Alexandre | 61 | Callus, Damiano

Alexandre found himself smirking at the concept of the pair of them being ‘fine,’ a certain smugness spread across his countenance that spoke more loudly than any words could have. By the end of the intervention meeting, which had felt like it had been hours long, the dark-haired figure was slumped in the chair, long legs stretched out nearly all the way across the table. He was leaning slightly to the side that Damiano was on, and if he let himself shift any more, he might’ve been touching shoulders with the captain. However, it didn’t take a genius to map the other man’s rigid posture and make the assumption that the contact would not be received well, so he remained where he was, arms crossed loosely across the open pockets of his team sweatshirt.

He almost allowed himself to react to the comment about looking ‘pretty’ for the press, but ultimately just continued to fidget with his hands and shift in his seat, keeping himself silent and on Damiano’s nerves, if the little side glances were anything to go by. It wasn’t his fault he struggled to keep his attention in one place, nor that he couldn’t sit still. It was half of what gave him an edge on the ice, although it didn’t necessarily benefit him in situations like these. It wasn’t like it was the first time someone had referred to his good looks in a negative light. In fact, it was the most common chirp he received on the ice. He never really minded–was it really such a crime to look this good? Yet, something about the front office saying it struck a chord with him, and he found himself tuning out a barrage of potentially empty threats in lieu of processing it further, only coming out of his trance when his elbow brushed up against Damiano’s side and caused him to turn, which in turn made Alexandre sit up a little straighter in his seat, shifting to mirror the captain’s obvious efforts to avoid contact.

After the man beside him had said enough convincingly pretty words to the people who had elected him captain, they allowed the pair to leave. It was almost miraculous, Alexandre thought, that someone who lacked so much charisma had somehow managed to single-handedly weasel the pair of them out of the situation without so much as a required team building activity or a disciplinary consequence of some kind. With no help from him, he noted, in a manner that was surprisingly self aware. As everyone began shuffling out of the room, the dark-haired figure followed behind his captain like a lost puppy, wondering if these eerie, labyrinthine tunnels ever became less haunting. He wasn’t sure he’d ever find his way around them like Damiano did, but, then again, he had a penchant for getting lost. Most of the time it was something he could simply roll with, but in this particular case, he was concerned that getting lost would cause him to find himself in a situation that he didn’t want to be in. He wasn’t sure what went on in these tunnels, and he knew that only bad things could come from seeing things that weren’t meant for his eyes. He found himself continuing to study Damiano to give his eyes–and short attention span–something to do. He noticed the way the shorter man’s clothing was neat and seemingly lacked wrinkles, the way he walked with purpose, the way he turned back every so often to reassure himself that Alexandre was still behind him, then made an expression of annoyance as if he were frustrated to receive that reassurance. It was perplexing, he thought, that he seemed to both desire the man’s presence and abhor it.

At last, the pair returned to a familiar area of the facility, and Damiano turned once more, giving a particularly thorough look at the man behind him. Alex wondered what was going on in his brain at that moment, although he knew that, even if he asked and his captain answered, it wouldn’t be a satisfying enough answer for him. He continued to be on his best behavior, saying nothing about the meeting or provoking the Italian until they had arrived back to the team housing. As Damiano entered the code to open the door, Alex used the sheer force of his body to check him into the door, allowing him to turn to face him as he continued to press his weight into him, his hands leaning against the wall, inches from Damiano’s head. Although he was physically intimidating, all of this was a joke to Alexandre and his actions weren’t purposefully threatening. He simply enjoyed the physical contact and the fun of throwing his weight around, and he had an even match in Damiano.

Leaning in just slightly, Alex voiced in a low tone, “how do you suggest we ‘handle things,’ Captain?” As usual, he hadn’t exactly thought about the fact that the implications of this statement were far from innocent until they left his mouth. Still, he didn’t mind, and he released Damiano from this hold after a matter of seconds, hearing the security features finally disarm and allow the pair of them in. As they began to walk up the stairs together, he continued, “I saw there’s no fun team activities on the itinerary for the week. Is there anything fun to do in this city, or am I going to have to drop the gloves with you every time I’m bored?”

