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There’s a mouse in Auston’s stall. Its little hind claws are digging into the strap of Auston’s duffel as it sniffs wildly at the air. It doesn’t look much like a dirty mouse or whatever, more like the little guy got lost and wandered in, though it doesn’t seem particularly lost right now, shiny black eyes meeting Auston’s. The thing is cute, a light caramel color that shines gold when it catches the light with a small, white belly.
“Hi,” he says to it, quiet and under his breath, thinking of an attack plan.
The mouse is chill—too chill. It doesn’t say anything back to him, not even a squeak, and Auston looks around, kind of incredulously, because seriously, shouldn’t the thing be freaking out? The other guys don’t even seem to realize what’s going on, all of them in their own heads after the loss to Vegas. He’s about to grab his glove to cover the mouse, capture it and take it outside, but then there’s a buzz, and he looks down to see his phone lit up, a new text appearing on the screen.
Stay, he mouths at the mouse, and the mouse’s toes curl tighter into the strap it’s holding onto, like it understands Auston. He grabs his phone, swiping to read the message. It’s from Eichel, which, okay, but it says, Did Marns go see u?
Auston turns around, looking across the room to the doorway, but it’s just their usual personnel, and he knows if Mitch had appeared, they would’ve alerted him. No, he shoots back, media maybe?
Weird, Eichel replies. K will just look around thanks
“Hey,” Auston calls in the general direction of the door, finally getting some of the other guys to look up from their own stalls, heads swivelling in the same direction, “let me know if Mitch shows up, yeah?”
He gets a few nods and yeses, and then it seems things will return to business as usual until—
“Did you just squeak?” JT asks.
Auston shakes his head, turns around, and the mouse is peeping at him, sounding like a bird almost. It’s wobbling on the duffel strap, arms outstretched and body lurching forward as it reaches for Auston. He sticks out a hand, stupidly because the thing is now clearly in some type of distress and will probably bite him and he himself feels shit enough about the game that adding some rodent disease would be just awesome, but the mouse doesn’t bite him.
It lands helplessly on his palm, gives another squeak, then scrambles its way up his arm, until Auston can hear him sniffing at his ear, whiskers brushing against sensitive skin, and it tickles up until the mouse gets a fist around the hair that curls around his neck and pulls. Hard.
“What the fuck,” Auston says, and then one of the guys go, “Is that a mouse?” Then, the entire room is focused on Auston.
The mouse gives another peep. Slowly, conscientious of the tiny fistful of hair the mouse still has, Auston turns around.
Domi, Cow, and Laughts come closer almost immediately, JT stepping out of the way, eyes surveying the area back-and-forth like the responsible adult he’s clearly been assigned to be.
Cow and Domi are laughing, lifting fingers only to be swatted away by Auston.
“It probably bites,” he tells them, while Laughts inspects it with narrowed eyes.
“It’s definitely not a rat,” he announces finally, to which the mouse squeaks. “Oh. Hi to you too.”
“But where did it come from?” Auston asks. “Other than, like, outside.”
“Jack Eichel,” a staff member says just outside the door then, and the attention is now split between the mouse and their guest. “Said it’s an emergency.”
“Mitch seriously isn’t here?” Eichel shoves his way through the throng of people outside the door, focused solely on Auston, and it’s when he says this that the mouse goes berserk, shrieking and squeaking away in Auston’s ear, which almost gets him swatted by the flat of Auston’s palm, and of course that only bothers the animal further, and he—holy fuck, Auston has a fucking mouse in his shirt.
It hurts, little claws scrabbling across his skin, catching randomly in his arm and chest hair, and everyone just watches as the lump under his shirt moves until a tiny nose sticks out from under Auston’s right sleeve, and then there’s another peep.
The room appears a lot emptier now, though there’s a huddle of housekeeping and maintenance workers and some trainers and a medic, all hovering anxiously near the entrance to the room. At the sudden movement of the mouse, the guys all scrambled back to their own stalls, and now they stay there as the mouse works his nose relentlessly.
“Uh,” Auston says, confused and itchy. “Mitch,” he begins, and he’s cut off by another round of squeaks.
“No way,” nearly half the room breathes at once, while Auston and Eichel once again lock eyes, twin expressions of we’re so fucked on their faces.
“Mitch,” Eichel says.
“Mouse,” JT sticks out a hand to the little face peeking out from Auston’s sleep. “His old nickname.”
“Shit,” Knies breathes.
“This ever happen to… anyone before?” Domi asks, and a couple eyes go to Cow, where he’s still gaping at the mouse.
He blinks a couple times, looking around, before he shakes his head. “Never. Not to me.”
“Cowboy,” Mo points out. “Maybe it doesn’t work.”
“‘Work’?” Auston’s vocal chords are finally functioning again. “Like there’s some kind of logic to this?” He can’t stop looking at the mouse—at Mitch, supposedly—and okay, that would explain how calm it is and the way it seemed to understand Auston and freaked out whenever someone said, “Mitch?”
The mouse climbs into his open palm, turning to stare up at him, almost imploringly. Auston carefully lifts his hand until he and the mouse are eyelevel, repeating the name one more time. It gives a sniff, swipes a little tongue across his palm, then pushes itself up onto its hindlegs. Seriously, it’s like it’s begging Auston to believe him.
“Maybe it’s just Mitch doing it,” Knies finally says. “Like, the Magician, or whatever?”
Eichel finally comes closer, inspecting the mouse, and he shrugs. “Possible. So, has it happened to him before?”
Auston blinks. How the fuck would he—“Maybe in the OHL?” he tries. “I have no idea. The offseason? Obviously not now.” He looks up. “How long has he been like this?” A guy can’t just turn into a mouse without someone noticing, especially not when visiting his ex-barn. “I didn’t see a mouse come in, but.”
“It’s not like he’s particularly big,” Laughts says, reaching out. The mouse—Mitch, Auston finally concedes, sniffs at the hand he offers, glances back at Auston, then scurries into his waiting palm. And, behavior aside, that’s what gets to Auston. He’s just… a normal mouse. Maybe his eyes aren’t as beady as other, more feral mice, and he looks as clean as a mouse can probably look, but if you showed Auston a lineup of mice, he doesn’t think he’d point at this one and go, “Yeah, that’s Mitch Marner.”
“Maybe he got overexcited. I don’t know,” Eichel says, poking at Mitch the Mouse now too. Mitch chirps at him, and his lips press into a flat line. “All his stuff was just on the ground.”
“What about his clothes?” Auston asks. Eichel gives him a smile that’s all teeth.
“Yeah, I don’t think Mitchy’d be running around here butt-ass naked,” Domi says. “That’s wild, even for him.”
“Look, why don’t you have one of your teammates go missing suddenly and no one—absolutely no one—can find him?” Eichel curses when Mitch nips at his finger. “What the hell, man?”
Mitch gives a peep, blinks his little eyes at Laughts, and Laughts offers him back to Auston, who takes the mouse. Because it’s Mitch. He tries to smile down at him, but it’s just weird, and he finds himself looking at the medical staff. “Can you guys do a concussion check?”
To the maintenance staff, he asks, “Is there a gas leak?”
When those ideas get shot down, he looks at his teammates. “Does anyone like to use Etsy?”
“An Etsy witch,” Eichel asks as he, Auston, and JT head towards the guest locker room. Mo stayed with the guys to do something like damage control, though Auston thought everyone did pretty good at keeping calm considering.
“My sister sent a meme,” he answers, trying to remain serious while Eichel clearly holds back a disbelieving laugh. “Fans—dude, stop, I know, but they’ll hire a witch off the Internet to cast a spell. Usually it’s for the team they like, but.”
“Yeah, I don’t think some woo-woo freak online has that proximity or power over us.”
“I don’t see you with a better idea,” Auston huffs.
They reach the guest locker room, and Eichel gives him a look. “Let me—fuck. Do I just tell them? Give me Mitch. Maybe that’ll help.”
“That, or they’ll think you’ve gone Snow White on them,” Auston says, though he uncurls his arm from where he’d held it against his chest, Mitch balled up in his palm.
“Fuck you,” Eichel holds out his hand, “c’mon, Mitch.”
But Mitch doesn’t c’mon. He remains firmly on Auston’s hand, eyes just barely open as he peers dubiously at Eichel’s waiting fingers.
