Archive of Our Own ^beta

K E N T

It was a terrible idea, but that didn’t stop Kent from fumbling into his pocket, pulling his phone out and dialing the one number he knew he shouldn’t have.

He shut his eyes. The brick of the bar’s wall felt cool against his back. He could barely hear the ringing of the line against his ear, to busy & distracted by the thrum of music on the other side of the wall. The laugh of couple walking by.

It took a few rings, but Jack answered.

“‘Lo?” he sounded off. Sleepy. Kent faintly remembered that the Falcs were on the road right now. He’d had a game earlier that night. Knowing Jack, he’d probably been in bed for hours.

“Jack,” Kent could hear the crack in his voice. Fuck . He winced. That was embarrassing. “Didja miss me?” he joked softly.

There was grumbling on the other end, then a muffled sound like the phone had been dropped before a distracted “Uh–” sounded in his ear.

“No,” Kent rushed. “No, uh don’t answer that. I don’t want to know the answer to that.”

He actually already knew the answer to that. The answer came in the form of a small little baker, kneeling on the ground in front of Jack’s door, searching for his key.

Kent didn’t need it repeated.

“I’m just–” Kent cut himself off. This was bad idea. A terrible idea actually. Anybody could walk out at of the bar at any time and hear him. It briefly occurred to him that he should pull his hood up. One last ditch attempt to hide himself.

“How do you do it?” Kent asked him. “I can’t–I’m so tired . You don’t seem tired at all.”

God this was a terrible idea. He should have deleted Jack’s number from his phone months ago.

“It’s not even that I miss you and you don’t miss me,” Kent whispered. He hadn’t said it outloud before and it tasted awful . “I’m just–I miss having someone. And I can’t. Because if I did find someone, he’d have to hide. He’d have to pretend for me and I’d have to pretend he wasn’t what he was and it’s not fair.”

He heard Jack start to say something but he let his phone fall down, hand resting on top of his leg for a moment.

“Fuck,” he laughed back into the phone. Definitely too many shots of tequila. “This was a terrible idea. Jesus. Don’t drunk call your ex in the middle of a gay crisis. That’s like rule number fucking one.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end. A deep breath. Then–

“Uh, Parson?”

Shit.

That definitely wasn’t Jack.

Fuck.

“Oh my god,” Kent said. He felt his blood run cold. He pulled his phone back, double checking the name on the screen. Yup. Jack Zimmermann . “This is–this is Jack’s number.”

“I’m uh, roommate on road,” the voice said. It sounded like…

“Mashkov?”

“Yes, Kent Parson?”

Kent’s stomach twisted at the smile he could hear in Mashkov’s voice. Of course. Of course this would happen. God, he should just throw his phone in the road and cross his fingers that someone would run it over and crush any evidence of this humiliating interaction.

“Why the fuck are you answering Jack’s phone?” he said instead.

“I’m sleep,” Mashkov said simply. “I’m thinking it was my phone ringing.”

He wanted to yell at Mashkov. He shouldn’t have answered it at all if he was sleeping. Why was he even sleeping near Jack’s phone? Who the fuck mixes up their phone with someone else’s anymore?

Instead he whispered, “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m try, at first,” Mashkov said. “But it seeming like you need to talk. So I’m let you.”

Kent had no idea what to say to that . He’d just fucking outed himself to one of his biggest rivals in the league. He couldn’t breathe.

“I gotta go.”

He heard a muffled “Parson wait–” before he clicked his phone off and shoved it in his pocket.

He hailed a cab and passed out on his couch as soon as he walked through his door.

***

A L E X E I

The line went dead before Alexei had a chance to finish his sentence. He thought about calling him back, just to let him know that he wouldn’t–he wouldn’t tell anyone. He knew how hard balancing that kind of secret and a career as a professional athlete was, he wouldn’t put someone else’s career at risk. Ever.

He switched over to Jack’s contacts while the phone was still unlocked, and sent Kent’s info to himself. Maybe he could call him in the morning, let him know...something. That it was okay, that he wouldn’t tell, that he understood.

His finger hovered over Kent’s name for a moment longer, but he knew it was a bad idea to call him back now.

Kent didn’t know him, and Kent definitely didn’t trust him so there wasn’t much point in trying to call him back or trying to convince him of it. Kent would just ignore the call. It’s not like he meant to call him anyway he meant to call–

Jack.

Alexei shuffled off the bed, shook Jack awake.

“Tater?” Jack said groggily. “What’s happening?” He seemed to see his own phone clenched tightly in Alexei’s hand. “What happened? Is Bittle–”

“B is fine,” Alexei said quickly. It had been so long, he’d forgotten what it was like to have someone else be your first thought. A small part of him still melted every time he saw how much Jack’s eyes lit up when he talked about his boy. “Is–Is Kent. Parson. He uh,”

Came out to me? Is having a drunken crisis? Misses you?

Alexei wasn’t sure which would be best to lead with.

“He call you, I’m thinking it’s my phone ringing and answer,” he settled on. “He’s–not good.”

He realized he was still clenching Jack’s phone tightly when Jack reached out his hand, gently unfurling Alexei’s fingers from around it.

“What do you mean not good?”

“He’s–drunk? He tell me–well he thinking he talking to you,” he said quickly. “He’s um. He’s being your ex, yes?”

Jack sighed, a hand running over his eyes. Alexei walked backwards until his knees hit his bed, and collapsed back onto it. These weren’t his secrets, he wasn’t supposed to know any of them. He wanted to know them when Jack wanted to tell him them, not make Jack feel like–like he had to explain himself.

“You don’t have to,” Alexei rushed to say. “I’m know it’s being none of my business. I’m just–”

“No,” Jack said. He stayed silent until Alexei looked back up at him. “It’s okay Tater. If it wasn’t me, I’m glad it was you there for Kent.”

There for Kent might have been a bit of an overestimation of what happened. Since Kent didn’t even really let him talk once he’d figured out it wasn’t Jack.

Which, Alexei understood. He did, really, more than Kent would know.

“I’m just hope Parson is okay,” he said, shrugging. “Hard to feel alone with secrets.”

Jack stood up, padded over to Alexei’s bed, and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re good, Tater. I’ll call him back in the morning.”

Alexei nodded, feeling a little better.

“Get some rest, yeah?” Jack called over to him, back in his own bed.

“Yeah–you too Zimmboni.”

***                                                                                                                                      

K E N T

His head was pounding when he woke up, neck crunched up at an awkward angle between the arm of the couch and the back cushion. He groaned as he sat up, hand rubbing at the back of his neck trying to work out the knot.

Jesus. What the fuck did he drink last night?

Kit noticed he was awake, and jumped up on the cushion beside him, nosing at his bare leg. Had he–had he woken up in the middle of the night, taken his pants off and fallen back asleep on the couch?

A glance to his left, where his jeans were neatly folded on the end table, tucked under his phone confirmed he had.

Oh god.

His phone.

Shit.

He’d called Jack last night. He’d called Jack and–

What did he do?

Quickly, he snatched his phone up from the table. Ugh. 3 missed calls. Two from Jack, one from an unknown number.

Thumbing through the notifications, he saw a voicemail from Jack and he took a steadying breath. It was just Jack. He was a lot of things but he wasn’t...Jack wasn’t cruel. He wouldn’t be, not about this.

He’d be embarrassed as fuck for him, but he’d understand.

Or, at least Kent hoped he would. He grit his teeth and pressed play.

“Hey, Parse. Tater–uh, Mashkov just told me what happened. I wanted to check up on you. And let you know...Alexei’s a good guy, okay? You don’t have to worry about him saying anything.  He knows–he knows about me and Bittle.” Kent sucked in a breath. Bittle. It was the first time Jack had said his name to him. “Anyway...I’m. I’m here, Parse. If you need to talk. I know how hard it can be.” He seemed to wait a long moment before closing off. “ You don’t have to be completely alone in this. Okay, uh, bye then.”

Great.

Deciding not to deal with any of the other notifications until after he’d brushed his teeth and consumed about a vat of coffee, Kent threw the phone into the nearby arm chair and went to go take a shower.

The embarrassment of the night was all over him and it reeked.

***

By the time he got out of the shower, third cup of coffee in hand, his phone had died. Thanking all the forces of the universe that he didn’t actually have to deal with practice that day, Kent padded back into his bedroom and grabbed the charger. Bringing it back out into the living room, he flopped back on the couch and set up netflix, ready for a day of binge watching and self pity.

When his phone eventually came back to life, he knew right away. One buzz after the other, Kent was pretty sure it was going to vibrate right off of the arm of the couch.

He stared down at his phone, messages pinging in one after the other.

Unknown number: don’t worry, I’m not tell anyone your secret, kent parson

Unknown number: this is alexei, zimmboni giving me your number.

Unknown number: maybe next time you calling me on purpose? )))

Unknown number: maybe nice to having someone to talk to about secret, yes?

Okay. Apparently the humilation wasn’t limited to last night.

Kent’s whole body felt cold. This was Alexei Mashkov , joking around with him. About the fact that he was still in the closet.

What the fuck?

He didn’t even open the messages for a few minutes. He stared down at his phone until the screen went black. He clicked it to life, doing the same thing three more times, before unplugging it and dropping it as far away from him he could get it on the couch.

