Welcome to the 2026 Sidney Crosby/Nathan MacKinnon Prompt Exchange!
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Sign Ups Open: June 5th (TODAY!)
Sign Ups Close: June 28th
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Pinch Hit Window: July 5th-September 26th
Works Due: September 26th
Collection Goes Live: October 3rd
Author Reveals: October 10th
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I've signed up for this, which is why there's complete silence out here right now. I'm just busy writing for some prompts already. 🤭 It's so well organised so I encourage everyone who wants to to join!
Guys, I'm severely sleep-deprived but I needed to self-soothe and comfort after, you know, so... Have some Sid & Mack. (zero sexualisation happening here)
Warnings: panic attack description, overwhelmed baby, probably typos, mistakes, all of it because this happened in a frenzy and I need to sleep.
Enjoy!
It sucks.
His fingertips go white from the pressure as Mack digs them into the marble of the bathroom sink in his hotel room.
He doesn’t exactly remember how he got here.
He barely remembers the game.
Some missed shots, some missed passes, time running out, guys looking to him for the answer and him… not knowing what to do.
Double shifts.
As many shifts as his body and Coach would let him have.
He remembers the fire in Sid’s eyes. Logically, he knows that none of that anger was directed at him. Still, in here, by himself, already barely able to look at himself in the mirror, it’s hard not to remember the Olympics. It’s hard not to remember how it was up to him to win it for Sid then too. And how now, given a second chance, he failed again. It’s hard not to remember that he couldn’t get his team to the Cup either. Not even the fucking playoffs.
He knows his family is somewhere, not waiting for him but around. They crossed an ocean for him. He knows the other guys deserve... need a Captain who makes the rounds and checks on them. They need to process this loss fast. After all, they're supposed to play a game tomorrow. Bronze.
Sid would’ve probably already talked to everyone.
“Fuck!” Mack spits out, pushes himself away from the sink and roughly rubs both hands over his face. He feels sick, again, which is why he ended up in the bathroom in the first place.
“Fuck.” He whispers, softer.
Quiet. Just for himself.
He swallows against the acid on his tongue, tilts his head back with his eyes closed and tries to take in a deep breath. It trembles in his chest. His ribs feel too tight, his lungs fighting against the constriction of being protected. He feels raw, like he’s been cracked open anyways. There should be space. So why won’t his body let him breathe?
His heart stumbles and the shock of it reverberates through all of him. Fuck. Not now. There's pain above his heart. This can’t be how it ends, his body just giving up. At 19?! He knows he’s supposed to slow his breathing, instead it picks up a notch, fear creeping in, like it always does. What ifs.
What if this time it’s not an illusion? What if this time he's actually pushed his body too far? What if this is it? Who’s gonna take care of his family? Who’s gonna take care of his team? Who’s gonna captain the game tomo-
A solid knock on the door outside cuts through his thoughts. Mack wants to answer, he really does. But with the sharp ache in his chest, and his breath taking up all space in his throat despite never making it down to where he actually needs the fucking oxygen, he can’t.
Another knock.
“Macklin?”
Of course it’s Sid.
He should probably move. Answer. Get to the door. Be a normal fucking human being.
Instead he barely manages to tilt his head forward again, stare at himself in the mirror. His chest doesn’t move. Or does it? Should it? How much are chests supposed to move if you’re trying to be alive? His eyes are wide. It’s weird to dissect himself when he feels so disconnected.
A third knock and reality rushes in harshly, like his consciousness just rushed back into his body. He stumbles, backwards thank God, with the force, falls into the wall behind him - solid, cold - and feels tears welling up in his eyes. He’s not even sure if it’s fear or sadness now, just that he’s failing Sid again.
His knees tremble. He feels like throwing up. His vision goes dark or maybe he’s just really slow at blinking.
He hears Sid’s voice again, a little hazy from further away and then there’s definitely noises. But it’s hard to place them with his eyes closed and his lids impossible to lift.
“Mack, oh Jesus…” The voice is soft, warm, low and close. There’s a weight on Mack’s shoulder, a hand probably, grounding him. Another hand moving, more soft mumbling. And he wants to answer, he really does.
It’s just so hard.
“Come on, little one, easy.” Mack feels his hand being moved, and suddenly there’s a steady heartbeat right underneath his fingertips. A chest that moves slowly, expands wide and lazily falls again. “With me. You can keep your eyes closed.”
