shawty

Despite her name, Joy wasn't exactly the most enthusiastic person around. Certainly not when compared to you, a fellow med student who was practically brimming with cheer and delight. Every request made of you was happily met with a simple "okie dokie" before you complied, whereas she'd drag her feet just to get patient charting done.

To say that the two of you couldn't be more different was the understatement of the year, which is why everyone you worked with was surprised to find out that the two of you were dating. At first, that is. Until they saw how you interacted with each other, and then it all started to make sense.

The way that people first learned about your relationship was one day at work when you caught something wrong with a patient that all other doctors had missed, effectively saving their life.

"Good work," Robby praised with a warm smile, one of his large hands gently clapping you on the back to show just how proud he was.

"Nice one, babe," Joy added in her typical deadpan, though this time her tone was notably a tad bit lighter than any other compliment given by the nonchalant student doctor.

You beamed with pride at her words, a wide grin spreading across your face while Ogilvie's jaw dropped at the revelation. "'Babe'? Wait, so does that mean-"

"Yup. We're dating," she confirmed while moving to rest a hand on your shoulder as a casual kind of confirmation, your head turning so you could watch her with a loving gaze as you continued to smile.

"I just don't get it," he kept on with a confused look, clearly intent on poking the bear today. "You're so… And they are so…"

"And that's what we love in each other," your girlfriend cut in before he could even think to finish his statement, visibly unimpressed with whatever line of thought was currently going through his mind. "And it's really not for you to understand."

Robby then cleared his throat and directed the three of you to move on to other patients so the conversation wouldn't evolve into something even more tense than it already was. You remained unbothered by the strange look being giving to you by Ogilvie, walking with Joy's hand still placed protectively on your shoulder.

The news spread fast around the ED about a ball of sunshine such as yourself apparently dating a grump like her, but neither of you cared very much, and it didn't take very long for others to see why. You were clearly both very in love with each other, especially if lunch was any indication of that.

Joy sat at one of the small tables in the breakroom, unzipping her lunchbox and pulling everything out. She popped off the lid to a plastic container to reveal a sandwich cut into the shape of a heart, setting the lid down next to her favorite snack and a note that had several hearts doodled on it.

Cassie, who was in there to grab a drink, raised an eyebrow at the sight in front of her. "Lemme guess, your partner put this together for you?"

"Every day," Joy sighed as if it was some big nuisance, but the third-year resident didn't miss the way her lips quirked upwards slightly whenever she glanced back over at the note.

You came bounding into the room a few minutes later, looking as bright and cheery as ever. "Hey, Dr. McKay!" You greeted with a friendly wave before turning your attention over to your girlfriend. "Do you wanna go sit on the roof and watch the clouds while we eat lunch?"

"Seriously? You really want to cloudgaze, of all things?" She questioned bluntly with a raised eyebrow, though you remained undeterred by her outward disinterest.

"Yeah! It's not too sunny out today, so we won't have to worry about hurting our eyes! Plus-" you lowered your voice conspiratorially and leaned in "-if we're in a spot that's harder to find, we might get more time before we have to get back to work."

At the mention of getting out of work, Joy immediately perked up. "I'm in," she stated while standing, already starting to re-pack her lunch so she could take it up with you to the roof.

"Great!" You clapped a bit with excitement before frowning slightly, your brow furrowing to show you were deep in thought for once. "But wait, did I bring my lunch today?"

She then reached over on the table behind her lunchbox and held up another one that had to be yours given all the bright colors on it that contrasted heavily with her simple black one. "I brought it, because I knew that you'd forget."

"Great! I'll meet you up there," came your delighted response as you grabbed the lunchbox from her and turned to leave. "I love you!"

"I know," was her rebuttal to your words, smirking at the way you instantly whipped back around to face her again.

"Say it back!" You demanded with a slight pout, hands resting on your hips as you lightly glared at her.

"I suppose I share similar feelings of fondness towards you," she replied while still smirking, appearing amused at the way you playfully rolled your eyes before actually leaving that time.

Cassie just watched the whole encounter take place with a smile of her own. The whole thing was really quite sweet, she had to admit, and it was obvious just how much you cared for one another.

About an hour or so later, Victoria was sent up to the roof to fetch the two of you so you could finally come back down to the ER and work again. Once she arrived there, she scanned the area until finally she spotted you sitting together, staring up at the clouds as they passed by overhead.

"I see a duckling!" You exclaimed while pointing upwards before returning your hand to its spot next to the other one by Joy's head as you sat behind her. The claw clip that she'd previously been wearing had been removed, and you were flipflopping between braiding her hair and letting it fall loose again before combing your fingers through the dark strands and restarting the process.

"Literally how," was all she said in respond, sipping on an energy drink as she followed where your finger had pointed. Her legs were spread out in front of her while you were perched cross-legged, your chest pressed against her back as you leaned forward and rested your chin on her shoulder.

"Uh…" Victoria felt pretty awkward to be breaking up such a sweet and obviously private moment, but Dana had been pretty insistent on getting the two of you to come back down so more patients could be dealt with. "Sorry to interrupt, but there's a bunch of caseloads still coming in downstairs, so…"

"Okie dokie! We'll be there in a minute," you chirped without hesitation as Joy grumbled incoherent swears under her breath at having to get back to work. "C'mon, my sweet little marshmallow. Duty calls."

"I've told you before, you're the sweet marshmallow here. I'm the burnt one that you get from leaving it over the firepit for too long," she corrected while standing, both of you collecting your lunchboxes to take back to the breakroom until it was time for you to leave.

"You're burnt on the outside but gooey in the center," you added, shrieking gleefully in surprise when your words were met with a light poke to the ribs by your girlfriend.

Victoria could still vaguely hear your conversation as she began to make her way back to the ER, trying her best not to gush over how adorable the two of you were. Hopefully she could snag a moment or two away so she could spill to her TikTok following about all the juicy details.

It was later that evening after work when you made an interesting discovery upon searching for a book that you'd leant to Joy a while back. You didn't find it, but you did find an old medical journal that'd had a rectangle cut out of the center of its pages. You figured she probably read the whole thing, then decided to find a better use for it since she wouldn't ever need to re-read it due to having a photographic memory.

But that wasn't nearly as unexpected as what you found inside the cut-out crevice. In it held every single note you'd ever packed with her lunch, each one neatly tucked away and place in chronological order, from most recent to the very first one you'd ever written, and your note from that day was on the very top.

"What in the hell?" She questioned in a dry tone from behind you, causing you to turn to face her. "I knew you were nosy, but Jesus."

"You kept all my notes," you cooed out affectionately, which caused her to scoff and cross her arms defensively over her chest. "How sweet of you!"

"Don't read too much into it. I just- kept them so I could study that messy scrawl of yours, so I'd know what you scribble down in a patient's file," she halfheartedly grumbled, both of you well aware that she was lying.

You just set the book hiding your lunch notes off to the side and stood, approaching her with a warm smile and a big hug that she reluctantly accepted. "Aw, you're just a big softie underneath it all, aren't you?"

Even with such a blank expression, it was obvious the answer to that was yes. Joy might've been generally uncaring and unfazed by everyone else, but you had wormed your way into her heart, and now she couldn't bear the thought of living without you. After all, every grump needed a sun to shine over them.

End notes: she might be one of my new favorite people to write for tbh

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"Nice to know you still have a working phone, (Y/N)." His mother's voice was chiding. He could hear plates clinking on the other end, likely being washed. "A little birdie told us you decided to move in with Scott! Good choice, honey. I think it'd do you some good to live with him for a while. Maybe some of his work ethic will rub off on you."

(Y/N) almost scoffed. "I'm doing fine, Mom. Thanks for asking." He muttered snarkily, pushing the laptop off his thighs and bringing his knees up to his chest. "And I'm not staying here for long, alright? I'm- I'm working on finding a place to live... and then I'll focus on getting a job."

"Uh-huh." His mother sounded unconvinced. "I don't see why you can't just live with Scott. Are you still throwing that hissy fit, (Y/N)? You're too old to be having temper tantrums like this. Adults have lives. We can't just drop everything to bend over backwards for someone else."

(Y/N)'s teeth dug into his bottom lip, his eyes fluttering shut in a tight squeeze. "I'm not throwing a fu-" He rolled his lips into his mouth and exhaled deeply through his nose. Relax. "I'm not throwing a temper tantrum. He wasn't there, okay? I was at the hospital for days, and he never came to visit. I have a right to be upset!"

"We didn't raise you to be vindictive."

Why can't you ever be on my side?! (Y/N) toyed with the hem of his shirt, rubbing his fingers into the fabric and tugging on it lightly. His lips twisted, a weighing feeling growing over his body. "I needed him, and he wasn't there. It's- It's not being vindictive. I'm not even doing anything to him to be vindictive. He's not a goddamn angel."

"Language."

"Sorry." 

"Scott's been through a lot, (Y/N). He needs us more than we need him, remember? We're the only family he's had for years. You need to learn to forgive and forget. It's not healthy to hold resentment in your heart."

(Y/N) gritted his teeth. He'd heard that damn speech a million times over. Scott needs this. Scott needs that. Scott. Scott. Scott.

"Grudges are for teenagers, honey. Live and let live.... How is Scott, anyway?"

"Shouldn't you know?" (Y/N) traced the patterns in the comforter with his finger. "Isn't he your little bird?"

"Yes, but he's not going to tell us if something's wrong. How does he look? Is he eating well? I don't want to hear that you're ordering takeout and convincing him to eat it, too, (Y/N). He needs to stay healthy for the upcoming season. Don't keep him in the house when he wants to work out or practice."

(Y/N)'s gaze rose to stare at the wall in complete disbelief. He was fairly certain the only time his parents pampered him as much as they pampered Scott had been when he was discharged from the hospital. He hadn't said a word to them since arriving in New York City, and all she cared about was Scott?

"Do you think he's got a girlfriend yet? Oh, that boy had so many girls after him in high school. I can't believe he never went to prom with anyone. When he gets one, let us know, alright? We have to meet her. Make sure she's a good girl from a good family... make sure she's pretty, too. He's got such nice eyes. It'd be wonderful if he passed them on to his kids."

(Y/N)'s tongue ran along his bottom lip and prodded at the corner of his mouth. "Well, Mom, thank you for taking such an interest in my personal life. I really appreciate it. It makes me feel so seen."

"Oh, please, quit it. You tell us everything, anyway. We just want to make sure Scott's okay."

"Mm, well, I'll get in touch with a lawyer and see if I can get some adoption papers drafted up for you. I hear adult adoption is a thing you can do now." 

His mother clicked her tongue. "(Y/N)-"

Ripping his phone from his ear, (Y/N) hung up and tossed his phone aside, shoving the covers aside to untangle his feet and standing from the bed.

He stepped out of his room and headed down the hallway, sparing Scott a sideways glance when he noticed him sitting on the couch watching some reruns. He withheld the urge to sigh when he heard the couch creak with weight lifting off it.

"Hey, you want to watch something? There's this movie called Gone Girl, I think you'll like it. Or- Or As Above, So Below? Or maybe we could finally watch something nice and romantic."

Scott gave a strained chuckle. (Y/N) opened the fridge and grabbed a beer can from the pack he'd bought the previous day. The can hissed when he cracked it open and took a sip, smacking his lips a bit as he turned around to face Scott.

"I hear The Fault in Our Stars is pretty good. Carter said Gloria really liked it."

"I don't like romance movies." (Y/N) reminded him pointedly, bringing the can back up to his lips. "They're corny and dumb, and people only like romance movies because they want to see two attractive people kiss or fuck without feeling ashamed for watching actual porn."

Scott snorted, his head shaking. "People like romance movies because they want to believe they'll have a chance at falling in love, (Y/N). It's about hope and... feeling like you have a chance at something more. I- I- I actually watched this movie, uhm," Scott rounded the couch to step into the kitchen, bracing his arms on the island countertop. "It's called Love, Rosie. I liked it. I could, uh.. relate to the characters."

"Let me guess, the characters were terribly alone and single with barely any friends?" (Y/N) raised his brows and took another sip.

If he weren't at the risk of making a mess, he might have shot-gunned the beer to drink it faster. It'd been his favorite thing to do during high school, despite the disapproving looks Scott would give him when he inevitably got his shirt soaked.

He always grumbled under his breath like a disappointed father while collecting napkins to clean (Y/N)'s neck and collarbone.

"Asshole." Scott chuckled airily, but his gaze fell onto the counter a bit nervously. He wet his lips, his fingertip prodding the countertop somewhat nervously. "No, it's about... I shouldn't spoil it. Let's watch it together, yeah?" He looked up at him, his small smile inviting.

"No," (Y/N) responded blankly, and Scott's shoulders sagged. The last thing he wanted to do was watch some cheesy romance movie while he failed to piece his life together. "Speaking of love, Mom wants to know when you're getting a girlfriend." He mentioned casually, tilting his head back to pour a good amount of beer into his mouth.

Swallowing it all down, (Y/N) watched Scott shift around, moving his weight from foot to foot when he straightened his back, wetting his lips a few more times. He avoided (Y/N)'s eyes entirely, his hand raising to scratch the back of his head.

"Uhm..." His shoulders rose and fell in a half-hearted shrug. "I'm not really looking for a... relationship right now."

(Y/N) set the can down on the counter and pressed his palms flat over the marble. "You're twenty-six, Scott. If you're not in a relationship or married by twenty-eight, you'll be hockey's version of a spinster."

He'd known Scott for years, knew him like the back of his hand, and yet Scott never mentioned anything despite how his eyes wandered to guys over girls or lingered for a beat too long to be anything less than attraction.

He'd seen the way Scott stared all starry-eyed at their junior league hockey captain, Jacob, or the times his cheeks flushed when he was complimented on a job well done by their biology teacher, Mr. Thompson.

"It's not like you've been in relationships, either, (Y/N)." Scott pointed out with a mutter, the corner of his mouth lifting with mild amusement. "I don't think you've been in a relationship since high school, and even that one only lasted two weeks. You can't call me a spinster when you're the original."

"I was focused on hockey." (Y/N) shrugged, not bothering to mention that he'd tried plenty of times to strike up conversations with crushes, only for those crushes to either reject him without a second thought or divert the conversation onto Scott. "I had better things to do than date around or worry about someone else constantly."

Scott's head cocked to the side, his eyes crinkling teasingly. "You never worried about me?"

"Why would I? Everyone was always looking out for the town's perfect little angel." Snappiness bled into (Y/N)'s tone, his teeth grinding together slightly. The amusement on Scott's features faded. "I was the one corrupting you, right? Never mind the fact that I never asked you to go to parties with me. I never forced a beer onto your hand."

He remembered distinctly when a party during their sophomore year was busted by the host's parents, and anyone they recognized had their parents called. His parents arrived minutes after getting the phone call, and the ride home had been filled with tense silence, anxious over what their respective punishments would be.

The second they arrived home and stepped inside, (Y/N) received a scathing lecture about partying, drinking, and most of all, being a distraction to Scott Hunter.

They'd been on the same hockey team since Scott's arrival, for fuck's sake! And yet, Scott received the slap on the wrist, the soft-eyed look, and sternly yet gently spoken words asking him not to do it again.

(Y/N) had all his devices taken away for three weeks. Scott had been forbidden from going anywhere other than school and practice for a singular week.

In his stewing bitterness, (Y/N) ignored Scott for a whole week, brushing off his attempts at talking in school and locking his bedroom door so he wouldn't be able to come inside unprompted.

Scott resorted to writing in his journal and sliding the ripped pieces of paper under the door, and by the second week, (Y/N) relented and began writing back until he finally opened the door to let him in. 

The logical part of his brain knew Scott wasn't at fault for his feelings, for how everyone else behaved, for how (Y/N)'s parents viewed him as their start-over child... but he was always the common denominator.

(Y/N) sometimes wished he'd billeted with them and then left, that he'd returned to his boarding school instead of staying with them for years. 

"Do you want to, uhm..." Scott motioned weakly back to the television. "Do you want to binge-watch some of the Star Wars movies?" A little smile began growing across his lips, although it barely reached his eyes. "We could, uh, order pizza and get some sodas, like old times. You can drool over Natalie Portman as Padmé." His chuckle was heavy.

(Y/N) preferred Hayden Christensen as Anakin, truthfully, especially after the character grew out his hair, but every other guy their age at the time rambled on about Padmé, so he chose to do similarly. Natalie Portman was undoubtedly gorgeous, but something about Anakin Skywalker's snark and pretty smile struck (Y/N).

"I meant it when I said I didn't want to do anything with you, Scott."

(Y/N) finished his beer and tossed it in the trash can, licking the residue off his lips and moving around the island. He stopped, his knuckles resting over the countertop, that familiar jolt of irritation rushing up his spine.

"God, why don't you ever take what I say seriously, Hunter? Why do you think you always know better than me?"

Scott blinked at him, dumbfounded. "I don't."

"You do."

"No, I don't." His exhale sounded like a scoff. "I-I know you can act irrationally or- or impulsively sometimes, so I... I try to double-check that it's really what you want, that you're not sticking to a decision out of spite. You refused to eat salads for two whole months just to spite your mom, and then it turned out that you actually liked them."

"There's a difference between something I did in high school and me wanting something now. And- And you don't just double-check. You triple-check. You quadruple-check. You keep pushing and checking until I don't know if what I want is what I wanted because you're so goddamn insistent."

"Because I know you. You're stubborn-"

"But you don't know me better than I know myself!" (Y/N)'s hand raised and slapped over the counter, his fingers stinging faintly. Scott pursed his lips at him, visibly unimpressed. "For fuck's sake, you know I hate it when people act like they know what's going on in my head. If I say I don't want to do something, I don't want to do it."

Scott looked away from him for a moment, his face softening and relaxing as he rubbed his fingertips over his forehead until his skin reddened slightly. He dropped his hand and nodded, meeting his eyes again.

"Okay." He gave in softly, stepping away from the counter to approach him, stopping a foot away. "I'm sorry.... Can we hug and leave it at that?"

(Y/N)'s arms folded over his chest, his jaw set tight with the leftover annoyance, but his head raised in a small nod. Scott closed the distance between them, tightly enveloping him in his arms and sighing into his ear.

(Y/N) hooked his chin over Scott's shoulder, keeping his arms to himself and refusing to give Scott the satisfaction of returning the embrace.

Scott was right. He was pretty spiteful.

(Y/N) inhaled, and Scott's cologne and natural scent filled his senses. He could feel the warmth of his skin through the basic tee he wore, and barely made out the beat of Scott's heart through his chest.

He resisted the way his body desired to relax, to melt into Scott's embrace and forget about everything for a moment. He despised the effect Scott had on him, how easily he allowed himself to be swayed and softened up.

Scott's stubble brushed against his cheek when he leaned back, and a small shudder went down (Y/N)'s back. A little chuckle escaped Scott, his hazel eyes watching as (Y/N) raised one shoulder to rub it over the spot his facial hair had touched.

His hands loosened from around him and lowered to settle at his hips, both stabilizing him and keeping him from walking away immediately.

"I'm going to order pizza." Scott began as if they hadn't just gone over it, and (Y/N) looked at him with squinted eyes. Scott only smiled boyishly at him in return. "And then, I'm going to start watching the Star Wars movies, in the order that they came out, and... if you want to join me, you can. You don't have to, and I won't force you, but I'd really like it if you did."

(Y/N)'s gaze drifted downward whilst Scott spoke, tracing the laugh lines and his pink lips down to his adams apple that bobbed and his collarbone that peeked out from underneath his shirt.

He'd be a liar if he claimed he hardly missed the times when he'd collapse into Scott, seeking out his warmth or slipping his cold hands beneath Scott's clothes to hear his yelps and groaned complaints. He couldn't do that with anyone else.

"Look, I know I sound like a broken record, but I miss you, (Y/N). I really, really do. I miss our late-night conversations and- and listening to all the gossip you've heard."

He let out a laugh, one of his hands rising to cup the side of (Y/N)'s neck, his thumb brushing under (Y/N)'s chin. (Y/N) caught himself before he could lean into his touch.

"I miss your jokes and your complaints and all the insults you came up with sometimes, even if some of them are kind of odd."

(Y/N)'s eyes rolled, his lips threatening to curve upward. "God forbid a guy gets creative every once in a while."

"Uh-huh."

Scott laughed again, his fingertips brushing over (Y/N)'s earlobe when he slowly stroked the side of his face where his cheek and jawline connected. His laughter died down into a pleasant sigh, his smile genuine and affectionate, almost relieved.

They locked eyes, silence filling the space, and (Y/N) rapidly realized how close their faces truly were. Scott's eyes flickered downward, his lips parting slightly.

Is... Is Scott about to... kiss me?

(Y/N)'s eyes widened a fraction, his shoulders forming a tense line, and Scott's attention jumped back to his face. Swiftly, Scott stumbled backward, tearing himself away from (Y/N) and creating rapid distance between them.

He stopped when his hip bumped against the back of the couch, and his hand shot back to grab the backrest, loudly clearing his throat. "I am going to- to call the pizza guy- not ​​​​​​the guy, uhm-"

Scott squeezed his eyes shut, his hands moving around wildly while he attempted to articulate himself properly. (Y/N) continued to stare at him, his brain pulling a complete blank on him.

"Uhm, the, uh, Jesus. The place down the street that sells pizzas."

"Pizzeria." (Y/N) breathed out.

"Yes, that- that. I'm going to call the pizzeria down the street and, uh... I am going to call now."

Scott turned around, leaning over the couch's backrest to snatch his phone up from the cushion. He fumbled with it, nearly dropping it. He nervously chuckled, his fingers fisting his hair in what looked like mild frustration.

"And I will put on A New Hope once- once the pizza gets here. It shouldn't be, uhm, it shouldn't take too long."

"Right." (Y/N)'s brain failed to give him a new command to follow, and so he stood in place, the rusty gears in his head slowly processing what'd nearly occurred. "Uhm-"

"Actually, you know what, I don't mind walking and getting it myself. Sometimes deliveries are weird with the whole, uh, elevator going right to the unit thing."

"Whatever you say."

(Y/N)'s head tracked Scott's movements around the apartment, watching him stumble to get his shoes on and grab his keys from the glass tray on the entry table, which he proceeded to actually drop on the floor. He picked them up, his face red, and he muttered a quick 'be right back!' before he tossed the door open and shut it behind him. 

(Y/N)'s head slowly straightened to look forward again, his arms shifting to wrap around himself, his body swaying with his weight. He took a few steps forward and then stopped, unsure of what to do.

It wasn't always that he was left speechless and perplexed, and his very being struggled to adjust to it. His feet guided him to the couch, and he slumped down on one end, bringing his legs up and curling into himself.

He'd never... considered Scott as an option before. Scott was attractive, and seemingly everyone but he knew and acknowledged it, but he'd always been just Scott to him.

He'd always been the fourteen-year-old with fluffy, wavy brown hair that trailed after him around Saratoga, lingering and sticking to his side, unsure of where else to go. He'd always been the quiet friend he had a never-ending sleepover with.

(Y/N) swallowed, his throat dry. If he hadn't physically reacted, if Scott hadn't borderline flinched away from him, would they have... kissed? Would Scott have leaned in, or begun to lean in, and... would (Y/N) have let him?

He'd thought about what kissing Scott would be like before, but it'd been within the curiosity of wanting to know what it'd be like to kiss anyone. 

His fingers rubbed over his bottom lip, his mind wandering. He assumed Scott had enough experience to know how to kiss someone properly, but (Y/N) only had drunken kisses he barely remembered. Scott was a gentle person, and (Y/N) assumed that extended to every other aspect of his life, aside from hockey. He found his cheeks burning with heat.

(Y/N) never considered that Scott would ever look at him that way, either. He knew Scott liked men, regardless of whether Scott said it to his face or not, but he'd never stopped to think that Scott would like him.

He presumed Scott viewed him the same way he viewed some of his attractive friends: completely and utterly out of the equation, simply because it seemed impossible to go further than a friendship.

Had that changed? Or had it simply been an in-the-moment consideration? They'd been in close proximity plenty of times before, and (Y/N) never felt the vibe shift in the way it had, never seen Scott gaze at him like that. Or maybe he'd always been blind to it, too focused on everything else to take notice of how Scott looked at him. 

Or maybe it was simply all in his head, and Scott hadn't been thinking about that at all and merely felt awkward about making him feel weird.

Scott was so tightly wound about his sexuality, too, tensing up at the prospects of a relationship and forcibly laughing when it came to hearing about all the female attention he received. Maybe Scott freaked because of that, because of the chance of (Y/N) even thinking about him being anything but straight.

Yeah... that made more sense to (Y/N). They'd always been just friends, and Scott had years of ample time to come out to him, but he'd never taken the chance.

Scott was likely so deep in the closet that he couldn't see two feet ahead of himself, and the potential of being caught peeking out of the closet spooked him. Mhm... (Y/N)'s fingers curled away from his lips.

Nobody really ever looked at him that way after getting to know him, anyway.

There were a rare few, but those inevitably ended up leaving for one reason or another, be it because of his personality, the constant travelling that came with his now former career, or they realized the image they'd conjured up of him in their heads never matched the real thing.

(Y/N) had resigned himself to forever living the life of a bachelor. There was no use in deluding himself with what-ifs or scenarios that'd never come to life at any point. Scott loved him because they were best friends, and if his love went deeper than that, he would've shown it at the hospital or by working harder to find him.

(Y/N)'s irritation crashed into him full-force at the reminder, at the memories of being alone and frightened and having his messages left unread when he needed Scott the most.

He remembered receiving that first message from Scott after being discharged, a flimsy 'Are you okay?' text that'd made (Y/N) want to throw his phone across the room. 

Are you okay? Are you okay? God, it infuriated him to simply think about it.

The doctors had almost considered surgery due to the potential compression of nerves, and (Y/N) had been left to consider that option alone, despite Scott being in the same city as him! Scott, who prided himself on being a good friend, on being the type of person who showed up and showed out.

(Y/N)'s arms wrapped around him once more, his head shaking slightly to himself as the tears pricked his eyes. He'd never felt so goddamn hopeless, so alone.

He'd bawled like a damn baby the second he spotted his parents, cried into his father's chest for the first time in years while he wondered if their nearly decade-long friendship had been one long relationship of convenience. 

(Y/N) stood from the couch to grab another beer, before he decided on pouring himself a big cup of Scott's Sauternes wine instead. He leaned down, sipping on the rim to drink some of the wine so it wouldn't spill when he picked it up, and then decided to take both the cup and bottle with him back to the guest bedroom. 

Drinking always made him feel better, made him feel weightless, and soothed the ugly emotions that rose in him so frequently. He was somewhat thankful Scott always had his favorite drinks stocked up. He'd fallen in love with Sauternes wine the first time he tasted it during a league event.

Setting the cup and bottle down on the nightstand, (Y/N) climbed into bed, tucking his legs beneath the covers and setting his laptop back over his lap. He glanced at his phone, his hand reaching for it, but he let it hover over it before deciding he wanted to be at peace for a little while instead of reading whatever scolding messages his mother sent him for hanging up on her. 

By the time his cup became half-full, his ears picked up the sound of the front door opening and closing. His fingers grew still over the keyboard, listening to Scott shuffle around the apartment.

His eyes jumped up to the bedroom door and fell right back down when it opened, his gaze locking on the laptop screen to avoid looking at Scott's face.

"The pizza smells great," Scott told him, his voice tight, legs leading him further into the room to walk over to the nightstand. He picked up the wine bottle and gave it a little swirl, checking how much was left. "Jesus, (Y/N), how much have you drunk of this? You should drink some water with your pizza."

"I'll eat later," (Y/N) said with a shrug. "I'm not in the mood for Star Wars."

Scott set the bottle back down on the nightstand. "Oh..." He said quietly, his fingers flexing at his sides. "Okay, what do you want to watch then?"

(Y/N) tilted his head up to look at him, his mouth drawing into a line. "I'm not watching anything, Scott. I have to figure out my living situation." Scott began to talk. "And no, I'm not staying here. I like my privacy."

Scott stared down at him with a frown, his eyes sliding away. "Okay. I... I'll be in the kitchen if you change your mind, yeah?"

No matter how many times the ref blew on his whistle, Zullo continued shouting at the poor rookie goalie who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

The captain of the Philadelphia Falcons, Denzel McKay, attempted to defuse the largely one-sided argument, inserting himself between the rookie and Zullo with a look of exasperation on his face.

Scott exhaled through his nose when Zullo pushed his chest against McKay's and proceeded to snap at the Philly assistant captain, daring him to take another step.

McKay held his hand up to stop the assistant captain, shaking his head at him, but Scott could see his patience running thin.

McKay was a good man. He hardly deserved Zullo's unreasonable rage.

"We should go over there," Scott commented dryly, not at all eager to act as backup to Frank Zullo and his shenanigans.

He was more than willing when it came to (Y/N), largely because (Y/N)'s anger almost always stemmed from a good reason, but Zullo was just plain mean.

"Fuck that," (Y/N) replied, his lips pursed and hockey stick tapping repeatedly against the ice. "Let him get punched. Maybe he'll be out for the rest of the game because of a broken nose."

"(Y/N)..." Scott meant to sound scolding, but he laughed softly.

"What? He's been sloppy this whole time. This whole temper tantrum is because he knows he's been sloppy, and he wants to save face. Have you caught a whiff of his breath? He's been drinking." (Y/N) shook his head. "Do me a favor, if I ever get to that point, put me out of my misery. You can dump me with the rest of the bodies at the bottom of the Hudson."

"(Y/N)." Scott raised his brows at him. "Come on, he's still our teammate."

(Y/N) blew a raspberry, but pushed himself forward to approach the heated argument. A few other Falcons had joined in, shouting and sneering at Zullo, and with (Y/N) and Scott making their way over, some Admirals took the liberty to hop in and voice their unneeded opinions.

They were going to have a long discussion post-game about butting into situations, that was for certain. Scott made a mental note to apologize to McKay and Coach Seeler when he got the chance.

"He's only our teammate because no other team wants him, and Murdock feels bad about it."

Scott tilted his hockey stick to tap on (Y/N)'s ankle, subtly enough it could come off as a slip of the hand rather than a reprimand to the cameras eagerly capturing every corner of the rink.

He doubted any of them would be paying attention with a fight on the brink of breaking out that'd get discussed and then forgotten once another fight inevitably broke out, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

"He's also a good defenseman, and one of our best enforcers." He reminded him stiffly, wishing it to be otherwise, but Zullo was talented.

On the ice, at least. Scott wasn't so sure what else he could do outside of the rink other than sleep around and get wasted.

"You're not his PR manager, Scott," (Y/N) said, tossing his stick aside to propel himself into the growing crowd and make a (highly likely vain) attempt at de-escalating things as a proper captain was meant to do.

The crowd, unsurprisingly, roared with enthusiasm, spitting insults and shouting their encouragements for a fight, the chorus of overlapping voices growing grating.

They undoubtedly hoped Zullo and (Y/N)'s tempers would join forces. Scott wiggled his way into the crowd, hoping and praying he reached Zullo before the idiot took a swing, but the pushing and shoving grew. 

"Come on now, guys!"

A groan vibrated through his throat and chest when he spotted gloved fists being thrown around at the faces closest to them.

"We've got a game to play! We don't have time for this!" He dodged a swing, shoving away the Falcon and turning his attention to breaking free from the crowd instead.

They'd have to reassess with Murdock and let the refs do their jobs properly. Half of both teams would definitely be receiving penalties for their behavior, but the fans would be entertained and pleased... if that even counted as a bonus.

From somewhere nearby, he heard a thump and a grunt, followed by a muttered, "Ow." 

(Y/N).

Scott's brain processed the voice, and he turned his head, searching through the sea of whites and reds that made up the Admirals away uniform and the whites and oranges of the Falcons home uniform.

Broad, padded shoulders blocked the view of the ice, so he stood still, his eyes flickering to each gap that showed the glistening ice in search of his friend until-

"Fuck!"

Scott's shoulders jerked, his eyes widening a fraction. That sounded less like one of (Y/N)'s vexed curses and more like-

An unfamiliar voice bellowed, "Shit, is that blood?!"

As quickly as everyone had crowded, they dispersed, skates hissing on the ice and frantic shouts filling the air, calling out for medics.

Scott was forced back by the players around him as they tried to make distance, so he pushed and shoved until he broke free, scanning the previously occupied space and... spotting it.

(Y/N) sat on the ice, his features contorted into pure pain, his lips moving with jumbled words while tears began filling his eyes. Scott's breath caught in his throat, a horrified noise following.

There was a long tear along the side of (Y/N)'s uniform that cut through his white sock, which was rapidly turning a nauseating crimson color that dripped onto the ice and smeared when (Y/N) made an attempt at standing.

"Stay down!" McKay shouted at him, flying in from out of nowhere and dropping to his knees, his hands tightly grabbing (Y/N)'s elbows to force him to the ground.

(Y/N) wriggled around in a blind panic and then stopped, his body seizing up as a pained sound that sounded half-shout, half-shriek left his throat. His chest rapidly rose and fell, his body taut and stiff.

"Don't- Don't. Breathe, man, Breathe."

Carter and Eric skated closer, but stopped a few feet away, their voices overlapping in a panicked jumble, asking what to do.

Greg and one of the refs circled around them like hawks, shouting at those who attempted to take a closer look to stay back and make a clear path for the medics rushing toward them with a plastic stretcher. 

Scott stood there, frozen, his wide eyes locked on the blood creeping through the ice, on the red lines from the skates that'd been stained by it, forming a morbid painting.

He felt his rapid heartbeat in his ears, the noise of the other players and crowd muffled, distant. He had the knee-jerk reaction to call for his mother, because what else was he meant to do? 

He'd grown up viewing (Y/N) as indestructible, untouchable. He was the kid who ran around with Band-Aids slapped over his knees and scraped-up hands, his shorts and shirts always covered in tears from the adventures he'd take himself on.

He wore his bruises and concussions like badges of honor, grinning through pain that somehow seemed numbed. 

It was like an ice-cold tsunami wave had crashed into Scott. He'd never seen (Y/N) cry. He'd never seen him pant and groan and scream in pain until his throat sounded raspy and hoarse. Scott... had no idea what to do.

He knew to put ice packs over (Y/N)'s bruises and to remind him to take his medicine. He knew to drive him to his doctor's appointments, otherwise he'd opt out of going. He knew to stay at his place and keep himself busy when he was sick, or else he'd overexert himself. But...

God, the blood. The blood. The blood. It was so dark and fluid, spreading and spreading.

Bile crept up the back of his throat, and he forced himself to look away with a haggard gasp, only looking back when (Y/N) cried out again.

The medics had heaved him onto a stretcher and applied some bandages around his leg, one of them keeping his leg elevated while the others hauled the stretcher up and hurried to the exit to get him onto the ambulance. 

Like there was a tether between them, Scott followed instinctively, only hearing and feeling the air going in and out of his mouth.

A ref leaped in front of him before he could clumsily follow them down the tunnel, speaking firm words that went in one ear and out the other.

Scott pushed the ref's arm away, the hairs on the back of his neck rising at the cry that echoed down the tunnel.

"Scott!"

2014, New York City, The Following Day

Scott was certain he could feel his blood rushing through his body. His fingers felt tingly, and his breathing was quick, the excitement swirling around in circles in his chest threatening to burst at any second.

He tried to keep the big smile off his face when he turned to face (Y/N), holding the door open for him so he could step into the penthouse. 

He closed and locked the door behind him and spared a quick look around. He'd never been the messy type, but he'd fretted a bit over making the place look nice.

He vacuumed and mopped, replaced the decorative pillows on the couch, dusted the shelves as best as possible without having to move much, and wiped down every surface. 

Obviously, as any good host, he'd gone ahead and replaced the sheets and blankets in the guest bedroom, ensuring (Y/N) would have fresh, clean ones instead of old, dusty ones.

He'd arranged the throw pillows around on the bed and added a smaller blanket at the foot of the bed as a bed scarf similar to the ones in hotels.

It was embarrassingly silly of him, considering (Y/N) had visited and slept over plenty of times before, to the point Scott had clothes of his that he tossed in the washing machine and hung up in the primarily empty closet.

