Matt
It’s a song about being a fucking rat on the ice
Nick laughs out loud at that, startling Dolly where she’s curled around his ankles. “Rude,” he mutters, then types it into the chat.
Matt
I call it like I see it
Nick
I don’t even play like that anymore! I have grown as a person!
Matt
Suuuure ;)
A grin tugs at Nick’s lips as he types his response, his stomach fluttering in a way he firmly does not think about. Matt’s funny, unafraid to chirp Nick for his rat behavior, which, yeah, he’s nottotallywrong—Nick still has some pest-like tendencies despite trying to set a good example as captain. When you grow up small and speedy and smart-mouthed, it’s the only way to survive on the ice.
After a little while, the conversation starts to die out, and Nick’s heart lurches as he tries to think of something to keep it going. But he can’t. Not without getting into the possibly weird territory of getting way too personal with a dude he literally just met for an hour after a hockey game.
So he lets it drift, and when after fifteen minutes or so Matt hasn’t replied, he bites his lip and clicks back to his main feed. It’s fine. They follow each other now, so that’s something. And it’s not like Nick candoanything about his little crush, anyway. It’s just… a passing attraction. He’s always been weak to pretty brown eyes.
It’s been too long since he last got laid, is all. He’s letting his brain run away with him. It’s not like he could actually date the guy. There’s so many reasons why it would never work out.
Then his stomach lurches as a thought occurs to him, sudden as a puck to the face, snapping him out of that thought spiral.
For the first time in five years, not one of those reasons is that he is still in love with Connor LaPorte.
Nick doesn’t sleep well that night. He sits up and listens to any music thatisn’tSticks+Stones, and he has a small meltdown over his lack of romantic love for Connor, and he stares at his phone for an hour while talking himself out of calling either Marco or Connor himself.
Y’know, just your average Friday night.
But they’re playing Colorado the next day, so he doesn’t have time to feel sorry for himself. He falls into his game-day routine, ignoring the narrow-eyed stare Marco fixes him with as he walks into the locker room for morning skate. “It’s a beautiful day to kick some ass, people,” he says as his greeting to his team, and Duke is the one who snorts.
“WatchingGrey’sagain, Cap?”
“It’s quality entertainment, man.” Nick grins breezily, pulling his sweater over his head. “You have a better way to spend a day off?”
That sets Duke off talking about his own Friday, spent hanging out with his family—his beautiful wife and their adorable daughters and their dopey Newfoundland dog. Duke has the most picturesque life Nick has ever known of anyone. It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy, truly, but at the same time it’s absolutely mind-blowing to Nick that Duke’s only two years older than he is.
But it’s an easy conversation to fall into the background of; Nick almost thinks he’s gotten away with it, until Marco’s hand clasps his shoulder as he moves towards the equipment room. “Hey, you need a minute, man?” he asks in an undertone, cocking one dark eyebrow in concern. Nick plasters on a smile that he knows isn’t fooling his friend.
“Nah, bro, I’m good. Just had a weird night.” Marco keeps staring him down, and Nick resists the urge to squirm.
“Is this about LaPorte’s two goals?”
“What? No!” It’s not even a lie—at this point Nickwisheshe had the mental capacity to care about being one-upped by Connor fucking LaPorte in the first week of the season, but his current crisis has kept him a little busy. “Seriously, I’m okay. Tell you about it in Tampa?”
The promise satisfies Marco enough to leave him be, and Nick eagerly switches into hockey mode, ejecting any thoughts that aren’t related to the game or his performance.
His rule about no social media is even stricter on game days. Nick used to be kind of addicted to it, scrolling the internet before his pre-game nap to see what was going on, what people were saying about him. Coming off the ice and immediately grabbing his phone for the game post-mortem. But last year it all started worming its way into his head, affecting his game and his mental health, and Marco threatened to delete all his accounts if he didn’t draw healthier boundaries.
Because of that, it’s not until he’s at home that night that he sees the DM waiting in his inbox. His heart stutters.
Matt
Hey so I didn’t wanna offer until I’d checked with our manager that it was ok but we’re doing a local show on Friday and I was wondering if you wanted tickets? Since you’re a fan now and all ;) I know you have a game on Sat so totally chill if you can’t make it. Here’s the deets. Let me know! :)
