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Will Smith loves finding liminal spaces.
More specifically, he loves finding them with Mack.
Recently, though, he's found that liminal spaces can be all around him. Especially, in the hotel room, at 3 a.m., after a loss.
“Dude,” Will says, breaking the silence around them. He looks over at Mack’s bed and sees him chewing at his cuticles. “This is a liminal space.”
Mack rolls his eyes, putting his hands down and wiping them on the bed sheets. Gross. “Shut up.” His tone is slightly scathing, but Will can feel the underlying amusement to it.
He sits up. “No, I'm serious,” Will continues. “It's like. No one else is probably awake, right? And the lights are kind of weird. We're just sitting here, in the quiet, like—”
“I get it,” Mack interrupts, huffing as he slides further down into bed. “This is a liminal space. I get it.”
Will feels offended. Whenever he points out a space, Mack is almost…excited? He listens to Will ramble about the space and what makes it liminal.
But tonight, he's acting like he'd rather be asleep.
“I'm just trying to lighten the mood,” Will tells him sourly, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child.
Immediately, Mack deflates. He sighs heavily and sprawls out, kicking his feet out. “Sorry, dude, just. Tonight sucked.”
Will uncrosses his arms and turns on his side, facing Mack’s bed. “Losses always suck, hate to tell ya.”
Mack gives him another look, so he mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key with an admonished expression.
Mack stares at the ceiling as he begins talking again. “Being in Milan felt like a constant liminal space. The rink during practice. The dining hall at 1 a.m. The bus after wins. It all felt that way.” He stops, takes a shuddering breath. “And then we lost. Against fucking—”
Will can't help himself. “Yeah, that was fucked. I can't even, like, begin to describe how fucked that team acted afterwards. Idiots.”
“Yeah, well,” says Mack, rubbing his nose. “We lost. And like, yeah, silver feels good to have. But then I come home, and it's just.”
“It's another loss,” Will finishes. Mack snaps his fingers and drops his heavy arm down on the bed.
“It's another loss.”
Will exhales heavily, but tries to keep it quiet. He's not irritated, nor is he upset about Mack’s legit feelings. It just sucks that he doesn't know how to help.
Well…no. That's not true. Will does know one way he could help.
He climbs out of his bed in a rush, kicking his sheets away. Mack barely startles at the frenzy, but he does eye Will warily when he approaches Mack’s bed.
“Scooch,” Will demands, using his hands to bring the point home.
Mack snorts. “You're going to cuddle me into feeling better?”
Right on the nose, this kid.
Will nods, forcefully removing the sheets and shoving Mack over in the bed. He climbs in after, situating himself until he’s comfortable. Now it's just a matter of getting Mack to participate.
“Big spoon or little spoon?” Will asks him seriously.
Mack looks at him for a long moment before bursting into surprised, vaguely awkward giggles.
“I'm serious!” Will whines at him. “Tell me!”
“I'll be the little spoon for you,” Mack snickers, turning over on his side.
He's treating it like a joke, which may or may not make Will’s belly flare with a bout of irritation. Nonetheless, Mack does move and sidle back against Will’s chest.
Will brings his arm up over Mack’s side, pulling them closer together. Like this, they're connected, shoulders to toes. Will has to think very hard about not getting hard. It would be weird for a bro to get a boner because the other bro had his ass on his crotch.
But it feels nice.
After a long moment of them getting used to it, Mack speaks into the darkness of the room.
“Thanks.”
Will grins against the back of his neck. “Anytime.” He has the strange urge to kiss the skin there, just once. The thought makes him shiver.
They fall asleep.