𝑯𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑶𝑾 𝑩𝑶𝑫𝑰𝑬𝑺.

𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔶𝔟𝔬𝔡𝔶 𝔩𝔢𝔣𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔫?

[hcllowbodies]

#𝑯𝑪𝑳𝑳𝑶𝑾𝑩𝑶𝑫𝑰𝑬𝑺 – a private, single muse blog for 𝑵𝑶𝑨𝑯 𝑽𝑨𝑵𝑬𝑲. a study in trauma, maladaptive coping, and A B A N D O N M E N T. tormented by BAMBI. she/they. est. examining bloody knuckles, the edge of greatness, and it's relationship to complete collapse, and isolation in the face of resentment. inspired by hockey, hardcore music, and the fine line between love and disappointment. usfw and triggering topics will be present, and largely untagged. i play favorites, i write with my friends first, my brain is rotting out of my skull.

main blog. pinterest.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ bonded through blood and RESENTMENT to @77343 ✧₊⁺⋆☾⋆.˚₊✩

[hcllowbodies]

"beautiful, huh ??" a grin, "crazy how this is the first time i'm hearin' that." he's just fucking around, because he really does love to mess around with rory, it's so fun. and rory's always been so open and willing and fun. he starts rattling off his practical skills, and noah scoffs. "so city slicker skills." he grins, "shit that couldn't save you in a zombie apocalypse. not that practical if you ask me." a beat, "but don't worry ro, i'll save your ass. i can shoot a gun and build a fire and all that practical survival shit." he doesn't really talk about indiana much, but he's starting to hand over these pieces of his past, of the things he learned to survive. hanging around with jocks who shot cans in the woods, building fires in the cold, cold winter so he could stay outside longer, just so he didn't have to be in that house dreading the opening of the door. rory admitted he'd miss noah, and something pulls at his chest. noah laughs before he should – he shouldn't have said the thing that popped in his head next. "i don't eat chips." as soon as it's out, he regrets it. but he clenches his teeth, and pretends it's not a weird reaction. "so you can keep 'em. like a prop for your one tiktok." his smile tilts wide again. starke county propaganda like it's a love language. his cheeks run hot. "yeah – i guess somethin' like that."

[skippingframes]

“oh, now we're doin' this?” rory laughed, immediately pointing at him. “you know damn well my puck handlin' is beautiful. don't start revisin' history because you got cocky for twenty minutes.” he shook his head, grinning so hard it hurt. “and excuse me, city slicker skills are incredibly valuable. when the zombies show up, who's gonna know which convenience store still has power? me. who's gonna know three different guys with suspiciously useful connections? also me.” the survivalist stuff pulled another laugh out of him, but there was something warmer underneath it too. rory found himself picturing it despite himself — noah in the woods, building fires, and learning how to take care of himself long before he should've had to. it sat strangely in his chest. because the funny thing was, whenever noah talked about those skills, he always framed them like jokes, little rural quirks, but rory could see the edges of something harder underneath. all the things he'd learned because he needed them. all the ways he'd figured out how to endure. and somehow he was still here, still laughing, still bumping shoulders with rory like this. “and for the record, if there's a zombie apocalypse, i'm absolutely stickin' with you. not because you're capable, though. because you're easier to outrun than the zombies if it comes down to it.” he barely got the joke out before he was laughing again. then came the chips thing. small. casual. except it wasn't, not really. rory caught the way noah's expression shifted, how the words seemed to come out before he'd meant them to. he didn't push. didn't ask. just filed it away with all the other little things he noticed. the stuff noah never said directly. “alright, then i'll bring you whatever weird jersey bagel contraband they let me smuggle into prison,” he amended easily. “see? adaptable.” his grin softened at the edges when he looked over at him, catching the heat in his cheeks. “yeah,” he said, quieter for a second. “somethin' like that.” then, because he couldn't leave it there for too long, he nudged him again. “god, listen to us. one more hour and you're gonna have me defendin' starke county on the internet.”

[hcllowbodies]

noah can't help the bright light in his eyes when rory says oh, now we're doing this. the laughter with rory has always come often. it's nice to be able to shut off his brain, to let himself feel like someone who can have easy things without breaking them. it doesn't happen often, but he tries. he tries really fucking hard. "okay so the first like – two weeks – you'll be useful. got it." noah doesn't actually think he'd make it much longer than that in some kind of apocolyptic situation, but for different reasons. he wouldn't survive past running out of his meds. noah frames the skills he has for survival as rural little quirks, because he doesn't know how to separate them from a life of running through the woods and through corn fields, of hiding from homes where he got hurt. where people did things to him that they never should have. "i don't think you could outrun me, beaumont." he laughs, grin still bright. and like, sure. noah knows rory's fast. but noah doesn't talk about how much time he spends on the fucking treadmill, running until it feels like he can lose the thing that's chasing him. "you underestimate the power of my adrenaline." and the power of his insanity. rory doesn’t really miss a beat when noah says he doesn’t eat chips, but noah’s not dumb enough to think he got away with it. shit. shit. shit. shit. rory pivots to bagels, and calls himself adaptable. and even if noah would rather do pretty much anything than eat a bagel these days, he knows he can’t say something fucking dumb like that when he just harped on about how good jersey bagels are. “it better be from sam’s in west caldwell or bagels plus in belleville.” he grins, “an’ i want a taylor ham egg an’ cheese. salt pepper ketchup. this is some last meal shit.” not that he would eat any of that anymore, but still. it’s fun to say, and doesn’t having an opinion sort of throw rory off the scent? he blushes again when rory nudges him. he’s so fucked. he loves rory so much. “nah, don’t do that. the corn farmers will think you’re virtue signaling, and you’ll lose the chicago good will.” a laugh, “starke county’s a lost cause but it’s my lost cause.”

