Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The first time Macklin came out was at thirteen. His dad was driving him home from a late practice, and maybe it was the fatigue or the weird silence waiting to be filled, but he found himself speaking before he decided to.

“I think I like boys.”

The only reaction was the car jerking a fraction. 

Macklin watched the streetlights blink past the window. He felt cold until his mother hugged him when they arrived home. 

The second time Macklin came out, he was sixteen. He’s sure of it now. He doesn’t know whether he still likes girls, but he can’t ignore the way he has to force himself to look away in the locker room or how heat rises to his cheeks whenever a teammate jokingly hits his ass.

“I like guys,” he says.

His dad’s fingers paused on the TV remote, but his eyes stayed stuck on the screen.

“Don’t say that to other people.”

Macklin blinks. “What?”

His father sighed, finally glancing over, expression pinched with the vague impatience he usually reserved for cable outages and bad traffic. “I said don’t go around telling people that.”

The words in Macklin’s stomach. He wanted to explain that his dad is the only person he’s ever told. He wanted to explain that all he needed was his acknowledgement.

But Macklin just nodded once, because that is apparently all the space he’s been given. “Okay.”

His father turned the volume up a notch. The commentator’s voice fills the living room.

The third time Macklin came out, he was nineteen and an alternate captain for the San Jose Sharks.

It happens on a Thursday afternoon, in the middle of a call that starts out normal enough. His dad asks about hockey, obviously. Macklin gives the expected answer. Fine. Busy. Fine. Yeah. No.

“Seeing anyone?”

Macklin heard himself say, "Yes."

There is a pause. “Yes?”

“Mhm.”

“And who might that be?”

Macklin spun a wheel in his head. “Will.”

The silence on the other end stretches thin enough to snap.

“Short for?” His father asked, like he knew the answer but hoped he was wrong.

“William,” Macklin said, liking the way it sounded on his tongue.

“Eklund?”

“Jesus, dad, no. It’s not someone you know.”

A sigh. Then, “And how long has this been going on?”

"A bit."

That earned him a weird sound on the other end. "You didn't mention this earlier."

"Sorry."

Since he was already apologizing, he should tell his dad he was joking before the whole thing turns into a disaster. But he didn’t.

There is a faint rustle on the line, like his dad has shifted the phone against his shoulder. “Is he nice?”

Macklin opens his eyes. “Huh?”

“Your boyfriend,” his father said, and the word sounded so strange in his mouth that Macklin nearly laughed. “Is he nice?”

“Yeah,” Macklin huffed out, because what else is there to say? “He’s nice.”

“Bring him over sometime.”

Oh, Macklin was fucked.

“What?”

“To dinner,” his father said. “If he’s important to you.”

Important to you. The phrase lingered.

Macklin stared at the wall. His apartment is quiet in the way only public figures’ apartments can be—too expensive to feel lived in, too large to feel warm.

“I—” Macklin starts.

His father cuts in, “Your mother would like that.”

Of course he would say that. Macklin can’t say no to his mom.

“Okay, I’ll bring him next time I’m in Vancouver.”

“Good,” his father replies, and the line clicked dead.

Macklin made a strangled noise and leaned his forehead against the phone.

He could invent a breakup before the imaginary relationship got any worse. But he wouldn’t. This was important to him. It had been six years since the words “I think I like boys” crossed his mouth, and he felt that for the first time they were being heard.

Macklin didn’t sleep that night.

Usually this was because he laid awake, staring at the ceiling. But tonight it was because he was at a bar.

It was one of those places that tried very hard to look casual and failed, all dim lights and exposed brick and cocktails with names nobody could say without sounding stupid.

Macklin stood near the end of the counter with his hands wrapped around a glass of a vodka soda he hadn’t touched, listening to the low churn of conversation around him and regretting every decision that had led here.

“Hey sexy,” a man’s voice said beside him.

Macklin spun around, immediately saying, “hey, what’s your name?”

He knew it sounded dumb the second it came out of his mouth. More like a cop than someone trying to flirt.

The guy next to him was about his age, maybe a little older, with dark hair that had been pushed back like he’d used a shit ton of gel. He wasn’t bad looking, but he wasn’t Macklin’s type.

“Kyle.”

Macklin was slightly relieved, “sorry, Kyle. I’m here with someone.”

The man’s eyes scanned the room and Macklin knew he could see through him. He wondered whether he came off as stupid or as rude.

Kyle’s mouth quirked, “Your loss.”

“Yup,” Macklin said, a little too quickly.

The man turned back toward the bar. Within seconds, he’s talking to someone else.

Macklin exhales and looks down at his drink.

This is stupid.

Macklin straightens slightly and glances around the room again, this time with intent. Groups of people cluster together, loud and familiar with each other. Couples lean in close. A guy in the corner is making out with a girl against the wall.

None of them look like a Will.

Which is ridiculous because what does a Will even look like?

Macklin spent the rest of the night bouncing around the room, pretending to be way more extroverted than he was.

He talked to men named Kevin, Mike, John, Carl, Roberto, MinJun, Devon, Spencer, and a bunch of others he couldn’t remember. But they definitely weren’t Wills. Maybe a Bill or Phil though.

Macklin went out again the next night.

And the night after that.

And the one after that.

It turns out there were a lot of men in the world who are not named Will. And he thinks he could feel himself becoming an alcoholic.

Night five starts with a text from one of his teammates.

‘You coming out tonight or are you gonna rot alone again?’

Macklin exhaled through his nose. Rotting alone did sound nice after four nights of socializing nonstop.

Another message came in.

‘We’re going to the place near Market St. Don’t be weird’

He typed back: ‘I’m not weird.’

‘LMAO’

That did not encourage him to go out.

The bar was loud in the way only California bars could be.

Macklin arrived late, which meant he was already being waved over before he’d fully cleared the door.

“Sharks royalty graces us,” someone called.

“Shut up,” Macklin said automatically, sliding into the booth.

A drink was shoved toward him without question. He didn’t ask what it was. He didn’t care enough to.

Across the table, someone was mid-story about a blocked shot that had apparently nearly ended their career. No one looked particularly moved by this information.

Macklin let the conversation wash over him as he drank.

“Okay, serious question,” one of the guys said, leaning back in the booth like he was about to deliver philosophy. “If you had to pick, who’s the hottest girl in the bar right now?”

A chorus of ‘ouu’s and half-laughs went around the table.

Across the table, someone was already scanning the room theatrically, pointing out candidates.

“That one by the bar,” one guy said. “Black dress. Easy.”

“Nah,” another cut in. “Too curvy. You always go for curvy.”

“Since when is ‘curvy’ bad?”

Laughter spread around the booth.

Macklin stared down at the condensation on his glass. “I’m going to the washroom.” He said to no one in particular.

The hallway to the bathrooms was narrower, dimmer, blessedly quieter.

Macklin exhaled as soon as he stepped into it.

Someone came out of the men’s washroom at the exact same time.

They collided.

Not full impact but enough that Macklin’s balance shifted and the other guy stumbled back a step.

“Shit—sorry,” Macklin said immediately.

The guy blinked up at him.

Around the same height as him. Light hair slightly messy. A faint flush on his cheekbones, either from heat or alcohol. He had a hoodie on under a jacket, which was a strange choice for California weather.

“Oh, You’re uh—Celebrini.”

Macklin paused. “Yeah.”

“Celebrini Celebrini.”

“Macklin Celebrini.” He corrected the man.

The guy huffed a laugh, shifting slightly to the side to give space. “I went to BC. Same year as Lenard and Perreault, they fucking hated you.”

Macklin frowned. “Is that so?”

The guy watched Macklin’s face, “My bad” he said.

The hallway behind them echoed with laughter from the bar. Someone yelled something indistinct about tequila.

The guy glanced past Macklin toward the sound, then back again. “You looked like you were escaping something in there.”

Macklin let out a short breath that almost became a laugh. “That obvious?”

“Yeah,” the guy said. “Kind of.”

That should’ve been the end of it. A bump in a hallway, they’d pass each other in opposite directions and forget it.

“It’s just my team.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The conversation turned gross.”

The guy nodded slowly, “wanna leave?”

“With you?”

“With me.”

“Yeah,” Macklin said honestly. “I wanna leave.”

The guy’s eyebrows lifted slightly, like he was reassessing something.

“Yeah?” he said. “Alright.”

He pushed off the wall and started walking without checking if Macklin followed.

They didn’t speak until they were outside.

The night air hit different. The kind of California night that still felt vaguely unreal.

“So,” he said, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket, “Wanna go to mine or yours?”

Macklin frowned slightly, because the question felt strange. “Huh?”

The guy looked at him for a long second. “I thought—” the man stopped mid sentence.

“Yeah?”

“I thought we were flirting, but I guess I read it wrong.”

Macklin stopped walking. “Oh,” he said.

The guy slowed a step ahead of him, then turned. “Yeah. Never mind, it’s fine.”

“Sorry.” Macklin said, though he wasn’t sure what he was sorry for.

