Chapter Text
It’s January and it’s warmer than expected in Boston.
The highway’s slick with leftover rain.
It’s not enough to need wipers, but it’s just enough that the tires make that soft hiss when they cut over the pavement. It’s like a constant white noise that hums over the radio.
Mack’s sitting in the passenger seat, one knee drawn up, while his cheek rests against the cool window. Sometimes, he traces shapes in the fog on the glass with the edge of his sleeve.
It soothes him.
They’ve been driving for about twenty minutes, just about halfway from his house in Tewksbury to Boston College.
Mack had spent the last few days there, in that house. He was surrounded by his parents, his brothers, and his sister. The smell of his mom’s homemade mac and cheese—the one he always asked for when he needed comfort— had wafted softly through the rooms, also while mixing with the smell of the worn leather couches.
It was a brief pause, a moment to catch his breath between everything that had happened at BU and whatever was waiting for him now. His family tried to fill the silences with small talk and movies, but inside, Mack felt heavier than ever.
Now, as they drive through the dull morning light, Mack watches rain streak across the window, and also how it’s soaking the leftover snow piled along the side of the road. It turns everything to slush. Everything looks grey, heavy, cold.
The streets all look the same after a while.
He doesn’t know what’s waiting for him at BC, but the thought of it sits like a weight in his chest.
He leans his head back against the cold window, eyes fixed on the passing blur.
He doesn’t say anything.
Rick taps the steering wheel in time with whatever classic rock song is playing low over the speakers. There’s a thermos of coffee wedged between his thighs and a half-eaten breakfast sandwich in the console cupholder. His voice, when it comes, is soft.
“You doing okay?”
Mack blinks slowly. “Yeah,” He says, voice a little hoarse. “Just tired.”
Rick doesn’t push. He nods like he believes him, then goes back to his quiet tapping. Mack’s grateful for it, for the silence.
They pull into the campus loop just outside the dorms, the car slowing to a crawl over a patch of slush. The students are already moving around with their hoods pulled up, shoulders hunched against the drizzle.
Rick shifts the car into park and turns down the radio. “You want me to come in with you?”
Mack unbuckles slowly. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just grab my key.”
Rick nods, though his eyes linger. “I’ll wait here.”
Mack steps out into the cold. The rain has started to pick up, beading on his jacket and matting his hair down against his forehead. He hurries up the steps of the small admin building and pulls open the door, blinking under the fluorescent light.
At the front desk, a woman with glasses perched on her head looks up from a folder.
She’s older, maybe mid-fifties, with kind eyes and a BC sweatshirt layered over her turtleneck.
“Hi,” Mack says, voice low but steady. “I’m Macklin Celebrini. I just transferred from BU. I think I’m supposed to check in here?”
Her face lights with recognition. “Right, of course. We’ve been expecting you.”
Mack offers a small nod, trying not to fidget. He never knows what to say to things like these. Being expected always makes him feel like he’s already behind on something.
He watches quietly as she flips through a folder on the desk, her nails clicking lightly against the pages. The room is quiet except for that sound, and the low hum of whatever’s playing from a small speaker behind her. It sounds like the kind of radio his mom always listens to while she cleans up the house. Mack’s eyes stay fixed on the edge of the desk.
He’s not sure if he’s supposed to say something or just wait.
She shuffles through the pages for a while, before pulling out a highlighted sheet. “You’ll be in Dorm C, room 302. You’ll be sharing with a student named Will Smith.”
Mack’s heart drops.
He hadn’t known he’d be sharing. No one told him. His dad certainly didn’t.
His dad, who told him it was going to be different at BC.
His stomach twists, just slightly. He tries to keep his face still, but his mouth starts to move before he even means to.
Mack blinks. “Oh. I thought—” He stops. “Uh, I didn’t— I didn’t know I’d have a roommate.”
She smiles, like she hears that kind of hesitation a lot. “Will’s a good one. He’s the hockey team captain, actually. Great kid. You two will get along just fine.”
Mack doesn’t respond. He just nods, eyes lingering on the paper like he can change what it says if he looks long enough.
After a moment, she tilts her head, voice easing gently into the quiet. “You’re a center, right?”
His gaze flicks up, surprised. “Yeah.”
“I thought so. I’ve been to a few games,” she says, like it’s nothing. “BC’s lucky to have you. Coach was over the moon when your transfer got approved.”
