i remember this

there's a moment where the world seems to spin, his hands clenching tight at the edge of the table, because kyle did not just fucking— fucking do that after avery took a beating over far less, for practically nothing in comparison. the line of his jaw tightens, the huff of a laugh that leaves him bitter. " wow, you're a fucking hypocrite, kyle, " avery hisses, blue eyes bright with anger, hard like chips of ice. he's half-standing now too. it's not like he can't take it ; there's been far worse thrown at him, most of it doesn't land. that shouldn't have landed either, but maybe it's because they have an audience. " thought you were going to leave the homophobia jokes back in twenty-twelve, asshole. " there are better things he could've said, avery realizes belatedly, that didn't basically confirm the underlying point to matt. he could've just said they were project partners. " get the fuck out of here before i decide i am going to tell your coach what you were doing last october. "

"y'know, i could swear i've seen you before," matt's voice is all venom as he stands there, hands fisted at his sides, "might've been when you were beating the fuck outta someone. bet your coach wouldn't be thrilled to hear about that either." not that matt knows who this guy's coach is, or if the guy would care about him wailing on avery, but - well. matt doesn't know. united front or something, for some reason; matt could just sit there silently, or even just least all together - but he doesn't. he can't imagine doing that when avery's jaw is held so tight or the way his eyes had flashed in a way matt couldn't quite place, but could all too easily. "fuck off."

the conversation goes about as well as expected, which is to say not at all. as kyle reams him a new one, avery's trying to figure out if it's worth trying to find a new place to study and texting matt that. that makes things worse because kyle can tell he's not even paying attention. " what ?? you going to punch me again ?? " avery shoots back, voice a low hiss. they may not be in the library, but he also doesn't really care to have all their dirty laundry echoing around the atrium. there are probably some other students camped out in other nooks that could hear. " fuck, kyle. you beat the shit out of me and then left. i don't give a fuck if you were drunk or not. " the evidence still lives on avery's face, thin red marks that've slowly been fading with time. the bruises, at least, disappeared a long time ago. there's no masking the hurt on his face, even with as buried beneath the anger as it is. " why do you think i would even do that ?? i have nothing to gain from saying shit about you. "

his laptop is in a sleek black sleeve tucked under one arm and he finds himself looking forward to this; sitting, bickering low over something matt doesn't even really care about. but it's fun to argue, and he doesn't know how to interact with avery if there's not some tilt in their voices. only that voice is tipping upwards despite a hush as matt turns the corner - it makes matt take it a little faster. he pauses and blinks. it takes a few seconds for matt to place why the person glaring at avery looks familiar. a blurry shape, cold and snowy, matt's hands fisting in the back of a jacket and shoving. "the fuck is your problem?" he manages to keep his voice even and nearly light as he slides past who he can only assume is kyle. laptop is dumped on the table and matt doesn't sit; it seems wise, just in case. "i wouldn't've assumed broad daylight was your style."

his gaze raises from the cup of coffee, blue eyes watching matt blurrily rub a hand over his face. " creamer would be great, " he says instead. he wraps his hands around the ceramic mug, dwarfing it between his palms, the heat radiating through the material a comforting sensation. he pours whatever creamer matt provides into his mug, lightening the coffee just a touch before setting it aside and finally taking a sip. it's unremarkable, but he's definitely in dire need of caffeine. he toys with his phone, flipping it over and over in one hand. " i guess i'll just — . . . — call a ride, get out of your hair, " he says finally, halting the motion, pulling up his uber app. he needs to get out of here. coffee was one thing but he doesn't need matt feeling like he needs to offer to feed him too.

it's the same reason he doesn't offer to drop the hoodie off at avery's place once it's not soaked. fucking freak, some internal part of him that sounds too much like a voice he knows whispers. what's the plan with that? hold onto a vaguely bloodstained hoodie for the rest of time like some stalker? matt tells himself he'll drop it off if he manages to get the thing to look like less of an artifact from a crime scene. someday. and if he can't he'll just throw it out or something. "you - uh. feel free to take more ibuprofen or whatever before you go." he rubs a hand across the back of his neck with a wince; it's sore from the strange angle of the night. maybe he should take an ibuprofen.