Macklin wants to laugh. It’s not like he has a choice but it’s sweet that Sid is so considerate with him. He always is.
And he keeps disappointing him.
A new wave of tears wells up and he hiccups through the inconsistent breathing, his head falling back. He anticipates hitting the wall, but instead strong fingers rush to help and the lack of pain feels almost worse.
“Macklin.” The voice is clearer now, more assertive and Mack wants to duck out of the way and cry because he’s finally done it. He’s finally pissed Sid off enough to be cast out. To be told that he was never in actually. That this has all been an illusion, that all the heartbreakingly wonderful things that Sid has said about him were lies and truly bad judgement calls on Sid’s part.
“Baby, for me.” The nickname is so unexpected it blooms in Mack’s mind like ink in clear water, its tendrils slowly reaching out in all directions. “Deep breath in now, come on, you can do it.”
And Mack does.
Because what else is there for him to do?
He’s still crying but manages a deep breath in. His hand, still on Sid’s chest moves with Sid’s breathing.
“Now hold.” So Mack does.
“And release.” Gentle.
“You’re doing great, kiddo.” The praise sends a shiver through Mack and almost causes another sob to escape. But he keeps it together, keeps with the breathing he can feel against his hand and focuses on himself as his body settles down.
It takes a while. Probably way too long. Mack’s sure other people settle down way faster than he does. But at least he does. At some point he opens his eyes, his breathing and heartbeat back to normal, tears still on his cheeks but they’re not just endlessly spilling over anymore.
“There you are, hi.”
And Sid’s smile is the softest Mack has ever seen him. Sid’s fingers move from the back of Mack’s head but he keeps the connection against his own chest going.
“Hi…” Mack tries to sound okay. He fails miserably. “Sorry-” He starts but Sid shakes his head before he can continue.
“Nothing to be sorry for.” It’s easy absolution and Mack doesn’t really feel like he deserves it. “All of us get overwhelmed sometimes.”
Mack highly doubts that’s the truth. Everyone seems so nonchalant, cool, collected and confident.
“I’m not kidding. You think I’ve never had a panic attack?” Sid’s chuckling now, carefully letting go of Mack’s hand. “Come on, let’s get you something to drink. Water.” He clarifies and Mack follows, of course he does. He still feels a little unstable, on his feet and mentally, a little shaken by the realisation that Sid might be right and he might’ve just had a panic attack, but he manages to get into the room, not be sick, and sit down at the edge of his bed.
Sid hands him a bottle of water and watches as Mack dutifully opens it and gulps down half of it.
“Maybe you remember Nate talking about therapy.”
Oh, actually, Mack does remember.
“There’s no shame in feeling pain. No shame in hurting. No shame in your emotions getting the best of you sometimes.” Mack swallows. “If it happens regularly you should probably talk to someone about it though.”
“No…” Mack manages. He sounds a little rough even to his own ears. “It doesn’t… I mean, yes, I should if it was, probably, and I... I would but it doesn’t happen usually.”
“Okay.” Sid says softly, his expression kind as he sits down next to him.
All Mack really wants to do is ask for a hug but it probably wouldn’t get more pathetic than that. Also, it’s bad enough that Sid’s here, taking care of him, when he’s probably hurting too.
“I’m sorry.” Mack tries again.
Sid sighs softly. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, kiddo.”
“I should’ve turned us around. I should’ve led us better. I should’ve scored. I couldn’t do it in Italy, I couldn’t do it here, I wanted to, I really wanted to. For you. For the country. For the others.” He can feel his body tensing up again. “And now I’m in here, hiding away, crying, not even able to breathe by myself, that’s so fucking pathetic. I should be doing what you do. I should be looking after-”
Sid’s hand is heavy on his shoulder.
“Would you like a hug, kiddo?”
There’s a beat of silence.
“It’s okay.” Sid adds gently and… Mack nods.
Sid gets up and for a second part of Mack screams that Sid’s gonna leave now, but of course he doesn’t. Instead he opens his arms.
“Come on, it’s easier like this.”
And… that makes sense. Mack gets up and all but falls into Sid’s chest.
It’s warm. Safe. Sid's chest is solid against him and the pair of strong arms holding him in place settle some of the restlessness inside of him. It takes him a moment to wrap his arms around Sid too, but once he does he just fully melts into it.
They stay like that for a while. Mack is pretty sure he cries again at some point.
His cheeks are dry by the time he moves though. And red a couple of seconds later, when he realises how freaking close he is to Sid’s face.
