so like at least half of the people in my city aren’t wearing face masks, and i’m just like.... what the fuck. y’all know there’s a pandemic happening?? and so many of them are jogging or biking and that spreads your breath further and there’s even MORE of a need for you to wear a mask, but they just don’t give a shit. i’ve crossed the street to get away from people and they just keep following bc apparently that’s where they’re going but?? and people that put their masks on just before they go into the store, then pull them off when they come out...congratulations, everything that you touched is now on your face, i hope you’re happy.
29. what quote or inspirational setting do you think is bs?
pretty much a lot of them that are like “be yourself because those who matter don’t mind and those who mind don’t matter” like....maybe you’re just an asshole and should listen to those close to you if you’re harming them?? Like even something that seems innocent to you could be a big deal to them so maybe...listen?
39. describe your aesthetic
my aesthetic is really like four aesthetics in a trench coat lol. but i guess... if i described it... soft cryptid? like i love soft colors and fabrics and pastels, but also sort of eerie unexplainable stuff? like literally it’s just the mothman plushie that my partner gave me, that’s it lol. The Ridiculousness of Me is basically summed up in the tattoos i have? like, soft color flowers, a gothic scroll-work compass, geometric cat faces, the triple moon, and the caps logo lmao
w o w okay sorry for never answering these??? tumblr never told me i had asks so not sure how long these have been sitting here :/ i think these were from an ask meme about dating a player? maybe? that's what i'm goin with!
wayne train: Absolutely. there is no question about it, he's a good man with a beautiful soft voice and i know he's treating me right
matt dumba: considering he is literally the hottest player in the nhl, i am going to say yes here. i'll live in the frigid cold of minnesota for him without even complaining, that's how perfect he is
its literally 307am here but im up so might as well answer
i feel like me and webs would work bc we have the same like. dry sense of humour? like in the xmas video when james neal was like webby doesn't talk and yannick was just like. he doesn't speak german. and i love his chubby ass dogs. i too have a chubby ass dog
Taylor’s already smiling as he enters the school gym.
Like, he gets that for a lot of people, high school reunions suck, because high school sucked, but Taylor honestly liked high school. He got to play hockey and hang out with his best friends and have parties that now he realizes were lame but that he thought were awesome then, what wasn’t there to like? So he’s smiling as he walks through the halls, which somehow manage to look exactly the same as ten years ago, down to the posters, and he’s definitely smiling as he greets the man and woman sitting at the table–James and Shonda, who are the people in charge of this and who he didn’t know well in high school but he thinks James played baseball and Shonda sat in front of him in math class.
They greet him by name too, and he opens the door and walks in and it’s–well, it’s kind of lame, if he had to admit it. Like, they tried to make the gym look nice, and there are streamers and everything, but it looks sort of like a school dance, except for how all the people in the gym are ten years too old for that and the guys’ suits actually fit. Taylor’s not saying he expected luxury, but he’d expected a bit more.
Still, there’s–”Hey, Hall!” comes a man, and Taylor turns to greet the guy–Andrew?–who slaps him on the back and talks to him a lot about his slapshot, which Taylor nods about, because he can always talk about hockey. It’s what he spends his life doing, after all.
Taylor keeps talking, to Andrew and the other people who come up and want to chat with him, but he keeps looking over their shoulders, too–this is a time when it’s good to be taller than average. He wants to talk to everyone, but really he wants to talk to–
He sees dark hair first, dark hair and a flash of blue eyes and Taylor doesn’t need more than that before he’s muttering an “excuse me” to whoever he was talking to before he’s walking very quickly across the room. For a second, he considers that maybe he should wait until the conversation is finished, be dignified–but screw dignity, so instead he just throws himself onto Jordan’s back, wrapping his arms around him. “Ebby!” he yells, squeezing Jordan tight.
Jordan sways like he wasn’t expecting to be hit with an entire hockey player, but he doesn’t falter, either. Taylor can feel his breathing go suddenly quick, though; Taylor hugs him harder.
“Hi, Hallsy,” Jordan says, and Taylor can see his grin side-on from here. It’s the same grin it was almost twenty years ago, when Taylor sat down next to a dark-haired, gap-toothed kid in homeroom and the kid immediately asked him about his Flames t-shirt. Like his body is different than it was ten years ago, the last time Taylor hugged him, but it’s still Jordan. “Wasn’t sure you’d be here.”
“Of course I’m here,” Taylor protests. He doesn’t let go. Jordan’s gotten a little taller, but he’s still the right height for Taylor to rest his chin on Jordan’s shoulder. “Where else would I be?”
“Toronto?” Jordan suggests. It’s where Taylor has a game tomorrow, that he’s flying back for tomorrow morning.
