“Don’t worry.” Akira says, settling into the seat a little bit more. He’s glad to be off his feet, even if it is on the seat of the Fox bus. “If I wake up and tonight ends up being some…wild dream or whatever. We’ll cry together.” He laughs loudly, closing his eyes and fully relaxing into the chair, arms crossed over his chest. He’s going to be out all night. May as well chill while he can. His good mood is dampened slightly by Henry’s response though and he cracks and eye open to look at him, thinking. His first reaction is to think Henry doesn’t like him, he wouldn’t be the first Fox to avoid spending time with him. He’s used to it by now. He can’t help the slight frown that flashes across his face at it. He hides it behind a relatively believable smile.
It’s not that Akira dislikes Jack. It’s that Akira just…really dislikes Jack. And for a brief flash of time he gets angry over the fact Henry hanging out with Jack is the reason behind his refusal. He can only imagine the things Jack might’ve told him. Not that Akira can honestly say Henry has changed much since he started spending more time with Jack. He’s still friendly. Still a Fox Akira likes spending time with. It probably helped, at least a little, that Henry spent even less time in the room than before.
“Between you and me I think it’d be more fun if just you came but…” He shrugs and closes his eye. He refuses to be put out by this development. He’s going to ride this high until he falls asleep tomorrow morning. “I’ll still be excited that you’re there. I want the whole team to come out to celebrate tonight. It’s a big deal. Winning. Just…gotta ignore the fact we didn’t actually win, you know?” He laughs again, already feeling the sting from earlier abating.
He laughs at Akira’s statement. It would be heartbreaking if he woke up and this was all just some dream. If neither of the past two games had happened and he was still his miserable self. He felt like he had made some great strides recently. Coming out to Betsy was a big step for him because that brought the total of people that knew up to three. Hopefully, eventually there would be more people that knew. It still kind of felt strange to not be the person he’d been since starting at Palmetto, that he was now slightly more comfortable with himself. It’s taken him nearly ten years to get over the fear of coming out. But it’s almost as if he can breathe now. “Good, because I think I’d have to cry.” He tries not to make his statement seem bad, though it probably doesn’t sound that great. It has nothing to do with Akira, really. It has to do with the fact that Henry would rather go out with the person he’s got a crush on than his roommate.
Whatever drama happened between Akira and Jack is none of his business. Henry likes Akira and he likes Jack. Whatever Jack feels about Akira is not what Henry feels about him. He’s not going to be that person that instantly hates everyone that Jack hates, especially not someone he technically still lives with—though he’d been spending far more time in Jack’s room than his own room. Akira isn’t a subject that comes up between the two of them. Period. Henry’s usually busy reading or they are cuddling or doing homework. He won’t gossip about his teammates or purposefully piss off his roommate.
“I doubt that,” Henry laughs again. Fox parties weren’t something that he enjoyed being at. They were usually wild and a little over the top. He’d gone to his fair share of wild parties in high school, but he’d rather just get drunk on his own. Then he could hide how much he drank from people. Mostly he sat by himself at Fox parties, awkwardly trying to be there without being there. “But I mean, I…” he trails off, not sure where he wants that sentence to end. “I want to be there with Jack. It’d be sort of bad to show up with someone else when we’re… hanging out.” He nervously fidgets with the string coming loose from his shirt. “It’d be okay if we were dating right? Not that we are. I mean… I know they’re… not your favorite person, but would it be okay?” he bites down on his lip looking at anywhere other than at Akira. “It’s just... I really... I like... it’s difficult to explain.”
Brayden lets out a surprised laugh, because he doesn’t know how else to respond to that. The way Henry is talking about him and Arlo is like listening to someone gossip about Brangelina or whatever. “Old news,” “boring,” as if he ever wanted their relationship to be considered news in the first place. He doesn’t give a shit if him and Arlo aren’t exciting enough to hold his teammates’ or FoxWatch’s attention, because that’s not what being with him is about. Their relationship is for nobody except for each other. He loves Arlo, and in the end, that’s all that matters to him. After everything he’s been through, reliability and steadiness is what he needs the most, even if it’s predictable and boring.
“Well,” Brayden begins after clearing his throat awkwardly, “whatever you two are, trust me, I’ll gladly let you take the spotlight. I don’t want it.” He’s always hated extra attention, which made being part of a Class I team a weird adjustment period for him. Discovering he could google his name and actually get results disturbed him, and he quickly closed out of the search.
He never wanted to go pro mostly because he has no interest in playing Exy as a career, but he also can’t handle the fame that comes with being on a team like that. He’ll miss Palmetto, and the security that comes with it, but he’s eager to graduate and be a regular person again. Well, as regular as he can be.
“Why don’t you go dance with them then?” Brayden asks after a beat and nods towards the crowd. “If you think I should go be near Arlo, maybe you should follow your own advice,” He suggests with a shrug.
In high school, people dating had always been something to gossip about, though Henry never participated in that sort of thing. His teammates were always discussing who they wanted to ask out and what girls they thought were pretty. Henry typically stayed out of those discussions, trying to focus more on Exy because that’s why all of them were there. When his sister had started dating her girlfriend, the rumors spread like wildfire. Henry doesn’t remember who told him—it hadn’t been Holland—but at the time he’d been shocked, maybe a little bit angry. Mostly because it had been Holland who told him not to tell people he was gay in the first place. She’d been right at the time—and now he knew that, the hurt still stung. He didn’t like gossiping about other people’s relationships; that didn’t mean that he knew how to handle discussing his teammates relationships.
Henry didn’t want the spotlight either. The likelihood that his father was paying attention to Exy news or anything about Henry in general was slim. Henry still didn’t want to take the chance though. Not when he couldn’t imagine how pissed his father would be by the news. He wondered if he could get away with flaunting his relationship with Jack. “I don’t really want the spotlight either.” Henry was more than capable of attention from the press, but the press didn’t care about him. Not when he was boring compared to most of the other Foxes and Vixens.
He was going to have to get used to being known though if he wanted to be a writer. If he wanted people to read his books, then he’d have to get used to attention. Even if Henry was just hanging around Jack then he was going to have to get used to attention. On his own, after Palmetto, he still wanted to be a writer. He wanted people to read what he had to say and with that came a certain amount of spotlight. That would always be somewhat uncomfortable since his sister was the one to charm people in front of cameras and he’d always been better at smiling.
