All We Need is Daylight

Frank discovers that there is not only one, not only two, not only three, but four total Starbucks across campus. And that’s just campus, there’s two more in town. So, at any given time, you are never more than a thousand feet away from a Starbucks.

Frank is taken to one such Starbucks, where he is blissfully given the opportunity to drink coffee. He’s been suffering from caffeine withdrawal recently, he was starting to get a headache. He’s forced to get decaf, considering it’s so late, but the taste should be enough to trick his brain for the time being. Or maybe he just really missed the taste of coffee, he doesn’t want to rule that out as a possibility. Frank is in college, coffee is like air for people in college, without it, you will literally die. Literally just fucking die.

“So, Frank,” Pete says, “where were you before?”

“Uh, Boston,” Frank says.

“Boston?” Pete asks, looking excited by the name. “Dude, they’re team is fucking amazing.”

“Yeah,” Frank shrugs.

“Slightly worse now though, huh?” Pete asks, and Frank blushes. They’d had a full team, twenty players, with probably another eighty on standby in case of injuries. Boston’s not really going to be missing him much. Armstrong is a poor little school that’s in no one’s sight for any reason other than price. You don’t attend this place for the sports teams. Or the quality of education, for that matter.

“Please,” Gerard says, “Boston has one of the best coaches, not only in college hockey, but in all of hockey. They’ve competed in the Frozen four six times in the last ten years, and won four of those times. A school that good does not plummet because of the loss of one guy. Boston is like a hydra, you get rid of one good player, three better players grow in his place.”

“Dude,” Pete says, hitting Gerard in the side at that, but Frank just shrugs.

“No, it’s fine,” Frank says, “I wasn’t under the impression that my loss would mean much of anything to them. They’re good. They’re damn good. If you could see them, oh man. It’s like nothing you could ever imagine, a well-oiled machine. A team like that doesn’t suffer, or have bad days, they’re good on days when they don’t win, good on days when they do.”

“Literally shut up, or I’m gonna cry,” Mikey says, scoffing. “Just ‘cause we suck doesn’t mean I like to hear about it.”

“It’s not that we suck, per se,” Travie says, “it’s just that everyone else is better.”

“No, you kinda suck,” Gerard says.

“Fuck off,” several voices say in unison at him. Frank grins and sips his coffee, cozying himself up against the window, and vacantly looking out of it at the school outside.

The town is illuminated only slightly by the light of the lampposts, and Frank smiles. Frank has always been fond of lampposts. There’s something about them, they’re quaint, but somehow pretty. Maybe it’s because his mom liked lampposts, she liked them so much she put a lamppost in the living room, called it a character piece. Lampposts just remind him of home, remind him of his mother. It’s almost like he can see his mom smiling when they turn on at night.

“Who’s your team, Frank?” Pete asks, breaking Frank out of his reverie.

“What?” Frank says, looking confused at the vague question.

“Where’d you grow up?” Pete asks, “who’s your team?”

“Oh,” Frank says, understanding, “The Devils.”

“Sweet,” Mikey says, and he pats Frank on the back, apparently approving. Frank looks around at the rest of them, sees Gerard smiling at that, though he doesn’t know why he cares about Gerard’s opinion, but he does, and there’s nothing to be done of that. Gerard and Mikey are brothers, they’re Devils fans, which means in all likelihood they’re from New Jersey.

“Where in Jersey are you from?” Frank asks, and he directs the question at Gerard rather than at Mikey. He wants to hear Gerard talk some more, try to get a read on this guy who’s going to be coaching him, and as he says, giving him hell.

“Belleville,” Gerard says, “so is Ray.”

“No kidding,” Frank says, smiling, “I’m from just outside of there. You played hockey?”

“Yeah,” Gerard says, and then laughs, “you know, you actually beat Mikey’s team three years in a row, though he didn’t want me to mention it.”

“Asshole,” Mikey says, and Frank can tell that he kicks his brother under the table, but Gerard just laughs further at it.