Taylor lets go of Jordan, so he can swing around to look at him. “You know that?” he asks. He’d sort of figured Jordan might know what team he plays for, but not their schedule.
Jordan shrugs, glances away. “I keep up with the teams.”
“Do you root for me?” Taylor asks, feeling surprisingly urgent. Now that he he can see Jordan, he can really see the differences–Jordan’s filled out, put on what looks like weight and muscle both; he’s got some sort of calmness to him that he was only starting to have ten years ago; he’s carrying himself taller. But he’s got the same gap-toothed grin, his eyes are the same bright blue, and the way he rolls his eyes at Taylor is the same.
“No, I hope you get smashed into the boards every game,” he tells Taylor. He’s definitely lying. Taylor grins.
“No you don’t,” he teases back. He glances around again, then back at Jordan, because he can’t help it. It’s been ten years since he was the boy who’d been his best friend–oh, they’d made an attempt at communicating, at staying in touch, but Jordan had been in college and Taylor had been in juniors and it just hadn’t worked, until they both stopped texting. “Do you know if–”
“I think so,” Jordan finishes, before Taylor can finish formulating the question. Taylor grins at him again. He loves his team, loves all the friends he’s made, but there’s something to the way Jordan knows him that’s different. Jordan and, well. “I asked him when we got drinks last week, and he said he might be, but he wasn’t sure if his cases would line up right. But as of last night he was going to be catching a flight.”
“Cases?” Taylor asks.
Jordan’s smile goes wry. “Yeah, he’s a lawyer. Did you not know?”
“Um.” Taylor may have known, at some point. He thinks he did. Like he thinks Ebs is–a teacher? Maybe? He might just be assuming that because of how much Ebs had used to like that sort of thing, tutoring kids and all that. “No, I knew.”
“Sure.” Jordan agrees, clearly not believing him. “So what do I do?”
“Um. Teacher?” Taylor guesses, and knows he’s right by Jordan’s face. “Hah!”
“Lucky guess,” Jordan retorts. “I–oh, Ryan!” He grins, big and wide, and then Ryan’s there too, embracing Jordan with the easy, casual affection of someone who’s done it a lot. Taylor considers being offended, a little; clearly they’ve been hanging out without him, which isn’t cool at all. But also–they’re here, Jordan grinning at Ryan and Ryan smiling back, and then Ryan relaxing into the hug Taylor pulls him into, as big as it was for Ebs, and hugging back. He’s definitely more solid now, always somehow ageless but also more solid, and his laugh is louder.
“Hey, Hallsy,” he says into Taylor’s ear. “We didn’t know if you’d be here.”
“Everyone is saying that,” Taylor protests. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you’re in the NHL and definitely too cool for this place?” Ryan says, waving his hand around and somehow managing to take in the lameness of the streamers.
“That’s no change, though, I’ve always been too cool,” Taylor replies, and it’s just so–so easy. Like, he likes the rest of it, but really, if he had to narrow down why, when he got the invitation to the reunion, he didn’t just throw it away and instead immediately called the front office to figure it out–it’s this. It’s Jordan and Ryan, standing in front of him. Standing with him, like they always had. Taylor had always had his team, and Ryan had his clubs and Jordan had all his school stuff, but…it was the three of them.
“I remember when you fell into a garbage can and–” Ryan starts, and Jordan’s grinning because he remembers too, but Taylor interrupts.
“Let’s get out of here,” he says. Jordan and Ryan exchange a look, one of those looks they always used to exchange, the Taylor’s being weird looks. Taylor had not missed those looks.
“You just got here,” Jordan points out.
“There’s nowhere else to go in this town,” Ryan adds.
“Not–out out. Just. Not here.” Taylor grins at them. “Someplace where we can catch up, you know?”
Ryan glances at Jordan. “Bleachers?” he suggests. Something about the way he says it is like he’s being gentle–like he’s expecting Jordan not to want to. Taylor gives Jordan his best puppy dog eyes in response. Jordan hadn’t been able to resist them once, maybe that’s still true.
Jordan sighs. “Only if we steal a bottle from the bar,” he says, and Taylor grins and punches him on the shoulder.
“That’s right!” he cheers, and Jordan gives Ryan another look before he smiles too.
They ensconce themselves on the bleachers by the football field, like they always had. God, how many hours had they spent here–Ryan and Taylor playing video games as Jordan tried to study; Taylor and Jordan arguing about nothing at all until Ryan finished with whatever extracurricular he was in charge of that week to let out and he could come join them and keep arguing too; Taylor throwing a ball around because he was bored and seeing Ryan and Jordan leaning against each other, looking at the same book, and Taylor just feeling so full of joy and fondness.
