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“Peeks, somebody better be dead. We just got Sadie to sleep.” Sharpy slurs blurrily on the other end of the phone.
“Dude, you know I wouldn’t call unless it was important,” Kaner says. There’s a disbelieving silence on the end of the line, and Kaner would bet anything Sharpy’s rolling his eyes. If it were possible to punch him through the phone, he would. “Okay, what the hell ever, I might call if it wasn’t, but this is important.”
“Alright then, out with it,”Sharpy says.
He takes a breath. “So, Johnny told me he loved me.”
The silence is back on the other end, but Kaner can’t tell what kind. “Hello?”
“Wow. Really?” he hears Sharpy blow out a breath. “I mean, that’s great, that’s really cool—I didn’t expect him to be the first one to say it, but you know, that’s really great, Peeks! I’m happy for you. Can I go to bed now?”
“Ugh, no, can’t you go to bed, you dick, we have to talk about this,” Kaner whines.
“Nope. No, we really don’t, at least not at this hour. Patrick, you and Tazer finally get your act together after God knows how long, and you guys are solid, you’re good. I mean it’s gross and weird because you’re gross and weird, but barring that, it’s genuinely been a good thing. Now the dude tells you he loves you--something I’m pretty sure in your darkest heart of hearts you’ve been wanting to hear for a while now. What on earth could you possibly need to talk about right now?”
“Well,” Kaner hedges, “you know how you just said you always thought I’d be the first person to say it or whatever?“
“Yeah, man. You’ve been on the verge of saying it since, like, the first day you guys told everybody,” Sharpy says. “I’m pretty sure during the speech, you babbled something like, ‘Yeah so, we’re boning or whatever. Because you know, I luuuhh, I mean, like this guy a lot or whatever. So don’t give us any shit.’”
“I don’t sound like that. That was the worst impression of me, like, ever.”
“It was pretty spot on,” Sharpy assures him.
“We’re getting off topic, asshole. The topic being Johnny saying he loved me.”
“Yes, yes,” Sharpy drawled. “Hurry up, the faster you tell this story, the faster I can get to bed.”
“Well,I think he might have said it because he thought I said it first.” Kaner finishes.
On the other end, there is a long, weary sigh.
“I didn’t even finish! Why are you sighing at me?”
“That was me sitting my weary ass bones on the couch and settling in to hear some crazy bullshit story and mourning my inevitable lack of sleep,” Sharpy replies. “What do you mean he thinks you said I love you first? How do you mix up the words ‘I love you’ with anything else?”
“So we were on the phone tonight,” Kaner begins, “and you know, it’s late, and we’re mostly just kinda listening to each other breathe, you know when you’re in that half-asleep mode and you just don’t really wanna hang up the--“
Sharpy makes a shuddering noise. “Stop. Stop. I don’t want to hear that. That is what I don’t want to hear. Skip all that.”
“Poor Sharpy, so jelly of our awesome,” Patrick coos. “Anyway, we were just getting ready to say goodnight, and I just happened to be watching Downton Abbey—“
Patrick swears he can almost hear the record scratch on the other end. “Do what now?” Sharpy says, after a beat.
“You heard,” Patrick says defensively. Anyway, so I’m mostly asleep, Downton Abbey’s on in the background, and for some reason, ‘Goodnight, Lovey’ slips out of my mouth.”
There’s no mistaking the silence on the other end this time. This silence is gleefully horrified. “You said what?” Sharpy whispers, delighted.
“I said, ‘Goodnight, Lovey’ “Patrick bites out. “I don’t know why I said it, I was half asleep and there were British accents and shit everywhere! It just came out!
“Did you say it in a British accent too?” Sharpy wheezes.
“I don’t know! I might have, I was half asleep! Stop cackling, you asshole!”
“Only you, Kaner. Only you,” Sharpy says, smug as shit.
“Yeah well, after I said that, Johnny goes, ‘Goodnight, I love you too.”
“So what did you do after that?”
“I said, ‘yeah’ and then hung the fuck up! Then I called you.”
