Chapter Text
The first thing everyone learns about World Juniors is that there is never enough time.
There are only a few weeks to build a team out of players who, for the most part, have spent their entire lives competing against each other. A few weeks to build chemistry, figure out who you trust. A few weeks to prove you belong.
Some have already been drafted, some are still waiting. Some are trying not to think about it too hard. For now though, it doesn't matter. For now, they’re just players wearing the same Team USA jersey.
Matt has been around this environment long enough that most of it feels familiar. Not easy, god no. But familiar.
He knows the feeling of walking into a room full of guys who are supposed to become his teammates overnight, that strange mix of confidence and nerves that seep into the walls. Everyone wants to look comfortable, everyone wants to act like they’ve done this before.
Matt has gotten pretty good at hiding his own nerves. The trick to confidence is just convincing other people you have it, is what his brother says.
Training camp starts on a frigid day in early December, less than three weeks before the tournament is set to begin. Not everyone has gotten in yet, so the rink looks weirdly empty. The guys that are here though, are loud.
Matt recognizes mostly everybody. That makes it a little less nerve-wracking. He’s good at remembering people. Names and faces, little details. Hockey is a small world, especially at this level. And everyone has crossed paths at least once.
He moves through the room, shaking hands and catching up. Trevor and Cole take up more time than he expects, mostly because they immediately fall into old jokes. Then Cam and Spencer pull him into another winding conversation.
When they finally let him go, he glances around the room once more to see who he missed. There are a few guys left, but the one he spots first is Brock Faber.
The thing about Brock Faber is that him and Matt don't really know each other.
Matt knows who he is because it’s hard not to, when they’ve been playing hockey in the same spaces for years. And Matt probably wouldn't be wrong in assuming Brock knows him as well. But they’ve certainly never spoken before.
“Hey. Fabes, right?”
Matt sticks his hand out and Brock shakes it immediately, firm and polite.
“Um, yeah. Well, Faber. Brock.”
“Matt Boldy. It’s good to meet you.”
It sounds a little funny, too proper, but maybe Matt is just over thinking it.
“You too.” Brock smiles a little shyly, and puts his hand back in his pocket when Matt drops it.
Even though Brock was a year behind him in the development program, Matt still saw him in passing. And something about him, even then, stuck in Matt’s head enough that he still remembers. That curly haired kid from Minnesota. He was smaller, then. But he seems to have shot up in the last two seasons. They’re nearly the same height.
Brock is jittery. Not so much that it’s annoying, but he keeps twitching in his stance, adjusting his glasses or shifting his weight between his feet. It doesn't really seem like anxiety, but Matt’s own anxiety has always been mostly invisible, so he can't really tell on others. It’s more like Brock just can't bear to stand still.
“You excited?”
Brock shrugs, smiles a little wider this time, more teeth. “Ask me after practice.”
Matt laughs, not expecting that type of response.
He’s about to ask another question, something just as meaningless, when Trevor's voice echoes through the room. Calling him over.
“Bolds! You gotta hear what Patty just told me, you’re gonna lose your mind!”
Matt rolls his eyes, mostly for show, though he can't help the slightest bit of real irritation at the interruption. Brock doesn't seem bothered at all. Just looks towards the noise, eyes big and doe-like behind the lenses.
“Well, I’ll see ya, Fabes.”
“Yeah. See you.”
***
Their first practice goes about as smoothly as it can.
Which is to say, not exactly perfect.
It’s not like anyone expects it to be. They’ve had one meeting, one night in the hotel, and a handful of guys are still missing. It’s a miracle that they’re even rested enough to play hockey in general, even more so with teammates they met less than 24 hours ago.
Matt does fine.
His first drill is a little sloppy. A little hesitant. And it takes him a second to get into the groove of things, but once he finds it, it’s easy to hold onto.
And he doesn't feel too bad, because everyone is trying to figure out everything else at the same time. Who likes the puck on their stick, who are the goal-scores and who are the playmakers. Who is going to communicate, and who is going to assume everyone knows what they’re thinking.
It takes time, that’s the whole point of training camp.
Everyone is trying to find their footing. Granted, there are a few guys that adjust very quickly. It’s not exactly surprising.
What is surprising is Brock Faber being one of them.
Matt notices, not because Brock does anything flashy. He doesn’t. If anything, he plays the kind of hockey Matt has always respected more than the kind that gets people talking. Simple, smart, and reliable.
He sees things before they happen, makes quick decisions.
The first time Matt loses the puck, Brock is already there to direct it back to him. Not in a way that feels like he’s guessing, more like he knows.
Afterwards, Matt skates up to Brock so fast that he barely comes to a stop before running directly into him.
“Good read,” he says, still catching his breath.
Brock looks almost surprised, unsure whether Matt is talking to him, but his confusion quickly morphs into a smile. “Oh, thanks!”
The whistle blows, and they reset.
Matt tries something different, this time. Handles the puck better. During their first practice game, he connects with his linemates well enough. Nothing special, and it’s not like any lines have been set in stone.
Brock seems to be adjusting perfectly to the other defensemen.