He feels that way now too, watching them stretch out on the bleachers, Taylor perched on the riser below them. He can see the sharp line of Ryan’s jaw and cheekbones, the curve of Jordan’s smile.
“So. Catch me up,” he says, once they’ve settled in and finished discussing how apparently the hockey team here sucks now. “My life’s all like, out there, but yours isn’t. What’s happened?” Something occurs to him–it’s been ten years. “Are you married?”
It seems inconceivable, but also–Ryan’s always pretended like he’s self-sufficient except that Taylor and Jordan always knew better, but Jordan liked to joke he raised Taylor when they were 17. Jordan’s the kind of person who would get married. Except–Taylor doesn’t like the idea. Doesn’t like the idea of not being invited, for sure, but also–it just sits oddly, like it always had.
“Nope,” Ryan says simply. Jordan looks at Ryan, then grabs the whiskey bottle from him.
“No,” he says, but it’s not simple–it’s determined. Way more than just a no should be. He takes a swig from the whiskey bottle.
“Ebs…” Ryan murmurs, like a warning.
But Jordan ignores him, just looks at Taylor, and goes on, “I haven’t had a boyfriend for a while, either.”
It takes Taylor a second to hear, to process. But then. “Oh. Oh.”
“Yeah.” Jordan’s staring at Taylor, like he’s daring him to react badly. Taylor isn’t. he’s not going to. He’s just–processing.
As he does so, Ryan moves, nudges Jordan’s foot with his. Taylor watches the motion. “And you knew?” he asks Ryan.
Ryan shrugs, but it’s Jordan who answers. “I came out to Ryan in college,” he says, a little like a dare.
“Well…” Ryan puts in, with a little private smile at Jordan.
“Well,” Jordan agrees, with that smile back. Taylor blinks at them. This is–he thought it was the three of them, but Ryan and Jordan apparently had their own separate lives. Well, together lives. Just not with him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Taylor demands.
“By the time I was telling people, we weren’t–you’d moved on.”
“I didn’t move on from you,” Taylor protests. They’d grown apart, they’d stopped talking as much, but he didn’t–that makes it sound like he’d just ditched Jordan. And Ryan. Which he hadn’t. He’d just–they’d been busy. They’d all been busy. Right? “I’d have made time for something important.” He pauses, then pushes on. “Did you think I’d be a dick about it? I wouldn’t, I wear the pride tape and everything.”
“Because that means so much,” Jordan retorts, and crosses his arms over his chest. “Come on, you’re in the NHL, Hallsy. That’s not a place known to be welcoming to gay dudes.”
“No, but–you know me.” It should be enough. It was supposed to be enough. He never wanted–god, he never wanted to drive Jordan away, him or Ryan. He just…they’d been so much, and then they’d been gone, and Taylor had maybe convinced himself it would be better that way. “Come on, Ebs. Did you really think I’d be a dick? That I wouldn’t support you? Because if you did I need to change some shit.”
Jordan takes another swig of whiskey. “No,” he says, and it’s gentler this time. “No, I didn’t think you’d be a dick, but–I just couldn’t. Not until it would have been weird and too late.”
“Why? You told Ryan.” Taylor throws an apologetic look at Ryan, because he doesn’t want to suggest he was a better friend to Jordan than Ryan or anything, but Ryan’s not looking at him. Ryan’s looking at Ebs.
Jordan looks at Taylor, then at Ryan, then takes another drink from the whiskey bottle, mutters something that sounds like fuck it. “Yeah. Well. I was in love with you, so it was sort of different.”
Taylor freezes at that. “What?” he demands, his voice going high-pitched. “You were what?”
“I was in love with you,” Jordan repeats. He’s not looking at Taylor any more. “I guess I can tell you now, but–fuck, I couldn’t have told you then.”
“You were–did you know?” Taylor asks, spinning to face Ryan.
Ryan’s still not looking at him. “Yeah,” he says, and it doesn’t come out quite as easy as Taylor thinks it was meant to.
But Jordan looks up, at Ryan, because he can look at Ryan. “You did? I didn’t tell–”
“I could tell,” Ryan says, a little quiet. There’s something in how he’s looking at Jordan. It’s how he always looks at Jordan, but– “I knew, Jordan. Come on.”
“But–” Jordan blinks at him. “You didn’t–”
“You clearly didn’t want me to know,” Ryan tells him, shrugging. He hasn’t looked away from Jordan.
“Even when we–” Jordan cuts himself off, but Taylor knew him very well, once. Or he thought he had.
“Wait, you too?” he asks, and smacks Ryan’s knee until he looks at Taylor. “You had a girlfriend Junior year!”
Ryan shrugs. “I like both,” he says, and Taylor gapes. Both of them? They’d both had that? They’d both–
“And you hooked up?” he demands. “When?”
