Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He felt his heart start to race as the dread set in. His fingertips and legs had begun to numb, precursing the oncoming tremors. Floch knew this feeling all too well and it was not from the adrenaline rush before a game. In fact, the game was already over. The whistle had blown minutes ago, leaving him standing alone, feet planted in the endzone. The roar of the crowd and the deafening celebration music felt like adding alcohol to a wound, except instead of stopping infection, it just burnt his insides. He didn’t want to let go of his breath, fearing the hyperventilating mess he’d become if he did, but that seemed to be another battle he would soon lose.

Floch had watched as his teammates disappeared into the tunnel, their heads down and their hearts broken. The last place he wanted to be right now was held up in the locker room with the rest of them. He didn’t want to witness their disappointment, their anger. It’d been his fault they were now the laughing stocks of the conference. Some may think ‘it’s just football’, and that may be true in some places but in Paradis, Texas, football it was everything – it was the world, and Floch had just caused it to come crashing down.

“Forster! The fuck you doin’ over there?” He snapped to attention at the voice of his coach, the man who’d put too much faith in him. He was standing at the edge of the sideline, hands up in frustration. “Get your ass in there with everyone else!” His voice boomed above the sound of tens of thousands of cheers.

He could only nod as he pried himself from his spot. Despite towering over Coach by about seven inches, the man’s anger never failed to strike a deep chill down Floch’s spine. As he passed him and the fans, who also spared him no pity, he kept his gaze downwards much like his teammates had done. He much preferred to draw his attention to the glistening Astroturf than the jeers. For the most part they all blended into a single insult, but he could discern words like “loser”, “fuck up”, “ruined”, and so on. Though he wondered how many of those voices were from his own mind. Everything was becoming just one loud noise.

Once inside, he sat at the corner locker where all his stuff was situated and listened along with the others as their coach ranted at them, cursed at them, and all but kicked them off the team. A part of Floch wished he really had been dismissed. It’d be easier than going in and doing it himself. God – even when it came to quitting, he was weak.

Even after Coach returned to the staffing office the air remained heavy. None of the players spoke a word to each other. The silence was only broken up by the slamming of lockers and the packing of equipment. Some of his teammates were quick to leave while others chose to shower. Floch had done neither. Instead, he covered his ears and let his head fall, concentrating on his breathing, just what he learned to do. Most times it worked but sometimes it was not enough. It didn’t keep his mind from racing.

It didn’t take long before he was back to the state he was prior to that night’s game. He’d gone over the strategies, the plays, and every possibility so many times in his head that it caused this. This useless mess he’d made of himself, one he should have calmed before he ever stepped foot on the field. He should have known the coach would have seen right through him. He knew the signs of when Floch was about choke and that’s precisely why he benched him.

“Goddammit, Forster! You look like death warmed over!” The coach had been pissed enough that he’d ripped his hat off, exposing his balding head. “You just had to have one of your little episodes today, huh? Of all fuckin’ days?”

Floch remembered how dry his throat became, how he just stood there and stared at him, unable to offer any answers. He could hear the murmuring amongst his teammates who stood on the sidelines. It left him frozen as he was now.

“Floch!” a hoarse voice called out, taking him out of his trance.

Only one person on the team ever addressed him by his first name. He felt goosebumps spread across his clammy skin as he looked up to see Jean, the captain and someone he’d grown close to as of late. He looked bulkier than usual thanks to the angle and his padded layers. He wore a black compression shirt along with his uniform pants, both muddy and scuffed up from use. Floch always noticed how well Jean filled it out, how the spandex clung to every groove of every muscle it covered. It was something Floch had found himself thinking about often, in the privacy of his own bedroom. Although, with Jean right there, thinking about his secret made his face burn. He thanked God for the shitty lighting that was sure to hide his flushed cheeks.

“Are you headin’ out with the rest of ‘em or you goin’ to shower?” His asked as he approached, his southern drawl clinging onto each of his words. When he got closer, Floch could see his features change. His brows began to pull together, and his mouth formed a solid line.

“You good?” He sat, placing the shoulder pads and helmet he had been carrying at their feet.

Floch’s heart only beat faster with Jean’s closeness. He sat in a way that spread his legs, allowing for their knees to touch. What would usually be butterflies in his stomach were bees. How selfish was he to be indulging in a crush when their season had just imploded upon them?

Floch removed his hands from the sides of his head and placed them under his thighs. “Yeah, I’m good” He answered, looking down to see if his tremors were still noticeable.

