#andreas krause

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Luke/Andreas; wined and dined

For the prompt: Andreas and Luke meeting/hooking up the second time

I literally finished this before I realised you guys probably meant like, the second time they hooked up, not the whole second time 'round. Mea culpa, everybody. And for those who interpreted it the same way I did...you're welcome?

Andreas can’t remember the last time he was wined and dined.

Though maybe that isn’t the best way to describe it — Andreas has dinner meetings all the time, has sat beside clients at the best restaurants in almost every NHL city, sampled from the menus of half of New York's most exclusive restaurants. Always on the agency’s dime, of course, or his multi-millionaire client’s, or the teams they play for, or the teams who want to sign them.

There’s plenty of wine involved — though Andreas always restricts himself to a glass when it's business — plenty of dining. But a meeting’s a meeting, whether it’s in a conference room, patiently waiting for a GM who’s been around since there were still six teams in the league to figure out how to unmute his mic, or eating something exceptional at a Michelin Star restaurant.

So obviously that’s not what he means. It’s not that he hasn’t been dating either, though admittedly, he had less and less time to spare for it as he got older. And not that he hasn’t gone on dinner dates specifically, where he allows himself a second glass of wine, orders what he’d like, rather than ‘what he’s having sounds good’, unless, Andreas supposes, it truly does sound good. So there has been wining and dining, in fact. Possibly even a surplus of it.

And yet.

At a certain point Andreas thinks he just stopped expecting romance. It wasn’t any sort of resigned, jaded disappointment at the dating scene. Not that it isn't a shitshow, but it's probably better here than just about anywhere else. More an acknowledgment that most guys didn’t seem to be looking for romance, at least the ones Andreas was dating.

And that was fine, because Andreas wasn’t really looking for it either. Romance was undeniably nice, but he worked long hours, put almost all of himself into his job, and what he had left didn’t require much more than good conversation and some companionship, a spark of attraction, mediocre or better sex. Romance might have come along down the line, but things didn’t tend to last long even when he did find someone who met his simple — yet almost impossible to find — criteria.

That one, he thinks has more to do with him than it does with them. Andreas’ career is one of those things that’s attractive in theory, but significantly less endearing when he’s slipping in and out of bed at all hours, constantly checking his email or ducking out to make a call, flying off to who knows where, sometimes with plenty of notice, sometimes with none at all.

Maybe his life just isn’t conducive to romance. He doesn’t like to think that, but there would be worse things, wouldn’t there? He has a job that he finds fascinating, a job that offers something different every day, a job that, incidentally, pays him more money than he has the time to spend. He could retire tomorrow if he wanted to, live the rest of his life in comfort, dedicate all his time to searching for true love, but why would he want to? It sounds excruciatingly boring.

So he works — he works a lot, works more than he should, at least according to everyone he knows, including Dave, the giant hypocrite — and he — well, he works. But it’s fine. Most people have to search for meaning in his life, but he has his. If anyone asks about it — and they all ask, except Dave, that gem of a fucking man — he says he doesn’t feel like he’s lacking anything. He’s not lying, either.

That doesn’t mean something doesn’t squeeze tight when Luke conveniently ‘happens to be in town’ — though if there’s any town that actually applies to, it’s New York — when he figures they should ‘catch up’. Even as he tells himself that he’s just catching up with an old flame, one who doesn’t even live in the same country as him anymore. Even as he tells himself once for old time’s sake, and then twice doesn’t hurt considering they’ve still got chemistry, then when it’s been three, four, half a dozen, and if Luke’s got a return ticket Andreas doesn’t know when it’s for, but it doesn’t feel like it’s any time soon.

Luke has always been a romantic. He’d deny it up and down if Andreas said it, and it wouldn’t even be a kneejerk macho shit — Andreas doesn’t think Luke even knows he does anything out of the ordinary. Andreas doubts he was thinking ‘I’m going to woo Andreas’ as he asked him out to dinner, not the first time, or the second, not when he came with a bag of groceries and a bottle of wine from a vineyard Andreas mentioned in passing, said he’d cook for him, laughing as he fought with Andreas’ temperamental bottle opener, scoffing when Andreas impatiently intervened before he could ruin a good bottle of wine.

Technically, he doesn’t even know if 'wooing' is Luke’s aim at all. He could just need the change of pace, miss the city, the speed of it, the convenience, and while he was here, Andreas was just as convenient as the rest of it — good conversation, good companionship, Luke more attractive than ever, the sex still fantastic. And they didn’t even have to get to know one another. What could be easier?

But Andreas doesn’t think so, at least not judging by the way Luke’s started looking at him.

Andreas doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at him like Luke does, the complete focus of it. Looking isn’t a strong enough word — it’s more like he’s taking him in, trying make sure that he gets every single detail correct, the way Andreas imagines a painter would gaze at their subject, a poet at their lover. Luke’s no poet, but, well — maybe he is, a little, minus the words. There’s something about the way Luke looks at the world. Something about the way Luke looks at him.

It used to unnerve Andreas, a little, especially because Luke wasn’t only looking at him like that over romantic candlelit dinners and endorphin fueled pillow talk, but also during the most mundane moments. Andreas would be scowling at his phone, pecking out an answer to a client who decided he urgently needed to discuss his contract on a Sunday morning, a full season before it expired, and he’d look up and there Luke was, visibly taking him in. Sometimes there’d be a little smile on his face — the moments Andreas let himself be a little cranky there often was — but often there wasn’t, just Luke’s eyes on him, taking him in like he was never going to see him again.

It was — a lot. Luke was a lot, almost from the very beginning. Andreas thought he was going to get a regrettable hook up out of things, and then he thought it was going to be a few of them, and it was like a switch was flipped, and Luke went from the hot, fun, surprisingly good in bed client Andreas had completely unprofessionally fucked — and not just once, but a few times, and then a handful — to even more surprisingly good company outside of bed, to something Andreas didn’t quite have a name for. Someone who was gone even more than Andreas was, someone Andreas started to miss when he was gone. Andreas was the one staying put, most of the time, but Luke was the one always watching him like he’d disappear the moment he closed his eyes.

The look hasn’t changed, and Andreas imagines it means the same thing now as it did then, Luke who doesn’t blink, Luke who jumps both feet first, Luke the romantic.

It doesn’t feel as overwhelming now, though Andreas suspects he’ll be spending some time thinking about just how quickly Luke was on board. How quick they both were — Andreas can’t pretend he doesn’t know what’s coming, what’s already here, can’t pretend that isn’t something he wants, when he could end things with a word.

