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Sean has his jersey and most of his pads off when Nick comes back from his meeting with Jenner, but he’s not expecting anything. Other teams don’t usually pick him, not since he was a rookie, really, and with Cole on the roster they’ve got someone who actually likes getting the call, so most of the time it’s him. The NTDP makes guys so fucking weird. Sean doesn’t even look up, just rubs a towel over his hair and hopes he doesn’t have to do media.The game was brutal, the kind that felt like it could go their way if they just pushed hard enough, if they were just a little bit better. The kind of back-and-forth game that usually got Sean’s blood pumping. Not this time. Not this game. Instead all he could feel was a creeping dread — his first game against Johnny and he couldn’t even get on the board. How was he supposed to prove how happy he is here if he spent the whole game gritting his teeth?They were nearly there, close enough to taste overtime, then Kuraly scored that empty-netter and the glimmer of hope washed out of him. Sean was left thinking about Johnny on the other team, Johnny grinning at him across center ice, Johnny playing with a group of guys he chose instead of Sean.Which isn’t fair, he knows. So he’s not thinking about it anymore. Now he’s thinking about nothing except getting showered and heading back to the hotel. Maybe ordering a beer at the bar and texting Johnny a picture.“Monny,” Nick says from the doorway, and jerks his chin. “It’s you tonight.”Sean looks up, startled. Nick’s expression is apologetic, which makes Sean feel worse. “Me?”“Yeah, uh,” Nick says, rubbing a hand over his chin, the bristles of his barely-there beard. “Do you know where to go?”The rest of the guys still hanging out in the locker room are looking at him now — Cole, eyebrows at his hairline, Josh with his mouth slightly open, Juraj’s obvious relief — so Sean sets aside his sweaty gear and stands.“Yeah, I know, Nick, thanks,” he says. As he passes, Nick gives him a hard slap on the back, a quick squeeze of his shoulder.There’s a pit in his stomach that he hasn’t felt since he was eighteen, six games into his NHL career, the first time Gio pulled him aside and said it was him this time. It wasn’t even that it was bad — it was just something he had no control over. His first time was with Teemu fucking Selänne, superstar, scorer of the game-winning goal. Almost an honor, in a way. And yet it was still just some guy’s hands on him. Something he hadn’t really asked for, except tacitly by participating in the NHL at all.He hasn’t done this here, not in the Jackets arena, but he saw the room on the way in. It has a plaque next to the door, the same kind they all have, so it’s hard to miss: Winner’s Room. He takes a deep breath and lets himself in.The inside looks the same as every other room in the league — padded benches lining the room, the floor covered in a thick mat, in case they want him on his knees. There’s a cabinet in the far left corner, which will be stocked with whatever necessities the CBA this season calls for. Lube and condoms, definitely, but Sean can’t remember what else. The rules changed this year, he’s pretty sure, with that last agreement. He hadn’t been paying much attention. He usually passes on the opportunity to choose someone after a win, and he was injured half of last season anyway.He sits on one of the benches to wait, vulnerable in his socks and underarmour. He wonders who it’ll be — Kuraly, maybe, he had three points. Or Gudbranson, he got a couple of assists. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Trying for nonchalant and likely not managing it.When he hears the door open he stiffens up automatically, but then —“Sean?” Johnny asks, his voice tentative.Sean opens his eyes. Johnny has showered, which is more than Sean bothered with, and his curls are still dripping onto his neck. He’s wearing a Blue Jackets t-shirt, already stretched at the collar, sweatpants, and slides with socks. He’s biting his lower lip.“Johnny? What are you —”“I asked them if I could have it,” Johnny says, closing the door softly behind him. “Because —”“Jesus, Johnny, are you serious?” There’s a moment where Sean thinks, fuck, maybe Johnny has wanted him all along, maybe he’s thought about it the way that Sean has, but then Johnny shakes his head, crosses his arms over his chest, and Sean realizes — no, that’s not what this is.“Serious? Yeah, Sean, I’m serious,” Johnny says. There’s a drawn quality to his face, a weariness that Sean hadn’t spotted from across the ice. He’d looked so happy there. He approaches Sean slowly, like Sean might spook or run, and honestly Sean doesn’t feel far from it. He’s been working to take a step back from Johnny, remind himself that he doesn’t always get what he wants, and here’s Johnny in the flesh, trying to reel him back in.Not the way Sean wants him to, of course. Not in the way he’d be allowed, here, where he could wrap a hand around Sean’s wrist, tug him up or push him down. Have him. If there was anyone Sean wouldn’t mind having him, it’s Johnny.No, this is about everything else. Sean still knows Johnny well enough to tell. Sean has been pulling back, just enough to figure out who he is in Montreal, who he is without Johnny around all the time. He should’ve known that Johnny would notice. Sean hasn’t been avoiding him — they talk on the phone at least once a week, and have since Johnny’s contract was settled with Columbus — he’s just trying not to ask for more than he can have.