Archive of Our Own

Will woke up because Mack’s alarm had been going off for almost a full minute, not because Mack was waking up. That would’ve made too much sense.

He opened one eye. The room was still mostly dark, just enough morning light coming through the gap in the curtains for him to see Mack’s phone vibrating against the nightstand on the other side of the bed. Mack was facedown beside him, one arm shoved underneath his pillow, apparently dead.

“Mack.”

A noise came from somewhere inside the pillow.

“Your alarm.”

Another noise.

Will sighed and reached across him, stretching far enough that his knee dug into Mack’s thigh while he slapped blindly at the nightstand until he found the phone and stopped the alarm.

“You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” Mack mumbled.

Will dropped back onto his side of the bed. Neither of them moved.

“You have to get up.”

“I know.”

“Then get up.”

“Five more minutes.”

“You’re the one who wanted breakfast.”

“Go make it.”

“Fuck you.”

Mack smiled into the pillow. Will could tell.

This, apparently, was living with Mack.

They’d been in the house long enough now that most of the boxes were gone, although there were still two downstairs that Mack kept insisting were Will’s even though Will was pretty sure one of them was full of Mack’s shoes. They had food in the refrigerator, towels in the bathrooms, and an ongoing argument about whose responsibility it was to replace the toilet paper when the roll ran out.

And they shared a bedroom. That part had somehow become normal fastest.

Will didn’t think about it much anymore, mostly because thinking about it made him remember standing in the hallway the first night they’d gotten the keys, asking Mack which room he wanted, and Mack looking at him like he was the stupidest person alive.

The same one as me, dumbass.

So Will didn’t think about it.

By the time Mack finally came downstairs, Will had showered, gotten dressed, and was standing at the kitchen counter eating a piece of toast while he scrolled through his phone. Mack walked straight past him and opened the refrigerator, stared inside for a few seconds, then shut it again.

“There’s nothing to eat.”

“There’s plenty to eat. You just don’t want any of it.”

Mack looked at his toast.

Will stopped chewing. “No.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Mack reached over and took it directly out of his hand anyway.

“You’re an asshole.”

“You made it wrong,” Mack said around a bite.

Will watched him walk away with it. There were probably easier people to live with, but he couldn’t think of anybody he’d rather live with, so that was apparently his problem.

Twenty minutes later, Mack came back downstairs carrying his shoes in one hand. Will looked up from his phone and apparently looked for a second too long, because Mack stopped.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring at me.”

“I’m literally just looking at you.”

Something shifted in Mack’s expression. Not much. Will probably wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t spent the last couple years learning exactly how many different emotions Mack could communicate by moving his eyebrows half an inch.

“Right,” Mack said.

Will frowned. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Mack dropped onto the edge of the couch to put his shoes on, and Will went back to his phone. Whatever that had been, he’d forgotten about it by the time they made it to the garage.

Will held out his hand.

Mack sighed. “It’s my car.”

“Then drive.”

Mack stared at him for a second before digging into his pocket and dropping the keys into Will’s palm. Neither of them acknowledged that this happened basically every time they went somewhere together.

The music argument started before they’d made it out of the driveway. Mack maintained that owning the car gave him permanent control of the stereo. Will maintained that Mack had forfeited that right when he handed over the keys. By the third song, Will had taken over completely and Mack was complaining from the passenger seat.

Then a song came on they both knew.

Mack stopped complaining. A few seconds later, he started singing quietly.

Will glanced over.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“You sound like shit.”

“Fuck you.”

Will started singing louder.

Mack immediately did too.

By the time they were halfway to San Francisco, they were both yelling the chorus badly enough that Will was pretty sure the original artist would’ve been offended. Mack fucked up one of the words, which started another argument, but neither of them stopped singing long enough to properly have it.

At a red light, Will looked over.

Mack was already looking at him.

There was still a smile on his face from the song. Not the polite one he used for cameras or the little smirk Will got when Mack thought he was being funny. A real one. Wide and easy.

For a second, Will forgot what they’d been arguing about.

The car behind them honked.

“Jesus Christ,” Mack said. “Drive.”

Will looked forward. The light was green.

“Maybe if you weren’t distracting me.”

“I was sitting here.”

“Exactly.”