[skippingframes]

CLOSED for @hcllowbodies

rory stood behind noah in the bedroom of his apartment, the city lights filtering through the half-drawn curtains and casting long shadows across the polished hardwood floor.

his hands rested firmly on noah’s hips, fingers digging into the warm skin as he guided his boyfriend closer to the tall mirror mounted on the closet door. rory’s gaze locked onto their reflection, studying how noah’s shoulders tensed and his eyes darted away from his own image. the hockey player’s chest pressed against noah’s back, the heat of their bodies mingling as rory’s breath ghosted over noah’s ear. he could feel the slight tremble running through noah’s frame, how his boyfriend tried to shrink inward even as rory held him in place, refusing to let him escape the sight of himself. every scar on noah’s skin told a story of brutal games and hard falls on the ice, and rory wanted to trace each one with his mouth until noah stopped seeing them as flaws.

“i want you to watch,” he murmured, his voice low and steady while he lined up and pushed forward, sinking into noah in one delicious thrust. he held noah steady as the smaller man gasped, refusing to let him look away from the mirror. every inch disappeared inside him, and rory’s hands slid up to noah’s chest, thumbs brushing over his stomach as he started to move. the mirror captured it all — the flex of rory’s thighs, how his cock stretched noah open, the flush spreading across his lover’s skin. rory’s hips rolled in a slow, controlled rhythm at first, giving noah time to adjust while he kept his boyfriend’s gaze pinned to the reflection. the wet sound of their bodies joining filled the quiet space between them, and rory’s grip tightened just enough to remind noah that he wasn’t going anywhere.

rory’s mind raced with the need to make noah see himself the way he did. he knew the doubts that lived in noah’s head, the way his boyfriend picked apart every scar from the ice and every perceived flaw in his build. rory wanted to fuck those thoughts right out of him, to replace them with the truth that noah was beautiful like this — sweaty, panting, taking every inch of him while his own erection bobbed untouched between his legs. each thrust became a silent affirmation, rory’s hips snapping forward as he watched noah’s expression shift from discomfort to reluctant arousal in the glass. he could see the conflict playing out across noah’s face, the way his jaw clenched and his eyes flickered with something close to shame before the pleasure started to win out. rory’s own chest tightened with the fierce protectiveness he always felt toward noah, the desire to shield him from the harsh self-criticism that never seemed to let up.

“keep your eyes on the mirror,” rory growled, one hand wrapping around noah’s jaw to tilt his head forward again when it tried to drop. he fucked into him harder, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the quiet room, his length driving deep and steady. rory’s thoughts stayed fixed on noah’s handsomeness, like the strong lines of his back, how perfect he felt around his length, and the raw power in his body that had carried him through countless games. he needed noah to feel it, see it, and stop hiding from the man staring back at him in the reflection. rory’s free hand slid down to noah’s hip again, fingers digging in as he pulled him back onto every thrust, forcing him to take it deeper while the mirror showed every detail of their joined bodies. the sight of noah’s length leaking steadily made rory’s own arousal spike, but more than anything he wanted noah to recognize how fucking perfect he looked right now, flushed and open and taking everything rory gave him.

[hcllowbodies]

the city lights smear behind the half drawn curtains, bright and bleeding together against the darkness of the chicago sky. warm light cuts soft planes across theme, drenching the room in flashes of gold light.

noah has always thought rory was beautiful. perfect. handsome. everything noah liked staring at. everything he wanted. he followed where rory led, until they were in front of the mirror mounted on the closet. noah looked away so fast it was practically a wince, shrinking on some combination of instinct and shame. he leans his head back against rory, arching like a bowstring, and focuses on him. on this. he won’t say it, but he knows exactly what he wants. he wants to get fucked until his head shuts down, until he can’t think anymore. can’t wreck himself anymore. but hey rory, could you fuck the sad out of me felt like too big of an ask.

rory’s grip stays firm, holding him in front of the mirror. finger pads dig into his hips, and there’s a very real part of noah that craves bruising. like maybe if rory holds onto him tight enough, if his hips are marred with marks in the shape of rory’s fingers, he won’t have to feel so fucking disgusting every time he looks. breath ghosts against the shell of his ear, and his whole body erupts in gooseflesh.

i want you to watch.

fuck.

noah doesn’t remember the last time he saw himself and didn’t freak out, at least a little. he never looks, he doesn’t like what he’ll see. but the fact that rory wants noah to watch him claim him, makes heat settle low in his stomach. maybe w few months ago, it would have been easier. he wouldn’t have immediately tensed up. but noah is struggling more, and he’s already clenching his jaw while looking in that mirror. he’s already shuddering at the thought. but then rory pushes in, controlled and slow all at once, perfect stretch. perfect everything. a soft gasp rips through noah, like the motion had pulled his breath straight from his throat. rory’s hips press into him, slow and controlled, like he’s giving noah a second for his head to stop spinning and catch up.

rory’s hand gripped tighter at his hips, he fucked into noah faster, and noah felt himself trying to fight through every thought in his head telling him to look away, telling him to cover his face just so he didn’t have to see it. his head dropped a fraction , lolling to the side against rory’s shoulder. then rory grabbed him by his jaw, and he fucking short circuited. blue eyes focus on the places where their bodies meet. rory’s hips pressed against his ass, rory’s fingers on the underside of his jaw, the hand gripping his hip as he pulled on noah to meet every thrust. a soft, wrecked little moan pulled out of him when rory growled in his ear.

