Chapter Text
The goal horn blares again, for the 9th time tonight, and fuck, haven’t the Royals royally fucked up. There’s only two minutes left before the regulation officially ends, the team’s scrambling to tie the fucking score, more so now that the Stallions is once again up by one, and they only have two fucking minutes left. Jeongguk is gritting his teeth so fucking hard, mouthguard dangling from his mouth, and he plans.
His shift comes again, and he jumps over the bench, stick in his hand and mouthguard back inside his mouth. No way in hell fucking BU is winning this. They’ve got this. They have to.
The puck is currently in the Stallions’ possession, but desperation must be an effective power booster or something, because the Royals manage to steal it right under their opponent’s stick; and the games continues from there.
One minute forty seconds left. They’re back in the Stallions’ blue line, puck still in their possession, passing it to each other in quick succession, which, fucking great, because Jeongguk’s going to fucking riot if some fucker from BU takes it away from under their blades. They fucking got this.
One minute twenty seconds. Doyoung’s got the puck now, slides it over to Jaehyun, Jaehyun’s skating closer to the net, carefully avoiding the Stallions’ player, passing it over to Moonbin on the right, because shooting it right now would just result in losing possession, and they can’t afford that, not with the clock’s ticking down.
Jeongguk’s somehow got the puck, pushing his way through two Stallions, throwing shoulder checks and hip checks as he goes—honestly, the Stallions deserve that and more. Jaehyun has the puck next, shoots it top shelf, and it goes in, truly a fucking beauty of a pass, and there’s someone screaming in Jeongguk’s ears—until he realises it was him all along.
“Fucking beauty, Jae!” he yells when it’s his turn to bop Jaehyun’s helmet.
The game goes to overtime, five minutes more to score one more fucking goal, and then they can go to whatever frat parties available tonight, drink however much they want. Tomorrow’s Saturday, which means no classes and no assignments to stay up through the night for.
The Stallions dominates again, power pumped or whatever the fuck, all over the Royals’ blue line, and Jeongguk has his eyes on the puck, his entirety of being on it, and that’s the reason his gaze gets stuck at #95 for the Stallions—not because anything else, never anything else, it’s not like Jeongguk doesn’t know how to be professional about this, could never let any shit clouds his judgment when it comes to playing hockey. #95 has the puck, skates dangerously close to the net, closer to Yanan, Jeongguk’s team’s goalie, and it’s pure luck that Jeongguk is there before #95 could swing his stick, is already there putting his stick near #95’s skates, not quite tripping but close, so fucking close, and it’s enough to break the pass, steals the puck once again and slides it over to Yuta, who brings it back to the Stallions’ blue line.
Jeongguk doesn’t think about it more than he should—doesn’t look back to where #95 kind of stomps angrily, back to chasing the puck, trying to regain possession, which proves fucking useless because Yuta scores, a filthy pass from Changjo, and Jeongguk’s there in the middle of his team, yelling profanities and congrats, being hugged left and right and hugging right back.
He doesn’t even glance at the visitor tunnel, where the Stallions might be, going somewhere to lick their wounds or whatever the fuck. It’s been a while since Jeongguk gives a fuck. It’s been longer since—
Since then.
Jeongguk pointedly does not think about it.
***
There’s a party alright, and it’s maybe their lucky day or something, because it’s actually one that has an abundant amount of booze and food, ready to be pounced on. Beating their one and only rival is fucking great, more so when their arrival at said party get them a few clapping and ‘good game’s from other partiers. It’s great. Jeongguk’s barely had anything to drink, not even a sip, and he’s already felt pretty drunk, boozy with giddiness or maybe satisfaction.
Jeongguk sticks close to the booze, standing against the kitchen island, a solo cup clutched on one hand, the other free in case someone recognizes him and comes over to give him a high-five or something.
“Nice trip, Jeon!” Johnny tells him, and Jeongguk stares confused at him for a moment before remembering that yeah, he did almost trip #95 that caused the guy unable to score a goal, which would rob the Royals of the win tonight. “Dirty fucking pool, though.”
Jeongguk laughs—as if he doesn’t know already. “Got us the win, though.” He says, a little bit mean and untrue, maybe, because technically Yuta did that, but still, they probably wouldn’t have the chance to come out victorious tonight if Jeongguk didn’t fucking commit unsportsmanlike conduct. Or close to it, because he didn’t get called out for penalty or anything. Which. Take that, fucking Stallions, he thinks viciously.
Johnny laughs back, because the dude probably understand—he’s their defenseman after all.
It’s maybe another two hours or so before Jeongguk deems it enough socialisation and like, time to go home—or dorm, if he’s getting technical. He hasn’t had a lot, nursing his shitty beer like a loser while munching on chips, but being drunk stops being fun his freshman year. After that it’s just… too much, being hungover, also the headaches; Jeongguk can’t stand headaches. He probably can do the puking, but the headaches he can’t, for reason he sure as shit doesn’t know.
He saunters over the couch before leaving the house, where a bunch of Royals are smoking and drinking unhealthy shit, planning to say goodbye and maybe fist bump some guys who’ve got points tonight.
“Bro,” Changjo says, squinting his eyes in this asking for a fight way, which Jeongguk doesn’t scowl at because dude’s a senior—he’s also their captain so like. Yeah. Jeongguk doesn’t even dare to think about fighting him. “You’re like, stone cold sober. Get yourself a drink or here, where’s the weed, fuck, asshole, where’s the weed—” he turns to Kogyeol, who’s clearly high off his mind, and would be no help whatsoever.