Matt doesn’t think much of it, beyond the basic ‘everyone here is talented’. They’re all good, but not everyone can adapt that quickly. Not everyone can understand a new teammate’s habits after seeing them for ten seconds.
Brock in general is actually a lot more interesting than Matt expected.
So yeah, he doesn't really think about it.
***
Brock is used to knowing where he stands.
Not like, literally. Hockey is too unpredictable, and one bad game can change your whole life.
But he knows exactly who he is. He never thinks about how he’s going to present himself when he walks into a room because he’s always just him.
He’s aware of his own skill, enough to be confident, but not too much. He’s nice but not a push over. And tries hard to not be overbearing.
He’s just another kid that plays good hockey. Who got the invite because he earned it.
Brock fits in pretty well with the other guys. At least, he thinks so. There's nothing about him that's inherently different, so.
But that first day of training camp is awkward, only because Brock is bad at introductions. He mostly chats with the guys he already knows, and lets the ones he doesn't seek him out first. Hopes it doesn't make him seem standoffish or, god forbid, shy. His body is reacting a lot more nervously than he feels.
He does ease up a bit, after a while. Which is actually really great, because he doesn't want his new teammates to think he’s a freak.
Especially when one of those teammates is Matt Boldy.
Brock knows who Matt is, simply because Matt has been ahead of him for the last couple years. Always aging out of rosters right as Brock starts aging in.
Other than that, there's just something about him. A certain charm. Comfortable in the new space, but not in an arrogant way. Maybe just because he knows everyone.
Brock can't pinpoint it exactly, because Matt really isn't a stereotypical ‘cool guy’. But he’s one of the people that seeks Brock out, instead of making him go to them. And he’s nice. Says Brock’s name and shakes his hand. They don’t talk for long, but Matt seems genuine. Like he actually finds it interesting.
Someone calls Matt over, so he pretends to look annoyed and Brock has to hold in a laugh.
Practice is exactly what Brock expected. A little chaotic. Good enough that the mistakes are small, but still there.
Nobody knows exactly where anyone is going yet, but Brock likes that part. The figuring-it-out stage. It’s why he likes hockey.
Matt comes up to him again, after he fumbles the puck and Brock gets it back on his stick half a second later.
Brock doesn't chirp him for it or anything, because It reminds him that Matt is here for the same reason everyone else is. Just trying to figure it out too.
“Good read,” he says. Brock almost looks behind him, which is stupid because who else would Matt be talking to.
But when he realizes, it’s embarrassing how happy that makes him. “Oh, thanks!”
Brock can't pinpoint it exactly, but there's just something about him. Something that makes being here feel a little less overwhelming.
***
They all go out to a decent restaurant for dinner. Matt has mostly forgotten about the whole being-fascinated-by-Brock thing until he ends up sitting right across from him.
He’s really not expecting anything. The whole team is tired. Everyone is hungry. The table is loud and messy, and Matt is one of the last to take his seat, and there aren't many left.
So really, he doesn’t mean to. It’s just what happens.
Matt observes more than he engages. He finishes his food way too fast which is a little embarrassing, but no one cares because they’re all teenage boys. Mostly, he’s just content to listen.
Someone asks Brock a question, something about where he grew up or his family.
It doesn't really matter because either way, Brock starts talking.
Not, like, a lot. But enough.
Enough that Matt realizes his initial impression of quiet and shy was misleading. Enough that he realizes he’s only seen Brock in one context: In the rink, on the ice.
But this is completely different.
Brock answers questions, laughs. Actually laughs, not the polite little smile from earlier. And he’s funny. In that easy, not on purpose sort of way. Dry, and a little awkward.
Matt really likes it. Probably more than he should.
Someone jokes, “Fabes, you ever stop moving?”
Because even at dinner Brock is messing with his straw wrapper or tapping his fingers.
It’s not like it’s an insult, it’s just a comment. But Matt immediately gets the sense that Brock might get offended.
He doesn't. Just laughs again and shrugs. “No. Not really”
Everyone else laughs, and Matt does too.
He’s been looking at Brock for a little too long, but he can’t help it.
Because he’s just there. With his doe-eyes and fluffy hair and glasses too big for his face. He’s had a toothy smile on his face the whole night, and it’s the most contagious thing Matt’s ever caught.
He notices Matt staring and his brows furrow a little in confusion, but then the smile returns and his cheeks go a little red, and all Matt can think is ‘oh no.’
***
After that night, Brock always kind of ends up near him.
There are only so many places. Only so many spots to stand in the hallway. Only so many seats around the table. And almost every time Matt looks up, Brock is there.
Granted, the whole team is there. They’re all always together. It’s not like Matt is randomly running into Brock on the street. It’s just that he stays close. Always hovering somewhere within Matt’s orbit.
If it were anyone else, he probably wouldn’t notice at all. After all, Brock doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it either.
But Matt just can’t help it. Brock is so easy to pay attention to.
Matt knows what a crush feels like. But this doesn't just feel like a crush born out of proximity and jam-packed schedules. He’s had those before, and they’ve always been meaningless. This feels like something else.
