can’t help but begin to chuckle too, even if he himself had been tearing up. And when Lister joined them, they came together again in a group hug, sandwiching Rowan.

Joan Ricci.

Jimmy wasn’t in school today.

While Lister himself had missed more classes this year than possibly anyone else in their school, and Rowan wasn’t immune to the odd sick day, Jimmy was never sick. And even if he was, he made his way to school for fear of missing anything important and having his schoolwork snowball.

The most concerning thing about his absence, however, was that he hadn’t responded to any texts from the two boys. He hadn’t even read their group chat either. And now, at four o’clock in the afternoon, the two were headed to the Ricci house, sat on the bus in silence. Thankfully, Lister no longer felt awkward in the presence of one of them alone. He still felt incredibly aware of the split between them, between childhood best friends and drummer, but it no longer prevented him from connecting with either Jimmy or Rowan.

He had just come to accept that he would forever be the odd one out. the one who lived on the council estate, the one whose mum had him as a teen, the one with an estranged dad. He could never compare to Jimmy and Rowan, with their private music lessons and middle-class homes. The kind that weren’t even attached to the houses next to it and were made of the fancy looking red brick.

"What if he's, like, dead?" Rowan interrupted the silence, looking down at his still-unanswered text to their friend. Lister sighed and lightly shoved the bassist on the shoulder. They were almost at the bus stop near Jimmy's grandparents home.

"Mate, you sound like Jimmy when you think like that.

With a reluctant sigh of agreement, Rowan followed Lister out of their seats and down the aisle of the bus to wait at the door for the driver to let them off.

As they walked the last few minutes to the Ricci household, Lister could feel dread settling in his stomach. He didn’t know what for, or why it decided to make itself at home in his gut, but he almost had to stop walking. Something was wrong. Something was really wrong. He wasn’t sure if it was with Jimmy or what, but he was definitely more eager to pick up the pace to the Riccis to ensure their singer and best friend were okay.

The first thing they noticed about the Ricci household was the cars parked outside. Neither of Jimmy's grandparents could drive anymore, and Jimmy wasn’t even old enough for a provisional licence yet, let alone a car.

But for some reason, there was four or five cars around the driveway and road in front. Lister glanced at Rowan, the taller one seeming confused as well. But instead of looking at Lister, he kept walking, jogging up the steps, and ringing the doorbell. Lister soon joined him, hands wringing together uncharacteristically. Through the stained glass of the front door, he was sure he could hear soft murmurs from the living room. way more voices than the three inhabitants of the Ricci home. Soon a figure from the inside was moving down the hallway to open the door, and it was immediately apparent it wasn’t Pierreo or Joan. This person moved far too quickly, and before Lister could say anything else, the door was opened.

It was a woman that Lister had never met before, but he could tell instantly who she was. She was tall, about the only thing that didn’t resemble their friend. But the shape of her eyes, the curve of her nose, and the slant of her jaw was almost entirely Jimmy. The grumpy frown was the splitting image.

She had only glanced at their uniforms before she sighed and went to shut the door. "Jimmy can’t come out right now."

"Wait!" Lister cried out, sticking his foot in the doorway. The woman looked mildly infuriated, and distantly, Lister couldn’t help but think this was a terrible first impression with Jimmy's mother. "Is he okay? He hasn’t answered us, and he wasn’t at school. We were just…" Lister trailed off as he caught sight of Piero walking out of the living room.

"Pierro?" Rowan called out, and Lister could hear the apprehension in his tone. The old man’s face had sunken even since they’d seen him at the weekend. They’d been celebrating Rowans fifteenth a week early, and Joan had managed to get out of bed to bake him a huge cake before they had band practise. But now, Pierros eyes looked red-rimmed, and he was leaning heavily on his walking stick with every step.

"Boys," he sighed, joining his daughter in the doorway. Lister was the closest to him, with his foot still in the door. Pierro opened up the arm not relying on the cane, and Lister quickly accepted it for what it was: a hug.

