Work Text:
January 8th, approx. 8am
If I could lay in this forever, I would.
But I can see him tonight.
I’m caught in a staring contest with my ceiling for a long, long time. But I manage to get out of bed and make myself some Eggo waffles. Once I plop the waffles into my toaster, I scour my fridge for something to drink.
Beer sounds okay.
So now I’m eating waffles and drinking beer. The only way this could possibly be more Canadian is if I soak the waffle in syrup. I stand up from my bar stool and get out the bottle of syrup from my pantry.
Fuck yeah.
---
Later, at practice
My head’s not in the game, it’s not even in practice. My pucks are going everywhere but the net. Everyone can see what’s happening. But no one makes the move to talk to me, ask why I’m like this. But I just can’t focus.
Nervous would also be an understatement.
---
That night, just before warmups
I’m in the tunnel, okay. Just the tunnel. No big deal. It’s not the finals.
Voracek slaps my shins with his stick and grins at me.
“Get excited, G!”
I just laugh and slap his shins with my stick in response. He playfully shoves at me and we’re going out on the ice for warmups. My skates hit the ice and it’s like every other game. But I look over at the other side of the ice, and my heart races.
He’s on the ice stretching out. A strand of hair falls into his face and he flips it back. Gallagher skates over to him though, and blocks my view. I sigh and skate around on my half of the ice.
---
I’m sorry that my head’s all over the place. The game just ended and I did almost nothing. Broke up some passes and plays, but no goals. Damn.
We’re in the locker room and Knock, Knock ensues. But someone comes up to me and motions me along out of the locker room. We go down a few hallways, and I come upon a media backdrop. Interview. Okay, No big deal.
Then he comes from the other direction.
We don’t hesitate, we hug each other tightly and I can’t help but smile. He smells like shit, but he’s here and that’s what’s important.
“Good game tonight, G.”
“Thanks.” We back up and realise this encounter is for Eisbaren to honour us with jerseys and thank us for helping them last year.
“It’s great seeing you two together again!” Some media person says.
“Yeah, isn’t it?” Danny smiles. Everyone starts taking pictures. I smile as well. “I appreciated the video for me.” Danny states softly. “It was nice, I loved it.”
“A little throw back, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
---
January 9th, approx. 1am
I can’t sleep, I keep thinking about him.
I roll over in my bed and grab my phone off the bed stand. I go right ahead and text him.
nice seeing u tonigt I quickly type. I hit send and drop my phone onto my stomach. It buzzes moments later.
Yeah, you look good! Congrats to you guys.
thanks
I’m so bad at conversation. I’m so stupid and so awkward.
i really really miss u, when can we get back together and hang out or have a couple beers? being around u is the absolute best and i really miss it
Save draft?
I should move on but I don’t want to. It feels like he’s half a world away. I miss him. I miss having him. It’s hard being so fucked up over someone, you know?
I miss you, Clo.
i miss u too, danny
I frown before sending it, though.
when r u leaving philly?
Tomorrow morning, why?
come over?
I don’t think I can.
then im calling u
It rings for a few seconds, then he picks up.
“Hello?”
“Hi Danny.”
“Bonjour, Clo.” He sounds sleepy.
“How are you?”
“Okay I guess. I mean, we just lost. And I had a shitty goalie interference call that Steve was pissed over.”
“I saw that. What’d he say?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
I stand up and begin to pace.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Okay?”
“Okay.”
It’s silent for a bit, all I hear is his breathing. He sounds nervous.
“Are you okay?”
“Clo, I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound too fine.”
“I mean, I really really miss you.”
“Well…you’re doing well in Montreal.”
“That’s not the point.”
It goes silent again.
“I’m sorry.”
“You always are.”
“Danny…”
“Goodnight, Clo.”
---
January 11th, approx. 6pm
Ten games. Down the drain. At least I had two assists to aid the beating. It’s embarrassing to be blown out at home.
Tampa: 6 Us: 3
I turned down all the media. I just wanted to go home and sleep. Maybe make it in time to watch Montreal play the Hawks.
No, fuck Montreal.
And fuck Danny, fuck this shit.
I leave the arena in silence, fans ask me to take pictures with them as I leave. I oblige. It’s the least I can do for playing like ass.
The Danny situation fucking blows. I try talking to him and suddenly I apparently don’t care, I’m a huge asshole, and he’s the victim. It’s annoying; I’m sort of done with it. This is nice, because I need to focus on my damn job: winning games and being a bad ass.