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“Hey, man, what’s taking so long?”
Mack is somewhere in Will’s apartment near the door - exasperation evident in his voice. Will can picture him checking his watch, then checking his phone, and then staring at the ceiling. Moving his weight from foot to foot. They need to be at the rink.
Their gear bags are down in Will’s car. He completes a mental checklist to slow his heart rate - five sights, four sounds, and he forgets the rest. His mind drifts to his bag in his trunk with his roll of safe, white tape buried in a side pocket. A different kind of tape will be waiting in his stall at SAP. He feels like he’s drowning.
“I don’t think I can do it.” He chokes out. Trying to steady his breathing. He can hear Mack coming down the hallway, footsteps hurried. Fondness seeps into his bones and he straightens his back, rolling his neck from side to side. He feels like a coward. He knows he is one.
“Are you for real?”
“Everyone is going to know.” He says it under his breath, but Mack’s close to him now. Too close, almost.
Mack laughs at that, a tiny huff of breath. He looks at the ceiling, quick, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. They’ve talked about this a million times. And Will had finally agreed to stop acting like the world was ending last night. The light of day has clearly changed his mind, and Mack wants to shake him a little.
“Know what, Willy?”
“I don’t fucking know, dude, I don’t know.” His chest feels tight and he feels fourteen again. Leno is there, just behind his eyes, and he’s laughing at Will too. Everyone will know he’s a coward. What’s the big fucking deal, Smit? Don’t want everyone to know you’re a fag? He wants to cry. He wants his dad. He wants to disappear.
“You realize it’ll be weirder if you don’t use the damn tape, right? The entire fucking team is using it for warmups. Misa is like twelve years old and he’s being braver than you right now.” Mack doesn’t mean it in a mean way, but it hits all the same.
“Dude, he’s barely younger than you.” He chokes out the joke and Mack just kind of stares at him.
He tells himself it’s different for Misa, but he doesn’t really know for sure. Mis has a girlfriend, sure, but the way he looks at Sam speaks volumes. Will would know. He’s finely tuned to these kinds of things, has years of experience in locker rooms and hockey rinks. Hiding in plain sight.
He’s nauseous. And tired. So fucking tired.
“It’s fucking stupid, I know. It’s not like a religion thing, I don’t think. Maybe. A little. It just feels like everyone is always picking me apart and this will give them one more reason.”
“Dude. You sound miserable.”
Mack is approaching him with his hands slightly raised, not unlike he’s approaching a spooked animal. God, when did he get so scared of being alive?
“I’m using the damn tape. Toff too. Wenny obviously. Even fucking Gaudette.” Excluding Mack, the guys he names are all tough, seasoned veterans with beautiful wives. Safe bets. No room for speculation.
Mack is the outlier, but he’s not really. He’s a generational talent, and he’s marketing himself in line with Sidney Crosby and Connor McDavid. If they’ve worn the damn tape, it’s only expected that Mack will too. It doesn’t inherently align him with the cause in the way Will fears his use of the tape will. Not that he believes Mack is a homophobe or a bigot. He has a good family, good upbringing, and Will has seen the way he smiles in his small, barely-there kind of way when he sees any couple in public - gay couples included.
Last night’s game was proof of that - Mack is not just the future of the San Jose Sharks. He’s the future of the league. What he does matters, but he also comes with a safeguard built in. He’s beloved in a way Will knows he deserves, but can't help but feel a bit envious of. You can’t take Mack down without taking down the entire league. He's their poster child. It’s surreal, though, knowing Mack will outgrow him eventually. Will feels expendable on the best of days.
Will on the other hand is not immune to scrutiny. In fact, he thinks his association, his relationship, with Mack makes him more prone to being put under a microscope. If Mack doesn’t score, it’s his fault. If Will scores, Mack made it happen. If Will’s a homo, he’s poisoning Mack’s brand.
He would never tell Mack this. He carries enough weight on his shoulders. Atlas meet world.
“Okay,” Mack cuts through his incoming panic attack, “I’m making this decision for you. You’re using the fucking tape. Just the blade. You don’t have to give an interview. You don’t need to even smile. Use the damn tape and then swap out your stick, who gives a fuck. The tape sucks in a game anyways, I doubt any of us will use it on the ice. Twenty minutes and some pictures in the locker room, Smit, then you can go back to being scared of whatever the fuck you don’t want me to know.”
He’s startled back to reality. The parameters are set now. And he’ll manage to work within them. Mack’s given him structure and an out. God, he’s so fucking in love with him.
They scramble into Will’s car and his chest loosens enough to breathe again.
