Page 78 of Overtime

Olive was right. He wasn’t going to feel this way forever, but he needed to accept that he wasn’t getting over Zee any time soon.

It’d get better eventually. Until then, he just had to accept that no one else would do.

**********

The Brooklyn Cats clinched a playoff spot with six games left, coming second to the Gotham Hounds in their division.

Playing the first round was a brutal relief. The tumultuous waters of the season were washed away by the raging waves of the playoffs. There was nothing else to think or worry about. Every win was desperate, every loss a blow.

Ishir had been a little worried about how he and Zee would fare under the pressure, but their chemistry only augmented. Ishir produced at a faster pace than during the whole season—four goals and ten assists for fourteen points in seven games.

All thoughts of rewards were eradicated—each goal, each win, was its own recompense.

The final horn marking the end of the series was a shot of adrenaline right to the heart. The whole team jumped onto the ice, the arena filling with cheers.

“One down,” Orion shouted, and Ishir felt it in his gut—this was a group of guys that could make it to the end.

Despite the celebratory mood, nobody went out afterwards, their heads still firmly focused on the Cup. They had video review the next day, and they weren’t going to show up exhausted or hungover.

There was always something strange about returning to their apartment after a game that intense. After the howling and animal calls of the crowd, after the high of victory, the dark and calm of their home was like slipping into another dimension. Everything felt just to the left of reality, as if Ishir could poke a finger through the illusion of normalcy and reach some other side.

Ishir and Zee ate standing up in the kitchen. They were quiet, focused on their meal until it was gone. Ishir didn’t know what to do next, feeling jittery through the joy of having won the first round, exhausted, and like he could run a mile simultaneously.

“I don’t know if I can sleep,” Ishir admitted.

Zee nodded his agreement. “You wanna watch something?”

Ishir thought about it, but trying to concentrate on a screen felt even worse. “Don’t know if I can do that, either.”

There was a long pause. “We could go to bed together.”

Ishir looked at Zee sharply, anger flaring. “Zee—”

“Not—that. I just meant…” Zee’s throat clicked with a swallow. “Just to lie down. To sleep, eventually.”

If anything, this conversation was making Ishir even more nervous. “Why would that help?” There was no irritation or sarcasm in his voice. He genuinely wanted to know.

“Well. It’d help me.”

“Why?”

Zee’s gaze flickered around the room, eventually settling again. “You don’t smell like me anymore.”

Ishir took a quick, painful breath. “Well, I’m not yours.”

Zee flinched, his expression folding in on itself. He hid his face behind his hands. “I know,” he whispered so low Ishir barely caught the words.

Something traitorous screamed inside Ishir. He swayed there, battling with himself.

In that instant, it felt like Ishir needed Zee to survive. Like his body was aching with the longing of it, on the verge of crumbling without Zee’s scent on him.

“Go get ready for bed,” Ishir ordered flatly.

Zee turned and left. Ishir could barely handle the sight of those wide shoulders hunched as they were, trying to appear small.

He waited there as Zee disappeared into the bathroom. Listened to the toilet flush, the sink run. He stayed frozen until Zee finally retreated to his bedroom.

Ishir turned off the lights, made sure the front door was locked, that they hadn’t forgotten an open window. Went to the bathroom to complete his ablutions. Changed into a sleep shirt and thin sweats.

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