Work Text:
Kobra finds it on a run with Poison about some wires for Dr. D.
It’s a mailbox, not like the one for the masks, but one you would see in front of a house. Its pink with yellow around the edges and stands in the middle of the desert, not near anything, all by itself.
Party Poison is rambling about something that happened with Ghoul on a past run, hands gesturing wildly. Kobra just tunes them out, walking up to the mailbox. He’s surprised to see that it isn’t empty, but has a letter inside. He picks it up and opens it. It reads:
empty spaces. lost trace. battery city races. getting taller as our desert smaller. dreams. visions. suicide missions. anniversaries are lies if we forget why the confetti flies. this morning, before the mask hides your eyes and last night's blood dries, before the bodies at the roadside rise, send your thoughts to the sky, in hopes that their memories weren't taken along with their lives
It’s a poem, he recognizes. It’s the only thing in the mailbox and is not signed with a name, and the letter isn’t addressed to anyone.
It’s just after he finishes reading it that Party Poison realises that Kobra isn’t listening to them and peaks their head over his shoulder. “Hey lol what’s this?”
“A poem, apparently.”
“Lame. What are you going to do with it?”
“I don’t know, maybe I’ll write one back”
“Omg this could be like a romance novel, you guys can have a meet cute!”
“Shut the fuck up, you literally had an enemies to lovers arc with Fun Ghoul”
“Ouch,” Party grabs at their chest like they’ve been shot, “you wound me, dear brother”
“Yeah, yeah, let’s get back before Dr. D. gets worried,” Kobra says, and puts the letter in his pocket.
* * *
When they get back to the radio station, wires in hand, Show Pony and Cherri Cola are there, helping clean up after some ‘joys came in with an injured crewmate. Cola looks over at them and gives them a smile before getting up and walking over.
“Hey guys, you got the stuff?”
“Yep, its right here,” Party Poison says, handing over the wires. Cola hands them over to Pony, who skates over to Dr. D. to help put them in his soundboard.
“Thanks guys,” Cola says, “These will help get the faders to stop crackling when he switches to a new song.”
“How’s convincing the good doctor to let you have your own segment going?” Kobra asks.
Cola chuckles. “Not great, I’m hoping that doing more work around here will help me get into his good books.”
“You still haven’t told me what your broadcast is going to be about, Cola,” Poison whines, draping their arm across his shoulder.
“It’s supposed to be a surprise!” Cherri says in his defence.
Party Poison leans forwards to stick their finger in Cherri’s face, “I’ll find out eventually, mark my words.” Party then backs off and goes to bother Show Pony.
Kobra and Cherri stand in awkward silence for a moment before Cherri goes, “Did the run go okay?”
“Yeah, it went pretty well. It was so weird though I found this-“
“KOBRA!” Party yells as they burst back outside the station, panting slightly. “GHOUL JUST RADIO’D AND SAID THAT TOMMY IS SELLING CAPRI SUNS. WE GOTTA GO NOW!”
Poison runs forward and grabs Kobra’s hand, dragging him back to the car.
“Bye Cherri,” Kobra shouts as he pulled towards the trans am.
“ByeColasorrygottaruncaprisunswaitfornoone” Party shouts over their shoulder as they jump into the driver’s seat and pull away
Cherri just stands their looking amused as they drive off to Tommy Chow Mein’s.
* * *
Kobra sits down that night at the makeshift desk in his room, pen in hand. He has been thinking about the poets letters all day. He wants to write back to them, to show them that he appreciates their work. So, he spends all night trying to come up with something after not having written having creatively in years.
Desolate lands, seeing myself in its reflection. Do I like what I see? The sand shapes a face I can’t recognise. The clouds show my path but I’m looking at my shadow. The waning moon holds the memories of a time I can’t remember. Auburn hues cloud my vision, the only thing I see is the charred remains of a past not recalled.
He then sneaks out with the trans am just before sunrise and drives to where he found the mailbox. It was actually quite nice, being able to express his feelings through writing. Once he’s arrived, he gets out and puts his poem in the mailbox. He didn’t sign his name, the poet didn’t so he doesn’t feel the need to. Kobra then gets back into the car and drives off, left alone with he’s thoughts.