He felt restless, so he stood up, circled the couch once, came back and sat down. He did it twice more.

Just, what was he supposed to say to that?

For the second time in as many days, he grabbed at his phone and dialed Jack’s number without thinking.

“Hey, Kent,” Jack said. He sounded out of breath. But it was actually Jack this time. “I’m glad you called.”

“Right,” Kent snorted. More like he’d feel guilty if Kent hadn’t called. Like somehow Kent’s big drunken crisis was his responsibility. Always looking for a way to fucking chastise himself.

“How are you?” Jack asked.

Kent ignored the question. He was pretty sure Jack could guess exactly how he was doing right then.

“Why did you give Mashkov my number?”

He heard a sigh on the other end of the line. “Alexei is a good guy, Kent. He was really freaked out when you hung up on him last night.”

“Well he shouldn’t be answering other people’s phones if he doesn’t want to get hung up on!” Kent snapped.

“C’mon, Parse,” Jack said. Kent stuck his tongue out at the phone even though he knew Jack couldn’t see.

“Whatever,” Kent said. “I gotta go. Just–just don’t tell anybody, yeah?”

“I won’t,” Jack said. “I’m serious–call if you need anything. And if you don’t want to call me–”

“Yeah, yeah, Mashkov’s a great guy,” he rubbed his hand over his eyes. “I get it. Bye Jack.”

He didn’t wait for Jack to answer before he clicked the phone off and landed face first into the couch.

***

He made it until 8pm before he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

It wasn’t just that he knew he should say something. Mashkov hadn’t actually done anything wrong. It wasn’t his fault Kent got drunk and accidentally came out to him. He didn’t mean to answer Jack’s phone.

And he’d actually been...nice about the whole thing? Way more understanding than he thought anyone in the league would be. Well, anyone except Jack, maybe.

And it’s not like he thought he owed Mashkov anything. Because he didn’t. If Mashkov was going to be a shithead about a gay guy in the league he’d do it no matter what Kent did.

But. Well saying thanks couldn’t hurt right?

Or...sorry? He wasn’t actually sure which he should be saying. What’s the etiquette for when you drunkenly come out to someone on accident because you think they’re your ex-boyfriend?

Maybe both.

Kent picked up his phone.

Kent Parson: hey, just wanted to say thanks. and sorry for last night. appreciate that you won’t tell anyone.

There.

Problem solved.

***

A L E X E I

He was back in his apartment in Providence when Kent’s text came through. He hadn’t gotten an answer all day, didn’t actually think he was going to get one. He’d texted Kent earlier on an impulse. A nagging pull in his chest not letting him forget the panicked call from the night before, the voice close to breaking on the other end, the secret hanging in the air, heavy, and he couldn’t ignore it.

He didn’t actually think Kent would answer. He just wanted to let him know he could. If he wanted. That someone would listen to him. So when his phone buzzed on the counter next to the stove, he grabbed it before the second alarm even had a chance to go off.  

Kent Parson: hey, just wanted to say thanks. and sorry for last night. appreciate that you won’t tell anyone.

Huh.

Alexei really tried not to feel disappointed at that. He knew Kent wasn’t his friend. That Kent hadn’t even meant to call him so there was no real reason to even be having this conversation. But he’d hoped that maybe–

It was stupid.

He stared down at the text for another minute, only really tearing his eyes away from it when the rice on his stovetop started to burn.

“Дерьмо!” He yelled, rushing to get the pot off the burner. Fucking Kent Parson.

Once the pot was safely off the burner and the burner was safely off, and his dinner safely ruined, he grabbed his phone, intending to just get GrubHub instead of worrying about cooking something else.

Kent’s message was still the first thing that popped up when he opened his phone.

Raymond jumped up on his lap as soon as Alexei hit the cushion, shoving his wet nose directly into Alexei’s palm. He pet the golden retriever absentmindedly as he stared at the message in front of him.

It wasn’t really like Kent was giving him an opening, but. Why not? If Kent didn’t want to talk to him he would have just ignored his messages. Or blocked his number. He defintely seemed the type to do it without a thought.

Alexei typed out a quick message.

Maybe it wouldn’t go anywhere. It probably wouldn’t. Kent didn’t seem the type to make friends on rival teams.

Didn’t hurt to try though, right?

He held out his phone in front of Raymond’s face. “Good, yes? Friendly?” Raymond just nosed closer to Alexei, so he pressed send.

***

K E N T

Alexei Mashkov: no need saying sorry, kent parson!

Alexei Mashkov: hoping you don’t use this as reason to be going easy on me during games!

Alexei Mashkov: can still be skating circles around you.

Kent snorted at his phone. He wondered if Mashkov always sent a string of texts in a row. Had no one told him he could type out a full paragraph before he hit send?

Kent Parson: dream on, mashkov. you fuckin wish.

***

Kent didn’t hear from Mashkov again until after his next game against the Falcs. He was in the locker room, just out of the shower when his phone pinged! from inside his bag. He didn’t check it until he was dressed again, strap of the bag thrown over his shoulder, making his way out of the locker room.

Alexei Mashkov: zimmboni and I going for drink, you should be joining us!

Alexei Mashkov: sharing location with you, kent parson. come be having beer with us.

Kent thought about it for a second. Maybe–maybe if it was just Jack he could handle it.

Probably not, but maybe.

But seeing them both–seeing Jack for the first time since that party, after drunkenly calling him and outing himself to his teammate who would also be there…

Kent’s chest felt tight just thinking about it.

Instead he pressed the lock button down and turned his phone off, slipping it into his back pocket while he made his way home.

***

He waited until he was settled, changed into sweats, with a beer in hand and Netflix already on, before responding to Mashkov.

Kent Parson: sorry, mashkov. drowning my sorrows in my living room.

As an afterthought, he picked up his phone again and typed out one more quick message.

Kent Parson: good game.

The response was almost immediate.

Alexei Mashkov: good for us, yes )) not being so good for you.

Kent barked out a laugh at that before he could stop himself.

Kent Parson: fuck off, mashkov.

***

He thought that would be it. Maybe whenever the Falcs were in Vegas, Mashkov would send him an invite to go get drinks after, but it’s not like they were friends. And really, until a few weeks earlier, Kent wasn’t entirely sure that Mashkov didn’t want to kill him.

But no matter how many times Kent blew him off or made excuses, Mashkov just kept inviting him. To get a beer, to hang out with the team, to grab some food with Jack.

And Kent just…

He couldn’t figure it out. They weren’t friends . They were just two guys who happened to talk on the phone once. Completely by accident.

Maybe Mashkov felt like he had to prove he wouldn’t be a dick about Kent spilling his secret to him, and was over compensating. Like he needed to work extra hard to back up Zimm’s assurance that he was a good guy, but seriously . Enough was enough.

Kent also couldn’t ignore the voice in the back of his head that told him Mashkov just liked to remind him that he had a little dirt on him. Just like he used to barb him a little on the ice during games, now he was texting, whenever they landed in Vegas, whenever the Falcs beat the Aces. Like he was reminding him. Taunting him.

He didn’t want Mashkov holding it over him. If he was going to tell somebody, Kent would rather he just go ahead and do it, instead of constantly reminding him that he’d done something so completely beyond stupid.

He should have–he should have just called Jack. Texted him, whatever. Tell him to get his guy to lay off.

But Jack would just tell him Mashkov was a good guy, and they’d talk in circles around each other until one of them gave in and snapped.

So Kent tried to brush it off.

But every time his phone would buzz, he’d feel his palms go sweaty and cold, like the other shoe was about to drop.

He stopped answering, hoping that would solve the problem. If he didn’t answer, Mashkov would stop texting him. And if Mashkov stopped texting him, he could forget the whole mess. He could forget the shame that went along with two shots of tequila past his limit, the sound of Mashkov’s voice saying “It seeming like you need to talk. So I’m let you,” circling over and over in his head like it meant something.

Because it didn’t, and Kent wanted to be done with it.

Done with the anticipation and the anxiety and the dread that went along with not knowing what the fuck Mashkov’s angle was.

***

It was starting to show up on the ice.

By the time their next game against the Falcs rolled around, he was pent up, jumping at everything, like he’d never been on the fucking rink before.

Maybe that was the idea , Kent laughed to himself. Freak him out of his game .

In the second period, Kent snapped.

Mashkov–he fucking smirked at him. Plain as day, one side of his mouth quirked up as he winked.

“Parson,” he said, his helmet only a few inches from Kent’s.

Kent shoved back at him, ripping his gloves off before Mashkov could even figure out what was happening.

“Why don’t you back off , Mashkov?” he yelled. “Stay the fuck away from me.”

He barely got a hand on him before he felt himself dragged back by the neck of his jersey, his own teammates pulling their captain off the ice, while Mashkov stared at him with wide confused eyes.

It was good his team had dragged him away. Mashkov was huge. Way bigger than Jack, and Kent was one of the smaller guys in the league. But his heart was racing and the cold layer of sweat was back and he still couldn’t figure it out .

“The hell was that?” he heard mumbled down the bench. He kicked his skates into the boards in front of him.

***

A L E X E I

Why don’t you back off, Mashkov?

