Trading Teams

by Alexander, Romeo

  He didn't like it. That word echoes around in his head, making the ice in his veins sharper with every reverberation, making him shiver with dread.

  Did it really look like him and Kyle were on a date in the coffee shop? They both had books and stuff out, and Kyle was clearly absorbed in his computer. Plenty of other people on campus hang out and study with friends. It's normal. It's not weird or date-like at all. And while the thought of it looking like a date makes this weird part of him flutter and melt, it's quickly frozen and shattered by the memory of his teammate's mocking grins, grating laughs, and sardonic smiles.

  By the time he reaches Kyle's dorm, he's cooled off somewhat, but he can still feel an anxiousness churning in his gut. He feels like eyes are watching him as he sits on the bench outside the building and pulls out his phone to text Kyle that he's here.

  He leans back on the bench, head tilted back to gaze up at the late afternoon sky. It'll be dark soon. His foot bounces incessantly, feeding off the nervous energy that his anger has twiddled down to. He can't shake it, no matter how hard he tries.

  "Jake?"

  His head snaps up at the sound of his name, and he frowns as Kyle walks out of his building, backpack slung over one shoulder. He stands quickly, tilting his head with confusion as Kyle moves toward him instead of waiting to let him into the building. "Uh, what're you doing? Aren't we gonna study in your room?"

  Kyle shakes his head. His hair is damp and looks freshly washed. It curls slightly, and something in Jake's chest tightens as he gazes up at him through his glasses. "My roommate's here. I figured we could go study on the quad or in the coffee shop or something."

  "No!" They both freeze. Kyle looks taken aback, confusion pinching his brows as he tilts his head, physically taking a step away from Jake. Jake just stares, wide eyed and horrified at his outburst. "Uh, I just mean—" He scratches the back of his head, chewing on the inside of his cheek. What did he mean? He's not even sure, but with his teammates' words still fresh on his mind, the thought of being out with Kyle again, where people can see them, can make assumptions, can make judgements— a shiver runs through him. "I just mean like... studying in the coffee shop was kind of distracting for me? You know, a lot of stuff going on. It's easier if we're somewhere private."

  Kyle frowns, eyes wary and calculating as Jake fidgets under his gaze. "Okay," he says slowly. He sounds reluctant, but more than that, he sounds... uncomfortable. Wary, even.

  Jake hates it. He hates seeing Kyle retreat back behind those wall, a look of mistrust in his eyes. But really, what has Jake done to make Kyle want to trust him? Still, he's already dug this grave, so he might as well lie in it. He does think it'll be better for them both if they keep their study sessions private.

  He smiles, hoping it looks genuine enough to put him at ease. "We can go to my place. My roommates are out drinking tonight and shouldn't be back until later."

  He doesn't mention that normally, he would be out drinking with them. He doesn't mention that he didn't even feel disappointed when he told them no because the prospect of hanging out with Kyle made him strangely jittery. He doesn't even want to face that fact himself.

  Kyle looks him over for a long moment. He relaxes a fraction, but the wariness remains. Finally, he shrugs. "Sure." He doesn't sound as confident or at ease as Jake was hoping, but he doesn't fight him on it, and he takes that as a victory.

  * * *

  A few hours later, Jake has finally managed to cool down and focus. Not only that, he finds that he's actually enjoying himself. Sure, the studying part is hard, but Kyle is able to take all the fancy mumbo jumbo that the text book says and put it into words that he can actually understand. And it's... kind of exciting that he understands? Like, for the first time, he actually, truly, gets it. He understands the material.

  That in and of itself, is a thrill that's new and exciting.

  They go over the practice test that Jake did, and Kyle takes the time to correct his mistakes and explain the right way to do things. Jake listens attentively, determined to forget his teammates and to prove to Kyle that he's really here to learn. After that, they end up ordering a pizza, and they eat while Kyle gives Jake more practice problems and has him do those with his new understanding.

  The atmosphere is relaxed. It had taken Kyle a while to warm up to his place, but after a while, he did. He relaxed and looked comfortable in Jake's apartment, sitting on his couch with his legs pulled up and crossed, laptop on his lap. Jake can't explain it, but he likes the look of him there. Likes what it does to his chest. He focuses on his work rather than thinking about that.

