Archive of Our Own

It starts off innocent, really. They’re getting to the point in the season where their summer bulk is almost a forgotten memory between the late nights and grueling games. It’s nothing new, hockey players fluctuate throughout the season, if anything it’s normal. 

“What are you doing?” Mack asks, eyeing the scoop of protein powder Will’s precariously holding in one hand as he works to open a bag of frozen blueberries with the other. 

“Uhm, making my smoothie?” Will says it like a question, like Mack’s asking him something stupidly obvious. He dumps the powder in, watching it land with an unceremonious splat against the large scoop of yogurt he’s already put in. 

“Yeah, I know, what protein is that though?” Mack asks, still eyeing the large colorful tub Will had pulled out from the cabinet with a proud smirk. 

“New stuff, nutritionist told me I’m not getting enough I guess,” he shrugs, putting another heaping scoop of the floury substance into the already packed blender. The packaging says it’s marshmallow fluff flavored, or something equally sweet and not copywritten. 

“Have you even tried it yet?” Mack grimaces at the thought of an all too sweet and gritty smoothie. “What if it’s gross?” 

“Nah it’s good,” Will turns to put the blueberries back in the freezer. “She made me a test version earlier so I could decide which flavor I wanted.” The freezer hums over the sound of Mack’s judgement. “You can try it if you want,” he adds, putting the cap on and turning the blender on high. 

“I’m good,” Mack says once Will’s finished blending his concoction. Will shrugs, giving him a look that says something like you’re missing out, as he grabs a glass and pours the smoothie in. It’s thick, like you could probably eat it with a spoon if you wanted, but Will just sticks a glass straw into the center and puts the blender in his fridge. 

“What’dya wanna watch?” Will asks, curling up on the couch, smoothie in hand. 

“Don’t care,” Mack says back, plopping down into the spot next to him. Will flicks through channels before eventually settling on a Warriors game, giving Mack no time to move before he’s stretching his legs out across Mack’s lap. “Dude,” Mack huffs, feigning annoyance as Will digs a heel into the meat of his thigh. 

“What?” Will does that stupid blink at him, the one that makes him fold immediately and Mack just huffs again, already feeling his face growing hot. 

“Whatever,” Mack mutters, throwing an arm across the back of the couch. 

Mack watches Will as he drinks his smoothie, suddenly transfixed by the blonde. He watches his pink lips wrapping around the straw, the hollowness of his cheeks as he sucks down the thick liquid, the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows. 

Fuck, his stomach clenches, heat pooling in his abdomen. He hopes, prays, Will hasn’t noticed whatever fucked up thoughts he must be thinking as he watches his best friend sip down the rest of his drink. He shifts, Will’s legs moving in his lap. Hopefully Will can’t feel anything, can’t tell that Mack’s suddenly half hard in his shorts. 

“I need to pee,” Mack announces suddenly, shooting up off the couch and displacing Will’s legs in the process. Will just stares up at him, big blue eyes studying his face. 

“Thanks for telling me, bud. You know where the bathroom is,” he says with a smirk, huffing out a laugh at Mack’s expense before he turns his attention back to the game. Mack makes a beeline for the bathroom, almost slamming the door closed in his haste to get away from Will and his stupid face and his stupidly attractive mouth. 

“Fuck,” Mack whimpers, palming himself through his shorts. “What the fuck,” he says to one in particular, staring at himself in the mirror. He tries splashing some cold water on his face but it doesn’t work and he curses himself for whatever sick perverted thing he’s just uncovered about himself. 

“You good?” Will calls from down the hall, startling Mack out of his thoughts. 

“Yeah, sorry,” he says, strained. He pulls his dick out, giving it a few unceremonious tugs before he’s shooting off into his hand with the image of Will’s lips wrapped around him burned into his brain. “Coming,” he yells, voice weak. He surveys himself, straightening out his t-shirt and smoothing down his shorts. 

“What happened, you fall in?” Will asks, laughing. Mack glares at him but there’s no heat behind it.  He grumbles something incoherent before settling back down on the couch next to Will. Will pays no mind to the obvious redness still evident on Mack’s cheeks, or the way he keeps shifting in his seat. 

*****

The second time isn’t quite as innocent, if Mack were to ever admit the truth of the matter to himself. Will’s taken up baking as his new hobby, ever since the stupid cupcake experience he made Mack do, and it’s driving him a little insane. 

“Here, try this,” Will says, holding out a cookie covered in some type of powdered sugar to Mack. Mack stares at it, unable to focus on anything besides the traces of white powder that are stuck to Will’s fingers. 

“I’m good, man,” Mack declines, making Will frown. Will sets the cookie down with a frustrated huff before he’s licking the remnants of the sugar from his fingers. Mack watches, unable to tear his gaze away as Will’s pink tongue darts out to capture the little bits of sugar. He’s wearing a light blue apron that Mack doesn’t remember him ever owning, and it’s tied in the back to accentuate the curve of his waist. Will shuffles around him in the kitchen, putting away jars of flour and sugar while Mack watches him. 

“Are you still mad about the cupcake thing?” Will asks, wiping his hands on the front of his apron. 

“No dude, I just don’t like sweets that much,” he shrugs. 

“Well, what do you want then?” Will asks, pulling a cookbook down from the shelf by his sink. Mack blinks at him, jaw slightly slack. Will begins flipping through the pages of the book with practiced ease, humming to himself. “How about these?” He asks, flipping the book around for Mack to see. Mack peers over the page, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Sure, Smitty. If you can even make those,” he says, raising an eyebrow at Will who scoffs. 

“I can make a pretzel dude, how hard can it possibly be?” 

Very hard, in fact. Mack’s sitting at the island counter watching Will struggle to shape the pretzels, he’s so lost in concentration that his tongue’s sticking out. Will huffs, squinting at the misshapen dough. There’s flour on his cheek like he wiped his face without realizing. 

“Everything alright?” Mack smirks when Will lets out a frustrated whine, hands on his hips. 

“Shut up,” Will mutters, still glaring down at his pretzels. Mack comes around the side of the kitchen island to join Will, knocking their shoulders together. Will leans back over the tray of pretzels, inspecting them warily. It’s at that moment that Mack jabs two fingers into his side, making the older boy yelp. “What the fuck, Mack!” Will half giggles half yells, turning his attention to the brunette. 

“What?” Mack says innocently, backing away when Will turns to grab him. They tumble through the living room until Will eventually gets the upper hand and wrestles him down onto the couch. Mack lands on his back, letting out a soft ‘oof’ as Will’s weight settles on top of him. His hands come up to grip Will’s sides in an attempt to push him off but he stops, fingers sinking into the slight softness on his hips. 

“Got ya,” Will smirks down at him, hands pushing down Mack’s shoulders as he fights to get the other boy off of him. Mack suddenly becomes hyper aware of the feeling of Will’s thighs straddling him, the weight of his ass brushing against his dick through his sweats. His dick twitches experimentally in his pants and he immediately flushes, letting out a pathetic little whine when Will still doesn’t move. 

“Get off, Smitty,” he rasps, still struggling under his weight. 

“What, you getting weak, Mack?” He laughs, sitting back so his ass is permanently resting on Mack’s lap. 

“No, you’re just crushing me,” he teases, flopping back against the couch. 

“Well, I am bulking,” Will shrugs, “shouldn’t have tried to fight me,” he laughs. Mack glares at him before he sits up quickly, startling Will enough to flip them. Will stares up at him, open mouthed, as Mack gives his side a soft pat before sliding off him. 

“Guess so,” Mack laughs, “shouldn’t you finish your project?” He adds, jerking a thumb in the direction of the oven. Will huffs, nodding as he slides off the couch and saunters into the kitchen, leaving his round ass on display for Mack. Mack has a horridly embarrassing thought that he’s doing it on purpose, that he knows something’s up, that he felt it. Will’s always has a nice ass, a hockey ass, but this new bulk has somehow made it bigger and all Mack wants to is bite it. 

“Come help me,” Will says, startling Mack out of his thoughts. Mack nods robotically, coming around the side of the kitchen island to join him. “Good boy,” Will teases, making Mack flush down to his shoulders. 

