#greg huff

"Dude, I'm starving," Carter said, thankfully after his mini mouthful of the creamy vanilla dessert lathered in syrup-covered strawberry cuts, before he washed it all down with half of his champagne. "They barely feed us at these things." He pointed out, swiftly taking a skewer with grilled shrimp from the tray of a passing server, shooting them a quick, gracious smile when they glanced back.

"Uh-huh." Greg licked his lips, shaking his head again. "Your stomach's a bottomless pit, Carter."

Scott snickered into his champagne cup and took a sip, a green apple flavor dancing over his taste buds as he set the glass down on the table. "He's right, Huff. You can't come to these award shows without a full stomach. We've all learned that the hard way." He finished his sentence with a nostalgic, heavy sigh.

He distinctly remembered how light-headed he felt from hunger during his first awards show, and how he'd stuffed his mouth with half of the salami, diced cheese, and crackers on the charcuterie board he'd planted himself beside. It'd been embarrassing, but other rookies had wound up doing the same.

The BleauLive Theater was most commonly used for A-list musicians performing concerts or comedians performing stand-up specials, meaning that, at most, there was really only bottle service provided.

There was some catering, but it focused more on light, on-the-go type of meals: skewers, mini desserts, fruit slices, charcuterie boards. Things you could grab and eat as you walked around.

Half, if not all, of the guys who left early would often stop to grab cheap, filling food on the way back to their hotels, or they'd grab an overly priced meal while exploring Las Vegas's iconic nightlife.

Scott had long grown disinterested in walking around Las Vegas until his legs ached or until whoever he was with wasted half their bank account on girls or casinos. Nowadays, he preferred mingling for an hour or two at the theater and then heading back to his hotel room for a good night's rest.

"Ah, yeah," Greg chuckled agreeably. "Pretty sure our two rookies already left for Raising Cane's, the poor fellas. They're probably stuffing the Caniac Combo and soda down their throats as we speak."

"Ugh," Carter groaned, slipping a shrimp from the skewer. "Don't say that. I could go for a chicken sandwich right about now."

"You should know better, Carter." Scott tsked playfully, giving a playful, disappointed shake of his head. "You can't eat light before coming here."

Carter bit into the shrimp and chewed, humming pleasantly at the taste. "Better to eat light than have to excuse myself to the bathroom every five minutes. This is Coach McCoy's seventh trip to the bathroom."

Carter jerked his head in the direction of the fifty-year-old head coach for Tampa Bay, and Scott snorted, peeking over his shoulder to search for that familiar sunburnt bald head of his.

He swept his eyes through the crowd, sorting through the familiar and unfamiliar faces present, until his gaze locked on one that made his breath hitch.

His body turned completely, blinking a few times to ensure his mind wasn't pulling tricks on him. Jesus. Was it really...

"You alright- Holy shit! (L/N)!" 

(Y/N) approached them with his coat thrown over his arm and a glass of champagne in his free hand, which he proceeded to down and then take another one from a passing server.

He licked his lips, setting the new cup on their high-top table and flashing them that familiar, signature grin that could cut through steel. 

"What's up, assholes?" He greeted, his voice a hint raspy, undoubtedly from taking a smoke break before gracing them with his presence.

Blindly setting the skewer down and staining the tablecloth in the process with the juices from the shrimp, Carter rounded the table and slung his arms around (Y/N) to pull him in a tight embrace. (Y/N) stumbled back, and Scott's eyes darted downward, watching with a wince as (Y/N) swiftly put his weight onto his right leg.

Scott's hand shot out, hovering over (Y/N)'s back, just in case his body betrayed him and he'd be able to catch them before they toppled down on the floor in front of all their colleagues.

"Oh, shit-"

Carter scrambled back, his hand cupping (Y/N)'s elbow and grimacing apologetically. (Y/N) let out a breathy laugh, his elbow bumping into Scott's arm a tad roughly when his fingers grazed (Y/N)'s back.

Scott decided he was imagining things, that (Y/N) had accidentally used too much force, and dropped his arm back to his side, keeping his eyes on (Y/N)'s legs until he steadied himself again.

Scott noted he kept his weight on that right leg, easing pressure off the other one. He tried not to think about the reason why, for the sake of keeping everything he'd drunk and eaten in his stomach.

"Sorry, man, I totally blanked." Carter apologized hurriedly, his lips in a small, apologetic pout, but (Y/N) waved him off.

"Shit happens, man. It wouldn't be the first time." He replied reassuringly, grabbing his champagne cup and filling his mouth with it.

He smacked his lips when he finished and braced his arms on the table, his eyes flickering between Greg and Carter with a small, growing grin. Scott pursed his lips, waiting a beat, and then made eye contact with Greg.

He wasn't imagining things. (Y/N) (L/N) was in one of his moods, the ones that always ended with Scott trying to puzzle together what'd upset him because passive aggressiveness was (Y/N)'s favorite hobby to indulge in.

"How's the wife, Huff? And that girl, Carter? What was her name? Grace?"

"Gloria!" Carter corrected with a gleeful smile, the skewer forgotten in favor of talking about his girlfriend. "Man, (Y/N), she's the best. She's hilarious and so talented. She's waiting to hear back about this popular doctor show on ABC. I can't tell you much because it might spoil the next season, but she might be playing a new main character on it if they liked her audition."

(Y/N) couldn't have looked more disinterested in Gloria Grey and her acting career with his closed-lipped smile and blank eyes, but they all knew how he operated. He'd look bored by whatever they were telling him, and then surprise them later by remembering exactly what they'd said word-for-word.

Scott stared at him, silently willing him to turn his head and meet his eyes, to finally talk to him. He hadn't seen him up close since... Scott's throat tightened, and his gaze fell onto the tablecloth, watching an orangey spot spread beneath the skewer.

Forget about it.

"Yeah? Good for her." (Y/N) reached over, picking up the skewer and sliding the last shrimp off it to pop it in his mouth. Carter gave a little sigh at his taken food and waved over a server so he could grab another one. "And you, Huff? Wife? Kids?" 

"They're great, (L/N). Laura was asking about you the other day, actually." Greg answered, his features tight with mild concern that threatened to grow.

It'd been damn near a year of radio silence from (Y/N) (L/N), a year since Coach Murdock had tightly told them to stop badgering him with questions about their missing captain and assigned Scott as the new replacement, essentially telling them, without actually saying it, that their spitfire of a captain and left winger would no longer be on the team.

Murdock made it clear that (Y/N) was fine, but no longer residing in New York for the foreseeable future. The months of silence that followed had been an anxiety-inducing hell. Nobody knew where he'd gone off to, if he'd changed his number, or fuck, if he was even safe and recovering well.

Scott waited for (Y/N) to finally address him, but he only hummed and nodded, using the sharp end of the skewer as a toothpick before he straightened up, his head on a swivel to survey the room.

"Where's that Hollander kid? I heard he presented an award with Rozanov. I hope he shits a brick when he sees me, fuckin' pain in the ass he was."

"You're not going to ask what I've been up to?" Scott asked, his fingertip rubbing over the base of his champagne glass, his head lifting toward him. He kept his voice light and easy-going, hoping the scratchy feeling in the back of his throat hadn't been noticeable in his tone.

"I'm sure you're doing peachy, Hunter."

(Y/N) finger tapped on the table, his jaw clenching and unclenching before his eyes met Scott's. Scott's head dipped immediately to avoid gazing into their coldness. If he had a tail, it would've tucked between his legs.

"You're always fucking peachy, aren't you?"

"Let's, uh," Carter let out an awkward laugh, his arm wrapping around (Y/N)'s shoulder and rubbing his bicep with his palm. "Let's go meet up with the other guys, yeah? They'll be happy to see you." He told him, guiding (Y/N) away from the table before things could escalate.

Scott stared at the tablecloth, his teeth grinding together at the clawing sensation creeping up his back. "He hates me." He muttered, taking in a breath and holding it until the heaviness in his chest and stinging pressure in his eyes subsided. He shook his head lightly. "He hates me."

