Frank's showing him a Triple T shirt when he feels his phone vibrating in his back pocket. He takes it out and sees it's Fraser calling him. Perfect. Just perfect.
"He-"
"Why did Mack call me asking if he could be my best man?"
Stupid Mack and his big mouth that only ever leaves Smith's skin when he's out somewhere ruining Connor's plans.
He swats Frank's hand away from his face, almost making him drop the shirt. Sorry Triple T. He shoos him away as he walks towards the corner of the thrift store where there are less people and the cold air from the air conditioning can reach him better because he's definitely gonna need it.
"Uh, because he wants to be your best man at your wedding?"
"Which he says is on Friday."
"Aww, why didn't you tell me? Who's the lucky guy?"
"You, Connor. Mack says I'm getting married to you. On Friday. 7AM. Because we both have 9AM classes that day."
Fraser's tone tells him he's not happy. Connor can practically see the frown on his face, his lips drawn tight in a line. He's probably waving his hand around, gesturing to no one. Okay, maybe he didn't think this through properly. He really needs to work harder on that happy wife happy life mindset.
"Okay fine, remember when you said your lease is almost up, and so is mine, and we both really want to live somewhere nicer? Well, I found a nice place that we can totally afford, but the problem is that they're only renting it to a married couple."
"And you thought the solution would be getting married?!"
"Okay, now I kind of don't like your tone."
Frank's back with more shirts with stupid prints. There's one with a picture of a bear with glasses that he takes before shooing him away again.
"Look, it's better to talk about this in person, where are you so I can go there?"
"In the thrift store across the bookstore you always go to."
"Be there in 15 minutes."
"Okay, but before you hang up, will you still marry me if I wore a Triple T shirt underneath my suit jacket?" That shirt really was funny, he hopes Frank hid it somewhere.
"Whatever makes you happy, Con."
He hears Fraser sigh before he hangs up, no cursing or threat of mortal harm. Considering everything, it feels like a win to him.
big SPOILERS ALERT actually not that big but just to be sure im adding it here
there's something wrong with mack. he says will is always at his house when will's never come anywhere near it since he saw him and connor. his mom says it's probably the demon coming to teach him a lesson. takes the form of the person you most desire.
it's flattering, really, that mack has given this thing that's coming to kill him his face.
he wonders who it would take the form of if he were brought to the healer. the brunette from church? the girl with green eyes in music class? the new kid with a tooth gap?
he can think about it all day, but at night, as he has his hands around the cross on his chain, he knows it's probably gonna look like mack. not even probably at this point. he knows, just as he knows his prayers and verses. it's gonna look like mack.
perrempe tennis au stuck in my mind if u know op pls tell them i hope their pillows are always cold or hot depending on how they like and also that i wrote this with that edit in mind
if u see errors no u dont + i dont have it in me to figure out the chat thing so its just a screenshot sorry
It's not the first time their eyes meet but it's definitely the most memorable.
Perrault is slamming his racket on the floor, so violently his hat falls from his head, his curls damp and sticking to his forehead. Matt's broken a few rackets of his own, but not as graceful and beautiful as Perrault is doing right now. He can't stop the whistle that leaves his mouth.
Perrault stops, his hand mid-air, head snapping in Matt's direction. His eyes are sharp, deadly, like he'll throw the racket and make sure it lands on Matt's face no matter what. He doesn't break eye contact as he slams the racket one more time, fully breaking it.
Matt can't help but smile, nervously, like when he gets caught staying up late reading something the night before an important match. Or when a journalist comes up to him as he exits the locker room, asking him about Perrault's serve and the possibility of them playing against each other next match. Or when Perrault's coach spots him in the crowd before he whispers something in his player's ear that makes him grip his racket just a bit tighter.
A prey trapped. A fly in a spider's web. A Glistening, beautiful web.
Perrault serves an ace, looking at him as he prepares to serve another one. Matt is stuck in his seat, his legs bouncing, cheeks hurting, eyes burning.
G. Perrault def J. Hagens 6-4, 3-6, 6-3
Matt's sitting on the locker room bench, leaning his head against the wall after their match when he hears Perrault speak.
