Archive of Our Own ^beta

MARCH 28, 2017

They win. It’s a hard game, but they come out on top.

Mitch slumps in his stall, running his fingers through his damp hair. He’s exhausted, body sore from the hits he took and slightly irritated from ending the game with zero points. Zero shots on goal. The locker room is loud and vibrant, and usually Mitch would be in the middle of everything, but the noise is just making his head pound worse. He barely acknowledges Auston when he steps in front of him, only reflexively relieved for the bright lights being blocked, but he instantly feels bad, so he looks up and nods. “What's up?”

Auston grins down at him. “Some of the boys are gonna go out to that place Brownie told us about. You coming?”

Mitch pulls his shirt over his head, and it immediately sticks to his damp skin. “Nah, sorry, man.” He shrugs. “Probably going to go home and chill. Need me to drop you off?”

Auston shakes his head. “I’ll just catch a ride.” He claps Mitch on the shoulder, and Mitch thankfully keeps his grimace to himself. “See you tomorrow, Mitchy.”

Mitch watches him join Willy and Hymie, wanting to shake off his bad mood and join them, but he just puts his suit back on, trying not to pout too openly. His phone rings in his pocket, and he uses it as an excuse to sneak out of the locker room when some of the guys try to stop him.

“Hey, Mom,” he answers, strolling through the hallways to the parking deck. Mitch spins his keys as he walks, trying to ignore the locker room’s celebratory noises getting farther and farther away.

“Hey, Mitchy, baby. Are you coming home? I’m making lasagna, and I wanted to know if I should keep some out or put it in the fridge.”

Mitch’s shoulders sag, and he’s eternally grateful that she’s staying with him this year. He doesn't know what'd he do if he went home to an empty apartment. Probably rot in his bed or something. Be pathetic. “Yeah, Mom. I'll be home soon.”

“Okay, great! It'll be waiting for you. Love you. Get home safe.”

“Love you, too.” Mitch hangs up the phone and slides it in his pocket, bracing himself to go out in the chilly night air..

“Not going out?”

“Oh, Jesus, fuck,” Mitch curses as he whirls around, gripping his chest. “Fuck me, dude. Don't do that.”

Matt smiles at him a little sheepishly, not thrown off by Mitch's glare. “Sorry ‘bout that. You going home?”

Mitch suppresses an eye roll, and he turns around, pushing through the door to the parking deck. Obviously, he is. Where else would he be going by himself? “Yeah.” The cold curls under his suit jacket, and it almost convinces him to turn around, but he presses onward, trying to remember where he parked his car.

“You okay?” Matt asks from behind him, and Mitch startles for a second time. How the fuck is he so quiet?

Mitch takes off walking in a random direction, hoping his muscle memory takes over. “Yes, Matt, I'm fine.”

Matt huffs out a laugh, falling into step with Mitch. “Oh, I'm Matt now, Mitchell?”

Mitch’s steps falter, and he slows to a stop. His face flushes, warmth bleeding down his neck, and he wishes he could act like it’s from the frigid wind. He feels stupid for being so pissed off, so embarrassed, but his stomach can’t help but sour when he thinks about the game. It twists a little bit more when he turns and sees the corner of Matt’s mouth titled up, amused.

He rolls his eyes and starts walking again. “I’m fine, Marty.”

Matt frowns this time, concern creasing his eyebrows. “Are you sure, Mitch?”

Mitch breathes through his nose, trying to find a place of calm within himself.

“That was a pretty rough hit-”

He exhales shakily and rakes a trembling hand through his hair, tugging on the ends of it sharply.

Matt doesn’t notice, going on. “-and you were slammed into the boards a few times-”

“Oh, my fucking God, Matt, I’m fine. Damn.” He shakes his head and spits on the ground. “I’m not a fucking kid, okay? This isn’t my first time playing hockey. I can take care of myself.”

They stand quietly for a second until the beep of someone’s car unlocking right beside him startles Mitch enough for him to yelp. He looks up at Matt to find his eyes widened, staring at Mitch like he’s never seen him before. Shame spreads through his chest, burning low and deep, and he hangs his head. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“Hey.” Matt rests a hand on his shoulder, warm and large, squeezing it slightly. His knuckles are bruised from punching that guy’s bucket, and some of the blood has crusted around the wounds. “It’s okay. Maybe this isn’t the best place to be talking about this?”

Mitch shrugs. He really doesn’t want to be talking about this at all, but at least one person definitely heard him snap at his vet, and he doesn’t want anyone to hear where he thinks this conversation is going, so he just nods and follows Matt to his car.

It’s awkwardly silent for a minute while Matt warms it up and Mitch texts his mom to tell her he’s going to be later than he thought. When he puts his phone down, he looks up to find Matt already looking at him searchingly, and his face warms again. His hands twitch at his sides, and he has to stop himself from reaching out and fiddling with the radio just to do something. Matt raises an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, what was that about back there?”

Mitch scratches the back of his neck, and even that is hot to the touch. “Sorry,” he repeats because he doesn’t know what to say.

