Puckbunny

by BookNeat

Summary:

Following a massive trade, Gilbert has to temporarily rebuild his life in Denver, until the end of the season when his contract is up with the help of his new (old) teammates, Alfred and Matthew. Of course, nothing goes to plan when he goes to a concert one night and meets a man who looks at him like he's the whole world.

The Pruaus Hockey AU no one asked for

Chapter 1

Breaking news: Toronto Maple Leafs Forward Gilbert Beilschmidt traded to the Colorado Avalanche in exchange for Väinämöinen and draft picks. 

Gilbert’s hands shook as he read the ESPN headline over and over. He wasn’t supposed to be the one getting traded. He was one of the alternate captains; he was supposed to stay in Toronto forever. At least, that had been the plan when he was drafted. They hadn’t even called before the news broke. 

He knew he shouldn’t click the article, but he couldn’t help himself. 

The Toronto Maple Leafs are shaking up their lineup again, this time, with a major deadline trade. Forward Gilbert Beilschmidt has been traded to the Colorado Avalanche in return for Defenceman Timo Väinämöinen, a 2026 second-round pick and a 2027 first-round pick. 

With playoff contention heating up, the Colorado Avalanche have been searching for their missing piece as they continue the hunt for a wildcard position in the playoffs. Beilschmidt has been a consistent goal scorer for the Maple Leafs since being drafted in 2018…

Gilbert scanned the rest of the article, fighting back the tears in his eyes. He didn’t need the soulless recap of his career highlights. They didn’t write it for him. They had to sell him to the fans of his new team; fans who, until this point, hated him. Gilbert cursed himself for refusing the no trade list when he signed his first major contract. He’d been naïve to think they wouldn’t trade him. He was naïve to believe the talk that the Leafs were building a team around him . 

… Beilschmidt has issues with teammates—which has considerably impacted his playing time this season—notably, rising star and Russian phenom Ivan Braginsky, who was voted Captain in just his second year. (It is unknown why Beilschmidt was not in contention for the role.) 

Gilbert rolled his eyes. Ivan was the natural choice, even he could see that. There had never been a discussion of it being anyone else.

The unprecedented trade follows a public fallout between Beilschmidt and Braginsky following a 5-0 loss to the Boston Bruins on Friday, Toronto’s eighth loss in a row…

God, he wanted to throw his phone across the room. Their fight hadn’t just been about the loss. It had been about everything that had happened in the last year. Control, obsession, and the nagging feeling that he’d been abused. He was startled when the phone rang, almost forgetting it was even in his hands. 

“Gilbert?”

“Hey Lud…” Gilbert wished his heart didn’t sink at the sound of his brother’s voice. He hoped it would be the GM finally calling him to break the news. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be…” Gilbert swallowed his tears. He didn’t need Ludwig worrying about him all the way in Rome. “That’s the show for ya…just sucks that I found out like this…” 

“They didn’t call you?”

“Not yet…I guess I gotta start packing, huh? I mean, once they call, I’m on the clock.”

Ludwig hummed. Part of Gilbert wished he would say more. “Do you know anyone? In Colorado, I mean…”

“Jonesy and Willy, but I haven’t seen them since we were kids.” 

“They’ll look after you?” 

“Of course! Admirals stick together!” He hoped. 

Over the phone, Gilbert could hear a voice and Ludwig’s muffled response in Italian. 

“Do you need to go?” 

“Kinda…” The guilt in his voice was palpable. 

“Go, it’s okay! Have fun with Feliciano.” 

“Love you…I miss you.”

“Love you too, Lud. I’ll call you tomorrow.” 

“Only if it’s not too much!” 

“It’s never too much. I want company anyway.” Feliciano said something in the background. “Go. Tell me all about him tomorrow.” 

The line cut dead. Gilbert looked around the room with a sigh. It was going to be hell to pack it all. He likely would not have more than a day or so, anyway. Once the team called to notify him officially about the trade, he’d be expected to have his life packed away into tidy boxes ready to be shipped to Colorado, where he’d be expected to fall seamlessly into place and be ready to win, damn his homesickness and pain. 

—

“You’ll never fucking guess, bud,” Matthew said, dropping onto the couch next to his brother. “Sniper on the roof. Top left.”

Alfred took the shot and paused the game. “What?”

“Big trade. Fucking insane. ”

Alfred swallowed, unable to stop his leg from shaking. Trade season was the worst season, there was no predictability or stability. They were entirely at the whims of the General Managers and the hockey gods. 

“Not you, fuckin’ eh, bud!”

Matthew’s face did nothing to quell his anxiety. “One of the boys?” 

“Papa…” 

Alfred nodded slowly. Tino has been on the team well since before Tampa traded him to Colorado halfway through his second year. He let Alfred live in his basement in return for occasionally babysitting his son, Peter. They went on by-week vacations together while Matthew was at the All Stars game. They all spent the summers together. It felt like his family was getting ripped apart. 

“But we got a new teammate.” 

“Who?” He couldn’t help the curiosity leaking into his voice. 

“Schmidty.” Matthew smiled. “Gilbert.” As if it needed any clarification. 

Alfred leapt from the couch, his PlayStation controller falling into the depths of the blanket pile on the ground. They hadn’t seen Gilbert off the ice in years, nor had they been in the same city since the draft in 2018. 

“Fuckin’ right! I’ve been waiting for this one for like my whole life!”

Matthew laughed, shaking his head. Only Alfred would consider the start of his professional hockey career the start of his life. 

“I mean seriously, they’re fucking wasting him in Toronto. He’s not a center, he never fucking has been.” 

“Don’t get too excited. They’re calling him locker room cancer.” 

“Probably because they’re listening to that Braginsky kid. They’re sucking his dick right now. Just wait for the slump, and they won’t be so fuckin nice.” Alfred said, flopping back onto the couch. He knew all too well how cruel the Toronto press could be. “Besides, we know Gil. If he’s got a problem with Braginsky, then there’s gotta be a good reason for it. That fuck broke my defender!” 

It was the truth. Raivis was skating towards the net, puck on stick, about to score with 30 seconds left on the clock, when Ivan checked him hard, sending Raivis into the boards with such force he was out three months with a concussion. It didn’t matter that they won the game in the end. It felt like a loss all the same.

“A fresh start will be good for him, Matt. It was for me!” Alfred grinned brighter than the sun. 

“I hope they know what they’re doing.” 

Alfred shrugged and dug his controller out of the blankets. He slumped back into the couch, about to press play, when Matthew’s phone buzzed and then once again. He pulled his phone out of his pocket slowly, opening it away from Alfred’s view. 

“Who is it?” 

“Guess,” he said, pulling his phone close to his chest. He’d show his brother the photo anyway, but he always made Alfred work for it. 

“Well, it can’t be a girl… I’d’ve seen it by now.” Alfred scrunched up his face, pretending to think hard about who it could be. “Not the team, either. My phone would have gone off too…Ricky, best and final.” 

Matthew smirked and turned his phone to Alfred. On the screen was a photo of Roderich, on his knees at the centre of the bed, wearing Matthew’s jersey. He couldn’t help but stare at the outline of his cock straining against the fabric. He readjusted himself in his seat. 

“You gonna go?” He tried to shove the jealousy back into its dark cave. It wasn’t even Roderich that he wanted…most of the time, anyway.

“Of course! Can’t leave my favourite bunny hanging.” 

—

It didn’t take long for Matthew to get to Roderich’s apartment overlooking Cheesman Park. He stopped to watch the snow falling under the street lamps. It reminded him of Niagara Falls, even if the snow wouldn’t last longer than a day under the Colorado sun. 

“Are you going to stand down there like a stalker all evening?” Roderich shouted from his balcony. 

Matthew shook his head, laughing. Roderich had a funny way of talking to him, like he was a normal person and not a local celebrity. He waited for the telltale buzz over the intercom to let him in. 

“You know, I hate having to park here,” Matthew said when Roderich opened his door. “I don’t know how you do it.” 

“I pay exorbitantly for parking. And I walk.” Roderich smiled, pulling Matthew close, letting the door slam behind him. “But let’s not talk about that now.” 

Matthew laughed, dipping to kiss Roderich, who was still wearing his jersey. Roderich hummed against his lips, letting Matthew take the lead. He pressed a leg between Roderich’s, sinking his tongue into his mouth when he gasped. Roderich wrapped his arms around Matthew’s shoulders, tangling his hands in his long blond hair. 

Roderich broke the kiss, pushing his erection against Matthew’s hip. “Where do you want me?” 

Matthew shivered as Roderich’s lips grazed over his ear. How he always knew exactly what to do to get him all riled up, he had no clue. 

“Bed.” It came out as a choked gasp. 

Roderich smiled and sauntered down the hall, pulling Matthew behind him by the strings of his hoodie. Matthew stumbled after him, happy to watch the extra sway Roderich was putting into his hips just for him. Roderich always knew what he liked. 

Roderich’s bedroom looked the same as it always did; sheet music and dirty laundry piled up on the floor, walls covered in random objects he found or received as gifts like Howl. Before he could take a longer look at the growing pile of empty wine bottles and pre-roll packs in the corner by the window, Roderich was tugging his jeans down and dropping to his knees in front of him. 

Matthew’s cock bobbed with interest as Roderich took his length into his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Matthew hissed. “Look how fuckin’ pretty you are…” 

Roderich hummed, bobbing his head until his nose brushed against his groin. It was all Matthew could do to stay still as the heat in his stomach pooled. He loved how Roderich looked on his knees for him. Roderich pulled back and lavished his head, teasing his slip with his tongue. 

“I’m gonna cum if you keep this up,” Matthew groaned. “Fuck, Rick.” 

Roderich pulled off with a pop and looked up at Matthew like he was waiting for an order. His cheeks were ruddy and eyes glassy. 

“Get on the bed,” Matthew said, shucking his hoodie to the side. “And take that thing off.”

Roderich did as he was told, throwing the jersey on top of the pile of clothes, consuming what he could only assume was a chair. Matthew smiled at the observance of the rule: no tarps on the ground. He lay face down on the bed, exaggerating the arch in his back and exposing the bejewelled plug nestled between his cheeks. 

Matthew swallowed, thumbing the gemstone base. Roderich moaned, pushing back into Matthew’s hand in search of more. 

“Have you been like this all day?” He asked, toying with the plug. “Hoping one of us would come get you off?” 

Roderich nodded with a whine. 

“Hoping one of us would come by and fuck a baby into you?” Matthew smirked at the whine that escaped Roderich’s lips. Of course, that was what he was hoping for. “Force you to carry the next generation of stars.” He yanked the plug out and watched Roderich’s hole clench around nothing. 

“Please…” Roderich whimpered. 

He was a pretty sight, back arched and cheeks spread for the world to see. 

“Please what?” 

“Fuck me.”

“You wanna carry my babies?” Matthew massaged his ass with both hands. 

Roderich nodded into the sheets with a sob. 

“Gimme the lube.” 

Roderich patted around the bed for the tube and threw it back in Matthew’s general direction. He shoved his cock into Roderich, giving him no time to adjust before setting a brutal pace, just the way he knew Roderich liked. 

“You take me so well,” Matthew groaned, tangling a hand in Roderich's hair, using it to pull him back against his thrusts. “So fucking pretty.” 

Roderich only groaned, incapable of coming up with anything witty to say in response. Good , Matthew thought to himself. That meant he was doing his job right. 

“I’m gonna fuck so many babies into you.” He set a punishing pace, hammering Roderich’s prostate. 

Roderich yelped. If it weren’t for Matthew holding him up by the hair, he would’ve fallen limp into the mattress. Matthew basked in the sounds of his pleasure. He knew it wouldn’t be long before Roderich came. 

Matthew let Roderich’s head drop to the mattress and readjusted his grip on his hips. Not enough to bruise, Roderich never allowed marks, but enough to shove his cock deep inside of him. He could feel Roderich’s walls clenching around him, sending sparks up and down his spine. Beneath him, Roderich moaned wantonly, arching his back to send Matthew toppling over the edge with him. Matthew came with a shout, pulling Roderich flush against his hips. 

“Good boy,” he whispered. 

Roderich shivered underneath him. He pulled out with a hiss and went to the bathroom to get a washcloth. When he returned, he found Roderich in the same position he left him in. Matthew cleaned him up silently, tossing the towel in the general direction of a pile of what he guessed was dirty laundry. Carefully, lay down, letting Roderich crawl into his arms. 

“Are you okay?” Matthew whispered, toying with Roderich’s curls. 

Roderich nodded sleepily. “You?” 

“I’m always better after seeing you.” He felt Roderich smile against his chest. 

“Are you staying?” 

“Am I allowed?” 

“Yes,” Roderich said after a long pause. “Snow’s only going to get worse. I’d hate for you to die in a fiery wreck on my account. The boys would never forgive me…”

“And?” 

Roderich didn’t respond. Matthew knew he fell asleep before he turned to deadweight on top of him.

Chapter 2

Notes:

One of y'all asked for Jared. He's the GM

48 hours of packing and travelling was finally over. Gilbert’s life was neatly packed away and shipped off to Colorado. He started looking at apartments in Denver on the plane, finding a few surrounding a park that reminded him of Trinity Park in Toronto that he liked the idea of. He would ask about them later. 

At least, sitting in the hotel room, Gilbert could pretend he hadn’t been traded. Part of him expected the media to meet him at the airport and flock to his hotel, but no one came. A few kids noticed him and asked for his autograph, but that was all. It was nice. It felt like he could breathe without someone having an opinion. 

His hotel room wasn’t anything special. A white bed in the middle of the room, an ugly chair pushed into the corner, a tiny desk, and a slightly nicer walk-in shower. He’d been in rooms like these hundreds of times, and they all looked the same. Except now, this room would be his home until he could find something permanent. At least he had windows facing the snow dusted mountains. They looked almost fake against the bluebird sky, as though if he pushed it over, it would reveal only painted plywood behind. Of course, he’d been to Denver before, but never longer than 48 hours. Never long enough to do much more than play, sleep, and leave. 

