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It’s not a new feeling, per say. Still, it’s been so long that he'd almost forgotten.
It’s like the air around him has run out. Not slowly so he had the chance to escape. No, first he could breath and suddenly there was no oxygen at all. A blowout. A big fucking blowout that took everything with it.
Then it was still. Silence.
If they’d been outside a warm summer day there would have been crickets. Gentle breezes ruffling along the green grass. Here, it’s nothing but a quiet void.
It stays like that for some moments. Muted words but loud stares. Green and silver whirls around on the other side.
He’s “the glass is half full” kind of guy. Always been. He loves loudly and freely and, sometimes, when times are tough, he might love just a little less. Thus, this is the first time he realizes he hates green. He hates the glitter speckled over his shirt. He hates that he let his hair grow out and decided to show it off today. He hates that he didn’t bring a hat to hide behind. Most of all he hates how he let everyone down.
He suspects his eyes reflect the turmoil of emotion, the flashes of anger, disappointment and self-contempt. So he doesn’t meet anyone's eye, keeps his gaze downwards and focused on the very interesting gold buckle on his left shoe.
As the minutes go by the silence turns into murmurs of encouragement, words of sympathy and comfort. He hums along, says thank you when he is expected to and he finally shifts his gaze to the people around him. He doesn’t force a smile, they’re his loved ones, they would see right through him.
At one point he seriously considers sneaking off to the hotel, getting under the covers and staying there until it doesn’t hurt as much. It might be days, weeks even. He’s plotting his escape plan in his head while his parents squeeze him between them, trying to support him just like they did when he was eight years old. When he was fourteen years old. When he was twenty one and had lost his direction in life.
This time, though, their love suffocates more than supports. He breaks free in a moment of distraction, sneaking off to the side of the suite, leaning heavily on the bar table in front of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s aware that this is just a loss after a series of successes. It’s a small game of ball in what has become his universe of life. But he can’t deny that it hurts.
Then it happens, and it surprises him more than it probably should at this point. There are surprisingly strong arms around his waist, red nails twisting in the light fabric of his shirt. Despite it all, the emotions and disappointment - his entire being relaxes and calms as soon as she’s holding him.
“I. Love. You,.” she whispers, but her words are still loud and strong. Her breath tickles in the junction between his shoulder and neck.
He squirms against her for a brief moment, then pulls her even closer. So close they’re basically melting into one. He breathes in slowly, then breathes out, enjoying the way her arms tighten around his stomach.
“Wanted to make you so proud,” he murmurs back, his eyes suddenly burning with unshed tears. “Wanted to celebrate, laugh and make out with you all damn night.” A brief pause, then, “Wanted that threepeat so fucking bad.”
“Trav..,” she hums, her lips ghosting close to his pulse point. “I know it’s not what you want to hear right now.., but I’m proud of you every single moment of every day,” she starts, nail scratching him lightly. “You really don’t have to win the Super Bowl to make me proud.”
No, it’s not what he wants to hear. It doesn’t take away the pain. He wanted this win so so bad.
It might still be what he needs to hear though, he reflects while leaning against the warm body behind him. His girl. His lady. He can’t help the small smile penetrating the frown he’s been spotting since he left the field. He really tries to fight that smile, but he’s helpless when it comes to her.
“I’m proud of you too,” he says instead and he feels a puff of air when she chuckles behind him.
“Well, thank you, babe..,” she sounds amused. “Been training hard to perfect this cheering technique for a while now..”
That’s when he turns around, his back against the bar table and his arms sneaking around her upper body. He presses a kiss to the top of her head.
“Well, your cheering technique is great, as always..,” he mumbles into her hair. “But it’s not what I meant..”
“No?” Blue eyes twinkle at him and he realizes, just as much as he hates green, he really loves that specific shade of blue. He loves the red of her lips, and even more so he l oves the traces of pink along the apples of her cheeks.
“Nah, just..,” he’s not sure how to put it into words, but he tries. “Like you said, I’m always, always proud of you.., so lucky to have you beside me through everything.. Even when it’s bumpy.”
She nods against his chest and he thinks she gets it, no more words are really needed.
While they’ve been hidden away in the corner of the suite, the atmosphere around them has started to buzz to life. Laughters clinging through the space around them, new connections forming between groups of friends and a feeling of belonging stronger than the feeling of disappointment.
“So what do we do now?” She whispers, running her fingers through his hair.
We. Warmth suddenly explodes under his breastbone.
“Whatever we want to, babe,” he replies easily and she looks at him with that amused look again, some sprinkles of awe in her irises.
“Whatever we want to?” she echoes, tracing his lower lip with a manicured finger.
“Yeah.”
She pulls him down to her and kisses him deeply then. Their lips make smacking noises as they pull apart and once again his mouth forms a small smile, no matter how hard he tries to fight it. He shouldn't be happy, god damn it. He should be empty, angry and sad. But she’s a soothing balm around his heart, diminishes his self-loathe.
“Then this is exactly what I want us to do,” she declares surely, eyes determined.
“Making out..?” He asks confused, because he would of course be fine with that, but her look is so serious that can’t be it.
“No!” She raises her voice and rolls her eyes. “Being together, facing tough times together, planning whatever is next together.” She jabs his chest with two fingers to make her point.
Yeah, that sounds more like it.
“That’s what I want too,” he murmurs, pulling her impossibly closer. She sighs against him, seemingly content.
“But maybe a lot of making out too?” She mumbles suddenly.
“Alright now,” he says with a wink. “What I’d really want us to do right now, though,.. Is to get out of this damn stadium and drown the loss for a couple of hours. You up for that, babe?”
Of course she’s up for that. She basically drags him through the suite, gathering his friends in tow after them. The goal is clear. They pass by the windows facing the field on their way to alcoholic beverages, dancing and loud music. The air is clear from confetti now and it’s impossible to distinguish the scraps of paper from the actual grass. It is still a myriad down there on the field, but it’s slower now, it’s emptying out.
It does put everything into perspective. This was a short moment in time, a loss and a lesson. There’s still next year if he’s up for that. And there’s actually a next year even if he won’t be playing football. The void is just there in passing, so quickly filled with warmth that it's nothing but an inconvenient roadblock that will challenge him to find an alternative way forward. It will hurt and it will stop hurting.
So maybe this feeling in his chest is completely new, maybe he hadn’t forgotten. Maybe he is exactly where he should be - plowing through a crowd towards the next adventure, with her soft fingers securely intertwined with his.