in the mornings, before the weight of everything sets in, mack is at his softest. his sweetest. will is always up first, giving himself a minute to admire. then he wakes mack up by letting out soft rolling coo’s right into mack’s ear, only pausing for a few moments to kiss macks neck and lick at the healed mark. even in his sleep, mack’s scent spikes and will drinks it up. when mack wakes up to will all over him, he chirps, just a little, because he’s too happy to do anything else. the sound overwhelms will, making him coo a little louder, grumbling while diving into nip near mack’s scent glands. the softness of it all fades as will travels down to mack’s hips, pulling a whine from him and god, will could listen to that sound forever. when will gets in between mack’s thighs, the cooing starts up again, less sweet and more guttural this time. mack still blushes at the sound, knowing will couldn’t help it even if he tried.

will’s been out of town for a two whole weeks and mack has been dragging his feet through the days. he called will all teary eyes last night, chest tight and unable to settle. will’s voice helps, but it’s not enough because his scent is fading from the sheets, which results in mack nearly tearing them off the bed in frustration. but then will does this thing he tells mack, ‘you’re okay’ instead of asking. it works because mack trusts will so much that if will says so, then it must be true. the sheets are spared this time, mack showing them mercy. still, the whole thing rips will’s heart is half, achingly missing his omega. so, rationally, he books a flight out. when he gets there, he finds mack curled up in their nest and he can’t help but smile. the second will’s scent fills the room, mack snaps his head up, nearly ruining the nest at how frantic he is hurrying towards his alpha. he trill’s into will’s neck, breathing him in, giving will full access to hear it clearly. ‘missed that sound.’ will murmurs, ‘missed you.’ and mack just keeps making happy noises before dragging him back into their nest, so will can re-scent it thoroughly. The next morning, mack pretends to stay asleep just so that he can hear will’s coo’s a little longer.

He’d seen it happen in a sickening slow-motion. The way Will had picked off the errant pass, from fucking Ryan Leonard, the way his powerful legs had churned the ice, the perfect, almost lazy flick of his wrist that sent the puck sailing past the outstretched glove of Canada’s goalie. The red light blazed. The American bench erupted.

And the crowd, a sea of red, white, and blue, became a deafening, joyous monster.

Mack stood frozen, his stick limp in his hands, his chest heaving. The silver medal felt like it was already being draped around his neck, a cold, heavy weight of defeat. Again. He watched his own teammates slump, their heads bowed. His captain was on his knees. The dream was over. Again.

And then he saw Will. Will wasn't mobbed by his teammates. He'd been briefly swallowed by a wave of blue jerseys, but he'd pushed his way out, his helmet off, revealing his curly, sweat-soaked blond hair. His blue eyes, usually so bright with competitive fire, were scanning the ice. He wasn't whooping or pumping his fist. He looked almost... relieved. He glanced up at the rafters, his lips moving in what Mack could read as a silent "thank God," and then his gaze found him.

Mack felt a lump the size of a puck lodge in his throat. Will skated over, not with the swagger of a champion, but with a quiet, deliberate purpose. The celebration raged around them, a blur of noise and motion, but for the space between them, there was a bubble of silence. Will stopped a few feet away, his chest still heaving, and looked into Mack's eyes. There was no gloating, no triumph. Just a deep, shared understanding of what this moment cost.

Without a word, Will closed the distance and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a tight, fierce hug. Mack’s body went rigid for a second, the instinct to push away and retreat into his own misery screaming at him. But the familiar feel of Will, the solid muscle, the warmth, the scent of his piney deodorant, was a balm against the searing pain. His own arms came up, but the embrace was weak, half-hearted. A surrender.

He was exhausted. Physically, mentally, and emotionally broken. He could feel the heat behind his eyes, the telltale prickle of tears he refused to let fall.

Will pulled back, just enough to look at him. His own eyes were glassy, and his smile was small, sad, and utterly genuine.

Mack sniffled, forcing a crooked, wavering smile onto his face. His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, choked with the emotion he was trying so hard to hide.

“Fuck you,” he breathed.

Will’s smile widened, just a fraction, and his grip on Mack’s shoulders tightened. He gave a single, short, breathless laugh. His reply was just as quiet, just for him.

