nympheny

------------

Everything was complicated.

They had agreed to be on a break while they both settled into their hockey careers, but that didn’t make it hurt any less leaving Penn State and, therefore, Jackson behind. A break that meant they were allowed, and were expected, to go out with other people.

Everyone who had met him knew Gavin was loyal to a fault. He tried to forget about the agreement, let Jackson breathe, settle into Toronto. They were at two different points in their careers; they needed everything to settle, to both get established in the league before they continued with whatever they were.

They never put words to it, just fleeting feelings and moments that they both knew meant more but were too scared to label. Quick glances, sitting overly close to each other on the bench, among other actions that could be brushed off as ‘boys being boys.’ They were too scared of what the realities meant for themselves and their futures. Moments can be denied, pushed to the back. Boyfriends are much harder to deal with, so they didn’t, and now Gavin was in a fucking different country, pretending he didn’t care.

Soon enough he would have hockey to burry himself in. The first few weeks were manageable as he quickly met everyone and got to learning the systems. Hockey filled any gaps during the day. At night, though, the apartment went quiet and his phone that once constantly lit up stayed dark.

He told himself he just needed a distraction, so he went out. There was nothing stopping him anymore, he was legal in Canada, no more sneaking around or bribes needed to get his hands on alcohol.

The first couple of times were innocent enough as he was surrounded by his teammates that subconsciously kept him in check. He had to be on edge around them, especially with alcohol involved, scared he would slip up if he was any looser.

It was Auston Matthews who first really pushed him past that careful line he kept trying to draw for himself. Polite laughs, smiles, and nods could only get him so far when everyone else was hellbent on pushing.

It wasn’t malicious. He was just trying to get the rookies to settle in. A hand on his shoulder in a crowded bar, a lazy grin as he looked around the room and decided Gavin needed to loosen up more than he was willing to admit.

“Come on,” Auston said one night, nodding toward a group of girls across the bar, “You’re overthinking it. Just go have some fun, no strings attached.”

Gavin should’ve said no and excused himself to go home all to avoid the unwanted interaction but he also didn’t want to get chirped to the end of the Earth for ‘being a chicken’. Refusing didn’t always feel like an option especially when he was still finding his place in a league that valued conformity above all.

Auston took the lead as his ‘wingman’ ordering drinks for everyone, introducing Gavin, he only left as the blonde girl separated from her group and took Gavin to the dancefloor. She was pretty, confident, clearly expecting the night to go in a predictable direction. He assumed Auston saw his duties as fulfilled as he sat back and watched the girl grind all over him from the table.

Gavin could feel the expectations settling over him, they were just showing a rookie the ropes. The story had a predictable ending, one that everyone was expecting from him. So he played along.

He got his teammates laughing and clapping him on the back as he left with the girl, Liv, he vaguely recalled.

The walk outside was colder than he expected, the kind of cold that nipped at fingers. She stayed close to him on the way out, arm brushing his, laughing softly like they already knew each other better than they did.

Everything really should’ve ended there, no one would have known the difference. He could just lie when the guys asked later, but Gavin was an awful liar.

By the time they got to his place, the performance had already started to feel like second nature. Keys in hand, door open, lights too bright in the hallway. He let her inside like this was his normal routine.

------------

He didn’t drink any more than usual the night before but he felt as if he had been hit by a truck. Liv was gone in the morning, a hastily written note in her place. In a way he was glad, he was able to avoid any awkward conversations that would have come his way.

Once again his apartment was quiet in an unnatural way, one that left him feeling uneasy. Last year, he always had Jackson crashing in his room, refusing to leave him alone no matter how much he wanted to be. They would be casually laying on top of each other as they argued while playing chel. He would pepper Jackson with kisses to distract him while he scored on the other boy.

Gavin stared at the ceiling, one arm thrown over his eyes, wishing he could shut his brain off for five minutes. If he really tried, he could bet he could find a hoodie that Jackson left over that had made it all the way to Toronto.

They had never been boyfriends. They had never made promises. But why did Gavin feel so guilty? This was the point of the deal, for them to have relationships outside of each other as their locations and schedules didn’t line up.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Auston: Did you have fun?

Auston: Just tell me you didn’t scare her off.

Gavin’s fingers hovered above the keys before he decided on what to say.

Gavin: she survived

He left a lot up to interpretation, perfect for the overactive imagination of his teammate. A string of laughing emojis followed his message.

His thumb drifted automatically to Jackson’s contact. The chat hadn't disappeared. It was still there, just buried beneath newer conversations. Weeks of messages had slowed into days between responses. The time between strings of messages seemed to keep getting longer.  Now that they weren’t together 24/7 due to proximity, everything was slower. Was their thing only possible due to location? Was it only a fling?

He tossed the phone onto the mattress and screamed into the nearest pillow. He hoped his walls were thick.

Everything became easier after the first. He only picked up girls when his teammates were around, but when he found himself alone it was always other boys. It became habit, baked into his routine. On his days off, he was always at the bar chatting up anyone he could.

No longer was he the quiet rookie that needed help settling in, for the most part his teammates left him along as long as it wasn’t for ‘teammate bonding.’ He was fitting in. That was what everyone wanted, wasn't it?

Gavin quickly learned that if people think they know what's going on, they stop asking questions.

Nobody looked twice when he disappeared after games anymore. Nobody questioned him when he declined invitations because he "already had plans." Nobody seemed concerned when he stumbled into practice looking exhausted.

The narrative had already been written for him: a rookie in Toronto, young, hot, single, and having fun. Exactly what everyone expected. They didn’t know the details and they didn’t need to, it would only make them more disappointed in him.

He spent every moment he could away from his apartment where the silence was suffocating. If that meant finding someone willing to take him home then so be it. Anywhere but home. Home was where he found himself opening old conversations and rereading messages like a complete loser.

