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1.
The first time Will hears Mack sing - like really, truly belting the words out with his entire heart behind it - they've been friends for over a year.
They’re in Utah, bad weather forcing the Sharks to stay in the hotel another night before flying back to San Jose. Their season opener isn’t for another five days, so it's technically not a big deal. But Will isn’t feeling particularly social tonight. All he wants to do is collapse on Mack’s couch in Jumbo’s guest house and finish their marathon of Breaking Bad. Just the two of them.
But thanks to all the changes during the offseason, team bonding is more important than ever. That said, even the newbies know that Mister First Overall is… particular. So when Mack played cards for a bit, lost a staggering amount of money, and then dipped, no one batted an eye. It's an unwritten rule that on game days, Mack has to take a ridiculously long shower before bed, forty-five minutes minimum. He said he'd come back afterwards to play poker, but everyone knew better. If he returned to Delly's room at all tonight, it'd be to drag his roommate - Will - back to theirs.
“Suck on that, Smitty!” Vinny gleefully places his last card atop the pile - Draw Four. Of course. "I win."
Not in the mood to keep playing until there's a lone loser, Will tosses his handful of cards down. “Congrats on the first ever win of your entire life, man. Love that for you. Truly." He rises to his feet. "But I'm calling it a night.”
The subsequent boos and jeers are annoying, though unsurprising.
“It’s only been twenty minutes since Celly left,” Toff points out over the noise, glancing at the time on his phone.
Will pretends he doesn’t understand what the veteran is getting at. “So?”
“You bitched all last season about his ridiculously long showers,” Eky says. “So there's plenty of time for another round until your wife is ready for bed.”
Ignoring the rumbling laughter from their teammates is easy-peasy. Will has had plenty of practice. Him and Mack acting like an old married couple is the same schtick from last season. But they’re best friends. Mack is Will's person, and he doesn't think it's a stretch to say that he's Mack's person. So why wouldn't they spend all their time together?
Sticking to his guns, Will extracts himself from the room. Since there's no one around to witness his Loser Antics™ (a term his older sister, Grace, coined when they were really young), he gleefully swan dives into his hotel bed, bouncing once, twice, before settling. By his estimate, he has twenty minutes of Fuck Around Time until Mack is finished showering. So many TikToks to Doom Scroll through, so little motivation to move. A cat nap also sounds nice.
His brain belatedly processes the sounds coming from the bathroom, and...
Huh.
This is... new?
There's nothing wrong with Mack blasting music while he's in the shower. It's just out of character, not something he usually does. Otherwise, Will would know about it. They haven't been friends for that long. Close to a year and three months... ish? Even so, Will is pretty much an expert on all things Macklin Celebrini.
Last June, Will approached Mack at the beginning of the San Jose Sharks' Development Camp. His intent was to call a truce of sorts, show there were no hard feelings. They'd competed fiercely against each other for years in the USHL and college. But the past was the past. They were NHL teammates now. Nothing else mattered. Honestly, Will hadn't expected much. Everyone knew Macklin Celebrini was an intense, competitive guy. It'd probably take him some time to shake off their rivalry.
Spoiler alert: it did not.
The recently turned eighteen-year-old Macklin was shyer than a newborn foal for a total of, shoot… two hours? Maybe less? After some gentle encouragement on Will's part, Mack opened up real quick. They've been attached at the hip ever since (Mack, the adorable competitive little freak, later went on record and proudly proclaimed that he hated Will before they became Sharks together, which is hilarious for a lot of reasons, including how they hardly spoke a word to one another until dev camp).
Will thought he knew everything about his former rival. All the 'big' things, at least.
Apparently not.
Because holy shit.
Holy shit.
How the hell did Will NOT know that his best friend can sing? Like really, really sing.
He cycles through a year's worth of memories. Did he miss something? He must have. There's no way he'd have forgotten this... ah. Alright. Yes, he did miss something. Mack hums and mouths lyrics under his breath, but he never sings. Not in the car, not at the rink. Not even at home when it's just the two of them.
And that’s a fucking travesty. Because just like his hockey skills, Mack’s voice is on an entirely different level.
Will never took chorus in school. Not for any snobbish reasons. He simply possessed enough self-awareness (aka he had an older sister) to know that his childhood dream of becoming hockey’s Troy Bolton was unobtainable. His voice wasn't that good, so why bother? His lack of musical education means he doesn’t possess the technical terms to describe what he’s hearing. But Will knows how it makes him feel. Mack’s voice hits him right in the chest, giving him with the exact same euphoric high as scoring an overtime game-winner.
The water shuts off. With the reduced background noise, it becomes even clearer just how talented Mack is. There's a high probability that Will might vibrate out of his skin before the song ends.
“You'd have me down, down, down on my knees. Now wouldn't you, barracuda? Oooh.”
Will shakes his head like a dog, like he can physically rid himself of the sudden mental image of his best friend doing just that.
Is it weird that he feels bad for the original singer of Barracuda? Logically, she can’t possibly know her song is currently being covered by someone with the voice of an angel. But she's gotta feel it in her bones, right? Crikey, and the Sharks! They need to count their blessings that Mack decided to be a hockey player instead of pursuing a career in music. Kid could have easily become the next Justin Bieber. But better. Way better. And Will loves the Biebs, so that’s saying a lot.
Wait.
The water is off, meaning the shower is done. Gah, of course this is the one time Mack doesn't take a million years. But how is Will gonna play this? He has this nagging feeling that Mack never sang around him on purpose. How anyone could be insecure about those golden vocal cords is beyond him, but he respects his best friend -
“You gonna burn, burn, burn, burn, burn it to the wick… holy shit!” Mack squeaks. The music abruptly stops. “Smitty, how long... I didn’t… I thought we were gonna play poker with the guys?”
With great effort - this divine experience has drained Will to his core - he flips onto his back. Mack’s face is flushed so severely, there’s no way it’s solely a result of his shower.
“Just g-got in,” Will stammers, his own skin heating when he notices how low Mack’s towel is around his waist. "The guys were boring, so I left."
Macky really put in the work during the offseason, Will finds himself thinking. Makes sense. Mack's physiotherapist dad didn’t get the nickname Sheriff Rick for nothing.
“Aww, it sounds like you missed me, Smitty,” Mack teases, rifling through his luggage. Even the back of his neck is bright red.
Cute.
“I did, yeah.”
Will's tone carries so much sincerity, Mack turns around, surprise evident on his face. Shit. He should make a joke to lighten the mood. Or complain about how Mack has been hiding his beautiful, jaw-dropping voice.
But… the offseason had sucked without Mack. Everything Will did, everywhere he went, Mack was at the forefront of his mind. They Facetimed and texted constantly, even spent a few weeks training together, but it wasn't the same. Not two months after the regular season ended, Grace bet him that he couldn't go five days without talking to Mack in any capacity. Will folded after thirty-six grueling hours, pride be damned. Wasn't worth it. She claimed it was the easiest money she'd ever made. No worries. Happy to help. Who doesn't love giving back to charity?