He wanted to make a good impression, still. Give them a fresh start after.. everything.

"I assume you don't need a tour."

Scott let out a breathy laugh, his hand lifting to massage the back of his neck. (Y/N) knew his way around the penthouse decently well, knew where everything was.

"But I stocked up the fridge and pantry with some of your favorites. I got some shampoo and that scented soap you really like, too. Don't worry about the toothbrush in the bathroom; it's brand new. Uhm..." Scott glanced around again. "There's a new television in the bedroom, but you can watch a movie in the living room whenever you want." 

(Y/N) pursed his lips, his arm resting over the extended collapsible handle of his suitcase. Scott's gaze dropped to his legs, where (Y/N) kept weight off his left leg, a sour twinge prickling his gut.

He wondered what the aftermath looked like, but as quickly as he imagined it, he brushed it away.

"Do you have rules for temporary roommates?" (Y/N) rolled his head to the side, almost resting on his shoulder, his voice dripping with bitterness. "I assume you don't given..."

He made a vague motion with his hand around the living room. (Y/N) had once told him everything looked as if it'd come from a magazine. Fake and arranged.

"Your lack of a social life. You need to get out more. You're a hermit, Scott. It's sad."

Usually, words like that would be said with teasing and playful undertones, cooed to him while (Y/N) poked at his sides and Scott flinched away to avoid getting tickled.

But he heard no sweetness in them now, no warmth or affection, only sharp-edged words that had him looking away in a mixture of embarrassment and self-consciousness.

"I have a social life," Scott replied, his arms rising to cross over his chest, but his head remained tipped downward. "I have Carter, Greg.. Eric, sometimes. I have you, too." His eyes flickered up to gauge (Y/N) reaction. (Y/N)'s features remained tight, but his brow twitched. "You're my best friend."

"Yeah," (Y/N) drawled dryly, and Scott cringed internally. "Your best friend until I'm in a hospital bed, and then you're nowhere to be fucking found. What were you up to, huh? While I was recovering in a city with no one, waiting for my parents to catch a plane and find a hotel, with every goddamn stranger around me looking at me like I was a sad, pathetic little kid?"

Tears stabbed the corners of Scott's eyes, an anchor latching onto his heart and forcing it down into the depths of guilt. "(Y/N), I-"

"Actually, save it, Hunter." (Y/N)'s hand raised to stop him, his head shaking. "I don't want to hear whatever bullshit mental gymnastics you've done to spin this around to make yourself the sad little puppy that needs coddling." 

(Y/N) yanked on the handle and made his way down the hallway to the guest bedroom he usually occupied, leaving Scott standing around with tears he desperately blinked away.

He couldn't help it; he'd always been the crier between the two of them. (Y/N) used to make fun of him for it, snickering while he wiped away his tears.

Scott took in a shaky breath and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hands before he followed, sniffling quietly to clear his airway and clearing his throat. 

"Uh," He gave the corners of his eyes another wipe once he came to a stop in the doorway. "Let- Let me help you unpack."

(Y/N) gave a disapproving grunt that Scott naturally ignored in favor of entering the room and getting to work.

He lifted the suitcase up onto the ottoman at the foot of the bed and unzipped it, taking the rolled-up socks from the pocket and setting them in one of the drawers. He worked quickly, allowing himself to get lost in the groove of organizing (Y/N)'s socks and underwear in the top drawer. 

When he started on the pajamas and clothes (Y/N) used for bed or lazy days inside, Scott ended up re-folding most of them, giving (Y/N) a tired, sheepish smile when he scowled at him.

"More stuff will fit if they're folded like this, alright?" Scott explained, though he knew once they were used and washed, (Y/N) would stuff them back in the drawers with little care.

Promptly giving up on unpacking his clothes, (Y/N) took things out of his backpack instead, starting with his laptop and chargers.

"I'm hoping to have a place lined up by the end of next week." He mentioned, gently setting the laptop down on the desk pressed up against the wall in the corner. "Half my things are in storage, and I'm tired of paying for it."

Scott set a folded pair of Superman-themed sweatpants from their high school years in the drawer and slid it shut, his hands sliding into the pockets of his joggers.

He rocked onto his toes and back onto his heels, gathering the courage to ask a simple question that he'd had on his mind since the day he moved to the city.

"You could... always stay here. As my official roommate."

It'd been Scott's dream since they were teenagers. He thought they'd even dorm together in college, but (Y/N) dismissed the idea because he'd spent twelve years of his life going to school and had no plans to willingly submit himself to the torture again for two to four more years.

When Scott dropped out of college and was miraculously drafted to the Admirals, the hope arose again. Except that time, (Y/N)'s townhouse had no space for one more person, unless they shared a bed, which was simultaneously a fantasy and a nightmare for Scott.

He found himself a nice place until he had the money to upgrade to the penthouse, and with more rooms, he thought (Y/N) would finally live with him again. But (Y/N) fell in love with a fancy condo in Brooklyn Heights, so Scott never bothered asking. 

"The place came mostly furnished when I bought it, so I can always sell some stuff to make room for your things. I may not have a nice balcony or a great view of the river, but I think you'd like living here. There are a few good pizza places and cafes nearby, and there's the museums. We could- we could work out in the mornings together and-"

"I don't want to live with you, Hunter," (Y/N) interrupted him bluntly, tossing a folder that Scott assumed had all his important documents in it onto the bed.

Scott's mouth pressed into a tight line, his throat aching with his swallow. God. He wanted to go back in time and prevent the domino effect that'd led to all this.

"I don't want to go jogging with you in the morning. I don't want to eat with you at the dining table. I don't want to sit in the living room and watch movie marathons with you." 

(Y/N) tucked his backpack underneath the desk after taking his tumbler out of the pocket and let out a heavy sigh, setting the folder over his laptop before he approached the bed and sat down on the edge. He set the tumbler on the nightstand and fell back, his body bouncing a bit, and Scott was compelled to join him.

He remained in his spot, however, unsure of how (Y/N) would react. It made him despair to restrain himself.

"I'll pay you whatever additional costs you get on your bills with me here, yeah? Water, electricity, whatever. I'll pay for my own groceries, and I'll order my own food. I'll even label it with my name if I have to." Scott bit his tongue. "You do your thing, I'll do mine. We'll stay out of each other's way. We talk if it's about the arrangement or an emergency."

Tentatively, Scott walked over, raising his leg to dig his knee into the mattress. "We don't have to do that, (Y/N). And, Jesus, I don't care about paying for groceries or anything like that. I don't care about the bills or- or charging you anything for staying here. I'm doing this as a favor, and I really wouldn't mind if you stayed for weeks or months or years."

(Y/N) huffed, sitting up to grab the tumbler and open it. "God forbid." He muttered and took a swing of what Scott assumed was cold water, given the clinking of ice inside.

"(Y/N)." Scott sighed, scratching his forehead. "I don't want us to be like this forever. I want things to go back to how they were. I want us to be... to be able to talk and hang out without all this- this aggression. I want you here, I really do. I missed you like hell, (Y/N). I know you think I didn't, but I did. I thought about you all the time."

He'd lost count of all the nights he'd stayed up late going through the photo album the (L/N)'s had given him with pictures they'd taken throughout his time with them.

They'd never captured the private moments between him and (Y/N), but it'd still been enough to bring tears to his eyes each time. He liked seeing the younger versions of themselves, the happier ones. 

He fell asleep more than once with the album sprawled open on his lap and his cheeks stained with tear streaks. Being without (Y/N), with no communication and without seeing him, had truly been hell. It'd been like someone had broken the puzzle piece that made him and (Y/N) up and hidden the other half.

He hadn't realized how much he looked forward to messages from him, or how they constantly saw each other on a day-to-day basis. 

(Y/N) fixed him with a cold glare. Scott's eyes shut. "I should've gone to Saratoga." He acknowledged. "I should've known you'd be there. I- I... I really thought that if you were there, your parents would've told me. They've never kept me out of the loop before, so I took their silence as an answer. It's no excuse. I should've gone anyway."

(Y/N) was quiet for a moment, quiet enough that Scott opened his eyes to look at him, hopeful to see at least some understanding. (Y/N)'s eyes were averted, however, with his head turned away toward the headboard.

"I told them I'd never talk to them again if they told you I was with them." He revealed quietly. "Honestly, I thought they were going to do it anyway. They don't usually take me that seriously."

"Why would you do that?" Scott asked quietly, his voice breathy with disbelief.

His brows pinched together, his heart feeling as if it'd been dropped from a skyscraper. (Y/N)'s parents usually treated him as if he were their own.

"You- You told them that? I could've known this entire time- I could've been sure you were completely fine?"

"Oh, my fucking god, Hunter. You're a grown man with a driver's license and a decent sense of direction; a text or call wouldn't have magically granted you permission to visit that damn town."

(Y/N) took another swing of his drink and screwed the cap back on, placing it roughly enough on the nightstand that the lamp rattled.

"You didn't visit because you didn't feel like it. Admit it."

"I-"

"Admit it." (Y/N) cut in sharply, and Scott inhaled deeply, dropping his knee and taking a step back. His head was starting to hurt. "You knew, deep down, that I was there, and you couldn't be fucking bothered to visit your hurt 'best friend' because you knew you would've been lying through your goddamn teeth."

Utterly absurd. Scott stared at him, his mouth falling open, but the millions of words dancing in his mind failed to come out. He wasn't sure what the hell he'd done to give (Y/N) the impression that he'd celebrated his injury and retirement, but it must've been something big to leave such an impression.

"I don't know why you think I have some secret vendetta against you, (Y/N), because I don't. I would never!" Scott huffed, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I don't know why you're so paranoid about that, either! I don't secretly hate you! I care about you, sometimes more than I care about myself. Why the hell would I ever want you to get hurt?"

(Y/N) looked away defiantly, which told Scott that he had no good response to that. Reflexively, Scott wanted to wrap around him and coax the responses out of him, but his body jittered with less of his previous excitement and more hurt.

He loved (Y/N), rough edges and all. He loved his fire, his determination, his overflowing confidence. 

"I was the one always having to tell you to be careful when we were younger. I was the one who always carried Band-Aids just for you. I was the one who had to run all around Saratoga to make sure you never got hurt."

"You didn't have to," (Y/N) muttered childishly. He'd lost this argument, and they both knew it.

"No, I didn't, but I did anyway. You know why?"

Scott walked closer to him and bent down, bracing his hands on his knees and tilting his head until he looked him in the face with lifted brows.

"Because I love you, alright?" It always killed him to say those words in a friendly way, and not the way he desperately wanted to. "I'm your number one fan, your biggest supporter. And as someone who cares about you, I'm going to tell you to stop acting like a damn child."

(Y/N)'s lips jutted out, and his eyes rolled. "Whatever."

"Uh-huh."

Scott snorted, a little smile pulling at his lips. There was a trickle of relief that poured in. This he knew well; snarky, pouty little (Y/N).

"We're not doing any of those stupid rules, okay? We're grown men. We can act like it, can't we? You're not going to pay any bills or buy groceries. You're going to focus on... on getting a new place, but I want you to reconsider my new offer, okay? If you want to stay here, then we can talk about paying bills or rent, yeah?"

(Y/N) glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "... I guess."

You had never meant for it to get anywhere, to be something other than a way for you to earn some extra cash alongside your work. Student debt was killing you, but that was nothing new. It was killing all of the other nurses, as well. Still, it would have been nice to afford a proper meal at least once a day.

You mentioned it to a buddy of yours who off handedly suggested you start selling feet pictures. He was joking, of course. You hoped he was.

But it got you thinking of another friend who had gotten a sugar daddy and was now living life without any worries of her student loans. Gods, you would have lied if you said you hadn’t been jealous. So you reached out to her and she directed you to the site she had used, which was an immediate shock. Here, you could see multiple entries posted by sugar daddies and mommies alike, all of them in various ages and requirements for their sugar baby. You hesitantly filled out your own profile to be put on the site so others could see you.

Suddenly, it seemed too much. You didn’t want to compromise yourself or your body just for money. No offence to those who do, but a pit in your stomach told you that it wouldn’t be worth it.

Before you had a chance to close the site, you had gotten a message.

Your eyes flitted to the edge of the screen, a small pop-up message showing that a ‘Jack’ had written to you. Curious despite yourself, you clicked on his profile. There was no picture, weirdly enough. You couldn’t blame him, though, as you had also chosen to refrain from using a picture. You didn’t want any random people finding you or recognising you. Your name, you could handle people knowing, but your face was uniquely yours. You supposed this Jack felt the same way, or according to his message, he did.

JACK You also hesitant of these websites?

You paused, looking at his profile again. He had the ‘Sugar Daddy’ status, but nowhere did it say he was requiring anything sexual from you. It couldn’t hurt to reply, could it, right? Your fingers typed on your keyboard before you even had the chance to think about it.

YOU Yeah, is it that obvious?

He responded immediately, and it almost made you chuckle. This guy must really want to write with you.

JACK Takes one to know one, I suppose.

YOU What? Sceptical and cynical?

JACK You could say that.

YOU What are you doing here then?

JACK My therapist said I needed a hobby.

YOU Funny.

JACK I’ve heard I have a great sense of humour.

YOU You’re not at all what I was expecting from a man on this site.

JACK What were you expecting? A creepy guy only wanting to jack off to younger men?

YOU Kind of, how do I know you’re not one of those creepy guys?

JACK For one, I am not asking for anything like that. I respect whatever your wishes are.

YOU What are you asking for then?

JACK Company I guess.

YOU What, the people in your life aren’t company enough?”

JACK What is this, a job interview?

YOU Well, kind of. Since I am the one who will get paid in this.

JACK Touché. But then shouldn’t I be the one asking the questions huh?

YOU Guess you’re right, but it’s so much more fun if I am asking them.

JACK Fun for you maybe.

YOU Exactly.

JACK Okay. To be honest, I guess I’m a bit lonely. I don’t have a lot of time for people outside of my work and when I’m working all I’m thinking about is, well, work.

YOU So you are still working? What do you do?

JACK Of course, how old do you think I am?

YOU Do you honestly want me to answer that?

JACK Now that’s just rude. And I’m a doctor. Pays pretty well you know.

YOU That’s impressive. What position?

JACK Attending physician at the ER. Not a lot of people ask for what position you work as when you say you’re a doctor. You in the medical field yourself?

YOU Hmmm, I’m not sure I should tell anything personal about myself to a stranger.

JACK I told you, man.

YOU Well maybe you have less self preservation than I do. And here I thought with age comes wisdom.

JACK Good one. Maybe I want to get to know you.

YOU I hope you know that no matter wherever this goes, we will never actually meet.

JACK Wasn’t counting on it. Like you said, I’m only a stranger. And like I said, I respect your wishes, whatever they are.

YOU And you’re willing to pay me to just talk to you? Nothing else?

JACK Yeah, nothing else. I promise.

YOU It seems too good to be true. Why?

JACK Listen kid, I respect how careful you are. The truth is I don’t have anything good to else spend it on and I like taking care of people. Probably why I’m a doctor.

YOU Sounds about right. But why me specifically? Unless you have a group of younger guys you’re entertaining on the side?

JACK Oh god no. You’re the only one.

YOU I must be special, then.

JACK Kinda. I mean you are the only one I’ve properly written to on this website. You seem interesting.

YOU If you are trying to flatter me then you’ll have to come up with a better compliment than that.

JACK If I’m the one paying you shouldn’t you be the one complimenting me?

YOU Maybe when I find something worthy to compliment.

JACK You’re funny.

YOU I try. Listen, I hate to cut this short but I gotta go to work.

JACK Wait before you go. Give me your Venmo info.

YOU Why?

JACK How else do you expect me to send the money? Now come on.

YOU Well, thank you.

JACK It’s my pleasure, kid. Until next time.

You watched with awe as you get a notification from Venmo that five hundred dollars had been deposited into your account. This guy must really want this agreement with you to spend that much only on the first conversation. You weren’t one to complain, however, as you could finally treat yourself to a good meal. Thank fuck to whoever this Jack was, and thank fuck that your friend had set you up with the site.

Over the next few days, you got to know him better as you conversed. You had told him that you worked in paediatrics as a nurse, and you learnt that he worked nights, which left you little option when to message him, mostly before your shift, when his was ending, and after yours, when he had just woken up. He was easy to talk to and you enjoyed his sarcastic humour.

And he kept his promise, never pressuring you into doing anything more. However, you had noticed that Jack would occasionally address you with something that wasn’t strictly platonic but also not forthcoming enough to be discernible as flirting. But you would be lying if you said you weren’t flirting back.

It was simple and he was easy-going, and charming. Whatever ego Jack has, he wore it real well. He was cocky but not arrogant, and a little self-deprecating. And gods did he know how to bring a stupid smile to your face. Your conversation flowed easily enough that you didn’t even have to think about what to respond to him.

You still couldn’t help but wonder why he had chosen to talk to you, out of all the other applicants, who actually were willing to do more than platonic stuff.

You chose to ask him that a week later, one night after your shift, when you had arrived home and successfully crashed on your bed.

YOU I still can’t really get over why you chose to talk to me specifically. I mean, I’m sure there are lots of other guys vying for your attention?

His reply came only a few minutes later. He had told you that he worked nights, so you guessed he was writing to you in between patients.

JACK I wouldn’t be so sure about that. And none are anywhere near as interesting as you.

YOU Still, my point stands.

JACK Are we not done with the twenty questions yet? Thought I showed I was serious about this arrangement.

YOU OK, that’s fair. I’ll stop.

JACK You are terrible at letting up control. Let me take care of you.

YOU I just feel bad because I’m getting so much from this and all you’re getting is sucky conversation from me.

JACK You better step it up then, kid. I told you I’d be expecting compliments.

YOU Wow.

JACK I’m only pulling your leg. Don’t sell yourself so short. You’re really great. I enjoy talking to you.

YOU Thank you. I also enjoy talking to you.

JACK Look at that, I knew you could take a compliment. I’m proud.

You couldn’t help the small smile that spread across your lips. Damn Jack and his easy charm.

YOU Maybe because this one was actually good.

JACK There’s more where that’s coming from.

YOU Shut up.

JACK Unfortunately I don’t know how to.

YOU Damn, guess I’m stuck with you then.

JACK Guess you are.

YOU It’s not the worst thing in the world.

JACK High praise. You really know how to warm a guy’s heart.

YOU What can I say? I’m a charmer.

JACK Oh I bet you are.

He was just so effortless in the way he spoke and complimented you that hadn’t you previously agreed to keep this professional between you two, you would have seriously thought there were something between you. The thought didn’t exactly displease you. Of course, you had no way of knowing if he even wanted more. His profile was suspiciously empty of any sexual wishes for his sugar baby and he had said he wasn’t expecting anything of the sort. Maybe he was the one who didn’t want anything non-platonic and was just acting under the guise of respecting your wishes to stay professional. Maybe you were the one who was going too far, flirting and acting this casual with him, perhaps even making him uncomfortable.

Fuck, the thought filled you with dread. Not only because you’d grown to care about Jack over the past couple of weeks enough to worry about making him feel uncomfortable, but also because this was technically supposed to be a business agreement. He was your client and you were making money from this. The agreement had been clear and you couldn’t let Jack’s personality lead you astray from that.

He had wanted company and conversation. It wasn’t his fault that it happened to make something stir within you, just by him being himself. You cursed yourself for letting yourself get in the way of yourself. Jack’s a good guy, genuinely caring and thoughtful, and he wanted to take care of you, so you couldn’t let anything ruin that what you had.

He just made it so fucking hard when he was such a gentleman.

YOU Hey, is there any possibility I could get an advance on this week?

The notification of your Venmo came before the notification of Jack’s reply and you inwardly cringed of how readily he sent you the money, without a second thought even. You knew he made more money than he had use for and was more than happy to spend it on you, but his willingness to help you still made your heart skip a beat.

JACK Of course. What gives?

YOU Just got in a bit of a bind. Needed the money quickly.

JACK Anything more I can do to help?

YOU You don’t have to do that, you know.

JACK Do what?

YOU You know, care so much.

JACK How do you mean?

YOU This is a professional relationship and you’re technically my client, Jack. Please feel no obligation to do any more than you want to.

JACK Well then, I want to. Simple as that, kid.

You rubbed a hand over the bridge of your nose, sighing in frustration. How was it that Jack managed to solve your problems that easily at the same time as he caused new ones? Because how were you supposed to maintain a professional relationship with him when he went around saying shit like that? He both infuriated and made you joyous at the same time.

Any hope of avoiding any growing feelings would have meant to avoid talking to Jack altogether, but that was impossible since your agreement meant literal conversation, and because Jack was impossible not to talk to. You kept your back and forth, messages sent between shifts and breaks, whenever you had the time over the next month. When you needed him, he was always there.

YOU Hey do you have a minute? You don’t have to pay me for it.

JACK Of course, is everything okay?

YOU Yeah, I just needed a distraction.

JACK And you came to me? I’m flattered.

YOU Shut up.

JACK Wouldn’t dream of it. Are you sure you’re alright?

YOU No. I’m not. I lost a patient at work today. A kid. I guess it just hit me heavier than I thought.

JACK Hey that’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’ve all had those days where things feel a bit too tough to handle. You just gotta remember that none of this is your fault. You did the best you could but sometimes that isn’t enough.

YOU I know you’re right but it’s hard not to feel like this one is on me.

JACK I know you are terrible at letting up control but you gotta trust me on this. All you can do is focus on the medicine. The medicine is the only thing that saves the patient. And your sanity. You are excellent and there was nothing more you could do.

YOU Thank you, Jack. It means a lot coming from you.

JACK Anytime. Remember to breathe and try to take it easy. Even nurses deserve breaks you know.

YOU And god do we need it. I’ll try, but with the way people are getting hurt I can’t see me getting a break anytime soon.

JACK I hear you there. Hey I sent a little something as a pick-me-up. Enjoy it.

YOU I told you you didn’t have to do that.

JACK And I told you that I want to take care of you. Accept it and shut up.

YOU Sir, yes, sir.

It felt good to confide in someone like this. He could relate to the feelings and trauma that came with working at a hospital; that, sure, you saved and helped a lot of people, but you weren’t magicians. There were bound to be people you couldn’t save. Every hospital worker learnt not to take it personally, 

Like Jack, you worked a lot of long shifts after each other, rarely having a free day for yourself. It didn’t exactly allow you to socialise or make friends with a lot of people outside of your work. You supposed you and Jack had that in common.

 He, however, liked to keep much busier than you. Since he worked nights, you had figured he would sleep most of the day, but no, he was just as quick to respond to your messages during the day as he was in between your shifts. You started to suspect that he didn’t sleep much, since he had also mentioned he usually tries to keep tabs on the police scanner he owned in case of any emergency. You had asked if he had anything outside of saving lives to keep him busy and he had suspiciously avoided the question with a clever quip. So, you decided not to push it, allowing him to share however much he wanted to with you.

Eventually, you exchanged numbers with him, when you felt that you were more comfortable with him. Despite yourself, you had grown to trust this man, with his easy remarks and charm, disregarding all the safety measures surrounding strangers your mum had drilled into you since an early age. Jack wasn’t just a stranger anymore, but someone who you could confide in, trust with your doubts, and who could easily cheer you up with a simple message.

JACK Buy yourself something pretty alright?

You smiled when you saw the text, currently out shopping for things you needed. However, he changed that, and you decided to go get something you wanted. A nice top that fit your torso nicely. You took a quick picture in the dressing room, showing how the shirt wrapped around you, accentuating your muscles. Your face was still hidden, however, so you figured it would be safe to send to Jack.

YOU [ATTACHMENT: 1 Photo] This pretty enough?

JACK Very.

That caused a smile to spread across your lips. You weren’t sure if he intended for it to have the effect on you that it did. It felt like he was flirting, but it could also be part of his natural charm. You didn’t want to be the guy who misinterpreted every interaction and thought he was into you when he wasn’t so you didn’t dare say anything. But you couldn’t help but play along.

Especially when you started calling, two and a half months in, and you heard his voice for the first time.

“Hey.” He said it almost like a whisper and he sounded almost out of breath, as if he was nervous? That couldn’t possibly be the case, however. You were probably just imagining it.

“Hey, Jack.”

Fuck, his voice was amazing. It was all melodic and low, sounding as if it came from deep in his chest, a light rumble to it. You couldn’t help but imagine all the things that voice could tell you.

“Feels weird actually talking now that we’ve been writing for so long, huh?” he said, and you nodded subconsciously.

“Weird is one word for it,” you agreed with a light chuckle.

“Don’t tell me you’re regretting it now,” came his quick reply.

You scoffed. “No, fuck, that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?” he asked. Perhaps you were imagining it, but you thought you could hear a teasing tone to his voice, almost as if he knew exactly what you meant but wanted you to hear it for himself.

“You know, you’re just as annoying to talk to as you are in writing.” Despite your words, a small smile formed across your lips.

“So I’ve heard.”

“It’s a wonder I’m still talking to you,” you muttered.

“And every day I thank God for that.”

You tilted your head, frowning. He didn’t peg you for a religious man, but you never knew. “You’re religious, Jack?”

“Not one bit.”

“Hmm.”

“Have I told you you have a very pretty voice?” Jack asked, a sweet roll to his voice. It was the most beautiful thing you had heard and you were sure he was aware of it.

That made something in your stomach flip. Stop it, you were scolding yourself. Jack had been the one that told you that what the two of you had was strictly platonic and professional. He was respecting your wishes, and you had to respect his. Still, with the way he was speaking to you, it was difficult to keep your heart in check.

“You have not, no,” you breathed out, careful not to let your voice shake with nervousness.

“Okay.”

“Aren’t you going to?”

“Hmm, maybe.”

“God, you’re an ass,” you said, laughing lightly.

“I like to refer to it as my charm.” God, he sounded smug. Somehow that made him even more attractive.

“Hmm, don’t know if I would call it charming.” Yes, you would. But no way were you going to admit that to Jack.

“I would.”

“I know, Jack.”

You heard how he took a deep breath on the other side of the call, the silence being filled by his slow exhale, before he spoke. “You know, I do love hearing you say my name after all this time.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that except for with a witty remark, “Sure you do,” effectively letting the matter drop.

———

Jack was a busy man.

Anyone who knew him knew that, and there weren’t a lot of people who did know him for that matter. You had been recently added to that list, with the amount of time he spent texting and calling you.

He liked to work as much as he could, usually sticking to the night shifts but occasionally taking on a double or jumping in during the day when he was needed. And even when he was free, he liked to stay at home listening to the police scanner he had or going with his buddy’s SWAT team as their field medic. He liked to do as much as he could. Robby had called it an addiction of his.

Jack knew he was right, and so was his therapist when he had told him that he needed to find something else outside of work and outside of SWAT. He also realised that he was lonely, because all the people he conversed with were tied to those two.

He knew he didn’t need a lot, but someone who he could bond with outside of it and perhaps care for. Ever since the death of his wife, he had missed having someone to take care of. He had a ton of disposable income that did nothing but collect interest in his bank account so he might as well spend that on someone, he thought. He knew that he’s not in the right place to meet someone the old fashioned way, and after seeing an advert for sugar babies, he went that route.

Jack felt hesitant to do that, though. It felt perverted to use his money to require sexual favours of a younger person, like he saw other sugar daddies and mommies do on the website he had found. Could he put in no requirements to his page? All he wanted was company and conversation to feel less lonely. That’s why he didn’t see a point in putting a photo up either. Since he didn’t want someone to talk to him merely because of his looks, but rather someone who could match him in conversation.

That’s when he found you, a younger man who seemed decent enough based on his profile, but it was hard to tell because like him, you had no profile picture. You had also specified that you would not engage in any sexual activities as your role of a sugar baby, so he thought he might as well shoot you a message. It couldn’t hurt, right?

From the very first message, Jack found himself interested in you. You matched him easily in his banter, had fun quips ready to respond to his, and he found that he had fun talking to you. Despite the unnatural arrangement of him paying you for conversation, it felt weirdly natural between the two of you.

As time went on, your messages developed from the regular get-to-know conversations to more banter and comments that bordered on flirty. Jack couldn’t ignore it, the pull he felt towards you, and he couldn’t help but indulge in it. It was just too easy to compliment you, or tease you, because your personality drew him in with something he hadn’t felt in a really long time.

He found himself telling you things he didn’t tell a lot of other people, some things even Robby didn’t know about. Jack told you about his past; his time as a war physician, his leg that had gotten amputated, his late wife. You took it all in stride and somehow it didn’t feel awkward after he’d told you, like it did with most people, but he rather felt much lighter in the chest. However, he did not tell you about his problems sleeping, at keeping the trauma at bay, because he didn’t want to worry you. In truth, he didn’t want to be a bother.

It was ironic that he wanted you to be able to rely on him, so he could take care of you, but he was afraid of being a burden to you. So, instead, he usually sent you small comments each day, updates about his shifts or his coworkers, or just little observations about you. He could talk to you for hours if you’d let him.

You had told him about starting a new job soon. You’d still be a paediatric nurse, but it was in a new hospital because your last one hadn’t treated you so well, is what you had said. You hadn’t shared which hospital it was, and Jack hadn’t pried. It wasn’t like he wasn’t curious, because he was—when it came to you, he wanted to know practically everything he could—but he didn’t want to force any information you weren’t willing to give up. And you had made it clear that you weren’t ever going to meet, so what was the point? He couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t the slightest bit of disappointed by that fact, but he refused to let it cloud his relationship with you.

It got you talking about your jobs one afternoon, almost three months in.

JACK I don’t think I could ever do pedes. I tried it during my MS days, but it’s way too boring for me.

YOU Hey, watch your words, old man.

JACK Oh I know you’re not calling me old man, kid.

YOU Keep running your mouth and I will keep calling you that.

JACK Okay, sorry. It’s way too… Advanced for me.

YOU OK, now you’re just being patronising.

JACK Alright, let’s just say it’s not for me. Don’t get me wrong, I do like kids. But there’s something about how busy the ER gets that keeps me coming back.

YOU And that’s fine. I love pedes because it’s so much calmer. The ER stresses me out. And well, kids can be really sweet. It’s just like night shifts are not for me. They sound brutal, I don’t know how you do them.

JACK My therapist thinks I find comfort in the darkness. I like nights. Don’t you?

YOU OK Batman. I like sleeping through them.

JACK I can’t argue with that.

YOU Damn right you can’t. I’m sorry, Jack, no matter how much I like you my bed will always be my #1.

His heart skipped a beat at that. You liked him, you had said. Then he shook his head, mentally berating himself. No, you had merely meant platonically that you liked him—nothing more than that. You had made it painfully clear that you wanted this relationship to stay professional, despite his unconscious attempts at flirting. He couldn’t help it! You were just too easy to compliment.

JACK That’s hurtful, you know?

YOU You can handle it.

JACK I’m not so sure, I might need some reassurance now.

YOU I think you’re being a baby. But, sure. [ATTACHMENT: 1 Photo]

What you had sent had Jack choking on a breath, his eyes flitting over the phone screen in rapid movements. He could feel the beating of his heart as he took in the view before him. What you had sent him was a picture of your chest, your skin revealed by the top buttons of your shirt being unbuttoned, and your throat adorned by a silver chain. It wasn’t even that revealing—Jack saw plenty of undressed guys at work every night—but something about the thought of you posing for him to see this made his stomach tighten.

JACK You must be an amazing nurse because I’m suddenly all better.

Maybe he had read you wrong—or, well, right. Maybe you did want something more with him, despite what you had said. Or, were you only sending that because you felt pressured by him? Oh god.

He rubbed a hand over his neck, closing his eyes. Had he been too forward, too much? Had he made you  feel so uncomfortable you felt you had to play along with him in order to still receive the money? The knot in his stomach wasn’t from happiness anymore, but now from worry. He silently cursed himself. You had made it so clear to him and still he kept walking that line between flirtatious and platonic because he couldn’t keep his damn feelings in check. Sure, he was a flirt by nature, but you managed to draw it out of him so easily, and he wanted to with you.

Jack decided to try to keep himself in check from now on, despite how difficult it would be.

———

Today was the day: the day you started at your new job.

You were slightly nervous, seeing as this hospital seemed much better than your last and you really wanted to keep this job, so you couldn’t fuck up. Despite their ER being nicknamed ‘The Pitt’, you were impressed by their stats and by the few members of staff you had met at your interview. And besides, you weren’t going to be working in the ER, but in the paediatrics department.

A message from Jack and you smiling at your phone. Somehow, he knew you would be nervous for this without even having to tell him anything. That’s how well he knew you.

JACK Hey kid, good luck today. I know you’ll knock it out of the park.

YOU Thank you, Jack.

The message ended up not being needed, since your first day went swimmingly. You decided against telling Jack that, though, because any praise or encouragement was more than welcome from him.

To be honest, anything he sent was more than welcome. Usually it was banter, a flirty comment here and there that never failed to put a smile to your face and made you question the nature of your relationship, or some updates from his work and the occasional gossip about his colleagues. Sometimes it were heavier things, like things from his past that made you frown with sympathy for him, because no one deserved to have gone through all that. But it never got heavier than that.

That’s why it came as such a surprise when he called you in the middle of the day when you were at work, his breathing uneven and words clipped with a cadence that you didn’t usually hear from him.

“Hey, I— I’m sorry, it’s… fuck!” he started, then coughed. “I’m bothering you—”

You immediately put down what you were doing, rushing to go into an empty room. “You’re not bothering me, what’s up?”

“I—I just, fuck. I can’t—” He was breathing heavier now, sounding as if he was gasping for air but unable to take any in.

“Oh shit, Jack. Jack, listen to me. Just breathe. Hey, focus on me,” you tried, calming your voice to the one you usually used for patients in distress. Jack needed you, and that was all you needed to know for you to enter a deep state of focus.

“I can’t breathe, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” you interrupted him. “Listen to me, I know you can do this. Just focus on my voice. Breathe in…and breathe out. Slowly. And again. In… and out…”

There were several minutes of silence, the only sounds being Jack’s breathing on the other side of the line. They were ragged, heavy and deep, with quiet sobs accompanying them every once in a while. You waited patiently, a steady presence for him to lean on. You only wished you could do more for him.

When the breathing had gotten quieter on his end you dared speak again. “Jack, how’re you doing?

“Uh, better. Not great.” His voice sounded like full of gravel, thick with unshed tears and sobs that he seemed to be choking down.

“Okay, that’s something,” you said. You took a breath before asking, “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Jack sniffled. “I, uh, had a pretty bad dream. From the war.”

Ah.

“I was back there, and, um, I was getting shot at and, uh, shit, and—” His voice was getting unstable again, his words quivering as he got worked up again. You interrupted him before he had the chance to.

“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to explain more,” you said.

You heard a small laugh come out of him. “I just, fuck, all I could think about when I woke up was you.”

His voice sounded pained and heavy with memories of his time as a soldier and you could only imagine the trauma he carried with him from it. A stab of pain shot within you in empathy for him. A sudden urge to be there, physically, with him to be able to hug and hold him better.

“Listen, Jack, it’s OK,” you said, trying to stop any oncoming protests from him.

It didn’t work. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I know this is far beyond what our agreement was—”

“I don’t mind, seriously. I like being here for you.” You said the last part especially slow so that he could really understand how much you meant those words. You don’t even think you had known how much you meant them before that moment, but now you did.

“Oh, thank God.” He let out a relieved laugh, before sucking in a breath. “Don’t know what I would’ve done if you turned me down.”

A smile spread across your lips. “I would never do that.”

He cleared his throat and let out a small laugh. “I think I’m good to go now. I need to try to get some more sleep, and you should… go back to work?” His words were clipped and dismissive, as if he wasn’t telling the entire truth.

You frowned, but nodded. “Are you sure? Please, I don’t want you saying that just to not worry me.”

“I— thank you. But I am seriously alright,” Jack said, and you chose to believe him. “I’ll send the money later. Thank you.”

That made you pause. “Don’t you dare,” you said quickly.

“What?” came his shocked reply.

“Jack, you know I care about you,” you said, your shoulders relaxing. Did you really need to spell it out for him? “Let me be here for you, without the money.”