He still texted Jackson but every text felt like a dagger to his heart. The one boy he couldn’t have, the one kept at arm’s length. They each would share tidbits about their day- stupid errors made, travel complaints, and even the occasional selfie but now Gavin found himself staring at his phone wondering if he'd already texted Jackson too much that day. They used to text constantly, now everything felt like too much.

He couldn’t be the one starting the chain every time. One random notification could completely change his mood which was probably a sign that he was completely screwed.

------------

As the season wore on, he got sloppy. Not on the ice, never on the ice. He used to be meticulous in how he picked up in bars. He would check around, make sure no teammates were near, keep his head down, and make sure no one recognized him.

Too many times not getting caught got him to slip. It didn’t all happen at once which probably made it even worse.

He stopped taking girls back to impress the guys, instead he would wait for most of the table to leave then he could sneak out with another guy. He no longer kept every intimate moment hidden behind closed doors, kissing people more openly in the bars he frequented. He didn’t switch up the bars as much anymore, he didn’t constantly check over his should.

It really shouldn’t have come as a shock when rumors of an NHL player kissing boys in bars started spreading across Twitter and ended up on the deuxmoi Instagram page. None of them mentioned his name specifically or Toronto but it felt like a slap in the face.

Apparently there's an NHL player who's a regular at a few bars and has been seen leaving with different guys. No clue who it is but hockey Twitter is trying to figure it out.

He felt nauseous. He'd been so focused on not thinking about Jackson that he hadn't noticed people were paying attention.

Everything kept moving and so Gavin moved with it. He lessened up on the picking up guys in bars and traded it for hanging out with Easton Cowan. Despite the fact they had known each other before, their interactions weren’t the most natural.

The first time they grabbed coffee together, Gavin was convinced neither of them actually wanted to be there.

"So..." Easton said, staring at his drink.

"So.”

Another period of long silence. Easton nodded and Gavin nodded back.

"Good talk,” Easton gritted out.

That finally got a laugh out of Gavin, "You're the one who invited me."

"Yeah, and?" was Easton’s rebuttal.

"You don't have anything to say? At all?"

Easton shrugged, "I thought we'd figure it out when we got here. It takes two after all."

They had gotten better since then, but it was a rough first few meetings. Thankfully, the built-in awkwardness allowed Gavin to not think about how it all reminded him of Jackson.

------------

Winter turned into spring and the rumors fell to the wayside. They weren’t forgotten but they no longer felt like they were crushing Gavin’s chest. Without new stories, people eventually got bored and moved on to the next piece of gossip.

Gavin was grateful but he was more careful afterward.

The whole thing had forced him to confront something he had spent months avoiding. The hookups weren’t helping and neither was the alcohol, if anything it made it all worse. None of it was a meaningful connection, just something for both parties to forget, it made the loyal part of his brain scream. None of it made him miss Jackson less.

He hated the quiet nights, the ones with no games and no one coming over to bother him. He found himself scrolling through his camera roll with a slight smile plastered across his face.

There was a photo of Jackson asleep on the bus in Gavin’s hoodie, a blurry video of their locker room celebration with the smallest glimpse of Jackson. Gavin immediately closed the video before reopening it and rewatching it three times. He was pathetic.

His phone buzzed and he was tempted to ignore it but then he saw the name ‘Jackson.’ He could never ignore Jackson.

Jackson: are you alive?

Gavin: unfortunately :/

Jackson: damn

Jackson: i was hoping to inherit your shit

A smile tugged at Gavin's mouth. The next hour was spent texting about everything and nothing at the same time. He felt at peace, everything came easy when it was him and Jackson.

It only made the silence worse because he got the reminder of what was missing in his life. It was their agreement, their wishes, but why did it make him feel so miserable?

------------

Everyone kept asking what his offseason plans were and truly he didn’t know. It was probably going to end up with him in Whitehorse for a few weeks before heading to Kelowna for training. He didn’t have any plans to show anyone around his hometown unlike last year when Jackson came up.

Easton was sprawled across Gavin's couch one afternoon when he finally said it, "You know you're weird, right?" He said it like it as a fact.

Gavin looked up from his phone baffled, "That's rich coming from you."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Easton threw a pillow at his head but Gavin caught it, "You're doing that thing again."

Gavin couldn’t hide the incredulous look that appeared on his face, "What thing?"

"The staring,” Easton said it as if he was dumb.

"I literally don't stare."

Easton rolled his eyes, "You absolutely stare."

Easton pointed toward the phone in his hand, "You get a text and suddenly you're smiling at your screen like you're in a rom-com."

"I do not,” he tried to futilely argue.

"You do."

"I don't."

Easton stared and Gavin stared back. Easton raised an eyebrow and Gavin conceded, “Maybe a little."

“Oh just a little?” Easton teased Gavin.

“Shut up!” Gavin lightly pushed Easton. They both devolved into laughter for a little bit.

Easton’s laughter stopped, “You ever gonna do something about it?"

Gavin froze, “What do you mean?”

Easton stared, “Oh you’re gonna make me spell it out. The guy.”

Turns out he wasn’t as good at hiding everything than he thought. He had barely gone out post-rumors and yet Easton still fucking knew. Simultaneously he wanted to laugh and to burst into tears.

He tried to keep a straight face, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Easton rolled his eyes at his response, “Bullshit.”

It felt like too much all at once, “It’s not like he’s around anyways,” Gavin immediately regretted the words that fell from his mouth.

Easton's expression softened, "Oh."

 “Yeah.” Gavin’s sanity was holding on by a thread. Everything became all too real all too quickly.

Easton looked back over, “You love him?”

His lower lip trembled just slightly, “I don’t know.”

“That’s not a no,” Easton snorted.