They win the game. Beat the fucking Leafs. 4-1. He wants to cry, scream, shout. Mack is shaking his head and his grin is wide, child-like, beautiful.
He knows they’re back in a wildcard position for the night - the outcome of the Kings and Preds games unknown for the time being. He’s not worried, he knows they’ll be out first-round anyways, but it’s nice to hear his name and Mack’s name in these kinds of conversations. It’s their second year and they’re in a playoff push and he feels insane.
They file off the ice and into the locker room. Warso is speaking - he can’t hear him, doesn’t really want to. Mack is leaning into his shoulder, the weight grounding him. He knows he’s staring - Mack waggles his eyebrows at him and he barks out a quiet laugh. He used the damn tape and they still beat the Leafs with a three-point lead. At home.
The ground didn’t open up and swallow him whole. His mom smiled at him from the family box, and Mack is leaning into his shoulder, and no one died. He’s bursting over with this giddy, all-encompassing feeling he can’t quite name. He didn’t even put up a single point tonight and he feels like he got a hatty. He knows he must look insane, wild-eyed and smiling. Mack just looks over at him, shaking his head, shaggy hair in all directions.
They need to talk. Will knows this, and Mack seems to sense it too.
They undress, shower, and re-dress in a companionable silence. They meet up with Will’s family, Grace having arrived right before the game, while his parents have been in town for this short home game stretch. They’re flying out early, and are content to go to the Toffoli’s for a short stint before returning to their hotel to pack and sleep.
He begs off the gathering, saying he’s tired. Mack echoes his excuse. Toff chirps them just a little, softly, like he knows there’s no fight to be had here.
They’re in Will’s front seat before Mack speaks again.
“Yours?” His chest feels tight again.
“Yeah, ‘course.”
Mack’s face softens just a little. And, oh, Mack’s nervous. He’s fidgeting, his fingers tapping on the door, his leg, running through his hair.
He drives them back to his new apartment. He moved out of the Marleau’s a few weeks ago, and it’s been a strange, too-large adjustment to live alone for the first time in a long time. Mack sleeps over more often than he doesn’t, and he knows Jumbo has picked up on it, joking once in passing about Mack needing to chip in with rent.
He has a guest room here, it’s fine. Will doesn’t mind, and he has more money than he really knows what to do with.
They’re barely through the door when Mack darts down the hallway, towards the bathroom. Will can hear the sink running, water splashing.
Will moves into his kitchen, fills up a glass of water and gulps it down. Leaves the glass in his sink. Shuffles to his couch. Sits. Stands. Moves back to his kitchen to gulp down another glass of water.
He can hear Mack moving around in the silence of his apartment, the bathroom door opening, and Mack’s bag being thrown somewhere in the guest room that has become more Mack’s room.
Will shuffles himself back to the couch, perching on a single cushion with both feet planted on the floor. Like if he moves too much, he’ll give the whole damn game away.
“Smitty, that game was fucking epic. Eky was flying, man, and Ned was unreal holy shit. Like a brick fucking shit house.” Will has no idea what he means, but he nods along anyways.
Mack is fidgeting still, but Will could put it down to adrenaline if he tries hard enough.
“Epic?” He manages to choke out, a laugh stuck on his tongue and coming out slightly strangled.
“Oh, fuck off. I can still say epic you old man,” Mack giggles, open mouthed. Eyes shiny. Hair damp on the ends like he washed his face and didn’t really care where the water went.
Will has to remind himself to not stare at the gap between his teeth, try to not imagine his tongue running along Mack’s teeth, tripping over the gap. He’s only mostly successful.
Mack doesn’t notice, hopefully, because he just slams down onto the couch and grabs the remote in one swift motion. He digs his toes under Will’s thigh, getting himself comfortable. He doesn’t turn the TV on, instead choosing to toss the remote lightly back and forth, staring at Will like he’s trying to not get caught. Will is sat stock still, but he moves his hand slowly to grasp Mack’s ankle, his grip is loose and Mack could pull away if he really wanted to.
“So. You survived.” Mack deadpans, a smile ghosting over his face. But his eyes are searching, darting over Will’s face to check for any signs of life.
“Yeah,” he sighs out, chest heaving. “Wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. And we won, so.” He shrugs, but he doesn’t look as nonchalant as he wants to be.
Mack draws back and kicks him softly. Will’s grip goes tight on his ankle, knuckles going white. He loosens after a moment, breath rushing in and out of his nose.
“Tell me.” He puts down the remote somewhere behind him. The room is closing in.
“Tell you what?”
“What you’re so scared of.”
“Jesus, Macky.”
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, dude. Isn’t that like your number one rule?” He’s giggling. Intoxicating. Will drinks it up.
