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cherri cola stands at the edge of a grassy cliff, his eyes the bluest they’ve ever been. the wind coming off the ocean whips his hair back and forth, his blue streak fading into gray.
it hadn’t been gray before. a week ago, cherri’s hair was rich and brown, the only disturbance a new bright blue streak that the kobra kid had done, insisting that cherri looked like a city rat and that he needed a splash of color.
and now white strands, far too premature for a man only twenty years old. his fingers twitch, grasping for something that’s not there - a hand, a piece of fabric, anything.
the water beneath him froths and splashes at the cliffs, huge waves gaining momentum towards the land and spraying droplets everywhere. cherri’s jacket is soaked through, but he either doesn’t care, or he hasn’t noticed.
a week ago, cherri was a different person.
a week ago, cherri was squinting through the sand in his eyes, kissing his boyfriend’s sunburnt cheek, both of them grasping the matching dog tags they’d gotten special from tommy against their chests, knowing for sure that this could be the last time they’d ever see each other.
a week ago, cherri grabbed motorbaby’s wrists and helped her climb into the van, told dj hot chimp to hit the fucking gas, grabbed the radio on the seat and watched the city disappear, gone in the dust and the grit, taking his favorite people in the world with it.
a week ago, kobra kid was here.
a week ago, kobra’s scratchy voice was in cherri’s ear, telling him not to worry so much.
a week ago, kobra’s crooked fingers were pressing against his palm, a gentle good-morning he gave when the words got too hard.
a week ago, cherri’s knees had hit the sand, tears refusing to come in spite of his utter despair.
a week ago, doctor death defying had helped cherri into the driver’s seat of the beat-up truck, told him to keep driving west, and that the witch would watch over him.
cherri couldn’t drive west anymore.
there was an ocean in the way.
an ocean, and a wall of storms, and hundreds of words cherri wished he could say, with no ears to hear them.
“you were right.”
cherri startles at the sound, a voice so familiar, so husky, so dry and cracked from underuse. he turns his head and sees nothing but a shadow, a faint outline that could be someone if he squinted.
“you’re supposed to be dead,” cherri says. accusing.
“i am.”
“that fucking sucks.”
the shadow makes a gesture that could be anything - a shrug, a twirl. most likely, it’s kobra flipping cherri off. “sucks for you. you gotta live without me.”
“i’m not,” cherri’s eyes turn back to the horizon, looking out at the ocean. “i’m not living without you, ko. i’m never comin’ back from this trip.”
“don’t.” kobra’s voice is sharp. cherri recognizes the tone - kobra used it so flippantly, from a drunken crash queen who decided to stumble against cherri at a bar, to cherri every time cherri worried himself to not eating or sleeping. “don’t give up on your fuckin’ life just ‘cause mine’s over.”
“who’s stopping me? you’re not even here. you’re just a fucking memory.” cherri clenches his fist, painfully aware that kobra’s hand will never touch his again. “i can do what i want. i’m a grown man, kobra.”
at this, kobra laughs. “you’re no more a grown man than motorbaby.” his tone changes, softens. “speakin’ of -”
cherri gazes down at his boots. “ran away. no idea where she is. it fucking destroyed her, ko. you guys dyin’. showpony ran off after her - no idea where they are, either.”
“i didn’t mean to die,” kobra says. “i didn’t -”
“witch, kobra, do you think i thought that? you were hardly brave enough to face the witch of your own doing, anyway.” cherri glared at the sea, the spray softening his features nonetheless. he loved the sea, he realized.
kobra’s form becomes more solid, and he lays his head on cherri’s shoulder. “i love you, cher. i wasn’t brave enough to say it before.”
cherri holds back a storm of tears, knowing this is the last time he’ll speak to kobra. “i - i love you too, baby.”
kobra was afraid, and young, and riddled with doubt and anxieties that took form in a bleached-blonde crash queen with a short temper and a shorter - well. cherri missed him nonetheless. he missed him like crazy. he missed him more than he’d missed anyone in his life.
“you weren’t ever mine, kobra. never mine, and never will be,” cherri murmurs, and kobra’s form fades away. the memory of a killjoy, gone.
and cherri turns around, and gets into his truck, and he drives back to the zones.