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He was having an episode again. Skateboard had grown adapted to it, the little deep and dark feeling he’d get every now and then when he stayed up too late at night.
He’d also grown accustomed to having someone to run to.
That someone was Boombox, and he would be able to just walk across the street and talk to him for an hour. Then they’d play music, laugh at some unfortunate beat, and he’d lull himself back to sleep on the other’s couch.
There wasn’t anybody to run to today.
Boombox wasn’t close anymore. He was somewhere in the Crossroads, likely fiddling around with his DJ set and trying to get the ambience just right for sleeping.
That sounded good right now, but playing some crappy video on his TV wasn’t helping whatsoever.
As much as he tried to imagine anything else, like what he’d do in the morning or a new trick he could work on whenever he got out of bed— his brain drew a blank.
He could feel Windforce throwing him out again.
That long fall from Splintered Skies, clutching onto Boombox despite knowing he wouldn’t be killed.
“I need to get up,” he was grumbling to himself before throwing on his helmet and practically running out the door with his skateboard.
There were tricks he could practice. Nobody was up around this time of night, and he had a full city to skate around.
Hitting tricks until his legs hurt worked in theory, but after another ten minutes of trying to find the highest ramp he could go off of— he fell.
Skateboard could only get up, and murmur swears under his breath, feeling some deep scratches at his knees already forming. It had become so much harder to act happy in circumstances like this.
Hitting a new trick wasn’t satisfying when he’d been put into a bad mood.
Man, he’d need more Band-Aids for this. There was blood seeping through the sweatpants he would’ve worn to bed, and his hands were shaking too hard to hold the board properly for another trick.
Feeling the wind only made it worse.
Boombox was still a city over, and he wouldn’t be able to make it in an hour.
Waking up his family at this hour to explain that he had some crazy nightmare felt somewhat embarrassing, as much as he needed the help. Slingshot was in the Crossroads too—
No wonder desperation leads people to weird places.
The more Skateboard tried to rack his brain, the more it led to one answer.
Coil wouldn’t make fun of him, and chances are he’d be up practicing for some underground boxing tournament. Actually, scrap that first thought.
Who wouldn’t make fun of him for showing up on their front step bleeding and shaking?
All over some tiny night terror about falling from the sky again. The same place that covered the top of his head.
Yeah, no, he needed to skate there faster.
By the time he hit Coil’s apartment, it took three loud knocks on the door for the other to open it. And even then, he didn’t look awake at all.
“Dude, y’know I have shit to do tonight, and I can’t—” Coil had started before taking a look at him, but the second he did, Skateboard was being dragged in with a concerned look.
“Did someone beat you up? You know I’ll get your lick back for you.”
Skateboard had to pause and comprehend the sudden worry before sputtering out, “Nothing like- no, not like that.”
His breathing was getting weird.
This must look horrible to Coil, didn’t it? He was already starting to feel guilty for coming here so late at night.
“‘Kay then.”
It took one long look before Skateboard heard the quiet mumble, “I’m not gonna keep asking you about it.”
“Really?”
“Do you want to talk about it? I won’t judge, but people who look like this don’t usually try talking.”
“Just a little bit.”
Coil furrowed his brows at him while processing the words, letting out one small yawn before adding, “Go sit down on my bed while I grab my bandaids. Your knees look screwed.”
“Tell me about it.”
His sarcasm came out way tinier right now, not able to try bantering when the adrenaline from the fall was wearing off.
There wasn’t much of anything in Coil’s apartment besides training gear, posters, boxing trophies, and a TV. He didn’t mind it now, seeing some of the smaller trinkets that decorated the corners of the kitchen counter or where the TV stood.
Skateboard’s leg bounced somewhat unconsciously while sitting on the edge of the mattress, still stuck on the fall.
“You can start talking if you have to.” Coil’s voice wasn’t that loud from the bathroom, but it became much louder as he came out.
He’d already grabbed alcohol wipes and Band-Aids to help clean up the scratches, not even bothering to get full permission as he lifted up the sweatpants.
Where would he even start?
“You remember getting banished, right?”
Coil blinked up at that, clearly caught off guard before saying, “Yeah.”
“Were you conscious enough to remember the fall, or did it feel like nothing?”
That was his best attempt at putting it lightly. Skateboard remembered everything about when he fell, from being harshly thrown down to clutching onto Boombox upon seeing him follow.
“It was only nine years ago for me.”
He hissed at the feeling of the alcohol touching the scratches while Coil spoke, more focused on treating him than on talking.
“Do you ever have like— nightmares about it?”
There was a small pause.
“Not often, no. Mine are usually about things like getting punched to death. Silly stuff.”