"Is Jimmy okay? Did something happen?" It was Rowan again, and as he pulled away from the old man and glanced at Jimmy's mum, who still stood watching, Lister couldn’t blame the worry in his voice. If Rowan was feeling anything as unease’d as Lister in the presence of the usually aloof CEO, then Lister was unsure how Rowan was so well at hiding it.

"Boys." It seemed that Pierro couldn’t say anything else; his voice was fading. "This morning… Joan passed this morning."

The dread in Listers stomach had spread to his whole body, his heart aching as it pounded a mile a minute in his chest. He couldn’t form words, but tears had begun to well in his eyes.

"What? no… No she… What?" Rowan was scrambling to find the right words. He hadn’t begun to cry yet, but Lister knew it was from shock. His own tears were spilling onto his cheeks already.

"I’m sorry, boys." Pierro shook his head, and as though they were driven by the same force, Rowan and Lister descended on the old man with bone-crushing hugs. He tried his best to reciprocate them, but Lister could feel the quiver of his hands and the shallowness of his breath.

When they pulled apart, Lister wiped at his face a little too aggressively, but his shoulders were still high to his face, and he was still shivering from the force of his tears.

"Jimmys upstairs. I think he might like to see the both of you."

When they opened the door on the furthest end of the upstairs corridor, they noticed the lights were off and the curtains were drawn. There was a figure sitting up on the bed, a blanket draped over their head as they seemingly stared into space.

Pushing the door over further, the creak of it and the intrusion of the hallway light made Jimmy turn his head, the blanket falling to instead rest on his shoulders. His face was void of emotion, but even from where he stood in the doorway, Lister could see how puffy and red it looked compared to normal. Cheeks that still carried baby fat were raw with tears and the motions of wiping them away. Rowan and Lister had only just managed to compose themselves.

No one of the trio said anything; instead, the two newest additions to the room made their way over and sat on either side of the singer. He managed a small smile, trying to convey his appreciation for their attempts at comfort.

"She died." He croaked out, looking between them. Lister had a hand up to Jimmy's face, carefully moving some of Jimmy's shaggy hair out of the way of his face and behind his ear.

"We know, Jimjam." His voice was so foreign, even to himself. It was soft in a way he didn’t know he possessed anymore. He couldn’t help but think he almost sounded like his mum. The hand that had been fixing Jimmy's hair now rested gently on his shoulder, and he used it to bring the smaller one into a hug.

They could feel Rowans arms wrap around them, Jimmy circled. If Lister wasn’t the token atheist of their little group, he would think that it was symbolic or something. The wings of an angel maybe.

They should write a song about that.

Alister Bird.

Bringing a hand up to his earpiece and pulling it out, the full noise of the crowd hit Lister instantly. It was the end of their first show back, and now only Lister stood on the stage. Jimmy and Rowan had already made their exit, and now, standing up from his drum kit and holding his sticks in the air, it was Lister's turn.

He was panting, and he’s sure he looked like a sweaty mess, but the crowd was losing their minds, and he had never felt more alive. He jumped down from the platform where his drum kit was stationed and exited off the side of the stage towards Rowan and Jimmy, who were waiting for him. They both were panting and sweaty, but the grins on their faces resembled their thirteen-year-old selves so much that Lister didn’t care about it when he dragged them into a group hug, jumping up and down from excitement.

"That was fucking class." Lister managed out, his arm still wrapped around Jimmy's shoulders when they pulled away, his boyfriend (boyfriend!) leaning onto him.

"Profound as always, Alister." Rowan teased, the both of them pretending to fight for a moment or so longer before they were all ushered away from the backstage area and towards the dressing rooms.

Jimmy held a firm grip on his hand, and when they found an area secluded enough, he used it to detour them into a hidden crevice. His hands balled into fists around Listers shirt, and he used it to push him against the wall.

Lister laughed, but his chest was still heaving. "Jimjam, slow down." He could see the way the singers eyes drooped, the way they seemed fully focused on the way Listers lips moved around his words. He kept leaning in to try and kiss them, but Lister was feeling mischievous. He kept holding the singer away.