“Shut up, Kibble,” Mack mutters, tending to the small mound of dough in front of him. “Don’t say shit like that.” Will just laughs, dipping into his leftover flour to smear a strip onto Mack’s cheek. Mack growls, dipping his own fingers in to swipe at Will’s cheek in retaliation. Will yelps, trying to swipe at him again but Mack catches his hand, pushing it against his chest. “Good try, Smitty, but I win this one.” 

“Fuck you,” Will mutters but there’s no heat behind it. He turns back to look at Mack with the stupid swipe of flour on his cheek and immediately bursts into a fit of giggles. “I’m sorry, you look so dumb,” he laughs. 

“So do you,” Mack says back, already grinning as he begins laughing at Will. “Here, I’ll clean it off,” he says, grabbing a dish towel from the rack on the oven. Will straightens up, turning his cheek to the side for Mack who grabs his jaw with one hand before beginning to dab at the flour with the towel. 

The little bit of peach fuzz Will’s been growing tickles Mack’s thumb as he holds his jaw steady. He can feel the heat of Will’s skin beneath his fingers, the soft puff of air as he exhales against Mack’s hand. “There, all good,” Mack says weakly. 

“Here, let me get you,” Will turns Mack’s cheek with the heel of his hand, swiping at the flour. Mack’s eyes meet Will’s before his gaze flicks down to his pink lips, slightly wet from Will biting his lower lip. Mack’s fingers twitch at his sides and he tries to stop his body from doing something crazy like shoving Will against the counter and kissing him. 

“Thanks,” Mack breathes out, suddenly realizing he was holding his breath. Will smirks, giving his cheek a soft pat before he turns back to his pretzels. Mack stands still for a few seconds, staring at Will as he continues to fold the pale dough. 

“Alright,” Will exhales after a few minutes of silent concentration. Mack scoots out of the way as Will nearly throws the tray of pretzels in the oven. He watches Will untie the apron before Will groans. “Can you get this? I double knotted it,” he mutters, hands still behind his back. 

Mack nods, circling behind him and replacing Will’s fingers with his own as he slowly begins to pull the knot out. From this angle, Mack can see how his sides have filled out a little, his ass is more perky, his thighs are thicker. He tries not to let it get to him, fingers working swiftly at the knot as Will almost arches into his touch. “Done,” Mack says, releasing the tension from the apron. Will exhales, body relaxing as he pulls the apron over his head and folds it over one arm. 

“Thanks, Mackie,” he smiles, laying the apron over the back of a barstool. Mack trails him back into the living room and they settle down on opposite ends of the couch. He flips through channels before settling on a Blackhawks vs Blues game. Will grins at him before he picks his legs up and sticks his feet under Mack’s thighs. 

“Will!” Mack yelps, “your feet are fucking freezing.” Mack tries to pull them out but Will just sticks his toes into the couch cushions harder and shakes his head. “I hate you,” Mack grumbles as he concedes, reluctantly letting Will’s toes continue their residence under his thigh. 

“No you don’t, you love me,” Will drawls, winking at him when Mack scowls. “Bedard is fucking nasty,” Will sighs, watching the replay of Connor going bar down against Binnington. 

“Yeah, I know,” Mack laughs, “almost like we trained together or something.” 

“Yeah, yeah, superstar. I know.” Will rolls his eyes, “almost playoff time,” he adds wistfully. 

“This is our year, Smitty.” Mack says back, “you and me right,” Will nods, eyes sparkling. 

“Yeah, I’ll play on your wing any day,” he says softly. Something warm blooms in Mack’s chest, Will’s words cutting through his anxieties about underperforming since the Olympics. His eyes sting and he sniffs, running a hand down his face to stop himself from getting too emotional. “Love ya, bud,” Will says like he can read Mack’s mind, smiling softly. Mack nods, unable to get any words out as they sit together on the couch. 

*****

The SAP center is buzzing when Mack hits the ice during warm ups. He takes a warm up lap as he waits for Will to join him. There’s so many signs against the glass: photoshopped pictures of him and Will, posters congratulating him on his time in Milan, but one in particular sticks out to him. 

There’s a brunette girl plastered against the glass with a few older boys who look like her brothers, and she’s holding a sign that says ‘71 you’re gold in my heart’ with a maple leaf and gold glitter. She reminds him of his sister Charlie and his heart clenches a little. He doesn’t realize he’s skating over to the glass until the girl starts jumping up and down, still holding the sign. Mack taps the glass, pointing at her, before he tosses his stick over the boards, waiting until he’s sure she has it. “I’ll come sign it after,” he yells, pointing to the tunnel to their lockers. The girl is misty-eyed and beaming at him as she nods vigorously. 

“Aw, Mack. You probably just made her year,” Will smiles as he skates over to the bench with Mack to grab a second stick. “You’re so nice to the kids, someone better wife you up,” he laughs, clapping Mack on the back as the younger boy flushes a deep scarlet. 

“Stop saying stuff like that, Smitty. People are going to think you want to wife me up,” he mutters as he grabs a roll of tape and begins retaping the curve of the stick. An evil expression crosses Will’s face and he pauses. 

“Oh, Mack. I could be a good housewife if you’d let me,” he mocks, pitching his voice up. “I can cook, I know how to handle your crashouts, I can–” Mack shoves a hand over his mouth, quietly chastising him. Will says something else but it’s muffled behind Mack’s teal glove. 

“What’s going on here?” Toff asks, tapping Mack’s shin with his stick. Will says something inaudible again from behind Mack’s glove and Mack turns a deeper shade of red. 

“Smitty’s just losing it,” Mack gestures towards the blonde who’s already folded over in a fit of giggles. Toff raises an eyebrow and shakes his head at them before skating away to chat with Eky. 

Mack feels the nerves buzzing under his skin as he sits through Warso’s pregame speech. It’s not his first game back since the Olympic break, but after a long roadie it’s their first home game in a week and a half and Mack wants to win. Will taps his knee softly, pulling him out of his thoughts as his teammates begin filing out of the locker room. Will’s gaze is soft, controlled, and he holds his fist out to Mack who bumps it. 

Will stands up first, extending a hand to Mack and hauling him up. “Woah,” Mack lets out as he stumbles forward, almost crashing into Will’s chest. 

“Easy Celly,” Will laughs, arm around his shoulder as they follow their teammates out. 

Mack takes his spot at center ice, waiting for the Buffalo player to skate up opposite to him. He looks up to meet Tage Thompson’s gaze, the American smirking at him. Mack scowls back, his grip on his stick tightening as he waits for the puck to drop. “Nice to see you again, Celebrini,” Tage says, tapping his stick down against the ice. Mack doesn’t say anything back, just slams his own stick down harder with a loud huff. 

Mack doesn’t hear anything else except the sound of his own heartbeat, and then the sound of the puck as it hits the ice. His body jerks automatically, scooping the puck with his blade before he slides it behind him to Will. He pushes off, looking over just in time to watch the smirk melt off of Tage’s face before he’s hurdling down the ice parallel to Will. 

He can almost hear Will’s blades moving, almost in tandem with his like they’re somehow connected. He looks over and Will’s already looking back at him as he weaves around a Buffalo defenseman. He doesn’t need to watch the twitch of Will’s wrist to know the puck’s coming to him, he simply feels it as it lands on the blade of his stick. Mack grins, saucing it between the legs of a defenseman before he sends it back to Will who short-hands it into the goal. 

“Smitty,” he yells, crossing the short distance between them and nearly jumping into Will’s arms. “What a fucking beauty, Smit,” he says as he wraps Will into a hug. 

“Cause of your dime of a pass,” Will grins back, leaning into his side as their teammates rush to join the celebration. Eky joins in, giving Will a shake to his helmet and a pat on his back. 

“Way to get on the board boys,” Reavo says, tapping Mack’s calf with his stick. 

The rest of the period is pretty smooth, Eky gets a goal, Will gets an assist. Mack wants to score, but he’s also incredibly satisfied that Buffalo hasn’t scored. When they come out of the tunnel for the second period, he can feel the energy shift on the ice. He knows he has a target on his back, and he knows that Will knows it too. 