Gavin sighed, “No, it’s not.”

------------

A few days later his phone lit up with a familiar picture, Jackson. He had sent a blurry photo from an awkward angle, the boy looked dead tired.

Gavin: you look dead

Jackson: damn that’s fucked up man

Gavin: sometimes the truth hurts

He sent an equally bad photo back. Their conversations came naturally and as if no time had passed. They could just be and that was enough for him.

Maybe the problem hadn’t been the break but the fact they never talked about what they were in the first place. They eventually needed to address the elephant in the room but Gavin wasn’t good with difficult conversations and especially not starting them. On the ice everything was easy, off the ice it was more complicated.

------------

Summer had come and he packed his bags to go home to Whitehorse for some relaxation before going back to training. While he had gotten used to Toronto, he needed some extended time out in nature. It was always weird being back in his room, the one he hadn’t spent most of his time in since he was twelve years old. The room was a relic, decked out in his various jerseys and achievements all mixed in with his Blackhawks gear.

His goal had always been to be drafted to an NHL team but he never got much farther than that. He didn’t realize how hard it was going to be once he made it.

His phone buzzed, Jackson had sent a picture of what looked like airport coffee.

Gavin: looks disgusting

The typing bubble appeared immediately.

Jackson: it is

Jackson: pretty sure it's actively poisoning me

Gavin: thoughts and prayers

Jackson: appreciate it

The conversation had ended there but two days later there was a knock on his door. He wasn’t expecting anyone and no one else was home but he dragged himself over to the door anyways.

He opened it and had to stop himself from immediately slamming it shut. Jackson was there with his stupid hat and his suitcase looking exhausted.

For a solid five seconds Gavin genuinely thought he was hallucinating, "Jackson?"

Jackson gave an awkward wave, "Hi."

"What the fuck?"

"That's fair."

They stood there for a bit as Gavin processed what he was seeing.

“Uh you can come in I guess,” he remembered his manners. If his mom was here she would be scolding him for making Jackson stand outside for so long.

The problem was that Gavin had spent months imagining seeing Jackson again. None of those scenarios had included Jackson sitting across from him at the kitchen table while Gavin slowly lost his mind. Neither of them had touched the drinks sitting between them.

Jackson was the one who broke the silence, "Are you going to keep staring at me?" he asked.

Gavin blinked, "You showed up in Whitehorse without warning me."

"Yeah,” he kind of said it like it was obvious.

"You flew all the way to the Yukon."

Jackson nodded, "Yes."

Gavin threw his hands in the air, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

To his surprise, Jackson laughed.

"Plenty of things," Jackson admitted, "That's kind of why I'm here. I think we need to talk."

Gavin’s stomach dropped. What if this was Jackson finally completely breaking it off with him? Whatever ‘it’ actually was. Fuck undefined relationships.

He suddenly wished he had cleaned the kitchen or changed out of the hoodie he'd slept in or maybe fled into the Yukon wilderness before Jackson had shown up on his doorstep. Instead, he sat frozen at the table while Jackson looked equally miserable across from him.

"Talk about what?" Gavin asked quietly as he braced himself for the inevitable.

Jackson stared down at his hands, "Us."

Fuck that was ominous, he totally was cutting him off.

"There isn't really an us, the second the words left his mouth he regretted them. He was just trying to protect himself.

Jackson's head snapped up, "That's bullshit."

“What?" Gavin questioned.

"That's bullshit," Jackson repeated, "And you know it."

Something sharp twisted in Gavin's chest, "Then what are we?" he shot back, "Because I'd genuinely love to know."

Jackson’s mouth opened but just as quickly closed again with no words spoken.

Gavin laughed bitterly, "Yeah. That's what I thought."

"I saw the rumors,” Gavin froze, “at first I told myself it wasn't you and then I told myself even if it was you, it wasn’t my business. I know we have our deal but it just made me angry. I was really fucking angry.”

"You were angry?"

Jackson looked at him like he'd lost his mind, "Of course I was angry."

"Why?" The deal was Jackson’s idea in the first place, he only agreed to it because that’s what Jackson wanted so why was he angry.

The answer came immediately, "Because every time I heard another story I wanted to punch someone."

Gavin stared blankly.

Jackson looked frustrated now, like the words were physically painful to say, "I hated hearing about it."

"You don't get to hate hearing about it,” The words escaped before Gavin could stop them.

"What?" Jackson almost shouted that one word.

"You don't,” months of hurt came rushing up all at once, “You wanted the break."

Jackson's expression hardened, "We both wanted the break."

Gavin shot him a glare, "No. We both agreed to it."

Gavin laughed again, "You know what the worst part is? I actually tried," his voiced cracked, “I tried to do exactly what we agreed to. I went out. I met people. I hooked up with people."

Jackson flinched.

"Because that's what we said we were supposed to do and every single time," Gavin continued, "I ended up thinking about you."

Gavin immediately wished he could take the words back. The emotions so raw he didn’t want to feel them.

"I couldn't get rid of you," he admitted, “I tried. I kept thinking it’d eventually stop hurting but it never did.”

The hurt on Jackson’s face morphed into softness, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“Okay well fuck you too,” Gavin spit back at him.

"No," Jackson said as he grabbed Gavin’s hands, "Listen to me. I spent almost an entire year trying not to call you every day. I spent months convincing myself that giving you space was the right thing.”

"You think you're the only one who was miserable? I hated every second of this,” Jackson stated.

"Then why?" Gavin asked quietly, "Why did we do it?"

Jackson let out a hollow laugh, "Because I was scared. We were about to go in completely different directions. You got drafted to Toronto and I was going to be at Penn State. It felt like it would be impossible," he swallowed, "Long distance. Hockey schedules. The whole nine-yards.”

