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To be fair to Colin the last time he got into a fight--a proper fight, one with spitting blood and split knuckles and nights spent in jail waiting for his mum to show up, furious, kind of fight--was his fourth year of secondary. The next day he'd been sat down by his coach and told he either needed to work on his temper or say goodbye to any kind of football career, because the pitch is hard enough on your body. It can't take extra abuse off it.
Colin's half-convinced that's the reason his mum was so supportive of his career once he started getting noticed, even though he spent more and more time away from home. It was something keeping him out of trouble.
He's talked about some of this with Doctor Sharon, but they hadn't had a chance to get further into it before the season ended.
When he'd asked, over email because he couldn't quite bring himself to do it in person, even after all their sessions, whether or not she was taking private patients, she'd said no. But she'd also included a few of her colleagues who were, and who she assured him were used to taking on clients who occasionally popped up in the papers and were very professional.
After a few weeks of pushing it off he'd called up Doctor Stevens, and during their first appointment he'd been kind, and when Colin asked about the photo on his desk, mentioned that he and his husband had recently celebrated their 38th anniversary.
It's been months now, and Colin's quite fond of Doctor Stevens ("Call me Jacob, if you like,") even if he's no Doctor Sharon.
All that to say, he never spoke to Doctor Sharon about the fighting, and he's not brought it up to Doctor Stevens either, because if he's honest he's got more pressing stuff in his life, and he just hadn't thought to because it's been so long since it's been in his life.
Now, though, in the back of an uber with Isaac, trying not to jostle ribs he's reasonably certain aren't broken, he thinks he might have to bring up the fighting at his next appointment.
It starts like this:
Nate suggests they play a false nine, Jan gives them what might be generously called a pep talk, and AFC Richmond win promotion back to the Premier League.
They get fucking promoted, on their first try, and Colin is buzzing before they've even piled into Roy's car because he's never been on this end of the equation before. He's been relegated, twice, and each time the night after is what he can only describe as a soul-sucking low, but this--it's bloody brilliant.
Roy is driving, because he'd categorically refused to let any of them get near his steering wheel; he'd only let them near his car at all because promotion is an extenuating circumstance. Moe, who'd managed to sneak his way into the passenger seat while the rest of them were arguing, has taken control of the radio and is blasting something so loud it's unidentifiable. The team, who are crammed into the back seats (Colin, Isaac, Sam, Jan, Jeff) and the boot (Richard, Dani, Thierry) are singing along and shouting, "We got fucking promoted!" at occasional intervals.
The rest of the team had split to pile into Reynolds' car and come to think of it, Colin realizes they never coordinated which bar they were headed to. Not the Crown & Anchor, he knows, because it'll be packed with fans. Ah, well. They'll meet up eventually, probably.
They end up at some place he never catches the name of, because he's caught in a wave of players as they fall through the door and start placing orders. The night passes quickly at their table, all of them drinking and singing and celebrating. Colin decides on a slow death, and maintains a steady supply of lower proof drinks; he'll still regret it in the morning, but hopefully he'll actually remember the night. Richard, Jan, Jeff and Dani have thrown that logic to the wind--and in Thierry and Dani's case, their shirts along with it.
Colin doesn't think this is a karaoke bar, but Sam's managed to get a hold of a microphone anyway and is singing Wonderwall, and Isaac is swaying along, mesmerized. Colin's not sure if Isaac's drunk or if it's the magic of karaoke capturing him (it wouldn't be the first time.) At any rate, the patrons don't seem to mind.
It's right after a probably ill-advised game of darts with Jan that Colin wanders off on his own to the bar. He's halfway past tipsy and beginning to wonder why he shouldn't get into the shots, I mean, Jeff looks like he's having a grand time, when he bumps into someone. He mumbles a sorry mate and continues toward the bar, until a hand on his shoulder stops him.
"Watch where you're fucking going," the guy says, and Colin snorts. Seriously?
The guy's lip curls. "Think it's funny, you fucking fairy?"
Colin stills. If he were sober, he'd fuck off and walk back to his friends and keep on with their well-deserved celebrating. If he were sober, he'd exercise the restraint he's had to learn being a professional footballer for six years and ignore it. Colin is not sober.
