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The way Zee was boring holes into Ishir with his gaze wasn’t helping things.
If Ishir was good at one thing, though, it was ignoring shit he didn’t want to deal with.
Just as when Ishir had come out to him, he half expected Zee to get awkward about it. To tone down the physical affection, hang out with him less.
It didn’t happen. If anything, he got even more touchy. He’d sit close during their hang-outs on the couch, seemed to always have a hand on him when they were out—an arm over Ishir’s shoulders, fingers poking his sides, thighs pressed together under the table.
Ishir didn’t read into it. It was just a sign of how solid their friendship was.
Friendship. Nothing else but that.
**********
The team had started taking the board game Root with them on road trips. They’d set it up on one of the tables of the private jet on long flights and gather around, squabbling over the different animal factions that were trying to take over the forest land of the board.
Turned out that playing anything with a bunch of hyper-competitive guys was a nightmare.
Orion glowered. “Oh, bullshit.”
Corona cackled as his birdlike creatures demolished part of Orion’s soldiers. “Sucks to be you.”
Ishir seriously wondered if playing this game was conducive to team harmony, seeing as even he and Zee were elbowing each other by the end.
“You’re cheating,” Zee accused. “He’s cheating.”
Orion pointed at Ishir and demanded, “How’re you doing it?”
Ishir rolled his eyes, advancing his troops. “Maybe I’m just better and smarter than you all.”
“Nope,” Zee said. “It has to be something else.”
Petey was the most zen out of all of them—a prerequisite of being a goalie, probably. “You forget about the river. You always forget about the river,” he directed at Orion sagely.
“I didn’tforget. It’s not that important!”
The rest of the flight was a continuous argument. Nobody but Ishir was happy when he won, but he cheered loudly anyway, dancing in his seat to really rub it in.
Zee was still ignoring him as they got to their hotel room, although it was obviously for show. Ishir lay on the bed, feeling smug and warm.
This was one of his favourite things about hockey—spending time with teammates between games. Being part of a greater whole.
“Ow,” Ishir complained sharply, holding his arm.
Zee was beside him at once. “What? What is it?”
Ishir grinned widely. “Gotcha. Thought you were mad at me?” he teased.
Zee huffed but flopped beside him on the mattress. “I’d rather lose at hockey than that stupid game.”
“No you wouldn’t.”
“No I wouldn’t. But why does it take solong?”
“You don’t have to play if you don’t want to,” Ishir pointed out reasonably.
Zee imitated him under his breath.
“Big baby.”
