They’ve only been apart for two and a half months, but it was enough for Mack to have that final growth spurt guys get right at the end of their teens. It’s not even two inches, but it puts him distinctly taller than Will now, and when they hug at the airport (awkward and messy because they’re trying to find the balance of whatever the hell platonic would look like between them, and also Will’s carrying a giant bag of hockey gear, but they still want to crawl into each other’s skin) Mack notices. He notices the way he has to bend down just a little to get his arms properly around Will’s torso. The way Will is stretching to wrap his around Mack’s shoulders. And Mack feels it like an anchor attached to his gut, pulling him down, sinking, dreading. It was bad enough when they were the same height. Now, Mack just feels like his skin is too tight. Like he’s some oversized puppy, a St. Bernard that’s too big for the house, that’s going to knock over everything and break the fine china. When they get into the car, he slouches down in the driver’s seat. He meets Will’s eyes in the mirror and looks away.
The next morning when they’re getting ready to go to the rink, standing next to each other in the Celebrinis’ kitchen, drinking protein shakes with their shoulders pressed together, Will sets his drink down and say, “Be right back,” and scurries back up to the room. Mack frowns at his glass and chugs the rest of the shake, and is just finishing when Will reappears, holding a different pair of sneakers than the ones he’d left at the door the night before. As they’re gathering up their gear, he slips them on, and Mack’s eyes widen slightly. He glances down and sees that the sneakers have at least two and a half inches of platform sole, and when he looks back up at Will, they’re eye to eye. Mack’s lips twitch into a smile, and Will’s gaze darts around the house to make sure they’re alone, and then he dips in to kiss Mack sweetly and squeeze his waist. “Still my baby,” he murmurs against his lips. “My big baby.”