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Ivar flies down the ice as fast as he can, trying, and trying, and failing to make it work. The seconds tick down, and he knows—for fuck’s sake, he knows there’s no point trying this hard with ten seconds remaining on the clock, but goddamn it, he still tries.
And when the buzzer sounds throughout the arena, Ivar doesn’t know what to do—he doesn’t know where to stand or what to say.
Viggo stands by the boards in front of the bench, and Ivar can tell he has tears in his eyes. So he skates over, trying his best to keep his composure for Viggo, and he cracks a smile for him.
“It’s okay, Vig. You played well. You were amazing,” Ivar says before pulling Viggo into a hug.
Viggo nods. He’s stiff against Ivar’s chest, and Ivar wants to tell him to just let it go—that he’s right there—but he doesn’t. Instead, he guides him all the way over to the rest of the team, who are all giving goalie taps to Magnus.
As they do, Ivar’s eyes immediately search for Jack. He knows he shouldn’t—they haven’t talked in days—but if he can just meet his eyes once after this absolute disaster of a game against Switzerland, maybe it’ll do him some good. Because now this is it. A done deal. They’re out of the tournament for good.
Sadly, Ivar never meets Jack’s gaze, despite Jack skating past him and tapping his hand against Ivar’s glove in silent acknowledgment. So Ivar just swallows down his disappointment and gives Magnus his goalie taps right after Viggo does, before the three of them skate over to the line to wait for the awards ceremony and the anthem so they can finally get off the ice and leave.
On the line, Ivar settles in between Lucas and Emil after making sure Viggo stands on Emil’s other side. Then he takes off his helmet and drops it at his feet while they wait for the man of the game awards to be announced for each team.
The Swedish player gets announced first, and Lucas skates over to retrieve his award while Ivar and the rest of their teammates tap their sticks against the ice. Then the Swiss player gets announced. After that, the awards for the three best players of the tournament on the losing team are called out, and Lucas skates back over to retrieve his second award. As he does, Ivar and Viggo’s names get called too.
So Ivar moves slowly, skating away from the line. He glances behind himself once to make sure Viggo is following before eventually stopping beside the award handler with Lucas on his right.
Ivar takes his trophy with a tight smile and a stiff nod before taking a small step away so the award handler can stand between him and Viggo for pictures.
Once that’s done, Ivar, Lucas, and Viggo all hand their trophies off to the staff before skating back toward the line. And as Ivar does, he finally meets Jack’s stoic face—but Jack’s eyes betray him as he stands stiffly next to Anton, who wears the exact same expression.
The rest of the ceremony happens in a blur.
Ivar only remembers picking up his helmet and stick, shaking hands with the Swiss players before finally skating off the ice and heading toward their locker room. On the way there, he, Jack, and Viggo get stopped for interviews by different channels, and so they comply—voices light and eyes empty.
Back in the locker room, Jack brushes past Ivar, and for a second Ivar almost reaches out to stop him so they can talk. But judging by how stiff Jack looks as he moves around the room, Ivar knows better than to say anything.
Jack is balancing on a tightrope, and Ivar knows Jack wouldn’t snap at anyone else but him or Anton. And Ivar really doesn’t have the heart to have his ex-captain from juniors—and boyfriend—snap at him after a loss like this.
So instead, he waddles over to his stall and starts undressing, half-listening to what’s being said around him. Even once he steps into the showers to clean himself off, he still zones out—letting the hot water run over him until he can barely feel his skin anymore.
After a while, Ivar walks out of the showers and dries himself off before changing back into his game-day outfit. Then he grabs the rest of his things before following his teammates out of the locker room and out of the arena toward their bus, where they all climb in silently.
Usually, Ivar would make a beeline for Jack, but he doesn’t. Instead, he nudges Viggo and tells him to go sit with Jack while he goes to sit with Anton.
Viggo hesitates, but eventually complies, so Ivar walks over and sits right next to Anton in the row opposite Jack and Viggo’s.
Anton only looks at him tiredly, and Ivar looks back before sitting down. Then he scoots closer to Anton, and Anton lends him his shoulder so Ivar can lean against him while they wait for the rest of the bus to fill with their teammates.
Once everyone’s on board, the bus finally pulls away from the curb and starts driving them back to the hotel.