“I missed you, too,” Mack mutters, fiddling with the hem of his tattered Boston University sleep shirt. “If this summer taught me anything, it's that there might be some merit to those codependent accusations we always get.”
"Does that bother you?" Will asks curiously.
Mack doesn't hesitate. "No. You?"
A wide smile spreads slowly across Will’s face. “Definitely not. But I gotta ask... did your dad get on your case about your long showers or something?”
“Of course. Poor guy still thinks I’ll listen.”
“Maintaining your faith in the face of adversity is imperative, Macklin,” Will says, doing his best impression of Father Greg. He laughs at Mack’s sassy eye roll. “Personally, I never thought I’d see the day where you get them under thirty minutes. Got a hot date? Or do you... do you actually wanna play poker with the guys?”
Mack, the brat (/affectionate, always affectionate with him), flings himself onto Will’s bed, nearly catching him in the face with a wayward elbow. “On the bus, weren’t you telling me about some movie we just had to see?”
The knot in Will’s chest loosens. Temporarily forgetting all about Mack’s insane voice, he reaches for his laptop.
2.
Over the next week-ish, Will makes a concerted effort to play songs he knows Mack enjoys. To his vexation, his best friend’s stubborn ass refuses to take the bait. But Will won't give up, he will hear that pretty voice again if it's the last thing he does!
Despite what their teammates believe, Will likes that the world would need to be ending for Mack to willingly drive himself anywhere. Whenever someone teases him about it, Mack shrugs it off with a, “The Rangers bus crashing into my brand new car felt like a sign from above that I shouldn’t drive unless absolutely necessary.” No one has yet to devise a suitable reply to that.
Which is fine by Will. Mack's dedication to being a his passenger princess makes it easier to enact his plan. They're currently in Will's car after practice. Having given up his ruse of liking country music about halfway through their rookie season, he's fully prepared for Mack’s bombastic side-eye when Luke Combs starts playing through his speakers.
"Oh, Gabe and Leno used to love this song," Will nonchalantly mentions, turning the volume up.
He low-key wants to rip his ears off, but since that would mean never hearing Mack sing again, he instead passionately belts the words out. Yet his selfish best friend still doesn't join in, grrr. At a stoplight, Will leans across the console to playfully bump their shoulders together. Mack shoots him a look so scathing, he instantly switches back to his usual pop playlist, metaphorical tail tucked between his legs.
Maintaining your faith in the face of adversity is imperative, that's exactly what Will said. Perfect example? Less than twenty-four hours after that incident in the car, God rewards him for his efforts.
It's the morning of their season opener. Will is too wired to sleep. Instead of Doom Scrolling in bed until his alarm goes off, he drives across town to Mack's favorite coffee shop. Sustenance acquired, Will pulls into the Thornton's driveway fifteen minutes early. Whoopsie.
He lets himself in with the key that Mack (nervously, it was so cute) gave him last November. To Will's shock, he’s immediately greeted with the melodic sound of his best friend belting out… is that Taylor Swift? Oh god, yes it is. The same kid who scoffs at Will for proudly listening to Katy Perry is singing a Taylor Swift song like rent is past fucking due. Interesting. Very interesting.
Don’t throw stones in glass houses, or whatever.
“Can't you see that I'm the one who understands you? Been here all along, so why can't you see? You belong with me.”
Ya know, maybe Mack doesn’t sing when other people are around because he only has one volume - loud. Not that Will is complaining! His best friend’s voice is like the most potent drug in existence for his brain. Intoxicating. Addicting. He's obsessed with how it seems to fill every corner of the house.
Plus it means Mack doesn’t hear Will sneaking up on him... or the gasp he accidentally lets out after poking his head around the corner. In his defense, he did not expect to see Mack’s broad back so early in the morning. Mack’s bare back. Because he is shirtless. Totes understandable. If Will lived alone, he’d do dishes shirtless too. Who wouldn’t?
Clearly, Mack's behind... ahem, Mack is behind on getting ready. But Will would genuinely rather chuck himself in front of the speeding Rangers team bus than interrupt. This time last year, Mack was so nervous for the first game of their NHL careers, he spent the day fluctuating between yapping Will's ear off and not saying a peep because he was chewing the insides of his cheeks until they bled. Today, however, he sounds so fucking happy, it’s staggering. It’s how Mack should always sound, in Will’s professional opinion.
“Have you ever thought, just maybe, you belong with me?”
Yes, I have.
Holy shit, this is the best day of Will’s life, right up there with Draft Night. The next song - Hey Mickey, he thinks it's called - comes with a fucking dance performance!!
Okay, that might be a stretch of the word. It’s just Mack’s hips swaying back and forth. But it's already significantly more movement compared to the last time they went clubbing... at least until Mack got white girl wasted. Will took his eyes off his best friend for five fucking minutes to chat with this chick who had a bad ass Winter Soldier tattoo. Next thing he knew, Mack was half naked on the dance floor demonstrating how he could slutdrop with the best of them (despite being plastered off his face, Mack somehow convinced the guys to take what Delly later described as something 'just shy of a blood oath’ that they'd never mention his drunken dancing again, “or else”. To this day, Will remains mildly offended by his exclusion).
Will is completely unprepared for Mack to suddenly spin around... and let out the cutest scream he's ever heard in his life.
“Aww, no, don’t stop on my account!” Will coos. “I was really digging those moves, Celly.” He mimics Mack’s final shimmy, then throws in some hip thrusts and body rolls because he can. “After we crush Vegas tonight, we should… owww, man, what the fuck?!”
Usually, Will doesn’t mind being pulled into his best friend’s orbit without realizing it… except for when Mack takes advantage of their close proximity to viciously snap a dish towel across his thigh!
“That’s what you get for being a creep!” Mack turns the music off with an angry tap of his finger. “And I’ll do it again, Smitty, do NOT push me!”
Will really wants to rub his smarting skin, but he will not give Mack the satisfaction. He does, however, casually, very casually, drift back out of range. "You looked like you were having fun. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“William,” Mack raises the towel threateningly, “if you breathe a word about this -”
“That you sing like an angel? Oh no, not that!”
Mack’s mouth opens and closes several times, before he utters a succinct, “Pardon?”
“Dude, are you seriously fishing for compliments at ass o’clock in the morning?” Will wags a finger in faux-admonishment. He’s weak though, so he relents. “You were born in the wrong generation. Those American Idol judges would have killed to hear you -”
“Not American,” Mack snarkily retorts.
Will gasps. “Gee willikers, the Baby Darling of Canada isn’t American?! Who would have guessed?”
Mack, predictable as ever, lunges. With a shameless, unrepentant giggle, Will darts around the breakfast bar to avoid the hit. God, Mack is so easy to rile. Will loves that about him, loves instigating shit like this. Which probably makes him a terrible best friend, but alas.