Logically, Gilbert knew at some point he would have to go out and do something instead of sitting on the bed and staring out the window for all eternity, no matter how comfortable he was. He simply didn’t know where to start. He tried to follow the way his Uber took him, trying in vain to remember any landmarks they drove past, to no avail. The further into the city they ventured, the less the city planning made sense. It made him so dizzy he needed to lie down.

Really, all he wanted to do was sleep. 

His phone buzzed once, and then again in his back pocket. Please, not another fucking article , Gilbert begged the universe. The last 48 hours, he read everything with his name in it. Toronto fans mourned the trade, the Toronto media was happy to see him go. Some of his teammates had something to say about his trade, calling it unfair and handled poorly, two things that he could at least agree with, saying they would miss him. Others said nothing at all. Only Ivan seemed to have something nasty to say, and even then it was vague and difficult to tell who he was talking about unless someone knew Ivan personally. And he did. Gilbert knew Ivan all too well. It only made the comments hurt that much more. 

It wasn't. Just a notification alerting him to a snowstorm that evening. 

Gilbert sighed and fell back onto the bed, wishing he had his PlayStation or something to keep him occupied. His phone buzzed again. 

“For the love of Christ, what do you want now?” He asked the empty air around him. 

On the screen was a text from Alfred telling him to be downstairs in the lobby in 10 minutes. A photo of Matthew in the driver's seat, obviously in the middle of cussing out another driver, with Alfred in the bottom left corner throwing a peace sign with a smile, followed shortly after. 

He sent back a thumbs up and heaved himself off the bed and went to take a shower. He wanted a few hours at least before Alfred and Matthew started chirping him again. 

---

“Right, so the show tonight,” Arthur said, leaving over the pile of records on the counter. “We go back to mine and pregame before dinner, eat quickly, then we go to the Summit.” 

“We could just go to a bar before. Skip the—“

“I have to change.” Arthur said. 

“Fine,” Roderich huffed, popping up from behind the counter. “But I’m drinking the expensive shit and you can’t stop me.” 

Arthur slapped his hand over his heart in mock offence. “How could you? That scotch was passed down for generations!” 

“Hah! As if!” Roderich smirked. “It would have to last the week first.”

“At least I don’t have a coke problem.” Arthur crossed his arms tightly over his chest. 

“Hey, that’s not fair! I haven’t touched that in over a year!” He smiled apologetically at the older woman browsing through the jazz section. “Keep your voice down. We have customers.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes, pretending not to notice the woman in the back of the store. The old bat probably couldn’t even hear them, anyway. 

“Anyway.” The way Roderich smiled made Arthur’s hair stand on end. “I’m dragging you to the game on Tuesday.” 

“No.” 

“Come on, please? I’m sick of going alone.”

“No, you’ll just leave with Matthew! Like you always do.” 

“I promise, I won’t.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, knowing well Roderich’s promise would be broken before the end of the second period. Win or lose, Matthew will want to blow off steam, and Roderich would never say no to him.

“Besides, AJ wants to see you again.” There was that knowing smile again.

“No.” Arthur could feel his face flushing scarlet. “Absolutely not.” 

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” Arthur leaned further over the table separating the pair. He didn’t want their voices to carry, even if he was certain the Jazz Bat was almost entirely deaf. 

“Okay, just because we slept with each other doesn’t mean I own him. I’ve seen him like twice since you met, by the way.”

“That means nothing!” Arthur hissed. “Besides, how does he even know I might be there?”

Roderich gave him an innocent smile. Arthur forced down the urge to throttle him, ignoring the way his heart fluttered while his stomach twisted into knots.

“You did not.”

“He was asking about you, Arthur. What was I supposed to do? Lie?” 

“Yes!” 

“No!” 

“Roderich—“

“He makes you smile.”

“So do you?”

“It’s different.” Roderich waved his hand impassively. 

“Right…” Arthur sighed, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop Roderich’s mission. Deep down, he hoped against hope that Roderich was right about Alfred’s feelings towards him. “What about you and Matthew? You’re spending an awful lot of time together.” 

Roderich shrugged, counting the stab of records in front of him. Sometimes, Arthur wished he could read minds, if only to understand what the hell Roderich was thinking half the time. 

“You’re not getting back together, are you?” 

“No.”

“Good.” 

“I just like his dick.” Roderich said matter-of-factly.

---

Alfred could hardly contain his excitement as he and Matthew walked through the doors of the Ritz. All he could think about was finally seeing Gilbert again. They tried whenever Toronto was in town, but something always seemed to make Gilbert cancel at the last minute. Now, though, there was no stopping their reunion. 

He heard him before he saw him. Gilbert’s laugh echoed through the lobby. He was talking to the woman behind the bar with ease. Alfred went to approach him, but Matthew grabbed the back of his shirt, holding him in place for a moment. From afar, Gilbert looked good. Slightly broader than he had been in their youth, but then again, so were Alfred and Matthew. 

Seeming to sense their presence, Gilbert wrapped up his conversation with the bartender and all but ran into their arms. 

“Hey buddy,” Matthew said, patting his back with a grin. “Did you ever think you’d be trapped with us again?” 

“Fuck no!” Gilbert laughed. “But I could be a Bruin, so I’ll take my wins where I can.” 

Alfred laughed, keeping his arm wrapped around Gilbert’s shoulders easily. 

“Did Bednar send you down here?” Something in Gilbert’s voice sounded uncertain. 

“No, but he told us where you were. We wanted to be the first people to welcome you here. We were trying to meet you at the airport, but someone…” Matthew stared pointedly at Alfred. “Couldn’t get out of bed.” 

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “We’re here now, though.” 

Gilbert nodded, uncertainty melting from his brow. “Thank you…for being here…and making this all feel a lot less shitty.” 

“Of course!” Alfred squeezed his shoulders. “Admirals stick together!”

“So, what’s the game plan?” Gilbert said, following Matthew out the lobby doors. 

“I’m giving you the official tour of the city.” Matthew grinned, swinging his keys around his fingers. “Been here the longest. I know all the good places.” 

Alfred followed them out the door, content, as a hole he didn’t know he felt was filled. It was strange, though, watching his brother make the plans and exude the confidence his brother once admitted he envied. Perhaps his brother hadn’t been so crazy after all when he decided to go to university before entering the show. 

He hopped in the back of Matthew’s cherry red truck, letting Gilbert take the front seat. Matthew sped out of the parking lot and onto the roads, swerving around a pedestrian on a lime scooter in the middle of the street. 

“Fucking moron! I swear to fuck next time, I’ll hit you bud!” He shouted. The windows were up. The pedestrian didn’t hear him. “Stupid fucking people, I swear.” 

“So, Alfie, when did you and Matt switch bodies?” Gilbert asked, gaping at the man next to him. 

“Dunno. He went to college and came out like this.” 

“That’s right,” Gilbert said. “DU, right?”

“Yessir.”

“Learn anything useful?”

“32 ways to fuck a musician so they don’t forget my name.” 

“32 Ways to Fuck a Musician, name of your sex tape!” Alfred shouted, ignoring his phone buzz in his back pocket. It was probably just a news notification, anyway. Speaking of musicians… “Gilbert, do you still collect vinyls?” 

“Yeah, why?” 

Alfred caught the look in Matthew’s eye, choosing to ignore it. “There’s a fantastic record store downtown. You have to check it out!”

“Well, if I have to…I’ll go when I don’t have you morons begging to leave after 20 minutes. Text me the place.”

Alfred’s phone buzzed again. He fished it out of his pocket and read through his notifications. A litany of Politico and CNN headlines, a few from his idle games, and three texts from Roderich with increasing numbers of exclamation points and emojis. 

“Anyone want to go to a concert tonight?” Alfred asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. “I just got a notification for a show at the Summit…”

“I’m sure you did,” Matthew said with a sly smile. 

“It’s a small venue. And this is Denver, people here are pretty chill,” Alfred said, sensing Gilbert’s apprehension. “Besides, these people probably wouldn’t know who you are anyway.” 

“Wow, thanks, that makes me feel so good about myself,” Gilbert said, turning back to glare at Alfred. 

“Not like that! All I’m saying is you’re not Peyton Manning or like Todd Helton.” Alfred patted his shoulder. “Anyway, the press doesn’t care about our personal lives here. No one’s gonna care that you went to a punk show.” 

Gilbert seemed to perk up at the idea. “What time?” 

“Doors at 7.”

Chapter 3

Notes:

Local angst and war writer gets writers block trying to write modern day fluff... sounds right

After standing in the merch line with Arthur for what felt like forever, all Roderich could think about was the vodka Redbull calling his name from the bar. Especially if Arthur was going to drag him into the pit without meaning to. At least then he’d be laughing instead of thinking about how the jumping hurt his knees. He’d rather be at a club, but he owed Arthur for all the hockey games he was dragged to and subsequently abandoned at despite his promises not to. He never really knew how to say no to Matthew, and he knew Matthew was the same.

He tried not to think about the chance of running into Matthew. He invited Alfred, knowing that if Arthur could see they had common ground that wasn’t him, then maybe they would finally see each other again. He didn’t really stop to think about the Jones-Williams brothers being a package deal. 

“Damage done,” Arthur said, shrugging a T-shirt on top of the one he was already wearing. “I’m guessing you’ll want a drink?” 

“Who are you talking to?” Roderich grinned crookedly, grateful Arthur could read his mind‌. “Of course I want a drink.” 

“Fantastic…” Arthur led him through the crowds to the small bar tucked into the back corner of the room. The lines were shorter here. “Get whatever, I’ve got it.” 

Roderich nodded, ordering his vodka Redbull double and water for good measure before stepping aside to let Arthur pay. That was always how they did it. The person who picked the venue paid for the drinks. It was only gentlemanly, Arthur said, the first time Roderich dragged him to one of Matthew’s games. Drinks had been $7 instead of $16, but that didn’t matter. Tradition was tradition, especially in their family. He watched the crowd push their way to the stage, hardly noticing the cold drink Arthur pressed into his hand. 

“Shall we?” Arthur said in an overly affected British accent that made Roderich laugh.

“Why, of course!” Roderich said in the same overly affected accent. 

Arthur all but dragged him as close to the stage as they could get, where he knew the edge of the pit would be. It was a simple message. You can decide if you want to join me in getting smashed up against massive, burly men. If Roderich wanted to do that, he would have followed in his brother's footsteps and played hockey instead or simply asked Matthew to shove him around a little in bed. 

“You alright, Ro?” 

He took a long sip of his drink and nodded. He was fine so long as he didn’t pay the group of girls walking in and out of the bathroom every fifteen minutes. He knew they were doing lines. Part of him wished he could join in the fun, but he promised Matthew he was getting his shit together. That was part of the deal when they started seeing each other again.

“Sure…” Arthur didn’t believe him, but before he could say anything else, the lights went down and the openers stepped onto the stage. 

Roderich downed his drink as the first harsh and loud notes blared over the speakers. He knew better than to get caught with an open drink at the edge of the pit. There wouldn’t be anything left before the end of the first song. He ended up bouncing in and out of the pit at his own pleasure, careful to avoid the elbow of a man that had to be nearly seven feet tall. He lost sight of Arthur almost instantly in the wave of crashing bodies. That was fine. They’d find each other after the show if need be. 

Roderich slipped out of the pit again, taking a deep breath. There was only so long he could keep this up before he needed another drink.

---

They found a spot further to the back of the crowd. He reassured Gilbert no one was going to turn back and look at them. When the lights went down and the music started, he could see Gilbert relax out of the corner of his eye. He bobbed his head along to the music, trying to finish his beer before it got warm in his hands, avoiding the look Matthew was undoubtedly sending him. It just didn’t feel right leaving Gilbert this early in the night, especially when they were taking him out to make him feel at home in Denver.

Still, he couldn’t help but think about Arthur and the small roll of the eyes he gave him whenever he tried to get close. They met through Roderich, which put an awkward spin on their relationship from the beginning, but it didn’t stop Alfred from feeling as though he’d known Arthur his whole life. He felt familiar from the moment he lay eyes on him. 

He scanned the crowds, searching for anything that would clue him in to Arthur’s whereabouts, but came up short. Roderich wouldn’t have sent him here to mess with him, right? He shook his head to rid himself of the thought and turned his attention back to Matthew and Gilbert, who were a few paces back, watching him closely. When did he start inching towards the stage?

He turned back and flashed a winning grin, trying to pass off his strange behaviour as wanting to see the stage better. Neither moved to follow, but seemed to accept his wandering. Maybe he would run into Arthur faster if he moved about. 

The band paused to talk to the crowd, and Alfred took the opportunity to really look through the crowds. Getting frustrated, he turned to the back corner and stopped. There was Roderich, nursing what he hoped was a glass of water. If Roderich was there, then Arthur had to be. He followed Roderich’s line of sight out towards the front of the stage. 

Seeing no point in walking back to his brother and shouting over the music, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text.

Artie here. Gonna go find him!

---

Gilbert watched Alfred melt into the crowd and turned to Matthew with a frown. “The fuck was that?” 

“He’s got a boy to find!” Matthew shouted over the music. “Some guy a friend of ours introduced him to!” 

Gilbert swallowed and looked around. No one was listening to them, if they could even hear them in the first place. 

“You okay?” Something in Matthew’s eyes sharpened, as if ‌he thought there was a problem.

“Yeah…” He paused, trying to think of what he was trying to say. “It’s just different…Toronto is different…”

Matthew nodded slowly, but his gaze didn’t soften. It was all Gilbert could do not to shrink under his gaze. Sometimes it was hard to believe the person standing next to him was the same person who passed the puck just in case he missed the net. 

“I’m not used to not being watched…or trusting friends of friends to have good intentions.” He watched too many teammates have their hearts broken by the same girls and boys over and over, all because they wanted a taste of their fame. “The boys in Toronto are vindictive…” He meant Ivan.

He felt Matthew’s arm sling over his shoulder and pulled him into his side. “Ain’t no one gonna hurt you here, buddy.” 

Gilbert smiled and leaned into his side, letting warmth and familiarity wash over him. Whatever concern Matthew had vanished the moment he mentioned boys. It was silly—they were each other’s first kiss—but he supposed the one off kiss could only account for so much. His attention returned to the band on stage, introducing the main event. Matthew pushed him a little closer to the stage. From there, he could see the top of Alfred’s head ducking down as though he were talking to someone. Perhaps he found his boy.