The guy shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pocket, shoulders lifting slightly. “I get it.”

Macklin frowned, he felt bad for rejecting the guy. “What’s your name?”

“Will.”

Macklin froze.

“Will, I need you.”

The silence that followed was immediate and absolute.

“…Okay,” Will said slowly.

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Will said. “You don’t know me.”

“I know your name,” Macklin said, like that helped. It did not help.

Will blinked once. “Holy low bar.”

Macklin dragged a hand down his face. “Okay, yeah. It sounds insane. I hear it now.”

“Good,” Will said.

“I told my dad I have a boyfriend,” Macklin said.

“Right,” Will said slowly.

“And I don’t,” Macklin continued. “Have one.”

“Uh-huh,” Will filled in his pauses.

“Will you be my boyfriend?” Macklin repeated his question.

Cars passed on the street behind them, headlights dragging briefly across Will’s face. Up close, Macklin could see the faint crease between his eyebrows.

Will’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you paying me?”

Macklin frowned. “No. I mean, I could if you wanted, but that feels weird.”

“Yeah,” Will said. “Because this is weird.”

Macklin exhaled, “Okay, I know this is stupid. Obviously. But I just can’t break my word.” He stopped, jaw tightening slightly. “I said I’d bring him home.”

Will’s expression shifted, just a little. “Home.”

“Yeah. Vancouver.” Macklin glanced away, then back. “I’ll pay for everything, It’ll just be like a free vacation.”

Will rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, glancing briefly down the street like he was checking whether this was a prank someone was about to jump out and laugh at.

“Macklin,” he said, slower this time, like it was his first time saying the name. It probably was. Not many people are named Macklin.

“I’m,” Will continued, pointing to himself, “a little drunk.”

“Okay.”

Then Will huffed out a quiet laugh, like he couldn’t quite believe the situation he’d ended up in. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it between them.

“Give me your number.”

Macklin blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Will said. “You can pitch this again when I’m sober.”

Macklin took the phone, his fingers moved quickly, typing in his contact, then handing it back.

He doesn’t do this often. His personal details are something he keeps close to his chest. Will could very well leak his number.

Will looked at the screen, then back up at him. “If you send me a dick pic or something, I’m blocking you,” Will added, already stepping backward.

Macklin smiled.

He woke up with his phone in his hand. For one beautiful second, he didn’t remember anything. He suddenly did when he opened his device to see his teammates asking where he went.

He groaned and rolled onto his back.

The apartment was quiet, the pale morning light cutting across the floor in clean lines. No hangover, at least. He’d only had one drink over the whole night. Apparently one strong enough to make him stupidly brave.

Macklin stared at the ceiling for a full two minutes.

Then he rolled over, opened his messages, and stared at the new contact.

Will

He should probably learn his last name.

Macklin had a deadline. His dad didn’t forget things like that. And if Macklin backed out now, if he suddenly didn’t have a boyfriend after saying he did, it would confirm everything his dad already thought. That this was a phase. That it wasn’t serious. That Macklin didn’t mean it.

He started typing.

‘Hey, it’s Macklin. From the bar.’

Bubbles appeared immediately.

‘I remember’

‘Thought about it?’

‘Straight to the point, huh?’ Will responded.

Macklin’s face felt hot. ‘Sorry’

‘Explain it to me again.’

Macklin did, and hopefully better than the first time.

‘Why’d you lie?’ Will asked when he was finished.

Macklin stared at the question longer than he expected to. Because it was something he couldn’t put into words. The deep sensation of knowing you’re loved and accepted but not feeling it.

‘I need to prove a point.’ Macklin typed.

‘How long have we been dating?’ Will seemed to pick up on the cue that Macklin didn’t want to get into it.

‘Like a month’

‘Then I guess we should get to know each other?’

Macklin could have cheered at the implication. ‘When are you free?’

‘Now?’

Will had texted him an address, and Macklin had spent a solid ten minutes debating whether this was how he got murdered before deciding it was unlikely.

Still, he was nervous when he knocked.

The door opened almost immediately.

Will looked different sober. Not wildly so, but sharper in a way that made Macklin feel soft in comparison.

“You look less insane in daylight,” Will said by way of greeting.

“Good to know.”

Will stepped aside to let him in.

“I figured this was better than meeting in public.” Will said, closing the door behind him, “have you eaten yet?”

Macklin shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Good,” Will said dryly, and walked past him into the kitchen.

The apartment was smaller than Macklin expected, but in a way that made it feel used. There were books stacked on the coffee table, a bowl of keys by the door, a dish rack crowded with one chipped mug and two plates. It felt lived in. It felt like someone who had not spent the last two years bouncing around states and provenances.

Will started pulling things out of the fridge with practiced efficiency. Eggs, butter, bread, a package of bacon. Macklin watched him for a second, then stepped forward. “I can help.”

“With what?”

“Anything.”

For a minute they worked in companionable silence. Will cracked eggs into the pan, Macklin stood at the counter and tried to remember how to be normal in a kitchen with another person in it. It was weirdly unfamiliar, enough so that it made something in his chest tighten.

Will slid the food onto two plates and nudged one toward Macklin with the edge of his wrist.

“Sit,” he said, like it wasn’t a suggestion.

Macklin did.

Will leaned back against the counter instead of taking the chair across from him, folding his arms loosely. He didn’t eat right away. Just watched.

“Alright,” Will said finally. “If I’m doing this, I’m not walking in blind.”

Macklin nodded quickly. “Right.”

“So start talking.”

Macklin picked up his fork, then put it back down. “Okay. We’ve been dating a month.”

“Established,” Will said. “Who asked who out?”

Macklin hesitated.

Will’s mouth twitched. “You really didn’t think this through, huh?”

“I don’t know what sounds normal,” Macklin admitted. “I don’t exactly—date.”

“Yeah, that’s not shocking.”

Macklin frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Will pushed off the counter and finally sat across from him, “it means you’re a queer hockey player, of course you don’t date.”

Macklin looked down at his plate. “Fair.”

“I asked you.”

Macklin looked up.

“It feels right,” Will added with a shrug. “You don’t seem like the type to risk your whole career for a random guy.”

“First date,” Macklin said. “Where’d you take me?”

”This. Breakfast at my place.” Will said. “What about the future?”

Macklin froze slightly. “Future?”

“Yeah,” Will said. “Your dad invites us over. What’s the vibe? Are we serious? Casual? Are we going to live together? Get a pet?”

“It’s just a casual family dinner. My parents and probably my three siblings.” Macklin said, then hesitated. “But we’re serious. I need them to know I’m serious.”

Will was clearly studying him before being interrupted.

Macklin’s phone rang.

They both glanced down at the table as the screen lit up.

Dad

The phone kept ringing.

“Answer it,” Will said quietly.

Macklin stared at the screen for one more second, then reached out and answered it before he could think too hard about it.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” his dad said, voice steady, familiar. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No,” Macklin said. “It’s fine.”

“have you eaten?”

Macklin’s grip tightened slightly around the phone. “I’m eating breakfast with Will right now.”

“With Will?”

Macklin felt something in his chest shift. “Yeah.”

Across the table, Will’s eyebrows lifted at the mention of his name.

“Alright,” his dad said, taking the information in. “Put him on.”

Macklin blinked. “Pardon?”

“I’d like to say hello,” his father requested.

Macklin looked at Will.

Will mouthed, what?

“My dad wants to talk to you,” Macklin said, barely above a whisper.

Then Will held his hand out. “Okay,” he said quietly.

“No, dude, not one-on-one. I’m putting it on speaker.”

“Hello, sir,” Will said.

“Hello, William.”

Silence stretched.

“You live in San Jose?” his dad asked.

“A little,” Will said. “I’m from Boston.”

“Dad, Will went to Boston University a year above me.” Macklin told his father the one thing he knew about Will as if he were trying to prove something.

“Macklin, do you have no loyalty?”

“We’re grown men, dad. We’re not gonna get our school’s rivalry get between us.”

His dad continued, shifting gears. Macklin thought maybe he was off put by him saying they were both men. “What are you studying, William?”

“Communication Studies, through I’m taking a gap year to do an internship.”

“Where at?” his dad asked.

Will leaned back slightly in his chair, one hand resting near Macklin’s phone on the table. “Just downtown. It’s not huge or anything, but it’s good on a resume.”

“You plan on getting a job?” There was a problem in his tone, it was something stern pretending to be surprised.

“Yeah,” he said, easy. “Of course.”

Macklin could practically feel his father’s eyebrows rise through the phone.

“So you’re not planning on leaching off Macklin?”

There it was.

Will’s eyes flicked to Macklin for half a second, then back to the middle distance. “No, sir.”

His dad made a noise that was suspiciously close to satisfaction. “Good.”

“Dad.”

“What?”

“That was rude.”

“I asked a question.”

“I don’t want you speaking to my boyfriend like that.” The word felt good to say, even if he didn’t mean it.

Will let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh if he was being generous. “It’s alright.”

“No, it is not,” Macklin said before he could stop himself.

