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Chris
He had always known this would be difficult, but walking into the stadium’s training facilities for the first time since his outing felt like being circled by sharks. Granted, these sharks were giving him a very wide berth – but Chris figured they’d bite with quotes to the media and cutting him off in-game instead of making direct contact.
Frankly, he’d probably prefer a real bite. At least then, he’d know where he stood.
Of course, not everybody was a jerk. There were a couple of his friends who approached him with a handshake or a pat on the back. Nobody mentioned it outright, but it was clear that they were offering their support – and to those people, Chris was grateful. It made him feel better to know that the entire team wasn’t against him, and that there were some people in his corner. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Unfortunately, Darren Schloss didn’t seem to be one of those friends. Wherever Chris ended up in the gym, Darren appeared to miraculously require the piece of equipment right at the other side of it.
Go figure. Darren had spent time trying to warn Chris away from Matt altogether; presumably, Chris falling for Matt hadn’t improved his prejudice. He probably believed that Matt really had passed homosexuality to Chris like a disease or something. Why he had to think so negatively instead of assuming that people just changed over time, Chris wasn’t sure – but he found that it hurt more than he was expecting. Maybe part of him had been hoping that Darren would change his mind once he knew that Chris liked men. It could have happened, after all; it could have shown Darren that all gay men didn’t look or act the same way, and challenged his ideals for the better.
Unfortunately, by the looks of things, that definitely hadn’t happened.
He worked off his frustrations on the gym equipment. It was important, really; Chris was going to have to play harder than ever at the next match just to prove that he still deserved his place. Of course, there would be some who thought he shouldn’t be a Ranger by principle, but they weren’t worth listening to in the first place; there was no use trying to convert them to a kinder viewpoint.
By the end of the session, his muscles were in that sweet spot between soreness and satisfaction. He’d really pushed himself, and felt all the better for it; with the endorphins and the adrenaline flooding his system, he felt himself reconnect with the dominant part of his identity. Sure, he was a gay athlete now – but he was still an athlete. He was still competitive, both with himself and others. He still wanted to be in peak physical condition. Nothing had actually changed.
He needed to remind himself of that, as much as anybody else.
As he left, saluting warmly at some of his friends as they passed, he was in a good mood despite himself. He was looking forward to heading back home and eating dinner with Matt, and hearing Matt’s sarcastic recap of the day. No wonder that guy was a writer; he had such a way with words that he could tell Chris about absolutely anything, and it’d still sound interesting. That was a rare talent indeed. Humming, he wondered what had happened today that would inspire Matt’s anger. Would it be something big and political, or just some asshole leaving mugs in the sink at the Sports Illustrated office?
In short, Chris was lost in thought – so it would have been no wonder if he had accidentally bumped into somebody. As he felt an impact, his first assumption was that it was his fault, and the apology was already half-prepared on his lips.
When he looked up and saw Darren’s thunderous face, however, and his shoulder turned in for maximum impact, he soon realized that this actually wasn’t his fault at all.
“Watch where you’re going, faggot.”
Chris felt his own face sour. He had no time to temper that reaction before it flooded across him, strong and unforgiving. How dare he? For starters, it was 2017; you couldn’t use language like that in public in the first place. But towards a teammate, and an old friend? He had to be out of his goddamn mind.
“You better hope you’re smart enough not to call me that again.”
“What – faggot?” Darren smirked, shrugging with that offending shoulder, and pushed past Chris again. It wasn’t a friendly smirk, like the one he used to wear. Or maybe Darren had always been this cruel, and Chris had simply always given him the benefit of the doubt. “Why can’t I call you that? Isn’t that what you are?”
“It’s an ugly word,” Chris replied, keeping Darren squarely in his line of vision. “You can think it if you’re really that much of a dick, but you better not say it out loud.”
“Faggot’s an ugly word?”
“Darren...” called a voice from somewhere over Chris’s shoulder. It was warning and low – one of their teammates. Chris couldn’t tell whether they were telling Darren to back off as a warning, or because they agreed that he was behaving inappropriately. Either way, he doubted their attempt would work.
“Yes, it is,” he shot back eventually. “And you know that.”
“What do I call you, then? If not faggot?”
“You could start with my name,” said Chris, voice dry. Maybe if he made a mockery out of this confrontation, then Darren would back off – but he knew by the look on his old friend’s face that this was a long shot. He was furious, even if he was hiding it behind a smirk. Chris pressed on. “And if you want to talk about my sexuality, I guess you can use the word ‘gay’. ‘Bisexual’. I don’t care – but not that.”
Darren wrinkled up his nose. “Nah. I can’t use your name. I don’t want to give you any ideas.”
“Yeah,” snorted Chris. “Because clearly you’re irresistible.”
“God knows what you people are attracted to.”
“You people?”
No matter how Chris tried to keep his cool, it was getting harder and harder. Even though he could tell Darren was deliberately trying to get a rise out of him, he couldn’t help it; it felt like having a painful trapped nerve pressed and pressed and pressed. Eventually, he was always going to flinch. It was only ever a matter of time. He was only human, after all. He wasn’t trained in this.
“That’s enough, boys,” called one of their friends from the side, but neither Darren nor Chris was ready to stand down. Clearly, Darren was on some kind of principle mission, but it would be criminal to let him go unchallenged. He was just flat-out bigoted. Maybe Chris had endured it before, but he was deeply ashamed of that. Frankly, he was ashamed that it took him seeing the queerness in himself for that to change – but at least it had changed.
“Listen, I don’t like your views either,” said Chris. “But we’re both just going to have to make an effort to respect each other.”
“I don’t respect you,” Darren said openly, shaking his head as though Chris had asked something ridiculous – something far-off and impossible. “Not only have you chosen that lifestyle, God knows why, but... you lied about it. What is there to respect about that?”
“I never lied,” Chris insisted. “Things just changed.”
“You don’t just realize that you’re like this overnight,” Darren said, scoffing at him. “What – you’re trying to tell me you just never noticed before? Please. You’ve probably been spying on us in the locker room this whole time.”
Chris shook his head, face twisted into a grimace. “You’re fucked up if you think that, man. You need help.”
“I need help?”
Darren rounded on him, and the argument balanced on a knife-edge. Soon it wouldn’t be an argument anymore, but a fight. Surely neither of them really wanted that?
...Actually, now that Chris thought about it, he’d love to hit Darren right now.
“I’m not the one who’s ignoring the natural instinct to fuck some scrawny little journo in the ass,” Darren snarled, rounding on him. “You think I need help? I’m still normal.”
It was too much. Chris had been close enough to letting things get physical when Darren was just insulting him; when he brought Matt into the mix, there was no reason to keep holding on. He couldn’t even say whether it was him or Darren who threw the first punch. Perhaps they were still similar enough that they started at the same time, equally as angry and expressing it in equally aggressive ways. Chris’s fist landed hard onto the side of Darren’s jaw, absorbing the blow of Darren’s own fist into his neck.
He wasn’t thinking. He was just pushing forward – pushing back, and straining forward to try and free himself from the hands of his colleagues as they pulled Chris and Darren apart. It was probably smart of them, but right now Chris couldn’t appreciate it. He was seeing red; he wanted blood. Not even the sight of management coming out to defuse it could calm him down.
“Somebody bring Matt,” he insisted, shrugging off the hands of his teammates around him. He couldn’t think straight – so somebody he trusted had to. Right now, there was only one person he had that much trust in. “I want Matt here, now.”
