Archive of Our Own

BOOM!

Will wakes with a start, the clap of thunder so strong, it rattles through his chest.

Ugh, as if this road trip wasn't bad enough already? Sure, they started it off by beating the Canucks, but big whoop. Mack's hometown team was already the worst in the league before they traded away their captain/top scorer in mid-December. After that super difficult triumph (not), the wheels completely fell off in Edmonton, where they blew a three-goal lead and lost in overtime. The fuckery continued in Calgary, where despite Will scoring a beautiful opening goal, the Flames proceeded to crush them. And now, in the lead-up to their first game against him this season, Will is awake at ass o'clock in the morning because the Chicago sky decided to tear itself apart. On a Monday, no less.

Fantastic. Loving this for him. Not.

It's not like the rest of the week is going to be any better. Or this month, really. After their game in Colorado on Wednesday, Will's best friend and teammate, Mack, will be hopping onto a flight bound for Italy. Without him. They'll go from spending almost every hour of every day together, to three agonizing weeks apart.

Like, don't get Will wrong! He's a billion times more excited about his best friend playing in the Olympics than Mack himself is (his darling bestie has been a tightly wound ball of anxiety since it was announced that he made the roster). But three weeks without his favorite person? That's just... ouchies.

Will irritably rubs a hand over his face. He needs to get a grip and fast. Why is he acting like it's the 1940s, and he's about to send his sweetheart off to Europe to fight in the war? It's pathetic. He's pathetic.

The wind howls viciously against the building, jolting Will out of his thoughts. He's about bury his head beneath the covers when his ears catch a wet, pathetic little hitch of breath that sounds suspiciously like a whimper. Will sneaks a peek toward the other side of the dark room.

Expectation: Mack is sound asleep curled up on his side, a pillow stuffed between his knees and another clutched securely to his chest.

Reality: Mack is sprawled out on his stomach, his broad shoulders bunched with tight tension. His thick arms are crushing not one, but two pillows over his head.

Will sighs, his chest tightening in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with the storm. Losing a couple of games sucks, sure. But smothering yourself to death over it seems a bit dramatic, even for Mack. Very Oliver Wood of him though.

Another bolt of lightning fractures the dark sky, casting sharp, fleeting shadows across the hotel room. Mack lets out a frightened, high-pitched squeak, his massive frame shuddering violently under the thin hotel sheet.

Oh.

Oh god.

That's heartbreaking.

Mack isn't just a generational talent. He's a fierce competitor who hates showing weakness. In private, he's more open with Will, but there's always a line. Pointing out that a little thunder turns the almost twenty-year-old into a trembling puppy? Not gonna go over well. If Will pretended he was scared, maybe - 

A strong clap of thunder rocks the hotel. Mack practically levitates off the mattress with the sheer force of his flinch.

Jesus, okay.

That settles it, doesn't it? Will is left with absolutely no choice. What kind of best friend would he be if he let Mack suffer needlessly?

Noisily kicking off his warm covers, wahhh, it's so cold, Will takes his sweet time getting out of bed. By the time his feet connect with the freezing hardwood floor, Mack is in his usual sleeping position, chest rising and falling in an imitation of deep sleep. A bad imitation. The performance is honestly so god awful, Will nearly laughs aloud. Gosh, he's so unbearably fond of this adorable weirdo.

A cowardly chicken-shit to his core, Will scuttles into the bathroom first.

"You can do this," Will whispers to his reflection, which is not at all a massive red flag of how precarious his sanity is right now. Giving yourself a pep-talk at 1:00 AM in a hotel bathroom? Totes normal. All the greats do it. "This isn't about you or your stupid crush. It's about Mack, who is terrified out of his mind right now. It's your duty as his best friend to comfort him. So be fucking normal and do your goddamn duty, solider."

Will wraps his fingers around the rosary hanging from his neck, comforted by the familiar weight of it. Raised Catholic, he knows a thing or two about sin. Burdening his straight, perfect, wonderful best friend with his not-straight feelings for him? Definitely a one-way ticket to eternal damnation. 

Saluting himself in the mirror - again, not a strange thing to do at all - Will shuffles out of the bathroom. He hesitates at the foot of his best friend's bed, like he's Mack's sleep-paralysis demon or something.

Would this be… is this crossing a line? Kinda feels like it.

Not because they're two boys, and boys aren’t 'allowed' to express emotions other than anger. Colleen Smith ensured her baby boy would never, ever subscribe to that toxic masculinity bullshit - at least if he knew what was good for him. And Will, he is happy to report, does know what's good for him.

Mack.

Mack is good for him.

He's just worries that he isn't good for Mack.

Ironically… sorry, Momma… Will’s current predicament does stem from his emotions. Well, emotion singular.

Love.

Not the platonic, brotherly kind he's supposed to feel for Mack. Not something fleeting, like lust or infatuation. No, no. Because Will Smith is just a wee bit cursed, what he feels for his best friend is more like the I-Want-To-Bundle-You-Up-In-A-Warm-Blanket-And-Protect-You-From-The-Horrors-Of-The-World-And-Then-Once-You're-Feeling-Better-We-Can-Do-Unspeakable-Things-To-Each-Other kind of love.

People often say that Mack and Will are attached at the hip. Extensions of one another, if you will. Less nice terms used to describe their friendship include; weird, abnormal, obsessed, codependent, and batshit crazy. Although those assessments are oozing with judgment and hella rude, they aren't exactly wrong. Yet Mack has never once displayed anything other than the correct, strictly platonic love he's supposed to have for his boy best friend. So what if he's possessive about Will's attention? That doesn't make it gay (looking at you, Gabe... and Leno... and Grace)! Mack, a hyper-focused athlete and an overall intense guy, just latched onto his favorite person. That's all.

Which, unfortunately, makes Will the horror of Mack's world.

Le sigh.

The dark silhouette of Mack’s broad shoulders shifts slightly under the covers. A sudden, fierce urge to touch makes Will's own throat go dry... until the guilt hits. Fuck, why can't he be normal about this shit? Maybe he should go back to his own bed -

A deafening crack of thunder descends from the heavens, strong enough to rattle the glass panes and vibrate the floor beneath Will's bare feet. Legitimately terrified, he doesn't think twice about catapulting himself onto the end of Mack’s bed.

"What're ya doin', Smitty?" Mack mumbles sleepily, as if he just woke up and wasn't quaking in fear for the last hour. "Is everything... kay?"

Ohmygod, eeek!

Will's heart squeezes painfully in his chest. Dying from his best friend's overwhelming cuteness wouldn't be a bad way to go, would it? Like yeah, it'd be super pathetic. Hell's demons would give Will an eternity of hell... heh... for it. But they can choke and die. No one understands the daily struggle of being besties with the doe-eyed second coming of Captain Canada himself.

Even after nearly two years of friendship, it's hard to reconcile this precious, sleep-muddled cutie in front of him with the absolute menace Mack turns into on the ice. How is this the same guy who once deliberately shot a puck at the soft, unpadded part of a guy's leg in retaliation for... *checks notes*... breathing on Will too hard when they lined up for a face-off? The audacity, right? How can this sweet angel be the same psycho who once skated the entire length of the ice to savagely check a two-hundred-pound veteran defenseman into the boards, then justified his blatant, poorly timed penalty to the refs by claiming he tripped? In private, Mack's justification was even worse!

"I didn't like the way he was looking at you, Smitty. Didn't like it one bit. But since I'm a nice guy, I gave him a warning. Either keep those creepy little beady eyes in check, or next time, I might just lose track of where my skate blade is."

Off the ice, Mack is usually better... until he's not. During a team dinner last month to celebrate the four Sharks going to the Olympics, some perfectly pleasant, ungodly levels of hot waiter gave Will a cute smile while refilling his water. Mack literally stopped mid-sentence and stared the guy down with the unflinching intensity of an apex predator marking its kill. When the waiter walked off (fled, really, not that anyone blamed him), Mack crowded Will against the booth wall and remained plastered to his side all night, even after they left the restaurant. Later on the phone, Will's older sister said it obviously Meant Something. Like duh, of course it did! It meant that Mack didn't want some nobody... or anybody, really... to steal his best friend. Instead of telling Will he was right, Grace let out a banshee-esque shriek and hung up without saying goodbye. So rude.

Ahem, anyway.

Real talk: does anyone actually expect better from Will Smith though? Everyone, including Mack, knows he's a total goner when it comes to this boy (though Mack will forever remain in the dark regarding the specific way Will is gone for him). Being felled by his best friend's adorable bedhead, thick Canadian accent, and a sleepy yawn sounds exactly like the sort of thing that would do him in.

So wrapped up in his thoughts... and sneaking longing glances at Mack's kissable jawline... Will forgets to answer his best friend. Oops.

"Smitty, what's wrong?" Mack sounds much more awake now. His tone drops into that low, serious register he uses when he's Locked the Fuck In. Per usual, it sends shivers straight down Will's spine. Also per usual, he adamantly pretends it doesn't. "Did something happen?"

What's wrong is that with each passing day, it's getting harder to pretend that I love you in a chill, heterosexual, teammate sort of way. I both dread the inevitable moment you learn my deepest secret and desperately yearn for it at the same time, if only so I can stop deceiving such a sweet little lamb. Because the truth is, our entire friendship was built upon a throne of lies; I have been hopelessly, pathetically, and unequivocally in love with you in a Very Gay Way since before we joined the Sharks.

The three most dangerous words in the world are on the tip of Will's tongue, Sharks Power Play I love you. But another clap of thunder shakes the room, reminding him of his mission... and that he needs to lay off the gushy romance movies until he can successfully shove his feelings back down into the depths of his subconscious where they belong. Which is fine. He can do that.

Will Smith hockey is just in his Elsa era (still). Conceal. Don't reveal. Don't let them knowww... because if they know, there goes your best friend. And probably your career too. And basically your whole reason for living.

It's chill.

"M'scared, Mackie." Will buries his face in his hands, both to sell the story and to shield himself from Mack’s trusting doe-eyes. "Can I... ya know -"

Mack, who was shipped directly to Will from the Boy's Best Friend factory (a subsidy of Man's Best Friend), is already pulling the heavy covers down. He usually delights in chirping Will to hell and back for the absolute littlest of things (he's such a sweetheart for helping Will acclimate to his future eternal home early, gosh), but he’d never mock his best friend about a legitimate fear... a legitimate fear that Will doesn't actually have, oof.

Crooking two fingers, Mack beckons him closer. "Come hither, Smitty."

Ever-obedient, Will goes where he's told. Though not without a sassy, "Yes, Master." Wouldn't want Mack to think he's easy, right?... even if he is.

Will isn't obeying just because he's whipped (shout-out to whoever started the 'Mack walks Will like a dog, and Will lets him' trend. Will doesn't want to be saved, because he is exactly where he wants to be... though whoever sent that TikTok to Mack *cough* Leno *cough* can kindly step on a LEGO, thanks). But what's there to complain about when compliance means getting to settle in the space his best friend carved out specifically for him?

In what is both a blessing and a curse, Will gets the undisputed best sleep of his life whenever he and Mack doze off together. Understandably, he heavily resisted accepting this fundamental truth for... sheesh, close to a year?... but following his shoulder injury in December, it became undeniable. For a week after the hit, Will's rest was fitful. And it would have continued to be, had Mack not sweet-talked Patty's wife, Christina, into letting him into the house after his patience for his best friend's solitary sulking ran out. Not five minutes into watching the cinematic masterpiece, Home Alone, Will passed out, snuggled firmly against Mack's broad, solid chest. He then slept for twelve hours straight, not even waking when his best friend carried him to bed. 'Twas mucho appreciated, but good god, Mack was so unbearably smug about it the next morning!

"I told you I could help, Smitty, but did you believe me? No, 'course not. One day you'll see the truth. Nobody can take care of you the way that I can."

So yeah, Mack is his very own personal brand of Ambien. Which is nice and all. Real convenient for when Will desperately needs some shut-eye, especially before an important game. There's just that whole unfortunate bit about how, just like actual prescription sleeping pills, sleeping with Mack… sleeping, sleeping, not the… god, Will's brain can't even go there… is fucking addicting. It also does nothing for the whole being head-over-heels-for-his-boy-best-friend situation either, 'cept make it a thousand times worse. Not like Will wasn't already pathetically down bad before that, eh?

Tonight, they end up face-to-face, with Mack’s arm slung loosely around Will's waist. The arrangement is both heart-attack-inducing and hilarious as fuck. While they hardly ever share a bed intentionally, falling asleep mid-movie is a fairly common occurrence. And yet, no matter how they start out, they always end up in the same position by morning: spooning (which is absolutely trippy to think about, so Will simply does not).

One would assume Mack would be the big spoon, right? Will is taller by a whole centimeter, which he lords over his younger friend whenever possible, but Mack's frame is wider and heavier. 

Except... Mack is never the big spoon. Will is. Always.