And during the whole ride, Ivar continues to zone out—his eyes blinking slowly as he forces himself not to look over at Jack in the row beside his.
When the bus finally pulls up to the hotel, they all climb off in near-total silence.
No one really looks at each other. A few guys murmur quiet goodnights to the staff, others keep their heads down as they walk through the lobby with dragging steps and exhausted faces. The loss hangs over all of them like something heavy and suffocating, and Ivar can practically feel it pressing against the back of his neck as he steps inside the warmth of the hotel.
He waits near one of the couches for Viggo, watching his teammate slowly trail in behind the rest of them before finally stopping in front of him.
“We’re grabbing dinner together, okay?” Ivar tells him quietly.
Viggo nods faintly, though he still looks completely wrung out from the game. Then, after a second, he asks, “Anton and Jack too?”
Ivar shrugs one shoulder because he honestly can’t confirm anything.
“I hope Anton comes,” he says after a moment. “As for Jack…” He trails off before exhaling quietly through his nose. “I don’t know.”
Because Jack hadn’t even looked at him properly all evening, and Ivar genuinely has no idea whether his boyfriend plans on hiding in their room all night or actually showing up to eat with the team.
After a moment, Ivar reaches over and ruffles Viggo’s hair lightly, earning a tired little glare in return before the two of them eventually head toward the elevators.
Once they reach their floor, they separate in the hallway without much more being said. Viggo walks toward the room he shares with Anton while Ivar turns toward the room he shares with Jack.
Anton and Jack hadn’t lingered downstairs after getting off the bus—they’d gone straight upstairs—so Ivar is practically certain Jack is already inside.
And honestly, the thought alone exhausts him.
With a sigh, he unlocks the door and steps inside before toeing off his shoes near the entrance.
At first, he only hears Jack’s voice.
Half-sobbing and half-laughing.
The sound makes Ivar frown faintly before he walks farther into the room, following the noise until he finally sees him.
Jack is standing shirtless beside his bed, phone propped up in his hand as he talks on FaceTime with someone Ivar immediately recognizes as Victor Eklund from the sound of his voice alone.
“I’m sorry Vic,” Jack chokes out again, swiping aggressively beneath one eye. “I’m fucking sorry, okay? I tried—”
“Jack, stop apologizing,” Victor says firmly through the speaker. “Seriously. You did everything you could.”
“I should’ve scored.”
“You tried.”
“No, I should’ve—”
“Jack.”
Jack lets out this awful broken laugh afterward, the kind that sounds more like crying than anything else, and something hot and bitter immediately twists inside Ivar’s stomach.
Because he is Jack’s boyfriend.
Not Victor.
Yet Jack won’t even look at him properly anymore, won’t talk to him, won’t touch him—but he’ll stand there crying to his fucking ex-boyfriend after one of the worst losses of their careers.
The jealousy that twists through Ivar feels hot and ugly and humiliating all at once.
He stands there silently behind Jack for a moment before his eyes eventually catch on the angry red marks trailing along the back of Jack’s neck, almost like claw marks.
Immediately, Ivar knows they’re from the game.
Jack didn’t have them the night before when they’d gone to sleep, and he definitely hadn’t had them in the locker room before puck drop.
So before he can really stop himself, Ivar speaks. “You need to get those treated.”
Jack goes quiet mid-conversation.
For half a second, the room becomes completely silent before Jack slowly turns around to look at him.
And fuck.
The rims of Jack’s eyes are bright red. His cheeks are blotchy from crying too. But Ivar doesn’t point it out. If Jack doesn’t want to talk to him, then Ivar refuses to chase after him anymore. He’s too exhausted for that now.
Jack blinks once before quietly mumbling toward his phone, “I’ll call you later.”
Victor hesitates. “Jack—”
“I’ll call you later.”
A beat passes before the call disconnects. And the second the call ends, Jack stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweats before rubbing harshly at his face.
“Just leave me alone,” he mutters tiredly. “I’m not in the mood right now.”
And maybe on another day Ivar would’ve backed off. Maybe he would’ve swallowed his own feelings down and let Jack cool off first. But tonight he’s exhausted too. Angry too. Hurt too.
“I’m not in the mood either,” Ivar shoots back immediately. “I’m literally just telling you to get your fucking marks treated. I’m not asking you to sit down so I can do it myself.”
