Chapter Text
Everyone congregates on the ice. The moment is tense with anticipation as the carpet gets rolled on ice. Gary Bettman stands on the edge of the carpet. The arena announcer announces the Cup keepers. The crowd cheers when the Cup keepers bring it out, and the team watches as Gary walks up to the cup and presents it.
“Vegas, you certainly know how to throw a party,” Gary tells the crowd. “What’s going on inside this arena and outside is incredible and a testament to what a great hockey market this is.”
One moment Kent is posing with the Cup and Gary, with pyrotechnics in the background. And the next, the Cup is finally in his hands and Kent shouts “Fuck yeah!” at the top of his lungs facing his team as he hoists the Cup above his head. He lowers it down, anda looks at it held in his hands. Kent lifts it up again as he shouts his feelings out loud once more facing the crowd. He then skates through his team as he takes his victory lap.
The moment he moves his skates, the already lively crowd grows even louder. The arena that was bursting with the screams and the cheering, blooms even more to celebrate him. The crowd is cheering so loud, while the team is shouting themselves hoarse. Everyone is hugging each other, and breaking out their phones to take pictures.
Kent closes his eyes for a second, he basks in the energy of this moment. He is trying to stretch it for as much as he can, right here and now, where it is only him and the Cup. Not even the flashing camera or the film crew register in his mind. He keeps lowering the Cup down to kiss it, before hoisting it up again. Over and over until he finishes his lap and winds his way back to the team. As he comes back to them, one by one their eyes shift to him and the Cup in his hands.
There is a thrum of anticipation through the team over who might go next. They haven’t been discussing among themselves the possibility of who might be handed the Cup next. All in an effort not to jinx their chances, but there have been whispers here and there. All hypothetical of course.
It is not like Kent is any better, he has kept any thoughts of who he might choose to hold the Cup next close to his heart. For someone who isn’t usually a very superstitious person, Kent is still a hockey player. And he doesn’t speak of things until they happen.
So, while the team might not know for sure who will be handed the Cup first, they have some thoughts on who it might be. The majority of the team is split up between their starting goalie and the backup goalie. And while either of their goalies makes a very compelling choice, there are others who think it might be someone else entirely outside of these two.
Some favored Mikhail, the starting goalie who carried them throughout the season, as a first choice. He has pulled them out of very tight spots across this season. While others hedged their bets towards Jakob, their backup goalie. Jakob had made his proper NHL debut around the tail end of the regular season after Mikhail was out with a lower-body injury.
Jakob had come on the ice, feeling terrified out of his mind to be the one who could make or break their chance. Despite the fact they had already secured their playoff spot early on, and the remaining games were a formality of completing the full 82 game run. On the bright side, by the time playoffs started and with each round they passed, Jakob started changing. Becoming less of a newborn foal standing on shaky skates, and more like a brick wall during playoffs.
Kent skates to Mikhail, who has suited up and joined the team on the ice, he hands him the Cup. Kent brings their foreheads together. He tells him something in a low tone so it remains a secret just between them without the cameras picking it up. Mikhail tells him something in return that has them both laughing as they hoist the Cup together. Once Kent is sure Mikhail has the Cup in secure hands, he lets the Cup go. Kent pats the back of Mikhail’s head, and then his shoulders. Kent watches as Mikhail skates with careful steps on his own victory lap.
With their goalie off, Kent skates to the rest of the team, Kent points at Jakob, “You did it, baby!!!” He shouts and laughs as he pulls Jakob in a hug. Scraps joins the hug by wrapping his arms around them both. One by one the team joins the group hug; they hold onto Kent, and Jakob in the center. They hold onto them before Kent gets taken from them for media obligations.
***
Frank knows he has spoken to the press as he waits for his victory lap. Yet, for the life of him, he can’t recall exactly what he said. Chances are it was “how happy, how proud, and how grateful he is” or something along the lines. In the meantime, his thoughts kept fluctuating like a coin tossed up in the air. Flipping between “we did it” and some sort of lingering disbelief that the Cup was back in Vegas once more.
His eyes are focused on keeping the Cup within his eyesight as it trades hands. In spite of his intent, and after talking with Kent for a minute, Frank’s eyes keep straying from the Cup. His eyes keep eating up the ground between him and Kent, looking for any glimpse of his captain. Much like a sunflower tracking the sun, Frank focuses on Kent as much as possible. Kent flits around, talking to different people. Giving a quick soundbite here and there, pausing to take photos with the rest of the team.
Frank turns to face Kent, as he rounds his way to where Frank is currently standing. His focus split between keeping Kent in his eyesight and watching as Jeff heads towards him. Swoops skates to him with the Cup in hand. Jeff transfers it to Frank with gentle, careful hands and a “Come on Frankie, it’s your turn now.” Even as Jeff is almost reluctant to part away with the Cup and release it from his hands. Frank freezes in place for a second. He assesses the heft he can’t seem to forget since the last time he held it. What he has been chasing and dreaming of holding in his hands once more.
As Frank looks down at his distorted reflection on the Cup, the coin flipping up in the air finally lands. Any disbelief nestled between his thoughts scatters away with the Cup held in his hands. He looks up towards his team spread all around him, and Kent, who has finally reached them. Frank beams and shouts as he hoists the Cup over his head. They laugh and shout right back, Frank laughs again louder this time and goes to take his lap.
The arena is loud around him. It hasn’t fallen silent for a second ever since the flamingos started raining on them. Yet in this moment, inside his head, everything is finally quiet.
***
For three days until the parade, it feels like the team doesn’t sleep. Straddling the razor thin edge between a constant state of hangover, and inebriation. Their celebration stretches the time. As if the jubilation and the adrenaline they are running on recharges itself when they are in each other’s company.
