Hah, uh, finding out new information about Steph in this one
Also, I'm double updating because the last one jumped 6 reads in 10 minutes and it's 'effin one in the damn morning. do y'all's even sleep? Like man wtf, are you up there doing the 'reload, reload, reload' ??? because if you are I'm absolutely flattered, but also like ???? Bruh, go to bed. I swear Steph isn't going to die or make any,,,, extremely bad decisions on us.
anyway, I love you guys, comment plz cuz I'm bored and desperately want opinions on the jackfuckery of my favorite team.
-rabid
***
AUGUST
My doorbell rings and I sit up from a doze on the couch, worried immediately. It's probably Steph. He told me he was going drinking, but he's got bad peer pressure skills, so it's probably drunk Steph.
I was staying up late so that I could check he made it home safe, you know, not at all because I'm paranoid something bad is going to happen to him or that he's going to get hurt or anything worse-
"Steph?" I pull open the door and he crushes me immediately, his arms wrapping around me, stumbling forward. Okay then. "Hey? Steph? Are you okay?" I shut the door with my foot.
"I, August, I'm so sorry, I-" He slurs some of that. I take his head out of my shoulder and hold him in front of me, hands holding his cheeks, keeping his head up.
"What's wrong?"
He coughs and then chokes up. In milliseconds, Steph goes from sad to sobbing in my fingers. Tears run down his face the second he closes his eyes, rolling over my hands on his face. He leans into my fingers, one of his hands coming up to cover them on his cheek. His lips part and his eyes squeeze tighter shut. Oh no, no no no, baby... I pull him back down to me, letting him cry into my shirt.
I have no idea what's going on.
"Stephan?" He's crying so hard he can't breathe. My heart breaks for him. He's crying so hard he's hiccuping. I'm afraid he's going to throw up from this. I've cried so hard I've thrown up in the past, and this is exactly what it was, the chest-shaking gasping type of ugly-crying that hurts to watch.
"August, Aug, I," His throat catches when he's hunting for air around my name. "August I just lost him, I lost my best friend."
"Rocket?" I reel, "is he okay? What happened? Did he get hurt?"
"We fought." I hobble toward the sink. Steph is still crying hard enough that his body is shaking in my fingers. "August I can't do this without him."
"Deep breath." I rub his back.
I know he can't breathe and he proves it when he chokes again, letting out a stiff and quiet groan. "He's blaming me for not being able to get with someone and that he thinks I'm better than him and hates it and I didn't do anything wrong, August he just wanted any excuse to get rid of me, August, I..."
"Breathe," I bring his head in front of me, rubbing his soaked cheeks. "Why did he do that?"
"He said he's sick of being my sideshow," Steph coughs, looking up at me, his eyes flicker with fear, his lips parting. "I'm sorry, August. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
He backs up from me and trips, falling over a stray slipper. He scrambles and stands back up again, walking away.
"Steph?"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He turns away from me, wiping off his eyes. "I need to shut up. I need to shut up."
"No, Steph, no," I follow him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He shakes it off. "Steph, don't shut down on me like that."
"Why August!" He whips around. I can see him breaking. "All I do is make people hurt, I don't want to make you hurt."
I try to put a hand back on him.
"Get off." He flinches.
"Steph why are you so cold," He walked here, didn't he. He did. He walked ten blocks in Regina in December in nothing but a leather jacket.
"August please don't." He sits against the wall and covers his head with his hands.
"Steph, I won't hurt you." I kneel down and touch his knee. He flinches again.
"Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop." He's shaking.
"Steph, breathe for a second, it's okay, it's okay. " He burrows into his jacket. "Stephan?"
He opens his mouth to say something but bites his tongue instead.
"Steph, please tell me what's wrong," He shakes his head. "Please, come on," He tucks closer into himself and shakes, starting to cry again.
I don't know what to say. He's shut down. He's closed in. I've never seen Steph like this before. I stand up, absolutely terrified. He's staring at the floor, tight and tense like he's expecting someone to hit him.
I collect a couple of things, a small glass of water and blankets. He doesn't move. He's just stiff and motionless, tense like he's still waiting for me to do something horrible to him.
"Buddy?" I wrap a blanket around his little hunched figure. He's never seemed smaller. I wrap another blanket around him. He's cold. He's scared. He's a little drunk.
Steph stares at the floor for a long time and I rub my hands across his shoulders, rubbing my fingers across his back, feeling how stiff everything is, how tight and stressed he is all over.
"Steph," I brush my fingers against the skin on his neck.
He's calmed down enough, but he's still terrified. "I'm sorry, August. I'm so sorry, it's, when you, when, I'm sorry," he says 'sorry' like he means it but he hasn't done anything wrong to me.
"You have nothing to be sorry for."
He just shakes his head, repeatedly, obsessively. "I have everything to be sorry for."
