#cause now without that nhl title

[dogwittaablog]

omg i agree he's keeping a public insta because it just looks cooler when 46k ppl are following you i guess. makes you look like hot commodity when you're single. he used to shoot his shot a lot more on insta when he was playing with ig models and stuff by following and liking posts but with very low success rate might i add. makes me think was he delusional thinking an ig model with 500k or millions of followers would go for him over the other more popular athletes and super rich dudes dming her. idk i feel like if one of those stereotypical looking ig models responded to him he would be down to date them if the personalities matched.

The only big influencer I’ve seen give Nolan 1% of attention was that Paige Lorenzo girl. I know she liked 1-2 of his post, vice versa (she initiated first I believe too). Dont think much happened, since I’m pre sure after that small ordeal she started dating a tennis player. Also she’s known to over share and expose her partners at a point too lol.

On the real I just do not think he’s ever made a girl a priority, for whatever of his own personal reason. Cause he definitely is able to get girls, even if they aren’t big influencers, he could still bag someone. He wasn’t even taking girls seriously, even at his “peak”, so that also says something.

Also naturally if any guy/girl you find someone attractive also aligns with you it’s a big bonus, and it makes sense why you’d pursue. Though let’s be real here most influencers majority of the time they’ve got the looks and then the personality goes downhill. Which makes me thinks yes he cares about looks, but if your personality is bland to the point talking to a wall is even more interesting, good luck.

*I swear if dude also took better pictures and cleaned up the feed, he could +1 himself for the wheeling department*

[lam-ila]

Surprise || Sidney Crosby

I was given a word and a player in part of @antoineroussel’s surprise prompts no that’s not what inspired the title

verklempt (adjective) – overly emotional and unable to speak

Word count: 476

Summary: Sidney came home early from a road trip only to find you awake past midnight

NHL Masterlist

Warnings: none

please let me know if you find any that i should add

a/n: this is my first time writing a fic, so please bare with me

this is gender neutral. hope you enjoy this! feedback is appreciated

LIKES ARE GREAT, REBLOGS ARE BETTER ♡

You stumbled out of your desk chair and made your way over to the kitchen to brew your fourth- no fifth cup of coffee of the day. Work was killing you. Your coworkers weren’t completing their jobs on time causing you to be set back since you couldn’t do your job without having your coworkers finish theirs first. Deadlines were strict and couldn’t be altered, so you relied on working after hours and late at night, when you should be asleep.

Glancing at your phone, you looked at the time: 2:47 am. You decided against having a third cup of coffee and shuffled your way back to your desk. Closing your computer tabs, you wondered how you managed to stay awake past midnight even though you told yourself you would be in bed before then. You would be asleep by now if Sidney were home. But he’s not, and you’re just now closing your computer.

You trudged your way over to your shared room and passed your washroom and closet, too tired to bother to brush your teeth or change. You needed sleep, but your bed was cold and uncomfortable without Sidney. You unlocked your phone and began to play a mindless game you downloaded who knows when to distract yourself from how much you missed Sidney. He was away on a seven day road trip, something you had experienced numerous times before. The Pens played their last game today- well yesterday- and Sidney finished the road trip with five points, four from assists and one from a goal, but wouldn’t be home until the evening. Right now, all you wanted was to be held in his arms.

You perked your head up as you heard footsteps outside your room, abruptly breaking you out of your thoughts. Before you could stand up, you saw Sidney slowly and carefully making his way into your room as if trying not to wake you up. Blinking your eyes a few times to determine if he really stood in front of you, you got off your bed, confused why Sidney was home.

“Sidney?” you called out, still not believing he was with you.

“Surprise,” Sidney chuckled with the smile you fell in love with.

“How are you- why are you home?” you asked. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until the evening.”

“We had a change of plans two hours before our last game and I thought instead of telling you, I’d surprise you,” he explained.

You were verklempt and barely holding yourself together. You finally closed the gap between Sidney and yourself, and embraced him. Knowing how stressed you were from work, Sidney held you until you decided that the hug was over. You crashed into bed with Sidney following you and laid your head on his chest.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

“I missed you too.”

——————————

tagging some mutuals because I want people to read this: @calgarycanuck @ghostyjosty @joshsandersons @jakeguentzels @2manytabsopen @nightmareonspookystreet @caio-collet @youngsadandheartless @leafwick @readyfreddy @caufieldmakesmesmile @hockey-is-my-love-language @mandarwin @whimsical-daydreams @haydsfleury

Join my taglist here

[rinkrats]

It is a dialogue Akim Aliu has been seeking to advance ever since the Blackhawks’ second-round pick revealed on Twitter that his coach in the minors, Bill Peters, had “dropped the N-bomb” on him during the ’09–10 season “because he didn’t like my choice of music”.

Aliu hoped his revelations would spark a long overdue reckoning for the white-as-ice hockey world and its shut-up-and-stick-handle culture.

As another season begins, Aliu believes the league is no closer to truly reckoning with its racial issues. And in the 14 months since his tweets, he’s grown more fed up than ever with the game that he continues to love, even if he hasn’t always felt that it loves him back. “It’s not hard to figure out our sport is suffering,” Aliu says. “Whatever the NHL is doing is clearly not working. It’s just posturing, window-washing, nonmeaningful half measures. That’s all it is.”

*

On Dec 5, 2019, at 3:38 p.m., Aliu sent the first message in a text thread that he titled, Hockey Diversity Committee. Initially composed of about 10 NHL players of color, within two days the chat swelled to 20-plus.

There was plenty to discuss. In the league’s 103-year existence, no team has employed a Black general manager. ...On-ice representation isn’t much more diverse. In addition to the 18 Black players who appeared in more than five games in 2019–20, the league counted just a handful more identifying as Asian (eight), Indigenous (six), Hispanic/Latino (four) or Arab/Middle Eastern (four).

“There’s that sense of loneliness we’ve all felt,” says Wild defenseman Matt Dumba, who is Filipino Canadian. “Who do you tell when you’re going through these things, besides your family? None of your teammates are going through it. And what am I going to say to a GM, an older white gentleman, who hasn’t seen the game the way I have?”

The forum that Aliu wanted, though, never materialized. Some players were spooked that he included his lawyers on calls and wondered whether he was trying to rally support for himself.

“I think guys were concerned with Akim wanting to sue,” says Trevor Daley, a defenseman who recently retired after 16 years in the NHL.

Other players voiced concerns about the career risk of speaking out... A few players dropped off the thread without explanation. “It was completely dead,” said Aliu.

*

The Hockey Diversity Alliance officially launched June 8, with... a message for the NHL: “We are hopeful that we will work productively with the league to accomplish these important changes.”