There was a small moment of quiet where you feared he wouldn’t respond. When he did, his voice was smaller, somehow. “Okay—I will talk to you later?”

“I can’t wait,” you chirped, smiling.

———

Jack was confused.

The way you had spoken to him and cared for him, without the expectation of money, made him feel all warm inside and as if your relationship had grown outside of your agreement. Maybe it wasn’t such a crazy thought to have. Jack found himself smiling more since he had begun talking to you and even imagining meeting you in real life, despite that you had said that would never happen on the very first day. He had to respect your wishes, because he was nothing if not a gentleman.

No longer was he only losing sleep because of the nightmares from the war, but he also found himself thinking about you. When he closed his eyes, all he could think about was how you would look and all he could hear was your voice, talking to him in that sweet way of yours. It kept him up, thinking about you, but he found that he didn’t mind one bit. Especially as it seemed that you were just as eager to talk to him as he was to talk to you.

YOU I’ve been thinking.

JACK Should I be worried?

YOU Thinking about you.

JACK Okay now that sounds more promising. Can’t say I don’t think about you either.

YOU I’m relieved to hear that. Well, I’ve been wondering what you look like.

JACK Wow is my sparkling personality not enough? You need to see my handsome face as well to satisfy your needs?

YOU I don’t know if I would describe your personality as sparkling.

JACK You didn’t deny about the handsome face part.

YOU I haven’t seen it yet so I can’t really judge, can I? That was sorta the point.

JACK No you don’t want to see this old face. Surely it’s got nothing on yours.

YOU I wouldn’t be so sure. What Jack, are you shy?

JACK I don’t get shy.

YOU Time to put your money where your mouth is, then. I’ve heard your voice and if you look anything like how you sound I’m sure I won’t be disappointed.

A warmth that had nothing with the actual temperature in his apartment spread across his body, feeling it colour his cheeks. How could you say those sort of things and not expect them to affect him? There was no way you weren’t aware at this point, but the thought that you were aware and still did it made his cheek grow even warmer. Fuck, what were you doing to him? And he hadn’t even seen you or met you! Not that he would ever do the latter thing, anyway.

JACK Jeez I knew you were a charmer but not like this.

YOU That isn’t a no.

JACK Fine. But only if you also send a photo of yourself. This is an equal partnership you know.

YOU That sounds fair, but you first since I asked first.

JACK If you insist. [ATTACHMENT: 1 Photo]

It felt as if the beating of his heart thundered in his throat as he stared at the three dots on his screen. Despite his usual confidence, Jack was scared. He knew that he was good looking, if all the comments he had received over the years was anything to go by. But he felt an unusual sense of nervousness at the thought that you would finally see what he looked like and reject him—which was ridiculous, but still he couldn’t help it. He wanted so badly for you to think he looked good, because the alternative was too scary.

YOU You have freckles.

JACK How did you know that’s exactly what I wanted to hear?

YOU Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting it. It suits you.

JACK Thanks? I hope.

YOU Yes, it’s a compliment. Thought you wanted more of them. Now take it.

JACK Wow bossy. I kind of like it.

YOU What can I say? I have many sides.

JACK I can’t wait to see them all. Now you go.

YOU Since you asked so nicely. [ATTACHMENT: 1 Photo] Can’t wait to hear all your compliments now.

Fuck, Jack thought as he stared at the photo you had sent. He felt the threads that kept him together so carefully start to unravel, because it couldn’t be, could it? But he knew he was lying to himself, trying to convince himself that what he was seeing wasn’t true. There was no doubt about it, it was you. The same nurse he had caught a glimpse of in the hallways a few days ago at the Pitt. He had thought you were handsome, his eyes following your movements, and of course Robby had teased him about it.

But now that it meant that the guy he had been talking to and grown closer with over the better part of three months, who he was effectively dreaming and thinking about every free moment he had, who could put a smile to his face much easier than anybody else he knew, and who he had made peace with never meeting, was the same guy he was looking forward to seeing on the rare chance he’d come to the ER. Which meant that you could be meeting, which he was sure you did not want. Sure, you could have been flirting with him this entire time, but you had made it painfully clear that you did not want to meet up.

YOU Jack? Hello? OK, I was only joking, you know?

Fuck, what was he supposed to do with this now? He couldn’t ignore you and he couldn’t lie about the fact that he knew you worked at the same hospital as him.

A reminder popped up on his phone that his SWAT shift was starting soon and he cursed. He didn’t have time to think through what to say to you, but figured he would respond later when he was free. Jack thought that he could use the time on his shift to figure out what to respond with.

———

Fuck.

That was the first thought that flew through your mind. 

First it had been because of finally seeing Jack’s face because, unfortunately, he was unfairly attractive despite his older age. Second, it had been because he wasn’t responding to any of your messages.

What the fuck was Jack thinking, leaving you on seen like that? You had sent your picture, just like he had, and then he didn’t respond? Did he not know the effect he had on you? This was something that could easily send you spiralling, and it would have, had you not been called in for work.

It was looking to be a busy 4th of July, but without any other plans you might as well work and earn some extra pay. If nothing else, it would also keep your mind off of Jack and his lack of reply.

You had finally seen the looks of him and he was the very picture of handsome silver fox, someone you would dream about had you met them for real. The fact that the sarcastic and funny guy you had gotten to know the last three months was someone this good looking sent your mind spiralling somewhere too far for you to reach right now.

So, you did the only thing you could: put on some gloves and got to work.

You had been right, it was a busy day. Other than the normal chaos of a holiday, it was unusually hot today and Westbridge hospital had been closed down as well, so the PTMC was taking the brunt of it. It was difficult to keep track of everything amidst the chaos. A the beginning of your shift, you had gotten a call from the ER that they had a baby Jane Doe who needed tending, and despite your dislike for the ER you had gone down to check on her every once in a while throughout the day.

However, as you went down slightly after 12 PM, you were met with a sight you had not expected. You had just checked on the baby when you went to the reception to talk to Princess. Despite not working in the ER, it was difficult not to become friends with the other nurses here, as they were more than chatty and sometimes friendly..

A team in army uniforms, ‘POLICE’ written over their chests, rushed inside from the ambulance bay with a gurney carrying another one of them between them all. A figure you recognised as Dr. Robby moved to them immediately, looking to the man who was holding the ventilator balloon to the patient.

You followed his gaze and swore your heart stopped.

He was rattling off the words, looking increasingly stressed. “Intubated neck wound, sats not great. We were diverted here.” Then he turned to the reception, and you hoped against everything that he wouldn’t notice you. Luckily, he seemed to only briefly glance up and shout, “Is there a trauma room open?”

Princess pointed to a room to the right. “Trauma 1,” she replied.

As they all went into the trauma room, you felt your breath return to somewhat normal, the initial shock settling for something else. You had to be seeing things, right? It couldn’t be him.

But however much you tried to convince yourself, you knew you were wrong. Despite only having seen one picture of him, you knew you would recognise that man anywhere. It was the same salt and pepper curls, the same faint constellation of freckles smattered over his face, and that same voice. The voice you had so often heard on your calls with him and more often than not in your dreams about him, as well. And the fact that he was dressed in a SWAT uniform. It all checked out. There was no doubt on the matter. It was Jack.

You still had to make sure, however, so you turned to Princess and cocked your head to trauma room 1. “Who the fuck is that?” you asked.

She tilted her head to the side. “Who?”

“The guy in the military uniform.”

Her answer confirmed both your worst fears and your greatest hopes. “Oh, that’s Dr. Jack Abbot. He’s the attending on the night shift.” She glanced at your face, smirking smugly. “Smoke show, right?”

“Right. OK. Fucking great.” You nodded, absentmindedly, before turning to go back upstairs.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

You swore inwardly with every step that you took up the stairs. What were the chances, out of all the hospitals in America, or even in Pittsburgh, that Jack had to work at the very same as you? Technically, he had been working here longer than you, but that fact didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the man you had tried but effectively failed to get out of your head, was some kind of boss to you. Not directly, of course, since you answered to the paediatric department. But every once in a while, against your will, you would be called down to the ER when they were short-staffed, and that would put you under Jack.

You dragged a hand across your face, groaning. You couldn’t believe your luck, that the man you were practically dreaming about and definitely flirting with was your once-removed boss. Would you need to get HR involved? No, nothing had happened. Yet, a small part of your brain supplied helpfully. But you and Jack had agreed to never meet, so what you would do with this information now was as of yet unclear to you.

That was also when you remembered the fact that Jack had avoided answering to the photo you had sent him. You had never thought of yourself of ugly or anything of the sort, but maybe you just weren’t his type? Maybe that was the reason he hadn’t replied. The thought of then having to see him in person, knowing of all the times you had flirted with him and must have embarrassed yourself, mortified you beyond anything else. You weren’t sure if you could live with knowing the answer.

But not knowing was so much worse, you realised, and against your better judgment you stormed back down to the ER in search of him. You grabbed hold of the first nurse you saw, which happened to be Jesse.

“Hey, is Dr Abbot here?” you asked, trying to sound more cool than you felt.

He blinked at you before nodding. “I think I saw him go into Central 7.”

“Great, thanks,” you threw over your shoulder as you rushed in the direction.

Without allowing yourself a moment to hesitate, you threw open the door and pushed away the curtains. There, shirtless and tall, stood Jack Abbot in all of his glory. He had his back turned to you, showing off the broad muscles that rippled under his skin as he moved, as well as the constellations of freckles that extended across his shoulders and down his arms. God, he was in good shape, was the first thought that popped into your traitorous mind. The second being that there was a wound on his left shoulder, but that fact catalogued itself somewhere in the back of your brain in favour of the view of a shirtless Jack in front of you.

“Jack?” you said, before your brain had time to catch up with the fact that you were currently seeing him shirtless, of all things. “Oh, shit—” Here’s to first meetings, you supposed.

He turned around with a frown before his brows lifted in shock. “Yeah? Oh.”

You bit your lip, crossing your arms over your chest. Jack looked just as good from the front as he did from the back. You had to physically shake your head to rid your thoughts, focusing instead on meeting his eyes. God, he had a steady gaze, you realised. It was difficult not to feel put on the spot underneath it.

“Maybe I should be calling you Dr. Abbot, instead?” you asked, although rather unkindly.

Jack only nodded dumbly, his mouth still hanging open slightly.

You grimaced. “You know, for a man who can never seem to shut up you’re being unusually quiet.”

“Uhuh, well,” he croaked, his voice unusually unstable. Then he let a small smile lift the corner of his mouth. “I am just a bit caught off guard. What are you doing here?”

“I work here. Well, in pedes upstairs.” You gestured upwards, scoffing as if it was obvious.

“Right,” he replied, those beautiful hazel eyes narrowing at you. “What are you doing down here? Thought you said the ER stresses you out.”

“It does,” you said, frowning slightly. You were surprised he remembered that detail you had mentioned in passing. “You remember that?”

“Yeah, of course.” Something about those simple words twisted something in your stomach. The casualness that he said it with, as if it had been obvious that he would remember the small things you told him.

You cleared your throat, coming out of your thoughts to answer his earlier question. “Got an abandoned baby that I was called down to check on. The better question is what you’re doing here? As far as I’m aware, it’s not night.”

“Good solve, Sherlock.”

Even in person, Jack was quick to answer with a witty remark. Gods dammed his wit and his sarcasm and his humour. He was just as attractive in person as he was over the phone, if not more, and his intense stare made you want to avert your eyes. Was it always this intense, or did it just feel extra so under the circumstances?

“This is less than ideal,” he finally said after clearing his throat.

“Yeah,” you breathed out. You took in his shirtless torso, quickly looking away so that he wouldn’t notice your staring. “Do you want me to come back? Give you a moment?”

“No,” Jack replied with a small smile. He was sitting down now and putting forward medical supplies and bandages. “It’s okay.”

To avoid whatever that meant, you focused on the task his hands were doing, which also meant you had to keep your thoughts in check, because damn, even his hands were attractive. You cleared your throat. “What happened to you?

“Oh. Bullet grazed my vest,” he said simply, his eyes on his hands, as casual as if you had asked him about the weather.

“You got shot?”

“Shot at,” he corrected, eyes flitting up to yours. “It’s no big deal. I can take care of it myself.”

As Jack said that, you saw him reach a cotton swab with a lotion over his shoulder, struggling to get the angle right. After a few minutes of craning his neck, you sighed and stepped forward, relaxing from your tense posture.

“Let me help you,” you said, beginning to put on a pair of gloves.

His head turned in your direction as he grimaced, his hand gesturing as if to wave you away. “No, don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

An eyebrow raised in his direction. “Now who’s the one being too stubborn to accept help. I’m a nurse, let me do my job.” You stepped around him, holding out your hand for him to give you the swab.

“A nurse in paediatrics,” Jack pointed out, but relented with a small sigh. The brief brush of your gloved fingers meeting his ungloved one caused shivers to travel up your arms, almost as if you had been shocked by electricity.

You scoffed. “That doesn’t matter. A wound is a wound.”

You began cleaning his wound, carefully inspecting him for any sign of discomfort. Instead, you only found how much more handsome he looked up close. You could see the small wrinkles on his forehead, the way his eyes stayed dutifully ahead of him, and his posture was as straight as a soldier’s. Not the only thing that remained from his war days, you thought as you sneaked a glance at his right leg. But it didn’t make him look old, no. He looked like a weathered man, with tons of stories held inside that pretty head of his.

Your thoughts went back to the conversation at hand, sighing as you swapped the cotton swab for another. “Y’know, I never pegged you for one to look down on other areas of medicine,” you mentioned.

“Sorry, I don’t,” he said, shrugging a bit as if bashful. “I’m just still surprised that I’m actually seeing you right now. That we’re finally meeting.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t sound so surprised.”

It took a second for him to answer, and it was with a grimace you could only half see has he turned his head away from you. “Well, I knew you worked here.”

You paused in your movements. What? “And you didn’t say anything? How long have you known?”

“Only found out when you sent your picture,” he admitted, craning his neck to meet your eye. “I recognised you.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to forget a face like yours.” Jack’s smirk was infectious and you had to fight your own from forming as he then shook his head. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.”

“No, um,” you cleared your throat, “what do you mean by that?”

Jack shrugged sheepishly. “Just that I noticed you, even before knowing that you are, well, you.”

“Oh,” was your only reply, continuing to clean his wound. “Well, I hope that’s a good thing.”

“Very.”

You could almost hear the smirk in his voice, that tone that you had gotten painfully familiar with over the past couple of months. And God was it a blessing to be able to see it now in person, finally witnessing how it made his eyes scrunch up in delight, wrinkles forming around them, and it made him look exactly as self assured as you had pictured during your long talks.

You ignored it in favour of putting down the cotton swab and beginning to dress his wound, clearing your throat at the same time.

“So, care to tell me the story behind this?” you asked, just to get away from his burning gaze.

Jack looked down into his lap, his smirk dropping. “Geniuses thought today was the day to rob a goods warehouse. Didn’t think about how long it would take to load the appliances. They panicked. All hell broke loose.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, applying the wound dressing. “Why do you do this?”

“My therapist said I needed a hobby,” he said as he shrugged.

You scoffed. “Thought that was the reason you reached out to me, remember?”

“I can have two hobbies.”

Your hands smoothed out the dressing before you removed the gloves and stepped around Jack, shaking your head. “Not if one is putting you under active fire.”

“Careful, it almost sounds like you care.”

When you looked at him you saw a tiny smirk playing on the edge of his lips. You averted your eyes from them, raising an eyebrow and humming a reply. As you turned around to walk away, Jack’s hand shot out to grab your wrist.

“Listen,” he started, letting go of your hand. You already missed the warmth from his skin. “I wanted to say sorry.”

“For what?” Your voice was carefully devoid of any emotion that he had managed to stir up in you.

“For not answering, earlier.”

You merely hummed as a reply.

His eyes looked up to you, now shadowed by a hint of guilt and sadness, not unlike the eyes of a puppy. It made something twist inside you, a twinge of guilt suddenly shooting inside you from the knowledge that you were the cause of it. “It wasn’t cool of me, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You didn’t worry me,” you said, way too quickly.

He ignored your words, still keeping that damned eye contact. “I should have just responded right away, but I wasn’t sure what to say. Or do. You said you didn’t want to meet, so…” He chuckled, sounding a bit unsure of his own words.

You tilted your head to the side, crossing your arms over your chest. “So, what, you figured you would keep it secret that we worked in the same hospital? Just so we’d never meet.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Jack explained, a pleading tone now sneaking into his voice.

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Jack, I’ve told you. You could never make me uncomfortable.”

Something in his eyes lit into a spark. “Really?”

“Please,” you chuckled, glancing to the side with a hint of a smile. “The fact that you were ever worried… is kind of attractive.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. You closed your eyes in frustration and berated yourself. It was one thing to flirt over text, because that gave you plausible deniability. But admitting he was attractive after he had effectively ignored you for the better part of the day after had had finally seen your face, was something else. If he really wasn’t interested and you hadn’t chased him away yet, you would surely have done it now.

However, when you looked back to Jack, meeting his gaze, all you could see was the mirth in his eyes.

“You think so?” he asked, and that smug smirk was back on his face.

Your eyes narrowed at him, taking in the way he was leaning slightly forward and looking up into your eyes, all open and honest. There was something in the way he was looking at you that made your stomach twist, but not in a bad way, as if he knew something you didn’t. You didn’t know what, but it felt like the air had suddenly gotten heavier in the room, your shoulders tensing and lips pressing together.

That smug smile on his face made you roll your eyes. “Fuck off, you know you’re good-looking.”

Jack’s head tilted to the side, but his eyes never left yours. “Hmm, is that so? And do you find me that? Good looking?”

He was enjoying this more than he should. “Perhaps,” you said and shrugged, despite yourself. “Although I must say your picture does not quite make you justice.”

“Now, that’s a compliment.” His smile had widened, reaching his eyes as well and the sight was almost too much for you.

“I do know how to give compliments, y’know,” you said with a scoff.

“Would love to hear more of them,” Jack replied with small nod.

You gave him a meaningful glare. “Don’t know if your ego could take it.”

At that, his smile widened into a grin. “I can take more than you think.”

Your narrowed eyes met his smug ones and you had to fight the urge not to smile. He really had a reply to everything, this man. Then your eyes flitted down to his body, noticing the army pants he still wore, remembering how good he had looked in his SWAT uniform earlier.

“In that case,” you started, “you fill out that uniform quite well.”

“You should see me as a flight attendant,” Jack said. He didn’t miss a beat, his eyes still trained on you, eyes flitting all over your face.

“Mmm, bet.” When you noticed he wasn’t saying anything else, but merely staring at your face, you spoke again.“Jack.”

He nodded. “Mhm.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m just looking,” he said, but he was definitely staring.

You lifted an eyebrow at him, taking in the way he was staring at you. More than once, you had noticed how his eyes flitted down to your lips and that made your stomach fill with warmth. “No, you’re looking at me as if…”

“As if what?” he asked, head tilted but that smile on his face that told you he knew exactly what you meant.

“No, forget it,” you countered, ever so stubborn.

Jack stood up, now looking at you from your eye-level. “Tell me.”

You tried to discern whatever he was trying to say behind those eyes, but all you could see was a hint of teasing and hopefulness in them, as if wanted you to say exactly what you were thinking. Could he really want the same thing as you, even after all this time?

You furrowed your brows but finally said what was on your mind. “As if you wanna kiss me.”

“Would that be so bad?” His smile formed into something kinder, softer, as he took a step closer. 

You shook your head before your mouth had a chance to catch up. “No, not really.”

“In that case, may I?” he asked, as one hand reached out to caress your cheek, the other landing on your small back. Your arms uncrossed themselves to grab his arms and the nape of his neck. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you at his question—the fact that he even had to ask.

“We’re at work,” you whispered, despite wanting to relent and press into him with all that you had.

Jack closed his eyes in frustration, forehead pressed against yours. He was so close, yet so far away…

“Fuck,” he muttered. Despite all his feelings for you and the desire to do nothing else than press you up against a wall right there and then, he still had some sort of decorum and professionalism in him. But when he gazed at you, looking so handsome in his arms, his resolve started to dissolve bit by bit. “I’m not on the clock, though.”

“But I am.”

Jack bit his lip as he looked away, swiftly stepping out of your grasp and going over to close the door of the room before he pulled the curtain closed as well. Then he stepped closer to you, the question written in his eyes as clear as days. You couldn’t help but grin at him, at the slight flustered breath as he leaned in closer.

“You’re such a dork. C’mere.” You saw his eyes soften as they traveled down to your lips.

“Thank god,” was all he said as he leaned in and met your lips with his.

Jack’s skin was warm as he pressed closer to you, his lips moving against yours with a hunger and firmness you weren’t expecting. The way he moved his hands over your body made you groan into his lips which only made him grasp you harder. He felt heavenly against you, the way his warmth seeped into yours.

You grasped the nape of his neck, deepening the kiss by pushing against him. It was hard to ignore his shirtless torso as well, so you made sure to run your hand down his back, noticing the shivers that erupted in your fingers’ wake. He let out a low moan at that and you made sure to file that information away for future use. When you pulled away, his full blown pupils were staring into yours with smirk on his lips.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he breathed, his lips venturing further south as he placed small kisses against your chin, your throat, down to your collarbone.

You let out something that was a mix between a laugh and a moan. “I think that broke the rules of our agreement.”

“Fuck the agreement,” Jack said as he met your eye properly. “I want you, with or without it.”

Your smile turned crooked. “Does this mean you’ll stop paying me?”

“No, you should be prepared to be spoiled even more,” he replied, his own smirk widening.

“You don’t have to, Jack,” you said, meeting his gaze with a meaningful glare.

Jack merely stepped even closer, incasing you in his strong arms, his lips lowering to your ear as he whispered, “I want to.” And looking into those eyes of his, you think you finally believed him when he said that.

If he were being honest, returning to New York City hadn't been much of a choice for him. His hometown of Saratoga Springs was a decent place to live in, but while it'd been nice to take a walk down memory lane of his old stomping grounds, he'd been losing his mind living with his parents again during his tiresome recovery and simultaneously dealing with the fact that he'd had to retire.

New York City was familiar, comforting, and full of his best memories... and blissfully three hours away from his parents, just as he liked it, but he'd sold his old penthouse after getting discharged from the hospital with the (somewhat petty) decision that he'd be closing the door on NYC and every single part of his old life.

Which meant coming back to NYC on a whim would result in some couch-hopping until he found a new place, and that meant having to seek out the beloved (and sometimes hated) New York Admirals.

During the training season... in the Manhattan arena.. where they'd all be clustered together to train for the upcoming season.

(Y/N) hadn't set foot in an ice rink since the accident. He'd been unable to for a while due to the doctor's orders about resting and working through physical therapy to help with the nerve damage, but once that period had passed, he... found himself unable to even consider getting back on the ice again. 

All he could think about was the piercing, searing hot pain that'd erupted in his leg when the sharp blade of someone's skates tore through fabric, skin, and flesh. What had stuck with him the most had been the feeling of hot liquid spreading down his leg. He'd taken basic science classes; he knew humans were hot-blooded, but to actually feel fresh blood on his skin...

(Y/N) took a sharp inhale through his nose and yanked his tumbler from the cup holder, the sound of the ice clinking around sounding like music to his ears. He took a sip of the tangy grapefruit juice, an almost oaky, earthy flavor following from the tequila mixed in. He licked his lips and took another breath, pausing for a moment to consider before he took a bigger swing and climbed out of the car.

Thanks to the physical therapy and frequent workouts to build strength, (Y/N) walked without a barely noticeable limp, though it frustrated him to no end when his left leg randomly buckled on him, as it did when he headed up the few steps of the arena's frontage.

His calf still struggled to hold too much of his weight, and he often experienced moments of numbness or soreness that only added to his frustrations. It'd been another layer of hell during his recovery when pain would shoot up his leg each time he walked. 

His leg made him a liability on the ice, and so down the drain went his career.

The quiet hum of the vending machines and whirling ceiling fans greeted him when he stepped into the lobby, and he took a moment to drink everything in.

He was pleased to find everything familiar: the slate gray linoleum floors with blue and red patterns across them, the off-white walls littered with team pictures and signed jerseys from long-retired Admirals, the corny motivational decals he always rolled his eyes at, shelves of merch for fans to look at. 

The worry that he'd be stepping into a completely unknown world soothed over, his shoulders lowering and slightly slouching. Smiling to himself, he followed the muffled noise of sticks hitting pucks and incoherent shouts, his hand hovering over the pushbar of the door leading into the actual arena. Blades scrapping on ice had once been a noise he welcomed, but it made his mouth fill with bitterness now.

Cold air blew in his face when he walked in, nipping at his cheeks until they began to numb and seeping through the fabric of his hoodie and cargo pants. His hands slipped into the pouch pocket of his hoodie to keep them warm, his throat tightening with his swallow. Flashes of red darted around the rink, grunts echoing after the sound of impact from bodies slamming together.

Before the accident, he would've found himself itching to get on the ice. He could barely stand to look at it for more than a couple of seconds.

His eyes drifted to the dark blue shell seats, and he could hear the roar of the crowd in his ears again. The fans always loved a spectacle, a good fight to get their adrenaline pumping.

They bellowed and shouted and jumped whenever the players got physical with each other, to the point it became more of a performance than actual fighting. They'd loved every second of Zullo getting in the faces of others, shouting and spitting about the rookie goalie.

The horrified gasps and whispering that followed when dark crimson mixed with the shimmering white of the ice had been deafening. The blood stained the white of the Admiral's away uniform, and it'd been the first thing everyone saw before the blood spread onto the ice from the open tear. 

Between the numbing shock, mind-numbing pain, and the medication administered the second the Philadelphia arena doctors got their hands on it, his memories were fuzzy of the aftermath.

He remembered Huff's voice shouting, demanding space and shoving when it wasn't granted, Vaughn and Bennett's panicked questions, and the Philly captain dropping behind him to keep his arms from touching the wound until the medics arrived. 

When Murdock grimly agreed to show him the raw game footage, he found Scott standing damn near twenty feet away, watching the ordeal unfold without moving an inch from his spot.

The stupid snowflake necklace sat at the bottom of his small jewelry box, buried beneath rings and watches, which it would call home for the foreseeable future.

Fuck Scott Hunter and his dumb hazel eyes and his pathetic, charming smile.

(Y/N) tore his attention away from the seats when he noticed the figure approaching him, his eyes naturally narrowing into a hard stare before they softened over once he recognized Eric Bennett.

The goalie flashed him one of his small, friendly smiles and raised his hands in a silent question. (Y/N) nodded, and Eric enveloped him in a brief yet squeezing hug.

"I didn't think I'd see you here today, man," Eric mentioned as he pulled back, tucking a loose curl behind his ear. "Will you be staying for a while, or are you just popping by for a visit?"

"A bit of both, I guess," (Y/N) answered, his stomach clenching with unease. His leg throbbed faintly, his brain playing a sick joke on his body when he swore he felt a tingle of pain. "Uhm..." (Y/N)'s fingers curled together inside the pocket, his thumb pressing over a small paper cut he'd gotten on his ring finger the day prior.

Eric's dark eyes studied him. "You want to talk outside?"

"Yeah."

The tightness in his body relaxed the second he stepped out of the arena and back into the lobby, the anxiety replaced with irritation at himself. His teeth grinded together, and he took a breath to calm the beating of his heart that quickened with the growing, boiling feeling in his chest. He hated everything about his newfound situation. 

"Hey," The palm of Eric's hand pressed against his midback gently, cautiously, and then firmly once he was sure (Y/N) wouldn't shove it away. "You can talk to me, you know that, right?" His voice was mellow, the type he used over the phone with Holly or whenever they spent time with children at community events.

(Y/N)'s bottom lip curled into his mouth, his teeth nipping at it until he tore a bit of skin off. "I want to get out of Saratoga and- and come back to the city." He told him, his eyes settling on the stone fireplace built in the center of the lobby. He recalled the handful of times they'd huddle around it after long days in the winter.

"That's great, (Y/N)." Eric's smile was puzzled. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing's wrong, but- I... I already left home and... I don't exactly have anywhere to live right now."

(Y/N) dug the front of his shoe into the floor, his head dropping to stare at it, a little embarrassed. He was (Y/N) fucking (L/N), the spitfire of New York City... and now he was begging for goddamn scraps.

"I was going to book a hotel room and stay there until I found a place, but... I think it'd stir up too much media attention, you know? I.. I wanted to see if anyone would.. let me stay with them."

"Ah."

Eric scratched his chin in consideration. He was probably the worst Admiral to ask, considering he was pretty reserved to the point that he only knew surface-level facts about the others. He liked his privacy.

"I think a couple of the guys have spare rooms, actually. Huff's got a full house, and I don't know what Holly would think of it, but Vaughn's got a pretty decent bachelor pad, though you'll probably have to deal with him and his new girl. Burke and Wagner might be open to it, too. And... there's always Hunter."

"No."

Eric's mouth formed a sympathetic, closed-lip smile. "I don't know what's going on between the two of you, but Hunter's probably your best bet right now. I've never been to it, but I'm sure his penthouse has plenty of room for one more-"

(Y/N) scoffed. The door to the arena squeaked quietly when it opened. "I'd rather listen to Vaughn and his chick have sex until six in the morning, thanks." 

Scott's familiar, startled chuckle reached him immediately, prompting him to glance over his shoulder and find him standing in the doorway. He stepped into the lobby completely, the door loudly slamming behind him, and trekked his fingers through his sweaty, droopy hair, his eyes curiously flickering between him and Eric.

"Why are we listening to Vaughn and Gloria have sex, exactly?" He asked with a breathy laugh, the gear he sported making his shoulders look broader than usual. (Y/N) locked on the big white C threaded into his jersey immediately, and felt another flare of irritation course through him. "I don't think either of them would be into that, but what do I know?"

Eric met (Y/N)'s eyes briefly, and (Y/N) gave a subtle shake of his head. Eric stared at him for a moment longer, his lips pursing slightly before he looked back at Scott.

"(L/N)'s looking for a place to live temporarily. I know Vaughn's got an apartment over in SoHo, and Burke's got a nice townhouse in the West Village. Wagner's got space, too, right?"

(Y/N) hoped the death stare he gave Eric conveyed his feelings of irked betrayal well.

"Uh, actually, I'm- I'm pretty sure Wagner moved his girlfriend in about a week ago." Scott blinked a few times, his brows tugging into a furrow. "Sorry, why are you looking for a place to live? Where have you been this whole time?" A twinge of concern slipped into his voice, but (Y/N) only rolled his eyes.

Eric glanced at (Y/N) again, abruptly appearing a tad uncomfortable with the situation playing out in front of him.

"He told us at the awards show that he was living with his parents. I... thought he'd mentioned it to you. Maybe I should, uh, let you guys catch up." He gave a weak chuckle and took a couple steps toward the door. "I'll put the word out with the guys and let you know if anyone's looking for a roommate."

(Y/N) opened his mouth to respond, but Eric swiftly slipped back inside the arena, letting the door rattle loudly again. He pressed his lips into a line, huffing quietly. Eric Bennett wasn't a man made for drama or messy confrontation, (Y/N) knew that. However, being left alone with Scott Hunter was the last thing (Y/N) wanted.

Scott's hands curled together, his body stiff and spine erect. He looked like a nervous, tall child waiting to be addressed. (Y/N) eyed him, and Scott looked away, his features pulling into a tight grimace. He always looked so damn innocent. 

After a mintue of silence, Scott cleared his throat. "I didn't know you went back to Saratoga. How's, uhm, how's everyone? I'm surprised your mom didn't call or text me." He laughed awkwardly. (Y/N) took in a deep breath and rolled his neck. Shut up. Just shut up. "Remember when we'd attend the Midsummer Derby every summer? It'd be fun to attend next month, don't you think? Take a walk down memory lane-"

"Do whatever you want, Hunter. I don't own the damn town." A small flinch made Scott's shoulders jerk. (Y/N) tugged his hands free from the pouch pocket so he could cross his arms. "Nothing's stopping you from visiting whenever you feel like it. Nothing was stopping you from driving over while I was gone, either."

"I didn't know where you were, (Y/N)..." Scott said quietly, defeatedly.

"Where else would I have gone? Mars? Saturn?" (Y/N) raised his brows at him, scoffing and shaking his head. "Don't be stupid, Hunter. Home was my only option."

"I don't.. I don't know. You've never been a fan of going home during the off-season. You could've gone down to Florida or- or stayed in Philly for all I know! Everyone I talked to said they hadn't heard from you, and I didn't want to reach out to your parents in case you hadn't spoken to them first. You're elusive, (Y/N). Nobody ever knows what you're up to."

"You've always known! What, you think getting fucked in the leg would've made me move down to the Everglades to check out Gatorland? Or stay in fuckass Pennsylvania? You know me, Scott, and you know that no matter how annoying my parents are, I would've gone back home to them after- after that."

Scott rubbed his fingertips over his forehead. "Yeah... yeah... I-I would've gone back to Saratoga if.. if I'd been in your place."

"Well, it's not like you would've had anyone else to turn to." 

(Y/N) nose twitched with a restrained wince the second those words left his tongue, the corners of his lips pulling back into a tighter line. Scott froze, his eyes slightly widening at him in pure disbelief, before a flicker of hurt passed over his face in the form of lowered brows and a deep frown. His hand dropped to his side.

"That was a low blow, (L/N)." He muttered so quietly it sounded like a whisper. His chest rose with a deep breath and (Y/N)'s own ached with regret. "Very low blow, even for you. You know that's a sore subject for me." His following chuckle was dry. An apology crept up (Y/N)'s throat. "How long have you had that locked and loaded?"

(Y/N)'s lips parted, inhaling softly. His jaw clenched, and all guilt flew out the window. "You think I have a list of shit I could throw back in your face? That- That I have insults reserved just for you? You know, I've always suspected that you were bullshitting when you defended me because I knew you always thought the same as everyone else."

(Y/N) almost groaned at the prickling sensation at the back of his eyes, and he quickly turned his back to Scott, taking a couple of deep breaths through his nose because he knew. He'd always wondered why Scott stuck around, if he'd only hung out with him as kids so he could have a shield, or if he lingered when they were older so he'd always look better.

He'd never been the most approachable kid. He always managed to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, so nobody ever wanted to play with him or invited him over for playdates. He finally found himself a best friend when Scott arrived at their doorstep with his luggage and big, hazel eyes that remained meekly lowered to the ground.

His parents had always wanted to host young hockey players to 'encourage the future generation of superstars', and they'd finally gotten around to arranging it. They warned (Y/N) extensively. He was too emotional, they claimed, too short-tempered, too defensive, too energetic, too rude. Too much to handle or deal with, which was why they wanted him to keep a cordial distance from whichever kid ended up getting matched with them.

Never mind the fact that (Y/N) played hockey for their local team, nor that he was the same age as most of the potential players they would've been with. He disregarded the dumb rule for Scott, dragging him around all over town and introducing him to the few friends he'd managed to make in freshman year.

All his old friendships fizzled out at one point or another... He'd never thought it'd happen to Scott and him.

"What? No- No, I-I don't think of you like that! I never have, (Y/N)! I- Jesus, forget I said that, alright? It- It was fucked up of you to bring up my parents, that's all!" 

"I don't care what you think of me," (Y/N) bristled, his chest growing heavy with the lie. "Whatever, fuck this. I could've called Huff for this bullshit instead of coming here." His legs began making their way over to the row of double doors leading outside, his throat eager for a drink. "Tell Bennett to let me text me if anyone wants a roommate." 

"(Y/N)."

Scott's groan echoed through the empty lobby, followed by clattering and the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching. Right as (Y/N) got to the closest exit, Scott's hand curled around his forearm and gently tugged back, forcing him to turn around and face him. Beneath Scott's uniform, (Y/N) noticed the shine of his golden necklace peeking out, his fingers twitching with the instinctive want to reach for his own. Except that he wasn't wearing it anymore.

Scott grabbed him by his biceps and squeezed lightly, his gaze unnecessarily apologetic. "I'm sorry, okay? Look, you don't have to wait around for Eric to ask each of the guys, alright? You can live with me. I've got plenty of room and- and it can be like old times, yeah? Except we don't have to ask for anyone's permission to eat take-out or- or watch R-rated movies. Come on, it'll be fun."

