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The Rangers are up by two when it all goes to shit.
Gabe doesn’t mean for it to happen, obviously. He’s not exactly eager to drop his gloves, not like a certain tall, injured-from-fighting teammate of his, but it’s inevitable, bound to happen. There’s a newer player on the Devils roster this time around, from Utica, all mouth and sneer. Of course, only when there’s distance, a plastic wall and a referee or two nearby.
“Pussy,” someone spits to Gabe’s right and he has to agree. The kid isn’t even that good. Not enough to be talking smack like he’s the second coming of Nico Hischier or something, that’s for sure. Gabe says his things here and there, but he’s also better than this player. Significantly.
They find themselves tangled together against the boards at one point in first period, Gabe’s stick scraping at the ice as he tries to free the puck. The new kid is right there with him, lips pulled up in a snarl that’s so pathetic, it makes Gabe want to laugh. He would if there wasn’t a puck to focus on.
“Don’t give up, do you?” The Devils player taunts. It’s weak and sloppy, like a missed pass rather than a slapshot to the back of the net. Gabe’s played AHL (for far longer than he ideally wanted to) and he’s heard better. This kid’s a mess.
“It’s hockey, bud” is all Gabe responds with. He’s not wasting his breath on this guy. He’s got more important things like… the puck flying out from under his feet, onto Mika’s waiting stick. The older man sprints down the ice and Gabe is quick to follow, ignoring the half-hearted shove the Devils player gives him from behind.
Gabe accepts Mika’s pass, throws it over to Alexis, and watches as the puck sails straight into Markstrom’s waiting glove. Shit.
“It’s fine. Next time,” Mika says as they reconvene on the bench. Gabe nods and snatches up a bottle, squirting drink into his mouth. He’s dangerously out of breath already, frustration simmering under his skin. A two-goal lead is nothing. Not when facing the Devils, and a Devils team equipped with Jack Hughes at that. No one man should have such good stats against a singular team, but well. Hockey’s never been fair, has it?
It’s when Gabe swings over the boards for his next shift that things finally blow, rocketing sky high towards another loss. The new kid’s back out there, smirk fixed on his face as he tries and fails to steal the puck from Alexis’ stick. Gabe watches as Fox slams him into the boards before he’s back, getting in Gabe’s space. His sneer is back, but it looks shaken, intimidated even. Good.
“Team’s a bunch of weak losers. Ain’t got that freak to back you up anymore, huh?” The boy taunts. Gabe shouldn’t. He should let it go, turn his frustration, his irritation, towards the game. But the little rat won’t shut up. “Have the team finally had enough? Let go off Rempe and sent him off to be some poor showman for a lower-level league? Or maybe he’s stuck at home, waiting for some desperate puckbunny to come and make him feel important again?”
Gabe sucks in a deep breath. Let it go, he thinks. And thinks and thinks and thinks. It’s easier said than done. “Shut up.”
“Why? Protecting his honour? He’s a fucking shit player, never deserved his spot on your fucking shit team, and he deserves to lose it all. How the fuck I’m stuck in the AHL when he isn’t is beyond me. You fucking Rangers are such crybaby losers. Get over yourselves, and get over him,” the boy spits, fingers prodding against Gabe’s chest. There’s a hub of noise behind them now, fans anticipating a fight, a scrap, something, anything. They can sense the tension like a shark in bloodied waters.
And look, he really shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, knows that he’s far too important to the team and if he’s sent off with fifteen minutes worth of penalties, the team will probably piss their two goal lead away like it’s nothing.
He knows all of this. And still, Gabe drops his gloves.
It’s awful, like always, pain ricocheting up his fingertips, through the stretched flex of his knuckles, down into the braced curve of his wrist, but he doesn’t let up. The guy’s helmet skitters away, a solid scrap of red joining the spray of blood on the ice, and his eyes go wide. Gabe lands a few more hits before the refs are on him, tugging him back and blowing their whistles.
Gabe grunts around the pain and spits on the ice. It’s bloodless, the Devils player unable to get a single hit in, too caught off guard. And Gabe feels victorious with it. The practically unnoticeable sheen glimmers in his mind, shinier than any trophy or gold medal he can imagine.
He skates off the ice, shrugging off the ref’s guiding hands, and it’s as he’s stalking off down the tunnel that Gabe finally realises what he’s done. Not the what, actually, but the why. Gabe’s just punched a guy and got himself a slew of game-altering penalties because some random kid dragged up from the Comets thought it’d be funny to start spouting shit about Remps. About Matt.
