#awhhhh

Mack flinches when Eky slings an arm around his shoulders, even though he tries not to. It’s not personal—he just doesn’t like being touched. Never really has. He mumbles something about needing to get back to his locker and ducks away, head down, shoulders hunched. Nobody calls him on it. They all know what he’s like by now.

Except Will.

Will, who stands next to him during drills like gravity itself bends for him. Will, who grins when Mack glowers. Who chirps him with his dumb, perfect smile. Who always knows when to shut up and just sit close. Who, apparently, Mack lets touch him without even noticing sometimes.

It starts small. Will knocks their knees together on the bench. Mack doesn’t move away. During team video review, Will leans over his shoulder to whisper something about the play on screen, chin brushing against Mack’s shoulder, and Mack… just lets him.

It doesn’t hit him until one day in the locker room, after a big win, when Will’s laughing and shouting and throwing his arms around everyone. He makes his way to Mack last, like always—like he knows—and Mack braces himself for the contact. But then Will’s arms are around him and Mack doesn’t just tolerate it—he leans in.

And not just that. He hugs back.

Will pulls away just enough to look at him, all flushed cheeks and messy curls, that fucking medal-winning smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You okay, Mack?”

Mack blinks. Nods. “Yeah. You’re just—warm.”

Will’s grin widens.

“Shut up,” Mack mutters, but he doesn’t let go.

⸻

Later, it happens again.

They’re walking out of the rink. It’s cold, even for San Jose standards—clear night, the kind of cold that makes your bones feel too big for your skin. Will’s rambling about something—new skates or a clip on TikTok or whatever, Mack’s only half-listening—and Mack reaches out and takes his hand.

It’s not graceful. It’s hesitant, fingers brushing knuckles, then curling slowly until they’re linked. Will quiets immediately.

Mack keeps his gaze forward. His heart’s beating a little too fast. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Will doesn’t say anything. Just holds his hand tighter.

Mack risks a glance and sees it: Will’s eyes sparkling, that little tremble in his lips like he’s trying not to smile too hard.

“I’m not,” Will says, but it comes out breathless.

They walk a few more steps in silence. Then Will bumps his shoulder gently against Mack’s.

“You can do that whenever you want, you know. Touch me.”

Mack hums. “I know.”

⸻

The next time Will flops down onto the couch beside him, Mack’s the one who shifts closer. He tilts until his temple’s resting lightly against Will’s shoulder. Will pauses whatever YouTube video he’s playing, doesn’t move, just lets him.

“Comfy?” Will asks.

Mack mumbles something noncommittal, but his weight stays there.

Will’s arm comes up, slow and gentle, curling around Mack’s shoulders. He doesn’t pull him in—just lets him know it’s okay. That he can have as much or as little as he wants.

Mack lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Feels Will press a kiss into his hair. Thinks maybe this is what safety feels like.

And maybe tomorrow, Mack will reach for him first again.