Breathe

I'm back! Thanks to this new pairing. This was inspired by the Collingwood loss to Sydney in the weekend. Enjoy :)



I think I'll go over to my sisters' for a day or two.

You're not coming home?

I don't think I'll be very good company for a while.

I don't care. I miss you.

You're in a good place right now. I don't want to ruin it.

I don't think there is any situation when I'd ever regret having you with me.

So you won't mind me moping around the house while you prepare for the Grand Final?

I hate this house without you in it. Come home. Please.

Okay.

Do you want me to come pick you up?

It's alright. You'll probably be busy won't you?

No. I'll come get you.

---

Sharrod looks so tired, so beaten that it takes all the restraint Buddy has not to fold him in his arms, to not kiss him and make him forget the hurt. But they have rules. About public places. Like they do about Twitter. For the rest of the world they're just close friends.  Buddy can't count the number of times he'd wanted to say 'fuck it' and kiss Sharrod on a sidewalk just to see people's reactions.  He hasn't yet. He wonders if there ever will be a time when he wouldn't care what the world thought of him anymore. He hopes so.

Sharrod smiles when he spots him. A gentle smile that doesn't take away the sadness in his eyes.  Buddy wraps an arm around him, taking Sharrod's bag in the same movement and slinging it over his shoulder. Sharrod sighs and rests his head against Buddy's shoulder for a moment.

"Hey," Buddy whispers to the dark mass of Sharrod's hair. Sharrod's fingers clench in Buddy's shirt as he takes a deep breath and draws back, out of Buddy's arms but staying close.

"Hi."

"Let's get you home," Buddy says and they head for the car.  "James and Quade are cooking up a feast."
Sharrod tenses a little beside him.

"But we don't have to do that today. The boys can come over some other time," Buddy says tentatively.

"No. It's fine," Sharrod says as they reach the car and Buddy throws the bag in the back seat and climbs in the driver's seat.

"I just didn't think it would hurt so much," Sharrod laughs in the passenger seat. There is no joy in the sound, just weary sadness.  "It's not even a Grand Final. Not like…"

Last year.

Buddy hears the unspoken words. Last year hurt. Had broken Sharrod's heart.  They had only begun to know each other and Buddy had taken some time to realise that Sharrod is not one to throw things, or scream or lash out when he's upset. Instead Sharrod barely said anything to anyone, barely ate and one day Buddy found him crying quietly in the bathroom and realised how much he was hurting.  He spirited Sharrod away up to Queensland, after Quade insisted and James has never known how to take 'no'  for an answer. It helped a little.  He even managed to get Sharrod to smile once in a while.  Of course getting away from the footy crazy Melbourne helped. And all the sunshine. And James. Buddy was only just beginning to understand that it is impossible to be unhappy when James is around.

Buddy eases them on to the freeway, always keeping an eye on Sharrod.  They don't speak the rest of the way. But when they reach home and Buddy kills the engine, Sharrod reaches out and grips his hand.

"Thank you," he says, voice quiet and sincere.  Buddy folds the hand in both of his' with a small smile.

"Anytime."

James jumps in to Sharrod's arms when he enters the house.

"Sharrod! Thank god you're back! Buddy is no fun at all when you're not around!" James exclaims, drawing a smile from Sharrod.

Quade nods a gentle ‘hello’ from where he is stirring something on the stove.  "Welcome back man."

"Thanks guys," Sharrod says, kissing James's golden hair. Buddy follows him to their bedroom, leans against the door frame and watches Sharrod sifting through his clothes. "I'm gonna go have a shower okay," Sharrod says, turning around to look at Buddy. He pauses, catching Buddy watching him and smiles softly.  He throws the clothes on the bed and walks towards Buddy. Sharrod touches Buddy's face with gentle fingers. Buddy automatically wraps both arms around him.

"I'll be fine," Sharrod whispers, catching Buddy's lips with his own for a light kiss.

