Oz opened the door to his apartment; straight away he could smell the smoke. It wasn’t thick, or overwhelming, but it was there, subtly. It drifted like a fog into every nook and cranny, rolling over the surfaces and trying to escape into the hallway behind him. But there was something else now that he could detect amongst the smoke, a musky stale smell, as if this place was very lived in. That had never been the case in all the time Oz had been here. Until about 10 days ago, when it had become what he found every evening as he came home.
He didn’t completely mind, after all he was hardly ever here. It was the reason he put up with it. This had never really been a home to him; he was either at work or practice most of the time. Even now, at this time of night he was only coming by to pick up his guitar, and then he was gone again. The thing he didn’t understand was how the guy currently sprawled across his couch could stand it here all day, even if he was the cause of it.
Oz pulled the strap of his bag off his shoulder and threw it over a chair in the kitchen. He took a deep breath, something he immediately regretted and then stepped towards the living room. His old college friend Spike was asleep in there, and the area around him and couch was littered with empty bottles. None of them encroached into the main part of the room, but covered every inch of the space near to him like a comfort blanket.
Tackling the obstacle course Oz made his way to the side of the sofa and crouched in front of Spike, he couldn’t help but smirk. It was a laugh or cry situation. Reaching out he shook Spike’s shoulder a little. “Spike, man. Wake up.”
Spike stirred, then Oz shook him slightly again. “What?” He was talking in his sleep, but Oz knew he was in the process of waking up so shook him once more, “Leave me alone. It’s Saturday…and it’s early.” He snuggled into the pillow under his head, one which had been squashed flat under his weight the last few days.
“Its 11 o’clock, Thursday night, Spike.”
“What?” Spike’s eyes popped open and he tried to sit up, having second thoughts he merely propped himself up on his elbow and made eye contact with Oz for the first time in the conversation, “Are you sure?”
Oz tried to hold back his smile, “I’m pretty sure, unless the calendar company’s are all in on the conspiracy.”
Spike was running a hand over his forehead and eyes, it hurt his entire head to sit up, or even think. When he heard Oz’s sarcastic ramble his only response was a quick glance back to him and a confused, “Huh?”
In answer Oz simply said, “It’s Thursday night, trust me.”
Spike groaned, rolled onto his stomach and laid his forehead down on the arm of the couch in front of him. “Bloody hell. I’m fired aren’t I?”
“Pretty much…Unless bartenders can work from home?”
“Even if they could,” Spike said, his voice muffled, “I never ran it by my boss before I tried out the idea.”
“Bummer.” Oz paused, waiting for Spike to come round properly before he broached the subject he wanted to.
Spike groaned again, “Oh God.” he said pushing his face further into the pillow, “my head.”
Oz looked back down at the bottles surrounding him, picking one up he looked at the label, reading ‘Jack Daniels’ on it. “Must be all this orange juice you’ve been drinking. I hear Vitamin C can kill brain cells.”
Spike turned his head and looked at Oz with a bewildered expression.
“I saw it on the discovery channel.” he said putting the bottle back down with the others. It clinked against them as he replaced it where it seemed to almost belong.
Spike turned his face away again and moaned, “Just kill me.”
“Can’t help you there, I’m a pacifist.”
“Bollocks.” Spike said rolling over onto his back and running a hand through his hair.
They were both quiet for a while as Spike collected himself. Then Oz decided to get to the point. “Look, Spike. I respect this whole self-destruction thing you’ve got going on…I do, it’s actually very Truly, Madly, Deeply,” Oz took a moment as if reflecting, or as if he’d got lost, and then continued, “but I don’t think its gonna solve anything…outside of making my Aunt Maureen cry.”
Spike looked up at him, annoyed, “What do you suggest I do, mate? Don’t feel much like anything else right now.”
“Why don’t you come with me to band practice?” Oz suggested hopefully.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been trying to get you to join the band since I met you the first day of college.”
Spike huffed out a laugh, and then forced a dejected, “Me?”
“Look I’ve never seen you like this. Even the Dru break up didn’t reach these proportions…” Oz almost raised his voice, but Oz never could shout, “and you guys were inseparable!”
Spike seemed to dwell on that for a bit before Oz continued.
“Not even a Roman Holiday last look after she left, you sorta just accepted it was over…but this Buffy thing, I can tell its different…it’s…”
Spike looked back at him sadly at the mention of her name.
Seeing the pain etched all over Spike’s face, Oz backed up, no longer prepared to finish his sentence the way he planned, he proceeded differently, “…it’s going to pull you down, that’s all I’m saying. It’s obvious she means a lot to you, and if you’re not going to work it out…”
Spike jumped in, “I told you I can’t. It’s not like I have a choice.” he said almost begging Oz to believe him, even thought it didn’t really change anything either way. He sighed, “There’s nothing I can do; it’s for the best.”
“You said, man. And if that’s what you’re saying I believe you.” Oz answered supportively, “But if that’s true I know what’s going to happen. You’re just gonna stay like this, ‘til you waste away. If it can’t be fixed, fix yourself…before it’s too late.”
Oz got up to leave, but then turned back to him. “And I was telling the truth. I wanted you in the band since day one. You’re what we need to get good.”
Spike lifted his head, something like regret in his eyes.
Oz continued, “You can play, you can write, you can sing. I’ve seen you do all 3. I think it’d be good for you, and for us. You’ve always wanted to do music, fix what you can, while you can.”
Spike didn’t say anything; he didn’t really know what to say.
Oz waited for a while and then decided he should just leave it and try again another day. “Anyways, think about it. See you later, man.”
Spike nodded, even though Oz had already turned back around.
He put his head back down and stared up at the ceiling. He heard Oz pick up his guitar and close the door behind him.
What was he doing? Sat here practically decaying…like Oz had said, waiting to waste away? Forcing grog down his throat, and scrounging off one his only friends? Basically using this as a place to hide out while he self-destructed?
A depressed. Sulking. Nancy. Self-involved. Self-pitying. Mess.
This wasn’t him. He wasn’t this pathetic.
Spike got up, and within no time at all was racing outside and down the stairs to catch up with Oz.
At the main door he closed the gap, grabbing his arm and turning him around. Oz looked surprised as hell, while Spike caught his breath and mustered the courage to say something.
“Oz, when’s your next rehearsal?” Spike asked eventually with his heart in his throat.
Oz paused for a while, and then answered. “As soon as you’ve had a shower.” he said with a smile.