* * *
Kobra has been busy these past few days. While on a scavenge with the rest of the crew, he found this super cool power glove, and has been working with Ghoul to make it into some sort of weapon. He got stuck with the trigger motion, and radioed Cola to come over and have a look at it, since he is pretty good with mechanics.
The bell over the door to the diner rung, signifying his arrival, as Cherri walked in.
“Hey man how you been,” Kobra says, getting up from the booth he was working at to greet him.
“Just shiny thanks. So, where’s the glove you were talking about?” Kobra leads him to the booth where the glove is, wires everywhere and the panel taken off. They work for a couple hours, picking at the pieces till the glove is able to shoot a ray blast as far as you could throw it. After they finish, Kobra asks if Cola wants to come over again later this week to help him aim, since Cherri was always a better shot. He agrees and gets up to leave. But stops himself to lay a hand on Kobra’s shoulder. He stares into his eyes for a brief moment, and then leaves.
‘That was weird,’ Kobra thinks, and he’s definitely not blushing.
* * *
Kobra checks the mailbox the next day, and finds his letter gone and a new one from the poet. It reads:
if Satan screams out loud. and violence is the only sound. when engines come squealing, demons reeling. the dance ground just a mask among the crowd. you need to hold tight to whatever gets you through the night.
Kobra smiles at it, he really likes the way this person expresses their thoughts into such beautiful writing.
* * *
Kobra searches around his room for a while, until he finds what he’s looking for. An old shoe box that he saved in case he needed it. He takes the two poems from the mailbox and puts them in the box, and then places it on his highest shelf. Its just after he’s done that the bell on the door rings, and Cherri shows up. Kobra leaves his room to go meet him.
“Hey Cherri, you ready to get started?”
“Of course.”
They head outside and set up a shooting range, lining a few cans of Power Pup on top of an old wooden box. Kobra tired to use the glove to shoot them down, but the shots go wide. Cola comes up behind him and holds his arm, helping to get the gloves lined up with the cans. He mutters something about riding the waves, and tells Kobra to shoot. He does, and the can goes flying. Kobra turns back to look at him with a big smile on his face, and Cherri is mirroring it. They practice for a little longer, and slowly, Kobra is able to knock off all of the cans in a row. He and Cola high-five (which lingers a little too long, but neither of them notice) and Kobra goes into the kitchen to get a couple cans of Power Pup for them.
He runs into Jet Star in the kitchen, who gives him a look.
“What? What’s the look for?”
Jet lifts his hands up, “Nothing. It’s just, Cola’s been coming around a lot recently.”
Kobra stares at him, “Yeah… cause he’s helping me with the glove.”
“Is that the only reason he’s been over so much?”
“Yes?” Kobra can’t help the heat that rises to his cheeks, even though he doesn’t really know why.
“Okay. If you say so.”
Kobra gives him a confused look and heads back outside to Cherri, cheeks still tinged with pink. They sit on the hood of the trans am (if Party found out they would probably kill them) and eat the Power Pup in silence. That is until Kobra speaks up and says, “While I hate the desert, I love that there is nothing tying me down. Like obviously I wouldn’t take off in the middle of the night, I care too much about my family, but like the freedom of being able to just drive out into the desert and never look back is very appealing.”
Cherri makes a noise of agreement and is silent, but then says, “I know. I know you care. About your family. It’s one of my favourite things about you. The fact that you’re so passionate about the people you care about. It’s a deep part of your character.”
Kobra is stunned for a moment. What the fuck. That was out of nowhere.
“I don’t know what to say to that.”
‘You don’t have to say anything. It’s getting late, I’m going to head out. This was fun,” Cherri Cola says with a soft smile. He gets off up the hood of the car, and Kobra watches him leave.
* * *
Kobra lies awake that night, unable to sleep. What the fuck had prompted Cherri to say that shit? Was that his way of saying he liked him? And what about Jet’s comment, what did he mean? And then there’s the poet. Kobra hasn’t been able to stop thinking about them. Does he seriously have a crush on a random person he doesn’t even know? And what about his feelings for Cherri? Wait, feelings? Does he have feelings for Cherri? God this is all so confusing.
Kobra decides that since he is unable to sleep he might as well write another poem. Don’t ask him who its about, because he seriously doesn’t know
We can leave this world, leave it all behind. We can steal this car if your folks don't mind. We can live forever, if you've got the time. So just save yourself and I'll hold them back tonight.
