hi! i was wondering if i can request a fic with angst with a fluffy ending if possible for mat barzal? :) maybe he unintentionally snapped at her and is grovelling? totally up to you, thank you so much!!
The Things We Don't Say
Requested? Yes!
Pairing: Mat Barzal x reader
Words: 2k
Warning(s): none
The front door slammed so hard the picture frame above the console tilted. You winced, peeking around the corner from the kitchen, heart already tightening in your chest.
Mat dropped his bag with a thud, kicked his shoes off harder than necessary, and ran a hand through his hair, pacing like he couldn't sit still. His jaw was clenched tight. Shoulders tense.
They lost.
And you knew—you knew—how much he was blaming himself.
You gave him a minute. Then two. Then quietly stepped into the living room.
"Hey…" you said gently. “Tough night, huh?”
He didn’t respond, just collapsed onto the couch and buried his face in his hands.
“I saw some of the game,” you continued carefully, trying not to push. “It wasn’t all on you, Mat. Everyone—”
“Can you not?” he snapped, voice sharp and cold. “Seriously. I don’t need a pep talk right now.”
You blinked. “I’m not giving you a pep talk. I’m trying to be here for you.”
He scoffed bitterly, then grabbed his phone and threw it onto the coffee table hard enough to make it skid. “You think I don’t know how bad I was? Go online, it’s all there. ‘Barzal’s a ghost on the ice,’ ‘He’s all speed, no brains,’ ‘Overrated piece of—’”
He cut himself off, breathing hard, eyes wild. “I shouldn’t have even gone out there tonight. I let everyone down. I let—” He stopped, eyes flicking to yours. “You don’t get it.”
That hit harder than it should have. You stood a little straighter. “I don’t get it?” you echoed, voice low.
He rubbed his hands over his face. “Just—leave it, okay? I can’t deal with this and you right now.”
You froze. That last part cut deeper than anything.
You and him. You were his safe space. His quiet. His home. And now you were another thing he couldn’t “deal with.”
A beat of silence stretched too long.
“Okay,” you said quietly, grabbing your jacket off the hook. “I’ll make it easier for you.”
“Wait—” he started, already realizing, but you were out the door before he could finish.
You stayed at your best friend’s place. She didn’t ask many questions—just opened the door and handed you a blanket. “You don’t need to explain anything. Just stay as long as you want.”
The next morning, you checked your phone.
No texts. No missed calls. Not even a single “Are you okay?”
Day two passed the same way. Silence.
Each hour that ticked by hurt more than the last. You wondered if he even noticed you were gone. Or if the version of him who said “I can’t deal with this and you” was the one who’d taken your place.
Your friend found you staring out the window late that night.
“You gonna call him?” she asked gently.
You shook your head. “If he wanted to talk… he would’ve.”
Still nothing by day two. By then, the anger had faded, replaced by a deep, dull ache. The kind that came from being made to feel like you weren’t worth fighting for.
You hadn’t told anyone exactly what he said, but the words replayed in your mind on a loop.
"I don’t need you hovering every time I screw up."
Like you were a nuisance. An annoyance. Like love from you was a burden.
Your friend left for work, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You debated going home. Thought about writing him a message. Just something.
But he had to make the first move.
If he didn’t, maybe he never cared the way you thought he did.
Later that night, your phone buzzed.
Mat calling.
You stared at the screen for a long time before answering.
“…Hey.”
There was silence for a beat, then a breath. Not a casual one—a deep, breaking inhale, like he was bracing for pain.
“I messed up,” he said, his voice thick. “I messed up so bad, and I didn’t know how to fix it, so I did nothing. Which made it worse. And I don’t deserve you picking up right now, but I’m so glad you did.”
You didn’t respond, just waited.
“I lost the game,” he said quietly, “and then I lost you. I thought I hated myself after that final whistle, but it was nothing compared to watching you walk out and not calling after you. I was just… stuck. I thought if I said it out loud, I’d have to face how bad I hurt you.”