Jean’s eyes seemed to have followed his gaze, allowing him to see through the façade. “Hey, don’t go beatin’ yourself up.” He said softly, leaning in closer so his words stayed between them.

“I’m not” Floch pressed his lips together tight, choosing to stare straight ahead than look at his teammate. He focused on some busted locker everyone had avoided.

“Oh, really? You’re not?” Jean placed a strong and calloused hand on Floch’s bare knee where his pants had left him exposed. His muscles tightened under his touch.
“You’re shakin’ like a damn leaf.”

“I said I’m fine! Leave me alone.” He shot the other man a glare, partially lying but still swatting his hand away. He didn’t want Jean to leave but he was frustrated and angry.

“Hey, hey. Sorry.” He put his hands up to show no malice, leaving the area on Floch’s thigh hot from his touch “I’m just checkin’ in on you. I saw what happened out there.”
“Yeah, and so did everyone else. I don’t need you here reminding me of it.” His throat felt tight as it dawned on him the number of eyes that had been watching. It’d been televised. So not only did the entire crowd see his failure, but so did recruiters and everyone back home. His phone was probably blowing up, but it was the last thing he wanted to look at right now.

They sat a moment as the last of the players passed by on their way out. Floch could feel their eyes on them, hear them mutter under their breaths to one another. He didn’t have to look over to know this, he could feel their stares burning into him like a bug caught under a magnifying glass. Jean must’ve noticed it too because he turned his head to give them a dirty look. Keep it movin’, it warned, and that seemed to work.

Had it been the first time, maybe they’d be more forgiving, but this had happened before. Floch’s issues hadn’t been a secret for months now and had quickly become the scapegoat ever since the opening game. Up until then, they’d been on a winning streak coming off the previous season, even in their summer training camp they’d been amazing and had shown tons of promise. But when they came up against their rivals in the autumn, it all fell apart. His anxiety had cost them for the first time. Not long after that, his teammates’ faith in him started to dwindle. He noticed fewer passes being thrown his way and his presence being ignored whenever he tried to include his input. If anyone still trusted him before tonight, surely even they’d written him off now. Anyone except Jean, it seemed.

“Listen, Forster.” Jean said, “I’m not goin’ to make you talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’m not gonna sit here and let you blame yourself over tonight, got it?”

Floch said nothing, just continued staring and thinking back on everything. He felt himself dig his teeth into his lower lip to keep it from trembling and to keep his breath under control. He didn’t care much for Jean’s attempt to try and play captain. It wouldn’t fix anything. What’s done was done. There was nothing he could do about it now except for one thing. He just had to wait for Jean to leave so then he could talk to coach and drop from the team. He didn’t want to bring them down any further. He just needed Jean to give up so that he could too.

He sat in silence while Jean tried to get his attention, none of it registering to Floch who had zoned out as he rehearsed in his mind what he was going to tell Coach when he turned his jersey in. And, if he was honest, he wasn’t very interested in what Jean was trying to say.

Seemingly, Jean had had enough of his indifference because it had earned him an aching yank to the back of his neck. He let out a grunt as his head was forced to turn. Their clammy foreheads now touched, and suddenly he was staring into the captain’s eyes, a mixture of orange and brown that left them looking golden in the light. Jean was refusing to be ignored and no matter where Floch diverted his gaze it still somehow fell onto his captain’s face. He was engulfed by a mixture of cologne and musk, a scent that was specific to Jean. The scent made his heart beat, like a stupid little girl’s would for her stupid little crush.

“Like I said, you don’t gotta talk, you just gotta listen.”

Even with Jean’s grip firm on the back of Floch’s head, he tore himself away, hating that feeling and fearing it may cause him to think on a temptation he did not wish to. And despite how much he was drawn to him, Jean somehow was able to bring out an annoyance in Floch that was just as strong. He knew he was his superior, but he had a way of pitying him to an extent that bordered on patronizing.

“I don’t need you to be my therapist! We lost. Of course, I’m sulking. Everyone’s bummed. Why not go cozy up and comfort one of them?” He shot.

“I’m not tryin’a be your therapist.”

“Then why are you here?!”

“Because I care abo—” He paused for a moment. Floch could see he was choosing his next set of words carefully, leaving him to wonder what Jean would have said otherwise. “’Is just that I worry is all. Cause I know you and I know how you get so…I’m just makin’ sure you’re good. I care, ya’know?”