But he doesn’t. This time Andreas lets himself look back, and when Luke catches him at it, he doesn’t let himself look away.

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Luke/Andreas; bugging out

For the prompt: Anything Luke related, preferably with Andreas Andreas loving on Luke! Just seeing that big sweet lug getting the love he deserves!

Relearning someone is different than learning them, different from knowing. Andreas doesn’t know if it’s better or worse — he’s never experienced it before, knowing someone so intimately, and at the same time, having to relearn the most basic things about them.

There are things that haven’t changed a bit in over a decade. Many of them: Luke’s always been set in his ways. He’s been wearing the same brand of underwear for as long as Andreas has known him. Some of the shirts he refuses to stop wearing were already ragged when Andreas met him. Back then, Andreas wondered aloud why he didn’t throw them out — now he’s just impressed they haven’t disintegrated in the wash.

But of course, things have changed. The obvious physical things; Luke’s career has caught up to him, and he’s got the aches and pains of someone decades older, especially his knee, which can keep him up at night on bad days. No gray in his hair yet, but there’s some in his stubble, which is probably one of the reasons he shaves every day now, though Andreas is sure he’d argue that. He’s mellowed out, the way Andreas finds most people do over time, when they don’t do the exact opposite. Andreas would probably fall into the latter category, but Luke doesn’t seem to mind.

Luke isn’t sporting mysterious cuts and bruises all the time, which Andreas thinks is an improvement, and suspects Luke does too. He’s happier, and some of that, Andreas is sure, is the so-called honeymoon phase, even the second time 'round, but he doesn’t think that's all of it.

Luke was happy at the beginning of their relationship, but there was always an edge to it, something he wasn’t saying, something Andreas knew was there, but didn’t know how to ask about, or, maybe more accurately, wasn’t sure he wanted whatever the answer was. Now it’s been said. Now they’re decades from it instead of years, and it’s still there, but Luke isn’t haunted by it anymore.

But there are less obvious changes. Sometimes they’re a nice little surprise, like finding out Luke’s culinary skills significantly improved since he was in his thirties. He’s not a gourmet chef or anything, but he’s not slapping something with a bit of table salt and calling it seasoned anymore.

Sometimes they’re utterly neutral, and the most surprising thing is that Andreas still remembers well enough to clock the difference, like how Luke was a casual Vikings fan, but now he’s an equally casual Packers fan — Andreas is pretty sure that's a felony in the midwest —or that he's mostly switched from lagers to reds.

And then there’s one that Andreas sticks on. Luke never eats shellfish. That wouldn’t be strange — plenty of people don’t, for various reasons. Except when they were dating, Luke would inevitably order any shellfish dish on the menu, regardless of where they were. It was helpful, honestly — Andreas just had to check the menu for shrimp, or scallops, or lobster, and if it was there, Luke would be happy. But he hasn’t any of the times they’ve gone out, and the one time Andreas ordered a shrimp dish, offered to share, he was vigorous in his denial.

“Sea bugs,” he said with a shudder when Andreas asked, something that struck a vague chord with Andreas, tugging until, halfway to sleep, Luke pinning him to the bed with an arm and a leg, somehow always twice as heavy when he’s asleep — Andreas doesn’t know how the physics of that work, and he’s frankly curious — he remembers Luke, years ago, making faces at Andreas over an ostensibly romantic dinner at a French bistro with a six month waitlist because Andreas ordered escargot.

*

The restaurant is beautiful, the sort of place that seems transported from France a century ago, waiters in black tie and dim lighting, candles playing off everyone’s faces. They’re surrounded by couples, mostly middle-aged or older, here for milestone birthdays or anniversaries. It’s a special occasion sort of place. A place that turns a date night into an occasion in itself.

It would be more romantic if Luke wasn’t constantly looking around, checking if anyone’s paying attention to them. He’s not sure if Luke simply worries he’s sticking out — admittedly, he’d fit in better if he wasn't sporting a shiner from the game against the Lightning last week — or if he’s expecting to be recognized.

They’re in New York City. He plays for the Devils. On the third line. Andreas thinks he’s likely safe.

He says that — more diplomatically, of course — and Luke mumbles, “It looks like we’re on a date.”

“It could just be a business dinner,” Andreas says, rather than pointing out that they are, in fact, on a date, so it’s not like anyone would be getting the wrong impression. It’s not like Andreas would like that known either — he can imagine Dave’s face if he found out he was at a Michelin star restaurant with a client off the clock.

“Really?” Luke asks. “Here?”

The ambiance is admittedly romantic. Andreas doesn’t know why Luke suggested it. Maybe he didn’t know what it was like. More likely he didn’t think it through, thought it’d be nice at the time, in a particular mood, and regrets it now. That whim that makes him occasionally ask Andreas to move in, but never bring it up again outside of bed.

The whim that means that he dropped the gloves against Hicks even though he promised Andreas he’d try to avoid fighting at least long enough to let his nose properly heal. The good news is Hicks somehow avoided his nose, which was either good luck or good sportsmanship. Andreas has decided on the latter — Hicks is signed to their agency, and Andreas would prefer not to hold an irrational grudge against him. Especially considering Luke was the one who started it in the first place.

Their appetizers arrive — escargot for Andreas, scallops for Luke — and Luke blanches at Andreas’ plate.

“I thought snails was just some shit people ordered in movies,” Luke says. “You’re really going to eat that?”

“They’re delicious,” Andreas says.

“They’re bugs,” Luke says, for a moment looking like the most oversized toddler of all time. Andreas wouldn’t be surprised to hear the word ‘yucky’ come out of his mouth next.

“Snails are actually in the same family as shellfish,” Andreas says. “And you don’t seem to mind them.”

Luke looks down at his own appetizer, blanching, and Andreas coughs a laugh into his napkin.

“Maybe I’ll wait for my steak,” Luke says.

“Suit yourself,” Andreas says. “I’ll just be here with my delicious bugs.”

“Dre,” Luke whines.

The escargot is superb. As are Luke’s scallops, which he no longer has the stomach for.

*

“Did I ruin shellfish for you?” Andreas asks.

“What?” Luke says. “Andreas, what time is it?”

“Late,” Andreas says. “Was it the escargot?”

Luke squints at him, then sits up, and Andreas no longer crushed under his weight. He misses it a little, but that’s his own fault.