He’s flying across the blue line when it happens; something throws him off his trajectory and he smashes into the boards, knees going weak as his head bounces off the glass. For a second everything is quiet, then the sounds of the arena hit him all at once. There’s the sound of blades cutting through the ice, of a stick falling near him, and he blinks his eyes open to see the ‘2’ on the back of the person standing over him. 

“What, Smith? What are you going to do?” He hears someone say. There’s a shuffle as Will lunges for whoever is on the other side of them. “I barely even touched your faggy little boyfrie—” there’s the sick sound of something snapping as Will’s fist connects with something, someone. He’s pushing forward, away from Mack who watches transfixed as Will pulls the taller player's jersey over his head and continues hitting him. 

Mack’s never seen Will fight, didn’t know that it was something he was capable of doing. This is new, and in Mack’s slightly disoriented state, it’s hot. Oh. Oh. Mack realizes as he watches Will wrestle the other person down as refs try to pull them apart. Will gives one last heated shove to the other person before he shifts out of the grip of the ref and immediately falls to his knees next to Mack who still hasn’t gotten up. 

“Mack, hey, hey, you okay?”  Will says in a rush, arm around Mack’s shoulders as he helps him sit up. 

“There’s blood on your tarp,” Mack slurs, gaze dropping to the splash of crimson sitting starkly against the white jersey. Worry fills Will’s blue eyes and Mack frowns. Mack sways forward and Will nearly jumps as he steadies him, guiding one of Mack’s hands to the front of his jersey to hold on to. “Why’s there blood on your tarp,” he slurs again, eyes briefly meeting Will’s before they begin to droop. 

“Don’t worry about that, Celly,” Will says softly, “focus on me okay?” Mack gives him a little nod, head suddenly throbbing. “Here, hold on to me,” Will ushers as he slowly begins to stand them both up, “good, real good Mack, just keep focusing on me.” Mack nods again, gaze focused on his skates. Mack hears the applause and the stick taps in the background as he makes it to the bench, but all he can really hear is the blood rushing in his ears. 

“Smitty, Smitty?” He looks around as Will’s warmth fades as he’s sat down on the bench. 

“I’m here, Mack, I’ve got you,” Will coos, scooting into the space next to him. Will keeps a hand on his thigh as the trainers begin evaluating him. 

“Probably going to have to sit the rest of this period out, but you don’t seem to have a concussion, just got throttled a bit.” One says, but everything besides Will sounds so far away. “Alright, you too Smith let me take a look,” he adds, and that gets Mack’s attention. 

“You’re hurt?” Mack asks, voice wavering. 

“I’m fine, Mack,” Will says but it comes out garbled as one of the trainers begins dabbing at the cut on his cheek. Mack turns his head despite the throbbing at his temples to look at Will whose face is marred by a stream of blood oozing from a slash on his cheek. Will hisses as they run an alcohol wipe over the area and Mack feels like he’s going to be sick. Will got hurt because of him. Will got into a fight for him. “Celly, I’m fine,” Will says again, the hand on his thigh rubbing soft circles over the padding. 

“You’re bleeding,” Mack states, gaze stuck on the gauze patch sitting on Will’s cheekbone. Will gives his thigh another soft pat, turning his head to meet Mack’s worried gaze. They stare at each other for a second, unblinking, before Will just smiles softly at him. 

“I’m fine, I owed you a fight anyway,” he says, finally getting Mack to crack a smile. The trainer next to them gives Will a pat on the shoulder before telling him he’s cleared to play the rest of the period. 

“Not you, Celebrini,” he says as Mack tries to hop over the boards with Will for his next shift. “You’ll be back for the third, but sit this one out, yeah?” He asks, tugging softly on Mack’s jersey. Mack sags, hand still hovering over the board. Will turns back, one leg already over the side and gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. They don’t talk, they don’t need to, Will just nods at him and Mack feels everything loosen. 

Will wins it for them in overtime with an assist from Mack. They crash into each other as they celebrate, Will’s arms around him in a way that’s almost protective. Mack tucks his face into the crook of Will’s shoulder and Will gives his head a soft pat. “Let’s go make that girl’s day, yeah?” Will whispers to him, pointing towards the girl Mack had given his stick to during warmups. Mack nods into Will’s shoulder before slowly uncurling himself from Will’s embrace. 

The girl’s already waiting for him by the time they skate over to the entrance to the tunnel, clutching Mack’s comically large looking stick to her chest. “Hi, I’m Macklin,” he says softly in the voice he reserves only for kids and sometimes Will. 

“I know, oh my God are you okay?” She asks, half smiling half gawking at him. Mack can’t stop the giggle that slips out and nods back, taking the pen her brother holds out for him to sign the stick. “You’re my favorite player ever, Mack!” She says excitedly, “even more than Sidney Crosby!” Her words hit him square in the chest and something warm burns in his stomach like pride. “I like you too, Will,” she adds when Will laughs next to them. 

“Thank you,” Will says, an easy smile on his face. He turns and hands his stick over to her older brother whose jaw drops. He takes the stick with shaking hands, eyes shining with gratitude and awe. 

“Thank you so much,” the boy says, a huge smile painting his features. Will holds his hand out to bump fists with the boy before he knocks his shoulder into Mack’s and smiles. 

“Thank you both for coming to support us, means a lot,” Will says, still grinning too. They sign a few more items for the kids before saying their goodbyes and heading down the tunnel together. The locker room is humming with happy energy, guys are chatting in each other's stalls and some turn and clap and yell when Mack and Will walk in. “How are you actually feeling?” Will asks in a hushed voice once the celebration has died down a little. 

“Head’s throbbing,” Mack says through gritted teeth as he tugs a skate off. Will frowns, “how’s your cheek?” 

“Not important,” Mack snorts despite the pain building behind his eyes. “I’m driving you home.” 

“Whatever, mom. Didn’t know you were such a worrier,” Will shakes his head, a grin tugging at his lips as he pulls his own skates off. Mack makes quick work of the rest of his gear before hopping in the shower. He hears Will come in after but doesn’t turn from where he’s standing under the spray of almost burning hot water. Mack beats him out of the shower, already changed and ready in his locker by the time Will saunters out in his towel.

Mack looks up without meaning to, earning him a full display of Will’s chest still glistening with water. Mack reddens, eyes fixed on his pecs which are somewhat rounder than Mack remembers. His gaze travels down the pale plane of Will’s torso, eyes lingering on the little crease of softness near his happy trail that didn’t used to be there. His dick gives a little excited kick in his shorts and it takes everything in Mack not to make a whiny desperate sound at the sensation. Will smirks, walking close enough to Mack as he makes his way to his own locker that Mack can smell his shampoo. 

Fuck. He shifts in his locker, trying and failing to get comfortable as his dick refuses to get the memo and calm down. Thankfully Will’s finally turned away from him to change and is blissfully unaware of Mack’s current predicament. Mack barely registers Will corralling him into the passenger seat of his Bronco, too focused on the throbbing in his head and his dick. 

“What’s going on, Mack?” Will’s fingers are drumming on the steering wheel, “do you have a concussion and you’re hiding it, because if so I’m turning this car around.” 

“No, no, I’m fine,” it comes out strained, “I’m just tired.” 

“Hungry?” Will glances over at him, “Chipper?” 

“Yeah, sounds good,” Will nods, handing over his phone to Mack. 

“You order, I’ll grab it,” Mack cracks a small smile as he thumbs through the app. “What?” Now Will’s looking at him, golden curls falling in front of his eyes. 

“Nothing Smit, I like when you wine and dine me,” he drawls, taking pride in seeing the blush that spreads across Will’s cheeks. 

“Very funny, Mack. Maybe you do have a concussion,” he laughs, eyes focused back on the road. It’s not the first time they’ve flirted with each other like this, but usually it’s Will orchestrating things and not the other way around. Mack doesn’t want to admit how good it feels to see Will flustered and how much he wouldn’t mind seeing him like that again. 

*****

“Mack, seriously are you okay?” Will frowns as he watches Mack push around the food in his bowl before he takes another bite of his own. Mack blinks at him, fork hovering over the bowl. Does his head still hurt like a bitch? Yes. Is that why he’s spacing out? No. Mack’s eyes stay focused on Will as he scoops up another bite, unable to tear his gaze away as he watches Will swallow. It would be so much easier to blame everything he’s feeling on the hit from earlier, but deep down Mack knows that just isn’t fair. 