“For what it’s worth,” Will told the phone, “I see how hard your son works, he inspires me to put my all into everything. I wouldn’t be able to stand myself if I laid back and did nothing.”

Macklin had to manually remind himself Will was bullshitting. The real reason Will wants a job is because he’s a normal citizen Macklin picked off the streets.

“You have to understand, William,” his dad said, and now the edge in his voice had softened into something more careful, “I’m protective.”

“I know,” Will said, and there was no defensiveness in it. “You should be. Macklin is special.”

Macklin looked down at the table, at the plate cooling in front of him, suddenly aware of how strange it was to hear a guy his age say that.

His father was quiet for a moment. “You take care of him?”

“I try to.”

“Great.”

“You liked that answer?” Macklin spoke up.

“You can be difficult, Macklin.” Shot back like he was discussing something objective. “You get stuck in your own head. You don’t listen.”

Across the table, Will pressed his lips together, trying not to smile. He was clearly enjoying playing house.

His father exhaled softly on the other end, like something had settled into place. “Alright,” he said. “It was good speaking with you, William.”

“You too, sir.”

“I’ll see you both when you come to Vancouver.”

“Looking forward to it.”

The line clicked dead.

Macklin stared at nothing for a little too long. Something disorienting had settled under his ribs, and he didn’t know what to do with it.

His father had spoken to Will like he was a normal person. It was such a simple thing, such a stupidly ordinary thing, and Macklin still felt it hit him somewhere deep. It wasn’t a perfect conversation but it was one nonetheless. He had spoken to Will like he was someone to Macklin.

Macklin sat very still for a moment, hands resting around the edge of his plate. The kitchen had mostly gone quieter after the call.

Will was the first to move.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Will said.

Macklin let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Yeah.”

“He’s really formal.”

Macklin huffed out a laugh, half from relief and half because the whole situation was so deeply absurd that laughing felt like the only sane response. “You did well.”

“I know. He loves me.”

“Love is a strong word.”

“He said it was good speaking with me. He totally loves me.”

Macklin snorted softly, shaking his head, but the sound came out lighter than anything he’d managed all morning.

Will watched him for a second, something quieter slipping in behind the joke. “You okay?”

Macklin nodded and smiled softly, “Yeah.”

Three days later, Macklin was at practice.

The rink smelled like cold air and sweat and something faintly metallic. “Celebrini, you’re late on that,” one of the coaches called.

“I know,” Macklin shot back automatically, circling wide and digging his edges harder into the ice than necessary. He wasn’t late. Not really. Just off.

Macklin skated to the bench, pulling his helmet off and dragging a hand through damp hair. He sat forward, elbows on his knees, staring out at the ice while the next line ran drills. His phone was in his bag 100 feet away but he could feel it anyway. Like it was waiting.

“Earth to Macklin,” someone said, snapping fingers in front of his face.

Macklin blinked. “What?”

“You’re up.”

“Right.” He shoved his helmet back on and pushed off the bench.

By the time he got back to his apartment, it was late afternoon.

The place was exactly how he’d left it. No dishes in the sink, no clutter, no evidence that anyone lived there beyond the expensive furniture and hockey collectibles.

Macklin stood there for a second, keys still in his hand.

Then he pulled his phone out. No new messages from Will, nothing since the breakfast they shared. Their food was a little cold after the phone call, but they ate it anyway, doing so while sharing details about their lives.

Will Charles Patrick Smith (Macklin thought it was strange he had two middle names); he was born March 17th, 2005, in Massachusetts, and has an older sister named Grace. That’s all he remembered off the top of his head. That and how he smiled at Macklin whenever it was his turn to speak.

It made sense Will hadn’t messaged him. Will had a life. A normal one. Friends, family, internship, whatever else people like cared about more than their fake boyfriend.

Macklin typed: ‘hey’

He dropped his keys by on the counter, then sat down on the edge of the couch. Not all the way back. Just perched there, phone in hand, thumb hovering.

Will: ‘Hey’

‘Are you busy?’

‘ignoring some work rn’

That made Macklin huff a small laugh through his nose. ‘I’m glad’

Will: ‘You busy?’

‘just got back from practice’

‘How was it?’

‘Normal’

‘Why’d you text?’

Because the apartment was quiet. Because practice had felt off and he couldn’t figure out why. Because Will had accepted all his bullshit like it wasn’t bullshit at all.

Macklin pressed his lips together.

‘Just checking in,’ he typed.

‘I want to see you again’ Will said what Macklin couldn’t.

Macklin leaned back into the couch this time, letting his head fall against the cushion. ‘When?’

‘Tonight?’

‘I have a game at seven’

‘Ticket??’

‘You want to come?’

‘I was sorta joking but yeah? If you’re offering’

Macklin huffed out a quiet breath, something loosening in his chest before he could stop it.

‘I’ll leave a ticket at will call’

‘You’re really giving me a ticket?’

‘Calm down. It’s a hockey game, not wonka’s chocolate factory’

‘Asshole’

Macklin stepped onto the ice for warmups, rolling his shoulders once, stick loose in his hands. He pushed off, skating a tight circle, then another, building speed just to burn something off.

The stands were already filled in—jerseys, movement, people finding seats, leaning over railings. It was impossible to pick anyone out, let alone someone he’d met twice.

Still, Macklin’s gaze snagged on sections, lingered too long, moved on, then lingering again.

Mid-level, a few rows up, no jersey. Their eyes met.

Will looked shocked, like he hadn’t expected to actually be seen, and then lifted his hand in a small, almost awkward wave.

Macklin felt something in his chest shift, quick and unfamiliar. He didn’t wave back, but he didn’t look away right away, either.

He skated right into a teammate and the moment snapped clean in half.

The game itself blurred. It usually did. Fast, physical, and loud in a way that drowned out any conscious thought.

Macklin played well, he knew that in the detached way he always did. He hit his marks, read the plays, moved where he needed to move. Scored once, assisted another.

Every time he came off a shift, every time he sat on the bench sucking in air, his gaze drifted to the same spot.

Will watched the whole time. Sometimes leaning back. Sometimes talking to the random old guy next to him. Once laughing at something, head tipped slightly, easy in a way that didn’t match the intensity of everything happening on the ice.

At one point, their eyes caught again and they both just smiled.

They won.

Locker room was just pure noise— overlapping voices, gear hitting the floor, someone blasting music too loud.

“Celebrini, my boy!” Someone called, knocking into his shoulder. “You’re buying tonight.”

“Can’t, I have plans.”

That earned him a look. “Alright,” the guy said slowly. “Mystery man.”

He just shrugged, peeling off his gloves and tossing them into his stall. “I’m just meeting up with someone.”

There were a couple of whistles, a few exaggerated “oooohs.”

“A guy.” The added information seemed to make people think that it wasn’t a date.

By the time he got out of the shower and dressed, the arena had started to empty. The noise dulled down into something manageable—staff moving around, distant voices, the echo of things winding down.

Macklin grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and checked his phone.

Will: ‘that was fucking insane btw’

Will: ‘do you always do that or was it just for your boyfi’

Macklin: ‘Just for you ;)’

Macklin: ‘Where are you?’

‘Still in my seat, I didn’t know where to go’

‘Hold on, I’ll send someone to get you’

“I can’t believe I’m a WAG.” Were Will’s first words when he saw Macklin again. “Or I guess a HAB.”

“You’re a Montreal Canadien? Gross.”

“Ha. Ha. Funny.”

They walked together down the corridor.

Will kept glancing around like he was trying to understand the architecture of a place that existed entirely without him in it.

Macklin looked around too, aware of people still around them—staff, a couple lingering teammates.

Will’s eyes flicked over him. “You played crazy well. I understand why everyone at BC hated you.”

“You’ve never watched me play before?”

“I don’t watch much hockey. It’s a touchy subject for me.”

“You got hurt?”

Will made a noise through his nose. “That’s one word for it.”

The corridor curved toward the back exit, quieter the farther they got from the locker room. The sounds dulled into something muffled and distant, like it belonged to a different building entirely.

“And another word for it?”

“It’s hockey and I’m gay.” Will didn’t look at him when he said it.

Macklin didn’t respond immediately, not because he didn’t understand. He did, very well. He understood the way something you are becomes something you have to manage. The way it costs you things you can’t prove were ever yours.

Will should have been a hockey player, but he couldn’t be. He seemed to have the opposite problem as Macklin.

“That will do it.” Macklin finally said.

Will huffed out something that might’ve been a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah,” he said.

They pushed through the back doors into the cool night air. It was quieter out here.

“I wasn’t out,” Will explained. “Not officially— I’m still not. The thought horrifies me. I always feel like they know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t, like, bullied off the ice or anything, but I could feel it. Everyone would look at me strange, and just couldn’t take it.”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway,” Will said, clapping his hands together once, like he was closing a book. “That’s my tragic backstory. You’re welcome.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Are you out?”

“I’ve only ever told my dad.”

“You ever think about it?” Will asked.

Macklin let out a slow breath. “All the time.”

“And?”

