Fic: We'll Drown Together
Title: We'll Drown Together
Pairing: Kane/Toews (and some Seabrook/Keith because of courseee)
Rating: Like nothing
Summary: Patrick isn't in denial.
This is a birthday fic! For laichstyler because you're awesome :D I hope you had an awesome birthday!
Their game in Minnesota does not go well.
The locker room is quiet after the loss, everyone pulling off gear in silence. The game was one full of dirty hits and bad bounces, the kind that makes Patrick wish they could have thrown in the towel after the second period, just so everyone could stop getting hurt.
Patrick pulls off his chest protector, winces at the array of bruises that decorate his ribs, a sickening blend of purples and greens and black. He sneaks a look as Jonny pulls off gear; God knows Jonny wouldn’t complain aloud. He swore up and down to Patrick that he wouldn’t ever hide an injury again, but Patrick wouldn’t put it past him to let things like bruises slide. Predictably, Jonny’s skin is riddled with bruises that make him cover up grimaces.
“You need ice for that,” Patrick says, flicks Jonny in one of the few places on his side that isn’t bruised.
“I don’t,” Jonny replies, like it isn’t completely obvious that he does.
“Wasn’t a question, moron.” Patrick gets up, ignores the exasperated look on Jonny’s face. Jonny’s so fucking stubborn; he’s lucky Patrick hangs out with him, maybe his saint-like patience and easygoing nature will rub off on Jonny.
Patrick starts towards the trainer’s room to find ice, but as he heads down the hall, he hears Duncan’s voice from the equipment room.
“You should put ice on this,” Duncan is saying, so Patrick pokes his head into the room to as if he should grab them a pack too, because he’s just super generous like that.
And - and he sees Duncs and Seabs, and what’re they doing? Duncan has his hand on Seabs’s side over a bruise, Seabs’s shirt pushed up, and - and Duncan’s leaning in to brush his lips over Seabs’s, soft and gentle and familiar. Patrick just - just-
“Guys?” he chokes out. They both flinch.
“Um,” Duncan stammers. Patrick bolts from the doorway. He ducks into the trainer’s room, takes a moment to just lean against the door, try to steady himself.
He’s fine, totally fine. He was just - just surprised, or whatever. And he doesn’t care. They’re his friends, what does he care if they’re - gay for each other, or whatever? It doesn’t matter to him, he’s not - he just - feels overwhelmed by - by something.
He feels - feels jealous?
No, he doesn’t, that’s fucking ridiculous. He has no reason to feel jealous, he doesn’t want any of that, of course not. He sure as hell doesn’t think of either of them like that, so this jealousy thing is just - misguided. Or just plain stupid. Whatever.
He gets enough of a handle on it and grabs an ice pack out of the little freezer and a towel, heads back into the locker room.
“You get lost?” Jonny asks, and Patrick rolls his eyes, tosses the ice pack at him.
“Normal humans say thank you.”
“What would you know about that?” Jonny grins at him, and over his shoulder, Patrick catches sight of Seabs and Duncs, talking by one of the stalls, quiet and close. Something in Patrick lurches again, and he yanks his gaze back to Jonny, but that doesn’t make it any better. Makes it worse, actually, which doesn’t make sense unless - but no.
He’s just not going to think about it. Not even for a second.
0o00o0o0o
Patrick can’t stop thinking about it.
They fly out after the game and Patrick lets Jonny have the window seat even though he’d kind of really like it, even as he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what he wants even to that extent, wants to curl up against the window, shielded away from everything else, but doesn’t want to be in that small space, Jonny the only person near him, something he always wants but suddenly feels jumpy at the thought of. Sitting in the aisle seat makes him twitchy with nervous, though, flinching every time he sees movement up the aisle. At one point, he sees Seabs stand up, and hurriedly turns towards Jonny and pretends to be asleep for the next ten minutes. He thinks he hears someone pause by their row, and he’s convinced it was Seabs, even though it was probably just Shawsy, who likes to roam.
“Kaner,” Jonny yawns after a while, when Patrick’s looking up the aisle again. “What the fuck.”
“What?” Patrick doesn’t really want to look at him, afraid of what that stupid jealousy thing might make him think. He cautiously glances over quickly, but even the brief glimpse makes something in him lurch. Jonny’s giving him that serious look again, but it’s also kind of sleepy.
“Just- calm down, dude.” Jonny bunches up his pillow again and props it against Patrick’s shoulder like he owns it. Which he kind of does, and Patrick’s always kind of liked the way they can use each other like this, as extensions of themselves, but suddenly, he doesn’t want to know why he likes that, and in his brief panic, stands up without remembering the thing that started this frantic thought pattern, and Jonny makes an unhappy sound when he kind of falls. “Hate you,” Jonny mumbles as he switches his pillow to the window side, falls back asleep. Patrick doesn’t want to go towards the front of the plane, he realises as he stands in the aisle, because Duncs and Seabs are up there, and he knows they’ve been trying to talk to him since the game, tried to catch his eye on the bus and catch up to him as they boarded the plane, but he’s been - not avoiding them. Just. Making sure to not talk to them.
He wanders back a few rows instead, stops to ask Crow what he’s reading and tell Sharpy his iPad is prissy, but eventually has to go back to his seat. Jonny’s still asleep, and Patrick kind of - he doesn’t stare, he’s just - thinking, or something, slumps down with his head on Jonny’s shoulder and pulls Jonny’s blanket over him too, buries his face in it.