The words rang around his head at the break between the second and third period. Kent had look so angry. Desperate like he’d been waiting to hit him.

Alexei had no idea what he’d done.

He’d just–he’d just said his name. Smiled at him. Fuck, was he that naive that he thought a few texts had made them friends?

He kept his head down as he made his way to the bench in front of his cubby. No one else on the team said anything to him, they gave him a wide berth, and he was grateful. He didn’t want to talk about whatever had just happened on the ice.

He wanted to play his game and go home.

Stay the fuck away from me.

“Hey,” a hand on his shoulder startled him. Jack stood over at him, that patented worry in his eyes. “It’s not you, Tater.”

“I’m just–”Alexei started. “I’m…”

He didn’t know what he was. Confused, definitely. Sad, maybe. But that was stupid, so he didn’t want to tell Jack that.

“I know,” Jack smiled at him. “Just steer clear of him the rest of the game. I’ll take care of it.”

He pushed his smile back on his face, knew it’s what the team expected from him and put any thoughts of Kent Parson to the furthest back corner of his mind.

***

K E N T

He probably shouldn’t have been surprised when Jack was waiting for him outside the locker room, but he couldn’t help it. He felt his heart drop right into the lowest pocket of his belly, and he pulled up short.

“‘Sup, Zimms?” he said, trying for casual.

Jack rolled his eyes.

“I told you Tater is a good guy,” he said. He sounded...sad. Which made Kent want to throw up, right there in the hall. All over Jack’s stupidly perfectly pressed suit. “You don’t have to be friends with him but starting fights on the ice for no reason is unprofessional.”

“Jesus,” Kent laughed. “You’re here to lecture me about my reputation in the league ?”

“I’m here to tell you to stop being an ass,” Jack corrected. “Not everyone is looking to screw you over.”

Kent raised his eyes to Jack’s, fighting the burning he felt there. He blinked it back a few times before he answered.

“Believe it when I see it, Zimms.”

Jack’s mouth snapped shut at that. He looked like maybe he wanted to apologize, or...or something but Kent had officially reached emotional capacity for this conversation.

“It’s fine Jack, whatever,” he said to head it off. “I gotta go.”

“Parse–”

“I’ll apologize to your guy alright?” he said. “But I gotta go.”

***

He didn’t apologize to Mashkov though.

Instead when he got home, he threw his phone on his bed and went to make himself some food.

After an hour, Kent couldn’t get Jack’s disappointed eyes out of his head. He grabbed a bottle of gin from his liquor cabinet.

It wasn’t like–he and Mashkov weren’t friends . They weren’t. That’s what Kent coming back to. It didn’t make sense that what he did would matter to Mashkov because they weren’t friends. And it was hockey. Fighting was just kind of part of the deal. It wasn’t like he and Mashkov hadn’t gone head to head before. It wasn’t like Mashkov hadn’t come after him before.

So why did Zimms fucking care?

Why did either of them give a shit about him?

He poured another glass.

Mashkov was just–

He knew how to get under Kent’s skin. That’s all it was. He could push his buttons without even knowing he was doing it and Kent had had enough.

He just needed it to be over. He didn’t need the stress of worrying about it all the time.

He took another swig before retreating to his room and grabbing his phone from off the bed. He thumbed over his contacts, hovering above Jack’s name. Maybe if he just tried again–

No.

He shook his head. He had to let it go. Zimms had moved on and that was fine. He was fine with that.

He could be fine with that.

God, he really just wanted to yell at him, though.

How did he move on so quickly? But it wasn’t quick , his brain reminded him. It’s been years since the two of you. You haven’t been anything but memories to each other in a long, long time.

How pathetic was he? Clinging to a memory. For years . Holding himself back, keeping himself on hold. Never fucking learning how to–

Fuck it, he thought. He scrolled a little further down in his contacts and hit call.

***

A L E X E I

Kent’s name was flashing up at him from his phone, the cushion vibrating beneath it while it rang and rang. He thought about ignoring it–if Kent was just calling to yell at him again, he really had no interest.

But he couldn’t help it. He was curious.

“Parson?”

“Mashkov,” Kent’s voice was slow and slurred. Drunk again. Maybe that was the only time he wanted to talk to him. Alexei wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“What do you want Kent Parson?”

“You can chill you know?” Kent said. “You’re a good guy , okay I get it. Zimms won’t stop fucking telling me.”

That pulled him up short. How often did Zimmboni talk to Parson about him?

“I’m–“

“I believe you!” Kent burst, interrupting him. Like Alexei had been trying to prove something to him. He wondered how many drinks Kent had had. He felt like he could smell the booze on his breath. “No, actually I don’t. I don’t get it at all. I don’t get you at all.”

Alexei bit his lip. It shouldn’t have–it shouldn’t have bothered him. Who cared if Kent didn’t get him? What did it matter? What was one more person?

It was always something. The accent. The broken English. The way he needed new things explained. It didn’t matter that he tried, that he made sure he was always happy. Always in a good mood for everyone around him. Always trying to keep everyone happy.

It wasn’t. It wasn’t what people wanted and he couldn’t figure out why.

“Just like,” Kent started off again. His voice was softer. Kinder, maybe. “I don’t know what you want from me man. Fuck. I’m sorry I called you. Or that you answered, whatever. I’m sorry you–I appreciate you not telling anyone but. Jesus, what do you want Mashkov?”

Oh.

“I’m–I’m not want anything,” he said. “Just. Offering Parson–” What? What was he offering? “Space. To vent.” He hesitated a moment, squeezing his eyes shut, like it would protect him from what came next. “Friend, maybe.”

A moment passed. Then,

“Why?”

Alexei shrugged. The fingers on his left hand played with his bottom lip while he figured out the wording. “Am nice guy,” he said simply. Then he smiled. “Zimmboni tell you so.”

“No just–” Kent cut himself off. Just what? He wanted to ask. But he didn’t want to push too hard. “No one’s that nice, man.”

“Maybe it’s just being you who is not nice,” he teased. “Take dirty shots. Get in fights on ice for no reason–”

“I get it,” Kent cut him off. He sounded like he might have been laughing. “I’m an asshole.”

Alexei couldn’t help but laugh then. It bubbled out of him without his permission, but he gave in, letting it flow happily over to Kent.

“First step is acceptance, Kent Parson.”

“Oh fuck off,” Kent said. But Alexei could hear his laughter clearly then and knew he wasn’t mad anymore.

“Not a great start,” he said. Alexei pulled his legs up onto the couch in front of him, the hand not holding the phone coming up and down on his bent knees in a soft rhythm. “But we can be working on it.”

“I am sorry,” Kent said gently after a moment. “I shouldn’t have gone after you tonight.

Why don’t you back off, Mashkov? He heard again. Stay the fuck away from me. His chest felt tight.

“Is fine,” he said.

“It’s not,” Kent said firmly.

It was part of the game. They both knew that. To the outside eye, it would have seemed a little weird, Kent going after him unprovoked, but it wasn’t totally unusual. And he didn’t even touch him, no one watching would have thought twice about it.

“You too small to take me anyway,” he said. “Barely even feel you.”

“So.” Kent waited a long moment to continue. Alexei thought maybe he was just waiting for him to come up with an excuse and hang up. But he waited, wanting to hear the rest of the thought. “Not out celebrating your win?”

Alexei thought back to the end of the game. He couldn’t even remember the final score. He’d gone back to the locker room and changed so fast, he’d almost forgotten why. No one asked him and no one pushed him, so he went home, content to spend the evening with a movie and his dog, to forget all about the game.

“Zimmboni never go out. Too old, miss his boy. Someone need to take pity and keep him company,” he lied.

“So that’s your thing, huh?” Kent said. “You’re the nice guy?”

***

K E N T

The line fell silent for a moment and Kent wondered what invisible line he’d crossed. When Mashkov didn’t answer after another beat, he started to apologize.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t–”

“Why sorry?” Mashkov asked. “Saying nothing wrong.”

“Uh,” Kent sighed. “I don’t really know man. You just seemed–”

A small laugh on the other line cut him off again. “So, Kent Parson only apologizes when nice then? That how it work?”

“Jesus,” Kent laughed. “Cut me a break, man, I have no idea what I’m doing right now.”

His stomach settled a little with Mashkov’s laugh echoing through the phone, but he couldn’t push down the idea that he’d said something wrong. That he’d pushed too far. It was just...a habit. He was zero or he was 100 and he never figured out where he was until it was over. Shutting down or pressing too hard, he couldn’t seem to find a balance and it was only a matter of time before everyone figured out.

It was just...easier to stick with the people he already knew. They didn’t expect anything from him and he didn’t give them anything to expect.

It was a little lonely, but it worked. It was better than the disaster waiting at the end of any other road.

“I should go,” Kent said softly. Suddenly he was very aware of how drunk he was. Taking a deep breath, he was overwhelmed by the pine smell clouding his breath.

“Sleep it off, Kent,” Mashkov laughed. “Text me in morning, so I’m know if you dying or not. Shame to make neighbors find body.”

“Yeah okay.” He was sure Mashkov didn’t mean it just as much as he was sure he wouldn’t actually text him. But it was sort of nice to hear anyway. He hung up before either of them could say a proper goodbye.

***

He woke up to a text from Mashkov.