It’s not, like, a grand revelation or anything. Matt is pretty aware of his sexuality, has proved it to himself enough times to be almost certain. And he’s always been prone to sudden and fast-passing infatuation. He just learned from a young age to keep quiet about it. In grade school, guys would get picked on all the time for having crushes on girls. How much worse would it have been for Matt, if he told them he had a crush on a boy?
So the habit just stayed with him. It doesn't bother him because it doesn't feel like he’s harboring a huge secret. It’s just something about him.
His parents probably suspect something, though they’ve never brought it up. And he’s also learned his way around- what places to go, how to spot the ‘right kind of guy.’
Matt knows, not just statistically, that there must be other gay hockey players. Maybe even some he knows. But he’s never tried to find out. There have been a few teammates over the years, ones he wouldn’t be surprised about. Ones he got a little too close to. His tendency of falling into puppy love has never been immune to the people he plays hockey with. He’s always just ignored it or let it fizzle out.
It’s just, well. It’s just that Brock is different.
It sounds so incredibly cliche but there's no other way he can put it. Once the thought enters his mind, there's not much room for anything else.
He doesn’t think about anything but Brock’s laugh. Notices every time he pushes his glasses up when he’s trying not to.
If someone asked, he wouldn’t even know what to say. It’s just that Brock is always there. It’s like dozens of pictures of Brock have been stapled to the bulletin board inside Matt’s head, overtaking every to-do list and itinerary.
Brock is there at breakfast, three seats away, half listening to their schedule for the day while he picks apart a muffin with his fingers.
Brock is next to him in the hallway after practice, with damp hair, asking Matt if he thinks the coaches are going to start making cuts tomorrow.
Brock is on the other side of the room during game tape reviews, tapping his pen against the table like a kid waiting for the school bell to ring.
Matt finds himself sparking conversation with him more than anyone else on the team, and so they start talking fairly often. Not about anything important. Maybe if Brock had a plethora of grand stories then Matt could explain away his interest.
But Brock is just Brock. So unapologetically himself. So genuinely boyish.
He tells Matt about the weirdest things, makes jokes with a surprising amount of cleverness.
He’s always smiling, always making Matt smile. Sometimes he gets this look like he’s about to say something, like there’s a thought in his head, but he can't decide whether or not it's worth sharing.
Maybe it would drive Matt crazy, if it weren't for the fact that Brock clearly pays attention to him too.
He finds him during warmups. Waits for Matt to finish packing up after practice. When everyone starts discussing plans for the evening, Brock looks at Matt before he looks at anyone else.
Matt starts, not exactly saving him a seat, but choosing to sit where there's an empty space beside him. So that when Brock walks in, he has the option. He always looks around, sees Matt, and smiles. Then takes the seat beside him. And Matt has to spend the next ten minutes pretending he isn’t over the moon.
But he keeps looking. Because Brock is easy to find. And he’s starting to think Brock is looking for him too.
***
The first time they hang out one-on-one is entirely accidental and probably severely embarrassing on Brock's part.
It’s late, Matt hasn't been sleeping all that well because he never really does in hotel rooms, and he’s just starting to drift off when he hears a loud noise coming from out in the hallway.
At first he’s a little disoriented, almost like he’s dreaming. The sound is muffled through the walls, too distant to make sense of. For a few seconds, he just lies there staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out if it’s actually happening or if his brain is just looking for any excuse not to sleep.
Then it happens again, a sharp knock and a frustrated “Come on, man.”
Matt’s ears perk up. He knows that voice.
He pushes himself up onto one elbow, listening.
“Seriously?”
There’s something about the exasperation in Brock's voice that makes Matt sit up fully.
It’s late. Really late. The usual noise of the team has faded, replaced only by the occasional sound of footsteps down the hallway.
Matt checks the time on his phone- just past 1:00 a.m. Great.
They have practice tomorrow, and he’s hardly slept as it is. He tells himself he’s only getting up because he’s curious, that’s all.
Not because he wants to see Brock or anything. He just wants to know what's going on.
Matt opens his door, Brock is standing a few doors down, shaking the door handle. He’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, and his hair is messier than Matt has ever seen before.
He’s about to start banging on the door again when Matt mutters a confused, “Uh. Hi.”
Brock looks up. “Oh. Hey.”
“Everything okay?”
Matt leans against the doorway and rubs a little at his eyes. The hallway light is almost blinding.
Brock looks mildly embarrassed, looks down at the floor and then right back up like he caught himself.
“Yeah. I mean. Technically.”
Matt just looks at him. Maybe his brows pinch together or something, because Brock sighs and runs a hand through his hair.
“I’m, uh. Locked out.”
Matt looks at the door, then back at Brock.
“You’re what?”
“I went down to get a snack from the vending machine and I, uh. Forgot my room key.”
That makes Matt laugh. He feels bad about it, but it’s just so ridiculous.
“So, what, you’re trying to beat down the door?”
“No,” Brock sighs heavily again, “I’m trying to get Landon to wake the hell up.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s happening,” Matt says.
“You think?”
“He’s a really heavy sleeper.”
“No, I think he’s dead.”