“Dude, seriously.” Eichel tries reaching for Mitch, maybe hoping to scoop him out of Auston’s palm, but Mitch gives a squeak and races up Auston’s arm, once again digging his claws into Auston’s skin.
Auston curses, reaching for him, but Mitch evades his grasp until Auston feels him pulling on his hair, and then he’s got a mouse on his head.
“Mitch.” Eichel sighs. “Look. I get that everything is all big and probably scary, but this is your team, man. We can work it out, just—let’s at least see the guys?”
Auston bends his knees, trying to lower himself so Eichel can look Mitch in the eyes, but Mitch just holds tighter to his hair and gives disapproving peeps. “I,” Auston swallows, “can go in? I mean. Just so you can explain.”
Eichel deflates, waving him along. “Yeah. Let’s go. Tavares, mind waiting here?”
Inside, the vibes are light, but there’s a quiet that’s settled over the room. Mitch’s gear and uni is still on the ground, and there’s a distinct space around it, guys steering clear of it as they go by. When they catch sight of Eichel and Auston, the quiet falls to total silence.
“Was he with them?” Dorofeyev asks, though he sounds doubtful even as he says it, eyes drifting over to Auston.
“Uh,” Eichel says. “Sort of?” He makes an aborted motion to Auston’s head, where Mitch has made a nest of his sweat-damp hair, only popping up when everyone looks at him.
“The mouse is Mitch,” Hill guesses, and it’s not flat enough to be disbelieving.
“Yeah,” Eichel sighs, “the mouse is Mitch. Any clue how to change him back?”
Hill makes a face, shaking his head.
“We’ve got to do something.” They all look over as Cassidy clicks a pen. “Ottawa’s next; we’ve got some time, but not much.” He grimaces. “Not much at all. He’ll probably have to catch up with us.”
“Matthews suggested an Etsy witch,” Eichel says, breaking some of the tension as a couple guys give startled laughs.
“I didn’t—,” Auston clears his throat. “It wasn’t a serious idea.”
“Better an idea than nothing at all,” Cassidy nods. “Hill, you’re sure you got nothing?”
Again, Hill shakes his head. “If I had something, I’d say. Seriously. I’m sorry.”
“Alright. Let’s keep this under wraps. Mitch, we’ll have you, uh, checked over—,” he shoots a quick look to their trainer, who looks to their physician, “—and we’ll get this sorted out.”
“Yeah,” Eichel begins haltingly, “that sounds good, but he doesn’t want to….” He tries to reach for Mitch again, and just like before, Mitch releases an ear-piercing shriek before scaling down the side of Auston’s head and worming his way under Auston’s shirt.
Auston takes a breath, inhaling and exhaling long and slow, eyes closing as the entire room’s focus turns once more to him.
“He doesn’t want to leave,” Eichel concludes.
“It’s fine on my end,” Auston tries to reassure them. “We’re going to be here.” It’s not much comfort for anyone. Mitch has got expectations for him with this team, and there’s the whole ex-Toronto’s Boy thing, and the fact Mitch refuses to leave Auston’s person… Basically, he gets that it’s bad optics, and not just for the media who will never, ever find out about this.
“I’m not a vet,” their physician finally says, “but I think it’s safe to say let’s go with what causes… Mitch the least stress.”
“You got what it takes to take care of a mouse?” Cassidy asks him. It kind of sounds like a threat, kind of sounds like Auston’s being made fun of. But it’s not just a mouse; it’s Mitch. Auston doesn’t know the first thing about mouse-rearing, but he at least knows a little about that.
“Yeah,” Auston says, standing taller and offering Mitch both his hands. Mitch accepts, crawling into his cupped palms. “I can take care of him.”
It’s clear everyone wants to discuss finer details. They’re all itching to formulate some kind of plan, some kind of solution, but there’s really not much they can do. Auston’s already uncomfortable with the amount of people who’ve seen Mitch like this. Mitch left on good terms with the Leafs, and the Knights would find out he was a mouse one way or another, but he’s unsettled nevertheless.
Auston leaves with Bruce Cassidy’s number in his phone, just saved under ‘Butch’, and Eichel reminds him that he can call or text him anytime too. He nods as he rejoins JT in the hallway. “‘Course. I’ll let you know if anything changes too.”
This time, when Eichel reaches out to Mitch, the mouse noses at his finger. For a minute, Auston thinks Eichel might rush and snatch Mitch out of his hold in their moment of calm, but he just boops Mitch, scratches between his ears, and wishes for him to get better soon.
Mitch stares steadily at him for another few seconds, his glittery black eyes bright, before he turns decisively to Auston, and that’s their cue to go.
“You don’t really believe this is Mitch, do you?” Auston asks as he and JT walk back. The mouse gives a disapproving squeak after, and JT looks at him with way too much sympathy than Auston is comfortable with.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says, but the hesitation before he speaks suggests it’ll all come down to Auston. He gives him a consoling pat on the shoulder, while Mitch chirps at him then crawls up Auston’s person once again to curl up in his hair.
“That’s got to be really nasty,” Auston says. “I haven’t even showered.”
“We can tell.” JT nudges him, and though it’s at his own expense, Auston finds himself smiling, nudging JT back.
When they get back to their locker room, most of the Leafs are ready to go, turning hopeful eyes to the two, expressions falling when they catch sight of the mouse on Auston’s head.
“At least it’s a cute mouse,” Nick says, and Cow nods quickly in agreement.
“Maybe he can be, like, our class pet. While we’re figuring it out, right?”
Auston bites back an immediate no way, settling on a more diplomatic, “He’ll stay with me,” like that does anything to calm the room back down. Knies is giving him a look, face pinched, while JT clears his throat and joins Mo in herding everyone out.
Caber knocks Auston on the shoulder, giving a nod to Mitch. “Let me know if you need anything, yeah?”
“You know anything about mice?” Auston replies, trying for a smile, though he knows it falls flat.
“Well,” Caber shrugs. “It’s Mitch.”
Yeah, Auston gets that. He waves bye, and then it’s him and the mouse.
“Are you, like, allowed to just be out?” Auston asks him, looking around the locker room. It’s not exactly a place Mitch doesn’t know, and Chief keeps all his plans on him, and Auston still isn’t sure just how much comprehension Mitch has as a mouse. Maybe they can test that out when he gets home.
They’re on their way pretty quick, Mitch hiding himself in Auston’s hoodie when they make it to Auston’s building. He’s silent on the ride up, though Auston occasionally feels the brush of whiskers along the back of his neck. Auston’s unlocking the door to his place when he hears the scrabble of claws on tile and he realizes he might have made a mistake.
Mitch is on high-alert immediately, burrowing deeper into fabric, and Auston curses, trying to keep Rico from jumping up on him, while Felix circles excitedly around them.
“Brought a friend,” he tells them, trying to keep his voice sweet and low, and they’re normally chill dogs—they are—but maybe they can smell the mouse or can tell that it's Mitch or something, and Rico yips, which sets Mitch off, hissing and shrieking as he digs his claws into Auston’s neck. That hurts like a motherfucker, and Auston’s guiding the dogs to their crates, and he feels bad about it, especially when Felix tilts his head curiously, and technically Felix hasn’t done anything wrong, but Auston’s not risking this. He gives them little scritches behind their ears before closing them in.
First order of business, get mouse supplies. It’s way too late for same-day delivery, but he can get them in the morning, which is nice. He looks it up, and he’s not sure if he has a tub to put Mitch in, but he can shred up paper and put it in a shoebox for Mitch.
Mitch has finally calmed down, sitting petulantly on his shoulder, though he peeps with discontent every time Auston goes towards the dogs’ crates.
“Dude,” Auston says. “You know Felix. Chill out.”
Mitch sniffs loudly in Auston’s ear.
“Rico’s cool too. Seriously.”
Still, he waits to let them back out.
In the kitchen, Mitch crawls out from his hoodie to sit on top of the counter, little nose once again in the air as he takes in the new sights and smells. Auston wonders how much different things are as a mouse. Does he even recognize Auston’s place? He doesn’t know if mice have good vision, but maybe there was some translation in Mitch’s little mouse head of sights to scents. He found his way to Auston’s stall easy enough.
He lasts for one more second, watching Mitch scamper up and down the counter, before the post-game exhaustion hits him all at once. He’s got a thing of granola bars in the pantry, and he’s about to bite into one when he catches Mitch staring at him with more intensity than he thinks a mouse is capable of.