Alexei Mashkov: die in sleep?

Kent Parson:  not this time

Alexei Mashkov: good to hear ))

Alexei Mashkov: remember to be drinking lots of water

Kent Parson: i’ll be sure to do that, once my head stops pounding enough for me to actually get to the kitchen

Alexei Maskhok: zimmboni says you deserving hangover

Kent Parson: yeah, he’s probably right

***

It became sort of a regular thing after that.

Mashkov started watching his games, texting him live reactions as he did. When Kent would get back to the locker room he’d have a thread of at least a dozen messages waiting for him. Most were chirps.

Some weren’t. Those were the ones he didn’t really know what to do with.

But most of the time it was nice.

He didn’t really know Mashkov still, so it was almost like messaging a stranger. A stranger who knew a lot about hockey and really only seemed to care about getting pictures of his cat but it was nice . They barely knew each other so there weren’t really expectations.

Alexei Mashkov: you call kit, tell him about win?

Kent Parson: damn cat still hasn’t figured out how to work the phone i got him.

Alexei Mashkov: shame. you back at hotel already?

Kent Parson: yeah?

Alexei Mashkov: be running into swoops. ask him where kent parson is. he saying you already left.

Kent stared down at the phone. Mashkov had come looking for him?

Kent Parson: yeah, this fucking massive guy on the falcs kept checking me anytime i got near the puck. need to sleep it off.

Alexei Mashkov: ha ha ha

Alexei Mashkov: why not go out and celebrate win? team want captain out with them, yes?

Kent barked out a laugh. He tried to imagine going out with his team. Getting drunk and pretending to be interested in whatever women were there, until he could slip discreetly away, back to his hotel room, alone. As always.

Kent Parson: not every team is like the falcs, bro.

Alexei Mashkov: your team not being friends off the ice?

Kent Parson: not with me.

He watched the dots come and go and Mashkov decided what to send. When they disappeared for a minute without a new text coming through, Kent tossed his phone on the side table and let himself flop down onto the bed.

It was another few minutes before his phone buzzed.

Alexei Mashkov: i come to hotel, celebrate with you? shouldn’t be alone after big win ))

Kent Parson: you didn’t win, bruh

Alexei Mashkov: need company while i’m drowning sorrows!

Kent’s hands hovered over the keypad for a long moment. He wasn’t really sure what would happen if he took Alexei outside of his phone. He existed in a small, contained pocket of his life. Small, friendly notes from a stranger, when he needed them. Someone who didn’t care if he shot off whatever he was thinking without explaining how the fuck he started thinking of it in the first place.

It was easy. Safe. While he was still just a name in his phone. He thought about making the name a person, pulling him out from behind the screen, but his palms went cold.

Kent Parson: maybe next time. got an early start tomorrow, i’m probably just gonna head to bed.

Alexei Mashkov: you older and more boring than zimmboni

***

K E N T

One thing he loved about Vegas–they weren’t nearly as into hockey there as they were on the east coast. If he wasn’t on the ice or out with his team, if they hadn’t just played, there was a good chance no one would recognize him.

He held his hand up, signalling for the bartender to pour him another. The man in question smirked at him, glittery eyeshadow catching the low light above the bar. He poured himself one too, and held it out to cheers Kent.

Kent loved Vegas.

The music was loud and distracting, making it impossible to talk or think. He pushed his empty glass back to the end of the bar and spun around, his elbows resting on the edge of the wood behind him and he leaned back.

It didn’t take long for him to catch someone’s eye. He was good-looking, it wasn’t a secret. He was lean and toned, and he wasn’t all self conscious about actually dressing well unlike some of the other guys in the league. And his hair did this wild waving widow’s peak that guys went crazy for.

Kent ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it up as he jerked his chin out at the guy staring him down. He was broad shouldered, a tight black t-shirt clinging to his thick biceps. Dark hair fell in messy tufts over his forehead, blocking his eyes from making direct contact with Kent’s own.

When he got close, Kent noticed his nose was a little crooked, like he’d broken it. Just like him, to find a guy who looked exactly like a hockey player in the only gay club in his neighborhood.

“Hey.”

Kent rolled his eyes. Fucking small talk. Really?

“Your place or mine?” He said.

The guy laughed, surprised. His fingers brushed his hair off his forehead so Kent caught a quick glimpse of his eyes. He was briefly disappointed not to find the startling blue he always seemed to crave, but a deep, rich brown.

“Depends,” the man said. The longer he started, though, the more caught up in his eyes Kent became. “How far is yours?”

Kent’s fingers danced into the front pockets of the man’s amazingly tight pants and pulled him forward, teasing the edge of his lips with a kiss.

“Why don’t I show you?”

***

A L E X E I

Texting Kent turned into a habit, and it was a hard habit to break. It started off just inviting him out any time the Falcs were in the same city as the Aces, and along the line turned into him live texting Kent anytime he watched an Aces game. Sometimes Kent did the same for his games, but Alexei was always the one who texted more.

Alexei thought that maybe he should have been embarassed about it, how often he was texting him. But Kent...even if Kent didn’t text him first he always answered. So it was easy to slip from texting about Aces games to hockey practice, to whatever happened to him during the da, and eventually he had a running thread going with Kent all day, almost every day.

It wasn’t like–it wasn’t like they were texting every minute. More often then not throughout the day they weren’t. But over the course of the day the random thoughts built up.

He’d be at Target and find a cat stroller and send a picture to Kent.

He’d start a new show and wonder about the slang on it, and he’d ask Kent.

He’d be deciding between cooking and ordering take out and just...text Kent.

When Raymond got into something he wasn’t supposed to, he texted Kent.

Alexei Mashkov: hearing crash from guest room, find raymond stuck between table legs of side bed table

Kent Parson: who the fuck is raymond?

Alexei Mashkov: ...my dog. you not knowing i’m have dog??

Kent Parson: how the fuck would i know you have a dog?? you’ve literally never brought him up.

Kent Parson: and RAYMOND?? what kind of dog name is that??

Alexei Mashkov: like american sitcom. he’s raymond because everybody loves him.

Alexei Mashkov: does you not follow me on instagram?? rude. i be following you. raymond very cute, i’m post many pictures of him.

Kent Parson: all those times i texted you pictures of kit and didn’t think to send one of raymond back?? now who’s rude.

It was easy and simple and Alexei knew Kent didn’t need him or anything but it was nice to have someone he could reach out to who would just...answer.

And he held back, he really did. He didn’t press about the personal things he desperatley wanted to know. How long ago did he date ZImmboni? How long did it last? Has he dated anyone since?

So he knew he should probably be embarassed, pulling out his phone to see zero notifications from Kent even as he was firing off his fifth message to him that day. But Kent was busy and he’d answer him eventually.

And if he just kept texting him, he didn’t leave himself enough time to really be as self concious about it as he probably should have been.  

***

K E N T

The guy–Tony he thought his name was–was still there when Kent woke up, but just barely. Kent watched him lazily from the bed as he pulled his shirt on and shuffled around to find his shoes.

“Hey,” Tony said, with a smile. “Sorry, usually gone before now. You have a really fucking comfortable bed, you know that?”

“All about simple pleasures, man,” Kent smirked back at him.

“Right,” the guy laughed. “This was fun. I can put my number in your phone if you’re ever looking for anything casual.”

Why not, Kent thought. Casual was good. He liked casual. It was all he’d really been able to do since–

“Sure,” Kent cut his own train of thought off before it could completely derail him. He nodded to his dresser where his phone sat. “Wanna toss me that?”

Tony went to the dresser and picked it up, glancing at the screen before he tossed it. “Damn, man,” he shook his head. “You’re blowing up.”

It landed in Kent’s sheets with a soft thump. He thumbed over the home button to see what Tony meant and shit, he wasn’t wrong. He had, like, ten missed texts from Mashkov.

Alexei Mashkov: couldn’t watching game last night, on road with team

Alexei Mashkov: recorded it at home! will watch later.

Alexei Mashkov: hear you win

Alexei Mashkov: you play dirty again?

There were a few more about the game he scrolled through, and then two at the bottom that sounded...worried?

Alexei Mashkov: you drinking too much, lose your phone again?

Alexei Mashkov: text me when you getting these, yes?

“Boyfriend?” Tony asked. Kent realized he’d been staring down at the phone with his brows furrowed for probably a moment too long.

“No,” Kent laughed. Then he shook his head again for good measure. “Friend from work.” That was sort of true. “Very straight friend,” he said when it looked like Tony didn’t believe him.

“Right,” Tony said.

“Here,” Kent tossed back his phone, screen unlocked. “Put your number in.”

Tony did, and left it back on the dresser before he turned to leave. Kent fell back into the pillows behind him, and waved Tony off. He knew he should get up, make some coffee, do some laundry. But suddenly his whole morning felt off and he couldn’t figure out why.

Eventually he did get up. He made coffee, he even did some dishes. But once the coffee was brewed and sweetened to the point where there was barely any coffee flavor left, he took it back to his bed, grabbing his phone from his dresser on his way back.

Kent Parson: sorry. went out last night. wasn’t really paying attention to my phone.

It was barely a minute before Mashkov texted him back.

Alexei Mashkov: grandpa parson, going out! teammates finally force you?