Matt laughs again. Brock smiles a little when he hears it, like he’s happy he got the reaction despite his predicament.
For some reason, it almost catches Matt off guard. Because Brock has a way of doing that, making him laugh. And always looking pleased when he does.
He looks past Matt, down the hallway. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“No, it’s okay. You didn’t.”
Brock nods, leaning beside the door to his inaccessible room. “I guess I’m just gonna hang out here ‘til he wakes up.”
He slides down, back against the wall, until he’s sat on the worn carpet.
Matt watches, then looks behind him at the empty hallway, the same way Brock had. It would be normal to just say good luck and go back to sleep. After all, he was conscious enough to grab his own key before he let the door shut. And he can’t exactly let Brock into his room, anyway, because he also has a roommate and that would be weird.
But the way Brock looks, with his knees pulled up to his chest… pouty and defeated. Unfairly endearing. Almost insanely pretty.
There is absolutely no reason Matt should sit down. He does anyway.
Brock doesn't say anything. No thank you, no ‘you don’t have to stay.’ No easy out. He just smiles, eyes bright and crinkling up at the edges. And loosens up a little bit.
It’s not awkward exactly, just new and a little bizarre. This is the first time they’ve ever really been alone together, without the rest of the team around. No guys interrupting, no practice starting in ten minutes. No one calling them over. And it’s in the hallway of a hotel, sat across from each other on scratchy carpet.
“So, um,” Brock says eventually, holding up a pitiful little bag of snack-cakes, squashed from being packed into the vending machine. “D’you wanna split this with me?”
Matt looks between Brock’s face and the hand holding the snack, raised awkwardly in the air. He shakes his head, still smiling.
“That’s gotta be, like, a billion calories.”
“No, only half a billion. If we split it.”
Brock holds it out a little farther, expectant. It's ridiculous. Offering his overpriced snack with complete sincerity, like it's the only thing he has to give in return for the company. And Matt is so charmed by him, that he reaches over and accepts his half.
And then they just keep talking.
Hockey, mostly. Why they started playing. Why they still do. Questions Matt has answered a hundred times. Favorite player when he was a kid, first pair of skates. Every version of this conversation has been had, and it should feel repetitive or rehearsed. But he’s hooked on every word that comes out of Brock’s mouth.
Maybe that’s why Matt likes talking to him, because he never makes things feel more complicated than they have to be. Unadulterated genuineness.
It’s just when Matt brings up World Juniors, the whole reason they’re here, that Brock gets a little quiet.
“What?” Matt asks, after Brock doesn't respond to his comment about the final week of camp getting closer.
Brock shakes his head, trying to neutralize his face. “Nothing. It’s dumb”
“No, tell me.” Matt nudges Brock’s knee with his own, and Brock curls in on himself a little bit. Matt doesn't like it.
Brock sighs heavily, just like he had earlier. When he finally speaks, he doesn't look Matt in the eye.
“I mean, it’s scary, right? I worked really hard to get here, I just. I just feel like… I dunno.”
Matt doesn’t push, just waits patiently. Attention unwavering.
"Forget it. It's stupid."
"It's not."
Brock picks at the edge of his sweatshirt. “You guys are really good and,"
Matt frowns. "And?"
Brock shrugs, trying so hard to regulate and make it seem like it’s nothing.
"I just keep thinking...when they start making cuts…”
He doesn't even finish the thought but it’s enough for Matt to want to reach over and shake him because it makes no sense. Brock is impeccable on the ice, he moves like there's not a doubt in his head. The trick to confidence is just convincing other people you have it. Has he seriously thought this way about himself the whole time?
“Brock, come on. You’re amazing.”
Brock laughs quietly, like he doesn't believe him at all. And Matt thinks, despite Brock’s skepticism, that his laugh might be Matt’s favorite thing in the world.
Brock still hasn't looked back at him so Matt has no choice but to double down. “Hey, no. I mean it. You should see yourself, you- You always know what’s going to happen next.”
Brock looks up at him, finally, through his lashes. “You don’t mean that.”
“Yes I do.”
And Matt realizes, very suddenly, that maybe he said too much. Not because it isn’t true, because it is. He just doesn’t know why he cares so much that Brock knows it.
Brock looks back down, a small smile tugging at his mouth.
“You make me sound, like, a psychic or something.”
Matt just smirks and shrugs. Brock opens his mouth, but then closes it and doesn’t try to argue again.
Eventually, the conversation does actually steer away from hockey.
Not completely, because it’s impossible for them to stay away from it for long, especially when it’s their biggest connection to one another. But the topic drifts further, just outside the constraints, without the pressure of it. Matt asks Brock what he thinks he’d be doing, if he didn't play hockey.
“I have no idea.”
“Seriously? You’ve never thought about it?”
Brock shrugs. “I mean, I have. I just can’t really picture anything else.”
That makes sense to Matt, surprisingly.
Because hockey never really felt inevitable to him. He loved a lot of things growing up, it was just the thing he loved the most. But he doesn’t think he’d be unhappy, had he picked one of the others. But he knows what Brock means, even though he can picture himself somewhere else, he can’t picture Brock not playing hockey. Like it is inevitable, for him. Like he was born to do it.
