All We Need is Daylight

Frank is sitting in his bed, with his computer on his lap when Ray walks into the room. It’s the same position Frank has been in for most of the past week. But having his computer is new. He hasn’t had any interest in anything aside from staring at the wall for a while. Ray thinks that may be a sign that things are moving forward.

Though it’s been an unsteady climb, Frank’s not doing as poorly as he was. He hasn’t given Ray any answers, and he poses more questions every single day. Frank didn’t come home the other night. It was on Friday, a little while after the game had ended and Ray had come back to their room, after a horrific loss that everyone had seen coming. Frank didn’t ask. He knew that the team lost by the look on Ray’s face. It was a little past eleven, and Frank put on a pair of sweats, then left without word. And he didn’t come back.

Ray’s mind is caught on Frank more than anything, but the team makes an occasional appearance in his brain. Ray’s life does revolve around hockey in a certain sense. Maybe they wouldn’t have lost so hard before Frank got there, but he’s become so integral to their team since his arrival that making up for the lack of him was impossible to achieve in one night. Maybe they have to get used to this. Maybe Frank is gone for good. Maybe it’s for the best. The team has never been a particularly good one, and he’s sure there are other teams in the same division with better players who deserve it more. Merely wanting a championship doesn’t mean you get one.

The team doesn’t even feel like the Green Knights anymore. For some reason, Pete doesn’t feel like the captain without Frank there. And Gerard doesn’t feel like a coach. The team is led by the ever-hopeful Coach, and Morgan of all people. Morgan’s been happy since Frank left the team. It’s clear there’s animosity there, but it’s unclear exactly why Morgan would want the team to be at stake for his hatred of anybody. Morgan cares about hockey just as much as Frank does, so why he’d want his team to fail is beyond Ray.

Ray feels like a visitor in another person’s life without Frank beside him. Frank has become one of his closest friends, and their friend group is missing a key component without him there. At dinner, Ray sits next to Pete, Patrick, Travie, Mikey. Occasionally some of the other guys from the team. And they all like each other. But there’s something missing. Frank is a part of their group in a way that makes it hard to find things to talk about when he’s not there. Maybe if he were busy at a class, or studying in the library. But for all of them to know he’s in bed, mute and unresponsive, over something that is beyond words.

Ray had stayed up late waiting for Frank Friday night. He texted but never got a response. When Frank did creep into their room it was tomorrow. It was ten in the morning, Saturday. It wasn’t just an outing. And he didn’t look tired. Frank had slept somewhere else. Ray was going to question him, but he didn’t know what to say.

It was on that day that Frank actually started talking to Ray again. He didn’t bring up his whereabouts, but when Ray asked him if he wanted to come with him to dinner, he gave a verbal “no” rather than a gestural one.

And on Sunday, when Ray woke up early in the morning and asked Frank if he wanted to go to church, Frank actually laughed. Ray hasn’t been to church since he was about seven years old. Frank actually interacted with Ray’s joke. There was color in his cheeks again. The old Frank wasn’t there. It was coming back into him slowly but it was coming back.

Now it’s Monday, a week since Frank was Frank. Ray seeing Frank with a laptop on his legs is the closest he’s had to a good sign in what feels like millennia.

“I went to class today,” Frank says, without any provocation from Ray. Ray almost jumps, surprised at hearing Frank’s voice. He’s excited, thrilled by the sound of it. He had forgotten a little what Frank sounded like. He knows Frank’s voice, of course he does, but the subtleties of it had gotten a little fuzzy. Frank’s voice is different from other peoples. It comes from a different spot than other people’s voices do. Like, it’s coming from his throat, but that’s not quite all there is to it. His voice sparks a little light in Ray, and he smiles up at Frank once he hears it.

Frank isn’t looking at him, he’s looking at his keyboard, with eyes all screwed up. He doesn’t even seem interested in Ray. He just said something in order to say it. Small talk. That’s something Frank’s never had much of. It’s not a bad sign.

“Good,” is all Ray replies with. He goes over to his desk, shoving his backpack along beside him. He doesn’t expect Frank and him to have a conversation, he doesn’t expect that that’s going to happen for a little while. Frank is still recovering from what ever it is he’s recovering from. And Ray is insatiably curious, he can’t deny that. But Frank hasn’t brought it up with him. He hasn’t even come close to mentioning it. So Ray is going to leave it be until Frank decides to bring it up. Because Ray doesn’t really have any right to know anything.