“Sorry…” He mumbles again and Sid chuckles.
“Again, nothing to be sorry for, Mack. Remember, I offered. And it helped me too, eh?” Mack can’t really imagine that Sid needed this as much as he did but he still nods.
“Thank you.” He says instead and steps back just enough to make it a little less intimate.
“Of course. Now, which cookies are your favourite?”
“Huh?” Not the most intelligible answer but truly the only Mack could come up with.
“We’re getting cookies. And then we’re gonna sit down and watch something. You choose.”
Mack finds himself staring at Sid and isn’t sure if he managed to close his mouth in an appropriate amount of time. “What?” He asks, confusion apparent, because Sid can’t actually be here, standing in Mack’s room and offering what? A slumber party?
Sid looks at him with the kind of warm patience that encourages more warmth to bloom inside Mack’s chest.
“Kiddo, you can’t take care of anyone else until you have taken care of yourself first. I learned that the hard way, believe me.” Mack bites his lips and the same way his brain always jolts into ‘need to remember this lesson’-mode when Sid speaks about hockey, it does kick into the same gear now too. “If anyone needs you, they’ll come looking for you. And you can go check later or tomorrow still, if that’ll feel like something you would like to do as Captain. But for now, you’ve just had a panic attack, I know what you’re going through and I won’t leave you alone. So again: Which cookies?”
15 minutes later Mack’s wrapped up in a soft fuzzy blanket, there’s a plate of chocolate chip cookies between him and Sid on the bed, Modern Family is playing on TV and the chocolate helps.
That and the warmth that Sid brought to the room. He reaches out here and there, gently settling his hand on Mack’s shoulder or neck in between and it helps, it grounds him the same way it did when Sid first rushed into the bathroom.
“Thank you.” Mack says again and Sid just smiles. He takes his phone out, seems to struggle with it for a second then tilts it to take a picture.
“Don’t worry about it.” He says like he’s not a legend, an icon and the guy Mack's been looking up to all his life, who just took a picture of Mack with a plate of cookies.
“Why the picture?” Mack asks curiously and blinks at the playful sparkle that suddenly comes to life in Sid’s eyes.
“First of all: Bribing material in case you ever get on my bad side.” That gets Mack’s eyes to widen. And Sid to laugh.
“And second of all: sent it to Nate. He was worried about you.”
Mack just blinks. Because of course he’s somehow living in a world where Nathan MacKinnon tells Sidney Crosby that he’s worried about Macklin.
“I was gonna come up and check on you anyway, but he texted me immediately after the game to keep an eye on you. Again, not like I wouldn’t have anyway.” Sid huffs out an amused breath.
“Sid?” Macklin asks and Sidney settles more against the headboard, immediately calm and attentive. “We can do it tomorrow. Bronze.” Macklin says quietly, unsure how much of it is a question and how much of it is certainty.
“Yes.” The answer is immediate, certain, the same competitive edge that Mack feels bright and sharp in every letter. “We'll get there together.”
(As we know) The greatest magic of all is - … CHRONOMANCY!
So, in this Nate’s run ended long enough before the worlds did that this works. (Both of those with whatever result you believe in your heart to be true. I'm not putting anything out there, I'm not jinxing it.)
Warnings: Like... A smudge of dirty talk. All very tame.
Enjoy!
When Sid steps into the airport in Zurich, one hand on his equipment bag because even after all these years, there’s no way he’ll let anyone else handle his sticks, his gaze flickers over the crowd in front of them for a second. It’s a habit, one of the many he can’t help, always checking his surroundings. Next to him Celly is chewing his ear off in the most lovable way and for a split second Sid misses being that young. Then again, thinking back, he was never actually that young to begin with. The baby shark carries himself with an easy nonchalance and authentic playfulness that escaped Sid even when he was that age.
It is unbearably cute to watch though and Sid doesn’t mind. Honestly, he’s looking forward to sitting next to the kid during the flight, despite the knowledge that Macklin will most certainly not let him sleep. Not because he’ll constantly try to actively keep Sid engaged but because he’ll be buzzing with excitement, joy, and life. And while that will already be a lot to try to sleep next to, Mack will definitely try to contain it, as to not disturb Sid, and possibly vibrate out of his seat while doing so. Which again… cute.
Sid smiles to himself, and even though he hasn’t really listened to Mack’s retelling of that one pass in that one game, the little one takes it as encouragement, beaming and -
Sid stops and stares.
