The Rookie vs The Legend
Chapter 5: Competitor
Summary: Dan an Phil have a plan. A plan that could work if their goalies stop making fun of them
Notes:
It's finally here!!! Sorry it took so long but I wanted to wait for the pull I had on Tumblr regarding smut scenes. Sooooo, this is how it works: Every smut scene will be between ******** You can skip it, the important talk is out of it and you can check the ending notes for a little summary on the dynamic if you are curious
The door opened and he finally saw him. Dan stood there in his suit trousers, his white shirt with half the buttons undone and no shoes.
"Come on in"
The door closed quietly behind Phil. The room had normal hotel architecture, neutral walls, a king bed neatly made, a desk with scattered game notes, a single lamp casting warm light instead of the harsh overhead, the curtains half drawn. The city outside was reduced to blurred gold and soft sounds through the glass. Dan didn't move immediately. He stood a few steps inside the room, hands in the pockets of his suit pants studying Phil like he's assessing a play before committing.
Phil, meanwhile, took in the space. He set his phone on the edge of the desk. Shrugged off his jacket. His movements were controlled but not relaxed, like someone trying to find where to stand in a room that suddenly feels smaller than it should.
He didn't sit, he stood in the middle of the carpet, suspended between the bed and the desk, deciding between staying and stepping back. And Dan noticed his hesitation so he crossed the room first. It wasn’t rushed, he didn't hesitate. He was decisive. He stopped close enough that Phil had to tilt his head slightly to maintain eye contact.
“You look tense,” Dan said. It wasn’t a question, it was a clear observation
Phil exhaled through his nose. “We said we’d talk.”
“We are talking.” But Dan was brushing his nose on Phil’s cheek
“That’s not what you’re doing.”
Dan’s mouth curved and without another word, he reached up and grabbed the side of Phil’s face, confident, unhurried, and kissed him.
It wasn't desperate, but it wasn't restrained either, it was totally deliberate. Like he had waited for the moment and made a plan that Phil was following without knowing.
Phil didn't move for a second. When he reacted, his hand moved to Dan’s waist as his eyes closed. The kiss deepened just enough to remind them both why the conversation was important.
Dan pressed himself closer to Phil, trying to guide him to the bed. Phil’s fingers tightened slightly at his hip to move him with him. As soon as the back of his knees touched the bed, Phil pulled back from the kiss. Barely, their lips almost touching
“We have to talk,” Phil repeated, softer this time.
Dan nodded and stepped back a little. The space reformed between them. The mood shifted, not in a bad way, the initial anticipation finally gone. They moved almost unconsciously into positions: Dan stepped away from him and leaned back against the desk, casual, grounded. Phil sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely like he was about to discuss a strategy or a business. It felt natural, normal even. Like they were having a pre-game meeting.
“Our careers come first,” Dan started. Phil nodded immediately. No hesitation there. “I’m just starting,” Dan added. “Every interview matters and every game matters.”
Phil studied him carefully.
“And I’m at a point where they’re waiting for something,” he said. “A mistake, a slip, a rumor. Something to question my leadership.”
Silence filled the room, not uncomfortable, it was clearance
“On the ice,” Dan said, “we’re rivals.”
Phil nodded once. “We don’t change that.”
“We can lean into it. Let them think that’s all there is.” Dan said in a neutral tone. A second later, Phil saw a thought crossing Dan's face. “And off the ice?” Dan asked.
Phil ran his tongue over his lower lip. “Off the ice stays off the record.”
Dan watched him carefully.
“No labels,” Phil continued. "Not because I'm unsure, I just want to get to know you. We may don't know what this is yet, but I want to know everything about you"
Dan's gaze softened at that.
“Exclusive?” he asked after a few seconds.
“I would like to” Phil was offering a way around, but his face had "yes" all over it
“so... no titles,” Dan said.
“For now. If that's okay with you”
Dan considered it. “And if someone asks?” he insisted
“The press doesn’t get anything,” Phil replied. “I’ve always been private. You are new on this, you don’t owe anyone an explanation, but it's also up to you. What you are willing to share with your friends or family or your teammates even”
That silence lingered longer and Dan looked away briefly, then back to Phil. There was something that bothered Dan with that but he didn't elaborate
“Tim suspects,” Phil added. Dan’s eyebrows lifted. “He’s my best friend,” Phil continued. “I’m not going to lie to him if this becomes something real. But I know he won’t talk.”
Dan nodded slowly, like he was preparing to say something important
"Jakob Silfverberg" He finally said "He is my best friend, way before the NHL"
"Ottawa?" Phil remembered the drafts for the season
"Yeah, he knows me. He has been teasing me about you for years" Dan looked at his feet blushing a little
“It's ok... So the show stays a show,” Dan continued. “The rivalry sells tickets.”
“And what’s real stays here,” Phil replied. A faint smile touched Dan’s mouth.
“You’re on business man mode” Dan pointed out
“I’m a captain,” Phil said, smiling at Dan.