A while back, (Y/N) would've said yes almost immediately, but he hesitated instead. Another brownie point to Scott Hunter for taking in his explosive, crude, and callous ex-best friend despite his bitchiness. That was how it'd always been. The hero and the charity case. (Y/N)'s shoulders drew up into a line, his brows tightening into a deeper furrow.

Scott dropped his hands, the spark that'd come to his eyes incredibly brief, replaced with disappointment and confusion. It only served to infuriate (Y/N). How easy it had to be for Captain Scott Hunter to reach for nostalgia when he had everything anyone could ever want in the present.

"I'm good," (Y/N) replied curtly. Ungrateful, some would call him, but he still had some of his dignity left. He glanced at the skates Scott had taken off his feet as his elbow pressed against the door's pushbar, some warm air creeping in. "Get back to practice, Hunter."

"(Y/N), hey-"

"(L/N)!" Carter's cheery voice interrupted Scott's quietly spoken words, speedwalking over to them a little awkwardly, the skate guards on the blades of his skates sliding slightly against the floor with each step he took. "What's up, man? Bennett mentioned you stopped by. I hear you're moving back to the city."

"Yep." (Y/N) caught Carter in his arms and gave his back a few pats, offering a strained smile when the right-winger (and now assistant captain, given the A on his jersey) leaned back. "There's no place like home."

"I hear ya, man. And, look, Gloria and I haven't moved in together yet. Things between us are still fresh, and she spends most of her time in LA, anyway, so you could stay with me for as long as you need to. My place has nothing on Scott's, but the complex comes with concierge services and housekeeping." Carter glanced at Scott. "Unless... you two are planning on-"

The look Scott gave him over Carter's shoulder felt borderline pleading, a look Scott usually reserved for (Y/N)'s parents back when they were kids, in hopes it'd let them get their way. Irritatingly enough, his puppy eyes always worked better on them than (Y/N)'s.

"No, no. Your place works fine. I've always wanted to see why everyone makes a fuss about SoHo."

He hardly cared about the overpriced commercial district that was more of an outdoor shopping mall than an actual neighborhood, but he'd take it over having to owe Scott a favor or returning home to be nagged at all day. All he wanted was to find a decent place, preferably near where he'd previously lived in Brooklyn Heights, and make an attempt at settling back into normalcy.

Carter beamed. "Great! I'll send you the address."

2014, New York City, One Week Later

(Y/N) stared at the television screen as another explosion came through the speakers, his teeth slowly chewed down on a greasy chunk of pepperoni pizza. He gave Carter a sideways glance, who looked completely engrossed by the superhero movie playing, and sank deeper into the couch cushion. 

He wasn't sure how many more crappy action movies with the same recycled plot he could take. He'd begun to wonder if Carter's hearing was bad, because the guy played his movies at almost full volume, explosions and fast-paced car chases and all. It was loud enough that, even with the guest bedroom being across the apartment from the living room, he could still hear it clearly. 

Ever since moving in, he found himself wishing he'd agreed to Scott's offer. He already had experience living with him, and while that experience had been as teenagers rather than full-fledged adults, he doubted Scott had drastically changed since living on his own. He was defintely sure Scott would keep any movies he watched at an appropriate noise level, and that he wouldn't rely on housekeeping for the simplest of tasks.

(Y/N) licked his lips and rubbed his greased-up fingers on a napkin before he took out his phone, swallowing the chunk of pizza and hovering his thumb on the text conversation he'd muted after getting out of the hospital. He tapped on it, taking a breath through his nose, and stood up, setting the plate on the coffee table.

He made his way into the kitchen for another beer bottle, contemplating what to say as he popped open the fridge and grabbed the cool beer. 

(Y/N) Offer still on the table?

He brought the bottle up to his lips and peeled the aluminum cap off with his teeth, spitting it out into the trash can and taking a swing to help with the bubbling annoyance. He almost cracked a grin in amusement at how quickly the chat bubbles appeared, before he caught himself and smoothed it out. 

This was simply one last option, or else he'd go and find a good hotel to crash for the time being.

Scotty Absolutely! Let me know when you're coming by. :)

(Y/N) Ok.

Reluctantly, (Y/N) returned to the living room and took a seat on the couch again, resting the beer over his thigh and clearing his throat. "Hey, Carter, I appreciate you coming through for me-" He paused so Carter could turn the volume down to hear him properly. "-but I think I'll be crashing with Scott from now on. There are some apartments I want to check out near his place, anyway."

"No worries, man." Carter laughed, a twinge sheepishly. "I can't lie. Gloria's been a bit on the fence about coming over now that you're here. She doesn't want to embarrass herself or anything if you heard us, y'know... She's kind of a scre-"

"I don't- No." (Y/N) cringed immediately, grunting in faint disgust. Gloria was beautiful; anyone with eyes would be able to see that, but she wasn't exactly the type of person he'd be interested in learning more about. "I don't need to know what you two get up to. No way. That- No."

Carter's shoulders shook with his laughter. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, I get it. No one wants to hear how great their buddy is at sex." (Y/N) rolled his eyes, and Carter laughed harder, almost choking on his spit in the process. "You're lucky Hunter doesn't have a girlfriend, though I'm pretty sure you wouldn't hear them, anyway. His penthouse is huge."

Scott Hunter having a girlfriend was laughable. The guy hardly ever realized when a pretty girl was flirting with him, unless she spoke very bluntly, and even then, Scott would sputter through an excuse and slip away as swiftly as possible. Besides, (Y/N) wasn't blind nor stupid. The chances of Scott liking women were tremendously low.

"Seriously, though... I think it's great you're going with Hunter, (Y/N). I-I don't know what went down between you two, but Scott's been moping around ever since you left. He tried going on a vacation a few months after... You know, and he came back early. Said he was homesick, but I think he just felt guilty about vacationing while you were... dealing with stuff."

Vacation. (Y/N) bit his tongue. Scott only went on 'vacations' to get laid. He'd learnt that when he began noticing hickies on his skin each time he returned from places like Greece or Brazil. (Y/N) took a longer swing from his beer, his fingers squeezing the neck with a vengeance. He felt half-tempted to throw the bottle and release the energy building up.

"I got injured, Carter, you can say it. Some asshole wasn't watching where they were going, and I got a serving of shit because of it." And then Scott replaced him, as he always did. (Y/N) finished his bottle in a few more quick gulps and stood up for another, the pity that oozed from Carter burning into him. "No team, no apartment, no job. Got the short end of the stick, and for what? You guys fucked it up."

"We tried, man," Carter argued weakly, without any real fight, twisting around on the couch to watch him. "It wasn't easy getting back in that rink knowing- Shit, knowing what happened. I thought I was going to vomit every time I skated over that spot. Nobody was able to focus, (Y/N). Even Philly had a tough time."

"Shit happens, Vaughn. We get hurt all the time out on the ice. We hear the horror stories, the reasons why we have certain gear. We see gnarly shit happen, and we keep playing."

"So, what, if it'd been Scott in your place, you wouldn't have played differently? Is that what you're saying?" 

(Y/N) set the empty beer bottle on the kitchen counter with a sharp clang, his nostrils flaring each time he inhaled. Truthfully... the few times the pain grew too much to bear, the times his legs buckled and he nearly crumpled to the ground, each time he had that tear-jerking frustration muddled with hopelessness warp inside him... he wished it'd been Scott, instead.

But then he'd linger in the doorway of Scott's old bedroom, and watch memories play out in front of him until all he could do was cry and wish he could reverse time back to when his life was simple and repetitive, back to when he thought he'd rule the world.

"I would've played twice as hard to honor him, yeah." His voice came out rough, and he grabbed another beer bottle from the fridge, running an exhausted hand over his face. "I wouldn't have let what happened be in vain... and I sure as shit wouldn't play buddy with the guy that caused all of it."

"Zullo-"

"I don't give a shit about Zullo!" (Y/N) snarled, his body tilting to pin Carter down with a sharp glare. Carter grimaced, his head giving one quick, small nod. "You and the guys keep that stupid, good-for-nothing sack of shit far away from me, because next time I see him, I'll bash his face in. I can promise you that, Vaughn."

"Dude, I'm starving," Carter said, thankfully after his mini mouthful of the creamy vanilla dessert lathered in syrup-covered strawberry cuts, before he washed it all down with half of his champagne. "They barely feed us at these things." He pointed out, swiftly taking a skewer with grilled shrimp from the tray of a passing server, shooting them a quick, gracious smile when they glanced back.

"Uh-huh." Greg licked his lips, shaking his head again. "Your stomach's a bottomless pit, Carter."

Scott snickered into his champagne cup and took a sip, a green apple flavor dancing over his taste buds as he set the glass down on the table. "He's right, Huff. You can't come to these award shows without a full stomach. We've all learned that the hard way." He finished his sentence with a nostalgic, heavy sigh.

He distinctly remembered how light-headed he felt from hunger during his first awards show, and how he'd stuffed his mouth with half of the salami, diced cheese, and crackers on the charcuterie board he'd planted himself beside. It'd been embarrassing, but other rookies had wound up doing the same.

The BleauLive Theater was most commonly used for A-list musicians performing concerts or comedians performing stand-up specials, meaning that, at most, there was really only bottle service provided.

There was some catering, but it focused more on light, on-the-go type of meals: skewers, mini desserts, fruit slices, charcuterie boards. Things you could grab and eat as you walked around.

Half, if not all, of the guys who left early would often stop to grab cheap, filling food on the way back to their hotels, or they'd grab an overly priced meal while exploring Las Vegas's iconic nightlife.

Scott had long grown disinterested in walking around Las Vegas until his legs ached or until whoever he was with wasted half their bank account on girls or casinos. Nowadays, he preferred mingling for an hour or two at the theater and then heading back to his hotel room for a good night's rest.

"Ah, yeah," Greg chuckled agreeably. "Pretty sure our two rookies already left for Raising Cane's, the poor fellas. They're probably stuffing the Caniac Combo and soda down their throats as we speak."

"Ugh," Carter groaned, slipping a shrimp from the skewer. "Don't say that. I could go for a chicken sandwich right about now."

"You should know better, Carter." Scott tsked playfully, giving a playful, disappointed shake of his head. "You can't eat light before coming here."

Carter bit into the shrimp and chewed, humming pleasantly at the taste. "Better to eat light than have to excuse myself to the bathroom every five minutes. This is Coach McCoy's seventh trip to the bathroom."

Carter jerked his head in the direction of the fifty-year-old head coach for Tampa Bay, and Scott snorted, peeking over his shoulder to search for that familiar sunburnt bald head of his. He swept his eyes through the crowd, sorting through the familiar and unfamiliar faces present, until his gaze locked on one that made his breath hitch.

His body turned completely, blinking a few times to ensure his mind wasn't pulling tricks on him. Jesus. Was it really...

"You alright- Holy shit! (L/N)!" 

(Y/N) approached them with his coat thrown over his arm and a glass of champagne in his free hand, which he proceeded to down and then take another one from a passing server. He licked his lips, setting the new cup on their high-top table and flashing them that familiar, signature grin that could cut through steel. 

"What's up, assholes?" He greeted, his voice a hint raspy, undoubtedly from taking a smoke break before gracing them with his presence.

Blindly setting the skewer down and staining the tablecloth in the process with the juices from the shrimp, Carter rounded the table and slung his arms around (Y/N) to pull him in a tight embrace. (Y/N) stumbled back, and Scott's eyes darted downward, watching with a wince as (Y/N) swiftly put his weight onto his right leg.

Scott's hand shot out, hovering over (Y/N)'s back, just in case his body betrayed him and he'd be able to catch them before they toppled down on the floor in front of all their colleagues.

"Oh, shit-"

Carter scrambled back, his hand cupping (Y/N)'s elbow and grimacing apologetically. (Y/N) let out a breathy laugh, his elbow bumping into Scott's arm a tad roughly when his fingers grazed (Y/N)'s back.

Scott decided he was imagining things, that (Y/N) had accidentally used too much force, and dropped his arm back to his side, keeping his eyes on (Y/N)'s legs until he steadied himself again.

Scott noted he kept his weight on that right leg, easing pressure off the other one. He tried not to think about the reason why, for the sake of keeping everything he'd drunk and eaten in his stomach.

"Sorry, man, I totally blanked." Carter apologized hurriedly, his lips in a small, apologetic pout, but Santaigo waved him off.

"Shit happens, man. It wouldn't be the first time." He replied reassuringly, grabbing his champagne cup and filling his mouth with it.

He smacked his lips when he finished and braced his arms on the table, his eyes flickering between Greg and Carter with a small, growing grin. Scott pursed his lips, waiting a beat, and then made eye contact with Greg.

He wasn't imagining things. (Y/N) (L/N) was in one of his moods, the ones that always ended with Scott trying to puzzle together what'd upset him because passive aggressiveness was (Y/N)'s favorite hobby to indulge in.

"How's the wife, Huff? And that girl, Carter? What was her name? Grace?"

"Gloria!" Carter corrected with a gleeful smile, the skewer forgotten in favor of talking about his girlfriend. "Man, (Y/N), she's the best. She's hilarious and so talented. She's waiting to hear back about this popular doctor show on ABC. I can't tell you much because it might spoil the next season, but she might be playing a new main character on it if they liked her audition."

(Y/N) couldn't have looked more disinterested in Gloria Grey and her acting career with his closed-lipped smile and blank eyes, but they all knew how he operated. He'd look bored by whatever they were telling him, and then surprise them later by remembering exactly what they'd said word-for-word.

Scott stared at him, silently willing him to turn his head and meet his eyes, to finally talk to him. He hadn't seen him up close since... Scott's throat tightened, and his gaze fell onto the tablecloth, watching an orangey spot spread beneath the skewer.

Forget about it.

"Yeah? Good for her." (Y/N) reached over, picking up the skewer and sliding the last shrimp off it to pop it in his mouth. Carter gave a little sigh at his taken food and waved over a server so he could grab another one. "And you, Huff? Wife? Kids?" 

"They're great, (L/N). Laura was asking about you the other day, actually." Greg answered, his features tight with mild concern that threatened to grow.

It'd been damn near a year of radio silence from (Y/N) (L/N), a year since Coach Murdock had tightly told them to stop badgering him with questions about their missing captain and assigned Scott as the new replacement, essentially telling them, without actually saying it, that their spitfire of a captain and left winger would no longer be on the team.

Murdock made it clear that (Y/N) was fine, but no longer residing in New York for the foreseeable future. The months of silence that followed had been an anxiety-inducing hell. Nobody knew where he'd gone off to, if he'd changed his number, or fuck, if he was even safe and recovering well.

Scott waited for (Y/N) to finally address him, but he only hummed and nodded, using the sharp end of the skewer as a toothpick before he straightened up, his head on a swivel to survey the room.

"Where's that Hollander kid? I heard he presented an award with Rozanov. I hope he shits a brick when he sees me, fuckin' pain in the ass he was."

"You're not going to ask what I've been up to?" Scott asked, his fingertip rubbing over the base of his champagne glass, his head lifting toward him. He kept his voice light and easy-going, hoping the scratchy feeling in the back of his throat hadn't been noticeable in his tone.

"I'm sure you're doing peachy, Hunter." (Y/N) finger tapped on the table, his jaw clenching and unclenching before his eyes met Scott's. Scott's head dipped immediately to avoid gazing into their coldness. If he had a tail, it would've tucked between his legs. "You're always fucking peachy, aren't you?"

"Let's, uh," Carter let out an awkward laugh, his arm wrapping around (Y/N)'s shoulder and rubbing his bicep with his palm. "Let's go meet up with the other guys, yeah? They'll be happy to see you." He told him, guiding (Y/N) away from the table before things could escalate.

Scott stared at the tablecloth, his teeth grinding together at the clawing sensation creeping up his back. "He hates me." He muttered, taking in a breath and holding it until the heaviness in his chest and stinging pressure in his eyes subsided. He shook his head lightly. "He hates me."

Greg sucked his teeth. "(L/N) doesn't hate you, Scott. You know him. He has a bad temper, but he never means what he says at the end of the day. He's probably overwhelmed and taking it out on you, alright?"

"No, no... He was my best friend, and I let him down, Huff. He has every damn right to hate me right now."

Scott doubted (Y/N) would manage to be fully at ease at the NHL Awards after what'd happened, but Greg was right. Scott knew him. Probably knew him better than he knew himself. He'd been around (Y/N) enough to read him like a book, and (Y/N)'s energy had been full of restrained anger.

"It wasn't your fault." Greg reminded him sternly, his brows lifting at him almost scoldingly. "It wasn't Philadelphia's fault, either. Hell, it wasn't Zullo's fault. You never know what's going to happen out on that ice."

"They never do reruns of that game for a reason, Huff. It was- it was-"

Scott clamped his mouth shut and took a breath, his eyes squeezing shut as the memories flooded in unwillingly.

The shouts and insults thrown from both teams, the gloved fists that went flying, the way everyone flew in to get a blind hit in on the opposing team. The grunt from (Y/N) when he fell on the ice from a shove, and then the yelped, pained curse that came afterward when sharp metal tore through fabric and skin.

He'd seen specks and droplets of blood before on the ice from busted lips or loosened teeth. He'd never seen smears of it spread over the ice, seeping through the lines their skates left behind to form morbid, deep crimson designs.

Not until that day.

Injuries in hockey were a common occurrence, to the point that it was usual for most players to leave the ice with bruises from getting body checked. He'd seen plenty of injuries throughout his career: sprained ankles, bruised or fractured bones, concussions, broken teeth, muscle tears. Hockey wasn't a sport for the weak.

But what had happened to (Y/N) had been a rare, freak accident that could've been avoided had Frank Zullo kept his mouth shut and not gone after the Philadelphia team's goalie.

Everyone had been shaken up afterwards, and in a surprising moment of empathy from the league, they were allowed to reschedule the game to give everyone time to process and get their groove back... and to give the arena staff time to clean up the mess.

The Admirals, as expected after witnessing such a gnarly injury from one of their own, lost, leading Philadelphia to continue into the playoffs against the Montreal Metros. NYC had been sympathetic and understanding when they returned home, directing their outrage and disappointment at Philadelphia instead, letting them decompress and assess things without an onslaught of internet hate.

"I know," Greg murmured grimly, his body trembling with a shudder and nose crinkling with a cringe. "It was rough for all of us."

Scott's eyes squeezed shut, exhaling heavily through his nose, because no, nobody on the team understood how he felt. They'd never understand because most of them were happily straight and never went through the agony of being in love with someone out of reach, of being in love with someone who'd disappeared with the wind.

You don't get it, Greg, you don't.

"Yeah," Scott sighed. "I know."

2013, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Seven Hours Before The Accident

"I told you it was a bad idea to drink at the airport."

"Shut the fuck up, Hunter."

Scott threw his head back with a laugh, his shoulders shaking and eyes crinkling at (Y/N)'s muffled response, the added image of him sprawled out starfish on his bed with his face buried in the mattress only making him double over with more laughter. His laughter devolved into coughing and hacking, tears stinging the corners of his eyes.

(Y/N) raised his head and pushed his face into the palms of his hands, his mouth parting to let out a low groan. "If you're going to die, die in the hallway. I do not want to deal with you choking to death while my brain feels like it got put through a damn shredder." He muttered grumpily, tilting his head downward slightly so the heels of his palms were digging into his eyes.

Scott managed to catch his breath and clear his throat, his legs swinging over the side of his bed to approach (Y/N). The mattress creaked beneath his weight as he climbed into the bed and leaned forward to drag his hand back and forth over (Y/N)'s spine, his heart fluttering when (Y/N) slumped over his thigh in response.

"I'm dying," (Y/N) whined, his arms curling around Scott's knee, clinging onto it like a child. His lips jutted out in a pout, his cheek smushing against the rough fabric of Scott's jeans. "Hunterrr, I'm dying. My brain is giving out on me. My body hates me."

"You're fine."

Scott laughed wheezily, bringing his fist to his mouth to cough again. He dug his fingers into (Y/N)'s back and ran them down his spine, his mouth forming an amused grin at the way (Y/N) hummed pleasurably and slightly arched his back like a cat.

"Do you want some Advil and a massage, you big baby?"

(Y/N) grinned, his head lifting off Scott's thigh, magically looking perfectly fine. "Yes."

With a roll of his eyes, Scott slipped out of the bed and approached his luggage, unzipping one of the front pockets to take out his small bottle of Advil. He grabbed a water bottle from his backpack and returned to (Y/N)'s side, waiting for him to tug his shirt over his head and toss it aside before offering him two pills and the bottle. 

Scott's eyes drifted away from (Y/N)'s face and down to his shoulders, gazing over the newly exposed skin. They lingered on the glimmer of the silver snowflake necklace around (Y/N)'s neck, the one Scott had given him for his nineteenth birthday as a congratulatory gift for his first year as a pro hockey player.

(Y/N) had gone on to become Rookie of the Year and decided then that he'd never go anywhere without his necklace, without his lucky charm.

When Scott's draft season came along, (Y/N) returned the gesture by giving him a gold necklace with a sun pendant at the end. Scott managed to get drafted to the same team as (Y/N) and made him a similar promise of never taking it off when that Rookie of the Year award was given to him, too.

His eyes moved lower, down to (Y/N)'s exposed chest and stomach, his heartbeat thumping in his ears. After knowing (Y/N) (L/N) for nearly eleven years, the sight of his naked body was nothing new.

He'd seen him shirtless, pantless, and otherwise completely nude plenty of times before, but it never ceased to make his neck warm with heat in a way that never happened with the rest of the guys... in a way that never happened with anyone else.

The consequences of having a crush on your childhood best friend and hockey captain... the consequences of constantly being around your first love.

"Ready?" Scott asked in a strained voice, taking a swing of the bottle after (Y/N) swallowed the pills in hopes of easing the tightness in his throat. The water ran down his throat, soothing it lightly, and he used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. "Move." He tapped (Y/N)'s shoulder twice.

(Y/N) flopped onto his stomach and stretched out across the bed, propping his chin over his arms and making his back ripple with the movement. Scott's jeans strained against his thighs when he kneeled on the bed and straddled (Y/N)'s lower hips, keeping his weight on his knees to avoid settling over (Y/N)'s ass and having his body betray him.

His hands dipped, his fingers digging into (Y/N)'s shoulders first, working on the tension and knots there with practiced experience from all the other times he'd given (Y/N) free massages to cease his whining. (Y/N) hummed pleasantly, his lips forming a grin that'd put the Cheshire Cat to shame, overly pleased with himself and the situation.

The other Admirals liked to tease that he was (Y/N)'s puppy dog, that (Y/N) could tell him to jump and Scott would ask how high because Scott rarely ever questioned him. Scott found it embarrassing... because it was true.

He'd been following (Y/N) around since their youth, ever since Scott billeted with his family at fourteen and was allowed to stay with them until college.

"Enjoying yourself?" Scott asked teasingly, rubbing his thumbs in circular motions over his shoulder blades, his skin warming at the quiet moan he received in response. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. "You're not as tense as last time." He mentioned, clearing his throat after.

"I've got a good massage therapist," (Y/N) muttered, peering over his shoulder at him with half-lidded eyes and an impish grin. "He doesn't charge a dime, that dumb sucker."

Lowering his hands, Scott hooked his fingers in the belt loops of (Y/N)'s jeans and tugged on them suddenly, eliciting a yelp from him when he rocked forward.

(Y/N) swatted at his hands with a groan, his lips twisting into a pout that Scott snickered at. He rolled off him and plopped down on the bed again, his snickering turning into laughter when (Y/N)'s hand slipped beneath his pants.

"You gave me a wedgie, you dick!"

His hips rose off the bed in his attempt to readjust his underwear, before he gave up and rolled over onto his back. Unbuttoning his jeans and tugging them down to his upper thighs, (Y/N) raised his hips again and got his underwear back into place with a little scowl.

Scott's laughter nearly grew stuck in his throat, his eyes focusing on the trail of hair dipping beneath the waistband of his underwear. 

Goddamit, think about something other than your best friend. Hockey, puck, helmet, shoulder pads, gloves, elbow pads, breezers, mouth guards, neck guard-

"What're you thinking about so hard, Scotty?" (Y/N) interrupted his mental recitation of hockey equipment, his scowl replaced with a lazy smile. His arm flopped to the side and landed over Scott's lap, his fingers curling to dig lightly into Scott's thigh. 

"Uh, the game tonight." Scott gave what he hoped came off as a casual shrug. "Philly always puts up a decent fight. I'm hoping we beat 'em and grab some burgers after."

(Y/N) barked out a laugh. "They haven't won a Cup since the mid-70s, Scott. That's longer than us, remember? They put up a normal fight, not a 'decent' one. They're below-average players with an average coach at best." He reached down, patting blindly for his shirt until his fingers reached it and he tugged it toward himself. "We got this. It's going to be an easy win, watch. You should worry about Montreal."

Scott grunted, resisting the urge to sigh. The Montreal Metros were good, always had been, but they'd made their best player, Shane Hollander, team captain, and the energy felt different. It was focused, determined.

"They're going against Boston soon. We'll see who wins that game and find out who's going to kick our ass if we win tonight."

"Since when are you such a fucking pessimist, Hunter?" (Y/N) poked him hard in the side and dragged himself up into a slouch that would've earned him a scolding from his mother about posture if she were around. "You're supposed to be the optimist between the two of us."

"Says the captain of our team." Scott smiled. 

Despite his flaws and glaring anger-management issues, (Y/N) (L/N) proved himself a competent captain. Where others went the route of overly optimistic to the point of lying or becoming stricter than the coach, (Y/N) chose tough love.

It was ego-bruising at times, his words harsh enough that some rookies flinched when he spoke to them, but it was necessary to get them to play better. They needed to be reminded they weren't the best of the best until they had proof.

He admired (Y/N) for that, though he'd hardly call him the country's best captain. He had tough enough skin to take the snarky comments muttered behind his back by those he scolded, but he lacked the maturity to walk away from arguments without getting the last word in.

That was where Scott came in, defusing situations as assistant captain and mentioning the upsides of situations to help ease tensions.

"My job is to make sure these knuckleheads make good plays." (Y/N) pointed at himself with his thumb and then thrusted a finger in Scott's direction. "Your job is to keep them from crying themselves to sleep at night when they can't shoot straight."

"That's actually your job. You're supposed to help team morale as captain, which means keeping them from crying themselves to sleep at night." Scott corrected, chuckling softly at the dramatic, over-the-top eyeroll (Y/N) reacted with. "I'm supposed to back up whatever you say and act as captain when you're not there."

"So, we basically have the same responsibilities, smartass."

The bed creaked beneath (Y/N)'s movements when he got onto his knees after adjusting his pants, and Scott's hands raised immediately. Their palms made a loud slap! sound they collided, a soft stinging sensation spreading through Scott's hands briefly.

"What's your point?"

"I don't have a point." Scott laughed, his arms beginning to tremble beneath the weight (Y/N) put into his hands as they began an impromptu wrestling match. (Y/N) spread his knees out a little further for better balance, his fingers lacing with Scott's for a nicer grip. "I'm just saying, you also have to be more optimistic." 

"Then, you actually have a point, idiot."

Scott's legs shifted beneath him, and he lunged forward, using (Y/N)'s position to knock him off balance onto his back. Their hands untangled in an effort to catch their bodies, but just as swiftly lifted off the mattress to collide again.

Scott attempted to pin (Y/N)'s hands down on the bed, but (Y/N) put up a good fight, wriggling himself free a few times and attempting to coil his arm around Scott's neck to switch positions.

Eventually, (Y/N) dug his elbow into the bed and wrapped his legs around Scott's waist, and out the door when Scott's focus at winning. With some mild effort, (Y/N) rolled them over and took Scott's wrists into his hands, pinning them down and laughing in smug victory. His necklace dangled in front of Scott's face, catching and glittering in the sunlight coming in through the window. 

"You're insufferable," Scott muttered lamely, his cheeks undoubtedly dusted with pink. 

"All I do is win, Scotty boy."

(Y/N) leaned back, his necklace resting over his collarbone, and he sat on Scott's lower stomach and (thankfully) avoided his lap. Scott wished he'd worn some looser pants rather than jeans that made everything feel tighter.

"You should try it sometime." He winked down at him. 

"Oh, screw you, (Y/N)!" Scott huffed out a laugh and reached up to lightly shove at his shoulder. "I'm always doing assists for you! You get half of your goals because of me."

(Y/N)'s stomach flexed with his laugh, and he leaned further back, his hands coming to rest over Scott's propped-up knees. Scott tried his best not to think about the position they were in and internally cursed (Y/N) when he rolled his head back, his chest rising and falling with the exhales of energy well-spent. His jeans were still popped open, leaving his underwear visible.

Mercifully, (Y/N) toppled forward over him, a grunt escaping Scott's chest, but he was glad to have the view out of sight. His arms weakly wrapped around (Y/N)'s waist, the heels of his palm dragging up and down his spine, savoring the feel of his bare skin. (Y/N) raised his head and peered down at him, his fingers pinching the sun pendant against the snowflake one.

He liked doing it before games or before anything important, rubbing them together for a few seconds as if sharing luck or skill through their necklaces.

Their little ritual, their own routine that no one else knew about except for them. Warm spread over Scott's chest, his cheeks beginning to hurt from how much he'd smiled and laughed.

(Y/N) released their necklaces, but the dendrites of the snowflake hooked with the sun's rays, keeping them locked together. He hummed quietly. "Guess we're stuck together 'til the bitter end, Scotty." He cooed, his finger running over Scott's brow. Scott almost purred. 

When Shane had arrived at the Pike household for the twins' birthday party, the last thing he'd expected was to be promoted from captain to hairstylist, but with Jackie busy attempting to mimic Belle's iconic updo for Ruby and Hayden finishing the last few decorations in the backyard with J.J.'s help, Shane agreed to do Jade's hair. 

Jade giggled, setting the mirror aside, preparing to launch off to go play outside with the other kids that'd arrived, until Jackie called out, "Jade, what do we say to Shane?" She arched a brow at her daughter, her arms occupied with fixing the Mickey Mouse onesie little Arthur had been put in.

Jade whirled around and shouted a quick, "Thank you!"

"No problem."

Staggering onto his feet, Shane slid his phone in his back pocket and watched Jade rush outside to join the rest of the dressed-up children playing in the backyard.

Hayden and a few of the guys were with them, helping out with the games they had going on to keep them entertained. He could tell a few of the WAGs enjoyed having the day free from wrangling their little ones.

"Thanks for all the help, Shane." Jackie sighed tiredly, setting Arthur back on the ground, her hands hovering until he gained his balance and waddled off to check out all the noise.

Shane chuckled under his breath, his gaze softening at the sight of him. His friendship with the Pikes meant he was often invited over, which also meant entertaining the kids or keeping an eye on them.

He'd been reluctant about it first. Kids were loud, nosy, unruly, and often dirty or smelly from one thing or another. But over time, he'd grown used to them, and now, he'd begun finding himself wondering what it'd be like to have a baby of his own.

Jackie bumped him gently with her hip, her smile teasing. "Think you'll be hosting a birthday party for your kid anytime soon?" 

"I don't think so," Shane admitted with a small laugh, his hand raising to rub the back of his neck. "I haven't been.. seeing anyone lately."

Sparing a glance around for any prying ears, Jackie shuffled closer, dropping her voice into a whisper. "I could set you up with some friends of mine. I have a friend from high school you might like. He's a marathon runner, so he's really into fitness, but his full-time job is as a nurse at a senior facility. I think you'd like him."

Expectedly, after coming out to the Pikes one evening, all the blind date offers and suggestions evolved from single women they knew to single queer men they knew. Jackie had more people to offer than Hayden, unsurprisingly, but Shane's interest in them remained superficial.

He'd hooked up with one of her guy friends, but he hadn't felt that spark, that excitement and want for more that he'd had with...

With (Y/N) (L/N). 

He hadn't spoken to (Y/N) face-to-face since the meeting announcing his departure from the team. It'd been brief and quick, a mere handshake and muttered words of good luck.

No eye contact, no lingering around to catch him leaving. His body wanted to anchor itself to the floor and demand more time, but he'd made himself move for the sake of appearances.

Because (Y/N) barely kept up with his social media presence, Shane was reduced to keeping up with him through what the media reported and what the Ottawa Centaurs page posted. Embarassingly enough, checking the Centaurs' social media pages became part of his daily routine, which he told himself was simply keeping up with rivals.

Their first season with (Y/N) as assistant coach had been a usual season with no chance of getting into the playoffs. The second season, however, they really shone with (Y/N) promoted to their head coach.

They'd manage to beat Toronto, Buffalo, and Tampa, and while they hadn't managed to win against Detroit, it'd been a shockingly close game. He'd received a Jack Adams Award for Coach of the Year, and it'd been bittersweet for Shane to watch.

He had little clue what (Y/N) had been up to over the past few years. His personal life remained off social media, and (Y/N) redirected any questions about it back to hockey during interviews, but Shane managed to hear through the grapevine (otherwise known as J.J. 'Nosy Nelly' Boiziau) that in late 2013, (Y/N) used gestational surrogacy to welcome a baby into his life. 

For a split second, he thought that meant that Aimee had given her child to him, but when he checked her socials, he only found photo dumps and first-time mommy posts about Aimee living in San Francisco with a healthy newborn boy.

She'd looked vibrant, and still did the handful of times he felt like checking in. Her little boy had grown an adorable head full of ginger curls over time and seemed to be thriving on the sunny coast.

The realization that (Y/N) had chosen to become a single father settled oddly on Shane's chest, not quite processing fully. He'd known for a while that fatherhood had always been on his mind, but for Shane, who felt as if his life had only been starting, it seemed like a goal for the faraway future.

Looking back, he understood, vaguely, why (Y/N) had split up with him. 

It still stung very much, but now that he was twenty-five and officially heading into his late twenties, he realized the mindset and goals he'd had then wouldn't have matched with (Y/N)'s. They'd been at two drastically different life stages, and over time, he realized (Y/N) had been right about hockey.

Hockey swallowed up his whole life, and when the realization washed over him like icy water, he made the choice to start getting out more. He met Rose Landry, whom he thought he liked, but then realized he simply enjoyed having someone to talk to without expectations. Through her, he met new people, people who opened his world to more than just hockey. 

As much as it ached to have gained and lost his first love in a matter of weeks, it taught him a valuable lesson, and for that, he was grateful.

Even if (Y/N) lingered in the back of his mind constantly.

"I think I'm alright." Shane dismissed the idea with a small shake of his head. "I want to.. meet someone naturally, you know? I mean, you and Hayden met by chance at a club, and now you have this big, happy family. I want to meet my future... husband organically."

Though he knew the chances of approaching someone anywhere were slim to none, he had some faith the love of his life would come to him.

"I get it."

Jackie nodded, brushing some dirty blonde hair over her shoulder, her hand coming to rest at her hip as she bumped her plump belly out in an attempt to relieve some back pain. Another incoming Pike girl. He heavily considered getting Hayden a massive box of condoms for the holidays.

"Let me know if you change your mind, though."

With a slight wince, Shane watched her waddle out into the backyard. How Jackie Pike marched through three pregnancies, one involving twins, was beyond him. He was certain he'd lose his mind having to deal with all the pains, changes, and symptoms she often complained about.

He glanced around the living room and decided to be a helping hand by picking up some of the cans and plates set around. He tossed any trash into the bin and washed any dirty dishes he spotted, more content with busying himself than sitting around in the warm weather with little to do. He opened the bags containing the plastic spoons, setting them out so they'd be ready for when they cut the cake.

Popping open the fridge, Shane took a can of ginger ale from the box they kept for him and cracked it open, taking a sip and double-checking on the one-tier princess-themed cake.

It looked pretty enough to at least break his diet with a small slice, his mouth slightly watering at the idea of having something sugary sweet. 

He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the front door opening and closing, swiping his tongue over his lips and shutting the fridge door. His head turned toward the window, peering out into the backyard, doing a mental headcount of everyone he could see from his spot.

He was fairly certain all the Metros and staff who said yes to attending were there, so he assumed it was a family friend.

