Work Text:
Alex knows that he’s fucked when he finds his eyes drawn to the way hard muscles flex and pull under pale skin as Holts tugs off his pads. At least the media is too busy talking to Chimmer about his beautifully dirty last second goal that won them the game to notice his attention. Feeling eyes on him from across the room, Alex realizes his focus hasn’t gone completely unnoticed when he turns and meets Nicky’s eyes who shoots him a grin and knowing look. Returning the grin, Alex gives him a wink before finally turning his attention back to the task at hand as he finishes striping out of the rest of his gear and heads to the showers.
Hours later, Alex isn’t shocked to find himself pressed up against a wall in his hotel room, Nicky’s mouth sucking a vivid mark into his skin that will surely get him chirps tomorrow as one hand presses purposely against the purpling bruise on Alex’s hip, drawing a sharp breath from him as he swears in Russian. Nicky’s other hand works over his dick, just this side of painful as calluses catch against sensitive skin, wrenching a moan from Alex’s throat. As Nicky’s thumb swirls across the tip on each stroke, his leaking precome finally easing the way, Alex drops his head to Nicky’s shoulder, panting as he tenses, so close. Of course, that’s when Nicky stops, hand locking around Alex’s wrist as he tries to reach down and finish himself off.
“мудак,” Alex hisses.
“Don’t think you deserve this.”
“Jealous.”
“No. Just don’t want to see you make the same mistake again.”
Alex twists his hand out of Nicky’s grip and flips their position, pushing Nicky back against the wall as he presses his naked body against Nicky’s still fully clothed one. Thrusting a thigh between Nicky’s legs, Alex’s cock pressing hard against the weave of Nicky’s jeans, they both shudder. “Best mistake I ever make,” Alex chirps as he tugs on Nicky’s ear with his teeth before rubbing his stubble covered cheek against Nicky’s jaw and neck, grinning at the way that he shivers as goosebumps rise along his flesh. Hiking one of Nicky’s legs up to bring them closer, Alex knows when his fingers find the scars from Nicky’s hip surgery, the skin so sensitive that even when touched through the the layer of his jeans it causes him to shiver again. Fingers digging in, Alex holds him close and ruts against him, the friction nearly unbearable.
Shoving one hand between their bodies, Alex presses the heel of his palm against the hard ridge of Nicky’s cock before dropping his head and through the material of his shirt capturing his pebbled nipple between his teeth.
“Alex,” Nicky gasps out as he shudders, fingers curling into the muscles of Alex’s ass as sweat-dampened blond hair falls over his face.
As the warm wetness seeps through Nicky’s jeans under Alex’s hand, he has to pull away from the friction. Instead Alex wraps his fingers around his own cock. Nicky’s shaky fingers joining his moments later, tight around his own, is enough to wrench the orgasm from him, come striping across the growing wet spot on Nicky’s jeans. Nicky’s fingers tighten around Alex’s, wrenching out the last few spurts that drip across their joined fingers.
Falling forward against Nicky’s body, Alex enjoys the momentary closeness, the way that Nicky’s hand travels up and down his sweat-slicked back, knowing that it won’t last. And of course it doesn’t.
“Shouldn’t have done this,” Nicky murmurs minutes later, pushing against Alex who steps back with a sigh.
This was an old argument. “You came to me,” Alex reminded.
“You opened the door naked.”
“You see me naked every day.”
“Not with a hard cock,” Nicky snaps.
“Miss it?”
“No!”
“лгун,” Alex chirps.
“Bastard,” Nicky finally says with no real heat. Glancing down at his stained jeans, he frowns. “These were my favorite.”
Alex rolls his eyes. “There is a wonderful invention called detergent. Works miracles. Or do you not have in Sweden? You have twelve pair just the same. Rich enough to buy twelve more. Don’t be baby.”
“Says the man who freaked out when we stained your old Dynamo jersey.”
“Is different. Can’t wash that. Is неудача. Bad luck.”
“Uh huh,” Nicky says, clearly not believing that. “Can I borrow some clothes?”
Alex gives him a once over, taking note of the rumpled state of Nicky’s clothes, the stains, the flush that hasn’t quite left his fair skin, and the red rash along his jaw and neck where Alex had marked him up with his stubble. It is a good look. “Мой дом - твой дом,” Alex agrees, arms spread wide.
