i think that when nursey and dex get engaged, they kinda just ... forget to tell everyone at first. like dex asks him if they can just keep it to themselves for a little bit, and derek’s like sure, yeah, so they don’t post or say anything. and then maybe in the next few days one of them has a several week long road trip for work—a book tour for nursey, maybe—and they decide they want to wait until he’s back home before they announce. but then he gets back home and they’ve just kinda forgotten. like it’s been a month at this point. and then a little later, it’s time for the routine samwell get together, and they’re all like ... at jack and eric’s, maybe, and lardo goes ... nurse. what the fuck is on your finger? and everyone turns to stare first at the ring and then at dex and nursey’s faces. and they look at each other and kinda just go uh. did we not ...?
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“I bet you will find someone who will love you like you deserve.
But tonight I'm the only one left and
I'm bettin' it's a fact that you will never learn”
-”Peach” by The Front Bottoms
Dex doesn’t know how he got here.
One minute he’d been sulking against the wall, watching Nursey dance with the girl from his poetry lecture. He’d been watching because he was on patrol. Not because every time Nursey leaned in or smiled or laughed Dex just couldn’t look away.
Then he blinked and he was halfway through losing a game of pong with Nursey’s arm around his shoulders. Dex had lost the game because Nursey had refused to move his arm and they’d both had less mobility. Not from the distraction of how warm Nursey’s arm was through his shirt.
Then he was being pulled upstairs and into the bathroom by Nursey’s finger through his belt loop. He doesn’t know if Nursey has exceptionally strong fingers or if Dex was just especially pliable tonight. Maybe if Nursey blew hard enough Dex would just float away.
Before he knows it he’s here, sitting on the counter of Chowder and Lardo’s bathroom, Nursey’s waist in his hands, Nursey’s arms around his shoulders, Nursey’s nose pressed against his. He knows that this moment won't last forever. It’ll be like all the other moments from tonight, fleeting and harshly erased by tonight’s tub juice and tomorrow’s hangover.
One day Nursey will find someone new, someone who can love him in the daylight, someone who can love him like he deserves to be loved.
But for now Dex is content to push closer into the warmth of Nursey’s hands, to pretend that tomorrow he’ll wake up with those same hands around his waist. For now, Nursey has chosen him, in this dimly lit bathroom with music pulsing hazily below them. For now Dex is Nursey’s and Nursey is Dex’s.
Dex doesn’t know how he got here. But he’s in no rush to leave.
Throughout his five years in professional hockey, Connor Whisk has been called a great many things.
During his rookie season with the Pittsburgh Penguins, the adjective most frequently used by ESPN was promising. (Editor’s note: we’ve counted. Yes, we’re nerds.) However, soon after Whisk’s abrupt trade to the newly minted Seattle Kraken, sensational and unprecedented quickly started climbing the charts. It truly seemed like Whisk had found himself perfectly at home as a rising star on a young and fiercely untamed NHL expansion team, full of players with nothing to lose, yet so much to prove.
At least, that was the way things appeared.
Whisk suggests meeting at a quiet coffee place in Pioneer Square. He’s already waiting outside when I arrive (and it should be noted that I'm at least ten minutes early). Whisk's handshake is firm, his shirt is completely lacking in wrinkles without a single button undone, and there's something carefully proper in his manners as we exchange pleasantries and order coffee.
We don't have an abundance of time, which is why I get right into it almost before we're seated. What’s his opinion on the current standings? If the Kraken do make the playoffs again, like most experts have assumed, what will be their strategy for staying in the game longer, this time? And what’s changed for the Kraken, during these last couple of seasons, that have enabled them to become such a force to be reckoned with so soon after the team’s very foundation?
Whisk, who isn't necessarily known for taking pleasure in excessive attention from the media, seems surprisingly at ease with my onslaught of questions.