Shane brought the can back to his lips, taking another sip and turning to redirect the guest to where the presents were. His words died on his tongue at the sight of (Y/N) (L/N) standing beneath the archway leading into the open kitchen-living room, his mouth falling open in surprise.

(Y/N) stared back at him, his brows slightly raised, before he gave him a small, friendly smile. Shane immediately felt weak at the knees.

"Hollander." (Y/N) greeted him, adjusting the little girl in his arms who was dressed in a poofy, sparkly pink dress.

She raised her head from his shoulder to look over at him, startling familiar (E/C) eyes gazing at him curiously. She pulled her fingers from her mouth to wave at him, and (Y/N) chuckled airily.

"Brooke, this is Shane. Shane.. this is Brooke." 

"Hi." Brooke squeaked out.

"Hello," Shane managed out, blindly setting his can down on the counter. His heart skipped a beat, and then another. "Who- Who are you dressed up as?" He asked, his eyes flickering between the two, half-certain he'd conjured (Y/N) up from his imagination.

Brooke looked back at her father, her chin tucking in slightly with some shyness. (Y/N) smiled encouragingly, but Brooke buried her face in his neck instead, using her little hands to clutch his shirt.

"She's Lottie from The Princess and the Frog," (Y/N) answered for her instead, his hand raising to rub her back. "This is the dress Lottie wears in the scene when they're kids. A friend in Hawkesbury made it for her."

"Oh, wow." Shane swallowed. "You look like a real princess, Brooke."

Her thanks came out muffled, but he heard it nonetheless, a little smile breaking out on his face. In some delusional part of his brain, he thought she looked... like a mix of the two of them.

Her black hair was shiny and silky, and the roundness of her cheeks reminded him of his childhood pictures.. but that was dumb. She likely already had a stepparent waiting for them at home, one who thought the same.

(Y/N) lingered, his gaze shifting between him and the sliding doors leading into the backyard. He wet his lips and approached the doors, carefully setting Brooke down on the floor and letting her hold his finger when they stepped out into the backyard.

A chorus of excited and surprised cheering came, followed by WAGs shushing their partners and telling them to be mindful of the little girl. 

Without thinking twice, Shane's feet moved, taking him to the downstairs bathroom where he hurried inside and locked the door. He braced his hands on the sink and took a few deep breaths, closing his eyes and waiting for his mind to settle.

(Y/N) looked... amazing. He had a couple more gray hairs, and he'd grown out some facial hair that gave him a five o'clock shadow, a sight that sent Shane's mind reeling.

And he seemed... brighter, warmer, and in some ways, younger. Parenthood had a way of draining people, espeically older parents from what he'd seen, but it looked like it'd done the opposite for (Y/N).

Fuck. Shane's face warmed, his fingertips feeling tingly and his stomach getting all fluttery again. He thought that the only thing he'd truly feel when they reunited would be nostalgia or a sense of melancholy, but all he wanted to do was grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him in for an open-mouth kiss. 

He turned the faucet handle and splashed his face with cold water, using the hand towel to pat his face dry. He straightened up and looked at himself in the mirror, shaking his arms out in hopes it'd get rid of the nerves.

Relax, Hollander. He's just a guy. It's all in the past. He sucked in a breath, held it for a good few seconds. Everything's fine. Today it's all about the Pikes.

Letting out the air in his lungs, he opened the door and stepped out, returning to his can of ginger ale and chugging back the rest of it. He finished just as (Y/N) appeared in the doorway of the sliding doors, their eyes meeting before Shane broke eye contact to toss his can in the trash.

Everything's fine. Everything's fine.

"I'm going to, uh, grab the presents from the back of my car," (Y/N) told him, digging his hand in his pocket and taking out his keys. "Where are we putting them?"

Against his better judgment, Shane said, "I can help you."

"Okay."

Internally groaning, Shane followed him down the hallway to the front door, teeth catching his bottom lip and nipping lightly as they approached his car. (Y/N) opened one of the back doors and reached in, and Shane's eyes unwillingly trailed over his backside, lingering where his shirt shifted and showed the skin hiding beneath.

Get a fucking grip.

(Y/N) took out a finely wrapped box with Jade's name written on it and offered it over to him, their fingers grazing in the exchange. Shane couldn't help but think about all the times those fingers dug into his skin with desire or touched him gently, his neck growing warmer and warmer.

Oh, how he wished he'd kept his mouth shut and simply pointed (Y/N) in the right direction.

Once (Y/N) grabbed the gift intended for Ruby and locked his car, they headed back inside, where Shane led him to the family room that the Pikes were using to keep all the presents in. He set the gift down at the corner of the table and stepped back to let (Y/N) do the same, his gaze watching the way (Y/N)'s arms flexed with his movements. 

"So, uh," (Y/N) cleared his throat, breaking Shane out of his spell. (Y/N) slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, his eyes roaming along the floor. "How have you been? You guys won the Stanley Cup last year. Must've been exciting, huh? Espeically as captain?" 

"It was great, yeah. I.. I'm really glad things worked out the way they did. I'm hoping for another Cup this upcoming season." Shane answered, almost wincing at how... practiced his words sounded. He was fairly certain he'd said those exact words to a reporter after their win. "It- It was crazy, honestly. I don't think I've smiled that much in my life."

(Y/N) smiled knowingly, leaning back to rest his hip against the pool table. "Winning the Stanley Cup will give you a better dopamine rush than drugs or alcohol ever will. I remember my first win back with the Sharks... I thought I was going to pass out. It was even better that it was being held in San Fransico. There's nothing like winning big at home."

Shane remembered that win, somewhat. He mostly remembered leaping up onto his feet and clapping his hands together really hard while his parents laughed and cheered to appease him. His lips quirked at the memory, and the nerves buzzing through his body began to settle.

This was (Y/N) (L/N).. he knew him. Nothing to lose his mind over.

"Brooke's adorable," Shane mentioned, crossing his arms over his stomach and leaning against the pool table as well. "I heard you had her through surrogacy. How.. How was that experience like?"

"New," (Y/N) answered, scratching lightly at his chin. "I never thought I'd go down the route of being a single parent by choice, but that's just the way the cookie crumbles, I guess. I did a lot of research and looked into a lot of clinics and agencies. I chickened out a few times when it came to making a consultation until I finally did it."

Shane hummed, nodding along and... making mental notes, just in case he ever found himself desiring fatherhood enough to head down a similar path. It sounded nerve-wracking, though, especially when he considered the single parent part of it all.

"We found a donor, and it felt like a good match. I was actually surprised to learn that most donors prefer to keep the door closed on potentially meeting the kid in the future. I thought it'd be fifty-fifty, but I let her know I was open to whatever she preferred. Then, there was the GC- the, uhm, carrier. The surrogate, I should say. She had what she described as the perfect pregnancy, and then... Brooke was born."

(Y/N) took out his phone from the pocket of his jacket, fiddling with it for a bit before he turned it over to show Shane. Immediately, Shane smiled, looking over the photo of a newborn Brooke, soundly sleeping in her crib in strawberry-themed clothes and wisps of black hair on her head. The following photo was at a wider angle, showing Blu standing guard by the crib.

"The first few months were crazy, and, as much as I felt bad for the team, I was glad we didn't get very far in the season," (Y/N) admitted with a small laugh, his gaze overwhelmingly tender.

Shane raised his head to look at him, his chest growing warm and fuzzy. He thought back to the (Y/N) (L/N) he'd met, the man who looked tired and resigned to the bad hand life had dealt him, the one he'd wanted to please and help.

That man, Shane was pleased to acknowledge, seemed to be long gone.

"I take her with me to practice during training, and my parents fly over to watch her during the season, which she's always happy about. I keep in touch with Riley, the surrogate. She's a mom of three, so she gives me advice all the time, and I keep in touch with a social worker to help whenever Brooke has questions. She knows as much as is appropriate for her age, which is important to me."

"I'm happy for you, (Y/N)," Shane told him quietly, his hand twitching before he reached out to touch (Y/N)'s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "You look happy, and I've seen all the interviews where Ottawa sings your praises." He chuckled softly. "You deserve it. I mean it."

(Y/N) gave him a closed-lipped smile and slipped his phone back into his pocket, his lips parting with an exhale. He glanced away, looking over the pile of presents. "Shane, I'm sorry about how things ended between us. What- What I said to you that day before I left... Jesus, I was a prick. It was horrible of me to do."

"(Y/N)-"

"No, listen, there were a million different ways I could've and should've responded to what you told me. This is no excuse, but I... at the time, I felt like I needed to say something mean to get you to give up, and... it was immature of me, Shane. I'm really sorry. What I said.. it keeps coming back to me, and I know I would have been crushed if it'd been the other way around."

Shane turned his head away, his lips pressing together as he sighed through his nose. "It hurt a lot, I'm not going to lie. I.. I called my mom after, and my parents drove over to Montreal and... I came out to them. I told them I'd been seeing a guy and he dumped me and.. that I didn't know what to do. I was.. a bit of a mess."

(Y/N) grimaced. "I'm sorry." He repeated, his voice heavy with regret. "I really am, Shane. I don't know how to make it up to you, but.. I will, somehow. If there's anything you want me to do, I'll do it... except for throwing a game. The guys would kill me if I did that." He flashed a little smile, and Shane shook his head with an amused grin. 

"You better not. I like having a challenge." Shane replied, taking the smallest of baby steps toward him. "And... I forgive you. I think.. the time apart was necessary, even if it could've gone a little better. I guess in the end, you were right."

Shane nudged him and let himself stay there, close enough to smell his cologne again. While it smelled the same, there were hints of applesauce there too, and it made him smile to himself.

That burst of giddiness and delight that filled him in the past filled him then, rushing through his body and leaving him breathless. 

His eyes flickered to the entrance of the room and then back to (Y/N)'s face, slowly lowering to study his mouth. Shane leaned in the slightest bit, enough to be noticeable but enough to leave space for rejection.

He caught the way (Y/N)'s adams apple bobbed, and his breath hitched when (Y/N)'s leaned in, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to his lips before he pulled back. 

Another smile. "We should get back to the party."

"Yeah," Shane's fingers brushed over his lips, his own smile growing. "We should."

The party buzzed with energy, and while it looked like everyone was having plenty of fun, Shane chose to linger away from the games.

The last thing he wanted was to get roped into being a supervisor when he could simply lounge on a chair with his sunglasses on, half-listening to the gossip the WAGs nearby exchanged and the conversation between Hendricks and Theriault about the upcoming season while he watched the kids play with a few of the Metros.

His gaze drifted every so often to study (Y/N). The confidence that'd been there before had definitely grown, Shane saw it in his posture, but he looked more relaxed, too. Less guarded and withdrawn, more smiles and laughter than feigned ones.

He'd crouch down to talk to Brooke, to adjust her hair, or offer her some snacks. Every so often, he'd have to join her with the rest of the kids so she'd play with them, and Shane began to understand why Jackie and Hayden had a growing family.

The sweetness of his interactions with his daughter, the comfort and understanding between them, the sight of him simply being a father... filled Shane with a warm, sweet feeling he couldn't describe. He caught (Y/N)'s eye a few times, each brief glance leaving his cheeks warm and his lips tugging upward. 

At one point, Shane finally stood up to help spin the kids so they could attempt to pin Eeyore's tail on a picture of the donkey, offering whatever words of encouragement popped into mind.

He gave a celebratory whistle when Taylor's little boy managed to get the closest, giving the obligatory clap and whoops until he felt a tug on his pants. 

Peering down, Shane smiled immediately. "Hey, Brooke," He greeted, lowering himself down onto his hunches to be at eye-level with her. "What's up?" His eyes darted around the backyard. "Where's your dad?"

Brooke shrugged, her gaze uncertain when she glanced around the backyard herself. She mouthed at her fingers in what seemed to be an anxious habit, and Shane gave a low, thoughtful hum.

Tentatively, because he'd never considered himself to be the greatest at handling kids, he turned his palms upward toward her in a silent question. She stuck her arms up, letting him scoop her up against his chest when he stood back up.

"You want to look for your dad? Or.. or are you hungry?"

Shane approached one of the tables with the snacks, pointing at different things and watching Brooke for a reaction, until she finally nodded when he pointed to the cheddar cheese.

He scooped up three slices and held them up for her, almost chuckling when she grabbed his hand to steady it and took bites from one slice, her other hand tightly clutching the collar of his shirt.

Shane kept Brooke in her arms even after she finished the cheese and drank some apple juice, lightly swaying back and forth when her head began to droop and she fought to keep her eyes open.

Her little, chubby arms wrapped around his neck, and she finally set her head down, her breathing growing slower. He shook his head at the WAGs who offered to take her, since he'd been specifically chosen out of everyone else.

"Well, look at you!" Hayden teased, and then clamped his mouth shut at the sharp look Shane sent him. "Sorry, sorry." He lowered his voice, his smile sheepish. "I think (Y/N) went to the bathroom. You can tell him she can nap in the twins' bedroom upstairs when you see him, alright? You're a natural, buddy." Hayden winked, mindfully bumping his fist against Shane's bicep.

"You think so?"

"Take a look at yourself, man. And, don't forget, you've always been good at calming Arthur down." Hayden opened his hand to rub Shane's shoulder, his gaze genuine. "You'll make a great dad someday, Shane."

Dipping his head a hint shyly, and to hide his growing smile, Shane mumbled, "Thanks, Hayd. That means a lot."

"Ah, man, I can't wait for that day to come. We can arrange playdates and take the kids to the rink... We wouldn't even need to hire a coach to train them. Let me tell you, the first couple of months are hard.. and the first.. few years, but it's worth it. There's nothing like waking them up and seeing their little faces light up at the sight of you."

Hayden looked off into the distance, his smile big and affectionate, his eyes soft in a way that told Shane he was reminiscing. The twins gave him hell most of the time with their endless energy and love for getting up to no good, but the sight of them melting into their father's arms after a long day of playing could warm even the coldest of hearts.

It was a good feeling to have a child choose you as their safe person in a room full of mothers and fathers with much more experience. Shane felt a bit prideful about it, even if it was a little silly. He assumed she'd picked him due to (Y/N) introducing them, but even that meant something to him.

Taking another look around the backyard, Shane began making his way inside, dodging racing kids and stepping over scattered toys on the floor with expertise. He stepped inside, sliding the door shut to keep the warm air out with his free hand before he contemplated searching for (Y/N) or risking waking Brooke up by calling for him.

Luckily, (Y/N) appeared around the corner, his brows lifting at the sight of them. "Someone's tuckered out?" His eyes crinkled warmly, keeping his footsteps light as he approached and peeked at his daughter's sleeping face. "She's not used to running around so much. She prefers hanging out with the book club made up of old ladies back home."

Shane hummed, his hand automatically raising to rub her back when she stirred, soothing her back to sleep. "Sounds better than dealing with shrieking kids. I always preferred hanging with the adults when I was younger, too." 

"Same here." (Y/N) smiled, his fingers smoothing out the wrinkles in the skirt. "My parents and I were worried the first year because she hadn't made any speech developments. It was only earlier this year that she started saying things instead of making noises."

Shane blinked, his head tilting slightly. "I did that when I was younger.." He craned his head to peer at her face, breathing out in amusement at the sight of her smushed cheek on his shoulder. "We're basically twins, huh?"

His eyes returned to (Y/N), and he felt his face warm when he caught him watching them with fondness. Everything about it, everything about taking care of Brooke in (Y/N)'s absence and chatting casually about her, felt nice. Good. Natural.

Despite the ache that arose in his chest when he thought about the day they'd parted ways, he recognized staying together wouldn't have allowed them to pursue other things, wouldn't have resulted in Brooke.

"(Y/N)," Shane began gently, wetting his lips as his heart weighed. "Would... Would you want to grab a coffee sometime?" He asked him, shuffling a bit on his feet. "I'd like to- to catch up... and.. maybe pick things up where we left off?" 

"You'd want to do that? After- After how things ended?" (Y/N) stared at him, his eyes slightly widened. "Really?"

Shane nodded. "I want to try. I think about you all the time and... I know better now. I took what you said to heart and- and I made friends outside of hockey. I discovered I really like design and- and I actually have my own cottage in Ottawa. Oh-"

Shane adjusted Brooke in his arms a bit and lightly bounced her when she grumbled. (Y/N) stroked the back of her hair, and back to dreamland she went.

"You guys should visit sometime. It's on the lakeside, and the water's perfect during summer. You can bring Blu, too."

"Ah," (Y/N) chuckled, though it sounded breathless and heavy simultaneously. "Blu isn't as energetic as he used to be. Age is catching up to him, but he'd probably enjoy sunbathing by the water. Brooke loves water, though. She'd probably have a lot of fun." 

"I stay at the cottage during the summer. You- You can tell me when, and I'll get the guest rooms set up."

Truthfully, as much as he loved his privacy and time to decompress without people around, sometimes he felt lonely. His parents were great company, but he wanted to have someone around he could chat to freely, without embarrassment creeping up about certain topics.

Most of the Metros were in relationships, and Shane felt... left out. They had partners waiting for them at home each day, partners who they could vent to or cuddle with.

"I'd like that, Shane." (Y/N)'s smile widened, and Shane perked up. "I'd... really like to see you again, too. To make up for how things went down and... maybe see where it goes from there. I think I've been ready for a relationship for a while now, and seeing you... It brings back a lot of feelings I had back then, I wasn't ready to process completely."

"Same." Shane agreed, butterflies fluttering behind his ribcage. "And, uh, I think I'm ready to be the partner you needed back then. I'm not going to lie and say I think everything will be perfect and- and I'll defintely have to adjust to potentially becoming a bonus parent.. but I'd like to experience that new chapter with you."

(Y/N) looked away, his lips twisted in that meek smile that always managed to make Shane swoon. He took a breath and straightened up, giving him a boyish grin. "Shane, would you like to go on a date sometime?"

"I can't do casual, Eric. I really can't." (Y/N) groaned, stirring Blu up from his slumber, so he quickly stroked his head until the beagle fell limp again and resumed his light snoring. "He- We slept together, alright? And I tried to keep it as a one-time thing, but Shane is very convincing. I mean, he came here with a whole ten-year plan of what we could do to lessen the risks of being found out."

"He did what?"

"Exactly. He thought of a whole plan where- where I can become Ottawa's coach and get a new place between Ottawa and Montreal so that we can still see each other without a potential suspension or worse. I... I said yes.. because I do like him. He's smart and attractive and he understands me pretty well, but... God, I don't know. I think I'm just... used to doing what people ask of me, I guess."

"Wow.. okay.."

With the following silence, (Y/N) heard soft, acoustic music playing in the background. He assumed he'd caught Eric in the middle of one of his yoga sessions. Maybe it was time to begin dipping his toes into some hobbies of his own. 

"What I'm hearing is that.. you don't want to move or switch teams, is that right?"

"I.. I don't know. Professionally, it makes more sense to join Ottawa if I want a chance at becoming a head coach. The Montreal Metros consistently get through most of the seasons, while Ottawa always ends up being sent home before getting anywhere near the playoffs. I'm more Hendricks assistant than Theriault's here, so career-wise I'm stagnant."

"Uh-huh."

"And I wouldn't mind moving. This house is great, but I could easily downsize or find a house that wasn't built for big families."

(Y/N) glanced around the livingroom as he spoke. The house was amazing, but the four bedrooms, living room, family room, and basement were better suited for growing families with more than one kid.

"I could probably find a nice place with two bedrooms instead of four."

"You could." Eric agreed, but his tone was edged with something else.

(Y/N) pursed his lips. "What?"

"Listen, (Y/N), one thing I appreciate about you is how you always see the logistical side of things. I always love hearing your advice and your view on certain things.. but this- this isn't something you do just because of the logistics, you know. You should do this because you want to, not because some twenty-something-year-old wants to have his cake and eat it too."

(Y/N) bit his inner cheek, his eyes drifting down to watch the rise and fall of Blu's slow, slumbering breathing. "That saying doesn't make sense." He muttered, a bit childishly, and Eric chuckled. "But.. yeah, I get what you mean. I... I don't know. I went from having my parents tell me what to do with my life, to Aimee telling me what to do, and now.. I've got Shane doing it, I guess."

"I'm not saying Hollander's not a good boyfriend, I'm sure he's got good qualities, but... Montreal was supposed to be a fresh start. I thought for sure you were going to take a year or two break from dating to focus on the team and making a life for yourself. You have got to step out of the shadows, (L/N). And stop taking orders from other people."

"I hear you, I hear you." (Y/N) rubbed his fingertips into the bridge of his nose. "Did I mention Aimee's here, and Shane knows?"

Eric exhaled heavily, a small laugh of disbelief escaping him. "Jesus, man. How's that working out for you?"

"Aims is on a walk right now, but I'm going to drop her off at an art museum in Montreal. It's been... normal. It feels like having a roommate, I guess. I don't know if I'll visit Shane. He's been.. short with me. I know he's annoyed by the arrangement and.. Aimee asked if I'd be willing to help her raise her baby."

"Aimee's pregnant? When the hell did that happen?"

"Holly didn't mention?"

"Holly knows?" Eric groaned, and (Y/N) envisoned him rubbing a hand over his face. "I knew something was up with her.. (Y/N), what the hell has your life become?"

(Y/N) couldn't help but laugh at that, swiftly apologizing to Blu when the beagle jerked up in startlement. "I don't know. A crappy show from CW, I guess... I.. Shit. Having a kid with Aimee was always the long-term goal, you know? I can see myself being a father, and I used to envision it with her all the time, but now.."

"You envision Hollander?"

"No," (Y/N) replied honestly, his words breathy with his sigh. "He's not ready to be a father. He's not ready to be publicly out to anyone in his life, either. It's like we're at different starting points in this relationship, and by the time he catches up, I'll be too old to deal with a toddler throwing a tantrum or a teenager refusing to do their homework."

Eric fell silent again, a quiet, barely audible grunt filling it a mintue later. "You're not going to like what I'm going to tell you, (Y/N), but I have a suspicion you know where I'm going with this." He spoke gently, yet firmly, and (Y/N)'s shoulders sagged.

He knew. It'd been something festering in the back of his mind since the day he agreed to be Shane's boyfriend. 

Their conversation lasted for roughly twenty minutes before (Y/N) bid him goodbye and allowed himself to reconsider a handful of things. He continued his absentminded petting, pleased that he had his buddy to keep him grounded while his mind worked through everything he'd gone through in the past month. 

One of the front doors opened and closed, prompting Blu to leap off the couch half-asleep, his body stumbling around until he shook off the drowsiness and bolted down the hallway.

Aimee appeared in the doorway with a bright smile and her hands occupied with a small box and a cup. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and her hair ruffled from the wind, specks of snow on her covered shoulders.

"There's the cutest café in town, (Y/N). They do that- that foam art thing, but with like cute little- what's it called? Uhm, chibi? Something like that, but cutesy animal designs in lattes and stuff. You have to look at the cookies, (Y/N)." Aimee plopped down on the couch, taking one last hard sip of her iced coffee before she opened the box. "I didn't realize Canada was so... France-y. Makes me wish I paid attention in French class."

(Y/N) snorted, straightening up on the couch and offering Blu a sympathetic head pat when he sat by their feet with big, pleading eyes. "What'd you get?"

Aimee pointed to the different flavored cookies, each in a different shape like stars, hearts, and animal head outlines. "Red velvet, creme brulee, cinnamon, pecan, and biscoff."

Her shoulders gave a little shimmy of excitement before she scooped the red velvet up and broke it in half, popping one half in her mouth. She hummed in delight and nodded her approval. 

"I've been thinking about your offer, Aims," (Y/N) piped up, breaking the biscoff cookie in half. The taste of cinnamon and nutmeg mixed wonderfully on his tongue. Aimee tilted her head to the side, popping one finger in her mouth to get the crumbs off. "I am.. going to decline."

"Oh..."

"I really care about you.. and I will always love you. I cherish the life we had, and I appreciate all the times you encouraged me to get out of my comfort zone to- to go to raves and things like that, but... I found someone here." (Y/N) admitted, shifting around to face her. He finished the rest of his half, collecting the crumbs with his tongue. "I've been seeing.. him for a little while, and.. even if I wasn't, it wouldn't be fair to anyone else to raise a kid with you after our marriage."

Aimee chewed slowly on the rest of the red velvet, her body visibly deflating, but she nodded. "I know.. I- I knew it was.. crazy. I wouldn't have asked if I'd known you were seeing someone. Gosh, I- Shit, tell me about him." Her hand fell over his, giving it a light shake. "What's he like? Does- Does he know I'm here?"

"He does, and.. he's not over the moon about it." (Y/N) chuckled sheepishly at the deadpan look she shot him. "He's, uhm... very calm, I guess. Down-to-earth. A bit methodical. He can be nervous, too. He reminds me of those little greyhounds that are always shaking when he gets anxious. He's sweet. He's... younger."

Aimee blinked slowly a few times, the gears turning in her head, before she slapped his chest, her eyes widening into saucers. "Is it Shane-fucking-Hollander?" (Y/N) glanced away. "Oh, my god. Oh, my god!" The cookie box was swiftly closed and set aside, letting Aimee climb fully onto the couch on her knees. "(Y/N)! Shane Hollander?!"

"I know, I know, I'm a walking divorcee stereotype." (Y/N) buried his face in his hands and groaned. "I- I get a divorce and start dating twenty-year-olds while I'm in my thirties, I know. And- And I can't even say anything because he did come onto me first, and that sounds horrible!"

Aimee stared at him, gobsmacked, before she threw her head back with roaring laughter. "You are a walking stereotype!" She cackled even harder, snorting like a pig during feeding time a couple times. "You-"

She laughed some more, tears clinging to her lashes. She covered her mouth, muffling her snorts and wheezes until her laughter died down into giggles, and then soft gasps while she caught her breath.

"Oh, wow." She breathed out, trying to dry her lashes with her fingertips. 

Sighing softly, faintly amused, (Y/N) propped his arm on the couch's backrest. "I really.. I don't know what I'm doing, Aims. I think I'm having a midlife crisis."

"Ha, that makes two of us." She snickered and then sighed, too, melting into the couch. Her fingers brushed over her stomach, drawing random shapes. "Shane Hollander, huh? He's cute, at least."

"Aims."

"What? There were worse options. Some of those guys have chipped teeth. Imagine getting head from a guy with a chipped tooth. It'd be like putting your dick in a cheese grater." Aimee shook her head. "You could have gone for someone older, though, I will say. If Hollander weren't doing hockey, he'd be in college."

(Y/N) grumbled, "Don't remind me."

Aimee rolled her head to the side, arching a brow at him. "I know that tone. What's on your mind?"

2013, Montreal, Two Hours Later

The tangy taste of berries danced on Shane's tongue, his attention shifting back and forth between his phone and the television where Ilya Rozanov was being interviewed about the Boston Raiders' latest loss. He tapped his phone screen, letting it brighten at his touch, and checked his messages for the twelfth time in the past ten minutes.

While he'd intended to see (Y/N) after his ex-wife left, he'd readily agreed to have him come over when he texted that he'd be in the city. Shane chewed on his bottom lip, torn between irritation and anticipation.

He assumed the mature thing to do would be to remain open for communication, even if a part of him wanted to give (Y/N) the silent treatment for basically kicking him out. 

Their age gap remained a worry for (Y/N). Shane was neither stupid nor blind. It'd been a knawing issue for the older man since the day they made out in Detroit. Shane saw it clear as day, felt it whenever (Y/N) gazed at him, his features relaxed but his eyes stormy. He'd been trying to prove it wasn't a big deal, but it loomed over them regardless.

Chugging the rest of his smoothie, Shane gave the cup a quick rinse and set it down to dry, tempted to leave his phone on the counter and take a seat on the couch so it wouldn't be such a distraction.

Instead, he snatched his phone up when it vibrated, reading the new message that (Y/N) was in the elevator. Shane swiftly made his way to the front door of his penthouse apartment, lingering and waiting. 

Two minutes later, three knocks came, and Shane grasped the door handle, pausing to let some time pass so it would feel more natural. He opened the door and shot him a small smile, stepping aside for him and closing the door behind them.

His eyes jumped around the penthouse, searching for any disarray, but he'd ensured to keep everything tidy ahead of time. The last time he'd had (Y/N) at his place, it'd been... humilating.

"What'd you want to talk about?" Shane asked, even though he had an inkling that Aimee Edwards would be the topic of conversation going forward. He took (Y/N)'s winter coat when he slid it down his shoulders and brushed some melting snowflakes away, hanging it up on one of the hooks along the wall. "Do you want anything to drink?"

(Y/N) nodded. "Water would be nice." 

While Shane grabbed a cup and filled it with filtered water, (Y/N) took a seat at the dining table, resting his arms on the table and lacing his fingers together.

Unease bubbled up in Shane's gut, his mouth forming a frown as he approached and set the cup in front of him. He took the seat beside him, watching (Y/N) take a small sip of his drink. 

With his heart picking up in pace, Shane blurted out, "Are you leaving me for her?"

(Y/N) shook his head immediately, taking another sip of water and leaning back in the seat. "No, I'm- I'm not reconciling with Aimee, Shane. We agreed it'd be.. too complicated, so I bought her a plane ticket back to San Francisco on Friday, and she'll be leaving Blu with me. She's going to tell her parents and figure things out from there. I told her I'll be happy to play uncle to her kid and nothing else."

"Oh." Shane breathed in relief, a heaviness lifting from his shoulders. "Okay... Okay, that's great. I, uh, I wish her luck. I can't imagine it'll be easy."

He reached out, curling his fingers around (Y/N)'s wrist and giving it a small squeeze. He kept his relief and happiness at bay, but his mouth still curled up into a smile.

"At least you'll have Blu with you." He pointed out softly, leaning in to peck his cheek.

"Yeah.. Yeah, I'm happy about that, but, uhm... I think we need to have a conversation about us, too."

Shane stiffened, his stomach twisting violently. Fuck. Fuck. He forced himself to give a weak nod and pulled his hand back, toying with the drawstrings of his joggers to keep his hands occupied while his mind ran a million miles per minute.

Was it how he'd reacted? The single-word messages he'd given (Y/N)? The huffs and puffs when told about Aimee? He swallowed, suddenly parched.

"Your plan is very thought-out, Shane, and I appreciate all the effort you put into it. But I noticed then, and I noticed recently, that you expect me to do all the heavy-lifting to get us to that point. I have to move, I have to change teams, I have to start over in a new place again."

Shane licked his lips. Okay, that was true, but it'd be an easy fix, surely! He'd need some time to come up with something more equal and-

"I have to inconvenience myself for your comfort, and I don't want that to become a pattern. I don't know if you're used to everything being on your timeline, but I want partnership in a relationship."

Another stiff, weak nod from Shane. "I-I'm.. I'm not ready, that's all. I want to be with you, and- and I'd be happy to do whatever you want aside from coming out publicly." 

"You shouldn't come out before you're ready, Shane. But.. I don't think you're ready for a relationship with a person like me, either."

(Y/N) took his hand into both of his, squeezing it gently and massaging the back of it with his fingers. Shane's chest constricted uncomfortably. Was... he getting dumped?

"You're still finding your footing, still figuring out what you like and don't like in relationships. I had almost twelve years to figure all that out, and I don't want to put my personal life on hold."

Shane's brows knitted tightly, the back of his eyes stinging. "You're breaking up with me? But- But I thought we were fine. Everyone has disagreements. We can figure something out that we both agree on. This- This is still new, and- and I can learn. How else will I know what I want in a partner if I don't have one, (Y/N)?"

"You're twenty-two-"

"Turning twenty-three in May." Shane pointed out, a smidge defensively, his teeth grinding together briefly.

Everything always returned to his age, as if he were a child and not a grown adult living on his own with more money in the bank than he knew what to do with.

"I'm an adult, (Y/N)."

"Yes, you are, but I'll be thirty-five this year, Shane, and after being married for all my twenties... I know what I want, and it's not being a lesson or teacher in how relationships work. I've worked through things you've yet to experience, I've made mistakes you've yet to make, and I've learnt lessons you haven't yet faced. I don't want to be a cushion you fall back on while you learn the ways of adulthood, Shane."

"I-I... I'll do whatever you want. I- You can come over whenever you want, and- and-"

Shane struggled to find the right words, the right things that'd pull (Y/N) back rather than away, but he felt everything rapidly slipping between his fingers.

His heart stuttered in his chest, his breath catching in his throat and his eyes glazing over. Confusion and desperation muddled his brain, and he surged forward, planting his lips over (Y/N)'s. 

This he knew how to do. This, he knew, would ease the panic and soothe his worries. 

But (Y/N) tilted his head away, breaking the kiss, one hand pulling away to gently push Shane back into his seat. Shane took in a deep breath, his eyes dropping to the floor.

He tugged his hand free from (Y/N)'s grasp, the feeling of skin on his suddenly feeling overwhelming. He tried evening out his breathing, the heels of his palms pressing over his eyes. 

"This can't be happening." He muttered shakily, wanting to curl into himself. "This- This can't be happening. I thought-" Shane's hands fell over his lap, pressing his quivering lips together. "I thought everything was fine. We were fine until- until she came and- and-"

"It's not Aimee's fault, Shane. She was looking out for herself and her child, just as you were looking out for yourself and your career when you brought up Ottawa. You could've offered to move back to your hometown, but you knew a team is hopeless without a good coach. It would've ruined your career."

"I-"

"I'm still going to Ottawa," (Y/N) revealed abruptly, his leg beginning to bounce beneath the table.

His hand raised to tug his necklace free from beneath his shirt, and Shane noticed the ring was no longer there. He inhaled quietly at the realization, his temples throbbing faintly.

"And I'm still moving, possibly to Hawkesbury."

Shane blinked, his eyes darting up to his face. "What?"

"I've been considering my career and my legacy, and I think it'd be a good challenge to try to return Ottawa to its former glory. They've got good players like Dykstra, Chouinard, and Boyle. Their skills need refinement, and they need better management, but they've got the potential to be more than the team everyone beats. I've been looking into everything since you mentioned them."

Woah, woah, woah-

"It'd be good for us, too, I think. I doubt you'll want to see me constantly during the season. I might become a distraction and impact how you play now that... this is no longer happening. I don't want that for you, Shane. I want to see you thrive as the assistant captain, and later as the official captain. I want you to make mistakes and learn from them, but with someone who'll learn from them, too."

"You- You can't leave the Metros now for my sake, (Y/N). The guys love having you around. They like you better than Hendricks ever since-" Shane's face warmed, his body shuddering with embarrassment. "Ever since you came across us.. drunk." Regrettably, something that'd haunt Shane to his damn grave. "I said one to two years. We- We want you with us."

"I want to do this for myself, Shane. And, listen, I really only get along with Dr. Holt. I wasn't with the Metros for long, so I doubt I'll be missed much." You'll be missed by me. "I.. know we're pretty compatible, but there are certain things I'm not open to looking past now that I'm no longer married. I'm.. uncomfortable with your age, really-"

"You're uncomfortable with it now, but not when we have sex? That's really fucking convenient." (Y/N) grimaced at the sharpness in his tone, and Shane deflated, his head dropping. He squeezed his eyes shut, his neck burning. "I'm sorry. Fuck, that was-"

"No, you have the right to be mad. I'd be mad, too. And.. yeah, I've been a hypocrite. I am a hyporcite. I-.. Yell at me if you want, Shane. Get it off your chest. Better you do it now than regret it later." (Y/N) told him, his gaze so soft and coaxing that it almost annoyed Shane. "Go on."

"I am mad." Shane nodded. "I'm mad that- that you considered giving your ex-wife a second chance, but you won't give me one now."

A flicker of guilt appeared in (Y/N)'s eyes, nodding his head in agreement.

"No, I haven't been in a long-term relationship, but I have been in relationships, and I've seen my parents work through their marriage. They don't call it quits when things get hard or when they disagree on something. They talk it out. And my age has nothing to do with how I behave."

"It's about the life you've lived, Shane! There are things I'd think you understand, but then I remember you won't because you're.. you're..."

"What?" Shane scowled. "A child?"