Macklin looked out at the empty stretch of pavement, the faint reflection of arena lights on the ground. “I love hockey more than I could ever love myself. I’d choose hockey every time.”

It was an answer that would land wrong on any one.

“Can you drive me home?”

The shift was so fast it felt like Will was saving him from his thoughts. “Yeah,” he said.

“Cool,” Will nodded, already starting in a random direction that happened to be right. “Let’s go, superstar.”

The engine barely made a sound when he started it, just a low hum that filled the space between them without actually taking up any room. Will sank into the passenger seat like he didn’t quite trust himself to get comfortable yet, one arm hooked lazily over his stomach, the other resting against the door.

“Seatbelt,” Macklin said.

Will glanced at him as to say ‘are you serious?’ but complied.

The belt clicked into place.

“Happy?”

Macklin pulled out of the lot. “Yes.”

Will leaned an elbow against the window ledge and looked out at the street as they merged into traffic. The city moved past in smeared bands of light and headlights.

Macklin kept one hand on the wheel and tried to stop thinking about his fake boyfriend in the passenger seat. It felt too intimate for how small it really was.

“Your car’s cleaner than I expected,” Will said eventually.

Macklin blinked. “Why?”

“You seem like the kind of guy who’d have wrappers everywhere.”

“I don’t drive often”

Macklin’s car was too expensive for how often he used it. He some times wished he was the type of guy who enjoyed joyrides, just so the purchase was excusable.

“Makes sense,” Will said, though he sounded distracted now, looking out at the road. “You don’t seem like someone who does things just because they’re fun.”

“That sounds rude.”

“Don’t worry, I can fix you.” Will tipped his head toward him, one corner of his mouth lifting.

Macklin felt the heat climb up his neck before he could stop it.

“I don’t need fixing.” He said but didn’t really believe.

“Name one fun thing you’ve done this week that wasn’t hockey.”

“I went to a bar.”

“You weren’t even having fun. You went to hide in the bathroom.”

Macklin glanced at him, jaw tightening slightly. “You’re kind of annoying.”

“It’s part of the charm.”

“Does it work?”

“You tell me. You’re my boyfriend.”

Macklin pulled into a spot along the curb and shifted the car into park. The engine hummed for a second before he turned it off completely.

“Well,” Will said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride.”

Macklin nodded. “Yeah.”

Will reached for the car door handle, then paused.

“You wanna come in?”

“It’s late.”

Will shrugged, “You look like you don’t have anything better to do. We can watch something.”

Macklin took a second to think, though his head was pretty empty. “Yeah. Okay.”

Macklin killed the engine completely and followed Will up the narrow path to the apartment building.

It was one of those old walk-ups with chipped paint around the railings and a front door that shut too loudly behind them. The hallway smelled faintly like dust and someone’s dinner from three doors down.

Will climbed the stairs without looking back.

Macklin followed half a step behind.

Will unlocked the door and stepped inside first, tossing his keys into the bowl by the entrance.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, toeing off his shoes.

Macklin stood awkwardly just inside the doorway.

Will glanced over his shoulder and quietly laughed at his awkwardness.

Macklin toed off his shoes and followed him farther in.

The apartment looked different at night. There was a soft lamp on in the corner instead of the harsh daylight from earlier, and the place felt smaller in a way that wasn’t bad.

Will dropped onto the couch and grabbed the remote off the coffee table.

“What do you wanna watch?”

Macklin hovered awkwardly by the arm of the couch. “I don’t care.”

“Okay, well, don’t be mad when I choose something stupid.”

Macklin sat down on the opposite end of the couch, leaving enough room between them for a whole other person.

Will noticed. “I don’t bite.”

Macklin frowned. “I know.”

“How is your dad going to know we’re dating if you treat me like I’ve got the plague?”

Macklin looked down at the empty space between them and felt stupid. He exhaled through his nose. “I’m trying to not make this weird.”

Will barked out a short laugh. “Macklin, this started with you asking me to be your boyfriend, like, ten minutes after meeting. Weird has happened.”

Will shifted, stretching one arm along the back of the couch. “Come here,” he said.

Macklin hesitated for half a second, then moved—just enough that the space between them wasn’t glaring anymore. Their thighs brushed. Macklin felt warm.

Will didn’t comment on it, just turned back to the TV, flipping through options with lazy indifference.

“We need a show.” Will said.

“What?”

“For credibility,” Will replied. “Every couple has a show they’re binging together.”

Macklin blinked. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Will shot back, still scrolling. “You sit together, you watch something dumb, pretend you’re not just there solely to spend time with the other person.”

“Huh, cute.”

Will clicked into something without announcing it.

Macklin glanced at the screen. “What is this?”

“I don’t know,” Will said. “It has seven seasons.”

Macklin tried to focus on the screen, really he did, but he kept noticing things that had nothing to do with the show. The way Will’s arm stayed stretched along the back of the couch, not quite touching but close enough that Macklin could feel the warmth from it. The way his knee bounced slightly whenever something funny happened, like he couldn’t fully sit still.

There was a joke on screen. Will laughed and Macklin immediately forgot what was funny.

Macklin didn’t realize how tired he was. It crept up on him—somewhere between the steady background noise of the TV and the warmth coming from Will. His body felt heavier. It made sense, he had played an NHL game a couple hours earlier.

On screen, someone was talking too fast, laughter trailing behind it, and Macklin had lost the plot entirely.

Macklin’s head had tipped back slightly against the couch, eyes half-lidded, he was losing a fight.

Will looked over to him. “You falling asleep?”

Macklin shook his head, which immediately proved the opposite. “No.”

“You can sleep over. I don’t mind.”

Macklin made a small, noncommittal sound, like he was trying to argue but didn’t have the energy to follow through. His head tipped slightly to the side, then corrected itself, then tipped again.

Another minute passed. Maybe less. Time felt slower in the dim light, the TV flickering soft colors across the room.

Then, without much warning, Macklin’s shoulder shifted—and his head dropped.

It landed against Will’s shoulder, solid and warm.

Carefully, Will adjusted just slightly so Macklin wasn’t at an awkward angle.

Macklin woke up slow and confused, which was not unusual, but the ceiling above him was wrong. Not his ceiling. Too close, too plain, with a light that glowed amber instead of the clean white in his apartment.

The blanket slid down his shoulder as he shifted, and the smell of laundry detergent and something faintly like coffee reached him. He froze.

He was on a couch that wasn’t his, wrapped in a blanket that wasn’t his, with his head on a pillow that wasn’t his.

He was in is own clothes though, so that was a good sign.

From the kitchen, a voice said, “You’re awake.”

Macklin turned.

Will was standing at the counter in sweatpants and a T-shirt, hair damp like he had showered, holding a mug in one hand.

“Oh,” Macklin’s memories started coming in, “Will.” He immediately felt relieved.

“Good morning, Macky.”

Macklin furrowed his eyebrows, “what?”

“Your brother texted you.”

“Aiden?”

Will looked over with mild interest, mug paused halfway to his mouth. “Yeah, he gave me the idea for the great nickname.”

Macklin sat up slowly, blanket slipping down his waist. “Do not call me Macky.”

Macklin scrubbed a hand over his face, the fuzz of sleep still clinging to him. The room was brighter now than it had been last night, pale morning light spilling across the floor and catching on the edge of the coffee table.

His phone on the arm of the couch.

Macklin glanced picked it up automatically, then frowned when he saw the name lighting up the screen.

Aiden: Macky
Aiden: why did dad just ask me if I knew you’re dating a boy from boston college??
Aiden: wtf
Aiden: Macklin answer me

His stomach dropped.

“Oh,” he said, too quietly.

Will looked up from the counter. “What?”

Macklin’s thumb hovered over the phone screen, useless. “I need to call my brother.”

“Okay.”

“No, I mean right now.” Macklin swung his legs off the couch so fast the blanket slid to the floor. “My dad said something to him. I don’t know.”

“Hey.” Will set his mug down. His voice cut through the panic just enough to slow it. “Breathe.”

Macklin looked at him, “I am breathing.”

“Too fast.” Will crossed the room in a few easy steps. “It’s going to be okay. I’m here.”

Macklin swallowed, then nodded once and thumbed Aiden’s contact. The call barely rang twice before it was answered.

“Finally,” Aiden said immediately. “What the hell is going on?”

Macklin winced and pressed the phone harder against his ear. “Okay, before you say anything, I need you to not be mad.”

There was a beat of silence. “That sounds very much like a thing I should be mad about.”

“It is not.”

“Okay,” Aiden said, voice tight with outrage, “before I say anything else, why is Dad telling me your boyfriend went to Boston College?”

Macklin blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Macklin looked at Will helplessly. Will, for his part, had gone very still, eyebrows lifted in suspense.

“Aiden,” Macklin said carefully, “is that what you are mad about?”

“Yes,” Aiden snapped. “Do you know what this means?”

“No?”

“It means you are dating the enemy.”

“Hold on, I’m with him right now. I need to tell him this.”

