All We Need is Daylight

It seems like practice that night can’t come soon enough. Frank is obsessing over the little memories he’s already made of Gerard, blossoming into different little daydreams. In once such daydream, he pictures himself and Gerard going to a movie, a movie based on a comic book. Doesn’t matter what it is, just that it’s about a superhero, and Frank watches Gerard’s face, illuminated only by the light on the large screen, as he’s so totally invested in whatever adventure Deadpool, or Spiderman, or Wolverine, or someone else find themselves in. It’s like watching a kid in a candy store, Gerard can’t help but to grin at comic book movies, because they bring to life the characters he cares too much about. It drives Frank wild, and he’s sure that if he were ever given an opportunity like that, he’d spoil the entire movie, by trying to make the fuck out with Gerard every other minute.

His thoughts always descend into more mature ones not long after they begin, which is why Frank has to keep shaking his head at himself, and think about literally anything else so as not to get himself worked up

Gerard’s torturing him. His mere existence is like a drug Frank can’t get enough of. He just needs another hit, and he can’t stop himself. He’s becoming addicted too fast, too readily, too easily.

Practice is almost a relief because of this. Yes, he has to be in closer proximity to Gerard, which definitely triggers some of those daydreams to start up again, but he’s sure that once he’s out on the ice, he’ll be able to put those to rest for a little while. He’ll be able to concentrate on the game rather than the fact that Gerard’s lips are like really nice, and probably super soft, and definitely the perfect shape.

He finds himself in the locker room, one of the first people to enter, only a few other guys in there, none of which Frank knows very well. He’s learning some of their names though, as some of them have names written on their lockers.

There’s a vaguely attractive guy if you squint really hard, with a haircut that hasn’t been in style since Full House went off the air, whose name is supposedly Gavin. There’s a definitely swooned after boy who has a very kind face named Lamar. Other than that though, most of the rest of the team are either not here yet, or don’t have names on their lockers.

Morgan is one of the people to enter the locker room after Frank, and he gets nervous from his mere presence. Morgan gets his skin crawling, and he doesn’t know why, but there is something definitively creepy about him. He’s not a trustworthy person, and he’s not someone you want to be left alone with either. He looks like he could ruin your life, and Frank doesn’t want to find out if his intuition of the guy turns out to be true.

Eventually, the guys Frank knows start to pile in. First Travie, who gives Frank a quick greeting before he walks over to the other end of the locker room where his stuff is at. He’s a little too far to have a casual conversation with, which is why it’s a relief when Frank sees Pete and Mikey enter not long after him.

Pete starts up in a conversation about a particularly exciting Blackhawks game last season that went into double overtime, which Frank is only slightly able to contribute to, not having followed them as closely. Frank’s not going to lie, he’s a little jealous of Pete having grown up in Chicago, who have the best team in the fucking world. He wishes the Devils were as good. They are not, however, being the diehard fan that he is, he can’t switch his allegiance just because they suck.

He doesn’t even notice when Ray walks in, which is why he’s caught off guard when Ray starts talking to him about the one thing he had hoped he could avoid talking about.

“Oh, Frank,” Ray says, with this little glimmer in his eye that Frank can’t quite describe.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“You like a girl!” Ray says, which peaks the interest of a few of the guys around them, which obviously makes his ears turn pink.

“Oh, uh, that,” Frank says, looking nervous. He had really hoped Ray might forget about it, or leave it alone completely. He especially hoped that Ray wouldn’t bring it up in a crowded room full of guys that he barely knows.

“Give me all the dirty details,” Ray says. “Except for the dirty details, if you catch my drift.”

“None of those to speak of,” Frank says, with nervous laughter. “It’s really nothing. It’s nothing!”

“Well, but is she here, or back at your old school?” Ray asks.

“She’s, uh,” Frank starts, and he can’t decide which is better. If he says she’s here, then they might want to meet her, or see her, or might know if he’s lying or not. Bad things can happen if he says she’s here. “She’s at my old school.”

“Frank?” Gerard says, and Frank hadn’t realized that Gerard was standing there until just now. He’s got his clipboard in hand with a stack of papers an inch thick on top of it. “You told me you didn’t have a girlfriend.”