(Y/N) frowned. "Young​​​​​​, Shane. You're young and think you're on top of the world because you haven't lived a proper life. All you know is hockey. You travel for hockey, you go to events for hockey, and all your friends are your coworkers. I know this because I've been you, and I know that if we continue this, all you'll know is hockey and me."

(Y/N) planted his feet on the floor and stood up, the chair scraping along the floor in an irritating sound. He picked up the cup of water and took another gulp, setting it down roughly enough that the table wobbled slightly. Shane's glare softened at the tightness in (Y/N)'s face, itching to reach out and curl into him. 

"Shane, I don't have hobbies. I don't have friends who aren't current or former coworkers. I'm halfway across a goddamn continent from my family, and I don't have anyone here who I haven't known for more than a couple months. All I know how to do is play hockey and be a passive husband, and now I don't play hockey anymore, and I'm divorced. I spent the aftermath of my divorce not dealing with it and.. look at me now." 

(Y/N) tucked the chair in and finished the cup of water, stepping away to set it in the kitchen sink before he retrieved his coat and slipped it back on. He approached Shane and stopped by his chair, his hand twitching as if he'd been considering reaching out. Shane stood up, his heart in his throat, and raised his head to look at him. 

"I care about you, Shane, I do. You're an amazing person, and you're going to go so far in this field... but I want you to consider who you are without hockey... I don't want your life to revolve around this sport and me. I want you to experiment, date, sleep around, go to new places, meet new people.. I want you to be a person, Shane." 

Shane swayed on his feet, his head turning away and eyes tracing the lines of the tile floor beneath him. "We don't have to break up for that, (Y/N). Can... Can we at least take a break? Some of the guys have taken breaks in relationships and... worked things out after.. usually." 

(Y/N) placed his hand over Shane's bicep, rubbing his thumb back and forth over his skin. His smile was apologetic when Shane glanced up. "Call me old-fashioned, but I don't believe in breaks. Trust me, Shane, if it feels like the world's ending, it's not. The heartache will linger, and then someone new will come along."

"I don't want someone new." Shane groaned, his fingers grasping and tugging on the hem of (Y/N)'s coat. "I want you because I've wanted to be with you since the day I saw you on the tv screen in 1997."

"Shane, you were six years old in 1997. Six. I was eighteen, and three years later, I got married. You were nine while I was exchanging vows at an altar, and eleven when I was traded to the Admirals."

"And now I'm twenty-two, living in a penthouse, already on my way to making six figures from hockey, sponsors, and the buildings I plan to rent out. I have a career. I have my own money. You're not some asshole going after someone vulnerable who doesn't know any better. Stop treating me like I'm a helpless, mindless child, (Y/N)! I can make my own choices, and I choose you."

"Except that you haven't because if someone were to ask you right now if you were with me, you'd deny it, right?"

(Y/N)'s hand fell away, and he stepped back, pulling himself away from reach. Shane's mouth pressed into a tight line. He needed time. He'd been planning on speaking with his parents soon enough! That... That counted for something.. right?

"I didn't care about being a secret when I was seventeen, Shane, but I'm too old for that now. If I were twelve years younger, maybe I'd entertain this more, but I'm not." 

Shane bit his tongue, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his fingers curling and uncurling. His eyes tracked (Y/N) as he made his way toward the front door, adjusting the collar of his coat in order to brace the harsh temperature of winter. Shane began to follow, another retort forming on his tongue, but instead, he said:

"I love you, (Y/N)." (Y/N) froze in front of the front door, and Shane ignored the heat engulfing his body, the fear of being mercilessly shot down. "Say what you want about that, but I do. And I think, maybe, you feel the same way, and that's why you're walking away from this." 

(Y/N) stared forward when he grabbed the door handle and opened the door, hesitating briefly enough for Shane's stomach to flutter. Turn around. Turn around and sit down. Let's talk. Shane held his breath.

"Do you even know what love is, Shane? Because it's more than sex." Shane's jaw clenched, his eyes sliding shut. "I'm sorry, Hollander, but I'm not doing this back and forth with you anymore."

Shane stood still for a long moment, fighting the tickling in his nose and the prickle in his eyes. He moved forward, his inhale sounding more like a broken sob, and he grabbed his phone with trembling hands.

He jerked at the sound of his doorbell and stood up, rubbing his palms over his pants to wipe the sweat away, his heart jumping to his throat as he walked through his house to reach the front doors.

He stopped in front of them, grabbing the cold handle and... he hesitated, half-tempted to send Shane a message about it because... that was what partners did. They gave each other a heads-up and kept each other updated.

But their relationship was fresh, only twenty days old, and (Y/N) wanted to avoid anything that could potentially stir problems. Besides, he and Aimee only planned on catching up, which was innocent enough not to warrant a text or call.

It'd be fine. They'd be fine.

A gust of cold wind and air invaded the house immediately when he opened the door, his face scrunching up with mild irritation that Aimee laughed at.

He quickly stepped aside to let her and Blu in, his mouth pulling into a wide smile at the sight of his beloved beagle. The moment he shut the door, he dropped down to his knees, letting Blu give his hand a sniff. 

Blu sniffed him a couple times, and then, as if a switch had flipped, he leaped forward, barking and whining, his tricolor body wriggling around with uncontainable excitement. He crawled onto his lap, lapping at his face between his whines and yaps, his tail swishing back and forth so hard it could've been a whip. 

(Y/N) cooed over him, surprised to find tears prickling the corners of his eyes, but he swiftly blinked them away and scooped Blu into his arms, laughing over the burst of energy. His fingers rubbed over the navy blue coat he had on, another laugh leaving him when Blu managed to fling his boots from his paws.

Aimee tsked, picking them up from the floor. "He always does this." She shook her head, her ginger curls swaying with the movement. She dusted bits of gravel and snow off them, tucking them into her purse afterward. 

(Y/N) pressed a kiss to the top of Blu's head and set him back down on the ground, getting up from the floor with a soft grunt before he opened his arms. Aimee smiled gently, her arms wrapping snugly around his shoulders.

She smelled of sage and mint, a sense of deja vu washing over him when he inhaled in a sigh. Blu pawed at their legs insistently, his barks bleeding into howls that demanded attention.

"Okay, okay," (Y/N) chuckled, pulling away from Aimee to reach down and pat his head. His throat felt tight and dry, so he offered Aimee a small smile. "Do you, uhm, want anything? Water? Tea?" 

"Do you have hot chocolate?" Aimee asked, her eyes brightening when he nodded.

Leading her into the kitchen, he watched Blu press his nose to the ground and begin exploring newfound territory. He smiled to himself and rifled through his kitchen cabinets, taking out the milk chocolate-flavored packet. He grabbed a small pot and filled it with milk, glancing over his shoulder at Aimee. 

"How..." He licked his dry lips. His heart grew heavy, something like envy curling around his gut. "How far along are you?" He forced himself to ask, setting the pot over the stove and waiting for it to begin simmering.

"Four weeks, give or take," Aimee answered, averting her eyes to gaze down at the island. "The doctor said the baby is the size of a poppy seed." She held her hand up, her fingertips barely touching, a smile spreading across her face that showed off her dimple. "Itty bitty." 

(Y/N) nodded slowly, his arms folding over his chest. His fingers twitched with the need to toy with something, but he kept them pressed to his arms instead.

"Must be exciting." He said, his voice a hint dry, keeping his attention on the pot. "And.. the father?"

Aimee's shoulders slumped. "Well, he said he wanted kids, but the second I told him, he was nowhere to be found." She scoffed, her lips tugging into an annoyed frown. (Y/N) felt the prickle of something ugly, something like vindictive satisfaction, and he quickly shoved it down. "I don't.. want to raise a child alone, (Y/N)." 

(Y/N) pushed himself away from the counter to open the fridge, grabbing a water bottle from the door racks, his eyes lingering on the vibrant green ginger ale cans. He shut the fridge and took a long gulp from the bottle.

"The Admirals wouldn't leave you high and dry, Aimee. I'm sure Holly and Laura would love to help out with anything."

"I mean alone, (Y/N). I think single parents are the strongest people alive, but I don't want that for myself or this child." Aimee spoke softly, resting her palm over her stomach. At only four weeks, there were no notable signs of pregnancy yet. "This.." Aimee pursed her lips, her brows drawing together. "This is a lot to ask, (Y/N), and I know I have no right... but I was wondering if.. we could work something out, you and I."

(Y/N) grew still, the water bottle crinkling beneath his grip. His tongue collected the droplets along his bottom lip, and it was only the smell of warm milk that prompted him to move.

He set the bottle aside and stood in front of the stove, pouring in the chocolate powder as he slowly stirred the milk. His mind blanked, his movements robotic and focused on completing the task at hand.

"It wouldn't have to be reconciliation, (Y/N). I wouldn't spring that on you after- after everything, but it'd be a chance for both of us to be parents, like we always planned to. I could move close by or- or... God, I don't know." Aimee groaned, her elbows thumping softly on the counter when she propped her arms up. "I'm.. scared.. of- of doing this alone and fucking it up."

(Y/N) poured the hot chocolate into a mug and set the pot in the sink, filling it with cold water before he brought the mug to her. His side pressed against the island, his fingers rubbing over his forehead to soothe away the forming headache brushing against his head.

He hated that his first instinct hadn't been an immediate no, hated that he could already envision one of the spare bedrooms becoming a nursery.

They'd always wanted an ocean-themed one with marine animal decals along the walls, dolphin and shark stuffed animals sat around on shelves, a blue whale rug on the floor for when the baby would begin crawling or doing tummy time, a mural on one wall depicting the ocean floor and its critters.

But (Y/N) had already begun looking into what life would look like in Vankleek Hill or Hawkesbury, and he'd checked out some of the real estate in both towns. He wanted to follow Shane's plan, to stick around with the Metros for the 2013-2014 season and then make his departure to join Ottawa.

It was all for Shane, to be with Shane, not Aimee. 

"I... This is a lot, Aims." (Y/N) pointed out quietly. "I still want kids, yeah, but... what if the father realizes he wants to be involved? What if it makes things harder than they need to be in terms of moving here or co-parenting?"

Having to deal with someone butting in constantly or making a fuss over minor details sounded like the type of person (Y/N) preferred avoiding. And as much as (Y/N) would love to finally experience the ups and downs of fatherhood, his life wouldn't be the only one changing.

Despite Shane's reservations about partying and clubbing, he enjoyed his youthful freedoms, and those freedoms were the types children zapped away.

"Fuck that guy," Aimee muttered bitterly, blowing on the hot chocolate and bringing it up to her lips, taking a small sip. She licked the chocolate off her top lip and kept her hands wrapped around the mug until they warmed up. "The last thing a baby needs is an immature parent who bails when times get tough. If he even thinks about showing his face to me, I'll- I'll-" Aimee groaned again.

(Y/N) snorted. "I'm certain Holly and Laura are on the lookout for him. I don't doubt they'll rip him a new asshole for acting so impulsively."

His head tilted slightly, and he reached out to set his hand over her arm, mustering a small smile for her. Despite the complicated ending to their marriage, she'd been his best friend for years.

"Look, I want to help you, Aimee. Lord knows how much you put up with while I was still with the Sharks and Admirals, but... I really have to think about this."

"I know, I know, and I don't expect you to say yes or anything. I... you're the only person I know I can rely on, (Y/N)... and I.. I haven't told my parents yet. I'm terrified of what they'll say." Aimee let out a heavy sigh, brushing her fingers over her eyebrows. "They already think I'm a hot mess, and if I show up on their doorstep single and pregnant... I wouldn't blame them for disowning me."

"Hey," (Y/N) squeezed her arm. "They'd never do that, Aims. They love you, and they want what's best for you. Yes, I'm certain your dad will kick up a fuss, but you know he'll fly over to New York and hunt that douchebag down if you ask him to. They're going to be thrilled about being grandparents."

Aimee's lips tugged into a tired smile, the wet gleam in her eyes fading after a few blinks. "Yeah... I.. I'm just worried. I've been questioning myself so much lately, and sometimes I can't tell if I'm so anxious and scatterbrained because of hormones or what. I'm.. nervous about what's coming, (Y/N). I-I don't know what I'm doing sometimes."

(Y/N) clicked his tongue gently and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, letting her lean into his chest. The soft fabric of her grey beanie tickled his chin, along with her frizzy strands, his cheek pressing to the top of her head. Aimee was a strong girl, but she was one weighed down by worries over what her parents thought of her.

Her siblings were college-educated and professionals in their respective fields, the type of people parents boasted about constantly because of their amazing grades or their fancy, shiny degrees.

Aimee, self-admittedly, was the black sheep. The eccentric, artsy child who pursued an art degree that she chose to do little with and preferred to go with the flow of life rather than make concrete plans, always doing one thing or another.

(Y/N) was half-certain her parents only approved of him because he was the anchor to her wayward ship, keeping her from drifting into stormy waters and potentially wrecking herself. They'd been pretty vocal about their disapproval over their divorce, which Aimee dismissed as yet another thing they looked down on her for. 

But (Y/N) saw them in a way she couldn't, and he listened to their quiet concerns and grateful thanks to him for helping steady her.

He knew, despite the fact she'd certainly receive a long, hefty lecture, that they'd begin planning on creating a nursery the second they learned of the pregnancy. He knew they'd look into daycare options or work where she would thrive, and that they'd rally the family behind her.

"How long are you in Canada for?" He asked, his fingers toying with her curls. 

"Mm, a few more days. I've been staying with Crystal, but I'd love to explore Montreal. I hear they've got a cool biodome, and I want to visit the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts." Aimee told him, pulling back and taking another sip of her hot chocolate. "I was thinking I could leave Blu with you so you can spend some time with him, and meet Crystal to give her the car back before checking into a hotel."

"You.. could stay here."

The offer rolled off his tongue, and all he could think about was Shane. There'd be no use hiding it from him, not that he'd want to hide the fact his ex was staying with him.

"I've got a guest bedroom already set up, and Montreal's only twenty minutes away. I have some errands to run in the city, so I could always drop you off and pick you up later."

Aimee's face softened. "You don't mind?"

(Y/N) opened his mouth to answer, but the sound of the doorbell echoing through the house made him clamp it shut. He shot her a strained smile and shrugged at her puzzled face, praying to whatever god was listening that it wasn't who he thought it was.

He briskly walked from the kitchen toward the front door, holding his breath and giving one last prayer before he opened it.

"Hey."

Shane greeted him with that sweet smile of his, and (Y/N) almost dropped his head on the doorframe in exasperation. Shane glanced over his shoulder at the shiny white Subaru Outback in the driveway, his lips pressing into a line.

"I didn't realize you had company, but, uhm, I left a hoodie here the other day. I borrowed it from Hayden and he's been asking for it back."

"Uhm, right, uh-"

From out of thin air, Blu dove between his legs, barking up a storm at Shane, who flinched back at the sudden noise. (Y/N)'s eyes squeezed shut, and he released a heavy sigh, snapping his fingers to get Blu's attention.

"No, guest."

At the familiar command that they'd taught him so he'd differentiate between intruder and houseguest, Blu quieted his barks and began furiously sniffing Shane's shoes.

Shane blinked wildly down at the dog, his head slowly lifting and recognition flickering in his eyes. "This- Isn't this your dog from New York?" He questioned, his shoulders stiffening when Blu rose onto his back legs to sniff his legs. He extended his fingers down to him, letting Blu sniff them, too.

"So... yeah, this is Blu, my beagle. Uh... I was going to tell you later, but.. God, okay, just come in. It's freezing out here."

Shane shuffled inside, his steps short and tight to avoid tripping over Blu. (Y/N) shut the door, pressing his palm against the dark oak and leaning into it, his brain struggling to come up with something that wouldn't be overly blunt. Shane furrowed his brows at him, glancing repeatedly down the hallway, until his head froze.

"Hello!" Aimee greeted cheerily, oblivious to the fact that (Y/N) wanted the ground to open and swallow him. She strode forward, clicking her tongue at Blu until he finally relented in his sniffing before she flashed them a big smile. "Oh! You're, uhm," She snapped her fingers a few times, her eyes closing as she searched her memory. "Shane Hollander! Nice to meet you."

"You're... Aimee Edwards.." Shane's eyes flickered back to stare at (Y/N), but he still extended his hand to shake hers. "The ex-wife.."

"That I am." She chuckled, retracting her hand to brush some hair over her shoulder. "I hear you're a legend in the making, Shane. Your parents must be thrilled. I remember (Y/N)'s parents were always torn between being excited for him and sad to see him go during the season. (Y/N)'s always been a bit of a momma's boy."

"Okay."

(Y/N) huffed quietly at the little impish grin on her face, because she loved nothing more than dropping little embarrassing facts about him to new people. He rubbed the side of his neck, massaging it with his fingers.

"Uh, Shane and I have to talk about the team. We've been considering him assistant captain for a while, so, uh... we're having to have a chat. It might.. take a bit." 

"Oh, that's fine. I'm going to head into town and grab something to eat." Aimee waved them off, digging her hand into the pocket of her coat to take out her keys. She patted Shane's arm gently as she slipped past him. "You're in good hands, Shane." She assured him, gently nudging Blu aside so she could slide out the door without him following. 

They stood in front of the door in silence, listening to the car rumble to life and reverse out of the driveway. (Y/N)'s eyes drifted away from the look of disbelief Shane gave him the second the door had shut.

He cleared his throat, shuffling his feet like a child bracing themselves for a scolding. He had no excuses. He'd had plenty of time to give a warning.

"(Y/N), why is your ex-wife here?" Shane asked lowly, his arms rising to cross over his chest. "And when were you going to tell me? I- I mean, did you know she was coming over? I thought you had a doctor's appointment!"

"I did. Yesterday." (Y/N) sighed. "I... She called a couple days ago-"

"A couple days ago?" Shane repeated, his disbelief growing. His brows shot up, and then swiftly lowered to form a scowl. "(Y/N), what the hell? You should've told me! I stayed over for like three days, and you, what, forgot to mention your ex-wife called? Why didn't you tell me? What's going on?"

"Uhm," (Y/N) ran a hand over his face, his chest rising and falling with another sigh. "She was here, in Canada, for New Year's. She celebrated it with one of her friends from high school, and then she called to ask if she could come by and bring Blu with her. Nothing's- Okay, there is something going on, but I- I.."

Shane's eyes jumped back and forth between his, his frown deepening. "What? What is it?"

"She's... pregnant." Shane's eyes widened, his lips parting with a quick inhale. With a grimace, (Y/N) quietly added, "It's not mine.. obviously.."

Shane's features contorted into a brief apologetic look, his gaze dropping onto the floor and tracking Blu's form as he walked past them to resume his exploration of the house.

"The guy she was seeing hit the road the second he heard, and.."

"And...?"

"She asked if I'd consider... raising the baby together, as coparents, in a way. I guess the plan would be.. moving here to Boucherville and living close by, or something," (Y/N) explained, taking a step back to lean against the wall. He slid his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, steadily watching Shane. "She's four weeks along, if that matters."

Shane looked up at him. "And what'd you tell her?"

"I... told her I'd think about it."

"You're entertaining this?" Shane scoffed softly, his arms falling to his sides. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes flickering around different objects in the hallway. "(Y/N), we had a whole plan. We have plans. What do you think the media will say if they hear your ex-wife is not only moving to your neighborhood, but also raising a child with you? They'll think it's yours!"

"I know. It'll become a whole thing, I'm aware." He hardly wanted to think about what the Admirals would say, the wave of questions Eric would have. "It's just... it's..."

Shane stared at him, his nostrils flaring with his inhale. "You love her?" He asked, his voice breathless and on the verge of cracking. "Do you, (Y/N)? Do you love her, and that's why you're considering this?"

"Shane, we were together for almost twelve years. Of course, I still love her. I will always love her."

Shane let out a trembling breath, his eyes widening a fraction as if he hadn't expected him to say it. His lips pressed together tightly, his head turning to the side in slight defiance.

(Y/N) winced. "You can't erase eleven years of history, of feelings, of experiences. Am- Am I in love with her? Not really, but I do love her."

"That doesn't make any sense," Shane whispered, his head shaking lightly.

"Of course, it doesn't make sense to you, Shane. You've never been married. You've never been in a long-term relationship. I- I don't know if you've ever been in love, but this is what it's like. It's messy and complicated and half the time you don't even know what to do with it because it never goes away. Aimee and I parted on good terms. There's no bad blood between us, no drama or anything that would warrant me ignoring her."

"I'm not asking you to ignore her, (Y/N)." Shane snapped lightly. "A baby is a big fucking deal, and- and she had a chance to start a family with you. My parents had trouble having kids, too, and when they couldn't have a second baby, they considered adoption. There were options for you and her, but she didn't take them."

"Shane."

"You're my boyfriend, (Y/N). Mine. I-I don't want to be an afterthought every time she comes around or- or every time she needs something. I deserve to have an opinion on this, don't you think? I'm your boyfriend now, and relationships are supposed to be partnerships, aren't they? If- If I had an ex who showed up, I'd tell you."

"I should've told you, I know that." (Y/N) acknowledged with a solemn nod.

"Then, why didn't you?" 

"Because..." (Y/N) ran his fingers over his forehead again and pushed himself off the wall, taking a seat on the stairs and resting his arms over his knees. "I didn't want it to become a whole thing, Shane. I didn't want to have this kind of conversation with you so early on in our relationship, and I didn't want to make you anxious or nervous about me spending time with Aimee."

"Should I feel nervous about that?" Shane asked cautiously, taking small steps forward toward him, but stopping just out of reach. "Should I be worried about you two hanging out? Is.. Is this a competition now?"

"No," (Y/N) answered firmly. "Look, I'm not entertaining the idea because I want to get back together with Aimee, Shane. I'm.. I'm entertaining it because... I want to be a dad someday. I want to raise a baby. I want to go to talent shows, do Donuts with Dad events, and help out with bake or chocolate fundraisers. I want to see the glee on my parents' faces, and I want to watch them show off their grandchild to everyone."

"I can't give you a biological child, (Y/N)." Shane pointed out quietly. "And.. and I'm not ready to come out, let alone tell everyone we're together. I... I need time, and.. and we'd have to do a lot of planning if you decide to adopt and-"

"I know all those things, Shane. You're young, you're not ready for that kind of responsibility. I knew that going into this relationship... but I'm not asking you to become a dad for me."

Shane swallowed thickly. "So, what, you'd become a dad to her kid and- and I'd be the random friend who comes by every once in a while? Does she even know you're in a relationship, (Y/N)? Does she know there's someone else who'd be involved? You can't just do this on a whim-"

"I'm not doing it on a whim, Shane. I'm- I'm thinking about it! I'm- Let me just imagine what it'd be like to be a father, alright? I don't expect you to understand it." (Y/N) propped his arm up on his thigh and held his head in it, his teeth nipping lightly at his lip. "Just.. go grab the hoodie you came for."

Shane lingered in front of him for a few long seconds and then moved past him to head up the stairs. Guilt immediately clawed at his chest, doubt creeping in after it.

He'd hoped they'd have a month or two of peace before arguing, but life seemed to love throwing curveballs at him. His eyes closed, his focus settling on his breathing to bat away the feelings festering like a hurricane on the horizon. 

Raising his arm, he used the railing to pull himself up onto his feet and tilted his head up the stairs, watching Shane descend them with the dark gray hoodie in hand. He stopped at the step (Y/N) stood on, his arms curling until the hoodie was cradled against his chest.

(Y/N) sighed, leaning in to peck Shane's cheek. "We can talk more later, okay?"

Shane's shoulders slumped with defeat. "I want to talk about this now, (Y/N). How long is she going to be here?"

"I.. I told her she could stay for a few days since she wants to explore Montreal, alright?" Shane's face slackened. "She's going to be in the guest bedroom, Shane. Nothing's going to happen, okay? I can drop her off in the city and go to your apartment to see you, if you want."

Shane shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I.. What if someone sees you visiting me?"

(Y/N) took a breath and raised one shoulder, ignoring the prickle in his chest. He was going to have one long chat with Eric the moment he found himself alone without any prying ears. "Then, we'll have to wait for her to head home, if you don't want anyone suspecting anything." He told him, stepping off the staircase and approaching the front doors.

"Seriously?"

"Yes, Shane, seriously."

(Y/N) wrapped his hand around the door handle, watching Shane reluctantly walk toward him. He curled his other hand around Shane's neck, keeping him still when he leaned in to kiss his forehead.

Shane tilted his head back slightly, and (Y/N) leaned in again, kissing him gently. Shane's hand untangled itself from the hoodie to clutch (Y/N)'s shirt, tugging on it for another kiss. 

"Promise you'll tell me if something happens." Shane's breath felt hot against his lips.

"I promise, sweetheart," (Y/N) assured him, stroking his jawline with his thumb. "And I promise we'll have a conversation about this later."

Shane resorted to sitting near his parents, nodding along to whatever J.J. was telling him, his eyes continuing to gravitate toward (Y/N). He sat across the room in a loveseat with a beer bottle by his feet and a small bowl of meatballs in his hand.

He looked deep into a conversation with Roy's older sister, who'd flown in from out of town to celebrate the holidays with her brother and the team. 

"Have you ever spoken with Roy's sister?" Shane asked J.J. abruptly, quietly, so as to not draw attention, finally tearing his eyes away from the two. "I haven't seen her around before."

"I know her name's Joseline and that she's some, like, real estate attorney over in Illinois. She's pretty cool. Crazy smart." J.J. replied, picking up a lobster slider from his plate and stuffing his mouth with it. Shane gave a low hum. A real estate attorney sounded impressive. "I hear-" J.J. licked his fingers clean. "-she's planning to get a farm when she retires."

"Really? How old is she?"

"She's, like... I don't know. Thirty-six, maybe?" J.J. wiped his fingers with a crumpled napkin and leaned back in his seat, licking the crumbs off his bottom lip. He grinned. "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" Shane gave him a blank look. "We should totally set her up with Coach (L/N). They'd be perfect for each other!"

"Wh- What makes you say that?"

Shane straightened up, scooting closer to the armrest, and propped his arm up on it. He studied (Y/N) and Joseline, trying to find any sign of what could make them 'perfect'. The conversation hardly looked flirty. Their brows were in tight, concentrated furrows, their mouths in serious lines, and from Joseline's hand movements, she seemed to be explaining something to (Y/N).

"How can you tell?"

"Well, they're the same age, for starters. They're employed, single, and look at them!" J.J. motioned between them. "They can hold a conversation. They've got a better start than some of us." J.J. pointedly glanced at the Hendricks, who Shane barely ever saw talking to each other for more than a mintue.

"You.. you don't think (L/N) would.. date someone younger?"

"A guy like (Y/N) (L/N)? Going for someone younger?" J.J. repeated, his brows drawing together in a mixture of disbelief and perplexity. He blew a light raspy. "Nah, I don't think so, man. Ce serait fou. Guys like (L/N) want seasoned chicks, you know? Like, Jackie, but older. Chicks who have their shit together, with fancy jobs."

Shane's heart twinged. "Right.."

"I knew a family friend who dated a girl much younger than him, and within a year, he was over it. She was too much for him. He said he stuck around for so long because of the sex, but by eight months, he couldn't stand being around her. Too immature, he said. He wanted to have conversations about things she knew nothing about, and he wanted to do.. I don't know. Old people shit, I guess."

Shane's fingertips brushed over the fabric of his jeans, humming lowly. (Y/N) had a lot more experience than he did: marriage, fertility struggles, divorce, retirement, moving to a different country. At his age, he only worried about hockey and finally winning a Stanley Cup he could hold in his hands to prove to the world he was good enough. (Y/N) already had two from his time with San Fransico and a third one from his early days with the Admirals.

Shane considered himself fairly mature, much more mature than some of his fellow Metros who ran on beer and adrenaline alone some days, but he was still young. In his mind, the plan had been fairly simple: remain a secret until Shane was close to retiring, which he'd obviously attempt to hold off on until he felt completely and utterly satisfied with the legacy he'd created for himself.

It'd probably be about fourteen to sixteen years before he'd reach that point, and by then, (Y/N) would be entering his early fifties. Shane doubted he'd ever get bored of (Y/N) (L/N), but he feared the idea of (Y/N) growing frustrated with him. No amount of research could amount to actual experience, and no amount of desire could solve the fact that they wouldn't be able to have the one thing (Y/N) seemed to want.

He watched, his lips forming a somber frown, while (Y/N) gave one of the new mothers a tight, polite smile, his gaze lingering on the newborn bundled up in her arms before he returned his attention to Joseline. (Y/N) had been ready for a child for a while; the idea of dealing with a newborn while at the peak of his career only made Shane cringe. 

Shane's attention diverted to the television screen when the countdown began, his eyes flickering between the ticking seconds and (Y/N). His first New Year's with a boyfriend, in a relationship he actually enjoyed, and he wouldn't be able to pull him close to kiss him. Shane stood up alongside everyone else, mustering a smile for J.J. when he swung an arm around his shoulder. 

5... 4... 3... 2... 1...

"Happy New Year!" 

An explosion of cheers overlapped in the house, and Shane braced himself for the back-to-back embraces he received from Metros and WAGs alike. He gave a little sigh at the sight of his parents, opening his arms for them, more pleased with their tight, tender hugs than the others. Usually, the team would be miles away from home during New Year's, so it felt good to celebrate it with his parents for once.

He searched for (Y/N) through the crowd of celebrating friends and family, squeezing his way through the miniature sea of people toward the other end of the room, but found the loveseat (Y/N) had been sitting on moments prior empty. He gave Joseline an obligatory, semi-awkward side hug, wishing her a happy New Year, before he slipped away to track down (Y/N).

"Happy New Year, man!" Hayden exclaimed, swinging his arms around Shane's shoulders and giving them a squeeze. Shane patted his back with a chuckle, his eyes locking on (Y/N) standing beside the glass sliding doors leading into the backyard, his phone pressed to his ear. "Glad you're with us, Hollander."

"Same here, Hayden." Shane pulled away, glancing back at the crowd. "It's, uhm, a little noisy in here. I'm going to get some air."

"Oh, yeah, man, I get it." Hayden stepped out of his way with an understanding smile and threw his arms open for the next Metro he spotted, his joyful laughter mixing with the rest of the noise.

Quickly, Shane stepped outside before someone else could stop him from an embrace, and he shot (Y/N) a smile. (Y/N) returned it, bidding whoever was on the other end of the call goodbye and promising to visit soon.

He tucked his phone away afterward and raised his arm, an invitation Shane happily accepted, practically purring with contentment once he slotted against (Y/N)'s side.

The side-hug was short-lived, just enough to exchange some body warmth before they created 'casual' distance. "Happy New Year," Shane told him, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He spared a glance around the snow-covered backyard, the cold nipping at his cheeks. "Any resolutions?"

"I don't think I've ever made any resolutions," (Y/N) revealed to him, his head tilting back slightly in thought. 

"Really? Not even about... winning a certain number of games?" Shane questioned, though if he were being honest, he'd never really made any serious resolutions himself. He created new goals for himself nearly every month, and he almost always achieved them. "J.J. made a resolution about hitting the gym more and maybe finding himself a girlfriend."

"He'll be accomplishing that before January ends," (Y/N) chuckled, and Shane smiled to himself, tracing the lines that appeared on the corners of (Y/N)'s eyes. 

His lips parted, his tongue on the verge of forming words, but he shut his mouth when the sliding door opened, and his mother poked her head out. She smiled at them sheepishly, her body halfway out the door with the look of someone eager to escape back into the warmth of the house. 

"Hey, Shane, we're going to head out now. Do you want to catch a ride with one of the guys, or would you prefer we drop you off?" She asked, bringing her hands to her face to blow on them. 

"Uhm," Shane licked his lips. "I think I'll drive Ward to his place." He said, turning his head back to (Y/N) with semi-pleading eyes. (Y/N) stared back at him, bewildered. "You've been drinking, and I don't want you to get pulled over or anything." Nevermind the fact that he'd taken about three sips of his beer and looked perfectly sober.

"Uh... okay, yeah. That would be-" (Y/N) smacked his lips, nodding slowly, slightly awkwardly. "-the smart choice. I wouldn't want to, uh, encourage drinking and driving to the guys, anyway."

"Okay." Yuna nodded quickly, her voice a higher pitch than usual, which told Shane she felt as surprised as (Y/N). She stepped forward to give him a quick kiss on his temple. "Drive safe, okay?"

"Yep." Shane waved to his dad. "Love you guys."

Using the fact that most families were beginning to shuffle out, Shane said his goodbyes to Hayden and Jackie and followed the crowd out onto the driveway, taking (Y/N)'s keys and climbing into the driver's seat. He waited for the car to warm up, his eyes tracking his dad's car heading down the street. Had he been too obvious? Shane bit his inner cheek.

"Your mom approached me on Christmas Eve," (Y/N) piped up beside him, and Shane's head snapped toward him with widened eyes. "She thinks you're not into women-"

"I am," Shane interjected instinctively, his heartbeat picking up in pace and his hands growing clammy. That familiar, agonizing panic flooded his veins. He squeezed his eyes shut after (Y/N) sent him a soft yet pointed look, his face warming. "I-I think I am. I don't know- Why would she tell you that?"

"My guess is that she thinks you have a crush on me."

(Y/N) shrugged, and Shane puffed out his cheeks, the air he exhaled resulting in him blowing an unintentional raspberry. He had been too obvious, but he'd been hoping his admiration for (Y/N) had been more noticeable than his feelings.

He'd spent his life being so careful, so mindful of how he behaved, but (Y/N) lowered his defenses, made him forget to pretend to be like everyone else. 

"Well, she's right," Shane muttered, pressing his foot over the gas pedal to begin the drive to Boucherville. "I do have a crush on you. I think you're the best player the league had, and San Franscio was crazy to trade you. You're basically a master at the corkscrew, and your fake shots were the best on the Admirals team. Plus, you- you've always been so.. sophisticated. I don't think you were ever sent to the penalty box."

(Y/N) lolled his head to the side, gazing at him with a small smile that left Shane's blood humming with delight. "I was, once. Second year with the Sharks. I pissed off the referee by pointing out a clear bias, and he sent me to the penalty box for misconduct. The guy ended up being fired after the season. I guess too many players and coaches complained about him."

"What a dick." Shane huffed out. "What's the point of being a referee if you're going to pull some complete bullshit like that?"

(Y/N)'s lips curled into an amused grin. "You have a potty mouth, you know that?"

Shane flushed. "Sorry."

"I don't mind." (Y/N) waved him off. "I'm used to it... but, Shane, I think we should talk about your parents." 

(Y/N)'s fingers grazed his knee, and with the darkness around them covering them from the outside world, Shane allowed himself to take (Y/N)'s hand and give it a squeeze. He took a breath in and a breath out, his fingers flexing around the steering wheel.

There'd been a part of him that'd always wanted to say it, to reveal the confusing feelings that swirled in his stomach, but he feared the outcome.

The last thing he wanted was to see disappointment or resentment in the eyes of his parents. They were his whole world, his safe haven, the people he knew he could return to and feel overwhelming love. He had (Y/N), but his mind ran with fears of what could happen between them, insecurities he wondered would come true and prove him right. His parents would be there at the end of the day, and losing them...

"I don't want to- to hurt them." He whispered shakily, squeezing (Y/N)'s hand a little tighter. "What- What if I tell them, and they don't like it? What if they pretend to be okay with it? What if they're okay with it now, but in ten years, they resent me because they won't have a daughter-in-law or grandchildren or-"

"Shane, pull over."

Shane turned the steering wheel and pulled over on the side of the road, the corners of his eyes stinging. (Y/N) untangled his hand from Shane's to cup his face and turn his head, leaning over to kiss him.

Shane melted into it immediately, letting out a quiet sigh against his lips and pawing blindly at his jacket. (Y/N) broke the kiss first, rubbing his thumb over Shane's cheek.

"Your mother was worried, Shane, because she thinks you're dealing with your sexuality alone, and she doesn't know how to approach it. I don't know much about her or your father, but from what I can tell, they love you completely, Shane. She didn't tell me to discourage it or talk you out of feeling the way you do. She wants you to have someone who can understand you, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. Shane's lips twitched into a meek smile.

