right state of mind [ezra]

“So—lunch?” Robin held the front door of the station for Ezra Cohen before following him out through. When he’d first suggested it upstairs he’d worried Ezra, eighteen years old and terribly cool, might think he was being weird, so he had to confirm. Hopefully he wasn’t being weird. He might have fewer teenage friends these days, but he still liked them when they weren’t horrid little dicks. And Ezra in particular certainly reminded him of himself. Robin thought that might wear him down after a while, but he has having too much fun with it right now to leave after an hour’s discussion of a play far too serious for his liking. They’d made it fun…but it still felt like a waste of their talents.

“Tell me—where are the kids hanging out these days?” Robin squinted down the sunlit street. “My friends and I used to go round the Leaky Cauldron when I was your age, actually,” he said with a chuckle. “At night, anyway. It was always just old people when my parents would take me school shopping or whatever, but we worked down the alley and I think we thought it was hilarious to get plastered there, or something.” He grimaced awkwardly. “Of course now we’ve all got drinking problems, so I might look for humor in something else if I were you.”

No—he had to stop giving unsolicited advice. In his recent experience that was the fastest way to make sure a friendship stopped in its tracks. (On the other hand, he thought he might finally understand his parents now.)

“My mate’s just put up a pretty good sandwich place in Hackney,” he said. “They serve liquor, of course, if you, y’know.” He gestured vaguely, and laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of making you sit down with me sober, now that you’re off the clock.”

@Ezra Cohen

Ezra had a blast talking to Robin. Yes, the show seemed a bit… not Ezra’s normal gig, but he was open-minded and he liked Robin from other things. He had been excited to sit with him and talk, and even more excited when the man had invited this nothing eighteen-year-old to lunch. Lunch with a famous person? Already? Had he arrived? He was beaming, and eagerly excited to follow. “Yeah, def.” He confirmed, making sure to punch out before leaving—as he had forgotten to do the last few times he had left the office. He was lucky his dad was his boss—or more accurately, everyone at the station’s boss—or else he might have gotten firmly scolded for it. He was at least trying not to be an entitled git. It wasn’t his fault that his family had connections, but it also was his responsibility to stay humble and hardworking. He was a Hufflepuff, after all.

“Heh, best not ask me where all the kids hangout. My friends and I like hanging out at the karaoke bar downtown, or sometimes that dueling pianos place.” He admitted. “My roomie works at that swanky jazz bar in Chelsea, but we never go there unless we’re gonna hassle her.” He laughed. “Too nice for us.” He admitted. He wasn’t sure if Robin was joking on that last bit or not, so he laughed good-naturedly, but resisted the urge to crack a joke at it. He did need a hobby outside of drinking.

“We’re all in a band, love music. I’m the bassist. We’re called Face of the Revolution, my best friend picked out the name. He’s the lyricist and the guitarist.” He offered. “So anywhere we can sing along while we get plastered is our kind of place.” He didn’t think any of them were on their way to drinking problems yet, except maybe Sid, but they did indulge quite a bit.

“Oh, I love sandwiches. Let’s try there?” He offered. “Lead the way, my good man.” He said, in his best pompous accent he could muster up.

A band? Where young adults found the time, Robin would never understand—he remembered getting so much done in a day at Ezra’s age, and now one day’s rehearsal and he’d fall right asleep. “No kidding?” he said. “I could’ve been in a band back in the day, you know. But they wanted someone with—” He grimaced sarcastically “—talent.” After a second Robin added, “No, really, that’s cool,” as he didn’t think he’d emphasized his sincerity enough. “So, what, does Mr. Potter know you lot’ve called your band after him yet?” He chuckled. Surely it was a metaphor, or Ezra's mate having an arseload of confidence and big plans, but he couldn’t resist taking the piss. “Unless it’s another revolution, of course. Urg the Unclean?”

