Work Text:
He’s skating around for warm-ups when he first hears the song come through the arena speakers.
“Saying that you miss me / Boy, do you win a prize? / You’re havin’ these epiphanies / Big word for a real small mind / And aren’t you tired of saying a whole lot of nothing?”
Mitch knows he’s in public and keeps skating, keeps going through his whole normal warm-up routine while he listens to the song. And when the song ends he continues to replay the lyrics in his head like he might do with a play he’d fucked up, which is annoying to say the least because he was supposed to be over this.
He’s not supposed to be dwelling on Auston anymore.
He tries his best to ignore the thought pile that has begun in his head all because of this damn song; a song he doesn’t even know the name to. It’s stupid and Mitch wishes his brain would just let it go, which of course means he continues to think about it for the rest of the game.
He has a few turnovers and misses several passes that he should have had. He tries to get himself to listen when Coach Cassidy is drilling into them during the second intermission when they’re down 1-4, but most of his coach’s words drift in one ear and right out the other.
They lose the game no thanks to him and Mitch goes on autopilot when he gets pulled to do media, saying something about needing to “get pucks deep” and “try to communicate better” like he’s been media trained for over a decade to say.
The guys ask if he wants to join them for drinks but Mitch brushes them all off, coming up with some excuse that they all seem to at least pretend to accept. Being a hockey player in Vegas has benefits like that, he doesn't have to be worried about the guys digging too deep into his feelings or being worried about him.
Not like it was in Toronto.
Mitch grabs his bags once he's dressed in his street clothes and gets pretty quickly to his car, already knowing he's gonna leave his hockey bag in the back seat until the morning instead of bringing it up to the apartment. He drives to whatever radio station comes on, some stupid rock station, and tries to use it to quiet his brain while he drives.
But of course it doesn't work, Auston has been stuck in Mitch’s brain since the moment they met and it seems that moving countries hasn't changed that. He parks his car in the parking garage and makes his way up to his apartment, his shoulders only slightly relaxing when he's greeted by a very excited Zeus.
“Yeah- Hi boy. I know, I know.”
Mitch shrugs off his jacket and hangs it up on the coat rack before he slips off his shoes and sits on the floor. He smiles and reaches out to pet Zeus, the chocolate lab lifting at least some of the pressure on his chest for the moment.
He plays with Zeus for a few minutes before he gets up to grab some pajamas and take a shower. Mitch goes to queue up some music on his phone when the song from earlier pops back into his head.
“Say you're a big changed man, I doubt it / Yeah, your paragraphs mean shit to me / Get your sorry ass to mine”
Searching up the lyrics on Spotify brings up a song called ‘Sugar Talking’ by Sabrina Carpenter, and he might be a hockey player but he knows who she is… at least somewhat, and after some deliberation on his own part Mitch decides to press play on the song.
It’s a bit more acoustic and disco than he might have remembered or liked but Mitch tries to focus more on the lyrics than the instrumental as he gets ready for his shower. And maybe listening to the song as he’s taking care of himself isn’t the best idea because Mitch can feel the ghost of Auston’s hands as he undresses himself.
He peels off his clothes and feels the trace of once familiar hands splaying out across his waist or over his thighs. He hears the “look at how pretty you look like this,” the “I could have this view forever if you let me,” and the “I’ve got you, Mouse.”
Mitch tries to ignore the tears that sting in his eyes as he piles his dirty clothes on the bathroom counter and turns to get in the shower, letting the overly warm water wash over him. Maybe it’ll wash away the memories of Auston, though that might be a bit optimistic.
By now there’s a different song playing on his phone but he keeps replaying the lyrics in his head as he goes through his post game shower routine, knowing exactly what to do without even thinking about it because it’s the same way he’s done it for over a decade now.
“You filled my whole apartment / With flowers that die / The first to open up your wallet / But the last one to flag a heart only breaks so many times / Save your money / And stop makin’ me cry”
He makes sure to wash the soap off his hands before he wipes the tears off his face, though by now he wasn’t sure if he was wiping away tears or the shower water. Mitch remembers being in this same spot countless times when he’d been in Toronto; crying over Auston when he knew he shouldn’t be.
He’d been sent so many fruit arrangements and dog toys and so many packages by the guy whenever things were rocky between them. And Mitch knew at least part of Auston’s love language was gift giving, but it was also true that those things were just being bought to try and win Mitch back. Because if Auston really cared why didn’t he ever get Mitch a meaningful thing, a handmade trinket or something stupid only Mitch would understand? It had taken Willie a while to get that through Mitch’s head, but still the doubt and confusion existed in his mind.
Willie had been a life line for Mitch for a while and he still was, despite them living in different countries on opposite sides of the continent now. A whole continent seemed like an impossible distance to Mitch as he turned around in the shower, reaching to grab his loofah because he knows he still has to take care of himself despite the fact he wants to not, to let someone else do it. Not just anyone either, not Willie or Kniesy or Dorofeyev.
He wants Auston.
And he can’t have him.
He won’t ever be able to have Auston again.
He probably shouldn’t want Auston anyway, not with the way things devolved towards the end of their relationship and the end of Mitch’s time in Toronto.
Maybe he should call Pavs, but Mitch doesn’t want to seem like he needs someone. He’s settled in here in Vegas. They lost tonight, and it really tastes ashen to him now.
