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Hangman hated the fact that he actually had noticed when Rooster was gone. Not the exact moment, which made him feel slightly better, but as soon as he looked up and couldn’t find Rooster among the crowd of drunk and celebrating people.
He hated himself even more when I found himself deliberately searching for Rooster. Searching the crowd for a mustached Hawaiian shirted ‘where’s Waldo’.
Usually he stuck out like a needle in a haystack. A damn pretty one. Or some metaphor better than that. But tonight, he was nowhere to be found.
That’s when Hangman figured that, hey, they were here for the exact purpose of celebrating Rooster, and Maverick. But he was here for Rooster. And now that Rooster wasn’t, Hangman figured he had done just enough celebrating for the day, so he wandered outside.
The cool air was a wonderful juxtaposition to the stuffy warm of the bar and Hangman found himself breathing in even deeper, running his hands around the wooden railing and letting his eyes flicker along the line where the ocean met the shore. And then he froze.
Hangman wasn’t actually sure what he noticed first, the unmistakable small billowing of smoke or the shape it was coming from, Rooster.
His figure was as easy to recognize as any now, and Hangman still wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. A tactile skill he picked up to spot the enemy anywhere, or because it was Rooster. Stupid pornstash having Hawaiian shirt wearing piano playing Rooster. And it appeared as if Rooster was smoking on the beach.
And before Hangman could even register what was happening, his feet were dragging himself towards the tide.
When he was about fifty feet away, he could see more clearly. He could see that, just as he suspected, it was Rooster. And just as he suspected, he was smoking. And then he saw the one thing he wasn’t really expecting at all, it wasn’t a cigarette.
Hangman quickly shook the shock from his head. Oh no, a grown man was smoking a joint, how scandalous. He looked like a kid and sounded about eighty.
Sure he had seen people smoke before, hell he had too. Just not in a very long time. So it wasn’t as big of a deal as his brain initially told him it was. It definitely wasn’t and he almost hated how old and lame he sounded. He just didn’t expect it from Rooster.
Rooster who had finally turned around when Hangman was just about ten paces away, letting a breath out from his lungs and smoke into the air as he identified the figure creeping up behind him.
“If I hadn’t almost died today, I’d tell ya you scared me,” Rooster let out a low chuckle, taking the joint from his lips, “why’d ya leave the party?”
Hangman let his shoulders drop, hands in his pocket and just smirked, “I could ask you the same thing.”
Rooster just shrugged, “needed a second to just calm down I guess. It’s been a pretty fucking hectic day. I needed a second to relax.”
“I can see that,” Hangman’s lips quirked up, “I didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t. Well, I do. Just not usually during assignments. I just figured this one is over so, why not.”
Hangman just nodded, watching as Rooster took another slow drag from the joint, letting the smoke out his mouth and right back in as he smoothly breathed it back through his nose, tossing his head back ever so slightly. Almost erotically. But Hangman was sure that he had imagined that last part.
“Do you?”
“What?”, Rooster’s question had caught him off guard, “do I what?”
Rooster let out another laugh, “smoke.”
Oh, Hangman smiled, “nah, haven’t since college.”
“Hmm,” it was Rooster’s turn to nod, “you wanna?”
Hangman looked down at the joint that was extending from Rooster’s two fingers, he trailed his eyes up Rooster’s arm up until his shoulder and up his neck until they rested in his eyes. The moonlight reflecting off of them, slightly glassy but Hangman didn’t mind, not one bit. And for the second time that night, before he even realized, he was migrating towards Rooster again.
He took the joint and brought it up to his own lips, maybe secretly hoping there was still a little small tiny bit of Rooster still left on it, and he breathed in.
It was familiar enough that he was able to stifle the small cough that forced itself out, but not enough to the point where Rooster didn’t still catch it and let out a breathy laugh.
“How long have you been out here?” Hangman asked, taking another drag from the joint.
“Five minutes,” Rooster replied, a small something teasing itself on his face, “didn’t take you long at all to notice.”
“What can I say,” Hangman smirked and extended the joint back to Rooster, electing to sit down in the sand, “just wanted to make sure you weren’t lonely.”
Rooster laughed softly and lowered himself down next to Hangman, leaning himself back on one elbow as he blew the smoke from his lungs directly up in the air and Hangman couldn’t help but to stare. Since when did smoking become so hot?
They sat in silence for the next half hour or so as they passed the joint back and forth until it was gone and Rooster was buiring the butt of it in the sand.
It didn’t really hit Hangman just how long it had been since he had last smoked until he noticed how heavy his head had become and how unnecessary his legs felt.
“Shit,” he let out an airy laugh as he threw his head back.
“Really?” Rooster couldn’t help but to match Hangman’s laugh, “dude, you’re stoned.”