✦✧✧

Following the interactions with Damiano, Alexandre said goodnight to his captain and let himself into his lonely apartment, feeling lost and out of place in the sterile environment. He really needed to get some advice from someone on furniture shopping, and soon. His quality of life was significantly improved by bright colors and plants and chaos, and this apartment lacked any of those elements in dramatic fashion. It didn’t help that he’d somehow managed to forget which apartment Callus lived in, although he remembered it was on the same floor as Damiano’s. Which would have been infinitely more helpful if he knew which floor Damiano lived on, or had any more information regarding that than the fact that they both lived somewhere above him.

Alexandre paced the apartment for over an hour before leaving his room simply to walk the hallways, hoping someone would be out that he could convince to keep him company for a while. He never slept well without someone else in close proximity, and the thought of other teammates being a wall away from him wasn’t as comforting as it should’ve been. He’d managed to get his friend drunk enough the night prior to ensure a companion that day, but it wasn’t a lasting solution. He wandered the halls until security approached him and told him he needed to be in his room during the city’s curfew, which he surrendered to, but failed to sleep nonetheless. There had to be another option than failing to sleep every night. Maybe he could go out into the city and find a girl to keep him company. That’d work. For a while.

✧✦✧

The next day, Alex was the second person to arrive at camp behind his captain. Luckily, the silence between them did not linger for long, as other teammates began to trickle in during the moments that followed. Alex was obviously exhausted and his face continued to throb in retaliation of Damiano’s punches, but the third day of camp was a fairly calm one, and the dark-haired man was beginning to feel like a member of the team. Although he wasn’t doing much to integrate himself into the team dynamics, he’d had a positive interaction with the starting goaltender for the team, the only other man who stood at 6’6 on the roster. He’d wanted to pick Alex’s brain about his play the day prior and what he’d done to disguise his shot placement on one of the rookie goaltenders. Obviously, having gotten four goals past him, he’d done something that had caused the rookie to go to the veteran for advice, and he’d used it as an opportunity to break the ice between them.

The day was a fairly calm one, another day of reviewing the play from the year prior. In fact, it was rather curious that they had chosen game footage from the last time the Hellcats had played the Cyclones, and copious jokes were made throughout the day by the defensemen regarding the fact that, rather than review their mistakes against him, they could make new mistakes against Alexandre on the ice whenever they wished. He didn’t particularly mind the attention, although the lack of sleep he’d received caused him to be a bit less hyperactive and a bit more sullen than normal, simply content to sit in the back of the room and reminisce on what he’d had in Crete before he lost it all. Soon the early morning had faded into an afternoon of drills, followed by a scrimmage where he’d been elected one of the captains based on his performance from the day prior. Teams were pre-decided by the coaching staff, and, as he found out, had been stacked significantly in Damiano and Cal’s team’s favor. They’d essentially played all of the veterans against Alex and the rookies to see what would happen. They fell, 4-1, with Alex doing all of the heavy lifting on the one goal they did get. They elected to do a shootout at the end of the game for fun anyway, and he was also one of three to score in the shootout out of his entire team. Perhaps if he’d had more energy, he would’ve been able to carry his team to the victory, but he didn’t, and they lost. Somehow, their goaltender was better than the veteran goaltender in the shootout, however, and they managed to win that, although it was entirely for fun.

By the time the dark-haired figure had undressed, put his gear away, and returned from the showers dressed in team gear, he was ready to go home and annoy Cal until he gave in and watched movies with him until they fell asleep again. Yet, when he emerged, Damiano began accusing him of stealing something from him in a prank. In fairness, he had pranked one of the rookies earlier in the day by taping up his gear and hanging it from the balcony of the press box, but he had insisted that he hadn’t done this, and had been so adamant about this that he had offered to stay behind and help him look for his dumb necklace, primarily so that he could say ‘I told you so’ when they eventually found it. Cal stayed behind too, primarily because of a poorly-concealed fear of what might happen if the pair of them were left alone together for any amount of time, although he was less willing to help with the actual search for the item. They didn’t even notice when the doors clicked shut and all security measures were enforced for the night in accordance with the city’s curfew.

✧✧✦

It had been a few hours by the time the necklace fell out of the emergency pocket of Damiano’s gear bag when he’d taken everything apart and shaken it for the third time. At this point, Alexandre wasn’t even smug anymore, he was simply tired, and barely reinforced his point before sprawling out on the floor of the gear room, lying back in defeat. Cal nudged him with his foot idly, sighing softly and saying, “well, I think I need a drink after that. Anyone care to join me?”

