Work Text:
A few months had passed since the disastrous X-Games final. Summer vacation flew by, and now, returning for a new semester, everything seemed to have returned to normal. At least for everyone else. For me, the defeat still felt fresh, like a wound that wouldn't heal. Sometimes I wondered if it would ever stop hurting.
I learned to pretend it didn't affect me. To act as if the whispers in the hallways and the accusing looks from others didn't hurt. Theoretically, I should have gotten over it by now. But that wasn't the case. It hurt, it hurt like hell to have buried my career as a professional skater, all due to arrogance and greed.
The radio played a cheerful melody, but it felt like a distant echo. My mind was elsewhere, preparing to return to the Gamma house. Although we managed to reconcile after what happened, relationships were never the same, especially with Tank. We merely greeted each other when we crossed paths in the fraternity or in class. Rarely did we share a meal or a drink. Our conversations were hollow, filled with trivialities. As if we were two strangers forced to be cordial.
The silence had become a constant reminder of everything I had lost. Not just my career, but also my friends, my place in this world. And that hurt more than anything else.
I parked my car in front of the house and got out. The trunk creaked slightly, revealing my small suitcase and a box of books for the new semester. I didn't bring much; after all, this was still my home, even if it no longer felt like one.
Arriving a week early for the start of classes, I didn't expect to find anyone else in the house. It was silent, the air thick with the smell of wood and dust, as if the entire summer had passed without anyone opening the windows.
However, the sound of a voice surprised me.
"I see you came back early, Brad," Tank's voice echoed in the semi-empty living room. He was sprawled on the old leather sofa, a comic book open on his chest. An empty soda bottle rolled across the floor near his foot.
"Yeah," I replied, a lump in my throat. I wanted to sound casual, but the echo of my voice betrayed me. "I wanted to get everything ready before classes start again. Is anyone else here?"
Tank didn't look up; his eyes remained fixed on the comic book. He barely murmured a "mhm" in response, which clearly meant yes. I felt uncomfortable, as if our brief interaction weighed more than it should. The echo of our footsteps in the emptiness of the house made everything feel more awkward, heavier.
I dragged the suitcase up the stairs with one hand, the box of books in the other, hearing the echo of my footsteps in the vacant house. I could already see myself spending the next few days locked in my room, exercising or sleeping the day away. Even training felt more like an obligation now than a passion.
Halfway up the stairs, Tank's voice stopped me dead in my tracks.
"Bradley, are you okay?" I didn't look at him, but his tone was softer than usual, as if he actually cared about the answer. The impact of the question left me stunned, so much so that I stumbled slightly on the next step. I glanced down, noticing how the comic quivered slightly between his hands, even though Tank wasn't looking directly at me.
"Yeah," I replied quickly, almost without thinking, and quickened my pace toward my room. I knew it wasn't an honest answer, but there was no point in complaining to Tank, not when I was the one responsible for all this.
I lied easily, as if the words "I'm fine" had become my usual shield over the past few months. But inside, I was crumbling.
The sight of my small room welcomed me. The beige walls, the double bed without sheets, the dark oak furniture, the TV mounted on the wall, the empty desk, and the bookshelf crammed with academic books. Everything was exactly the same as before, and yet something in me had completely changed. At least I found some comfort in these familiar objects, the only witnesses to my true downfall.
I placed the box of books on the desk and the suitcase on the bare bed. I unpacked my clothes slowly, folding and carefully organizing my wardrobe. Each piece felt heavier than usual. Soon I would need to go shopping for new winter clothes, even though fall had just begun; the days seemed to be getting cooler.
I took a clean set of sheets from the wardrobe and a thick comforter. Making the bed felt like trying to impose some order on the chaos that was my mind. Finally, I laid out a new set of comfortable clothes on the bed.
I felt exhausted and suffocated, so I opted for a cold shower. The cold water had always been my way of clearing my head, forcing my body to feel something, anything. I needed to wake up, to piece together my facade before the other Gammas noticed that their former captain was sinking deeper and deeper. The gentle spray sent shivers down my body, and the tips of my fingers turned pink from the low temperature. My muscles trembled under the impact of the water, but somehow, it made me feel alive.
