Thomas rolled his shoulders as he walked towards the middle of the stadium. His mind was in a haze up until everyone was in their positions and the game kicked off. A smile ghosted over his lips as he felt the rush of the start of a game through his veins.

His eyes stayed on the ball, making sure to receive it perfectly when Ronnie passed it to him at the ninth minute. He was in the penalty box, a defender right before him, and another to his left. Without missing a beat, he maneuvered to the right and kicked the ball aiming for the far-left corner of the net. The goalkeeper lunged but he was too late for a split second.

The crowd roared. A triumphant smile split his face in half, and he was about to celebrate when Ronnie jumped on him yelling happily. The number eleven that was face painted on his cheek pushed the air out of Thomas's lungs. Eleven was Frank's number. He had the exact same number on his own cheek, but for a second, he had forgotten. He had forgotten that Frank wasn't there. That Frank hadn't assisted his goal. That Frank wasn't alive.

Snap out of it.

He was running again. The quickness of the match capturing his attention and keeping it grounded. Pass. Assist. Score. Repeat. Forty-five minutes went by in a blur. He didn't manage to score again, but he did assist the right-winger to a goal.

"Are you okay?" came a soft question from his right, while they were resting during the half-time. Thomas' eyes had been to Ronnie who was talking to their Coach, possibly discussing strategies, when he heard the voice and turned. Steve Ross, one of their defenders, was sitting next to him looking rather worried.

"Yeah," Thomas said, the crack in his voice making Ross not believe him.

"You just seem a bit off. Not that I'm blaming you..." he replied. "I hate that I keep forgetting it. I get caught up into the game and the rush and-"

"Can we just not talk about it?" Thomas snapped, lowering his eyes and letting out a heavy breath.

"Yeah, kid. Sure," Steve said and stood up. "Don't shut it off, though. Talk to someone. Before you start losing your ability to score," he added, the little joke, in the end, eliciting a smile from Thomas.

"I'm never gonna lose my ability to score," Thomas mused back, looking up at Steve and his smile wavering for a second when he saw the number.

"You better not," Steve replied and playfully winked at him.

***

The second half went better than the first. Or at least that how Thomas felt. The other team scored three times, and his own team only managed to score once -he did that. The game ended in a tie, but Thomas felt somehow better. His mind was way clearer. And he felt lighter.

In the end, all the players- including the opposing team players- stood in a line and held a moment of silence for Frank. He knew there were pictures of him on the screens and Thomas was struggling not to look at them.

He didn't say much to his team members while in the locker rooms. Mostly thanked the people congratulating him on his goals. He quickly showered and went back home, immediately taking Kenzie out for a walk. The game had ended fairly late, so this would be the last walk he took her until the morning again.

He had her for almost a whole week, but he felt as she had grown up so much already. Or perhaps he was the one who had grown up. He let out a heavy sigh as he passed through the threshold of his apartment. He undid Kenzie's leash and walked to his couch where Mark was sitting on.

"Hey," he said to Mark.

"Hey..." Mark replied, not looking up from whatever he was reading on his phone.

"Is everything okay?" Thomas asked, snuggled up close to Mark, and resting his chin on Mark's shoulder.

"Yes, I'm just reading Lily's article about Frank," Mark muttered.

"She wrote an article about him?"

"Yeah, I was worried about it, so I decided to check it out as soon as it came out. It's better than I thought it would be but listen to this..." Mark replied zooming in on something. "Frank Davie proved that sexuality doesn't affect your ability to play sports, but it does affect your mental health".

"He didn't kill himself because he was gay!" Thomas snapped, sitting up.

"I know that. Honestly, this isn't the only bullshit she's written, but it's no doubt the worst thing. I really hope Folkner will finally take her off this assignment".

"Folkner?" Thomas questioned.

"My boss. He's an ally, who said he was going to proofread this but clearly didn't. His daughter is a lesbian and... how could he publish this?!" Mark said throwing his phone to the other end of the couch.

"Don't get upset. I'm sure her article isn't the worst one out there..." Thomas said and wrapped his arms around Mark's torso.

"I bet. I just don't want my name to be associated with something homophobic. And they used one of my photographs of him!"

"One article said that at the very least Frank was smart enough to realize that gays didn't belong in the MSL," Thomas went on and buried his face in Mark's chest.

"Why are you reading those?" Mark asked him. "Seriously why are you doing that to yourself?"

"Because I wanted to see what they would write if I..." Thomas's voice faded into nothing and at once he distanced himself from Mark.

"If you what Thomas?" Mark pressed, now more worried than angry.

"If I came out," Thomas whispered. "I don't belong in this world, Mark. I don't belong in the soccer universe. It would be better if I..."

"What? Turn into another reason for these assholes to believe they are right? Because they are not. Being gay doesn't affect your ability to play soccer, or any sport for that matter. Hell, you're one of the best soccer players in the fucking world right now. Let them come after you. Let them slander you. Let them try to drag you down from the pedestal they put you on. They are just going to turn themselves into fools," Mark said, his anger with the whole Frank situation coming back tenfold.

Who were these people to trash someone for killing themselves? Frank Davie was a great player and not even a week ago they were praising him for everything he had ever done. But suddenly they find out that he was not straight and their opinions about him changed just like that? As much as the world bragged about having changed in the last decade that Mark was out, to him it had only changed so little. It had only changed in the places that suited everyone else.

"You've grown up, huh?" Thomas said, biting his lip as to not smile. Mark's outburst had been like a sucker punch that had brought back so many teenage-Mark memories.

"Shut up, I'm being serious. If you want to come out, come out. I seriously doubt you're ever going to feel like it's the right time. And I doubt that the career you've built up will be ruined just by that," Mark replied with a heavy sigh, tired.

"Right now, is definitely not the right time. We'll see about later," Thomas said, even though he didn't think he would ever have the guts to come out. "Are you too tired?" he asked Mark, changing the subject and inching closer. Mark raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are you kidding me? After that speech I'm really fired up," he said and gave Thomas a kiss. "You think you're not sore enough to handle me?"

"Never," he said, his voice muffled by Mark's lips.