Ray pulls out his computer and prepares himself to do the Chemistry homework he’s been pretending isn’t due in three hours, when he thinks of the one question that he does really want to ask Frank.

“Hey, Frank, I don’t need any details or anything, but are you, like, okay?”

Frank doesn’t respond. A few moments pass, and Ray assumes that’s it. Frank doesn’t want to say anything. It’s too much of a question for him to try replying to. So he just won’t.

Ray has gotten his screen open and is beginning to unlock it when Frank’s voice finally responds with a, “no.”

Ray’s shoulders fall, and he hadn’t even known they were lifted. It feels very heavy to be told that his friend isn’t okay. Frank is very important to him, not just because he’s his teammates, but because being so close to him has made him somewhat of a brother. A lot of the guys feel like brothers to him, and Frank especially.

“But I think things will get better. I am not fine. But I will be, eventually.”

Ray sighs a little bit. It’s not ideal. But it’s a whole lot better than what he had. Ray still doesn’t know what happened, and he doesn’t have a guess. Something traumatic. He doesn’t think it was a death, because he thinks Frank would have acted way differently if someone had died. But something big happened, and it hurt him in a different way than Ray can ever say he’s experienced before.

Frank is not doing great, and pretending that it is would be meaningless. Class has been awful. Walking is hard. Daylight is weird. He couldn’t explain to any of his professors why he had been absent, so none of them have given him any breaks or leeway’s. He missed a few quizzes, in all of his classes. Tests, weekly assignments, and a lot of attendance points, none which he’s allowed to make up. Almost all of his grades have dropped by at least one letter. Things are going pretty terribly for him.

But he’s alive.

And everything inside of him still hurts. It hurts just as much as it did the second after it happened, and sometimes, when he’s left alone with his thoughts, it hurts more than it did when it had happened. The pain is like it’s happening. But other times, it’s just a dull ache. And that dull ache is going to be with him for the rest of his existence, he knows. That’s not ideal, obviously. But he’d rather be aching than be dead.

Time heals all wounds.

Well, maybe not heal exactly. Time certainly can make them less visceral.

But one thing that he can’t allow is for the world to spin by without him in it. He hurts a lot. Everything is very hard for him. But he really is alive. His heart really is still pulsing. So he needs to stay in his own life for as long as he possibly can.

Things always had to go back to normal. This is just the new normal.

Going to class is the first step. Frank busies himself with catching up on all the things he should’ve been doing last week. He’s a whole unit behind in German. A whole war went by in Western history. He’s never even seen one of the symbols he has to understand for Calculus. But he’s done this before, he can do it again. Frank would often get sick in his childhood. He always got caught back up. Now granted, he had maybe one homework assignment a night in elementary school, but he got things done. He may have more homework now, but he’s a whole lot smarter too.

An hour or so later, Ray asks Frank if he wants to go grab lunch with him. Frank considers it. His stomach feels empty. He doesn’t want another bag of Fritos. He hasn’t had real food in over a week. He literally hasn’t had warm food at all in that time.

He does want food. Frank nods a little noncommittally, and begins to crawl over towards the side of the bed. Ray is surprised, but he doesn’t allow himself to show it. If he makes a big deal out of Frank getting out of bed and going to lunch with him, it will do nothing but scare him off, which is the last thing that he wants to do right now.

Frank looks shabby. Ray hadn’t known Frank was capable of growing facial hair, and it’s really not much, but he does have a little bit of stubble going on, because he clearly hasn’t been tending to himself that well the past week. Ray had been surprised when he saw Frank’s hair wet from a shower on Saturday night. Improvement is happening. Once he shaves, maybe Ray will be convinced of it.

But Frank does follow Ray out their door. They don’t say anything on the walk to the dining hall, which is okay. The weather is in that middle ground between deciding whether it’s still fall or already winter. There’s some old snow on the ground which isn’t long for this world, and their feet get wet through their converse along the road. The wet ground doesn’t have a distinguishable source, but it’s very much there. The sky is white, but no snow falls.

