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The idea for the commercial was simple enough that Auston didn’t trust it immediately.
Apple gave him a phone and told him to spend the day filming Mitch however he wanted.
No director following them around. No scripted lines. No lighting setups every five seconds. Just the two of them loose in the city while a production team stayed mostly out of sight and waited for footage to come back.
“Seriously?” Auston asked.
The producer nodded. “Just be natural.”
Mitch made eye contact with Auston and nearly choked on his coffee laughing. “Man,” he said, clapping a hand against Auston’s shoulder, “you’re screwed.”
Auston rolled his eyes, but the truth was, he felt strangely nervous once they actually stepped outside with the phone in his hand. Not because of the commercial itself. Because he already knew what happened when he looked at Mitch for too long.
It started innocently enough.
Auston filmed Mitch walking through downtown Toronto in sunglasses and a hoodie, talking nonstop about some terrible playoff superstition he’d invented as a kid.
“You wore the same socks for an entire series?” Auston asked from behind the camera.
“Not the entire series. I washed them once.”
“That’s somehow worse.”
“You don’t understand commitment to the craft. Probably why we haven't got matching rings yet.”
Auston flushed at double meaning in Mitch's words, glad that he wasn't the one in front of the camera for once. Mitch looked over then, smiling automatically after hearing Auston laugh, and Auston felt something warm and familiar settle low in his chest.
He lowered the phone before the moment could stretch.
The whole day went like that.
Mitch trying to skateboard outside a shop in Kensington Market because he’d apparently decided twenty minutes earlier that he was “basically built for it.”
“You are unbelievably bad at this,” Auston said, barely keeping the phone steady as Mitch wobbled violently down the sidewalk.
“I need you to be supportive.”
“I am supportive. I support you quitting.”
Mitch flipped him off immediately before nearly falling again. Auston caught the entire thing on video, laughing hard enough that his voice cracked.
“Okay,” Mitch said, pointing at him after regaining balance, “that laugh was rude.”
“It was earned.”
“People are gonna think you’re mean to me.”
“I am mean to you.”
Mitch grinned at the camera. “He likes me, though.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
Auston tried to cover it with a scoff, but when Mitch skated back over and leaned too close into frame, smiling directly at him instead of the camera, Auston felt his heartbeat stumble awkwardly against his ribs.
“Get the shot,” Mitch said quietly.
The problem was that Auston already had.
Too many of them.
That was what started messing him up as the day went on. The realization that the camera wasn’t catching Mitch the way everyone else saw him. It was catching him the way Auston did.
And apparently there was a difference. Because every clip felt too soft somehow. Too fond.
Mitch sitting sideways in a diner booth stealing fries off Auston’s plate while maintaining eye contact just to be annoying about it.
Mitch laughing from somewhere off-screen after Auston muttered “idiot” under his breath.
Mitch turning suddenly when Auston said his name, expression opening instantly into something warm and unguarded.
That one especially.
Auston replayed it while Mitch was paying their bill at the counter.
It lasted maybe four seconds.
But Mitch looked at him like—
Like that.
Like Auston was someone worth searching for in a crowded room.
Auston swallowed hard, opened the share menu, and sent the video quietly to his personal phone.
Then he deleted it from the production device.
When Mitch slid back into the booth, he narrowed his eyes immediately.
“What’re you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“You whipped that screen down like you got caught watching porn.”
Auston locked the phone. “Right...cause some dumb clips of you falling off a skateboard are wank-worthy.”
“You seem to think so.”
Auston groaned, shutting down the image in his head and rolling his eyes at Mitch.
Later, they ended up by the waterfront while the sky started turning gold around the edges.
Mitch sat on a concrete barrier, one foot kicking absently at the air below him.
Auston filmed him for a minute without saying anything.
“What?” Mitch asked eventually.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been staring at me through that camera for like eight hours.”
“Yeah...it's literally my job.”
Mitch smiled slightly. “You getting good footage at least?”
Auston looked at the screen again.
Mitch’s hair was getting pushed around by the wind. The city skyline blurred softly behind him. He looked relaxed in a way he rarely managed during the season.
Beautiful, honestly.
Auston’s chest tightened unexpectedly.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “The best.”
Mitch tilted his head a little at that.
There was a pause that felt different from the others somehow. Longer. More aware.
Then Mitch held a hand out toward the camera.
“C’mere.”
“What?”
“Just trust me.”
Suspicious already, Auston stepped closer anyway.
Mitch caught the front of his hoodie and tugged him forward suddenly until Auston stumbled half between Mitch’s knees.
The phone jerked violently with the movement.
“Mitch—”
“There,” Mitch said, grinning up at him. “Better angle.”
Auston looked down at him.
Too close.
Way too close.
The camera was still recording.
Mitch must’ve realized it at the same moment because his eyes flicked briefly toward the phone, then back up to Auston’s face.
Neither of them moved.
Auston became acutely aware of Mitch’s hands still loosely gripping his hoodie.
The way his smile had faded into something smaller and quieter.
The way the entire world suddenly seemed to narrow down to this tiny pocket of space between them.
“You good?” Mitch asked softly.
Auston almost forgot the camera was in his hand.
“Yeah,” he managed.
Mitch’s gaze dropped briefly to Auston’s mouth.
That was enough.
Auston ended the recording too quickly, stepping back before either of them could do something catastrophically stupid.
The moment dissolved instantly.
Mitch cleared his throat and looked away toward the water. “You definitely can’t use that clip.”
“No shit.”
But later that night, alone in his condo while transferring footage over for the production team, Auston watched the video again anyway.
The shaky movement.
Mitch laughing.
The sudden closeness.
That look.
Jesus Christ.
Anybody paying enough attention would know immediately.
Auston sent the clip to his own phone. Then he deleted it permanently from the commercial folder.
He decided that it would never see the light of day.
But...he thought, there was a good chance it would see the dark of his room.