“How are you not?”
Rooster shrugged, flashing Hangman an almost greedy smile, “practice.”
“I guess I need to practice more.”
Hangman was surprised at how smooth that sounded. He was sure that based on just how far out of his body he felt that surely he was far far away from his usual demeanor as well. He nearly gave himself a high five for pulling off that one.
“Maybe so.”
They sat there for a little while longer until Hangman decided his head was just a bit too heavy for his neck, deciding to let it rest on Rooster’s shoulder instead. Feeling the cool but smooth fabric of the other pilot's shirt on his skin was just the kind of grounding he needed. Not to mention the absolutely mind melting array of scents that floated up to his brain as well. Short circuiting himself on the smell of weed and cologne.
“I couldn’t stay here all night,” he hummed to himself.
Rooster heard. Rooster smiled. And Rooster said nothing. Not about the comment, not about Hangman’s head on his shoulders. And definitely not about the fact that he agreed with both. He really fucking agreed. He needed to get Hangman high more often.
They stayed like that for another little while, neither of them were exactly sure how long. The crashing waves and general buzz made it a bit hard to keep track of the time, not that either of them cared one bit.
Rooster decided that he liked Hangman like this. Eyelids fluttering halfway open and all the way shut in a way that made him look very pretty in the dim light that radiated itself from the half full moon. The way the only sound coming out of his lips for once was the soft sound of his long and equally slow breathes, making Rooster wonder if they tasted the same right now. And especially the welcomed weight of Hangman’s head on his shoulder, which he never imagined he would enjoy as much as he did. But hell, he really did.
“I’m hungry,” Hangman interrupted the silence, “I want pizza or something.”
Rooster chuckled, “pizza? Really?”
“Or something. Are you not starving Roo?” Hangman cooed, looking up at Rooster through his lashes in a way where Rooster couldn’t help but crave more.
“Not particularly, but if you are then let’s get you home, yeah?” Rooster suggested and stood up, offering a hand out to Hangman to help him up.
Hangman, who had only hummed in acknowledgment, grabbed Rooster’s hand and almost pulled him back down when he gave himself zero help whatsoever.
“Come on man,” Rooster laughed, “help me out a bit?”
“Nah,” Hangman smiled wistfully, “you got this Lieutenant.”
After a bit of struggle, Rooster did finally manage to haul the other pilot to his feet and right into his arms, making both of them laugh as Hangman swayed to stand all the way up.
They had also managed to wander over across the beach and back into the bar just so Rooster could tell someone where they were going so that no one would get too worried. But maybe it would’ve been a better option.
“Hey,” Phoenix amused coming up behind them and wrapping an arm around Hangman, her eyebrows shooting way up and her voice sounding very surprised, but pleasantly so, “you look like you’re having fun.”
“I am good, Phoenix,” Hangman attempted to smirk back, “I’m very good.”
Phoenix could barely hold back the laugh that threatened to erupt out, “that’s not what- alright. Rooster, you taking him home?”
“Yes ma’am,” Rooster sighed with a smile, “this one’s on me.”
And he wasn’t upset about that, not one bit.
The night wasn’t exactly cold yet, but it was cool enough to where Rooster actually appreciated the accidental rubbing of hands and shoulders as they walked. Each one sends a shooting electric current of warmth up his arms and straight through his brain, as well as other parts of his body.
Hangman’s place isn’t that far away. Close enough to where they could walk there in just under ten minutes, but still far enough away to where Hangman had to rely on leaning on Rooster for support halfway through.
They made their way up the steps and to Hangman’s front door, pausing in front of it while Rooster waited for him to unlock it.
After what seemed like a good minute or two of Hangman not reaching to get his keys, Rooster had gotten a bit irritated, “are you gonna unlock it or not? I did a nice thing by bringing you home.”
“You did a nice thing by getting me high too,” Hangman hummed, an uncharacteristically gentle smile playing at his lips, “I have a game.”
“A game? Com’on Jake please just open the door,” Rooster practically begged, starting to maybe feel a little bit of his high as well.
Hangman just shook his head, “only if you guess which pocket they’re in.”
Rooster let out a sigh of annoyance. It was either play the game and get inside or die starving on Hangman’s front porch, “front left.”
“Nope.”
“Back left.”
“Nope.”
“Back right.”
“Closer.”
“Front right.”
“Almost there.”
Roosters patience has worn just thin enough, not completely in a bad way, that he decided he wasn’t gonna play this game anymore. He wanted to get the hell inside, for Hangman’s sake of course. So, he did what any reasonable person would do when faced with his situation. He shoved both his hands into Hangman’s front pockets.
He jumped at first, but just as quickly as his surprise came, his signature smirk took over.