“Kaner?” he hears Duncs say, but doesn’t lift his head. “Oh - fuck, you’re asleep.” Patrick holds his breath, hopes to convince Duncan he’s really actually asleep. Duncan sighs a little, and walks away. Jonny shifts a little, and Patrick hopes he didn’t hear all that, isn’t going to ask what the hell Patrick’s problem is, but Jonny just turns to his other side, rests his cheek atop Patrick’s head, sleeps on, which is almost worse, because it’s so much better.
0o0o00o0o0o
Patrick lies on his hotel bed as he watches Jonny hang up things in the closet. This feels familiar, even though the hotel room changes like a backdrop, a series of rooms they will see once and never again. It’s always the same, though, watching Jonny hang up his suits, because he does the left side and then the right, aligns Patrick’s shoes next to his, pokes at the safe on the shelf like it’s fascinating, and then always leaves the closet door open, which always seemed odd to Patrick, a loose end that he’d thought would bother Jonny. At home, Patrick sleeps with the closet door closed, and he knows it’s weird when he tells himself it’s because he’s afraid of monsters and not of the sight of a closet without Jonny’s suits alongside his.
“Wanna go out for lunch?” Jonny asks, flicks Patrick’s foot where it hangs off the end of the bed. Patrick likes to scoot down far on the bed so his toes hang off; it makes him feel tall.
“Sure.”
“Cool, I’ll text Seabs and-”
“Oh, did you say lunch?” Patrick asks, already feeling a little panicky, “I, uh. No. Dinner, maybe.” Jonny just stands there, phone in his hand, giving Patrick a weird look.
“Well, duh, dinner too,” he says, “we’ll do that with those guys, you remember them? We all play that thing on ice together.”
“Hilarious,” Patrick rolls his eyes, crawls up the bed to grab a pillow. “But, no. I’ve got stuff to - do around here.”
“Like what, errands to the ice machine?” Jonny has shifted from confused to a little concerned, which isn’t good.
“I’m gonna call my sister and stuff. It’s okay, dude, I won’t get lost while you’re gone.” Jonny gives him another weird look, but leaves without him, after checking three more times to make sure Patrick’s sure he doesn’t want to come.
Patrick does end up calling his sisters, but he’s so distracted that they eventually get tired of having to repeat everything for him, and say goodbye early. After that, he just tries to sleep and not think about the dream he had on the plane, of him and Jonny in the equipment room, Jonny frowning at a bruise on his own ribs, the dream ending with Patrick bolting from the room, afraid of what he wanted to happen.
0o0o0o0o0o0o
Patrick manages to avoid - well, everything, Seabs and Duncs and thinking about his equipment-room-themed dreams and about the weird spike of jealousy he gets every time he sees Duncs and Seabs so much as look at each other, and fuck, the dreams. Patrick wakes up as they’re landing in Chicago, jolted awake because in the dream, the equipment room door had been locked when he’d gone to leave, and when he’d turned back - he’d never looked back before, and he finds Jonny slumped down against the wall, like he wanted Patrick to - to do what Patrick wanted to do, and Patrick can’t get that out of his head even as he’s awake now, blearily looking around. He’s - afraid, maybe, of going back to sleep, because every time, the dream progresses a little further, and he’s afraid what he’ll do, after turning around to see Jonny upset because Patrick didn’t kiss him.
Once they land, he hurries off the plane with a shouted goodbye over his shoulder. He ignores the weird look this gets him from Jonny - he hardly ever sees anything else on Jonny’s face anymore, just that confused, worried look. Jonny didn’t even yell at him for the game yesterday, which was really just a series of shots that Patrick fucked up, just told Patrick “if something’s wrong…” and trailed off, like he didn’t know what Patrick should do if something was.
Patrick doesn’t want to be home, even though it’s eight AM and he’d kind of like to sleep. He changes his clothes and leaves his suitcase on the floor, ends up just standing in front of his bed, looking longingly at it. He’s - fuck, he’s afraid to go to sleep, to go back to that equipment room that doesn’t even exist for real, and fear of a nonexistent place and the imagined version of a person has to be the most cowardly thing possible. He ends up giving in to the fear instead of his exhaustion, and goes to hang out at a coffee shop down the street from his apartment. He likes hanging out here, although it’s usually with Jonny. Patrick’s made it his mission to try every unhealthy thing they offer, while Jonny sticks to tea and occasional smoothies, giving Patrick’s food dubious looks that Patrick really knows mean he wants to try it, and that Patrick will have to frame it like a favour to himself to give Jonny what he wants.
It’s weird, being here without Jonny, and Patrick claims his usual chair by the window, laptop open on the table, a coffee beside it. He almost ordered tea out of habit, because he always does the ordering for the both of them, and Jonny’s always the one to find a table or chairs or whatever, no matter where they are. Patrick fucks around on Facebook while he watches people come in and out of the shop, sends Jackie a picture he took in San Jose of a sculpture made of books at the Tech Museum Jonny wanted to go to, writes an email to his mom, spends a stupid amount of time on 9gag. He clicks through the bookmark tabs, a couple of them French news sites that Jonny only reads to show off, and try to get Patrick to learn French, because that’s just what Jonny does, constantly decides Patrick needs some new skill or whatever, like Patrick isn’t a genius at everything already. He’s picked up a few words already, just to show Jonny that not only can he, but he’s also good at it, like a prodigy. And maybe also because he likes the way it makes Jonny smile, not like he’s surprised, but like he knew Patrick would be able to do it, happy he did.