Dan stepped away from the desk again, closing the space once more, slower this time, like it was a runway
“And what if this stops being organized?” he asked quietly.
Phil dragged his eyes from the hem of Dan’s suit pants to his eyes “Then we adjust.”
Dan studied him for another long second, then he leaned down and kissed him again, softer. It was an agreement, like sealing a deal, when they separate, the room felt totally different. Resolved, aligned and charged. They were two professionals, in their early twenties, building something between game schedules and media obligations.
The rules were clear:
On the ice: rivals.
Off the ice: theirs.
“That means we are done talking?” Dan asked against Phil’s lips
“I still have a lot of question” Phil said softy
“Now? Like what?” Dan was standing between Phil's legs. He started to sound a little desperate and Phil wanted to ask him about his family and teammates but it wasn't the moment. They had limited time
“We can talk about that later” Phil was still sitting on the bed, Dan's trousers right in front of his face. He tried to stand up but Dan pushed him back, he definitely had a plan Phil had no idea about.
***************************
Dan removed Phil's tie carefully and threw it on the desk from above his shoulder, then he moved his hands to Phil's shirt. As he undid the first buttons, he stepped back just to have the space to reach out Phil's mouth with his again. He was clearly in control of the situation, and Phil wanted to touch him but the position wasn't that comfortable to do what he wanted. Dan was on a mission of exploring Phil's mouth while removing his shirt but Phil couldn't help it. He broke the kiss just enough to talk against Dan's lips.
“Can I touch you?” they both heard how Phil's voice was almost begging him
“You are usually in charge, as captain, if it's okay with you, I would like to take care of you tonight” If Phil was waiting for something from Dan it wasn't those words, but he liked them
“Yeah. That's okay” Dan moved away from Phil again and removed his own shirt, then offered Phil a hand to stand up off the bed.
Dan recognized on Phil’s face how he had many more questions, he was so transparent it was hard for Dan not to notice. But he didn’t want to talk right now, there were things that he needed to figure out first. Their deal was clear and worked perfectly for them, that’s all that mattered, he needed to focus on everything else. They were standing between the desk and the bed, Phil fully clothed and Dan in just his suit pants.
Dan reached out to Phil, undoing his belt first, his eyes never leaving Phil's, like checking and asking silently with every move if he was okay. Phil hadn't noticed Dan pupils in the dim light, but now that he was closer, he could see his brown eyes almost covered completely by his dark pupils.
Phil had his hands by his sides, unsure what to do with them, he tried to take deep breaths as Dan unbuttoned his shirt at a torturing pace. When he was done with the buttons, Dan placed his hands on Phil's shoulders and took off the shirt while passing his hands through Phil's arms, he let the shirt pull down at his feet.
Phil felt Dan's fingers on his right shoulder, he knew the bruise was still there, not as bad as it had been a while ago, but still there. And he felt so much better at just the touch of his fingers that he also reached out to Dan's bruises, he had one in his left arm and another one in his torso, that one looked fresh. They both knew it was all part of the game, but that didn't help the feeling that maybe they could try and make it better, like a magical touch to make the pain and the bruise go away.
Dan snapped out of the bubble first “your shoulder?”
“I'm fine” Phil replied automatically
Dan tilled his head slightly, questioning Phil's reply “and that's the official statement or there's something you're not telling me?”
Phil breathed again, as slowly as he could before answering “it's still a little sore. I try not to lay on it too much”
“Got it” Dan closed the distance between them, placing a small kiss to the corner of Phil's mouth, then moving the kisses to his jaw. Phil barely noticed Dan's fingers unbuttoning and moving the zipper down on his trousers, he was way too focused on Dan's lips all over his face but not quite reaching his mouth.
Dan's hands moved to Phil's hips to help the pants join the shirt on the floor and a quick thought crossed his mind: it didn't seem like Dan was new at this. He was extremely confident in his movements. So he allowed himself to ask
“Have you done this before?” he tried to be vague enough because he wasn't sure how far the night will allow them to go
“Enough to know what I like” Dan said to Phil's ear
“Good” Phil wasn't going to elaborate, not now, but he was relieved in some way about that
Dan stepped back a little to admire his job. Phil was standing, half dressed in the middle of his hotel room, his face a little reddish, lips slightly parted and short breathing. Dan looked at Phil like a lion looked at its prey before eating it
“Lay on your back” Dan said close to Phil's mouth. And Phil without a doubt stepped out of the clothes he had at his feet and removed his shoes and socks as fast as he could before turning and crawling on the bed until his shoulders and head were supported by Dan's pillows.
Dan was standing in front of the bed, still wearing his trousers, but the vision didn't last much. He turned to the side of the bed and sat down next to Phil's thighs. Phil was trying to play it cool but he still wanted to put his hands all over Dan, so he did. He sat properly and reached out to Dan's hair and neck and pulled him closer, he was dying for a kiss.
Dan didn't resist. He started kissing Phil eagerly, pushing him back to the bed. And without separating their lips he positioned himself sitting on Phil's lap. Even with Dan's suit pants on and Phil's underwear, they could still feel each other's dicks and Phil couldn't help but move his hips up, searching for more friction at the same time that he grabbed Dan's ass with his hands to pull him closer.
