Chapter Text
The series of road games had been terrible. The string of cities, hotel rooms, and ice rinks had blurred into one endless, exhausting day that was driving Will crazy. But even in this whirlwind, when his body craved silence and rest, he caught himself thinking that he was glad he wasn't here alone. Mack was here, the team was here. These guys, drained to their limits, still found the strength to support each other, and that feeling of having a steady shoulder nearby, one that anyone could lean on at any time, meant more than any victory.
The game against Colorado had been a true test of strength. The match raced at a frantic speed. The puck, as if cursed, refused to leave their zone, and wave after wave of attacks crashed against their net, not allowing them a moment to catch their breath.
Will felt a chill of anxiety growing inside him. The defensemen, his friends, threw themselves in front of shots, putting every last ounce of strength into each block, but Colorado kept finding gaps in what seemed like the most reliable defense. And every time another seemingly hopeless puck, flying straight for the top corner, disappeared into Askarov's glove, Will silently thanked heaven that they had him.
They lost. They fought desperately, honorably, but they lost. Expecting anything less from a meeting with the league's strongest team would have been naive, though. The fourth straight loss weighed heavily on his heart, but through this heaviness, a timid ray of light broke through: they were going home. The Olympic break was coming, a short respite that they all so desperately needed.
***
There wasn't that oppressive silence in the locker room that usually follows a bitter defeat. Fatigue reigned here. The guys exchanged tired but sincere smiles, sharing funny moments from the game in low voices that had escaped everyone's attention. Life was slowly returning to its normal course.
Will's gaze, gliding over familiar faces, instinctively found Mack. He was sitting apart, away from the general noise. His jersey and shoulder pads were already off and carelessly thrown onto the bench, but his protective pants and hockey socks layer was still on. His legs were spread wide, elbows resting on his knees, and his head was lowered so much that his gaze was fixed on the floor. Will knew that pose. Knew that Celebrini was the type to fight until the end, even when hope was gone. And it was no secret to anyone that Mack was taking this losing streak so hard.
The team instinctively gave him a wide berth. Everyone knew that if you approached him with questions, Macklin would lift his head, give a restrained smile, and say he was fine, even if there was a storm inside him. So caring for Mack almost always fell on Will's shoulders. And, strangely enough, he was glad of it. There was something right, something genuine about it. By helping Mack, Will felt like he was helping himself too, plugging some invisible breach of his own. Smiling sadly at his thoughts, he got up and sat down next to his friend.
"Hey," he began quietly, so as not to disturb this fragile silence. "You okay, buddy?"
He looked at him again. At how tense his back was, how hunched his shoulders were. And something inside Will trembled, clenched into a tight knot. Suddenly, he felt an aching, sharp desire to touch him. To run his palm over that stone-like back, to feel Mack flinch at this unexpected gesture. To carefully touch his neck with his fingers, run them through his damp, disheveled hair. Captivated by this desire, he reached out to his friend, but at the last moment, he pulled his hand back as if burned.
"Tired," Mack whispered, barely moving his lips, without lifting his head.
Will nodded. Words weren't needed. Mack felt it. They always felt each other. On the ice, this connection consistently led to goals. In life, it turned into something quieter, but no less important: the ability to sense a mood without a single glance, to breathe in the same rhythm, to be silent and understood. It was their own language, understood only by the two of them. And honestly, Will fucking loved it.
Smith suddenly realized with startling clarity: they could sit here like this, shoulder to shoulder, for an eternity. The noise around them pressed on his ears; every breath was lost in the din. He was afraid to look up. Meeting his gaze now would probably mean destroying something very fragile, so he just looked down.
Slowly, as if afraid to startle the green-eyed boy, Will leaned down towards his feet. His movements were deliberately calm, even lazy, but inside, everything was clenching, going cold, and dropping from the sheer awkwardness of what he was about to do.
