THIRD PERSON'S POV
The post game party was.....just a party.
The music was there, bass low, drinks stacked, lights dimmed just right. But the room was heavy, soaked in disappointment. No one danced. No one laughed. The hockey team sat around like ghosts, muttering half-hearted jokes and avoiding eye contact.
Dominic was slouched over the leather couch in the corner, a drink in his hand, and looking over nothing for the time being. Everyone is acting like this because of him, and he knows it too. They can't even drink in peace, everything feels forced and no joy, they usually don't take defeat to heart but today, there was something else, something precisely with him. He was making his teammates feel pressured around him so he decided to give them space. He made it out and sat down near a tree looking at the vast lights beyond, thinking things through.
He knew losing the game was his fault too. He hated the thought. Hated it more because he couldn't deny it. What made it even worse was Ian, he just...took the blame. Publicly. Calmly. Not for show, not for pity. Just absorbed it like it was the part of the game.
As for him? He blew up. Pointed fingers. Sulked. Made it worse. He looked like a kid who was throwing a tantrum...not a captain. He hated that about Ian. The control. The grace. The maturity. "Why the hell can't I be like that?" he muttered, "you're mad because you're not him" his brain supplied.
The guilt sat like a stone in his gut. The party should've helped, but the team was quiet. No one was in the mood. They were all reeling from him. He rubbed his face. He felt tired.
"can I sit?" a voice cut through his train of thoughts. He turned. A girl, with long black hair, pretty with barely make up, she had already sat beside him, familiar to only Dominic "came to laugh at me?" he asked bitterly.
"no" she said smiling. "Just figured I should remind you, you're not the world's biggest screw up". He let out a dry laugh. "Could've fooled me". She didn't press. "You feel too much" she said quietly, "that's your problem. But instead of feeling it, you fight it. Blame it. Push it out. People like Ian? They feel it too, they just don't let it rot them".
He went still.
"let it go, Dom, guilt's not strength. Owing up is" she said, eyes kind but unreadable. As for Dom? Something shifted inside him. He didn't say anything. Just stared ahead then chuckled. A real light laugh that surprised even him. He felt....better. Like someone had scooped the weight out of his chest. When he turned to thank her, she was gone. Just silence and the faint beat of music returning.
.
.
The rink was freezing as always, but the chill that bit Ian's skin wasn't just from the ice. He'd already been here twenty minutes ago, leaning against the board and sipping lukewarm coffee and checking the clock every five seconds like it would summon Dominic out of thin air.
His breath came out in short puffs, jog still fresh in his muscles, hoodie clinging to his back. He stared at the entrance, still no Dominic.
"this isn't about me" Ian muttered to himself, "this is about hockey. If we can't work as a team, we're out, more like I am out" he could deal with Dominic's annoying silence, eye rolls, ego, but he didn't show up, that would mean quitting something he had fought to earn back!.
Just when he was about to go and personally drag Dominic back by ear, the door finally creaked open. Dominic walked in, dark hoodie up, eyes sunken like he hadn't slept. H didn't say a word. Ian tried not to feel anything, but a small traitorous part of him almost smiled. 'So you did show up'
Dominic walked past him like he was invisible, picked up a broom and started sweeping in lazy, half-hearted motions that probably made the whole thing dusty. Ian stared at him, his blood pressure slowly ticked up.
Sweep. Drag. Stop. Stare. Sweep again.
Ian clenched his jaw, he was about to flip him off when he noticed movement in the corner of his eye. Coach and Mr. Stryker, watching, of course.
Think. Think.
Ian did the most rational thing he could think of. He walked up and tripped Dominic. Dom stumbled hard, caught himself before he could face-plant and turned with a sharp glare enough to cut the rink in half.
"what's wrong with you?"
"Careful Dom can't afford breaking your neck before practice" Ian, voice loud enough, immediately leaned down to help him up. "You should be more careful" he said sweetly.
Dominic blinked. He was about to cuss him out until Ian tilted his head towards the stands, the two arms crossed, still watching. Dom scoffed and snatched Ian's hand, using it to push himself up before actually picking up the morning routine, properly this time.
They cleaned in silence or well, Ian cleaned mostly. "You know" Ian said, not looking at him "your actually helpful...when you're not talking" Dom shot him a glare. "And you're irritating even when you're quite" Ian grinned, "that's talent" they weren't exactly teammates. Not yet. But at least Dom showed up. That counted for something.
When Dom had actually showed up not because he wanted to, but because something told him he needed to. Even if he still acted like a jerk. Even if he avoided Ian's eyes like it would kill him. And when Ian pulled off that little stunt, he should've exploded, but he didn't. He just smiled, just a little. Because something had shifted. And Ian wasn't the only one who could change.
Just as they were about to finally breathe, the coach's voice cut through the air like the final whistle of a lost game, "don't forget the assignment still stands, mostly you Dominic" he glared. Of course the Emotional Regulation in competitive environment, they almost forgot that.
"we expect honest, try working on it together"
Silence.
Then Dominic muttered "Great, a feelings essay with my favorite person" Ian looked at him smirking "maybe you will finally figure it out why you hate my guts" Dominic rolled his eyes, but he didn't snap back, just grabbed his water bottle threw his towel over his shoulder and walked out. But Ian didn't miss it, the faint twitch at the corner of his lips.
Something was changing.
And the assignment? oh, that was going to be interesting.
.
.
.