Dan moaned in Phil's mouth and his hands pushed Phil's chest a little. Both their eyes were heavy and dark with lust.
“Wait. I told you I wanted to take care of you and I agree we need to get to know each other better, so is it okay if we start doing some exploring today?” it was the first time that Dan had looked so young that night and Phil gave him a small smile and held his face between his hands
“Couldn't agree more”
Dan didn’t move away when Phil agreed. They felt how something shifted in the room, the restraint is still there, but it’s thinner now. Dan leans down again, slower this time, and kisses Phil with intent. His mouth opens against Phil’s and Phil feels it everywhere, low in his stomach and in the way his fingers immediately tighten in Dan’s hair.
Dan’s hands slide down Phil’s sides, over muscle still warm from the game, down to his hips. He pressed him into the mattress, just enough to remind him who started this, who was in charge. Phil exhaled sharply when Dan’s mouth dragged from his lips to his throat. It was slower now, heavier. Dan wasn’t mapping him anymore, he was tasting him.
Phil arched slightly without meaning to and Dan noticed. A faint smile brushed his skin before his teeth grazed lightly along Phil’s collarbone. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make Phil’s breath catch and probably to add a light bruise on his pale skin
“Still okay?” Dan murmured against him.
Phil’s voice came out lower than he expected. “Yeah.”
Dan shifted his weight, sliding one thigh between Phil’s legs. The friction was subtle at first, almost accidental, almost, but then it wasn’t. Phil inhaled sharply, hips lifting instinctively.
There it was. The control slipped from Phil, just like Dan was looking for. He wasn't the Montreal's Captain but he knew the responsibilities, he knew how hard it was, and he wanted Phil to release all the control he usually contained
Dan pressed down again, slow and deliberate, watching Phil’s reaction. The confidence from earlier is still there, but now it was edged with something darker, hungrier. Phil’s hands moved over Dan’s back, feeling the strength there, the tension coiled under his skin. He dragged his nails lightly downward and Dan exhaled into his mouth.
They weren't rushing, but they weren't pretending anymore either. Dan’s lips trailed lower, over Phil’s chest, down the center of him, slow enough that every inch felt intentional. Phil’s breathing turned uneven, shallow. His hand found Dan’s shoulder, like he was trying to steady himself. When Dan looked up at him again, from lower down, Phil’s pulse jumped.
“Exploring,” Dan reminded him quietly.
Phil swallowed and nodded at him. Dan’s fingers curled into the waistband of Phil’s underwear, pausing. Not waiting for permission exactly, just making sure it was still there, that Phil was comfortable. Phil lifted his hips in response and that was an answer enough.
The air in the room felt thick now, charged. Every touch landed harder, every brush of skin left heat behind. Phil reached down suddenly, pulling Dan back up by the back of his neck. The kiss this time was deeper, messier, full of heat and less careful.
Dan shifted them again so they were flushed together, bodies aligned, friction no longer subtle. Even through the fabric of his suit pants, it was undeniable. Dan felt Phil’s hard cock pressed to his stomach. Wherever he placed his hand he felt Phil’s warm skin and urgency they both had. Phil let out a low sound he didn’t recognize as his own. Dan’s hand slid up his chest again, then his thumb brushed over his pulse point on his neck. He felt how fast it was racing.
“You’re not very controlled right now,” Dan murmured, pleased with himself.
Phil gripped his waist tighter. “Stop talking.”
“But you wanted to talk” Dan mocked him
“Not anymore. I would rather have your mouth occupied”
Dan smiled against his mouth, he got the message, but he had other plans.
Dan took Phil’s hand in his and guided him lower between them. He was still wearing more clothes that he wanted and they didn’t have much time, and he was grateful that Phil got the memo. He started undoing the single button in his suit pants and then quickly unzipped his zipper. They were so close that every hand movement caused them extra friction and it caused Dan to close his eyes and rest his forehead against Phil to regain some control.
Phil moved his hands along the sides of Dan's hips under the clothes to help him undress without separating them much. When he managed to move the clothes down to below Dan’s hips he felt him laying on his side to remove the remaining layers of fabric through his legs, and Phil took his chance to do the same with his pants.
Both looked at each other just a second before crashing at the same time on a desperate kiss. Dan climbed back on top of Phil’s lap, causing both their cocks to press against their bodies, which took a surprised moan out of their mounts. Dan’s hand moved between them to grab Phi’s erection on his hand causing Phil to lift his hips from the couch in a quick motion.
They broke the kiss and Phil placed his forehead on Dan’s shoulder. When Dan moved his hand up and down through Phil’s length, he snapped his head back to the pillow and moaned again. Dan used his right arm, which helped him stabilize himself, to rest it next to Phil's head, and with his fingers moved some dark hair that had fallen over Phil's eyes.
“Dan, please” Phil was begging for something beyond him
“Please what?” Dan replied while moving his thumb over the tip of Phil’s cock to move the precum from the head and use it to ease his moves.