Frank has a vague but distinct memory of snow holding it’s ground when he was a kid. Once the first snow fell, it was there until April. Now, it’s like the snow doesn’t have the will anymore. It’s the global warming. You think it’s not affecting you because you get snow, but then you realize it is once the snow disappears a day or two later.

Frank smiles a little despite it all, because it feels nice being outside with the sky so bright. He hasn’t seen the sun in a few days, and even now, when it’s hidden beyond a deep expanse of clouds, it’s still bright. The sun is still there somewhere, shining light on them, even if they’re not selfless enough to admit it.

Frank wonders if it would rain or snow. The air seems pretty dry, so he doubts they can expect either, but if water did come, what form would it be in? It’s fairly cold, cold enough that you need at least a jacket, and it’s advisable to have on gloves. But is it cold enough for snow or ice?

There are leaves on the ground, which make Frank’s smile widen. He had definitely beaten Gerard. He found all of the crunchiest leaves. These leaves are all soaked through to the sidewalk, so there’s no point in hunting them down. But the memory makes Frank feel like a child. There’s nothing more innocent than playing with leaves. And there’s nothing that elates his inner child like the adrenaline he gets from being around Gerard.

Frank almost steps in a puddle that’s taken residence in a pot hole in front of the dining hall. He sidesteps it just in time to only get a bit of his toe caught in it. The water doesn’t immediately soak through to his socks, but he’s sure it will, and then he’s going to have a soggy foot which will force him to go all the way back to the dorm to change his socks and shoes, which is tedious. But it’s a problem he’s more than happy to embrace. Somehow, little problems like wet feet make what happened to him a little less painful, and he can’t explain why. They still suck, but somehow, it’s nice knowing that smaller things can still suck too. Not as much, certainly not as much, but the world still has other things.

And all those little things that suck are outmatched a billion to one by the things that don’t suck. There’s oxygen in the air, the sun is high, there are small squirrels about. People are laughing and smiling as they mill about around the sidewalks. There are cute little benches interspersed between well groomed plants which aren’t quite in their season but look healthy and alive nevertheless. Tree branches have a dusting of white snow that make all of them shimmer in the daylight.

Sometimes daylight is enough to make things seem better. Everything is worse at night, even though it feels like you’re escaping from the horrors of the day. But really, daylight washes you out. The sun heals.

The bricks of the dining hall are beautifully and delicately arranged to make the exterior a genuinely pretty sight. He’s never considered it beautiful before. The dining hall is boring, as are most of the buildings on this campus. It’s not an extraordinarily pretty school in architecture, but it does make up for that in nature. It’s a beautiful town, with beautiful views and agriculture. But today, the dining hall is beautiful.

Ray opens the door for the both of them and Frank steps in. The smell immediately hits him, and it’s honestly not the best smell. Their food isn’t bad, but no one would ever claim it’s good. It’s a mile above the food you get at high school cafeterias, but it’s still pretty much cafeteria food even if they try to make it fancier by calling it a “dining hall.” But Frank loves his pasta bar, which is the source of most of his meals. He’s gained a lot of pasta weight, but he’s also shed most of his pasta weight because of the strenuous hockey practices he has.

Frank is at ease here. The dining hall is the kind of place that makes him feel safe. It’s always got about fifty or so students in it, even when they’re not serving food. Frank will often take his textbook with him and study in the dining hall over his dinner for several hours. The ambiance of people talking is more calming to him than the library sometimes, because when he’s in the library, all sounds that happen are out of place and interrupt silence. In here, there’s always sound, so you can’t interrupt the constancy of it.

Ray leads him over to a table where a familiar looking head is sitting, all alone, face buried in a textbook. Ray pulls out a chair across from him and Pete’s face looks up to greet his new company.

He blinks with confusion and surprise on his face when his eyes lay upon Frank. It feels like the first time seeing him. He visited Frank a couple of times while he was in bed, but Frank never actually looked at him, so he’s seen nothing more than Frank’s dark hair. Seeing his face again, it’s like seeing presents on Christmas morning.

“Frank, oh my god,” Pete says, with startled eyes that make him look like an excited child at a birthday party. Ray makes a ‘cool it’ motion towards him in an effort to get Pete to chill out because Pete has an overwhelming personality which is a little much for some people, especially for a certain person who has been a hermit for the past week and hasn’t talked to anyone, or at least, no one to Ray’s knowledge. Except for maybe whoever’s place he slept on Friday night.