“We’ve worked really hard as a team to get to this point, slowly but surely. It may look like a sudden breakthrough from an outside perspective, I guess, but that’s very far from how we’ve experienced it. Although, I’ll be the first to admit that those first couple of seasons in Seattle were tough. Extremely tough. We were fighting so hard every single day, trying to get some semblance of proper teamwork, trying to get our plays to work, get anything to work, really. A lot of the guys were rookies, and many of us who weren’t had been pretty shocked by our trades. We did alright, for a new team, but we all knew that we should be doing better. That was the thing, really – we all felt that we could be so much more. Maybe, if we had believed that a little bit less, things might not have felt so hopeless at the time.”
Whisk speaks with a familiarly serious expression. Some of my fellow sports journalists have pronounced him subdued, and stiff, and on one memorable occasion, unemotional. Yet as we continue to chat about his teammates over a second cup of coffee, and Whisk goes into detail about what the Kraken’s recent achievements have meant for each of them, those descriptors couldn’t be further from the picture Whisk paints. Connor Whisk is clearly compassionate. Effortlessly earnest. Irresistibly determined.
"Last season, when we made it to the playoffs for the first time, that was such an important milestone. It proved to us that we’d had it right, all along. That as a team, we could be capable of anything. And I think, especially for the older guys who’d uprooted the lives of their families after their trades, getting that recognition from the whole league was so important. It’s definitely helped us feel like we have every reason to go into each game with that much more confidence, this season. Our plays are bigger, bolder and braver, and it’s really been paying off. This year, the goal is to make sure that energy lasts us not only all the way to the playoffs, but much further beyond.”
Whisk speaks about his teammates with both respect and compassion. It’s really quite obvious just how he's earned himself the title of Assistant Captain. And on the subject of leadership – is there any truth to the retirement rumours surrounding the Kraken’s current Captain, Donald “Ducky” Rodriguez? And would Connor Whisk agree with the consensus among both supporters and sports media, that he is practically guaranteed to inherit the title?
It's the first time since the start of our conversation that I find a certain amount of evasiveness in Whisk's answer.
"It's difficult to say. Every player has their own journey, and I can't speak for Ducky when it comes to his thoughts on possible retirement. As for my own feelings on the subject, I'd prefer it if Ducky just stayed in the game forever." Whisk laughs. "Really, I would. Ducky probably wouldn't have described his trade from the Aeros to the Kraken as the best thing that ever happened to him, back when it all went down, but it was honestly one of the best things that could've happened to me. I had looked up to Ducky for a long time, and having such an experienced player join us made an enormous difference for a lot of us who were relatively new to the game. We've had a great run together in Seattle, and I know Ducky has talked at length about how rewarding it's been for him to captain this team, especially at this point in his career. And honestly, I can't even really think about what might happen after his eventual retirement. I just can't. I guess I'm just trying to focus on the now, one game at a time, until the end of this season. That's as far as I'm allowing myself to think."
Of course, on the subject of the Houston Aeros, I must ask about the rumour that seems to circle back around every so often without ever being properly addressed. It's time we all knew, once and for all. Did Connor Whisk, during his time as a free agent, really decline an offer from the Houston Aeros? If so, when? And, perhaps most importantly, why?
"No, I did." Avid Aeros supporters will be pleased to know that Whisk has the decency to look quite apologetic. "It was during my time in the NCAA. I found it a very interesting offer, but ultimately, it just wasn't the right time for me. I'm sure it would've been a journey that was rewarding in other ways than the path I'm on, now. But sometimes, you've got to go with your heart, and my heart was very much still in Massachusetts with the Samwell team. I was very lucky to be able to make that decision and still have such great opportunities to play professionally after graduation. That was never something I took for granted, when I made that call."
Before we run out of coffee, and more importantly out of time, I remember to ask about Whisk’s tattoos. As frequent readers of Sports Illustrated will be well aware, he has two, both on his upper right arm. According to my quite extensive knowledge of Whisk’s frankly limited media appearances, he has never once commented on them.
Evidently, they're not some big secret. Whisk readily rolls up his sleeve.
“The first one, got your back, is a saying from my college hockey team. It’s about always looking out for your teammates on and off the ice. My time on the Samwell team really meant a lot to me, I was fortunate enough to play alongside incredible NCAA players like Eric Bittle, Will Poindexter and Nathan Piper. I learned so much, both about hockey and about myself. A lot of the guys actually got the exact same tattoo at some point, without any of us really talking about it. It caused a bit of unintended comedy at our last reunion.”
