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Chapter Text

Nate had tried to stay out of his betters’ way for most of his career. He had. Well, obviously there were playoff matchups and regular season games and the All-Stars, but that was inevitable. Nate watched Connor McDavid’s highlights, trying to study his game and improve his own, and… that was where it ended. And it seemed both sides were happy to stay that way. Connor never contacted him and Nate didn’t care. There had been no words to and from since North America in 2016. Funny. The world’s two best players hadn’t even bothered to exchange a word but for congratulations in a handshake line. 

That was, until Nate found himself increasingly mesmerized by the man. It was… weird. Sudden. Like the unwelcome jolt of pain when you get hit without bracing for it. 

It was supposed to just be another game, another matchup to gear him up for the playoffs that were getting nearer by the day. Just a regular day of Nate’s same old routines— if one could call them that— and team antics. Just a normal day playing in the NHL, this time against the Oilers. The head-full-of-steam and led by an angry McDavid Oilers. Nate never would have thought twice about it. He never did.

And he hadn’t. Thought about it, that is. Why should he have? They were playing just fine, but the game felt slow. Odd, for two of the fastest teams, but oh well. That happened sometimes. Nate would find his way around it like always. He headed into the away locker room, breathless, but still content with the way they were playing. They hadn’t managed to score despite some great effort, but lucky enough neither had the opposition. Jared gave his regular words of advice and correction, and before Nate could bat an eye, the second had begun.

Said second was much different. So different, in fact, it almost shocked him. Almost. The Oilers had lost their last two after going on a great streak of wins and points, so it was only fair that they came out buzzing after a pretty mediocre first for their standards. Nate was ready, though, and so was everyone else. Especially Georgie. Nate grinned. That brilliant Bulgarian bastard. He made save after save after save after save, and it left Nate feeling second-hand cramps for the guy. Though, Nate guessed the goal he scored right after would do as an adequate pain-killer slash apology for making him work so hard. Hopefully. He supposed the rest of the game would have to determine if his apology was accepted.

There was less than five minutes to go in the second when it happened. Nate had been working in the offensive zone, trying to keep pressure, when he let down his guard. Kane, of fucking course, was far too eager to take advantage of that. He’d scarcely had time to think before his face was to the boards. Pain shot through Nate’s arm and hip as he crumpled like a leaf in autumn to the ice. 

Nate grit down on his teeth and bit out, or rather, nearly screamed, “Fuck…”

But before anything else could happen he was being swarmed. It was unintentional, of course, but a scrum had broken out right around him. Nate could hardly move without feeling like he wanted to pass out, so he settled for curling into a sort of ball, on his knees in pain. 

“Hey! Hey! Get the fuck away from him, can’t you see he’s hurt?”

An unfamiliar voice. A wave of confusion rolled through him. Usually Cale would say shit like that, protecting the injured player or something. But it wasn’t Cale… it wasn’t a teammate at all. Ugly realization came through in a shock. He did recognize that voice. That was Connor’s voice. But why? What did he care?

Nate spared a glance upward. Connor was just in front of him, giving everyone pushes and shoves but subtly herding the scrum away from Nate. What… the fuck? Nate squinted at the number 97, arms shaking as he tried to support his weight. Distantly, he noted the medic rushing for him. Had he been down that long?

“Nate.” Cale? Since when was he there? “ Nate .”

Nate collapsed back into himself, head down. “Yeah?”

“Are you alright?” asked Cale, but he knew the answer.

Nate laughed, and it rattled his body with pain. “Yeah, I’m peachy,” he joked dryly.

But their trainer was already there, ending his and Cale’s conversation— if one could call it that— early. Cale lingered, though, Nate could feel his presence even as the medic asked him questions and then helped him to his feet. A jolt of hurt shot from his hip to his leg and Nate faltered. Cale was immediately there, grabbing Nate’s arm and signaling for another teammate to come and support him. Said teammate was Jo, who fussed over him for a moment.

“Hey, you gonna be alright? That hit was bad,” he murmured.

Nate shook his head and gave a weak wave of his hand. “We’ll see. Hopefully I’m fine.”

Cale’s voice was dry as usual. “You can barely skate.”

Nate rolled his eyes and reached for the boards to lift himself off the ice and onto solid flooring. He shot Cale and Jo a strained smile. “I’ll be fine. Trainers will work their magic. Plus, my leg isn’t as numb anymore. Arm just hurts like a bitch.”

Cale shook his head, but Nate could tell he felt a bit better after Nate’s reassurances. Nate couldn’t say he was as sure, but fingers crossed his own words would ring true and he wasn’t injured just a month before the playoffs. Nate would lose his shit if he couldn’t be there for his team when it was most vital.

Nate leaned against the wall as he was helped down the tunnel and into the trainer’s room, but it felt precautionary. Nate’s hip hurt, but it was fading. That was a good sign. He probably just needed to get his shoulder looked at and get cleared for concussion. Nate didn’t feel like he’d been crushed that bad, but you never knew. And Nate understood how important double checking was. He was friends with Sid; he knew a thing or two about the damage a head injury could do. Especially this close to the playoffs, Nate wanted to be extra sure he was at his best.

Scott was already waiting for him in the room. Nate lingered in the doorway and gave him his most convincing smile possible. Scott motioned for him to sit, and Nate propped himself up onto the counter. He knew the drill and he explained before Scott could even get a word out. “Hip and shoulder took the brunt of it, thankfully, and I can walk just fine now. Shoulder still stings though, and other than a little tweak in my neck I don’t feel fuzzy.”

Scott nodded. “Well, I’ll check the shoulder for you. I’m going to screen you for concussion too, you know that right?”

Nate bobbed his head. “I do.”

“Good. Figured you’d be used to this by now,” Scott mused with a small laugh.

“Yeah,” Nate agreed, “I’m a bit of a target out there, aren’t I?”

Nate heeded Scott’s wave and slipped off his jersey and the rest of his upper-body gear. “You are,” Scott affirmed. “But I suppose you think that’s a good thing.”

Nate winced a bit as he threw off his undershirt. There was already a nasty bruise forming where he’d hit the boards and ice. “Depends on the day,” replied Nate. 

They fell quiet for some time after as Scott examined Nate’s shoulder and had him exercise it, checking for function and weighing how bad the injury was. Scott stepped back. “There’s definitely some bruising going on and a little bit of swelling around the joint, but it should be playable. No dislocations or major strains in the muscle. I can get you some pain meds for it, and as long as you’re cleared for concussion here in a bit, you should be good to go for the third. Just make sure after the game you’re resting it and working it appropriately. So maybe lighter at the gym or practice tomorrow.”

Nate nodded and rolled his shoulder. The pain was certainly there, but it would get better once he shifted his focus away from it and he got some Ibuprofen. He’d dealt with worse, that was for sure. “Sounds good to me,” Nate said. 

“Great,” mused Scott and then they moved to screen him.

As Nate suspected, he was fine. Thankfully. He got pain killers, grabbed his gear, and made his way to the locker room. He threw his jersey into the pile of others and took his seat in his stall. No one said a thing when he came in, but he saw them looking and smiling, which was comfort enough for him. Cale bumped his good shoulder, setting down his water. 

“Everything good I assume then?” he asked.

Nate sat back in the stall and cracked tension from his neck. “Yeah. Just needed to get screened and take meds. I’ll be fine.”

Cale nodded and shifted the conversation. “Kane got a major for that, by the way.”

Nate smiled faintly. “Good. We score?”

“Oh yeah,” he said with a grin. “Just once though. But we have time when we get back.”

“Nice. Who got it?”

Cale went a bit pinker. Nate knew that embarrassed flush. “Oh, uhm—” he stammered.

“He did,” called Mikko from across the room. “He’s just too weird to admit it!”

Of course , Nate thought to himself. He shot the Finn a wicked grin and Mikko gave him a thumbs up, curls splayed across his forehead.

Nate faced Cale again, who was tying up his skates with a flustered smile. “I’ll have to watch it after the game. Bet you ten bucks it was Norris-deserving too.”

Cale went redder. God, that was so funny to watch. Cale was hilariously easy to rattle. Dude couldn’t take a regular compliment to save his life. Guess that was where unprecedented levels of humbleness got you. 

“It was not,” Cale replied easily. “It was… alright. Mikko’s pass was the highlight.”

Mikko glared at him disapprovingly from across the room. He shook his head. “You’re impossible.”

Cale’s eyes glinted with pride for a moment, there and then gone. Great, Nate had got them going. “I’m serious,” the defenseman corrected. “You gave me the angle.”

Mikko waved him away. “ Psht .”

Jo strode around the room, watching them. He leaned against Nate’s stall. “Well, if they disappear into the hall like usual  to settle this, I’m blaming you. You know how they get when they bicker.”

Nate smirked. “Yep. Wonderful source of entertainment.”

Jo folded his arms. “Uh-huh,” he said blandly as Cale and Mikko continued talking back and forth.

Nate looked up at him smugly. “Maybe you’re just jealous.”

Jo raised a brow. “I don’t get jealous, Nate. You know I’m perfectly fine being single. Single and content not to mingle.”

“Alright, alright—”

“And besides, are you sure you aren’t the one that’s jealous?” Jo asked back.

Nate paused. What was that supposed to mean? He hesitated. “Why would I be jealous?”

Jo studied him for a moment. He visibly debated on what to say. “Connor was saying something that caught your attention. You watched him like a hawk. I haven’t seen you look at someone like that in a while. What was he saying?”

Nate was even more confused now. “You’re changing the subject. Why?”

The question made no sense. Why would Jo care, or even notice, that he’d stared down the forward? Especially when, and Nate was being perfectly honest, he’d meant nothing by it. It had merely caught him off-guard. Connor trying to protect him didn’t compute.

“But I’m not,” Jo replied. “I know that look from you. The way you study someone when—” Jo closed his eyes. “Nevermind.”

“No. When I what?” Nate pushed. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing. I guess you guys haven’t really talked much before, right? I could be misreading this.”

Nate blinked. “Yeah. We don’t talk.” Nate laughed a bit, trying to shelve the possibilities of what Jo meant for another day. He still had another period to play. “We’re both too competitive for that, I guess.”

Jo nodded. “I figured. You just looked intrigued by him for a second there.”

“Oh,” Nate said blandly, and that was the end of it. Jared had entered the room to spew off a few words of guidance before they began the third. Still, Jo’s words ruminated. Intrigued , he’d said. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Nate did his best to shrug it off as he stepped back onto the Edmonton ice. He skated to center ice and attempted to ignore the forward in front of him. That quickly became impossible when Connor asked quietly, “You good?”

Again Nate found himself completely perplexed. Connor wasn’t a big talker, he knew that much from the few words they’d exchanged. He was reserved, only bothering to give the occasional word of guidance to his team. He was captain, after all, being a leader was in his blood— introvert or not. So why did Connor bother himself with being concerned about him? Stop being so stand-offish, Nate. He’s just looking out for the opposition. He’s being nice , that isn’t out of the ordinary , Nate scolded himself.

“Yeah. Fine,” was still all that Nate could come up with in response, however, before the third had begun and Connor was long gone.

Nate blinked and dug into the ice with his skates for two strong strides. He’d been so caught up in his own thoughts he’d lost the faceoff miserably and fallen a couple paces behind the play. Whatever. At least no one noticed, or so he assumed.

He played his powerplay shift and made his way to the bench with Cale and Mikko as Ross and Bo came on as their replacement. Nate took his seat on the bench and slid down with the rest of the team, fluid and in sync like usual.

“You lost that faceoff,” Cale said out of the blue. So it had been noticed. Damnit.

Nate nodded, trying to catch his breath. “What of it?”

“Nothing. It was just… weird. Almost like you didn’t try— sorry if that’s rude.”

Nate pursed his lips. Might as well. “I didn’t, you’re right,” he admitted.

Cale looked at him, confused. “Why?”

“Lost in my own head. Zoned out.”

The defenseman lifted a brow. Nate fought back a smile. He loved that little quirk of his. It cracked him up. Cale didn’t seem to notice. “You’re sure you’re good to play?” he asked slowly.

