Work Text:
an outdoor match, most common for them, whenever weather permits. eye black warm with the last of the sun, the last bastions of heat in the body though the chill hasn’t fully caught up yet
sun waning early as if never to come back. to only be warmed and known by the singular-toned, jaundiced stadium lights until even they make space for the dark
the creases beneath his eyes are in full bloom, softened by the pink sky as much as they’re sharpened by a five-minute difference, the sick-green fluorescence creeping into the air. making smoke of the clouds
soon the sky will be that dusky chalk-black. soon the lines of his mask will make parallels with those on his face. crosses warped with heat, with bad vision. but for now, his skin is free to the air. free to shed its second casing, its grease- to shed its whole outer shell. to regain something natural with the air that will be lost to a shower
but for now, he is here. he is close
“doing good
one more to go” only room for breathing, only enough breath for sentences sectioned. started and ended in their middles
one period left. a period in flat darkness. in flat light
he watches as the mask is replaced, the grease paint leaking in strips that mirror the metal. wants to fix it with his mouth, kiss it even. taste what he is under the sweat
feels it sudden, unknown. new.
brushes it off, tucks it behind his ear. hopes he won’t dream of it later, when he’s forgotten and it’s resettled elsewhere
-
“what are you doing,” inflection dull as if stating, not asking
another player turns, smiling, breaking from eating cookies with his eyes closed. eating in bed
a beat between them, maybe to chide. “can I have one?”
“sure man, take as many as you want,” passing off the entire tray, the plastic crackling, warbling
they're coconut and caramel, dipped in chocolate, the cold making the caramel harden into a good chew. he sucks his teeth for stray coconut flakes as he passes them back
there’s local television on: more hockey. unsated by the game just finished. as if not similarly broadcasted, as if not of one oneself, as if separate: whereas an early game is a game played: whereas an inside game is a game shared: whereas a night game, an outdoor game, begins and ends as if no one’s watching
their beds are laid in perpendiculars, with their goalie nestled beneath the only bunk’s overhang
in teammate to teammate communication from a forward angle, he is across: laid flat as if in burial. from a similar angle, at a closer distance, on the opposite side, he is a burial in passing. a sleeping afterthought, hands neat folded. all blue in the night
doesn’t know how he sleeps this early after a game. cookies like coins laid over the eyes. to bed
wonders what hurts. wonders if it hurts enough to be touched
he swallows at the guilt coming up and moves to eat