Aiden made an outraged noise on the other end of the line. “Do not put me on speaker. I am not done—”

Macklin pulled the phone away from his ear anyway, glancing at Will. “He’s upset about the school thing.”

Macklin then tapped the screen.

“You’re on speaker,” he said.

“Screw you,” Aiden replied flatly.

Will leaned one hip against the edge of the couch, arms crossing loosely. “Hi, Aiden.”

“Why Boston College?”

“Because they accepted me?”

“That’s a shit reason.” Aiden huffed, “Macky, why are you dating this guy?”

Will looked at Macklin— just a quick flick of the eyes like is everyone in your family like this?

Macklin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Aiden, please.”

“What? I’m protecting you.”

“I don’t need protecting.” Macklin groaned “I want to talk to you about dad.”

“Oh,” Aiden said finally, slightly less hostile. “Okay.”

Macklin straightened a little on the couch. Will stayed where he was, his attention had sharpened—listening like a nosey person.

“What did Dad say to you?” Macklin asked.

Aiden exhaled loudly through the phone. “He didn’t say much. Just asked me if I knew and I said no.”

“So he’s not mad?”

Aiden made a noise. “He didn’t sound mad. He sounded— I don’t know—a little upset? Not, like, at you or anything, just kinda sad.”

The word sad sat in the air longer than it should’ve, like it didn’t belong in a conversation about his father at all.

“What?” Macklin repeated finally.

Aiden huffed on the other end. “Not like devastated. He was just quiet. He looked relieved when I said I didn’t know anything.”

The words his dad said to him when he was sixteen rang in his ear: ‘don’t go around telling people that.’ That was probably the reason he was relieved, because Macklin didn’t tell anyone.

Macklin’s grip tightened slightly around the phone. “Right.”

“I’m surprised you told him, you’ve always been so scared of dad.”

The silence stretched just a second too long.

Across from him, Will had gone still, clearly uncomfortable. Macklin was suddenly aware that Will still didn’t know much about him.

“Aiden,” Macklin said finally, voice flatter than he meant it to be, “I’m not scared of him.”

“Okay,” he said after a beat, in a tone that clearly meant he did not believe that at all. “Whatever you say.”

Macklin’s jaw tightened. “I mean it.”

“I got it.” Aiden exhaled. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me first. You’re my brother, Macky. I don’t care who you date as long as they’re not, like, a complete asshole.”

Will’s mouth twitched at that, like he was holding something back. “I’m not, by the way.” he said mildly.

Aiden made a skeptical hum through the phone. “Jury’s still out, Boston.”

“My name is Will.”

Then Aiden sighed. “Look,” he said, tone shifting—still blunt, but less sharp around the edges. “Macklin’s… a lot.”

Macklin’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?”

“You are,” Aiden said plainly. “You get in your head, you overthink everything, and you don’t tell anyone what’s going on until it’s already a whole situation.”

Will’s eyes flicked to Macklin at that, something more observant settling in.

“So if you’re messing with him,” Aiden continued, voice steady now, “we’re gonna have a problem.”

Macklin pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Aiden, I promise you, I’m okay. He’s not messing with me.”

Will lifted a hand slightly, like he wanted the phone but also didn’t want to interrupt. Then, as if deciding subtlety wasn’t going to help him here, he leaned closer toward the couch and spoke directly into the speaker with an ease that felt almost unfair.

“I’m actually,” Will said, “kind of crazy about him.”

Aiden’s voice came back. “Ew.”

Will stayed leaned in slightly toward the phone. He shrugged a little, “he’s impossible not to care about. He’s cute and all, but he’s also really amazing. Like, genuinely. He cares a lot. About people, about hockey, about doing things right even when it stresses him out. He’ll act like everything is fine, but you can tell when it’s not. He gets quiet in this specific way, like he’s trying not to take up space. It’s kind of ridiculous, honestly. And he pretends he’s not listening, but he’s always listening. He remembers things you say. Little stuff. It’s annoying in a way that makes you realize you should probably also be better as a person.”

On the other end, Aiden went very quiet. A second longer, Will would have started back up again. “Huh.”

Macklin felt hot immediately. Not just warm—properly hot, the kind of heat that crept up his neck fast enough that he could feel it under his jaw. He shifted on the couch like the cushions had suddenly become too small for his body.

“Aiden, this is so embarrassing. I’m hanging up.” Macklin said.

“Wait, wait—” Aiden cut in quickly. “No, hold on. I need a second.”

“I’m hanging up.” The call ends without another word. Macklin swallowed. “Why would you say all that?”

“He sounded worried.”

“That doesn’t mean you needed to—” Macklin gestured vaguely, heat still sitting under his skin, “whatever that was.”

Will’s mouth twitched. “Compliment my boyfriend?”

Macklin groaned quietly and dropped his head back against the couch cushion.

The next week got busy.

Which was normal. Busy was fine. Busy meant early practices and video review and flights and media obligations and enough structure to keep his brain from spiraling too far ahead.

Except now his phone kept vibrating with something other than emails.

Will: ‘your brother followed me on instagram’
Will: ‘he liked a picture from 2022’
Macklin: ‘he does that’
Will: ‘why’
Macklin: ‘he’s bored’
Will: ‘does he also usually comment “traitor” under a post about me being accepted BU?’

Macklin laughed out loud in the middle of the locker room.

His teammates looked at him immediately like zoo animals spotting enrichment.

“There it is,” someone said.

Macklin’s expression dropped instantly. “What?”

Another teammate cut in, “you’ve been smiling at your phone all week. It’s disgusting.”

Macklin shoved his gear into his bag harder than necessary. “You guys are dramatic.”

“Who is she?”

She.

The room seemed to read his discomfort as hesitation.

“Oh my god.”

“Celly’s in love.”

“Is she famous?”

Macklin sucked in a breath. “It was my mom.”

Macklin seemed to text Will every hour of the day, especially when travelling.

1pm
Macklin: you busy?
Will: I thought you’d be mid air by now

2pm
Macklin: Istg someone just farted
Will: open a window
Macklin: it’s an airplane…

3pm
Macklin: we just landed.
Will: send pictures

4pm
Macklin: my hotel room is so nice
Will: stop bragging
Will: I’m at work

5pm
Macklin: I’m so bored rn
Macklin: I wish you were here
Will: let’s eat dinner on facetime together

6pm
Macklin set his phone down against a mug and propped it upright with a spoon so it wouldn’t slide.

“Hi, baby,” Will said, leaning closer into frame

Will’s been using a lot of pet names recently. It started off with ‘Macky,’ and then evolved into ‘baby,’ ‘sweetie,’ ‘honey.’ Macklin didn’t mind he but he didn’t understand it either. He only needed Will to pretend in front of his dad and his father definitely can’t hear Will from Vancouver.

“Hi.” Macklin replied.

Will’s face filled the screen, slightly grainy from the call, chin propped in his hand.

“I thought you said your room was nice,” Will said.

“It is. It’s expensive.”

“That doesn’t been it’s nice. It’s so white and empty.”

“I miss your place.”

“I bet. You’ve been at mine more than your own recently.”

“I like your place,” Macklin stated.

“Have you eaten?” Will asked.

“I’m not very hungry. I had some snacks on the plane.”

“That’s not food.”

“It is technically food.”

Will gave him a look that was so unimpressed it almost made Macklin laugh. “Order something.”

“What are you eating?”

“I’m gonna make spaghetti.”

“I’ll get the same thing then.”

“Hm. That’s cute of you.”

Will disappeared off-screen for a second, the camera catching a blur of his shoulder as he moved through the apartment.

Macklin adjusted his phone slightly. The silence on the call settled into something easy.

He could hear faint sounds from Will’s end—cabinet doors opening, the clink of something metal against the counter.

“You actually know how to cook?” Macklin asked.

Will reappeared, tying his hair up loosely at the back of his head. It wasn’t a style so much as a concession to practicality, a few strands still falling forward anyway.

Macklin watched without meaning to.

“Yeah? Kinda have to since I live alone.”

It was an activity so simple but it threw Macklin off for some reason. Will boiling water. Will opening a jar. Will leaning slightly over the stove, checking something.

Macklin’s food arrived around the same time Will was done cooking. They ate while Will talked about his day. Apparently some older woman at work had a dog named Steve and this was hilarious to Macklin. The conversation moved to Cali and Rigney, and then to Will’s extended family and his connection with baseball and the White Sox. They talked and talked and talked, until Macklin could feel his throat getting sore.

The call had started to wind down without either of them really deciding it should.

“You have a game tomorrow.” Will hummed. “You should sleep.”

Macklin glanced at the time. It was later than he thought. It always was with Will—like minutes didn’t behave properly when they were talking.

“I will,” he said, though neither of them moved.

“Mm.” Will accepted. “Goodnight, sweetie.”

He nodded slightly at the camera. “Goodnight.”

Will lifted his hand in a lazy half-wave. “Sleep well.”

“I will.”

A second passed.

“Love you,” Will said.

And the call ended. Duration: 4:12:02

For a moment, there was only the faint hum of his hotel room air conditioning and the distant sound of a hallway door shutting somewhere outside.