For three days Frank feels like he is on the edge of doing something stupid. Like he is three steps away from doing something he can’t take back. It starts right away after they go back to the locker room with the cup. Jeff hoists the Cup, acting like a Cup keeper with how he holds it with Kent. Together, they make sure those who drink, get to drink from the Cup. Frank is already wet with the champagne and beer that rained down on them. Dave, the only smart man on the team, has worn a clear plastic raincoat.
With each hug the team shares. With each drink, they pour into each other’s mouths and all over each other. Frank keeps thinking maybe it would be okay to linger into Kent’s touch a bit more. Just a couple of seconds more when hugging Kent.
Would staying a bit in place when Kent is pouring champagne from the Cup, be such a bad idea? Even when more champagne ends up on him rather than down his throat. When the team kisses each other and their goalies at various points, Frank aches to kiss Kent as well. Without worrying how it might come across to others.
But he drags the urge and forces it down his throat, down, down it goes. Until it has been shoved deep enough, where Frank ties it into a knot between his ribs and his heart. He reaches out for a champagne bottle instead.
***
The parade comes and finally Frank feels like he is starting to return to himself again. Snapping back to himself in bits and pieces a bit more with each second the city spends shouting their love to the team, and the team shouting their love right back. The more he interacts with the crowd, the more grounded he feels.
This is where he is meant to be, everything right this second is coming together.
He is still tracing the Cup with his eyes. Every couple of seconds, he looks towards it, tracing its shape from where he is on the open-top bus. It was an easy enough task to do. Easy to focus on the Cup, when it is Kent carrying it as he mingles with the fans down below. The Cup switches hands, and slowly, ever so slowly, without any conscious decision, Frank spends less time searching for the Cup and more time searching for Kent. The time gap between tracing the Cup increases to once every couple of minutes. His eyes kept seeking out Kent more and more instead.
But how can he not look for Kent with how radiant he looks? Sure, he looks exhausted, and worn down. But even at his thinnest, at his most tired and exhausted, Kent has never looked better. He is glowing with joy; with the love the city is pouring out to them, to him as he interacts with the fans on the street.
(They all radiate happiness, but in Frank’s eyes, Kent’s is the brightest flame.)
Frank closes his eyes trying to center himself. For a second, his mind wanders to what ifs.
In different a time and a different place, one where Frank confesses his love without fear. Fear of retaliation, fear of rejection, fear of ruining himself and everything. And in another place kind enough, a place where it is possible that Kent reciprocates his feelings. Could Frank ever make him happy? Happy enough that Kent would glow from within because of him?
The more Frank looks, the more he feels like his heart will burst out of his chest in an effort to get closer. To shove its way out and free the truth locked between his ribs. Frank does his best to squash these thoughts and push them down. He forces himself to look away, eyes in search of the Cup once more.
***
At the arena everything is so much more. The parade feels like it has reached its peak, and has no plans of coming down anytime soon.
The whole team is gathered on stage. Frank hugs Moses, and Jeff from the back. He laughs when they are forced to pause taking off their ‘Stanley Cup Champions’ t-shirts, in order to steady themselves. Much to the disappointment of the crowd in front of the stage. “You guys should leave the t-shirt throwing to the professionals, okay?”
Jeff laughs out loud without any malice; his laughter reaches them over the sound of the arena. He shoves Frank off, “Sure thing, but someone has to pick up the slack because Mikhail has already tossed his.” Jakob laughs in the background somewhere to Moses’ left.
“Okay, fine! let’s bet on it!” Frank suggests between laughs. He straightens up as he lets Moses go, and turns towards Kent, who has handed the Cup to Scraps. Kent isn’t even a full half a meter away from them, but Frank has to cup his hands around his mouth and shout for a chance to be heard over the crowds. “Hey, Cap! Help me beat these assholes and teach them a lesson!”
Kent gets closer to them, and raises his voice loud enough for them to hear, “And we are doing what exactly?”
“We are having a t-shirt throwing contest,” Jeff says, in the middle of taking his t-shirt off. His voice gets muffled behind a layer of his t-shirt. He has somehow gotten himself tangled up in the black cotton. Jeff finally yanks his t-shirt off with a muttered “Finally, fuck!”
Kent gives a sharp nod to show agreement and reaches for his Aces cap. He folds it in half and shoves it into the pocket of his shorts. Frank takes his own t-shirt off in one swift motion, when he is done, he folds the t-shirt. He looks up and sees Jacob folding his t-shirt with slow practiced steps. Steps that echo how Frank has folded his shirt. He smiles at the thought of Mikhail teaching Jakob how to bundle his t-shirt up as tight as possible. Much like he taught Frank and Kent years ago before their first Cup parade.
Frank looks towards Kent, who grabs the hem of his own Stanley Cup Champions t-shirt. Frank feels himself growing warmer as Kent rolls his t-shirt up to his ribs, causing the edge of his Olympic Rings tattoo to show. Then Kent pulls at the back of his collar and tugs it off. It’s not the first time he saw Kent half naked, or even naked. However, something about the context, the motion, and how Kent smirks when he catches Frank looking as he takes the t-shirt off makes it different.
***
That day, every time Frank touched the Cup, he felt like it was warmer than the last time he touched it. The Cup keeps getting hotter and hotter. Until he can’t even stand to touch it, with how close to scalding it felt. Like if he looks at his hands later on, he will find the start of boils on the palms of his hands. Then he goes to grab it from Kent, for a second Frank almost wants to drop the Cup from how hot it has gotten. But then their fingers touch as Kent he transfers the Cup to him. And all of a sudden, the Cup is back to the temperature of warmed metal as Frank hoists up in the air.