"So your solution was to blow us up before anything could happen?" Gavin asked.

"I thought I was protecting us."

"That's so stupid,” Gavin said.

Jackson rolled his eyes, "I know."

"No, seriously. That's one of the dumbest things you've ever done and I’ve seen you try to drink beer from your nose.

Jackson barked out a laugh, "You're not wrong."

"I can't believe you flew to Whitehorse for this," Gavin muttered.

"I can,” Jackson quipped back.

"Well of course you can."

"I literally bought the ticket at three in the morning,” Gavin groaned at that.

"Gav,” his heart stuttered.

"Yeah?" he looked over to Jackson.

Jackson took a deep breath, "I don't want the break anymore."

"I don't care if we're in different cities," he continued, "I don't care if it's hard. I don't care if people have opinions about it. I just know that I spent an entire year pretending I could live without you and it sucked."

Gavin’s eyes burned, “Jackson---.”

"No, let me finish,” Jackson squeezed his hands, "I don't want to be your almost, I want to be your boyfriend.”

"You flew all the way to the Yukon to tell me that?" Gavin asked, dumbfounded.

Jackson shrugged, "Seemed more effective than texting."

“Well would you hurry up and kiss me already?”

Jackson stared daggers at him, "The dramatic declaration followed by the kiss. That was supposed to be my move."

Gavin rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt, “Well maybe you shouldn’t have taken so long. I’ve only been waiting for like a year.”

Jackson leaned over, "Hi," he said softly.

"Hi,” Gavin had to stop himself from giggling like a schoolgirl.

Jackson smiled and then they finally kissed. His hands found Jackson's hoodie and held on.

Jackson made a small noise against his mouth before pulling him closer. When they finally separated, both breathing harder than before, Gavin rested his forehead against Jackson's.

Gavin laughed suddenly.

Jackson pulled back slightly, "What?"

"You flew to Whitehorse,” Jackson groaned immediately, "You actually got on multiple planes."

"Don't start."

"You crossed an entire continent."

"Gavin,” Jackson interrupted him.

Gavin continued on, "You came all the way to the Yukon because you couldn't communicate your feelings like a normal person."

Jackson covered his face with one hand clearly embarrassed, "I am literally pouring my heart out to you,” he complained.

"And I'm accepting it,” Gavin smiled.

The room fell quiet again, but it wasn't the painful silence Gavin had gotten used to over the last year.

"So, are we officially doing this?" Jackson asked.

Gavin rolled his eyes, "You literally flew here to ask me to be your boyfriend."

"Yeah, but I still feel like I should hear it."

"You're ridiculous."

Jackson smiled, "And?"

Gavin shook his head, "Yeah, Jackson."

"Yeah?"

"You're my boyfriend,” he conceded.

Jackson jumped up and pumped his arms, “Let’s go!”

------------

If you asked the media, he was stuck up, entitled, and lacked work ethic. If you asked his coaches, they’d say he worked harder than anyone else and wouldn’t settle for just okay. If you asked his family, he’d protect them no matter what and was proud of his roots.

He never knew what to say to media, they always seemed to want a reaction out of him. They wanted to portray him as an angry boy- no, a man. His family always checked on him, the most they could do through texts and calls anyways.

His mom constantly asked if he was okay and the truth was that he had no clue. Pressure is a privilege but what do you do when everyone wants something from you that you simply can’t give. Even if he knew he wasn’t okay, he didn’t know if he’d actually tell his mom because then she’d just be worrying thousands of kilometers away- pointless.

His grandpa and his family had gone through so much more than him, he had to survive. He had to find a way to thrive despite it all, to achieve his dreams no matter how crushing everything was. It wasn’t just his game getting picked apart but himself as a person and he had to sit there and take it.

Maybe it would be easier to be a moody teenager, to give everyone what they wanted. At least then he would have a front that would protect him instead of everyone tearing apart the real him, it was too personal. Everyone already had an idea of him in their head and they’d contort anything he said to fit whatever that narrative was.

He’d keep practicing, away from his family because that’s where the rinks are. He’d post about his escapades in nature, the things that calmed him, connecting with his ancestors in a way. He’d get criticized for “not working” simply because he didn’t post every workout and every carefully planned meal.

If he was ever lost he’d always find a way back home with a reminder permanently etched onto his skin. He absentmindedly traced the wolf, his people. But anytime he talked about it the comments were flooded with people saying “he wasn’t actually indigenous” and “he just wanted government handouts” as if they knew anything about his family.

He was hard to truly piss off but the number one way to get under his skin was by disrespecting his family. At this point everyone knew that, he knew he needed to just ignore it but he couldn’t. His family were his everything and they didn’t deserve to be pulled into his mess. He wanted to make it, if only to give his family everything they could’ve asked for and to pay it forward to his community.

------------

It felt like hermit crabs were crawling all over his skin as Marc’s words echoed in his head. He had always known bad things would come due to his siren nature, but those words made him feel violated and exposed.

No matter what happened in this world, he would never be safe. Even the VR46 crew couldn’t protect him. He wanted to bawl his eyes out but nothing came.

The next day, everything went back to normal. Luca couldn’t pretend but the rest of the crew moved in harmony like they always had. They patched up the ship which had faired well enough during the attack. They bantered with each other but everyone could tell that Luca’s heart wasn’t really in it.

Luca had sat on the deck listening to the birds and the sea wishing for it all to ground him like it did in the past but his peace was disturbed by Pecco approaching his space. He wordlessly sat down next to Luca and pressed his head onto Luca’s shoulder.

“I wish you knew that you don’t have to pretend that everything is fine. I know you hate Vale’s coddling, but we are a crew and we all just want the best for you. We can’t help you if you put up all these walls. We love you,” Pecco’s voice drifted off with the last line.