"I know." Buddy pulls him closer for a longer kiss. A sudden clang from the kitchen and a loud yelp makes Sharrod draw back with a laugh.

"You better go and rescue our dinner," Sharrod says, picking up his clothes and heading towards the bathroom.

Buddy grins and yells back at the kitchen. "James, what the hell are you doing to my kitchen?"

---

Sharrod can't sleep. The dinner, despite James doing his best to burn it, turned out fairly well. Quade really is a great cook. It was nice to just sit with such close friends and relax.  And Buddy. He almost wishes Buddy doesn't care about him so much. Those green eyes constantly fixed on him, making sure the conversation never strayed close to football at all. But given the Grand Final is next week he doubts they can avoid the topic. Especially since Buddy will be playing in it. The whole week will be filled with breakfasts, parades, interviews and Sharrod is happy for him. He is. It's just every moment of that will be rubbing salt in to his wounds. He knows he's being unfair. That last year his team was responsible for knocking the Hawks out of the finals. And then they went on to lose the Grand Final. Buddy took such good care of him even if Sharrod was in a way responsible for one of the worst days of his life. So he hopes Buddy makes it. He never wants any heartache to touch Buddy. Always wants those green eyes lit of with joy and mischief. He gently traces the lines of ink running along Buddy's arm that is laying across his chest, his head nestled so close to Sharrod's that he can feel the air on his skin every time Buddy breathes. He closes his eyes and focusses on matching his breathing to Buddy's. When sleep claims him, he is smiling.

The End.

Crazy

Hi Blog. I'm sorry if it feels like I've neglected you lately :( But i've come with fic so hope you forgive me.

This is inspired by Buddy Franklin (of the Hawthorn AFL club) and Sharrod Wellingham (Collingwood AFL club) living together and being friends with James O'Connor and Quade Cooper. Also by them constantly tweeting photos of each other.

Sharrod sits at the edge of the bed and reaches down for his shirt, which was shucked on the floor. He generally takes more care with his clothes but last night he could only focus on one thing. As if called by Sharrod's thoughts, a hand trails down the length of his back. He smiles to himself and puts on his shirt. He can practically hear the pout.

"Do you have to leave so early?" a sleep laden voice asks. Sharrod turns. Buddy has taken over the whole bed now, head on Sharrod's pillow, watching him with slitted green eyes.

"I have a flight to catch at 1.30 and someone," Sharrod squints his eyes at Buddy in mock anger, "refused to drive me to the airport."

Buddy buries his face in the pillow.
"I drove you last week," Buddy mumbles.

"To the MCG and because you were coming to the game," Sharrod reminds him.

Buddy crawls over to where Sharrod is sitting and reaches out, grasping Sharrod's hand and pressing his lips to the palm.
"Don't leave," Buddy says, looking up at Sharrod with pleading green eyes, still holding on to Sharrod's hand.

Sharrod sighs and tries to suppress a smile. He leans down, cupping Buddy's face with his free hand and kisses him lightly on the lips.
"You have training today. Gibbo is coming to pick you up at 10, alright?" he kisses him again, "don't go back to sleep."

Buddy squeezes his eyes shut and curls around him, his long body folding around Sharrod.

"Hey," Sharrod gently runs a hand through Buddy's short cropped hair. Buddy opens his eyes. Sharrod has always loved this shade of green. "I love you."

Buddy smiles, slow and lovely, and ducks his head, forehead touching the bare skin of Sharrod’s thigh.

The doorbell rings and Sharrod just manages not to jump in surprise.

“That’d be James,” Sharrod says and stands up, gently dislodging Buddy’s tentacle arms and pulling on his jeans. “Lucky I have some friends who care about whether I get to the airport in time,” he says, walking towards the door.

“’m not a friend,” Buddy says, having migrated back to the middle of the bed, “ ‘m boyfriend.”

“That’s even worse,” he says, ducking the pillow Buddy throws at him with a laugh and makes his way to the front door.