The second tattoo, know where we stand, is placed just a few inches below the first.
“That one is more personal. It's about having trust and faith in those I love, about making sure they always know how much they mean to me. I'm a somewhat private person, I guess, but anyone close to me could tell you that it's very important for me to make sure that my feelings are known.”
Private is certainly a word that comes to mind. Whisk doesn't agree to many interviews, and his fans have long given up hope of getting more than one or two TV appearances per season, post-game interviews not included. He's on Twitter, as is the whole Kraken rooster, but his activity is mostly limited to retweets of various sports accounts. His instagram feed? Almost exclusively pictures of his aquarium.
At the mention of aquatic creatures, Whisk’s expression brightens.
“My housemate actually took this amazing picture of our axolotl a while back, I have to show you. Look at this magnificent queen.”
Somewhere between several anecdotes about Whisk’s certifiably adorable pets, and a tangent about his commitment to supporting organisations working towards marine conservation, we do finally run out of time. As we say our goodbyes, I’m reminded once again of Whisk’s polite, proper manners, a stark contrast to his somewhat unfeeling reputation. But if one thing’s for certain, it’s that Connor Whisk is anything but unfeeling. He’s reserved, yes, and perhaps somewhat reluctant to put his innermost thoughts and feelings on display. But he’s certainly an impressively focused athlete, one who has proven time and time again to have an admirable commitment to supporting his teammates, on and off the ice.
I can only imagine the regret that must be felt over in Pittsburgh. Seattle, meanwhile, has every reason to celebrate. It’s really something, given how much Whisk has already achieved, that he still gives off the energy of someone who’s got so far to go. The question is, just how far is that going to get him, in the end?
Will he be remembered only as a key factor in the foundation of Seattle’s so-far successful expansion endeavour, or could he be a true star player in the making, one on the verge of creating a legacy that will last well beyond a time and a place?
Only time will tell.
Whiskey lets the door fall shut behind him. He takes a deep, steadying breath.
There’s a familiar suitcase that’s been left right in the hallway. Whiskey quickly toes off his shoes and walks past it. Ah, there’s a t-shirt. And a bit further, a pair of jeans. Then socks.
Whiskey follows the enticing trail of clothes into the living room. He passes by the mantelpiece, where his Samwell Men's Hockey Captain's plaque sits right in the center, with his Art Ross Trophy from last season over on the side.
Out in the kitchen, he finds a pair of boxer briefs. The double doors out to the patio are wide open. Whiskey eagerly steps through them, his feet quickly carrying him across the patio, over to-
Yes.
Oh, yes. Finally.
Miguel breaks through the surface of the water just as Whiskey makes it to the side of the pool. Immediately, Miguel offers him a wide smile. He looks so perfectly relaxed, back in his pool, in their home. In the nude.
God, he’s so beautiful.
“Water’s warm,” Miguel greets him softly. He trails his fingertips across the surface of it, almost like he’s reacquainting himself with how it feels. “Much more pleasant than the Atlantic, let me tell you.”
“I’ll take that as an invitation.”
“Oh, please. Come here.” Miguel’s tone turns impatient as Whiskey pulls off his shirt, only to take a moment to fold it. “Fuck, just, come here. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too. So much.”
Whiskey willingly abandons his attempts to keep his clothes from getting wrinkles. He makes quick work of his pants and underwear, before he lets himself slip into the water. Immediately, he gathers Miguel up in his arms.
It’s not a languid kiss, by any means. Being separated for eight fucking weeks will do that to you. Miguel kisses Whiskey like he’s been trying to breathe underwater for months, like Whiskey is his fresh gulp of oxygen, his moment of clarity. He kisses Whiskey like Whiskey is his very reason for breathing.
Which is almost funny, given that Miguel has been doing quite a bit of breathing underwater, lately.