Jack scoffs softly at that, and just like it always does after bad games, the tension between them spikes almost instantly.
“You always have to make shit worse,” Jack mutters.
Ivar laughs bitterly.
“Oh, I’m making things worse?” he asks sharply. “You’re in here crying to Veky like you’re still together.”
Jack’s expression hardens immediately.
“You’re fucking delusional.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” Jack snaps back. “You make up shit about me and Victor all the time because you’re insecure.”
The word hits like a slap.
And from there, everything spirals.
Their voices rise higher and higher as they stand practically chest to chest in the middle of the room, exhaustion and grief and anger bleeding into every word they throw at each other.
“You don’t even fucking talk to me anymore!” Ivar yells.
“Because every conversation turns into this!”
“Then maybe stop acting like Victor matters more than your own boyfriend!”
Jack lets out a harsh laugh at that, eyes sharp and exhausted all at once.
“You hear yourself right now?” Jack snaps, throwing his hands up. "He's my friend!."
And somehow that only makes Ivar angrier.
Because maybe he does sound insane, but at least he’s trying to fight for whatever the hell they still are.
Eventually, after several more minutes of silence, Ivar finally spits out, "Bullshit."
“You’re unbelievable.” Jack says, voice full of disbelief.
“And you have no shame.”
Jack steps closer then, eyes blazing despite the tears still lingering there. “At least Victor actually knows how to be there for me when things go to shit.”
The second the words leave his mouth, silence crashes between them. Heavy and sharp. Because Jack clearly realizes too late what he just said, but by then it’s already done.
Ivar feels it like a punch directly to the chest. Something furious and wounded immediately flashes across his face before he laughs under his breath again. That laugh is somehow worse than yelling.
“Right,” he says venomously. “Then maybe you should go fuck him instead.”
Jack’s expression twists. “Oh fuck you.”
“No,” Ivar fires back instantly, voice rising now. “You know what? You go fuck yourself, Jack. And stay the fuck alone while you’re at it.”
Then before Jack can respond again, Ivar turns and walks straight out of the room. The door slams behind him hard enough to rattle the walls, but Ivar couldn't care less about it.
The hallway feels cold against his overheated skin as soon as the door slams shut behind him. And for a second he just stands there breathing hard before eventually pulling his phone out and texting Viggo that he’ll meet him downstairs in the dining hall.
After that, he heads for the elevators again.
By the time he reaches the dining hall, a decent amount of the team is already there scattered around different tables, though the atmosphere is still quieter than usual.
Ivar grabs a plate and starts serving himself food mechanically, barely paying attention to what he’s putting on it before eventually finding an empty table toward the corner of the room. Then he sits down and waits.
Anton and Viggo join him a few minutes later. And Jack follows shortly after, but Ivar pointedly does not look at him. Instead, he keeps eating while talking quietly with Anton and Viggo about practically anything else—bad refereeing calls during the tournament, flights back home, Magnus making impossible saves earlier in the game.
Anything except Jack. Anything except the fact that he can still feel Jack sitting only a few feet away from him.
Halfway through dinner, Anton finally seems to reach his limit.
After Ivar rolls his eyes at something Jack mutters under his breath for what feels like the hundredth time, Anton lets out a long sigh before setting his cutlery down against his plate with a soft clink.
Then he looks between the two of them. “Did you two argue again?”
Jack immediately tenses across the table. “We didn’t argue,” he says through gritted teeth.
And maybe Ivar should’ve let it go.
Maybe he should’ve swallowed his frustration down the way he usually does after losses and let the night pass quietly.
But he’s tired. So fucking tired.
“Yes, we did,” Ivar says flatly before taking another bite of food like the words don’t matter. “And honestly? I couldn’t care less about anything that has to do with Jack anymore.”
The second the sentence leaves his mouth, silence settles heavily around the table.
And finally—Ivar looks at Jack properly.
Jack’s jaw is locked so tightly Ivar can see the muscle ticking beneath his skin. For a moment, it almost looks like he’s going to say something back, something sharp and angry and cruel enough to cut Ivar open.
But then suddenly his expression changes. His jaw loosens and he just… nods faintly. Like none of it matters anymore. Like they don’t matter anymore. Like their relationship means absolutely nothing to him now.
Then Jack looks over toward Anton and says quietly, “Yeah. We argued.”