“Yeah okay, so what’s the problem?”
“What do you mean, what’s the problem? I just told you.”
“No, you told me a hilarious story. I’m not really hearing the problem.”
“What if,” Kaner hesitates, “What if, he doesn’t—I mean, what if he only said he loved be because he thinks I said it first? What if it was just, like, obligation shit?”
“Peeks, I’m pretty sure Tazer’s legit in love with you. Remember the Settlers of Catan Incident? If that’s not an admission of love by Tazer standards, I don’t know what is.”
Oh, right.
Duncs had brought over Settlers to Johnny’s apartment not too long ago for a mini-team Game Night. Kaner had never heard of it, but he saw the wicked gleam in Johnny’s eye when Duncs had explained that it was mostly a strategy game and figured he might as well settle in and get ready for some good old fashioned, over-the-top, slightly manic competition from Tazer and delight in the inevitable moment when Johnny lost his cool and swept the board off the table. He had to concede that the chances of that happening weren’t likely, since Johnny was way more chill about competitions not involving hockey, but he didn’t want to completely rule it out. What he hadn’t counted on was being completely baller at Settlers. He didn’t know how it happened, but he somehow managed to own the board, making cities and settlements, wheeling and dealing and gobbling up all the resources like a freaking champ. After getting the Longest Road card, Johnny had burst out with, “You’ve totally played this before or something, there’s no way you know how to do this on the first time.” Kaner had protested his innocence, and Johnny had mumbled a “yeah, sure,” and rolled his eyes. Kaner had felt a sharp burst of hurt, stopped just shy of yelling “Fuck you, you sore ass loser,” across the table and didn’t talk to Johnny for the rest of the game. Needless to say, Settlers of Catan Game Night was not a rousing success.
However, the next day, Johnny had come to practice, looking guilty and ashamed and shoved a box into Kaner’s hands. “I was wrong for how I behaved and didn’t mean the things I said,” he muttered. Kaner looked down at the box, which was apparently an expansion pack, Seafarers of Catan, to be exact.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” he’d asked.
“We’re gonna play again,” Johnny said determinedly. “And I’m going to beat you, but if you happen to beat me, I’m not gonna be an asshole about it.”
“You are literally the most insane person I know,” Kaner had remarked in awe.
Johnny had shrugged and headed into practice.
“Come on, Kaner,” Sharpy says, bringing Kaner back into the present. “He admitted he was wrong, and in his own demented way, showed you respect and admiration by challenging you to another game.That’s a goddamn marriage proposal.
“Plus,” he adds, even if he did think you said it first, he wouldn’t just say something like that if it wasn’t genuine.
Kaner tilts his head, considering. Sharpy has been known to be right about this romantic crap from time to time. “Yeah, no I’m gonna tell him.”
Sharpy sighs what Kaner has come to recognize as his Give-Me-Strength-Kaner’s-Talking-Bullshit Sigh.
“That I didn’t say I love you. I’ll tell him and then I’ll tell him he shouldn’t feel obligated to say it to me because I actually didn’t say it.”
“Patrick,” Sharpy says as slowly and as patiently as Kaner has ever heard it, “That is a dumb idea. How about you two just move forward, with the knowledge that you love each other and, I don’t know, save this whole thing as an amusing anecdote to share with family members or something?”
Patrick considers this. For like, a solid six seconds. “Nah,” he decides. “Alright Sharpy, thanks man. Good talk.”
“Kaner, please,” Sharpy pleads, “Whatever you do, do it as far away from public as possible, and don’t do it with any of us around. If I know you, this is not going to turn out like you think it will. Spare us the awkward, okay? Think of your teammates.”
“You’re so fucking dramatic, Sharpy,” Kaner snorts. “What’s the worst that could happen? I’ll just clear this up and everything’ll be fine. Easy Peasy.”
“I didn’t say I love you,” Patrick blurts out when the team has filed out of the locker room and are out on the ice during practice. Well, most of the team. Patrick thinks he can see Sharpy slap his hand to his forehead out of the corner of his eye before beating a hasty retreat.
