#s writes!

It’s quiet. The only sources of sound are the crickets chirping outside and the occasional crack and snap of a worn out engine in an old ass vehicle.

You’ve washed your face and changed into some pajama pants and a tank top. You're sat atop your and Reacher's shared bed in some three star hotel room, wondering how fucked up tonight got.

It was supposed to be a simple stakeout. You and Reacher were meeting with someone at a bar a little outside of Margrave.

But of course, shit hit the fan as soon as possible.

You were drinking a soda, waiting on Reacher to finish conducting his little interview when jackass and friends came over.

“Why you drinkin’ all by your lonesome, hun?”

You act deaf but that just pissed them off.

“Hey. You fuckin’ deaf or somethin’?”

You look at them sideways which makes them laugh and oddly enough, think you’re playing hard to get.

“Come on now, baby, don’t be like that.”

“Yeahh, we could show you a real good time.”

The one that looks like the leader of the trio winks at you and you just can’t stand it anymore.

You pay for your soda, get off the stool and turn around to walk away when one of the three stooges grab your wrist, yanking you back.

“What the fuck—?!”

“Where you goin’?” He doesn’t sound so pleased but you don’t give a fuck.

You punch the guy restraining you in the nose, hard.

“You fuckin’ bitch.”

“You’re gonna pay for that.”

You blink and feel yourself being shielded.

Reacher.

You feel his large hand on your arm, maneuvering you behind him as he takes on the three short and scrawny (compared to mountain man over here) bastards quite easily.

Obviously, it’s not a bar fight without somebody playing dirty and pulling out a weapon at their convenience, and that’s exactly what happened!

Reacher is nicked along the lines of his abs before he snaps the guy’s wrist, jamming the knife into the other dude’s shoulder.

You winced and looked away.

Reacher rounds up the last dickhead and turns his lights off (temporarily) before you both skedaddle outta there.

And now you’re here.

Reacher opens the bathroom door to let some steam out, you observe his shirtless and injured state.

“Reacher...” Your guilt shows.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/n. I’ll be fine. I was just doing—”

“Please don’t say ‘my job’.”

He looks at you with an amused smile. The mountain man takes out the first aid kit and starts disinfecting his wounds.

You walk over and sit beside him on the counter, taking the alcohol soaked cotton ball and dab it gently.

It’s quiet again for a few minutes, no sign of awkward silence.

It’s strange, you didn’t even know this man a few weeks prior and now you’re cleaning his wounds. Not to mention, you’ve never seen the guy half-naked before and hot damn is he built like a Greek God.

You feel yourself heating up.

“It doesn’t look like it’ll need stitches, right?”

Reacher’s too busy staring at you. Your fixated eyes, your furrowed brows in concentration. He lowers his eyes towards your lips, slightly bitten in focus.

“Reacher?” You blink up at him.

“No.”

The husk in his voice catches you off guard. You gulp harshly, focusing back on the task at hand.

“You didn’t have to go that hard, you know.” You change the topic, dismissing the almost electric atmosphere.

He tilts his head at you like a confused dog. “Those bastards were harassing you, so I handled it.”

He says it with such clarity that you’d think it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You shake your head playfully, a smile tugging at your lips from his show of ferocity for you.

“And I appreciate it, I do.”

“I sense a rebuttal.” He quips.

You laugh through your nose. “I just wanted to say that despite your valiant efforts,” You pause to press a bandaid on his abs.

“Uh huh.”

“I was doing just fine.”

“That you were.”

He says it like he’s proud, like he’s so relieved to see you have your own back and toughen up when it’s time.

You know the world is a cruel place and that sometimes, only the strong survive. But you proved your strength and he recognizes it.

You meet his eyes and see him staring back into them. You see the different shade of blue in this light and angle; a dimly lit orange hue casts a nice glow onto his freshly shaved, chiseled face.

“I never noticed the many,” He inhales. “Freckles and moles and little scars on your face.”

“Now that I think about it, your nose is kind of big.” You humor him.

He squints his eyes playfully.

You really hope he picks up on the fact that you’re flirting. You want him to break the ice; to make the first move but would he be so willing? You think he’d be a tease and let you grow frustrated before appeasing.

“What are you thinking about?”

His hand comes up to rub the ends of some strands of your hair together, liking the softness of it.

“You.” You boldly answer.

He raises an eyebrow at your declaration. “What about me?”

There’s that voice again, god. The low timbre with the breathy whisper.

The smell of wood and cologne, everything clouds your senses.

Your breathing quickens just a tad when you feel the feathery touch from his fingers touch the sliver of exposed skin on your hip.

You wore the tank top because you were comfortable but now you applaud yourself for the smart choice.

He inches closer and closer; you could just push yourself up on your heels and meet him halfway.

Your eyelids flutter, fighting the battle between closing them to enjoy the moment or keeping them open to see the suspense.

Will he, won't he?

Suddenly, he leans back with a tube of Neosporin and screws the cap back on. Your eyes open up and he holds up the tube, pretending he wasn't just about to indulge you in your wildest fantasies.

“Really.”

You know he knows, but he just has to be a teasing little shit about it.