Gerard looks quite concerned with this information, and he’s probably just pissed that Frank lied to him. That would piss off Frank too, especially if he were a coach who was being lied to. He’s not jealous or anything, that’s an idiotic idea.

Gerard is jealous. Infuriatingly so. Frank had told him there was no one, and Gerard is a little bossy, it’s something he has always knows about himself. It comes in very handy as a coach, but it has its downsides. Namely, he gets jealous that an obviously straight boy has the nerve to not be attracted to him.

“Well she’s not my girlfriend,” Frank says, quickly, not wanting Gerard to get the wrong idea, like it fucking matters. He doesn’t have a chance with the guy, why does he care so much what Gerard thinks? It’s not like it’ll even matter in the long run.

“Oh, so she’s just a girl you like,” Ray says nodding, as he pulls a practice jersey over his head.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s nothing. It’s not a big deal. I don’t even know if I like her that much or if I’m just sort of homesick. Homesick for a place that never even really felt like home, but… oh you know. Whatever. It’s not important.”

“I doubt this girl even really exists,” Morgan, whose eyebrows grow ever more menacing the more time that passes, says. “I had you pegged as a fairy the second I saw you.”

Frank’s blood turns to lead. He’s sure he must go chalk white at the words, because he feels as though he’s got a weight on his shoulders so heavy that it just might crush him, like a house or a mountain, just decided to perch itself on him. He can actually feel his blood run cold, so cold that it might have even frozen completely, because he can’t even feel his heart beating, that’s how terrified he is.

This can’t be how the secret comes out. Not on the second fucking day of practice. He moved all the way here, a school which he couldn’t give less of a shit about if it weren’t for the hockey. He came all this way just for this opportunity, and he can’t have the rug pulled out from under his feet this soon. It’s not fair.

This just can’t be happening! It can’t Frank hasn’t given any signs, no indication, not dropped any hints whatsoever that he’s gay, how on earth can someone have decided that about him already? He doesn’t even know this tool, who the fuck does Morgan think he is?

“Fuck off, Morgan, nobody asked you,” Brendon says, who Frank now feels has the voice of an angel. People don’t usually defend him. Though in all fairness, Brendon is probably not defending him so much as he is insulting Morgan. But Morgan’s a dick so he’ll take the help wherever he can get it.

“’Course you’d defend him,” Morgan says, with a sneer, slamming a locker right next to Brendon’s face, making him jump from the sudden sound. He gets all up in the guy’s personal space, and practically spits his words out at him. “Defending your own.”

Brendon makes a move like he’s about to deck the guy before Pete intercedes, only seconds before Gerard has the chance to. It probably wouldn’t bode well for the team if one of them has a black eye, given to him by his own teammate. This school already isn’t taken seriously in the division, that would just be the nail in the coffin. Though, to be honest, Frank doesn’t know how it’s possible for this school to have gone this long without a scandal like that, because this Morgan guy is a real character, and not a good one.

“That’s enough,” Pete says, and he’s clenching his jaw tightly, facing Morgan rather than Brendon. It’s like his anger is aimed only at him rather than Brendon, which, for a captain doesn’t seem entirely fair. What Morgan said was wrong, and Frank will be the first to admit it, but Brendon was a second away from punching the dude. Pete really shouldn’t take sides in a situation like that. Frank’s, of course, a hypocrite, because he too would be blaming Morgan entirely, but Pete should remain neutral when it comes to arguments in the team.

“Whatever,” Morgan says, and he rolls his eyes, before backing away from the interaction and then walking past Frank in order to get to the ice. He doesn’t, however, forget to slam into Frank’s shoulder on his way past. Frank turns to look at him as he passes, and Morgan turns back only for a second. They share a fleeting moment of eye contact where Morgan just smirks at him, and Frank looks back with fear that he’s trying to disguise as determination.

He still feels as though his blood has stopped circulating, as though the world has gone white and fuzzy, ready to completely drop itself in the eventuality that Frank faints from terror. He can’t allow that though, it would be too conspicuous a sign that Morgan’s words got to him. Frank can’t let Morgan affect him like that, it would be a dead giveaway.