“Do you want it?” Mack holds out the bowl, cringing when Will’s expression morphs from surprise to worry. 

“Mack. You never share your food, ever.” Will almost looks scared and that nearly kills whatever nervous energy is pulsing in his stomach. 

“I’m fine, I’m just not that hungry,” Will’s mouth falls open. “Seriously, Smitty. I’m fine, I promise,” he holds out his pinky to Will as if to demonstrate. Will eyes his finger warily for a few moments before setting down his fork and sticking out his own pinky to Mack, linking them together. Mack leans back into the couch cushions, gaze drifting back to Will as the other boy finishes off his own bowl before glancing down at Mack’s. 

“Like you sure you don’t want it?” He looks back over at Mack who shakes his head, "because I’m not ordering you another one in two hours if you complain that I ate this one.” 

“All yours, Smitty,” he nods, leaning further into the couch. He watches Will down the bowl through his lashes, mouth suddenly wet and dry at the same time. He swallows thickly, licking his lips and spreading his legs to alleviate the pressure building between his thighs. He doesn’t want to admit to himself that something about watching Will eat is turning him on, doesn’t want to think about what that even means. 

Will polishes off the bowl with a triumphant sigh before he stretches out on the couch. He folds his arms behind his head causing his sweatshirt to ride up and expose the slight swell of his stomach to Mack, whose shorts suddenly feel too tight at the sight. He looks blissfully full, eyes hooded and sleepy, cheeks tinged pink. Will gives his stomach a soft pat, “fuck, dude, I’m full.” 

“You didn’t have to eat it all,” Mack chirps, unable to look away from Will’s thumb rubbing soft circles into the pale skin of his stomach. 

“I’m bulking,” Will reminds him, “and I played like 24 minutes tonight.” 

“Bulking,” Mack repeats, giving Will a slow once over. He thinks he might be hallucinating because suddenly Will is straddling his thighs and settling himself in Mack’s lap. 

“Yeah,” his voice is low, “I know you’ve noticed, you’re not subtle.” Mack’s hands are on his sides, “you liked it right? When I threw my weight around, when I fought for you,” he whispers like it’s a secret between them. Mack’s mouth goes dry as Will grinds down against his thigh. 

“Y-yeah,” he stutters out, hands twitching against Will when the other boy presses down harder, trapping their dicks between them. He’s hard, Will’s hard, which Mack is unable to not focus on. He runs his hands down Will’s sides, giving his hips a soft squeeze. Mack slips a hand under his shirt, palm sliding up Will’s soft flank until he runs his finger over Will’s nipple experimentally. Will whimpers, chest spasming as Mack rolls the bud between his fingers. “Take your shirt off,” his breath is raggedy. 

Will does as he’s told, sitting back in a way that has his ass sinfully positioned right on top of Mack’s dick as he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it on the ground. Mack runs his hands over Will’s chest, squeezing his pecs like they’re tits. “Fuck, Smitty. You’re tits are so pretty,” Mack watches the way the words hit Will. “Yeah, you like that? You wanna be my pretty girl?” Will grinds down on him hard, punching out a moan from Mack as he whines. 

“Mack,” he pants, fingers digging into Mack’s shoulder muscle. “Mack, can I?” He thumbs at the waistband of Mack’s sweats clumsily. 

“Go ahead, baby, take what you need,” Will shivers, fingers shaky as he pulls Mack’s sweatpants down, cupping him through his boxers. Mack reaches out, stroking him through his sweats and Will mewls, head bowed as Mack runs his thumb over his tip. Mack looks up to meet Will’s gaze, waiting for the other boy to nod before he rolls Will’s sweats down his thighs. “Smitty, you’re all wet for me already,” he teases, fingers running over the damp patch on Will’s boxers. 

Mack looks up, eyes focused on Will’s pink lips glistening with spit. He looks really pretty, golden curls framing his face, sharp lines softened in the low lighting of the living room. Mack runs a thumb over Will’s lips, feeling the slickness under his finger before he pushes Will’s mouth open. “Suck,” he doesn’t sound like himself. Will stares for a second, gaze calculating, before Mack feels the pad of his tongue against his pointer. Their eyes meet and it takes everything in Mack not to come right there. 

“Mack,” Will says around his fingers, spit dripping down Mack’s wrist. “Wanna taste you,” Mack chokes on his breath, fingers curling into Will’s tongue. 

“Fuck, Smitty,” he tries to adjust himself, pulling his fingers out of Will’s mouth and slipping his hand inside Will’s shorts. Will curls in on himself as Mack strokes him, desperate little pleas falling from his lips as Mack gives his dick a squeeze. Before he realizes, Will is wriggling out of his grip and shifting down on the couch until he stops, cheek resting on Mack’s thigh. He nuzzles at Mack’s crotch, licking him through his boxers. “Oh fuck, Smitty,” Mack groans, hand threading through Will’s curls. 

“Mack, can I?” He looks up through his lashes, pupils blown. Mack nods almost manically, lifting his hips so Will can slide his boxers down his thighs. His dick smacks against his lower abdomen, almost kissing Will’s cheek. Mack barely processes the feeling of Will spitting on his dick before he feels lips wrap around his tip and “oh fuck, oh my God.” 

Will hums, cheeks hollowed, mouth stretched wide as he takes more of Mack. Mack can’t help it when he rolls his hips, forcing his dick further down Will’s throat. He watches, mesmerized, as Will swallows him, Adam's apple bobbing. “Smitty, Smitty, fuck-oh fuck,” he babbles as Will pulls off him, a string of saliva connected them. Will just smiles around his dick as he goes back down, hands pushing Mack’s thighs further apart. There’s a pulsing sensation in his stomach that’s building, and Mack barely warms Will besides a weak “fuck, baby, I’m gonna-fuck,” and then he’s shooting down Will’s throat. 

Will pulls off him slowly, making eye contact with Mack as he swallows before he wipes the corner of his mouth and licks his fingers. “Let me help you,” Mack says brokenly but Will just shakes his head before climbing back into Mack’s lap. Mack runs a hand down Will’s sides before cupping his dick and oh “you came?” He asks, taking pleasure in the embarrassed moan Will lets out. “Shit, that’s so hot,” he mutters before Will’s lips are on his. “You’re so fucking hot,” Mack whispers against his lips before licking into Will’s open mouth. 

Will’s hands find their way into his hair, tugging softly. “Was hoping I wasn’t reading things wrong,” Will looks nervous as he pulls away, blush creeping onto his cheeks. 

“No, no, definitely not reading things wrong,” Mack confirms, shaking his head. It’s the first quiet moment they’ve had together and Mack finds himself studying Will’s face; the short patch of stubble on his jaw, the little dusting of freckles on his nose, and the cut on his cheek. Mack runs his finger over the raised skin, frowning at the feeling of it under his thumb. “Does it hurt?” 

“Nah, Celly, it’s all good,” Will’s arms are draped around his neck loosely, fingers toying with the hairs at his nape. “Nothing you haven’t dealt with before.” 

“Yeah, but it’s not me it’s you,” Mack sounds frustrated. “I should’ve been watching who was on me more, I got you hurt.” 

“Mack,” Will’s tone is bordering on sad, “it is not your fault that Tage Thompson boarded you,” Will sighs. 

“Yeah but I didn’t do enough-I didn’t,” his eyes are stinging. Why are his eyes stinging? 

“Mack,” since when was Will’s hand cupping his cheek? “Are you mad about this?” 

“No, no, I just-I should’ve been more aware,” he doesn’t remember the last time he let his emotions get to him like this. “I should’ve been playing better,” his voice is barely above a whisper. 

“This isn’t about tonight’s game, huh,” Will’s finger swipes at his cheek. Mack shakes his head, biting down hard on his lower lip to suppress what he horrifyingly realizes might be a sob. “Oh, Mackie,” Will coos, cradling Mack’s head against his chest. Will feels warm against his cold cheek, the smell of his body wash and cologne temporarily overloading Mack’s senses. “You played so well, you know that,” Will’s rubbing his back softly and he kind of wants to cry because he feels like such a child.