“Keep going, just like that” Phil barely opened his eyes to look at Dan
“Let me do something that we can both enjoy” Dan started kissing Phil’s collarbone, on the same spot from a little earlier while releasing Phil for a moment.
Dan grabbed his own leaking cock and did the same movements he did on Phil to collect the precum, now grabbing both their cocks in his left hand. When he started pumping his hand, Dan kissed Phil back. His self restraint was almost gone. Phil grabbed his ass with one hand and his other hand joined Dan to help create a better grip over their cocks. Their hands moved in perfect synchrony. Dan led the strength and the rhythm they were jerking off.
Phil broke the kiss just to look at Dan’s face. He wanted to make sure he memorized every gesture on his face while he got closer to his orgasm. Dan opened his eyes and rested his forehead against Phil’s once again, allowing them to see how every movement of their hands was reflected on their faces.
“Faster” Phil said while pushing Dan’s ass closer to him.
Dan blinked rapidly and started pumping his hand faster, causing them to moan louder this time. Dan felt both their cocks twitching in his hand, he applied a light extra pressure on his hand to make Phil come faster.
“Fuck. I’m close” Phil tried to keep his eyes open but it was getting harder with every hand movement, he rested his head again on Dan’s shoulder
“Let me see you while you come for me” Phil’s head snapped back to the pillow just in time for Dan to see his face while coming undone with a deep moan. It took Dan two more pumps from his hand to follow Phil with his own orgasm.
The movement between them grew slower. Not frantic anymore, intentional. Testing what made the other react after their orgasms. Phil let go of both of them to hold Dan's face and gave him a tender kiss at the same time that Dan collapsed on top of Phil.
“Fuck, that was hot” Dan offered after breaking the kiss with Phil. His breathing still fast against Phil’s chest
“You bet” Phil said and gave Dan a kiss on his forehead “But we need to clean up ourselves or take a shower”
“All at once,” Dan said, breath warm against Phil’s lips
“Not together, you perv” a small smile on Phil’s face
***************************
Phil’s chest rose and fell under Dan. He nodded and started moving, even though every nerve in his body was screaming at the distance. Dan pressed one last, slow kiss to Phil’s mouth, a little deeper than the previous one before he sat down on the bed to help himself slow his breathing. Phil got out of bed, and Dan allowed himself to watch him all the way to the bathroom. The bedside lamp bathed him in a warm light that highlighted every muscle and made each bruise appear a little darker. Phil was stunning. After they each took a shower, Dan put on pajama pants and Phil put part of his suit back on.
“When’s your flight?” Dan asked while offering Phil a glass of water
“9:30AM” Phil answered before drinking the full glass in one go “That’s in a few hours” Dan said while looking at the hour on his phone. It was 1:33AM
“I gotta go to my bedroom, take some rest… ” Phil’s tone was almost sad
“I know” They looked at each other, the moment to say goodbye had arrived.
“Talk to you soon?” Dan said closing the distance between them one last time
“Absolutely” Phil kissed Dan sweetly and gently before grabbing his jacket and walking to the door. Phil opened the door and checked that nobody was on the hallway “Night, Rookie”
“Night, Captain” Dan saw the door close and vowed to give Phil a chance.
Everyone said you shouldn't meet your idols, but Dan was determined to prove himself wrong. Even though things wouldn't be easy, he didn't want to deny himself the chance to spend time with his lifelong crush. Leaving the rivalry aside of course, they'd see how that played out later.
Dan stood in front of the bed, he had previously removed the decorative cushions but totally forgot the bed scarf and now that he was alone the bed looked wrecked. The two pillows on top of one another, the bed scarf almost on the floor, the bedspread was also half on the bed, half on the floor as if someone had jumped on the bed and he could see where Phil had grabbed the bedsheets with his hands.
He removed the bed scarf and kinda fixed the bedspread before settling under the blankets. The weather in Montreal in the early morning was anything but friendly. Dan pulled the blankets up to his chin, trying to trap whatever warmth was left in the room. The hotel’s heating system hummed softly, steady and impersonal, nothing like the heat that had filled the space just an hour ago.
He shifted onto his side without much thinking, the same side Phil had been lying on, and his hand brushed against the sheet where the fabric was still slightly wrinkled. His fingers traced the crease absently while replaying some images with his closed eyes. He was able to smell a faint scent lingering. It wasn’t cologne, not quite soap, something warmer, something distinctly his, the same scent he remembered from the first night together after the Halloween party.
He pulled the pillow closer, pressing his face into it for a second longer than necessary, and the room was quiet again. All the city noises were gone, along with the teasing comments and usual banter from his teammates, no screams from the fans at the rink, no music pressing onto his ears during a bus trip, no laughs during a gym session or a breakfast, and no weight shifting the mattress next to him.
Dan turned over again, lying on his back, his eyes still closed. As if opening them would break some kind of spell. Small fragments replaying once more. The way Phil had hesitated before touching him, the way he simply took Dan's suggestion to let him look after Phil without any objection. And everything felt real now. It wasn’t a fantasy anymore, it wasn’t a teenage crush projected onto a rival jersey.