He nodded, grinning. The exuberance of youth always got him feeling especially fond. “Here’s some life experience wisdom for you,” said Robin, putting up a mockingly authoritative finger. “There’s absolutely nowhere you can’t get plastered and sing. Well—perhaps a library.” He shrugged. “Some of the more boring funerals. Doesn’t matter.” Extending an arm for side-along apparition, he cleared his throat and happily played along. “If you please, Master Cohen…”

The Deli was reasonably busy, which would have put a smile on Robin’s face if one hadn’t already been there. “Now, full disclosure, I’ve only had the reuben,” said Robin quietly to Ezra as they entered, still in the habit of heading off bad advice even if he was talking to teenagers. “But I reckon everything else is good. Frank’s got that demeanor of a great chef, y’know. Massive snob, and that.”

“I mean, it’s a friend thing.” He admitted. “I never thought I’d really be in a band. I took up the bass because my best friend played guitar and his hot sister played bass and I wanted to play too to impress her.” He admitted. He only dared admit his former crush on Janae to Robin because he didn’t know Jam or Janae. He would never tell any of his friends about it, too embarrassing. Janae was still gorgeous, but she was so ridiculously out of his league he hadn’t even developed a proper crush on her. “…but then she started singing, and he plays the guitar, and I play bass.” He shrugged. “It’s more my best friend’s thing, but no, I imagine Mr. Potter has no clue, but I like to think he would be pleased with us.” He laughed. He didn’t know what the chosen one was up to lately, other than the fact that he heard at the office that he’d just been married to his Hogwarts Sweetheart and his favorite Holyhead Harpy, Ginny Weasley.

Ezra took the man’s arms, considering his words of wisdom. That was actually decent advice. He would have to think about that. He would love to see the band play more places, but maybe they were working too hard. He knew Jam and Janae would sing on a street-corner for sickles, but Ezra needed more than that. When they got there, he smiled. It was bustling and busy. “Rueben man, hm? Very interesting.” He teased, as though the type of sandwiches one chose said something about his personality type. He felt like Circe would have an answer to that.

“I actually have a friend who I bet would be able to tell you your personality profile entirely from your sandwich preference, but I’m not her so I’ve got no clue.” He laughed. “Are we meeting the chef?” He wondered. “Maybe I could give him a plug on the channel, especially if he’s as good as you say.”

Ezra scanned the menu, looking for his standby: pastrami with mustard on rye. Any deli would have that standard, he thought, and of course they did. He smiled. Perfect. “So, do we go to the counter to order or just sit down?” He wasn’t entirely sure and there were people all over the place seemingly doing whatever they wanted.

Robin laughed fondly. He enjoyed Ezra’s candor—not enough artists were like that, in his opinion. “Hey, now,” he said. “If we weren’t counting things that got done to impress fit girls, I don’t think we’d have any culture at all.” He grinned. “I’ll bet you that was half the reason Harry Potter killed You-Know-Who. I’ve seen that wife of his.”

He glanced around to make sure @Ginny Weasley wasn’t standing behind him. “Anyway,” he said to Ezra when assured that she wasn’t, “here’s hoping you get popular enough for him to find out.”

Ezra seemed unreasonably interested in Robin’s sandwich order, but it turned out it had just been in what that might say about him. “What if I get chicken salad today just to spite her, what d’you think she’ll say?” he asked, then paused. “That I’m a contrarian, probably.”

He considered the request to meet Frank. “I dunno,” said Robin. “Reckon he’s busy, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.” He looked Ezra up and down. This kid could go toe-to-toe with @Frank Adams scathing wit easy. “I’m sure he’s got a lot to say about the state of food over here, might not mind a platform.” They edged up in the line, and Robin eyed the busy kitchen through the…food delivery hole in the wall. “I’ll ask sometime when they’re closed, I think.”

“Sit down after we order,” he replied as Ezra asked. “Maybe we ought to get a table if we can, though…” He shed his jacket and levitated it over to a two-person table on the far side of the room, dropping it over the top. “We’ll see if anyone respects that. Or, I s'pose--" Robin chuckled. "I could just hand you off a few sickles for my spiteful chicken salad."

