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Mack’s sort of gotten used to being recognised, to being stopped when he’s running errands and asked if he can sign something or take a photo – it happens more when they’re on the road in the bigger hockey cities or Canada as a whole, in San Jose he can normally get by unnoticed if he wears a cap and non-Sharks-branded clothing but he figures having his face plastered over all news stations everywhere due to being the youngest hockey player for Team Canada has probably destroyed the last bit of anonymity he was stubbornly clinging to. It’s not that he minds, much. Sure it would be nice to be able to go out for lunch with Will or one of his friends back home without thinking ‘will this end up on twitter’ but it’s a part of being an NHL player, plus it’s not just PR bullshit to say that the fans make the sport and he probably wouldn’t be where he was today without them. Taking a few pictures and signing a few phone cases is the least he can do to say thank you.
But not right now.
Right now, dragging his feet to the luggage carousel, he thinks if someone stops him, recognises him – hell, if someone looks at him, perceives he exists – he might just start crying. Or worse. He might go and find a corner to curl up in and sob until the weight on his shoulders lifts even slightly. It feels like he’s been checked against the boards for three games straight or maybe like pulling a suitcase with no wheels up a hill like that Greek myth Charlie once was obsessed with.
He’s doubled down on the incognito mode, a cap, oversized hoodie and a face mask as well – hopes it covers the way his lip keeps trembling and hides the scar on his cheek. God, he hopes that clears up soon. McDavid had half-joked that Mack should hope it scarred and he’d laughed and nodded – he’d liked the idea of that then, a permanent reminder of his time at the Olympics, that the team had thought he was worth bringing along at just nineteen, but that had been when they thought they might have won. Now it’s a reminder that he just wasn’t good enough. He never wants to see it again. Or his medal. Or that stupid fucking stuffed animal. Whoever thought that idea up was clearly insane. Honestly, the officials should just be glad that neither he nor MacKinnon chucked the stupid things at someone. He definitely thought about it and, going by Nate’s face when they got handed them, the elder had as well.
His suitcase feels heavier than it did on the way to Milan. And yeah, there’s a few Team Canada pieces of clothing that got brough back but it’s more than that. More psychological probably, if Mack really wanted to think about it – which he doesn’t for the record – like he can feel the weight of his silver medal. He figures Team USA’s suitcases must feel lighter than air what with Gold uplifting them but his feels like someone snuck an entire gym’s worth of weights into it when Mack wasn’t looking.
Sliver and second place and missed opportunities pull his suitcase down as he fights with himself to make it past security without breaking down.
The press already know he was inconsolable they don’t need proof of it in the form of him ugly crying at passport control.
Thornton had offered to pick him up, so had Toff actually – team dad through and through – but Mack had told them he’d already made arrangements. Both true and not. He hadn’t actually at the time, but he knew Will would be picking him up the same way he knew his hair was brown without needing to look in the mirror. Sure enough, on their last call before Mack was due to fly back Will had told Mack that he’d be there when the plane landed, that he’d be tracking the plane to make sure he was there on time and that they’d see each other in-person again soon and Mack had just nodded, knowing that if he’d opened his mouth he would have just started crying. Again. Will who knew him better than anyone else, had nodded back and let him keep what little pride he had left by ending the call with a soft ‘goodnight superstar’ and that had been that.
----
When Mack finally sees Will, stood by the arrivals doors clearly trying to be out of the way and unnoticed as much as Mack was, it takes everything in him to not fling down the suitcase and throw himself at his best friend. It’s not like there was anything in the case he particularly needs anyway. That stupid fucking toy and a silver medal he wanted as much as he wanted a broken leg in the middle of the season – which is to say not-at-fucking-all. He doesn’t do that. Mainly because that would be dramatic but it would also make people look at him and as he’d already established, that would definitely make him cry. But well, Will can look at him. But Will is different, Will isn’t people, he’s Mack’s person and that made it okay.
As it was, he still speeds up and as soon as they’re close enough, lets go of the handle and drops his backpack to the ground with a muffled thump in order to throw his arms around Will waist and bury his face in the other boy’s shoulder. He isn’t crying yet, but when Will’s own arms encircles his shoulders he does start to sniffle a bit.