In response, the NHL invited the HDA to spell out its objectives in a virtual meeting in late June with Bettman and Kim Davis, who had been hired from a corporate advisory firm in 2017 to focus on diversity and inclusion. The players saw an opportunity to tell the commissioner about their encounters with racism in the sport.

Joel Ward spoke about being bombarded with racist tweets from Bruins fans after his Game 7 overtime goal for Washington eliminated Boston from the 2012 playoffs. Wayne Simmonds discussed having a banana thrown at him by a fan during a 2011 exhibition. Daley recounted how his then Ontario Hockey League coach John Vanbiesbrouck called him the n-word in 2003. (Vanbiesbrouck resigned shortly thereafter, acknowledging the slur. He is now an executive for USA Hockey.) Evander Kane described a fan yelling at him to go play basketball as he sat in the penalty box in Colorado during the 2019 playoffs. (Kane says he reported the incident to an on-ice official, but “there was zero follow-up” from the league. In the past, the NHL has said that the teams were aware, but the issue never reached the league office.)

As members began blasting Bettman for not doing more to prevent these incidents, the commissioner seemed to grow defensive. Citing various NHL diversity initiatives during his 27-year tenure, he then asked the players what they had done and where they had been in the fight against racism. He quickly backtracked, but the damage was done.

“I think he knew he had put his foot in his mouth,” Kane says. “Everyone on that call has done a lot of things on their own to grow the game within our own communities. A comment like that really rubbed guys the wrong way.” (Through a spokesperson, Bettman declined comment.)

On July 14, two weeks before the season restarted, the HDA presented Davis, Bettman and other league officials with a PowerPoint deck titled, Our Ask of the NHL. Much of the request focused on an eight-point “HDA pledge” that the coalition wanted the league to sign; items included specific hiring targets for Black personnel in league and team front offices (including 5% Black hockey-related personnel by the end of 2020–21) and funding of $100 million over the next decade (or just above $300,000 per team, per year) to back grassroots initiatives and other programming. The HDA also asked for various antiracism displays during the upcoming playoffs, such as changing the blue lines to black and painting the HDA logo on the ice. Kane recalls Davis and Bettman commending the presentation’s thoroughness. “I was hopeful,” Kane says.

But disappointment soon followed: The NHL built its postseason messaging campaign around a catch-all hashtag, #WeSkateFor, lumping the Black Lives Matter movement with the pandemic and other unrelated causes. “It’s like showing up to the breast cancer fundraiser and protesting that there’s other diseases, too,” Dumba says.

-Excerpts from The Fight Over Hockey’s Racial Reckoning by Alex Prewitt, 19 Jan 2021

If you read one thing today, let it be this

[everwitch-magiks]

dance with somebody (ch. 26/26)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 25

Throughout his five years in professional hockey, Connor Whisk has been called a great many things.

During his rookie season with the Pittsburgh Penguins, the adjective most frequently used by ESPN was promising. (Editor’s note: we’ve counted. Yes, we’re nerds.) However, soon after Whisk’s abrupt trade to the newly minted Seattle Kraken, sensational and unprecedented quickly started climbing the charts. It truly seemed like Whisk had found himself perfectly at home as a rising star on a young and fiercely untamed NHL expansion team, full of players with nothing to lose, yet so much to prove.

At least, that was the way things appeared.

Whisk suggests meeting at a quiet coffee place in Pioneer Square. He’s already waiting outside when I arrive (and it should be noted that I'm at least ten minutes early). Whisk's handshake is firm, his shirt is completely lacking in wrinkles without a single button undone, and there's something carefully proper in his manners as we exchange pleasantries and order coffee.

We don't have an abundance of time, which is why I get right into it almost before we're seated. What’s his opinion on the current standings? If the Kraken do make the playoffs again, like most experts have assumed, what will be their strategy for staying in the game longer, this time? And what’s changed for the Kraken, during these last couple of seasons, that have enabled them to become such a force to be reckoned with so soon after the team’s very foundation?

Whisk, who isn't necessarily known for taking pleasure in excessive attention from the media, seems surprisingly at ease with my onslaught of questions.

“We’ve worked really hard as a team to get to this point, slowly but surely. It may look like a sudden breakthrough from an outside perspective, I guess, but that’s very far from how we’ve experienced it. Although, I’ll be the first to admit that those first couple of seasons in Seattle were tough. Extremely tough. We were fighting so hard every single day, trying to get some semblance of proper teamwork, trying to get our plays to work, get anything to work, really. A lot of the guys were rookies, and many of us who weren’t had been pretty shocked by our trades. We did alright, for a new team, but we all knew that we should be doing better. That was the thing, really – we all felt that we could be so much more. Maybe, if we had believed that a little bit less, things might not have felt so hopeless at the time.”

Whisk speaks with a familiarly serious expression. Some of my fellow sports journalists have pronounced him subdued, and stiff, and on one memorable occasion, unemotional. Yet as we continue to chat about his teammates over a second cup of coffee, and Whisk goes into detail about what the Kraken’s recent achievements have meant for each of them, those descriptors couldn’t be further from the picture Whisk paints. Connor Whisk is clearly compassionate. Effortlessly earnest. Irresistibly determined.

"Last season, when we made it to the playoffs for the first time, that was such an important milestone. It proved to us that we’d had it right, all along. That as a team, we could be capable of anything. And I think, especially for the older guys who’d uprooted the lives of their families after their trades, getting that recognition from the whole league was so important. It’s definitely helped us feel like we have every reason to go into each game with that much more confidence, this season. Our plays are bigger, bolder and braver, and it’s really been paying off. This year, the goal is to make sure that energy lasts us not only all the way to the playoffs, but much further beyond.”

Whisk speaks about his teammates with both respect and compassion. It’s really quite obvious just how he's earned himself the title of Assistant Captain. And on the subject of leadership – is there any truth to the retirement rumours surrounding the Kraken’s current Captain, Donald “Ducky” Rodriguez? And would Connor Whisk agree with the consensus among both supporters and sports media, that he is practically guaranteed to inherit the title?

It's the first time since the start of our conversation that I find a certain amount of evasiveness in Whisk's answer.

"It's difficult to say. Every player has their own journey, and I can't speak for Ducky when it comes to his thoughts on possible retirement. As for my own feelings on the subject, I'd prefer it if Ducky just stayed in the game forever." Whisk laughs. "Really, I would. Ducky probably wouldn't have described his trade from the Aeros to the Kraken as the best thing that ever happened to him, back when it all went down, but it was honestly one of the best things that could've happened to me. I had looked up to Ducky for a long time, and having such an experienced player join us made an enormous difference for a lot of us who were relatively new to the game. We've had a great run together in Seattle, and I know Ducky has talked at length about how rewarding it's been for him to captain this team, especially at this point in his career. And honestly, I can't even really think about what might happen after his eventual retirement. I just can't. I guess I'm just trying to focus on the now, one game at a time, until the end of this season. That's as far as I'm allowing myself to think."