And he was aware that real meant complicated for him, but he was sure it also meant worth it. All his issues about the situation were drowned in Phil's memories and for now it was perfect and enough. He turned off the bedside lamp, letting the darkness swallow the room. For a moment, he swore he could still feel Phil’s hand resting on his waist, so he allowed himself one small smile into the pillow before sleep finally claimed
him.
Phil had an incredible good humor that morning, but not enough to match the airport in Montreal that was awake before the sun. Phil kept his hood up as he walked toward the coffee stand, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. His shoulder ached in that dull, persistent way that didn’t demand attention but refused to be ignored. He rolled it once, subtle, careful.
Tim walked beside him, loose and alert despite the hour. Phil knew goalies were wired differently. It was like seeing an 8 year old that had way too much energy and was bouncing around all day, but in a 34 years old body that was also a professional athlete. Tim was taller than most, perpetually amused, the kind of teammate who noticed everything and weaponized it for entertainment. It was nice when the target wasn’t Phil.
A few steps behind them was Patrice Bergeron, Phil’s Alternate Captain. He was 24 and Phil loved the guy, he was an excellent center, known for precision, defensive intelligence, and a quiet authority that made people listen without him ever raising his voice. When coach Julien called Phil to ask him about his opinion on having the Québécois as his alternate, he knew whatever happened to him was never affecting the team’s game as long as Bergeron wore the “A” on his jersey. Bergeron didn’t say much at six in the morning, never, but he was always very observant. They stopped at the counter.
“Can I have a macchiato with two pumps of caramel, please?,” Phil said.
“Shocking,” Tim muttered and Phil laughed softly. When they stepped aside to wait for their drinks, Bergeron glanced at Phil’s right shoulder.
“L’épaule?”
“It’s fine. Just stiff.” His French wasn't that good, but he remembered the body parts in that language without any problem.
Bergeron studied him for half a second longer than necessary, then let it go. He wasn't the type of man to pressure Phil about something that might affect the game if it was in public. There was always a camera or some fans listening. If his shoulder was still recovering, it was a team talk, not an airport conversation. Tim accepted his coffee and leaned against the counter, eyeing Phil over the rim of the cup.
“You were in a good mood last night, and I can tell it’s still here
“We won.” Phil replied automatically
“That’s not what I meant.” Tim said in a sing-song, almost mocking tone so Phil didn’t react this time.
Phil took his cup from the barista and wrapped both hands around it, welcoming the heat. Through the tall airport windows, the runway lights glowed against the fading dark. Montreal looked distant already. His head went back to last night with Dan, and as if he had mentally summoned him, his cell phone vibrated with a new message in his pocket. He didn’t mean to check it immediately, but he did anyway.
[09:03 AM] Dan Howell: Boarding soon. Text me when you land.
The corner of his mouth betrayed him before he could stop it, and Tim saw it, and of course, Bergeron did too.
“Ah,” Tim said slowly. “There it is.”
Phil locked the screen and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
“What?”
“That,” Tim gestured vaguely at Phil’s face. “Whatever that was.” Phil had a faint feeling that Tim knew who the message was from and had chosen not to mention names out of respect for Phil and Dan's privacy. And Phil appreciated that.
Bergeron shifted his weight slightly, his cup of coffee surrounded by both his hands, he opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the boarding announcement that echoed through the terminal.
“Group one.”
They started walking towards the counter with their carry ons. Tim fell a step behind to adjust his backpack, leaving Phil and Bergeron briefly side by side. Bergeron spoke quietly, calm and measured, as always
“Whatever is putting that look on your face, I’m happy for you, just make sure it doesn’t interfere. Playoffs are coming up soon”
It wasn't a joke, as Tim might have put it, but it wasn't an accusation either. It was a fact that Phil was very aware of... and so was Dan. It wasn’t just responsibility, they were the defending champions. Even knowing that, Phil didn’t look at him.
“Thanks. And yeah, I know. It won’t change anything”
Bergeron held his gaze for a moment and nodded with a soft look on his face. That was enough. As they walked down the walkway, Phil flexed his shoulder again. The pain was bearable, he'd just make sure the trainers gave him a massage, and with an ice bath, he'd be ready for the next game.
The memory of the warm sheets, the Montreal air, and a rookie looking at him as something worth taking a chance on and offering to look after him? That was less bearable. And for the first time, he realized it was a problem he was sure he never wanted to ever go away.
Dan was at the rink before sunrise again, not because he had to, he wanted to be. Ice and skates always helped clear his mind. The Civic Arena felt different when it was empty, less intimidating, more honest. Just ice, boards and the lights humming overhead. The Pittsburgh hockey fans loved their team and their Captain, but Dan wanted to enjoy the rink, no crowd, no noise, no expectations.