His face cracks and his lips split open to reveal the most beautiful smile; it makes you smile a little, too.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop.” He croons.

He leans forward and grips the countertop, trapping you between him. His gaze dart around your face before landing on your lips. He takes a deep breath.

“Can I—”

“Yes!” You pull his face in with both hands, not wasting any more time.

He laughs into your mouth and you find yourself wanting to hear more of it.

You’re lifted from the countertop with such ease, you’re reminded of his strength. Time and time again, his strength makes an appearance enabling your attraction to him to increase.

Reacher’s hands squeeze at your hips when you lick his bottom lip, wanting a taste of something more.

He nips at your throat, leaving love bites messily across your neck and soothing the pleasurable pain with the coolness of his tongue.

You bring him back to you and kiss him with tongue and teeth, feeling your nerves on fire and your heart about to burst.

He groans when your legs tighten around his abdomen. “You keep doing that, I won’t last.”

You giggle at the that and think about teasing but your resolve is weak when he lays you down on the bed.

You see a sparkle in his eyes, the kind that hypnotizes you; makes you want to swim in the turquoise waters of his mind.

“I’ve got it bad for you.” You softly admit.

Your hands are in his hair, softly toying with the brown strands.

He kisses you with such fervor, you can feel everything he’s ever wanted to say.

You can feel his desperation, his devotion, his care for you. You feel his longing in the way he holds you, in the way he kisses you soft and slow.

He pours his emotions into the searing kiss and you can cry.

He's sitting next to Mack in the video room, supporting Mack's weight from where he's slightly slumping against him. It's dark, and Mack is only half listening to what Warso is pointing out about Minnesota's defense. He knows he'll go over all the same things with Will later.

The point is, Mack is tired, and warm, and comfy. And he turns his head to glance at Will, just slightly. And Will turns back, and smiles at him, one of those smiles that Mack knows are only reserved for him, like he's the only one in the room. So, Mack really can't help it when it slips out, unprovoked.

"Love you," he mumbles, looking into the deep blue rings of Will's eyes, and nuzzles a little closer. He sees the smile drop from Will's face, expression turning serious, before realizing what the fuck he just said. He's immediately wide awake.

Will ducks his head closer towards Mack, "Actually?" he asks, voice low, making sure no one can hear.

Mack's eyes widen. What's the play here? What do you do when you tell your best friend that you love them in a dark room full of your teammates and your coach, in the middle of talking about Quinn fucking Hughes' edge control? He glances around, no one seems to be paying them any attention, like always. They have no idea Mack's world just tilted on its axis.

Because it's true, isn't it? True that he loves Will with every fiber of his being, that the first thing he saw when he woke up this morning was Will's mop of golden blonde hair, tangled in sheets and pajamas that all smelled like Will, surrounded by him in all the ways that mattered, in all the ways that made Mack feel safe. Maybe, those three words have been slowly simmering under the surface for a while, and are finally bubbling up like a volcano.

Will's eyes are still locked on Mack's, searching. He can tell Will's biting the inside of his cheek by the way his lips are twisted, like he's unsure.

Mack swallows, "I, uh," he pauses. Just bite the bullet, Celebrini. "Yeah. I do."

Will's lips quirk back up into a small, private smile. He nods, before turning back to look at the screen. Mack can see the white light of the projector reflecting off the slight tinge of pink high on Will's cheekbones. He's still smiling. Warso is still droning on about Quinn Hughes. The world didn't stop. It kept turning.

He feels the tip of Will's pinky graze his, before it hooks over his finger completely. Mack slides his hand closer, slowly, until Will's hand is covering his own. Mack turns away, biting back his own smile. Will's thumb swipes against Mack's hand once, twice, before fully interlacing their fingers, and squeezing gently.

Mack shifts again, pressing himself closer, so they're touching from shoulder to ankle. He hears Will huff out a breath, holding back a laugh. Will's turns his head, leaning in close to Mack's temple. "Me too, Celly. Always been you," he whispers, lips lingering in Mack's hair for a beat, before pulling back to look at the screen.

And Mack decides to tune back in too, because the second dumbest thing you could do in tape review behind declaring your love to your liney, is start furiously making out with them.

