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Tyler had dreams of playing in the NHL. Pipe dreams, really, like every good, honest Saskatchewan boy has. Dreams that kept him warm on chilly winter nights, playing shimmy on the neighborhood pond long past midnight, but weren't good for a whole lot else.
Tyler's dreams even got him to the University of Denver. Division I hockey, with a full ride scholarship and an outside chance at going pro, until he busted his knee falling into the boards in his sophomore season.
Just the wrong angle, and that was that.
"We might be able to operate," the doctors said, dubiously, when Tyler asked about hockey and the NHL. Doctor after Doctor pushed their hands into the pockets of their long, white lab coats and threw around words like "elective surgery" and "expensive" and "probably won’t ever be the same."
So, Tyler spent an evening on the phone with his parents, and another crying on Skype with Justin. A couple nights to mourn his pipe dream, and then he packed his bags for the much more sensible, and much more affordable, University of Toronto.
***
There was a time, Tyler remembers, when he knew he wouldn't ever love anything the way he loved hockey. Nothing would ever smell as good as an early winter morning at the rink or sound as perfectly pitched as that first slide of blade on ice.
Then Justin bought him a small, used, handheld camera and Tyler learned to love other things. Like the smell of an editing bay at 4 am and the emotion of a film set, filled with people, the air moving frantically around him. He's not sure, honestly, how he ever lived without it.
In fact, by the time he's almost completed his degree and lands an internship with one of Toronto's homegrown special effects studios, he's lost all track of hockey. He still loves the game, will chat about it with anyone who'll listen, but his knee aches before a heavy rain and he limps pretty bad as it is after longer days on set. Besides, Leafs tickets are god awful expensive and he's heard that the team kinda sucks.
So he's not really paying attention when he gets an email that the Leafs are coming to the set on the same day that Camera A breaks down and Tyler's ear piece is buzzing with the low, dulcet tones of his DP and the high, strangled whines of his SFX boss. And he's definitely not looking when he turns the corner at a jog and runs - literally - into a wall of blue and white.
"Shit, fuck," he curses as his clipboard goes flying, his iPhone clatters across the floor, and his headphones wrap tightly around his wrists. He goes sprawling, reaching out for his belongings and twisting painfully as he hits the ground.
"Ahh, sorry, I didn't- I don't know where I'm going," the guy says, then blinks down at Tyler. "You okay?"
Tyler furrows his brow against the white-hot sparks in his knee, reaching out to pull it towards him. Which is nothing but more painful and he's pretty sure he grunts unpleasantly.
The guy bends down, wrapping his hands around Tyler's knee and digging into the exact right places. Tyler's face goes slack as the pain slowly turns to something smooth and warm.
The guy's eyes are blue, wary and crystal clear. Tyler can't stop looking at them.
"Old injury?"
Tyler blinks. "Yeah. Hockey injury."
"Oh." The guy stops, pulling his hands away quickly and rising. Tyler bites back any desire to beg him to keep up the massage.
Instead, he struggles to gather his things and stand. The guy doesn't help him.
"Sorry I, ahh, seem to be lost?" The guy lifts the badge around his neck and Tyler recognizes the Maple Leaf on his chest. "I'm here for the Sick Kids thing."
Tyler vaguely remembers the email, now, and he pulls it up to point the guy in the right direction.
"Thanks. And, sorry, again, for the knee."
Tyler shrugs. "Was worth it in the end." He winks.
The guy blushes, then seems to catch himself. He gives an awkward, stupid little wave before he turns the corner.
***
"Oh, ahh, knee guy."
Tyler turns around. The Leafs guy is standing behind him, hand wrapped around a young child's. "Tyler."
"Tyler," the guy repeats, like he's trying out the name on his tongue. "This is embarrassing, but, we're lost again."
Tyler glances at his clipboard, but Camera A is back up and running and everything's on schedule, so he slips his headset to rest around his neck and crouches down to the boy's level. "How'd you like to see a real movie set?"
"Yay," the boy claps, and Tyler slaps his palm over his mouth.
"We have to be really quiet, ehh?"
The boy nods vigorously.
"What's your name?"
"Jay," he stage whispers.
"Well, Jay, why don't you and-" He stops, glancing up at Leafs guy.
He looks taken aback, blinking slowly, eyes still that perfect shade of blue. His mouth twists in something like confusion before he finally offers, "Phil."
Tyler straightens and takes Jay's other hand. "Why don't you and Phil follow me?"
