Anyways as promised here's me actually sharing fics and writing.
Summary; Zoot's memory is often unkind to him. On a cold night, a hazy memory keeps him up.
Trigger warnings; Mentions of Alcoholism, Memory issues, Mentions of Homelessness
Words; 592
Not meant to be read as a ship but I mean you can I guess
The cold draft within the bus made sleeping nigh impossible. Even with being so closely huddled together, the chill was undeniable. This is what kept Zoot awake.
Zoot never liked being awake this late at night. Something about the darkness made him feel lonely and negativity would seep into his mind without notice. It would soon run rampant, tearing apart any positivity he had at the time.
As Zoot lay there, trying to keep his eyes shut, he couldn't help the hazy memory flashing through his head. He could barely make heads or tails of it, but all he could tell was there was just anger and yelling. It was anger and yelling from the others in the band. It was anger and yelling directed towards him.
But why? Why did they do that? What did he do wrong? How long ago was it? Zoot couldn't remember. That made it all so much worse.
Zoot slipped away from the others and left the bus. While the moon and stars glimmered beautifully, it did little to prevent tears from running down his face.
Amongst this lonely sight, Zoot tried harder to remember that. The memory still evaded him. He knew they were in the bus at the time. Could it have been before, when they were a fledgling band? Or perhaps mere hours ago? Would they still be mad for whatever he did?
Zoot grasped at his hair and stifled a sob. His memory had let him down. It would fail him constantly, but this felt so much worse. The sheer terror of not knowing what to do, because he could not remember how or when he had caused the others to be mad at him.
"Hey, man, what's got you sittin all by yourself out here? It's freezin." A rough voice whispered from the bus's door. It was Floyd.
Zoot didn't respond. He couldn't face Floyd now. Nothing made sense, and he could only further make things worse if he spoke.
On the other hand, Floyd recognized this type of night. It wouldn't be the first time Zoot worked himself up over a memory. He took a seat next to Zoot and began to speak softly.
"You havin trouble rememberin somthin again?" Floyd asked.
Zoot nodded. He desperately wanted to ask if Floyd was actually mad at him or not, or what he even did in that memory to invoke such a wrath.
Floyd could roughly estimate when such a memory would do this to one of his dearest friends. Floyd knew that Zoot had it rough many years ago.
"Times are better now, Zoot. Those days are far behind us," Floyd said, "no one's been mad at you in years."
Zoot slumped over, placing his head on Floyd's shoulder. Floyd in return put his head on Zoot's.
Floyd thought back many years ago. When the band was new. Zoot wasn't always a forgetful but kindhearted man. When he first joined, Zoot had only joined for the booze and place to sleep.
Zoot had been a burnt out, homeless, and alcoholic musician. He was mean back in those days. Constantly in a drunken rage. It caused many fights between band members.
Floyd knew that was what Zoot's memory had been. But that was decades ago. Zoot stopped drinking decades ago. Nowadays Zoot was one of the sweetest people Floyd had ever been around.
Floyd shut his eyes. Despite the coldness of the air, it was comfortably warm between the two of them. Both Floyd and Zoot drifted off into a peaceful sleep.
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