This is a short story for Lain’s birthday. Late, but not as late as last year’s :) It’s going to be four or five chapters long. She asked for something with NOT teens and soccer. The title and summary may change.

Oh, I haven’t forgotten about my other stories!

Thanks to Kasee Lara for editing! Hope you guys enjoy :)

The Methods of Scoring: First Match

Arthur turned off the computer in front of him with a sigh. A tired one, maybe, because it had been a long day and even though he wasn’t feeling all that tired, he felt the need to follow that little unspoken norm that he and his co-workers shared. The one that said you had to look happy when it was six o’clock and you were finally leaving, for the weekend, no least.

Arthur sighed, yes, but he did not look happy.

He put his elbows on his desk and ran his hands through his hair, messing it up. But it was Friday, six o’clock, and no one cared about anyone’s appearance anymore. Around him most people were already rushing through the little hallways between cubicles, either for the elevator or to catch up with someone else. Everyone was ready to go five minutes earlier on Fridays. Everyone except for Arthur, who didn’t want to have to crawl out of his cubicle, be pushed around to get to the elevator and drive to his apartment, taking an hour longer that it would take if it weren’t rush hour, only to find it empty. Again.

It had been almost three months now since he had moved out of his home. Alison’s. Alison’s home now. It had been three months since he had moved out. Two and a half since the divorce papers had been signed and barely over one month since he had last hoped she’d call him to get back together.

Arthur couldn’t stand living in such a quite place. He was used to constant chatter, arguing, laughter. The TV too loud on Saturday mornings as Janey colored all over their hardwood floors. The fights as they tried to force her to eat something else other than hotdogs or macaroni and cheese. Everything. He missed all of it. The good and the bad. He just wanted the noise back in his life. Noise apart from tapping against keyboards and the gurgling noises of the coffee machine.

He heard as more people walked down the hall next to him. He heard talking and a few “good afternoons” he was pretty sure were directed at him but which he decided to ignore. He was afraid ofwhat he would look like if he lifted his head from where it was hiding in his open palms, and even if it was okay to have your hair standing on end or your tie thrown over your shoulder on Fridays, it was not okay to be seen this close to crying. Even less if it was because you didn’t want to go home.

“Hey, Art.” Someone called from somewhere above and Arthur tensed slightly before collecting himself and looking up. Patrick’s head was resting on his arms that were folded on the wall separating their desks. He was smiling, distracted as he watched the people walking behind Arthur. “Ready to go?” he asked, still not looking at him. Arthur was a bit grateful for that because he was always a little nervous when around the other man. Perhaps it was because Patrick was a bit intimidating, in his own relaxed way. He didn’t know. What he did know, was that every time Patrick talked to him, it always took him a moment to pull it together and talk back.

Maybe Patrick noticed and that’s why he always did a quick scan of the room before meeting Arthur’s gaze. Still, his eyes always sent a shiver down his spine, especially because he didn’t just look at him, he stared. They were a disturbing shade of blue, too light for Patrick’s otherwise dark features and Arthur thought that, maybe, that’s why they had that effect on him.

“Yes.” Arthur answered and Patrick blinked slowly before finally tilting his head down to look at him. Arthur felt the familiar jolt and fidgeted a bit before dropping his face and mumbled, “In a minute.”

He didn’t know why, but as soon as he’d started working here, almost a year ago now, Patrick had taken it upon himself to guide him, introduce him around the office, and have lunch with him and walk him to his car at the end of the day. And Arthur was grateful, even if their first couple of minutes together were always awkward, he just didn’t understand why. But he still enjoyed his company and it was a pleasant distraction from that last part of the day when he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

Like right now, as he was stuffing folders and papers into his suitcase he couldn’t take his mind off the fact that that the song Patrick was humming was really familiar and for some reason it brought him nice memories from the time before he met Alison and he spent those last couple of minutes at his desk trying to remember the name of it.

When he was finally done he stood and took a quick look around to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. Patrick was gone from the wall and Arthur could see the top of his head as he made his way around the corner to meet him.

“Ready?” he asked once he reached him and Arthur nodded, pretending to be inspecting his watch.

