16: A Little Intoxicated

YETI

Stupid fucking wink. Stupid fucking crinkle in the corner of his eye as he did it. Stupid fucking sleep talking. Stupid fucking boxer line. Stupid everything.

It haunts me as we finish up the day at Candle Lake, it haunts me all the way back down to Regina on the bus, it haunts me into the night, over the next day, it haunts me as I watch him pull his gear off after the last practice before the two days off we get for Christmas.

We scrimmaged all day, three on three, the goalies staying in the whole time, every other shift I was defending him and every other shift I was offending against him. I thought about him the entire day, every twitch of his muscles under his gear hit me straight in the spine like blow after blow of a fight, every stunning loud laugh that ripped from his throat on the benches made me ache like an idiot.

I was so relieved by the time we got to the locker rooms that I almost forgot about tonight being Casey's night.

Which means I have about three hours to get home, get my shit in control, and then get back out there, near him, near him, a newly crippling force in my life.

I manage to sit still for only a few minutes of the three hours, spending longer than I would like to admit choosing something to wear, longer than I'd like to admit convincing myself that I need to eat something, and longer than I'd like to admit realizing that I've been neck deep in Rocket for a lot longer than just the night before last.

By the time I park a block down the road from Casey's, I'm jittery and confused, not thinking straight about anything and not liking any of it.

Tonight is not going to go well.

At all.

I find Paxy in the back and get a glass of water, not at all anticipating it when he slips me a bingo sheet.

I study it like my life depends on it while people gather in the back near the two of us. Finnican is in all black, hair tied back and shirt sleeves cut off, showing off his arms. I don't have a reaction to it.

Paxy has trimmed his goatee, pulling out the cut of his facial structure. His shirt is unbuttoned down over his chest and his hair is mousy brown and tousled just like normal. I don't react.

Fenrir shows up and looks like he fell off the cover of Vogue or some shit, dazzling smile and perfect hair all put together above a black collared shirt and jeans that look a bit too good on him. My mind and body don't even bat an eye in his direction.

Nico looks her usual, neutral but scary expression, a quirk in her lips as she watches her boyfriend bounce around and goof off, everything is the same with her and it's just Nico.

Ukko and Hiro show up somewhat together, looking hot off a frat house but fifteen times more athletic. To my frustration, my unconscious knows it's prohibited from them, too.

It's only Rocket, who shows up fifteen minutes past our organized time, stupid off-kilter grin, tight black jeans, floral shirt unbuttoned just above halfway showing off his collarbones and tan skin, all of it. Dark curly hair, darker eyelashes, long limber frame, and fingers that notch and crook at every perfect angle. He's disarming. He makes my blood turn to fire and my insides melt to nothing. If he so much as brushes me I'll crumble to dust.

I keep to my little corner, checking things off my sheet, watching Rocket's lips around the mouth of a beer bottle, watching his hand brush down a girl's hip, aimlessly, like he's not really all that engaged with her, half in conversation with Steph by his side.

I understand why the guys like Casey's nights, they get to talk and people -girls- give them more attention than they could possibly need. I think it's draining, Rocket's hand is keeping me from slipping out the back door.

He smiles and sets his beer down next to Steph and Steph's whiskey, taking the girl's hand and spinning her like some romantic dance, just to pull her into his chest, her eyes alight and stunned. One of his hands stays hooked with hers across her shoulders and the other drops to her hip, telling her something and moving his hips to the side.

It strikes me after a moment that he's teaching the blonde girl how to grind on him. It strikes me in a cold blow to the back of my head, one of dumbass dumbass dumbass he's not gay he'll never be gay, you're the weird one here.

I dip my head back down to my bingo sheet, aimlessly crossing off a square I missed, something about Greenie and getting picked up by Jackie. My eyes stay on the sheet for barely a moment before I'm looking back up and watching Rocket's arm resting outward over her shoulder, whispering something into her ear and pointing off toward the other side of the bar. He pats her hip with his hand and then pushes her forward, cheering something over the loud music before turning back to Steph.

I watch his expression flicker, catching Steph talking to someone else. Some random girl I've never seen before, someone that definitely isn't his girlfriend.

"Um, hello," I'm startled out of my haze and caught in the look of a petit girl with startlingly green hair.