“I know, Mack”

After that Will is called to be with his team again, Mack knows that naturally, it still hurts to feel him peel off him and skate over his bench. The medal ceremony happened in the blink of an eye, Mack didn’t even remember receiving the medal. He just knew he was back at his hotel room, suitcase half opened, his Canada merch all over the room. He needed to clean up. He didn’t really want to though. So instead he plopped himself on his bed and curled into a ball, hoping that sleep would take over and this all would disappear.

He rationally knows that someone needed to lose, he prepared himself for it if it happened. But it was so fucking conflicting to see your best friend winning, making his dream come true, being proud of him, while at the same time feeling the biggest slap on his face and disappointment and devastation and despair possible.

So Mack truly just wanted the earth to swallow him. He was about to fall asleep when a knock came on his door. He groaned and dried the tears on his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, he mumbled “could they leave me fucking alone man” as he opened the door just to find Will. Yes, his Will, standing outside with a paper bag from chipotle’s. Where did he even get that?

Mack stared at him, his hand still frozen on the door handle. The hallway light framed Will's silhouette, catching the damp ends of his curly hair, he must have showered already, changed into a simple gray hoodie and pants. No Team USA gear. No gold medal hanging around his neck. Just Will and a paper bag.

"You look like shit," Will said quietly, holding up the food like a peace offering.

Mack blinked, his voice still hoarse. "You just won the Olympic gold medal. Shouldn't you be—I don't know—drinking champagne or doing press or fucking something?"

Will shrugged, that familiar, infuriatingly casual shrug. "Did all that. Told them I had a headache. Came here." He tilted his head, those blue eyes scanning Mack's face with an intensity that made Mack's chest ache all over again. "You gonna let me in, or do I have to eat two burrito bowls in the hallway?"

Mack should have said no. Should have slammed the door and crawled back into his ball of misery. Every rational part of his brain screamed at him to protect himself, to not let Will see him like this, red-eyed, puffy-faced, and ridiculous.

Instead, he stepped aside. Will moved past him into the hotel room, his presence immediately filling the space. He set the bag on the small desk, glanced around at the chaos, the scattered Canada merch, the half-open suitcase, the crumpled towels on the floor, and said nothing. Just started quietly tidying, folding a hoodie and setting it on the chair, kicking a stray sock toward the corner.

"What are you doing?" Mack asked, his voice cracking.

"Cleaning." Will picked up a discarded Team Canada hat and placed it gently on the nightstand. "You're a disaster when you're sad. Always have been, and I know you hate having a mess, so.”

Mack let out a broken laugh, something between a sob and a scoff. He sank back onto the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumping. "I don't want your pity."

"Good," Will said, turning to face him. He crossed his arms, leaning against the desk. "Because I don't have any. I'm not sorry I won. I'm not sorry for my team, my country, or myself. That was the best moment of my life, Mack. Scoring that goal? Hearing that silence before the explosion? It was everything."

Mack flinched, his jaw tightening. "Then why are you here?"

Will's expression softened. He pushed off the desk and walked over, stopping in front of Mack. He reached down and gently pried Mack's clenched fist open, lacing their fingers together. His thumb traced the inside of Mack's wrist, a quiet, grounding rhythm.

"Because the second best moment," Will said, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register that was only for them, "was looking up and seeing you on the ice. And knowing that even though I just broke your heart, you were still gonna look at me like I was the only person in that rink."

Mack's breath hitched. He looked down at their joined hands, at the way Will's fingers fit perfectly between his. "I told you to fuck off."

"You said 'fuck you,'" Will corrected, a small smile playing at his lips. "Big difference. 'Fuck off' means go away. 'Fuck you' means you're pissed but you still want me here."

"Fuck you," Mack repeated, but this time it was weaker, the words dissolving into a shaky exhale. His green eyes finally lifted to meet blue, and he felt the tears threatening again. "I'm so proud of you. And I hate you so much right now. And I don't know how to feel both at the same time."

Will reached up with his free hand, cupping Mack's jaw, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped despite Mack's best efforts. "You don't have to figure it out tonight. You just have to eat something and then let me hold you until you fall asleep. Okay?"

Mack swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it almost impossible to speak. He nodded once, a jerky, broken motion.

Will leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Mack's, their breath mingling in the small space between them. "I love you," he whispered. "Even when you're a sore loser."

Mack let out a wet laugh, his hand coming up to grip Will's hoodie. "I hate you."

"I know, buddy." Will kissed his forehead, soft and lingering. "I know."