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sidebldogsidkfnr · 6 years

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Zimbits ‘Take Me to Church’ AU part 1/?????

Nora Valley Community College didn’t look real. Not that it appeared ethereal or haunting in any way; on the contrary, it was bland. Nora Valley looked like something out of a b-rated movie. It looked more like the stereotype than reality, as if space aliens had tried to make an Earthling college based only on their passing familiarity with “Indiana Jones.” The hallways smelled like pencil erasers and teachers wore dusty tweed and moth-eaten earth tone sweaters. The campus was a time capsule, stuck in the middle of a forgotten Georgian town, a town known only for its above average bakery and abandoned brick factory.

Much to his chagrin, Eric became a facet of that forgotten town as well when he chose Nora Valley college as his future alma mater.

Eric lived in the dorms, an untidy collection of numbered brick buildings on the edge of campus. His room was an affront to mankind, but thanks to his athletic scholarship, it was a free affront to mankind. Athletic scholarship, Eric thought, staring at the water stains on his paneled ceiling. Oh lord, what have I gotten myself into?

Nora Valley had a hockey team. It wasn’t much, but Eric knew that if he did well enough, he could earn a transfer scholarship to Samwell University and leave the stifling heat of Georgia behind for good. Two years, he thought, peering at a suspiciously dark crack in the ceiling, listening to his roommate snore in the bed across from him. I guess that’s not too long. I can handle two years.

A week later, he wasn’t so sure.

The hockey team didn’t seem to like him very much. Eric was small, round, and kind. Eric liked cinnamon dolce lattes with extra sugar and pop music with extra pop. The hockey boys were a bunch of burly football rejects with ratty mustaches and a penchant for basketball shorts. Eric was made of sugar, spice, and everything nice; the other boys were made of dirt, old spice, and everything heterosexual.

Eric collapsed no less than a dozen times over the course of his first week, sinking onto the ice as though he might be able to melt through it if he tried hard enough. It was torture.

His classes, at least, were better, easier than the ice’s torment. Most of them were core classes, filled with sleepy teenage hopefuls, exhausted single mothers, and excitable middle-aged lifelong learners. In French, Eric sat next to a girl named Jenna. She was the stereotypical ‘pretty southern girl’: tumbleweed blonde hair, a round physique, and rosy cheeks. Each day, she wore heavy makeup around her eyes and a delicate silver cross around her neck.

“Eric,” she chirped after class one day, voice like birdsong, “it’s Eric, right? I never see you outside of class. You should come hang out at the BSM sometime!”

Eric blinked at her, bleary eyed. It was his first class of the day— he was barely awake. Jenna only laughed. “Oh, you boys are so silly. Ya’ll’d be lost without us girls, huh? Here, take this,” she said, handing him a pamphlet, “I’d love to see you come join us!”

And with that, Jenna trotted away, her bulky keychain jangling against her monogrammed coffee cup. Eric looked down at the card stock she’d forced between his fingers.

Join us at the Nora Valley Baptist Student Ministry! Open every day noon to midnight. Bible study and snacks every Wednesday night. For more info, check out our Facebook page!

Eric swallowed thickly. He hadn’t planned on going to church, now that he was on his own. He didn’t think he could handle it— being lectured about ‘unconditional love’ by people who would cast him aside if they ever knew the truth.

Sighing, he slipped the paper into his backpack and shuffled off to his next class.

The day passed in a blur. Practice was cancelled thanks to the coach, a strange man named Johnson, having a last minute emergency. The e-mail seemed to suggest that Johnson cancelled class out of cosmic necessity; Eric rolled his eyes at that, unsurprised by the poor attempt at a joke. Most of the hockey boys went to go release their frustrations in the gym.

Eric didn’t go to the gym. Instead, he went to the skating rink— unlocked, but empty. Hazy and dim, the rink felt like another world, untouched by time and reality— like a middle school after hours, or an empty football stadium at dusk. Tucked away in the comfort of an empty locker room, Eric reached deep into the bowels of his hockey bag and pulled out a pair of worn Riedell figure skates.

Skating onto the ice unencumbered by hockey gear felt like coming home. Eric glided around the rink for a few moments, letting himself readjust to the sensation of lighter skates and a lighter body. Then, he built up speed, launching himself into a double toe loop. His landing wasn’t perfect, but then, he was out of practice. He tried again, this time landing with the sort of grace that can only be acquired through hours and hours of exhausting practice.

“I never understood how people were able to do that,” came a voice from the sidelines. Eric nearly jumped out of his skin. He whipped around to face the intruder, and saw a dark haired boy wearing a pair of hockey skates tentatively step onto the ice.

The newcomer was tall and broad, but unlike Eric’s hockey compatriots, he wasn’t imposing. His expression was soft and kind with a twinge of melancholy. He was also, much to Eric’s horror, devastatingly handsome.

“Sorry,” the boy added quickly, “I didn’t mean to scare you! I didn’t think anyone would be in here. The hockey team cancelled practice, I thought they were all in the gym right now.”

Eric sighed. “Yeah, I know, I thought nobody would be in here either.” Eric slipped back into his charming, extroverted persona, hoping to cover his disappointment as he said, “That’s alright! My name is Eric. I’m on the hockey team, I’m a freshman, and I live in building 21. Before you ask, yes, building 21 is a nightmare, but at least the hot water works now.” Eric skated forward, extending a hand to the intruder.

The boy’s eyebrows pinched in confusion. “You’re on the hockey team?”

“Yeah, I know,” Eric sighed, used to this line of inquiry. “I’m actually a figure skater, or at least I used to be. I couldn’t really do it anymore without moving further north and getting a proper coach and, well, I didn’t have the money. But I wanted to stay on the ice. Truth is, I don’t know much about hockey.”

The boy smiled. “No, you don’t,” he chuckled. “Not that— ah, never mind. My name is Jack,” he said, finally taking Eric’s hand. Eric willed himself not to blush at the brief moment of skin-to-skin contact. Neither of them had bothered to put on gloves. “I study history, but I used to play hockey. I still practice every day—old habits.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jack,” Eric said brightly. Jacks eyes were blue, perhaps bluer than Eric had ever seen. Or maybe you’re just super gay, Eric’s subconscious supplied helpfully. Shut up, Eric thought back.

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