That catches him off guard. He tries to hide it, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Oh.”
“He said your puck control’s unreal. Real smart player, too. You’ve probably been skating since you could walk, huh?”
A small, reluctant smile tugs at the edge of his mouth. “Pretty much.”
She taps the folder on the desk between them, nodding like she’s confirming something. “Knew it. You’ve got that look—like hockey’s your whole world.”
Mack glances down, the smile fading a little. “Yeah,” he says, quieter. “Something like that.”
She pauses, like she wants to say more but knows better than to push. Instead, she just offers him the folder with his room key tucked inside. “If you need anything, you just let us know, alright? We take care of our people here.”
Mack mumbles a quiet thank you, then heads back toward the doors.
Outside, the rain’s still falling, steady and cold. He crosses the parking lot back to where his dad’s waiting and opens the back door to grab his bag.
Rick doesn’t turn his head from his phone. “All set?”
Mack takes his bag from the back seat a little more aggressively than he means to. “They put me with someone.”
Rick finally looks over. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I have a roommate.” Mack’s voice is flat, but his jaw is tight. “Dorm C. Third floor. Some guy named Will Smith.”
Rick frowns while getting out of the car. “Oh. They didn’t mention that in the paperwork.”
“I told you,” Mack says sharply while grabbing his bag again, before slamming the door shut. “I told you that I didn’t want to room with someone again.”
His dad’s face creases with concern. “Mack, I didn’t know—”
“You never know,” Mack snaps, stepping back from the car like he can’t breathe next to it. “You just keep thinking it’s fine as long as I’m here and not there. Like that makes it better.”
Rick exhales slowly, gripping the outside door handle with one hand. “You said you wanted a fresh start. I guess this is part of it.”
“No, I said I wanted space. My own space,” Mack says, voice rising. “I asked for that one thing. After everything—after everything that happened—I asked you not to make me live with someone again.”
His throat burns suddenly, heat rising up his neck despite the cold rain sinking into his hoodie.
Rick walks towards Mack slightly, his tone gentler now. “Maybe it’s going to be good for you. Not to be alone.”
Mack laughs—bitter and humorless. “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me. You weren’t there.”
Silence settles between them like fog on glass.
Rick watches the people walking nearby before speaking again, his voice low. “Mack, I don’t know what to say.”
Mack flinches at that. He should know what to say.
“I know I can’t fix what he did… What they did,” Rick says, finally meeting his eyes. “But maybe, having someone decent around this time—”
“You don’t even know him,” Mack cuts in, voice cracking slightly. “He’s probably just like the rest of them.”
“He’s not.”
“You don’t know that.”
They both go quiet again. Mack stares down at the curb, blinking hard.
Rick’s voice is softer now. “Do you want me to go back in? Ask if there’s a single?”
Mack doesn’t answer right away. He just breathes in and out. The air is thick and wet and everything inside him feels like it’s getting heavy.
Finally, he shakes his head. “No. It’s done. It turned out this way for a reason.”
Rick nods once. “Okay,” he says softly. “Let’s grab your stuff.”
They open the trunk and start unloading — hockey bag first, then Mack’s duffel, then the cardboard box with toiletries and chargers rattling around inside.
The rain has tapered off to a mist, but the ground is slick and muddy, gravel sticking to Mack’s sneakers as they cross toward the dorm buildings.
The campus is alive in a way that makes Mack feel like he’s watching it through glass. There’s music coming from somewhere and there are faint bass notes thudding behind thick walls. Laughter carries across the quad, students weaving between each other with coffees in hand and keys swinging from lanyards. People look like they belong here.
Mack keeps his gaze down as much as he can, but it’s impossible not to notice the little things.
Groups of guys in BC hoodies leaning against brick walls, arms slung casually over each other’s shoulders. Girls with coffee cups perched on steps, talking with that fast, familiar rhythm that says we’ve known each other for years. People shouting across the lawn, dapping each other up, pulling in for hugs.
No one’s looking at Mack — not really — but he still feels like he’s standing under a spotlight.
He adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder and tries to breathe through it.
Inhale. Exhale.
His dad walks a bit ahead, leading the way toward Dorm C, casually holding the box under one arm like it weighs nothing. Mack follows, blinking rain from his lashes, and tries not to feel like he’s already falling behind.