He reached for the laces. His fingers touched the damp cord of the skates, and he set to work with such exaggerated care, as if he held not rough hockey equipment, but the finest glass. He was afraid to shatter this warm silence between them with any sudden move.
He could hear Mack breathing. Deeply, heavily, sometimes holding his breath for a few agonizing seconds. Will knew what that meant. Knew that as soon as they crossed the threshold of the hotel room, Macklin would become even more withdrawn.
"Come on, Macky," Will said softly, finally removing the skates. "We need to change and get to the hotel." His hands were already on the knee pads. "Come on, dude. We have the plane home tomorrow," he whispered, his fingers barely touching Mack's shin, as if trying to transfer some of his warmth.
Macklin slowly, as if overcoming an invisible weight, lifted his head and looked at him. In his green eyes, there was such tiredness and such fragility that they seemed glassy. Will suddenly realized clearly: if he said the wrong thing now, showed false cheerfulness or inappropriate pity, Mack would shatter, unable to hold back the emotions straining to break free. Smith saw the Herculean effort it took for him just to remain composed.
He said nothing. Just smiled warmly, in a homely way, and silently busied himself with Mack's gear, taking on that small act of care that was needed more than any words right now.
***
They left the locker room only forty minutes later. Will had helped Mack gather his things, and now they slowly trudged to the bus in complete silence.
They sat in the very back of the bus, away from everyone. Macklin collapsed onto the window seat and immediately pressed his forehead against the cold glass.
Will sat next to him. Closer than usual. Their shoulders almost touched, but Mack either didn't mind or didn't even notice. His eyes were closed, dark shadows lay beneath his lashes, making his face look sickly pale, almost translucent in the dim light of the cabin lamps. His lips were tightly pressed together, a crease etched between his brows.
Will watched him from the side, without looking away. He saw his eyelashes flutter, the barely noticeable pulse in his temple, the whitened knuckles of the hand clenched into a fist on his knee. Mack was building a wall. Thick, impenetrable, made of silence and stony calm, behind which it was so convenient to hide everything tearing him apart inside. He'd always done it; Will just hadn't noticed before how much strength it took out of him.
The bus started moving, gently rocking. The streetlights outside began to drift, breaking into orange streaks. Mack didn't move. His breathing was too steady, too controlled, to be sleep.
Will felt the familiar pang in his chest – the one that appeared whenever Macklin felt bad, and he, Will, could do nothing about it. Only sit nearby and watch him slowly fade before his eyes. Or maybe not only that.
He reached into his jacket pocket, just to occupy himself, to keep from breaking down and touching him right now, in front of everyone. His fingers found something familiar, rectangular, wrapped in crinkly paper. He pulled out a candy bar – a Kit Kat, half-eaten from yesterday, forgotten and now found again. The corners of his lips twitched in a restrained, almost apologetic smile.
Mack didn't see. He didn't see anything right now except his own inner darkness.
Will turned the candy bar in his fingers, thinking. Then carefully, trying not to make any sudden moves, he leaned forward slightly and placed the Kit Kat on Mack's knee, right next to his clenched fist.
Mack flinched. He jerked as if shocked, and his eyes flew open, staring at Will with a bleary, uncomprehending, frightened look. Annoyance flickered in them, ready to spill over, because he'd asked not to be touched, he'd built a wall, he had a right to that wall! His gaze fell on the candy bar, and the annoyance vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
He stared at the Kit Kat lying on his own hand, stupidly, childishly bright in the dim bus light. Then he looked back at Will.
He was watching him calmly, without a smile, without pity. Just watching, his head tilted slightly, and there was something in his eyes that made Mack's nose suddenly sting.
"It's..." Mack started and his voice failed. He cleared his throat. "What are you doing?"
Will shrugged.
"Found it in my pocket. Finish it, or it'll go stale."
His voice sounded normal, matter-of-fact, as if they weren't on a bus after a crushing defeat, but somewhere in a hotel kitchen discussing breakfast. Mack looked at him and didn't understand: how did he do it? How could he be so calm, so reliable, so... there, when everything inside Mack himself was falling apart?