Of course, on the subject of the Houston Aeros, I must ask about the rumour that seems to circle back around every so often without ever being properly addressed. It's time we all knew, once and for all. Did Connor Whisk, during his time as a free agent, really decline an offer from the Houston Aeros? If so, when? And, perhaps most importantly, why?

"No, I did." Avid Aeros supporters will be pleased to know that Whisk has the decency to look quite apologetic. "It was during my time in the NCAA. I found it a very interesting offer, but ultimately, it just wasn't the right time for me. I'm sure it would've been a journey that was rewarding in other ways than the path I'm on, now. But sometimes, you've got to go with your heart, and my heart was very much still in Massachusetts with the Samwell team. I was very lucky to be able to make that decision and still have such great opportunities to play professionally after graduation. That was never something I took for granted, when I made that call."

Before we run out of coffee, and more importantly out of time, I remember to ask about Whisk’s tattoos. As frequent readers of Sports Illustrated will be well aware, he has two, both on his upper right arm. According to my quite extensive knowledge of Whisk’s frankly limited media appearances, he has never once commented on them.

Evidently, they're not some big secret. Whisk readily rolls up his sleeve.

“The first one, got your back, is a saying from my college hockey team. It’s about always looking out for your teammates on and off the ice. My time on the Samwell team really meant a lot to me, I was fortunate enough to play alongside incredible NCAA players like Eric Bittle, Will Poindexter and Nathan Piper. I learned so much, both about hockey and about myself. A lot of the guys actually got the exact same tattoo at some point, without any of us really talking about it. It caused a bit of unintended comedy at our last reunion.”

The second tattoo, know where we stand, is placed just a few inches below the first.

“That one is more personal. It's about having trust and faith in those I love, about making sure they always know how much they mean to me. I'm a somewhat private person, I guess, but anyone close to me could tell you that it's very important for me to make sure that my feelings are known.”

Private is certainly a word that comes to mind. Whisk doesn't agree to many interviews, and his fans have long given up hope of getting more than one or two TV appearances per season, post-game interviews not included. He's on Twitter, as is the whole Kraken rooster, but his activity is mostly limited to retweets of various sports accounts. His instagram feed? Almost exclusively pictures of his aquarium.

At the mention of aquatic creatures, Whisk’s expression brightens.

“My housemate actually took this amazing picture of our axolotl a while back, I have to show you. Look at this magnificent queen.”

Somewhere between several anecdotes about Whisk’s certifiably adorable pets, and a tangent about his commitment to supporting organisations working towards marine conservation, we do finally run out of time. As we say our goodbyes, I’m reminded once again of Whisk’s polite, proper manners, a stark contrast to his somewhat unfeeling reputation. But if one thing’s for certain, it’s that Connor Whisk is anything but unfeeling. He’s reserved, yes, and perhaps somewhat reluctant to put his innermost thoughts and feelings on display. But he’s certainly an impressively focused athlete, one who has proven time and time again to have an admirable commitment to supporting his teammates, on and off the ice.

I can only imagine the regret that must be felt over in Pittsburgh. Seattle, meanwhile, has every reason to celebrate. It’s really something, given how much Whisk has already achieved, that he still gives off the energy of someone who’s got so far to go. The question is, just how far is that going to get him, in the end?

Will he be remembered only as a key factor in the foundation of Seattle’s so-far successful expansion endeavour, or could he be a true star player in the making, one on the verge of creating a legacy that will last well beyond a time and a place?

Only time will tell.

    Whiskey lets the door fall shut behind him. He takes a deep, steadying breath.

There’s a familiar suitcase that’s been left right in the hallway. Whiskey quickly toes off his shoes and walks past it. Ah, there’s a t-shirt. And a bit further, a pair of jeans. Then socks.

Whiskey follows the enticing trail of clothes into the living room. He passes by the mantelpiece, where his Samwell Men's Hockey Captain's plaque sits right in the center, with his Art Ross Trophy from last season over on the side.

Out in the kitchen, he finds a pair of boxer briefs. The double doors out to the patio are wide open. Whiskey eagerly steps through them, his feet quickly carrying him across the patio, over to-

Yes.

Oh, yes. Finally.

Miguel breaks through the surface of the water just as Whiskey makes it to the side of the pool. Immediately, Miguel offers him a wide smile. He looks so perfectly relaxed, back in his pool, in their home. In the nude.

God, he’s so beautiful.

“Water’s warm,” Miguel greets him softly. He trails his fingertips across the surface of it, almost like he’s reacquainting himself with how it feels. “Much more pleasant than the Atlantic, let me tell you.”

“I’ll take that as an invitation.”

“Oh, please. Come here.” Miguel’s tone turns impatient as Whiskey pulls off his shirt, only to take a moment to fold it. “Fuck, just, come here. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. So much.”

Whiskey willingly abandons his attempts to keep his clothes from getting wrinkles. He makes quick work of his pants and underwear, before he lets himself slip into the water. Immediately, he gathers Miguel up in his arms.

It’s not a languid kiss, by any means. Being separated for eight fucking weeks will do that to you. Miguel kisses Whiskey like he’s been trying to breathe underwater for months, like Whiskey is his fresh gulp of oxygen, his moment of clarity. He kisses Whiskey like Whiskey is his very reason for breathing.

Which is almost funny, given that Miguel has been doing quite a bit of breathing underwater, lately.

“Did you get bulkier?” Miguel murmurs against Whiskey's bare skin. He’s trailing his fingertips along Whiskey’s forearms. “You’re kinda firm, here. I like it.”

“Maybe a little.”

Whiskey kisses the top of his head. He lets his hands travel lower, let's his fingertips glide across Miguel's ribcage over the ink that matches Whiskey's own, four little words with so much meaning. He grins as he reaches Miguel's ass and let's his hands come to an abrupt stop. God, it's been much too long.

“S'okay. You're here, now.” Miguel shivers pleasantly from Whiskey’s touches. “Practice run over?”

“No, Angela called me in. She needed me to sign off on the final draft of that article.”

“Sports Illustrated?” Miguel recalls curiously. “How bad was it?”

“Actually, it was… Fine.” Whiskey thinks back on the feature. “Better than I expected. There’s even a couple of paragraphs where that reporter’s made me sound, I don't know. Oddly sweet.”

“You are sweet.” Miguel smiles fondly. “Is it really so bad, if people find out?”

“I suppose not,” Whiskey agrees reluctantly. He lets himself give Miguel's ass another indulgent squeeze. “And they actually included my off-hand mention of my housemate, this time. So that’s something.”