***
A week after the parade, Kent hosts a party for the team and family in his backyard. It is the last time they all gather as they are before they head out for the summer. They have the grill running, drinks, and refreshments cooling inside ice boxes. The kids are running around and jumping in the shallow part of the pool. While the adults gather around in groups of two or three or lounge on the sun loungers.
Kent approaches the grill from behind, he takes care to walk with slow and careful steps. Being sneaky is hard when wearing flip flops. He reaches out a hand to grab the spatula. Trying to take advantage of the fact that Mikhail is busy talking with Jacob. Busy with flipping over the hotdogs with the tongs. Mikhail doesn’t even look at him as he slaps his hand away, “No touching the grill, Parsey.”
“Oh, come on! Do you have eyes in the back of your head or something?” Kent absolutely doesn’t whine or try to reach for the spatula again. He does, however, reach for the done plate and grab a slice of grilled vegetable. “Besides! My house, my party, my rules.”
“Parser, Parsey, Parsley,” Jeff inserts himself into the conversation. He wraps an arm around Kent’s shoulders. He gestures with the beer in his other hand, “Remember the last time-”
“The only time,” Mikhail interjects.
“-I stand corrected, the only time you got to handle the grill?” Kent shoves at Jeff without any force behind it, trying to shrug his arm off his shoulder. “Fuck off, Swoops, it wasn’t even that singed and you know it, you guys are just a bunch of assholes,” Kent grumbles. He tries his hand at swiping the spatula once more. Mikhail is faster than him, he snaps the tongs at him in warning. Kent raises his hands in mock surrender. He laughs when Mikhail looks at the spatula between them, and grabs it in his free hand. He goes to put it down further away from him, but reconsiders. Instead, Mikhail shoos Kent away with the spatula in hand.
As he walks away, Kent hears Jeff speaking. He tells Jakob, “Rookie, under no circumstances, must knives out over there ever man the grill. He cannot be trusted.” Mikhail adds something that Kent doesn’t bother to focus enough to catch. Judging by Jeff’s laughter, and Jacob’s quiet giggles, Mikhail was being his usual asshole self. Fine, who needs these guys anyway? Kent can find his own fun somewhere else.
On the other side of the backyard, a few of the team are playing chicken in the deep side of the pool. Kent makes his way to the pool. He is thinking of taking a quick dip, perhaps even some sabotage of the game, when someone calls out to him.
“Parser, come over here, we need to win we need to kick Frank and Marcus ass, and Johan is no good!” Moses calls out, waving his hands at Kent and almost destabilizing Johan in the process. “Hey!” Johan squawks, holding on tighter to Moses’ shoulders.
“Buddy, do you or do you not want to win this round?” Moses tilts his head back if only so Johan can see his raised eyebrow. “You didn’t have to say I was bad, asshole.” Johan amends with a grumble. “So? Cap, you coming or not?” Moses grins knowing he has won this, and calls out once more.
And look what fell right into his lap.
“Yeah, yeah gimme a second and I’ll come.” Kent picks up the pace to reach the pool faster. “That’s what she said!” Kent groans at Johan’s juvenile joke as takes his cap off first. He then proceeds to take off his shirt and drops it on the nearest table along with his glasses and phone. He puts on his cap backward and jumps into the pool. The water feels good against his skin.
Moses leans to the side and drops Johan the moment Kent jumps into the pool. Johan flails around for a second before surfacing again. “Moses! you are such an asshole!” “Scraps, you knew Parser was coming in, why didn’t you move on your own?” Marcus wags his finger at Johan from where he is sitting on Frank’s shoulders.
Kent lifts himself up to sit on the edge of the pool, as Moses comes to stand in front of him. “Marcus, buddy, you have like a foot on Parsey, you got this,” Frank encourages looking up at Marcus. “Got it, boss.” Marcus mock salutes. Moses carries Kent on his shoulders and makes his way back to them.
“Parsey baby, you hear this shit? We can’t let this D-men tag team win, okay?” Moses shifts his weight a bit, securing his hold on Kent. Kent smirks and gestures at Marcus and Frank to come closer.
***
“Dinner is ready! First come first served,” Mikhail announces as he hits his tongs against the side of the grill. His announcement comes at the right moment for Kent to finally gain the upper hand. He manages to fuck with Marcus’ balance enough to be able to throw him off Frank’s shoulders. Marcus goes down with an oof and a splash as he takes Frank down with him.
“I knew you could do it, baby!” Moses cheers celebrating their success with an upside high five with Kent. He turns towards Johan and points at him, “See that? That’s what I’m talking about Johan! Our Captain coming through once more.” Johan, who is sitting on the edge of the pool, kicks his legs in powerful motions in Moses’ direction. He doesn’t stop until he is satisfied with how much water he has splashed Moses (and Kent in collateral) with.
In the meantime, Marcus gets out of the pool first. He grabs a bathrobe from the stack for himself and another for Frank. He looks at Moses and Kent being splashed and waits until they are out of the pool on the other side. He whistles as he shoves the rest of the robes into the pool with a quiet “oops”. He laughs when Moses jumps back into the pool once more, trying to rescue the soaking bathrobes as fast as he can. He doesn’t even get time to curse out Marcus like he wants to.
Marcus pushes the stack of big towels a bit further as he goes, chair scrapping against the ceramic tiles. He leaves only the small towels behind available for immediate access. Marcus laughs when he hears Moses cursing at him. Frank shakes his head at their antiques, as he grabs the robe Marcus saved for him.
Frank wraps his robe around him and goes to stand next to Mikhail by the head of the table. “Hey chef, you put aside-” Mikhail cuts him off when he grabs a serving plate he had put on the side. “You know I did, here is your well-done everything, Frankenstein.” Frank makes a grabby hand motion as Mikhail hands him the plate, “Thanks! Love you too, chef.” Mikhail nods and shoos him away for the next person in line.
