Mackie tugs his phone out of his pocket, humming a little.

"Billy?" He asks happily, using the broom to maneuver the little dust pile he's started in Melissa's kitchen. "What's up?"

Their GM inhales sharply. "Mackie... is Forsling with you?"

"No," Mackie informs him. "I'm at my sister's. He's coming for dinner, though."

"Is your sister with you?"

"Yeah?" Mackie says in confusion. "I'm at her house."

"Okay, good." Another inhale. "Mackie Samoskevich, you've been traded to the Seattle Kraken. The trade went through at 1:28PM."

Mackie holds the phone next to his ear. "Huh?" He asks, trying to process.

He's stopped sweeping.

"Kraken's GM will be giving you a call," Zito continues. "And your agent."

He's been traded. Forsling! Where was Forsling? He has to tell- He's been traded. He has to-

“The staff is here to support you with your transition and the move, so please let us know if you need-“

The phone is shaking in his hand. "Was I good?" He cuts Zito off, desperate. "Was I good?"

Zito makes a pained noise. There's a crunch of staticky pops, then,

"Hey there, Samo."

"Coach," Mackie gasps. He clings to the phone.

"You were so good for us, Mackie. So good. You did everything we asked of you," his coach says firmly.

Mackie takes a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry," he says miserably, unsure how he disappointed them, but the outcome just the same.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," his coach says immediately. "You did nothing wrong. You were highly desirable, and that's why this opportunity arose with Seattle. They want you, Mackie, and we think you'll be successful there. At the same time, we think we can strengthen our own team with other moves. So it's a win win."

He's trying so hard not to cry, that it's hard to think. "Okay," he says. He buries his face in the crook of his arm.

"It's a business," Coach exhales. "You played well for us. It was a privilege to coach you."

"Thanks for giving me this chance, Coach," Mackie gets out, wetly.

"You're a brave young man," his coach tells him. "I'm going to hang up. When I do, call Forsling. Understood?"

"Yes, Coach," he croaks. He stares at the phone in disbelief.

The broom clatters to the tile.

He takes the stairs two at a time and slams the door.

Then, he cries.

"Forsy," Mackie says tremulously.

"Baby," Forsling says, alarmed. "Baby, what's wrong. You sound upset."

Mackie sniffs.

"Do you need me to come get you?"

"Yeah," Mackie croaks.

"Okay. I'm coming, sweetheart. Is your sister in the other room? Can you get her?"

"I locked the door," Mackie says stubbornly.

There's a long pause. "Okay. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Mackie lets the phone dangle from his hand, Zito's name still glaring in the call log. He sits back against the door and drops his head into his knees. He tries to breathe.

"Baby," Forsling's voice says through the wood, sometime later. "Let me in?"

Mackie, blind through the tears, reaches up and unlocks the door. Forsling pushes it open gently, sliding Mackie across the floor.

"Hey, kiddo," Forsling gathers Mackie up in his arms. Mackie clings, burying his face in Forsling's neck. "I saw the group chat, sweetheart. And Zito called. I'm here."

"I don't want to gooo," Mackie wails.

"I've got you," Forsling swears, clutching the back of Mackie's neck. "You're upset. I know you're upset. I know it's scary. It's the Kraken. It's going to be okay. You're going to love it there."

"Seattle is so far," Mackie breathes into Forsling's ear, shaking.

He's not climbing out of Forsling's lap, not for anything.

"Yeah," Forsling says, voice rough. "I know."

Forsling pets him for a while, until Mackie's no longer taking hitching breaths and the tears have dried. Mackie forces his fingers to release their stranglehold on Forsling's shirt.

"What's gonna happen?" He asks, sitting up and wiping his nose with his sleeve.

Forsling's eyes are red-rimmed.

"Forsy," Mackie says miserably.

Forsling folds him into another bone-crushing hug, pressing him tight to his chest.

"I'm going to miss you, that's what," Forsling admits, raw. "Barkov is calling Montour," he says determinedly. "He's gonna be waiting for you. You're going to be well-cared for, I promise." His hand is trembling, up and down Mackie's back.

"Who's going to take care of you?" Mackie realizes numbly.

"You don't need to worry about that, baby," Forsling says gently. "You don't need to worry about a thing other than making new friends on your new team, okay? They do dynamics in the room. Openly. Zito made sure."

"Okay," Mackie mutters. "I don't like it."