“I’m gonna get a drink!” Gilbert shouted midway through the set. His mouth was dry and he could feel the altitude taking its toll. 

Matthew gave him a thumbs up and pointed to a small bar tucked in the back of the room. He nodded and wove through the crowd to the bar, tripping slightly on the single stair. Gilbert stepped into line and took a deep breath. The crowd had thinned, and he had room to breathe in cool, fresh air. He looked around as the line moved, trying to get a better lay of the land as the line moved quickly in front of him. 

“What do you want?” The bartender asked. She was pretty, with bright pink hair and tattoos that worked their way up her jaw.

Gilbert paused. He hadn’t really thought about it until now. Water certainly, but the full bar behind her almost overwhelmed him with possibility. 

“If you don’t know what to get…” someone said, sliding up to him with a smile. “Eloise makes the best vodka Redbull in LoDo!”

Gilbert looked down at the man. His heart skipped a beat. Oh , he thought to himself. The man next to him was stunning. His dark, curly hair reflected the flashing lights, giving him an almost ethereal glow. He could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks the longer he stared at him, but he couldn’t help it. 

“Well?” the bartender—Eloise—said. 

Gilbert snapped back to her and cleared his throat. “Water! And a vodka Redbull, seeing as they come highly recommended!” He looked back down at the man next to him. “And whatever he wants, as well.” 

The man smiled and ran his hand through his hair as if he had drinks bought for him all the time. He probably did, he thought.

“The usual, thank you El.” He turned back to Gilbert. “And thank you…”

“Gilbert.” 

“Gilbert…” He repeated softly, almost breathlessly. “I’m Roderich.”

Chapter 4

“Did you come here alone?” He asked. What the fuck was Gilbert doing here, anyway? Toronto didn’t come to town until March and the Avalanche went east for their first road trip of the season.

“No,” Gilbert said. “I came with friends.” 

“Won’t they be looking for you?” 

“Nah. One of them went off to find some guy, and the other one will be fine. He’s always liked his own company.” 

Roderich nodded. He came here with Matthew and Alfred, then, but that still didn’t answer why he was in Denver . He let himself get sidetracked by the thought of Alfred going through the effort of finding Arthur in the pit. 

“What about you?” 

“I have a friend down there…” Roderich glanced back, wondering if he could spot Arthur and Alfred bouncing around in the crowd. “I am not made for that.” 

Gilbert laughed. It was crisp and bright, even with the music blaring out of the surrounding speakers. Roderich’s heart sang. 

“Do you want to go somewhere quiet?” Gilbert asked, his pinky brushing against the back of Roderich’s hand so softly he almost missed it. 

Roderich couldn’t help the flush that crossed his cheeks. Gilbert’s touch sent electricity down his spine. His heart skipped a beat. Everything felt surreal.  

Roderich leaned close to Gilbert’s ear, trying to ignore the urge to bury his nose in the other man’s neck. He expected some spicy cologne like the ones the rest of the Europeans wore, but Gilbert smelled like a forest on a rainy day. God, he wanted to be wrapped up in that smell forever. “Follow me.” 

He smiled when Gilbert let him take his wrist and lead him up a flight of stairs to a balcony. The music was quieter up there, but still loud enough to drown their voices. Roderich found an unoccupied corner, pulling Gilbert close by the belt loops. He swore he saw a blush creeping across Gilbert’s face. 

“So, Gilbert…” Roderich smiled. He still couldn’t believe Gilbert Beilschmidt was talking to him. “What do you do?” 

“I work in sports.” He said vaguely. Roderich wasn’t surprised. Toronto treated their athletes differently. “You?” 

“I work in music.” Two could play that game. “Nothing special.” 

Gilbert swallowed. “Are you working now?” 

“No.” Roderich stepped closer, so he and Gilbert stood chest to chest. 

Gilbert looked down at him with a soft smirk. He could feel the cut of Gilbert’s abs beneath his shirt. If only they weren’t in public, Roderich thought absently. 

“Would you be talking to me if you were?” 

Roderich grinned, his heart skipping a beat. “Yes.”

Gilbert’s arm snaked around his waist, leaving Roderich breathless. It was all he could do not to melt into his embrace. 

“Are you from around here?” He asked. 

“Yeah, I’ve lived here almost my whole life…” Roderich trailed off, staring at his lips for a moment. “I was born in a small town near Bratislava.”  

“You’re Slovak?”

“Austrian.”

“Achso, du bist Österreicher .” 

Roderich all but swooned at the way the words fell from Gilbert’s lips. He could listen to him speak only in German all day if it meant hearing that soft, teasing lilt.

“Und du bist…was…Deutscher, oder?”

Gilbert swallowed. Roderich’s accent had a soft American tinge, making the vowels sound slightly harsher than they were meant to. “Ja.” 

Roderich nodded like he knew that already, but before the thought could take hold and cause him to panic, Roderich was leaning against him. All he could think about was the way he slotted right into his arms like he was made for it. 

He set his empty glass on the table and brought his hand to cup Roderich’s cheek. Roderich’s gaze dropped to his lips and before he could think better of it, he was kissing Roderich. Gilbert’s heart felt as though it was about to pound out of his chest. 

Kissing Roderich felt so different from kissing Ivan, who needed to dominate and control everything around him like it was oxygen. Roderich let him take the lead, nipping at his bottom lip once or twice just to tease. He kept the kiss innocent enough. There was time.

Roderich pulled back and grinned like an idiot. 

“So, you’re German…” Roderich started, looking up at him with wide eyes. Gilbert loved the way Roderich looked at him. It made him feel something he hadn’t in months: wanted. “You work in sports, and you’re at a punk concert in Denver with friends…”

Fuck , Gilbert thought to himself. He was piecing it together.

“Are you staying in town for a while?” He asked instead, looking hopeful despite himself. 

Gilbert's heart hammered. “Yes…”

“Oh?” He seemed genuinely surprised. 

“I just took a new job out here. My friends were showing me the city today, but I think I’ve stumbled across the best Denver has to offer.” Gilbert felt the shiver that ran down Roderich’s spine. 

“Do you wanna get out of here and get a drink?” Roderich asked. “Somewhere we can hear each other a little better?”

Gilbert never agreed to anything so quickly in his life. Roderich grinned like he won the lottery. Could it be possible he didn’t know who he was in the slightest, and just liked him for him? He hoped against hope that was the case, but knew the chances were slim. Despite Alfred and Matthew’s reassurances, Denver was still a hockey city, and anyone who paid any attention to the NHL knew who he was.

“Follow me,” Roderich took his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Gilbert couldn’t get used to it. 

He let Roderich lead him out of the Summit and into the cool evening air. Denver looked different at night, bathed in soft gold street light. To his surprise, Roderich didn’t let go of his hand or tug him along. Instead, he waited for Gilbert to finish marveling at the old, red brick buildings. 

“We’re not going far,” Roderich said, leaning into his side with a shiver. 

Gilbert let go of his hand and wrapped an arm around Roderich’s shoulders, pulling him close to his side. Roderich hummed, wrapping an arm around his waist. He could feel Roderich’s fingers playing with the hem of his shirt, and he couldn’t ignore the longing in his chest.

Roderich pointed out stores and cafes that were his favourite as they went by. He seemed to have a friend in every spot. 

As they approached Union Station, a man called out, asking for change. Roderich handed him a $20 and a lit cigarette, telling him to stay safe and get somewhere warm if he could. Gilbert’s heart skipped a beat. Roderich hadn’t even stopped to think about it and before he knew it, they were walking through the grand doors of the train station and up the stairs to an almost empty bar. 

“What?” Roderich said, taking a seat at the bar. 

“Nothing…” He took his own seat, pulling Roderich closer with his foot. “It’s just, there are many people that wouldn’t have done that.” 

“I know. That’s why I did it. It’s the right thing to do,” he said simply. 

They ordered drinks and a small charcuterie board to share as they talked. Roderich told him about moving and growing up in Colorado. He had two siblings, twins, who were older than him and both very successful. His friend–Arthur–was actually his stepbrother, but that was a recent development in his life that they both often chose to forget. He talked about the music he liked and the things he was working on, promising that when they were done, Gilbert would be the first to hear it. 

Fireworks shot from his heart as Roderich talked. He always hinted at seeing him again and possibly long term. 

Gilbert couldn’t help but tell him everything about Germany and moving to Niagara Falls in his teens to get ready for the NHL. He talked about his brothers and how much he missed them. When he wasn’t talking about himself, he was talking about one of them.

Roderich could listen to Gilbert talk for hours. The passion he had on the ice seeped into the way he spoke about the people he cared about. His eyes lit up the more questions he asked about them. Ludwig was in Italy as an exchange student and finally coming out of his shell. Johann was about to start a new job restoring castles in Bavaria after years of being bored to tears at a commercial architecture firm. Christoph taught kindergarten in Berlin, where he lived with his fiancee. Sebastian was in flight school with Lufthansa and about to graduate with a commercial pilot's licence. 

Gilbert kept the details about his own job vague, making it sound as unimpressive as possible, as if he thought Roderich either didn’t know or couldn’t figure out what he did. He didn’t care. Gilbert could tell him the truth when he was ready. 

“How can you stand being away from them for so long?” 

“I do what I love,” he said. “And I talk to them all the time, anyway.” 

Roderich nodded, wishing he had something similar with his own siblings. It was rare he heard from either of them, but he supposed he didn’t really reach out either. That just wasn’t how their family worked. 

Gilbert seemed to notice the longing that settled on his shoulders and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. Roderich couldn’t help the smile that broke his face. Everything about Gilbert differed from how he imagined.

“What?”

“I think you’re one of the kindest men I’ve ever met…” Roderich said, barely above a whisper. 

Gilbert flushed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah…” 

Before he could say more, Gilbert kissed him softly. Roderich wished they were at a booth, so he could curl up into his side. Anything for him to feel Gilbert’s arms wrapped around him again. He swallowed, trying to push away the thought of Gilbert on top of him, pushing his head into the bed. When Gilbert pulled back, Roderich grinned like an idiot. Neither Matthew nor cocaine ever made him feel this good.

“What?”

I’m falling in love with you , Roderich thought to himself. Instead, he said, “talking to you is the best decision I’ve made in a long time…” 

Gilbert’s heart pounded, and his cock throbbed. The fact he could feel it was the only thing reassuring him that he was not dreaming. Roderich said it with so much ease, with so much underneath it he could take hours parsing out everything he meant with such a simple sentence. 

“You know…” Gilbert looked around. They were the last people in the bar and he could see the glare the bartender was sending their way. “I’m staying in a hotel right now…I’m still trying to find a place…Do you, maybe, want to go back there?”

Roderich’s eyes sparkled in a way he’d never seen. “God, yes.”

Gilbert let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Great. Let me just clo–”

“No! Let me. You paid for my drink earlier.” 

“No way. I’m paying!” He pulled out his wallet, waving the bartender over. 

Roderich huffed. “It’s the least I could do…”

Gilbert shook his head and turned to him, taking his face in his hands. “I want to pay. Let me.”

Roderich searched for something before relenting. “Fine. But I’m paying next time.”

Next time . The words played over and over in his head. Roderich wanted to see him again. 

“Alright.” He kissed Roderich’s cheek, knowing he would never let Roderich pay for anything. He wanted to spoil him.  

He closed out quickly and tipped exorbitantly as an apology. At least some things were the same as Toronto. 

Roderich pulled him into a corner, out of sight from the train passengers milling about the terminal, and kissed him breathless. His hands wandered over his clothes, feeling the ridges and valleys of his muscles. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, sending chills down Gilbert’s spine. 

“Anything for you…” It slipped out before he could think more about it. 

Roderich grinned and nuzzled his chest. 

---

The Uber back to the Ritz was quicker than he thought it would be. Roderich’s hands never left his body, trailing over Gilbert’s thighs and stomach absently. His touch sent shockwaves through Gilbert’s body, and there was nothing to stop the bulge in his pants. Gilbert could only hope Roderich had the decency to ignore it. Instead, Roderich ghosted his fingers along the side of the tent in his pants. Gilbert bit back a moan for the sake of their driver.

Gilbert practically leapt from the car when the driver pulled to a stop in front of the Ritz. Roderich slipped out behind him, taking the hand Gilbert offered with a quiet thanks. He pulled Roderich close to his side as they walked through the doors. 

“Are you going to take me upstairs?” Roderich whispered, his breath hot against Gilbert’s ear. 

"Natürlich…" 

Roderich kept his hands to himself while they waited for the elevator. People milled about, returning from fancy dinners and extravagant shows. The elevator dinged, and Gilbert pushed him forward, pressing the close button over and over until the doors shut. He didn’t want anyone to interrupt them. 

Gilbert cornered Roderich, kissing him hard. He let his hands roam over Roderich’s chest and sides. He tried to ignore the way his ribs stuck out slightly. He tried to ignore the wave of worry. He’d only known Roderich for a few hours. Roderich leaned into his touch, burying his hands in his hair and pulling softly. 

Before he could go any further, the door slid open and someone coughed in the doorway. 

Gilbert jumped back, mumbling apologies as he pulled Roderich from the elevator carriage. Roderich laughed as he led him down the winding hallways to his room. He fumbled with the key while Roderich kissed up his neck and down his jaw. 

Roderich let Gilbert push him into the room, grateful for an excuse to finally rid Gilbert of his stupid white t-shirt. His brain went empty when his shirt hit the floor. Gilbert’s abs were tight and well defined. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. God, he wanted to lick and suck them. 

“Like what you see?” Gilbert smirked, undoing his belt. 

Roderich swallowed and nodded, happy to sit back and watch the show. He had to know if Gilbert’s legs were just as strong and well defined. He had to know if Gilbert was as large as he felt tucked up in his trousers. His pants fell to the floor and Roderich whined. Gilbert kept his briefs on. 

“Oh no, it's your turn.”

Roderich pouted, staring at his legs with poorly hidden lust. His legs were far better than his chest. He watched Gilbert walk closer, marvelling at his muscles flexing. His quads bulged, and all Roderich wanted to do was bite them. 

