Work Text:
December 13, approx. 2am EST
His phone buzzes from under his pillow, jolting him out of a shallow sleep.
Claude digs under his pillow for his iPhone and unlocks it. Someone texted him. It’s from a number he doesn’t have in his contacts. It’s a Philly area code, though.
“I can’t believe you pricks changed the goal song”
Claude blinks the text into focus, and repeats the number to himself out loud several times before replying.
“who is this?” Claude replies, sitting up to rub his eyelids for a minute. His joints are sore. He’s getting old, and the game tonight didn’t help. His phone buzzes back immediately.
“Did you seriously delete my number?”
“jsut tell me who the fuck you are” Claude sends back. He shakes his head. So much for sleeping. He gets out of bed and goes into the kitchen. His tummy growls just as he touches the fridge. No—wait—that’s his phone vibrating.
“It’s Danny”
“oh <enter> im surprised you still have my number tbh” Claude tosses his phone onto the countertop, and opens the fridge. He pulls out a carton of orange juice and untwists the cap, and begins to chug the juice. A bit of the juice dribbled down his chin.
Buzz.
“You seriously deleted my number?<enter>After I cried over you, you deleted my number?”
Claude drops his phone into the bowl of apples on the counter. Fuck that.
“I’m sorry.” Claude breathes into the empty air.
The day after Danny was bought out, Claude had to deal with Danny’s sons crying all over the place, and their father, who was the worst of the bunch.
“Clo?” Danny asked Claude, who was sitting on the couch beside him.
“Yeah, Danny?” Claude replied as Danny laid his head into Claude’s lap.
“I’m going to miss you so much.”
“I’m going to miss you, too.” Claude murmured as he combed through Danny’s hair. Before the buy-out, Claude could confess that he and Danny were part brothers, part best friends, and part lovers. The drunk fights, the long ass road trips, they all held some sick romantic value. Claude would never forget how amazing it felt to have Danny carry Claude up to his bedroom, and Danny would stay for a while, making sure Claude didn’t choke on his own vomit. To be honest, Claude would always fake pass out, hoping Danny would carry him up. One night, Claude remembers, Danny was so tired that he just slept with Claude.
“Mmmm, I’m really tired, Clo.” Danny whispered, pushing Claude’s hair out of his closed eyes. “I’m really tired.”
“Me too.” Claude accidentally replied. There went his cover.
“I thought you passed out?” Danny muttered, his speech slurring slightly.
“Me too.” Claude said, rolling over towards Danny. Danny threw his arm over Claude, making Claude instinctually cuddle up to Danny.
“You’re warm, Clo.” Danny said, pressing his nose to Claude’s.
“Yeah.” Claude whispered, moving in for the kill.
Danny mumbled softly as Claude drunkenly kissed him. His lips were soft. Claude remembers. I miss his lips.
But Claude just shakes his head. He reaches for his phone, which is nestled beside a Granny Smith apple.
“i think I accidently did it sry B”
Claude sits down, and puts his head in his hands. Liar.
It was right as the season began, after Danny had nearly ceased communication with him. Claude sat in the same position as he did now—except he had a bottle of vodka by his side.
The feeling, he remembers, was like a bad breakup. His entire body ached, he couldn’t sleep, and the vodka kept getting drank. He had his phone in front of him, with Danny’s contact info up. It took a lot of balls, deleting his number. It hurt. But it helped. It helped Claude forget about him.
“We both know you’re lying.” Danny shoots back.
Claude drops his phone and starts crying. Fuck Danny. Fuck him and fuck Montreal and fuck everything.
“im sry.<enter>u played really well tongith tho(:” Claude hastily types in, hoping his fingers won’t type anything but.
“Thanks for almost poking my eye out on that faceoff in the third”
“pelase dont do this”
“I’m so sorry that I just found out my Clo deleted my number from his phone. And he’s being a bitch about it.”
“nxt time we play each other, im just going to sit out<enter>i cant stand having you as a sore loser”
“I’m not a sore loser.”
“o, realy?”
Danny doesn’t reply back for about ten minutes.
“Are you home?”
“duh”
Danny doesn’t reply back again. So Claude just heads back up to bed. But, just as Claude gets comfy, someone knocks at his door.
“Fuck, really?” He says aloud. He stomps down his stairs, shouting, “You better have a good fucking reason to be here!”
And Claude opens his door.
“Hi, Clo.”
Claude almost closes the door right in Danny’s face for a moment.
“It’s almost three, what do you want?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, really?” Claude snaps back.
“I’m just…I’m so angry all the time now.”
Claude’s heart softens a little. His looks into Danny’s eyes and he feels two hands holding his hands.
“You should head back to your hotel. It’s getting late.” Claude whispers, his throat getting choked up.
“Clo.” Danny replies, still looking at him. “Alright.” And Danny lets go of Claude’s hands, and begins walking down the side walk. It begins to drizzle outside, the rain dappling into Danny’s thick, black hair.
“Mon cher!” Claude cries, running into the rain.
Claude grabs Danny's hand, spinning him around. Claude puts his hands on Danny's slick cheeks, and gives him the most passionate kiss that anyone could have ever dreamt of.