By the time everyone settles into a seat with their food, Mikhail is still standing by the head of one of the tables. He grabs a knife and clinks it with his glasses. He clears his throat, and waits till everyone is turned to him to start speaking. “Before we start eating, I have an announcement to make.”
“You are having another kid?” “Kendra is finally seeing light and leaving you?” “Leaving you for me!” “You will be dying your hair black to match with Kendra?”
“For fuck’s sake, guys, can you be quiet for two minutes? This is why no one ever takes you seriously,” Mikhail says to the team. He looks up towards the sky praying for patience. Kendra reaches out for him, and he grabs her hand and kisses it. “I wanted you guys to know first, that I am planning to announce my retirement the week after my cup day.” He holds up his other hand in an ‘I’m not finished yet’ gesture cutting everyone off before they can say anything.
“And no, this doesn’t mean you are getting rid of us that easily. I am not going anywhere; we will be staying here in Vegas. I have made my life here for 8 years, my family’s life is here, and home is where we will stay. My home is still your home.”
“It won’t be the same without you!” “Who will be in charge of the music now? Some of these fuckers can’t be trusted with the AUX.”
“Shut the fuck up, you should be honored to hear Derkéta!” “Is this another one of your weird metal bands? You have such a weird taste, at least put on something I can understand what they are saying, okay?”
At the next table over, Dave waits for a quiet moment to interject. He clears his throat and stands up as well and the clamoring voices start once more.
“Fuck, not you too!” “Parse! Do something, stop these guys you have to!” “What can I even do Jefferson?” “That’s not my name, and you know it. You are the Captain! Dave has to listen to you or something. It has to be in his contract, right?”
“You know, I wasn’t going to say anything now because I didn’t want to ruin the mood today. But hey, since Mikhail already got the ball rolling, might as well rip the band aid all the way through. As you all know, I had to have surgery earlier that year. And as I was recuperating, watching you guys run for the Cup and make it, filled me with so much pride.”
“At the time, all I could think of was these are my guys, and I was afraid to have let you down by needing to step away. But you did it, and I’m glad you did it, even if you did it without me. Even though it hurt so much to not be on ice with you.”
“I am a 37 year old d man. I know I can come back from this,” he gestures to his shoulder, “in time for next season. But at the same time, I want to stop when I want not when I am forced to.”
“However, unlike Mikhail, I will be returning to Montreal, but not anytime soon. As you know, my kid is set to start college a year early later this year so there isn’t any rush to go back. We are thinking of going back around December, but know this, my door is always open to each and every one of you. Now let’s dig in.”
The mood is somber, no one speaks, and no one starts eating either. It gets broken when someone goes, “So this is definitely not going to be the last time Mikhail will run interference between Parse and the grill, right?” “Oh fuck, I forgot about this, thank fuck that Mikhail has saved the food today. Can you think how shitty it would be right now? Back-to-back shitty news with a side of even shittier food?”
The tables burst into laughter. Kent grabs a couple of napkins and bunches them up to throw them in the worst offender’s general direction. Jeff grabs it, unfolds it, and pretends to cover his lap with it. His movements are slow and deliberate with proper dining etiquette. Just like that, the mood is tentatively restored.
***
Afterward, when the sun has already set, and the party has moved indoors. Someone, let’s be real, it could be Parser or could be Scraps because you can never know with these two, breaks out the board games. It was all going well until someone pulled out a board game that had Frank cursing under his breath and making a hasty exit.
He grabs his beer and goes outside to lounge by the pool. He might be a teeny tiny bit tipsy. If he was a bit more sober, he might have tried to put up with the board game they wanted to play but he does not fuck with Catan.
Frank places his beer on the table beside him as he sits down, taking care to avoid the smack of the bottle against the glass. He stretches a bit on the sun lounger until he hears his back cracking. He grabs the beer bottle once more and takes small sips, as he looks up at the sky searching for the moon.
He struggles a bit to find it, and the fact makes him feel maudlin. As if not even the moon is out to bear witness to them tonight as they are right now. When the team will definitely not be the same after this summer. With Dave and Mikhail announcing their retirement officially soon, and who knows what trades might happen as well.
At least the food was great, the company was great and most of all Kent looked great. He is clean shaven, and the bags under his eyes have gone down a bit. Looks like he has been sleeping better already.
Frank looks up at the waxing crescent barely visible in the sky. If only tonight was a full moon, and he could bask underneath the moonlight. He sighs and takes another sip of his beer when he hears the patio door opening and closing behind him. He hears the sound of flip flops scrapping against the ground as someone walks up behind him.
“Hey, why are you out here all by yourself?” Kent asks from behind, and Frank feels his heart picking up. He wants to turn to look at him and bask in Kent’s presence instead.
“What can I say, Cap, maybe I’m still digesting,” Frank replies. He makes a gesture with the beer in lieu of a toast in Kent’s general direction when he comes to stand beside him. Frank doesn’t turn to look at Kent as he takes another sip of his beer. Instead, he chooses to focus on the crescent high up in the sky.
“The food wasn’t even that heavy, man,” Kent laughs at him. They both know it is not the food that needs digesting.
Kent sits on the sun lounger nearest to Frank and turns to face him. “How are you holding up? You know with Mikhail’s announcement?”
Frank finally looks at Kent. He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I don’t know, Parse, it hasn’t really sunk in yet, you know?” He confesses, nails scratching at the edge of the beer logo.
“Yeah, no, I get what you mean,” Kent leans against the lounger. “I don’t think it will really sink in until we start the preseason.”
“Right? He has been here for as long as we have been Aces...” Frank trails off, and Kent picks up the thread. “It is going to be really weird without him.”
They spend a minute or two in silence before Kent stands up. “Well, I have got another round of Catan to win, so I will leave you to it, just don’t get too into it okay, Frankie?” And with that, Kent goes back inside.
