Page 15

Fuck. There he is. Pale skin, slim waist, hairless chest and cute brown nipples with a little freckle or something near the left one. The only difference is he isn’t wearing his crucifix.

Kelsier38: Just as hot as I remember.

RedRum237: Thanks now you

I take a deep breath and turn on the lamp. I take a selfie without my face in the frame and send it before I can change my mind.

His reply comes fast.

RedRum237: Woah

I can’t stop a snort from escaping. I’m not that impressive. People probably think hockey players are all built like Marvel characters, but I’m by no means as built as some of those guys playing in the NHL. I’m not even the best built guy in my locker room, but he doesn’t know that.

RedRum237: I don’t believe you haven’t spoken to or hooked up with anyone since we last spoke like that.

Kelsier38: Why not?

RedRum237: Because, you’re way too hot. People are probably throwing themselves at you every day.

Kelsier38: Yeah right. And even if they were…

How the fuck do I put this?

Kelsier38” I don’t like the idea of hooking up with a total stranger.

RedRum237: For your first time?

Kelsier38: For like ever.

He pauses for a bit, probably thinking what a freak. But then he sends his reply.

RedRum237: What do you mean?

Kelsier38: I don’t know, I just… I don’t even really enjoy porn that much. I just feel like these guys aren’t real. I don’t know them, so how can I find them sexy? That’s weird right? I’m not a normal guy.

RedRum237: It’s not weird. And it’s your identity, no one can force one on you that doesn’t fit.

Kelsier38: Why are you so smart?

RedRum237: I’m not. I just have a nosey best friend who forces me to talk about my feelings all the time.

Kelsier38: maybe I need to get one of those

RedRum237: It’s okay, you have me

Kelsier38: That’s true

RedRum237: What are you doing now?

Kelsier38: Honestly?

RedRum237: Of course

Kelsier38: I’m probably gonna go jerk off in the shower thinking about that pic you just sent and hope my roommate doesn’t hear me

RedRum237: me too.

Kelsier38: Goodnight horror boy

RedRum237: Sweet dreams

Stef opens his bedroom door at the same time I do.

“Sorry, I was…”

We both try to speak at the same time and stop, laughing.

“You go first.” I say.

“I was just gonna take a shower.”

My face floods with heat. “Oh, me too.”

“You go first.” He says, gesturing for me to go ahead.

“No, you go first.”

“Seriously, I insist.”

We both take a deep breath, for some reason, he’s blushing. Was he watching porn with his headphones on in there or something?

“Looks like we’re at a stalemate here.”

“Yeah.” He looks down and rubs the back of his neck.

“Hey, seriously, you go first, please. I’d feel bad if you didn’t.”

He looks up at me, his eyes all big and brown and pretty.

“Okay,” he says. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m positive.”

I have to watch TV while he’s in the shower and try not to think about that picture horror boy sent. I can’t do what I was planning to do now, not now I know Stef’s awake and might hear me.

The away game against Quinnipiac is a shit show from the start. I don’t know what happens, but we’re just… off. Or they’re really on their game. Or maybe a little of both.

They get on the board in the first five minutes and from there on out it’s a mad scramble just to keep them away from our net.

Ryan, our goalie, is standing on his head out there, but they’re just outclassing us in every area, and that’s worse somehow. Like there’s nothing we can do about it, they’re just better.

As soon as I think that, Papa’s voice floods into my head, telling me I’m giving up, reminding me he didn’t raise a quitter.

I take a hit in the right corner behind our net trying to take possession from Quinnipiac’s star center and my shoulder screams.

I ignore it, playing through the pain.

By the time the last whistle blows, we’ve lost in a 4 goal shut-out and I can barely see straight from the searing pain in my bad shoulder.

I stand under the showers with my good hand pressed against the wall for support. I hate showering in away-team showers. Hate using other people’s shit. It’s especially rough after a loss like that.

The one good thing about an away-game loss is that my dad doesn’t have time to sit me down and give me a play-by-play of everything that went wrong.

He waits for me outside the arena and has just about enough time to give me a few bullet point highlights of what we need to work on for next time.