They don’t talk much as they make their way up. The stairwell echoes under their footsteps. His bag keeps slipping off his shoulder. The walls are plain, off-white, lined with bulletin boards covered in faded flyers and early-year announcements no one’s read twice.
Rick glances at the numbers on each door as they walk: 300… 301… 302.
They stop.
The door looks like all the others — beige, dented near the handle, a little scratched up near the lock. But right in the middle, stuck to it, there’s a small whiteboard with a name scrawled in thick black marker:
KIBBLE
He stares at it for a second. “Kibble?” he says under his breath, blinking.
Rick huffs a laugh. “What?”
Mack tilts his head. “That’s what it says. Kibble.”
He steps closer, squinting. The name Will Smith isn’t anywhere — just KIBBLE, scrawled like a nickname someone found too funny to give up. Underneath it, he notices the faint shadow of another name. It looks like something shorter and that has been erased.
Mack feels something twist in his chest. A weird unease.
“Kibble,” Rick says again, amused. “Weird nickname.”
Mack doesn’t laugh. Instead, he takes the key to open the door and swings it open.
His eyes flick to the left side of the room, where the space is clearly prepared for him. The bed is just a bare mattress, no sheets, no comforter, no pillows.
There’s nothing else, just the cold, impersonal outline of what’s supposed to be his. The desk’s empty, the walls still bare.
But it’s the right side of the room that catches his attention.
The side that has already been taken. The bed is made, neat as a pin, with a BC flag pinned above it. A framed jersey hangs beside it — number 6, Smith stitched across the back. Mack’s eyes linger on it longer than he wants them to.
On the desk, photos are scattered across the surface. One shows a younger Will with a girl who looks so much like him that they could be twins. Another shows Will with his parents he guesses, their arms around him.
Hockey gloves sit on the windowsill, tossed carelessly like it’s just another part of the room. His skates are lined up neatly under the bed, waiting for the next practice or game. Even his laundry bin’s already out, sitting open in the corner.
He hadn’t brought anything like that.
No pictures of his family. No framed jerseys. No pins or flags or things that say I was here.
He hadn’t even thought to. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to. It felt easier not to settle in, to keep everything surface-level and quickly packable.
Now though, standing in this room that already feels like it belongs to someone else, makes him wonder if it just makes him look cold. Or worse, like he doesn’t care.
What’s Will gonna think when he sees his side? Just a bed with plain sheets, hockey gear in the corner of the room, and some crumpled clothes shoved inside the dresser. That he has no memories or no personality?
Mack clenches his jaw and drops his eyes to the floor.
He was so caught up in his own head — so busy comparing himself — that he didn’t even notice his dad had already come in behind him.
Rick was crouching near the mattress, setting Mack’s duffel bag and box down with a quiet thump and pulling out the pack of unopened sheets. He moved slowly, like he wasn’t sure what was okay to touch.
Mack blinked, startled by how fast the moment had shifted — how quickly it became real. His stuff in this room and his dad, helping him move in. There was no going back now.
“You alright?” Rick asks, not looking up.
Mack hesitates. He doesn’t answer. Just nods stiffly and steps farther into the room, trying to ignore the pit still churning low in his stomach.
“Thanks for—” Mack pauses, clearing his throat. His voice sounded weird in the space, too small. “Thanks for driving me.”
Rick looks up from where he was unfolding the sheets, his hands pausing. “Are you really sure you don’t want help setting things up?”
Mack shakes his head, already stepping toward his bag. “No, I’m good. I should… probably start getting used to the place on my own anyway. Before Will comes, or whatever.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Rick stood, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “Alright. I’ll head out, then.”
Mack nods again, hugging his arms close to his chest. “Text me when you get home?”
Rick gives him a look that softened just a little around the edges. “Always.”
They didn’t hug. They weren’t really good at that — but as Rick leaves, Mack lingers near the door, listening to the sound of his dad’s footsteps retreating down the hallway until they are gone.
Then, slowly, he turns toward his bag and crouches down. The zipper gets stuck at first—of course it does—but eventually unzips, and he starts pulling things out.
He sets the comforter on the bare mattress and runs a hand over it, smoothing out the wrinkles that wouldn’t really smooth.
He reaches for the next items. A pair of worn sneakers, hockey tape and hoodie that still smelled like home.
