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Chase is sitting on the edge of his bed, his leg drumming. There’s a present tucked away in his suitcase and he’s trying to figure out whether it’s going to be worth trying to find the Team Canada floor or not. Right now, the urge to get to them are outweighing any potential embarrassment he knows he’ll feel.
“Dude, you’re acting like you’re jacked! Quit it,” Eichs whines, elbowing Chase from his thoughts. They’re playing Halo and their team are doing well, but Chase is distracted and can’t stop thinking about the present.
“Sorry,” he mutters and shakes his head, trying to pull himself back into the game. Ty and Nick are there as well, and both of them snort. “What?” Chase demands as he’s taken out with a headshot.
“You spoken to Comrie again, yet?” Ty asks, yawning and stretching. The campaign is over and it’ll take a few minutes until they respawn for a new mission, and apparently Chase’s potential dilemma is more exciting than anything else in their asshole lives.
“Fuck off,” Chase says, for a lack of anything better to say. He’d tried already. It was awkward, and he’s still upset about it.
When they’d arrived in Montréal, he’d been a little… excited, to say the least, to see Eric again. It’s been months since they hung out in the summer, and seeing Eric on a Skype screen isn’t the same as getting to hug his bony ass, or breathe in his stupid cologne and smell. But as excited as he’d been, Eric had seemed withdrawn and a little standoffish. Chase was kind of scared he’d given himself away, been too excited or something.
“That’s not an answer,” Eichs says, snapping him out his memory. Apparently all of them are ganging up on him now. Super.
“I spoke to him when we arrived,” Chase sniffs. They all roll their eyes.
“Are you gonna go see him tomorrow?” Ty asks. Nick’s rolled onto his stomach and is fucking around with his phone, while Eichs sprawls on the other bed in the room, looking intently at Chase. The back of his neck feels red.
“I don’t know,” Chase lets out on a miserable exhale. The other three exchange glances.
“You… why?” Nick asks this time, having turned around. Chase shrugs and picks at a thread in his team-issued shorts. They’re mesh and super comfortable, and he’s going to steal them if the national team insist on getting them back.
“He’s not answering my texts. I’m sure he’s just super busy,” Chase waves off. He knows he’s being stupid. He might have memorised Canada’s training schedule and texted when he was sure Eric wasn’t busy, and they’re both in Montréal for the prelims so it’s not like they’re split between Ontario and Québec or anything… but Eric’s never been the kind of person to leave things bad if there was a reason for it. There has to be a reason for it.
“They’re off tonight. We’re all in the same hotel, I think they’re on fl--”
“Floor 29, 30 and 31, I know,” Chase says automatically. The room falls silent. He looks up from his pants and flushes.
“I got excited, okay? We haven’t done this before,” Chase says defensively, feeling like a complete pigeon. Eric tends to make him like that.
“Just ring him, man. It’s Christmas Eve. He’s probably just been mad busy with hockey stuff, you know how Canada is. Are his family around?” Eichs asks, his voice softer than it’d been a minute ago. Chase feels miserable.
“Yeah, they’re flying in later. My parents are coming tomorrow.”
The mood of the room has taken a dip, and he’s feeling so much crappier than he had a moment ago. Maybe Eric just isn’t interested in talking to him when they’re on opposite sides like this. They’re in the prelims together, and are supposed to play each other on New Year’s Eve -- it’s gonna be awkward and shitty, but they could still both make it. One of them could win.
“So, just… ring him. Or text. Be like, wanna chill for a bit? and leave it at that.” Nick shrugs, as if it’s that fucking simple. It’s supposed to be. Chase has never felt this apprehension and tension with Eric, it’s always been easy. He’s always had this fluttering in his stomach whenever he looks at Eric, tall and calm and grounded, never too good or too busy for him. The idea that Eric doesn’t want to talk to him, even now, is something that makes him sick.
“Fuck,” Chase moans. This is the worst. He flops over on the bed and curls up, his knees pressing to his chest, and ignores the jibes about him being short enough to do it (he’s compact, okay, and Patrick Kane is 5’10 and he kicks ass-- short guys in hockey are a thing) as he opens the text and gnaws on his lip.
Hey bud, I know ur probs super busy but I have some presents for you & ur fam. Wanna swap?? C
He debates over adding a kissy faced emoji, his usual sign off, and does it anyway, tossing his phone away.