“I don’t want to ruin things for you,” Andreas says.

“You don’t,” Luke says.

“So it wasn’t the snails?” Andreas asks.

Luke makes the exact same face he did years ago, the one Andreas can only describe as ‘yucky’. Andreas was annoyed with it then, but now all he feels is affection. That and guilt.

“It was the snails,” Andreas says.

“More me reading way too much about shit after,” Luke says.

That’s still the snails.

“I’m sorry,” Andreas says.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Luke yawns, lying back down. “I hadn’t thought of it in years.”

Perhaps he hasn’t, but Andreas still thinks ruining shellfish for a crustacean lover deserves some level of penance.

“Next time I’ll order the foie gras,” Andreas says.

Luke sits up again. “Did you know that foie gras—“

“Or not,” Andreas says, slinging his own leg over Luke’s, and Luke settles, enough that Andreas can wrap an arm around his chest, put his head on his shoulder. It’s comfortable. He can see why Luke likes it.

“You’re heavy,” Luke mumbles.

Andreas considers pointing out that Luke does this every night, and he’s a fair sight heavier than Andreas, but who knows what would happen? It might just make Luke stop doing it entirely, and Andreas would miss it.

“Do you want me to move?” Andreas asks.

“No,” Luke says, and Andreas presses a smile against his collarbone, closes his eyes.

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Various, online chatter; that’s enough internet for today

For the prompt: How hot is Jared? Twitter's best explainers

Forgive me any formatting sins -- I aimed for clarity over authenticity, but who knows if tumblr will oblige on that front.

“How’s the internet doing?” Dave asks.

“Well,” Andreas says. “It’s — technically good news, but in a way you probably don’t want to hear the details of?”

“That sounds ominous,” Dave says.

“Do you know what shipping means?” Andreas asks. “Not the—“

“You know, you’re right,” Dave says, literally backing into his office. “I don’t want to know.”

“I didn’t think so,” Andreas says, saluting Dave with his coffee, then goes to check out what’s happening on twitter. He thinks he’s had more than enough of AO3 for the foreseeable future.

~

On Twitter:

I’ve decided to block everyone who says something shitty about Bryce Marcus or Jared Matheson in the next while and I think my hockey twitter experience is going to greatly improve as a result

This is absolute genius I’m doing it

WAIT JARED MATHESON IS CANUCKS DILF’S SON?

HOLY SHIT JARED MATHESON IS CANUCKS DILF’S SON

OH MY GOD THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING.

Damn now we know he’s going to stay beautiful.

So does Bryce clearly. Lock that upppp.

HOW COME THERE ISN’T A WHOLE JARED MATHESON FANDOM.

Nevermind fam just found out there is in fact a fandom and they are losing their dang MINDS right now.

~

A selection of tweets liked by Bryce Marcus’ lurking account:

Look if I landed Jared Matheson I too would tattoo his signature on my chest.

I would tattoo his PICTURE.

How is it that Bryce Marcus is a multi-millionaire who routinely is in the top twenty in scoring and clearly takes care of his appearance and dresses better than 95% of hockey players, and yet I’m still like ‘nice work landing that husband, bro’.

You know that if Marcus and Matheson could reproduce they would have the most beautiful children 

Sweet mitts too

Every single picture or video I’ve managed to find of Bryce Marcus and Jared Matheson in the same place Jared is like 😐 and Bryce is like 😍  how did we just figure this out now

I THOUGHT HE WAS JUST REALLY HAPPY TO BE IN VANCOUVER 😭

~

“Babe,” Jared says. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Bryce says. “I’m not doing anything. Go back to sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Jared groans, slinging an arm over Bryce’s hip as he buries his face in Bryce’s good shoulder. Bryce’s hand comes up to absently pet his hair, and Jared falls back asleep that way, Bryce’s fingers carding through his hair as he scrolls through god knows what with his other hand.

~

On AO3:

Tags: Bryce Marcus Matheson/Jared Marcus Matheson/Julius Halla, I was really tempted to put Julius Halla Matheson but I think that’s enough chaos for right now, this is how I’m coping as a Hallason shipper, with OT3s, and threesomes, au just in that erin matheson doesn’t exist, sry erin it’s not personal

Tags: Bryce Marcus/Jared Matheson, no plot just vibes, soft shit, I literally just got here but, Bryce Marcus is a bottom you cowards,

Archive Warnings: Underage

Tags: Bryce Marcus/Jared Matheson, Rafael Sanchez, Just like the regular level of underage jared was when he met bryce nothing sketchy, or sketchier than reality lol, meet cute, my hc of how they met,

~

“If this is about Jared I’m hanging up on you,” Stephen says as he picks up his phone.

“You knew, didn’t you!” Beth says.

Stephen hangs up the phone, and puts it back on the table, face down.

It, of course, immediately vibrates. Gabe looks at it, then at Stephen.

“Don’t give me that look,” Stephen says.

Gabe continues to blink mildly as it goes to voicemail, then starts to vibrate again.

“You talk to her then,” Stephen says.

“Hi Beth,” Gabe says. “How are you? Yes, I did know who my linemate was married to. No, I didn’t think to tell you. Well, because I’m not sure how it’s relevant to you, Elisabeth.”

Stephen smirks at Gabe as his face grows continually wearier. His fault for not just hanging up — it may be mercenary, but it means Stephen doesn’t have to listen to whatever Beth’s telling Gabe.

“Let me give you Stephen,” Gabe says.

Sometimes Stephen forgets that Gabe has spent a little too much time around him for his own good.

‘Fuck you’, Stephen mouths, but Gabe just smiles and continues to hold his phone out.

~

On tumblr:

The Bryce Marcus/Jared Matheson tag has doubled in the last 36 hours. You guys okay?

Can’t sleep gotta write fic.

I think I speak for all of us when I say, from the bottom of my heart: no.

But like in a good way!

Where my Julius/Jared shippers at? How y’all doing?

Well we found out Jared Matheson is actually gay and married to a man literally from the lips of Julius Halla…in the context of telling us he’s married to a completely different dude and also now I’m legitimately worried about their friendship since he just outed his bestie so idk you tell me.

This.

Do we change it to ‘Jared Marcus Matheson/Bryce Marcus Matheson’ or Jared Matheson/Bryce Marcus’ or is it chaos or —

The AO3 tag wranglers have been by and they’ll all redirect to ‘Jared Matheson’ and ‘Bryce Marcus’ so don’t worry.