Matt gives him a small smile. “Yeah, you already said that.”

Mitch rubs at his face and groans, hoping it’s too dark for Matt to see how red he is. “Yeah, I know. I just- it’s stupid. Like, really stupid, and I kinda don’t want to tell you because it’s weird and like really-”

“Yeah, stupid. I think you’ve said that a few times.” Matt leans his seat back, seemingly getting comfortable, and Mitch realizes he isn’t getting out of this one. “You said- what? You’re not a kid? You can take care of yourself?” Matt studies him for a second again, and Mitch squirms a little in his seat. “I know that, Mitch. Doesn’t mean I can’t check up on you from time to time. I do that for everyone.”

Mitch sighs, deflating a little like the air’s been pressed out of him. He tries not to be disappointed, and he hates himself a little more for having to pretend in the first place. “Is that what that fight was? You ‘checking up on me’?”

Matt sits up at that, suddenly at attention. “It was a dirty fucking hit! I wasn’t going to sit there and let him do that.”

“But it was embarrassing!” Mitch blurts and then immediately regrets it. “Fuck.” He didn’t mean to say that out loud.

Matt rounds on him, eyes blazing. “Embarrassing? Me defending a teammate is embarrassing?”

Mitch sinks down in his seat, wanting nothing more than to fall through the floorboard and slide out from under the car. He tries to open the door, but it doesn’t budge. “You have the fucking child lock on?”

Matt shrugs, eyeing him keenly. “Nope, you’re not changing the subject. I wanna know what about that is embarrassing to you? What part of me is embarrassing to you because I know you wouldn’t have this kind of reaction if it was anyone else on the team.”

Mitch bites his lip. “Yeah, but you’re not anyone else on the team,” he admits quietly, staring the glove box down. He can see the flash of hurt pass across Matt’s face out of the side of his eye, and it makes him feel worse.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mitch slumps lower and crosses his arms stubbornly. “I already told you I don’t wanna tell you.” The silence this time is stifling, squeezing on his ribs. He can feel Matt's disappointment weighing on him, and he coughs. A few rows down, a car door slams, and when the car passes, the headlights cast their shadows, long and distorted, on the dashboard. 

“You don’t hear what they say,” he leads with.

“Who?”

Mitch looks down and picks at his nail bed. He hisses when it starts to bleed. “The guys.”

He can feel Matt turn back to him, but he doesn’t glance up. “Our team? What do they say? Are they bothering you?” he asks, demanding, and Mitch rolls his eyes again.

“Stuff about you doing shit like that. It’s just chirps, them calling you my dad or my ‘knight in shining armor’ and shit.”

“Well, if it’s upsetting you-”

Mitch knocks his head back against the headrest, staring at the cracking walls of the brick in front of him. “It’s not upsetting me! That’s the thing.” Mitch tilts his head to the side in consideration. “Okay, well, maybe the dad thing is kind of weird, but like…” He curls up in the seat, chilly despite the heat. “The rest of it I like.”

He chances a glance at Matt, and the utterly confused look on his face would be hilarious any other time. “But why would you…?” Mitch recognizes the exact moment it dawns on him, and the pit in his stomach digs itself a little deeper. “Oh. Oh, Mitch,” he says softly, almost pitying, and Mitch scrambles to sit up. His face is burning hot, aided by the vent blowing directly on him, and he feels like he's about to burst into flames. 

Pity is something he can’t deal with. Like he’s a lovesick middle schooler crushing on his mom’s friend or teacher or something. He’s an adult, okay? Well, as much of one as he can be right now. “I’m sorry, Marty. I’m trying, really. I just…”

“Mitchy, it’s okay.” Matt trains his eyes on him. “And it’s not just hero worship?”

Mitch shrugs, so, so mortified. “I mean, some of it is, I guess.”

“But not most?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, and Matt nods. “I'm sorry, Marty. Please don't hate me. Please-”

“Hey, hey, shh.” Matt reaches out, and Mitch watches him flounder with where to put his hand, eyes bouncing from his shoulder to his face before he settles on ruffling his hair. Mitch fights hard against leaning into the touch. Matt's smile this time is soft, and it does nothing to help the tug in Mitch's chest. “I don't hate you, Mitchy. I won't ever.” He ruffles his hair one last time before patting his shoulder and withdrawing his hand. “Okay. You better get home and get some of that lasagna.”

Mitch rolls his eyes as he tugs on the door handle, ignoring his head dropping. “Were you just eavesdropping on my whole phone call? And open this door.”

Matt smirks at him. “It's just locked, Mitch.”

“Oh,” he says, slightly embarrassed. He flicks the lock, and it comes open. “Okay, well, um, see you tomorrow.” Mitch scrambles out of the car, the cold hitting him full force. He takes in a sharp breath, the wind cutting his lungs, and tries not to freak out. He can't, for some reason, help but feel like this is the end of something.

“Fuck,” he hears from in the car before he stumbles off to find his own.