“I got you hurt,” his voice sounds so small. He feels stupid and embarrassed, crying after sex or whatever you could call what they just did. 

“You didn’t get me hurt, you got hurt and that pissed me off,” Will presses a kiss to the top of his head when Mack sniffles. 

“M’not hurt,” Mack pouts but Will just shushes him. 

“No, but I thought you were.” Will’s fingers comb through his hair softly, making him shiver. “It goes both ways you know, I have your back too, you don’t just have to protect me.” 

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” if Mack was standing he’d probably be on the verge of stomping his foot. There’s anger washing over him in waves and he doesn’t understand why. 

“Then I’ll try not to get hurt,” Will shifts down on the couch, letting his head rest against Mack’s chest. 

“Yeah, not like-not like last time,” Will can feel Mack shaking his head. “Pittsburg was…” He stops, words dying on his tongue. They’re talking about it, they’ve never really talked about it. 

Will remembers the game in snippets. He got hit, his shoulder popped and felt like it was on fire, and then he was down the tunnel. He remembers being hopped up on some pain killers with the trainers and Mack storming in like a man who just got away with murder. There was this look, this intensity to him that Will hadn’t seen before. Not his hockey intensity, something else, something more primal. 

“Pittsburg was bad,” Will finishes, listening to the way Mack’s heart is hammering in his chest. 

“Yeah,” Mack breathes out like it hurts and Will kind of wants to throw up. “D’you remember it?” 

“Kind of,” Will feels the way Mack’s breath hitches. “You lost it, right?” Mack doesn’t answer, “they gave me something before they reset my shoulder so I was pretty out of it but you were there in the room, weren’t you?” 

“Yeah, yeah I was,” Mack takes another shaky inhale. “It was scary,” Will feels like his heart is in his throat. 

“You’ve seen injuries before, Mack,” Will wants to take the words back immediately because Mack makes a pained sound in the back of his throat. 

“Not like that, not-not you,” he stutters. “It was different.” 

“Because it was me,” Will finishes for him, lifting his head to meet Mack’s gaze. Mack nods, eyes glistening with some indescribable emotion. 

“It’s always you,” and the tears spill over. “Fuck,” Will doesn’t know whether to give him space or to hug him because Mack looks seconds away from having a panic attack. Will falters before he sits up, pulling the other boy into his chest. He’s still shirtless and Mack’s hair tickles his chin as he feels Mack’s tears. “Fuck,” Mack repeats. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Will runs a hand up and down his back, “I’m sorry I brought it up.” 

“Will,” Mack pushes against his chest, forcing the other boy to meet his gaze. “Is that why you’re…” He trails off, eyes roaming over Will’s body. 

“Trying to get stronger?” Will finishes, exhaling when Mack nods. “I need to fight my own battles sometimes,” he says. 

“I like fighting for you,” Mack blurts out, face red and still glistening from his tears. Will’s lips quirk into a smile before he can stop himself. 

“You wanna fight for me, superstar?” He leers, pushing Mack down against the couch again. 

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Mack sounds dazed as his hands fumble to hold Will’s waist. “But you fighting tonight was pretty hot,” he admits, giving Will’s hip a squeeze. 

“Yeah, you like seeing me a little roughed up?” Will’s eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with lust. Mack’s lips are back on his, soft at first before Mack bites down on his bottom lip and licks into his mouth. Will moans at the prick of pain, body shuddering as Mack’s hands roam across his chest. He shifts, straddling Mack’s lap again as Mack leans against the back of the couch, forcing Will virtually on top of him. 

Mack pulls away first, breathing heavily as his eyes meet Will’s. Will’s curls frame his face, falling into his eyes and Mack barely registers himself brushing them away. Will’s staring at him, lips parted and just barely showing his teeth. Mack wants to run his thumb against them, wants to feel the sting of Will’s canines against the pad of his finger. “I like you,” Mack hears himself say, earning him a smile from Will. 

“Yeah, Mackie, I like you too,” Will says back, hands playing with the hair at his nape. 

“No, Will, I like you,” he wants to kick himself because he sounds like he’s five years old confessing to his crush on the playground. 

“Yeah, Mack. I like you too,” Will says slowly, tone almost condescending if it wasn’t so damn sweet. Mack just stares at him, jaw slack as Will giggles. He fucking giggles. 

*****

They don’t talk about it for the next week, but things feel different, charged. Will’s skating harder, throwing himself into drills in a way that Mack hasn’t seen before. The bulk looks good on him, natural, like it’s given him some of his confidence back. 

“Smitty’s fired up,” Collin nearly takes Mack into the boards with him as he stumbles towards the bench, gaze still focused on the blonde. 

“Yeah,” Mack mutters, eyes also trained on Will as he takes a check and shakes it off easily. They’d been on a winning streak until Ottawa, but Will had shook off the loss, claiming that the Oilers would be the real test. 

“You got plans for tomorrow night?” Collin’s looking at him expectantly and Mack shakes his head jerkily. He actually does have plans for Will’s birthday, just not ones he wants to tell Collin about. “Really? Damn Mack, thought you guys were closer,” his words hit Mack square in the chest, a burning sensation settling in his stomach. 

Things had been different between them, quieter. Will wasn’t touching him during practice, clapping him on the back or messing with his helmet, and they hadn’t talked about the night after the Sabers game. “It’s-it’s not that,” Mack grinds out, suddenly embarrassed and overwhelmed by Collin’s perceived expectations. “He just wanted to focus on the game tomorrow,” Mack tries to make it sound believable but Collin just shakes his head before he skates away. 

*****

The game ends up being an absolute shit show, somehow even worse than the 7-4 blowout against Ottawa. Mack’s so in his own head about the loss that he doesn’t even realize Will is missing until he tries to go find him. “Where’s Smitty?” He feels frantic as he darts across the room to Toff’s stall, brows furrowed when the older man looks up at him and shakes his head. “Anyone seen Smitty?” He turns, addressing the rest of the locker room. 

“Hotel,” Eky shrugs, nodding towards the door. Mack tears his gaze away from the Swede, grabbing his gear bag and his phone before he stalks out of the room. He calls an Uber back, too frustrated with himself to wait for the team bus. 

The hotel room is dark when Mack shoulders his way through the entrance. He drops his gear bag by the closer bed, the bed that’s always his, before flicking on the bedside lamp. Will’s bag is in the room, open and clearly rifled through, but there’s no sign of Will. There’s a sound from the bathroom, something small and muffled like a whimper, but Mack jumps at it nonetheless. “Will,” his voice wavers as he pads across the room, knocking softly on the door. 

“Go away, Mack,” Will’s voice is shot and gravely, and he sniffles again. 

“I’m not doing that, Will. Come on,” Mack leans against the door before slowly sliding down to sit against it. “Talk to me, Will,” Mack folds his arms on his knees, resting his head on his forearms. 

“No,” Will’s voice pitches up a little, almost whiny. “Leave me alone,” he adds. There’s a hiss of a can being opened, and Mack almost hears Will take a sip of whatever drink he has. 

“I saw what Warso said,” Mack grimaces as he says it. “That was so shitty, Will. So fucking shitty.” 

“Whatever, not your problem,” the can makes a soft clinking sound as Will sets it down harshly onto the marble floor. 

“It is my problem, he’s fucking with my team,” Mack can’t stop the anger that creeps into his voice. On the other side of the door Mack swears he hears Will laugh. “What’s so funny?” 

“Nothing,” there’s a slur to his words, “just that you sound like you’re already captain. S’funny,” there’s another clink, something else is being opened. “Doubt I’ll be here to see it.” Mack tastes acid on his tongue. 

“What are you talking about?” The question lingers, no one speaks, then Will laughs again. 

“I’ve seen this film before, no offense, Mack.” Another pause, another sip. “Kane, Marner,” Will huffs, “it just gets to be too much, all the comparisons and for what?” Will inhales sharply, “I’m never gonna be the best, not here, maybe not anywhere. I know that, doesn’t mean I want to hear it all the time,” something else clatters to the floor. 

