Chapter Text
Will
Mack is practically vibrating on the front stoop of his kitschy a-frame rental when Will pulls up.
Mack’s always vibrating, is the thing, either with enthusiasm or rage or the need for Will’s hand on the back of his neck to calm him down.
And sometimes with hunger, but he’s so regimented he just ignores it until the food alarm goes off on his phone (Will silences it sometimes, just for the thrill of it, and because he’s afraid it might forever fuck up Mack’s ability to enjoy food).
So seeing him pacing isn’t a surprise, per se. But Will wonders what kind of mood to expect, especially considering it’s been weeks of not seeing each other, deprived of the crutch of casual touch.
Will needs it, needs to feel Mack’s tight hug or his heavy head resting lazily on Will’s lap during a movie so that Will can be assured they’re still good. That they’ll stay good, once the summer ends and they’re reunited again.
He needs his fucking friend.
If he’s honest, he needs a hell of a lot more than that. They went from bed sharing daily to FaceTimes that got cut short by the demands of World’s, to almost nothing because training had been keeping them both busy—especially Canadian-Wunderkind Mack who insists on logging extra hours beyond what’s reasonable.
And so Will has been keeping busy too, thank you very much. He’s not just gonna sit around and mope in his temporary room at Matty’s or childhood bedroom that still smells like Leno’s cologne, laundry detergent, and sexual repression all because Mack isn’t free to talk at night. That would be ridiculous.
No, he’s been doing The Fucking Most, actually. Eat, Pray, Charming his way up the Eastern Seaboard.
Why? Because Mack’s dad insisted they keep their distance so the relationship rumors could simmer.
Ease up, Rick had said when he sat the both of them down at end of last season the day before they left for Boston. Contract extensions are coming up, you’ve both got a big year ahead of you—an important one—and Mack, you could lose your shot at captaincy because of your blatant connection. People will complain about favoritism...”
Will had tuned out from there, feeling like a fist was closing around his heart. He never wanted to be the reason Mack lost something he cared about. He tucked the necklace he’d purchased to give to Mack in Boston in a hidden pocket in his suitcase and vowed to “ease up.”
Mack, well. He drank himself sick in Boston so who knows what he was thinking about the whole situation—certainly not Will, because they never got a moment alone to talk about it. Mack made sure of that. Then he was off to World’s and it all felt too loaded to broach.
The whole thing fucking sucks, if you ask Will. He’s tired of hiding how he feels. He’s tired of pretending he’s not in love with his best friend.
The longer he waits to tell Mack how he feels—to convince him they’ll get through any blow back together, so long as Mack feels the same—the higher the stakes seem to become. For example, Mack now has a World’s captaincy under his belt. He’s gotten yet another taste of his own potential. That’s heady shit.
Can Will really ask him to risk any dent to his reputation when he’s on a magical trajectory?
Now, while sitting in the driveway of the cabin Mack booked for them, is not time to internally debate this (yet again.)
Will almost forgets to put the car in park. Play it cool, idiot.
He steps out, sneakers touching gravel, feeling like an exposed nerve floating through the Vancouver summer air. It smells sweet and mountainy, like Mack after a shower.
He’s sort of regretting wearing Mack’s hoodie right about now.
Heart in his throat, Will marries the space between them until there’s only a foot left. “Hey, Mackers. Happy belated.”
Mack pulls him in—for only a one-armed hug. “Hey, Willy. You found the place.”
Will pretends his stomach doesn’t sink a little. This is how Mack hugs, like, Toff and Eky. It’s stiff and formal. “Yeah. It was a pretty drive.”
Mack slides his hands in the pockets of his charcoal grey athletic pants. “Do you wanna see the rest?”
He’d rather just talk or lay together, try to find their footing after weeks and weeks apart. But Mack seems eager enough to show off the AirBnb. “Yeah. Give me the tour.”
“Not bad, right?” Mack rounds on him, that approval-seeking look in his mossy green eyes. Will likes that look, feels important every time it makes an appearance.
Will steps closer and breathes in his familiar scent. The knowledge that this place has only one bedroom has lifted his spirits considerably. At least he’d get decent sleep tonight with Mack nearby. “It’s great.”
“So, um…” Mack looks up at the pitched ceiling. “What should we do?”
Will doesn’t think, just reaches forward and takes Mack’s chin between his fingers and forces him to meet his eye. “You’re nervous. That insults me.”
His hand lingers there too long, his thumb brushing Mack’s jaw, but he doesn’t care. This is how they are—the version of them he’d like to get back to as soon as possible, anyway.
