Chapter Text
The final language, the one that basically all of Holster’s hopes are resting on, is ‘physical touch’. It seems pretty self-explanatory, really. Him and Rans already have a super tactile relationship and it can’t be too difficult to just, like, up the ante, right?
He thinks they’ll both benefit from more hugs. There’s no way this can end badly.
Well, Ransom still not picking up what Holster’s putting down, that would be less than ideal. And him getting freaked out by Holster being extra huggy would obviously not be fun. But apart from that.
---
This is so easy, Holster thinks, slinging his legs over Ransom’s lap where they’re sat together on the couch playing Chel. Rans just lifts his arms out of the way without so much as a questioning glance, and when he puts them down again his forearms rest comfortable and warm against Holster’s shins. It’s unremarkable; completely and entirely natural.
That first step forward puts Holster at ease. It’s enough that he feels no worry about doing more of that kind of thing, because it had been such a non-issue that it’s almost like he didn’t do anything different at all.
Holster, accordingly, throws himself into a specially-formulated multi-step plan to slowly increase the level of physical contact.
He remembers something Rans told him once, some biology myth that’s actually real. If you put some frogs in like, boiling water, they’ll jump out reflexively. But if you put them into lukewarm water, and ever so slowly increase the temperature, they’ll just sit there no matter how hot it gets, past boiling until they eventually die. They don’t notice the heat when it’s in small increments.
That’s sort of what Holster is hoping to do with Ransom.
Like, obviously not the boiling-him-until-he-dies stuff. But the slow increases. The increments. And then hopefully, eventually, after a manageable amount of time, Rans’ll realise. (Represented in that analogy by—well, the frogs dying? Holster guesses?)
He still slightly freaks out at the thought of Ransom knowing this shit. But it’s happening. It needs to, really, he can’t hold it in. And there’s no g-ddamn way he’s gonna just tell him straight out.
(Who really knows how that would go. They say shit like that all the time, he can’t think how he could make it not-platonic enough to get across what he means. Especially not without sounding super weird and perhaps a bit creepy. Or without falling over his words and making a mess. Whenever he has to say something important he makes sure he has Ransom by his side, and with him to support him, taking turns, inputting ideas, everything seems to go so much smoother, whether it's talking to professors about grades or talking to the frogs about plays. But that's obviously not an option here. He can't even get any help formulating his words like he would when Rans isn't available on the day. He's well and truly on his own. There's no chance he’s managing to do it the conventional way.)
He also doesn’t want to admit to himself that part of it—well, part of not wanting to just say it to Ransom’s face must be that he doesn’t want the fallout, right? The reaction that a sudden realisation would bring. Everything that comes with finding out whether or not your best friend is cool about you being in love with him.
Call him a coward, whatever. He still prefers the frog-boiling method.
---
And so the frog-boiling begins, in earnest, at their next home game. Holster leans longer against Ransom in the locker room before they leave, pressing their shoulders together for what feels like almost too long. But Rans doesn’t complain, so Holster keeps on; he does it again on the way to the ice, in the dimly lit corridor as they follow Jack out, ready to beat Princeton into the ground.
It’s solidifying, reassuring, feeling the press of his d-partner against him, and there's this rush of emotion that grips him and makes him feel invincible, like they’re gonna be a g-ddamn brick wall, like there’s no doubt they’ll stop every attack that comes at them.
There’s something weird about it, too, in the way Holster doesn’t have to hold back. He can lean in with his whole weight and Ransom will stay upright, can take anything Holster could throw at him. It’s different to how it is with a girl. Being as big as he is, Holster’s always having to watch himself with girls. But like this—like this he can be as exuberant and as tactile as he wants, safe in the knowledge that Rans isn’t going to break.
He likes it maybe a little too much, considering this isn’t actually a romantic relationship that they’ve got going on here. Considering that Ransom has never betrayed so much as an inkling that he’s anything but straight and this is the most Holster can wish for, the most he can expect to get, and he’s just going to have to accept that.
Well. Those are not the kind of thoughts he should be having before an important game, so he tries his hardest to wipe it out of his mind as they prepare for puck drop. Ransom is as always a constant, reassuring presence in his peripheral. Game on.
---
Ransom gets a goal. This beautiful top-shelf snipe from the point. Holster doesn’t spare a single thought to his plan as he sweeps Rans up in a huge exuberant hug, crashing them both into the boards with the force of it and just clinging on as he shouts adoration through their visors, pressed together.
He remembers as he’s pulling away and throws in a head-tap for good measure. It’s hard to see how he could have increased the physical contact at all, short of holding on to Ransom and never letting go, which Jack probably wouldn’t be too happy about. Maybe he’s already reached the acceptable limit as far as cellies are concerned.
(Doesn’t stop him sitting virtually on top of Rans on the bench, though. Even if that’s as much to do with the limited space as it is his own choice.)
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As Holster continues with his campaign over the next few weeks, he begins to notice some things he never realised. Like the fact that Ransom isn’t actually that physical in terms of expressing emotion.
