go go juice [m. celebrini]
“i’m just drinking to call someone ain’t nobody’s safe when i’m a little bit drunk”
in which ! you help out a very drunk hockey player
notes ! underage drinking, alcohol use, weird men, i do not condone people letting drunk strangers come to their house, even if the stranger is macklin celebrini, i literally started this in april after those fratlin pictures dropped, so if it's disjointed and weird, i forgot my original direction with this and did my best to finish it, and know i hate it
word count ! 4.2k
You didn’t know how you ended up at a Boston University party on a Monday afternoon, but here you were anyway. You were a student at the college, so that part made sense, but the rest of it was utterly perplexing.
It was Patriots’ Day and the day of the Boston marathon, so your university had the day off, as many students volunteered at the event or stopped by to cheer on the runners. That had been your original plan, but after a recent breakup with an unfortunate situationship, your best friend had dragged you to a party held by one of her classmates.
The music was loud, but the cool spring air was pleasant, so it wasn’t nearly as bad as some of the other parties you had attended in your time at BU. You and Diana, your best friend, sat in plastic lawn chairs, nursing cans of black cherry White Claw.
“Di, this is so boring,” you complained.
“What would we be doing if we weren’t here?” she answered.
“I don’t know, homework and a movie?”
“Y/N, that’s even more boring than this. Just sit back, relax, and people watch.”
You reluctantly gave in, sipping on your drink as you observed the party. It was sports themed, so most of the attendees were wearing Celtics jerseys or merchandise from the university. You yourself were wearing a tiny white tank top that was a little too small to be weather-appropriate. You had hand-bedazzled it with red rhinestones, spelling out BU on the front and your favorite number, 17, on the back. Diana had on a similar outfit, except her top was navy with the Patriots logo rhinestoned on it. For some odd reason, both of you were wearing cowboy hats. They had been worn at a western-themed party last semester, and Diana thought it would be funny to wear them out again.
“Nice tits- I mean top,” said a guy in a Patriots jersey, nearly stumbling over himself and spilling his can of beer in his attempt to talk to Diana.
Your best friend pulled a face of disgust, sipping her drink and only looking at the guy from the corner of her eye. “Thanks.”
The guy continued to attempt to strike up a conversation until Diana had enough. She huffed and stood up, almost sending the stranger toppling to the ground in her haste.
“Let’s go, Y/N. There’s cornhole.”
You hated cornhole, and it was also normally a four-person game, but the two of you did your best to seem busy and entertained to avoid unwanted attention from any of the partygoers. Thankfully, most of them seemed to be preoccupied by a swarm of blonde sorority girls.
“Who even is that guy?” asked Diana, shielding her eyes with her hand to see the main area of the party.
You followed her gaze to see a guy absolutely surrounded by girls. He was wearing a Georgia University basketball jersey and one of those hats you would see in Newsies. It was a ridiculous combination, one that had you wondering how he had girls practically hanging off of him. Sure, he was kinda cute, but not hot enough to warrant that kind of attention.
As if sensing your stares, the guy’s attention left the people surrounding him, his eyes landing on you. And then he did something weirder. He made his way toward you.
“He’s not coming over here, is he?” you mutter to Diana.
“Oh, he is so coming over here,” said Diana, nodding her head in approval. “Go get him.”
“Me?” you ask, pointing to yourself in disbelief. “Diana, I did not come here to talk to guys.”
“I’m going to go find another drink,” said Diana, darting off to the collection of coolers that held cans for the partygoers.
“Hi,” said the guy when he stopped a few feet away from you.
“Hi,” you replied, looking at him with confusion. “Do I know you?”
He shook his head, messy brown hair falling into his eyes. He removed his old man hat to push his bangs away from his face before setting it back atop his head. “Don’t know how you would; I don’t go here.”
You frowned. “Then why are you here?”
“My brother’s hosting,” he explained, pointing a thumb somewhere behind him. His aim wasn’t precise, but you saw a guy in the crowd who, at least from far away, bore some resemblance to the young man standing before you.