Mack scoffs. “No I’m not. Why would I be nervous?”
“You hugged me like I was contagious.”
A muscle in his jaw jumps. “How should I hug you, Willy? The same way you were hanging on your boys the whole time we were in Boston?”
The jealousy radiates off Mack in waves.
Oh, so this is Boston bitterness.
That, Will could work with. “You finally want to talk about Boston?”
Mack pouts. “No…”
Will wasn’t going to bring up the mismatched shoes or the keg stand or any of the stuff he knows Mack spent weeks beating himself up over. The guy hates losing control. Loathes. Or rather: he hates, loathes, getting caught.
No, Will just wants to discuss Mack’s Houdini act in Boston, disappearing when he was supposed to be by Will’s side the whole trip. They had plans, damn it.
But if he doesn’t want to talk about it, Will can be patient. “Ok, bud. Then we won’t—”
“You should’ve warned me how they’d be.”
The whine in his voice makes Will unreasonably happy. The fog of the last few weeks begins to lift.
There he is. My guy.
“How were they?” Will tugs him over to the couch and they fall down together, two dense logs landing on dark green leather. “And also, who were they? I’m having trouble keeping up.”
As if on instinct, Mack rests his head on Will’s bulky thigh. “Don’t play dumb, Willy.”
Will wastes no time running his hands through Mack’s soft copper locks. A scary word whispers at the backdoor of his brain.
Home. He feels like home.
“My friends?” Will asks.
“Your ex-roster, you mean.”
Mack has always hated Gabe and Leno. Even though Mack pretends it’s about hockey, the truth he won’t acknowledge out loud is that he hates everyone Will has so much as touched. Thought about touching, even. That’s why Mack has no qualms with Voter, because that’s Will’s extremely platonic friend, plain and simple.
So anyway, Will’s friends were always going to be a hard sell. He knew that. It’s why he invited Mack to Boston, so he could try to bridge the gap in a city Mack loved, too. “I’m sorry. I thought if you guys all spent time together, you’d realize you all have more in common—”
“I have nothing in common with those tools,” he grumbles. “They were all over you the entire time. I was half afraid if I left the room, they’d fucking pounce on you.”
“They weren’t all over me.”
“Yes they were. I saw it all. Especially Perreault. You’re sure you two never…” Mack’s neck flushes pink after.
Will aches to kiss him there. He settles for smoothing his hair off his forehead. “You know the extent of what happened between me and Gabe.” Weird, drunken, outside-the-pants groping and not much else. “And it’s interesting that you had enough time to study them considering you disappeared several times during our scheduled plans.”
“Because my dad said we can’t be too in each other’s business! I had to get photographed in other places so he’d believe I took what he said seriously.”
The mention of Rick and his bossy advice lands like a lead weight.
It shouldn’t make Will so desperately sad, but it does. The necklace he bought burns bright in the back of his brain. If not for that stupid (probably correct) advice…
“Ah. Right,” Will manages. “Well, mission accomplished. As far as the internet is concerned, we aren’t friends anymore. Divorced, they’re saying.”
Mack’s eyes go cartoonishly soft. “Don’t say that, Willy.” Mack’s irritation explodes in a poof of sincerity. As usual, he defuses as fast as he detonates. “C’mon.”
Maybe Will is the one pouting this time. And maybe his voice shakes as he says, “That’s what you—your dad wanted. That’s what we all wanted, right? We’ll start next season co-workers and that’s that.”
Mack sits up and throws his arms around Will’s shoulders. It happens so fast an oof escapes Will’s lips.
And then, warmth. Weight. Orange peels and cedar wood. Mack lays his head on Will’s shoulder as he holds him close. He’s so dense, so strong.
“It’s not what I wanted,” Mack murmurs. “But I also don’t want the internet or the rumor mill or to rule my life. So not bringing attention to ourselves is the best way to make sure we can do whatever we want, yanno? To make sure we get to lead the team together.” He somehow pulls him even closer. “C’mon, Willy. You know I don’t want to do this with anyone but you.”
Will nods, embarrassingly choked up. He’s wanted this hug—this hug, not the half-assed thing he got on the stoop—for a brief eternity. “Same, bud.”
Mack doesn’t let go. Will’s breathing settles, but as warm skin nuzzles against Will’s neck, it quickens all over again.
This is…different.
Warmth floods his every vein. He’s terrified to move in case Mack realizes he’s doing it and stops.
“I have a surprise for you,” Mack says quietly, nearly pressing the words into his skin.
Whatever it is, Will knows he’s going to love it. But he quietly wishes this moment didn’t have to end.