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Cole only really realises how often he hangs around his teammates when he stops.
And with hanging around he actually means literally off of them, because that’s just how he’s wired, alright? He’s been the smallest guy in every friend group he’s ever had, so he’s just had to learn how to take advantage of that. Fitting himself into every space available, tucking himself under arms and below chins, letting himself be thrown around by much bigger guys. Blame his friends for enabling him if you want.
Lucky for him, hockey boys are generally a touchy bunch. So it’s never been weird and Cole’s never had to stop before to ask himself why he’s like this or what he gets out of it. It feels natural to bump into his teammates’ chests or lean on their shoulders or be squashed in the middle of a celebration, so why would he ever question it?
Because of Trevor, is the answer. And because Trevor’s a little shit.
It’s been, like, four hours since Z told him to cease all physical contact with his teammates for shits and giggles and also free coffee for a month. Totally worth it, in Cole’s opinion. This just means he’s looking forward to the game against the Flyers even more now, since it’s been ages since he’s seen Trevor in person.
You couldn’t threaten this out of him with a gun, but Cole misses his stupid face.
And the prospect of being able to not only beat him on the ice but also win a bet to hold over his head for a month - that’s just too good of an opportunity to pass up.
How hard can it be, right?
x
Well. It’s certainly not easy.
When Cole arrives at the rink for afternoon practice he meets Gally in the parking lot and reflexively lifts his fist to dap him up.
Freezes.
Lowers his hand like an idiot and giggles, shaking his head at himself. Gally looks at him like he’s stupid, but he looks at everyone like that most of the time, so it’s fine. “You got the plague or something, Caufield?”
“Nah,” Cole says, “just trying not to catch it from you.”
Riling Gally up is the easiest thing on the planet. They continue bickering all the way into the locker room. Cole has to swerve out of Gally’s reach twice, because that guy has about as much concept of personal space as Cole himself. Gally’s worked himself up about the incompetence of the dude who was supposed to fix his car though, so he doesn’t seem to notice.
“I keep telling you, man,” Cole says, dumping his bag into his stall in the locker room. “Should’ve asked Arbs to do it.”
“Yeah, yeah. Shut up,” Gally waves him off and settles in a couple stalls down from Cole.
“Should’ve asked me to do what?,” Arber chimes in, entering the room at that exact moment. Gally seizes the opportunity to crash out about his car guy again. Cole chuckles and starts gearing up for practice.
The guys trickle in one by one, so Cole has to strategically start putting on his gear whenever someone comes over to greet him with a dap or a handshake. Sorry Jake, busy with the shoulder pads. Tangled up with the skate laces, but hi there, Dacher!
It’s a complicated dance and also the first time Cole really notices how much in each other’s space they are all the time. This might be a bit harder than he'd initially thought.
Luckily, practice goes by faster than usual. Cole bumps into people a bunch of times, naturally, but Z specifically said no touching off the ice, so Cole figures it’s okay. It’s not like he can avoid his teammates during the game tomorrow, and the layers of gear provide a natural buffer anyway, so it barely even counts when Lane playfully checks him into the boards and Slaf spins him around with an arm around his shoulders after a beautifully executed passing drill that left Doby blinking at them owlishly with the puck already in the net.
He still relishes in it, though the feeling doesn’t last long. He goes through his cool-down routine quickly, takes the fastest shower of his life and sits in his car not even thirty minutes after practice ends. He’s barely spoken to anyone since they got off the ice, because jesus christ, Cole’s already clingy but his teammates might be worse.
And because he refuses to lose this bet at all, especially not on day one, Cole figures it’s easier to just keep his distance instead of fending off his teammate’s hugs and fist bumps. Even if it makes Jake raise his eyebrow at him and Nick look at him funny.
Cole feels a bit shitty about that, because it’s not like him to be cold towards his guys or - anyone, actually, that’s just not who he is. He just really wants to prove Z wrong.
So he puts on his sunglasses against the warm light of the already setting sun, starts the car and ignores the tightness in his chest as he pulls out of the parking lot.
