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Jack holds his breath and refuses to think twice about it. He raises his hand and knocks again. Once. Twice. Three times.
There hasn’t been any time for Jack to do this before—hotels always felt riskier, but they weren’t impossible to work around with the right planning—but even when he would think about trying to sneak away, he would take one look at Luke’s red eyes and immediately change his game plan for the night. Jack’s not a dick. He wasn’t just going to leave his baby brother alone and depressed in a hotel room, shouldering all the guilt for their loss against Carolina.
Presently, he teeters back and forth on the balls of his feet as he waits, ears ringing from the silence. For the fifth time in the last two minutes, he considers leaving. He should be leaving. He shouldn’t even be standing here in the first place, because it’s two a.m. and it feels reckless and he wants—
“Jack,” Nico says in lieu of greeting, eyebrows scrunched together. His hair is sticking up in a way that suggests he was probably lying down. If Jack knew him any less, he would guess that Nico was sleeping, judging from the thickness of his accent and the redness in his eyes.
But Jack doesn’t know him any less.
“Just gonna leave me standing out here, Schao?” Jack says, hoping for casual. His voice sounds strained even to his own ears.
Nico moves aside, letting Jack slip through. Jack toes his shoes off before Nico says another word.
“You didn’t—“ Nico hesitates. Jack didn’t text. That would’ve required advance preparation, and apparently, Jack was feeling extra spontaneous tonight. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”
“Were you sleeping?” Jack asks, just to avoid answering.
“No,” Nico says. His gaze lingers on Jack for a moment, no doubt debating whether to press on further for an answer or to drop it altogether. “Couldn’t sleep. I was watching tv.” The latter wins out.
Jack leads the way to the couch. He kinda wants to bitch to Nico about taking way too long to open the door for someone who was already awake and in the living room, but he doesn’t know if he gets that anymore, or if that playful nagging is just another consequence of what he has long since ruined.
“A romcom, Hisch?” Jack quirks his lip, settling himself on the couch in his favorite spot. He tucks his legs into himself, watching as Nico moves past him to take his usual spot.
“Nina recommend it,” Nico sighs, letting his head rest against the back of the couch cushion, legs spread far apart, knee almost close enough to touch Jack’s foot. “She said it might help.”
“And has it?” Jack prods unnecessarily.
“The movie hasn’t finished yet.”
“Oh, sorry. It’ll totally help once it’s over, right?”
Nico rolls his eyes at him. Jack bites back a smile.
“Don’t let me stop you. I can see that this romantic comedy business of yours is very serious.”
Nico face washes him just for that. Jack laughs, his skin tingling even after Nico pulls away. Crazily, Jack wants to reach up and touch the part of his face that Nico just did, to feel that lingering warmth in his fingertips too.
Nico doesn’t offer much more than that, and Jack keeps quiet, watching Jennifer Garner convince a reluctant Mark Ruffalo to dance along to Thriller. Jack could probably recite this movie line for line. It’s his girlfriend’s favorite movie.
He spends more time taking peeks at Nico from the corner of his eye than actually watching the movie. He feels restless, and restless almost always equals reckless where his captain is concerned. Jack knows he needs to shut it down. He needs to get it together.
Nico used to tease him for it, how Jack was always so obvious with what he wanted. And sure, it wasn’t a science to figure out that Jack wanted the last waffle even if he felt too greedy to take it, or when Jack was done with the day and just wanted to go back home rather than go out with the guys for a round of drinks.
But it was more with Nico. For so long, Jack had been well-versed in keeping certain emotions under wraps. When he first came to Jersey, he quickly learned how to internalize his anger in many ways. Fans were calling him a bust, his parents were thinking of staying in Jersey for him, Quinn was giving him constant motivational speeches about focusing on yourself, and even Luke was giving him the occasional fuck the haters spiel.