“Why?” Sean asks. “I spoke to you last weekend. We had dinner last night. What is this?”Johnny stops in front of him. His slides squeak against the mat when he shifts his weight. He reaches out like he’s going to touch Sean’s face, but he doesn’t. “You never tell me anything,” Johnny says, frowning at him.“What does that mean?” Sean asks.“You’re fine, everything is great,” Johnny says, parroting back what Sean has been telling him, and then he winces. “It’s not — you used to tell me.”“Johnny —”“C’mon, Sean,” Johnny says, halfway between plaintive and exasperated. “It’s not like I can’t tell when you’re lying.”“You left,” Sean says, and it comes out worse than he means it to — more bereft, more furious. The things he’s been working so hard not to feel, or at least not acknowledge. “You left, and you didn’t even tell me where you were going. And things here are fine, it’s hockey, but I didn’t choose to be here. I didn’t choose this team. You chose yours.” And you didn’t choose me, Sean swallows back, because it’s sitting there at the bottom of his lungs, keeping him from taking deep breaths, but what was Johnny supposed to do? He doesn’t know, except that he would’ve liked to know what Johnny was planning. That’s all. That’s all.He expects Johnny to recoil, but he doesn’t. He stays stubbornly still, looking down at Sean, his mouth pursed.Abruptly, Sean is as tired as Johnny looks — he played 18 and a half minutes, and he can feel every second of them. The sweat is cooling behind his ears and in the small of his back, leaving him sticky and clammy. He sighs. “I don’t think I can give you what you’re looking for.”“What do you think I’m looking for?” Johnny asks. Part of Sean wants him to sit, put them on the same level, but the rest of him is wondering if it’s not a good reminder of where they stand.“I think you want everything to be the way it always was,” Sean says. “And it can’t be.”“Yeah, we’re living in two different countries now, not a ten minute drive apart.” Johnny shakes his head. “That doesn’t — you’re my best friend.”“I know.” Sean does, is the thing. No doubts. “You’re my best friend too, Johnny, but —” How does he say he never had to deal with being in love with Johnny when he was always right there? How does he say that free agency, Johnny in free agency, forced him to reconcile the fact that he’d never have gotten what he wanted anyway? What is the point in saying any of it?“But you’re mad at me,” Johnny finishes for him, and in a way that sums it up. An oversimplification, but not wrong. “And you weren’t going to say anything, Sean, that’s fucked up. You get how that’s fucked up?”Johnny’s cheeks are red, his mouth twisted up, and he’s clearly starting to get worked up about it. Sean wraps his hands around the edge of the bench, holding on, and thinks about how it might’ve been easier, better, if instead of this having conversation he was letting Kuraly — or whoever — fuck him. Better to be bent over than to have to spill his guts. Resentment twists through him, hot and bright, that Johnny gets to come in here and demand more of Sean, more from him, and Sean will never be allowed to ask for more of Johnny.“You want fucked up?” Sean says, the words picking up speed as he sets them free. “How about how when you walked in I thought — for just one second, I thought maybe you wanted what I want, maybe you were — I don’t know, maybe you thought this was the best way to show me. And then I realized how stupid that is.”“What —“ Johnny’s face crumples into confusion, and Sean should feel bad about it — he loves Johnny, of course he does, Johnny is his best friend — but maybe it would be better to blow everything up. Maybe then he could stop being embarrassed about the state of his life. Maybe then he could move on.“C’mon, Johnny, you went to college. I know you have a brain in there.”“Fuck you,” Johnny says, reflexive and without heat, and then, “You’re not saying —”He can’t finish the sentence. He cuts himself off, mouth pursed, but he’s not backing up either. He’s so pale. Sean should feel bad about it.“I would’ve let you,” Sean says. “So yeah, maybe I have reasons not to tell you everything.”“Jesus,” Johnny says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “This whole time?”“Oh yeah,” Sean says, looking down at his knees, and laughs. His fingers are starting to hurt from gripping the bench, but he feels like he’s lancing a boil, like he’s been drowning underneath the ice and finally managed to punch through. It hurts, and it’s good. “So I’m fucked up about the way it ended, okay?”There’s a sharp intake of breath, surprise or something else, and then a long pause. When Sean risks a glance at him, Johnny’s expression is a calm mask, blank media face. Whatever he would’ve seen there is long gone.“Yeah, sure, Sean,” Johnny says. Sean can tell that something he said made Johnny mad, but not what. “Actually, you know what? You can be fucked up however you want, but if you ever want to actually talk, hit me up.”“Johnny —”“No, you dropped that bomb to be a conversation ender, so that’s what I’m letting it be.” Johnny shrugs, tight and unhappy. Now he’s backing up, and Sean is usually good at reading him, knows how to set him off or calm him down, but right now Johnny is impenetrable. “For the record, I don’t care if you want to fuck me, but you didn’t have to be such a dick about it.”And then he’s gone. Sean closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the wall. He sits there for a long time before he can make himself move. Sean calls Johnny that night, once he’s back at the hotel, showered, and had two whiskeys. His hands shake as he presses the call button. Johnny doesn’t answer, and Sean doesn’t leave a voicemail. The next morning Sean is hungover, miserable, and realizes what he’d forgotten after the game last night: they’ll be back here in a week to play the Blue Jackets again.He rolls out of bed and manages to scrape together enough time to get coffee and a breakfast burrito before the plane. Once they’re in the air, Sean ignores the curious glances from his teammates and he closes his eyes, preparing to do his best to nap off the last of his headache.He really shouldn’t be surprised when Josh sits next to him. Even with his eyes closed, he can tell it’s Josh from the heavy way he settles in.