Nate.
“What the fuck….” He mumbles under his breath before he can stop himself and wonders, honestly, if maybe he’s taken some kind of hallucinogenic drug. That hot chocolate he allowed himself with breakfast this morning was a suspiciously sensual experience.
Nate, who is supposed to be in, or on his way at least to fucking Canada, walks up to him like it’s the most normal thing anyone’s ever done. It’s infuriating honestly. Almost as infuriating as the way the grey-blue shirt he’s wearing stretches deliciously over his pecs and biceps.
Next to Sid some of their teammates stop. He can hear the cogs in their heads turning, can see eyebrows going up and whispers starting.
“Hey.” Easy. Normal. Nate’s gaze is laserfocused on Sid.
Sid opens his mouth and closes it again, like a fish out of water, utterly dumbfounded.
“You ready?”
The answer Sid wants to give is somewhere along the lines of: what the fuck? - again - or for what exactly?
But Nate's eyebrows are drawn slightly, worried, pleading, desperate almost and his eyes glitter and shine with unspoken words: ‘Just play along, please. Please.’
So Sid does. Because how could he ever deny Nate anything?
“Yep.” He says, as casually as he can muster and forgets to listen to himself to judge his own acting job. “So ready.”
Mack next to him is tilting his head like a confused golden retriever puppy and Sid wants to hug him until he’s back to his chatty little self. At the same time he’s very aware that he probably shouldn’t mother hen too hard on the kid.
“Alright guys, this is me then.” Sid adds and turns towards the team, lifting his hand in a semi-awkward goodbye wave. Mack furrows his brows, looks at Nate like he’s assessing him - somewhere between trying to solve a puzzle and wanting to make sure that Sid is okay. (Which is hilariously adorable, truly.)
"See ya, Sid!”
“Have a good summer!”
“Next season, buddy!”
A chorus of goodbyes comes up and Sid actually does step up to Mack to tousle the kid’s hair softly. “See you in Nova Scotia?” He asks and Mack lights up like a Christmas tree, all joy and buzzing excitement again.
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” He grins.
“Language.” Sid grins back, nudges the baby shark softly and grabs his luggage then.
They’ve not even made 10 steps when Nate takes over the wagon.
“Nate.” Sid tries.
“Sid.” Nate answers.
A whole conversation hidden inside the shell of their names. The finality of Nate’s tone lets Sid know that he doesn’t have a chance to change Nate’s opinion on who’s taking care of the bags.
“Your knee.” Sid still tries but rolls his eyes fondly when all he gets is Nate bristling. He’s leading them through the airport like a man on a mission and people part for them like the sea. “Will you, like, at some point let me know what’s going on?”
Sid’s amused. And if that isn’t the biggest testament to their relationship then Sid doesn’t know what is. Usually he hates surprises, hates surrendering control, hates for his plans to change - even if he himself is the one who instigates said changes. So, this should be arguably worse. But it feels okay, somehow. It makes his brain itch and his fingers too, but he trusts Nate inherently enough to go with the flow.
He feels a little insane.
“Yeah, in a second.” Nate looks over and for the flicker of a moment he’s all warmth. His gaze softens, his shoulders sag a little, he breathes out like it’s the first time in ages that he can actually do so and damn… he looks tired.
Gorgeous. But tired.
Sid supposes he doesn’t look much better.
15 minutes later they’re on a private plane and Sid still has no idea what’s happening. He’s never used a private jet before. It feels excessive.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Nate cuts into his thoughts just as he puts his hand onto the small of Sid’s back to lead him towards the back of the plane. “This is excessive and I agree. I’ve donated more money than what the flight cost me to make up for my bad conscience but this one time I needed this.”
Sid’s eyebrows go up because Nate barely ever lets himself want, and even less so, need anything.
“Okay.” He soothes and blinks at the freakishly luxurious interior of the plane.
“After take-off, we’ll be alone. They needed to have like one steward on the plane for safety reasons, but I told them I didn’t want service. We don’t need a waiter or anything.” Sid nods along, still slightly confused.
“Will you tell me where we’ll go?”
“An island.” Nate shrugs. “Private one. Not like, I didn’t buy an island.” The tips of his ears go red as Sid raises his eyebrows again and damn… it dawns on him why being alone will be an advantage. Because he really wants to kiss the blush off of those cheeks right now. “It’s just like… Gabe knows someone and he’s there with his family already, and Cale might join and they both know and I….” Nate looks at him with a sincerity so intense that it rivals the way he locks in during games. “I needed you there. It’s just a week. We’ll fly back home on Sunday, I want our normal summer. But please…”
Sid melts.