Kent Parson: no, uh went to a club nearby.

Kent Parson: a gay club. so, no. no teammates.

Kent Parson: sorry if that’s weird for you to hear.

Alexei Mashkov: why it being weird? i’m know you’re gay

Kent Parson: idk some guys just don’t like hearing about it

Alexei Mashkov: i’m not some guys ))

Alexei Mashkov: you have fun?

Kent bit his lip. It was one thing to say he was cool, but that didn’t mean Mashkov wanted to hear about his hookups. But it was kind of a good homophobe litmus test. He had enough of the guys who were cool with it as long as it wasn’t right in front of them on his team, he didn’t need it in his friends too.

Kent Parson: yeah. actually met someone.

Kent watched the bubbles come and go. Then come and go. And again, until–nothing. No answer.

He took a sip of his coffee and sat waiting for another minute before his phone buzzed again.

Alexei Mashkov: oh?

Then,

Alexei Mashkov: he nice?

Kent Parson: no ;)

No little smileys appeared. Not grey dots. He thought maybe Mashkov was just thinking. He did that alot–if he wasn’t sending 8 texts in a row at lightning speed he was taking his time, figuring out the words.

But no matter how long Kent stared at his screen, nothing came. He’d click the lock button and at the last flash of light on his screen, he’d think maybe he’d see a message come through. And if he’d locked his phone there wouldn’t be a notification right? So he’d swipe it open back to the thread, where still, there was nothing.

It was unsettling. Not that he cared. He and Alexei, they were friends and it was nice but he didn’t need his approval for the kind of guys he brought home. He wondered if Alexei was uncomfortable about his straight friend’s sex lives or if it was just him.

Kent Parson: u can chill bro, i won’t tell u any more about it.

Whatever, Kent thought. Fuck that.

He grabbed his gear and headed to the rink. It was an optional skate this morning but what the fuck else was he going to do?

***

A L E X E I

He’d been staring down at the screen, what felt like a pile of rocks in his stomach, when Kent’s next message came through.

Kent Parson: u can chill bro, i won’t tell u any more about it.

Fuck, he thought. Perfect. Now Kent...Kent thought he was some kind of, how did Zimmboni say it? Homophobe?

His palms felt clammy when he thought about it. Kent in a club, his phone off in his pocket, not getting any of his messages, while some guy ran his hands all over him. Held him. Kissed him. It was–

It was too much. Because Alexei didn’t want Kent to be out at clubs with other guys. He wanted Kent to figure it out . That he wanted him. That he texted him everyday because he was the one he wanted to talk to the most. Because he–

Alexei ran a hand over his face in frustration.

“Дерьмо” he muttered. Raymond shuffled over to him in concern. Alexei let himself wallow for another minute before he answered Kent. He didn’t want to hear about him hooking up with whoever he met last night but he needed Kent to know he wasn’t uncomfortable because he hooked up with a man .

Alexei Mashkov: i’m not mind

Alexei Mashkov: not want you thinking i’m uncomfortable

Kent didn’t answer. He probably should have guessed that. From everything he could piece together, that seemed to be his move. Get sharp and move on.

He tried once more.  

Alexei Mashkov: can you be calling me later?

***

K E N T

Despite what Mashkov thought, Kent didn’t purposefully play dirty. But hockey was a contact sport and fights were normal. It was part of what fans liked about the sport so much. Instead of waiting around for a ref to finally make a call, the players could just whip their gloves off and take it into their own hands. Literally.

And Kent, well, he wasn’t all that opposed to it. Most of the time he didn’t even realize what was happening, like he’d been functioning on auto-pilot and he’d just gotten switched from regular to hyper speed.

But just like everything else, it was that or shut down. So Kent jumped in. Because he’d been there, frozen, unable to do anything before and it fucking sucked. And he never wanted to go back.

He wouldn’t.

Freeze, flight or fight.

The choice was always pretty clear.

Until one game.

They were playing the Rangers, because of fucking course it was the Rangers. He barely had time to process it, his body already vibrating, waiting for the puck to drop. He almost missed it, he would have missed it if he didn’t feel the ice & air around him go still. Suddenly he was the only one still in gear, waiting, revving up to go, while everyone waited for him to notice.

He couldn’t even remember who was across from him, just that when he didn’t notice the first time, there was a crooked smile a few inches away, and then one mumbled word that made his entire body run cold.

His gloves were on the ice before he’d even realized what had been said.

His teammates grabbed him just as quickly, pulling him away from the ice while the ref circled in, holding their arms out, trying to keep the teams apart.

Kent didn’t wait to hear from his coach, didn’t wait to get sent to the box. He pushed past all of them, back to the locker room where he ripped his bag out of his shelf & chucked it across the room.

He didn’t notice Swoops follow him.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Swoops said. “Parse. Kent .”

Kent’s knuckles burned and he realized he’d slammed them into the bench below his locker. Jesus. Everything slowed down at once.

“I’m–I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what happened. I just–”

“No fucking need, bro,” Swoops said. “I heard what that guy said.”

Kent swallowed, preparing.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Fucking stellar.”

“Parse.” Swoops voice was slow, measured & serious. “You know I’ve got your back right?”

Kent felt a sharp release of breath, like he wasn't even breathing for himself anymore. Like it had been pushed out of him while he sat there, frozen, listening to Swoops.

“Kent,” he said again. “You don’t have to come out just because of some shit some guy said on the ice. But I’m here no matter what you decide.”

Kent nodded, not really listening.

How the fuck did he know ? Kent had been–he’d kept it quiet. He hadn’t had a fucking boyfriend in years . He never hooked up with guys in public. The only guys in the league who knew were Zimms and–

“I-I gotta go,” Kent said. He’d been sitting, absentmindedly pulling his gear off before he even realized what he was doing. He scrambled over  to his bag, crumpled against the was on the other end of the locker room and fished out his phone.

“Kent, we have the rest of the game!” Swoops shouted after him, but he barely heard it. His ears were ringing, like a swarm of bees inside his head. He felt like he was trapped inside a whirlpool, the water wrapping around him, screaming and crashing into him, drowning out all the noise and it devoured him.

The only other person who knew was–

His fingers were cold and shaking as he dialed the number.

“Kent!” Alexei’s voice was concerned on the other end. “Are you not in middle of game?”

“Are you watching?”

Kent knew the answer to that. Alexei was always watching the games. He had a string of unread texts on his phone that told him Alexei was watching.

“Yes, I’m–Kent are you being alright?”

“No!” Kent shouted. He was not going to cry. He wouldn’t. “Someone knows , okay? Someone on the fucking Rangers–probably fucking all of them at this point, who am I kidding. And the only guys in the league who knew before tonight were you and Zimms. And I know Zimms wouldn’t–

“Wait,” Alexei interrupted.  “You think I’m–you think I’m out you?”

“I don’t fucking know, Mashkov!” The cold was spreading up his chest. How did he even have the breath to yell at Mashkov? Kent felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he had to work three times as hard for a third of the breath. “I can’t breathe.”

“I’m think–Kent, I’m think you’re having panic attack.” Alexei sounded far away. Ha . Kent would have laughed at that if he could. Alexei was far away. Watching the damage comfortably from his couch while Kent crumbled there outside the arena. “I’m get Jack.”

He would have protested. He didn’t fucking need Jack, not right now. But Mashkov’s end of the line went quiet and Kent would have thought he hung up on him if he didn’t hear the occasional rustling of the speaker against fabric.

“Parse?”

Jack’s voice.

Kent wanted to hurl.

“Jack I’m–” What? He was what? Scared?

“Yeah, I know Parse,” Jack said softly. “Can you focus on your breathing? Make yourself breathe in slow with me.”

He could hear Jack take a loud purposeful breath on the other line. He tried to follow suit but it felt shallow.

“Good, now let it out slow,” Jack said. “Keep doing that. It’s okay, you’re okay. Just keep breathing.”

Jack kept talking to him but he felt like he was underwater, like Jack was standing just over the surface, his words dropping slowly, bouncing off the top of the water. He didn’t know what Jack was saying to him, but after a few minutes of matching his breaths, Kent felt like maybe he was coming back, breaching the surface.

The skin on his right forearm felt red and raw from how hard he’d been clenching his arms around his legs. He hadn’t even noticed he’d slipped to the ground, huddled in on himself. He wondered if he’d gone down to Jack or Alexei’s voice.

Alexei .

“Jack,” Kent said suddenly.

He could hear the rustling of the phone, a mumbled, yeah he’s coming back, I think he’s calmed down . Nothing Alexei said was clear enough to make out, but he could hear his voice, small and clipped in the background.

“You’re okay, Kent,” Jack said. “I’m gonna hand you back over to Tater–”

“Don’t,” Kent whispered. He couldn’t–he couldn’t deal with that. Not yet.

“Parse?” There was no point trying to stop the tears. No one was around. It didn’t matter.

“Okay,” Jack said softly. He’s tired, I think. Probably worn out. He had a brief moment where he wished he could see Alexei. He could read him better when he saw his face. He’d be able to tell–something. If he was lying. If it was Mashkov who spilled his secrets. He didn’t know.

But the voice on the other end of the line wasn’t enough to go off of and he didn’t know why that was bothering him right now, but he couldn’t shake it.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?” Jack asked, bringing him back.  