But why isn’t it redirecting to ‘Marcus Matheson’?

Show us the papers and we’ll do it. Legal name change documentation please.

You have all been shoving these definition of Average Dude hockey players in my face all ‘look at this beautiful man’ and none of you showed me Jared Matheson, Actually Beautiful Man? What is the MATTER with you people.

You have been in the wrong corner of hockey fandom trust me. his beauty was Known

east coast bias even in hockey rpf smh

Want some fic recs?      OBVIOUSLY.

Hey remember a few years back when we all made fun of Bryce Marcus for not knowing his own initials judging by that JBM necklace? Wikipedia says Jared’s middle name is Bradley

JARED’S MIDDLE NAME IS BRADLEY!!!!!!!

I would like to submit a formal apology to Bryce Marcus who a) can spell b) is the most romantic man alive and c) has clearly been TRYING to get caught this whole time.

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Luke/Andreas; settle up or settle down

So very belatedly (this prompt won the Patreon poll in...March), here’s: When Luke and Andreas decided to get back together

Andreas is far too old to be awake right now, especially with a full day of work ahead of him. Though to be fair, staying up half the night wasn’t something he did when he wasn’t too old for it. You don’t make your name in an industry like this without dedicating the vast majority of your waking hours to it, and moderate behavior even in the hours you aren’t working.

The players can get away with shit if they’re good enough, as long as they show up for games and perform, and don’t piss off their coach or teammates in the meantime. And some of the biggest name representation could, presumably, hand off all the grunt work and put their focus into the wining and dining and wooing. 

But you don’t hit the NHL without thousands of hours of practice, and you don’t get to be one of the big names without either nepotism or working your ass off at the age everyone seems to be out into the small hours, rolling out of someone else’s bed and straight to work in yesterday’s suit, still smelling like booze and stale sweat. Andreas is pretty sure Dave would have kicked his ass if he came in looking like that. Possibly literally. Andreas did not get as far as he did, as young as he did, by prioritizing anything over his career. In fact, the only time he did do something that not only didn’t put his job first, but was actively unprofessional, it was, well.

Clearly he has a Luke Morris exception somewhere in the fine print of his psyche.

Andreas is too old for — whatever this is. He had work today, has work tomorrow; he can’t spend ten hours at the office and then stay up until three in the morning. It’s not a sustainable schedule. He would in fact go as far as to say it’s doomed to failure.

And yet.

“Didn’t you say you had a morning meeting?” Luke asks, though it takes a second to filter in, Andreas slow with fatigue and a little come dumb on top of it. 

“Hm,” Andreas says, noncommittal — he’s not entirely sure Luke even said that, the way it was buried, spoken against skin.

“Sleep,” Luke says, more felt than said, and Andreas doesn’t want to. He doesn’t know why — he does have an early morning meeting, he is exhausted, too old for this, too responsible to keep this up, and yet—

“There you go,” Luke says, but it’s soft, and Andreas doesn’t hear him, already on his way to sleep.

*

Andreas gets maybe three and a half hours of sleep — and that’s a generous estimate — but his body still obediently wakes him up before his alarm goes off. Luke’s always been a late sleeper, so Andreas is expecting to find him sprawled out and slack mouthed beside him — he sleeps as deep and hard as a kid tuckered out after a big day, something Andreas has always been envious of — but instead he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, back in some of last night’s clothing, doing stretching exercises for his knee.

His face is pinched, but not with pain — Andreas didn’t realize how easily he recognized pain on Luke’s face until this moment, knowing that Luke isn’t hurting right now. Feeling discomfort, maybe, though it might just be effort. But not pain. Andreas knows what Luke in pain looks like, and it doesn’t look like this.

Andreas is wondering just how many times he saw Luke in pain without consciously realizing it, that he can recognize the lack, when Luke notices he’s being observed, grimacing and straightening up.

“If I don’t do this now I’m fucked at the end of the day,” Luke says, almost apologetically.

“I was just enjoying the view,” Andreas says, and Luke colors a little, ducking his head. He’s always so bashful, which Andreas never understood. When a man looks like Luke does, he’s typically well aware of it, but every time Andreas would say anything it was like a revelation, like he was the first person to ever say it to Luke, or maybe just the first person to say it that Luke listened to, the first person that Luke believed.

Luke’s not someone who looks into a mirror except maybe to eye it sideways. That or to inspect the latest damage he’d sustained, but even that seemed like something Luke would rather not do, and isn’t, thankfully, something he’s had to do for awhile. At least, Andreas doesn’t think so. By the time they met Luke considered fighting a necessary if unpleasant part of the job, and it only became more unpleasant as he got older. Andreas can’t exactly see him picking it up recreationally in retirement.

“I made coffee,” Luke says. “Or I tried. I don’t think I’m smart enough for that thing.”

“Thanks,” Andreas says, though it turns out he has to remake it, Luke over his shoulder, practically taking notes, mumbling, “That’s where I fucked up,” more to himself than Andreas, and Andreas doesn’t know what it means. Not that, obviously, but — he doesn’t know what it means.

“Can I drive you to work?” Luke asks after Andreas is showered, caffeinated, dressed. Not fed: the sole perk of morning meanings is the catering.

Andreas would get to work faster if he didn’t — he doesn’t even know why Luke bothered to rent a car in the first place, it’s not like he doesn’t know what New York’s like — and the later he gets in, the later he’ll have to leave. He won’t miss the meeting, but he’ll have less time to get correspondence done when the office is still quiet enough he won’t be interrupted in the middle of things.

Luke would understand him demurring, especially if he put it that way. Every time Andreas has gotten off work, Luke’s been waiting for him. Not physically, but he’s answered his texts faster than he ever used to, says yes, immediately, to any plan Andreas suggests. Andreas doesn’t ask what Luke’s doing when he’s at work. There’s no good reason for him to still be in New York, especially because he’s never liked it here, and they both know it, and neither of them have said a word.

“Sure,” Andreas says,

Luke doesn’t say anything during the drive other than to cuss out someone cutting him off under his breath, doesn’t seem bothered that Andreas doesn’t either. He knows what Andreas is like in the morning — Andreas wishes that was something that had changed about him over the years, but it hasn’t. It takes approximately two hours awake before he stops scowling at everything. And that’s with a full night’s sleep, which he did not have.