The candy bar was warm from Will's pocket. Mack squeezed it in his fingers, feeling the wrapper crinkle.
"I don't want it," he said quietly, but there was no refusal in his voice. Just inertia.
"Liar," Smith replied just as quietly and turned away, giving Mack space.
And Celebrini suddenly realized that he did want it. Not the candy bar, but this. This acceptance. That Will didn't demand he be strong, didn't pry with questions, didn't try to "fix" him. Just sat nearby and shared his last Kit Kat.
He unwrapped it. The crinkle seemed deafening in the silence of the bus. He broke off a piece, put it in his mouth. Chocolate and wafer – sickly sweet, but that's exactly what he needed right now. Something real, earthly, pulling him out of the sticky web of thoughts.
Will glanced at him from the corner of his eye, and nodded almost imperceptibly to himself. Good. He's eating so things aren't that bad. At least, that's what Will hoped.
Mack chewed slowly, feeling the sugar spread through his blood with a dull, soothing warmth. He leaned his head back against the seat again, but now he wasn't pressing his forehead to the glass. He just watched the sparse lights drift by, and felt Will's solid, reliable shoulder next to him.
The wall he'd built hadn't gone anywhere. But there was a small crack in it now. Just big enough for Will's voice, his calm breathing, and this ridiculous candy bar to squeeze through.
"Thanks," Mack muttered almost inaudibly, to the glass.
Will didn't reply. He just swayed slightly towards him, increasing the contact of their shoulders. And that was enough.
The bus rocked gently, and its rhythmic, soothing, monotonous engine hum became a lullaby for the team. Half the bus had already drifted off to sleep, exhausted by the tough game and draining road trip.
Semi-darkness reigned in the bus. In the dim light of the sparse lamps, faces looked softer, younger, losing the stern focus they had on the ice. Will shifted his gaze forward. Up front, on the seats ahead, the veterans were sitting. Their heads were bent towards each other, talking quietly. Occasionally one of them would chuckle briefly, but the laughter was immediately stifled, with a quick glance back at the sleeping "kids."
And at this sight, a strange warmth spread through Will's insides. Even such simple, everyday actions – muted conversation, restrained laughter, care for the sleeping ones – from the older, more experienced players, who had been through hundreds of such road trips, seemed incredibly important. They saw how hard the younger guys worked in games, how they busted their asses in practice. Yes, they praised them with words, encouraged them with shouts from the bench. But Will had learned a simple truth as a kid: actions speak louder than any words.
He closed his eyes, letting the vibration of the bus carry his thoughts off into a calm, drowsy void. Just for a couple of seconds. It was enough that he didn't notice Toff materialize from somewhere to the side, as if from the silence itself.
"Hey, kid," Tyler's quiet voice came. Will opened his eyes slightly and saw that Toff had settled into the seat across the aisle, opposite him. "You alright?"
"Yeah, I'm okay," Will smiled, not even opening his eyes. The tiredness was pleasant, heavy, but not the kind that breaks you. He felt exhausted, but not shattered. "I think right now we should worry about Mack and the rest of the guys."
"You're a good guy, Smitty, and as a friend and teammate you're fucking awesome, but don't forget about yourself, alright?" Will felt a heavy, reassuring hand land on his shoulder. "If anything, I'm always here."
He couldn't see his face, but he could feel that smile through his skin. The warmth from his hand spread through his tired muscles. He smiled back without opening his eyes, allowing himself this small weakness – to just be here, to be part of this.
And for the umpteenth time on this tough road trip, he thought about how fucking glad he was to be a Shark. Glad to be on this team. Glad to be part of this family.