“I’m so casually excited to see you?” Pete offers in a more toned-down way than his previous excitement. His face is hiding a smile but in the way that it’s impossible to hide a smile, so the edges of his mouth are upturned and shaking. If there’s anyone not used to looking serious, it’s Pete.

“Likewise?” Frank responds. Pete certainly notices almost immediately that there is something off about Frank. He has deep gauges under his eyes where his body is trying to convince him to sleep. His face also somehow seems to have a grey sheen to it. He looks tired, and old in his skin, but he doesn’t look any older per se. His face just ages his features to make him look altogether different, but somehow unchanged.

It’s no surprise Pete hasn’t seen him at practice. You don’t look like this without a good reason. People who don’t know Frank would know something is off about him. He also holds himself a little differently than Pete has come to expect. Frank usually has his head held up very tall and high, to make up for what he lacks in height. Now, he is slumping, with relaxed shoulders that feel droopy.

Pete looks at Frank, and Frank looks at Pete. Pete hasn’t changed. He’s the kind of guy who could change everything and remain exactly the same. Frank expects him to walk into the dining hall one day with pink hair and it’ll feel normal. Pete does have a way of radiating something like amusement. Frank isn’t quite happy or in a good mood, but he doesn’t feel like the world is shit and the only thing worthwhile is death when Pete is around.

“Food,” Ray says, changing the subject when no other words are offered by either Pete or Frank. Food, they decide, is a good idea.

Frank is used to eating a lot of food. When you exercise as much as a hockey player does by simply having practice, you’re forced to consume more than what other people would describe as a healthy portion. All sports players eat like vacuums, it’s a law of nature. Frank normally can eat a bowl of pasta, two pieces of garlic bread, a bowl or two of fruit or vegetables and maybe a cookie. And by the end of the day he’ll burn all those calories up and be hungrier than he was before.

Now, Frank feels almost incapable of eating. He gets himself a bowl of pasta which looks like a tiny amount in comparison to what he usually eats. But it’s all he thinks he can manage, and it might even be too much. Frank makes his way back over to Pete’s table, and he sits in the seat directly across from him. Pete’s pushed his book aside, more concerned with Frank’s presence. Ray hasn’t returned from getting food yet, so it’s just the two of them.

“So, how’s Patrick?” Frank asks, because it’s the only thing he can think of to say. Frank really misses seeing Patrick. Patrick has such a bright personality, such a sweet way of speaking. If Frank weren’t head over heels in love with Gerard and Pete weren’t head over heals in love with Patrick, Frank would probably like him. It would be a big change in scenery for Frank to be taller than someone he likes for once. But Patrick is Pete’s soulmate, and anyone could see that. And Gerard is Frank’s soulmate, but only Frank sees that. Gerard’s soulmate is probably some model or actress whose so pretty it hurts to look at her.

“Patrick is good. He’s not been very busy because of…” Pete starts, then stops, because he realizes that what he had wanted to say might sound pushy. Patrick hasn’t had much to write about with Frank not being on the team for the past week. There’s no excitement in the Green Knights, because they’re a shit team. With Frank, they’re a less shitty team. Frank is both the best player and the most interesting thing that’s happened to the team in years.

“Well, anyway, Patrick’s great. I love him, and he’s perfect and amazing and the most talented person I’ve ever met and I want to have his future unborn adopted babies.”

Frank smiles and aches for a laugh to cross his lips but one doesn’t. Pete’s a walking joke, a parody of himself. And usually, talking to him is enough to make you roll your eyes into your brain and laugh all the way, but it doesn’t quite pierce Frank like it usually does.

Ray returns to the table, sitting next to Frank, and then the conversation is lost, because Pete and Frank can’t talk about Pete’s relationship in front of him.

Ray and Pete talk about classes. It’s boring conversation. Frank doesn’t care enough to participate. He’s waiting for something interesting to sprout up. He’s also dreading the question he feels is bound to be asked. Is he coming to practice tonight? How about practice tomorrow night? Or the next day. They practice six days a week. Frank hasn’t turned up to any of them, and he doesn’t know if he really intends to or not. He hasn’t made that decision.