Greg sucked his teeth. "(L/N) doesn't hate you, Scott. You know him. He has a bad temper, but he never means what he says at the end of the day. He's probably overwhelmed and taking it out on you, alright?"

"No, no... He was my best friend, and I let him down, Huff. He has every damn right to hate me right now."

Scott doubted (Y/N) would manage to be fully at ease at the NHL Awards after what'd happened, but Greg was right. Scott knew him. Probably knew him better than he knew himself. He'd been around (Y/N) enough to read him like a book, and (Y/N)'s energy had been full of restrained anger.

"It wasn't your fault." Greg reminded him sternly, his brows lifting at him almost scoldingly. "It wasn't Philadelphia's fault, either. Hell, it wasn't Zullo's fault. You never know what's going to happen out on that ice."

"They never do reruns of that game for a reason, Huff. It was- it was-"

Scott clamped his mouth shut and took a breath, his eyes squeezing shut as the memories flooded in unwillingly.

The shouts and insults thrown from both teams, the gloved fists that went flying, the way everyone flew in to get a blind hit in on the opposing team. The grunt from (Y/N) when he fell on the ice from a shove, and then the yelped, pained curse that came afterward when sharp metal tore through fabric and skin.

He'd seen specks and droplets of blood before on the ice from busted lips or loosened teeth. He'd never seen smears of it spread over the ice, seeping through the lines their skates left behind to form morbid, deep crimson designs.

Not until that day.

Injuries in hockey were a common occurrence, to the point that it was usual for most players to leave the ice with bruises from getting body checked. He'd seen plenty of injuries throughout his career: sprained ankles, bruised or fractured bones, concussions, broken teeth, muscle tears. Hockey wasn't a sport for the weak.

But what had happened to (Y/N) had been a rare, freak accident that could've been avoided had Frank Zullo kept his mouth shut and not gone after the Philadelphia team's goalie.

Everyone had been shaken up afterwards, and in a surprising moment of empathy from the league, they were allowed to reschedule the game to give everyone time to process and get their groove back... and to give the arena staff time to clean up the mess.

The Admirals, as expected after witnessing such a gnarly injury from one of their own, lost, leading Philadelphia to continue into the playoffs against the Montreal Metros. NYC had been sympathetic and understanding when they returned home, directing their outrage and disappointment at Philadelphia instead, letting them decompress and assess things without an onslaught of internet hate.

"I know," Greg murmured grimly, his body trembling with a shudder and nose crinkling with a cringe. "It was rough for all of us."

Scott's eyes squeezed shut, exhaling heavily through his nose, because no, nobody on the team understood how he felt.

They'd never understand because most of them were happily straight and never went through the agony of being in love with someone out of reach, of being in love with someone who'd disappeared with the wind.

You don't get it, Greg, you don't.

"Yeah," Scott sighed. "I know."

2013, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Seven Hours Before The Accident

"I told you it was a bad idea to drink at the airport."

"Shut the fuck up, Hunter."

Scott threw his head back with a laugh, his shoulders shaking and eyes crinkling at (Y/N)'s muffled response, the added image of him sprawled out starfish on his bed with his face buried in the mattress only making him double over with more laughter. His laughter devolved into coughing and hacking, tears stinging the corners of his eyes.

(Y/N) raised his head and pushed his face into the palms of his hands, his mouth parting to let out a low groan. "If you're going to die, die in the hallway. I do not want to deal with you choking to death while my brain feels like it got put through a damn shredder." He muttered grumpily, tilting his head downward slightly so the heels of his palms were digging into his eyes.

Scott managed to catch his breath and clear his throat, his legs swinging over the side of his bed to approach (Y/N). The mattress creaked beneath his weight as he climbed into the bed and leaned forward to drag his hand back and forth over (Y/N)'s spine, his heart fluttering when (Y/N) slumped over his thigh in response.

"I'm dying," (Y/N) whined, his arms curling around Scott's knee, clinging onto it like a child. His lips jutted out in a pout, his cheek smushing against the rough fabric of Scott's jeans. "Hunterrr, I'm dying. My brain is giving out on me. My body hates me."

"You're fine."

Scott laughed wheezily, bringing his fist to his mouth to cough again. He dug his fingers into (Y/N)'s back and ran them down his spine, his mouth forming an amused grin at the way (Y/N) hummed pleasurably and slightly arched his back like a cat.

"Do you want some Advil and a massage, you big baby?"

(Y/N) grinned, his head lifting off Scott's thigh, magically looking perfectly fine. "Yes."

With a roll of his eyes, Scott slipped out of the bed and approached his luggage, unzipping one of the front pockets to take out his small bottle of Advil. He grabbed a water bottle from his backpack and returned to (Y/N)'s side, waiting for him to tug his shirt over his head and toss it aside before offering him two pills and the bottle. 

Scott's eyes drifted away from (Y/N)'s face and down to his shoulders, gazing over the newly exposed skin. They lingered on the glimmer of the silver snowflake necklace around (Y/N)'s neck, the one Scott had given him for his nineteenth birthday as a congratulatory gift for his first year as a pro hockey player.

(Y/N) had gone on to become Rookie of the Year and decided then that he'd never go anywhere without his necklace, without his lucky charm.

When Scott's draft season came along, (Y/N) returned the gesture by giving him a gold necklace with a sun pendant at the end. Scott managed to get drafted to the same team as (Y/N) and made him a similar promise of never taking it off when that Rookie of the Year award was given to him, too.

His eyes moved lower, down to (Y/N)'s exposed chest and stomach, his heartbeat thumping in his ears. After knowing (Y/N) (L/N) for nearly eleven years, the sight of his naked body was nothing new.

He'd seen him shirtless, pantless, and otherwise completely nude plenty of times before, but it never ceased to make his neck warm with heat in a way that never happened with the rest of the guys... in a way that never happened with anyone else.

The consequences of having a crush on your childhood best friend and hockey captain... the consequences of constantly being around your first love.

"Ready?" Scott asked in a strained voice, taking a swing of the bottle after (Y/N) swallowed the pills in hopes of easing the tightness in his throat. The water ran down his throat, soothing it lightly, and he used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. "Move." He tapped (Y/N)'s shoulder twice.

(Y/N) flopped onto his stomach and stretched out across the bed, propping his chin over his arms and making his back ripple with the movement.

Scott's jeans strained against his thighs when he kneeled on the bed and straddled (Y/N)'s lower hips, keeping his weight on his knees to avoid settling over (Y/N)'s ass and having his body betray him.

His hands dipped, his fingers digging into (Y/N)'s shoulders first, working on the tension and knots there with practiced experience from all the other times he'd given (Y/N) free massages to cease his whining. (Y/N) hummed pleasantly, his lips forming a grin that'd put the Cheshire Cat to shame, overly pleased with himself and the situation.

The other Admirals liked to tease that he was (Y/N)'s puppy dog, that (Y/N) could tell him to jump and Scott would ask how high because Scott rarely ever questioned him. Scott found it embarrassing... because it was true.

He'd been following (Y/N) around since their youth, ever since Scott billeted with his family at fourteen and was allowed to stay with them until college.

"Enjoying yourself?" Scott asked teasingly, rubbing his thumbs in circular motions over his shoulder blades, his skin warming at the quiet moan he received in response. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. "You're not as tense as last time." He mentioned, clearing his throat after.

"I've got a good massage therapist," (Y/N) muttered, peering over his shoulder at him with half-lidded eyes and an impish grin. "He doesn't charge a dime, that dumb sucker."

Lowering his hands, Scott hooked his fingers in the belt loops of (Y/N)'s jeans and tugged on them suddenly, eliciting a yelp from him when he rocked forward.

(Y/N) swatted at his hands with a groan, his lips twisting into a pout that Scott snickered at. He rolled off him and plopped down on the bed again, his snickering turning into laughter when (Y/N)'s hand slipped beneath his pants.

"You gave me a wedgie, you dick!"

His hips rose off the bed in his attempt to readjust his underwear, before he gave up and rolled over onto his back. Unbuttoning his jeans and tugging them down to his upper thighs, (Y/N) raised his hips again and got his underwear back into place with a little scowl.