“Oh Macky.” It was so fucking difficult to see the normally confident and energetic boy quite so subdued, and Will once again felt a pang of anger at the Winter Olympic Games. He’d had no end of people asking if he was jealous of Mack for getting picked when he didn’t and the honest truth was that he wasn’t – he was so proud of Mack and the only reason he’d wished he’d been picked was to eliminate the physical distance it put between them. He’d gotten so used to having Mack in his space, not having the younger there was like someone had cut off his arm. He wasn’t bitter or jealous but there was a low-grade anger that had been simmering over the fact that they’d been separated – had he been chosen he figures it still would have been there, they still would have been on separate teams which is just fundamentally wrong on every level. In practices he kept looking instinctively, turning to laugh at something or share a ‘can you believe this shit’ look with someone that wasn’t there – had gotten annoyed when he’d passed without looking only for no one to be there to pick it up because Mack was always there, could read every play Will had both on and off the ice. Having Mack back in his space, in his arms, again after so long was like someone had finally turned on the oxygen and allowed Will to take his first breath in since two weeks ago when he saw Mack off in the departures hall of this same airport. “Missed you.”
“Missed you too.” Mack was squeezing him so tight that Will thought he felt some of his ribs creak, but it was worth it if it helped Mack. It would always be worth it.
There were a few people who were starting to look at the bundle of teenager they were becoming, so for now he just squeezes Mack back before slowly pulling away, thankful that for now at least the other boy’s eyes were mostly dry, and leant down to scoop up the forgotten backpack.
“Let’s go home.”
----
Mack stays silent for most of the drive back to the Thornton residence. Listening and soaking up being back in Will’s orbit whilst his best friend caught him up on the gossip he’d missed – Toff’s latest dad joke, how Eky slipped over during practice and nearly took out Asky on the way down, Mar’s latest kitchen failure and, of course, the ‘elevated cupcake experience’ that had gotten a him a soft laugh and a roll of Mack’s eyes. Will has always had a comforting tone to Mack, familiar and cosy and very Boy. By the time they get back to the guesthouse most of the weight on his shoulders has lifted leaving him tired and slightly floaty – as if time has turn syrupy soft – and Will has to pry him out of the car.
He digs Mack’s keys out of his backpack before shoving it at the younger, grabbing the suitcase from the trunk. Mack’s gone all sleepy-soft and there’s no way he’s gonna be able to lug that thing up the stairs, but Will knows that if he doesn’t unpack tonight the stress will just carry over into tomorrow. So, it’s for the greater good, he tells himself, as he heaves Mack’s teal monstrosity of suitcase up the stairs and into Mack’s bedroom, ignoring the way his arms are still aching from practice that morning.
In the time it took Will to lock up and follow Mack upstairs, Mack has apparently decided that the best way to unpack his backpack is to empty it onto the bed. Which sure, fine, except he clearly gave up halfway through and is now just lying amongst the junk. Again, sure, fine, but it’s late and Will wants to sleep meaning the bed needs to be clear considering there’s no guest bedroom. He figures he’s been nice enough to Mack so far that a little annoyance is okay, lets the case fall with a thud and grabs the pillow from the desk chair before lobbing it at the prone form of his best friend. It bounces harmlessly off Mack’s stomach but, ever the drama king, the younger yelps like he’s been shot and flails around on the bed until yelping in actual pain when he rolls over the prongs of his phone charger. Will just laughs and shakes his head, ignoring the way Mack’s pouting at him from the bed.
“Hurry your ass up I wanna sleep.” He resolutely ignores the domesticity of what he’s doing when he drops down to tug at the zip on the suitcase, pushing down daydreams of a shared one-bedroom apartment. He wasn’t kidding earlier, if Mack wakes up to unpacked bags he’ll just stress out about the silver medal all over again and Will would really like to have a nice day off with his best friend before they have to return to the joys of Shrockey and a four-game losing streak. Besides, it’s not the first time they’ve packed or unpacked each other’s suitcases – it’s always a bit of a rush to pack their bags at hotels the morning after a game and they know they’re gonna be sharing a room anyway so what does it matter which clothes go in which bag, so long as nothing gets left behind they’re happy for everything to just get bundled up.
