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1.
Matt comes awake slowly, blinking his eyes open. It’s hard to tell what time of day it is, the light muted by the curtains, turning the furniture in the room into grayscale. Behind him, Mitch’s steady breaths ruffle the hair at the back of Matt’s neck, and his arm is boney and a little uncomfortable as his pillow.
It’s so warm between their bodies that Matt is sweating even without a blanket. Mitch always runs hot. It’s a wonder how such a small body can generate so much heat.
“Hey, Marty?” Mitch whispers against his neck.
“Yeah?”
“Are you awake?”
Matt closes his eyes and heaves a sigh. “Yes, dumbass, I’m answering you, of course I’m awake.”
“Sometimes you talk in your sleep!”
They’re still whispering and Matt isn’t sure why, since he’s sure there isn’t anyone else in the room to startle awake, and the rest of the house seems quiet too.
“I don’t!”
“You do! Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to ask.”
“What?”
“Can you lift your head? My arm is asleep.”
“Oh,” Matt mutters and lifts himself up obediently, so Mitch can gingerly remove his arm. He pulls another pillow closer and drops back down on the couch with a sigh. He brain feels slow and his eyelids keep wanting to creep back together.
“Do we have to be anywhere today?” Mitch sounds like he’s fading too, which makes Matt smile.
“I’m not sure what time it is, but I don’t think so.”
Mitch hums and Matt feels the vibration down his neck. He finally gives in and closes his eyes too. As he’s drifting off to sleep, he feels Mitch’s arm drape over his waist, which is something he’s explicitly told him not to do, but whatever. Matt is too comfortable to protest.
*
2.
Matt’s been preparing his tanning plan pretty much since they’ve booked their holiday. If he does it wrong, he won’t get any color at all, just freckles, which always get him chirps in the locker room. Mitch has already threatened to play connect the dots with them, Matt doesn’t need to give him more ammunition.
So, Matt comes out by the pool and picks his beach lounger, dragging it to a spot with maximum sunlight. Then, he applies the sunscreen - a coat of SPF 4 for a nice tan and then some SPF 30 over it, to protect the skin - and he’s ready.
He’s just about slipped in a meditative state, his hat set over his head, when something very heavy drops on his stomach, startling him.
“What the fuck?”
He scrambles to pull his hat off his face, struggling to breathe, only to be confronted with Connor’s grinning face. He’s draped himself over Matt like a particularly obnoxious boy-shaped blanket.
“I’m here to protect you from the sun,” he says.
“The whole point of me being here is to get a tan! I don’t want to look like the ice we’re playing on when we get back.”
“You’ll just burn anyway. And then you’ll look like a lobster. A grumpy lobster.” Connor nuzzles happily at his neck, apparently content in his position, his chin digging into the tender skin of Matt’s collarbone, and his legs pressed alongside Matt’s.
Matt can’t decide if it’s better or worse than Mitch spooning him. At least Mitch gave him the courtesy of a modesty pillow - he can feel Connor’s crotch pressing into the edge of his hipbone, and he seems to have no intention of moving it.
“Connor. Move.”
“Nope! I tan better than you anyway.” Which is something Matt knew and got frequently jealous of.
“That isn’t the point. You need to get off, we’ll break the lounger.”
“No, we won’t! It’s made to withstand a lot of weight.”
“Connor, we’re two hockey players, it wasn’t made to hold this much.”
“Are you calling me fat?”
“It’s all in your ass, don’t worry.”
Connor seems to sense his acceptance of the situation and Matt can feel his grin pressed against his skin. It’s much too hot with the two of them laying in the sun like this, but Matt lets it go, because apparently moving to Canada has made him a giant softie.
“Hey, Matt?”
“Hm?”
“Do you think my ass is better than Mitch’s?”
“Oh my g-”
The beach lounger breaks.
*
3.
Boarding the plane to Toronto after the game feels like a relief. They’ve managed to come out of the game with a win, but Matt is still smarting from a bout in the second period, and crashing off adrenaline, it’s all starting to catch up with him. He’s pretty confident that he can handle himself when the gloves get dropped, but his opponent today could really throw it. One of those new superpowered rookies that seem to be popping up everywhere these days.
Speaking of superpowered rookies, he can hear Mitch chattering on, from halfway across the team plane. Usually, Matt sits with either him or Connor, but tonight he just doesn’t feel up to it. His head is pounding despite a passed concussion protocol and he can actually feel his eye swelling up, bruised.