He dropped a cluster of pucks near the left circle. The left backhand was his focus that day. He adjusted his stance and shot. Wide. So he tried again, this time he lowered his shoulder slightly more, rolled his wrists a fraction later. The loud ping of the post made him wrinkle his nose. He exhaled through his teeth.
“Working on Boston’s signature move now?
Dan didn’t turn, he knew that voice. Carey Price leaned casually against the boards, full gear already on but his mask tucked under one arm. The goalie was twenty-two and had a calm in a way that sometimes bordered on unreadable. When he spoke on the rink, it was usually deliberate, outside of it, he was pretty different.
Dan smirked. “It’s not his.”
Price raised a brow. “Could’ve fooled the entire league.”
Dan reset another puck but didn't answer
“You know he’s been doing that for years,” Price continued, pushing off the boards and skating lazily toward the net. “You used to talk about it nonstop before being drafted.”
“That was when I was seventeen.”
“You mean like a year ago?” Price said positioning himself in front of the net Dan was practicing. Dan shot again. Glove side and the puck was in.
Price nodded once. “Better.”
A few more teammates filtered in, sticks tapping lightly against the boards as they stepped onto the ice. One of the veterans laughed as he skated past. “Careful, Price. He’s trying to dethrone your favorite player.”
Dan rolled his eyes. “He’s not his favorite.”
“But he is yours.” There it was. It wasn’t malicious. It never was, it was just… known. Like Price had just said, Dan had been very vocal about his admiration to Phil before being drafted.
Everyone in that rink knew Dan had grown up watching Boston, watching Phil specifically. Studying him, mimicking him and even talking about him like he was untouchable. And now? Now he was trying to outgrow the shadow he put himself into.
Price settled into full goalie mode “Again.”
Dan didn’t hesitate. He dangled the puck a little while he skated slower, controlled. Sold the forehand longer before shifting to the backhand at the last second. Price reacted quickly, but the puck slid just under his blocker. and into the net Price straightened up slowly.
“…Okay.”
Dan tried not to look too satisfied. From the tunnel, another figure stepped onto the ice. Montreal’s Captain, Saku Koivu, filled the rink with his presence. Dan admired his steady presence. He was the kind of captain who didn’t need theatrical speeches. He carried years of leadership in the way he skated.
He watched in silence for a few reps, but Dan could feel him. That was the thing about Koivu, you always felt when he was watching. After another successful attempt, Koivu finally spoke.
“You’re changing your angle.”
Dan turned. “A bit.”
“The coach didn’t suggest that.”
“No.” Dan was taking a risk and he knew it
Koivu skated closer, stopping just outside the defensive zone. “Why?”
Dan hesitated. Not because he didn’t know the answer, but because he did.
“Because if I don’t diversify it, teams will read me easily”
Price gave a quiet hum of agreement and Koivu studied him for a long moment.
“Since when do you think like that?”
A few of the guys nearby went quiet enough to listen without making it obvious. They were used to mock Dan, but if the Captain asked something, everybody listened.
Dan met Koivu’s eyes. “Since I realized talent isn’t enough.”
And Dan felt the silence heavier on his neck and shoulders.
Then Price snorted lightly to break the tension. “Look at him. Growing up.”
Pouliot, one of the forwards, called out from the blue line, “Boston must’ve given him a pep talk.” Laughter scattered across the ice.
Dan didn’t react but Koivu did. He didn’t smile, he didn’t scold.
He just said, evenly, “Let him grow.”
That was enough to quiet them for a few moments.
Practice filled in after that — drills, pace picking up, bodies colliding. Dan pushed harder than usual. He tracked back aggressively, finished checks cleanly, called for pucks in tight spaces instead of deferring to veterans.
Mid practice, he executed the backhand again but this time under pressure. And the puck hit the top corner. The shot had been clean. Price turned his head slowly, then skated out of the goal crease.
“That’s not imitation anymore,” he said quietly as he passed Dan. “That’s yours and it was fucking great, Howell!”
Later, when most of the team filtered toward the locker room, Koivu caught Dan by the boards.
“You know what separates a fan from a competitor?” he asked calmly. Dan shook his head.
“Distance.” Koivu rested his gloves on the top of the boards. “You stop watching someone to admire them. You start watching them to beat them.”
Dan swallowed, he knew exactly what he meant. Koivu continued, voice low enough that only Dan could hear.
“If you keep adjusting like this, if you keep working before anyone tells you to, leadership won’t be hypothetical.” Dan blinked, he was not expecting that, and again, Koivu didn’t dramatize it.
“In a few years, an ‘A’ on your jersey wouldn’t surprise me,” he said. “If you want it, of course.”
And then, almost as an afterthought he said “Captaincy isn’t about being the most talented. It’s about being the most accountable. Every day.” He tapped Dan lightly on the shoulder and skated toward the tunnel.
Dan stayed on the ice a moment longer, half processing what his Captain was implying, half thinking about the actual possibility of some day being the Captain of a NHL team. His dream has always been playing in the biggest hockey league, and he made it… then what? What was his next goal?
