Chapter Text
All Will could think as he exited the ice was how bad that game had been. They had played their rivals, BU, and lost. And not by a small margin either. The end score was 5-1 and they had completely hung out their goalie.
The locker room buzzed with frustration and nervousness. They felt like prisoners waiting to be executed, or in their case, hear their coach's post-game speech.
As he finished untying his skates and sat up Gabe clapped him on the shoulder, “Nasty bardown Smitty!” Gabe always seemed to have a positive energy that radiated into everyone around him, and it was exactly what Will needed to distract himself from a bad loss.
He gave a small smile of thanks, and continued unstrapping his gear, hoping to at least get his shin pads off before the coaches came in.
The coach's speeches always seemed to last for hours, but today it felt impossibly longer. Will's stomach seemed to be eating itself, and it wasn't made better by the fact he'd forgotten to eat breakfast.
“And lastly,” Finally. Almost over. “Every single one of you could have been better tonight. How many opportunities did you miss?” He stared straight at Will as he said it, and he felt his face burn with shame. God he wanted to go home. “How many shots did you miss.” By now Will was staring at the ground praying it would swallow him whole.
“You hung poor Jake out so bad he's more than dry, he's dust! All of you get out. No goalies or pucks at practice tomorrow." A collective groan sounded and the coaches disappeared.
Suddenly, Gabe spoke up, “Sorry Jake. We’ll do better next time.” He flashed a sad but hopeful smile, and gradually, everyone else apologized, even Will. “We owe you Jake,” “Would've been 12-1 without you,” “We’ll step up next time.”
After shoving his gear haphazardly into his bag, Will made his way to his car. As soon as the door closed he laid his arm on the steering wheel and buried his face in it. God he was so tired.
He sat back up and turned on the radio. “... Next week the NHL draft will be held soon and we can not believe the amount of prospects there are! A few lucky people should be receiving their calls soon…” Will angrily spun the volume dial, shutting the broadcaster up.
It has been his dream to play for San Jose but after tonight's wonderful performance… Let's just say he had no idea what would happen.
He arrived back at his dorm and poured a bowl of cereal before plopping down on his bed. He decided to turn on a sappy romcom to try to distract himself. It may not have been the best idea considering he was supposed to be on a pretty strict diet, but this deserved a cheat day.
He knew he should take a shower since he hadn't done it after the game, but he could do it later. He didn't have the energy right now.
He woke with a start to his phone ringing and his dorm dark, dammit he must have fallen asleep. He picked it up and squinted as the screen lit up with the words ‘unknown number’.
He wanted to decline and go back to sleep, but something was nagging at him, as if he recognized part of the number. He decided to answer.
Will heard the click of the call connecting and greeted the person on the other end, “Hello?” “Hello, this is Mike Greir. Can I speak to Will Smith?”
HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT This was Mike Grier! As in manager of the San Jose sharks Mike Grier! Will realized he had been silent for too long and, slightly embarrassed, replied. “This is he.” “Nice to meet you Will. I apologize for the early call, but we would like to invite you to the draft next week.”
No. Way. The NHL draft! He was going to the NHL draft!
“This does not mean you will be drafted, but we would appreciate your attendance. Would you be willing to fly out?” “Of course!” Will nearly interrupted him, before realizing his tone and fixing it to something more professional, “Of course.”
“Wonderful! We will organize a flight and send you the details. Is this a good number?” Will could barely focus on finishing the call, “Yes. And thank you sir.” “See you then.”
The call disconnected and Will sat in stunned silence for a minute, still holding the phone to his ear. He snapped out of it when a notification lit up his screen, a text from another unknown number with his flight details.
It informed him his flight would be leaving tomorrow, and only to pack what he would need for a few days.
He made his way to the bathroom in a trance, gathering his toiletries, then to his bed for his clothes and other essentials.
The door of their dorm swung open and Gabe went straight to his bed, abandoning his gear at the foot and flopping down dramatically. He loved going to one of the on campus restaurants after a good game to celebrate, or a bad one to lift the team's spirits.
Will let out a small chuckle, “Hey Gabe.” The boy looked towards him, scrunching his nose when he saw Will's half-packed suitcase on the floor.
“You leaving me or some-” Before he could finish he was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He picked it up, “Unknown number. Nothing important-” However yet again he was stopped, “Wait!” Will hadn't meant to interrupt, but he wondered… “Just, pick it up ok?”