It was easier to say it was hard, but I’ll be fine rather than admitting that sometimes I don’t even sleep because I spend all my time reviewing footage or running through drills until I’ve thrown up because I know I can do better and I know the team hates me even if they aren’t saying it. And he doesn’t think anyone in his family believed his sorry excuse, but his mom must have said something, because Quinn’s speeches were kept to a minimum and Luke stopped mentioning anything about ‘haters’ completely.
Jack preferred it that way. It was easier when he didn’t have the constant reminder that he was disappointing his family, too.
And eventually a few months went by, and then—
“Is everything all right, Jack?” It was Nico, his eyes wide with sincerity and mouth set in a firm line. Jack remembers how fast his heart was pounding then. At the time, Jack’s relationship with Nico was… careful, if he had to name it. They were bonded by their status, and that made Jack feel like he had to be friends with Nico, at least better than they were at the time. But they were just so different, too. Jack used to be so jealous of Nico, of how he carried himself. Nico was all collected confidence. He was a great player who didn’t have to try to get people’s respect. He was loved by the staff and their teammates equally. Surely, no one ever questioned if Nico deserved a spot on the team.
So when Nico had asked, and Jack had given his typical response, Jack thought surely, surely that would be the end of it. But then Nico started to stay late with him to train, or run plays with him, or review game tapes and point out flaws with his own play. Nico never made Jack feel less than worthy of his status, even when Jack himself struggled to find his place.
And then, one night after a win against the Flyers—Jack drunk from all the liquor his teammates bought him—Nico confessed to him in their shared uber (Nico, ever the sweetheart, ensuring Jack got home okay), voice hesitant, that he was scared sometimes, too.
In all his anger, Jack never thought to consider how much the ‘first overall’ title weighed on Nico. How much pressure he must have felt, wanting to make his country proud. How hard it must have been for him to move to a whole other country by himself when he wasn’t even an adult yet. How alone he must have felt.
It was too much for Jack to think at the moment. He vomited all over the backseat instead, because that was, of course, the appropriate response to such a confession. The driver yelled, and Nico apologized profusely, paying well above the required amount and then carrying Jack on his back the rest of the way to Jack’s apartment from where the uber had kicked them out.
Nearly passed out against Nico’s back, Jack had known that something changed between them. Before, Nico was a concept, the expectation of what Jack should be, of what he needed to be. But since that day, it felt like a switch had been flipped inside of Jack. It became so much easier to talk to Nico, and without even realizing he was doing it, Jack learned to lean on him, too.
Jack steals another look at Nico, and it startles him a little when he realizes that Nico is staring back.
“What?” Jack bristles. It gets him bothered when Nico looks at him for too long. It makes Jack want to squirm.
“The movie’s finished,” Nico says. Jack's head snaps back to the screen. He hadn’t even realized that the credits had started rolling.
“So, did it help?” Jack asks, distracted. He doesn’t care for the answer, and he knows Nico won’t give him one anyway.
“Put something else on. I’m too comfortable to move.”
Jack scoffs at that, reaching for the remote anyway and going to the ‘more like this’ section, choosing the first movie that’s suggested. Normally he would give Nico a little shit for being lazy, but.
“There, so you’ll feel twice as better now,” he adds, letting another romcom start up, setting the remote down beside him.
“You’re so kind,” Nico aims for sarcasm, but it falls short. Jack does laugh this time. He loves seeing this late-night version of Nico. Hood pulled over his head, eyes drooping, fighting sleep. Something painful curls in Jack’s chest at the knowledge. He wishes he could—
“So I’ve been told,” Jack plays along, swallowing around the lump in his throat.
“Is that why you’re here at,” Nico checks the imaginary watch on his wrist. “Three in the morning? To watch tv with me?”
Jack makes a face. “Is that so weird?” They used to do this all the time. Or Jack would be reading a book and Nico would be scrolling though his phone. They would normally be a lot closer than they are now, though. Jack would take any opportunity to tuck his feet under Nico’s thigh, or his head against Nico’s shoulder, or his hand under Nico’s shirt to steal some of his warmth. Sometimes they would just lazily make out, too tired to lead to anything. Even if Jack isn’t allowed to have that anymore, he wishes Nico would just—
“It’s not weird,” Nico answers, all sincere like he really put thought behind it. “But probably not the best idea.”
