«II»

This Is Noise.
II.
Everchanging.

«II»


It's alright, it's just a flesh wound
You said you never saw it coming
I'm pretty happy lying here with you
It's pretty good to feel something

I don't care about nothing but you
I don't care about nothing
I don't care about nothing but you
No I don't care about nothing


«II»


Marcus shuffled his skates on the red paint, side-stepping between the hash-marks with the puck practically glued to his stick. Navy jerseys were starting to swarm around him and cut off his openings. However, in the wake of the defensive play aimed against him, he sensed a teammate's skates cut back against the grain and glide towards the endboards. Marcus pivoted to put his back towards the defense, cradled the puck on his backhand, and then shoveled the rubber along the boards to a wide-open teammate behind the opposing net. The trove of navy jerseys dispersed, allowing the blue vulpine to inch towards the goal line. After a moment, the puck was given right back to him in the same manner he sent it off. Within a second he had transferred the puck from his backhand to his forehand and launched it back at the white jersey hugging the blue line heading towards center ice. As his teammate straddled the zone and slid towards the middle of the ice, Marcus did the same by slipping through navy sweaters on his way to the slot—the open patch of white ice in between the in-zone faceoff circles.

He saw the puck get launched from the blue line towards the net—a heavy snap shot looking like it wasn't intending to score. Marcus twisted his skates and kept a watchful eye on the puck rocketing towards the goaltender beside him. Simple flat shot, about chest high. He reacted in a split-second, holding out the blade of his stick in front of the goaltender. Before the navy goalie could gobble up the simple shot, the puck glanced off the blade of Marcus's stick, immediately changing the trajectory of the rubber disk missile. Instead of careening into the crest of the goaltender, the puck simply shot down and slipped between his legs, avoiding every little bit of padding on his legs in the process. Marcus didn't even see the puck go in the net; he just reacted happily when he felt the netting sway upon impact.

Coach's whistle blew. "Nice play," he barked, gliding into the zone from center ice. "Cal: good keep in on the blue line, but always keep your back turned from center on your-off hand. I know you'll be playing the other side in the tournament, but be willing to adapt in case of a half-line change."

The husky nodded. "Yes, Coach."

"Defense: nice job at containing the play," Coach continued, directed at the navy sweaters. "It's important to pressure the puck holder, but don't sacrifice your positioning. You left Marcus all alone in the high-slot next to your goaltender! Even if you're covering someone half as good as McCloud, if you're not covering that guy in the slot and a shot comes in from the point, it's gonna get deflected and go in, or they'll just swat in a rebound. Always guard your man, and protect your goalie."

Coach then stuck his stick out to tap Marcus on the back. "Great awareness to get that puck in deep, Marcus. And Zach!" he suddenly shouted and looked up towards the net. "Behind the net isn't always gonna be viable, son. Be prepared to back up towards the faceoff dots, and don't be afraid to just shoot it on net if there's nobody open."

Coach slapped his stick on the ice. "Alright! Same play; offensive zone control. Dwyer: sub in for McCloud." He then glided towards Marcus to quietly say, "Wanna talk to ya for a sec, aright?"

"Okay," Marcus nodded, instinctively changing his footing to coast over to the bench.

Coach skated backwards across the blue line as he waited for his players to take position. Once they were ready, Coach blew his whistle to start the play. Coach then skated back towards the bench and towards Marcus, keeping a watchful eye on the ongoing drill.

"So, McCloud," Coach's gruff, authoritative voice undertook a more calm and sincere approach when his naturally booming voice was lowered. He held out his gloved paw for Marcus to bump back; a usual sign of praise from the elder canine. "Great positioning, great passes, great hand-eye. I can tell you've been working on that. But…" he showed a little bit of a snarky smile. "Today, I noticed you've been a little slow on your feet. Your zone entry is skittish, and you're shying away from those dirty areas. You're playing timid today. Is something up?"

Marcus watched as the two defensemen on the white team passed the puck back and forth near the blue line to try and find an opening down low. Once the one on the right batted the puck down the half-boards, the vulpine answered, "Oh, I, uh, just wanted to play safe when we're this close to the tournament."

Coach pursed his muzzle. "You know how I feel about playing safe, Marcus. If you're not giving your all, you're not learning, therefore not improving."

"Yes, Coach," Marcus hung his head a little.

"You don't usually play safe," Coach remarked, but had to stop for a brief moment to shout "SKATE! SKATE!" down the other end of the ice.

"I know," Marcus answered softly. "I just don't want to take any chances."

"You know this," Coach started, switching into his leader's voice, "What separates a good player and a great player is that willingness to take chances and make the plays nobody else wants to. Sometimes taking chances is what your team needs you to do."

"I just don't want to get hurt, Coach," Marcus breathed. "Charlie got hurt and I don't know if he'll be cleared to play tomorrow. I can't get hurt too; it'll weaken the team and then we'll fail."

"Marcus, listen to me for a second," Coach began, resting his glove on the vulpine's shoulder. "It's part of the game to get hurt now and again. It's not the team's fault if you get injured, and it's certainly not your fault if you do get hurt and the team suffers. What is your fault is if the team fails because you're not giving your all. It doesn't matter if you're hurt or get hurt or stay healthy; I want all of my players to give it their all. If you get hurt; it's just bad luck. You can't change when your body decides to fail. What you can do is make the most of it before it does. Nobody is going to be an ironman and play every single game they're needed to. I need you to play hard like you always do. Understand?"

Marcus nodded. "Yes, Coach. I understand."

Coach looked up when he heard tapping sticks and blew his whistle, then shouted, "One more time! Ready?" He blew his whistle shortly after, then turned his attention back to Marcus. "I know you're concerned because of what happened to Charlie, but he's tough, just like you are. I'm sure he'll be fine. Plus, we dominated the games we played this season even without him, so I'm not worried about injuries. We're a great team. We'll adapt. Don't be timid about playing hard today, okay?"