“What?” He takes a bite.
Mitch continues to stare. His nose twitches. He pushes himself up onto his hindlegs and rubs his little hands together. Auston blinks, then looks down at his granola bar.
“Oh, shit. You hungry?” It’s a pretty trash granola bar, all things considered, but for once that’s a good thing, a little piece crumbling off easily, and Auston offers it to Mitch, who takes it and shoves it in his mouth immediately. He chews for, like, a fraction of a second, if he chews at all, and then he’s back to staring at Auston.
“Uh,” he says, and then he gets another granola bar, this time just for Mitch alone.
He puts together the little box for Mitch, and he leaves him to explore it as he showers and gets ready for bed. When he’s out, Mitch has bitten his way through the box and has trekked across Auston’s bed to curl up on one of his pillows.
“Dude,” Auston says, “no. I’ll squish you.”
Mitch doesn’t even acknowledge him, just tucks his nose under his tail. Auston sighs, climbing in next to him, using the free pillow.
“I have to let out the boys later, you know that, right?”
Mitch makes a soft whirring sound, and when Auston looks over, he’s already asleep, an ear twitching. Auston’s left the curtains open, but he doesn’t bother closing them. The lights from outside cast a halo around Mitch, fur glowing golden. Auston finds his hand creeping across the bed, fingerwalking up the pillow until he can gently stroke down Mitch’s back. Mitch gives a muffled chirp, curling further in on himself. Auston watches him, petting him carefully, until his eyes grow heavy, and he’s asleep too.
“This really sucks,” Auston says when Mitch scampers across his face first thing in the morning. It’s not even light out yet, which Auston expected, but when he looks at the clock, it’s only been a few hours since he went to bed. “Why do you have to be a mouse, man?”
Mitch crawls from his face to his chest, where he sits patiently, looking up at Auston, head tilted as if asking Auston the same thing.
“I do miss you, you know,” he confesses, and it’s a lot easier to say when he’s talking to a rodent who still may or may not be his friend.
Mitch swipes a hand across his ear before sniffing at Auston’s shirt.
“Are you more of a mouse today?” Auston asks, letting Mitch crawl into his hand then sitting up. They’ve still got probably a couple more hours before the mouse supplies will arrive, and now that he’s slept, he’s on the fence about having ordered it at all. Maybe it was a bit presumptuous, but also, he has responsibilities, and he has dogs that are a lot bigger than Mitch, and he’s pretty sure if Mitch dies as a mouse, he also dies as, like, Mitch Marner, too. He’d rather not risk it, even if he’s only going to use this stuff for, hopefully, at most a day or two.
Mitch doesn’t respond with anything more than a squeak, which Auston thinks could be either confirmation or disagreement—the only reason he leans more towards disagreement is because Mitch can at least understand what he’s asked.
“We’ve got to figure out a way to communicate,” he says, and this time when Mitch squeaks, Auston knows without a doubt he agrees.
He pulls out his phone, going to his notes app. He takes a seat at the bar, knees knocking the underside of his counter, and he hisses before setting Mitch down, holding the device out to him. Mitch stares at the screen before hesitantly placing his paw against one of the letters… and absolutely nothing happens.
“Shit,” Auston says. He lays the phone flat on the counter. “Try again. Maybe use your back feet.”
Mitch gives him a look then deliberates for only a moment before he clearly attempts to type a hello. It only registers his paw on the i key. Auston huffs then goes to grab a sticky note, where he writes out the alphabet.
“Wasting battery,” he says when Mitch looks between the phone and the note. “It’ll take awhile, but just touch the letters you want.”
W-i-g-i, Mitch spells. M-o-u-s-e n-o-t g-h-o-s-t.
“Damn,” Auston says. “I mean. Better than nothing.” And then, inspired, he writes Yes and No beneath where he wrote the alphabet. Mitch squeaks and turns in a circle. Auston thinks that might be the mouse equivalent of a laugh, and for once, he doesn’t feel bad-weird about the whole situation. It’s still weird overall, obviously, but… he swallows. “Hi, Mitch.”
Mitch looks at him, and Auston thinks he sees it now, the spark in his eyes, the shine in his fur. On the sticky note, Mitch taps out, H-i A-u-s.
“So, you’re not more of a mouse today?” He just needs to be sure.
Mitch’s paw covers up no. He sits back, staring at the note like he’s about to write something else, but then there comes a loud whine from one of the dogs, and Mitch turns to Auston with wide eyes.
“I know,” Auston says before Mitch can do anything, “but if I keep you on the counter, they can’t reach you. C’mon. Human you loves dogs!”
A-d-d m-a-y-b, Mitch writes.
“Just put MB,” Auston tells him. “Look. Just—stay there.”
Mitch squints at him, but Auston just gives him a tight-lipped smile before going to let out the dogs. Felix licks happily at his hand when he’s let out, while Rico gives another yip, and Auston shushes him.
“Guys, you’re chill,” he says, placing a hand on top of their heads. “We’re zen.”
Now, Rico attempts to lick him. Auston replaces his hand with a smacking kiss into his fur.
“Okay. Good. Don’t scare Mitch.”
They’re much calmer this time around, though they get rowdy when Auston’s dressed and grabbing their leashes to take them out. Luckily, at a look from him, they both sit and wait for him to hook the leashes on. Mitch watches all this from his place atop the counter. He sniffs cautiously when Auston offers him his hand.
“Want to come with?”
Mitch comes with.
He ends up tucked inside Auston’s coat pocket, little face peeking out as they go back down the elevator. The wind blasts them when they’re outside, and Mitch disappears. Auston feels him squirming in his pocket, and when he looks in, Mitch is curled up, glaring at him like he didn’t know it’s January and cold as fuck. Auston reaches into his other pocket and finds a fistful of Kleenex, which he offers to Mitch in spite of the baleful look he receives in return.
He didn’t even know mice could look baleful.
“Dude,” he says, “they’re clean.”
Mitch accepts the tissues.
It’s not long after the dogs do their business that they’re ready to go back inside, and Auston doesn’t discourage them. They all rush in, and Auston frantically presses at the elevator buttons, and as soon as he’s back in his place, he’s scooping Mitch out of his pocket, a shower of shredded tissue spilling out when he does.
Rico’s on it pretty quick, nose going straight for the pieces, which cling to it, and he sneezes.
“Thanks,” Auston says flatly when Mitch stares innocently up at him. He deposits Mitch back onto the counter, going to clean up Rico’s nose and the floor. When he returns to Mitch, he’s once again staring at the sticky note. He’s holding himself stiffly, only his tail occasionally twitching. Another second passes and then, D-i-d u t-e-l-l S.
Auston blinks, adds a period, question mark, and exclamation point.
Mitch looks at him, points t-e-p-h.
Fuck.
“Yeah,” he says, and from the way Mitch drags his little claws across the sticky note when he sits back on his hindlegs, he guesses it’s not very confident. “Eichs did.”
When Mitch doesn’t move, Auston sighs.
“We’re going to change you back. Why worry her? She’s in Vegas, and you’re….” Here. Auston flexes his fingers, looking away. He’s with Auston, in Toronto. He’ll be fine.
Mitch squeaks, and Auston turns back to him, watching him spell some more. W-a-t i-f I d-o-n-t-?
“You will,” Auston says.
S-t-u-c-k.
“You’re not. C’mon, Mitch. You’re, like, the last person to act so defeatist.”
Mitch turns big, dark eyes on him. Auston’s jaw clicks shut. Mitch does a little lap around the sticky note, taps no, writes out t-i-m-e-?
Auston’s about to debate with him about practice, if the cage and bedding and whatnot don’t come in, but then all of it gets delivered, so he sets that up and lets Mitch explore while he preps them breakfast.
They eat in silence, and then Auston sets Mitch back in the cage.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’ll be back soon.”
Mitch ignores him, climbing onto the wheel and sending it rattling as he runs. Auston watches him for another second, sighs, then goes.
Willy’s there when he arrives, hanging up his skates then cornering Auston best as he can at his locker. “Mitch is a mouse?” he asks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“If it came as a text, delete it,” Auston replies. “Who told you?”
“JT,” Willy replies. “So it’s true?”
Auston just looks at him for that because obviously, and Willy whistles.
“Can I come see him?”
“Team physician said to keep him out of stressful situations,” Auston replies.
