chapter nineteen - ice packs

chapter nineteen — ice packs

TWO YEARS AGO.

MICHAEL'S HAIR WAS STILL DAMP AND HIS HE SMELLED LIKE STRAWBERRIES. I let my chin fall on top of his head, arms loosely wrapped around his thin waist. One of his hands loitered around the base of my jersey, the cold metal of his rings pressing up against the skin by my navel. He was like that, constantly fiddling with either my clothes or his. I was pushed up against the wall, the hallway decidedly desolate as Michael refused to let go, his face uncomfortably smushed against my chest.

"Michael," I hummed into his hair, worried that the slightest breath would make the bleached strands break off, "I have practice"

He didn't reply, his hands bunching up my shirt tightly. I sighed, pulling him a little closer. Holding him a little tighter. It was rare to have moments like these: completely undisturbed and unafraid of someone finding us. Someone exposing us.

"Michael, I ha—"

"—I know," Michael pushed off of me slowly, his bangs hanging in curtains over his eyes. He had the most beautiful brown eyes I'd ever seen. They were darker than chocolate, almost black.

"Sorry"

He turned away from me stubbornly, relenting when I pushed his chin up. He needed a haircut, but I liked it when his eyes peeked out from behind his bleached strands. He looked curious. Shy. Cute.

"Wanna come over this weekend?" My hand cradled his chin softly, thumb tracing the small bruise by his jaw.

He smiled against my lips shyly, arms looping around my neck. We reveled in each other for a few seconds, and I could feel his heart hammer against my chest.

"Yeah," He fought his smile, "Yeah, I'd like that"

I kissed him once more, our smiles making our teeth nick each other's lips. I pushed on his dimples with my fingers making him suck his cheeks in. He looked like a little fish. Fish-Michael rolled his eyes, his full smile slipping out as I down to steal another kiss.

"See you"

He nodded, his head tilting to rest against the wall as I jogged over to the locker room. I could hear Marco screaming already, half of it gibberish. There was a cloud of Axe covering the door, a few seniors holding their practice jerseys up over their noses like a filter. I copied them, my eyes watering.

Who the hell decided to gas us out?

I hadn't smelled this much crappy aerosol since middle school.

I reached my stuff, grabbing for my water bottle. The triplets had gotten to it before practice, the once-smooth surface spotted with glitter and My Little Pony stickers. I wasn't even sure where they'd got them from since Mom banned stickers in our house for this exact reason. Knowing my sisters, the triplet especially, they probably had a contraband black market ring in our own house for shit like that: stickers, makeup, gossip, torture techniques, etc..

"Ay, Schmitt" Marco's hand hit my back hard, the sound echoing down our locker aisle, "Didn't know you were a brony, bruh"

"I'm not a brony," I swatted him away, relieved when DJ magically appeared to restrain the idiot, "What even is that?"

DJ shook his head in warning, hand clapping over Marco's mouth before he could retort. DJ was going through another growth spurt, heads taller than he'd been in middle school. It was the same with me, but I'd grown over the summer practices. It seemed like the fall was DJ's trigger.

Oh right, we're sophomores now.

"Two words," Marco broke free of DJ's hold on him, mouth twisted into a creepy grin, "Pony po—"

"—Hey guys"

Roger waved at us from the other end of the lockers, a welcome distraction from Marco's shitty mind and the abyss that was his thought process. Roger was already popular with the upperclassmen and a few of them eyed the rest of us confused. Under any other circumstances, we probably wouldn't be great friends, but basketball was its own circumstance. DJ and Marco met at basketball camp in elementary, and Roger and I had both played for the school in middle school. We'd only recently begun to vibe outside of practice as well.

"Practice is starting soon, Coach says we're gonna try scrimmaging after stretches"

Roger fiddled with his watch, tucking it carefully under his stuff. Lockers were too easy to open since nobody ever bothered actually locking their shit up. Locking meant you had something to hide, and that just meant more people would try to bust open your locker. Pointless. It was easier to hide important things in your bag and cover it with clothes. We'd learned that the hard way as freshmen last year.

"DJ's on my team," Marco looped his arm through DJ's, pulling him down exaggeratedly.

"He's my bean pole," Marco pulled on DJ's cheek semi-affectionately, the bean pole grimacing but not pulling away. With anyone else, DJ might've socked them in the face if they'd even tried messing around with him. He had a blatantly obvious soft spot for Marco, however, one the demon took ample advantage of. That wasn't to say he and Marco hadn't fought before, they had, but it was never serious, always ending in either of them crying and the other hugging them. Mainly, it was DJ doing the crying and Marco the hugging, but there were rare instances where Marco would get high enough to shed a tear or two. I'd been witness to it at practice more than enough times.

I caught DJ's eye, a little frown unconsciously spreading on my face as he shook his head slightly. Marco, blissfully unaware of most things, examined the floor with great interest.

We'll talk later.

I nodded.

