#ws2

“Okay man. What can I do? Like actually because you’re starting to stress me out and I’m not the one getting married today.” Mack says, trying and failing to lighten the mood.

Will just stares at Mack through the mirror, not finding the situation funny. It’s his wedding day, he’s marrying you. His favorite person on the entire planet and his hair won’t sit right.

“I can go get Cat, she might be able to help. Or I’m sure your mom or sister can-“ Mack starts to offer, getting shut down immediately.

“They are all with Y/N. I don’t want to drag them away from her.”

“I’m sure she won’t mind helping her son fix his hair.” Mack comments, adjusting his tie a little bit.

“I know, but trust me, I love them but they would probably make it worse.”

“Oh!” Mack exclaims, his gummy smile over taking his face. “I didn’t know the groom had jokes!”

“Shut up!” Will exclaims, a small smile finally gracing his face.

“You could just have Y/N do it.” Mack says, filing it down to that being the absolute last solution.

“I can’t see her beforehand!”

“Well obviously you can’t. But you could just keep your eyes shut.” The amount of sarcasm dripping from Mack’s words made Will’s eyes roll. “Just stay here, and stop fidgeting. I’ve got a plan.”

“Mack- your plans freak me out. I can’t fix it I just need-“

“Nope. Too late! Stop touching it!” Mack yells, running out of the room before Will can hold him back.

You and Will picked an outdoor venue, choosing an old vineyard right on the ocean. Even with the San Jose sun beating down, the wind carried a cool breeze to keep everyone comfortable. So, Mack didn’t break a sweat jogging over to the ‘ladies side’ as the moms were calling it. He followed the sound of laughter, before coming to a closed set of doors.

Mack knocks, ignoring the buzzing of his phone which he was positive was Will threatening him.

Will’s mom opened the door, a bit of shock evident on her face as she took in Macklin.

“What are you doing? Is everything okay?” She asks right away, but quiet enough to not alarm anyone.

“Everything is okay, but can I come in? I want to talk to Y/N if I can.” He asks sheepishly, knowing it was probably weird, and a very tall order to ask to speak to the bride only an hour before the wedding.

Will’s mom moves her gaze back towards what Mack presumes is the women, before nodding her head and letting him in.

“Mack?” You ask, noting his presence as everyone turns to look.

“I know this is probably the most unconventional thing, but Will is having a grade A hair crisis.” Mack starts, trying to through some jokes in. “It’s not living up to his standards or whatever. He says you’re the only person who can do it right.” Mack says, taking in his best friend’s fiancé in a wedding dress.

Mack loved you like a little sister, even though you were only a few months younger than Will, which still made you older than Macklin. But, he treated you like a younger sister, and he had to admit you looked absolutely stunning, Will was going to pass out when he saw you.

Grace was the first person to laugh at Mack’s words. Mumbling something about her brother being helpless. But you smile, a small laugh escaping your lips before motioning down to your already dressed body.

“You know it’s supposedly bad luck for him to see me before the wedding right?” You ask Mack, but his eyes light up at the question.

“Oh don’t worry. I’ve got that figured out.”

“You know your plans freak me out.” You tell Mack, picking up your dress to start to follow him to where Will is.

“Will said the same thing! God you guys are perfect for each other.”

—

Will couldn’t stop touching his head. Honestly, he didn’t know why it was that big of a deal. It’s not like his hair looked bad, he just wanted it to look perfect. He wanted it to look perfect because he was marrying you. And you deserved nothing but perfect. You planned an entire wedding, you figured out everything until the very last detail, so Will would be damned if his hair wasn’t going to work.

A knock sounds, before Mack pokes his head into the room.

“Okay, time to suit up.” Mack says, walking over to Will with a tie.

“I’m already dressed what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact your future wife is standing outside that door. And your hair can only be fixed by her, who by the way is way out of your league.” Will scowls at that, but had to fight off a smile at the same time. “And, you can’t see her yet so I have graced us all with a solution.” Mack finishes, holding a tie up.

“A tie?” Will questions.

“A blindfold.” Mack says.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. Now put this on so she’s not standing alone in the hallway where anyone can spot her.”

Will scoffs, taking the tie and covering his eyes, making sure it’s tight enough that he doesn’t have any peep holes.

“Can you see?” Mack asks, waving a hand in front of Will’s face.

“Nothing.” Will confirms. He can hear Mack’s footsteps going towards the door, before he opens it and a clicking of heels echos in the room.

