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Henri accepted his beer begrudgingly. “I don’t like these,” he grumbled.

“And yet you’ll drink it. Santé.”

“Cheers.” He knocked his bottle against Everett’s; his cheeks burned, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol. “I fear the league would disagree with your assessment. And the commentators. And the coaches. And the fans. And⁠—”

Henri let out a surprised gasp when Everett smacked his hand over Henri’s mouth to shut him up. A jolt of electricity shot through him at the contact. He was thankfully sober enough that he didn’t lean into it.

“Weird. I thought you invited me here to secretly talk me out of my funk, and now I’m the one talking you out of one. Stop it, Baps.” He finally withdrew his hand and shoved it into his pocket. “You’re a great hockey player. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Even if it’s you saying it.”

“Thanks. And sorry. I didn’t mean⁠—”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s my job as captain, anyway.”

There’d been plenty of uncomfortable silences forced on him throughout the years. Times Henri hadn’t felt up to socializing, moments he didn’t want to justify his presence. Whenever things went quiet with Everett, it didn’t feel heavy. More like a pause, companionable and shared, that needn’t be broken until they were ready.

“So,” Everett said, as though they’d been mid-conversation and not sipping their drinks elbow-to-elbow. “I feel like I’m overdue asking this, but you’re settling into Albuquerque okay? You must be, to find a fancy place like this.”

“It’s not fancy. It’s a regular bar.”

“You sure? Because I see exactly zero TVs in this place.”

“You’re supposed to talk to other people here, not stare at a screen.”

“Lame,” Everett said with a dramatic sigh. “But when in Rome…”

They talked until the bar closed. About Albuquerque and their favorite cities to visit. About what they did in the summer and their families. Henri shared pictures of his father’s sailboat, and in turn got to see Everett show off his parents’ beach-front house he bought them so they could retire some place warm. They joked about their teammates’ weird habits. They talked and talked until the bartender apologetically kicked them out and still talked outside in the chilly evening air.

And as Henri walked back to his apartment, staring at the sidewalk in front of him, all he could think was that he really liked Everett and wished that could lead to anything besides unrequited feelings.

It could lead to a Stanley Cup, a greedy part of him thought. That’s not nothing.

No, it was not. But as Henri climbed the steps to his apartment, he thought the impossible option might be more satisfying.

Dylan Everett’s search history (November 14, 2023):

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turkeytalk (November 13, 2023): HE’S BACK BABY! Everett nets one at the end of the third. Beautiful one timer off a pass from Baptiste.

↪ gobblegoals: but we lost the game…… to fucking Buffalo…

↪ turkeytalk: We lose the battle in the hopes of winning the war. The important thing is Everett’s got his mojo back and we don’t have to worry about the coaches throwing the lines in the blender just to realize Novak-Baptiste-Everett is the way to go.

luc-henri-sourit (November 15, 2023): LOOK AT THAT SMILE! Pinning this one - so adorably happy that his captain scored! I take back every mean thing I’ve ever said about the Turkeys or Dylan Everett