When Mack finally accepts that he only managed to whip Will with the dish towel because he hadn't been expecting it, he chucks it aside. As a reward for good behavior, Will lets Mack tackle him onto the couch. His sudden lack of resistance shouldn't raise any suspicions; they’re similar in size, give or take ten pounds. But physical aggression has never been Will’s forte, so this is pretty typical within their dynamic. Will would be embarrassed, but he kinda likes it is used to it. So why fight the inevitable? Hell, the team hardly makes fun of him for it anymore, that's how common it is!
“How did I manage to forget how annoying you are, Smitty?”
Mack either doesn’t notice that he's half naked and on top of Will - his boy best friend - or he doesn't care. So Will doesn't notice that their bodies are pressed together from chest to toe. And he doesn't care that their faces are so close, they’re practically breathing into the other’s mouth.
Will does care that his best friend’s lips are torn to shreds, though. Mack must have spent the entire night incessantly picking at it. If he was that worked up about tonight’s opener, he should have called Will to debrief. Like he's been told to do, and has done before.
Bet his lips are still soft.
Whoa, hold up.
Nope, nope, nope, now is NOT the time for such nonsense, stupid brain!
“How did I not know you can sing like that?” Will asks, split between disappointment and relief when Mack rolls off him.
"Like shit, you mean?” Mack scoffs, offering him a hand up.
Aside from hockey, Mack has never shied away from boasting about his ‘talents’ in everything from golf to driving… which is wild, since Will’s ten-year-old cousin can swing a golf club better than Team Canada’s future captain. And earlier, Will was teasing about Mack fishing for compliments. It doesn't seem like he's doing that either.
Sooo... instant red flag.
“Celly, your voice is phenomenal. It makes my brain tingle in the best way... you know I wouldn't say that if it wasn't true, right? I'd make fun of you for being a closeted Swiftie or something -"
Mack suddenly notices the time displayed on the oven clock. "Smitty, I have time blindness, remember?!" he squawks hysterically.
Will follows Mack into his bedroom. It'd be weirder if he lingered in the hallway. “My bad. At least I’m not ashamed to admit that I'm a Swiftie, aye?”
“Dude, we’ve been over this.” Standing in front of his closet, Mack ducks his head, his fluffy hair obscuring most of his face. “I’m not like you. I get embarrassed easily, even when I know I shouldn't, and my stupid skin gives me away every fucking time.”
Oof, sad but true. And also so adorable -
Wait.
THIS, this right here is a fucking act, that's why the little weasel is hiding his face! In ‘real life’... Will loves him to death, so he means this without judgement… Mack is a pretty awkward dude. Emphasis on the pretty. But here, in Mack's house, when it’s just the two of them? Oh yeah, this is a fucking distraction technique.
“Your voice is fucking incredible, Macklin,” Will insists, placing both hands on Mack’s shoulders. His fingers twitch, but he will not cop a feel of his best friend's sculpted muscles. “I’m glad you were born when you were, because I love tearing it up on the ice with you. But I’m also sad, because your arch on Glee would have been epic. The second you opened your mouth, Rachel Berry would have lost her ever-loving mind.”
There’s several agonizing seconds of silence, where Will definitely imagines Mack’s gaze dropping to his lips before shooting back up to his... forehead?
“Is she one of your ex-girlfriends?”
This time, Will’s gasp is completely and totally real. “My guy, my best and most beloved guy.” His hands relocate from Mack’s shoulders to his cheeks. “Please tell me you’re fucking with me. Please.”
Mack blinks once. Twice. Then again, before chuckling halfheartedly. “Erm… yes? Totally." He punches Will in the arm, ouchies. "Heh, yeah. I’m fucking you… fucking with you, Smitty.”
“Right. Okay. Cool. Phew. We just found our next show to binge, bud.” Mack perks up. Will hesitates, before amending, “Keep it between us though, okay? It’s a great show, you’re gonna love it, but we’ll be chirped to death if anyone finds out.”
3.
Three weeks go by before Will hears Mack sing again.
He had hoped that watching a show about a high school show choir would loosen up those golden vocal cords, but nada. Will doesn't always sing along, but when he does, Mack just watches with a fond smile. Or an annoyed one, depending. Personally, Will was impressed with his fiery rendition of Jessie’s Girl. Mack, however, pettily stuck his fingers in his ears. Brat.
Honestly, he can't even blame Mack for not being in the mood to sing. Yeah, the Sharks are still in a rebuild, but this season was supposed to be better. Losing the first six games in a row? Fucking brutal. Thankfully, they finally got their first win against the Rangers while on the road. Mack had a hat trick and two assists, while Will had two goals, including the game winner, plus two assists. The vibes were so much better... until the following night, when they lost to the Devils.
At least they secured a second win before returning to San Jose.
Will shuffles into the rink, so exhausted, he feels like he's walking through molasses. On his way to the locker room, he receives a slew of judgmental looks. Annoyed, he turns to bitch about it with Mack, only to find empty space.
Ah. Right. That explains 99% of the stares. Will is alone, and that’s weird.
Fucking Warso, of course it’s his fault. Mack had to go in an hour early for some meeting that had to happen today, so he drove himself. Normally, Will would have just taken the extra ice time. But they were coming off the first lengthy road trip of the season (Islanders, Rangers, Devils, & Wild in under a week), and although Will insisted he was fine, Mack vehemently disagreed. He threw a mini hissy fit, ranting about sleep, health, and performance until Will agreed to drive separately.
Mack wasn't exactly wrong, but Will fully intends to keep that tidbit to himself.
Turning the last corner, huzzah, Will stops short. There's a cluster of people loitering outside the locker room, players, coaches/trainers, and front office workers alike.
Eky notices his arrival first. “Dude, who the fuck hurt Celly?”
“What?” Will’s heart jumps to his throat. “What the fuck do you -”
Someone audaciously shushes them. Oh hell no. Macklin's health and well-being should be *everyone's* top priority, which Will is all too happy to remind -
“Next time I'll be braver, I'll be my own savior. Standing on my own two feet, I won't let you close enough to hurt me.”
Eky gives him a look that screams, “See what I mean?”
Yeah, okay. If Will didn’t know better, he’d wholeheartedly believe that Mack wrote Turning Tables based on his own life experiences.
"That poor, sweet boy," Brenda from Accounting says to the lady beside her. "Sounds like he's trying to convince himself to move on from whatever hussy broke his heart."
No, no. There's a much more reasonable explanation. Mack is playing the Glee version, for one. Gwyneth Paltrow is great. Really. No disrespect to her, but she’s a chill lady overall. Someone who is NOT chill? Macklin Celebrini. When he locks in, he’s like a shark in blood-infested waters. So of course he’s gonna sing an Adele ballad like it resonates with his soul. That doesn’t mean he’s fixated on a toxic, manipulative ex. Pfft, that's ridiculous.
The song finishes, and then Somebody That I Used To Know starts booming from the locker room speakers. Knowing that Mack sought out a playlist of Glee covers makes Will irrationally happy. He refuses to think deeply about why.
No one interrupts their franchise star, content to enjoy the free concert. When the song reaches the chorus, even Will is rendered speechless by his best friend's impassioned, heartfelt singing.