It’s comfortable. That sounds like he’s damning with faint praise, trying to spin a positive out of a negative. He doesn’t mean boring, doesn’t even mean dependable. Not comfortable like an threadbare sweater, a broken in set of shoes. More comfortable like catching someone’s eye and knowing, without a word, what they’re thinking right at that moment. Comfortable like catching up with an old friend and falling back into patterns. Those are both close, but not quite what he means. But Andreas knows what something he needs to hold onto looks like.

“So,” Luke says when he pulls up as close to Andreas’ building as he can find a spot, so almost a block away. His face is wide open, and Andreas wonders if it’s that he can still read Luke this well, or if it’s just that Luke’s so easy to read. Both, probably. Luke’s never been good at keeping exactly what he’s feeling off his face, and right now it’s nerves, right now it’s vulnerability. It makes Andreas want to say yes to whatever he asks, but then, Andreas doesn’t need much prompting for that feeling right now. “I haven’t bought a return ticket yet.”

“Don’t,” Andreas says. “Yet.”

“Okay,” Luke says, then, “Have a good day,” and when Andreas leans over the console to kiss him, gets out of the car, it feels less like playing house this time, doesn’t feel like play at all.

Luke’s car is still there when Andreas reaches his office building, and even though he’s probably too far to see it, Andreas still waves before he steps inside.

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTW: Luke/Andreas; living the dream

For the prompt: anything with Andreas

(This is the first of me ensuring the continuation of the bracket challenge by doing double-duty with the SOTWs. Fun fact: this is not the only bracket prompt for more Andreas. The people demand Andreas!!!) 

If you told Andreas when he was a teenager that one day he’d be a millionaire working in hockey with a hot former NHL player boyfriend his tiny awkward pre-growth spurt New York Rangers loving ass would explode with joy. Literally explode. Andreas can picture it: hands clapping together, then poof. Gone in a cloud of glee. Glitter themed to match the Rangers’ red white and blue, even if he knew he’d deigned to date a Devil, which would take some shine off it. He’s reminding himself of this as he does what his teen self vowed he would never, ever do. Literally vowed. And has kept that vow for over twenty years. Until now. At least nobody’s making him shoot a gun, Andreas thinks glumly. “Not deer season,” Luke said, when Andreas said that, like that was the deciding factor and not Andreas’ firmly stated disgust for firearms. Luke has a gun license, but the only thing he’s using it for is going hunting with his family when he’s up in Cold Lake, and the rifle stays there, firmly locked away in a gun safe in the Morrises’ basement when it’s not in use. That’s the agreement. Andreas hasn’t even seen Luke use it: hunting’s a Morris only activity. He stays back with the kids and in-laws while Mr. Morris and the four kids troop out to sit around silently all day and return empty-handed, typically grumbling at Ben. Andreas suspects the frequency of Ben ‘accidentally’ scaring off wildlife indicates intent. Ben’s wife refuses to confirm or deny, which is confirmation enough in itself. Andreas had been excited for this vacation. The cottage they rented was more of a millionaire’s idea of a cottage than an actual one. A ‘cottage’, complete with pool, hot tub, top of the line everything, from the TV taking over half the basement, to the motor boat Luke’s been eyeing with yearning, to the fishing poles previously in the shed — the ‘shed’ also really didn’t deserve the name — and now in the motor boat. Because they are going fishing. It’s dawn, it’s already getting hot, the dew on the grass evaporating, and Luke, too awake for Andreas’ liking, is taking him fishing. He’s sorry, teenage Andreas. He’s really hot, though. And you love him. That’s not an insignificant factor. “You know how to drive a boat, right?” Andreas asks, one last ditch attempt. The man was raised in a town named after a lake. He can drive a boat. “Because I don’t.” “Yup,” Luke says. “Got my boating license and everything.” “And it hasn’t expired?” Andreas asks, without much hope. “They don’t,” Luke asks. “And they’re transferable?” Andreas asks. “Are Canadian licenses valid here?” He does not appreciate the fact Luke isn’t even bothering to hide his amusement at this point. “We probably aren’t going to catch anything,” Luke says. “And if we do we’ll just catch and release.” “So you’re not going to make me eat some radioactive three eyed trout?” Andreas asks. “I know you wouldn’t settle for less than radioactive salmon,” Luke says. “C’mon. Did you do your back?” “Did I suddenly become double-jointed?” Andreas asks. It comes out slightly waspish. He sounds like his mother. Teen Andreas would re-substantiate himself just to explode in horror. Luke doesn’t take it personally, judging by the sideways smile. “Want me to do your back? I know it’s early, but the UV’s high today.” “I guess,” Andreas says. It’s actually nice on the water. Not too hot, not yet, though the forecast tells him that’s not going to last, and there’s a nice breeze even once they anchor themselves somewhere Luke deems acceptable. No bugs, this far from shore. Andreas can see the appeal, at least of the water. He’s been told more than once he needs to relax more: sitting around doing nothing must count. Luke’s very active for someone trying to relax as well. He does his fishing thing, which seems to involve casting, swearing at himself, reeling the line in, and then casting again. Then there’s a ‘fuck’, and the cycle repeats itself. After the muttering’s escalated to ‘Morris you fucking idiot’, Luke finally seems satisfied, and settles down, eyes on the — bobbing thing. Andreas is afraid to ask what it’s called. Luke seems content watching it. He probably won’t even notice if Andreas takes this time to answer some emails, even if this trip’s supposed to be ‘low-key’ and ‘chill’ and ‘Andreas, put your phone away, seriously’. There’s no service. Andreas heads to the front of the boat. Starboard, he thinks. That’d make sense, right? The part going towards the stars? Metaphorically, at least. No service. He heads to the back of the boat, thinks he sees a bar, but then it’s gone. Holds his phone up, squinting, though he can’t tell through the glare. Fiddles with his screen brightness and then holds it up again. Turns around to see if he’ll have better luck if he grabs the cooler Luke packed lunch in and stands on it, only to see Luke looking at him instead of his bobby-thing, that ‘Andreas is ridiculous’ smile. Andreas hates that smile. Particularly because of how fond it always is, how rarely Luke seems to realize he’s even doing it, so Andreas knows it’s not performative, that Luke doesn’t mean to wear it all on his face the way he does. “You can look at me like that on dry land,” Andreas says. He sounds like his mother again. “No need to find the only place in the tristate area without service.” “I packed you a book,” Luke says. “A book,” Andreas mutters, but in the cooler, among the sandwiches and drinks, is a plastic back glittering with condensation. Three books, actually — a mystery, a hockey biography he’d been meaning to pick up, a memoir everyone seems to be reading right now. “You always say you wish you had more time to read,” Luke says. His smile’s lopsided when Andreas settles beside him, the boat rocking gently under them, Luke’s eyes on the lake and Andreas’ eyes on the page, crooked grin flashing wide and unburdened when Andreas kisses his sun warm shoulder, turns the page.