Anyway it’s good that Changjo’s distracted, Jeongguk can move along. He gives Yuta and Jaehyun shoulder slaps, Doyoung a fist bump, and about to take off from there, when Yugyeom arrives with another six-pack.
“Leaving already, Guk?” Yugyeom asks.
“Yeah,” Jeongguk says, “And you’re not gonna stop me.”
“Not going to,” Yugyeom shrugs. He takes a can from the six-pack though, hands it off to Jeongguk. “One for the road?”
“Sure, whatever.” Jeongguk says, accepts the thing and then waves his goodbye.
It’s not a long way going back to the dorm, just a few minutes walk in the cold. Doesn’t bother him at all, the chill comforting instead of piercing, probably also comes from the fact that he’s a hockey player, spends literal hours on the ice daily. He cracks open the beer halfway there, resolution failing or whatever, not exactly true because it’s not like he gives himself some hard ultimatum to not drink, just that he won’t get to the point of plastered, and a can of Hite could barely get him to the edge of tipsy, nevermind drunk.
He gets to the dorm eventually, throws the empty can to the bin and climbs the series of old stairs, creaking dangerously under his weight but not enough that he’d slow down. His roommate is there, typing away on his phone, not looking up even after Jeongguk quite literally throws open the door. Which is fucking great, because Jeongguk’s not up for any conversation, not up for any attempt of congratulating him on the win tonight—not up for feeling like this, either, but it’s not like he has a choice, or fuck. Maybe he has. Maybe he’s just some pussy ass bitch, unable to fucking grow up, but that’s not the point.
The point is it’s not always like this. Sometimes he gets home after a win stupid giddy and cheery, silent and brooding when it’s a loss instead, but never quite like this. This fucking feeling of emptiness and loathing only happens when it’s the Stallions they’re up against, and that’s. That’s not a thing Jeongguk will ever be up to explain.
Sometimes it’s just a bile, simmering lowly in his stomach, or rising to his chest, if it’s a particularly hard game, other times it’s a chokehold, tight and right around his throat, painful and merciless, and at these times he’d wonder, silently, if ever he felt the same way.
***
Jeongguk slept like shit that night, wakes up feeling like crap, head pounding even though he only had two drinks, tops, mouth tasting like something disgusting had crawled in and died. He drags his ass off his bed, snatching his toiletries and towel to the bathroom, comes back to the room feeling marginally better but not by a lot. He isn’t hungry or anything, feeling rather sick by the thought of eating something, yet he still brightens up when he sees the pile of pancakes and bacons on the table between the two beds.
“Figured you’d be hungry,” Bambam says from his bed, snorts when Jeongguk expresses his deepest gratitude. “I’m like, the best roommate you could ever get, dude.”
Bambam’s maybe not wrong, but no way in hell Jeongguk’s going to say so. “You exiled me from my own bed three times a week, don’t get cocky now,” he says instead, around a mouthful of syrupy pancakes that’s definitely not on his diet, but whatever, he can work it out later. “Also, you seem to be unable to hang your wet towels, so like,”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bambam says, nonchalant. “Wet towels: Jeon Jeongguk’s worst enemies.”
“Nah, it’s actually the BU, wet towel’s second place, maybe.”
Bambam clucks his tongue, stares at Jeongguk like he’s being irrational—which, no, the Busan University hatred is justifiably a rational thing. Sucks to BU. “This rivalry bullshit again,” Bambam mumbles. “When will you get bored of it?”
“Like, never,” Jeongguk says, swallows another mouthful of pancakes. “Not possible, I don’t think.”
“Whatever, but like, what do you get out of it? You only get mad a lot at them for no reason at all. Also like, they don’t suck that much, their hockey’s kinda good, yes? I heard there’s this big star on the team, he’s already drafted—”
“Fuck off, Bam,” Jeongguk cuts in, sharp, too sharp. He can’t help the way his tone break the comfy atmosphere, turning it into something uncomfortable and suffocating.
Bambam, the buffoon that he is, continues to talk instead of dropping it. “You always get like this when I talk about them,” he says. “Yet you’d also trashtalk me for not caring enough about your sport like—”
“Bambam, shut the fuck up.” Jeongguk snaps. “Talk about any other team and I would give no fuck, but don’t fucking talk about the fucking BU.”
“I mean, you won it last night, why are you sensitive,” Bambam retaliates, Jeongguk wishes he would shut the fuck up. “You’re acting like one of those guys killed your dog and fucked your girl or something,”
It’s not the same, maybe, but close enough, at least in the way it affects him up until today. He doesn’t say that aloud, knows for sure that Bambam wouldn’t understand, doesn’t even want him to know. Jeongguk would gladly take the thing to his grave, already planning on it, in fact, buries it so deep inside it doesn’t even have a chance to peek at the sun.
“...fuck, did they really?” Bambam asks, careful, probably catches the dark look on Jeongguk’s face.
It’s thanks to Bambam’s pitiful symphatising that Jeongguk manages to shake whatever unwanted feeling he was having. “What, no, what the fuck.” He says, firm, shaking his head like Bambam’s acting crazy. “Like I’d let any Stallion near my dogs and girlfriend.” Which, isn’t much of a lie because, first, he really wouldn’t, and second, because the end of the world would probably arrive first before Jeongguk gets himself a girlfriend.
Bambam looks like he’s going to say something, so Jeongguk forks another helping of bacons, chewing loudly in Bambam’s face to show that no, he’s not up for another conversation involving the fucking BU.
“Gross, dude,” Bambam grimaces. “No one should be able to see the food inside your mouth.”
Jeongguk chews louder.