“Did you get bulkier?” Miguel murmurs against Whiskey's bare skin. He’s trailing his fingertips along Whiskey’s forearms. “You’re kinda firm, here. I like it.”
“Maybe a little.”
Whiskey kisses the top of his head. He lets his hands travel lower, let's his fingertips glide across Miguel's ribcage over the ink that matches Whiskey's own, four little words with so much meaning. He grins as he reaches Miguel's ass and let's his hands come to an abrupt stop. God, it's been much too long.
“S'okay. You're here, now.” Miguel shivers pleasantly from Whiskey’s touches. “Practice run over?”
“No, Angela called me in. She needed me to sign off on the final draft of that article.”
“Sports Illustrated?” Miguel recalls curiously. “How bad was it?”
“Actually, it was… Fine.” Whiskey thinks back on the feature. “Better than I expected. There’s even a couple of paragraphs where that reporter’s made me sound, I don't know. Oddly sweet.”
“You are sweet.” Miguel smiles fondly. “Is it really so bad, if people find out?”
“I suppose not,” Whiskey agrees reluctantly. He lets himself give Miguel's ass another indulgent squeeze. “And they actually included my off-hand mention of my housemate, this time. So that’s something.”
“Good job,” Miguel says with a flushed grin. “Angela must be so pleased.”
Angela Johanson, PR and communications officer for the Seattle Kraken, had indeed been extremely pleased.
Her strategy had really worked for them, so far, which was why Whiskey wasn’t too inclined to argue with it. “If you want to hide anything from those vultures in the media,” Angela had told him during one of his earliest PR briefings, “You’ve got to do it in plain sight.”
Of course, there had been other parts of Angela’s PR strategies that Whiskey had found himself arguing with. Especially during their very first conversation with one another, before he’d had the chance to inform anyone in Seattle of his situation.
It had been right after the trade – hours after, literally. Whiskey was still in Pittsburgh, both physically and mentally. And, fine, Whiskey had maybe already started to realise that Pittsburgh wasn’t completely right for him. It was a very good team, but they were so swamped with talent, and maybe fighting his way to the top of that rooster should’ve been an exciting, motivating challenge, but it wasn’t. It just wasn’t. Whiskey had spent his whole rookie year feeling like he was working against his own team. He had known there was a fair chance that he would get traded. He wasn’t even entirely opposed to the idea.
But Seattle? The Kraken? A team that, for all intents and purposes, didn’t even so much as exist, yet?
“We’re rolling out a whole media package,” Angela had informed him over the phone – as soon as Whiskey’s very first chit-chat with management was over, they’d switched him right over to PR. “There is an enormous amount of buzz right now, given that you guys are the very first players we’re signing. I’ve got some talking points to go over, and then you’re going live on channel four tonight at-”
“Hold on,” Whiskey had cut in. “It’s, I’m not… I don’t usually do many interviews.”
“Oh, you will now.” Angela actually had the audacity to sound cheerful. “We’re right in the middle of establishing our whole brand, and profiling our players in the media is an incredibly important part of that. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”
“I’m not too interested in being a… A media profile.” Whiskey had tried his best not to panic completely. Really, he had. “I don’t… I’m fairly protective of my private life.”
“Well. You’ll certainly need to share the overall gist of it.” Angela had sounded almost confused. “We need you to be approachable, Connor. Likeable. You’re young, and very handsome, and incredibly talented. We’ve been hoping to have a broad interest in this franchise, all different age groups and so on, and right now, you’re looking a lot like our best bet to attract some real interest from young girls and women. We’re not going to miss that chance.”
“Look," Whiskey had told her flatly. "I’m going to tell you something in confidence, alright? In confidence. This needs to stay between you and me.”
“Okay? Connor, I’m not sure if-”
“I have a boyfriend.”
Angela had been quiet for well over five seconds.
“Oh,” she’d said. To her credit, there had been something like embarrassment in her tone. “I see. Of course, that’s not an issue. Not at all. We’ve done a lot of groundwork about the values of this organisation, Connor, and I want you to know that you’re going to be completely safe with us.”
“Right. Thank you.”
