Shutout

Prologue

Boxes and boxes littered the small townhome. They were clearly lived out of, all their lids opened with various things poking out. Logan had lived there for almost a week at this point but the idea of unpacking weighed on his shoulders like a college essay due at midnight. He had no motivation to unpack so he simply did not. His mother would be appalled, and he couldn't have anyone over, but neither of those things bothered him all that much.

The little townhouse was small and not in the most convenient part of town, but it was cheap, and he no longer needed a roommate to exist. Not that his paycheck grew any with the transfer.

Three years in the little blue apartment on Merth Street in Maine. He thought it wouldn't matter to him in the end because of the shifty way he left the team, but now that he lived somewhere else, it was like reminiscing about your childhood home. He couldn't remember his real childhood home.

He was in the middle of making a ham sandwich with the only knife he could find in a box when the doorbell went off. It was a shitty noise, like the mix of a buzzer and a proper bell, something that made sure you knew it was coming from your house.

Who the actual fuck would be ringing his doorbell? He met the team, of course, after they lost what would be their last playoff game. They were decent; if not frustrated, they just shot the season down the toilet. But he was surely not close with anyone to know his address. His mom have better not come for a surprise visit. He needs to unpack.

He accidentally kicks a box in the hallway towards the door, stumbling a bit. This door had no window or peephole, so he had no choice but to open the door to see who it was.

It was a man.

A man who looked like he could be blown over by wind, both because of his skinny appearance and the fact he leaned gently on a black cane. In the hand, not on the cane, was a big brown paper bag gripped with white knuckles. His glasses didn't reflect the hiding sun behind clouds, and his hair reached down past his ears in brown waves.

A stranger.

"H-hi," The man shifted and cleared his thoughts after the stutter, gripping both the cane and the brown bag tighter, "Hi. I'm Kane Jenkins. I live in the townhome attached to yours."

"Oh. Hi. I'm Logan Klicker," Logan blinked, unsure if he should put his hand out to shake when the man clearly had no hands available to shake.

Kane nodded awkwardly, "Yeah, nice to meet you. Welcome to the neighborhood—" Logan flinched when the man quickly held up the big bag like it was a fish he had caught to show off, "My mom raised me to bring something over to new neighbors, but sometimes people don't like sweets or whatever. So I got the best chips in dip from Marco's on 3rd Street. It's what I would want, so I figured...anyway, here are some chips and dip. Sorry for....this."

Logan carefully took the brown bag, peeking in to see another brown paper bag stained with grease and a white styrofoam container. He glanced up at Kane, who was clearly bathing in a mix of awkwardness and embarrassment.

"Um, thank you. If it's as good as you say, I'll have to ask you again where it comes from."

Somehow, that makes Kane perk up, shifting on his feet, "Yeah, sure. Are you new to the city or just moved houses?"

"New to the city," Logan wasn't sure how to hold this bag, "I moved for work. I got traded."

Kane, whom Logan was becoming increasingly aware, couldn't hold his emotions off his face—first confused wrinkles between his eyebrows and then pouted just a tiny bit, "Ah, that makes sense. I'm sorry about that—if you didn't want it to happen. But, um, welcome if you did want to move."

It was fucking cold with the door open, and Logan didn't have a coat, but he still offered his neighbor a tight smile, "Thanks. It'll be a good change."

Kane must have realized that both of them were shivering, so he nodded and slowly took a step back, "That's good, that's good. Well, um...it was nice meeting you. I promise I'm not a horrible neighbor. But let me know if you need anything," He twisted his cane in a small circle, waiting to escape the tight interaction.

It wasn't either of their fault that this was so awkward and stiff. It was cold, meeting neighbors was never exciting, and these were two clearly socially struggling men. It was unlikely that any other combination of socially awkward men would be different. But, to be honest, the chip thing did make it funky.

"Thank you. And thank you for the chips."

"Of course...have a good day, Logan."

Logan offered another tight smile, waving slightly as his neighbor wandered away. Once the man disappeared from sight, Logan rushed to get back inside. But now he had chips.

He wandered back to his sandwich, pulling out the bag and the styrofoam container. It was a salsa sort of dip, but it looked like it had black beans in it, too. Mexican food was one of his favorite foods, so he didn't hesitate to try the salsa.

It was great.

But he probably wouldn't have the guts to ask Kane the name of the restaurant again.