The guys will forgive him, after. He can do six more days.
x
Cole sleeps like shit that night, taking forever to fall asleep and when he finally does, he wakes up again after what feels like fifteen minutes. A notification on his phone informs him it’s a full moon, so he blames it on that, even though he doesn’t even believe in that astrology crap. He feels restless in a way he rarely is before games, not exactly nervous, but tense, like he’s constantly bracing for something. He skips breakfast even though he knows he shouldn’t, then shovels down his pregame meal with sharp efficiency despite the queasiness in his stomach, because he’s not stupid. He’s got no desire to pass out on the ice just because he’s feeling a bit off.
His phone lights up with a message from Trevor while he picks through the remains of his pasta.
Z
how’s it going shorty
Cole
fantastic
Z
not going through withdrawal yet?
Cole
no??
lol stop acting like i’m fucking co-dependent
Z
just checking haha
Then Z sends him a link to an Instagram reel which Cole ignores. He’s feeling irritated for no real reason, but he doesn’t have to make that Trevor’s problem, though he does entertain the thought of asking him about Drysdale, knowing that’s a sensitive topic these days. He’s got no excuse for being an asshole though, so he sighs, dumps his plate in the sink, goes to lie down for his pregame nap and tries to catch up on some sleep he’s missed the night before.
He fails.
x
This whole thing is fucking up his pregame routine.
He can’t hang out with Nick and Kirby in the tubs like he usually does, so he just skips those altogether. He stretches longer instead, yet his muscles are still tight when he steps onto the ice and he takes it slow his first shift, earning himself a disapproving look from Marty.
Nick taps his helmet when they’re on the bench sometime during the second period, trying to get his attention. His hand lingers for a second and Cole tries not to lean into it. “Hey. All good?”
Nick looks mildly concerned, so Cole decides to get his shit together. “Sure,” he replies easily and grabs the iPad, rewinds the last minute and holds it out to Nick. “Hey man, that play was sick, we should try that again.”
So they do. He scores on it and he gets a pretty sweet assist on Carsy’s goal, but rather than being happy about getting two more points, he basks in the way the boys crowd around him during the celebrations. Nick’s beside him, because he always is, tucking Cole against his side. Slaf is screaming in his ear to his left, banging on Cole’s helmet so hard his head rattles around in it.
Cole loves it and for the rest of the game he feels as if nothing had been wrong at all, high on adrenaline and endorphins. They pull off the win, he hugs the fuck outta Monty and it’s only when Nick’s and Slaf’s arms leave his shoulders after their traditional celebration circle and he bumps gloves with Nick for their handshake that he remembers the bet.
But when he steps off the ice into the tunnel, still giddy with the rush of the win, it doesn’t feel like a big deal anymore. Five days, is it? Piece of cake.
x
It feels like a big deal at home.
Some of the guys went out to dinner after the game, but Cole refused to join them, which is apparently so out of character for him that it sparked actual concern.
(“You’re sure you don’t wanna come with?”
“Can’t. Uh, important phone call. With the fam.”
Nick presses his lips together in that way that he does, nodding softly.
“Okay. See you tomorrow, then.”
Cole salutes awkwardly and turns around towards his car, leaving Nick’s outstretched fist in the air.)
Now he’s sitting on his couch and hasn’t moved for the past thirty minutes, a late game playing on TV. Devils versus the Oilers, but Cole hasn’t paid attention at all, so he doesn’t even know how Jack’s been doing.
He feels weird.
He’s wrapped himself up in a blanket as tightly as he can, because he’s cold in that annoying, internal way you are when you’re developing a fever. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t have one though, and his thermometer proves him right. He pulls the blankets tighter.
He took another hot shower when he got home, as if he hadn’t already showered at the rink. It certainly didn’t help him get any warmer and it didn’t do anything to relieve his aching muscles either, which shouldn’t even be aching in the first place, at least not like this. Like he’s been checked into the boards multiple times, like he’s taken a bad hit.
Cole blinks when he hears the dial tone in his ear. When did he pick up his phone? Who’s he- he can’t call Z, not with the bet, he can’t call Nick or Slaf for the same reason, Jack’s literally playing right now, Cole can’t-
“Cole? You good man?” He knows that voice.