After a while, Patrick gets bored of clicking through his friends list and poking everyone - he doesn’t skip over Seabs and Duncs for any particular reason, he just - whatever, he doesn’t need a reason for everything he does - and just watches people come and go instead. A girl comes in that reminds him of Erica, but with shorter hair. After her is a guy with really blue eyes that makes Patrick think of Seabs, which he’s not trying not to do, but would just rather not. An elderly couple comes in and sits in the far corner, and then another couple, two guys, and Patrick’s heart twists painfully. They order and come to wait at the two armchairs across from Patrick’s table, talking together in what might be Russian. Patrick tries to keep his gaze on his screen, but he keeps getting distracted, by the way the blonde squeezes the brunette’s knee to emphasize something, the way the brunette smiles when the blonde talks. His gaze might linger a little too long, because the brunette looks at him.
“What?” he asks, and Patrick blushes.
“Um, nothing,” Patrick stammers, wonders helplessly if they can see the jealousy on his face - and what the fuck, jealousy? Does he really -
The blonde says something in Russian, and the brunette’s expression softens to something almost like pity. Patrick suddenly feels caged, frantic with the need to - fuck, see Jonny crosses his mind, what the fuck.
“Uh, see you,” he says, grabs his computer and tries not to run.
He decides to take his chances sleeping, but when he finally dozes off in bed, he only dreams about wandering around some foreign city where everyone speaks Russian, but the signs are all in French, doesn’t ever see an equipment closet, or Jonny. When he wakes up, he’s first relieved, then disappointed, and finally, just afraid.
0o0o0o0o0o0o
They’re beating St. Louis, no thanks to Patrick. He’s just having a hard time keeping his head in what he’s doing, spends the first and second period missing easy passes and screwing up rebounds.
“Dude,” Jonny says as they’re heading in after the second, up two goals, “you, um. Okay?” Patrick nearly walks into the wall next to the door. He’d been expecting - well, what he deserves, which is to be yelled at for not paying attention. He just- fuck, he can’t help it, his head’s filled with so many incomplete thoughts, things stumbling and tripping together until all his thoughts run together, his mind a bewildering mess of but they were they have I want it why do I want that with oh God not him who else always been him can’t can’t can’t so fucking bad want it so fucking bad why can’t just him.
“I’m fine,” he tells Jonny, who just looks at him, possibly because almost a minute has passed since he asked Patrick.
“Pat,” Jonny says, this look on his face - helplessness? Patrick waves him off and heads towards his own stall; Jonny stands there for a moment before going to his own.
The third period is even worse; Patrick’s attention is gone, as are his self-preserving instincts, and he’s hit too-hard by checks that should have been easy to avoid or just take and move on. It’s okay, though, he’s just shaken up a little more than he should be, and if he ignores the openly worried look on Jonny’s face, everything’s fine.
Except fucking Backes. He comes out of nowhere, Patrick doesn’t even have the fucking puck anymore, and Backes slams him into the boards. Patrick hits hard, too hard, and there’s way more pain than there should be - and suddenly, he’s just lying on the ice and he should get up, he knows he should get up, but, fuck, everything hurts and maybe lying here is okay, maybe that’ll make it stop hurting and fuck everything hurts.
“Pat?” he hears from afar, and God, Jonny sounds so worried. It sounds like he might go into hysterics or something, so Patrick pushes himself up with a groan, even if he can’t manage any more than that.
“Got ‘em,” Seabs’s voice is right next to him and Patrick blinks up at him as Seabs supports him. “You’ll be fine,” Seabs says, like he’s positive of this, and Patrick just hurts all over and feels so fucking tired all of the sudden, but Seabs seems sure he’s okay. Fuck, Seabs is nice, after the way Patrick’s been this week, he doesn’t deserve this.
“Um,” he says, as Seabs slowly leads him towards the bench. “It was cos I’m stupid,” he explains. Seabs gives him a confused look.
“He hit you from behind, it was his fault.”
“No, no,” Thinking is hard, pain too readily derailing his thoughts, but Patrick presses on, fists one hand in the back of Seabs’s jersey. He thinks suddenly of the number on Seabs’s jersey would mean to Duncan, wonders if he feels a connection to it, the way Patrick feels kind of possessive of 19 even though it’s not his, but it kind of his, kind of. “I’m avoiding you,” Patrick reminds him, “You both. I mean, I was. I won’t now. It was stupid and I’m sorry.”
“Okay, Kaner,” Seabs says gently, helping him through the door. “Go see the trainer.”
Patrick nods and lets himself be led back, and as he goes, he hears “Pat?” from the bench, knows that’s Jonny’s voice, hears him keep talking to someone, an easily recognizable tone of worry.
“I should go back,” Patrick says to the trainer, who shakes his head.
“Gotta check you out first,” he says.
“But he’s gonna,” Patrick starts, but he doesn’t know what Jonny might do, so he falls silent. He sits through the examination and is told he’s concussion free, it was just the shock of the hit coupled with his exhausted he is. He gets lectured a little about taking better care of himself and gets sent home, because he’s nothing short of useless for the ten minutes left in the period. He grabs a taxi and ends up on his couch watching a stupid tv show, somehow too tired to sleep but feeling better enough after eating. Not long after the game ends, his front door opens.
“Are you a serial killer?” he calls out, too tired to get up and check.
“Yeah,” Jonny replies, appearing in the doorway. He sighs when he sees Patrick lying on the couch, maybe in relief, probably in exasperation. “Why the hell aren’t you asleep?”