Of course, as they tried to exit, all three were met with the harsh reality of the time of night it had become, and the fact that they were no longer allowed to leave the building. The blond was halfway through his explanation of the team bunker situation when a revelation hit him, and he paused mid-sentence to ask Damiano about some alcohol that the pair of them had confiscated from the rookies recently, which had apparently been stashed somewhere in the facility for safekeeping. Within minutes, the pair were sprawled out on the floor of one of the rooms meant for living and sleeping, passing a bottle of alcohol between them as they lazily moved through a few games of cards which became increasingly incoherent as time went on.

Before long, Alexandre was drunk enough that he’d transitioned from casual touches and pushes against his friend to directly climbing in his lap, almost crushing the blond from the weight. Cal was only about 5’10 and, though he was more muscular and big-bodied than Alex as a defenseman, the dark-haired man’s length was unmatched, his long legs stretching far off the smaller man’s lap and supporting some of his weight.

“God, you’re like an oversized dog,” the blond whined, doing nothing to push the forward off of him, and instead shifting his weight to accommodate the new body that he was cradling horizontally in his lap.

“Hold me,” Alex murmured incoherently, more than half gone from the mix of alcohol and overwhelming sleepiness that had been threatening to take over for the majority of the day. He nestled his head into the blond’s shoulder, enjoying the warmth of another body in such a cold and damp place, but his eyes continued to linger on the figure across from him. In a sense, it was more comfortable for him to fixate on one thing in particular with the room spinning as it was, and Damiano wasn’t that horrible to look at, after all. There was a wide-eyed innocence in Alex resulting from his current state that seemed almost boyish, something endearing and immature all at once. At the first sign of physical touch, all of the restlessness that seemed to control his body throughout the day simply stopped. It was as if Cal’s calmness had penetrated Alexandre’s hyperactive exterior, sending a quiet gentleness rippling through him in his subdued state.

By the last game of cards, Cal was basically playing both of their hands, forcing Alex to continue to hold his but physically manipulating the younger man’s hand with his own to put down one set of cards separately from the other. He was maintaining an easy conversation with Damiano, nothing too deep or serious, but it wasn’t difficult for the blond to see how his captain’s gaze faltered and fixed on the sleepy man pressed against his chest every so often, trailing off his response as he physically forced himself to tear his gaze from the dark-haired figure. What an odd dynamic, the defenseman thought, noticing the reaction that Alex seemed to illicit from their captain after what seemed like the thousandth time that he watched it happen. They were all too intoxicated and exhausted for pretenses, and even if they hadn’t been, Cal seemed confident that Alex would’ve managed to get a reaction out of him one way or the other. Even after the man in his lap had fallen asleep and Cal had needed to adjust the way he was cradling his extremely oversized baby like a tired father, Damiano was still taking interest in his sleeping form, even if he was continuing the internal struggle between staring and keeping his eyes fixated anywhere else. Even as he himself drifted off to sleep, the defenseman considered the curious actions between the pair, and wondered what would come of them in the days that were to follow.

Alexandre | 61 | Callus, Damiano

Having been the first one to fall asleep the night prior, it wasn’t much of a surprise that Alexandre was also the first one awake in the morning. He’d had a lot to drink, but he rarely drank with the intention of forgetting, and the previous night’s events were a reflection of his discipline as much as any other. His concentration was barely there at best, but it increased dramatically as the drowsiness lifted and he became more conscious of his surroundings. Namely, the mess of limbs and warmth that fully encompassed him and threatened to keep him pinned to the ground if he wasn’t willing to force the others awake.

He tilted his head back and glanced up, noticing that the blond was still pressed against the wall, now tilted horizontally in a way that Alexandre was convinced bodies were not supposed to crumple, his arm loosely slung over the forward’s broad chest as he’d relinquished his once-tight grip of the larger man’s body when sleep overtook him. His face was peaceful and he was breathing slow, shallow breaths, a likely result of the weight that was pressed across him, even if it wasn’t entirely forced to be carried by him alone. It was the same sight he’d woken up to earlier this week in his new apartment, and it wasn’t any less comforting now. While it hadn’t been his best idea to crawl in the man’s lap unprompted–which is what had happened, as his hazy mind recalled–it also wasn’t the worst decision he could’ve made in the moment. It was also far from the second or even third time that the pair had ended up like this, the dark-haired man recalled with the slightest smile, given that they’d had sleepovers so frequently as children that they considered the other’s home theirs. This was just an extension of that domesticity and friendship, which had become routine between them during all the moments they’d shared throughout their lives.

