Chapter 14

Swerving to the side, Joss’s fist crossed the air, movement sharp and precise. He side-stepped, leaning to the right, then left, avoiding his invisible opponent’s strikes. Large droplets of sweat ran down his temples, his body damp with exertion. He practiced some more, shadowboxing against an opponent who looked just like himself. Tall, broad, invasive and quick to act.

He struck again, trying to keep a clean form and his muscles loose, but his body was starting to protest. His calves and back were uncomfortably tight.

“Just a bit more,” he thought, jumping in place to relax his muscles, before going back to drills. Just a bit more and he’d take a well-deserved break.

He stepped to the side again, his foot sliding a bit too far. He wobbled.

It had been a busy day.

He usually didn’t enjoy running, but over the past few days he’d been on the treadmill every morning, whether in the gym or outdoors. Joss hadn’t suddenly developed the desire to run a marathon, but there was something boiling inside him. Nervous energy that he desperately needed to release, or he might burst.

Lately, thoughts and ideas kept tumbling through his mind, in an overactive yet somehow lethargic way. And, as always, exercise was the most effective remedy.

The Starolympics were only a few days away, so it gave him an excuse to work out even more. The team was supposed to meet in the evening to practice. They were doing great, having found a good rhythm, and Joss was confident they had a good chance of winning.

His phone buzzed, a clock on the screen ticking for a short break.

Hands braced on his hips, he paced, trying to slow down his frantic breath.

Meeting the team meant meeting Gawin.

He grimaced, glancing at the clock, willing the time to move faster so he could go back to work and fill his mind with nothing but the strain in his muscles.

Since their discussion in the parking lot, things were back to awkward. But this time, it was more subtle, a barely perceptible uneasiness that made Joss’ skin crawl. They still talked, played together, kissed behind closed doors… But something ached.

Finally, his phone beeped, and Joss started a new series of weighted squats.

When he and Gawin were on the court, their coordination was a bit off, and they bumped into one another more often than not. It wasn’t like them. Even their coach had noticed. They seemed to be moving to different rhythms, different BPMs. One of them was always too fast or too slow… Collisions were inevitable. The most unpleasant thing was the constant sensation of imminent danger that climbed Joss’ spine whenever their eyes met or when Gawin took a bit too long to answer his questions. Every time that happened, Joss went rigid, bracing for an impact.

And even though he tried to act like nothing was amiss, Gawin was no better, back to his quieter, more subdued self, one foot back into the cave.

Freeze. Flee. Fuck.

Joss was perpetually on edge.

Unsure.

Out of balance.

They were running on opposite sides of the road, following the same path but separately, sometimes crashing into each other.

Their private meetings had also become more intense.

They didn’t joke or talk as much.

Chasing pleasure or closeness, clinging to a fragile link that frayed every time they buried their truths under heated kisses and frantic touches.

It was agonizing, having Gawin in his arms, his mouth on his skin, but still feeling so far away. To be this close, yet unable or unwilling to reach out. During every intimate moment, Joss pressed harder, trying to bridge the gap, while Gawin’s nails dug into his skin.

But it never worked.

Joss pivoted, reversing his and his imaginary opponent’s positions. He winced when a sharp pain shot up his ankle. An electric shock leaped from his foot to his calf.

He halted, rolling the joint.

Some pain was still lingering, but nothing too bad. Nothing that could make him stop.

He resumed his shadowboxing, fighting his demons for a few more minutes before doing some more cardio. This training session should have already been over, but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave. Frowning at the idea of being home alone with a rambling brain, Joss started the clock again for another set of drills.

He had thought about visiting Kevin and Fai, but he couldn’t bear to face their pitying, all too knowing looks. Maybe he’d go for a plunge before heading home instead, to freeze his thoughts, to shut up his ego and let his body fixate on surviving the chill instead.

We’re not breaking any rules. There’s nothing to worry about.

Gawin’s words were like a tri-edge dagger.

A merciless blade that left Joss’ chest with an open wound.

Of course, he had known, expected this reply. From the start, Gawin had been clear: he wanted to take things slow. Joss had even suggested the idea, but slowly, this decision was eating at him. He liked the privacy, not the secrecy, and he feared that one day Gawin would find someone better and drop him as if they had never existed in the first place.

They were friends, fuck-buddies… no, not even that. They’d never crossed the last step and stayed in the comforting, safe combination of making out and jerking off. They were friends, colleagues. Nothing.