Frank turns to look at his retreating back. Once again, he thinks that Kent looks very good tonight. Even under the fluorescent indoor light that washes him out the moment he steps back inside. As far as Frank is concerned, Kent is the most handsome man Frank has seen all day.
***
Later that night, Frank finds himself on a couch between the last stragglers of the party. Listening to Dave recount a funny story from the last post season or something. Frank is trying his best to pay attention, but his mind wanders and his eyelids feel heavy.
Between Dave’s accent, which keeps getting thicker the longer he speaks, and the way the story keeps branching off over and over. The story itself is getting harder and harder to parse. (Ha!) First, there was a dear? a moose? or was that a goose? Then somehow a bear got involved? Frank gives up the fight to keep his eyes open.
The next time Frank opens his eyes, a lot of people have already left, and only a couple of guys remain. Half of them is spread all over the living room, gathering around to leave as well. The other half (the sober for the most part half) is helping with the cleanup. Frank closes his eyes once more.
“Hey, sleepy head,” Kent calls out from the other side of the couch. He has a huge trash bag that he carries with him to stand in front of Frank, who blinks at him and doesn’t say anything.
“Hey, man, everything okay?” Kent asks and nudges Frank’s foot with his flip-flop. Frank tries to blink himself awake. He watches as Kent leans down to grab empty bottles scattered around the table beside the couch.
Does he know? He looks tired but content, I want him to always be happy, I want hi-
Kent lets go of the trash back and squats in front of Frank, he rests a hand beside Frank’s knee, they are almost touching.
“Speak up buddy, do I know what?” Kent asks, without looking at Frank. He focuses on grabbing a couple of plastic cups on the ground. Frank freezes. Did he say something out loud?
“Yeah man, you said something about me being tired? But you were mumbling I couldn’t make out what you were saying.” Kent says still focused on the cleanup. With Kent crouched in front of him like this, Frank can pretend the next step would be for Kent to get between his knees.
Kent places a hand on Frank’s knee for support as he reaches for something stuck between the table and the couch. Frank thinks he will stop breathing any moment now.
Frank looks Kent in the eye, his mind is running a mile per minute. ‘Parser... Kent... Parsey...’ Frank’s heart calls out. With Kent staring right at him like that. It makes Frank feel trapped, pinned into place. Stuck on repeating Kent’s name to himself like he can’t think of anything else. He feels like he is on fire from where Kent’s hand is braced on his knee.
‘Kenny…’ he thinks in the safety of his mind, but then Kent flinches and stands up. Afraid he messed this up, whatever this is, Frank grabs Kent’s hand before he can go away and leave him behind.
“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He pleads, all the while thinking, ‘I’m sorry don’t leave me, Kent... Kent...’
Kent stares at him, frozen in place. He looks down at Frank’s motionless lips.
“The fuck… This can’t be happening,” he mutters under his breath. He stares down at Frank’s mouth, making sure Frank is very much not moving his lips.
‘I don’t want to upset you. You looked really good tonight, your eyes were really green today and you laughed a lot. You are very pretty when you laugh, I love your laugh, you should laugh more…’
Kent takes his hand away and, in the process, he breaks the connection between them.
“What are you playing at, Frankie?” Frank still doesn’t say anything, he stares at Kent with a pout. “I can’t hear you know.”
But right now, Frank is on the right side of drunk that he smiles and shakes his head. He tries to get up, chasing Kent’s touch once more. Kent reaches out a hand to steady Frank by the elbow and it’s like the floodgates open.
‘Can you really hear me? I don’t think I am speaking though. How can this happen?’
Frank is gone far enough; he brushes all the worries that usually crowd his thoughts. He doesn’t mind the way the feelings he buried deep inside him are crawling up rib by rib in an effort to reach his tongue. He leans into the fuzzy tickling his chest from the inside as his closest thoughts try to escape him. He is this close to spilling everything out the next time he opens his mouth.
‘You looked so good in the parade this year! I can’t wait to get a matching tattoo with the team for this year, with you! I wish I was on Marcus’ shoulders in the pool. I love you; I love y-’
Kent takes his hand back like he is burnt. Without Kent’s support, Frank wobbles a bit in place, unable to stand on his own at the moment. He plops straight down on the couch. He frowns at the sudden motion and looks up at Kent’s retreating back.
Frank feels so sad and alone, he thinks he wants to cry right now. He flops on his back, and stares at the ceiling. He feels tears gathering, he bites the tip of his tongue so he doesn’t call out for Kent. He bites his lips to trap and words behind his teeth and closes his eyes.
Time passes and Frank’s eyes still burn behind his closed eyelids. He hears Kent’s voice becoming clearer, he is speaking to someone. Kent came back! He thinks, forgetting about any tears he almost spilled. He hears another voice and guesses it might be Jeff. It sounds like him.
“I am telling you, Swoops, suddenly it felt like I could read minds. I don’t know why it only worked when I touched him, and nothing when I touched you. Obviously, the answer is to go back to the common dominator, you need to touch Frankie to see what happens.”
Jeff laughs a little, “Are you sure you aren’t being pranked, Parse?” He raises his hands in mock surrender when Kent impatiently gestures between where Jeff is standing and Frank on the couch.
Jeff reaches down and touches Frank’s shoulder. Frank opens his eyes, and blinks a couple of times to clear his eyes. Jeff crouches in front of the couch beside his head, Kent stands behind Jeff. Frank smiles when Jeff ruffles his hair a bit.
Jeff unblocks Kent’s line of sight, and makes sure to trade glances with Kent. He moves his arm in slow measured motion for Kent’s benefit. So, Kent can see as he touches one shoulder with a dramatic frown then goes and touches Frank’s other shoulder.