Frank drifts off a little. He thinks about Gerard. What would Gerard want or expect him to do? Frank woke up in Gerard’s bed on Saturday morning, Gerard having occupied the couch. They spoke a little about punk bands and concerts they wish they could go to. But they haven’t discussed hockey or anything since the practice they had on Friday night, or rather early Saturday morning.

Gerard doesn’t want to pressure him, and Frank appreciates that. But Frank does sort of want to go to practice. It’s just, he doesn’t want to see everyone else there. Because there’s someone on the team he’s not ready to face.

Morgan is still there. And no matter how many days Frank takes off, he will still be there. If he returns tonight, Morgan will be there. Tomorrow, he’ll be there. Next week. It doesn’t matter. It’s practically Morgan’s team. And Frank is terrified of that.

Frank can’t say that he’s ever feared anything as much as he fears Morgan. He used to be afraid of the goddamn monsters on Scooby Doo. He snuck downstairs at midnight to watch one of those horror movie marathons they play when everyone is asleep, and he was mortified for years before eventually falling in love with the movies that kept him awake at night. Frank’s terrified of spiders, and of dying, and of being forgotten, and of clowns. But fucking hell, he’d adopt fucking Shelob and Pennywise both if he never had to see Morgan again.

“Frank?” Pete says his name, and it’s in a tone that makes Frank realize he’s repeated it a few times to get his attention. Frank looks up to see Pete staring back at him, and he’s concerned, because he thinks that the question he doesn’t want to hear is about to be heard.

“I’m sorry?” Frank says.

“Were you interested?”

“What?” Frank asks.

“The horror movie marathon at the ridgeway?”

“Oh,” Frank says, realizing he hadn’t heard any of what Pete said. “Um, when is it?”

“Saturday night,” Pete says. “It starts at midnight, they do it once a month, and Gerard mentioned you were big into horror movies.”

Frank tries to calculate. Today is Monday. In a way, it feels like a week ago. He lost an entire week to caving in on himself, and now he’s here again, a week later. Everything has remained the same. Classes proceeded, hockey has continued. The team played a game without him, which they lost. He’s missed an entire week wallowing away, and he knows everyone has seen that time pass without him, but he has felt like no time at all has passed. Because it’s Monday again. He’s just living his same old life.

Everything has changed for him, but nothing has changed at all.

“I… I don’t know,” Frank says. He doesn’t know. He likes horror movies. He loves them. They’re one of his greatest loves. Carrie is one of his favorite films ever made. He’d consider The Exorcist a cinematic masterpiece. He loves them. But he doesn’t know if he wants that right now. He doesn’t know if he wants anything right now.

Frank’s got two specific goals. He wants to play hockey, and he wants to date Gerard. Everything else, even the stuff he enjoys, feels fake. It feels like plastic enjoyment. It’s not real.

“I’ll get a whole group,” Pete says, “Patrick doesn’t want to come because he’s a fraidy-cat, but Ray’s in, Mikey and Gerard wanted to come, but Gerard said he’d only come if you did.” Pete’s about to say that Gerard’s been really worried about Frank, but he doesn’t want to push Frank in anyway, or remind him of the time he’s been gone. Pete doesn’t know Gerard’s the only person Frank’s actually seen or talked to in that time.

Everyone knows Gerard cares more about Frank than he does about everyone else on the team besides Mikey. It’s not anything to be jealous over, because Gerard treats him just the same in practice, but it’s clear and definite. Frank is Gerard’s best friend. Gerard is also Frank’s best friend.

“I might go,” Frank says, but he doesn’t offer anything more. He doesn’t have an answer as to whether he intends to come or not. He knows he needs to get back to living, to have some enjoyment in his life, but he doesn’t know how to ease back into that. How do you pretend like you’re fine after everything goes all wrong? It’s very hard to pretend you’re all put together when in fact you’ve lost all your pieces.

“A maybe is better than a no,” Pete shrugs. That’s Pete’s personality. Pete is the optimist at the end of all tunnels.

Frank dwells on his food again. He stirs away at his pasta, not feeling hungry enough for it. It’s the first real meal he’s had in days. He feels too full, and still starving. He knows he needs to eat, that his body is aching for it, but his mind just doesn’t agree. He’s a whole soup of confliction.