Scott's laughter nearly grew stuck in his throat, his eyes focusing on the trail of hair dipping beneath the waistband of his underwear. 

Goddamit, think about something other than your best friend. Hockey, puck, helmet, shoulder pads, gloves, elbow pads, breezers, mouth guards, neck guard-

"What're you thinking about so hard, Scotty?" (Y/N) interrupted his mental recitation of hockey equipment, his scowl replaced with a lazy smile. His arm flopped to the side and landed over Scott's lap, his fingers curling to dig lightly into Scott's thigh. 

"Uh, the game tonight." Scott gave what he hoped came off as a casual shrug. "Philly always puts up a decent fight. I'm hoping we beat 'em and grab some burgers after."

(Y/N) barked out a laugh. "They haven't won a Cup since the mid-70s, Scott. That's longer than us, remember? They put up a normal fight, not a 'decent' one. They're below-average players with an average coach at best."

He reached down, patting blindly for his shirt until his fingers reached it and he tugged it toward himself.

"We got this. It's going to be an easy win, watch. You should worry about Montreal."

Scott grunted, resisting the urge to sigh. The Montreal Metros were good, always had been, but they'd made their best player, Shane Hollander, team captain, and the energy felt different. It was focused, determined.

"They're going against Boston soon. We'll see who wins that game and find out who's going to kick our ass if we win tonight."

"Since when are you such a fucking pessimist, Hunter?" (Y/N) poked him hard in the side and dragged himself up into a slouch that would've earned him a scolding from his mother about posture if she were around. "You're supposed to be the optimist between the two of us."

"Says the captain of our team." Scott smiled. 

Despite his flaws and glaring anger-management issues, (Y/N) (L/N) proved himself a competent captain. Where others went the route of overly optimistic to the point of lying or becoming stricter than the coach, (Y/N) chose tough love.

It was ego-bruising at times, his words harsh enough that some rookies flinched when he spoke to them, but it was necessary to get them to play better. They needed to be reminded they weren't the best of the best until they had proof.

He admired (Y/N) for that, though he'd hardly call him the country's best captain. He had tough enough skin to take the snarky comments muttered behind his back by those he scolded, but he lacked the maturity to walk away from arguments without getting the last word in.

That was where Scott came in, defusing situations as assistant captain and mentioning the upsides of situations to help ease tensions.

"My job is to make sure these knuckleheads make good plays." (Y/N) pointed at himself with his thumb and then thrusted a finger in Scott's direction. "Your job is to keep them from crying themselves to sleep at night when they can't shoot straight."

"That's actually your job. You're supposed to help team morale as captain, which means keeping them from crying themselves to sleep at night." Scott corrected, chuckling softly at the dramatic, over-the-top eyeroll (Y/N) reacted with. "I'm supposed to back up whatever you say and act as captain when you're not there."

"So, we basically have the same responsibilities, smartass."

The bed creaked beneath (Y/N)'s movements when he got onto his knees after adjusting his pants, and Scott's hands raised immediately. Their palms made a loud slap! sound they collided, a soft stinging sensation spreading through Scott's hands briefly.

"What's your point?"

"I don't have a point." Scott laughed, his arms beginning to tremble beneath the weight (Y/N) put into his hands as they began an impromptu wrestling match. (Y/N) spread his knees out a little further for better balance, his fingers lacing with Scott's for a nicer grip. "I'm just saying, you also have to be more optimistic." 

"Then, you actually have a point, idiot."

Scott's legs shifted beneath him, and he lunged forward, using (Y/N)'s position to knock him off balance onto his back. Their hands untangled in an effort to catch their bodies, but just as swiftly lifted off the mattress to collide again.

Scott attempted to pin (Y/N)'s hands down on the bed, but (Y/N) put up a good fight, wriggling himself free a few times and attempting to coil his arm around Scott's neck to switch positions.

Eventually, (Y/N) dug his elbow into the bed and wrapped his legs around Scott's waist, and out the door when Scott's focus at winning. With some mild effort, (Y/N) rolled them over and took Scott's wrists into his hands, pinning them down and laughing in smug victory.

His necklace dangled in front of Scott's face, catching and glittering in the sunlight coming in through the window. 

"You're insufferable," Scott muttered lamely, his cheeks undoubtedly dusted with pink. 

"All I do is win, Scotty boy."

(Y/N) leaned back, his necklace resting over his collarbone, and he sat on Scott's lower stomach and (thankfully) avoided his lap. Scott wished he'd worn some looser pants rather than jeans that made everything feel tighter.

"You should try it sometime." He winked down at him. 

"Oh, screw you, (Y/N)!" Scott huffed out a laugh and reached up to lightly shove at his shoulder. "I'm always doing assists for you! You get half of your goals because of me."

(Y/N)'s stomach flexed with his laugh, and he leaned further back, his hands coming to rest over Scott's propped-up knees. Scott tried his best not to think about the position they were in and internally cursed (Y/N) when he rolled his head back, his chest rising and falling with the exhales of energy well-spent. His jeans were still popped open, leaving his underwear visible.

Mercifully, (Y/N) toppled forward over him, a grunt escaping Scott's chest, but he was glad to have the view out of sight. His arms weakly wrapped around (Y/N)'s waist, the heels of his palm dragging up and down his spine, savoring the feel of his bare skin. (Y/N) raised his head and peered down at him, his fingers pinching the sun pendant against the snowflake one.

He liked doing it before games or before anything important, rubbing them together for a few seconds as if sharing luck or skill through their necklaces.

Their little ritual, their own routine that no one else knew about except for them. Warm spread over Scott's chest, his cheeks beginning to hurt from how much he'd smiled and laughed.

(Y/N) released their necklaces, but the dendrites of the snowflake hooked with the sun's rays, keeping them locked together. He hummed quietly. "Guess we're stuck together 'til the bitter end, Scotty." He cooed, his finger running over Scott's brow. Scott almost purred. 

Scott laughed under his breath, his head shaking as he took a few clothes from (Y/N)'s outstretched arms and began putting them up. "You like not having to worry about this." He said, organizing them as he'd done with his own clothes.

"They're clothes, Scott. I don't worry about what order they're in or what they're next to because my eyes work perfectly fine."

"Well, now you don't have to sort through them. You'll know exactly where everything is." Scott preferred things that way. If he was in a rush, he knew he wouldn't have to go into his closet and blindly search for what clothes he needed. "You're welcome."

(Y/N) scoffed softly, his arms dropping back down to his sides. He pushed himself off the doorway and stepped further into the closet, sliding his arms around Scott's waist.

"You're a total stay-at-home husband in the making, you know." He teased, and Scott rolled his eyes, tucking his face into (Y/N)'s neck. "Mm, I bet I'll come home one day, and you'll be wearing nothing but an apron."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Scott chuckled against his throat, unable to stop the heat from creeping up his neck. He planted a kiss on his skin and pulled back, pecking his forehead next. "Bring your shoes."

They'd left the clothes for last, deciding to take care of everything else first. All the bathroom products and essentials had been moved first, followed by (Y/N)'s electronics, notebooks, and books. As they'd done with the closet, they'd split the underwear drawer in half so Scott's things were on one side and (Y/N)'s on the other. Scott knew they'd eventually end up using each other's things regardless, something that made glee erupt in his chest.

(Y/N) returned with his luggage full of all his shoes, mostly sneakers, two pairs of Oxfords for formal events, and snow boots for the wintertime.

They worked on getting each pair out of the luggage and neatly on the floor in a row of two, before Scott zipped up the luggage and tucked it in a corner beside his own. Next came the few belts and ties (Y/N) had, which were easily set inside the drawer beside Scott's. 

"Okay, so, this side-" Scott motioned to the right side of the closet. "-is all yours, but you can use my stuff whenever you want. I don't mind.. I think you'd look nice in my jersey, to be honest."

"Yeah?" (Y/N)'s lips stretched into a knowing grin, his head tilting to the side slightly and his arms lifting to wrap around Scott's shoulders when he moved closer. "You want me to wear your jersey? Maybe... with nothing else underneath?" His teeth dug into his bottom lip, his brows twitching upward.