Forsling chokes a laugh. "I know, baby. You don't have to like it. It's okay to be sad. You can call home- you can call me whenever, okay?"

"Spencer had to deal with this," Mackie muses. "I can do it, too."

"You can," Forsling says firmly. "You really can." He smiles.

Mackie tucks his head under Forsling's, squeezing his eyes shut, because his mentor has tear tracks running down his face.

"You always land on your feet, Mackie."

“And here’s where you’ll put your stuff. You’ll serve me breakfast at 9:30AM.” Montour gestures to the front bedroom and the kitchen in turn.

Mackie sets his bag down numbly.

“There’s a chore list on the wall and I’ll expect a report, let’s say Sundays. We’ll add responsibilities as we need them and they come up.” Montour nods decisively, hands on his hips. “Understood?”

“…Right,” Mackie says, with difficulty.

Montour raises an eyebrow. 

Oh. “Right, sir,” Mackie corrected hastily.

Montour snorts a laugh. “We’ll work on it. Any questions?”

“I’m hungry,” Mackie reports. “And I’m tired and sad and need a hug.” He wraps his arms around himself plaintively.

Montour stares at him, mouth hanging open. “You don’t, like, need to do something to feel like you’ve earned a reward?” He checks.

“Hungry,” Mackie repeats succinctly. “Tired. Hug.”

“Okay,” Montour huffs. “Forsling wasn’t kidding about the no filter, thing. Come ‘ere.” 

Mackie bullies his way into Montour’s space.

Montour holds him. “So, do you know how to cook?” Montour checks, peering down at him. 

“Sort of,” Mackie admits. “Forsling lets me stir his coffee in the morning. And we- I- cooked steak for the team, once. And like, prep and stuff.”

Montour exhales, slow. “So you’re still learning, kid.”

Mackie sniffles. “Yeah.” He squeezes the dom, burying his head into Montour’s chest. “Yeah, sir.” He can feel the wheezing chuckle Montour makes through his whole body.

“I can be patient with you if you can be patient with me,” Montour prods him.

“Sounds good,” Mackie exhales, eyes still wet. “Good, sir,” he adds hastily.

“You’ll get there,” Montour says, sounding strangled. He rubs Mackie’s back encouragingly. “Good, good boy.”

“Come kneel for me, Samo!” Montour calls across the room.

Mackie shuffles over and drops to his knees. He feels heavy, the weight pressing on his shoulders and holding him still.

He doesn’t normally like kneeling. He trembles, and Montour shifts to trap him better between his knees.

“How’s that?” 

Mackie holds himself stiffly, shaking. Tears run down his face.

“Oh, kid,” Montour says mournfully. He takes Mackie under the arms and drags him up onto his chest. “Not wearing a shirt, but maybe that’s a good thing,” he mutters. One huge hand cups the back of Mackie’s head, gently massaging with a thumb. The other huge arm squeezes tightly around his back.

Montour’s chest is warm under Mackie’s cheek. He cries.

He’s too scared, and maybe too sad, to space fully, but Montour is patient with him anyways. He sniffs, snot sticky on his face. 

“You’re good,” Montour mutters, wiping his face inexpertly with a grossly damp towel.

“Ew,” Mackie says, because it warrants it.

Montour smacks him lightly on the back of the head. “What, you think I’m putting you down right now to get up and get a towel-“

“Ew, sir,” Mackie corrects at the same time.

Montour chokes laughing. 

“He’s just so fucking earnest,” he gasps, waving off the captain. “Are you for real kid?” He peers into Mackie’s face. 

Mackie tries to look less bedraggled than he feels. 

“You must have had the doms wrapped around your little finger. No wonder Ekky fell for you,” he muses. “Gave me the third degree on our call.”

Mackie perks up. “He did?”

“Yeah, kid.” Montour’s fingers massage his hair. “We can call him tonight, if you like,” he offers. “Any of your doms.”

“Okay,” Mackie says tiredly. “Okay, sir.”

Montour chuckles again and kisses him on the top of his head. “You’ll get used to it. And I’ll get used to your communication.”

“‘My sisters say it’s helpful,” Mackie informs him.

“It is,” Montour agrees. “I didn’t realize there was so much difference between service and servant subs,” he admits. “I’m glad you can help tell me what you need,” he says, jiggling Mackie on his lap. 