Bit by bit, he lined his stuff against the wall, unsure of where any of it should go, his movements were mechanical. Everything he unpacked just made it clearer how empty his side of the room still felt.
The room still doesn’t feel like his. It probably wouldn’t for a while.
Two hours later, the sun had shifted enough to cast long strips of late-afternoon light across the floor. It was warm in the room, but just a little too bright. Mack had unpacked everything he could think to unpack, folded and refolded his clothes, rearranged his stuff at least three times.
He sits stiffly on the edge of the bed for a while, arms braced against his knees, staring down at the worn laces of his sneakers. His jaw ached from how tightly he’d been clenching it.
Eventually, exhaustion caught up to him in a slow, creeping way. He gives up and lets himself collapse backward onto the mattress, landing flat, arms spread out and legs still dangling over the edge. The pillow was too firm and the comforter bunched awkwardly under his back, but he didn’t move.
He just lays there, staring up at the ceiling.
It was quiet in a way that didn’t feel peaceful.
Mack blinks hard and shifts his gaze away from the ceiling.
His chest gets uncomfortably tight.
He bites down on his bottom lip, trying to breathe through it, but it still wobbles a little. He rolls onto his side and presses his face halfway into the pillow, trying to bury the feeling before it gets too big.
He squeezes his eyes shut.
He doesn’t know when he drifts off.
One moment he’s curled tight on the bare mattress, hoodie bunched beneath his head, and the next, he’s waking to a faint rustle somewhere low in the room.
He squeezes his eyes shut, then opens them again, the edges of his vision still fuzzy with sleep. For a second, he forgets where he is. But the light helps him remember.
It’s golden, that late-evening kind. The sky had cleared up and the room glows with it.
And standing in the middle of it, crouched by the right bed is, who Mack guesses, Will.
He’s unpacking something, digging through a backpack with one hand, and a water bottle tucked under his arm. The light catches in his curly hair and makes it shine, a soft golden halo at the edges.
Mack’s chest tightens.
He sits up too fast. The mattress squeaks beneath him, and the empty duffel bag that he had left on the bed slips off the edge, landing on the floor with a quiet thud.
Will turns around almost instantly.
“Shit,” Will says quietly. “I didn’t want to wake you. I figured you were probably tired from moving.”
Mack blinks a few times, eyes still adjusting to the light.
“It’s fine,” Mack says, voice rough from sleep. “I should probably get up anyway.”
He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, socked feet hitting the floor. His posture is awkward.
Will watches him for a beat, and then, kindly, he says, “I’m Will, by the way. Will Smith.”
It’s easy and casual. Like he knows Mack needs that first step taken for him.
Mack nods quickly. “Macklin. Celebrini. But just… Um— Mack’s fine.”
“Cool,” Will says, and there’s the smallest grin tugging at his mouth. “Nice to meet you, Mack.”
“Yeah,” Mack says. Then clears his throat. “You too.”
Will zips his bag shut, then straightens up and stretches his arms over his head with a quiet groan. “You get here earlier this morning?”
Mack nods. “Yeah. Couple hours ago.”
“You settle in okay?”
“I guess.” Mack’s voice dips quieter. “Still figuring it out.”
Will glances toward the other side of the room, sees the neat pile of folded clothes, and the comforter that still creased across the mattress.
“Hey,” he says with a little smile, “at least you didn’t bring a beanbag chair. My old roommate brought one and it never left the middle of the floor. We kept tripping over it when it was dark.”
That gets the faintest tug at the corner of Mack’s mouth. It was barely there.
But Will notices.
He smiles like it’s no big deal and walks over to his own bed, dropping his water bottle onto it. He pauses and looks back at Mack, tone still light. “Was it weird saying bye to your parents?”
Mack’s shoulders go up a bit, like he wasn’t expecting the question. He nods once, quick.
“My dad drove me. Didn’t stay long. And it’s not the first time I move out for college.”
“Still.” Will’s voice softens. “The drop-off always kinda sucks.”
Mack doesn’t say anything to that. He just presses his hands against the edge of the mattress, staring down at them. His fingers curl slightly into the fabric.
Will doesn’t push. He just sits down on his bed, leans back on his palms, and lets the silence settle comfortably.
“So, I heard you’re from Vancouver?” he asks after a moment.
Mack nods. “Yeah. I mean—” He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “We moved to Tewksbury when I was seven. My mom got a job offer. We’ve been there since.”