Floch bit the inside of his cheek, deciding whether to scold him again or to give in. He remembered back to preseason, when Jean had found him sitting in his car, mid panic attack in the training field parking lot. He must’ve caught Floch in an odd mood because normally he hated being around people when he was like this, mostly because the embarrassment made it worse. For some reason though, Jean’s presence was different. Maybe it was his charms or his leadership abilities, but Floch had found him to be comforting, as much as he hated to admit it.

“Fine…” He exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I fucked today’s game up and now I feel shitty. Is that what you wanted to hear, huh?”

Jean’s eyes narrowed, curiosity and confusion dancing within them. His one brow was raised, asking ‘what?’.

Internally Floch rolled his eyes. Of course, like always, the ‘you don’t have to go into it’ turned into him doing the exact opposite.

“These plays were made around me, and I choked. If I was out there during the first three quarters, we wouldn’t have to go with some makeshift plan B. Plan A worked. It worked! It was perfect.” He continued, praying his voice didn’t crack. “And I ruined it by psyching myself out, again.”

He didn’t know what he expected Jean to respond with. Maybe silence, maybe more reassurance but he definitely didn’t expect him to scoff or look annoyed. Yet, that was what he was met with.

“Are you serious, right now? Is that what you seriously believe?” Jean’s smile was one of disbelief, he looked at him like he was crazy, as if he’d witnessed an entirely different game. It made Floch tense, readying himself to get up and storm off. He wouldn’t sit here and be mocked, especially not after his vulnerability had been pried open like a rusty lock. Before he could spit back at him, Jean continued. “We’re a team, lose as one and win as one. Everybody out on that field carries as much responsibility as the man next to him.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t them who kept fumbling, getting intercepted, missing passes that– that goddamn pee-wee should be making!” Floch protested. “That’s on me. If I weren’t so fragile, so jittery we would’ve–”

“Would’ve nothin’! I don’t know what kind of football they taught you in the city but you gotta stop thinkin’ like that. Down here, we’re a family, we got each other’s backs. Yeah, you’re a goddamn good player and you were important today but a plan that solely relies on one guy is a desperate attempt from someone who’s outta ideas.” Jean said, no longer caring if there was anyone left around to hear. He didn’t even glance over his shoulder to make sure Coach wasn’t standing right beside them when he voiced it.

Floch was almost sure that if he had been anyone else – if he was normal – Jean would have broken through to him already. Anyone else would have felt reassured when explained how something wasn’t their fault. But Floch’s mind had a sick habit of spinning everything, no matter what it was, into something worse. Even if Coach’s plan was faulty, it didn’t erase his own failures. There was no mistaking it or making it up., they were real, and they were what his brain decided it wanted to keep replaying, to keep homing in on. It was like merry-go-round of self-loathing.

“It doesn’t matter, I still wasn’t good enough! I don’t belong on this team. I-I’m letting everyone down. They shouldn’t have to carry my deadweight!” Floch’s head hung as he strained through his sentence. His voice was thick, and he was unsure whether or not he was making sense. To him it sounded like he was muttering, just spilling the words out the second his thoughts were formed. The rationality of Jean’s words was not sticking. They simply seemed to go in one ear and out the other.

“You ain’t dead weight. You’re the best wide receiver we’ve got.”

“I’m not.” Floch said firmly.

“What do you mean you’re not? You helped us keep up that winnin’ streak last season after Braun’s shoulder went. Now, you’re first string, a starter. Hell, Forster. You benched a senior varsity player as a freshman. Do you understand what kind of skill that takes?”

“Well, it doesn’t matter.”

“Wha’daya mean it don’t matter?” Jean sounded offended on his behalf.

“I…I don’t know! I just know I feel like shit right now and I can’t take it anymore. I can’t keep going through this again and again.” He didn’t know whether he was talking about the panic attacks or their losses, but his hands now covered his eyes as he looked away from Jean. He felt them start to sting with hot tears. His voice was already breaking, and he could barely catch his breath now. There wasn’t much more time the tears broke through. “Fuck.” He let out lowly as he felt himself lose the battle.

“Floch…hey look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you I–”

“It’s fine. I just – I just –” He said through gulps. He couldn’t breathe and his shoulders were shuddering. He couldn’t get another word out.

This was nothing like the time in the parking lot. Back then it was just the shakiness and the stuttering and the overthinking. He had never actually cried in front of someone else before, especially not another man. The only person who’d witnessed his breakdowns were his mother, who was no longer with him. It turned out the routine of home, of living in the same town his entire life and being around the same classmates for twelve years was something he desperately missed. The stress of the last year, of moving to college and away from everything, had made his anxiety worse. The funny thing about it was that it was like a snake that ate itself. Stress lowered his performance on the field and in the classroom, which caused him more stress, which in turn caused his panic attacks and then went right around again to affecting his performance. He couldn’t win it seemed.