“What about you?” Brock asks.
Matt actually has no idea either. Does he think he could do something else? Well, yes. But what?
“Maybe teach something. But, I dunno how I’d do with kids.”
Brock seems to think for a moment before responding.
“I think you’d be good.”
Matt can’t help but get the tiniest bit flustered. The way Brock says it… Casual, like it’s obvious. Like he doesn’t even realize what he’s really saying.
It gets worse when he actually keeps going.
“I mean- You’re um,” He pauses, like he can’t think of the word, “Attentive. And patient.”
Matt almost laughs because there's no way Brock actually thinks he’s patient, of all things.
“No I’m not.”
“Yeah you are.”
“No, I’m really not.”
Brock runs a hand through his hair and then adjusts his glasses, like maybe he’s a little flustered too. But he’s still smiling.
“Well, you are with me.”
Matt has nothing to say.
Because fuck, Brock is right. Matt sat here talking to him for god knows how long, in the dead of night when he should be sleeping, and he doesn't think he’d do that for anyone else. The same can be said for everything else he’s done for Brock, making space for him, saving him a seat, watching for him. Learning enough that he can tell when Brock needs a push or when he just needs someone there. Little things that don't matter but that he wouldn’t think to do otherwise.
He’s in so fucking deep. He’s barely known this kid for a couple of weeks and they’re already reading each other better than some of the guy’s Matt’s known for years.
Brock’s sweet and sincere and he cares about other people's feelings and he plays incredible hockey with a smile on his face, and he’s the most endearing person in the world and Matt really, really wants to kiss him.
The door to Brock’s room swings open, just as Matt is starting to think he could actually do it.
Both of them freeze, then Brock turns to look.
His roommate, Landon, stands in the doorway a few feet away, blinking at them with the exhausted confusion of someone who has just been dragged out of a deep sleep.
Brock clears his throat. “Hi.”
“What are you doing?”
“I got locked out.” Brock scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed.
“You what?”
Matt can barely bite back a laugh at Landon’s reaction, exactly the same as his was earlier.
Brock sighs and recites his story, blushing, and it makes Matt laugh even more which is probably hypocritical because he can’t even imagine how red he was a second ago.
“Damn, sorry bro. I just woke up and heard you guys talking.”
“You heard us talking, but you didn’t hear me knocking?”
“Guess not.”
Brock looks genuinely offended. “Dude, I’ve been out here for hours.”
“Looks like you had company.”
Matt feels his face get warm again.
“Yeah, well.”
There’s an awkward moment where Landon just looks back and forth between them where they’re still sat on the floor, squinting a little like he’s trying to decipher a code. It makes Matt feel incredibly self-consious for absolutely no reason. Other than the fact that he was about two seconds away from kissing Brock before Landon walked out. So yeah, no reason.
“Right. Well, I’m going back to sleep. I’ll leave it unlocked.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Brock says, rolling his eyes, though Matt can tell he feels it too.
“Yup.” Landon disappears back into the dark room, shutting the door behind him but Matt doesn't hear the lock click.
Brock turns toward Matt suddenly, with a serious look on his face.
“Don’t tell anyone else.”
“I might.”
“Matt.”
The way Brock says his name makes him smile, and he caves.
“Okay. I won’t.”
They both stand. Matt’s legs tingle a bit, and he brushes crumbs off his sweatpants and looks toward his own room.
“We should probably get some sleep,” he says.
“Yeah.”
Neither of them moves immediately, then Brock smiles, looks up at him with those big doe-eyes. “Thanks, for. Ya know.”
Matt shrugs. “Yeah. Of course.”
Brock stuffs his hands in his pockets as he moves closer to the door. He does look tired, but he’s still blushing. God, he’s pretty.
“Goodnight, Bolds.”
“Goodnight, Brock.”
Matt watches him disappear into his room. Then he stands there for another second longer than necessary before finally going back to his own.
When he closes his door a few minutes later, he leans back against it and sighs. Surprisingly, he doesn’t have trouble falling asleep.
***
Growing up, Brock was never really the type of kid who could sit still. His mom would sit him down to color or read a book and he never lasted more than a couple minutes before he had to get up again. He’s always existed in motion. Always felt restless, like he needed to be doing something.
It doesn't manifest quite as loudly now that he’s older. But it’s still there, that constant movement. Simmering just below the surface. Escaping in the smallest ways.
It’s not like, a burden on his life or anything. It’s just a part of him that he has to deal with. Has to consciously manage. He's learned to live with it, learned how to occupy his hands so he doesn't go crazy without anyone noticing.
But something about Matt Boldy gets underneath all of it and cools him off.
It springs up on him, really. He doesn't even notice the change in himself until he sees the effect in action- Sitting on the bench during practice, bouncing his leg up and down, when Matt comes to sit beside him. Close enough to touch. They exchange a few casual words. And when Brock glances down at where their legs are pressed together, his is completely still.
He gapes at himself for half a second before snapping out of it and deciding not to worry too much about the decisions his subconscious mind makes, but then it happens again and again and keeps happening and Brock can't ignore it. Matt just makes him calm.