He stared at his phone.

“…What?” he said quietly to the empty room.

Macklin stayed up for another hour, thinking. People said that to each other casually sometimes, didn’t they? Friends probably did. Maybe Will was just the type of person who said things easily. Maybe it slipped out. Maybe he says it to everyone.

Maybe he was joking.

That last thought settled easiest, so Macklin held onto it.

Will liked teasing him. That was established now. He flirted because he thought Macklin’s reactions were funny. He exaggerated things constantly. Earlier that week he’d claimed he “could kiss him” because Macklin helped him bring in groceries.

So yeah. Obviously a joke.

Macklin repeated that to himself enough times that eventually his brain stopped circling the words. Then he rolled over and finally went to sleep.

The Sharks got absolutely destroyed.

Everything that could’ve gone wrong did. Bad passes. Missed coverage. A turnover behind the net that ended up clipped and replayed three separate times on sports accounts before the third period even ended.

Macklin scored the only point of the night, which somehow made it worse. A little star of hope stitched into a game that felt like it was rotting him from the inside out.

By the time he got back to the locker room, everyone was pissed off in different ways. Some guys were loud about it. Slamming sticks into stalls. Cursing under their breath. Others went dead quiet, headphones on before they’d even fully gotten their gear off.

Macklin sat in front of his stall and untied his skates with stiff fingers.

“Brutal one,” someone muttered nearby.

No shit. That pissed him off even more. Every little thing was getting under his skin. The room smelled like sweat. Macklin suddenly felt claustrophobic in his own equipment. Media afterward was worse. Questions fired at him one after another.

“What happened defensively tonight?”

“Do you think the pressure’s getting to the younger guys?”

“You seemed frustrated after the second period turnover—”

By the time he finally got back to the hotel, his chest hurt in that weird tight way.

Macklin dropped his bag by the door harder than intended and stood there for a second staring at nothing.

His phone buzzed.

Will: ‘hey my superstar’

Macklin looked at the message for a long moment.

‘Can I call?’

The response came instantly.

‘always’

Will answered halfway through the first ring. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Macklin sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. “Hi.”

Will’s voice softened immediately. “You okay?”

The silence stretched. Macklin could hear faint rustling, then the creak of what was probably Will sitting down somewhere. “Macklin?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, except his voice cracked around it. Macklin pressed the heel of his hand against one eye hard enough to hurt. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Macklin could hear Will breathing through the speaker.

“We lost,” Macklin said finally.

“I know.”

“I played like shit.”

“You scored.”

“One point doesn’t matter when they got six.”

Will hummed softly.

The room suddenly felt too warm. His body still smelled like sweat and stale arena air. His chest hurt. “I hate losing,” he said quietly.

“I know you do.”

“I seriously fucking hate it.” The words came out sharper than he meant them to. He heard himself breathing too fast again.

Will stayed calm. “Talk to me.”

Macklin laughed once under his breath, except it sounded wrong.“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Macky.”

Macklin scrubbed both hands over his face. “I just—” His voice broke again and he stopped abruptly.

“are you crying?” Will said carefully, like he was approaching a frightened animal.

“No.” Then Macklin let out one shaky breath and realized he absolutely was. “Fuck,” he whispered, embarrassed instantly.

“Mack.”

Humiliation crawled hot under his skin. He bent forward, elbows on his knees, phone pressed tight against his ear.

On the other end of the line, Will’s voice stayed impossibly steady. “Hey. Look at me for a second.”

“It’s a phone call.”

“You know what I mean.”

Macklin stared down at the carpet.

“I’m serious,” Will continued quietly. “I’m so proud of you.”

That almost made him cry harder.

Will kept talking before Macklin could interrupt.

“I know you think losing cancels everything else out, but it doesn’t. You still went out there tonight and played your ass off. You still kept trying when the game was already going to shit and everyone else was spiraling.” His voice softened slightly. “Do you know how cool that is?”

Macklin swallowed hard.

“You care so much,” Will said. “Like, an insane amount. It leaks out of you. You care about every shift and every pass and every mistake like it physically hurts you not to. And I know right now that probably feels awful, but it’s also why you’re good. It’s why you’re so, so good, Macklin.”

The hotel room had gone blurry at some point. Macklin breathed in shakily. “You make me sound better than I am.”

“No,” Will said immediately. “This is how everyone sees you, Macklin.”

Macklin leaned back slowly against the hotel headboard, exhaustion finally settling properly into his bones now that the panic had burned itself out. The room still felt warm, but not suffocating anymore.

“You still there?” Will asked after the silence stretched.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“I wish you were here.”

“Yeah,” Will admitted softly. “Me too.”

“Talk with me until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.”

Will kept talking softly through the phone, voice low and even, filling the quiet spaces before Macklin’s thoughts could. He told him stupid things mostly. A story about his supervisor accidentally sending an email with “pubic relations” instead of “public relations.” An argument he once had with his sister over whether cereal counted as soup. The plot of a movie he’d watched once and hated.

The road trip ended two days later.

Macklin barely remembered the flight back because he spent most of it asleep against the window with his hood pulled up. His body felt wrung out in.

The second the plane landed in San Jose, energy sprang under his ribs.

By the time the team filtered through the airport and everyone started splitting off toward cars and Ubers, Macklin was already halfway gone mentally. Someone called goodbye to him. Another guy asked if he was coming out later.

Macklin answered automatically without processing any of it.

He barely remembered the drive.

Will’s building came into view and something in Macklin loosened instantly, like his body recognized the place before his brain did.

The hallway smelled faintly like dust and old carpet again.

The door opened before he could finish any thought about maybe Will not wanting him here unannounced.

“Macklin?”

Macklin suddenly became aware of himself all at once. His duffel bag over one shoulder. Hoodie wrinkled from the flight. Hair flattened weirdly from sleeping against the airplane window.

“Did you just land?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re ridiculous,” face softened

Then he stepped forward, grabbed the front of Macklin’s hoodie, and pecked him on the lips.

“Welcome home,” he said lightly.

The thing was, Will said stuff like that constantly. Sweet things. Sweet things that slid into Macklin’s bones before he could stop them. Sweet things that made his skin itch.

Most of the time Macklin could write it off as teasing, but not a kiss.

Macklin had never kissed a guy before; it was one of his biggest wishes in the world. To find a man he loves and cherishes and be able to kiss him whenever he wants. This person wasn’t supposed to be Will. Will was just a substitute until Macklin found that someone.

Will had already turned back toward the apartment by the time Macklin’s brain caught up to what happened.

The kiss itself had been quick. Barely there. Just soft pressure and warmth and then gone again. Gone, except not really, because Macklin could still feel it. His lips tingled like they’d been burned.

Will disappeared into the kitchen like nothing monumental had happened, opening the fridge and peering inside. “I can order food if you want. I don’t think I have anything except eggs and, like, half a yogurt.”

Macklin felt exposed in a way he hated. Like somehow Will could see every ugly, complicated thing underneath him. The fear. The wanting. The years spent forcing parts of himself into smaller and smaller boxes until he barely knew what shape they were supposed to have anymore.

“Mack, food. What do you want?”

Macklin stared at him.

Will let the fridge door swing shut and leaned against the counter instead. “You okay?”

Macklin almost said yes. The word sat right there at the back of his teeth, easy and practiced.

Instead he said, “Why did you kiss me?”

“Why?” Will repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Because I wanted to kiss you. Most couples kiss.”

Right. Will was his ‘boyfriend.’ The same Will who was ready to hook-up with a man he talked to in a bar for five minutes. It must have been easy to kiss a person he wasn’t really dating.

Macklin gathered all his sane thoughts and put them into words. “I want sushi.”

A few days later, the Sharks flew to Vancouver for an away game against the Canucks.

Macklin insisted on buying his own ticket but after a small argument, the money came out of Macklin’s account.

Macklin wanted control over at least one thing about this trip.

Macklin drove Will to the airport before sunrise. San Jose was still half asleep around them. The roads were mostly empty, traffic lights changing for nobody.

Will sat curled slightly into the passenger seat in one of Macklin’s hoodies, tapping nervously against his knee.

“You’re vibrating.”

Will glanced down at his leg like he hadn’t realized it was moving. “I’m a little anxious.”

Macklin looked over briefly before turning back to the road. “About the flight?”

Will stared at him. “Macklin. I’m about to meet your family.”

Macklin tightened his grip slightly on the steering wheel. “They’re not scary.”

“That is objectively untrue.” Will shifted in his seat. “What about your dad?”

“He liked you.”

Will looked tired already. Hair messy from waking up too early, sleeves pulled over his hands, one knee bouncing despite his obvious attempts to stop.

“You really don’t have to be nervous, Will.” Macklin said quietly.

“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve known them for nineteen years”

Macklin’s smile faded slightly at that.

Nineteen years.

Nineteen years of trying to predict his father’s reactions before they happened. Nineteen years of learning when silence meant disappointment versus anger versus indifference. Nineteen years of trying to become someone uncomplicated enough to love easily.