“Hey Dvo, what’s up,” Cole replies on autopilot and is proud of the way his voice sounds mostly steady. “Just, uh. Checking in.”
Dvo huffs out a laugh on the other end of the line. “Dude. It’s like, so late.”
“Yeah I know, sorry. I just- shit, actually, you’re playing tomorrow, right? I should let you sleep. Sorry, man.”
“Cole, seriously. You’re being weird. What is it.”
“I just miss you,” Cole blurts out and doesn’t even know why he says it, like this call isn’t already embarrassing enough. He fists his free hand in his blanket tightly until it hurts.
“Miss you too,” Dvo replies without missing a beat and Cole adores him for it. It eases the pressure behind his sternum and he breathes a bit lighter. “But look, buddy, you’re kinda scaring me a bit. Something happen tonight? Y’all won the game, right?”
Dvo sounds confused, maybe a bit nervous. “Where are you right now? Somebody with you? Nick?”
An odd surge of irritation flares up in Cole’s chest, like what, he needs a handler? Is that how people see him and his captain, like Cole needs fucking supervision?
The feeling dies as quickly as it came, though, because he’s exhausted and being angry costs energy he doesn’t have. Aside from the fact it’s an utterly unreasonable thing to be worked up about, anyways. Dvo’s just worried, Cole knows that. Hell, he would be too if a friend called him up like this.
“Nah, I’m at home. The guys are out. Listen, man, can you just, uhm. Talk to me. For a few minutes.” Cole squeezes his eyes shut, cringing at himself while waiting for the answer.
“Sure, bud,” Dvo replies easily and then starts telling him about the Russian words Mich has been teaching him, only to make fun of him for his terrible pronunciation.
Cole’s asleep within minutes.
x
They’re back for morning skate the next day and Nick has caught on.
Cole knows he has, because his best friend is already pretty observant on a good day, but it gets downright scary when he pulls the captain card.
It’s what makes Nick so good at his job, Cole supposes, how he always seems to be aware of how everybody’s doing at all times. Which is why he clocks it after barely fourty-eight hours, pulling Cole aside after practice with that look in his eyes that says hey, you might be my best friend, but right now I’m your captain and you need to tell me what’s up because you didn’t get a single puck into the net today and that’s like literally your job.
Nick’s eyes are very expressive.
They’ve just stepped off the ice, which sucks, because now Cole can’t even playfully bump Nick’s shoulder when he’s about to lie straight to his face. At least they’re still in full gear and that like, helps a bit, the layers creating the illusion of distance.
Nick gives him The Look. “Something’s up with you. Spill.”
Straight to the point, then. Cole shifts on his skates. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says, like he didn’t let Dvo talk him to sleep last night because he couldn’t handle being alone. He can so play this cool.
Nick’s brows furrow. “You didn’t score once during shootout drills, you missed passes left and right and you fell on your ass. Unprompted. Twice.”
Cole huffs, blowing out his cheeks. “Damn. Way to be harsh, Suz.”
Nick’s face softens a bit, eyes going all big and concerned and fuck, that should be illegal. Cole almost caves. “Come on, Cole. Hit me. What’s going on?”
Cole leans against the boards, casually, and also away from Nick, who has taken a small step towards him. It’s not like Trevor has spies or anything, like he wouldn’t actually know if he let Nick touch him, but Cole’s pride was always gonna be his downfall and apparently, that day will be today. He refuses to win this bet by cheating.
“All good man, just an off day. Promise. I’ll let ya know if that changes, though. Good talk!”
He leaves his captain standing by the boards and hurries down the hall as fast as he can on his stupid skates. They feel heavy on his feet, like lead, and he’s glad when he gets them off in the locker room, which sets more alarm bells off in his head.
He’s rarely happy to take off his skates, except maybe after a bad loss or an injury.
He needs to get a fucking grip.
x
It doesn’t get better during gym that afternoon.
If anything, it gets worse.
Cole’s quiet during his reps, too quiet. He knows it, and he knows that the others know, because he keeps getting looks from the guys, some confused, some suspicious, some concerned.