It’s not like he would’ve said ‘No’ anyway but this? How could anyone ever say ‘No’ to this?
“Can I bring my chocolate to the island?” Sid enquires and Nate blinks.
“What?”
“I bought chocolate. If there’s import laws and customs and stuff that prevent me from taking it, I’ll have it sent home before we leave.”
Nate stares at him for a moment.
“What? I bought some for you too.” Sid mumbles, feeling a little heat in his own cheeks now.
Nate looks up at the ceiling for a second then, over his shoulder to make sure they’re alone before he chuckles and shakes his head.
“Man, I just fucking love you."
Warmth blooms inside Sid’s chest.
“Yeah, you can bring your chocolate. And if anyone tries to take it from us I’ll personally make sure it gets to Nova Scotia.”
The warmth travels up Sid’s neck.
They stare at each other for a moment.
“Once we’re in the air.” Nate says. Quietly.
Sid nods.
Another 20 minutes later, he’s straddling Nate’s thighs, both hands buried so deeply in blonde strands that it feels like he might never let go again. Their lips are fused together, swallowing each other’s sounds, trying to be quiet while incessantly hoping that the sounds of the plane and the music they put on cover up anything they can’t quite catch.
“This is insane.” Sid listens to his own whispering, just as he starts mouthing along Nate’s jawline.
He’s never understood that stupid mile-high-club thing. Now he’s not so sure anymore.
“Yeah.” Nate answers and his fingers dig so deliciously into Sid’s hips that his body bucks forward ever so slightly.
“What are we gonna do on your island?” Sid’s voice is a low rumble right against Nate’s ear. It’s his best attempt at seduction and Nate shivers beneath him. He smirks victoriously when he feels those fingertips digging in even deeper.
“Snorkel.”
…
Sid draws back eyebrows raised, ready to be offended.
Nate smirks at him with the most infuriatingly playful glimmer in his eyes.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
The pause is almost too long.
“Right after I spend like at least 6 hours with my head between your thighs.”
The first time Sid calls, Nate doesn't pick up. The phone screen coming to life lights up his hotel room in that eery-speck-of-light-in-the-dark-kind of way, that makes the noise of the vibrations even harder to ignore. He probably should've kept some lights on. The phone would've not been as intrusive then. Maybe, if he had, he could've gotten away with telling himself that he hadn't seen it. Had already been asleep.
It's not as easy though.
The screen goes dark, the phone goes silent and Nate's heart clenches in his chest. He wants to reach out. He wants to fumble in the dark and hold on so badly. Hear his voice, see his face, dissolve in Sid's warmth and let him rebuild him piece by piece. He doesn't think he deserves it though.
He was supposed to win the Olympics for Sid. And failed. He is supposed to win the Cup. If Sid can't have it, he's supposed to get it. Not for Sid, not like it was in Italy, not with this, because there's no winning the Cup for Nate that won't in one way or another hurt Sid. Just as it is the other way around. Still, Nate wants it and, yes selfishly, bathe in Sid's pride. He wants the congratulatory call after the final. He wants the warmth at home. Wants the hair-tousling. Wants the lips, the hands, the groans, as he cages Sid against the wall. He wants to go up on that wall again. Frankly, he wants to plaster the whole fucking wall in photographs of himself, so that the possessive beast inside of him can curl up calmly and know that overwhelmingly it's him who's in there with Sid.
Fuck, he's probably more self-absorbed than he thought. Or it's just what Sid does to him.
Sid.
Sid, who calls a second time and Nate really shouldn't pick up. They both have their own battles to fight.
"Hi." He says calmly, collected and easy, as he leans back against the headboard barely a moment later. The Vegas skyline stretches out next to him, behind ceiling to-floor seamless windows, and lights him up admittedly kind of nicely at least.
"Hi." Sid answers. Voice thick, dark curls in disarray, the grey shining through so perfectly that Nate wants to bury his fingers in them, nuzzle them and only breathe in Sid for the rest of his life. Nate wants to cry. He wants to sob and scream and mewl like a wounded animal and does none of it. Instead he bites his lips and takes a deep breath. "How's your nose?"
That startles him. "My nose...?" He can see himself blinking in the camera preview at the bottom of his screen and feels his heart fluttering with the chuckle that Sid can't hold back.
