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As soon as Kent gets home, he pulls out a pad of paper and a pen and makes a list of his options.

1. Tell Jack you got traded. Get dumped. Cry in your cheerios.
2. Hide from Jack that you were traded.

He considers this for a moment, then embellishes.

2. Hide from Jack that you were traded. Buy out (?) the Vegas media so they don’t cover the story. Bribe NHL.com Break Jack’s laptop so he can’t read NHL.com anymore. Fly back on off-days (?).

He considers this some more, then sighs.

2. Hide from Jack that you were traded. Buy out (?) the Vegas media so they don’t cover the story. Bribe NHL.com Break Jack’s laptop so he can’t read NHL.com anymore. Fly back on off-days (?). Have plan fall through because plan is dumb. Get dumped. Cry in cheerios.
3. Tell Jack you got traded. Somehow (?) persuade Jack to move to Vancouver. Research Vancouver prostitution scene (+cheap housing) for bolstering of case? Maintain status quo, maintain sex life, profit $$.

He chews on the end of his pen for a while, thinking about this. Then he sighs again, because his brain won’t stop running on its little hamster wheel until he satisfies it by writing down the words, however insane he knows they’re going to look written down.

4. Tell Jack you got traded. Confess feelings. Move in together. Pay for his education (?). Get second cat. Learn to genuinely like protein shakes. PROFIT.

“Yeah,” Kent says when Kit walks over his hands and settles down right onto his notepad. “Thanks, babe, I needed that.”

The familiar rumble of Shacks’ Benz sounds outside his house some 20 minutes later. Kent turns in his seat so his laptop screen faces away from the door.

“We brought Thai,” says Spicer, letting himself in.

Literally half of Kent’s team have spare keys to his house. The sad statement this makes about his life is not lost on him.

“The last unwelcome take-out break-in with our beloved captain,” Shacks says in his usual monotone. “I might cry.”

Spicer sets down the bags on the counter and starts unloading the containers. “Shouldn’t you be packing? They’re saying you’re planning on playing Thursday.”

“Got some fuckin’ games to win if we want to make the playoffs,” Kent says distractedly, more focused on his computer. “Got my Miracle speech all cued up.”

“Great moments… are born from great opportunity,” Spicer intones, over-enunciating each syllable. “That’s what you’ve earned here tonight.”

“S’a good fucking Kurt Russell,” Kent says.

“He knows,” Shacks says, jabbing Spicer in the side with his elbow. “You need help packing, though?”

Kent looks around disinterestedly. “What’s the point of being disgustingly rich if you don’t pay people to do the boring crap for you? I’m busy, anyway, I’ve got my road duffle and Kit’s carrier and that’ll tide me over until the movers bring up the rest this weekend.”

“You’re busy? With what?” Spicer snorts. “Give it.” He’s quick, but Kent’s quicker, whipping his laptop away before Spicer can get a hand on it.

“Softest hands in the league, brah,” Shacks says. “Busy with what, cap?” He unwraps the spring rolls and offers one to Kent.

Kent bites off half, taking his time chewing and swallowing. “We’re coming up on the final act of the movie,” he says, finally. “I just haven’t figured out yet if it’s a rom-com or an indie flick.”

“Ahh,” Shacks says, nodding wisely. “When Harry Met Sally v. 500 Days of Summer.”

Closer to Pretty Woman, Kent thinks, but doesn’t say aloud.

“Wait, what?” Spicer says, looking back and forth between them. “You just jumped, like, six points ahead in the conversation.”

“The boyfriend, dumbass,” Shacks says. “The captain’s illustrious beau.”

“What? Oh,” Spicer says. “Ohh.” He scratches his chin. “The final act being -”

Shacks shrugs. “Does our hero ride off into the sunset with boyfriend in tow, or does he…”

“Not,” Kent says.

“Right,” Shacks says, pinching up some pad thai with his fingers and tilting his head back to drop it into his mouth. “Objectively, though, what are your chances?”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” Kent says, slumping on the counter and mournfully stirring his soup. “He has a whole life here. And he’s proud - I don’t think he’d be cool with me bankrolling his move up, but it costs money to hop countries, you know? Find a new apartment, break his lease here, find new clients…”

“Clients?” Shacks says.

