“Hi,” Claude says into the phone, and Tyler reaches out across the bed and legit hits him right the face. On purpose.
“Ahaha,” Tyler giggles, collapsing back onto the pillows.
“What the fuck, bitch?” Claude yells at him. “Who let you in here?” Claude kicks him in the leg, hard, so hard he kind of falls over backwards into the covers himself.
Somebody let a lot of people in here, he thinks, tilting his head upside down, and here is —
“It’s our fucking room, man,” Tyler laughs. “What are you doing?”
“I’m on the phone,” Claude explains, because maybe tiny baby hockey muffins like Segway are too young to remember how you can call people on your phone. It’s all, like, Snapchat now.
“It’s all Snapchat and shit now,” Claude says into the phone. “Kids nowadays,” he adds, trying it on for size.
“Did you call me to complain about being old?” Danny asks. “Because you’re barking up the wrong tree, buddy.”
“No,” Claude says. Danny sounds great. “Hey, we won,” Claude tells him. “You sound great.” Something hits Claude on the foot.
“I heard,” Danny says. “I mean, I heard you won. I sound pretty much the same as always.”
“Yeah,” Claude says.
“Caelan texted to say you had your dick out on the internet,” Danny continues, “but I’m just going to not look and pretend it’s not true.”
“Oh shit,” Claude says. “I don’t think I did.”
“That’s not very reassuring,” Danny tells him. It’s weirdly soothing anyway.
“Don’t let him show you,” Claude says seriously. If he made an ass of himself on the internet Danny doesn’t need to see. That’s the deal.
“I’ve seen your dick, Clo,” Danny says, replete with amusement, and Claude stretches his legs out on the bed and thinks about falling asleep.
Danny calls him at eight a.m. Prague time, which is an America time that Claude is not physically capable of computing right now.
“Holy god,” he whispers into the phone. How is Tyler sleeping through this incredible noise? Who is that on the couch? “What time is it there?” he asks.
“You realize you called me at ten thirty last night bombed out of your mind just to pass out on me and maybe choke on your own puke?” Danny says. He does not sound nearly as worried as he should be about that eventuality.
“Hnh,” Claude replies. “Maybe?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Danny says fondly. “Also, your dick is all over the internet. When are you going home?”
“Now,” Claude says miserably. He sits up and his stomach makes a run for it via his spleen, and oh, hurrgh, no no no — “Ugh, later,” he amends, lying back down as carefully as he can.
Later is apparently Thursday night, when Claude walks into his well-furnished, poorly-habitated penthouse carrying a suitcase full of underwear and four hockey bags and finds fifteen years of someone else’s good decisions sitting at his kitchen table eating cereal.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Claude says. “How long have you been here?”
“Remember when you used to not say fuck around us?” Carson asks, setting his wet spoon on the counter.
“Yeah, you were ten,” Claude retorts. “Put that in the fucking sink. Where’s your brother?”
“Which one?” Carson replies, so laconically snide that Claude is almost proud.
Almost; it’s nearly midnight and he’s tired and maybe still hungover? Signs point to yes. His stomach hates him forever now.
“The one who lives in this fucking city,” Claude says. His bags take up the entire foyer. He does not want to unpack.
“Okay, enough with the fucking, come on,” Carson says.
“You’re fifteen,” Claude says, finally giving in to a smile. “You’re not allowed to say ‘enough with the fucking’, we’re gonna think something’s wrong with you.” Carson looks good, healthy and fit and relaxed in Claude’s house. He hasn’t seen him since Easter when Sylvie had a minor lapse in judgment and let the boys stay over and eat too much candy and pizza and lose at the retro pack of video games Claude had found at a Value Village downtown.
Good times, Claude thinks. He forgets he misses them, sometimes, with hockey the way it is. It’s easy to forget that there’s anything more important; it’s easy to lose track of a time when hockey wasn’t the first thing he thought of when he woke up.
When he sees them again, though, he remembers.
“Does this go in the bedroom?” Carson asks, hoisting a bag like it’s nothing, and Claude stops standing around feeling things and picks up his shit like an adult.
“Hey, Carson,” Claude says. Carson is almost his height now, his head not so far under the doorjamb as he leads Claude into the guest room. He must tower over his dad.
“Yeah?” Carson says, not turning around.
“What are you doing here? If it’s to tell me my dick’s all over the internet, you got scooped. You can go home.”
“I know about your dick,” Carson says, rolling his eyes.
“Don’t ever say that again,” Claude tells him.
The stand there staring at the bags, still life with idiots, until Claude thinks he should maybe try again.
“Carse?” he tries. “Are things okay at school?”
“I just wanted to talk to you,” Carson says evasively.
“Uh huh,” Claude says. “And your brother’s not at the Greyhound station right now or something, right?”
“You’re such a good dad,” Carson says, palpably sarcastic, and, oh, ouch. Claude remembers a time when that wasn’t a — “He’s at home with mom. They know I’m here. Everything’s fine.”
“Everything’s not fine,” Claude says.
“Yeah?” Carson says.
“Did you come over here just to sulk?” Claude says. “I was gonna pass out and then go pick up the dogs from the boarding place in the morning, but you can stick around and be mad if you want.” Carson makes a humph of distaste and turns his dark, dark brown eyes on Claude, fond but annoyed.
Carson looks a lot like his mother, but when he looks at Claude like that, when his mouth turns in just such a way —
“I think Dad’s gonna retire,” Carson says.