“Good job,” Miguel says with a flushed grin. “Angela must be so pleased.”

Angela Johanson, PR and communications officer for the Seattle Kraken, had indeed been extremely pleased.

Her strategy had really worked for them, so far, which was why Whiskey wasn’t too inclined to argue with it. “If you want to hide anything from those vultures in the media,” Angela had told him during one of his earliest PR briefings, “You’ve got to do it in plain sight.”

Of course, there had been other parts of Angela’s PR strategies that Whiskey had found himself arguing with. Especially during their very first conversation with one another, before he’d had the chance to inform anyone in Seattle of his situation.

It had been right after the trade – hours after, literally. Whiskey was still in Pittsburgh, both physically and mentally. And, fine, Whiskey had maybe already started to realise that Pittsburgh wasn’t completely right for him. It was a very good team, but they were so swamped with talent, and maybe fighting his way to the top of that rooster should’ve been an exciting, motivating challenge, but it wasn’t. It just wasn’t. Whiskey had spent his whole rookie year feeling like he was working against his own team. He had known there was a fair chance that he would get traded. He wasn’t even entirely opposed to the idea.

But Seattle? The Kraken? A team that, for all intents and purposes, didn’t even so much as exist, yet?

“We’re rolling out a whole media package,” Angela had informed him over the phone – as soon as Whiskey’s very first chit-chat with management was over, they’d switched him right over to PR. “There is an enormous amount of buzz right now, given that you guys are the very first players we’re signing. I’ve got some talking points to go over, and then you’re going live on channel four tonight at-”

“Hold on,” Whiskey had cut in. “It’s, I’m not… I don’t usually do many interviews.”

“Oh, you will now.” Angela actually had the audacity to sound cheerful. “We’re right in the middle of establishing our whole brand, and profiling our players in the media is an incredibly important part of that. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

“I’m not too interested in being a… A media profile.” Whiskey had tried his best not to panic completely. Really, he had. “I don’t… I’m fairly protective of my private life.”

“Well. You’ll certainly need to share the overall gist of it.” Angela had sounded almost confused. “We need you to be approachable, Connor. Likeable. You’re young, and very handsome, and incredibly talented. We’ve been hoping to have a broad interest in this franchise, all different age groups and so on, and right now, you’re looking a lot like our best bet to attract some real interest from young girls and women. We’re not going to miss that chance.”

“Look," Whiskey had told her flatly. "I’m going to tell you something in confidence, alright? In confidence. This needs to stay between you and me.”

“Okay? Connor, I’m not sure if-”

“I have a boyfriend.”

Angela had been quiet for well over five seconds.

“Oh,” she’d said. To her credit, there had been something like embarrassment in her tone. “I see. Of course, that’s not an issue. Not at all. We’ve done a lot of groundwork about the values of this organisation, Connor, and I want you to know that you’re going to be completely safe with us.”

“Right. Thank you.”

“And,” Angela had added, just a bit hopefully. “If you would choose to be open about that, I can assure you that you would have our full support to-”

“No,” Whiskey had interrupted. “No. I’m not going to.”

“Right.” Angela had paused. “Okay. We’d really be prepared to back you up, you know. It might cause a bit of a media frenzy, and earn us some frankly disgusting press, but we’d be ready to take that on.”

“Yes, a media frenzy sure seems like the last thing on your wishlist.” Whiskey hadn’t bothered to keep his anger out of his voice. “In any case, I’m not going to cause it for you. I’m extremely protective of my private life, and for very good reason. And I’m not going to go live on channel four, today or any other day.”

“Right, okay," Angela had said quickly. "Okay.”

There was a longer moment of silence.

“I hear you.” Angela’s tone had shifted significantly. Somewhere in the background, Whiskey thought he could hear the sound of papers being shuffled around. “I think… Well, won’t need this anymore. Or that. Hm. Let’s see.”

Whiskey managed something of a breath. He was feeling slightly calmer, although honestly not particularly regretful. Really, he’d be more than prepared to fight the Kraken’s entire PR department, if that’s what it took.

“Look.” Angela had apparently found something to say again. “I’ve seen your tapes, Connor.”

Whiskey frowned slightly.

“Okay?”

“You’re very good.” Angela’s tone was quite careful. “Very, very good. I used to play, you know, back in high school. You’re fast, and you play very smart. I’ve heard the way our head coach talks about your technique, and about your adaptability on the ice. Quite frankly, he won’t shut up about you.”

“Is any of this supposed to make me like you better?”

“That’d be nice,” Angela had said calmly, and okay, she was certainly brave. Whiskey had to give her that. “Most importantly, though, you should take me seriously when I say that we’re fully expecting you to be one of the faces of this franchise.”

“On the ice, sure, but that doesn’t-”

“And,” Angela cut in, “That means the media is going to be all over you. Even if you won’t let us schedule you for appearances, they’re going to find something to write about anyway. Really, I’m sure they’d be thrilled to publish all sorts of assumptions and speculation, especially if there’s nothing else out there to contradict them.”

Whiskey wasn’t sure what to say to that.

Angela actually had a point, was the thing.

“I understand the need to keep your professional and private lives separate,” Angela had continued. “And, Connor, I’d really like to help you with that. Because you’re going to need help. If we could work together and figure out a level of public visibility that you could actually be comfortable with, that would definitely keep a lot of so-called journalists from spinning a narrative that we have no control over.”

“Right.” Whiskey hadn’t needed to hesitate much longer. “I understand that. Honestly, I’ve seen the way certain publications go after some of our big names here in Pittsburgh. I’d hate to face something like that without a solid plan for how to handle it.”

“We don’t want you to feel like you’re facing anything on your own, or without a plan.” Angela had sounded quite hopeful once more. “Connor, I… I’m sorry if I came on too strong, just now, and demanded too much from you. We’re genuinely thrilled that you will be joining us in Seattle. I hope that you and I can figure out a media strategy that actually works for you."

“That sounds good.” Surprisingly, Whiskey actually meant it. “I, uh. This is all extremely important to me. I appreciate that you’re making an effort to see my perspective.”

“Of course.” Angela’s tone had been warm. “My job is ultimately about supporting you, you know.”

“Well.” Whiskey had actually smiled. “I suppose I’m glad to have you on the team, then.”

“That’s my line, isn’t it?” Angela had chirped pleasantly. “So. I’m cancelling with channel four. Let’s talk about alternatives for how to make your first impression.”

Whiskey hadn’t quite understood, back then, just how invaluable Angela was going to prove herself during his time in Seattle.

He also would never have guessed that, over a series of meetings where the two of them had drafted contingency plans for various hypothetical scenarios of Whiskey being outed, as well as quite a few bottles of increasingly expensive red wine, he and Angela would actually end up with something not entirely unlike a friendship.