You study this stranger for a moment, trying to get a read on him. He was quite tall, with broad shoulders. He must have been some sort of athlete, given the way his sweatshirt pulled tight over his muscles. And you were right, he was pretty cute, if in an unassuming way. He was still looking at you, a small, dopey smile on his boyish face. The half-empty beer bottle in his hand told you he had already been drinking, possibly for quite some time.
“What?” you asked, crossing your arms in front of your chest.
The guy blinked. “Sorry. You’re just pretty. Like really pretty.”
“Thanks,” you said politely, though you were trying to figure out an exit strategy.
“Okay, I’m going to be honest with you,” he began, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret with you, even though there was no one around. “I forgot what I was going to say when I decided to walk over here.”
You exhale sharply, a sort of half-laugh. A smile erupts on the guy’s face, seeming to energize his entire body. “Worth it!”
“Worth what?” You raised a brow. “You forgot what you were going to say?”
“But I made you laugh.”
“Did you?”
The guy ignored your snarky comments and offered you his free hand. “I’m Macklin. Well, Mack.”
You ignored his outstretched hand but offered your name to him anyway.
“Y/N,” he said, as if testing the sound of your name on his lips. “Beautiful.”
“I need another drink,” you groaned.
“I can–”
You held up a hand. “I can get one myself, thank you. I’ll see you around, Mack.”
You left him staring after you like a lovestruck puppy. You made a pit stop at the coolers, grabbing a new drink, then floated off to find Diana.
“Soooooo,” she said, drawing out the word. “How’d it go?”
You shrugged. “Fine. He’s okay.”
“Rumor has it he’s a professional hockey player,” your friend said.
“That guy,” you said, pointing a thumb over your shoulder at where you left him, “is a professional hockey player?”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” said Diana with a shrug.
“Well, that explains the groupies.”
You and your friend continued to hang out and drink, chatting occasionally with people you recognized from classes or around campus. A game of cup pong began with you and Diana against two guys in Celtics shirts. Eventually, the party livened a little, and a keg was brought out.
“Frat boys,” you said with a shake of your head.
“Y/N, this isn’t even a frat party,” said Diana.
“Close enough.”
The two of you paused your game to watch as Mack, the supposed hockey player from earlier, did his best attempt at a keg stand. Heavy on the word ‘attempt.’
“Oh God, he is horrible,” giggled Diana.
You tilted your head at the commotion. “It’s kind of endearing.”
You watched as Mack practically toppled off the keg, with absolutely no help from the people around him. You stifled a laugh as he stumbled to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hoodie.
“These guys are idiots,” said Diana. ‘Wanna ride the bus?”
The two of you found a patch of grass to camp out on. You removed the worn pack of cards you always kept with you from your purse, shuffling the deck. You had only been playing for a few minutes when you were interrupted. Someone took the cowboy hat off your head, replacing it with something else. You pulled the new hat off your head. Of course it was Mack with his grandpa hat.
“Where’d you even get this thing?” you asked.
Mack shrugged. “Borrowed it from a friend.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” said Mack. “What are you two doing?”
“Ride the bus,” you said.
“Come sit with us,” invited Diana, sneaking a sly smile in your direction.
Mack sat next to you, keeling over to the side in the process. You reached out to grab his shoulder to steady him. He smiled at you with gratitude.
“How much have you had to drink?” you asked.
Mack’s brow furrowed with confusion. “Uhhhh, let’s see. I had a few beers, then I played that game with the cups and the ball–”
“Cup pong?” you asked.
He shook his head. “No, it’s the one with the stacking.”
“Boom cup?” you asked.
“That’s the one!” he said with excitement. “I had to drink the middle cup.”
You pretended to gag. The bitch cup was no joke.
“Oh, and there was that keg stand,” said Mack, counting the activities on his fingers.
“Keg plank,” you corrected. “That was not a handstand.”
Mack blushed. “I did my best.”
“Did you though?”
“Y/N, quit flirting,” scolded Diana. “Red or black?”
“I wasn’t-” you spluttered. “Ugh, Diana, what the fuck? Red.”
Diana flipped over the top card on the deck. It was black. She made a noise like a game show buzzer. “Try again.”
“You were flirting?” asked Mack, a hopeful smile on his lips.
“Keep dreaming, Mackie,” you said.