"Yes, Coach."

Coach skated back just a little to lean on the half-boards separating the empty bench. "I get why you're worried about Charlie," he nodded his head. "He and you have some great chemistry. It's like you two always know where the other is going to be in the play. It's impressive to watch, really." The canine paused to watch the drill for a few moments. "This season seems better about that, though. Anything changed?"

Marcus almost held his breath. "Well, he and I are best friends so we practiced together a lot over the summer."

"You two seem more confident," Coach remarked. "Not afraid to make plays that you might not have last season. I don't think that's something a little practice over the summer can do."

Marcus's ears fell.

Coach pulled himself closer by tugging on the back of the endboards. "Safe play, now shallow answers. I don't think it's the injury worry. Something's bothering you."

Marcus looked up with wide eyes as to say, 'please don't press me'.

"If you don't want to talk about it, I'll leave you be," Coach shrugged. "But I'll lose my confidence in you and make you sit the tournament out if you're not gonna play at the top of your game. I need to know what's wrong."

Marcus's whole body sulked as nerves pummeled him from every angle, but he fought through the anxiety and swallowed his pride as he looked towards Coach with renewed vigor.

"I'm… concerned about getting hurt because I saw Charlie get hurt, and I care about Charlie because…" he wanted to stop, but forced the rest out sheepishly, "Well… he and I have been dating for a while."

Coach didn't seem to react at all, aside from a simple, natural exhale. "How long?"

"A few weeks before this season started," answered the vulpine. "Couple months now."

"And now everything makes sense," Coach let a very tiny grin crease his muzzle. He took a second to blow his whistle and yell, "Alright! Take a break! Get some water, stretch, do what you need to do." As the players lining the boards dispersed, Coach urged Marcus away from the bench and towards the opposite end of the ice; away from the rest of his teammates.

"I didn't want to say anything because I didn't think it would matter," Marcus blurted out, almost on the verge of crying. He couldn't help but feel ashamed; like he did something wrong. What was even more concerning was that Coach didn't have a discernable aura about him; an uncertainty the vulpine couldn't prepare for.

Coach wedged his glove in the fold of his arm. "Well, it doesn't."

Marcus blinked. "…What?"

"Look, Marcus," the canine started softly, but sternly. "I'm a mentor to you and the rest of your team. I don't care that you're gay. I don't care that Charlie's gay. I don't even care that you guys are seeing each other. As long as it doesn't affect what you put out on the ice when the puck drops, I don't care what you guys choose to do. You're a consenting adult; I can't make your choices for you."

Marcus wanted to debate the tag he received but he simply let Coach continue.

"Now, as your mentor and coach, I want to see the best in you. Those scouts at the tournament are going to be all eyes on you, Marcus. They know how good you are and they want to see what you can do under pressure. If you crack; you're out of luck and nobody will count on you. If you survive and thrive under pressure, they'll recruit you in a heartbeat. That being said, you can't let your concern for your teammates—or in this case your relationship—interfere with that. I'm actually thrilled that you two find such an interest in each other because that explains why you two have had unbelievable chemistry this season. But, know this…"

Coach paused to lay his paw on Marcus's shoulder again. "Don't be afraid. Don't be afraid of what people are going to think or say about you. Don't be afraid to tell people who you really are. Confidence personally translates into confidence professionally. Don't focus on Charlie, or worry about getting hurt, or stress about letting your team down, or even think about what your teammates will say if you tell them. All that doesn't matter in the big picture. Be yourself. Play your game as best as you can, and your team will play for you too."

Marcus finally let a smile crease his muzzle, the wave of relief finally causing a tear to escape his eye. "Yes, Coach. Thank you, Coach." The vulpine went to skate away, but Coach kept his hold on his pads. Marcus simply turned to face him again.

"And hey," beamed Coach, being mindful of the team behind them by picking up his voice ever so slightly. "Give Charlie a congratulatory kiss in the locker room with the tournament trophy in your hands. That's gonna be the best way to tell the rest of your team, eh?"

Marcus had to laugh at the mental image. "That sounds like a good idea."

"Well, that means you gotta work hard to win it, doesn't it," Coach remarked smugly before slapping his stick on the ice. "Alright! Break time is over! Let's get some more drills done, alright?"

The cerulean vulpine felt the adrenaline rush soon after. All that ever-present anxiety melted into pure energy, denoted by Marcus's spastic tail flicks. Coach blew his whistle, and everyone wearing white skated to one side of the ice while everyone in navy skated to the other. From the blue line to behind the net, every player started skating laps in sort of an oblong circle. Soon after, one by one the players scooped up discarded pucks and skated around with them, keeping them moving while protected within their reach.

Marcus scooped one up right when he skated parallel to the thick blue line. He cut to his left, crossing over his skates to pick up blinding speed as he blitzed into the slot. He pulled his stick back and lifted the blade high above his head before hammering his left arm forward, the blade of his stick instinctively cradling the puck before whipping it forward; all within the blink of an eye. His composite stick flexed like a thin tree branch before whipping forward on the follow through, forcing himself to kick his leg up to stay balanced and moving. The puck he rifled picked the top left corner of the net, bouncing off the netting and rocketing out towards the faceoff circle. The puck had so much velocity that it couldn't have stayed inside the yawning cage for more than half a second.