"Your mother wants what every other decent parent wants: her child's happiness. I'm not saying you have to tell her every detail of your life or- or every thought that comes to your head, Shane."

That would be... embarrassing.

"You don't have to tell her about us or any other guy you've been interested in, but you can tell her what you've been feeling since you realized you like guys. She's your mother, Shane. She's the person who carried you for nine months, whose been wanting the very best for you since before she saw your face."

Shane nodded weakly. "Yeah..." He sniffled, nuzzling his cheeks into (Y/N)'s hands. "Do... do your parents know? About you?" He asked timidly. They rarely spoke of (Y/N)'s parents, but (Y/N) always recalled them fondly, or spent close to hours chatting on the phone with them.

(Y/N) gave a breathless laugh. "Well, Dad caught me and my friend one time, so I didn't get a chance to ease them into it, but, uh... my parents are one of those 'we're all a little gay' types, if you know what I mean. I don't know. Maybe it's genetic in my family or something." He laughed again, and Shane chuckled. "They remind me of your parents, Shane. They only want what's best for us."

"I know, I know... I... I worry about what could go wrong, though. I don't want to lose them."

"I think you'd have to kill them to get rid of them, Shane," (Y/N) cooed, kissing the bridge of his nose. Shane snorted. Yeah, that sounded like the Hollanders. Stubborn as mules, and hard to shake once they chose to cling onto someone or something. "You don't have to tell them now, or tell them everything at once, but you can start easing them into it."

(Y/N) pulled his hands away, placing one last kiss on Shane's lips and leaning back into his seat. Shane rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and slumped in the driver's seat, staring ahead at the desolate, icy road with his chest a little lighter than before.

(Y/N) was right; he knew that well. His parents weren't monsters or unsympathetic, and while his mom occasionally bulldozed through things, she knew when to restrain herself.

"What.. What should I say to them?" He asked, setting his hands over the steering wheel again and driving back onto the road. "I really don't know if I like girls or not. I've... I've always thought that.. I hadn't met the right girl who'd take my breath away.. like you do." Shane glanced at him, his face warming at (Y/N)'s quiet chuckle. 

"You should tell them that, sweetheart." That damn petname again. It made his heart all fluttery. "Tell them the truth. Tell them how you feel about girls, about guys. Maybe they can ask the right questions that will help you figure things out. They're your parents. They might know you better than you know yourself."

Shane nipped at his bottom lip. "Okay.. Okay, I'll... tell them soon. I just.. I need to figure out what to say to them."

"Let me know how it goes, alright?" (Y/N) set his hand over Shane's thigh, his fingers digging in gently. Shane dropped his hand, placing it over (Y/N)'s to hold it again. "I can help you come up with what to tell them. You could even write down how you feel and show them."

"Thank you."

"Of course."

The rest of the ride was lighter, better, their conversation naturally shifting to the teams still in the season and who they believed would win. The Raiders had been knocked out a few days before Christmas (which had brought a big smile to Shane's face), so Shane assumed Detroit and San Francisco would likely end up in the Stanley Cup final, facing off for a third time.

Pulling into the driveway and into the garage, Shane shut the car off and waited for the garage door to finish sliding shut before he got out of the car, relieved he wouldn't have to deal with the cold any longer. They headed inside and up the stairs, entering the bedroom where (Y/N) grabbed an extra towel for him and set it on the bathroom counter. 

Shane shed his clothes without hurry, setting them in the laundry basket to wash the following day and waiting for the bathtub to finish filling with warm water. He took (Y/N)'s offered hand and stepped in, lowering down and groaning quietly under his breath when the water hugged his muscles pleasantly. He drank in (Y/N)'s nude form after he stripped, and immediately closed the distance once he sat down in the tub as well.

Tilting his head back against (Y/N)'s shoulder, Shane dragged his fingers over the arm (Y/N) wrapped around him. "Can I ask you something?"

"Hm?"

"Do... you think you'll ever get... frustrated with me?" 

(Y/N) thought about it for a moment. "Probably." He answered truthfully, his palm pressing flat against Shane's stomach. His fingers drew random, soothing shapes along his skin. "It's normal for relationships, Shane. We're bound to argue or get mad at each other at one point. What matters is how we deal with it."

"Yeah..." Shane turned his head to bury his face in (Y/N)'s neck. He hoped any future arguments they had would be about things they could fix, not their age or differing experiences. "I agree."

2013, Boucherville, Following Morning

(Y/N) awoke with his cheek smushed against the back of Shane's shoulder, his arms curled around his hips and their legs tangled up together. He stared drowsily at the wall for a mintue or two, slowly collecting his bearings enough to lift his head and blink away the last of the sleep clinging to his eyelids. His lips met Shane's skin for a clumsy peck, parting afterward for a yawn. 

Shane's arms remained curled tightly around the pillow his face was pressed against, but once (Y/N) began moving, one arm shot down to grab his wrist. (Y/N) huffed out a chuckle and slumped back against him, a hum vibrating in the back of his throat when he felt Shane purposefully press his bare ass back against him, enticing him into staying in bed. 

"Shane," He yawned again, his newfound consciousness letting him feel the ache of hunger for actual food. "Let me go."

Shane pressed against him harder, rolling his hips around lazily until (Y/N) was fully hardened against him. "Mmm, stay." He slurred, the sleep heavy in his voice, continuing to grind with less than pure intentions. 

(Y/N) peppered the back of his shoulders and neck with kisses, crawling up the side of his throat and cheek, but Shane persisted despite the affections. (Y/N) rolled his eyes playfully and rocked himself forward, pressing his chest to Shane's back as he rolled on top of him completely instead of halfway. He continued his kisses down Shane's spine and over his back dimples, half tempted to dart out of bed when Shane loosened his grip.

He knew it'd result in whining he wouldn't resist.

Spreading Shane apart, he watched Shane shudder when he spat over his hole, rubbing his thumb over the rim in slow circles. Shane sighed happily, his chin propping up on the pillow and eyes parting halfway to watch him over his shoulder. (Y/N) pushed with his thumb and Shane jerked forward with a quiet gasp, his brows fixing into a familiar furrow.

(Y/N) enjoyed burying his tongue inside Shane just as much as Shane enjoyed having him in his mouth. Back in his marriage, he'd find himself preferring to bury himself between Aimee's thighs rather than anything else. It was a stress reliever of sorts, something to occupy himself with and give his mind a break from the worries and stress of work.

He assumed it was the same for Shane, given how little it took for him to suck him off when things grew heated.

When Shane's hips began pushing back and twitching, (Y/N) pulled away, wiping his slick chin on his shoulder. The saliva smeared over Shane's entrance glimmered in the sunlight pouring in through the window, eventually smearing along the underside of (Y/N)'s cock when he settled onto his knees and grinded against Shane. 

"Come on," Shane groaned, reaching back to tug lightly on (Y/N)'s wrist. "I need you now."

"So demanding." (Y/N) chuckled, retrieving the lube and squirting what remained of it over himself. "Is this what you need, sweetheart?" He asked a hint teasingly, letting the tip of his cock catch on his rim a few times.

"Yes." Shane huffed impatiently, and then, with a pout, he added, "Please, sir." 

Pressing his chest to Shane's back again, he finally gave Shane what he wanted. He nudged the tip inside and then pushed in fully in one slow thrust, his hips resting flush against Shane's. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed morning sex until he had it with Shane, his body buzzing with delight each time Shane wanted to have him whenever they woke up. 

He hooked his chin over Shane's shoulder, rolling his hips slowly and lazily, not bothered to waste his energy on quick and hard that'd end with them finishing early. Shane showed his approval in little gasps and quiet moans, his pinned body going limp against the mattress and his head leaning against (Y/N)'s. (Y/N)'s hand wrapped around Shane's, their fingers interwining. 

He usually liked missionary better, liked it when Shane held onto him, but having Shane pinned beneath him, all flush and soft, made him snap his hips into him a little harder. The bed rocked slightly with their movements, creaking on occasion.

(Y/N) focused entirely on Shane; on the way his soft, warmed skin felt against him, on the way he clenched around him when he managed to hit that spot that'd leave Shane's toes curling, on the subtle way Shane rocked back into him.

Shane moaned into the pillow, his legs shifting around and knees digging into the mattress. (Y/N) pushed himself back onto his knees and calves, his hands coming to rest over Shane's hips. Shane moved onto his hands and knees, his head hanging between his shoulders, swaying each time his body jerked forward. (Y/N) slid his hand down, wrapping it around Shane's dripping, ignored cock.

"Shit, (Y/N)." Shane gasped out, his head lifting to roll back and mouth falling open when (Y/N) quickened his pace. The sound of (Y/N)'s hips smacking against Shane's ass grew louder, along with Shane's moans and curses, his knuckles turning white from how hard he gripped the bedsheets. "Please, please, please," He whined, one hand shooting up to grab the headboard. 

Shane came first, his body tensing and thighs quivering, his release coating (Y/N)'s hands and the bedsheets beneath them. He squeezed around (Y/N) unintentionally, his body caught between letting the high wash over him and focusing on the pleasure that came from (Y/N) continuing his thrust. With a groan, (Y/N) bottomed out, hearing Shane hiss at the warmth flooding inside him.

Shane collapsed on the bed afterward, a grunt escaping him at the feeling of the sticky, moist sheets, which was followed by a quiet whine once (Y/N) pulled out. (Y/N) staggered onto his feet, clinking himself up with tissues that he tossed in the small trashcan before he headed into the bathroom to retrieve a damp, warm washcloth to clean Shane up. 

"I'll change the sheets," Shane murmured, his words slightly slurred. "I think I'll stay in bed for a little longer." 

"Okay," (Y/N) pecked his temple. "You should shower first, though. I'll make breakfast and put your plate in the microwave."

"Mm, okay." 

Shane gathered enough strength to brush his teeth and join him in the shower, smiling at (Y/N) sweetly while they helped each other scrub away sweat and come, before he worked on getting the sheets changed into fresh ones while (Y/N) slid on some underwear and sweats.

He kissed Shane's head after the player curled back up in bed and headed downstairs to begin breakfast, checking his phone for messages.

His phone buzzed with an incoming call, blinking wildly at the contact name that greeted him. He tentatively answered and brought the phone to his ear, glancing back at the staircase.

"Hey, Aimee." He greeted, popping open the fridge and looking over the ingredients available. "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year! How are you?"

"I'm alright," (Y/N) answered, grabbing a couple of things to make a breakfast sandwich. "What's up? Are you okay?"

"Yeah! I'm actually visiting Crystal! You remember her, right?" Vaguely. He remembered the fact that the extensions she wore were always exposed and incredibly noticeable. "She lives in Toronto, which I hear isn't super far from Montreal. I was wondering if I could pop by for a visit? I've got Blu with me."

"Oh." (Y/N) nearly dropped the carton of eggs. "Uhm... okay, yeah, uhm.. yeah." He winced. "Let me know when. I might be.. busy."

"Of course, of course... there's, uh.." Aimee let out a heavy sigh. "Look, the guy I was seeing... turned out to be a major jerk who.. didn't want to be a father to our.. unborn child... uhm. I wanted to warn you of that beforehand.."

(Y/N) stared at the countertop in silence, his heart feeling as if it'd dropped to the pit of his stomach. He set the carton of eggs on the countertop before he could drop them and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the feeling of the world spinning violently around him.

"Right. Okay." He swallowed. "Good for you- not good that he- I mean-"

"No, no, I understand!" Aimee laughed, sounding relieved. "Okay, well, uhm, I'll tell you everything soon! How does Sunday sound for you?"

He grabbed his phone and turned it on, swiping through it until he opened his notes app again and reread everything he'd written. He'd taken the morning to edit a couple of things and refine certain points while drinking his berry breakfast smoothie, and followed up with some more editing in the middle of choosing what to wear.

He'd gone through multiple articles of clothing to the point he finally understood why some of his ex-girlfriends had taken so long to get ready for dates. He'd even considered putting on one of his suits before realizing that was ridiculous, and instead finally settled on his favorite fleece sweater and fleece-lined pants to combat the cold weather of December.

His fingers brushed over the sweater, pinching and rubbing the soft fabric to soothe his nerves. His eyes widened slightly when one of the garage doors came to life, rattling softly as it slid upward. He peeked at the side mirror, taking in one last deep breath at the sight of (Y/N)'s car heading up the driveway and pulling into the garage. 

Now or never, Hollander.

Shutting off the ignition and hopping out of the car, Shane waited to hear the beep of the car locking before he headed over to (Y/N)'s car, offering him a small smile once he stepped out. "Hey." He greeted, taking a step back and watching (Y/N) pop the trunk open. "Need any help?"

"Yeah, uhm, you can take these-" (Y/N) hauled two big reusable grocery bags from the trunk and offered them over to him. "-and put them on the kitchen counter." 

"Got it."

Heading inside, Shane was struck by the fluttery thought of what it'd be like to be in a relationship that he'd actually enjoy; going shopping together, cooking together, watching television and offering commentary. His mouth twitched, threatening to spread into a little smile, before it dawned on him that he envisioned doing those things with (Y/N).

God... was he, as Hayden would put it, whipped for him?

Shane set the bags on the counter and began taking out the contents, putting things where he knew they went and leaving the items he wasn't sure (Y/N) would prefer in the pantry or not.

He braced his arms on the counter and focused on calming his racing heart, his ears picking up the rattle of the garage door sliding shut again and the heavy thumps of (Y/N)'s footsteps. 

(Y/N) set the two bags in his hands on the island counter and slipped his beanie off his head, blowing a small raspberry. "Thanks." He told him, setting the beanie aside and beginning to sort through the groceries he'd bought. "What'd you want to talk about?" From his tone, Shane suspected he had some vague idea.

Shane felt tempted to read what he'd written in his notes aloud, but he feared it'd come off as insincere. He cleared his throat and straightened up, his eyes settling on the counter. Come on. He forced himself to look up.

"I know you said what we did was a one-time thing, a- a fling, but... I don't want it to be that, (Y/N)."

(Y/N)'s lips began to form a little frown. "Shane-"

"I know, but hear me out, please."

Shane waited a beat in case (Y/N) wanted to be firmer, but (Y/N) nodded for him to continue.

"I'm aware it's a bad idea, and that the consequences could be severe for both of us if anyone were to find out... but I think we could do it. I did some research, and while with U.S teams it's prohibited, in Canada, there's no rule or real consequences if the coach and player are on different teams. You- You could stay with the Metros for a year or two, and then... maybe join a different team like Ottawa?"

(Y/N) shut the fridge door and lingered, his gaze falling away, but to Shane's relief, he seemed to consider it.

"Honestly, with a team like Ottawa, they'd probably make you Head Coach within the year. They could use the help."

Shane felt a little bad speaking about his hometown's team, but... they'd never won a single Stanley Cup and rarely made it into the playoffs. Having someone with (Y/N) (L/N)'s history on their team of staff would be heaven-sent for them. He doubted they'd become a threat to Montreal or Toronto immediately, but he had faith (Y/N) would make it happen.

"It's two hours from Montreal, which might sound like a lot, but if you moved to someplace like Vankleek Hill or Hawkesbury, it'd be a one-hour drive both ways. Vankleek Hill is considered small and rural, but they have a year-round farmer's market and a lot of events, from what I saw. Hawkesbury is considered the third most bilingual town in Ontario, so you wouldn't have to learn much French."

(Y/N)'s hand slid from the fridge's handle, his footsteps quiet and slow as he rounded the island counter to stand in front of Shane. He looked faintly amused, his eyes studying Shane's face. "You really looked into this, huh?" His shoulders trembled with a chuckle, and he shook his head. "Things shouldn't be this complicated... and they could get more complicated if-"

"Nobody would have to know. I-... I know I like men, and I'm not completely sure about women-" He took a shaky breath when his chest constricted at the admission. "-but I.. I don't want to.. come out yet, and I know you're a private person. I am, too. I wouldn't mind waiting until I retire to be public."

(Y/N)'s features pulled into a grimace, and he raised his hand to delicately cup Shane's cheek. "Shane, you're young.. and you don't know if you'll be happy being a secret. It's a part of relationships to want to go out on dates and try different things together." 

"I know I'll be happy with you," Shane told him quietly, setting his hand over (Y/N)'s and lacing their fingers together, tilting his head to press his face further against (Y/N)'s palm. "And I don't mind staying in. Dates at home would be more fun, less... stress-full. And if anyone asked, I'd tell them I was visiting my parents."

"And speaking of your parents... what would you tell them, Shane? I'm older than you, much older, and most parents would feel uncomfortable by that." (Y/N) reminded him softly, his brows pulling together. "I don't want you to lie to them, Shane. I don't want you to have to lie to anyone."

Shane swallowed. He'd given his parents brief thought, mostly because telling them would mean coming out, and as supportive as they were, Shane had read stories of people coming out to their family and finding out their support only extended to strangers.

He'd heard his mother chuckle with her friends before about grandkids, watched the smiles on his parents' faces when their colleagues gushed about their grandkids.

His shoulders drooped with an exhale at the heavy distraught and fear of disappointment that bubbled in his chest, realization settling in. (Y/N) likely experienced similar feelings, dealt with them alone just as Shane would. He'd give strained smiles and laugh forcibly at the jokes made or quietly nod along when others spoke of his future 'wife' and children.

"I've already been lying to people, (Y/N)." Shane exhaled. "I can handle doing it until we both feel comfortable. I want to be with you... and- and.. and I'm not asking you to move away or to actually join the Ottawa Cenatours, I just- I wanted you to know there were other options. And.. if you want it to be just sex, then it can be just sex. I.. I don't mind."

(Y/N) stared at him for a while longer, his lips rubbing together and parting with an inhale. "I..." He trailed off, clearing his throat. "I can't promise your expectations will be met, Shane. I don't know if I'll live up to whatever version of me you think I am."

Shane's hand slid down (Y/N)'s arm and over his shoulder to settle at the base of his neck. He hesitated, his eyes falling to (Y/N)'s lips and flickering back up. He leaned in, pressing his lips to (Y/N)'sunable to contain the quiet sigh of relief that formed in his throat. Like a magnet, his body pressed against (Y/N)'s, eager for contact again, his arms slinging around his shoulders.

It was a proper kiss, chaste and gentle, one he broke by pulling away enough to speak. "You've been living up to it. You've been living up to all of it, (Y/N). I... I just have to know if you like me. Be honest with me. Do you... do you like me? As more than a friend or a player? As... as someone you might want to be with?"

Shane felt the heat of (Y/N)'s face. His heart skipped a beat, a flush of anxiety curling around his chest. "I think... I think I do, Shane." He admitted meekly, and a smile broke out on Shane's face. "And if you've thought this completely, then... I think we could give this a try. See where it goes and- and if it's what we want."

Shane's heartbeat picked up slightly. "Does... does this mean you're my... boyfriend?"

The word felt... odd to utter. He never thought in a million years he'd be saying it when talking about himself, but it filled his chest and stomach with excitement, unlike the other times he'd been in a relationship.

"I guess so." (Y/N) laughed bashfully, his arms enveloping Shane's waist, fitting around him snugly. 

Shane's palm pressed over the back of (Y/N)'s head, and he leaned in again, kissing him harder than before, kissing him with intent. What'd started out as an outpour of his excitement and glee morphed into hot passion, his lips parting to accept (Y/N)'s tongue in his mouth and his leg raising to hook around his waist. 

He broke away again with a broken gasp, followed by a winded laugh, his hands clutching (Y/N)'s shoulders when he hoisted him up. Shane wrapped his legs around him completely, hooking his ankles together for security, and leaned in to kiss along his face and neck, mindful of leaving any marks on his skin that'd be hard to explain away. 

(Y/N) took them to the base of the stairs, where he gently set Shane back on the floor to avoid any accidents, a chuckle leaving him at the way Shane took his hand and practically dragged him up the stairs to the bedroom. Their mouths molded together easily, hands tugging and pulling at fabric until each article of clothing was blindly tossed aside, letting their bare skin press together.

Shane's cheeks burned with hot arousal and slight embarrassment when he found himself between (Y/N)'s legs, but he wasted no time in taking him into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and groaning softly at the feeling on his tongue. His eyes closed, his mind slipping away from him pleasently, letting him focus on pleasuring (Y/N).

The quiet sighs and hums, the heavier grunts and moans made Shane's skin tingle with need and satisfaction, strands of hair falling over his forehead whilst he bobbed his head and felt the hairs along the base tickle his nose. The slick noises failed to further embarrass him each time his lips dragged over (Y/N)'s length, his hands clutching his thighs. 

A hissed curse and a twitch in (Y/N)'s thighs told Shane he was close, so he pulled back, sucking in a deep breath to refill his lungs as he staggered onto his feet and messily kissed (Y/N) again. The heels of his palms pushed at (Y/N)'s shoulders until his back was against the mattress and he settled on his lap, kissing and licking along (Y/N)'s chest while (Y/N) reached for the nightstand. 

Shane's hands pressed over (Y/N)'s chest, his head tilting back and noises leaving his raw lips in response to (Y/N)'s fingers working him open, shivers and shudders shaking his body. The thought that he'd been close to losing the chance of kissing him, of being wrapped around him, or feeling his hands on him, made him whine. 

His head dropped to gaze down at him. "I know you- I know you went on a date." He told him breathlessly, almost whining again when (Y/N)'s movements faltered. He blinked up at him in confusion. "Some of the guys and I were in the city. We saw you with the Hendricks and another woman."

"Oh.." (Y/N)'s palm pressed over Shane's ass cheek, his fingers sliding out of his slicked entrance. "I'm sorry you saw that." Shane almost crooned at the apologetic frown on his face. "I didn't think to warn you about it... were... were you jealous? Is that why you messaged me?"

Shane flushed and shrugged flimsily, climbing off (Y/N)'s lap and lying back against the pillows, his legs parting invitingly. "Maybe." He muttered, curling his arms around (Y/N)'s midsection.

"I didn't think Shane Hollander was the jealous type." (Y/N) brushed his lips over the apple of Shane's cheek, pressing a tender kiss to it. "I've never had anyone get jealous before." He revealed, holding himself up on one arm so he could reach for a condom with the other. 

Shane scoffed, his fingers running along (Y/N)'s back, feeling his muscles flex with his movements. "Bullshit. You're (Y/N) (L/N). People have been jealous of you for years."

"In hockey, maybe. There's not much to want outside of it." (Y/N) rolled the condom over himself and slicked it up for a smoother glide, his eyes meeting Shane's when Shane cupped his face. "What?" He asked with a soft laugh, his eyes closing briefly with Shane's peppered kisses.

"There's a million things to want about you." Shane huffed at him, and then, a little shyly, smiled. "Don't talk about my boyfriend like that."

My boyfriend.

Words he never thought he'd speak aloud, let alone say about the very man he'd wake up to and fall asleep to every day whilst living with his parents. The poster on the wall that he'd hoped one day would get signed, that he'd gaze up at while he worked at his desk or when he'd grow distracted from a book in bed... the man on that poster liked him.

Shane tilted his head forward to gently knock their heads together. "Fuck me." He demanded lightly, gazing into (Y/N)'s eyes with half-lidded eyes. "Please, sir." He added with a coo, a small, victorious giggle forming in his throat when (Y/N)'s cheeks warmed further beneath his palms.

The mischief that'd bubbled up in his chest grew forgotten with the subtle burn and eruption of pleasure that seized Shane's body once (Y/N) complied with his demand. His head fell back on the pillow, his mouth agape with moans and breathy curses that he made no attempt to contain. His arms returned to their previous positions, his fingers digging into the flesh of (Y/N)'s back.

For the longest time, Shane believed sex to be something people spoke about in exaggerations. To him, it'd always been mediocre, nothing to crave or desire or think about more than once a month.

It was something he'd do in relationships because that was what people did, though he'd never felt the overwhelming desire to initiate or felt the want to be desirable to someone else.

But now, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane with his back arching off the bed and a desperate need to always have (Y/N) inside him, he understood all the locker room talk.

He understood why some couples couldn't keep their hands off each other, understood why some of the guys were always eager to get back home to their girlfriends or wives, or why some always wanted to find someone to get lucky with at a bar or club.

It was addictive. The pleasure, the heat, the sloppy make outs and clinging, the way every cell in his body sang for (Y/N), how his blood ran hot whenever they were close, how he could pleasure (Y/N) despite his inexperience.

He wanted it all. He liked it all, probably even loved it, because they hadn't even finished and he wanted more. More. More. More.

He wanted (Y/N) until they physically couldn't do anything but breathe. Until their limbs felt like jelly and were ready to snap off. Until Shane was certain he'd be feeling him for the rest of the week, imprinted into his very core.

One of Shane's hands planted itself on the mattress, the other pushing at (Y/N)'s shoulder until he rolled over onto his back. Shane sank down, a heavy groan vibrating through his body. He took a moment to catch his breath and brush his hair back that'd begun growing slick with the sweat along his body. 

"(Y/N)," He breathed out. "Can..." He swallowed. "Can I feel you without the condom on?" 

(Y/N) licked his lips, glancing downward, his fingers massaging Shane's hips. "O-Okay."

Semi-reluctantly, Shane pushed himself onto his knees, a shaky moan leaving him as he felt (Y/N) slip out of him. He wrung the condom off (Y/N) and tossed it in the trash, holding his breath in his chest as (Y/N) gripped himself and let Shane slowly sink down again.

"Oh, fuck-" Shane nearly coughed on the sharp inhale of air he took.

He could feel him better, feel every vein and ridge drag along his warm, sensitive walls, and in turn, (Y/N) seemed to feel him a whole lot better, too. Shane panted heavily, his body tensing when (Y/N) wrapped his fingers around him to give him a few strokes, naturally squeezing (Y/N). (Y/N)'s hips bucked up, and Shane saw stars.

Jesus Christ.

They weren't going to leave the bed for a little while.

2012, Montreal, Christmas Eve, One Week Later

(Y/N) watched with a small smile while some of the players and their wives or girlfriends played Christmas Charades, little laughs and chuckles escaping him each time a couple would shout in victory or do their own victory dances together.

Those uninterested in engaging with the competitive Metros opted to fill their plates with food or sit with the kids who intently watched The Polar Express. The parents that'd travelled to be with their star athletes sat around exchanging childhood tales and anecdotes, laughing over their beloved players.

Katherine fluttered around everywhere, bright and eager to host Christmas in her mansion of a home. The round puff of her Christmas hat bobbed around with her movements, her cheeks flushed a soft red and pearly white teeth on display with her permanent smile. She walked up to him with a tray of freshly baked gingerbread cookies, and he took one to be polite.

"By the way," She breathed out, brushing away some strands of hair from her face. "What'd you think about Megan? I didn't get a chance to ask you."

"Uhm.."

(Y/N)'s gaze slipped away to search the room until it settled on Shane, who stood beside Jackie Pike with his finger caught in the small hand of one of the Pike twins. Shane wriggled his finger around, but the little girl seemed intent on holding onto him with that toddler superstrength.

"Megan's great. She's really nice, and we talk from time to time, but we both decided we'd be better off as friends."

"Oh, that's a shame." Katherine's bottom lip jutted out in a pout, and she took a cookie for herself, biting off the shoulder of the gingerbread man."I thought you two would be absolutely perfect. You would've made a great stepdad, too, but if it wasn't meant to be, it wasn't meant to be." 

"I'm sure she'll have no trouble finding a good guy," (Y/N) said genuinely. 

He'd enjoyed his time with Megan, but no matter the laughs, the tales they exchanged, the things they agreed on, he hadn't managed to feel a spark. Or feel the same pull he felt toward Shane.

They'd mutually agreed that they enjoyed each other's company and that they wouldn't be opposed to hanging out as friends with no romantic expectations, which was a win for (Y/N). He needed more friends without connections to hockey.

"Yeah." Katherine sighed, splitting the gingerbread man in half with another bite and wiping away the crumbs from her bottom lip.

(Y/N) took a small bite of his cookie, once again to seem polite, and spared the room another glance in hopes of finding someone to divert her attention onto. She was a great person, but too much of a chatterbox for his liking.

"I have this other friend who you might like. She's a physical therapist who was engaged once a few years back, but it didn't work out because he ended up sleeping with her sister."

(Y/N) chewed slowly. "Oh, wow."

"Right? Can you believe those two are still together to this day? According to her, he still tries to beg for her back, and each time he does it, she sends the screenshot to her sister, but her sister never does anything about it." Katherine told him in a gushed voice, finishing her cookie in another bite.

A chatterbox and a gossip.

"I mean-" She held her fingers up to her mouth, chewing faster and swallowing in a big gulp. "Obviously, there's drama, but the guy is harmless."

"Mm..." (Y/N)'s lips formed a tight smile. "I will... think about it, Katerine."

"You should." Katherine nodded quickly, the puff ball jerking around erratically. "She's such a nice woman. She deserves much better than a scumbag like that guy, you know? I think you could be that guy." She smiled sweetly, rubbing his bicep with her hand. "And I don't want you to be alone in that house of yours, (Y/N)."

(Y/N)'s eyes darted back to Shane, meeting those dark eyes of his from across the room. Shane's mouth curled upward, and he turned his attention back to Hayden's girls, managing to pry his finger free.

"I don't mind, Katherine. I've always been a lone wolf." He reassured her, glancing toward the kitchen. "I'm going to grab something to drink."

"Oh, yes, go right ahead!"

Shooting her one last smile, (Y/N) stepped away and headed toward the kitchen, wrapping up the gingerbread cookie in a napkin and tossing it in the trashcan. He studied the various drinks available, eyeing the cranberry punch with a hint of suspicion, before deciding that the guys wouldn't risk spiking the punch with alcohol with their coaches and a handful of parents present. 

He poured himself a little into a cup and took a sip of the tangy drink, humming softly at the flavor. Someone strolled up beside him, and he glanced at Shane, a smile appearing on his face.

"Enjoying the party?" He asked, pouring himself some more punch with the knowledge he wouldn't feel forced to drink it all if Katherine noticed.

"It's always nice when the kids and parents are here to meet everyone," Shane said, bumping their elbows together before he took a plate and began picking a handful of things. "Dad really likes Mrs. Hendricks' cooking." He mentioned, loading the plate with a couple of puff pastries, deviled eggs, and sweet potato bites.

"She's a good cook," (Y/N) agreed, plucking a cleanly sliced piece of baguette to scoop up some of the creamy whipped ricotta dip. "I'm going to ask for some of her recipes. It'd be nice to experiment in the kitchen every once in a while." The crunch when he bit into the baguette slice was heavenly.

Shane hummed quietly. "Maybe we could try some recipes out together? I've been meaning to try out this olive tapenade recipe I found the other day. I think you could help me with it." He said, his smile meek but hopeful.

"That'd be nice." (Y/N) nodded.

"It's a date, then?" Shane's voice dropped even lower, despite the chatter, music, and sound effects of the movie from the next room drowning out most of their conversation. 

(Y/N) dipped his head, finishing the rest of his baguette to hide his smile. Shane bumped their bodies together next, his brows lifting playfully, slightly expectant. He hadn't thought Shane Hollander to be the bossy type, but certainly acted like it at times in the bedroom. He seemed to take some satisfaction in telling (Y/N) what to do.

"It's a date," (Y/N) confirmed with a small, playful roll of his eyes.

Shane's smile widened. "Okay." 

He lingered for a second, as if he wanted to give (Y/N) a kiss to seal the deal, a feeling that was mutual. Instead, he patted (Y/N)'s bicep, gave it a subtle squeeze, and walked away to give his father the plate he'd asked for. (Y/N) watched him walk away and shook his head, biting back his smile as he took a plate and began grabbing some things to nibble on.

After loading his plate with two spoonful's of French onion dip with chips, more baguette slices with dip, and a few garlic knots, (Y/N) turned, ready to go search for a chair in the corner. He caught himself before he could flinch.

"Mrs. Hollander, hello." He greeted the woman wrapped up in a knitted Christmas tree themed sweater. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting."

Yuna Hollander smiled at him. "No, we haven't, but Shane loves talking about you."

She laughed knowingly, sticking out her hand for him to shake. He shook it once he balanced his plate in one hand and set the cup down on the edge, hoping the tension in his shoulders wasn't noticeable.

"I feel like I practically know you. Shane is-" She blew a raspberry, her head tilting to the side. "-kind of obsessed. Don't tell him I told you that, though."

"Oh, Shane's great. He's, uhm, he's got a good, long career ahead of him if he keeps things up." (Y/N) picked up a garlic knot and bit into the savory, buttery roll. He chewed fast, and hoped Shane would notice his missing mother. "Cedric's already considering him for assistant captain, actually."

"Really? That's wonderful!"

Yuna smiled brightly, her eyes lighting up in a way that reminded him of her son. She shuffled past him to get some of the onion dip for herself, her head shaking lightly.

"I'm proud of him, you know? He's always been... a bit of an outcast, but this team has accepted him like family. I'm surprised he's gotten so attached to you, (L/N). He's usually pretty reserved." 

"We're alike in a lot of ways," (Y/N) told her, taking a step away to give her more room to pick out what she wanted from the table. "I.. enjoy mentoring him."

"Is that all that it is?" Yuna asked abruptly, her voice lowering, and (Y/N) suddenly wished he'd declined the party invitation. He blinked at her, uncertain of how the hell to respond to that. "It's just.." Yuna sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. "I don't know who else to talk to about this, but sometimes I feel like... he's not into women, so I wonder if he talks to anyone about it."

"Oh." (Y/N) took a gulp of his punch and licked his lips. "It's, uhm, not really my business what our players do outside the arena.. but if it helps, I'm, uh... bisexual, so.. I could, uh, mention your concerns to him and send him your way?" 

Yuna brightened. "Oh, that's so relieving to hear. I know there's a whole toxic culture within the sport, but... God, I'm glad he can have someone to talk to. Has he mentioned anything to you? Does- Does he know?"

"Uhm, we.. we haven't discussed it, but I could bring it up to him. See how he, uh, responds." What the fuck are you doing?

"That'd be really kind of you, (L/N)." Yuna placed her hand over his back, her gaze genuinely relieved and thankful. (Y/N) forced the corners of his mouth up for her. "I'd really appreciate it."

They hadn't had sex since their first time at his place, or third time, seeing as things had escalated before they returned to Montreal so he could drop Shane off at his apartment. He'd opened up to Shane about his divorce, his biological failings, and it'd felt... alright to do. He'd been hoping for that 'weight off his shoulders' feeling, but only familiar numbness had settled over his chest.

Shane comforted him, though. He watched him intently during and after breakfast, offering little touches and leaning into him, the uncertainty of how to handle it clear on his face.

(Y/N) almost felt bad about the way Shane tried to be affectionate without seeming insensitive to the somber mood, his body often stiffening if (Y/N) returned the affection before it pressed against him pleasantly once he processed the interaction.

Shane was young, and from what (Y/N) heard, single since the draft. Something about wanting to focus on hockey, but (Y/N) suspected Shane's interest in women was slim. He hardly knew what relationships were in the life of an adult, hardly seemed interested in beginning a family. Thus, he'd been unable to understand him, and that stuck with (Y/N).

Most women and men in (Y/N)'s age range knew, intently or vaguely, of his desire to begin a family, and of the heartbreak of realizing his body failed to do the one singular thing all creatures on the planet were programmed to do. It'd been harrowing to hear everything else that came with low sperm count; even if they'd managed to conceive, the poor quality of his sperm heightened the risk of miscarriage or caused potential health risks in the fetus.

(Y/N)'s reluctance grew with each passing month when the doctor had told them that, and his fear of putting Aimee through the biggest nightmare a hopeful, expecting mother could have grew alongside it.

He'd known a while after the doctor's visits and failed treatments that their marriage was doomed. Aimee grew quieter, less bubbly, more anxious about her biological clock and running out of time.

The divorce hadn't come as much of a shock, but it'd been rough nonetheless. He realized how fragile relationships were, how easily some things were taken for granted. And now, he'd involved himself with Shane Hollander, someone with far less life experience than him, someone whose heart had yet to toughen up from heartbreak.

"Fuck." (Y/N) sighed, turning the ignition off and unbuckling his seatbelt, his eyes raising from the steering wheel to eye the building in front of him. 