He tries to make his face less transparent, takes a few deep breaths, in and out, in and out. He needs to remain level headed.

So what if Morgan suspects? So what? Morgan is a dick. No one will listen to him, they probably all think he’s just spreading slander, which for a guy like that, wouldn’t be surprising.

The entire locker room, which is about half of the team, is silent for at least a minute, no one wanting to be the first to break the silence and have to follow up the exchange.

Frank takes several more deep breaths, trying to muster up the courage to say something witty, or to break the tension in some other way, any other way. He wishes someone else would do it for him, but the more time that passes, the more it becomes unlikely that anyone will. With each second of silence, it becomes harder and harder to find something to say to break it.

“Well, I don’t mean to point out the elephant in the room,” Frank says, “but that guy is a dick.”

There’s a pause, and then Gerard snorts out laughter behind him, and then a few of the other guys, mainly the ones that Frank had hung out with yesterday, are soon to follow. Frank glows a little at that, proud of himself for making people laugh. He likes making other people laugh, it’s one of his favorite things in the world, but he doesn’t get the option to do so that much.

Frank walks over to Brendon, once he’s got all of his gear on, and he’s about to ask him if he’s alright, because Brendon looks still very on edge and angry, but Brendon’s not having any of it.

“I don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s what you’re here to say,” Brendon says, after Frank opens his mouth to say something. He opens and then closes his mouth a few more times as he tries to find something to say, looking like a guppy.

“I just… sorry,” Frank says. His heart rate has calmed down to a steadier pace after having Pete defend Brendon like that, and after having the guys willing to laugh at his words rather than start analyzing him too critically to see if Morgan had been telling the truth. He didn’t get a chance to really deny Morgan’s words, though, but if everyone thinks the guy is a jerk, then hopefully they won’t pay heed to the slander, however true it might happen to be.

It gets Frank to wondering though, if Morgan is in the business of calling people out, and considering he was actually right about Frank, maybe he knows something that Frank doesn’t know. Maybe Brendon’s angry for the same reason that Frank had been terrified…

He doesn’t get a chance to ask, and he wouldn’t in a busy locker room even if he did have the chance.

“Don’t worry about him, guys,” Pete says, rolling his eyes, as if to demonstrate how he feels about the guy. “Morgan cries wolf all the time. He’ll accuse anyone of anything, just to see if it scares them. That’s all he cares about, getting people to fear him.”

“And we all fucking do,” Brendon says, looking still unbelievably angry about the whole ordeal. “Dude’s a backstabber.”

“Yeah, off the ice, sure,” Pete says, “but he’s dependable as a team player. He may not like you, but on the ice, he doesn’t let those opinions get in his way. That’s the only reason we keep him here. Hardly anyone likes the guy, but damn if he ain’t good.”

“Good is one thing,” Gerard says, “but no team is ever going to recruit him. No one wants a guy like that on their team.”

“Gerard’s been trying to get Morgan kicked off the team for ages,” Pete whispers. “But coach won’t have any of it. To be fair, I don’t know if I want him kicked off either. He may be a royal, unparalleled asshole, but fuck, we already suck as it is, without him, we might as well stop playing altogether.”

“I played with him,” Gerard says, “I know what he’s like. Yeah, he’s good, I’m not going to be denying that to anyone. The dude can play. But never has a more indecent, slimy, piece of vermin walked this planet. Not ever.”

“We should get out there,” Ray says, butting in. “I hate him as much as all of you guys, but Coach will be pissed at all of us if we’re not out there soon.”

Ray makes a good point. So, Frank, and the rest of the guys all follow through the door where Morgan had made his dramatic exit. Frank is somewhat nervous about having to face the guy again, as Morgan is off-putting. He’s like a snake in the grass. You know he’s there, but you don’t know when or if he’s going to decide to strike.

Practice goes as they usually go, only a little less dramatic or intense as the one’s Frank had grown used to at Boston. Frank is thrown into the middle of the team and he’s treated more like a team player than he had been yesterday. Especially by Pete, who has taken a liking to him, it seems. This is good news for Frank, because as captain, Pete’s the only person that’s imperative to please besides Coach and Gerard.