he's reaching for his phone to do just that when the smell of coffee hits him, the open-air concept between kitchen and living area unforgivable in that regard. it shouldn't matter that he can see two mugs on the counter next to the coffee maker. it's not like matt probably wouldn't drink it or would care if he had to pour some down the sink. but somehow it does, the idea of leaving on that note sending a pang of guilt through him. he slips his phone into his pants pocket, stands, making his way to the island that serves at the divider between the two spaces. his fingers drum against the countertop, lips pulled into a neutral expression. " thanks — " it's a halting start, and the morning hasn't exactly brought more clarity on what he owes matt now. " — for —uh— last night. " it dawns on him this is exactly what gets thrown at him when he catches a hook up trying to sneak out. the thought almost makes him laugh with how ridiculous it is. " i mean, you didn't have to do all that, but you probably saved me from hypothermia or whatever. " a twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth in spite of everything. " — don't think this means i won't still throw you out the next time you cause trouble though. "

the full mug is set on the island for avery. "c'mon, this doesn't earn me a free pass? a one fight allowed coupon?" matt doesn't say anything about how he hasn't caused trouble at one of the team's parties since the last time. it isn't that he'd stopped going to parties and getting into shit - only that there's been something steering him away from his favorite haunt. he swallows against the reminder of those fingers on his jaw, tipping his head this way in that in the strange bubble of muffled music of the half bath. matt rubs a hand along his jaw - rough, palm scraping it. " - d'you need like. creamer or sugar or anything?"

the tv's still on, some random commercial for a car dealership playing. he shifts some more, head turning to see his clothes on the otherwise empty coffee table, beyond that, matt curled up asleep in some ungodly position that makes avery hurt just looking at him. another moment passes, the commercial changes to a fast food promotion, he forces himself to sit up, gritting his teeth against the combination of stiffness and few hour old wounds. it's a battle to get the snug hoodie off, his own shirt back over his head, dry but cool from sitting out on the table. he pauses after that, taking an interlude to reach for his phone still resting on the arm of the couch. the notifications he swipes away, including all the missed calls from kyle and a single text that says im sorry. can we talk, instead flipping to his camera and taking a look at how the damage to his face looks. not fantastic, but he'll live.

when he woke up it was with a painful crick in his neck. "fuck," he mutters, unfurling from the pretzel he had made of his limbs in his sleep and blinking blearily at the shape of avery sitting on his couch. it must have been the movement that woke him; he's always been a light sleeper. "it shouldn't scar or anything," matt says through a yawn as he stands, just this side of unsteady with the vestiges of sleep still clinging to him, and heads towards the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. he thinks about offering one to avery - reconsiders, unsure how to even ask - and then pulls two mugs out wordlessly.

he hadn't even been drunk when matt found him, just a little warm from the dregs of a few beers, but even that has gone by now. " yeah, i'm really putting on the act, " he says sarcastically instead, turning until he's sprawled out lengthwise on the couch, grabbing one of the ice packs he discarded a while ago and pressing it again the worst of the ache on his face. it's marginally more comfortable than slumping back against the back cushions, though avery is pretty sure it's going to be a rough night regardless. he doesn't think that was very good for whatever's going on with his ribs. it's not like the silence is comfortable, the low murmur of the tv the only distraction. on screen, someone is dead. someone else is getting shot at. it looks like law and order or one of those shows. the weariness pulls at his limbs, his eyelids, the night catching up in an impressive crash of adrenaline leaving just the exhaustion behind. at the foot of the couch his phone lights up with a call, even from where he lays he can tell it's not worth answering. do not answer.

"alexa, dim lights," he calls abruptly. avery looks like he's about to pass the fuck out and matt - well. it's fine. couch for a couch. the recessed overhead lights dim to a softer glow and matt pulls his phone from his pocket to start trying to numb his mind with scrolling. he should probably just go to his room and leave avery out here with the remote within reach but...well. part of it would feel like giving up somehow, admitting defeat to - something. but matt also knows he'll just toss and turn all night until he hears avery skulk out come morning. "...i'll wake you up when your shit is dry."