“Shirt off, now,” Gilbert demanded. 

He did as told without a thought, other than not wanting to miss a moment of Gilbert. 

“Good, Schatz.” 

Roderich swallowed, trying to hide the way he shivered. The way he spoke made him want to drop to his knees. Gilbert’s eyes raked over his chest, taking in just how much smaller than him Roderich was. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, kissing his cheek. 

Roderich turned to catch his lips in a kiss. Gilbert tugged at Roderich’s belt and pushed down his pants. Roderich shivered when his cock hit the cool air. He flushed as Gilbert looked over him hungrily. Without another word, he crawled onto the bed, putting on a show of his hole for Gilbert. He wanted him to want him. No, he needed Gilbert to want him. 

Gilbert groaned somewhere behind him. Roderich knew he was pulling off his underwear. He felt the bed dip next to him, and then he was on his back, looking up at Gilbert. He couldn’t help the way his heart skipped a beat. 

“I don’t know about you,” Gilbert said, kissing up his neck. “But I want to see you.” 

Roderich’s heart swooped. No one had ever said that to him before. He liked it. Roderich hummed, trying to catch Gilbert’s lips with his, his hands wandering up his muscular back. Gilbert ignored his mouth, kissing down the column of his neck to his collarbone. Roderich raked his fingers through Gilbert’s hair, tugging at the ends in a plea for attention. 

Gilbert chuckled and complied, kissing him softly as his hand wandered between Roderich’s legs. He played with the tip, teasing his slit with his finger. Roderich gasped, his back arching. Gilbert’s touch was electric. Gilbert loved every noise he pulled from Roderich, rewarding each one with a kiss. He opened him slowly, first with his mouth and then his fingers, until Roderich was a writhing mess on the bed. 

He pulled his hand back and rolled on a condom, pausing for a moment to marvel at Roderich undone on the bed underneath him. His cock throbbed with interest and slowly he pushed in until he bottomed out. Roderich gasped underneath him, scratching his back as Gilbert brushed up against his prostate. 

“Gott, you’re beautiful.” 

Roderich whined, rolling his hips up into Gilbert’s. He needed more. Gilbert kissed him softly and rocked his hips, setting a gentle pace that made Roderich see stars. 

“You’re perfect…” Gilbert kissed down his neck. “How did I get so lucky?”

Roderich opened his mouth to say something, but moaned instead. Gilbert picked up the pace a little as he latched onto his collarbone and sucked a hickey into place, and then another, and another. Heat pooled in Roderich’s stomach. Gilbert left hickies like he fucked, gently and with intention. He would not last much longer like this. Gilbert hitched one of Roderich’s legs over his shoulder. The sudden change in angle made Roderich keen. His walls tightened around Gilbert and he came, pulling Gilbert over the edge with him.

Gilbert let Roderich’s leg fall to the side and kissed him gently. 

“I’ll be right back, okay?” 

Roderich nodded and kissed him again before letting him go. When he returned, Roderich was on his back, fingers tracing over his belly and chest. Carefully, Gilbert wiped between his legs and threw the towel to the side. Roderich pulled Gilbert into his arms.

“Thank you…” Roderich whispered. What he was thanking him for, he didn’t know himself, but it was all he could say to stop himself from saying ‘I love you’.

Gilbert nuzzled his chest and kissed the hickies blooming on his collarbone. “Anytime.”

Roderich’s hand found its way back into Gilbert’s hair. He enjoyed playing with his soft, ashy locks. 

“Will I see you again?” Gilbert asked. 

“Of course…” Roderich kissed the top of his head. “Every day you’ll let me.”

Gilbert nodded and shut his eyes, letting himself melt entirely into Roderich. 

“Goodnight, Gil,” Roderich whispered. 

Gilbert snored in response. 

Roderich lay awake, content to hold Gilbert in his arms until he rolled away. Then he pulled himself out of bed and tugged on his clothes. He wrote his number on the pad of paper by the bed and slipped out of the hotel room.

It was better this way; he told himself as he stepped into the elevator. He didn’t want to scare Gilbert off with his violent nightmares or gut-wrenching screams.

Chapter 5

Notes:

You'll never be free from the crew of Blue Bells

Gilbert awoke to a cold bed. He searched the room for signs of Roderich, but found nothing. His heart sank to his stomach, and he felt like he was about to throw up. Of course Roderich didn’t stay. Puck bunnies never did. He should have known better. He’d been naïve to think Roderich didn’t know who he was. 

He heaved himself out of bed and stumbled to the shower, trying not to think about how Roderich seemed to glow in bed the night before. The ghost of Roderich’s hands trailed down his back. Gilbert swallowed back tears and forced himself through his routine. He needed to be ready to play with his new team. He couldn’t be torn up over some guy he just met. 

That’s right, he had a new team now. Gilbert couldn’t help the grin that broke through his wall of heartbreak. The prospect of playing for the Avalanche, with his best friends at his side, felt almost too good to be true. Almost as quickly as he felt his heart break, it was rebuilt in burgundy and blue. A new team was exactly what he needed–people to distract him from his wandering heart. 

Gilbert’s phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. 

It’s Raivis Galante. I’m downstairs when you're ready. Matt told me your coffee order. I hope he is right . 

Gilbert smiled, tugging on his shoes. He didn’t expect anyone to show up and give him a ride, especially not someone still weeks out from making their own return to the ice. His phone buzzed again.

I’m in the Land Rover.

He grabbed his duffel and a few printed photos to put in his locker, and sent a thumb up to Raivis. He took one last look around the room, making sure he wasn’t missing anything. Seeing nothing, he flipped off the lights and let the door fall shut behind him. 

All he could think about was his new team, and what it would be like finding where and how he fit into their organisation. The Avalanche were trying for a cup after several Conference Final losses. If they thought he was the missing piece, then he needed to focus on that. When he stepped out of the elevator, he’d forgotten almost entirely about Roderich and the stupid shame that tried to settle in his gut. 

The trunk of Raivis’ blue Land Rover popped open for Gilbert to throw his bag into. The car bounced under his duffle’s weight, but at least he wouldn’t have to bring it all back with him. Only what he felt like he needed around him on an off day to stay game ready. Gilbert slid into the passenger seat and looked at the man next to him. He was taller than he expected, but still probably one of the shorter guys on the team. 

“Thank you,” he said before Raivis could say anything. 

“Of course,” he said easily. “Matt mentioned you didn’t have a car, and it’s an expensive Uber, even with our contract.” 

Gilbert shrugged. It couldn’t be any more expensive than going anywhere in Toronto was. “You used to play for Ottawa, right?” 

“For a little while…And then Minnesota…” Raivis pulled out into the street, narrowly avoiding the curb. “I like it here better. Matt’s an excellent captain.”

“Good. I’m not playing for another piece of shit.” 

Raivis laughed. 

“I think I’m going to like it here.”

---

Roderich wandered the empty halls of the Avalanche practice facility. He was there for one reason only. He needed to find Matthew, and he needed to do so before the rest of the team stumbled into the locker room. At least, he could always count on Matthew to show up first and take to the ice like a man starved. He could hear pucks hitting glass and the metal bar of the goal. Whatever Matthew was doing, he wasn’t doing it well. 

He wandered through the locker room to the benches and sat. Matthew sent one puck after another at the crossbar, sending them flying every which way. 

“You know, the puck is supposed to go into the net!” Roderich shouted when Matthew finished the line of pucks set up in front of him. 

“Trying to go bar down!” Matthew said, skating up to the bench. 

He wasn’t in full gear yet. Just a hoodie and some sweatpants that showed the signs of Matthew losing his balance and falling at least twice. 

“Ah yes, the one thing AJ can do that you can’t…” Roderich teased. “I wish I could give you advice, but I’m not a physicist.” 

“Ha ha.” 

Roderich smiled. He loved that Matthew didn’t take anything he said too seriously. On more than one occasion, he’d been told he had a sharp tongue even when he was joking. Matthew seemed like the only person in the world who understood. At least until he met Gilbert. 

“What are you doing here so early, anyway?”

“I needed to talk to you…” He watched Matthew straighten. 

“You didn’t–”

“No! Nothing like that…I’ve been really good, I promise.”

Matthew nodded, sighing in relief. Roderich swallowed heavily. He wished it was just a relapse. For some reason, that felt easier to admit than this. But then he thought about Gilbert, and the hickies he left on his collar, and the weight of his head on his chest. 

“I met someone…” he whispered. 

---

Raivis led him through the hallway, pointing out the important memorabilia and stupid pictures they stuck on the wall without permission. Gilbert took it all in, trying not to think about how this rink looked like every other rink he’d ever been in. He half expected Ivan to walk around the corner, yelling in Russian at one of his sisters–usually Natallia–but he never came. 

“The rink is over here,” Raivis said, pointing towards a long, single pane of glass that separated the lounge from the ice. 

He could see a couple talking on the benches, but he couldn’t make out who they were at that distance. Perhaps coaches or someone from the team media. 

“I like going this way…it’s faster than going around.” Raivis held a door open. The lights flickered almost eerily. “AJ and Matt are little bitches about it. Apparently, it’s scary.” 

Gilbert snorted. He could see Alfred clinging to his brother, all but whimpering in fear. It wasn’t a pleasant-looking corridor by any means, but if he were to haunt the rink, this would be the last place he’d choose. Pipes ran down the wall, radiating an uncomfortable mix of boiling heat and frigid cold. Raivis kicked the door at the end open and they walked out into the locker room. 

“That wasn’t too bad,” Gilbert said honestly. “I hated it, don’t get me wrong, but it could have been worse. I was expecting something to drip on me.” 

“Unless the ice melts, you’ll be fine.” 

“Good to know…” 

“I gotta go get checked out by the doc…wander around a little. They’ll be in with your stuff soon,” Raivis said, leaving Gilbert alone. 

Gilbert studied the locker room. Players had photos of their friends and families posted in the cubbies–a stark contrast to the impersonal lockers in Toronto. He could tell which were Alfred and Matthew’s, and he had a sneaking suspicion he knew which one Raivis used as well. He would wait until someone told him which ones were available before choosing his own. 

He peaked his head in the showers. They looked like the showers everywhere else. The team room was neat but cozy. The walls were painted a dark blue, and the couches looked like they were intended for sleep. There were books on the table and a beat up Wii tucked under the tv. Absently, he wondered if they spent more time together than not. 

Gilbert wandered through the hallways, making note of where vending machines stood and what they stocked. He waved at the woman working the front desk, knowing at some point he would learn her name. The rink was calm, even with his new teammates trickling through the doors. 

Slowly, he made his way back to the locker room. Gilbert tried to find the door Raivis used earlier but couldn’t. All the doors looked the same. Cutting his losses, he decided to cut through the rink. The cold air brought a sense of calm. Soon he would be skating. 

He rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. The world fell out from underneath him. The couple he saw sitting on the bench weren’t coaches or media or even owners. It was Matthew and Roderich. Roderich sat on the bench like he belonged there, staring up at Matthew like he hung the stars by himself. His hands moved as he talked and he looked happy. Happier than he had the night before, even. And it wasn’t him that made him look like that. It was Matthew. Gilbert swallowed the rage bubbling in his throat. He should have known better. He should have expected Roderich to be sleeping with more than one of his new teammates. He was a puck bunny after all, but it was all too much. He didn’t know what made him feel more pathetic, the pain from the way Roderich looked at Matthew, or the way Matthew looked at Roderich. The history was palpable. There was no way he could compete. 

Gilbert nodded to himself and went to the locker room before either of them saw him. 

---

Matthew stamped down the jealousy bubbling in his chest as Roderich talked about the man he met at the concert. He should have gone looking for him the moment Gilbert disappeared without a word. How he was the one that ended up going home alone was beyond him. But even that paled in comparison to the light in Roderich’s eyes. A light he hadn’t seen since they were freshmen in college. Since before Roderich started showing up to class high or on the drunken side of tipsy. 

Roderich mentioned his mystery man worked in sports, but nothing else. If it had been a teammate, he would have heard about it by now. Everyone knew where Matthew was, Roderich wouldn’t be far behind, even after they broke up. Matthew was almost certain there was nothing Roderich could do to push him away again. They cared about each other too much. 

“I just want to see where this goes…” Roderich said suddenly. He could hear what Roderich was saying underneath it all. This is the first time I’ve felt normal in a long time. Please let me have this. “I really like him.” 

“Are you asking for my permission right now?”

Roderich hesitated, then nodded slowly. 

“You always have it…”

“This feels different.”

“Roderich, I don’t own you. I want you to be happy.”

Roderich smiled up at him softly. That same smile that came when he said they could still be friends after their breakup. “Thank you…” 

“I love you, Ricky. That doesn’t change.” 

“I love you, too…” Roderich whispered. 

Around them, Matthew’s teammates were shuffling into the locker room. 

“I think you have to go get ready for pracky,” Roderich said with a stupid smile. 

“Never fucking say pracky again.” 

“Pracky,” he said, trying to make it sound sultry. 

“Sometimes, I wish I didn’t know you!”

“You’re a fucking liar, Willy!”

Matthew laughed and hopped the gate and waddled down the rubber mats to the rest of his team. 

---

Gilbert’s teammates introduced themselves as they came in. Some were friendlier than others, giving him a few options for lockers. He picked the open one across from Matthew and Alfred. Stoney–half of their goalie tandem–threw tape his way so he could put up his pictures. Other than that, he didn’t say much, focusing instead on the tennis balls flying in front of his face until Montgomery plucked one out of the air with ease. 

“I was almost at my record!” Stoney whined. 

“Doubt it.” Montgomery smirked. 

Gilbert tried not to watch the pair too closely. He could tell from the pads in Montgomery’s locker that he was the second half of the goalie tandem. He wondered if he ever played against him before. 

Matthew’s laughter rang down the hallway. He sounded happy. Gilbert grit his teeth and started tugging on his gear. The faster he could get on the ice, the sooner he could forget all about Roderich and his lies. He hadn’t even been able to answer a yes or no question simply. Every day you’ll let me, echoed in his head. He thought it sweet at the time, but now he was thinking differently. 