"You know Coach sets the scrimmage teams, right?" Roger shot Marco an unimpressed look, the lanky point guard-in-training happily ignoring him and skipping ahead with DJ, hand-in-hand. Marco had taken to smoking before practice daily, and if you leaned close enough you could waft a faint cloud of a certain herbal essence that followed him closely. We'd been hesitant at first, nervous that he'd get busted, but if Marco wanted to hide something, he'd do it: he was a phenomenal liar.

"Are they...?" Roger brushed my shoulder, his voice lowered as we watched the duo start their laps to warm up.

I shook my head no, eyes trained on Marco as he slowed down for DJ. Marco was crazy quick with a ball, and he could usually overtake the seniors even on dribbling laps, but he wasn't today. Marco had slowed down to a comfortable jog, the ball in his hand sticking with him like he was a human paddle ball game. DJ's giraffe legs let him keep up with the crackhead, his awkward ball handling almost sending the basketball veering off into the corner. Marco caught it with his fingertips, returning it to his bean pole casually, not breaking a stride.

"Does Marco know...?" Roger trailed off again, turning to thank a senior as he tossed two balls over to us. We probably looked weird, suspicious even, just surveying the track when we had almost no time left to finish our laps.

"No," I started to jog, hesitating a little as Roger joined me. The path around the gym was narrow, the bleacher half pulled out and cutting into where we'd normally be able to take our laps. Our feet kicked at each other, and we were running so close together I could feel his jersey whip against my arm.

"Well, DJ hasn't told him yet," I switched the ball over to my left hand, regretting my decision immediately as I almost knocked Roger's ball out of his hand. He took it in stride, switching to his left too and moving to the side so a junior could overtake us.

"But Marco kinda guesses that stuff quick" Roger voiced what was on my mind and I nodded mutely. Coach had just come in, bits of dead leaves trailing him stuck to the bottom of his boots.

Coach nodded at both of us as we passed by him a little breathless. I started to stretch my legs out more, my feet hitting the ground like lead. Practice yesterday had been hell: endless sprints and defensive scuttling rendering my calves and thighs into muscles little better than Jell-O. It was only the first week of regular practices too, and classes were starting to rest their ugly heads as the first week of school came to a close. The workload would increase now. We were sophomores, no longer freshmen who could get away with confused eyes.

Man, this fucking sucks.

"Watch! Luk—"

My world slid sideways, the varnished floor of the indoor court flying up to meet me.

Really fucking sucks.

Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ

The nurse just nodded at me, preoccupied with another kid. He looked like he was in basketball too, knees dotted with greenish-purple bruises and a pair of well-worn basketball shoes on his feet. His socks were different, both black, but different brands. I caught myself staring at them, the nurse raising an eyebrow as I flushed and looked away.

A random junior had run into me, smashing my head up against the bleachers. It hadn't really hurt, just shocked me, but Coach was adamant about getting me checked out. Some of the guys liked fooling around if they got to practice early, taking ridiculous jump shots and half-court shots, legs flailing and eyes closed. I just happened to be on the receiving end of the flailing legs.

This fucking sucks.

I pulled an ice pack out of the freezer, slipping it into one of those disposable bag-things and slapping it against the side of my head. In retrospect, slapping a solid bag of ice against my ice wasn't the greatest of my ideas since a streak of pain shot through my temple and settled into an oozing throb.

Ouch.

"Have a seat, I'll be with you soon"

The nurse's voice filtered in from somewhere over my shoulder and I nodded, using my hand to pat down the examination table and take a seat. The plastic squeaked under my weight, crackling as I shifted trying not to feel like such a fat ass. My shoes slid against the linoleum floor, laces a little looser than they should've been. I was too lazy to re-tie them and so I settled for glaring at the droopy bunny ears hoping they'd magically get their shit together and not trip me up as soon as I tried moving.

"...Dad's...my doctor...medicine..."

Random tidbits of their conversation reached my ears and I focused on the cold, wet-but-not-really feeling that had plastered my hair to the side of my head. It's rude to eavesdrop. It's rude to eavesdrop. It's rude to eave—

"Are you boys both in basketball?"

"Huh?" I swung around, elbow out like I was posing with the ice pack still pressed to my skull.

"Yeah," The other dude answered for me, shooting me a flat look. His eyes were cold and I felt myself freeze like a dozen ice packs had simultaneously slapped me in the face. They weren't a clear blue like most kids' were, but a hazy steel that felt like barbed wire.

Shit, who hurt you?

"Okay, then I'll send you both back together" the nurse mused, pushing the boy towards me.

"Have a seat, Kieran"

Kieran? Why does that sound familiar?

"Oh," I met his gaze, my mouth making a little, surprised shape. He grimaced, sitting as far off the seat as he possibly could, legs anxiously bobbing.

"You're that kid that pissed Marco off"

Marco had introduced him briefly a few practices ago, ranting about the genius little asshole he'd scrimmaged against. Kieran hadn't been too enthusiastic about the title, but he'd accepted it half-heartedly. He was good, apparently; freakishly so since he was allowed to scrimmage with the sophomores and juniors.