The concerned ones are the worst, because they mean people keep coming over to talk to him, and conversations with Cole rarely happen without casual touching, like a playful slap to the chest or a brief side hug when his laughter makes him throw himself at the other person. He’s aware he dug that grave himself and for the first time in his life Cole wishes he wasn’t so used to being in other people’s spaces all the time, because then it wouldn’t be so fucking obvious when he stopped.
Cole sets his dumbbells down, breathing heavily. He wipes sweat from his forehead with his shirt and looks up to see a white towel dangling in front of his face.
Suzy. Because of course.
“Thanks man,” Cole says, taking the towel from Nick carefully. He wipes his face again, still trying to catch his breath. Please don’t let Nick pick up the conversation from this morning, he prays internally, to God or whoever. Please just let him drop it.
Nick doesn’t mention this morning, but then he says “You wanna come over tonight? We can watch the Flyers game. Prepare for Saturday,” and that might be worse.
“Uhhhh,” Cole says eloquently. Nick raises an eyebrow.
“I can’t, actually,” is what he comes up with and then provides no further explanation. Nick huffs out a small laugh, but Cole can tell he’s confused. “Oookay? Any reason? Hey, if I’ve done anything you’d tell me, eh? You’re still being weird.”
Nick reaches out while he says it, like he wants to absentmindedly fix Cole’s shirt and Cole bends down to pick up his dumbbells so quickly he almost pulls something in his back. It leaves Nick’s hand hanging in the air awkwardly and Cole’s fucking nauseous just looking at it, because he wants.
He wants Nick’s hand on him so badly, anyone’s hand, actually, just a quick brush of skin on skin, to remind his body it still exists in this world, to anchor him to something real. Hell, Cole would be happy with a high five or a fist bump, anything to take away this jittery, unfamiliar anxiety that’s made itself at home in every fiber of his body, if only for a second.
“I just can’t tonight, Nick,” he says through pressed teeth, adjusting his grip on the dumbbells. Nick opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then presses his lips together and nods.
Cole watches him join Andy over on the bike and starts lifting his weights until his biceps burn with the strain.
He still feels sick to his stomach.
x
It’s day four of this bet and Cole is fucking miserable.
Like, physically. The mental part is exhausting, too, always being on the lookout to avoid casual pats and actively holding himself back from hugging the nearest teammate, which he usually does at least three times a day. But Cole wasn’t prepared for this stupid bet to have actual, physical effects - this heaviness in his bones, the way his skin feels stretched thin over his body, like it used to fit but doesn’t anymore. He went to bed with a headache and woke up feeling worse, the pressure behind his eyes building up with every passing hour.
He feels unsteady on his skates, too, which - okay, this is where he draws the line. He can play through discomfort, has done it more times than he can count, but when he steps onto the ice for the optional morning skate and it feels foreign under his blades, that’s when he starts panicking a bit.
Maybe there’s something else wrong with him. Maybe he’s getting sick - he never gets sick, actually, but maybe that’s the reason why he feels so off now. He was bound to catch some kind of virus someday, so it’s possibly just bad timing.
He tries to cough a bit, to see if it feels weird.
It doesn’t, but then Guhles skates by and looks at him funny. “You sick or what?” He stops in front of Cole, one arm stretched out to pull him close by the shoulder and Cole almost stumbles over his own feet trying to skate backwards. They’re on the ice, so technically the bet’s on pause, but Cole is on edge enough that he’s going to crack if he lets Kaiden get his hand on him.
So. Better safe than sorry.
He coughs again for good measure. “Nah, man,” he says, playing it up a little. “Just, like, feeling a little under the weather. I’m good to train though, just maybe stay away, you know? Don’t wanna spread anything by accident.” His own laugh sounds high and fake to his own ears and he hopes Kaiden won’t pick up on the tension it carries.
Kaiden furrows his brows and squints at him. “I don’t know. You’re kinda pale, bud. You got that checked by the trainers?”
“Don’t need to,” Cole shoots back, a bit sharper than intended. He swipes a puck from nearby with his stick and starts moving it around with quick movements, just to have something to do. It gives him an excuse to not look Kaiden in the eye. “I’m alright man, don’t worry.”
