We Can't Rewind, We've Gone Too Far

Ransom checked under Holster’s bed. Then under his blanket, although if it had been there they might have had to have a really awkward Talk. Then under the dresser. Then in the closet. Again.

Then in his hockey bag to make sure he hadn’t just left it there from last practice.

“The fuck,” he muttered, looking helplessly at his desk where his textbooks were piled up. He did not have time to lose things. He considered just going to study and looking for it in the morning, but Jack would kill him if he was late for the game and also if he showed up without his jockstrap, and where the hell was it, he knew exactly where he had left it…

I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You started playing quietly in the back of his head.

“That is ENOUGH!” Ransom shouted, angry enough that he suddenly didn’t care that the whole fucking thing was ridiculous. “I have four exams coming up, an entire fucking essay to write for my fucking required history credit, we just got into the playoffs, Jack wants two more practices a week, and I do NOT need fucking imaginary ghosts stealing my fucking jock on top of everything else!”

Ransom stopped, gasping for breath, and there was silence.

Absolute silence. Really, really weird silence. Before he started yelling Ransom had been vaguely aware of the distant sounds of Bitty singing along to Bey in the kitchen, typing and occasional swearing from Shitty’s room, traffic and conversations and even some birdsong outside. Now there was none of that. He couldn’t even hear his laptop humming. He looked around frantically.

His jockstrap fell off a rafter and landed directly in front of him.

He froze, and waited, but nothing else happened. Slowly, sound began to filter back into the room.

“Huh,” said Ransom. He picked up the jockstrap. “Uh. Thanks.”