He felt powerful, Marcus did. Confident. Unstoppable. This sort of power translated into his play for the rest of practice. He wouldn't stop playing in the zone drill. Teammates circled out one after another, switching jerseys to signify switching sides, but the vulpine stayed in the offensive zone. He stayed on his right-wing side, blade facing outwards into the slot whenever he'd receive a pass. It was so natural to him at this point. He could shoot it from the half-boards if he wanted, but he liked to pass. He'd circle around in his little zone of play pressed against the glass more often than not, but Marcus adapted as if his life depended on it. Two guys rushing from the red line: he'd toss it down to the blue-line for one of his defenders. Two rushing from the point; he'd simply shovel it around the boards either to his teammate behind the net or all the way around to the left wing side. Hell, even if three navy jerseys rushed him, he'd feather a pass through the incoming offensive right to the waiting stick of a teammate in the slot; almost a guaranteed goal in most situations. The more passes he put to his team's tape, the more shots he'd fire for rebounds… the more he played, Marcus felt more and more powerful.

Zach wound a pass to Marcus on his spot along the boards. He circled with it, noting that Zach was covered along the boards, and there was no way he'd be able to launch a cross-ice pass to the open defender. The vulpine stayed with it, turning on the jets to try to open up a fresh lane of ice, even going as far down as the blue-line before doubling back just as quick. However, his teammates in navy were guarding him well; forcing him farther and farther down the endboards until he found himself cornered in the curve of the boards. He switched to his senses yet again, feeling one of his defensemen teammates cut down from the middle of the ice over towards the boards. He reacted by shoveling a pass over the navy defender's stick and along the boards to the awaiting defensemen's stick. It was Cal.

Cal loved to shoot the puck.

Marcus immediately worked and fought his way through the skaters in navy, feeling Cal's skates cut over one another on his way towards the middle of the ice. Marcus held his stick tight as he powered into the crease, bumping into the defender covering him, as well as the goaltender. He slipped through, thankfully, and with good timing too. Time seemed to slow down as he saw Cal wind up for a bomb of a slap shot. He wasn't on his wing of choice, as this side of the ice forced him to his backhand as opposed to his forehand, but he could adapt. As he did before, the vulpine tightened his grip and held the blade out in front of the goaltender just as Cal released his cannon of a shot. Marcus quickly realized he was much too close to the goalie to be trying this sort of deflection, but he committed and tried pulling his stick in; instinctively tensing up and turning his face away. The navy defender on the other side gave him a nudge just as the puck left Cal's stick, so Marcus had to twist his skates and his whole body as well just to keep balance.

The puck hit something, but it wasn't his stick. It was the top of his glove, right where the padding extends over the wrist. The sting instinctively made Marcus recoil his arm and drop his stick. The puck careened into the corner where Zach was after bouncing off the vulpine. The adrenaline spiked again, allowing Marcus to slide away from the crease and scoop up his discarded stick. He couldn't feel his right hand at all; but it didn't hurt yet. Marcus slipped over to his usual spot, anticipating a pass back from Zach. As he prepared for the rolling puck, the hybrid gripped his stick until a shot of pain rifled down his right arm when he tried to grip the top of his stick. Marcus panicked, swinging his stick back with one hand to force the puck back up towards Zach. All Marcus could do was watch as Zach floated it into the slot where the center on his side immediately fired the puck into the crest of the goaltender. Coach blew the whistle.

"Ready to switch out now, McCloud?" Coach laughed aloud, tapping his stick on the ice just like the rest of his team. Marcus finally conceded defeat and nodded, allowing one of his teammates to take his place. When Marcus arrived at the bench, Coach gave him a nudge. "I liked the aggressiveness, the intensity in front of the net. If they shove you, shove them back. I wanna see more of that come game-time."

"Yes, Coach," Marcus replied, hiding his wince well. When Coach skated away to watch the play more intently, the vulpine tried to work some feeling into his right wrist. He could move it, thankfully, but the slightest wrong move sent a spike of pain all the way down into his elbow.

The vulpine didn't like to swear, but in his head he was swearing up a storm.


«II»


"Does it still hurt?" his dad asked as the younger vulpine wound the ice pack around his right wrist.

"Only when I move it weird," Marcus answered. "I'll be okay."

"If you say so," Fox grinned shyly. "Just keep it iced. We want you to be fully rested for tomorrow."

Marcus nodded. "Yeah, me too." He glanced up at the clock over the television, then out the window, and then back to his wrist. All he could do was sigh. "I'm gonna take a quick shower." He could feel the concern radiate from his parents as he returned the ice pack to the freezer and gingerly stepped upstairs to retrieve clothes. He could tell they were watching, but he couldn't bring himself to look back at them. He simply slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

After stripping down and starting the hot water, Marcus held his arm in front of the bathroom mirror. There was no visible bruise under his fur, nor did it seem swollen compared to his left arm. Whatever that stinger was, it happened to catch him right where his wrist was most sensitive. While he stood there, Marcus combed over the fur he could reach to check for any more bruising. Sometimes the adrenaline rush would mask points of pain, but the pain was so concentrated in his wrist that he could miss those blemishes and not know otherwise. The vulpine took a little extra time combing out stray knots in his fur before stepping into the shower.

Mindful of his wrist, Marcus watched the hot water dampen his fur, weakening the vibrant cerulean into a deep azure. His once fluffy pelt melted into his skin, but still; no discernable bruise on his wrist from the hit. The hot water made his wrist burn a bit, but he simply submerged his head beneath the waterfall and kneaded his wrist with his other paw. The burn faded into a nagging tingle separate from static; this tingle still hurt. Pushing his thumb down and forward, Marcus worked the muscles surrounding his joint, pressing down on the bones and wearing off some of the fur there. Every once in a while, he'd ball his paw or flex his wrist before massaging it again; each time working away some of the pain. Only when he worked his other paw numb did Marcus finally feel a little pain-relieved.