He ends up driving that night to the mailbox to drop it off, since he can’t sleep.
* * *
A couple days go by, and Kobra checks the mailbox to find a new poem. It says:
night when the light runs from the dark. the sun hides scared. we are strangers tonight. the darkness tears off our faces. shadows are cast over our bodies. and we lose ourselves. we can’t make out friends in the darkness, we can’t see our enemies. to the friends we lost. and the ones that lost us, don't let the night take you. find your way home to me. I look forward to the day you can fall into my arms.
Kobra goes back home, and puts the poem in the box.
* * *
A couple days later, Cherri Cola comes by the diner and calls all of the fab four into the main area.
“Guys, great news! Dr. Death Defying is letting me have my own segment!”
“Oh my god!” Party practically squeals.
The others all offer words of happiness and congratulations, before Poison asks, “So what’s it gonna be about?”
“I told you it’s a surprise.”
“Damn you! I thought for sure that was gonna work.”
They talk for a little while longer until Cherri has to leave, saying that he’s got to run over his broadcast, and the gang assures him they’re definitely going to tune in.
* * *
Kobra has been out of it all week. He’s been stuck in his own head, and was taken out of the front lines since he was almost shot by a draculoid. They gang told him that he can’t go with them until he’s got what’s bothering him figured out. So, Kobra does what he thinks is the best course of action when he doesn’t know his feelings. He writes a poem.
When I'm losing control, will you turn me away, or touch me deep inside. And when all this gets old will it still feel the same, there's no way this will die. But if we get much closer I could lose control. And if your heart surrenders. You'll need me to hold. Who do I pick when I ache for both? Am I out of my mind?
* * *
Its Cola’s broadcast night. The whole crew are sitting in a booth huddled around the radio.
“And now my sweet songbirds,” Dr. Death Defying’s lilting voice comes through the tinny radio, “It’s time for me to kiss ya’ goodbye for now and hand the sweet cadence of speaking off the new segment, run by our one and only resident soda. Now this is The Poetry Corner with Agent Cherri Cola.”
Kobra’s blood runs cold. Poetry?
Cola clears his throat and starts speaking.
“because at the end of the day, when the lights go out and your friends go home, when the radio dies before the world ends, when the stars call in pain.”
Poetry? It can’t be, it can’t possibly be. But it must, he knows that writing anywhere.
“there is a road you can always walk to help you find your way. but it's not where you end up or where you started that matters, it’s the pavement in between.”
He just sits there, stiff as a board, while the others lean in to hear him better. But Kobra can hear him clear as crystal.
“To the snake,”
What.
“We can lie under the stars. We can hold hands under the table. We can hide, sharing kisses in secret places. We can be open, and scream from the top of out lungs. We can be in love, if you will allow me. Let’s meet at the catalyst, and start the rest of our lives.”
Cola continues speaking but Kobra doesn’t hear any of it. Its Cherri. It’s always been Cherri. How can the world be so kind to him? The two people he has been pining for… are the same person.
He locks eyes with Jet, who has a knowing look on his face. ‘Go.” He mouths and nods his head towards the door. Kobra scrambles out of the booth and sprints towards the trans am. Party Poison and Fun Ghoul give him quizzical looks but say nothing as he drives away. If he’s speeding he doesn’t care. He has to get to the mailbox.
When he gets to the mailbox someone is standing there. Someone who is so articulate with his wording. Someone who has one of the softest smiles. Someone who makes him feel emotions that he didn’t think he’d deserve. Someone who he’s slowly been falling in love with. Someone who loves him back.
He gets out of the car and walks up to Cherri.
“Hey,” Cherri says.
“How did you know it was me?”
“I didn’t, I hoped though. I hoped so hard,” Cola says, love in his eyes.
Kobra steps closer to Cherri, till their almost nose to nose. He barely gets the words out, suddenly overwhelmed, but he manages to breathe out “God you’re such a romantic.”
Cola chuckles and then he’s kissing Kobra. Its everything he was wanting it to be and more, he melts into the kiss and raises his hand to cup his face. Cherri’s places his hands on Kobra’s waist and they stay like that, content and deeply in love.
When they walk into the diner a while later holding hands, they are met with whoops, hollers, and even a wolf whistle from the rest of the fab four. Kobra just rolls his eyes and looks back at his new boyfriend, ready to start the rest of their lives.