They never talk about the times when they wake up tangled together, because there's nothing to discuss. It's a totally normal thing to happen between two best friends. The only exception came a few weeks into the start of this current season, when they happened to wake up at the same time. Mack turned around in his arms, his nose scrunched up so adorably, Will wanted to weep at the cuteness. That feeling didn't lessen one bit, even as Mack started to grumble about how he should be the big spoon.

"Let's at least take turns, Smitty," he whined, like his pitiful pout alone would force Will's subconscious into compliance. And honestly? It would. It definitely would, because Will was beyond gone for that boy. Yet not even a week later, he woke up with Mack's back pressed tightly against his chest. The little spoon then proceeded to place a lingering kiss on their entwined hands - because they had upgraded to holding hands in their sleep, which was, again, totally chill and not at all cause for an internal meltdown - before muttering a bright, "Oh well. Can't be mad, I tried."

That meant two things:

1. Mack's own subconscious was the force to be reckoned with here
2. Deep down, Mack knew he was Will's baby, not the other way around

Such close proximity to Mack's warm body under the sheets makes Will's breath catch. He is quickly distracted, however, by the satisfying waves of heat washing over him, thawing his icy bones. There is just one teeny-tiny thing missing, which Will fixes by wedging his freezing feet firmly between Mack’s thick calves. Hmm, no. That isn't quite right either. Determined to succeed, he 'accidentally' tugs the leg of Mack's pajama pants up to reach bare skin.

Oooh, now this is a slice of heaven.

"Jesus, Smitty, warn a guy first!" Mack hisses, before heaving a sigh that's half-disappointed, half-fond. Which he definitely stole from Will. "If you're nervous or embarrassed about bringing this up to your doctor, I don't mind going with you to your appointment. Just let me know, okay?" Pfft, coming from the guy who won't tell his best friend that he's scared of a rainstorm? Boy bye. "Because seriously, dude, your cold feet are even less normal than that Barbie-nose you can't breathe out of!"

(Fake news: Will can breathe out of his nose. Just not all the time. Or ya know, often).

Literally while he's bitching about Will's cold feet, Mack is also rubbing his calves together to generate more warmth. A lump forms in Will's throat. God, he really won the best friend lottery, didn't he?

Once Will is certain he can speak without collapsing into pathetic sobs from how loved and cherished he feels, he haughtily sniffs, "You were born to be my personal space heater and warm my icy feet, Celebrini. God only gifted you a talent for hockey so we could meet."

"Woo!" Mack pumps his fist in the air, flashing him a goofy grin. "Go me."

"I'm pleased to see you're so accepting of your true purpose in life."

"Why wouldn't I be? That means I actually do contribute something to this friendship."

Yeah... Will totes should have seen that coming.

Somewhere along the line, Mack got this funny idea in his head that Will is the better friend between them. Utterly ridiculous and categorically false, of course. Though it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if Mack didn't have this deeply ingrained belief that he has to earn everything given to him. Every. Single. Thing.

For the last year and a half, Will has dedicated himself to the holiest of crusades: teaching his best friend about unconditional love, the kind of love Mack is deserving of simply because he exists.

"Being loved unconditionally, Macklin, means letting me do stuff for you... stuff I want to do because you're my best friend and I like looking after you... without keeping a running scorecard about it."

Seemed simple, right?

'Twas not.

There's no denying that Mack loves it when Will brings him food, pays for everything when they're out and about, bakes treats specifically because he likes them, takes care of him when he's sick or in a bad mood, picks out the movies they watch, showers him with attention, and just spoils him rotten in general. But what Will failed to account for was Mack's massive guilt complex.

Every time Will deludes himself into believing he finally cracked that rock-solid Celebrini stubbornness, Mack pops up with some fresh tomfoolery, like, 'Since you took care of me when I had the stomach flu for two days last year, you need to move into Jumbo's guest house with me while you're recovering from your shoulder injury so I can return the favor.' Will did NOT give in, thank you very much. Not right away, at least. But at the end of December, the Sharks had some time off, so it just made sense to crash there for a bit... it was the holidays, okay, give him a break!

"As I've told you a trillion times before, Mack, you contribute plenty to this friendship," Will says firmly. "But even if you didn't, I wouldn't care. Simply being your best friend is a privilege that I wouldn't give up for anything -"

"Not even a Stanley Cup?"

One of them would trade the other for the NHL's highest achievement, but it isn't Will (in Mack's defense, not only would he feel horribly guilty the entire time they were apart, but the exact second he had that trophy in his hands, he'd move literal mountains to get Will back).

He pokes Mack's cheek. "No, you dork. Not even for that."

"I wouldn't trade you either, Smitty," Mack says, green eyes blazing with a fierce, terrifying earnestness. "Not for a Stanley Cup, an Olympic gold medal, or anything else in the world."

Since Will is trying to comfort his best friend, he lets the bold-face lie slide, just this once.

"Aww, Celebrini, you sure know how to make a guy feel special, don't you?" Once the expected self-satisfied smile forms on Mack's face - the one he gets every time his best friend praises him - Will casually continues, "I admit though, if a lifetime of free Chipotle -"

A large, heavy hand is suddenly smacked over his mouth. None too gently either, the fucker.

"Do not finish that sentence," Mack growls, looming over him.

Mack's palm is broad and rough, smelling faintly of the hotel's citrus lotion. Which Will knows, since it's also covering his nose. He patiently counts to five in his head, onetwothreefourfive. The offending appendage has not been removed yet, so Will jabs his tongue right between Mack's pointer and middle fingers.

"Eww, seriously?" the younger boy grouses, though he's smart enough to wipe his moistened hand on the duvet and not on Will's cheek. "Smitty Slobber, yuck!"

This brat.

Now that his best friend is no longer attempting to smother him to death, Will takes a gulping breath of air. "Don't lie, you like it."

"In a different context, sure. But this? Super icky."

Uhh, what the fuckity fuck does that mean?! What context would Mack like Will's spit-... nope. Not going there. It's probably something super innocent and so totally Macklin, yet Will is over here with thoughts of depravity and debauchery.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

Completely oblivious to the internal meltdown he just caused, Mack grumbles, "Did you really need to use that much saliva though?"

Alright, if Will expects to survive the night, they're gonna need to talk about something other than his spit on Mack's-... NOPE. Beneath the duvet, he smacks his own hand. Bad Smitty... wait, that's brilliant.

"In my defense, you basically slapped me, Macklin!"

Will is mildly appeased when his best friend winces guiltily. Of course, since Mack is allergic to proper apologies, the brat scoffs, "I would never hit you -"

"Yet you did hit me." Queue dramatic pause, which allows Will to watch Mack's eyes narrow in suspicion. "Just like you hit my windshield!" he finishes in a rush.

"Aww, come on, man! Are you ever gonna let that go?" Mack asks in a tone that's one degree away from a full-blown childish whine. "I paid to get it fixed!"

Absolutely tickled by his own wit, Will manages a gleeful, "Nope!" through his giggles.

"Remind me again why we're friends?" 

"Cuz I'm nice to look at, duh."

"Erm... hang on."

Mack turns his head to the side to muffle a sudden cough. Will stiffens beneath the blankets. Oh dear, is his baby bestie getting sick? Should he prepare a packet of Emergen-C, or would that be a tad excessive? Mmm, actually, nothing is excessive when Mack's health and well-being is at stake.

Will is about to climb out of bed when it suddenly dawns on him that this fucker is stalling. "Do you disagree?" he asks softly, his voice an unsubtle warning regarding the dangerous territory Mack is rapidly careening toward. Headfirst.

Mack can be dense as fuck, but he's definitely not stupid. "I didn't… no, Smitty!"

He sounds so genuinely horrified, Will simply cannot help himself. "You don't... you don't think I'm nice to look at, Macklin?" he dejectedly whispers, widening his eyes to look extra pathetic.

It’s kind of hilarious how Mack looks absolutely gutted over the thought of Will believing he just called him ugly. Meanwhile, Will’s poor windshield - which Mack tried to assassinate from the inside out during a histrionic tantrum - received absolutely zero concern. Like literally none. In fact, Will was blamed for the hole Mack made with his own fist, because apparently he shouldn't have taken so long in the store (lesson learned; the baby has separation anxiety).

Fact: When flustered, Mack is even more adorable than usual

Also fact: When Will is the one who flusters him, he becomes unpredictable

Mack sits up, his fluffy hair a disheveled mess around his head. Gah, seriously, so cute... oof! Between one slow blink and the next, Will finds himself flat on his back, pinned to the mattress. By Mack.

Cool cool, totally fine. Will can totes handle this -

... oh god, he cannot handle this! Press F to pay respects.

For some reason, Mack is now straddling him. His strong, heavy hockey thighs are bracketing Will's waist. And Will is... unwell. There's no conceivable way Mack can't feel his pounding heart through their thick sweatshirts. Fuck, he can probably hear it!

"I want you to listen to me very carefully, Smitty." Mack leans down until they are almost nose-to-nose. "Are you listening?"

"Yessir," Will squeaks.

He mentally facepalms. Real smooth, Smith, real smooth.

"William Charles Patrick Smith, you are the most beautiful person I have ever met in my life. Not just on the outside either... which you are, obviously! But I'm not superficial. You're also drop-dead gorgeous on the inside. No one outshines you. No one compares to you. You are everything. So can you imagine how a schmuck like me feels getting to be your best friend?"

It's not the first time Mack has complimented Will's appearance. Not to toot his own horn, but it's actually pretty common for the guys to tease him about being a 'pretty boy'. But this... feels different.

You just want it to mean something, stop being weird!

Worried Mack will read the sick, desperate truth right off his face, Will tries to glance away. Unacceptable, apparently. Mack's broad palms firmly cup his cheeks, locking him in place.

"Now that I know how good I've got it, nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever separate us. I won't let it." The intensity of Mack's gaze has pools of heat settling in Will's stomach. "And I'll buy you anything you want, Smitty, including the entire Chipotle franchise, if it means you'll stay with me."

"I... we've talked about this, Mack, you don't need to buy my love," Will stutters out, his eyes darting to Mack's forehead. Much safer. "You already have it, free of charge... which is lucky for you, since there's no way you'd be able to afford a multi-billion dollar company, even after two decades in the league."

Mack, the little thief, steals the remaining oxygen right out of Will's lungs with a sudden, beaming smile. "Pfft, that's what you think, Smitty. If you want your free Chipotle for life, I'll get it for you."

The younger boy rolls off him and resettles back into his previous spot like nothing out of the ordinary happened. Meanwhile, Will stares unseeingly at the dark hotel ceiling, his mind completely and totally blank. No thoughts. Head empty. From the way his skin feels like it's on fire, he's sure his face is an unflattering, beet red.

Naturally, he doesn't protest when Mack maneuvers him so they're face-to-face again, his arm slung comfortably over Will's waist.

"I wish I'd known earlier that I was born to be yours, Smitty," Mack muses, reaching a tentative hand out to tuck a loose strand of blonde hair behind Will's ear. Will nearly chokes on his tongue. Oh my god, why would he phrase it like that?! "If I could write off needing to sleep in the freezing cold as a quirk solely for your benefit, it would have saved me years of hearing my mom harp about the electric bill!"

As if Will's heart isn't hammering against his ribs like a trapped baby bird trying to free itself, he nonchalantly snorts, then very nonchalantly says, "I guarantee she would have found something else to admonish a brat like you for."

They trade lighthearted jibes back and forth for the next few minutes. But their easy-going banter is eventually broken by another cataclysmic boom of thunder. Mack's flinch is so severe, it brings their entire bodies flush together. The friction of their heavy sweatpants drags, and Will is suddenly hyper-aware of the absolute, unmistakable alignment of their crotches-... nope.

Holy Mother of God, do NOT think about it.

Desperately seeking to lead his thoughts away from that incredibly precarious, one-way-ticket-to-perdition path, Will blurts the first thing that comes to his mind. "Tell me a secret!"

"Erm..." Mack sheepishly inches back a centimeter, his breath hot and ragged against Will's collarbone. "What?" he chokes out.

Oh god, my poor baby!

His best friend's ragged breathing is undoubtedly a byproduct of his fear. Gosh, Mack must be trying so hard to hide how scared he truly is. Silly boy. Like Will would judge him? Of course not! This storm is hella gnarly. Granted, it's not the worst they've endured while sharing a hotel room. Florida is considered a hellscape for more than just the unbearable heat. Curiously, during a vicious storm so bad that (nearly) everyone in the Sharks group chat was convinced The Doom was upon them, Mack slept like a baby. In his own bed. The entire night.

"I can't sleep with all that ruckus outside, so I want you to tell me a secret to keep my mind off it." Will boops his best friend's nose, smiling softly when Mack scrunches it in mock-annoyance. "Pwetty please, Celly, with a chocolate lava cake on top?"

Mack's fondness for 'weird' words is no secret. So of course, since Will lives aims to please, he makes a habit of working them into their daily convos as often as he can... and if he ordered a few SAT and GRE test-prep workbooks last summer to freshen up his vocabulary, that's between him and Jeff Bezos.