“Yeah, alright,” Kaiden replies, not entirely convinced. He gives Cole’s stick a quick tap with his own before skating away to join Arber and Slaf by the boards. Arber bumps him in the shoulder and says something that makes Kaiden laugh so hard he leans into Slaf, who catches him with a big grin on his face.
Cole fumbles his puck and aches all the way down to his very bones.
x
The crash happens later in the locker room, which. Great. Of course.
It’s not as busy as usual with the practice being optional - there’s only a handful of guys there, maybe half the team, because some players like Lane and Demi got forced to take a day off and honestly, Cole should’ve just done the fucking same.
It’s quieter this way, too quiet for Cole’s liking. The constant chatter from his teammates has been his only source of comfort these past few days, the familiar chirps and voices wrapping around him almost as good as a hug.
But only almost.
Cole’s already feeling weirdly untethered after practice and it gets worse with every piece of gear he removes, bits of comforting pressure on his body falling away until he feels loose and floaty in a disturbingly shaky way. His vision is all blurry around the edges, there’s a different kind of pressure building behind his eyes stabbing at his brain and when Jake and Newy start playfully roughing around, Cole has to swerve out of their way so abruptly he hits his shin on the bench.
That’s what does it.
He realises he’s trembling approximately one and a half seconds before Arber does. “Hey, pal, are you- woah, hey!”
Cole’s knees give out.
Not like, dramatically - he doesn’t actually fall, but his legs stop supporting him and he drops into a crouch, head in his hands. A commotion breaks out immediately, confused voices yelling all over each other, but the noise reaches Cole like he’s underwater. Arber hovers beside him, eyes wide. Cole instinctively twists away from his outstretched hand.
“Shit,” he hears Arber say, followed by a rush of words he can’t make out over the ringing in his ears. There’s someone on his other side, mumbling soft reassurances.
Nick. Who doesn’t try to touch him because he’s a good captain and he notices shit. Cole wants to throw up.
“Hey, you’re okay. Cole. I’m here, buddy, we’re all here, but I need you to tell me what’s wrong.” He sounds as calm as ever, just like Cole knows him to be and that settles him a bit. He still feels like he doesn’t quite fit in his body, but as awareness creeps back in, so does the embarrassment. “I don’t,” he starts. Stops. His brain feels like a rollercoaster and he can’t form a single clear thought, which scares the fuck out of him.
He never shuts up, so why can’t he talk now?
“Cole, seriously. You’ve been weird for the past few days. You think we haven’t noticed?” Arber’s voice is low and comforting in his ear from where he’s crouching next to Cole.
“You weren’t supposed to,” is what Cole finally gets out, voice quiet.
“You haven’t hugged any of us in days,” Slaf says bluntly from somewhere behind Cole, more perceptive than people give him credit for. Nick gives him a warning look, which he ignores. Of course. “Did we do something? Did something happen?” Slaf’s accent thickens a bit, the only thing betraying his unease. “It’s weird. Usually you’re like. Koala, you know?”
Cole huffs out a laugh which, to his horror, sounds wet. When he wipes at his face with his hand it comes away wet, too, and before he knows what’s happening, his already weak laugh turns into a desperate sob.
He can feel Nick sink to his knees beside him, only inches away now, voice firm. “Cole. Do we need a trainer.”
“No, what? No,” Cole shakes his head, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m not- I’m okay, I mean, I’m not sick or anything. Promise.” He stands up swiftly as if to prove it, pushing himself to his feet with his hands on his thighs.
He fucking sways then, catching himself on the edge of his stall.
Nick’s face goes deadly serious, tense all over, which is- terrifying, honestly. Something in Cole curls in on itself at the sight, like he wants to shrink away. He can’t handle people being mad at him on a good day, especially not his friends, and right now he’s as far away from a good day as it gets.
He watches Nick exchange a look with Arber, who looks equally serious. The locker room has gone quiet, everybody’s fucking waiting for something, looking at Cole, but he might as well be a thousand miles away at this moment.
Breathing gets harder. He still has one hand on the edge of his stall like it’s the only thing holding him upright. He just wants- he needs-
“You’re scaring us, man,” Jake chimes in quietly from somewhere across the room. A few of the others nod. “What do you need, buddy?”