Shit. “Yeah, he works freelance,” Kent says, which is both technically true and gratifyingly quick-witted of him. “Fuck, I don’t know. It’s a lot to ask a guy you’ve only been seeing casually for a few months.”

“But you want him to?” Spicer says.

Kent sighs.

“So ask him,” Spicer says. “Say he can crash at your place while he’s still finding his feet and move into his own place when he’s ready. S’no more than you’d do for a friend.”

“Worst that can happen is he says no,” Shacks points out.

“Yeah, duh, I don’t need you dumbfucks telling me this,” Kent says. Christ, how emotionally stunted do they think he is? “I have a plan.”

“A plan?”

“A PowerPoint,” Kent admits.

“Oh my god,” Shacks says, and starts laughing.

Kent, blushing, turns around his laptop and shows them the screen. Vancouver! it reads in big bubbly white letters, overlaying an aerial picture of the city.

“Oh my god, who are you,” Spicer says, awed. “Parse, are you an actual child?”

“Powerpoint privileges revoked,” Kent says, scowling at them both.

“No, c’mon, we can help,” Shacks says, still laughing. “You’ve seen the caliber of girls we somehow landed, we’re good at this.”

“I’m telling Bri you said that,” Kent says, but it’s a pretty convincing argument. Brianna is way, way too good for Shacks, Kent has never understood how he pulled that one off. “I don’t know, I’m a visual thinker! Shut up.”

“Give it,” Spicer says, and this time Kent lets him have the laptop. “Let’s see - History, Geography, Cityscape, Demographics… Bro, be real, did you rip these headers from Wikipedia?”

“No,” Kent lies.

“This is bullshit, I’d flat dump you if you came at me with this PowerPoint, and that’s saying something, you’re a hard 8.5, 9 on a good hair day,” Shacks says, ruffling Kent’s cowlick. “You are so lucky you have us, kid.”

“Go pack your necessities or take a nap or whatever,” Spicer says, already busy at work fixing the PowerPoint. “We got this. Yo dude, what’s the name of that sushi place downtown, you know that one?”

“Oh fuck, the one by the waterfront? That place is the shit,” Shacks says. He shoves at Kent’s back. “Promise, Parse, by the time we’re done, I’m gonna wanna move to Vancouver.” He looks back at the screen and points at something on it. “I’m pretty sure that’s spelled with an e.”

“Good save,” Spicer says. “Hey, let’s FaceTime Mosh, he’s Vancouvian, right? Scram, Parse!”

Kent, a bit stunned, scrams. He pauses in the doorway to his bedroom and looks back at the pair of them hunched over his computer, spilling sauce and noodles on his clean counter, laughing as they arrange his love life, and…

Shit, he’s gonna miss his boys. Jack better come with him or he’s not going to be able to stop himself from turning around and coming right back after about two days.

Even the ever-stoic Shacks gets a little emotional at Kent’s goodbye dinner. Kent, who cried watching Toy Storys 1, 2, and 3, doesn’t stand a chance. 

Swoops makes fun of him on the drive home, but he didn’t expect anything less.

“Man,” Swoops says, leaning out the car window. He shakes his head. “Man.”

“You’ll see me tomorrow,” Kent says. “Don’t think I don’t realize you assholes are planning some huge embarrassing display at the airport.”

Swoops opens his eyes wide, affecting innocence. “Who, -”

“Yeah, you,” Kent says. He turns to leave, but pauses, hands in his pockets. “Jeff, man…”

“Yeah,” Swoops says. “Stay gold, Ponyboy.”

Kent knocks his knuckles on the top of Swoops’ car. He watches the car pull out of the driveway, gazing after it until it turns a corner and disappears from view.

“Hey,” he hears from behind him.

Kent jumps about a foot, hand clutching his chest as he spins and finds Jack there, duh, because who else would it be? “Jesus Christ,” he says, and then abruptly he’s in the best mood ever, because -

Because whatever, because Jack, because what else is there?

