In reality, Chris didn't show up until eight twenty. The slam of the car door was unnaturally loud in the crisp, quiet air, and Justin jumped, even though he was watching as Chris pulled up, stopped, and got out of the car.
"You're late," Justin said accusingly, and straightened from his slouch against the wall. "It's fuckin' cold out here, eh." He knew well enough he could have gone inside, since the admin guy who came to open up had pointed it out various times.
"I'm not," Chris said, and opened the door roughly with his elbow, dragging Justin inside after him. "If it's so fucking cold out there, why didn't you come in? 'Sides, it's February, I'll remind you." He peeled off his gloves and wandered over to the front desk, where he said, "hey, which sheets can I..." and trailed off into a murmur.
It was a little unsettling seeing Chris in the morning, not on the other side of a night of drinking. Chris actually appeared to be a morning person, as much as anyone was: dressed in matching clothes, or as close as you got with Chris, and smiling, and he'd actually brought along his glasses, instead of just squinting at everything until he gave himself a headache. There was something inherently different about Chris when he wasn't hungover. It was possibly that he wasn't a bastard, Justin thought, and was suddenly grateful he had this morning-Chris to himself.
Chris returned and looped his hand around Justin's wrist, tugging him along down the corridor. He let go when Justin followed with little reluctance, and said, "c'mon, baby," in completely the wrong way, and led him onto the rink. The flooring was sparse around the edges, and Justin ended up hugging the wall as Chris went down to the very last sheet, probably just to spite him.
"Christ, Jup," Chris said, while Justin was still making his way down, "you play hockey, and yet you're afraid to step on a sheet of ice in your shoes?"
"Yes," Justin said tersely. Fucker. Wasn't his fault he'd never curled before. When he at last joined Chris, he looked out on the sea of flat ice, whose only occupants were himself and Chris -- because most people had better things to do than curl at eight thirty on a Monday morning. Most of the lines on this sheet badly needed repainting, but that wouldn't happen any time this year, anyway, given that they probably only flooded the place once a season. He noticed, with some degree of relief, that the rocks were already lined up along the perimeter. "Hey," he said, "so what exactly are you teaching me?"
Chris snorted. "Maybe getting over your fear of ice."
"Hey, it's--"
"You gotta slide, man," Chris interrupted, drawing out the the long 'i' sound as he stepped onto the sheet, and slid a few feet away from Justin. "C'mon," he said, and grabbed Justin's arm, dragging him on after.
"Hey, watch it, will you," Justin yelped. He reached instinctively for Chris, clenching his hands around the sleeves of his jacket. "It's slippery."
Chris burst out into a short laugh. "No shit," he said, and shoved Justin away, who did not, in fact, lose his balance. "You've got such a knack for stating the obvious, eh, man. I'm proud. Really."
"Shut up," Justin said, without much conviction.
"Slide, will you," Chris persisted. Even at the earnest look on Chris' face, Justin couldn't bring himself to move his feet, because what if he fell on his ass? eh? And Chris seemed to be able to tell just what he was thinking, because he grinned and said, "I've given you worse than what you'd get if you fell. I've gotten you pretty good, eh? Like that time I kinda accidentally broke your nose--"
Justin scowled. "I know," he said.
"And that time I tripped you and you twisted your ankle so bad you couldn't get your skate off--"
"I get it," Justin said.
"And then, oh!" Chris howled with laughter, and Justin lunged at him, because yes, he got it, he got the point, he was a big fucking moron. "Oh!" Chris repeated, "like that time that I slammed Lance and he fell on top of you and he broke your stick and you ripped open your hand on the splinters? Yeah?"
Justin's scowl turned into a grin even as he managed to grip onto the collar of Chris' jacket and shove him backwards, decidedly unmenacingly. "Okay, shut up--"
"That was good, man-- priceless, eh? Yeah?" He struggled against Justin a bit, and ended up prying him off himself without letting Justin falling down. "Fuck, how can you have such awful balance? Kids these days, my god," Chris muttered. "Okay, we've gotten over the moving thing--"
"No we haven't," Justin said quickly.
Chris opened his mouth and then stopped, looking at Justin uncertainly. "Okay," he said after an unnatural pause, "we haven't. Um." He looked lost for a minute, then slid his gloves out of his pockets and put them on. "I'll take you with me, then, I.. guess," he said, and took Justin's hand.