Gabe's face twisted in suspicion, which was fair considering what happened the last time he answered an unknown phone call. (Will may or may not have prank called him on Halloween and scared the shit out of him).
He watched Gabe pick up and walked into the bathroom to give him some privacy. It wasn't much, but it was the best he could do because their dorms were quite small.
He fiddled with the soap dispenser wishing he had grabbed his phone, when he heard Gabe shout from the other room, “WILL OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!”
Will's heart shot to his throat and he burst out of the bathroom, "WHAT? WHAT IS IT???” Gabe's eyes were wider than Will had ever seen them, but not with fear, with excitement? “That was Chris Drury! I'm going to the draft!”
Will gasped, “Dude I'm going to the draft for San Jose! That's what I was packing for!” They laughed and high fived before spending the next hour packing.
Somehow their flights ended up on the same day around the same time, Gabe's being about half an hour later than Will's, therefore Will decided to drive them both.
The next morning, after wolfing down their breakfast, both boys grabbed their suitcases and Will grabbed his keys. The two of them practically skipping out to Will's car and threw their suitcases in the trunk. Gabe straightened them out as Will hopped in the driver's seat and started the engine, then they finally set out for the airport.
After making it through security they split to find their own gates. Once he made it to his gate Will snagged a seat by the wall. His flight wouldn't leave for another hour, so he turned on a random playlist in his headphones.
The first song reminded him of Mack. Only then did it hit him, he hadn't even gotten to say goodbye. He knew it was stupid, and there was no way he could tell anyone, because according to everyone else Mack and Will were the matchup of the century, and the winner of their games was the talk of town.
But Will never saw the ‘future of hockey’ Mack. He saw the young, golden haired boy with the goofy smile who he loved more than anyone in the world, even though he knew it was wrong.
And it was so, so wrong. All his life he heard how bad it was to be like, that. He hated himself for being like that. And he knew everyone else would hate him too.
Maybe it was a good thing he was leaving BC. Maybe he could find a good girl in San Jose. One with blonde hair, and happy blue eyes…
Fuck. It's wrong. You can't... That's wrong. Stop it Will you're better than this. Besides someone as beautiful as Mack definitely has a girlfriend, you don't stand a chance.
His hand went to the cross around his neck, You're going to hell if you don't stop this. And what would your teammates say? They’d call you a- he was pulled out of his thoughts by his suitcase falling over somewhere in the gate.
After the shock from the suitcase scare faded, he scanned the waiting area, looking for nothing in particular. Then his eyes landed on him.
His heart stopped, or, had it sped up? Oh no his face was probably red wasn't it? God why hadn't he taken a shower last night, or this morning for that matter? Dammit Will get it together!
He had spotted the one thing, the one person, he had been avoiding with all his might.
Macklin Celebrini.
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Reporters pulled him aside after the game, “Macklin, how do you feel about possibly being drafted to San Jose?”
Terrible. He wanted to say, I don't want to leave Boston. “Well the NHL is the dream, and I'd be honored to play for the Sharks.”
After a few more questions Macklin only half listened to, the interview concluded and he trudged back to the lockers. He wanted to be excited. He should be excited. He could be getting drafted. Instead, he felt a strange emptiness in his chest at the prospect of never seeing Will again.
He tried to push the thought away, but the hallowed halls of Boston University suddenly felt suffocating.
As he passed a trophy case, he caught a glimpse of himself. He scanned his reflection, seeing his tussled hair, his windblown cheeks, and his sweat soaked jersey, but paused when he noticed a single tear tracing its way down his face. He swiped it away and took a deep breath before closing the remaining distance to the locker room.
He pushed open the door, flashing a crooked grin at everyone and immediately being mobbed by cheers of, ‘we won!’ and, ‘Cellys in the house!’.
The room smelled like a mix of body odor and what he thought was lemon air freshener used in an attempt to cover it up, but Macklin found it strangely comforting.
He fought his way back to his stall, dodging body checks (both purposeful and accidental), stepping over bags, and avoiding puddles of Gatorade. He finally sat down, grabbing his own bag and untying his skates.
After the coaches speeches, which ended up being more cheering from the team than words about the game, Macklin went to the showers to freshen up and put on clean clothes.
He slung his bag over his shoulder, bouncing out to his car. For a moment, he forgot about the fact he could be leaving his last game against Will Smith.
He arrived at his apartment and practically fell into bed. Once the adrenaline wore off it was never heard to fall asleep, even if he hadn't eaten his usual post game meal.