Grabbing his previously discarded undershirt, Alex wipes himself down before sprawling back on his couch, watching as Nicky bends and pulls clothes from the still mostly packed suitcase that Alex has left near the bed.
As Nicky strips and pulls on the one size too big clothes, Alex appreciates the view and can almost pretend that this is normal, that they can have this all the time. Almost. He also almost succeeds in ignoring the surge of possessiveness that always accompanies seeing Nicky in his clothes. Almost.
Alex ignores the wadded up pair of pants that Nicky throws at him, hitting him squarely in the chest, and the way that Nicky frowns when he doesn’t move.
“We’re not going to have this conversation with you naked.”
“Hasn’t stopped you before.”
“Alex, please,” Nicky says with a tired sigh, sitting on the end of the bed.
Alex’s mature enough to admit that he’s pulling on the pants because he’s pathetic and not because he’s cold. “Happy now?” Alex asks as he sprawls back on the couch. “Is it time for a lecture?” Alex snarks.
When Nicky flinches, Alex wishes he could take the words back because that wasn’t nice, and Nicky didn’t deserve his ire tonight, but he is fairly certain that he doesn’t want to have this conversation.
“Look. I don’t care who you date, who you have sex with.”
There is a pregnant pause as they both take in the lie.
“But you know better than to hook up with a teammate.”
Okay, maybe Alex was wrong. If Nicky’s going to be a dick tonight, he’s going to be one right back. “Of all people, you don’t get to tell me that. You’re the one who said ‘friends with benefits’. Nothing more. You’re the one who said no to dating, нет to feeling. Нет to us. Нет to me.”
When Nicky flinches this time, the vindictive part of Alex barely feels guilty even though he knows he’ll probably regret it later. This is why they don’t talk like this, why sex is sex and the rest is kept separate, simple (for as simple as what’s between them can really be). On the ice, with the team, it’s easy, but the rest when they’re alone together is less so.
“Just because I look doesn’t mean anything would happen. I’m not some животное who can’t control himself. You think I just need to snap my fingers, people drop to their knees?”
Nicky doesn’t answer but his cheeks go red and he refuses to meet Alex’s eyes. “Most of the guys would go down on their knees for you if you asked, regardless of their orientation.”
“Говно!” Alex swears, suddenly horrified, stomach twisting. He throws his arm over his eyes, unable to look at Nicky. “Is that why you—” Alex breaks off, not even able to say it, certain that if Nicky says yes, he’s going to break, because he’s a lot of things, but never that.
“No, Alex! Maybe I was a little star struck at first, but you never pressured me into anything.”
Feeling the couch dip, Alex tenses when Nicky pulls his arm down from his face.
“Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t come here to do this. To judge you. I just—I don’t want to see you hurt.”
Alex bites back the cruel words that want to slip past his lips. Like you hurt me? Fuck, he needs a drink. They were NOT doing this. “Your concern is appreciated, but unneeded. I think it’s time for you to go.”
“Alex—” Nicky begins.
Alex interrupts with a sharp, “Идете!”
Hurt flashes across Nicky’s face and for a moment he looks ready to protest before he finally rises to his feet. Crossing towards the door, he hesitates for a long moment, clearly struggling with what to say before finally settling on, “See you at breakfast.”
With a frustrated sigh, Alex scrubs his hands over his face and wishes for the thousandth time that he could take back the words that changed everything between them. Or at the very least done it differently, waited until a better time.
Nicky hadn't been ready, and Alex hadn't seen that, had pushed when he shouldn't have. It's not like Alex had said he'd wanted to come out—not with the current political atmosphere in Russian, and he certainly has no desire to be the headliner for the out-and-proud face of the NHL—or had asked Nicky to do the same. Alex had just wanted some assurance of some sort of permanence, and instead Nicky had run from him, is still running from him. But most of all Nicky is running from himself.
The Capitals’ next game is a brutal loss, everyone playing like it was their first time on the ice, giving the puck up left and right, their defense nonexistent. Holts was the only one who played well, stopping thirty eight of the forty shots on goal, his performance not deserving of the loss. During practice the following morning Coach Trotz works them hard, and by the time most of the team files back into the locker room, they’re all sweat-soaked and winded.