It’s not the only reason Brock likes him, of course. In fact, it probably stems from his admiration in the first place.
Matt makes everything seem easier, is the thing. He’s friendly, makes an effort to help others feel included but does it so naturally that it feels effortless.
There are a lot of reasons why Brock would like Matt. And boy, does he.
The team takes a bus to and from practice, even though the rink is within walking distance of their hotel, and actually takes more time because of traffic. Brock’s pretty sure it’s just a precaution to keep them in line, or from running off, but he doesn't mind.
The ride is always loud, even after a particularly long practice game. There's bound to be music leaking through someones headphones or an argument over a play like they're still on the ice.
Brock sits beside Matt, because he always does now. It actually doesn't even occur to him to look for another seat.
Matt’s not a talker on bus rides, content to slump in his seat and scroll aimlessly on his phone. But he lets Brock talk, if he wants.
Today, though, Brock just looks out the window.
There's been this thought in the back of his head ever since that night in the hallway. He can't hear it too clearly, and can't pinpoint what it’s trying to tell him exactly. But every time he’s around Matt now, he gets this feeling like he needs to ask or tell him something.
He just doesn't know what.
What he does know is that he hasn't really stopped thinking about that night.
He keeps catching himself replaying it. Every smile, every question. Every compliment.
There hasn't been another moment with just the two of them. With how much they're encouraged to do everything as a team, a moment alone with one other person is practically impossible. And anyway, it had been an accident the first time.
It doesn't stop Brock from hoping for another one.
He does not want to get locked out of his room again. But he wouldn't mind something else. Something delayed, or something forgotten. Somebody volunteering the two of them for a random errand. Anything, really. Only nothing out of the ordinary ever happens. That night was a fluke.
The bus lurches to a stop at a red light.
He could just ask him.
Matt shifts beside him, stretching his legs out into the aisle for a second before pulling them back in. Their knees bump.
They're friends, aren't they? Friends ask each other to hang out. So there's no reason for Brock to be thinking about it this much.
But then again, they've only ever spent time together organically. It’s never been planned. And what is Brock supposed to say, anyway? “I know we're already together all the time, but do you want to... be together more? Just the two of us?” That’s creepy and weird. He should just forget it.
"Fabes?"
Matt’s steady voice calls him back, and he tears his eyes away from the window.
"Hm? Sorry, what?”
"You've been really quiet."
"Oh." Brock swallows. "Yeah. Just, um. Thinking."
Matt nods but studies him for a second longer, unsure whether it’s enough of an answer. Eventually he goes back to whatever he was doing and the moment slips away.
***
It’s nearly 9 p.m. and Brock is standing outside Matt's door.
Matt heard a back and forth of footsteps in the hallway just moments ago, assumed some of the guys were just messing around. But then there was a knock, so tentative and quiet that he couldn't tell if it was on his door or across the hall.
When he opens it to check, he’s sure there must be a look of mild surprise on his face.
Brock is wearing different clothes than what they left the rink in- black pants and a coat over his Gophers t-shirt. And a slightly petrified expression, like he wasn't expecting Matt to answer.
"Oh! Hey,” he says. His hair looks a little more combed, also. The curls tamed into smoother waves. (Matt prefers it messier)
"Hey." Matt echoes, and can't help the smile that breaks through.
He thinks Brock must've locked himself out again, or is in the middle of some other equally ridiculous predicament. But there's something about the way he’s standing there, swaying a bit, like a boat at sea. A calm facade that Matt can just barely see through.
“What’s up?” He asks, because he can tell there's something but he can’t figure out if it’s good or bad.
"So, um, I was wondering..."
Brock raises one hand, like he wants to run it through his hair, but it stops halfway and he stuffs it in his pocket.
"If you wanted to..."
He trails off. His gaze flickers from Matt’s face to the doorframe to the floor and back to Matt.
"...go somewhere?"
Matt tilts his head, still piecing together Brock’s broken sentence. "Go somewhere?"
"Yeah?"
"Where?"
Brock goes still for a second, opens and closes his mouth, blinks a couple times.
"I, uh. I don't really know."
Matt has to laugh. "You don't know?"
"I just figured, we haven't really been anywhere, so maybe we could just. See what’s around?"
"...So your plan is..."
"I didn't really have a plan."
"...Just leave the hotel?'"
"Pretty much."
Matt feels bad because Brock was clearly nervous to ask him, but he laughs again before he can stop himself. Brock ducks his head too, smiling despite himself. So maybe Matt is justified.
"Okay. Yeah, sure."
"...Really?"
"Yeah. Give me like, two minutes."
Matt closes the door and darts across the room quickly. Trevor is in the shower so Matt sends him a quick ‘going out for a bit’ text and pulls on some sneakers and a jacket. He grabs his phone, room key, and wallet, slipping them into his pockets. And then takes a quick look in the mirror before walking back out.
When he opens the door again, Brock is stood in the same position, but he smiles a little less anxiously this time.