Will’s breath catches. He can’t even see her, can’t sense how far away she is, but he knows she’s standing there, likely staring at him in his suit.

—

“My god. I really have made a wonderful choice haven’t I?” You question as you take him in. The black suit fitting his body perfectly.

“Yeah, yeah. Flirt later, fix hair now.” Mack says, laughing as he leads you over to Will.

“I need help.” Will says to you, and when you finally make your way into his space his breath catches yet again.

“William!” You exclaim. “Can you see me?”

“No!” He fires out quickly.

“You stopped breathing for a second.” You accuse.

“That’s just because I know you’re there. Trust me love, I want nothing more than to rip this stupid fucking tie off and look at you. Just the thought of you standing there in your dress - fuck.” He says, and you both can hear Mack giggle slightly in the background.

“Sit down baby, I’ll fix you up. Yeah?”

“Please, love.” He says, sitting down with your guidance.

You’re glad for a million reasons he can’t see you. But you’re glad he can’t see the blush that still coats your cheeks every time he calls you ‘love’ which is his preferred nickname for you. You’re glad he can’t see how your hands shake slightly styling his hair, and not from wedding nerves, but from seeing him like this.

He looked like a god, and your gaze caught Mack in the mirror. His phone out and facing the both of you. But you didn’t say anything, you only smiled and shook your head as you continued styling his hair.

He didn’t talk the entire time, and neither did you. He let you work, savoring the feeling of you running your fingers through his curls, smelling the sweetness of the perfume you’re wearing.

“I can’t wait to marry you.” He confesses, finally breaking the silence.

Your heart clenches, and you smile so big at his confession.

“Good thing we’ve got less than an hour.” You say, finishing up the last touches to his hair.

“Less than an hour until you’re my wife.” He says, smiling, wishing more than anything he could see through this stupid blindfold.

“Less than an hour until I marry the love of my life.” You whisper into his ear, and you can see the hair standup on the back of his neck. “You’re all fixed.” You say a little louder, catching Mack’s attention now too.

Will so gently pats around his hair, marveling at the feeling of how it always is.

“How did you manage to fix it?”

“I’m about to be your wife, I figure I’ll be fixing and playing with your hair the rest of my life. It was about time to study how to get it like you always do.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Will says, in awe.

“I just fixed it, I didn’t build a coliseum or anything.” You say, planting a kiss to his cheek.

“Let’s get married right now. I can’t wait-“

“47 minutes?” Mack answers.

You laugh at Will, before kissing his cheek once more.

“You can wait 46 more minutes.” You say, taking a step back.

“No, I really can’t. It’s killing me not being able to see you.” He says, standing up and keeping his blindfold in tack.

“You’ll see me at the end of the aisle, and the you’ll see me everyday after.”

“That’s not soon enough.”

“My god you guys are such saps. Y/N, let me get you back before the women come murder me for having you away this long.” Mack says, and you nod.

“I will see you in 45 minutes.” You say, stepping further away from him.

“I love you.” He says, and even though you know he can’t see you, he clocks where you are. Even without sight he can tell, that’s how drawn he is to you.

If you knew one person who hated pda in front of others, it was your boyfriend, Will.

At home it was one story. The second the front door clicked shut behind you, he’d be on you; arms wrapping around your waist from behind, chin hooking over your shoulder while you tried to kick off your shoes, lips brushing the side of your neck like he couldn’t wait another second.

He’d pull you down onto the couch with him, long legs tangling with yours, hands sliding under your hoodie to rest warm against your stomach, fingers tracing lazy circles until you laughed and squirmed.

He’d kiss you slow and deep like he was making up for every minute you’d spent apart, murmuring against your mouth how much he’d missed you, how pretty you looked even in sweatpants and his hoodie that swallowed you whole.

He’d cuddle into your side during movie nights, head on your chest, one hand always finding yours to lace your fingers together, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. Sometimes he’d just hold you from behind while you cooked, swaying slightly like it was a slow dance, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder blade whenever you reached for something on the counter.

He hated the thought of having his hands off you.

But the moment you stepped outside; it was a completely different story.

In public, Will kept it subtle. Always touching, but never made it obvious. A hand resting low on your back as you walked through a crowded bar. Fingers brushing yours when he passed you a drink. His knee pressed lightly against yours under the table at dinner with teammates.

He’d drape an arm across the back of your chair, thumb occasionally grazing your shoulder, but nothing that screamed couple in the way other couples did: sloppy kisses, loud declarations, hands everywhere like they were staking claim in neon.