“You didn’t even check if I was safe.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I thought about it every minute. I kept staring at the door and telling myself to go after you, but it was like I’d already broken it too far to fix.”
“Mat…”
“I’ve never hated myself more than I did when you didn’t come back.” His voice cracked. “Please, just tell me where you are. I don’t care if you don’t want to see me—I just need to know you’re okay.”
You exhaled, long and shaky. The anger hadn’t fully left. But it had been replaced with something else. A slow ache. A tired sort of hope.
“I’m at Emily’s. I’ve been here since that night.”
“I’m coming to you.”
You didn’t stop him.
Twenty-five minutes later, there was a soft knock on the door.
Your friend gave you a look. “He’s yours to deal with,” she said, and left the room.
You opened the door slowly.
Mat stood there, looking like hell. Same hoodie from two days ago. Hair a mess. Eyes red and tired, like sleep hadn’t come easy.
He didn’t speak—just stepped inside, pulled you into a hug like he thought you’d disappear if he didn’t hold tight enough.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “For the words. For the silence. All of it.”
“I know you were hurting, Mat. But so was I.”
“I never meant to make you feel like you were just… extra noise. You’re the one thing that cuts through it.”
You stayed quiet for a moment, then reached up and touched the side of his face.
“I’m still angry,” you said honestly.
“You should be,” he whispered. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait. However long it takes.”
And then he rested his forehead against yours.
“Just tell me I didn’t lose you too.”
Your hand found his. Fingers lacing through his tightly.
“You didn’t,” you whispered back. “But don’t ever let silence speak for you again.”
The flat felt different when you walked back in with Mat.
Not because anything had changed—his gear bag was still by the door, the blanket was still crumpled on the couch, and the mug from your half-finished tea still sat on the counter.
But something had shifted.
This time, Mat didn’t disappear into himself. He didn’t run from the tension. He followed you into the living room like he was afraid you might change your mind and leave again.
You sat on the edge of the couch. He took the spot next to you, but didn’t speak right away. His knee bounced. Hands clasped. You could see him trying to find the right words.
So you spoke first.
“I wasn’t just hurt that night, Mat. I was scared. Scared that you saw me as a weight instead of someone trying to lift some of yours.”
His eyes snapped to yours, guilt flashing like lightning. “You’re not a weight. You’ve never been. I was—God, I was so far in my own head I couldn’t see anything clearly. You were the only good thing in the room, and I treated you like noise.”
You nodded slowly. “And then two days of silence?”
He looked down, jaw clenched. “I kept thinking about calling. Every time I didn’t, I made up another excuse. ‘She needs space.’ ‘She doesn’t want to hear from you.’ Truth is, I was ashamed. Not of the game. Of how I treated you.”
You watched him for a long moment. “I didn’t need a perfect boyfriend, Mat. I just needed you. Honest. Even if that version of you is hurting.”
His throat bobbed. “I was hurting,” he said. “Still am, if I’m being honest. But I’m learning I can’t bury it. Especially not when it turns into something sharp.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder. He let out a soft breath and rested his cheek on top of yours.
“I don’t want to be someone you have to tiptoe around,” you said quietly. “But I also can’t be someone who gets left in the dark every time the noise gets too loud in your head.”
“You won’t be,” he promised, his voice thick but steady. “I want to do better. For you. For us.”
You tilted your head up. “Starting with?”
He gave you a tentative smile. “Starting with deleting my Twitter account.”
You snorted. “Okay, that’s a solid first step.”
“I want more steps. Like... therapy. Or at least talking. To you. About everything.”
You leaned into him fully then, letting the comfort sink in. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Mat. You don’t have to be okay all the time. But you don’t have to fall apart alone, either.”
His arms wrapped around you, holding you tighter than before. Not desperate. Not panicked.
Just sure.
Safe.
“I love you,” he murmured into your hair.
And for the first time in days, the knot in your chest finally began to loosen.
“I love you too,” you whispered. “Even when you’re a mess. Especially then.”