Old habits die hard, and Joss’ impatience that had retreated to the open sea was coming back with force, the wave becoming taller with each passing day.

It was hard to decipher who he was more upset with, Gawin for still not wanting to be with him after all they’d shared or with himself for demanding too much.

Joss dropped to the floor, lowered to a push-up before leaping back up, to a high knee raise.

They couldn’t stay like that.

He’d told himself he was going to be different, that he’d stop being so impatient, to pressure Gawin into a corner. He needed to protect his heart, their bond, and for that, letting go of his expectations was required.

He jumped a few more times, chest burning, and out of breath.

His ears rang, the world blurring for a short moment, but Joss pushed through.

He didn’t feel like going for a cold plunge anymore. Just one more burpee and then he’d shower, wolf down his dinner and pass out on his couch for a nap.

He dropped for a push-up again, his arms shaking as he pushed his body back up, grunting.

Then he crouched, feet leaping to his hands before the final jump.

Crack.

Joss’ right foot wavered, and the Earth tilted sideways, his ankle bending at an unnatural angle.

He fell, a searing pain shooting from his foot to the end of his hair.

Rolling on his back, hands circling his throbbing ankle, Joss hissed, face twisted in pain.

Fuck, he thought, his foot throbbing with each heartbeat.

He suppressed a whail, breath knocked out of him.

Shit.

He had overdone it.

Pushed past his limits.

Again.

 

***

 

Joss cursed internally, throwing a nasty look at the thick white bandages around his leg. Back home after an emergency trip to a nearby clinic, he was fuming.

How could he have been so reckless? Hurting himself when the Starlympics were only a few days away was the last thing that should have happened.

He fisted the fabric of his shorts, gritting his teeth.

The team was counting on him. They’d worked so hard, and he was letting them down.

Joss let out a long sigh, throwing his head back on the couch pillow.

He’d yet to announce to the Shadow Eagles that he’d be warming the bench.

Just as with many things these past few days, he was dreading the talk.

He toyed with his phone before finally settling on sending a text to the team’s group chat, followed by a picture of his injury.

“I screwed up, guys.”

Was the only message accompanying the picture.

Responses came flooding in not long after.

What? How did that happen?

Shit, bro! You okay?

P’! NOOO!

Joss sighed, pinching his lips.

“I believe in you, guys, you don’t need me to win! You can do it!”

That last message was written with a straight face. He believed it. His team was good. They could win.

They’d just had to rework their strategy with very little time…

Fuck, so much of their team’s work relied on him. He’d screwed up bad.

Still, his teammates were not losing their fighting spirit, and most told him he could count on them: they would bring the trophy home.

Joss managed a smile. That was better.

There was still no message from Gawin, though.

He bit his tongue.

Joss knew the guitarist ignored the too-talkative group chat, muting the notifications most of the time. They often had to reach him privately to share important information.

Joss let out a long breath, staring at Gawin’s name for a while before he finally sent the text.

Got hurt at the gym. Won’t be able to play for a while.

There was no telling how long he would be unable to use his foot yet. The doctors wanted him to wait for his MRI appointment scheduled in just a few days. For now, they were adamant that any strenuous activity was prohibited. Not that he could do much with his cast anyway.

His phone buzzed, Gawin’s name flashing on the screen, a picture Joss had stolen during their camping trip sitting above it.

Joss squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his temple. Everything felt like too much. The pain, the painkillers dulling his senses, his fears… He didn’t want any of this. If he could rewrite time, he would have never brought up the relationship status to Gawin, not like that.

Then, none of this would have happened.

And he’d be able to stand on his two feet, his ego intact.

Because of a single mistake, everything was toppling down like a line of dominoes.

After three rings, he finally picked up the call, his jaw tense.

“Hey,” Gawin’s voice greeted him, warm and velvety. Joss felt his heart sink at the hint of worry that darkened his tone. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Joss took a deep breath.

He needed to get things back under control.

“I just injured my ankle during training. No worries,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “Everything lies in your hands now, man. You need to win for us both.”

Gawin didn’t take the bait. He stayed silent for a long moment.

“Is it serious? Can you walk?”

Even though he wasn’t in front of him, Joss could perfectly picture his frown, his pretty worried eyes.

“I’m fine. Not my first injury. I have an MRI in a few days, but I’m sure it’s nothing.”

His throbbing ankle hardly felt like “nothing,” though. The joint was inflamed and protested with every movement. It hurt even then, while he was sitting motionless on the couch, a constant reminder of his failures. Thankfully, the meds were starting to take effect, slowly dulling the pain.