“If they wanted to dance with me, they’d have asked already,” he shrugs and scans the crowd again. “And it’s not the same thing. You being near your boyfriend is not the same as me being near, um, Jack. We’re not... anything.” It wasn’t true, not really. “Am I really being mushy?”
Jack sat up a bit so that they could properly see Henry, doing their best to figure out how much they needed to worry about him. Not that there was really much that they could do– both of them were going to have to get on that plane, and both of them were going to be stuck waiting no longer how long the delay was. They couldn’t magic the concept of air travel out of existence, not any more than they could magically get out past security to smoke.
“Don’t say that,” they mumbled– it was ridiculous for Henry to apologise, when they’d certainly be doing worse if they hadn’t been able to spend most of the day hiding behind him. “Last thing I want is one of those dumb rent-a-cops yelling at us, though. Wymack would kill us if we ended up on a watchlist.” That, and Jack would rather die than end up being questioned. As if the people in airports weren’t bad enough, they always felt like they were going to get in trouble.
Trouble for what exactly, they didn’t know. They weren’t a criminal, hadn’t ever really broken the law worse than a few grams of weed here or there. Handing over their ID always made them fear that someone would recognise the name though, that people would assume the worst of them and do something anyways. They’d read once that it was impossible to drive three blocks without breaking a law– were airports the same?
“Make the plane come faster,” they said in their best attempt at a joke, though they weren’t quite sure they’d managed the right tone. “God though, what if we miss the game? If they reschedule, we’ll have to do this all over again. Or we’ll be stuck in– where the fuck are we going? Chicago?– for ages in some stupid hotel room, or… They can’t make us forfeit, right? It’s not our fault–”
Henry wished there was something more that he could do here to help Jack, but he was also sort of freaking out. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too bad and both of them would be fine in a bit. The more likely story was that they’d both sit here for a bit whining before eventually being able to board the plane. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be much longer and they’d be in Chicago. Now, all they could do was sit here and be annoyed at the delay—and having to take a plane. Henry was fine. Or he would be as soon as they were in the air and he could focus on something other than how many feet in the air they were. Like whatever in-flight movie they were showing.
“It’d be a great idea,” he continued, “I don’t think it’s illegal to pretend to be pilots. I mean as far as I’m aware. All they’d do would yell at us and tell us not to go back there again.” That might not be all they’d do, but Henry could be optimistic for once in his life. “Or better yet, they’d put us on a no fly list. Do you think Wymack would hate us then? At least we’d get out of flying.” He didn’t think that’d happen, though he could hope. Henry could only imagine how angry Wymack would be at that. “Actually. That gives me an idea. What kind of shenanigans can we get into now so we don’t have to fly next time? A no fly list looks pretty good right about now.”
He thought about it for a moment. Not being able to fly seemed like a perfect way to get out of flights. He wondered if Wymack would try and get them off the list or if they could drive places. It would be preferable to sitting around in an airport waiting for a stupid plane to show up, so they could travel thousands of feet in the air to be in a plane for less than half a day before having to turn around and come back to South Carolina. As much as Henry hated home games, he’d rather play on home soil than fly.
Henry tuned back into Jack’s little rant, which had now moved on to what would happen if they didn’t make it in time for the game. He was honestly trying not to think about that. Henry didn’t want their last game to be the last game of the season because the airlines delayed their flight. The only good thing that came out of last game was Jack—and that wasn’t technically game related, because who knew if eventually the two of them wouldn’t have gotten drunk together and hooked up. He couldn’t take their talking about what ifs anymore, so when Jack was finished with a thought, Henry leaned down and kissed them. Maybe that’d be a good enough distraction for a few moments.
“Would being stuck in a hotel room with me be really such a bad thing?” he asked, after breaking the kiss. “Also, sorry. I should have asked before I kissed you. Was that okay?”
louis: would you care to share with the rest of the class?
louis: we could always investigate the magical world of make up together
HENRY: If you have to ask me to share, you weren't paying attention at the airport, or the game, or the party, on the way home to who I was attached to the entire weekend. So, ask anyone else.
HENRY: I'm sure there are youtube videos with information to help.
To say that Jack wasn’t happy would be the understatement of the year. They’d gone past anxious and straight to miserable when the bus pulled up at the first airport, pulling their hoodie around themselves and following the rest of the team through TSA with only a few sharp comments at the security staff. Crowds are bad, airports are bad, and flights themselves were something right out of nightmares.
By the time the delay’s announced, they’ve been cursing whoever made them fly instead of drive for a solid hour. The only thing keeping them from actually taking that argument up with Wymack is Henry next to them. As soon as they’d sat down they’d curled up against him, covering their face with their hoodie and closed their eyes. The noise is far too loud to block out, but they’ve been giving Betsy’s ‘happy place’ strategy a solid try.
“No,” they whine, because it hadn’t been working. “There’s not gonna be anywhere quiet in this damn hellhole though, is there? I’d light a cigarette, but I’d get jumped by the fuckin’ mall cops.” Cops on top of cameras on top of crowds– there’s not going to be anywhere in here that they wouldn’t feel so damn watched.
Honestly, Henry was too miserable to care that Jack was also miserable. Flights weren’t something he ever enjoyed. As a kid, he never had to deal with them. Vacations with his family were road trips. His father would never have taken two annoying children on a plane with him, so instead he let himself be trapped in a car with them. Then at least they weren’t technically in public in a car. He traveled more as a Fox on a plane than he had as a child and he hated it. Henry would have rather driven to the places they played, even the impossible places. At least he was fine in the airport itself, the plane was really where his anxiousness began. With the delay however, it was giving that anxiety time to build up. How he was going to be when they finally boarded the plane was going to be a mystery. So because of his own worry, Henry was barely paying attention to Jack’s emotions.
He had thought trying to be quiet and stick around the terminal would be easier for him. That was as soon as they knew when they were going to leave, he’d know. It didn’t seem to be helping. There were a few Foxes still scattered around the area, but a bunch had taken over the airport. For a Friday, the place wasn’t that busy. Though he’d never been in this airport on a day other than Friday or Saturday. For a bit, he almost thought about reading out loud, so that it might calm both him and Jack down, but there were too many people around and he didn’t want to draw anymore attention than necessary.