“Sorry about that,” Frank says, though he’s not. He does remember absolutely throttling the high school Mikey would logically have gone to three years in a row, and it’s not his fault that they sucked. Frank’s team wasn’t too hot either, but Frank was doing most of the work, and their opposing teams weren’t a match for a team with Frank on it.

Frank has a habit of raising the standards of everything he touches, he’s great on group projects too. That doesn’t mean Frank doesn’t work damn hard, because you’d better believe it that Frank deserves the success he has. Frank is more deserving of the accomplishments he’s garnered than almost anyone, because he puts blood, sweat, and tears into everything he does.

“No, you’re not,” Mikey groans, and he looks red, as everyone stares at him judgingly. “Fuck off, all of you. I’m fantastic, it was my team that sucked.”

“I was on that team,” Ray says, looking at him with this look on his face.

“If the shoe fits-” Mikey says before Ray is punching him in the arm.

“You watch your mouth or I’ll hit you with my damn shoe,” Ray says.

“Well,” Pete says, “while you all squabble, I’ll just sit here with my superiority complex and laugh at all of you, who are beneath me.”

“No one asked you Pete,” Mikey and Gerard say together, and yeah, Frank can see how they’re related.

Travie turns to Frank at this and says, “Pete’s from Chicago, he holds it over us every second he gets that his team is better than all of ours.”

Frank shrugs, “fair enough man, you don’t have to be a genius to see that the Blackhawks are the best team in the world right now.” Frank leaves out the part at the end where he’s tempted to say ‘possibly ever.’

“Aha!” Pete says, ecstatic that someone agrees with him, but both he and Frank are smacked in the arm because of this, and Frank, not used to being physically hurt as a sign of friendship, is alarmed. He feels kind of warm and fuzzy though, because no one has ever considered him a friend enough to be an asshole to him. And from what Frank gathers, that’s the true sign of friendship.

Frank actually starts to really enjoy himself after a little while. He’s talking with real, actual people, and enjoying it. And they seem to enjoy his presence? That’s an absolute first, Frank has never been enjoyable in anyone’s eyes aside from his own mothers.

These guys seem to be really great though. He actually learns a lot about them. Ray is probably his music soulmate, and the fact that this guy is his roommate is like a match made in heaven. They start getting really deep talking about punk bands and garage bands that they both have seen, some concerts that they’ve both been to and could’ve met at but missed each other. All of them pretty much agree with their music taste, but no one is as necessarily interested about talking about very specific guitar riffs with him as Ray is.

Frank actually feels excitement bubbling in his very bones at the prospect of being friends with these guys, because he just likes them. He actually really enjoys their company. Frank has not had a very exciting life, which is evident by the fact that talking to this group of guys is one of the best moments of his life.

They actually like him though, or it seems that way, he’s prompted questions, treated like a member of a group rather than just a teammate no one cares about. It’s cool, a very new experience, something he’s never had before, but it makes him feel, for the first time in his life, wanted. A different kind of wanted than when he’s on a team, because he knows his teammates want him there, but they don’t want his company which is what really matters at heart.

Frank talks to them about anything, mostly hockey, they progress into music, Frank finds out that Gerard and Mikey were in a band once, and from the constant assurance from literally everyone at the table, apparently, Gerard has the voice of an angel, but Frank is a skeptic by nature. He also learns that Pete apparently once fainted at a Beyoncé concert.

Somehow, god knows how, Gerard starts talking about comic books, and Frank, well Frank gets a little bit gayer during the fifteen-minute monologue. To be fair, it’s closer to twenty minutes.

“But like, anyway, that’s why, if I were a superhero, I’d most want to be Nightcrawler,” Gerard says, after honestly just a solid five minutes of listing the positives and negatives of having every super power imaginable, only after going on and on about some comic Frank’s never even heard of called Doom Patrol. Frank’s somewhat of a classicalist, X-Men all the way, and depending on how hot the actor who plays him is, he can dig Batman.

Gerard talks with every part of his body, except, oddly enough, his mouth. He talks with his hands, with his shoulders, with his face, with his eyes, but when it comes to actually forming words, all of his words only come out of one very small corner of his mouth. He’s got a world of expressions and gestures to accompany them, though, and the sound of his voice, Frank decides he likes. Well, more than likes, but he’s trying to restrain himself.