Instead, Colin walks right up to him, looking down the handful of centimeters he's got on the guy, and says, "Yeah, I fuckin' do, actually."
Colin's eyes flick to where the guy's friends have noticed them and stood up, and not with expressions that indicate de-escalation is on the brain, and he feels his heart start to race. Then the guy spits at him, and Colin grins.
He doesn't even have to throw the first punch, because the grin is enough to make the guy snarl and throw one himself, and Colin hits back with his left. It's a blur from there, as two more bodies join the melee and Colin loses himself in it. He gets hit in his chest a few times, and his vision whites out momentarily when one of the friends hooks him on the jaw. But Colin gives as good as he gets, and it's not until he hears someone shouting his name and feels a pull on his arms that he starts to disentangle himself.
It's Isaac who got his attention, and Jan and Dani have pulled back the other two. Colin blinks sweat out of his eyes and then realizes that it's not sweat, but rather blood.
"The fuck was that, bruv?" Isaac asks, and Colin says, "We should probably leave before they call the cops, or Keeley'll be pissed."
The three idiots have been pointedly dispersed by Jan, and Isaac motions over to where Dani is (still shirtless and impressively articulate considering how much tequila Colin watched him drink several hours ago) speaking to the bartender.
"Dani's got it, but he still wants us out. So again, what the fuck?"
Colin reaches up to shove his hair out of his eyes before pausing--blood is such a pain to get out of hair--before he remembers that's where he's fucking bleeding from and doing it anyway. He avoids Isaac's question, because even though the adrenaline is still running through him, the shame has started to join it.
He hasn't lost his temper like that since he was a kid and in front of his team? What's he going to say, sorry, I've got a bit of a hard-on for making people bleed when everything I'm feeling gets to be too much? Sorry but I've spent so long listening to homophobia I can't say shit about without risking my livelihood that I went a little overboard doing something about it this time? Yeah.
He loves the guys, he does. Lasso's worked some fucking magic on 'em all, but Richmond's not immune to the occasional, bit faggy, innit? or what, are you gay now or something? and so on. Not as much as when he first joined the team, but still. Even if Colin doubts that anyone would have a serious problem, even though he knows that's just how it is, in a locker room. Fuck, that's what's got him letting his guard down, just a little. But actually saying it...
"He deserved it," is what Colin says. Isaac looks at him, and Colin holds it for a few seconds before he caves and looks away. He doesn't like lying to his best friend, even if technically that isn't a lie. Isaac moves away to talk to one of their teammates, before coming back.
"Roy's good to drive the team home once they start passing out. I'm calling us an uber," Isaac says, and now Isaac's not looking at him, and Colin feels the shame crawling up out of his chest and into his throat. They walk in silence out to the street, Isaac leaning against a lamp post and looking away from him. Colin wants to explain himself so badly, but instead he swallows against the shame and looks away again, because at heart, he's a coward.
He means to sigh, but instead what comes out is a pained wheeze as the pain in his chest pushes past the remainder of the adrenaline. "Fuck," he chokes out, doubling over slightly and pressing his hands to his front. As if on cue, pain bursts to life all over his body; he becomes aware of the split knuckle on his left hand and he can practically feel the bruises that are going to paint both of his hands in a few hours. His right eye is throbbing and there's still blood oozing slugglishy down from a scrape on his forehead.
Colin pries open eyes he hadn't realized he'd shut when he feels Isaac move toward him.
"Oi, mate--shit, are you alright?"
He feels Isaac's hands reach over and around his shoulders, and Isaac takes on most of his weight. Colin leans on him for a moment, catching his breath.
"Did you break a fucking rib? Shit," Isaac half-asks, half-says, and Colin shakes his head.
"Don't think so. Feels like it's just bruised--" Colin cuts himself off with a hiss as he tries to lean away and something shifts. He shakes his head to try and clear it. Looking a little to the left of Isaac's face he continues, "very, very bruised."
He chances a look over at Isaac and winces. Isaac is frowning, and he's not his normal brand of silent, or his too excited for words silent. He's not saying anything at all on purpose, and it's all Colin's fault.
