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This day’s off to a fucking tremendous start. Just great. Harry gets told he’s rooming with Connelly on the road, which is wonderful news, and then the second Connelly sees him before practice he comes over like if they’re roommates they’re suddenly going to be in each other’s pockets or something. Harry can’t overstate how uninterested he is in that.
“Did they tell you we’re rooming together?” Connelly asks.
“Yep,” Harry says, pulling up his socks.
“I don’t know if you want to talk about—”
“Is this really time sensitive, Connelly?” Harry asks.
“No,” Connelly says. “I guess not.”
“You’d better not snore,” Harry says. Or hover like this, but Harry has far fewer hopes about that one. He’s a hoverer. It’s what he does. It’s supremely annoying, but at least he’s usually hovering around Victor or all fluttery swooning hovering in Roman’s direction and not hovering over Harry. Except maybe that’s set to change. “Or I’m going to smother you in my sleep,”
“I don’t snore,” Connelly says, then looks over at Victor, probably hoping he’ll save him.
“He doesn’t snore,” Victor says. “Val said you did though.”
Novy is a traitor. “Val’s a liar,” Harry says.
“We talking about Valeri Asenov?” Roman asks. “Yea high, Russian, has never told a lie in his entire virtuous life?”
Like Roman knows Novy well enough to say that. He can dub him his sweet child or whatever all he wants, but Harry was the one who shared a room with him last season. Getting exiled from his own room because Novy’s pulled a girl is not an example of virtuous living.
“Guess you’re stuck with a snorer, Sweetheart,” Roman says, and Connelly flushes like he always does when Roman calls him that. Either Roman’s too stupid to realize the cause and effect of that, and he isn’t stupid, or he keeps calling Connelly that even though he knows it gets to him. Harry doesn’t know if he does it to pump up his ego or if it’s a jab, but either way Connelly doesn’t deserve that.
“That’s okay,” Connelly says quickly. “I fall asleep pretty fast. I don’t mind.”
“Glad I have your permission to breathe, Connelly,” Harry says.
“I didn’t mean—” Connelly says.
“Whatever,” Harry says. “Can you go away? I’m trying to get my shit on.”
As far as rooming assignments go, Harry doesn’t think management could have done much worse. Maybe putting him with Fitzy or something, because that would have ended in strangling, but that’s just theoretical since Fitzy has his own room, to the relief of everyone ever. He’s still living with his boyfriend even after an entire offseason of him presumably being underfoot, and Harry’s decided the guy’s got to be hard as fuck or crazy — or both — because he’s pretty sure everyone on this team would weep if they were stuck rooming with him, and there are a fair amount of hard as fuck guys on this team, and more than a couple crazies.
“So you’re rooming with Connie,” Roman says, which, hey. Speak of crazies and the dude who made them Rookie Detectives appears. How fitting.
“Apparently,” Harry says.
“Guess that’ll be an interesting change,” Roman says.
“Do you have a point here, Roman?” Harry asks.
“Just, you know, team unity is a good thing,” Roman says.
“You going to make us some badges?” Harry asks dryly.
“Don’t lie, you still have your badge,” Roman says.
Harry does, but mostly so he has proof whenever someone doubts that his rookie hazing was the most batshit of them all. Sam kept insisting his rookie year with the Preds was, but once Harry produced the badge, he let Harry have it.
“Just hoping you two get along,” Roman says.
“Me too,” Harry says.
Roman gives him an insultingly skeptical look.
“What,” Harry says. “Why wouldn’t I want that?”
“I have no idea,” Roman says slowly.
“Good talk, can I get dressed now?” Harry asks.
“Not stopping you,” Roman says, sticking around, but after Harry glares at him, unmoving, he finally goes away.
*
Sharing a room with Connelly is awkward. There honestly isn’t any other word for it. It’s awkward when they’re getting their keycards and Connelly keeps glancing over like Harry’s going to snap his in half and run out the doors, which is ridiculous, and not only because rotating doors would probably make that hard. They’re automatic too. Harry’s running would be a slow saunter. That’s beneath his dignity.
It isn’t awkward in the elevator, but that’s because they’re crammed in with as many guys who could fit themselves and their suitcases in, like an elevator version of a clown car, with exactly as many clowns.
It’s super awkward when they reach their room. Even though Connelly gets there first he steps aside to let Harry open the door, looming over him when he does. Connelly takes up too much space. He’s always towered over Harry, but it was kind of gangly gawky towering, and somehow he made himself smaller, like he was just tall and not a fucking giant. Now, though, just standing in the same vicinity as him makes Harry feel tiny, and he hates it.
“Is there a bed you prefer?” Connelly asks once they’re inside.