"Lis, I swear to God." He had a glare on his face, trying to appear intimidating. He failed to realise that to Lister, he did the exact opposite. Feeling empathy for the clearly desperate singer and giving into his own urge to kiss his boyfriend stupid, Lister leaned down and pressed their lips together.

He could feel Jimmy relaxing in his hold. He could feel the heat radiating from the frontman's body after the long show, and he could still hear the commotion of the crowd as the lights were turned on and they were ushered out of the venue. It was hard for Lister to believe that he was lucky enough to experience this. Not just the resurrection of his passion for music, but also the chance he’d been given to live a life by Jimmy's side. He’d lived in the frontman's shadow all these years, but now he had been given permission to love him. To kiss him freely without the guilt of another drunken mishap. To hug him without feeling that he had ill intentions.

He hoped the way he held Jimmy could convey all this. It was difficult to show the full extent of your love with only one arm around the middle. To share your soul with someone in the hopes they’ll accept it and, in turn, share their own.

His hands were in Jimmy's hair now, tugging at the strands on the back of his neck. Jimmy's hair had thankfully recovered from the years in which he straightened it, and now it was styled in its more natural waves. It was thick and bushy, and when Lister needed something to do with his hands, he would try to braid it. It wasn’t quite long enough for that, though, as Jimmy still preferred it short.

"Mr Bird."

The voice made both stars jump, with Lister keeping hold of Jimmy until he could see who it was who had interrupted them. He only hoped to God that it wasn’t a fan. But then again, not many Ark fans were middle-aged, bald white men with security written in bold letters over their chests. If this was a disguise to get backstage, it was a damn good one.

"Sorry to bother you, sir. But there’s a gentleman here who says he needs to talk with you." The man held a hand to his earpiece, turning away slightly as he likely received more information. Lister's thoughts had begun to run wild. He wasn’t sure who it could possibly be. He hadn’t spoken to any hookups in months and hadn’t initiated any since he and Jimmy had been talking. The guard turned back to them, ignoring Jimmy entirely. "A Graham Duncan, sir."

While it was clear the name didn’t ring any bells to Jimmy, Lister had sucked in a breath through his teeth so deeply that Jimmy could feel his chest move with it. Lister gently nudged at Jimmy's shoulder, urging him to back up so that Lister could move away from the wall.

"How did he get in?"

"His ID, Mr. Bird. Miss Cecily has a list of approved names, and he was on it, sir."

Lister sighed and rubbed at his forehead, post-show high clearly gone as he looked back to Jimmy.

"There he is!"

There’s excitement in the voice, but the room is silent around him. Rowan was sat on the couch farthest from the door, Lister stood from where he’d been sitting on the sofa, and Jimmy still sat next to his old spot. The father and son stared at each other for a few tense moments. Listers face was unreadable as he crossed his arms over his chest. Graham looked as though he'd been here to joke around with his son, coming close and punching him lightly on the shoulder.

"What you been up to then, boyo?" Lister could see Rowan raise an eyebrow at this, his face screaming, 'What does it look like we’ve been up to?' But Graham didn’t seem bothered by waiting for a response from Lister. He looked around at the two other members of the band, likely not wanting a crowd for his conversation with his oldest son.

"What do you want?" There was no pleasantry in Listers tone. He felt no need to pretend. To act like he and his dad had spoken since he’d turned ten, since his half brother was born and he himself was thrown to the side. Lister was the child born from a teenage mistake to the woman Graham had married for only two years before cheating with another woman. He wasn’t something Graham wanted to remember. And yet, he stood in their dressing room as though they were old buddies.

Graham laughed, spluttering on words for a moment as he clearly struggled to find what to say. "I can’t come see you then?" He landed on, earning a scoff from Lister, who walked away from the older man and made his way to the refreshment table in the corner. It was obvious to those who knew him that he was acting on instinct. Looking for something to drink. Looking for something to take the pressure of the situation off. But of course, there was no alcohol on the table anymore. Just water and juice. The juice would have to do.