“You come to make sure I was asleep?” Patrick asks, and he means to make fun of Jonny for it, but the words come out weirdly soft. Whatever, he’s injured, kind of. It’s not his fault. Jonny takes off his suit jacket and leaves it draped over a chair, grabs the remote from Patrick. “Game highlights,” Patrick instructs. Jonny casts a look over at him that Patrick can’t even begin to read, but does it, tosses the remote back to him. “Oh, we won,” Patrick yawns, the announcer’s voice on mute as plays are reviewed. “That’s good.”
“Yeah.” Jonny’s looking at him more than the TV, like he’s worried Patrick’s going to up and pass out or something. “Seabs said to tell you ‘it’s okay.’ What did you do to them?”
“Them?” Patrick repeats, kind of amused. The amusement fades when jealousy takes its place, because people always think of Seabs and Duncs as a - a pair, and he just- oh, fuck, but he wants that with Jonny, wants one of them to always mean both. “It’s nothing,” he says. Jonny doesn’t look entirely convinced. Patrick ignores this in favour of watching the highlights, because he doesn’t really know how to explain that he’s spent the past few days avoiding them because what they have looks like something he wants, shouldn’t want, has always wanted.
“We could watch something else,” Jonny says, this wavering note in his tone, like he isn’t sure what he wants to say. Patrick shrugs, doesn’t change the channel, too much effort needed to do that.
The third period highlights start, and Patrick watches, wide-eyed, as the end of the period apparently consisted mostly of Jonny going after Backes, these perfect, precise, bone-shuddering checks, and then, holy fuck, a fight that Jonny starts over practically nothing, ends with Backes bleeding and the two of them shouting at each other as they’re led off for penalties.
“Dude,” Patrick looks over at Jonny, who’s staring determinedly at his lap. “Uh, what was that?”
“Nothing,” Jonny says stubbornly, jaw tight. Patrick sits up, just stares. Jonny doesn’t move. “Nothing,” he repeats.
“You don’t fight,” Patrick says, like this needs pointing out. Jonny doesn’t fight, not like this, not without provocation, not this angrily, just - not like this.
“I can,” Jonny says, doing that thing where he purposefully misses the point. Patrick nudges Jonny’s knee with his foot.
“Okay, yeah, you demonstrated that pretty thoroughly,” Patrick nudges him again, “seriously, what the hell was that about? Did he say something?”
“Say something?” Jonny repeats, looks at him with this mix of disbelief and hesitance, “he - no, Kaner, he didn’t say anything.”
“Okay.” Patrick decides to just wait for the explanation, and Jonny’s fidgety and making a hesitant face, so Patrick knows he’s going to give in.
“He - fuck, Pat,” Jonny says, and the helpless note takes Patrick by surprise. He wants to - to tell Jonny it’s okay, you don’t have to tell me, even though he really wants to know, a lot, but wants to protect Jonny from things forever, from everything that could hurt him in any way. “He hurt you,” Jonny says, like this should explain everything. Maybe to him it does, but Patrick is still lost.
“So… you hit him?” Patrick isn’t quite making the connection, but Jonny nods. “Why? I mean, he hits a lot of people-”
“The point wasn’t that he hit someone,” Jonny says, “the point is that it was you.”
“But why…” Patrick trails off into silence this time, doesn’t even have a guess. Jonny looks down for a minute, shoulders slumping, but then he lifts his head, meets Patrick’s gaze, that defiant look on his face even as he looks so helpless, a captain proud to go down with his ship.
“Because,” Jonny says steadily, something so anxious in his eyes, “I fucking hate seeing you get hurt, Pat, don’t you get it?” Patrick kind of can’t speak, because Jonny’s saying - he’s saying things Patrick wants to hear, but he can’t be, because Patrick wants that so bad, and he can’t actually - just - it’s impossible. “I’m just in love with you,” Jonny says, and his steadiness cracks a little, and he looks so helpless, like this is something he will have forever, proud and painful, something he might have kept a secret forever.
“Oh,” Patrick manages, can’t really breathe because Jonny loves him and he wants that, and it’s okay that he wants that, and he’s always always always wanted Jonny to love him, and, fuck, he’s been in love with Jonny since they met, since Jonny told him pass me that water bottle -no, the one next to that. Because it’s cleaner - shut up!, Patrick’s loved Jonny for his seriousness and his intensity and the way he laughs so hard when Patrick mimics their teammates, just the two of them alone together, the way it always should be, swept up in something that’s always been just theirs.
Jonny’s just staring at the floor now, dead silent, biting his lip, and fuck, Patrick should say something, like I love you too but talking is so hard when he’s so relieved he could cry, so he lunges at Jonny and kisses him hard.
“You,” Jonny says when Patrick draws back after a moment, frowns like he needs to figure out what this means.
“Love you, yeah,” Patrick nods, and this time, Jonny pulls him close and kisses him again, softer and gentle, one kiss for all their fight, one for all the care, because Jonny fought for him and now he’s petting through Patrick’s curls and is going to hold him until all the pain from the hit is gone and long after.
For the first time since realizing how badly he wants Jonny, Patrick can finally breathe. Loving Jonny so much and so secretly was something to drown in, but Jonny - oh, he’s been drowning too, and now that they’ve really found each other, they can save each other, drown in something they can breathe in, this love that’s everything and all around them, because even when Patrick makes fun of the way Jonny takes breakfast cereal ingredients seriously and Jonny mocks Patrick for his neon socks, everything is saying I love you, I love you, I love you, and this, this is what their world is made of.