"Angela says hi, by the way," Whiskey tells Miguel presently. They've made it out of the water – except, Miguel's already dived back in. Whiskey has sat himself down on the edge of the pool, content to stick his feet in and just watch Miguel. "She practically demanded that we have her over for dinner, this weekend, when I mentioned you were coming back home."

"Oh, I'd love to see Angela." Miguel dips beneath the surface, just briefly. "You could make those dark chocolate brownies for dessert."

Whiskey smiles.

"You've missed my desserts."

"Come on, try again." Miguel grins. "You're so close."

"Ah. You've missed my chocolate desserts."

Miguel rolls his eyes. He disappears back underwater with a playful splash.

Whiskey smiles softly as he watches Miguel swim down, down towards the bottom of the pool. He still remembers the first time Miguel took him swimming, remembers how his breath hitched at the sight of Miguel moving in the water, his lithe, flexible body completely in control. It was, and honestly still is, the most beautiful thing Whiskey has ever seen.

There's a picture of the two of them that hangs framed in their bedroom. It was taken the summer before last, during a trip they took to see Miguel's family. Miguel is looking at the camera, and his smile is the one that Whiskey loves the most – it's soft and warm and just so lovely. His brown eyes are wonderfully bright in the sunlight. He looks beautiful, and full of life and love. He looks perfect.

In the picture, Whiskey isn't looking at the camera. Instead, he is looking at Miguel. He's smiling, too, and although his smile isn't anywhere near as radiant as Miguel's, it's definitely gentle and content. He looks happy.

They both look happy.

The picture sometimes makes Whiskey wonder what others see, when they look at the two of them. Miguel, so full of energy and life, always bright with excitement and emotion, easily allowing his feelings to flow freely in any direction like a rippling, playful wave, his world a whole sea of excitement. And next to him, Whiskey. So purposeful, and focused, and bold. Always serious and earnest, making every decision with exact precision like he's carving his whole world out of ice.

And yet they come together so perfectly, almost as if they were always meant to find one another.

Miguel breaks through the surface again, with a bigger splash this time.

"I almost forgot," he says, a little breathlessly. "Whiskey. I do actually use Twitter, you know."

Whiskey frowns slightly.

"I don't."

"And as much as I love you, you're not the only account on there." Miguel rolls his eyes. "You Can Play made a pretty interesting announcement, today. Did you see it?"

Ah. Quickly, Whiskey looks away.

"They've received another one of those big donations," Miguel continues. He sounds delighted. "And still no sender, can you believe it? Funny, how this always happens right after you win another big game."

Whiskey ducks his head, grinning. It's only happened a handful of times, that Whiskey has managed to quietly donate a few thousand dollars to You Can Play without Miguel connecting the dots. Ever since that first time, when You Can Play had announced their deepest gratitude to an anonymous donor the very same week that Whiskey had received his signing bonus, and Miguel had immediately texted Whiskey a string of cash emojis and a question mark, it's become something of a game between them.

"Fine. You win this time."

"I win every time." Miguel grins, too. "I guess I should just be grateful that you haven't splurged too much on another ridiculous welcome-home present. I'm still getting over the shock from last time."

"You love the pool," Whiskey reminds him softly. He clears his throat. "I, uh. I might actually have gotten you something."

Miguel stills.

"Please tell me it's something that fits inside the house, this time."

"Well..." Whiskey knows that it's better if he just sticks to his plan of showing Miguel, when he gets the chance. They've been making loose plans for a trip to Boston, anyhow, and Miguel definitely won't mind going back to the New England Aquarium. Especially when he finds out that they'll be attending the opening ceremony for the aquarium's new, privately funded manatee conservation program. "It's not really something you can take home. But I know you're going to love it."

"Okay, mister." Miguel looks a little bit weary. "God, you've got that look in your eyes. I'm getting nervous."

"You'll love it," Whiskey repeats firmly. He smiles. "And, uh, speaking of love. We got a letter from Dex and Nursey, yesterday."

Miguel's eyebrows shoot up.

"A letter? Don't you guys text, like, a lot?"

"They've finally set a date."

"Oh," Miguel exclaims. His smile widens. "Oh, that is so exciting! We're going to a wedding!"

"We are, yeah." Whiskey smiles, too. "I haven't RSVP'd, yet, but…"

"No, no, of course we're going." Miguel is still beaming. "Wow. Wow. Do you know what colors they're doing? Ooh, and what's their venue?"

"I don't… We can read their invitation together." Whiskey watches Miguel for a moment. "You like weddings."

Miguel pauses briefly.

"I like seeing our friends happy." He smiles. "Whiskey, you know that I don't expect… I've never really thought that I would be married."

"Me neither." Whiskey isn't quite sure how to phrase his next question. "But, just because you didn't think it was in the cards… I mean. That's not necessarily the same thing as, you know. As not wanting to?"

"I guess not," Miguel agrees easily. Still, he shakes his head. "Honestly, it's really not something I've ever dreamed of, the way some people do. My choice of career was always going to be a big commitment for me, one that would certainly make things complicated in the romance department. But then you came along, and we've managed to build this life together, and it's just… It's so perfect. I don't need anything more."

"I know." Whiskey returns his smile. "I love the life we've built together, too. But, I'm just… Well. Actually. I've been thinking."

Slowly, Miguel's expression shifts.

"You have?"

"It's not…" Whiskey begins, only to pause. He needs to get this right. "It's something I'm still thinking about. I don't have all the right answers, yet."

"Okay." Miguel tilts his head. "Whiskey, did… Did something happen? To make you question yourself?"

Whiskey's smile softens. It's really something, how Miguel knows him so well.

"Kind of," he admits. "You know I went home, recently?"

"Yeah. For a funeral, right?"

"Exactly. My one of my uncles passed."

"Right." Miguel is nodding, even though his expression is somewhat confused. "I don't… You said you two weren't very close?"

"No, we weren't," Whiskey agrees. "But still, I… It got me thinking."

"About marriage?"

"About death." Whiskey almost smiles when Miguel's eyebrows shoot up. "I promise this isn't constantly on my mind, okay? It's just something I've kept coming back to, recently. Something I haven't ever thought about before."

"Okay." Miguel watches him in apparent confusion. "Whiskey, I'm sorry. You've lost me."

Whiskey takes a deep breath.

"When we die, I want them to bury me next to you."

Miguel is quiet for a moment.

"Oh," he says. His tone is careful. "I… Oh."

"And I don't think that would be possible," Whiskey continues. He actually smiles. "Unless… You know."

"Wait. Really?" Miguel actually manages to sound equal parts serious, and reproachful. It's really quite something. "Connor. I may never have dreamed of the perfect proposal, but if this is your idea of one, death might greet you a whole lot sooner than you think."

