"What're you into?"

4-3. OT loss. Gabe got boarded so hard the guy got a major. His head kind of hurts. "Huh?"

Matt peers at him from where he's sprawled out on the hotel bed, arms bent and tucked under his head. It's a king, but when he's splayed out like this it might as well be a twin. "What're you into?" he repeats. "Like, what's your type?"

You, Gabe wants to say, but doesn't, because that's stupid and corny and he isn't supposed to like him this much. He blinks. "My type?"

"Sure. I mean, I was gonna ask you, like, what your deal was, but that seemed kinda rude, so." His head lolls into the crook of his elbow. He's smiling faintly, like he finds this amusing, like they didn't just fucking lose to one of the only teams worse than them.

"Uh." He crouches by his suitcase, rooting around for his dopp kit. His hair drips onto his folded clothes. He probably should've pulled on more than just his boxers before he left the bathroom, because now he can feel Matt looking him up and down. "I don't know."

"C'mon," he says, and when Gabe looks back up at him he's pouting. "Who doesn't know?"

Gabe blinks again, grabs the dopp kit. Shrugs, and on second thought, pulls out an old Eagles t-shirt, too. He doesn't have to look to know that someone's scrawled R. Leonard in shitty chicken scratch on the tag.

"Seriously," he goads, teasing. "Girls? Guys? House plants?"

He stares at his suitcase for another second before flipping it closed and standing up. "I suck at keeping plants alive," he says, and yanks the shirt over his head.

"Girls, then?"

"Sure," he mutters, steps back into the bathroom. He runs his toothbrush under the faucet. Girls with boyfriends is probably more apt, but Matt doesn't need to know that, and he stopped pulling that shit after he moved to New York, anyway.

Sometimes he wishes Matt had a girlfriend. Maybe that would make things easier. Too bad he doesn't seem like the cheating type.

"Guys?" Matt asks, and Gabe spins around to glare at him. His head's shifted to the other elbow.

"What's your type, then?" he asks, but he's got a mouth full of toothpaste, so it sounds more like, "Uts er tie den? Ockey plays?"

"Sure," Matt laughs. Gabe turns around to spit. "You too, though, huh?" he asks, which is generous. Whatever Matt's doing barely counts as hockey, and Gabe thinks he hasn't let enough slip for him to put the pieces together about Will and Leno.

It didn't really mean anything, even back when it was actually happening. It was just easy. Gabe kind of wants to tell him that it doesn't matter anymore because things are shit between them now anyway, but that's probably not what he meant.