Pairing: Kane/Toews (and some Seabrook/Keith because of courseee)
Rating: Like nothing
Summary: Patrick isn't in denial.
This is a birthday fic! For laichstyler because you're awesome :D I hope you had an awesome birthday!
Their game in Minnesota does not go well.
The locker room is quiet after the loss, everyone pulling off gear in silence. The game was one full of dirty hits and bad bounces, the kind that makes Patrick wish they could have thrown in the towel after the second period, just so everyone could stop getting hurt.
Patrick pulls off his chest protector, winces at the array of bruises that decorate his ribs, a sickening blend of purples and greens and black. He sneaks a look as Jonny pulls off gear; God knows Jonny wouldn’t complain aloud. He swore up and down to Patrick that he wouldn’t ever hide an injury again, but Patrick wouldn’t put it past him to let things like bruises slide. Predictably, Jonny’s skin is riddled with bruises that make him cover up grimaces.
“You need ice for that,” Patrick says, flicks Jonny in one of the few places on his side that isn’t bruised.
“I don’t,” Jonny replies, like it isn’t completely obvious that he does.
“Wasn’t a question, moron.” Patrick gets up, ignores the exasperated look on Jonny’s face. Jonny’s so fucking stubborn; he’s lucky Patrick hangs out with him, maybe his saint-like patience and easygoing nature will rub off on Jonny.
Patrick starts towards the trainer’s room to find ice, but as he heads down the hall, he hears Duncan’s voice from the equipment room.
“You should put ice on this,” Duncan is saying, so Patrick pokes his head into the room to as if he should grab them a pack too, because he’s just super generous like that.
And - and he sees Duncs and Seabs, and what’re they doing? Duncan has his hand on Seabs’s side over a bruise, Seabs’s shirt pushed up, and - and Duncan’s leaning in to brush his lips over Seabs’s, soft and gentle and familiar. Patrick just - just-
“Guys?” he chokes out. They both flinch.
“Um,” Duncan stammers. Patrick bolts from the doorway. He ducks into the trainer’s room, takes a moment to just lean against the door, try to steady himself.
He’s fine, totally fine. He was just - just surprised, or whatever. And he doesn’t care. They’re his friends, what does he care if they’re - gay for each other, or whatever? It doesn’t matter to him, he’s not - he just - feels overwhelmed by - by something.
He feels - feels jealous?
No, he doesn’t, that’s fucking ridiculous. He has no reason to feel jealous, he doesn’t want any of that, of course not. He sure as hell doesn’t think of either of them like that, so this jealousy thing is just - misguided. Or just plain stupid. Whatever.
He gets enough of a handle on it and grabs an ice pack out of the little freezer and a towel, heads back into the locker room.
“You get lost?” Jonny asks, and Patrick rolls his eyes, tosses the ice pack at him.
“Normal humans say thank you.”
“What would you know about that?” Jonny grins at him, and over his shoulder, Patrick catches sight of Seabs and Duncs, talking by one of the stalls, quiet and close. Something in Patrick lurches again, and he yanks his gaze back to Jonny, but that doesn’t make it any better. Makes it worse, actually, which doesn’t make sense unless - but no.
He’s just not going to think about it. Not even for a second.
0o00o0o0o
Patrick can’t stop thinking about it.
They fly out after the game and Patrick lets Jonny have the window seat even though he’d kind of really like it, even as he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what he wants even to that extent, wants to curl up against the window, shielded away from everything else, but doesn’t want to be in that small space, Jonny the only person near him, something he always wants but suddenly feels jumpy at the thought of. Sitting in the aisle seat makes him twitchy with nervous, though, flinching every time he sees movement up the aisle. At one point, he sees Seabs stand up, and hurriedly turns towards Jonny and pretends to be asleep for the next ten minutes. He thinks he hears someone pause by their row, and he’s convinced it was Seabs, even though it was probably just Shawsy, who likes to roam.
“Kaner,” Jonny yawns after a while, when Patrick’s looking up the aisle again. “What the fuck.”
“What?” Patrick doesn’t really want to look at him, afraid of what that stupid jealousy thing might make him think. He cautiously glances over quickly, but even the brief glimpse makes something in him lurch. Jonny’s giving him that serious look again, but it’s also kind of sleepy.
“Just- calm down, dude.” Jonny bunches up his pillow again and props it against Patrick’s shoulder like he owns it. Which he kind of does, and Patrick’s always kind of liked the way they can use each other like this, as extensions of themselves, but suddenly, he doesn’t want to know why he likes that, and in his brief panic, stands up without remembering the thing that started this frantic thought pattern, and Jonny makes an unhappy sound when he kind of falls. “Hate you,” Jonny mumbles as he switches his pillow to the window side, falls back asleep. Patrick doesn’t want to go towards the front of the plane, he realises as he stands in the aisle, because Duncs and Seabs are up there, and he knows they’ve been trying to talk to him since the game, tried to catch his eye on the bus and catch up to him as they boarded the plane, but he’s been - not avoiding them. Just. Making sure to not talk to them.
He wanders back a few rows instead, stops to ask Crow what he’s reading and tell Sharpy his iPad is prissy, but eventually has to go back to his seat. Jonny’s still asleep, and Patrick kind of - he doesn’t stare, he’s just - thinking, or something, slumps down with his head on Jonny’s shoulder and pulls Jonny’s blanket over him too, buries his face in it.