"No, it's not," Whiskey says quickly. "It's… I haven't finished thinking about this, not yet. I mostly feel like I don't really know what I should want."

"Maybe what you should want isn't the right question." Miguel sounds slightly more calm. He pauses to actually think for a moment. "You know, I'm… I hadn't really thought about that, either. But you… I think you have a point. You really do."

For a moment, they just look at one another.

"Well," Whiskey says lightly. It feels like something significant has shifted between them. It feels big. "I guess we'll see?"

"Yeah." Miguel seems to have found his smile again. "It wouldn't have to be an extravagant affair. You'd hate that."

"I would," Whiskey agrees. "But, at the same time… We wouldn't necessarily need to keep it just between you and me."

"I like that." Miguel tilts his head again. "You know, if… If we did? The world would find out, eventually. When we're gone, if nothing else."

"Yeah. I know."

"I don't know how I feel about that. I'll need some more time." Miguel's tone is unusually thoughtful. "But you would be okay with it?"

"I… I guess." Whiskey pauses for a moment. Suddenly, he remembers everything Angela's told him about the importance of taking control over the narrative. And honestly? Just like always, she has a point. "Except, if that is the path we take, maybe we should actually make sure that we have a say in how this story gets told? Not anytime soon, but, I don't know. At some point down the line."

"Right." Miguel is nodding, even though he still looks quite contemplative. "That's probably not a decision we should rush into."

"There's no need. We can figure it out at whatever pace feels right." Whiskey offers him another smile. "Thank you, by the way."

"For what?"

"For listening to me. For going through all of this with me."

"That's not something you need to thank me for." Miguel's smile softens into the one Whiskey loves best. "It's, you know. Sickness and health, good times and bad times. No matter what we tell the world, we both know that's what this is."

"Yeah," Whiskey agrees softly.

Sometimes, he still can't believe that they got here in the end. He smiles, helplessly.

"That's right. You're exactly right."

[hockeylvr59]

Life Changes Part 6 || Paul Bissonnette

Summary: It’s crazy how quickly your life can change...one minute you’re a struggling personal injury lawyer and the next you’re working for one of the hottest sports podcasts to supplement your income. A new job and the end of a long-term relationship was just the beginning for Leigh Thompson when it comes to life changes. Thankfully she has the one and only Paul Bissonnette at her side to help her handle them all. 

Authors Note: Splitting this next segment up into at least two parts because otherwise, it will be insanely long (this part contains 2 of at least 6 events that I have in mind for this short span of time). I’d love to know what you think of this chapter, especially considering that Paul is very much present. Also please feel free to send me any songs that you think I should add to the series playlist. 

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no    Warnings: cursing.   Word Count: 2,865+ text convos

_____________________________________________________________

“True life is lived when tiny changes occur.” 

From the moment I’d been hired by the podcast, I’d been working on putting together all of the details for a Vegas trip for the NHL awards. Now, after months of hard work, everything was set for the guys to spend a week in Vegas. Our title sponsor for the trip was one of the many hotel-casinos who had reserved a 4 bedroom suite for the podcast hosts as well as a few standard rooms for the camera and production guys. Additionally, all of the media passes for the event were ready to go and I knew the boys had lined up quite a few guests. With everything set and the awards only a week away I was hoping to maybe be able to take a mini-vacation myself at home while they partied it up and got tons of content to last through the summer. 

It had been maybe an hour from when I sent the boys an email with all of the important details for the trip when my phone buzzed with an incoming text from Paul. 

______

So, because I lacked all capability to tell Paul Bissonnette ‘no’ when he asked me to do something, I was currently pulling my suitcase through the Vegas airport at almost midnight the night before the awards. Checking my phone I saw that Paul had texted me one message with the room number and which room in the suite was ours as well as another saying that the rest of the boys had gone out but that he’d be there when I got in. I had previously told him not to wait up for me and had even fought with him when he wanted to come to pick me up. It was completely ridiculous for him to even think about taking an Uber to the airport just to uber back to the hotel. 

Grabbing a cab, it wasn’t long before I had arrived at the hotel and after stopping at the front desk for a key to the room and to make sure the boys hadn’t had any problems with the reservations, I took the elevator upstairs and let myself into a dark and silent suite. Part of me had expected Paul to be up watching tv or something but it was too quiet for that. He’d said that we were staying in the first room on the right and so I quietly headed over, pausing in the doorway when my eyes caught sight of him. 

The only light in the room was coming from the open blinds letting in the city lights and Paul was sprawled out on the bed on his stomach fast asleep. The way the light and shadows highlighted the muscles of his naked back made my body react involuntarily and I took a deep breath trying not to gasp. Reminding myself that this was definitely just the pregnancy hormones getting the best of me, I slipped into the room and closed the door to the living room behind me. 

As quietly as I could, I hung my dress up in the wardrobe and got my pajamas and things for bed out of my suitcase before sneaking into the bathroom to get ready to go to sleep. It was beyond late and with the time change, I was exhausted. Paul was still taking up most of the bed when I stepped out of the bathroom and flipped off the light, using the flashlight on my phone to guide me across the room to close the curtains and then to the edge of the bed. Perched on what little bed was not occupied by a large man, I gently reached out and rubbed my hand over his back trying to stir him just enough that he’d roll over and make room. Getting no reaction I sighed. 

“Paul...are you actually gonna share the bed like you promised or am I stuck sleeping on the couch tonight?” I whispered. Rubbing his back once more I felt his muscles twitch and suddenly his body was moving, arm reaching out to take my hand and pull me into him. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as I settled into his embrace, his solid chest pressed into my back. As his body shifted to surround me further, the hand that had grabbed mine moved to drape over my waist. 

We’d snuggled like this before, but back then I didn’t have a 21-week baby bump protruding from my front. It was clear that in his sleepy state he expected what he was used to before because the moment his arm didn’t drape the way he expected he froze against me. A change in his breathing signaled that he was now actually awake and his hand gently caressed my stomach for a moment. 

“Holy shit Leigh…” His sleep laden voice murmured from behind me. “You...that’s...I didn’t...wow.” Shaking my head at him a little I rolled onto my back so that I could look over at him. As I shifted, Paul reached over to tap the bedside light on, allowing us to actually see each other. 

“It’s called a baby bump Paul...this is kinda what happens when you’re pregnant and the baby starts to get bigger. There’s only so much space in there for the baby to grow otherwise.” His gaze was dark and lazy as our eyes met before he swept a look up and down my body taking in the changes that he’d missed due to living on separate sides of the country. 

