[hockey] (and then he said) welcome home - adam henrique, taylor hall
Originally posted as a comment-fill, now cleaned-up and featuring 100% more appropriate capitalization, here is a story about Adam Henrique being nostalgic during the summer of 2012 (a.k.a. fic where nothing happens) in Tecumseh, Ontario.
(and then he said) welcome home
adam henrique, taylor hall
fakefakefake.
fullycompletely wanted fic about Adam Henrique reminiscing about Taylor Hall (who has moved on to his one true soulmate Jordan Eberle, obvs) for the prompt 'cuz you were amazing / and we did amazing things. i pretended that she gave a fuck about the windsor spitfires and adam henrique, and then barfed a thousand words plus about the windsor spitfires and adam henrique at her. (OOPS. SORRY, I LOVE YOU.) also, i'm sorry for writing with nicknames.
-
in the deep blue hours
under a starless sky
on a snowy screen
i was just nineteen
(i looked at you and i remembered why)
- joel plaskett emergency, 'make a little noise'
-
Almost all of them are in Tecumseh for the alumni weekend, and everything feels kind of familiar but also brand new, because they haven't all been together in the same room in years. Adam's always been vaguely terrified that he'd be the kid who peaked at nineteen, that life was so good that it'd never get better than Windsor. But then he made the big leagues, and he got nominated for the Calder trophy, and he got to play in the Stanley mother-fucking Cup Finals, and he did it without Shuggy or Nemo on his right side, without Hallsy on his left, and knowing that he could do that had been scary, but still: exhilarating.
And yet, for all the chemistry he's developed with Ponikarovsky; all the privileged glee he's felt for getting to centre Zach Parise - and it was good, great, even - it never completely matched up with the sixth sense he'd managed to grow into from playing with Hallsy for years. Sometimes, Adam misses it: how easy it was, how sometimes he'd just know where he should be, where the puck should go - tape to tape passes without even a moment of hesitation.
The bar where they're having the after-party is almost overwhelming with nostalgia: he remembers being eighteen and sneaking in for the first time; being nineteen and sneaking in eighteen year old teammates. He remembers Kass almost getting them kicked out for hitting on the bouncer's girlfriend, remembers how nervously excited Elly had been with his first fake id, remembers the way Hallsy had stumbled into him that one time behind the bar when both of them were blind-drunk even though he definitely wasn't old enough to buy liquor yet, after the awkward laughter had died out, the way their mouths crashed together because no one was around to see them.
There had been other times, too: other kisses and quiet celebrations that Adam remembers happening, but none stand out more in his mind than that first time - the memory of it makes him smile.
He finishes off the rest of his beer and decides that he can use some fresh air, walking by Scotty killing it on the dance floor, and Fowler, who’s grinding up so close to his girlfriend that they're practically doing it against the bar. He pauses only once to bro-hug Eric before pushing his way out to the empty patio and takes a deep breath of summer night air.
"Henny?" he hears someone say behind him, and when he turns around, it's Hallsy, smiling that lazy smile at him that means he's drunk and content. "Hey. What're you doing out here?"
"Fresh air," Adam tells him and he can feel his own mouth quirking into an affectionate grin. He ducks over to the side of the patio, the part that's unseen from inside the bar, with practiced ease. "Needed a moment."
Hallsy follows him, shoving his hands into his pockets: "It's pretty crazy, eh? Seeing everyone again."
Adam turns to look at him: "For sure," he says. "It's weird. Like we never left. A good weird though, I think."
And just like that, with perfect precision, both of them are closing the gap between them, their mouths meeting like no time at all has passed; like it hasn't been years since they've done this - and maybe it's a stupid thing to do, maybe reckless because anyone could walk onto the patio at any moment and catch them. But tonight, they are drunk and brave and it's too much to pass up this moment of perfect nostalgia.
But it's different this time, because after a moment, Hallsy shies away, pulls back, their foreheads still pressed together and he says, almost reluctantly, "Wait...wait...fuck. I shouldn't."