“And?” Willy asks. “Is that what you’ve been doing?”
Auston drops his pants. Willy doesn’t even pretend to flinch, waiting as Auston tugs his gear on.
“Aus,” Willy says. “Matts. Tone.”
“Don’t forget Tony,” Auston adds.
“Fuck you.” Willy fakes kneeing him, and Auston huffs out a laugh. “But seriously, he’s just okay with it?”
The other guys have come in, but they keep a wide perimeter, everyone finding somewhere else to look. Auston sighs, standing straight, and Willy steps back.
“Fuck if I know, man,” he admits at last. “He’s a mouse, and I’m trying. He—he asked if I told Steph.”
“Understandable,” Willy replies. He takes a seat at the stall next to him, leaning closer. “Did you?”
“We’re going to change him back,” Auston repeats what he told Mitch before. “He’s fine—he’s safe, at least, safe as he can be—she—Eichs—I don’t fucking know, man. Mitch is a fucking mouse, doing sprints on a wheel back at my place, and no one knows how to change him back or why he’s a mouse in the first place.”
“You got him a wheel?” Willy asks.
“That’s what you—yeah, I got him a wheel.” Auston scrubs a hand over his face. “Fine. Sure. Come over. Good luck with the trainers.”
Willy sits back in his seat, waving Auston out. “Awesome! Thanks, man.”
The conversation leaves his head cloudy in practice, just going through the motions. Everyone’s sending him worried looks, like they didn’t tune out the conversation between him and Willy at all, and it’s got Auston firmly on edge. He and Mitch—he’s not bringing this onto the ice. He—about Mitch—he’s not bringing anything.
After, Willy follows him out to his car. The ride back is as quick as it can be, for midday traffic. Willy fiddles with the radio, while Auston tries not to focus on how tight he should grip the wheel.
“Is he a cute mouse?” Willy asks when they’re nearing the final turn.
“What?”
Willy gives up searching for whatever song he was searching for. “Mitchy Mouse. He a cute mouse?”
“I guess,” Auston says. “‘S not like he’s a rat. He’s, like, small.”
“Really fascinating. Great work, detective.”
“What’s your problem?” Auston asks. He parks, turns to Willy. “What do you want me to say?”
“You didn’t lose,” Willy says to him, matter-of-fact. He’s nice enough to say that there was nothing for Auston to lose, but they both know he doesn’t even have to say it. “You’re overcompensating.”
“Great work, detective.” Auston turns off the car, climbs out, doesn’t bother to wait for Willy, so the other is left to hurry into the elevator after him.
“I’m on your side!” Willy tells him as they’re carried to the top floor. “I’m your friend.”
To that, Auston counts down from five in his head. “There are no sides. We’re all friends.”
“No, yeah, for sure,” Willy says, and then the doors open, and Auston stares at him long enough that Willy mimics zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key.
Felix and Rico are happy to see not just one, but two people are at the door today, and their tails wag excitedly as Willy gives them an equally cheerful greeting. Auston sets aside his things, and he motions for Willy to follow him to his room. The dogs trail after them.
“I still don’t really know if mice are needy or not,” Auston says when they reach the cage. He opens the top, and he’s about to reach in when he actually looks inside and—
“You sure you left him in there?” Willy asks, moving closer to lean over the cage too.
“Yes.” Auston feels like he’s been doused in ice water, staring into the empty cage. He saw him. He can still hear the rumble of the wheel as Mitch ran. Plus, Mitch the Mouse was pretty firmly on the fence about the dogs this morning. He doubts that changed. Mitch wouldn’t leave like that. He thinks about Mitch’s paw, hovering over no. “We have to find him.”
He turns to see Willy on his knees, looking under the bed. “Already on it, cap.”
Auston sweeps the top of the bed, doing his best to rifle through the bedsheets without tossing them and possibly Mitch up into the air. His heart’s starting to pound, loud and heavy in his chest. Felix and Rico pick up on the shift in energy, Felix nudging the back of Auston’s thigh while Rico whines.
“Mitch,” he tells them. “Help look.”
There’s no mouse in the bathroom; he’s not in the kitchen (though Willy gets a kick out of the sticky note), and the living room is a bust too. Auston’s got a little recreational space for exercise equipment, and nausea washes over him when he sees a dumbbell’s fallen over, but when he lifts it up, there’s nothing there. They’ve checked everywhere, and it’s all useless.
“Well,” Willy finally says as they stand once more in Auston’s room, hands on his hips, “if he was human again, I don’t think the cage would survive it.”
“So,” Auston swallows, throat tight, “what? That’s it? I have to tell everyone I lost Mitch?”
“Didn’t say that.” Willy sits on the bed, ankles crossing. “Think—if you were a mouse, where would you be?”
“In my cage because I know better?” Auston tries, voice pitching high. Willy gives him an unamused look, like he knows Auston is trying to be funny in a really shitty way, and it just sucks for everyone. He leans against his dresser, pressing his face into his hands and groaning. “Fuck. I don’t know.”
Willy’s still looking around, like they didn’t overturn everything Auston owns, and now all his stuff is probably shifted, like, a fraction of a centimeter to the left or something. Auston curls his hands into fists, squeezing, trying to breathe. His head feels full—he can’t think.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay. We can—”
He’s interrupted by a squeak. It comes from his right, but when he looks over, the cage is still empty.
“Uh,” Willy says, “Auston?”
There’s another squeak, and then the bedding Auston had put down shifts, lifting in a random, winding pattern until there’s a thunk, and then Mitch is popping up right at the side of the cage closest to Auston. He gets his little fingers curled around the edge of the plastic tub that makes the base, then he gets a grip on the wire and he’s climbing.
“Oh, what the fuck,” Willy says, but Auston hardly hears him, immediately reaching in for Mitch and bringing him close.
“You were burrowing?” Auston asks, and Mitch stares flatly at him before giving a squeak, which probably means something like duh.
“Mitch,” Willy gasps, pushing himself up from the bed and coming to stand by Auston. “Hi.”
Auston shifts so he’s holding Mitch in his cupped palms. Mitch blinks up at Willy before moving to the edge of Auston’s fingers and reaching out. Willy mirrors him, like they’re trying to recreate the Making of Adam or whatever it's called. Auston lets them, still catching his breath and hoping he looks really normal about it.
Willy’s saying something, and Mitch is chirping back, and then Willy heaves a sigh. “Yeah, I don’t speak mouse. I’m just BSing. Let’s get the sticky note.”
They trek to the kitchen, and Mitch chitters and hisses at the dogs until Auston sets him on the counter, where he hurries over to the note. H-i W-i-l-l, he spells. F-d u-p. He pauses, then sets his paw down on the question mark.
“I don’t know why,” Willy tells him. “Sorry, man.”
G-i-v-e s-a-d f-a-c-e, Mitch says to Auston. E-m-o-j-i.
“Most mice don’t get to talk at all,” Auston tells him, though he adds a frowny, smiley, and angry face to the very bottom of the page. He’s running out of room to add anything else.
Very deliberately, Mitch puts his paws on m and b. Willy tilts his head curiously, but Auston doesn’t bother explaining. Mitch taps on no, then spells out l-e-a-d-s-?
Auston and Willy shake their heads, and Mitch repeatedly taps on the frowny face. He looks at Auston before once again writing s-t-u-c-k. Frowny face.
“You’re not,” Auston says. “We can fix this.”
“At least you’re a cute mouse,” Willy tells Mitch, and that makes Mitch finally tap on the smiley face. Willy smiles back before stretching. “I dated a witch once, but she was more, like, ‘shove a bunch of leaves and shit in a jar to feel better about yourself and the state of the world’ kind of way. Placebo effect, I think. We didn’t date very long, but she was cool.”
“Congrats,” Auston says.
“Just throwing it out there.” Willy boops Mitch on the head. “You put any leaves in a jar lately?”
Mitch covers up no. Willy hums.
“Worth a try.” His phone goes off then, and he bids them goodbye, telling Auston to keep him updated—or else. The door shuts behind him, and Auston and Mitch stay there for another minute before Auston sighs and sits.
“How are there no leads at all?” he asks as Mitch tilts his head.