“Mmh. Do you have everything you need?”

Joss looked around. The meds were turning his brain into mush. Despite his frustration and anguish, he ached to see Gawin’s face, to bury his nose in his hair.

He was tired of the pain. Tired of fighting.

Exhaling through the confusion, Joss lay down on the sofa, burying his feelings deep.

“Yes, I’ve got all I need. Thanks.”

Everything hurt, an intangible weight pressing him into the cushions, paralyzing and drowning him, turning the world bleak.

He kept the phone pressed against his ear, fingers cramping on the small device.

They were noises behind Gawin: car engines, people chatting, a faraway trail of music…

“I’m downtown, right now… I could come over, bring you food-”

“No,” Joss interjected. Too harsh.

He let out an awkward chuckle to smooth things over. An unconvincing gurgle.

“I’m beat, man. The meds are kicking my ass, I’m just going to sleep,” he said, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

Once again, Gawin took some time to answer, the faraway noise of vendors shouting filling the silence.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.”

When he answered next, something had cracked. Emotions vanished from his voice.

“Okay,” Gawin said softly.

Joss’ fingers tightened in his hair, guilt rising in his throat like bile.

“Thank you, though. Really.”

Gawin let out a breath, and a needle pierced through Joss’ trachea at the sound.

“If you change your mind, call me.”

“I will.”

“Okay, then. See you.”

The call ended before Joss could answer.

He tossed his phone on the coffee table, throwing his head back in frustration. He rubbed his eyes with rough fingers, trying to erase his sorrow.

Why did it feel like a door had been slammed in his back?

His ankle throbbed again.

“See you,” he said to his empty room.

 

***

 

Joss stumbled on the court, supporting his weight with the crutches digging into his forearm. His assistant followed, and after making sure Joss was alright walking by himself, left him to meet his teammates.

The players had already started their training session, a group passing the ball to one another while the others took turns shooting.

Joss quietly observed them and joined the coach, who was monitoring the practice and shouting instructions here and there. When he spotted Joss approaching him, the coach grimaced.

“Jeez, it’s bad, isn’t it? How are you doing?” The coach asked, throwing a concerned look at his wrapped ankle.

“As well as I can be,” Joss said with a shrug. “Sorry for letting you down,” he added, his head slightly bowed.

His gaze caught Gawin’s frame as the singer was making drills with the team.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s true that it’s a big loss for the team, but just focus on recovering.” The coach gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

“Thank you.”

A few players noticed he was there, and soon after, the team took an unplanned break, circling him.

“Hey, man! You came!

“How did you hurt yourself?”

“Will you still come to see the match?”

Questioned fused around him, and Joss welcomed them, moved by his teammates’ support. Gawin, however, was staying behind, hidden by a few players, silent. But of course, his presence still felt overwhelming, impossible to ignore, like a light in the corner of Joss’ eye.

There was a tensed line on his mouth, his features far from their usual softness, an unmistakable hardness to his gaze, or maybe it was hurt.

Shit.

Even as he chatted with the team, Joss couldn’t stop looking at him, a large stone lodged deep in his stomach.

What was this look?

After long minutes of discussion, the coach demanded they go back to training. Their match was just a few days away, and they had no time to waste. Joss sat on a bench to watch the rest of the practice.

Gawin’s complexion was dull, his cheeks blotched with deep magenta, and his feet dragging as he ran with the team.

Joss pressed his lips together, frowning.

Then, Gawin looked back at him, and for a second, Joss stopped breathing.

Gawin snapped his attention away, focusing back on the game.

Joss, though, never stopped staring.

When Gawin had looked at him, there was resentment in his eyes.

Since Joss had arrived, Gawin had only given him an emotionless greeting, not a single other word leaving his mouth. Still, he had watched Joss like a hawk, as if daring him to confrontation.

Joss ran a palm over his mouth.

“He’s really mad, huh?” Since the phone call that had ended abruptly two days prior, they had not exchanged at all, not even a text message. Their only contact was when Gawin silently checked his Instagram stories. A cold air surrounded his profile picture with every view.

Joss clenched his teeth, feeling annoyance rise inside of him.

Was what he’d done so terrible that it warranted the silent treatment?

Sure, he’d been a little rash. Maybe a bit dismissive, too…

He shook his head, fished a painkiller from his bag, and popped it into his mouth.