“Kaner?” he hears Duncs say, but doesn’t lift his head. “Oh - fuck, you’re asleep.” Patrick holds his breath, hopes to convince Duncan he’s really actually asleep. Duncan sighs a little, and walks away. Jonny shifts a little, and Patrick hopes he didn’t hear all that, isn’t going to ask what the hell Patrick’s problem is, but Jonny just turns to his other side, rests his cheek atop Patrick’s head, sleeps on, which is almost worse, because it’s so much better.
0o0o00o0o0o
Patrick lies on his hotel bed as he watches Jonny hang up things in the closet. This feels familiar, even though the hotel room changes like a backdrop, a series of rooms they will see once and never again. It’s always the same, though, watching Jonny hang up his suits, because he does the left side and then the right, aligns Patrick’s shoes next to his, pokes at the safe on the shelf like it’s fascinating, and then always leaves the closet door open, which always seemed odd to Patrick, a loose end that he’d thought would bother Jonny. At home, Patrick sleeps with the closet door closed, and he knows it’s weird when he tells himself it’s because he’s afraid of monsters and not of the sight of a closet without Jonny’s suits alongside his.
“Wanna go out for lunch?” Jonny asks, flicks Patrick’s foot where it hangs off the end of the bed. Patrick likes to scoot down far on the bed so his toes hang off; it makes him feel tall.
“Sure.”
“Cool, I’ll text Seabs and-”
“Oh, did you say lunch?” Patrick asks, already feeling a little panicky, “I, uh. No. Dinner, maybe.” Jonny just stands there, phone in his hand, giving Patrick a weird look.
“Well, duh, dinner too,” he says, “we’ll do that with those guys, you remember them? We all play that thing on ice together.”
“Hilarious,” Patrick rolls his eyes, crawls up the bed to grab a pillow. “But, no. I’ve got stuff to - do around here.”
“Like what, errands to the ice machine?” Jonny has shifted from confused to a little concerned, which isn’t good.
“I’m gonna call my sister and stuff. It’s okay, dude, I won’t get lost while you’re gone.” Jonny gives him another weird look, but leaves without him, after checking three more times to make sure Patrick’s sure he doesn’t want to come.
Patrick does end up calling his sisters, but he’s so distracted that they eventually get tired of having to repeat everything for him, and say goodbye early. After that, he just tries to sleep and not think about the dream he had on the plane, of him and Jonny in the equipment room, Jonny frowning at a bruise on his own ribs, the dream ending with Patrick bolting from the room, afraid of what he wanted to happen.
0o0o0o0o0o0o
Patrick manages to avoid - well, everything, Seabs and Duncs and thinking about his equipment-room-themed dreams and about the weird spike of jealousy he gets every time he sees Duncs and Seabs so much as look at each other, and fuck, the dreams. Patrick wakes up as they’re landing in Chicago, jolted awake because in the dream, the equipment room door had been locked when he’d gone to leave, and when he’d turned back - he’d never looked back before, and he finds Jonny slumped down against the wall, like he wanted Patrick to - to do what Patrick wanted to do, and Patrick can’t get that out of his head even as he’s awake now, blearily looking around. He’s - afraid, maybe, of going back to sleep, because every time, the dream progresses a little further, and he’s afraid what he’ll do, after turning around to see Jonny upset because Patrick didn’t kiss him.
Once they land, he hurries off the plane with a shouted goodbye over his shoulder. He ignores the weird look this gets him from Jonny - he hardly ever sees anything else on Jonny’s face anymore, just that confused, worried look. Jonny didn’t even yell at him for the game yesterday, which was really just a series of shots that Patrick fucked up, just told Patrick “if something’s wrong…” and trailed off, like he didn’t know what Patrick should do if something was.
Patrick doesn’t want to be home, even though it’s eight AM and he’d kind of like to sleep. He changes his clothes and leaves his suitcase on the floor, ends up just standing in front of his bed, looking longingly at it. He’s - fuck, he’s afraid to go to sleep, to go back to that equipment room that doesn’t even exist for real, and fear of a nonexistent place and the imagined version of a person has to be the most cowardly thing possible. He ends up giving in to the fear instead of his exhaustion, and goes to hang out at a coffee shop down the street from his apartment. He likes hanging out here, although it’s usually with Jonny. Patrick’s made it his mission to try every unhealthy thing they offer, while Jonny sticks to tea and occasional smoothies, giving Patrick’s food dubious looks that Patrick really knows mean he wants to try it, and that Patrick will have to frame it like a favour to himself to give Jonny what he wants.
It’s weird, being here without Jonny, and Patrick claims his usual chair by the window, laptop open on the table, a coffee beside it. He almost ordered tea out of habit, because he always does the ordering for the both of them, and Jonny’s always the one to find a table or chairs or whatever, no matter where they are. Patrick fucks around on Facebook while he watches people come in and out of the shop, sends Jackie a picture he took in San Jose of a sculpture made of books at the Tech Museum Jonny wanted to go to, writes an email to his mom, spends a stupid amount of time on 9gag. He clicks through the bookmark tabs, a couple of them French news sites that Jonny only reads to show off, and try to get Patrick to learn French, because that’s just what Jonny does, constantly decides Patrick needs some new skill or whatever, like Patrick isn’t a genius at everything already. He’s picked up a few words already, just to show Jonny that not only can he, but he’s also good at it, like a prodigy. And maybe also because he likes the way it makes Jonny smile, not like he’s surprised, but like he knew Patrick would be able to do it, happy he did.