He’s still grinning as he opens the door to find James O’Connor at his door.

“You look happy,” James comments, curiously looking in to the house as if looking for the source of the happiness. Sharrod shrugs. James tilts his head with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t think I want to know.”

Sharrod ignores the comment and picks up the bag he’s glad he remembered to pack yesterday.

“Ready to go?” James asks, pulling bag out of Sharrod’s hands and slinging it over his own shoulder. Sharrod glares at him and then gets distracted by Buddy entering the room clad only in his boxers. He hears James sighing beside him.

“Geez! I’ll be in the car. If you’re not there is five minutes, I’m leaving without you. Quade gets in at 12 and I promised him I’ll be there this time.”

“Okay,” Sharrod agrees absentmindedly and James shakes his head and walks down the stairs.

“Bye James!” Buddy yells, wrapping a long arm around Sharrod.

“Coming over after training?” James’ voice comes from below.

“Yeah!” Buddy shouts again. Sharrod turns in his arms to face him.

“Having fun without me?” he asks as Buddy leans down to kiss him.

“You’re the one flying off,” Buddy murmurs against his lips.

“I’ll be back on Sunday,” Sharrod says and laughs as James yells for him to hurry up. “I gotta go.”
Buddy nods, smile fading a little. Sharrod touches Buddy’s face with one hand, the other wrapping around his neck.

“I’ll call when I get there,” he says, leaning up and touching their lips together. James yells again and Sharrod steps out of Buddy’s arms and makes his way down the stairs. He looks up when he reaches the bottom and Buddy is there, framed in the door way, watching him. Even though they’d done this the whole season, flying off to play interstate, Sharrod still hasn’t gotten used to leaving like this. With Buddy watching him with sad eyes. He lifts a hand in farewell and Buddy smiles.

He enters the car with James muttering under his breath. Sharrod laughs.

“You’re sort of insane, you know that right?” He asks, putting on his seat belt as James races out of the driveway and in to traffic. “How can Quade spend so much time with you and not catch it?”
James diverts his attention momentarily from the road to glare at him.

“Unlike you, he loves me,” James replies haughtily.

Sharrod punches him in the arm.

“Looks like he caught it already then!”

James looks confused for a moment before understanding dawns and instead of yelling or punching Sharrod, James laughs, loud and happy.

“Maybe.”

Sharrod pulls his phone out of his jeans when it pings with a message.

I love you too.

Sharrod smiles and looks out the window. This is going to be a good week, he can tell.
 
The end.

No Tomorrow

Was at the saints game on Friday night. Watched our finals hopes get dashed to bits. Thought I'd write about it. Might be therapeutic, who knows?

 

 

 

Dal draws his knees up and buries his face in his hands. BJ is sitting a few feet away from him and if he listens closely he can hear him quietly growling to himself. The room is quiet. If he looks around the room, he knows what he would see.

 

Utter devastation. Everyone collapsed haphazardly around the room, lost in their own despairing thoughts. Justin is in the corner to his left. He flung away the red sub vest off as soon as he got to the room before punching the wall twice and collapsing on the floor. Right now, if Dal lifts his head, he would see Nick sitting next to him. Nick walked around the room, talking to all the boys before finally settling next to Justin.

 

Dal scrubs at his eyes with his palms. He doesn't want to cry infront of everyone. But he knows what this means. Everyone knows what this means. Although they tried to approach this game like it was just another game, the knowledge that if they didn't win this game, they were done was at the backs of every one’s minds.

 

They didn't win the game.

 

Dal doesn't believe in slim mathematical chances. He has never cared for maths and throughout the years he's found that maths doesn't much care for him either.

 

Their season is over.

 

Their chances of making a grand final again, of ever getting closer to that elusive premiership medal, the chance to hoist that cup, to know that he's finally achieved what he's been dreaming of since he could dream, just slipped further away.