“Oh,” Claude says. They should leave this room: his hockey bags fucking reek. He could use about six glasses of water, a sandwich, and a beer. He could also use a sixteen-hour nap, but it doesn’t look like he’s getting that anytime soon.
“Okay. Tell me why it’s good?” Claude asks. Fuck it, he’s leaving. “Come on, let me get a snack.”
Carson follows him at a distance, his feet trudging slower than on their way in; he is audibly distressed. Claude hopes he didn’t just fuck up one of his scant opportunities at teenaged-boy honesty and forthrightness, but shit, he’s thirsty.
“It’s good because he’ll be back here,” Carson says when Claude has the ice out and is smacking the tray on the counter. “Right?”
“Yes,” Claude says. “That is a good thing. You miss him, don’t front.”
“Of course I fucking miss him,” Carson snaps. “He’s my dad.”
Teenagers are cryptic fucking miasmas of emotional disruption, Claude has learned. They are the only people who make Claude look chill besides, evidently, Tyler Seguin, and Claude has learned to roll with it.
“Hey now,” he says mildly. “No more fucking. Them’s the rules.”
“Yeah, about that,” Carson says, way too goddamned smoothly, “is it going to be weird having you and Dad living in the same city again?” and Claude snorts his mouthful of icewater out his nose.
“What the fuck,” Claude gasps.
“Whoa, are you okay?” Carson asks.
“I’m fine,” Claude says, mopping his face off with the dishtowel. “Jesus Christ, who raised you?”
Carson opens his mouth like a flash, and Claude shakes his head.
“It’s going to be fine,” Claude says firmly. “Okay? We’re still friends,” he adds.
Carson sighs. He looks so odd in this place, leaning on Claude’s counter in jeans and a T-shirt, nearly as old as the baby rookies who stumble into the Flyers’ locker rooms on a yearly basis. When did Claude get this old?
Did Claude get old? Should he have grown up more by now?
He has an IIHF gold medal in the bottom of his suitcase and a fifteen-year-old hockey-playing delinquent in his kitchen, and he still doesn’t know if he made the right choice, back when he had the chance.
“Still friends,” Carson says, “or still friends?”
Jesus, that’s some fucking audacity, Claude thinks, but he can’t say he’s not sleeping in the bed he made. It’s so hard to tell what difference he really made, in the short time he was there. It’s hard to say he made an impact; it’s hard to think he shouldn’t have made more of one.
He made the choices he made. Even Danny’s kids stayed in Philly, Claude thinks, but it never makes it feel any better.
“We still talk to each other,” Claude says. “I called him on Sunday.”
“Yeah,” Carson says, sour with disappointment and hurt, and fuck, yeah, fine; Claude knows perfectly well what the right choice was, but it’s too late to go back now.
here is a list of what I am selling so far: (my image+official store image)
Sebastian and Claude bag($12)- I have used this bag a few times and it is still in good condition~
Sword Art Online 2 shirt ($15)- this was sent to me by mistake from Hottopic. It’s never been worn and still in it’s bag (sadly no official image for it yet) retail price was $21
Sebastian Bracelet ($4)- worn a few times
Grell bracelet ($4)-worn a few times
Undertaker pop vinyl figure ($10)- this one is extra and has not been opened yet
Black Butler Figures ($3 each or $8 for the set)- The figures have a few small marks here and there but over all are in good condition(they arrived with the tiny marks)madam Red does not have a stand
Ronald Knox clear folder ($3) -never used~
Bootleg Book of Circus charms ($1 each)- these guys actually made me laugh pretty hard when they came in the mail. They are made of clear plastic and (as you can see) are not official. They’re still pretty dang cute (ALSO there is a circus sebastian charm but I just can’t seem to find it. when I do I will include it)
Sailor Moon uniform charms ($3 each) - metal charms of Sailor Moon’s and Sailor Mercury’s outfits
Sailor Moon sweets charms ($5 each) - perfect condition, are hella expensive on ebay
CardCaptor Sakura straps ($5 each)- If you want all of them I’ll lower the total price
Gudetama pouch ($4) - never been used, inside is shiny yellow with polka dots
To Heart figure ($7) - This is an extremely old figure, but it’s in pretty good condition. a few small marks on her hair
fluffy pastel tail ($3) -** this isn’t real fur**
Crystal pins ($1 each)- made of plastic with a pin on the back
There will be more to come but for now this is what I’m selling! I’m selling these on a first come-first serve basis, so whoever messages me first pretty much gets it. I only accept paypal payments and buyer must pay for the shipping. I won’t know 100% how much shipping will be until I go to the post office but I will give you an estimate.
Alois: -glances at clock, suddenly remembering what day it is-
-slams book shut, slams it down on the chair he was sitting in and literally sprints down the hall, all the way down the steps, slides into the kitchen, slams into Hannah, twirls around her, grabs the empty trash can, walks all the way to where Claude stood, cooking, and holds up the trash can to him.-
Claude: Your Highness…..what the hell are you doing?
Alois: It’s trash day Claude. I’m taking the trash out. -holds up trash can further- What are you bloody waiting for!?! Get in!
Claude: -violently points knife towards the kitchen door-
Alois: I still haven’t taken the trash out yet….
Claude: I fucking hate you.
Alois: Says the bloody trash bag I need to take out……