Diana stood, passing you the deck of cards and making some excuse to leave the conversation once more. When you started to protest, she told you to teach Mack how to ‘ride the bus.’
Once she was gone, you looked over at Mack, still wearing your cowboy hat. “Now what?”
“Teach me this so-called ‘bus game,’” Mack suggested.
You narrowed your eyes. “You’re already really drunk, so I don’t know about that.”
He flashed you a sad look, and it took everything in you not to give in. What could you say? He was cute, and his desperation to impress you was kind of sweet.
“How about we get some water and chat instead?” you asked.
“Fine by me!” Mack said excitedly.
As you were wandering around to find a cooler, the music cut out abruptly. It took a second for the drunk students to register it. Conversations began to falter one by one as people looked around in confusion. Then somewhere off to your left, someone let out a yell. “Cops!”
The party scattered. Some people were laughing, some were swearing. All around you, partygoers were shoving things into backpacks and abandoning their drinks. What had just been an easygoing afternoon became rushed, frantic.
Your first instinct was to find Diana. She was completely gone. So instead you made your way back to Macklin. He was right where you left him, blinking like his brain was still adjusting to the chaos.
“Mack,” you said sharply, grabbing his arm.
He looked down at you, his gaze focusing once he recognized you.
“There you are,” he said.
“Yeah, hi,” you said quickly. “We need to go.”
“What’s going on?”
“Party’s over. Cops are here, and something tells me it would look really bad if you got arrested for underage drinking,” you said.
You didn’t wait around for Mack to process your words fully. You pulled him along with you, weaving through the crowd of people as they scattered. Someone bumped into Mack hard enough to make him stumble, and your grip on his wrist tightened.
“Careful,” you muttered, but you didn’t stop moving.
“I’m good,” Mack insisted, but immediately proved he was not by nearly tripping over a cooler.
“Jesus Christ, Macklin,” you complained. “I don’t need you breaking an ankle on my conscience.”
“I’m doing my best,” he said.
“Just stick with me,” you said, slipping your grip from his wrist to his hand.
“Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else,” he responded easily, like that was never in question.
You looked around quickly, choosing to drag Mack towards the back fence instead of the front of the house. There were fewer people heading in that direction, and the police were more likely to round up people from there anyway. A few others had the same idea– scrambling, jumping, falling over themselves in the process.
“Can you get over that?” you asked, glancing back at your unlikely accomplice.
Mack raised an eyebrow at you. “I’m a professional athlete, of course I can.” But as he looked at the fence, he looked a little wary.
You narrowed your eyes, but in this case the pros outweighed the cons. So you went first, hauling yourself up and over the fence quickly, turning to help Mack when you got to the other side. He was a little slower and clumsier, but he made it, one leg swinging awkwardly over. He nearly lost his balance when his feet hit the ground. You caught his arm to keep him upright, but it was just a formality. If Mack were to go down, you were going down with him.
“Okay,” you said, a little breathless. “Okay, we’re good.”
But you didn’t stop there. You kept moving, leading Mack through another yard and onto a quieter street until the noise of the chaos behind you faded.
You slowed to a stop, Mack swaying on his feet before dropping onto the curb beside you. You looked down at him. “You cannot sit there,” you said.
“I’m tired,” he mumbled. “And I think I’d fall over if I tried to stand up again.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be athletic?” you teased.
Mack shrugged. “I’m a power athlete, not an endurance one. Besides, I don’t run. I skate. Totally different things.”
“Sure,” you said.
But you sat next to him anyway. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You caught your breath as the adrenaline slowly dissipated from your blood.
You glanced over at Mack. He was already looking at you, a small smile on his lips.
“What?” you asked.
“Thanks for saving me,” he said.
You laughed. “I pulled you over a fence, Mack.”
“And prevented me from getting arrested, which would have been really, really bad,” he added.
“Okay, so you are famous?” you asked. You were pretty sure you already knew the answer, but you were curious to know more. “Or are people just saying that?”
Mack leaned back on his hands, squinting up at the sky. “I mean, yeah. But there’s more to me than that. I’m not that big of a deal.”
“Well, I wasn’t about to stick around and find out what happens when ‘not a big deal’ gets busted at a party.”