“But you didn't have to cut me off. Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing. And I don't even need your love, but you treat me like a stranger, and that feels so rough.”
Oh.
Cool cool.
Mack misses his ex. That's fine, it happens. He never mentions her, though. Like ever. Seems kinda suspish to never talk about someone you're that hung up on, right? Then again, Mack also never said anything about having a singing voice so divine, it would make Apollo himself weep. So really, what the fuck does Will know? Nothing, apparently.
Fuck his life. Why does he even care?
... well, that’s easy to answer.
Because that guy singing his heart out in there? That's Will's best fucking friend. And no one deserves to be happy, to be loved, more than Macklin.
“Christ on a bike, why am I tearing up?” Dickie groans, wiping at his eyes. “He’s really putting his whole Mackussy into that, isn’t he?”
Toff smacks the rookie upside the head. “Never say that again.”
“Never speak again, period,” Will chirps, hoping to distract from his mini-meltdown.
No such luck. Seriously, fuck his life.
Will can fucking smell the looming interrogation. Nope. Not today, Satan Sharks. Flashing his most charming ‘frat boy’ grin, he pushes through the crowd to greet his bestie like there’s nothing wrong. Because there isn’t.
Everything is fine.
Will is fine.
4.
Oh god, Will is not fine. Repeat, Will is NOT fine.
From the moment Mack insisted on coming out with him and Leno (despite the Caps crushing the Sharks 7-1 at home), Will knew the night was going to be a shit-show. The loss alone meant Mack would be in a horrendous mood. But Leno, a guy Mack BARELY tolerates on a good day, just put up four points against them, while neither Will nor Mack made it onto the score sheet.
If Will wasn't the most pathetic loser on the planet, he'd have put his foot down. It was a recipe for disaster! The stars were not aligned. All Will had to do was grimace, maybe avert his gaze, and Mack would awkwardly backtrack. And on the off-chance he stood his ground, Will had a flawless excuse - he wanted to catch up with one of his closest friends who he rarely sees anymore, at least during the regular season.
But Mack’s pout and pleading doe-eyes were fucking gut-wrenching. What was Will supposed to do? Refuse Mack something he was asking for, and so nicely at that? Will Smith was a sinner, not a monster!... and he had an ulterior motive for agreeing.
Sigh. Another sin for the ever-growing list.
Will would like to blame his current predicament on Leno. Maybe even Mack himself, just a smidgen. Yet he cannot. Because everything is totally and undeniably Will's own fucking fault. Karma, in all her blazing glory.
It all started a few days ago, when Mack caved to the team’s peer pressure and coughed up the reason behind why he staunchly refused to sing unless he was by himself: when Mack was in fourth grade, his parents insisted he needed to expand his horizons outside of sports. They suggested chorus. Obviously, they had the best intentions in mind, but it was there that some snot-nosed, jealous, insecure twat recognized Mack’s superior talent and convinced the whole class to bully him about it (Will is paraphrasing here). Mack, stubborn and headstrong, refused to bow to the pressure. Internally, however, the relentless mocking ate away at his confidence.
Mack's whole family was in the crowd to support him during his first concert... where he flubbed the lyrics of the hard-fought solo he'd won fair and square. Behind him, his classmates laughed. In front of him, the audience gazed back with something worse than mockery. Pity. The incident was so traumatic, Mack didn’t just drop out of chorus. He straight up stopped singing for years, even when he was alone.
After Mack finished meekly recounting the distressing tale, Toff snatched Will by the earlobe, led him out of the locker room, and basically threw him onto the ice (in a paternal way). 'Skate it off, kid. I understand your anger, but there's no point in losing your cool over something that happened almost a decade ago'. He must have noticed Will's snapped stick before he could hide the pieces. Whoops. The idea had merit, but skating did little to quell Will's rage. His precious baby Macklin growing to hate his perfect voice because some little shithead couldn’t handle being usurped as the school's star singer? Ooh, what he’d give to get his hands on that brat (/derogatory).
That said...
All things considered, it's probably super hypocritical of Will to try and claim moral superiority. Especially since he's old enough to know better! He's greedy. Manipulative. Obsessive. Willing to do whatever it takes to hear the voice that’s burrowed deep under his skin. Even at the detriment of his best friend.
The bar that Will ‘happened’ to hear about the other day on TikTok? The one that they're currently at? They're hosting a Millennial Karaoke event. Tonight. What a coincidence, huh? There's definitely not a list of bars, restaurants, and clubs that regularly host karaoke nights in the Notes app of Will's phone.
Besides, even if there was a comprehensive, password-protected list, and even if they showed up to one of the venues at the right time, who's to say Mack would even pick up the mic?
Tonight, however, Will knew before they arrived that he'd be hearing Mack sing again.
See, Will's best friend is a jealous, possessive freak (traits that Will positively adores, and also actively encourages). Mack is also insanely competitive. Just the threat possibility of Will singing with Leno, one of his closest friends, was enough to ensure that Mack’s nicely-shaped posterior would be on that stage tonight. Several times, most likely.
That's precisely where Mack is now. On stage, singing his heart out like the best boy he is.
Will should be over the moon.
But he is not. He is below it. Seething.
Herein lies the problem: Mack is not on the stage alone. He's with a stranger. A touchy, overly-familiar stranger. A boy, only slightly older than them, who is definitely flirting with Mack.
And it's all Will's fucking fault.
Some five minutes ago, a tiny ginger - a twink, per Leno’s calculations - needed a new duet partner after his buddy rushed off stage in the direction of the bathroom. Immediately, Will's hand shot into the air, volunteering himself as tribute... kinda, sorta, not really. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wouldn't have to go through with it. Not when his participation meant Mack would remain at the table with only Leno for company.
Lo and behold, Will was right. Mack didn't even bother making an excuse, just leapt to his feet, mumbled a "be right back", and then bulldozed his way through the crowd to get to the stage.
For a blissful minute, Will basked in the glory of his own brilliance. He then had a minor panic attack when Mack stumbled over his first few lines of the song. Hiding his distress, he gave his best friend an encouraging smile and a thumbs up. Mack stood up straighter, locked the fuck in, and started singing with his entire Mackussy heart. Will took a long drag of his beer, relieved beyond comprehension.
Unlike the locker room incident, Mack's emotional performance isn't troubling in the slightest. He didn’t pick this emo Pink song. Just Give Me a Reason? Something like that. He's just putting on a showstopping performance to intimidate Leno with his talent. Will doesn't even care that the other guy's voice is good. Like, not as good as Mack's, obviously. Talk about impossible standards! But he’s holding his own. Good for him, gold stars all around.
The issue stems from how this little ginger fucker keeps pawing at his innocent best friend! Mack is trying to have a good time. Build back his confidence. But thanks to all the groping, he clearly feels pressured to stare at Prepubescent Carrot Top while he sings. He should be looking at Will. Anything else is unacceptable. The stranger's behavior is incredibly indecent. Not to mention condescending. Does he think Mack is stupid because he’s a hockey player? News flash, Tiny Pete. Mack isn't stupid, so he doesn’t need a hand on his arm to know when it’s his turn to sing!