He stepped forward a little, resting his forehead against the shower wall to let the stream pummel the back of his neck. As water streamed down his chest and pooled at his feet, the vulpine started to feel some anxiety creep back. He spent all that time worrying about injury, and the second he lets it slip his mind is when he gets hurt. Typical. Just his luck. The hot water soothing his nerves luckily suppressed his brewing anger and fear. The static wouldn't come back just yet; he was too far wrapped in emotions to let the bliss peek through. Still, it was no different than watching the river flow or watching clouds float by on a fall evening; the hot water made him relax. The underlying anxiety of his injury prevailed even amongst the pervasive steam, but there wasn't anything else he could have done to fight it other than to take a few deep breaths, letting some of the dripping water slip into his yawning maw.

Once he was clean, dry, and brushed, Marcus retreated into his lofted room. The chill of autumn clashed with his freshly steamed fur, so to preserve his warmth he hid underneath his comforter, only appearing as a covered bulge atop his bed. Underneath the comforter, the vulpine continued to nurse his wrist by holding it steady with his other paw and compressing the joint. It seemed to help.

He wanted to cry, Marcus did. Such a visceral and pure release of emotion usually cleared his headspace easier than the static normally did, but something that intense usually sent him into an emotional spiral. Crying released those emotions, but also instilled a feeling of weakness and powerlessness; something directly combative of how he felt during practice. Those clashing emotions would totally ruin Marcus's performance tomorrow, no doubt. Still, he felt ashamed at getting hurt. Coach's words still bounced around in his head so he wasn't completely without hope. He just hated how he got hurt within moments of letting his guard down after promising to himself that he wouldn't. The only thing he could do was hope that the injury wouldn't hamper him. Coach was right; the team counted on him playing his best. He couldn't let them down; not after last practice. He had to stay strong and—like Coach told him—be confident in himself.

His nightstand vibrated at him. The vulpine slipped out from underneath his covers and checked his phone he left there. He got a message from Charlie. Marcus immediately perked up and checked what the coyote sent him, tail gently wagging and patting his covers.

Look outside.

Marcus wasted no time. He immediately bolted from his bed and ran downstairs, catching both his mother and father off-guard. He couldn't process what either of them said as he ran to the window and looked outside. At the entrance of the parking garage stood a simple figure waving at the window. Marcus almost screamed in delight as he bolted right back upstairs, threw his rink suit on, ran right back down the stairs again to toss his boots on, and bolt out the front door in seconds flat; leaving his parent bewildered.

Charlie met Marcus at the access door he always entered and exited, and the two instantly embraced. "Surprise, dork," Charlie laughed, returning the tight hug thrown at him.

"What are you doing here?" Marcus asked frantically, yet joyfully. "I didn't see you at school today, you weren't at practice, I—"

"Marcus, I'm fine!" laughed Charlie, working his usual magic to calm the hybrid vulpine down. "Really, I'm okay. I just wanted to drop by the day before the tournament to talk a little strategy."

"Strategy?" Marcus echoed quizzically. "Why do you need to talk strategy when you're—" he quickly cut himself off and gasped. "You're cleared?!"

"Every doctor I went to said I was okay to play," said Charlie moments before getting a more powerful and tender hug from the vulpine. Marcus deeply exhaled overtop the canine's shoulder, relief shedding his body so quickly that a wave of static blasted him and nearly made him collapse into the embrace. Charlie simply held the vulpine up, returning the gesture as best he could.

"That's such a relief," Marcus sighed loudly. "I didn't know how I'd play without my center."

"And I'm glad to have my winger on my line again," the canine smiled at the cheesy comment. "Wanna practice with me to get me warmed up? I brought my stick too."

Marcus needed no second invitation as he quickly ran back up to his apartment to scoop his stick and gloves up before immediately running right back down. He met back up with Charlie, and the two scaled the parking garage stairs to get to the top; right to Marcus's usual position. However, this time there was a car right in the parking spot that his shooting box was in. Charlie's car.

"I had an idea," Charlie started, slapping the worn-out tennis ball from Marcus's paw and instantly taking control of it with his stick. "I wanna see if those weeks away put some rust on our passing."

"Passing?" Marcus almost laughed. "You're serious—"

"Wait," Charlie interrupted, stepping towards the vulpine. He unwound the scarf usually around his neck and held it out. "You can't look."

Marcus nodded, allowing the coyote to wrap the scarf around his eyes and tie it tight. It was still warm, and it smelled like Charlie too. In that moment he had a better understanding of Charlie's weird obsession with scents.

Marcus couldn't see anything, but he could feel Charlie's boots step backwards. In amongst the blackness, he started to visualize his surroundings just by his senses. The sound of his and Charlie's boots stepping on concrete, the feeling of the ball rolling around… He could understand it.

Charlie rifled a pass to him, and in that split second he tracked where the ball was rolling to and flipped his stick to the backhand to intercept the pass and control it. While in control, he felt the canine take a few hurried steps to his left and anticipated he wouldn't be stopping. He swapped to his left-hand side and fired the ball back. All he heard was the slap of the ball on the blade of Charlie's stick. Perfect.

Charlie started walking forward and shot the ball back. Marcus easily handled it, but noted Charlie was running straight for him. He tapped the ball back right to the coyote's dragging blade. Charlie simply touched it back to him, still moving forward. Marcus pivoted his feet and backed up to corral the errant ball before rifling it back in one smooth motion. He then stepped forward when he traced his boyfriend's steps back towards himself. Before Charlie could pass it back, the fox slipped the upward curve of his blade underneath Charlie's stick's heel, flicking the stick upward. Marcus swiped the ball from the canine, spinning around and pacing backwards with the ball in his control as Charlie stood still, chuckling.

"Good," he exhaled. Marcus could feel the plume of fog expel from his lungs at that exhale. "Keep moving. Don't stop."

