Malik got the news about an hour ago. Coach Christie had called everyone in to let them know. De’Aaron, the man he’s been with since their days in Kentucky together; had been traded to San Antonio. His “best friend” for almost a decade, gone without a call or text. Monk knew he had act strong around his teammates. The rest of shoot around was oddly silent, but Malik didn’t stick around long enough to see what happened. He couldn’t stay in that facility, atleast not that night. Keon had came up to him to try to talk to him but got no response. He was, in every way, heartbroken. Malik had gotten home about 45 minutes later. He didn’t really remember the drive home or anything he was thinking. He didn’t say hello to anyone at the house, but just laid back in bed and stared at the ceiling. He left his volume on all the way. De’Aaron was the only one he had notifications for. He laid and stared for hours, praying for a call or text or anything. Radio silence. He’d heard Fox had already boarded the plane. He packed up and left without a goodbye to a single coach, teammate, or most important, him. His ride or die. The guy he told everything, the guy he’d go out with after tough losses and talk to for hours. Not even a simple message. Nothing at all. Malik didn’t know what to do. He didn’t wanna call or text him, he wanted to hear from him first. He didn’t wanna beg for his attention. He figured “If he wanted to, he would.” The call never came. He stayed up for hours. Nothing. He remembered the time him and De’Aaron were at his house and made out with while drinking too much after the Game 7 loss to Golden State. And how they swore to never talk about it again and neither of them brought it up. Malik tried to convince himself it was some drunken joke they did. But every time he laid at bed at night, a little part of him wished he could lay next to him and do all the things they did that night. Like when he tried convincing himself he never got jealous when Fox talked about his girlfriends for all those years, that he was just being a “good friend”, but deep down Malik wished he could be one of them, held in his arms all night. Deep down, he thought it could happen one day. Maybe. Not anymore. He left without a trace. Malik looked at the photo of them he had framed on his bedside table for 5 minutes straight, thinking about that exact time they took that photo at Barnes’s wedding, and how happy they were just messing around with eachother. It made him sick to his stomach. The more he thought about it, the angrier it made him. Why’d he leave? Why didn’t he care? Why didn’t he- Before he could gather his own thoughts, he threw the frame against the wall, shattering the glass all over his carpet. He wanted to feel bad but he couldn’t. He did this to himself. He was too tough to cry. He just laid in bed all night, trying to sleep the pain away. He still left the volume on all night. Malik didn’t sleep that night. And his phone never went off.
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