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drysaladandketchup · 7 months

Note

for the "things you said" writing meme -- matthew/leon, 12 :)

Thank you for the request <3 I realised very quickly I have no idea what constitutes a 'mini' fic. I struggle to write 'mini' anything lol. Hopefully this still satisfies :)

12. things you said when you thought i was asleep

It takes all of Matthew's willpower not to reach over and smash his phone just to shut off the alarm. All that saves his wallet and an awkward trip to the Apple store is the split-second realisation that the shrieking in his ear isn't his usual alarm.

It's a ringtone. Not his own, either.

He pries his eyes open to find the world through the window is still dark. One of the balcony doors is still ajar, letting in a cool night breeze. He's lying on his side in his own bed, the end of the all-star weekend memorialized by several aches and bruises.

His hips and ass are a little sore too, but that's unrelated. Technically.

The ringing stops. Someone huffs behind him.

Someone. Yeah, no, Matthew knows who it is. They may have met up at the bar once the media was done swarming, but Matthew was far from drunk. Painfully sober, in fact. If he's being honest with himself, he was hoping things would turn out this way.

One more time. One more moment. Because it's been a long time since they were them. Longer still since the sex was just sex, since hate became want. Matthew is strong in a lot of ways, but not against this.

"Davo." Leon's voice is low, and still gruff from sleep when he answers his phone. He sits up on his side of the bed, trying not to disturb Matthew, pulling the covers back up over Matthew's shoulder like he thinks he'll freeze to death in this balmy Florida winter.

Usually Matthew's a heavy sleeper. But never when Leon's around. He makes it impossible for Matthew to completely relax, to let time slip by. Leon's just too big of a presence, almost too much to bear. It was more important that everything linger, to bask in the strange comfort of their relationship, whatever it was. They had so little time. Even less, now.

"I know it's late. No, no, I'm not at the hotel. I'm... I'm with Tkachuk."

Leon says his last name like it's wrong, like it's rotting on his tongue.

When he corrects himself, says, "Matthew", it's better, lighter. Like it's ambrosia.

Matthew remembers when Leon Draisaitl saying his name wouldn't have meant a damn thing to him. When that simple act didn't fill him with fondness.

In the silence, Matthew can hear McDavid talking on the other end, but can't quite make out what he's saying. Matthew tucks up under the duvet, breathing quiet and even, trying to focus instead on the distant sound of waves and the ticking clock on his wall.

Ticking. Always ticking. Time bleeds out when they're together.

He doesn't even remember falling asleep last night, but he wishes he hadn't now. He wishes he'd stayed awake longer, just to... just to see him. To look Leon in the eye, to talk about everything and nothing until dawn, to feel big, too-warm hands on his body more and more and more. He wants to make sure he'll remember how Leon feels, sounds, tastes.

"Connor," Leon says, a warning, followed by a sigh. "I know. I know, okay? It was stupid, but..."

Maybe it was. Matthew has a good thing here in Florida. Better than ever. He was happy to leave Alberta behind and start over. So why did leaving make him feel like a coward?

Because leaving was about Calgary, and the Flames. About his career and his future. It wasn't about Leon. Leon was the wrench in the gears; the one thing he didn't expect to have to say goodbye to, the kind of hurt he never could have accounted for.

"I needed to see him." Leon sounds helpless. He's not the only one.

The only time he's heard Leon so lost was after his team was knocked out of the playoffs last season. The Oilers meant nothing--Matthew was pretty fucking glad considering they'd beat out the Flames--but he never wanted to hear Leon like that again.

He definitely never wanted to be the cause of it. Not like this.

Leon is still mumbling into his phone. "Yeah, I'm fine. He's... we're good. He's happy."

A hand settles on Matthew's head. Fingers play with his curls, nails scratch his scalp. A thumb presses just behind Matthew's ear, stroking the soft skin where only hours before Leon had put his lips, whispering sweetness and filth in equal measure.

It takes everything for Matthew not to groan, to whimper and surrender, roll over and climb on top of Leon and take all over again. Beg him to take something--everything--from Matthew.

"I don't know," Leon says then.

It's easy to guess what McDavid asked.

He's happy. But are you?

"I can't even tell him I still love him."

Still. Matthew didn't even know there was a before, let alone a still. Leon never said anything. Fuck, if Matthew wasn't busy trying to remember how to breathe, he'd roll over and punch him.