“Thank God is Friday,” he muttered, just to say something and he could feel Patrick’s eyes on him again. “Uhm, do you have any plans for the weekend?”

“The same as you,” Patrick said, successfully managing to catch an elevator before the door closed on them. “The soccer match, remember?”

Arthur sagged against the elevator wall, suddenly dejected. Right. The soccer match. He had completely forgotten about that, and he had been the one sending out memos telling people about it. There were going to be four matches in the course of a month, something about companionship and stress relief.

He had been too busy packing his shirts in boxes at the time to think about it twice.

“Damn.”

“That’s okay; I can’t play for shit either.” Patrick said, misunderstanding his attitude. Or at least pretending to. “But it’ll be fun.” He nudged him with his elbow, “There’s a barbeque afterwards.”

Arthur wasn’t sure why a shiver very much like the one he got when he looked Patrick in the eye ran down his legs every time the other man touched him too. He jumped and shuffled almost imperceptibly away.

“I have my daughter for the weekend,” he explained as they exited the elevator and started walking through endless lines of cars. He wondered why there were so many, even at this hour.

“I’m bringing my kid. Most are.” Patrick started looking for his keys in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “We are supposed to, you know.” Arthur wasn’t in the mood to attend any social gatherings. And he didn’t want to waste the little time he had with Janey running around after a football. He looked at Patrick sideways, the other man was walking at a steady but slow pace next to him and Arthur wondered if he was just as reluctant to go home.

Arthur and Patrick never met outside of work. There had been a couple of invitations on Patrick’s part, but Arthur had had to refuse every time. Eventually Patrick had stopped asking, but there were times, like sometimes when they were saying good bye at the end of the day, or when they ran into each other early in the morning, when Arthur was sure Patrick was about to say something but backed out at the last second.

At that moment,Arthur would have liked if Patrick asked him to go get something to drink. Even if deep down he knew he was going to say no anyway, he wanted to hear it.

But Patrick didn’t. He looked like he was about to for a moment, before sighing and walking away, waving, towards his car.

--

Janey, to Arthur, was everything. It had been a shock at first, the first night away from her, when he realized it was for good, that feeling of complete devastation. How completely alone and empty he felt, in a new place, with only his raged breathing to break the silence.

He picked her up every Saturday morning and took her to breakfast, before going by the apartment to drop off her backpack and ask her what she wanted to do today. It was a nice routine, and he endured the whole week just to have those two days alone with her.

This Saturday was different, though. Arthur picked his daughter up an hour earlier than usual and instead of walking like they always did, they drove all the way to the countryside. On the way, Janey was quiet. But that wasn’t really a surprise, ever since the divorce Janey hadn’t been that talkative with him. They still had fun and they still got along, but Arthur was sad to notice how much more quiet and shy his daughter was around him, and a little more every passing week.

“What do you want to listen to?” Arthur asked, turning on the car radio. Janey shrugged.

“Whatever you want,” she said looking out the window. Arthur could see her through the rearview mirror and she met his gaze briefly and smiled at him before turning back again.

“You didn’t bring any CDs with you?” Janey hesitated before shaking her head no. Arthur swallowed his sigh along with his growing frustration and kept on driving, the sound of the local news station in the background.

They arrived fairly early; Arthur figured that maybe that way they could leave earlier without creating a bad impression. A lot of people were already there, some in groups surrounding the various grills, others at the wooden picnic tables. The fieldwas a vast space of short grass, maybe half the size of a real soccer field. Arthur felt a bit anxious. He hadn’t played soccer since he was about twelve and it had been a while since he’d run more than a block’s distance, only to catch a bus and then nearly die of heart arrest afterwards. Things weren’t looking good for him.

He turned back to see how Janey was doing only to catch Patrick as he walked over to them. He was dressed in black sport shorts and a short sleeved t-shirt. Arthur had never seen him in anything other than the suits he wore to work and the only time he had seen his bare arms was when the air conditioner was broken at the office and they would pull their shirt sleeves up to their elbows.

Arthur had never seen his legs.