And it's fine. It's fine because it’s not a thing. It never really was a thing and Adam moves a hand to rest gently against the back of Hallsy's neck, telegraphing just that, loud and clear, and moving his face away to look properly at him. "Okay," Adam says. "Got a girl?"
"Uh..." Hallsy begins, his cheeks flushing with more than just alcohol.
Adam's grin widens. "...a dude?"
When Hallsy doesn't answer, just looks away because he's always been a shit liar at the best of times and never has been able to pull a fast-one on Adam in the entire time they've known each other. Adam just laughs because the answer is obvious, because even after all this time, it’s almost surprising how well Adam knows him: "Oh fuck, is it Eberle? It's Eberle, isn't it?"
"Man, shut up," Hallsy says, finally having recovered the ability of speech. "It's...complicated, okay?"
Adam just laughs harder. "Is it really?"
Hallsy rubs absently at his own shoulder, like he's thinking about it. "Well," he finally says. "No, not exactly. But...it's new. And it's good. And, like, it's not like we talked about it being exclusive or anything? But I don't want to fuck this up, Henny."
And he sounds serious, as serious as Adam's ever heard him and Adam's suddenly reminded of something his mom used to say, about how growing up doesn't mean that the people who love you love you any less, but sometimes it means that they'll love you different. He had never understood what she meant; but maybe he understands a little better now.
He settles for looping an arm over Hallsy's shoulders: "My boy grew up," he says, grinning at him. "He's a full grown gaymo now."
"Shut up, Patches," Hallsy tells him, rolling his eyes, but his fond smile gives away any pretence to actual annoyance. "I'm still pissed off with you for not bringing the Cup home. We all are, to be honest."
"Whatever: at least we almost won the cup; all you guys won was a fucking lottery," Adam shoots back almost immediately.
Hallsy elbows him lightly in the ribs for that jibe, and Adam hipchecks him gently in response: they jostle a little for a few moments before they settle against each other, quiet and content. They stay like that for a while on the patio behind the bar, overlooking the city.
Adam's the one who breaks the silence first: "We were good though," he says quietly. "Weren't we?"
"Yeah, Henny," Hallsy tells him, his voice familiar and warm. "We were good."
[end]
(and then he said) welcome home
adam henrique, taylor hall
fakefakefake.
fullycompletely wanted fic about Adam Henrique reminiscing about Taylor Hall (who has moved on to his one true soulmate Jordan Eberle, obvs) for the prompt 'cuz you were amazing / and we did amazing things. i pretended that she gave a fuck about the windsor spitfires and adam henrique, and then barfed a thousand words plus about the windsor spitfires and adam henrique at her. (OOPS. SORRY, I LOVE YOU.) also, i'm sorry for writing with nicknames.
-
in the deep blue hours
under a starless sky
on a snowy screen
i was just nineteen
(i looked at you and i remembered why)
- joel plaskett emergency, 'make a little noise'
-
Almost all of them are in Tecumseh for the alumni weekend, and everything feels kind of familiar but also brand new, because they haven't all been together in the same room in years. Adam's always been vaguely terrified that he'd be the kid who peaked at nineteen, that life was so good that it'd never get better than Windsor. But then he made the big leagues, and he got nominated for the Calder trophy, and he got to play in the Stanley mother-fucking Cup Finals, and he did it without Shuggy or Nemo on his right side, without Hallsy on his left, and knowing that he could do that had been scary, but still: exhilarating.
And yet, for all the chemistry he's developed with Ponikarovsky; all the privileged glee he's felt for getting to centre Zach Parise - and it was good, great, even - it never completely matched up with the sixth sense he'd managed to grow into from playing with Hallsy for years. Sometimes, Adam misses it: how easy it was, how sometimes he'd just know where he should be, where the puck should go - tape to tape passes without even a moment of hesitation.