The younger boy huffs a laugh, exactly like Will knew he would. "Ruckus, huh? There's only one problem with that plan."

"My plans are like my face."

Mack raises his eyebrows. "How about we skip the part where I guess wrong and unintentionally offend you?"

"Fair enough. The answer was obviously," splaying his fingers out, Will dramatically wiggles them, "flawless."

"Except I don't have any secrets," Mack says a little stiltedly. It's the same tone he uses whenever he thinks Will is fishing for something specific, and he doesn't want to share. "Not from you, at least."

It piques Will's curiosity far more than it should. Mack shares everything with him. Often too much. There are some things he just doesn't need to know about. Like the red bump on his thigh, 'Please, Smitty, can you just take a quick look at it? I'm freaking out.' Will, the sucker that he was, said no, even as he was lowering himself to his knees and putting his face up close to his best friend's crotch to examine what was definitely just an ingrown hair. Thankfully, Mack had the gumption to pluck it out himself... as Will held his hand.

Will also doesn't need to know every sordid detail of Mack's latest Raya date... fine, they're not that sordid, especially compared to the stories Leno used to traumatize him and Gabe with. But Will doesn't give a flying fuck about how the sun glinted off this chick's red hair to the point where it looked like her locks were drenched in blood. That was obviously a bad fucking omen, Mack, and you should stop talking to her immediately!... stupid of him to say aloud, really. Will knows better than anyone that Mack chafes at being told what to do. So surprise surprise (not), She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is a regular fixture in Mack's life.

Seriously, fuck Will's life.

"Are you keeping things from me?" Mack asks gruffly, and heh, oh dear. Is it hot in here, or is it just Mack? "I tell you everything. You said you told me everything." The younger boy crowds closer, his heavy arm tightening around Will's waist. "So you lied?"

"I do tell you everything," Will lies through his teeth. "But there's little stuff, ya know?"

"No, I don't know, Smitty, since you obviously haven't told me!"

Normally, Mack's possessiveness over him secretly delights Will to no end... probably not-so-secretly, given the knowing/exasperated looks they receive from their teammates. And friends. And family. It's exactly how Will feels about Mack, 'course. But as is fitting for the younger friend, Mack is much more overt about it.

But right now, locked in the dark with Mack's eyes burning holes into him, that possessiveness is a smidgeon terrifying. If Will had a tail, it would be tucked tightly between his trembling legs right now. Slightly panicky, he wracks his mind for something to share.

The pounding rain outside sparks a memory.

"When we were really young," Will says, coincidentally using his 'taming a wild animal' voice, "Grace used to climb into my bed during really bad storms. She said it was because I was too small to comfort our dog properly. But we both knew it was because I was terrified."

To his immense relief, the tight tension in Mack's face eases. "How do you know she wasn't also scared?"

"She might have been," Will admits with a shrug. "But I was the one bawling into our golden retriever's fur."

Mack blinks several times. "Oh my god? That's so... Smitty, that's so cute, holy shit!" A massive, brilliant smile spreads across his face, completely lighting up his handsome features. Will fights the urge to cover his own face before he combusts. "I can picture it perfectly too... you with your mess of curls and the big blue eyes you hadn't grown into yet -"

"Stop, come on," Will complains, like he isn't excitedly squealing and kicking his feet on the inside because Mack is fawning over him. "This is why I never told anyone before!" (He never told anyone before because he forgot about it until five seconds ago... though in his defense, he was like four at the time).

Mack, the colossal dork, places a broad hand flat over his heart. "I'm honored you entrusted me this sweet, wholesome tidbit from your childhood." Will tries to restrain his smile but doesn’t have much success. "Until I was like eight and my parents gave in after a growth spurt, I made wild excuses to climb into Aiden's bed because it was bigger."

And because you were scared shitless when it stormed, Will thinks exasperatedly to himself. He doesn't understand why Mack is so dead-set on playing coy about this... eh, okay, maybe prefacing his own Storms Are Scary story with 'when we were really young' wasn't his best idea. That was his bad.

Will points accusingly at his best friend. "And to yap, I'm sure. Don't think I don't know about you Celebrini!"

"Puck calling the stick black, methinks."

“I'm sorry, what?” Will laughs in disbelief. "Did you mean 'pot calling the kettle black'?"

"Erm... nope. I definitely meant what I said."

"Nah, Celly, I really think you meant pot calling the kettle black."

Mack sharply pinches Will's hip through the fabric of his sweatpants. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Smitty." It's a silent threat reminder that he knows Will's (second) biggest weakness - being ticklish - and isn't afraid to use this knowledge against him. "Your turn now."

It's true that Will is overly indulgent when it comes to Mack, but there is a line!

"Nuh uh, miss me with that bullshit, bro. That was not a secret."

"Gah, fine, let me think for a sec -"

"Don't hurt yourself... oww, or me either, brat!"

Pinching is better than tickling, but wahh, why is everyone so mean to poor Smitty?

Mack absentmindedly scratches at the stubble on his chin. Will's fingers itch to shave it off. Neither of them can really rock facial hair, but Mack refuses to accept this truth quite yet. "When I was at SSM, I used to sneak out of class to play hockey."

"Wow, Cel, you absolute rebel. Good god, I had no idea you were so wild!"

"You don't need to be mean about it!"

"Pot calling the kettle black!" Will cries triumphantly.

When Mack swats his shoulder, Will inhales sharply and clutches a hand over it, as if he was just mortally wounded. "Oh my god, oh my god, Smitty, I seriously didn't mean to -"

Gosh darn it. It's impossible to maintain the 'woe is me' act in the face of his best friend's genuine horror that he just re-aggravated Will's injury.

"It's all gucci, Celly." Will smiles innocently. "I would be offended that you don't know which is the boo-boo shoulder, but since I'm aware that you can only tell your right from your left on the ice, all is forgiven."

"You CANNOT do that shit to me!"

"We really need to work on that in the off-season though, bub."

"Will Smith, you are the fucking worst!"

It's kinda hard to take Mack seriously given how he's clearly struggling to rein in his laughter, but Will tries, he really does. "Mayhaps I am the worst, but at least I told you a real secret, and not something literally everyone and their mother could have guessed!"

"My parents don't actually know about that, for the record," Mack says, nibbling anxiously on his bottom lip. "Didn't get caught."

Hopefully the faculty just let him be, because otherwise... yikes.

Driven solely by his incessant need to fuss over his sweet, innocent best friend, Will uses his thumb to lightly pull down on Mack's lower lip, saving the poor thing from being torn apart by its owner's fretful mannerisms. Mack freezes, his eyes widening. Understandable, because like, who the fuck does that?!

"Might wanna invest in some Chapstick, pal," Will teases, ignoring Mack's unblinking gaze tracking his hand as he reaches for his friend's hoodie strings. He'd prefer to cling to his rosary, but that's the ultimate telltale sign for Mack that Will is Super Uncomfortable Right Meow.

Looking adorably put-out after Will's chirp, Mack's little pink tongue darts out to moisten his (not chapped) lips. "Actually, Chapstick is a scam that's purposefully designed to create a vicious cycle of dependency."

Will's brain is in such a tizzy, he doesn't think twice about scoffing, "According to whomst?"

"Anya."

Boo, hiss!

It takes every ounce of Will's self-control to not gag at the sound of Her vile name. Truly, a tragic day to have ears. What are the chances that the convenience store in the lobby sells sage? They should probably purge the room of negative energy and evil spirits before going to sleep.

"She says petroleum jelly is way better," Mack adds as an afterthought. "Like Vaseline."

Will might have failed in his quest to exorcise Her from their lives, but he solemnly vows to throw every container of Vaseline he sees straight into the trash. "Whatever. You owe me a secret, Celebrini."

And it better not have anything to do with that wicked wench!

"You cannot tell anyone about this, Will. Like I'm deadly serious."

When Will extends his pinky, Mack curls his thicker, rougher one securely around it. The contact is electric. Literally.

"That static shock was your fault, Mack, so you have no one to blame but yourself." For speaking Her name in their sacred space, obviously.

Aside from an epic eye-roll, Mack doesn't argue. "Okay, so you know how I did that accelerated high school degree program to finish early, so I could go to BU with Aiden?"

"Yeah, what about it?" Unable to chew on his bottom lip, Mack starts gnawing on his fingernails instead. Eww, absolutely not. Letting go of Mack's hoodie strings, Will plucks his friend's hand out of his mouth, then weaves their fingers together instead. "Healthy coping mechanisms, remember? Now come on, Superstar, you can tell ole' Smitty anything."

"Ididnotactuallycompleteeverything," Mack says in a single breath.

Blinking owlishly, Will runs his thumb soothingly over Mack's knuckles. His best friend smiles softly in return, and Will's heart skips several beats at how fucking beautiful he looks in this moment. "So how did you graduate?"

Cheeks puffing out like he’s about to repeat his secret in the exact same way, Mack suddenly deflates. Other people might not understand him when he gets like this. But Will Smith isn't 'other people', obviously.

"I lied my ass off -"

"So dramatic, Cel. Last I saw, it was still there."

To be clear, the compliment isn't about lauding Mack's backside (even if it is enviable); Will is simply trying to lighten the mood. His poor baby bestie, with his massive guilt complex, looks like he's mentally guillotined himself at least twice since he confessed the truth to Will.

...

Self-deception? Also a sin. Will isn't given a chance to repent either. He pays the consequences right away.

Releasing Will's hand, boo, Mack flips onto his stomach. "Can you check, please?" Flinging the covers down, he wiggles his gluteus maximus enticingly. "I'm really worried, Smitty."

Faced with the ultimate temptation, Will is ashamed to admit that his mouth waters. He suddenly and irrevocably relates to Eve's actions in the garden. If he were her, he'd have bitten the peach too. But Will isn't her. He's Mack's best friend. No biting or caressing the juicy fruit allowed.

So Will does the only thing he can do in this situation; mumbling, "Not today, Satan" under his breath, he delivers a hard smack to each of Mack's well-rounded cheeks. "I was right as usual," he says a little breathlessly. "Still there."

Turning back onto his side, Mack playfully tugs a lock of his best friend's curls... with some quick-thinking, Will disguises his moan as a cough, phew. "You couldn't have just, I dunno, gripped a handful instead of beating me?"

"Uhh, now we're even?"

"We're not, but I'm sure you'll find a way to make it up to me," Mack says, full of bratty confidence. "Anywho, the program director was a dick and didn't want to certify my graduation date early, so I told him I'd have the headmaster at SSM sign it..."

"You signed it yourself, didn't you?"

Mack hesitates, before nodding guiltily. "No one knows, not even my dad. Told him it was just a computer error."

"Jesus, dude," Will whistles softly. "You really don't let anything stop you from getting what you want, do you?"

Something flashes in Mack's green eyes, though it's gone before Will can decipher it. "No," he says slowly, like he's in the midst of a major, life-altering epiphany. "I don't, do I?"

Mildly unsettled, Will decides to throw caution to the wind and spill the juiciest tea ever. He's been dying to tell someone about this for weeks now. But gossiping about a dude trying to salvage his receding hairline kinda feels like begging God to strike down his own follicles. Sigh. Hopefully copping to the sin at his next Confession will save his precious curls from a similar fate.

"A month ago, I saw Warso looking up flights to Turkey." Will's excitement dims ever-so-slightly at Mack's blank expression. Grrr, this boy's one brain cell is truly 100% devoted to hockey, isn't it? "Come on, I know you know about this, Mack! Dudes go to Turkey for one thing."

"Prostitutes?"

"Oh my god, no!" Will squawks. "Seriously, dude?"

"Well, I dunno, I thought it was a good guess!" Mack grumbles defensively.

"Yeah, I'm sure you did, you silly noodle." Will lets out a breathy giggle when his dorky best friend pretends to bite his nose. "Nowadays, dudes go to Turkey in droves for hair transplant procedures!"

Mack doesn't join Will in his excited tittering. Not for any self-righteous reasons it seems, given his current facial expression. Will sighs to himself, recognizing it immediately as Mack's, 'My best friend has been grievously disrespected, and I'm two seconds away from crashing out about it' look. He really should have foreseen this. Their head coach has been a point of contention between them off-and-on all season.

"Shouldn't he be nicer to you if you have something over him?" Mack snarks. "Especially since you're allegedly his favorite?"

"He doesn't know that I saw it. Also, there's no allegedly about it, he said it from his own mouth!"

Last April, the Sharks got together at Toff's place for one final hurrah to close out the season. Once the sun went down, the liquor started flowing. Under Cat's (Toff's better half) hawk-eyed gaze, the youngins were allowed to drink responsibly. The adults had no such restrictions. Following repeated nagging from the guys, a drunk Coach Warsofsky finally revealed who his favorite Sharkie was - Will Smith hockey himself.

Naively, Will had preened at the reveal... if only he knew, ha.