Alex notes the missing faces and assumes that Holts has stayed out to give Burka, Latts, and Willy some extra practice time, all three knowing that they could face being scratched in the coming games or even be sent up to Hershey with some of their healing veterans returning to practice. Alex spends longer than normal in the shower, letting the hot water wash over him and soothe aching muscles. It’s his stomach that reminds him that there is food waiting a couple rooms over, and Alex finally wraps a towel around his waist before grabbing another and scrubbing it over his dripping hair as he returns to the locker room.
The trio of rookies passes him on the way to the shower, chirping each other about their performance in practice, and Alex finds the locker room empty except for Holts who’s unbuckling his leg pads.
“Hope you didn’t go too easy on them,” Alex says as he stops at his stall and grabs his deodorant.
Holts laughs and scoffs, “As if. Think this team is doing fine in the ego department without me stroking it.”
Something in the way that Holts said that last phrase has Alex pausing, looking over his shoulder and meeting his eyes. Holts isn’t even pretending he’s not checking Alex out, and emboldened, Alex drops his towel. Really, it’s a stupid move. The locker room may be empty, but anyone could walk in at any moment.
Alex grins at the way Holts’ eyes widen, the way his eyes drop for a second before snapping back up to Alex’s face, the surprise clear as his cheeks redden. And then, Holts’ eyes hooded, he licks his lips and he takes a good long look. Turning, Alex bends down to grab a t-shirt from his bag, grin widening at the choking sound Holts makes behind him at the sight.
Hearing voices, Alex steps into his pants just before the rookies reenter the room.
“Wow, Holts, need some help with those pads, man? Forget how those work?” Latts chirps, causing the others to laugh.
“He was ensnared by my beauty,” Alex teases while flexing.
Wilson gags and pantomimes puking, pulling the attention away from Holts whose look promises payback.
Laughing at their antics, Alex goes to find some food.
After most wins, the team would go out to a bar before their curfew, but given that they are in Buffalo, New York, there’s three feet of snow on the ground, and it is bitterly cold out, by unspoken agreement the team decides that they’d rather stay in for the night. That doesn’t stop some of them from going to the hotel bar or making use of the mini-fridges in their rooms, but Alex says his bit, puts in his appearance for the night, and isn’t really in the mood for socializing for once.
The knock on his door pulls him from him from a light doze, and he slips into a pair of boxers (not everyone appreciates when he opens the door naked). He gives a jaw-popping yawn as he unlocks the door, not sure who he expects to see on the other side (maybe one of the rookies with a case of nerves, though that normally happens after bad games, or even Nicky), certainly not expecting to open it and find Holts standing on the other side.
Holts looks sheepish, nervous, like he’s going to bolt given the slightest incentive. Alex steps to the side, holding the door open all the way, a silent invitation, a choice because they both know why Holts’ at his door in the middle of the night.
This is stupid and dangerous, Alex knows, not just for himself, but for team dynamics, but when Holts steps hesitantly into the room, Alex can’t bring himself to care. He notes the way that Holts' muscles bunch under his tight t-shirt when Alex lets the door close behind him, throwing the lock, watches as Holts observes his room with apparent fascination, even knowing that their rooms are exactly the same.
As the silence stretches, Alex lets himself appreciate the view, the mess of hair that has clearly been swept back by fingers multiple times, the curve of his jaw already sporting an impressive beard, the stretch of his t-shirt across broad shoulders and the narrowing of his waist, how the thin material of Holts’ sleep pants strains over the curve of his truly impressive ass making it fairly obvious that their was nothing but skin beneath them, dropping down to his bare feet before taking in the view in reverse.
Holts is watching him now, a question in his gaze, before he finally breaks the silence. “Tell me that I haven’t been reading you wrong. That I’m not about to make a total fool of myself by propositioning you. That the thing in the locker room wasn’t just you being you and not actually a come on.”
“No, no mistake, definitely interested,” Alex says before adding, “You’re not a rookie.”
Holts barks out a laugh, the tension in his frame suddenly dissipating as he edges closer. “No, not for a while now. Is that a common things with rookies? Worried I just want you for your title?” Holts teases.
The expression that crosses Alex’s face speaks for him, and Holts frowns as he realizes that maybe he’s hit a little too close to home. “I’m not some starstruck rookie looking to gain favors by sucking your cock. I like you, I respect you, you have an amazing body, and I hope we can have some fun together.”