"Hi," I respond, confused.

"Hi? Don't act so shocked," she grins, big sparkling smile. "Listen, big guy, what's your name?"

"Um, Håkon," I respond, tucking the bingo sheet into my pocket, folded up, alongside the pen I was using. Håkon getting approached by someone was not an option but if it was I might get a bingo.

"Is that..." she tips her head to the side. "Are you from here? You look..."

"Swedish."

"Swedish?" That makes her smile. "I knew you were too tall and pale and all that to be from here. Listen, alright, my buddy over there-" she's pointing in the direction of a group of three. "The hot one with dark curly hair and the little yellow dress on, she's been looking at you and I'm the only extrovert in the group so I've come over here to make her move for her, if you want. She's gonna dig the Switzerland thing."

I frown, "Sweden."

"Tom-ay-to tom-ah-to," she shrugs.

"Sure," the girl she's pointing at is pretty and tall with long legs and dark skin that's shining from some glitter or something of the equivalent under the lights. It's probably some girl magic trick she's pulled but I really don't know.

"Are you coming?" The girl turns back around to me, offering a hand.

I swallow.

"Oh, shit are you in a relationship or something? What are you doing here alone at a bar? You could've said something instead of being shy," she punches my arm.

I swallow harder, "um, I'm here with my team."

She frowns, "what team?"

"The Wolves, I'm here with the Wolves."

That gets her eyebrows up, "that explains why you're shredded. So are you in a relationship or not? 'Cuz Ava is like, thirsting over you. I mean, I get it, you're like, attractive, not in a traditional way but you're attractive. I don't really know, I'm into girls, if you say that's hot I'm having the bouncer get you out of here, but I get why she thinks you're attractive."

"It's... you're fine. I don't-"

"Oh, shit, do you not like gi-"

"HÃ¥kon, you look scared," Fen slings his arm over my shoulders, patting my chest. An onlooker wouldn't know any better that he wasn't just picking on me, but I can tell from the tone behind his voice that he's genuinely concerned.

I know barely any german, but enough.

"I am scared," I grumble back, definitely trying to get him to help.

"Alright, yeah," he clears his throat and then flips out of German, looking toward the girl for a moment and then back at me, "go get Rocket to stop sulking, I'll entertain."

I nod and slip away, jittery and excited that Fen has enough social knowledge in him to tell that I was not doing well in that situation.

My feet hit the floor at a steady rhythm, trying to keep my head ducked and my body out of everyone's way, trying not to let myself become the center of anyone's attention.

Steph's gone from the booth him and Rocket were occupying.

Rocket isn't. Rocket's sulking in the corner, perched awkwardly the bench, head set on folded hands.

He's sulking, his hair is falling into his eyes and instead of pushing it back out he just lets it sit there.

I fall into the booth on the other side of him, sliding in so that nobody can see the top of my head nor focus on the two of us much.

He blinks up at me, a little glassy and the red on his nose is telling me he's not quite sober.

"Rocks, hey," I try to read his expression, leaning forward. "What's going on?"

He shrugs, setting his head on his laid out hands, looking out at the group. I can see the crinkle between his eyebrows and the expression threatening to drown out his neutral face.

"I hate it here."

"I can take you h-"

"here," he waves his hand at the general area. "Not here," this time he points at the table. "I don't expect you to get it. Steph doesn't."

"Rocket?" I try to soften up, try to offer an ear.

He lifts a hand and brushes it against my mouth, the tingle of his fingers touching my skin shooting straight into my spine, making me shiver. "Milo. My name is fucking Milo. Nobody fucking likes it like that, though."

I choke, "do you want me to do anything?"

"What is there for you to do?"

"I can take you home. I'm sober. You're... not."

He sits up in his seat, leaning back against the booth, his arms crossed, fists clenched, veins running down his forearms starting to pop from the tension in his body. His hair is a wreck, falling in two thick curtains around his face, the waves making his eyes go dark.

"I'm sober enough."

"Not to drive."

He rolls his eyes, long fingers circling his beer bottle, collecting the condensation against his skin. I watch him lift it to his lips, pressing the soft red against the opening of the bottle for a second before he tips it back.

"Really, should I take you home?"

He sets it down.

"You look... miserable."

