Last Night

Oct. 1st, 2015 06:38 pm
starmorgs: (Default)
They break up in the easiest way possible. It’s mutual. They’ve been growing apart, sleeping with their backs to each other, not making the time to do more than kiss, feeling sparks of excitement when they’re on the ice rather than off. Zhenya packs his things in two boxes and moves back into his house. Just like that they’re Sid and Geno, the two-headed monster. It’s so drama-free and nobody who knew about them is surprised by the breakup.

Sid should be grateful about how simple it is.

Little things begin to bother him.

When he’s doing laundry, he keeps his eye out for the Terrible Towel so he doesn’t accidentally wash it again. But Geno brought it back with him. Sid doesn’t need to look for that garish yellow to sort it out anymore.

When he goes to the grocery store after a long road trip, Sid picks up carrots and beets for borscht. Geno was a beast on ice all trip and that deserves something special. Sid goes through the list of ingredients and what wine to use with the meal when he remembers that Geno doesn’t need him to cook borscht. It makes Sid’s heart seize a bit in the produce aisle. He reminds himself that now he won’t have purple hands which is a great thing and puts the beets back a tad more forcefully than usual.

The unease grows and grows as the weeks pass. Sid notices the following more and more. Cups that were used to tea and coffee, gone. The DVR getting filled with unwatched Parks and Recs episodes. Reese’s were no longer showing up in random places. An overflow of jams and jellies that he can’t help but buy even though he doesn’t use enough to justify five different flavors. Each non-hockey morning at home, he expects the stairs to crack and creak with heavy footfalls of the unwilling man only coaxed out of bed by the smell of bacon and eggs.

Each time Sid is faced with the fact that these things aren’t necessary to his life anymore, his shoulders sag a little more. The dull ache in his heart soon become constant. He tries to focus on hockey.

The Pens are kicking ass. He should be happy about it and for a little while, it does. Sid can do the handshake with Geno without any thought of the missing things in the house. They go and play beautiful hockey, like it was and always will be.

Eventually, things begin to seep into that aspect.

One night, Geno scores a hat trick and everyone is screaming, CONSOL in a roar. As they’re doing a celly, hugging tight as Geno yells in his ear, Sid thinks about how he’s going to sink to his knees later, take Geno’s cock deep and wet because holy shit-

“We are taking you ouutttttttttt! Getting you pussy for that fucking amazing hattie!” Beau shouts, skating and jumping in.

It hits Sid that taking Geno aside and rewarding him isn’t something he can do anymore. The pounding of his heart isn’t related to the hat trick anymore.

Everything goes by in a daze. They win, they go back to the locker rooms, they get dressed, they go out. Sid dutifully joins his team even though he would like nothing more than to go home and go to bed. He sits in the booth with everyone, nursing a beer like a good hockey player and smiling at the appropriate times.

The French-Canadian Inquisition only leaves him alone because he already gave them the fuck off stare.

It’s all noise and confusion for Sid and he’s ok with feeling that way till he can leave. He’s played when his bones and head were screaming at him to rest; pushing through emotional injury isn’t so different.

When a nice girl starts flirting with Geno, wide smiles and loud laughter with promises of more, of anything substanial, Sid simply can’t. He slides out of the booth, making excuses to go home, and leaves. He leaves because he needs to sleep and he can’t see things getting better anymore. He drives back to his home, mechanical and somber, doing the bare minimum of self-care before flopping into his bed.

His bed, the supposed paradise and sanctum of safety.

Sid never thought he is someone who absolutely needed a bed partner. The bed in his home is always the right amount of comfort: a mix of soft materials with firm support allowing him to sink into sleep without worry that his back will ache the next day. He’s getting older and he is a professional hockey player. That means that “a bed, any bed” doesn’t apply to him anymore.
But the flashing numbers of one fucking thirty in the morning with errand to run at eleven makes him rethink his stance.

Sid lies in his bed and thinks about the empty spaces in his chest area, his right leg swung over his side looking for something to prop it up. Despite the blankets he pulled out of the closet, the bed isn’t warm enough, isn’t heavy enough to allow him to sleep. He can only find himself moving pillows around to replicate the feeling he’s missing. It works to an extent. The lack of sound, small snuffles and soft snores meaning deep rest, is preventing him from truly falling asleep.

The clock now reads closer to two and Sid really gives up. He pulls out his phone with its super bright screen to try and find something mind numbing. He pulls up Geno’s number instead, hesitating as his thumb hovers over the call button.

“You call me any time,” he said. “Break up mean nothing about us.” Most people would say that breaking up means that it is all about “us” and failing but Sid knew what Geno meant. They were unshakable.

It’s with those words ringing in his ears that Sid lets his thumb hit call and he places the phone to his ear. It rings three times before a truly exhausted voice picks up.

“Hello?” Geno asks. It’s not his ‘I just woke up, leave me alone’ voice.

“Zhenya,” Sid whispers because for all that being sleep deprived does for his courage, he can’t articulate all the words to explain right now. His heart feels like it’s cracking more than it did when they first split. Tears strangely spring up in his eyes and Sid is so tired.

“Dousha moy,” Zhenya says tenderly and the tears are truly falling now, silent and salty as Sid licks his lips to stop a sob. He hears Russian in his ear and he falls asleep as he lets Zhenya speak, like he was really here in the bed whispering the words on the top of Sid’s head rather than a slightly tinny voice over the phone.

One of the last things he remembers is being content, something bright and new being reborn in the gaps of their bed and his heart.

The first thing Sid notices, after falling asleep with enough hope to ease the ache, is the sound of rustling blankets and a dip in the bed. A hand pulls an overly warm phone away from Sid’s cheek and his eyes flutter open with no conscious decision of his own. Zhenya’s face is horrifically and terribly tired, lines and shadows made deeper by the still grey sunrise. They say nothing at first as Zhenya slips into the spaces he left, pulling Sid in a tight embrace.

All they can do is hold each other.

Zhenya lets out a shuddering sob, tucking his head in the crook of Sid’s neck.

“Oh Zhenya,” Sid says, wrapping his arms in a more secure hold. He brings a hand up to Zhenya’s neck to hold him there, idling scratching the nape where the hairline ends.

“How did we think we didn’t love each other?” Zhenya sobs, returning the hard squeeze with one of his one. His grip was bone crushing. “I leave and you not there. Oh God, you aren’t there.”

“I couldn’t believe I forgot the little things we did for one another,” Sid says softly. His eyes get moist as well and he doesn’t try to stop them.

“So stupid. Never again. I want to go home,” Zhenya says.

“Then come home.”

Zhenya lifts his head and moves it far back enough to look at Sid direct in the eyes. His large hands frame his face, thumbs stroking the skin over the cheekbone like it was porcelain and oh so precious.

“Ok,” he whispers and lightly kisses Sid.

And that’s how they fall asleep, tangled up in one another to the rising sun.

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