Fic: KazerKiss (4/5)
The next day is not any better. If anything, it’s worse, so much worse, because Jonny’s distant and silent, and that hurts. Patrick tries not to let it get to him, he tries, but goddamnit, he doesn’t know what he did wrong and none of this makes sense, and he can’t stop thinking about it. He tries not to let it show in his game, but there are too many missed shots and lopsided passes, and he’s trying to play hard because then Jonny will see but the game’s going so bad and then, late in the third, he doesn’t move fast enough and gets slashed hard on his wrist, and of fucking course it’s his bad wrist, because why the fuck wouldn’t it be. For a while his mind’s just flooded with worry, because oh, fuck it hurts, and does that mean there’s some damage or something and he just - please no - and when the pain fades away after only fifteen minutes, he’s just so relieved.
He doesn’t sit with Jonny on the bus, though, and it almost makes him wish he had something else to worry about to distract him. Boarding the plane without Jonny following behind him feels wrong, and Patrick heads for the back of the plane, sinks into a seat to just stare out the window. He hates this, hates sitting alone, hates that Jonny won’t talk to him, doesn’t want anything to do with him suddenly, just - fuck everything, none of this is fair.
It takes agonizingly long just for the team to board the plane, and Patrick just wants to be home already, but they aren’t even near the runway yet. He watches the rain slide down the window, slowly rotates his wrist a little to make sure it’s really okay.
“Hey,” Patrick hears, looks up to see Jonny sliding into the seat next to his. “How’s your wrist feeling?” he asks, and Patrick just loves it when he’s the subject of that serious intensity, when it’s him that Jonny’s so focused on.
“It’s better, it’s just a bruise.”
“That’s good.” Jonny might have scooted closer to him, Patrick’s not sure, really hopes so. He left the armrest up, because he always does, just in case - just in case whatever was going on is over now, maybe things could be normal again. And Jonny looks so concerned for him, maybe everything’s really okay, maybe Jonny’s back now.
“Yeah. I’m okay now,” Patrick smiles, just so relieved that Jonny’s close by again, needs Jonny to be.
“You don’t need ice or anything?” Jonny asks, and Patrick shakes his head no. He about forgets to breathe when Jonny takes his hand, because Jonny touching him, he thought this was over, maybe never happened at all. Jonny strokes his fingertips over Patrick’s wrist, so light, cradles Patrick’s hand in both of his. “You’re sure it’s okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Patrick promises. Jonny starts to take his hand away, and Patrick can’t help but blurt out, “but don’t stop.” Jonny doesn’t let go, stays where he is, and Patrick can just collapse against him, snuggle in as close as he wants. Jonny slips an arm around behind him to hug him close, and this, this is the way Patrick’s always wanted flights to be. Everyone sleeping around them, the quiet dark, and Jonny holding him, this is how they’re supposed to be, at their impossible best. Patrick could easily fall asleep like this, so close already, because he couldn’t sleep at all last night, couldn’t nap before the game, and he’s just so tired, and finally, he doesn’t have any of the worry, he just feels so relieved, safe in Jonny’s arms and whatever happened is over now. Jonny kisses the top of his head, and Patrick looks up, just needs to kiss him, hasn’t in so long, so he leans up and kisses Jonny, slow and sweet. This is everything he never thought he’d have, falling asleep kissing Jonny, knowing the world can’t shift again before he wakes up. He just - he needs this.
When they land in Chicago, Patrick follows Jonny off the plane, across the parking lot. This feels so much more right, more than anything has in the past two days. “So,” he says, as Jonny unlocks his car, “I’ll see you back at your place?” He smiles at Jonny, can’t wait to fall back asleep beside him, this new amazing thing that’s really his.
“Naah…” Jonny puts his suitcase in the trunk, studies his keys.
“Are we gonna sleep at my place instead? That’s cool, but, you might want to swing by your place and grab some of your wheatgrass or whatever,” he adds, grinning, “because, I totally ate all my healthy stuff right before we left. Which is why there will be none.” So he can’t stand any of Jonny’s health food, maybe, but oh, he’d kind of love the sight of having that in his kitchen because it’s Jonny’s.
“I dunno, Kaner,” Jonny says, his sigh of breath a misty fog in the cold air, and it stings, the words, the name, “I gotta get an early start tomorrow. I have a lot of things to do before practice.”
“What kind of things? I could come too.” Even running errands would be fun, really. Maybe he’d get to hold Jonny’s hand and pick the music in the car.
“I’m gonna. Just go on my own. Actually,” Jonny says, scuffs at the ground with the toe of his shoe. “So.”
“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” Patrick asks, but it kind of… sounds like this isn’t going to go the way he wants. It still could, it still could, but… Jonny’s just not smiling at him anymore.