“shit.” he murmurs, every motion of his hips pressing so deep that noah can’t even see straight anymore. he’s practically spinning out, practically short circuiting while rory holds him there. relentless in his desire to see it, to make noah believe it, but noah’s issues aren’t the kind of thing he thinks can be solved. the sound of their bodies, sweat slicked and so warm, meeting filled the room, punctuated by every soft noise noah let out. every moan, every gasp, everything he tried too hard to hold back, like his own enjoyment was something to be ashamed of.

his cock felt heavy between his legs, leaking and desperate but untouched. he didn’t even really know what to do. didn’t know where to look. all he knew was that rory was holding him here, and he was staring himself down, watching rory press love and desire into places noah didn’t think deserved any of it.

“fuck, ro.”

if desire is a vice, it keeps tightening around him.

[amilyy]

[swaddle]

do you ever just wanna go home and stay home

[skippingframes]

when noah admitted there'd be dramatic sighing if he couldn't go stand in the rain, rory couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. “knew it,” he said immediately, pointing at him as if he'd just won an argument. “that's exactly what an emotional support animal would say.” but there wasn't much bite behind it. just warmth. because noah's smile had gone soft again, and rory found himself caught on it for a second longer than he meant to be. it was strange how comfortable this had become. somewhere between late-night phone calls, post-game drinks, and all the little moments in between, noah had worked his way into the fabric of rory's life so completely that he couldn't really remember what things looked like before. he wasn't used to wanting more time with people. usually he needed space. usually he was the one looking for an exit. with noah, it was the opposite. every time they had to part ways, rory found himself wishing for another hour. the car pulled to a stop, and he followed noah out onto the sidewalk, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looked up at the building. his grin widened immediately at the mention of beer. “wow,” he said, feigning surprise. “beer and a couch? you're really rollin' out the red carpet tonight, vanek.” but he was already falling into step beside him toward the entrance. already following. already feeling that quiet little sense of relief settle into his chest now that they were leaving the rest of the world outside. “lead the way,” he added, bumping his shoulder lightly against noah's. “i've been promised bad movies, dramatic sighing, and rescue dog behavior. i expect you to deliver.” his smile softened around the edges as he glanced over at him. “wouldn't wanna be disappointed.” the truth was, he didn't think he ever could be. not where noah was concerned. he just wasn't quite brave enough to say that part out loud yet.

[hcllowbodies]

noah can't help the smile cracking across his face when rory says he KNEW that noah would sigh dramatically. he's kind of predictable, he supposes. he really doesn't know how this happened – how he became someone who rory could predict. but every conversation felt too short, every night together stretched perfect and too short all at once. there as something so perfect about the late nights and the days stretched on together under the sunshine. he knew what his life looked like before, he knew what it looked like around the edges, in the places that he hid from rory. the fear between his ribcage, the hunger that settled in his bones. but rory kept showing up, kept asking to stay, kept wanting to keep him. that was different from anything noah ever really knew. all of his experience pointed towards leaving him behind. he didn't know what to do with someone wanting to stick around. but he shoved his hands in his pockets, and reached for his keys all the same. "totally, beaumont." a beat, "you're gettin' the mvp treatment, or whatever. shoe in for the all star game, as evidenced by the couch and the beer." he laughs, and then shakes his head again. they reached the door, and noah unlocks it, leaning towards rory. "have i ever not delivered ??" he asks, eyebrow raising. he doesn't really buy in to his own smugness, but he's laughing all the same. and then the door's open, and suddenly they're outside of public view. so maybe noah's a little impatient, since as soon as the door to the back stairwell closes, he's grabbing rory by the hips and pulling him into a kiss, back pressed against the sheetrock. when he pulls back, he's grinning wide. "thinkin' you're really gettin' the vip treatment these days."

[skippingframes]

rory heard the tight little “sure” and hated himself for causing it, even if noah was doing that thing where he tried to tuck the hurt away before anyone could prove it existed. it was ridiculous, really, how rory could miss a clean exit out of the zone under pressure and still clock the exact second noah vanek started getting mean to himself in his own head. “don’t do that,” he murmured, squinting behind the sunglasses like that would make his brain stop trying to leak out of his skull. “the thing where you decide i said the worst possible version of what i said.” he shifted the cold pack against his temple, jaw ticking when the movement pulled through his ribs. “i’m not mad you’re helping. i’m not mad you’re here. i’m just…” a breath left him, thin and annoyed, mostly at himself. “i feel like shit, and i’m being a dick about it because apparently that’s my god-given playoff talent.” then noah said it was kind of nice, that he liked helping, and rory’s face did this awful thing where it almost went tender before he could get it under control. “yeah, i know you do,” he said, trying to make it sound casual and landing somewhere much rougher. “you’re annoyingly good at it.” the water question gave him an excuse to look away, which was useful, because he didn’t have the energy to be looked at through all of this. he lifted the bottle, gave it a suspicious little shake, then took a sip like he was doing noah a personal favor. “not cold. tragic, honestly. team’s falling apart. franchise is doomed.” his mouth twitched, and for half a second, the smugness almost looked real. “you gonna save my life with hotel ice too, doc? because i should warn you, if you keep being useful, i’m gonna start thinking you like me or whatever.”