Kent hung up the phone without answering him. The air was dark, cooling around him. If he stayed there, sunken and still enough, maybe the night would swallow him whole.

***

Alexei Mashkov: please call me

Alexei Mashkov: i’m not tell anyone

Alexei Mashkov: i’m hope you are okay

Alexei Mashkov: falcs go on road today, might not have my phone so much

***

“Want to come over?” Swoops said as soon as Kent picked up the phone. “I’ve got a fridge full of beer and my wife has plans with her friends so I have no one to share it with.”

“Sure, man,” Kent said glancing at his watch. “Gimme twenty minutes?”

“Sounds great,” Swoops said. “Just let yourself in when you get here.”

***

A L E X E I

It wasn’t what he should have been thinking of going into the game. But as soon as he saw NY Rangers on the schedule for the week, Alexei hadn’t been able to push it out of his mind. Since their game with the Aces, the way Kent just lost it on the ice, the way he didn’t come back to the game, the phone call after…

It wasn’t hard to piece together.

And he knew what it made him look like. A huge guy going after another player for seemingly no reason. It wasn’t a fair fight, it wasn’t ever going to be a fair fight. He knew it was gonna knock his popularity down a little.

But there was a flash of teeth, a smirk, and Alexei wondered if he’d shot the same smile to Kent before ripping his whole world upside down.

And his vision whited out, all his senses overridden by anger. He couldn’t hear his teammates behind him, he couldn’t hear the ref coming up, yelling at them to stop, or his coach shouting from the bench.

He heard the Ranger turn on his skates, and heard the crack when his gloveless fist collided with the side of his face and then all he could hear was the rush of blood, pounding round and round his head.

***

K E N T

He felt Swoops’ eyes burning into the side of his face, but Kent’s eyes were glued to the screen. All he could see was Mashkov, his mass pounding into the small player in front of him. A lump grew in his throat because he knew, he knew that player. He’d seen that smirk before, heard the taunts.

And he’d–he’d blamed Alexei.

“Shit,” Swoops muttered. “That’s the same prick from our game. Bet the fucker deserved it.”

Just.

“What the fuck?” Kent whispered, not even realizing he was saying it out loud. He tried burying his hands into his lap but they were cold and tingling. He couldn’t stop them from shaking. He just–he couldn’t figure out what the fuck was going on.

He fumbled to the coffee table, grabbing his phone.

Kent Parson: what the fuck was that fight about?

“Holy shit,” Swoops said next to him. Kent jerked his head up to him, questioning. “He’s out. The Falcs coach just sent him back to the locker room. The refs said he isn’t playing the rest of the game.”

What the fuck , Kent thought.

Kent Parson: jesus, you’re out for the rest of the game?

Kent Parson:   mashkov, what the fuck just happened?

“I have to–” What? There was an insane feeling bubbling inside him. Either a laugh or a sob was going to burst out of him and he wasn’t even sure that either would make sense for how he was feeling. “I have to go.”

“Sure,” Swoops said. “Good luck man.”

Kent had no idea what he was wishing him luck for but he nodded, his knuckles white, wrapped around his phone as he scrambled out into the cold night air.

Kent Parson: i’m freaking out man. please call me.

His phone stayed still and silent the entire walk back to his apartment. By the time he unlocked his own door, he was pretty sure he’d imagined the whole thing.

There was no way it was...it wasn’t about him. There was no way. Mashkov wouldn’t have…

God he needed Mashkov to call him. Or Jack. Someone to tell him what the fuck was going on.

What if it has nothing to do with you? He thought. It was a fight. Fights happened in hockey. There was no real reason for him to feel like this. Like someone had cracked him open, forced a smaller, more vulnerable version of himself to walk out of the thick layer he usually put between himself in the world.

He hadn’t played it cool with Swoops at all, and that was half of what was freaking him out.

Well, maybe not half.

He just felt...unhinged. He couldn’t control it. The panic, the worry, the need to know every detail. To know if it was about him or if he’d just embarassed himself by showing, even for a second that a part of him...what? Wanted it to be?

That wasn’t. It wasn’t normal.

Fuck, why wouldn’t his phone ring ?

And then it did. He let himself fall down onto the couch before he answered.

“Mashkov?”

“Kent, um,” Mashkov’s voice came through. “Hi.”

“Jesus,” Kent whispered. “What happened out there?”

There was a long pause. Kent thought maybe the connection had been lost but then he heard a shuttered breath from Alexei before he started to talk.

“I’m–you’re not...being mad with me?”

“What?” Kent hadn’t been expecting that. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“Last time,” Mashkov started. “After your game–”

“Dude,” Kent cut him off. Christ he’d made a mess of this. “No, okay? That’s. That’s on me. It was a shitty moment and I freaked out.”

The other end of the line stayed silent.

“It wasn’t cool that I did that and I’m sorry,” Kent said. “I was…” He let a long breath out. “Scared. I’m not mad at you, man, okay?”

“Yes,” Mashkov answered. “Okay.”

He didn’t seem like he was going to offer up any more information without Kent prying it from him, but Kent had to know.

“Was it–”

“Yes.”

Oh.

He didn’t know what to say to that. Except–

“Why?”

“Kent,” Alexei sighed. Kent wondered if he was taking long breaks between speaking so he could figure out the right words, or if he just didn’t want to tell Kent. “I’m–you.”  Kent heard what seemed to be some mumbled Russian swearing before Alexei brought the phone back to his mouth. “You shouldn’t be feeling unsafe on ice.”

It wasn’t disappointment running through his chest. It wasn’t. That wouldn’t...it wouldn’t make sense. Why would he be disappointed. Alexei had defended him. Had fucking obliterated the guy actually. If was relief. It was good to have a friend who would look out for him.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Alexei said.

“Why the fuck are you sorry?”

“Is not my business,” he said. “Shouldn’t have–I know you can be handling yourself. Know you don’t need my help. Know you didn’t ask me to.”

“Are you kidding me?” Kent laughed. “That fucking rocked.”

“Really?” Alexei’s voice seemed a little brighter.

“Yeah man,” he said. “I mean it sucks you got scratched from the rest of the game but. I’m not gonna pretend like I wasn’t hoping I knew the reason why.”

“Got your back, Parsnip,” Alexei laughed.

“Parsnip? Really?”

“What?” Mashkov asked. “Is food yes? Like Tater?”

Kent’s face burned, and before he realized what was happening he found his bottom lip wedged between his teeth where he was biting down a smile. Fuck , he thought. He pulled his knees in toward his chest, holding them close with his free hand.

“You out any more games?” he asked, changing the subject.

“One,” Alexei answered. “George, uh, more understanding when she know reasons.”

Kent’s blood ran cold.

“You didn’t–”

“No,” Mashkov said quickly. “I’m say he say something, I’m not say to who. Not mention you at all.”

“Thank you,” Kent said softly.

“Of course,” Alexei said. “Kent?”

“Yeah, man?”

“I’m being very tired.”

Kent leaned back into the pillows propped up against the arm of the couch. Kit sat along the top, one of her paws dangling down the back cushion, poking close to his head.

“Me too. I guess I should let you go.”

He wondered if Alexei was back in his room already. If he was laying in bed, curled up on his blankets, barely staying awake to talk to him. Maybe he was on the couch like Kent too tired to move, knowing he’d regret it.

“Yes,” Alexei’s voice brought him back. “Talking soon, yes?”

“Yeah,” Kent whispered. “Night Mashkov.”

“Night Kent Parson.”

***

It wasn’t different after that. It maybe should have been but it wasn’t. Kent’s face burned with happiness every time his phone lit up with a string of texts from Alexei. He woke up and almost always had three messages waiting for him. And if he hadn’t heard from him by mid-afternoon, it just meant they’d be texting later into the night.

They still didn’t talk on the phone all that much. That seemed to be reserved for serious conversations. Or when Kent was drunk.

But the flush creeping up his neck wasn’t new, the way it maybe should have been. He just wasn’t ignoring it now.

(Well, he still kind of was. He didn’t plan to do anything about it. His body would be on fire for a little while, for small moments throughout the day, but he’d acknowledged it now.)

Because it was so epically not cool for him to be feeling what he was feeling. Alexei was his friend, it didn’t matter how friendly he was, how funny he was, how many pictures he sent of him and Raymond pouting side by side, they were friends and Kent wasn’t going to fuck it up.

He was amazed he hadn’t already fucked it up, honestly. Friendship was as new and hard for him as basically any other kind of relationship. All he really had to show for himself in either category was Zimms and that was...not exactly a stellar review.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He tried to convince himself he wasn’t disappointed when he saw it was just Swoops. C’mon, he thought. Swoops is your friend too. You love Swoops. The feeling should be same .

Swoops: can’t believe you haven’t called me bragging yet

Kent Parson: about what?

Swoops: seriously? You haven’t seen the roster?

Before he could answer, his email pinged, and he pulled up the notification.

Oh.

He was going to the All Star game.

And so was–

So were Zimms and Mashkov.

Kent Parson: you still have that beer from the other night?

Swoops: doors open bro, come over whenever.

***

“I have to tell you something,” Kent said when he plopped down on Swoops’ couch.