“Stop following me around, Andy,” Sean says.“Stop being a miserable asshole, Monny,” Josh says, easy as anything.Sean sighs, but does look at him — Josh is a big dude, he takes up space, but he has a lightness to him. Like he never takes anything too seriously. If Sean were willing to be cheered up, he might not mind it.“Nick send you over?”Josh looks over his shoulder to where Nick and Cole are seated, and then shrugs. “Playing the Flames will be worse, you know. When it’s not just Gaudreau, it’s the whole thing — the arena, the locker room, most of the guys on the ice. It’s weird.”“Not gonna be weirder than playing against Johnny,” Sean says, though he doesn’t really know that for sure. He won’t know for sure until December.“Okay,” Josh says, easily. “That what you’re so fucked up about? Or is it the Winner’s Room stuff?”Sean scoffs. “You ever fuck up something, but you’re not sure exactly how you’ve fucked it up?”Josh gives him this look, close to incredulous, like you’re asking me for advice? me? but the truth is mostly that Josh is here, and he’s making Sean talk anyway.“Yeah, sure, all the time. I usually don’t know what I’ve fucked up until after I’ve apologized.”Sean laughs, though it makes his head pound. “How do you know what to apologize for, then?”“I don’t, I just apologize for being an idiot, mostly. It works better than you might think.”“If you say so,” Sean says. He doubts that would work on Johnny, who hasn’t gone blank with Sean that way since they were rookies, before they really knew each other that well. Just thinking about it makes Sean’s gut churn, the breakfast burrito sitting uneasily in his stomach, and he can’t think about it now, not on the plane with his team. They’ll notice if he runs to the bathroom, and they’ll certainly hear it if he hurls. He shakes his head. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up, man.”“Is that what I’m doing? I just thought I could lend an ear, maybe tell you that the weirdness goes away, after a while.”“Good enough,” Sean says, and Josh laughs. He nudges Sean with his shoulder, friendly, and then gets up to saunter back to his usual spot with Dvorak and Matheson near the front. He doesn’t stop and check in with Nick on the way, so maybe Sean was wrong, and they’re not all gossiping about him. Or maybe he’s keeping it to text, instead.Either way, Sean doesn’t have the energy to worry about it — about being a distraction for the team, or sticking out in a way he’d rather not. He reclines his seat as far back it goes, shoves his AirPods in his ears, and closes his eyes. Sean hadn’t realized how regularly he and Johnny keep in touch until they’re not anymore. Sean thinks about texting Johnny four times in the first hour after he gets home, and not about anything important either. They’ve both been watching old seasons of The Bachelor and trading opinions, so when Sean dumps his suitcase in his room he puts on an episode as background noise, and has to restrain himself from sending Johnny his commentary. Later, he goes to make lunch, and takes a picture of his empty fridge to send along with a complaint, getting halfway through the text before realizing that he can’t send that, either. When he takes his dog out for a walk, he thinks about asking Johnny if he’s out with his dog, too, before he remembers how stupid that would be.He doesn’t sleep well. He goes to practice the next day, and puts in the work, and no one brings up how obviously unhappy he is, but Nick is doing that stupid thing where he looks at you and expects you to answer whatever question he’s not asking. Sean doesn’t. If things were normal, Sean would text Johnny about his gross feet, the toenail that he’s waiting to fall off, and Johnny would reply with a string of nauseated emoji, but things are not normal. Johnny did not call Sean back. Johnny hasn’t texted, and Sean doesn’t think he’s going to.Sean showers, dodges a couple of lunch invitations, and goes home.His apartment feels even emptier than usual. It’s a nice place, well appointed and located close enough to the younger guys on the team that he’ll sometimes go out for drinks with them, or catch a ride to practice. It has enough of his things in it, the 67s blanket his mom bought him when he was drafted in junior, the family photos he got professionally framed, a couple of random pucks and memorabilia that he didn’t have the heart to leave in his parents’ basement. It’s not a home, but it’s not lifeless, either. Sean hadn’t realized how much of Johnny he’d brought with him here, though, how much he relied on Johnny to fill the space, even now that they aren’t playing in the same country.So maybe he hadn’t taken as much of a step back as he thought he had. All he’d managed to do was not tell Johnny when he was miserable, not tell Johnny how much it hurt when he left, not tell Johnny that Sean’s in love with him. Sean’s not sure if that counts as a success or not. It doesn’t feel like it right now.He thinks about calling Johnny again, but he still doesn’t know what he said, besides the obvious. He doesn’t know why it made Johnny as mad as it