Tyler can feel Phil's eyes on him as he leads the way to set, pressing his finger to his lips as they push through the big black doors. Jay mirrors the gesture, turning to Phil with a loud, "shh," and Phil's grinning as they stop behind the director's chair.
Tyler points out things on set, and let's both Phil and Jay ask questions until the scene is set. Jay's sitting in the director's chair, looking rapt, his eyes wide and so excited, until the actors take their places. Then their werewolf main character leaps onto his mark and Jay lets out a loud, scared whimper, and scrambles into Phil's arms.
Phil laughs, but his hands are wrapped tightly under Jay's small body, holding him close as he murmurs into his hair. "It's just a movie, buddy."
Jay spends the rest of the scene with his face buried in Phil's neck, though, and doesn't come out until Tyler leads them off the sound stage and back to the craft services table. He's halfway through his apple juice box and the PB&J that Phil meticulously rids of all crusts before color returns to his cheeks. And then he turns to Tyler and says, "werewolves are so cool, Mr. Tyler."
Tyler shares a smile with Phil over Jay's head. "Yeah they are, aren't they?"
"So cool," Jay concludes, leaning against Phil's side.
Tyler's stomach does a stupid, impossible flip, and he has to look away, relieved when the Leafs camera crew finds them before he can say something stupid.
"Kessel, you were supposed to be in the lobby twenty minutes ago."
Tyler's eyes widen. "You're Phil Kessel?" He feels like an idiot.
Phil squirms. Against his side, Jay whines.
The Leafs TV cameramen don't look happy, and Phil slides out of his chair, pulling Jay against his shoulder. Jay slips his thumb into his mouth and closes his eyes.
"Sorry I kept you," Tyler offers.
Phil shrugs. "They just want PR footage. It's not important." Phil glances at the cameramen, then back at Tyler. "You really didn't know who I was?"
Tyler shrugs guiltily. "Haven't watched much hockey since-" He waves at his knee.
"Oh." Phil's eyes are as big and blue as Jay's. "Well, this was very nice of you. Jay has leukemia, you know, and this- you've made his day."
"Oh." Tyler hadn't known that. He feels inexorably sad as Phil holds Jay closer and flinches a little at the pointed coughs from the cameramen.
"Anyway, we've gotta- thank you."
And then they're gone. Phil and Jay and the camera crew and Tyler can't breath past something tugging at his throat.
He doesn't know what it is, but it doesn't ease until he begs the props department for a werewolf hand. He doesn't know where to send it, but he finds the Leafs' front office online and sends it there, to "Jay, care of Phil Kessel."
In a fit of stupidity, he adds his phone number to the end of the note.
***
jay says thx 4 the claw
this is phil
kessel
Tyler laughs, and puts the number in his contacts under "Phil. Kessel."
***
A few days later, a package arrives on set with his name on it. It’s a pair of Leafs tickets and a picture of Jay, his teeth bared and the werewolf claw raised menacingly.
Tyler can almost hear Phil laughing in the background.
***
The Leafs aren’t very good. Tyler knows it going in - he may not follow much hockey anymore, but he does still live in Toronto - and he’s even more sure of it after watching the game.
Not that he minds much. Phil’s invited Tyler to his box, full of Sick Kids patients, all with toothy grins and bright eyes. They ask questions all game, and Tyler teaches them the rules with a lot of pointing and the help of the salt and pepper shakers.
Jay spends most of the third period napping in Tyler’s lap, but when Phil scores the entire box is on its feet, cheering and screaming like the Leafs actually have a chance of winning this thing.
In the end, they lose 1-3, but all the kids can talk about is Phil's goal.
Afterwards, Tyler follows the kids down to the locker room to take pictures with the other players. When Phil comes out, he’s sullen and rumpled, his hands thrust hard into his pockets and his face still flushed and a bit damp. He brightens, though, when he sees the kids, and spends the next half hour or so on his knees, signing autographs and taking pictures.
Tyler’s chest squeezes in a way that’s becoming all too familiar. He tells himself to stop, not to get his hopes up. This is nothing more than a shared love of children who have no one else to lean on. That’s a good thing, but that’s all it is.
When the kids have gone home, long past their bedtimes, he gives Tyler, a small, private smile, and asks, quietly, nervously, "wanna get something to eat?"
Tyler nods and stupidly hopes and follows Phil to his car. He seems more subdued now, a little frown on his face as he sits in the driver’s seat, waiting for the car to warm up, knuckles white and tight on the steering wheel.
Tyler squeezes his knees, his palms sweating against his worn, slightly dirty jeans. He needs to get quarters for laundry when he gets his paycheck next week. "Nice goal," he offers, when it’s pretty clear that Phil isn’t going to be the first to say something.