And you were fine with it. You’d been together a little over a year now, long enough that you’d learned his rhythm. You weren’t big on pda either, you didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. The way he looked at you when no one else was watching, the way his eyes softened the second you walked into a room, the things he’d whisper to you when it was just the two of you was enough.

He wasn’t embarrassed of you. If anything, he loved showing you off in his own way. He’d introduce you to new people with his arm casually looped around your shoulders, proud smile tugging at his lips every time someone complimented how good you looked together.

He’d text you links to articles or tiktoks with captions like “Us” and half of them were disgustingly couple-y. He just didn’t want other people seeing the parts of him that belonged only to you. The greedy way he held you at home, the way he’d bury his face in your neck and breathe you in like you were oxygen.

Tonight you and Will went out with a few of his teammates to the bar a couple blocks from the rink that had become your unofficial spot. It wasn’t anything fancy, just something you all learned to enjoy going to. You’d dressed like you always did for a place like this: nothing too revealing, nothing too casual.

Will included you in every conversation like he always did. He’d lean in when Macklin was ranting about a bad call from the last game, repeating the punchline so you could laugh too, or he’d nudge you gently and say, “Babe, tell them what you said about that hit exactly.” His voice easy, and his eyes stayed on you longer than usual.

When the bartender came over, Will ordered your usual without asking and then slid it toward you with a small.

A little while later, you moved on the barstool. “I’ll be right back,” you murmured, slipping your hand from his.

Will nodded once, but as you stood, he reached over and tugged your glass closer to his spot, fingers brushing the condensation like he was guarding it. His other hand lingered in the air for half a second where yours had been before dropping back to the bar.

Once you came back from the bathroom after quickly fixing your lip combo in the mirror light, touching up the gloss that had faded from sipping your drink, you found Will still perched on his barstool, facing his teammates.

If you’d gone straight back to your own seat next to him, his broad back would’ve been turned to you the whole time. But the second he caught sight of you weaving through the crowd, his arm reached out without hesitation.

His fingers found yours, locking tight, and he tugged you gently toward him instead of letting you slide back onto your stool. “C’mere,” he murmured.

You let him pull you in, stepping right between his spread thighs until your hips brushed the edge of the stool. Your hands landed on his chest for balance, as he looked up at you.

“Where’d you go?” he asked, even though he knew.

“Bathroom,” you said, smiling despite yourself. “Took longer than I thought, someone was hogging the mirror.”

He hummed, the sound vibrating through his chest, and then he leaned in. The kiss was slow, sweet, nothing rushed or sloppy. Just his lips pressing to yours like it was the most normal thing in the world, his one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck while the other stayed locked with yours at his side.

Your breath caught. Will almost never kissed you in public, not where anyone could see. For a heartbeat you froze, surprised, but then you melted into it, leaning forward until your forehead brushed his when he finally pulled back.

He didn’t say anything about it. Just handed you your unfinished vodka soda with a small, crooked smile.

You turned with him so you were facing the group again, your back settling against his chest. His arm came across your front, forearm resting easy over your collarbone, fingers splayed loose but possessive against your shoulder. His other hand found your waist, every few minutes he’d tug you closer, like he couldn’t quite get enough, even though you were already pressed flush against him.

Macklin raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging at his mouth. “You finally figure out how arms work tonight?”

Will just tightened his hold a little, chin dipping to rest lightly on your shoulder as he shot Macklin a lazy look. “Shut up, Mack,” he said a little amused.

You stayed like that for a while, cocooned against him, his heartbeat steady against your back. His fingers kept moving in small, absent strokes along your waist, thumb brushing the underside of your ribs every now and then.

Eventually your heels started screaming. Standing this long in them, even leaning into him, made your calves burn.

You tilted your head back just enough to murmur against his jaw, “My legs are killing me.”

Will’s arm loosened instantly. “Sit,” he said softly, kissing the shell of your ear before letting you go.

For the rest of the night, Will didn’t let the space between you grow. He kept one hand on you at all times: resting on your thigh when you were back on your stool, thumb drawing slow, mindless patterns over the denim; sliding up to play with the ends of your hair when you laughed at something one of the guys said; brushing your lower back.

Every few minutes he’d press a quick kiss to your temple, or drop his chin to your shoulder just to murmur something dumb and sweet.

You were happy for it. The warmth of his palm against your skin felt like nice in public. The guys ribbed him lightly but Will just shrugged it off with a smile and never pulled away.