Gabe’s always been a bit weak with self-control but this… this might just be a new low.
--
Gabe gets pulled after being deemed too injured to rejoin. And they lose. Obviously. Six three, with Jack Hughes pulling off a fucking hattrick. Another statistic added to his little scorecard. Gabe huffs and slumps further into his stall. Taps his foot along the ground. Ignores the odd, questioning looks being shot his way. The team is still around him, but he can’t leave until they do, and no one’s leaving until Mike Sullivan’s spoken to Gabe.
Thankfully he’s there sooner rather than later, keeping it short and chastising Gabe for the fight before sending him off to the bus with a pat on the shoulder. It’s nicer than Gabe deserves, that’s for sure, but he’s not about to turn around and tell his coach that. He’s not stupid.
The drive home is agonising, his knuckles stinging, scabbed over with dried blood and a fading dash of adrenaline. There’s a twang underneath, a reminder of how close he was to fracturing or even breaking a bone. He’s exhausted and he can’t wait to collapse into his hotel bed, maybe call Matt and see how he’s feeling. He wonders, faintly, if Matt saw the fight. If he knew, by some weird manner of Rempeness, that Gabe fought for him.
Gabe can’t say for certain if he wants Matt to know the truth or not. There’s always been a tension between them, something sizzling and boiling under the surface, but Gabe’s a coward. Has been for ages. He’s not about to expose his heart and face rejection. Not when Matt’s one of his closest friends, one of his most important people.
It’s a short list. Matt’s top of it, above two others. Gabe doesn’t even want to think about them right now. That’ll only add to his headache, to the pain rushing through his heart. Nausea kicks up in his gut and he sighs, tightening his fists until they split open and start to burn again.
What a mess.
--
Gabe’s hotel room door is ajar and he tenses, stumbling forward when Schneider accidentally walks into him. “Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing at his eyes before walking past. Gabe pays him no mind. He peeks through the crack in the door, preparing for another situation that’ll prevent him from getting rest, but only finds the tension draining out of him when he spots an all too familiar backpack. Gabe smiles and nudges into the room using his foot and elbow.
“Stalker,” Gabe says to Matt’s sprawled out form. He lifts his head up for all of one second before he smiles and sits up properly, phone immediately abandoned to one side. His full attention fixes on Gabe, like always, and it’s so intense. Gabe suppresses a shiver and works on toeing his shoes off. The laces strain, but Gabe’s past caring.
“Big game today, huh?”
“Mm, I guess. We lost so,” Gabe says. He shrugs and uses the momentum to tug his blazer off. He throws it atop his suitcase, entirely uncaring if the material ends up creased. He’s got bigger things to worry about like his aching hands and the unexpected arrival of the guy’s he been crushing on for too long. The guy he fought for.
“The team lost, but did you?” Matt says. He’s smirking, that lazy one that Gabe knows the girls go feral for because he’s one of them, really. He gets it. ‘Fuck me up and I’ll thank you for it’, levels of feral.
“No,” Gabe says. Matt huffs out a breath of laughter before pushing himself up and onto his feet. He crosses the room in barely three strides and Gabe fucking hates him for it. No one should be that tall and that handsome. Lethal combination, in Gabe’s opinion. “Knuckles hurt like a bitch, though.”
“After seeing the punches you threw, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Matt laughs. He bullies his way into Gabe’s space, gently plucking his hands away from where he’s fiddling with his shirt buttons. Gabe lets him, the warm, callused brush of Matt’s hands against his doing horrible things for his rapidly beating heart. Matt’s thumb gently brushes the split edges of Gabe’s right hand and he hisses, trying to wrench his arm free.
“Careful, asshole.”
“Sorry, sorry. Want me to clean them up for you?” Matt asks. Gabe sighs before nodding. It perks Matt up, his whole body straightening as a wide smile overtakes his face. “Get dressed and I’ll make sure you’re perfectly bandaged up.”
“Thanks,” Gabe mumbles. The exhaustion is kicking in now, and he always fears falling off that edge around Matt. Sleepiness always makes his filter weaker, makes him say things he really shouldn’t. Confess things he otherwise would’ve kept locked up in his heart.
And that’s just straight up terrifying to Gabe.
