Sasquatch to the Moon

30: No, Rocket, You Weren't Tony Hawk

ROCKET

Do you think the reason you've spent this much time on that theory is because you're trying to subconsciously convince yourself you're worthy of loving?

I run my fingers through the back of his hair, holding him gently against my shoulder. I knew he had some issues, some things to work on, some things to figure out, but I didn't know it was this bad.

Turns out his neglect runs a lot deeper than I had thought.

It's not entirely uncommon for a guy to feel completely lonely all the time due to what the societal pressure says male on male friendship can be. We all feel that at some point. I got lucky with Steph and our relationship. People have told us we act more like girl best friends than boy best friends and that is very much a good thing. Steph and I have never been short to tell each other what we're feeling at any time and why, we've never been short to give hugs or even cuddle depending on the day. We're more like brothers than friends and it makes complete sense with us. 

Most guys, like the boys on the team and I, are general friends, they'd never agree to hug their best friends or tell them about their day or anything of the sort, just because that's what's expected of them. But they'll still be there for their friends in times of hurt and often they know what to do for them and why, just because they're close.

I had assumed his social neglect out here was just insecurity about people finding out about his sexuality, that the reason he's never anything but professional with the guys is only that.

Turns out it's probably a long result of being ignored. It's probably just his own instinct telling him that getting close to people just gives them opportunities to hurt him. It's his own protective shield.

"Shhh," I rub his back, trying to get him to breathe, or let me breathe, his grip is a little strong sometimes. Guess that's the downside of being close to a heavyweight. 

"I'm s-sorry." He mumbles, leaning against my shoulder.

"You're okay, c'mere." I slide off the counter, taking his hand. God, he looks miserable. I drag him away from the kitchen and toward his staircase, pulling him up the thin stair, surrounded on both sides by dark wood and a couple lamps leading up the staircase. I'll give him this: his house is a literal fantasy. I love it. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like my little artists loft style thing with big open spaces, but his house feels like the inside of a castle, all dark wood and rustic lights and deep tones. He looks absolutely gorgeous standing anywhere in here, his bright white hair on the earthy tones and lights that feel more like candlelight than LEDs. He always looks like some sort of angel on dark backgrounds, he just has that ethereal quality about him and I'm beyond into it. 

"What are we doing?" I hear him yawn from behind me.

"Sleeping."

"Huh?"

"It's midnight, Håkon, I've been here for five hours. We're sleeping because I'm not driving home delirious."

"Hm, okay." He agrees.

"I need clothes, though, we're not dating yet and I don't want to wake up with the urge to do that all over again."

He blinks at me. "Ah, alright, here," he puts his hands behind his head and yanks his hoodie up and over, ruffling his white hair on the way off.

"I'd trade you but my shirt would be a little on the tight side for you." I mumble, pulling it off as I say it.

He hums a response and we work side by side, getting ready for bed. I brush my teeth with my pinky finger linked with his, the closest I'll allow myself to come to hand holding with a guy I can't date. It helps that he's left-handed. Left side defensemen tend to trend left-handed. So, my left hand in his right hand is the perfect combination of non-dominant hands.