By the time you both said goodbyes and stepped out into the cool night air, your cheeks were flushed from the bar’s heat and from the way his hand had stayed tangled with yours the whole walk to the car.

When you got home, the apartment was quiet, you kicked the door shut behind you, already reaching to slip off your heels, but Will beat you to it.

He dropped to one knee right there at the edge of the bed, fingers gentle around your ankle as he lifted your foot and eased the first heel off. Then the second, thumbs pressed into the arch of your foot for a second, massaging away the ache without being asked.

You watched him, heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always did with him. “What’s gotten into you tonight?” you asked quietly.

He glanced up, brows lifting like he had no idea what you meant. “What? I always do this.” He asked setting your foot down and standing.

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “No, I mean.. being so touchy in front of everyone, kissing me like that. You never do that.”

He paused, then took your hand in both of his. Slowly he brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours. “Can’t a guy show how much he loves his girlfriend?”

You laughed softly. “You never do it like that.”

He tilted his head, mock offended. “What? I always show everyone how much I love you.”

“Yeah,” you said, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw, “but not in a way that makes Macklin tease you for ten straight minutes.”

Will’s expression softened. You pulled him down to you, as he started crawling over you until his weight settled warm and solid, knees sinking into the comforter on either side of your hips.

He braced himself on his forearms so he wasn’t crushing you, but close enough that you could feel every breath he took.

“I love you,” he said simply, as if it was the easiest truth in the world. His forehead rested against yours for a second before he kissed you, the kind of kiss he usually saved for when the door was locked and the lights were off. “I just.. wanted to be close to you tonight. Didn’t want to wait until we got home to touch you the way I always want to.”

His hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “I like when we keep things private. But sometimes..” He exhaled. “Sometimes I look at you laughing with the guys, or just sitting there looking like mine, and I want everyone to know.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down until his chest pressed to yours. “That’s sweet,” you whispered against his mouth. “I liked tonight a lot.”

He smiled and kissed you again. “Me too.”

His hands found yours, fingers lacing tight as he settled more of his weight over you, like he was trying to memorize every inch of how you fit together.

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Will just shrugs, completely unashamed, and leans down near your ear. “You want something to drink?”

You nod, “Just a water, please.”

He squeezes your waist once before walking toward the kitchen, his fingertips dragging along your side until the very last second before he can't reach you anymore. Every little thing with him feels like that. Casual, like taking care of you and keeping you close are things he does without thinking anymore, they’re always at the front of his mind. 

Cat watches the whole thing with a knowing smile. “Oh,” she says lightly.

“What?” you question, not knowing where she’s going with this. 

“He is obsessed with you.”

Your face immediately warms, “He is not.”

Cat just laughs. “He walked in the door less than thirty seconds ago and already can't keep his hands to himself.”

“That is not true.”

“It definitely is.”

You open your mouth to defend him, but Will comes back into the room holding your water bottle already opened for you, and before handing it over he presses a quick kiss against the side of your head.

“Thank you,” you say to him quietly, before he heads off to the kitchen again to say hi to the rest of the team. 

Cat just gives you a look over the rim of her wine glass.

You sigh once he’s out of earshot, “Okay, maybe a little.”

⊰══════════════════════⊱

The night settles easily after that. Music plays quietly through the house while everyone moves between the kitchen and living room. Conversations are overlapping comfortably. It’s loud not in an overwhelming way, but a comforting way, all your favorite people in the same place, enjoying one another's company. 

To no one’s surprise, Will is attached to you through all of it.

When you’re standing in the kitchen talking to Cat and a couple of the other player’s girlfriends, he’s beside you with his hand resting absentmindedly on your hip while he talks hockey with the guys facing the other direction. 

When everyone crowds around the island for food, his thigh presses against yours the entire time. Later when you’re sitting on the couch, he drops down beside you and pulls your legs directly next to his, one arm stretched across the back of the couch behind you. 

It’s so constant you almost stop noticing it. Almost.

Until Macklin walks by, pauses dramatically and goes, “Holy shit, are you two physically capable of existing separately for more than ten seconds?”

Will doesn’t even look away from the conversation he’s having, and answers dryly, “No.”

The room bursts into laughter. “See?” Tyler points out, “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Will finally looks over, completely relaxed. “What?”

“You’re clingy,” Tyler says. 

“I’m not clingy,” Will argues lightly. 

“You’ve touched her literally this entire night.”

Will frowns slightly then glances down at where his fingers are now loosely hooked around yours in his lap, like he genuinely didn’t realize he was doing it.