Mack laughed, and Will hit the gas.

They were still singing when Oracle Park came into view.

Will didn’t think about the way Mack had been looking at him again.

Not then.

By the time they were ready to walk out onto the field, somebody had put both of them in Giants gear. Will didn’t hate it. The fitted shirt was nice, the hat was fine, and Mack had disappeared for approximately three minutes before coming back dressed almost exactly like him.

They were heading up the steps when Mack slowed beside him.

“Where’d you put your, uh, hoodie?”

“They’re in there on the couch.”

“Okay.”

Mack kept walking, and Will followed him onto the field.

Oracle Park looked different from down there. They’d done this before, but Will had forgotten how much bigger everything felt from the grass. The wall looked farther away, the stands climbed higher, and balls were already scattered across the outfield while Giants staff moved around them. Cameras and Sharks people followed as they headed toward the infield.

“You getting one out this year?” Will asked.

Mack glanced at him. “Are you?”

“Probably.”

“You didn’t last year.”

“Neither did you.”

“I got closer.”

“That doesn’t count.”

Mack smiled. “We’ll see.”

That was apparently all it took.

Nobody officially said they were competing, but nobody needed to. By the time somebody handed Will a glove, he was at second and Mack was waiting for his throws at first.

The first few grounders came easily enough that Will stopped thinking about the cameras almost immediately. Glove down, bring it in, throw across. Mack caught it. Another came harder and Will fielded that one too, sending it cleanly to first.

“Okay,” Mack called.

Will looked at him. “Okay?”

“That was decent.”

Will shook his head. Asshole.

There was something satisfying about the movement, familiar in a way hockey wasn’t. Different muscles, different timing, but still enough buried somewhere in him that he didn’t have to think through every step. The harder the grounders came, the more fun he had.

At some point Tony Vitello told him he looked like Jeff Kent.

Will laughed. He wasn’t going to argue with that.

If anything, he wanted the next one harder.

Mack stayed at first, catching whatever Will sent across and occasionally saying something Will couldn’t hear. Will yelled back that he couldn’t hear him. Mack looked annoyed. Will enjoyed that too.

Eventually they moved on to batting practice.

That was different.

Batting practice had history.

Will picked up a bat and took a couple practice swings. From somewhere nearby, Mack was watching him. Will didn’t look over. He didn’t need to.

Four out of ten.

A fucking four.

Will had given Mack an eight last year, then found out Mack had given him a four and smiled through it because apparently he was, as he’d said at the time, a nice guy.

He’d been very nice about it, actually.

For an entire year.

His first few swings weren’t anything worth bragging about. One went deep enough to feel decent. Another didn’t. Will adjusted his grip and tried again.

Mack said something behind him.

Will turned. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Mack laughed.

Will turned back as the next pitch came in. The second the bat connected, he knew something was different.

His head came up.

The ball kept going.

And going.

Then it cleared the wall.

“Oh, shit.”

Noise broke out around him, but Will was already laughing. Without thinking about where anyone else was standing, he turned and found Mack immediately.

“Four out of ten?”

Mack’s whole face broke. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I just hit a home run.”

“That was last year.”

“Still counts.”

“It really doesn’t.”

Will pointed at him. “You sound jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

Mack was grinning when he said it, which was good enough for Will.

He let the four out of ten die there. Mostly because watching Mack step up to hit was more interesting.

Will wanted him to get one. Not quite as much as he’d wanted his own, obviously, but close.

Mack made solid contact a few times before he really got one. Will heard it before he fully registered the ball leaving the bat, his head snapping up as it carried toward right.

“Go.”

For a second, he thought it might actually make it.

Then it hit the sign.

“Ohhh!”

Mack stayed where he was, watching where it had landed. Will winced for him. It had been close. Really fucking close, which meant it was probably going to bother Mack more than if it hadn’t been close at all.

When Mack finally looked over, Will smiled.

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t.”

“I was going to tell you it was a good hit.”

“I know it was.”

Will laughed. “Okay, never mind.”

Mack took another swing.

He never got one over.

Will decided not to mention that he had.

That was growth.

Eventually they were pulled away from the cage and toward the dugout for media. Will was still riding the home run enough that he didn’t mind.