But it is more than that. He is fully aware what the end of season brings, although he always tries to not think about it. Retirements. He can't bear it. Can't think about not playing with people he'd been playing with since he first got to the club, people that he loves with his whole heart.

 

He lifts his head when he feels someone sit down next to him.

 

Lenny.

 

Dal tries to smile but it turns in to a grimace. Lenny nods and pats his knee with a taped hand. He doesn't say anything, just sits there, his shoulder touching Dal's, a warm comfort by his side. Dal throws his head back against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut, tears prickling at his eye lids.

 

He feels someone scoot closer to him on his other side. He knows without opening his eyes that is it BJ. He would know BJ anywhere. He lets BJ grip his hand when he reaches for him.

Lenny takes his other hand and Dal draws strength from his friends and waits for the tears to recede.

 

The end. 

 

I love my boys. Whatever happens.

Sacrifice

Was watching the Broncos game on Sunday. Justin was brilliant. Couldn't help this.

Justin saunters towards Jharal, who is partially leaning against the lockers watching the boys. The crutches hang loosely at his sides and he's drawn up his hoodie to cover half of his face. But Justin knows he's got Jharal's attention. He always gets Jharal's attention. And the shirtlessness can only help matters.

He stops infront of Jharal, who lets the crutches drop, letting the lockers behind him take all his weight.  Justin lifts a hand and pushes the hoodie away from Jharal's face.

"Miss me?" Jharal asks with a smirk. Justin grins, leans in and kisses him.

"Always."

---

Justin helps Jharal in to the bath and crouches down next to him. Jharal reaches out a hand to touch his face.

"This is hurting you."

Justin keeps his eyes fixed on the tiles on the floor.

"Justin, you can't do this anymore."

"I want to do this," Justin looks up, "I want to be here."

"I can look after myself. You don't have to..." he knows the words but don't want to say them.

"You can't bloody look after yourself! Don't ask me to leave because I won't. I'm not leaving you."

Justin gets up and walks towards the bathroom door. He looks back at Jharal.

"Don't ask me to leave."

---

The wedding doesn't change a thing. At least not in Justin's mind. Now there are two people he loves most in the world.  He tells her about Jharal. She says she is fine with it. And she is. At the start. But then Jharal gets hurt and Justin starts to spend so much time with him. Because he has to. Because Jharal needs looking after and Justin doesn't trust anyone to look after him properly. There are weeks when he doesn't go home for days. Days and nights with Jharal wrapped in his arms. With Jharal crying and moaning in pain. Justin can't leave him. She should understand that. He would do the same for her. But she is angry. And he tries to explain it to her. He does. She throws her wedding ring at him and screams that maybe he married the wrong person.

And Jharal sees. He could never hide anything from Jharal.

He knows what Jharal is trying to do. To save him the trouble of making that choice. The choice that he'd been putting off. The one that he never wanted to make. Jharal wants to save him. But Justin doesn't know if he wants that. He twists his wedding ring absently as he looks at himself in the mirror. He looks terrible. The bags under his eyes reminds him that he hadn't gotten proper sleep in weeks. He hears a splash from the bathroom. Jharal must be trying to get out of the bath by himself, the fool. He should know. Justin has no intention of leaving him.

---

Justin is as gentle and slow as he can be as he kisses Jharal between his shoulder blades as he nears his climax. Jharal is gasping and talking and rocking back against him and Justin loves him. From that first day when Jharal walked in to his life until this exact moment, Justin loves him. He treads his fingers through Jharal's hand that is gripping the sheets and Jharal twists his head to look at him. Justin kisses him between uneven breaths.

Jharal props himself up on an elbow and looks down at him afterwards. Fingers gently tracing under his eyes.  He holds Jharal's eyes when Jharal finally looks at him.

"I'm sorry," Jharal whispers. Justin sighs. He doesn't want to talk about this. Not now.

"I remember when I first got to the club and I was so nervous and barely talked to anyone. And you came over and threw an arm around my shoulders asked me if I wanted to get lunch. Justin, I don't want to be the one that ruins you. I can't have that on my conscience. You mean too much to me to let you sacrifice your life for me."