"Ally, don’t be like that. You’ve no seen your auld man in donkeys, and this is how you want to act?"

"Lister." It was Rowan who had corrected him, sitting up on the couch and levelling Graham with a glare. While he knew very little of Listers family, he knew that this man was no father. He had just so happened to be Listers biological parent. There was nothing more between them.

"What do you want?" Lister asked again, holding the juice bottle to his lips and drinking almost half of it in one go.

Graham once again looked like he was about to obfuscate, but dropped it when Lister went to turn away from him again. "The house, Alister. It’s gone up... Me and Maria are struggling."

Rowan and Jimmy looked at each other, utter disbelief written over their features. The gaul of the man who had neglected their friend since he was a toddler to then come to him and ask for financial aid?

It would appear Lister also caught the irony, laughing bitterly as he finished the rest of his drink. "The house I have never been to? The house the woman you cheated on my mother with asked you to buy, so that you could play happy families while me and mum rotted away in a fucking council flat?" With each sentence, Listers voice rose higher and higher. "That fucking house?" He rounded the sofas to once again stand in front of the now angry man.

"You can fuck right off." Lister hissed, pointing to the door.

"I am your father, Alister. I helped raise you. You might look back on it now and scoff with all your multi-millions, but it was the damned best I could do." He was shouting too now, poking lister repeatedly on the chest. Rowan and Jimmy had stood up, fearing the worst with Lister's temper.

"You gave my mum fifteen fucking quid a month."

"It was all I had, Alister!" But Lister wouldn’t accept that. He threw the bottle across the room, watching as it grazzed past his father's head.

"Get out!"

"You are fucking pathetic. Your mother did about as much as I did, and you bought the stupid bitch a house? You give her money so she can prance about like she wasn’t some little fucking whore. And now, you’re acting like some big rockstar." He looked at Rowan and Jimmy. "But its just you and two fucking da-"

Graham Duncan didn't get to finish whatever hateful words he had wished to shout, as Lister had slammed his fist right into the centre of his face, feeling satisfied at the crunch of bone he felt and the cry that carried out through the room. The older man seemed to be torn between hitting back and staggering away, but the door was already open, and security was swarming Graham, dragging him out.

"Lis." Jimmy’s hand was on Listers shoulder from behind him, and Rowan was also taking a step closer so that he could make sure his friend was okay. Listers shoulders were hunched, and his face contorted as though he were in physical pain.

"Why... why doesn’t he care? Why does he..." He had begun to cry, and Jimmy was quick to tug him down by the shoulders in a hug. He rubbed at the drummer's back as he cried, shushing him gently to try and calm him down. Rowan also had a hand on Lister's shoulder.

"It's okay, Lis. he's gone." The bassist reassured. The drummer turned his head to look at Rowan, a small and appreciative smile on his tear-stained face.

"Well, he seemed lovely." Jimmy sighed, and Lister couldn’t stop the wet laugh he let out, rubbing at his eyes.

"A fucking delight, right?"

The three of them can’t help their giggles. Rowan quickly checked Lister's fist to be sure he hadn’t hurt it.

No matter how much it had hurt Lister to be confronted by his father, he felt comfort in the fact that he’d always been right about the man. He didn’t care about Lister or his mother. He only cared about himself and what he could get out of people. Perhaps it was a good thing that Lister had been raised by his hard-working and considerate mother. As much as he used to long for a father in his life, he knew now he was better off without him. It was his job to grow up to be a better man. not because of his father, but to spite him, to show him that not everyone was doomed to fall headfirst into the bottle and to never make it out. No. he had reason to live. to live happily.

"If I ever become a dad, I am never asking him for advice." Lister sniffed out, Rowan and Jimmy laughing as they pulled him in for a group hug.

#i was born for this #iwbft #lister bird #jimmy kaga ricci #rowan omondi #the ark #osemanverse #boo we hate listers dad #Pierro Ricci #pls be kind i’m so scared to post this LOL #name is from view between villages by noah kahan

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