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the ice collided with julian's back far quicker than he would have liked, but it gave him enough time to soften the blow on the back of his head so he didn't totally get knocked out. he wasn't one to fold so easily after one hit, considering his major penalty record, but #35 (he knew it was him, it had to be, he saw that flash of color on his sleeve vividly before he tumbled down) had elbowed the side of his head roughly—julian had barely even nudged the other team's goalie with his stick, mind—and sent him crashing down without a care. such is the way of the game, he thought, struggling to stop his head from spinning and vision from blurring. his stick was pinned to the ice by the goalie's pads, making trying to wretch himself away too monumental of a task than he could manage in this state.
he knew he was fine, the hit wasn't anything that would send him down the tunnel for a proper checkup, even though he would refuse to do so even if it had been. he only really went down from the goalie tugging his stick over and him losing his balance as a result. at least, that's what he told himself. truth be told, too much had happened in quick succession for him to figure out why he ended up falling, and the only thing that mattered was that he was definitely not injured, just dazed.
it took him a few moments to fully process the commotion around the goal, different voices overlapping as both teams bickered over the usual bullshit that came after accidental contact with the goalie. it all sounded fuzzy, like someone stuffed cotton in his ears. it took him even longer to process that nick's voice was ringing out the loudest, over all other voices that were starting to muddle together. julian wasn't surprised. as much as he hated the fact, nick was the captain, and he was the one to bicker with other players when his guys got hurt.
"hey! what the hell was that, man? he barely even touched the guy!"
"who cares? it's not like he was doing anything useful!"
julian grimaced at the comment, trying to bite back with something, anything, but his mind blanked. he squinted and tried to find nick through the crowd of players and refs. nick was jabbing at the guys chest, scolding him like a damn parent. the player shoved nick's hand away, pushing him back in the process.
"don't fucking touch me, asswipe!"
"you-! fils de pute!"
for a moment, julian had assumed the other player had thrown nick's helmet to the ice. knocked it right off his head to shove him around a little more. he was shocked to see nick then drop his gloves in one swift motion, gliding back slightly before grabbing at the other guy's jersey firmly and dragging him forward so he could nail his fist against the side of his head, which was also free from a helmet.
his form's sloppy, was the only thing julian could think before pain spiked in his head from the sheer amount of cheering coming from the fans. a ref was helping him up now, the other team's goalie handing him his stick with a slightly apologetic look. he always liked goalies, even on opposing teams. they were usually the nicest on the ice. julian looked back at where he thought nick was. he'd fully laid out the other player on the ice and was struggling to break from the linesmen's arms so he could land a few more punches, swearing in french and shouting at the ref in english. jesus christ...
as julian skated back to the bench, teammate holding his arm in one hand and his helmet in the other, he watched nick get ushered into the penalty box by a ref, nick cursing in a mix of french and english to no one in particular. he sat down, threw his stick (the only thing he picked back up from the ice) against the board, and punched it immediately after his stick clattered down. his head dropped into his hands. julian sat on the bench, focusing more on the scoreboard and how the penalty timer appeared in bright red reading 5:00, #8 right next to it, instead of the medical attendant asking him how he felt. he was fine, save for some head pain. just dazed. the guy was weak, and he'd dealt with worse.
the ref skated into his view. he wearily glanced up at him. the attendant wandered back to their usual spot.
"new york penalty, #8, five minute major for fighting..."
julian felt weird. he was too used to #51 being called in that chain, too used to seeing that timer appear from behind scuffed up glass, too used to sitting down after a play like that without his teammates next to him. it was almost unsettling, really. but he didn't have the time to dwell on it.
fab nudged him. "dude, were you able to see that? that was insane!"
julian furrowed his brows out of habit and sucked his teeth. "caught a glimpse. yeah. vision was a bit blurry."