***
The bus braked softly, and its massive door hissed open right opposite the glittering entrance of the hotel. The cabin, filled with sleepy silence just a minute ago, instantly came alive: some of the guys, the most awake, started unceremoniously shaking their drowsing teammates, and the front rows were already emptying. Their passengers spilled out onto the street to open the luggage compartments and start unloading mountains of bags.
Will stirred in his seat and turned his head to the right. And in that second, his heart skipped a beat again, then started beating faster.
He'd seen a sleeping Mack a thousand times. On buses, on planes, in the rooms they shared on road trips. But now, in this semi-darkness, everything seemed different. A thin beam of light from a streetlamp seeped through the tinted glass and fell softly on Celebrini's face, highlighting every feature. Even in sleep, Mack's face remained tense – his eyebrows were drawn together, and his full lips were pouted adorably, pursed as if he was sulking at someone. He'd buried his nose in the soft fabric of his hoodie, almost hiding his head in it, and had his arms folded awkwardly on his chest, as if trying to warm himself or protect himself.
Will froze, afraid to breathe. This sight was so cozy, so touching and defenseless, that a thick warmth spread in his chest. He desperately wanted to preserve this moment, to prolong it, to have the chance to return to it later. Not thinking of anything better, he silently took out his phone and snapped a picture.
"Macky..." his voice came out barely audible, softer than he'd intended. Will carefully touched Mack's shoulder, squeezed it gently and shook it slightly. "Mack, wake up. We're here. A little longer and you can sleep in a real bed."
This quiet, soothing tone seemed to work like a charm. Mack's eyelashes fluttered, he grimaced as if fighting through sticky sleep, and slowly began to open his eyes.
Will couldn't help but smile. A warm, almost tender smile.
"That's it, buddy. Good job."
His palm still rested on Mack's shoulder. Heavy, reassuring. Will didn't even notice his thumb stroke the soft fabric of the hoodie a couple of times, automatically, soothingly. He only caught himself doing it a few seconds later and, as if burned, pulled his hand away.
***
When they got off the bus, the cool air hit their faces, finally chasing away the sleep. Will glanced around involuntarily, and the sight he saw made him freeze and watch it, mesmerized.
Before them towered a huge hotel building. They'd stayed in many places, but this one definitely made it into Smith's personal top list. The high facade stretched upwards, disappearing into the darkness, and the warm light from the windows created a feeling of coziness amidst the night city. The glass doors reflected the headlights of passing cars, and the street was filled with a steady, soothing hum.
Somewhere, luggage compartment doors were slamming, guys were talking in low voices, someone was yawning, someone was already dragging bags towards the entrance.
Mack was the last one out of the bus. He moved slowly, swaying slightly, as if his body still didn't understand that the game was long over. Without looking around, he simply headed for the entrance.
Will followed him almost immediately, without even thinking. Just to be nearby. Just in case.
The elevator was spacious, but Mack still pressed his shoulder against Will's. This touch was ordinary, exactly the same as on the bus, but Smith felt everything burning inside again. Beside him was a person who trusted him, a person who was allowing himself to be a little more vulnerable now than with others, and this feeling of closeness was almost tangible. He inhaled slightly, feeling Mack's scent fill the small space, and realized with surprise that just being there, touching shoulders, was enough to fill his heart with warmth.
***
The room greeted them with silence and soft light. Right by the entrance – a door to the bathroom, and the mere thought of a hot shower already seemed like a real gift.
Further in stood two neatly made beds, with thick blankets and pillows that looked like you could sink into them and not wake up until morning. Between the beds was a small nightstand with a phone, the only thing reminding them that they were still on the road, not at home.
Opposite was a dresser with a large plasma screen on top. The dark screen reflected the room and their tired silhouettes. In the corner was a spacious closet, ready to receive their uniforms, bags, and everything they didn't even want to think about right now.
Mack kicked off his sneakers right at the threshold of the room; they thudded hollowly against the floor and were left lying haphazardly. He didn't even turn on the light. A few heavy steps, the creak of the bed, and then he collapsed onto it face down, still fully dressed, because all his strength was going into keeping himself and his emotions in check.