And somehow that hurts more than if he’d yelled.
Ivar lets out a sharp, humorless laugh that makes Viggo visibly flinch beside him. The sound tastes bitter in his own mouth.
Without another word, he pushes his chair back and stands up, grabbing his plate tightly enough that his fingers ache around the edges. Then he looks Jack directly in the eyes. And this time, he doesn’t look away.
“Maybe we should stop trying so hard to keep this relationship alive,” Ivar says bluntly. “Because it’s clearly not working.”
Anton immediately straightens in his chair. “Ivar—”
“No, seriously,” Ivar cuts in tiredly. “We keep being awful to each other. Jack keeps being awful to me for whatever fucking reason, and I really can’t do this anymore.”
As soon as the words leave his mouth, Ivar sees realization hit Jack square in the face. It’s subtle. But it’s there and his expression flickers almost imperceptibly, eyes widening just slightly before something pained settles over his features.
And honestly? Ivar doesn’t even have the energy to feel guilty about it anymore. He’s exhausted.
Exhausted from the constant tension, from the silence, from the jealousy and the anger and the way they keep hurting each other over and over again like they don’t know how to stop.
Anton immediately shakes his head. “You don’t mean that,” he says firmly. “You’re both upset right now over the loss and everything. You’ll get over whatever issue this is.”
But Ivar just shakes his head slowly before shrugging one shoulder. “I wish you’d get over that idea,” he says quietly. “Because I can’t.”
Anton opens his mouth again, but Ivar keeps talking before he can interrupt.
“When Jack loses, he freezes me out completely and acts like we’re strangers for days,” he says, voice rougher now. “And when I lose, I take it out on him.”
He laughs bitterly under his breath.
“That just doesn’t work.”
Beside him, Viggo shakes his head violently.
And when Ivar finally looks down at him, his heart clenches painfully at the sight of tears gathering in Viggo’s eyes.
Because Viggo knows.
He knows exactly how much Jack means to Ivar. Knows how hopelessly in love Ivar is with him despite everything. And maybe that’s what makes this hurt so badly, because love is supposed to make things softer somehow. Kinder. But lately, all they do is hurt each other.
So with a small apologetic smile, Ivar looks between Anton and Viggo. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly.
Then he turns away before either of them can stop him.
He clears his plate quickly before walking out of the dining hall altogether, his chest tight enough that breathing almost hurts.
Behind him, he vaguely hears Anton snap sharply, “For fuck’s sake, Jack, go after him.”
Silence.
Then Anton again, louder this time.
“Stop being such a fucking coward. You’re ruining your relationship.”
After that, Ivar keeps walking. And truthfully, he doesn’t want to hear the rest anyway.
The hallway outside the dining hall feels almost eerily quiet compared to the suffocating tension he’d just left behind.
Ivar walks quickly toward the elevators with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, staring blankly at the patterned carpet beneath his feet while exhaustion drags heavily at every inch of him.
By the time the elevator doors open on his floor, he feels hollowed out completely.
He walks down the hallway toward his room before unlocking the door and stepping back inside.
The room is dark and quiet.
Ivar immediately turns the main light on then walks toward the suitcases laying open near the foot of the beds. His and Jack’s things are still mixed together in places, hoodies overlapping, chargers tangled together, socks shoved into the wrong sides.
The sight makes his throat tighten painfully.
He crouches down and grabs his pajama pants along with the old Flyers t-shirt Jack had bought him after they’d visited Philadelphia together when Jack was drafted.
And for a few seconds, Ivar just stands there staring at it. Memories hit him all at once. Jack grinning at him outside the arena. Jack forcing the shirt over his head himself because Ivar had refused to buy it.
Jack kissing him in the hotel elevator afterward because he’d looked “too cute to resist.”
The ache that floods through Ivar afterward feels almost unbearable.
Still, he changes out of his game-day clothes and into his sleep clothes before quietly padding toward the bathroom, his socked feet gliding softly against the carpet.
Inside, he pushes his hair back with his headband before carefully flossing and brushing his teeth. The motions feel automatic and mechanical. Then he washes his face slowly, letting cold water run over overheated skin while he stares emptily at his own reflection.
When he’s finally done, he turns the bathroom light off before walking back into the lightened room to switch the main light off too.