Charlie started moving again, so the blue fox shot a pass his direction again while tracing his own path out. Ten, twenty, thirty passes back and forth, tape-to-tape. They just kept shooting the ball right back to the other's stick with ease. Marcus still couldn't see a thing, but he could feel his confidence building even more. This just felt so easy and so natural to him as if this was what he was put into the universe to do. It didn't matter if he was launching the ball across the parking garage or feathering it behind him on his backhand; they all just seemed to gravitate towards his boyfriend's stick. Neither could miss; neither wanted to miss. Back and forth, again and again, fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty—

A rough, glancing pass forced Marcus to put a little more pressure on the top of his stick to corral the errant pass. As soon as the ball hit his stick, a shockwave carried up the length of the composite until it reached Marcus's right hand. The sting returned in an instant; scaring the vulpine and making him yelp and drop his stick. The ball bounced off the wall of the parking garage and rolled into the crook of his discarded stick while Marcus recoiled from his spot and started to walk off the sting, waving his right arm towards the ground. Marcus heard and felt Charlie drop his stick on the concrete, followed by quick and heavy footsteps running towards him.

"Marcus!" Charlie shouted, stopping just out of the fox's pacing range. "Are you okay?"

The vulpine threw his gloves down and managed to untie the scarf from his eyes with one hand, to which Charlie took from him when he returned. He held his injured right wrist with a vice-grip, almost hoping that he could squeeze the pain out through his fingertips, or just be able to sever his hand to not feel pain anymore.

Marcus winced. "Got hit with a stinger at practice today," he explained.

"Oh shit," Charlie swore, and he never swore like that. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you—"

"It's not your fault; I didn't give it enough rest," Marcus interrupted, managing to calm his pacing down to where he could cross his legs and sit on the cold concrete. He liked the feeling of it, so he pressed his nagging wrist against the cold to hopefully kill the pain. He kneaded the joint like he did in the shower, but it wasn't wanting to relax like it did then. A wave of frustration hit Marcus as he unfolded his legs and slammed one of his boots on the concrete. A shrill bark of anger followed.

Charlie concernedly dropped to his knees to investigate. "You're gonna be okay," he assured him.

"This is exactly what I was afraid of," he fumed, muzzle pointed at the ground. "The day before the most important tournament of our lives and I get hurt. Why do I have to get hurt now!?"

"Marcus," Charlie implored, risking injury himself as he slipped beside the vulpine to hold him down with a tender embrace. "Hey, hold on buddy, hold on. It's fine. Seriously, it's gonna be fine. Breathe. You're okay."

The coyote's tight grasp certainly squeezed out the anger he had in seconds flat, but his fear wouldn't be deterred. Charlie did everything in his power to calm him down, speaking softly to try to invoke the static he knew he loved. There were a few painfully long moments of complete silence; only disrupted by the sound of wind blowing around the parking garage. If the rage slowly leaving the blue fox's body could make a sound, the wind probably swept it away.

"You're stronger," Charlie started gently, speaking directly into Marcus's right ear. "This is just your body wanting you to quit. I know how it is. It's everything that's ever tried to keep you down. Don't let it win. You're stronger than it."

Marcus stayed silent, breathing deeply to lower his heartrate.

"You can fight through this," continued Charlie, tightening his hold on his boyfriend. "I know you can fight through it. Don't feel discouraged."

The blue vulpine let his head fall and rest on Charlie's shoulder. "You're right," he replied. "Sorry for freaking out."

"It's okay," Charlie stood up, then helped Marcus to his feet as well. "I'd be scared too. Just know that I believe in you, eh?"

Marcus smiled, then gave Charlie another hearty embrace. Hugging it out was a very constructive way to release some pent-up emotions. It was even better this time around because he could sense Charlie's caring interest. He wanted him to feel better, so he held on tighter.

"Look, I've got something for you," Charlie started as he pulled away. "So, I got new laces for my skates, but they always make the laces too long. You know how small my skates are. So, I cut them down to fit, then added a snap to it and, here."

The coyote pulled a small bracelet out of his pocket, a bracelet made out of the soft skate laces. Instead of a normal white or black, these laces had a vibrant gradient rainbow smeared across the lace, only broken up by a small crosshatch of black to diversify the pattern. Charlie grinned as he gently held Marcus's right arm and snapped the bracelet overtop his injured wrist. The fox just stared at the gift, examining it with his other paw.

"I know what you said last time I was here," Charlie started sheepishly. "But I had just enough to fit you, and I made one for myself—" here Charlie pulled his right sleeve back to show off his own rainbow bracelet. "—and I thought it would be… you know, cool to show off. I mean… I know it's really gay but… I care a lot about you, so it's kinda a little symbol of that, eh?"

Marcus spun the little bracelet around his wrist and sighed. "Charlie, you know I'm not—" he looked up and trailed off. There was such a powerful aura emanating from the canine to the point where he looked like he was glowing. Marcus was stunned silent; he had never seen this sort of thing before. This aura that lit his outline up radiated of care and compassion; full of… full of love.

The static that ensued made his ears flutter and his tail flick wildly. This static was so powerful that any sort of pain in his wrist, and anxiety still left in his gut, and any other negative emotion evaporated until he noticed that his own aura seemed to glow. Charlie couldn't see it, but Marcus had his senses overloaded. His fingers began to twitch and curl a little, his whiskers vibrated, his ears continued to flutter as if he were signaling an airplane, and his heart yearned to leap through his ribcage.

"You know what?" Marcus began timidly, but that almost instantly faded away. "Screw it. I'm gay for you."

He lunged forward and grabbed the collar of Charlie's coat and yanked him in to make their muzzles meet. Charlie was surprised for all of half a second before he melted into the kiss and pushed it deeper. Acting on instinct—since it was his and Charlie's first kiss—the vulpine just let the moment carry him as Charlie snaked his hands behind him to hold him close. Being as it was a bit of an impulse moment, the two guys didn't know how to adapt to the spontaneity of the kiss right away, but given a handful of seconds to adapt let them lend their whole body to the moment. Tongue and all; they explored one another with just the slightest amount of movement, nearly fighting with each other to get dominance even though they both didn't care who won.

