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Mitch's fingers tugged at each other as they laid against his chest, his small body engulfed in what should've been a comfortable king size bed, only for him to reposition himself every few minutes.
His body felt restless, the way his chest ached with every breath he took and the way his eyes attempted to make out patterns on the pitch black surface of his ceiling. Mitch struggled to turn himself off, which is surprising seeing as he wakes up early every morning, trained until he dropped, and physically and mentally gave his all to every game he's played in the late afternoons.
All of this should have been reason enough to send him to bed, to sleep off the lingering aches in his limbs, to squeeze the dizzying feeling out of his overworked mind until the following evening. But it’s not, and it never has been.
Not with the way Berube's voice echoes through his mind, every bruise littering his frame throbbing under his skin as a constant reminder to every slam, trip, and crush he’s experienced within the past few weeks. It’s like they refuse to heal, and it's such an infuriating feeling that Mitch can only attempt to ignore.
He shifts again in his bed, this time, rolling onto his side. His eyes fall onto the dull red numbers displayed on his clock, sitting there almost mockingly as Mitch struggles to fall asleep.
‘Ha, fucker can’t sleep!’ he hears it chiming, to which he can only chirp back a half-hearted ‘fuck you’ in his mind.
The clock reads 3:44AM, and Mitch wants to chuck the darn thing against his bedroom wall for reminding him just how late it was, and just how early he needs to be up for practice the next morning. But he just can’t. Can’t sleep, can’t turn his mind off or get the bruises to stop pulsing against his skin.
Before he realised what he was doing, his heavy arm reached over to grab his phone as he swung his legs over the edge of his bed. He sat there for a moment, just a moment to try and process what exactly it was he was doing.
It felt wrong for whatever reason, to even think about disturbing anyone at this time of night from the warmth and comforts of their beds. Mitch felt like a bad person for doing so, but then again, everyone thinks Mitch is a bad person, player, teammate, alternate captain.
He stood quietly, tip-toeing out of the room careful not to wake Steph. He felt almost envious that she was able to sleep so peacefully every night, yet he was thankful that she didn't so much as stir when he had bad nights of wandering around at the ass crack of dawn.
He left their shared bedroom, making his way out to the balcony of their condo. He leaned over the railing overlooking the bustling Toronto city. He found it so amusing that regardless of the time, the city is always awake.
A lazy, miniscule, smile graced his lips at the thought that he related himself to something as obscure as the city below him.
And then he dialled the number that was listed as the only number saved in his favourites tab.
Ring..
Mitch felt his heart pick up in speed. His fingers subconsciously gripped the phone tighter, his free hand coming up to his lips, fingers brushing and tugging anxiously at his bottom lip.
This was so stupid.
Ring..
From just toying with his bottom lip, his teeth caught some hanging skin around his finger nail. He gently tried biting it off, causing it to only rip further along his finger.
Why does he keep doing this?
Rin-
“Mitch?”
And why was it the only thing to ease his nerves.
“Aus?” Mitch spoke quietly. His hand dropped from his lips to hang over the railing.
“Yea- M’here.” Auston replied, his voice sounding so deep and thick with sleep. It made Mitch's guilt metre only sky rocket at the thought of waking up his best friend after a long day and an even longer game against the St. Louis Blues.
Before Mitch could even ramble out an apology or an excuse for such a late night call, Auston was quick to shut it down. “Don’t even Mitchy,” he half whispered. Mitch heard rustling over the phone, signifying that Auston was either shifting around in his bed, or he was sat up against his headboard. “I was awake anyways.” Auston concluded.
Auston was lying straight through his teeth, but he’d never tell Mitch that. He only called when he couldn’t sleep, and Auston has experienced those reasons one on one these past couple of days, one on one with Mitch when they shared rooms in their rookie season.
He will never forget the sunken eyes and the tears that welled in those innocent blue eyes.
Maybe not as innocent and vibrant, but still Mitches.
And that's all it took for Auston to care.
The line went silent as they were both waiting for the other to speak, but Mitch was struggling to swallow the lump in his throat at the very thought of having the same discussion with his linesmate. He was so fucking tired from this endless cycle of disappointing his team and his fans, from receiving the heat of his coach and the people of his city.
He could only break the tense silence with “I can’t sleep, Aus.”
Auston sighed quietly, not a hint of annoyance behind it, but rather a knowing sound of acknowledgement, to let Mitch know that he understood.
“I know, Mitchie. Have you tried talking to Steph about this?” He questioned back, voice staying calm with stability, knowing that if Mitch didn’t hear it in him, he would be further lost in himself. It’s weird how codependent they’ve become to each other over the years.
“No, I didn't want to wake her.” he replied, voice trailing off.
And of course Mitch didn’t and wouldn't tell Steph. Auston has seen it since day one. He has been witness to the brutal beatings his best friend takes against those boards, his small body crushing against the bigger guys in the league.
He has witnessed the yelling from their coach at missed opportunities, at the minimal scoring when in reality, it's a team effort. But it’s a lot easier to blame Mitch than it is to blame anyone else for whatever reason.
He has witnessed his confidence crumble and his vibrant and infectious smile struggle to stay plastered on that bright face of his. One Auston smiles at even in memory.
He has witnessed it all over the years, the highs and the lows, the cure to his friends sadness and the words that soothe him when his mind won't stop running.
Because Auston knows the ins and outs of Mitch, so of course he wouldn't tell Steph.