“It was great,” he said when they asked him about it. “Been waiting for that.”

He’d known almost immediately, too. “Felt different when it came off the bat.”

Beside him, Mack smiled.

Will saw it because somewhere between the question and his answer, he’d turned toward him. He didn’t know when.

Didn’t matter.

The next question went to Mack, and Will stayed turned toward him while Mack talked about the ball he’d hit off the sign.

“I’m happy with it,” Mack said. “Hitting one square is one of the best feelings.”

Will smiled. He’d known Mack liked that one, but he’d also known it wouldn’t be enough. Sure enough, Mack admitted he was kind of disappointed he hadn’t gotten it over.

Will’s smile got bigger.

Mack glanced sideways and caught him.

For a second, his mouth twitched too before he looked back toward the reporters. Will didn’t think anything of it. Why would he? He always looked at Mack when Mack was talking.

The interview moved on to baseball, being out there, what they’d done on the field. Will talked about taking grounders and wanting them harder. Mack said something that made him laugh. At one point they both started answering at the same time, and later Will stopped listening to a question entirely because Mack leaned toward him to say something under his breath.

Normal.

They’d spent two years standing beside each other for cameras. They knew how this worked.

Eventually somebody thanked them and they were free to go. Will pushed away from where he’d been leaning, and Mack moved with him.

“You’re going to talk about that home run all night, aren’t you?”

Will smiled. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Bullshit.”

“Well, now that you’ve brought it up—”

“Fuck off.”

Will laughed as they headed back toward the clubhouse together. Behind them, the cameras stopped rolling. For the moment.

By the time they came back out for the game, Oracle Park had filled in around them. It was louder now, brighter, less like somebody had accidentally let them loose on a baseball field and more like an actual Friday night at the ballpark.

Will liked it. Mostly because his part was over. He could sit down, eat something, and watch other people deal with the pressure for a few hours.

Mack dropped into the seat beside him. Not the seat one over. Beside him.

Will moved his knee enough to give him room, and Mack immediately took half of it back.

“I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, but I don’t announce it.”

Mack looked at him. “You announce everything.”

Will smiled. “That’s not true.”

“You told like six people about the home run.”

“They asked.”

“One of them asked how you liked the stadium.”

Will laughed and leaned closer as the noise around them picked up. “You sound jealous.”

“I hate you.”

“What?”

Mack leaned in too. “I said I hate you.”

“Thought so.”

Mack shoved his shoulder.

They went to get food before the first inning was over. Mack changed his mind twice while ordering, complained about the price of something he wasn’t paying for, and somehow ended up carrying less back to the seats than Will despite ordering more. Within five minutes, he was eating Will’s fries instead of his own.

Will pulled the tray away. “Seriously?”

“These are better.”

“They’re the same fucking fries.”

Mack reached for another one.

Will let him have it.

He’d stopped questioning a lot of things since they’d moved in together.

The game gave them plenty else to argue about anyway. Will had played enough baseball growing up that Mack apparently decided this made him personally responsible for every call Mack disagreed with. Will explained why Mack was wrong. Mack explained why Will was an asshole. Somewhere in the middle of it, they both leaned forward with their elbows on their knees and stayed that way until something happened on the field and they turned back at almost exactly the same time.

Neither of them noticed.

A few innings later, the crowd got loud enough that conversation became mostly pointless. That didn’t stop Mack. He leaned over whenever he had something to say, sometimes close enough that Will could feel his breath against his ear, and Will turned toward him automatically. Half the time he still couldn’t hear him. It didn’t seem to matter much. Mack would repeat himself, Will would laugh or tell him he was wrong, and eventually they’d both go back to watching the game.

At some point their knees ended up touching.

Neither moved.

Will didn’t know which one of them had done it. Probably Mack. Maybe him.

Didn’t matter.

When a ball went deep later in the game, Will leaned forward to follow it and Mack moved with him. They watched the outfielder settle underneath it before sitting back almost in unison.

“Thought that was gone,” Mack said.

“It was never gone.”

“You leaned forward.”

“I wanted to see.”

Mack smiled like that proved something.

“You’re so fucking annoying.”

“I know.”

Will looked back toward the field, smiling too.