Charlie pulled back with a gasp as did Marcus; both of their hearts begging to break free of their owner's chest. Marcus wanted to speak, but couldn't muster the strength to. In fact, once he knew Charlie had caught his breath back, he leaned in for a second round to which the coyote happily accepted. For Marcus, the intensity of the static in his head solidified his decision to act out. He almost thought his brain would melt with the high tide of immense static washing over him. As the seconds ticked on, the euphoric blend of physical and mental static bombarding him on all sides only exponentiated. Charlie only added to the feeling by getting more hands-y in his embrace; gently caressing the same places in the same manner as always, only this was much more tender despite the elements outside.

Once more, Marcus retreated to retrieve some air, but this time Charlie initiated another kiss and he couldn't tell his boyfriend no. Out of all three so far, this one felt the most intense. Both Charlie and Marcus gave in to their desires and fought for supremacy, meshing their muzzles together and shamelessly waging war with their tongues. The cold wind outside was negligible in their bubble of warmth and safety. In this moment, they were untouchable. Nothing could separate them. Except for air.

Upon releasing the kiss this time for a breather, Charlie just started laughing softly, eventually turning into a giddy, hearty laugh as Marcus panted for breath.

"Marcus," Charlie gasped, eyes wide and smile wider. "Marcus, that… was incredible!"

The vulpine couldn't reply; he could only laugh along as the static nearly overwhelmed him.

"My gosh, and the static too," beamed the canine, tail wagging furiously behind him. "You loved it just as much as I did!"

"I did love it," Marcus chuckled softly, the massive blush adding a deep burn to the static in his mind.

Charlie took a step forward. "So… does that mean…?" he trailed off, himself blushing just as bad as Marcus.

"Yes, you big dork; I love you too," Marcus blurted out, unable to stop himself from leaning into another passionate kiss. He could feel Charlie screaming in delight as the fox fought to keep the coyote's muzzle trained on his own. Yet again, the two lovebirds stayed connected until they needed to gasp for air many seconds later, still all smiles and tail wags.

"I love you too," Charlie affectionately cooed, but didn't go in for another kiss. Instead, he continued, "You're a great kisser," and gave him a lusty stare.

"Not bad for my first, I guess," the vulpine teased.

"I would have never guessed," Charlie grinned back.

"Want another?"

The coyote just smiled, visibly the happiest he's ever been as he initiated another kiss. Marcus merely leaned into it again, letting the static build and bloom within him as every last bit of pain in his being merely faded into the wind.


«II»


Wow, what an environment. It still didn't sink in for Marcus as the second period rolled around. In the suburbs north of Corneria City resided Assembly Hall; a relatively massive indoor stadium that has since been flooded and painted for a high-spirited tournament of hockey. Marcus had only ever played in rinks that could seat a hundred people, if that. Now, in this incredible venue, he was being watched by thousands.

The first twenty-minute period was uneventful; just Marcus learning to adapt to such a wild and raucous crowd cheering from all angles. The score was knotted up at zeros, but after the first intermission, there were twenty guys on either bench itching to blow this game wide open; Marcus being the most eager out of all of them.

He and all of his teammates in white were very eager to get the scoring going, but the other team in red weren't making it easy. They were mean, those guys in red. Bigger and stronger; and they sure liked to play that way. Marcus was lucky that his wrist didn't act up when those strong players bumped and roughed him up at every opportunity. But, Coach noticed something that most of the team did as well. They played physical because they knew their opponents were more skilled. If they couldn't skill their way into a goal, they could buy one with brute strength. Marcus knew what he needed to do.

Coach's top line of Schenn, Boeser, and McCloud—left, right, and center respectively—took the ice, followed by Reilly and Stone as the defensive pairing. Being as it was still a scoreless game, there was that returning sense of urgency about all ten skaters on the ice. They needed to get off to a hot start to burn the other team out, get them to soften up so they could make those dirty plays work. Wearing them out would either allow Marcus and his team to work into dirty areas on account of the other team wanting to play smarter and less aggressive… or it would piss them off and make their job harder. Either way, breaking that tie was important.

Charlie idly skated around center ice, to which Marcus practiced his focus by homing in on the rainbow laces on his skates. He was a right-handed shot as opposed to Marcus's left, but it usually worked out that way given Marcus's preference of wing and their skating ability. It was a shame that the other team's defense wouldn't let them showcase that skating ability; they were consistently quick on their feet but the defense found it easy to stifle their rush. Charlie wandered over to the center dot to await the opening draw, hunched over his stick for leverage. He glanced at Marcus on his way there and smiled through the iron cage over his face. Even in this tense environment with the stakes as high as they were, the coyote still found time to give him a wave of static.

The black and white striped referee skated to center where Charlie met the other center for the opening faceoff. As was the case for this game, Charlie simply got overpowered once the puck fell, losing the draw and being forced to back off as the other team's defense started a play. Marcus kept his man within reach as both teams smacked and clawed their way into a better position, fighting for that tiny disk of rubber. Eventually, the vulpine got tired chasing his guy and fighting with him to where he and the rest of his line switched out for different players once Cal cleared the puck out of their zone.

Most of the game revolved around getting that sort of upper hand; both teams starting to get gritty and nasty as the halfway point rolled on without a score. The other team made the first mistake, as one of their wingers got his stick caught up with Cal and tripped him. It was off to the penalty box for that player. As he tried to plead his case to the officials, Marcus and his line took the ice for a power-play; in which the team who took the penalty must settle for four skaters as opposed to the usual five. This was Marcus's chance to blow this game wide open.