“Fuck off, bro, what the fuck.”
“Tell. Me.” He is pushing, and pushing, and pushing. And Will feels like his chest is going to break open and his heart is going to spill out of his chest. He knows he has to say it. And it might just change everything.
Mack knows him better than anyone he’s ever met. Maybe better than he knows himself. He trusts Mack, inherently, wholeheartedly. That’s never been in question. He just doesn’t want to change anything. What they have is good, and he would be content forever to keep this just the way that it is. The casual touches, the drives, the sleepovers, the brush of fingers when swapping coffees. He knows Mack loves him. He can’t stomach knowing that he may not love him enough.
His bravery from earlier is seeping out of his pores, and he feels wrung out. He feels like a coward, and he’s two seconds away from getting up and going to his room. Pretending this conversation never started. Maybe he’ll even ask Mack to go home. Fake a migraine. Something.
Mack clears his throat, leaning forward until his chin is on his knees, and his toes wriggle a little bit. Pulling Will back out of his head. He knows him better than he knows himself.
“I won’t hate you. I promise. I just need you to say it. All of it.” It hits Will then. Mack already knows. He knows, but how much does he know?
Will has imagined everything, and he chokes on the largeness of his own feelings. It was never like this with Lenny. He never imagined a future as something-more-than-friends with Ryan Leonard. Content to have him, touch his warm skin, chase his laughter out of his mouth.
Mack is a different story. He pictures them winning a Cup or two together as Sharks most nights when he allows himself to think about it. Their tarps being raised to the rafters together. A huge house and a gated driveway. A dog. A summer house on the Cape.
He wants it all, deep in his bones, but he knows he’d settle for the Cup and the rafters. Anything to make Mack happy.
“C’mon, Smitty. Be brave.” Mack mumbles, reaching out to touch Will’s hand.
He takes a breath. He trusts that Mack wouldn’t hate him. Wouldn’t dismiss him. He has to trust the bond they’ve built, or he might just crumble to pieces.
“I’ve never really said this out loud, Mack. You gotta give me a minute to figure it out.” Mack nods. Tilting his head a little to the side. A smile. Soft and patient.
The room is going dark around them, but neither move to turn on the lights.
“I tried for a while, with girls. It made sense, y’know? But it never felt right. And I think I convinced myself for a long time that I was going to have to live with not being happy, as long as I had hockey, and I had my friends.” He realizes, suddenly, that he might cry. He swallows.
“I shoved it to the side at NTDP. I mean, I was living with a bunch of my closest friends and my mom, and we were eating, sleeping, and drinking hockey twenty four seven. I didn’t even need to think about what to eat, everything was planned down to the minute. And at night I was too tired to think about anything at all, except my last game and my next game. It was good. Easy. Routine.”
Mack nods along. Not too quickly, like he might startle the rest of his story back inside his chest.
“BC gave me a bit more time to think about it, I guess, in a weird way. I roomed with Leno, and he was…helpful, I guess.” Mack huffs, his toes digging deep into Will’s thigh.
“So you two…?” He looks almost constipated, trying to get the words out.
“Sometimes, yeah, we fooled around. It was easy.” Will might actually melt through his couch cushions, with how warm he is.
Mack’s lips purse even more, and he’s nodding in a weird, twitchy way. Will barks out a laugh, shaking his hair into his eyes.
“Your fucking face dude. You really hate him, don’t you?”
“Obviously, man. He sucks. And he’s shit at hockey.”
“Sure, sure.” Will nods, placatingly. “We weren’t, like, together or anything. Just got each other off. He’s always been more into girls, anyways.”
Mack’s lips part, and he lets out a faint “oh”.
“And you’re not? At all?”
“Nah. I don’t think so. I can…perform. I guess. But I don’t exactly love the experience.” Mack’s gaping now, and his eyes have lidded over a bit like he’s putting a hockey play together behind his eyes. He’s insufferable in a very cute way.
“Thanks for telling me, Willy.” His voice is soft, but in the silence of the apartment, Will could swear his neighbours can hear everything. The scratch of Mack’s nails through his own hair, the little breath coming out of his nose, the clenching of Will’s heart. Stuttering and weak, banging around his rib cage. Now that he’s said some of it, he needs to get the rest out.
“I think this is how I’ll be for the rest of my life, Macky. And the tape felt like. I dunno. A bat signal made of rainbows pointed directly at my dick.” Mack scoffs. A laugh startled out of him. It echoes around the apartment.
“Jesus, what a picture.”
“I know it didn’t go that way, obviously. And I’m okay. And we won the game. And I’m not, like, going to Hell probably. But it’s all a bit scary, y’know.”