Macklin, sweet, sweet Macklin, did not take the news well. Scoffing loud enough to draw several curious stares, he stomped off to go brood out front on the porch swing. A few of them put their heads together to brainstorm what the fuckity fuck that was about. Will was mollified when the ever-wise Cat had the same theory as him; Mack was miffed that his former-rival had once again beaten him at something. Not because he wanted to be Coach's Pet or anything (that was probably a nightmare scenario in Mack's mind). It was just the principle.

Plot twist: they were all wrong.

After a lot of needling and a few manipulative comments that Will still doesn't feel good about, he got Mack to admit the truth; he was disgruntled that Will was someone's favorite besides his own. "It's not that I want people to hate you, Smitty, don't take it like that. But you're MY favorite person. You can be everyone else's second favorite. I'll be the third or something."

Thankfully, Will was able to soothe Mack's ire with a sprinkle of logic. "Since you're MY favorite person, Celly, all that matters to me is that I'm your favorite too."

"Even more than your BC Bros?" Mack instantly shot back.

Following Will's slightly sassy, "Do you need me to look up the definition of the word 'favorite' for you?" the little cutie beamed the rest of the night.

Mack stubbornly juts his chin out. "I know you don't like to talk about it, and I respect that." So now they're just flat-out lying to each other, huh? Good to know. "But the way he's been treating you lately is unacceptable."

"One, it's not anywhere near as bad as you're making it out to be," Will says for the umpteenth time. "And two, Warso knows I can play better than I have been. He literally saw it with his own eyes at Worlds this summer -" 

"Shhh, Smitty." Smoothing his broad hand comfortingly over Will's hair, Mack's voice softens into something incredibly tender. "You don't have to pretend when you're with me. Once I'm Captain next season, I'll take care of it, okay? You won't have to worry about a thing. You'll see."

Hmm, was that supposed to sound like a threat?

Gah, probably.

Sigh.

Like... don't get Will wrong! He loves that his best friend is super protective of him. But Mack gets so ruffled over the weirdest things.

"Thanks, bub, I really appreciate that," Will says with as much sincerity as he can muster. It mustn't be very much, given the annoyed huff he receives in return. Whoopsie. "Your turn."

Mack starts lightly scritching his scalp, which is just... heavenly. Holy shit, Will might actually be floating.

"I dunno if I told you before, but my dad first started the whole diet plan concept a few months before we left Vancouver." Whelp, that explains the scritches. Nothing riles Will faster than hearing about the shit Mack's dad put(s) him through in the name of 'athletic excellence'. "Little Macklin, understandably, took great offense to being told he couldn't eat his favorite foods as often anymore. So he discreetly convinced his teachers... and the hockey moms... and the neighbors... that he was being terribly mistreated at home, and if he promises not to tell, could he have some chips and a pop, pretty please?"

Will doesn't fake his sincerity this time. "Good for you, man."

"Well, I might have, uhh... taken it too far?" Mack grimaces. "Despite all the exercise, I was actually pretty chubby for a minute there."

Oh, he was probably so unbearably cute! Will squeals in his head, nearly hyperventilating at the thought.

"Are there, mayhaps, pictures from this particular period of time?" he apathetically asks. "Just to verify, 'course."

"God, I hope not," Mack says, faking a shiver. Wholeheartedly disagreeing, Will makes a mental note to ask Robyn instead. "Your turn, Smitty."

Mack's expression is serene yet attentive, as if he's fully convinced that whatever the older boy is gonna say is an absolute must-hear. Will exhales in a puff. Okay, this time, he'll give his baby what he wants.

"When we lost to Denver in the National Championship, I felt so fucking guilty for not staying another year with Gabe and Leno -" Mack clenches his jaw so tightly, Will can literally hear his teeth grinding together in the dark. "Let me finish before you get pissy, okay?"

"I'm not -"

"Then relax your jaw before I gotta find an emergency dentist for your chipped tooth... and kindly remove your talons from my scalp, please and thank you."

"Oh jeez." Mack kissing the top of Will's head in apology while they're essentially cuddled in bed together? This is fine. Everything is fine. Conceal, don't reveal, don't let it show. "Sorry Smitty."

"All good!" Will squeaks out.  To clear an inconvenient tickle from his throat, he muffles his cough into the crook of his elbow. "Anywho, what actually got me to sign the contract wasn't pressure from the Shark's front office, but them assuring me they were gonna draft you first."

"Because you wanted to get a head start on tearing up the league together, huh?"

"That appealed to me, yes." Okay, deep breath. This might be ultra-embarrassing, but it's far from his deepest, darkest secret. "But I've wanted to be your friend since our USHL days."

Long before Will ever spoke to Mack, he had coveted the younger boy's friendship. Which, yes, is super cringey. He’s aware, okay? He's also aware that it's not as high on the Pathetic Scale as his massive crush originating from obsessively watching Mack’s highlight reels.

"Bullshit!" The little brat furiously shakes his head. "Nah, no way. I don't believe you for one second, Will Smith."

"Why would I lie?!"

"Great question, Smitty, why would you lie?" Mack's fingers slip beneath Will's sweatshirt to poke him at random. "Hm, hm, hm?"

"I'm not!" Will shrieks, squirming wildly against the mattress to avoid the object of torture. "Not lying... s-stop, Celly, please... mercy!"

"There is no mercy here!" Mack decrees, a little evilly, if Will is being honest.

Unable to sweet-talk his way out of his predicament, Will gives in and accepts his wretched fate... just kidding. Grabbing Mack's wrist, he sinks his teeth into the meaty center of his friend's palm. It's a gentle bite, more of a sharp nip than anything, but from the way Mack clutches his hand to his chest and howls about child abuse, you'd think Will tore a chunk out of his flesh. Or at least made him bleed. He did neither.

"Oh stop, Celly," Will pants, trying to catch his breath. Mack really wasn't lying about the 'no mercy' thing. "I barely touched you."

With an indignant gasp, Mack shoves his hand so close to Will's face, he goes cross-eyed trying to see it. "Look at this, William! I probably won't ever be able to play hockey again!!"

On the ice, Mack endures high-sticks to the face, brutal board hits, and pulled muscles with a stiff-upper lip. But behind closed doors, when it's just him and Will? Good god, he turns into the absolute biggest baby alive!

*The lone exception is anything serious enough to threaten Mack's ice time - those injuries, he either hides or brushes off with a practiced, 'No biggie, Smitty.'

How it happened, Lord only knows, but since the beginning of the season, Mack has been conning Will into kissing his 'ouchies' better. As professional hockey players, what qualifies as an ouchie to them differs from the average person's, but blocking a thick rubber puck shot at 80+ mph is gonna hurt no matter who you are. The arrangement wreaks absolute havoc on Will's heart, the poor bugger, but he indulges his baby anyway. Unless it's below the ankle. He is NOT kissing Mack's feet, no matter how much his best friend pouts.

So there's only one thing that'll put an end to Mack's current theatrics. Seizing his friend's wrist again, Will kisses the center of Mack's palm, then the top of his knuckles.

"Better now, baby?" Will murmurs against Mack's skin. His best friend's only response is a shaky exhale. "Uh oh, doesn't seem like it." He completes the cycle one more time, before letting go. "How about now? Am I forgiven?"

Looking almost... awestruck?... Mack gapes down at his hand. Without even seeming to realize what he's doing, he presses his own mouth to the spots where Will's lips had rested. Which is...

A lot, honestly.

It's too much for Will to process.

So he just... doesn't.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, protect my soul and give me strength to make it through tonight.

"Heh, t-thanks, Smitty." Mack aggressively clears his throat. "I forgive you."

"So glad to hear that, champ," Will answers coolly, impressing himself with how he manages to keep his voice steady. Nice! "Back at the Program, the under-17 guys came to practice one day whispering about this kid on the Steel like he was a god -"

"I did drop five on them in a single game once," Mack says neutrally, adjusting his head on the pillow. His green eyes burn holes into Will's face.

It's not a boast exactly. But Will knows what his best friend is looking to hear... and he's feeling sentimental today, okay? Sue him. "I know, I caught the replay. It was a hella impressive showing."

Mack's eyes instantly brighten. "You really thought so?"

"Of course, Celly. You scored five goals in a single game during regulation. But the youngins started talking about you like a month into the season. So I started paying attention, and by the time we played our first game against each other, I was low-key," high-key, "a Macklin Celebrini fanboy."

"Oh... oh my god, that means -"

"Yeah," Will forces a smile, "you despising my guts from the get-go made me understand the whole 'don't meet your heroes' thing."

Until they became Sharks together, they never exchanged a single word. Didn't matter though. It was crystal clear how Mack felt about him. To this day, it still boggles Will's mind that Macklin Celebrini can contort his super cute face into the absolute bitchiest and most venomous expressions known to mankind. Expressions that Mack had, of course, directed at his 'arch-rival' whenever they played against each other.

Now that he and the little competitive freak (affectionate) are best friend's 5ever, Will finds it fucking hilarious how Mack and his cute bunny teeth absolutely seethed around him. Like, mwhaha, he really lived rent free in Mack's mind, huh?

"It wasn't personal, Smitty, I swear!" Scrambling upright, Mack hauls Will in by the front of his sweatshirt and smushes his face directly into his broad chest. In some social circles, the gesture might constitute comfort. In others? Attempted murder. Will’s view on the matter is right down the middle... quite literally. Sweet Baby Jesus, has Mack been working out lately?! "I figured if I didn't like you first, then I wouldn't care when you inevitably didn't like me either, ya know?"

Voice muffled by the thick fabric of Mack's hoodie, Will wheezes, "Do you still not like me?"

"Of course I like you now!" Mack screeches, unconsciously squeezing Will even harder against his rock-solid pecs. Help. "Do you think I'm faking being your friend or something?!"

Will's stupid heart flutters as if it heard a declaration of love. But he gives himself some grace. It might just be the lack of oxygen. "Then why you tryin' to suffocate me?"

Death by pecs? Not the worst way to go, but Will is a fucking sap. If he got to pick, dying from Mack's cuteness would be his preferred choice. More dignified.

"Shit, sorry." Mack immediately releases him from his airless prison. "Oh gosh, I really hope I didn't just further restrict the airflow your little doll nose can take in."

"You might have," Will sniffs haughtily. "Brute."

Mack's endearing fixation on his nose is no secret. Even so, the last thing Will expects is for his best friend to press a delicate kiss to the bridge, tip, and each side.

"I've been told my kisses are magical," Mack murmurs, brushing his own nose against Will's before leaning back. "So I bet it'll work even better now."

Be chill, you are chill, don't squeal or shriek out loud, this is fine, everything is fine.

"Yeah? Your mom tell you that?"

"Nope, yours did."

Snickering at how proud Mack is of his childish comeback, Will wriggles back under the covers, his heart beating wildly in his chest. "Good, that means I won't have to hear you chirping me for it -"

"Oh, you will. You're still gonna be a mouth breather," Mack says dismissively. "It's in your DNA."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. So why did you think I wouldn't like you?"

"Literally, why would you?" Mack counters, absentmindedly running his fingers up and down Will's back. "You're so fucking cool and talented, ya know? Not to mention super pretty." Oh my god, ahhh?! Wait, no. You are chill, Will Smith. Ice Princess Smitty. Chill. "Why would someone like you ever want to be friends with a weird loser whose only appealing quality was their talent for hockey?"

Well that went from flattering to gut-wrenching real quick, sheesh.

"Bunny teeth," Will says without thinking.

"What?"

Whoops.

"I said, obviously you figured out why, right?"

"Totally, yeah," Mack says, nodding fervently. "For sure."

Will's eyes narrow. "Go on."

"Because I was born to warm your feet?"

"Macklin."

His best friend juts his bottom lip out. "I get stressed when you full name me, William."

"Macklin Richard Celebrini."

"No, come on, that's even worse!" Mack shudders. "I mean... okay, I still don't get it. I've just accepted that you've got a fetish for weirdos or something."

Honestly, Will feared Mack was gonna say 'because we're teammates', so he lets out a surprised bark of laughter at the wacky response. "Maybe I'm also a weirdo, did you ever think of that?"

"Gotta be, to want to be my friend so badly," Mack says with the fakest laugh Will has ever had the misfortune of hearing.

Outside, sheets of rain slam against the window, and a jagged streak of lightning illuminates the room. Will squints at his best friend, taking in the skittish way Mack's gaze is darting around, and the prominent, guilty twist of his mouth. "Spit it out, Celebrini."

Evidently, whatever Mack is holding in is something that's weighing heavily on him. Because instead of the usual hemming and hawing, he gets right to the point... sort of.

"Do you remember our second to last game against each other in the USHL?"

No.

"Totes," Will lies.

"After you scored that goal in the final minute to bring the game to OT, you skated by me with the smarmiest, smuggest grin -"

Ah, yes. He remembers now.

"For the record," Will interjects, with a sprinkle of exasperation, "it was a, 'Hiya, look at me, am I talented enough to be your friend now?' kind of grin."

"Heh, oopsie. Definitely didn't realize that. So I, uhh... took it personally?"

"Of course you did. But what does that -" The pieces suddenly click in place in Will's brain. "Macklin, tell me you didn't," he murmurs, refusing to believe his sweet baby (future) bestie was the cause of his trauma.