Will nods like that makes perfect sense. “Tewksbury. That’s not far.”
“Not really,” Mack says, voice still quiet.
“You ever go back to Vancouver?”
“Sometimes,” he says. “For summers.”
Will nods again and leans back a little farther, casual and easy. “Alright. So you’re like, technically local, but with better hockey roots than the rest of us.”
Mack huffs. It was a tiny sound, barely even audible — but Will hears it. And smiles like that was the goal.
Will shifts a little, resting his elbow on his knee. “I heard you were kind of a superstar at BU,” he says lightly, like he’s not trying to make a big deal out of it.
Mack’s eyes dart up, then down again. “I don’t know about that.”
Will smiles. “Come on. You don’t just end up on their first line by accident.”
Mack shrugs. “I didn’t play a lot for the first few months that I was there.”
“Oh yeah, that’s true. We didn’t go against each other. I would’ve probably remembered.” Will says, tilting his head. “Injury or…?”
“Something like that.” Mack’s voice is soft. He picks at the edge of the comforter.
There’s a brief pause, just long enough to start feeling awkward again. But Will smooths it over without missing a beat. “Well — I guess it worked out. Now we’re on the same side.”
Mack glances at him.
“Way better than facing off,” Will says with a grin. “Especially since you probably would’ve ruined my plus-minus.”
That gets the tiniest smirk out of Mack. Just a flicker, but there was definitely something there.
“Besides,” Will adds, more gently now, “I’m glad we’re roommates. You seem cool.”
Mack’s ears go a little red. He nods, shy again. “Thanks.”
Will leans back slightly on his hands, glancing toward the clock on the wall like he’s only just registering the time. He looks back at Mack.
“You eaten yet?”
Mack blinks, like the question caught him off guard. “Uh… no. Not really.”
Will nods. “Me neither.” Then, after a beat, “Was thinking of checking out that pizza place across the street. You wanna come?”
Mack hesitates. It’s not because he doesn’t want to, but because it’s hard to tell whether Will’s just being polite or if he actually means it. But Will’s already grabbing his phone and wallet, like the offer wasn’t just for show.
“Okay,” Mack says quietly, pushing the blanket off his legs.
Will smiles, easy. “Cool.”
The cold air nips at their faces as they walk. Will keeps his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, glancing over at Mack as they walk side by side. The silence is comfortable, but Will can tell Mack’s still a little tense.
“So, how was it at BU?” Will asks casually, his voice low, as if he’s just trying to make conversation. He’s already ahead of the game, knowing he probably shouldn’t dive too deep into anything yet.
Mack flinches, just slightly, at the question. He keeps his gaze forward, fingers pulling at the cuff of his sleeve. “Uh, it was fine,” he mutters, voice quiet. “Just… a lot of stuff, I guess.”
Will’s keen eyes catch the way Mack’s body stiffens. The way he avoids looking at him when he speaks. It’s clear that BU is a touchy subject, so Will decides to back off before things get awkward.
“Right,” he says with a soft chuckle, tapping his finger against the outside of his jacket sleeve. “I get it. College can be a lot.” He clears his throat and quickly shifts gears. “So, you a big fan of pizza?”
Mack glances at him, relief flickering briefly across his face. He nods slowly. “Yeah. I like pizza.”
“Nice,” Will grins. “I’ve been craving something greasy all day. College diet and all that. Honestly, if I didn’t have hockey practice to keep me in check, I’d probably live off it.”
Mack’s shoulders relax a little. He lets out a small laugh, though it’s barely audible. “I’ve got a pretty terrible diet, too.”
Will raises an eyebrow. “You? I doubt that. Hockey players usually have it down to a science.”
Mack hesitates, glancing at the ground before meeting Will’s eyes for just a second. “I don’t really… keep track. I just eat whatever I can get my hands on.”
Will laughs softly. “Fair enough. That’s how I survived last year. Grabbed whatever was in the fridge and called it dinner.”
They walk in comfortable silence for a few moments, the awkwardness easing as they both slip into a more natural rhythm. Will can feel Mack easing up, just a bit. He knows there’s more going on beneath the surface, but for now, this small talk feels like the right approach.
“So,” Will says, as they approach the pizza place, “What’s your go-to topping?”
Mack looks over at him, a little more relaxed now. “Pepperoni. Classic.”