He hesitates for a moment, looking around for another empty seat.
“Hey, come sit with me, Marty.”
Matt follows the soft voice to where Auston is patting the seat next to his. He’s doing that thing where he’s smiling but not actually smiling, his mouth slack, but the corners of his eyes crinkling. They never usually sit together, but this time it might be exactly what Matt needs. Auston usually sleeps through their flights.
Matt folds himself into the chair slowly, mindful of his bruises, and catches Auston tilting his head to the side, in confusion or curiosity, he can’t tell which.
“You’re not celebrating?”
Matt follows Auston’s glance towards where Mitch and Connor and Willie are doing their level best to charm the stewardess to give them some champagne, even though they’re technically still on American soil. He shakes his head.
“What about you?” he asks instead of replying. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating your game winner?”
“I have to drive Marns home after. One of us has to be sober.”
“Take an Uber?”
Auston shrugs. Matt knows he’s pushing, but shutting up might mean that Auston will ask how Matt is feeling, and he hates it when any of the rookies worry about him.
They sink into silence, and Matt carefully situates his pillow so it isn’t encroaching into Auston’s space. He knows Auston can be cuddly, but only on his own terms, and that’s something Matt isn’t willing to push him on.
He grits his teeth through take-off, as his head starts to pound, the pain from his bruised eye radiating out. Finally, the seatbelt sign clicks off and he can curl up with his thin plane blanket, and force the pain away enough to fall asleep.
Matt wakes up with a start what could be a few minutes or hours later, to something cold and wet pressing against his swollen eye.
“Wha-”
“Shhh,” Auston says somewhere above him, “it’s just some ice. Go back to sleep, I got you.”
And Matt is exhausted and still half-asleep, and the cold numbs the pain to a dull ache, so he closes his eyes and obeys.
He wakes up a few hours later, just before they land, to find that he’s missed the trip entirely. He’s also managed to somehow tip over the armrest and stick his head into Auston’s lap, as if forcing him to ice Matt’s fucked up eye for hours wasn’t enough.
He gains enough awareness to scramble back into his seat, stifling a groan. Auston blinks at his suddenly empty lap, then at Matt, before folding the ice water filled towel and handing it to a stewardess that’s conveniently passing by right at that moment.
They sit in silence as the seatbelt sign blinks on, and the plane descends.
“Thanks, uh. For my eye. And letting me sleep on you.”
And there’s the smile, the one that’s just in the eye crinkles, more reassuring than anything Auston could have said.
“You’re welcome.”
*
4.
There’s been a logistical mix up with the car service company, and they’re one car short, so Matt stays back with Mo, electing to send the rookies ahead. This way, Bozie and Leo can keep them from getting into trouble.
It’s not winter yet, but it’s cold and windy, and Matt is privately grateful for his warm puffy coat. He watches idly as the wind carries the yellowed leaves to pile on the asphalt, and suddenly realizes that Mo is shivering next to him.
Matt looks at him from the corner of his eye, notes that he’s wearing just his suit and a thin jacket. The outfit is admittedly pretty stylish, but not very practical for the weather.
“Where’s your coat?” Matt finally breaks the silence.
Mo looks at him like Matt’s the weird one, and holds up the lapel of his jacket. All it serves is to show Matt how thin it really is.
“No, your actual winter coat.”
“Not winter yet.”
“As good as. And you’re not dressed nearly enough.”
“I’m Canadian - I can take a little cold.”
“I’m Canadian too and it’s freezing!”
“Well, Vancouver is more north than Windsor, it’s understandable that you’re not used to colder weather.”
“What are you even talking about? It’s colder in Windsor!”
At this point, Mo’s teeth are chattering too hard to reply, so Matt has probably won the argument, not that this makes him feel any better. The wind is picking up and Mo is looking absolutely pitiful. Matt sighs quietly.
He unzips his coat and the cold hits him like a slap in the face. It almost makes him back out. But then Mo looks at him and his face goes all stupid and slack in surprise, so Matt opens his arms.
“C’mon then, I don’t have all night,” he says, and Mo’s answering smile is enough to power the whole block for a month.
Matt hisses when Mo steps into the hug, because it feels like he’s being hugged by an actual icecube. Mo tucks himself as close to Matt’s body as he can. It’s not enough to be able to zip the coat around them, but Matt wraps his arms around his back to shield him from the worst.