“That’s not true,” Mack snaps back. 

“Isn’t it?” There’s something teasing and wicked in Will’s tone. “It’s okay, Mack. Y’know, I shouldn’t be telling you this,” another bottle hisses, “but I asked to play 2C tonight, just to try. Warso said no, then he just benched me. Said I wasn’t keeping up with you either,” Mack feels like he’s going to be sick. “That whole earn your ice time thing, absolute bullshit.” 

Mack doesn’t realize he’s pushing the door open until he’s met with Will’s tear-streaked face and an array of beer cans and a bottle of whiskey. Will blinks at him, cheeks red and shiny, before his expression morphs into something angry and hurt. “I said go away, Mack-” 

“Will stop it!” Mack’s eyes burn, “stop fucking telling me to go away, I’m not! Get over yourself and tell me what the fuck is going on,” his chest is heaving, fingers clenched into fists. 

“Wow, way to get a guy to open up,” Will smirks, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. 

“Oh, fuck you,” Mack spits back, swiping the bottle of whiskey from Will’s other hand. 

“Hey, give that back I paid for it,” Will reaches out for the bottle but Mack just shakes his head, placing it away from Will. “You’re no fun,” Will mutters. 

“Yeah, yeah, I suck. Come on, Smit, talk to me,” Mack crosses his arms. 

“Don’t wanna,” Will shakes his head, “go hang out with Graffer.” 

“I’m hanging out with you,” Mack sighs, scooting the beer cans over with his foot before he sits down next to Will. Their shoulders knock against each other and Will stiffens, head lolling to the side to look at Mack. 

“I think I should ask for a trade,” Mack’s stomach drops. “Don’t-don’t do that, Mack. Don’t make that face,” Will slurs, eyes clouded with some indescribable emotion. 

“What,” tears slip down his cheeks but he barely feels them. “You can’t.” 

“Warso doesn’t wanna play me, he hates me,” Will shakes his head, eyes sad. “I don’t wanna leave but what’s the point in staying?” He looks at Mack then, blue eyes shimmering with hurt. 

“Warso needs to go, I’ll get them to do it. Please, Will. I’ll get them to,” Mack’s voice sounds too whiny for his liking. “You can’t leave, Will.” He shakes his head roughly, body shaking. 

“I don’t wanna leave, Mack. But we’re the next Matthews and Marner aren’t we?” Tears threaten to spill over his lashes. 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” the words feel choked. “We’re not Matthews and Marner, or Kane and Toews,” his voice has gone soft. “We’re the next Sid and Geno, we’re gonna go the whole way.” Mack reaches out, giving Will’s hand a squeeze. Will sniffles, body spasming as he chokes down a sob. “Oh, Will. C’mere,” Mack coos, coaxing the older boy into his arms. He smells like liquor and sweat but underneath it there’s something so distinctly Will. 

Mack tucks Will’s head into the space between his shoulder and collarbone, resting his chin against Will’s soft curls. “I feel so useless,” Will says into Mack’s shoulder, voice muffled by the fabric of his dress shirt. Mack sniffs, cradling Will against his chest. 

“You’re not useless, Smitty. Warso’s being an idiot,” Mack runs a hand up and down Will’s back, nails grazing the exposed skin at his nape. “You’re everything, you’re part of this rebuild. You’re the reason we’re making a playoff run,” Mack’s voice sounds a bit stronger. 

“Think you’re describing yourself,” Will huffs into his shoulder. 

“No, Will, I’m not.” Mack shakes his head, “the only reason I have so many points is because of you.” Will shakes his head against Mack’s shoulder, curls tickling Mack’s chin. “Stop, it is true.” 

“Pretty shitty birthday,” Will mutters, words still slurred. “Thought 21 was supposed to be fun,” he huffs, “guess not.” 

Mack cringes at the memory of the interview from before the game. He did make plans, he had a dinner reservation and a cake and everything. He just wasn’t ready to tell the world that, hell, he was nervous to even take Will out like that. “I had plans for us,” Mack says softly, “a real celebration. I wanted it to be fun.” 

“I’m sure it would’ve been, Celly,” Will nods, “s’not your fault I’m fucking up out there.” 

“Stop saying that, you’re not fucking up. Warso’s fucking up. It’s fucking up everything, everyone else’s chemistry too. We’re on the same line, everyone knows that.” Mack runs a hand through Will’s curls, making the other boy shiver. 

“I know, it just sucks.” 

“Yeah, it fucking sucks,” Mack confirms. “Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” Mack gives Will a squeeze before he’s standing them both up, arm around Will’s waist as he tugs him upright. “I’m sorry your birthday was so shitty,” Mack adds as he pushes the cans further to the side. 

“It’s getting better,” Will murmurs, wiping at his eyes. 

“Oh yeah?” Mack quirks an eyebrow as he deposits Will onto his bed, watching as the other boy melts into the mattress. 

“Yeah, Mack. Come here,” Will scoots back on the bed, curls splayed out against the white pillows. “Come make it better,” he bites his bottom lip, spreading his legs enough to accommodate Mack. 

“Will, you’re drunk,” Mack says as he settles in between his thighs. 

“And? I’m not that drunk,” Will whines, “you owe me a gift.” He looks up at Mack who can’t help the grin tugging at his lips. “Come on, Mack. Or is it ‘cause you don’t love me?” He juts his bottom lip out, turning his head to the side. 

“I do love you,” Mack placates, hand rubbing soft circles into Will’s hip. 

“Ha! Knew it, you big sap,” Will laughs, “say it again.” 

“Say what?” Mack pokes his side, “what’s so funny?” 

“Mack,” Will’s tone is bordering on warning, “say it again, please?” 

“I love you,” Mack gives his hip a squeeze. Will probably won’t remember any of this tomorrow anyway. “There, happy?” 

“Very,” Will nods. “Kiss me?” He looks up at Mack, blue eyes sparkling. Mack nods, leaning down to capture Will’s lips. Will whines into his mouth, biting down on Mack’s bottom lip to force the kiss deeper. Mack smiles into it, licking into Will’s open mouth. He tastes like beer and whiskey and the reality of the night comes crashing back down onto Mack. 

“Will,” Mack pants, pulling away, “baby, I love you but you’re still drunk. It’s not fair to you to do anything else,” he says, ignoring the little whine Will lets out at the loss of contact. “I know, I know. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, promise,” Mack nods before flopping down on the bed next to Will. Will curls against his side, cheek resting on Mack’s shoulder. “I’m sorry your birthday was so shitty,” he says again, threading a hand through Will’s curls. Will nods against his chest but doesn’t say anything else. 

***** 

They still haven’t talked about it, about them, about what they are. It’s the final push to make the playoffs and Mack can’t tell if he’s more frustrated with himself or with Will. Will’s being distant too, quieter, more reserved, which is not helping Mack ease the frustration he’s feeling. 

“Is Smitty okay?” Eky snaps him out of his angry trance, tapping him with his stick. Mack opens his mouth then closes it, unsure of what to say. “He’s moving weird,” Eky adds, motioning with his stick towards the blonde. 

Mack’s already skating over to Will before Eky can finish the rest of his thought. “Smitty,” Mack calls out, waiting for Will to turn and look at him from where he’s wrestling a puck against the boards. Will doesn’t turn, which is weird. “Smitty,” Mack tries again, this time scooping the puck off Will’s stick, forcing the blonde to look up from the ice. 

Will turns to face him, lips pursed into an uncomfortable frown. “Mack, give it back,” he grits out, stick jutting out for the puck. Mack swipes it away, handling it between them, almost tauntingly. Will’s frown deepens, nostrils flaring like he’s gearing up for a fight. Eky’s right though, from this position Mack can see he’s standing weird and favoring his right side. 

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong,” Mack stops moving the puck, Will makes no move to take it. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Will huffs, eyes trained on the ice. 

“You’re standing weird.” 

“I have a cramp,” Will sniffs, “is that a crime?” 

“No, but—”

“Then it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Will cuts him off, swiping the puck back and skating away. Mack’s left there, jaw slack. Will’s snapped at him before, but usually only when he’s stressed during a game. This is different, Will’s purposely avoiding him and that feels significantly worse. 