Later, the people in front of them stood and Mack followed without knowing why. Will was on his feet a second later, equally clueless, and by the time they figured out there was nothing worth seeing, they were both laughing.

That was pretty much how the night went. Baseball, food, talking shit. Mack stealing whatever Will was eating even when he had his own. Will explaining something and Mack informing him he was wrong. Mack saying something under his breath and Will leaning closer to hear it.

None of it felt unusual.

Why would it?

At some point, the camera found them.

It caught Will leaning forward with Mack beside him, then both of them settling back into their seats within seconds of each other. It caught Mack turning toward Will while Will was already looking at him. Later, it caught Will laughing at something Mack said before moving on to somebody else.

Neither of them noticed.

By the later innings, Mack had gotten quieter. Not tired exactly. Just settled. Will knew the difference.

There was a particular version of Mack that came out when he was comfortable enough to stop filling every second. He’d still talk, still complain, still steal Will’s food like he’d been raised by wolves, but he got softer around the edges.

Will liked that version.

He liked all the versions, really. Even the shitty ones. Especially some of the shitty ones, if he was being honest.

Mack shifted beside him until their arms pressed together from shoulder to elbow. Will left it there and watched the next pitch.

“This is better than last year,” Mack said after a while.

Will turned toward him. “Why?”

Mack shrugged. “Just is.”

Then he looked back toward the field.

Will watched him for another second.

“Yeah,” he said.

Mack glanced back.

Will smiled. “Yeah. It is.”

Mack smiled too.

Then somebody got a hit and both of them turned away.

⸻

They stayed through the end.

By the time they were heading back through the stadium, Will was tired in the good way. Mack walked beside him, close enough that their shoulders bumped every few steps whenever one of them drifted, and neither bothered correcting course.

“You driving?” Mack asked.

“Are you offering?”

“No.”

Will held out his hand.

Mack dropped the keys into it.

There was something deeply satisfying about winning an argument nobody had technically started.

They talked most of the way home, about the game and batting practice and whether Will’s baseball career could’ve worked out if he’d stuck with it. Mack said no. Will told him to go fuck himself. That started another argument, but by then neither of them had enough energy to commit to it.

For once, they didn’t even fight over the music. Mack picked something Will liked without asking him and turned it up.

Will didn’t comment on that.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, Oracle Park already felt slightly removed from them. A good day. A really fucking good day.

That was all.

Inside, Mack kicked his shoes off by the door and headed upstairs.

“Put those away.”

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

Mack looked back at him. “Later.”

Will looked pointedly at the shoes. Yesterday, Mack’s version of putting them away had consisted of moving them approximately three feet into the hallway.

“Goodnight,” Mack said.

“You haven’t showered.”

Mack stopped halfway up the stairs and slowly turned around. “Why do you know that?”

Will frowned. “Because I live with you?”

Something changed in Mack’s face.

“Right.”

Will pointed upstairs. “Shower.”

“Stop telling me what to do.”

“Then stop being disgusting.”

Mack told him to fuck off and continued upstairs.

Will smiled and went to the kitchen for water.

Normal.

Everything was completely normal.

He ended up on the couch instead of going upstairs, mostly because he wasn’t tired enough yet to deal with Mack taking up seventy percent of the bed. He opened Instagram and started scrolling.

He made it through maybe four posts before Oracle Park showed up again.

Of course it did.

The first video was his home run. Will smiled and watched it twice because he was allowed to enjoy this. He’d hit a fucking home run at Oracle Park. If anything, he’d shown remarkable restraint by only bringing it up to Mack as many times as he had.

The next one was from their interview.

Will stopped scrolling.

He’d already lived this part once today. There was absolutely no reason to watch it back, but he did anyway.

Mack was answering something about batting practice, talking about the ball he’d hit off the sign. Will remembered the answer. He remembered Mack being happy with the contact and still annoyed it hadn’t gotten over. What he didn’t remember was looking at him for almost the entire fucking thing.

Will frowned.

That wasn’t weird. Mack was talking. Generally, when somebody was talking, you looked at them.

On the screen, Mack glanced sideways.

Will smiled.

Mack smiled back.

The clip ended.

Will stared at the screen for another second before scrolling.

Another Oracle Park video appeared a few posts later. This one wasn’t from any official account, and Will almost kept going until he saw himself and Mack sitting in the stands.