But later, oh later, that's definitely on the agenda.

~~~

this literally came to me in a dream guys i was thinking of mack and will being so fluffy and sweet in the back of the video room for some reason and i was like ugh mack feeling so loved and taken care of that 'i love you' just slips right out of his mouth involuntarily

His breathy snores—that damn deviated septum—or his soft giggles at a funny TikTok as they're both trying to fall asleep, or the steady, warm heat of his body when they'd both put their egos and fears aside and share. It's too quiet here, too unfamiliar without his one constant from the past two years.

Maybe it's a safety issue. Maybe Mack feels like he can only be himself around Will. So stuck in his orbit that only the best parts of him shine, and when the dark parts come out, Will takes them and tucks them away, never pushing Mack or making him feel small. 

Maybe that's why he let Dickie drag him to bar after bar, long after Sid had turned in for the night, talking to girls but never letting it lead anywhere. He didn't know when the pure thought of hooking up with a girl he'd never see again started to exhaust him.

He might be growing up. Maybe he was putting on a bit of a performance, thrown onstage without knowing any of his lines, squinting under the spotlight. There was only one person he wanted to spend all his time with after all. Someone who, despite being a homebody at only twenty-one years old, waited up for Mack every night of his Marmon week bender, with a glass of water and two Ibuprofens waiting on his side of the bed, asking a simple 'how was your night?' even though Mack would be too drunk to recount it.

He was putting off calling Will. It seemed too real, seemed like he would have to admit this feeling is something more than simply just best friends. That they've been hurtling towards this for a while. And yet, at 3am in Fribourg, Switzerland, it was the easiest thing in the world to roll over and grab his phone, thumb pressing call on Will's contact.

It doesn't take long.

"Mack?"

His chest squeezes. His face feels hot with tears. He sniffles once, squeezing his eyes shut to stop them from spilling over. He was so tired.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

No, Mack thinks. My body permanently altered itself so that I can only sleep when you're here.

"I uh, just wanted to hear your voice," Mack whispers. He's embarrassed the moment the words leave his mouth.

Will inhales, shakily. 

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Will tries to deflect, but Mack can hear it in his voice, the slight tremble, like he's feeling exactly what Mack is. 

"Can't," he breathes, and then, because it's honesty hour apparently and Mack's brain can't shut the fuck up, "Miss you. Need you."

"Mack," Will whispers.

Mack takes a deep breath, "I haven't been sleeping well since I left Boston. I didn’t think they’d name me captain. I don’t want to go to strip clubs or hook up with European girls; I’m tired, Will. I'm so fucking tired. I really miss you."

Will’s voice is soft, comforting, “I’m here. I’m right here, okay? I'm not going anywhere. Do you-” he hesitates, “Do you want me to fly out there?"

Mack shakes his head before realizing that Will can't see him, "No, no,” he huffs out a breath. “Fuck. Why is this so hard?"

Will is silent, waiting for Mack to continue, “You’re just—I feel lost. I felt it during the Olympics, too. I think—I think I need you. Like a lot more than I thought I did.”

Will’s still quiet on the other line; his soft breathing coming through the speaker is the only thing telling Mack he hasn’t hung up yet.

Mack continues, “This is so fucking embarrassing. I-I lived for eighteen years without you, played against you for four. And now it’s just like,” he sighs, “It’s like everywhere I turn, I expect to see you, or hear you…like you’re attached to me or something,” Mack chuckles. Maybe he could blame this word vomit he was spewing on the time of night. Temporary insanity.

Will’s breath hitches, his voice rough, “I need you too, Celly. God, I do. I’ve been missing you, too. Like, a lot.”

Now it’s Mack’s turn to be speechless. He thinks he might’ve stopped breathing. “You can’t say things like that, Will.”

His throat feels like it’s going to close up.

Will laughs softly, "Why not? You started it." And then quieter, "It's the truth. I feel like the more time I spend with you, the shittier I feel when you're gone."

Mack’s heart does something complicated. A mix between a leap and stopping completely. It was only 9pm in Boston. Will couldn’t blame his confession on exhaustion. Mack feels the same, though. Painfully so.

“Because. You’re gonna make me want to come home.” Mack borderline whines. Right. Because home was wherever Will was. Mack didn’t want to unpack that.

“Not without gold, you’re not. Which you can’t do if you don’t sleep.”

“I don’t think I can sleep without you,” Mack slurs, voice syrupy from exhaustion. It comes out like one word.

“Mack. You’re killing me,” Will sounds breathless.

Mack hums. “Maybe that’s been my plan this whole time,” he yawns. His eyes are slipping shut, finally.

Will giggles, “Sleep, Celly.” 

“‘Kay,” he murmurs. He’s almost there.

And Mack might be dreaming, might’ve already slipped under, but he swears he hears the softest, faintest, lightest, “Love you,” escape from Will’s lips before everything turns black. They have a lot to talk about when Mack comes home, but for now, Mack can hold on to that.

And when the IIHF social coordinator asks him the next morning if he prefers texting or calling, Mack smiles softly, “I like calling.”

fin

"What?" he mumbles, voice hoarse.

"The next drill..." Mack trails off, studying the way Will's eyes are glassy, unfocused. "Are you okay?"

Will grimaces, "Threw up this morning. 'M fine."