It’s cold out. No more than what either of them are used to, but enough that Matt instinctively tucks his chin into the collar of his coat as the hotel doors slide shut behind them. The sky is pitch black but the city glows beneath it.
For a moment they just linger outside the entrance of the hotel, uncertain. They weren't given any specific rules about how or when they can leave, but this sort of feels like something they shouldn't be doing.
"So," Matt says, "Figure out where we’re going yet?"
Brock huffs a sheepish little laugh that fogs in the air. He glances around, left then right.
"That way?"
“Works for me.” Matt snorts and they start walking.
The streets are quieter than they are during the day, but not empty. People drift past bundled in scarves, some carrying shopping bags, others walking hand in hand beneath strings of white lights wrapped around every tree in the square. Faint music drifts out from open restaurant doors, disappearing into the cold as they pass.
They don't say much at first, apart from pointing out little observations they make of the people and places. Brock stays relatively close, strolling easily and unhurried. Matt has this absurd thought that if Brock's hands weren't shoved in his pockets, maybe they'd brush against Matt’s every few steps.
They're alone in a way they haven't been before. Without the rink, surrounded by strangers instead of teammates. Even that night in the hallway hadn't felt like this- Matt had still been aware of the thirty other guys asleep behind nearby doors. Out here, no one knows who they are.
It's just them.
"You do this a lot?" Matt asks abruptly.
"What?"
"Take people on mystery adventures."
Brock laughs. "No. Definitely not."
"So I'm your first?"
The words leave Matt's mouth before he has a chance to think about them. Almost incriminating, even though they’ve done nothing at all.
"You are, yeah,” Brock says, clearly also flustered.
"I just." he continues, looking down at the sidewalk. "I like hanging out with you."
Matt has to look down too because he’s sure he must be grinning like an idiot and no one needs to see that.
"I'd, um… be pretty disappointed if you didn't." He says, hoping his voice sounds steadier than it feels.
Brock looks up at him, finally. Cheeks flushed and smiling.
There's a line of food trucks near the edge of the square, all colorful awnings and warmth from their engines. The smallest one, the only one that seems to still be open, is painted bright yellow with a white-board menu. Handwritten.
Brock slows a bit as they pass it, glances at the colorful options- Hot chocolate. Coffee. Fresh cookies. He doesn't stop, but Matt notices his lingering.
"You want something?"
Brock looks over at him fast, like a kid being caught. "Huh?"
Matt nods his head towards the food truck and just says it again, “Do you want something?” because he knows Brock understood him the first time. Maybe he just wanted Matt to say it was okay. Matt thinks Brock does that a lot, actually. Wants things but doesn’t ask for them, just waits for someone else to suggest or offer. Maybe he’s worried about being an inconvenience.
"Oh, uh. I was just reading it." That means yes.
"There’s no one in line, c’mon." Matt starts walking towards it and Brock hesitates for all of two seconds before following.
The woman inside is older, with a big grin as they step up to the window. "What can I get you boys?"
Matt offers her a small smile and greeting before nudging Brock forward.
“Um, hi, yes ma’am, can I get a medium hot chocolate?”
“You want marshmallows, sweetie?”
“Yes, please.”
Matt doesn't know if ‘Minnesota nice’ is a real thing. He’s only been a couple of times for tournaments, so he didn't get to interact much with the locals. Everyone he did talk to seemed pretty average on the niceness scale. So Matt doesn't think Brock is Minnesota nice, Brock is just nice because it’s who he is. Awkward but well-mannered, with fumbling words and natural politeness.
The woman types his order into the register.
"And for you?" She says, looking over at Matt.
"The same."
She names the total, turns the card reader towards them, and before Brock can even reach his wallet, Matt taps his card. She hands him the receipt and turns to start making their drinks. When Matt looks back at Brock, he’s staring right at him.
“Bolds, you didn't have to do that. I was gonna get mine."
"Were you?" Matt asks, feigning innocence, folding the receipt up.
"Yes."
"Huh, well," Matt pockets his wallet. “Guess you were too slow."
Brock rolls his eyes and sighs, but Matt can see a smile threatening to break through. "I’m paying next time then."
Their drinks are ready now, so Matt can’t question that final statement any further. But he catches it, lets it sink in and warms him up from the inside.
Next time.
Matt smiles into his cup before taking a sip, mostly so Brock won't see it.
They make their way over to an empty bench overlooking the center of the square, where a huge Christmas tree towers over the fountain. The fountain isn’t on, the water completely frozen, but the ice sparkles with reflections of all the colorful lights.
They sit close. Steam curls out of their cups. Brock blows on his before every sip even though it probably isn't hot enough to warrant it. Matt notices. He also notices the way Brock keeps looking around like he's trying to remember every detail of his surroundings.
"It’s pretty," Brock says quietly.
"Yeah."
Matt actually doesn't think it’s that pretty. It just looks like any other place. And it’s cold. Matt’s hot chocolate is warm. Brock is warmer. Matt shifts a little closer.
"I've never really been somewhere like this around Christmas. Like, a city.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I mean, we usually go to my grandparents cabin up on Red Lake and there's no one out there for miles. Just trees and ice. It’s beautiful, just-”
“Different.” Matt says. He thinks that would be nice, to go to the same place every year, the tradition. His family never had many of those.