Mackie thinks through everything Kuli does, pleased to be a helper, and how happy he seems when Ekky rewards his efforts with affection. He swallows. “They spoiled me,” he admits bleakly.

“Eh,” Montour shrugs. “Seems like you need a lot more affection and touch than a servant sub. Less of an identity for you, huh? More of a way to build connection?” He says astutely.

“Yeah,” Mackie realizes, looking up at him. His heart is pounding.

“How you show affection.” Montour smiles gently at him, rubbing his hair.

“Yeah,” Mackie croaks.

“We do a lot of dynamics here,” Montour winks at him. “I know we’re not your cats, sweetheart, but we can make this good for you.” 

Mackie nuzzles into his hand, overwhelmed.

“You must love people real well,” Montour muses.

Mackie nods into his palm, crying again.

“Just let it out, lil cat,” Montour says.

Maybe, just maybe, this would be okay.

“Samoskevich!”

Mackie ignores this, humming, hanging up his skates.

“Hey,” Shane nudges him. “Your name was called. You gotta go to the room.”

Mackie stares at him, the words not processing. Then his head jerks up, catching the officials gaze, then realizes the rest of the room is staring.

He freezes, feeling like a puck dropped into a bucket of ice water. “Uh,” he croaks. 

It hits him, hard, that this is a thing he’s expected to do, here. That he has to do this thing, here. That he has to-

He tries to force his feet forward. They won’t move.

He wants Forsling.

“I’m scared,” he realizes, out loud. It’s a phrase that would bring a dom running, bring help, in another room. 

The official looks uncomfortable. One of Mackie’s new teammates swears. 

Someone stands. It’s Montour. “Ugh,” he sighs. “Put the swap fine on my tab.” 

The official pauses, then scribbles that down.

“Wait-“ Mackie realizes, reaching for his sleeve. He doesn’t want to force anyone else to have to, to have to deal with-

Montour dodges his hand and ruffles his hair, instead. “Cats don’t let their subs take the forfeit,” he announces casually to the room.

“Wait, any subs?” Vince asks.

“I mean, maybe Luosty,” Montour amends. “But nah, captain wouldn’t allow it.”

“Huh,” Mackie’s new captain says.

Montour gestures at Mackie. “Can someone take this kid? Looks about thirty seconds from dropping.”

Mackie flushes, humiliated, but his captain just gestures him over.

“Hey kiddo,” Ebs says. “Room’s not for everyone, that’s okay,” he soothes him. “You wanna kneel?”

And it feels wrong, to be more of an inconvenience, but his doms always said-

He shakes his head. “I want a hug,” he admits. 

Ebs holds his arms open. 

Mackie shoves his face into Ebs shoulder, trying to calm his breathing down. Ebs hand rubbing up and down his back helps, a lot. He zones out a little, the panic fading and his heartbeat slowing.

“Why do we let subs take the room?” Adam asks Ebs evenly. 

Ebs hums. “Not to single anyone out. Not about to make the doms deal with the room every time.”

It’s quiet. “What if we want to?” Adam asks. “To take the room for one of the subs.”

“Well, maybe we can discuss it at our next team meeting,” Ebs allows. “I would think we’d need at least six doms to be willing to rotate.”

“Or the adynamics,” Mahura adds two stalls over.

“Or the adynamics,” Ebs repeats. “That would help with numbers.”

“Swap fine,” Bobby points out.

“We could pool some funds together,” Joey offers quietly. “Or, like, ask management.”

“Okay, we’ll put it to a vote,” Ebs says.

It occurs to Mackie, just how fast the decision was made. “Huh,” he says out loud.

Ebs laughs. “That surprise you, sweetheart?” He asks, squeezing the back of Mackie’s neck. “We’re very open with dynamics on this team. Part of life. Most of our subs like a lil sex. But I agree, would be good to have a system for folks that want to opt out.”

It makes Mackie wonder if the Kraken’s winners rooms are different, less mean, than how other teams treat the Panthers doms. If the room is used by their opponents as revenge, as retribution, in the same way as the Cats.

“When you win,” Mackie starts, thinking. Ebs hand slows, listening. “You’re a target,” he says. He shivers, tucking closer to Ebs chest. “You’re a target in the room when you win.”

“Huh,” Ebs says. His hand resumes, skating up and down Mackie’s back, warming his skin. “I think we’re going to learn a lot from one another,” Ebs muses. 

Mackie thinks so, too.