Isaac hears what Colin doesn't say. Colin knows what broken ribs feel like. It's not a pitch injury, those stories they haven't been there for they've long since shared with each other. His best friend has had his ribs broken before and Isaac didn't know, and it's... he thinks about what Doctor Sharon said. About letting himself feel his emotions, because the inside of his own head is the safest space there is. So Isaac lets himself feel, and realizes. He's scared. Because they've been mates since Colin first joined the team, and they tell each other everything. Colin tells Isaac when he feels like one day the Premier League will realize Colin's been faking it this whole time and kick him out. Colin tells Isaac when he's scared his niece won't recognize him when he comes home for the holidays because of how rarely his and his sister's schedules match up. Colin always tells Isaac. Except apparently, Colin gets into barfights and knows what broken ribs feel like and Isaac didn't know, and what if that's Isaac's fault?
"I can just catch a ride to the A&E, you don't have to--" Colin starts, but Isaac cuts him off.
"I'm fucking comin', bruv."
Since when does Colin not want him with him? Colin hates being alone when he's injured. So does Isaac. Before Colin, Isaac would just ask one of his siblings; there are enough McAdoos that someone is always free to come over and spend the day watching terrible movies or playing Mario Kart. But then, Colin had strained a muscle in training--nothing bad enough that he'd miss the next game, but they'd wanted him to take a few days just in case. Colin had asked Isaac to drive him home and then offered to buy him lunch and then sheepishly admitted that he hated being alone when he was hurt, or sick, or feeling generally bad. Isaac had been surprised, and then admitted that he was the same. Then they'd simply... fallen into a routine. Staying over when one of them was ill or injured, keeping each other company.
He doesn't say anything else, and neither does Colin. He can't help but lean into Isaac's side, even as the combination of guilt and shame and fear makes him nauseous. Or, he thinks, as he pulls himself away from Isaac to vomit onto the pavement, maybe that's the head injury.
Isaac doesn't let him go completely, and by the time Colin's finished and trying to blink the stars out of his eyes (the doubling over didn't do his ribs any favors), he's been pulled back largely into Isaac's arms.
Finally, after an eternity, the car pulls up. Colin grabs the door handle before Isaac can open it for him, because Isaac's a gentleman like that and Colin feels sick enough about Isaac seeing him like this. Isaac goes around to the other side and watches as Colin carefully maneuvers himself into the seat with as little bending as possible.
Colin gets into the car like he's used to moving around bruises, and Isaac is full of questions. Is full of fear, and now that he's had some time to settle, some hurt as well. Even some anger. Not a lot of anger, because it's difficult for Isaac to be angry at people. That's not true. Isaac finds it difficult to be angry at his friends.
Their driver has some kind of annoyingly loud pop music playing, and Colin's grateful. At least it isn't silence. After a couple of minutes, spent with Colin staring out of his window and trying not to look at Isaac's reflection, he feels Isaac lean over.
"Colin," he starts, voice soft. He pauses, and Colin finds himself grateful for the music for an entirely different reason. "Do you... did you do that? A lot?"
Isaac's looking at him, worry dancing in his eyes, and Colin feels trapped by it. It's Isaac. And there's no convenient half-truth to get him out of this question.
He glances down at the collar of Isaac's shirt to avoid looking him in the eye and says, voice equally soft, "Yeah. When I was younger."
There's another pause, a silence Colin can't decipher, and then, "Why?"
Isaac knows what he's really asking. Why wouldn't you tell me?
Colin looks up at Isaac, but instead of putting him at ease, Isaac's sincerity makes him taste the bile in his throat. Because I was terrified and alone. Because I felt like I had so much fear and loneliness it was going to break through my skin unless I broke it first. Because even if I had to laugh along I could get people back in some way. Because I needed some way to survive and that was all I had, for a while.
Colin looks away, and doesn't say any of that. Doesn't say anything at all. Colin has only ever lied to his best friend about one thing, and he'd rather not add any more. One lie is better than losing what they have. If Isaac were to look at him differently, if he knew... not with hate, no. Neither of them could hate each other. He knows that for certain. But Colin can't handle knowing that his friend's perception of him had changed. Introducing discomfort into their long-held understanding might actually be worse than Isaac walking away from it completely.
Their conversation, if you can call it that, ends as the song playing on the radio fades out. Their driver chooses now to turn it off and roll down a window, and the rest of the drive lapses into strained silence.