He taped his socks, trying not to fumble with the roll of tape. He didn’t want his team to see any sign of nerves. He was Gilbert fucking Beilschmidt. 

“Has anyone seen Alfie?” Matthew asked, staring at the empty stall next to him. 

“He’s probably still sleeping without Papa here to bring him in,” one of the forwards–Orville–said, pulling out his phone. “Need me to call him?”

“If you want…”

Gilbert shoved his skates on his feet and pulled on his blue practice jersey. Without a word, he grabbed his gloves and stormed out of the locker room. He knew everyone was probably looking at him strangely, but he needed to get away from Matthew before he confronted him. 

The moment his skates hit the ice, everything melted away. Gilbert took a few slow laps, letting his lungs acclimate to the altitude. He focused on the sound of metal carving into the ice and the soft thunks of when his foot contacted the ground. The rhythm of it all brought him peace. Gilbert pulled a puck close, playing with it as he skated, entirely unaware that he was being watched. 

---

Roderich found a seat in the stands. He didn’t have to be at work for a few hours, and he wanted to see Gilbert again before he left. He wanted to make it up to him for leaving, and explain why the bed was cold when he woke up. 

Beneath him, Gilbert looked like he was born with skates on his feet. He skated laps with such grace and precision that Roderich was left breathless. Even when he started passing the puck between his skates, he hardly missed a beat. He looked happy on the ice. Happy like he had the night before. 

Gilbert seemed to ignore his teammates as they trickled onto the ice. Even when Matthew and Alfred finally set foot on the ice with the coaching staff, he made no move to acknowledge them. He didn’t even stop until a sharp whistle cut through the din of their voices. Roderich watched Gilbert stick to the outside of the circle, but even from a distance, Roderich knew he was focused on the drills set out in front of him. 

“Where did you sneak off to last night?” 

Roderich’s heart lurched. He snapped his attention away from Gilbert to the person sitting next to him. It was only Arthur. 

“Don’t do that!” 

“Sorry,” Arthur said. 

“No, you’re not.” 

Arthur simply shrugged. “You didn’t answer my question. Where were you last night?” 

“You have my location. You know where I was.” 

“Who were you with, then? I don’t think Matthew would have taken you to the Ritz, when you have a perfectly good apartment not terribly far away…” 

“I met someone,” he said, turning back to look at Gilbert, who was standing in line to do the passing drill they used as warmups. “He took me there.”

“Jesus Christ, Roderich…”

“Gilbert’s nice. I think he may be the kindest man I’ve ever met.” Roderich didn’t need to look at Arthur to know what look he was giving him. Sleeping in a high end hotel usually meant Roderich found someone to fund his drug habit for a while. He wanted to yell, but knew better. 

Arthur leaned back, taking a moment to look at Roderich. Nothing seemed wrong. If anything, he was sitting straighter than he had in years. He tried to track Roderich’s gaze, only to land on the new player on the team. Alfred had mentioned something about an old friend–Gilbert or something–joining the team. Maybe that was why Roderich was paying attention to him instead of Matthew. 

The longer he watched Roderich watch Gilbert, the easier it was to see what happened last night. The man Eloise mentioned was not Matthew, but Gilbert. 

“Did you seriously already fuck the new guy?” Arthur said, trying to ignore the anxiety bubbling up in his chest. 

Roderich said nothing, his focus entirely on Gilbert and Matthew, who were battling almost violently over the puck. Somehow, Gilbert knocked it loose and sent it flying towards the net. Montgomery stopped the puck without so much as looking at it. 

“FUCK!” Gilbert’s shout echoed through the rink. 

Roderich laughed, and Arthur knew he was gone. 

 

Chapter 6

Alfred couldn’t help but notice the way Gilbert attacked the net like he had something to prove. Why Gilbert thought he had to prove anything, he did not know. The Avalanche traded for him for a reason; now, all he needed to do was his job. All it seemed he wanted to do, however, was trip Matthew like they were teenagers again. Only now, he was having a hard time deciphering whether it was friendly.

The coaches blew their whistles, and Matthew and Gilbert sprung apart. Neither said a word as they skated off to the bench for water. Alfred trailed behind slowly, listening to the pair brutally chirp each other’s playing skills. Their teammates laughed, throwing in their own overused chirps to fuel the flames. Clearly, they thought it was all in good fun, but Alfred could see the teeth in his brother’s words. 

“Get fucked!” Gilbert snapped, skating away without water. 

Matthew shrugged and turned his attention to messing with the rookies. Alfred sighed and skated off after Gilbert to do his brother’s dirty work. 

“Hey!”

Gilbert stopped, sending a plume of snow into the air. Alfred glided up to him, bumping into his side good naturedly. He wrapped an arm around Gilbert’s shoulders and ducked his head–there were cameras and ears everywhere.

“Are you alright?” 

“Fine,” Gilbert said almost harshly. 

“Gilbert–”

“It’s not a team issue, okay? Drop it.” 

Alfred took a deep breath, trying to swallow the rejection. “Are your brothers okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine.” Gilbert shrugged Alfred’s arm off his shoulder. “It’s a personal thing and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay…if you change your mind, I’m here to listen.” Alfred smiled, wishing he could pull Gilbert in close again, but he made it clear he did not want to be touched, at least, by him. 

“Yeah…thanks.” 

“Of course, buddy.” 

Gilbert patted his shoulder and skated off to an unoccupied corner. It was all Alfred could do not to follow him. He glanced up at the stands and smiled. Arthur was sitting there, next to Roderich, watching them practice, despite telling him he wasn’t staying. He waved, and Arthur waved back. His heart sang. He wished he could go up there and talk to Arthur, but he had to content himself with putting on a show for him instead.

“Hey! Lover boy!” Stoney shouted, pulling him away from Arthur’s magnetic beauty. “Get over here and shoot at me!” 

Alfred rolled his eyes and skated to the blue line, sparing one last glance to the audience of two. Arthur waved him off, but Roderich paid him no mind. Alfred tried to follow his gaze to Matthew, only to find him laser focused on Gilbert in the back corner talking to Raivis. 

“Are you listening to me?” Stoney shouted. “Freddy! Shoot! Now!” 

Alfred turned back to his goalie with a shit-eating grin. “You sound like a fan! Shoot the puck!” 

“You’re lucky I’m padded or I’d break you.”

“Un-fucking-likely, buddy.” He sent the puck soaring high over the net. 

“You know,” Matthew said with a smirk. “The puck is supposed to go in the net.” 

“Ha ha, you go bar down, then.”

Matthew pulled a puck close and set himself up for the shot. The puck flew through the air, past Stoney’s head, hit the crossbar, and fell into the net. Then, he did it again, and again. 

“Damn, dude! I said ‘go bar down’, not show me up!”

“I can’t help being better than you!” 

“Better than me, my ass!” Alfred sent another puck high over the net. “FUCK!”

“Miss any more and I’ll tell Mack to make you a third line plug.” 

Before Alfred could say anything else, Mack blew the whistle and everyone huddled around a whiteboard. 

---

Roderich stood and stretched his arms over his head until his shoulders cracked. Below, the Avalanche skated laps to cool down. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and sighed. 

“I want to catch Gilbert before I need to go to work…I’ll catch you later?” 

“Yeah…I need to get going anyway,” Arthur said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I stayed longer than I planned anyway…”

“Why? You’re not doing anything.” 

Arthur waved him off dismissively. While part of Roderich wanted to stay and force Arthur to talk about Alfred, he wanted to see Gilbert again, more. He grabbed his bag without another word and tore down the stairs to the locker room. 

Roderich hardly paid any attention to where he was going until he was standing in the tunnel to the ice. He used to wait here for Matthew all the time. It felt strange waiting for someone else. The memory of Gilbert smiling flashed in his mind, making him blush despite himself. He needed to see that smile again if he was going to survive the day. 

Montgomery and Stoney waddled down the tunnel first, both stopping to pet Roderich’s head like a puppy. He smiled, leaning into their touch slightly. He enjoyed feeling as though he belonged, even if he wasn’t a part of the team. Neither said a word as they continued down the tunnel. The rookies came down next, with the rest of the defense waddling behind. Some said hello, or tapped his nose with their gloves. Others ignored him entirely. 

“Ricky!” 

Roderich looked up from his phone. He’d been waiting for a text all morning, but nothing came. It made sense, though, he supposed, given that Gilbert was at practice. 

“AJ!” 

“Is Artie still here?”

“Maybe? I dunno…He said something about needing to head out.”

“Oh,” Alfred deflated a little. “I guess I’ll see you later, then.” 

Roderich nodded and watched Alfred waddle down the tunnel, shoulders hanging low. His phone buzzed. He really needed to go, but he wanted to say hi to Gilbert first. He listened to the thunk and scrape of skates on the ice, tapping his foot to the beat out of habit. He’d give Gilbert a few more minutes, then he would simply have to go. 

Gilbert appeared in the last seconds, back to him as he set his stick on the rack. Roderich’s heart skipped a beat as he pulled off his helmet and shook his sweat soaked hair. He swallowed heavily, wondering absently what Gilbert smelled like soaked in sweat. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. Gilbert seemed to notice his gaze on his back and turned back to face Roderich. 

Roderich smiled softly, running a hand through his hair. Something in Gilbert’s gaze hardened, and he walked past Roderich without a word. Roderich swore he heard Gilbert mutter something about puck bunnies, but couldn’t quite catch it. 

“Okay?” 

“Ignore him. He’s been in a mood all morning,” Matthew said, leaning on his stick. “Alfie said it was a personal thing.” 

Roderich nodded, trying to ignore the pang of hurt in his chest. 

“Do you have time to get a coffee?”

“Sorry, I need to be at work.” 

“Okay, I’ll see you later, then.” Matthew winked and left Roderich to wander back to the front and make his way downtown. 

---

Gilbert rushed through his shower, hardly saying a word to his new team. No one seemed to mind. They talked about their plans for the rest of the day and what meal plan approved lunch they were craving after such a brutal practice. He was out of the room before Matthew could talk about seeing Roderich for coffee. 

Jealousy bubbled in his chest as he ordered an Uber, first to his hotel, then to the nearest car dealership he could find instead. He wasn’t going to be picky so long as the car was German made. Johann and Ludwig would have his head if he bought anything different. 

He watched the clouds roll in over the mountains while the dealer drew up a contract. The meteorologist droned on about how much snow would hit the front range and when they believed it would hit in the background. Occasionally, Gilbert’s phone buzzed, but he ignored it. Instead, he unwillingly thought about Roderich waiting in the tunnel, wishing he had been waiting for him instead of Matthew. He tried to ignore the way Roderich’s eyes lit up when he saw him. Puck bunny’s eyes always lit up when they saw a player. He wasn’t special. He wouldn’t be surprised if he found out Roderich was sleeping with multiple members of the team. 

The dealer came back, ripping Gilbert from Roderich’s gaze. 

“And you’re still interested in paying outright?” The dealer asked. He had to be in his late sixties. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Cheque okay?”

“Yes, sir.” Gilbert pulled out his cheque book and wrote the full amount as neatly as possible. In the note, he wrote Audi Q8 , and passed it over to the dealer in exchange for the keys. 

With the contract signed and the Audi paid for, Gilbert had the rest of the day to explore the city. He started with the park he found on the plane. People walked their dogs and danced in the grass while kids ran about laughing as if it were summer rather than the end of February. He sat underneath a tree for a while, watching people clad in shorts and t-shirts, pass him by without notice. Gilbert relaxed, taking another look at the apartments in the area and booking tours. 

The wind picked up, and the temperature dropped quickly. Gilbert shivered, pulling his jacket closer. It did nothing against the chill sinking through the fleece lined leather. He wandered back to his car, grateful not to find a ticket on the windshield. 

Gilbert sat in his car and stared ahead absently. He needed something to do now that the weather had taken a turn, especially when he’d been so content to stay in the park until he was either dogged with fans or too bored to stay longer. 

It felt too early to justify getting a beer, and he didn’t want to talk to Matthew or Alfred. He thought about the places Roderich pointed out and immediately shoved it out of his mind. The last thing he needed was to run into Roderich, of all people. He’d rather talk to Matthew. Museums felt too risky, and he had no use for the mall until after he moved into an apartment, and even then. 

His phone buzzed with a notification from Alfred. Part of him wanted to ignore it, but the way Alfred shrank when he pushed him away made him think better of it. 

I know you’re having a bad day. This is the address for that record store I mentioned…

A link with an address to a place called Diamond Records followed shortly after. 

Having nothing better to do, Gilbert put the address in his maps and let Siri tell him where to go in her funny sounding automated German. 

---

Business was slow for a Saturday, but that couldn’t be helped when it was a warm, sunny day in the middle of two snowstorms. Except for a few regulars, namely Aaron, the jazz bat, and Deeliah, Roderich had the store to himself. He kept a near constant loop of Billy Joel vinyls playing as he sorted through the metal section. He needed to make room for new arrivals sitting in the boxes in the back. Then he needed to do the same with the rap. 

Roderich let his mind wander to Gilbert as he condensed the stacks of records. The hickey on his collar throbbed at the memory of his touch. He brushed the mark with his thumb, remembering Gilbert’s weight on top of him, his lips hot against his neck. He took a shaky breath, biting the inside of his lip. His dick throbbed his pants and his heart hammered, but before Roderich could let his fantasies take him elsewhere, the doorbell rang, reminding him he was at work. 

“Welcome in!”

“Thanks.” It came back muffled. 

Roderich turned to face the customer. His heart stopped. He grinned despite himself. 

“Oh, hello Gilbert,” he said, trying his best to appear calm. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Gilbert stared at Roderich like he grew a second head. He frowned, and Roderich couldn’t help taking a step forward. From there, he could see the same crease in his brow from the morning. 

“What are you doing here?” Gilbert asked, trying to ignore the feeling that Alfred, of all people, was playing some sick joke on him. 

“You work in sports, I work in music.” 

“You work here?” Gilbert crossed his arms over his chest.

“No, I just like coming in and organising all their stock for free.” Roderich stuck out his tongue. “I seem to have everyone here convinced. Just not you .”

Gilbert shifted under his gaze. 