“What?” Johnny says.
Well shit. That didn’t come out like it was supposed to at all.
“I mean,” Patrick starts, “When you said you loved me—I didn’t say it.”
“I’m pretty sure you did,” Johnny replies, looking amused. “Look, I know that saying that was a big step for you. It was a big step for us.” He smiles so fondly and with such genuine affection that Patrick can feel himself letting it go, thinking maybe Sharpy was right. But there’s this tiny little part of him that just has to be sure.
He nods, totally in agreement. “Well yeah, telling someone you love them is definitely a big step. I mean it would totally would have been had I actually said it.”
Johnny’s frowning a little now. “Kaner—what are you talking about?”
Patrick’s about to explain further a whistle blows somewhere on the ice, and they both remember that they actually have a job to do here.
“Look we’ll talk later, okay?” Johnny says, that little frown still on his face as he starts out of the locker room.
“Okay, what’s this bullshit about you not saying you loved me last night?” Johnny asks after saying goodbye to Duncs and Seabs, the last ones to leave practice.
“I didn’t actually say I love you,” Kaner admits.
“Well, what did you say?”
“Goodnight, lovey.” Patrick mumbles, looking at a scuff mark on the floor.
“Sorry, what?” Johnny asks, a little incredulously.
“I said, ‘Goodnight, lovey’.” Patrick mutters again.
He hazards a look at Johnny. He expected to find maybe some confusion, maybe some amusement, but Johnny’s eyes have gone flat and hard, his mouth set in a disappointed line.
“Look,” Johnny bites out, “If you didn’t mean it, that’s one thing, and you should just admit it, not make up some bullshit excuse.”
“It’s not an excuse! I really didn’t say it!” Kaner protests.
“Why can’t you just admit what you said?”
“Because I didn’t say it.”
“Hate to break it to you but it’s pretty hard to not hear someone say they love you.”
“I didn’t say I love you, I said, ‘Goodnight, lovey’, and then you said, ‘I love you, too’. Pretty fast after I said lovey. Maybe we should discuss that.” Patrick says in a failed attempt to divert the topic. Oh, this is not going well at all.
“There’s no way you said, ‘goodnight, lovey,’ you ass,” Johnny snaps. “Who on earth would ever say ‘goodnight, lovey’? How is that a phrase?”
“Kindly old fellows in the English Countryside, that’s who!” Kaner yells.
Johnny stares and stares, his eyes get flatter and more murderous.
“I was watching Downton Abbey the other night, when I was on the phone with you, alright?” Patrick explains feebly, “It was late, we were both like, half asleep on the phone, I guess I just kind of heard it and repeated it or something.”
“You watch a lot of Masterpiece Theater, Kaner?”
“I watch a lot of Downton,” Patrick admits. Mary Crawley is his jam and he’s so over defending his impeccable taste in television dramas to trogs.
“So, this batshit conversation is really boiling down to is you wanting me to know that you didn’t say you loved me.” Johnny reiterates slowly.
“Yes,” Patrick says, relieved. Now he’s getting it. “I really, really didn’t.”
The flat look is back in Johnny’s eyes, but he almost looks sad.“Well, okay then,” he says after a minute. “Good to know. See you later, Kaner.” But before Kaner can finish explaining or figure out what he said to make Johnny look like that (and how to never ever let it happen again), Johnny’s out the door.
The next few days are awkward, to say the least. , Patrick’s confession has no impact on the way they play on the ice, they’re still a dynamic team; but off the ice is an entirely different story. Most nights after a game, they’ll end up at one of their apartments, talking, reliving the night, and then having mind-numbingly awesome sex with the occasional sweet nothing thrown in and nobody says anything, but ever since then, Johnny has always found some way to avoid going over to Patrick’s, and really only speaks to him about the games and does that in polite, captainly tones.
“I fucked up,” Patrick moans into the phone.
“Of course you did,” Sharpy replies, not unkindly. “I would say I told you so, but that would make me a bad pers---only kidding. I told you so, dumbass.”