“At least buy me dinner first, Bradshaw.”
“I’m trying to get you your damn dinner, Seresin,” Rooster huffed, taking his hands out and shoving them back in to search Hangman’s back pockets, “but you’re making it a bit difficult.”
“Says the man with his hands on my ass,” Hangman mused and Rooster heard the jingle of a key, the bastard had them in his hands the whole time.
Defeated, Rooster took a deep breath in and snatched the keys to open the door for the two of them, refusing to acknowledge the creeping crimson tone that was edging itself up his neck and onto his cheeks.
Hangman strolled right in and made a b-line right towards the fridge, swinging it open and grabbing a small box.
When Rooster was close enough behind Hangman to see exactly what he had in mind, he couldn’t help but laugh.
Hangman. Mr. Cocky-I’m-better-than-everyone-else-at-everything-else was feverishly tearing open a box of dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets.
He stopped to look up at Rooster, “how many do you want?”
Rooster was about to answer. To tell him he wasn’t exactly that hungry but he was cut off before a single word could even form.
“Wait! That’s not cannibalism, is it?” Hangman asked with a hefty chuckle, finding himself absolutely hilarious, especially in his doped up state, “since, you know. You’re Rooster. And these are chicken nuggets.”
Rooster hated how that made him smile. It was not funny, not even a little. “I believe those are actually Dino nuggets,” he corrected, making Hangman’s smirk intensify.
“My bad. You are completely correct,” Hangman said as he dumped the whole box onto a plate and put it in the microwave, “congratulations. You, sir, are no cannibal tonight.”
He couldn’t even recall the last time he had dino nuggets. Probably when he was like five. Maybe six. Which made him wonder all over again just why Hangman had them so readily available. But he wasn’t going to complain, not when they tasted so good.
And he certainly didn’t complain when they finished and Hangman set the plate down on the table and then leaned his head on his shoulder. Not saying anything, just enjoying the other pilots' company.
Usually Rooster is full of complaints when it comes to Hangman. Shit he has a whole notes page just for it. But right now, in this moment, his only complaint is the fact that he knows this moment will end.
That there will come a time when he can’t smell the lingering scene of the weed mixing with Hangman’s stupid strong cologne and the oddly welcomed scent of breaded chicken. That soon Hangman’s head will be absent from his shoulder and it almost makes him shiver at the anticipated cold.
Rooster isn’t like this. He isn’t. So he blames it on the high. It was the drugged up euphoria that made him lean his head onto Hangman’s. The dull buzz that kept them both eerily silent. An inebriated sense of belonging that they both prayed unspoken would still be there when they weren’t. Some sort of hazy cosmic jive.
Paralyzed until Hangman’s fingers moved to play with the loose yarn bracket on Rooster’s wrist.
“Why do they call you Rooster anyway?”
“Do you want the real answer?”
Hangman seemed to think for a second, “no. I want to make up my own.”
Rooster held back a slight laugh in response, remaining quiet to let Hangman carry on.
“I think it’s cause you wake people up. You give them a wake up call. Introduce them to a new day. Like I was sleeping for years before I met you,” Hangman hummed, letting his eyes close as he mumbled out the last sentence.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rooster said after a second, “you’re stoned.”
“Maybe so.”
The silence is back and Rooster appreciates it, for a different reason this time. Relishing in what Hangman had just stupidly admitted to. Until curiosity got the best of him.
“How’d you get Hangman?”
Hangman doesn’t move from his position, he doesn’t even flinch, “typo. It was supposed to be hung-man.”
“Shut up,” Rooster laughed, “tell me.”
“Guess you'll just have to make up your own,” Hangman shrugged.
And Rooster would. Not right then, he didn’t want to slip up and say something he didn’t mean, or worse. Something he did. So he just weaved his fingers into Hangman’s, featherly holding his hand, “okay.“
The next morning when they all funneled back into the Top Gun halls for a further mission debrief, Hangman was yet to leave Roosters side. And vice versa. Sticking to each other like glue.
Phoenix was the first one to notice, making her way over with an all knowing look on her face, “Rooster. Bagman. How was the rest of your night, eventful?”
Rooster shot her a glare, it didn’t matter though. She could read through it.
“Actually,” Hangman bosted, “I don’t remember too much from last night, care to refresh my memory?”
The toothpick in between his lips quirked up when his mouth did, making Phoenix roll her eyes and Rooster look away.
“Yeah, that’s cause Rooster got you baked last night,” Phoenix laughed with a rather taunting smile.
“When did he tell you that?” Hangman asked, turning to Rooster and raising a curious brow.
Phoenix, the all knowing goddess she seemed to be, just grinned again, “I’m pretty sure the whole state of California could smell the two of you last night.”