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But Zee hadn’t separated from him. After they got drafted to different teams and Ishir stopped texting, it was Zee who called. Who asked why.
You don’t have to take care of me anymore, Ishir wanted to say.
The thing was, maybe Zee didn’thaveto take care of him…but hewantedto.
And that counted for a hell of a lot more.
He trusted that Zee would always be there. Trusted he would remain after this experimental phase passed. Ishir had to follow his lead and accept when it ended.
**********
The string of losses went up to six. It poked holes in the confidence of the team, doubt trickling in even as the veterans tried their best to stop it. The media was chewing Orion up during the after-game pressers, questioning his captaincy, alluding to the backslide being due to him being an Omega.
Orion didn’t get frustrated, but it pissed the rest of the team off.
They were all hungry for a win. It wasn’t like they were shitting the bed every night—they were working hard, battling until the end. They just couldn’t finish their chances or get enough puck-luck to win.
The one positive was that Zee had been cleared for practice. He was skating in a no-contact jersey, but Ishir could tell how hyped he was about being out there at all. Ironically, now it was Ishir who was rumbling like a thundercloud through the apartment, frustrated with himself and his points drought.
“Zammy. Dude, come on…I can hear you grinding your teeth from here,” Zee said.
“Sorry.” Ishir unclenched his jaw, but his thoughts still buzzed, a swarm of locusts in his head.
Zee fitted his hands against the nape of Ishir’s neck, giving him a squeeze. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Ishir muttered and then, immediately said, “How are we supposed to win on the road if we can’t do it at home? Five games are coming up, and if we lose them we’ll slide out of even a wild-card place. The Hounds are still first fucking place, and Cap is doing everything he can to help, but we’re just—”
“Okay, okay. Slow down,” Zee interrupted. “First of all, your awesome D partner is coming back to play in the middle of that road trip, so there’s no way we’re losing all of them.”
Ishir snorted, but he actually felt a little better. “Still, dude…we need to make the fucking playoffs.”
“Zammy. We are making the fucking playoffs,” he promised with absolute certainty.
Ishir wanted to believe that. Part of himdid. He just…
He was scared.
“Yeah,” Ishir mumbled. “Sorry. I’m just in a bad mood—it’ll pass.” His skin was crawling, blood buzzing restlessly.
He needed tomove, but he’d been to both the gym and practice today, and he couldn’t overdo it with anything more.
Ishir let his head fall back, dislodging Zee’s hand. “I wish Simon was here,” he blurted despondently.
Zee froze beside him. “What?”
“Nothing. Forget it. Let’s watch something or whatever.” Ishir couldn’t even look at him, already regretting letting that slip.
“Wait—”
Ishir groaned loudly. “Forget it, Zee. Put something on.”
There was a long pause, Zee breaking it by turning the TV on stiffly.
So Ishir wanted to get fucked. So what? Anything outside of a goal reward wasn’t Zee’s business. Eventhat, really, shouldn’t concern Zee.
Ishir sank into the couch, leg jiggling. God, he wished Simon was there, though. He needed to be worked over. To be put on his belly, stretched, fucked. To be filled and taken to the edge and then to just not come.
To be made to stop.
