Work Text:
One
The heating unit under the window rattles like it’s trying to tear itself apart, squealing and groaning in protest. It does a terrible job of warming the room. The Sharks are in some old-school hotel with thin walls that's drafty as hell. Someone on their logistics team clearly dropped the ball on this booking.
Will leans back against the headboard. He’s got his iPad propped up on his lap and beside him, Mack is shivering and shrinking into himself.
"I can see my breath," Mack mutters, rubbing his hands together. He's wearing a Sharks hoodie, but it’s not enough.
"It’s not that bad."
Mack snorts, pulling his knees to his chest, burrowing deeper into the thin covers. "I’m going to freeze to death," he mutters. "This is inhumane."
Will sighs, annoyed but resigned. He pauses the movie, lifts the edge of the duvet on his left side, and looks at Mack.
"Get closer then."
He’s not sure if Mack will scoot any closer but he offers anyway. To his surprise, Mack doesn’t argue or crack any jokes about personal space. He shifts across the sheets, closing the gap between them until his shoulder presses firmly into Will’s ribs.
"Better?" Will asks, dropping the duvet that pools around them both.
"Better," Mack mumbles, leaning his head against Will’s shoulder. His damp hair from the shower soaks through Will’s T-shirt, making his skin tingle. That part annoys Will at first but then his focus shifts to the way Mack’s weight feels against him. It’s solid and warm, and impossibly close.
Will is conscious of every point where they’re touching. The heaviness of Mack’s head, the gentle curve of his hip pressing into Will’s thigh and the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his breath.
Mack shifts again, this time he stretches his arm across Will’s stomach, like it’s a normal thing to do in a platonic relationship. Will feels a jolt of panic and his heart pounds so loud, he’s sure Mack can hear it.
He convinces himself this is normal. Anyone would have done this for their friend if they were trembling with cold. And it’s expected that they would squeeze in as tight as they can to maintain body warmth.
Will’s hand hovers next to his head. He is paralyzed by indecision. If he rests it on the headboard, it would feel too removed and isolated and if he places it behind his head, it will surely go numb from lack of proper circulation.
Finally (and very hesitantly), he lowers his arm, draping it around Mack’s shoulders and pulls him in closer to seal the gap between them.
He closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling the scent of cheap hotel shampoo and Mack's deodorant. He feels the steady thump of Mack’s heart against his side, matching his own rhythm, and a strange sense of calm washes over him, drowning out the panic.
Then Mack stirs. He tilts his head back, looking up from the hollow of Will’s throat, and their faces are inches apart. Will dares to glance downward, and they lock eyes. In the glow of the iPad, Mack’s eyes are dark, wide, searching. His breath brushes over Will’s chin. His lips are moving but Will doesn’t catch the words.
They’ve never been this close. Not in the locker room, on the ice, not even in their late-night talks. The little air between them feels electric, like it’s charged with something terrifying and new, trembling on the edge of what could change everything.
Will doesn’t miss the blush that creeps up on Mack’s face. He is certain he’s got his own to match.
"Hmm?" Will hums softly, voice barely more than a whisper. His nerves are fraying, his chest tight with a strange feeling that he’s terrified to acknowledge.
"I was just saying thanks," Mack whispers, voice trembling just a little.
“Sure.” Will breathes out, forcing a smirk, though his pulse is pounding loud enough to drown out the world. "Just don’t drool on me."
Mack huffs a quiet laugh, tucking his face back into Will’s shoulder.
Will redirects his gaze to the screen, but his mind is blank. All he can focus on is the boy tucked under his arm and the painful and thrilling realization that he likes this. And not in a platonic way.
***
Two
The ice is deserted except for Will and Mack. The arena echoes with their bursts of laughter, and low grunts of exertion.
Will has the puck, teasing Mack with it—dangling it just out of reach, pulling it back when Mack lunges forward for it.
"Will!"
Will laughs, a sharp, reckless sound, and repeats the game, taunting him harder. Mack’s hand snaps out again. Again, he misses and catches nothing but air. The frustration boils beneath his skin, but he doesn't stop. He launches himself forward and attacks, grabbing Will around the waist.
They stumble and nearly fall, but Will’s balance holds, sending them into a wild spin. The momentum carries them into a corner where their bodies press against the glass.
Will’s laugh rumbles low and breathless, a triumphant edge to it, like he already knows he's won this round.