“Yes, thank you, Sharpy.” Patrick snaps. “How do I fix it? Every time I try to explain to him what I meant, his eyes get all crazy and he changes the subject.”
“Why don’t you change it back?”
Patrick’s mouth twists. “I’m sorry, have you met the captain of your hockey team?”
“Hm. Fair point,”Sharpy concedes.
“Sharpy,” Patrick pleads softly, “I need you to help me fix this, man. All bullshit aside, I have to fix this. I can’t—I can’t fuck this up permanently.”
“Peeks,” Sharpy says, matter-of-fact. “Do you love him?”
“More than fucking anything.”
“Then you’ll figure something out. You’re a semi-smart, pretty inventive person. Show him how much you care about him. Ugh, I can’t believe I said that.”
Kaner grins. “Thanks, Sharpy. I’ll think of something.”
“One last thing,” Sharpy pipes up, “Whatever you think of, for the love of God, do it at home. Think of the team—“which is the last thing Kaner hears before he hangs up. Screw all that noise. He has a grand display to put together in a short amount of time, he can’t sit around listening to Sharpy’s dumb babbling.
Kaner remembers being in a restaurant once and overhearing a conversation between a couple sitting not too far from him. “Trixie,” the guy had said to the girl across from him at the table, “You’re my jam. If I had to choose between you and my X-Men titles, I’d choose you. Only, don’t make me choose. I’d probably resent you.” At the time, Kaner only chuckled to himself and thought about what a complete spaz the guy had been, but now, upon reflection, it occurs to him that that’s love, man. Honest and goofy and so, so vital. It’s how he feels about Johnny. If he lets himself really think about it, if he substituted the X-Men titles for hockey, he wouldn’t be so different from the dude in the restaurant. Not that it would ever really happen though, he scoffs. Johnny, make him choose between him and hockey? Never. Still, he now knows what he has to do.
Patrick is completely ready for this, and is not making a fool out of himself in any way. If he is, he reasons, he’s doing it for love which is like, all noble and shit. He glances up at Tazer, who’s talking to Shawsy and laughing. Patrick’s insides twist a little, but it only serves to reassure him that he’s definitely doing the right thing. He loves making Johnny laugh. He hopes after he does this he get back to doing it again.
“Ahem,” he announces to the locker room at large, “Quiet down you assholes, I have something important to say.”
“Probably not,” Shawsy quips and Patrick shoots him a look. “Shawsy, everything I have to say is important. Best you learn that now.”
Shawsy rolls his eyes and chuckles, taking off his jersey.
“Anyway,” continues Patrick, “As I was saying, I have something important to say. As all of you know, I, um, “ Patrick clears his throat, “I—we, Tazer and I, that is, we have been, ah I guess, together? Together is the word I’m looking for, I think.” He glances around the room and sees that everyone’s actually listening, Johnny’s watching him with a look he can’t describe on his face and Sharpy has his forehead in his hand. Whatever. Sharpy’s a hater.
“And recently”, he continues, “ I said something that I think he may have taken the wrong way, so I’m, I’m going to apologize now, in the best way I know how.” He walks over to the team CD player and puts his CD in, on song eight. Soon the music starts and a soft beat fills the room. Patrick thinks he hears a choked off “Oh God, you could’ve just said sorry,” coming from Sharpy’s direction but he doesn’t have time for naysayery, so he opens his mouth and lets Drake explain all of his deepest thoughts and inner desires as only Drake can.
“I got my eyes on you,” he starts to croon, “You’re everything that I see, I want your hot love and emotion, endlessly.” Patrick hears the hoots and hollers of his teammates and catches a,“ hot love and emotion?” from a horrified-sounding Shawsy but he can’t see them because his eyes are closed and he can feel himself bopping along to the beat. Oh Drake, you are both a poet and a gentleman, sir.
