Mack and Lane went for steaks in San Jose to catch up. Will was not invited. Let's set the scene: he went 4th overall, his family kept coming to games where for months he gave them and his team only small glimmers of what he knew he could do, and even now that he's got it down this team won't. Stop. Losing. He's been hanging onto his famed chill with nothing but bloodied nailbeds and the gut-level satisfaction that the franchise's generational player only really fucks with him. Mack needs Will, to help him regulate his volatile emotions, to vent and be reminded of the bigger picture, to be always available, always The Guy he can rely on to be light and fun. And then they lost their 8th game in 9 and! Will lost his point streak. And now Mack's out with the guy who snapped that streak, beat their team. He said it was fine when Mack asked. Will is actually totally fine with it. Mack texts him a picture of the menu ("🍽️📒 test") and in the upper righthand corner of it there's the edge of a slim knobby hand holding a glass. He swipes out. His jaw always makes that noise at night. Whatever.

He needs a reminder of why this is all worth it, that this is his childhood dream, that he didn't make his family go to all the trouble for nothing, that he has people who think he's hot and cool and good at his job. It was about time anyway for another photo dump. He selects a blend of walk ins, high def on ice shots— sponsorship names facing out of course— one or two off ice for flavor, one of his dad with Mack just offscreen, he knows. And so what if he made sure to put in two of Mack? So what if it's Mack, wearing his jersey, his name, the jersey he beat Lane Hutson in as well as Mack for Hockey East? So what if it's Mack, arm around his waist?

Mack texts him again. He ignores it, posts the carousel. He knows Mack has alerts for his insta, he'll see it. Will taps his profile, imagining Mack doing the same at dinner with Lane, maybe under the table, face flushed, trying not to let on but he's always kinda bad at hiding— hold on. Shit. Why is Insta cropping it like that—

Ughhh. Okay. Delete. Reorganize. Repost. Shit. What if Mack clicks the notification and it's just this idiotic— and then he and Lane have a laugh about it— why is it— delete. Repost. Fuckfuckdelete.repost?FUCK!!!!delete!

Mack texts him "🤣smit what" and Will wants to die. Box breath. Don't overheat. It's just the fucking landscape photos. Fix and repost. Mack comments four minutes later "That's 2 for sure." It's— he's not blushing but he does turn the AC up. It gets hot in California.