"Our last game against each other was legit the next day. So that morning, I went to a nearby field, found some little friends, then, erm... left them in the visitor locker room?... I'm really so sorry, Smitty."

Despite how Mack tightens his grip around Will's waist in anticipation of his impending freak-out, he manages to reel back enough to put some space between them. Much easier to shout this way. "DUDE, I HAD NIGHTMARES FOR MONTHS AFTER THAT!"

"Ya know, you did have a Quinn-Hughes-esque haunted vibe going on that game. I thought maybe you'd come down with something overnight," Mack remarks casually, as if they're talking about the weather and not the origin of Will's deeply rooted phobia. He glares heatedly at his best friend, who holds his hands up defensively, looking contrite. Fake news; Will sees Mack's amused smirk before he thinks to hide it. "I mean... they were just little garden snakes, yeah?"

Thunderstruck by the fucking audacity, Will gasps in outrage. "YEAH, TWO FUCKING DOZEN, WHICH I KNOW BECAUSE OUR COACH MADE US CATCH THEM ALL, THE BASTARD -"

"There were actually, erm... twenty-five?"

"WE WERE RUNNING AROUND WITH KNIVES ON OUR FEET!"

At least Mack's remorse is genuine this time. "Oh, that's sad."

"ESPECIALLY FOR COLE, WHO LEGIT CRIED AFTER HE ACCIDENTALLY SENT THE DEMON WORM BACK TO ITS TRUE HOME!" Cole Hutson wasn't the only one to shed tears that day, but Will doesn't feel the need to point that out. "YA KNOW WHAT WAS ALSO SAD? THE NIGHTMARES I WAS PLAGUED WITH -"

"I understand you were upset when it happened, Smitty, I really do," Mack coos, reaching out to pet his hair; he then has the gall to pout when Will bares his teeth. "But is it really that big of a deal, all these years later?"

"YOUR LITTLE BUDDIES WERE ALL UP IN MY GEAR, MACKLIN!"

Mack blinks. "Really? Strange. I left them in a box, right in the middle of the room." Knowing Will's weakness, the younger boy flashes a gummy-grin. "Guess they really liked you, hm? 'Course, not as much as I do... now."

"Macklin, they touched me." Will shudders viscerally at the memory. He no longer shakes out all of his clothes before he gets dressed. Just his hockey stuff. "My bare skin, they touched it!"

"So to fix it, let me just -"

"Do not patronize me!"

"I wasn't -"

"Macklin!"

"I don't, uhh... actually know what that means?"

"Use context clues!"

They stare each other down, squinting-eyes watering, each too stubborn to break. Will loves his best friend, but Mack… Mack will do anything to win, including playing dirty. Today is no different. Shifting like he's going to poke Will in the eye… he actually does poke Will in the eye.

“OW!!!" Jerking upright, Will clutches a hand over his right eye, the blankets pooling around his waist. "WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!"

“Sorry, sorry!"

“HAVE I NOT ALREADY SUFFERED ENOUGH? YOU DECIDED I NEEDED TO BE BLINDED TOO?!”

Panicked hands reach for him, but a sharp, one-eyed glare puts an end to that. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, Smitty. You were supposed to move, but you just -”

“Oh, so it’s my fault you put me in this predicament? Victim blaming, nice."

While trying to apologize, Mack flails dramatically - so dramatically, in fact, he comes within centimeters of whacking Will in the face. With a distressed gasp, the younger boy clutches both hands to his chest, looking on the verge of a panic attack.

Spotting a wet sheen in Mack's pretty green eyes, unacceptable, must fix, Will roughly nudges his best friend with his foot. "Hello? Aren't you going to comfort me?"

He bites back a smile at the way Mack jumps into action. "Yes! Yes, of course. C'mere, Smitty."

Since he's legitimately feeling sulky and his eye does burn something fierce, Will doesn't resist as he's maneuvered into an embrace. Mack is so careful too, like Will is a delicate treasure that will shatter at the slightest mishandling.

"You really left them in the middle of the room?" Will whispers, absolutely not thinking about how he's sitting in his boy best friend's lap. In bed. At night. "Not my stall specifically?"

Will lets out an oomph when Mack's tightens his hold so much that it cracks his back. "Yeah, but I... I'm so sorry, Will. Before I left, I told them to go for the pretty blonde Disney prince, so I think that's why they were up in your business."

Hehe, aww shucks.

"You're a Parselmouth, huh?" Tucking his cold nose into the crook of Mack's neck, Will lets out another blissful sigh at the warmth. "Is that your next secret, Mackie?" When there's no response, he hisses, "Dude, if you don't know what that means, I swear to god -"

"I do!" Mack squeaks. He roughly clears his throat. "I do know what that means. But, umm... do you wanna keep playing? Since that last one was more a guilt-ridden confession than a secret, I can go again." Will is debating if he should suggest they continue over a nice, cold glass of Emergen-C, when Mack quietly adds, "You can say no, Will. It's okay if you're tired -"

As if on queue, thunder booms directly overhead.

Untangling himself from his best friend, Will flops back down onto the mattress. "I could do this all day, pal."

Is Will tired? Yeah, kinda. Could he easily fall asleep cuddled around Mack? For fucking sure. Dude is a portable furnace, and it's awesome. But if Mack is volunteering to share another secret, then either he wants to keep chatting, or he's got more to get off his (chiseled) chest. Mayhaps both. Regardless, Will is happy to indulge.

"Alright, so you know how RJ isn't big into golf?" Mack asks, lying down beside him.

"You mean the thing you bitch about every other week? Nah, I had no idea."

Mack sticks his tongue out. "Jerk."

Whelp, Will's intrusive thoughts win this round. Once Mack's little pink tongue returns to his mouth, Will sticks his own out, then licks a wide, wet stripe up his best friend's cheek. "Was that an acceptable amount of Smitty Slobber, or would you like more?" he taunts, waggling an eyebrow.

Looking wholly unimpressed, Mack wipes his face dry with his sleeve. "You're lucky I'm already drowning in guilt for hurting you and thus terrified to move. Cuz my revenge would be epic."

"Oh, I bet it would be, sugar tits."

Mack's eye twitches at the flagrant goading. But he doesn't take the bait, boo. "As I was saying," he glares at Will, as if daring him to interrupt, "the last time I went golfing with my brothers, I..."

"Yessums?"

Averting his gaze, Mack reveals in a voice so soft, Will has to strain to hear it, "I was losing. To RJ. So I... Smitty, I cheated."

With the way Mack is squirming and covering his flushed face in shame, you'd think he just confessed to something heinous. Not cheating at a nothingburger competition against his siblings.

"If he didn't catch you, that's his fault for not paying attention," Will says sagely, patting the top of Mack's head. "I think you're good here, Superstar."

"RJ didn't fully understand the rules -"

"Also his fault."

"I explained them poorly on purpose."

"Well..."

"He was eight at the time."

It's definitely not Will's fault that he bursts into shrieking laughter. Like, who isn't on the verge of delirium at 2:00 AM?... besides Mack, who silently observes his best friend's mini-breakdown with a peevish scowl. Even so, he sweetly passes Will one of the random water bottles from their obnoxious collection on the nightstand without being asked.

"Thanks, pookie," Will giggles, wiping a couple of stray tears away. "Gosh, I was trying so hard to give you the benefit of the doubt too."

"And I appreciate that, I really do. But you obviously haven't thought about this from my perspective!" Mack pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he's an agitated middle-age father explaining to his family, again, why they need to arrive at the airport four hours before their departure time. Will nearly sprays water everywhere. "Christ, you okay there, pookie?"

Thank goodness he had the forethought to sit up at least. "So okay," Will hacks, giving his bestie a thumbs up.

Mack looks profoundly skeptical but doesn't push. "If I lost to an eight-year-old, Aiden NEVER would have let me live it down, Smitty." When his best friend downs the remaining water, Will definitely doesn't think oh my god, indirect kiss. Pfft, he's not twelve. "Screw social media, he'd have emailed Sheng a picture of the scorecard and typed the article himself, all before we even left the golf course!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, pal." As 'punishment' for his sarcasm, Mack shifts so he's hogging their once-shared pillow before Will can lie down again. "You're such a brat -"

Oh.

Will’s heart stutters when Mack holds his arms open in silent invitation. But you know what? It's fine. Everything is fine. Mack’s bulky shoulder is totes a top-tier alternative pillow.

"Also, not sure why you're on your high horse, Mr. Smitty," Mack tuts, curling his arm around Will's back. "I KNOW you rigged our last Super Smash Bros tournament."

"Don't be a sore loser, Superstar, I beat you fair and square," Will shamelessly lies, fiddling with Mack's hoodie strings again. They really are so much fun to play with, he sees why cats like this shit. "Just like I always do -"

"Oh, bullshit!"

"I haven't rigged a diddly darn thing since college," he says without thinking.

Ah, fuck.

In his keenness to redirect the conversation away from his past misdeed, Will picked the worst fucking direction he could have gone in. Love that for him. Not.

Mack gasps. "A hockey game?!"

"Bro, you fucking wish. How would I even pull that off?"

"You're smart -"

"Have you noticed that you only say I'm smart when it fits your narrative?"

"See, I don't even know what that means, so thanks for proving my point, pookie!"

Ugh, how does this boy get more and more endearing by the minute?

"No, not a hockey match. It was, uhh... Spin the Bottle."

Beneath him, Mack stiffens. "Wanted to kiss some sorority chick that badly, huh? Seems kinda skeezy and desperate, Smitty." Pause. "No offense."

"Opposite," Will forces out.

He started this, which means he's gotta follow through... he doesn't have to follow through at all, he could make some shit up, but he's just... god, he's so tired of lying. Hiding. Pretending. It's exhausting.

"I'm not smart like you, remember?" Mack snaps. "I don't know what that means."

"You are smart, so stop that, okay? I just meant that I didn't want to kiss someone in particular. So when the bottle landed between her and some rando dude," they're so close together, Will feels rather than hears Mack's sharp intake of breath, "I made a big production of greeting one of my teammates who'd just walked in, then nudged it with my foot." 

"Oh, was he like your college experiment or something?" Mack asks slowly, like he's not sure what the proper response is here.

Pfft, Will knew which way he leaned long before college.

"Uhh no -"

Mack's gaze sharpens. "Was he really good looking, like that waiter from Henry's?"

"I mean," Will scrunches his nose, "he was alright -"

"So you think the waiter who was flirting with you was really good looking, huh?"

Traptraptrap! his brain screams.

"You sure seem to, Mack -"

"We aren't talking about me though, because I'm not the one he flirted with! And since you're avoiding the question -"

"They were both mid!"

"Psh, sure. According to Toff, that guy wrote his number on the receipt for the 'pretty blonde with the curls'." Oh? Obviously not Will's type, but that's super flattering. "Dude, you're blushing."

Shit.

"I am not -"

"Yes, you are -"

"It's dark, how can you even -"

Mack places his palm on Will's heated cheek. "Yeah, you are. Wow. Okay. Guess I shouldn't have told Toff to throw the receipt away, huh? Sorry." He doesn't sound sorry in the slightest. "Didn't mean to cockblock you. Maybe if we go back, you can -"

Desperate to flip the script, Will latches onto one of two arguments guaranteed to derail Mack (the other, 'What makes you think I'd do some gay shit like that?' is a little too close to home for his liking). "Wow, just how fucking easy do you think I am, Macklin?"

"... what?"

"You said sorry for cockblocking me. So you assume that if given the chance, I would have spread my legs for some random dude, simply because he smiled at me. That makes me feel real great, bro, thanks." Mack's mouth opens and closes several times, but no actual words come out. "Also for your information, I picked the dude because the girl was in a few of my classes and the absolute biggest bitch I have ever interacted with in my life."

Will despised Alyssa, to the point where he'd rather publicly kiss a hundred dudes than let his lips get anywhere near hers.

Hmm, perhaps he overdid it on the attitude...

"Oh god, I'm so fucking sorry if I hurt your feelings, Will," Mack frets. "I wasn't trying to imply that at all, and I definitely don't think you're -"

Lightly pinching Mack's lips closed, Will interrupts, "You didn't, Celly, and I believe you, okay?" He waits for his best friend's timid nod before letting go. "Your turn."

"Erm..." Mack fiddles with the edge of the sheet. "Do you remember last week, when the guys were talking about first times, and I said I lost my v-card to my ex?"

This is revenge, isn't it? Fuck.

How could Will forget? His turn came before Mack's, but he brushed it off by saying he didn't even kiss and tell, so why would he fuck and tell? Will understands locker room culture and all, but it's fucked up to gossip about romantic/sexual partners like they're not real people too. He certainly wouldn't appreciate Hannah telling her gal pals about their super awkward romp in the sheets!

The guys jeered, of course, but when Toff redirected the attention to the next victim, no one resisted. Eventually, it was Mack's turn. Will attempted to flee the locker room with a flimsy excuse, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid hearing his best friend's stuttered explanation that it happened with her.

