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This carpet is so fucking soft. Goody thought distantly, brushing his fingers along the soft grey rug. He was laying on the rug beside the couch, staring vacantly up at the wisps of smoke that drifted lazily through the air. On the speaker, some song Shoresy had picked had been playing for what had felt like a lifetime, but Goody had only listened long enough to hear ”Everybody shut up! I have an erection!” before he zoned out entirely and let himself sink into the pleasant high of whatever Dolo had rolled for them.
Bet Dolo’s good with his fingers. His brain said immediately and unhelpfully. The high was no less pleasant, but now that he’d broken the seal, he was a little nervous that it would be the only thing he’d be able to think about.
“Wha’ssat?” Hitch appeared suddenly in his field of vision, staring down from directly above him, startling him frighteningly close to sobriety for a long few moments before the calming haze settled back in and he could process—and maybe appreciate—the opportunity to stare at Hitch’s face. He was clearly amused, one eyebrow raised expectantly, and Goody finally clocked back in enough to recognize he’d been asked a question. And he very distinctly did not know the answer.
“Y’think about Dolo’s fingers a lot, b’y?” Hitch teased quietly, and very suddenly Goody wished he could disappear into the soft rug. Maybe he’d sunk a bit too far into the high—he had not meant to say that out loud. Hitch snickered and Goody’s face burned with embarrassment, but before he could stammer out a reply, the next song interrupted with a gentle acoustic guitar intro, one that he’d recognize anywhere—even if The Trees was nearly five minutes long, Shoresy had been allowed to play Ninja Sex Party. Besides, five minutes was short for a Rush song.
How do I even come back from that? Goody wondered, beyond mortified.
It took a few seconds, but Goody watched the recognition dawn in Hitch’s eyes when he realized what was playing. Goody felt the blush spread to the tips of his ears, fighting the urge to look away bashfully. It felt like Hitch was looking directly into his brain, and he had decidedly mixed feelings about it.
“Should’a known ya’d pick Rush.” Hitch said, laughing softly. “A’course.”
“Rush’s unbelievable.” Goody said automatically, gratefully taking the obvious out he’d been given. They fell quiet, stuck in their high and allowing the song’s peaceful introduction to continue uninterrupted in the background as they stared at each other.
“Hey Peter ‘n Sydney, ever heard’a ‘puff puff pass’?” An irritated Shoresy spoke up from somewhere behind Goody, and he craned his neck to face him. He was sitting on the floor against the front of JJ’s chair, legs stretched out beside the coffee table. His petulant impatience was nothing new, so Goody just chuckled, shaking his head.
It was only then that he noticed the still-lit joint in Hitch’s hand, and he reached up to snag it and take a deliberately slow hit. As the seconds passed, he could feel Shoresy staring him down, and when Goody suddenly sat up to blow his lungful of smoke directly at him, Shoresy sputtered and waved his hand furiously in a futile attempt to escape it.
“Settle down.” He countered easily, sharing a knowing look with Hitch. They laughed, and in a heartbeat Shoresy’s face was redder than Goody’s. Brat.
“You fuckin’ settle down…” He groused, but JJ muttered something in French and moved for the first time in an hour to card his fingers through Shoresy’s hair, and the fight drained from him in an instant. He relaxed against JJ’s chair, cautiously accepting the metaphorical olive branch when Goody reached over to pass the joint to him.
The rotation continued as Geddy Lee belted out an epic allegorical prog rock ode to arboreal justice. It wasn’t long before Dolo reappeared, swooping down and intercepting the joint from Goody before could pass it back to Shoresy, who let out a sharp noise of protest but made no real effort to chase him for it. Goody became distinctly aware of how lucky he was that Dolo’d been in the washroom.
“Too slow.” Dolo chuckled loosely, skirting around the coffee table to return to the couch. Hitch sat back up and shuffled backwards to accommodate him, letting Dolo settle between his thighs and lean back against his chest. Goody turned to shrug at Shoresy, snickering at his pout of annoyance which only grew with the smoke rings Dolo had begun firing at him.