Unlike the other staff members, (Y/N) had little to do now that the Metros were home for the rest of the season. Most of them had family or school events to attend that they usually missed or family vacations to take now that they had the time to be at home more. (Y/N) had an empty house and an empty schedule, so he convinced Cedric to let him do some post-season tasks and take a break.

He wanted the distraction. It allowed him to give Shane an excuse as to why they wouldn't be able to hang out one-on-one, too.

(Y/N) stepped out into the desolate, snowy parking lot and locked his car, carefully making his way across the icy asphalt to the entrance where he fiddled with his keys and unlocked one of the frosted-over glass doors. He locked it behind him and flicked on the lights in the lobby area, letting his eyes sweep over the quiet stillness before he headed into the cool arena and turned on the bright lights.

"Don't overdo it." Cedric had told him pointedly. "Do some goal-setting and review a couple of game footage, alright? Take a break, (L/N). Go home to San Francisco if you need to."

(Y/N) truly wouldn't have minded doing more; he liked staying busy.

Heading to the back, where the office was, (Y/N) used the key Cedric gave him to unlock the office door and stepped inside, taking a seat at the desk and turning the computer on. He swiftly got to work on reviewing the game footage from the start of the season to their last game against Detroit, jotting down on a blank piece of paper what strategies failed against what team and which players needed more help practicing certain things.

As he'd hoped, his mind drifted away from Shane and his divorce, focusing on writing what they could work on and which drills to practice in preparation against certain teams. The ideas came easily to him, flowing like a waterfall after a stormy day. He'd chosen coaching for a reason; anything else would've left himhopelessy bored. 

His eyes darted away from the paper when he heard the echo of the arena doors slamming shut, his shoulders jerking slightly at the sound and then stiffening with alertness.

He set the pen down and stood, fishing his phone out of his pocket as he made his way out of the office and down the hallway. He checked for any messages, finding none from Russell, Nyla, or Morgan.

His instinctive panic smoothed over when he stepped out of the hallway and spotted Shane, a little exhale leaving him. Shane perked up at the sight of him and quickened his pace, his backpack thumping against his back with his movements. He almost laughed to himself when he realized why Shane was at the rink.

Of course, Shane Hollander would opt out of taking a break and spend his rare free time training.

"You should be resting, Shane," (Y/N) told him, his brows lifting at him a little sternly. "I know one of Detroit's defensemen bruised you. Have you been checked out yet?"

"Dr. Holt looked it over. It's just a bruise, (Y/N)." Shane's eyes crinkled teasingly, his gaze fond, and (Y/N)'s neck burned softly. "You should be resting, too. What're you doing here, anyway? I thought you were busy?"

"I am." (Y/N) nodded and motioned to the office with a jerk of his head. "I'm helping Theriault out a bit, getting some of the load off his shoulders."

"Oh.. anything I can help with?"

(Y/N) smiled. "I appreciate it, Shane, but I'm fine. Practice if you want, but I want you out of here in two hours, yeah?"

Shane's thumbs hooked into the pockets of his sweatpants, and he tilted his head, his eyes sparkling beneath the lights. "You want to... spend some time together later?" He asked, his skin reddening in that gentle flush. His tongue darted out to swipe over his lips. "I miss you." He added more quietly, his softly spoken words so sincere that it made (Y/N)'s heart skip.

(Y/N)'s gaze immediately fell onto the concrete floor beneath them, quick breaths leaving his parted lips. A one-time thing, that was all it needed to be. He swallowed and loosely folded his arms over his chest, leaning his body back until it pressed against the wall, taking some weight off his feet before he could topple over. 

"We should talk. About... that, us- whatever we- you and me- you know."

His arms fell to his sides, his voice becoming breathless with defeat by the end of his sentence. At least Shane looked amused. A hint of guilt bit at the back of (Y/N)'s mind, his hand reflexively rising to toy with his necklace.

He took a breath. "Shane, it was just a fling. Nothing more, nothing less. I- I'm sorry if that disappoints you, but it's the truth."

(Y/N) winced at the way Shane's face immediately fell, his small smile disappearing into a line and the crinkle of his eyes smoothing out. His body became rigid, and his eyes jumped away to stare at the wall instead, the rise and fall of his chest notably quickening. He shook his head so lightly that (Y/N) thought it'd been a tic, but then he shook it again more firmly.

"You don't like me?" He asked, his brows furrowing together. He raised his head to scratch his temple, meeting his gaze again. "Or- or did you not like what- what we did? It was my, uhm, my first time, (Y/N)- (L/N). I.. I thought- I thought you, uhm, liked.. it?" 

(Y/N) reached out to set his hands over Shane's biceps, feeling him tense at the touch, his mouth forming a puzzled frown. Still, despite his feelings, his hands lifted to cup (Y/N)'s elbows. "I had a good time, Shane, really. It was the first time I really enjoyed myself since..." (Y/N) cleared his throat. "But it's just not doable, Shane. I'm your coach, you're one of my players. I'm- I'm twelve years your senior-"

"I don't care." Shane scoffed, his fingers lightly squeezing through the fabric of his jacket.

"I know you don't, and that's the problem, Shane. You're twenty-two, I'm thirty-four. You were ten when I was your age, Shane. God, I was already married at that point, and- and you were just a kid! Shane, really, I'm- I'm a little too old for you, you see that right? I'll be in my late forties when you reach my age."

"I don't care, (Y/N)."

"But you should care, Shane, you should."

(Y/N) shook him gently, just enough to sway his body, just enough to hopefully break him out of whatever spell he'd put himself under. Shane's jaw only clenched, his mouth pressing into a tight, defiant line. Shane Hollander was stubborn and determined; two things that made him a great hockey player, and apparently a difficult person to talk some sense into.

"It's only downhill for me from here, Shane, and you've got plenty of time to do whatever the hell you want. Think about it, Shane. It- It doesn't make sense long-term. Whether it's hooking up or- or a relationship, you'll get bored because you'll want more than I can give you. There are plenty of nice girls and guys your age who are better suited to be with you. I'm sure Montreal isn't lacking, and you're a star, Shane. People already like you."

"But I don't like them, I like you."

Fuck.

"And they're not better suited to be with me. People my age want to go out clubbing and dancing and drinking every week. They'll get annoyed that I read the same books over and over or that I watch the same movies all the time. They won't understand why I'm always at the rink or- or they'll want to go to crowded places like the mall or concerts, and I wouldn't be able to go without attracting attention."

Shane's fingers curled and tugged on the jacket, peeling (Y/N)'s hands away from his arms. He took a trembling breath, his eyes watery, but no tears fell from them. Instead, he blinked them away, steeling himself in a surprising show of emotional control. (Y/N) let his hands drop to his sides, uncertain of what else to do.

"Do you like me?" Shane asked, his voice nearly cracking.

"Shane, it has nothing to do with feelings, I promise. You like this because it gives you an adrenaline rush. Your brain knows this is against the league's rules, against the code of ethics, and it's... exciting to break rules once or twice. It's natural, especially for people your age, but I risk a suspension from the league. If anyone finds out, they may think you're getting special treatment, too."

That seemed to crack through his stance, his features softening. "Oh." He exhaled, his head dropping with slight shame. (Y/N) doubted he'd considered the code of ethics coaches were expected to follow. "I.. I..."

"It's okay," (Y/N) reassured him, half-tempted to reach out to pat his shoulder or offer a hug, but physical touch was the last thing either of them needed to initiate. "I have a lot of baggage anyway, Shane. I'm not exactly in the running for boyfriend or husband of the year. I'm divorced, for Christ's sake."

"It wasn't your fault." Shane's head raised at his words, his brows tight. "Fertility isn't something you can control."

"Maybe." (Y/N) sighed. "But I can't say I was the best communicator.. or- or the best at expressing myself. There are a lot of things that make up a relationship, Shane. Things you haven't considered or realized yet because you've only ever known what high school relationships are like. You'll learn, someday."

Shane's nostrils flared with a deep inhale. "We can't.. talk about this? Figure something out? I- I could think of a couple of solutions, other options we have. The league wouldn't have to know. Nobody would have to know. I... I don't want to.. to.." Shane shuffled from foot to foot, his eyes averting again. "Come out anytime soon." He finished quietly.

"No, Shane. I'm sorry, but.. but it's really for your own good. I'm not the guy for you, I mean it. You should be with someone who'll be able to give you what you want. Who'll be able to understand you better than I can." Shane looked ready to answer with a rebuttal, but (Y/N) raised his hand to silence him, giving him a small smile. "I'm sorry. I mean it."

Knowing that Shane would persist if he gave him the chance, (Y/N) turned and stepped back into the hallway, walking back into the office and shutting the door. He lingered by it, straining his ears for any sign of Shane following him, but he only heard the door of the lockerroom opening and closing.

He'd accepted it. That was good... right?

He sat down at the desk and made an attempt to resume his original task, but he found his previous flow disrupted and gone. He tapped the pencil on the paper a few times, hearing the rattle of the doors when Shane left the lockerooms. (Y/N) remained in the rough, leather chair, listening to the soft scrapes of metal on ice bleed through the walls.

He leaned back in the chair with a quiet groan and ran his palm over his face, his stomach aching in a way he hadn't expected. He was certain he'd made the right call, said the right words, but the defeat on Shane's face...

He dug his teeth into his lip and tapped on his phone, going through his contacts until he found Katherine Hendricks' number and began a conversation.

(Y/N) Hey, Katherine. It's (Y/N) (L/N). Russell mentioned a double date a while back.

Katherine H. (Y/N), hello!! Does this mean you're interested?

(Y/N) I think so.

Katherine H. !!!!

Katherine H. Amazing!! I'll let Megan know! Would this Saturday work for you?

(Y/N) took in a breath, his finger tapping the side of his phone in consideration. He had time to back out, to claim he was busy and push it back until he felt completely and utterly ready, but perhaps a double date was exactly what he needed. He licked his lips and straightened up in the chair, typing out his response and letting his finger hover over the send button.

He liked Shane.

He'd enjoyed their time together, enjoyed the glances they'd exchanged afterward, and the grins Shane shot him when no one was looking. He enjoyed the feeling of his body against his, the feeling of his hands exploring and appreciating what (Y/N) dismissed as a body people overlooked. The feeling of his lips against his or wrapped around him made his heart skip a bit, and (Y/N) could feel the phantom squeeze of arms clinging onto him.

He'd mostly enjoyed having someone to take care of, someone to cook for and spend time with. Their conversations flowed easily, and their silence was comfortable. There were no major expectations from each other, no need to impress or pretend to understand something. 

You just miss married life, he told himself, nothing more, nothing less.

(Y/N) I'll be available, yes.

Katherine H. Fantastic! I'll talk to Rus and we'll let you know the time and place! xoxo

2012, Montreal, Four Days Later

Shane strolled along the streets of Montreal with the guys, one hand tugging at the scarf wrapped snugly around his throat and the other deep in his front pocket to keep it warm. Shane would've preferred to stay in on a chilly night with a book in his hands and warm blankets wrapped around him, but Hayden had begged and pleaded for him to join them. 

Shane agreed, with the deal that he'd be the designated driver so he wouldn't get embarrassingly shitfaced again. He'd hoped that being occupied herding a group of drunk guys would keep his mind off things, but it was the opposite.

With no drinks in his system, he was left to recount what'd happened between him and (Y/N) over and over again. 

He ached with the desire to reach out, to ask if they could hang out at his place. He wanted to watch a movie or two, maybe something that matched the festive spirit around them, with a cup of tea and his body pressed snug into (Y/N)'s side.

Obviously, he missed the sex, but the sex felt just as intimate as all their other moments had. It felt good, warm, right.

(Y/N) made himself clear, though: it'd been a one-time fling that would lead to nothing more than moments of slight tension between them.

If he were being honest, Shane had little idea what he actually wanted from (Y/N). He liked the sex, the idea of being around him and being able to visit him in his nice house whenever he wanted. He enjoyed his cooking and his opinions, the way his arms felt around him and the smiles he gave him.

Was it a relationship he craved? Or something simple like a friend he could hook up with?

Shane kicked a pebble further down the sidewalk, watching it tumble right into a mushy pile of snow mixed with dirt. His head lifted to keep watch of the guys, ensuring their stumbling wouldn't lead them into the street.

They were tipsy from a few drinks at the bar they'd recently been at, and hoped a couple more drinks at the club they were heading to would warm them up.

A club was the last place Shane wanted to mope around in. He knew he'd only end up the same as always: his hopes for a good time swiftly evaporated when he'd find himself awkwardly standing near the booth they'd taken as their own, weakly smiling at any girls who looked even the slightest bit interested in him and giving the guys encouraging nods each time they were swept off onto the dancefloor.

Shane almost groaned at the thought of it, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. He already regretted going out.

"Hey, no way!" J.J. abruptly hissed out, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. Shane nearly barreled right into his firm back, but he managed to catch himself and find his footing before the icy sidewalk could take him out in front of his friends. "Is that... Hendricks?" J.J. squinted across the street.

Hayden straightened up, squinting at the restaurant as well. "Yeah..." He drawled, and Shane rolled his eyes, parting his lips to tell them to mind their business and keep it moving. "Holy shit, is that (L/N), too?! No way! He's on a date with Hendricks!" Shane's mouth promptly clamped shut, his head whipping around to take his own look. 

He vaguely recognized the restaurant; it was one of the more popular ones in Montreal that he often heard raving reviews about. It looked rustic in a sophisticated, classy way, making it a prime spot for business meetings or dates.

His heart curled into itself at the sight of Hendricks and (Y/N) sitting at a table by the big glass window, both of them sitting beside pretty women. 

There was Mrs. Hendricks, whom Shane immediately recognized. He'd seen her plenty of times before at team or league events, hanging off the arm of Coach Hendricks and chatting with the other WAGs of different teams. She was nice, if not a bit overbearing at times. 

The woman beside her was a stranger, and from the slightly awkward smile he faintly made out on (Y/N)'s face, she was a stranger to him, too. 

The blind date he'd mentioned Hendricks wanted to set him up on, no doubt. Of course, he'd ended up on a date with a gorgeous woman just days after... whatever they had ended.

Shane pressed his mouth into a tight line, his head turning forward to tear his eyes away from the four of them. He couldn't bear to see them laughing or smiling or flirting.

A hot feeling erupted across Shane's chest, bitterness and frustration mixing with fiery envy. He knew the reasons (Y/N) had given him made sense, but he couldn't help but wonder if his gender played into it, too. 

He recalled the happiness he felt waking up in (Y/N)'s bed, the overpowering lust and the satisfaction he got from pleasuring him, from seeing him panting and flustered because of him. He wanted it again. He wanted to be embraced and looked after, wanted to be rewarded by him after games and kissed with pride. 

He wanted (Y/N) (L/N) all to himself. It was as simple and complicated as that.

Clearing his throat, Shane piped up, "Come on, give them privacy."

Shane lightly pushed at Hayden and J.J's back, nodding his head for Taylor and Laine to keep walking. He knew it came across as goody two-shoes Shane being the mature one amongst them, and he was glad for it.

Even if they heard the breathlessness of his voice or noticed the trembling of his hands when he touched them, he could easily blame it on the cold enveloping the streets of Montreal.

Whatever holiday cheer that'd begun growing in Shane at the sight of the decorated streets and businesses died alongside any hope to keep his mind off (Y/N) (L/N).

He took another glance at the window, drinking in the sight of (Y/N) slightly dressed up in clothing that was formal yet appropriate for the weather. He looked good, attractive. The kind of guy anyone would agree to date.

Shane looked forward again, his stomach in knots and throat tight. Would he be able to take seeing (Y/N) bring someone else, someone new and pretty, to team events like the upcoming Christmas party? Would he be able to stomach seeing him cozy up to someone else, to see someone else flirt with him or laugh with him?

Shane patted the pockets of his coat until he found his phone and took it out, his exhales coming out in clouds while he tapped his screen repeatedly. He knew the answer to the questions that ran circles in his mind, knew what the gutwrenching feeling in his stomach meant. He wanted to be certain there was no future before he forced himself to give up hope.

Shane Can we meet tomorrow?

Shane I need to talk to you.

He eyed the guys for a moment and looked over his shoulder at the restaurant again, watching with bated breath when (Y/N) shifted around in his seat and took out his phone from his back pocket.

Come on. Give me this one thing. 

His eyes darted back to his phone when it vibrated.

(Y/N) Okay. Where?

Shane Your place?

(Y/N) Come by in the afternoon.

Air rapidly left Shane's lungs, his shoulders slumping with relief and his lips tugging up slightly. He'd ask for complete honesty, and if he received a repeat of last time, he'd bury his feelings and slap on a smile for (Y/N) and whoever he chose to date.

But on the off chance that their conversation would take a different route, Shane began to plan solutions he could present to him.

His hips were mildly sore from the time they'd spent together, but his shoulders and thighs ached from some hits he'd taken during the game. He shifted, rolling over onto his back and humming softly when he bumped against a warm, slumbering body.

(Y/N) lied beside him on his back, his head tilted into the pillows, leaving half his face smushed against the pillow beneath him as he slept. Shane could hear the soft breathing from his parted lips, and he smiled to himself, turning to face him fully.

(Y/N) looked peaceful, serene, his face relaxed and devoid of any tightness.

The faint sunlight that peeked through the edges of the curtain danced across his skin. Shane followed the light, and with a gentle touch, his fingers ran over his chest, feeling the hairs there. His skin was soft, warm, and Shane couldn't help but press his lips to it, peppering kisses over every place he touched until (Y/N) took a deep breath and began stirring. 

"Hey." Shane greeted quietly when he noticed (Y/N) beginning to crack his eyes open, watching his brows twitch, and his lips form a confused frown at the sight of him. He dragged himself upward and kissed the corner of his mouth a little hesitantly, holding his breath in his chest in anticipation. "Sleep well?"

"Mm, yeah." (Y/N) dragged his knuckles over his eyes, his face scrunching up tiredly. 

Something warm stirred in Shane's gut, his palms pressing over (Y/N)'s happy trail to feel the hairs tickle him. Warmth crept up his neck, his brain offering snippets of their night.

The feeling of something heavy, something real and pulsing, dragging along his sensitive walls, repeatedly hitting the sweet spot that made his toes curl was unlike anything he'd experienced before. Using his dildo would surely leave him unsatisfied now.

But there were also the memories of them showering together, cleaning up the messes across their bodies. It'd been quiet, intimate, soapy hands washing away the fluids, touching without expecting something sexual to occur again. 

Shane's palms dragged further south, the neatly kept brush of hairs there slipping between his fingers. (Y/N)'s chest rose and fell with quicker breaths, his eyes closing when Shane cupped him, eager to feel him slowly react and harden with his touch.

Shane kissed his cheek and down to his shoulder, dipping his hand to carefully rub his fingers over (Y/N)'s balls, his head a little lightheaded from the knowledge that (Y/N) found him desirable.

"Fuck," Shane whispered, his hips pressed against (Y/N)'s. "I want you." He told him softly, breathlessly.

The sheets rustled with Shane's movements as he pushed them back with his arms and thighs, settling between (Y/N)'s legs. (Y/N)'s palm set itself over the top of Shane's head, his thumb moving back and forth in a sweet manner that made Shane want to devour him.

He made an attempt, a flimsy, overly eager one, taking him as far as his gag reflex allowed him and relishing the groan it knocked from (Y/N)'s chest. 

He was still learning, but he'd received good results the previous night, so he focused on suckling on (Y/N)'s cock like it was an ice-cold popsicle on a hot summer day. He breathed through his nose as best as possible while simultaneously trying not to put all his attention on his breathing, while he flicked his tongue around in search of discovering what made (Y/N) tick most.

While it was a bit embarrassing to acknowledge, Shane liked it. He liked being between another man's legs with their dick in his mouth and his eyes locked on their face, watching intently while they lost themselves. It made him feel good, powerful, capable. Or, maybe he simply liked it with (Y/N) because hearing his soft moans and heavy grunts drove him crazy.

There wasn't anything otherworldly about it, but the slight throb and twitch, the salty taste of pre that smear along his tongue, the ridges and wrinkles, the lack of air... Shane could forget about everything else and simply focus on the task at hand, on the idea of pleasuring his biggest inspiration. 

Reluctantly, Shane pulled away for air, taking deep breaths and wiping away his salvia-coated lips with the back of his hand. "Did you like that?" He asked, ducking his head briefly to drag his tongue over one of his balls, mesmerized by the full-body twitch. "Do you want me to keep going?" 

(Y/N) shook his head and tugged at the back of Shane's arms, his chuckle airy. "I-I-I'm... you know.." Shane kissed his cheek again, thrilled to feel the heat of his blush. "I won't be able to last as long as I used to. It's- It's been a while, like I said."

Shane almost groaned, but he was sure his half-lidded gaze got the message across because (Y/N)'s eyes darted away meekly. "I don't mind." He assured him. "I don't care. I just-" Shane swallowed, reconsidering his next choice of words, but he uttered them regardless. "I just want you to fuck me again."

He knew the moment they got out of bed, they'd have to discuss how they'd proceed, and the outcome was uncertain. They weren't teammates who could fool around whenever they felt like it, who could get away with occasionally being seen hanging out.

(Y/N) was an assistant coach, and staff members rarely hung out with players one-on-one outside of the rink unless they knew them or their families personally.

Shane wanted to forget about that momentarily. "Do you want to?" 

"Y-Yeah." 

Shane's smile was brief, elated and bashful all the same, before he swooped down to lock their mouths together, groaning softly into his mouth when he began rocking his hips against (Y/N)'s stomach. He barely paid attention to the kiss in all its messy, clumsy glory, their tongues swiping over teeth and saliva trickling from the corner of their mouths. His senses were simply too overwhelmed by (Y/N).

(Y/N). (Y/N). (Y/N). (Y/N).

The heat and softness of his skin and flesh pressing against him, the tingle of his fingers digging into the fat of Shane's hips, the smell of his bedsheets and his cologne and his subtle sweat. Shane groaned again, pushing their mouths together harder, wanting to mold together until his mind was only full of one thing.

(Y/N) broke the kiss by tilting his head to the side, leaving Shane to mouth at his jawline and chin, streaks of glistening spit following. He continued rocking against him, grinding and shamelessly humping, his body alight with the eager anticipation of feeling (Y/N) inside him again. He could get drunk on the feeling. 

He almost choked on a gasp when he felt a cold, slick finger press against his still sensitive entrance, his body seizing up. He let out a breath and made himself relax, his breathing growing shallow and coming out in quick bursts. His head dropped, his face burying itself in the crook of (Y/N)'s neck, attempting to ground himself but failing when the welcomed intrusion came.

"Fuck."

He panted against (Y/N)'s throat, strands of his hair beginning to stick to his forehead from the sweat building there. His mouth pressed to (Y/N)'s heat, savoring the warmth from his blush again. His nostrils flared.

"Need you." He whispered, rocking back to push his finger to the knuckle. 

"You must be sensitive, Shane." (Y/N) crooned, and while his words were spoken with a genuine, slightly lecturing tone, it made Shane's head spin more.

Shane had the overwhelming want to be pampered, to be rewarded for his efforts against the Raiders. They'd been hard to beat, which made going against them all the more fun, but Rozanov had a talent for getting beneath Shane's skin with his taunting remarks and blood-boiling laughter. 

Somewhat delirious from his ridiculous desire for a man basically a decade older than him, Shane wrapped his arms around (Y/N)'s shoulders. "Did I make you proud yesterday?" He asked breathlessly.

(Y/N) added a second finger, and Shane shivered from pleasure, his knees digging into the mattress and hips moving to effectively fuck himself on (Y/N)'s fingers. (Y/N)'s lips brushed over his forehead, puckering to kiss it before he nodded. Shane hummed, adjusting himself to properly kiss (Y/N) again.

"Will you- will you give me a reward-" He groaned softly. "-every time we win this season?" 

(Y/N)'s eyes, still visibly heavy with some sleepiness, traced the freckles over his face. "I..." He swallowed, his gaze flickering away for a second, still meek in a way that had Shane considering keeping him in bed for a couple hours. "You want to make me proud?"

Shane nodded, sitting up with one hand planting itself on (Y/N)'s chest. "Yes. Always." He told him honestly, reaching behind him to fist (Y/N0's cock in his hand, his flushed chest heaving. 

His teeth caught his bottom lip when (Y/N) slipped his fingers out and fumbled for a condom, a small chuckle vibrating in his throat. He attempted to help, but his own hands trembled, and the two couldn't help but laugh. (Y/N) gave a playful huff and brought the wrapper to his mouth, clamping down with his teeth and tearing it open. 

Shane plucked the wrapper piece from his mouth and tossed it aside, leaning on his knees to move backward. He gripped the base of (Y/N)'s cock with one hand and leaned down, wrapping his lips around him again one last time. He shuddered when (Y/N) growled out his name, pulling away with a full-body blush and sliding the condom over him. 

Hovering over his lap, Shane slowly sank down, his mouth permanently open with the quiet gasp and guttural moans he released at the stinging soreness and electrifying pleasure. Gravity worked wonderfully in his favor, helping him take (Y/N) better to the point his toes curled and his lungs felt empty. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Leaning back, Shane set his hands over (Y/N)'s strong thighs and planted his feet on the mattress, his head lolling back once he began lowering himself up and down. Each stretch burned through him, his hair sticking to his skin that felt like lava and his thighs quivered, flexing with his movements.

(Y/N)'s hands roamed over his body, exploring and squeezing, sending jolts through him. Shane quickened his pace as much as his arms and thighs would allow him without the threat of toppling over, his own flushed, leaking cock bobbing and slapping against him. He cursed sharply when (Y/N)'s fingers wrapped around him, only giving him a few pumps. 

Shane cried out, covering his lower belly and (Y/N)'s hand with his fluids. His movements staggered, his legs failing him under the waves of pleasure, and before he knew it, (Y/N) had him on his back again, his weight pressing Shane into the mattress. (Y/N) fucked him through his high, hitting that sensitive, overstilumated bundle of nerves until tears prickled the corner of Shane's eyes. 

"F-Fuck," He whined out, his arms weakly wrapping around (Y/N)'s midsection. "P-Please," Shane gasped, even though he hardly knew what more he was begging for. "Sir, shit," He slurred next, and heard (Y/N) groan in his ear. Through his sluggish brain, a lightbulb managed to flicker.

(Y/N) liked that.

Shane's mouth curled upward, and he pressed his lips to (Y/N)'s earlobe, his voice airy while he chanted, "J-Just like that, sir. More. More."

If he'd had any energy left, he would've laughed victoriously when a low, deep moan ripped from (Y/N)'s chest, his hips snapping one last time, burying himself to the hilt. Shane silently cursed the layer of latex keeping them separated. He wondered how it'd feel to have come seeping out of him. Likely weird. Probably uncomfortably so. 

A whine unconsciously slipped out when (Y/N) pulled out, leaving him empty and clenching around nothing. (Y/N) gave an amused huff of air and rid himself of the soiled condom, remaining on his knees for a moment as they waited for the energy to slowly return to them. (Y/N) recovered a little quicker, and so he got out of bed.

Shane remained in bed, his legs fallen open and body feeling both wrecked and weightless. The feeling was good, the type he'd get after a long, intensive workout that made his muscles and lungs burn, only this time, there was the added layer of pleasure. His jelly-like arm rubbed away the sweat on his forehead, a little, barely audible laugh passing through his lips.

Having sex with (Y/N) (L/N) was a dream he hoped he'd never wake up from.

The sound of the tub filling with water reached him, and he propped himself up on his elbows, gathering what strength he'd managed to recover to fling his legs over the edge of the bed. His shoulders slumped, heavy with exhaustion. Better to wait for (Y/N) to help him than risk eating the floor by attempting to stand up.

(Y/N) returned to his side a mintue later, cupping his elbow and helping him onto unsteady feet. Stubbornly, Shane tried to walk with only minimal help, but when his legs bucked, (Y/N) clicked his tongue and lifted Shane into his arms by his thighs. Shane sighed pleasently, his head dropping to (Y/N)'s shoulder. The thoughts in his head finally began making sense.

Mindfully, (Y/N) helped him into the warm water, and Shane let out a louder sigh at the feeling of the heat digging into his muscles, working away the soreness. (Y/N) got in with him, and Shane almost keened once (Y/N) lathered up a loofah and began gently scrubbing his skin. Shane watched him through hazy eyes, wanting to kiss him and curl up against him simultaneously.

"I'll change the sheets after this," (Y/N) muttered, smiling affectionately when Shane took the loofah and tiredly scrubbed him, too. 

"I can make breakfast." Shane offered. "Least I can do."

(Y/N) chuckled. "Deal."

After rinsing off the soap and washing his hair, Shane was glad to find his legs in better working order. He patted himself dry while (Y/N) finished bathing, and took the liberty of burrowing some of (Y/N)'s clothes after (Y/N) mentioned he could. He slid on a shirt and a pair of sweatpants, buzzing at the realization they smelled like (Y/N).

His chest felt both heavy and light as he headed down the stairs on semi-wobbly legs and made his way through the house, his head on a swivel as he took note of both the architecture and interior design.

He'd begun getting into both things a little after his draft at his mother's encouragement to find something outside of hockey that could generate money, and after doing extensive research into design and architecture, Shane was certain he wanted to have a little home for himself built at some point.

Maybe a cottage on a nice piece of land in Ottawa, where he could spend his summers basking in the beauty of the lake country. He'd have it designed just the way he wanted, and it'd become his own haven from the fame that came with being Shane Hollander.

Stepping into the kitchen, Shane opened the fridge and studied the contents inside, a little smile twitching on his lips. Fresh vegetables, fruits, herbs, jams that looked homemade, eggs that seemed like they'd come from a local farm rather than a grocery store.

Shane sorted through the contents and began taking out the ingredients needed for a breakfast quesadilla. He searched around the kitchen for bowls, setting them on the counter, alongside the needed utensils.

Once he had everything, he cracked two eggs into a bowl and started cooking. Usually, during the season, he preferred quick but filling breakfast options so he'd be able to hit the ice as soon as possible and do some light training before the game.

But they'd be in Montreal for a little longer while they waited for the Tampa Bay Stingrays to play against the Toronto Guardians and fly up to Montreal, and Shane wanted to make the most of his time with (Y/N) before reality settled in. Part of him wanted to spend the rest of the day with him, to lounge around rewatching and dissecting old games, or stay in bed learning more about each other.

Shane glanced up at (Y/N) when he walked into the kitchen. "I, uh, heard you liked quesadillas." He mentioned with a shrug, dicing the bell peppers and onions before adding them to a buttered pan to cook.

"I do," (Y/N) confirmed, nodding as he took a seat at the small square island and rested his arms over the cool counter. Shane's gaze briefly fell to the wedding ring when it dangled and caught the light. "My mom makes them all the time." He said, his smile nostalgic. "If she's not making breakfast quesadillas, she's making chocolate chip or blueberry pancakes."

"Sounds delicious."

Blueberry pancakes... he made a mental note to search for a healthy enough recipe. He wouldn't add the syrup, far too much sugar, but he was sure there was a good enough replacement. Shane swiped his tongue over his lips, keeping an eye on the frying pan.

"Did you usually cook when.. you were married?" Was that too odd a question to ask?

(Y/N) propped his arm up on his elbow, his fingers tracing the necklace holding his ring. "No, Aimee... Aimee liked cooking. Once I got her into buying from farmers' markets, she became obsessed with cooking and became a total foodie. You'd have to pry her veggie egg muffins from her cold, dead hands." (Y/N) laughed gently.

"Mm." Another food added to Shane's mental list of things to try.

His fingers drummed over the counter, his head tilting slightly to the side. He wanted to ask, to learn more about the life (Y/N) (L/N) had kept from the public eye, the life he spoke little of when asked. Shane wondered if it'd be too much, especially after sex. He doubted anyone wanted to talk about the ups and downs of their past marriage after a hookup.

(Y/N)'s gaze dropped onto the counter, moving over the bowls and ingredients, his features smoothing out into that calm, blank expression of his. He nipped lightly at his bottom lip, shifting slightly in the barstool.

"Aimee always wanted to be a mom." He said suddenly, quietly, his eyes remaining downcast. He took in a deep breath. "I wanted to be a dad, too, but not as intensely as her. We... We didn't try for kids until later, until our late twenties. We wanted to be young and stress-free. Then, when we did start to try... it didn't work out."

Shane poured the veggie mixture and the egg-milk mixture into the skillet, nodding along to assure (Y/N) he was still listening. His eyes remained locked on the skillet while he worked on getting that perfect omelette shape, half his brain focused on the task while the other focused on what (Y/N) was sharing with him.

"Aimee thought she was the problem, but she got the all-clear."

Shane's brows furrowed at first, working through it in his head, and then crinkled his nose in a wince. (Y/N) shot him a little sad smile, resigned and tired. It made Shane's heart squeeze with sympathy.

"I'm infertile. Not- Not sterile, but... they made it clear that the chances of us naturally conceiving would be a shot in the dark because of low sperm count."

"I'm sorry." Shane wasn't sure what else there was to say to that.

"We tried a few things like, uh, hormone therapy and IVF and all the usual treatments they suggest... we weren't very lucky, and- and Aimee.. it didn't feel right to her to use a donor. She wanted a baby that came from us, and she wanted to experience pregnancy and..."

(Y/N) trailed off, his lips pressing together, his eyes sliding away, distant. His fingers slid down until he could thumb the ring, his face still neutral but his eyes told a million stories.

He'd heard of resentment building up in marriages, how the little problems and big problems merged into one massive clusterfuck during times of hardship. He imagined it hadn't been an easy problem to get past for the both of them.

"It was my fault we divorced, I guess is what I'm trying to say. I- I couldn't do my one job as a man." He gave a dry, bitter laugh.

Shane's mouth curled into a frown immediately, and he quickened the pace of his cooking, folding the omelet onto a tortilla and leaving it to cook.

"Hey." He said scoldingly, his voice soft and legs carrying him around the island to stand at (Y/N)'s side. "It's not your fault. You can't control how fertile you are, (Y/N)."

(Y/N) continued staring forward in silence, his eyes a tad misty, before he blinked a few times and took a breath. Shane watched him reel himself in, steel himself into the (L/N) everyone knew.

"You should get tested, Shane. It'll be better to know now than in the future when you're hoping for different results." He advised him somberly, finally turning his head to look at him. 

Shane leaned down, pecking his lips. "It's not your fault, (Y/N)." He repeated, raising a tentative hand to his cheek and cupping it, his thumb dragging back and forth sweetly. "You're more than- than just a test result, (Y/N). You've had a successful hockey career and- and..." Shane licked his lips, racking his mind for more.

"You're young, Shane." (Y/N) kissed the vein along Shane's wrist. "You'll understand when you're older, if you ever get that urge to start a family of your own." 

Standing up from the barstool, (Y/N) moved around the island and flipped the tortilla over. Shane watched him, feeling a little helpless. For once, Shane had no solutions to offer another person. He was used to being able to rattle off idea after idea, or used to whipping out his phone to search for the answers, but this was out of his control.

A biological problem that even science couldn't fix.

Shane hated the feeling of being powerless to help someone he cared about.

He could show a teammate how to take better shots at the goal, how to skate faster, or what to expect from each team they went up against. He could help his parents with new technology or apps that they knew nothing about. He could offer logical, unbiased advice when a friend needed it or show support by showing up at events they invited him to. 

There was nothing he could do to mend a divorce or magically turn a low sperm count into a high one. 

A selfish, quiet thought slithered in, one that made him grimace, disgruntled with himself. If they hadn't hit the roadblock of fertility, if they hadn't divorced, Shane would've been wallowing in his self-pity in his apartment in Montreal, thinking about how perfect a life Aimee had. He pushed the thought away as quickly as it formed, a sting of guilt pricking his gut.

Shane fiddled with his fingers, rubbing the pad of his index finger over the wrinkles of one of his knuckles. He approached (Y/N) from behind, curling his arms around his waist and kissing his shoulder. (Y/N) swiped his tongue over his mouth and slid the tortilla onto a plate.

"Thank you for telling me." A sign of trust, Shane thought. It was a good sign. "It really wasn't your fault, (Y/N). I need you to know that."