Frank’s eyes wander around the room, trying to distract him from his food. He sees faces he kind of recognizes. A guy who’s in his rhetoric class, a girl with bright pink hair that you can’t help but to recognize after you’ve seen her once. Then he sees Brendon sitting alone with his ear buds in. There’s a specific set of tables made for the antisocial people and loners, which are high topped tables shoved against the wall. Brendon is at one of these.

Frank looks at Ray and Pete who are talking about cartoons of all topics. Frank doesn’t care. He takes his bowl of pasta, which appears almost untouched, and he walks it over to the dish return. He doesn’t think too much about it before he then walks over to Brendon. He wants to be near him. If only just to sit adjacent to him for a moment. Frank has a connection with Brendon that no one wants to have with anyone, but he has it anyway.

Frank takes the seat next to Brendon, struggling a little bit, because it’s a high stool and Frank has quite short legs. It’s an adventure to get into the seat. But he makes it, and Brendon barely even turns his head to look at his new company. “You’re on your feet again,” Brendon says. It’s a statement that doesn’t seem to require any real response.

“I’m in a lot of pain.”

“I know,” Brendon says, taking a bite of his food. “I am too.”

“Is this just who we are now?” Frank doesn’t think either of them have the room for casualties. Frank’s never been much of a small talk guy. He’s less of one now.

“Probably,” Brendon says. “But life goes on.”

“I don’t know how. I don’t know why. Shouldn’t the world just stop?”

“You would think,” Brendon says, “but the rest of the world doesn’t care if your hurt. We’re bound to keep on going.”

Frank dwells on a question he wants to ask, and knows he should, but he doesn’t know how to ease into it. There isn’t a way. So he just blurts it out. “How did you go back? How did you just go back to the team and look him in the eye after what he did?”

“I just… did. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t… I couldn’t tell anyone. You know, you’ve been playing the game as long as I have. Hockey players are- we’re straight. We’re big, burly, heterosexual masses with no, like emotions. We don’t- we’re not hurt by anything. So I couldn’t tell anyone. I just had to, like, grin and bear it. And I can’t quit the team, I can’t afford college. I have a lot of siblings, we ran out of college money a long time ago. Either I play hockey or I have a future living in a cardboard box, and I can’t do that. As awful as it is, I know that hockey is the only thing I have which will shape my future.”

“But how are you still able to play. I saw you, after it happened. I never even would have guessed. You played the same.”

“The game hasn’t changed, and neither have my skills for it. I’m not the greatest player on the team, you and I both know that, but I am still a cog in the machine, and that system hasn’t changed for me. He’s on the team, and I know that, but he hasn’t changed how I play. It’s hard being aware of him there. But I do it anyway.”

“Are you afraid he’ll…” Frank doesn’t need to finish the sentence.

“I don’t know. I never let myself be alone with him. I get out of there as fast as I can, only walk places where other people can see. I’ve had to skip meals because I couldn’t walk to the dining hall alone. I’m dead afraid of him. I’m terrified. But as afraid of him as I am, I know I’m stronger than he is.”

“It’s hard to just keep going, isn’t it? To pretend like nothing happened.”

“What choice do we have?”

Frank hesitates. “I… I got a rape kit done.” He’s not sure this is the time to say it but he doesn’t know if there’s ever a time to. He hasn’t even told Gerard. Gerard would probably press into him to take legal action and Frank knows he should but he just can’t. Frank has every intention of going to the NHL once he’s out of this school. If he has a scandal like this following him around, which it most definitely will, he’ll be the hockey player who was raped rather than the hockey player who’s damn good at hockey.

“Oh,” Brendon says, and he actually seems surprised at the words. “I didn’t go to the hospital after.”

“You didn’t?” Frank asks, surprised.

“Couldn’t bring myself to,” Brendon says. “I never wanted anyone to know, not even a doctor. Until it happened to you and I knew I had to tell you.”

“I’m clean. Like, I didn’t get anything from him. So you should be good to.”

“That’s good,” Brendon says, nodding. There’s quiet for a time. Neither of them are particularly quick friends. Frank doesn’t really have that trait. He has learned he’s capable of making friends only recently, but he certainly wouldn’t say that those bonds are quick to form. Brendon is the same. They’re both rather choppy and blunt, a hard characteristic to bond over. It doesn’t seem to be a bad thing to have silence though. There’s nothing wrong in it. Sometimes there isn’t anything to say.