Afterward, he walks over to his bed, pulls the comforter back, and slips underneath it before covering himself nearly head to toe.
Then he turns off the bedside lamp. Darkness immediately swallows the room whole, and suddenly everything catches up to him at once.
Ivar presses his lips together tightly to stop them from wobbling and squeezes his eyes shut to keep them from burning. But the harder he fights it, the worse it gets because his chest starts hurting and his throat tightens painfully.
And after another minute or two, he finally breaks. Ugly sobs rip their way out of him violently, clawing up his throat hard enough to make his chest ache. His whole body shakes beneath the blankets as the grief from the loss—and from possibly ending things with the boy he’s hopelessly in love with—tears straight through him.
He cries so hard his ears start ringing. Everything turns muffled around him. He doesn’t hear the door open. Doesn’t hear it click shut again. Doesn’t hear Jack say his name.
The only thing Ivar notices is the sudden movement of the comforter being pulled down off his face.
Fresh cold air hits his damp skin, and his eyes fly open just as Jack crouches beside the bed.
Immediately, Jack reaches toward him.
And Ivar snaps. “Don’t fucking touch me!” he sobs out hoarsely, shoving at him hard.
Jack tries again anyway and that only makes Ivar worse, because he starts fighting back instantly, swatting Jack’s hands away while his sobs double over themselves painfully.
“Leave me alone!” he cries. “Just go call Victor or whatever the fuck!”
But Jack doesn’t back away. Instead, he climbs onto the bed entirely, trying to grab onto Ivar before he hurts himself thrashing around so hard. And then they’re wrestling clumsily across the mattress for several long minutes.
Ivar keeps hitting at his chest and shoulders while crying so hard he can barely breathe properly.
“Get off me!” he chokes out. “Please, Jack, just leave me alone—”
But Jack only shakes his head over and over again. “No.”
And the worry on his face makes Ivar feel sick. Because he doesn’t want Jack’s concern right now. Not now. Not when Ivar is trying so desperately to let him go.
Eventually, though, Jack manages to stop him from fighting properly. Ivar still pushes weakly at his shoulders and tugs against his grip, but the hits stop coming. And then suddenly Jack gets both arms around him and pulls him bodily into his lap.
The second that happens, something inside Ivar completely shatters. Another sob tears out of him as he grabs onto Jack desperately, arms wrapping tightly around his neck while he clings to him like he’s drowning.
And despite everything—despite the fighting, despite the jealousy, despite the hurt—Jack immediately holds him back just as tightly.
Ivar presses his face deeper into Jack’s shoulder, trying desperately to muffle the sound of his sobs against the soft fabric of his shirt.
Jack just holds him tighter. And tighter. His arms are locked firmly around Ivar’s waist as he slowly rocks them side to side on the bed, one hand spread wide against the small of Ivar’s back while the other grips at his hip almost desperately.
“I’m sorry,” Jack whispers shakily into his hair. Then again. “I’m so sorry.” And again.
Every single apology sounds more broken than the last, and every time the word leaves Jack’s mouth, his arms tighten around Ivar like he’s terrified he’ll disappear if he loosens his grip even a little.
That only makes Ivar cry harder, because Jack has apologized before. Of course he has. But never like this. Never with his voice cracking apart halfway through the words. Never while clinging to Ivar like he’s the one falling apart too.
So Ivar keeps crying against his shoulder while Jack continues apologizing over and over again into the quiet darkness of the room.
Eventually though, after long minutes of crying and shaking and holding onto each other hard enough to hurt, Ivar slowly starts calming down.
His sobs soften into uneven sniffles. His breathing steadies little by little. And finally, the two of them pull apart just enough to look at each other properly again.
For a moment neither of them says anything. Then Jack slowly lifts one hand toward Ivar’s face. His fingers are careful. Gentle. He wipes beneath Ivar’s eyes softly, brushing away the tears still clinging to his skin, and Ivar lets him do it—lets himself close his eyes for a second while Jack’s thumb drags carefully beneath them.
Then Jack presses their foreheads together. “Look at me,” he whispers quietly.
Immediately, Ivar shakes his head once. Because he can’t. He can’t open his eyes and look at Jack right now because he already knows he’ll completely fall apart all over again if he does.
But after another second, he finally forces himself to open his eyes anyway. And the second he does, his chest aches painfully.