Kieran turned to look at me apathetically, leg slowing in its rooted high-speed chase. He had a bandage wrapped around his ring finger like a wedding band, hands fidgeting with each other as he looked at me. I flinched, immediately regretting it when his face didn't change, eyes slowly eating at me. Maybe it's the hair?

His hair was dark brown, a little unruly, it flopped over his face lazily. It didn't look unhealthy though, most of him looked perfectly healthy, except for that mature-war-veteran stare he had. That was a little unhealthy, but for me, not him. It made my skin prickle uncomfortably and squirm like I was just another kindergartner who'd eaten a dozen worms.

No, it's the eyes.

He blinked, and I caught the smattering of freckles that trickled down from his lashes and spread over his cheeks like tears.

No, it's everything.

"Oh, yeah," His voice was a little less gruff, shoulders opening towards me as he leaned to balance his chin on his palm. His fingers looked calloused, tips dry, and cracked.

"You're Lukas, right?"

"That's m-me"

He was teetering on the border of ratty and rugged. From what I could see, lean muscle packed every limb of his body, skin wrapped taut around the bone and subtle sinews. They weren't quite bulky, not yet, but he was still young. A freshman I think Marco said. He was in that early highschool phase, trying to speed through packing on muscle when he was still mid-puberty. Hell, most of the basketball team was still mid-puberty. Most of the boys in the school, honestly.

"You missed the free throws last practice"

A little part of me died.

"Yeah," I laughed awkwardly, looking over to the nurse as she finally pulled up my file.

"Sorry about that"

Kieran shrugged, tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

"You weren't that bad," He brought one of his feet up onto the plastic exam table, the bottom of his sole pushing into the cracked layer of foam. His shorts fell back, a little cut, defined line running along the separation between his quads and hamstrings.

I snapped my head away, looking at the little bobblehead figure on the nurse's desk.

What the fuck? I don't even know if he's gay.

Cold guilt slithered down my spine.

And I have a boyfriend.

"You have game sense," He continued, either uncaring for my random jerkiness or unbothered by it.

"You just need to make sure your body can act on it"

Is he calling me fat?

I looked over quickly, his eyes set on the medicine cabinet at the far corner. Some kids needed to take medication daily so their doctors would write them notes to give to the nurse so she could hold onto their dosages. The cabinet was sturdy and there was a heavy lock on the door, plexiglass revealing smudged blobs of orange and white pill bottles. His gaze slid around the cabinet before suddenly returning to me. I jerked away again, hating the creeping warmth I felt pool in my gut.

What is happening to me.

"Okay, Lukas," the nurse finally said, slapping at her computer screen a few times, bracelets angrily clanking together, "You need to take this concussion test for me"

I groaned and she laughed sympathetically.

"I know, I know," She looked over at Kieran, "Can you keep him company? I just need to get some paperwork from the back"

Kieran was semi-nod when I interrupted.

"Uh, it's okay," I gripped the bottom of my shorts tight, the ice pack starting to feel lukewarm, "He can go back"

I switched my gaze to Kieran, focusing on the bridge of freckles traversing his nose instead of his eyes: they were easier to stare at.

"I don't want you to miss too much practice"

The nurse sighed, nodding loosely as she looked at Kieran, "Alright, can you tell your coach that I'll call if I find anything?"

She slipped into the backroom with a wave. Her heels made a little tapping sound against the floor like an old man's cane would. Kieran's leg was tapping again, the sound a little deeper than the taps; broader.

"Thanks"

I turned to Kieran, "No prob—"

The words died in my throat. He had a little smile on his face, eyes soft and lips upturned.

"I'll let you know if we learn any new plays," He started backtracking to the door, energy coming off of him in waves. It was overwhelming.

He was overwhelming.

"If you're free we can get together over the weekend to practice, yeah?" He wrapped a hand around the door frame, steeling him to stay still long enough for me to nod. I'd lost my ability to speak the moment his face had shifted. He nodded, smile gone but lingering in traces by his cheeks, his lips.

Fuck.

"Y-yeah" I whispered into the air, the words barely reaching my own ears.

My icepack had melted.

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2802 words

Hello everyone! First and foremost, I want to apologize for not updating in a month! Would you believe me if I said I rewrote this chapter five times? Five completely different ideas, all over two-thousand words, and all deleted. This was the best of the options, and, funnily enough, the last one I wrote. It was tricky for me to follow up last chapter since it was one I was so proud of, and I tend to have a harder time writing from Lukas' point-of-view than Kieran's. Lukas is, for now at least, a relatively flat character so it's a wee bit hard to fill in the gaps of what his mind is thinking.

That being said, I hope this chapter suffices :) It's nothing amazing, I'm afraid, but it's the beginning of Kieran and Lukas opening up about their pasts. Buckle up because this might be where this already pretty cliché book becomes a little more angsty, but don't worry because I plan on giving this book a happy ending. Be on the lookout for some cute Luran? Kikas? (idk how to make ship names) moments in the future!

How did you like this chapter?

As always, thank you so much for sticking by my side throughout this book (and for many of you, since the first version!) I hope you're all doing well, and staying safe.

Have a beautiful week <3