Mack furrows his brows, squinting at Will through his visor, "You don't look fine."

Will sighs, "Mack, I--" he snaps his mouth shut as another wave of nausea crashes over him. He's beelining for the bench before he even knows he's moving, hunching over a trash can and emptying the last remnants of his breakfast into it.

"Fuck," he spits, stomach tying and untying itself into knots.

"Hey, hey, hey. You're okay." Toff's hand is on Will's lower back, rubbing comforting circles into his jersey.

"I think we're good for today, guys. Everyone, go home and rest and recover," Warso calls.

"Hey, is he okay?" Mack asks, quietly, coming up behind Toff.

"I think I'm gonna take him home, to my place," Toff replies, turning to look at Mack.

Mack instinctively stands up a bit straighter, "I can do it."

Toff laughs, "Yeah, right. I don't trust you to take care of Smitty. You can't even take care of yourself."

"I was literally just captain of Team Canada," Mack replies, defensively.

"You don't even remember to eat breakfast half the time, dude," Mario laughs, slipping past them into the tunnel.

"Remember when he ran out of gas after the home opener?" Colin chimes in.

Mack rolls his eyes, "Fuck you guys, I'm taking Smitty home," he slaps Toff's hand away, curling his arm around Will's waist.

"I got you, Smit," he murmurs, leading him to the locker room.

"I'll be waiting for your call!" Toff calls after them.

--

After a painstakingly long shower and Mack avoiding every pothole on the way to the Marleau's, he leads Will into the guesthouse, hand still curled around his waist, anchoring.

"Oh, fuck," Will groans, breaking from Mack and sprinting to the bathroom. Mack flinches as he hears Will heaving into the toilet.

Mack thinks about what he'd do when Charlie or RJ were sick, when he was left in charge of his siblings while his parents were away or working late. Comfort them. He'd comfort them.

He takes two gatorades out of the fridge and puts them on Will's nightstand, before kicking his shoes off and padding over to the bathroom, kneeling down next to Will, rubbing his back the way Toff did at the rink.

"It's okay, I'm here," Mack says soothingly. Will turns his head, resting his forehead on Mack's shoulder.

"My stomach hurts," Will groans. Mack wraps his other arm around Will, holding him gently, careful not to squeeze.

"I know. I know, baby. Do you think it's over? Can we get you into bed?"

Fuck. Did he really just say that?

Will nods against his shoulder, fingers gripping Mack's hoodie. Mack helps him stand slowly, steadying him when he starts to sway. They walk slowly, stopping every few steps when another wave of nausea hits Will, before finally making it to the bed. Mack pulls back the covers before helping Will climb in. He tucks Will in gently, before grabbing the trash can in the corner and putting it next to the bed. He uncaps one of the gatorade and holds it up to Will's lips.

"Can you drink some for me?"

Will looks at him in disgust, but parts his lips anyway, letting Mack tip the bottle the tiniest bit.

"Good. That's good, Will. Just a little bit more, you need fluids."

Mack realizes his other hand has reached up to cradle the back of Will's head, fingers carding through his hair slowly. It feels...intimate. Will's eyes have slipped shut as Mack moves to place the gatorade back on the nightstand. He keeps runninng his fingers through Will's hair, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

"I'm gonna doordash us some soup, okay?"

"No," Will groans, drawing out the O.

"You gotta eat something, baby. I could get jello too?" Mack suggests.

Shit, it slipped out again. He files it away, not important right now.

"Don't wanna," Will grumbles.

Mack moves his hand to Will's forehead, brushing away the stray curls there. "Just a little bit, I promise."

Will cracks open his eyes, searching Mack's face for something Mack can't quite place. "Okay," He croaks.

--

By the time the food is ordered, Will is asleep. Mack eyes Will's hamper in the corner, filled to the brim, beside a laundry basket of what Mack assumes to be clean clothes. He grabs the basket and picks up the top piece of clothing, smiling softly when he realizes it's his own hoodie

That's how Will finds him when he wakes up twenty minutes later, Mack cross-legged on the floor, folding his laundry.

"Doing my laundry now?" he squeaks out, voice still rough. He's smiling fondly at Mack.

Mack jumps, blush blooming on his face, "You're awake," he smiles back. Will holds his gaze for a few more moments before Mack's phone buzzing breaks him out of his trance. He clears his throat, "The, uh. The soup is here. Drink some more gatorade while I'm gone."

"Yes, doctor," Will smiles again, lazily.

Mack brings the soup in a mug and climbs into bed next to Will. He holds the mug up to his lips the same way he did with the gatorade.

"Small sips. If you feel like you have to throw up again, tell me, okay?"

Will nods, placing his hand over Mack's, tilting the mug towards his mouth. They sit like that, Will slowly sipping, pausing whenever the smell gives him another surge of nausea. Mack's free hand rests on Will's back, absentmindedly tracing random patterns.

Will finishes all the soup and the rest of his gatorade without throwing anything back up, though he dry-heaves a few times. Mack takes that as a victory. He places the soup back on the nightstand, and shimmies himself under the covers next to Will.

"Wanna watch something?" he suggests.

"I'll probably fall back asleep," Will says, voice already syrupy with sleep.

Mack shifts closer, "That's okay. You need rest."

Will smiles, "You're gonna get sick," but he's already resting his head on Mack's shoulder, eyes slipping shut. Mack wraps his arm around Will, tugging him closer.

"Don't care," he mumbles.

Will giggles, throwing an arm around Mack's waist, "I'm really lucky."