Phil shrugs, without moving his hands from the steering wheel. "Thanks." Then, "We played like shit. Sorry you had to see that."
"The kids enjoyed it."
"Yeah," Phil drops his head, like he’s embarrassed. "Wish I’d played better, you know, for them."
He starts the car, and country music blares through the speakers. Tyler forgets to comfort him in favor of laughing and teasing.
Phil’s still a bit flushed when they get to the restaurant and he hides himself behind his menu. It's one of those fancy steakhouses Bozie's only seen on TV, and he can't help blowing out a whistle when he opens his own menu and sees the prices.
"I- ahh," he starts, unsure how to say I'm a poor college kid without sounding like an ass. "Phil, this place is- it's a bit, um, outta my price range," he tries, although his voice squeaks a little at the end.
Phil glances over the top of his menu and shrugs. "Don't worry about it. I owe you."
"You already got me tickets."
Phil flinches and looks around, like he's worried someone might recognize him. He pulls his beanie lower over his forehead. "I owe you for that, too."
Tyler's not sure what to say to that.
Turns out it doesn't matter, as their waiter comes and Phil orders them both Molson drafts and the most expensive steaks on the menu. Then he pulls out his phone and starts showing Tyler more pictures of Jay and the claw, surrounded by the other Sick Kids, all laughing and grinning and pulling faces.
"It’s good work you do with them."
Phil self-consciously tugs at the back of his neck. "Something good had to come out of the cancer, eh?"
"Oh," Tyler says, stupidly, because he didn't know.
"Yeah," Phil agrees, and they lapse back into awkward silence.
***
That, Tyler figures, is that.
An awkward dinner and a shared love of children and werewolves, and there ends his sordid affair with Toronto's most famous athlete.
Or, Tyler assumes that's that, until he comes off a long shift a few weeks later to see Phil standing in the shadows by the craft services table. His hands are pushed into his pockets, like he's afraid to touch anything, and he lights up a little when he sees Tyler. At least, Tyler hopes that's why he's smiling.
"Hey," Tyler greets, reaching his hand out and then, because he feels stupid going for a handshake, uses it to pull Phil into a hug. He's not sure that's any better. "What are you doing here? Is Jay okay?"
"No, no, he's good. That's not why I'm-" He stops, shakes his head, tries again. "I was wondering if you wanted to try dinner again."
"Oh," Tyler says, just like last time because nothing's really changed in the last two weeks. Tyler's still an idiot and Phil still does this thing when he smiles that Tyler can't get out of his head. "I'd like to, but-"
"Oh." Phil takes a step back, raising his hand to rub shakily at the back of his neck. "I read this wrong, I'm- don't tell anyone, please, I-," and Tyler reaches out to wrap his fingers around Phil's wrist.
"It's just that I have to spend the night in the editing bays." He holds up the heavy hard drive in his other hand. "I owe my advisor a draft of my thesis by the morning and I, um, haven't really started so-"
He shrugs, but Phil looks so relieved that Tyler adds, "You can help me, if you want."
Which is something he probably should have thought through. The editing bays are cramped and hot, filled with half-eaten bags of Cheetos and instant Kraft mac-and-cheese containers.
Phil doesn't seem to mind, though, once Tyler starts walking him through the editing process and the basics of his senior thesis project. He seems to like sci fi and fantasy as much as Tyler does, too, and they spend most of the night riffing on Terminator and putting hidden references to An American Werewolf in London throughout Tyler's edits.
When Phil leaves around about three am, Tyler realizes that it wasn't awkward at all.
***
Phil finally kisses him three weeks later.
It's after what Tyler's calling date number five, although he's not sure Phil would see it the same way. Phil spends a lot of time buying Tyler expensive dinners and looking nervous and not kissing him, so Tyler's not entirely sure what Phil's calling these nights.
Until finally, finally, Phil drives him home from the best Italian place in town – he had even mumbled his name to the hostess to get them seated on time, and then had spent the meal apologizing profusely for having done it - and let's the car hum at the curb while they finish debating the Blue Jays chances next season.
And then Phil leans across the center console and kisses him. Softly, tentatively, finally.
"Sorry, sorry," Phil says, when he pulls away.
Tyler groans, wraps his hand around that spot Phil's always rubbing at the back of his neck, and pulls him back in.
***
The first time Tyler invites him up, it's not planned.
Phil texts, late after a game in Ottawa, and asks Tyler to come over. Except Tyler's car gave out that morning and it's late and he still has a final exam to cram for.