Taking his own advice, Will relaxes his jaw before he chips a tooth. "Yes."

"I lied."

Oh?

When Mack squirms under Will's expectant stare, a knot forms in his stomach.

Oh god...

Thinking of little doe-eyed Mack, so innocent and gullible, who was almost always the youngest person on his hockey team and seventeen for his entire freshman year at BU, Will braces himself for some fucked up horror story that's probably going to make him want to commit a crime... because it probably was a crime, and a heinous one at that -

"I've never, ya know... done it before. With anyone."

That's a crime too, heh-... nope, bad Smitty!

"You're a virgin?" Will clarifies, lest he misinterpreted something. Wouldn't be the first time.

Mack's skin flushes crimson, and he resolutely refuses to look Will in the eye. "Don't tease, Smitty!"

That's the last thing Will would ever do. Not only because it would be super fucked up, but this is the best news he's gotten all year.

"I'm not, Cel, I promise. And I understand why you lied to the guys, but between us, I don't think it's a big deal that you haven't slept with anyone yet."

Mack looks at him with so much trust, it legitimately makes Will want to weep. "Really?"

Cupping his best friend's handsome face, Will ghosts his thumb across a splotchy, heated cheek. "Saving yourself for marriage, huh?" he teases, hoping to ease his poor baby's embarrassment. "Very noble."

"Not marriage." Mack nuzzles his cheek more firmly into Will's hand, like a cat demanding pets. "Just, ya know... someone special."

If I were a girl, he'd probably think I was someone special.

"It's Sidney Crosby, isn't it?" Will blurts. Because he's a masochist apparently.

Mack's mouth drops open. "Oh my god, why would you even... no!! Dude, that's so gross."

Will examines his fingernails, like he’s indifferent to the direction their conversation has gone in. He's not. He's as far from 'indifferent' as a person can get. "Why? Cuz Sid's a dude?"

"Because he's Sidney fucking Crosby!!" Mack cries, aghast. "Not only is he old enough to be my father and like a mentor to me, but he's... Smitty, I am so unworthy." Will releases the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. "Don't even get me started on how unworthy -"

Excellent advice.

"I mean, I get it, Celly. But it's also kinda a shame, ya know?"

Mack’s brow furrows into a sullen, defensive scowl. "No, I don't know, actually."

"Bro," Will whistles. "That ass?"

He's willing to bet real money that among the thirty-and-under crowd in the NHL, the majority have entertained a fantasy or two about Sidney Crosby. The rest are either lying (Mack) or subconsciously knew they were going to be drafted by the Flyers.

"You shouldn't talk about him like that!"

"It was a compliment -"

"It's not even that great -"

"But... heh... sorry if I offended your delicate sensibilities," Will finishes, right as Mack scoffs, "I've definitely seen better."

Wait.

Will blinks. "Have you?"

A flicker of uncertainty crosses Mack's features, though it's quickly replaced by a defiant glare. "Yeah, in the gym mirror."

"No, bad, Celly!" Will wags a finger in his best friend's face. "Pride is a sin for a reason."

"Ah, yes, that's my next secret," Mack purrs. "I'm a giant sinner." He frowns slightly when Will doesn't respond. Super rude of him, for sure, but all he can think is, No, I'm worse. I am a million times worse. But he can't exactly say that aloud, can he? "It's hurtful enough that you're not disagreeing, but are you really not gonna even ask why?!"

Right, right. Be normal. Deflect.

Will flutters his eyelashes with exaggerated flair. "Forgive me. Just got lost in your eyes, bro." Mack immediately preens at the comment, his broad chest puffing out under his sweatshirt. Unbelievable. Swallowing a slightly-hysterical yet incredibly fond giggle, Will continues, "Tell me, mi amor. What makes you say you're a giant sinner? Is it cuz you want dear ole' Smitty to stroke your ego a bit?"

"Would rather dear ole' Smitty stroke something else of mine."

Mouth moving faster than his brain, Will continues on autopilot, "You always get so fussy if I surpass the allotted Two Smitty Compliments a Day quota, so I didn't expect you to be fishing -"

Record scratch.

Finally processing the filthy innuendo, the air leaves Will's lungs as if he was sucker punched. "Mack, you can't... you can't say shit like that to me!"

"Why? Because it's gay?" Well... yeah, actually. "Or because you're a prude, like all the other good little Catholic boys?"

As the French say - pardon le fuck?

Will bristles. "Know a lot of good little Catholic boys, do you?"

"I mean, maybe?" Extending a finger, Mack traces the sharp line of Will’s jaw. "But there's only one good little boy, Catholic or otherwise, that I wanna kiss."

Thinking of his own good little boy back home, Will coos, "Rigney?" Fuck he misses his bestest buddy.

The low, frustrated sound that tears from Mack's throat sounds not unlike a territorial dog. Heh. Cute. "Kinda worried you're playing dumb on purpose to gently let me down. But just in case I misjudged your intelligence, I meant that I wanna kiss you, Will, not your adorable dog."

Forget a record scratch; the entire system goes kaboom!

"R-really?" Will stammers out, legitimately feeling faint.

Mack's gaze drops to his mouth before snapping back to his eyes. "Yes, really."

"Oh."

"Umm, no pressure, but you're like... kinda leaving me hanging here? And it's really stressing me out."

Looking at his best friend's gorgeous face, a sudden, horrible wave of insecurity washes over him. "Mack," Will manages to whisper around the suffocating lump in his throat. "Are you... are you making fun of me? Is this a joke?"

"No, I'm not making fun of you." Mack doesn't sound angry or even defensive. Just bewildered. "And it's not a joke. I wanna kiss my pretty best friend. Like really bad."

Mack's question from earlier floats to the forefront of his mind: Was he like, your college experiment or something?

"When I mentioned kissing a dude earlier, it made you curious, yeah?"

"Curious isn't the word I'd use," the younger boy mutters darkly.

"Jealous," Will supplies, his tone lacking any judgement.

"Smitty -"

"Possessive."

Heaving a heavy sigh, Mack grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, "Maybe a little."

Okay, Will thinks. This I can work with.

In spite of the precariousness of the situation, Will can't help but picture Mack as some furious, ankle-biting chihuahua determined to mark its territory. The territory being Will, of course.

"I can't... we can't cross this boundary, Mack. You can call me a prude if you want, but even if it's just a kiss, I don't do casual. Not with anyone."

Obviously, Will wants to say yes. How could he not? But getting even the smallest taste of what he could have but will never get to keep? It would incinerate the last shreds of his sanity to ash.

"First of all, when have I ever been casual about you?" Mack points out. Will inclines his head, because - yeah, that's fair. "So, alright. Hypothetically, what can you do?"

"Only the real thing," Will whispers, staring at his own fingers as he twists Mack's hoodie strings around them. "Making sure you're fed. Looking after you when you're sick or in a mood. Being your biggest supporter, and the person you turn to for advice or when you need to vent. Giving you a place to call home, somewhere where you can just breathe and be yourself, no expectations. I can love you with my entire heart." Like I already do.

Mack stares at him, practically vibrating in place. "I see."

Mmm, please don't.

Reaching for his rosary, Will halfheartedly chuckles. "Nothing casual about that, right?"

"Nope, not at all." A sudden, blinding grin breaks across Mack's face. "Will Smith, why does it sound like you want to be my WAG?"

For a fraction of a second, a desperate, pathetic hope flares in Will's chest. Would that really be so bad?

But that little ember is subsequently snuffed out when Mack boops his nose and says, "I'm flattered, obviously, but we both know that'll never happen."

Of course it won't. Mack wanting Will? How ridiculous. It's nothing Will doesn't already know, yet hearing the words from Mack's own mouth knock the breath out of him. It won't ever happen, because Mack is straight. Because they are teammates. Because Will is just the best friend. The boy best friend.

The reality of Will's worst nightmare - ruining his friendship with his straight best friend by burdening Mack with his inappropriate feelings - crashes down on him all at once.

Oh god.

Before Mack can even blink, Will kicks the heavy duvet off and makes a run for it.

"Dude, where are you going?" Mack yells, the bed creaking loudly as he lunges after Will. "Come back!"

"Gotta... pee."

"That's the front door?"

No shit, Sherlock.

"Who doesn't want to... to pee off the roof?"

Maybe if Will gets lucky, a well-aimed lightning bolt will put him out of his misery. It might as well. His life is like... fucking over.

But that can't happen if Will doesn't get there first. His fingers are shaking so badly, he can't grip the metal latch of the deadbolt. Fucking, grrrr, curse his past-self for prioritizing safety!

A heavy, solid mass hip-checks Will aside. "I don't get why you want to pee off the roof in a thunderstorm, but I'm coming with you."

"No -"

"Yes, I am. You're being weird, and besides, it's not like we haven't peed together before."

The memory of how doting and attentive Mack was that one time Will accidentally got White Boy Wasted during what was supposed to be a chill night out - Will was chill, until he saw Mack chatting up some blonde girl at the bar, and then suddenly he was tossing back shots like it was a college frat party - has his eyes welling with tears. "We were d-drunk, it doesn't count!"

"... baby, are you crying?"

Yes.

"Please move."

"No." Mack hooks an arm around Will's waist, hauling him away from the door. "Come back to bed."

The panic bubbles over into pure, raw desperation. Will can't do this here, he needs to leave, needs to lick his wounds and tape himself back together, and he can't do that under Mack's piercing gaze -

"Let go!"

"Smitty, just talk to me -"

With a scream of frustration, Will thrashes, using his weight to throw them both off balance. They crash to the hardwood floor in a tangled heap of limbs. Mack twists mid-air, absorbing the brunt of the impact. It would be gentlemanly, if it weren't for how he then tries to wrap his lanky limbs around Will to immobilize him.

Will hooks his elbow back, aiming for the (not-so) squishy part of Mack’s gut to force some breathing room. Jokes on him. Not only does he miss his intended target, his elbow strikes the floor with a sickening, jarring rattle.

"Owwie!" Will whines pitifully, collapsing inward.

Why doth you forsake me, Father?

Immediately clambering off Will, Mack gapes at him in horror. "Smitty? Oh god, I’m so sorry, I didn't mean to -"

The apology is the breaking of the dam. A gut-wrenching sob tears out of Will’s throat, loud and pathetic in the quiet hotel room. Mortified, he sprawls out on his stomach to save his last shred of dignity, as if Mack can't literally hear him bawling his face off.

Unfortunately for Will, his nose quickly becomes blocked. His chest heaves as he gasps for oxygen through his mouth, but it's insufficient. With no other choice, he rolls onto his back to continue his pity-party for one, dragging his good arm over his eyes to hide the hot, humiliating tears.

"If you show me exactly where it hurts, I'll... I'll get the trainer!" There's a franticness in Mack's voice that Will’s instincts compel him to soothe. "Is it your elbow? Shoulder? Somewhere else?"

"Don't," Will rasps, the words scraping his throat. "I'm fine."

Mack makes a sound akin to a moose being strangled by a rattlesnake. "You're not, Smitty. Please, please let me get help -"

"Dr. Davies can't fix me. None of the trainers can."

"Of course they can!" Mack says with the conviction of someone who puts far more emphasis on the physical body than the mental.

"No, Mack. I'm broken. Right here." Bringing his trembling hand down, Will repeatedly taps the left side of his chest, right over his heart. "No one can fix it."

The frazzled energy leaves Mack instantly, replaced by an all too familiar stubbornness. "That's cuz you're not broken, dummy. But I can help."

Before Will can protest, strong arms slide under his back and knees, hauling him off the floor like he weighs nothing. When Mack is done treating him like his personal Barbie doll, Will is once again in his lap, legs wrapped securely around his friend's thick waist. Mack leans back against the headboard, his own legs stretched out down the mattress.

"Let's first get you cleaned up, kay?"

Grabbing some tissues from the box on the nightstand, Mack cleans his best friend's face like he's a fussy toddler. Sure, it's nothing Will hasn't done to him before, but doesn't Mack understand the importance of 'sticking to the status quo'? They made a whole (banger) song about it!

Breathing in the familiar, grounding scent of his best friend, Will's muscles reflexively relax into the hold... until the brutal realization hits him.

Once Mack realizes I would love nothing more than being his WAG, he’ll never touch me again.

A fresh wave of tears spills over Will's eyelashes at the thought. He knows what it's like to not have Mack in his life. 11/10 don't recommend. Not that he'll have a choice in the matter, but still.

"Aww, Smitty, come on," Mack sighs softly.

Humiliated, Will buries his face directly into the crook of Mack's neck, his shoulders shaking as another hot sob escapes him. "I'm fine," he says wetly against the fabric of Mack's sweatshirt. Another lie. He knows nothing else at this point.

Mack's large hand begins rubbing slow, soothing circles across the expanse of Will's back. "For someone so smart, you're a big dummy, you know that?" he whispers, his voice dropping into a low, affectionate growl right against Will's ear.