They were tanned and they looked like Patrick did more than just sit behind a desk all week. The muscles looked tight and strong and Arthur was glad he was wearing long sweatpants to play because his legs were pale and his knees knobby and for some reason, he didn’t want Patrick to know that he did spend all week, all day sitting behind his desk and did nothing else.

“Art,” Patrick said when he was close enough and smiled softly. Arthur didn’t know why, but it was always weird to greet the other man. Patrick went around patting backs and giving friendly hugs to their co-workers but for some reason he never touched Arthur much. He waved and smiled or just went on talking like they hadn’t just run into each other. Like they had been talking all the time.

Right now Patrick just smiled.

“You showed up after all,” he said and Arthur dared to look at his eyes only for a second before letting his gaze drift somewhere around the man’s ear. Patrick pretended not to notice. “Brought your daughter?”

“Yes,” Arthur answered fondly and gently pushed Janey in front of him. “This is Jane. Janey, Patrick.”

“Hello,” the girl said with a shy smile and Patrick’s own smile widened.

“Oh, hello. It’s very nice to meet you.” He shook her hand. “How old are you, Jane?”

“Six.”

“Ah, you’re too young for my kid. I could’ve set you two up,” Patrick teased and Janey blushed but she was still smiling so Arthur didn’t interrupt them as they kept talking.

He looked around him again, trying to find someone who might be in charge. He knew the directors had set up the whole event together, but he wasn’t sure who was actually going to show up. He recognized some people from his floor and there were a few kids playing with a ball on one half of the court. He was surprised when he caught Janey walking towards them and he turned just as Patrick was straightening up, apparently he had kneeled down to talk to the little girl.

“I asked her if she wanted to go play with them,” he explained, “That’s my kid, Oz. He’s…the one doing the handstand.” He sighed, a small smile playing on his lips.

Arthur was a talkative person. He could talk about almost anything with almost anyone. Sometime, long ago, he had been known for being able to start a conversation with whoever he set his mind to. But, for some unknownreason, Arthur couldn’t really talk to Patrick. At least not normally. He could do small talk, but it seemed like his entire conversations with Patrick were small talk. Patrick tried, Arthur could tell, but the simple fact of being unable to look into the other man’s eyes for too long was a serious obstacle.

“I’ve never seen you in normal clothes before,” Patrick said, a little awkwardly and Arthur realized he had been quiet while the other man had been waiting for a response before.

“Oh! I…I know. Me neither. I mean, I’ve never seen you wearing clothes either.” Patrick chuckled, “Regular clothes!” Arthur scratched the back of his neck jerkily.

“You’re wearing jeans to play?”

“No, I brought a change of clothes.” Arthur composed himself.

“There’s a changing room around there.” Patrick pointed towards a small building behind the parking lot. “I wish someone had told me sooner, though. I changed in the car.”

Arthur didn’t know why, but he suddenly found himself picturing Patrick changing inside a car. Stretched over the back seat as he pulled his trousers down, bending to get rid of his socks. Reaching behind him to slide his shirt over his head. And for some reason, Fake Patrick was hooking his thumbs on the waistband of his boxers and…. Arthur quickly shut down that part of his brain. It had all been very fast, the image was there in a second and Arthur panicked silently as he dropped his gaze again, somehow convinced the other man could tell what he’d been thinking about.

“T-thanks,” he managed to mutter before turning on his heel and walking briskly towards his car to get the duffel bag he’d brought along. When he was heading to the changing rooms he remembered to check on Janey and he smiled as he caught her playing ball with the other kids. At least it looked like she was going to have a good time while Arthur was stuck with a half naked Patrick in his head and he couldn’t figure out for the life of him why he had been tugging down his boxers if he didn’t need to take them off to change his clothes in the first place.

--

Arthur met Oz when the teams had been sorted out and the kids were being ushered off the field and he noticed two things straight away. One was that he could have passed as Janey’s brother; they were very much alike with their matching ashy blond hair and big, almond shaped eyes. Both were lanky and tall -Janey obviously not anywhere near as tall as Oz- and they were even wearing the same colored shirt. Arthur would have thought it was cute, if Oz hadn’t been throwing dirt at the smaller children, Janey included, and laughing with a few other kids that looked his age.

