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They argued about what to eat, about who would reach for the remote, about what to watch. Ishir soaked up the normalcy of it, but there were little moments that would pin through the veil. Moments in which Ishir would look at Zee and remember his voice, thick and panting, in his ear.
They’d jerked off together. Miles apart, sure, but Zee had murmured in Ishir’s ear as he’d touched himself. Had asked towatch. And now they were acting as if it had never happened.
It was infuriating how unaffected Zee was by all of this. Ishir was reeling, trying to cling to normalcy, and Zee was just…what? Pretending this didn’t count as sex? That it was justbuddies?
The worst part was that it was impossible to cling to that anger. Any questions Ishir had turned to ash in his throat by Zee’s easy affection.
They lay on the couch, Zee on him, tracing patterns lazily on Ishir’s thigh. Did he even notice what he was doing?
Ishir’s pulse picked up as Zee buried his face in his neck. Ishir wondered if Zee could hear the slamming of his heartbeat. If he could smell Ishir’s scent blooming under the attention.
“Zee,” Ishir whispered.
Zee grunted in reply, sounding distracted, and then sighed deeply.
Ishir frowned. “What?” That hadn’t sounded like a happy sound.
“I’m just sick of not playing,” Zee muttered, and Ishir realised Zee really wasn’t doing this on purpose. He wasn’t trying to tease Ishir. He was just seeking comfort.
“I know. It sucks. I miss you out there.”
“You have Bergy,” Zee replied testily.
“Sure, and he’s great. Still want you out there with me, though. And it’s gonna happen soon—rehab is going good, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
Ishir scratched Zee’s scalp through his tightly coiled hair.
“I just…” Zee stuttered. “Sometimes it feels like all I’m good for is hockey.”
Ishir felt as though he’d been slapped awake. He tried sitting up, needing to see Zee’s face, but Zee went limp, a dead weight over him. “What are you talking about?” Ishir asked, letting Zee have his way and not moving.
Zee made a noncommittal noise.
“Dude. Zee. You can’t be serious.” Where was this coming from? Ishir knew Zee had been feeling down, but he was a confident guy. This seemed so out of the blue.
“I dunno. Just. That’s what I am, right? A hockey player. If anything ever happened and I couldn’t play again—”
“Whoa, Zee. You’re literally at the beginning of your career. That’s a wild place for your mind to go to.”
Zee shrugged.
“Not to mention,” Ishir continued, “that you’re funny, and loyal, and sweet, and protective.”
“To you, maybe.”
“Well…so? Even if it were just to me, I’m, like, super important. You should be very proud of how much I like you.”
Zee muffled his laughter into Ishir’s skin. “Yeah,” he said after a while.
“Take my fucking word for it. Stop feeling so sorry for yourself. You’re in New York, on the best team in the league, with your best friend. Come on.”
Zee lifted his head. The smile on his face was small. Intimate. “Yeah. Sorry, I’ve just been spending a lot of time in my head.”
“I thought it was just one big empty room up there,” Ishir joked.
Zee wrinkled his nose, grin widening, and bit at Ishir’s shoulder.