Then he just looks back up, “Okay?”

More laughter from everyone, and you can’t help smiling into your drink.

Because the thing is, none of it feels forced. He’s never draped all over you or trying to put on some kind of show, he just always reaches for you like it’s second nature to him. It's like he’s just more comfortable when you’re close. 

At some point while dessert is being passed around, you get up to help Cat in the kitchen. The second you step away from the couch, Will’s eyes follow you automatically.

Tyler notices immediately, “Oh my god,” he says loudly. “Look at him.”

Will tears his attention away from you. “What?”

“You tracked her across the room like a puppy.”

“I was not—”

“You absolutely were,” Macklin cuts in.

“He’s got separation anxiety,” Tyler adds.

Will rolls his eyes, but there’s the faintest hint of embarrassment creeping into his expression now, “You guys are annoying.”

Meanwhile in the kitchen you’re hearing all of it. “You love it though,” Cat says quietly beside you while drying off a plate.

“Yeah,” you admit softly. “I really do. It’s comforting in a way, knowing he’s always there.”

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Hours later, once people start heading out, Will helps finish cleaning up without being asked. Even then he keeps gravitating back toward you every few minutes. A hand brushing your back as he passes by, or his fingers squeezing your shoulder. Your favorite are the quick kisses against your temple while you’re putting dishes away.

Tyler catches one of those kisses and immediately points across the kitchen. “There,” he says dramatically. “Again.”

“Oh my god,” Will mutters under his breath.

You laugh quietly, dropping the dish towel on the counter and leaning into his side, “Leave him alone.”

“We would,” Macklin says from the living room, “if he stopped acting like your emotional support.”

Will just shakes his head, moving around you to put another dish in the dishwasher. As he passes, his hand slides across your lower back, like despite all the teasing, he genuinely doesn’t realize he’s doing it anymore.

Tyler watches the whole thing happen and bursts out laughing again.

“He did it again!” he says loudly.

This time Will finally looks mildly offended. “What do you want from me?”

“Space,” Tyler says. “Personal space. Independence. Growth.”

Will deadpans immediately, “Sounds awful. We get enough of that when I’m on a road trip.”

Everyone laughs again, including you, and he glances over at you with the smallest smile tugging at his mouth, like hearing you laugh is worth all the teasing. You just move closer to him, and wrap your arms around his waist.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Eventually the night finally starts winding down for real. Goodbyes are exchanged at the door, leftovers get packed up and distributed to everyone, and promises to do this again soon thrown around casually.

The second you grab your coat from the couch, Will appears beside you like he was waiting for it. He takes it from your hands before you can put it on yourself, holding it open behind you automatically.

“Thank you,” you mumble, smiling softly as you put your arms through the sleeves. 

“Mhmm.”

His hands settle briefly on your shoulders after helping you into it, lingering there for just a second before sliding down your arms, holding your forearms lightly as you both say goodbye. 

⊰══════════════════════⊱

The drive home is quieter than the rest of the night, comfortable in that easy way it always is with him. His hand still rests on your thigh the entire drive anyway, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your jeans.

When you finally get back to your apartment, you’re halfway through kicking your shoes off when he says, “Am I actually that bad?”

You glance up immediately, “What are you talking about?”

“With the touching thing,” he says, leaning back against the closed front door now, “I didn’t realize I did it that much until everyone kept pointing it out.”

You stare at him for a second because he sounds genuinely unsure now. “You know none of them actually care, right?” you ask softly, “They were just poking fun at you.” It’s not the time to debate whether that was right or wrong, but all in all you know they didn’t mean anything bad by any of it, and now you’re making sure he knows that too. 

“I know,” he says quickly. “I just…” He exhales a quiet laugh through his nose, “I don’t know. I don’t wanna make you feel smothered or something.”

You walk back over to him without thinking, sliding your arms around his waist and propping your chin up on his chest to look up at him. Predictably, his hands settle against your hips almost immediately. Reflex.

“You don’t smother me,” you say quietly.

His eyes search yours carefully, like he’s trying to decide whether you’re just saying that to make him feel better.

Something in his face softens at that. You continue before he can brush it off. “I mean it. I think if you stopped now I’d actually hate that you stopped.”

A small smile finally pulls at his mouth, “You’d miss me being clingy?”

“You’re not clingy,” you correct softly. “You just like being close to me, and I like it too.”

His expression changes a little at that. Warmer somehow. “Can you blame me?”

Your chest aches a bit at how genuine he sounds. “No,” you say quietly, “Not really.”