“Sorry,” he apologizes as if it’s his fault they’re miserable. For a second he tries to think of a place that might be quieter—the only place he can think of is the bathroom. Henry doubts it’s much quieter there. “Unless you want to go make out in the bathroom, the only quiet place is where the staff hangs out... probably. We could go try and sneak in there?” It might give them something to do other than sit here and be miserable. Henry runs a hand through Jack’s hair. “What exactly can I do to make this better?” Probably nothing, he just wanted to ask. Even in his own misery, Henry hated seeing Jack upset. “Do you want my sweatshirt?”
Raph isn’t skilled at social interaction. He rarely understands subtext, expression or subtlety. He’s not sure what he is doing to make Henry Isaacs think that he’s willing to talk to him right now. He stares at the other man for a moment too long as he processes what he’s saying. Two unrelated questions, both of them inappropriate to ask him. He doesn’t want to think about cigarettes right now, as his chest grows cold in Frank’s looming shadow. He doesn’t want to think about heat and burning, acrid smoke in the back of his throat.
A few months ago, that might have made him want to hit Isaacs. Now, he just wants to leave. He wants people to stop invading his life, pushing in close to him. It’s becoming clear to him now that every relationship he’s formed so far is just a potential loss that he could have avoided creating for himself. He’s not interested in forming or maintaining another.
It makes it easy to reject Isaacs outright. “I don’t want to talk to you. I cannot help you and I do not want to. Please, leave.”
Henry had never, ever been good at social interactions with people. In fact, he was horrible at reading situations unless there was clear tension in the air; even then sometimes his reaction could still be inappropriate. Holland had always been the one better at reading a room, focusing in the emotion of the people in the area. Somehow, that trait didn’t get passed on to him. Unless it was pure anger, he normally didn’t pick up on what a person was saying and their emotions. Coupled with the height of Fox Tower and the fear he felt from that, Henry couldn’t read whatever emotions Raph was feeling. Fear boiled in his brain and he bit back that awful feeling of being up too high.
The last couple of days had been weird if nothing else. Henry was trying to avoid the feelings in his brain. He’d spent far too long trying not to have romantic feelings for anyone. And all of that went away with one kiss because now that’s the only thing on his mind. It was more than just a kiss, but he doesn’t remember much about that night other than genuinely laughing for the first time in a long time. Everything he thought he wanted had changed and he knew he couldn’t spend the next few months and two years denying that that’s who he was—nor did he want to, if Jack was even an option. Henry wasn’t getting his hopes up that he was anything other than a person who happened to be there at the time.
“Okay…” he says, eyeing his teammate. “I guess I’ll go bother someone else about a cigarette, but if you see Jack, will you tell them I’m looking for them? Because I mean I don’t have any other way of getting in contact with them.” He feels pathetic. Whining about Jack’s inability to not text. Henry was better at flirting over text. “
LOCATION: Various / Travelers Rest, SC
DATE: March 31st
TIME: Various
TRIGGERS: abuse, homophobia (implied - there’s like one sentence about his dad and then the last paragraph where he’s ‘talking’ to his sister.)
MENTIONS: @jackfuckingmonday
CLOSED
Henry should have cancelled on his parents when he had the chance. The last few days had been hectic, and he was exhausted. Classes started back up tomorrow; he was not ready for them after a long weekend of flights, games, and celebrations. He had already promised his mom he would be back, and he knew that his dad would have been annoyed at him for cancelling plans last minute. Henry would find an excuse to get back to Palmetto as quickly as possible, even if he had to fake an emergency. At least all his homework was finished, so that was one less thing he needed to worry about. Henry hadn’t actually thought about the consequences of his actions on Friday night and what it might mean for Sunday church with his parents, but now it was a problem he needed to be handled. Well, Friday was fun, if nothing else; maybe not the flight and losing the match, everything else was though. He wasn’t exactly complaining, at least.
Sitting in his car, he looked at his reflection once more. There were obvious lines where the concealer was, but he couldn’t help that. Henry grabbed the scarf in the seat beside him and put it around his neck. Technically, it was too warm to wear it, he didn’t have a choice though. God, this was so obvious what he was trying to do. Henry hoped his parents were stupid enough to not ask. He walked up to his house, a deep feeling of anxiousness boiling up in him. He saw his mom at the door, she ran out, barefooted, to greet him—as if she didn’t live less than an hour away and couldn’t visit him if she wanted to. He bit back the bitter feeling about his mom away and gave her a hug. He knew this was all show for the neighbors anyway. It always was.
“How was your break?” she asked, arm around his shoulders. Henry fought the urge to panic.
“Busy. Professors like to give homework over break. So, I worked on that, then had practice every day, and then the game was on Friday. It feels less like a break and more like a small vacation from seeing the rest of the students at the school. How was yours?” he questioned.
“Oh, the same as ever. Got some planning for events at the church done, went to the movies with my friends, worked on grading some papers and lesson plans. The usual break stuff. I cooked breakfast for you, if you’re hungry. We missed having you here for break.”
Henry knew that could only be partially true, though he smiled anyway. He hugged his mom again. Some days he wondered how someone so kind could be married to a monster. Then other days he thought she was just as much of a monster for letting her husband treat his children so poorly. Sometimes his moods about his mom shifted practically within seconds and he still didn’t understand why that happened. He stepped into the house and he could practically feel his father’s foul mood from the doorway. Walking towards the kitchen, he tried to be as quiet as possible, so he wouldn’t piss off his dad more.
“Henry,” the man spat, as he took a seat at the table.
“Good morning, sir,” he said.
“Take off the damned scarf. You’re indoors.”
Henry did as he was told, putting the scarf on the back of the chair and praying to god that his dad didn’t notice the makeup. Luckily, he didn’t seem to, and he relaxed a bit as his mom put the food on the table. The rest of breakfast went by without a problem. He made small talk with his mom and let his dad lecture him about how he should be focusing on his studies instead of playing Exy—as if Henry was failing his classes, as if his dad was paying close enough attention. Finally, it was time to leave for church and his family piled in the car. The drive always felt either too long or too short. Today it was too long. He’d always hated being trapped in a car with his dad. Too much time for his dad to critique his looks or whatever else he was in the mood to have a problem with. It happened to be his hair and outfit choice today, which apparently was all wrong. Henry couldn’t tune him out, because the conversations always required more than a simple yes or no, sir. Eventually, they made it to the church; Henry flung himself from the car. The church was crowded today—and Henry went off to find any familiar face. Today that face happened to be Monica Browning, his high school coach.