Scott bumped their heads together, his mouth pressed together to suppress a big grin. "Mhm... just you and the number twenty-one with my last name across the back. Nothing else." He cooed, capturing his lips in a slow, tantalizing kiss. "You want to try it on now? See how it looks on you?"

"Mm, I can't." (Y/N) pecked his lips and dug his hand in his pocket to take out his phone, checking the time. "I actually have an interview in about half an hour, so I should probably start heading out." He mentioned casually, slipping his phone back into his pocket

"An interview? A job interview?" Scott blinked, straightening up with alert. His hands settled over (Y/N)'s hips, his thumbs rubbing circles in his sides. "With who? Where? Why didn't you tell me?" 

"I... decided to reach out to the local junior hockey team yesterday and mentioned I'd potentially be interested in getting involved. They got back to me right away and said they'd love to sit down and chat with me today. I might become an assistant coach or head coach, who knows? But I feel good, even if I might have to deal with annoying kids."

Scott barked out a laugh and leaned in, kissing him deeply. This was good, this was so good. They were doing good. Happy. "I'm proud of you, baby." He said against his lips, and the euphoria that blossomed between his ribs was indescribable. His best friend, his partner in crime, his right-hand man, his boyfriend. "So, so proud. You're going to do amazing, I know it." 

"I have to get the job first, Scott." (Y/N) chuckled, his fingers dancing up the back of Scott's neck and tangling themselves in his dark waves, his nails scratching soothingly along his scalp. 

"It's already yours, and you know it." Scott cupped his face in his hands, smushing his cheeks slightly just to see the light glare (Y/N) shot him when his lips puckered. He giggled quietly, leaning in to kiss the bridge of his nose. "You've got this, okay? Now, change and go. Let me know when you're done so I can start dinner, alright?"

The teasing twinkle returned to (Y/N)'s eyes, but he managed to restrain himself from another light-hearted comment. He rocked forward to kiss Scott one last time and turned around to grab some clothes, changing out of the loose, comfy clothes he'd had on into something more appropriate for a job interview. 

With (Y/N) gone, Scott settled down at the desk, opening his laptop. He worked on answering emails and going back and forth with Todd, his manager.

He'd already come out to him a couple of months prior, and while Todd had warned him about the consequences of publicly coming out, he'd tentatively accepted things. Scott understood his hesitance; he'd be losing a client if things went sideways.

Scott leaned back in his chair and raised his eyes to look out the window, gazing over the cityscape. For the first time in a long time, an empty, numbing pit hadn't formed in his stomach at the thought of being left alone in the penthouse.

His chest was both full and weightless, the butterflies in his stomach continuing to form and flutter throughout his body. It was easy to breathe, easy to smile and feel joy again. 

Because he wasn't alone anymore. Because (Y/N) would be returning home to him, and there wouldn't be an argument or sour feelings of jealousy over who he might have been with. 

With a smile, Scott picked up his phone, opening up one of the group chats he had with the guys. He swiped his tongue over his lips, his thumbs tapping over the keyboard to type out a simple message.

Scott I asked (Y/N) out. He said yes. :)

Carter !!!!!!

Carter Woahh!!!!! Good for you!!

Carter Go Scotty!!

Eric B. Good job, man. Happy for you guys!

Greg About time. Good job, Scott. 

Chuckling, Scott stood up from his chair and tucked his phone away, making his way to the kitchen to begin working on dinner. (Y/N)'s words echoed in his head, making his cheeks warm. Truly, the idea of becoming a stay-at-home husband after retirement sounded perfectly ideal to him.

He enjoyed staying on his feet and being active, though, so... maybe... if they had kids...

"Calm down," Scott muttered to himself, setting his phone on the island counter and bracing his elbows on it whilst he searched for different recipes to try out. 

He settled on one and looked over the ingredients, humming quietly at the little blurb left by the creator. Perfect for a romantic date, it claimed. Scott turned his head toward the dining table, a light bulb going off in his head that was brighter than the sun. They'd had a date, a sweet one, but they needed to have a proper date over a candlelight dinner.

He began by gathering and preparing the ingredients for the cowboy butter steak dinner: the ribeye, the salt, the butter, the garlic cloves, the sauces and seasonings. He patted the steak dry and prepared the skillet, pouring oil into it. Scott minced and sliced, mixing things together in a bowl, squeezing in the sauces and sprinkling in the seasonings.

Soon enough, the delicious smell of cooking filled the penthouse, the aroma subtle enough to not be overwhelming. Scott replied to (Y/N)'s text with a heart emoji and went through one of the storage closets, finding an old fancy tablecloth and bringing it to the dining table.

He set it over the wood and smoothed it out, getting rid of the creases, before he searched for a vanilla-scented candle to set in the middle of the table. He got the plates in order and set them down, then worked on preparing two refreshing mocktail drinks for them. With a satisfied hum, Scott lit the candle, his ears picking up the soft whir of the elevator. 

Quickening his step and dimming the lighting, he greeted (Y/N) at the door with a smile that widened into a grin when he spotted the suspicious look (Y/N) shot him. "I made dinner." He said, taking (Y/N)'s coat from him and hanging it up. "I hope you like it."

"Smells great," (Y/N) mentioned, his steps slow as he walked further into the penthouse, growing still once he spotted the dinner set out for them.

Scott came up beside him, his heart skipping an anxious beat and head craning slightly to take a look at (Y/N)'s face. (Y/N) scratched the bridge of his nose, his mouth turned up into a little semi-shy smile.

"All this for us?"

"I thought it'd be nice to have a proper dinner date." Scott shrugged, his shoulders too tight for it to come off as casual. "What do you think?"

(Y/N) looked at him and grabbed a fistful of his collar, pulling him in for a kiss. "It's... great, Scott." He told him meekly, and it took everything in Scott not to pull him in his arms and kiss him over and over again. 

"Good." 

They approached the table and sat down, digging into their respective plates. (Y/N) grunted approvingly, his jaw working to chew on the tender, juicy meat. Scott smiled, pleased with himself and the warm atmosphere he'd managed to create for their date.

He hoped that one day, they'd be able to get dressed up and go into a restaurant together, hand in hand and with smiles on their faces.

"How'd the interview go?"

(Y/N)'s head lifted to look at him, his hand wrapping around the mocktail and bringing it to his lips for a sip. "Good, actually." He answered, collecting droplets off his lips. "I'll have to take some general classes for coaching and all that, but... they were excited about potentially having a former Admiral as coach. They think the kids will love it."

Scott smiled, his arms resting on the table. He brought another chunk of the steak to his mouth and bit into it, humming softly at the explosion of flavor. "I'm excited for you. You're going to do amazing."

"You think so?" (Y/N) asked, his voice soft with minor doubt. His eyes flickered away, his lips rubbing together. 

"Of course." Scott clicked his tongue at him. "You're (Y/N) (L/N), remember? The city has always loved you; you've just never focused on the positive. You can bet the second those kids hear that you're going to be coaching them, they're going to look forward to practice every day. They're going to be bragging to their classmates that they get to be mentored by you."

The tines of (Y/N)'s fork scraped lightly over the steak, getting them lathered with sauce. "Thank you, Scott." He said quietly, digging the fork into the steak for another bite. "Maybe I was too blind to see it, but... you've always been my biggest supporter, so... thank you. I appreciate you." 

"I know. I love you."

They continued eating with idle conversation about the upcoming season and the result of the Zullo situation, making guesses as to who the Admirals would end up with as Zullo's replacement. They eventually finished eating and got up, washing their plates and finishing their drinks. (Y/N) pecked Scott's cheek and retreated to the bedroom, leaving him to finish rinsing off the last dish and blow out the candle. 

Once he folded the tablecloth and set it atop the washing machine to dry, Scott headed down the hallway to his bedroom, half-expecting to hear the noise of the shower. He stepped into his room, his eyes following the path of (Y/N)'s discarded clothes up to the bed. Scott took a sharp inhale, taking in the sight of (Y/N) sitting at the edge of the bed. In his jersey. With nothing else. 

"Fuck."