It's true that Morgan isn’t the same on the ice as he is off it. On the ice, he’s a team player. Frank wouldn’t exactly call him courteous, but he passes the puck, he’s got a good head on his shoulders, a brain that knows the game like the back of his hand. Frank doesn’t like him, not one bit, but he can see why anyone would be hesitant to kick him off the team. The dude is good. His skills almost parallel even Frank’s.

Pete’s pretty good as well. He wouldn’t be the captain if he weren’t, especially as only a junior. He definitely has leadership skills, he calls most of the shots and has the most to say, more than even Coach or Gerard.

Gerard is an interesting matter. Gerard had not been lying when he said he’d give Frank hell. Gerard will yell at anybody, for any reason, no matter how he feels about them. Gerard plays no favorites on the ice. He yells at Mikey more than anybody else, and Frank supposes it’s because they’re brothers. Gerard wants nothing less than the best out of his own brother, but it’s a little harsh, even Frank can admit. He hardly seems like the same guy that Frank had breakfast with not too long ago.

Once Frank starts showing him what he wants to see, Gerard lightens up. Frank finds a rhythm. He starts to understand the team, understands the mechanics of their movements. He’d spent a good two or three hours earlier reading through the plans Gerard had given him, and he starts to recognize the patterns he’d looked at in action. They’ve actually got a good strategy. If only the team knew how to work together in a more functional way.

Halfway through practice, Pete calls for everyone to take a break, and then he pulls Frank aside to talk with him away from everyone else’s ears. Gerard walks around to the side of the rink to join the discussion, leaning over the railing.

“So, Frank, you’re the newbie. You’ve got fresh eyes. What, in your eyes, is our problem? I can’t seem to figure it out, because when I look at these guys, it’s like, they know what they’re doing, they all know how to skate, they all know what our strategies are, and yet, the follow through during games is never there. We’re doing something wrong, but we’re all too invested in the middle to see what it is.”

“Oh, well, um,” Frank says, “honestly, it’s your teamwork. Well, that, and your lack of foresight.”

“Teamwork,” Pete repeats, wrinkling his eyebrows, and his face asks of Frank to go on.

“Yeah,” Frank replies, “you guys are passing the puck to all the right people at all the right times, but you’re not thinking ahead either. You’re, I mean we’re, fifteen separate minds all buzzing with different thoughts, when what we need is to all be one. You can’t have that many different brains all working to different tunes at the same time. A team needs to be a seamless blend of everyone, everyone needs to be able to read the mind of everyone else and know what comes next. This team simply isn’t doing that. You’re all thinking in the present, ‘what should I do know at this very moment?’ or ‘where should I be now?’ That’s not how it should be. It should be, ‘this is where my team need me right now.’ There shouldn’t be a question to it. You should know your teammates, and they should know you. It doesn’t take any sort of huge emotional connection, really, it’s about knowing what to expect. That should, ideally, just come with the territory, it should be like learning how to ride a bike, spread over some amount of time.”

“That’s a lot to take in all at once,” Pete says. “We’re not thinking in each other’s heads enough, that’s what you’re saying?”

“Kind of. You’re working together, but it’s like you’re building a car with parts from all completely different models. You need to make sure that all the parts fit, or the car won’t start. You’ve got too many minds thinking at once. Each player should know their role and what the rest of the team expects from them. They shouldn’t have to guess. You throw six guys out in a rink together, they’d damn well better know where each and every one of those guys is at any given second, and what they’ll do next.”

“Alright,” Pete nods, and he turns to Gerard, who’s nodding like he agrees with Frank’s words also.

“So, how do we go about reaching that goal, Frank?” Gerard asks, looking at him like some sort of expert, like it’s Frank’s job to come up with these things, not theirs.

“You guys are the ones in charge, I just work here,” Frank says, throwing his hands up like he’s trying to defend himself.

“Yeah, but whatever we’re doing isn’t working,” Gerard says.