The feeling of Mo’s cold nose pressing against his neck is unpleasant, but at least he stops shivering almost immediately. It’s a good thing that it’s dark outside and the street is mostly abandoned, because the position would be really hard to explain if anyone took a photo. Then again, the Leafs are a cuddly bunch, maybe the media would just take it in stride.
“What was this about, anyway?” Matt says into Mo’s hair. He keeps accidentally getting it into his mouth and it’s gross because he’s got gel in it, and it tastes all synthetic.
Mo mutters something under his breath and presses his face harder into Matt’s neck. Matt nudges him with his chin and Mo sighs before speaking louder.
“I want the rookies to think I’m the cool, stylish dad, you know?” Mo says, and Matt groans.
“Are you still on about this dad thing? You’re 22!”
It’s like talking to a rock.
“What if they think I’m boring?” Mo sniffles, his arms tightening around Matt’s middle, until it’s almost painful.
“I’m sure they don’t think that.” They probably do.
“I just want to be a cool dad, like Bozie! You’re the lame dad, Zach is the big brother figure and Leo is the grumpy grandpa. We all have roles to play!”
Matt bites back his first comment, and the second one. They’re both swearwords.
“Well, right now you’re just showing them it’s okay to be underdressed for the weather. Remember how long it took us to convince Mitch to wear a scarf?”
It turns out to be the exact wrong thing to say.
“You think I’m a bad influence on the rookies?” Mo practically wails, and Matt pats his back instinctively, holding on when he tries to twist out of the hug.
“No, of course not! I’m just saying, they would be sad if you froze to death.”
Mo sniffles. “You think so?”
“Yes, Mo,” Matt rolls his eyes, “the rookies would be very sad if you froze to death.”
“You too?”
“Yes, Mo, I would be sad too.”
“Would you cry?”
“Okay, that’s pushing it.”
*
5.
Matt is right in the middle of biting into a tragically small canapé, when Tyler appears out of nowhere and shoves his baby into Matt’s arms.
“Hold him for me for a while, okay?” he says, like Matt has an actual choice in the matter, and then he disappears into the crowd, leaving Matt holding the canapé and the baby.
Matt blinks. Kanon Bozak stares placidly back at him from where he’s awkwardly laid out against Matt’s shoulder. Matt slowly puts the canapé back on the table, sending a mental apology to the waiter who’s going to have to clean it up.
He frees up his hand just in time, because Kanon squirms in his arms, and Matt almost drops him. Kanon settles in what’s apparently a more comfortable position and Matt tries to recover from the near heart attack.
Matt doesn’t consider himself a baby expert, but he’s got a nephew that adores him, so he can’t be that bad. Still, he’s usually had the parents supervising, not been thrown over the deep end into babysitting a kid he barely knows.
He paces the length of the room they’re holding the charity event in. It’s full of people, but he can’t find any of his teammates. Kanon is mostly quiet, distracted by the reflective baubles they’ve used as decorations. In fact, he’s much politer company than his father.
Eventually, Matt finds an empty couch (he glares at the people who are using it and they vacate it pretty quickly), and props the toddler between the couch and his body. Everything is fine for a few minutes, as Kanon plays with his hands and the shiny buttons of his suit.
Then, all of a sudden, Kanon grimaces, and opens his mouth. Matt picks him up quickly and settles him on his chest, which seems to be the right thing to do, because he only lets out a few vaguely protesting sounds before settling. As Matt watches, still halfway to terrified, Kanon’s eyes drift closed and his breathing evens out.
And that’s how Matt ends up with a sleeping toddler on his chest, his parents nowhere in sight. His arm is already starting to cramp.
He gets distracted by watching Kanon breathe in his sleep. It’s surprisingly meditative. It must be why Tyler is so chilled out these days. He’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice the couch dipping next to him, until Tyler pops his head on his shoulder and cuddles in close.
“Don’t you make a pretty picture,” he says.
“You’re lucky I’m holding your son, or I’d be hitting your right now, Bozie,” Matt replies, trying to keep his voice even. “Do you usually leave your child with random teammates?”
Tyler laughs. “Nope. Just you. I knew you’d be fine.”
“Why?”
