wasting time » lh ; mc

six

:: 06 ::

       God, Michael should feel terrible about enjoying every second he got to spend talking to his two favorite hockey players and leaving Luke to sit listening for more than half an hour. But, he doesn't. Because that's all he's doing this for anyway, it's not like there's anything Luke is suspecting. Michael acted completely normal afterwards and gave the tall boy an empty apology for what had happened, so it's not obvious that he just wants to get on the radar of Andrew Hemmings and a few scouts.

There was a hockey game after school today, and Michael had invited Luke to both the practice before hand and the actual game since the boy didn't want to believe that Michael was as good as everyone says he is. Plus, since Luke agreed to helping with the rugby team, Michael figured that starting right away would have the team back just in time for the winter break.

When he had asked, Luke teased him about caring too much about opinions. Michael didn't deny it, because it was true: he thrived off of a positive image and what others thought about him made up his entire life. But, it was only because he wanted everyone to think as highly of him as he himself did. That way, Michael had no doubts about his God-given athletic abilities. Luke didn't seem to agree.

"No, I'm being serious," Luke told him. "You have no idea how to live without reassurance from others." It was before tonight's game, Michael had just got done practicing a little beforehand (even though the team already had an afterschool practice, which made no sense to Luke if they were just going to do it again at the game), and Michael snuck Luke into the locker rooms so the pair could talk before the game started.

"So? At least I care what people think of me," Michael said. He honestly wasn't in desperate need of others' thoughts on him, it was just nice to have for future reference when he's playing or doing something. In Michael's mind, if you didn't take at least some of what people said and apply it to do better, then you just don't care how others see you in the world. You need to take at least a little criticism and think about it.

"Okay, but you're missing my point, Mike: this is high school. Their opinions won't matter once graduation hits," he said.

"Because those opinions helped me make it into the NHL," Michael stated slowly, as if it were obvious, "so the only ones that matter at that point are the fans."

"No! Michael, get it through your fucking head—being dependent on anyone other than yourself is unhealthy."

"You can't talk to me about this stuff, you don't know anything," Michael replied, scoffing and crossing his arms over his chest. "We're barely even friends, Luke. You don't care."

Luke glared at him before opening the back door. "Fine. I don't care, then. I'll be on the bleachers."

       + + +

They had won the game. Michael can't remember a game they didn't win—it wasn't even surprising or unexpected for him at all anymore. And, yeah, he gets cocky as fuck afterwards but, when is he not?

The hockey player skated over to the rink exit with the rest of his team, but moved in Luke's direction and not to the locker rooms. "So? Did I live up to your expectations?" he asked with a sloppy, tired grin. His legs hurt and he just wanted to lay down, but Michael was so used to the feeling that it would take him a while to realize he was actually in any pain at all.

"I've seen you play before, Michael. Each time is pretty much the same since you always have the puck," Luke said. There was something in his tone that made Michael believe he was somehow simultaneously being serious and teasing. But that describes the friendship they have growing, anyway, so it's not that big of a deal.

Michael only shrugged and said, "I only have the puck because the rest of the team sucks." Most of the players on the team looked like lacrosse players: tree trunks for legs and thick builds that made him look like the weakling of the team, when in reality they couldn't play in a rink to save their lives. Probably because they belong on a lacrosse field instead.

"I'm absolutely, positively sure I've never seen anyone besides you and your puppy-boy actually make a goal." It was painfully true—but Michael didn't feel bad about it. Learn how to play your position and he'd pass you the puck, that's how it works.

"Yeah, Cal's pretty good."

"Anyway," Luke rolled his eyes and pushed a now skates-free Michael toward the locker room, "go get changed and we can talk to your dad about getting the rugby team back."

After he had, they found Mr. Clifford waiting outside for Michael. "Luke! You need a ride, son?"

"Oh, no, I was going to wal—" Michael elbowed him in the side quickly, causing him to flinch and turn to the boy with a glare. All Michael did was motion toward his dad with his eyes, as if that would refresh his memory of what they were supposed to be doing.

Luke knew, but he was horrible with words and convincing people, and besides he didn't know how difficult Michael's father was with this kind of stuff, anyway. He figured Michael would be nice enough to do it on his own and tell Luke what happened when they saw each other tomorrow when Michael came over again. But, apparently that's not how they were going to do this.

"Actually, he would love one," Michael said quickly. "We both need to talk to you about something." Coach looked between both boys cautiously, as if thinking about every possible topic the conversation could lead to and what he would have to deal with.

Luke noticed and reassured, "Nothing bad, Mr. Clifford."

With furrowed eyebrows, Michael leaned toward Luke and quietly yelled, "Dude, this is my dad—quit all the formal shit," only to get a backhand to the chest and a glare that practically shouted: are you serious right now?

The two didn't even have a game plan; Michael wasn't sure how they were going to do this being unprepared and clueless. But, he knew that his dad was the only coach he could tolerate and since he knew how the man would most likely react, this was Michael and Luke's best opportunity to try and bring back something that shouldn't have been cut in the first place.

Once they had all piled into Mr. Clifford's truck, with Luke sat in the back and Michael in the front with his father, the blonde decided it was best to get this over with as soon as possible rather than stall and have the coach notice their nervous demeanors.

Michael sighed when Luke looked at him, silently telling him that the blonde wasn't going to be the one to start this thing off. "So, basically..."

       • • •

i was four/five people back from fob and joe trohman threw his water bottle at me so like im in a p good mood for the rest of my life

im also such a horrible person i lied to u all abt updating after the concert and the ending is so cliche and lame but i had to end it so stuff can start later pls do not shun me ily

BUT IM SO PUMPED NEXT CHAPTER IS WHEN ITS ALL GETTIN STARTED THINGS GON START GOIN DOWn [[down in an earlier round]] [[and sugar we're going down swingin]]