“Yeah.”
“Do you like Minnesota?”
“Oh yeah. I’m biased though, obviously. Since I've lived there my whole life. But I really love it.”
Matt turns toward him.
Brock is watching the lights shimmer, threaded through the trees. His face is tipped toward the glow, and for a second he looks younger than he has the whole time Matt's known him. Open and honest.
For a moment, Matt imagines that they’re in Minnesota on Christmas, with no one around for miles.
"Woah," Brock says.
"What?"
"The lights, look."
They’ve all started flickering softly in sync with each other, changing colors. Red, green, blue, yellow. Red, green, blue, yellow.
The lights are pretty.
Brock is-
Matt's stomach almost drops.
Brock turns to him, pouting a little. “You’re not looking.”
Matt already knew he was in trouble, felt himself falling farther and farther. Bracing himself for when he’d eventually hit the bottom. He didn't think it would sneak up on him this quietly.
Suddenly Matt’s not so sure of himself, and he hesitates for a moment before the impulsivity takes over.
He leans in, and catches the split second where Brock’s eyes widen a little in surprise, and then kisses him.
Brock’s lips are warm and taste like cocoa. They slot in against Matt’s so well that their teeth almost knock together. Matt’s heart is pounding.
He moves his lips against Brock’s as delicately as he can. It’s only when he lifts one hand to cup the side of Brock's face that he seems to get spooked and pull away.
Matt is instantly worried that he just made a horrible mistake, read everything wrong, but Brock doesn’t look horrified. Just severely confused, like when you miss something that everyone else seems to get.
His eyes dart around Matt's face, searching. Looking for the answer.
"You kissed me." Brock says, eventually. Like hearing the words out loud will make them make sense.
"Yeah." Matt's voice also sounds a bit stunned, and he's resisting the urge to touch his fingers to his lips because he knows how stupid that would look right now. But he really, really wants to. His hands are shaking so bad, he can hear his hot chocolate sloshing around in the cup.
"That's. Um… That’s…”
They're still close. Really close. And as flustered as he is, Brock hasn't scooted away. But his reaction is otherwise unreadable.
"Sorry, I should’ve asked first." Matt says. He's starting to come down from his high.
“No! I mean. It’s okay,” Brock blurts out in a rush, “I… I wanted you to.”
It’s amazing how quickly Matt’s mood shifts, then. From panic to blissful relief. Brock’s hand is on his knee, and Matt’s not sure how long it’s been there but now it’s sending shockwaves up and down his body.
“Oh. Okay. Good.” Matt says, he sounds so stupid, but he really is glad he didn’t fuck everything up. He can't help the dopey grin that spreads across his face.
“Good.” Brock is grinning now, too.
Matt laughs under his breath, mostly because he just can’t believe it. Brock does too, ducking his head for a second before looking back at him.
For a second, they just look at each other.
“Can I? Again?”
“Yeah. Yes.”
So Matt does.
***
The walk back to the hotel is quieter than the walk there.
Neither brings up the fact that they definitely just crossed the line from friends into something else. Mostly because Matt doesn't really know how to bring it up without it being weird, and judging by the way Brock keeps glancing at him and then quickly looking away, he's not going to be the one to say it first either.
“Not a bad first outing, for a guy with no plan.” Matt says instead, teasing. And realizes how much their ‘outing’ probably looked like a date. He wonders if the hot chocolate woman thought it was.
“Whatever,” Brock bumps his shoulder against Matt's, cheeks going pink. “You had fun.”
“Yeah,” Matt says quietly. “I had a really good night.”
There's a strange little pause. Matt wants to say something else, but he doesn't know what. He could say something dumb and lovesick and obvious like ‘I liked kissing you.’ He could do something insane and probably really wrong like reach out and take Brock's hand. He could probably do a lot of things.
He just shoves his hands into his pockets.
There's still some bustling about when they get to the hotel. The way there always is. Flights that got in too late, parties that went on too long. The concierge looks up as they walk through the doors with a robotic “Good evening.” and Matt says “Hi,” his voice cracking. Brock giggles.
They make their way up together, walking in sync, side by side in the elevator. But eventually they reach their floor, their hallway, and their rooms waiting on opposite sides.
They come to a stop. It’s unnaturally quiet. Brock, surprisingly, is the first to speak.
“Thanks for coming with me.”
Matt smiles. “Thanks for taking me.”
It’s a lot like the last time they parted this way- Neither moves immediately, Brock looking up with those big doe-eyes. Soft and happy. Only this time, with no one around to see, Matt takes the crazy risk of kissing him once more. Just a peck, quick and chaste.
Brock still gets insanely flustered, unable to fight his grin.
“Well, um. Goodnight, Matt.”
“Goodnight, Fabes.”
Matt watches him disappear into his room, the same way as last time. Stands there for too long before going back to his own room. It’s not until he’s laying in bed that he finally lets himself brush his fingers over his lips.
The thing about World Juniors is that there is never enough time. Right now Matt feels like he has all the time in the world.