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Xander, October 14th

T he entire bus is vibrating with the infectious joy of twenty hockey players and their exasperated coaching team. Not even the two-hour ride back home has managed to calm us down.

I’m glad our coaches let us party, grinning at my teammates as I move back to my seat. There, I find the only tamper on my mood: Nate.

My best friend checked out of the celebrations about an hour ago and still sits at the back of the bus, tapping away at his phone. It takes superhuman effort not to roll my eyes.

“How’d they do?” I ask instead, sliding into the seat next to him. I already know Nate is checking his brother’s score. Because of him I know the schedule of the B-Tech Badgers almost as well as our own.

“Lost,” Nate mutters quietly, not looking up from his cellphone.

“Sucks,” I comment drily. We won after all. And if the Badgers lost, that means less competition. I nudge Nate, hoping to distract him, but he continues frowning at his phone, so more drastic measures have to be taken.

“You have plans tonight, right?” I know he does; Nate always knows when and where a party is going down, and he rarely misses any of them.

“Hm?”

It isn’t like him to be this distracted. This thing with his twin must be really eating at him, but I just tilt my head, waiting for him to process my words.

“Oh, yeah. There’s a party at Kappa Tau house. Wanna come?”

“Sorry, I have to plan the next Alliance meeting,” I huff, wishing I had picked a better subject. Even with almost four years of having Nate as my best friend, I worry that his invitations will stop one day. “But hey, you could ask some of the guys?” I lean around the seat in front of me, but Nate stops me.

“No, I’ll ask Nicko.”

I bite down on my tongue to keep back any comments. I do not want to get on Nate’s bad side by talking shit about his brother. His friendship is too important to me to risk it just to hammer it in that I think the other Van der Hoff is an entitled ass. For the rest of the drive, Nate stays glued to his phone.

Half an hour later, we make it through a traffic jam and put the forest road behind us, finally stopping next to our home rink. We have all calmed down enough to not immediately scatter in all directions the second the engine shuts off, looking at Coach when he rises from his seat.

“Alright, boys. You’ve done well tonight. Go and celebrate,” he says, always providing the quiet but firm encouragement we need. “See you fresh and ready on Monday.” To point out all the shit you did wrong , he doesn’t say, but we all hear it loud and clear.

Nate and I linger for a bit to shoot the shit with the others while we unload our bags. I’m glad to see his mood picking up again, now that he’s tucked his phone back into the pocket of his suit jacket. We make a quick escape before we get roped into the plans of our teammates.

Our silence is comfortable as we make our way to our dorm. Nothing feels as cozy to me as seeing the rusty stone building come into view between the tall trees that make up the campus park. Even if there isn’t an elevator and we have to climb up and down the sandstone steps multiple times a day, it’s home. The feeling is dampened a bit when we get held up at the front door, our dorm guard doing a double take at Nate.

“Oh, you’re back? Didn’t even notice you went out again,” Marv greets my roommate, tilting his head at him. Nate plays it cool and distracts the older man by asking something about his family, ever the charmer.

I sigh, looking up as if I can see through all the floors right up to our dorm, where my best friend’s twin must have snuck his way inside.

True to my expectations, we find Nicko on the couch in the common area, watching TV with a bunch of sophomore girls.

“You shouldn’t sneak into our dorm. Identity theft isn’t a joke, Van der Second,” I berate him while pulling my gear out of my bag. I hope I interrupted him from flirting with any of them. God knows I already see enough of him as Nate’s brother; I don’t need to see more of him because he hooks up with one of my dorm mates.

“I wasn’t going to wait outside in the cold, dick, and it’s not my fault Marv can’t tell us apart,” Nicko replies, rising to my taunt, and I see two girls snicker. Our spats are a well-known play that is on at least once per week.

Shaking my head, I unlock the door to our room with my ID card, stopping in front of my closet to stuff my sweaty clothing into the hamper.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Xander,” Nate huffs right behind me. I don’t need to turn around to know he’s frowning. “You wouldn’t want to wait outside either.”

“It’d suck, but I would,” I argue. “Because that’s the rules,” I insist and flick on the light, holding the door open for my best friend but letting it fall closed on his copy.

Sadly, Hoff is quick enough to squeeze through.