“What do I need to do to convince you otherwise?” Roderich said, staring at his lips. 

“Nothing.” Gilbert’s voice cracked. 

Roderich hummed and walked up to him so they were standing shoulder to shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything…or if you just want to talk.” 

“Just don’t tell any of your little friends I’m here, got it?” 

Roderich cocked his head at the coolness in Gilbert’s voice. Matthew said he was in a mood, but he figured it would have passed by now. He started to walk away, but Gilbert grabbed his wrist. He didn’t pull him back or squeeze like partners had in the past. Electricity ran up Roderich’s arm.

“Got it?” He repeated evenly. 

Roderich’s mouth went dry. “Yeah, sure. I won’t tell a soul.” 

Gilbert let go and marched off to the other side of the store, leaving Roderich to fantasise about taking orders from Gilbert while he worked.

Chapter 7

Gilbert couldn't help but marvel at the selection of albums in the bins. They seemed to stock everything, even musicians he’d never heard of before. As he wove through the sections, Gilbert would glance back at Roderich, who would occasionally look back with a soft smile. It made his heart stutter without fail. 

The records were organised immaculately, if not slightly bizarrely, sending him on wild goose chases ‌that never seemed to end where he expected. Glenn Miller was filed under Colorado instead of easy listening, big band, or even jazz. Kendrick Lamar was split between West Coast Rap, Grammy Winners, and Pulitzer Winners. There wasn’t a Drake album in sight. The rap section itself was broken into the major hubs rather than thrown together alphabetically. Gilbert couldn’t help but appreciate the dedication Roderich put into organising the thousands of records. Even the scavenger hunts were almost fun. Gilbert plucked a few albums here and there, adding to his rapidly growing stack. 

Roderich couldn’t help but watch Gilbert out of the corner of his eye. He seemed so relaxed for someone so worried about being recognised. He tried not to laugh too obviously as he watched Gilbert hunt down specific albums and hoist them into the air in success. He tried even harder not to notice which sections he was gravitating towards. Maybe if they got more of what he liked, Gilbert would have an excuse to visit him at work. 

Every so often, he glanced down at his phone, still waiting for a text from Gilbert that never came. Roderich tried to ignore the nagging feeling in his heart that maybe Gilbert was only interested in his looks. Maybe he’d been too easy. 

The needle lifted and the Billy Joel album finished. Roderich sighed to himself, pulling another album from the pile. The River , the cover read. He glanced back at Gilbert, who was pointedly ignoring him while browsing the rock section. Roderich pulled the record out and swapped Joel for Springsteen. Maybe a change in energy would be good for Gilbert too. The opening notes of The Ties that Bind played over the speakers. Part of him hoped Gilbert was paying attention to his somewhat pointed choice in music. 

Roderich’s phone buzzed on the counter. He snapped down to look at it, hoping against hope that it was Gilbert. It wasn’t. It was Matthew asking if he’d seen Gilbert since practice. Roderich looked between the message and Gilbert. He typed out a yes, but deleted it quickly after. Don’t tell your friends I’m here , Gilbert said.

Not since this morning… he typed back, his eyes on the back of Gilbert’s head. He was just doing what he was asked.

Matthew liked the message but said nothing else. 

Roderich sighed and pocketed his phone. He slipped out the back door and lit a cigarette. He trusted Gilbert and the rest of the regular crowd to behave in his brief absence. 

Gilbert listened to the music, trying not to read into the words too much. Roderich was not sending him clandestine messages through the music he played. Only this album had too many love songs to convince him he wasn’t. It almost annoyed him. Why was Roderich toying with him? It was almost too cruel. 

He glanced back to find the spot Roderich had been occupying empty. Gilbert frowned, searching the floor for him. Only an older woman, a shorter man with a beard, and a woman with greying braids were with them, but no one paid him any mind. Although Gilbert was certain the younger man recognised him, he said nothing. 

Roderich returned as the needle returned to its stand. He smiled to himself. He was getting good at timing his breaks to the rise and fall of the needle. Silently, he flipped the record and set the needle down again. Hungry Heart began to play, and Roderich was certain he couldn’t make his message more obvious. He smiled innocently when Gilbert looked at him with a raised brow and went back to work. 

Roderich’s smile did nothing to quell the feeling in his stomach. This really wasn’t fair. Gilbert wanted to shout, but then he caught Roderich dancing to the music and his heart swooped. He looked so much like the person he had met at the Summit at that moment. But then he hadn’t had the decency to stay the night or even give him his number before he left. He shouldn't be looking at him as anything more than a one-night stand. 

Gilbert’s phone buzzed in his back pocket. He swallowed, steeling himself for another article about him and his behaviour at practice that morning. It wasn’t. Just a weather notification and a text from Matthew asking what he was up to. Gilbert wanted to roll his eyes and ignore it, but Matthew was the captain of the Avs. He was probably just making sure he wasn’t rotting alone. 

Record store, he said simply. 

Which? Came back quickly. 

Diamond something… the one Alfred was talking about.

Three dots appeared and disappeared. He frowned at the screen. He started typing when a response finally came through. 

Oh…Ricky said you weren’t there.

Gilbert looked back at Roderich, who was checking out the woman that seemed to live in the jazz section. He listened to his laugh, trying not to memorise it or want to hear it more. Roderich said he wasn’t there? 

I’ve been here for a while.

Really, ‌he said you weren’t there like five minutes ago .

One of you is lying popped up seconds later. 

Roderich, he sent with a photo of his record stack. 

It didn’t surprise him really that Roderich would lie about something like this to Matthew. Why he’d done it, Gilbert didn’t know. He told him not to tell his bunny friends or any other overly obsessed hockey fan that he knew. How could he have assumed Matthew would be included in that group? 

“Hey!” Gilbert grabbed Roderich’s wrist as he walked past. “You told Matt I wasn’t here?” 

“Yeah?” Roderich looked at him like a confused beagle. “Why?”

“I told you not to tell your friends.” 

“Matthew is a friend…” Roderich said slowly. He’d only done what he’d been told to. 

“He’s a friend?” Gilbert growled. Friends didn’t look and talk to each other like that. 

“Believe it or not,” Roderich said somewhat cooly. “We went to school together. He studied photography because he knew he’d end up in the show.” 

Gilbert’s eyes sharpened. “I thought you said you studied music?”

“I did. We had the same math class, dumbass.” It sounded sharper than Roderich intended. 

“Right…”

Roderich searched Gilbert’s face for any kind of understanding. Finding none, he sighed. “Okay, what the fuck is your problem?” 

“My problem?” Gilbert scoffed. How Rooderich could be so obtuse evaded him. “Of course you would ask that!” 

Roderich swallowed. “Okay…what did I do?” 

“What did you–Jesus Christ!” Gilbert stopped himself. He wasn’t about to cause a scene, no matter how desperately he wanted to. He didn’t deserve this. How could Roderich not know what he’d done? How could he be acting like he hadn’t left without a word? “You–no, you know what? Fuck this. Have a good one, Roderich.” 

Gilbert shoved past Roderich and left without his stack of records. He didn’t care. He wanted to get as far away from Roderich as possible. Maybe he could find the same albums somewhere else. He knew Roderich would just put them away, lest his immaculate organisation was ruined. He marched to his car and sped off into the street, paying little attention to the pedestrians dashing across the street. 

Roderich stared at the stack of albums Gilbert had left behind. He took the stack to the counter, intent on returning them to their homes later. For now, Roderich wanted to smoke. He dug around in his bag for a pack of pre-rolled joints and a lighter, pulling one from the box. 

“Aaron, I’m going out…get me if you need anything.”

“Sure thing!” Aaron called out. 

Roderich slipped out the back door and lit the joint. He didn’t want to think about Gilbert or the way he looked at him like he was a problem. The only thing he could think of was leaving, but he’d left his number along with a sweet note promising a date soon. But Gilbert was the one who never reached out. It had been half the reason he went to the Avalanche practice in the first place. He wanted to give Gilbert his number in person, but then he pushed him away the first moment he got. Roderich sucked down the harsh smoke, coughing a little. He didn’t want to consider that he’d been mistaken about Gilbert's kindness. 

He crushed the butt on the ground and went back in, stopping for a moment to spray more cologne to cover the worst of the smell. He knew Aaron and Deeliah wouldn’t mind, but there were other customers who certainly would.

Roderich took a deep breath and returned to the floor. He had a job to do. He couldn’t let Gilbert distract him. 

It wasn’t until closing that Roderich got to Gilbert’s stack of records. He leafed through them, paying attention to the bands and the genres. He’d pulled lots of rap and rock, which didn’t surprise him in the slightest. The folio Glenn Miller was unexpected, as was the series of flute sonatas by King Frederick. Something about it all was ‌very Gilbert. He pulled a few albums he was almost certain Gilbert would like and slipped them into the middle of the pile before tucking them into a brown bag and sealing it with Gilbert’s name written on the front. 

He pulled up one of the albums Gilbert had picked up and listened to it all the way home. 

Chapter 8

Gilbert walked into practice the next morning to find a brown bag with his name on it in his locker. He stared down at the handwriting, not recognising it in the slightest. The letters curled and connected with stunning handwriting. He would have thought it took a long time if it weren’t for the pointed flourish at the end of his name. No one was in the room yet. He threw his sweatshirt on the hanger and pulled open the package, almost dropping it when he saw the cover of King Frederick’s sonatas. He leafed through the albums; every one he picked up was there, and at the bottom, one he didn’t. The River by Bruce Springsteen. There was only one person in the world who could have slipped in and out unnoticed. Roderich. 

He tucked them into the side of his cubby and focused on getting his gear on as the rest of the team trickled into the locker room. Matthew ambled in from the ice, already hot and sweaty. Gilbert turned his focus to taping his knees and stick. 

“Morning, boys!” Matthew shouted, shrugging off his wet gloves and tugging off his already soaked practice jersey. He looked around the room and sighed. “Where’s Alfred?”

“Not here,” Stoney said. “You should fine him!”

Gilbert perked up at the mention of team fines. Every team had them, and the funds were almost always used for team events. Matthew pulled his phone off the shelf and checked for texts before opening the spreadsheet named FINES and writing Alfred’s name with a $20 and late in all capitals next to it. “Looks like we’re going to Top Golf this weekend, boys!” 

A few of the younger guys cheered, happy for an excuse to cut loose. Gilbert smiled and went back to trimming the extra tape from his stick. Alfred stumbled in not too much later with a massive, dark hickey on his neck and messy hair. 

“Sorry! I ran into Ricky in the hall.” Alfred threw his pads on as quickly as possible, making a mess of his locker and his brother's next to him. “Fuck! I was early too!” 

“You’ve already been fined, AJ!” Stoney shouted, throwing a ball of tape at his head. “Matt said Top Golf is on you!” 

Alfred turned to look at Matthew with his mouth open wide in betrayal. “Ain’t no way I owe that much!” 

“$864,” Matthew said simply, holding the spreadsheet out for Alfred to see.

“I miss Papa,” he whined. He hardly ever owed fines when Tino was there to keep him in line. 

“You miss not being fined.”

“Mattie.” Alfred looked up at him with puppy eyes. “I was here! I was in the hall!” 

“Sorry, bud, no one saw you.” 

Alfred spun around and pointed a finger accusingly at Montgomery. “You saw me! You said hi to me and Ricky!”

Montgomery grinned and shrugged. “I thought you were Matt.” 

“Bullshit!” Alfred squawked. “You said hey Freddy!” 

“Nope, I said hey Mattie. It’s not my fault your ears don’t work.” 

The rest of the team took the opportunity to chirp Alfred relentlessly for missing passes and taking stupid penalties after the whistle had been blown. Alfred hurled an empty water bottle at the goalie, muttering under his breath about the sting of betrayal and his thirst for revenge halfheartedly. 

Gilbert smiled, forgetting all about the pile of records in his locker, and tugged on his skates, checking the bottoms subtly for any tape, just in case the records were all a part of an elaborate prank on Alfred’s part. Feeling nothing, he stood and went out onto the ice, hoping to catch a glimpse of Roderich before Matthew came out and stole his attention. 

The rink was silent except for the crisp glide of sharp blades on ice. He lazily circled the ice, looking into the stands for a familiar mop of brown hair. Only Roderich was nowhere to be seen in the stands. Usually, the puck bunnies loitered around during practice; they didn’t just come by, drop a few records, and then leave without a word. Then again, puck bunnies would never not tell his teammates where he was. He couldn’t help but think that sometimes Roderich was the most bizarre man on Earth. 

“I’m not fucking lying, man!” Alfred’s shouts carried up the tunnel. “Just ask him! Ricky was here!”

Matthew groaned as he stepped onto the ice. He was in a fresh practice jersey and likely fresh gloves as well. 

“Schmidty!” he shouted despite quickly closing the gap, Alfred trailing closely behind. “Where did those records come from?” 

“Fuck if I know. They were there when I got here.” 

Alfred shouted in triumph. “Told you Ricky was here!” 

Matthew turned slowly to his brother. “You understand that either way you are paying for Top Golf on Saturday, right?”

“But–”

“Buddy, even if you were here on time, you still owe $844!”

Alfred balked and sputtered. “How is that fair!”

“If it makes you feel better, bud, Stoney is paying too. He owes a clean $500.”

“I didn’t agree to that!” Stoney shouted, prepping his goal zone like a bird would its nest. 

“You don’t have to!” Matthew grinned. “The fine sheet has spoken; you two will pay!” 

Matthew skated off before Gilbert or Alfred could speak. 

“Power’s gone to his head,” Alfred grumbled. “Remember when he was nice?”

Gilbert laughed, wrapping an arm around Alfred’s shoulders. Matthew was never nice; he just sought peace among his teammates when he couldn’t bash their heads in and get away with it. Still, he was nicer than he should be considering his favourite bunny’s eyes were starting to stray. 

“So you were talking to Roderich?”

“Yeah, he had to go to work. I guess there’s some big event going on and he needs to be there early.” He pulled Gilbert into a corner, out of the way of the rookies messing around before Mack got there. “He said you dropped by…did you like it?”

