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Scott Hunter was never a fan of windstorms, or thunderstorms, or any storms in general.
The wind was howling and whistling, and the constant pitter-patter of rain echoed through his bedroom. He sat up in his bed, knees hugged tight to his chest as he looked outside the window. There was an eerie shadow of a tree; he knew it was a tree because Mom told him so. But that doesn't make it any less scary.
His eyes darted around his room, self-drawn hockey posters plastered on the wall. His old hockey gear was piled into a messy clump by the corner of his table. His mom is sure going to give him a lecture about maintaining the tidiness of his gear.
Scott tried closing his eyes and covering his ears shut, because maybe if he pretended to fall asleep, sleep would actually come.
A loud rustle startled him, his tiny body shook with surprise as he gripped his blanket tight, knuckles turning pale with force.
“Mom?” Scott croaked out. It was childish, to be honest, to still be scared of something as natural as thunderstorms at the ripe old age of 8. But he couldn't help it.
“Scott?” His mom’s voice came through the door before the door opened. “What's up, sweetheart? Are you still awake? You do realize you have morning practice tomorrow?”
“Can you come in here for a sec?” Scott whispered.
Mom looked tired. Her hair was a mess, her night gown stained and crooked from chores, probably. The bags under her eyes never seem to fade away. Scott noticed a couple of extra lines on her forehead that she hadn't had before.
“Aw, Scotty, are you scared?”
He shook his head.
“I’m too old to be scared. I was just wondering if you were scared because it was so loud outside.” He puffed out his chest, making him seem bigger than he really was. He knew his mother saw right through his bravado, but it didn't hurt to try.
“Of course, sweetheart.” His mom came over, gently nudging her son to scoot over, and climbed into bed with him. “It’s quite loud, isn't it?”
Scott nodded, his head against his mother’s chest. They just sat there. His mother’s fingers brushed through his hair gently, her other arm wrapped protectively around his waist. She was humming a melody that Scott couldn't quite place a finger on, her heartbeat drumming steadily against his ear.
“It’s okay, Scotty, I'll never be scared because you got me.” His mother said, voice low to a whisper.
Scott smiled, knowing his mother probably couldn't see the curve on the corner of his lips. But he felt his heartbeat slowing down, and eventually the wind outside seemed to fade away, and his eyes fluttered shut into a deep slumber.
---
Duncan was tossing and turning on the upper bunk again.
Scott grimaced, trying to tune out all the noises in the room. The trees rustling in the wind, the creaking of the wooden bunk bed, or the soft snores that echoed through the room.
He seemed to be the only one still awake in the dorm.
Scott sat up in his bed, making sure not to bang his head on the top of the bunk. He was quite tall for his age, and bunk beds are not kind to 5’11 fifteen-year-olds.
He looked around the room. The mess made him grimace. Hockey gear covered the floor like a tornado had ripped through the room. The whole room reeked of teenage boys. Then, he looked to his corner. His hockey gear piled up neatly, his books stacked on his desk according to size. Just how he likes it. The clock on his desk flashed the time: 1:54. He should be asleep. He has morning practice the next day.
A loud boom made him jump in his bed, his head unfortunately banging the roof of his bunk. He heard Duncan make a noise before the snores above resumed.
The wind outside doesn't seem to be calming down anytime soon. Scott let out a deep sigh before grabbing his skates from the corner, slipping on some slides, and headed out the door.
The walk from the dormitory to the rink wasn't far. It was a hockey boarding school after all, so most of the buildings were built around the rink. He changed into his skates and stepped onto the ice.
It was quiet at this hour. No rowdy boys pushing and shoving for the showers, no coaches yelling and barking orders at kids to maintain “defense” or “For God’s sake, do you know how to play hockey, Hunter?”
The only sounds in the rink were the occasional thunder strike and the smooth sound of the blade against the ice.
Scott loved hockey. There was no doubt. But it was getting lonely. Hockey wasn't…fun anymore. It felt like a chore. He looked towards the empty stands, remembering how loud his mom used to cheer on the bleachers. She would still be in her work apron, having to rush to the game right after her shift. But she would be there.
It was different living in a dormitory, as opposed to back in Rochester. Back at home, it was just him and his mom. Scott got accustomed to nights of being alone when his mom needed to pick up extra shifts, the silence and emptiness of the house. But Scott never felt alone. He always had his mom.
Here, everything is loud. Laughter echoed through the locker rooms, plans whispered after curfew, and trash talk flew freely amongst teammates.
Scott has never felt this alone. It was ironic. He was surrounded by people, by noise, by commotion. Yet, he felt the most isolated he had been in years.
A loud snap jolted him back to reality, and he noticed a tear run down his face. He hasn't cried since he moved into this school, and he did not stop for a while that night.
---
Kip made a noise in his sleep.
It must've been the storm. Scott thought to himself, his finger drawing nonsensical lines on Kip’s bare forearm.
It was late. Even New York City seemed to have died down and gone to bed. Not the storm, though. The windows were blurry from water droplets, and the trees were waving wildly in the wind. And if Scott were to really focus, he swore the apartment building was swaying.
Scott took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. He felt a little uneasy. Maybe it was the possibility that this building could topple from a strong gust of wind. He made a mental note to look at other properties with a more stable penthouse.
He cracked his knuckles, knowing that if Kip were awake, he would get a lecture from his boyfriend. But his body was starting to ache. Maybe it was from the lack of movement, or maybe from the fact that his very tall and handsome boyfriend was acting as a weighted blanket on him.
Scott decided he needed a wee.
He carefully slipped out under Kip, making sure not to wake up his boyfriend, who had an 8 am class (Scott did not understand 8 am classes, nor practices, like who thought they were a good idea) the next morning and definitely needed the sleep.
Kip shuffled, a whine leaving his lips as the big body of warmth disappeared from under him. Scott smiled as he placed a kiss on Kip’s forehead, watching as the frown faded away.
He walked to the bathroom, flipping on the lights and closing the door behind him. He stood there facing the mirror. It was the off-season, so he did not bother to maintain his physical upkeep as much. He let his hair and beard grow out, not that Kip complained, he was very happy to have a “hot sexy lumberjack boyfriend who looked like he lives in the cabin in the woods, and only comes out twice a year".
His words, not Scott’s.
Scott tapped his finger impatiently against the marble countertop. Now and then, a sleepless night crept up on him. And the storm outside certainly was not helping him calm his nerves.
He had nothing to be sad or anxious about. He has a lovely and sexy boyfriend in bed. He won a Stanley Cup for his beloved team. His career and love life could not get any better.
Yet, he was.
“Scott?” Kip’s sleepy voice snapped Scott out of his thoughts. “Are you still awake? I thought you had early practice tomorrow.”
Scott turned off the lights, flushed the toilet just so he didn't seem like a weirdo just standing in the bathroom, and opened the bathroom door.
Despite the darkness in the room, he could faintly see Kip’s shadow on his bed, his hand extended, reaching out for him.
“C’mhere. I want my big radiator back. I’m cold.” Kip muttered as Scott climbed back into bed. And as if it were automatic, Kip immediately laid his head on Scott’s chest again.
“M’sorry, had to piss,” Scott said, running a hand through Kip’s hair, who let out a satisfying hum.
“It’s okay if you are a big wussy and are scared of the storm. I got you.” Kip whispered, though the last couple of words were slurred as sleep soon stole him away from Scott.
Scott chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss on top of Kip’s head. Thunder struck loudly outside, and Kip snuggled closer to Scott. Maybe there wasn't anything to worry about after all.