Well yeah. Will should have just kept his mouth shut. Or better yet, stayed in his own bed. Mack is an adult. Even if it pains Will on a cellular level to hear him in despair, his best friend is perfectly capable of soothing himself.

"When I said I didn't want you to be my WAG, you were supposed to ask why not!"

"So sorry about that, bub," Will hiccups, leaning back to glare at Mack through watery eyes. "Totes my bad. You see, I couldn't really think straight over the sound of my shattering heart... no p-pun intended!"

Mack lets out a stressed, breathless laugh. "That was awful."

"You are awful."

Will’s voice cracks on the last syllable, a pathetic, raw sound that betrays him completely. Another sob threatens to choke him.

"Smitty -"

"Seriously, can't a guy just... just cry in peace around here?"

"Smitty -"

"Do you feel good knowing you're like the poster child for toxic masculinity right now, Macklin?"

"Do you feel good knowing you're the poster child for..." Mack trails off, his huff turning into a ragged exhale. "I don't know anyone who looks good when they cry." His thumb sweeps across Will's skin to catch a stray tear. "Yet somehow, here you are, even more beautiful than usual. How?"

Beautiful.

Will’s heart does a violent, dizzying flip. A fragile bud of hope begins to bloom in his gut, but he savagely squashes it to dust. He cannot let himself slip into delusion.

"Skill issue," Will sniffles.

When more tears cascade from his eyes, Mack pulls the sleeve of his sweatshirt over his hand to gently dab at the corners of Will's eyes. The sheer tenderness of the gesture leaves Will feeling hopelessly, dangerously confused.

"If you had followed the script like you were supposed to..." Mack runs his hand through his messy hair, pushing a few wayward strands off his forehead. Will’s face heats. Why... how... is that so incredibly attractive?! "Will, you can't be my WAG, because you promised we'd win the Stanley Cup together!"

Will closes his eyes, a bitter taste in his mouth. Of course trying to be a good best friend and teammate would bite him in the ass.

"You really only have hockey on your mind, don't you?" Will whispers, the fight draining out of him.

"Nope. Hockey and my stunning, Smitty."

Leaning forward, Mack peppers his tear-stained face with soft kisses. One on his temple. One on the bridge of his nose. One right on the apple of his cheek. "Don't want a WAG," he says, pressing a kiss to each of Will's eyelids. "Want you to be my HAB."

"Erm..." To keep himself steady, Will's hands come up to rest against Mack’s broad chest. Crikey, there's a whole lotta mixed signals here. "You want me to be traded -"

Mack hisses like a spitting cat. "Do not speak the forbidden word!" His lips brushes Will’s jawline as he shakes his head emphatically. "Not the Habs, Smitty. My HAB."

"Well that clears it up," Will says with zero sarcasm whatsoever.

"If WAG is wives and girlfriends, then logically, HAB is husbands and boyfriends, yeah? Except WAGs are in the stands, and this HAB is on the ice with me. Where he belongs."

The distant roll of thunder outside the hotel window feels miles away. Will goes stock-still, Mack's words echoing in the silence of his mind. A spark of hope flares within him, brighter and hotter than before.

Husbands and boyfriends.

"Still confused," Will whispers, his voice barely a breath. He needs to hear it again. He needs Mack to make it so painfully clear that his anxious, guarded brain cannot twist it into something else.

Mack rests the back of his head against the headboard, exposing the long, pale lines of his throat. "You're killing me, bro."

Looking at the smooth expanse of Mack's neck, Will’s mouth goes dry. He aches to lean forward and mark Mack so thoroughly, no one will ever mistake who he belongs to.

"You're killing me worse," Will says, a sprinkle of petulance in his voice. He drops his forehead right onto Mack's shoulder, hiding his face in the gray fabric to block out temptation incarnate. "If you expect to be Captain next season, you need to be more eloquent... that means better at communicating."

"Will Smith, I want to marry you, in a very gay way that has nothing to do with hockey!" Mack shrieks, the sudden volume echoing off the hotel walls. "And no, I'm not joking, I am deadly serious... how's that for communicating, huh?!"

"Wanna marry me so you can get my life insurance policy?" Will croaks, rubbing a hand over his chest. His skyrocketing pulse is from equal parts fright, shock, and a sudden rush of euphoria.

Mack wants to marry me.

"It does look like that, doesn't it?" Mack murmurs sheepishly. To make up for the scare, he sweetly kisses the shell of Will's left ear, then the right. An involuntary, breathless laugh escapes Will's throat. Cutecutecute. "But you are priceless to me, so no."

Feeling his ears flush a dark crimson, Will lightly swats Mack's bulging bicep. If his hand lingers for a few moments to appreciate the firm definition, Mack is polite enough (or oblivious enough) to not comment. "Aww, shucks, Mackie. Right back at ya."

"I'd marry you right this second if we could, Will Smith, cuz I know you're it for me," Mack says, the playful tone vanishing entirely. "But since we just had to pick a homophobic sport, we'll have to make due with a two-decades-long engagement." He eyes Will worriedly, like he thinks this might be a deal breaker. Ha, as if. "But winning the Cup will make the secrecy worth it, of course!"

"Are you... you're serious?" Will breathes. "Still serious, I mean."

"Of course, Smitty!" Mack nuzzles their cheeks together, his stubble scratching softly against Will's skin. Alright, it's not that unpleasant, but he still prefers Mack clean-shaved. "We're going to win at least twice, I have full faith in us -"

Sigh.

"I meant about wanting to date me."

"Heh, knew that." Tilting his chin down, Mack looks at Will with a sudden, fierce intensity. "No, I don't want to date you." Ah. Yeah. Will obviously misunderstood - "I want to marry you."

"Oh. Umm, okay. Yeah. Cool. I'm down."

Discreetly, Will slips his hand beneath the hem of his sweatshirt and pinches his own side. Ooh, ouchie. Okay, not a dream... which he should have known given his physical suffering tonight. But better to be safe than sorry!

"Ya know, maybe I do suck at eloquence," Mack muses. "But you've never had a problem translating Macklin-speak before. In fact, you're even better at it than my mom." He presses the back of his hand to Will's forehead, then each of his cheeks. "Gosh, you're really warm, Smitty. Are you feeling okay?"

Yes and no. Mostly, Will feels like he is going to keel over and die from how blissfully overwhelmed he is. After becoming an absolute Boss Bitch at the whole conceal-don't-reveal routine, his walls have been obliterated in a matter of minutes. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, his mouth, or his racing thoughts.

"Hey, I have a great idea!" Will blurts. "We should start a book club."

Mack's brows pull together, his concern for Will's well-being undoubtedly doubling at the non sequitur. "Sure, if you want...?"

"I do. We'll start with the New York Times Bestseller, If You Give A Bitch A Break. Have you heard of it, per chance? It's one of my all-time faves."

Will nearly coos at the utterly blank expression that crosses Mack's face. Gosh, his cluelessness is the most endearing thing on the planet. "Erm... maybe? Sounds familiar. If you're recommending it though, I'll totally read it!" he says earnestly. "Wait, hang on..." There ya go, sport. "That's not a real book, is it?"

"It might be, but... Macklin, let's look at this from my perspective, kay?" Will gestures wildly in the small space between their chests. "I have been hopelessly, pathetically... massive emphasis on the pathetically... and irrevocably... that means something that can't be altered... in love with you since before we even met -"

Mack's eyes widen. "You liked me back then?"

"Yes!! So you liking me back? Fucking bonkers, man! And I'm warning you now, I'm gonna need reassurance on this for a long time." As if he’s auditioning for a tragic soap opera, Will collapses sideways across his best friend's lap, engaging every abdominal muscle in a heroic effort to not crack his skull on the nightstand. Whoops, definitely misjudged that. "You can ask Gabe and Leno if you don't believe me. I have been down bad for years, bro."

Will makes a mental note to send his former linemates a massive, expensive gift basket as a belated 'Thank You For Sticking With Me Through My Sad-Emo-Boy Era.' They tolerated his pathetic wallowing with way more grace than he ever would have managed if the roles were reversed. Speaking of Grace, he should probably send her something too. And his parents. And Toff... Cat... wow, he's gonna need to write this down.

Mack lightly flicks the tip of his nose. "Kinda feel weird about being called 'bro' by the guy who just confessed his undying love for me."

"It's definitely undying, bro," Will purrs. "You won't escape me, even in death."

Mack's smile becomes super dopey, like being attached at the hip with Will for all of eternity is the greatest thing he can think of, even more than a Stanley Cup. But the expression slowly slips away. "Gosh, now I feel even worse about SnakeGate."

Suppressing a shiver, Will pulls a face. "Luckily you're cute, so I forgive you."

"Thanks, bro," Mack hums, before letting out a nervous laugh. "Erm... can I tell you another secret?" He waits for Will's wary nod before continuing. "I, um... I texted that waiter? From Delly's phone. Pretending to be you. Basically chewed him out, said his behavior was unprofessional, yadayada. So, uh... just a heads up in case you ever see him again?"

It's not the appropriate response, but Will legitimately cannot hold in his delighted laughter. "Baby, I'm so sorry," he wheezes, feeling a pang of guilt when he sees Mack's disgruntled pout. Bad, bad Smitty. "But what is it about that random ass dude that got to you so much?"

"I dunno!" Mack cries, throwing his hands up. "I just... all season, I've been driving myself up a wall, going back and forth about whether I should confess or not. Everyone was like, 'He's so into you, of course he'll say yes if you ask him out... no, Mack do NOT propose.'" His expression turns smug. "That last part was Aiden, so shows what he knows."

Will arches an eyebrow. "Who is 'everyone'?"

"Well, my brother obviously, my mom, Delly, Wenny, Toff and Cat." Grr, no wonder Toff was so adamant that Will stop being a 'sad sack' and just tell Mack outright. He could have just told Will outright, but nooo! "Also Anya was probably my biggest supporter." Some twisted, rotten mind game probably. "Sometimes I'd think maybe they were right, yeah? So then the Olympics thing came out, and you were at my house for like a week, letting me take care of you for once. And I was like, okay, Mack, the pucks have aligned, it's time -"

"To score, huh? Sheesh, you really do think I'm easy."

Mack startles so severely, his entire body jerks, jostling Will in his lap. Whelp, he deserved that. "No!! Smitty, I swear I don't think that -"

"I'm teasing," Will says, his heart swelling with affection. "Also, as everyone with eyeballs already knows, I'm super easy for you, Mack." Suddenly overwrought with nerves, his fingers curl around his rosary. Mack is confessing to his psycho behavior, so it's only fair. "On that note, umm, I... oh god, this is embarrassing."

"Go on, Princess Smitty." Mack brushes some wayward curls off Will's forehead. "You can tell ole' Mackie anything."

Alright, here goes nothing.

"Soooo... I might have stolen your phone sporadically over the last two years and blocked the numbers of the girls you'd go on dates with, and their profiles on Raya if they had one, so that's why they all ghosted you, heh, super sorry about that, bud."

Will isn't sorry at all, actually... well, that's not entirely true. He does feel atrociously guilty for how dejected Mack would get when he realized his latest potential date had arbitrarily stopped talking to him. But the primal, possessive part of Will's brain is entirely unrepentant.

Mack's lips part into a tiny, rounded gasp of pure, unadulterated shock. Which is fair. Totally fair. "All of them?"

"Except one, but yeah."

Will had tried to block Her number too, but days later, she and Mack were still talking. So he tried again. And again. His nonsensical failure made him hate Her all that much more.

"I was so confused," Mack breathes, staring vacantly at the hotel wall as pieces of the last two years click into place. "My fanbase is like, half lesbians, which is cool. But then I'd start talking to one, and it would go well until suddenly poof, they were gone!" Uhh, pardon? Lesbians, what lesbians? "Smitty, can I tell you something... something really horrible?"

Again, Mack starts chewing on his quivering bottom lip. Will sighs and sits up. Lifting the younger boy's heavy, muscular arm, he drapes it over his own shoulders, cuddling flush against Mack's side.

"Lay it on me, Superstar."

"I'd rather you have made the Team USA roster, 'course," Mack murmurs, hanging his head. "But I'm so relieved we won't have to play against each other in Italy."

Laughing softly, Will tilts his chin and presses a tender, lingering kiss right to the sharp line of Mack's jaw. Finally. He mentally crosses 'Get lips on Mack's yummy jawline' off his life's bucket list. "You cutie. How is that horrible? I'm flattered."

"I bet you are, you silly noodle," Mack says mockingly, though he sputters when Will licks his cheek. "I lied. You're not a silly noodle, but a freaky one."

"You like it."

They're so close, Will can feel the synchronized thumpthumpthump of their hearts beating against each other. For once, Mack doesn't argue. He just lets out a shuddering, breathless, "Yeah, Smitty. I really do."

Will's pulse thrums with pure, unadulterated want. Resting their foreheads together, the air between their lips turns scorching hot. But he still owes Mack a secret.

"After that game where Gabe elbowed you in the face," Will whispers, sliding his hand up and down Mack's arm to respectfully appreciate his gains. "I crashed out and, uhhh... punched him in retaliation?"