“He’s probably su--” Chase starts after a minute, but his text message tone pings and he scrambles for it.
Yeah course! U free now?
Chase can’t tamp down on his stupid fucking grin, and the others roll their eyes and toss wrappers at him. “You’re so dumb,” Eichs says, shaking his head as Chase grabs the bag of presents out his suitcase and reaches for his sneakers (years of being Eric’s best friend and living in Cali have conditioned him to take off his shoes as soon as he enters a room), dashing out with his keycard and ID pass.
He’s in the elevator when he texts back omw and slips it into his pocket, bouncing on his heels. He scrubs a hand through his hair and sighs-- he kind of wishes he hadn’t cut his hair for the draft because it’s at that gross in-between stage now, all flyaway and crazy. He figures fuck it; Eric’s never really paid attention, he wouldn’t start now.
When he knocks on Eric’s door, it opens and Eric’s there, tall and sleepy-looking, and that huge grin spreads over his face and makes Chase feel like he’s a fucking beer stein or something, full and warm and made of liquid happiness.
“Hey,” Eric says, soft and fond. Chase just stands there like a loser, grinning right back at him. “Come in, loser, don’t just stand in the corridor. Can’t have anyone seeing me fraternising with the enemy.” Eric reaches out to tug at his sweater, pulling him in and shutting the door.
Chase takes in his room. It’s exactly the same as his, the television on and something French humming in the background, but the place is empty and a fuckton messier. There’s a carton of nog and a bag of gingerbread men on the cupboard-- Eric pours him a glass, toasting with him and grinning. Chase picks up a gingerbread man and munches on it, while Eric ducks into the bathroom.
“Dude, you’re such a pig,” he sighs, sitting down on the bed that’s obviously Eric’s-- his iPad is left open on Angry Birds, and there’s a dog-eared copy of Game of Thrones by the bedside. Eric flushes and comes out, before rooting around in his suitcase, flipping Chase the bird.
“Fuck you, Fucale’s worse,” Eric grumbles, before he straightens up and comes to sit by Chase. Chase just shakes his head, too happy to chirp.
“You first,” he says instead, nudging Eric. Eric rolls his eyes and hands over the lumpy parcel, a little shy, as they put down their cups to focus.
“Merry Christmas, bud.” He nudges Chase and Chase bites his lip, unwrapping it carefully. Eric laughs but lets him, leaning in close enough that Chase can feel him against his arm. He takes an unsteady breath and lets it out-- he needs to accept that Eric isn’t into him like that, he’s been obvious as fuck for years, and never got anything back. Eric just… they’re just bros.
The last of the paper falls open and it’s a Jets jersey. Chase laughs until he turns it around, his breath catching. It says DE LEO 10, and wow. He only got a plain one at draft day, but this. This is so beyond anything he thought he could handle. Eric is such a great guy.
“Fuck, Eric,” Chase chokes out, his fingers tightening in the silky fabric. Eric just leans in closer, his chin digging into Chase’s shoulder.
“Thought you’d like it,” he says softly. Chase puts it down in his lap, fingers tracing over the big numbers.
“Yeah, buddy, this is so fuckin’ great,” Chase says, voice hoarse. Eric hums happily and Chase manages to tear his eyes away long enough to reach for his present. He got Eric’s parents a nice bottle of wine and a copy of Destiny for Ty, because he broke his last disk and bitched at Chase over text long enough that Chase almost went crazy. But yeah, he wanted to be alone with Eric when he gave this gift. It’s not particularly personal, and it’s not particularly awesome, but he just… he likes them having some time alone, more than anything.
“Merry Christmas,” Chase says. Eric grins and starts ripping into it. Chase watches his expression as he takes in the frame, and the piece of paper within it.
“You… framed it?” Eric asks in barely a whisper. Chase nods.
It’s their pledge, of course, the one the entire fucking world knew about because he took a photo and put it up on Twitter in a fit of deliriousness (JetsJetsJetsdraftedErictogetherJets), but it’s always travelled between the two of them, swapping over whenever they met on the road in the WHL. It’s well-worn and creased, and Chase knew it needed to be framed soon otherwise it’d disintegrate and they’d lose that part of their history. He doesn’t think he could handle that.