“Yeah,” Nate breathed a bit defensively. “I’m good, Cale, I am. It’s just—”

Nate stopped. Should he tell Cale about Connor’s behavior? No… maybe Nate was the one being weird. Maybe he had this all wrong and he really was just off tonight. Sometimes that made Nate’s sense of judgment poorer. It always did. The hit didn’t help either. For all Nate knew, he might have completely hallucinated Connor’s words. Part of Nate hoped so. It would be so much easier to get past if this was all one big misunderstanding. But that didn’t explain the words spoken at the faceoff dot. 

Cale snapped him out of it. “Just?”

Nate looked up and watched the ensuing play before him, trying to readjust his focus back on playing hockey and not on deciphering what the hell the league’s best player wanted with him. He lifted a shoulder. “I’ll tell you later.”

Cale was skeptical. “Promise?”

Nate sighed and repressed a roll of his eyes. He was known too well by him. At least this time he really was serious about “later.” He wanted to talk to someone about this, but he wanted time to gather his thoughts, which Nate figured was perfectly fair. “Yes, promise,” Nate assured the twenty-five year old. 

“Alright,” Cale gave in, and then went quiet, their conversation dying there.

Their time on the powerplay wound quickly down, with the second unit unable to create much pressure. Nate refused to let it bother him. It had been that way all year. He did get bothered when Edmonton tied the game at 2-2, though. And, of fucking course, the tying goal was made by none other than the newly-talkative-with-his-enemy Connor McDavid. Nate wasn’t even angry anymore, just baffled. This was definitely up there on his list of weirdest games he’d ever played in. Hell, it might make the top three on that list at this rate.

Overtime was even weirder. Guys were falling left right and center, Edmonton’s lines were irregular, and the Oiler’s supposed OT winner got called back because it was offside— thankfully. Then, Artturi got the overtime winner— for real this time— in the final thirty seconds. Nate grinned as he embraced the Finn.

He gave his helmet a few taps and leaned in to say, “Getting flashbacks?”

Artturi smiled sheepishly. “Maybe.”

Mikko came barreling into them and cut Nate off from saying any more. He was beaming. “Oh, this city’s going to hate you!” he said gleefully and lightly punched the logo on Arsi’s chest. “You’re a legend!”

Artturi rolled his eyes, bright red and grinning. “Just another couple points,” he insisted.

“A beautiful two points,” Nate added. “That was a sick goal, you can’t deny it.”

Artturi shook his head, but could find no way to object. When it came to arguments of praise, Nate rarely lost except to Cale. He had still found no way to crack the defenseman’s levels of humbleness and inability to take a compliment for what it was.

They finished their brief celebrations as a whole team, the arena around them practically dead silent as disappointed fans cleared out. Then, Nate made his way back into the away locker room, the trace of a smile lingering on his features, rare and bright. It lasted for a few more moments until he was stopped at the start of the room by Cale. Nate’s brows furrowed and he looked at him, concerned.

“What is it?”

Cale pointed down the hall to where a sign pointed and read the way to the Oilers’ locker room. “Someone wants to talk with you.”

Now Nate was just confused. Who in the Oilers administration would want anything to do with him? He was under contract, a no-move clause, too; and the Oilers had McDavid and Draisaitl. There was no room for him. So what on earth did they want?  “Oh— okay…” was all Nate could stammer before Cale left him and Nate turned down the hall, mind in a riot.

He took a sharp left, running his hand through his hair and trying to tame it. He was in no shape to meet GMs or agents. He was ten steps down from formal.

Nate didn’t even have time to register the closed doors of the Oilers’ room before he ran right into Connor McDavid himself, already out of his gear and pacing around, something crumpled up in his hand. Nate startled and Connor hastily stepped back. 

“Sorry,” the forward apologized immediately, too forced, too rehearsed.

Nate gave him the slightest, puzzled look. “You’re good, I just—” Nate trailed off, trying to piece things together. “Wait, are you the one that asked for me?”

Connor looked away briefly and then back again, clearly uncomfortable. So why ask Nate to meet him? “Yeah.” Connor caught sight of Nate’s confused look— which, unfortunately, did often have the effect of making people think he hated them. Connor hastily tried to fix it. “It was Drai— Leon’s idea, if you want, we don’t have to—”

Nate was beginning to feel very prominently awkward. “You’re… You’re fine,” was the best he could offer the man.

Connor sighed, presumably with relief. “Okay. I just had a question for you.”

Nate tried to calm the sudden spike of anxiety those words made him feel. He gestured forward just barely. “Shoot.”

Connor paused briefly, clearly trying to find the appropriate way to word what he wanted to say. Okay, Cale , Nate thought distantly, completely unprepared for the words that were about to come out of Connor’s mouth. “Do you— damn, this sounds weird— do you want to get dinner tomorrow?”

Nate blinked. Did he hear that right?

Connor watched his reaction carefully. “You don’t have to say yes,” he reminded quickly. “Leon said it would be good for me to ask questions, though, and—”

“No,” Nate said. “It’s just that our plane leaves tomorrow afternoon. I’ll be gone by whenever dinner is for you.”

Nate didn’t expect Connor’s next quip to be as fast as it was. “Lunch, then.”

Nate exhaled loudly. He supposed there was nothing better to do, and he would feel bad if he said no. So he didn’t. “Sure,” he began, ignoring the fact that his mind was running at a million miles an hour and he kind of wanted to punch something— an unfortunate habit of his mania. “What time?”

“11:30?”

Nate didn’t even bother to think if that would work or not. He wanted to get out here as fast as possible. “Perfect,” he lied, or, half-lied. Was that a lie? He hoped not. Honestly, he wasn’t sure. Though, he wasn’t sure of much anymore.

“Uhm,” Connor began and unfurled a piece of paper— demolished by nervous fingers— from his hand. He handed it to Nate. It had a couple addresses scribbled on it. “I have a couple places in mind, but the first one is probably too fancy for lunch. You like salads I assume, right?”

“Yeah. That’d be just fine.”

Connor nodded. “Alright. Then meet me at the bottom place. They have good healthy food, so…” He stopped and shrugged. “Yeah.”

Silence fell as Nate just stared at the name and location of the restaurant in his palm. Was he really doing this? He supposed it was too late to back out now. Not to mention it wasn’t like this was a date. Connor was just being nice. He wanted to ask Nate questions, but not over text or right after a long game of hockey. Nate appreciated that. He felt like he should say something, anything, but…

He was quiet for too long. 

Connor noticed and fumbled for something to say, to end what was probably the most awkward conversation of both their lives. “See you then?” he came up with.

Nate nodded stiffly. “See you then,” he affirmed, and then fought not to full-sprint back to the locker room, panic rising in his chest alongside possibility and utter confusion.

But he did not run. Instead, he took measured steps, counting each one and tuning everything else out. One. Two. Three. Breathe. Four. Five. Six… What does he want? Breathe. Focus. Seven, eight—

“Nate?”

Cale’s voice stopped him in his tracks. Nate halted just in time to avoid running into him. The twenty-five year old had come to look for him. He hadn’t been gone too long, had he?

“Cale,” he said.

“You alright?”

“Wonderful,” he lied. Nate peered at him. “Why didn’t you say it was Connor that wanted me? I would have been a lot less on-edge had you said that. Or, at least, more prepared.”

“I don’t know… he just said he wanted to talk. I didn’t think of telling you who, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you anxious.”

“It’s okay. It was just weird.”

“Oh. Well, you can tell me tonight when you keep your promise to talk to me. For now you should get showered and redressed, you’re way sweaty.”

Right. They’d just played hockey. Nate had practically forgotten, too caught up in the whirl of emotions to notice how disgusting he felt. A quick shower and new clothes would feel great. Nate sighed. He was tired now, the buzz of the win and the stress of trying to figure out Connor wearing away into fatigue.

Nate tried to pass Cale to do as he said, but the defenseman laid a hand on his arm. “You’re sure you’re good?” he asked.

Nate nodded. At least it was easy to be fully honest around him. There was no judgment to be had from those kind eyes and his warm smile. “Not half bad. I’m just tired, a bit achy. Confused, too. But like you said, you’ll learn about all that once we get to a bar and I have a beer in my hand.”

Cale cracked a smile at that. He moved Nate on his way. “I’ll text you the place. Come when you’re ready.”

Nate passed him and waved goodbye as Cale exited through the back door. “I will,” he said, already with his jersey thrown off and unstrapping the velcro of his chest protector.

He got to the showers within minutes, the rest of the guys that were still there filing out slowly— calling for an Uber to get where they wanted to go, the team bus that was headed to the hotel long gone. Luckily, Nate hadn’t been planning on being on it in the first place, so his holdup wasn’t a worry. After he showered, he redressed in something modestly fine, and checked the text from Cale before getting a ride to the bar. 

The ride was blessedly quiet. Nate stayed reserved, and luckily enough, the driver didn’t seem to recognize him. Not uncommon, but Nate didn’t know if he could handle any fan interactions well with his mind going haywire. 

The car pulled up to the bar of Cale’s choosing, and Nate handed the driver his pay and closed the door. He glanced up at the electric lighting of the sign and shrugged off the cool before stepping into the warmth of the room.

Cale was waiting at the end of the bar table, messing around with the glass of whiskey in his hand. In all honesty, he looked like a painting, elegantly placed and crafted by an artist’s hand. But Nate had always thought that of him. He was just shy of perfect: human. It was no surprise Nate had once had a crush on the guy, but in the end, Cale had chosen bright and bubbly Mikko and Nate was perfectly fine with that. There was no jealousy, there never had been. He was happy for them, truly, and they gave him their support in return. Nate couldn’t have asked for better teammates and friends.

Cale cast him a glance and a faint smile. Nate made his way across the room and to the chair beside him, taking a seat and quickly grabbing a sip of the beer Cale had pre-ordered for him. Cale knew what he liked enough to take a guess, and he never failed. Nate himself, on the other hand, wasn’t the best at taking a wild stab at what Cale would enjoy. His tastes were more refined, intricate. Just like him , he thought with a small laugh. Nate had watched the defenseman struggle to keep away a grimace as he tried what Nate got him— and forced himself to finish it as always— many more times than one.

“So,” Cale started, setting down the pretty and engraved glass in his hand.

Nate swallowed his drink, put it down, and messed around with it on the table absently. “So,” he repeated. 

So… Nate pondered. So, I didn’t even want to come here. I want to run away back to the hotel and pass out. I want more time to think about what I should say or what I shouldn’t. I don’t want to be honest. I don’t want to talk about him or me or what the hell is going on— to anyone, not just you. But I made you a promise and I’d hate myself if I broke it, so here I am.

“Tell me everything,” Cale said.

And Nate did.

&&&

Connor fidgeted with his hands as he waited outside the restaurant for Nate. Leon said it will be fine. Trust him , he reminded himself. Now, obviously it wasn’t like Leon and Nate were best friends, but apparently they’d talked a bit at the All-Star break last year and still chatted sometimes. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than the contact Connor had, and he’d take that. Plus, it was weird enough approaching the forward out of the blue to talk. Connor wasn’t about to do that with two people he hardly knew just to make sure it was okay for Connor to build this bridge— and if he was lucky enough, not burn it down too.

After a few minutes of milling about in the chilly weather, Connor finally caught sight of Nate walking down the sidewalk and on his phone, face stern. Though, that didn’t seem to be a sign of anything. Connor might not have known Nate well, but he did know that the resting face didn’t mean he was pissed. That was just him. He learned as much in their brief time together on Team North America. Not to mention, from what Connor had been told, he himself was just as bad— except with a more “haunted and dead” flare.

Connor sighed, trying to calm his nerves. He was very suddenly beginning to regret this. Connor closed his eyes. Was he serious? He could bear a hundred media questions and fight to gain his spot in the league and do his best to prove everyone wrong about his ability to lead, but he couldn’t handle trying to become friends with someone not on his team. But it wasn’t just that. He did have other friends on different teams… the difference was that they’d been Oilers or at least gone out together when those Olympic or extra events occurred. This was new. He knew nothing of Nate but the way he played on the ice. They hadn’t gone out in 2016 to get to know each other. All they’d done was discussed hockey strategy. Even then, that was so long ago. And Nate was a new person now. That terrified him.