[hcllowbodies]

noah isn't interested in things like being talked out of his spirals. he's fine. he's not going to crack. and noah's used to his internal narrative feeling sharp, he's used to it tearing him apart. so he's trying not to freak the fuck out, and he's doing better with it than he expects. he's sure of it. up until he's back in the room, and rory's calling him on it. his jaw flexes again. "i'm not doing anything." he replies, but his chest aches all the same. "i know you feel like shit." he doesn't have any questions about it, but he can hear just how fucking annoyed rory sounds. great. awesome. you're so good at this, vanek. noah is looking away when rory says that he knows noah likes to help. he's focused on the fridge, on the door, trying to remember if he had put water in the fridge. which he had. of course he had. he's always been prepared for this kind of thing, he's got a million little routines that he uses to keep himself together when nothing else feels that way. he turns back towards the bed when rory mentions the water isn't cold, and for a second he believes that smugness settled on rory's face. "i think –" a beat, and then he walks over towards the fridge and pops it open. four water bottles. always four water bottles. he puts another one in the fridge, and walks over to rory with the new bottle. "here. 's cold." a soft smile tugs at his lips, despite the chaos in his own head. "i'm countin' on it, ro."

[skippingframes]

“first of all, my puck handlin’ is beautiful, so jot that down,” rory said immediately, pointing at him like noah had personally wounded him. “second of all, i got plenty of practical skills. i can parallel park under pressure, i know which gas stations won’t ruin your whole night, and i can tell when you’re about to be annoying before you even open your mouth.” he was grinning, but there was something quieter sitting underneath it, too, because he could feel what noah was really handing him in all these jokes: little pieces of where he came from, what hurt, and the person he’d had to become just to survive it. rory didn’t know if noah realized how carefully he held all of that, how much it meant to be trusted with even the dumb stuff — corn sweat, bagels, backroads, and fake cowboy hobbies — because none of it felt dumb when it came from him. it felt like noah building a path toward him one ridiculous rural fact at a time. “and yeah, fine, maybe i’d miss you irritating me,” he admitted, rolling his eyes hard enough to make sure it didn’t look too sincere. “but don’t get cocky. i’d visit you in jail twice, complain the whole time, bring you bad vending machine chips, and then make a tiktok outside like, ‘free my mans, he only committed one felony’.” a beat, his shoulder knocking into noah’s again as his smile tilted warmer. “and for the record, yeah. you must be pretty special, because i’m out here listening to starke county propaganda like it’s a love language.”

[hcllowbodies]

"beautiful, huh ??" a grin, "crazy how this is the first time i'm hearin' that." he's just fucking around, because he really does love to mess around with rory, it's so fun. and rory's always been so open and willing and fun. he starts rattling off his practical skills, and noah scoffs. "so city slicker skills." he grins, "shit that couldn't save you in a zombie apocalypse. not that practical if you ask me." a beat, "but don't worry ro, i'll save your ass. i can shoot a gun and build a fire and all that practical survival shit." he doesn't really talk about indiana much, but he's starting to hand over these pieces of his past, of the things he learned to survive. hanging around with jocks who shot cans in the woods, building fires in the cold, cold winter so he could stay outside longer, just so he didn't have to be in that house dreading the opening of the door. rory admitted he'd miss noah, and something pulls at his chest. noah laughs before he should – he shouldn't have said the thing that popped in his head next. "i don't eat chips." as soon as it's out, he regrets it. but he clenches his teeth, and pretends it's not a weird reaction. "so you can keep 'em. like a prop for your one tiktok." his smile tilts wide again. starke county propaganda like it's a love language. his cheeks run hot. "yeah – i guess somethin' like that."

[enyafans4communism]

fuck, marry, kill: the wound that won’t heal, the past you can’t undo, the ghost that keeps returning

[skippingframes]

romy snorted before he could help it, because yeah, that sounded like rory, all sharp edges and deflection dressed up like a medical diagnosis, but the laugh didn’t fully land where it was supposed to. he’d heard noah’s name before — in passing, gaps between travel days and rory pretending he didn’t miss anybody, and little offhand comments that never came with enough context for romy to pin down what noah actually was to him. friend felt too small, but boyfriend felt like a word rory would rather eat glass than say out loud unless somebody made him. “yeah, well, my brother also thinks ‘i’m fine’ is a full emotional assessment, so maybe don’t take his psychological expertise too seriously,” romy said, tipping the bottle toward him like that counted as wisdom. he looked at noah for a second longer than he meant to, brow furrowing, because he wasn’t good at this part — the delicate part, the part where you didn’t bulldoze through someone’s privacy with cleats on — but he had enough beaumont in him to care badly and communicate it worse. “i’m just saying, he talks about you different. not, like, with his face, because god forbid, but he does. and i don’t know if that means you’re his best friend or his… y’know.” romy waved a hand, grimaced at himself, then pushed through. “whatever. i’m not asking you to make a statement for the press. i just mean if he’s being a dumbass, you can tell me. i’ve got twenty-three years of experience with that guy being emotionally constipated and acting like it’s a competitive sport.”