He didn’t want to deal with this.

Was Gawin the only one having a hard time? Couldn’t he see that he was hurting, too?

On the court, the team switched to practice matches, a few players joining him on the bench. He chatted with them, got teased, then was briefed on the new attack plan the coach had made to palliate his absence.

Gawin’s stood near the hoop, ready to defend.

He shot Joss another cold look.

A pang of anger stirred inside Joss.

Clenching his teeth, he forced his attention back on his other teammates, turning his body away from the court.

The first practice match ended.

But this time Gawin’s group took the bench.

The singer didn’t sit next to him, choosing a farther spot instead, another player sitting between them. Still, it felt like there was no one but them on this large bench. Tension draping them like a wet cloth.

They followed the new game playing in front of them, gazes hazy.

After a while, the player sitting between excused himself to the bathroom.

Joss glanced Gawin’s way, his neck stiff.

The sight of blue, sunken eyebags, made him falter, his simmering anger cooling to a pile of cold ash.

He really wasn’t doing well either, was he?

“Bad night?” Joss asked, keeping his gaze on the match.

Gawin’s tired eyes flickered toward him.

“Mmh,” he agreed flatly. Finger-combing his messy hair, he put the stray strands that had escaped his handband back in place. “How’s your ankle?”

Joss turned to look at him. Really look at him this time. His red cheeks, wet eyelashes, and tight features. Once he looked, and he discovered that Gawin’s orbit was cloaked by dismay, Joss couldn’t look away. His whirlwinding feelings softening to a mellow hum.

“Still the same. You good?” He swept Gawin’s sullen features with a worried gaze.

“I’m good.”

They stared at each other.

Unconsciously, the distance between them had lessened.

Gawin looked smaller there, fragile even. Joss’ pulse stuttered, and he almost reached out. Almost threw his arm around the musician’s shoulders and pressed a kiss on the tense line between his brows.

He scooted even closer. “About the other day…” He started, but a whistle announcing the start of the third match sounded. Gawin stalled for a second too long, giving him one last expectant look before joining his team.

Joss stared at his wrapped ankle.

 

***

 

An hour and a half later, a last whistle echoed in the stadium, signalling the end of the practice.

“Team, you did well today. Remember what we planned. We may have lost a valuable team member, but if you follow through the plan, we still have a chance to win,” he gave Joss another pat on the back, and Joss nodded in agreement. “Take care of yourselves, get lots of rest and win!”

The team roared, putting their fists together, Joss wobbling in to join.

Just as the team was dispersing, Joss caught hold of Gawin’s forearm, his unstable legs almost giving out. Gawin steadied him, surprised.

Their teammates were scattering around, gathering their stuff before heading to the changing rooms.

Joss inched closer, his fingers still wrapped around the singer’s arm.

“Let’s go eat something. I’m paying,” he said, softly.

Gawin pinched his lips, stormy-eyed.

“Come on. I’ll buy you pizza,” Joss continued, his thumb tracing the hollow of Gawin’s wrist, feeling the pulse jump underneath his fingertip. “Please,” he added.

Seeing Gawin so upset was tearing him apart. It was worse than rejection, worse than heartbreak. He couldn’t bear to be the cause of Gawin’s distress.

Gawin tore his arm free, his face colouring to a lively, rosy pink.

He nodded, looking away. “Alright.”

 

***

 

Joss turned the key in the lock, Gawin tottling behind him. They both dropped their bags and shoes in the entryway and headed straight to the living room.

“I’m starving, so let’s order right away. What do you want? Pepperoni?” Joss asked, limping through the living room. He had abandoned his crutches near the sofa, tired of the damn things. His right arm was killing him from supporting his weight all day, and his hand cramped from clutching the walking aid so hard.

“Yeah,”

“Do you want something to drink, too? A beer?” The GrabFood app opened, and he scrolled through the different restaurant options before finding Gawin’s favourite pizza place.

“Why not?” Gawin sat on the sofa, looking hazy.

“It won’t be long,” Joss said, hopping to the kitchen, while looking at his phone. In haste, he bumped into the counter, making use of his injured foot to keep his footing. A stabbing pain in his ankle made him hiss.

The sound snapped Gawin out of his trance. Shooting up, he hurried to Joss’ side, helping him to take his spot on the sofa.

Joss followed his lead, frustrated. Gawin was usually the clumsy one, always finding innovative ways to injure himself. Now, the roles were reversed, and he was the one in need of care. He glanced at Gawin. Even though he despised feeling so helpless, being coddled wasn’t so bad.