“Are you going to tell the cops?” Brendon asks eventually, though it’s a question that is burning a hole through him to restrain.

“No,” Frank shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I am. I’m not ready to be that guy right now. Maybe someday, I don’t know, probably never, but if I ever feel like I have the backbone for it.”

“Mor-” Brendon starts and stops himself. The name is like Voldemort. It can’t be said. “He’s got a rich daddy. Owns a pharmaceutical company or something.” They both pretend Brendon hadn’t flinched. Neither of them can say Morgan’s name, so what does it matter?

“Of course he does. It’s always the rich guys who walk around doing anything they want.”

“Even if we did tell, I don’t think… I don’t know that anyone would even hear us.”

Frank doesn’t know if he agrees with that. Yes, Morgan may be able to buy his way out of anything, but Frank does have the power to absolutely ruin him. As already evidenced by Patrick’s article, word can spread really fast about a scandal in a Division I school. Even if it’s a shitty team, which the Green Knights are, a gay hockey player is big news. A gay hockey player just isn’t done. It’s not a thing. So what would a story like this do? The whole world would probably blow up. Frank could make more than just waves.

The problem is that he doesn’t want to.

“I’m not going to tell. But if I did, I wouldn’t drag you into it.” Brendon makes a soft sound of thanks. He believes Frank. Frank trusts Brendon, and Brendon trusts Frank, it’s a mutual respect that it’s hard not to have for someone who you know something that cuts this deep about.

“Can I ask you what you’re planning on doing next?” Brendon asks finally, with a tone of voice that suggests he’s been holding off from asking it. “So we don’t say what happened. Fine, whatever. But like, you’re finally on your feet, and I’m glad to see it. But what’s your next move?”

“I just… I just have to go back to living, I guess. I think… I think I’m coming back to practice. Not tonight, I have a lot of homework I need to catch up on. But soon. I need to, for my own health. I thought I couldn’t play anymore, but then I went without it and realized I’m an addict. It runs through me like the high from a drug. Took me a little while to get back into the rhythm of it, but hockey is mine. It belongs to me. And as much as I hate the fact that I’ll see him, I know that he doesn’t expect to see me back. He doesn’t think I’m coming back. And if I do show up, I’ll have beaten him in a way. I’ll have beaten him. Like you did.”

“I haven’t beaten anything. I’m just barely getting by.”

“Barely getting by is, well, it’s still getting by.” Frank says. “Do you feel like… I don’t know. Do you feel like a survivor or do you just feel like a victim?”

“I don’t know what I am anymore,” Brendon says. Frank doesn’t know that there’s any more to say on the subject than just that. And they both know it. Silence drifts through, and settles into them both.

Brendon checks his watch, and Frank can see that he must have class, because he starts to put away his things. Before Brendon gets up to leave, he turns to Frank and says, “we’re a team, you and I, Frank. Not just teammates.”

“We are,” Frank says. It’s sentimental. He doesn’t know that it could be anything else. They share something no two should ever share with each other. But they do, and in a way, it is nice for Frank to know that someone else knows exactly how he does. That he has someone else who is going through it. As awful as it is, it’s nice to know that they do have each other. If they have to go through it, it’s nice they don’t have to do it alone.

Frank thinks Brendon is so strong. He went back to the team the day after he was hurt. He faced the man who hurt him and no one ever even knew. Frank never suspected a thing, and the fact that he is able to do that, is still on the team, is still playing to the best of his ability, it shows Frank strength that he doesn’t know if he has. It shows him something unbelievable. A person can go through hell and get back up. Brendon is living proof of it. And to look him in the eye. To play adjacent to the guy who hurt him, it’s beyond strength. It’s something spoken of in myth and in legend.

And Frank loves hockey, with all of his heart he loves hockey. If Brendon can do it, Frank knows he can to. Because hockey means more to him than it could ever possibly mean to Brendon, he knows that. Hockey is Frank’s one true love, the love that he knows will never desert him.

“I’ll see you at practice?” Brendon offers.

“Yeah,” Frank says. He’s not sure when, he but he will.

Notes

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