Spiteful chicken salad. This guy was just as hilarious as he put off. “Hey, I’ve got it, no worries. You did me a solid today by doing that interview and I am enjoying this. Go sit.” He smiled. He considered, momentarily, ordering him the Reuben anyway, but decided to do the chicken salad he requested. He put in the orders for the sandwiches, paid, and went over to the table. “Shouldn’t take too long.” He put his own coat over the chair and sat down, stretching his back a little.

“Circe, my friend, she probably would relate it to your astrological sign somehow. She’s really into that, too. I don’t even know what my sign is.” He was a Sagittarius.  “It’s kind of cool sometimes how accurate she is, though.” He laughed. “Anyway, I appreciate the well-wishing on the band. It’s weird, cause we all have our real-life jobs too. The guitarist is in auror training now. I’m in law school on top of the radio thing, mom made me.” He looked away, playfully embarrassed. “She thinks that I need to do something ‘more’ with my life, so they’re putting me through school. It’s been a lot of work to balance.” He admitted. “Did you do any studying after school? A performance arts academy or something?” He asked.

“C’s going to apply to art school when she graduates. She draws really well and dances.” Was he talking about Circe too much? Maybe it was because he was not-so-secretly head over heels for her.

“Well, tell her I’m a Taurus. That’s all I know.” He’d taken Divination in school, like every other slacker, and given Trelawney made-up nonsense—well, he liked to think he’d done that better than the others. But Robin had a hard time believing astrology would still be as niche a magical practice as it was if it were actually good for something. Maybe it was only worth it if you spent enough time puzzling your results out. He was better at that sort of thing now than he’d been at Hogwarts, at least.

Ezra was, and this surprised Robin immensely, studying law. He followed up at once with the explanation, though: his mother had made him. “Ah, yeah, of course,” said Robin with a commiserating grimace. “Mums are like that. But Merlin, I don’t know how you keep up with it all.” All of his commitments sounded like full-time jobs. “If something has to give, tell your parents to go to hell first.” 

Had he been to school? “Oh, fuck no,” said Robin at once. He felt a little bad about it afterwards. Didn’t want to demean Ezra’s friend for honing her craft, obviously. But if he’d been made to academically analyze performance after performance straight after Hogwarts, he’d have drunk poison at least five years earlier. “Honestly if I’d gone to theater school I don’t think I’d be an actor,” he admitted. “I’m more of the… ‘learn by doing’ sort?” With a shrug, Robin scratched his beard. “It was just luck, honestly. Knowing the right people, making the right impression.” The impression of an obnoxious twat, of course, but it was still honest. “Anyway, you’ve already got—well, 'a foot in the door’ seems too little.” Speaking from experience, the wireless wasn’t a bad place to start, and Ezra had a show to his name already. “When I was your age I was selling robes.”

“I sleep on the office sofa.” He teased, though that wasn’t far from the truth. “Drink enough caffeine to kill several small children.” Once again, not far from the truth. He laughed a bit at Robin’s suggestion that he tell his parents to ‘go to hell’. Perhaps Robin didn’t have such a strong-armed mother. “If the band takes off, I’ll almost definitely drop out.” He assured. “Better to be famous, I guess. I dunno. I would love to go into comedy, but it’s such a cutthroat world out there, the entertainment biz.” He admitted. “At least with the band, I’ll have some friends to back me up.” He shrugged. “Besides, the radio show is a pretty sweet gig.” His father owned the station and that was literally the only reason Ezra even had a job. He loved his job, really, but he would have probably been slacking at home full-time playing law student if he didn’t have it. At least now he had some money of his own and a welcome distraction from his schooling and loneliness. With Circe away at school, what else would he do with his time? Miss her 24/7?

“Ahhh yeah, I guess I could see how that might suck. My girlfriend wants to go to Art school in Paris after she graduates Hogs, but I don’t know how that’s going to work out for us.” He admitted. He was worried about that. “Her mum wants her to go to law school, too, so I’m… well, secretly hoping she comes around. Paris is far away.” He confessed. “But she’s ready to do whatever her parents don’t want. Like dating me, for example.” He laughed.