He stopped.

The video started with both of them leaning forward at almost exactly the same time. A second later, they sat back together. It cut to another inning, where Mack leaned over to say something into Will’s ear, his shoulder pressed against Will’s. Another cut and their knees were touching. Then Will was laughing at something Mack had said.

Then Mack turned toward him.

Will was already looking at Mack.

His thumb stopped moving.

Okay.

There was nothing happening. Literally nothing. They were sitting beside each other at a baseball game. Of course they’d moved at the same time a few times. Oracle Park had been loud as fuck, so obviously Mack had to get close if he wanted Will to hear him. The seats weren’t exactly huge either.

All of it had perfectly reasonable explanations.

Will watched it again anyway.

The second time, he noticed his own face.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

He looked fucking delighted.

Not in some dramatic way. He wasn’t gazing longingly at Mack like an idiot in a movie. He was just smiling. Constantly, apparently. Every time Mack turned toward him, every time Mack said something, sometimes before Mack had even finished saying it.

Will didn’t remember doing that.

That was the weird part.

He remembered the game. He remembered what they’d talked about. He remembered Mack stealing his fries, arguing about calls he didn’t understand, practically yelling into Will’s ear because neither of them could hear shit.

He just didn’t remember spending half the night looking at him like that. Will watched it one more time, then scrolled down to the caption. Against his better judgment, he opened the comments.

Will knew better. He’d been playing hockey long enough to understand that nothing good came from reading what strangers on the internet had to say about you, especially when what they were saying had absolutely nothing to do with hockey.

He read them anyway.

Most were harmless. People thought they were funny. People thought Mack looked happy. People thought Will looked happy. Several people seemed deeply invested in the fact that they’d apparently moved in perfect synchronization approximately six times over the course of a three-hour baseball game.

Will watched the video again.

Okay, that part was a little weird.

He scrolled farther and found someone had slowed down the interview. That felt unnecessary. Someone else had put clips from batting practice beside clips from the game, which felt even more unnecessary, but Will watched that one too.

Apparently he’d spent a significant portion of the day turning his head whenever Mack did literally anything.

Will frowned. He didn’t do that.

The video restarted.

Apparently he did.

“That’s fucking weird.”

“What is?”

Will nearly dropped his phone.

Mack was standing at the bottom of the stairs, hair wet from the shower, wearing shorts and a T-shirt Will was almost positive belonged to him. Will locked his phone.

“Nothing.”

Mack looked at him. “Why’d you hide your phone?”

“I didn’t hide it.”

“You locked it.”

“Yeah, because I was done using it.”

Mack started toward him, and Will watched him come.

Then immediately became aware that he was watching him come.

Fuck.

He looked away.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird.”

Mack glanced at the blank TV Will had suddenly become very interested in, then back at him.

“Okay,” Will said.

Mack stared at him.

For one completely insane second, all Will could see was the video. Mack turning toward him. Will already looking. Mack smiling. Will smiling back.

“People are posting shit from today,” he said.

Mack’s expression changed, just enough for Will to catch it. “What shit?”

“Nothing bad. Just videos.”

Will unlocked his phone and Mack sat down beside him, close enough that their thighs touched.

Will noticed.

That was new.

Not the touching. The noticing.

Mack leaned toward the phone, his shoulder pressing against Will’s as Will pulled up the video. Jesus Christ. He’d sat like this with Mack a thousand times. Why the fuck was he suddenly aware of every place they were touching?

Mack watched the whole thing, then let it restart.

“Well?” Will asked.

“Well what?”

“Don’t you think it’s weird?”

Mack looked from the screen to Will. “Us sitting at a baseball game?”

“No. The—”

Will stopped.

The what?

The way they moved at the same time? The way they sat too close? The way Mack talked into his ear? The way Will apparently couldn’t stop looking at him?

“The edit,” he finished.

Mack looked back at the phone. “The song sucks.”

Will stared at him. “That’s your issue?”

“It’s a shitty song.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“I know.”

Something about the way he said it made Will pause.

Mack took the phone from him and scrolled through the comments with absolutely none of the self-preservation Will had apparently been born without either. His mouth twitched at one of them before he turned the screen around.