*****

They just lost their chance at the playoffs. Mack should feel more angry at himself than he does, all he feels is worried. All he did during the whole game was worry about Will, not that Will wasn’t playing insanely well. They’ve barely even talked since Mack cornered him after practice to ask if he was okay. He’s clearly not okay, today’s game confirmed that despite how well he played. 

“Macklin, media,” someone taps him on the shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. Toff’s staring at him expectantly, hand still hovering in the air near him. Mack scrubs a hand down his face, sweat stinging his eyes. “I know, it sucks, just answer a few questions,” Toff smiles sympathetically before he walks back to his own stall. 

“A 4-3 loss in overtime just cost your team the chance at the playoffs,” the reporter starts, “how do you feel that all three of those goals came from your teammate, Will Smith?” The reporter’s looking at him expectantly but Mack doesn’t even know what to say. “Macklin,” he says, Mack opens his mouth but no words come out. 

“Uhm,” he stammers, averting his eyes from the cameras. “Will’s a superstar player,” he hears himself say, “and we let him down today.” The reporter nods, motioning for him to continue. “Will’s been working really hard this whole season, and I think he showed just how good he is during the last half of the season. Our defense still isn’t there, we wanted to be a playoff team-really we did,” Mack swallows hard. “But Will was playing like one and we weren’t, and that’s reflective of the rest of us, not him.” 

“There was some speculation about Will’s ability to perform after his injury, has any of that self-doubt affected your chemistry?” Mack feels stunned by the question. “Macklin?” Mack’s face heats up, anger swirling in his gut. He tugs on the strings of his hoodie, feeling the fabric tighten around his face. 

“I’m not answering that,” he grits out, already turning to leave. “I’m not gonna sit here and let you guys blame Will for our shit of a second half of the season, goodbye.” Mack turns on his heel, eyes focused on the floor below him as he nearly runs away from the media. 

The locker room is almost empty by the time Mack makes it back. Will’s still sitting in his stall, still in full gear which automatically puts Mack on edge. “Hey, Smitty,” Mack says, cautiously approaching the older boy. Will’s eyes flicker but his gaze remains focused on some unspecific point in front of him. Mack kneels down in between Will’s legs, resting a hand on his knee. Will’s hands sit limp in his lap and his mouth is slightly slack. 

“Will?” Mack rubs his thumb against Will’s knee joint but the other boy barely acknowledges his touch. Something in Mack’s stomach churns, worry clawing its way up his throat. “Hey, Will. I’m gonna help you out of your gear, okay?” Will’s eyes flicker before he gives Mack the tiniest nod. 

Mack makes quick work of untying Will’s skates, wiping down the blades with a towel just like he would with his own. In the silence of the room, Mack can hear Will’s wheezy breaths. “Arms up for me,” Mack motions as he stands, waiting for Will before he slowly pulls his jersey off of him. Will’s arms fall back into his lap once the task is done and he inhales shakily. 

Mack gets the rest of his gear off without much fanfare. When Will’s left in just his compression shirt and shorts, Mack grabs a water bottle and hands it to Will. “Drink some,” he points at the bottle in Will’s hand and Will does or he tries at least. His hands are shaking so badly that Mack has to grab the bottle from him before he spills it all over himself. “Shit-okay, shit, Smitty.” Mack mutters, “can you please tell me what’s bothering you?” Mack doesn’t like how whiny his voice sounds. 

“Hurts,” Will wheezes, a hand coming up to clutch at his left side. 

“Your side?” Mack reaches out to touch him but Will flinches away. 

“Ribs,” he wheezes again, turning to cough into his shoulder. When Will turns back to face Mack his lips are tinged red. 

“Are you-fuck,” Mack moves to sit next to the other boy, “did you just cough up blood?” Mack turns Will’s jaw with his palm, the other boy going pliant against him. “Will, please tell me you just bit your tongue or something,” his voice breaks. 

“S’mthings wrong,” Will slurs before he coughs again, this time into his elbow. Mack stares at the little drops of crimson on Will’s pale skin. “Fuck,” Will whispers before he slumps against Mack. 

“Will!” Mack feels like he might throw up as Will’s full body weight leans against him. “Will, fuck, okay,” Mack grabs a sweatshirt and a towel folding the into a makeshift pillow. “Here, okay, you’re gonna be okay,” Mack says as he slowly lies Will down, head pillowed on the towel. It’s at that moment that Will coughs again, choking on whatever is in his throat before Mack turns him on his side. There’s blood on the towel now too. 

“Toff! Anyone! Help!” Mack yells, throat feeling too raw. “Will needs help now!” He feels so helpless with Will blinking up at him, eyes glassy and unfocused. Will makes a pained sound like a whimper and Mack’s heart nearly shatters. “Hey, hey, I know, you’re gonna be okay,” Mack threads a hand through Will’s hair. 

“Mack?” Toff appears in the entryway of the locker room, a team doctor trailing behind him. 

“Will needs help,” Mack’s voice cracks as he turns his attention back to Will. 

“What’s going on?” One of their doctors joins Mack on the other side of the bench, getting out supplies from his kit. 

“I don’t-I don’t know,” Mack feels useless as he says it, “he seemed off so I helped him get out of his gear and then he-he started coughing up blood.” Mack’s breath hitches, hands shaking as he strokes at Will’s cheek. Their doctor starts saying something, either to Toff or to someone else but Mack barely registers if there’s anyone else in the room. “You’re gonna be okay, Will. Just stay awake,” Mack’s palm is cradling Will’s cheek, thumb rubbing against his jaw. 

“M’tired,” Will blinks at him again, blue eyes cloudy and unfocused. 

“Yeah, I know but you gotta stay awake, okay?” Mack taps his cheek a little harder and Will’s eyelashes flutter. 

“Mack?” There’s some clarity in Will’s voice. 

“Yeah, Will. I’m right here,” he brushes Will’s sweaty curls off his face again. 

“M’sorry for being a dick,” he swallows thickly, turning his cheek into Mack’s palm. “Just wanted to play,” his voice dies off as he coughs wetly. 

“Hey, I don’t care about that, okay? Not right now,” Mack’s voice wavers as he thumbs at the corner of Will’s mouth, trying to wipe away the blood before Will registers it. 

“Mack,” Toff’s voice cuts through his panic, “the paramedics are here, you gotta move back bud.” He feels Toff’s hands under his armpits, half pulling and half standing him up. There’s a flurry of movement as medical personnel swarm in and Mack whimpers as he’s turned away from Will. “Mack, hey, look at me,” Toff fully turns him, hands resting on his shoulders. Mack nods, “good, yeah, take a breath for me okay?” Toff inhales as if to demonstrate and Mack tries to copy him. “Good, real good bud.” 

“Toff,” Mack’s voice is barely above a whisper, “I’m scared.” The look that crosses Toff’s face is indescribable and awful at the same time. He pulls Mack into his chest, strong arms holding him close as Mack’s knees go weak. Mack feels the sob clawing up his throat before he begins to cry, suddenly unable to control himself as tears roll down his cheeks. “Will can’t die, Toff,” he wails into his teammates chest, “he-he can’t.” 

Toff’s arms around him tighten and he brings a hand up to card through Mack’s hair. “Will’s not gonna die, okay Mack? He’s not, I promise,” Toff feels the way Mack’s body spasms as he tries to choke down another sob. Toff begins to rock him slightly like you would with a child, alternating between petting his hair and shushing him softly. 

“We need to go with him,” Mack says, voice wavering. “He can’t be alone, not there,” he shakes his head against Toff’s chest. “I don’t want him to be alone.” 

“He’s not gonna be alone,” Toff pulls away slightly, reaching out to wipe at Mack’s tears. “Our doctor went with him, we’ll meet them at the hospital. Everything’s gonna be okay, Mack.” 

*****

Mack doesn’t remember anything in between when they took Will away and now. He knows Toff drove him to the hospital, and he knows that it’s been at least a few hours because Toff’s asked him twice if he wants a cup of coffee or something to eat. He’s declined both times. Mack’s head snaps up at the sound of footsteps approaching. Will’s doctor from earlier is wearing a calm but determined expression as she comes to a stop in front of him. “Hi Mr. Celebrini, I want to start by letting you know that Will’s surgery was a success, and he should be waking up from anesthesia soon.” Mack feels the way his entire body relaxes, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “That being said, I think we should talk about the injury itself.” 