Phil sounds disappointed even through text, though, and Tyler knows the feeling. Phil's been gone for ten straight days, and Tyler's aching with it. So he sends come to my place and uselessly tries to scrub the dirt and history out of his small, crumbling one-bedroom apartment.
Phil doesn't seem to notice the unwashed sheets or the layers of dust over strewn textbooks and editing software. Not while he's buried deep between Tyler's thighs, reminding him of all they miss when Phil's on road trips and Tyler's stuck in final exam hell.
Phil does notice, however, when he gets up in the middle of the night and stubs his toe on the mouse trap by the bathroom door.
Tyler laughs, and drapes himself over Phil's back when he climbs back into bed. He can still feel Phil's heart beating too quickly. "Let me know when you're gonna scream like that next, ehh? I wanna record it as my ringtone."
Phil frowns and says, "I'm renting you a better apartment."
"It has its charms," Tyler insists, pulling Phil backwards and showing him just how loud they can be without Phil's noisy, frou-frou neighbors banging on the walls.
***
Phil doesn't buy him an apartment, but he does set up a PeaPod delivery a couple times a week.
Tyler's not going to say no to free fruit and vegetables.
He calls it a compromise.
***
Or, he would have called it a compromise, if Phil had stopped at PeaPod.
He doesn't. Not even close.
He starts leaving cash around the apartment. A few bills here and there, just enough to pull off "they must have fallen out of my wallet, just keep them," but in high enough denominations that Tyler's eyes pop.
He brings over shopping bags once every few weeks, filled with essentials. "I like my own stuff," he says, pulling out his generic Herbal Essence shampoo and a couple bottles of the expensive stuff Tyler only treats himself to when he works over time.
The first time he does it, Tyler raises an eyebrow and asks, "Did you finally take pity on your hair?"
"What?" Phil hums, as he continues to stock Tyler's apartment with toilet paper and toothpaste and hair gel.
"The shampoo." Tyler holds it up. "This is the good stuff."
Phil frowns. "It's what you use, yeah?"
"Yeah, but-" Tyler sighs. Phil's looking at him like he's the biggest idiot in the world, so Tyler drops it.
Phil never once smells of anything but Herbal Essence.
It's a little cute, Tyler decides, in a macho, I-must-hunt-and-gather-to-provide kinda way. Phil has the money, at least, and Tyler definitely doesn't. Between the extra classes he's taking to graduate in the spring and the slow work at the film studio during the holidays, Tyler's more than broke. And if Phil wants to spread a little of the wealth, he's not going to argue too profusely.
***
"Hey, man," Justin whistles, when he comes to visit for a few days in February. "You're rolling in the dough." He's holding up the camera Phil got him for Christmas, top-of-the-line with HD capabilities.
Mostly, he uses it to record the finger-shadow zombie films he and Phil act out in the middle of the night. It's meant to help with his senior thesis, though, and Tyler has great plans for it.
He shrugs and Justin pulls him into a headlock, rubbing his knuckles into Tyler's scalp.
"You've been holding out. I want a Christmas present refund."
Tyler flinches. He had a large tuition bill due at the end of December, and he'd been scrambling for presents. Maple Leafs gear was a little ironic, he figures, but the sweatshirts were nice and, better yet, free.
"I'm broke," Tyler insists, pulling out of Justin's hold. "The camera was a gift."
"Oh?" Justin raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued in all other kinds of ways now. "It's a special gift."
Tyler shrugs. Sometimes he hates having an older brother.
"Oh, come on," Justin teases, mouth quirking up in a smirk. "Are you a kept man? You can tell me. I won’t tell mom and dad."
"I'm not falling for that anymore," Tyler bites back, hiding behind sarcasm because, honestly, he can’t say no with a clear conscience.
Justin doesn’t let up, though. Over the next few days, he points out, over and over again, the little privileges and expenses Phil has been subsuming over the last few months.
Tyler hadn't realized how thoroughly Phil - and Phil’s checkbook - had taken over his life, but now that Justin’s pointing it out, Tyler can’t un-see it.
"Nice jeans," Justin comments, the second morning, reaching out to pull the tag off the pocket.
He stares at the tag for a long moment, until Tyler says, "I got them on sale," a little too quickly. It’s only half a lie; they had been on sale, but Tyler can’t even afford sale Levis.
When he goes to make coffee, he falters over the top-of-the-line French press sitting out on his counter top, where Phil left it last time he was over. Tyler pushes it back, behind the bags of stale vegan chips and boxes of organic rice mixes that fit Phil’s meal plan.