Mack hums to himself as he sorts out his essentials from the bag; plugging his charger in, throwing his passport and flight documents on his desk – ruffling Will’s curls as he passes him – and sorting through the odds and ends that made it into his backpack like for some reason four empty water bottles that all get chucked onto the hallway to be put in recycling in the morning. He turns just in time to see Will staring at that god-awful plushie and resists the urge to groan. He’d almost forgotten about that thing.
“Where do you want this guy going?” Will’s mostly teasing but he’s too tired to get the tone quite right and Mack snorts at the way Will keeps rapidly blinking as if it will magically wake him up a bit more. Then gets overwhelmed with a rush of affection and gratitude for his best friend who, even after a long morning practice, picked him up from the airport and is now unpacking his bags and he doesn’t know what to do with the emotions, especially this late at night, so he just shrugs and scowls at the plushie like it’s the teddy’s fault they lost the game and not Mack’s.
“The bin preferably.”
“…You’re kidding?”
“No. It’s fucking stupid.” Mack stands, stretching out the aches from hockey and being cooped up on a long plane ride (planes, and buses actually he muses, just aren’t built for six-foot-plus hockey players) and now it’s his turn to ignore Will’s pout as the older glances from the toy to Mack as if offended on its behalf.
“He’s adorable, Mack.”
“I lost and they gave me a fucking stuffed whatever the fuck it’s meant to be-” he raises his voice to speak over Will’s slightly deadpan interruption of ‘they gave everyone a plushie’ “-if I could give it to charity I would but considering the stupid thing is all over social media I don’t think it would go down very well. Just chuck it out or give it to one of Marleau’s kids I don’t care.” Will rolls his eyes but puts the plushie down and doesn’t push, Mack feels tension he didn’t even realise had returned drain away. It’s so stupid how much that evil little toy is bothering him – he thinks he might actually hate it more than the silver medal and the cut on his cheek.
One of the Thorntons has changed the bedsheets and dusted his room whilst he was away which he’s insanely thankful for, but looking at his pristine bed just makes him feel grimy from the airport. He pokes Will who, as always, knows exactly what he’s asking for without him having to say anything and chucks him his toiletries bag. He slips into the ensuite as Will stands to dump a pile of clothes into his laundry basket.
Will barely registers the bathroom door clicking shut, too preoccupied with grabbing the unworn clothes and plonking them down on the desk chair for Mack to sort through in the morning. No matter what Grace says, he’s not that far gone for his best friend to fold his clothes – no he was doing this for his own sake so he could relax and watch movies all day tomorrow. Obviously.
He kicks the suitcase shut and spares a look at the bathroom door, before scooping up the abandoned plushie and slinking downstairs - collecting the water bottles on his way - hoodie pocket heavy where the silver medal sits. If Mack could barely handle seeing the plushie, there was no way Will was gonna ask about the medal, he’d just slipped it into his pocket when he’d found it bundled up in a worn Team Canada shirt. For now, the medal gets put on the hallway table – no doubt Mack will send it to his family house so that he doesn’t have to keep it and so, when the sting of second place has rubbed off, his parents can display it, the teddy on the other hand gets tucked into Will’s practice bag that he’d left by the door on his way upstairs. It really is adorable, and if Mack doesn’t want it, Will can happily find a home for it.
----
Mack resolutely doesn’t think about the Olympics, or the ‘souvenirs’ he got from them. Will’s correct in his predictions that the medal gets sent to his parents’ place – it takes both his parents, Charlie and Will to convince him he can’t just stick the damn thing in an envelope and ship it over to them. His dad comes down to visit, mainly to collect the medal and talk about the Olympics some more but unfortunately with the season restarting, Mack doesn’t get to see him for anything more than breakfast and dinner before Rick has to head back – he stubbornly ignores the knowing look Will sends him when he realises what day Rick is down for, after all it’s not Mack’s fault that it happens to align with one of their practice days.
The plushie, he assumes, is back in his suitcase considering he’s not seen it since Will asked him about it the night he got back and none of Marleau’s kids have reached out to thank him for it which they absolutely would have considering they’ve already told him they think the stupid thing is cute. It had definitely been a leading observation in the way only kids manage to pull off – a ‘wow that’s so cute’ disguising ‘I want it please can I have it’ that Mack pretended to ignore. If Will hadn’t given it to them then he probably didn’t want them to have it, he was pretty much wrapped around their little fingers so they definitely would have asked him for it before they approached Mack himself but that was a mystery for Future Mack.