"i didn't know he could do that! or would want to! i thought-"
"moretti! dwight! swap with jones and green next time they pass. we can catch #15 off guard and try..."
julian tuned him out and craned his neck backwards to try and catch a glimpse at nick in the box. he seemed calmer now, and apparently someone has been kind enough to deliver him his gloves and helmet. he was picking mindlessly at the ever so slightly raised number on his helmet, staring at the ice with a vacant look. julian frowned. nick wasn't a fighter, why the hell did he feel the need to do that? he could have just shouted the guy onto the ice instead of pummeling him.
julian felt himself go a bit dizzy again. it wasn't because of the elbowing.
"casablancas! snap out of it, you're up next play. fraiture! you too!"
he felt himself groan internally. he didn't have time to focus on previous plays, he himself had to get on the ice and help stop the game from being tied with minutes left in the final period. fuck. why didn't he become a singer instead?
the whistle blew and cleared his head, the former defensive pair on the ice skating over as julian and nikolai hopped over the board. nikolai nudged them as they leisurely skated to the faceoff circle, way across the ice.
"you okay, man? you look frazzled. and not just because of the hit." julian side eyed him carefully. nikolai knew him too well.
"i'm fine. just...thinking. about things."
"save that for the ride home. we have a game to win. it'll be...the perfect revenge, i say!"
julian let himself snicker as they crouched in their respective spots. he wasn't wrong, but julian was a chronic overthinker. the puck clacked onto the ice a few moments later and was passed almost immediately to fab. he went sailing down the ice, and julian lapsed into his usual train of thought as he followed.
_X_
their social media manager had uploaded the high-def video of nick's fight half an hour after the game ended. julian was just getting out of the showers by the time it was on every social media account the team had. it was a semi-birdseye view, what an at home fan would see on their tv, but cut vertically and centered on nick. julian could see his skates sticking out on the bottom edge.
he couldn't let himself dwell on the embarrassment of seeing himself downed in the third person. his phone brightness was down, so he didn't disturb his sleeping teammates, and he was lodged as deep in the back seat of the travel bus as he could.
the video reset for the thousandth time
helmet. gloves. fists.
restart.
helmet, gloves, fists.
julian felt dazed. something curled in his gut and spread to his chest, an unfamiliar warmth that almost made him want to puke. nick wasn't a fighter. he was never a fighter. in all the years julian played with him or even just knew him, he only got into a physical scuffle once or twice, which were both broken up by a ref and not allowed to escalate beyond the usual shouting matches.
he was white-knuckling his phone to keep it from sliding from his clammy palm. both of his hands were trembling ever so slightly. i need to calm down. fuck. it's just a fight. holy shit.
he gave a shaky exhale and squeezed his eyes shut, tugging out his earbuds and scraping his hand down his face. the video was still running on his phone; he could hear the announcers ringing his earbuds despite them being out. he could vaguely hear footsteps coming down the aisle. he prayed they weren't who he was anticipating, with his stupid blue eyes and those damn glasses.
"watching my fight, eh?" shit.
julian briefly glanced up at nick, making his expression fall flat, almost peeved. nick was leaning against the back of the seat in front of julian, where fab was fast asleep and almost falling into his bag in the seat next to him. his arms were crossed.
julian squinted when nick gave him a smug little smile. "you punch like you're in juniors," he replied, turning his phone off and leaning down to shove it in his personal bag. it was too blatant of a lie to be believable, and he knew nick knew it.
"at least i wasn't having a nap on the ice," nick shot back without any actual malice in his tone. julian looked back up as they passed a truck with its high beams on. the light flashed across nick's face, glinting off his glasses and highlighting the bruise blooming on his cheek. julian felt himself frown. reluctantly, he reached out and brushed his fingers over the mark, turning nick's head gently so he could see it better. he was shocked nick let him, truly, but the captain let his smile drop as he winced lightly at the sensation.
julian tilted his head to catch nick's eyes again, letting him turn his head back. "you didn't need to fight that guy for me, man. i wasn't-he-" he grimaced, hating how he was stumbling over his words. he didn't like sounding—or being—helpless. it made him feel like he was a kid on the outdoor rinks again, being shielded by teammates who thought he was incapable of standing up for himself, even though he played better than all of them.
nick furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. "no, i wanted to. he was being an asshole to everyone."