Then, suddenly, Mack’s back hits the boards with a dull thud. Will’s hands are firm on his shoulders, pinning him there. His gloves press into Mack’s shoulder, heavy and sure. He leans in, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, a grin splitting his face with confidence.
"Nice try," Will murmurs. "But not good enough."
"Got you moving, didn’t I?" Mack retorts, voice strained but daring. He pushes against Will’s chest, trying to shove him away, but Will doesn’t budge. Instead, he leans closer, their faces inches apart as the cold air thickens with unspoken tension.
Will’s eyes flash, his face flushed from exertion and cold. His gaze flicks between Mack’s eyes before dropping to his mouth, lingering there—challenging him. Mack’s stomach drops. He reads the thought loud and clear, and it steals the breath from his lungs.
Desperate to regain control of the situation, Mack shoves Will hard enough to break the contact and skate away. Will stumbles back, surprise flickering across his face. Mack circles the net, trying to steady his pounding heart and the cold air burning in his lungs. He feels Will’s eyes on his back, heavy and relentless.
They skate in silence though no longer the easy quiet of practice, but a charged, trembling stillness. It’s the silence of two people who’ve crossed a line, blurring the boundaries of friendship and something more. Neither knows exactly when it happened, only that it resonated simultaneously in them both.
***
Three
The charter plane hums steadily, the engine’s low vibration buzzing through the cabin. Most of the guys are asleep. Will sits in the aisle seat beside Mack, who has the window. He tries to focus on his tablet, but the words blur, his attention sliding away.
He glances over to find Mack absorbed in his phone.
“What are you watching?” Will asks, keeping his voice low.
Mack flinches, caught off guard. He angles the screen away instinctively. "Nothing. Just... scrolling."
"Pretty sure I just saw us on your screen." Will reaches over and snags the phone from Mack’s grip before he can pull away.
"No—don't, it's stupid—" Mack hisses, lunging to grab it back.
Will holds the phone up, watching the video play. It starts as a standard TikTok montage—a highlight reel of recent practices and games. But the quick cuts of passes and goals soon slow down, shifting into something softer: Mack wrapping his arms around Will after a score, an interview clip where they stand shoulder-to-shoulder.
The final segment is edited to look romantic. The frame tightens on their faces, and on screen, they turn toward each other. Will watches himself cup Mack’s face, lean in, and kiss him. The kiss lingers, breaking apart only to dive back in for more.
Will doesn’t turn it off. He watches the clip loop again, then again, squinting at the screen. His heart hammers against his ribs, an unexpected rush of heat flooding his veins.
Beside him, Mack is rigid. The mortification rolling off him is palpable. He knows exactly what Will is seeing, and he’s bracing for the inevitable freak-out.
Will finally looks over, but Mack has shut down, staring out the window in a desperate attempt to hide the burning flush on his face. Will nudges him with a knee. Mack turns, eyes wide with a mix of embarrassment and something else—something he’s terrified to admit.
Will tilts his head, a smirk curling at his lips. “I hope you kiss better than your AI,” he murmurs, his voice low enough to feel like a dare.
Mack lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, that was... that was awkward. It kept going for your nose.”
“I’ve got a cute nose.” Will shrugs, his gaze lingering for a beat too long.
Mack nods, turning his head forward, but the lightheartedness is a fragile mask. He waits for the panic to return, for the fear of being found out to crush him, but instead, a different sensation rises in his chest of a desperate, clawing want. He wants to know if the real thing feels as heavy and dangerous as the tension hanging between them right now.
He squeezes his eyes shut, his pulse hammering against his ribs. How did it get to this?
“Send that to me.” Will says.
Mack stares at him, mouth slightly agape, his brain completely stalling out. The request is so unexpected, so brazen, that for a long moment, he forgets how to breathe.
***
Four
The high of the 6-1 win over Winnipeg still pulses in Mack’s veins, a fierce adrenaline mingling with the raw, electric thrill of the record he just set. His fingers tremble slightly as they grip the puck resting in his lap—scuffed, battered, but sacred. It’s more than rubber and stitches; it’s 115 points, a Sharks franchise record burned into history. Tonight, it feels like he’s etched his name into something eternal.
Will’s car rolls to a smooth stop in front of Jumbo’s house. The street is silent, the porch light cutting a solitary, faint glow against the dark.