he shakes out the fabric, a nearly inaudible snort of a laugh leaving him as he reads what's emblazoned on the front. " did they kick you out too ?? " he jokes before gingerly pulling on the hoodie, careful not to jostle the butterfly bandages on his face or stretch his torso too much. it fits for the most part — maybe a little more snug than avery would like, but it's not like he's really in a position to complain. he still pulls the hood up, slumping back against the cushions of the couch as his eyes wander to the tv, blindly watching whatever flits across the screen. eventually, he tries his phone again and this time it powers on, propping one foot up against the coffee table as he thumbs through his phone in his lap. there's not much, mostly drunken texts from his friends and teammates that descend further and further into incomprehensible and five missed calls from a contact so maturely named do not answer. a frown pulls at his face and he puts do not disturb back on and sets his phone aside. he looks at the tv, then at matt in his own chair, holding something that's probably coffee judging from the smell that hangs in the air. he folds his arms over his chest, winces and promptly uncrosses them, fingers picking at the sleeve of matt's hoodie because he doesn't know what to do with his hands otherwise. " you don't have to stay up to babysit me, y'know — pretty sure we're past the point where i would've passed out from blood loss. "

the bathroom mirror is really the first time he's able to get a proper look at the damage done — it's not pretty, but as he categorizes the cuts and bruises and pains, avery thinks it still could've been worse. maybe it would've been worse had matt not— . . . well. the shower he takes is long, the near scalding water dripping off him in a pinkish hue until eventually it runs clear. anywhere else he might've felt guilty for doing so, but it's not like matt's father couldn't afford a little higher utility bill this month. he switches the water to cold for the last minute, letting it numb his skin, soothe the aches away if even for a moment. step out, towel off, put his boxer-briefs back on. avery goes through the motions and at the end realizes he's miscalculated. maybe he shouldn't have put his clothes in the wash, after all, because now he definitely can't leave until they're through the dry cycle. he takes a minute to digest this, leaning over the bathroom sink, the throbbing in his ribs seeming to triple, an ache making itself known in his knee, whatever adrenaline that was coursing through him has faded. another deep breath, wincing at the resounding ache in his ribs, and he leaves the bathroom, stopping back in the laundry room to check on the washer and fetch his dead phone with its new cracks across the screen from where he left it on the dryer. " d'you have a charger ?? " he asks, entering the main living area once again. he settles back on the couch because the seems like the safest bet. his hoodie is still there and for a couple seconds he considers putting it back on before deciding that was not appealing. " i should tell someone that i haven't died. "

it's not a standoff that they're in, but it very quiet for a moment save for the rattle as avery gets the cap back on the painkillers and sets it back on the glass coffee table. " okay, yeah — " he says finally, " — sounds good. " a shower does sound very good, in fact, even if it is in his . . . enemy's ?? . . . apartment. " where's your laundry ?? i'll chuck my stuff into the washer first — sans bloody hoodie, promise. " he doesn't really want to move, but the prospect of clean, warm clothes is pretty tempting, as is the idea of drowning himself in the hot spray of the shower for about twenty minutes. he gives it another minutes before he's standing from the couch, shuffling to the laundry room. the place is a disaster, but he finds the detergent after a moment, dumping it into the fancy washing machine that puts the old, rattling one in the basement of the hockey house to shame. shirts, pants, socks. he strips them off methodically, checking each for any wayward bloodstains, but apart from a few droplets he can live with, avery doesn't find much. the cuts were really just on his face, the rest all force and impact that leaves the skin on his torso red and mottled in pre-bruising promise. his boxer-briefs he leaves on — even if after a lifetime in locker rooms he doesn't care, he doesn't think matt would appreciate that in his own apartment.

" i don't think i'm in danger of bleeding out in your bathroom — " avery points out mildly, though in spite of it all a wry smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. frankly, he probably wasn't in danger of bleeding out in the snow either — just getting hypothermia as he tried to get back to the house. his gaze is on matt as he pulls the wrappings off the bandaids and doesn't wander away as he presses the first one onto his face. he should say thank you. the thought hits him at the careful touch of matt's fingers. even if matt hadn't said it after the incident at the hockey house ; even if this is the most focused he's ever seen matt with the exception of the dogged determination to crash their parties. " most people already don't think you're a nice person, " is what he says instead, tone a light quip, pulling back after what he assumes the last butterfly bandage is fixed to his face. there's going to be no hiding what happened in the morning, but maybe it looks a little less terrible without the blood leaking down his face. he reaches over his shoulder, stifling a wince as he pulls his hoodie over his head, letting the it settle in his lap, mindful to keep the bloodied sleeves wadded in the middle of the fabric. his hand prods along one side of his ribs over his shirt, then the other, jaw tight against the increased throb of pain at all the irritation. it's all a general deep ache, though — no sharp jolts or shifting bone as he works his way methodically through the motions. " i don't think anything's broken — " he tells matt. " — so at least you don't have to worry i'm going to puncture an organ. "