“Well?” Kent challenges, so sure of the result. Yet, he has his hands crossed in front of him. Three seconds away from tapping his foot on the floor.
“Well, nothing. I’m getting nothing, it is just Frank, Parsey, nothing more nothing less. Are you sure this isn’t a prank? But like, when did he even get good at pranking anyone anyway?”
“Fine, fine, come on then let’s get him to bed or something. the dude looks like he can barely open his eyes,” Kent relents, he can always figure this out later.
“Is this what this was about? You wanted my help to carry Frank to bed all along?” Jeff huffs and laughs, as he bends down to grab Frank. Kent watches as Frank leans most of his weight on Jeff. Like without Jeff there to support him, Frank will tip over at any moment. Kent goes to help and aborts his action. He recalls the whispers from the last time he touched Frank and forces his hands down with a frown.
Kent almost itches to help with Frank, he crosses his arms and tucks his hands under his armpits to stop himself. Kent doesn’t move from their side until Jeff is finally successful in getting Frank to stand.
Kent leaves them to go to the kitchen to grab something from the fridge before going back to them again. Jeff grabs Frank’s arm and wraps it around his shoulder and secures his hold on Frank. He starts moving when he is carrying most of Frank’s weight. “That’s it, buddy, one foot in front of the other. You got it,” Jeff encourages as they start walking to the guest bedroom. Jeff doesn’t look back to see if Kent is following. He knows Kent will be trailing behind them up the stairs to the guest room.
Once in the guest bedroom, Jeff deposits Frank on the bed, hand cradling his head for support. “You can take care of it from here, yeah?”
Jeff doesn’t wait for an answer, he claps Kent on the shoulder as he passes him at the door. Jeff leaves them to go back to help Johan finish up the cleanup.
“You are such a lightweight, Frankie...” Kent admonishes from the door, fondness bleeding through his words. He walks up to the bed where Frank keeps opening his eyes a crack, trying to focus and stay awake. Before he closes his eyes again and starts nodding off.
Kent places two bottles on the nightstand. He intends to walk away, to return to the last of the cleanup. But his eyes dart towards Frank, who is losing the fight against sleep. He is on his back with one hand on his stomach and the other by his side. Kent goes to him and takes a seat on the edge of the bed.
Frank opens his eyes when he feels the bed dip. He tilts his head to the side to check who is it; he smiles when he sees its Kent. Kent can’t help but smile back. Despite what happened less than 20 minutes ago, Kent still leans over Frank. Kent places his left arm beside Frank’s pillow to support his weight. He raises his right hand and stops mid motion. Another couple of blinks, and Frank focuses on Kent’s hand suspended midair.
Kent sighs and pushes Frank’s hair out of his face. Frank looks up at Kent, he closes his eyes and inhales. He leans into Kent’s touch, reaching up a hand to hold Kent’s hand in place. His grip is so slack, almost none existing.
He looks good when he smiles. Kent thinks to himself as Frank’s thoughts trickle into the back of Kent’s mind. For a second the half-quiet thoughts overlap together, tangled like a yarn ball coiled around itself so tight you can’t start to make sense of where anything begins and how to take it apart.
‘Think we could be happy? Am I obvious? With me? I need to stop staring. Could I make you happy? Is it getting weird? Does he know how much I lo-’ Kent removes his hand with gentleness he doesn’t feel at the moment, and goes to the door. Frank’s arm falls back on the bed at his side.
“Good night, Frankie. Tomorrow,” Kent starts and trails off with a sigh. He watches as Frank shifts in bed. He turns on his left side, facing the door, facing Kent, and curls up around himself. “Tomorrow when we both are feeling better, maybe we can figure this out. Starting with how I can suddenly hear your thoughts like that.”
***
Frank wakes up to a massive headache, an insistent weight on top of his head, and what feels like sandpaper rubbing against his temple. His mouth feels dry, like it is lined with cotton. He groans as he reaches up to investigate the source of the sandpaper.
It takes him a couple of times to touch something other than the pillow or the headboard. His hand lands on something warm and soft to the touch. He hears a trill and registers it must be Kit. Kit is lying half on his pillow, and half on the top of his head. She is licking at his hairline near his temple. Frank starts to pet the princess, and tries to not open his eyes. They stay like this for a couple of minutes.
The pleasant aroma of roasting coffee beans starts to fill the air. Frank can smell the ground coffee roasting. He takes a couple of deep breaths, enjoying the scent of his favorite roast coming from the kitchen downstairs. His mind runs in a hundred different directions with different domestic scenarios. Almost half of them include waking up early and breakfast in bed. If he keeps his eyes closed, he can pretend like he is in the master bedroom, in Kent’s bed. Anytime now Kent would come up the stairs with a tray, and Frank would pretend he was still asleep. And when Kent comes to wake him up, he will kiss the hand on his shoulder, and then he ki-
Frank opens his eyes, snapping out of his fantasy. The room is another plain guest room. The same guest room he has slept in before, and he is alone in bed. He feels the blood rushing to his cheeks. He stops petting Kit to cover his cheeks, which interrupts Kit’s grooming session. Unhappy with his sudden movement, and lack of pets, Kit stops purring and then jumps off the bed.
Frank composes himself as much as he can before finally trying to get out of bed. He notices a pill bottle and a water bottle on the bedside table. He takes one and drinks most of the water bottle. He groans when he finally stands up, he has around 15 minutes before a pot of coffee is ready. He makes his way to the bathroom in careful steps.
He emerges from the shower with his eyes half-closed. Operating on familiarity rather than sight for the most part. He reaches for the random spare clothes in the drawer unit by the bed. He grabs the softest things he finds. His hair is still dripping on his shoulders as he pulls an old faded Aces t-shirt over his head. He will regret not dealing with his hair now before it gets to a damp state of dryness. Frank doesn’t care, that is a problem for the future Frank.