did. He rehashes the conversation in his head, turning it over to try and figure out when Johnny went from confused and hurt to furious, but all he’s left with is the blank expression on Johnny’s face and the way he’d left. The hour Sean spends on the couch agonizing over it gets him nowhere.Rather than think any further about the subtle twist of Johnny’s mouth, he gets drunk on the fancy bottle of bourbon his parents bought him as a housewarming present, definitely too nice to be gulping down the way he is. By 3pm he’s lying on the floor staring at the ceiling, watching it slowly spin. He keeps drinking until he starts to feel wobbly and nauseous, fumbles his way through ordering a burger and fries from a place down the street, and eats it out of the box with his hands, still sitting on the floor.He wakes up in the morning passed out on the couch, shirtless with one sock on, mouth dry, head pounding, and he throws up in the shower. He’s pathetic. They play the Flyers at home that evening, a shootout win that Sean has almost nothing to do with. A secondary assist on the game-tying goal that was mostly Nick’s patience and Cole’s aim isn’t anything to write home about. He feels like a body on the ice, a guy with a stick, filling a role that anyone on skates could have. He should be doing more, but he feels too much like he’s swallowed tacks, jolts of pain when he thinks about anything except for the next second, and the next one. He can skate, he can shoot, he can pass and backcheck, but anything more than that makes his lungs constrict, his chest tight.He sits in the locker room while Nick talks to Cole — he was first star, with two goals, including the one that sent them to OT, so he obviously got the nod — and then heads out to talk to whichever of the Flyer’s As is negotiating the Winner’s Room this game. He thinks about asking who Cole wants, but it doesn’t seem worth it.They have the next two days off, except practice and workouts, and Sean is staring down that empty time with a feeling of dread. Usually on Sundays he’d call Johnny — they have a standing time in the early afternoon, unless one of them has a game — and Sean’s not ready to face that his plan worked better than he wanted it to. He really did blow it all up. He didn’t expect — no, he didn’t think it through. He lashed out. That’s it. That’s what he did.“Hey,” Nick says, when he finds Sean on the bikes after the media has rolled out, cooling down. “Dinner tomorrow. My place.”“That sounds more like an order than an invitation,” Sean says, putting on a lopsided smile.“That’s because it is.” Nick is a pretty mild-mannered guy, really — not soft-spoken, but calm. Even his orders are laid-back.“Okay,” Sean says, and tries to look surprised, but he’s not, really. Nick knows better than to let potential problems fester. The team isn’t great, and it’s not difficult to knock them off kilter. Sean’s new here, but he’s been a captain before, he knows how it goes. “Text me when, I’ll show up.”“Great,” Nick says, with a smile, and gives Sean another one of those pats on the back, hard enough to be a slap that turns into a squeeze at the end. Sean does his best not to feel handled, but honestly maybe he needs a little handling. He hasn’t been doing a great job managing his own life, maybe he should turn the responsibility over for a bit. Nick does text him, letting him know to show up around 6, which leaves Sean with an open space between morning practice and dinner. He tries to nap, and instead spends half an hour listening to his brain churn, before he gives up and grabs his phone. He fucks around for another hour, texting his sister, watching the highlights from the games the night before. The Jackets lost to the Red Wings, and Johnny assisted on their only goal. He watches Johnny tuck his face into Jenner’s neck during the goal hug, the way he might’ve done to Sean last year, if Sean had been healthy, if he’d gotten to play a last full season with him. He doesn’t look worse for wear, but Sean knows better than anyone how Johnny doesn’t take shit onto the ice with him. He leaves it behind. He has to, to play the way he does.At 2:30pm, Sean rolls onto his back, taps Johnny’s name in his contacts list, and puts the call on speaker. He’s not expecting Johnny to answer, and he doesn’t. Sean gets his voicemail.For a moment he’s silent, gripped with indecision. He clears his throat, finally, and says, “I know you’re mad at me, and I get it. I think I do, anyway, I’m still not — I don’t really know what part made you so mad. But I was being an asshole, and I — I miss you, so. I’m sorry, for saying what I said. Um, that’s all. Bye, Johnny.”When he hangs up, his eyes are stinging, his hands trembling with adrenaline. He thought he was mourning already, mourning the things he would never get to have again, but now that he has nothing at all he knows what mourning really feels like. Sean shows up at Nick’s ten minutes early, because he can’t bear to be in his apartment a moment longer, and he doesn’t think Nick will care. Nick won’t mind getting the talking-to over with so they can enjoy eating, maybe play some chel, maybe gossip about the team a little.When Nick opens the door, he’s wearing a frilly apron — obviously a gag gift that Nick is happy to use anyway — already splattered with sauce, and Sean surprises himself by laughing.“You cook?” he asks.“Sometimes,” Nick says. “Though there’s still some simmering to do, you’re early.”“I was bored,” Sean says, which feels close enough to the truth to let him skate by. “You’ve got me beat in the kitchen, for sure.”