The old coffee maker is still in the back of the cupboard, though, and Tyler coughs through months of dust as he pulls it out. It still gurgles and splutters when Tyler fills it with more than three cups of water, but it makes almost-passable coffee.
Justin makes a face as he drinks it, eyes caught forlornly on the French press, but he doesn't say anything.
He does protest later, when Tyler hands him his Pesto pass and goes in search of the extra he knows is lying around his apartment somewhere. Justin stares at it, flipping it carefully between his fingers as he asks, "Does school pay for your pass?"
"What?" Tyler asks, distractedly, ruffling though the pile of Phil’s magazines on the coffee table to find the extra pass. "No."
"Oh."
"Why?"
"There’s $200 on this thing."
Tyler stares at him. He doesn’t even know when Phil got a hold of the pass to add money to it, but- Tyler shrugs, lies, "filled it up with my last pay check."
He’s pretty sure Justin doesn’t believe him. Tyler wouldn't believe himself either.
***
The night Justin leaves, Phil texts, come over.
Tyler’s tired, a little on edge from Justin’s visit, and he has a shit ton of editing to do.
Phil adds, i miss u, though, and Tyler goes.
"You know, you could have, like, come over to mine, eh?" Tyler says, as he pushes through the door and automatically squats down to let Stella lick his face. "Justin would’ve liked to meet you."
"Um, I’ll just- be right back," he hears Phil say in the living room. And then Phil appears in the hallway, a beer held so tightly in his fist that his knuckles are white. "You’ve gotta go," he hisses.
"What?" Tyler looks up and Stella catches him on the chin with her tongue.
"Go, please, just- I’ll text you."
Tyler stares at him. His knees are aching and he’s still tired and he’d taken two transfers to get here because it’s late and the metro’s slow.
Over Phil's shoulder, Tyler catches sight of Dion Phaneuf, as tall and intimidating as he look in the picture Phil has up around the apartment. Slowly, Tyler rises, ignoring the way Stella whimpers and scampers around his ankles.
"Hey, Phil, what’s- Oh, hi." Dion steps forward, offering his hand. "I’m Dion."
Tyler rubs his hand on his jeans to get rid of slobber and metro dirt, then reaches out to take Dion’s.
"This is, um-" Phil waves his hand in Tyler’s direction. His shoulders are tight and his eyes wide and a pale, icy blue. "I met him, at that studio visit last fall. He’s helping, with a Sick Kids thing."
"Tyler," Tyler offers, because Phil doesn’t seem able to.
"Nice to meet you." Dion nods. "Sick Kids is a great organization."
"Yeah, it's um, great," Tyler offers, feeling out of his depth. His skin is beginning to crawl with the tension.
Dion, though, doesn't seem to notice it at all. "Come in, grab a beer."
"No," Phil says, too quickly, then backtracks. "He’s, uh, got a thing. I’m just gonna show him out."
He shoves at Tyler’s shoulder, and Tyler stumbles a little as he squeezes out of the apartment, then rounds on Phil.
"What the fuck?"
"I-" Phil rubs the back of his head. "They just showed up. I didn’t know they were coming."
"Okay," Tyler says, slowly.
"Sorry you came all this way." Phil digs into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. "Let me give you money for a cab home."
Tyler’s stomach drops, and all he can think is, "You lied. To your teammates," his tongue dry and dusty around the words.
Phil flinches, his fingers fluttering around a few bills. "I had to."
Tyler doesn’t move.
"I can’t tell them-" Phil continues, quickly, tripping over his words. "They wouldn’t- They can’t know you’re my-"
"Boyfriend," Tyler offers.
Phil flinches again. He looks away, his neck pale and clammy around his Leafs t-shirt.
"Or, maybe I’m not." Tyler thinks back on all the things Justin pointed out the last few days and he can't look away from where Phil’s fingers are still in his wallet, clutched around a few bills that mean nothing to him, and so much to Tyler. He feels sick. "Maybe I’m just like money to you, yeah? A kept boy- Jesus, I've been so stupid."
"No, no, I-"
But Tyler gets it now. It’s so obvious and he doesn’t know how he's been such an idiot. "You pay me in metro passes and clothes and groceries and- Fuck, Phil, I pay you back in sex." Sex in secret, behind closed doors, that no one- not Tyler’s brother, not Phil’s teammates, not anyone important in their lives - knows about. "I’m- Shit."
Tyler turns, stumbling down the hallway.
Phil reaches out, but when Tyler twists out of his grip, Phil doesn’t stop him.
Tyler gets outside before he’s sick in the bushes.