After a while, Patrick gets bored of clicking through his friends list and poking everyone - he doesn’t skip over Seabs and Duncs for any particular reason, he just - whatever, he doesn’t need a reason for everything he does - and just watches people come and go instead. A girl comes in that reminds him of Erica, but with shorter hair. After her is a guy with really blue eyes that makes Patrick think of Seabs, which he’s not trying not to do, but would just rather not. An elderly couple comes in and sits in the far corner, and then another couple, two guys, and Patrick’s heart twists painfully. They order and come to wait at the two armchairs across from Patrick’s table, talking together in what might be Russian. Patrick tries to keep his gaze on his screen, but he keeps getting distracted, by the way the blonde squeezes the brunette’s knee to emphasize something, the way the brunette smiles when the blonde talks. His gaze might linger a little too long, because the brunette looks at him.
“What?” he asks, and Patrick blushes.
“Um, nothing,” Patrick stammers, wonders helplessly if they can see the jealousy on his face - and what the fuck, jealousy? Does he really -
The blonde says something in Russian, and the brunette’s expression softens to something almost like pity. Patrick suddenly feels caged, frantic with the need to - fuck, see Jonny crosses his mind, what the fuck.
“Uh, see you,” he says, grabs his computer and tries not to run.
He decides to take his chances sleeping, but when he finally dozes off in bed, he only dreams about wandering around some foreign city where everyone speaks Russian, but the signs are all in French, doesn’t ever see an equipment closet, or Jonny. When he wakes up, he’s first relieved, then disappointed, and finally, just afraid.
0o0o0o0o0o0o
They’re beating St. Louis, no thanks to Patrick. He’s just having a hard time keeping his head in what he’s doing, spends the first and second period missing easy passes and screwing up rebounds.
“Dude,” Jonny says as they’re heading in after the second, up two goals, “you, um. Okay?” Patrick nearly walks into the wall next to the door. He’d been expecting - well, what he deserves, which is to be yelled at for not paying attention. He just- fuck, he can’t help it, his head’s filled with so many incomplete thoughts, things stumbling and tripping together until all his thoughts run together, his mind a bewildering mess of but they were they have I want it why do I want that with oh God not him who else always been him can’t can’t can’t so fucking bad want it so fucking bad why can’t just him.
“I’m fine,” he tells Jonny, who just looks at him, possibly because almost a minute has passed since he asked Patrick.
“Pat,” Jonny says, this look on his face - helplessness? Patrick waves him off and heads towards his own stall; Jonny stands there for a moment before going to his own.
The third period is even worse; Patrick’s attention is gone, as are his self-preserving instincts, and he’s hit too-hard by checks that should have been easy to avoid or just take and move on. It’s okay, though, he’s just shaken up a little more than he should be, and if he ignores the openly worried look on Jonny’s face, everything’s fine.
Except fucking Backes. He comes out of nowhere, Patrick doesn’t even have the fucking puck anymore, and Backes slams him into the boards. Patrick hits hard, too hard, and there’s way more pain than there should be - and suddenly, he’s just lying on the ice and he should get up, he knows he should get up, but, fuck, everything hurts and maybe lying here is okay, maybe that’ll make it stop hurting and fuck everything hurts.
“Pat?” he hears from afar, and God, Jonny sounds so worried. It sounds like he might go into hysterics or something, so Patrick pushes himself up with a groan, even if he can’t manage any more than that.
“Got ‘em,” Seabs’s voice is right next to him and Patrick blinks up at him as Seabs supports him. “You’ll be fine,” Seabs says, like he’s positive of this, and Patrick just hurts all over and feels so fucking tired all of the sudden, but Seabs seems sure he’s okay. Fuck, Seabs is nice, after the way Patrick’s been this week, he doesn’t deserve this.
“Um,” he says, as Seabs slowly leads him towards the bench. “It was cos I’m stupid,” he explains. Seabs gives him a confused look.
“He hit you from behind, it was his fault.”
“No, no,” Thinking is hard, pain too readily derailing his thoughts, but Patrick presses on, fists one hand in the back of Seabs’s jersey. He thinks suddenly of the number on Seabs’s jersey would mean to Duncan, wonders if he feels a connection to it, the way Patrick feels kind of possessive of 19 even though it’s not his, but it kind of his, kind of. “I’m avoiding you,” Patrick reminds him, “You both. I mean, I was. I won’t now. It was stupid and I’m sorry.”
“Okay, Kaner,” Seabs says gently, helping him through the door. “Go see the trainer.”
Patrick nods and lets himself be led back, and as he goes, he hears “Pat?” from the bench, knows that’s Jonny’s voice, hears him keep talking to someone, an easily recognizable tone of worry.
“I should go back,” Patrick says to the trainer, who shakes his head.
“Gotta check you out first,” he says.
“But he’s gonna,” Patrick starts, but he doesn’t know what Jonny might do, so he falls silent. He sits through the examination and is told he’s concussion free, it was just the shock of the hit coupled with his exhausted he is. He gets lectured a little about taking better care of himself and gets sent home, because he’s nothing short of useless for the ten minutes left in the period. He grabs a taxi and ends up on his couch watching a stupid tv show, somehow too tired to sleep but feeling better enough after eating. Not long after the game ends, his front door opens.
“Are you a serial killer?” he calls out, too tired to get up and check.
“Yeah,” Jonny replies, appearing in the doorway. He sighs when he sees Patrick lying on the couch, maybe in relief, probably in exasperation. “Why the hell aren’t you asleep?”