“Um. If I do, I’ll call you,” Jonny says, and Patrick can’t help but smile at that.
“Okay! Cool. Yeah, call me. I’m gonna be getting up early anyways.” He is now, anyways. He’ll wake up early for Jonny, he’d love to do that. “So. Just let me know.” He hates getting up early, but that’s different, that’s not getting up early for Jonny, which is entirely different.
“Oh. Um.” Jonny looks at him, away again, “you don’t have to.” Patrick’s smile fades at that.
“I know I don’t have to,” he says, wants to plead ask me to, I’ll do it, I really will. “I was already planning to get up early. I want to start getting up earlier, and stuff.” Sleeping until eleven sounds a lot more appealing, but getting up early, that’ll impress Jonny, make Jonny think better of him.
“Oh. That’s good,” Jonny says, kind of distant. Patrick waits; maybe Jonny will change his mind in a moment, maybe he’ll say okay, you might as well sleep at my house, forever, and Patrick will get up early for him, wake up to Jonny curled around him, maybe if he waits here long enough Jonny will say that. “So I’ll see you at practice then,” Jonny finally says, and it’s not what Patrick wanted to hear at all.
“Oh,” he manages. “Okay…” He pulls Jonny into a hug, and the way Jonny holds him so tight, why doesn’t that mean what Patrick wants? Why doesn’t it mean I want you to sleep next to me all night, mean I want to spend all day with you, Patrick just really wants it to.
Jonny kisses the top of his head before letting go, and it’s just so hard for Patrick to walk away. When he gets home, he sets his alarm clock, and then the alarm on his phone, too, before he collapses in bed. It’s hard to sleep when he misses Jonny so badly, but he’ll see Jonny early tomorrow, he will, and he falls asleep promising himself that, over and over.
0o0o0o0o
Patrick rarely ever sees six AM like this. He’s come home at six AM before, but waking up this early just isn’t something he does. He nearly drowns in the shower because he’s yawning so much, but manages to live through it and get dressed without falling back asleep. After he turns on the coffeemaker, he texts Jonny I’m up!, just so Jonny knows, even uses proper capitalization and punctuation so he’ll seem wide awake and coherent. He flops down on the couch to wait for the coffee, leaves his phone up by his ear so he’ll hear it. He’s asleep less than a minute later, only to be woken up by his phone buzzing. Patrick grabs for it, grins when he sees it’s a text from Jonny.
I’m impressed. I think I’m gonna blow off errands and just go back to bed though. Too tired, it reads. Patrick’s grin only widens.
Yes. Not gonna lie, im super tired too. This getting up early thing is a process. Im on my way over. This is even better, because errands are good and all, but cuddling with Jonny in bed, that’s awesome. Jonny’s next text comes when Patrick’s only a few steps across the living room, though.
Its ok. Im good on my own, it says. Patrick stops, frowns down at his phone. Jonny’s good, as in, he doesn’t want Patrick to come over and sleep in his bed with him? Patrick just - he really wants to, wants to go over and get in Jonny’s bed and snuggle in close to him and kiss him over and over before going back to sleep. He really wanted that.
u don’t want me to come over? he sends, just stands there to wait for the reply. Maybe - maybe he misunderstood. Maybe Jonny wants to come here instead. The way Jonny’s text makes his heart sink, though, Patrick’s having a hard time convincing himself of that.
Yea im just gonna go back to sleep, so, Jonny writes back. Patrick has a flash of hope - maybe Jonny misunderstood, maybe he doesn’t realise Patrick is totally down for going back to sleep. It’s understandable; Patrick never gets up early, maybe Jonny thinks he wants to stay awake or something, part of Patrick’s new getting-up-early plan.
I know but im gonna sleep too. So if I come over we can sleep in your bed together. There’s no way Jonny can misunderstand that. Patrick starts over towards the kitchen to find his keys. He’s just picked them up off the counter when his phone rings again.
No its ok.
Patrick stares at the text for a long moment before dropping his keys back on the counter, sees imprints in his palm from where he clenched them so hard. He turns off the coffeemaker and goes back to bed. He takes his phone with him, leaves it on the nightstand. Jonny might text to say he changed his mind, remembered that Patrick belongs in his bed.
0o0o0o0o0o
Practice sucks. It sucks because Jonny focuses strictly on hockey, talks to Patrick the same way he talks to everyone else - in directions, in suggestions, in corrections, and Patrick doesn’t like that today, there’s no tone of voice just for him, nothing Jonny says under his breath that only Patrick can hear. After practice, Patrick gets dressed quickly, only to linger by his stall, watching Jonny tie his shoes.
“What’re we gonna do for lunch?” Patrick asks. Jonny doesn’t look up, knots his laces.
“I, uh. Have plans already. Sorry.”