And now Will was walking directly into the center of it.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Macklin thinks about Will his whole plane ride.

It feels symbolic somehow that they’re doing the exact same thing in completely different ways. Macklin travels tucked behind the Sharks logo and tinted bus windows and private terminals. People move around him carefully. Like he’s something expensive.

Will is somewhere in the real world; a regular airport crowd, probably getting annoyed at TSA and buying overpriced coffee.

Vancouver was cold in the damp, creeping way California never was.

The team bus rolled through downtown beneath a sky the color of dirty snow. Macklin sat near the back with Sony headphones around his neck, staring vaguely out the window while conversations blurred around him.

Vancouver felt like his childhood bedroom after moving out. Familiar but preserved strangely. Somewhere he belonged more than physically.

Will: ‘you gonna come get me or am i rawdogging canada alone’

That pulled a laugh out of him before he could stop it.

A couple teammates immediately looked over.

Macklin: ‘i’ll send you the hotel’

Macklin saw Will one hour later in the building lobby, having to take an Uber to a separate hotel away from his teammates.

He spotted him immediately despite the small crowd.

Will was standing near the entrance with one hand looped through the strap of a duffel bag, hair slightly damp from the rain outside. He looked unfairly normal here.

Will looked up and his whole face changed when he saw Macklin. It was like he was glowing.

There it was again—that awful warm, itchy feeling inside Macklin’s body.

“You made it,” Macklin said once he got close enough.

“What, did you think I was gonna die?”

Macklin grabbed the handle of Will’s duffel to avoid answering. Will let him take it without protest, falling into step beside him toward the elevators.

“You nervous?” Will asked casually.

Macklin hit the elevator button maybe slightly too hard. “No.”

“Liar.”

Room 2071.

The room was exactly what you’d expect from a decent hotel: large bed, neutral tones, floor-to-ceiling window showing a city skyline and grey sky pressing low against the buildings.

Will’s hair was still slightly damp from the rain, curling faintly at the ends. His hoodie sleeves were pushed up a little, hands loosely clasped together now instead of fidgeting. He looked calmer than in the car, but not completely settled.

Macklin realized, abruptly, that Will was doing this for him. Will was getting nothing out of this but a shitty trip to Vancouver.

“I want to kiss you.” Will stated, almost a warning.

Macklin exhaled, sharp and quiet. “Okay.”

He crossed the room first, slow enough that Macklin could’ve backed away if he wanted to.

Will stopped close—closer than last time. Close enough that Macklin could pick up the faint smell of rain and detergent and something clean.

The kiss was slower this time.

That was the first thing Macklin noticed was the warmth. The warmth didn’t stop at his chest; it unspooled down his limbs, making his knees feel suddenly unreliable. Macklin’s hands, which had been hovering uncertainly, finally found purchase against Will’s jacket, the fabric bunching under his fingers as he anchored himself.

Macklin’s head tilted instinctively, seeking more, and Will met him halfway, deepening the contact. The taste of him was still rain and something cool, but underneath, there was a sudden heat the taste of mint.

Will’s thumb dragged across Macklin’s jawline, his calloused skin a rough contrast to the softness of the kiss, while Macklin’s other hand slid up to the nape of Will’s neck, fingers tangling in the short hairs there.

It was a slow motion collision. Macklin could feel the vibration of Will’s breath against his lips, the way his own heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The air in the room felt suddenly too thin, too charged, as if the space between them had been pressurized.

When Will pulled back just an inch, his forehead came to rest against Macklin’s, he found himself embarrassingly chasing his lips. Will was breathing hard, the only sound in the room the drag of air through teeth.

"Still okay?" Will’s voice was rough, stripped of its usual composure.

Macklin let out a shuddering breath, his fingers still clutching at Will’s collar like a lifeline. "Yeah," he rasped, the word barely more than a whisper.

Will gives the kiss an outro by peppering quick pecks all around Macklin’s face. He moved with a sudden, controlled urgency, his lips finding Macklin’s temple, then the ridge of his cheekbone, then the bridge of his nose. Each kiss was deliberate, slightly heavier than the last, leaving a trail of warmth that seemed to brand the skin beneath. Macklin’s eyes closed as Will worked his way down to the corner of his mouth.

"Will," Macklin murmured in a weak protest.

“You should start getting ready for your game.”

The arena erupted around him, loud and electric, teammates slamming into him near the boards while the goal horn screamed overhead.

Macklin smiled automatically through the celebration, adrenaline flooding hot through his bloodstream and immediately looked toward the stands.

He found Will faster than he should have.

Will was standing, clapping with an expression that almost mad Macklin offended by how impressed he seemed.

When their eyes caught, Will blew a kiss. Macklin laughed before he could stop himself.

The Sharks won in overtime. (Which sounds cool until you learn they were facing the Canucks.)

By the time media finished with him, Macklin felt wrung out in the best possible way. His limbs heavy, thoughts pleasantly dulled by exhaustion and adrenaline.

Still, the second he stepped into the hallway outside the locker room and spotted Will leaning against a wall, energy sparked back through him instantly.

“Hey, superstar.”

Macklin tried not to react to that stupid nickname anymore. He failed every single time. “Hi.”

Outside, Vancouver rain misted softly across the pavement. The city glowed silver and gold under streetlights, reflections stretching across wet roads.

Will was wearing a sharks hoodie, Macklin wished they had time to change before driving out to his family’s house. “So,” he said casually, “how terrified should I be?”

Macklin unlocked the car. “Of what?”

“Your family.”

“I told you, you’ll be fine. I won’t let anything bad happen.”

“That implies something bad wants to happen.”

“My mom’s going to love you. My little brother too.”

“What about your dad?”

Macklin looked away, climbing into the driver’s seat. “He’ll be on his best behaviour.”

By the time they turned into Macklin’s neighborhood, his chest felt unbearably tight.

The houses here all looked vaguely similar—large, neat, expensive in the understated way wealthy neighborhoods liked to be. Warm porch lights glowed against the rain-dark pavement.

Home.

For one irrational second, Macklin wanted to turn the car around and leave.

Macklin looked at the house again.

Rain ticked softly against the windshield. Beside him, Will stayed quiet for once, watching the house with careful eyes.

The porch light flicked on.

“Oh my god,” Macklin muttered.

The front door swung open hard enough to bounce slightly on its hinges.

“Macky!” His little brother came flying down the front steps with absolutely no concern for the rain, socks immediately soaking through against the pavement.

Macklin barely had time to get out of the car before a small body slammed into him.

“Jesus—”

“Hi!” his brother said loudly. He then pulled back just enough to notice the other body. “Who is this?”

“Dad didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” RJ pouted.

“Where’s mom?”

“Macklin!” his mother’s voice called from somewhere inside the house. Footsteps followed immediately after.

Then she appeared in the doorway with an umbrella, cardigan half-buttoned, eyes bright the second they landed on him.

“Oh, honey.”

Macklin barely had time to brace before she wrapped him into a hug. Warm and immediate and familiar in the way only mothers could be.

“You’re freezing,” she said, pulling back just enough to cup his face for half a second. “Why are you standing in the rain?”

RJ pointed dramatically toward Will like he was unveiling evidence in a courtroom. “There’s a man.”

His mother blinked past Macklin.

“Oh!” she said.

Will straightened automatically beside the car, suddenly looking awkward in a way Macklin had never seen before. Macklin rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“Seriously,” RJ insisted. “Who is he?”

Will glanced sideways at Macklin like this was strictly his problem.

Macklin exhaled. “This is my boyfriend, Will.”

RJ’s mouth dropped open. “What?” he screeched.

“Oh my god,” Macklin muttered.

“You have a boyfriend?” RJ shouted, loud enough that Macklin was fairly certain neighboring houses could hear it too.

“Indoor voice,” Robyn warned automatically.

“But Macky has a boyfriend!”

“Yeah,” Macklin said weakly.

RJ turned fully toward Will now, squinting at him with intense scrutiny completely disproportionate to his age. “Are you good at hockey?”

“Of course.”

Macklin felt a tug on his wrist.

“How are you going to tell your dad?” His mom whispered.

“He already knows.”

Robyn’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “He does?”

Macklin nodded once.

That seemed to relax her immediately, shoulders loosening beneath the cardigan. “Well,” she said warmly, turning back toward Will, “you should probably come inside before you catch a cold”

RJ was still staring. “Wait,” he said suddenly, eyes narrowing at Will with renewed suspicion. “If you’re boyfriends, does that mean you kiss?”

“RJ,” Macklin said flatly.

“What?!” RJ looked genuinely offended. “That’s what boyfriends do.”

“Yeah,” Will answered.

RJ made a horrified noise.

“Oh my god,” Macklin said his name in vain for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

Warmth hit them immediately once they stepped through the front door. The house smelled faintly like garlic and laundry detergent and something sweet baking somewhere deeper inside.

Home hit Macklin harder than expected.