“Why?” Jack doesn’t want to look at him. He doesn’t want to hear how he fucked everything up and how he will never get to have this again.
“You know why, Jack.”
The worst part, Jack thinks, is that Nico doesn’t even seem mad about it. It can’t be only Jack that feels like this is devastating, that he’ll never recover from this. That the world is ending all because Nico doesn’t feel the same rage Jack does.
“I’m just—“ worried. Don’t want you to carry this all alone. Please lean on me too. “It’s not all on you, Neeks.” Jack’s hands are shaking, but he forces himself to meet Nico’s gaze. “We’re a team,” Jack settles on. “Things are different now, I guess. But. Like, you can still talk to me.”
“Different?” Nico repeats. It’s just like him to avoid the whole point of conversation and focus on something Jack would rather not elaborate on.
“You know what I mean,” Jack says, a little meanly. As if the strained communication between them for the past few months is Jack’s fault alone. It’s almost worse that Nico hasn’t shut him out completely. At least then, Jack would have a reason to be pissed at him. But Nico is polite to a fault, always has been. How can Jack be mad when Nico always makes sure to include him in conversations, always takes his opinion into account, even laughs along to Jack’s jokes?
“And what do you want me to say, Jack?”
Nico is simultaneously the best and worst when it comes to dealing with Jack’s impatience. “That we fucking suck,” Jack spits. “That we got our ass handed to us in a fucking shutout and it seems like nobody even cares about playing anymore.”
In middle school, Quinn had once lectured him on the importance of teamwork. Jack was tired of loss after loss even though he was putting up points, and in a fit of rage, he threw his gear across the room, cracking his helmet and snapping his stick clean in half. He was angry and Quinn was eyeing him curiously, and all Jack could talk about was how shitty his teammates played. Jack was too young and too cocky, and as embarrassing as it is to admit, he felt like his team was holding him back. Of course, Quinn was having none of it.
Once they got home, he was subjected to a lecture on team camaraderie, or whatever bullshit Quinn called it. He explained to Jack that everyone has to work together, stick up for each other to make a team successful. How a loss isn’t just on one player, that a loss is on the team as a whole.
At the time, it seemed mature coming from his older brother, who was merely a freshman in high school, and because it was his older brother who said it, Jack took it to heart. Quinn had his fair share of shitty teammates, so he understood better than Jack probably did himself.
But, in all honesty—
It was also incredibly stupid.
Why would Jack take the blame for problems he had no hand in creating? Why would anyone?
Jack knows he has areas he needs to improve on. He knows what his strengths and weaknesses are. He knows that he will always defend his teammates to the media, or to fans, or to anyone who dare speak badly of them. He really would. It’s just.
Nico doesn’t fall into any of those categories. And Nico has seen Jack at his worst and never even batted an eye, so it’s easy to complain about others when it’s just an alternate and his captain. When it’s just Jack and Nico. It’s not fair that Nico is shouldering all the responsibility when there are players who should be counting their blessings that they even ended up in the NHL in the first place. When there are coaches who would be better suited teaching elementary kids hockey than at the professional level.
It’s a selfish way of thinking, Jack knows. But he’s always been a little selfish when it comes to Nico.
Nico hums. “So that’s why you’re here at,” cue Nico checking his imaginary watch. “Three thirteen a.m.? To talk—”
“Stop that,” Jack snaps, reaching out to wrap his hand around Nico’s wrist. It’s clear that Nico is still not taking him seriously. “What do you want me to say?” Jacks asks, turning the question around.
Nico doesn’t say anything for a long time. Jack is shaking, and he knows that Nico can feel it because Jack still hasn’t let go of his wrist. He can’t let go. He doesn’t want to.
There are tells. Jack first noticed it in his rookie season, when he would force himself into Nico’s bed for a pregame nap, taking full advantage of their shared hotel room. It wasn’t much more than that, two roommates sharing a bed before clocking in for their shift. And it wasn’t like Jack would purposely cuddle up on Nico, even if that’s sometimes how they found themselves when the alarm went off.