“They have a good music selection,” he said somewhat stiffly. He didn’t want to think about arguing with Roderich. He didn’t need to get riled up at practice. “Criminally low prices…”

“Ricky fights to keep it that way. It’s not a well-off neighbourhood. He wants the locals to have a community space that’s actually accessible.” 

Gilbert thought of the people in the store while he’d been there. Roderich seemed to know everyone by name and even trusted them enough to leave the shop unattended. Was it so much of a community space that people were talking about him being there? He knew at least one person recognised him, but even he’d been respectful of his space. Denver is different, Alfred had said. 

“Be nice to him…” Alfred said, the friendly air disappearing as quickly as it came. “Roderich isn’t as strong as he acts…It’s not my story to tell, but he's had some really dark times, and that record shop was there when even Matthew wasn’t.”

Gilbert wanted to respond, but Mack blew his whistle, and practice began. He had a hard time imagining Roderich without Matthew or the team. 

Gilbert pushed himself a little harder, knowing that tomorrow he would play his first game with the Avalanche. The Philadelphia Flyers were coming to town, and it was meant to be a battle of heavyweights. He tried to do the math as he skated and passed the puck between Alfred and Matthew. The Flyers were far ahead of the Avalanche in the standings, sitting in second while the Avalanche battled for a playoff spot. Getting so close to the end of the season, superstitious teams would blow easy games to make sure they didn’t land in first. It was a rare occasion that the best team in the league actually won the Stanley Cup. If the Flyers win and the Montreal Canadiens lose today, then the Flyers will be propelled into first place. If the Flyers lost, then the Edmonton Oilers would take their place in second, and they wouldn’t have to worry about any trophy curse. 

And he was right. Game day came, and the Flyers were making sloppy passes and taking stupid penalties. Gilbert managed to pull a penalty shot, giving them the extra goal they needed to protect their lead. Part of him hoped Roderich saw it. Playing on the same line as Alfred and Matthew again was exhilarating. Despite their personal conflicts, they played as if they had never been separated. Their passes were flawless, their forecheck indomitable, and at the back end, Montgomery was practically a wall. The buzzer signalled the end of the game. Final score, 3-1. A resounding win for the Avalanche. 

The energy in the locker room was high. Gilbert battled through the press, trying not to give boring and generic hockey answers. Even so, he found himself saying pucks in deep, pucks in the net, and going back to basics, while emphasising the importance of role players on their team. Still, when he was asked about reuniting with his former teammates, all he could do was smile as he talked about the magic in their connections and the unwavering support of the coaching staff as he figured out his new role. 

---

It was almost disappointing for Roderich to have to miss an important game, but he’d promised Aaron to help with his production set up in exchange for some decent weed. The game had been on in the background, volume off, so Roderich had seen the goal, but his attention was fully on the sound system at his feet. 

“Avalanche won, Rick,” Aaron said. “Maybe you were right about trading for Beilschmidt.” 

“Of course I was right. I know hockey.” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” he said with a grin. 

Roderich tapped the top of Aaron’s beer with his, watching it bubble over with a smug look. “Don’t be crass.”

“As opposed to what, vengeful?”

“I’m setting up your sound system for free. You should be nicer.” 

“Whatever, man,” Aaron sighed, flipping the channel to the Nuggets game. “Thanks for this, by the way.”

“Anytime. It gets me out.” Roderich plugged in the last few wires and flipped the system on. The TV sound played crisply, making it sound as though they were courtside in San Francisco.

Aaron turned back to the TV, and Roderich pulled out his phone, hoping for a text from Gilbert. 

He never got one. 

Not when he got home. Not before the team left for a week-long road trip west. Not even when they won every game on the road. 

Matthew didn’t reach out either. 

---

The Beilschmidt-Williams-Jones line triumphs over Bondevik and the Vancouver Canucks. 

VANCOUVER – The Colorado Avalanche complete their road trip sweep with a 5-3 win over the Vancouver Canucks. What was a tied game heading into the last minutes of regulation time became a devastating blow to the Canucks' playoff dreams. 

Beilschmidt, recently traded from the Toronto Maple Leafs, proved why Bednar traded veteran presence for lightning speed, scoring two back-to-back goals less than a minute apart. He also garnered an assist on each of the three goals scored by the Beilschmidt-Williams-Jones line.

“It feels great to be a part of such a fantastic organisation…” Beilschmidt said when asked about his rising stardom in the franchise. “It’s lucky to come back and play with the guys I grew up with, try to evolve and match their game. It’s been fun.” 

Jones and Williams had similar reactions to their new teammate. 

“Having Schmidty is crazy. I haven’t felt this kind of electricity before,” said Jones. “Makes me feel real good about a deep run this season.”

“He’s aligned with the long-term goals of this organisation…” added Williams. “... Playing with him again has been nothing short of an adventure. We’re incredibly lucky to have him.”

Chapter 9

Notes:

Hey guys it's my turn for an insane authors note...sorry it took me a while to get this up. I lost my job at the beginning of the month, my roommate's cat went missing for three days and just decided to come back, and also just got back from a small trip to Philly to see the Avs play (highlight of the month no doubt).
Good news is I now have a lot of time to write and will be taking advantage of it.
Bad news, I'm an unemployed artist
Good news, I have a lot of time to make art
Bad news, job hunting sucks

Gilbert found an apartment in Cheeseman Park on the road. He toured it the afternoon they came back from the east coast, falling in love with the open view of the park and street below. He signed the lease on the spot. While the kitchen probably could have been more modern and the bathroom larger, he found everything else incredibly charming; nothing like the massive, cold, expensive apartment he had in Toronto. The narrow halls felt warm with their recessed shelves and soft yellow lights. His bedroom had large east-facing windows and a small but functional closet. If he resigned, perhaps he’d go in search of something a little more permanent, but for now, he would make this apartment his. 

Gilbert spent the next few days shuffling between practice, the record shop, and Ikea, filling the holes in his furniture situation the best he could. He had movers handle the bed and TV, knowing that, this late in the season, it was his job to avoid any stupid injuries. If that meant no snowblowers, golf carts, wrestling teammates, or moving heavy furniture, then that was what he had to do. It was all worth it to no longer be living in a hotel.

Those first nights in the apartment, Gilbert hardly had the energy to unpack the boxes piling into the corners of every room. With the playoff push in full swing, all he had went into trying to win games with buzzer beating goals. While he’d been okay with the movers seeing what mattress he had and the size of his TV, he still couldn’t allow himself to let them unpack his personal items, lest it turn into a Toronto situation. 

Gilbert’s neighbours kept to themselves, it seemed. In a brief conversation with one of them, an older woman named Mrs Hansen, who lived across the hall and clearly had no clue who he was, told him his neighbours kept somewhat odd hours. It didn’t bother him much, knowing he too would have late nights and early mornings, in addition to heavy travel at the end of the season. Mrs Hansen offered to check in on his place while he was out of town, which Gilbert hesitantly agreed to. Denver is different was becoming his mantra. 

No one, it seemed, kept stranger hours than his next-door neighbour, who played the piano well into the night and was sometimes still playing when he woke up. Gilbert wished he could name the compositions, but each sounded entirely new and refreshing, if not a little melancholy. Whoever they were, played remarkably well, if not professionally. He loved lying in bed listening to the pianist until he fell asleep and dreamed about the songs he’d heard. Perhaps one day, he would try to catch them and tell them how much he enjoyed their music. 

---

As much as Roderich wished he could sleep in on his day off and spend the day working on his newest pieces, he wanted to see Gilbert more. He wanted to see his face as he handed him the signed first pressing of Magic. He originally planned on keeping it for himself, but he watched Gilbert hover over it whenever he came in with a look of want in his eye. He never knew what was stopping Gilbert from buying it, so he took matters into his own hands. 

He pulled up to the arena, smiling at Gilbert’s black Audi next to Matthew’s cherry red truck. He couldn’t help but notice Arthur’s ancient and beat up Land Rover tucked into the corner spot as though he was trying to hide that Alfred was slowly moving into his house. Roderich couldn’t help but think Matthew would be happy to have his place back to himself for a while. He always had been the more private one of the twins. 

Practice was well underway when he walked into the stands. Arthur sat tucked in a corner, far from the few fans and puck bunnies that felt like coming to watch practice and get their jerseys signed by their favourite players. Roderich slipped into the seat next to him as silently as possible, but Arthur’s attention was locked on Alfred, and he was certain he could scream in his step-brother’s ear and he would hardly notice. He set the album on the bench next to him, watching Gilbert sink a puck in the empty net. 

“Hard to stay away, huh?” Roderich asked after an irritatingly long silence. 

Arthur lurched back, hand over his heart. “Bloody hell, the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing! You weren’t paying attention.” 

Arthur flushed beet red, trying to hide his face by turning back to Alfred, which only made him feel more embarrassed. “Why are you here?”

“Gilbert,” Roderich said simply. “He still hasn’t texted me, you know…”

Arthur frowned. “Still?”

“No…” Nothing he could do could hide the disappointment in his eyes. “The team’s been busy though…Matt rarely texted when he was on the road either, so, you know…”

“Roderich,” Arthur sighed.

“It’s not like that, for fuck’s sake, bud...” He couldn’t help the way years of dating Matthew influenced how he spoke. “He comes by the shop all the time. We talk…”

“You talk?” If that were the truth, Arthur would have heard about it before this. 

“Yes.”

“What about? Do not say music, because then I’ll assume he’s just asking where shit is in that maze of yours.”

Roderich pursed his lips, glancing down at the record next to him. His conversations with Gilbert had been shallow at best. Comments about the weather, or which albums Roderich liked that Gilbert had picked out. Sometimes, he asked about his brothers, but Gilbert answered those questions evasively. Gilbert never asked him about his family. 

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Concern coloured Arthur’s face.

“I really like him, Arthur…and I know he really likes me…” He practically said so. “I just don’t know what I did to push him away like this…” He knew. He’d been too easy, and now that Gilbert got what he wanted from him, he had no reason to chase him. 

Arthur patted his knee, trying to comfort him the best he could. Roderich smiled weakly at him, turning back to the team practicing below. Alfred seemed to know Arthur had stayed because he was putting on quite a show for an optional practice. He could see Matthew chirping him and Gilbert joining in. Gilbert’s laugh made his heart skip a beat. He tried to think about how he would place those notes in a melody. Gilbert seemed to notice that he was being watched and turned to scan the small crowd in the stands. Roderich waved subtly, and Gilbert snapped his head down to the ice. 

Roderich could hear a few girls giggling, thinking it was one of them that had made Beilschmidt blush. 

He didn’t look up again the rest of practice.

Roderich slipped down into the tunnel with Arthur while the team skated laps to cool off. He wanted to catch Gilbert as quickly as possible. Hopefully, before Matthew walked by to steal Gilbert’s attention away.

Alfred barrelled down the tunnel first, pulling Arthur into a sweaty kiss. Arthur pushed against him weakly, not appreciating being enveloped in his stink. 

“Go shower, you’re disgusting!” He snapped, crossing his arms with a smile. 

Alfred laughed and kissed him again, this time keeping his arms firmly planted at his sides. “As you wish…”

Arthur rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the blush creeping across his cheeks. He liked when Alfred treated him like a prince. “Do you still have time for brunch?” 

“I have all the time in the world for you.” Alfred smiled brightly and went down the tunnel, leaving Arthur to ask himself why he was struggling to be as suave as usual. 

“Completely uninterested, my ass,” Roderich smiled, leaning against the wall. “Have you fucked him yet?”

Arthur flipped him off and stormed back down the tunnel to wait for Alfred in the team room, where he wouldn’t be mercilessly teased. 

Roderich watched the team trickle through the tunnel, sticking his leg out to trip Raivis, who was finally back on ice in a brilliant red no contact jersey. He jumped over it with ease but otherwise ignored him in favour of a hot shower. He waited and waited for Gilbert to leave the ice. His knees were starting to hurt by the time Matthew slipped off the ice. 

“Whatcha got there?” He asked, staring at the brown bag in Roderich’s arms. 

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” 

“So it’s not for me then?” Roderich could almost delude himself into believing Matthew sounded jealous. 

“No…Gilbert…” It felt almost awkward to say out loud. “It’s just a record.”

Matthew studied him closely, finding something he didn’t like in Roderich’s eyes. His shoulders dropped, and he walked down the tunnel without another word. Roderich watched him leave, a knot forming in his stomach. He did that. It all felt horribly wrong. 

Roderich was about to give up waiting in the tunnel when Gilbert finally ambled off the ice, helmet tucked under his arm. His cheeks were red, and his hair stuck out in all directions, making him look almost like a rookie. Roderich couldn’t help the way his heart skipped a beat or how a bright smile broke across his face. 

“Hey!”

“Hi,” Gilbert said almost stiffly. 

“I brought you something…” Roderich rocked onto the balls of his feet. Seeing Gilbert made him feel like a giddy child. 

Gilbert glanced down at the brown parcel in Roderich’s arms and then back up at him as though he were holding a bomb. Roderich smiled, trying to figure out if Gilbert's face was getting redder or if he was imagining things.

“I noticed you looking at it…a lot.” Roderich held the parcel out for Gilbert to take. Gilbert stared at him like he’d grown a second head. Roderich waved the brown paper parcel, inviting him to take it. He shed his gloves and took the parcel from Roderich, opening it slowly. Roderich watched him intently, memorising the way Gilbert’s eyes lit up when he saw what it was. “Thought you’d be a better home.”

As quickly as the light in Gilbert’s eyes appeared, he forced it away. “Thanks.” 

“Anytime,” Roderich said, fighting the urge to reach out and touch the man in front of him. 

“Do you have plans for the rest of the day?” Roderich knew the Avalanche didn’t have a game for a few days. 

“Moving into my new place.” The way Gilbert said it left no room to offer to help.

“Oh…” Roderich tried to ignore the painful sinking in his stomach. “Well, good luck then.”

“Yeah, thanks.” With that, Gilbert left Roderich standing in the tunnel, hoping that the reason he seemed so closed off was from practice and not because of him. 

