and then i was like

Patrick looks sideways at him, doesn’t know why he feels a sudden zap of nervousness. “What?”

Jonny swallows, keeps completely still where he’s been sitting—also not like him. Patrick can’t recall any moments spent sitting with Jonny where he wasn’t fidgeting at least a little.

“What, Taze?”

“You have to promise you won’t—“ he starts, and fidgets for the first time, shifts himself to the side.

“Do I want to know this?” Patrick says, stomach tied in knots, and Jonny lets out a long, hollow laugh.

“I don’t know,” he says, and despite everything, Patrick knows he’s not gonna be able to leave here now without knowing, not with Jonny suddenly looking like he feels sick, his brows creased together.

“What is it?”

Jonny bites his lip, the hand on top of his thigh balled up into a fist, face like he regrets opening his mouth, but then, “I hooked up with a guy in Arizona.”

Patrick was half expecting that, if he’s totally honest with himself, but his head still feels full of static, the brain equivalent of a foot falling asleep, and all he can think to say is, “Oh.”

Jonny lifts his foot up and crosses it over his thigh, puts it right back down and turns to face Patrick more fully, his breath coming just a little fast. “Oh?”

“I mean—“ Patrick says, and he can feel that his palms have gone clammy, his heart sped up. “Are you trying to say you’re—gay now?”

“No,” Jonny says, and he seems disgusted—not with the concept, but with Patrick asking, like he doesn't know him. “I really did—I thought I’d have kids with Lindsey. I really—I still—“

Patrick doesn’t know why his nose suddenly feels hot, that telltale burning. He leans his head back on the couch, stares at the ceiling and already knows exactly what he’s going to do before he leaves this place tonight.

“I just needed to tell you,” Jonny says, quiet after another bout of silence. “I’m so tired of feeling like—there are certain things holding me back. Like I’m carrying shit around. Maybe it’s some of why Lindsey didn’t—I don’t know.”

Patrick can’t think of a single thing to say. Truly cannot. Can’t remember ever feeling so nervous in his life, not even in Stanley Cup-winning games, only opens his mouth to croak out, “Yeah,” when Jonny asks if he wants something to drink, so fidgety now he can’t contain his limbs.

He watches Jonny rush off to the kitchen trying not to look like he’s rushing and feels a wave of affection for him so deep he has to tip his head back again, just breathe for a second.

And then he gets to his feet too, smooths a hand down over his somersaulting stomach and reaches up to turn his hat around, hopes to fucking god he’s not about to make the biggest fool of himself.

Jonny’s standing in front of his open fridge when Patrick turns the corner, the back of his neck a bright red. His face is too when he turns around holding a couple waters—across his cheeks at least. Patrick doesn’t know how it always looks good on him.

“Sorry,” Jonny says, like it’s instinctive, and closes his eyes, shakes his head at himself.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Patrick says.

“I wasn’t trying to make anything weird,” Jonny goes on. “I was just—“

“It’s not weird,” Patrick says, stepping further into the kitchen.

Jonny slides one of the waters down the counter towards where Patrick’s standing, leans himself back on his hands. “Seemed like you took it a little weird.”

“It was just—surprising.”

Jonny lets a moment stretch, taps the countertop with one finger and says, “Was it?”

Patrick moves forward the few feet separating him from the water Jonny slid down to him. He puts one hand on it, picks at the label and then starts to slide it back, except he moves with it, walks it down the length until he’s reached where Jonny’s propped himself.

“Yeah, Jon,” he says, still a safe distance away but close enough to close it easily. “It was.”

“Then why do I feel like this?” Jonny says, voice only a little above a whisper, and Patrick takes that last step, crowds into Jonny’s space.