[hcllowbodies]

romy snorted, and noah recognized rory in it. they laughed similarly. he wonders, sometimes, if people see devon in him. if rory sees noah in devon. but he never asks, it's all kind of too much. but he recognizes rory in his brother, and a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth regardless. he's heard about romy in passing, in short stories and light laughter. but he doesn't know much more than that. he doesn't know how to describe who he is to rory. well, that's not entirely true. he knows. he knows that he's rory's boyfriend. but he doesn't know how to describe it to romy. because it's rory's call on how he wants to describe any of this. noah takes another sip of his drink, and raises his eyebrows. "y'know is a really interesting way t' describe me." he laughs, but his teeth clench all the same. if he's bein' a dumbass, you can tell me. "eh, he's a little past his most recent dumbass behavior." a shake of his head, "fuckin' refused to stay home when he had broken ribs an' a concussion." a shake of his head, "but he's a little better now. less stupid. mostly because i'm like a dog with a bone, i won't let it go." his head tilts, and he huffs out another laugh. "but yeah, i guess he does tend to treat ignoring his feelings," he's careful not to say that rory is emotionally constipated, because he doesn't think that's true, "like a competitive sport."

[skippingframes]

CLOSED for @hcllowbodies

okay, so, romy wasn’t exactly known for reading a room. that’s mostly likely why it took him three separate glances between rory disappearing out the door to get food and noah standing there looking like somebody had handed him a bomb and called it a birthday present before romy finally put two and two together and got, like, six and a half. “so,” he started, leaning against the counter with a bottle of water in one hand and the kind of concerned squint that made him look like he was trying to solve a math problem without numbers, “i’m not trying to get in your business, because rory says i do that and apparently it’s ‘a pattern,’ but you two are doing that weird thing where he leaves the room and you look like you’re about to explode.” he paused, realized that sounded insane, then kept going anyway because stopping had never once helped him. “i mean, i love my brother, but he’s emotionally built like a penalty box, and i know i’m just the baseball idiot who thinks a home run is a personality trait, but… you okay?”

[hcllowbodies]

noah isn't really great with family. he DOESN'T have one of his own. not really. he has devon, but that shit is way too complicated. aside from that, he doesn't really have anything at all. what noah HAS is a weird relationship to cornfields in a rural county in indiana. he kind of doesn't know what to do with the fact that rory has left him here with his younger brother. noah is used to being the younger brother. he's used to being the shithead who gets involved where he shouldn't, but there's always been a part of that behavior that feels too tight. their history is complicated. and noah doesn't really know much about rory. he knows about hardcore shows in vfw halls, and he knows about rory's mom yelling as a love language, and he knows about them growing up on the south side with divorced parents, but rory doesn't talk much about it. not that noah's judging. noah probably wouldn't say anything at all if his mind didn't saw itself in half. "uh –" an awkward laugh, just a little to tight. it turns more genuine, less awkward, when romy says rory is emotionally built like a penalty box. but he's still not going to answer that question honestly. "oh, you haven't heard ?? according to your brother, hockey players are emotionally constipated."

[skippingframes]

rory smiled to himself as they slid into the backseat, his shoulder brushing noah's for a second before he settled in. the city lights smeared across the windows as the car pulled away from the curb, familiar enough that he barely registered them anymore. what he did register was noah beside him, loose and laughing and letting himself exist without constantly looking for the nearest exit. it still felt like a gift every time. one rory wasn't sure noah realized he was giving. “oh, it's definitely the staring,” he said immediately, turning toward him with a grin. “not even close.” he pointed at him. “following somebody home on foot could be explained away. maybe you're committed. maybe you've got a fitness goal. maybe you're insane.” a beat. “staring out the window like you're in the final scene of an indie movie? that's pure rescue dog behavior.” the laugh that followed came easy. god, he was having a good time. more than a good time, honestly. nights with noah always seemed to stretch and blur in a way he never wanted to end. somewhere along the way he'd stopped counting the hours and started counting the conversations instead. the things noah told him. the things he remembered. the moments where he looked over and found noah already smiling. “actually, hold on,” he continued, settling deeper into the seat. “do you sigh dramatically while it's rainin', too? because if the answer's yes, we're movin' into emotional support animal territory.” his eyes trailed over noah's face, catching the warmth still lingering there. “not that there's anything wrong with that.” softer, this time. “kinda like that version of you too.” the words slipped out before he could stop them, and for once he didn't rush to cover them with a joke. he just smiled and looked back out at the lights for a second, feeling strangely content with the quiet that settled between them.