“Henry!” she exclaimed, a smile on her face as she walked over. Sometimes small towns weren’t the absolute worst.
“Hey, coach,” he responded, matching her enthusiasm, even if it was fake.
“I watched the last game. Congratulations on making it through. How’s your head?”
“Thank you! My head is fine. I was given the all clear and it seems to be alright now. How is your team looking this year? I haven’t been able to keep up. Any potential Foxes?”
“Oh, with you gone, the team hasn’t done very well. And I don’t think there are any potential Foxes. But I’ll keep an eye out for them. Why don’t you sit with me today?”
“I’d love to, but I have to head back practically as soon as I get home, so I should really spend the time with mom and dad. But we’ll talk soon. You have my number. I’ll have mom invite you for dinner next time I can stay longer.”
“Sounds like a plan. It was good seeing you.” She gave him a hug and he went off to find his parents.
For the most part the ceremony wasn’t too boring, and he was able to pay attention to it the whole time. Henry didn’t hate church; he just hated this one. Everyone was too catty, talking about everyone else behind their backs. There were some things that were hateful. It’s saving grace was the youth program, which Monica ran, meaning it wasn’t the worst it could have been. Growing up, that had always been one thing he and Holland looked forward to at church. In almost no time, the people started clearing out, heading out to talk or staying in the chapel to chatter.
“Oh, Henry, you have a smudge. Let me…” his mom looked over at him, grabbing her water bottle and dipping a tissue into it.
“Mom, no,” Henry tried to move away, but couldn’t get away in time. She wiped off what little makeup was still there covering up the bruise. Just at the same time his father looked over—and Henry saw the dark look on his face.
“Henry William, is that a hickey?” she gasped, moving back.
“Marilyn,” he said slowly, “I just remembered something I have to do at home with Henry. If you could catch a ride with someone, I’d appreciate it. Henry, go to the car. Now.”
Henry really should have stayed in Palmetto, but he listened to his dad, knowing what would happen if he didn’t. There were photos of he and Jack online from after the game and at the airport. Surely his dad hadn’t seen them. William had never taken an interest in his son’s life. As soon as the car started and they were out of the church parking lot, Henry spoke.
“Dad, I—” he started.
“How dare you make a fool out of me. Showing up to church of all places, looking like you do. Do you know that this entire town looks at us as a family? You’re way more trouble than you are worth. I have to deal with you and the crushing disappointment you’ve always been. And don’t get me started with your sister. What the fuck did I do to deserve you as a child?” William was shouting, though at least he seemed too angry to reach out and grab Henry. He kept going; Henry tuned him out. All of his dad’s speeches sounded the exact same. “I hope to god you’re not at that school slutting around. I won’t hesitate to cut you off if I even catch wind of you causing trouble.” So, he didn’t know who Henry was kissing. “Is she your girlfriend? Who is this woman you’re kissing? I deserve to meet her. Next Sunday.”
“I can’t next Sun—”
“You’ll do as I say. Now get in the fucking house.” Henry hadn’t even realized they were home already.
“I really should be getting back to school soon.”
“Get in the house.”
Henry listened, his heart growing heavy with every step. The second he walked in, Wednesday was at his side. He gave her a pet on the head and told her to go to his room. He’d be fine; it wasn’t like his dad hadn’t been angry before. The black dog whined, then gave Henry’s hand a lick, and walked out of the room. His dad made quick work of the punishment and stormed off to his office to grab a drink. Which meant Henry had less than a half an hour to get out of here. He went up to his room, giving Wednesday some more pets on the head, wishing that he could take her back with him more than anything. Maybe he could talk to Betsy about that, since the only reason he had the dog in the first place was so he’d stop sleeping in his sister’s room when he was still in eight grade. Henry grabbed a few books and headed down the hallway, to the door at the end that was never open anymore. The pink and black H on the door contrasted to the blue and white one on his own door. He opened it and stepped inside.
It was almost like stepping into a time machine. Back to junior year. The posters of bands and shows Holland was obsessing at the time covering the walls. CDs strung about, with clothing. He was surprised that his dad hadn’t gotten rid of this stuff already. Then again, it was a reminder of his failure or a reminder to Henry not to mess up. Getting rid of it meant that he had to admit his failure. Maybe he was hoping Holland would come back, admit he was right, and things would go back to normal. Henry used to think that too. When the pain of her departure was fresh. She’ll be back in a few days, he’d thought at the time. He’d been wrong. Dust collected on every surface. He looked back, but Wednesday sat at the doorway, not coming inside the room. She missed Hol too. For the first time all day, he let himself cry. He missed his sister so much. Even as happy as he was at Palmetto, playing Exy, learning, hanging with Jack, none of it would ever fill the void that was left in his chest when she left. Henry wasn’t sure seeing Hol again would even fix that. Holland leaving left a deep scar. For a little bit, he stood and cried. Then he wiped his tears, looked around once more—spotting something that he’d never noticed before. On her bookshelf, there was a rainbow flag pin. He crossed the room and picked it up, putting it in his pocket. He searched the room again, finding a few more pride themed things and taking them as well.
“I miss you,” he whispered. “But why did you make me feel ashamed for something you were too? I was twelve. I felt so alone. And you told me to hide it, that it was better to not feel that way at all. You told me to be normal. Hol, I am normal.” Henry wiped another tear away. “You’d like Jack. They make me feel like you did, except I don’t feel like I have to hide any part of who I am.” For a moment he let the words linger in the air, as if he was talking to a ghost. “I’m going to find you.”
He registers the silence, and tucks it away in the back of his mind. It’s something to dwell over; it could speak of so many different moods, and if he’s learned anything in the last few years of his life, it’s how to study those around him. Sometimes he’s absent-minded, and he won’t ever deny that aspect of himself. But that doesn’t mean he’s incapable of noticing the world around him, and how other people react to it.