"You think I'll have a life if I leave you?"

Jharal leans down, "yes," he whispers and kisses him. Justin pulls out of the kiss.

"So you don't love me anymore? Is that it?"

Jharal flinches back.

"That's not true!"

"Then what?" Justin yells, sitting up facing Jharal, "I love you. And I won't leave you. So if you're doing this because you somehow think that I won't choose you then you can stop! Because that's never gonna happen."

There are tears in Jharal's eyes and Justin's anger is gone in a heartbeat. He reaches out, scooting closer to Jharal and wraps his arms around him. Jharal stays tense in his arms for a moment before resting his head on Justin's shoulder.  Justin can feel his tears wet on his bare skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, "Jharal, I'm sorry."

"I love you," Jharal whispers, "don't ever think that I don't."

---

Jharal is gone. He left Justin a note. Like that would make any difference. Like that helps. Like that would stop Justin from looking for him.

Justin,

I'm going away for a while. I need to get my head in order and I can't do that in the city. Maybe it'll give you time to sort some things out as well. I'm sorry to leave without telling you. But this is something I have to do. I'll be fine so please don't worry about me. Look after yourself, get some sleep.  I'll find you when I come back.  I love you. Goodbye.

J.

He searches everywhere. Asks anyone who might know, pleading and threatening and desperate. But no one knows anything. Jharal is gone. He lets his life derail for awhile. But time passes and order reasserts itself. He goes to training. Plays the game with a new intensity. Goes home to his wife. Things go back to normal. Except there are times when he forgets himself. A smile, a flash of dark eyes or a certain tilt of a head and he remembers that things are not normal. Not for him. They won't be normal until Jharal comes back.

The end (probably).

Never let me go

For my ship of the moment. And for Yellowleaf, who might have to wait a while for her prince epic.

 

The last note of the song hangs in the air and Jharal leans his head on Justin's shoulder.

"The first time I told you I loved you, you thought you had a concussion," he says and hears Justin chuckle, "I've loved you always."

He knows he can finally mean it, that it's the truth. He could say it a hundred times and it would never mean any less.

---

Looking out from underneath,

Fractured moonlight on the sea

Reflections still look the same to me,

As before I went under.

---

He's not really aware of anything until there is music. Filtering in through the haze of his mind. The sweet notes of a piano slowly drawing him out of himself. He listens. This is new. There has never been music here before.  He sits up gingerly. The tiles of the floor are cold under his feet.  The music continues and he stands up reluctantly, hand gripping the bed railing for support. It has been a while since he stood up voluntarily.  But the music calls him and he has to find it.

He takes a step forward and is immensely relieved when he doesn't fall. And takes another step. He makes it to the door and leans against the frame, breathless. He knows he wasn't like this before. Before the accident. His parents don't talk about it. Or about his previous life much when they visit. But he knows for certain that he'd never needed help walking ten steps. He misses it. At least he thinks he misses it. He isn't sure that it is possible to miss something he cannot remember. But if he can't remember it, does it mean he was never that person? That he's brand new now? A new start, as his father puts it. But he doesn't want this. Doesn't want anything anymore. Much easier to simply fade.

The music calls him back again. And he makes his way to the main living room. The music is so much clearer now. He knows it's coming from here. The clear notes of the piano that has sat silent in the living room all this time. He doesn't go in, instead he leans against the wall and slides slowly down to the ground. It is beautiful. This is the first time he'd thought anything as beautiful for a long time. He smiles and closes his eyes. The music carries him. But not away. Because he's already away. But it carries him closer, he can feel, to the person he was before.

---

The piano player comes every day. He follows the music every single time. Sometimes he falls asleep and wakes up in his bed. And sometimes the music ends and he sits there, and listens to the piano player talking to the caretakers.  He has a beautiful voice, the piano player.  He's never seen him though. He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to scare him away.