Will paused in the doorway a beat too long. A tired smile tugged at his lips, it wasn't amusement, just tenderness and a quiet sadness.
He silently turned and went to take a shower.
The hot water first burned his skin, so much so that he reflexively sucked in air through his teeth and braced his palms against the cool tile. But after a few seconds, his body adjusted, and the heat began to slowly dissolve the tension accumulated in his shoulders and back. His muscles responded with a dull, grateful heaviness, and his breathing gradually evened out.
The water hummed steadily and insistently, filling the small space with a thick white noise. Usually, such noise helped Will not to think, or to focus on something, but now there was nothing to focus on. His thoughts kept circling back, like a needle stuck in one groove.
The loss.
Seconds that could never be played back. Mistakes that now seemed too obvious.
And Mack.
Mack, who was now lying face down in the pillow. Mack, who always took on more than he should. Who, after every failure, blamed himself before anyone else could even say anything.
Will suddenly found it hard to stand still.
A sharp, almost painful desire rose in his chest to turn off the water, get out, not even dry off properly, walk barefoot across the cold floor, and just hug him. Tightly, so Mack could feel it: he wasn't alone.
To tell him he was great. That he tried harder than anyone. That a couple of games didn't define anything. To repeat it over and over until Mack stopped stubbornly staying silent, until he believed it, until even the thought of his own "inadequacy" seemed foreign and absurd.
Will ran his hand over his wet face and closed his eyes.
Sometimes words don't change anything. But sometimes a person needs someone who will say them as many times as it takes.
He got out a couple of minutes later. In loose sweatpants and a worn t-shirt with their logo. The fabric immediately began to absorb the moisture from his still-hot skin, and thin wisps of steam rose from his arms. But inside, there wasn't a trace of warmth.
One look at Mack lying motionless was enough to turn everything upside down inside him.
He couldn't leave it like this.
He couldn't just go to sleep.
He couldn't bear to see Mack like this.
The first steps were unexpectedly heavy, as if weights were tied to his ankles. Will stopped next to the bed and just watched for a while. Mack's back rose and fell slowly with the rhythm of his breathing.
Exhaling and gathering all his courage, he sat down next to Celebrini and placed his palm on the small of his back.
Mack flinched, almost imperceptibly. And then something barely noticeable happened: he seemed to press into that touch, as if it were the only thing holding him back from finally falling into the darkness of his own thoughts.
"Stupid," Will thought.
But he didn't remove his hand.
He slowly moved his palm upwards until his fingers touched the short hair at the nape of his neck. Running them through his hair, he felt a strange, deep relief, as if he had suddenly ended up exactly where he was supposed to be. As if he'd finally done the right thing.
He inhaled, gathering his thoughts.
"Mack, listen... You're the coolest player I know. Hell, you're the coolest guy I know."
The words came out before he could stop them – too honest, too vulnerable. Will rarely said things like this out loud. He kept things inside. That was safer.
"You do things most people can't even dream of. Every practice, every game, you give two hundred percent. Mack, you can't carry everything alone. Hockey's a team sport."
He spoke quietly, but there was a weight of truth in his words, making them seem louder than any shout.
Somewhere inside, a fear stirred of saying too much, of showing too clearly how important Mack was to him. But that fear was nothing compared to the fear for Mack with his perpetually grinning beautiful "shark" smile, forever laughing his contagious "dumb" laugh. That was far more tangible and real.
"Mack, you're not to blame for these losses. No one is. We all tried... we all gave it our all. Especially you."
His voice grew softer.
"Mack... Macky, you're amazing. What you do on the ice... I just don't have words. You have no idea how happy I am to play on the same line as you."
The hand at the back of his neck trembled more and more with each word. Will wasn't trying to hide it anymore. He'd stopped controlling what he was saying altogether; the words flowed by themselves, straight from that place where only the closest people are usually allowed.