“Well, I don’t know,” Frank says, shrugging. He had been the captain of his high school team, and getting the team to work together had sort of come flawlessly for him. They all kind of worked around him, though, circling him, and relying on him too much, which put a lot of pressure on him. Here, Frank has already seen proof that the players beside him are better than the ones he had to work with before, quite clearly so. They simply are the best of the best, otherwise they wouldn’t have made it on the team. But they lack one detrimental key that even the shitty team Frank was on had had. They lack a cohesiveness.

“I’ve noticed for a while now, actually, that the team lacks the ability to think in advance,” Gerard says, “during games, you guys account for where a teammate might be, but fail to predict the other teams moves altogether.”

“We should run some practice games,” Pete says. “Enough with the passing, scoring, checking. We’ve all got the basics down. We need to turn up the heat on this.”

“We could do,” Gerard nods, “but we’re going to have to extend practice times if we do them.”

“Whatever works,” Pete shrugs, and Frank shakes his head, because there’s one, huge, gaping flaw that they’re not factoring in.

“What?” Gerard asks, sensing Frank’s skepticism, “what is it?”

“Well, the trouble is, with practice games, is that you put teammates against each other who are reading from the same playbook.”

“What do you mean by that?” Gerard asks.

“Well, it doesn’t do anyone any good if you divide a group into two teams and they’re playing the same strategies as each other. Because then both teams know what to anticipate from each other. They know what’s coming, because they know the same things that the other side does.”

“So, what you’re saying is that we need two entirely different playbooks,” Gerard summarizes. “Ours, and one to represent the other team.”

“We need the ability to give the players an opportunity to catch each other off guard,” Frank says. “Throw them out there like baby dears, it’s the only way a practice game works. The only way to truly get a feel for what your team members will do in a certain situation is to run through those situations, as many as you can, so that there’s a backlog of memory that can predict the most likely outcome of every single person on the ice, given the knowledge of what those people have done in similar situations in the past.”

“Right,” Gerard nods, smiling at Frank, “pound it into their heads to learn each other’s moves inside and out. That way, when playing against a team that they don’t know, they have the knowledge of what their teammates have done before.”

“Exactly,” Frank says, “and the best way to come upon that information is to give them new situations to react to.”

“Frank,” Pete says very assuredly, “I don’t mean this lightly, trust me, I don’t, but you’re a bloody genius.”

Frank blushes, but shrugs, because honestly, it’s not that hard to figure out. It becomes clear very quickly what it is that they’re doing wrong here. If the practices go the same way that this and the last one have gone, it’s no wonder they keep losing. All they’re doing is running basic drills, passing, scoring, nothing that’s going to prepare them for what it’s actually like out there.

Without time enough to get a practice game going, they finish off practice much the same way as it had begun. With regular drills, some monotonous passing, the works. Nothing that’s going to inspire anyone to do anything with their life.

Frank’s still in a sweat despite the ease at which they’re practicing, with his feet really starting to cramp by the time Coach dismisses them to leave. He’s ready to get off the ice, and put his feet up for a while, get some rest before tomorrow which is sure to be a little more strenuous if Pete and Gerard stick to the plan they’d made.

He turns to Gerard, not sure why he feels the necessity to look over at the man, but he can’t stop himself. When he does see Gerard, standing in the box, he’s talking with a man that Frank has never seen before. He’s a rather short guy, with glasses, and a disposition that just sort of radiates awkwardness. Frank is confused as to why he’s here, because yesterday, Gerard had been very protective about letting Frank in, and this guy is clearly not a member of the team. Judging by the lack of any injuries, he also can’t be the player who just got injured.

Frank isn’t the only one who notices the visitor, as Pete skates over to the edge of the rink very excitedly when he sees the man. He then beckons Frank over to introduce him.

“Frank! Over here,” Pete says, waving at him with a toothy grin spread across his face. “This is Patrick. He works for the school paper, he’s in charge of the hockey section. Patrick is like an honorary member of the team.”

Frank looks at him, and despite the fact that the seats are elevated compared to the ice rink, he can already tell that this Patrick guy is shorter than him, which is impressive to say the least. He must be like three feet tall to be shorter than Frank.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Patrick says, blushing. Patrick reminds him oddly of himself, Frank doesn’t know why, but there’s something about him that is very much after Frank’s own heart. Probably the sheer levels of awkwardness he manages to emanate simply by existing

“Nonsense,” Pete says, “Patrick is the only guy in the world who can actually manage to make our shitty ass team sound good in print.”

