Work Text:
January 7th, approx. 12:30pm
I have been sitting on the hotel’s computer for a majority of the morning, surfing the internet for no particular reason. The lobby is dead, and I’m on my fourth cup of coffee. Practice was dreadfully boring, but it’s whatever. I’m emotionally recovered from New Years. Thank fucking god.
I’m just glad that’s over.
My phone buzzes and falls off the glass desk and into my lap. I fumble with it for a moment, before tapping in my passcode and unlocking it. It’s P.K. Subban. I just have him in my phone as PK.
I made team Canada!!! Holy shit
Congrats dude! I reply.
My heart skips for a moment and I Google the full team Canada roster.
Crosby tops the list—no shit, he was born for the sport—Stamkos—fuckin’ monster—Toews and Sharp—no big surprise—
I catch my breath. Wait, no, that’s not right.
BennBergeronCarterDucheneCrosbyNashKunitzGetzlafPerryMarleauTavaresStamkosSharpToews
No?
Benn. Bergeron. Carter. Duchene. Crosby. Nash. Kunitz.
Getzlaf. Perry. Marleau. Tavares. Stamkos. Sharp. Toews.
That’s not right, wait. Give me a second.
The screen’s blurry. Oh, my eyes are dry.
That’s not right.
Give me a second.
Holdon.
Claude got snubbed? I text P.K.
Dude yeah idk how that happened but it did. He replies in a minute.
Oh.
I lean back in the shitty excuse for an office chair and ponder upon my thoughts for a moment. I quickly delete my internet history and run up to my room. I struggle at getting my key card out of my track pants, and nearly break down the doors to get in.
Thankfully, there was a room mishap and I got a single-bed room for the trip. I fall down into my king size bed and dial Clo almost immediately.
The phone rings for a moment.
“Danny…?” Clo whispers. He sounds like shit.
“You okay?” I reply instantly.
“…no.” I hear his shaky breath on the other end.
“Clo don’t…” I’m fumbling on my words. “…you’re okay. Okay? You guys play the Devils tonight, right?”
“…yeah.”
“Kick their asses and show Canada that you don’t need them to be an amazing player.”
His breath is heavy on the other line, but I hear a smile working into his voice.
“Thanks Danny.” He says, sniffling subtly.
“Always, Clo.” I take a breath. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I’m excited to see you.”
“You want to grab a few drinks or something after the game? I’ll probably be free for a while, at least till we fly back to Canada Thursday morning.”
“You should come over.” Clo replies, almost begging me.
“If it’s the same hotel we were at last time…I’ll work something out.” I ramble.
“Tu me manques.” Clo sneezes. “Désolé Danny. I’m sorry for all the shit I’ve done to you, and how much of a bitch I was and how much of a shitty person I am.” His begins rambling on, his words bouncing all over the place, from English to French, like someone has dropped a ball of yarn down a flight of stairs, and the ball becomes more and more unravelled as it tumbles.
“Je’taime, Clo.” I interrupt. His breathing becomes heavy once more.
“Ja. Je’taime.” I hear him laugh lightly. “Ich liebe dich, ja?”
I laugh back, my hand combing through my hair.
“Ich liebe dich, Clo.”I whisper back.
“Ja, ja, ja.” Claude imitates. He laughs for a moment and all we can hear is each other breathing.
“I’m sorry for taking this out on you. I’m not going to let this stress me out.” He says once more.
“It’s fine, Clo. It really is.”
“If you say so.”
The phone line is silent again.
“I think I’m going to nap. Good luck, mon cher. Au revoir.” I say into the silence.
“Yeah, au revoir Danny.” He replies.
It’s silent again until I hear my phone beep at me, telling me that Clo has hung up.
~~
January 7th, approx. 11pm
I just finished watching the game in the hotel. We landed a while ago here in Philly.
Damn. Schenn with the OT goal. Incredible. Even after getting himself cut open with a skate. I always told him to wear a damn shirt under his sweater. I miss that kid.
I’ve had to force myself to watch games this season, especially the Flyers. It’s like watching your own family have Christmas without you. Watching them play, I feel like I’ll see myself congratulating Clo when he scores, or I’ll see myself taking the puck down the side for a goal.
I keep looking for myself, and all I find is you.
Clo scored early in the third to tie things up and get Philly off their asses and into the game. I screamed at the TV, and Carey had to knock on my door to get me to calm down.
I’m clutching my phone, waiting for the post-game interviews to end, and for Clo to text me. It feels like forever. He’s probably dancing around the locker room, probably giving Brayden a slap on the ass.
I stand and begin to pace around the room. Again, I got a king-sized room. Maybe no one else can put up with me. But I’m not complaining. Bigger bed, bigger sleeps.
My phone buzzes just as I decide to make some popcorn.
nailed it. ;) Clo texts me. I can’t help but laugh.
That’s my boy!! I reply, smiling from ear-to-ear. He may have no made team Canada, but I’ll always be proud of him.
I put the popcorn in the microwave and lay back down on my bed to finish watching the telecast. It’s nearly eleven now.
honestly im not even mad right now. my boys are doing great that’s all that matters :)) Clo replies.
I’m so happy for you guys! I reply back instantly.
But not really; it’s like a bittersweet kind of happy, Like seeing an old ex-lover happy with someone new.
I miss my team, yes, but this our…what, third game against each other? I can’t let it keep affecting me. I have Clo, and Clo has me. That’s all that matters in the end, right? I still have the best man I’ve ever met. He’s been there through my ups and downs, and I can trust him with my life. My best friend, my nearly-lover—he’s my raison d’être. I used it once before with someone else and I realized I didn’t mean it. But this time, I mean it. And if Clo were here, he’d tell you the same thing about me.
I think.