And then he suddenly noticed that Mack's shoulders were gradually losing their stiffness.
Will carefully moved his hand to his shoulders and began to gently knead them, more instinctively than consciously.
"Mack... I need you to talk to me," he said, almost in a whisper. "Because I'm worried about you."
Mack was silent, his breathing ragged. Each movement of Will's fingers on his back simultaneously burned and saved him. He couldn't speak. The words were stuck so deep inside that perhaps they never even had a chance to be voiced. It felt like he'd forgotten how to breathe steadily, forgotten how to be that strong, reliable guy he always tried to be.
The silence became unbearable. Under Will's hot, strong hand, his body finally gave in, the trembling breaking free.
Mack turned sharply, his eyes glistening with tears. There was no lostness there, only a searing pain tearing him apart from within.
"I'm scared," Mack breathed out. "I'm scared that one day this feeling... this emptiness, it'll just devour me whole. You know?"
Will's hand moved to his forearm, his fingers closing around his wrist, heavy and solid, like an anchor. His thumb rested on the inside, where the skin is thinnest, and paused for a moment, then slowly moved – soothingly, in time with his breathing.
Mack felt his own pulse beating under that warm fingertip. Fast, uneven, frightened.
Will was silent. And this silence was better than any words. It didn't demand, didn't judge. It just accepted.
"Before, I used to step on the ice and it was... peaceful," Mack's voice gave out; he had to clear his throat, but his throat was raw, as if he'd swallowed glass. "The only place where I knew what to do. And now... now I step out and I only hear one thing: 'Don't screw up. Don't let them down. You have to. You must. You're Macklin Celebrini, for fuck's sake, you don't have the right to be ordinary! You're a fucking star and the future of the franchise.'"
He fell silent. Swallowed.
"But I am ordinary, Will," it came out almost angrily, but the anger quickly drained away, leaving only a scorched emptiness behind. "I'm the most ordinary guy who just... got lucky? You have no idea what a torment it is. Go out every day and pretend you're who they think you are. That you're strong. That you're coping."
He ran his hand over his face. Sharply, angrily, as if trying to wipe off something sticky and unnecessary.
"But I'm not coping. I wake up in the morning and the first thought is: 'Why?' Not in a dramatic sense, not to hurt myself, no. Just... why get up? Why drag this body to the shower, why eat this fucking breakfast, why smile at the guys when inside there's nothing. Absolutely nothing. Only a weight."
His breathing faltered, becoming rapid and shallow. Will's fingers on his wrist trembled and squeezed a little tighter, as if reminding him: I'm here, I'm holding on. Mack flinched but didn't pull away. On the contrary, he turned his hand slightly, offering himself to that warmth, pressing into the only anchor he had left.
"And you all watch. The coaches with hope. The guys with faith. You..." his voice broke on the word, and Mack squeezed his eyes shut for a second, as if the mere mention of Will required an extra portion of strength. "You look at me like I can do anything. Like I'm that guy, the one you'd follow into fire or water. And I look at you and think: 'God, if you only knew what's really inside me. You'd turn away. You'd just get up and leave. Because who needs a partner who's falling apart right before their eyes?'"
He fell silent. His throat was so tight it was almost impossible to breathe. But tears wouldn't come. Instead, there was only this monstrous, draining dryness: eyes burning, everything inside screaming, but outside silence.
And in that silence, Will leaned closer to Celebrini's face and finally spoke.
"I'm not going anywhere," Smith whispered quietly, right into his ear, almost touching his temple with his lips.
"You can be anything," he added just as quietly, returning to a sitting position. "Ordinary. Weak. Broken. I don't care. I'll still be here."
And this was scarier and more important than any confessions. Because it meant: you are seen as you really are and they don't look away.
Mack squeezed his eyes shut, but a tear still escaped from under his lashes and immediately rolled down his cheek. He made a sharp movement, as if discarding the last remnants of control, and sat up on the bed. Without looking at Will, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead into his chest.