A moment of silence went by, “It’s just hard. I want to be open but then every worst-case scenario I have developed in my head becomes a reality and I’m back at step one. Not to mention Vale breathing down my neck at a single mention of,” he still couldn’t make himself say the word ‘siren’ around anyone who wasn’t his brother.

------------

He knew it probably wasn’t going to be permanent but that didn’t stop the hurt feeling he got as Nick packed up his stuff to head back to the AHL and the Rockford IceHogs.

Oliver stood in the doorway pretending not to be bothered with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie watching Nick fold the same sweatshirt twice over. The apartment already felt wrong even though Nick was still right there.

This is part of it, Oliver told himself. This is how it works. He’d known that from the start. Call-ups and send-downs, goodbyes that weren’t really goodbyes but even with that reality, his chest still ached.

“I’ll be back,” Nick said, like he could hear Oliver’s thoughts. His voice was steady, practiced but when his eyes met Oliver’s, something cracked just a little, “Who knows, you could still get send back down too,” he continued in a lighthearted tone.

A small smile formed on Oliver’s face, “I am not letting that happen,” as he elbowed Nick, “I hate this part,” Oliver admitted quietly. From his own perspective, it felt ridiculous  yet here he was clinging like the world might end because the person he loved was driving an hour away.

Nick laughed softly at the elbow, but it faded fast. He set the sweatshirt down instead of folding it again and reached for Oliver, fingers catching the sleeve of his hoodie like he needed the contact to hold it together.

Nick pulled Oliver in fully this time, arms tight around his waist. Oliver pressed his face into Nick’s shoulder, breathing him in, committing it to memory.

“I’ll call,” Nick murmured, “Every night. Even if it’s just five minutes and I’m half asleep.”

“You better,” Oliver said, voice muffled, “I’ll get Korch to bother you if you don’t.”

Nick giggled, “Damn, my own boyfriend doesn’t trust me.”

“Oh, I trust you. I just don’t want to take my chances,” Oliver broke out in a full-blown smile.

They stayed like that longer than necessary until the clock on the wall clicked over and reminded them that Nick did need to finish packing so he could leave. Nick sighed and rested his forehead against Oliver’s.

They rested in the position for a few seconds, feeling each breath the other took, “This doesn’t change anything, yeah? We’re still us, being split up doesn’t change that,” Nick said.

“I know, I know. It’s just the illogical part of my brain that’s already missing you even with you within arm’s reach,” Oliver tried to talk through his feelings, they never came out right.

Something open and tender crossed Nick’s face, unguarded. He kissed Oliver then, slow and deliberate, like he was sealing a promise between them. Oliver kissed him back with everything he had, hands fisting in Nick’s hoodie, grounding himself in the moment.

When they finally pulled apart, Nick rested his thumb against Oliver’s jaw. “I love you,” he said, like it was a fact.

Oliver swallowed past the lump in his throat and smiled, “I love you too.”

He watched Nick grab his bag again and continue packing up his stuff. He watched him hesitate at the door before turning back for one last look. Oliver didn’t pretend not to be bothered this time. He stood there, heart full and aching.

------------

Being away from his home hurt. The gnawing feeling was not the normal type of hurt but instead the hurt that turned his heart inside out. He chose this life for himself. He knew what he was giving everything up for but the feeling still haunted him.

A separate feeling also existed, a crushing feeling of disappointing everyone. His family, his community, his country, he was letting them all down. He wasn’t good enough no matter how hard he tried. Lofty expectations pressed down on his shoulders and he was faltering with the whole world watching. He was supposed to go first overall, he was supposed to repay everyone who sacrificed something for him to be where he was today. He was supposed to represent his indigenous community on the world stage.

He just wanted to curl up in the corner and die, wrapping the clinical sheets of the hotel around him to block out the world. He wanted to not care what they said but he cared much more than he’d like to admit. He shouldn’t have left home at twelve to pursue hockey over 1000 kilometers from his home.

Why did everyone else get to just exist while his world came crashing down?

His heart yearned for the comfort of his family, the ones who could always get him out of his head. But instead, he laid on the floor waiting for darkness to engulf him.

Sleep did not come easy. Every time his eyes closed, his mind began to race again. It provided him with images of scouts shaking their heads and reporters with dramatized headlines. He was a disappointment. He was a waste of resources. Why did his community bother to fund his hockey journey?

He tossed and turned but he felt like he was being watched. Guilt poured over him, the hide vest he wore last year was shoved into the bottom of his suitcase, untouched this year. Too afraid of what people would say this time.

No matter what he did, it was not home. He loved the Yukon and the great nature and great escape it provided him. No matter what happened, that would always be home. He would always come back there, no matter what.

The hotel was all wrong between the fake resh scent and the pristine condition it was kept in. It was nowhere close to the lived-in feel of their family home. It was even worse than his dinky college dorm and he thought at the time it could never be worse.

He wondered when the love of the game had started to feel like a debt.

------------

Quinn never meant to get good at hiding, it just kind of happened. It happened in the same way he’d accidentally gotten good at skating backwards before he could properly tie his skates without help.

Suppressants take care of his scent, practice takes care of the posture, and captaincy takes care of the rest- no one questions you if you’re the one wearing the C. It all just came second nature to him at this point. He hadn’t meant to keep up the charade this long but there was no way he could admit it now, not while being the captain. Omegas could not be captains, everyone knew that, so instead he pretended. Pretended to not to notice the shift in scents of the locker room, pretend to not be affected when his teammates got a little too loud, pretended to not be affected when he got boarded by other teams.

He adjusts the tape on his stick with steady hands, even when his pulse is anything but. The room behind him buzzes full of alpha confidence, that rolling thunder of team energy that always hits right before they step on the ice.

