Blue skies, light breeze, smell of wet mud. The plain tee I'd worn under my jacket tickled my ribs with each flutter of the cool air. The morning started out dewy and cold, but by the time the sun came up, I was sweating bullets, and had to tie my jacket to my waist.

Running had always been a way to distance myself from the world. Each bated breath I took turned off all the gears in my mind. I only focused on how much more I could cover, how much more my muscles could take before they gave in. My legs would burn, and my calves would ache, lactic acid thrumming through every muscle.

I dropped off the trodden-trail and went for the woods. There was a somewhat paved route here; paved by the runners who didn't have the patience to follow the same trail day in and day out. I liked the crunch of dried, fallen leaves under my shoes, and how the muddy smells turned stronger the more I went in. Hummingbirds buzzed between trees, squirrels skittered away the closer I came, and twigs broke and fractured with each step. I didn't wear headphones when I ran. These sounds were music to my ears.

That and the constant storm inside my head. Didn't matter the season, cold, hot, spring, for the past two years, just cyclones consumed me.

Cold sunlight fell on my face when I emerged out from the forest and continued on the trail that turned with the curve of the lake. Sunlight shimmered across the lake, crystallising the blue water. This was the kind of blue you got lost in.

The kind of blue that Christopher Beckett's eyes were.

When was the last time I had been so captivated by a man? By all of a man?

It was easy to fall for a man's appearance. God knows I'd been guilty of that more times than I could count. But how many of those men had the ability to actually allow me to get to know them more and prevent me from running straight out? I needed exactly one finger to count that.

Now, two.

I never had that testosterone-fuelled fuck it out of system phase. Arya used to say if a guy had a killer-bod and fuck-me eyes, the checklist ended right there. Have some good, hard sex, get it out of your system, dust your hands, and show up early on the field the next morning with no excuses.

Meeting a man like Christopher Beckett was like finding a needle in a haystack. No. It was like finding a well-polished diamond in the sand in the middle of nowhere. He had a shy yet confident attractiveness I couldn't get enough of.

If he had called me—or texted me—I would've followed through. I wanted to see him again. I made it clear the moment he handed me a pen to write down my number. The eagerness in his eyes, in the way his hands couldn't stop grabbing me even after we had shared a million goodbyes in those fifteen minutes, couldn't be a farce. Could it?

I saw the hunger in him. The fire burnt inside him just as bright as it did in me. But he wasn't hungry for me, was he? Maybe he was hungry for the experience. Was he closeted? I knew what it was like being a sportsman and gay. People expected it to be mutually exclusive. The two circles in the Venn Diagram weren't supposed to intersect. If they did, then... I didn't know what would happen, but I'd expect it to be Chernobyl level disastrous. I'd imagine it would be hard to carry on with hookups when everyone knew who you were. Then, you find that one clueless duckling in the ocean, and swoop in, get the prey before anyone blinked. For him, I had a dick, decent-ish muscles, and was more than ready to have his mouth on me.

Damn it.

Another sportsman.

I was probably just 'some guy' for Christopher Beckett, but he got under my skin. Way under.

I remembered him skating wildly on the ice, his stick again held high as he tackled his teammates with hugs and screams, adrenaline spilling over the edges. The Eagles won. Of course, they did.

Jess suggested we leave early and steer clear of the impending stampede that would no doubt occur at the exit. So, I took one last look at his auburn hair peeking out from the helmet, tried memorising the joy on his face, and left. I would draw him the next time I saw him.

My sketchbook still stood empty.

Even a week later.

I slowed down to a jog and then paced myself to a walk. Other runners still went strong on their trails. I found an empty bench facing the glimmering lake and dropped myself on it. A quick glance at my watch told me my heart rate was at a steady one eighty and dropping. Good enough.

I stretched my legs in front and spread my arms along the backside of the bench.

Would it have been so hard to text, saying thanks but no thanks? Save me from the consistent will he, won't he? Maybe Christopher Beckett was secretly an asshole. Or not so secretly.

That was it. No more. No more hockey legends who took up more space in my head than necessary.