But even then, there was a tell; In the way Nico’s eyes went soft, in the way his lips pulled up at the corners just slightly, in the way his nose scrunched up, making his eyes close as if he were taking a snapshot.
Of course, Jack didn’t know it for what it was at the time. Not until much later, really, when he had enough alcohol in his system to shut down the part of his brain that always told him to be careful whenever Nico was around, not until he kissed Nico and it felt like his world had shifted from under his feet.
Nico has many tells. Some are subtle, and some are more obvious. Like now—Nico’s gaze falling to Jack’s lips.
Jack breathes in. He feels like a dog jumping for a bone. He doesn’t even care.
“Let me help,” he says, voice barely a whisper. He drops to his knees and crawls until he’s kneeling right in between Nico’s spread legs. Jack glances a look up at Nico, who watches on with an unreadable expression. Jack wishes he would say something. He’s not used to Nico being so closed off like this.
Jack fits himself closer, running his hands up Nico’s inner thigh, right until he feels the outline of Nico’s dick.
Jack’s dick kicks up in a Pavlovian response. Even like this, soft, Nico is big. Jack thinks about it way too often. When he’s in the shower or in his bed, one hand wrapped around himself when sleep is evading him.
Jack’s hands find the band of Nico’s sweats. What he wants—
Nico’s fingers course through Jack’s hair. It feels like all the noise in the room comes back, though he hadn’t realized when it all had gone so quiet. Jack lets out a shaky breath. Nico’s hand falls to cup Jack’s cheek, thumb stroking gently just under his lash line. Jack closes his eyes.
“Come here, Jacky,” Nico says, and it’s not a command, but Jack gets up all the same. He sinks into Nico’s lap, legs framing his hips. Nico’s hands find his waist easily, pulling him closer. Tentatively, Jack holds onto Nico’s biceps.
Jack’s body burns in anticipation. In want.
“This what you wanted,” Nico says, smug, not a question.
Jack’s ears burn red. He wants to push Nico away. He wants to deny it. He doesn’t do either of those things.
“So do you,” Jack counters, rolling his hips just slightly, feeling the way Nico’s growing bulge feels against his ass. They need to be on equal ground in this. Jack can’t be the one wanting more. “You want this too.”
“Yeah,” Nico breathes, and Jack doesn’t get the chance to think anymore of it, because then one of Nico’s hands finds the back of Jack’s neck and pulls him down until their mouths meet.
Heat blooms low in his stomach, chest tightening with the familiarity of it all. For a moment, all he can think is Nico—his quiet certainty, his steady pressure—and everything Jack’s been pretending to be for the past few months collapses on him in an instant, because suddenly nothing else exists in the world but what they have created in this room
Easily and well-practiced, Jack’s hand fists into Nico’s hair, the other pulling Nico closer by the neck. His body moves on muscle memory alone, grinding back and forth slowly in Nico’s lap the way he knows he likes.
Jack feels insane. He’s whimpering against Nico’s mouth. And it’s so stupid, how this pace is already affecting him like this. He doesn’t want to come. Not yet. Not when Nico is still so unaffected like this, only occasionally letting out quiet little hums from the back of his throat.
He makes a move to slide down, get his mouth on Nico’s dick, but Nico’s grip on his waist doesn’t let up. He grips Jack tighter, draws him impossibly closer.
“Stay,” Nico whispers, not bothering to pull away. Jack moans, thinks about literally anything else to keep himself from coming to that word alone.
It’s just—it’s been so long since he’s had Nico like this. And Jack knows it’s his fault. He knows that he ruined them. But—
Being—liking guys, maybe it would’ve been okay, somehow manageable, if they weren’t hockey players. Jack used to imagine that a lot. What it would be like, liking guys and just. Being able to like guys. Not having to worry about how his career would be affected, or how the league would view him, or what his teammates would say about him in the locker room. Because Jack’s heard it his whole life. Cocksucker and fag were daily insults casually thrown around the locker room, and Jack just had to laugh along, say even more, even when it didn’t feel right.