Nate came up to him, dressed in a blueish-black hoodie, hair neat. He was just barely an inch shorter than Connor, but it didn’t feel that way. Connor was a slender guy, well-equipped for his speed. Nate on the other hand, was built like a fucking stallion. Not a bull, as he’d once compared their very own Sidney Crosby to, but Connor figured stallion was the closest to that right? Now, it wasn’t that Nate was bulky or necessarily toned, but he carried himself with an air of confidence and pride that Connor could never possess. Connor was lithe, quiet— cat-like, if they were sticking to animal metaphors. Nate was… Nate was different.

Connor could tell he had more muscle to him than he did, too. His nose was jagged, his mouth set, his blue eyes so deep and beautiful Connor had the distinct feeling that if they were pools of water he’d get addicted just to swimming in them. Connor blinked and forced himself to look away. Nate cocked his head at him, watching him carefully. Connor felt his heart sink with realization. Oh fuck.

Nate snapped him out of it, “Are we just going to stand around or…”

Connor came back to attention, cheeks going rosy. Hopefully he could blame that one on the Edmonton cold. “Oh, yeah. Sorry,” he said hastily and opened the door for Nate, who stepped inside and took a long breath in of the warm air and the smell of food.

“Little lost there, eh?” Nate questioned lightly.

“I guess.”

Connor smiled, but felt like dying. How did the twenty-eight year manage that effortless, easy confidence? With luck he would find out here. But for now, Connor had to distract his mind, reorder it. So, he focused on Nate’s accent as he spoke like he’d done when first getting used to his teammates, especially Leon, who shared Nate’s general energy. Nate was definitely Canadian, his voice hardly bearing any signs of living in Colorado and the U.S. for over ten years. His accent was more subtle, though, not as prominent as Sid’s was. Though, who else had a more Canadian accent than Sid the Kid? He was the model Canadian. Nate’s accent paled in comparison to his friend’s.

Connor and Nate made their way to a booth, escorted by a kind-faced waitress, and took their seats across from each other. She asked what they wanted to drink and Connor ordered his usual, a blended smoothie of yogurt and fruit— blueberry and raspberry specifically. Nate just ordered water.

“Not big on smoothies?” Connor asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Nate lifted a shoulder. “Depends on the kind. More of a protein shake kind of guy, but I don’t mind them. Out of routine here, though. Water’s fine.”

Oh. Routines. Connor knew of them well. Yet somehow, he had the strangest surety that Nate was a lot more relaxed about his than Connor could ever be. Connor did his best to shrug it off and pretended to look over the menu, as if he wouldn’t order the same thing he always did: some chicken and rice salad with a dressing that could only be described as addictive.

Nate read through his own, eyes scanning through his options before he looked up at Connor. “Any suggestions?”

“Depends,” replied Connor. “What do you like?”

“Dunno. Just tell me a random salad of some sort. I’m feeling brave,” boasted Nate, eyes glinting in a fake-proud way. Connor didn’t even catch how quickly it faded as the waitress returned with their drinks. Why would he have? Nate was effortless. Connor was a mess.

Connor thanked the waitress and she asked if they were ready to order. Connor gave Nate a questioning look. The forward simply reiterated, “Told you, I’m feeling brave. Order me whatever. Surprise me.”

So Connor did. He thought briefly, and then told the waitress their order, hoping for his own sanity that he’d chosen something at least edible. Nate had better like chickpeas and chicken. Something told him he wouldn’t mind either way, though. Despite all the jokes and rumors around Nate’s diet, Connor could tell he was lighter now. And he wished he could say he didn’t know why, but he did. He did and it hurt. 

Nate had won a Stanley Cup. Connor, student of the game and the best player in the world who adored what he did and hated to lose as much as anyone, had not. And that was exactly what Connor wanted to talk to the forward about.

But he didn’t start with that. He didn’t ask Nate any of the questions he wanted to as they waited for their food. He started by asking about Nate’s own life, getting to know him. Like he was taught. 

Never start with yourself , his mother had told him. Talk about your teammates, what they do, how they contribute. Be selfless. Then, she’d smoothed the collar of his button-up shirt and sent him on his way to talk with the bouts of media awaiting him, the pack of jackals and crows ready to pick his little corpse apart. Connor had been ten. He took those words with him even now.

“So, how’s the shoulder?” he asked after taking a drink of the smoothie he’d ordered.

Nate instinctively tested it. He seemed alright with it. “Fine. Bruised, a bit achy around the joint, but nothing permanent or hindering.”

Neither of them mentioned the game that had caused it, or the hit. They were off-ice, and Connor wasn’t going to bring up last night unless he had to. Instead, he responded, “That’s good.” He fiddled with the straw in his drink. “We don’t need more superstars injured in the league. I’m glad you’re alright.”

Nate smiled, and Connor felt himself relax. Okay, he could do this. 

They talked idly as they waited for their food, and after a few minutes it had been brought out; then Connor waited some more so that they could at least start eating before Connor dropped what he really wanted to know on the centre. 

Nate got to it before he could. “So,” he said through a bite of salad. “What was it you wanted? Or did you just want to take me on a date out of the blue?”

Nate sounded like he was joking, but that word made Connor want to unravel. Date? Did he think this was a date? It wasn’t a date… Connor didn’t— hadn’t meant it like that. Had he? He barely knew Nate, but he had been interested in him for some time. His play, his grace and strength on the ice. But that did not mean he had a crush, right? Maybe Connor would have been more sure before all this, before Nate chose to commit to this, but now he felt fuzzy. 

Connor shook his head to himself. He was acting like even if he did like Nate in that way he had a chance. As far as he knew, Nate had no girlfriend, but still. Connor highly doubted he—

“Davo,” Nate said, and Connor snapped to attention.

“What? Oh.” Connor visibly remembered this question he’d been asked. “I just had some questions. If you’re comfortable.”

Nate blinked at him. “Go ahead.”

Connor took a deep breath. This was weird. This was wrong. He was Connor McDavid, the best player in the world, invincible, perfect, unburdened. He shouldn’t be feeling the doubt he was, shouldn’t even have to be asking these questions at all. But here he was, and Nate was too. Nate was here and he was going to listen. Connor was going to be heard. Finally someone on the outside would understand. There could be no turning back now.

Connor exhaled, ignoring the faint shake in his hands. “How do you do it?” he asked.

Nate sat up a bit. “Do what?”

“Make it look so easy?” 

Nate peered at him, but didn’t say anything back, not yet. It was as if he sensed that Connor wasn’t done, and that he’d been here before.

Connor gestured vaguely to him, feeling something inside him break loose. “I mean, everything you do. It’s effortless. The way you win, the way your leadership inspires others. Hell, even your simple confidence and ease. I randomly ask you out and you didn’t look the slightest bit fazed. I don’t understand it.”

Nate was quiet for a moment, and his face broke into a grin. Then, a laugh bubbled out of him. Connor hadn’t heard that from him before. Dread sank like a stone in his belly. He’d done something wrong, said something wrong, and now Nate hated him. He was going to tell everyone how cruel he was— to ask him to lunch and then interrogate him. God, Connor knew this was a bad idea. He wished Leon were here, a mediator for his misery. Maybe then Connor wouldn’t feel so trapped.

Nate hit the table with his hand and wiped a tear from his eye. “Connor, none of this is easy. I’m frankly impressed you think it is.”

Connor’s expression relaxed. “Meaning?”

“I’m not perfect, man. Never have been. I’m easy to anger, stubborn, intense. I fight over stupid shit all the time and sometimes say things I don’t really mean. And you act like I’ve never lost a game. I’ve played like dog-shit too. In fact, you’ve probably played less bad games than I have. I’m not confident, I’m comfortable.”

Connor was momentarily stunned. “Oh… I’m— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Nate insisted then muttered under his breath, “All hell, you’re worse than Cale at this.”

Connor readjusted in his seat and picked idly at the remainder of his food with his fork, thinking. How was he supposed to go on from that? He had more he wanted to say, but how? Admit it or not, Nate did have a confidence Connor had never possessed. Nate had spoken so quickly, so adequately. Meanwhile, Connor was scrambling to get something coherent and understandable together. He really was bad at this.

“Connor, keep talking,” said Nate, seeming to read his thoughts. “I know there’s more.”

“Okay… I was also wondering, if you’re good with me asking, how did you deal with not winning? I mean, you said you still struggle, but you’ve won. You may not notice it, but I can tell there’s a weight off your shoulders now. Like the expectations are easier to bear.”

That question made Nate think. He shrugged. “I— I don’t know, really. I wouldn’t say I’m the person to ask about that, maybe Sid. Losing pissed me off, pisses me off. I guess all you can do is keep going. Keep fighting.”

Keep fighting. Connor looked skyward, to the bright lights above him, the pattern on the ceiling. He felt like he was choking again; on his own emotions, on his own inability to properly articulate what he meant. He was a quiet person, and all he’d been told as he grew was that he had to be the vocal one. The shining, exuberant leader. 

He couldn’t do this.

Keep fighting. Connor looked at Nate again. He had tried. He had. Year after year after year after miserable year. He’d been the contributor, the workhorse that got the Oilers to the playoffs, the golden face of the league. He’d done his best to be everything and it wasn’t enough. It never would be.

He couldn’t do this.

Keep fighting. He couldn’t—

Nate’s hand was on his arm. Suddenly, it was just them, everything narrowing down to just this moment. Connor inhaled sharply, halfway between demanding and pleading his thoughts to calm. He didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t a teammate hugging him after a goal, this wasn’t Leon giving him a comforting tap after a loss. This was one man only bound to him by invitation and choice, known only through highlight reels and the few days a year they played one another. There was nothing that should have allowed this, no connection nor history. And yet, this felt like everything.

 “Connor,” Nate said, voice gentler than Connor had expected it to be. “You are not alone.” Nate dared to crack a smile and breathe the barest laugh. “Believe me, I know.”

Connor could have cried. And maybe, just maybe, had they not been in public, he would have. Had there not always been the prying eyes, the quiet smiles of recognition. Had there not always, and he meant always , been someone watching and studying people like him.

Instead, Connor admitted— near silent—, “I feel alone.”

Nate’s expression was soft. Connor couldn’t tell if there was understanding or pity in those perfectly blue eyes. Connor looked at the table, at Nate’s hand still calloused and warm on top of his. It’d been too long since he’d felt loved like this. Connor’s mouth tasted bitter with the likelihood that it was all fake. That this was him looking too deep into it. That Nate could never really mean anything at all by this. That Nate was going to get up after this was done, walk away, and never spare him another glance.

Nate’s eyes scanned around, as if he were debating something. Their waitress passed by, almost perfectly in time, and Nate raised his hand up a bit. “Hey?” She looked at them with a ready-made smile. “Can we get our bill?”

She nodded. “Of course! Be there as soon as possible, sir.”

Connor stared at him, confused. “What are you doing?”

Nate held up a napkin. “I need a pen,” he explained simply, as if the little piece of paper said it all. “By the way, are you good paying? I don’t know how much Canadian I have on me. Unfortunately.”

Connor stammered, “Oh— uhm— yeah?” He paused. “Why do you need a pen again?”

Nate smiled. “Because there’s more I want to say. And I can tell there’s more you want to, too; but I have to leave soon and it’s not like we can stay here forever. Plus, who really wants to spill their guts out on the table in public? Sounds like a terrible idea to me.”

Oh, yeah. He hadn’t really thought about that. It still didn’t explain why Nate needed a pen, though. Unless he was seriously thinking about… Connor wasn’t sure he wanted to assume.

“I’m not sure I’m understanding what you’re getting at,” Connor said slowly.

Nate grinned as their waitress came back and gave them their bill. He thanked her and quickly began scribbling something on the napkin. His brow furrowed with concentration. “I’m giving you my number and address,” he stated, as if it really was just that simple. Maybe it was.