Even if they had wanted to deny it, the guilty looks they shoot at each other give it away. Taylor grabs the whiskey from Ebs, takes a sip. Jordan’s lips were there a second ago, he thinks, out of nowhere, and drinks again.
“Um. Senior year?”
“Right before graduation,” Ryan specifies. There’s something stubborn about the way he’s looking down at Taylor. “At the big party at Jerome’s.”
Taylor remembers that party. He’d been pretty drunk, but he remembers sitting by the firepit with Jordan’s head on his lap and Jordan’s feet kicked over Ryan’s lap and Ryan’s shoulder brushing against his, and thinking how he never wanted to be anywhere else, thinking how good Jordan’s hair felt under his hands, how the firelight caught on Ryan’s cheekbones. Was that before or after, he wonder? Did they go from sitting in a pile with Taylor to each other? Or did they come from that?
He swallows, abruptly. Takes another drink. “How didn’t I notice?”
Jordan snorts, but it’s Ryan who answers. “You didn’t notice a lot of things, Hallsy.”
“I was busy,” Taylor mutters in protest. “I–” He what? he hadn’t noticed this big part of his best friends’ lives? He hadn’t noticed that his best friend was in love with him?
“I need to–” Jordan shakes his head, gets up. Taylor surges upright to catch his hand.
“Don’t leave,” he says. Protests. Begs.
Jordan’s lips twitch, though there’s still something wild in his eyes. “I’ve just got to piss, Hallsy. I’ll be right back.” Taylor’s pretty sure he’s lying about the excuse, but not about coming back, so he lets Jordan go.
Then he leans back, rests his head against the riser above him, next to Ryan’s knee. Looks up at the stars. “You really knew?” he asks.
He hears Ryan shifts. “About what?”
Right, because apparently there were so many secrets. “Any of it.”
“I was still figuring me out. That’s why i didn’t say anything, I was working on it.” That’s very Ryan. Ryan works on things himself, then presents them complete like he never worked on them at all. “Then–you did kind of bail, Taylor. We got it, you were busy, it’s not like we didn’t expect it, but–you can’t do that than expect us to tell you things.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Well you did.” Ryan says. “And it was a dick move.”
“Fine.” Taylor is a big enough person to say he can admit that. If he could do it again, he’d do better. “And the–Jordan being in love with me? Was it that obvious?”
“I mean, it wasn’t subtle, but you were a pretty oblivious kid.” Ryan takes the bottle from Taylor, drinks. Now all three of their mouths were there. “And you didn’t have the context.”
“You didn’t either, really.” Taylor points out. “Not until the end of the year. Or did you know before?”
“No, not…” Ryan shakes his head. he takes another drink. “But I was paying Ebs a lot of attention, at that point.”
“You–really?” Ryan shrugs. He looks careless, even, like he doesn’t care that Taylor just figured out his crush on Jordan. But Taylor knows how much of a facade that always was. “But he, with me–”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.”
“You’re telling me,” Ryan snorts, and then he goes quiet too.
Probably thinking about high school–about the last time they’d been here. When Taylor had apparently missed so much.
Although–he thinks back. He’d always known how easy Jordan was for him, how he could get Jordan to do just about anything. Maybe he’d even known how Jordan’s eyes lingered. He hadn’t thought about it, but–he hadn’t avoided it.
And he remembers watching Ryan watch Ebs, sometimes–how he’d smile at Ebs, how once someone said something shitty about Jordan for being a nerd and Ryan had punched him before Taylor could. Had he known then, too?
“Did Jordan know? About you?” he asks, before he can think better of it.
He can’t see Ryan, so he doesn’t know what he looks like. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I don’t think he’d have hooked up with me, if he did know.” Ryan snorts. “I think he was too hung up on you to see anyone else, honestly.”
“Sorry,” Taylor says, because he feels like he should. Not, he discovers, because he means it.
Ryan snorts again. “It wasn’t your fault. I got that. I mean, I got it. You were–you.”
Taylor sits up, so he can look at Ryan. “What does that mean?”
Ryan sits up too. The lights of the gym behind them are catching in his pale eyes, on the line of his jaw. Taylor’s never been quite sure how to quantify his attractiveness, except to know it’s there. “That you were–Taylor Hall, NHL prospect, everyone loved you, hot and charming and–all that. And my best friend. Our best friend.” He sighs. “I wasn’t even jealous. It made sense.”
“Oh.” Taylor swallows, this time. “I would have been cool about it, you know. All of it.”
“Maybe,” Ryan allows. “But you get that we–that he–couldn’t risk it, right?”