“And,” Angela had added, just a bit hopefully. “If you would choose to be open about that, I can assure you that you would have our full support to-”
“No,” Whiskey had interrupted. “No. I’m not going to.”
“Right.” Angela had paused. “Okay. We’d really be prepared to back you up, you know. It might cause a bit of a media frenzy, and earn us some frankly disgusting press, but we’d be ready to take that on.”
“Yes, a media frenzy sure seems like the last thing on your wishlist.” Whiskey hadn’t bothered to keep his anger out of his voice. “In any case, I’m not going to cause it for you. I’m extremely protective of my private life, and for very good reason. And I’m not going to go live on channel four, today or any other day.”
“Right, okay," Angela had said quickly. "Okay.”
There was a longer moment of silence.
“I hear you.” Angela’s tone had shifted significantly. Somewhere in the background, Whiskey thought he could hear the sound of papers being shuffled around. “I think… Well, won’t need this anymore. Or that. Hm. Let’s see.”
Whiskey managed something of a breath. He was feeling slightly calmer, although honestly not particularly regretful. Really, he’d be more than prepared to fight the Kraken’s entire PR department, if that’s what it took.
“Look.” Angela had apparently found something to say again. “I’ve seen your tapes, Connor.”
Whiskey frowned slightly.
“Okay?”
“You’re very good.” Angela’s tone was quite careful. “Very, very good. I used to play, you know, back in high school. You’re fast, and you play very smart. I’ve heard the way our head coach talks about your technique, and about your adaptability on the ice. Quite frankly, he won’t shut up about you.”
“Is any of this supposed to make me like you better?”
“That’d be nice,” Angela had said calmly, and okay, she was certainly brave. Whiskey had to give her that. “Most importantly, though, you should take me seriously when I say that we’re fully expecting you to be one of the faces of this franchise.”
“On the ice, sure, but that doesn’t-”
“And,” Angela cut in, “That means the media is going to be all over you. Even if you won’t let us schedule you for appearances, they’re going to find something to write about anyway. Really, I’m sure they’d be thrilled to publish all sorts of assumptions and speculation, especially if there’s nothing else out there to contradict them.”
Whiskey wasn’t sure what to say to that.
Angela actually had a point, was the thing.
“I understand the need to keep your professional and private lives separate,” Angela had continued. “And, Connor, I’d really like to help you with that. Because you’re going to need help. If we could work together and figure out a level of public visibility that you could actually be comfortable with, that would definitely keep a lot of so-called journalists from spinning a narrative that we have no control over.”
“Right.” Whiskey hadn’t needed to hesitate much longer. “I understand that. Honestly, I’ve seen the way certain publications go after some of our big names here in Pittsburgh. I’d hate to face something like that without a solid plan for how to handle it.”
“We don’t want you to feel like you’re facing anything on your own, or without a plan.” Angela had sounded quite hopeful once more. “Connor, I… I’m sorry if I came on too strong, just now, and demanded too much from you. We’re genuinely thrilled that you will be joining us in Seattle. I hope that you and I can figure out a media strategy that actually works for you."
“That sounds good.” Surprisingly, Whiskey actually meant it. “I, uh. This is all extremely important to me. I appreciate that you’re making an effort to see my perspective.”
“Of course.” Angela’s tone had been warm. “My job is ultimately about supporting you, you know.”
“Well.” Whiskey had actually smiled. “I suppose I’m glad to have you on the team, then.”
“That’s my line, isn’t it?” Angela had chirped pleasantly. “So. I’m cancelling with channel four. Let’s talk about alternatives for how to make your first impression.”
Whiskey hadn’t quite understood, back then, just how invaluable Angela was going to prove herself during his time in Seattle.
He also would never have guessed that, over a series of meetings where the two of them had drafted contingency plans for various hypothetical scenarios of Whiskey being outed, as well as quite a few bottles of increasingly expensive red wine, he and Angela would actually end up with something not entirely unlike a friendship.
"Angela says hi, by the way," Whiskey tells Miguel presently. They've made it out of the water – except, Miguel's already dived back in. Whiskey has sat himself down on the edge of the pool, content to stick his feet in and just watch Miguel. "She practically demanded that we have her over for dinner, this weekend, when I mentioned you were coming back home."