I let my backpack slip from my shoulder to hunker down at the desk pushed under my bunk bed. There was plenty of time to study on the bus, but I slacked off. My own fault for allowing myself to get carried away by all the pre- and post-game hype, so I have to cram now instead of going out if I want to keep up my grades.

Not to mention planning the Bonham College LGBTQIA+ Alliance meeting next week. Now that I’m in my last year, I want to make sure my successor has a good start.

“You’ll see, it’ll be great! They always make the best cocktails,” Nate continues a conversation he must have started with his brother over text. He has stopped in front of his wardrobe to take out fresh clothes.

Nicko apparently doesn’t share the sentiment. He drags his feet around the bookshelves we use as an improvised room divider to Nate’s half, flopping down in his desk chair heavily enough to make the springs creak. “I don’t know,” his voice is a listless huff. “I’m not really in the mood to party.”

“Aw, come on. Next time you’ll turn it around!”

“ How if I’m not even playing?” Nicko hisses, and I roll my eyes, unable to further ignore their conversation.

“Then quit,” I throw over my shoulder, because seriously. Nicko’s dragging down the entire mood with his sour attitude.

I feel both twins looking at me but don’t acknowledge them until I have finished writing a nonsense sentence that I’ll have to delete again in a minute, but at least I’m making my point. By the time I’ve turned around, Nicko has rounded the bookshelves and is standing right behind me.

I answer his anger by getting up and adding insult to injury by towering over him. Even if the interview was years ago, I’m glad that I still have a good few inches of height advantage. Although, exactly like back then, it doesn’t intimidate Hoff, and he continues hissing like an angry cat: “What did you just say?”

“Nicko, he means–”

“I meant exactly what I said,” I insist, interrupting Nate. I don’t need him to speak for me. “If you’re not up to it, you should quit. No one’s waiting around for Nicholas van der Hoff to get his shit together.” Even if right now I am more interested in being brutal than honest, I do feel like this is the truth.

“Always the asshole,” Van der Hoff spits back at me then storms from our room. Nate just glares at me then runs after his brother.

I pull up my shoulders, regretting that I upset my best friend, but then turn back to my laptop where my unfinished paper is still waiting. I heave a sigh and try to focus on that instead of the conversation that’s happening right outside our room, where Nate managed to catch up to his brother.

“He didn’t mean that, come on.”

“Yes, I did!” I shout through the open door.

They exchange some more quiet words that I don’t catch and don’t care to. Eventually Nate returns, closing the door behind him. Ever the peace-maker, he stops next to my desk.

I manage to minutely delay his lecture until the end of another sentence. Then I look up, not bothering to feign innocence. I know Nate wants me to go easier on his brother. For us to get along even, although that feels like an impossible ask.

“Was that really necessary?”

I know the answer Nate wants, but I don’t feel like giving it, so I raise a shoulder, ignoring the question.

“What’s his deal anyway? I thought his knee was healed.” An injury like that is a nightmare none of us would admit to being scared of, but as far as I know from Nate, his brother recovered well since he tore his cruciate ligament last winter.

“He’s fine. He just…needs a little more time to fully get back to it,” Nate says, not sounding entirely sure about it himself, so I shrug again.

“If he’s not up to playing anymore he should quit,” I repeat and turn back once more to the work at hand. “Give someone else a chance, you know?”

Three sentences into my next paragraph I notice Nate is still standing there.

“Earth to Nate, didn’t you have plans tonight you wanted to talk me into?”

He comes to with a slight start and a shake of his head that doesn’t even faze his perfectly styled hair.

“Hm? Oh, no, no worries. Nicko said he’d come along.”

“Sure he will,” I snort. Nate should know that his brother is sure to kill any party mood. It stings that my best friend isn’t trying harder to convince me to go. It’s the only child in me acting up, while the responsible adult knows that I do have to study to keep my grades up. There will be another party. There’s always another party.

“He will ,” Nate insists, raising a stern brow.

I relent quickly, not wanting to anger him. “Okay, okay, have a great brotherly bonding time,” I say, raising my hands, “and I’ll be at the next one, promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that!” Nate grins and claps a hand on my shoulder. I can see the tension in the corner of his eyes; I don’t comment, but merely squeeze his arm for a moment in return before he heads out for the night.

