HÅKON

The jet-lag from Sweden is starting to eat at me, I'm sick and I just want to sleep. 

I didn't expect Nico to want to go full-out on the first day, she knows half of us just got home. Well, home for me. Half of us just came from home. Even her, she just got back from Germany with Fen. Technically both of them should be jet-lagged like the rest of us. 

If I tell her I'm sick, she would probably let me sit out. Even though I'm her alternate captain this year, she knows that physical health is more important than taking a leadership position on the first day. 

I won't tell her. 

Why? Why won't I tell my coach I've been nauseous for three weeks straight? Because it's not her problem to deal with and I'm the alternate captain, plus that's a really shit way to start a championship defending season. Just because I'm feeling gross doesn't mean I should get special treatment. If I was able to train on my suddenly very sensitive stomach for three weeks during the summer back in Sweden, I should be fine. Doesn't mean my water breaks weren't extra long so I could try to take on any hydration without making my stomach hurt. I've found that drinking too quickly makes it worse. 

It was like this last year. The last week of my stay in Sweden and the first couple of days back home. That wasn't this bad, though. I didn't actually throw up last year, just nauseous. This year I'm having trouble holding down a lot of things. Salad - that normally doesn't go over well, anything with red meat, anything citrus. It lead to a couple of awkward conversations with my parents, why I wasn't eating everything off my plate at dinner. I didn't want to mention it to them either. 

Hell, I wanted to ask someone if they knew anything, but I stared at my recent text conversations with different people and eventually came across the conclusion that I can't just ask someone if they know anything about an extended period of nausea. 

The only person that knows about this sudden and weird sickness is Fynn, who invited me over just to be disappointed that I couldn't 'put out' for one night due to the series of events that involved coming over, trying to do anything, and then ending up locked in his bathroom. He tried to do the emotional care thing, the whole getting me some tea and trying to coddle me, but I pretended like I had to go and spent the rest of that evening sitting on the bed of the truck and staring across a lake I like going to. 

We haven't really seen each other since. It was two weeks ago.

I guess that should be for the better, considering everything. I'm going to miss his hands running through my hair and getting hugged, that's about it. 

So, I guess it's weird when I get home to make myself rice and toast, that my phone goes off. 

Fynn. 

"Hey, hi, Håks," it's nice to hear Swedish after a long day of English. It's going to take my head a little bit to switch back to habitual English after a summer of using it maybe twice.

"Hi Fynn," I try to hide the smile, but I'm smiling.

He hesitates, which scares me. "Listen, Håkon, I'm, I've been thinking about it, and," I don't interrupt. "I don't think I'm going to be able to do this." Once he gets talking, he's got momentum. "It's just the time difference, and I've got a really good job over here, and if we were going to be anywhere near serious, I'd have to change countries, because clearly you're stuck over there for the whole year. Plus, you're not even out to your best friends over there, and that's just not how I'm going to work. I like being public about relationships and you haven't even admitted anything to yourself," He stops to breathe. "I'm sorry, and I really like you, I do, but I don't think I'm going to be able to date you anymore."

"Makes sense." I sigh, another wave of nausea rolling over me, forcing me to bend over and rest my head and arm on the counter, staring at my socks.

"That's it? Nothing else?"

"There's nothing for me to say, so yes, that's it."

"You're not mad? Or sad? Or, god you're not even going to admit this to yourself yet, huh."

"No, probably not."

"God, you're, I, you're-"

"I'll," I breathe for a minute. Never speak before you know exactly what you're going to say. "We'll catch up over break."

"That's it? Cold turkey like that?"

"You just ended it with me." I shrug. "I'm in Canada. You're in Sweden. If it's over, we're not going to bump into each other."

He stutters for a moment. "Well, bye then."

"Mmhmm." I nod.

Fynn clearly hangs up first, and when he does, I stand up and plug my phone into the charger in the kitchen.

I leave my dinner on the counter and shut my eyes against the harsh lighting inside my house. I hate bright light, so when I was moving in, I made sure things in here were dimmer. I guess this is bad enough to trigger my light sensitivity too. 

I stumble my way toward the bathroom, slouching down against the wall. This is not how I wanted to spend my first night home. 

I don't know what I wanted to do, but spending it on the floor of my bathroom, sick enough to need the lights off, wasn't one of the things on my list. 

I don't know what happened, but I ended up slumped against the wall of the bathtub, asleep. Well, not asleep anymore. 

It's three in the morning, none of the lights are on in my house, but the second I try to turn on the bathroom light, my head explodes in pain. I keep it off after that. 

I find myself standing in the mirror.

Staring at myself.

I look straight up miserable. I'm paler than I normally am, any less color and I might just end up being see through. Maybe then I could be useful as a human model of muscle structure or something. People could look through my skin at what a living body looks like on the inside. My eyes are bleary and half shut, my stark white hair almost glows in the light from the tiny nightlight in here. I tell people I greyed early, mostly because I don't have an explanation to why I have the hair of an old man while my Swedish friends all seem to have blonde hair, not white. The only part of me that seems to have any color is the circles under my eyes. 

At least I'm back home? 

I blink once or twice, trying to focus on myself. I must look like a fucking idiot. 

Then I decide to try something. I right my shoulders and I breathe in. Then I try it. "You, Håkon Rex, you're gay."

I cringe immediately and look away. "No, no, that's, no," I shake my head and walk away. "That's weird, don't do that."

I declare it a lost cause and stumble toward my room, peeling off my shirt and untying my joggers, dropping both and crawling into bed, any sudden motion makes me dizzy. 

"Gay. I'm gay. I'm attracted to guys." I mumble. 

I cringe harder. "God, that's so weird."

I roll away from the bathroom door and stare at the curtains. Fynn is one of only a few people I've told.

There's been five and I intend to keep that number in the single-digits. 

I've never had a boyfriend; and being a pro hockey player, honestly, at this point, I don't think I'll get one. Hell, if I did, I'd probably fuck up their mental health so badly they would need therapy. 

I roll into my pillow then shout at myself. "You're fucking gay Håkon Rex! Get it through your fucking head!" The sudden and violent outburst makes my vision go blurry and my head get light. I roll over and stare at the ceiling, unsure if I'm passing out or falling asleep. 

***

Nobody really cared so it never really mattered

It never really mattered so it never really happened

What's the point in fighting for a happy ever after?

The past keeps haunting the future I imagine

-

I'm so sick but I can't find a remedy, 

I'm still trying to find my identity.

identity - grandson

a little harder of a song, a little harder of a topic. 

***

okay, yeah, a lot to unpack with that one. 

Also, Håkon is an odd name. Miloš is kind of pronounced like my-los but Håkon isn't pronounced quite as easy. Hokan with a deep AO sound in it. 

If you look both up you can find actual pronunciations, but if you don't want to, that might be an alright try.

So, now you know the boys. 

and you know that this isn't just Rocket's story. It's Yeti's too.

Get it, sasquatch to the moon- I swear it was funnier when I came up with it. like, sasquatch is yeti and you need a rocket to get to the moon-

i'll shut up

lmao

-rabid