"Oh, I'd love to see Angela." Miguel dips beneath the surface, just briefly. "You could make those dark chocolate brownies for dessert."
Whiskey smiles.
"You've missed my desserts."
"Come on, try again." Miguel grins. "You're so close."
"Ah. You've missed my chocolate desserts."
Miguel rolls his eyes. He disappears back underwater with a playful splash.
Whiskey smiles softly as he watches Miguel swim down, down towards the bottom of the pool. He still remembers the first time Miguel took him swimming, remembers how his breath hitched at the sight of Miguel moving in the water, his lithe, flexible body completely in control. It was, and honestly still is, the most beautiful thing Whiskey has ever seen.
There's a picture of the two of them that hangs framed in their bedroom. It was taken the summer before last, during a trip they took to see Miguel's family. Miguel is looking at the camera, and his smile is the one that Whiskey loves the most – it's soft and warm and just so lovely. His brown eyes are wonderfully bright in the sunlight. He looks beautiful, and full of life and love. He looks perfect.
In the picture, Whiskey isn't looking at the camera. Instead, he is looking at Miguel. He's smiling, too, and although his smile isn't anywhere near as radiant as Miguel's, it's definitely gentle and content. He looks happy.
They both look happy.
The picture sometimes makes Whiskey wonder what others see, when they look at the two of them. Miguel, so full of energy and life, always bright with excitement and emotion, easily allowing his feelings to flow freely in any direction like a rippling, playful wave, his world a whole sea of excitement. And next to him, Whiskey. So purposeful, and focused, and bold. Always serious and earnest, making every decision with exact precision like he's carving his whole world out of ice.
And yet they come together so perfectly, almost as if they were always meant to find one another.
Miguel breaks through the surface again, with a bigger splash this time.
"I almost forgot," he says, a little breathlessly. "Whiskey. I do actually use Twitter, you know."
Whiskey frowns slightly.
"I don't."
"And as much as I love you, you're not the only account on there." Miguel rolls his eyes. "You Can Play made a pretty interesting announcement, today. Did you see it?"
Ah. Quickly, Whiskey looks away.
"They've received another one of those big donations," Miguel continues. He sounds delighted. "And still no sender, can you believe it? Funny, how this always happens right after you win another big game."
Whiskey ducks his head, grinning. It's only happened a handful of times, that Whiskey has managed to quietly donate a few thousand dollars to You Can Play without Miguel connecting the dots. Ever since that first time, when You Can Play had announced their deepest gratitude to an anonymous donor the very same week that Whiskey had received his signing bonus, and Miguel had immediately texted Whiskey a string of cash emojis and a question mark, it's become something of a game between them.
"Fine. You win this time."
"I win every time." Miguel grins, too. "I guess I should just be grateful that you haven't splurged too much on another ridiculous welcome-home present. I'm still getting over the shock from last time."
"You love the pool," Whiskey reminds him softly. He clears his throat. "I, uh. I might actually have gotten you something."
Miguel stills.
"Please tell me it's something that fits inside the house, this time."
"Well..." Whiskey knows that it's better if he just sticks to his plan of showing Miguel, when he gets the chance. They've been making loose plans for a trip to Boston, anyhow, and Miguel definitely won't mind going back to the New England Aquarium. Especially when he finds out that they'll be attending the opening ceremony for the aquarium's new, privately funded manatee conservation program. "It's not really something you can take home. But I know you're going to love it."
"Okay, mister." Miguel looks a little bit weary. "God, you've got that look in your eyes. I'm getting nervous."
"You'll love it," Whiskey repeats firmly. He smiles. "And, uh, speaking of love. We got a letter from Dex and Nursey, yesterday."
Miguel's eyebrows shoot up.
"A letter? Don't you guys text, like, a lot?"
"They've finally set a date."
"Oh," Miguel exclaims. His smile widens. "Oh, that is so exciting! We're going to a wedding!"