I-D-K, comes the response, and Mitch’s tail passes over the frowny face when he turns to race up Auston’s arm. Auston lets him, stilling so Mitch doesn’t lose balance. He shivers when whiskers brush over his skin, and then Mitch is repeatedly pressing his nose to Auston’s neck. It’s a funny feeling, especially combined with the little sniffles Mitch lets out, but he reaches up to stroke a finger down Mitch’s back anyway.
“Thanks,” he says.
Mitch scampers back down his arm to tap N-P.
Auston laughs, resting his chin on his hand. “It’s kind of like texting.”
D-o m-o-r-e, Mitch says. Hesitantly, he touches the question mark.
“We’re busy.”
C-a-n w-a-i-t, Mitch suggests. Then, his ear twitches, and he adds, C-a-l-l. He taps the smiley face.
Auston swallows. “Maybe.”
Mitch looks at him, then covers the question mark. Auston looks at him, uncertain, and Mitch’s tail flicks. No l-i-k-e-?
“I like talking to you,” Auston replies. “Dumb question.”
Mitch taps the angry face.
“This sucks,” Auston says.
Yes, Mitch agrees.
Eichel calls while they eat lunch, asking after Mitch, if they’ve made any progress. Auston tells him about the sticky note, and Eichel switches to FaceTime, and Auston’s stomach swoops when Mitch immediately goes for D-i-d u t-e-l-l S-?
“She texted,” Eichel says, while Auston holds the phone tighter than he probably should. He hears the plastic of its case creak under his grip. “Replied for you, something about going out with the guys before we move on. You should probably change your password.”
Mitch looks at Auston then stomps on the angry face.
“Woah,” Eichel says. “I can tell her. Don’t worry.”
Auston sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, thinking, before he asks Mitch, “Does she already know?”
Eichel stops, the shaky motion of his camera dissipating as he stops texting. Both of them wait, watching as Mitch swipes his hands over his face.
No, he finally says. C-a-n-t h-e-l-p.
Auston takes a breath. “I’ll call her. Sorry, man. I’ll let you know if we get anywhere.”
Eichel hums his agreement, deleting whatever text he’d come up with, and the call ends. Auston’s last texts with Steph were from around her birthday, just short one-and-two word messages, mostly emoji. She’s nice. She’s so nice. He likes her. He hovers over her phone number before switching to FaceTime. Like in the dressing rooms, it’d probably be more believable if she could see the mouse that’s actually Mitch.
She picks up on the third ring, smile bright but confusion clear on her face. “Auston, hi!”
“Hi,” Auston replies, blinking, and then he looks down at Mitch, who’s just watching him. “There’s been a situation.”
In the past, if he started any call to her with that, she’d give something like an exasperated laugh, asking if they got matching tattoos or if he convinced Mitch to get a piercing. Maybe there’s something in his expression, a tension visible in his shoulders, but she doesn’t do that now. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t—shouldn’t—have any reason to call her, not anymore.
“Is everything okay? You guys aren’t hurt, right?”
“Not hurt,” Auston says. He feels queasy, glancing at Mitch, but Mitch just sniffs, giving nothing away. “Mitch is a mouse.”
That gets a laugh from Steph, though it’s more a nervous chuckle, like Auston’s told a really bad joke and she doesn’t want to be rude, but she is going to pull him aside later and ask if everything’s okay. “A mouse.”
There’s really no other way to put it, so Auston flips the camera and points at Mitch, who takes his cue and spells out a hello.
“He’s been like this since just after the game yesterday, and we don’t know why,” Auston says. “Steph, has he—do you—?”
“I really don’t know,” she replies. “My god. And you said he’s okay?”
“As okay as he can be,” Auston tells her. “He can understand you, like.”
Mitch says O-K and then s-a-f-e. Auston lets out a breath.
“I can prop my phone up,” he suggests. “That way you guys can talk.”
Mitch has already tapped the w and a when Steph waves the offer aside. “Three heads is better than two, probably. Even if one is a mouse.”
N-o-t r-l-y m-o-u-s-e, Mitch spells out. C-a-n t-h-i-n-k.
“Sometimes,” Auston tells him, and Mitch’s tail flicks.
“What about the rest of the guys?” Steph asks, and it takes Auston a moment to realize she means the Knights, and not Willy or JT or Mo or anyone. He swallows and lets Mitch answer, the usual slow spiel of no and c-a-n-t h-e-l-p. Frowny face.
Steph is as equally stumped as they are, and then there’s a gurgle on her end, and Mitch starts tapping repeatedly at the M and Auston also prods, and mouse-talk is set aside to coo over Miles, who has crawled over and now tugs at Steph’s pants. Miles is still the cutest baby Auston has ever seen, and Mitch relaxes when Steph pulls Miles into her lap and angles the phone so they’re both in frame. It tugs a little, watching Mitch, how his fur flattens, ears swiveling so they’re round dishes atop his head, but Auston guesses that hurt is what he gets for saying no. It’s clear Steph is worried too, but she keeps any questions to herself with the easy request to keep her updated, the same way everyone else has asked, and Auston’s denial looks a little over the top now. He doesn’t know what he was so afraid of, maybe.
Miles back on the ground, Steph studies Mitch the Mouse for another second before she sighs. “Alright. I’ll look stuff up on my end.” She gives an incredulous laugh, shaking her head. “Where do you even start with this?” She sits back, blonde hair fluttering around her flushed cheeks. “Thanks for telling me, Auston. And, seriously, you let me know if you need anything too.”
Auston blinks, and for some reason, it’s unexpected. He swallows, digging his foot into the crossbeam on the barstool he sits on. “Thanks.”
She gives him a smile then looks at Mitch. “Hope to see you as yourself again soon. Love you.”
Mitch taps repeatedly at the smiley face, and she ends the call.
Auston eyes him, says, “H’m,” then adds a heart to the bottom right corner of the sticky note. Mitch looks at it, taps it, then turns back to Auston. “I’ll start another sticky note if we need to add something else. Serious.”
T-Y, Mitch says, and Auston knows he’s not talking about the note.
He swallows, biting the inside of his cheek. He knows there’s more to be said about… everything. But he just really doesn’t want to have that conversation. He’d thought talking to Mitch the Mouse was easier than talking to Mitch the Human—Mitch, his friend—but that was before the sticky note, before Mitch could talk back. Now, he’s back to where he started.
“Sorry,” he says at last. “Just… thought it’d be better. But it wasn’t.”
Mitch taps out O-K and then the smiley face, turning his little face up at Auston, nose sniffing, and Auston gives him a little pat on the head for it, but it doesn’t feel okay. None of this is okay at all.
T-r-y a-g-a-i-n, Mitch says, serious, whiskers twitching. Auston sighs, giving him a look, but Mitch is stern, tapping the angry face, so Auston relents, tossing another piece of strawberry into the air.
Mitch’s little head tilts back to watch it, and his mouth drops open… and the strawberry smacks his cheek. It’s the closest they’ve gotten. Mitch eats the strawberry, mouth working quickly, and then he’s ready once more. Auston tosses a strawberry piece, and Mitch catches it in his paws. He stuffs it into his mouth.
Auston pokes Mitch, earning a squeak. “Doesn’t work like that. You said you can catch it in your mouth.”
T-r-y, but Auston waves him off, pushing the cutting board closer to him.
“Don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he says. “You’re not stuck, but what if, like, acting like a mouse makes you… worse?”
A-l-r-d-y b-a-d, Mitch says.
“Okay. I said worse.” Auston raps his knuckles against the counter while Mitch goes to town on the rest of the chopped strawberry. Obviously there’s been no progress on their end. They’ve got the sticky note, which is nice, but Mitch is still very much a mouse and Auston hasn’t come up with much, if he even dares to say he’s come up with anything at all. But there’s been no word from Butch, and the call with Eichel had Auston finally calling Steph, which was… something, but it’s not progress. This isn’t even back to where they started—they never got anywhere at all.
Mitch licks across his little palms, then slicks his whiskers back, rubs his hands over his face, over his ears. He blinks up at Auston when he’s done.
“We’ll figure it out,” Auston tells him. Mitch chirps, then goes over to one of Auston’s hands and waits. Auston scoops him up, and Mitch settles in his palm. He’s asleep before Auston even crosses the living room. The idea of a nap is nice, but Auston doesn’t hesitate to deposit Mitch in his cage, where he gets a bleary look before Mitch disappears into his bedding.
