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I love you too.

He didn’t mean to, but Henri latched onto the feeling as tightly as he could. If he couldn’t have the words, maybe he could have that. Long after Dylan had come and cleaned them up, after Henri drifted off wrapped in his boyfriend’s arms, and even after the sun forced them to wake up the next morning, Henri let that feeling buoy him through his hangover. Because if he couldn’t guarantee a future for themselves, he should at least get to cherish the present. Right?

66 APRIL 2024

turkeytalk (April 2): There are seven games left in the season and Everett sits at 52 goals for the season - probably enough for the man’s 7th Rocket Richard, unless someone pulls out a MASSIVE effort - and 558 all time. Reminder that the all time American goal record is 562… it is completely possible he does that in the last few games. That plus us heading into the playoffs, I’m excited for the end of the season for the first time in years.

↪ gobblegoals: whenever everett is within a hat trick of a goal record, tickets to games skyrocket in price - i’m going to all four of the last home games

↪ turkeytalk: He’s still four goals out but he’s had four goal games before. Smart move getting those tickets now. Going to be a historic game whenever he ties it. An even better one when he breaks that record.

↪ gobblegoals: remember when he was drafted and it was always “if” and now it’s “when”? we’re spoiled getting to watch it all

Henri leaned on his knees as he wrote out a list on his phone. While Henri relaxed on the sofa, Dylan was in the kitchen cooking something that smelled fucking divine. It would be delicious as always, but it reminded Henri that he had absolutely no food to speak of at his apartment. He tapped his foot as he tried to figure out a grocery list.

Protein powder (chocolate)

Protein powder (vanilla)

Peanut butter

Chicken breast

Frozen broccoli

Sweet potatoes

Cereal (for Dylan)

Milk

Eggs?

Laundry detergent?

He was trying to figure out what else he was missing—he’d noticed he was out of something the last time they’d stayed at his place, but that was over a week ago and he couldn’t remember if it was a kitchen thing, a bathroom thing, or a cleaning thing—when he felt a kiss on the top of his head. He looked up and smiled at Dylan, leaning over the back of the sofa.

“Dinner ready?”

“Not yet.” Dylan was looking at Henri’s phone as he spoke. “You know...” There was a forced casualness to his voice that immediately made Henri suspicious. “You don’t need to buy all that stuff.”

Henri looked at his phone, then back to Dylan. “How am I going to eat?” He wasn’t opposed to takeout every day in theory, but he still needed something in his pantry to snack on.

“Well, I’ve got plenty of food.” He was staring at something just below Henri’s eyes (his nose, maybe?) and his shoulders were tense.

“Yes,” Henri agreed. Dylan got groceries delivered every week, but he got the impression this wasn’t about the food. He blinked up at Dylan, aware that he was waiting for the real question without any idea what that might be, but that Dylan was worried about it.

“It’s just…you, uh, are wasting a lot of money on that lease when you could just…live here.” He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. His lips pinched together in a tight line, as if he were physically stopping himself from saying more.

Slowly, from the words said and the anxious way Dylan stood there, it clicked.

“You’re asking me to move in with you.”

“Uhhm, yes? If you want to?” And while Henri didn’t notice himself hesitating, somehow Dylan took that millisecond of a pause as a rejection. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. Your apartment’s nice, and I didn’t even ask when your lease ended. And I don’t want you to think I don’t like staying there. We can stay there whenever. It’s cool. I won’t be upset if you don’t⁠—”

Because it was the only way to shut him up, Henri pulled Dylan down and kissed him. It was an awkward, borderline painful upside-down, but it had the intended effect: Dylan stopped talking.

Henri took the time to fully turn around and face Dylan, with the back of the sofa between them like a strange fence.