He should know better by now.
A loud knock on the door startles all three of them. Nick almost drops his mug.
“Trix, you’re it,” Marco declares, not making any move to dislodge his dozing wife. Grumbling, Nick drags himself to his feet. If it’s one of their teammates, he swears to God…
Throwing open the front door, any annoyed words Nick might have been building up die in his throat?—
It’s Matt, windswept and gorgeous, his cheeks rosy above the purple scarf wrapped around his neck.
“Oh,” Nick says dumbly. Matt’s lips twitch in a hesitant attempt at a smile.
“Can we talk?” he asks, shoulders hunched against the night air. “Inside, preferably? It’s cold as balls out here.”
Nick still can’t speak, but he allows Matt in. Matt unwraps his scarf and tucks it into the pocket of his coat, along with the matching gloves. Beneath the coat he’s wearing an unfairly well-tailored suit, dark red and slightly shimmery over a black button-up. He’s probably just come from some swanky music industry gathering, or some star’s house party. What the hell is he doing here?
“Hi,” Matt says with the shyest, most heartbreakingly tentative grin. He takes a step closer to Nick, close enough for Nick to smell his cologne. “I, uh… it’s good to see you.”
“How—” Nick’s voice cracks, and he coughs. “How did you know where I’d be tonight?” Matt has—as far as Nick knows—never been to Marco’s house before.
Matt ducks his head sheepishly. “Well. Um.”
It hits Nick at once. He takes a couple steps backwards, enough to look into the living room, where Marco and Lindsay are still curled up together. They look completely unsurprised by the late visitor. “Traitors.”
Marco blows Nick a kiss. “You’ll thank me later.”
“Nick.” Nick snaps his gaze back to Matt. The musician has his arms wrapped around his own waist in a protective gesture. He looks smaller than Nick’s ever seen him before. “I’ll leave, if you want. I just… wanted to clear the air. Will you please just talk to me?”
Part of Nick is tempted to tell him to fuck off; to cut his losses and make a clean break; go into the new year with no mess.
But a bigger part of him is aching with the urge to wrap this beautiful boy in his arms and kiss him until he stops looking so sad.
“Let’s—We can go upstairs. For privacy.” Nick shoots a pointed look back at his two best friends, who immediately pretend not to have been eavesdropping.
On trembling legs, Nick leads the way upstairs to his bedroom. He’d forgotten about the cats, who glare balefully at him for disturbing them. Over his shoulder, Matt coos softly.
Once Matt’s inside, he closes the door. The awkward silence that follows makes Nick squirm. He opens his mouth, but Matt beats him to it.
“I got a text from Marco earlier,” he starts, baffling Nick.
“Yeah, telling you I was here.” Nick will be havingwordswith his best friend about that.
“No. Well, yes, but, before that. He said something, and I… I need you to be honest with me, Nick.”
Panic flares in Nick, his heart skipping a beat. “What did Marco tell you?” If he’s said anything about Nick’s stupid, mushy feelings, Nick is going tokill him.
Ignoring the question, Matt moves forward, taking both Nick’s hands in his. His nail polish is chipped, like he’s been picking at it anxiously. “I know we never said anything about, y’know, exclusivity. Just because I haven’t—I mean, this is not a judgement, but—” He cuts himself off, taking a slow breath. “Are you dating Connor LaPorte?”
Wait,what?
“I’m not trying to change your mind, Nick. I just… didn’t want to lose you without telling you the truth. I know there’s all kinds of arrangements guys have when you’re travelling so often, and I can’t imagine how tough it would be withtwoschedules to balance, but I like you too much to just be the guy you fuck until you go back to your boyfriend in the off-season.”
The pieces start to fall into place, painting a picture that Nick is embarrassed to admit would make perfect sense from Matt’s perspective.
A loud laugh bubbles from his lips before he can stop it. Matt flinches, something in his face crumbling as he pulls his hands away. “Wait, no,” Nick urges, reaching for him. “I’m sorry. I’m a moron. I—Matt, babe, Iswear, nothing happened between me and Connor after the Quebec game.”
Nick’s hurt dissolves immediately. He closes the short distance between them, crashing face-first into Matt’s chest, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist and clinging on tight. Matt only hesitates for a second before he’s hugging back, warmand familiar and citrus-scented and…God, Nick has missed him.
“Oh,” Matt mutters—and then he’s laughing too, both of them tangled in each other, all the pain and anxiety of the last couple weeks coming out in a rush of hysterical giggles. “God, I’m such anidiot. I thought?—”