And he won’t learn the true meaning of that silence — or, at least, understand how Henry wields it — until he continues moving forward. From there, he can adjust. From there, he can navigate the best course for the conversation.
“There’s still a game to be had, and a routine I shouldn’t be nauseous for,” he sighs. But that isn’t quite a denial. He eyes the flavor list for the fifth time, and heaves another long sigh. “What flavor would you choose? Tried-and-true, or something out there because who knows when we’ll be at this airport again?”
Over the past few years, Henry had not really interacted with the Vixens all that much. There are ones that are easier to be around than others. He doesn’t really relate to their loudness. The Vixens all have an element of noise that he can’t compete with. They’ve got to shout their cheers during the game and generally be peppy on the field. Henry doesn’t know how to do anything like that. He’s jealous of their ability to turn everything off in their mind to smile and dance in front of a crowd. Henry always hides his emotions behind an outer façade. A neutral face to the world because people don’t need to know how sad he is, how hurt he is, how tired he is. Every time he gets around the Vixens, there’s a part of him that doesn’t know how to react or talk to them.
He doesn’t know Noah though. He’s a freshman and Henry’s a junior. Perhaps today is as good of a day as any to get to know him. Although, he isn’t sure how much he can handle being friendly when they’re trapped in an airport and the anxiousness about getting the flight over with is fighting to be the only thing his brain can think about. Henry thinks he probably seems rude—which isn’t what he wants to be known for. But maybe Noah would understand.
“Well if you’re going to get nauseous from eating it, then I’d pick another snack.” He’s not the biggest fan of frozen food—and apparently, it’s not that good for a person anyway. He read something on a medical blog about warm or room temperature food and drink being better for a person. “I guess vanilla. If I was forced to choose. I don’t… I don’t really like frozen food.” He can already feel a headache coming on. “Sorry. Um, I don’t... flying scares me. I’m not trying to be rude. I just...” he trails off as if that says what he’s feeling. He can’t even read a book right now because he’s so nervous. “I guess being a champion means I have to suffer with long flights.” This might be the one time he was thankful home wasn’t far from Palmetto.
It’d be hard for Brayden to feel Henry-levels of joy on a particularly good day, and while he’s not miserable over the loss tonight like he was after their last game, he still doesn’t feel like he can fully celebrate either. They’re moving forward, but now they have two back to back losses under their belt, and that’s just not going to cut it if they’re ever up against the Ravens. They won’t just beat the Foxes, they’ll destroy them, and his brother will be watching the whole time, walking away from it superior as he always does.
He doesn’t have to worry about that yet, he tells himself as he fidgets with his label. They could’ve been out tonight, but they aren’t, and he should be grateful. “And to think, it was almost the perfect night,” Brayden replies sarcastically. He’s never been any good at this–talking to people, especially when he can’t match their energy levels. At least he’s trying, it’s a huge difference from his silent apathy.
Brayden turns away from Henry to see if he can spot his Arlo in the crowd, it’s usually easy to pick him out given how tall he is, but he’s at a disadvantage right now because he’s sitting. When he can’t find him, he shrugs in response. They’re sharing a room tonight like they always do during away games, so there’ll be plenty of time and privacy to be “mushy.” Brayden still has a reputation to uphold, and while he’s not ashamed of how he acts around his boyfriend, he’d rather the others didn’t overhear some of the shit he says to him. “And end up all over FoxWatch again? Nah, you guys got a good enough look already,” He counters with an amused snort.
Henry has never, in his entire life, been like this. He’s the quiet one. Growing up, he was as happy as he could be, given his situation, but even around his sister, Henry preferred to be quiet. This isn’t how he usually is. If he wasn’t so drunk, he’d be unsettled by it, but with the alcohol in his system and the grin on his face, the Fox can’t be bothered by anything other than feeling as if he for once can let loose. Whatever’s putting him in this good mood, he truly hopes it never goes away. He can handle being the quiet bookish type for the most part. Tonight though is the first time he’s felt like he can celebrate with his teammates and be loud.
“Mmm, but it’s okay because I’ll see Wednesday when I go back home,” he laughs, not catching Brayden’s sarcasm. Usually, he’s better at picking it up. Or maybe he did pick it up and just didn’t care. Henry has spent the almost the last three years not sure how to talk to people. As kids, he was always the one to come up with the plans and Holland was the one to execute them. He was the one that created fantasy worlds for them to explore—she was always the brave knight and he was the wizard’s apprentice. Their difference were always celebrated. But after she left, Henry didn’t have that person to lean on, to execute plans, to push him to be brave. And he collapsed in on himself. Now it seemed like he was figuring out his own energy.
He watches for a moment as Brayden starts to look for Arlo. Henry vaguely remembers what Brayden’s references, but he’d been preoccupied with reading a book at the time, so he only caught what some of it and the post on FoxWatch. Maybe he’ll be bored of this conversation and he can find his own person and they can sneak off. Right now, he’s just curious. “Yeah, but you’re old news now. Everyone knows you two are together, so it’s boring to read about you being all happy. So you could dance or at least be near each other.” Henry tilts his head to the side as he looks at Brayden. “Now Jack and I? I guess we’re not so antiquated news. I mean, not that there is an us. Yet.” A normal Henry would be worried about his dad finding out, but William didn’t keep up with Exy news—or anything his son was up to; worrying seemed stupid tonight when he could worry another day.
Maybe Henry wished to be alone too. The shrugging off the search of the book, the way the bottle hung from his hand, it all compounded to the thought that Henry wished to escape to a space that would fit. And there existed no anger for his decision to arrive at the locker rooms; while River hadn’t taken comfort in it the last few hours, the locker room allowed a chance to be alone. They couldn’t blame Henry for wishing to take advantage of that.
But then their teammate offers the bottle again, and River swallowed assumption after assumption. The day — and presently, the night — was unraveling into something they couldn’t control, something they couldn’t help but feel suffocated by. And alcohol wouldn’t be of much help. They knew this as well as they knew their sibling, and yet — and yet.
They reached for the bottle and took another swig. Longer than before, but not long enough to be considered rude. Hopefully.