Justin looked down at their hands, and wasn't at all disappointed that Chris had apparently specifically put on his gloves so he wouldn't have to touch Justin, and gave an experimental tug on Chris' hand. "Let's go, then," he said. Chris hesitated a little, then carefully pushed off from the edge of the flooring. Justin thought, don't fall, don't fall, don't fall, and wobbled, and slipped, though maybe that was a little bit on purpose.
"Hey, fuck," Chris said, "you okay?" even though there was no possible way for Justin to have hurt himself.
"Yeah," he breathed, and maybe lingered too long in righting himself, just so he could lean closer to Chris and breathe in his fresh-pine-something-smelling cologne.
"Okay, okay," Chris said after a time of random sliding around, "that's enough. No, shut up, I don't care. This is boring. 'Kay, I'll show you how to throw it, all right?"
"Yeah," Justin said again, and managed to get back to the top of the sheet with minimal help from Chris. Acting like the moronic fifteen-year-old that he was probably wasn't going to get him anywhere with Chris, anyway.
"Right," Chris said, and crouched down by the footholds. He looked up at Justin, then gestured for him to follow suit, since it apparently hadn't dawned on him. Justin felt himself flush as he crouched next to Chris.
"Right," Chris repeated. He fitted his feet into the holds, not breaking eye contact with Justin, which made it fairly obvious that Justin wasn't paying even the slightest bit attention to what he was actually doing. "Right," he said again, with a little more emphasis, and reached his hand out to push Justin, square in the chest. It wasn't even supposed to be a nice gesture, Justin gathered, but he felt his heart rate speed up anyway. "Pay attention," Chris growled.
Maybe he wasn't so much a morning person after all.
"Right," Justin echoed. "You do that--"
Chris rolled his eyes. "And it doesn't really matter which way you do it. If your left's stronger than your right, switch it up. Eh? Yes? Okay. Then you've got the broom, except I don't because someone seems to have overlooked that very important piece of equipment. Anyway, you've got the broom in the hand on the same side as the foot in the holder-- following?-- and the rock in the other. See," Chris said, and leaned across the ice to pull back a rock, "the rock."
"Yes," Justin said, feeling stupid. Chris wasn't paying him any attention, now, so he wouldn't have noticed that his eyes had glazed over in-- something, anyway.
"You have to make sure there isn't any dirty, so hey, you flip it over, except it's really heavy and you wouldn't be able to, 'cause you're little--" Justin flinched "--and then, then, you throw it. Except you don't really throw--"
"I do watch curling," Justin interjected.
"I know," Chris said distractedly. "So anyway, you slide it, and you have to release it before that line, and then you sort of nudge the handle to one side to give it a spin-- the curl."
"Mmhmm," Justin responded.
Chris paused. "Hey, Jup?" he asked, his voice suddenly very quiet.
"Yeah?"
"D'you really want to do this?"
Justin jumped again, not expecting that. "I-- yes, of course," he said quickly, though he didn't really. It was more of an excuse to spend time with Chris and all.
Chris half-nodded, and stood up abruptly. "Oh," he said. "You wanna throw, then?"
"Why?" Justin asked.
Chris turned, and looked fairly maliciously down his nose at Justin. "Because that's the fucking point of the game," he said, and Justin thought maybe this was the best time to go meekly forth and not clarify that that wasn't what he was talking about. "I'll get you a broom," Chris said sharply.
"I." Justin stopped, and stood up, then said, "Chris."
"What?" Chris asked, and oh, Justin thought, he's pissed now. Fuck. When Justin didn't say anything, Chris said, "You could at least act like you didn't ask me to come here in the first place and waste my time because you obviously don't really give a shit and hey, I don't really like spending a whole lot of time with you, either, so stop acting like you're doing me a fucking favour by being--"
"Chris," Justin repeated, sounding desperate to his own ears, because what the hell, and thanks, and fuck you Chris, and he very calmly closed the space between himself and Chris and laid a cold palm on Chris' cheek. Chris flinched visibly, though Justin's mind told him that it was only because Justin's hand was cold, nothing else.
"What," Chris said flatly.
"Fuck, man," Justin said, "sorry," and tilted his head to brush his mouth softly against Chris', because at least that couldn't be misinterpreted. When he pulled back and dropped his hand, Chris looked down at his feet, the ice, anything but Justin.
"Nah," he said, "I should apologise." Oh, thought Justin, and knew what that meant; fucking hell.
"We should go," Chris said, after a time of nothing, and sidled very carefully off the ice onto the flooring.
Justin noticed that Chris didn't offer him a ride home, which was different, and that he ddn't actually apologise, either, which was the same; just more of the fucking same.