[hcllowbodies]

noah can't help the way that he smiles to himself when their shoulders brush. rory is so fucking sweet, and so fucking kind, and noah doesn't always know what to do with it. but the city lights blur into warmth streaked across the windows like they were living in some beautiful, small little universe together. rory agrees that the staring is the thing that's more rescue dog, and noah nods. "that's what i'm thinkin.'" he agrees, voice soft. nights with rory seemed to stretch on, comfortable and sweet, perfect in a million ways he had no way of explaining. he stopped waiting for exits and he started looking for ins, which was so incredibly foreign to noah that he had no way to explain it. the laughter rings bright in his ears. "nah, i like the rain." he glances away from the window, over at rory for a moment. "well– actually – if i can't go outside in the rain, there's probably some dramatic sighing." rory says there's nothing wrong with that, and his lips curve into a smile. gentle and warm and so much more open than he ever has been. kinda like this version of you. oh, his chest aches. he feels so content with rory so fucking often, he almost doesn't know what to do. the uber pulls up in front of his building, and noah's pretty quick to step out of the car. he tries, but he really wants to get behind the closed door of his apartment. he doesn't want to be in front of anyone. he just wants to BE ALONE TOGETHER. "c'mon, i've got beer in the fridge."

[skippingframes]

rory caught the tiny shift in noah’s face when the joke landed wrong, and even through the throb behind his eyes, guilt crawled under his skin. great. fantastic. injured and an asshole. “hey,” he said, quieter this time, though he tried to keep the edge of humor in it because sincerity felt too big for how badly his head hurt. “i like your miserable little recovery rituals. obviously. i’m dating you, aren’t i?” his mouth curved, faint and strained, the sunglasses hiding most of the wince when he moved wrong against the pillows. “and for the record, i like you playing nurse when there’s less… head trauma involved. different outfit, ideally.” he looked toward the earplugs on the nightstand, then back to noah, pretending the carefulness didn’t make his throat feel tight. noah had closed the bathroom door before cracking the cold pack. rory knew why. of course he knew why. and god, he hated being known that well almost as much as he needed it. when noah came back, rory reached for the cold pack with the world’s most unimpressed expression, like accepting help was a personal attack. “you’re very bossy for a guy who claims he’s not obsessive,” he muttered, but he pressed it to his temple anyway and exhaled through his nose when the cold hit. it helped. a lot. he wasn’t going to say that. “i’m not bullshitting you,” he lied immediately, because apparently brain damage did not make him less committed to being a problem. then his eyes shifted behind the lenses, toward noah’s face, and the act cracked just enough for the truth to show through. “i just don’t want you wasting all your energy worrying about me when you’ve got the final tomorrow.” his fingers curled around the cold pack, jaw tight. “you should be thinking about the game. not whether i’m gonna puke if the hallway lights flicker.”

[hcllowbodies]

i like your miserable little recovery rituals. he’s trying so hard not to fucking overthink that. something slides under his skin, sharp and uncomfortable all at once. but noah doesn’t say anything about it. rory’s just joking— he’s hurt and he’s tired— noah doesn’t need him worrying or apologizing on top of it. his jaw flexes, and he nods. “sure.” it sounds far too tight, it’s not even really an answer to what rory just said. it’s fine, he’s totally fine. NOTHING TO SEE HERE! he notices the way rory winces when he shifts on the pillows. great. in pain and being forced to deal with noah’s bullshit. get it together, vanek. if noah could shut off his head, stop overthinking, he’d do it. but since he can’t, he’s thankful for the reprieve of the bathroom when it comes. he notices the tension easing between rory’s shoulders as soon as the cold pack presses to his temple. good. something noah’s good for. he looks over the defenseman again, trying to decide what to do next. how many more moves does he have? how much has he prepared for? then rory starts talking again, and something in noah’s chest aches. wasting all your energy worrying about me. like anything noah’s done since this injury has felt like a waste. “it’s not a waste of energy.” it comes out smaller than he anticipated, like something vulnerable but no less certain. “kinda nice, actually.” he shrugs, “i like helping, y’know?” he doesn’t say the thing he’s thinking, that presses on the back of his teeth. this is the only way i know how to be valuable. that’s not rory’s business or ANYONE else’s. the only person who knows is devon, and he’s pretty sure devs not talking. “oh, i’m not thinking about that.” a laugh pulls through him. soft, gentle. “i already know the answer.” his fingers twitch at his sides, he’s trying to remember if there’s anything else he needs to do. the sitting through it, waiting for thongs to improve part has never been his favorite. he likes action. “your water.” a beat, “‘s it cold?”

[skippingframes]

rory’s mouth twitched like he wanted to smile, but the attempt pulled at the glued cut near his brow and made pain flicker sharp across his face before he could shove it back down. “yeah, well, your teeth are clenched now,” he pointed out, voice rough with exhaustion and stubbornness. “so either you’re thinking i’m stupid, or you’re thinking about that guy you tried to rearrange with your fists.” he took the sunglasses from noah, though, because he wasn’t that committed to the bit. the second they were on, the room dulled enough that his shoulders dropped a fraction, and he hated that noah would notice. noah noticed everything. that was inconvenient on a good day and lethal on a day where rory’s whole body felt like it had been dropped down several flights of stairs. “don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, tipping his head back against the pillows. “i’m alive. i’m in one piece. mostly. playoff hockey, baby.” the joke landed weak even to him, but he kept his expression arranged into the closest thing to smug he could manage. “and don’t fuss over me so much,” rory added, glancing toward him from behind the dark lenses. “we’ve got the final game tomorrow. you’ve got drills, tape, and whatever miserable little recovery rituals you pretend aren’t obsessive.” his fingers tightened around the water bottle, then loosened again when his ribs complained at the movement. god, he wanted the icepack. he wanted a dark room, no noise, no questions, and noah’s hand staying exactly where it was close enough to reach if rory stopped being prideful for five seconds. instead, he swallowed hard and gave noah a look. “cold towel’s fine. not because i need it. because you’re clearly dying to do doctor shit, and i’m a generous boyfriend.”