“You know I already know you’re gay, right?” Swoops said. “We had this conversation a while ago bro.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kent laughed, kicking Swoops’ knee. “God why am I friends with you.”

“Because no one else can put up with your handsome obnoxious ass.”

Kent let his head fall back against the couch. “Dude I’m like, trying to be serious.”

Swoops shifted up, schooling his face into a completely ridiculous blank expression. Kent could tell he was really trying hard to be supportive so he didn’t chirp him about it, but it was gonna be hard saying anything with Swoops looking at him like that.

“Is this about whoever it is you’re secretly dating?” Swoops said. Kent choked on his beer. “I really think the team would be cool with it, especially some of the older guys. You should bring him to family skate sometime.”

“I’m not–I’m not dating anyone,” Kent said. “What?”

“Dude.” Swoops rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You’re like, glued to your phone. And always smiling at it. Like actually smiling, it’s so fucking weird.”

“Dick.”

“You’re the one dating someone in secret!”

“I’m serious! I’m not.” Kent dragged a hand across the back of his neck. “That’s like kind of why I wanted to talk to you like–wow I really have no idea how to start this.”

“Are you like,” Swoops eyed him carefully. “Dying?”

“Jesus, Swoops,” Kent laughed. “No. Well. Maybe. Depends on your definition.”

“We need chips and queso,” Swoops said. He stood up, walking out of the room. “I can’t deal with you trying to express your feelings without something crappy to eat.”

Kent wanted the couch to swallow him whole. That was the whole problem, he didn’t know how to express what he was feeling. The last person he ever did it with was–was Zimms. He was too out of practice. He didn’t even what he was feeling.

He spent way too much time thinking about this.

“I think I’m into someone,” Kent blurted out as soon as Swoops came back. “But I have no fucking idea how to–how to be.”

“How to be what?” Swoops asked. “Into someone?”

Kent shrugged.

“Dude there isn’t like a rule book. You feel what you feel. Then you decide what to do about it.”

“That fucking sucks, bro.”

Swoops barked out a laugh.

“Yeah it really does.”

“What if you don’t know what you’re feeling?”

He watched Swoops cock his head, studying him. He hated being this guy. The one who couldn’t just glide through and let life happen around him. The one who couldn’t make like, basic functional relationship decisions on his own. The guy who couldn’t even figure out if he wanted to make basic relationship decisions.

“I think you do know.”

“Seriously?” Kent said.

“You wouldn’t be here talking to me if you didn’t feel something significant. I think you just don’t want to because it’s more complicated than your life is right now.”

Swoops finished with a shrug and went back to his chips while he waited for Kent to figure out how he wanted to answer.

Maybe he was right. Maybe Kent did know what he was feeling and he just didn’t want to be. What would his life look like if it wasn’t just him? If he stopped keeping everyone at an arm’s distance? If he admitted his feelings were his own and they weren’t going anywhere and they were his responsibility to deal with?

“It’s Alexei Mashkov.”

“No shit!” Swoops yelled. “Really?”

Kent nodded. “He picked up Jack’s phone when I called him drunk one night a few months ago. I accidentally came out to him.”

“Is he–”

Kent shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I don’t know. I have no idea how friends talk to each other.”

“Fuck man.” Kent winced at the crunching of the chips overflowing from Swoops’ mouth. “That’s really sad.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Okay but,” Swoops reached out a steadying hand to Kent’s shoulder. “You like him right?”

“I don’t know,” Kent said. “He’s–he’s different than other people I guess. I don’t know what to measure him against.”

Swoops punched him in the arm.

“Fucking measure him against you bro,” he said, like it was obvious. “How does he fit with you? Forget trying to make him make sense with whatever weird little boxes you put everyone else with. How does he make sense with you?”

That was. Different.

Way different.

He still didn’t know but he felt closer to it. Like he was almost there.

“It’s just,” he sighed. “Complicated.”

Swoops just waited.

“You can’t tell anyone this,” Kent carried on. “And I mean you really really can’t, because this isn’t actually my secret to tell. But–” He sighed. Fuck. “Jack Zimmermann is my ex. And if anything ever gets out about him like it did with me with the Rangers I’ll pummel you my fucking self okay–”

“Bro, calm down,” Swoops said. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“I wouldn’t tell you if it didn’t like–like if it wasn’t a crucial bit of information for this whole fucking,” he waved his hands around nonsensically, “thing.”

“So you’re afraid it will hurt Jack if you...date his teammate?”

“No,” he said. I’m afraid it will hurt me , he thought, but that wasn’t quite true either. He hadn’t actually realized it but it was more like…”I’m afraid it will hurt Alexei.”

“He doesn’t know about you two?”

“No he does,” Kent grimaced. “One of things I kind of blurted out that first night when I called him. Well, Jack , but talked to him.”

“So what’s the problem?”

What was the problem? Alexei knew about Kent and Jack. Jack was with Bitty. And Kent didn’t even–he didn’t even know if Alexei liked men. All of this freaking out could be for nothing.

“What if I’m not as ready for Alexei in person as I am when he’s just a name in my phone?” he whispered. It was something he’d been afraid to say. He was special now. And Kent knew he was special to Alexei too. Taking it out in the real world, being able to sit in the same room, to not have the buffer a few moments of staring down at the screen…

Everything could be different.

“I’ve never...I’ve never started a relationship like this. Not even a friendship. It’s hard. I don’t know what the rules are. I don’t know what anything means and I have no fucking idea when it all became so jumbled and complicated.”

“Probably when Mashkov fucking obliterated that guy on the ice for you.”

For you.

It was the first time he’d heard it out loud. Even Alexei hadn’t said it.

Something wild bubbled in his chest.

“Yeah,” he choked out. “Probably.”

“Look man, you don’t have to figure it out before you see him,” Swoops said. “He’s not gonna like ask for a fucking book report on what you think about your relationship. But let yourself feel out what it’s actually like to be around him before you freak yourself out. You can freak out once you’re there.”

“Thanks man,” Kent rolled his eyes. “Big fucking help.”

***

Alexei Mashkov: see your name on roster for all star game

Alexei Mashkov: maybe finally you come out with me and zimmboni after game?

Alexei Mashkov: no excuses ))

***

A L E X E I

“Tater,” Jack said next to him.

“Hmm?”

He felt a hand go over his knee, pressing down until his knee stopped bouncing.

“It’s just the All Star game,” Jack said. “Thought an old guy like you wouldn’t be so nervous by now.”

Alexei stuck his tongue out at Jack.

Jack knew it wasn’t the game he was nervous about. Even if he was getting dirty looks from some of the other guys filtering in around them.

He hadn’t exactly...well his sunny reputation hadn’t really followed him after the fight that got him booted from the game.

“Was it?” Kent’s voice kept ringing in his ears. Of course it was. It was–it was about him. The fight, the reason he was getting all of those dirty looks, the reason his chest felt like it was vibrating under his skin.

He had no idea how he was going to be able to face Kent and not give himself away.

“C’mon,” Jack said, smiling knowingly at him. “Let’s go drop our bags.”

***

K E N T

He was just...sitting cross legged on his bed, his phone lying in front of him.

Since his talk with Swoops he’d been all over the place. Like admitting that maybe there was more to his relationship with Alexei than a string of texts and the occasional phone call had set off something unpredictable in him. He had no idea if he was making it all up in his head, if maybe everything he was feeling would suddenly disappear when he saw Alexei.

Or, even worse, he’d finally have a name for it.

His phone buzzed.

Alexei Mashkov: come down to hotel bar, zimmboni buy first round

Kent sighed, swinging his legs down from the bed. Might as well. Plus, Jack was gonna be there. How wrong could it really go?

Kent Parson: be down in five.

Alexei Mashkov: *salsa dancer emoji*

Kent snorted out a laugh. Dork.

***

They were at a table in the back corner of the room when Kent came down. Alexei brightened as soon as he saw him, waving him over, pointing at the beer sitting waiting for him. Kent watched as Jack stood, tapping Alexei’s shoulder twice before walking over and meeting him.

“Hey, Parse,” he said.

“Sup Zimms,” Kent smiled.

Jack paused, looking him over a moment, before he spoke again.

“You good?” he said finally.

Kent’s eyes flicked over to the table where Alexei sat. He was making a ridiculous face at his phone and Kent couldn’t help but laugh. A moment later, Kent felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

He rolled his eyes when he saw it was just a snapchat from Alexei.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Kent said.

Jack nodded. “Good.” He clapped Kent on the back. “C’mon. Tater ordered your favorite.”

“Kenny!” Alexei smiled when he came over to the table. He jumped up, pulled Kent into a quick hug. “How is Kit Purrson?”

“Good to see you too man, I’m great thanks for asking,” Kent said.

“Text all morning,” Alexei said. “Already knowing how you are.”

Kent pulled his phone out of his pocket. He swiped the snap from Alexei away for now; he’d look at it later. Instead, he went to his photos and pulled up a few pictures of him and Kit from before he left.

Alexei grabbed his phone, looking through the few Kent pointed out.

“This one my favorite,” Alexei said. He pulled up one where Kent had put a pair of sunglasses on Kit to match his own. “Send to me, yes?”