The blue vulpine messed with his helmet as he skated to the edge of the red circle, watching Charlie adjust his hold on his stick before taking the draw. Once again, Charlie wasn't strong enough to put his body in the way of the faceoff as he lost the puck into the corner. Marcus rushed down his man and managed to poke his stick far enough out to wind the rubber around the boards, where Zach had backed up to control it. Time to set up shop.

Coach liked to run an umbrella play as a reference to the position of everyone on the ice. In this sort of power-play setup, one defenseman (which was usually the left-handed Cal) would hug the blue line while the other defensemen would take either the left-wing or the right-wing position along the boards, right in the wheelhouse of the faceoff circle. The center would stand put in the slot to draw away some of the attention from the wingers, while the remaining player would camp out in front of the net to try and screen the goaltender so that he wouldn't be able to see the puck—a legal move just so long as you don't bump into the padded netminder. What Coach liked to do for this play was play Cal as the only defenseman, allowing another forward to take the ice in his place. The massive six-foot-four white wolf Luke Myers—usually the center on the second line—fit the bill as the screener. Zach and Marcus became the wingers, while Charlie held the middle of the ice.

For most of the power-play's runtime, the same players would make the same passes to try to open up the ice. Marcus liked to receive passes from Cal because Marcus had that left-handed shot while being on the right side of the ice—it made it easy to maneuver, especially when the other team didn't like to pressure the wingers and collapse in front of the net to try and block shots. Cal would go to Marcus if he didn't have a lane, Marcus would go back to Cal, Cal over to Zach, and back again. Meanwhile, Luke roughed his way into the deep slot to try to park his heavy frame in front of the goaltender. Charlie was double-teamed on either side just to make sure he didn't get a pass. This gave Marcus and Zach full ownership of their respective half of the offensive zone, even going so far as to bank a pass to one another off the endboards behind the net.

The vulpine idly skated in and out of the faceoff dot, hoping one of the defensemen would get baited to go after him so he could set up Charlie. He could feel the coyote begging for that pass, itching to bomb it past the unsuspecting goaltender. If only he was open to take it. With how reactionary the other team's players were, Marcus came up with an idea on the fly. He passed back to Cal, and while the husky kept an eye on the open ice, Marcus lifted his stick high. Usually this was a universal signal to feather a pass back to that player to let loose a vicious slap-shot on the follow-through, called a one-timer. Right when Cal put the puck in motion, Marcus turned his head to Charlie and barked—

"BACK!"

Almost instantly, Charlie pivoted his skates to face Marcus and backed up out of the range of the other players, almost over to the edge of the faceoff hashes. The other team saw Marcus lift his stick and angled themselves to block the incoming shot, even going so far as to skate towards him to pressure him in case he would shank the shot. Spoiler alert; Marcus never shanked his shots. The vulpine had to smirk to himself, however, when he saw the middle of the ice part wide open like a theological sea.

Instead of blasting the incoming shot, Marcus dropped his stick down and leaned on the blade once the puck got delivered to his tape, cradling the shot in the curve. He turned ever so slightly, and in one fluid motion picked his foot up and dished the puck right into the middle of the ice, in between the legs of one of the players in red. All he could do was watch as Charlie picked his stick up parallel to the ice and bombed the incoming pass before even receiving it. The goaltender had no chance of seeing the pass with Luke in front, so the one-timer from Charlie rippled the back of the netting to open the scoring in their first tournament game. Goal Boeser; assist McCloud and Reilly.

Marcus celebrated with the rest of his team in the slot before skating off towards the bench. He couldn't hear what Coach had to say to all of them since the adrenaline spike almost neutralized all of his senses into one big blob. While his nervousness in relation to the game diminished ever so slightly, he had to take a heavy exhale and realize that his team had the lead because of his play calling. He did what he set himself out to do, and he was rewarded for it…

…up until the very next play. Dad often reminded him something an old rival always told him: don't get too cocky. In a matter of half a minute while sitting helplessly on the bench, he watched as the red team angrily powered into their zone, proceeded to work within the confides of the rules to rough their way into a prime scoring position and capitalize on it. Just like that, Marcus's excitement deflated as the puck wound up in the back of his team's net exactly forty-three seconds after they finally broke the scoreless tie. Now it was tied at one.

He didn't let himself get discouraged. In fact, he took the ice right after that goal was allowed and vowed to break the tie in his favor again. With Charlie, Zach, and Cal on the ice together with him, Marcus devised a few plans in his head. Hopefully one of them could be used.

As much as he loved Charlie, he anticipated him losing another faceoff, which he did. As soon as the puck left the ref's paw, Marcus blew by his man and darted into the middle of the ice just behind the other team's center. As the puck won by the center floated towards the other team's defense, the vulpine shoved his stick out to disrupt the drop-back win, immediately recovering the puck as he slipped his stick overtop it while powering his legs forward to get a nasty burst of speed. He carried so much speed that he almost immediately needed to turn and accelerate on his curve, which he did and stepped over the blue-line with ease. He caught the entire defense pairing flat-footed as he soared past them as a streak of blue and white.

The fox had an angled view at the goaltender and the cage behind him. The netminder had to come out wide to cut the angle Marcus had on the open net. However, he did notice there was a sliver of open net on the goalie's far side; the right side of the net as opposed to the left side he was skating down on. He could either shoot at an opening that might've been as wide as the puck itself, or keep his speed up and try to make the goalie move. He axed the latter plan on the grounds of not having enough speed, as he noticed the defensemen starting to catch up on him as he powered towards the goal.

Marcus had to shoot. He took a stride to put himself on his right leg, then forced the weight onto his left leg as he kicked his right leg out, pushing down on the shaft of his stick. The blade soon whipped forward on his follow-through, rocketing the puck towards the far side of the net, aimed between the goalie's glove and his leg pads. The goalie couldn't react to that laser of a shot as it surgically slipped through the smallest opening in the goalie's armor.

