No Rest For the (Not So) Wicked [Jazz & Jakey-boo]

[Jazz Winston Forest]

'Sunday, bloody Sunday' a song title from famous Irish rock band, U2's 1983 album, war. It was also the tune Jazz hummed as he made his way down to the lake, jumping from rock to rock with his camera around his neck and newspaper (of muggle origin) tucked in the back pocket of his jeans. It was, rather fittingly, a Sunday afternoon. Of course, there was no blood, but that could arguably change. Just the other week Jazz had given himself a paper cut when flipping through the sports section.

When he reached a rather nice looking rock that he could sit on he happily took his perch there. The newspaper was pulled from his pocket and he unfolded it in front of him. "Now I just need a doting wife to bring me coffee." he chuckled gently. Of course he didn't mean it. He didn't mean quite a few of the things he said aloud while he was alone, joking with himself. He had to say, he was a very good audience to himself. Responsive, polite.

He was just happy to sit there, reading about the world he had left his family behind in, wondering if all of that world's problems would be easier to deal with than the ones in this world. With a spark of curiosity he turned to the obituaries page. It was mostly old people who were 'loved' ad would be 'remembered' and he wondered what it was that people 'loved' or 'remembered' about them. He wouldn't want someone to love him for his hair or remember him for his parent ability to fuck up a friendly relationship with a part veela house mate in only a couple days.

Dammit. Why was that ever still on his mind? What the fuck had he done to mess it up so bad? He hadn't talked to Sam in days. He sighed as he folded the paper again. So much for contently reading. Now he was just pouting and wracking his mind once more for what the hell he had done.

[Jake Keisinger]

One might jokingly refer to it as 'part of their bromance'. Some kind of psychic link that had one feel guilty or troubled when the other was. Granted, Jake and Jasper had been friends since their youngest days at Hogwarts - shy, sweet corruptable Jake and friendly but certainly far more confident Jazz - a friendship made only that much stronger by the fact that they'd both, by some turn of Fate, ended up as Beaters and sublime partners on the Quidditch Pitch. So of course, it was a given that they'd probably do a fairly good job at sensing the other's mood given the occasion.

But in reality, it wasn't really anything of the sort. Except, well, that they might be suffering somewhat due to the same person. Problem. Issue. Whatever. For different reasons, but the issue was the same.

Honestly, just what was she expecting? What was she playing at with all of this?

Jake wasn't going to lie to himself; he had been avoiding his best mate a little. Or avoiding anything that might lead to meaningful discussion, which, surprisesurprise, boys could carry out just as well as girls could. Not because he didn't trust his friend; he didn't trust himself. He hated the idea of hurting loved ones, and Jazz certainly counted amongst those. Perhaps more than any other at Hogwarts. He also hated the idea of conflict...which was probably half the reason why he was so stressed out in the first place, even if he wasn't showing it overly for the moment, anyway. If you put that with the fact that he was technically lying to his best friend by keeping the rather ridiculous secret of another, and added on the fact that Jake hated to lie...

...well, to say that Jake was troubled was an understatement.

Despite all this, it didn't take the dark-haired lad long to find his fairer counterpart. He'd been ambling about (as he did) anyway, though for once, miraculously free of tree-climbing, and even troubled himself, it didn't take a genius to zone in on his usual ebullient mate's own more subdued mood. And even a troubled Jake was still a concerned (and yes, a worrier) Jake, eager to lighten his friend's mood even a little. Thus, once Jazz's newspaper was closed, Jake promptly pounced, thumping both hands gently on Jazz's shoulders before promptly peering at him overhead, and yes, upsidedown, bending over just enough for either lad to see the other's faces.

"You know thinkin' too much is classified as a dangerous extreme sport these days, right?"

[Jazz Winston Forest]

Jazz jumped a bit when Jake pounced on him, laughing at his upsidedown friend. ”Well, then I guess I've become quite the extreme athlete in the past few days,” he chuckled. He had been thinking a lot... maybe too much. He sighed. It had been too long since he saw Jake and had a decent conversation. He kept starting to open his mouth to say something, and then having to give up. It felt a little weird not knowing what to say to a guy who was practically his brother.

“So have you... talked to Sam recently?” he asked, chewing on his bottom lip. That happened to be the thing on his mind, and he couldn't seem to get past it until it was dealt with. He hated being hung up on it, but he still had no idea how any of it was his fault... but he felt like it was.

Even school work had been hard lately, and this whole competition that he was part of. He didn't want to be unloading on Jake, especially cause he knew how Jake internalized everything kinda like he did himself.

[Jake Keisinger]

His antics had made Jazz grin, and that had been Jake's primary objective. It was enough to make the shyer lad chuckle himself, ruffling Jazz's usually better kempt hair with light affection before flopping unceremoniously beside him. In typical Jake fashion, he promptly unlaced his shoes and shed his socks, sighing with almost comical relief as the cool air and grass, not yet coarse with the expected Winter, shifted comfortably against the soles of his feet.

Truthfully, if he could, he'd spend every waking moment barefoot if he could.

Another sigh from the darker lad, this one a little heavier, barely noted lest one knew him well. Jazz had not beat around the bush with idle chit-chat, but considering the circumstances, Jake could hardly blame him. It wasn't in his nature anyway, and frankly, even the more laid-back of the two - himself - would be reduced to something akin to mortal mental agony as of late. If he wasn't already...Jazz was not the only one finding it harder to do things. Only rather than schoolwork or flying practice being affected, it was Jake's general health. He simply did not cope well with personal stress he couldn't detach from, and it showed in the dark circles starting to take residence under his eyes.

"Yeah. Saw her the other day," he said reluctantly, shrugging a shoulder and giving Jazz his more usual sheepishly abashed look. Personally, he might not have seen the big deal of it; he wasn't avoiding anyone, despite what they might think. Perhaps Jazz a little, but never for long. Others, though? No, not one. He wasn't avoiding Izzy, or any of his Quidditch mates and he certainly wasn't avoiding Samantha. If she or anyone thought so, it was both mistaken and hurtful, as Jake did not desert his friends. If he did such things, he'd have deserted them all long ago. Or more recently. It was just...a little difficult to concentrate, with all the emotional tension high-strung mere seats from you.

Sigh.

"Hasn't she spoken to you?" This time it was a tone of genuine surprise; Jake had thought hoped that might not have been the case. He'd have thought, brief though his reassurances had been, that the knowledge of his own friendship would be enough to give she who had been his closest female friend to date courage. Hum. Another shrug.

"I thought she might have at least congratulated you for being picked to represent Hufflepuff in the Tournament. Buuut...I take it she hasn't." Another shrug and a rueful grin; he was truthfully gladder that Jazz, always the more headstrong one in their friendship, had been chosen over himself. Jealousy barely crossed his mind, really. Concern did, though, especially at the expression currently clouding Jazz's usually amiable, friendly features. Concern. And guilt - guilt for hiding that which he should never have needed to.

Another little sigh, and Jake drew a knee to his chest, placing his chin on it and eyeing Jazz sidealong with a weary thoughtfulness for a moment.

"Have you tried talkin' to her, mate?"

[Lakin!]

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