Frank finally reaches the kitchen; Kent is making scrambled eggs on the stove. Frank takes a seat at the kitchen island. He rests his cheek on the cool counter and sighs in relief from how good the cool counter feels against his skin.
“He’s alive! How is the hangover?” Kent asks with his back to Frank, he scraps the spatula along the bottom of the pan. A stack of pancakes divided on two plates next to him.
Frank groans in acknowledgment and shifts a bit in his seat, he hates bar stools so much. With his eyes closed, Frank empties out his pockets onto the kitchen island. He places everything somewhere beside his head. There, much better.
“Last time we won the Cup, this was much easier,” he complains, words lacking any bite.
Kent places something in front of Frank’s face with a soft thud. He opens his eyes and sees scrambled eggs with pancakes and coffee in his red mug. He sits up, and starts to eat in careful bites.
“Getting old huh?” Kent chirps him as he grabs his own coffee cup and leans his back against the kitchen sink counter. He eats while he stands, observing Frank as he eats.
“Suddenly, and vividly, I am feeling the two years difference between us,” Frank says between bites. He points his fork at Kent. “Just you wait, two more years and we will see how it is, Parsey.” “You would still be two years older next time we win the Cup, Frankie,” Kent replies with a laugh.
They eat in silence, but the silence between them isn’t so bad. The sound of Kit scratching at the scratch mat outside the kitchen accompanies them as they eat.
“Thanks for this, Kent.” Frank pushes his plate away a bit from him. He rests his head on the palm of his hand as he takes measured sips of coffee, he sighs in contentment.
“Feeling human again?” Kent asks and hides his smirk in his coffee cup. At Frank’s nod, Kent steeps his nerves and continues, “Ready to talk about what happened last night?”
“What happened last night?” Frank frowns trying to recall anything, the last thing he remembers is a story with a squirrel?
“I don’t know, man,” Kent shrugs, “I heard you say a lot of things last night.” Frank’s heart lurches in his chest, did he say something last night? He looks at Kent from the corner of his eye, Kent doesn’t look like he is joking. But what he is saying doesn’t sound plausible either. Frank decides to make a joke about it, trying to downplay his nerves. Seriously, what happened last night? “Hear me? Was I whispering sweet nothings in your ears, Parsey?”
“Yeah, you were promising to give me half of your share from winning the cup.” Kent rolls his eyes. “I couldn’t believe it myself but whenever we touched-” “You got this feeling?” “Ha ha, very funny. no, I could hear you.”
“Jean Grey style or I can’t keep my mouth shut style?” Frank asks voice almost shaky with trepidation. Kent puts his mug down on the kitchen island. “The former.” Frank thinks through his answer for a second, Kent can’t be implying what Frank thinks he is implying.
Kent clicks his tongue in frustration over his inability, or rather his unwillingness, to outright say what happened. “Listen, it’s better if I show you,” he says and reaches out to grab Frank’s hand still holding the coffee mug.
‘Did something happen last night? How much did I drink last night?’ Frank’s thoughts whisper in Kent’s ears. The stark difference between today’s and last night’s jumbled thoughts is easy to hear. It is the difference between a lucky puck that hits the post and could go in or not, and a snapshot sinking into the net past the goalie.
Frank looks at their hands wrapped around the coffee mug. His eyes trail up Kent’s exposed arm, then up to look at Kent himself. ‘And would you look at that? The sun’s out, guns out tie dyed pink t-shirt looks great on him. I love how the tattoo almost peaks through the torn-out sleeves near his shoulders.’
“You like this?” Kent asks with a smirk; he tugs on his t-shirt collar. Frank averts his eyes and leans back in the chair. He takes his hand and the coffee mug with him, interrupting their connection.
He clears his throat and takes another sip of the coffee to buy himself time. Mind whirring trying to think of a way to phrase his next sentence. “I mean yeah sure; it looks good on you, Parser.”
“This is getting nowhere,” Kent reaches over the kitchen island again. He gets into Frank’s space, but doesn’t touch him. Frank looks on between them, he asks, “What’s going on, Parsey?”
“Bear with me, I want you to think of a random number. I will explain in a minute, please humor me for now.” Kent doesn’t exactly ask for permission outright, but he waits until Frank nods. Even if Frank can’t help but heckle him with a “You doing magic tricks now? Have you been going to Copperfield’s shows again?”
Kent reaches out for Frank once more; he wraps his hand around Frank’s. Frank looks down at Kent’s hand on his own. His mind is trying to connect the dots of what’s going on as he thinks of a random number.
‘42’
“Your own jersey.”
“Come on, that doesn’t mean anything, of course, I would think of my own jersey first, that is such an easy guess.”
“Okay, okay, let’s try again then.”
‘17’
“Jakob’s jersey.”
‘This has to be a lucky guess, right? Kent isn’t really implying he can read my mind. He can’t, can he? What happened last night?’
“Keep going, Frankie,” Kent urges him. He doesn’t confirm or deny anything.
Last night, after enough beers Frank didn’t seem to mind whatever, he said because he felt safe at that moment. Now that he is sober, he still feels safe for the most part. And yet he feels the sweat gather on his eyebrow and his heart start beating fast and faster.
‘55’
“Mikhail’s jersey.”
‘90’
“My own jersey.”
“Hey Parser,” Frank’s voice cracks a bit on the first word with the rise in pitch. He feels a little freaked with the demonstration, refusing to believe what it proves. He takes a slow breath and exhales it as a nervous laugh. ‘How is he doing this? Is this some sort of magic trick? Mum always believed in the existence of witchcraft...’
“How am I doing this? Well despite what your late mum believed in; this isn’t magic.”