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the shower water wash my thoughts down the drain. I stayed like that until I felt energized enough to continue being a functional human being.
I groomed myself meticulously; although I had always been a vain person, I now did it to maintain a false sense of control. The steam emanating from my body was almost oppressive, but I preferred this over facing the chaos inside. The fluffy towel returned warmth to my body. I followed my routine, paying careful attention to my skin and hair. I didn't look bad—actually, I looked good—but something was missing. The spark in my eyes had disappeared, as if I had lost an essential part of myself during the X-Games. And the bags under my eyes seemed to grow bigger every day.
I quickly left the bathroom and got dressed, fearing the cold temperature would eventually give me a cold. I put on a wool sweater, baggy pants, and thick socks. As I dried my hair, my gaze fell on my phone on the nightstand. I turned it on, checking notifications out of habit, a hollow routine that had become part of my day.
It was then that a notification caught my attention, freezing every thought:
"@maxxxgoof_ has uploaded a new story."
My hand trembled slightly for a moment. My body tensed, and a cold more penetrating than that of the room settled in my chest. I hadn't stopped thinking about him since the end of the games. I couldn't. Every time I saw him, even through a screen, something inside me twisted between remorse, rage, and an obsession I couldn't quite understand.
During the summer, Max had been like a constant shadow in my life, his presence filtering through social media, feeding my anxiety. Photos of him skating, selfies with a smile that seemed to defy everything I had ruined. Hangouts with friends, parties, even family gatherings... his life went on as if nothing had happened. As if I had never existed, as if what we did at the X-Games hadn't marked him at all.
My finger hesitated over the screen, wavering for a moment before opening the story. Anger and attraction competed within me, a toxic mix that was slowly consuming me. Everything he shared felt like a cruel reminder of what I had lost. While he moved on with his life, I remained trapped in this limbo. In the end, with my heart racing and my jaw clenched, I decided to open the story.
The first thing I saw was Max with his friends. Bobby drove with a carefree expression, while Max sat in the passenger seat, holding his phone and recording the road. He focused on his friends, laughing as if the world were a simple, happy place. PJ was in the back seat, distracted, devouring a bag of chips. The car was filled with laughter, the kind I hadn't heard in a long time.
If I closed my eyes, I could remember similar moments. Fooling around with the Gammas, those days when the weight of the world seemed insignificant. But now, that laughter on the screen was a distant echo, foreign to my reality. I could almost feel warmth blooming in my chest, but it was a distant warmth, like the sun in winter. False, insufficient.
The next story was a selfie of Max. The sunset illuminated him in an almost irritating way, as if the universe decided to give him the best angle, the best light. His stupid smile filled the image, that smile I had always hated, showing off his big front teeth and lip piercings. The caption read:
"Coming back early because PJ misses his girlfriend."
I stared at the screen for a few more seconds, reading and re-reading those words. It was absurd how something so trivial could provoke such intense emotions in me. As if Max and his friends were living in a world where I no longer existed. And the worst part was that reality seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever.
I decided to turn off my phone. I couldn't afford to keep being a spectator in his life, not if I wanted to maintain my facade intact. I got up and left the room, heading to the kitchen. Cooking for the others was my way of showing them I cared, a small routine that offered me a respite from everything else, a way to show affection without words. Maybe if I kept doing these little things, I could feel that I was still part of something.
My footsteps echoed down the stairs, and from my spot, I could see the guys in the living room, sprawled on the leather sofas, engrossed in the television. They all greeted me normally, except for Tank. He said nothing, but his gaze was loaded with something else, concern, perhaps. His frown lingered with me as I crossed the living room.
When I reached the kitchen, the space welcomed me with a peace I rarely found elsewhere. Small, modern, and well-equipped, it was my refuge. I opened the fridge, and the smell of fresh ingredients greeted me. There was something comforting in the simple act of choosing what to cook. I picked some chicken breasts, a tray of fresh vegetables, and a bunch of herbs that still held their earthy fragrance. In the pantry, I found basmati rice and some spices. Everything I needed to prepare a simple yet tasty dinner.