"No, no, of course we're going." Miguel is still beaming. "Wow. Wow. Do you know what colors they're doing? Ooh, and what's their venue?"
"I don't… We can read their invitation together." Whiskey watches Miguel for a moment. "You like weddings."
Miguel pauses briefly.
"I like seeing our friends happy." He smiles. "Whiskey, you know that I don't expect… I've never really thought that I would be married."
"Me neither." Whiskey isn't quite sure how to phrase his next question. "But, just because you didn't think it was in the cards… I mean. That's not necessarily the same thing as, you know. As not wanting to?"
"I guess not," Miguel agrees easily. Still, he shakes his head. "Honestly, it's really not something I've ever dreamed of, the way some people do. My choice of career was always going to be a big commitment for me, one that would certainly make things complicated in the romance department. But then you came along, and we've managed to build this life together, and it's just… It's so perfect. I don't need anything more."
"I know." Whiskey returns his smile. "I love the life we've built together, too. But, I'm just… Well. Actually. I've been thinking."
Slowly, Miguel's expression shifts.
"You have?"
"It's not…" Whiskey begins, only to pause. He needs to get this right. "It's something I'm still thinking about. I don't have all the right answers, yet."
"Okay." Miguel tilts his head. "Whiskey, did… Did something happen? To make you question yourself?"
Whiskey's smile softens. It's really something, how Miguel knows him so well.
"Kind of," he admits. "You know I went home, recently?"
"Yeah. For a funeral, right?"
"Exactly. My one of my uncles passed."
"Right." Miguel is nodding, even though his expression is somewhat confused. "I don't… You said you two weren't very close?"
"No, we weren't," Whiskey agrees. "But still, I… It got me thinking."
"About marriage?"
"About death." Whiskey almost smiles when Miguel's eyebrows shoot up. "I promise this isn't constantly on my mind, okay? It's just something I've kept coming back to, recently. Something I haven't ever thought about before."
"Okay." Miguel watches him in apparent confusion. "Whiskey, I'm sorry. You've lost me."
Whiskey takes a deep breath.
"When we die, I want them to bury me next to you."
Miguel is quiet for a moment.
"Oh," he says. His tone is careful. "I… Oh."
"And I don't think that would be possible," Whiskey continues. He actually smiles. "Unless… You know."
"Wait. Really?" Miguel actually manages to sound equal parts serious, and reproachful. It's really quite something. "Connor. I may never have dreamed of the perfect proposal, but if this is your idea of one, death might greet you a whole lot sooner than you think."
"No, it's not," Whiskey says quickly. "It's… I haven't finished thinking about this, not yet. I mostly feel like I don't really know what I should want."
"Maybe what you should want isn't the right question." Miguel sounds slightly more calm. He pauses to actually think for a moment. "You know, I'm… I hadn't really thought about that, either. But you… I think you have a point. You really do."
For a moment, they just look at one another.
"Well," Whiskey says lightly. It feels like something significant has shifted between them. It feels big. "I guess we'll see?"
"Yeah." Miguel seems to have found his smile again. "It wouldn't have to be an extravagant affair. You'd hate that."
"I would," Whiskey agrees. "But, at the same time… We wouldn't necessarily need to keep it just between you and me."
"I like that." Miguel tilts his head again. "You know, if… If we did? The world would find out, eventually. When we're gone, if nothing else."
"Yeah. I know."
"I don't know how I feel about that. I'll need some more time." Miguel's tone is unusually thoughtful. "But you would be okay with it?"
"I… I guess." Whiskey pauses for a moment. Suddenly, he remembers everything Angela's told him about the importance of taking control over the narrative. And honestly? Just like always, she has a point. "Except, if that is the path we take, maybe we should actually make sure that we have a say in how this story gets told? Not anytime soon, but, I don't know. At some point down the line."
"Right." Miguel is nodding, even though he still looks quite contemplative. "That's probably not a decision we should rush into."
"There's no need. We can figure it out at whatever pace feels right." Whiskey offers him another smile. "Thank you, by the way."
"For what?"
"For listening to me. For going through all of this with me."