Because Jack looks wrecked. Tears are gathered in the corners of his eyes too, making them shine in the dim light coming from outside the hotel window, but he blinks them away quickly before they can fall.
Then he swallows hard. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again.
Ivar’s bottom lip trembles instantly.
Jack shakes his head before continuing quickly, like he’s scared he’ll lose the courage to say it if he stops for too long.
“I’m sorry for being such a shitty boyfriend,” he says hoarsely. “For always getting mad at you for no reason. For shutting you out whenever something bothers me instead of actually talking to you.”
His voice cracks slightly.
“And I’m sorry for making you feel like you come second to Victor.”
That one hurts. Not because it’s cruel. But because Jack understands. He finally understands what Ivar has been trying so hard to explain for months now.
Jack keeps talking anyway. “I’ve treated you like shit lately,” he says quietly. “And I know I have.”
A tear finally slips free down his cheek.
“And I’m sorry about the game too. I’m sorry everything’s been so fucked lately.”
Then his expression crumples slightly as he looks at Ivar.
“Please don’t leave me.”
The words sound small somehow. Fragile.
“I’ll do better,” Jack whispers desperately. “I swear I will. I’ll be better for you.”
Ivar’s breath shudders painfully out of him. Slowly, he nods. Then he wipes roughly at his own face before looking down between them.
“I’m sorry too,” he admits quietly.
Jack immediately shakes his head, but Ivar keeps talking anyway.
“No, listen,” he says softly. “I’ve been shitty too.”
His throat tightens again.
“I’m always jealous of Victor even when I try not to be. And I take my frustration out on you whenever things go wrong.”
He laughs weakly through another sniffle.
“And sometimes I purposely try to piss you off just because I’m upset.”
Jack’s face softens immediately. But Ivar just keeps going because he needs Jack to hear this too.
“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers finally. “I just want us to be nice to each other again.”
The sentence nearly breaks him all over again. Because that’s really all he wants. Not perfection. Not some dramatic movie kind of love. Just softness. Kindness.
To stop feeling like they’re constantly hurting each other.
“I’ll do better too,” Ivar promises shakily. “For us. For our relationship.”
Then his voice lowers into something almost unbearably vulnerable.
“Because I really don’t think I can survive without you.”
Jack lets out a wet sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a sob before immediately pulling Ivar closer again. He buries his face into Ivar’s shoulder while nodding over and over against him, arms wrapping tightly around his waist once more.
And Ivar does the same. He wraps his legs around Jack’s waist and clings to him as tightly as he possibly can, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt while they hold onto each other like they’re trying to stitch something broken back together with their bare hands.
Eventually, they pull apart again just enough to breathe properly.
Jack’s hands immediately come back up to cradle Ivar’s face. Then slowly—carefully—he kisses him. The kiss starts soft and fragile. Almost hesitant. Like both of them are terrified that one wrong move will spark another argument they won’t survive this time.
But then Ivar lets out a small whimper into Jack’s mouth, eyes squeezing shut again, and something in Jack seems to snap.
His tongue brushes softly against the seam of Ivar’s lips in silent question. Ivar opens for him instantly, and suddenly the kiss deepens.
Jack kisses him like he’s starving for it, tongue sliding against Ivar’s while his hands tighten against his cheeks. Meanwhile Ivar presses closer immediately, fingers digging into the back of Jack’s neck while heat floods through his chest so quickly it almost makes him dizzy.
They kiss until they’re both breathing unevenly. Until Ivar’s lips feel swollen. Until Jack is practically half laying over him on the bed.
Then eventually, between kisses, Ivar manages to mumble softly, “You need to change out of your outside clothes so we can sleep.”
Jack groans dramatically against his mouth before biting lightly at Ivar’s lower lip and tugging once before finally pulling back.
But the second he starts leaning in again, Ivar presses one hand against his chest.
“No,” he laughs weakly. “Both of us need to change now because someone climbed all over my bed with outside clothes on.”
Jack immediately rolls his eyes. But this time there’s obvious fondness behind it. And seeing that nearly makes Ivar emotional all over again.
Still, instead of making a snarky comment back, he simply climbs off Jack’s lap. And Jack sighs loudly and theatrically before immediately flopping sideways across Ivar’s entire bed.
“Jack,” Ivar grumbles.