His mind felt like mush, as if his brain was filled with cotton. He absentmindedly hums in agreement at jokes he barely hears, let alone processes. He keeps breathing through his mouth, slow and even, because if he doesn’t, everything will explode. The room was full of the smell of anxious alphas who were worried about winning the next match, it was overwhelming on even the best of days.

He must have looked bad because Elias wordlessly handed him a protein bar that Quinn readily accepted but it still got under his skin. It was harmless in reality but to Quinn it was a sign of his weakness, of everything he tried to suppress.

There was no reason he could come up with for his off feeling. It wasn’t because of their travel or the time he spent on the ice and it simply could not be his suppressants. He pressed his palms into his eyes, hoping to rub away the feeling.

“Eat,” Elias says simply, nodding at the protein bar Quinn still hasn’t opened, his voice was calm and low.

Quinn forces out a laugh, “Yeah, thanks man.”

Elias only hums, already lacing his skates, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes when he glances back up at Quinn. Quinn misses it, focused on opening the wrapper while his hands refused to fully cooperate with his mind. Everything was just sluggish and a piercing pain was building up behind his eyes.

He took a small bite hoping it would fix things, but it didn’t. And he pushed on instead, surely everything would just resolve itself in time.

Quinn tried to ignore everything else going on around him while the team continued to grow in their rowdiness. Alphas, he couldn’t help but think as they continued to rile each other up, whether it be intentionally or not. Sometimes they didn’t notice and it was up to Quinn to settle them down but he simply did not have the energy. He was a beta, he was a mediator, he was their captain.

The room buzzes- competitive, keyed-up alpha energy rolling off everyone like pressure before a storm. Even with suppressants, even with the posture he’s perfected over years of pretending, Quinn feels every bit of it scraping along the edges of him as he twitched uncomfortably in his stall.

Elias looked over again at him, “Headache?”

Quinn shakes his head, “Just tired,” maybe if he kept saying it, he’d actually believe it. Elias doesn’t call him out on the obvious lie, it didn’t take a mastermind for someone to see that Quinn was off.

Instead, Elias shifts half a step closer. Not touching him, not crowding, just enough for Quinn to feel the grounding presence. His scent settles near Quinn- calm, cool, and steady in a way that was intentionally controlled. It was an alpha soothing without being obvious but Quinn didn’t recognize it for what it is.

He subconsciously began rubbing his arm with too much force, rubbing the skin raw.

Before he can make it worse, a hand closes gently around his wrist. “Hey,” Elias murmurs, quiet enough that the noise of the room swallows most of it, “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Quinn startles, he hadn’t even realized he was doing it. His skin buzzes, tingling in a way that feels too close to panic. He pulls his hand back immediately, forcing a shrug.

“Didn’t notice,” he mumbles under his breath.

“I know,” Elias says, voice still soft but matter of fact.

Quinn opens his mouth to apologize, to deflect, but the sound gets knocked out of him by a wave of scent from across the room as two of the boys start shoving each other, laughing too loudly. Another joins in a second later, tapping his stick against the lockers for emphasis, and someone yells about hitting the ice in ten.

The air spikes. Hot. Sharp. Pure alpha adrenaline.

Quinn’s breathing faulters for a second. He grips the edge of the bench with white knuckles and nails digging into the wood. He focuses on breathing through his mouth, shallow, controlled, but even that felt like too much.

He knew he looked pathetic, it was all he could think about. How omega he was. Thankfully none of the team members looked at him so he played it off as they went to hit the ice for practice.

It was only midway through practice that that feeling of wrongness hit him again, the pain behind his eyes amplified and everything felt like it was burning. One of the team members boarded him, any other day it would have been fine but today it led to Quinn stifling a pathetic whine.

It should have been clear to Quinn at this point what was wrong but he was choosing to ignore any signs that it wasn’t a head cold. He’s good at ignoring things.

He pushes himself back onto his skates, the cold of the ice biting at his palms through his gloves and forces himself into motion before anyone can look too closely. The sting behind his eyes deepens every time he blinks, and there’s a hot, uncomfortable feeling engulfing his body.

He tells himself it’s just fatigue. Jet lag. Nerves. Anything.

When guys collide in a puck battle, the scent spike rolls across the ice like a physical wave, and Quinn’s knees buckle for a split second. He straightens automatically, posture perfect, jaw set. Captaincy armor snapping into place even as his pulse races hard enough to make his vision blur.

Elias glides over, tapping Quinn’s stick to get his attention, “You good?”

Quinn nods too fast, “Yeah. All good,” he spits the words out despite him being uncharacteristically out of breath. “I think I’m just dehydrated,” Quinn manages, doubling over slightly, palms on his knees.

“That’s not dehydration,” Elias says, not unkindly.

Quinn flinches, guilt and fear twisting together. He doesn’t know why those words hit him so hard. Doesn’t understand why they make his skin prickle.

“Let’s get you off the ice,” Elias says, voice low but firm.

Quinn straightens quickly, shaking his head, “No, no, I’m fine. I need to run the next rotation.”

Elias’s eyebrows furrow together, “Quinn-”

“I said I’m fine,” Quinn snaps- too sharp, too panicked, too unlike him. The entire bench looks over and Quinn freezes.

For a heartbeat, shame swallows him whole. The heated flush crawling up his neck feels like a spotlight. Everything was just hot.

“Fuck,” Quinn exclaimed as his mind finally caught up and began to process what was happening. He skated off the ice in a quick and ungraceful manner, heads turning towards him. Elias slowly skated after him just a few paces behind as to give Quinn some space.

One he got back to the locker room, Quinn started tearing off his gear in order to get out as quickly as possible. So no others figured it out.

When Elias walked in, he got the brunt of Quinn’s anger, “Why didn’t you say anything? You knew and you let me go out like this!”