“Yeah.” Taylor gets it. He doesn’t like it, though. If they had–if Jordan had told him, he would have been cool. Probably. No, he would have, Taylor decides. he’d have been cool, and he’d definitely have punched anyone who gave either of them shit. And he’d have been cool about them hooking up, too. Like, not in the same room as him or anything, but–but if they’d come back looking all messy and with each other’s marks on them; if maybe Taylor had come over too early and caught them making out–maybe Jordan on Ryan’s lap, Ryan’s hand in his hair, Jordan maybe shirtless and squirming.
Maybe they do that now, still–maybe they were planning to go back to one of their hotel rooms after this, if Taylor didn’t show up. Maybe they’d get a little tipsy, then the door would close and Jordan would kiss Ryan against the wall, going up onto his tiptoes just a little, until Ryan was messy and moaning, all his composure broken. Maybe they’d still.
Taylor, he notices almost idly, is suddenly very hot. Which is. Huh.
“Are you guys asleep?” Jordan asks, stepping over Taylor to get back to his seat. He plucks the whiskey bottle out of Ryan’s hands as he does. “Come on, we aren’t that old.”
“I bet your students think you are,” Taylor throws back at him, and Jordan laughs. He looks–lighter. Like telling Taylor lifted something from him.
“You have no idea. I have these two–” he starts to tell the story of his kids, high schoolers at a school in Toronto, if Taylor judges right, and the mischief they think they can pull. The kids clearly adore Ebs, though, and he does right back. He’s–settled now. It’s a good look on him.
Taylor glances over at Ryan, who’s watching Jordan talk. He looks good too. And he’s looking at Jordan like–like he always used to. Which Taylor gets, now.
“Hey, I’m going to be in Toronto, in a few weeks,” he says, out of nowhere.
Jordan laughs. “Yeah, I know. I can look at the NHL app.”
“No, I mean. We could catch up then. Hang out.” He grabs the bottle back from Jordan. “If you guys wanted.”
Jordan glances at Ryan; Ryan looks back, then at Taylor, always a little more suspicious. Maybe protective, Taylor thinks. But he doesn’t want to accidentally break more hearts.
Then Jordan nudges Ryan. “Only if we get good tickets to the game, eh?” he says, and Ryan breaks and laughs.
“Yeah, rinkside or we’re going out with the Leafs after instead.”
“Don’t you dare,” Taylor warns, and that sets them off laughing again. Taylor looks at them, grinning and bright on the bleachers above him; how Jordan’s foot is pressed against Ryan’s calf, and his stomach flips. Warms.
The good thing about your freaky friday incident is that at least you’re relevant to be someone who went to eh all star game. the bad thing is that you now have to pretend to be good enough to have gone to the all star game. uh oh. but at least your beard is enough for you to recognize who you are almost immediately, because you’re RYAN O’REILLY
the one where you and your soulmate have matching marks on your bodies with Dante and Mat
Mat’s lucky his right hand is the one that he used to grab Dante, all those years ago. Most people ask him if he shook hands with his soulmate, and he can say that it was something like that, while smiling convincingly enough at them. The truth is, he’s not even sure Dante remembers that Mat had grabbed Dante that first time to keep Dante from tripping and falling, pulling him closer. It feels like a fitting way to start their story.
Mat feels like he’s going to spend the rest of his life trying to pull Dante closer. After all, it’s what their marks symbolise, and he knows he cares way too much about soulmarks, but he wishes it didn’t constantly feel like Dante was slipping through Mat’s fingers. They could’ve both gone NCAA, but Mat chose the Thunderbirds. They could’ve both gone to the Thunderbirds, but Dante picked the NCAA. Mat got drafted to the Islanders, and Dante got drafted to a team halfway across the country, and that was out of their control. But then Mat finally makes his way up to the big leagues, and Dante chooses to finish school. He doesn’t even know how he’s kept Dante all these years, wonders if they’d be friends still if not for the soulmarks, and then feels ungrateful for thinking about it like that. Dante does care. He has to, right?
That’s Mat being ungrateful again, because he knows Dante cares, but the way Dante cares doesn’t make sense to Mat at all. Mat doesn’t know what he means to Dante. Mat doesn’t know, and he’s too afraid to ask, and it’s killing him a little. A lot. It’s killing him a lot, and the only reason he’s thinking about it is because he’s been drinking some top-shelf stuff. It’s an anniversary of sorts, almost, and he’s alone in the empty apartment he bought himself. Dante is still in Boston, but Mat’s already back in BC. He won’t call Dante, though, because Dante has exams and friends and a life back in Boston that Mat isn’t part of, and because if he calls Dante, he might tell him about all of this and then Dante will really be disappointed in him, because Mat is being clingy and irrational, and he knows it, but Dante is his soulmate.