Mack turns his head, pressing the lightest kiss to Will's hair, "Yeah. Me too."

And when Will falls back asleep, Mack takes a picture, sending it to Toff with the caption:

Hydrated. Fed. Asleep. 🖕🖕🖕

fin.

secret alt universe where theyre somehow still faux billet children in their third year for the narry (i just wanted mack to flex that he was captain)

They're splayed out on beach towels, the New England waves crashing over the shoreline. Will's portable speaker is quietly playing a playlist that Mack definitely didn't approve of.

Will had dragged him out to the Cape after Worlds, insisting Mack needed to 'stop thinking about hockey for five fucking seconds,' as he put it. If Mack had it his way, he'd be back in Vancouver, training. Doing reps until his muscles felt like jelly. Running until his breakfast threatened to make a re-appearance, and spending his days at the rink until the tip of his nose turned red and started to run, the cold a/c settling somewhere deep into his bones. Because there was never going to be another year like this one. Mack will never fall short of his goals again. But Will had all but kidnapped him after Mack had mentioned his connection was through Boston. Not that he could ever say no to Will, anyway.

Will flips his sunglasses up into his hair, glancing down at Mack, squinting to really see his face against the sunlight. "I mean, we learned about the twelve generational curses growing up, but one of them is talking back to your parents, and I've definitely done that before and haven't been put to death yet, so..." he trails off.

Mack sits up, "That's actually a thing? You can get generationally cursed?"

Will puts his sunglasses back down, chuckling. "Don't worry about it. It's mostly only like, really bad stuff. Eternal suffering, et cetera, et cetera," he says lazily, hand gesturing to the sky.

All Mack can do is worry about it, if he's honest. "I think I'm generationally cursed," he mutters, flopping back down onto Will's chest.

Will laughs. That full-bellied, hearty giggle that always makes Mack's heart flutter. It jostles Mack's head a bit from where it's resting on his sternum. Mack would be more endeared if this wasn't a serious situation.

Mack hits him in the arm, "I'm serious! What if my great, great, great, whatever, did something to make the universe, or God, or whoever angry and they're taking it out on me?"

Will glances down at Mack again, still smiling, "Oh yeah, being the best hockey player in the world, so cursed," he replies, sarcastically.

Mack frowns, but he feels his cheeks heating up at the compliment anyway. "Shut up, you know what I mean," he mumbles, elbowing Will lightly in the ribs.

Will smiles softly and reaches his hand up, hovering in the air slightly, hesitating, before gently brushing a few fallen strands from Mack's forehead, hair still damp from their most recent dip in the Atlantic. It takes every single one of Mack's nerve endings to not shiver at the contact. He leans into the touch ever so slightly.

"It's gonna be okay, Mack," Will replies, sincerely, dropping his hand to Mack's shoulder. Their position is still teetering on being a bit too intimate, too telling, with his back against the strong muscles of Will's chest, head almost tucked under Will's chin, legs stretched out into the sand. Mack isn't really in the mood to care.

When Mack speaks again, his voice is small, "What if I never win anything? What if we never win anything together? What if this curse follows both of us? You're on my team, which means it should right? You, and Toff, and Delly, and Eky and-- " Mack feels small all of a sudden, squeezing his eyes shut, cutting himself off. He's not spiraling yet, but he feels himself getting there. Will squeezes his shoulder, trying to ground him.

"Mack-- " Will starts.

Mack keeps rambling, "I mean, can you even break a curse like that? What do I have to do? I train hard, I eat nothing but basically rabbit food, is any of it even worth it at this point? What if everything just amounts to nothing in the end and, and-- "

Will sits up slightly, wrapping his fingers around Mack's chin, tilting it up to look at him. Mack can feel him searching his eyes, which he knows are probably wide and panic-stricken.

"What if a meteor hits the Earth and we all die tomorrow? What if you, God forbid, snap your leg in half in the first game of the season and never play again? What if we get into an accident on the way back to the house, and that's it for both of us? Would you still think all of it amounted to nothing? You think your grave would say, 'Here lies Macklin Celebrini, generational loser?'"

Will's face is so close, he can see the deep, blue pools of his eyes, on par with the ocean water 100 feet away. His eyes are serious, focused. Like he truly believes every word he's saying. Like Mack matters. He's still cradling Mack's jaw, forcing him to keep eye contact. Mack feels breathless. They have all the air in the world on this beach, and yet, Mack feels like he's suffocating.

"That's not..." he breathes out, voice depleted down to a whisper, "...the same."

Will sits up more, leaning impossibly closer, eyes flicking down to Mack's lips. So quick, Mack would've missed it if he blinked. Mack's tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip involuntarily. He kinda wishes he would die right here and now.

"Isn't it, though?" Will murmurs, thumb swiping gently against the corner of Mack's mouth.

Mack's face gets even hotter; he'll blame it on a developing sunburn later. "Will..." he manages, trying to say something, anything.

Will's eyes flick down again, lingering for a beat longer than the first time. "You're really important to me, you know," Will's voice is low, cracking slightly.

"I know," Mack whispers. They're so close, he can hear Will breathing, soft puffs of air leaving his nose. Will smells like sunscren.