“Hey,” he breathes out, and slams into Jack with a hug that’s more like a tackle.

“Hey,” Jack says, amused and surprised. “Is this a good time?”

“Always,” Kent says. “C’mon, let’s head inside.” He pulls Jack into the house.

In the living room, Kent turns to face Jack. His heart’s starting to beat harder, palms getting clammy, but he’s going to do this. At the very least, he has to try.

“So,” Jack says, when Kent’s got his mouth open, “Vancouver, huh?”

Kent pulls up short, surprised. Until now, he’s always been the one to bring up the difficult subjects. It strikes him suddenly that this is the first time Jack’s ever come over without texting ahead first. He wonders distantly if that means something.

“Yeah,” he says. “Of all the cities to be mortgaging their futures for me, could be worse.”

“Definitely,” Jack says. “Could be Toronto.”

Kent winces. “Don’t even joke,” he says. “Phil told me all about it in Sochi, there’s not enough money in the world.”

Jack smiles. “Toronto has a really interesting history,” he chides. “Both the city and the hockey team.”

Kent realizes with some smugness that his original PowerPoint was probably better after all, only because Jack is such a dork. “I bet Vancouver’s history is pretty interesting too,” he hints unsubtly.

Jack levels him with a long, thoughtful gaze. “Yeah,” he says. “Probably.”

“And, uh,” Kent says, scuffing his foot on the floor, “the weather’s supposed to be really nice too. Better than Vegas, for sure.”

Jack sits down on the couch. He starts to lean forward to put his elbows on his knees, but Kit jumps into his lap and he has to sit back instead. “Kent…”

Kent takes a deep breath. “Come with me,” he says. “Cards on the table, I want you to come with me.”

Jack works his jaw for a moment.

Kent can feel himself start to panic, which is very bad, because he loses his filter when he panics and he knows it. But - that look on Jack’s face - it can’t end like this. “Nothing has to change, okay? You can get your own apartment, you can keep hooking, it’s fine.”

“It’s fine?” Jack says, raising an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware I needed your permission.”

“Fuck off, you know that’s not what I meant,” Kent snaps, starting to get mad, because he’s pretty sure this is Jack’s way of coaxing him into a fight, which he’s pretty sure is Jack’s way of dumping him. And it’s just so unfair, he wants this so much, and he feels so fucking helpless now that the conversation is taking this turn. “I’m just saying, I’ll pay the upfront cost for the move but otherwise - otherwise everything will stay the same, okay?”

Jack tips his head back against the back of the couch. He looks weary. “It’s not the same. If I move to Vancouver for you, whether or not I live with you, that makes me your personal whore. You get that, right?”

“Not really,” Kent says honestly, because he doesn’t. “How exactly is it different from what you are now?”

Jack looks like he’s been slapped, and Kent - he didn’t mean it like that, but he can’t take it back now. “That’s fair, I guess,” Jack says stiffly. “Which is all the more reason I can’t go with you.”

The stark finality in his tone makes Kent’s stomach roil. “Yes you can,” he says desperately, furiously. “It’s fucking bullshit. You backed yourself into this and now we’re both being punished for it.” He bites the inside of his cheek hard. “You’re worth so much more than -”

“Shut up,” Jack says, surging to his feet. Kit goes tumbling, yowls her displeasure, and dives under the couch. “You don’t know anything about it.”

“And whose fault is that?” Kent yells. “I would take any-fucking-thing you gave me, and you’re acting like -”

“Crisse,” Jack bites out, carding his hand roughly through his hair. He’s breathtaking in his anger. Kent can’t bear the thought of losing him for good. “What do you want from me? Do you actually want me to throw my life away for you? Become just another of your possessions that you buy and abandon just to show you can? I’ve seen that Chevrolet in the garage.”

Kent has always gotten smarter and meaner when he’s angry, mouth working too fast for his brain to dial back. He’s fighting, so hard, not to do that to Jack, trembling with the effort of not lashing out.