Mack finally breaks the quiet, his voice low and rough. "Hey," he says, turning to Will. "Thanks for dinner."
Will shrugs, one wrist draped lazily over the steering wheel. "Don’t mention it."
Mack nods, his grip tightening around the puck until the ridges bite into his palm. “And for this.”
“Of course." Will’s smile is easy, warm, but his gaze is heavy, fixed entirely on Mack.
Mack forces a breath, trying to steady his thundering heart. This is it. The season is over, the limbo is done, and the dangerous, charged space they’ve been living in is finally about to snap.
High off his new legend status, he decides to make his first move.
He leans across the center console and is aiming for the corner of Will’s mouth when Will moves in sync, lunging forward and pulling Mack into a hearty, one-armed congratulatory squeeze.
The romantic tension shatters instantly.
Mack’s face buries into the collar of Will’s jacket. He freezes, arms pinned awkwardly at his sides, inhaling the scent of cedar and sweat while his heart plummets straight through the floorboards.
Will pulls back, keeping his hands on Mack’s shoulders to give him a firm, friendly shake. "Proud of you, man. Seriously."
Mack stares back, face burning so hot he feels like he might spontaneously combust. He had been seconds away from crossing a line, and Will had just erased it entirely.
"Right," Mack manages, his voice sounding strangled to his own ears. He searches Will’s face, desperate for a crack in the obliviousness, a flicker of something more. "Will, I..."
The confession sits on his tongue, heavy and jagged. I was going in for a kiss.
But the words catch in his throat, suffocated by the casual warmth in Will’s eyes.
"...thanks again for the puck," he finishes lamely, the trophy feeling like a dead weight in his hand.
Will’s grin doesn’t waver, completely unaware of the devastation he just caused. "No problem. Text me when you touch down in Boston. We'll link up."
"Yeah. Sounds good." Mack fumbles blindly for the door handle, desperate to escape the sudden suffocation of the car. "Goodnight, Smitty."
"Night, Mack."
Mack climbs out, shutting the door with a heavy thud and every step feeling heavy with the weight of a missed chance.
"Mack."
The voice stops him cold.
He turns. Will has rolled down the passenger window, leaning over the empty seat. Even in the dim light, his eyes are searching, burning with a quiet intensity that makes Mack’s breath hitch.
Mack walks back, bending down to the window. "Yeah?"
Will looks at him, lips parted as if the words are right there, teetering on the edge. He hesitates, his gaze dropping to Mack’s mouth for a split second before darting away. A frown creases his forehead, frustrated at himself.
"Just... wanted to say congrats on a great season," Will finally manages, though the words sound hollow, like a cover for something else. "We’ll kill it next year."
Mack’s chest tightens, a cruel mix of warmth and ache. He forces a tight smile, the bitter disappointment settling like a stone in his stomach. They lock eyes. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, neither willing to be the first to break away.
And then, with a shaky breath, Mack decides to risk it one last time.
"You, uh..." Mack stammers, his voice cracking. "You wanna come inside?"
The question hangs in the air, vulnerable and bare. Will’s gaze snaps back to his, piercing blue and wide open. For a second, Mack is certain he’s going to say yes.
"I do," Will admits softly, his voice barely a whisper. "But I shouldn’t. It’s 2 AM, and I still gotta pack."
Mack nods, the rejection pressing down on him, heavier than the exhaustion. He raps his knuckles lightly on the open window frame, desperate to retreat before he does something stupid like beg. "Drive safe, Smitty."
"Goodnight, Mack."
Will shifts into drive. Mack steps back onto the curb, watching the taillights glow red as the car disappears into the night, leaving him alone with a hollow ache pounding in his chest.
As the engine fades into the dark, Mack’s mind races. He feels the phantom shimmer of what could have been, standing on the edge of everything unspoken, with no one to hear it.
***
Five
The hike up to Quarry Rock is steeper than Will expected. The dense forest smells of pine and damp earth, the cool air brushing against the sweat on his neck, heightening every sensation.
Mack is a few paces ahead, wearing shorts and a backwards cap, moving with an effortless confidence that makes Will acutely aware of his own labored breathing. Mack stops at a switchback, turning back with a grin that’s equal parts teasing and triumphant.
"You good back there?" Mack calls out.
Will wipes his forehead, breathing harder than he’d like to admit. "Pacing myself," he mutters. "And I don’t do this every day, so don't judge the pace."