***
"You look awful," Justin greats without preamble.
Tyler sighs into the phone camera. He hates FaceTime. "Hi to you, too."
Justin shrugs. "Just saying the truth."
"You’re never ‘just saying’ anything."
"Hey." Justin frowns. "Don’t shoot the messenger."
"Maybe you should mind your own fucking business," Tyler bites out, before he can stop himself. It’s been months and he’s tired and he’s lonely and, shit, if Justin hadn’t said anything, Tyler would be at Phil’s, curled under his designer sheets with Stella warming his side.
Tyler aches.
"Wow." Justin holds up his hands quick enough that they blur on the screen. "What did I do?"
"Nothing." Tyler bites his lip. "I broke up with- That guy I was seeing, we’re, ahh, not anymore."
"Oh." Then, "Sick of being a kept boy?" Justin tries to joke.
Tyler closes his eyes. "I just- I didn’t know, okay? Until you had to point out every fucking thing and-"
"I didn’t mean for you to break up with him."
"Yeah, well-" Tyler shrugs. "I make my own way, you know?"
"Don’t be an idiot."
"Fuck off."
"Seriously, Ty, if you like this guy-"
"It doesn’t matter," Tyler cuts him off. "He doesn’t- look, it doesn’t matter," he repeats.
He’s really, really tired.
***
Tyler throws himself into his work. The spring film is back in production, and he accepts a promotion that keeps him even longer hours in the editing bays, on top of the full schedule of advanced classes he’s cramming in to try and graduate in May.
Despite it all, he spends late nights staring blankly at Final Cut, remembering how Phil would throw popcorn at every bad jump cut, the way his voice would sound, deep and open, around his laugh, the way he’d sneak his hand between Tyler’s legs as the night wore on and he got a little tired and a little clingy.
Tyler knows it wasn’t real. He knows Phil was only putting up with him, because Tyler was there and easy, his silence willing to be bought.
He doesn’t matter to Phil. He never did.
It doesn’t keep Tyler from missing him.
***
Tyler picks up as many shifts as he can over the next couple of months. Enough to pay most of the tuition he needs to graduate, and he’s close, so close at the deadline, but he’s still a couple thousand away.
"Hi, um, I’m here to pay my tuition," he smiles brightly at the receptionist, hoping his charm will win him points. Or, at the very least, a couple more weeks to pay his dues.
"Name?" She chomps her gum.
Tyler leans against the desk, hitching his hip. She doesn’t look up. He sighs. "Tyler Bozak."
"Spell that."
"B-O-Z-A-K." He reaches across the desk, tapping his fingers against the top of her computer. "Look, I have most of it, eh? I just need a couple more weeks, you know, till my next paycheck and-"
"You’re all paid up," she interrupts.
"- I promise I can have it by next Friday, if I can just- What?"
She finally looks over the rim of her glasses to glare at him. "You’ve paid your semester in full."
"I haven’t."
"Well, you have a guardian angel then."
Guardian angel. Tyler’s stomach flips.
Her eyes flick over his shoulder, to the line gathering behind him. "Can I help you?"
He moves aside unthinkingly, shuffling his feet all the way out of the building and onto the subway. He’s getting off at Phil’s stop before he realizes where he’s even going.
He pauses outside Phil’s building, his hands pushed far into his pockets, and he’s supposed to be at the studio, he should turn around, this doesn’t change anything. Just because Phil paid for something without any expectation of sex in return, because Phil has to know that Tyler isn't playing anymore, after the hundred texts Tyler hasn’t answered and it- It doesn’t mean anything.
There’s a bark behind him and Tyler turns to see Stella, straining against her collar, winter booties strapped to her paws. There’s a blond woman with a frown just like Phil’s holding tight to the leash, and Tyler offers her an apologetic half-smile as he crouches down to greet Stella.
"Hey, girl. How’ve you been?"
Stella yips, her front paws digging into Tyler’s thighs as her tail wags so fast that Tyler has to balance her body with his hands.
Tyler pets her as long as he can before he feels the woman's gaze, cold and measuring, and he straightens. "Sorry, I- we used to know each other."
She rolls her eyes. They’re blue, bright and clear, just like Phil’s. "Obviously."
"Right." Tyler holds out his hand. "I’m Tyler."
"I know." She looks at his hand but doesn’t shake it. Instead, she sighs, moving past him to swipe her key fob. "You better come up."
"I don’t-"
"He’s not here." She holds the door open and shakes it, not really giving him a choice.