He grimaces, not because of the flavor of the beer which has already made his adam's apple dip in his throat, not going unnoticed, but because of my implication. "Yeah, fine, get me out of here."

He stands up, sliding out of the booth, fingers wrapped around the very top of his bottle, loose and relaxed and held down by his hip, it's too confident, it's going to drive me insane.

I follow, tailing him like a scary dog. We pass Jorgen by the door on the way out, his arms are crossed and he's playing what appears to be only a game of amusement, with a girl about half his size. She's invested, touching his arm, batting her eyelashes. He's watching her with a casual interest and nothing more. Though I wouldn't go further if I were her, I have no doubt that Jorgen could easily injure her in a sexual situation, but I guess that's where his paramedic license would come in handy.

Rocket drops out onto the sidewalk, beer no longer in hand, I assume he finished the few centimeters of liquid left in the bottom.

He's staring, face turned up in the freezing wind, watching the sky.

My ears adjust to the newfound silence of the outdoors, granted it's the sound of the city but it's quieter than inside.

Rocket's head tips all the way back, dropping so he doesn't have to hold it up anymore, then, without much warning more than a sharp inhale, he lets out a guttural yell, straight into the sky of the city, air coming out in a rush of steam.

He yells something deep and hard and out of nowhere in Czech, rough against his tongue and teeth, something I can't understand but can only listen to.

"Roc- Milo," it feels weird on my tongue, the association of him with that name.

He glances at me for a moment, the green of his eyes on mine in the low city light, then he turns his head back to the buildings, his chest back to the street. I watch his lungs fill and then his voice rips from his throat, "I wanna be fucking free!"

The street is silent, nobody is out this late on a snowy December 23rd.

"I want to be free and I want to love!" He shouts, voice dampening in the snow.

"Milo, you're drunk."

He turns to me, poking his finger into my chest, I light up at the touch, scared of the look in his eyes but drawn to the feeling of his finger on me. "I'm not drunk, I'm lacking the care I used to have."

"You're drunk."

"I'm tipsy enough not to give a shit what people think."

"Can I get you in a warm car, you're going to freeze."

"You don't get it."

"What don't I get?"

"You don't get it because you're allowed to be in there and trail around after girls and Steph's allowed to practically verbally fuck one right in front of me and Fen and Nico are allowed to grind on each other and laugh and have a good time. You don't get it." He curls his hand in the front of my shirt.

"I get a fair amount."

"No, you don't."

"I could learn."

"There's no fucking learning, Rex, there's no way you can teach yourself enough about me and my existence to sympathize in any way that's meaningful to me. I have lived like this since I first knew and I will live with it until I die, this, this fucking curse, this everything. I will live with it and I will live with the hate that's dealt to me and I will live with silence and I will live with a half formed idea of what I should and shouldn't be able to do as a human fucking lover because of people like you."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

He grimaces, anger flashing behind his dark eyelashes, "I'm gay, Rex, fully and wholly queer and every second of it fucking hurts."

I feel my heart stutter up into my throat and spill onto my tongue, sweet and rich. My body quakes with hurt and longing and somewhere, something, somehow, understanding. I feel, for once in my life, through a lens and around a corner, in a backwards way by the bite on his words, seen.

"Rocket..." I fizzle out. "Why would you tell me that?"

He reads it as hatred, as discomfort. His hand drops from my shirt and he backs away, wiping his hands off on his pants. "I trust you."

"Anyone, anyone that knows, don't you get it?" I grab his shirt again, shaking him, trying to shake sense into him. "Anyone that fucking knows."

"I fucking know!" He yells. "I get it! I live with it! You don't understand how fucking exhausting it is to live like I do."

"Anyone that knows."

"Shut your stupid fucking mouth!"

I zip it.

"I know," he drops his head. "I know."

I drop my hands from his shirt and pull one behind his back, tugging him into my chest, letting him tuck his head into my collar whether he wants it or not.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, feeling his chest shake, ribs shuddering with an inhale. "You're safe with me. You're safe."

He chokes and I pull him tighter, "I'm sick of it, HÃ¥kon, I'm so sick of it."

HÃ¥kon.

"I know, I know."

"I just want to be like them, I just want to love like them, I want to get away from it."

"I know, I'm so sorry."