“I had no idea you thought so little of me,” he says, quiet and cold. “I want you to move to Vancouver with me because I’m happier when you’re around and I convinced myself you felt the same way.”

His jaw hurts from how hard he’s clenching it. “I don’t care if you get another job or not - I don’t equate wealth with value the way you do, and maybe that’s because I have too much money now or maybe it’s because I had none growing up, but if you’re going to manufacture this class division drama in your head, leave me the fuck out of it.”

He has to go before he says something he regrets, so he turns, banging his knee on the coffee table. It jostles the wireless mouse, waking up his computer screen. Jack looks down at it. Some of the tension drawing his eyebrows together smooths out, confusion taking its place, so Kent looks down to see what he’s looking at. A wry, humorless smile twists his lips when he sees the big bubbly Vancouver!

“I made that to convince you to come with me,” Kent says, adding bitterly, “but if you’re already committed to pussying out, you may as well not read it. You know where the door is.”

The door to the back deck is a sliding one, so he can’t slam it on the way out. It’s very unfair.

He’s been stewing in self-righteous fury for about five minutes at the poolside when he realizes he hasn’t got a damn clue what’s in that PowerPoint anymore. Knowing Spicer, it’s a 20 page love letter to the Asian fusion restaurants of Vancouver, which makes him look like even more of a jackass storming off in an indignant huff the way he did.

Shit. He groans, leaning over with his head in his hands. He’s such an idiot.

He can’t bring himself to turn around when he hears the sliding door open a few minutes later, so it startles him when Jack lowers himself to a seat next to him, close enough for their arms to touch.

“You didn’t write that,” Jack says.

“Uh,” Kent says, grimacing. “Parts of it, maybe? How’d you know?”

Jack gives a half-smile. “Call it a hunch.” He looks ahead, over the water. “Whoever wrote it knows what I am to you, though.”

“No,” Kent says, confused. “I didn’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“I don’t mean they know that I’m your whore,” Jack corrects. He turns his hand over, palm up. “But what I am to you, what I mean to you - what we are to each other -” He bites his lip. “They get it.”

Kent swallows hard. “Yeah?” he says roughly, grabbing for Jack’s hand before he can move away, weaving their fingers together. “Good for them.”

He has no idea what Shacks and Spicer added to that PowerPoint, and it seems like Jack doesn’t want to say. Probably some sappy declaration of how happy Kent has been since he met Jack, how crushed he would be to lose him. He can read it later, because he’s not going anywhere now.

“And you’re not my whore,” he adds belatedly.

Jack’s smile twists a little, going malformed. “I actually wrote you something too,” he says, slipping a folded up piece of paper from his pocket. He holds it out to Kent, looking down. “Should answer all your questions. I know you must have a lot.”

Kent looks down at it, mouth agape. His hands are trembling when he takes it, because he recognizes the significance of this gesture.

But…

“Not like this,” he says.

Jack looks up.

“You’re giving this to me because you think it will make me understand why I shouldn’t want to be with you,” Kent says, and it’s a shot in the dark but Jack’s quickly averted gaze confirms the hunch. “Which, A, bullshit, and B, if you ever tell me anything about yourself, I don’t want it to be because you feel pressured into it.”

Jack presses his lips together. “If you’re waiting for me to tell you voluntarily, you’re going to be waiting a long time,” he says roughly.

“I’m good with that,” Kent says, and he drops the letter into the pool.

Jack’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t say anything. Together they watch the ink bleed, smooth black lines splintering into fractals, as the paper soaks through.

It’s some ungodly hour of the morning when Kent’s alarm goes off, and he lets it go for a few minutes before the lump next to him shifts and groans, and Kent finally slaps his hand out and swipes the alarm off.

“Get up,” Jack says, jabbing at him.

Kent pulls a pillow over his head.

“You’re going to miss your flight,” Jack says, prodding him some more.

Kent groans.

“Vancouver awaits, come on,” Jack says, kneeing him.

“Since when were you so perky in the morning?” Kent says, more accustomed to Jack’s perpetual morning glower. “Hang on, are you just trying to get me to leave so you can go back to sleep?”