“I knew that…” He declared, glaring at me softly. “I just...I don’t know. I haven’t seen you in a few months and I don’t know why but I wasn’t expecting you to be showing. Not like this.” I knew he wasn’t implying that I was fat or anything, just that his brain hadn’t actually processed the changes that my body would undergo during pregnancy. 

“Not so easy to hide anymore huh?” I questioned and he nodded but his eyes hadn’t left my stomach, nor had his hand. 

“Fuck...I...are you okay with me touching?” He asked at least being conscious enough to know that women frequently complained about people touching their bellies. It was clear that he wanted to touch and explore. To make the connection between the baby that we so frequently talked about and how said baby currently existed inside me. Smiling over at him I nodded, though he wasn’t looking and therefore didn’t see it. 

“Go for it,” I assured him. “You are one of the few people I think I can put on my approved bump touch list.” I teased. Part of me had at least expected him to crack a smile at that but I don’t think he was paying attention to my words since the second I gave him permission to touch. 

The way his strong fingers grazed over my belly so gently caused a shiver to run up my spine and I just watched him for a moment before closing my eyes and relaxing. For a few minutes, he just caressed and pressed his palm to my stomach before his fingers dipped down to the edge of my shirt. Peeking up at him I could see the adoration in his eyes as he looked at the way my body had adapted to growing the little boy or girl inside of me. I felt blessed to know that he already loved this baby so much even though he had no real reason to and it made me want to give him as much as I could so far as letting him bond with the baby went. 

“Here…” I breathed, rolling just slightly to adjust my shirt so that it rested just under my breasts, exposing the skin of my stomach to him, stretch marks and all. I knew that touching through clothes was one thing but letting him see the way that my skin had stretched, and letting him touch without that barrier in the way was something else entirely. 

Paul’s hand quickly found its way back to the bump and when he looked up at me again his eyes were moist with tears. Meeting his gaze with concern, I reached over to brush my thumb against his cheek. 

“Sorry.” He mumbled, his body leaning into my touch as much as I had his earlier. “I just...this is incredible. I...I didn’t expect that this would affect me so much.” It was totally understandable for him to have that reaction and I did my best to communicate that to him without words. My own voice was stuck in my throat seeing him get emotional over something that I’d personally gotten used to because it was my new normal. “You...I hope you know that you were beautiful before...but you’re absolutely gorgeous like this. Pregnancy suits you.” The intent behind his words confused me but he was so sure of them that I couldn’t help the flush that came over my entire body. Catching my breath after a moment I glanced over at the alarm clock beside the bed. 

“So...can we go to sleep now...because it’s the middle of the night back home and being pregnant is exhausting.” My words seemed to snap Paul out of his trance. 

“Fuck...of course. I...goodnight Leigh.” His words were spoken with a soft kiss to my temple, but before I could attempt to roll over, Paul had shifted, leaning over me. “Goodnight dustbunny.” He added and for a split second his lips were pressed against my stomach before he was laying back down beside me, a sheepish look on his face. “Didn’t want baby to feel left out.” He mumbled before switching the light back off so that we could all get some sleep. 

Tucked back against his chest, I was nearly off to dreamland when I heard him whisper softly into the room. “I’m here for whatever you and your mama need dustbunny...that’s a promise.” 

__________________________

When I woke the next morning, Paul was still passed out beside me. Gingerly, I slid out of his arms needing first to use the bathroom and then to get some food before the baby decided to protest. After taking care of my bladder needs and slipping on a pair of shorts, I quietly opened the door to the living room wondering if the boys had any food in the kitchen or if they’d eaten out for every single meal since arriving in Vegas. 

Padding softly through the living room around to the little kitchen in the suite, I could hear RA and Grinnell talking softly from over by the patio doors. When I arrived in the kitchen I found a couple of small boxes of cereal as well as a small bottle of milk in the minifridge. Pouring myself a bowl of cereal, I rubbed the remaining sleep from my eyes before moving back to lean against the counter dividing the kitchen and living space while I ate. It was only then that I addressed the crew’s oldest host and our production manager by saying good morning. 

Both quickly returned my greeting but didn’t look over at me right away. However, upon finishing their conversation, they turned to me and it was comical to see the double-take that Mikey did when his eyes saw me. 

“What the fuck is that?” He asked only to be scolded by RA murmuring a ‘dude…’ in his direction. Swallowing the bite of cereal I’d put into my mouth I started laughing at how thrown these two grown men seemed at the sight of a pregnant woman. 

“Um...surprise?” I stated, trying to downplay things in order to not generate a large reaction. 

“Why didn’t Biz fucking tell us he’s gonna be a dad?” Mikey exclaimed, visibly getting worked up and speaking without really thinking about his words. Again RA tried to get him to shut up for a minute but he continued to rant for a moment about how ‘this was a big deal’ and ‘since when did Biz keep secrets like this….’ 

“Michael Grinnell...will you shut up for a minute?” I declared, setting my now empty bowl down on the counter. “Biz didn’t tell you that he’s gonna be a dad because he’s not…” I immediately motioned for him to let me continue but before I could, a voice sounded from my left.

“How far along do you think she is dumbass?” Ryan Whitney chirped as he made his way into the kitchen for his own breakfast. His lack of reaction to what he’d just walked into caught me off guard for a moment before I turned to look at him. 

“How long have you known?” I asked accusatorily.  He at least had the courtesy to look guilty as he mumbled that I probably already knew the answer to that. Carding my fingers through my hair, I sighed and shook my head. “You’ve known as long as Paul has…” I was slightly annoyed by that and it clearly showed on my face causing Whit to backpedal. 

“I didn’t know know…” He explained. “Yes...Biz texted me asking if you being sick the way you were was normal and the suspicion was kind of unspoken. He never actually told me that you were though...it was just pretty obvious when the two of you posted scenic pictures when I knew he was taking you to the doctors’. If it was a bug you would have been in bed resting, long drive implies a distraction and it wasn’t hard to figure out from that, that his suspicions had been right.” I couldn’t really be angry about the fact that he’d deduced it based on information obtained before anyone knew for certain that I was pregnant. “Plus...Biz has been different the past few months and it’s pretty obvious why…” He added, gesturing toward my stomach. 

“So….if Biz isn’t the dad…” Mikey jumped back into the conversation, his expression suggesting that he’d been thinking a little too hard about all of this. Suddenly his eyes went wide. “Oh...shit.” He murmured like it had all hit him at once. Needing to take control of the situation back I placed a hand on my stomach, taking a deep breath. 

“Yes. I’m pregnant. No, we’re not talking about the whole paternity situation. Yes, Paul and evidently Whit have known for a few months. I didn’t tell my parents until last month and I’m not ready to go fully public with an announcement yet which is why I hadn’t said anything. Now, if we can just move on...that would be wonderful.” 