"Steph?"
He wipes his eye with the heel of his hand. "Not now, okay?" He sounds like he sobered up, which is odd.
"Okay." I brush my fingers through his hair, wanting desperately to ask him over and over until he answers: who hurt you? Who did this to you? I just want to help, I don't care how big and bad all his monsters are, I just want him.
He slouches over, stretching his legs out and setting his head in my lap. He's out in moments, mouth parted, eyes closed, breathing more controlled than it's been the whole time he's been here.
Steph sleeps silently. It's out of character for him. I sit and run my hand through his hair for two hours. I watch him to make sure he's okay, he's stressing me the hell out and I feel like if I leave him, it'll get worse.
I drift off, but I never actually fall asleep. I need to be here just in case something happens. I know nothing will, in the back of my head, but I need to be awake in case he wakes up too.
At some point around three, I put my hand on his chest through his shirt just to feel his heart beating and just to feel him breathing. Just to make sure.
His chest slowly inflates, then deflates. His heart makes a steady beat against my palm. I'm afraid it will just stop. I'm afraid I'll feel the last beat of his heart right here.
My legs start to get stiff at about four in the morning.
At seven, I've drifted off.
"STEPH?" I hear a knock on the door and I start, but I'm careful to keep Steph lightly on my legs. I see a figure outside the door. "Steph, I asked Jilly and she said you'd be here, I wanted, I wanted to say sorry."
"The door should be open." I half yell back. Whoever it is turns the knob. Then I see Rocket.
"Hey August," he sighs, "how's he doing?"
"He passed out at midnight, been out since."
Rocket gives me a feeble smile. "You keeping tabs on his vitals or something?" He tips his head at my hand inside Steph's shirt, still feeling his heart.
"A little," I sigh, "he," I scrunch up my face, trying to figure out how to get it out without alarming Rocket. "Had a meltdown of sorts?"
Rocket nods from my kitchen, not at all phased by that. I know if I were him I'd freak out about it, my best friend having a meltdown. "If something happens to him when he's drunk, it's all downhill. I'm sorry, I was the whole reason. I was just pissed off at someone else and I couldn't think right. It's not his fault."
"Mhmm," I take my fingers through Steph's hair again. "I really didn't get any information out of him."
He nods. "He shuts down. I know."
"So you got mad at him?"
"And then I ended up telling Håkon that I'm gay, and," He sits down, his head in his hands. "Hakon came back to the bar and found me venting at Jorgen and he took me home, to which I had a mental breakdown about being the only gay guy in the league, and that's all bad because goddammit I like Hakon."
"I'm sure it'll turn out fine." I pause over league, but ignore it.
Rocket stands up again. "I'm, I'm going to go to practice, Nico will be pissed if I'm not there and Håkon is. I'll just tell her Steph had a small relapse. She'll know exactly what I mean."
"Why?"
"Nico has, Nico's got-" he breathes out, "she'll just know." He zips up his jacket again. "Have him give me a call when he gets up, I don't want him hanging on that argument all day. I'm a pissy drunk and he's highly sensitive and incredibly paranoid while intoxicated because of-" He stops himself. "Just have him call me."
"Alright," I nod at him. "Good luck at practice."
He gives me a sad smile. "Thanks." Then he closes the door.
Steph stays asleep until noon. He needs it. All the work and Jilly and extra hockey and me. He's worn out, far past it. I've let him sleep whenever he wants when he's around me. Cuddling turns to impromptu naps in a matter of minutes with him.
It really hadn't hit me until right now how burnt out he has to be. All of that travel for work, the random crazy-late nights at the office, keeping tabs on Jilly, making sure everything in her life is as good as it possibly can be. He barely gets a second to breathe around all of it and I haven't seen any of the effects until right now. I know that if I were him, I'd be snappy and bitchy at all times of the day, pissed off at anything that comes in my way, but he's not, he's just Steph. It doesn't matter if it's sunny or rainy or snowing or hailing. Steph is always Steph. It doesn't matter if he's tired or energetic or sad or happy, he's constant. Ridiculously constant.
He needs to take a day for himself here and there, he's going to burn out, or maybe he's immune to that, a lot of things are magic about this boy and maybe that's one of them.
I know for goddamn sure that he's going to have as chill of a day possible today. I'm not letting him go into work and I'm not letting him do anything remotely stressful. I'll lay on the couch and take as many naps as he wants, I'll rub his back and I'll make him tea. He needs it. He might not see it, but he needs it.
He wakes up slowly. I take my hand off his chest and start to slowly stroke his hair again. He blinks a couple of times, then opens his eyes, just looking out at the room.
He takes a minute, staring. Then he moves his fingers and sits up slowly, groaning.
He kneels, but stops, setting his head back down in hands. "Fuck, that hurts."