Chapter Text
If you ask Matty Knies to list the top three moments of his very short yet eventful NHL career, sleepovers with William Nylander would probably not make the list, but it’d have a strong place at number four.
He has no idea how it became a thing they do almost every other week. Considering that neither of them possesses any organizational skills, it’s not surprising that these sleepovers happen very randomly. It’s usually either Willy dragging him back to his place after they hang out or Matty showing up on Willy’s doorstep unannounced, a tub of ice cream and a case of Diet Coke in hand.
Today, it is the latter and after five hours of not moving an inch, Matty has officially become one with Willy’s too-comfortable-to-be-IKEA couch. Both are in robes because Willy decided they needed a “self-care day”, which, according to the William Nylander Guidelines, entails pizza and wine for dinner followed by a 10-step skincare routine. It’s, in its essence, a ridiculous idea, yet after a morning spent in Casa Tavares accompanied by two toddlers and a baby, the dimmed lights, the lo-fi beats Willy put on, and the hot chocolates on the coffee table are all welcomed.
He can’t say the same thing about the face mask on his face, it’s sticky and slimy and for some reason burns his skin a bit. He tried to protest, but Willy kindly informed him that Matty’s skin is “terrible but salvageable”, according to the Nylander sisters’ latest verdict.
The Nylander sisters should definitely mind their own business, but he knows better than to say it out loud. Based on his previous interactions with the whole clan, it is obvious that the Nylanders are all protective as fuck. It’s actually very endearing, like seeing a pack of golden retrievers guarding one another as if their life depended on it.
“Do you think we can convince Keefer to put you, Max, and Bert together?” he asks, or rather mumbles because the noise level around them is perfect and he wants to match that. “Just for one shift.”
“What? Why?”
“So that we can call you guys the Nepo Baby Line.”
Willy sighs as if he’s the wisest man alive and this very reasonable request is beneath him. Matty once heard the guy admitting that he thought the British Monarchy was the protector of the entire whale population of the world and that’s why Prince William was called “Prince of Wales.” Glass houses and stones, really.
“Okay, it’s bedtime for the team baby,” Willy says as he gets up, gathering the half-drunk hot chocolate mugs from the coffee table. “No more sugar after 5 pm for you. JT was right, it really does kill your brain cells.”
He gets up from the couch without protest, mainly because going to sleep means he can finally get rid of the disgusting mask on his face. When he opens the door of Willy’s guest room, however, he realizes that his bed is occupied by Pablo and Banksy in a way that makes it impossible for him to get in the bed without bothering them in their sleep.
“Willy, your children are in my bed.”
“Aww,” Willy coos, taking a picture immediately and closing the door so that his babies’ sleep won’t be disturbed further. “We can’t wake them up, you’re gonna have to sleep with me.”
“Sleep with you? Are you out of your mind?”
“Mitchy does it all the time, c’mon.”
He says it like two teammates sleeping together is the most natural thing in the world and Matty is the one who’s being weird questioning it. The rookie has yet to learn if this casual approach towards sharing a bed is a European thing or an NHL thing.
It can also be just a William Andrew Michael Junior Nylander Altelius thing.
(He lowkey hates himself for knowing Willy’s full name, but once he learns something he cannot unlearn it.
The burden of being an undercover genius.)
He realizes that he’s never seen Willy’s room before, and at first glance, it’s not that different from the rest of his apartment. When you take more than five seconds to look around, though, it’s a whole different story.
For example, if you look closely, there are several photos framed on the wall that look like they’re hung in chronological order, from the year Willy spent with the Marlies to last season’s celebratory dinner after they came back victorious from Tampa.
The common denominator of them, however, is that they are all pictures of Willy with Kyle.
Kyle, as in Kyle Dubas. Their ex-GM Kyle Dubas. The dude who gave him his entry-level contract.
(He’s pretty sure he also gave Willy his entry-level contract as well, but it looks like he gave Willy way more than that.)
(No judgment, though.)