“Yeah, Smit, it is.” Mack is huffing out heavier breaths now, and his fingers tense around Will’s hand, the nails digging into the meat of the side of his hand. It hurts, but he doesn’t move.
“I’m…not fully like you, I guess. But I like, uh, both. Girls and boys. Both.” He says it quickly, like he’s scared the words will find their way back into his mouth before he can push them all out. And, oh, he really had nothing to worry about at all. Mack gets it.
Well, mostly. Enough.
“Dude. What the fuck?” He wrenches his hand away from Mack’s and he can’t chase the words back. Mack is staring at him like he has ten fucking heads. He’s not sure why he moved his hand at all - it had felt nice in the moment.
“Real sweet, Smith. Real fucking nice. I thought. Fuck you.” Mack is grumbling, and he goes to pull his feet out from under Will’s thigh. Will tightens his grip, his knuckles going white again. He doesn’t want Mack to walk away yet. He has one more thing to get off his chest before it retreats, lost inside him.
“Please don’t move yet. I’m…recalibrating. Some things.” He feels a sense of urgency in his chest, his heart is beating fast and he wants to reach out and touch Mack. Run his fingers over his eyebrows. His teeth. His gap teeth. Everything he’s ever wanted has never felt quite so attainable. He knows, instantly, that Mack wants it too. Why else would he want this conversation? Why else would he offer up his own secret? Why else would he hate Lenny so much?
“Dude.”
“Bro.”
“Mack.”
“Smit.” He can hear it in his voice. Do something.
He kisses Mack. Presses his mouth quick and dry against his plush lips, pushing just a little. He can feel Mack’s breath coming out of his nose, a huff and a rumble deep in the back of his throat. Mack parts his lips and he stops breathing entirely. His chest wrenching all the way open. Every secret and feeling spilling out of his chest and onto their laps. He keeps his hand on Mack’s ankle, the other wrapping loosely around the back of his neck. An anchor. Mack pushes back, his lips parting and his tongue darting out to run over Will’s lips. He might start crying soon. They feel right together. Fear has left the room.
They part after a moment that feels like a lifetime, and Will stares directly into Mack’s eyes. He looks so young all of a sudden, nervous and shy. He licks his lips and Mack follows his tongue with his eyes. Cheeks red and flushed. Breath heaving out of both of their chests. Mixing in the space between them.
“So.” Will chokes out. Voice wet. He closes his eyes and tries to school his face. He needs to know what Mack wants from him. How much. He’d give as much as Mack wanted.
“Yeah?” He's grinning at first. Small, but very much there. He looks so happy.
He can feel himself panicking again. Mack must see something in his face, reading it wrong or not quite right, and he starts to retreat again. His earlier persistence, his goading tone, seeming so far away now. Another lifetime ago. He was so brave earlier, leading the charge. The before-times and the after. He’s nervous and Will needs to fix it. Has to fix it. Mack tries to disconnect from the tangle they've created. He’s stuck where he is, however, Will’s hands anchoring him in place. Fear has no place here between them.
“This isn’t me fucking around, okay. Not like, not like with Leno,” Mack’s face pinches again, and Will feels lighter than air. He knows Mack is possessive, and he wants to see how far that extends.
“Okay.” He's cautious. Will hates himself a little for making Mack doubt this. Doubt how serious he is.
“Do you? Do you want that? Something, um, serious? Or just, like…” He can’t even say it. Hates that he’s offering something that might kill him.
“I want it all, or I don’t want it. I can’t do this by half. I won’t.” A gut punch. Will really does start crying then, fat tears spilling over his ruddy cheeks. He feels half-insane, feral with the knowledge that Mack wants him just as bad. He’s not sure how they got here. He doesn't cry, not usually, but he can't stop the flood from spilling over. He feels like he's been holding his breath his whole life.
“Good,” he sighs out, “me too.” He pictures the house again, the Cup, the rafters, the dog, and the summer house. I want it all, too.
Time blurs at that point, the time ticking into the early hours of the next morning. Mack grins at him, lazy and tired, and Will squeezes the back of his neck before letting go. His cheeks dry again, slightly tacky.
They both get up in tandem, stretching, fixing the couch cushions. He still has all the furniture the apartment was staged with. He’s not sure what to do with all the fucking pillows.
Mack pokes his side, giggling, and turns his heated stare on Will when he turns to return the favour, finger already extended. He falters, getting stuck on Mack’s expression. His hand curls around the air. He’s twenty-one and Mack is nineteen, and they have the rest of their lives ahead of them. He knows, deep in his chest, that he’s going to get to have Mack for the rest of it.
They walk together up the hall, bypassing the guest room, and slip quietly into Will’s room.