Will read it and immediately regretted having eyes.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Mack laughed.

“You don’t care?” Will asked.

“About what?”

“This. People saying shit about us.”

Mack shrugged and handed the phone back. “No.”

That should’ve made Will feel better. Mack didn’t care. Will didn’t care. People online were bored and apparently had enough free time to analyze where two hockey players put their knees during a baseball game.

Great. Solved.

Except Will was still looking at him.

Mack raised his eyebrows. “What?”

Will almost asked.

He didn’t even know exactly what he wanted to ask, which was probably the only thing that stopped him.

“Nothing.”

“You’re so fucking weird.”

Mack got up and walked toward the kitchen.

Will watched him go.

Fuck.

⸻

The problem followed him upstairs.

Not the internet. Mack.

More specifically, the fact that Will had apparently spent years doing things with Mack that he’d never once considered until strangers compiled them into thirty-second videos with shitty music underneath.

Mack was already in bed when Will came into their room, looking at his phone like he hadn’t just broken Will’s brain downstairs.

“What?” Mack asked when he caught him standing in the doorway.

“Nothing.”

“Oh my fucking God.”

Will laughed despite himself and went to change.

He’d changed in front of Mack hundreds of times. Locker rooms existed. Hotel rooms existed. They’d lived together long enough that privacy between them mostly consisted of shutting the bathroom door. None of this was new, which was exactly the problem.

Will pulled his shirt off and, for reasons he absolutely did not want to examine, became aware of Mack behind him.

Probably not looking.

Why the fuck had he thought probably?

He dragged another shirt over his head.

“You’re still being weird,” Mack said.

“Go to sleep.”

Mack went back to his phone, and Will climbed into bed beside him.

Five minutes later, Mack’s foot found his leg under the blankets.

He’d done the same thing the night before.

Will hadn’t thought about it then.

He thought about it now.

This was going to be a fucking problem.

⸻

By morning, Will had decided it wasn’t a problem. He’d been tired, overthinking, and stupid enough to read Instagram comments about himself. The solution was simple.

Stop thinking about it.

He made it approximately nine minutes.

“Have you seen my—”

“Counter by the keys.”

Silence.

Will looked up from the coffee he was making. Mack was standing in the kitchen doorway.

“I didn’t finish.”

Will frowned. “You were looking for your wallet.”

“How’d you know that?”

“Because you always leave it there.”

Mack stared at him for a second, then walked over and picked up his wallet. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“What?” Will asked.

“Nothing.”

“No, don’t fucking do that.”

Mack’s smile got bigger as he shoved the wallet into his pocket.

“Oh, fuck you.”

Mack laughed on his way out.

Will stood alone in the kitchen holding his coffee and realized he was smiling too.

Fuck.

Once he started noticing it, he couldn’t stop.

Mack stole his drink at lunch and Will let him. Mack walked into a room and Will looked up without thinking. If Mack said something funny from across the house, Will laughed before he’d even fully heard it. When Will went outside, Mack wanted to know where he was going, and when Mack disappeared upstairs for too long, Will eventually went looking for him. If something funny came up on Will’s phone, Mack was the first person he wanted to show.

None of it was new. That was the part Will couldn’t get around.

He hadn’t suddenly started doing any of this. He’d been doing it for a long fucking time. He just hadn’t known he was doing it.

And maybe that still didn’t mean anything. Will had friends. Close friends. He cared about people. He’d lived with teammates before. He’d dated. He knew what liking someone felt like.

Except none of those people were Mack.

Will looked across the couch. Mack was sitting at the other end with his legs stretched out, staring at his phone, and Will could probably list a hundred stupid things he knew about him without trying. He knew what Mack looked like when he was pissed off before Mack said anything. He knew which foods he’d steal and which ones he wouldn’t touch, when he wanted to talk and when talking would make everything worse, when he was actually tired and when he was just quiet.

He knew where Mack’s wallet was before Mack finished asking.

And Mack knew him right back.

That was the part that got him.

It wasn’t the touching or the stupid videos or even the way he’d apparently been looking at Mack all day. It was the fact that Will couldn’t find the edge of him anymore. There wasn’t hockey over here and Mack over there, or home and then Mack, friends and then Mack, good days and bad days and then Mack.