“I’m not exactly proud of this, but I would lose my reputation for being a slacker if I didn’t admit that my dad owns the station. There’s no way I would be doing anything worthwhile if I didn’t have that kind of privilege.” He admitted. “I’d probably sit at home getting stoned all day without a halfway decent job. I really… ambition is not my strong suit.”

Ezra’s humor painted a bleak portrait of his life satisfaction, but Robin suppressed the urge to pry. “Don’t quit your day job, I guess they say,” he replied with a shrug. “That shit does take a lot out of you, but so does not having options, I s’pose.” This sounded like pretty useless advice to him; he shrugged again. He’d gotten so much worse a making decisions now that he actually thought out the consequences of things. How did people get along without a sheer inability to consider the future?

He found a concrete opinion, though, as he listened further. “I think both of you should go to Paris,” said Robin. Hopefully Ezra wouldn’t repeat this to his parents, or the girlfriend’s, none of whom sounded like anyone he wanted to meet, but he still needed to express his conclusion that they should get fucked. “There’s day jobs there too, you know.” But what Ezra admitted next made Robin’s mouth twist in thought. Ambition wasn’t his strong suit. Despite the evil movement that had flourished in the ambition-focused Hogwarts house for decades, Robin felt it might be in poor taste to make a Slytherin joke here. Actually—he had no idea which house Ezra had been in. He realized he’d been assuming Gryffindor this whole time, but perhaps just because he’d been seeing so much of his younger self in the boy who sat across from him.

“You’ve only just left school, haven’t you?” he asked instead. “I think that’s within your rights, at least for a little while. But let me tell you, it gets a lot easier to do the things you love when you aren’t worrying about what other people want you to be.” Robin’s response to pressure had always been depressive inaction. Rest was good, but that wasn’t what he wanted for Ezra.

Their sandwiches arrived. Robin inspected his chicken salad, glad for the opportunity to stop dwelling on his own youth for a minute.

Ezra thought it was interesting that Robin thought he should go to Paris. He hadn’t considered leaving the UK even for a moment, but he wondered if it was worthwhile to go with her. Yes, he wanted to spend time with her—he wanted to spend forever with her, if he was being honest—but he was so settled in his own country, that he was scared at the idea of going somewhere else. He didn’t say anything to this effect, though, and instead nodded.

“You think?” He asked, about things getting easier. “I guess the point is, my parents are paying my living expenses while I’m going to school… so I guess it’s worth it anyway, don’t you think? I’ll come out with a degree that should be worth something, plus some savings. Maybe I’ll even be able to buy a house one day…”

He thought about this a lot. A nice house, for him and his friends, would be fantastic. He dug into his sandwich as it arrived. It was actually really, really good. Robin had not been exaggerating. “So, what got you started in acting, since you said you didn’t go to performance school. What was your big break, and all that jazz?”

“Oh, yeah, that’ll add up.” The more Robin heard about Ezra’s parents, the more he wanted to hex them. It didn’t sound like they were even being subtle about their rigid expectations like his own had been—they were explicitly holding his own basic needs over his head unless he followed the path they’d laid out. For a second Robin was tempted to make a counteroffer. He bit his tongue, though. It wasn’t as if he made enough himself to start a scholarship for wayward artists.

“Of course, it’s only worth something if you go into law, isn’t it?” he said instead. Robin didn’t know much about higher education, but he imagined the sorts of specialized information one learned at Tamsen Tinker didn’t transfer neatly into any field Ezra actually enjoyed. “I don’t know. You’ve got your whole life to get a law degree if you want one.” He took a large bite of his sandwich and chewed for a while to force himself to shut up. If only Ezra would stop saying things that made him so desperate to give unsolicited advice. How did Fflur get along at Hogwarts without wanting to become every single student’s life coach?

And given the trajectory of his career, Robin didn’t think he should ever be anyone’s life coach. “A classmate owled me, actually,” he admitted. “I used to do impressions as a kid. You know, teachers, other students, to make people laugh. She knew I could do voices, and she was looking for somebody to be the minor cast of her radio series.” He shrugged. “And the rest of it was making friends in the business.” He’d been making jokes adjacent to stardom for ten years—that was the only way he’d been able to end up there himself.