"Can I, um..." Will says softly. All Mack can do is nod, slowly. He doesn't need Will to finish asking. Will's fingers tip his chin up another inch, closing the distance, brushing Mack's lips with his own.

It should feel weird, kissing your best friend, in public, where anyone could recognize them, but Mack can't seem to worry about any of that right now. Because Will's lips are so soft, and he's holding Mack's face so gently, like he has the world in his hands. It should feel weird, but it doesn't. Not even a little bit. It feels like Mack was meant to do this all along, and for a moment, he wonders why they haven't been doing this for longer. Mack moves his lips against Will's, pressing in harder, his own hand coming up to cradle the back of Will's head, fingers grasping lightly at his curls.

When they pull apart, Will can't help but giggle. Mack sits up, mouth twitching up into a smile, too. "What?" he asks, a lightness in his voice that wasn't there before.

Will laughs again, sitting all the way up to face Mack, "Well, now we're both cursed, so..." he trails off.

Mack furrows his brows, smile fading. "What do you mean?"

Will's smile grows wider, shaking his head slightly, "Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve or whatever they say, if we're sticking with the generational curse thing."

Mack snorts, "Or whatever," he can't help it, he leans in to press another short kiss to Will's lips.

And then it dawns on him. "Wait, am I the first guy you've ever kissed?"

Now it's Will's turn to blush, his smile turning shy. Mack feels incredibly smug. His jaw drops slightly in awe, "Oh my God. I am, aren't I? Not even at the program? Or BC?" he says in disbelief.

Will shakes his head, "Nope. You?"

Mack laughs softly, "A guy at St. Mary's. It was a dare. Also, my first kiss like, ever."

Will sits back on his hands, smirking. "Must've saved the best for last then."

Mack rolls his eyes, playing it cool despite the way his heart is threatening to flutter right out of his chest. "Wow. You use that on everyone?"

Will shrugs, "Only the people I want to be cursed with."

Mack scoffs. He's unbelievable. "Nah, they have to cancel each other out now, right?"

Will hums, "I don't think it works like that."

He's looking at Mack with pure adoration, with a slight hint of amusement. Has he always looked at him like that? Has Mack been oblivious this whole time?

Mack smiles, ducking his head to look at Will through his lashes. "We could always..." he giggles, "...try again?"

He swears Will's eyes sparkle, his grin growing. He reaches out for Mack's ankle, tugging him closer, "Guess so."

Mack might be cursed on the ice, but basking in the sun with Will, trading kisses and dunking each other in the water, he couldn't feel more lucky.

fin.

“What is he, like six-three? Six-four?”

“Goddamn. He’s fucking huge.”

“Mmm, try six-five.” You giggle as your friends stare shocked and dumbfounded.

Reacher saw you in town at the local library and ‘bout damn near broke his neck doing a doubletake.

You were browsing in the classic literature section, not really looking for anything.

But you looked so beautiful. You were in your element and in his mind, there's nothing else that makes anyone more attractive.

He sauntered up to you and and showed you his favorite, which you so happened to finish before making your trip there.

He chuckled as you gushed about the novel and indulged you in friendly fire about the interpreted meaning(s). He then asked if you were free to hang out to which you agreed as long as you pick the place.

You weren't an idiot. You took his size and build into careful consideration as nowadays, you never know what might happen.

Besides, no matter how well-read, handsome, and charming a man may seem, never trust him at first glance.

So, you played it smart. Only telling him what he asked for, smiling to be polite and insisting on paying for your own things as you put it so eloquently.

“It’s fine, Reacher. We aren't dating.”

Of course, he took notice of your boundaries and was impressed at how subtly direct they were drawn.

Two more hangouts in public spaces later, he asked you out on a date. You thought he'd earned it along with your number.

That was three months ago.

You told your friends a few days prior to the present situation and they were ecstatic. They understood what kind of woman you are and if a man caught your eye, he must be worth your time.

So, they arranged for a triple date disguised as a dinner with their boyfriends. They begged you to say yes to the inevitable hangout-turned-gossip sesh with the girls.

Who were you to deny them of this one, little thing?

That’s how you ended up seated at a table in a sports bistreaux. Reacher is at the bar with your friends' boyfriends.

You take a sip of your soda and your friends eye each other before breaking out in a fit of uncontrable laughter.

“What, what's so funny?”

“Nothing!” Ayla blurts out but as soon as she looks over at your other friend, Trinity, she's giggling all over again.

They smack each other and are smiling so hard, Ayla is on the verge of tears.

“Okay, okay.” Trinity catches her breath.

“We were just thinking abut how, like, you said he’s six-five, right?”

“And you’re… five-eight?”

You nod at them curious to what they’re trying to insinuate.

“So, Y/n.” Ayla draws out with an airy voice. “Does he even fit the bed? You know, when you two—”

“Oh my god.” You groan.

They wildly cackle at your response and deem it’s hilarious but you can’t help but smile, however ludicrous their response may be.

“You guys are so ridiculous.”

You take another sip of your soda and feel yourself in the line of someone’s eyes. You look up and meet his. It seems he’s in a similar situation; being the punchline for the poorest taste in humor.