(Y/N) snickered impishly. "You like it? Or... should I take it off?" His fingers curled around the hem of the jersey, and he gave it a playful tug, his brow quirking at Scott. 

Scott walked forward silently, hypnotized, a low groan rumbling in the back of his throat. He lowered himself down onto his knees, his hands dragging over (Y/N)'s exposed thighs before they hooked around his knees and promptly tugged him further over the edge of the bed. (Y/N) made a noise of surprise, followed by a laugh, and leaned back onto his elbows.

Scott took him in his mouth as soon as the jersey rose enough to reveal him, the taste of pre setting his taste buds alight. His eyes closed, his head bobbing slowly to fully enjoy every vein and groove, his tongue pressing flat against (Y/N)'s cock. (Y/N)'s hand dug into his hair, his fingers curling to hold onto him, soft sighs leaving his mouth while his body twitched and jerked. 

Hearing, feeling, and seeing the way (Y/N)'s body reacted to him, how it moved and shivered and trembled beneath his touch, drove Scott wild. He bobbed his head a little faster, trying to breathe clearly through his nose, his hands grasping (Y/N) to keep his balance. He only pulled back with a wet pop! because a desire came to him suddenly.

(Y/N) made a noise of disappointment that Scott remedied by pushing his knees up and toward his chest. (Y/N) let out a little wet gasp of realization, and Scott damn near soiled his pants when he heard it.

He leaned in, nipping at his asscheeks, spreading them further apart once (Y/N) curled his arms around his legs to hold them up. The long whine (Y/N) let out once Scott's tongue made contact with his hole almost had Scott's eyes rolling back with pleasure and delight.

If he hadn't been so wound up, Scott might've taken his time in slowly savoring (Y/N), but his cock strained and ached in his pants with the need for attention. His tongue poked and prodded at (Y/N)'s entrance, slicking it up with his saliva and slobber, before he popped his finger in his mouth and pressed it against him. 

"Shit." (Y/N) just about squealed, naturally tensing and clenching at the feeling.

"Relax, I've got you." Scott cooed, leaving a wet kiss on the back of his thigh. "You're okay, you're okay."

(Y/N) took in a deep breath and dropped his head back on the mattress, breathing in and out, his body notably slowly beginning to relax. Scott attempted again, pushing and rubbing, watching the muscles in (Y/N)'s thighs flex and twitch, until his finger popped past the rim. Murmured praises came from Scott as he slowly pushed his finger in and out, working (Y/N) up to two and then three.

"Is this okay?" Scott asked next, peppering his thighs in kisses after sliding his fingers out and standing up. He fumbled with his clothes, ripping them off and tossing them aside. "Do you want to? Can... Can I fuck you?"

"Yeah," (Y/N) chuckled airily. 

Scott smiled and left his side momentarily to fetch a bottle of lube to further slick (Y/N)'s hole up before doing the same to himself in hopes it'd make the experience easier and more pleasurable. He dug his knees into the mattress and lined himself up, swallowing harshly. Fuck, his head was light and borderline empty.

"It... It's my first time.. doing it like this." He admitted, his face hot and his hand trembling. 

"Mine, too," (Y/N) revealed softly, reaching up to curl his fingers around Scott's necklace to pull him down.

His other hand reached into the jersey, taking out a familiar silver necklace that he hadn't seen in a long time. He pressed them together until they hooked, as they usually did, and smiled up at him.

"Scott... I love you, too." 

Scott stared down at him, the back of his eyes prickling, and he leaned in, kissing him while simultaneously pushing in slowly, swallowing the moan (Y/N) let out. He pushed and pushed until he was buried deep inside him, their mouths parted to pant into each other's mouths while they accustomed themselves to the new, overwhelming feelings. 

"I love you," Scott mumbled, feeling drunk, his shoulders shaking with a pleasurable shudder. 

"I love you, too."

2017, New York City, One Year and Six Months Later

The cheers and roar of the crowd were deafening as Los Angeles and New York City went head-to-head for the last round to win the Stanley Cup and be the champions of the 2016-2017 season.

The New York Admirals had had a phenomenal time the entire season, hardly losing most of their games and fighting with a vengeance for that final award to prove to the world that they were back in business.

(Y/N) sat with the WAGs and children of the team, which no one batted an eye at, thankfully, and he watched from his spot as the players raced by on the ice, wrestling for the puck and slamming each other into the boards.

He chewed on his bottom lip anxiously, his eyes darting around to watch everyone closely, wincing at mistakes and perking up when the Admirals had advantages. 

Laura wrapped her arms around his, her knee bouncing rapidly and her head craning to keep an eye on her husband's figure. "They've got this." She whispered, mostly to herself, and squeezed his arm whenever the teams grew close to the goalposts Eric guarded thoroughly. "They've got this. They've got this."

Greg wanted it, needed it, really. He'd announced it'd be his final season a few months prior, as he wanted to finally retire to be at home with his growing children, and he wanted to go out with a triumphant bang.

There was a lot riding on the Admiral's shoulders, but regardless of the outcome, they'd done better than they had in recent years, and that was something to be proud of. 

(Y/N) braced himself, his breath catching in his throat and muscles clenching tight, his eyes tracking the puck as it slid across the ice and-

A second of silence, and then screams of cheers from Admiral fans that leaped up onto their feet and thrusted their arms in the air vibrated through the stadium.

The WAGs shrieked and cheered, bolting up from their seats to jump up and down, clapping their hands together in pure delight. (Y/N)'s heart felt as if it were going to burst from how hard it thumped in his chest, his feet planting firmly on the floor and body rising, laughter raining from his lips. 

They'd finally fucking done it!

(Y/N) watched the Admirals gather around to receive the Stanley Cup while Los Angeles retreated, his cheeks aching from how hard he smiled at the sight of Scott taking the trophy in his hands and raising it high into the air with a victory roar.

(Y/N)'s eyes watered with a mixture of pride and bittersweetness, a quiet part of him desperately wishing he'd been on the ice, but the win was equally his as it was theirs. 

Carter took the trophy from Scott and skated around the arena, thrusting it up in the air for fans to see, whooping and hollering the entire time.

A referee skated by the private seating and guided them onto the ice, many children hurrying toward their awaiting fathers to be embraced. (Y/N) trailed behind, chuckling when Greg swooped by to steal a kiss from Laura and haul his kids into his arms with a blissful shout.

(Y/N) opened his arms for an embrace, patting and rubbing Greg's back. "You did great, man." He told him, patting the back of his shoulder and leaning back to continue embracing his old teammates with praises and congratulations.

He searched through the crowd until he found Scott, his lips tugging up into a grin the second they made eye contact. Scott skated over to him, his face covered in a light sheen of sweat, making his hair cling to his forehead.

His shoulders were still rising and falling with hard pants, but the smile on his face was big and vibrant. (Y/N) parted his lips to congratulate him, but Scott beat him to it.

"Can I kiss you, baby?" Scott asked, breathless, his brows pulling together pleadingly. 

(Y/N)'s mouth fell open. They'd had plenty of conversations about coming out eventually, and went back and forth on how they'd do it. Scott had wanted it to be casual, laid-back, something that wouldn't be attention-grabbing like a social media post or mentioning it in an interview. (Y/N), really, couldn't have given a shit.

"Okay."

He nodded quickly, his eyes crinkling with a startled yet pleased laugh. His parents were in the crowd somewhere, so he could only imagine the onslaught of questions they'd be facing when they returned home. They'd been supportive, at least, and glad that (Y/N) had brought someone as attentive as Scott home.

"Yeah, yeah, come here, dummy."

Without any hesitation, Scott lunged forward, wrapping his arms around him and bending down due to the foot or two of height the skates gave him. (Y/N) paid little mind to the feel and smell of the sweat or the faint leather from the gear, or the gasps and shouts that rang out across the stadium, combined with the announcers' stumbling to describe what they were witnessing to the audience watching from television screens.

(Y/N) fisted Scott's jersey in his hands and pressed his mouth against his harder, humming with delight when Scott lifted him up and against his chest. (Y/N) wrapped his arms around Scott's shoulders, one hand raising to brush his fingers over the hairs growing at the nape of Scott's neck, more laughter escaping when they pulled away. 