What wasn’t an extension of that friendship, however, was the figure pressed up against his shoulder, breathing warmly into the fabric covering his chest and arms. Damiano’s arms were looped around Alexandre’s waist, and at some point in the night, the forward had responded to the touch by pulling him closer, holding him securely in his arms in a way that was difficult to untangle himself from now. With the brain fog and the splitting headache and the sensitivity to the sharp fluorescent lighting that had never dimmed in the night, Alex had a difficult time comprehending the reality of the situation he was in and whether or not this was some weird fever dream that his brain was creating to adapt to the stress of his transition here. When he stayed still for several more moments, the heavy weight of the captain unmoving and the sensation of their contact unceasing, the younger figure blinked once, twice, then attempted to concoct a reasonable explanation for this scenario, finding none. He found himself staring up at the wall, identifying the small imprint of a security camera that was meant to monitor the room, and thinking amusedly to himself that the front office would have no difficulties believing Damiano was ‘handling things’ once they were able to visualize this. He wasn’t even sure he was at this point, still grasping for straws on how a normal night with Cal had ended up with him cradling the man who had given him a black eye just days prior.

After some time passed and Alex felt both awake enough and courageous enough to justify inconveniencing both the captain and his alternate for his benefit, Alex slid one of his arms out of Damiano’s grasp, nudging him with the other and giving no indication that he had been clinging to his muscular figure just moments prior. It wouldn’t have been shocking if Damiano had been conscious to witness Alexandre’s subconscious movements, but then again, who could blame him for reacting to what had already been such a weird proposition of physical touch to begin with? He didn’t care to read into it too much, maybe this was a normal Tuesday night for Damiano, maybe it wasn’t. It didn’t really matter to him, so long as it didn’t affect their play and it didn’t affect his quality of life.

“Cap,” Alex mumbled in a low, sleepy tone, nudging him again. “Hey, sleepy time’s over.”

✦✧

By the time Damiano had finally stirred, Cal had been awake and conscious, but remained mostly nonverbal as he too got his bearings. The three of them had gotten up with just enough time that it wouldn’t have been impossible to walk back to their apartments, shower, dress, prepare, and return to the team breakfast, yet none of them made any effort toward this arrangement, and instead arrived to team breakfast slightly early, grabbing their dietician-approved meals and sitting together at one end of a table. Alex was rather quiet from his position beside Cal, listening to the blond and their captain discussing the events of the day and evaluating some of the prospects who’d arrived for camp with an uncertain future on the team’s roster. He didn’t feel much like contributing after the second consecutive night of poor sleep, and he didn’t think his opinion would’ve been valued so much anyway, so it was easy to occupy his hands and mouth with forkfuls of food and allow his gaze to occasionally flicker to the wrinkles in Damiano’s clothing which hadn’t been there the night before, knowing he was part of the reason they existed. Before long, some of the aforementioned prospects arrived early, undoubtedly trying to impress leadership and gain a spot on the team, and struck up a conversation with the trio.

Before long, breakfast concluded and they arrived at the first few meetings of the day. The first was a review of the scrimmage the day prior, the second was a general review of the team they would be playing in their first preseason game, and the third was the powerplay meeting. The coaching staff had shifted gears from past performance to preparation for the game that was coming up in a few short days, and Alexandre couldn’t help but feel like a fish out of water despite the adjustments that were beginning to sink in. Intrinsically, he still felt as though he needed to be back in Crete, with his team, being their captain, and that all of this was just a silly little vacation to see an old friend. It didn’t help that he was singled out in basically anything he did, put on a pedestal for all of the other skill players, and critiqued for anything short of a flawless performance in the tapes. He’d gotten through the day by doing small things to annoy Damiano, among the most amusing of these being that whenever he could manage to bump his leg or hit him discreetly under the table, he did so just to aggravate him. He was sure that they’d end up on separate teams again today, so why not get things started early in the frustration department?

✧✦

They were, in contrast to Alexandre’s prediction, not on opposing teams for the scrimmage. In fact, taking a hint from management, the coaching staff had volunteered Alexandre and Damiano to participate in the scrimmage with the added challenge of blindfolding one another and having to guide the other on the ice during the scrimmage, which neither was thrilled about, although the forward was more enthusiastic toward the concept than his captain. He stayed silent, a comical expression written loudly across his face, before resigning to the fact that Damiano wasn’t going to say anything to their instructions. Refusing to be the mature one and not give the coaching staff anything to worry about, Alexandre said, “if the opportunity presents itself, do I get to tell him how to fight, too?”