There was nobody here he could trust, and he hated himself more for showing his belly like this. Jean must’ve thought him of him as pathetic, now. Maybe on the inside he was laughing at the state of him, wondering how he’s made it this far. The thought ran through his mind that maybe he even just lost the last person on his side.

But just as it had crossed his mind, he felt himself being pulled in again, but this time into a hard but warm chest. “We’ve been through this, Flo. It’s just your mind playin’ tricks on you. You’ll be alright.” He could hear Jean say softly, his cheek resting on the top of Floch’s head. His strong arms held him in place as his shaking and shuddering continued. He was sure he was leaving a huge wet spot on his shirt, but Jean didn’t seem to mind. He just allowed Floch to let the panic wash through him until it eventually let out.

He wasn’t sure if they were entirely alone, but it had at least felt like it. They stayed like that for a while, neither of them saying anything more. Slowly Floch’s body began to relax. The shakiness in his hands and legs had gone away, leaving a numb sort of feeling to them. His chest felt odd as his heart settled into a normal pace, and he felt like he was finally grounded again. His thoughts were no longer the loudest thing in the room, which he thinks was he was the most grateful for. His mind and the room were much quiet. And even if he didn’t fully buy that he wasn’t an integral part in the loss, he was just glad he was back to being able to breath, to having control over his himself again.

Floch cleared his throat as he pulled back from the other man. He looked back at Jean, who looked concerned until Floch nodded at him, silently letting him know he was okay. After that Jean’s expression seemed to lighten up.

“Wanna get goin’?” He asked gently.

“Yeah, sounds good.” Floch was thankful Jean had just continued as normal. He was glad it was done and over with. They didn’t need to say anything further.

“Ok.” Jean replied. He seemed to search Floch’s face for mutual understanding before letting a smile slowly creep out. “Well, c’mon, let’s shower up and we’ll get outta here…you fuckin’ stink,” he said playfully but cautiously.

“Fuck you.” Floch exhaled from his nose, the corners of his lips rising. He thinks it was the first time he smiled all day. It felt odd.

Jean shook his head, smile still planted as he rose from the bench, leaving his gear. Before turning to leave he ran a hand through Floch’s matted hair, ruffling it as if he were a kid. He hated things like that but this time, he’d allow it.

“Wait!” Floch called out before he could get too far, fingers trying to fix what had been messed up. He had looked up at the clock that hung above the staffing office. It was late. “Shit. We can’t. We’ll miss the bus back to the hotel.”

Jean waved his hand in the air as he continued walking towards the showers. “S’fine. I’ll give ya’a ride. I drove here ‘cause I was late comin’.” He said nonchalantly and Floch remembered him getting chewed out right before they’d left for the field.

Floch scoffed, thinking how in character it was of him. “Way to set an example, Captain.”

Jean peered back over his shoulder and winked at him. “Comes naturally” he called back as he lifted his shirt over his head.

Floch watched him walk away, face red all over again. Jean’s back muscles were on full show. He was covered in bruises and sweat but it was still something to admire as he disappeared into the showers. Putting aside his punctuality, Floch wondered how a man like Jean seemed to be without flaw. He was captain of a D1 football team, probably set to go pro. He was understanding and altruistic, with a face and body that belonged on a magazine. It made Floch wonder what Jean saw in him. There was a side to him that sometimes questioned if maybe he was mistaking Jean’s kindness for something else. He wished he knew for sure, but there wasn’t much of a way to find something like that out without running a risk. To him, Jean was like an art piece; something off limits that Floch would never touch for fear whatever he felt wasn’t reciprocated. He didn’t want to risk breaking it – whatever it was that they were. Teammates, friends, maybe a pity project…he wasn’t sure, but what he did know was that he was happy with how things were and he wasn’t about to sabotage it now.

Chapter Text

Throughout the disaster that was this season, Floch had learned a few new things about his teammates. One of those being how everyone dealt with loss. Last season, when they’d gone remarkedly unbeaten, he never had a chance to witness it. Then, the locker room was always full of smiles and laughter that never got old. Now things couldn’t be more different. This time he got a front row seat to how everyone reacted to blowout after blowout, and sometimes even the games where they barely scratched by. Some got eerily quiet, others got visibly angry, and then there were those like himself who let it eat away at their confidence until they were crushed beneath the pressure. Those guys typically didn’t last too long. 