The jokes about Boston didn’t sting anymore, they felt smaller. Phil has been a huge inspiration for him growing up, but he also knew they were on the same level now. Yes, he was one of the top players in the league, but Dan was also the best rookie in the same league.
He dropped one last puck to gain more confidence with his left backhand. When the puck crossed the crease into the net he remembered what Phil told him “When you score with your backhand, you can be on top”, and yes it was flirty chat, but he was right. A hockey player needed to be a complete athlete, it wasn’t because he wanted to be Phil, but because he wanted to beat him. Him and any other top league player. And maybe that was the first real step toward becoming something else entirely.
After he showered he saw that the media scrum was smaller than usual but tighter. They were probably waiting for Price or Saku so he ignored the small group without a second look. But as soon as Dan had stepped out of the locker room, the cameras tilted toward him.
A few microphones extended immediately, logos pressed forward like badges that claimed some type of authority. He dried his hair once with a towel, tossed it into his stall, and stepped into position. The PR rep nodded at him and Dan took a deep breath.
“Alright.”
The first question came fast. “Howell, last night you matched up against Lester again. For years you were very open about being a fan of his game growing up. Does it feel different now that you’re competing directly?”
Did nobody have any other topic? He felt a couple teammates lingering behind him, pretending to re-tape sticks. Dan folded his arms loosely across his chest.
“It should feel different,” he said evenly. “If it didn’t, I’d be doing something wrong.”
He saw a few pens scratching notepads and a new reporter leaned in.
“Do you still see him as an idol?” Dan tilted his head slightly, considering.
“I see him as one of the best forwards in the league.” Not past tense but strategic and professional.
“You used to model your game after him.”
“I used to model parts of my game after a lot of players,” Dan corrected calmly. “That’s what you do when you’re learning.” A murmur moved through the small group.
“So you’re not a fan anymore?” A different reporter added and Dan almost smiled.
“He is competition” He felt a camera shutter clicking repeatedly.
“Does beating him mean more because of that history?” Dan held eye contact with the reporter this time.
“Beating Boston, or any other team, means two points. That’s what matters.”
One of the journalists tried again, Dan knew they were pushing him
“Have you spoken to him off the ice? maybe about how that dynamic has changed?” There was a fractional pause.
Not enough to be suspicious but enough to show he registered the weight of it and he couldn't help it, flashbacks of the night before flashed behind his eyes
“We’ve talked about hockey,” Dan said. “You respect players who’ve done it at a high level. But once the puck drops, none of that matters.”
Behind the cameras, Dan saw Carey Price leaned against the hallway wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable and Dan continued, steady. “If I stay a fan, I stay behind him. That’s not the goal.”
The reporter that started the round jumped back with a new question
“You’ve adjusted your game recently. Is that something you picked up from him?” A couple teammates smirked at that and Dan shook his head slightly, more to his team than the reporters
“I adjusted it because teams were reading it. That’s on me.”
“So you’re not copying him anymore?”
Dan allowed himself the faintest hint of a grin.
“If I was copying, Price would’ve stopped a few more shots on our last game” The reporters gave him some light laughter. Price didn’t move, but the corner of his mouth twitched. The PR rep signaled them that the next one was the last question.
“Is it strange facing someone you once admired?” Dan exhaled slowly.
“No. It’s motivating.” In more ways that they could ever imagine
The PR rep was about to cut it off when another voice pushed forward.
“Daniel, you’ve faced Lester last night and now you’re preparing to face Sidney Crosby. Is it nerve-wracking going up against two of the biggest names in the league back-to-back?” There was a subtle shift in the room at the mention of Crosby.
Sidney Crosby wasn’t just a star, he was the benchmark. The face of the league, the comparison everyone eventually got measured against.
Dan didn’t rush his answer.
“It’s not nerve-wracking,” he said. “It’s the standard.”
A reporter followed quickly.
“You’ve been open about admiring Lester growing up. Did you ever feel the same about Crosby?” There it was again.
Dan’s expression softened just slightly, he knew the answer by heart, and he could be honest about this
“I think every kid who watches hockey admires Crosby,” he said. “You’d have to be blind not to.” A few quiet laughs.
“But?” someone prompted and Dan shifted his weight.
“But admiration is different from identification.” He saw the microphones leaning closer.
“I respected Crosby’s game. Still do. His vision, his edges, the way he controls pace. That’s elite.” He paused, taking a deep breath “But Phil’s path felt closer to mine.” That caught their attention. More cameras flashed on his face
“How so?” someone pushed again. Dan inhaled slowly, he felt everyone's eyes on him
“We’re both British. There aren’t many of us in this league. When you grow up somewhere that’s not considered a traditional hockey powerhouse, you notice the guys who make it anyway. It’s not about who’s better,” Dan continued. “Crosby’s one of the best to ever do it. That’s not a debate. But seeing someone with a similar background carve out a place at the top?” He gave a small shrug. “That makes it feel possible.”
A brief silence filled the room, but before the PR ended the round someone added: “So is facing Crosby a bigger test?”
Dan’s jaw tightened just slightly, his competitive edge surfaced.