“I can’t say I’m shocked. By the way, Cole’s coming by in a bit, I think he heard there’d be free food.”Sean takes that to mean that Nick invited him, which is a relief. Not that Nick is bad company, but Nick and Cole together tend to fill up a room with chatter. Nick leads Sean into the living room, which is sparsely decorated but homey in its own way. The large sectional couch looks like it’s seen some use, and there are a couple of dog-eared books on the coffee table. He’s actually hung a couple of photos on the wall.“Uh,” Sean says. “I do know why you invited me over tonight. Want to get right into it?”“You’re one to rip the bandage off, huh?” Nick says, smiling. “Sure, if you want to. C’mon.” He gestures to the couch, and sits cross legged at one end, leaving the other for Sean.Sean sits. “So —”“You look like you’re about to talk to the principal,” Nick says, smiling. “You know I don’t have any functional power, right? And I wouldn’t bench you even if that was something I could do.”“Well, yeah,” Sean says. “But it’s still your team.”“And you’re not in trouble,” Nick says. “I just need to ask you if you need me to keep you off the table during the Winner’s Room negotiation. I don’t expect you to get picked often, but I can make the other teams aware that you’re not available.”“That’s blatantly against the CBA,” Sean says.Nick raises his eyebrows. “So? Owners don’t care, as long as someone does it. Most teams have a couple of people who are a no go.”“I — didn’t know that,” Sean says.Nick’s eyebrows can’t go much higher, but they try. “You were an A for a long time, weren’t you?”Sean nods. “But Gio was captain forever, and last year Chucky and Backsy handled it before I got injured.” He’d never really wanted to be involved in that part of leadership, though as an A he’d had to do the requisite league training — all the As did league-wide, in case the captain was out for a game, or there wasn’t a captain.“Ah,” Nick says. Sean wonders what he’s thinking, but the knowing look on his face doesn’t sit well.“You don’t have to keep me off the table,” Sean says. “It’s not my favorite thing in the world, but it’s part of being in the league.”“You sure?”“Yeah,” Sean says, and sighs. “Being picked isn’t the problem.”“So it’s Gaudreau,” Nick says. “Gaudreau is the problem.”Sean winces. As an observation it makes sense — The Blue Jackets know Johnny went, but don’t necessarily know who he picked, and most of the Habs know the opposite. It’s considered rude to ask. Nick, Jenner, and Johnny are the only other people with a fuller picture of things.“No, I’m the problem.” At Nick’s look, half-curious and half-concerned, Sean tries to explain without having to explain. “We didn’t — that’s not why he picked me. It’s not related to, uh —”Nick puts him out of his misery by interrupting. “So I don’t have to get Andy to go after him on Wednesday?”“Please don’t,” Sean says, suppressing another wince.“Okay,” Nick says. “If you change your mind — about whichever, Andy or the Winner’s Room thing, let me know.”“Sure,” Sean says.Nick pushes himself up, apparently considering the matter closed, much to Sean’s relief. He turns back to Sean, and asks, “Beer?”“Please,” Sean says, grateful. He expected this conversation to be much worse, but he’s still rather it ended.By the time Cole shows up, they’ve had two beers each and are rewatching an episode of The Office. Sean turns his head and Cole is standing there in the living room with his hands on his hips. Nick certainly didn’t get up to let him in, so he must have a key.“I was promised dinner,” he says, faux-annoyed, but immediately spoils the effect by smiling. Sean doesn’t understand how he’s so cheerful all the time.“It’s waiting for you in the kitchen,” Nick says. “I know how to provide.”Sean lets them bicker, not feeling the need to contribute much, and it carries him through the meal. Nick didn’t make anything fancy — pasta with sauce, roasted chicken — but he made the sauce from scratch and it’s pleasantly garlicky. Nick and Cole keep the conversation going easily, clearly comfortable with each other. Cole knows where everything is in the kitchen, another implication that he’s here regularly. It reminds Sean a little bit of what life was like with Johnny in Calgary, both of them in and out of each other’s space without thinking much about it. He hopes they enjoy it while it lasts.“You know, I heard you were quiet, but I expected a few more jokes out of you,” Cole says.“Hard to get a word in edgewise,” Sean says.“See, there you go, I knew you had it in you.” Cole’s smile is impish, and Nick laughs at him, mouth full of pasta. Objectively gross, but Sean is having a nice time.He doesn’t check his phone until he’s on his way out the door. Still nothing from Johnny. Sean isn’t surprised at this point, but he’s sad. He didn’t think it would be so easy to turn them into nothing at all. He didn’t think he was capable of being that much of a fuck up. Look at him now. Sean survives Monday. He calls his parents. He takes his dog out for a long run. He goes to practice and he doesn’t fuck up. He naps. He writes and deletes another ten texts to Johnny, who would call him if he wanted to hear from Sean at all.Sean was an idiot, really. It felt good to cut his heart open and let the anger and hurt pour out, it felt like catharsis, but it solved nothing. He’s not happier now to have it all on the table. There’s a part of him that knows Johnny, knows that he would have kept pushing until Sean gave in, and that Sean, feeling cornered, would have always lashed out, but that doesn’t make him feel better. Just sick, wondering if there was any other way this could have gone — if he could’ve been different or better. Maybe that’s