Except ‘Future Mack’ ended up having to think about that stupid stuffed ferret-stoat-whatever-the-fuck-it-is a week later after an interviewer asks him about it. He’s hardly about to admit on national tv that he has no idea where the thing is because his teammate, Will Smith, unpacked his suitcase for him, so instead he just mumbles some none-answer out and hopes it doesn’t come off as too bratty or annoyed. He probably fails but it’s not his fault considering he’s being asked stupid questions like ‘do you want to go back to the Olympics’ and ‘where’s a stuffed toy’.
He figures he should probably ask Will where it is when they get home – which today is the Marleau residence for the first time since the Olympics – in case someone wants him to take a photo or do some social media thing with the god damn plushie. And god does he hate that that’s a sentence he just had to seriously think about but. Hey. Anything for hockey, right?!
Turns out, he doesn’t even have to ask.
----
Will’s grabbing a bunch of clothes he’d dumped on the end of his bed that morning so that he and Mack can relax away the aches and pains of playing hockey whilst watching Pitch Perfect for the third time this month. He’s pointedly ignoring Mack’s complaints about how he needs to learn to keep his space clean because those in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones and most of the floor is visible at the moment, so clearly his room is not that messy. The clothes do admittedly find a new home in one of the few clear patches of carpet, which earns him another mutter and probably an eye roll but again, he’s pointedly ignoring Mack’s complaints.
“Seriously dude you can, like, barely even see the carpe-what the hell?!” That though, makes Will finally turn around but Mack doesn’t notice, too busy looking at something on his desk. “Why would you keep that stupid fucking thing? It’s a reminder of-”
“Of my best friend performing on the world stage.” He grabs the younger’s arm before he can do something like march over to the desk and deposit the plushie in the bin or throw it out of the window, both seem like possibilities going by the sheer hatred in Mack’s eyes now that he’s noticed the Olympic Mascot. “Mack. That’s the reminder. You’re nineteen and an Olympian that’s insane. You could have come dead last, scored no goals and got knocked on your ass every fucking game and I’d still have kept the plushie.” Some of the fight seems to leave Mack but he’s still scowling at the toy. “Plus, its adorable.”
Mack scoffs at the final declaration; he doesn’t really have an answer to the rest of Will’s impromptu speech, but he hates that teddy more than anything so he just continues to sulk and mutters ‘I’m sure it’s a great reminder that your team won’ and hopes it doesn’t sound as petty as it feels.
Of course, he’s upset that USA won but he was never going to say anything to Will-Mr-Team-USA-Smith. That would just be…no. Absolutely not. Will has very kindly refrained from rubbing it in Mack’s face so Mack is going to keep his feelings about losing - and losing to that particular team - in a small little box in the back of his brain exactly where they belong. He risks a glance at Will out of the corner of his eye expecting to see something like frustration or smugness on his best friends face but instead Will just looks….fond. There’s no other word for it. He looks endeared and fond and maybe a little sad which he doesn’t have time to question before Will opens his mouth and changes Mack’s entire view of the games.
“My team didn’t win. I was never rooting for a team Celly.”
“What?”
“Gabe and Leno gave me so much shit when I didn’t post anything. Did you know that?” And no he hadn’t. Of course, he’d noticed Will hadn’t reposted anything, he’d been online - the profile picture change and the repost about Gaudreau certainly proved that - but nothing about Team Usa winning. “They sent me so much shit to repost on my story and I didn’t post anything.” Will’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, like he’s talking to Rigney when he’s spooked and not his sulking best friend.
“Probably for the best.” He mutters instead of forcing himself to actually consider what Will is trying to say because yes, Mack, now is the time to say that. God, if only he could find a way to surgically remove his foot from his mouth. He suppresses a wince and tries to look like he hadn’t said anything, which was definitely not helped by the fact that they were the only ones in the house, let alone the room; it was very obviously him who had, in fact, said something.
“Yeah probably. But I was never going to post anything anyway. Mack would you listen to me. I was rooting for you. Not Team Canada or Team USA. You.” Will was fully in his space now, less than a few inches between them and Mack gets momentarily distracted by just how pretty his best friend is before the words register in his brain. He blinks, trying to work out what Will is telling him. Why Will is telling him now.