Alex grins at the slew of compliments.
“Just, uh, I have to know so I don’t have to worry about being murdered by a teammate, but you and Backy? Sometimes the guys talk—”
The smile instantly slips from Alex’s face. He doesn’t care what the guys say about him, but Nicky hates being talked about. “What do guys say about us?” The question comes out sharper than Alex intends and Holts takes a defensive step back, hands raised in appeasement.
“Just the usual locker room stuff. You’ve heard it. Even Greenie called you guys lovers in that interview and no one blinked because who’s going to believe that?”
“You did,” Alex retorts.
“Yeah, well, I may have seen Backy walk out of your room in the early AM a few too many times for it to be coincidence and your eye fucking in the locker room wasn’t exactly subtle before you decided to give me a show. Might want to tone that down if you don’t want people to talk.”
Alex shrugs. “People will always talk whether there is something to talk about or not, so why not actually give them something?”
“All eyes on you so none on Backy?” Holts hedges.
“Too smart for your own good,” Alex grouses, wondering why he’s not more surprised.
Grinning and emboldened, Holts pushes into his space, just shy of touching. “It’s my job to watch. Wouldn’t be a good goalie if I didn’t pay attention. Do I have to worry about getting punched if I kiss you now?”
Alex’s eyes drop to Holts’ lips—no, it was fucking strange to think of the guy he was about to kiss by his last name, and if they were going to do this, Alex has to separate the Holtby that he knows on ice and the Braden standing before him—Braden’s lips, and he swallows. “Nicky wouldn’t—it’s complicated—but no.”
“Good, that’s good. Wanted to do this for a long time,” Braden murmurs, before closing the distance between them and pulling Alex’s head down for a kiss.
There’s nothing hesitant, nothing nice about it, as Braden bites at his lips, seeking entrance, and Alex opens to him with a moan. Him and Nicky, they don’t kiss anymore, and rarely is it a big priority with his one night stands or fuck buddies, so Alex is shocked to realize how much he’s missed it, how much he loves it. It’s strange kissing a man with a beard; Nicky couldn’t grow one and he’s never hooked up with a guy who had one.
Braden nudges Alex towards the couch, somehow not breaking the kiss even as he pushes Alex down.
As Braden straddles Alex, he pulls back from the kiss and rests his forehead against Alex’s, and they both moan at the sensation of their dick pressing together.
“You know, I have a perfectly good bed right there,” Alex says breathlessly as he gestures at the bed a mere ten feet from their position.
“Too far away,” Braden says as brushes his lips against Alex’s again.
At least the couch is big. Wanting to see and feel more of Braden, Alex pushes Braden’s shirt up and demands, “Off!”
Braden straightens and tugs the shirt off over his head, throwing it somewhere.
Appreciating the view, Alex runs his hands down Braden’s sides, pausing a moment at the waistband of his pajama pants before teasingly running his fingers just under the band of elastic. Finally, slowly, mischievously, he tugs the front down over the length of Braden’s cock, eyes fixed on the flesh that it’s revealed before it finally springs free. Tucking the material beneath Braden’s balls, Alex wraps his fingers around the impressive length and says, “Want to taste you.” He grins at the way Braden visibly starts, the way his cock pulses in Alex’s hand.
Braden all but scrambles forward until he is straddling Alex’s upper body instead of his waist, eyes wide and locked to Alex’s mouth.
This isn’t the best position for this, Alex won’t be able to take him that deep, but he loves the view that it gives him. Guiding Braden’s cock to his mouth, Alex’s tongue swirls around the leaking head, the flavor of him thick and musky. With a hand on Braden’s ass he urges him forward. Braden’s going to have to do the work in this position. “Fuck my mouth,” Alex says before drawing him in.
Hands shooting out to brace himself on the armrest behind Alex’s head, Braden curses as his hips rock forward, driving himself into Alex’s mouth. “Shit, Alex. Can’t say stuff like that and have me last.”
Alex laughs, the vibrations traveling the length of Braden’s cock, causing him to shudder. Wrapping one hand around the base of Braden’s cock and shoving the other down his boxers to fist his own swollen flesh, Alex seals his lips around the dick in his mouth and sucks as he fucks into his own fist. It’s a good feeling.