"i'm an asshole to everyone. i have the most pims on the team at this point." it wasn't something to be proud of, but he still wore that badge with some convoluted form of pride.
"you don't-you're not an asshole like he was. he was being downright malicious. you fight for the fun of it most of the time." nick shifted as the bus rounded a rather long winded turn, grabbing onto the seat to steady himself. fab stirred a little at the movement, but quickly settled back down with some tired noise of dismay.
"he got what was coming to him. i don't like how he badmouthed you either. that's not...you don't say shit like that about players you fight. you're still somehow sportsmanlike about it, man." nick was looking out the window now, watching the scant woods surrounding the highway go past. "he spewed some...some derogatory nonsense after i got him on the ground that you didn't hear. i'm not even sure if the refs did."
julian had retracted himself when the bus shook, slumping back into his seat.
maybe nick was already picking up on how he felt about the fight, beyond the discontent that came from nick basically fighting for julian's honor, nowhere near his own, as if julian couldn't defend himself from some shitty player who couldn't take the shit he dished. maybe he was picking up on deep-set want in julian's chest that he himself was just now picking up on, a kind of want that made him want to drive his head through the wall.
the quiet had led nick to looking back at julian, who hadn't looked away while he mulled over the ache blossoming in his chest. there was a glint in nick's eyes, he realized, that definitely wasn't there before. he didn't want to think about it any longer than the brief notice, though. his head throbbed like it had on the ice.
julian's gaze strayed to the window, focusing on the blur of the road and cars as the bus sailed past. nick's eyes burned a hole in the side of his head. julian cleared his throat and glanced at nick out of the corner of his eye.
"come on. i need to sleep some before we get back."
he could tell nick was lingering. the seat's fabric eventually shifted and he could hear nick sigh before footsteps trailed back up to the front of the bus. julian wasn't tired yet. if he wasn't so frozen in place, he'd be reaching down for his phone and earbuds again so he could put on music to lull him into a hazy state of being that would let him sleep in the ever-uncomfortable travel bus seats.
the seat in front of him shifted around again, louder and creakier this time, and after a few moments fab was hanging over it with wide eyes, trying (and failing) to prod at julian's shoulder. julian finally felt himself move, turning his head slightly towards fab.
"dude-dude! was nick talking to me? i swore i heard him, and he was in my half-dream, was he here?"
julian snorted and shook his head. more than several seasons under his belt, and fab still acted like an idolizing fan around nick. "nah, man, he was talking with me. about--ah, what happened on the ice." he watched fab deflate a little and go over the words a couple of times, gears visibly turning in his head.
"aw, okay. i'll let you sleep now, man!" he disappeared behind the back of his seat, and julian watched through the gap between the two as fab properly slumped himself onto his bag, burying into the tough fabric like it was the comfiest pillow he'd ever owned.
the low droning of the bus driving down the highway was starting to grate on julian's mind, but he was still avoiding grabbing his phone and opening it back up to the video that he was sure he didn't close out of. he scraped his hand down his face like before and groaned, trying to force his mind to wander literally anywhere else. to their next game, maybe, and how it was finally at home, or the brief break between that game and the next that would let him relax in his overexpensive apartment in content silence and avoid anything related to pucks and sticks and nick.
christ. shit. oh, he had it so bad. he wanted to crawl under his seat and rot there.
instead, he folded his hands over his stomach and dropped his head against the slightly more comfortable headrest, letting his eyes slide shut. fab's soft snoring cut through the monotony of the bus ride, so he decided to focus on that to lull him to sleep than his longing for music that would drown out everything--including those stupid, stupid feelings that weighed on his mind like a too-tight helmet.