“O—okay?” managed Connor, perplexed. So he hadn’t been wrong.

Nate finished writing and handed over the napkin. Connor took it. Nate’s handwriting was awful, not the worst he’d seen, but still. He could at least make out the words and numbers, though. That was good. Connor was pretty sure he’d shrivel up and die inside if he had to ask Nate to read what he wrote because he himself could not.

Nate took out his wallet and rummaged through it. He took the Canadian dollars that he had on him and set them near the bill. “Our tip,” he said, then stood.

Connor stared at him. It was like his brain was lagging ten steps behind what was going on. Nate smiled at him, probably taking note of that. Connor tried his best to ignore the way a flush crept up his neck because of it. He was so screwed.

“We play each other again on the 5th,” Nate began. “If you want, you can call me over to your house or wherever you’re comfortable and we can talk more. Texting is fine too. My address is for the 18th. You play us then. Feel free to visit. I promise Maggie won’t bite.”

Connor blinked. Was this a dream? “Th—thank you,” he got out. “I appreciate it. I do.”

Nate flashed a grin, teeth pearly white. Perfect. “Of course, man—” he extended his hand and Connor shook it— “I like helping people out if I can.”

Nate turned to go and then stopped, turning back. Connor came back to attention. “You said Leon got you to do this, right?”

Connor nodded. “Yeah. He said you’d be good for me or something like that.”

Nate laughed a bit. “Well, tell him I said hi.”

But before Connor could say another word, Nate was gone; leaving him with a bill and a shit-ton more questions than he’d had before. But at least this time they were less about himself, and more about Nate, right? Connor sighed, and promptly let his head down on the table. 

&&&

Nate felt something in him break loose the second he stepped outside the restaurant. He took in a long breath of air, exhaled, and started walking at an unrelenting pace in the general direction of his hotel. Nate rushed back down the Edmonton sidewalks, the air cold and biting. Exactly what he needed to get him to snap out of this and think straight. No pun intended. Nate closed his eyes for a moment, hands in his hoodie pocket. 

He’d just given Connor McDavid his number and address. Why? Was he seriously that desperate or was he just increasingly intrigued by the reasons as to why on earth the world’s best player thought he was the optimal person to ask for help? Maybe it was both. Nate hadn’t really been with anyone, or tried to be with anyone, since he told Jo he liked him back in Halifax; and since Jo had solemnly expressed that he not only didn’t like guys, but that he didn’t really care for anyone at all. Nate was fine with that, of course, but still. He’d never had anyone since then, not truly. And as for the latter? Well, Nate be damned, he had the sneaking suspicion that Connor was being serious. It wouldn’t exactly hurt to help the guy, right?

Nate sighed and lifted his head to the sky, hood falling back. He was glad he walked here— and that the place Connor chose was close to the hotel, which he wasn’t sure was intentional or not— because he needed to clear his head. Worse than before. 

Nate took the longer way back, just trying to focus on the city ambience and not the thousands of questions and scenarios running through his head. It didn’t seem to help. All Nate could see was the pain in Connor’s eyes, the way he was open mouthed at Nate simply touching him. Nate shook his head, trying to stave off the memory. It came anyway: the flush that had crept up Connor’s neck and to his features more than once.

Nate turned sharply, heading with a purpose to the hotel’s entrance as the building made itself known. He still had a couple hours before they had to be at the airport, and most of the guys were probably still hanging around the area or sleeping, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to get to his room. Nate did his best to slow his roll as he strode into the lobby, did his best to soften his expression. He wasn’t sure how well it worked, but he wasn’t sure if he cared about that, either.

Nate opted for the stairs instead of the elevator, eager to wind down and get himself together. He felt like a mess. He made his way up the flights, one after another, his racing thoughts following the ceaselessness of step after step after step. 

He came through the door to his floor and blew right past Cale and Devon who were chatting out in the hallway by their rooms. Cale shot Nate a concerned glance first, and then a confused one to Devon. Nate fumbled for his key and rapidly tried to make it work, beginning to get frustrated. 

“Nate,” Cale said slowly.

Nate swore under his breath. Why wasn't it working— He could imagine pulling Connor close, shielding him from whatever it was the forward was so scared of. He could see himself giving him the love and respect a younger, more angry Nate had always needed. And he could see himself doing more than that, too. It was invasive, controlling. Horrifyingly achievable. Nate squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted this to stop.

“It’s fine,” Nate murmured, a familiar and safe response. The door flashed red again. “Damnit,” he cursed, voice harsher than it should have been.

Cale’s hand was on his arm, pulling it away from the door. Slowly, he took the keycard from Nate’s hand. Nate didn’t fight it, didn’t even look at him. His cheeks were burning, his chest tight. There was too much going on in his head, it was too loud—  The hall was silent.

“Nate, I need you to take a breath for me,” instructed Cale. “Just breathe for a minute.”

Nate swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. His head hurt. He nodded and looked at Cale, who, for several moments, simply breathed in tandem with him. Devon had stood up and was watching along warily, ready to step in if he needed. Nate’s lips broke into the ghost of a smile. Good to see the dad-instincts were always there.

Cale sighed heavily, relaxing as Nate got his bearings. He let his hands down. Nate hadn’t even noticed he was being held. “Thank you,” said Cale quietly and unlocked Nate’s door. He smiled a bit. “You were using it upside down and backwards. That’s why it didn’t work.”

Nate breathed out a laugh. Of course. But Cale’s voice hadn’t been accusatory, just honest. Nate appreciated that. 

Cale watched him closely as he went into his room. Nate didn’t close the door, as if that was invitation enough. Cale treated it like it was. He followed Nate in, and Devon trailed not long after. Nate sat heavily down on the bed.

“So…” Devon started. “It go poorly then?”

Nate shrugged and flopped back against the mattress. Cale and Devon sat on the end of the bed beside him. Nate pressed his hands to his eyes, smiling. “I wouldn’t say that,” he admitted and ran his hands along his face before letting them rest on the cool covers.

Cale raised a brow. “Then how come it looked like you were on a mission to punch something? Or have a complete breakdown?”

Devon grinned, and remarked quietly, “The bull in the china shop.”

Cale gave him a shove. “I couldn’t be sure which,” he continued on, paying Devon’s comment no heed.

“It would have more than likely been both had you not been out here,” Nate pointed out lightly, as if this was some light and easy matter, the discussion of weather. 

Cale shook his head. “Not my point.” Nate and Devon shot each other a knowing look. It was just too easy. “You look like it went terribly,” said Cale.

Nate thought on it. Maybe it had. Maybe he’d done everything wrong. Hell, maybe Connor had done something wrong, too. But it was too late now. And Nate had experienced worse. So yeah, he supposed it didn’t go… awfully?

Nate sat up on his elbows. “Not really.”

“So what’s the deal, then?”

Nate exhaled longly and promptly laid back down again with a huff. He needed Tylenol. “Because,” Nate started haltingly, “because I gave him my number and address and I don’t know exactly why. And before that I held his hand. And  I also suggested he invite me over when we’re back here in a couple weeks.”

Devon groaned and put his head in his hands. “Oh shit.”

Cale’s expression looked to change before he carefully composed it. “Oh,” he said as casually as possible. “Okay…”

“I know,” Nate responded to Devon. He observed the ceiling. He looked at Cale. “Am I stupid for this?”

“No,” Cale replied immediately. “No. It’s not stupid, you aren’t stupid. I mean, like, what did you talk about though? Seems like you guys made a big leap between bare-acquaintances to… whatever you are now.”

Nate laughed. “He wants help.”

“Help?” Devon asked querulously.  

“Yeah. With coping with media and expectations and shit,” elaborated Nate further.

Cale’s brows rose. “Damn. That’s…”

“An interesting choice of person and timing? Yeah, I know,” Nate agreed to Cale’s unsaid skepticism. His expression softened as he thought on it more. “But… I don’t know. He looked lost. Like it’s too much. I think he needs this. From someone not on his team. I don’t know why.”

Cale nodded, amused. Devon looked completely invested.

“Well, I suppose if you’re fine with doing him a favor, it’s no big deal, right?”

Nate paused. Was that it? Was that all it was? A favor, no big deal? Nate suddenly felt choked with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. Was that all he wanted it to be?

But Nate didn’t say anything like that. Not now, not yet. Instead he chose an easy, “Yeah, I guess. I think maybe I was just overwhelmed. You two know how bad I am at stuff like this.”

Cale still had a trace of worry etched in his expression, but he nodded and stood. “Well, if you want to talk more on the plane we can. I’ll sit next to you and we can chat more.”

Nate eyed him. “Won’t you be busy bullying someone into playing crib with you? I know you pack it every trip.”

Cale’s grin was devilish. “I never said I wasn’t doing that. This is a transaction: you get to rant to me about whatever is on your mind, and in return you play crib with me. Easy.”

Nate rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

Devon laughed as he passed by Cale on his way to exit. “You’re going to regret that,” he called and disappeared down the hall to his room.

Cale chuckled at him and turned to go. “You should get completely packed. We leave soon,” he suggested to Nate, lingering by the wall leading out.

Nate sat up and moved his legs to hang off the side of the bed. “Alright, Dad,” he said lightheartedly. Cale gave him a knowing look that read I’m serious . Nate put up his hands in surrender. “Fine, I will, I will.”

Cale smiled. “Good. See you in the lobby then.” 

And then he was gone. Nate laughed to himself as he threw the rest of his clothes into his suitcase and made sure everything was packed up to go. He double checked each area, slung his bag over his shoulder, suitcase trailing behind, and made his way down to the lobby.

And before Nate knew it, sure enough there he was, playing an incredibly frustrating game of cribbage with Cale as he talked. Nate let out a frustrated groan. He set his cards down. “I don’t understand how you fucking like this game,” he said.

Cale smiled faintly, taking his turn. “Patience,” he murmured.

Nate shook his head as Cale moved his peg two. “Or maybe an understanding of the game?” he suggested.

“I’ve explained it to you, just gotta roll with the punches,” Cale pointed out. Nate opened his mouth to retort, but Cale cut him off, “Keep talking about him. Ignore the game. I’m winning anyway.”

“K… where was I again?”

Cale looked up at him from his cards. “You said you were confused by him.”

“Oh, yeah.” Nate studied his hand with disdain. “I don’t know, Cale. He’s funny. I thought he was dry, like me, but I don’t think he is. If anything he might care too much. He asked how I cope with losing, how I make it look ‘so easy.’”

Cale laughed. “Damn. He’s desperate then.”

Nate’s jaw went slack and he reached over the small table and smacked him. “Hey!”

“Just saying—”

Nate set his cards down and crossed his arms. “I’m better than I used to be, aren’t I?”

Cale lifted a shoulder. “Sure, Nate. Now keep talking and play.”

Nate scoffed, but obliged. “Anyway, it was just weird. The entire thing. The game, the way he acted after, the lunch date. It doesn’t seem to compute to me.”

“Fair…” Cale tried slowly.

But Nate wasn’t done. “I guess— I guess it’s just confusing because all I can think is: Why me? Why not someone else, a teammate, a friend? We haven’t talked much since Team North America, and even then all we did was talk about hockey. All we ever talked about was hockey, and now he wants this. And…” Nate slowed. Was he really going to confess to this? “And I can’t help but want it too,” he admitted finally. 

Nate waited for a response. Cale was quiet.

“I don’t know why,” he added softly.

“Well…” Cale’s brows furrowed in thought. “Have you considered that you might love him and that’s why?”

Love him. Nate felt panic rise in his chest. No. No, he didn’t love him. Did he?

Nate was suddenly back in that locker room, hardly three stalls away from Connor, but miles away at the same time. He’d been a lot younger, less mature. Angry, cold. Things weren’t going the way he wanted in Colorado and it showed. It made him an ugly person to be around, but Connor hadn’t seemed to mind. He’d been cleaner shaven then, and still bore traces of boyhood in his forever haunted features.