“They’re exactly the same,” Harry says.
“I know, just sometimes people like being closer to the—”
“Just pick a damn bed, Connelly,” Harry says. “I seriously could not give less of a shit.”
“Okay,” Connelly says, then puts his bag down at the foot of the bed closest to the door, glancing over at Harry like he’s trying to gauge whether that’s okay, like Harry secretly has bed preferences he isn’t telling him about. Harry pointedly puts his own bag down on the other bed. He did usually sleep in the bed near the door last season, but that’s just because Novy had some weird thing about wanting the bed furthest.
Harry misses him suddenly. Novy was easy to live with. He didn’t tiptoe like Harry would snap if he said the wrong thing, and he didn’t take up so much fucking space. Yeah, sometimes Harry got sexiled, and Novy had this uncanny ability of always managing to get water all over the bathroom floor when he showered, and he listened to his horrible Russian dance music loud enough Harry could hear it even when he wore headphones, but all in all, he was the best roommate Harry ever had.
Harry flops down on his bed, sends Novy a text. they stuck me with connelly. you better get your ass back up here.
trying ((((((, Novy sends back, and Harry feels bad, adds a miss you dude.
“Um, Harry?” Connelly asks.
Harry looks up.
“Is it okay if I turn the TV on?” Connelly asks.
“Jesus Christ, Connelly, it’s your room too, stop asking my permission for everything,” Harry says.
“Okay,” Connelly says, but he doesn’t go to get the remote, just looks down at his own phone, neck blushing hot. Harry can imagine what he’s saying Chalmers is just as bad a roommate as I thought to Victor, or Save me to Roman, with implied coquettish batting his lashes or something.
Harry needs to stop reading Deb’s regency romances, the idea of that gangly giant managing anything coquettish is ridiculous. Or like. Former gangly giant or something. Harry can’t get over how weird it is, because if you looked at him from far away you’d think he’d be some hardcore badass, but nope, he’s asking for permission to turn the TV on.
Harry gets the remote himself, turning the TV on and then walking over to Connelly’s bed as Connelly watches him, wary looking.
“I told you you could,” Harry says, holding the remote out. “Grow a backbone, Connelly.”
“Sorry,” Connelly says softly, which is basically the opposite of growing a backbone, but at least he takes the remote.
Connelly watches stupid cartoons, which is unsurprising, because he’s an overgrown child, and looks concerned when Harry goes to get his headphones. “Dude, I can’t hear it with them in, it’s cool,” Harry says, and he doesn’t think he deserves the smile Connelly sends his way, like Harry’s given him something.
*
The first night rooming with Connelly’s pretty uneventful, despite the way Connelly still kind of tiptoes around him. Harry wonders if he was like this with Victor at the start, but he’s not going to ask. They take a meaningless win home with them, a meaningless win Harry scored in, which won’t affect his stats at all, but is a big deal when their GM’s literally making notes and probably scratching names off the roster as he watches.
So far so good. Connelly didn’t snore, Harry scored, and Beau didn’t have to miss him too much. Harry knows he’s well taken care of when Harry’s gone, but he feels like a bad dog dad on the long roadies.
He honestly doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, he just stopped to check his phone when it buzzed to see if it was Siobhan letting him know Beau was back at his place — it was — and by the time he’s putting his phone away he’s accidentally overhearing shit about himself.
“Harry can be kind of a dick, that’s all,” Victor says, and Harry would take offense, but look, he knows himself. He can totally be kind of a dick.
“Everyone on this team can be kind of a dick,” Connelly replies, and Harry doesn’t know if that’s Connelly defending him or just stating a fact. Either way he’s mostly not wrong.
“Not you,” Victor says.
“I can so,” Connelly says, and Harry represses a snort.
“Not Val,” Victor says.
“Oh, not Val,” Evan says. “That’s true.”
Victor and Connelly have clearly never seen Novy when his nap’s been interrupted.
“And Harry drove him right off the roster, so,” Victor says. “I guess we’re worried he’s going to take the nice guys down one by one.”
Harry’s stomach clenches.
“That’s not true,” Connelly says. “And that was a dick thing to say.”
“I don’t need you to fight my fucking battles, Connelly,” Harry snaps, snapping out of immobility and walking forward. The last thing he needs right now is to hear more of what Victor’s going to say about him. Or worse, whatever weak shit Connelly’s going to come out with.
“I didn’t mean that,” Victor says, looking uncharacteristically flustered.
“Whatever,” Harry says, barely avoiding banging into his shoulder as he pushes past him to continue to the parking lot.
He’s mostly cooled down by the time he gets home. Victor says shit like that, all matter of fact and know-it-all, but that doesn’t make anything he says true. You just have to brush it off.
