Chapter Text
The New Jersey Devils were buzzing as they boarded the plane. Coming off an electric home win, the team’s energy carried over into their travel plans for the next game.
Laughter echoed through the cabin as players tossed their carry-ons into the overhead bins, cracked jokes, and argued over who got which seat. Jack Hughes, perpetually brimming with energy, was right in the middle of it all. His voice cut through the noise, animated and rapid-fire as he recounted a particularly ridiculous fan sign he’d seen last game.
"I swear, it said, 'Hughesy, marry me!' but, like, spelled wrong. It was 'Merry me' with an E! Can you imagine?" Jack exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air for emphasis. A few teammates chuckled, half-listening as they stowed their bags.
It was great—Jack loved this part of being on the road, the camaraderie and energy of the team before a long flight. But even as he joked around, there was a hum in his body, like a motor that wouldn’t turn off. He could feel it in his legs, jittery and restless, and in his mind, which was already bouncing between thoughts faster than he could process them. The idea of sitting still for Six hours made him want to jump out of his skin.
Jack found his seat: Row E, number 16, an aisle seat next to Jacob Markstrom. Jack didn’t know Markstrom super well. Jacob was one of those guys who was either stoic or deep in conversation with the older players. Jack, a high-energy guy who was more likely to talk about Marvel movies or the new signings for the juniors teams didn’t exactly fit into Jacob’s world. But hey, a Six-hour flight was a long time to sit in silence, and Jack had a lot on his mind. Maybe this was a chance to bond.
As the plane taxied down the runway and took off, Jack’s jittery energy only grew. He tried to channel it into conversation, leaning over to Markstrom. “Okay, so, hear me out. Tampa Bay’s right winger? Totally washed. Like, they’re holding onto him for name value alone. I swear, he’s skating like he’s dragging cement blocks out there.”
Jacob gave him a polite nod but didn’t say much. Jack pressed on anyway, switching topics rapidly. He didn’t mean to dominate the conversation, but the words just kept tumbling out. He talked about line changes, his favorite songs from the team’s pregame playlist, and a weird dream he’d had the night before.
An hour into the flight, it was clear Markstrom wasn’t exactly thrilled. His body language screamed, I don’t really know, or care what waffle is coming out of your mouth right now. Jack knew he should stop. He could read it loud and clear. But he just... couldn’t. His brain felt like it was on fire, and his mouth seemed to have a will of its own.
Finally, Jacob straightened up, shifting in his seat. Jack’s heart lifted for a second. Maybe he was about to engage in the conversation?
Maybe he wanted to weigh in on Tampa Bay?
Nope.
Markstrom cleared his throat and turned to Jack, his voice low but harsh. “Jack. You have already spent almost two hours talking, and I got four hours of sleep last night. So, don’t take it too personally that I’m telling you to please shut the fuck up for one moment so I can finally rest.”
The words hit Jack like a slap. His mouth snapped shut as a hot wave of shame rolled through him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a couple of teammates a row over glance back. Oh god. They’d heard.
Jack shrank back into his seat, cheeks burning. He stared at the back of the seat in front of him, willing himself to disappear. “Yeah, sure,” he mumbled, though his throat felt tight. Jacob turned away, adjusting his neck pillow and closing his eyes.
Jack tried to stay still, tried to calm himself down. But his mind was spiraling, a vicious loop of self-recrimination. Why couldn’t I just shut up? he thought bitterly. Why do I always have to ruin everything? His leg bounced restlessly, and he tucked it under him to make it stop. He felt like a live wire with nowhere for the energy to go.
Thirty minutes passed. Jacob slept, and Jack sat curled into a ball, staring blankly at the wall. His thoughts didn’t stop, though. If anything, they got louder, meaner. You’re so annoying. Everyone thinks you’re annoying. Why can’t you just be normal? His chest felt tight, and his hands were clenched into fists in his lap. Everything hurt: his legs from sitting still, his head from the mental barrage, and his heart from the embarrassment.
And then, without warning, his vision blurred. Jack blinked rapidly, but it didn’t stop. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he quickly wiped it away, but more followed.
Oh god.
This couldn’t be happening. Not here. Not on a plane full of his teammates.
He uncurled himself and shot up from his seat, walking briskly down the aisle. His heart pounded as he made his way to the tiny plane bathroom. Just as he reached the door, he saw the red "occupied" sign lit up. He stopped, staring at the wall and trying to keep his breathing steady. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. You’re fine. You’re fine.
The door opened, and an older woman stepped out. Well, not old, exactly—maybe mid-fifties. She looked at him with concern, her voice soft as she asked, “Sweetheart, is everything alright?”
Jack met her eyes, knowing he must look like a mess, his face streaked with tears and his nose probably red. He tried to smile, though it came out lopsided. “No, that’s alright. Thank you.” His voice cracked slightly, but he slipped past her into the bathroom and locked the door before she could say anything else.
Leaning against the door, Jack let out a shaky breath. He felt pathetic. Weak.
What if she talked to someone? He was wearing his Devils hoodie—what if she told the team? He couldn’t handle it if his teammates knew what he was doing right now. They’d probably think he was a freak, crying in the airplane bathroom like a little kid having an outburst.
Jack splashed cold water on his face, scrubbing at the tear tracks with trembling hands. He took a deep breath, then another, trying to steady himself. When he looked in the mirror, his face was blotchy, but at least he didn’t look like he’d just had a meltdown. Almost composed. Almost normal.
He unlocked the door and stepped out, avoiding eye contact with the woman, who had thankfully returned to her seat. Jack walked back to Row E, his stomach twisting with nerves.
Please let no one notice. Please let no one say anything.
Jacob was still asleep, his head tilted awkwardly against his pillow. Jack slid back into his seat and curled up again, tucking his knees to his chest. He didn’t feel like talking anymore. He didn’t even feel like thinking. He stared at the wall, letting his mind drift into daydreams. If he could just make it through the rest of the flight, he’d be fine. He could bottle this all up and deal with it later.
But the thought lingered in the back of his mind, gnawing at him: Why can’t I just be normal for once?