The rocking of Braden’s hips is tentative at first, but he finally he finds a rhythm and Alex lets his mouth fill with saliva and his jaw relax as Braden fucks his mouth. Alex jacks his cock to the same rhythm.
Alex watches the way that Braden’s eyes slowly darken, the way his hair falls forward over his face, how his nostrils flare before he starts breathing through his mouth, tiny little pants before his head drops and his eyes close as though the image is too much for him to bear.
Braden’s hips start to falter, his breathing quickens, and he murmurs almost too softly to hear. “Imagined this, my dick in your mouth, fucking your face as you just took it. Never thought it would happen. Fuck, want to come on your face, see you wearing it.”
When Braden’s hips pull back, Alex pushes back with the fist around Braden’s cock until it’s free of his mouth and says, “Do it.”
Braden shudders, a full body thing and his hips fuck his cock into Alex’s fist, once, twice, and Alex can see the way his stomach muscles tighten, feel how his balls pull up before he’s coming across Alex’s face.
Alex closes his eyes, feels how it streaks across his forehead, his nose, and lips, probably even into his hair. When he licks his lips, the taste of Braden’s come explodes in his mouth, and Alex’s not sure which of them is groaning as his hips buck and he comes across his hand, fingers stilling as he shakes through his orgasm.
Pulling his slick hand from his boxers, Alex debates the merits of where to wipe it until Braden makes the decision for him, catching Alex’s wrist and pulling his hand to his mouth, making a show of cleaning up the come that coats Alex’s fingers, his tongue licking up the mess. Alex’s dick twitches in interest between his thighs, but he’s not as young as he used to be, and it’s a little too soon for him to be able to get it up again.
Braden, however, is four years younger, and his dick is already beginning to thicken with interest again. After making sure he did a thorough job of cleaning Alex’s hand, Braden turns his attention to Alex’s face, catching a streak of come on his finger.
When Braden offers it, Alex obligingly opens his mouth, sucking the digit in.
Braden looks like he’s been sucker punched and says, “Fuck, if that’s not one of the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” Sliding down, he sprawls on top of Alex and licks the rest of the mess off his face himself before capturing his mouth for another kiss, this one leisurely and wet as he shares their combined taste.
When Braden’s hips start grinding against his, Alex raises his hips and shoves his boxers down to his thighs. Braden gasps against his mouth as his cock slides through Alex’s come and along the length of his half-hard dick. Alex slides his hands down the back of Braden’s pants and shoves them down far enough that he can cup Braden’s ass, squeezing the firm mass of muscles that fill his hands.
Dropping his head to Alex’s shoulder, Braden pants hotly against sweat-slicked skin.
Alex jerks as Braden scrapes his teeth over the still vivid mark that Nicky had sucked into his skin not even a week prior. In retaliation, Alex brings his hand down on Braden’s ass hard, causing him to jolt with the unexpected pain and yelp loudly in Alex’s ear.
“Brat,” Alex says with no real heat.
“Old man,” Braden chirps back as he licks over the mark again, closing his lips over it to bring more blood to the surface.
Letting his hand fall again, this time Braden moans at the impact, rutting against Alex’s hip. Pulling apart Braden’s ass cheeks, Alex lets his fingers drift between them and presses teasingly against the tight ring of muscle he finds hidden between. “Так хорошо для меня,” Alex murmurs.
Alex think it’s the words more than the touch that sets Braden off, and he files that away for future use as Braden shudders and comes between them, hips jerking as he adds to the mess already there before finally collapsing boneless on top of Alex.
Alex nearly shoves him off the couch because Braden’s no lightweight and Alex likes breathing, but in a remarkable display of athleticism (if he might say so himself) manages to grab him and twist so that his back is against the back of the couch and Braden is pressed up against his chest instead of sprawled on the floor.
For long minutes they lay there like that, Braden’s fingers tracing patterns on Alex’s hip as his breathing and heart rate slowly decrease.
It was nice Alex decides, not what he’s used to, not something that he normally wants, or at least not something that he allows himself to want, and it was also immensely stupid.
When Braden sits up, he smiles down at Alex and says, “This was fun. Maybe we could do it again sometime.”
Alex sits up and leans into Braden for another kiss despite the way his lips already feel chapped and swollen. It’s worth it. When he pulls back, they’re both breathing a little heavily and they share a grin.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Rising to his feet, Braden frowns down at the mess on his stomach. “Mind if I use your shower?”