For as standoffish as Nate had been, Connor never did shy away from a leadership role. He made connections with everyone, even him. Despite his awkwardness and fidgety hands, he did it. And Nate had envied that of him, that much he remembered.

The memory struck Nate hard in the chest, something physical. Connor had wanted to get to know him better. He’d asked him to go out to eat with him and a couple of the other guys, and Nate had refused; he’d had plans with Jo and some of the others and didn’t want to cancel. Nate didn’t think he was imagining the new realization of sad regret in Connor’s young eyes. 

Maybe this had been going on longer than Nate thought. 

“Shit,” he cursed.

Cale studied him closer. He nodded. “Yeah. I figured,” he said.

Nate ran his hands over his face. “No, no. I don’t— I don’t like him… I don’t think I do at least? I just— I was kind of a dick before therapy.”

Cale smiled. “I know.”

“You wound me,” drawled Nate.

“Uh-huh,” Cale breathed. He returned to their first point. “I’m not so sure I believe you.”

“Believe me?”

“Yeah.”

Nate gave him a dead stare. “Why?”

“Because,” said Cale with a gesture towards him, “I know you. And I know you well enough to know when you have a crush. You’re in for one. Usually you aren’t this bad until at least a week after you fall, but he’s different. You’re completely off and it hasn’t even been a day.”

Nate laid back in his seat. “It was unexpected, that’s all it was.”

Cale blew out a breath. “Fine, if you say so. But if you end up spiraling, don’t say I didn’t warn you beforehand that you were in deep.”

“Alright, CaleJuice. We’ll see.”

Cale picked up his cards again and played his turn. Nate shook his head. He’d just won. Shocker. Cale collected their deck and began to reset. “ You’ll see,” he corrected, and started shuffling a new hand.

Nate sighed. It was going to be a long and frustrating plane home. On the bright side, maybe he’d finally pick up some skills in cribbage. Nate doubted it. Cale was ever-impossible to beat, both in game and conversation. Nate could do nothing else but surrender.

&&&

Connor arrived early as he always did to the arena and got dressed into lighter clothes; a hoodie, leggings, and long compression socks like usual. Then, he hung around in his stall as others came steadily in. Zach and Nuge lingered in the room, while some of the others were outside in the hall playing soccer or stretching. Connor snacked idly.

His phone buzzed. It was Nate.

Wishing you luck. Go kick Dallas’ asses for us, K?

Connor’s grin was sharp. He’d try. For him. For a friend.

We’ll do our best. You packed for MIN?

Just now, yeah. For Edmonton too.

Nate had said it so nonchalantly, if one could even do that over text. Like Connor wasn’t excited to talk more in person. To get advice and to know him better too. 

Over the past week or so they’d been texting back and forth, congratulating each other on good games. They weren’t quite to the “sorry for the loss, get em’ next time” stage of friendship yet, though. Instead, after nights like that, it was stupid questions like “what’s your favorite movie?” or show, or whatever came to mind. 

So, yeah, it turned out that freaking out and panicking over meeting someone new might not be the best idea. Nate was cool, collected. He shared Connor’s passion and love for their game, and it caused a quick bond. One Connor regretted not making it earlier. Though, he supposed he had tried all of once. Maybe he should have been more pushy. Connor laughed at himself. Never in his lifetime. He knew himself well enough for that.

Connor found himself reading Nate’s message over and over again, like he could pick apart the words and find some hidden meaning. Like if he would just look deeper he’d hear Nate’s thoughts echoing his own.

I’m happy to meet you again. To show my city to you. I don’t care about the game I just want— Connor closed his eyes— you … 

He sighed. There it was again, that unwelcome feeling. He didn’t want to love him, to push that on him. He couldn’t do that, would not do that. To either of them. Even if it hurt. Connor would find a way to move past it and be normal. He’d done it before. He would do it again. Connor opened his eyes and did his best to leave his running thoughts of desire to the back of his mind, to some dream reality stored far back in his consciousness.

It was the jolt of Leon bumping purposefully into his shoulder and nearly knocking the phone from his hands that tore Connor from his headspace. He fumbled for his phone to keep it from falling to the floor. “Shit—” he blurted, got a handle of his composure, and quickly calmed his demeanor. 

Leon wasn’t fooled. He looked at him, utterly bemused. “Good Lord , Davo. Where were you, huh?”

Connor leaned back in his stall, trying to breathe. He put his hands to his face. “Thinking,” he said through his palms. He dropped his hands. “You startled me, that’s all.”

Leon raised a speculative brow. “Uh-huh. Who were you messaging, then?”

Connor turned off his phone and put it back in his lap. “Just—”

“Nate?” Leon guessed.

“Yeah.”

Leon smiled. “I figured. You were too tuned out to just be ‘thinking.’ What were you two talking about?”

Connor shrugged. “He told us to kick Dallas’ ass,” he replied with a faint smile.

Leon nodded with a laugh. “Sounds like him. You tell him we’ll try?”

“Almost exactly? Yes. I did.”

Leon got a smug look to him. Connor braced for impact. Damnit, he’d given him ammo. “You two are so cute,” he gushed with undertones of sarcasm, truly Leon-esque.

Connor glared at him. He felt a pink rise to his cheeks. “I hate you,” he muttered.

Leon bumped him. “You’re blushing.”

Connor rubbed his face. “It’s nothing.”

He looked quickly away, lips in a thin frown. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck , he thought. It was quiet for some time. The unspoken words of confession hung silent in the air.

Leon looked at him, almost surprised. “Shit, you actually like him, don’t you?”

Connor felt like he was choking. It was one thing to think about it, to look for Nate’s features constantly on highlight reels and Instagram posts. It was a far different thing to actually admit he might love him.

“I— I might.” Connor was quick to add, “But I don’t think he’s—”

“I don’t know about that, Connor,” Leon interrupted.

Connor met his gaze. “Meaning?”

Leon sighed, debating on what to say. Connor found himself practically leaning closer, itching to know. He couldn’t seriously mean there was a chance, right?

“Meaning…” Leon trailed off. “Okay, let’s start at last year. Hopefully this makes sense. I think Cale and Mikko over there are dating. Pretty sure.”

“Oh? I— I didn’t know,” Connor stammered. That still didn’t explain what Leon meant.

“Yeah. But that’s not my point. My point is, I saw Nate watching them at the All-Stars last year. He’s jealous. He wants what they have.”

“How do you—”

Leon was reading his mind. “Know he is? Because I’ve gotten to know him well enough to understand his love life. He gets all guarded about it when I ask him if he’s interested in anyone, but I know he cares. I know he wants someone and that as much he supports other relationships, he feels lonely. He’s a touchy, emotional guy, actually.”

“Knew that part,” Connor said softly. Nate was always passionate, always intense. He did absolutely nothing lightly. He was relentless.

“Good. Now, all I’m saying is you should shoot your shot. If you really care about him, it wouldn’t hurt. Like I said, he’d be good for you.”

Connor felt new realization dawn on him. “You never really meant that just as a surface-level thing, did you?”

Leon shrugged nonchalantly. “I had a hunch. Ran with it.”

Connor had to laugh. “Matchmaker.”

“We’ll see. Now, we should probably get ready.” Leon stood and grabbed some of his gear, then pulled Connor up to his own feet with a smile and a wink. “As Nate said, we have some asses to kick.”

Connor could do nothing but smile and follow on.

&&&

Connor’s house was… Nate looked around. Bland. Black, white, grey. Black, black again, a splash of white. Grey. And was that a vaguely blueish noir? Maybe a yellowy cream, some glinting silver in the granite counters? Nate shook his head with a smile of disbelief. Connor’s home was worse than his own.

Nate peered up at the rafters and idly touched a plant’s leaf. It seemed to be the only speck of green or color at all. He’d thought people had been joking when they said Connor lived in monochrome. Apparently not.

“Have you,” began Nate slowly, “even considered color or…?”

Connor smiled a bit sheepishly and threw up a helpless shrug. “I’m no interior designer.”

“Yes, but still, this is insane, man—” Nate’s brows rose as they came into the living room, and he rushed to one of the walls in awe— “There! Color!”

Nate gestured triumphantly to the piece of art on the wall. It was little more than a few blobs of reds, blues, yellows, and pinks on a white canvas. It was better than nothing.

“See!” Nate exclaimed and motioned very passionately to it. “ This ? Should be other places.”

Connor laughed and Nate found himself feeling lighter because of it. He wasn’t exactly good with humor, but he felt the need to brighten the mood and this at least had accomplished that. Nate let himself breathe. Maybe he could do this.

“Maybe you can give me advice,” Connor suggested.

Nate put up his hands. “I’m not an interior designer either. Plus, I’m here to help you out, not your house.”

“Well, let’s sit then,” said Connor. 

Nate sat on his couch in front of the TV and laid back. Connor went to the TV stand and snagged a couple controllers. He handed Nate one.

“You play Chel?” he asked.

Nate took the controller from him. “Occasionally.”

Connor nodded and sat opposite him, the middle cushion putting them apart. Nate looked at it. Had he wanted Connor to sit right beside him?

“Who do you want to be? Or do you care?” 

Connor’s words pulled him from his stream of consciousness. Nate blinked. “Oh, uhm... I don’t care. Play as whoever.”

“Alright,” said Connor as he got it set up.

He picked the Leafs and Nate inwardly grinned. He quickly chose the Penguins. Connor gave him the perfect opportunity to play as Sid. He wondered if it was intentional or not.

“K,” Nate started as the announcers on the game began spewing the regular dialogue. “Give it to me.”

And Connor did. Holy shit, he did. It was like once Nate had asked for the dam to be broken it wouldn’t stop flowing. Connor talked about everything. Fan interactions, losses, winning, what it was like on and off ice. The struggle of simply existing anymore. Nate knew the feeling. He remembered a very similar talk with Landy a few years ago before he started going to therapy. A lot of “this is stupid, I hate everything, why do I even play hockey”’s were spit out at his feet and, in return, his captain had listened. And listened. And listened some more. And then, after providing some advice, quickly suggested Nate see a psychologist. 

So Nate had. It’d been the best decision of his life. He felt better and now, even had the tools to help other people. It was like Connor had sensed it on him. Leon may have given him the shove, but Nate doubted it was Leon’s eyes following him around and asking “maybe he is the solution.” No, that was all Connor. Because Connor was smart. Wicked smart. He was so level-headed and even-keel, despite the waver in his voice and the crease of worry in his brow.

Nate found himself so mesmerized by it all that he lost. And lost. And lost again. Nate found he didn’t mind. So long as Connor would just keep… keep what? Getting closer? Just talking ? Existing? Nate closed his eyes and focused on the clicks the controller made. No. None of those things. He was here to listen, not to swoon. And Connor was still sitting on the opposite cushion to him. There could be nothing but the figments of his imagination.

He left Connor’s bland— but strangely beautiful as Nate was beginning to find— house, 1-5-1 on Chel and with a dry throat from talking. He got into Connor’s car with nothing more given than advice. He was quiet as Connor brought him back, something almost sad in his eyes.

Connor stopped at one of the lights. “You good, man?”

Nate came to attention and sat up off the side of his car. “Uhm… Yeah. Yeah. Just tired.”

Connor didn’t look convinced, but he had to keep driving, and so he went quiet. He pulled up to the hotel and parked out front temporarily. Nate opened the door and leaned back in for the water bottle he’d brought. Connor was already reaching to hand it to him, and their fingers brushed against each other. Nate felt ashamed at how quickly his cheeks pinked. He took the bottle from Connor, trying to sound casual.

“Thanks,” he said.

“It’s no problem,” replied Connor. “Your house next?”

Nate nearly froze in place. Next . There was a next. Holy shit there was a next?

Nate played off his stricken face with a grin. “Yeah. I’m going to teach you color,” he joked with a small wink and then promptly closed the door— or rather, slammed it.

He walked up to the hotel with the sound of Connor’s car speeding away from him still in his ears and tried not to read too much into the fact that it sounded like all Connor wanted to do was get away from him. But maybe that was what Nate wanted, too. To get away because he was too damn scared of getting closer. 

