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Troy pressed his forearms against the balcony’s railing. He could see his breath; he really should be inside, with all his friends, playing drinking games and flirting with the many women that seemed to wander into Dallas’ home. But instead, he was outside, in a stupid “This is my Halloween Costume” shirt while nursing a beer.
Troy heard footsteps behind him. It was Ryan Price; he looked tired. Troy couldn’t blame him. If he remembered correctly, Ryan came out publicly with little to no fanfare. Troy wondered what that would be like, to be openly gay, but no one cared about it; he realized he was staring at Ryan once he saw Ryan’s expression shift into confusion. “Hey,” Troy finally spoke up, sweat beading down his forehead.
“Hi,” Ryan rubbed his hands together. The seasons were changing. Soon it would be November, then December, and maybe Troy would see Adrien again, maybe.
“What’s your, uh, costume?” Troy asked, looking Ryan up and down. Troy couldn’t really lie; Ryan was nice to look at. With his beautiful dark mahogany skin, his deep olive eyes that pierced through the night, and his deep, coily auburn hair that was hidden under the stupid cowboy hat. Troy allowed himself to ogle the man for a split second before turning his gaze back to the night sky. It was pitch black, Troy didn’t know he felt so melancholy about the sky, maybe he missed the stars. Not that he cared.
“I’m a cowboy,” Ryan tilted his head to read the words on Troy’s shirt. He furrowed his brows slightly. Ryan began to scoot away from Troy, pursuing his lips as he pulled out his phone.
“Really?” Troy scoffed.
“It’s not like you dressed up either,” Ryan felt a tingle of anger build in his stomach.
Troy took a small sip of the beer, “Dallas wanted me to go as a…” He refrained from speaking any further. His lip trembled as he remembered the way he had to force himself to laugh at the jokes. He forced himself not to feel even more disgusted with his body. He forced another laugh, “I can’t even say it. It was just too—”
“It doesn’t look like it was funny.”
Troy widened his eyes, looking around the balcony to see that no one was watching the two talk. If Dallas saw him, if Dallas knew how Troy thought about Ryan Price. Surely Dallas would find all the more reason to be a bigot for his own amusement. “Everyone else was laughing,” Troy whispered, “I just… didn’t get it.”
Ryan furrowed his brow, “Why are you even friends with him? How many times has he put on that accent and made those disgusting jokes?”
“You don’t understand what it’s like for me.”
“I don’t?”
Troy looked back at Ryan. Those deep olive eyes looked so concerned. It was like Ryan could empathize with him, or at the very least sympathize with Troy. Not that Troy would understand why anyone would go through the burden of actually caring for him. “That’s not what I meant,” Troy took another sip.
“What did you mean?” Ryan asked.
“Fuck,” Troy pushed his charcoal waves from his eyes. He needed to cut his hair soon; he could still remember those jokes that Dallas had made about his long hair after the playoffs; Troy didn’t want to go through that again. Troy took an encouraging sip of Beer, gulping down the liquid as it would escape him. “He’s safe. Dallas is, if I’m friends with him, my dad is happy, I get to be on the first line, and I get treated like an equal.”
“Troy,” Ryan sighed.
“All hockey guys chirp each other in the locker room,” Troy stammered, a bit nervous of Ryan and his words.
“And have you said anything about Dallas’ race?” Ryan asked, “Why does he get the grace and you don’t?”
“We…” Troy stopped himself. He didn’t know how to respond to Ryan. He was right, Troy knew it. But it wasn’t like Ryan knew anything, Troy balled his fists. “It’s not like you know anything about having friends,” Troy gritted his teeth, “Friends have to make sacrifices for each other.”
“Wow.”
Troy stepped back from the balcony, his drink wobbling on the railing. As he looked at Ryan with fury, what did Ryan know? Ryan was just a dumb enforcer who didn’t know the first thing about Troy or Dallas. Ryan didn’t know anything about their dreams, the time that they shared, the jokes that Troy just had to laugh at. What did Ryan know? He inhaled deeply. Ryan didn’t look mad. His eyes were still filled with that pitiful look that Troy hated. Why did Ryan look at him with those eyes? Why couldn’t Ryan hate him? Why couldn’t Troy hate Ryan? Instead of trying to confront these feelings that Troy had, he pushed Ryan’s shoulder back, making the large man stumble back. But Ryan’s gaze didn’t falter; he didn’t look any less concerned. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” Troy yelled, “You can barely get on planes, you’re a one-trick pony, and worst of all, you’re a—“
Ryan sighed heavily, causing Troy to stop talking. Troy felt disgust rise into his chest, but it wasn’t directed at Ryan, who looked so disappointed in Troy. Ryan shook his head, looking back into Troy’s icy blue eyes. Ryan muttered quietly, “I thought you were different. At least when he wasn’t around.” He turned his back on Troy.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Troy yelled out.