a scoff of flat laughter leaves his lips at avery's quip and he rolls his eyes. the slight sting of the truth behind it is ignored and buried away deep. not like avery is saying something untruthful. "i dunno. maybe i'm turning over a new leaf. i think i should campaign to be canonized." never mind the fact that matt's pretty sure it's a rule that you have to be dead to be sainted. matt leans back, hands falling to his knees as avery pulls off the hoodie. his shirt rides up just a little as he does. whatever. matt resolutely looks at the stark white of the butterfly bandages against torn skin that'll be bruised by morning rather than glancing down. "cool." he stands, pulling a rattling bottle of ibuprofen out of the first aid kit and tossing it in the direction of the ice packs on the sofa as he moves to dump the kit back onto the kitchen island. "no one can say i never did anything for school spirit, making sure your team isn't a man down." then he's stuck sort of just...standing there by the kitchen island for a moment, looking at avery on the sofa. this feels oddly surreal. avery shouldn't be here. "bathroom's down the hall. lemme, uh," he heads that way, "grab you a towel and shit." and swipe whatever is on the bathroom sink into a drawer, because god knows what combo of bottles and boxes are scattered there. avery doesn't need to know what prescriptions matt neglects to take.

his eyes find matt as the other settles on the coffee table, close enough that their knees are almost touching. it's so far removed from their usual interactions that it makes avery want to laugh. the question sits right there, begging to be asked : why ?? ( maybe he started this after that party some time ago — if pressed, he doesn't really have a why for that either ). he doesn’t laugh or ask the question, though a noise somewhere between surprise and a scoff does force its way out, a new strip of paper towel torn off the roll and folded up before he presses it to his face. " don't worry about it. " but now that the initial relief of being somewhere warm has worn off he is distinctly aware of the way his clothes stick to him uncomfortably wet and chill. getting put of them does sound appealing. " we can throw my shit in the dryer while i'm in the shower or whatever. " not that matt had offered a shower, but well, he's here and it seems the quickest way to clean all the blood that's splattered across his skin. maybe the hot water will ease the chill that's crept under his skin, into his mind. " uh — probably beats using up all your paper towels or whatever. " he extends a hand, eyes glancing down with a grimace to the bloodstained cuff of his sweatshirt clammy and disgusting. he's probably going to have to throw it out after this.

"dryin' it will make the stain stay in forever." matt mutters with a silent duh in the words, like everyone ought to be as well versed in getting blood out of clothes as he is. he has an embarrassing amount of oxiclean in the messy pit of his little laundry room off the hall. not that he couldn't just toss whatever gets stained and replace it, but sometimes he likes a shirt too much to want to do that. it takes a second for the shower part to click and matt pauses before nodding a little, "here, lemme," the box of butterfly sutures is snagged again - a brush of fingers that matt is all too aware of - and he tugs a few out and then loose of their wrapping. "you bleeding out in my bathroom would look worse for me than a snowbank." he aims for something slightly caustic but the words fall too clumsily from his mouth. this all makes him feel wrongfooted. " - and my neighbors might get the idea that i'm not a very nice person if you stumble out there all bloodstained." that's a little better, faux-virtuosity coloring the words not a very nice person, as if there hasn't been a slew of noise complaints since he moved in.