Nate ascended the steps to the lobby and refused to think about what could be, because there was only ever what was. What was, and what could not be.

&&&

Connor woke in a cold sweat in his hotel room. His heart was racing, his mouth dry, his eyes tired. He felt freezing. Connor sat up and tried to control his breathing, taking things in slowly. Then, after a few minutes of panic, he finally reached over and bathed the room in lamplight. He spared a glance at the clock. Just past two in the morning. Fuck, now was not the time. He had the game against Nate tomorrow— or, today. 

Nate. Connor blinked away some of his exhaustion. He had Nate’s address. He could— No. He couldn’t wake him… But he couldn’t wake anyone else, either. Damnit. He needed someone . Connor got out his phone and ordered an Uber. Screw it. He’d apologize later. Right now all he could think about was talking to Nate. He had said it was okay before over text. The notion didn’t make Connor feel any less guilty, but there was nothing else to do. All Connor knew  right now was that he needed to hear that dry, sensible tone snap him out of it.

And more than that, he refused to see Leon about this. Not now at least. Not when the mere sight of him would probably cause a flood of tears. That was the exact opposite of what Connor wanted right now.

Connor heaved himself from his bed and threw on a hoodie and sweats and slides. His phone buzzed notifying him that his driver was here, and he slipped quietly out of his hotel room, water and a small bag of anything he might need— as one could never be too prepared— in hand. He slid the keycard into his pocket and swiftly made his way down to the lobby, taking the stairs to clear his mind. 

Then, he strode outside to his driver and got in, trying not to show how panicked and sleep-deprived he felt. “Sorry about this,” he said to the driver.

She only smiled at him through the center mirror. “You’re fine. I like late shifts.”

“Oh. That’s good,” Connor said and leaned his head back, closing his eyes with a sigh.

His heart was still racing, his neck still cold with perspiration. He knew his hair was a mess and his eyes looked sunken in, and that he also probably looked like some victim on the run, but he was too spaced out to care. The only thing on his mind was the prospect of getting to Nate’s house and completely unraveling.

“You alright, man?” his driver asked after a few moments of only the engine and the buzz of late-night city life.

“Yeah, I’m alright. Tired.”

His driver merely nodded her head and turned up the music a bit. Probably to keep him awake. Little did she know Connor couldn’t have slept even if he tried, tired as he was. 

Though, maybe he’d underestimated his ability. He nodded off hardly five minutes in and was practically thrown back into reality as the car stopped. Turns out he definitely could have slept. Connor shrugged off the thought. Too late now. Either way, he doubted he would have rested any better than when he’d first went to sleep. He knew himself. He needed distraction on nights like this.

“Well,” started the driver, “here’s your stop.” She looked to the backseat at him. “You sure you’re good to get back on your own. We do waits—”

Connor shook his head. “No, I’m good, thank you. I’ll—” Shit. He really hadn’t thought much about the drive back. Guess now was the time to have Nate pay him back for the ride he’d given him in Edmonton. “I’ll be fine,” insisted Connor and got out.

He closed the door and the driver sped off. A little obnoxious if you asked him, but whatever. Connor walked up to Nate’s door, trying desperately to calm his nerves. A million apologies were already running through his mind and he very tentatively knocked on Nate’s door. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—

Silence. Connor knocked again, louder this time. He waited a moment, then blew out a breath. Maybe he’d buy Nate another lunch as redemption.  Connor rang Nate’s doorbell.

Within moments, Connor saw lights flicker on inside. Warm, comforting. Connor was drawn to it like a moth. Another minute passed and then, there Nate was, hair mussed and eyes watery from sleep. He had on black shorts, and nothing else.

Hoooooooly shit… Connor forced his eyes up. Holyshitholyshitholyshitholyshiiiiit—

Nate’s brows rose and his face paled upon noticing that he was the one standing at his door. “Connor? What are you doing here?”

Connor snapped back to attention. His cheeks flushed. With shame or desire, he wasn’t sure. Connor picked at his sleeve. “I— I needed to talk.”

Nate blinked and raised an eyebrow. “At two in the morning—? I— alright. Come in.”

Connor stepped in and Nate closed the door behind him. “Thank you,” he said gratefully.

“Yeah… it’s no problem,” Nate said slowly. He led them to his living room. “Sit. I’m going to grab a shirt real quick”

Connor did. Well, sort of. It was more of a graceless fall into cushions and pillows. Nate sat on the corner seat beside him after returning, dressed in a heather grey tee. Connor had picked the middle. He brought up his legs and criss-crossed them, his knee now touching Nate’s thigh. Had he been more awake, Connor would have paid heed of where he’d chosen to sit, but he was tired and stressed out now. And there was no space for hesitation. Not when sleep— or lack thereof— had only made him think more about what Leon had said. All I’m saying is you should shoot your shot.

“So, what did you want to talk about that was so urgent?” Nate asked after some time.

Connor folded his hands together, his mouth felt dry. He took a drink of water from the bottle he’d brought, and rested back against Nate’s couch. “I— Have I told you I get nightmares?” Connor decided on asking first.

Nate looked at him, those pretty blue eyes of his sparkling with worry. “No, you haven’t.”

Connor dared a smile. “Yeah. Vivid ones. Ever since I was younger… Twelve, thirteen, maybe? A lot of them are hockey related, or at least involve people I played with or know because of it. I—” Connor broke off. “I don’t know. I guess that’s what being picked apart and studied from a young age does to you, right? Sometimes they’re worse than others. Like when we go into slumps, or when the expectations of playoffs get closer, or at trade deadlines. I get them a lot more and they’re… they feel more real.”

Connor couldn’t meet Nate’s gaze. He was too afraid. Of finding pity and scorn in them. Even worse of finding sympathy and love.

Connor continued, “But sometimes they pop up out of nowhere, usually because of other stress. And I can’t sleep after them, not unless I take my brain off of it and of sleep for about an hour at least.” He laughed, a small and sad thing. “I’ve gone a couple days before, you know? Terrified to sleep because when I did, all I saw was possibilities. Of teammates leaving, of falling from grace, failing, completely losing my career— as wild as that sounds. I had one tonight. That, that’s why I’m here. I remembered you told me it was okay, and all I could think about… Nate, all I could think about was you.”

Nate's voice was strained. “I’m glad I can be here for you, then. That fucking sucks.” Then, slow and tentative, “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Connor swallowed and nodded just barely. “Leon got traded. To New York— Rangers, I think. But he chose to leave in it. Like he hated me, hated our team and what we built. And then we started losing, just quick flashes of them. They didn’t make sense, but often dreams don’t. The most prominent thing I remember is that Leon wouldn’t speak to me when we figuratively had a matchup. I woke up shaking to him biting my head off. Probably said it was all my fault.” Connor could only give up the most sorrowful smile, his eyes suddenly burning with unshed tears. “Like they always do.”

Connor fell silent, as did the room. Nate said nothing. He said nothing for a long time. Connor was about to break the quiet with an apology for dumping so much on him when all of the sudden Nate’s arms were around him, pulling him close from the side. Connor froze. His heart seemed to stop. His mind ceased to run. There was only a very strong, uncontainable wave of emotion. Love, adoration, desire for Nate. Sadness and pain at the way he was; so human and broken, completely saintless.

Connor shifted into Nate’s weight, putting his legs down so he could face the forward. Then, he finally, finally broke down and just… cried . He let loose the scared, anxious little boy still inside him and allowed the layers of armor to fall away. He was not McDavid— the world’s best player and the one expected to do the impossible every night— anymore. Here, now, he was just Connor again. Passionate, competitive, humble, frightened of what would happen if he failed. And that was okay. Nate was showing him that. It was okay to just be Connor. Even if it was only for a little while, here wrapped into strong arms and steady hands.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” Connor murmured into Nate’s chest, tears free-flowing now. He sniffed and clutched Nate tighter. “I’m sorry for all of this.”

Nate pulled back, expression soft. “Hey,” he said, voice stern. “No. No, Connor. Don’t apologize.” He lifted Connor’s chin to meet his gaze, sincere and filled with compassion. “Connor, you’re one of the best things that’s happened to me. Don’t you dare be sorry.”

Connor felt more tears flood his eyes. You’re one of the best things that’s happened to me.

Nate looked like he wanted to say more. His eyes glistened with what might have been guilt. “I— I…”

Connor got a bit closer, their bodies practically melting together. Connor let his hand rest on Nate’s waist, throat choked with unspoken words. “You what?” he asked, barely more than a whisper.

Nate bit his lip, hesitating. He exhaled, and Connor could feel it, feel the hammering of both their hearts. They were mere inches from… “I think I love—”

Connor took the leap before Nate could even finish. It was the barest brush of their lips together, short lived and gentle. It was everything.

“— You…” finished Nate, bright pink. He smiled. “I think I love you,” he repeated.

Connor grinned and took Nate in again. His stomach fluttered with butterflies, and his anxiety slipped into nothingness as he did this one simple thing: kissed him. And kissed him some more. He entwined his fingers through the hair on the back of Nate’s head and let their mouths melt together, forging something hot and pure. Connor could feel Nate’s hands clutching the fabric of his hoodie, tilting him to the side to get a better angle. Connor let it happen, let Nate show him exactly how much he meant to him as he searched purposely for Nate’s thighs, for that soft, muscled flesh.

Nate moved his grip higher, holding the back of his head as Connor crossed his wrists behind Nate’s shoulders and sighed. Nate bit his lip slightly, and Connor couldn’t even try caring about how it hurt.

They pulled away from each other after a moment, panting. Nate grinned at him, eyes glistening. Connor was a bright carnation red, strands of hair falling over his forehead.

“So I take it you like me too?” Nate asked, as if that had not been answered the second he’d started saying the word “love.”

Connor laughed, the sound bubbling out of him, spilling from his lips in mirth. He felt needlessly giddy, completely awake now. It was like he’d won something. But in reality, all he’d been was chosen. And that was enough. That was more than enough.

“Yes,” he responded, and then gave Nate another short kiss. “Yes. I love you too.”

“Oh,” said Nate with that familiar, stuttering and dry laugh, “that’s good, then. Cause I don’t think I’m planning on stopping kissing you.”

Connor grinned and shook his head. “Neither am I,” he agreed, letting a little bit of cockiness slip into his tone. “Neither am I.”

And then they were kissing again. Perfect, passionate, infinite.

&&&

Nate felt like he was in heaven. Connor loved him, and all doubts that Nate did too had been thrown out the window the second he’d felt the electrifying touch of Connor’s soft, and in some spaces chapped, lips on his rough and torn ones. He wasn’t sure how long had passed now, too enveloped in the pure act of loving Connor to pay notice to anything else. All he knew was that it was late, and that they should probably go to bed sometime soon.

Nate had Connor in his arms, dozing. He’d practically fallen asleep as they kissed, and slowly but surely his faintly-ginger head of hair had come to rest on his chest rather than being lifted up to kiss. Nate smiled and ran his fingers delicately through Connor’s hair, petting him. His legs were going numb and Connor’s arms were wrapped around his waist. Distantly, it reminded him of a koala and he thought there had to be a nickname in there somewhere, but he abandoned the idea. Connor needed actual sleep, so, as much as it pained him, Nate gently shook him awake. The forward looked up at him blearily, tried to sit up, and upon failing, promptly gave up.

“You should actually get some sleep on a real bed,” murmured Nate.

Connor put his head down and sighed. “But you’re comfortable,” he complained.

Nate grinned. “Thank you for the compliment, but you need rest. Both of us.”

Connor groaned. “Fine,” he surrendered.

“Do you…” Nate hesitated. “Do you want to sleep here?”

Connor flushed. “You sure we’d sleep if I said yes?” Nate averted his eyes and Connor chuckled at him. “I’m only joking. I’m too tired for anything,” he said. “But yes, I’d love to stay here. I can take a guest room—”

“No,” Nate interrupted a bit too aggressively. “No. I— I want you with me.”

Connor’s brows rose and Nate could have sworn he managed to go pinker. “Alright. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.”