The apartment is just like Tyler remembers it. Clean, thanks to the biweekly cleaning lady, but piled high with sneakers and Leafs gear and months-old men’s magazines. The waffle maker Phil bought just for Tyler - "I think as long as there’s strawberries it’ll fit into my nutrition plan" - is still on top of the refrigerator.
Tyler’s chest tightens. Months ago, Tyler cleaned his apartment of anything Phil-related, from his toothbrush to that damn French press. Phil hasn't moved anything, as if he's been memorializing Tyler's place in his life or- Tyler cuts off that train of thought. It won't do him any good to go down that road.
"Want a beer?"
Tyler’s chin jerks up. "Ahh-"
She pushes one across the counter. "I’m Amanda. Phil’s sister."
"Oh." He frowns. "How do you know who I am?"
She rolls her eyes. "My brother talks about you all the time. Like, all the time. It’s really annoying."
"Um." Tyler trips over the words, the implications, the- He swallows and reaches for his beer. "He told you about me?"
"Yes," she says, like he's slow. "Honestly, you’re as dense as he is. You deserve each other."
"I’m not-" Tyler takes a long draw from the bottle. "I don’t-"
"Look, my brother’s an idiot, yeah?"
Tyler nods.
"He’s been playing hockey his whole life, been hit in the head a few too many times. I should know." She knocks on her own head and gives a sad little smile. "He doesn’t, like, think he deserves any of this." She sweeps her hand, encompassing the apartment and them both and Stella, who's curled around the top of Tyler's left foot. "I mean, I’m his fucking sister and he thinks he needs to buy me shit to get me to visit. Idiot."
She fiddles with a bracelet on her wrist. It looks very expensive.
"He paid my tuition."
She sighs. "I told him not to do that."
"It’s been months-" Tyler drips his fingers through the condensation on his beer.
"Yeah, well, he doesn’t really know how to let go." She narrows her eyes. "I told him he was being an idiot, but- you’re here so I guess the jury’s still out."
Tyler’s not sure when this conversation turned, when he became the bad guy in this equation, but his stomach is twisting with something just a little too much like hope. "I don’t need his money. I need-"
"What?" She pushes, even though she looks like she knows exactly what he means.
"Look, he-" Tyler reaches for that feeling, the one he had last time he was here, of Phil lying while Stella licked at his chin. He’s too tired to go back there again. "He paid me off, yeah? To get him off and stay quiet about it."
Her face tightens. "He’s the most recognizable player on the Toronto Maple Leafs. Don’t be an asshole."
Tyler grasps for the months of anger and hurt, but when she says it that way, Tyler feels stupid and insecure. His skin feels tight and hot and he repeats, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot, "He told you about me."
"I matter to him. You matter to him."
Tyler’s head feels too full. "I don’t know what to do with that."
"Yeah." She looks away. "You should probably go. Before he gets back and finds you here."
Tyler gets the message. He leaves with a quiet, "thank you," that he’s not sure she hears.
***
Tyler doesn’t reject the tuition payment.
Beyond that, he’s not sure what his next move should be, if any.
He knows he feels tired and stressed, as he struggles with his final exams and putting enough hours in at his internship and finishing his senior thesis film.
He knows he feels lonely, every time Phil doesn’t wake him up tripping over mouse traps.
He knows he feels like an idiot, for ever thinking Phil would just buy him off, and knows Phil is an idiot for ever making Tyler think that of him.
He doesn’t know if he’s ready to forgive Phil. Not when things aren’t going to change. Phil’s a hockey player. Will be, for the next ten, fifteen years. Tyler stopped living by hockey’s rules a long, long time ago, and he's not sure he's ready to go back.
***
Tyler sees Phil before Phil sees him.
It takes Tyler a moment, because this is his senior film festival, attended by classmates and teachers and, for the lucky kids, parents who have made the trip. It is not a place for Phil Kessel, even with his nondescript Blue Jays cap pulled low over his forehead and a University of Toronto sweatshirt hiding his physique. The sleeves are rolled up a few times at his wrists; Tyler’s pretty sure it’s his.
"You were the guy with the sci fi film, right?" The guy is young and handsome and grips Tyler’s elbow when he talks. He must be one of Tyler's classmate's brother or cousin or something. Tyler would care, except Phil’s here. He’s actually here, and Tyler can’t do anything but stare and think about all the things Amanda had said, weeks ago now.
"Um, yeah," Tyler says, distractedly. "I hope you liked it."