As if he can read Will’s mind - and isn’t that a terrifying thought? - Mack glances over at their table. Finally. It's been ages. With practiced ease, Will schools his expression into something resembling happiness. Mack's entire demeanor brightens. But the moment those pretty green eyes return to looking at him, Will’s face reverts to whatever it was before. Disapproval, probably. Maybe rage. Totally justified, regardless.
“You’re pathetic,” Leno says out of the blue, startling Will so much, he nearly tumbles off his stool.
Will's response is reflexive. "I know you are, but what am I?"
"I stand corrected."
"Actually, you're sitting."
"You are so annoying, Smitty." Leno lets out an aggrieved sigh that Will is fairly confident he copied from Mack. "Anyway, I say this from a place of love, but you need to man the fuck up, dude. Please.”
"Fine." Will chugs the rest of his beer (thank you, fake ID). “Since Willie lives to serve, he’ll sign-up to sing next. You in, or is Willie going solo?”
"Willie is going to sit the fuck down and listen to what Leno-... what I have to say."
Will flutters his eyelashes in the obnoxious way that Mack hates. "Okay, bro. Willie's listening ears are on and ready for liftoff."
Leno’s brows pinch together, a telltale sign that he’s annoyed. Join the fucking club. “Look, man. I know Gabo and I have been teasing you about being married to Celebrini for awhile now. But somewhere along the line, it stopped being a joke.”
Uhh... the fuck?
"Did you pregame without us?" Will pouts, his stomach swooping. It’s probably because of the beer. But also probably not. "You aren't making sense."
"I'm making perfect sense -"
“We all know my mother would kill me if I eloped with anyone."
"You're doing your dumb blonde routine," Leno says bluntly. "I assume because you don't want to talk about it. But this has been a long time coming, Smitty. It needs to be said."
"Actually, I firmly believe that we should all know less about each other -"
Leno leans in, until his lips are a millimeter away from the shell of Will's ear. "You want to do unspeakable things with your linemate." Will's breath hitches. "Including but not limited to, buying a house with him in the suburbs, adopting at least two golden retrievers, and spawning a wagonful of kids."
The words fall so easily from Leno’s lips, like this is a perfectly normal thing to say. To want. But it’s not. And Will doesn’t want it. He doesn’t. He can’t want it. He’ll never get it, not without sacrificing everything he spent his life working toward in return. Even if by some miracle Mack happened to return his feelings. So what’s the point of wanting?
“I’m not gay,” Will hisses back.
“Never said you were,” Leno says serenely, further rattling Will. Ryan Leonard isn’t the calm, levelheaded one of their trio. That’s Will’s manufactured mask and Gabe’s actual personality. Hell, even Mack is calmer than Leno, and he crashes out every few days. "I noticed you haven't denied what I actually said, either."
"Seriously, dude. Stop. This isn't fucking funny."
“I'm not trying to make fun of you, Smitty,” the brunette continues quietly. “It doesn't bother me or Gabo, okay? We love you, bro… even if you have fucking shit taste in dudes. That's the only part I'm miffed about."
Okay...
But how do they know?
Will came to terms with being gay years ago. Since then, he’s worked his ass off to ensure the truth doesn’t get out. Because as much as they like to pretend otherwise, hockey ‘culture’ isn’t very accepting of guys like him. Guys who want to do unspeakable things with their linemate. Things like taxes and giving joint presents whenever they can get away with it.
He hasn’t breathed a word about his sexuality to anyone. Not to his sister, not to Gabe and Leno. Mack definitely doesn’t know that his boy best friend is attracted to dudes and only dudes. Will hates how it feels like he’s lying. He’s tried to tell Mack about a hundred different times. In theory, it should be a piece of cake. Three whole words. Mack, I’m gay. Mack isn’t homophobic, Will knows that. Still, the confession sticks in his throat.
Because what if things still change between them?
In his relatively short lifetime, Will has had several close friendships. Voter. Gabo. Leno. All great guys, who have been there for him time and time again. But the bond Will shares with Mack surpasses the ‘best friend’ category by a landslide. Losing it would be like losing a piece of his soul.
Is that dramatic?
Yes.
Doesn’t mean it isn’t true, though.
“Oh, umm… thanks?” Will chokes out around the lump in his throat. Leno raises his drink in a mock toast. Heart pounding, he grabs Mack’s beer and clinks their glasses together. “Means a lot. Genuinely.”
“Sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell us,” Leno mumbles, shifting uncomfortably on his stool.
“S'not personal, I promise. I've never told anyone." Reading the unspoken question in Leno eyes, Will shrugs. “Not because it bothers me. But hockey comes first, ya know? It's too risky to act on, at least at the present moment. So why stress about it?"
"Makes sense. Did you already know that your boy is a surprisingly okay singer, or is this a revelation?"
Will isn't surprised by Leno abruptly changing the subject. Anytime they've had a serious talk about icky things like feelings in the past, Gabe was the one holding their hands through it. Sometimes literally.
“He’s the fucking best, you mean."
“If you ever tell a soul that I said something nice about Celebrini, I’ll text him every single embarrassing photo of you that I have. And trust me, Smitty, I have a lot. You were a fucking hot mess during our first year at the Program.”
Will nods. "You're so right. I am hot.”
Just as expected, Mack’s performance is a resounding success. Half of the bar’s patrons are on their feet, calling for an encore. Will adds his voice to the mix. He doesn’t particularly want Mack to remain on the stage with that handsy slut, but he needs a moment to regain his composure.
“You're seriously not gonna make a move on Prince Canada anytime in this century?” Make that two moments. "Poor kid has been gagging for it since dev camp."
"Don't talk about him like that." Annoyed, Will downs half of Mack’s beer in one go. Whatever. He’s paying for it. Besides, it’ll be warm by the time that harlot releases Mack from his clutches. "Look, I appreciate the support, but you’ve gotta let that go. Macky isn’t into guys. And since I’m a guy, he isn’t into me. See how that works?” Pause. "Besides, he's still obsessed with some ex."
Will's subtle attempts at interrogating his best friend about She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (he doesn't even know if Mack is hung up on an actual ex or some situationship) only irritated them both. His more direct line of questioning about Mack's past love life got him the cold shoulder for a few terrible hours. Valuing peace, Will eventually gave up... after reminding Mack that he was always here if he needed to talk, of course.
“Dude, I don’t think -”
“Believe me, I’m aware.” Beneath the table, Will picks relentlessly at a hangnail. “So... when did you guys figure it out?”
Leno doesn’t answer right away, too focused on the stage. With the organizer’s approval, Mack and that skank have agreed to give the people what they want. There’s a flurry of gasps and cheers when Mack shyly announces they’re going to perform the song All Or Nothing by O-Town. One quick Google search later, Will learns that the aforementioned band is a product of some early-2000’s reality band-making show. A two-hit-wonder.