You know what does have impenetrable armor? The right post. An audible CLANK filled the arena as the puck simply bounced off the middle of the iron bar and popped out towards the boards on the right side of the ice. The crowd expressed their displeasure with the post almost in unison with Marcus's own loud exhale.

The bouncing puck ended up on the stick of one of the trailing wingers, but Cal worked his magic and pinched down from his usual position to contest the winger. A scrum ensued along the plexiglass, but Cal was able to wedge the puck free and roll it down the boards. Zach caught up with it, and before he was chased off, he circled around the back of the net to get back onto his natural wing. Marcus caught this fact early and passed him up going the other way, but not before Zach dropped the puck off behind the cage so that the fox could scoop it up.

With everyone set up naturally, Marcus took inventory of his options. Zach was open around the endboards but he didn't trust the snow buildup against the boards to smoothly execute his pass; he almost fell just trying to slip around it to get to his current spot. Cal was along the blue line, but one of the red team's sticks could easily disrupt that pass down to the point. The other defenseman was too far away, and Charlie was covered up in the slot. He was on his own for a little bit until he could free up some open space like he did on the power-play. Only this time it was even-strength; everyone had a man on them. Not unless Marcus could force a mistake.

Marcus spun on a dime and skated back up towards the endboards. Charlie seemed to follow, rolling out of the slot and along the boards, while Zach cycled into the slot to take his place. On his way around the boards, Marcus flipped the puck backwards for Charlie to take. While the blue vulpine crossed over into Zach's territory, Charlie followed Marcus exactly by rolling up the boards and dropping the pass to Zach, who had escaped the slot and moved down the ice to take the open position. It was working; his line was just too fast to be held back. Marcus fought his way through the slot and onto the other side of the ice, where Zach dropped the puck back for him. Just when the red team was beginning to catch on, Marcus slammed on the brakes, scattering a plume of snow as he transferred his weight into a pass back to the blue line for Cal to receive. He put everything he had into a heavy slapshot, but the goalie saw it all the way and easily kicked it aside. Problem was, he kicked it straight to Zach's wheelhouse.

The Aussie banked a pass off the endboards, where Marcus met it along the side of the net. With the snow behind the net mostly cleared from their previous cycle, he immediately shot it back to him before he could get hit. He got shoved by the defender on the follow-through, so he angled his skate to try and stay up, but his other skate got caught up on the frame of the goal, making him lose his footing and stumble into the boards. He tried to break his fall by holding out his arms, but that only succeeded in hurting something. That damn right wrist again. Marcus fought back a scream of pain as he scrambled to his feet, forcing himself back into the play. He shook his entire arm to try to shake the pain away, but it was no use.

He could tell he and his teammates were starting to lose a bit of spring in their step for being on the ice for so long, but they were keeping up the offensive pressure and making the red team lose their luster as well. As much as breathing burned and his wrist screamed out in immense pain, he fought through and continued to skate around, looking for openings while continuously keeping the play alive. He could smell blood in the water when it came to this other team. They couldn't get fresh legs on the ice, which meant their older legs were getting slower and tired. While his team were starting to get slow and tired as well, they were still faster. They were still more skilled. Tiring out the giants was their key to a goal.

Marcus camped out in his wheelhouse—just outside the bottom of the hashmarks near the faceoff circle. He had to keep moving around that wide circle just to keep his stick free, but he still made his plays around the outside of the rink towards the boards. Every now and again he would scoop up a pass from Cal at the blue line and try to shoot it, but the goalie would just lower his pads and deflect it away. He could never cover the puck to get a stoppage in play, so they continued this display of dominance as their shift time topped a minute and a half. The average shift length was just over thirty seconds.

Marcus and Zach had a little bit of fun banking their passes back and forth, but it eventually had to come to an end as one of the defensemen got in that passing lane, forcing Zach to call an audible and move. Marcus tracked his teammates skate movements on the ice, hopeful that some sort of opening would reveal itself. Alas, all he could do was watch Zach try his hardest to do the same, eventually passing it down to Charlie for the coyote to bat down to the blue-line for Cal.

Cal loved to shoot the puck.

He saw his lane, wound up his stick, and followed through with a cannon of a shot that most professional players would be envious of. The shot got blocked by a player in red right in the middle of the slot, the force heavy enough to knock the player down and stun him. Since the puck trickled back to Charlie after the blast, they couldn't blow the play dead because the red team didn't have possession. Charlie took his opening and shot a perfect pass to Marcus, but he couldn't shoot. He panicked and rifled it back to Charlie. It almost glanced past the blade of his stick, but his boyfriend was able to corral the stinger of a pass and awkwardly throw it on net.

The knuckler of a shot was saved by the goaltender's glove, but the sheer unpredictability of the shot made the goalie bobble the puck as he fell on his backside, popping the puck high in the air. With Charlie tied up, Marcus wrestled free of his man and barreled through the faceoff dot towards the slot; keeping his watchful eyes and his senses homed in on this golden opportunity. He didn't care how fast he was going or where he'd end up after making the play, but to him he saw an open puck that he could bat into the back of a yawning cage. With his eyes never leaving the glorious disk of rubber, Marcus angled the shaft of his stick horizontal; eying the blade of his stick towards the puck. With the goalie on his backside, there was no chance of him stopping the batted puck. This was his goal.

Marcus followed through at the right moment, tapping the puck with his stick in a forward direction; the downward trajectory headed straight for the back of the net. However, while focusing on that loose puck crossing over the red goal-line, Marcus failed to recognize where his legs were. With the goalie down, his pads stayed firmly placed in the blue paint as Marcus skated full speed into them. They didn't budge, so Marcus felt his world start to pivot as his body continued forward.

There was no time in the world to react as he fell forward and blasted his face on the unforgiving crossbar.

His world went dark immediately after.


«II»