"Hey."
Matt doesn't remove the towel on his face.
"What?"
"You should work on your serves."
This time, Matt sits up straight, the towel falling off of his face. Perrault's on the other end of the room, just about to finish putting his things in his bag.
"What?"
"If you work on your serves you could win more."
"I don't get why you're saying this to me."
Perrault looks at him from across the room, a look on his face that says he thinks Matt is a fucking idiot.
"Because you could be someone great."
He looks away, zipping his bag as he continues.
"But now you're a nobody who doesn't use his crazy height advantage when serving because it kind of seems like he only really care about rallies."
"Duh? You win points by winning those."
Perrault walks towards the exit, stopping in front of him, looking down at Matt.
"Not if you can serve an ace."
Matt looks up, grinning. It's probably a low blow what he's about to say, with all the rumors he's read from late night social media scrolling, but who fucking cares. He gets a pass because he's a sore loser.
"Yeah? Can't really make friends with that attitude of yours though, huh?'
Perrault makes a face, Matt almost thinks he's gonna spit on his face. He doesn't, though, just fixes the duffel bag strap on his shoulder before walking away.
"Quel gâchis."
G. Perrault def M. Rempe 6-1, 6-0
His sister sends him the article about the injury. Rising tennis star Gabe Perrault and his broken knee and broken dreams. Matt asks his coach for Perrault's number.
Perrault doesn't reply after that, Matt doesn't really care. He has drills to do.
Next time he sees Perrault he's Leonard's hitting partner. Matt watches for a bit, just to see how he's doing. Pretty great, not as fast as he used to be, but he's definitely still better than Leonard, so Matt wonders why he's stuck with that fucking loser when he could be with someone better. Someone like Ma-.
M. Rempe def R. Leonard 6-4, 6-1
He's waiting for Perrault by his car, weird and creepy, he knows, but hey, you'd do it to if you were him. He doesn't wait long, Perrault walking out of the building after a few minutes. He's frowning as he walks towards Matt.
"What is this?"
"Were you serious?"
"About what?"
"About me being someone great."
Perrault looks around, crossing his arm in front of his chest, looking Matt up and down.
"I mean, yeah, sure. You have a solid forehand, and your height is something not anyone else has, but everything else needs work."
"And will you work on them with me?"
"What?"
"Would you prefer being Leonard's hitting partner forever or being my coach?"
Perrault laughs, and Matt feels like an idiot, standing in the parking lot asking him to be his coach when he has one already.
"I'm not Leno's hitting partner, I was just there for a bit earlier."
"So you don't want to be my coach?"
Perrault motions for him to move, and he does, like the stupid fucking idiot that he is.
"Don't you have one already?"
Perrault gets in his car, slamming the door shut before Matt could answer.
"Well, if I still have a shit serve that must mean I need a new one don't I?"
The driver seat window rolls down.
"Text me again tomorrow."
The window rolls back up, and Matt takes it as his cue to leave. He's almost back in the building when he hears Perrault shout his name. He turns.
very short bedmint inspired by past lives and paths bcs im not normal abt them (and also bcs i need a break from the exes in wedding wip 🚬)
There's an old chapel by Fraser's childhood neighborhood. His family isn’t really a religious one so he doesn’t remember much about it. Just that it was there and there were kind women who gave candies to children who visited after school. The candies were nothing special, sometimes it was fruit flavored, sometimes it was chocolate. He doesn't really remember now, and besides he only went there once.
He and Connor went together, Connor's knees bloody and his eyes red. He refused to walk towards the table with the women, too embarrassed to let them see him like that so it was up to Fraser to pick. Fraser didn't really care what flavor he'll get, he chooses randomly for himself, almost reaching for the chocolate candy beside for Connor before he notices that it has nuts. He picks a mint candy for Connor instead, maybe it'll distract him from the pain he has to endure on their walk home. The woman on the other side of the table asks him if he likes mint, he just nods and asks them if maybe they can have chocolate with no nuts next time.
"May I ask why?"