Mack was just there. Woven into all of it so completely that Will hadn’t noticed it happening.

Mack looked up from his phone and caught him staring.

“What?”

Will held his gaze. “Nothing.”

Mack’s expression flattened.

“No.”

Will blinked. “No what?”

“No more fucking nothing.”

Will almost laughed, but Mack wasn’t laughing. He put his phone down.

“You’ve been weird since last night.”

Will started to deny it, then stopped. There wasn’t much point anymore.

“Do those videos bother you?”

Mack frowned. “What videos?”

“The ones from yesterday. People saying shit about us.”

“No.”

The answer came immediately.

“Not even a little?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Mack stared at him. “Why would they?”

Will didn’t know how to answer that.

Because he’d spent the last twenty-four hours realizing he knew where Mack’s wallet was and how Mack took his coffee and which side of the bed he slept on and what his face looked like half a second before he smiled. Because apparently Will looked at Mack like seeing him was the best part of whatever room they happened to be in.

Because Mack looked back. Will rubbed a hand over his face. “People are making something out of nothing.”

Mack went very still.

“Yeah,” Mack said.

Except it wasn’t agreement.

Will looked at him, and for once, he didn’t look away.

“Is it?”

Mack’s expression shifted. “Is what?”

“Nothing.”

There was a pause.

Then Mack said, “No.”

Will stared at him. “No,” he repeated.

“No.”

It should’ve been helpful, but it wasn’t. Will shifted on the couch to face him. “What does that mean?”

Mack’s eyebrows pulled together. “You asked.”

“I know what I asked. You can’t just say no and then sit there.”

“I am sitting here.”

“Mack.”

“What?”

Will laughed, mostly because otherwise he was going to lose his fucking mind. “You’re doing this on purpose. Making me ask every fucking question individually.”

Mack looked away, which was answer enough.

“Oh my God.”

“Shut up.”

Something inside Will loosened. Mack was annoyed, but he wasn’t uncomfortable or freaked out or looking for a way out of the conversation. Just annoyed, which was such an incredibly Mack reaction that Will almost laughed again.

“So it’s not nothing.”

“I literally just said that.”

“Okay. Then what is it?”

Mack’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.”

“You just said—”

“I know what I said. I don’t know what you want me to call it.”

That stopped Will. “What do you call it?”

“I don’t.”

Of course he didn’t. Mack picked up his phone, then seemed to think better of it and put it back down without unlocking it.

“You’ve thought about this before,” Will said. It wasn’t really a question, and the way Mack’s jaw shifted told him he was right. “You have. How long?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mack.”

“I don’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I figured it out approximately twelve hours ago and apparently you’ve been sitting over here knowing something I don’t.”

Mack’s mouth twitched.

“Don’t fucking smile.”

That only made it worse.

“This is funny to you?”

“A little.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re the one who spent all night reading comments.”

Will laughed. “You’re avoiding the question.”

Eventually, Mack looked down at his hands. “I don’t know when. I just…” He stopped, rubbing his thumb across the side of his palm.

Normally Will would’ve helped him. That was what he did with Mack. Mack would get halfway toward something and Will would figure out the rest—dinner, a bad mood, a ride somewhere, whether he wanted company or wanted everybody to leave him the fuck alone. But this felt different, so Will waited.

“I think I just knew before I thought about it,” Mack finally said.

“That makes no fucking sense.”

“I know.”

“Explain it.”

“I’m trying.”

Will shut up.

Mack took another second. “It wasn’t like I figured something out. It was more like…” He made a face. “I don’t know. Oh.”

Will blinked. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I just realized I already knew.”

The smile disappeared from Will’s face. Mack looked uncomfortable now, but Will knew that difference too. He wasn’t uncomfortable with Will. He was uncomfortable with the words.

“So when I started thinking about it, it wasn’t like, oh shit,” Mack continued. “It was just oh.”

Something warm settled low in Will’s chest. “Oh.”

“Stop saying it like that.”

“I’m saying it exactly how you said it.”

“You’re annoying.”

“I know.”

They were quiet for a few seconds before something clicked in Will’s head.

“Wait. The bedroom.”

Mack froze.

Will stared at him. “No fucking way. You knew when we moved in.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do though.”