[youcouldmakealife]

Dave, Bryce, Andreas; schemes (pt 1)

Here’s the long belated SOTW from last Wednesday, for Dave’s POV of the trade

This is 1.3k and still only part one, because I always write Dave suffering, and Dave is very excited to be SCHEMING for once.

Dave flies into Calgary for trade talks. Calgary’s been reluctant to pull the trigger on Marcus, though by all means they’ve had their suitors. Holding out for something big, Dave guesses, though the fact they held out this long shoots them right in the foot, Marcus with all the leverage and an incipient three team trade list. 

Though that’s a double edged sword, Dave knows — if his choices are unworkable, he’s going to stay put. He doesn’t want to stay put. Management doesn’t want him to stay put. The fans don’t want him to stay put. But they’re not going to let him go for a bad return. This is hardly a ‘fuck it, trade him for a bag of pucks’ kind of player.

Dave checks in, takes a scaldingly hot shower — he hates plane smell — and dresses for his meeting with Marcus. Marcus is already there when Dave arrives, fiddling with his utensils at a booth in the very back corner, well away from anyone else, an untouched beer and a drained glass of water beside him. Hard to tell how long he’s been there, easy to tell he’s anxious. Dave can’t blame him, the rock and hard place he’s in between the media, management, the fanbase. That’s even without throwing in the wrench of his husband playing for another team. Literally, not —

“How’re you feeling?” Dave asks, and Marcus shrugs a jerky shoulder.

“Fair enough,” Dave says, and orders a glass of red wine when the waitress arrives, a plate of fries since Marcus hasn’t looked at the menu, shrugged again when she asked about food. This kind of shit can ruin your appetite. But Dave wants fries.

“So your three,” Dave says.

“I want to go to Vancouver,” Marcus says.

“You want to throw away one of your picks, by all means,” Dave says. “You know they’re not going to bite.”

“What if we make them?” Marcus asks.

Dave raises an eyebrow.

“What if the other teams I ask for can’t afford me?” Marcus asks.

“Then they’ll just sit on their hands and wait for that to change before they ship you,” Dave says.

“What if they feel like they don’t have a choice?” Marcus asks. “What if they feel like they have to ship me now?”

“What are you saying right now?” Dave asks.

“Is it possible for you to get me Vancouver?” Marcus says.

Dave laughs. “You’re not asking for much, are you?” he asks.

Marcus doesn’t laugh. “Can you get me Vancouver?” he asks.

“Probably not ethically,” Dave says. “Or even unethically, which is what it sounds like you’re suggesting.”

“I don’t give a shit about ethics,” Marcus says. “I miss my fucking husband.”

Dave sighs. Gets it. He wouldn’t give a shit about ethics if it was separating him from Katrina and the kids either. Would take any pay cut to stay with them.

“Would you take a pay cut at free-agency?” he asks.

“Yes,” Marcus says.

“A big one?” Dave asks.

“I would literally play for them for free,” Marcus says.

“Well that’s not feasible, so I’ll go with ‘a big one’,” Dave says. He’s starting to think of something. Not ethical. Pretty clearly breaking the rules, honestly. There’s no team that doesn’t try to bend the rules and pretend they didn’t know what they were doing if they get caught, though. 

Still, there’s bending, and then there’s breaking. Sending out a few feelers is bending. If Dave makes the last call he’s considering, he’s crossing the line into breaking. Insider trading. No guarantee it’ll work either, that Calgary will take bait, that they won’t just sit on their hands and wait, whatever Marcus thinks.

“I’m going to make a few phone calls,” Dave says. “I can’t guarantee you anything, but—”

“I get it,” Marcus says. “Thanks Dave.”

“I’m going to ask you one question first though,” Dave says. “And if you hesitate, even for a second, I’m not doing this.”

“What,” Marcus says.

“If a trade to Vancouver outs you do you still want to do it?” Dave asks.

“Yes,” Marcus says. No hesitation.

“You sure,” Dave says.

“Yes,” Marcus says.

“Your husband would agree with that?” Dave asks. “Because this isn’t a decision you make unilaterally.”

“I care more about getting outed than Jared does,” Marcus says.

“Would Jared agree?” Dave says, because that wasn’t an answer.

“Yes,” Marcus says. “He would.”

“Okay,” Dave says. “No guaranteeing I can make this work.”

“I get it,” Marcus says.

“You know this won’t make you popular,” Dave says.

“Because I’m so popular already,” Marcus says, a wry twist to it that gets Dave huffing out a laugh.

“Like public enemy one,” Dave says. “And if they find out what’s behind the trade—”

“I know,” Marcus says.

“They’re going to treat you like dogshit in Calgary,” Dave says. “The team, the media, the fans. They’re going to call you a traitor and a turncoat and who the fuck knows what else. The players are going to target you. The fans are going to boo you. Your name is going to be dirt in Calgary for the rest of your career.”

“I know,” Marcus says.

“And you’re going to turn the other cheek like Jesus fucking Christ, do you hear me?” Dave says. “You’re going to suck it up and you’re going to deal with it, because that’s what comes with this. It’s not an ‘if’ about this happening. It’s going to happen. So you need to know that’s coming.”

“I do know,” Marcus says. “I’m not stupid, I know what the fallout’s going to look like.”

“And you still want to do this,” Dave says.

“Yes,” Marcus says. Once again without a moment of hesitation.

“Okay,” Dave says. “I guess we’re doing this.”

The fries arrive.

“Have some fries,” Dave orders him, though he didn’t mean all of them. Though for all he knows Marcus was too anxious to eat before, so he allows it. He hits McDonald’s on his way back to the hotel, though.

He calls Andreas while he walks back with his Big Mac and fries, lets him know what’s up.

“So we’re looking for someone unworkable,” Andreas says, catching on quick.

“Someone unworkable,” Dave agrees. “Don’t want to risk two unworkable things, one of them might sort their shit out.”