“I can’t get over you, you left your mark on me, I want your hot love and emotion, endlessly.” Patrick’s on a roll now, he’s all warmed up. “Cuz you’re a good girl and you know it—“
There’s wild laughter from his teammates now, and he can hear Sharpy say in a voice filled with unholy joy, “This is probably the best day of my life, and I’m counting the days my babies were born.” Before he can go any further, a hand clamps down over his mouth and his eyes pop open to see Johnny standing in front of him, amusement and embarrassment dancing in his eyes.
“Okay, show’s over,” he announces over his shoulder to a room full of cheers and boos. “Kaner and I clearly have to go discuss the difference between a gesture of affection and insanity.”
“I’m pretty sure the two are one in the same with you weirdos.” Seabs quips. Johnny’s mouth twists in a smirk as he leads Kaner by the back of the neck into the equipment room.
When they’re alone Patrick twists out of his grasp and looks at him. “On a scale of one to ten, how mad are you?” he asks.
“I don’t even know.” Johnny admits, shaking his head a little. “I don’t know how to rate that. Mostly I just feel sorry for that horrible production. Drake would be ashamed.”
“Lies! Drake would been extra proud of my wooing skills and also my prodigious talent in bringing his words to life.”
“Prodigious?”
“Word.”
“You know what that means?”
“Mostly. I’m pretty sure I’m using it the right way.” Patrick puts his hands on his hips. “Look, are you mad, or what?”
“What exactly are you trying to prove with this?” Johnny asks evenly, his face giving Patrick nothing to work with.
“I know that I said I didn’t, you know, love you or whatever, but when I tried to explain the rest, you got all thundercloud crazy eyes on me, or just walked away!”
“I’m not sure there’s a lot more to telling someone one you don’t love them,” Johnny tells him.
“See that’s what I’m saying! I didn’t say I don’t love you, I’m just saying I didn’t say it when you thought I did!” Patrick blurts.
“Ah, lovey. That’s what’s you called me, right?” Johnny said skeptically.
“Yes! I mean, I’m telling you—you said it first, and I only said something because I didn’t want you to think you had to say it because you thought I said it!”
“I mostly understood that sentence.” Johnny says flatly. “But dude, why would I say I love you if I didn’t?”
“Sharpy may have pointed that out to me,” Patrick admits.
“Sharpy is, on the odd occasion, not a complete idiot.”
“Don’t ever let him hear you say that,” Patrick warned seriously.
“Noted.”
“No really, you give an inch with him, he’ll take the whole asshole mile.”
“I know, Patrick.” Johnny says softly, mouth quirking. He’s giving Patrick a fond, funny look. Patrick has been aching with how much he missed those looks.
“So.”
“So.”
“We’re doing this love thing then, huh?”
“If we can get our respective acts together, then yeah, I think we are.” Johnny says, full on smiling now.
“I’m pretty sure we’ll get there eventually,” Patrick says optimistically.
Johnny draws him into a easy, lingering kiss, the kind that never fails to send chills shooting up Patrick’s spine and send the blood rushing to his cheeks, much to his embarrassment. Johnny’s mouth is hot and slick against his, the kisses slow but always so hungry. Kaner arches into him helplessly,pressing his hips hard against Johnny’s keenly aware that he still isn’t close enough to him, can never get as close as he wants to. Johnny pulls away from Kaner’s mouth, eyes heavy-lidded with lust. “I love you,” he rumbles. “I don’t give a fuck about saying it first.”
“I love you too,” Kaner croaks, suddenly overwhelmed. “I’m so sorry about all this, if you ever hurt because of me for one fucking second--”
Johnny swoops in for another soul-shattering kiss. “We’re good, I think.” he pants after a minute.
After that, neither one of them says much of anything for a while.
When they pull apart, straightening their clothes and failing miserably at hiding the fact that they’ve spent an inordinately long time making out in the equipment room, Johnny smirks and says, “Man, I can just see us telling this story. ‘Hey do you wanna hear how Kaner actually told me he loved me and then took it back and made up some cockamamie story about saying lovey instead of love you?’”
“Sounds pretty ridiculous to me,” Kaner said and smiled.