anyways let’s talk about whiskey

chillpleasecheckplease:

and how his first semester of college has been so, so hard for him.

He comes from a big family, one where he’s never alone but still understands his introversion, and knows that he’s content just sitting in the corner and observing.

His hockey team was his happy place, filled with teammates and nothing more, no complicated friendships.

Now, he’s hundreds of miles away from his family. Now, instead of hockey practices being quiet, filled with only calls to pass the puck and comments from coaches; they’re raucous, filled with laughter and inside jokes he’s always on the outside of.

The team hates him for not hanging out with them, he knows this. He can sense it, their silent judgement and side-eyes even as he raises an eyebrow in return and tries to act strong, like it doesn’t bother him. It does.

He can’t tell them that he’s too busy crying in his room to spend time with them. That he only hangs out with the lax bros because his roommate is one of them, and they don’t mind him sitting in the corner and saying nothing.

Get it together, Whiskey tells himself. Stop crying. Go to the campus counselor, maybe your depression medication needs to be adjusted. Go to the campus ministry meeting, maybe someone there will accept you. Do what you need to so you can hang out with the team, so they don’t hate you more than they do already.

He makes an effort to be at the Haus more, but it’s horrible. Bitty mothers him, which only makes him miss his own mother more. There should be fresh tortillas coming from the kitchen, not pies. Ransom and Holster interrogate him; Dex and Nursey argue; Whiskey shrinks away.

Never has Whiskey been so surrounded by people but felt so alone.

It’s November when Tango finds him in the library, staring at his books, too exhausted and drained to study.

“Can I sit here?” Tango asks, bearing his own textbooks, and Whiskey can only manage a nod yes.

After twenty minutes, Tango looks between Whiskey and the pages he hasn’t touched once. “Todo bien?” he asks. “How can I help you?”

Whiskey feels his eyes well with tears. It’s the first time he’s heard Spanish spoken here. And it’s the first time anyone has asked out of concern how he’s doing.

Because everything isn’t good. But with Tango’s hand on his back, his face full of concern and support, Whiskey thinks that he might have his first friend at college.

He might have a chance at things getting better.