Fraser clutches the candies in his hand, looking around to make sure no one is listening to their conversation.
"Connor likes chocolate but he can't have nuts."
The woman smiles, pointing towards the cross at the end of the aisle.
"Maybe if you ask God when you pray, He'll give it to you next time"
Fraser doesn't really see the point of asking God when He's not the one buying the candies, but he knew it would be rude to say that so he smiles instead. The woman places a hand on his head, ruffling his hair.
"Sweet boy, God always listen."
He looks at Connor, looking around, waiting for him to come back, and wonders if He really does.
He doesn’t get an answer until 20 years later when he sees a message from an unknown number.
im in boston for the weekend, r u free?
Immediately followed by this is connor
Fraser really isn't a religious guy, and he's never prayed since that night after they visited that chapel, but he thinks he might have to tonight. Maybe God will listen again.
errm this is a wip of a la la land au and i do have most of the thing planned out but school is abt to start again and im kind of in a slump so idk when / if i'll touch this again but i really want this out there somewhere so ... ta da ?
maybe if i get the chance to work on it some more ill post on ao3,, but for now here's what i have:
Connor's too focused on the conversation he and his agent are having on the phone, and making sure he doesn't trip over his own feet, that he doesn't notice they've arrived at their destination until Lukas is tapping his shoulder, gesturing for him to sit down in the booth he got for them. They're in Lukas's friend's newly opened bar, celebrating it's opening and the good season that Lukas had as a Bruin. Connor probably shouldn't be here. One, he doesn't really drink. Two, he's not a Bruin. Third, he scored an OT goal on the hometown heroes last time he was here. But Lukas is a good friend, and he was kind enough to entertain Connor the one night he was in the mood to go out while visiting the city, and so there he is. In a bar that Connor doesn't even know the name of, listening to a band play on the big stage in front, complete with a Steinway & Sons piano in the middle that makes Connor's beer taste even more bitter.
Connor joins the crowd as they clap when the band finishes playing. He takes his phone out of his pocket when he feels it vibrate, assuming it's his agent texting again, so he doesn't see him get on stage, but when Connor looks up, he feels like he's been hit hard against the boards. Chest tight and out of breath. Ears ringing and a bit disoriented.
There he is. Fraser Minten. On stage wearing a navy blue suit and a red tie, similar to the one he wore on Connor's draft night all those years ago, except he's missing his glasses. Connor briefly wonders where they are.
He's smiling as he introduces and claps for the band, thanking everyone who came for the opening night. He doesn't seem to notice Connor. He thinks maybe Fraser won't ever notice him again, like now that they've been broken up for years, he's lost the privilege of having Fraser be aware of his existence.
"Are there any Bruins fans in the crowd? Lukas Reichel is around here some-"
Fraser's smile falters as his eyes land on Connor sitting beside Lukas.
"-where."
Ah, he thinks. There it is. Thank God it isn't gone yet.
Connor doesn't move or speak. He's not even sure if he's still breathing or if he's tripped somewhere on the way here, hit his head so hard that he's lost consciousness and found himself in this dream where he and Fraser are sharing a space, making eye contact, stealing a second where it feels like it's once again them against whatever it is that the world has in store for them.
But a second is only a second, and it ends as soon as it starts.
Fraser straightens up a bit before moving his head back closer to the mic.
"Welcome to Mint's."
He walks to sit in front of the piano, and Connor can already hear the notes before any of Fraser's fingers have touched the keys.
r63 celebedsy wip that i might never touch again except its only kind of celebedsy bcs this is a part of the unfinished r63 bedmint that only exists in my head
edit: there's a fic now yay
Mack asks her out while they're outside the rink waiting for Connor's mom to pick them up.
Her period cramps got worse after practice. It was too cold inside, and now it's too fucking hot. She's sweating, but it feels cold. Her skin feels sticky from humidity and the lotion that she regrets putting on earlier. She can feel a headache coming, and her mom is 15 minutes late already. And Mack's rambling beside her. Worst fucking day ever.