Will paused beside him just long enough to toe off his shoes neatly by the mat before following everyone farther in. Macklin noticed that automatically, stupidly. The fact that Will was really trying.

Voices drifted from the kitchen.

“Mack here?” Aiden’s voice.

Aiden rounded the corner first, taller than Macklin remembered every single time he came home, expression already shifting into something smug the second he spotted Will.

Then his eyes flicked toward Macklin briefly, quick and assessing in that older-brother way that always made Macklin feel sixteen again. Whatever he saw must’ve satisfied him because his expression softened just slightly before he looked back at Will.

“You’re taller than I expected.”

“Thanks?”

“No problem.”

Another figure appeared from the kitchen doorway.

His father.

The room shifted instantly. Something tightened beneath Macklin’s skin anyway, old instinct pulling taut through his spine.

His father’s gaze landed on him first. Then Will.

Then his dad stepped forward and held out a hand.

“William.”

Will took it immediately. “Sir.”

Firm handshake. Eye contact. Calm voice. Macklin watched all of it.

“It’s good to finally meet you properly,” his father said.

“You too.”

“How was the drive?”

“Vancouver is beautiful.” Will sucked up.

“I think he was asking if Macklin’s driving almost killed you,” Aiden chirped.

“Oh, shut up.” Macklin shoved his older brother’s shoulder.

His father looked toward the dining room. “Dinner’s almost ready. Why don’t you sit down? And someone grab Charlie.”

The table looked almost exactly the same as it had his whole life. Same wood finish. Same overhead light. Same huge scratch near the center from when Aiden tried to carve something and then blamed Macklin for it.

Macklin ended up beside Will automatically, close enough that their knees brushed under the table.

Charlie arrived last.

“Macklin’s here?” She called before she even entered the room, voice carrying down the hallway.

Then she walked in, saw Will sitting beside him, and stopped dead.

“Oh,” Charlie said. “Hi.”

“That’s his boyfriend.” Aiden replied immediately, already enjoying himself.

Will lifted one hand politely from beside his water glass. “Hi.”

“What the fuck?”

“Charlie! Language.” Their mother scolded.

“Sorry.” She said while hesitantly sitting down.

Dinner started awkwardly in the way family dinners always did when there was a new person present. Plates passed around. Someone asked for salt. Robyn insisted Will take more food three separate times before he’d even finished half his serving.

“So,” Aiden said eventually, leaning back in his chair. “How exactly did you two meet?”

Macklin nearly choked on water. “Um.”

Will answered without hesitation. “At a bar. I recognized him from BU.”

Macklin didn’t know why he couldn’t find the courage to say that. It was technically the truth. The only thing they’d be lying about was the date they met.

“That’s boring,” RJ declared immediately.

“Well, we can say we met in prison if you want,” Will offered.

RJ entertained the idea. Macklin’s heart felt warm.

His father cut into his steak with the kind of composure that somehow made everything feel more high stakes. “And what was your first impression of my son?”

“He was more awkward than I imagined.”

Macklin looked down immediately, suddenly very interested in his potatoes.

“Yup” Charlie agreed.

Aiden laughed, also seeming to agree.

“You people are awful,” Macklin muttered.

Robyn smiled into her wine glass.

Will leaned slightly back in his chair. “He had this really cute look on his face, like a frightened hamster.”

Macklin felt heat climb into his face. “Will.”

“And,” Will continued like he wasn’t being glared at, “his face was so flushed, and his eyes were all squinty. It was like my body had a visceral reaction.”

“Will,” Macklin squeezed his thigh. “That’s enough out of you.”

The table went quiet for a beat. Not uncomfortable—just that brief, suspended moment where everyone registers that something out of the norm has been said out loud.

Aiden broke first. “Oh my god, that is disgusting.”

Charlie made a gagging sound for emphasis. “Please never say that again in my house.”

Will, completely unbothered, took a sip of water. “Noted.”

Macklin covered his burning face with one hand.

“I don’t think your relationship is going to last.” Richard said out of nowhere.

“What?” Macklin choked out.

His father’s gaze stayed fixed on Will. “My son is in the NHL. He travels constantly. He’s under public scrutiny. He has a career that requires discipline, focus, and—whether people like it or not—image management.”

Macklin’s fingers curled under the table.

“And you,” his father continued, “are a student. From Boston. No career established yet. No stability that I can see. No clear direction.”

“You’ve known him what,” his father added, glancing at Macklin briefly now, “a few months?”

“Hm,” Will made a small noise, Macklin unsure why.

“I’m not insulting you,” Richard continued, tone controlled in the way that made it worse. “I’m stating reality. These situations rarely work long-term. Especially at your age.”

Macklin’s chair scraped slightly against the floor as he shifted forward. “Dad,” he said, sharp.

His father glanced at him briefly. “I’m talking to him.”

“I think I understand your point,” Will said evenly.

Aiden let out a faint, disbelieving breath.

“I played hockey too,” Will said. “I was in the pipeline. Good enough to get attention. Scholarships. High expectations. All of it.”

“And?”

“And.” Will repeated. “I stopped playing for the same reason you don’t want me with Mack. I was scared. Of being seen, talked about, becoming something people had opinions on before I even knew what I wanted for myself.”

His father didn’t interrupt, but his expression tightened slightly.

“I get what you’re worried about, I really do. It makes sense. People in Macklin’s position don’t get a lot of space to mess up without it becoming public. And I’m not… oblivious to what I look like in that equation.”

Will glanced sideways at him for the briefest second.

“But I think you’re missing something.” Will paused for a second, like he was choosing his words carefully “I’m the only thing stable in his life.”

His father leaned back slightly in his chair.

“I mean,” Will said, “Practice, games, travel, media, recovery, expectations. That doesn’t leave a lot of room for consistency. For someone who’s just there.”

“And you think you’re that person?” his father asked.

“Yes.” Will didn’t hesitate. “I want to be in his life forever.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” his father says.

Will nods once, like he expected that answer. “I know. I’m not saying I do,” Will continues. “I’m saying that’s what I want. And I’m not here because I’m trying to take something from him. I’m here because he asked me to be.”

Macklin realizes that his heart is beating too fast.

His father exhales through his nose. “That’s sweet. But it doesn’t survive logistics.”

“No, but it helps him. I’m helping him.”

“Macklin?” His father looked to the man in question.

Macklin felt like throwing up. It hits him all at once: the fact that he is terrified of his father in a way he’s never fully admitted to anyone.

And then there was Will, right beside him, steady and unafraid in a way Macklin doesn’t know how to be. That contrast hits harder than anything else.

Macklin was scared of his father but he was even more scared of not being able to live free from his grasp.

“I love him. Will— I love Will.”

The room doesn’t move for a second.

It’s like everyone at the table forgets how to breathe at the same time.

Macklin hears it himself—what he just said—like it came from someone sitting slightly behind him instead of his own mouth. His hands are under the table, fingers curled tight enough to ache.

“Okay, Rick. That’s enough.” His mom finally spoke up. “You’ve made your point, they’ve made theirs.”

Robyn smiled at Will and he took it as a cue to start a new conversation, “Charlie, do you play hockey as well?”

Macklin’s childhood bedroom was exactly as he left it.

The bed was the same. Posters still faintly marked the walls where tape had been removed and replaced. A shelf of old trophies sat with dust. It was aggressively blue in a way that screamed ‘boys room.’

Will paused by the doorway.

“This is so cute.”

Macklin shut the door behind them. “It’s not.”

Will stepped in further, looking around like he was studying evidence in a case. “Can I guess your favourite colour?”

“The future is blue.” Macklin dropped onto the edge of his bed, exhaling through his nose. “Our rooms are all a different colour, Aiden’s is red. RJ got unlucky since he was last. It’s, like, bright green.”

“Charlie pink?”

“Yup. Nuclear family.”

Will wandered over to the desk instead, fingers brushing the edge of an old stack of papers, then a half-broken lamp. He picked up a small framed photo.

It was Macklin at maybe eight—missing his two front teeth, grinning like he was fucking crazy.

Will tilted it slightly. “You were always like this?”

Macklin leaned back on his palms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Look at this face.” Will angled it toward him. “That’s a kid who bites.”

“Nuh uh.”

Will set it back down carefully. “You look happier.”

“I was just younger.”

Will hummed like he understood that perfectly.

Then Will sat on the floor, back against the bed, legs bent loosely. “Am I doing the right thing, Mack?” he said.

“What?”

“Dating you. Is this really okay? Is this what you want?”

Macklin looked down at him for a second too long before answering. “Yeah.”

Will’s expression didn’t change. “You sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I was saying all that stuff before to defend you, but your dad had a point. Am I really worth all the trouble?”

“I think,” Macklin said slowly, “that even if everything goes badly, I won’t regret having you.”

Will hummed softly, “I love you.”

Will was still sitting on the floor with his back against the mattress, head tilted slightly upward to look at him. Macklin couldn’t help but notice how beautiful he is.

“You don’t have to say that,” Macklin blurted out.

“What?”

“You don’t have to pretend when we’re alone.”

“What do you mean ‘pretend?’”