"Yeah, you know, that body part of yours that got bashed in? Didn't expect me to bring up old news, eh?" Nate swallows and doesn't know how or why it happens but he smiles. He turns his gaze to the ceiling, breathes out in amusement, shakes his head ever so lightly and looks back at the other then.
"It's still here." Nate answers and lifts his hand to tap against the side of his nose - gently. It still hurts, especially when touched.
"You're gonna get there, Nate." Sid's voice tips over into softer, lower territory and Nate bites his lips again. He watches the other move, obviously in his bed too, probably still there actually - it has to be crazy early in Switzerland - and swallows when Sid mirrors his posture sitting up against the headboard. "What's the verdict on the knee?"
"You know about that already?" Nate frowns a little, but then again it makes sense. While he's gotten checked out, hundreds of articles probably popped up everywhere.
"'course I do." Sid agrees. "I watched."
Nate stops. "You... Watched?"
"Yeah." Sid's voice is quiet. Warm. Gentle.
"You never watch playoffs."
"This one seemed important." Nate swallows and for a second doesn't know what to do.
"You're in Switzerland." He tries, as if pointing out all the absurdities of this situation might help him cope. Obviously Sid doesn't care about his plan.
"That's correct." - is all he gets.
"You've got your own tournament to play." Another try.
"I am playing said tournament." Another argument that Nate can't say anything against. Especially since he knows, of course he does, how dominant their team is playing. He checked the schedule, the results, has even seen some clips.
"It's fucked up." Nate finally concedes, looking for Sid's gaze. "Don't know how badly yet. More tests tomorrow morning and then we'll see." Sid nods along to his words, exuding sympathy. Never pity, just empathy.
"You know, I know we like to mirror each other sometimes, but you didn't need to go for the knee. Romantic but unnecessary." Against all odds that draws a small laugh out of Nate. It feels a little foreign in his throat right now.
"That one wasn't for you." Nate mumbles, lifts his free hand and rubs his palm over his face. His nose stings as he does. "What if I'm out, Sid?" His voice sounds surprisingly small, even to himself.
"Then you're out for as long as you have to be."
"The guys need me."
"They do. And they know you'll do anything to be there. But if you're out, you're out."
"But they need me. We're so close and next game..."
"I know." Sid cuts in, his voice clearer now, less morning rumble. "I know, baby." So much softer. "You needed me too back in Milan. But we've only got one body. And if they can't get there without you then it was never meant to be your Cup." Nate frowns, age-old competitiveness flaring up inside his chest. He wants to argue, wants to defend himself, his guys, their work, their run and only stops when he sees the way Sid has already lifted his eyebrows, smirking fondly while watching him.
"Fucker." Nate grumbles, watches the way Sid chuckles, so obviously aware of how he stoked the fire.
"Yeah." Sid agrees, shrugs and leans back a little more. "I know it sucks." He adds quietly.
"You're winning though." Nate says and ruffles his hand through his hair, scratches his neck, tries to ignore the fact that part of him wishes he could win the cup AND play with Sid. "Saw you and the little one. Celly looks like he's constantly caught between awe and terror until he's on the ice, then, damn, Kid's locked in."
"He's..." Sid hesitates then smiles. "He doesn't want to fuck this up. And so far he's doing a great job."
"He's got big boots to fill."
"You know that I don't see it that way."
"I know you don't but the rest of the world does."
"The rest of the world can back off and let the kid do his best." There it is, the protectiveness that not too many people get to see in Sid. It's always been special to Nate. He'd felt it directed at himself, his first few years around, and sometimes still. Maybe that's part of the reason why Sid called him at God-knows-what-hour.
"Yeah, they can." Nate agrees softly. "Especially since you're winning." He repeats and looks down towards his knee. "And he's got you there. Best chances at success for his captaincy in my books."
"Nate, we're all here because we didn't win." Sid says calmly and Nate takes another deep breath. "We didn't make it to where you are at right now. That's something to be proud of on your end. That you did get there."
"Right now it doesn't feel like pride. Right now it feels like pain." Nate scrunches up his face. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I know I'm dramatic."
"You're not." Sid cuts in again, knowing him too well, already aware of where those thoughts might go if they'd let them run freely. "And if I wasn't in Switzerland with the kids, I probably would be on my way to Vegas now, somehow, incognito maybe." That draws another laugh out of Nate.