Licking their lips, they handed the bottle back, replying, “Just didn’t want to head back to the dorms quite yet.” A half-truth could still be considered the truth, right? “And it felt easier to just stay and —- think for a bit.”
There’s a part of him that does want to be alone tonight, that wants to disappear from all the anger and disappointment in losing the game. And usually he can only find that solace at the bottom of a bottle. Drinking around others is a bad idea though. He’s afraid River will see him how he actually is. Alcohol is a clutch for him, to help deal with his negative emotions. He’s trying not to feel disappointed over everything because the Foxes aren’t done yet—and even if they were he still has another two years with the team. It’s just hard not to listen to the voice in the back of his mind telling him he’s not worth anything.
It’s probably a terrible idea to hand the bottle back to River. Maybe a better idea to leave it at the last thing he said and walk away. Honestly, he probably shouldn’t be offering alcohol to someone underage, but it’s not like he cares that much about being a bad influence to someone. Henry thinks that if anyone, River is a good person to be around right now because they’re not asking too many questions and that’s better than most of his other teammates. A part of him wanted to forget trying to be friendly and find somewhere else to go tonight. It wouldn’t be River’s fault, but his own for not wanting them to see how much he could drink.
Henry caps the bottle after River hands it back and sets it between the two of them. It isn’t a good idea. Really, it isn’t. They’re not the right person to drink around. He pushes the bottle closer to them. They looked like they could use it more than he could. Henry nodded, knowing that was probably closer to a lie than it was anything else. Still, he nodded his head at the response. “I fucking hate home games,” he admits. “Thinking about all the people who hate us here and want us to fail. It’s too much. I’d rather us go elsewhere. When people have a reason to hate us.” Truth was, that his worries about home games weren’t with people on campus. “If you want more you can have it,” he points to the bottle. “I thought it would help, but it’s just making things worse.”
The party is pretty rowdy for a bunch of losers, and even Brayden isn’t immune to the good mood. He’s still worried about their spot in the Championships, but they could’ve been done tonight if it weren’t for Akira, so Brayden’s going to let himself be happy that they’re still going forward, loss or not. He still feels too sober compared to the rest of the room, who’re dancing and shouting over the loud music, but he’s been doing good about keeping his drinking to a minimum, and he can’t just throw that away every time there’s a party.
Brayden’s been sipping on the same beer for so long that it’s warm and flat, but he hasn’t made the move to grab a second drink, instead he’s sitting on the edge of the dance floor as he fidgets with the peeling label on the bottle. Good mood or not, he’s not much of a partier, but he does like people watching, so he quietly observes his teammates drunkenly flail around on the dance floor.
He doesn’t realize he’s not alone until Henry starts babbling beside him, obviously drunk. Brayden has no idea what he’s supposed to say in response to that confession. It’s not like he spends time debating his teammates’ sexuality, he just kind of has a ‘gay until proven straight’ mentality. He doesn’t have a habit of announcing he’s gay to everyone he ever spoke to, but he never hid it either. He avoided the big coming out journey with his own family, so he can’t relate to concept of pretending to be something he’s not.
“I guess?” Brayden responds with a shrug as he spots Jack in the crowd. He’s always considered his teammates to be unfairly hot, but he doesn’t have enough history with Jack to single them out. He’s definitely not the type to share his warm and fuzzy feelings with people, so he shifts awkwardly in his seat, ripping the label from his bottle. “Someone’s a mushy drunk,” He points out.
Henry’s never been that big of a partier, save for high school, when it was the easiest way to get hold of alcohol. He prefers celebrations to be quieter. He prefers the celebrations in books. Revels in fantasy novels, the roaring twenties parties in F Scott Fitzgerald novels, house parties during Halloween. They’re easier for him. Tonight though, tonight is different. He feels different. Henry doesn’t know what’s changed in the two days since he last talked to Betsy, how he’s somehow braver than before. Maybe it’s the Foxes just pulled a win from two losses—the most Fox thing they’ve done all season. Whatever it is, Henry can’t help, for once, wanting to drink while happy.
Feeling brave, for once, feels completely new to him. Like almost everything he’s done in the past doesn’t matter right now—maybe it never did. Maybe what happened with his sister was always going to happen; Holland was always closer to walking away from her family than Henry had been. Sometimes the hurt is still so fresh, especially when he wakes up from a dream about that night, being frozen in place, Holland leaving without looking at him. He knows he can’t keep hurting himself over that decision. Henry’s using it as an excuse to punish himself—Betsy was right about that. It isn’t fair. He’d been scared at the time. What he did wasn’t right, but what his sister did hurt him. But actually coming out, that feels braver than it should to him. And Henry can’t help thinking about Holland whispering to him to keep it secret at the young age of twelve, how much progress he’s made since then.
For so long, being a Fox felt more like a burden than anything. His saving grace from two years of community college under his dad’s roof, but somehow a burden. Henry’s been a quiet Fox for the last three years. One of them that doesn’t show signs of anything being wrong. The only indicator that he’s Fox material is his required sessions with Betsy—which he never talks about anything other than homework stress. He’s never wondered about his teammates either, especially not their sexualities. It wasn’t something Henry let himself think about in middle school, definitely not in high school, and out of the question until now. Somehow out of all his teammates, he’d managed to catch the interest of one of them.
Henry’s not even talking about how Jack looks. If he did, he’d never stop talking. He’s still grinning though. “You guess right.” He probably—definitely—doesn’t need to drink anything else tonight. “I’m allowed to be mushy. We did it. I’m happy.” He’s never felt like this before other than when he was around his sister. “Only thing that could make this night better is my dog, but she’s in South Carolina, so… I guess I’ll have to wait until we get back to give her a hug.” Henry looked at Brayden. “How come you’re not being mushy with your significant other?”
Alanna is, perhaps, too hungover for this conversation. Too hungover for Henry in general, after their last conversation, but Alanna’s never known how to maintain a grudge. It isn’t necessarily a good thing, but conflict sets her teeth on edge, leaves her even more uncomfortable and anxious than normal.
She doesn’t know how people like Sasha and Raleigh stand it; how they stand their ground without feeling guilt-ridden for hours afterwards. She’d like to learn though, in her own way. She’ll never be like Sasha, who throws punches on the court and bares the bruises with pride, and she doesn’t want that either—but some more confidence would be nice.