Colin tries not to shiver at the cold night air that comes through the window. He's wearing his leopard print polo shirt and left his jacket at the bar. He looks down at it and grimaces. There's blood staining the collar that's probably his, and blood staining the front that he's less sure about. Blood's harder to get out of clothing than it is hair, and he likes this shirt. He could, technically, buy another one, but this one was a birthday gift from Isaac. He'll figure something out.
After fifteen more minutes of what's shaping up to be the third worst night of his life, the driver pulls up to the A&E, and Colin reaches for his wallet before remembering it's in his jacket. At the bar. But it doesn't matter, because Isaac is handing the driver his credit card and getting out, and Colin follows.
After he checks in, the wait is short, and Colin leaves Isaac in the tiny plastic waiting room chair to follow the nurse. In the end, it's just a laceration and a bruise, not a proper concussion. He only needs a few stitches, and to avoid driving in the next 24 hours, just in case. His ribs are bruised, just shy of fracturing, and she bandages them and his knuckles. Not the worst he's ever had, and nothing that'll keep him from training for too long.
"Do you have someone you can call to drive you home?" the nurse asks, and Colin shakes his head.
"No, uh, my friend brought me here, he's waiting out front."
She smiles. "Must be a good friend, then."
Colin smiles. "Yeah. He is," he says, his smile fading as she turns away.
Isaac sits in the waiting room, holding one of the shit magazines from the side table and ignoring what's on every page. Is this going to become a thing, him in the A&E at fuck-all hours of the night, waiting to see if Colin has a concussion? At least last time, they'd spent the drive talking like normal, even if it was mostly about Roy Kent and his anger issues. Last time, Colin had ended up benched for a handful of games because of the dizziness and Isaac'd spent a week heading back to Colin's flat after training to watch terrible horror films. Now, Colin tried to come here by himself and isn't talking to him.
Isaac pulls out his phone. There are a few texts from the others, largely incomprehensible. One from Roy: hughes alright? that he ignores for now. Instead, he sends back, left his jacket there. can you drop it off at his place? and then sends Colin's address. A few minutes later he gets back a yeah and then he's left alone with his thoughts.
He steps back out into the waiting room and sees Isaac stand up and look him over. He tries not to be self-conscious about the bandages.
"Is it bad?" Isaac asks, voice the same level of soft as it was in the car, even though none of the other people seated in the waiting room are near them.
"Er, no," Colin says, running his fingers over his knuckles. "Not a concussion, though I still shouldn't drive tomorrow." Colin pauses, waiting for the usual, you shouldn't be driving at all, but it doesn't come. He coughs.
"I was right, my ribs are just bruised. No breaks. I won't be able to train tomorrow, though."
Isaac nods. "I'll tell Lasso for you, yeah?"
Colin thinks about it. Honestly, Roy'll probably tell him before either of them get the chance, but it feels... cheap, foisting it off on Isaac. Ted's a good coach. And Colin is a strong and capable man.
"Nah, mate. I think--he deserves to hear it from me, I think."
Isaac nods, and Colin thinks maybe... maybe they'll be alright. Things'll be better in the morning, with distance from the surreality of tonight. He hopes. It's not a very bright hope, but it's what he's got.
They head back out, to where apparently Isaac paid their uber to wait. The drive to his flat is silent, but it's easier than the first, if still wrong. The exhaustion is starting to hit him, and Colin has to stop himself from dozing off against the window.
When they pull up to his building, he pauses before he gets out of the car. What does he say? Thank you? Neither of them have ever needed to say it out loud before, and it feels odd to start now. He chooses nothing, and gets out, turning around to close the door. He catches Isaac's eyes, and throws an awkward half salute instead. Isaac smiles, small and not totally convincing, and then the uber driver pulls away.
It's something, and Colin holds onto it as he walks into his home. He heads straight to his bedroom and pulls off his shirt, tosses it to the floor. That's a problem for tomorrow's Colin. He doesn't bother with his trousers, and lowers himself gently on the bed and leans back into the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Eventually, sleep claims him.