not who he is.On Tuesday, they get absolutely demolished by the Sabres. It’s not even close. Tage Thompson should get the choice for this game, but from what Sean knows about him, he seems like he’s too Christian to want it, so Sean is putting his money on Jeff Skinner. Either way, whoever it is goes with Cole, which is what happens when the person choosing doesn’t have any real personal connections on the team. Nick gives him one of those back pats he’s so fond of, but Cole just strips down to his underarmour and heads off, whistling.Sean is thinking about how tomorrow they’re playing the Jackets again, and he’s going to have to look Johnny in the eye without sinking into the earth. He’s dreading it, but he also needs to see Johnny’s face, needs to watch Johnny look at him. He has to know. He can’t live like this forever.The thing about Sean is this: when he was playing with Johnny he could pretend he had everything he needed. It was even mostly true, most of the time. He wasn’t missing much, with Johnny following him home after practice and telling the same five shitty stories from Boston College, Johnny laughing at his bad jokes and falling asleep on his couch whenever they tried to watch a movie.And then he got hurt, and Johnny left, and he was traded, and the full force of being sad about it meant he never had to deal with how angry he was. Or even acknowledge it, really. And why bother? It didn’t change anything. He just had to get on with his life and get used to his new team. He had to play well enough this year to get a new contract somewhere next year.There’s a part of him that wants to text Johnny, say, i’m supposed to be figuring out what my life is like here, without you, but he doesn’t actually want his life without Johnny in it. He wants more of Johnny than he can reasonably ask for, which is just as bad. So he’ll look at Johnny across center ice, and he’ll figure out what to do then. That’s all he knows at this point. The second game goes much better than the first, in a way. They win, for one. Sean scores a goal — an empty netter, but it still counts toward his total. Johnny doesn’t make it on the scoreboard at all, though he’s all over the ice as usual. But it’s also painful from start to finish. Johnny doesn’t make eye contact with Sean once, during warmups or after. Johnny isn’t hugely social on the ice, mostly he’s a stick tap and skate away kind of guy, but Sean feels his absence anyway. The cold shoulder isn’t a surprise, but it stings, and it’s enough for Josh to elbow him on the bench during the first, lean over and say, “Isn’t Johnny Hockey supposed to be your bestie?”“Yeah,” Sean says.“Coulda fooled me,” Josh says, and then holds his hands up in surrender at the expression on Sean’s face.After the game, after Sean’s empty netter and the post-game locker room chatter, Sean rubs his hands over his sweaty face, his hair sticking to the back of his neck, and thinks, fuck it. Johnny pushed him, so maybe it’s time to push back. Get it all settled. When he glances up, Nick is already looking at him, eyebrows raised. Sean jerks his head to one side, pulling Nick away from the rest of the team, down into the hallway just outside the locker room.“What?” Nick asks.Sean huffs out a pent up breath. “Can I have it tonight? I know Savard should get the pick, but —”“You want to choose Gaudreau,” Nick says. “I kind of figured.”“You did?”Nick laughs, his grin lopsided. “You’re not invisible, Monny. Even if I didn’t know something was going on there I’d know, y’know?”“Perfect,” Sean says. “That’s great.”Nick glides right past Sean’s sarcasm. “You can have it, though. I cleared it with Savvy already. I can’t guarantee Jenner is going to be so quick to fork over Gaudreau, though.”“I know,” Sean says. Johnny never had an issue going when they were younger, but like Sean he hasn’t been picked as much in recent years. Plus he’s smart enough to know that Sean might try this.“Great. In that case, I’ll let you know when to head over.”Sean nods, feeling how tight his expression is, and goes to shower. He doesn’t want to be sticky and uncomfortable for whatever happens next. He’s honestly not expecting to see Johnny when he pushes the door open — the same door a week later, the same spot where he fucked everything up — but there Johnny is. He’s sitting on one of the benches like a marionette with cut strings, wrists balanced on top of his thighs, head tilted back. He looks exhausted, but when he opens his eyes and sees Sean, his expression papers over, going blank. It makes Sean’s chest clench, but he earned this. He deserves it.“Hey, Johnny,” Sean says, closing the door behind him. He leans against it, afraid to get much closer.“Sean,” Johnny says, by way of greeting.“Johnny — can we just —” Sean huffs a breath, shakes his head. “You said we could talk, if I was ready to talk.”“Are you?” Johnny asks, his expression faintly disinterested. Sean wants to crumple in the face of it, but he can’t. He can’t.“I don’t know,” he says. “I hope so.”Johnny snorts, some of his anger bleeding through. “Not good enough, Sean.”“Maybe not, but I’m trying,” Sean says, voice hoarse. “I was an asshole, I know it, but I don’t — I can’t figure out what made you so angry. You said —”“How can you not know?” Johnny asks. There are cracks in his mask now, the hurt clear at the corners of his mouth and in the furrow of his brows, and Sean did that. He made that happen.Sean shrugs, sharp and shaky. “I know I shouldn’t have told you like that. Fuck, I don’t know if I should have told you at all, but I wanted to make you angry, and it worked.”