I set water to boil for the rice while I chopped onions and carrots into thin strips, emptying my mind in the repetitive movements. The rhythm of cooking helped clear my head, distancing me from the tension and awkward silence that lingered among the Gammas.
The sound of the pan sizzling as I added the chicken brought me back to reality for a moment. But just as I began to immerse myself in the process, a burst of laughter and hurried footsteps came from the living room.
"Bradley!" one of the guys called from the doorway, interrupting my focus. "You have to hear this."
I turned with a mix of irritation and curiosity. Hear what? The guys usually didn't barge into the kitchen; they knew I liked to be alone while cooking. But something in their expressions told me something was happening. I let them speak while the aroma of the golden chicken filled the room.
"What's going on?" I asked, drying my hands on a kitchen towel.
They exchanged glances, and it was Tank who finally broke the silence.
"Max is back on campus."
The air in the kitchen seemed to thicken upon hearing what Tank said. Max. That name echoed in my head. I felt a mix of emotions I couldn't control: anger, remorse, and, to my dismay, that latent feeling of envy, all swirling like a storm in my chest.
My first impulse was to pretend indifference. Of course, Max had come back to campus; it was inevitable, after all, we attended the same university. Besides, I had seen him in his Instagram stories. He had returned earlier than expected, just like me. Why should I care? However, I couldn't help but feel my jaw tighten as I turned my back to them, focusing on the chicken that was now sizzling loudly in the pan.
"And?" I replied, trying to keep my voice neutral, but I knew my words sounded harsher than I intended.
One of the guys—I think it was Mark—snickered, not fully grasping the tension hanging in the air.
"We saw him a little while ago at Moccha Girl's café," he continued. "He was with PJ and Bobby, acting like nothing happened. I mean... you know, just like always."
As always, that hit a sensitive nerve. It felt as if Max were immune to everything, as if the chaos of the X-Games had left no marks on him, no damage. And there I was, struggling to maintain a facade that concealed the disaster I felt inside while he continued his life with apparent ease.
"Great," I muttered, stirring the chicken and vegetables, though I was barely paying attention to what I was doing.
Tank, however, didn't fall for my feigned calm.
"Brad..." His voice was softer this time, but I didn't quite finish hearing it. A louder crackle from the skillet gave me the perfect excuse to interrupt the conversation. The aroma of the food was the only thing anchoring my thoughts at that moment.
I took a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand. Finish dinner. I needed to finish dinner; at least that was something I had under control. But deep down, I knew it wasn't just the food that was cooking inside me. Overwhelming emotions piled up more and more, and the news that Max was nearby... that complicated everything.
I knew I would have to face him sooner or later. But not tonight. Not while the kitchen was the only place where I felt some peace.
"Better get ready for dinner," I said, abruptly changing the subject. "Dinner will be ready in ten."
The Gammas began to move around the kitchen without me having to say anything, as if the ritual of setting the table was the only thing that still maintained some cohesion among us. Mark took out the plates from the cupboard while Derek set the glasses. Tank, silently, took care of the cutlery. Everything was done in a sort of synchronized choreography, but lacking the camaraderie we once shared.
The smell of food filled the air, although no one seemed in a hurry to sit down for dinner. When we finally gathered around the table, the silence became overwhelming. The clatter of cutlery against plates and the soft sound of chewing were the only things breaking the stillness. None of us seemed in the mood to talk, lost in our thoughts, until Tank, with his mouth full, interrupted the calm.
"I was thinking about something..." he mumbled between bites, looking at the others meaningfully. "You know, with everything that happened last semester... I think we need to do something big. Something that brings us back together, like before."
We all looked up, intrigued by his words. Derek was the first to react, frowning.
"What do you mean?" he asked, though something in his tone made it clear he already had an idea.
Tank put his fork down and leaned back in his chair, a smile he couldn't hide spreading across his face.
"A party. But not just any party. The most legendary party this fraternity has ever seen."