“You come to make sure I was asleep?” Patrick asks, and he means to make fun of Jonny for it, but the words come out weirdly soft. Whatever, he’s injured, kind of. It’s not his fault. Jonny takes off his suit jacket and leaves it draped over a chair, grabs the remote from Patrick. “Game highlights,” Patrick instructs. Jonny casts a look over at him that Patrick can’t even begin to read, but does it, tosses the remote back to him. “Oh, we won,” Patrick yawns, the announcer’s voice on mute as plays are reviewed. “That’s good.”
“Yeah.” Jonny’s looking at him more than the TV, like he’s worried Patrick’s going to up and pass out or something. “Seabs said to tell you ‘it’s okay.’ What did you do to them?”
“Them?” Patrick repeats, kind of amused. The amusement fades when jealousy takes its place, because people always think of Seabs and Duncs as a - a pair, and he just- oh, fuck, but he wants that with Jonny, wants one of them to always mean both. “It’s nothing,” he says. Jonny doesn’t look entirely convinced. Patrick ignores this in favour of watching the highlights, because he doesn’t really know how to explain that he’s spent the past few days avoiding them because what they have looks like something he wants, shouldn’t want, has always wanted.
“We could watch something else,” Jonny says, this wavering note in his tone, like he isn’t sure what he wants to say. Patrick shrugs, doesn’t change the channel, too much effort needed to do that.
The third period highlights start, and Patrick watches, wide-eyed, as the end of the period apparently consisted mostly of Jonny going after Backes, these perfect, precise, bone-shuddering checks, and then, holy fuck, a fight that Jonny starts over practically nothing, ends with Backes bleeding and the two of them shouting at each other as they’re led off for penalties.
“Dude,” Patrick looks over at Jonny, who’s staring determinedly at his lap. “Uh, what was that?”
“Nothing,” Jonny says stubbornly, jaw tight. Patrick sits up, just stares. Jonny doesn’t move. “Nothing,” he repeats.
“You don’t fight,” Patrick says, like this needs pointing out. Jonny doesn’t fight, not like this, not without provocation, not this angrily, just - not like this.
“I can,” Jonny says, doing that thing where he purposefully misses the point. Patrick nudges Jonny’s knee with his foot.
“Okay, yeah, you demonstrated that pretty thoroughly,” Patrick nudges him again, “seriously, what the hell was that about? Did he say something?”
“Say something?” Jonny repeats, looks at him with this mix of disbelief and hesitance, “he - no, Kaner, he didn’t say anything.”
“Okay.” Patrick decides to just wait for the explanation, and Jonny’s fidgety and making a hesitant face, so Patrick knows he’s going to give in.
“He - fuck, Pat,” Jonny says, and the helpless note takes Patrick by surprise. He wants to - to tell Jonny it’s okay, you don’t have to tell me, even though he really wants to know, a lot, but wants to protect Jonny from things forever, from everything that could hurt him in any way. “He hurt you,” Jonny says, like this should explain everything. Maybe to him it does, but Patrick is still lost.
“So… you hit him?” Patrick isn’t quite making the connection, but Jonny nods. “Why? I mean, he hits a lot of people-”
“The point wasn’t that he hit someone,” Jonny says, “the point is that it was you.”
“But why…” Patrick trails off into silence this time, doesn’t even have a guess. Jonny looks down for a minute, shoulders slumping, but then he lifts his head, meets Patrick’s gaze, that defiant look on his face even as he looks so helpless, a captain proud to go down with his ship.
“Because,” Jonny says steadily, something so anxious in his eyes, “I fucking hate seeing you get hurt, Pat, don’t you get it?” Patrick kind of can’t speak, because Jonny’s saying - he’s saying things Patrick wants to hear, but he can’t be, because Patrick wants that so bad, and he can’t actually - just - it’s impossible. “I’m just in love with you,” Jonny says, and his steadiness cracks a little, and he looks so helpless, like this is something he will have forever, proud and painful, something he might have kept a secret forever.
“Oh,” Patrick manages, can’t really breathe because Jonny loves him and he wants that, and it’s okay that he wants that, and he’s always always always wanted Jonny to love him, and, fuck, he’s been in love with Jonny since they met, since Jonny told him pass me that water bottle -no, the one next to that. Because it’s cleaner - shut up!, Patrick’s loved Jonny for his seriousness and his intensity and the way he laughs so hard when Patrick mimics their teammates, just the two of them alone together, the way it always should be, swept up in something that’s always been just theirs.
Jonny’s just staring at the floor now, dead silent, biting his lip, and fuck, Patrick should say something, like I love you too but talking is so hard when he’s so relieved he could cry, so he lunges at Jonny and kisses him hard.
“You,” Jonny says when Patrick draws back after a moment, frowns like he needs to figure out what this means.
“Love you, yeah,” Patrick nods, and this time, Jonny pulls him close and kisses him again, softer and gentle, one kiss for all their fight, one for all the care, because Jonny fought for him and now he’s petting through Patrick’s curls and is going to hold him until all the pain from the hit is gone and long after.
For the first time since realizing how badly he wants Jonny, Patrick can finally breathe. Loving Jonny so much and so secretly was something to drown in, but Jonny - oh, he’s been drowning too, and now that they’ve really found each other, they can save each other, drown in something they can breathe in, this love that’s everything and all around them, because even when Patrick makes fun of the way Jonny takes breakfast cereal ingredients seriously and Jonny mocks Patrick for his neon socks, everything is saying I love you, I love you, I love you, and this, this is what their world is made of.