#jackboldy

Truthfully Boldy didn't expect to see Jack in his apartment again after leaving him there to head off to the rink. In fact, he had half expected him to hitch a ride home with Quinn and crash at his place after the game.

Yet, here he is, sprawled out on Boldy's couch dead asleep. Which means he falls asleep way too easily and that he went out of his way to find and steal Matt's spare key before heading to the rink himself. It was all so insane and also exactly something Jack would do.

And there is really only one thing Boldy can do about it; absolutely nothing.

He kicks his shoes off and tosses his bag onto the armchair—not really in the mood to unpack or put anything away. He slumps down into the space at the end of the couch Jack wasn't occupying. For someone so short—at least in comparison to Matt—he took up far too much space.

Boldy really should get up and go find an extra blanket and pillow for Jack if he wanted to insist on staying the night. And he should bury himself into his bed and pretend the playoffs don't exist for a second.

He doesn't do any of that. Instead, he just leans his head back, closes his eyes, and pretends for just a second that this is all completely normal. That Jack always steals his key to fall asleep in his apartment after a game. That Jack always stays the night at his place instead of Quinn's all the time. That–

“How's your head?”

Boldy jolts, whipping his head around fast enough that his neck screams in complaint. He winces and brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Fine, I guess.” He grits out, fingers massaging at his muscles for a second before his hand drops back down to his lap. He regards Jack for a second, takes in his half-asleep, bleary-eyed appearance long enough that his chest starts to ache. It feels far too domestic.

“Why are you here? Thought you'd be at Quinn's.”

Jack just shrugs and slides his legs off the couch. “Just felt like it. Besides, Quinn is probably at Fabes’ right now.”

Which makes sense, Quinn is at Faber's place more often than not these days. Something about how homey it was or whatever bullshit excuse Quinn gave him last time. It's more like Quinn wants to be surrounded by everything Brock as much as he possibly can, and being at his house is the easiest way to make it happen.

Boldy still doesn't understand why Jack decides to crash at his place though, he had a hotel room with a bed that was probably significantly more comfortable than Boldy's couch. Clearly, he didn't just ‘feel like it’ considering the extra key wasn't exactly in an obvious spot. Jack had gone hunting for that shit. In fact, Boldy doesn't even remember where he hid the key.

“Well, I'm glad my company is better than the solitude and comfort of your hotel room.” He tries to make it sound like a joke but it comes out a bit flat and too genuine. He's tired and it's so painfully obvious that Jack offers him a pity smile. “Course dude. Didn't hunt your key down for nothing.”

“Where was the key?”

“You don't even know where your own spare key is?” Jack's smile is the same one he used to wear when Bolds did something particularly stupid back when they were teammates. The chest ache is back.

Boldy reaches over and pushes at Jack's shoulder. He doesn't put much force into it so really it does nothing, but Jack laughs and leans a bit more into his space, so it's a win.

“It was in your nightstand drawer under the book that's been in there for 2 years, probably.” Boldy winces at the reminder of that fucking book. His mom gave it to him and he still hasn't even opened it. But it stares at him every time he opens that drawer and now it just makes him feel guilty because he's already read the book Jack lent him back in milan. Truly pathetic.

“You were in my room? You dug through my nightstand?”

“Yeah, I even took a nap on your bed.” And wow, wasn't that a picture. Jack Hughes curled up in his bed, wrapped up in his blankets. Jack's cologne is probably all over those sheets now. Straight from his fucking daydreams, and Matt really didn't need to know that that they were reality and he didn't even get to see it. “Really?” Boldy probably sounds a bit too hopeful because Jack's grin just gets wider. “Nah, but I thought about it.”

Boldy just rolls his eyes and turns his head away, trying not to show any of his disappointment. He almost said “You could have,” and that would have been truly embarrassing.

“Ok, but seriously how is your head?” Jack sounds concerned again, scooting closer as if he can somehow see the extent of the internal damage on the outside of Matt's head. “I'm fine, just a headache. I already took meds. I mean, the back of my head is sore, but what do you expect?” Remnants of the anger from before curl into his tone making him come off a bit more irritated than he intends, but he kind of just wants to not even be reminded of it. He would rather Jack not mention it at all.

Jack doesn't seem to be deterred by the tone or the somewhat annoyed and tired look Bolds’ sports, instead he just gently grabs Boldy's face to angle his head to the side. He kind of just lets it happen because he's weak, in love, and obviously wants Jack's hands on his face. “Fucking Benn,” Jack hisses under his breath, fingers skimming along his hairline and gently sliding up the back of his head. It's nice, it's way too nice and Jack should really stop right now before Boldy melts into a puddle. Then he dips forward and plants a kiss right under Boldy's ear. It sends shivers right down his spine and Boldy nearly jerks his head away.

“Come on,” Jack is standing now, grabbing Boldy's hand and tugging him up, “Let's get you into bed, it's late.”

Matt's brain is about three steps behind so he kind of just lets Jack pull him around his own apartment and sit right onto his bed. Jack is digging around his closet when he finally catches up. “Wait- hold on- what was-”

“Do you want sweats or shorts?” Right, okay, they'll just not mention it then. He kind of just blinks at Jack for a second before clearly his throat and speaking, “Uh– shorts?” Jack raises a brow at the question that really should have been a statement. “Wow, Kirill was right, you are easy.”

“What does that mean?” Boldy bristles, suddenly very offended with just how his teammates are talking about him. It just makes Jack laugh, which really isn't the reaction Boldy wants right now. He wants to reach over and cover his smug grin under his palm. “I just mean you get flustered so easily with people you like.” Jack is rounding the bed now, slotting himself between Boldy's knees. “It's cute, really.” He's smiling fondly now, hand coming up to gently touch the temple he had kissed earlier.

Oh god.

“Jack…” It's a borderline whine and it does nothing but amuse him further. “See, cute.”

Boldy groans dramatically and falls back on the bed, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes so he doesn't have to see the shit-eating grin on Jack's face. “Go away,” he whines—again—and tries to kick at Jack's shins. Jack just laughs and grabs Boldy's wrists. “Oh, you haven't wanted me to go away since the Olympics Matthew.”