He opens his phone anyway, thinks of sending a text to Dante, just wondering what he’s up to, but Dante texts him like he knew Mat was thinking of him. Mat goes to open the text, but he ends up pressing dial and doesn’t realise till the call goes through. It’s too late to hang up, because Dante picks up immediately.
“Hi Mat,” Dante says, and he sounds so happy that Mat is involuntarily smiling at his half-full glass.
“Hey Dante,” Mat says, and he sounds way more wasted than he thought he was. He thought he was tipsy but he’s edging towards full drunk, his true emotions obvious in his voice the way they never are sober.
“Happy anniversary,” Dante says. “Or like, not for you yet but it’s past midnight here and I don’t know if I can stay up till 3am.”
“Anniversary?” Mat says, through lips gone numb.
Dante sounds a little sheepish. “It is, right? Ten years, to the day.”
“I didn’t know you kept track,” Mat says and now he feels kinda shitty, drinking alone and already drunk and it’s not even the day while Dante apparently stayed up just to wish him.
“Mat,” Dante says, and he sounds funny in a way Mat can’t describe but knows is less smiley. “Of course I would. It’s ten years of both of us.”
“There’s an us?” Mat asks, before he can self-edit. He’s drunk but even he knows that it’s a misstep, and so fucking untrue.
Dante sounds a lot less smiley now, but he doesn’t sound mad. Mat thinks he would be furious, if Dante ever said something like that to him, but they’re not the same at all for soulmate things, so he can’t say he’s surprised. “Mat, can I FaceTime you?”
“Sure,” Mat says, and the request pops up immediately.
When he answers it, Dante shows up on the screen, somewhere surprisingly well lit, his hair looking like he’s been running his fingers through it, more unruly than usual. He looks stressed and visibly exhausted, and Mat wants nothing more than to crawl into bed with him, all of a sudden, just to make sure he’s getting enough sleep. Or barring that, he wants to at least get on a goddamn plane and see him. He doesn’t know what it would do, except that he wants to, even though he’ll be more of a distraction than not.
Dante musters up a smile seeing Mat, but it fades quickly. “Mat, you know there’s an us, right?” he says, and he sounds so serious and so believing, and Mat doesn’t understand. It didn’t feel like Dante cared as much, but then he wouldn’t have answered the call. Wouldn’t have remembered that it’s been ten years since they gave each other matching red handprints. Wouldn’t be affirming that there’s an us to them.
“I didn’t mean it the way it came out,” Mat says, because if he can take it back they don’t have to talk about this on their tenth anniversary, because he can’t see it ending any way but unhappily.
Dante sucks on his lower lip and runs his free hand through his hair, messing it up further, showing off the hand print encircling his left wrist like a manacle. “How did you mean it, Mat?”
Dante isn’t giving him an easy out here. Mat fumbles with the words, but comes up empty, a long silence where he’s the sole focus of Dante’s attention. He reaches for the glass instead and takes a sip to brace himself, but Dante catches on immediately
“Are you drunk?” Dante asks. He doesn’t sound accusing, just thoughtful and a little worried.
Mat shakes his head. “Not really.”
“Mat, are you okay? It’s barely nine there.”
Mat shrugs. He doesn’t know what answer Dante wants and Dante doesn’t seem to be gunning for a fight, but he doesn’t know. “I just miss you,” he says plaintively. “I don’t know if I’m allowed.”
Dante’s face looks visibly devastated. This is worse than if Mat had shot him, the look on his face, hurt and disbelief warring with each other. “Mat. Mat, what do you think you are to me?”
“Your soulmate?” Mat answers, because that is fairly obvious. “What else is there?”
Dante closes his eyes and swallows, lashes casting shadows under his eyes. “Mat,” he says, his voice measured and tight. A ‘we’re down by two but we have a period left to play and we can do this’ voice. “I know I’m not great at words, but you’re…”
He shakes his head and looks back at Mat, frustrated. “You’re everything to me. I thought you knew.”
“Because we’re soulmates,” Mat finishes.
“Because you’re you,” Dante corrects. “We have marks and they match. Cool. Great. But I’d rather not have the marks and have you. A mark’s just a mark, but you’re you. And I–”
He cuts himself off again, and smiles a little wryly. “I don’t even know if I’m making sense, but you know I love you. You’re the best part of my summers and it’s great that we’re soulmates, but there would be an us anyway. Or–I’d want there to be an us.”
“Me too,” Mat says, because Dante looks nervous, and he shouldn’t when he’s said all these things that Mat’s been waiting to hear for forever and a day, from the first time they touched. Mat honestly feels a little stupid, now, for thinking that Dante doesn’t care, because he obviously cares. He cares so much. It’s written all over his face and the way he said it like it hurt that Mat didn’t already know.