The other thing he noticed was that he was too old to be Patrick’s son. He had to be around twelve and Patrick couldn’t be older than twenty-seven, perhaps twenty-eight. But then, Arthur didn’t know much about Patrick. Maybe he had been a teenage parent. He was probably married, too, Arthur didn’t know. He had a life outside the office, a life in which he obviously worked out and took care of a kid, one which Arthur knew absolutely nothing about, because all he could utter when in front of the man was small talk.

The thought depressed Arthur more than it should.

He picked his daughter up when she came running to him with her arms out, and dusted the dirt from her hair with his left hand. He could hear Oz laughing mockingly and Janey turned bright red as she dug her chin on his shoulder. Arthur turned to catch the boy running around the trees surrounding the field as some other boys chased him.

“He’s not laughing at you, honey,” he said softly, so only she could hear and walked over to one of the picnic tables to sit her on the bench.

“He’s an idiot,” she mumbled, still blushing and Arthur decided he didn’t like that boy. The thought surprised him and he felt a little guilty, after all, he was just a kid and Patrick’s son at that. But looking at Janey, still upset, he found that he didn’t care and he was once again hit with the realization of how much he loved her, just like that first time alone in his new apartment. He had never thought he’d love someone as much as he had loved Allison.

More, he thought, so much more it’s frightening.

“Sullivan!” Both Arthur and Janey turned towards the voice. Vince Burns was gathering his team members in a group at the far end of the field. “Get over here already!”

Arthur made sure Janey was going to be okay and left her to meet his team. After some arguing, the teams had been split by department. Two teams would play today; the winners would play against the next team next week and so on until the end of the month. Arthur’s team was first, Human Resources vs. Accountancy.

Once he reached them he was hauled forward by Vince, who squished him between himself and Patrick as they formed a circle. Arthur vaguely thought they were taking this way too seriously. His whole right side felt warm and tingly from where Patrick was touching him and Vince was screaming in his ear, giving instructions and occasionally spitting on him when he tried to give emphasis to certain words. But Arthur wasn’t listening; he was too busy being uncomfortable.

There were six Johns, four Michaels, two Arthurs and three Patricks on their floor alone, so they tended to call each other by their last names. Patrick and him being the exception. Patrick had called him Art since they’ve met, and Arthur couldn’t think of him of anything but Patrick.

“Allen, you better take off those glasses unless you want them snapped in half!”

“This isn’t football, Burns. No one’s going to tackle me.” That was one of the Johns, he wore wire framed glasses even though he claimed he didn’t need them, he said they made him look clever. When Patrick had introduced them that was almost the first thing that came out of his mouth.

“I will if you don’t take them off.” Vince was the oldest on the team and their senior. At work, they responded to him, even though he didn’t have any real authority over them. Arthur thought it was quite logical he was the team captain. Allen took his glasses off and put them in his pocket as everyone laughed.

“Okay, this is how we’re doing it. Roberts,” That was Patrick, “you, Grey and Wheeler are midfielders. Sul-”

“Right. What’s that?” Patrick interrupted him which earned him a scowl.

“Go to the middle of the field. Really, Roberts.” Patrick laughed. “Sullivan, Jones, forwards.” At Arthur’s blank look and Michael Jones’ tentative step forward, Vince sighed and went on explaining each position to his team.

Being a forward meant, basically, staying close to the opposite’s team goal and wait for the ball. Arthur wasn’t happy about this. Patrick was fast and he got hold of the ball constantly, managing to run past their opponents and reaching the goal with what seemed like little effort (which made the accountants fume) but instead of just scoring, he kept passing the ball to Arthur. Arthur didn’t want the ball; he kept kicking it out or right at someone he wasn’t supposed to. One time he even caught it with his hands, which resulted in screams (from Vince) and laughter (from everyone else), and really it was all very embarrassing. He didn’t move from his spot, he stood where Vince had pointed to, maybe even a little too far back and yet, Patrick kept passing the damn ball to him.