To add insult to injury, Hitch snagged the joint from Dolo’s grasp, took a quick hit, and handed it back to Goody. At this point, Shoresy looked ready to throw something, glaring at Goody with a fiery intensity that was somewhat quashed by JJ’s hand still curled into his hair.
“Gimme th’fuckin’ joint, Goodleaf.” He groused, holding one hand out expectantly. Goody stared him down, raising the joint to his lips with a lazy smile.
“Settle down.” He said breezily. Above him, Dolo and Hitch could be heard failing to stifle their laughter, snickering like schoolboys.
Shoresy’s responding scowl could be seen from space.
Goody became suddenly aware of The Trees coming to an end, the oaks and maples joining in unity by way of hatchet, axe, and saw. A familiar guitar solo followed next, and it took him a few seconds to recognize New Orleans is Sinking. It felt wrong to disrespect The Hip with their nattering, so he ashed the joint into the empty dip can on the coffee table and handed it to Shoresy. The tension in the room dissipated as if it were the smoke that swirled over their heads.
“This song always makes me think of killerwhaletank.” Shoresy said stiltedly after a few long seconds of hoarse coughing.
“Hip’s unbelievable.” Goody agreed with a chuckle, the others murmuring their assent.
JJ leaned forward suddenly and snagged the joint with surprising coordination, startling Shoresy into yet another coughing fit. This time, Goody couldn’t stop himself from dissolving into laughter against the couch, his smoke-addled mind dulling the sensation of Dolo’s elbow colliding with his back.
Once again, Shoresy glowered at him, but it was once again dulled by his red face and the fact he was still letting out weak, half-assed coughs, trying to pretend his baby lungs weren’t attempting to mutiny.
“Y’gonna make it, me son?” Hitch asked with a grin. “You smokin’ it or ‘s it smokin’ you?”
Before Shoresy could compose himself enough to answer, the front door swung open, five heads turning to look as Sanguinet appeared in the doorway. The coach froze at the sudden attention, breathing an awkward laugh. In his hands was a stack of pizza boxes, and Goody wasn’t sure he’d ever been more excited to see someone than in that moment.
Holy shit, I hope he got chicken.
“Uh—JJ texted me?” Sanguinet said as he held up the pizza boxes, as if that explained anything. He pulled the door shut behind him, toeing his untied boots off before shuffling into the living room to set the boxes on the coffee table. Curiousity got the best of Goody, and he opened the smaller box on the top of the pile to reveal a small mountain of chicken wings. He looked up just in time to see the faint blush on Sanger’s face as he turned away, shrugging bashfully.
“Knew you’d probably want chicken, so…” He waved his hand vaguely at the box, “…wings.”
I could fuckin’ kiss this guy right now.
“Isn’t this guy a beauty?” Shoresy said, having finally recovered from fighting for his life. “Such a fuckin’ beauty.” The b’ys voiced their agreement instantly, and Goody knew he was staring at Sanger like the sun shone from his ass but couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Sanger’s unbelievable.” He said warmly as the others flung themselves at the pizzas. Sanguinet was red all the way to the tips of his ears as he settled in the chair nearest the door, and when Goody plucked the joint from Shoresy’s hand to offer it to him, he shot Goody a grateful smile that went straight to his head.
I could fuckin’ kiss this guy right now. His brain repeated, louder. He dropped his gaze to the chicken wings, trying to rein in his wandering mind before he embarrassed himself again. Though he couldn’t deny the idea was rapidly growing on him.
Two pounds of chicken wings and a joint later, Goody’s brain-to-mouth filter had evaporated entirely—but to his credit, Dolo and Hitch had been shamelessly making out on the couch for about a minute and a half before anyone noticed, and both Shoresy and JJ had fallen asleep where they sat. Goody couldn’t be held responsible for his thoughts, not with how the room was almost hazier than his mind. He glanced at Sanguinet, only to find the coach already looking at him with a faint blush across his face.
Maybe I will fuckin’ kiss this guy right now.