“So two teams they’d never willingly trade a franchise player to and one they would but that can’t afford to,” Andreas says.

“Pretty much,” Dave says.

“Battle of Alberta is automatic disqualification, and they don’t have anything to offer anyway,” Andreas says. “Canucks. And — Tampa’s in salary cap hell right now.”

They’re also desperate to re-sign Tanner before someone bites at an offer sheet. Dave is very aware of this, considering he’s the intermediary of that situation. Right now it doesn’t look like it’s going to get done unless they move pieces, and they’ve been having a hard time there. He wants to stay in Tampa, has a house, a girlfriend from there. They want him to stay in Tampa. Tampa’s got a wealth of depth in defensive prospects behind some high calibre but high cost players.

Top line D is exactly what Calgary is trying to get right now, and Tampa’s reluctant to ship Schlitz off, but Dave thinks they’re aware they have to if they want to keep Tanner, who’s a fan favourite as well as an elite playmaker. Dave may have just figured out how to get Tanner to stay in Tampa, and Tampa will come out of it ahead a couple picks at minimum.

“Two birds one stone,” Dave says.

“Two birds one stone,” Andreas agrees.

“I’m gonna give Vancouver a call after Marcus puts those three in ink,” Dave says.

“I’ll call Tampa after?” Andreas says. That’s a good idea. Andreas deals better with him than Dave does, or at least has in the Tanner talks.

“Frame it in terms of Tanner, not—” Dave says.

“Dave,” Andreas huffs.

“Yes, yes, I trust you in everything, Krause,” Dave says.

“Thank you,” Andreas says primly, but Dave sees right through him — Andreas loves when a plan comes together.

Dave can’t say he’s complaining himself.

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Dave, Andreas, David/Jake; putting in an appearance

At (long long long) long last, for the prompt:  Dave’s POV while watching David and Jake interact with each other once they’ve gotten back together

Every time there’s a media event that David and Jake are both invited to, Dave finds himself crushing antacids for days beforehand, just waiting for things to blow up. How, he doesn’t know, but there’s no shortage of options, opportunities, all laid out in Andreas’ exhaustive and frankly terrifying Contingency Plan folder. Well, specifically the subfolders for David and Jake, because they aren’t the only contigencies Dave has to deal with. Marcus has a hell of a subfolder himself.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust David’s discretion — he trusts it implicitly, and he trusts, up to a point, that David’s clear preference in maintaining privacy means Jake’s discretion can be assured. But Jake’s an honest, heart on his sleeve, emotional person, and Dave always worries that in the heat of the moment he might let something he doesn’t mean to slip, give David a look he doesn’t mean to give him, or does, but one that isn’t appropriate for the time and place, drop an endearment in, give something away with his body language, anything.

Dave’s only consolation is that people are stupid. He finds that underestimating people is dangerous, so he never does, but frankly, most people? Dumb as bricks, and too self-centered to pick up on anything around them that wouldn’t personally hurt or profit them. 

The problem with the media, unfortunately, is that anything Jake would do would personally profit them — that’d be one hell of a story to break — but after a spate of trash that pretended to be articles but were more like libel, speculating about everybody and anybody after Riley and Lapointe came out, the assumption tends to be that hockey’s a straight as hell sport, and that they were just novel exceptions. Even other players coming out — or getting outed, Dave has to remember to buy Brett drink or seven the next time he sees him for dealing with that shitshow — seem to be pointed at as the exceptions that prove the rule.

Which on the one hand, is a mess, but on the other hand, it makes Dave’s job a lot easier. Without any irrefutable evidence — and Dave knows David’s not even close to stupid enough to leave any evidence like that — probably the only way the two of them get found out is if they want to. And Dave knows that’s not the case.

Which, again, is a comfort, but it doesn’t do anything for his acid reflux. At this rate he’s going to be more bile than man.

“You already are,” Andreas says.

“You’re fired,” Dave says.

“You already fired me last week,” Andreas says.

“Why the hell are you still here, then?” Dave asks.

“Because you’d be lost without me,” Andreas says, which is true enough.

It’s not that Dave’s going to media day specifically to babysit them. He’s got other reasons. For one, it conveniently always happens to be in the city he lives in — what a coincidence — Marcus got tapped for the Flames and Dave should probably be close by in case he decides today’s the day to blurt out he’s married to all and sundry — no wonder Dave’s stomach always hurts — and he has a fourth overall client who got picked up by the Rangers, is about to be thrown into shark infested waters, and is so shy and soft spoken he cringes when someone talks a little loud. If anyone’s getting babysat, it’s him. Not that Dave’s worried about a scandal there, just that he might faint away or decide after that horror show it might be better to pack up and move to the Yukon or something.

Andreas is handling him — he seems more comfortable with Andreas, which makes sense, since Dave is one of those loud talkers that scares the kid. Dave genuinely has no clue how a guy who can throw massive hits between threading the needle can’t talk louder than a whisper, but that’s just one of life’s great mysteries. No shortage of them.

It’s a long day. It’s always a long day when the media’s involved. Andreas thankfully coaxes Cox to pipe up with multiple sound-bytes for his new market, and while they’re as rote as they come — happy to be here, excited to be part of a team with a legacy, etc, etc — that’s more than enough for right now. Nobody’s really asking players to show personality: hell, they tend to leap down the throats if players do.

Jake’s doing his very low-key display of a personality all day, all effortless affable charm, and David’s doing — well, David. Dave notices they stay way the hell clear of one another the entire time, which probably isn’t necessary, and was probably more difficult than they’d have liked, considering the media seems like they’re never going to get over that rivalry, even though David’s no longer with the Isles and neither of them have given any fuel to it for years, seem perfectly cordial, if not particularly warm — good ol’ David.

Dave finds his way over to David after he gives Cox a pat on the back for his performance — he swears Cox flinches when he does, he’s definitely going to leave him to Andreas’ gentler touch. He looks tired, drained, though Dave doesn’t think most people would notice.

“Media sucks,” Dave tells him.

“They’re fine,” David says in his best monotone, and does not flinch when Dave shakes him by the shoulder, which Dave appreciates. “Part of the job.”

“Annoying part of the job,” Dave agrees. “When’re you flying to Washington?”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” David says.

“Wanna do brunch?” Dave asks.

David hesitates, just blink and you’d miss it, enough that Dave suspects he’s got other plans.

“We’ll do lunch next time you’re in town,” Dave says.