At least the other team wasn’t doing much better. They were forty minutes into the game and the score was still nil all. Vince kept yelling at everyone from his position as goalie. At this point Patrick was the only one running around; most of the others were pacing and making half assed attempts to steal the ball. Finally, Patrick decided to stop the teasing and kicked it straight over John Banes’ head (he barely lifted an arm to stop it) and scored the first and last point of the game.

Vince let out an ear splitting roar while everyone else clapped and stumbled back to the tables where their families were waiting. Arthur, watching them sweaty and panting, had never felt so old. Was he seriously the same age as this people? They could barely stand after one short game (half a game, actually) of watching another guy run around. God, was he the same age as Patrick? Patrick was sweaty too, but he looked refreshed, he wasn’t the hyperventilating mess the rest were.

As they were walking back, the group of kids, following Oz, made their way onto the field. Oz waved his hands in the air, a sign for his father to pass the ball, and Patrick did, right before he approached Arthur.

“Good game, Sullivan,” he joked, imitating Vince and slapping his back playfully but then jerking away as if burnt. Arthur nearly tripped.

“I thought you couldn’t play worth shit,” was his response and Patrick laughed, trying to look at ease. It almost worked.

“I can’t, I’m just better that the lot of you, apparently. That was pretty pathetic, Art. Your hands? Really?”

Arthur knew Patrick was just playing around but he still let the words get to him. He had been pretty pathetic, as he knew he would be.

“Why did you keep passing the ball to me, then?” he snapped and felt bad immediately. Patrick’s expression sobered.

“I’m sorry. You looked bored, I-”

“No, no, I didn’t mean to say it like that,” he sighed. He really didn’t know why things had to be so awkward with Patrick. He tried to look at Patrick as he said this but he managed it only for a moment. Patrick’s eyes were wide, still tingling with the excitement of the game (the excitement only he had felt) and they were as blue as ever. Or maybe it was the brightness of the sun, that was making his eyes look different to how he had ever seen them before and if he had stared a second longer, he wouldn’t have been able to look away.

There was a pause then, one that Arthur wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been paying close attention to what Patrick was saying. One second of hesitation or something and then Patrick was talking again, as if he hadn’t seen Arthur look away.

“Cheer up, Art. We won! We get to play again next week and we get free lunch for the week.” Arthur looked up, confused.

“Free lunch?”

Somehow during the whole team drama, there had been a bet. The losing team had to buy lunch for the winners until the next gathering. Well, at least something good had come out of the whole ordeal; it had been a while since Arthur had eaten lunch at all.

--

The rest of the evening had passed relatively fast, the worst part being over. Arthur had let Janey eat a hamburger with everything, even though she said her mother didn’t want her to. Then he let her have a whole can of pop; one Patrick had handed him when they were keeping watch of their designated grill. Once she had gone off to play with some other girls he had sat at one of the picnic tables and, as he knew would happen, Patrick soon joined him.

He sat in front of him, placing a huge hamburger in a cardboard plate right between them.

“Wanna split it? It’s too big for me alone.” He then took out a plastic knife from who knew where and started cutting the thing in half.

Arthur had been thinking while everyone ate and talked about the game. He had been watching Oz and sending furtive glances at Patrick who was still stuck at the grill. He thought that it wouldn’t be bad to know more about him. He didn’t have a problem talking to any of the other guys at work. What did Patrick have that made him special then? Arthur decided to try, to make an effort. He would look up from Patrick’s hands and look him in the eye and start a proper conversation. He would. He would…in a minute. When he was done cutting the hamburger in half. Or maybe when they were done eating, it was always awkward to talk while eating.

But Patrick, as usual, beat him to it.

“So…it wasn’t that bad, right?” he said between bites. Arthur saw through lowered lashes that he was looking away.

“Right.” They kept munching for a minute or so before Arthur took the courage to speak again. “Why didn’t your wife come along?” He tried to sound nonchalant, like he was just asking to fill the silence. From the look Patrick gave him, almost knowing, almost pleased, Arthur knew he had failed.

“She wasn’t feeling well. Besides, she’s not really an outdoorsy person.”

“Oh, I…I wasn’t really sure you were married. You don’t wear your wedding ring….” Patrick smiled, holding his left hand in front of him.