The only person who differed was Jean, the captain. He never let them see him in any sort of foul mood. Instead, he’d do his ‘disappearing act’ as Floch liked to call it, where he’d take shorter showers and slip out before anyone had a chance to say anything. And if anyone did notice, he always had an excuse on hand for why he was leaving. It was usually something about how the locker room was too stuffy or that he’d gotten an important phone call, but this time he had said he wanted to start his truck, which Floch hadn’t been opposed to because despite it being Texas, it was still pretty cold outside. 

So that’s why when Floch stepped back into the main area of the locker room, he didn’t think twice when he saw no trace of his teammate. Their uniforms had been cleaned up by the equipment staff and so the only thing that remained on the bench was Floch’s duffle. Normally it would have been annoying to be abandoned in a stadium he wasn’t familiar with, but he respected Jean’s need to get away. 

Once in front of his locker, Floch removed his towel and took his time getting dressed. He made sure his hair was dry and the white dress shirt and black slacks he wore for game day weren’t wrinkled. He had a tie too but left it undone around his neck since he still hadn’t mastered tying it on his own and anyone who would have grilled him for his appearance was long gone anyway. 

When he felt like enough time had passed, he slung his bag over his shoulder and exited into the hallway where he found the captain propped up against the poorly painted brick wall, his long legs stretched out into the aisle in front of him. He had both earbuds in, and his eyes were intensely glued to his phone screen. 

“Kirstein, you ready to go?” He asked without much confidence that he’d been heard. Not only was Jean in his own world, but the music he was listening to was so loud the beat could be heard from a few feet away.

For a moment Floch observed his teammate as his fingers hovering over the keyboard in careful contemplation, most likely thinking of a response. When he couldn’t find one, Jean abruptly sat his phone down beside him and rested his face in his palms – a showing of frustration Floch had very rarely seen, which meant whatever he’d read hadn’t been anything good. 

He was going to step away and give Jean more time when the captain’s head turned slightly. Flinching, his eyes widened until he realized it was Floch standing next to him. Then, like a flick of a switch, his expression softened and his tightened lips curled into a soft smile. 

“Oh shit. I didn’t see you there. I was about to send a search party in for ya’.” He said, rising to his feet.

“Sorry about that.” Floch played along, biting his tongue so not to mention that it was Jean who’d taken the world shortest shower. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I was just getting’ back to Ma.” 

“Oh, gotcha.” Floch nodded, “What’d she say?” He was curious. She’d always seemed very friendly the times that Floch had met her, and from what Jean said, she was an outstanding woman. It made sense if all this time he’d been sneaking away after loses to talk to her. 

“She was just checkin’ in to see how I was doing. Asked if I heard from the old man yet.” Jean said, hands sunken into his front pockets. Unlike Floch, he was much more causal in a pair of washed jeans, a black shirt with ‘ Titans ’ etched in green on the front, and over it a heavy sherpa lined denim jacket. It was nothing close to what they were supposed to be wearing for game day, but he looked damn good regardless. 

“Did you?”

Jean chewed on the skin of his bottom lip and shook his head, “Nothin’ since before. But I’m sure I’ll here all about it again later. Always do.”

Floch sensed the exhaustion in his words, and he couldn’t blame him one bit. This season had been tough for the both of them. For Floch, it was dealing with the anxiety and confidence and for Jean it seemed to be his father’s criticism. The nature of their relationship, as far as Floch had fathered, teetered on whether or not the team was winning or losing. It was a pattern he’d put together after the first few loses back in the fall. 

“Well, whatever he says, ignore it. You know how you played.”

“I know. It’s just hard because he’s…” Jean took a breath.

“Hard to get away from?” Floch finished. 

“Yeah, that.” The captain ran a hand through his hair, pushing the long, brown strands out of his face. He’d been growing out his undercut, which now was beginning to resemble more of a modern mullet – which was easy to make look silly, but on him it fit perfectly.

“I guess that’s the downside of being the coach’s son.” Floch said without giving his words much thought. He immediately regretted them when he saw the grimace on Jean’s face. Quickly, in an attempt to recover, Floch reached a hand to his shoulder and squeezed, “But hey, remember: ‘lose as a team, win as a team’, right? Even if he’s pissed tonight, it won’t last. It never does. You did what you could and there’s still a chance we get a playoff spot. And after that, we’ll take it from there.”