“Yeah, I agree,” Mack nods, swallowing hard. 

“His recovery shouldn’t be too long, I’m more worried about something like this happening again. The injury itself was caused by an untreated rib fracture that led to a small puncture in his lung. The rib fracture itself seems a bit older, it was partially healed before the damage to his lung occurred. I know that hockey is a contact sport and you want to play as much as possible, but I cannot stress enough how important injury recovery is and also prevention.” 

“Yeah, I-I know,” Mack stutters, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. 

“I’m going to talk to Will when he wakes up about this as well, but in the future, just know that playing through injuries is not going to get rid of them.” Mack nods again, tuning out the rest of her conversation. He thinks back to when Will started acting weird, it was over a month ago. Will had been playing with broken ribs for over a month. The thought makes him feel sick. “I’ll have a nurse come get you in a few minutes so you can go see him.” He hears her say before she walks away. 

“Mack? You okay, bud?” Toff’s voice is soft. Mack shakes his head, words getting stuck in his throat. “I know you’re freaking out but he’s okay, you heard the doctor.” Mack just shakes his head again. 

A nurse comes over to them a few minutes later and Mack lets her herd him down the hall towards Will’s room. He stops in the entryway of the room, feet suddenly stuck to the floor. Will’s not awake but his face doesn’t look relaxed either. There’s a white bandage around his chest and looped over his left shoulder but Mack can see the thicker gauze peeking through underneath.

Mack can hear the steady beep of the heart rate monitor over the hum of the hospital. The nurse moves around with practiced ease as he stands in the entryway, he watches her adjust the thin blanket around Will’s waist before she hooks another bag of IV fluid into the stand. “You gonna go in?” Toff asks from behind him. Mack nods, stumbling over the threshold of the room before he makes his way over to Will. 

“Hey Smitty,” he says into the cold silence of the room. The machines click and whirr back at him but Will’s still not awake. Mack sits down on the edge of Will’s hospital bed, trying to make himself small enough to not jostle Will. Mack reaches out to brush Will’s curls off his forehead and he lets his hand linger for a second. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you were hurt,” he whimpers, “I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me.” 

He flinches when Will nuzzles into his hand. He feels the burning sensation behind his eyes as Will blinks a few times before his gaze settles on Mack. He cracks a lopsided, toothy smile at Mack. “Hey Mackie,” Will slurs, “you look rough.” Mack sniffles, “my head feels fuzzy,” he giggles. The meds, Mack realizes, this must be the meds. 

“Hey Will,” Mack tries to smile back at him but it looks more like a grimace. He takes one of Will’s hands in his own, giving it a squeeze. His heart flips when Will squeezes back. He watches Will’s gaze drift over to where Toff is slumped in a plastic hospital chair. 

“Been here long?” Will blinks at him, flopping back against the pillows. 

“C-couple of hours,” Mack stutters, Will’s lips pull into a frown. 

“You okay?” Will tries to sit up but Mack nearly jumps to stop him, pushing him softly back against the pillows with a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, I’m not made of glass,” Will says softly, giving Mack’s hand another squeeze. “You’re shaking,” Will observes. 

“I’m fine,” Mack chokes out, “don’t worry about me.” That only makes Will frown more. 

“You aren’t fine,” Will’s voice is scratchy and he reaches for the water bottle on his bedside table. Mack hands it to him before he can get it himself. “Thanks,” Mack nods, fidgeting with the edge of Will’s blanket. “Hey, it’s just me, Mack.” Will reaches out to cup Mack’s cheek and it’s at that moment that Mack realizes he’s crying. “Oh, Mack, it’s okay,” Will’s voice is so soft and his hand is so gentle. 

“It’s not,” Mack shakes his head, tears trickling down his cheeks. “It’s not okay, you’re hurt, and you didn’t say anything.” Mack blinks but his vision doesn’t clear. “You didn’t tell me you were hurt, Will. And-and then you were coughing up blood and you just passed out on me and I couldn’t-you wouldn’t wake up.” 

“Mack-”

“No, Will. I’m mad at you, okay? I’m so mad at you right now,” Will’s thumb strokes at his cheek and Mack’s too tired to push him away. “You scared the shit out of me today, Will.” 

“I’m sorry-” 

“Don’t apologize, not right now. I can’t-I can’t deal with that right now,” Mack’s breath hitches and he makes a pained little sound before he folds in on himself. “I thought you were dying and I think if that were to happen I wouldn’t be able to survive it.” His words die out as he chokes down a sob, face pressed into Will’s blanket. Will’s hand finds its way into his hair and Mack can’t help the whimper that he lets out. It’s so like Will to be taking care of him even when he’s hurt because he knows Mack. He knows him better than anyone else. 

“I really didn’t think it was going to be this bad,” Will starts, “I really just thought it was some bad bruising.” Mack sniffles, turning his face to look at Will. “It’s just-just like after what Warso said I just felt like maybe he was right, maybe it was in my head. So I didn’t want to say anything.” Mack’s face contorts into a grimace, another tear slips down his cheek. “And when you asked I knew you would tell me to tell the trainers, so I kept avoiding it-avoiding you.” 

“Pretty fucking shitty of you, Smit,” Mack mumbles, eyes closing as Will’s hand finds its way back into his hair. 

“I know, and I’m sorry. I just really wanted to play, to be good,” Will’s voice cracks and his hand stills in Mack’s hair. Mack sits up gently, Will’s hand settling at the junction between his neck and shoulder. 

“You are good, you’re insane,” Mack looks back at him, voice soft but steady. “And I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me, really.” Will’s expression softens as he scoots over in the bed, patting the space next to him. Mack eyes it wearily for a second before finally conceding and pressing himself into the small space next to Will. 

It’s not exactly big enough for two hockey players but Will shifts around before he leans his good side into Mack. “I didn’t want to seem weak,” Will says after a beat of silence. “That’s why I didn’t say anything.” Mack nods, throat clicking as he swallows. “I get that you’re mad, I’d be mad too,” he adds, “I’m sorry I scared you, Mack.” Will’s thumb shifts against his hand, sliding down until it rests against his pulse point. 

“Will?” Mack’s voice is small, nervous even. “Do you love me for real?” He feels the way his body shivers as he says it, unable to meet Will’s gaze. 

“More than anything,” Will breathes out, shifting in the bed to press himself impossible closer to Mack. “Do you love me for real?” Will’s voice is soft, Mack can feel the slight stutter in his breath. 

“Yeah, I’ve loved you for longer than I’d like to admit,” Mack says, feeling the tension bleed out of him at the omission. “Can we-can we stop hiding it? Hiding us? At least from some people, I don’t think I can keep pretending that I’m not in love with you anymore.” 

“I’m not ready to come out publicly,” Will says softly, “but we could tell Toff and Wenny to start.” Something warm blooms in Mack’s chest and his stomach flutters. 

“Tell me what?” Toff’s voice seems to echo around the room, or maybe it’s the fact that both Will and Mack jump at the sound. “Hello? Are you both deaf now,” Toff gestures between them. 

“Uhm, Mack and I-” 

“Will and I are together,” Mack blurts, cutting Will off. 

Toff shrugs, “okay, and?” 

“What do you mean, ‘okay and?’” Will asks incredulously. 

“Am I supposed to be surprised? I thought this was known,” Toff blinks at them, arms folded over his chest. “What?” 

“You thought we were together?” Mack asks slowly, Toff nods. 

“We’re so stupid,” Will says after a beat of silence. 

“Yep,” Toff nods, “dumb and dumber.” Mack presses a kiss to Will’s temple, smiling when Will makes a contented sound. 

“I love you,” Mack whispers, wrapping an arm around Will’s shoulders gently. 

“I love you too,” Will says back, blinking slowly at Mack as he begins to fight sleep. Mack rubs a soothing hand down his arm, relaxing into the bed as Will’s breaths even out next to him. It’s been the scariest day of his life and also the best day of his life, and he has Will. And that’s all that really matters.