“Good,” he says quietly. “Cause I don’t really think I know how to not do it.”

You laugh softly, “I know.”

He smiles then, properly this time, and leans down to press a slow kiss against your forehead. Even after the teasing, after the entire team spent hours pointing it out, his hands never leave you once.

He exhales a laugh through his nose before pulling you fully against him, arms wrapping around you tighter this time like now he’s allowed to. You sink into him immediately.

For a minute neither of you moves. The apartment is quiet in contrast to how the rest of your night had sounded, and now that you’re standing here wrapped up in him, you realize how natural this is too. The constant touching never feels heavy with him, it’s not demanding on either part, it never feels possessive, it’s just comforting. 

His chin now rests on top of your head while his thumbs move against your sides. Even in the middle of this conversation about how much he touches you, he’s still doing it without thinking.

“You know what the funny part is?” you mumble into his chest.

“What?”

“I don’t even notice half the time anymore.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, “I’m that bad, huh?”

“No,” you correct immediately, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “Not bad, I think my body just expects you to be there now. Like when we’re sitting somewhere and you’re not touching me, I notice that more,” you admit quietly. “It feels weird.”

A smile pulls slowly at the corner of his mouth, “Seriously?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

His eyes stay on yours for a second longer before he leans down and presses another kiss to your forehead, but this time slower. His arms tighten around you again afterward, like your words are the final piece of reassurance he needs after questioning himself.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Cause honestly? I think if I had to sit next to you and not touch you for an entire night I’d lose my mind.”

You laugh, your face tucking back into his chest, “Tyler would probably call that a breakthrough.”

Will scoffs, smiling, “He can deal with it.”

You can hear the smile in his voice now, the uncertainty from earlier finally gone. One of his hands slides up your back slowly to rest against the base of your neck. His hand is warm and familiar, and you melt into him even more without even thinking about it.

It’s that instinctive reaching for each other, like no matter where you are, a crowded house full of teammates or a quiet apartment at midnight, both of you are always unconsciously trying to close the distance.

“Okay so, Will, this one’s for you. What, um, do you and Macklin do on a day off?” Cat Toffoli looks between the two boys as she asks the question, noticing how Will seems to be one second away from laughing and how Macklin keeps glancing up to whatever is behind the laptop. Will thinks for a moment before answering “Well we usually do whatever Mack and-” Macklin quickly reaches over and puts a hand on Will’s mouth. “Dude!” Will gives Mack a crazed look before silently realizing what the whole shushing thing was about.

You stand behind the laptop on the other side of the kitchen island, silently giggling to yourself about what’s happening right now. Macklin looks up at you, his hand still on Will’s face, the sparkle in his green eyes gets brighter the longer he looks at you. Will, who is clearly annoyed with Mack’s hand on his face, brings his hand up to push Macklin’s arm to his own personal bubble. Cat and Julie watch this all unfold and are immediately intrigued by Will’s slip up. Cat take the small moment of silence to bring it up by asking “Macklin and who?” Mack and Will share a quick look with each other before looking up at you. Your eyebrows raise in surprise but after sharing one look with Mack you give him your answer; you’re ready to go public.

Macklin’s smile grows so wide that it looks like his face is about to slip in half. Will takes your look and Macklin’s smile as a sign to continue with what he was saying.

“Anyway,” Will says with a lot of sass, “Mack and I do whatever she wants to do.” Cat pauses, unable to believe that she’s never heard of this girl. This time Julie chimes in, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be intrusive, but who is this she? And why is this the first time we’ve heard of her?” You giggle from behind the camera which causes the two girls to perk up and causes Mack to give you a look of complete and utter devotion. Macklin keeps his eyes on you but responds to Julie’s question when he says “She is my girlfriend and this is the first time you’re hearing of her because she wanted to stay private.” Will sighs and shakes his head muttering “You’re so whipped!” under his breath. Macklin rolls his eyes in response. Cat chimes in with the next question, “Okay now I think this calls for a story time. You have to have some good ones.”

Macklin just nods in acceptance and Will looks like he’s already trying to decide which stories to share. “Baby, c’mere.” Macklin is beckoning you over with his puppy dog eyes so of course you can’t say no. You walk around the island and into the view of the camera, going to sit in the chair next to Mack but instead you get pulled onto Mack’s lap. His arms are secured tightly around your waist and he visibly sighs, as if he is relieved that you are now in his arms. You wave shyly at the camera as Will starts his stories, “Okay so this one time Mack invited me over to hang out. When I got there, I walked in and saw Macklin with a full face of makeup and his hair was curled! She had somehow convinced him to do this and Mack never even tried to protest!” You start giggling at Mack’s beat red face, “I’m telling you guys I’ve never seen him look so good.” Macklin shoves Will’s shoulder and hides his face in his hands but you gently pull his head up and give him a sweet kiss on the cheek. Mack immediately melts into a puddle.