“I lost it years ago; I took it out in a public restroom to wash my hands and left it there. When I went back later it was gone.” He shrugged. “Rachel almost killed me.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Uhm, about five years?” Arthur eyebrows rose slightly and Patrick smiled but didn’t explain further. That was…he had been married to Allison seven years. Patrick had a twelve year old, Arthur supposed, and had only married his wife five years ago? Arthur shouldn’t have been that surprised, odder things happened, but he wanted to ask Patrick so many things. Completely inappropriate things that he shouldn’t even want to ask, but still.

“How old is Oz?” He chose the simplest question.

“He’ll be eleven next month.”

“Oh, he looks older.” Patrick smiled.

“I know, I suppose it’s in his genes. To not look his age, I mean.” Arthur looked up, wanting to ask what Patrick had meant but then Vince had called them all to gather again.

After more arguing they decided that forty-five minute games were more than acceptable and Arthur’s team was declared the winner and the accountants would pay for their lunch the following week. Each winner was assigned a loser that would take care of that. Then both teams headed to the changing room.

And there Arthur was now, once again reduced to a fidgeting mess because of Patrick.

The changing room was small and a musky smell floated in the air that made Arthur think of forgotten socks inside of lockers. There were two rows of wooden lockers with broken locks and a single, long bench right in between them. Now the musky smell was mixed with the stench of sweat of the twenty-two grown men changing in there and Arthur was starting to feel a bit grossed out.

He had forgotten about the “changing in the car” incident, he hadn’t thought about it once since he had been pushed into the circle with his team and he certainly wasn’t thinking about it now. Except he was, he couldn’t help it, but now he knew he had imagined Patrick’s chest broader than it actually was but the real one was nicer anyway (what was he thinking?). And Patrick pulled his shirt of in a way that made him stretch his arms over his head and his stomach, which was actually flatter than Arthur had thought, was right in front of his face for a whole three seconds before Patrick bent down to untie his shoes.

Jesus, what the hell was wrong with him?

“Well, this is odd… I haven’t been in a communal shower since high school.”

Arthur hadn’t either. It had been awkward enough for him back then and he had thought he would never have to be in one again. Well, it’s not like he was going to be in the showers now, but they were right there, only a room apart and Patrick was undressing next to him (he had even brought a towel) like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like he didn’t even care that Arthur was sitting right freaking there, trying with all his might to avert his eyes, to look at the floor. Why was it so hard now?

Luckily, Patrick wasn’t paying attention to him, or at least Arthur didn’t think he was. His eyes were still stubbornly set on Patrick’s stomach – and on his back when he turned around – and Patrick hadn’t commented on it. But then again, did he ever comment on any of Arthur’s weird reactions towards him?

He ripped his eyes away from his back and look upwards when Patrick said something he didn’t catch. The other man was looking inside an empty locker, leaning forward and Arthur saw with growing horror that he was trying to hide a smile. He looked at his feet desesperately; sure that Patrick had caught him staring and was laughing at him. Why had he even been staring?

“Uhm, what?” he asked trying to keep his voice neutral.

“Never mind,” Patrick answered with a laugh and straightened up, flinging a towel over his shoulder. “I’m off now; see you in a little bit.”

Arthur tentatively looked up when Patrick was walking away and he noticed straight away that he had left his pants on.

Well, of course, he thought, I made him uncomfortable and he couldn’t finish undressing in front of me.

Arthur wanted to kick himself, but he restrained himself and instead just proceeded to change back into his jeans so that he could go home.

Already in the car, with Janey secured by her seatbelt in the back seat, he felt a little guilty about leaving without saying goodbye to Patrick. He also felt stupid thinking that, it’s not like Patrick was going to notice or even care whether he did or not.

He hastily pulled out of the parking lot; he didn’t want to see him coming out of the changing room to catch him running away like this. It wasn’t until they were driving down the highway, having left the dirt roads behind half an hour ago, that Janey spoke up.

“What’s that line for?” Arthur heard her ask and he glanced at her through the rearview mirror to see her pointing to their left. He looked over to see a massive traffic jam on the opposite lane.

“It’s not a line, they’re stuck.”

“Why?” she asked curiously, leaning closer to the window.