“Talk to me, Marns.. What's keeping you up?” he questioned delicately. He heard Mitch inhale, hold his breath, before exhaling like he just breathed the weight of his shoulders off of him and into the world.
“My plays should be better, Matts. How many opportunities did I miss when trying to get that puck to you, to Kniesy, to Mo- fuck it was silly mistakes.” he rambled off. And Auston could hear it there, in his voice, the way it cracked, that Mitch was really hurting tonight.
And he couldn’t blame him, his coach, hell- even the fans, were brutal. Everyone is talking about selling or trading Marner for some mediocre player that wouldn’t have half the chemistry Mitch has with the rest of them.
Auston can’t even fathom a world where he plays without his Mitch.
“Dude, you’re playing the best you can. It’s a team effort, all of us have to step up and take the opportunities you give us. We have been letting you down, Mitch.” Auston tried to empathise, his fingers now toying with the covers that still covered the lower half of his body in bed.
Mitch felt his eyes gloss over as he shook his head, almost as if Auston would see it from the comforts of his own home.
“You took a penalty for me today, that shouldn’t have happened.” Mitch gritted out.
The feeling was almost secondary to him. Getting slammed into some boards or getting knocked off his skates while battling for that puck, for his career. He felt a moment of detachment from the game whenever it happened, like he found himself in a cloud of haze at the sheer intensity of being plucked off his A game and onto the cold ice surrounding him.
Just, this time? Auston was there.
He noticed that when he tried coming to his senses fast enough to get up on his skates.
He noticed Auston shoving the player. Hard.
He also couldn’t help but notice the punches being thrown at his captain, to where his best friend stood his ground and threw em right back.
All for Mitch.
Auston felt his heart rate increase upon the memory. The way he saw red when he saw Mitch sprawled out like that on the ice, the slight moment of confusion hitting his face like a ton of bricks for what just happened, for why he wasn’t on his skates anymore.
“Mitch..” Auston began. A quiet confession of everything with only the syllables of his best friend's name leaving his lips into the darkness of the night.
“No Aus, you can’t be risking stupid- stupid shit like that for me anymore. Not as captain, not with what's being expected of you.” Mitch got out quickly, his face heating at the intensity of his words, of the words Berube screamed at him, not Auston, for what? Making Auston take that penalty for him?
Auston would do it again in a heartbeat for his 16.
“Mitch, I need you to really listen to me right now, okay?” and Mitch couldn’t tell if that was Austons newfound captain's voice coming through or whether it was something more than that, something deeper than that.
And yet, he nodded, as if Auston would see his confirmation.
“I’m the captain of the team, and I would fuck up any of those players if they ever scruffed up my team the way they did you. I defend you guys, not the franchise name, not the reputation, not the fucking coach, but you.” He concluded, voice deep and thick with emotion. Mitch almost felt suffocated hearing it, the tone of it, and the way he didn’t conclude his captain-ly statement with a ‘you guys’ but rather, with only a ‘you’.
It’s like he was only talking about Mitch, but Mitch knew that would be a greatly unreasonable request to ask of him.
The moment they shared on the phone was intimate, raw. It’s a reason why Mitch never bothers Steph with these things, with his feelings and fears, but why he confides and gives himself to Auston.
The tightness in his chest dissipated, and the slight tremble in his fingers melted away with ease.
His mind? Quiet.
His heart? That was always a different story.
The silence shared between them felt comfortable yet unbearable, the words shared so heavily with meanings known and unknown yet they both sat in it for a few minutes, before Mitch tried to crack a joke.
“I would tussle for you too, Tone.”
Auston could almost envision the smile cracked on Mitches face right now, fighting off the even bigger smile fighting its way on his own usually stoic face. “I’m sure you would, Mitchie.” he replied quietly, not even wanting to think about Marns trying to defend him in a fist fight on the rink.
A quiet laugh echoed on Austons side of the line, feeling his face warm and his heart only beat faster at the very sound.
It’s like Mitch was 19 again, that fresh face full of innocence and childlike wonder that always left a lasting impression in every changing room they shared, in every rink, in every hotel, in every bed.
Auston was a lucky guy, and he couldn’t even begin to tell you why.
“Thanks for uh.. picking up this late, Aus. For talking me through it and ha-.. down from it, or whatever. Just.. thank you.” Mitch concluded quietly. The poor boy found it hard to act normal when vulnerable, but 9 years in the franchise will do that to you. It will beat you up and spit you out, toughen you up.
But Auston just smiled on his end of the line.
“I love you, Mitch. You know that.” Auston rambled back. It was a normal confession between the two, there being a lot of love and trust in their friendship, why do you think their chemistry is so unbelievable?
But nowadays, the meaning of this confession is skewed to the eye of the beholder.
“I love you, Aus. Goodnight.” he whispered back, cheeks flushed from the rollercoaster of emotions he's experienced in the past 20 minutes of this phone call.
“Goodnight, Marns. See you in a few hours.” Auston teased before the line went silent, signifying that Auston disconnected from the call.
And so Mitch wandered his way back to bed, Steph still sleeping like Mitch didn’t leave at 3AM and graced her with his presence again at 4AM. As if he didn’t hold the most intimate conversations with his best friend at the ass crack of dawn.
As if he didn’t think the quiet confession of love would be skewed the way it was tonight, as he tucked himself back into bed and turned the annoying alarm clock to face the wall rather than himself.