Kanon makes a soft noise in his sleep, and Tyler presses closer to run his thumb down his cheek gently. It seems to do the trick, because Kanon settles, breath evening out. They watch him in silence for a little while, before Tyler breaks it.
“I knew you’d never let anything bad happen to him,” Tyler says, simply, his head a warm heavy weight against Matt’s shoulder. “He’s a Toronto Maple Leaf, after all.”
There’s a lot to unpack in that sentence - faith and trust, and affirmation, of the duty Matt carries in himself, shared by big guys on fourth lines all across the league. An acknowledgement, of the scars stitched across his knuckles, but more than that, a place for Matt to call his own that goes beyond that. A place that’s here, with his teammate cuddled up against his shoulder, his baby sleeping peacefully on the other one.
Matt nods, not trusting himself to speak.
They lapse into silence, the din of the crowd around them going quieter as they sit in their own little bubble.
“He sleeps just like you.”
“Awww.”
“Yeah. He drools just like you, too.”
“What? I don’t drool in my sleep!”
“Yeah, you do. You fart in your sleep, too.”
“...I think it might be time to change his diaper.”
“Shift change.”
“Damnit.”
*
+1
Matt doesn’t consider declining Mitch’s invitation to hang out, until he’s standing on the front lawn of the Strome house and realizing that every attendee is at least a solid five or six years younger than him. They’re discussing ripped jeans and pocket handkerchiefs in the same sentence, and Matt honestly feels a little out of his depth.
He’s considering possible avenues of escape, when he hears a familiar voice behind him.
“Well, there’s a face I haven’t seen in a while,” Ryan Strome says, grinning at him across the lawn. Matt hadn’t even know he was in town. They have a secret handshake, but Ryan bypasses it for a hug. He feels thinner under Matt’s hands, smaller somehow, coming off a tough season. Matt remembers the sentiment.
He finds himself mostly by Ryan’s side for the next few hours, as Ryan catches him up with all the Islanders gossip he’s missed. The others drift in and out of their orbit, as they start reminiscing. They’re all kids, mostly just trying to make it in the league, and apparently their dumb stories of pranks on the road are interesting to them.
Eventually, all the barbecue food gets eaten, and they retreat inside the house to watch a movie. As soon as Matt chooses his place on the couch, Ryan practically dives after him, settling beside him on the cushions.
This finally seems to be Mitch’s breaking point.
“You’ve been hogging him all night!” he points at Ryan with a glare. It looks rather like a kitten trying to confront a big dog. Cute, but not likely to affect Ryan in any way.
In response, Ryan climbs further in Matt’s lap, tightening his arms around him, until it’s almost uncomfortable.
“You’ve been hogging him all season!” Ryan hisses back. “Why are you so greedy? Everyone knows he’s the best cuddler in the league and you get to have him every day!”
Matt’s face feels red hot. He buries it in Ryan’s shoulder, so nobody else can notice how embarrassed and pleased he is. The words seem to appease Mitch at least somewhat, or at least he realizes that fighting with Ryan might not end up well for him. He settles next to Dylan with a huff.
Ryan sniffles against his chest, and Matt reaches out to rearrange him so he isn’t jabbing his elbows into the tender skin of Matt’s stomach.
“You really miss me that much?” he whispers and Ryan nods against his neck. “I miss you guys too.”
Ryan laughs quietly. “Liar,” he says.
Matt doesn’t reply, just runs his hand over the planes of Ryan’s back, until some of the the tension there unwinds, and Ryan’s breathing evens out.
A few minutes later, Mitch drifts over to settle against Ryan’s side, leaning into his back. Ryan doesn’t protest, just sighs quietly and relaxes further. Matt reaches out to smooth Mitch’s hair from where it’s fluffing up from the static of the couch, and leaves his hand there, palm settling on the nape of Mitch’s neck.
The movie is on in the background and it’s Sully, which Matt still hasn’t seen, but he can’t seem to make himself concentrate, comfortable and too warm. He rests his head on Ryan’s hair and drifts off.
He wakes up an interminable time later, to find that he's somehow found himself in the middle of a cuddle pile that contains what seems to be half of Canada's hockey future. Dylan's curled up on Mitch's side, hanging half off the sofa in a way that can't be too comfortable for his lanky limbs. The McLeods are scattered around them, conked out in various uncomfortable looking positions. One of them has his head on Matt's knee. He's pretty sure that's Matthew Strome that's napping on his feet.
How is this his life now?