“Wha-why? Will?”
And Will just stares at him. Soft blond curls and baby blue eyes, a blush creeping along his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose which so isn’t fair – when Mack was flustered his whole face, neck and ears went cherry red, a neon sign blasting his embarrassment for all to see, yet Will got to have a Disney princess blush.
And completely randomly he remembers a conversation he’d had with Charlie over the summer
----
“Just read the book Mackerel!”
“No. Wait, don’t fucking call me that and anyways. Even if I was going to read a book, I wouldn’t read that one. I don’t even like romance.”
“You watch rom coms, there’s not much difference.”
“No Will watches rom coms, I’m just there.”
Charlie gave him a look he couldn’t decipher, and he rolled his eyes at her. ‘Annoying little sisters’ he’d muttered under his breath, and she’d thrown the book at him in retaliation while complaining about ‘stupid boys with no emotional awareness’ whatever that meant.
He never did read the book in the end, although Charlie did manage to pry the fact that he had genuinely started enjoying the romcom film nights - but only after she’d threatened to tell RJ it was actually him who’d broken the PlayStation and not their dog (he brought a new one so it shouldn’t even matter, but RJ had the power of teen angst and even being all the way in San Jose for the most part of the year wouldn’t spare Mack from the pure spite that kid could radiate when he held a grudge).
“I don’t fucking know what you want me to say Charl. You can, like, turn your brain off when you watch them, they don’t really require much thinking y’know?”
Had been his defence and yeah that was part of it, the main part was how much Smitty liked them, the way they made him smile or the way he’d mouth along to the words when they watched one of his favourites, but he wasn’t about to say that bit out loud. Especially not to his little sister of all people, so he’d just spun around on her desk chair ignoring the way she rolled her eyes at him and muttered about hyperactive brothers – unfair RJ and Aiden were way worse than he was. He was a delight compared to their other brothers and she should recognise that.
“Don’t you like the stories? The actual plot?”
And yeah kinda, but it was sort of secondary to watching Will relax. He liked the stories in a Stockholm Syndrome kind of way. Which, actually, was probably a bit unfair – it was more like he had Pavloved himself into liking the storylines of cheesy romcoms and Hallmark Christmas movies, associating them with Will relaxing and nights spent cuddled up together on some hotel bed whispering about the characters’ bad decisions and their favourite clichés. Charlie didn’t actually care about his answer though, never stopped talking even though she’d asked him a question.
“Like the ‘oh. oh’ moment? You have to like that bit, it’s like, the best part”
“The what? The ‘uh oh’ moment? The fuck is that?”
“No idiot - the ‘Oh’ moment – y’know where characters realise they’re in love. They’re my favourite – so much better than fireworks or whatever shit some films use.”
He hadn’t known what she’d meant then – had teased her for being young and naïve and obsessed with rom coms even more than Will was which had gotten him another funny look but then she was calling him a dumb boy which couldn’t stand. The whole conversation got derailed when he decided the best way to prove he wasn’t, was to tackle her and make her take it back.
----
Now though. Now he thinks he knows what those looks she gave him meant. And he definitely understands the oh moment.
There's less than an inch of space between them and he can feel Will’s breath on his face, can see every scar and blemish on his face and thinks he hears an audible click of things settling in place in his brain when he realises what, exactly, Will is saying.
Oh.
Oh.
There’s no fireworks or dramatic sparks flying. He doesn’t feel butterflies or any heart-missing-a-beat palpitations. Instead, it’s a quiet shift, as if the ground has righted itself under him and he’s just noticed he’s been climbing a hill this whole time and it’s now turned into a gentle garden path. A gentle axis tilt of his world that makes all the soft fuzzy details sharpen and the lights brighten, a dizzying second of vertigo before he feels the most balanced he’s ever felt in his life.
Mack gets distracted again by just how pretty Will is and thinks, 'how could I not notice?'. Then he leans in and closes the gap.