Colin wakes up with a disgusting taste in his mouth and feeling like one big bruise, and fights the urge to burrow into his blankets and never come out. He was right about feeling like shit even taking it slow, and he was also right about remembering all of last night. All of his terrible, terrible decisions are vividly clear.
He takes a very careful shower and then changes the wrappings around his chest. He leaves off the one over his head, and it's not pretty--he's reasonably certain there's still blood in his hair that he couldn't get out, but at least it's not obvious. Not in the face of his black eye, at least. He stares at his reflection in the mirror and sighs. This feels more like a walk of shame than several actual ones he's taken.
He doesn't bother trying to hide any of it; that never works except to draw even more attention. Thankfully, someone's shoved his jacket into his mail box, so he catches a car to the club early, before training.
He makes it halfway through the entrance hall before he runs into Keeley. Not literally, thankfully, but she pops out of her office and looks up from her phone with a smile, only to widen her eyes.
"Colin? What the fuck happened?"
He shrugs. "Got into it when me and the lads went out, I'm fine. Just some bumps and bruises, you know."
She looks at him suspiciously, before moving forward for a hug quicker than he can dodge. He yelps, and she pulls away, alarmed.
"Fine! Fine, just, some of the bruises are on my ribs," he wheezes, and the concern on her face deepens.
"You're not actually gonna try and train, are you, because I don't need to be a coach to know there's no fucking way--"
He waves a hand, and she stops, raising an eyebrow. "No, I'm just here to let Ted know. About the," he gestures to himself.
Keeley nods, and then looks him over. "Don't make this a habit, yeah? The bad boy look does not fit you," she says, before heading up the stairs.
He continues on before he reaches the locker room door, and pauses. He's the first of the players here, he can see their kit hanging up. But he can also see Ted shuffling around the coaches' office, and what looks like Beard sitting with his feet propped up on a desk, and he really doesn't want an audience for this.
"I am a strong and capable man," he says to himself, and opens the door.
He knocks on the open door, and Beard glances up at him and raises an eyebrow. Ted looks up from his work a second later and does a double take.
"Colin! You didn't happen to ride a fancy folding bicycle into oncoming traffic, did you?"
Colin gives an awkward half-smile, and says, "Er, no?" before glancing over at Beard.
"Could I, uh--?" he doesn't even get to finish his sentence before Beard nods, although Colin isn't sure if it's aimed at him or Ted, and leaves.
Colin looks back to Ted, who is staring at him with open concern, and swallows. He is a strong and capable man.
"I can't train today," he starts, "I, er, well." Colin stops. Breathes. Ted isn't going to yell at him for being stupid. Ted isn't going to bench him longer than necessary to stop him doing it again.
Ted takes his silence as an opportunity to speak, and says, "I see that, and I assume you saw somebody about that?" he waves toward Colin's face, or possibly his head injury, or both. Probably both, really. Colin nods.
"Laceration, not a concussion, bruised ribs. Nothing serious," he says.
Ted nods. "Okay. I'm gonna want you to go get checked out by the team docs, just in case, but I'm glad you're takin' care of yourself. As your coach, I can't make you tell me what you were gettin' into on your off-hours. But," Ted continues, "As someone who cares about you, Colin, what's goin' on?"
Colin swallows. He could lie. Not even lie, he could serve up the same half-truth from last night, the same one that still sits bitterly in his stomach. Some drunk idiot at the bar talking shit. Except, that's not really what it was. Ted deserves better than that, for all he's done for Colin and the team.
"We were out a bar, celebrating, you know? I was off getting drinks and ran into this guy. He, er, started mouthing off. Watch where you're going, fucking fairy," Colin imitates, before pressing his lips together and continuing. "And I just--I hear so much of that shite at work and I can't do anything about it, I can't say anything in the press about the culture here without losin' everything, and I lost it a little. My temper."
Ted's eyes widen slightly in understanding. Colin braces himself for... for something, and Ted says, "I see. You're faring a sight better than I did the first time I punched a homophobe," and he's smiling slightly but his eyes are serious.
Colin gapes at him. He can't help it. Ted's not saying--?
Ted continues, "The worst part was I was on a date with my boyfriend at the time and the poor guy had no idea he couldn't handle blood until he tried to help me up and then fainted. I had to talk the owner out of callin' an ambulance for us both, and let me tell you that ain't easy with a missing tooth still spouting blood like a fountain." He stops, and then after a moment, reaches out a hand and clasps Colin's shoulder.