Auston huffs, but he lets Mitch sleep, going over to his laptop, where he’d left it on his bed after he and Willy tore his place up looking for Mitch. His first Google search draws up nothing but some movie from the ‘90s, and the plot when he decides he might as well read about it is so different from his situation he feels like he should clear his history, hiding the evidence that he even bothered with it. His second search gets him links to psychology articles, talking about ‘lycanthropy’—which Auston thought just meant werewolf, but apparently it’s a whole thing—and ‘dysphoria’ and ‘psychosis.’ He hesitates upon reading ‘trauma’ and clicks to the next page, but there, the articles disappear, and he just gets stuff about fursuits and fetishwear, and that’s nowhere close to what he’s looking for, so he closes out.
There’s results about writing prompts, graphic novels, Reddit threads about waking up with superpowers. His web history is definitely busted now.
He moves his laptop off his legs, stretches. Mitch is still asleep, and Auston is still no closer to figuring things out. He shakes himself out, pulls his laptop back onto his lap.
This time, he keeps going, past the psychologists, past the furry porn, past Reddit and Quora posts, all the way to some shoddy forum that looks like it hasn’t been updated since the early 2000s. MetazidmorphingMania, the title of the site reads, which Auston thinks is a mouthful, but he guesses beggars can’t be choosers.
There’s a few users logged in a column on the side of the page, frequent posters or moderators, maybe. There’s also some rules—SERIOUS INQUIRIES ONLY, the first one reads. That’s promising. Kind of.
The posts are automatically sorted from oldest to newest, which, weird, but again, beggars and choosers. Unfortunately, a lot of the first few threads Auston clicks through aren’t serious, or maybe they are, but they’re all about werewolves and how they’re apparently, like, really real. Auston still calls bull on that, but Mitch is a mouse, so what does he know?
And then he hesitates, and he looks up the current moon phase.
The full moon isn’t for basically another week.
Auston glances at the cage. They don’t really have another week, and that’s if the phases of the moon are even involved, and if Mitch were to change to a human on the full moon, like some inverse weremouse. There’s too many variables, too many holes, so Auston waves the idea away.
My (15f) bff (16f) turned in2 a cat, Auston reads next, and he pauses, cursor hovering over the post. What the hell, he’s made it this far—he clicks it.
“Id say it sounds crazy,” the post begins, “but I guess u guys on here r used 2 it. Basicaly wat it says: we were hanging out then I went to get more snacks and she was a cat wen I got back. And I kno u might b like ‘ohhh ur pet cat’ I DO NOT HV A PET CAT!!!!! My windows were ALL CLOSED. My bedroom door was open but THATS IT. Not the frnt door or back door. Only my door. I kno its her.
“Basicaly now idk how 2 turn her back :( I wanted 2 b a witch wen I was little but its not like the movies guys it sux. Basicaly does any1 hav ideas? Plz help THX.”
Some of the replies are homemade spells that Auston just knows are bullshit or completely inaccessible to him. Other replies are, like, “Lolzor gr8 gab go write a book,” which really has Auston questioning the mods of this site. So much for serious inquiries only. He clicks back to the main page and continues to scroll.
Then, “*UPDATE* bff turned into a cat.”
Auston sighs, then clicks.
To paraphrase outdated textspeak and spelling errors even Auston finds insane: the girl made a communication system for her and her cat-friend. Basicaly, what Auston's achieved with Mitch. Hers is different, though, by virtue of her friend turning into a cat and not a mouse.
The replies are more subdued this time, some even congratulating her or wishing her luck. There are still a couple people thinking she’s full of shit, but Auston ignores them, considering his current reality.
He scrolls back to the top of the post to see if communication is really all that happened, and he’s about to return to the homepage when he realizes this post has a hyperlink that just says next. He clicks that instead.
It’s pretty neat, he thinks, what you can do when you’re fifteen and on summer break with zero obligations. Every new post makes the whole ordeal sound almost fun, though there’s random moments where the reader is reminded that she hasn’t actually spoken to her best friend in two weeks. Auston eyes the cage in the corner of his eye—it’s not like they haven’t gone that long without talking. Their schedules can get packed; their energy can be completely gone by the time they’re able to relax. It happens, but they can also trust that the other will see their text or listen to their voicemail. He thinks of Mitch's suggestion to text more. Wonders how he'd feel if they regularly called.
This is the closest Auston has been to Mitch in months, and he can’t even hear his voice in realtime, see his eyes light up or his smile stretch his face, always a little too wide. It fucking sucks. He told Mitch the Mouse he missed him, and he meant him as a human being, yeah, but obviously he meant, like, everything else too. Suddenly, it wasn’t some abstract hurt that he could pack up and set aside until the offseason—it grew into an acute pang, now lodged in his ribs and unrelenting.
He gets a good few posts in, reading more and more posts from the girl about her cat-friend, and he tries to think scientifically about Mitch and his mousehood, and he’s a little miffed because there’s still not much on the process of turning back into a human, and then he’s downright pissed because he clicks next, and this time the post says:
THANK YOU FOR READING!
Hi guys, I know this is probably a shock to you all, but one of my other stories actually got picked up for publishing! Awesome, right? Unfortunately, I’ve had to make a lot of changes (there’s so many edits; sue me for thinking I had a good original story, right?), and because of literally everything, I won’t really have time for this project anymore.
Hopefully I can come back. Specifically, I hope I can come back soon—which I guess doesn’t sound very specific, right? Haha. But I just wanted to say thank you so much for joining me on this project. I’ve made so many friends; I’ve learnt so much about coding (making your own complete website from scratch is kind of hard); I’ve also learnt A LOT about cats! Which I thought I already knew a lot about, but apparently not.
Thanks again, and look forward to—
Auston slams the laptop shut. No way. He just spent—the room is lit only by the lights on the buildings outside, the sun completely gone; the clock reads 6:03pm—pretty much three hours reading some bullshit story that he thought was actually something useful to him. That has to be a joke. Actually, it all makes perfect sense. His life is one cosmic joke. Of course he’d waste precious time he doesn’t have on something completely fictional. Of course something that should be completely fictional happens to him. And Mitch.
Because of course whatever bullshit the universe likes to pull on him has to involve Mitch.
In his cage, Mitch seems to have woken up, the bedding occasionally being thrown out over the edge of the bin and onto Auston’s dresser. Auston sighs, getting up from his place on the bed.
“Sorry,” he says to him. “You’d think we’d have it figured out by now, right?”
He gets Mitch out of the cage, thinks, then rewrites their little sort of Ouija board on a fresh sticky note. He adds the faces and the heart, then shows it to Mitch. Then, he sets it back down to write in a Maybe. It barely fits.
“This one looks nicer,” he explains, to which Mitch looks up at him uncertainly. “I just feel kind of useless right now, bud.”
M-y w-o-r-d, Mitch says. U r s-o g-i-m-m-e n-u-m-b-e-r-s.
“Dude. There’s, like, actually no room. And I just made that note. Just spell it out.”
Mitch slams his paw on the angry face. A lot of times. Auston stands firm. Mitch gives an annoyed little chirp, but finally he finishes his thought: U r s-o s-i-x.
It’s kind of a fucked up thing to say, considering. It’s also kind of nice. Like, maybe that means Auston does know the city and it’s really become his home, been his home even, and he’s not entirely a bad captain. He pets Mitch between the ears. “Thanks.”
G-a-m-e t-m-r-w, Mitch continues. F-o-r b-o-t-h.
Auston frowns. Even if Mitch got turned back right now, he probably wouldn’t play in tomorrow’s game, but that doesn’t make the reminder any less uncomfortable. There’s no conclusion on whether every second Mitch spends as a mouse or every moment he acts like a mouse makes him more of a mouse, less of a person, and nothing has really indicated that to be the case, but Auston still hates how long Mitch has been a mouse. He hates the idea of leaving mouse-Mitch unattended for the hours he’ll have to be gone tomorrow, too.
C-a-n-t t-a-k-e w-? Mitch asks when Auston shares that with him.
“I mean, yeah, technically,” Auston says. “But I’m not taking you out on the ice with me, and I don’t think a mouse on the bench is a great idea. Also, you’re—,” not on the team. In enemy territory. The words tangle on Auston’s tongue. “Too risky.”
A-l-l t-o-o r-i-s-k-y, Mitch points out.
“Yeah, but this is, like, the best of the worst options. All that other shit is tempting fate.” Auston stares at a piece of bedding stuck on the edge of the plastic part of the cage. His stomach grumbles. “Let’s get dinner.”