"Fair point," Mack chuckles. "We’re fixing that this summer."
They finally reach the wooden lookout, and Mack wasn’t exaggerating. The view is arresting. The ocean sprawls endlessly, shimmering under the late afternoon sun, the jagged mountains rising green and wild in the distance. It’s quiet here, peaceful.
They find a secluded spot on the rocks, away from a couple taking selfies. Will sinks down heavily, taking a long drink from his water bottle. Mack settles beside him, close enough that Will can feel the heat radiating off his skin.
They stare out at the water, the silence stretching between them. It’s been weeks since they last saw each other. Will is in Vancouver now, and they have only three days of leisure before training camp kicks off.
"It’s beautiful here," Will says softly.
"Best view in the city," Mack agrees, his voice low, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Will turns his head, studying Mack’s profile. He looks different—summer tan darkening his skin, stubble shadowing his jaw, and his hair longer, bleached by the sun.
"You look good," Will says, his voice rougher than intended.
Mack turns, meeting his gaze with an intensity that makes Will’s pulse stutter. “So do you,” Mack replies.
A beat of silence passes. Will looks away, his throat tight.
"I hate it when we're apart," Will admits, almost to himself. He pauses, then adds, "I really miss this. Just... hanging out with you."
Mack doesn’t answer immediately. The air between them grows heavy, charged. Will can feel Mack’s eyes boring into the side of his face, but he’s too afraid to turn and meet it. Finally, the silence becomes unbearable.
Will glances over.
Mack is staring at him, unblinking, his expression unreadable but intense. The seconds drag on, thick and suffocating.
Will lets out a short, nervous chuckle, the sound vibrating in his chest. "What?"
Mack shrugs and Will doesn’t look away. He shifts, leaning back on his hands. His right hand accidentally brushes against Mack’s.
Will freezes. He waits for Mack to pull away but Mack doesn’t move.
Their hands rest against each other on the warm rock. A jolt surges through Will, low and hot, settling deep in his gut.
Slowly, Mack’s pinky finger moves, curling around Will’s. The grip is tight, a silent anchor to steady the turbulent tension in the air.
Will looks down at their intertwined fingers, then back up into Mack’s eyes. Mack’s lips are parted, his chest rising and falling too fast. He looks terrified, but he doesn’t retreat. His mouth opens, struggling to form the words.
"Will..." Mack breathes, his voice cracking.
"Yeah," Will cuts him off, his voice rough and sure. "I want it too."
The admission breaks the dam. Will leans in, closing the distance.
The kiss isn't perfect. It’s clumsy at first—their noses bump slightly, and the angle is awkward. But then Mack sighs against his mouth, a soft, broken sound, and everything clicks. Will feels the tentative pressure of Mack’s lips, tasting salt and chapstick. It’s gentle, probing, a question asked and answered in the same breath.
Then the hesitation breaks.
Will deepens the kiss, his hand coming up to grip the front of Mack’s shirt. The world around them falls away—the distant cry of seagulls, the whisper of the wind—everything reduced to the heat of Mack’s mouth and the dizzying reality that this is actually happening.
Mack makes a low noise in the back of his throat, his fingers tightening on Will’s neck, pulling him closer. It turns hungry, reckless, fueled by months of stolen glances and words unspoken.
Will pulls back suddenly, his breath ragged. He keeps his eyes closed for a moment, his forehead resting against Mack’s. When he finally opens them, his gaze is dark, wild.
He bites his lower lip, shaking his head slightly as if he can’t quite believe it. A strained, breathless laugh escapes him.
"Fuck," Will whispers, the word raw and heavy against Mack’s lips.
"Yeah," Mack breathes back.
Will pulls back just an inch. His hand slides from Mack’s jaw to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. "This is so much better than I imagined it.”
“Way better,” Mack agrees, his voice rough.
Will lets out a shaky laugh. "You have no idea how long I've been thinking about this."
"Tell me."
"Since that road trip to Boston," Will admits quietly. "When you fell asleep on my shoulder."
"Mmhmm." Mack hums, his eyes searching Will's. "Same for me."
"Then we have a lot of lost time to make up for."
Mack doesn’t waste a second more. He surges forward, capturing Will’s mouth with a groan, and this time, there is no hesitation or testing the waters. Just two people finally letting go.