Thankfully Whit was able to distract RA and Grinnell with a discussion of setting up for the interviews they were recording before the awards tonight and I was able to slip back to the bedroom, suddenly feeling like I needed a nap even though I’d just woke up. 

I’d been staring out the window, trying to clear my mind and decide what I wanted to do until I had to start getting ready when a pair of arms wrapped around my waist and I was pulled back into a firm chest. 

“You okay?” Paul asked, his fingers once again rubbing gentle circles over the expanse of my stomach. Leaning into him I nodded and just focused on his touch and soothing presence. 

“The boys know.” I eventually whispered and I could feel him chuckle softly. 

“I mean...I kind of figured...it only takes one look at you like this.” Feeling his lips press against my hair I sighed. “Plus I could hear Grinnell freaking out. Are you okay with the cat being out of the bag so to speak?” Shrugging I sighed but didn’t say anything. I kind of had to be okay, though it did again bring the fear of the world finding out tonight on national tv to the front of my mind. I could only pray that the dress I’d found would do a sufficient job of hiding my growing stomach in the way that a pair of shorts and a clingy tank top couldn’t. 

Spinning me around Paul pulled me into a hug. We stood like that for a few minutes before there was a knock on the bedroom door with RA calling out that Paul needed to get his ass into gear so they could get started. When he pulled back reluctantly, he kissed the top of my head. 

“I’ll be fine...go,” I assured him. “Dustbunny and I are just gonna lay back down for a little while. I’ll set an alarm to wake me in a couple hours so I can start getting ready for tonight.” 

With one more caress of my bump, Paul retreated to the living room to work and I slipped back into bed, pulling his pillow from his side of the bed to cuddle. With sounds of laughter coming from the next room I quickly drifted off to sleep, hoping that I would wake up more excited for the awards than I currently felt. 

No Social Media for this Chapter. 

[puckinghell]

#6 with either Willy or Auston?

Auston is a nice guy, is the thing. And you don’t know him that well - you talked to him once when Will was Skyping him from Sweden, but that doesn’t count as really meeting him, you guess - but you know him enough that it’s not creepy, when he offers to buy you a drink. 

You’re at a party at Will and Kappy’s house, to celebrate the start of the season, and the only person you really know there is Will. You moved from Sweden to Toronto only a few weeks ago and so far you’ve mostly been unpacking. 

Being here feels a little like being thrown into a shark tank, with drunk hockey players and their beautiful WAGs, and you must’ve looked scared enough that Auston took pity on you, because now he’s mixing you a drink and chatting about his teammates.

“The one with the red hair is Freddie. He looks scary, but he’s like a soft cuddly bear, once you get to know him. He just has no facial expressions, zero. So if you get a smile out of him, you’re basically his best friend.” 

Technically, the title of best friend has been taken by Will, but since he’s left you to your own devices and is nowhere to be seen, you’re willing to consider taking on a new one. 

“Isn’t that your title?” you ask. You’ve been exchanging pleasantries with Auston all evening and you figure it’s okay by now to tease him a little. 

Auston shrugs, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I can share. Unlike Will.” 

You frown. “Will? I didn’t know he was that close with Freddie.” 

At this, Auston laughs, loud and melodic. It’s a shame, you think, that you’ve been so stupid as to fall in love with one William Nylander, because Auston is hot, in a very typical NHL way, and he’s fun to be around. 

“No,” he grins, “I mean, Will won’t share you. You’ve been here for weeks and he’s only now introducing you, after we’ve been pestering him about it for days.”

You’re about to ask what the hell that means - you weren’t aware there had been previous opportunities to meet the team - when there’s a voice coming from the kitchen doorway.

“Stop flirting with her.” 

Will is standing there with his arms crossed, eyebrows knotted together. He looks upset, which is weird, and then he pulls his lip between his teeth, a sure tell that he’s nervous, which is also weird. 

“Dude, relax,” Auston says wholeheartedly, and you’re gonna have to agree with Auston on this one. However, when you nod in agreement, Will’s frown only deepens, and then he turns around and leaves.

“Uh,” you bring out, and Auston motions towards the door as if to wave you away, so you run after your best friend.

You find him on the balcony, as you knew you would. He’s hunched over at the railing, chewing on the string of his hoodie. 

“What the hell was that?” you say sternly, as you move to stand next to him. When he doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at you, you bump your shoulder against his. “Willy, hey. Talk to me. What’s wrong?” 

He swirls around so fast he bumps his knees into yours, which shouldn’t send tingles up your spine the way it does. 

“I can’t believe Matts was flirting with you. I told them that you were off limits.”

Now it’s your turn to frown. “Off limits?” 

That’s not really fair, since you’re trying desperately to get over him, and it’s also not really his call to make.  

“I think that’s my decision, not yours,” you tell him therefor, and your voice sounds clipped even to your own ears. Will must hear it, too, cause he recoils; steps back from you and wraps his arms around himself as if he’s trying to protect himself from the cold.

Except it’s unusually warm in Toronto, this September.

You should probably stop. It looks like he got the point, and he looks... hurt, which is both not at all what you intended and also not something you necessarily understand. 

But now you’re a little mad, and a little tipsy, and so you keep going.

“I don’t appreciate choices being taken away from me without my consent, William. You’re my friend, and you...” 

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.” His tone of voice doesn’t match his words; his eyes are narrowed but his voice is soft, wavering, and as soon as the words leave his lips a red flush creeps up on his face. 

When you don’t respond - you’re too busy staring at him - Will takes a step closer, lets his hands drop to his side.

“We’re friends, sure, but we’re more than that. You don’t stay up til 4am to call a friend after his game. You don’t fly across the world to be there when a friend needs a hug. You don’t move to another country for a friend. You don’t look at a friend the way you look at me.” 

He breathes, and it’s shaky, but he looks more determined now, probably encouraged by the fact that you’re still staring at him with wide eyes. 

“I thought, now that you’re here... I thought we could finally be more. I know you feel it too, what we have. I know...” He pauses. “I know you love me.” 

And, well, you do, is the thing, you love him more than you ever anticipated loving anyone, but it’s so foreign to you, to believe he could feel that way too, to believe it could be possible, because it wasn’t possible for so long, and you thought...

“Tell me I’m wrong.” Will’s voice is barely above a whisper but it cuts through the quiet night, cuts through the music that’s booming through the thin balcony door. He takes a step closer and now he’s close enough to touch, except he doesn’t reach out, just stands there.

“Tell me I’m wrong. Or...” 

“Or?” you repeat, because the first option was never really an option anyway. 

“Or kiss me,” Will finishes finally, and you just catch a glimpse of the crinkles that appear around his sparkling blue eyes when he smiles, before you press your lips to his and show him that he’s right.