F-u-l-l, Mitch says.
“Okay. I’m not.” Auston takes Mitch in his hands, and then they’re back in the kitchen, Auston eating some premade, nutritionist-approved meal while Mitch sits next to the original sticky note, little eyes wandering over it.
“What?” Auston asks when another minute has passed and Mitch hasn’t moved.
Mitch glances at him, dark eyes wide and probably holding more emotion than any set of mouse-eyes ever has. S-o-r-r-y.
“For what?” Auston asks. “Not your fault you’re a mouse.”
Mitch scratches his ear with his hindfoot, which, okay, then says, E-h.
Auston frowns, pushing his empty plate to the side. “The nickname is because of your hockey, Mitch. You’re not actually a magician.”
W-a-s-n-t a-p-o-l-o-s-i-n-g a-b-t m-o-u-s-e. Auston swallows. It’s a big word. Mitch stares resolutely at the note. F-o-r b-e-i-n-g w-e-i-r-d. He pauses then says, A-f-t-e-r.
He’s really not talking about turning into a mouse. It’s not that Auston never expected to talk about this, but he kind of thought it would be one of those distant, post-retirement conversations that occurs between an Auston that has his life together and a Mitch that sees his life is together and can’t really associate the Auston from years and years ago with the one that stands next to him then. Things could be written over, redacted, words changed around and blows softened.
Apparently not. Apparently they were having this conversation now.
“You weren’t that weird,” Auston tells him. “Thought it was just, y’know, hockey stuff.”
W-a-s, Mitch concurs. W-a-s-n-t. M-e-a-n-t a l-o-t.
“Wasn’t supposed to,” Auston drops his chin into his hand, looking more at the sticky note than at Mitch. “Figured you being married would make it mean less. Like, if I meant it, I’d have said it when—I don’t know. Won’t say ‘chance.’”
Y, and Auston thinks maybe Mitch means why?, but it’s too vague. The question mark is there, the tip of Mitch’s tail right next to it. Mitch doesn’t touch it. He doesn’t even look at it. Auston’s nails dig into his cheek. Maybe this is easier for Mitch when he’s a mouse. His mouth can’t run away from him. Every word that comes from him now is planned. Or maybe this conversation has always been planned. Auston doesn’t know.
His eyes have started to drift, going towards the windows where Toronto continues on, with or without Auston and Mitch, and he almost misses Mitch finishing his sentence:
Y-o-u d-i-d.
Mitch looks at him. Auston stares back. “What?”
C-h-a-n-c-e.
Auston can’t tell Mitch the Mouse to get the fuck out of his house. He’d probably die of exposure, like, immediately. Mitch has only recently learnt how to be, like, a normal human being. He’s fucking cooked when it comes to being a mouse. But god, does Auston wish he could tell Mitch the Mouse to get out of his house.
“You can’t say that,” he says instead, a tidal wave of nausea crashing over him. “Mitch. You can’t just say that.”
S-e-r-i-o-u-s. Mitch taps his paw against the period twice.
“This is so fucked,” Auston says, head dropping to the counter, forehead pressed into the cool marble. He groans, hands rubbing the back of his neck. “Couldn’t’ve said all this two years ago?”
He hears Mitch’s claws on the counter, but whatever Mitch has scrambled to say, obviously Auston doesn’t know.
Two years ago, he and Mitch were nursing beers quietly on opposite sides of the couch. Opposite sides because Mitch got told offhandedly that he was mad clingy and to chill out. It wasn’t Auston that told him that, but Mitch applied it to all his friendships, and what-even-ever, everything was changing and Auston either had to get with the program or get left behind, and when it came to Mitch, Auston really wanted to be there.
He slugged back the rest of his beer, and he felt Mitch’s blue, blue eyes on his face, and he said, “So. I was kind of in love with you.”
“Oh,” Mitch had replied, like he had nothing to say for once.
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Auston continued. “I’m over it.”
“Uh.” Mitch really was out of words, apparently.
Auston pointed at him with his empty bottle. “Want another?”
“I’m okay,” Mitch said. His eyes were wide, but he wasn’t really looking at Auston. Whatever.
“Don’t be weird,” Auston told him, to which Mitch at least said, “‘m not,” and then he typed something on his phone, which then lit up with a call that gave Mitch an excuse to leave. Auston’s pretty sure if he could have seen what he’d been typing, it would’ve been a text to Steph reading, Can u call?
Mitch hadn’t even answered the call, and at one point, Auston wondered if maybe Steph had asked him about that, but then he decided he didn’t want to know.
He still doesn’t want to know, but maybe he’ll find out anyway. Or—he’ll find out if he lifts his head, which he won’t. He meant it when he told Mitch he doesn’t want to talk about it. He meant it back then and he still means it now.
There’s more scratching, and then Auston yelps, scalp stinging as Mitch gives a tug to his hair.
“Why is that your first instinct?” he asks as Mitch returns to his sticky note, not even braggy or smug about his idea working. Auston keeps his eyes on him this time, though his chest is tight, and he just wants to go. If Mitch can’t leave now, then Auston’ll be the one to do it.
But of course he doesn’t.
S-c-a-r-e-d, Mitch says.
“Imagine how I felt,” Auston replies.
D-i-d-n-t l-o-o-k i-t-. B-r-a-v-e.
“I don’t want to have this conversation with a mouse,” Auston says, then, before Mitch can correct him, “even if you’re not really a mouse.” He shifts in his seat. “You left.”
S-h-o-u-l-d-n-t h-a-v-e. I k-n-o-w.
It had gotten weird, after. And hockey had kind of sucked, not in, like, points, but cellies came with hesitation and doodling on your gloves could only do so much, and Auston didn’t want to think about Mitch, not like that, and he didn’t want to think about how he actually said it, so he chalked it all up to just hockey. And then they’d both gotten over it—the not-as-fun hockey, or maybe Auston’s feelings, in a way—and they could pretend it hadn’t happened. It was fine, for a really long time even. Auston could almost believe they moved past it, but then Mitch turned into a mouse, and apparently now he wants to talk about it.
W-h-y n-o-t t-e-l-l S-t-e-p-h-?
“That I was in love with her husband? And before that—her boyfriend? Gee, Mitch, that’s tough to figure out, huh.”
Mitch taps the angry face. A-b-t m-o-u-s-e. U d-i-d t-h-i-s b-e-f-o-r.
Auston looks at Mitch’s little paws on the sticky note. Mitch’s tail flicks. “The e isn’t even that far. You could’ve spelt it.” Mitch doesn’t move, just watches Auston. Twitches his nose at him. “I don’t secretly hate her, if that’s what you’re wondering. She’s, like, awesome. Big fan.”
Mitch twitches his nose. Stays quiet.
Auston inhales, lets it out slow. “I don’t know. Willy called it overcompensating. I just wanted to be—thought I could be enough. Maybe I’m selfish.”
He had Mitch back, even if it wasn’t a form he was crazy about, and back at SBA, Mitch chose him. Somehow, one way or another, he ended up in Auston’s stall, and when he was about to be taken away, he stayed. He held on tight and threw a fit and it was nice. Auston was back to being Mitch’s favorite person. Obviously, he doesn’t want Mitch to be a mouse, but it’s so clear how Mitch likes him this way.
Calling Steph brings reality back in. Reminds Mitch that, on his list of favorite things, Auston’s… somewhere, probably falling further and further down. He’d count himself lucky if he breaks the top ten, even though once upon a time that was a guarantee.
L-o-v-e h-e-r, Mitch says, and Auston nods.
“Yeah. You kind of established that. Pretty clearly, I’d say.”
Mitch looks at him. Makes sure Auston is looking at him too. He circles the sticky note a couple times. His tail flicks, though it seems accidental rather than his purposeful irritated flicks he’s been doing. He catches Auston’s eyes one more time before spelling, L-o-v-e y-o-u.
Oh. Right, yeah, of course. “I get it,” Auston swears, lifting a hand, palm facing forward, like he’s taking an oath. “She’s your wife, and I’m your friend. I get it.”
Mitch blinks. His tail flicks. L-o-v-e y-o-u, he taps out again.
Auston frowns because it’s starting to feel mean, which. Okay. Seriously, he gets it—there was no competition. He was never a contender. Mitch told him he’d had a chance, but he couldn’t have really. Mitch is saying he loves him, but it’s—
Mitch taps the heart.