Nate smiled at him. “I don’t think you’re jumping far enough, actually.”

Connor giggled and Nate brightened at the noise. He didn’t know that was what his true laugh sounded like. It was… cute. Suddenly everything was about him.

“I’ll try harder next time then.”

“Good. Now kiss me again please,” said Nate, and Connor did.

Then, without warning, Nate picked Connor up. The forward pulled back in surprise. “What are you doing?” he asked, voice bemused.

“Carrying you,” replied Nate with puppy-levels of excitement.

“Wh— I’m basically your weight, you’re going to drop me—”

Nate then immediately faked him out by letting his grip around Connor’s waist slide. The Oiler gasped and then steeled his features, glaring at him. Nate only grinned in response and shook his head, readjusting his grip. Connor was holding onto him for dear life.

“I won’t drop you,” promised Nate. “You wound me with your lack of faith.”

“I can feel your arms shaking; it’s not a lack of faith, it’s a fact,” Connor shot back.

Nate rolled his eyes, but set Connor down anyway. Nate glanced up at him, at the full beauty of his agile build and pretty features. Connor shook his head with a small smile, half-disappointed.

They made their way to Nate’s room, Nate practically dragging Connor along through the hall, sleep tugging at his eyes. Then, he closed the door behind him and threw off his t-shirt. Nate practically smacked into the comforters with a pleased sigh. He flipped off his stomach after a moment and twisted to look at Connor. He was standing beside Nate’s door, picking at his hoodie sleeve, a guilty look in his sadly carved eyes.

“You can take it off,” Nate said. “I promise not to ravish you in your sleep.”

Connor cracked a smile, and Nate quickly found himself staring as he obliged. Connor only had on the salmon pink hoodie, no shirt. His build was as slim as Nate would have guessed, all delicate angles and agile muscle, and he could even spot the freckles on his arms in the light. Nate was a little bit surprised at how hairy Connor was, though. Nate had never really been a chest and arm hair guy, and the little he grew was barely noticeable. Connor on the other hand was gorgeously hairy. Nate smiled and tilted his head at him, unable to tear his eyes away.

“Ooo, you’re scandalous, Connie. No shirt, just the hoodie. I might have to take back my comment. I simply can’t conrtol myself,” he cooed.

Connor rolled his eyes with a laugh and crawled in next to Nate. “I can not believe I actually love you,” he muttered.

Nate gushed. “I like that,” he murmured as Connor wrapped his arms across his waist and tucked his body close to his. 

“Like what?” asked Connor.

Nate reached out and turned off his bedside lamp, then buried his head into his pillow. “That you love me. It’s… It’s nice.”

Connor pressed his face to Nate’s bare shoulder in response and gave them a kiss, moving up to his neck with deliberate slowness. Nate froze, letting out a shuddering breath. He could feel Connor’s tongue beneath his bottom lip as he hovered around Nate’s pulsepoint. Nate felt his skin rise with gooseflesh; his nerves on fire, the touch like a spark that sent the rest of his body into overdrive. It was like he was pinned here, grabbing at the sheets and forcing himself to stay still enough to keep Connor kissing him. Nate exhaled in half of a moan. He really wasn’t making the whole sleeping thing any easier.

It was quiet, this part of Denver mostly secluded from the bustling city. Nate let his breathing slow and forced his mind off of the fact that Connor was lying beside him, mostly because he was certain he’d do something stupid if he thought too much about it. Connor had finally moved on from kissing him— to Nate’s partial disappointment— and was resting now. Nate needed to steel himself. 

Darkness was finally beginning to settle on them when Connor asked softly, “Nate?”

Nate flipped around to face him in the dark, taking hold of Connor’s arm and tickling it absently. Despite them both being half-asleep, Nate also knew both of them couldn’t quite slip into peaceful rest yet. Not when this was so… fresh. Not when Connor’s lips had still been stained with a faint trace of blood and Nate could still feel the lingering of where the forward had dozed off on his chest.

“Yeah?” he said quietly.

“You… You’re sure you want this right?”

Connor’s voice sounded almost frightened, like he’d been through this before and it had ended badly. Nate’s brows furrowed in the dark. He couldn’t see Connor, but he leaned forward and found his jaw to kiss anyway.

“Yes,” Nate reassured and located his lips. “I want this. All of it.”

Connor let out a sigh and Nate heard him lay back down. “Good, good. I just— Just wanted to be sure.”

“Of course,” said Nate. “I understand.”

Silence again. And then, a small, “Can you… Will you get closer?”

Nate refused to do anything but oblige. He put his legs around Connor’s and let his forehead rest against the back of Connor’s skull. At that, Nate could feel him relax, as if he’d been trying to hold his breath for too long. They settled after a moment, breathing in tandem together. Nate closed his eyes, but remained awake as Connor, his Connor fell asleep in his hold. Then, and only then, did Nate allow himself to slip into the dark.

&&&

Connor awoke to morning light filtering in through the window. Nate’s window. It still didn’t feel real. Nate was laying beside him, dozing; his breathing steady and even. The light caught on the color of his skin perfectly, giving him a sort of other-worldly glow despite the standard hockey player bruises and scrapes on his arms and body. He barely had the sheet over top of him, scrunched up just perfectly to only reveal a flash of thigh or calf here and there. He was sleeping on his arm, too, his mouth slightly open. He was beautiful.

Connor exhaled with a half of a yawn and cuddled close to him, resting his arms low on Nate’s waist and pressing his face into his shoulder blades. The forward mumbled something, shifting around. “‘Time is it?” he only half said.

Connor draped his arm on Nate’s stomach as he rolled onto his back and looked at him through tired eyes. Connor let out a full yawn and sighed. “No fucking clue,” he responded.

Nate reached aimlessly for his phone on the table across from him. He blinked away the brightness and took a few moments to register the time. “It’s… Ten? Ten o’ nine,” he announced and then put his phone down on his chest and looked to the ceiling.

Connor let out a faint hum of recognition in response.

Nate turned to face him and sat up. He stretched out his arms and closed his eyes, yawning. Connor easily found himself staring. At the way his muscles flexed, how perfectly shaped Nate really was, at how incomprehensibly adorable he looked when he was so bed-tired. 

“You gotta stop doing that,” Nate said through the end of his yawn.

“What?”

“Making me yawn,” he replied and rubbed a hand along his face, smiling a bit.

Connor pushed himself up next to Nate, the headboard cool against his upper back. “I can kiss that problem away if you need,” he suggested.

Nate’s grin was almost as sharp as his blade-like nose. “Mmm, please do,” he said.

So, Connor did. He leaned in and gave Nate what he wanted, not daring to hold back. He let Nate pull him closer by the waist after a moment, relishing the feeling of Nate’s calloused fingers so gently tugging into his skin. Connor pushed closer, fighting for rhythm. Nate pushed back. He held him tight by the middle of his back, forcing Connor to straighten his posture. Which didn’t seem to make sense… that would only make his lips harder to reach, would it not—? Oh . Connor nearly melted.

Nate drifted lower, kissing near his Adam’s apple, around his collar bone. Everywhere . Connor tilted his face to the side, an offering that Nate instantly took. He bit gently into Connor’s skin, getting a sound out of him and smiling at it. Nate glanced up proudly before giving the spot just below Connor’s jaw another kiss. And another, and another until Connor was fairly sure this had just become their new addiction.

Connor sighed with a devilish smile at the idea. He fought every instinct in him that told him to lift himself higher— and truthfully much more that Connor didn’t want to admit to, too— and tell Nate to never stop. Instead, Connor made his head hang low, forcing Nate to bury his face into his neck and soften his angle. Nate did, drawing back that aggressiveness in him and ghosting along Connor’s collarbone. Connor laughed a bit. Was he really that easy to tame?

After another minute, Nate stopped for a breath, and Connor could feel the warmth coming from his cheeks against his chest. Connor lessened his grip on Nate’s arms, one of which he hadn’t even noticed, and let Nate pull away after one last peck to the shoulder. 

“So, how did you sleep?” Nate asked, running his tongue across his lips. 

A funny thing to ask after making out in the morning, but Connor didn't mind. “Not too bad,” he responded, grinning, his mind racing with lingering desire.

“That’s good,” Nate mused. “No nightmares?”

Connor shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not with you holding me. It was kind of nice actually. I don’t remember the last time I was this comfortable with someone.”

Nate gave him a kiss on the cheek, fingers brushing along Connor’s beard faintly before resting again. “I’m glad.” He swung his legs over the bed and looked back at him. “You want food? We should probably eat something.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. You do omelets?”

Nate laughed. “Burnt to shit and flavorless ones, yeah. I’m not a very good cook, I’ll admit that to you right now,” he admitted.

Connor smiled and quickly got out of bed, an idea forming in his head, snagging his hoodie before Nate could grab a tee. “Then I guess I’ll just cook for us, then. You make toast.”

And before Nate could say a word, still halfway through getting on a shirt, Connor was padding swiftly down the hall. Nate came shortly after him, insisting, “I’m not letting you make me breakfast—” Connor rounded the corner, prepared to defend the kitchen area which he’d been lucky enough to spot and vaguely remember on his way in— “This is my house. You’re my guest.”

Connor dodged Nate’s attempt at grabbing him. He grinned and guarded the entrance to the kitchen area, widening his stance between the dishwasher and the small wall just before the fridge. He egged Nate on with a raised brow. Nate batted at him and Connor pressed the advantage. “I—” a parry against Nate trying to get by— “can make you an omelet, damnit!” exclaimed Connor.

Nate huffed and stepped back, crossing his arms as if he was surrendering, but Connor didn’t back down. He lingered just in case, keeping his guard up. Connor pointed a finger at him. “Are you giving in?” he asked slowly.

Nate debated on it. He conceded. “Fine. Just this once. But only because my love has made me blind. I don’t usually give up this easy. You’re lucky, really.”

Connor nodded sagely. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. And you’re lucky I didn’t even try.”

Nate glared at him. “I bet you didn’t,” he agreed sarcastically.

Connor nodded. “I did not, you’re absolutely correct,” he said. “Now make some toast, I’ll grab eggs,” he moved on.

Nate rolled his eyes, but followed and they made food in tandem together. Then they ate together. And talked together. Everything, anything, together. Connor hadn’t realized how much that meant to him. To be together every breath, every step. Apparently it did. Because before Connor knew it their food was long gone and the ringing of Connor’s phone from the living room where he’d left it tore them from this dreamworld.

“One sec’,” Connor said and quickly snagged his phone from Nate’s couch. He sat back down looking at the person calling him. “It’s Leon.”

Nate gestured forward. “Well answer it,” he prodded.

Connor did. He was immediately met with a very worried sounding, “Where are you?”

Connor paled. Shit. He glanced at the time before putting the phone back to his ear. It was almost eleven. He had team lunch at twelve fifteen. Shit, shit, shit, shit .

“Davo?” Leon brought him back to their call.

“Y—Yeah?” Connor asked, voice wavering with hidden panic. Nate looked at him, brows furrowed with confusion and concern.

“Where in the hell are you? I was going to come to your room before heading out here in a bit for lunch, but you’re not answering. Were you that asleep?”

Connor put a hand to his face. “Oh. Uhm, I’m not there, Leo.”

Leon went quiet for a minute. “Then where the fuck are you?” he questioned.

Connor went open mouthed, unable to speak any words. He looked to Nate for permission, and he nodded. Connor’s reply was slow, “I’m… I’m at Nate’s.”

Dead silence.

Leon sounded awe-stricken. “Sorry, did you say Nate’s?”

“Yeah. I— I can explain later. I’ll—” Connor trailed off. “I’ll be there quick as I can.”

Leon sighed over the phone, expressing his disbelief mixed with disappointment. “Okay. Just, don’t be late, K? I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”

“Alright,” murmured Connor and hung up.

He looked at Nate and shook his head. “Sorry. I completely forgot, I have team lunch today. I have to go.”

“You’re okay, Connie,” Nate insisted. Connor felt a small flush come to his cheeks at the new nickname Nate was giving him. Connie . It was cute. “Do you need me to give you a ride?”