‘Mum? Isn’t that what I thought of? What the fuck? How does he know... Magic? Is it because of the Cu-’
Frank withdraws his hand from Kent’s grasp and shoots up. Almost knocking his chair to the ground. Blood pounds in his ears as Frank thinks of the implications of what this means.
“Kent, no this can’t be real. Witchcraft isn’t real.” Frank denies the possibility. Because if it is true, then just how much does Kent know? How much did Frank show? No, it doesn’t make sense, he has to have done something last night and Kent is just fucking with him. What did he do something last night?
Frank starts pacing the kitchen, he avoids looking at Kent. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go,” Frank mutters under his breath. He raises his voice for the next question, “What happened last night? What did I do last night?” For his part, Kent raises his hands in surrender and tries to soothe Frank. “Nothing happened last night. Come on you know that, you know me.”
The clock ticks in the background, each tick feels loud and oppressive. It seems like they aren’t going to reach a middle point when Frank suddenly stops pacing with his back to Kent. He forces himself to take a breath. If he pretends to be calm, one day he will finally be calm for real.
“I know, I’m sorry I freaked out. I don’t know what came over me. Just, just how much do you know?” Frank asks, shoulders slumped and resigned to what appears to be the truth as much as he can. He hesitates whether to go back to the kitchen island and take his seat once more. Or whether he should keep standing here where there is space between them.
Frank knows his own mind well enough. He knows his own secrets and how he covered them up. If Kent has somehow Jean Grey’ed up, he can guess what this is going to be about. He desperately hopes he is mistaken about what they will talk about next.
Eventually, Frank takes a seat once more. He can do this, and later on, he can unpack what all of this means when he is safe and alone.
“It was all surface-level stuff, you know?” Kent speaks, voice steady trying to reassure Frank. He grabs the pot of coffee to busy his hands and refills his own cup. Frank doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even know what to say. ‘Yeah, please elaborate on what counts as surface level?’ So, he nods in acknowledgment, and raises his half full cup for Kent to refill as well.
“Tell me though, Frankie, how long have you been in love with me?” Kent asks as he tops up Frank’s cup. His tone is casual, like he hasn’t dropped a dead animal at Frank’s feet.
Frank freezes with his hand holding his cup up. Forget what Frank was thinking a minute ago. No amount of preparation can help him brace himself for outright statements like this. Of course, mind reading is very much a real thing, one that Kent can do.
He shoves the thought for later, it still doesn’t seem real and it is not the most important part right now. He never thought his secret would be out like that. Frank slouches in his seat trying to make himself as small as possible. Guess there is no way around the truth then.
“For a while,” Frank says with reluctance. His voice is barely above a whisper as if he is trying to trap the words between his teeth. As if his voice is quiet enough it would lessen the impact of his concession. Maybe it would be okay, and they can pretend nothing happened, and that nothing has to change.
Frank has always been good at pretending after all.
“Fuck.”
Kent swears under his breath, but Frank hears it loud and clear. He tries to suppress his flinch, and he succeeds. For all his pretending, he can’t hide how the coffee mug shakes in his hands. A couple of coffee drops almost spilling over the rim. He puts the mug on the counter, and let’s go of it afterward to cross his arms.
“Is it about me liking guys or me liking you? You have to clarify here, Kent.” Frank asks for clarification, and it comes out as a touch above begging. He almost doesn’t want to hear the answer. One will hurt, but he can overcome it. work with it, while the other will destroy him.
If you had asked him yesterday, last month, or last year, how would Kent “Among the first 10 players to endorse You Can Play in the league” Parson react if he knew that Frank likes men, Frank would have said with 70% certainty that it would be okay. But now the 30% uncertainty eats at him from the inside. No one knows for sure how anything will unfold until something does happen.
Frank forces himself to release the tension in his jaw and uncross his arms. He hides his hands on his lap and pretends that he isn’t balling up his fists in his shorts until his knuckles are white. He looks up at Kent straight on, trying to be brave about this. When he sees how brown Kent’s eyes are, Frank’s put on facade almost crumbles. He has to switch his line of sight to a spot above Kent’s shoulder to try to maintain the shroud of it.
Kent puts his own mug down. The thud of porcelain on marble cuts through the silence. “Of course, it is not the- who do you think I am?” He cuts the rest of his sentence off. Kent doesn’t know what to say next. “I just don’t see us working,” Kent tells him eventually.
Frank looks at the marble counter, tracing the veins, and blinks rapidly as his eyes burn. He can’t be here right now. He needs to get out.
“Okay, cool, cool, cool, I get it. So, listen, um, I’m just gonna go,” Frank says, and he jolts straight up from his chair. He can’t look at Kent, he avoids looking in his general direction. He grabs his phone from the counter and shoves it into his pocket.
“You are still hangover, at least let me call you an Uber.” “It’s okay I can do it; I don’t want to bother you.”
“Actually, you know what? I’ll just go wait for it outside.” “In this heat?” “It’s fine, it’s fine, everything will work out.”
Frank hightails it outside of the kitchen, Kent almost expects to hear the front door slam behind him. Instead, the sound of the click as Frank walks out of his home doesn’t even reach the kitchen. Kent stands where he is rooted in place. He finishes his lukewarm coffee in two big gulps and wishes it was something stronger. He wonders if he should go to look at Frank from the window, to check on him, but he decides against the idea. Because what if Frank sees him peering at him?
Instead, Kent goes to sit where Frank was sitting not a minute ago. He presses his forehead against the cool counter and takes deep breaths. That went super well.
Kit meows at him from somewhere in the kitchen. Kent moves his head to the side so the side of his head is touching the marble countertop, and huffs a laugh. Even Kit agrees with him. When Kit meows again and swats at her food bowl, Kent gets up to grab her food.