The coaches did not take kindly to another one of the new forward’s attempts at humor, and although they didn’t react poorly to it, they didn’t really react, either. Crete hadn’t been like this, it was comfortable. It was family. It was home. Nothing here gave Alexandre any semblance of homeliness, and he wasn’t sure that was going to change. Still, pushing his frustration down until he could find something productive to do with it, he drew patterns into the ice with his stick, waiting for Damiano to stop fumbling with the blindfold and ask for help. When neither happened, he simply took the opportunity to do it himself, standing behind the defenseman when the front half had concealed his eyes, pulling it toward him enough that the shorter man’s eyesight was concealed and he wouldn’t be able to properly throw a punch in his direction if he felt like it.

“Let me,” he mumbled, contemplating dropping his stick to the ground before deciding that he could obtain help back in exchange for his efforts. He was already in close proximity to Damiano with his hands holding the blindfold to his head, but the loud noises caused by other players doing warmups in the rink caused him to speak almost directly into his ear, a low tone that was both soft enough to avoid aggravating him further, and firm enough to imply his desire to only have to say it once.

“Hold this,” he said, pushing his stick out as if Damiano could see it, then swearing under his breath when he recognized that he was both keeping him blinded and expecting him to see. He held the loose ends of the blindfold with one hand, then used the one that was holding the stick to press the object into his glove, wrapping around his muscular torso to firmly press his equipment against the other man’s body. After confirming briefly that he had it, Alexandre released his grip on the stick, held his other glove against his body, and made quick work of tying the object securely enough that he would actually have to do the job that the coaches had assigned him to do.

“Skate a lap with me, yeah?” He took his stick back from Damiano, keeping his hand firm on the captain’s forearm. He knew that exercises like this could be disorienting at first, and he didn’t need the leader of their team falling on his face and injuring something before the scrimmage had even started. Keeping his body firm and in the same position enabled the other skater to gain a sense of balance, and before he knew it, they were skating in a similar stride, Alex keeping his strides short and choppy to match the other man’s. He checked in occasionally, demonstrating a fair amount of empathy and leadership, and didn’t cease contact until he was sure that Damiano was balanced and comfortable. They passed a puck between one another for another few moments before the coaches called for the scrimmage to begin, with their team consisting of the penalty killing unit and Alexandre, who was given pretty strict instructions to reduce his presence to being Damiano’s eyes. They had the better goaltender as well, which made sense considering the other team was the five most promising prospects, and they were essentially going to be on the power play for the entire scrimmage.

The puck dropped and Alexandre skated closely to Damiano, keeping an eye on the game and relaying as much information as possible to him to the point where it almost seemed irrelevant and his play-by-play was fairly useless. However, it seemed to distract Damiano from the task at hand, or at least relieve enough of his stress to the point where he never explicitly asked him to shut up, so Alex took that as a win and continued to coach him through things, perhaps over-demonstrating his hockey IQ and his passion for the game in the process. The first fifteen minutes of the period ran calmly although the prospects were up by two and the two most talented players on the ice had only touched the puck a handful of times, primarily providing a touch here and a saucer pass there to keep the game going, but not necessarily joining in on the offense of the game. Finally, Alexandre got bored of feeling left out of the offense and Damiano was skating more comfortably as he became more fluent in their shared language on the ice, so he decided to do something about it.

“Do you trust me? I guess it doesn’t really matter,” he quickly interrupted himself, adding with an increased confidence, “I’m going to get you a goal before the period ends.”

Of course, this was easier said than done. Damiano wasn’t much of an offensive prodigy, and he lacked the finesse and skill that Alexandre maintained because of his preference for brute strength and aggression. Alexandre wasn’t sure that he had scored more than ten goals in the previous season, but the confidence he lacked in his captain’s offensive prowess, he maintained in his ability to be an offensive it-factor with virtually anyone.

Luckily, it wasn’t too hard to give a discrete signal to Cal, who was serving as the other defenseman in the PK, who was able to check one of the forwards against the boards and gain possession of the puck, keeping two of the five prospects occupied for enough time for Damiano to get a shot off. The coaches had limited Alexandre’s presence on the ice to five touches of the puck before he had to pass it elsewhere, and it only took three for him to receive the pass, steady it, and put it on Damiano’s stick. No one was really covering Damiano or Alexandre because they hadn’t done much the entire period, and no one was expecting the two handicapped players to do anything useful with their sticks when one couldn’t see and one couldn’t score.