Connor immediately started coughing, choking on air, caught completely off-guard. He heaved in a breath, sputtering out a laugh. Curse Nate’s word choice. Connor put his head down on the table, quite frankly embarrassed with himself. “I—” he caught his breath, heaving in oxygen. “Yeah,” he got out, “sure. That’d— That’d be great.”

Nate looked utterly bemused. He raised a brow and stood. “I can’t believe you,” he said with a shake of his head. His smile was sharp, though, one trying to hide his laughter but failing. “That is not what I meant.”

“I knowwww,” Connor tried to defend himself. “I’m just a bit out of it, and—”

“No, I know, I know,” Nate insisted with a wave of his hand. “Now get on your shoes and let’s go before Leon murders you or me for this. I’ll be in the car.”

Connor could only manage a thumbs up and an awkward smile before Nate was gone to grab his keys. He was still grinning as he put on his slides, snagged the few things he’d brought, and got into the seat beside Nate.

They were driving out of Nate’s neighborhood when he asked, “Which hotel are you guys staying at?”

“Four Seasons, I think,” replied Connor.

Nate blew out a breath and stopped at a red light. “Damn. They’re fancy for you guys.”

Connor smiled faintly. “And the Avs aren’t for you?”

Nate shrugged and kept driving. “Not that. It’s a great hotel, that's all.”

Connor nodded and fell quiet, giving Nate the opportunity to turn up the radio and himself a chance to simply enjoy the drive next to the one he loved, and the one who loved him back. That got Connor thinking.

“Nate?” he asked, getting his attention again after several minutes of driving.

“Hmm?”

“Are we… Are we boyfriends? Can I call you that?” Connor paused. “Because if you don’t want to— I mean I’ve had guys before that didn’t want—”

“No, no. We’re boyfriends, yeah,” Nate cut him off. “You can call me that. I like it.”

“Oh. Good. That’s good.”

Connor looked up the stories of rooms as they pulled up to the hotel. He sat for a moment, not wanting to go. Nate put the car into park and rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. “I guess you gotta go now…” he said.

“Yeah,” Connor murmured slowly, feeling both guilty and awkward.

“I’ll— I’ll see you tonight?” offered Nate with a small shrug.

Connor grinned. He supposed they would. He felt some of his anxiety slip away at that. He could do this. He could leave him, if only for a little while, and not feel bad for it. “I guess I will,” he mused, and then— after looking around to make sure no one was staring— brought Nate in by the collar of his shirt for a kiss.

Nate pinked immediately, eyes going wider and brows rising with surprise. Then, he melted into it, pressing his lips firmer, managing to get his tongue past Connor’s mouth. Connor smiled and held Nate’s face with one of his hands,  brushing his thumb over the twenty-eight year old’s stubbled jaw. Nate grabbed for Connor, trying to bring him closer despite the center console splitting them. Connor didn’t care about the leather digging into his ribs, though. He sighed into the kiss, something not quite able to be described as a moan coming from the back of his throat. 

Connor let the kiss draw on for another moment before finally relaxing and pulling away. He really did have to go. Nate gave him pouty eyes, and Connor simply grabbed his hand and gave it a small kiss. “Love you,” he murmured as he sat up and grabbed his stuff.

He got out of the car, about ready to close the door. “Love you too, freak,” Nate quipped before Connor did so.

Connor rolled his eyes and closed the door, waiting for a moment before Nate drove off. Weirdo , he thought as he made his way into the lobby, hoping that the crisper Denver air would excuse his flushed face. He wasn’t sure what to say if asked about his lips, but he figured he’d get by. Maybe he’d just say he’d not had enough water and had been picking at them. But hopefully he wouldn’t have to worry about it. Plenty of the guys had shown up the same way before and no one asked questions. Connor hoped they’d offer the same grace to him, too.

Connor did his best to ignore the long stare Leon was already giving him as he made his way swiftly to where he blocked Connor’s way upstairs. Leon’s arms were crossed, and after taking in the full brunt of Connor’s appearance, his lips quirked into a knowing grin.

“So,” he began, “you were at Nate’s, huh?”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Not a word,” he grumbled. He needed to get changed, not deal with Leon’s antics. “I need to put on new clothes.”

“Mhm,” Leon hummed and watched him go.

Surprisingly enough, Connor was eager for his hotel room. He slid his keycard out of his pocket as he got into the elevator, fiddling with it. There were a few others inside, all finely dressed, probably returning from a business venture or a tour around as a rich, upstanding family. Connor felt completely out of place in his hoodie, slides, and sweats. He closed his eyes and exhaled. Whatever. He probably made close to if not more than they did. He was allowed to look lazy. They had no clue who he was.

Or so he thought. Out of the blue he felt a small hand tug on his hoodie. Connor steeled himself from startling, turning to look at who had touched him. It was a little boy;  brown hair, green eyes, an astounded look on his round features. His mother instantly knelt beside him— having the room to do so in such a large elevator— and muttered, “Alex—”

The boy paid her no heed. “Are you… are you Connor McDavid?” he asked, voice small and appropriately childish.

“ Alex ,” his mother scolded.

Connor shook his head. “You’re okay,” he insisted, his tone light.

The boy’s mother smiled up at him and stood. “Thank you. I’m sorry for his behavior, but he kept insisting you were… you.”

Connor grinned, putting on his best self despite the fact he really just wanted to crawl out of his own skin and process what was happening with him and Nate. “I am,” he affirmed. “You guys big hockey fans?”

The mother fussed over Alex for a moment, who was still staring up at him in wonder. “Yeah— Well, his dad is. He must know you from watching you on the TV so much. We’re actually here for your guys’ game tonight.”

“Sweet,” Connor said. “Well, if you want, once we’re out of the elevator, I can sign something for you guys. What floor are you on?”

Alex gasped at the offer, eyes glistening. Connor’s chest fluttered with some form of pride. Despite the stress, Connor really did love interactions like this. Closed quarters, the passerby. It made him feel good to give something back to the people who supported him. 

“Oh, we’re on floor 8,” responded Alex’s mother.

“Nice. I am too,” Connor said.

The elevator doors opened and they stepped through.

“Our room is at the start of the hall. Alex has his jersey with him, would you mind waiting so I could grab it?” the mother asked politely.

Connor supposed there wasn’t much better to do. “Of course.”

Alex’s mom nodded once and quickly rushed off, leaving Alex standing in lingering shock by Connor’s side. Connor knelt beside him, getting to his level.

“How are you so good?” the boy asked innocently.

Connor smiled faintly. They always asked that. If he were to be honest, he’d say he didn’t know. But he didn’t say that. He gave the typical, hopefully inspirational answer, “A lot of hard work and practice.”

Alex nodded, content. His mother returned, jersey in hand, before he could think to ask anything else. Connor reached out and took it from her extended hands and reached into his hoodie pocket for the sharpie he always carried on hand. Swiftly, he signed the back with his autograph and a note. Alex’s eyes lit up at watching him and he hugged the jersey as he was given it back.

“Thank you so much,” his mother said over and over again, Connor insisting it was alright every time. “This means a lot.”

“It’s no problem,” Connor said, and meant it, as she shepherded Alex away to their room.

Connor put the cap on the sharpie back on and blew out a breath. He needed to go. Quickly, he made his way down to the hall and got dressed; a nice plain cream tee, a storm grey corduroy jacket, similarly shaded pants, and a pair of clean looking shoes. It’d do.

Connor stopped by the bathroom mirror before going out, messing with it for a moment before quickly hurrying out the door after checking to make sure he at least had his wallet and keycard on him. And then he was back in the elevator, headed down to the lobby. Connor checked his phone. He was about to be late to their bus.

Leon was waiting just beside the elevator when the doors opened, on his phone. Connor rushed through the doors and Leon looked up at him, immediately falling into step with him as they headed for the doors, where—lucky him— Ryan and Zach were walking through too. Maybe Connor wasn’t as late as he thought. He shoved the thought away. It never hurt to be early. In fact, Connor almost always was. This was out of character for him. Someone other than Leon was bound to notice eventually.

“So,” said Leon as they beelined for the awaiting team bus, “you gonna tell me about what the hell’s going on, or?”

Connor looked away from him and took a few extra strides to go up the bus steps first. “I don’t know,” he admitted. As certain as Leon may have been about Nate, did Connor really want to tell Leon about everything without the forward’s permission?

Leon took a seat beside him on the bus, Connor already staring longly out of the window. “Okay… Well, then why don’t you start with why you left at all?”

Connor stiffened, the memory not welcome or pleasing. “Nightmares,” he muttered.

Leon nodded. “I see.” He paused. “So, why didn’t you come to me? You know you can talk to me about them. Why bother the drive and wake Nate up?”

“Because it was about you,” Connor said and faced him. “Because if I came to you about it then, I probably would have broke down crying— which, I guess I did anyway, but still. All I could think about was him. I… I knew I could trust him with that.”

“Oh. Okay. And was he— was he good? With you staying and all?”

“Yeah, yeah. He was… fine,” Connor said, trying to be nonchalant even though he was fairly certain Leon was just beating around the bush.

“That’s good.” Leon studied him harder, peering at him as if debating if he really wanted to start this or not. “You two…” Leon began slowly, “You two do anything else?”

Connor gave him a flat look. “Really?” he asked dryly.

“What? You looked— look a little disheveled. And you stayed at his house, and your lips look bit and swollen to shit. And there’s a bit of red at your neck too. So, pardon my assumption, but—”

Connor rolled his eyes. Damnit. At least out of everyone, he was most okay with telling him. Leon was his best friend. He trusted him more than most people.

“Fine,” Connor surrendered. “You’d be correct.”

Leon grinned. He restrained the obvious excitement in his voice. “I told you I had a hunch!” he whispered gleefully.

Connor smacked his arm. “Uh-huh, uh-huh. Now don’t tell anyone yet. I don’t know how Nate would feel about it.”

“Yeah, whatever. That’s Nate though.” Leon sat up. “So, how is it, hmm? Are you— are you two both happy to… y’know…?” By all that was holy, Leon had never sounded straighter. Connor held back his chirps for later.

Connor looked back out the window, restraining a grin. “We just kissed, Leo, calm down. He told me he loved me, I agreed, blah blah, it was nice. Just nice. I only crashed at his place because I was too damn tired to go anywhere or do anything else. Are you happy?”

Leon nodded sagely. “I am, thank you.” He thought for a moment, going quiet. “Are you two official, or…?”

Connor shrugged. “Technically? Yeah. But I don’t know how many people he’s comfortable with telling, so just keep it on the down low. Plus, it’s not like this has been going on for forever, either. There’s some kinks we’re going to have to work out still. With the long distance thing, playing each other, what summers are going to be like, all of that.”

Leon stifled a laugh and Connor glared at him.

“Not that kind of kink,” he drawled.

Leon lifted a shoulder. “You said it about your boyfriend, not me.”

“I hate you,” Connor said with a small chuckle.

“I’m your best friend. I’m made to beguile you.”

“I never bullied you about Celeste,” pointed out Connor with a raised brow.

“Yes, but you’re too nice and that’s why. And you were too jealous to say anything really impactful,” Leon parried.

“I was not jealous. I had… partners.”

Leon shook his head with a pitiful smile. “And that worked out so well.” Leon folded his arms and said primly, “They were all dicks and you know it.”

“Fair,” conceded Connor.

They went quiet and Connor focused on the scenery outside. He took in slow breaths, calming his thoughts and thinking everything through. Connor closed his eyes. It was actually nice to have someone know, now that he thought on it. He was excited, excited to have someone who loved him with passion again, to feel actually heard and appreciated. 

And maybe that was the difference: Nate cared. Nate cared so much. About him, about what he felt, about how he acted around Connor. As angry as Nate was, he was also careful. He admitted when he was wrong and actually had the courage to genuinely express when he was sorry. He was exactly what Connor needed. A steady voice, a firm supporter, a lover who actually gave a shit about what he did and how he was feeling that day, that moment.

Connor couldn’t get him off his mind even if he tried.