—
Macklin awoke to the sun spilling onto his face. Groaning, he rolled over and picked up his phone. The time read 7:00 AM and he dropped it on the bed. How nice it would be to go back to sleep, but he had a flight to catch in a few hours.
He drug himself out of bed and into the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth before throwing his toothbrush and toothpaste into his mostly packed suitcase.
After shoving in the last few essentials and grabbing an old coffee from his fridge, he trudged out to his car.
When he arrived at the airport, he made his way through security, to his gate, and then to a chair in the corner, hoping to get a quick nap in before his flight.
He looked towards the big windows behind him, then around at the other people in his gate, when his eyes locked on someone unexpected.
Will Smith.
He was sitting in the corner across from Macklin. When he saw Will looking at him, he quickly averted his gaze. He couldn't believe this was happening. The universe had a sick sense of humor.
The one person he loved, and the one person he could never have. If only there was a girl like him. Then maybe Macklin wouldn't feel so guilty.
Imagine what dad would say if he knew you liked a boy. You're a faggot. You don't get to like boys, it's wrong. In fact, you're the most selfish- he was tugged out of his mind by the announcement “...Ladies and gentleman flight 564 is now boarding to San Jose, California.”
Thankful for the distraction, he quickly hauled his suitcase out of the waiting area, across the walkway, and onto the plane. He checked his ticket, and scanned the plane until he found row 32 seat B. Great. A middle seat.
Fortunately the plane took off with no one in the window seat, so when he moved into it the second the seatbelt sign turned off. He turned on a romcom in his headphones, his favorite genre of movie, hoping to forget his earlier train of thought.
He rested his head against the window, allowing the low rumble of the engine to lull him to sleep.
When the plane landed, he rushed to his Uber, partially because he hoped to avoid Will, and told the driver his hotel's address. He watched the San Jose skyline unfold in front of him, and when the car finally stopped, he thanked the driver and rolled his suitcase into the lobby.
A kind looking woman with a manager name tag wood behind the counter, “Checking in?” Macklin nodded, “Yeah.” He handed over his ID and credit card, and after a second she handed them back, along with his key card, and a small piece of paper that read, room 512.
He made his way up the elevator and down the very long hallway. Finally he found 512 and pressed the key card to the reader. It made a small clicking noise and he shouldered open the door.
The room was quite nice, with a queen bed, a couch, a tv, and a kitchenette. He laid his suitcase in the corner, intending to flop down on the couch for a few hours, when he was interrupted by his stomach growling loudly.
He flinched at the way the noise seemed to cut through the silence and grabbed his wallet, suddenly very aware of the fact he hadn't eaten all day.
He took the elevator back down to the lobby, and bought a bag of chips and a large bagel from the snack counter, choosing a soft armchair in the back to eat them in.
After finishing them faster than he probably should've, he made his way back to his room to begin getting ready.
He put on a suit, combed his hair, and tried to wash the tiredness off his face with a splash of cold water.
The drive passed in a blur of anticipation and nerves, and the interviews felt like they took both forever and one second.
He was terrified at the possibility he wouldn't be drafted. What would his father say if he failed? He'd probably make Macklin skate for days. A sudden feeling of terror washed over him.
Finally, the moment came.
“... For their first overall pick, the San Jose Sharks will select… Macklin Celebrini!”
His brain short circuited. Did they just say his name after the words ‘first pick’? Oh my god they had! He stood up and walked over to shake the hand of Mike Grier, who gave him a jersey and they posed for a picture.
Macklin went to sit down with the other sharks players, his mind racing. He had done it! He had been drafted to the San Jose Sharks! But now it came down to Will. If he wasn't drafted…
Macklin didn't want to think about that. They continued calling more people, and Macklin's heart dropped a little every time it wasn't Will's name. Even though he knew they could never be a thing, he didn't know if he could live without seeing Will's face again.
“...For the fourth overall pick, the Sharks are proud to select… Will Smith!”
Macklin's heart soared! He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, Will had been drafted! His eyes lit up and he could have hugged Will right then and there! Hell, he could have ki-
No, no, no. Why are you so excited? You two are supposed to be rivals. Plus why would he like you of all people? You think if he knew you liked guys he would even want to be on the same team, let alone friends with you?
He took a deep breath. He was right, he needed to calm down. Plus someone as pretty as Will definitely had a girlfriend. He stood zero chance.