“I already told you that I don’t give a shit if you want to fuck me,” Johnny says, and Sean can’t hold in his pained laugh.“Johnny, I don’t just want to fuck you, I’m in love with you. Obviously. Obviously.” Two weeks ago saying it aloud would’ve made Sean tremble, but now, after not speaking to Johnny for a week, it doesn’t seem like he has anything to lose.“Then why — I don’t get it, Sean.”“What is there to get?”Johnny shakes his head. “You said — you were fucked up about the way that it ended, like anything ended. Nothing ended!”“You left,” Sean reminds him. “That seems like an ending to me.”“I left the Calgary Flames, Sean. I didn’t leave you.”“It’s the same thing,” Sean says, but he feels like he’s on shaky ground, like a foundation he’d assumed would always be there is shifting underneath his feet.“It’s not. It’s not the same at all. You’re not there either! Even if I’d stayed, we’d still be hours apart.” Johnny pushes his hair out of his face, his mouth drawn and unhappy. “You want to know why I didn’t say anything? It wouldn’t have helped. I didn’t think you’d want to know, and I’m sorry that I assumed. But whatever happened, what did it matter? You were still going to be my best friend.”Sean laughs again, sliding down until he can sit on the floor, braced back against the door.“You broke up with me and didn’t even tell me,” Johnny says. “And you’re surprised I got mad?”“I didn’t — I was just trying to keep my expectations reasonable,” Sean says. It sounds weak, saying it aloud, but that’s what it was. Keeping Johnny’s friendship, but at a distance.“Fuck that,” Johnny says. “Fuck you for not telling me.”“Sorry,” Sean says. “Sorry, everything changed and I wasn’t ready for it.”Johnny sighs, sliding off the bench and knee-walking his way across the padded floor to Sean. His face is flushed, and his hair is wild, from where he’s been running his hands through it. Sean must look pathetic with his knees drawn up to his chest, his hands protectively hovering in front of his face. He must look miserable. Johnny reaches out, wrapping his fingers around Sean’s wrists, pulling them away so he can see Sean’s expression.“I’m tired of being in love with someone who doesn’t love me back, Johnny.”Johnny’s fingers squeeze, holding him tight, and Johnny bites into his lower lip, his eyebrows furrowed. “You never even asked. You never ask, Sean, you just —” He cuts himself off, a frustrated noise trapped in the back of his throat, and Sean can tell he’s still angry, alongside the tenderness he’s given into.“Was I supposed to?” Sean’s voice still sounds harsh. He twists his wrists in Johnny’s grip, but Johnny doesn’t let him go.Johnny is silent in response, and Sean spends one moment staring into the wild fury in Johnny’s eyes before he leans forward, viper-quick, and presses his mouth to Sean’s. Sean yanks his head back, wincing as it thuds against the door, but he can’t escape Johnny, who presses forward, chasing him. Johnny’s mouth is rough and biting, and Sean could wrest himself free — he’s bigger than Johnny, and his leverage would give him an out — but instead he flounders.Johnny’s teeth dig into Sean’s lower lip, and when Sean opens his mouth to gasp, Johnny licks inside, pressing forward, taking more. His hands are gripping Sean’s wrists tight enough to bruise. Sean shudders all over, and feels himself go still. He can taste copper, probably a smear of blood from his mouth, Johnny’s teeth, and it makes Sean feel light-headed, out of his depth. He doesn’t know what is happening. Johnny is a full frontal assault, and Sean can’t do anything except cede territory.Sean isn’t sure how long it lasts for. His skin is prickling, his lips sensitive and painful. When Johnny finally leans back, he wipes his mouth on his shoulder, leaving a dark damp spot behind on his t-shirt. His pupils are blown wide, his cheeks flushed. Sean can feel the way his mouth is hanging open, and he can’t stop staring at Johnny’s face, cataloging all the small changes now that Johnny has been kissing him.Johnny reaches out, his hand slow and careful, and rubs his thumb over Sean’s lower lip, smearing saliva and probably some blood, before pushing it into Sean’s mouth. Sean lets him, because — what is he going to do? Say no? He can’t say no. He’s not strong enough, and he doesn’t want to. His left wrist, now freed from Johnny’s grip, tingles as his skin reacts to the cooler air. He wants to touch Johnny, but he doesn’t want to break the spell. He wants Johnny to kiss him, but he needs to know what it means. He’s hard in his stupid suit pants, because he wasn’t expecting anything to happen. He wasn’t expecting Johnny to even talk to him. He presses his tongue against Johnny’s thumb, and watches the way Johnny shivers.“C’mon Sean,” Johnny says. His mouth is so red, and most of the anger has leached out of him. “When have I ever left you hanging?”He pulls his thumb out of Sean’s mouth, sliding it over Sean’s cheek and gripping his head, tugging him up and into another kiss. This one is less violent, but Sean feels like he’s drowning anyway. He can smell Johnny’s sweat, the sharp antiseptic scent of the mat underneath them, and when Johnny’s fingers press into the hinge of his jaw, he opens his mouth wider, letting Johnny have him.It’s what he wanted anyway, right? It’s what he thought about a week ago, the last time they were here, how Johnny could do whatever he wanted, if he wanted to. And here he is, letting go of Sean’s other wrist so he can paw at Sean’s jacket, scrape his short fingernails underneath Sean’s shirt, over his ribs. Sean arches, but with his knees still bent up toward his chest, Johnny pressed up tight against him, it’s hard to get any leverage. He’s not thinking when he spreads his legs wide, letting them fall on either side of Johnny, but Johnny grunts against his mouth, and the hand on his ribs slides down to cup his cock through his pants.Sean bucks up, into the pressure, and Johnny huffs, pulling back to scrape his teeth along Sean’s jaw.