“Another time-” Macklin groans and cuts Will off as he starts talking again. “Dude! You’ve literally never talked this much and now you’re telling the world my secrets?” Will just shrugs and goes “Yeah” as if it was the stupidest question he’s ever heard. Once again, the Fresh Prince of San Jose opens his mouth and starts talking, “As I was saying,” Will sends a pointed look at Mack, “There was another time when we were hanging out, all three of us, and I leave to go get a snack and when I come back Macklin is talking in a baby voice! Like total ‘I wuv you’ and nuzzling his head into her neck!” Cat and Julie bust out laughing, their faces turn red, eyes become teary, and honestly they start struggling to catch their breath. Macklin throws his arms into the arm in frustration and sends Will a point look, one that says paybacks a bitch.

Before Macklin can get any more embarrassed, you jump in and defend the situations. Grabbing Mack’s hand in support and rolling your eyes playfully at Will. “Well I had to see which makeup look I wanted with my outfit so I asked Mack if he could help me, which he agreed too, but I didn’t tell him exactly how he would help me…” Macklin rolls his eyes at this (it’s a wonder their eyes aren’t stuck in the back of heads right now) but doesn’t say anything in response. “The baby talk, well um, he was just-” Will cuts you off by saying “You don’t have to come up with an explanation. We all know he was doing it because he’s whipped.” Macklin grumbles and wraps his arms around you, muttering ‘hell yes I am’ into your ear. Cat and Julie take control of the pod (but promise to revisit this later) and finish by asking the boy's rapid fire question.

you don't answer.

the apartment is quiet except for the soft rustle of you settling in. mack stands there for a minute, jaw tight, arms crossed. he hates losing arguments, hates feeling misunderstood more.

but what he hates most? the silence.

he lasts about five minutes in the bedroom before he exhales sharply and runs a hand through his hair. he replays everything in his head -- your expression, the way your voice wavered at the end. he's good at reading plays developing on the ice, but he'd not always as quick at reading emotions.

still, he tries.

when he walks into the living room, you're already half-asleep, curled up on the couch, blanket barely covering you. you look smaller somehow. not stubborn, not dramatic, just hurt. his chest tightens at the sight of you.

"hey," he says softly, kneeling beside the couch.

you don't move.

he sighs, guilt finally outweighing pride. "i'm sorry, okay? i shouldn't have snapped at you. i just-" he pauses, searching for words like he's searching for an opening. "i don't ever want you thinking hockey matters more than you. it doesn't."

your eyes flutter open, glassy with sleep. "you could've just said that," you mumble.

"i know." he gives you that crooked, sheepish grin -- the one he's caught using all the time when he knows he's messed up. "i'm still working on the whole communication thing."

he gently tugs the blanket higher around your shoulders. "come back to bed?"

you hesitate for a second.

and that's when he does something very earnest, and direct. he rests his forehead against yours lightly. "i don't like sleeping without you," he admits quietly. "it feels wrong."

the sincerity in his voice melts the last of your resistance. for all his competitiveness, for all his intensity, when it comes to you? he chooses you every time.

WILL SMITH

you don't mean to fall asleep. you told yourself you were just going to lie down on the couch for a minute -- just until the sting of the argument fades, just until the tight feeling in your chest loosens. the tv is off, the apartment is too quiet. you hug one of the throw pillows to your chest and stare at nothing.

you hear the bedroom door open down the hall. will doesn't slam doors. he never has, even when he's frustrated, he's always controlled. intense, but controlled.

his footsteps pause when he sees you. he stands there for a moment, arms folded over, replaying the argument in his head. the stubborn back and forth, both of you refusing to give up. will hates unresolved tension. on the ice, problems are solved fast -- once the short shift's over, move on. but this? this lingers.

"c'mon," he says softly, stepping closer. "you're gonna wreck your neck out here."

you stir on the couch, still refusing to wake. his expression shifts completely then -- the frustration from earlier melting away completely. the steady, dependable energy he always carried with himself at the rink slips into place here. he kneels beside the couch and brushes your hair away from your face.

