#macdrouin

I haven't seen this one from yesterday making the rounds yet

i’ve had this prompt for so long and then this still isn’t that long and is more about The Trade than anything else i’m sorry :(((

Jo’s phone rings while they’re still in bed, slowly waking up after a nap. Nate grumbles about the noise and tries to pull Jo back into the cocoon they’ve created, but it’s his agent. He has to take this call.

(He’s hoping for a trade. Of course he’s hoping for a trade. He might be happier in Tampa now that he used to be, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy.)

…

holy shit it’s Montreal, he’s been traded to the Habs, he’s a Montreal Canadien now, holy shit holy shit holy shit

“What is it?” Nate asks, sitting up and blearily rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Jo’s staring in shock at his phone, still trying to process the information. “They traded me,” he whispers.

“To where?” And Nate’s so hopeful, even though they’ve discussed Colorado and how so very unlikely it is, and Jo feels the excitement bubbling up in him recede, just a little.

But only a little, because he’s a Hab. “Montreal,” he says, biting his lip to keep from grinning. If he starts, he doesn’t think he can stop.

Nate does it for him, though, that smile Jo loves so much spreading over his face like the sun coming out. “Montreal? Here?” he asks, like he can’t believe his ears.

Jo nods, letting his own smile break free. “Here,” he repeats. “Nate, I’m a Hab.”

“You are, holy shit, oh my god, you’re gonna be great, I’m so proud of you,” Nate bursts out, tackling Jo back down onto the bed and kissing him anywhere he can reach.

They’re both laughing now, Nate’s infectious joy adding to the already ecstatic butterflies in Jo’s stomach, and Jo feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest. He kisses Nate on the lips once, soundly, and then giggles some more when Nate decides to rub his beard all over Jo’s neck.

Then Jo’s phone buzzes again. It’s only a text, this time, and Jo reaches blindly and almost knocks the water off the nightstand before he gets his hands on it. “They want me there in an hour,” he says, pushing Nate off and rushing to get dressed.

Nate mock-pouts. “Does that mean we can’t go golfing?”

“You hate golfing,” Jo points out.

“Yeah, okay, fine, but I’m headed home soon and – and I wanted to spend more time with you,” Nate says, all in a rush, as if it’s something he has to admit. As if Jo isn’t thinking about Nate every waking moment they’re not together, as if he hasn’t meticulously planned out ways that they could be together all the time, as if Jo wouldn’t choose him over hockey if it came down to that.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promises, pausing in buttoning his shirt to give Nate another quick kiss.

Nate leans into it, and Jo wishes they had more time. He always does. But at least it’s the offseason, and he can come back home to Nate in a few hours. They’ve got something, even if it’s not the everything they want.

Following him out as far as the kitchen, Nate watches, still in his pajamas, as Jo scrambles to find his shoes. “They’re by the trash can, babe,” he says, after letting Jo suffer for far too long.

“Thanks,” Jo says anyways, still blushing at the pet name after years and years together. “Don’t burn down the place while I’m gone, okay?”

“Would never think of it,” Nate says, rolling his eyes and going to rummage through the pantry for snacks.

Jo laughs, turning to head out the door. Before he even gets it open, though, Nate calls, “Babe?”

“Yes?” Jo answers, turning around in confusion. “Did I forget something?”

“Your ring,” Nate says, stone-faced. “You’re going for press. They – they can’t see it.”

Jo sighs. He’s gotten so used to wearing it here, where he’s unlikely to be recognised even with Nate at his side all the time, and it’s become a comforting weight on his finger, visible to the world, instead of hidden on a chain around his neck. But he knows Nate’s right.

He slips it off, dropping it in the bowl on the console table. “Keep it safe for me, yeah?”