  They're nearly done when Jake's roommates come home. He hears the key in the lock, and his heart immediately sinks. He freezes on the couch, eyes darting to Kyle. He can see him stiffen. Then his roommates are barging through the open door, stumbling over each other and laughing. The door slams shut, and them stumble through the entryway, pausing when they reach the living room. Their laugher dies, and he looks up to find them both staring, openly gawking at him sitting on the couch with Kyle.

  Kyle, thankfully, hasn't turned around to see their open stares.

  "Jake?" Steve looks puzzled.

  Marcus pushes forward, grin wide and toothy. "Jake! You're home! I thought you were gonna go out and study. You know, be boring." He saunters forward, sitting himself on the arm of the couch, right next to Kyle. He leans back against the cushion, draping his arm casually behind Kyle, who stiffens further. "This the little nerd who you wrangled into helping you out?"

  "I thought you guys were gonna be out all night," Jake says stiffly, smile in place but feeling strained.

  Steve shrugs, leaning against the wall as he struggles to pull off his shoes. "We got kicked out for being too loud or whatever." He pulls one shoe off with a victorious sound, stumbling slightly when his balance is shifted. "Figured we'd come back here and finish getting smashed. You want in?"

  "No, I'm fine—"

  "What about you?" Marcus leans forward, getting in Kyle's face enough for him to lean away. He gazes at him, eyes wide and mouth pursed. "Name's Marcus, by the way. So you're the one who got him suddenly all academic."

  "You mean boring!" Steve calls from the kitchen where he's rummaging through the fridge.

  Marcus laughs, sliding off the couch and sinking into a cushioned chair nearby, one leg hooked over the arm of it. "You two look cozy," he says, grinning playfully as he gestures to the two of them on the couch and the empty pizza box on the table. "Looks kinda like a date."

  He waggles his eyebrows, and Jake scoffs. He looks down at the book in his hand, feeling heat creeping up the back of his neck. "Get off it, Marcus," he mumbles.

  "Is he the one you dumped Cindi for?" Marcus pushes, and Jake stiffens, heart rising into his throat even as his stomach sinks. His breath comes strained and quick, and he refuses to look at Kyle. "He's kinda cute for a guy. Kinda looks like a girl if you squint."

  "Dude, Jake's not gay! He's dated like, all the hottest chicks on campus. He's a fuckin' player!" Steve calls from the kitchen. He leans out over the open bar to narrow his eyes at them from across the room. His attention zeroing in on Kyle. "Are you gay, kid?"

  "Dude," Marcus snaps, waving a hand lazily at him. "You can't just ask people if they're gay." His reprimand falls flat as he slurs, voice indifferent.

  "Why not?"

  "I dunno. They don't like it, or some shit."

  "Marcus, where'd you put the fuckin' vodka?"

  "It's on the top shelf!"

  "No, it's not. Get your ass in here and find it."

  Marcus grumbles as he slumps out of his chair, staggering his way into the kitchen. Jake can hear them arguing, but his attention zeros in on Kyle as he slowly closes his laptop. Jake keeps his eyes down, heart hammering in his throat. His blood feels like ice in his veins, but his skin feels hot all over. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Kyle packs his things.

  He should say something. He needs to say something. But Jesus f
uck, what is he supposed to say?

  "Kyle—" He starts, slow and wary, but Kyle cuts him off.

  "I'm going to go home." His voice is strained and his words thick. When Jake tries to get a good look, he thinks Kyle's eyes might be glassy, but he keeps his head down and turned away. He can see the tension where he clenches his jaw. "You'll do fine on the test. Text me if you have any more problems."

  Jake watches as Kyle picks up his bag and leaves. Slinks right out the door without his roommates noticing. A ghost, small and silent. He watches from his spot on the couch, rooted and frozen, heart in his throat and stomach rolling uncomfortably.

  He fucked up. He fucked up again.

  As soon as the door closes, he's off the couch, text book slamming down on the coffee table. He stomps to the kitchen, fury blazing, melting away the ice in his veins. "Guys, what the fuck?" He slams his fist on the wall, and both of his roommates spin around, eyes wide and mouths gaping, wobbling on their feet and holding cups and a couple of bottles between them.