---

Gilbert sat in his stall, thumbing the soft corner of the record in his hands. Roderich had noticed. Roderich had been watching him. Of course he knew he had been. Puck bunnies watched him in Toronto like a hawk too, but this almost felt different. Roderich hadn’t noticed his play, or congratulated him on a goal or win; he had noticed his interests. He noticed him off the ice first. The thought almost made his heart flutter. It had been a long time since he’d been noticed as a person first and a hockey player second. Still, he couldn’t let himself read too deeply into Roderich’s actions. Roderich may be different from the bunnies in Toronto, but he was still a puck bunny at the end of the day, and that made him dangerous. 

Gilbert set the record to the side and started untying his skates. Almost everyone else who showed up–namely Montgomery, Alfred, Matthew, Raivis, and Sutton–had left to take their showers and move on with their days. He was half undressed when Matthew strolled out of the showers, one towel wrapped around his waist, the other being used to dry off his hair. It was almost impossible for Gilbert not to notice how Matthew had filled out since juniors. Where he was once lanky, his shoulders and chest had broadened, and his faint six-pack had been chiselled into a well defined eight-pack that almost left Gilbert breathless. And then all that much more insecure about why Roderich wanted him to begin with. He dropped his gaze back to the ground, focusing on pulling off his breezers and the rest of his pads.

“You okay over there, bud?” Matthew asked, tugging sweatpants on. “You’re movin’ awful slow.”

“Fine, just wiped out, man.”

Matthew nodded, letting Gilbert undress in silence. He couldn’t help but peek into Gilbert’s locker as he deposited his sweaty practice clothes in the team laundry basket. Roderich’s album sat tucked safely in the corner. He tried to think of the record it could be, but with so many white album covers, his guess was as good as any. 

“Whatcha got there?” Matthew asked, looking between Gilbert and the record. 

“Roderich brought me a Springsteen album…” he said, turning to face Matthew. He wanted to see the look in his eyes when he said the bunny’s name. “Magic.”

“Oh…” Something close to recognition flashed in Matthew’s eye. “Cool.”

Gilbert nodded. He had to say something to stop the awkward silence. “Roderich said it was a first pressing.” 

“Oh really? Roderich gave you that?” Matthew’s jaw clenched slightly. 

Gilbert took a half step back instinctively. “Yeah…he noticed I was looking at it when I came in the other day…” 

That hadn’t been the exact truth, but something in the way Matthew looked at him made him nervous. 

“Ricky’s been looking for that album for a long time,” Matthew said, his voice laced with jealousy. “Kinda shocked he’s giving it up so easily.”

Gilbert froze, his Underarmour pooling at his feet. Why was Roderich giving him something that meant so much to him? What kind of game was he playing? 

“You must have made quite the impression.” Gilbert could tell Matthew was trying and failing to sound as neutral as possible. “He’s not typically so friendly.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, man,” Gilbert said, wrapping a towel around his waist. Raivis and Sutton were making their way out of the showers. “He’s just being nice.” With that, he left Matthew in the locker room. He didn’t want to listen to whatever else Matthew had to say about Roderich’s gift. 

Lucky for Gilbert, the locker room was vacant when he finally stepped out of the steaming showers. Matthew left his record alone, and Alfred, it seemed, left his jacket and water bottle in his cubby. It was nice to see that some things never changed. Sometimes it was a marvel Alfred managed to hold on to any of his belongings at all.

---

After a week of staring at unpacked boxes and losing two games, 2-0 and 4-2 to Minnesota and Calgary respectively, Gilbert couldn’t stand to finish moving alone anymore. Even Facetiming his brothers did little to make him feel any better about how long it was taking for him to get it all done. Admitting he was exhausted felt like he was making excuses. It didn’t help that his neighbour’s piano playing begged for his full attention on his days off. Some days, he sat on his bed with a book, pretending to read while he listened to the melancholy music from next door.

He knew if he asked Alfred and Matthew over to help, both would drop everything to be there despite the growing tension between him and Matthew. He never did. Instead, he called Raivis, who was becoming a fast friend, having somewhat of a sixth sense when it came to the needs of his team. 

“Thanks again for your help,” Gilbert said, passing a beer over to Raivis. 

Between the two of them, they unpacked his kitchen and living room in record time. Now, all that was left was the TV, which they hung on the wall with a little help from YouTube. 

“No problem,” Raivis said, taking the beer with a smile. His eyes were still a little sharp from his concussion, but Gilbert knew he was close to coming back any week now. 

“Did you have any plans for the rest of your day?” Gilbert didn’t want to hold Raivis up if he had other things he needed to do. Surely he could figure out how to set up a TV on his own. 

Raivis shook his head, swallowing his beer. “I was going to watch the Nuggets tonight.”

“In town or…”

“On TV. I can mute it if the sound gets too much.” 

Gilbert nodded. “Want to watch it here?” If he were honest, he liked the company. 

“Gonna let me drink your beer?” 

“I got another case in my car.” Gilbert set his half finished beer on the coffee table. “Keep working on that; I’ll go get it.” 

Raivis gave him a thumbs up and turned back to the pile of wires in his lap. “Is it okay if I call a buddy of mine? He’s fantastic with this shit.” 

“Sure,” Gilbert said easily. Friends of players knew how to act with discretion, and it wasn’t like Raivis would tell his friend exactly where he lived, anyway. 

Gilbert left his apartment to the sound of Raivis’ phone trilling on speaker. The hallway was empty. No music came from his neighbour, but the soft hum of conversation from Mrs Hansen’s daytime talk shows leaked into the hall while he waited for the narrow elevator to take him down to the garage. 

He didn’t see a single person on his ride to the garage, nor did he see anyone while pulling the crater of beer from the boot of his car. He heard a car pull in, music blaring so loud the frame rattled as it drove. Gilbert moved quickly, trying to get back to the elevator before the other person joined him. The last thing he wanted was to deal with fans while sweaty from unpacking and slightly tipsy from the altitude. He pressed the up button a few more times, trying to encourage the elevator to move a little faster. The elevator, it seemed, had other ideas. 

---

Roderich wrestled his groceries out of the car, wishing, not for the first time, that he had a house to walk right up to, instead of a five story elevator rise. Or better, someone to do his grocery shopping for him. It bordered on a Sisyphean curse, much like the rest of his chores. He locked his car with his elbow, careful not to hit the bottle of wine against the window. Somewhere behind him, he could hear the pushing of the elevator button and the clanking of glass bottles. He took that as his sign to rush over, not wanting to wait for the elevator longer than he had to with his arms full of produce. 

He had no way of seeing who was standing at the elevator, hidden behind tall brown paper bags. “Room for one more?”

The clanking of the bottles stopped. Before he could say anything else, the elevator door slid open. The person with the glass bottles walked into the elevator wordlessly, holding the door open for Roderich to join him with his foot. 

“Thanks,” he said softly, stepping into the elevator. He glanced at the row of buttons, saw his floor already lit up, and leaned back, allowing some of the weight of the bags to lie on the arm rails. 

“You’re welcome…” the man said. His voice was soft and somewhat accented.

Roderich’s heart flipped. He knew that voice. Only, it didn’t make sense for that voice to be here of all places. It couldn’t be him. That was impossible. Roderich snapped his head to look at the man with him. His heart stopped. Oh, but it was him. 

Gilbert Beilschmidt, in the flesh, staring at him like he was a ghost.

“Oh!” Roderich couldn’t help the blinding grin that cracked his face. “Hello, Gilbert.”

Gilbert swallowed heavily. What the fuck was happening? Why was Roderich here? Why did he have groceries in his arms? Why was he looking at him like this was the best possible thing to happen to him? Had he followed him, hoping to get lucky? How long had he been following him? His heart hammered in his ears, fear overriding any interest he once had in Roderich. 

“Why are you here?” The words tumbled from Gilbert’s mouth before he could think about it. 

“I live here…” Roderich said slowly, glancing back to the groceries perched on the railing. “Is it not obvious enough? Not everyone can get into the garage, you know.”

Gilbert could have sworn the floor fell out from beneath him. Roderich lived here? He prayed to any god listening that he lived as far away from him as possible. Gilbert readjusted the crate of beer, the clanking of glasses breaking the awkward silence that had settled between them. 

Roderich sighed, his gaze trailing over the sharp edges of Gilbert’s profile. His silvery hair glistened under the fluorescent light, reflecting into something of a halo above him. He wished he could run his hands through his hair again. Roderich wished Gilbert would look at him again, but Gilbert seemed intent on ignoring him. Roderich swallowed his disappointment, trying to come up with any reason Gilbert had been in an ongoing mood that wasn’t him. Perhaps something was wrong with his brothers, or perhaps he missed Toronto more than he thought he would. He wasn’t ready to admit he’d read too much into their one-night stand. His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts.

Roderich dug his phone from his pocket, trying to keep his groceries from toppling to the ground. The screen lit up with a text from his brother; a second followed almost as quickly. 

Otto🏎️: haven’t heard from you in a while…just checking in

Otto🏎️: need to know if you’re coming…mom and dad busy and anna will be with natalia #boystrip

He smiled and was about to swipe up to reply when Gilbert seemed to notice his attention shift. 

“Hey!” Gilbert turned to look at him with mild shock. “The hell are you doing?”

“I’m answering a text from my brother,” Roderich said somewhat sharply. “Not everything is about you.” 

Gilbert opened and closed his mouth dumbly. Had he really thought Roderich would take a photo of him here? People in Toronto certainly would have. That’s what fans of any person did when they saw them. They needed the proof, and in their minds that was enough. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Roderich muttered, his face buried in his phone as he typed quickly. 

I’m okay…Strong maybe on #boystrip. I need to clear it with work tomorrow.

Otto🏎️: no pressure, but id love to see you there :)

Roderich smiled and pocketed his phone just as the elevator doors slid open. 

Gilbert was down the hall like a bat out of hell. He needed to get as far away from Roderich as possible. He couldn’t let him figure out which unit he lived in. He listened for the following of footsteps or the rustling of bags, but heard nothing over the clanking of beer bottles and his own beating heart. Gilbert slowed, praying he was in the clear. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure, and his heart stopped. 

Roderich was silently following him, grocery bags in hand. 

Roderich had to pause every so often to readjust the bags in his arms, taking those moments to admire the soft jiggle of Gilbert’s round ass in front of him. He mourned the moment he would have to go to his apartment and stop staring at one of the most handsome men he’d ever seen. Roderich was so absorbed in the view, he hardly noticed Gilbert stopping in the middle of the hall. 

“Why are you following me?” Gilbert’s voice was ice cold. 

“We’ve been over this, Gilbert. I live here. Surely you haven’t been concussed so much your memory fails you.” If he had, Gilbert would have forgotten whatever grudge he’d been holding against him.

“Sure. You live over here. Just like you organise Diamond Records for free.”

Roderich couldn’t help but laugh. Gilbert remembered the stupid line he used when they first met at his work. It seemed almost surreal. His heart raced giddily, and he felt as though he were floating.

“Wanna play a game?” Roderich rocked on the balls of his feet. Gilbert had to fight the smile trying to cut across his face at the sight. Roderich’s inability to hide his emotions was almost cute. “Two truths and a lie. If you guess the lie, I’ll show you where my apartment is. If you don’t, you walk away not knowing.”

“If I play, will you stop following me?”

“Näturlich…” Roderich’s smile was dangerously sharp. “You’ll be following me.”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, silently begging Roderich to get on with it. 

“Okay…” Roderich tapped his foot as he thought. “My brother is a race car driver…I organise the stock at Diamond Records for free…and I am allergic to shellfish.”

“You’re unbelievable.” 

“Well? Welche ist es?”

Listening to Roderich tease him in German made him feel weak in the knees. “I would hope Diamond pays you, so…the second, I guess.” Roderich’s brother was a race car driver? What universe had he stumbled into?

“You are correct.” Roderich’s smile seemed to grow brighter. “Time for your prize.” 

Gilbert swallowed heavily, trying to ignore the way the innuendo made his cock throb. Roderich set off down the hall, letting Gilbert watch how his hips swayed as he walked. Part of Gilbert wanted to reach out and help Roderich carry his groceries, to reach out and touch him. But that was what Roderich wanted. If he was going to get the bunny to leave him alone, he couldn’t give him an inch. 

“Well, are you coming or not?”

Gilbert followed, trying not to let the increasingly familiar door decorations unsettle him more than he already was. The closer to his own apartment they walked, the harder his heart pounded. Why was Roderich taking him here? He was supposed to be showing him where he lived, not making a guess at where Gilbert lived. He was about to open his mouth and say something when Roderich stopped at the door right next to his. 

Roderich was his pianist neighbour. 

“This is me…” Roderich set his groceries on the ground to fiddle with his key in the lock. “Now you know where to find me.” 

“You’re my neighbour?” Gilbert whispered dumbly. 

“Oh?” Roderich paled slightly. The lock clicked open. “Well…I’m sorry if I keep you up…you can tell me to shut up whenever.”

Roderich pushed the door open and kicked the bags through the threshold, tearing their already weak bottoms. The two stared at each other, both trying and failing to hide their blush. 

“Well, Gilbert,” Roderich all but melted when he caught his eye. “Welcome to the neighbourhood. If you need anything, just knock…or text me. You have my number.”

Roderich didn’t leave Gilbert time to answer, letting the door fall shut so he could go scream into a pillow and then call Arthur. 

Gilbert stared blankly at the spot that once had been Roderich’s. He didn’t have his number. Roderich left that night without a trace. He wanted to knock and demand why he was lying about giving him his number, but remembered he had left Raivis alone in his apartment for far too long.

He opened his door with a sigh, the beer bottles clanking in his arms. 

“Sorry, I got held up,” Gilbert said sheepishly. 

Raivis nodded and turned back to his phone, muttering a soft goodbye. 

“I have your TV all set up,” Raivis said easily. “It wasn’t hard.”

Gilbert could feel the tension melting from his shoulders. Here, he was safe. “Thanks, buddy.”

“I got a quad box set up until the game starts. You’ve gotta have the biggest TV I’ve ever seen! Easily the biggest on the team.”

“That’s not all I got, that's the biggest on the team.”

Raivis laughed, throwing a bottle cap his way. “You’re an idiot. Come on.” 

Gilbert flopped down on the couch and forced himself to focus on the game and not the man on the other side of the wall.