“Okay,” Patrick scuffs his heel against the ground, pauses. “So, do you want to get dinner tonight? We could go see a movie, too. I’ll even let you pick it.” Jonny can’t say no to that; no one ever lets him pick the movie, because his taste sucks. Patrick always sides with him, though, even though they always get outvoted. Jonny has to say yes. Patrick really wants him to.
“Um,” Jonny says, still looking down. “Sorry,” he says again. Patrick used to love hearing this word from him, because Jonny’s accent made it so adorable, but - but he doesn’t like it anymore, doesn’t like it used like this. “I’m. Busy.”
“Busy!” Patrick manages. “Wh- um. I-” Busy with who? Doing what? Jonny never does social stuff without him, since when does he do that? And lunch and dinner plans, both without him - are there team plans Patrick isn’t invited to? That - fuck, that would suck, Patrick couldn’t take that, he can’t be left out of everything with Jonny and the team, he just - he has nothing left. He can’t lose the most important thing in his life and the team. And not all at once. And - and okay, busy for dinner, but what about after? Does this mean Jonny doesn’t want to Patrick to sleep in his bed, again? Patrick wants to ask, just can’t.
“Okay,” he stammers out, just has to watch Jonny leave without going with him, pretend like this doesn’t feel outright wrong.
He asks the rookies if they want to go to lunch, is relieved when they say yes. This means there’s no secret team lunch he wasn’t invited to, and now, he doesn’t have to sit at home for the next twenty-two fucking hours until practice, lonely and hating every possible thing Jonny could be doing without him, doesn’t want him there for. Patrick ends up counting hours anyways, though, waiting until ten PM, when he decides it’s acceptable to text Jonny. His dinner plans have to be over by now.
Patrick’s first attempt reads I miss you, and he stares at it for a long time before he just deletes it, because he knows it won’t do a single fucking thing. It’s not like Jonny’s going to reply oh Patrick I will cancel my super cool PLANS to spend time with you instead, meet me at my place so I can kiss you!!, he’s going to come home from his fucking important dinner plans and see that text and Patrick will just look pathetic, Jonny will just be even more sick of Patrick than he is already. Telling Jonny I miss you will do nothing, because those words are in everything he does, in every invitation that gets turned down and every time he asks to go over, it all says the same useless thing. Patrick texts whats up instead and spends ten minutes just staring at his phone before he drops it on the couch and turns on COD to distract himself.
It’s half an hour before his phone buzzes, and even then, it’s just Shawsy asking what some movie Patrick mentioned a while ago is called. Patrick ignores that, snatches up his phone again when it rings fifteen minutes later. This time, it’s finally Jonny, but all he says is might go to bed early, and that’s that. He waited until Jonny’s busy plans were over, but apparently, Jonny still doesn’t want to see him. Patrick wants to snarl at his phone fine fuck that I don’t want to see you anyways, but. He does. He shoves his phone in his pocket, and just goes to bed.
0o0o0o0o0o0o
Practice the next day is the same, is worse, is unbearable. Jonny still barely looks at him, and this time, he’s even skimping on the hockey-related stuff, doesn’t correct sloppy passes or tell Patrick to keep his head up, not even when Patrick’s deliberately fucking things up to get Jonny to at least correct him. Jonny doesn’t, and Patrick just gets a questioning look from Coach, because apparently he’s skating so badly that it’s not correctable, just baffling. Patrick feels like breaking his stick and storming off the ice, but that just makes him think of the way he did that after they lost the series last season, the way Jonny hugged him afterwards, and Patrick just skates to his place in line.
When practice is finally over, Patrick gets dressed, stands there to watch Jonny as he ties his shoes, this same scene as yesterday but worse, because this time, Patrick knows what’s going to happen, has to walk into it anyways. He crosses his arms over his chest, wants to just plead tell me what the fuck I did.
“I guess we’re not going to lunch, huh?” he snaps at Jonny, who looks up for a second, looks away.
“Um,” Jonny mumbles, “guess not.” And goddamnit, Patrick knew he’d say that, he knew it, and he fucking hates this, this new certainty that Jonny won’t want to see him, won’t want anything to do with him, it’s knowledge Patrick can’t get away from, it’s in his head and in the way Jonny acts and he fucking hates it. He grabs his helmet off the bench and heaves it across the room before he stalks out, barely manages to keep from screaming out all the things he wants to say.
The rest of the day goes by so slowly. Days didn’t use to be like this, Patrick wants his life back, wants the way Jonny used to hang out with him, how spending time together was an assumed thing, how Jonny was so clearly his, because Patrick had some kind of ownership in the way he could make Jonny laugh like no one else and the way he was Jonny’s first choice for everything. Patrick hates this, hates every last part of the way things are now, because he just wants to be around Jonny, just wants him, and apparently, that’s asking too much. He just doesn’t get it, why Jonny wants nothing to do with him, how it’s fair that Jonny can suddenly hate him when Patrick just - loves him.