That got a quiet laugh out of him.
“So, you play hockey then?” you asked.
“Yeah. I used to play here, actually,” said Mack.
“Really?” you asked. You had gone to a few games with Diana in your nearly two years at Boston, but never recalled a player called Mack.
“Just for a year,” he added. “Then I moved out to California. Been playing there for two years.”
“NHL?” you guessed.
Mack nodded. He didn’t seem to want to talk about it, so you decided not to press him. You figured he was at the party to get away from his professional life and act like a normal person for once, and you wanted to respect that.
“So this is how you spend your off-season?” you asked.
“Sometimes,” said Mack.
You shake your head, smiling a little. There was something about him– a little strange, still very drunk– but easygoing and nice to be around. You found yourself mentally patting yourself on the back for putting up with his earlier drunken antics so you could talk to him now.
“What do you do?” he asked. “When you’re not babysitting drunk guys, that is.”
You nudged his shoulder with yours. “I’m not babysitting,” you said. “Okay, maybe a little bit of babysitting. But I’m a sophomore here.”
You told him about your studies and your extracurriculars. The whole time, Mack listened, nodding along. His eyes were a little unfocused, and you weren’t sure how much of the conversation he’d remember, but part of you felt like you would be happy to tell him again, later on when he was sober.
As you asked him questions about his life outside of hockey, something shifted. Mack was still the same guy who had drunkenly approached you because he thought you were pretty. But he also wanted to know you, and you gave him exactly what he wanted. Against your presuppositions, he was surprisingly quiet and a little awkward, but it was charming.
“You know,” said Mack. “You didn’t have to stay.”
“I know,” you said. “But I wasn’t about to abandon you on a curb in a town you no longer live in.”
“Thanks for that,” said Mack. “I’m glad we got to talk.”
“Me too,” you admitted. “To be honest, I wasn’t too sure about you when you came up to me at the party.”
Mack blushed. “Sorry about that, I came on a little too strong.”
“A little?” you joked. “Hey, as much fun as this is, I should probably get going. I have homework to get to.”
Mack’s face fell. “Yeah, that sounds important,” he said softly.
You stood from the curb, then turned to offer Mack your hand. He took it, stumbling a little when he stood. His free hand went up to clutch his head.
“You okay?” you asked, concern washing over your features.
Mack took a second to respond. “Yeah, just dizzy.”
Suddenly, homework became an afterthought. You couldn’t just leave Mack alone.
“Do you have someone to pick you up?” you asked. “Or to call?”
Mack nodded. “My brother.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. It didn’t turn on. “Shit.”
“I can call,” you offered. “What’s his phone number?”
You showed Mack your phone, holding it steady as he shakily typed the numbers onto the screen. When he hit the dial button, you pressed the speaker button so you both could listen.
“Hello?” asked a voice on the other end of the line.
“Hi,” you said. “My name is Y/N–”
“How did you get this number?” Mack’s brother asked.
“I’m with your brother,” you explained.
“Brother? I don’t have–”
“Hi, Will,” said Mack.
“Oh, hey Mack,” said Will. “How’s the party?”
“It got busted,” your new friend explained. “But I’m with Y/N. She’s great. She’s really nice and really pretty.”
Will laughed. “That’s great, Mack.”
“What is going on?” you interjected. “Mack, I thought you were calling your brother.”
“I forgot his number,” said Mack. “And Will’s basically a brother.”
“I see,” you said. Then, turning your attention back to your phone, you added, “Will, is there any way you can pick up Mack? He’s pretty drunk right now and isn’t sure where his brother lives. Also, his phone is dead, and he can’t call anyone.”
“Then how did you call me?” asked Will, sounding extremely skeptical.
“I have your number memorized,” said Mack.
“Okay, enough about that,” you said, trying to get everyone back on topic. “Can you pick him up?”
“Can’t,” said Will. “I’m not gonna lie, I’m a bit tied up right now. Marathon just finished, and I am trying to find my sister. No easy task in this crowd.”
“Then do you know where his brother is?” you asked. “I can’t just leave him here. I’m worried he’ll get himself into trouble.”
Your stomach dropped a little. “Oh.”