Mack reached for his phone, but Will slapped his hand down on top of it. “No. Absolutely not. There are two bedrooms.”

“I like that room.”

“You picked it before we even bought furniture.”

“Will.”

“You looked at me like I was fucking stupid when I asked which room you wanted.”

“Because you were being stupid.”

“Because you wanted me in yours.”

“It wasn’t mine yet.”

Will stared at him for half a second before he started laughing. Mack grabbed for the pillow beside him, but Will caught it first and held it out of reach.

“Shut up.”

“You fucking knew. You’ve just been waiting for me to figure it out.”

“I wasn’t waiting.”

“What were you doing?”

Mack stopped reaching for the pillow. His expression changed, barely, but enough. He dropped his hand and it landed on Will’s knee. Will stared at the hand.

“Giving you time.”

That shut Will up.

He lowered the pillow while Mack looked away. Underneath all the swearing and eye rolling and refusal to explain himself, Mack had known, and he hadn’t pushed. He hadn’t made a joke Will couldn’t take back or forced a conversation before Will understood what he was trying to say. He hadn’t taken the house or the bedroom or any of the thousand automatic things between them and turned them into something Will hadn’t chosen yet. He’d just stayed, giving Will time to catch up.

“Oh,” Will said.

Mack turned red and looked uncomfortable, or maybe it was embarrassed but he stayed where he was. He didn’t run. Just let Will soak it all in.

The tension broke enough for both of them to settle back into the couch. They hadn’t solved anything. Will still didn’t know what to call this, what happened tomorrow, or what either of them expected, but he knew it wasn’t nothing. For tonight, that felt like enough.

Mack picked up his phone. Will looked toward the TV, but neither of them bothered turning it on. They sat there quietly for a while before Mack shifted beside him and his hand landed on the cushion between them.

Will looked down at it. He’d seen Mack’s hands a million times—in gloves, wrapped around a stick, stealing his food, holding a controller, grabbing Will’s sleeve when he wanted his attention instead of using his fucking words. There was nothing remarkable about Mack’s hand sitting on their couch, but Will kept looking at it anyway.

“What?” Mack asked.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t start.”

Will smiled and looked back down. There were maybe three inches between their hands. Yesterday, he wouldn’t even have noticed.

He moved his hand just enough to put it beside Mack’s.

Their fingers didn’t touch.

Mack looked down, then back at Will. For once, he seemed to be the one who didn’t know what to do, and Will kind of liked it.

Slowly, Mack turned his palm over.

Will’s heart did something fucking stupid.

Neither of them said anything as Will slid his fingers into Mack’s and Mack closed his hand around them.

That was it. No cameras, no crowd, nobody on the internet slowing it down or putting music underneath it or trying to figure out what it meant. Just Mack’s hand in his.

It felt weird, but not bad weird. New weird.

They’d spent years touching without thinking about it—shoulders and knees and skates knocking together, Mack falling against him after goals, Will grabbing him in locker rooms, sitting too close, sleeping in the same bed with Mack’s foot against his leg. This wasn’t any of those things.

Mack squeezed once, and Will looked at him. “What?”

His mouth twitched. “Nothing.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“You’re holding my hand.”

“You’re holding mine.”

“You started it.”

“I put my hand next to yours. You turned yours over.”

“Because you were being weird.”

“So technically you started it.”

Mack immediately tried to pull away, but Will tightened his grip.

“Absolutely not.”

Mack laughed. “Let go.”

“No.”

“Will.”

“Nope.”

Mack stopped trying, and their hands settled between them again.

Will looked at him. Mack was smiling—not the camera smile or the smirk, but the other one. The one from the car. The one Will had apparently been getting all fucking day without understanding what he was looking at.

He understood it now. Or at least enough.

Will leaned back into the couch, and after a minute Mack shifted closer until his shoulder settled against Will’s. Their hands stayed together.

“You’re staring,” Mack said.

“I know.”

Mack glanced at him, but neither of them said anything else. For once, they didn’t need to.

Eventually Mack picked up his phone with his other hand and started scrolling like nothing had happened. Will smiled.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Mack squeezed his hand. “You’re fucking weird.”

“Yeah.”

Will squeezed back. He was starting to think that was probably fine.