Frank stops himself there, because part of the reason for why he often avoids hanging out with people like this is because then he’ll get close to people, and Frank has a habit of falling in love with strangers on a regular basis. So, having friends is a dangerous game to play, because that opens up the possibility that he’s going to get a crush on someone he actually knows and that would seriously fuck everything up.

“I’d want to be… Aquaman,” Pete says, before everyone starts laughing at him. He tries to assure them that he was just kidding, but they’re too busy making fun of him for him to get the chance.

“I’d want to be Rogue,” Mikey says. “Because that way, I’m like every other superhero ever combined into one.”

“Yeah, but only if you make a habit of fondling people,” Ray says.

“I don’t see how that’s a problem.”

“You wouldn’t,” Gerard rolls his eyes. Frank can’t help looking at all of the guys, it’s not just Gerard who he’s crushing on. If he’s honest, he’s kind of attracted to all of them. Travie the most probably, but Travie doesn’t talk as much as Gerard so it’s harder for him to fall in love with his personality.

“I’d be Magneto, man,” Travie says, “can’t beat that shit. Got a metal implant in your arm? Bam, now I have control of your arm.”

“Oh no, a whole arm! What’s next, you going to take control of my teeth fillings?” Gerard asks.

“No, but I can still strangle you with a pipe if you piss me off,” Travie replies.

“Touché,” Gerard says, “but, oh wait? What’s that? I can literally just teleport away from your strangulation. I can just teleport and drop an anvil over your head.”

“Okay, excuse me, these are superheroes, not Hanna Barbera cartoons.”

Frank’s not gonna lie, he’s a little turned on.

“It would still work!” Gerard says. “I’ll knock you out, and then you can’t hurt me, I’m awesome.”

“Ah yes, but you both pale before my ability to talk to fish,” Pete says, and nothing says boner kill like Aquaman.

“Pete, sometimes I wonder how you manage to get out of bed every morning without step-by-step instructions,” Mikey says to him.

“My life is not an Ikea catalog,” Pete replies. Pete’s brain, from what Frank is able to tell, starts and ends at the ice. It’s not that he’s an idiot, he seems smart if Frank’s being honest, it’s just that, he has absolutely no idea how to express that. Pete could be a fucking genius, he could be the smartest man in the world, but he would have absolutely no way of showing other people that. He’s simply cursed to look like an idiot.

“Well, on that note,” Gerard says, looking at his watch, “I have to get to bed.”

Frank has not yet determined how old Gerard actually is. It’s still puzzling him. He looks old enough to have graduated college, and if that’s the case, then his job as an assistant coach makes more sense than if he were a student. But he also looks like he could be a year or two older than Frank, and still a student. Frank can’t seem to determine which is the case. He’s sure that whatever the situation is, it’s not going to change the fact that Frank is insanely into him. Quite oppositely, learning that Travie supports the Rangers, that’s practically a deal breaker.

“Whatever, old man,” Mikey says, taunting him as he stands up.

“Actually, me too,” Ray says, “I have an early class tomorrow.”

“I’ll go too then,” Frank says, with a shrug. He wants to talk to Ray a little while longer, and this is an opportune time to do so.

At that, the rest of them all decide to start heading back to their dorms, or wherever the hell it is that Gerard is going, since Frank still hasn’t cracked that case.

Frank and Ray are in the middle of talking about new wave bands when Gerard stops, seemingly remembering something, and he turns back to look at Frank.

“Listen, Frank,” Gerard says, back tracking to Frank and Ray as they exit the coffee shop. Frank looks at him, refuses to make eye contact, because that’s a well Frank does not need to be falling into right now. He sees Gerard holding something out for him to take. Frank takes it, and looks at it to see that it’s a key.

“Coach asked me to give you that,” Gerard says, “she wants you to do some extra practicing because you’re starting late in the season. I’ll leave you some of our notes when I get the chance, but anyway, feel free to use the rink whenever you need it. As long as someone else isn’t using it, that is.”

