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Jet Star was incredibly talented at guitar.
That was all Ridge wanted to admit audibly. That was all he bothered to say, a single complimented cast out to the air in the vague direction of his partner. But the way his toes tapped against the sole of his shoe told a different story. He watched carefully as Jet Star’s strong fingers danced delicately down the fretboard with practiced skill, appreciative. The single compliment wasn’t made out of heartless malice, or because he didn’t understand and appreciate Jet’s skill. He just couldn’t describe how beautiful it was, not with words. Ridge was always a man of gesture. He saved his words for when it mattered; when people needed it. No one had needed his words in a while, not since Manic left.
Ridge didn’t want to think about that, so he continued to listen. The song spun on rhythmically but unpredictably, a song that Jet promised him had never existed. Such a complex melody spun by Jet so instantly, it seemed impossible.
The fire crackled mutedly into the darkness, and the sparks drifted up and almost blended in against the starry sky. The flame popped with the music, like the subtle tapping of a distance snare. Ridge breathed and brought his eyes to the horizon.
The melody slowed and stilled. Jet’s fingers plucked a series of repeated strings as he began to speak, a way to continue the flow of the sound without disrupting his speaking.
“Sorry,” he spoke clearly into the air. Jet’s voice was gentle, almost awkward.
“For what?” Ridge responded. Jet seemed to hesitate, and his fingers jumped further along the fretboard to change the tune of the notes.
“I haven’t played in a while,” He admitted. “It’s been like, 3 years. Maybe more. I’m rusty, I used to be better,”
Ridge’s eyes glanced from Jet’s face to the body of the guitar. “... If this is bad, I don’t wanna hear what you were like when you were good. You must’ve blown faces off,”
Jet doodled on the guitar, fiddling with notes like a blushing teen. “They called me the shred-king, you know,”
“Did they?” Ridge couldn’t help but smile. It felt awkward on his face, but he leaned into it. It was hard to keep himself from smiling around Jet. Jet’s happiness was contagious.
“Mhm, ever since I was a kid,” Jet explained. “The guy who taught me, he always hoisted me up onto his shoulders when I played a song right. He’d call me the shredder, cheer, say I was invincible.” Jet’s smile shifted to something more grief-ridden, but still happy. “I guess he was right,”
“...” Ridge looked toward the fire. He forgot Jet Star had lost people.
That sounded terrible.
In better words, Ridge had forgotten Jet Star was a person. Specifically, a person who had lost friends.
That sounded worse.
But it wasn’t hard to think that way. He had lived for years hearing nothing but praise for Jet Star and the Killjoys, and after a while they stopped being men and became legends. It was especially apparent after they died. The Fabulous Killjoys were angels to the people Ridge led, and it was strange sitting with one of them at a fire, playing songs that didn’t exist.
Ridge Rider wasn’t a killjoy, but that term was made by the man that sat giggling next to him. It was hard to believe something like that.
“What were they like?” He asked. Ridge wasn’t asking for himself. He was asking for anyone but himself, actually.
The playing stopped, and the guitar was discarded at Jet’s side. The prompting of the topic hurt, Ridge could see it on the man’s face. He scooted forward, hunched by the fire with his fingers twirling helplessly through the curls in his hair. He was a large man, but he looked so small in that instant. So lonely below the stars.
“...” Jet glanced back at Ridge, for a moment, then looked away. “They were my best friends,”
“...” Ridge relaxed in his seat and listened.
“They were my best friends in the world, my ride or dies. They were people I would do anything for. Kobra was my kid brother, someone I’ve wanted to protect since I saw him stumbling at age 13. Ghoul too. Just kids. They were when I met them, at least.” Ridge was reminded of someone he didn’t want to think about. “And…”
“Party Poison?”
“...” Jet paused his hair twirling and stared into the fire. “I loved him more than anything.”
The air was quiet, but it hadn’t stilled.
“... I won’t ask anything else, but,” Ridge breathed. “Can you tell me about Kobra Kid?”
“...” Jet’s face swelled with emotion. “Yeah,” He smiled. “Yeah, I’d love to,” He pushed his hair back and drew his eyes to the sky, like he could spot something up in the air if he squinted hard enough. “Kobra was haunted, I think. He never talked about it, but we all knew. He hid his eyes every chance he got, but whenever I could see them they looked scared. He always looked a bit lost.” He sighed deeply. “He always slept in the car, because of nightmares.” Something struck in Ridge’s heart, something piercing. “I remember the first night I shared a space with him. He woke up screaming, scratching at his skin like he could claw out the devil. Every time I asked he’d pretend nothing happened, say it happens all the time, or just tell me to go fuck myself, drive sidestreet. We all knew he was struggling.”
“...” Ridge pressed his lips into a thin line and eyed his fingernails, which were chewed to the skin.
“When he died, god,” Jet’s voice broke a little, but he kept looking up at the starry sky. “... Shit, a part of me thought it was on purpose. We all thought that, a little bit. Except Poison… I don’t think they wanted to even consider that. I think they thought it was their fault for never reaching out. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, in the end. But… but when the news came, I,” Jet shut his eyes. “... It hurts knowing you failed. It sucks knowing you saw someone struggling and couldn’t help.” Ridge pressed his hand into a fist. “... For a while, I wondered if I had said one more thing, maybe he would’ve changed his mind. Maybe if I gave him one more hug for him to push me out of… maybe he would’ve changed his mind.”
“... I’m sorry,” Ridge whispered.
“Don’t be,” Jet’s eyes opened to face the stars. “He’s with the stars, now. Probably riding his bike up there, where he belongs. Above the clouds, away from here.”
“...”
Ridge looked up toward the sky. He wondered if the Kobra Kid was up there. He hoped, if anything, he had met one of the smaller stars up there and made good. He hoped his little brother was able to meet his hero. He hoped they were still up there, riding into the clouds for eternity.
No one cried that night. No one needed to. There was nothing to cry about.