Then again, what did Matthew ever say? They never talked about it. Never let those closet hook-ups and slipping out back doors and little drinks and dinners and overnights excused as practical necessity be anything more than that. A bunch of chirps and half-truths and aborted discussions because it was all becoming too much. There was too much uncertainty. Too many ways it could go wrong.

It did go wrong. It became something. It became real.

Maybe that would have changed something. Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything at all. It doesn't matter now. Matthew left, and neither of them said a word about things like love, because it was easier to hope it would shrivel and die with distance and time.

"I know I'm being stupid." Leon pauses when McDavid interrupts, then huffs. "No, I am. Fuck, I really thought I'd get over it. Maybe I will. Eventually."

Don't you fucking dare, you piece of shit, Matthew wants to scream.

"Not sure I can, though." Leon swallows so loud Matthew can hear it. Then quieter, like he's not sure he's even allowed to admit it, he says, "I don't really want to."

He's still playing with Matthew's hair, occasionally dragging a finger over his bare shoulder or down his back, tracing imaginary lines across Matthew's flesh. Like he's something to be memorized and cherished.

They're both so fucking stupid. Matthew bites his lip and tries not to choke on the lump in his throat. Could be his heart, climbing right up and out of his mouth. He clings to the sheets with shaking hands.

"I'm not going to fuck up what he's got here," Leon says tiredly, voice thick with tension and pathetic resignation.

Leon's not here to drag him back. He wouldn't do that. So why is he here? Just to torture them both? Being with him doesn't feel like torture. It feels like winning. It feels like defiance and decadence and too much and not enough. It feels like what could have been and what could still be.

He didn't find Leon at that bar and bring him home out of pity, or nostalgia, one last fuck for old times sake. It was... it just was. Not an ending. Not some final goodbye. Proof maybe there could still be something. Getting over it was never an option, Matthew knew that well before he stepped onto the ice as a Panther and found himself staring Leon down all over again.

Matthew's vision is blurring. His eyes sting, warm and wet. There's blood pounding in his ears, and a hand clutching his heart, a vice around his lungs. He hardly remembers how to breathe.

He doesn't catch the rest of Leon's conversation, except something about meeting Connor back at the hotel tomorrow. Meaning he's staying the night, at least. He's staying.

When Leon hangs up the phone, Matthew finally comes up for air. He relaxes his shoulders, listening to the soft thump as Leon taps his phone against his forehead over and over. Then it clatters on the side table. Leon sighs, sniffs, and sinks back under the covers. He tucks right up against Matthew's back, still burning like a furnace, soft muscle and skin brushing Matthew's spine in all the right ways.

He throws an arm around Matthew and finds one of his hands, worming his fingers through the gaps to hold it. His palm is sweaty, not that it matters at all to Matthew. He can't help squeezing Leon's hand a little, but if Leon notices, he doesn't say a word.

Not until he's wrapped tight around Matthew, near suffocating, like any part of them that isn't touching is a sin.

"Love you," Leon mumbles, barely more than a whisper, pressing his lips right to the base of Matthew's neck. Matthew's body can't seem to decide whether to shiver or melt under the heat.

Leon says it like it's inevitable. Painful. Pitiful.

What he's saying is, I'm sorry I love you. I'm sorry I couldn't say it before. I'm sorry I don't know how to say it now. I'm sorry it's too late, it's the wrong place, the wrong time.

Like he doesn't think Matthew could ever understand. And that's the worst part of it all. They're still not on the same page. Tearing down what they never built.

If Leon's only brave enough to say it when Matthew's asleep, then Matthew will just have to be brave enough to say it in the light of day. He doesn't run, and he won't now that he knows he doesn't have to.

He stares into the night outside his window, listening to Leon breathe, feeling his heart beat through Matthew's chest like that's where it longs to be.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow maybe they can stop chasing time long enough to make the most of what they have. To make up for what they've wasted. And whatever happens after, well, maybe they can stop being afraid of that, too.

#hockey #mattdrai #matthew tkachuk #leon draisaitl #my writing #asks #i can take any prompt and shove angst into it just watch me #'mutual pining dumbasses who can't communicate' my beloved trope #i hope it's obvious this is happening during/right after the 2023 asg #i know 2020 was the sacred texts but I feel like we don't use 2023 for mattdrai purposes enough #poor connor always suffering through mattdrai bullshit #leon has a scrapbook full of pictures of matthew and will be like 'remember when my bf left me ;_;' and connor wants to jump off a bridge #'mini' fic they said. i don't think 1.6k is mini. it got away from me. but i have never been concise in my life why start now

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