“We’ve got an exhibition game here,” David volunteers helpfully.

“Good,” Dave says.

Jake comes loping over, all mock-casual. Dave is almost one-hundred percent sure the two of them are going to be spending the rest of their time in New York attached at the hip, but he still can’t help himself from gravitating to wherever David is.

“Dave,” Jake says cheerfully. “Chaps.”

Can’t help himself at all. David gives Jake a look that’s as exasperated as it is fond, and Dave empathizes, though he’s mostly just exasperation.

“At least use separate exits,” Dave mutters at Jake, and Jake just gives him a completely unrepentant grin in return.

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Dave, Andreas, Greg (Jared/Bryce); no incidents

For the prompt: Dave Summers' POV on Jared's trade 

Dave has a fucking headache. It’s lodged between his eyes, pounding, and he figures it’s psychosomatic, his body rebelling against the stress of the day, or maybe it isn’t, a tension one, him clenching his jaw too much, sleeping too shit, too few hours, apparently waking Katrina up every night with the way he keeps changing position, will start out on the edge and crowd her to the edge herself by morning. Doesn’t matter the reason: his head hurts.

And that’s before Andreas appears in his doorway, hovering in a very specific way, his posture radiating ‘I don’t want to disturb you but it is imperative that I disturb you’.

“Which of our guys?” Dave says. Whichever team did it without contacting him first is officially on his shit-list, but he knows sometimes things go from ‘tentative discussion’ to ‘okay we’re pulling the trigger on this’ in the space of a minute on deadline days.

“Matheson,” Andreas says. “Greg wants you to call him.”

“Matheson isn’t one of our guys,” Dave says, but his heart sinks anyway. Leave it to Marcus to throw a wrench in his day when he isn’t even the one being traded. “Where?”

“Boston,” Andreas says.

“Fuck,” Dave says. “Okay, let Greg know I’ll give him a call.”

First he gets more coffee, swallows two aspirins with one too hot gulp, almost getting them lodged in his throat, which would just be the fucking capper, wouldn’t it.

“If anyone calls—” Dave says, poking his head out of his office.

“Forward it immediately if it’s from front offices, take a message if it isn’t, politely tell them to fuck off if they’re media,” Andreas says dutifully.

“Good man,” Dave says, and calls Greg, who is, to put it mildly, freaking the fuck out. It isn’t his first rodeo, but it isn’t his dozenth either, and he’s clearly got a problem where he’s gone past the friendly and protective feelings for his client into personally invested in his happiness as well as his success, something Dave’s had some trouble with in his own day. 

From a career standpoint, Boston’s a great place for Matheson to land, whether it’s just a stepping stone or where he ends up for years. It’s a more competitive team than Edmonton — not that it’s hard to find one of those — it’s a passionate market, it’s a defensive minded team that would utilize Matheson’s strengths well. On paper it’s terrific. But of course, there’s the wrinkle of Marcus. Always wrinkling things, Marcus.

“How’s he taking it?” Dave asks.

“Calmer than I am,” Greg says, which isn’t saying all that much, to be honest. “Fuck, I got a call—”

“Call me back if you need to,” Dave says. Even though he honestly doesn’t have the time to be holding the hand of another agent who isn’t even at his agency right now, it’s the right thing to do. He’s half expecting it, half not, but he isn’t expecting Greg to be breathlessly saying, “Vancouver,” when he picks up the phone.

“Pardon me?” Dave asks.

“They’re shipping him to Vancouver,” Greg says.

“Matheson?” Dave asks. “Okay.” 

That’s recalibrating a few things, real quick: closer distance, makes them divisional rivals but it wasn’t like they weren’t already. Marcus is probably over the moon, at least compared to whatever he must have been feeling when it was Boston. He glances at his clock. Two moves aren’t common on deadline day, three moves even less so, but they’re not unheard of. But considering there’s less than fifteen minutes to go, Vancouver’s probably the last landing point. Good for Matheson from a career perspective too, and Dave doesn’t know the kid well, but he’s liked what he’s seen from him, both on and off the ice, so he’s happy for the kid.

Selfishly happy that this is the biggest event of the day too, as he watches the clock tick down to deadline. The rights of one of his young guns have been traded, but that’s not too big a deal since he’s still down in the Q, hasn’t even suited up for them outside of the preseason. He took it like a professional, which had Dave feeling both proud and relieved, glad that it seems he’s got another low-maintenance client, because fuck knows he’s got enough high-maintenance ones. 

There were also few kicking the tire kind of things, a reporter breathlessly announcing a rumour — if you can be breathless on twitter — that gave Andreas some trouble that morning, but a quick call to front office, who apparently literally laughed at the idea of trading their captain brought everyone’s heart rates back in line, though the fans kept speculating well after Dave was informed that was never gonna fucking happen.

And then Matheson’s trade, which was a bit of a tangle, for all that he isn’t even Dave’s client. All in all, when the most stressful part of your day isn’t even technically your job, Dave’s got to say that’s what he considers to be a successful deadline day. Probably the most peaceful one he’s ever had in his career. He might even get home for dinner. He can’t believe he’s going to get home in time for dinner.

“Hey Andreas,” Dave says. “Want to grab a celebratory drink?”

Andreas looks up from his computer. “No incidents drink?” he asks.

“No incidents drink,” Dave says.

“Avoiding dinner at home drink?” Andreas says.

“Look,” Dave says. “It’s not that I’m avoiding dinner—”

Andreas arches an eyebrow.

“It’s just that right now the kids are on a stir-fry kick,” Dave says. “It’s stir-fry seven days a week. And meat’s apparently off the menu.”

“You like stir-fry,” Andreas says.

“I like stir-fry,” Dave says. “I am about to throw the damn wok through the wall if I have stir-fry one more time.”

Andreas snorts. “Drink and a burger?”

“I would fucking kill for a burger,” Dave says. “Fuck yeah we’re getting burgers.”

“I refuse to lie for you if Katrina asks me,” Andreas says, but he’s already getting his coat, and Dave bets his silence costs the exact equivalent of an import beer and a fancy burger. Andreas will probably get one with half an herb garden on it and some brie or some shit. Dave just wants cheese. And bacon. Fuck, Dave misses bacon.

“To a surprisingly un-stressful day,” Dave says when they get their drinks. His headache’s gone: it’s a trade deadline miracle.

“To burgers,” Andreas says.

“To burgers,” Dave says, and clinks his glass.