There was a moment of stunned silence before Mark let out a nervous laugh.
"A party, now?" he repeated, almost as if he hadn't heard correctly.
"Exactly," Tank replied, looking at each of us. "This Friday, before classes start. We're going to make it big. We'll invite everyone. We need something to clear our heads, to remember what we are... to reclaim the Gamma spirit."
Even though the idea of a party seemed out of place with the mood hanging over the house, something in Tank's words resonated. Maybe we were all looking for an excuse to break out of this cycle of tension and silence.
"I don't know if that's a good idea..." I started to say, but Tank cut me off with a firm look.
"It's exactly what we need, Brad," he interrupted me, his tone more serious than I expected. "If we don't do something now, things are just going to keep getting worse. This semester has to be different."
My eyes met his for a second, and even though I didn't say it out loud, I knew there was some truth in his words. Maybe we were all so trapped in our own emptiness that we had forgotten what used to unite us.
"It'll be legendary," he added, with a nearly defiant smile. "The biggest party of all. Just like the old days."
I shifted in my chair, trying to process what Tank had just proposed. The idea of a party sounded... simple. As if a single night of music, lights, and alcohol could erase everything that had happened. Part of me wanted that, craved that distraction, but another, more rational part couldn't help but feel it might just be another mask to hide our cracks. I wondered if going back to the "happy" version of us, of the fraternity, was even possible.
The taste of the food became bland as my thoughts spiraled. I lost my gaze on the table, watching how the other Gammas seemed to get more animated with the idea. But I couldn't shake the thought of Max. The guy who changed everything. What if he showed up at the party? What would I do if I saw him? Part of me hated him for how things had turned out, for how he unknowingly took away what I valued most. But there was also that other part, the one I couldn't stop thinking about since everything fell apart. Max was the shadow lurking in every corner of my mind, and a party... well, a party would bring him closer, and that idea made my blood boil.
Would this be my chance to finally free myself from him? To confront that uncomfortable mix of feelings that gnawed at me inside? The melody of the song I had heard earlier in the car echoed in my mind again, a cheerful and carefree song that now felt almost sarcastic. "My party," I thought, as if that was what this situation needed: a mask for disillusionment.
"Brad, are you with us?" Tank's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
I realized everyone was looking at me, waiting for some sign, some response.
"Yes," I lied, although the knot in my stomach told me otherwise. "A party sounds... good."
Tank flashed a triumphant smile, and the others began to murmur excitedly about the preparations. But I barely listened, trapped in that mix of fear and desire. I knew I wasn't ready to face Max... and yet, something inside me wished he would be there. Maybe this party would be my chance to break that damn tension. Perhaps... just perhaps, it would set me free from him. From everything.
But for now, everything remained an unknown. And what terrified me the most wasn't the party itself but what could happen once the lights went out and the old ghosts came to light.
When we finished dinner, the atmosphere in the house was already charged with the anticipatory energy of the party. Even with the weight of my thoughts, the routine of organizing and cleaning offered me temporary relief. I stood up from the table and, as always, took control of the situation.
"Alright, guys," I said as I began to clear the plates, "let's start cleaning this up. I don't want the kitchen to be a mess by tomorrow."
The other Gammas got up with some reluctance but without protest. They knew that when I took charge of cleaning, I did it meticulously. I quickly divided the tasks: some washed the dishes, others cleaned the surfaces, and some swept the floor. Although we were in a fraternity, I maintained a standard of order, and they respected it, even if sometimes it seemed they did so grudgingly.
As the kitchen regained its usual shine, the excitement for the party Tank had proposed continued to grow among the guys. As they finished cleaning, they gathered around the living room and began throwing around ideas for the party, each one more extravagant than the last.
"Listen!" exclaimed Marty, one of the most enthusiastic Gammas, from his laptop. "I'm designing the party announcement, something we can post in the university groups. Everyone's going to want to come. Check this out..."
On his laptop screen appeared a virtual flyer, filled with bright colors and flashy typography. It was ridiculously exaggerated but just the tone that would attract students: "The party of the semester. You can't miss it. Everyone is invited."