The music is helping him. He knows this. He pays more attention to things now. He’s doing better in rehab. Talks to the doctor with more than one syllable. It is tearing him away from his apathy.

---

There is no music. He squeezes his eyes shut and listens. Still nothing. Where is the piano player?  He makes his way to the living room, hesitating at the threshold because he's never come in here before, not when it's time for music. He peers in to the room and sees the piano. But there's no one there. He ignores his reflection in the mirror on the wall. He doesn't want to see, just a pile of skin and bones. He slowly makes his way to the piano, hand trailing gently over the faded wood. He hears someone enter the room and turns. It's the piano player. He knows it's true even if he's never seen him in his life. He knows it's him. The piano player is looking at him with surprised eyes.

"I missed..." he begins and pauses, unsure what to say, "there was no music," he says in the end.

The surprise on the piano player's face fades in to a gentle sadness.

"I'm sorry," he says, sitting down at the piano, "I was delayed."

The piano player looks up at him, fingers poised over the keys. His eyes are a dark brown, beautiful, like his voice, like his music.

"What would you like me play?"

"Memories," he says and the piano player looks devastated for a moment before he looks down at his piano.

"Memories," the piano player whispers and begins to play.

He makes his way to the couch and lies down on it. He falls asleep. He wants to dream of home. But sees the sad eyes of the piano player instead.

---

And it's peaceful in the deep,

Either way, you cannot breathe,

No need to pray, no need to speak

Now I am under.

---

He remembers his childhood. His parents, his brothers and sisters. He remembers school. They tell him he played for the Broncos. They tell him he was brilliant. He doesn't remember it. Doesn't remember the game when he collided with the goal post so hard, it cracked his skull and he nearly died. He lost his memory instead and now he feels like a loose thread waiting for memories he may never regain to bring him back to reality.

His parents have been wary about exposing him to his life with the Broncos. He's seen a few photos of himself in the maroon and gold that did nothing for his memories. He remembers there were few guys that came to visit him when he had first gotten here. But he didn't know them. Doesn't remember. He thinks there was someone at the hospital at the start but his memories of that time is so hazy he might be imagining it all. But he remembers someone crying. At least he thinks so. He wonders who that was. Who loved him enough to cry for him. It breaks his heart because he'll never know now. Even if he meets that person, he still wouldn't know. He wonders if he had a girlfriend. No. Wait. Not a girlfriend. The person he is now, as frayed and incomplete as he is, knows he's gay. But was he before? Would that change with his memories too? He doesn't know. And there hasn't been anyone so maybe he was single when the accident happened.

He can't play rugby again. Another hit like that will kill him for sure. He doesn't even know if he'd be any good at it now. Maybe he lost it with his memories too. He doesn't know what he can do. Doesn't know what he's good at. His parents don't want him to worry about that. He knows they're well off enough to support him. They tell him that he also made enough money during his playing days to last him a long while if he's careful. But if he's serious about this whole new start thing, he can't just sit at home and do nothing. If he's discovered anything about himself in these few months is that being idle is not his way. But the doctor tells him he'll get help for that. Integrate back in to normal society step by step. All these things are so new. Things he refused to even think about until the piano player woke him up. He was happy to fade away before the music came in to his life.

The piano player. Ever since that day when they accidently met, he lies on the couch and listens to him play. The music carries him and there are times when he feels so close to something, to his past maybe, just out of reach, waiting for him. The piano player watches him with sad eyes sometimes, when he thinks he is not looking. He wonders what has made him so sad. He knows if it was up to him, those eyes would never be unhappy.

---

"I lost something," the piano player says, looking up at the sky with his hands folded under his head, "the most precious thing in the world and I might never get it back."

So that's why his eyes are so sad.

"Can I help?"

The piano player looks at him with a small smile.

"You already are."