“Johnny?” Sean asks, hating the way his voice shakes.“You said you would’ve let me, right?” Johnny says. “So just let me.”“I — are you sure?” Sean asks, and then curses as Johnny’s hand tightens around him.“Trust me,” Johnny says, and kisses him again.Sean lets himself get carried away with the momentum, lets Johnny kiss him, lets Johnny flick open his belt and pull down the zipper of his pants, sliding his hand inside. He wraps a hand around Sean’s dick through his underwear, thumb rubbing over the head, spreading the wet spot around. Sean tries not to moan, tries to stifle the sounds that want to escape his throat, though anyone walking down the hallway would expect them. It’s less than an hour post-game and they’re in the Winner’s Room.It should be too dry, the friction not enough, but this is Johnny touching him, Johnny getting him off, and that hits him in the gut faster than anything. It should be a tease, but dangerously quickly he’s pulling back out of the kiss and gasping Johnny’s name.“Please, please, Johnny, I’m going to — if you don’t stop, I’m gonna —”Johnny ducks in to kiss Sean’s neck, scrape his teeth over the skin there, and says, “Go on, Sean, I want you to.”Johnny’s fingers curl tighter, Sean’s briefs sticky with sweat and precome, and when Johnny kisses Sean’s cheek, his lax mouth, Sean comes, shuddering, still fully clothed in his game day suit, messing up his underwear. It wrings him out, washes through him, and when he finally opens his eyes again, Johnny is watching him. His expression is nothing that Sean has ever seen before — hungry.“You look good, Sean,” he says. “Let me mess you up a little more?”Sean doesn’t trust his voice. He nods, and when Johnny nudges him to lie more fully on the floor, he goes. When Johnny moves to straddle his shoulders, Sean stays still. When Johnny pushes his shorts and leggings down enough to get out his cock, Sean digs his fingers into the mat.Johnny licks his palm, and starts to jerk off, his strokes fast and hard. His hips work, pushing into the twist of his hand. Sean can’t stop staring, the flash of Johnny’s stomach where his shift has ridden up, the powerful flex of his thighs, the red, wet head of his cock sliding between his fingers.“I want —” Sean says, choking the rest of the sentence back.“To touch?” Johnny shakes his head. His breath is coming quickly, in pants. He’s winded. “Next time. You can touch me next time.”Next time. Sean’s breath shakes when he breathes in. Johnny’s mouth quirks up, a half smile, like he knows exactly what Sean’s thinking. He probably does.“Close your eyes, Sean,” Johnny says, and when Sean does, he focuses on the movement of Johnny’s legs against his shoulders, the slick sound of his hand on his dick, the soft sounds of rustling fabric, of Johnny breathing, of the little moans not entirely swallowed back. It’s sexy to listen and not see, but he wants to watch, wants to taste, to touch. If his fingernails were any longer he bets they’d be gouging holes in the mat underneath his hands.Johnny exhales, sharp and guttural, and so Sean is ready when the first pulses of come streak across his nose and cheeks, his chin, hot and sticky. He opens his mouth, catches the last pulses on his lips and tongue, an expected burst of bitterness.What he’s not expecting is for Johnny to lean in and kiss him, slow and easy. Sean jolts, but kisses back, letting Johnny lick the taste of himself out of Sean’s mouth. After a few long moments, Johnny pulls back, and Sean knows he should look, but he doesn’t want to see the expression on Johnny’s face yet.“You said next time,” Sean says. He hears Johnny rustling, and then there’s a soft cloth against his face, wiping away the traces of Johnny’s orgasm from his skin.“I’m still pissed at you,” Johnny says. Sean sighs, opening his eyes, finding Johnny leaning close to him, mouth firm, hair plastered to his neck and forehead with sweat.“I said I was sorry,” Sean says. “I’m still sorry.”“I know. And I should’ve told you where I was going. But I meant it, about next time.” Johnny touches one of Sean’s wrists, where his skin is already starting to go dark with bruise. “If you want.”Sean’s eyebrows go up comically fast, and Johnny finally smiles.“Yeah, okay,” Johnny says. They both rinse off in the small attached bathroom, though there’s no real way to salvage Sean’s briefs. He tugs them back on reluctantly, while Johnny watches, smug satisfaction on his face.“Sunday?” Sean asks. He already knows that neither of them have a game.“Yeah,” Johnny says. He frowns at Sean, before tugging him down and kissing him again, a short, hard press. “Don’t get too in your head.”“No promises,” Sean says, but his mouth is tingling, and Johnny is talking to him. Johnny kissed him, and wants to do it again. He can text Johnny about The Bachelor, send him stupid dog pictures.“Okay, well, if you do, just don’t be an asshole about it.”There’s a part of Sean that wants to dig into things now, get it all hashed out, but he knows there isn’t time — both of their teams are waiting for them. He can wait until Sunday. Now, he has to get back to the hotel and then to the plane, back to Montreal. Back to the guys. On to the next game.“Later, Johnny,” he says, brushing his hand over Johnny’s wrist on his way past. Johnny’s fingers reach back for him and slide across his skin as he leaves. Sean smiles.