"I love you," Scott whispered, his eyes sparkling with affection.

"I love you, too," (Y/N) replied softly, holding onto Scott when the captain set him back on the ice. "You did amazing, Scott. I would've done better, but..." (Y/N) shrugged, and Scott huffed out a laugh. "You were alright."

"Yeah, well, I'm glad we won...  because it makes this even better."

The smile on (Y/N)'s face fell, air rapidly escaping his lungs when Scott lowered himself down on one knee. It was a tad awkward, given the skates and all, but Scott looked as if he hardly minded.

The cheers, whoops, and ecstatic shrieks of the team and their families were louder than the shocked roar of the crowd, but all (Y/N) heard was his heart in his ears and all the blood rushing to his face.

"I don't have the ring on me right now, obviously, but..." Scott's cheeks flushed red, his smile nervous. (Y/N) stared at him, frozen in place. "(Y/N) (L/N), will you give me the- the honor of being my husband and making me- Fuck." Scott's eyes began to shine with the glimmer of tears that he tried to wipe away with his fingertips. "And making me the happiest man on Earth?"

(Y/N) nodded rapidly, his voice threatening to crack when he began to answer. "Y-Yes, yeah, absolutely- holy shit!"

He blinked away the tears that formed in his eyes, the bottom of his shoes sliding over the ice to close the distance between them again. Scott staggered onto his feet and met him halfway, his hand cradling the back of (Y/N)'s head as they kissed again, their teeth nearly clacking from how hard they pressed their mouths together.

They pulled away to tightly embrace, and (Y/N) heard the quiet sigh of relief from Scott when they heard a thunderous applause, though (Y/N) imagined half of it came from pure shock or confusion. They untangled from each other and turned to face the back-to-back embraces from the Admirals and their families, finally letting the happy tears spill from their eyes. 

(Y/N)'s fingers curled around his necklace, squeezing it. He'd never thought in a million years he'd ever achieve this sort of love, but he'd done it. With Scott-fucking-Hunter. He watched Scott hurry over to his parents, who stood at one of the entrances, throwing his arms around them with a resounding laugh. (Y/N) softened.

God, I love that man.

(L/N),

I hope you're doing well. We haven't seen or spoken with each other in a long time, but I've tried to keep up with your well-being periodically ever since hearing about the accident back in 2013. I was surprised to hear about your time in rehab, and inspired by your choice to advocate and speak up for other addicts.

I know this may come as a surprise to you, given our history on the ice, but I always admired your talent and dedication to hockey, so I was sorry to hear that you'd been struggling after retirement.

That being said, what happened at the Stanley Cup final a few days ago came as another surprise, but a happy one. I've seen some of the negative posts and comments on social media made by fans or fellow players, but I've also seen many posts of support.

Even though this probably means nothing to you, you and Hunter have my and my family's support as well. It must've taken guts to come out at such a public event whilst live on camera, but I've always known you were a brave man. Send Hunter my well wishes.

(Y/N) had ultimately chosen the Long Island center over the one in the Hamptons. That meant long expanses of flat fields and vibrant trees while he drove through the hamlet where the center was located, the serene scenery around him helping him keep his nerves at bay.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel along to the beat of the song playing from the radio, his mouth in a relaxed smile.

"Okay, okay, Laura says it's perfectly fine to get emotional," Greg grunted, and Laura spoke again. "She wants me to remind you that (Y/N) is medicated, and that he might seem off, but that he won't have to be on medication forever. She thinks once he's back and finds some stability, he may be able to lower his dosage and eventually get off it altogether, okay?"

Scott fought to keep the smile on his face. "Got it."

(Y/N) managed to keep up his promise of staying in touch for the first three months, but then he had agreed to stay a little longer, and what had been meant to be a four to six-month stay turned into eleven whole months.

He responded to Scott's emails every once in a while and called him at least once a month, updating him on how things were progressing or telling him drama he'd seen or overheard, but Scott still felt out of the loop.

Again.

He told himself it was fine, that (Y/N) was receiving the help he needed, which was made more obvious when Laura told him (Y/N) had been prescribed antidepressants. Scott was glad for it, or at least he convinced himself he was. He only wished (Y/N) had been the one to tell him.

"Hey, I'll call you when we're on our way back to the city, okay?"

"Alright, take care."

"You too, man. Thanks for everything."

Scott fiddled with his phone to hang up the call and slumped back into the driver's seat, twisting the wheel to pull down the private road leading up to the center.

It had a good property, lots of forested acres meant to help patients reconnect with nature through long walks or hikes. He'd spent the first few weeks analyzing every piece of information on the website and studying all the photos provided, trying to envision (Y/N) there.

(Y/N) had muttered over the phone during his first month that he felt as if he were in a cult, so Scott assumed it took him a while to warm up to the idea of hiking with strangers.

He'd had his own private bedroom and made the offhand mention of a therapy dog and the fancy food they served in the cafeteria. He complained frequently about the family counseling sessions with his parents, but eventually reluctantly admitted it wasn't so bad.

Gradually taking his foot off the gas pedal, Scott handed his ID over to the security guard at the gate, muttering a polite thanks and sliding it back into his wallet before he took a turn into the parking lot area. He pulled into a spot and grabbed his phone, suppressing the anxious bouncing of his knee and taking a deep breath.

Scott

I'm here!

Scott set his phone aside and released the air in his lungs in a long exhale, rubbing his palms over his pants and keeping his eyes trained on the side mirrors until he spotted (Y/N) approaching.

(Y/N)

Ok.

He straightened up and ensured the car was unlocked, a slow smile stretching out across his face as giddiness exploded in his chest. (Y/N) popped the trunk open and set his luggage inside, coming around the side of the car and getting in. 

"Hey!" Scott greeted, his ears warming at the blatant excitement in his voice.

His eyes flickered all over (Y/N) to drink him in after so long. He seemed alright, if not tired from his slightly half-lidded eyes and the way he stretched out in the car a bit as if he'd recently woken from a nap.

His cheeks looked a little fuller and his thighs a little thicker. Scott tried not to ogle him too much, but his gaze automatically lowered to the skin that exposed itself with (Y/N)'s little stretch. He made out some faint stretch marks.

Control yourself.

"Can... Can I get a hug?" Scott asked, tugging on his seatbelt to face him.

(Y/N) snorted softly and nodded, leaning over to wrap his arms around Scott. Scott squeezed him in a tight embrace, his face burying itself in his neck and taking a deep inhale. He smelled like himself, alongside a faint smell of cinnamon and vanilla that clung to his skin and clothes, likely from a candle.

Scott sighed, pleased. "I missed you. A lot." He told him as they pulled back, his hands coming to rest over the steering wheel while he waited for (Y/N) to buckle himself in. He put the car in reverse and pulled out of the parking spot, turning his attention to the long road ahead. "Are you hungry? You want me to stop anywhere?"

"Nah," (Y/N) replied, propping his arm up on the glove compartment between the seats and resting his temple against his fist. "I had lunch already. The food was always good, at least. Lasagna was on the menu today."

"Sounds delicious." Scott smiled, glancing at him. "So... you liked it, then? You think it was a good experience? You have... everything you need to feel okay again? I, uhm, I heard you're on medication and all that. I wish you had told me."

(Y/N) shifted slightly in the seat, crossing his ankles and lifting his head to prop his chin over his fist. "I didn't want you stressing, Scott. I didn't tell you things so you could focus on the season, which apparently didn't change anything 'cause I hear the Admirals barely got far." He clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"I know." Scott had heard plenty of disappointed opinions from sports stations and channels. He'd do better in the 2015-2016 with (Y/N) finally home. "Tell me, then. Everything. How was it?"

(Y/N)'s silence left him frowning, his head turning so he'd be able to glance between him and the road a couple of times. (Y/N) swiped his tongue over his lips in slow contemplation, his gaze not quite meeting Scott's.

"Detox was, uhm... rough. I was a dick to everyone because I felt like shit. I was throwing up all the time and, uh... apparently had a seizure at one point. Don't remember much about it."