---

He sits by the piano player and watches him play, long fingers flowing over the keys. They're sitting so close together that their shoulders are touching. He closes his eyes and breathes, the piano player's warmth seeping in to his skin.  He is happy today. This is the happiest he's been since he woke up. And he knows why. The reason is next to him, warm and solid and he might have forgotten a lot but he knows what this is, knows why.

His piano player.  He wonders if he'd felt this before. Ever sat next to someone and knew that all he needed to be happy was this one person.  He doesn't know. He hopes he did. All he has is now. Quite literally. He has nothing to fall back on.

He opens his eyes when he realises the music had stopped. He turns to find the piano player's eyes fixed on him, a small smile on his face.

"Jharal?"

He leans forward and kisses him. But if he's going to embrace this, his new life, then he cannot be afraid.

---

They walk in from the garden and find his parents in the hall. The piano player tenses beside him and he threads their fingers together. He can make his parents understand. Even if he's forgotten half his life, he's old enough to make his own decisions.

"What are you doing here?" his father spits before he can say anything, eyes flickering between the piano player's face and their linked hands.

"I'm where I belong," the piano player says in a hard voice he's never heard before.

His father's face twists.

"We told you to stay away! Stay away from our son!"

He blinks and looks at the piano player.

"You knew me before?" he asks in a quiet voice.

The piano player's eyes are gentle when they turn to him.

"Yes."

"You didn't say anything," he steps back, letting go of the piano player's hand, who makes as if to reach out but let's his hand fall.

He doesn't remember.

"I didn't want… I knew you couldn't remember me so I ...please, Jharal," the piano player's eyes are swimming with tears, voice heavy with it.

A memory flashes across his mind. Someone crying at the hospital. Crying for him.

"You," he searches the piano player's face, trying so hard to find something familiar because he can't bear the thought that he'd forgotten this man, "you were at the hospital."

The tears fall.

"Yes."

"That's enough. We are not going through this," his father steps closer, "we won't have you corrupting our son again!"

Again.

He takes another step back, eyes fixed on the piano player's face.

"Who was I to you?" he asks.

"Everything."

---

And the arms of the ocean are carrying me,

And all this devotion was rushing out of me,

And the crashes are heaven, for a sinner like me,

The arms of the ocean deliver me.

---

The first time Jharal tells Justin that he loves him, it's after Justin takes a hit to the head on the field. He gets the green light from the trainers and slowly walks back to his position on the left wing. Jharal meets him half way, worried eyes searching his'.

"I'm okay," he says as the teams get ready to resume play.

"I love you," Jharal says, almost abruptly. The ball is kicked and the game starts. Justin looks at Jharal in surprise.

"What?"

Jharal shakes his head with a laugh.

"I said," the trainers are yelling at them to move, "that I love you," Jharal yells out as they slowly run towards where the ball is being played.

Justin thinks he might have a concussion.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asks before joining Petero in a tackle.  He gets up and immediately makes his way back to Jharal.

"I think I might have a concussion but I think you said that you loved me," he says, ignoring the game again.

Jharal shoves at him playfully.

"I'm not gonna say it again, you idiot!"

Justin grins.

"Just once more, please! I want to hear you say it."

The trainers are yelling again. Justin doesn't care. Jharal smiles.

"I love you."

---

Justin smiles to himself as he plays.  Jharal is sitting next to him at the piano, eyes closed, lost to the world in the music. This is their tradition, every night before a game. A home game at least. Not so easy to travel with a giant piano interstate.  He would play whatever comes to his head or whatever Jharal wants to hear and Jharal would sit next to him, warm and solid and making Justin happier than he'd been in a long time.  The last note hangs in the air as the song comes to an end. Jharal is smiling before his eyes open.

"That was beautiful," Jharal says, catching Justin's lips with his own, "I think it's my favourite so far."

Justin smiles in to the kiss.

"It's called Memories," he whispers against Jharal's lips.

"Mmm," Jharal murmurs, leaning back slightly, "it's beautiful."