***

My work keeps me up past midnight. I’m stuck wracking my brain about what other sponsors we might be able to contact for a Rainbow Run before the weather gets too cold when the door opens and Nate comes trudging in. He mutters a couple of words, then falls straight onto his bed.

I finish up and take a detour to the kitchen while brushing my teeth to put a glass of cold water on his nightstand as well as some aspirin.

As expected, he needs it the next day. It takes me almost half an hour to lure him out of bed and into the gym for our morning session. Still sweaty, we treat ourselves to bagels on our way back.

After quick showers, we settle at Nate’s desk, chewing and eating. I have the New York Times open on my phone, reading the headlines and some of the shorter articles out to Nate, enjoying that it’s turning into a normal weekend morning after all.

“So how was the party?” I ask, after I’ve finished with the Sports section.

Nate picks some sesame seeds off of his bagel, considering them closely before flicking them into the trash can.

“It was okay,” he heaves a breath, staring at his bagel instead of taking another bite. “Nicko canceled on me.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry.” A part of me wants to apologize for arguing before they left. I’m sure it didn’t help, but in the end, it’s Van der Hoff’s own decision to let down his brother.

“Yeah…said he wasn’t feeling well,” Nate continues, brows creasing.

I bite my tongue and then my bagel. I hate that he feels bad, but I can’t say that he should tell his idiot brother to stop being an asshole, because Nate would never do that. He loves his twin too much. Instead, I inelegantly switch the topic: “Hey, how about a movie marathon? Or that show you were raving about?”

“You still haven’t watched it? You’re gonna love it, it has everything! ”

I smile when Nate starts talking about the characters, plots and themes of his new favorite show. Next month it’ll be a new one, but I’ll look forward to him showing me that as well.

I finish my bagel, and Nate wraps his half-eaten one up, before we both settle on his bed.

“So, okay, it’s a bit slow to get started, but I promise by episode five it’s impossible to stop!” He finishes setting up his laptop, perched on the edge of his desk, then slumps down next to me.

I chuckle and pull my hood over my still wet hair.

It’s definitely good, but I find myself sinking against Nate’s shoulder when there’s yet another murder plot—some kind of triple betrayal that Nate swears was masterfully foreshadowed—and before it’s resolved I’m asleep.

Pained groaning wakes me. Disoriented, I blink around, but the room is dark apart from the flickering light of Nate’s laptop. The show is still playing, but there’s no one getting murdered, so it can’t have been that. I’m about to dismiss it when Nate groans again.

He rummages with the blanket, throwing it off, then nearly faceplants as he stumbles over my legs in his rush to make it off the bed. His hurried steps noisily cross the room.

Light from the hallway falls in through the open door—and then I hear him retch.

Rubbing my eyes, I push myself up and stumble out of our room after Nate. I follow the sounds into the bathroom.

“You alright, man?”

There’s a groan like an entire horde of zombies and then a weak “go away” that’s way less intimidating, because it’s followed by more gagging and splashing that makes my own stomach turn. Still, I go inside.

“Late Revenge of the Cocktails, huh?” I mutter, crouching down to rub over Nate’s back. He leans his head against the tiled wall next to the toilet.

“Yeah…shouldn’t‘ve drunk so much, I guess,” he mumbles, then groans and leans over the bowl again.

I grimace in sympathy, staying for a moment longer, then get to my feet again. Stretching, I pull a clean towel off the drying rack to lay it out for Nate so he won’t have to sit on the cold tiles.

“Be right back.” I close the door, not just to preserve my best friend’s privacy; I also spare him the competition over the toilet, since I am a sympathetic vomiter.

In the kitchen I grab a bottle of water and root through my and Nate’s cupboards for some saltines or crackers, but I only find stale bread. Not unexpected, since neither of us ever buys anything that can’t be cooked in the microwave. I pop two slices into the toaster anyway.

Back in the bathroom I sit down, pushing the bottle and plate with toast over to Nate.

“Here’s some water and food. Let me know if you need anything else, yeah?”

“Come vomit for me?” Nate pipes up, his head still in the bowl.

I grimace, swallowing carefully.

“Wouldn’t switch places with you for a contract with the Devils, sorry.” I’ll have to let Coach know that Nate is out for the day, later. He won’t like it, as we have another game on the weekend—we always have another game—but I’ll manage. I know Nate will pull through. He always does when it’s about hockey.