  "Jake, what—"

  "Seriously? Did you seriously have to pick on him like that?"

  "We were just having fun—"

  "You were being an asshole, Marcus. You both were. Straight up fucking assholes."

  They have the decency to look abashed and apologetic, and he knows them well enough to know it's genuine. "We didn't mean it like that."

  "We were just trying to have some fun with the guy!"

  Jake sighs, running fingers through his hair and tugging at it until it stings. "I know, but seriously? Don't be fucking douchebags. He's tutoring me so I can keep my fucking scholarship and stay on the team, so lay off him."

  "Sorry, man."

  "Yeah, dude, we weren't thinking."

  Silence persists, heavy and leaden, for several moments before Marcus lifts up a shot glass. "Wanna take some shots with us?"

  Jake sighs. He doesn't, but he also doesn't want to dwell on the fact that Kyle has walked out on him again because of his own stupid actions. He doesn't want to think about how he feels about that. Instead he holds out his hand. "Sure."

  Chapter Eight

  "So he does know how to answer the phone!"

  Kyle sinks lower in his desk chair, pulling his feet up onto it and his knees to his chest. He wraps his free arm around them, resting his cheek on his knee as he sighs. "Hi, Mom."

  "I haven't heard from you in ages!" Her voice is teasing but happy. It makes his insides twist with guilt. It hadn't been that long... had it?

  "Well, I'm here now." He picks at the seam of his jeans. "How've you guys been?"

  "Oh, same old, same old. Your dad's been working himself into the ground because he can't say no when people need him, and nothing has changed at the bank for me. The dogs are doing well; Mickey learned how to jump onto the counters, so that's a pain."

  Kyle hums, a soft smile tugging at the edges of his lips. He misses them. He really does. It's not easy being here on his own. Especially not after everything that happened last summer. He knows his parents aren't fairing much better, but it's hard to talk to them. They call him constantly, and most days he just can't find the energy to answer the phone. He's trying not to think too much about it. Forcing himself to move on. But every time he talks to them, he feels like a ghost is hanging over the conversation. An elephant in the room that is clearly there but no one wants to address it.

  Still, he hasn't answered one of their calls in a while, and he can only go so long before the guilt starts to claw at him and tear him apart from the inside out. He grits his teeth and bears it, if only for now. She called while he was waiting for Jake to show up for a study session, so at least he has an escape if he needs it.

  "Enough about us, though. How are you? You've barely told us about anything. How's college life? What's your roommate like? How're your classes?"

  "It's fine. He's good. We get along fine. Classes are classes. Mostly boring, but I'm passing," he mumbles. He doesn't really want to get into it, and he doesn't want to think about it. College is just something he has to do and something he has to get through. Even if it sucks, and it— no, he's not thinking about it. Everything is fine.

  His mom hums, but she's losing her high energy. He can hear it leaking out of her. When she speaks again, he can hear how tired she is. He can hear everything she's trying to hide and everything she doesn't want to say. "I'm glad things are going okay. We just... we worry about you."

  He feels his chest tighten. His fingers dig into his thigh and curl around his phone. "Mom—"

  "We just... we miss you, Kyle. We know you can't come home, but we'd like to hear from you more often. Just to know that you're okay. Even if you have nothing to say, we'd like to hear your voice."

  "I know, Mom, I just—" He has to stop and swallow the lump in his throat. He can hear how thick his voice has become, and he clears his throat. "I'm just really busy with school, you know? It's more work than high school, and with everything I'm doing— I don't have a lot of time."

  It's not entirely untrue. He is really busy. He needs to hurry up and graduate as soon as he can. He needs to pass all of his classes with flying colors, just like his brother would have. He has to finish his game, just like his brother would have wanted him to, he has to—

  There's a sharp knock at the door, and Kyle jumps, head whipping around to look at it. It takes a couple seconds before his mind can catch up.

  Right. He was waiting for Jake.

  "Hey, Mom, I gotta go—"

  "Was that a knock I just heard? Do you have a friend coming over?" She sounds so surprised and hopeful, breathless in her shock and glee.