Dante sighs like he’s relieved, slumping back a little. “You do know I love you, right?”
“Yeah,” Mat says. Doesn’t add the ‘I know now’ because it’ll only hurt both of them. He thought, even before, but it’s something different to know, because Dante has said it, even if Mat doesn’t know how he means it. Love can mean anything; love can be everything, and Dante doesn’t seem to treat him any different. Mat buys into grand romances. Dante doesn’t. Mat doesn’t know what a love like that would look like on Dante, because the love he gives Mat is like a security blanket. He doesn’t really know if Dante does romance, just that he doesn’t do grand romance. He wants to know, though. Not all soulmates are romantic, but he wants to know, because Dante’s love still isn’t something Mat can touch and understand.
It’s like Dante knows what Mat is thinking. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
Mat freezes, and Dante makes a quiet sound that Mat thinks is going to be pressed into his memory forever.
“What do I have to do to prove it to you?” Dante asks, and he sounds so fucking hopeless that it’s all the proof that Mat really needs, or ever will need. Maybe it’s not Mat’s kind of love, but even if it isn’t, Mat is taking it far too lightly.
“You don’t,” Mat says. “I’m just being me.”
Dante just looks at him with a capital-L Look, till Mat feels defensive about it. “What?”
“Sometimes, you’re such an idiot,” Dante tells him. “Let me rephrase: I don’t have to prove it to you, but I want to, because I hate that you ever doubted it at all.”
He’s blushing bright red and honestly, this might be the most feelings sharing that they’ve done about each other since the time they were screaming at each other about where Dante was going to go play. That time didn’t involve even an ounce of the vulnerability Mat’s feeling now, and he doesn’t know if Dante’s ever told him so much about the bond and them and how he feels. Dante is an open book except for when it comes to these kinds of things; he keeps his love close.
“I don’t need it now,” Mat says, and hopes Dante believes him.
He doesn’t. His jaw does a thing, and Dante can be as headstrong as Mat. More, even. Mat hasn’t seen this face in years, and Mat is tired and drunk and–
“Dante,” he says, softly, and Dante’s face modulates, still stubborn, but somehow not as fierce. This is a Dante who will yield, who Mat can coax down. “You don’t talk, you know.”
Dante opens his mouth but Mat cuts him off before he can even start. “I mean, you don’t talk about soulmate things, or things that matter, and I need that.”
Dante sits there, frowning at Mat. “I didn’t know.”
“I mean, I never told you,” Mat says. He didn’t want to appear too needy, and it’s not like Dante isn’t wonderful, but it makes being apart so hard, because Dante is inscrutable over text. “I thought it would be too much.”
“So, should I tell you I love you every day?” Dante asks, all focus.
If Mat told him yes, right now, he’d do it without question and mean it every time, because Dante is like that. But Mat’s heart wouldn’t be able to take hearing it every day, and it’s already struggling, going dangerously fast. Has been for most of this conversation, partly fear, mostly elation.
Mat licks his lips. “Don’t do that.”
“So what should I do?” Dante asks.
“Just talk more,” Mat says.
“Like what? Like, do you want to hear that I think about you every time I see my wrist?” Dante asks, and his face is so red but he’s still talking. “Or that sometimes I miss you so much it hurts? Because I’d do anything to have you here right now.”
Mat is not sure he’s still breathing, pulse thundering in his ears. “I could fly out.”
He’d been thinking of it as a ridiculous idea earlier but the way Dante lights up, despite the bags under his eyes. Yeah, it’s not ridiculous at all.
“Would you?”
“I thought about it earlier,” Mat admits, and Dante’s almost glowing, wanting bright enough that the mere suggestion has him looking like he’s on a caffeine rush. How could Mat have thought it was a stupid idea at all? “You sure you want me around even with finals?”
Dante shrugs off finals like they’re nothing. “I always want you around, finals can deal.”
“Then I’ll come,” Mat says, like it’s that easy, but it is. “We can come back home together.”
Dante’s smiling at him like–Mat doesn’t know what to call that look, just that it warms him up, makes his face feel hot enough that he’s sure Dante will notice. “I’d like that.”
It’s weird, Mat thinks distantly, that it wasn’t a ‘that’d be sick, bro.’ Not a bad weird, and not worth focusing on when he has tickets to book and bags to pack, but still weird.
Dante yawns in the middle of Mat trying to remember what he needs to pack, and Mat blinks and looks at the time. “Shit, you should be asleep right now.”
“’S fine,” Dante says, around another yawn that practically cracks his jaw. “Needed to talk to you.”
“More than you needed to sleep?” Mat asks dryly, back on familiar ground.