He feels like he shouldn’t comment on it, though, since Willy never brought it up before. When he thinks about it, Willy has never mentioned anything about his relationship status. Hell, he never even mentioned being other than straight.
(Again, no judgment. It’d be quite hypocritical if he judged.)
“You didn’t bring pajamas again, did you?” Willy asks suddenly, making Matty startle a bit.
“No, I also don’t have a toothbrush or a change of clothes either.”
Willy says something under his breath that sounds a lot like “JT and his terrible rookie-rearing skills” while fumbling around his dresser, fishing out sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Here, wear these. I’ll find you a toothbrush, I can’t risk your morning breath being way worse than it should be.”
He changes into the sweatpants, but the gray t-shirt Willy lent him is way too tight for him. It’s obviously well-worn, the print in front of it is mostly faded but the outline of the letters spells SAULT ST. MARIE GREYHOUNDS. He has one guess as to how Willy came into possession of this, but Matty’d rather say nothing until his teammate decides to say anything about it outwardly.
“This t-shirt won’t fit me,” he says when Willy comes back to the room, an unopened toothbrush on one hand, a book on the other.
“We’re the same size, Kniesy. No way won’t fit you.”
Matty throws the t-shirt towards Willy. “See for yourself, dude.”
Willy catches it mid-air, holding it up to further inspect the article of clothing. It takes him a second to figure it out, and Matty doesn’t even have to ask whose t-shirt it is, the soft smile on his teammate’s face is enough to figure it out.
“Oh, this is Kyle’s,” Willy says, confirming Matty’s theory. “You brush your teeth, I’ll find you another one.”
Matty obliges quickly so that he won’t have to witness Willy staring into a t-shirt with that love-sick puppy look on his face.
The bathroom, however, is another story.
It is painfully obvious that two people use that bathroom on a regular basis. There are two toothbrushes and two kinds of toothpaste in front of the mirror, two sets of bathrobes, towels, and slippers, and two sets of shaving kits in the tray next to the sink. Hell, there are even black-rimmed glasses sitting there in a clear case, and Matty definitely knows who those belong to.
Willy is reading the book he brought with him, he points toward the dresser without even looking up. There’s a new t-shirt on top of the dresser for Matty to wear; this time it’s an older Toronto Maple Leafs t-shirt, number 42 printed on it. He has no idea who it belongs to this time, but he also has no intention to inquire Willy about anything he witnesses in this very room.
“What are you reading?” he asks Willy, as he gets under the duvet.
“Oh, it’s this book called Giovanni’s Room. Kyle left it here, I’m just reading it to figure out what’s going on in his head.”
Matty is gonna get sick from all the subtle romanticism he’s been exposed to for the past fifteen minutes. “That’s cute,” he says, having no idea what even is a proper reaction when your teammate who never said anything about being in a relationship says things like this. “You can also just ask him what he thinks, I guess.”
Willy chuckles. “What’s the fun in that?”
Matty says nothing, scrolling around on his phone, checking the group chat to see if he missed anything about tomorrow’s schedule. There’s a text from JT reminding him to set his own alarm if he doesn’t wanna be late since Willy is famous for his last-minute appearances and Matty needs at least two coffees and a hefty breakfast before the morning skate.
He’s about to turn his phone off and go to sleep when Willy suddenly breaks the silence. “We’re together, you know that right? Kyle and I, I mean. It’s not like I was hiding it from you, I just thought you knew since everyone on the team knows already.”
“I didn’t know,” Matty admits. “But I figured.”
“Are you shocked?”
“Nah, finding out you’re actually not illiterate was way more shocking than this.”
Willy hits him on the head with the book. “No breakfast for you in the morning, rookie. Go to sleep.”
He goes to sleep, knowing that if Willy does not feed him breakfast in the morning, he’ll definitely tattle on JT and Willy will have to endure a fifteen-minute-long monologue about how important an organic, locally sourced, protein-heavy breakfast is for an athlete.