Mack sucks in a sharp breath. "You punched Gabe?"

"It was more like a slap... but it was really hard, my hand stung afterwards -"

"Smitty, why -"

"What do you mean, why?! He made you bleed, Mack!" Will says defensively, before shrugging. "Gabe knew he needed to pay penance for his sin, so like... it was chill."

The younger boy stares at him like he’s never seen him before. And then, to Will's absolute horror, Mack's eyes well with tears. The light in the room is dim, so he tries to delude himself into thinking he's mistaken. But then comes a wet, pathetic sniffle.

Oh god.

Will has never made Mack cry before!

"Baby?" he asks, panic instantly replacing the romantic haze.

Mack smacks a hand over his own mouth, his shoulders shaking. "Baby, oh god, oh god." Alarmed, Will pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. "Sorry, I just..." Mack chokes out against Will's shoulder, his large frame trembling. "I didn't fully believe that you liked me in a romantic way, not just a best friend way. But you... you do, don't you?"

Can a person's heart be crushed to death by overwhelming fondness?

"You goofy guppy." Will pulls back just enough to press soft, reverent kisses to every single inch of Mack's face - his forehead, his wet eyelids, the tip of his nose, his burning cheeks - humming in utter contentment. "I don't like you, Mack. I love you."

Their breaths mingle, hot and shallow, the space between their lips vanishing to a mere fraction of an inch. He's just about to say fuck it and close the distance himself... but they both jump out of their skins as Mack's phone begins vibrating aggressively on the nightstand.

Will’s good mood sours instantly when he looks down at the flashing screen. Her. Why the fuck is she calling at such an unholy hour? A dark, familiar possessiveness claws at Will's throat, but it eases when he realizes he can use this to his advantage.

"Put it on speaker." Mack raises a questioning eyebrow, but Will just flashes a dazzling smile. "Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, right?"

Mack, the naïve little lamb, grins brightly, entirely missing the edge in Will's tone. He kept insisting Will would like Her if he just gave her a chance. But Will knew better and avoided Satan's spawnette like the plague.

Mack swipes his thumb across the screen to answer the call. "Hey, Anya!"

"Hello, dearie," the redhead purrs, her voice rough and gravelly. It carries a strange, almost hypnotic cadence always makes the hairs on the back of Will’s neck stand up. "I call bearing news."

"I have news too!" Mack says excitedly, pressing a feather-light kiss to the crown of Will's head.

A low chuckle hums through the speaker. "Good news, I hope." Will fights the instinctive urge to pull his lips back and bare his teeth. Not for you. "Hold on, my little darling. I sense this is something Ashley will wish to hear directly from the source."

Will lightly elbows Mack in the ribs, shooting him a questioning glance.

"Ashley is Anya's girlfriend," Mack says nonchalantly, like he didn't just drop a total bomb out of nowhere.

"What?!" Will squeaks out, clutching a hand to his heart. Girlfriend? "Did you... were you aware of that the whole time?"

"Kinda? Anya told me about it when we met for coffee the first time."

Holy shit, it all makes sense now. That despicable she-devil was trying to drag his innocent baby into some twisted, multi-layered relationship! And Mack stuck around because; one, he hates confrontation and disappointing people, and two, he was desperate for human connection because Will spent the last two years systematically sabotaging every single one of his romantic prospects. Fuck.

Oh god, what has he done? Does Mack expect them to merge with the girls? The thought makes Will want to puke... and then abscond with Mack into the night. He's heard the Bermuda Triangle is nice this time of year. No one will find them there... or ever again, probably, but whatever. They'll be together, that's all that counts.

"That's... I don't even know what to say -"

"You would get along well with Ashley." Doubtful if she's dating the Antichrist. "It's kinda strange." Mack looks down at Will, a faint, puzzled crease appearing between his brows as he studies him. "Appearance-wise, she looks like she could be your older sister, even more than Grace. Makes the whole 'beard' thing, if we ever decided to go that route, a bit tricky. But she volunteered to dye her hair if we needed that."

Before Will’s brain can even begin to process the implications of that, a bright, melodic voice trills through the line. "Hi, sweet pea!" The tone is the polar opposite of Her dark rasp. It's radiant, airy, and instantly puts Will at ease. "Anya says you have good news? Is it about...?"

"Yes!" Mack says, practically bouncing on the mattress. "He said yes! Will actually said yes to being my... well, technically I went straight to marriage, but I realize now that I want to propose properly with a ring and everything, so we're -"

"Boyfriends," Will says loudly into the speaker, pressing a loud, claiming mwah right to Mack's rosy cheek. "Monogamous boyfriends."

Predicting the immediate fallout, Mack thrusts the phone as far away from them as his long arm can reach. A split second later, a deafening, glass-shattering volley of girly shrieks erupts from the speaker, competing with the thunder rolling outside. They both wince.

Once the racket subsides, Anya’s low voice cuts back in, dripping with smug satisfaction. "Little darling, Ashley is too shy to ask whose strategy you actually went with."

"Hers," Mack admits, casting a sheepish look in Will's direction.

"Ah-ha!" Ashley cries triumphantly, her voice practically glowing with pride. "I told you both that faking being scared would work, but neither of you dodo birds believed me!"

Scared?...

Oh my god.

Will's gaze drifts slowly across the dark hotel room toward his own empty bed. Only now does he notice the distinct shape of an extra pillow stacked on his mattress. Which this little brat must have thrown at him!

"You faked being scared of the storm, Mack?!"

Mack doesn't even look remotely remorseful. "I couldn't spend three weeks in Italy without you, wondering if you missed me as much as I missed you... or if you were spending our time apart in the arms of that man."

"Is that why you were so insistent on me coming to Europe?" Will asks, only half-serious.

"A very tiny bit," Mack admits bluntly. "However, with you rooting for me in the stands, there's no way I wouldn't tear up the ice. But with you there, wearing my tarp? We'd definitely come home with Gold."

Will's eyes gleam at the thought; meandering through the cobblestone streets of Milano with his sister, 'Celebrini' stretched across his back, before going to cheer for his boyfriend at the fucking Olympics? Maybe they should make that happen...

"We are sure you two have much to discuss," Anya hums, putting extra emphasis on the word to leave no doubt what she actually means. They both squirm, their cheeks flushing crimson. "But before we hang up... Little Darling, what do you want us to do with -"

"Oh, sweet pea, Zeke really is the bestest, goodest boy ever!" Ashley gushes. "He sits so patiently for his makeovers. And Lily is the smartest little princess, she's mastered playing woebegone so well, even I fell for it!" The girl makes a contemplative noise. "Huh, I guess we don't need that puppy-safe makeup anymore, do we?"

Now Mack looks guilty. "Umm, let me get back to you guys on that. Much to discuss, right?... heh, thank you both for all your help, you're the best, love you lots, toodles!" Before they can say another peep, he punches the screen, ending the call.

Staring daggers into the side of his boyfriend's (eeeeek!) head, Will waits for the silence to settle before asking, "Do I even want to know?"

Avoiding his gaze, Mack crosses his arms over his chest. "Despite the slanderous claims of others, I have actually seen movies that aren't related to hockey. And what else brings two people together quite like rescuing a helpless, injured animal and raising it in a single household?"

An incredulous laugh bubbles past Will's lips. "Macklin Richard Celebrini, you were going to baby trap me?!"

"Erm... puppy trap," Mack clarifies with a nervous chuckle. "And I hadn't actually decided yet. But it seemed like a good idea? Like, we've been talking about moving in together next season, and the girls said they'd look after it while we're away!"

The absolute, unhinged absurdity of it is so deeply, uniquely Mack that it makes Will, uhh... kinda turned on? He should probably talk to a therapist about that. Or make (another) anonymous post on Reddit.

"Come here, loser," Will murmurs huskily, his eyes dropping to Mack's lips. "You've got a lot of ouchies to kiss better before we can discuss having a baby together."

Leaning down, Mack's heavy frame crowds Will back against the pillows. "I should get started on that, huh?"

"You really should," he breathes, tangling his fingers in Mack's hair. "Because afterwards, you're gonna find me a Team Canada Celebrini jersey to wear in Italy."

Will sees Mack's eyes widen before he crashes their lips together with a sudden, desperate, and long-awaited heat.

God loves all His children equally. He does not pick favorites. His angels, however, are a different story.

It is not unheard of for an angel to develop a fondness for a particularly eccentric or interesting human. So long as they keep their interference subtle, Heaven turns a blind eye to a little light meddling.

In all of human history, never have so many angels taken an interest in the same two humans: two blindingly bright souls who, despite being polar opposites, constantly gravitate toward each other like magnets. There's nothing more fascinating to an angel than something that defies the natural order. Convinced the boys needed a sprinkling of divine intervention to get over the hump, a few well-meaning angels tried their hand at matchmaking.

They failed. Spectacularly.

Not only did their tampering spark a (one-sided) feud, but one boy's Guardian Angel resigned, effective immediately. The post has remained vacant ever since.

Word spread quickly through the Silver City, and soon, getting the two together became a competitive, high-stakes challenge.

It stands to reason that the scales can only be tipped by cosmic chaos - the desperate synergy of a frazzled angel combined with a cool, aloof demon... with a love story of their own.

Thousands of miles away from the stormy Chicago skyline, Anya slices through the heavy tape of a cardboard box. More dog stuff, no doubt. Likely priority shipped given the absurd time it was delivered.

Although it had been Anya's own idea for her Little Darling to 'rescue' a furry creature and con his beloved into helping him raise it, she secretly hopes he declines now that he's succeeded in capturing the heart that already belonged to him. Exactly as Anya feared, Ashley has become inconceivably attached to the pint-sized hell raisers. The thought of her Angel moping about after relinquishing one is just... no.

Opening the box's flaps, Anya freezes at the contents. It is not dog toys, but a pair of shimmering golden wings. They are hers. Or rather, they were hers, before she fell. Her throat tightens, a familiar phantom agony crawling up her spine. She detests Heaven’s rigid bureaucracy, yet the weight of her ancient exile still aches deep within her.

"Anya!" Ashley skips into the room, a tray of tea rattling in her hands. "You won't believe what... oh." Stopping short, her jaw drops as she spots the golden glow reflecting off Anya’s red hair. "Wow."

"This is God's will?" Anya snaps, her emerald eyes flashing with sudden anger. "Cruelty and wickedness?"

Ashley sets the tea down, suddenly looking very small in her oversized sweater. "Anya -"

"It is a vile, deplorable jest, wholly befitting of the Supreme Capricious Leader himself!" she hisses. "You, Ashriel, are the one deserving of having your wings restored to their former glory. Not me." She shoves the box into the guardian angel's arms. "Take them. Maybe they will be of use if you grind them into a tonic."

"Anya, I... I can't -"

"You can and will -"

"I lied!" her Angel blurts, her usual radiant energy dimming. "Kinda. My feathers are... or rather were falling out. But it was not celestial punishment. It was just stress and anxiety from trying to guide both William and Macklin, while also protecting them from a bunch of overzealous, competitive, well-meaning matchmakers." 

Anya gapes at her Angel, entirely unmoored by the revelation. The pure, sweet, righteous, hard working Ashley had used a demon's own currency - cunning and deception - to get what she wanted. Ironically, William's guardian is far more like his beloved Macklin than himself.

"I'm so sorry," Ashley whispers, her bottom lip quivering. "I was just so exhausted running interference all the time, and I knew they'd never stop until the Children got together, but no one, not even me, could get them together, so I reached out to you, and... are you... are you gonna leave now?" 

She has been intrigued by Ashley for centuries now. Seeing her display such a beautifully devious, manipulative streak these last few months sealed Anya's fate entirely.

"Leave?" Anya scoffs, masking her sudden rush of affection with a sharp roll of her eyes. "And let you raise Ezekiel and Lilith by yourself? How absurd. You spoil them too much. Besides, without me here to supervise, you'd accidentally sabotage the Children's relationship within the week."

Ashley’s face instantly lights up, her radiant, blinding smile knocking Anya off balance. "Yay, you're staying! Oh goodness, this is so exciting. Do you wanna keep these or... oh, there's a note too."

Written in elegant, unchangeable celestial script on a piece of heavy parchment is a single decree:

In recognition of outstanding, selfless devotion in protecting and guiding a pivotal soul, the Heavenly Council hereby elevates Ananiah to the status of Macklin Celebrini's Guardian Angel

Anya stares at the paper, a slow, wicked smirk spreading across her lips. Guardian angels are reserved only for those select humans who can change the course of human history. Previously, she had no motivation to regain her celestial status. But her Little Darling, the first human she's ever taken a liking to, being bound to her? Being able to better protect and guide the sweet, naïve, tenacious, sly Child?... while coincidentally remaining at Ashley's side?

Appealing. Very appealing.

"Well," Anya purrs, looking up at Ashley with a dangerous glint in her eyes. Soon, she will have her Angel too. "It seems we have some more scheming to do, Ashriel. I hear Italy is great this time of year. Little Darling and I would just love for you and William to join us."