“Fake a slapshot and go five hole,” Alexandre coached, having already dragged the captain so far up from the blue line that he must’ve felt like he was in the stands. He kept his voice low so that the goaltender couldn’t read the play he’d suggested, covering his mouth with his hand to keep the goalie from reading his lips, and before he knew it, the puck had slid under the goalie’s pads, moving quickly across the handful of feet that stood between them and the goal line.

Without a conscious awareness of what was happening, Damiano must’ve been surprised when Alexandre tackled him out of pure excitement, unable to react and steady himself and sending them both crashing into the ice, sliding into the boards in one big heap. Alexandre’s excitement was only slightly subdued by the fact that they had both hit the ice hard–hard enough to send the blindfold sliding up over Damiano’s face, their sticks long forgotten at center ice. Alex was slow to remove himself from the embrace with his new captain that had to count as something of a celly if their other teammates’ gradual immersion into the situation meant anything.

“Good work, boys,” one of the veteran forwards quipped, eyes crinkling in amusement at the two men, still intertwined, and combining for one of the most confusing goals of all time.

“If I’d have known you were going to play like that, I would’ve made sure coach forced the two of you to wear your helmets,” Cal added, nudging their legs with the blade of his skate.

Struggling to remove himself from the mess of limbs and offering his captain a hand once he got to his feet, Alexandre heard the coaches give the warning that, following the next faceoff, there’d only be a minute left in the period. Giving Damiano a gleefully smug look, he said, “if I can get you a goal blindfolded, you better be prepared to get me a hat trick in the second.”

Alex | 61 | Cal, Dami

Although Alexandre thought he would never stop basking in the glory of the goal he had gotten Damiano, the rest of the team moved on soon enough, and before he knew it, the roles were reversed and he was wedged between the Italian and the boards, the blindfold now disrupting his vision. He was quite patient and hadn’t been prepared to object, so although he was still antsy and fidgeting constantly from the excitement of the goal, he stood fairly innocently while his partner did what he had to do, and followed without complaint when he guided him out onto the ice.

Being the gentleman that he was, and half-focused on keeping himself balanced despite the inherent clumsiness the lack of vision provided him, the forward had elected to take short, choppy strides, trying to match Damiano’s style without being able to visualize what he was doing beside him. Maybe he was being too accommodating, because before he knew it, the captain had a new set of complaints about him. Why was he not surprised?

“You know,” Alexandre started, stepping out into a pace that was more comfortable for him, “you’re one to talk.” He felt the pull of the other body, and rotated his wrist so that he was the one now dragging Damiano along again. His grip was less threatening than the captain’s, but it was firm enough to drag his weight under the power of his longer, smoother stride until he had the opportunity to catch up to Alexandre’s new pace. “Your skating is shit. And, I know I’m not exactly the number one candidate for skater of the year, but I’m pretty sure even I could give you some tips for improvement. You’re gonna get an injury you can’t come back from if you keep that up, and then they’ll beg me to be the new captain. And neither one of us want that.”

By the time he finished this sentiment, he’d gotten himself entirely out of breath, and had skated enough that he was sure it’d been a lap or two and his legs burned beneath him. He hadn’t noticed the sensation of it as he’d been rambling, and he wondered to himself if it wouldn’t be easier to have a buddy beside him all the time in games, that way he’d never think about the exertion until it was over, and he’d be mentally distracted enough to hit peak performance. Maybe. He hadn’t had time to weigh out the benefits and drawbacks of this idea when Damiano had steadied him and prompted him to work on passing the puck around a few times, and he had been thinking to himself that he didn’t mind this activity as much as he thought because of the physical contact that it was indirectly providing him. Of course, after the events of last night, Alexandre wondered if it would really be difficult at all to get Damiano back in his arms if he so desired, but that was a thought–or perhaps a challenge–to tackle at another time.

Or, maybe not. He sensed that the man was close to him before he’d even felt the sensation of his body pressed against his, and soon enough, he was speaking in a low tone directly against his ear. He’d lost the sentiment of what Damiano was telling him in the haze of having someone so closely intertwined in his personal bubble, all rational thoughts buried beneath the overarching concept that if he turned his head a little to the side, their lips would probably be touching. He didn’t even know if that was something that he wanted, but the thought alone had distracted him completely from the task at hand, making him grateful that the blindfold covered a good portion of his face in that moment.