Of course, in comparison to Holster, pretty much everyone is less physically affectionate, but on the scale of octopus to—uh, porcupine, or something else spiky—he’s leaning towards the spiky end. Not more than Jack, certainly. Less than Dex, too, because Dex seems to have a problem initiating closeness of literally any kind, which is a problem Holster definitely vows to dedicate more thought to at a less pressing time.
The point is, Ransom is generally way less likely to initiate physical contact with teammates, even though he doesn’t act unwelcoming of it when it’s offered. Holster’s not sure if it’s insecurity or just a cultural thing—he’s been accused of being a ‘typical American frat boy’ more times than he could hope to count and from the limited pool of Canadians he has contact with—
(okay, that’s basically just Jack, Rans and a few younger guys on the team who Holster doesn’t really know all that well, but still)
—it seems there’s at least a little discrepancy between their two countries. Which is a bit counter-intuitive, really. You’d think that in a colder country it would be more beneficial to keep closer contact with your buds, sharing body heat and all that. But whatever. That’s not Holster’s point.
The point is, Rans doesn’t initiate that much contact with the boys. No more than what is like, the base level for a college hockey team. And not much off the ice. Almost like he’s afraid of being too clingy, which sets off alarm bells in Holster’s head when he remembers the whole compliments fiasco. He’ll be damned if he lets another hang-up like that slip past him without even trying to fix it.
And yes, his method of fixing it is to slam on the gas pedal in relation to this frog-boiling plan. Sue him, it worked before. As long as he respects Ransom’s boundaries and all that, it seems like the way to go.
(Ok, he’s well aware that insecurities don’t disappear overnight. He knows it’ll be a long road, but he feels like he’s already making headway with the words of affirmation and this is the only thing he can do that isn’t, like, referring Ransom to a psychologist, which he thinks would not go down well. That’s a step Rans has to take, although Holster is definitely planning on making a case for it in the not-too-distant future. He would probably book himself in for a session too, if he’s honest, because there’s no way he doesn’t have some problems a professional could help with.)
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The problem with stepping up the physical contact even further is that it becomes—pretty conspicuous. Ransom starts throwing him confused looks, like maybe he’s noticed.
“You sure you’re okay, Holtzy?” he says one time. His voice is sort of muffled by an admittedly big-ass shoulder, so Holster pulls back from the hug. A little. “There’s been kinda—loads of hugs recently. Not that I’m complaining, but.”
Ah shit. Holster’s been rumbled. “I’m fine, Rans,” he says, trying to not panic but also to not initiate any conversation about why he’s doing all this physical contact. Ransom is meant to be clever! He is so smart! Holster’s meant to be letting him figure it out and not having g-ddamn conversations about how hopelessly in love he is! That was the whole point!
Luckily, Ransom just lets himself be drawn into the hug again. Holster only stops, eventually, because he remembers that Rans has a class, and he is definitely way too polite to ask Holster to let him go so he can get there on time.
(He’s an idiot, but Holster loves him. So damn much.)
---
From that moment on, though, things are different. Ransom starts not just accepting Holster’s physical contact but taking an active role too. Holster slings his arm around Ransom on the couch and Rans slides down to fit better against Holster’s side. They’re in a dogpile celebrating Bitty’s OT winner and Holster feels arms wrap around his middle from behind, a voice in his ear saying something about his assist, warm breath against his neck making him shiver.
It goes on for a few days before Holster starts to notice the pattern. When Ransom hugs him for no reason after he returns from an Econ class, he realises that maybe there’s been a miscommunication here. It plays on his mind all the way through dinner and halfway into their Netflix time.
Holster tells Ransom he needs to get some air and finds himself absently heading towards the centre of campus as he chews on it. He can’t ask Shitty, because then he really will figure everything out. Lardo may just tell Shitty anything anyway. And Jack is still not the best person to go to for a personal conversation, poor thing. Bitty, the only person left, really, is working on a late-night assignment (something that apparently includes pie, somehow. Holster has no clue.)
So it looks like Holster’s got to go this one on his own. At least it does until he runs into a familiar figure on the path to the library.
“Sorry, man,” Holster says. Then, “Wait, Johnson?”
“Hi Holster!” their old goalie, who one hundred percent graduated last year, says sunnily.
Holster doesn’t even want to ask what the hell Johnson is doing here, but it wouldn’t be polite to just walk away, so he engages the guy in conversation. It’s the sort of perfectly nice conversation that you can’t remember anything about once it’s over. Until the end, when Johnson levels him an assessing look and says, “He’s worried, y’know.”
“What?”
“Justin. He’s worried about you, all this physical contact you’re initiating. He thinks you’re going through something. Haven’t you noticed he’s started touching you more?”
Oh. “Wait, you mean that’s why—”
“He’s trying to show you he’s there for you,” Johnson says, and Holster doesn’t stop to question how he knows that. Johnson’s always been—uh, perceptive?
G-d, he doesn’t deserve Ransom. It seems pretty obvious that the ‘physical touch’ language hasn’t panned out the way he wanted, but that’s not because Ransom is oblivious, it’s because Ransom has a heart of gold, and the first thing he thought was to be concerned for Holster.
Holster loves him so
much.