Ryan checked his phone again, “I think you already know.”
Troy couldn’t speak further; he felt so angry, so fucking angry. Troy slammed his fist into the railing. Knocking the glass off the edge. The glass crashed onto the grass beneath him. Troy winced. He couldn't believe he would let a guy like Ryan under his skin so easily, and the worst part about it was the shame. Troy was ashamed of himself, and he didn’t know why he felt that way.
———-———-———-———-
“Ryan!” Harris smiled fondly, “It’s so nice to see you!”
Ryan smiled as well, waving at him shyly, “Nice to see you, Harris.” He looked over at Troy. He looked so different from how he was on the Guardians. Troy’s hair was longer and styled into a wolf cut; he was fully shaved and didn’t have a single blemish on his face. His icy blue eyes looked… softer. Ryan wasn’t sure how that happened. He spared a glance at Troy before he turned back to Harris. Harris was so polite, so sweet. His smile was so wide, Ryan didn’t know if it hurt his lips to be that happy constantly. It didn’t look like it, but Ryan could never really tell with people. People were difficult to understand, especially men with charcoal hair and sharp jawlines. He could hear Fabian greeting Harris loudly, and Ryan couldn’t help but smile at Fabian’s voice. The sweet drops of ambrosia that filled the room so easily, Ryan unconsciously smiled and turned his head to look over at Fabian, who winked at Ryan in reply.
Ryan waved to Harris as he left to join Kip, Kyle, and Fabian. He looked back at Troy, and he looked happier, Ryan thought. Troy was smiling, which was a rare sight; maybe it became more common in the past few seasons since Ryan had retired. He doesn’t keep up with Hockey all too often anymore.
Ilya wrapped an arm around Ryan; it was a welcome touch that Ryan couldn’t help but smile at. “Ryan! It is good to see you!” Ilya grinned.
Ryan rolled his eyes, chuckling and shaking his head, “You saw me like a couple of hours ago. At camp? Don’t you remember?”
“Can’t I miss my good friend and best defenseman in the world?” Ilya batted his eyes at Ryan, who just laughed in response. “How is your family?” Ilya asked.
“They are okay,” Ryan smiled, “I’m pretty sure my sister’s getting catfished.”
“Really?”
Ryan nodded, a small chuckle escaping his lips.
Troy walked over to the pair. Ryan couldn’t help the anxiety that rushed through his veins. “Ilya!” Troy fist bumped Ilya and then turned to nod at the large man he once played with, “Price.”
“Barrett,” Ryan nodded back.
“Not right now, Barry, I’m talking to my best friend Ryan,” Ilya did a shooing motion towards Troy, “Go make out with Harris.”
“Fuck off!” Troy rolled his eyes playfully. Troy walked away, though when his gaze fixed on Ryan, he couldn’t help but go back to that blank stare.
Ilya’s own expression turned neutral. “Do you not like him?”
“He’s…” Ryan shouldn’t dump how he feels about Troy onto Ilya, at least not right now. His brain didn’t know where to categorize Troy Barrett. He needed some time to think. “I guess I don’t,” Ryan responded.
“Should I talk to him?” Ilya raised his eyebrow.
Ryan waved his hands, “No, he’s fine now. It’s just…” he pursed his lips, “It doesn’t matter. As long as he keeps his distance, we’re fine.”
Ilya furrowed his brows for a second. He looked for anything within Ryan’s deep olive eyes. “If he is bothering you—“
“He’s not,” Ryan smiled, looking out of the window, “Not anymore.”
There were more stars than in Toronto. No, there weren’t as many as Ryan could see were in Nova Scotia, but it was better than looking at the emptiness that filled Toronto’s skies.
“I see.”
“I’m glad he’s better now,” Ryan looked back towards Ilya, “I’m glad he has people to support and lead him the right way.” He looked over at the table that Troy stood over. Ryan noted how the rest of the Centaurs seemed to laugh so loudly and freely next to Troy. He smiled softly.
“Are you glad you aren’t that person?” Ilya asked.
“Yeah, I am.”