“Oh,” Frank nods, grinning like an idiot. “Cool, thanks.” In a non-maniacal way, he feels very powerful holding this key. Maybe a little maniacal.

“Yeah,” Gerard nods, “hope the extra time helps.” Gerard then walks off, catching up to his brother and putting an arm around his shoulder, before Mikey is shrugging it off hastily. Frank smiles a bit, jealous for lack of a better word. He’s always wanted a brother, one of those things you don’t know you’re missing out on until you see what other people have.

Ray gestures for Frank to keep on walking, so he does, stuffing the key in his pocket.

“Man, I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, dude,” Ray says.

“What do you mean?”

“Well how bad were you today to need extra practice time?” Ray says, and Frank turns to him curiously to see that he’s joking. Frank shrugs, because he’s not used to people joking around him. Insult based humor is something he’s going to have to get used to.

“It’s cool though,” Frank says, “like I have free reign of the rink.”

“Sure dude,” Ray says, “but you’re not gonna have time for a life outside of hockey if you train that much.”

“Who says there’s such a thing as life outside of hockey?” Frank questions, and Ray laughs, even though Frank hadn’t meant it as a joke. He laughs along with Ray though, because evidently, Frank is a weirdo.

“Gerard must really like you to give you that, dude,” Ray says, and Frank feels his heart stutter a little bit at that. Ray means platonically, of course he does. He means that Gerard must think he’s a good player. He was giving Frank a hard time about it, but that’s how coaches deal with good players a lot of the time, it’s part of a motivational tactic to get the best out of them. It’s when they’re really nice to you that you gotta watch out.

“Really?” Frank asks.

“Yeah,” Ray nods. “Coach would probably give a key to anyone who asked, but Gerard’s really picky about that. It’s like he sees the rink as his second home. He’s a little weird like that.”

“Did he used to play?” Frank asks.

“He did, he was pretty good,” Ray replies, “but he just up and quit by junior year. I don’t really know why, but he did. Then he cozied it up to Coach for the assistant coaching gig, like she’d have said no with his hockey centric brain.”

“So, he’s out of school?” Frank asks.

“Graduated last year,” Ray nods as a confirmation. “He’s the real motivator out on the ice. Coach is good at maneuvering, and game plans, the technical stuff, you know, but she’s super passive if you hadn’t noticed. Gerard is an asshole in the rink, but he means well, and if you start to show him what he wants then he doesn’t call you out as much. But like, don’t get me wrong, he still yells at us no matter what.”

“Every team needs someone to yell at them when they’re doing things wrong,” Frank says.

“You buy into all that tough love stuff, huh?” Ray laughs, and he holds the door open for Frank when they reach their building.

“When it comes to sports, there’s no way around it,” Frank shrugs.

“You have a single-track mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Life isn’t just about hockey,” Ray replies.

“I never said it was,” Frank replies. “Life is about skating.”

“Skating, hockey, what’s the difference?” Ray asks.

“You don’t need a hockey stick to skate.”

“You’re not talking about that stupid ass figure skating, are you?” Ray asks, and Frank sighs. He’d expected as much. All hockey players are the same. They hate figure skating. They detest it. The only thing hockey players dislike more than gay dudes are figure skaters. If you’re a figure skating gay dude, then you are in for a harsh wake up call, because hockey players do not stand for that shit at all.

Frank’s used to it though. He’s lived with this his entire life. They’re two passion that aren’t allowed to intertwine. It’s unfortunate that they’re the only two passions Frank actually has.

“’Course not dude,” Frank says, with a fake laugh, “figure skating is stupid.”

“Damn right,” Ray says, and they come to their dorm, and Frank waits as he opens it for them. “Figure skating is an utter disgrace as a sport. It makes hockey almost laughable, since there are these stupid people with their frilly ass dresses doing all that dumbass twirling and shit. It just boils my blood, man, they cast a dark cloud over hockey.”

“Yeah, totally,” Frank says, not believing the words he says.

