#clintorisbarton

LEONARD HORATIO MCCOY

Eventually something you love is going to be taken away. And then you will fall to the floor crying. And then, however much later, it is finally happening to you: you’re falling to the floor crying thinking, ‘I am falling to the floor crying,’ but there’s an element of the ridiculous to it — you knew it would happen and, even worse, while you’re on the floor crying you look at the place where the wall meets the floor and you realize you didn’t paint it very well.

I’m depressed and probably even less entertaining, but I’m here,

It’s all because of Patrice’s stupid fucking smile and his good morning texts and his annoying sincerity when asking Brad how he is every day at practice. Brad blames this all on Patrice. It is one hundred percent Patrice’s fault that Brad cannot fucking focus on the ice and cannot find a way to keep the puck on his goddamn stick.

This wouldn’t be happening if Patrice had just left him alone and wasn’t insistent on talking to Brad in the locker room and texting him on off days, asking him what he’s up to and if he wants to hang out. If Patrice had just taken his grunted one word responses and cold shouldered texts and left him alone, this wouldn’t be happening.

But, no, Patrice has to be fucking stubborn as hell along with being a frigging saint and Brad can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

He only agreed to go to dinner with Patrice because it had to be a team joke, this was some elaborate douchebag prank being pulled by the team, it had to be. There’s no way this was a legitimate dinner with Patrice genuinely wanting to spend time with Brad. Why would he? Brad’s been nothing but a cold asshole to him all this time.

And yet, at the end of the night, a very pleasant and nice and good night that was leaving Brad feeling very anxious and unsure of himself, Patrice had to go and kiss him. It was soft and sweet and gentle and everything good; the kiss was a physical embodiment of Patrice as a person being pressed to Brad’s lips and he just– He couldn’t take it.

He ran and left Patrice alone on the street and he hasn’t talked to Patrice since then, hasn’t looked at him once since then. How could Patrice do this to him? It’s not fair. It’s not fair. And now here he is, unable to keep himself focused on the ice, failing to keep the puck on his stick and he’s probably going to be benched next game and this is all Patrice’s fault.

Brad pretends to not notice how Patrice seems to be faltering a bit on the ice, too. That’s unrelated. He can’t be upset about Brad, or maybe he’s upset he had to kiss someone so gross for a prank. Whatever. Brad doesn’t care.

Brad doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t, he doesn’t.

But, he does. Oh, does he care. He cares so much and it breaks his heart in two when Patrice knocks on his door that night after the game, looking so sad and worn down, and asks Brad so softly, “Can I hold you or are you going to run away again? I just want to hold you and make sure you’re okay.”

Brad aches so fiercely in that moment and he reaches out, pulls Patrice inside, and kisses him softly.

Okay, look, so, Brad won’t deny that at first glance he wasn’t sure about Patrice being a leader because the guy looks sweet and gentle but by the end of the first day, he knows better and has heard how Patrice can use his gentle tone to make words cut and demand obedience and it doesn’t take long before Brad knows that he’d jump off the ends of the Earth for Patrice. And for some reason, Patrice notices him and genuinely seems to like him and care and listens to him when there’s time to talk about home and his family and his favorite movies and just general shooting the shit together that doesn’t feel like it’s just shooting the shit because the way Patrice listens to Brad and laughs at his lame jokes is so sincere. 

And maybe, yeah, Brad has a bit of a short fuse that’s always gotten him into trouble his whole life but he can’t do nothing when he hears somebody going off about how Patrice is too soft and doesn’t know what he’s doing and isn’t trustworthy because he’s too timid and has no balls and the guy doesn’t even get a chance to brace himself before Brad’s knuckles are cracking against his cheek and there’s definitely a loud scuffle and Brad’s hand comes away a little bruised and bloodied and he’s got a split lip but it was completely worth it for the dubious look and slightly amused smirk matched with a shake of the head that Patrice sent his way the next day.