  He can't bring himself to disappoint her. "Uh, yeah, so I gotta go. I'll talk to you later."

  "Alright! Tell me all about them later, okay? Love you."

  His voice feels tight and his words sound thick as he says, "Love you, too, Mom."

  He hates how relieved he feels when he hangs up.

  By the time he gets to the door, he's more put together, but his chest still feels tight and his breaths are straining. And judging from the way his pulse jumps and his stomach flips when he opens the door, he knows it doesn't entirely have to do with talking to his mom.

  "Hey," Jake sounds sheepish, hands shoved deep in his pockets and shoulders hiked up to his ears.

  "Hey," Kyle says, trying to sound as neutral as possible as he steps aside to let Jake in.

  "You okay?" Jake asks, brows pinching as he looks Kyle over.

  He looks away, closing the door behind him. "Uh, yeah. Just got off the phone with my mom."

  "Ah, gotcha." He sounds distracted. Kyle watches as he paces as far into the room as the small dorm will allow before spinning around quickly and abruptly. His hands fly out of his pockets, going up in a defensive gesture. "Look, I'm really sorry about the other night. I didn't think my roommates would come home so soon, and I definitely didn't think they'd be assholes. I told them off once you left, and they promised not to mess with you anymore."

  Even as his limbs feel like they're buzzing with energy, Kyle feels his stomach flip and his insides melt. His shoulders slump as tension he hadn't realize he was carrying leaks out of him. He hadn't realized how much he needed to hear that. He hadn't realized how relieved he would be to hear Jake apologize and look completely genuine about it.

  He hadn't expected this much, and the fact that he got it unprompted means a lot.

  The ghost of a smile touches his lips. Not a full smile, but the brief beginnings of one. "Thanks, Jake."

  Jake's body sags, bag falling to the floor as he smiles, wide and relieved. "No problem, man. You're with me now. No one is gonna mess with you on my watch. Especially my friends."

  They take up their usual seats on the beanbags on the floor, their bags and books spread out around them. Kyle shifts, sinking into the seat and pulling his knees up to get comfortable. He pushes his sleeves to his elbows, his glasses up his nose, and pulls the textbook onto his lap to flip to the right chapter
.

  "So, uh, I was wondering..." Kyle's page turning slows as he glances up, curious. Jake sits in his beanbag, legs stretched out in front of him, bent slightly. He lounges back, arms spread out across the puff of the beanbag. His notebook and textbook sit on his lap, untouched. His gaze is locked in front of him, fixed on the shelves of video games, but his eyes are too still to be reading the titles. "I was just curious, you know? About you— and like, it's no big deal. I just got to thinking— not that you gotta answer me if it's too personal, I just—"

  "Jake." Jake's mouth snaps shut as he turns to look at him, and Kyle just levels him with a flat look. Judging from the way he looks abashed, Kyle has a feeling Jake knows he was rambling. He doesn't think he's ever seen Jake this nervous. Not even when he was working up to apologize. "Just spit it out."

  Jake lets out a long breath. "Right. I'll just ask it then." His hands slap at the beanbag's side where they hang. He looks away again, eyes wandering the room. "And you don't have to answer if you don't want, I was just really curious, like... you're not really into sports or anything like that, and you don't seem to be really interested in girls— at least I've never seen you check out girls the way my friends do, even when there's a really hot one standing next to you, so like, I was wondering, are you like..." He waves a hand around vaguely. "You know? Do you like dudes? Not that it really matters to me. I don't care if that's what you're into. It's not a big deal— Kyle? Kyle!"

  Kyle hears him as if through a fog. His voice sounds distant and his understanding of words is fuzzy around the edges. His room seems to zoom out, perpetually stretching and blurring at the corners. He stares at Jake, but he barely registers him. Barely sees him. His limbs feel tingly, and his fingertips feel numb. He thinks his mouth is hanging open, and he only knows that because he can feel the coolness from each stuttered breath on his lips.

  Hazily, distantly, he realizes he's having a panic attack.

  His chest is tight— too tight. He can't breathe. His stomach is hard and clenched and rolling, and he can't breathe. There's pain in his fingers, but it's distant. He thinks he's clenching his hands. Everything seems to fade in and out, and his mind is on a mental repeat.