It’s a chaste kiss, a gentle brush of lips, or at least it is until Will gasps – Mack spends all of half a second thinking he’s read this whole situation so completely wrong before the older is melting into Mack, wrapping his arms around his shoulders as Mack in turn grabs at Will’s waist, pulling him impossible closer and deepening the kiss as Will tilts his head slightly. It’s an almost perfect reflection of their first embrace after the Olympics that it makes something inside Mack's chest flip and then settle. The same feeling he got when he went on the ice for the first time – this is terrifying and scary and perfect and exactly where he’s meant to be, exactly what he was made for. Hockey and loving Will Smith. They break the kiss reluctantly, resting their foreheads against each other, panting softly as they catch their breath and catch up to the shift in their relationship.
Mack’s staring at Will and he’s always been able to read the other, which is why there’s something there that makes him pause, makes him reconsider every time he’s looked Will in the eyes and oh how could he not notice?
“How long?”
“Hmm?”
They’re swaying slightly where they stand, all wrapped up each other as if they’ve been fused together and Mack is still distracted by that pretty fucking blush that’s staining Will’s cheekbones. He lets a hand drift from Will’s hips up to his jaw, cradling the side of his face and letting his thumb brush over the other boy's cheek softly, mesmerised by the way that Smitty’s pupils dilate and the blush darkens even more. He’s so gone for this boy, and he didn’t even notice until he saw that god-awful stuffed animal sat in pride of place on Will’s desk.
“How long, Kibble?” He has to know the same way a man in the Sahara needs water. Will’s still staring at him with the same love in his eyes that Mack has seen all season and never recognised – maybe even longer – with a sweet, endeared smile. And he knows exactly what Mack is asking, of course he does, they can read each other on and off the ice in a way no one else can even come close to. He looks so soft that Mack can’t help himself, now that he knows he’s allowed this – has realised he wants this – it’s like the floodgates have opened. He tilts his head up and lets their noses brush, an Eskimo kiss, before using the hand still holding Will’s jaw to tilt his head just so and reconnects their lips. Relishing in the way Will once again melts into the kiss like he’s a puppet whose strings have just been cut. Can’t help but preen at the instinctual, happy hum Will makes when he deepens the kiss and they bump noses again – this time accidentally when they both get over eager – before dissolving into breathless giggles.
Will sighs, soft and in love, the way his favourite rom com characters are, and Mack would chirp him for it if he wasn’t so enamoured with how Will seems to be glowing right now.
“Ah, since the end of rookie camp, probably.”
Which. Mack can’t help the way he leans back, trying to get a proper look at Will’s face, his eyebrows raising and mouth gaping. His heart clenches slightly at the small whimper his retreat gains and he squeezes the hand still holding Will’s waist in reassurance instinctively. It’s just-
“That’s so long ago.”
Will shrugs, small and not quite self-conscious, but something close to it and turns to look just over Mack’s shoulder rather than his face. And that just won’t do. He lets the hand on his jaw shift, first tucking an errant curl back behind Will’s ear, then lets it drift down to under his chin, pulling until Will looks him in the eyes again.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” And it’s definitely more of a whine than he was going for but it makes Will smile again, so it’s all worth it. It would always be worth it.
“I don’t know. Figured you needed time or some shit besides-” Will’s blush darkens, spreads to the tips of his ears and the base of his neck in a way that equally endears Mack and makes him want to bite down wherever the flush is. Wonders briefly where else on Will’s body his blush is visible and derails that thought before he can get too curious. Later. That’s definitely a later thought. For now, “- we’re always on the same page, I figured you just needed a bit of time to catch up.”
“That was almost sweet until you implied I can’t read.”
“I didn’t actually, I was implying you’re slow but if the shoe fits I guess.”
Mack huffs all faux annoyed and rolls his eyes so hard he thinks he nearly pulls a muscle while Will giggles and pulls him closer again.
“Still, you could’ve told me.”
Will rolls his eyes this time and Mack has a split second of feeling the way the arms around his shoulders tense, before he feels the older pull him in impossibly close, pressing their lips together and running a hand through Mack’s hair. He pulls away just long enough for them both to catch their breath.
“You’re always worth the wait, superstar.” Before they’re kissing again, falling back onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and giggling breathlessly when the back of Will’s knees hit the mattress.
And yeah, stupid silver medals and stuffed toys are absolutely worth it if they mean he can have Will like this. Although he’s never giving that stupid fucking toy the credit for the beginning of their relationship no matter how much Will insists he should, it should just be glad it’s allowed to stay on the desk and isn’t being chucked in the nearest bin.