He doesn’t need to be thinking about Auston, shouldn’t have even been listening to the music playing in the arena. Mitch usually tunes it out anyway, his focus almost always on his teammates and on the game they’re playing.
But tonight he’d listened and he shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have even associated this stupid song with Auston. Just like he shouldn’t listen to the thoughts telling him to reach back out to Auston, to try and reconcile what they had. Mitch had seen Auston had gotten hurt the week prior and wanted to reach out then, had wanted to just say something because that’s what he should do, right?
He knows Willie and Knisey would say no, that they’ve got Auston ‘handled’ in Toronto and that Mitch should focus on his life here in Vegas now.
He knows, he really does.
Even if he’s still in the shower and he knows, his hand almost burns with the need to pick up the phone and just hear Auston’s stupid voice. Mitch wouldn’t even need to call him, could just listen to an old voicemail he hadn’t gotten the courage to delete no matter how many times Willie told him too.
He thinks about all the times that Auston was the first one to reach out after a fight they’d had, how he’d send new dog toys for Zeus and the one time he’d waited outside Mitch’s apartment door until he’d let him in so they could talk.
Mitch’s back hits the cold tile of the shower wall and he slides down it, curling up into a ball on the shower floor as the water continues to rain down on him. He’s not sure what are his tears and what is the shower water, but he doesn’t exactly care right now. He just knows the warm water is helping to keep his airways open so it’s easier for him to breathe, when he’s able to suck in an incredibly shaky breath that is.
His fingers tangle in his hair and he tugs slightly, just hard enough to keep himself somewhat grounded. Mitch can hear Auston’s voice trying to calm him down from panic attacks he’s had in the past, when the noise of the Toronto media would get to be too much and he’d have a breakdown after a bad game that had finally tipped the scale.
“You’re safe, Mouse.”
“I’ve got you, just breathe.”
“Hey, listen to my heartbeat. That’s it.”
Hands combing through his hair, arms wrapped securely around him, gentle forehead kisses, steady hands wiping away his tears.
All of it is gone, flushed down the drain like Mitch’s tears are being now.
And Mitch knows he can’t get it back. Knows that something irreversible happened the night he’d told Auston he was leaving for good. The stress had been getting to their relationship for a while, he’d seen the looks Auston had been giving him and the subtle ways Auston would verbally assess whether Mitch was fully committed to the team; and by extension Auston himself.
Still, Mitch’s breaths catch on the lump in his throat and he coughs through the tears. It kind of feels like being waterboarded, but he’s sure that that would be worse. At least then he’d know why he was suffering, why he feels like this.
When he is finally able to move without his head spinning Mitch stands and leans against the shower wall to ensure he continues to stand as he washes his body. He barely feels it as he scrubs at the long dried sweat he hadn’t been able to get off during his quick post-game shower at the rink, only going through the motions he knows he has to do to complete a shower.
It’s an oddly familiar feeling for Mitch, one he’d gotten used to when it got really bad in Toronto and now here in Vegas whenever he spent too much time thinking about Auston.
He steps out of the shower and quickly dries himself off before pulling on his boxers and the pair of dark green sweats he’d grabbed from his dresser before getting in the shower.
Mitch isn’t sure what song his phone is playing now, it’s something he hears sometimes at the arena during games or on the radio or at clubs but it’s not something he overly recognizes. It’s not the song that automatically draws his attention to his phone, however, it’s the text message that he sees underneath the music player notification widget that really gets his attention.
And he should get rid of it.
He should stick to what he told Willie he’d do, which had to have been practically pulling teeth for his best friend to get him to agree to.
Mitch squeezes his eyes closed and he sets his phone back down on the counter, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes as he tries to not let the tears start up again.
“Put you lovin’ where your mouth is / Your sugar talking isn’t working tonight”
He knows.
He knows.
His breaths come out shaky again and he reaches out to grab the bathroom counter, his fingers gripping the porcelain of the sink so tight he has half a mind to worry he might break it.
“Save your money and stop making me cry”
Mitch steadies himself and turns off the music playing on his phone, needing a few minutes of silence to organize his thoughts.
“You tell me that you want me / But baby if you need me”
But fuck, even after doing the square breathing Knisey had taught him Mitch still picks up his phone again. His lockscreen, now a picture of Zeus, is hidden as he scrolls down his missed notifications to find the one that makes his stomach both sink and twist at the same time.
auston: sick goal tonight.
auston: good to see you get your game back mouse.
And Mitch feels sick. 12 words and Auston has made him feel sick all over again. The tears are back and he lets them fall down his face as he thinks about what to do.
He knows the Leafs are in Vegas, they’re playing against each other tomorrow night.
Auston would’ve had to have been watching the game from his hotel room, there was no way he was at the game earlier.
And it makes Mitch shake even more, having what he so desperately wants right there so close he could almost touch it. He could, even if he knows he shouldn’t.
“It’s your seventh last chance, honey / Get your sorry ass to mine”
He only kind of thinks about it as he clicks on the notifications and clicks on the keyboard that he stares at for several minutes.
He should do literally anything else. Call Pavel, Willie, Kinsey, Woller. Go lay in bed and watch a stupid romcom. Scroll on his phone till he’s not thinking anymore.
Mitch Marner might be a strong man, but every man has a weakness. Mitch’s just happens to go by the name Auston Matthews.
He closes the keyboard and takes a deep breath before he taps the familiar call button and brings his phone up to his ear.
It rings once, twice, and then-
“Hey there, Mouse.”