The words ‘there’s still a chance ’ tasted bitter on his tongue. They felt like a bold-faced lie. Maybe if they’d come from Jean they’d sound convincing, motivational even, but from him they sounded forced and far-fetched. Probably because they were. Realistically, they had no shot at playing in the bowl games and tonight’s face off against their arch rivals, The Marley Warriors, had officially ended their chances at finishing top of their conference. The only thing they had to look forward to was next season, which if Floch hadn’t been completely cut by then, he’d most likely be watching from the bench. 

To say the least, the future looked nothing but grim, which was why Floch was left surprised when his failure of a motivational speech was not met with even a hint of uncertainty. Instead, Jean looked…proud?

“Forster…” He began slowly, a lopsided grin etched to his face, “Are you stealin’ my lines now?” 

Floch shook his head lightheartedly, “Don’t be an ass.” he said, letting go of Jean’s shoulder to give him a light shove. When he went to pull away rough fingers wrapped around his wrist and then around his fingers. The sudden touch made Floch’s gaze bounce to meet the brunette’s, who was looking down at Floch’s hand inquisitively.

“I’m not. I mean that as a good thing because you should. It means you’re feelin’ better.” He said, his tone more serious now, “Am I right? I see you’re not shakin’ anymore.” 

Floch’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Um, yeah. I’ll be okay. Still not jumping for joy, but… better.” He did what he could to keep his voice even despite the fact his hand seared where Jean’s skin met his. 

“That’s good. I’m glad.” He said with a gentleness that Floch scarcely heard nowadays.

If there had been a single good thing to come out of his sophomore year, it’d be Jean’s friendship. Moving to a new state, attending a new college, and being away from his family had been tough. Maybe one of the hardest things he’s had to do. The only reason he thought nothing of it in his first year was because he’d hit the ground running. Everyone loved him, he had so many friends on the team and off… or so it seemed. 

As it turned out, one of the big lessons this level of the game had to teach him was how quickly people’s love turned to resentment. Especially in sports, where his humanity was valued much less than the results he produced. He saw the evidence in how the articles called him a lost cause, how he couldn’t tell the difference between fans and haters online anymore, in how he could hear his teammates’ frustration grow with each fumble. The worst were the ‘friends’ who asked him out every weekend, to every party, talked to him every time they saw him on campus who were now suddenly nowhere to be found. The only person who stuck at his side was right in front of him, holding his hand , and being everything he needed in his worst moment. 

“Jean?” Floch let out a steady breath.

“Hmm?”

“I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. I know I’ve been a mess recently and you probably have better thing to do other than baby sit me, but – ” 

“Don’t.” Jean gave his hand a small squeeze and said softly, “I may not know everything that’s going on up in that head of yours, but I want to help. You’re a great guy and I’m here for you, no matter what.”  

There was a quiet pause as Floch searched his deep brown eyes, his gaze glancing down to Jean’s lips momentarily just in time to see the tip of his tongue swipe over them. With a lump forming in his throat, he dared to meet his eyes again only to find them staring back at his own. Everything suddenly felt air tight, and his heart began to drum against his rib cage. There weren’t words for how he felt and how thankful he was. He wished he could show it instead, his body was screaming for him to. They were so close to each other already, all he’d have to do was inch himself up and close the gap between them. He was sure the only thing that held him back was the doubt that ate away at him and the sound of a group of voices quickly closing in from down the hall. 

In a flash, Jean let go of his hand and they each stepped back. Floch hadn’t realized how much they seemed to lose themselves in their own little world. He had to admit it was nice. Intense, but nice. Only now, the feeling of desire had been drained out of him and replaced by a ball of ice in his stomach. 

The voices ended up belonging to a group of event staff. Passing, they waved and flashed friendly smiles, oblivious to their interruption. When it was just them again, he felt the beginnings of something form in his mouth, but he allowed the words to elude him. The pounding in his chest over a group of strangers served as a sore reminder of why he didn’t want to pry into Jean’s reasons for caring so much. As far as Floch was concerned he was fine just knowing that he did. He told himself that he didn’t need anything more than a friend, because no matter how much his mind wanted to piece things together, the reality was that football was no place for what he really wanted, especially when it involved his own captain . He’d already wasn’t in good standing with his teammates, he couldn’t lose the most important one on the chance he was wrong.

“So.” Floch cleared his throat, “You remember how to get to the parking lot from here?” He asked, changing the subject. He switched from one foot to the other.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jean swiped at his nose, looking a bit flushed in the cheeks. His eyes became glued to the hallway where the staff had disappeared to. “It’s just a little ways down, not too far.”