Jack is conspicuously silent.

Kent jabs him, this time. “Jerk,” he says. “Ugh.” He propels himself out of bed and throws on some clothes.

Once he’s ready, he sits at the edge of the bed and heaves self-pitying sighs until Jack obligingly rolls over to look at him. “Hey,” Jack says. “In, like, 15 hours you’ll be taking your first Vancouver faceoff, captain. Just think about that.”

“Yeah,” Kent says, smiling at him.

Jack adjusts so he can pillow his head on Kent’s thigh. “You need a pep talk?”

“Nah,” Kent says. He starts absently toying with Jack’s messy hair, twirling it around his fingers. “Just… you promise you’re coming next week, right?”

Jack smiles. “Promise,” he says. “Some of us just need more than 48 hours notice to move our entire lives across the continent.”

It would go faster if Jack let Kent pay for his movers, but Kent doesn’t say that. This is the dawning of a new era in their relationship, and they haven’t quite hashed out the details but they’ll make it up as they go. Kent just hopes Jack still lets him spoil him with gourmet restaurants, mostly because it turns him the fuck on when Jack orders for them both in French.

“Kay,” Kent says. He reaches out and scratches Kit’s head where she’s curled up at Jack’s feet. “Be good to my princess, okay? You know that I love her more than life itself.”

“I know,” Jack says. “I’ll take good care of her.”

Academically, Kent knows this is true. But if the alternative weren’t drugging her into a stupor for the flight, no way would he be leaving her behind. And to think, at the time, offering his Chevy for Jack to drive his meager belongings up the 19 hours from Vegas to Vancouver had seemed like such a good idea.

Jack chuckles at the look on his face. “We’ll be there before you know it,” he promises, reaching up and thumbing Kent’s cheek.

“Slanderous lies,” Kent grumbles. He twists the chain of Jack’s necklace around his fingers, causing the keys hanging from it to clink together. Now that he’s got them on Jack, he’s never taking them back.

“It’s just a week,” Jack says.

“I know,” Kent says. “I’ll still miss you like hell, though.”

Jack sits up and hooks his chin over Kent’s shoulder. “Tell me again. It’ll make you feel better.”

Kent perks up. “We’ve got this awesome fucking apartment downtown. You’re gonna cream yourself when you see the bedroom, it’s that gorgeous. You’re going to get to do whatever the hell you want for however long you want, and I’ll shell out exactly as much money as you want from me, not a dollar more. And…” This is the part where he chokes up. “And if you ever want to leave, you can, of course you can, because you’re your own person, you don’t belong to me. But if you don’t ever want to…”

“Then I won’t,” Jack says. “And when I stay, Kenny, it’s because I want to stay. You remember that?”

And Kent knows it, but still, there’s some part of him that won’t truly believe in any of this until Jack’s sleeping next to him in Vancouver.

That’s the other reason he’s leaving Kit with Jack. Collateral.

“I remember,” he whispers.

Jack wraps his arms around Kent. “There’s something I want to tell you,” he says, voice hesitant.

“Okay?” Kent says.

“About myself,” Jack clarifies.

“Oh.” Kent swallows. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” Jack says. “But it’s important.”

Kent tries to turn, but Jack just tightens his hold. He presses his lips to the back of Kent’s neck. “You only need to say as much as you want,” Kent says. “Just the really important parts.”

“The key points,” Jack murmurs. Kent turns his head just enough to see a flash of blue behind the messy curtain of black hair. Jack clears his throat.

“My name is Jack Zimmermann, and I love you.”

To Kent’s credit, his heart only stops beating for like, a second. Holy shit. That explains a lot, and yet -

“Okay,” he finally says, and can’t help himself from smiling like an idiot. “FYI, Jack - the second part of that matters to me a lot more than the first.”

Jack gives a surprised laugh.

“And I love you too, duh,” Kent says, leaning in to kiss him.

“Mm, I know,” Jack says, kissing him back. “When you score a hattie tonight, I expect all the credit.”

“Always,” Kent promises.