"Yeah, rad man. I’ve been thinking about doing a thing with vampires for my senior project. I’m a sophomore so-"
Tyler tries to listen as he watches Phil skulk around the edges of the crowd, keeping his eyes down and trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. Tyler’s not even sure what he says to the sophomore, or the parents and teachers that follow him, in the time between he sees Phil and Phil picks up an awkward conversation with one of Tyler’s classmates. Phil's leaning in, close enough to hear in the low din, and Tyler’s had enough.
"Can we talk?" He asks, pushing through the crowd and grabbing Phil’s elbow.
He pushes Phil out of the giant warehouse the University's rented out for the evening, into the muggy, dirty summer air. He’s sweating through his suit and Phil looks pretty uncomfortable in the hoodie - Tyler’s hoodie - and Tyler's fingers twitch to reach out, touch him, make him Tyler's again. If he ever was Tyler's in the first place.
"Hi," Phil offers, shrugging and hunching his shoulders. He nods back towards the warehouse door. "You should go back in. All those people want to congratulate you."
The only person Tyler cares about is right in front of him. He's not sure how Phil hasn't figured that out yet. "What are you doing here?"
Phil shoves his hands into the pockets of his plaid shorts. "Your movie was good. I feel like I was a part of it and-" His face twists, probably remembering all those late nights in the editing bays just like Tyler is. Phil blushes and he changes course. "I wanted to see it. Finished, eh?"
Tyler closes his eyes. It's too much. "I can’t- Phil."
Phil sighs and gives in. "Amanda said you came by."
"Yeah." Tyler rubs the back of his neck. "She said she wasn’t going to tell you, but, yeah, I ahh- I wanted to thank you, for the tuition."
Phil’s face twists. "I don’t want you to think- I don’t expect anything in return. Just, you needed it and-"
Something Amanda said comes crashing in around Tyler and he breathes, quietly, "-and I matter to you," like a revelation.
Phil shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "Yeah."
"Yeah," Tyler agrees, and he means I’m sorry and he means me too, fuck, me too.
"Sorry I don’t know how to- People, they’re not, like, my thing."
"No shit." Tyler laughs, and Phil chuckles. "Thanks, for coming. You kinda had a hand in how it came out, so, thanks."
Phil shrugs. "It was all you."
Tyler smiles at him. It feels real and unforced for the first time in months.
"So, if I-" Phil pushes his hands even further into his pockets. "If I were to call you sometime, would you, um, go to dinner, with me?"
Tyler tries to hide his grin. He fails pretty spectacularly.
***
They both get better at compromising.
Phil doesn't introduce Tyler to his teammates, but they do have regular Skype dates with Amanda, where she rolls her eyes and tells them they're both idiots and spends lots of time hiding her smiles behind her cat.
They're on the computer with her, midday on July 1st, when Phil's phone rings. And, when he doesn't answer it, it rings again, at the same time as Amanda's phone beeps on the other side of the screen and she looks at them sideways. "You should answer that."
"Nah, I'm good." Phil squeezes Tyler's knee.
Amanda rolls her eyes. "Answer your phone, Phil. And call me later."
She ends the call just as Phil's phone is ringing again and he answers it, tentatively, his hand still spread over Tyler's knee. His fingers dig in tighter, and he doesn't say more than a few, terse, "Okay"s and "Yeah"s and "I know"s. And then the phone thumps to the coffee table and Phil slumps over his knees.
"I’ve been traded." His nose wrinkles. "To Pittsburgh."
Tyler kisses the back of his neck. "Pittsburgh’s not all bad."
Phil turns his head to look sideways at him. "Gotta be grad programs in the area."
"Gotta be," Tyler agrees.
The next morning, he sends in an application to the University of Pittsburgh. When Phil sends an accompanying tuition check, Tyler doesn’t argue.
"A new start," Phil says, nodding with a finality Tyler doesn't understand. Not for a couple of months, at least, until the morning of the Pens' home opener and Phil presents him with a Pens jersey and tickets to the players' box.
"Are you- Phil, are you okay with this?"
Phil nods. "A new start, ehh?"
"Yeah," Tyler agrees, and sits in Phil's box.
And, afterwards, when Phil wraps his fingers around Tyler's wrist and stumbles through the introductions, Tyler doesn't complain.
"He's my-" Phil pauses, swallows, settles on, "Bozie."
The locker room is quiet for a moment, and then Sid steps forward, offering his hand. "Nice to meet you, Phil's Bozie." Sid laughs, honking and stupid and Tyler gets it, a little, why things are different here than they were in Toronto. "I’m Sid."
"Yeah." Tyler laughs, but takes his hand. "I know."
Phil’s hand tightens on the small of Tyler's back, but, when Tyler glances over, he's smiling.