“Good choice,” Will says with a grin. “Can’t go wrong with that.”
They finally step inside and the place smells like melted cheese and toasted dough. Will heads straight to the counter, scanning the menu like he hasn’t already decided.
“One large pepperoni and one large cheese. Oh and two sodas please,” Will tells the guy at the register, digging into his pocket before Mack can even process what’s happening.
Mack blinks. “Wait—”
But Will is already tapping his card and grabbing the receipt.
“Dude,” Mack says, voice low but surprised. “You didn’t have to—”
Will waves him off, sliding his wallet back into his pocket. “It’s, like, ten bucks. I got it.”
Mack just stares at him, like no one’s ever done that before. He shifts on his feet, clearly uncomfortable with being taken care of.
Will notices.
“You can get it next time if it bugs you that much,” Will offers, lighthearted. “But tonight I’m being a gentleman. Let me live.”
Next time.
Mack’s lips twitch, not quite a smile, but close.
“Okay,” he says finally. “Thank you.”
Will shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Of course.”
They move to a small booth near the window, the glass fogged with condensation. Mack sits across from him, fingers lightly tapping the edge of the table, eyes fixed on the counter like he’s still trying to make sense of it.
Will leans back and props his chin on his hand, studying him quietly. Mack doesn’t notice at first. Or maybe he does, and just doesn’t know what to do about it.
“You always like this when someone buys you pizza?” Will teases gently.
Mack’s ears go a little red. He huffs, quiet. “No. Just— Well I don’t think anyone’s ever bought me pizza.”
Will nods, then says, “I’m glad if I was your first, then.”
The waiter comes over with their tray. Two plates, steam curling up from the slices, and the smell is so good it makes Mack’s stomach tighten with quiet hunger he didn’t even realize he had.
“Pepperoni and cheese for you two?” the guy says, setting it down between them.
Will grins. “That’s us. Thanks, man.”
Mack nods politely. “Thanks.”
The waiter walks off, and for a second there’s only the sound of the bell jingling as the door swings open for someone else. Will grabs a slice and leans back in his seat, letting the cheese stretch before he takes a bite.
Mack watches, a little unsure, then picks up his own slice. The crust is warm and the cheese is perfectly gooey. He takes a small bite, then a bigger one.
Will glances up, already halfway through his slice. “Good?”
Mack nods, licking sauce from his thumb. “Yeah. Really good.”
Will smirks. “Told you I saw that this place was legit.”
Mack gives the smallest huff of agreement. It’s not quite a laugh, but it’s the closest he’s gotten tonight.
“Thank you again.”
Will wipes his hands on a napkin and leans back a little, still chewing, like a thought just hit him mid-bite. “Okay—when we go back, you’re coming to visit the campus with me.”
Mack blinks, mid-chew. “What?”
Will grins, mouth half-full. “No, like—I’m serious. You have to come see it. Especially the rink. It’s the best part. I’ll give you the grand tour.”
Mack just looks at him, a little wary but mostly curious.
Will nudges his plate aside, warming to the idea. “I mean, it’s not huge or anything, but it feels like home, y’know? There’s this one hallway where all the old photos are—captains from forever ago, trophies, team pics. I swear the air just smells like hockey in there.”
Mack lowers his slice. He’s listening and something in his shoulders has relaxed slightly.
Will continues, eyes bright. “And honestly… the locker room’s kinda trash—like, the benches creak if you look at them too hard… but that’s the charm. And the ice? Cleanest you’ll ever skate on. We’ve got this one guy who’s basically a Zamboni God. I don’t know what he does, but it’s magic.”
He pauses to take another bite, still grinning. “Oh, and I’m the captain this year, if you didn’t know.” He says with ease, like it’s something he’s said a million times. “So technically, I outrank you.”
Mack huffs softly through his nose, not quite smiling, but something close. “How was the BU captain?” Will adds after a moment.
Mack’s face changes just slightly. He looks down at his pizza crust. “Don’t really wanna talk about that guy.”
Will holds up his hands, gentle. “Fair.”
Then, quieter, a little softer, “It’s different with me.”
Mack doesn’t say anything, but he glances up—just once—and Will catches it. So he keeps talking.