[hcllowbodies]

he notices the flicker of pain across rory’s face, present and then forced back into hiding. there’s a roughness to rory’s voice, like car tires over gravel roads, stubborn and shifting all at once. “i said clenched more.” he responds easily, like it makes a difference. if he were being honest about his thoughts, the only thing running through his head is his own fear. he’s worried. he cares. he wants to help. noah notices immediately the way tension pulls from tory’s shoulders as soon as the room is dulled behind dark polarized lenses. “‘m not looking at you like anything.” he reaches in his bag again, and sets down a little case of earplugs next to rory on the night stand. “i’m not lookin’ at you like anything, baby.” alive. in one piece. thank god for that. miserable little recovery rituals. obsessive. it stings a little when rory says it, even though noah knows it shouldn’t. rory’s just joking, right? he shoves the thought down, he doesn’t have the time to be upset about anything. he can bat it back, right? “i’m not obsessive, i’m thorough.” he looks rory over again, thinking about what else he thinks could help. “and i thought you liked me playin’ nurse.” he nods when rory says cold towel, but it sounds too tight and too desperate. the words and the tone don’t match up. better safe than sorry. he walks over towards the bathroom of the hotel, and pulls an instant cold pack from the kit of supplies he brings everywhere he goes. noah is prepared for everything, he’s always had to be. he closes the door to the bathroom, so rory doesn’t have to hear the sounds of shaking the ice pack until it freezes. his head is already pounding enough, noah is sure of it. when it finally gets cold, he walks back over towards the bed. “here.” he holds it out like an offering, “don’t bullshit me next time. you don’t have to strong arm your way through it. it’s just us in here right now.”

[peachfvzz]

people have shown an uncomfortable amount of interest in her life from the moment she was born. she's used to it, but it doesn't mean she likes it. charlie's somewhat okay with people discussing her street style and vacation homes, but it's the hyper-focus on her love life that feels suffocating. "i mean, i know what." a beat. "but you have to admit that being in the closet when i've always lived in the mecca of nonchalance is ridiculous." like noah, charlie is smiling too. it's easy to have this type of conversations when you're not alone in your struggles. "your case is way different than mine."

[hcllowbodies]

noah is used to being reduced to statistics. the interest people have in his love life is a more recent development, born out of being a to draft pick and a powerhouse in the last five years. he doesn’t like anyone talking about his personal life, but especially not that part. “doesn’t your family own a football team?” his eyebrows raise, “pretty sure that puts you squarely in the pro-sports is a homophobic industry camp.” a easy laugh pulls through him, it’s nice to talk to someone who gets it. “welcome to my office, i’m the ceo of that camp.” he likes how easy it feels to have someone get him, to not have to hide. making friends hasn’t always been easy for him, but charlie tends to be easy to get along with. “plus, like, i’m pretty sure that it’s the mecca of nonchalance for normal people. i’m pretty new to this whole being rich thing, but doesn’t seem like the mecca of nonchalance amongst those people.”

[aperturcs]

dante dreamed of a life where he could see it. the games, the version of noah that existed outside of hotel rooms and the strange world they kept building for themselves in places that didn't belong to them. sometimes it felt more like a nightmare, hoping for something that he already knew and more importantly had accepted would never happen. he was lucky to have the parts of noah he did have. demanding more was greedy and dante had long since decided he didn't deserve it.

dante had seen clips, even if he made a point of not looking. it was almost impossible not to. noah existed everywhere. dante could see him in everything. in every city he went to, every forest they drove through, every airport he had a layover in. something reminded him of noah. he hears guys talk about noah and he doesn't know enough about hockey to put the pieces together just how much noah carries. and as much as he wants to see him play and understand whatever the hell is going on, dante doesn't know how to ask for that without asking for a place in noah's life.

he wasn't stupid enough to think those were the same thing, but they felt too close. watching noah play would mean seeing him outside of the world they had created, where everyone had an opinion on noah, where everyone was arguing and assuming and got to have an opinion about him. but dante wanted both versions of him. he wanted all of him. god, he was fucked.

another arc of noah's thumb and every profound thought dante has ever had abandons him completely. "fuck," he breathes, low and a little ruined, hating the way noah could so easily make heat crawl down his spine. "no? cause i'm pretty sure you can make anything bend to your will if you really want it." humor wrapping around every word. he shakes his head at the offer. no matter how desperate he felt, he wanted to be in a room alone with noah, noah half undressed in the backseat. his skin is buzzing with the anticipation of noah taking him apart piece by piece just to put him back together again. he spends a pathetic amount of time picturing noah on top of him, under him, touching him, kissing him. "no, i can wait." but he wasn't so sure his body was in agreement. he let out a shaky exhale and pressed the heel of his palm firmly against his cock through his pants, rubbing slow and desperate to ease any of the aching pressure that he could. "want you t'take your time."