“I know when he's been on your mind, that distant look is in your eyes,” Mack croons into the microphone. A shiver runs down Will’s spine. “I thought with time you'd realize, it's over, over.” Standing confidently on the stage, Mack meets his gaze, his green eyes flashing under the bright lights. “It's not the way I choose to live, and something, somewhere's, got to give.” Will’s lips quirk up in a (hopefully) comforting smile. He can’t imagine what he looks like after being ambushed with a one-two punch about his deepest, darkest secrets. “As sharing this relationship gets older, older.”
Verse finished, Mack blesses Will with his favorite gummy smile… until that whore steals his attention again, grrrr.
A heavy arm wraps around Will’s shoulders. “I had my suspicions for a long time,” Leno admits, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Mack stutters over his next line, but quickly pulls it together again. Phew. “But our first Worlds tournament confirmed it.” He smirks at Will’s disbelief. “Smitty, my dearest friend, you were NOT subtle about ogling those Swedish players. I was embarrassed for you.”
Never in a million years would Will have suspected that Leno and Gabe knew the truth about him, period, but especially for so long. That’s like… a lot.
It’s so much, in fact, that Will breaks his internal vow to only have three drinks max tonight.
Honestly, he deserves it. Not only did his team get fucking murked earlier today, but the boy he should NOT have a crush on is having a fucking moment with some little ginger fucker that he just met. Seriously, fuck this song. Will is gonna petition to have it removed from karaoke catalogs worldwide.
“In my defense, they ogled back.”
Leno wrinkles his nose. “I’m aware. Those ugly assholes were undeserving of you, though.”
“Aww, shucks, thanks man.” Morbid curiosity wins out against self-preservation. “What about the… other thing? When did you guys figure that out?”
“Your unfortunate crush on that weirdo? Shit, Gabe and I started talking about it around mid-season last year.”
“What?!” Will cries indignantly. “You should have fucking told me! I figured it out at the beginning of the season… this season!” Right around the time he walked in on Mack belting Taylor Swift in his kitchen. Coincidentally.
Okay, to Will’s credit, it's more like when he finally accepted what he knew all along - that what he felt for Mack fell far outside the realm of platonic.
Because by the end of dev camp - after three days of Mack giggling adorably at all of Will's jokes, including his stellar impressions of their collegiate coaches, and lighting up the ice together - Will realized he was down bad for the kid. Horrendously down bad. Yes, already. Even back then, he knew how fucking pathetic that was, thanks. But conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know had been Will’s motto for a disturbingly long time. He shoved that shit down so far into his psyche, his inner-Catholic purred in approval.
“Smitty, Smitty!”
When Will turns his attention to the love of his life, he immediately receives a metaphorical sucker punch straight to the gut. Mack is fucking glowing. His infectious joy is a total 180 from his mood ten minutes ago. It makes it easier to ignore the unwanted thing looming behind him.
“Celly, Celly!”
“Be honest, Smitty, what did you think?” Mack asks, tugging insistently on Will's sleeve. It’s probably just his imagination that the action knocks Leno’s arm off his shoulder. Before Will can answer with the truth - he’s gonna (again) thank God that Mack chose to play hockey instead of going for a much more easily obtainable career in music - the younger boy continues, “Ben said I sounded great, but I think he’s just gassing me up because he wants to sing another song together.”
Ben.
Standing a step behind Mack… and slightly to the left, because he’s even shorter than Lane Hutson… Ben grins at them. Snidely. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing right now.
“Obviously, I’m telling the truth.” A manicured hand that’s never experienced an honest day’s work in its life materializes on Mack’s shoulder. Will’s eye twitches. “Macklin’s voice is beyond incredible. Anyone who disagrees needs to get their hearing checked.”
Mack fucking blushes at the basic, low level, bare minimum compliment. Will chugs the rest of his fourth beer. Absolutely fucking not. He’s not going to lose this unspoken competition to someone who doesn’t know the difference between 'offsides' and 'icing'.
“You fucking killed it, Celly,” Leno says. Mack’s eyes narrow, no doubt waiting for the punchline. One follows, but it’s not aimed at him. “Pity your new pal couldn’t keep up.”
Like she has a sixth sense for tension, their waitress appears behind Leno. In addition to replacing Mack’s beer that disappeared, “Gosh, wonder how that happened?” Will orders a round of tequila shots “to celebrate my bestie’s inevitable record deal.”
Mack, pink cheeks and all, plops down onto the stool he previously vacated. “Stop, you’re so extra, Smitty.”
Usually, Will is hopelessly endeared by his best friend’s tendency to revert to his polite Canadian roots when he doesn’t know how to handle a social interaction he finds awkward. Mack nudging the last stool at their table towards his undersized, unwanted shadow? A rare exception. But when Mack hooks his other ankle around Will’s, he decides to play nice.
... his internal vow to not be a dick lasts a solid five minutes.
Who the fuck waits until the shots arrive to ‘regretfully’ reveal they’re the DD? Whatever. No fucking worries, bro. Will downs both in quick succession. Mack, the cutie pie, pulls a face at the taste. Even Leno grimaces slightly. But Will’s expression doesn’t so much as twitch.
Never show weakness.
“It’s getting late,” Leno says, staring pointedly at Will. “Maybe we should call it a night?”
Before Will has even fully processed the question, Mack's face falls. Whelp, alrighty then. Looks like they’re staying. Pity. He had some good comebacks for Mack’s ill-mannered companion’s, “Since when is 11:30 late?”
Rinsing the taste of tequila out of his mouth with a hearty gulp of Mack’s fresh beer, Will rises to his feet. The room sways ever-so-slightly.
It’s fine, though.
The show must go on.
5.
Will flinches when someone touches his shoulder. His good shoulder. Because on top of all his other problems, he has a bad shoulder now, too.
“Sorry, Kibble," Toff says, holding his hands up. "Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“All good. S’what I get for zoning out.”
“Everything okay? Besides the obvious. You seem pretty down."
It’s a fair question.
Will is a social butterfly to his core. At team gatherings, he flitters around, chatting with whoever catches his attention, before sticking himself to his less-social bestie’s side. Mack eventually shoos him away again to ‘do his thing’, and the cycle repeats. But Will always returns to Mack. It’s the only place he ever wants to be. Even now.
Yet two hours ago, Will parked himself under a tree in the Toffoli’s backyard and hasn't moved since.
They’re about an hour away from ringing in the New Year. This is supposed to be a time for celebration. Especially since Team Canada announced their Olympic roster earlier this morning, and it included a certain nineteen-year-old phenom who reps teal outside of international competitions. Will could blame his depressing mood on the shoulder he hurt in their game against the Penguins two weeks ago. But it’d be a lie. He's been in a funk since that ill-fated karaoke night at the beginning of the month.
Publicly humiliating himself on home turf didn’t feel great. Sweet baby Jesus, that was NOT Will's finest moment by any means. He's grateful the internet hasn't caught wind of it. Yet.
Life imitates art. Isn’t that a popular saying?