Jack only grins lazily up at him. Then eventually he drags himself up too while the two of them start changing properly for bed.
Ivar pulls on a pair of soft gray cotton shorts along with one of Jack’s oversized white t-shirts that he usually sleeps in before tossing his old clothes aside.
Meanwhile, Jack changes into black sweatpants and a fitted white t-shirt before wandering into the bathroom to floss, brush his teeth, and wash his face.
As he does, Ivar stands beside his bed glaring down at the sheets with immediate irritation. Because now he has to change them. And he absolutely does not want to change bedding right now. But since his idiot boyfriend apparently thought rolling around on his bed in outside clothes was a fantastic idea, he really doesn’t have much of a choice.
With a sigh, Ivar turns toward the closet where the spare sheets are kept.
Only to suddenly freeze.
Strong arms wrap around his waist from behind before Jack ducks his head into the crook of his neck and bites lightly at the skin there.
Ivar snorts softly despite himself. “Let go,” he murmurs. “I need to change my bedding.”
Jack immediately shakes his head against his neck before tightening his grip around him.
That makes Ivar laugh quietly through his exhaustion. “Well maybe you shouldn’t have climbed on my bed with outside clothes if you didn’t want me changing them.”
Jack snorts too before pressing several small kisses over the spot he’d just bitten. “I did that on purpose,” he admits shamelessly.
Ivar blinks. Then he twists slightly in Jack’s hold to look at him. “You what?”
Jack grins sleepily. “What did you think I rolled all over your bed for?”
“I was practically sure it was just because you wanted to be an annoying little shit.”
That gets a real laugh out of Jack. Warm and genuine and bright enough that it makes something ache softly inside Ivar’s chest.
“You’re not wrong,” Jack says between laughs. “But mostly I just wanted you to come sleep in my bed tonight.”
Ivar giggles softly at that answer before finally turning properly in Jack’s arms. His boyfriend immediately smiles at him proudly like he’s accomplished something genius.
Before Ivar can even answer though, Jack suddenly tightens his grip around his waist before lifting him clean off the floor.
“Jack!” Ivar yelps through startled laughter.
Jack only laughs harder before carrying him over to his own bed and tossing him onto it.
Both of them burst into laughter immediately afterward.
Ivar scoots backward beneath the comforters while still giggling before pulling them over himself properly.
Then Jack climbs in right beside him. And almost instantly, his hands find Ivar again. He pulls him flush against his chest before tightening his arms securely around him like letting go isn’t even an option anymore.
For a few more minutes, they stay tangled together beneath the comforters, snickering quietly at practically nothing.
Every now and then one of them starts laughing again just because the other does, their exhaustion making everything feel softer and a little delirious around the edges. Jack keeps rubbing his thumb lazily up and down Ivar’s side beneath his shirt while Ivar traces random patterns over the fabric of Jack’s t-shirt with sleepy fingers.
And slowly, little by little, the heaviness that had wrapped itself around them all evening finally begins to loosen. Before eventually, their laughter fades into quiet smiles. The room falls still again.
Ivar relaxes fully against Jack’s chest then, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion pulling at him from every direction. His eyes drift over Jack’s face lazily before eventually settling on his eyes.
Only to realize Jack is already staring at him. Not casually either.
Jack’s eyes roam slowly across every inch of his face like he’s trying to memorize him all over again—as if he’s never really looked at Ivar properly before tonight.
The intensity of it makes warmth creep up Ivar’s neck. “What?” he murmurs quietly.
Jack just shakes his head faintly. “Nothing,” he whispers back. “Just looking at you.”
And god, that alone almost makes Ivar emotional again.
So instead of answering, he simply hides his face briefly against Jack’s shoulder while Jack laughs softly under his breath and presses a kiss into his hair.
For a second, Ivar genuinely thinks that’s it. That they’re finally done talking. That they’ll just fall asleep wrapped around each other and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist for one night.
But then Jack quietly says, “About Victor—”
Immediately, something hot and ugly twists sharply inside Ivar’s chest again.
“No,” he cuts in quickly, pulling back slightly. “Please don’t mention Victor right now.”
Jack sighs softly. “It’s not what you think it is.”
“I don’t care,” Ivar mutters while already starting to shake his head.
But before he can properly pull away, Jack reaches up and cups his face carefully between both hands, stopping the movement altogether.