Without another word, they began heading out. They walked through the cement corridors in silence and eventually arrived at a set of double doors that led outside. Jean went through first, immediately letting in a cold gust of wind when he did. Behind him, Floch hugged himself and tucked his head, doing his best to brace himself against the chill. It was nothing compared to the cold back home in Boston, but still cooler than what his thin outfit prepared him for. 

“Why would you look at that?” Jean said. Floch looked back up to see countless white flurries falling from the sky, forming at thing layer of snow on the pavement.

“Was it supposed to snow tonight?” Floch asked as he watched amazement fall over Jean’s face, he sported an endearing smile so white that it matched the flakes that floated down around them. 

“No clue.” He said, shoving his free hand into his pocket. “Beautiful, though.” 

Floch buried his hands in his pockets as well and shrugged, “If you like muddy slush the next day, then sure.” 

“Hey, not everyone’s used to snow every year. We’re lucky if Paradis sees it once every ten years.” 

“Trust me, you don’t want it every year.” Floch said as he continued walking towards the end of the parking lot where he saw Jean’s truck parked. “At least you don’t have to worry about shoveling your driveway out with three feet of snow on the ground, only for it to be covered again in an hour.” 

“True, but it’s nice sometimes.” With a few long strides, Jean easily caught up and was now walking beside him. He was still looking around, taking in the sight as if he was kid seeing snow for the first time. “Here all we get are swamp ass summers. Hate swamp ass.” 

“Yeah…” Floch failed to hold in a chuckle, “Swamp ass is pretty bad isn’t it?” 

“The absolute worst.” 

Joking aside, he couldn’t argue. The scorching summer’s heat always overstayed its welcome well into late September. It was a dry heat, much preferred to the humidity of the east coast, but he still doubted if he’d ever fully get used to it. 

“Since you keep talking Boston up so much, maybe I’ll bring you one day.” He said as they approached Jean’s black, unnecessarily lifted, Silverado that he vehemently protested had a purpose other than cosmetics – purposes he, of course, refused to name. 

“Really now? You’d do that?” The excitement in the captain’s voice quickly turned to mischief, “I may just have to take you up on that offer, ‘cept I’m worried if I stay too long though, I may just catch that terrible accent.” He emphasized.  

Floch rolled his eyes, “Shut up and start the truck dumbass, my nipples could cut glass right now.” 

Jean let out a boisterous laugh and nudged him, pressing down on his keys “Whatever you say, princess.”

The truck roared to life, the sound of its V8 engine ripping through the peaceful night. Floch tossed his belongings in the back seat, hoisted himself up, and plopped down onto the leather seats. Jean followed suite, the snow from their shoes was already melting at their feet. As they waited for the cabin to warm, that’s when they heard a knock on the driver’s side window. 

“Don’t tell me you were going to leave without sayin’ a word.” A sweetly spoken voice said as the glass rolled down. 

 Floch watched as two hands with red painted fingernails gripped onto the trim, pulling the voice’s owner up so that she could peer inside. 

It was a girl who wore a pinkish blush on her cheeks and crimson matte lipstick. She had to trace of a jacket, just a skintight, long sleeve top with an athletic turtle neck popping up from beneath her collar. The only imperfection of hers was some smudged mascara, but other than that, she resembled a Barbie doll of sorts, only with frizzy black hair. The white ribbon she wore to tie it back told him she was a cheerleader for the Warriors. What business did she have here? 

“I’d never do that, darlin. But long time no see, haven’t seen you in ages.” Jean said, charming as ever. 

“Not my fault. I tried texting you, but you always take ten years to respond! Kind of hard to keep a conversation going like that, Mr. Kirstein.” 

“My bad. Life’s just been busy. Senior year is a tough one, just wait ‘til next fall, you’ll find out.” 

“Oh no, I’m sure I’ll cry at least a few times.” She said with smile that reached her eyes. Jean returned the gesture all the meanwhile Floch sat there, still confused as to who this girl was. 

“Anyways, how you holdin’ up? Tonight’s game was a rough one.” She said, letting her upbeat tone drift off. 

“Been better, of course, but it’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before. But that’s football, winnings never guaranteed. Either way, congrats.” Despite the neutral, press-friendly tone, Floch could see his true feelings in the way his jaw twitch and his throat bobbed. 

The girl must’ve noticed it too by the way she nervously dragged her teeth across her bottom lip, “Yeah, thanks. It was a good game. You guys gave us a run for our money, could totally see y’all topping the conference next year.”