Henry’s got it in his head that he owes her some speech apparently, a coming out scene in this empty hotel lobby, and Alanna won’t stop him. If this is what he needs, then of course she’ll listen. There’s a beat of silence when he’s done, Alanna waiting before she speaks up too. “Henry, it’s okay,” she tells him, when it’s clear he’s finished his piece. “You didn’t need to tell me all that, but I’m glad you’re out now. I’m sure it was hard,” she says, because even on a team like the Foxes, even when most people here are out and proud, she knows it isn’t always easy. Ten years is a long, long time in the closet.
As much as it’s a relief to know he won’t read this as her returning his original flirtation, it doesn’t necessarily mean Alanna knows how to act around Henry. She barely knows him and he’s sharing things he’s apparently only told a few people: this kind of vulnerability is his choice, but she can hardly return it. She’s genuinely happy for him and whatever’s brought this about though, just as she’s glad he’s apologized for their uncomfortable conversation before, and maybe that’s enough.
“Come on. Let’s go get that coffee,” she adds with a smile, as she moves towards the door. This is Chicago; there’s got to be somewhere good nearby. “But you don’t have to pay, because I’m gonna get myself a full breakfast spread too. Or like, at least some decent pastries.”
He had been up late celebrating with the Foxes and hanging out with Jack in their hotel room, but he’s used to drinking. Henry stopped after his fifth beer, had plenty of water, and ate food. Hangovers were something he could lessen the symptoms now with ease. Perhaps that was not a good thing to admit. He had spent far too many days partying with people in high school than he cared to admit, going to school on little sleep and hungover. He’s not that person anymore. He still drinks, still has problems processing negative emotions, but he’s getting better. Henry only drinks a few times a week now, not every night like he did when he first arrived in Palmetto.
So maybe the speech was slightly over the top. The nervousness of it all getting to him more than anything. But he feels like he has to say it. He wants people to like him, though not to a dangerous extent like some people. No, what he really wants is for people to stick around; he needs someone to tell him it’s okay to be who he is. He doesn’t want to be ashamed of himself anymore. “No, I, uh did,” he says nervously. “I mean… I don’t want people to think I’m that person.” Alanna doesn’t know him. He’s a junior. While none of the Foxes had ever seen Henry have any romantic relations with anyone, he knows Alanna’s not been here long enough to know that. “Thanks.” No one cares if you’re gay, he repeats in his mind—a mantra that he’s going to have to keep repeating.
When he figured out that he didn’t like girls in middle school because all the boys were talking about who they wanted to kiss. Meanwhile, Henry found himself fantasizing over kissing one of the boys in his class, not a girl. When he told Holland, a year and a half older, yet somehow strides wiser and more mature than him, she’d told him to keep that to himself. And if his open, unafraid of her feelings sister said that, then surely she was right. It wasn’t until high school that he learned why she said that, that she was protecting him. That their dad wouldn’t have understood, would have hurt him for it. He was thankful for that at the time, but it’s really screwed him over now, especially after she made the decision to leave instead of breaking up with her girlfriend. He was going to have to keep reminding himself to be that brave if it came down to it, because he knew his dad only needed one more reason to be rid of him.
“Great,” he supplies, an awkward smile on his face. He puts his bookmark in his book and shoves it under his arm while he sends a mass text saying he’s getting coffee to anyone that wants some. And then a private text to Jack saying he’s bringing coffee, knowing they weren’t going to respond to it…and at least hoping they’d read that text. Because usually it’s Jack that supplies the morning coffee and Henry that brings it far too late in the afternoon for coffee to be a good idea. “No worries. My dad gave me an emergency credit card. I think a hangover cure counts as an emergency.” It’s more of a fuck you to his dad than it is Henry caring about a hangover cure, but Alanna doesn’t need to know that. He knows that everything he is now is a big middle finger to his dad—a writer, an Exy player, a gay man. And he’s fucking proud of himself though he still has a long way to go. Maybe, just maybe, he can fix one part of his life that’s he’s always thought was a problem. The day is already too bright, as he walks outside and he groans.
“Just be careful,” Grant says, despite Henry’s reassurances. “Because it looked bad, bruising or otherwise. Head injuries aren’t something to mess around with.” He’s grateful Henry’s in this good mood tonight despite it all, particularly when the entire team deserves to celebrate, but that doesn’t mean he knows how to handle the rest of this conversation.
Henry’s got the wrong person for this and, really, that should be obvious. Grant’s spent four years as stoic and serious as he can manage—at first to make up for his freshmen year and later because it was genuine, because this is who is is despite half the team’s protests. Even before though, even when Grant was chaotic and trashed more often than he should’ve been, he doesn’t remember letting people drag him out onto the dance floor. It’s too crowded and claustrophobic out there, especially for someone who needs a healthy amount of personal space. His skin crawls just thinking about it.
“No, thanks,” Grant says. “To all of that. I’m happy for you, but I’m not talking about my teammates’ shirtless and I’m no dancer. Sorry, Henry,” he adds, because he does feel for Henry’s bright mood and brighter attitude. He feels that too, even if it’s for Akira’s final goal and their upcoming death match more than anything else. Grant’s celebration looks different though—less of Henry’s tipsy, unfocused gaze, and a lot more of mentally replaying tonight’s highlights from the game. They did well, despite the loss. They won where it counts and everyone knows it. That means it was a good night to be on press duty too, especially with someone like Leo, someone who understands the importance of good P.R.
And that thought is more personal than it might be for the others. Grant wants good publicity for the team, sure, but for himself too: especially when he knows the were scouts in the audience tonight. Finally, finally scouts on a game he was able to play in.
He’s never pictured himself playing for the Chicago Bobcats. Oh, he’d dreamed of the Blue Demons in high school, he’ll admit that even when they lost to them tonight. He’d dreamed of someone, anyone, recruiting him other than Wymack, and the Demons had been the closest Class I team to his hometown. But even now, if he digs deep enough, Grant’s desperation is just as palpable—if they offered it, he’d sign for the Bobcats and live in Illinois all over again. He’ll sign for any pro team, just so long as he gets to play again in the fall.