"It's yours then," Justin kisses him again, "Your song."

"Mine."

---

Justin blinks. Mind not registering what he'd just seen. What he is seeing. It cannot be Jharal lying on the ground unmoving. Can't be his blood that Justin can see seeping on the ground. Cannot be his own horror and fear that is freezing his heart.

No. He can't believe it.

Except  that it is. It is Jharal on the ground unconscious. It is Jharal that they're carrying off on a stretcher to the ambulance. He doesn't remember the rest of the game. Doesn't know how he manages to stay on the ground. But he does. And Alex drives him to the hospital immediately afterwards.

Jharal's parents are already there. He ignores their hard eyes and whispers. They've  already fought this battle. And he won. The nurses tell him Jharal is in emergency surgery.

He knows serious injuries aren't uncommon in the league. It might take a few months or even a year but Jharal will be fine in the end. This can't hold him back. Justin would make sure of it.

Memory loss. The doctors tell him they don't know how extensive the damage is. Or how long it will last. Justin reaches for Jharal's hand but Jharal draws it back and Justin doesn't know how to fight this. There is no plan. Jharal doesn't know him, doesn't love him. In a space of a few hours, Justin has lost the one thing that makes his life worth living.

---

 Justin runs. Unable to face up to the fact that the person he loves most in the world has no clue who he is. And Jharal's family likes it fine that he's gone. Being strict Mormons, they never approved of Justin. And with Jharal's memory loss, they see no reason for Justin to be in Jharal's life anymore. For a while, even he can't see a reason for him to be in Jharal's life.

But he can't stay away. Jharal draws him like a moth to fire and even if it destroys him to see the blankness in Jharal's eyes, he can't leave him. Can't leave him on his own. Jharal always hated being on his own. And even if he was in a room full of people, he would feel alone until they find each other.

So he visits Jharal at the recovery centre everyday and tries his best to bring him some peace, even if it breaks his heart every single time.

---

Justin can see him in the mirror. Sitting on the floor, head leaning back against the wall, eyes closed. His hair is only just starting to grow back and it makes him smile because he remembers when that head had been covered with dark hair. Remembers the first time he'd run his fingers through the dark hair and the look in Jharal's eyes. It had been after their first kiss. Justin's heart had been filled with joy and wonder and a shock of realisation that he loved this man. That he was in love. Jharal had smiled and claimed him. Even if Jharal couldn't remember him now, Justin belonged here.

---

He finds Jharal alseep against the wall. His heart fills with longing. He looks up when a caretaker comes along.

"Can I?" Justin asks.

"I'm sorry, it's against policy," the caretaker says and lifts Jharal up in to his arms.

Justin clenches his fists and smiles through gritted teeth.

---

Jharal waits for him at the piano everyday and Justin can't help but feel some hope when Jharal smiles at him. Even if Jharal might never remember what they had, maybe they could start again.

---

"We were together...before," Jharal says and it's not a question. He knows the truth by the pain in Justin's eyes.

"Yes."

"I don't...I can't remember."

"I know." Justin looks at him and Jharal can see the force his words have on him.

"You came back for me even when you knew I couldn't remember you."

"I couldn't leave you. You always hated being on your own." Justin smiles and Jharal can tell he's remembering  all the times they've been together.  He wishes he could.

"I still do."

He threads their fingers together and looks up at Justin.

"Can we start again? I don't know if my memory will come back but I don't want to wait for it. I guess I've fallen in love with you twice."

There are tears in Justin's eyes but he's smiling.

"I'd like that," Justin says and kisses him.

Jharal kisses him back and it feels as right as breathing.

---

In the arms of the ocean, so sweet and so cold,

And all this devotion I never knew at all,

And the crashes are Heaven, for a sinner released,

And the arms of the ocean,

Deliver me.

The end.

Notes: The song that features throughout the story is Never let me go by Florence and the Machine. The song that Justin plays, Memories, is by Clint Mansell featured in the Moon soundtrack.