I had more important things to deal with.

Like a degree I had no business studying for.

I dragged myself off the bench and started for Krishna's place. The sudden shift in the sunlight lit up a blaze of panic in me and I turned my paced walk to a speed walk. I wasn't about to get stuck in a downpour. Not again. A car would've done me good. I had enough in my account to get me a second hand with a not bad mileage. It was the gas prices that put me off. That and the maintenance charges. Plus going to class, then Krishna's place, then back to my shitty dorm, and occasionally the football field didn't warrant a need for a car. If I'd had a reason to buy a car, it would be driving to see...

No. No more.

Krishna's apartment door was ajar, as always. I pushed it open, took two steps in, and jumped onto the couch. A spring dug into my tailbone. I stuffed my hand beneath my back as a cushion and ordered my brain to think about useful things. Things like why did the three of us ever think it was a good idea to haul a couch we found on the streets all the way up? For all we knew, someone could've died on this couch and we were drooling over the same spot a body might've spasmed and peaced out.

More like I was drooling over that spot. I was the one who spent more nights than either of them on the couch.

Jesus. That thought was enough to get me up to a sitting position.

Krishna entered the same time Deep surfaced from his room with a good case of bedhead, rubbing his tummy and went straight for the bathroom.

"Man, I'm so dead." Krishna dropped to the floor in front of me, spreading his limbs like a starfish. His tank top stuck to his abs like a second skin, and I peeled my eyes away before either of them started with the barrage of jokes. "Gyming in the morning is a bad idea. Don't do it. Never do it."

"Come running with me," I said.

"What part of I hate cardio do you not understand?"

"You just don't want to admit that you don't have the endurance."

"Say what you will. I'm not going running with you like a bitch first thing in the morning."

I closed my eyes and leaned back, basking in the sliver of air that still wasn't polluted by our stenches.

"Neil."

"Mm?"

"Tell me a story."

"My roommate caught me jerking off."

"What!" He shot up so fast it made my head spin.

Yeah, my resolve of No. No more. wasn't a spur-of-the-moment realisation I came to today. I said that to myself every night before reaching down and deciding, This is it. The last time. I swear. Thoughts of my redhead would consume me. After the first time, I couldn't stop thinking about him. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to touch him. Run my hands up his shoulders and biceps. I wanted his body pressed to mine with my fingers tangled in his hair and have him hold me close. I wanted his weight on mine, pushing me down on his bed. On my bed...

Jesus.

It ended the same way it always did: with me searching for tissues and trying, but failing, to quell my shame.

I shrugged and tried to play it off. "I was bored, had nothing to do, so you know." I balled my hand into a loose fist and pumped a few times.

"And Owen saw you do that?"

"No." No. Thank Jesus for that. "I had finished and was dead on my bed. He walked in—because obviously now is the time he wants to stay in the room—and he just... knew." I couldn't tell how he did, but he did. The sudden stop, look around and smirk told me he knew.

"Bhai!"Krishna crossed his legs on the floor at my feet and had his head in his hands. "Bhai! Bhai! Bhai! This is bad. This is very, very bad."

"Huh? I mean, he's a dude. He's got a dick. I don't—"

"Voh nahi! Forget that. We're in university. We're at the pinnacle of our sex drive. How can you... you. Oh my god, I can't even say it."

"What are you two virgins gossiping about?" Deep walked out with a towel around his shoulders, his droopy eyes and bedhead long gone.

"Neil's roommate caught him jerking off." Krishna pointed at me as if accusing me of throwing his cat off the terrace.

"Dude, why?"

"He needs to get laid." Krishna stood up, and I didn't like how he was moving with a purpose.

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" I groaned.

"Bro, a guy like you shouldn't be shagging alone in a room," Deep said.

"Guy like me?"

"What time do you get off?" Krishna asked, and then grimaced. "Your shift, I mean. Not... not when—"

"I get it! Eight-thirty."

"We're leaving by nine, then."

"I'm down." Deep held his hand up for Krishna to slap.

"Down for what?" I asked.

"We're going clubbing tonight."