He shrugs slightly and you smile at him. He smiles back and looks away to take a bite out of his food.

You feel great about this; the relationship, Reacher. All of it.

Nothing can ruin any of it for you.

“Oh shit.”

Ayla bursts your little bubble of content with disbelief and, well, you can’t say nothing lasts forever.

“Don’t turn around right now—”

And of course, you do the exact opposite. Your curiosity gets the best of you but it isn’t necessarily a bad thing, per say.

“You shouldn’t have started with that.” Trinity shakes her head.

The people in your line of view consist of your ex-best friend and her boyfriend.

You watch as they walk towards a table of equally shallow bodies of pathetic people. You turn back around and don’t look at your friends. You’re suddenly hit with an embarrassing hotness in your stomach and your heart’s beating fast.

Bitch, what, you scared?

You claim you’re not and try to slow down your palpitations by dipping for a minute.

“Bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

You don’t even glimpse at your friends and walk straight to the back but of course you’re friends follow you.

Trinity explains how you’re going to the bathroom and she’ll stand outside for you to Reacher but he doesn’t buy your story. He saw the look on your face and your urgent stride added on.

You stand in front of the mirror and will yourself to just breathe. You remind yourself you’re not scared, you’re not a pussy. It’s just nerves on fire as you haven’t thought of them in months.

Ayla wants to go inside to check in on you but Trinity disagrees. “This is something she needs to do on her own.”

“I know.” Ayla sighs and checks the time on her watch.

“Excuse me.” A voice curtly intervenes.

Meet Dani Pratt, aka a psychotic, mentally ill, two-faced narcissistic, bigoted bitch who is also, somehow: a people pleaser.

“It’s a one-stall bathroom.” Trinity wittily replies with a fake smile.

“Sure it is.” Dani nods.

Ayla scoffs. “We don’t lie like you.”

“Okay, wow.” Trinity puts her hand on Ayla’s shoulder in warning but the she ignores it.

“What are you trying to say?” Dani challenges, to which Ayla graciously accepts ‘cause momma ain’t raise no bitch!

While all of this is going on, your heart’s calmed down enough for you to go back out there.

You deeply inhale and exhale one last time and as soon as you open the door, it’s chaos central.

“Oh, bitch, please—”

“Who the fuck you callin’ a ‘bitch’, bitch?”

So much is happening at once and you don’t know why but you know what to do.

“What is going on here?”

The three girls stop talking and look at you.

“Nothing. We were just leaving.” Ayla seethes.

“Finally, some common ground.” Trinity mutters while she hastily leads the way.

You awkwardly purse your lips and walk away from Dani but she doesn’t return the sentiment. She rolls her eyes and mocks with bitterness, “Yeah, go on. Walk away from this, too.”.

You stop dead in your tracks.

“You know what? Fine.” Trinity huffs and turns around.

Ayla’s itching for a fight now, a crazy rush of adrenaline pumps through her veins.

You weren’t going to start a fight since finishing one was always your style but this was something you couldn’t ignore.

“We haven’t spoke in months and that’s what you wanna say to me? Really?” You’re not talking too loud but you’re not exactly timid with it, either.

Dani rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. “Oh, please, Y/n. You literally ran to the bathroom when I walked in so don’t act all big and bad now.”

You scoff at her audacity. “If you think I’m scared of you, then you’re even more delusional than I last remember.”

You choose to walk away with your dignity intact but alas. Some people just can’t stand it when others display amounts of maturity they can only speak of.

Trinity and Ayla split the bill before you even ask to leave and have already told the waitress to bring a few to-go boxes.

As you wait, they tell their boyfriends and Reacher that you three are gonna go explore the boutique next-door.

You pack up the remaining food and remember the events that lead to you breaking off an almost twelve year friendship.

She was like a sister to you. Always there for you through thick and thin, cheering you on and encouraging you to come out of your comfort zone.

She just had to grow jealous and miserable, making her own problems the pinnacle of her life.

What about your problems? What about how you feel?

Whatever. That’s all in the past.

You have some great things going for you in the present and you are not about to let yesterday’s grief ruin tomorrow’s happiness.

“You okay?” Trinity bumps your shoulder with hers in an attempt to cheer you up.

It works, you give her a small smile and nod.

“I’m ready to get the fuck outta here.” Ayla yawns.

Her bipolarity is something you’ll never get used to.

“Y/n?”

You turn around at the sound of your boyfriend calling you.

He gets up from the stool and walks over to you.

You know what he’s doing; staring into your eyes to really see what’s going on. Your nervousness grows the closer he comes and you can’t look into his eyes for more than a couple seconds.

“Hey,” He murmurs as he places a hand on your shoulder, you put on a fake smile.

“What’s going on?”

His attentiveness is so endearing, especially when it’s towards you. You feel special every time you’re on the receiving end of his treatment.

Your friends eye each other and back away a bit, giving you two some space.

“Nothing, I’m just not feeling well.

He gives you a look that says, I know you’re lying but he still doesn’t pry.

You’re grateful for that but you know he won’t let either of you sleep until you tell him what’s been chewing on you later, but that’s later.

“I promise.” You lie.

He sighs. “Okay, but I—”

“Yo, Y/n!”

Fuck.

You close your eyes like it’ll make everything disappear. Like it’ll undo everything.