He’s more pissed at Connelly than Victor, honestly. Like, what the fuck, Harry is the opposite of nice to him and he still goes around, what, defending Harry’s honor? No one’s that nice. Harry doesn’t get what his game is here. Roman nicknaming him Sweetheart suddenly works for Harry, actually. Nothing suits Connelly better than the chalky saccharine of the candy that’s everywhere when Valentine’s comes around.
Harry’s bad mood lingers just long enough for Beau to jump him. “Hi,” Harry says. “Hi buddy.” Sometimes he’s a little concerned Beau’s going to sprain his tail he wags it so hard.
He gets down on one knee, lets Beau lick his cheek. “Dude, I was gone less than forty-eight hours,” Harry says.
Beau licks his nose.
“Gross, man,” Harry says. “Wanna go for a walk?” Walking sounds good. He could use the distraction.
Harry’s pretty much positive Siobhan took Beau for a walk right before she brought him back, because she always does, but Beau is not the kind of man to refuse a walk, and he tugs at the leash enough, unflagging, that Harry’s pretty much speed-walking to keep up with him.
“You’re so sweet, helping me get in my cardio,” Harry says.
Beau, contrary, stops to examine a stick and then pee on it.
“You own the stick,” Harry says. “It’s yours now, you’re right — oh gross Beau, get that out of your mouth!”
Beau doesn’t listen, and Harry is not interested in playing tug of war with a pee stick, so they’re at an impasse. Beau saunters along contentedly with his stick all the way home, then drops it outside the door because he knows sticks aren’t allowed inside.
“Good boy,” Harry says, kneeling to get his leash off. “Next time, let’s try not to put things we peed on in our mouth.”
Beau licks his cheek.
“I should have seen that coming, I admit,” Harry says.
*
The next game is at home, which means Harry has not just a room to himself, but an entire townhouse, other than that one drooling companion. It’s a lot more restful with Beau tripping over his heels looking delighted by Harry’s very existence than Connelly tripping over himself trying not to offend him. Harry doesn’t think there’s anything more offensive than someone trying really, really hard to be inoffensive.
Republicans, his sister Annie texts him when he sends her his pearl of wisdom.
Fair enough, Harry allows. “Jog time, Beau!”
Beau doesn’t like jogs as much as walks, because there’s way less time for him to sniff at and/or pee on things, but he’s still good at keeping up with Harry, and jogs are less boring when you have company.
Harry does a circuit of the park nearest his place, and the second time through it he runs into Connelly. It shouldn’t be that surprising — Harry knows Connelly lives near him — but there’s still that weird feeling you get whenever you see someone where you don’t expect them, like when Harry ran into his GM at the grocery store.
“Hey,” Harry says, hopes Connelly will say hey back and keep moving, but of course that’s not his style.
“Who’s this?” Connelly asks, kneeling down.
“Careful, he’s —” Harry starts, but stops when Beau preens. Apparently he’s a big suck.
“What’s his name?” Connelly asks, petting his ears back.
“Beau,” Harry says.
“Hi Beau,” Connelly coos. Beau does the mad tail wag in return.
“Beau likes you,” Harry says lamely, bites back a comment that Beau likes everyone, because it isn’t even true. Beau’s choosy.
“I like Beau,” Connelly says, rubbing a hand over Beau’s fur hard enough that Harry can tell he grew up with dogs.
“Well, um,” Harry says. “I have to keep moving. You know, keep loose.”
“Sure,” Connelly says. “Bye Beau,” he says, with a final pet for him, straightening up. “See you this afternoon?”
“Sure,” Harry says, realizing too late it must have been a rhetorical question, because Connelly’s already jogging off. He goes hot, embarrassed. Beau’s watching Connelly leave with interest and no little bit of longing.
“You met him a minute ago, stop looking tragic,” Harry says.
Beau continues to look tragic.
“Go home for a treat?” Harry says. He was planning for a longer jog, but he’ll just run into Connelly some more, and he doesn’t think Beau will let him keep moving. ‘Treat’ is the magic word, and Harry and lets Beau carry him home with the almost-sprint of a dog expecting treats on the other side.
“You can’t just fall for every random stranger you meet,” Harry lectures Beau after he’s received his treat.
“Okay,” he admits, when Beau seems unmoved. “He’s not a stranger, but still. He’s a stranger to you.”
Beau wanders off.
“Don’t tell me you’re falling for that Sweetheart bullshit too!” Harry calls after him, and Beau declines to answer.
Great. Even Harry’s dog has betrayed him. Clearly the whole rooming with Connelly thing is off to a wonderful start.