He works through the motions of getting undressed, clumsy fingers unbuttoning his shirt and tugging down his trousers. Everything pools on the floor and then he’s pulling on an old BC Eagles shirt and sitting on the edge of his bed, ready for Matt to work his magic.
“You’re so sleepy,” Matt says and he sounds so awestruck, like a sleepy Gabe is something he’s never experienced before. Which, Gabe realises with a jolt, is true. They’ve never shared a hotel room before; this would’ve been the first time if not for the retriggering of Matt’s injury. And in a weird roundabout way, they are going to share this room. Like planned.
“Wait, why are you even here?” Gabe says, shaking his head to try and dispel some of the fog washing over him. He’s still sleepy, eyes still heavy, but he’s determined to stay awake, to get an answer that’ll sate his curiosity. Matt hums and starts gently wiping at Gabe’s knuckles.
“You threw hands in the first period like it was your fucking job. Of course I was gonna make the drive to come and see you,” Matt says like it’s that easy. And. Okay. What? Gabe doesn’t know how to process that, isn’t sure he could process it fully awake either.
“Are you like… in love with me or something?” Gabe mutters instead. He blushes and ducks his head, cursing to himself as his words rewind themselves in his brain. There’s seriously no way he’s just said that, right?
“Yeah,” Matt says. There’s a drop of trepidation in his tone, something that Gabe knows would be undetectable if Matt wanted it to be. He’s weirdly good at hiding his emotions and the fact that he’s letting Gabe peer through that mask, letting him see how he truly feels, is jarring.
“Yeah? What the fuck do you mean, yeah?” Gabe all but screeches. He yanks his hands back from where Matt’s been gently dabbing at them with antiseptic, ignoring the way one of his knuckles splits again, fresh blood turning the traces of cream pink. His hands hang limply in front of his chest, puppy dog begging for treats.
“Yes, I’m in love with you. You, uh… you didn’t figure that out?” The words seem to hurt Matt, his face crumbling the more he speaks. Gabe swallows thickly, fighting past the anxiety and fear in his gut, the sleepiness in his brain, to instead focus on the elation in his heart. Reciprocation.
Recipro-fucking-cation.
“No way,” Gabe says and hello? Is his brain okay? Why is that his response? Why not something better, something smoother, something that isn’t pulled from the dirty, ragged edges of his self-loathing heart?
“I get it. You,” Matt sighs, “you don’t feel the same. But can you please let me finish up with your hands? It’ll bother me all night if I know they’re not cleaned and bandaged properly.” Gabe holds his hands out without thinking, letting Matt take them with careful precision again. His gentle application of antiseptic cream only lasts for around five seconds before Gabe’s pulling away again.
“Fuck,” Gabe says before he cups Matt’s face and pulls him in. The kiss is sweet, tinged by the sleep hazy atmosphere around them, but the fact remains that Gabe’s kissing Matt, and Matt’s kissing him back. He’s kissing him back, and he’s got one hand on Gabe’s waist, steady and reassuring. It’s exactly how Matt always makes him feel.
When they part, it’s not for long. They share a breathless laugh, faces still inches apart, before Matt’s kissing him again. His lips are soft, hand big and warm, and Gabe’s fucking dizzy. He’s never had someone hold him, kiss him, love him like this, not even in the sticky summer days out on open water with Will and Leno, when all three of them threw caution to the wind, tangling up together more often than not.
“Matt,” Gabe pants out, one burning hand fisting at the back of Matt’s skull, the ragged edges of his grown back hair sticking out through Gabe’s fingers. “Matt.”
“I’m here,” Matt responds. Gabe whines and kisses him again, not even opening his eyes. He needs this more than he ever thought he would. Oasis in a desert when dying of thirst, or whatever. Gabe’s so heady, and he can’t stop kissing Matt, ruffling and fussing at Matt’s jagged hair.
“Fuckin’ hated that haircut,” Gabe hisses out before kissing him again. Matt huffs against his mouth like he’s pleased with himself until he finally pulls back properly, more than just a few inches. His left hand catches Gabe’s attention and he winces. There’s still cream smeared over two fingers and Gabe pulls a face. “You’ve been stuck like that this entire time, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, but it’s fine. Kinda hard to care when you’re kissing me,” Matt says. He smiles and it’s cheesy, toothy. Enough so to make Gabe laugh. He rolls his eyes fondly, shaking his head, before leaning down and pressing one last kiss against Matt’s mouth.
“Charmer.”