“Ivar,” he says quietly. The seriousness in his voice makes Ivar reluctantly still. “You never have to worry about Victor again.”
Ivar’s breath catches slightly. Jack rubs his thumbs softly beneath his eyes before continuing.
“I love you. No one else,” he says firmly. “And I moved on from Vic a long time ago.”
The conviction in his voice makes something inside Ivar loosen painfully.
Still, Jack keeps talking. “The reason I kept calling him whenever things got bad…” He exhales quietly. “It’s because Victor knows me too well.”
Ivar frowns faintly. And Jack gives him a tired little smile.
“We were together longer than you and I have been,” he admits softly. “So he knows all my worst habits. He knows how vicious I can get when I’m angry or upset.”
His expression twists briefly with guilt.
“And after we broke up and I got with you, he basically told me to call him whenever I got pissed off instead of taking it out on you.”
Ivar blinks slowly at him. Jack huffs out a weak laugh.
“Victor hates hearing from Anton or Viggo that I’ve been awful to you,” he says. “That’s literally why we still talk so much. Half our conversations are just him nagging me about treating you better.”
That catches Ivar completely off guard. “He what?”
Jack nods. “He’s been on your side this entire time,” he admits. “Not mine.” Then a faint grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Plus, he has a massive crush on Matthew Schaefer now.”
Ivar stares at him blankly for several seconds. “The Islanders rookie?” he asks slowly.
Jack bursts out laughing immediately. “Yes, the Islanders rookie.”
Ivar continues blinking up at him, trying to process everything Jack has just dumped onto him all at once.
And apparently the first thing his brain chooses to latch onto is that.
“Victor has a crush on Schaefer?” he repeats weakly.
Jack laughs even harder at that. “Is that really the only thing you picked up from everything I just said?”
Ivar flushes faintly before shaking his head. “No,” he mumbles quietly. “I just…”
He trails off briefly before looking down at Jack’s chest.
“I didn’t know how to deal with it,” he admits honestly. “Victor always seemed like the perfect boyfriend.”
Jack immediately opens his mouth to protest, but Ivar keeps going before he can interrupt.
“He’s pretty and nice and good on the ice,” Ivar says quietly. “And you two stayed so close after breaking up. You talked every day, and every time something bad happened, you went straight to him instead of me.”
His throat tightens slightly.
“So I got insecure.”
Jack’s expression softens instantly.
“And now I’m realizing Victor was literally just trying to stop you from being mean to me,” Ivar says with a weak little laugh. “Meanwhile I was sitting there getting jealous of him the entire time.”
Tears start gathering in the corners of his eyes again almost immediately.
But Jack gently wipes them away before they can fall. “Hey,” he murmurs softly. “Don’t do that.”
Ivar sniffs quietly.
“I didn’t tell you all this to make you feel guilty.”
Jack’s fingers continue stroking lightly beneath his eyes while he speaks.
“I should’ve explained things properly from the start instead of letting you convince yourself something was still going on between me and Victor when there wasn’t.”
Ivar nods slowly at that.
Then, after a second, he leans forward just enough for their foreheads to bump together again. Jack smiles faintly, and then he kisses him. Softly at first. Just one small kiss against his lips—then another against his cheek. His nose. His temple. His forehead. And finally back to his mouth again. Each kiss feels careful somehow. Intentional. Like Jack is trying to love every hurt part of him back together piece by piece.
When he finally pulls away again, he rubs his thumb gently across Ivar’s cheekbone before whispering another quiet apology.
And this time, Ivar smiles faintly before apologizing too.
After that, neither of them speaks for a while.
They just stay wrapped around each other beneath the comforters while the darkness settles softly around the room again.
Eventually, Jack reaches over and switches the bedside lamp off completely. The room plunges into darkness. But this time, it doesn’t feel cold.
Ivar immediately curls closer against Jack’s chest beneath the blankets, and Jack tightens his arms around him instinctively before pressing one final sleepy kiss into his hair.
“I love you,” Jack whispers quietly into the dark.
And this time, Ivar doesn’t hesitate before whispering it back.
Outside, Switzerland sleeps quietly beyond the hotel windows while exhaustion finally drags both of them under.
And tangled together in the middle of their too-small hotel bed, they fall asleep still holding onto each other like neither of them plans on letting go ever again.