As it turned out, Damiano was the captain of this team for a reason, and the more he firmly guided Alexandre through the period, the more he could see how he’d ended up with the letter on his jersey. Where Alex was all jitters and excitement and enthusiasm, Damiano was controlled, self-contained, and firm. And, since the forward couldn’t rely on his senses to demonstrate his extraordinary skills, he borrowed the defenseman’s confidence in their situation since he couldn’t find his own. Before long, he felt a hand on his back, solid and unmoving. Like always, the sense of having someone else’s touch managed to ground him and allow him to focus more than anything else could have, and it almost made him feel good about complying with the directions he was given.

His brain spun with these directions. He was quickly hit with awareness of the fact that Damiano’s impression of his skill level was much higher than Alexandre felt capable of living up to. In his mind, he was still a nobody on a fourth line who hadn’t even been significant enough to make the draft. His instructions for Damiano’s goal had been simple, and his expectations for Alexandre were seemingly unattainable. He didn’t have a clear vision of the net, he wasn’t sure how much to put on the shot, or where to aim, really. Going five hole was one thing, managing all of this was something else entirely. Yet, as if he could read the hesitation, the captain was soon reassuring him, not necessarily in a way that was overly reassuring, but with the unspoken firmness that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Feeling a bit self-conscious about it, Alexandre buckled under the pressure and took the shot, thinking that the worst that could happen would be that he completely missed the net.

To his surprise, the few moments that passed after his shot felt like an eternity, and were soon followed by the rough embrace of the man beside him. He wasn’t dumb enough to think that there wasn’t some level of spitefulness in the intensity at which he grabbed him, but some part of him also wanted to believe that it was a genuine excitement, and he was reacting in such a big manner because he truly was impressed with the forward. Alexandre wore a huge, innocent grin that was far from the smug looks and smiles he usually passed with Damiano. It only increased when he heard the man’s words, swelling with disbelief and pride, and Alex thought to himself in that moment that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to make his captain proud of him like this again and again, as many times as he could, because the feeling it gave him was something he couldn’t explain and didn’t want to. In a moment of impulse, he threw one glove to the ground so that he could flip the blindfold up over his eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of the pride written on the other man’s face. It was enough to see him smile, and before the thought came to him that they weren’t wearing their helmets, Alex went to tap their heads together out of pure instinct, feeling slightly awkward about it until the other skaters came to do the same thing, actually able to replicate this in a normal way since they were wearing all of their equipment.

For the last few minutes of the period, the latest goal scorer elected to keep the blindfold on, not that he was given much choice by the staff anyway. He was skating beside Damiano, continuing to give the occasional chirp or clarify when to turn when one of the prospects went crashing into him, whether on purpose or purely accidentally, sending him losing his balance and crashing into the ice. He fell face first but caught himself on his forearms, feeling the temperature of the ice, the sound of the coach berating the prospect, and feeling the exact body positioning that he had been once before. All of these stimuli combined powerfully enough to cause a surge of memory that coursed through his veins, nothing substantial except for a split-second memory of a time he didn’t remember. He was in a dark lab being pushed to the ground, unable to see, being berated by a woman whose voice he couldn’t place but that seemed oddly familiar. This felt too familiar to be a dream or a fantasy, and the way it wracked his body, leaving waves of fear and disorientation behind, was too much for him to handle.

Because he didn’t get up right away and just laid there, frozen, he got the attention of Damiano and the prospect who’d done it, although the coaches hadn’t stopped play, which had carried onto the other end of the rink and resulted in a goal for the rookie team. He felt a hand on his arm and it grounded him just enough to remind him of where he was and what was going on around him, but that only sent the flight response into overdrive. He latched onto Damiano’s arm with an urgency that he hadn’t had the entire game, squeezing the feeling out of the appendage as if his life depended on it. His hands were trembling and everything felt alien in that moment, so although he hesitated to remove the blindfold with the knowledge that his eyes would betray every emotion he was feeling in that moment, he shook one glove off and flipped the blindfold up and over his head, insisting to Damiano that he needed to get out of there over and over again in several different combinations of words until he finally wobbled off the ice, without the captain’s help, and got right to the showers, collapsing in a heap in the back corner and holding himself until he could manage to stop shaking.