“Also, the campus is prettier in the spring, but I kinda like it in the winter. Makes everything feel more serious, like every class you skip is some grand betrayal. There’s a stupid coffee truck outside the science building that I swear charges more if you look like—”
Will keeps talking, but Mack only half-hears it.
He’s watching Will’s face.
Not obviously. He keeps his head tilted down, eyes flicking up in quick, quiet glances, careful not to get caught. But he’s watching. The way Will’s mouth curves when he speaks, how his eyebrows twitch up when he laughs like the sound surprises even him. How his hair shifts when he leans forward to grab a napkin.
And Will’s eyes. They’re very blue. There’s something about the way they hold light.
Mack looks down again.
There’s something effortless about Will. It presses in close, even across the booth, and Mack feels his chest catch with it.. He’s suddenly too aware of how quiet he’s been. How careful his voice has sounded, every time he’s used it. How small.
His jaw tightens, fingers curling where they rest against the bench seat.
He doesn’t know what Will sees when he looks at him. He doesn’t know what kind of impression he’s leaving behind in all this quiet, but a part of him already wants to apologize for it. For being soft-spoken, for not knowing what to say.
They step out into the cold, the restaurant door swinging shut behind them with a soft thud. The wind cuts sharper now than it had earlier, brushing color into Mack’s cheeks as he tucks his hands deep into his coat pockets.
Will exhales, watching his breath curl in the air. “Okay,” he says. “Rate the pizza. Be honest.”
Mack’s shoulders lift in a shrug, but there’s something almost playful in the way he says, “Eight. Maybe eight-point-five.”
Will’s eyes go wide. “That’s practically a Michelin star coming from you.”
“I didn’t know I had a reputation.”
“Oh, you totally do,” Will says, stepping onto a patch of slightly melted ice and sliding forward just a little for the fun of it. “Silent. Mysterious. Has secret pizza standards.”
Mack huffs out a laugh before he can stop it.
Will grins, pleased. “You’re a tough crowd, Celebrini.”
Mack shakes his head and looks down at the sidewalk.
They walk a few more steps before Will nudges the conversation somewhere else. “Hey—random, but do you skate outdoors a lot?”
Mack glances over. “Not really.”
“Huh. You seem like you would,” Will says. “I don’t know. You’ve got that—like—natural flow-y thing going on.”
Mack’s ears burn. He doesn’t know how to take the compliment, so he doesn’t respond to it directly.
Will doesn’t push. He just adds, “There’s this one spot near my place, back home. Big open lake, cleared off in the winter. My dad used to take me there when I was a kid. I’d beg to stay until it was dark and my toes were numb.”
Mack risks a glance at him.
“I always liked indoor rinks better,” Mack says quietly, just to say something back. “More controlled. Cleaner ice.”
Will nod, thoughtful. “That checks out. You seem like someone who likes control.”
Mack raises an eyebrow. “Is that a dig?”
“Nope,” Will says, hands up in mock surrender. “Just an observation. Control’s not a bad thing. Especially not in this sport.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Will adds, “Honestly, I think it’s kinda cool.”
Mack doesn’t know how to answer that either. So he just keeps walking.
They pass under a streetlamp that hasn’t turned on yet,
“You think we’ll get good ice time this semester?” Will asks, like it’s the most casual thing in the world.
Mack shrugs. “I don’t know the coach yet. And you’re the captain so you might. He doesn’t know me, though.”
“Oh he’ll know you,” Will says confidently. “I’ll bribe him.”
Mack snorts. “With what?”
“My winning personality,” Will grins. “Obviously.”
“You think that works on him?”
“Please. You think it doesn’t?”
Mack cracks a smile. It’s very small, but it stays.
They keep walking. The wind whistles low between buildings, but it doesn’t feel quite as sharp now.
“Hey,” he says after a pause. “Thanks for coming with me tonight. I know I kind of… pulled you out of nowhere.”
Mack shrugs again. “Well, thank you. You’re the one who paid for my food.”
“No, I mean it. You didn’t have to. You barely know me.”
“I still kind of don’t,” Mack says, but there’s no edge to it.
Will laughs. “Ouch. Fair. Hopefully I’ll grow on you.”
“Maybe.”
Will starts walking a little ahead, like he knows exactly where he wants them to go.
“So, you ever been on campus at night?” he calls over his shoulder.
Mack shakes his head. “Well, first time here at all.”