"Colin, thank you for trustin' me with this. I--"
Colin interrupts him by going in for a hug. Even though he angles his chest away, it hurts a little, but that's nothing in the face of the relief crashing over him. He blinks suddenly, and realizes there are tears in his eyes, and pulls away so he doesn't start crying into Ted's shoulder.
"Thanks, Ted," he says, a little choked up, and Ted beams back at him, a little teary-eyed in return.
"I'm glad to," Ted says, and then, "Is that all you needed this morning, Colin?" he asks, and Colin's instinct is to say yes, but then he thinks about Isaac. Pauses. Ted clocks his hesitation and says, completely sincere, "I ain't got nothing to do that can't wait until later today."
Colin takes a further moment to think about it, before sighing, pulling up a chair, and gingerly sitting down. "I do actually have something else? It's, uh, more of a personal problem, though."
Ted sits opposite from him and leans forward, "Always the trickiest ones, those," he says, before making a go-on gesture.
It reminds him, in a way, of being in Doctor Sharon's office, and he relaxes slightly.
"Right, well, I've got this mate--we're best friends, right? He knows everything about me, I know everything about him, except... I haven't come out to him. And it's never been a problem before, but he went with me to the A&E last night and I couldn't tell him why I'd gotten into it, and things are weird now. I thought, maybe, if I ignore it, we'll be okay, but I... I don't think I want to, anymore. I'm sick of hiding this from him, but I'm... I'm scared." Colin picks at the arm of the chair as he trails off. Tries to articulate himself.
"I'd be hurt if he turned out to be a bigot, but the thing is I know him too well for that. He'd never. I think. I'm sure. But I dunno, I think. I think if he got uncomfortable after I said anything, but was too nice to say it, I think that'd be worse."
Ted nods, empathy in his eyes. "Well, I can't tell you what to do, but I know how scary that is. But in my experience, sometimes you're so bogged down in the worst case scenarios that you can't see the possibility of things changing for the better."
Colin leaves Ted's office feeling much better than when he'd entered, if still a little jittery. They'd also spent long enough talking that some of the team have arrived; Jamie, Moe, and Isaac, although while Isaac's jacket is hanging in his locker, he's nowhere to be seen.
Jamie's the first to notice him and he lets out a whistle.
"Damn mate, you finally drive your lambo into a building?"
Colin laughs slightly and Bumbercatch smacks Jamie on the shoulder. "Where were you last night? Colin got into a fight!"
Jamie turns to him, looking comically betrayed. "Seriously? And I fucking missed it?"
Colin shrugs, and says, "Yeah. I'm gonna be out of training for a few days but it's nothing serious. Do either of you know where Isaac is?"
Moe points toward the gym and Colin nods his thanks before heading that direction.
Isaac's on the treadmill, and looks up as Colin enters. He slows down and hops off as Colin walks over.
"Hey, can we talk?"
"'Course bruv," Isaac says, and they move over to a bench. Colin is nervous, but he also feels lighter, for having told some of this to Ted already.
"So. About last night," he says, and then stops. I am a strong and capable man, he thinks, giving things a chance to change for the better. Isaac waits, letting him gather his thoughts.
"That prick at the bar," Colin decides on, "He was just a drunk idiot. I should've ignored him. Normally I would've, but. He got in my face and called me, well. Brought my preferences into it. And the thing is, Isaac, um. I'm gay."
Colin breathes it out like it's one word, imgay, and then sucks in his breath. Looks at his friend out the corner of his eye. Isaac's face is set in a grim line and then he says, "Oh."
Then he says, "I'm glad you punched his lights out, then."
And then, "Is that why you were so weird?"
Colin breathes out. "You don't care?"
Isaac turns to look at him properly, and says, "Colin, you're my best mate. Of course I don't care."
Then Isaac pulls him into a very gentle hug, and Colin squeezes him back, and they stay like that for a minute until Colin pulls away.
"That's, uh, not why I was all weird last night, though. Or, it's not the whole reason? It's--" he stops, and breathes, and continues.