"i don't like fighting with you," he admits quietly, even though you can't hear him. "you know that."

when you shiver slightly, he doesn't hesitate anymore. he slides one arm under your knees, the other around your back, lifting you easily. he's careful with you, like you're something precious he doesn't want to mishandle.

you blink awake halfway down the hall. "will...?"

"yeah," he murmurs. "i've got you."

you bury your face into his shoulder automatically. he sets you down on the bed instead of retreating to his side. he sits beside you, thumb brushing slow circles against your arm.

"we can be mad," he says quietly. "but don't sleep out there."

there's no sense of ego in his voice, just sincerity. he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

"we'll figure out everything in the morning. together."

FRASER MINTEN

the apartment is quiet in that heavy, stubborn way that only happens after an argument. you're curled up on the couch, wrapped in the throw blanket you always steal from his side of the bed. the lights are low, and you'd told yourself you didn't care if he noticed you weren't in bed.

you absolutely care.

the bedroom door opens softly down the hall. you hear his footsteps -- slow, and hesitant. fraser isn't the type to slam doors or raise his voice, even during the argument. he'd just stay frustratingly calm, hands on his hips, jaw tight.

now he stands at the edge of the living room, taking you in.

knowing he was staring at you, you don't turn over to look at him. "i'm fine."

there's a pause. you can practically feel him thinking. he runs a hand through his hair -- he always does that when he's trying to figure out what he needs to do.

"you're not fine," he says quietly. "you're on the couch."

you shrug. "didn't want to bother you."

that makes him sigh in a soft and controlled manner, but still hurt. he walks over and crouches beside the couch so he's eye level with you. his voice loses its edge.

"you don't bother me. ever."

you finally glance at him. his expression isn't angry anymore, it's worried. fraser's steady like that -- he cools down fast, but he hates the distance. he hates feeling like there's a space between you.

"i don't like fighting with you," he admits. "but i like you out here by yourself and uncomfortable even less."

you swallow. "you were mad."

"i was frustrated," he correct gently. "there's a difference."

his hand brushes yours, tentative at first, then firmer when you don't pull away. reassuring in a quiet way that was warm and solid.

"come back to bed," he murmurs. "we can still be annoyed at each other. we just don't have to do it in different rooms."

a tiny smile pulls at your lips despite yourself. "that's your solution?"

"it's a good one," he says, almost defensive, but softer now. "we're a team. teams don't split up over one bad moment."

that does it. you sit up slowly, and he immediately stands, holding the blanket out like it's part of the negotiation. when you step into his space, he wraps his arms around you without hesitation, resting his chin on your head.

"i'm sorry," his whispers.

you nod against his chest.

he presses a small kiss to your hair. "next time, you're not allowed to sleep on the couch otherwise i'll just follow you out here."

CONNOR BEDARD

the argument had been stupid. you both knew it. it started over something small -- him being late again with practice running long, and his phone dying. it built into something bigger. you'd crossed your arms. he'd gone quiet, eyes distant like he was replaying a moment he wished he could redo.

now you're curled up on the couch, blanket half-draped over you. you don't hear him at first. connor moves quietly, almost cautiously. he stands there for a second, just looking at you.

you look uncomfortable. your neck bent at an awkward angle, one hand tucked under your cheek. he exhales through his nose. "really?" he mutters softly to himself.

he disappears down the hall, and for a second you think he's just going to leave you there. he comes back with your favourite hoodie of his, and another blanket. he drapes them over you carefully, trying not to wake you.

you stir anyway.

"go to bed," you mumble, eyes barely open.

he rubs the back of his neck. "i was going to tell you the same thing."

silence lingers. he shifts his weight from one foot to the other -- nervous energy, and a restless movement.

"i hate it when we fight," he says finally, voice quieter than usual. "i'm not...great at it."

you sit up slightly, the blanket falling into your lap. "you kind of shut down."

"yeah." he gives a small, sheepish huff. "i know. i just- when things get heated, i don't wanna say something stupid. so i don't say anything. which is...also stupid."

despite yourself, you almost smile. he closes the space between you, meeting your eyes. there's something earnest about him, something genuine and sincere.

"you sleeping out here isn't fixing anything," he says gently. "if you're mad, be mad at me in our bed. don't freeze yourself out here."

he reaches for your hand, squeezing it. his grip is warm and steady.

"i'll try to be better at talking," he adds. "you deserve that."

and the way he looks at you -- focused and determined, like you're the only thing that matters -- you know he means it.