Will grins and slows his pace a little, letting Mack catch up. “Oh yeah, that’s true. Then you’re getting the deluxe tour. BC after dark.”
Mack huffs softly, a barely-there laugh. “Very prestigious.”
Will pretends to take offense, clutches at his chest. “Hey, I give a damn good tour. Especially after carbs.”
The sidewalk turns slick in places, so Mack steps carefully, trying not to let his arms swing too close to Will’s. Their shoulders bump once anyway. Barely, like an accident. Will just keeps talking.
“There’s something about it at night,” Will says after a bit. “Quieter. Like you can actually think.”
Mack doesn’t say anything, but he does glance around. The buildings are tall and old, windows lit in a few scattered squares.
Will leads them toward a building that Mack assumes is the rink, based on how Will’s steps speed up when they approach. He stops in front of the entrance, hands deep in his coat pockets, rocking a little on the heels of his sneakers.
“Home sweet home,” he says. “The rink.”
Mack eyes the heavy doors. “You’re gonna skate tonight?”
“Nah,” Will says. “Not tonight. Just wanted you to see it in its quiet form before your first practice. You know — since you missed out.”
Something in Mack’s chest tightens. He doesn’t respond.
Will tilts his head, glancing over. “You ever think about that? If we played against each other?”
Mack shifts. “You mean when I was at BU?”
“Yeah. Kinda sad we didn’t, honestly. I told you that I heard you were a—” Will grins, a little teasing. “Superstar.”
Mack shrugs, quick. “Yeah, I mean— like I told you, I was injured. I didn’t hear much about you guys. I honestly didn’t really know who you were before today.”
Will pauses. “Right,” he says, voice quieter. “Well—still would’ve been fun. But maybe it’s better this way. We’ll be on the same side.”
Mack looks at him, before he glances away, jaw tight.
“You okay?” Will asks, not pushing but not not-pushing either.
“I’m fine,” Mack says. “Just tired.”
“Hey,” Will says, gentle. “Maybe we should head back. Big day for you.”
Mack doesn’t argue. Just nods once, “Yeah. Okay.”
They fall into step again, quieter now, a stillness that feels less awkward than it used to.
By the time they make it back to the dorm, it’s nearly ten. The hallway’s dim and someone down the corridor is playing music too loud through a laptop speaker.
Will drops his keys in the dish by the door and says, “Shower’s calling my name. You want it first?”
Mack shakes his head. “You go.”
So Will disappears with his towel slung over one shoulder, and Mack pulls out some clean clothes and waits until the water stops running. When Will comes back, his hair is damp and his hoodie is slung half-on. He wordlessly steps aside to let Mack pass.
The bathroom’s still warm with steam when Mack steps inside. It smells like soap. Like mint and something faintly citrusy. He scrubs off the cold, trying not to picture Will brushing his teeth here, humming out loud without realizing it.
When he comes back into the room after his shower, his towel is around his neck. The lights are off and Will’s already curled under his blanket, snoring lightly.
Mack exhales. Softly.
He climbs into bed and lets his body sink into the mattress, clean skin against cold sheets, heart still moving faster than it needs to. His eyes don’t close.
Instead, he stares at the ceiling.
He replays it all.
Will, walking with him towards the pizza place with his cheeks flushed. Will, pointing things out on campus, making dumb jokes with a little bounce in his step. Will, just simply talking and listening.
And that smile.
Mack turns his head toward the other bed, faintly outlined in the dark.
“Night, Will,” Mack whispers, softly.
He’s thankful for today.
When he wakes up, sunlight is slicing through the blinds in pale strips.
Will’s bed is empty.
Mack sits up, rubbing his eyes, trying to find his phone on his nightstand. Instead, he sees a note. It’s folded once, leaning against the lamp base.
Left to go get something. Text me and I’ll tell you where I am.
— Will
(don’t ghost me)
617-242-2432
Mack blinks at the note.
He swings his legs out of bed while holding the paper and gets dressed slowly, He brushes his teeth and folds the towel. He puts on a pair of sneakers and shrugs on a hoodie.
And when he finally opens the door to leave, tugging it shut behind him, he turns and sees it.
The little whiteboard outside the door still says KIBBLE, written in Will’s handwriting.
But now, underneath it, in the same black dry-erase marker, someone’s added:
SUPERSTAR
Mack smiles. Maybe he’ll be okay at BC for a while.
With Will by his side.