“You’re fine Quinn, you’ll be alright,” Elias responded softly but in an understanding tone as if he was trying to talk down a feral cat.

Quinn scoffed, “Yeah right. Now you’re going to go tell everyone and have my team taken away from me. Everything I’ve ever worked for, gone. That is the exact opposite of ‘all right.’ Don’t you understand?”

------------

His head was pounding so hard it felt like it’d burst and he was hot, which wasn’t totally abnormal but it was too much. He stumbled before hitting the ball back and taking the set point. He just needed the match to be over with, his body had felt off all day and it was annoying him to no end. This was Wimbledon, he needed to stay focused.

Carlos stared back at him across the court with a questioning glance at him while Jannik ignored it. He just needed the match to be over with so he could curl up with all his blankets and pass out. Just one more set. He just needed to ignore how off he felt for now, he could be sick after the match thank you very much.

He continued one, fervently ignoring any concerned looks he got from seemingly every person on the court. He needed it to be over, he really didn’t want to deal with a 5th set.

He had done it! Jannik raised his arms in victory as the normally quiet crowd erupted into applause. His head was spinning but he did not care, he had won. There was a fire in the bottom of his stomach but he did not care. He won and no one could take that from him.

One he got to his hotel he took a cold shower to cool himself off but he still felt like he was on fire and could not stop sweating. He ignored it and chalked it up to his adrenaline still going. He unconsciously arranged the blankets and pillows into the most comfortable and soft position before promptly falling asleep with ease.

If only that peace lasted through him waking up as well.

Oh, that’s what his body was telling him. He wasn’t just sick of sweaty, he was in heat! He had just won Wimbledon finals in pre-heat, oh god that was embarrassing. He was on a very specific schedule of suppressants, this was not supposed to be happening.

It wasn’t even like he got the worst symptoms, he mainly just felt ill and lonely but even that was too omega. Everything was better when he could ignore that one fact.

When he got up, he wobbled before going to the bathroom, opening up the cabinet to find his suppressants, and to swallow five of the pills dry. Logically, it was a stupid idea but hopefully it’d be worth it and when he woke up again it’d all be gone.

Sufficed to say, his plan did not work and instead just added to his pounding headache which got even further agitated by the knocking at his door. He really just wanted some good pasta and to go back to bed but the knocking persisted so eventually he got the door.

Jannik started talking before even looking at the person in front of him, “What do you want from me?”

“Wow, couldn’t even pretend to be happy to see me?” Carlos smirked as Jannik’s expression changed.

“Carlos! You owe me cuddles and pasta for winning, nothing less,” Jannik requested with a huge smile on his face and a flush across his cheeks. If it was anyone other than Carlos, he probably would have sent them home but Carlos was just the thing he needed.

Carlos subtlety moved them back towards the bed allowing Jannik to rest against it as Carlos combed through the room service menu. “So would you like tortellini or carbonara?”

Jannik wrapped his arms around Carlos’ neck and leaned against his shoulder, “Tortellini, always. You know that,” he mumbled.

“Well I thought giving you a choice was a good idea, I guess not then,” Carlos moved to grab Jannik’s waist.

Jannik let out a small, tired laugh as Carlos gently tugged him closer, their bodies now fully pressed together. He buried his face in Carlos's shoulder for a moment, letting the comfort of his presence wash over him. The steady rhythm of Carlos’s breath was grounding, a sharp contrast to the chaotic pounding of Jannik’s head.

"Yeah, not really feeling the ‘choice’ vibe right now," Jannik mumbled against Carlos's skin. "Just need the food and the quiet. Also some cuddling, don’t forget the cuddling.”

“I would never forget.”

Carlos chuckled softly, his hands moving in a slow, soothing rhythm on Jannik’s back, the sound of their breathing the only noise filling the room now. He didn’t say anything at first, just holding Jannik close, letting the silence stretch comfortably between them. He could feel the tension in Jannik’s body, the subtle tremors that betrayed how much he was still struggling, between the heat and the touch match.

Jannik’s voice broke the silence first, muffled against Carlos’s skin. "I don't even care about food right now, I just need you. And I need to sleep."

Carlos’s smile softened as he adjusted his position, his hands finding their way to Jannik's shoulders to pull him in even closer. "I know, I can tell you're not doing great. But food is coming, at least," he said, his voice warm and calm, “You just have to hang on for a bit longer.”

Jannik’s head rested on Carlos’s chest now, his eyes closing as the warmth and comfort of Carlos’s embrace began to dull the sharp edge of his headache. For a moment, the world outside the room didn’t matter, only the steady rhythm of Carlos’s heartbeat beneath his ear, the feeling of safety wrapping around him like a blanket.

“I just feel so stupid for feeling so bad when I’m alone. Thank you for coming here, I just needed someone but I’m pretty sure if it wasn’t you, I would have thrown them out,” Jannik mused.

“No matter what your brain tells you, you’ll never be stupid,” Carlos hustled his face into Jannik’s neck.

Carlos's voice was a low hum against Jannik’s skin, gentle in a way that made everything sting a little less. “You just went through the finals and pre-heat alone. You’re not stupid, Jannik. You’ve been been pushing yourself too hard for too long.”

Jannik didn't answer at first. His arms tightened slightly around Carlos, like he was scared that if he didn’t hold on tight enough, this moment might slip through his fingers. He knew Carlos was right. He was tired in a variety of ways.

“I hate this part of me,” he whispered finally, “The one that wants to be held. The one that needs someone else.”

Carlos pulled back just enough to look at him. His brows were furrowed in concern, “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that about yourself.”

Jannik blinked up at him, eyes glassy and pink around the edges.