"That's not something you need to thank me for." Miguel's smile softens into the one Whiskey loves best. "It's, you know. Sickness and health, good times and bad times. No matter what we tell the world, we both know that's what this is."
"Yeah," Whiskey agrees softly.
Sometimes, he still can't believe that they got here in the end. He smiles, helplessly.
i have too many wips so here’s a bullet nurseydex fic about this song!! listen to it and the lyrics 1. if you want a random song rec and 2. if you want to better understand the following...
• so dex finds this song on spotify but since he doesn’t have premium he can’t skip it
• he adds it to a playlist of songs he thinks would be easy to learn on his brother’s old guitar without listening to the words
• he eventually learns the words when he’s practicing the chords and jesus that’s gay as hell
• but practice is practice and it’s not like listening to a song about a dude makes him gay or anything. he’s not a freshman anymore; shitty and nursey taught him well
• it gets stuck in his head–not because he particularly likes it or anything–it’s just catchy, ok?
• it’s stuck in his head when he’s on a really bad date and wishing he could just fast forward to being comfortable with and understood by someone who feels comfortable with and understood by him
• it’s stuck in his head when nursey gives him a cold and they feel like shit and they watch animal planet and fall asleep on each other’s shoulders
• and it’s stuck in his head when he’s making nursey cinnamon rolls as a surprise and starts humming it
• nursey notices it’s the same one dex has been practicing a lot and asks him about it, dex fibs and says he forgets bc that title says a lot that he isn’t ready to say yet
• but the next time they go to murder stop n’ shop nursey gives him aux just to play that new favorite song of yours, dexy, won’t you enlighten me on music this time?
• dex can’t lie his way out this time so they play it and listen in awkward silence and once it’s over and they pull into a spot, nursey asks in this high-pitch voice if anyone in particular comes to mind when you listen to that?
• dex doesn’t do words very well so he just kisses him instead
• somebody’s elbow bumps the horn and it startles them but then they’re laughing and holding each other and maybe this parking lot is the most beautiful place on earth and maybe this is the best song dex has ever stumbled on
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oooh could you maybe write misc 11. "Is the cat in a onesie?” “Uh, no?" 💛
(prompts from this list)
thank you for the prompt, jo! this is short and sweet but i hope you like it 💛
-
Nursey’s so focused on his writing that he doesn’t notice the cat until she jumps onto his lap.
“Hey, baby girl,” he says absent-mindedly, eyes glued to his screen. She meows in reply and he brings a hand up to scratch her ears. But instead of fur, his fingers brush over soft fabric. He looks down at her.
Betsy the Third, curled snugly in his lap and purring like a little tractor, is dressed in a cat-sized dinosaur onesie, complete with a little hood and fake spikes. It’s adorable, and at any other point in time Nursey would fawn over her, but right now he’s too busy trying to remember what reality he’s living in.
“Dex?” he calls out, not looking away from little dinosaur Betsy.
“You called?” Dex says, poking his head through the doorway.
“Is the cat in a onesie?”
“No,” he replies. “She’s in costume.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?” Nursey asks, but Dex has already disappeared into the kitchen again, and Nursey is left staring at the cat.
She really is cute. He should send a picture to Chowder, he thinks. He looks up to find his phone and instead notices a glass of water and a plate of snacks by his laptop, which definitely weren’t there five minutes ago. But the sun was. Right?
Huh. He must’ve been writing for hours.
He yawns and stretches out his arms. Betsy meows in protest and he brings a hand back to her head. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a kiss to her head and letting his face rest there.
He thinks of Dex quietly putting a plate of food together for Nursey and setting it on the desk where he would see. And Dex gently coaxing Betsy into her little onesie, knowing exactly how Nursey would react. Or at least knowing it would startle him out of his hyperfocus.
“He really loves us, doesn’t he,” he whispers into Betsy’s fur. And when she meows, he smiles and kisses her little head again.
I wrote a fic a while back called Saltwater Tinged Memories that found Dex and Nursey on their honeymoon - and just really loved the imagery. Well now there’s beautiful, funny artwork by @sexydexynurse - And I love it!!!