Luckily he’s speaking in Russian and only Pawlowski should be able to pick up on some of what he’s saying, though he’s not shy about using names even though the team are feet away getting on the bus.

“Thanks for coming Papa,” I say, giving him a hug. “Sorry you had to watch us lose.”

“You’ll do better next time,” he says, patting the back of my head.

Yeah, next time.

“Everything okay?” Coach asks as I get on the bus.

“Yes Coach.”

Michael’s sitting up front and I can feel his eyes on me as I try to pretend my shoulder isn’t killing as I listen to my music. Blocking everything else out.

I’m wrung out by the time we’re dropped back at campus. But I manage to hold it together until I crash through the door of the apartment.

I wasn’t expecting Stef to still be up. Watching one of his house flipping shows in a pair of clean grey sweats and a college t-shirt.

He looks so clean and fresh and I’m sweating like a pig again from the effort of pushing through the pain enough to get my ass home.

When all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and go to sleep on the sidewalk.

“Hey, you okay?”

I ignore him. I don’t think I can talk right now. I need an ice pack and to be horizontal. He’s watching me as I crash into the kitchen and lean on the counter for support.

“Hey, what do you need?”

He’s always buzzing around. Trying to help. It’s annoying. I can take care of myself. I try to say that, but when I open my mouth, a wave of nausea hits me and all that comes out is, “ice.”

“Okay, sit down, I’ll get it.”

I lie down. Face down on the couch. Listening to him rustle around in the freezer.

I hope he finds the ice pack I keep in there.

I don’t want frozen peas defrosting on my shoulder.

Not that we have frozen peas, or much food in that freezer.

Unless Stef’s stocked it from his parents’ restaurant. Fuck, am I getting delirious with pain?

“Here.”

When Stef comes back in with the ice pack, he doesn’t even blink an eye at me face-planting the couch.

I don’t move. I can’t. Not now I’ve found a position that is a step down from searing agony.

I can feel him hovering over me. “Where does it hurt?” He asks.

“Shoulder, right one.”

“Okay.”

He hesitates before applying the pack and as soon as he does, I wince so sharply I nearly come off the couch.

“Sorry! I’m sorry.”

“No, do it!”

I’m shouting single syllables at him like a caveman. But he listens and presses the pack to my shoulder again. This time I just about manage to stop myself from flopping around like a fish and he holds it there while wave after wave of nausea hits me before passing.

The ice and the pain killers I took after the game start to do their magic and I’m overcome with relief as the pain starts to subside.

“Better?”

It’s only now I’m not in agony that I notice how close he is.

I’m lying with my right shoulder closest to the cushions, so Stef has to spread his arm all the way across my back to reach it.

It means the warmth of his body is hovering over me.

The smell of his aftershave and shampoo.

He wears a kinda spicy aftershave, and his shampoo has strong hints of coconut that follow him everywhere he goes.

When I open my eyes, he’s right there. The light from the overhead bulb shining through the fair strands of hair around his face. The soft brown hairs growing above his top lip. The beginning of rougher hairs on his chin.

“Thank you.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “What happened?”

“It was a shut-out.”

I can tell by his expression he doesn’t know what that means.

“We lost four goals to nothing.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

I wanna tell him it’s alright. It happens. But it’s not alright. And I don’t care that it happens. It shouldn’t happen to me. I shouldn’t have let it happen.

A ball of frustration hits me right in the gut and the back of my eyes sting with the threat of tears. Fuck, you’re gonna cry in front of him, really?

I grit my teeth and hold it in. But then he strokes my hair. He fucking strokes my hair!

My eyes fly open and I glare at him. Or at least, I mean to glare at him.

“Sorry.” He says, pulling his hand away. “I was just trying to…” he trails off. Maybe he doesn’t know what he was trying to do?

“You were trying to comfort me.”

He blinks. Long lashes batting over big brown eyes. “Yeah.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

I clear my throat and shuffle, dislodging his hand on my shoulder.

“I’m good now, thanks.”

He stays crouching for a second before standing up. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Sorry about coming in here like… you know.”

“It’s fine.” He shakes his head. “Any time. We’re roommates remember?”