“Just stay put, or you’re going to end up in the hospital again,” Gawin said, his features softening. “What did you want? Water?”

“It’s okay, I can get around-” Joss started, trying to stand up. Gawin rolled his eyes and shot him an exasperated look.

“Sit.”

Joss closed his mouth, obeying.

“So water? Gatorade?” Gawin asked again, taking out two tall glasses from the cabinet.

“Water.”

Gawin quickly filled the glasses, handing him one before sitting next to him.

“You’re the injured one, and you’re trying to do all the work. If you break your other leg, I’m warning you: I won’t carry you on my back.”

The singer’s reprimands were met with an amused chuckle.

“Noted,” Joss said, putting his glass on the coffee table. His hand was still killing him. He flexed his fingers and pressed on the sore muscles.

He blinked in surprise when Gawin snatched his hand and slowly started massaging his palm.

“Does it hurt when I do this?” He asked, both hands trapping Joss’, his thumbs making pleasant circles inside on the various mounts.

His fingers were warm, agile, and pushed just the right spots every time.

Joss bit his lip, shifting closer, his insides tingling. “Mmh. Just a little.”

Gawin hummed, unconvinced.

Joss’s gaze trailed from their joined hands to Gawin’s profile.

All his earlier irritation had melted away. Gawin’s sadness chipped at his anger, and his care, his warmth, did the rest.

He really was in deep. He knew that if this life, he’d never be able to deny Gawin anything.

Now that they were in his home, cozied up on his couch, he could barely remember why he was upset in the first place. Still, even though Gawin was there for him now, there was still tension at the corners of his mouth.

They stayed in silence, huddled close, Joss’ hand resting on Gawin’s lap as he massaged it carefully.

“I’m sorry,” Joss said, finally. “If I did something wrong, I mean.”

Gawin pursed his lips.

“Uh. Right,” he answered flatly. His thumb dug harder into the tender flesh of Joss’ palm. “What was wrong with you?”

Joss had hoped to get away with a plain apology, but of course, it wasn’t enough.

“I-,” he started, fumbling for the right words, thoughts crashing with one another. Nothing he could say would be right. “I just had a lot on my mind, but it’s all good now.”

The movements on Joss’ palm halted, Gawin looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“Really?” he pressed.

Joss swallowed. “Yes, don’t worry about it.”

Gawin took a deep breath and then removed his hands from Joss’ skin. Joss linked his fingers, the ghost warmth of Gawin’s skin still lingering there.

“I’m sorry if I was a bit harsh,” Joss continued, bumping his knee against Gawin’s. “I wasn’t in my right mind. It won’t happen again.”

Gawin nodded slowly, mouth tilted thoughtfully.

He didn’t look convinced, a rigidness still present in the way his hands were clasped between his legs, his back slumped. He was rubbing his thumbs together, as if it could erase his worry.

Seeing him like this, warmth spread into Joss’ heart. Gawin cared. He really did. Joss wasn’t alone in battling feelings in the turbulent boat that was their relationship; Gawin, too, was shaken by waves of unwanted feelings and circumstances.

“If there’s anything, you can tell me. We’ll figure things out,” he had told Gawin after they had officialized their partnership. He meant it then, and he still meant it now. Even through hardships, he still intended to keep his word. They were sure to go through more turbulence in the future, and Joss couldn’t let himself be shaken so easily. At first, he had felt like he was fighting all by himself – pursuing Gawin, struggling to make things work even when all seemed lost. But he was starting to realize that Gawin was tentatively, clumsily, trying to reciprocate.

Joss’ chest tingled with emotion.

He cupped Gawin’s cheek and pressed their foreheads together.

“I promise,” he added, planting a soft, tender kiss on Gawin’s lips that made his insides quake. “I’ve got you. Always.”

Gawin wrapped his arms around Joss’ neck and kissed him again. Under the caresses of his lips, Joss understood that he, too, wanted the same.

The doorbell rang, startling them apart.

They exchanged a smile.

Joss pressed his mouth between Gawin’s brow and delicately wiped the moisture that was pearling at the corners of the singer’s eyes.

Gawin chuckled, pushing him away.

“I’ll go get the pizza,” Gawin said, leaving to meet the deliveryman.

Joss grinned, looking at his retreating back.

No matter what happened between them, he would stand by his side through thick and thin, staying as long as Gawin would let him.