"Sid, you're about as subtle as a peacock on a good day. You. In Vegas. During the conference finals. No." Sid tries to look offended but fails miserably.
"Fair point." He surrenders. "I would be on my way to Denver instead. Wait for you at home. Take care of you before the fifth game." Nate swallows and suddenly it's hard to do so past the lumb in his throat. "It's okay, baby."
"Doesn't really feel okay right now." He croaks out and tilts his head back, exposing his throat to the camera, blinking away some emotions before he looks down again. "Just sucks."
"It does."
"Really, really, fucking miss you right now." And Nate knows it's unfair. There's nothing that Sid can do right now. Nothing to make this better, not really.
"I miss you too." And yet, this helps. "Whatever happens, Nate, however long your run goes, remember you'll be home once you're done. And I'll be there too. And the past will be the past, no matter what it held."
Nate nods. It's close to what he's been practising with his therapist for years: Living in the present, doing his best, working hard but never holding on to the past, to things that can't be changed anymore. It's hard for him, just as hard as it is for Sid, so the reminder means something.
"We were sloppy at times." He needs to put it out there, acknowledge that there's no real excuse.
"I know." Sid's honesty has always been refreshing. "But you also fucking lit them up in that first period and you had great moments all throughout. It's not lost yet. Sometimes battling your way back after trailing is the best prep for the finals that you can get."
"Yeah." Nate mumbles and watches Sid's face on the screen with the desperation of a man who yearns to be seen, to be held, to be fixed.
"I love you." Sid says like he can sense it. Calmly. Clearly. Gently.
And Nate melts a little. It's still surreal to hear it sometimes.
"I love you too." He answers. Fondly. Quietly.
Longingly.
"You'll get there." Sid says again and his voice is so full of conviction that Nate almost believes him. "And when you do, the nose, the knee, the bruises, none of it will matter. It'll all have been worth it."
"Yeah." Nate tries to sound more certain. He knows he needs to believe it before he can play it.
"And once we're back home, I'll fix you up. Promise. I'll actually take the best care of you." There is a mischievous spark in those eyes.
"Will you now?"
"Yeah, I mean you'll probably have to stay in bed for a couple of days, eh? Someone needs to make sure you follow those orders." Nate groans softly. "Blowing and riding you will actually require zero effort from your knee." He groans louder, sinks back a little and wrinkles his nose. He still can't help his own smile, when he hears Sid's laughter.
"Not sure about the riding, not for the first few days, seems pretty close to the knee..." Nate tries to save himself and watches as the spark in those eyes turns into a fire.
"Well, too bad, gotta ride your face then." Nate swallows, holds Sid's gaze as a hot shiver runs through his body. One that Sid knows is there, judging by the way he looks at him. So cocky, so sure of himself, so fucking hot. Nate bristles, then smiles.
"Just for you, I'll try to not catch another puck with my nose then."
"That would actually be ideal, thank you." Sid's eyes glimmer with playfulness, that side of him that other people usually don't get to see.
And then there's the endless warmth underneath.
Fuck, Nate loves him.
And fuck! Sid's right. It's not over yet.
"I'm gonna bring that Cup home, babe." Nate says, way more seriously all of a sudden. "So, we can put it next to your gold medal for a day."
"I know." Sid answers, just as serious. "Can't wait to put you up on my wall again."
I believe that there is generally little harm in the respectful perception of public personas in a fan space (sometimes even the opposite).
With said perception though, dedication and parasocial emotions can follow. And it is natural, in my opinion, to daydream, to make uneducated (but fun) guesses about someone's character, or harmlessly play around with the image of a person that we, as fans, essentially make up.
The important bit is: Everyone needs to remember that every idea, every thought, every story is fictional and that there is never any claim that the actual person, the inspiration behind this character, might be or act in any way, shape or form like its fictional counterpart. And that these are truly, truly meant to stay within their given fandom. RPF stories can undoubtedly be fun. But the baseline always needs to be respect. Never bring RPF up to the actual people, you are dreaming about. Your dreams are not their responsibility.
So, that is what I'm going for here. Respectful fun within a fanspace.
Which for every reader entails: please, do not share any of my work outside the fandom. Interact respectfully. Don't claim anything that isn't yours as yours, be kind and have fun.
And if, for some mind breaking reason, you are one of the people I've written about on here: I respect the hustle, I love you (kinda why I screamed into the void about you), but you've been warned: this isn't for you.