Cole doesn’t know. He stands there like a fucking idiot, wondering how it’s possible to feel so alone in a room full of his boys. He has no energy left to say anything at all, and he isn’t fooling anyone anyway. Fuck this bet, honestly. Forget the coffee, let Trevor have bragging rights for as long as he wants, anything to stop him from feeling like this.
Cole shrugs helplessly. “Can someone just- please.” His voice breaks on the last word.
Then Arber’s big hand lands on his shoulder and he folds.
Just. Literally sags forward, forehead hitting Arber’s chest and the warmth of another body against him feels so good he wants to cry.
Arber’s arms go around him immediately, pulling him closer into a proper hug. It’s been a while since Cole became aware of how much bigger than him Arber actually is, but he’s reminded of it now; the defenseman’s chest beautifully broad and solid.
He can feel Arber speaking with somebody over his head in a low voice, but the words don’t register. Cole just focuses on breathing, in and out and in and out and it’s like his lungs haven’t experienced actual air in days and just now remembered how to function again.
He feels Arber hum, a deep rumble. A hand settles on the back of his neck and before Cole knows it, he’s getting handed off into another warm body. Slaf tucks Cole’s head beneath his chin and slips his thumb under the neck of Cole’s compression shirt, rubbing small circles into the skin.
Slaf’s still sweaty from practice, which should be disgusting, but Cole couldn’t fucking care less. He wraps his arms loosely around the younger’s waist and lets himself be held. Slaf chuckles. “You’re small.”
Cole’s answer is muffled by Slaf’s chest, voice rough. “I’m always small, Junior.”
“Today more.”
That draws a weak laugh out of Cole. Never has he been more glad to be short enough to fit into his teammates’ arms like this. “I missed you,” Slaf says then, uncharacteristically serious. Cole digs his fingers into Slaf’s waist and squeezes, a quiet apology.
Another hand lands on his side, spanning his ribcage, rubbing gently up and down a few times. With his other hand Kaiden hands him a water bottle and clears his throat. “Gotta hydrate, bud, come on.”
Cole blinks at him, slowly. “Thanks, Guhles.”
They don’t step away when Cole unscrews the bottle. Slaf releases him just enough for him to drink but keeps him close by his side. Kaiden’s hand slides up to rest on the tender place where his neck meets his shoulder. The water helps, blessedly cool, which clears his head a little bit. He doesn’t remember the last time he drank enough water.
The guys seem to notice him settling into himself a bit more, because they take turns approaching carefully. Nobody makes a big deal out of what just happened, no one’s teasing - they just come over, one by one like they do with their goalies after games, offering brief touches of comfort.
Gally grabs him by the neck and bumps their heads together. Kirby engulfs him in a big hug, squeezing tightly. Andy ruffles his hair and makes him laugh before pulling him in. Jake takes him by the back of his head and presses it into his neck, whispering lowly in his ear. Monty presses a gentle kiss to his hairline, giggling. Cole’s throat is so tight he fears he might choke on his feelings. Why would he ever, ever voluntarily miss out on this?
The locker room empties slowly. Cole sits down on the bench when his knees start to go weak, physically and mentally exhausted. Nick is right beside him, sitting close, thigh pressed against his. Slaf’s one of the last ones ready to leave, biting his lip and obviously hesitant.
Nick looks up at him. “I’ve got him, Slaf. See you later, eh?”
Slaf nods, nudges Cole’s knee with his own and lets himself be pulled out of the room by Arber and Kaiden.
The silence immediately settles over Cole like a bad memory. And then it’s like they’re on the ice, communicating blindly, because before Cole’s even fully realised what he’s experiencing, Nick’s already pulled him up from the bench and into his arms.
“You’re shaking,” Nick whispers quietly after a minute. Only then does Cole notice the chills racking through his body like he’s got a fever. He can’t control them, he can’t make them stop, so he just buries his face deeper in Nick’s neck. “Sorry,” he whispers back.
“You don’t have to be- wait, hold on.” Nick gently pushes Cole away a few inches and to his horror, Cole whimpers at the loss of contact. An embarrassing whine that has Nick looking at him with wide eyes, frozen in the motion of reaching back into his stall. “Sorry, fuck- sorry, shit, I’m so sorry,” Cole gasps, taking an unsteady step back, although that’s the last thing he wants to do. “I don’t- fuck, I don’t know why I feel like this.”