“Yeah. I, ah. It’s getting kinda raggedy, man, and it’s important to us. It’s yours, now.” Chase tries to clear his throat, his eyes stinging a little, and Eric’s clutching it like it’s a Gretzky stick or something.
“Chase,” Eric says, looking at him. His face is so open and vulnerable, something big on there, that’s just speaking to the feeling Chase has been lugging around for years.
“I just, I gotta,” Chase says, leaning in. Eric’s not moving, but his eyes have dropped to Chase’s mouth, and fuck yeah that’s a good sign. He puts his hand on Eric’s thigh and kisses him, so fucking gently it kills him not to surge forward, but this is-- this is putting years of friendship on its head and going yeah, okay, that was cool but let’s try something new. Eric lets out a whimper and kisses him back. Oh God he kisses back-- a little clumsy and wet, but it’s so fucking perfect that Chase has to push him back, lay him out on the bed and blanket him. That is, until he remembers why he was so nervous about all of this, so nervous about coming to find Eric in the first place.
“Dude, why did you act so weird the other day?” It’s bugging him, and he needs to know. It obviously wasn’t because he didn’t like Chase. Eric goes pink.
“What?” he demands, beyond curious now.
Eric shrugs, jostling Chase as he goes. “I just-- ugh. I was trying to be all Canada and stuff. Seeing you made it suck. Like, I was so happy about being called up, but then I remembered that you were in our group stage and that I’d get to see you. It’d be hard trying to get in the zone against you.” Eric’s eyes drop. Chase sighs.
“It’s gonna be awkward as shit, and we play each other soon, but… we’ll get through it. We’ll always get through it, okay?” he says. Eric nods, smiling again, and his hand comes up the back of Chase’s shirt as he leans in to kiss Chase, making him shiver. It jolts Chase’s hips forward to rub against Eric’s, making them both moan.
“You wanna?” Eric asks, pulling away wetly. Chase’s breathing hard and Eric’s cheeks are flushed, and the only word Chase can think of to describe him is gorgeous, and the pressure in his chest has finally burst and is flooding through him, every nerve ending singing Eric’s name like something out a fucking romance novel.
“Yeah, please,” Chase begs. Eric’s hand moves from Chase’s shoulders to the dip of his back, sliding a hand down to cup his ass and squeeze. Chase gasps and grinds down, and between the two of them they manage to get naked. Eric laughs-- Chase manages to bang their heads together and then almost falls off the bed in the proceedings, but then Eric licks his hand and gets them together and it stops being funny and starts being fuck yeah.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” Chase says, sucking on Eric’s neck, wanting to leave his mark, any mark, desperate for it. Eric’s jerking them tight and fast, his other hand helping Chase thrust against him, as if he never wants to stop touching.
“Probably as long as me,” Eric confesses, and Chase can’t even deal with that right now, has to kiss Eric, kiss him until he stops feeling like he’s going to explode with emotion.
Chase comes first, coating Eric’s hand up and calling out his name in a whine, burying his face in Eric’s neck as he grinds himself through it. It doesn’t take Eric much longer, and then they’re collapsed together on the bed, chest heaving and a mess between them. Chase never wants to move.
“Holy shit,” he says. Eric hums, his hand rubbing up and down Chase’s back.
“You-- was that okay?” he asks, sitting up. Eric rolls his eyes.
“Dude, I came in like three minutes. Yeah, it was more than okay.” He giggles, that goofy laugh Chase had fallen in-- shit, fuck-- had liked for so long, and Chase has to kiss him, because ‘more than okay’ is a glowing enough commendation for him.
“Gonna make playing against each other awkward,” Chase says. Eric shrugs.
“I like stopping you from scoring. I don’t think I’ll have any issues,” he says. Chase smirks.
“I like the idea of getting stuff in your goal,” he leers. Eric groans because what a pun.
“My parents told me to ask you for dinner tomorrow, with your family. We’ve booked a massive table at some restaurant. I said I’d ask,” Eric says. Chase nods, leaning up to kiss him.
“We’ll be there. Are we, ah. Is this a… meet the family thing?” he asks, a little unsteady. Eric smiles at him. Chase can’t help but smile back.
“It can be, if… if you want?”
Chase has to kiss him again, and again.
Merry Christmas indeed.