Henry’s in too good of a mood and fights the urge to roll his eyes, despite being drunk. He’s heard it all before. He waves his hand dismissively. “I am careful,” he responds, knowing he wasn’t all that careful tonight. He was frustrated that his first shot was denied, and it pushed him to do something stupid. Who knows what would have happened if he’d been allowed to keep playing. He really shouldn’t have tried to do anything risky tonight when so much was riding on this game. All rational thoughts went out the window and he’d gotten hurt. Honestly, he was surprised he wasn’t getting an ear full for what he did. “Seriously, I’m good.” It wasn’t the worst injury he’d gotten in his lifetime, and it likely wouldn’t be the last one. The whole point of Exy wasn’t to be cautious though—it was to take chances. Court was the one place he felt brave.
There’s an obvious pout on his face when Grant says no. It was what he expected. He’d been part of this team long enough to know that Grant was a no-nonsense person—being a serious person. But Henry was that way too. Exy was something he took too seriously because he didn’t want this opportunity to disappear. He practically begged Wymack for help three years ago, needing to get away from his dad for just a few months out of the year. But even Henry’s serious nature never touched Grant’s. He’s never been a confident person,—that was his sister—never the one to dive into an unknown just because he could. He’s always liked being a steady person. One people can expect things from, be it his slightly optimistic, friendly, golden boy-like nature; but that’s never been who he is really.
And maybe there’s something to this pull towards chaos. Maybe there’s something to being more like his sister was. Less like those who are so stoic all the time, who take everything to heart, who bottle up their emotions. Because all these years he’s felt more like he’s burying himself in everything he isn’t to be the person he’s expected to be. Betsy’s right though. No one seems to care that he’s gay and the people who truly love him aren’t going to care who he is. Still it’s difficult to be this person, after years and years of making sure his desires never saw the light. Who knew that all it took was a kiss for him to coax him from that dark place he’d been for so long.
“’S’kay,” he slurs the words, unaware of how much of a fool he’s likely making of himself. “I’m no dancer either. I just wanna have fun tonight.” He wonders for a moment if this will all end when he goes back to Palmetto. If the fear of his father will be too much and he’ll pretend this night never happened. He’s not had enough alcohol to let those thoughts drift away, for them to be a worry for another day. “Grant, don’t let me be different when we go back. I don’t wanna be unhappy anymore. I don’t wanna keep punishing myself for what happened with my sister. I don’t wanna be afraid of my dad. I wanna be brave.” It’s funny that he’s drunk right now—and his injury wasn’t that bad— and he’s revealed more about himself this week than he ever has before. But being drunk now is different than every other time, because he’s happy; for once he’s so damned happy. He’s not using this as an excuse to deal with his negative emotions. It’s probably why he’s revealing information he’s never revealed to anyone before. “Betsy was right. No one gives a shit that I’m gay.”
Location: Chicago, IL—hotel
Date: Saturday, March 30
Time: Early
(open)
Alanna is not a morning person. Especially not the night after a party, especially not when their flight isn’t for ages. In a better world, she’d be asleep for hours still. Actually, in a perfect world, she’d sleep right through this hangover. In the real world though, she wakes up at 6am with a horrible taste in her mouth and a head that’s pounding enough to keep her awake the rest of the morning.
She isn’t sure how long it takes her to roll out of bed and track down painkillers and water, to get dressed and do her makeup as well as she can in this state, but she doesn’t feel much more like a person by the end of it. She needs food. She doesn’t want the continental breakfast either, with its sad looking collection of fruits and oatmeal packets and plain coffee creamers.
But the prospect of facing Chicago alone? Alanna can just see herself getting lost and missing the flight. Or, worse, calling Cade to come find her in the nick of time—making her the exact opposite of the cool, independent step-sister she wishes she was.
Thankfully, there are familiar faces in this hotel even at this godawful hour, and Alanna stops the first one she sees. “Hey, any chance you’re hungry? I need bacon. And hash browns. Maybe some eggs too. Definitely a fancy coffee with lots of milk and sugar.”
Henry doesn’t consider himself a morning person because he doesn’t go to bed until at least two on a good night, sometimes three or four if he’s really in the zone with his writing. Since he also refuses to sleep for more than a few hours at a time, he doesn’t think it counts as being a morning person. Away from Palmetto it is easier to sleep—unless he’s up late partying with the Foxes, which is a rare occurrence for him. Last night, everything felt different though—and it probably had to do with the conversation he had with Betsy before leaving campus.
But despite not being in Palmetto and being up late, he’s still up early. He’s up early enough that he can get fresh coffee from downstairs. Though it takes a moment for him to get out of bed. He’s too comfortable and happy. Henry eventually gets out of bed, grabs his book, and heads downstairs. There are a bunch of people already getting coffee. Who gets up this early on a Saturday? he thinks before realizing he’s up this early on a Saturday. The Fox grabs a cup of coffee, sits down in one of the chairs in the lobby, and opens his book to read.
He doesn’t know how long he’s there reading before he hears a voice and looks up to see Alanna. Henry clutches his book hard enough to make his knuckles go white. “Oh, um, I guess?” he says, feeling like an idiot. He could go for coffee that doesn’t suck like the one he’s currently sipping on because it’s been sitting in the pot for too long. “Can I say something… before we go?” Henry asks. He hasn’t forgotten their last conversation and it left a hallow feeling in his stomach. He doesn’t wait for permission before launching into what he needs to say. People had to know by now if they were paying attention. He spent all night gushing about Jack. And he wasn’t exactly subtle in the airport.
“When, um, we had our last conversation…” he starts, looking down at his book and takes a deep breath. “I, uh, I wasn’t… I wasn’t talking about my best friend. Or I mean… I was, sort of. Because she is bi. So… I mean, it wasn’t a lie.” His ramble was getting off track. “I was speaking from experience. I’m gay.” He lets out a long breath and a little chuckle. Betsy would be proud, he thinks. “Sorry, I’m… I’ve only told that to a few people. I’m, uh, still getting used to it. I, um… it’s not an excuse for how I acted, I just… I spent nearly ten years in the closet. I thought… I could make myself straight if I flirted with, um, women. I’m really sorry. Breakfast is on me. If you still want to go. I could really use some better coffee. And, um, get some for, uh, anyone else that wants good coffee.”