"Look, everyone says we look good together. And our chemistry on and off the ice is insane, and your family knows my family, and we've known each other since we were kids, and like, we're always together anyway. I feel like everyone's always walking around eggshells around us, waiting for us to be toget-"
His voice sounds louder than usual, a pitch higher than she needs it to be. Even his breathing is too loud, and he's pissing Connor off.
"Sure, fuck. Whatever, let's go out. Just shut up for a bit."
She's looking at Mack, who's smiling, his cheeks a bit red. She should probably be smiling too. Girls probably smile when they get a boyfriend. Fraser probably does, or will, when she gets one. Connor's never really asked her about her relationship status. She tries to be a good girlfriend and smile, but everything fucking hurts, and all she wants to do is lie down with a hot compress burning her skin.
Mack places his hand on top of hers. She stares at it for a bit before moving closer, placing her head on Mack's shoulder even though it feels weird. She feels Mack take a deep breath in.
"Cool."
He doesn't speak after that, which makes Connor feel a lot better.
(idk anything abt this world yet, just that body part replacement is possible and connor's had a lot of them bcs yknow .. sports ...)
Connor watches as Fraser sews his new right hand, one stitch at a time. It doesn’t really hurt, Fraser’s hands are light, careful as he pushes the needle in and out. He hates having body parts replaced, the process of getting used to it always tedious and an awful reminder of all that he’s lost for the sake of playing a game everyone is saying he’s not even good at. They used to think of him as the second coming of a god, but that was years ago, now they just look at Connor and the stitch scars on his skin and shake their heads. At night, as he’s recounting the limbs and fingers and hands that he’s lost, he starts to think maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s time to let it go. But when he’s in Fraser’s clinic, watching him carefully tie the knot at the end of the thread that keeps his body together, he thinks maybe there’s a point in all of this after all.
“Good as new, Connor.”
Am I really? He wants to ask.
Am I good? Am I good as new? Am I new? Or am I really still Connor?
He doesn’t though, just smiles as he moves the new hand in circles, testing it out, the old one in a metal tray beside it. There’s a whole section in Fraser’s clinic full of his old parts, for research, Fraser said when he asked why he wouldn’t just throw them away or bury them somewhere. Connor read about his studies once while he was waiting for the ice to be ready. Mr.Miracle Maker Minten and his research into fixing what’s wrong in a body part that’s already been replaced and the feasibility of sewing it back to its owner. Nobody’s ever done it, people think nobody can ever do it, but Connor thinks Fraser’s not a nobody so he just might be the first to do it.
He goes with Fraser to the walk-in freezer, staring at the drawer with what used to be his. Wonders if the left shoulder feels weird that it doesn’t feel the weight of Fraser’s head on it once in a while, when they’re watching a movie and he's too tired to notice his head's starting to fall. If the right ankle is looking for the warmth of Fraser’s ankles tangled with it as he reads his book while Connor watches a game. If his right hand is gonna look for Fraser’s hand at night during summers so it has something to hold on to, to tell him Fraser's real and beside him still.
Now that he’s in pieces, will these pieces also always be looking for Fraser? Will they know when he enters the room even when they can't see him?
If Fraser cuts into them when he does his research, will he see traces of his want for him there? Will it be divided or multiplied?
Maybe he should ask Fraser, suggest that he make a study about it.
The stitches are starting to hurt now that the anesthesia is wearing off. Connor thinks about asking Fraser to kiss it better.
Fraser is kind to her, maybe even too kind, considering they're both being molded to be the very much needed golden 1C of the team. Anyone would kill for it, James included, but Fraser doesn’t seem to care much about competition, too focused on herself and what she can do to be better. It's just another thing added to the long list of things James is envious of her for.
When she first got here, she's sort of been expecting Fraser to be cold, maybe even mean. Give her the cold shoulder or say something about her boyish name disguised as a friendly chirp. But Fraser had bumped shoulders with her, smiling as she whispered good luck right before she stepped out for her rookie lap. She kind of wishes she were mean instead. At least then she'll know what to do, years of being in the program and sharing a locker room with Smitty and Gabo preparing her for it.