The other Gammas cheered the idea, and within minutes, Marty had uploaded the flyer to the university groups. The invitation spread like wildfire, and soon notifications began popping up on everyone's phones.
"This is going to be bomb" Tank said, more excited than anyone. "We need enough alcohol for a week." He had already begun making a mental list. "Vodka, rum, tequila, beer... whatever, and in large quantities."
"Yes, but also some food, right?" interrupted another voice. "We don't want people passing out in the middle of the night."
"Bah, a few bags of chips and we're good," someone else said, laughing.
While everyone discussed what to buy and how to organize it, I noticed how the group's energy became more chaotic and enthusiastic. The conversation was filled with absurd ideas about what they should do: neon lights, a fog machine, they even mentioned hiring a professional DJ. At first, all this sounded exaggerated, but little by little, I let myself be swept up in the same energy. The excitement was contagious, although deep down, I still felt that pang of uncertainty about the party.
I knew that somehow, the party would become something more than just a social event. For me, it would be a decisive night, an opportunity to confront that whirlwind of emotions I had inside.
Max:
I turned off my phone after recording the story and looked out the window while the music played in the car. Bobby was driving, always joking about something, and PJ, true to form, was sitting in the back, devouring a bag of chips as if it were the only food of the day. I smiled at the sight of them; they were my lifelong friends, the ones who were always there, no matter what.
However, even with that constant company, there was something that still bothered me: Bradley. It wasn't that I hadn't moved on since the X-Games, but there was a part of me that was always paying attention, watching the stories he posted and seeing, from a distance, what he was up to. Although I'd never admit it in front of the guys, every time I saw his name appear on the screen, a part of me wanted to know how he was doing.
The worst part was knowing that Bradley was also watching my stories. There was no doubt. I saw him in the views; his name was a constant reminder of what had happened between us. During the summer, I tried to let him go. "It was the X-Games," I repeated to myself, as if it all boiled down to that event and not to what it had really meant for both of us. But every time I saw a new photo or a comment from Bradley on some post, something within me stirred. That same morning, I had been tempted to send him a message. Just to know how he was doing, nothing more, I told myself. But I didn't.
The drive back to campus had been PJ's idea. His girlfriend, who worked at a café near campus, wanted to see him, and the guys decided to tag along. I didn't mind; in fact, it was nice to get back before classes started and escape the sweltering heat of my house.
When we arrived on campus, the car circled the café where PJ's girlfriend worked. From the fogged-up window of the car, I saw the place. The soft light of the sunset illuminated the café with warmth, and everyone inside seemed calm, enjoying a relaxed afternoon. Suddenly, I saw a group of Gamma guys crossing the street towards the café. Bradley's name popped into my mind, even though I knew it wasn't him, as he had returned before anyone else. However, the mere sight of the Gammas made me grip my phone tighter, my thoughts drifting back to the message I hadn't dared to send.
Once in the café, we settled at a worn wooden table, and the pizza we ordered arrived quickly. Bobby, always the most animated, began to devour the slices while PJ laughed at his jokes. I tried to enjoy the moment, but my mind wandered. Finally, after PJ's girlfriend finished her shift, we decided to head back to our rooms to unpack. Upon arriving, I heard a notification beep from a phone. Bobby and PJ raised their phones and saw the colorful flyer for a Gamma party on Friday.
"Hey! Did you guys see this?" Bobby said, showing us the screen. "It looks like the Gammas are throwing an epic party! We have to go!"
Bobby's enthusiasm was contagious, but something inside me felt uneasy. I glanced at PJ, who looked clearly hesitant.
"I don't know, Bobby... Remember what happened last time with those guys? Things with Bradley and the others didn't end well."
But at that moment, something changed in me. The idea of facing Bradley, of seeing how he had been, filled me with nerves and excitement. So, despite my reservations, I found myself responding:
"Maybe going is what we need to close this chapter."
Bobby smiled as if he had won a prize, while PJ raised an eyebrow, surprised by my response. After all, a part of me still longed to reconnect with him, even if just for a moment.