“You’re allowed to need things, Jannik. Even if it’s not what people expect of you. You're not weak for wanting comfort. You're not weak for being an omega. None of that has even been or will ever be true. I love you, every inch of you including your ocasional clinginess.”

“I love you too.”

------------

The deck above was not much better off, full of the crew fighting out what Luca assumed were Marines. Vale was single-handedly taking on two separate men while Bez and Cele tag teamed a group. Franky was fending off the ship from anyone else seeking to jump onto their ship.

Smoke stung Luca’s eyes as he and Pecco emerged from the hatch. Everything was so loud and bright as steel clashed against steel and boots pounded against the ship’s floor. Every instinct in Luca screamed to sing again, to end this in one terrible breath, but he forced it down. He couldn’t, he had used up most of his energy down below. No matter how much his body screamed, he needed to stay silent like a good boy.

“Stay behind me,” Pecco said automatically, shifting so his body was half in front of Luca’s.

“I can fight,” Luca snapped, though his voice still rasped from earlier.

“I know,” Pecco shot back, not even looking at him, “That’s not exactly what I’m concerned about now.”

A marine lunged toward them, blade flashing. Pecco moved without hesitation, knocking the man’s sword aside and driving his dagger into the soft gap under his ribs. Luca flinched at the wet sound, then forced himself to stay steady as the body fell.

“Either you let me fight or I become a liability to everyone else,” Luca complained.

Pecco sighed and Luca could imagine he was rolling his eyes, “Okay, fight then!”

Another came from the side. Luca reacted before Pecco could, slamming his shoulder into the man and sending him sprawling across the deck. He brought his dagger down, hands shaking but determined, and the marine didn’t get back up.

For a moment, they were back-to-back, breathing hard, the space between them tight and unspoken.

Pecco huffed a strained laugh, “I think you’re terrifying in about six different ways.”

Luca almost smiled.

Vale caught sight of them then, eyes flicking over Luca too quickly, checking for blood, for injury. Once an older brother, always an older brother. When he saw Luca still standing, relief softened his expression for just a fraction of a second before he went right back to swinging his blade. “Pecco!” he shouted, “We need to push them off the port side!”

“On it!”

Pecco grabbed Luca’s wrist and tugged him toward the port side, weaving between fallen bodies and clashing blades. The deck pitched violently beneath their feet as another cannon boomed from somewhere out at sea, rattling Luca’s bones.

They were almost there when Luca froze.

At first, he thought it was just another marine-another faceless uniform, another enemy-but then the man turned, light catching on sharp eyes and a familiar, cruel curl of a smile.

Marc.

Fuck. Luca’s stomach dropped. Of all the people in the world. Of all the ships.

Pecco noticed the way Luca’s grip tightened on his arm, “Hey! What is it?”

“That man,” Luca whispered, barely loud enough to hear over the noise, “By the rail. The one with the scar on his arm.”

“You know him?” Pecco asked, dread creeping into his voice.

“He’s a hunter,” Luca said, panic crawling up his spine, “Not just navy. He hunts things, things like me.”

Pecco’s blood went cold with the realization of what Luca meant.

Marc leapt over a fallen body and landed lightly on the deck, sword slick with blood, “Well,” he called in a sickly sing-song voice, “isn’t this my lucky day?” His eyes never left Luca’s frame.

“I was hoping I’d find you again, little songbird,” Marc smirked.

Luca froze. His body was numb. Everything around became background noise to Marc and his mind. Every instinct, trained or innate, told him to move or to do something but his body would not move.

Marc took another slow step closer, boots crunching on splintered wood. Around them, the fight raged on but Luca barely heard any of it as all he could see was Marc’s smile, sharp and knowing, like he’d already won.

“Relax,” Marc murmured, tilting his head, “If I wanted you dead, you’d already be screaming.”

Pecco bristled beside him, blade raised, “Back away from him.”

Marc’s eyes flicked to Pecco, unimpressed, “You must be one of the crew. You don’t even know what you’re standing in front of, do you?”

Pecco did know Luca’s secret, he had made that clear but it was more advantageous for him if Marc thought no one knew. Gave Marc a semblance of more leverage than he had in reality.

“Don’t,” Luca rasped, fear scraping raw against his throat, “Don’t say it.”

Even though Pecco knew though, the rest of the crew, minus Vale, had no clue and Luca wanted to keep it that way. Everything was safer that way with less people knowing.

Marc’s grin widened, “Oh, I won’t. Not here.” He tapped two fingers against his lips, mockingly thoughtful, “Wouldn’t want to ruin the fun. Your captain wouldn’t appreciate it, either. Or your little pirate friends. Such a fragile thing, your secret.”

Luca felt sick to his stomach.

Marc leaned closer just enough for Luca to hear him over the chaos, “But make no mistake, I know exactly what you are. Next time we meet, you’ll do what I ask or everyone on this ship will learn why sirens are hunted.”

Pecco took a step forward, fury flashing in his eyes, but at that moment a cannon from their ship roared, sending a violent shockwave across the deck. The navy ship alongside them lurched, ropes snapping and boards cracking.

Marc laughed, stepping back. “Looks like my ride’s leaving.”

He retreated toward the boarding ramp, moving with infuriating ease. Before he turned away completely, he shot Luca one last look. It was cold, possessive, and victorious.

“Sing pretty for me when the time comes,” he said softly, “I’ll be listening.”

Then he was gone, vanishing back onto the navy ship as it began to pull away, its crew scrambling to disengage.

Only when Marc disappeared from view did Luca realize he was shaking.

------------

*authors note: I'm so sorry to anyone who cares about this work. It's hard to find the time to write with college and on top of that finding the motivation and ideas needed to write anything of substance. I cannot promise any updates in the near future but do note that this work is one I want to come back to when I have the chance. I have not forgotten about this work. Please be kind and as always I love hearing your thoughts <3