#mattgabe

Look at this little cute sleepy guy 🥹

That's you when you sleep

Gabe/Mike/Mack/Connor :

No it's not I'm not that small 😒

Matt/Sam/Will/Fraser :

gabe can hear will and leno going at it, words twisted with the type of vitriol only alcohol can bring out. they had disappeared at some point, one after the other and when they didn’t come back, gabe knew they were fighting.

he thinks of their last days in bc, when will told them he was leaving and gabe had nodded because he knew. he knew when the buzzer echoed across the rink and the devastation had settled heavy in his chest. he knew when he saw will looking at the score like if he could change it by sheer force.

he knew when macklin celebrini went first overall for the sharks.

will had dreams bigger than the burgundy and gold jerseys, dreams bigger than a national championship in the ncaa, dreams that didn’t involve him or leno or fowler or voter and anyone in between. it was the same dream as his and leno’s, but his dream had developed, centered around a boy with a too big smile and sea-green eyes.

the arguing escalates and gabe is tired of stepping in the middle of them, of leno’s vitriol and will’s forced apathy. he used to jump in the middle, soothe both of them until they could stand to be in the same room as each other.

the walls seem to shake as the bed shifts beside him, a hand carelessly hitting him before mack frowns. he was a surprise, trailing in behind will with a nervous look on his face.

gabe doesn’t really care of what mack and will have going on; he had will first, him and leno had him before mack.

“are they fighting?” mack asks, voice heavy with sleep and it reminds gabe of the mack he played against while in bc. mack with his tooth gap and larger-than-life hockey abilities. gabe also knows, briefly, the mack before he became the next sidney crosby, the savior of the sharks.

it’s also the same mack from marmon, with a newspaper boy hat, sunglasses that weren’t his and flushed cheeks and giggly, draped over will and gabe like it was nothing, like if leno wasn’t itching to reach over and shove mack away, a metaphoric dog circling them, protecting something he thinks is still his.

“yeah.” gabe mutters, eyeing the door like will or leno will bulldoze through it.

mack moves to get up and gabe grabs at him, “don’t.”

he gives gabe a strange look, his eyes drifting to where gabe’s hand is wrapped around his wrist. gabe doesn’t let go, pulls him down until he’s laid beside him again.

for as long as he can remember, he had to pick a side, the deciding vote in their trio. it made leno huffy when he chose will, will would frown, tilt his head as if he could change gabe’s mind with a single glance when gabe went with whatever leno wanted.

he chooses himself, in the room he always slept in when they came down to the cap, in the same bed he shared with will where they had exchanged kisses and handies and swapped promises like they meant something real and tangible and not something you say when the heat in your stomach bursts and their name is a prayer on your lips.

gabe has something real and tangible in new york, in his small two bedroom apartment that cost an arm and leg but has a nice view of the city at night and gloomy early mornings. he has the vets that adore him and praise him when he puts in the effort and results starts to show even as late as they did in the season.

he’ll have drew beside him and he has this thing with remps he wants to try and make work and he doesn’t have time to wonder if leno and will are going to have twisted hate sex like they do every time they met up. if fowler was here, he would’ve dragged gabe away, sit on him if he had to to stop him from trying to put the broken pieces together.

he looks over at mack who is staring at the ceiling, gabe’s hand still wrapped around his wrist. he thinks of letting go, but it feels like if he lets go of mack, then he lets go of will and his brain still can’t part with that, so he tugs at mack until he gets the hint and then they’re sneaking across the house and down to the beach.

mack is quiet as they sit on the sand, head bowed back as he leans on his elbows, long body stretched out in front of him. gabe sits with his knees tucked to his chest, his head resting on his knees as he watches the waves roll in.

it’s nice, simply existing in the presence of another person and not feeling like he has to defend will and leno. he spent most of the day acting like a barrier, eyes constantly flitting over their friends to find them, pressed together like if leno’s grip on will still exists and will’s willingness to appease his friend is nothing if not just politeness.

the sun slowly rises, and gabe thinks of what he’s going to do once he gets back to new york. he has the dev camp thing with drew that he did last year with remps, and he has a tentative date with him too. he thinks of the not-dates remps took him out on under the guise of getting to know new york.

mack lets out a huffy sigh, sitting up properly. his shoulder brushes against gabe’s and he’s burrowing his hands into the sand, lifting them up and watching the grains slip through his fingers.

“sorry this is how your fourth ended.” gabe says and mack snorts, a grin beginning to peek at the edges of his mouth.

“i’m canadian, traitor.” he says, “i couldn’t give less of a shit about the fourth, i just wanted to see will.”

it makes gabe laugh even though something small seizes in his chest; he swore himself to red, blue and white, to fifty stars and a dream that died a year ago. he’ll never know what it’s like to wear the maple leaf and play beside the greats of canada that now include mack.

distantly, he hears a door slam shut and the rev of an engine. gabe doesn’t turn to look, simply presses into mack a bit more. will is going to find them soon, blue eyes shiny with tears and nose twitching in effort to not burst into tears because a part of will is always going to love leno, probable-first loves and the devastation that comes with it.

“take will home.” gabe says, “don’t let him text leno.” because leno knows that will always crawls back to him in some way shape or form.

will calls mack’s name, voice shaky despite his effort to keep it steady. gabe turns back to the water and wonders what remps is doing.

mack stands up, brushing the sand off of him, “see you in october.”

gabe nods, waving him away.

mack can keep will, can learn all his soft and squishy sides, can learn what pisses him off and how sweet he can be when he wants something.

"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.