Dante wrinkles his nose. “It’s our anniversary, and I wanted.”
Mat doesn’t know what to say to that, just smiles, probably like an idiot. “I’ll be out on the earliest flight I can get.”
“More than good enough,” Dante says, before beaming. “We’ll get to spend our anniversary together.”
“What, are you planning something nice?” Mat asks, more because he can ask than because he’s expecting it, The thought of ten years of soulmates with a soulmate who loves him is more than good enough, better than any kind of night out.
Dante shrugs. “I’d rather stay in and spend time with you. I miss the way your shampoo makes my sheets smell.”
Mat makes a mental note to pack his shampoo, because what else can he do, but still chirps, because old habits die hard, and that way he doesn’t have to think about how closely Dante’s thoughts echoed his. “Soft. So fucking soft.”
“I’m not going to be sorry about being soft about you,” Dante says, and he’s yawning again, and Mat should really have sent him to bed minutes ago, but he’s going to hoard every minute of Dante he can get, never mind that he’s going to see him tomorrow. “Hey, I’m gonna go back to my room, but if I put in my earphones and hide under the covers I can talk to you till I fall asleep? Just make sure you text me your flight details.”
Dante falls asleep maybe ten minutes after he ends up in his bed, and Mat’s pretty sure he just made it through their conversation through sheer stubbornness. He’s smiling down at his phone like an idiot, anyway, but there’s no one to see him in his apartment, still kinda tipsy, but some of that has to be the joy, the invincibility that comes with knowing that Dante loves him. Maybe not Mat’s kind of love, but love enough that Mat can fly to the other side of the country just because Dante wants him there.
Unexpected Virgin + huddling for warmth, Colton/Ryan
The bus breaks down halfway between the airport and the hotel, the tires frozen to the street and the sputtering engine barely keeping the heater roaring. Ryan rubs his aching hands together, thinking wistfully of the handwarmers he has packed in his duffle which is in the luggage section of the bus, or even the Bengay cream he hates the minty smell of but likes the deep tingling warmth which is also in the duffle that requires someone to go outside and get.
In about three minutes people are going to be fighting over Parayko because the guy’s a oversize hot water bottle and Ryan doesn’t not want to cuddle Parayko but popping a boner wouldn’t be great for his guy-punching, lady-kissing reputation. Especially since he’d like to do a lot more than kiss Parayko who after three beers told Ryan in such an earnest tone that he fucked almost all of his college teammates, his golden-retriever smile getting bigger the more he described having a train run on him and Ryan had never wanted to go to college so much in his virgin life. God clearly hates Ryan, because Parayko sits down next to him, wearing a Blues-patterned snuggie and asking him if he wants to cuddle with him. Parayko adds, “You’re so big, Reever, you won’t be a heat vampire unlike some of the real shorties here,” with such a wholesome smile that Ryan can understand, in painful clarity, what drove most of the University of Alaska to fuck this big white boy. Ryan presses his thigh against Parayko’s underneath the snuggie, and Parayko curls an arm to pull Ryan closer, smushing his nose against the smooth skin of his neck as he tells Ryan how much he’s looking forward to the hotel hot tub now.Ryan’s boner throbs in time with the tender strokes Parayko keeps giving the back of his neck, and maybe this is the night Ryan can stop looking at gay porn while wondering what it’d be like to feel a hard body against his, a mouth on his cock, cold-chapped hands curling around his.
i’ve been thinking about mcnurse for a long time bc They Were Roommates!!! (oh my god they were roommates) but like,,,,being me idk if putting connie here comes as a surprise tho lolol
“have you ever kissed a guy?” nursey asks, draped over one side of the couch, two beers in, right after connor comes out to him. “like, really kissed, not spin-the-bottle kissed or drunken-dare kissed.”
“nah,” connor says, putting his own bottle down on the coffee table. “never got a chance.”
“do you - do you wanna?” nursey asks, sitting up. “like, i’m totally up for it. i mean, i’ve been into guys still, sometimes, and -”
okay, so connor’s probably thought about this a few times, after he and nursey became teammates, friends, roommates. and there are probably a million reasons why this is a terrible idea, but he can’t think of a single one of them right now.
“sure,” he says, moving closer.
and then suddenly nursey is in his space, one hand coming up to cup connor’s cheek. the look in his eyes is almost too much for connor to bear, something heavier in them than the perceived levity of this conversation.
connor closes his eyes and leans forward, presses his lips to nursey’s just once before pulling back.
nursey doesn’t let him go far, though. they stay like that, breathing in each other’s air, and then nursey kisses him again, still light and not enough.
there’s something more hanging in the air, something that they’re not quite yet ready to address, but this - it’s enough for now.