“Every elite player is a test. Crosby forces you to be disciplined. Lester forces you to be adaptable.”
“And you?” Dan met the reporter’s eyes.
“I’m working on forcing people to adjust to me.”
That was new from him, his teammates knew it and even the PR rep glanced at him.
“Last question” The PR repeated
“If you had to pick, who shaped your game more?”
Dan almost smiled again, as a rookie there was no way he could avoid this questions
“I’m still shaping it.” The round ended there. Dan saw the microphones being lowered, one reporter muttered to another, “That’s gonna be a headline.”
Dan stepped back toward the locker room. Price was waiting again, still leaning against the wall.
“You really went there with the British thing,” Price said.
Dan shrugged lightly. “It’s true.”
Price gave him a long look. “You’re not talking like a fan anymore.”
Dan grabbed the rest of his clothes “I told you” And their plan was working, the rivalry was there, background history and all but the press was focused on their game, not their personal lives and that was good
Boston was colder than Montreal had been. Phil sat at his stall after practice, half-dressed, shoulder freshly iced. The locker room buzzed with the usual post-skate noise. Sticks clattering into racks, music low in the background, someone arguing about a play from two games ago.
His phone buzzed against the shelf. It was Tim. Of course it was him, even when he was standing 2 feet apart from him. Phil didn’t even open it immediately. He knew it wasn't urgent, just entertained. Another buzz, and then another. Phil sighed and picked it up. Yeap… Three messages from the guy standing 2 stalls away from him.
[11:03AM] Timmy: You’re trending.
[11:04AM] Timmy: Your boy’s doing media rounds.
And then a link.
Phil hesitated half a second before tapping it. The clip loaded faster than Phil had time to read the headline. The video was Dan standing in front of a semicircle of microphones, hair still damp from the shower, posture steadier than it used to be. Phil watched.
He watched Dan talk about being a competitor now. About not staying a fan, then about Crosby and how he felt closer to Phil’s story than Crosby’s. When Dan said “We’re both British. There aren’t many of us in this league,” something in Phil’s chest tightened unexpectedly. It was recognition, from someone he was admiring back
Across his bench, Tim’s voice carried. “You're gonna pretend you’re not watching that?”
Phil didn’t look up. “I’m not pretending anything.”
Tim seated closer, towel slung over his shoulder.
“He basically said you’re the reason he believed he could make it.”
Phil locked the screen, but didn’t put the phone down.
“He said he respected my path,” Phil corrected evenly.
“Uh-huh.” Tim nudged him lightly with his elbow. “You gonna admit that’s kinda flattering?”
Phil’s jaw shifted slightly. “It’s irrelevant.”
Tim smirked. “Sure it is.”
Phil stood, peeling the ice pack off his shoulder and tossing it into the bin. Across the room, someone else called out, “You see what the rookie said about you and Crosby?”
Phil grabbed his blue shirt. “I saw it.”
“And?” another one of his teammates added. They weren’t teasing him, it was pure curiosity. Phil pulled the fabric over his head.
“And nothing.”
But, of course, Tim wasn’t buying it. “He said facing you forces people to be adaptable.”
Phil didn’t answer but a small smile crossed his lips
Tim tilted his head slightly. “You like that.”
Phil met his eyes. “I like that he’s thinking.” That was honest.
Tim studied him for a second longer, not teasing now, just observant. “Just don’t let it get in your head.”
Phil let out a quiet huff. “It’s not.”
But as soon as Tim walked away, Phil unlocked his phone again. He didn’t replay the whole clip, just the part where Dan said “But seeing someone with a similar background carve out a place at the top? That makes it feel possible.” Phil stared at the screen for a long moment. Then he opened his messages. He didn’t overthink it.
[11:14 AM] Phil Lester: Saw the interview.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
[11:15 AM] Dan Howell: Oh no
Phil’s mouth twitched.
[11:15 AM] Phil Lester: You handled it well.
[11:16 AM] Dan Howell: That’s not what you’re thinking.
Phil leaned back against the front of his stall.
[11:17 AM] Phil Lester: I’m thinking you talk a big game for someone who still owes me a clean backhand.
The reply came faster this time.
[11:17 AM] Dan Howell: I scored it in practice today.
Phil’s eyes flicked up instinctively, as if someone in the room could see him.
[11:19 AM] Phil Lester: Doesn’t count unless it’s against me.
There was a longer pause now, the locker room noise faded into background static.
[11:22 AM] Dan Howell: Good. I don’t want it to be easy.
Phil stared at that message.The door knob punctured onto his shoulder that throbbed faintly. He felt something else tighten instead, the backhand was still a promise for something that started last night in a Montreal hotel room.
Across the room, Tim watched him with narrowed eyes so Phil locked the phone and slid it into his pocket.
“Next game’s Pittsburgh,” Tim said casually as he walked past.
“I know.” Phil stood, grabbing his jacket.
“Crosby’s not exactly forgiving.”
“Neither am I.”
But as he left the locker room, one thought stayed with him, Dan wasn’t chasing him anymore. He was closing the distance.