“Go for it,” Alex says, motioning towards the door. Just as Braden shoves his pants down, Alex asks, “Need help washing your back?” and laughs as Braden half trips and almost falls on his ass as he can’t get out of his pants quickly enough.
“Ass,” Braden chides as he walks into the bathroom. A moment later, he sticks his head back out and says, “Gonna join me?”
Alex grins as he disappears, lets the seconds drift by, lets him wonder. They had a good time, and Alex knows that he should leave it at that, a once off, but already he is imaging the next time, what he’d like to do to him. It could ruin him, he knows, more so than he’s already been, but at the moment Alex can’t bring himself to care. Maybe he likes the pain.
Sprawling on his bed, Braden throws his arm over his eyes and groans because of all the people who would be out in the hall when he was leaving Ovi’s room, it had to be Backy. Backy’s face had gone carefully blank when he’d passed to his own room, but Braden is one hundred percent certain that Backy knew what he’d been up to in Ovi’s room.
Despite Ovi’s assurance that Backy isn’t going to punch him, he is fairly certain that Backy’s not exactly overjoyed with the development either. If Backy tells him to back off, Braden will because as much fun as he had with Ovi tonight and the promise of future fun with Braden’s flexibility the next time, it wasn’t something he was willing to fuck up their team dynamics over. They had to work together, train together, play together on a near daily basis for at least eight months out of the year, and he wasn’t about to rock the boat because he had a crush on his Captain.
Anyone with half a brain can see that Ovi and Back were crazy for each other, but there was obviously something there holding them both back. Braden sees the way that Ovi looks at Backy sometimes when no one else was around or he thinks no one was looking. In the face of that, it is strangely humbling that Ovi wants Braden, even if only for a short period of time.
They’ll have their fun, Braden decides, quick and uncomplicated, and then that will be that. (He ignores the small voice that calls him a liar as he drifts off to sleep.)
Nicky stifles a yawn as he heads down for the team breakfast and goes straight for the coffee, something he rarely drinks but needs after the restless night he had last night. He hadn’t been lying when he told Alex that he wasn’t jealous. But seeing Holts walking out of Alex’s room last night at the same time that Nicky was returning to his own had stung.
It isn’t so uncommon for one of the guys to seek out their captain even in the middle of the night, but Nicky knows what freshly fucked looks like and Holts had reeked of sex when he’d all but run past Nicky to his own room, a look of panic on his face that might have been funny in another situation because Holts is normally so unflappable.
Walking by Holts, who is sitting next to Peters and Wardo, Nicky pauses for a moment and squeezes his shoulder. “We’re good,” he says.
The tension in Holts' frame melts away, and he gives Nicky a wide smile.
Grabbing a plate for food, Nicky takes his normal seat on Alex’s right side and mechanically shovels the food into his mouth, barely tasting it. Minutes later, he feels eyes on him, and glances over at Alex who isn’t even pretending he’s not staring, the concern obvious on his face. “I’m okay,” he says, answering Alex’s unspoken question.
Alex doesn’t look like he believes him, but slings an arm over his shoulder and begins talking about the new play that Coach Trotz wanted to try out next practice.
Nicky nods along, giving the occasional interjection when appropriate. It is easy to pretend at times like this that that this is all they had, a working relationship and a close friendship, but he can never stay away, never deny himself completely.
Never has Nicky wanted something more in his life than Alex, not hockey, not the NHL, but it is the one thing he can never let himself have completely. Each time they’re together, Nicky wonders if it’ll be their last, if Alex will finally get tired of putting up with Nicky’s issues, if what Nicky can give will stop being enough.
Nicky knows Alex’s moods better than most anyone, and this right here this morning, this is happy. Really happy, the kind of happy that Nicky hasn’t seen Alex wear in a long time. It is good to see.
And Nicky knows that if he and Alex have an expiration date, it is closer now than ever, and there is no one he can blame except himself. Despite how well known Sweden is for being liberal, way ahead of the curve in equality some say, a certain sentiment still lingers in some circles, sports being one of them, and even though the NHL is partnered with You Can Play, that just means the bigots are more careful where they spout their hate. Nicky hates himself for hating who he is and who he wants, hates himself for being a coward. How could he admit to loving someone when he couldn't even love himself?