Nick pulls him back in without another word, wrapping himself around Cole. He’s holding him with just the right amount of tightness and as much as Cole loves all his way too big teammates, there’s just something about the way Nick’s the perfect height to fit his arms around Cole’s shoulders that he wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.
Nick squeezes lightly. “When’s the last time you’ve been held, buddy?”
Cole cringes into Nick’s chest, not liking the way it makes him sound like a toddler. “Why’d you phrase it like that.”
Nick chuckles, which sounds so good in his chest that Cole wants to bury himself in it. “Touch starvation’s a whole thing, you know. Like that actually exists. Why have you been avoiding us? We’re not stupid, we’ve noticed.”
Cole should probably keep his mouth shut and make up an excuse and like, not throw Trevor under the bus, but he crumbles embarrassingly fast. “Z bet me I couldn’t make it a week without touching any of you guys. Didn’t think it was that big a deal.”
Nick hums. Rubs his hands up and down Cole’s back as if to keep him warm and Cole’s genuinely not sure he can make it out of the locker room without dying, so he tells Nick that. Nick laughs.
“I mean it, Suz. It feels like, I don’t know. Like when you’re sick and miserable and everything hurts and then you take some meds and wait for them to kick in and when they do, there’s that sweet moment of relief, you know what I mean? Like when you realise your head’s clearing and you can breathe a bit better and your body doesn’t hurt as much. That’s what this feels like right now.”
It’s silent for a few seconds. Nick holds him tighter. Cole rests his forehead against Nick’s shoulder. “Wow. That was embarrassing.”
“It wasn’t,” Nick replies automatically, voice thick.
“Nah, it definitely was,” Cole mumbles into Nick’s shirt. “I should probably get that checked out, like, medically.”
Nick sighs, but Cole can hear the smile without seeing it. “Stop acting like it’s a disorder, Cole. It’s not. I just wish you hadn’t even agreed to this in the first place. Like, you’re one of the most physical guys I know, of course your body’s going haywire when you- here, let me get something. One sec, I swear I’ll be back.”
He pushes Cole away again, but this time he keeps a hand wrapped loosely around his wrist as he reaches back into his stall and pulls out his hoodie. Before Cole can protest he pulls the hoodie over Cole’s head, firmly enough that Cole has no choice but to slip his arms into the sleeves, which go past his fingertips.
“Uh. Thanks, Suz,” he mumbles, a bit choked up, so he looks at the floor to hide the embarrassed blush he can feel creeping up his cheeks. It feels good to wear his captain’s hoodie, better than it probably should, all warm and cozy like a constant hug. The shaking ceases slowly.
Nick pulls the hood up for him, tucking in his messy, sweaty curls. He pats the small fourteen on Cole’s chest, his hand lingering for a second, right over Cole’s heart.
“You’re coming over tonight,” Nick tells him and it’s not a question this time. “And you’re staying. Some of the others are coming over later, too. Slaf’s stopping by your place and getting some of your things.”
Cole sniffles and nods, almost tearing up. Again. This needs to stop.
Someone’s packed their bags - Arber, probably - so they’re good to go. Nick hands him his, then immediately puts his arm back around Cole’s shoulder, pulling him close on their way out. The edge of Cole’s mouth ticks up into a soft smile. “You don’t have to do that, you know. I mean, I’m. It’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay, like, ten minutes ago, but Cole doesn’t want to make this a bigger deal than it already is.
“I know,” Nick replies and then doesn’t say anything else. Cole loves him for it.
Nick keeps a hand on him the entire way to his apartment, and if Cole spends the entire evening on Nick’s couch watching movies with the guys, tucked against someone’s side at all times, then that’s something Trevor doesn’t need to know.
(“So this was Zegras’ brilliant idea?”
“Not his fault, Arbs. I coulda said no.”
“Mhh.”
“Don’t be rude to him on Saturday. And don’t be, like, unnecessarily physical either.”
“No promises.”)