“They’re too many cars. It happens on weekends, a lot of people go out and-”

“Why aren’t we stuck?”

“We are going back into the city, people go away on weekends,” he said, frowning. “Are you okay, Jane?”

Janey didn’t say anything for a while. Arthur sent her worried looks every couple of minutes but she didn’t meet his eye until they were almost back at the apartment.

“I want to go home,” she said, her voice wavering a little.

“We’re almost there.”

“No, I want to go to mom’s.”

Arthur’s grip on the steering wheel tightened and he gritted his teeth, setting his jaw. If Janey was looking at him she would probably be cowering against the back seat but Arthur cared little to nothing at the moment.

“No, Janey,” he said in the calmest voice he could master. “I’ll take you there tomorrow; today you’re staying with me.”

“No! I wanna go to mom’s, take me to mom’s!” she wailed. Arthur softened after hearing his daughter in tears and turned the car around and drove back to the suburbs in silence. Janey cried the entire ride, he had no idea what had happened; everything was going perfectly well until then. That’s what he told Allison when she asked, more than a little irritated because apparently she had plans for the evening. He still left Janey there, said he’d call later and went back to his apartment alone, tired and confused.

--

At about half past nine that night, Arthur called his ex-wife to see how their daughter was doing. He had called at a time he knew Janey would be asleep so there was no way she would answer the phone.

“Hello.” Allison’s voice sounded stern and Arthur knew she had checked the caller ID before picking up the phone.

“Hi, Allie.” Arthur tried to sound at ease, but in reality he was wondering with dismay how things could have been so good at first only to turn into this. Arthur and Allison had been happy, once upon a time. Anyone who would happen to listen to Allison’s tone or see Arthur face at the moment wouldn’t ever believe so, but they had. Arthur had just stopped missing Allison and started to just miss the presence of familiar human beings around him. He sometimes thought it hadn’t taken him an awful lot of time to replace the feeling, just as it hadn’t taken Allison long to get a date with another man either. He also wondered why it didn’t bother him so much. Or at all, in reality. “How’s Janey?”

“She’s fine, she’s sleeping now so-”

“I didn’t call her, Allison.” Arthur sat down on his couch and closed his eyes, head thrown back and brow furrowed. “Did she tell you what was wrong?”

He heard Allison sigh into the phone. “Hardly, she babbled something about Oz or something. She said he called you names because you can’t play soccer. I don’t know, she was just tired, Arthur.”

But Arthur knew exactly what had happened now and he was torn between feeling oddly happy that she had been so upset for his sake and annoyed at Patrick’s bratty kid who had upset her twice in one day.

He shook that thought away. He couldn’t believe he was feeling that way towards a kid.

“Oh, and what did you feed her? She was saying she had a stomach ache before she went to bed.”

Fifteen minutes later, Arthur was hanging up the phone, his mood noticeably darker. The fact that the only thing he could hear now was the distant buzzing of the refrigerator only made matters worse. He sat quietly for a moment, trying to find a bright side to the situation. He gave up a minute later and went into his bedroom to change.

He undressed slowly and placed his discarded clothes on the bed. Once he was clad in only his boxers he turned to look at himself in the mirror inside his closet door. He looked at his sharp collarbone and hipbone. He bent his arms to see the way his elbows looked like they were going to rip his skin. He stared at legs that were all fiber and bone and no muscle or fat. He traced his fingers along his ribs and placed his hand over his stomach that the poor lighting made look hollow.

Arthur had always been awkward looking. He had been much too tall for his age as a kid and he tended to hunch his shoulders during his high school years. As time passed he had learned to carry himself as gracefully as he could, meaning not tripping over his own feet and sitting and standing like he was tied to a wooden plank that went from the small of his back to the top of his head.

His appearance had never bothered him as much as it did now.

He found himself thinking about Patrick again. Patrick with his legs and his tan and his ability to run around and not get tired.

And those weird eyes that even in his imagination made Arthur uneasy.

He snapped his eyes back to his reflection, pale and wiry and with a sense of resolution he hadn’t felt in a long time, he dropped to the floor and proceeded to do sit-ups until he couldn’t even stand to go to bed.