matt's building is exactly what he'd expected : new, dripping money down to the impeccable lobby with the warm lighting and not a single thing out of place. he ducks his head at matt's words, suddenly self-conscious, fingers pulling his hood as far down as it'll go. the lights of the lobby are unforgivable, though, and decrease the precious shadow extending over his face. it's stupid — matt's going to see either way. he snorts, an almost laugh if it didn't hurt so much to do that. " at least i'm not known for being pretty. " he shifts, drops his arms from their crossed position and tries not to visibly wince. fuck, he better not have broken anything. playoffs are just around the corner. he finds himself staring at his feet instead of the bright and mirrored and shiny walls, reflecting back his beat up face, the resigned slump of his shoulders. the warmth of the building seeps through his clothes, thawing out the chill, bringing with it new aches through as the numb from the cold steadily creeps back. the journey from the lobby to matt's apartment feels far too long — it's too late to turn back, but every step still provides enough time for the regret to set in.

it's a short walk down a hall just as warm and bright and sterile in the rich way and not the hospital way - a fine line that it teeters upon - to matt's door. it's an electric fob attached to his car key that he waves in front of the knob to unlock and he pushes the door open and stands there for just a half second too long blocking avery. the living room isn't the worst its been. glass coffee table is covered in all manner of stuff; a drift of glass bottles and empty cans that haven't made it to the kitchen, a laptop left open with the screen dead, cluttered paper and magazines. "go sit down," he nods towards the dark leather sofa as he rounds into the open concept kitchen, the island just as cluttered as the coffee table, and yanks open the freezer. two ice packs are thrown in the direction of the couch and, he assumes, avery. the roll of paper towels and the still open first aid kit are snatched off the counter and he moves back to the sofa. some of the stuff is haphazardly swept off the coffee table so he can sit on the edge while thrusting a few sheets of paper towel into avery's hands. "what size shirt do you wear?" matt asks, eyeing the blood-soaked cuffs of avery's hoodie as he rummages through the first aid kit.

avery tugs up the hood of his sweatshirt, shoulders rounding in just a fraction as he scuffs at the ice covered sidewalk with his heel. going to matt's place isn't necessarily a better option —matt is a wildcard ; he always has been— but in the moment it's somehow the easier one. " you couldn't kill me if you tried — 'cept maybe from annoyance, " he mutters, but the words lack any real conviction. his sleeve blots at his face some more, even though it's already soaked through, the wet fabric growing chilled against his skin, the places where he lay in the snow not faring much better. " all right, " avery sounds weary, resigned, more focused on the way his whole body seems to hurt — worse than even when he takes a crushing hit along the boards, but maybe part of that was a bruised ego too. at least maybe he could say this draws them even somewhat. " guess i don't want you sliced to death with skate blades either. lead the way then. " he keeps his head ducked as they walk, face obscured in the shadow of his hood, arm crossed and tucked close to his body for a mixture of warmth and to obscure the blood staining the sleeves.

Matt scoffs and rolls his eyes at that. "I dunno. You're pretty off balance right now. I could probably fuck you up if I wanted." He considers saying something about how that other guy could've shivved Avery, how Matt could, but then decides against it. Wouldn't help any. Neither would overthinking the fact that Avery apparently doesn't want him to be sliced to death. That's a normal thing to want and a normal thing to not lay in bed thinking about tonight. Fuck - is Avery going to be able to make it home at all? Shit. Okay. Matt refocuses as he starts the walk down the street, keeping Avery in his peripheral at they do and pretending to look at the fat snowglobe snowflakes that drift down on them. "Do you not own a coat or something?" This time Matt actually does turn his head to look at Avery for a moment and the now bloodied hoodie he's wearing. His nose scrunches a little before he looks away again. When he'd said just down the street he wasn't kidding, leading them across the street that ends campus and begins city and then a handful of buildings down. The building is shiny and new and when Matt types a number on a keypad the front door buzzes a little before he pushes it open into a warm, narrow lobby. He holds the door for Avery and motions with his head for him to go in. He looks worse in the artificially warm light. "Shit, man..."

avery's arms cross over his chest, partly defensive, mostly against the cold. the movement hurts his ribs, but he stubbornly keeps them there. he remembers being at a party, leaving, kyle following. they'd been walking with no particular cause for direction and then arguing and then he kind of lost the plot after that. a sigh leaves him, tired, annoyed — take your pick. he steps back onto the shoveled sidewalk, the combination of ice and snow and rock salt crunching beneath the soles of his shoes. his nose is still bleeding. avery can feel the blood, too viscous and cold, blotting into the cuff of his sweatshirt as he raises a hand to try to get it to stop. he fishes his phone out of his pocket with the other, brow furrowing when it doesn't light up under his fingers. this truly is the night that keeps on giving. matt is still standing there for whatever reason, because apparently he looks pathetic or something. maybe matt feels some sort of obligation after what happened at the last party they were both at ; he doesn't feel all that up to trying to parse it out right now. " so i just go that way, right ?? " he shifts in the indicated direction, promptly slips a little though he doesn't go down again. " fuck, it's cold out here. "