Right.
“I still do.”
There was a band-aid being peeled and put onto the scratches, and Skateboard didn’t like the silence after he admitted that.
All Coil did was give him a hum of acknowledgement, staring absent-mindedly at his knee.
“I try not to think about it.”
“How do you stop thinking about it, though? You can’t just say—”
“I don’t know; I usually have some fights to distract me.”
Coil sat next to his legs on the floor, looking up at him while speaking.
“It’s not like I can blame you for being scared of your fall. I already had my gravity coil back then, so it wasn’t as scary.”
Right.
It would be hard to be scared of falling when he could change his own gravity.
Skateboard didn’t say anything, ruffling the other’s hair as a distraction before murmuring, “Some people must’ve died in that fall before.”
“You can’t just touch my head before saying that.”
“It’s what I’m thinking!”
“Dude.”
His sweatpants fell back over his knee naturally, a slight hole from the friction earlier.
“I shouldn’t have come, sorry.”
That sentence was his only natural reflex to Coil’s silence, but he mentally took it back at seeing the immediate offense it brought out.
“Don’t be sorry for this! I’m just quiet 'cause,” Coil’s eyes looked somewhere else in the room before settling back on him, looking deep in thought, “I don’t talk about the fall often enough.”
Right.
“It’s not any particular thing that made anyone live or die. It’s some messed-up system to throw out newspawns just because of their gear, or their behavior— or anything!”
This was such a bad attempt at comfort.
He couldn’t help the quiet laugh Coil got out of him, one that he muffled immediately afterwards. Complaining about the problem somewhat worked in easing it.
“I don’t know how else to say it to you, especially without sleep- but I’m serious.”
“You didn’t have to say that last bit aloud. I know.”
“Then don’t laugh.”
Fair enough.
Skateboard didn’t know what else to say, as was evident from the fact that he’d let Coil ramble about how it wasn’t his fault.
“You talk so much all the time, but then you go quiet when I talk to you seriously. Thanks, Skate.”
“Sorry, I’m just-” What was he doing? “Processing. I don’t know. Something like that.”
“Cool.”
Coil didn’t interrupt him this time, giving him a long three minutes of ambience before piping up:
“Can we at least process to sleep?”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Do you need me to cuddle you to bed?”
Where does he even begin replying to that?
“Gay,” Skateboard coughed that out to try and ease all the seriousness out of the conversation, continuing with a small “I hope not,” afterwards.
“So will you move off my bed?”
Giving one small head tilt in response didn’t work the way he wanted it to.
“Look at how big my bed is! We’re not fitting there if we’re not cuddling.”
As much as he hated to admit it, Coil had a good point. One twin-size bed wasn’t made for two people, especially when he factored in Coil’s build.
His expression visibly diminished back into a frown as he realized that.
“Can you put a pillow between us?”
“Are you actually worried about the gay thing?”
“Yeah, because I obviously would want muscles against me while I’m sleeping because I’m gay,” Skateboard mocked before retorting, “No. You’re clearly just overly warm, and it’s summer.”
Coil opened his mouth almost reflexively to argue that, but nothing came out. Skateboard knew he was right about the Craterdust summers being too warm for physical contact.
“Fine, fine.”
He could hear Coil’s bones popping when he got up and stretched, questioning, “You need me to keep the lights on?”
“I’m not that much of a baby.”
“Bro— just appreciate the effort, gosh.”
Well.
“Keep one on in the bathroom.”
Skateboard could practically hear Coil’s mental ‘that’s what I thought’ as he turned off the main light, shoving a pillow in between the two of them when he began getting back into the bed.
Neither of them had closed their eyes yet. He didn’t even need to see Coil in the dark for that; he could just tell his breathing hadn’t slowed down.
“Wake me up if you’re going through something. Okay?”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
That got a groan out of him before he grumbled, “Pinky promise, even. Just go to sleep.”
That worked.
His eyes were closed before he even realized it, peacefully sleeping up against the pillow.
…
“Fuck, Skateboard, wake up—” Coil was shaking him almost urgently, and he could see the sun peeking in from a window.
He’d almost turned back over before realizing Coil was annoyed with something, meaning he had to ask.
“What?”
“Your morning breath smells like shit.”
“Shut up!”
“I’m right! That’s an emergency you need to handle; you can use my toothbrush if you have to.”
And even if being woken up so suddenly had irritated him, having looked for Coil’s comfort worked.
Skateboard hadn’t woken up once in the night, and there weren’t any dry tears on his cheek.
Despite not mentioning it aloud, knowing how smug it’d make Coil, he was grateful.