“Yup,… always next year.” 

Cheerleader nodded her head a few times in agreement, lips pressed together. Not much was said for a few seconds as her eyes fluttered around the truck, eventually landing on Floch. A look of curiosity crossed her face as she tilted her head around Jean to get a better look inside.

“Oh! I’m sorry, how rude of me. I didn’t even realize you had anyone with you. Who’s this? Don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.” 

Before Floch could answer, Jean spoke up, appearing more than happy for the change of subject, “This here is my good friend Floch. We call him ‘sticky’ because he holds onto the ball like he’s got glue on his hands, ain’t that right Flo?” 

Floch scowled. “Nobody’s ever once called me ‘ sticky ’, and don’t think you’re about to. That’s gross.” He couldn’t think of a worse nickname.

“Fine, whatever. We may not call him sticky, but he really does have one hell of a catch. Couldn’t have brought us home that championship without him.”  

“Jean –” He started, about to downplay the compliment. Being put on a pedestal like that made him uneasy. Even if unintentional, it only served as a reminder of the expectation he failed to live up to. And surely this girl knew that because how could she not? She had a sideline view of the entire game. 

“No need to be so humble. I know who you are. Just didn’t recognize you without the visor and helmet.” She reached out a hand, “I’m Pieck. I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re a very impressive player, Floch.” 

“I’m sure there’s been a lot of talk.” Floch replied, maybe not masking the self-deprecating sarcasm as well as he thought because Jean nudged him as he’d said it. Ignoring him, he fixed a smile to his face and shook her hand, “It’s nice to meet you, Pieck.” 

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Pieck looked between them, “Oh yeah! I completely forgot to ask you something.” She said, turning back to Jean, “Me and Reiner were headin’ out to eat with a few of the Warrior guys. I know it isn’t your turf, but there’ll be drinks. You’re welcome to come too Floch. That is, if your team isn’t on lockdown tonight.” 

Jean seemed to think about it for a bit before twisting his head to Floch for input. He knew if he said no, that would be the end of it. They’d go back to the hotel, eat whatever cheap food they could grab from the vending machines and then Floch would be back in his room without much else to occupy him but his thoughts. And, as much as he thought he’d never find joy in hanging out with the opposition, it felt like a much better option than the alternative. 

“I mean, I could go for some food.” He shrugged. 

Jean gave him a suspicious glance but let it go. Looking back at Pieck, he said, “Looks like we’re in. Text me the location and we’ll meet you.”

“Awesome! I’ll let Reiner know.” Puckering her painted lips, she leaned further into the vehicle and planted a small kiss on Jean’s cheek. “See y’all there!” Her giddy smile stretched from ear to ear as she jumped down from the window and began scurrying away somewhere behind them. 

“Sure thing and drive safe!” Jean yelled, “And put on a damn jacket, it’s an icebox out there!” 

In the darkness, Floch couldn’t help the roll of his eyes. He felt himself entering a new, dangerous territory. It made him antsy and hollow in his gut. He didn’t like the way she touched him, or the fact Jean so casually went along with it. 

Floch wanted to ask who she was, or why she acted so casual with him but he still didn’t know enough to tell if the pet names and touching was just a southern thing or if she was just particularly invasive. Jean would have been too polite to tell her to back off even if that were the case. So, he decided to drop it in favor of finding out a different answer to a different question. 

“So, what’s Braun doing hanging out with Warriors?” It seemed strange that he was friendly with anyone from their rival team. It wasn’t like Marley and Paradis were close enough in distance that the two sets of players would ever run into each other in passing. 

“You didn’t know? Reiner grew up here. He transferred to Paradis because he wasn’t gettin’ enough playing time. Apparently that guy Galliard – the blond one not the one with dark hair – kept gettin’ the pick over him.” 

Floch’s stomach squeezed as he recalled the rules for transfers. According to the rulebook, a player was only allowed one transfer in their undergrad career because of the complications transferring too much would cause with their academics and aid. What this meant for Reiner was that the Titans were his last chance to shine, and Floch with his one-hit wonder season had come in and dimmed the lights on his future. 

“Hey, I know that look. Whatever you’re thinkin’ get it out of your head.” Jean warned. “Tonight was a shit-show, but it’s still young. Let’s end it with some drinks and some memories, alright?” 

“Yeah, right.” He said, tilting his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes. “Wake me up when we get there.” Maybe a rest would calm his nerves.