"I act proud of it but I'd get rid of it in a second, I'd wash my hands of it without question if someone let me. I feel so bad about it, I feel like I should be proud of it, like I should..." he fades out and I clutch him tighter, taking my position on the team with him: protector.

"It's okay, it's okay."

"Don't take me home," he chokes out. "I don't want to be alone."

"Okay."

***

I live in a little townhouse, not an apartment. It's a brownstone equivalent. I love it dearly but it's always felt empty to me.

He's been here before. He comes over about once a week for assorted reasons. Same frequency as I'm over at his apartment. We get together to watch other games or play video games, of which I'm terrible at, but he's patient with me. It's an odd and subtle reminder every time we hang out together that I'm not anyone to him other than someone that's filling a hole that Steph left when he got busy. Rocket likes me because I'm never busy, I can take up the time that his best friend would normally fill. It doesn't matter to me that I'm stand in Steph. It matters to me that I'm needed for anything. Even if it is just to be someone he can talk to.

"Milo, hey," I rub his shoulder, bringing him back to reality in the passenger seat of my car, "I swear you can go inside and crash immediately, you just have to get out of the car and into the house."

He blinks a couple of times, looking at me funny, "I like your hair."

"Thanks," My smile was genuine. I shouldn't be having this hard of a time remembering that he's drunk. "Come on."

He gets up with me, but is leaning heavily on my shoulder, his long fingers digging into me with a no-can-opener-needed grip. I walk him to my front door, unlock it, and then lock the car.

"Let me get you something to wear that isn't jeans." I wave him after me and then make him go ahead of me up the stairs because I don't trust his balance. He seems fine with them and it's a relief.

Then he's just standing in my room, looking out the window at the cars on the street while I find him a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. His fingers play with the leaf of a plant I have on the windowsill, one of two I've managed to keep alive. He's looking around in a tipsy, bleary-eyed awe and I'm reminded he's never been to my room before.

When I hand the change of clothes to him, he doesn't really think about anything before unbuttoning his pants and dropping them right there.

"I'm going to uh," I turn around, "I'm going to go get you some water."

"Okay."

So I wander back downstairs and find two glasses, fill them both, and then climb the stairs again. But when I get back to my room, he's laying on top of the covers on my bed, sound asleep.

I sigh, watching him breathe in, and set the water on the side table, wiggling the blankets out from under him and tucking him in.

Then I decide I'll sleep on the couch.

I creak back down the thin staircase and find the living room immediately, kicking off my socks and then flopping head first onto my couch, too exhausted to do much else.

I'm not sure if it's the way the light is coming in directly off the street or the spring that's jamming me in the side no matter which way I'm facing. I don't know if it's the weird off beat ticking of the grandfather clock or the way my tongue feels in my mouth, but I can't sleep. I can't even begin to get tired.

I debate for a while, but then get back up again, stretching out the kink in my side from the spring and then heading back toward the stairs. I can sleep on the sheets and he won't mind in the morning, he's not like that.

I turn right at the top of the stairs and then spot him. He's laying spread eagle on my bed, his cute little mop of hair strewn across my pillow like he belongs there. He looks so fucking comfortable, drooling slightly on my pillowcase, the covers already off to one side like he's been turning around a lot.

I consider for a long moment going back downstairs, but the exhaustion hits me full force the second I step into the room. There's no use in going back down stairs when I'm this tired.

I check the time. It's four in the morning. I have two hours until I need to be up again for practice.

Fuck.

I pull the covers down a little, causing him to whimper slightly at the cold. My hand finds his arm and I push it back toward the rest of his body, then I tuck him back in again, allowing myself maybe one quarter of the available mattress space.

I curl up into as tight of a ball as I can, and I'm out cold the second my head hits the pillow.

***

build it up to watch it fall,

if kingdoms can turn to dust,

then there's no hope for us.

Reveries - bones & bridges

***

Oh, we gotta love the classic Casey's scene that's made every book just so much harder because I shape my plot around the Reveal scene that I base around Casey's.....

hell yeah, okay, we're moving along baby!

also this is LITERALLY my favorite song of all time. I mean, screaming this shit out the car windows while driving at night. 'if only for tonight, then one more time' like damn okay you guys didn't have to pop off like this

Anyway

-rabid