Chapter Text
Troy nudged the door open slowly.
It still slightly creaked as it opened, and Troy winced slightly. He didn’t want to wake up Harris if he was already asleep. His eyes were drooping, and he figured he’d just turn in after he changed.
The big bruise forming alongside his entire right side hurt like a bitch and he really just wanted to sleep. He’d turned down Roz on drinks after, and he felt bad about it now. Celebrating with the team was practically routine after a win, but he honestly just needed the space.
He grimaced as he bent down to set his bag on the floor. He rubbed at it a bit, as if gauging how bad it was. It didn’t help- it just hurt more. He figured he’d just sleep it off and maybe take it easy the next few days.
Nobody would really care, and he’d just continue on like he had before. It was like this after every game, anyway, and he didn’t want to worry people, especially for something he could deal with. He didn’t want to worry Harris.
When he stepped into their living room - it still sent a thrill through him to say that, that the house was theirs, not just his - Harris was sitting on the couch, typing away on his computer. Troy smiled softly at how cozy he looked, in fuzzy pajama pants and one of Troy’s Ottawa Centaurs hoodies. He dropped his bag on the floor and walked over to the back of the couch, pressing a kiss to the crown of Harris’ head.
“Hey, baby,” he whispered. The moment seemed soft and warm, almost fuzzy at the edges with how sweet it was, and he didn’t want to be the one to crack it. “What’re you working on?”
“Just editing that OT goal from Ilya. The one that you assisted?” Troy peeked over his shoulder, the corners of his mouth turning up as he saw him and Roz on the screen, stuck in a loop where Troy smacked the puck over to him and Roz tipped it into the goal. “That was amazing, bud, I’m so proud of you,” Harris gushed, tipping his head back on the couch cushions to look at him. His eyes were adoring and beautiful, and Troy grinned wide this time.
Troy leaned over the back of the couch and pressed a kiss to Harris’ lips. His hands went to cup Harris’ cheeks, trying to deepen the kiss, but Harris pulled away suddenly.
“I also saw that check in the second,” Harris said, looking a bit concerned, his eyebrows furrowed. There was worry swimming in his green eyes, too. “Montreal players are shitty- are you okay?”
Troy felt the low thrum of pain in his side every time he shifted, but he didn’t want to scare Harris. Harris already had so much to do, and there was nothing Troy would like less than burdening him right now. Or ever. He wished he could just keep Harris closed away in his heart, free from any negative emotion. Troy swiped his thumb against Harris’ cheekbone, watching as his eyelids fluttered shut. “I’m okay, love,” he said. He tried for a shrug, but immediately winced. Oops. Harris’ eyebrows furrowed even more.
“You should lie down, Troy,” Harris said, gently, but unyielding. Troy thought about denying for a moment, insisting that he was okay. But he supposed he’d worry his boyfriend even more if he did that, so he walked around to the front of the couch and sat down heavily, more than he’d meant to. Harris pulled his head onto his lap, his computer forgotten on the table.
Troy allowed himself a small, relieved exhale as the tension of supporting himself drained. Harris threaded his hands through Troy’s hair and Troy’s eyes closed for a moment too long before drifting open again.
“Did you at least get it checked?” Harris asked after a moment, his hands stilling in Troy’s hair. Troy made a small noise of disapproval at the loss of comfort, then his mind registered the question.
“Well, yeah,” he said, feeling a bit confused. It was mandatory, especially because he’d been a bit slow to get up. Plus, he wouldn’t jeopardize his health like that. It wasn’t that bad this time, they’d just let him off with a warning. Harris’ fingers resumed their path through his hair.
“And?” Harris asked. When Troy blinked up at him uncomprehendingly, Harris elaborated. “What’d they say, hun?”
“Just a bruise,” Troy shrugged again, wincing a bit as he did. Harris noticed the reaction and raised one eyebrow questioningly. “It hurts a bit sometimes.” Troy admitted, and Harris cupped Troy’s face in his hands gently. His lips were turned down in a pout, and Troy immediately wanted to reassure him that it was okay, that he was okay, but then Harris gently pressed his lips on Troy’s forehead.
Troy melted into Harris’ embrace, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this cared for. He knew that getting hurt was basically part of the job description and he’d dealt with so much worse. That thought made him pause. It honestly wasn’t bad on the scale of injuries he’d had on the ice. He didn’t want Harris to worry for no reason.
“I’m okay, though,” Troy said tentatively. Harris moved a bit further away to look him in the eye and Troy found himself chasing after that warmth. “You don’t have to-”
“What do you need?” Harris cut him off, not unkindly, but still firm.
“What?”
“What do you need from me right now?” At first, Troy, for a split second, thought Harris was being unkind. That he was teasing Troy for being clingy. That he was annoyed. Then the moment passed and he realized - remembered - that Harris was the nicest person on the planet. This wasn’t his father, or his old coach, or Dallas fucking Kent.
Harris didn’t have an unkind bone in his body. And he was Troy’s person. His. That felt good to think - how had he even found someone like Harris? It had felt impossible to be cared for, to be loved, in the open back then. Now, it felt so easy, the way Harris did it. Troy was still getting accustomed to that, but Harris was a master at breaking his walls down.
“You,” Troy whispered. “I just need this right now. Just you.” Both of them ignored the way Troy’s voice cracked on the last word - Harris because he didn’t want to pressure Troy, and Troy because he didn’t want to think about his show of vulnerability just yet.
Harris’ expression softened and he continued running his hands through Troy’s hair. Troy felt his eyes close, and turned his head to the side, burrowing into Harris, almost as a way of protection. And here, he did feel protected. Safe. Loved. All in a way he hadn’t felt for a long while.
God, how had he even gotten so lucky?