And then Will did what he hadn't planned, what he wasn't prepared for, what tore out from the very depths, bypassing all the filters of his mind. He hugged Mack. Not like a teammate, not like a friend in a moment of weakness. But tightly, completely, pulling him close, feeling that fragile but unyielding body finally go limp, give in. Mack clung to him in return, his fingers digging into Will's back.
And in this embrace, in this complete trust and surrender, something inside Will shifted. He felt not just affection or a desire to support. He felt a sharp, cutting tenderness that stole his breath. A desire not just to be there, but to be his quiet haven always. To protect him not only from body checks, but from his own thoughts. To see that smile every day. To wake up and know he was close.
This realization descended upon him quietly, but devastatingly. Love. He loves him. Not "like a brother," not "like a best friend." Just loves him. Macklin. His red hair that shines in the sun, his pouty lips, his stubborn gaze through the visor, his quiet laugh on the bus. Everything. He loves absolutely everything about this guy.
And this fact, simultaneously enormous and crystal clear, plunged him into a quiet, viscous horror. It wasn't horror at the realization of the love itself, for the feeling seemed as natural and necessary as breathing. No, the fear came from somewhere else. From the icy understanding that this wasn't allowed. That their world, the world of hockey, the world of tough guy rules and unspoken laws, wasn't meant for this. That this feeling was a mistake, a dirty stain on perfectly clean equipment, something capable of destroying everything with one careless move: their friendship, their millimeter-perfect chemistry on the ice, the fragile and precious balance they had built over years.
Inside Will, something clenched painfully, echoing with a cold, childhood-learned formula: "this isn't right." The phrase sounded in his head in a foreign, condemning voice. Mentally, he recoiled from himself, frightened by his own depth, but his hands didn't waver or loosen. He couldn't have loosened them even if he'd wanted to. Because at that moment, here and now, Mack was more important than any inner chaos and any fear.
"Stay with me," Mack whispered, his voice muffled by the fabric of Will's shirt. There was no plea in it, just a statement of necessity. "Just... sit like this."
Will couldn't utter a word, feeling his throat constrict with a spasm of tenderness and fear. He just nodded briefly, hoping Mack would feel the movement.
"Of course," he finally managed, his own voice hoarse. "Always."
He didn't know what that "always" meant.
So they sat in the silence of the hotel room, broken only by the occasional hum of the old air conditioner. Will felt Mack's breathing, at first ragged and uneven, gradually become deep and calm. He felt his friend's fingers, which had been digging into the fabric of his shirt on his back as if searching for a foothold, slowly unclench and slide down limply. The weight of exhaustion had finally outweighed the weight of bitter thoughts about the lost game, and Macklin drifted off to sleep. Then Will, acting with infinite care, as if handling something fragile and precious, without breaking the embrace, helped him lie down on the pillow. He settled down next to him. Smith didn't get undressed, just pulled the edge of the cool blanket over both of them, creating their own little, temporary cocoon.
In his sleep, Mack reached for him, pressing almost completely against Will's shoulder. Smith froze. His heart pounded somewhere in his throat, a mixture of panic and impossible joy tearing his chest apart from the inside. He was afraid to move, afraid to think, afraid of this new knowledge about himself.
But most of all, he was afraid that when Mack woke up, something would change. That he himself, Will, wouldn't be able to look at him the same way anymore. And he had to. He had to, because otherwise it was over.
He stared into the darkness, at the vague outline of his friend's face, and quietly, no longer resisting, voiced what he hadn't been able to comprehend for a long time:
"I love you."
The words hung in the silence of the room, forbidden, dangerous, and the truest he had ever spoken. And then exhaustion claimed him too, carrying him into sleep, where, perhaps, there was no fear, only two guys on the ice, flying shoulder to shoulder, understanding each other without words.
They slept like that until morning.