For all of his life, figure skating and hockey, have both, in turn, been dark clouds over the other. For figure skaters, to play hockey is brutish, animalistic, juvenile. For hockey players, figure skating is wimpy, easy, frilly, girly. As someone who’s played both Frank can confirm time and time again that figure skating is by far more difficult than hockey, but that’s not how the world sees it. He can also confirm that there is no thrill like the feeling of playing on a hockey team.

Frank doesn’t say anything more, he just resigns himself to sit at the desk under his bed, which he’s sure he’s never going to get used to. He may be short, but even he isn’t short enough not to hit his head on the bed frame above him when he tries to sit down. Ray doesn’t mean to, but he laughs at him as Frank rubs at the spot on his head, frowning.

Frank makes a face at him, but Ray just shrugs in response, like it’s the end of a conversation. For the most part, it is. Ray has classes tomorrow, which Frank does not, so Ray falls asleep not long after they arrive back in the room, leaving Frank to stare at the ceiling only a few feet above him in his stupid lofted bed.

He dwells on a lot of different things in this time he has to spend left with his own thoughts. He thinks about how nice the ice had felt beneath him today, how even though this place is a bit of a shithole, it’s also kind of charming. It’s also got a feel to it, a sort of click, like it makes more sense than Frank’s other school. Here, even though so far, he’s been terrified of his new surroundings and less than warmly welcomed by a majority of the team, it still seems more like a place that he can call home than anywhere else.

Frank also thinks about how he’s still going to have to keep his secrets. He didn’t think he wouldn’t, actually he was sure he would, but part of him allowed himself to hope that maybe he’d shed those secrets in a new place. He’s never going to get that chance, he knows it, but he allowed himself to dream.

Frank’s probably always going to be closeted, he’s probably going to die that way. He has every intention of moving onto the NHL when he’s out of school, and if he can’t tell anyone in college with only the tiniest of spotlights, then he surely can’t tell with a large one. This is his fate, and it’s his own fault because it’s the path he’s chosen. Maybe when Frank retires, maybe then.

Frank allows himself to imagine though, what would it be like if he could be free from societies stigma? What would Frank do if he had the opportunity to actually be with someone? Who would he even want?

Frank thinks about the guys he met today. Pete was a little mouthy, didn’t seem to shut up, which is fine unless you consider putting up with that all the time. Mikey was kind of aloof, kind of ditzy almost, not bad, nothing wrong with him, just not Frank’s type. Ray’s off the table completely, Frank can’t even begin to consider being attracted to his own roommate. Travie was a viable option. Pretty, somehow angelic, a little quiet, but opinionated once you get him to start talking. Definitely an option, were Frank given the opportunity.

Then there’s Gerard. Gerard’s the black sheep of the bunch. Frank can’t decide how he feels about the guy, he likes his face but that’s a very small detail. He likes all the guys faces, there’s more to them than that though.

Gerard’s kind of out there. He’s very much himself, which Frank would consider to be one of the strongest things about a personality. If you’re going to be yourself, you should own it. Gerard’s confident in who he is as a person. He’s a little brief though, a little snippy. But he’s also kind of adorable, he’s a giant nerd who’s somehow weaseled his way onto a hockey team. When he’d gotten started, and then couldn’t stop, talking about comics, it was like hearing a poet describe the love of their life. Something about hearing other people’s passions has always fascinated Frank, he could stop and listen for hours to someone who tells him about something they absolutely adore, and he’d never get bored.

Maybe it’s because he’s an assistant coach, but Gerard’s also a little bossy. Frank doesn’t mind that so much in moderation, but all the time? Frank’s somewhat passive, he always has been, Gerard is the opposite.

After careful consideration, Frank decides that, even though it’s never going to happen, Gerard probably wouldn’t be at the top of his list of potential boyfriends. He’s just a little too different from Frank. He’s not ruled out completely, though. There’s many more people to meet though, and Frank isn’t a settler.

Alas, this is all make-believe. Frank’s never going to get a chance like that, and he knows it. But it’s fun to pretend, if only for a little while.

Notes

Happy holidays to everyone!