The bar where they're having the after-party is almost overwhelming with nostalgia: he remembers being eighteen and sneaking in for the first time; being nineteen and sneaking in eighteen year old teammates. He remembers Kass almost getting them kicked out for hitting on the bouncer's girlfriend, remembers how nervously excited Elly had been with his first fake id, remembers the way Hallsy had stumbled into him that one time behind the bar when both of them were blind-drunk even though he definitely wasn't old enough to buy liquor yet, after the awkward laughter had died out, the way their mouths crashed together because no one was around to see them.
There had been other times, too: other kisses and quiet celebrations that Adam remembers happening, but none stand out more in his mind than that first time - the memory of it makes him smile.
He finishes off the rest of his beer and decides that he can use some fresh air, walking by Scotty killing it on the dance floor, and Fowler, who’s grinding up so close to his girlfriend that they're practically doing it against the bar. He pauses only once to bro-hug Eric before pushing his way out to the empty patio and takes a deep breath of summer night air.
"Henny?" he hears someone say behind him, and when he turns around, it's Hallsy, smiling that lazy smile at him that means he's drunk and content. "Hey. What're you doing out here?"
"Fresh air," Adam tells him and he can feel his own mouth quirking into an affectionate grin. He ducks over to the side of the patio, the part that's unseen from inside the bar, with practiced ease. "Needed a moment."
Hallsy follows him, shoving his hands into his pockets: "It's pretty crazy, eh? Seeing everyone again."
Adam turns to look at him: "For sure," he says. "It's weird. Like we never left. A good weird though, I think."
And just like that, with perfect precision, both of them are closing the gap between them, their mouths meeting like no time at all has passed; like it hasn't been years since they've done this - and maybe it's a stupid thing to do, maybe reckless because anyone could walk onto the patio at any moment and catch them. But tonight, they are drunk and brave and it's too much to pass up this moment of perfect nostalgia.
But it's different this time, because after a moment, Hallsy shies away, pulls back, their foreheads still pressed together and he says, almost reluctantly, "Wait...wait...fuck. I shouldn't."
And it's fine. It's fine because it’s not a thing. It never really was a thing and Adam moves a hand to rest gently against the back of Hallsy's neck, telegraphing just that, loud and clear, and moving his face away to look properly at him. "Okay," Adam says. "Got a girl?"
"Uh..." Hallsy begins, his cheeks flushing with more than just alcohol.
Adam's grin widens. "...a dude?"
When Hallsy doesn't answer, just looks away because he's always been a shit liar at the best of times and never has been able to pull a fast-one on Adam in the entire time they've known each other. Adam just laughs because the answer is obvious, because even after all this time, it’s almost surprising how well Adam knows him: "Oh fuck, is it Eberle? It's Eberle, isn't it?"
"Man, shut up," Hallsy says, finally having recovered the ability of speech. "It's...complicated, okay?"
Adam just laughs harder. "Is it really?"
Hallsy rubs absently at his own shoulder, like he's thinking about it. "Well," he finally says. "No, not exactly. But...it's new. And it's good. And, like, it's not like we talked about it being exclusive or anything? But I don't want to fuck this up, Henny."
And he sounds serious, as serious as Adam's ever heard him and Adam's suddenly reminded of something his mom used to say, about how growing up doesn't mean that the people who love you love you any less, but sometimes it means that they'll love you different. He had never understood what she meant; but maybe he understands a little better now.
He settles for looping an arm over Hallsy's shoulders: "My boy grew up," he says, grinning at him. "He's a full grown gaymo now."
"Shut up, Patches," Hallsy tells him, rolling his eyes, but his fond smile gives away any pretence to actual annoyance. "I'm still pissed off with you for not bringing the Cup home. We all are, to be honest."
"Whatever: at least we almost won the cup; all you guys won was a fucking lottery," Adam shoots back almost immediately.
Hallsy elbows him lightly in the ribs for that jibe, and Adam hipchecks him gently in response: they jostle a little for a few moments before they settle against each other, quiet and content. They stay like that for a while on the patio behind the bar, overlooking the city.
Adam's the one who breaks the silence first: "We were good though," he says quietly. "Weren't we?"
"Yeah, Henny," Hallsy tells him, his voice familiar and warm. "We were good."
[end]