“But,” Will continued, his voice steady. “He’ll be fine. He’s just an idiot when he drinks, as I’m sure you’ve observed. You don’t need to worry about anything.”
You hesitated. “I mean, I can’t just leave him here.”
“Don’t,” Will said immediately. “Please don’t do that.”
You rolled your eyes. “That was never part of the plan.”
“Good.” There was a brief pause. Then he added, softer this time, “You okay?”
The question caught you off guard. “Yeah, why?”
“Like you’re not too drunk or anything?” Will asked. “Mack’s not making you uncomfortable?”
“I’ve had like one drink,” you assured. “I’m fine. And Mack’s fine. He’s actually really sweet.”
“Good,” said Will. “Look, if you’re okay with it, I think the best thing for you to do is to hang out with him until he sobers up or I can get to you. He’ll do nothing but pass out on your couch, he gets super tired when he drinks. But again, only agree if you’re totally alright with it. If you’re not, we’ll think of something else.”
You liked Will. He was reassuring, and it was nice to know that he seemed to care about your feelings instead of just his and Mack’s. You found yourself trusting him.
“Okay,” you agreed.
“Perfect,” said Will. “Text me if you need anything. I’ll try to get out of this melee as fast as I can, but I think we’ll be stuck for a while. And send me your address.”
“Will do,” you said.
“I appreciate you calling. I can see why Mack likes you. And sorry if I was a bit weird at first.”
“Don’t worry about it,” you said, looking over at Mack. “I think I get why. Hockey?”
“Hockey,” Will confirmed. “Okay, I’ll text you when I’m free. And again, please call me if you start feeling weird about anything. I know this situation isn’t ideal.”
“Deal,” you said. “See you later.”
You hung up and looked at Mack. “You’re coming with me.”
Getting home was a bit of a process. You thought Mack had been sobering up while you sat on the curb with him, but his lack of coordination said otherwise. You spent half of the walk back to your dorm in the grass because Mack could not walk in a straight line to save his life.
He talked the whole time, about his siblings. About hockey. Even his upcoming trip to Switzerland for an international tournament. He even briefly brought up his recent adventure playing at the Olympics, but quickly changed the subject once you started asking questions. It was random, disjointed, but it felt like you were listening to him piece together a puzzle of his life, and you found yourself looking forward to the possibility of learning more about it.
By the time you reached your building, Mack was swaying on his feet, blinking hard. He looked exhausted. Will was not exaggerating when he said Mack got tired easily when he was drunk. You had originally planned on letting him rest on your futon, but now you took pity on him, and you found yourself leading him to your bed instead.
Mack shook his head weakly. “I can take the couch,” he tried to argue.
“It’s fine,” you insisted. “I have homework, remember? I’ll work at my desk while you sober up until someone can come get you. Besides, the couch is lumpy and really uncomfortable.”
Mack gave in almost immediately. You made sure he didn’t fall over as he slipped his shoes off. He removed the cowboy hat he had stolen from you and pulled the basketball jersey over his head, leaving him in only his gray hoodie– one that you now saw bore the Boston University logo. He sat on your bed, leaning back against the wall and clutching one of your pillows to his chest.
You started to walk over to your desk, grabbing your backpack from its spot near the door.
“Wait,” Mack mumbled.
You turned. His green eyes were half-closed, his body starting to keel sideways as he fought his exhaustion in order to stay upright. He looked surprisingly adorable as he smiled lopsidedly at you.
“I’m only here for a few more days,” he started. “But would you want to get dinner some time before I leave?”
Your heart somersaulted treacherously in your chest. He looked so soft like this. Not the bold, messy version of him you’d first been introduced to. Just quiet, sweet.
You smiled, just a little. “Ask me again when you’re sober,” you said gently, reaching over to pat his leg. “And if you’re serious, maybe I will.”
“Okay,” he whispered. “I will.”
He let himself collapse onto his side, still holding one of your pillows close to his body. His red-brown hair fanned over his face as he fell asleep nearly instantly. You smiled to yourself as you pulled a blanket over his shoulders, your hand lingering on his arm. Then you shook your head as you sat at your desk and opened your laptop.
So much for not interested.