"I used to get into trouble like that a lot. Started when I was thirteen, got worse as I got older. I didn't have anyone to talk to, about being gay. Could barely even think about it, I was so terrified of someone noticing. And you know how it is, the way people talk. In the locker room, in the halls, whatever. It felt like I was hearing shit all the time, and I couldn't do anything. But I could get into fights. So I did. I just, shoved all the fear and anger and everythin' into 'em and pretended everything was fine."
Colin swallows. Thinking about this is always a mixed bag of feelings.
"I wasn't, obviously. Uh, I was seventeen and out with my mates after a game, and I ended up walking home. Except I ran into this guy outside a club, and he was drunk off his ass and clearly looking to start something, so I got into it with him--"
Colin winces at the memory. He can still remember feeling his fingers break when they connected with the guy's face. He'd laughed, switched hands, and things had gotten messier from there until suddenly they were being pulled apart by uniformed police.
"--and it was bad. I ended up with a couple fingers, some ribs, and a dislocated shoulder. He got off worse than me, though--"
The man had survived, Colin knows, with no severe permanent injuries. Luckily. Colin'd knocked out several teeth and there had been a lot of blood. But he'd been so high on adrenaline, he couldn't feel anything other than his heart beating in his ears. The shame and terror of nearly killing someone came later.
"--and after I got patched up, I got locked up. My mum was out of town and my da worked nights, so I was there for almost twelve hours. It was..."
Colin escaped an assault charge by virtue of being a minor, and the fact that technically, the guy had punched him first. It was the drive home that broke something in Colin. His da had been silent and exhausted, and when they got into the car, he started crying. Slow, silent tears, as he leant his head back against the seat.
Colin hadn't known what to say. How to explain himself. So he'd watched his da cry, and then spent the drive in silence, hating himself.
"The next day, my coach sat me down. Pulled out some books, and explained exactly what I was doing to myself. How many training sessions and games I was going to miss because of my injuries, let alone because of my behavior. Told me I either needed to clean up my act or say goodbye to a football career, because talent means nothing when your body is falling apart. Made me realize I couldn't keep going like I was."
Colin's always suspected his coach knew more than he let on. He'd been strangely gentle during that talk. Still firm, but there'd been an undercurrent to his words Colin had picked up on even then.
"So that weekend, I sat down with my parents and I told them everything. I didn't explain it very well, I think, but well enough. I was crying, and my mum and da were crying, and they were hugging me and we were all just a mess, and then," Colin snorts as he recalls it, "And then my little sister comes downstairs in the middle of all this and says, 'Has nan finally died?' and my mum goes, 'No Siân, Colin's gay,' and she practically wilts, she's so disappointed."
"So that's why I was all weird," Colin finishes, "I haven't actually gotten into a fight like that since then, but I was drunk and when he started going off old instincts just... reared up."
There's a moment, where Colin catches his breath and wipes off some tears that are more from the intensity of the memories than anything else, and then Isaac says, "So it's not something I missed, then?"
Colin blinks. "What? No, no, I--I'm ashamed of it, I guess. And it's all tied with me being queer, and I've spent so long hiding that, it all just got knotted up together into a secret. Of course it wasn't you."
Isaac lets out a breath, and his shoulders slump in relief, and that's when Colin notices just how much tension he was holding in.
"You thought it was your fault?" he asks, dread pooling in his stomach. Isaac shakes his head, sort of.
"I mean--I wasn't sure what it was. You scared me. Not just the fighting, although yeah, that too, fuck mate you fight like a demon. But... it's me, and you weren't sayin' anything, and I could tell you had stuff on your mind. And I know you've got a right to your secrets, yeah? But knowing you were lyin' to me hurt, bruv. I was scared I'd done somethin' to make you think you couldn't trust me, and I had no idea what it was. It sucked, cause you're important to me and shit."
Colin can feel his eyes welling up again, christ, he's cried more in the past hour than he has in the past year, and he grabs Isaac's hand.
"I'm sorry for making you worry, mate," he says. "I'll try not to do it again, yeah?"
He smiles at Isaac, who grins back at him.
"I don't think less of you, about any of it, you know," Isaac says. "Best mates?"
"Best mates," Colin says, and rests his head on Isaac's shoulder.