[hcllowbodies]

noah loved to pretend that he could have something important. he loved to daydream about dante wearing his name on his back, dante wearing his jersey at shows, dante rooting for him. he wants it so badly he can practically taste it, and he's never tasted anything so sweet. he's never been good at any of this stuff. he's always falling too fast and too hard for people who don't give a shit about him. people who would walk out the door without so much as a backwards glance. dante is one of those too, as far as noah knows. he doesn't anticipate anyone staying anymore. he learned his fucking lesson. noah sometimes wonders if he should ask. if dante wants to know, if dante gives a shit. but he doesn't, because he's pretty sure that fucking noah vanek is the kind of thing that plenty of people want to brag about, and even if he trusts dante implicitly, he doesn't trust himself enough to not fuck this up so bad that dante's on tik tok telling some 10 part story about how he slept with someone in the nhl who was awful. it's easy for noah to spiral about a million things that could happen. the things he spirals about don't even have to be related for noah to connect them. he doesn't need them to be real, so long as they're real to him. dante sounds wrecked, and noah hasn't even done anything yet. his grip tightens, just a little, finger pads pushing against his jeans. he's thankful that dante sees him as a force, because for as much as noah wants to be one, he's not entirely sure he is one. heat might be climbing down dante's spine, but noah's a little focused on the road. he can practically hear it, but he can't look. until they're sitting at a red light, and noah's eyes catch dante palming himself through his jeans. "fuck, baby." his grin tips wide, and his voice is all faux sympathy. "someone's needy." his lower lip pulls between his teeth, thinking about it far too hard for someone who's trying to focus on the pavement in front of him. he spends way too often picturing dante on top of him, or below him, or begging for any touch noah will give him. want you t'take your time. oh, fuck, that does something to noah. pressure starts building, but he's so wrapped up in dante it basically doesn't matter. "i'll pull you apart."

[skippingframes]

CLOSED for @hcllowbodies

rory had lied through his teeth when the trainers asked him if the lights were bothering him. they were. everything was. the fluorescents in the hotel room had been turned off for hours, the curtains pulled tight against the afternoon glare, and still, his skull felt like it’d split down the middle and decided to keep going. the hit from the last playoff game kept replaying in flashes he didn’t ask for: the boards coming up too fast, the roar of the crowd cutting out for half a second, and the taste of blood after his mouthguard had shifted wrong. his shoulder was taped, his ribs were purple, and the cut near his brow had been glued shut with the kind of clinical neatness that made it look less ugly than it felt. he should’ve gone home. he knew that. noah definitely knew that. but the idea of letting the team keep going without him, of watching from chicago like he was already irrelevant, made his stomach twist worse than the nausea did. so he’d insisted on traveling, planted himself in the hotel room on a day off, and pretended that counted as compromise. “don’t start,” rory muttered, even though noah hadn’t said anything yet. he was sitting upright against the headboard, one hand pressed over his eyes, the other curled loose around a half-empty bottle of water he kept forgetting to drink from. his voice came out rougher than he wanted, and he hated that too — the evidence of it, the weakness, and how noah could hear what he was trying to hide before rory even knew he was hiding it. “i know that face. that’s your doctor face. your ‘rory beaumont is an idiot’ face.” he peeked at him through his fingers, trying for a smirk and landing closer to a grimace. still, there was a stupid kind of comfort in having noah there, in the fact that noah had shown up and stayed, even when rory was being difficult on purpose. “for the record, i’m not an idiot. i’m a deeply committed teammate with, like, questionable impulse control and an elite pain tolerance.” a beat passed. his gaze flickered toward the drawn curtains, then back to noah, smaller this time. “and maybe a concussion. but you didn’t hear that from me.”

[hcllowbodies]

noah fucking knew that rory was LYING. he saw it on his face. of course the lights bothered him. noah saw the hit. he saw the crunch of rory's body against the boards, the boo of the crowd, the screaming at the refs about how dirty it was. noah can practically see it behind his eyes, the way that the forward looked proud of himself, the way noah wiped that fucking look off his face. his fists collided with cheekbones so fast, not a single concern about any of it. what's a suspension to a guy who's secret boyfriend is barely surviving the walk to the tunnel. rory insisted on traveling, so noah tagged along. he's practicing anyways. running drills anyways. keeping on top of shit. because if they win this game tomorrow, he better be on top of shit. "i didn't say shit, ro." the curve of his lip pulls into a smile, despite himself. rory might look like shit, but he's still here. still trying to tease. still irritated that noah can predict him. "it's not my rory beaumont is an idiot face." a beat, "i clench my teeth more when i think you're being stupid." it's a stupid thing to say, but he's aiming for comfort, not chaos. blue eyes catch the half committed grimace, and then flick around the room. "elite pain tolerance, huh ??" noah's always been quiet. he is right now too. delicate in volume, in tone, in the way his hands move. he pulled hos sunglasses from where they sat in his overnight bag, he's been too brave about too many concussions in his own right. "here," he holds them out. "of course you have a fuckin' concussion. have you seen yourself ??" he shakes his head again, and then steps closer. calloused hands flex at his sides, before he's brave enough to reach out. gentle. delicate. his heart aches looking at him, but it's fine. he's being so normal about it !! "you want an icepack or a cold towel for your head ??"