“Nice to meet you,” Frank says, bringing his hand out to shake Patrick’s.

“And Patrick, this is Frank, you’ve heard all about him already.”

Patrick nods, “from you and Gerard both.”

Frank’s the one who blushes this time, but you can’t tell because his face is red and sweaty from the workout. Simply being on the ice for so long is exhausting. Probably more so for hockey than figure skating, because while jumping makes you tired out and weak, you’re usually wearing nice breathable clothes, whereas in hockey you’re weighted down in bulky padding.

“Too bad you missed most of practice,” Pete says, “You should see him on the ice.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, timidly. “I actually came here to ask if I can interview you.”

“Me?” Frank asks.

“Uh, yeah,” Patrick says. “Your arrival is a big upset to this team. Not that it’s a bad thing, I don’t mean that of course. I just, well, I wouldn’t be doing my job properly if I didn’t interview you for the section.” Patrick looks flustered, nervous. Frank can’t fathom what about him could make the guy nervous, because Frank is not a scary person to begin with. Patrick must just be that awkward, which is more than Frank. This guy is both shorter and more awkward than Frank, so honestly, he doesn’t know how the guy has survived this long.

“Oh,” Frank nods, “right.”

Frank’s late arrival to the school, and the injury of the other player is probably the only thing for this guy to write about, given how crap the team is, and how they’ve already lost the only game they’ve played in the season so far. It can’t be an easy job having to drag a team this bad on his back and make them sound good. Anything positive, or not pertaining to the team’s inevitable losses, is bound to be refreshing.

“Yeah, so like, anytime I can steal you away, would be great,” Patrick says, and Pete has this funny look on his face that Frank cannot even begin to describe. When he can’t find a word that even comes close to that expression, he just gives up and resigns to keeping it a mystery.

“P-Pete,” Patrick says, “you can come along too. It might, uh, it might be important to have your insight on him too. Like, get your take on what having Frank on the team will be like.”

“Yeah!” Pete says, excitedly. “Actually, let’s go now!”

“What, now? As in now now?” Frank asks.

“Yeah!” Pete says again, excitedly. “Why not?”

“Uh, are you free?” Patrick asks. Frank waits for Pete to answer, but then realizes that he obviously already knows Pete’s answer.

“Uh, sure, I suppose,” Frank says, with a shrug. He doesn’t really have anything else to do. He was hoping to maybe corner Gerard and talk to him a little more, but that’s not a good idea and he knows it, considering how much he’s starting to like the guy.

“I should come,” Gerard says, in this weird, sort of possessive tone. “I mean, I’m assistant coach, it only makes sense.

“Gerard probably knows Frank better than anyone else here!” Pete say.

“Well guys, it’s still like, Frank’s interview, you know,” Patrick says. “He’s the new player, after all.”

“Of course!” Pete says, “but like, that doesn’t mean we can’t come, right?”

Frank has this weird feeling like Pete and Gerard are getting a little possessive, and he can’t explain why. Frank has this momentary flicker in his head that maybe Gerard is trying to keep an eye on him, like he’s jealous of everyone else. That’s ridiculous of course, but Frank’s brain likes to play tricks on him. It likes to pretend that Gerard is into him, which is stupid, but he can’t stop himself from going down that road.

“Sure,” Patrick says, “whatever works for you.”

“Great!” Pete says, “then we’ll all go! It’ll be fun!”

Frank must be blind not to see the ulterior motives going on here. They’ve all got them, all four of them have something else to gain, but he tricks himself into thinking he’s the only one. If Gerard comes, that gives him time to talk to him, to get close to him, with the idiotic purpose of getting Gerard to fall in love with him.

He is an idiot not to see the clockwork surrounding every step taken, by everyone so far, in this entire school.

Notes

I didn't actually plan on updating this fic twice this weekend, but this chapter just sort of happened, so I've decided to roll with it. Please leave a comment, if you're up to it!