In its infinite wisdom, Will’s drunk brain decided he needed to prove to a bunch of strangers and a rando twink that while he might be a hockey player, he was a cultured hockey player. And how was he to do that, you ask? By singing the acoustic version of Katy Perry’s Teenage Dream that he heard on Glee.
A terrible choice, in hindsight.
On the show, Blaine managed to finish his performance despite being teary-eyed through most of it. Will, on the other hand, made it to, “I finally found you, my missing puzzle piece. I'm complete” before promptly bursting into heartbroken sobs. Good lord, barfing everywhere would have been less mortifying!
Will remembers thinking, Fuck you, Blaine Warbler, fuck you. I don't care that you aren't real. It’s still your fault this happened to me.
After that, his memory gets spotty.
There was an alarming amount of cooing coming from the audience. Concerning, since there was no conceivable way that Will's face wasn’t covered in a gross mix of snot and tears. Instead of taking the stairs with Mack, Leno parkoured onto the stage to reach him. That was super hot, which drunk-Will made sure to inform everyone. Words were exchanged between Leno and Mack. They steadfastly ignored Will, who kept repeating that he was fine and ‘the show must go on, hoes.’
Between one blink and the next, Will was on the floor of a dingy bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Then he was tucked snuggly under Leno’s arm, Mack plastered to his other side, as they exited the bar together. He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named was nowhere to be seen, and Mack was gently rubbing Will’s back like he was a precious treasure.
All was well…
Right up until Will’s gaze drifted to the phone in his best friend’s hand. He expected to see the Uber app, not a fucking text thread between Mack and Ben Chamberlin (Best Karaoke Buddy Ever <3!!).
RIP Will’s sanity.
Queue his epic crash out.
“Your little buddy was flirting with you, you realize that, right?” Will sneered. “Leno saw it too. Along with everyone else in the entire bar. It was so fucking -”
“Gay?” Mack spat after Will had awkwardly trailed off. Because Leno discreetly pinched him!
Even as drunk as he was, he heard the underlying accusation loud and clear. “I’m not homophobic, Macklin!”
“Didn’t say you were. Interesting how that’s the first thing you jumped to, though.” Squaring his shoulders, Mack’s tone turned challenging. “And so what if he was flirting with me, Smitty? What if I said that I didn’t mind? Then what? You gonna call me a fag? Kick my ass?” He let out the bitchiest scoff Will had ever heard in his life. “Not like you could, even if you weren't trashed.”
Suddenly, it dawned on Will.
Mack liked that ugly, tuneless twat.
It was as if someone, God probably, pulled the rug out from under Will’s feet. His surroundings were devoid of color. Life lost meaning. Hockey had no appeal. Just the thought of being on the ice with Mack made him simultaneously want to puke his guts out and bawl his face off at the same time. He was adrift in an endless ocean of despair.
“Celebrini, fucking chill out before I kick your ass,” Leno interjected, tightening his grip on Will.
The two started bickering, loud enough to catch the attention of several passersby. Luckily, no one was close enough to hear Will tearily gasp, “Oh brethren, how doth I be homophobic? I like dick and only dick. Can’t teach that.”
No one heard him... except Leno and Mack. Ugh.
Since he'd just blabbed one of his most closely guarded secrets without prompting, Leno made a much appreciated executive decision. Ignoring Mack’s objections, he hauled Will’s blubbering ass back to the Cap's hotel for the night. The next morning, not a single person chirped Will when he stumbled into their team's breakfast, again tucked under Leno's arm. Ovi even patted him consolingly on the head. That’s how miserable Will looked.
After that night, things between Will and Mack became… weird, for lack of a better term. Obviously, they never discussed what happened. Or what Will admitted about himself. Mack tried to bring it up once, but Will fled the room so fast, he wouldn’t be surprised if he broke the sound barrier.
Over the next ten days, they still did all their usual shit together: Carpooling. People watching at their favorite coffee shop. Their pregame warm-up routine. Hanging out at each other’s house. Rooming together on the road. Binge watching Glee anytime they were alone. Will continued to spend a disgusting amount of time composing sonnets in his head about Mack’s indisputable talent on the ice, his ethereal beauty, and his enthralling voice… heh, kidding. Mostly.
But with every day that passed, the unaddressed tension grew and grew. That stupid NHL Follower Tracker revealing Mack followed Ben Chamberlin on Instagram didn't help at all.
Things became so uncomfortable between them, Wotherspoon crushing Will awkwardly against the boards was kinda a relief. Granted, that’s only because his shoulder injury isn’t anything serious (and Mack defending him with a vengeance still makes his heart race every time he thinks about it). But he desperately needed some distance to get his shit together.
It's been almost a month since that karaoke night, and Will is more of a mess than ever.
Love that for him.
Not.
Unfortunate romantic feelings aside, Mack is Will's best friend. He misses that beautiful neurotic dork. But being around him is… it hurts. It hurts so much, that even though Will can't travel with the team or skate, he's still making excuses to avoid Mack whenever he can.
What does this Ben have that Will doesn’t? The question eats away at him. He wants to ask, but he’s terrified of the answer.
On a totally unrelated note, Will despises whoever brought the karaoke machine to the Toffoli’s annual New Year’s Eve party. When did people start taking Will’s suggestions seriously?... probably after they heard Mack belting his heart out in the locker room. Drats.
Speak of the devil.
Mack steps onto the makeshift stage. “Umm, hi. For those who don’t know me, I’m Mack -”
“HELL YEAH YOU ARE!” Dickie cries, precariously tangled around Misa in the Toffoli’s new hammock. It would be shocking if someone hadn't set up a betting pool on how long that poor thing will hold up.
“I’m not really good with words -”
“HELL YEAH YOU AREN’T!”
“SHUT UP, MISA, LET THE MAN SPEAK!”
“Thanks, Eky,” Mack continues, sliding his hands into his pockets. “So yeah, I’m not good with words. Or feelings in general. That's why my New Year’s resolution is to be better at expressing myself to those I care about.” His gaze finds Will’s across the yard. “My unpaid volunteer therapist, Ben, says doing it through song counts, so umm… here I go.”
Ben.
There isn’t a drop of alcohol in Will’s veins, yet his vision nearly whites out.
Ben.
He grinds his teeth together. As much as he wants to, he can’t walk out right before Mack’s performance. That would be unforgivable.
…
Okay, so based on the bemused expressions of his fellow partygoers, Will isn’t the only one confused about Driver’s License being Mack's song to ‘express himself'. He rarely drives, sure, but he's had his license for awhile now!
Oh.
Huh.
Either Will is hallucinating, or Mack changed the lyrics up a bit…?
“And you're probably with that brunette guy, who always made me doubt. He’s so much older than me, he's everything I'm insecure about.”
A bunch of people turn to look at Will, like he can explain what the fuck is going on. Jokes on them. He has no fucking clue.
“God, I'm so blue, know we're through. But I still fuckin' love you, babe.”
Wait.