“Yeah,” Matt says, shrugging, before he takes Gabe’s hand again. He gets back to work like nothing happened and Gabe has to swallow down the feeling that surges in his gut, the word domestic rattling around his brain like a coin in a tin can.
“You know I fought for you, right?” Gabe whispers, the admission slipping out before he can stop it. Matt freezes in place, fingers still pressed to Gabe’s bleeding knuckles, before he looks up, eyes wide.
“You did?”
“Yeah. Stupid fucking Devils player wouldn’t shut up about you. Had to do something,” Gabe responds, shrugging one shoulder. “I know, I should’ve let it go, but he insulted the team too. Called us weak. I… I truly lost it when he insulted you, though.”
“Baby…” Matt says. Gabe winces, a muttered apology following. “Hey, no, you don’t have to apologise. Just… no one’s every fought for me before.”
Gabe’s head snaps up at that, neck popping with a jolt. “What? Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” Matt looks sheepish as he says it and oh god. Gabe’s so fucking in love with him it hurts.
“Oh my god,” Gabe says before he’s kissing Matt again, tender and coaxing, trying to pour everything he feels for Matt into the kiss. Every drop of love and affection, everything he’s ever felt when confronted with Matt and all the love he has to give. He hopes it all reaches Matt, reaches the corners of his mind and the crevices of his heart. That’s all he wants.
When Matt pulls away, he’s smiling softly. It so soft and gentle, barely there, that it makes Gabe want to kiss him again, but he holds back, letting Matt have his moment.
“Thank you,” Matt eventually says. Gabe smiles and tries to kiss him again, but Matt stops him, fingers gentle against Gabe’s spit-slick mouth. “As much I want to keep kissing you, I really will stress out if I don’t finish up cleaning your hands first.” Gabe huffs, but gives in, letting Matt take up his task once more.
And Gabe stays silent and still, content to sit and watch Matt as he works. There’s a gentleness to him that Gabe didn’t realise he could possess at first, but he knows now that it’s one of Matt’s best traits.
Once he’s deftly applied the antiseptic to Gabe’s hands, Matt procures a small roll of gauze. A memory hits Gabe, just like this one, but their roles reversed. Gabe had bullied Matt into a chair at his own place and cleaned his hands for him, diligently following Matt’s instructions. “Just for tonight, right?”
“You remember,” Matt says, fond. Gabe offers him a smile in response. Matt kisses him again and suddenly Gabe’s able to place what he’s feeling. It feels like he’s just won the Stanley Cup, but somehow better. This is his life now, apparently. And that’s just… insane to think about. How?
“Thank you,” Gabe whispers as Matt pulls away. He shakes his head at Gabe like Gabe thanking him is a silly idea, and Gabe kind of wants to grab him by the shoulders and rattle him so hard he sees stars, but he doesn’t. Just leans back against the bed and watches as Matt cleans up.
When he returns, Gabe’s fighting back yawns again, sprawled out on the bed with his fingertips tapping out a discordant rhythm on his stomach. Matt settles between his spread legs and laughs down at Gabe’s weak grabby hands, a whine slipping from his lips when Matt stays infinitely far away. “You’re so cute.”
“I’d be even cuter if you were cuddling me,” Gabe snipes, lightly kicking at Matt’s thigh. Another yawn tears through him and he whines, rolling onto his side as best as he can with Matt still standing between his calves. It shifts the shirt he’s wearing, exposing more of his skin, but he doesn’t care. Let Matt see.
“Alright, fine, you won me over. Cutie,” Matt says. He shrugs off his sweatpants before gently tugging at the sheets. “You’re gonna have to move if you want me to cuddle you.” Gabe huffs and reluctantly slips off the sheets, gasping softly when Matt leans down and kisses him again.
“Idiot,” Gabe hisses, slapping at Matt’s chest. He’s rewarded with a sweet laugh for all his effort, and the fight immediately melts out of him. He watches as Matt slips under the sheets, holding them up for Gabe in turn.
And Gabe’s not a fool. He slips under them immediately, barrelling his way into the safety of Matt’s hold. Strong, warm arms slip around him and he sighs, letting his face relax into the steady give of Matt’s chest. He hums softly.
“Happy?” Matt asks, pressing a quick kiss to Gabe’s head. Gabe hums again, wriggling in place until his legs are firmly entangled with Matt’s. They’re connected as much as they can be, bodies intertwined, personal spaces practically overlapping.
“Yeah.”