He’s been in love with Jonny for a long time, longer than he even knew, and this, this must be the worst way to realise it. This is knowing something useless, unwanted, something he just can’t change, will always be part of him, the thing that brings him to his knees.
0o0o0o0o0o0o
Somewhere around his fourth- fifth? - beer, drinking became a bad idea, but by the time Patrick loses count, he’s lost the last bit of common sense that would have stopped him from continuing, anyways. He came here with the rookies, but they’ve accumulated a lot more people in the past few hours, and at the moment, Patrick only recognizes Shawsy and Brandon, Shawsy yelling something about body shots and Brandon’s abs.
This isn’t - isn’t working. He wants to forget about Jonny, not spend all night thinking what did I do why doesn’t he like me what did I do wrong, because he has no fucking answers and he hates that. He sees a guy kiss a girl down the bar, the way she makes a face and walks away.
“Maybe it’s cos I’m a bad kisser,” he says aloud, gets only a confused look from Brandon. This might be a plausible explanation. Before Patrick can think any of it through, he’s up on a table announcing that people should kiss him, because goddamnit, he needs to know. He’s barely touched the ground when a chick’s flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. It’s not great - pretty bad, actually, tastes like lipgloss and tequila - but Patrick does his best.
“How was that?” he asks the blonde, but she’s already wandered away. Whatever, though, because a redhead’s tugging on his sleeve, and maybe she’ll give Patrick a good report. He turns and kisses her, and he doesn’t like this kiss, either, but she smiles at him afterwards when he asks how it was.
“Good!” she says, and then grabs a pen out of her purse, writes down a number on a napkin and sticks it in his jeans pocket. “Tell me when I can have more.”
“Uh,” Patrick stammers, watches her walk away.
“Me next?” he hears, turns to see a guy grinning at him, and he’s tall and built and has dark hair and these brown eyes that are all lit up. He puts his hands on Patrick’s hips, pulls Patrick up against his body and kisses him soundly. This - it’s better than the girls, but Patrick almost likes it even less, because this guy, he’s all wrong, his eyes are too deep a brown, not deceptively - sharkish, and when he gives Patrick his number and says “call me,” Patrick feels off-balanced by the fact that or else I’m making you do suicides at practice tomorrow, Patrick, doesn’t follow it.
“How was it?” Patrick asks before he can walk away. The guy grins.
“The greatest,” he assures. After him comes an entire bachelorette party wearing sashes, and the bridesmaids giggle when he kisses each of them, shriek when the bride throws her arms around him and kisses him passionately. He’s assured he’s great, the best, awesome, so awesome, but he still feels kind of empty.
Another guy walks up, beer in hand. “My wife says I’m allowed to kiss you,” he announces, “wanted to do it since you scored that OT goal in game six three years ago. I fucking love you, man.”
“Well, I’m a hero,” Patrick says, and kissing him tastes like beer, and goddamnit, is Patrick ruined for kissing now that he’s kissed Jonny, because he doesn’t like any of these. “Was it good?” he asks earnestly. The guy claps him on the shoulder.
“Like an OT goal,” he says, grinning. After he’s walked away, Patrick feels someone pull on his elbow, turns to see Hayes.
“C’mon, let’s go home,” he says, and Patrick frowns.
“But I need to know.”
“Dude, you’ve been recorded on enough phones that there’ll be plenty of film for you to review tomorrow. Time to go, Kaner.”
“Fine,” Patrick mutters, lets Hayes tow him out of the bar. Hayes pushes him into the backseat of a cab, climbs in and gives the driver Patrick’s address. “Why doesn’t Jonny like kissing me?” Patrick asks Hayes miserably. “You heard those people. I’m a great fucking kisser.”
“I’m sure you are, Kaner.”
“I am. You wanna make out? We can do that. If you want.”
“Yeah, no, I’m good. I believe you.” Hayes takes out his phone, turns the volume up and down, sighs out a breath.
“Really? You think I’m a good kisser?”
“I’m sure you are, Kaner.”
“Huh.” Patrick slumps down in his seat, glares at the window. “Fuck Jonny. Cos fuck him.” He glares at the window in silence until they stop before his apartment building.
“Get to bed, dude,” Hayes says gently. Patrick nods, frowns.
“I hate my bed,” he says miserably before he drags himself inside the building. When he finally crawls into bed, he digs his phone out of his pocket, opens a text because he wants to demand why don’t you like kissing me, to know why Jonny puts him through this, because all Patrick does is love him, and that’s not a bad thing, why’s he being hurt for it?
Wy ydouvdobtvloke kizfigb ne jobny, he texts before he falls asleep.
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