Feeling lucky that the wrap-up of practice had gone on long enough for Alex to pull himself together, he began to strip out of his gear in the shower, putting it off to a side that was mostly dry before running the water and going about his routine. He passed a few of the guys on his way back to his stall, trying to do a convincing job of reassuring them when they asked if he was fine, and probably failing, not that they seemed to mind anyway. Once he was dressed in the team sweats and his gear was messily shoved back in the space allotted, Alex simply collapsed on the floor, back leaning against his stall, face flushed from exertion, hair still dripping, and face appearing absolutely visibly drained from whatever emotional experience he had just gone through. So, when one of the prospects complained about the lack of “fun” activities on the agenda for the week and suggested they have a good old-fashioned bar crawl to end the penultimate night of camp, Alex made sure to make eye contact with the captain–who he’d expressed these sentiments to not even two days prior–and express his agreement with the proposition on the table. It hadn’t been much of a serious consideration until a highly respected player like himself had voiced his approval, and then, all of a sudden, nearly all of the players on the roster had a plan for that night that went beyond falling asleep alone in their rooms.

✦

In accordance with these plans, Alexandre went back to his apartment for a real shower following the excessive exit protocols he hadn’t entirely gotten used to yet. He was still tired so he left his hair messy and unstyled, not as straight or as finely combed as he tried to maintain but a mess of glossy curls that were keeping his head damp from the shower. Despite this, he put a fair amount of effort into dressing nicely, putting on a casual collared shirt with a vivid color block design, a nice pair of pants, and a pair of sneakers that matched the bright hues of the shirt. He put on some cologne and then questioned himself for trying so hard when absolutely no one would notice the effort, spent a few more minutes bashing himself, contemplated changing into something that made him look like he cared less, than gave up on the mental struggle he was battling and left the room, joining in behind a group of prospects who asked him a barrage of questions about what it was like to be on the same team as Damiano, whether he saw himself more as an enforcer or a skills player, and what he’d done to revolutionize his career after a few years of failure, all of it seemingly overnight. Though he made up an answer, the real and honest truth was that he had no idea. In fact, he had a lot of memories missing and a lot of gaps in time that he couldn’t get back. Maybe even he didn’t want to know what he’d done.

Getting lost in his own train of thought and feeling rather comfortable to just listen intently to the ramblings of the younger players, Alex walked calmly with the group to the address Damiano had given them. He thought about his own rookies on the Cyclones and how much he missed being their leader. He felt out of place here, someone mature enough and talented enough to have nothing to prove, and yet, here he was, proving it.

By the time he arrived at the bar, some of the team had already arrived, and he was grateful to see Cal and Damiano among those who greeted them. Cal came up to him immediately, checking in with him about what had happened on the ice and why he hadn’t answered the door when the blond had come to check on him, and he gave a weak answer about how he’d been in the shower and must not have heard him that neither of them believed. He ordered a drink, then another, turning his head to scan the crowd and meeting Damiano’s intense gaze. The captain seemed to be looking him over, perhaps questioning the man’s choice of outfit, and it made Alex feel vulnerable and small. The shorter man had a way of getting under his skin that he didn’t understand, especially when Alexandre had a way of letting things roll off his back and not taking anything too seriously. Except this, he thought, raising his drink in a very direct gesture of acknowledgement, then chugging the whole thing while maintaining eye contact with the other man. Then, he smoothly turned, put the glass back on the bar, and returned to the conversation with Callus, allowing his attention to drift in the exact opposite direction and catching a dark-haired woman attempting to get his attention. When Cal chirped him for this, he simply took the heat for it and continued to do exactly what he was doing, shifting his attention between the woman and his friend.

“What’s the policy on having guests sleep over in the housing unit?” Alexandre asked, not necessarily serious about pursuing this woman in particular, but utilizing the situation to gain more clarity on what was already a complex situation. Taking her home wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world, especially considering his desire for a cure for his loneliness and chronic sleep problems.

“That’s a tricky one, I’d ask the captain,” Cal replied.

“He’d like that, wouldn’t he,” Alex mumbled under his breath, sparing a glance back in the other man’s direction before returning his attention to the woman. He excused himself before walking up to her, starting a conversation that he felt he had no business being in. After all, just a few short months ago he had a fiancee and plans for a wedding, and a captaincy, and a stable career in his hometown. He barely recognized himself anymore, and no amount of alcohol or clarification on his new team’s rules could fix that in a night.