"Wrong way," Matt deadpans. "You're gonna slip and crack your head on the ice if you try and walk back right now like that. Trust me, I'm an expert in the field." Avery probably doesn't want to know how many tumbles Matt has taken into ditches and snowdrifts on this very stretch of sidewalk. There's an awkward, extended silence as Matt considers what he's gonna do next. He could offer to walk all the way back across campus to get Avery to his place. He could call an Uber and then pester Avery about paying him back next time he sees him. Or - well. Fuck. Matt sighs heavily and rolls his neck to stare up at the dark sky, watches his breath stream upwards in a white cloud, and then - "My place is just down the street. Let's go see what the damage is so you don't give your teammates a heart attack by staggering in looking like Carrie. Or die in a ditch - they'll think I finally killed you and then come like, slice me to death with their fucking skates."

he rubs his palm across his sweatshirt, dabs the sleeve at this face, blood soaking into the thick fabric — he's probably going to have to burn the thing after, but he can't really bring himself to care in the moment. " not even going to gloat a bit ?? " avery stares at matt's hand for a long moment like he can't comprehend it before he finally takes it, raising to his feet mostly on his own, albeit with a wince and another round of pain. hallucinations weren't solid and the hand he takes definitely is, but avery still isn't ruling out a head injury just yet. he lets go of matt's hand, spitting another glob of blood and saliva into the snow. " — figured you'd be into seeing someone finally kicking the shit out of my ass for once. " no matter if it'd been intentionally more than just a little one-sided. god, how much had matt even seen ?? he looks around almost blurrily at their surroundings, confused when nothing immediately jumps out. the dark must be messing with his head because he can't place where they are immediately. a blast of cold wind hits them and he shivers, then grits his teeth and pretends not to. " where the fuck even am i ?? "

"You look really pathetic. It'd be like gloating at a kicked dog." There's no bite as he swivels his head to look around them - and make sure whoever it was that has a grudge against Avery is actually gone. Unless he was a mugger or something. Actually - "You still have your shit? Wallet and whatever?" It's a fair question. Not like on-campus muggings - or really even off campus ones - are common, but Matt can't imagine someone going out of their way to beat up Avery of all people. Especially guys smaller than him. The question is not a great sign that the guy's head isn't scrambled up inside his skull and Matt grimaces a little, holding up three fingers in front of Avery's face. "North side of campus. Almost off. You're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy." Bad joke about how they're on the opposite end of campus from the hockey house. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

he rights himself, stumbling a little as he steps back off the shoveled walkway into the snowy grass, backing away from the baseball pitcher descending on him. " why the fuck do you think i had anything to do with that ?? " when he spits onto the ground, there's definitely blood. he backs away some more. kyle's smaller than him and he could maybe win if he tried — but call him stupid for not being willing to make him bleed too because of . . . nostalgia. " i told you i wasn't going to say anything and i hav— fuck. " avery trips for real this time, balance upset, aided by the shove kyle presses bruisingly against his shoulders, and he lands awkwardly in the snow. the fall causes all the breath to whoosh from his lungs, the sharp pain in his ribs suggesting kyle might've kicked him too almost certainly not helping with the issue. if he had the breath for it, he definitely would be swearing more. " fuck — " he wheezes, rolling over on his side, curling into a defensive ball.

Avery could've easily taken that fucker. Matt knows that based on size alone; if Avery can haul Matt across a living room he could have knocked that guy over easily enough. "Have to be the - ugh," Matt mutters to himself as he leans over Avery, "C'mon, here - get out of the snow." A hand is offered down. First step first is get Avery out of the dark and the cold. They're closer to Matt's apartment just off campus than they are the hockey house and Matt realizes he's gonna wind up trying to direct him that way. He just hopes the place isn't too much of a wreck right now. "Can you stand?"