Scott stared at the road, his mouth agape. "What?"

"The nurses and all that got it handled, but... it wasn't fun. They gave me this thing called, uh, acampro- acampr- some shit like that to help with cravings." (Y/N)'s hand dropped and he fiddled with his fingers, rubbing them together and pursing his lips. "I think... it put some things in perspective. I defintely don't want to go through something like that again. The whole detox experience was agony."

Part of Scott understood why (Y/N) or anybody else hadn't called to tell him. He knew if he'd been told, he would've dropped everything to be at the center to demand to see him, and it would've completely consumed his mind throughout the entirety of the season.

Another part of him only felt frustration. He wanted to be trusted with that kind of information!

"The psychologist did prescribe me antidepressants. They- I don't know, they kinda suck. They're supposed to make me calm, but they really just make me tired all the time. Sometimes, if I get up too quickly, I get lightheaded. Oh, and they make it hard to get hard." The corner of (Y/N)'s mouth quirked. 

Scott chuckled despite himself, his eyes rolling. "I doubt you were getting much action in there to make that a serious problem."

"You'd be surprised," (Y/N) muttered, and Scott's head whipped around to look at him wide-eyed. He blew a raspberry. "Pay attention to the road, dumbass. I meant other people. There were some serious love stories going on in there. Lots of Romeos and Juliets hoping to reunite after leaving."

"Huh..." Scott hadn't considered romance in rehab before. "Good for them. I'm sure the nurses and staff weren't too pleased about it, considering it could be a distraction, but it must be nice to have someone to rely on. Someone to fight for. I bet for those who don't have many people on the outside, it's a great feeling."

"I guess." (Y/N) reached his hand out to search for a better music station. "You would've totally fallen in love in there. You're... desperate."

"Desperate? How am I desperate?" Scott's shoulders shook with a little puzzled laugh, his brows furrowing slightly. "If I were desperate, I would've gone on a million dates by now. I would have slept with half of New York's male population."

Sort of. Maybe. He hadn't built the confidence for that kind of thing yet. 

"Mm, you would if you were out," (Y/N) said, settling on an rnb station and nodding his head along to the song.

He gazed out the window, watching the buildings pass by until they hit the highway, his face growing neutral. Scott gripped the wheel a little tighter, smiling a little to himself. Things had occurred in his life, too. Things he hadn't yet told (Y/N) in his various emails to him, although he'd ensured to keep him updated on everyone else. 

"Actually, I... I came out to a lot of the guys. I'm working up to it, (Y/N). I... I want to be out and happy and- and living the life that I want soon. I don't know if I'm ready to come out to the league or be the first publicly gay NHL player, but I'll get there. Eventually." Scott revealed, his smile widening. 

It'd been terrifying and nauseating, but he'd done it with the support and encouragement of Carter and Greg. They had his back through and through, providing him with the reassurance that he needed to feel comfortable enough to take that step forward.

It'd come as a surprise to most of the guys he told, but they'd accepted him with ease after processing and adjusting. It felt... freeing. He couldn't imagine how it'd feel once he was fully out to the world.

No more hiding how he felt, no more anxiety over how he looked or acted, no more pretending. He'd be able to go outside and freely love whoever he chose to date. 

(Y/N) raised his brows at him. "Whoa, good for you, Scott. How'd that go? You must've been shitting a break, huh?"

"It definitely wasn't easy, and it took some of them a bit to really process, but they understand. Bennett actually suspected it, apparently. He... He told me he thought I had a crush on you, but he always told himself that it was nothing." Scott's cheeks burned as he spoke, moving one hand from the steering wheel to scratch his temple. "Kip's been giving me a lot of advice. Every time a celebrity comes out, he tells me." 

"Kip's still hanging around?" (Y/N) looked forward, his mouth twisting into a line. "Another desperate one. I bet he was hanging around like a shark after I left. How's that been like? Am I going to get to your place and find him on the lease, or will I get the mercy of not having to live with him?"

"Kip and I aren't together, (Y/N). I... I let him down easy a while back. We're just friends, okay? We hang out at my place sometimes, and I get him tickets to games if he's interested. He's good company. You'd know if you weren't so grumpy." Scott reached toward him to pinch his cheek, chuckling when (Y/N) swatted at him. "He asks about you from time to time."

"Well, he can't exactly be a dick about me when he wants to get into your pants, Scott. I'm sure that wouldn't go over well." (Y/N) folded his arms over his chest, sucking his teeth. His head shook lightly. "Besides, I get a pass, don't I?"

Scott shot him a look. "No, you don't, which I'm sure you know well."

"Yeah," (Y/N) sighed, slumping in his seat and sinking into his hoodie. "Accountability, or whatever. Honestly, I think you're the only person I have to make amends with right now."

"Not really."

"I was an asshole, okay? I knew it then, and I know it now. I- I took advantage of your kindness, and I made you miserable in your own home." (Y/N)'s head lolled to the side to look at him. "Scott Hunter, I apologize for being unkind, ungrateful, and an overall jerk to you while I was staying in your home. What can I do to fix this?"

Scott's lips parted to reassure him he had to do absolutely nothing, that he'd been forgiven long ago, and then, a thought struck him.

"Live with me." He answered promptly, nodding to himself. "You can fix things by living with me, keeping me company. The guest bedroom is yours. You can pay whatever amount of rent you want, and we can establish some rules. That's how you make things up to me."

(Y/N) stared at the side of his head blankly. "I can make up for making you miserable while we lived together... by living together?"

"Yep." Scott flashed him a smile. "We can divide chores, I guess, and you'll have the place to yourself during games, unless you want to come with us. I can make us breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day, and you can wash the dirty dishes. We can switch who cleans what on certain days, and maybe we can eventually adopt a pet. Maybe an emotional support dog, or something like that."

"Roommates don't adopt dogs together, Scott."

"Yes, they do."

Scott nodded quickly, slowing down with the traffic until he came to a full stop. He smiled at him, his gaze softening in the slightest. He'd been inviting Kip over constantly to fill up the silence, to the point that Kip would occasionally bring one or two of his friends along to hang out.

"Roommates get pets all the time."

"That's dumb." (Y/N) crinkled his nose. "What happens when one moves out? Who gets the poor pet then? Or do they share custody? I'm not sharing custody with you, Scott."

Scott grinned. "Never move out, then."

"That would be your reasoning." (Y/N) rolled his eyes. "You're so predictable, man."

"Well, those are my terms. I will only accept making amends with you if you move in with me." Scott's voice was light and teasing, his arm propping on the glove compartment and tilting to jab a finger into (Y/N)'s side playfully. (Y/N) grunted, his head shaking again. "What do you say, (Y/N)? Will you live with me or not? 'Cause my place is the cheapest, nicest home available you'll find right now."

"You're unbelievable," (Y/N) huffed out a little chuckle. "Fine. Fine. I'll live with you in your gigantic penthouse, but I don't want to hear strange noises whenever you have someone over, and I want to be notified when Kip comes over. I... will play nice with him because he's your new best friend-"

"He's not."

"-and I guess, he's been keeping you company while I've been gone, so I have something to thank him for. That doesn't mean he and I are going to become friends or anything, though. I don't like smoothies enough for that, but I'm sure you've become a regular at that dumb shop. Strawberry, or whatever."

"Actually, it's pronounced straw-plus-berry." (Y/N) deadpanned. Scott's grin widened. "Jus' letting you know. Kip's passionate about getting the name right. He told me very firmly that it's not strawberry, it's straw-"

"I heard you the first time, Scott." Scott cracked up. "I'm not deaf, buddy."

The rest of the ride home was comfortable, filled with light conversation about the previous game season and stories (Y/N) had heard from others who'd been staying at the center.

He recounted funny moments and serious chats he'd had with one of the on-site therapists, as well as how the family sessions had gone and the referrals they'd provided to him for aftercare.

Night had fallen by the time they arrived in the city and parked, and Scott felt ten times lighter than when he'd left. They stepped into the elevator and rode up to the unit in silence, and he opened the door for them once the elevator reached his unit.