Reacher turns his shoulders sideways and furrows his eyebrows a bit at the sound.

He sees a guy a quarter of his size and a few inches shorter than him practically galloping towards your small group.

Ayla and Trinity exchange glances and their boyfriends stand up from the stool as well.

“Heard you called my girl crazy?”

You smack your teeth and sigh deeply. Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation.

Reacher takes this as a sign and steps up. He’s almost covering you now but it’s comical to see him peer down the guy you used to call your friend.

“I think you could’ve handled that way better. Don’t you?”

“Reacher.” You touch his shoulder but he ignores your unspoken request.

He’s not about to let this random come and disrespect you, and he’s certainly not about to let it go either.

“Josh, stop.”

It’s faux embarrassment, you can obviously tell.

Dani doesn’t give a fuck about Josh doing the confronting for her. As long as he speaks up first, she’ll just piggyback off of him and bring up irrelevant shit to misdirect the entire conversation.

This isn’t your first rodeo.

“Nah, that ain’t fair.” He remarks without looking at her.

“You talk all this shit when we’re not around but now that we’re here, you don’t wanna talk anymore?”

Josh steps around Reacher and is just half a step away from getting in your face. He’s yanked back before another breath can slip out of his mouth and you see Reacher slam him face-down onto the nearest countertop.

“Oh shiiiit.”

“Get his ass!”

Some people turn to look at the person who shouted that last sentence.

“What? He had it comin’.” Ayla defends.

Your hands fly to your face on reflex and your eyes are wide in shock. You didn’t know what to expect but it wasn’t this.

“Don’t you ever make that mistake again, do you hear me?” He scorns the other so-called ‘man’.

He reckons any guy with a brain should know not to get in a woman’s face, no matter the situation. But desperate times call for desperate measures and if Reacher was supposed to school him, then he’ll teach this lesson with great enthusiasm.

Josh has one arm bent behind him on his back and Reacher’s manhandling him with one hand.

Is it wrong to state how turned on swooned you are in this moment?

Other people are starting to crowd and look at the ongoing spectacle, tuning you back in.

“Y/n! Do something!” Trinity whisper-screams.

“What the fuck is she supposed to do? He’s almost a foot taller than her and big as is anyway.” Ayla makes a fair point but you know Reacher would do just about anything you ask.

“Reacher,” You call out softly.

A few seconds go by before he turns his head slightly to where you could see his side-profile.

“Let’s go.” You don’t know if this’ll work but you ought to try.

“Look, man. I-I don’t want any trouble—”

Reacher sneers at his pathetic quivering. “You couldn’t even afford it.” And with that, he lets him go.

Reacher fixes his jacket a bit and gives you a once over. His blue eyes scan your face and body and once he’s satisfied, he walks out with your hand in his.

It’s always quiet when he’s over.

You guys order takeout, watch a movie or start a show, you’ll fall asleep and he’ll carry you to your bed while he sleeps on the couch.

Except, none of that is happening tonight.

You’re sitting on your bed and he’s in the living room double checking the doors, windows and other things with handles and locks on them.

It’s unusually quiet, especially for the day you’ve just had. So quiet, that you don’t even hear his footsteps padding in your direction.

They stop at the door and he’s leaning against it, analyzing you.

“Spill.”

You look up and see a serious look on the face but it isn’t mean. It’s more of a I need to know why whatever transpired today so we can move on look. And you get it, you figured he’d ask sooner or later.

“He’s the boyfriend of one of my ex-best friends.” You admit. “We used to be friends, he was like an older brother to me.”

He sits down next to you.

“Dani had changed… she wasn’t herself anymore.” You recall how much her personality had changed in such little time. “It was like whatever Josh believed, she believed. She wasn’t her own person anymore and I was worried about her… I just wanted her back, you know?” You look to Reacher and see him nod intently, feeling sorry you went through that. “She didn’t appreciate the idea and got Josh to do her bidding so I just broke it off with the both of them.”

“How long ago was that?”

You pout your lips to the side in thought. “Some months ago. Almost four, I think.”

His eyebrows are raised and he stares at you. “And I thought you hold a grudge.”

That makes you smile a bit. “Shut up.” You mumble while pushing his shoulder with your knuckles.

He shrugs and looks back at you, an expression of care adorning his face.

“Has he done that before?”

You know he’s referring to how close he got to your face out of spite and you answer him truthfully.

“Yeah.” You sigh. “Trinity was there and she told him to back off, which he did. She was saying how he shouldn’t do that and how unnecessary it was and I appreciate her for that, I do.” You take a moment to reflect on how history has repeated itself. “Just wish it was me saying those things but I think I was just in shock at how fast it all happened.”

He hums thoughtfully before inquiring about his girlfriend.

“Dani didn’t say or do anything.” You dryly comment.

He hears your disappointment behind it and wishes so badly he was there.

You look down at your hands and his large ones interlock your fingers with his. He rubs his thumb across yours in a soothing manner.

“But I did.”

He takes your hand up to his lips and presses a promising kiss onto it.

The act makes you smile and you turn to hug him. Your arms make their place around his neck and his around you, his hands almost take up your entire back.

“I’ll have your back. Always.”