Pardon the ever-loving fuck?! Who the hell does he… shitshitshit, control the face, Macklin is looking at you, control the face!
“I know we weren't perfect, but I've never felt this way for no one. And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay now that I'm gone.”
If Mack changed anything else in the song, Will couldn’t tell ya. No thoughts, head empty.
Only Dickie’s vexing voice (/affectionate) manages to overpower the static in his ears. “Is this fucking play about us?” the rookie asks god only knows who. “And by play, I mean song. And by us, I mean Smitty.”
“Yes,” Mack sniffles, angrily swiping a hand across his face. Warning bells go off in Will’s head. “It is.” Carefully setting the microphone down, he then hightails his perky posterior into Toff’s house, like he didn’t just leave an entire party of some-hundred people reeling. Though no one more so than Will.
And now everyone is staring at him, cool cool.
“Did that sound like a love confession to anyone else?”
Okay, so the confirmation is appreciated. But the attitude it comes with? Very unnecessary.
+1
So in retrospect, Will shouldn’t have prefaced his performance with, “I am slightly better at words than our last contestant, but this song speaks for itself, so I’m gonna let it do the talking. Talking to Mack, just to be clear.”
Not even the guitar that Will bums off Toff to strum like he knows what the fuck he's doing - he doesn’t, he's just trying to look cool - can overcome such a powerful self-jinx.
The audience is hootin’ and hollerin’. Dickie and Misa are demanding an encore. Cat is beaming with pride. Toff is too, though he's valiantly trying to act like he's not. Delly is drunkenly demanding Will autograph his ass. Wenny is still recording, like it’s his fulltime job.
But Mack?
Mack, who Reavo dragged out of hiding and carried into the backyard over his shoulder, is crying. Like for real crying, bad enough that he isn’t bothering to hide it. And Will is maybe, kinda, sorta, DEFINITELY on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.
It would have been nice to know that Will’s parents are lying little liars before he ruined his one chance at happiness. In spite of what they claimed his entire life, his voice is awful. Pure garbage, worst of the worst. He can’t carry a tune. Not like Ben, who’s probably lurking somewhere in the shadows. Waiting, biding his time. Any second now, Mack is going to profess his undying, ever-lasting love for that redheaded harlot homewrecker. Right here in front of their teammates. It’ll be so devastating, Will won’t have any other choice. He’ll have to forgo civilization and live out the rest of his meaningless days in the wilderness -
“Smitty, are you… you’re breaking up with me?” Someone gasps loudly. Oh wait, that was Will, heh. “Breaking off our friendship, I mean.”
Will blinks slowly. “No?”
Mack's accusation is so unexpected, Will's throat constricts. He can’t say anything else. Doesn’t know what else to say. Where the fuck did Mack get that idea from?
“Wow, you both fucking suck at words."
Dickie and Misa drunkenly high-five each other. “Soulmates!”
“What Eky means, Macklin, is that we took the opposite message from Will's song,” Cat gently explains, like the angel she is. “Something more like a confession of love.”
Several other party-goers voice similar sentiments. Bless them, too.
But Mack’s expression turns thunderous, meep. “Maybe it meant that to you guys, but Smitty and I watched the same show.” Oh. “He chose Santana’s version of the song Mine, not Taylor Swift’s.” Oh no. “That’s what she sung when she broke up with Brittany -”
“Whoa, spoiler alert!” Dickie cries with faux-offense. Maybe it's real, who knows? Who cares?
“I opened Apple Music for inspo, and that was at the top of my most Recently Played songs,” Will timidly explains. “In hindsight, I understand why it came across as something negative. But Macklin, I swear to you, I completely forgot about that scene until now.”
“So... you meant to convey the song’s original meaning?”
Will nods so quickly, he has to blink stars out of his eyes. Actual stars, not just Macklin himself. “Yeah, Celly. I did. You're the best thing that's ever been..." Hmm, maybe he was too presumptuous the first time. "Best thing that's ever happened to me."
“Oh."
Before Mack can say anything else, Cat appears in front of him. Standing on her tippy toes, she dries his face with impressive efficiency, especially considering the affronted fussing she's forced to contend with. Once Momma Cat deems her disgruntled kitten presentable, she gives him a careful push in Will's direction. But Mack's dazed pace isn’t fast enough for the peanut gallery. So Eky takes one for the team, places both palms flat on Mack’s back, and roughly shoves him towards the stage.
“THE SHOULDER!” Toff cries as Mack barrels toward Will. “DO NOT RE-INJURE SMITTY’S SHOULDER!”
They’re nearly toe-to-toe when Mack comes to a complete stop. “Nothing pleases these guys, huh? Can’t believe they think I’d forget about something that I caused -”
Will arches an eyebrow. “You convinced Wotherspoon to crush me against the boards?”
“Well, no. But that was my pass you overextended on -”
Given all the obstacles working against Will - like his jackrabbiting pulse, for starters - it’s a miracle he manages to reply at all. Macklin’s eyes are just so breathtaking. But he's also got an extra sense that tells him when his best friend is being unfair to himself. It goes off way more than it should.
“Your pass was perfect." Like you. "It wasn’t your fault, Celly. Accidents happen.” Will hesitates, before deciding fuck it. “Now shut up and kiss me. If you want. Please.”
Mack leans forward. Painstakingly slow. Like he's giving Will a chance to move away from what he asked for. Silly boy. Absolutely not.
When their lips touch, Will’s brain erupts with cheers, fireworks, and wolf whistles. Dreamy sigh. Hard to fathom, but kissing Mack is even better than hearing him sing. Definitely among Will’s Top Five Fave Activities.
“Whoa,” Will murmurs when they break apart for air. He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, but his brain won’t rest until he knows. “As much as I wanna do that again, what about… him?”
“Who?” Mack asks, trailing kisses up Will’s jawline. “Ben?” Hissing through his teeth is a reflex. Uncontrollable. Not Will's fault. “We’re friends, Smitty. He’s married.”
No one drops a bombshell that nonchalantly unless it’s a bold-faced lie.
“There’s no fucking way.”
Knowing Will won’t believe him otherwise, Mack whips out his phone. Ben’s missing duet partner? His husband. Apparently, the little meddling ginger clocked the ‘homoerotic tension’ between Mack and Will the second they walked into the bar. So when Mack agreed to sing with him, he seized the opportunity to stir the pot. To help, supposedly.
“No need to be jealous, Smitty,” Mack teases, winding his arms around Will’s waist. “I’m yours, right? Isn’t that what your song said?”
Will cups Mack’s cheek. “Can I be blamed? You’re quite the catch, baby.” Mack inhales sharply, his pretty eyes widening at the term of endearment. Ha. “I like you so much, Macklin. Gonna put a ring on it as soon as possible, trust.”
Anything Ben can do, Will can do better.
“How about tomorrow?”
“Only if you promise to sing at our wedding, Mister Olympian.”
They seal their promise with a kiss so passionate, the team boos them off the stage. That’s fine. It’s a great time to go home. They’ve got a lot to celebrate, after all.