—different. They don’t even talk anymore, not really. Mitch is, like, really small right now. He probably only feels, like, one emotion at a time, and it probably feels like it’s dialed up to, like, one thousand in his tiny mouse body. It’s not—
I l-o-v-e y-o-u, Mitch says, looking up at Auston with his little mouse eyes, all deep pools of black and shining. L-i-k-e y-o-u l-o-v-e m-e.
It’s another long minute before Mitch at last puts his paw on the question mark.
Auston’s dinner again threatens to make a reappearance. He swallows it down. But then his voice doesn’t want to work. Mitch’s whiskers brush against the sticky note. Auston curls his hands into fists, digs his nails into his palms. Mitch called him brave. Mitch is saying he loves him.
“Yeah,” he says, the word a wisp of a thing, “I love you.”
He can only stand another moment of Mitch’s dark eyes—it’s so wrong now, the eyes, the whiskers, the nose, the little furry body and pale claws; he should be saying this to a person, coming clean to a Mitch with bright blue eyes and a brighter smile—before he once more has his head resting on the counter.
“Wasn’t just kind of in love with you,” he says to the floor. “I was really in love with you. Was in love with you then, and when you called—fucking ‘course I was in love with you. Think I’m shit at figuring this out? I didn’t even try to get over you. Just accepted this’d be it, and I was fine with that, Mitchy. I swear I was.”
“What changed?”
“You, literally. A fucking mouse, you—,” Auston sits up, but Mitch isn’t on the counter, and that’s obvious because he’s not a fucking mouse anymore.
Mitch blinks big blue eyes at him, and he’s not smiling, but that’s—it’s—Auston doesn’t need a smile.
“Mitch,” he says.
“I thought maybe you’d kiss me,” Mitch tells him, and Auston doesn’t know what to do with that, but Mitch is still standing there, with his eyes and his face and he’s here. His lips start to stretch, maybe to form more words or maybe to smile, but Auston doesn’t find out. Because he’s kissing him.
It happens before he can think about it, think better of it, because it definitely isn’t the smartest idea. But off the ice, the two of them were never great at smart ideas. Long lashes tickle Auston’s cheek, and Mitch’s hands find Auston’s shoulders, but instead of pushing him away, they hold on tight. Auston’s hands trace up Mitch’s back, curling over the sweet nape of his neck until his fingers can tangle into soft hair. It’s so good, more than he knows he can have.
He pulls away.
Mitch’s eyes are glassy, dazed. He keeps licking his lips—Auston doesn’t even know if he means to. He’s still got a grip on Auston’s shoulders.
“True love’s kiss,” he croaks.
Auston gives a startled laugh, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together. It’s when he thinks he’s never been so excited to see someone’s toes more than certain other parts of them that he realizes, “You need clothes.”
Another terrible idea, seeing Mitch look so soft and inviting and human in Auston’s clothes. They sit on opposite ends of Auston’s couch, and Auston feels like he’s on pins and needles, tension bunching up tight in every part of his body. He can’t go back to how it was before, not when he still can feel the heat of Mitch’s lips against his own, when he knows what it’s like to share the same breath. But he’s pretty sure he has to.
“I’ll let Eichs know you’re back,” he says. “He has your phone. And Cassidy—Butch. I don’t know what you… yeah. I’ll tell them.”
“You don’t—.” Mitch’s hand reaches, only to fall and lay limply in the space between them. “Thanks.”
But when Auston gets up to grab his phone, Mitch’s hand locks around his wrist.
“Don’t. Not yet.”
Auston sits back down. Mitch doesn’t let go.
“I’m not coming back,” Mitch says.
“I know.”
“No, like,” Mitch makes a frustrated noise in his throat, “yeah, not to, like, Toronto, maybe, but I mean. That doesn’t mean I don’t… want.”
Auston doesn’t follow.
“You,” Mitch clarifies. “And I think you feel the same.”
“You’re married,” Auston says, in case Mitch’s mouse-brain somehow managed to erase that when he turned back into a human. Mitch looks at him like he thinks he’s stupid, but also like he really, really likes him. It’s heady. Auston can hardly breathe.
“I don’t have to be,” Mitch finally replies.
“Miles,” Auston begins, but Mitch cuts him off.
“We’re not going to be free for at least another five months. We’ll hardly see each other. So, we don’t have to be anything today. Or even any time soon. But… one day.” Mitch looks hopeful when he says it, and Auston can’t say no, not when that same hope is blooming beautiful and terrifying inside him too. It’s not exactly talking about it—Auston doesn’t know if he’ll ever be good at talking about it, and maybe it’ll be another while before Mitch can finish talking about it, but it’s a start.
Auston works his wrist free of Mitch’s hold, but before Mitch can move, forward, back, wherever, Auston snatches his hand in his own.
Mitch looks over, and there’s his smile, starting to stretch wide once again, just on the verge of too big for his face, and it’s like the sun coming up or the first day of spring. It warms Auston from the inside out, and these next few months, he thinks they’ll suck without it right here with him, but if waiting means the potential for having it forever, Auston can endure.
Mitch is out for the Knights’ game against Ottawa, but Auston’s still in for the game against Colorado.
“Good luck,” Mitch tells him before they go their separate ways the next morning. “I know you need it.”
“Fuck you,” Auston replies. “You too.”
Mitch smiles blindingly, then Auston’s got an armful of Mitch Marner, and it’s easily the best feeling in the world, slotted in right next to scoring goals—maybe even just a little better. He squeezes back tight, and Mitch’s laugh is right in his ear when Auston lifts him up, feet hovering a couple inches off the ground.
The night before already feels like ages ago, the two of them curled up in Auston’s bed, everything always against better judgement, but it was nice, and it’s not like they actually did anything. It was just… Mitch was there, and he was human, and when Auston left the bathroom, Mitch was already in his bed and lifting the covers in an obvious invitation. It was really nice.
And now it would be easy to say again, the words already there, and it’s scary how easy it is, bubbling up in Auston’s throat like victory champagne—I love you, I love you, I love you—but he holds off, instead turning to press his lips in something like a kiss to the side of Mitch’s face.
Despite the hug, despite the squeeze Mitch gives to Auston’s hand when they part, it’s an anticlimactic goodbye. Auston waits for something—a last-minute call, a sprint to the train station, a torrential downpour—but while the snow is heavy, it’s nothing unmanageable. Mitch isn’t boarding a train. Auston’s phone remains quiet.
The time before the game stretches before him, and he wanders back into his place only half-present.
A peek into the bedroom shows all the pet supplies, and he swears Mitch’s shape is still indented in the bed. Felix and Rico trail after him, equally lost. They’d gone a bit crazy when they heard Mitch’s laughter, rushing from their hiding places to bump against Auston and Mitch’s legs, once again making Auston look so full of shit for ever calling them chill. It has to have been an exciting two days for them too. Auston reaches down to pat their curly heads.
“He’ll be back,” he tells them.
The sticky note is gone, Auston realizes, when he goes to the kitchen, two empty plates left on the counter. He looks on the floor, under the chairs, on the chairs, under the edge of the bar where they sat. It’s nowhere to be found. He swallows, forcing down the lump in his throat.
He’s not keeping the cage or anything for mice. There’s limited evidence of Mitch’s time as a mouse. He thought maybe he could—he doesn’t know. But if the sticky note is gone, fine. Mitch the Human is a lot more important. It’s fine, and he doesn’t care.
So, of course he’s pleasantly surprised when he goes back into the bedroom to start cleaning up the supplies and catches sight of the second sticky note, how it’s flattened firmly on the dresser.
The m and the b are circled, maybe crossed out. And even though there’s really no room left, there’s one more smiley added to the note, next to the heart. It’s like a signature. It’s more like evidence—that Auston didn’t imagine this all. That Mitch was here. That he lived it too.
He leaves the sticky note where it is, and by lunch time, he’s got the supplies cleaned and squared away. He’ll put a listing up for the cage and stuff soon. He’s sitting down to eat when his phone goes off with a text from Eichel.
Thanks for getting him back in one piece, it reads.
Another second passes, and then the screen dims, and eventually, it turns off. Auston watches steam rise off his food. Just a few more months, he thinks. Mitch won’t return to Toronto, true, but he will come back to Auston.