“Uh, sure,” Kent said. He took his phone back and sent it to him and tried to ignore whatever feeling was creeping up his chest. “So,” he said, changing the subject. He looked over to Jack. “Where’s your boy?”

Jack frowned. “It’s–hard. He’s coming later.”

Kent understood. He knew it probably killed Jack to keep him hidden away from the world. But it wasn’t easy. If anyone could understand that it was Kent. Not every guy in the league was like Mashkov, it was hard to know if it was worth the risk.

“B come later, kick me out of room,” Alexei elbowed Jack who ducked his head, blushing. “I crash with you?”

Kent choked on his beer.

“Oh, uh yeah,” he said. “Sure. I uh–” he hesitated. He thought back to his single room. “I only have the one bed though.”

“Is fine,” Alexei said. He flagged down the waitress. “No problem sharing. You being very small Kenny, plenty of room for two.”

He tried to hide his blush with another drag from his beer.

Right, well. That was something.

***

Alexei was an extremely tactile drunk. His hands would rest all over Kent. On his shoulders, on his neck, on his knee, tugging him closer by his elbow. Kent couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten so drunk, he’d only had three beers and the dude was huge.

But there was a blush permanently staining his cheeks, and his fingers ghosting over Kent’s back could only be from the buzz.

Jack had already left, going to meet up with Bittle, so Kent had paid the tab and pulled Alexei up his elbow and walked him over to the elevators. When they got back to his room, Alexei slid Kent’s hand down from his elbow, twisting their fingers together and pulled Kent over to the couch with him.

He wanted to throw up a little. Alexei–Mashkov he just had no idea what he was doing. What it seemed like he was doing. Kent knew he was straight. He knew that. Why would he have never brought it up before if he wasn’t? It wasn’t like sexuality never came up. So Kent swallowed the lump in his throat and followed him to the couch.

He was figuring it out, the storm swirling around his brain. He knew the feelings clouding his ability to think straight. As soon as Alexei had grabbed his hand, he’s been able to name them. One by one, every time Alexei’s hand tightened around his own, Kent could name the feeling racing through him.

And Alexei had. No idea. No idea what he was doing.

“What’s wrong?” Alexei asked. His brow was furrowed in concern, staring at Kent. His hand shifted, opening Kent’s palm, rubbing soothing circles into it with his thumb.

“Nothing,” Kent said. It wasn’t Alexei’s problem. He could deal with it without making Alexei feel bad for the way he was with his friends. It wasn’t his fault Kent had gone and–and got attached. Put more meaning on it. Whatever. “I’m fine.”

“Bothered by me staying here,” Alexei said, sadly.

“No, Mashkov–”

Alexei pulled his hand back.

“I’m can sleep on couch,” he said. “Is your room, don’t want to intrude.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kent said. He snatched Alexei’s hand back quickly. “C’mon, you lightweight. What side do you sleep on?”

He pulled Alexei up, dragged him over to the bed.

“I’m just gonna–” Kent pointed to the bathroom, and left Alexei standing there, frowning at the bed. He splashed some water on his face, wishing he had thought to bring his phone in with him. He wanted to text–someone. Maybe Swoops. Talk out what the fuck was happening with him.

He let his head drop against the wall when he realized the only person he’d really want to text it out with was standing on the other side of the door and he couldn’t .

Alexei was sitting on the left side of the bed, shirtless, legs off the side, toes tucked up against the carpet when Kent came back out. Following his lead, Kent shrugged and stripped down to his boxers, climbing into the other side of the bed.

“You calling me ‘lightweight’,” Alexei said after a moment. “What is this meaning?”

Kent chuckled. “It means you can’t handle your booze,” he said.

Alexei shifted, pulling one knee up, twisting until it was brushing against Kent.

Kent was going to die before morning.

“You think I’m drunk?” Alexei smiled. Barely, it was just creeping up in the corner of his lips, but Kent caught it. “Had three beers. Same as you. Are you drunk, Kenny?”

“Please stop calling me that,” Kent whispered. His skin was on fire, and every time the name slipped out of Alexei’s mouth Kent inched closer and closer to just straight up combusting in front of him.

“You don’t like when I’m call you Kenny?” Alexei’s smile slipped off his face.

“I just–god man, this is fucking torture,” Kent snapped, sitting up. Alexei’s expression shifted from sad to confused. “You have no fucking idea what it seems like–what everything, the touching and the nicknames. It’s fucking confusing, man.”

“Oh,” Alexei said softly. He didn’t say anything else so Kent leaned back, his face burning.

Kent  just wanted it to be tomorrow. They could play on their opposite teams and fly back to their cities far far away from each other and he could go back to just being a name in Kent’s phone.

“I’m be more clear, then,” Alexei said suddenly. He shifted onto his side, one arm up under him, supporting his head as he stared at Kent, a look of intense concentration in his eyes. He reached out, tangled his fingers softly into the waves of hair flying out at Kent’s widow’s peak.

“I’m like you, Kent Parson,” he said. His thumb dragged down from Kent's hair, across his brow. Burning a trail down his cheek. He stopped it at Kent’s mouth, lifting it away, hovering just above Kent’s bottom lip without touching it. “More than a friend.”

His eyes pulled away from Kent’s mouth, met Kent’s eyes again.

“Much more than a friend.”

“Mashkov–”

“Please,” Alexei said, moving closer. His mouth was hovering at Kent’s temple. Kent felt heat wash over him, in waves, pounding, pounding waves, and he couldn’t move. “Stop calling me that,” he mimicked Kent from earlier.

“Alexei,” Kent whispered, and it was like a dam broke in Alexei. He tipped Kent’s head back, his lips trailing their way from his neck to his collarbone, down his chest. He’d shifted his legs, one knee coming between each of Kent’s.

“I’m,” Kent breathed out. “Wait, Alexei wait.”

Alexei looked back up at him, pupils blown wide. Forget it , Kent wanted to say. Keep looking at me like that. Keep kissing me like that, let’s never talk about it. Let’s never ruin it.

“You’re not want–”

“No,” Kent interrupted him. “I really really fucking want. I just–I can’t, um.” He swallowed. “Jack’s the only person I’ve been serious with. I don’t know how–”

Alexei smiled. “Is okay. We go slow. Figure it out.”

“Can we just like,” Kent hated himself. The heat growing in his belly really hated him. “Talk for a second?”

“Of course.” Alexei slid up him and oh christ , maybe they should just talk after. But then Alexei’s hands were on him, rearranging their limbs until they were sitting cross legged in front of one another.

“Tell me what this is for you,” Kent blurted. He needed to know, he couldn’t–he couldn’t make any decisions until Alexei explained what he was thinking. “Because up until like a minute ago I didn’t even know you were into men.”

“Into men and women,” Alexei shrugged. “Called, um, bisexuality?”

“Yeah,” Kent said. “Like Jack.”

“Yes.” Alexei shrugged. “Have him explain terms to me so I’m can be having this conversation.”

The heat in Kent’s belly grew wilder.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Kent asked. “When I came out or–like literally any other time. I thought you were straight this whole time.”

“Hard to,” Alexei stopped, brow furrowing. “Very hard for me. Making friends. Close friends, at least. Hard to, um to get close. Didn’t want to risk–risk friendship.”

Then he smirked and Kent was ready to drag himself back over him.

“Then I’m see Kent in person, and,” he smiled. “Can’t help it.”

Kent grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him back in, feeling Alexei’s laugh rumble against him. The Alexei’s hands were on him, burning trails across his skin, on his shoulders, his ribs, his back. He couldn’t–he didn’t think he could feel this much and not shut down.

“I have to say something,” Kent said, breaking away. Alexei just moved lower, mouth moving against his chin, the dip where it met his neck, over his adam’s apple.

“Right now, Kenny?”

“Shut up,” Kent smacked him playfully on the arm. “You said your bit, I get to say mine.”

Alexei sighed and pulled his face back. He kept his hands looped around Kent’s waist, pushing the two of them so close together that Kent couldn’t focus on both of his eyes at once. Instead of trying, he closed his eyes all together and let his forehead rest against Alexei’s.

“I didn’t–I didn’t figure this out until recently,” Kent admitted. “Like really, really recently. And I’m going to be bad at this. You know–you know what I’m like. But,” he paused. “You’re...my favorite person. To talk to, to joke with. I feel weird not hearing from you for more than like 12 hours at a time. And I really really want to try.”

Alexei smiled at him, kissing the corner of his mouth. “So let’s try. Now shut up.”

Kent opened his mouth to protest, but Alexei caught his bottom lip between his teeth, and Kent couldn’t remember what he was going to say.

***

Kent woke up to his phone screeching in his ear, alarm blaring at him to get up. He knew he couldn’t stay in the room forever–they had to actually play the All Star game they had come there for.

But Alexei’s arm was draped heavy over his waist, his hand spreading out across his abdomen, pulling him closer as Kent reached out for his phone.

“Turn terrible noise off, please,” Alexei grumbled into his neck.

Kent turned his phone off, twisting around to face Alexei. He felt Alexei’s hand move up from his back, brushing away the strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

“Ready for me to skate circles around you today Mashkov?”

“Mm, shut up Parson,” Alexei said, eyes still closed. But there was a smile inching its way in from the corner of his mouth that Alexei just couldn’t hide. “Still twice your size.”