He watched, relief spreading through his body, as (Y/N) walked into the penthouse and headed down the hallway to the bedroom. 

(Y/N) was home. Permanently.

Scott's teeth dug into his bottom lip, failing to bite back the wide smile on his face while he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of the couch. He took out his phone and tapped on one of the conversations, his legs leading him to (Y/N)'s bedroom.

He could already envision some of (Y/N)'s old things that'd been sitting in storage filling up the apartment. His stomach fluttered.

Scott

(Y/N)'s home. He seems to be doing better.

"Hey, do you want me to whip something together for dinner or..."

Kip

That's great! Happy for you both.

Scott swallowed at the sight of (Y/N)'s shirtless upper body, his hoodie crumpled up in his hands. He'd lost some mild muscle definition and gotten a little fuller in places... and all Scott wanted to do was take a bite of him, or maybe have (Y/N) take a bite. His face flushed immediately at the thought, and he averted his eyes, tapping his phone in his palm.

"Uhm," He cleared his throat. "Do you want me to order something? Pizza? Uh, there's- there's a new place that opened down the street that does delivery. They have a lot- a lot of options." Fuck, man. "What do you, uh, think?"

"I would kill for some chicken wings," (Y/N) replied, tossing the hoodie into the laundry basket and hooking his fingers into the waistband of his sweats, dragging them down his legs.

Scott tried to focus on (Y/N)'s face and not where he wanted to dig his fingers in or press his mouth against. He nodded a little too rapidly to be casual. "They have that on the menu, I think. Uhm, you don't want them boneless, right? With fries and- and a drink?"

"Mhm." (Y/N) laughed breathlessly and dropped the sweatpants into the basket, too. He motioned to the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower. Maybe... we can watch some movies together? Maybe try to get through as many Star Wars movies?" He tilted his head, his smile faint.

Scott perked up. "Yeah, yeah, totally! I'll call the place and, uhm, I'll put on the first movie once you're done. I'll probably take a shower, too." 

"Great."

"Great!"

With a wide smile, Scott turned and fumbled with his phone a bit, finding the restaurant and giving them a call. Once he placed the order, he headed to his bedroom and grabbed some fresh clothes, setting them on the bathroom counter and searching for a different contact next. He pressed the phone to his ear, his fingers fiddling with the drawstring of the pajama pants.

"Hey, Hunter. Get home safely? How's our firecracker doing so far?"

"It was a smooth drive back home." Scott turned the shower nozzle on and stepped into the doorway so his voice wouldn't be muffled by the noise. "(Y/N) looks good. He seemed to like the center, though he's... kind of low-energy, I guess. I think it's the medication, but other than that, he... he seems fine. I can see the old him coming back little by little, and.. he agreed to move in with me."

"Really?" Greg sounded surprised. "Well, look at that. I bet you're excited about having him around more." Greg chuckled. "It'll be easier to job-search once he gets settled back in. You think he has anything in mind? Laura says it'd be less stressful to have a specific area he wants to go into."

"I don't know." Scott leaned against the doorway and watched the mirror slowly fog up. "I wouldn't mind taking care of everything. I make enough money to support at least three families, and I'm sure he's still got plenty of money in the bank." 

"You know him, Scott. He'd go insane being stuck doing nothing all day." True, true. Keeping busy would keep him from giving in to any cravings, too. "Have you talked to Murdock? Maybe he's got a job he can give (Y/N). Then, he could come with us during the season. The guys would probably like having him around again."

Scott hadn't heard (Y/N) make any mention of wanting to visit rinks or even reminiscing about his days as captain yet. 

"I don't think he'd be happy about being around Zullo, Huff." No amount of therapy would prevent (Y/N) from picking a fight with him. It'd take a miracle from some magical deity to ease the grudge both of them had when it came to Frank Zullo. "I doubt he'd be happy about being on the sidelines, too. I'll talk to him, see where his head's at."

"Alright. Laura and I will be on the lookout for any job offerings that might interest him. I gotta go get the kids into bed, Scott. I'll talk to you later."

"Alright... thanks again for everything, Greg. It means a lot to me, and I'm sure it means a lot to (Y/N), too."

"Anytime. We're a family."

Hanging up, Scott stripped and hopped into the shower, washing away at his skin and rubbing shampoo into his hair. He rinsed his hair and body, patting himself dry after turning off the shower and changing into his pajamas.

He checked his phone for any updates on the food as he rubbed a towel into his hair before he tossed the towel into the laundry basket and walked back out into the livingroom. 

(Y/N) sat on the couch in the livingroom, his legs crossed and his attention largely on his phone, typing away. Scott grabbed the remote and sat down beside him, resting his arm along the backside of the couch and searching for the first Star Wars movie.

He set the remote aside, nostalgia creeping in when the iconic soundtrack filled his ears, which brought back an onslaught of memories of them sitting together and watching the movies.

"So much space, and you have to sit right here?" (Y/N) raised his foot to lightly kick Scott's knee, his head tilting to lean on the back cushion. "Clingy."

"I missed you." Scott cooed, the hand on the backrest reaching toward him, his fingers brushing along the back of his head. His eyes roved over (Y/N)'s face, taking in every inch of him and committing it to memory. "I haven't seen you in what feels like years, (Y/N). Let me have this." 

"Drama queen," (Y/N) mumbled, moving his head so it'd rest over Scott's arm. Scott's skin tingled with delight. "You've always been so dramatic."

"Me?" Scott shifted to face him, leaning in inch by inch, his eyes lingering on (Y/N)'s lips. "I'm the dramatic one?"

The corners of (Y/N)'s mouth raised, his head lifting. "Definitely."

Scott stopped when (Y/N) placed his hand over his chest, an apology swiftly forming on his tongue, but (Y/N) surprised him by leaning in, closing the distance.

Scott's arms immediately wrapped around him, pulling him in against his body, leaving (Y/N) sitting halfway on his lap. His hands dipped beneath (Y/N)'s shirt, eagerly exploring his back and sides while their tongues brushed and licked into each other's mouths. 

(Y/N) pulled back a little too soon for Scott's liking, his forehead pressing against Scott's. "I don't think I can- I can get, you know."

His face warmed, his eyes jumping away in embarrassment. Scott peered down between them. The evidence of his interest was noticeable, but when he tentatively pressed his palm against (Y/N)'s pants...

"Oh." Scott breathed out, trying to mask his disappointment. It stung, faintly, but he reminded himself it wasn't his fault.

"Yeah, I might make an appointment and see if I can get on a different medication that'll make my dick work again," (Y/N) sighed deeply, his bottom lip rolling into his mouth. He adjusted himself on Scott's lap. "I... did think about you. A lot." Scott's eyes shot up, widening slightly. "I... I don't know how ready I am for a relationship, but... I do.. like you. I think I have for a while, and never realized."

"Really?" Scott set a hand over (Y/N)'s back, keeping him steady while he sat up. His heart picked up in pace, and his skin flushed furiously beneath his clothes. Holy shit. "You... like me?" He cracked a smile, playful. "(Y/N) (L/N) has a crush?"

"Oh, I take it all back, you ass," (Y/N) groaned, his hands pressing against the couch to move back, but Scott wrapped his arms around him to stop him. "I take it back. I take it back. I don't like you, actually. You never crossed my mind. I was actually thinking about Kip the entire time. As a matter of fact, I was thinking about Rozanov and his stupid dumbass smirk."

"Uh-huh." Scott laughed, bright and giddy, and he buried his face in (Y/N)'s chest to hide the pure delight on his face. "I'm sure you were thinking about them, and not your best friend whose been in love with you for years, and you never noticed."

He hadn't realized how relieving it was to talk about it openly with him now. His head tilted back.

"So much for having a good eye."

"Fuck you." (Y/N) laughed, slapping his shoulder. "You can't even tell when someone's into you, Scott." 

Scott surged forward, claiming his lips in a sweet kiss, and feeling on cloud-fucking-nine about it. "We can take things slow." He agreed when he pulled away, helping (Y/N) slide off his lap and back onto the couch. "We can figure things out once you get your medication sorted. I don't mind. I'm... just happy you're here with me."