And sure, maybe there was this weird tightness to his skin every time Trevor got close, or when Ty would bully his way through the team so he could get the spot next to Jack when the team went out, or even (and Jack really hates thinking about this) the one time a drunk Cole snuggled close into Jack’s neck and complained that Jack got girls so easily because he was just too pretty.
But those feelings, in the grand scheme of things, were easy to ignore. Insignificant in passing. And it didn’t matter much, anyway, when sex with girls could be fun. So maybe he was a little weird about guys sometimes, but it was hardly worth noticing when his dick still worked around girls.
And then Nico just—
He can’t pinpoint when it happened, exactly.
When Jack was little, he once swam far into the ocean. He remembers thinking about the watermelon his mom packed, and how his dad would probably still get sun burned even with all the sunscreen he lathered on. He swam aimlessly, soaking in the sun, letting the waves carry him along like a kids rollercoaster.
It wasn’t until he looked back, hoping to find Quinn, that Jack realized how far he had swam from shore. He panicked instantly, trying to find his sense of direction as he looked at the vacant water around him. He started to cry right there. In that second, all the dreams Jack had of growing up vanished. He was convinced he was going to die.
Just as suddenly, he felt a hand yank his arm, his father’s voice booming, sounding both angry and relieved. His father quickly guided him to shore, and even though his parents were furious with him, he still got his watermelon after. His dreams weren’t going to die with him, even if Jack convinced himself at that moment that it was all over.
What he feels for Nico, it’s like that. Jack can’t look back and point out the exact moment he swam so far from shore, or the exact moment he fell in lov—
He just remembers wanting Nico. Needing to have him.
It’s a scary thing, loving somebody. If anyone had to have that power over him, it couldn’t be Nico. It can’t be his captain.
Megan loves Jack. She’s told him before, plenty of times. She ends her calls with an I love you, even when Jack pretends he doesn’t hear. He doesn’t have to worry about some media outlet ruining his career with a ‘New Jersey Devils star Jack Hughes seen out with new girl,’ because no one would care, at least not enough to ruin everything he has built for himself.
But if he’s caught with another guy? They might as well staple ‘New Jersey star Jack Hughes likes to take it up the ass’ on his forehead. They would take hockey away from him. Worst yet, he knows it wouldn’t stop there. Fans would find a way to bring Quinn and Luke into his mess, too. He can’t destroy their lives just because he doesn’t know how to control himself. Jack can control himself. He is controlling himself, which is why he told Nico what he did in the first place.
Because the thing is, Jack was beginning to think that he could actually have this, that he could have Nico the way he really wanted him. That he would one day be able to be with Nico openly, hold Nico’s hand on the street or kiss him as the ball dropped or just. Be able to call Nico his boyfriend. He knew he would have to wait until they both had retired, but it was still a future in Jack’s mind when all he used to imagine was a future where he would have to marry a girl and have kids with her and tell his grandkids fond stories of how he met their grandmother.
“Fuck, Jack,” Nico groans, and it’s all the encouragement Jack needs to go faster. He wants Nico to say his name again. He doesn’t want to ever stop. Nico’s hands are firm on Jack’s ass, and Jack hugs Nico close, tucking his head into Nico’s neck. The angle is a bit awkward, but Jack doesn’t care. He feels like he might cry.
Sometimes, Jack thinks he hates Nico.
Nico shattered the perfect world he had constructed. He was safe and comfortable and Nico just ruined it all with his stupid dimpled smile that drove Jack to insanity. It’s earth-shattering for Jack, and a pebble in the water for Nico.
Because in the end, that’s the reason it all went to shit, after all.
It’s a scary thing, loving somebody. It’s even scarier when you’re the one who loves more.
It’s stupid and clique, but he wanted Nico to fight for him. He wanted Nico to act like losing Jack actually meant something to him. He wanted Nico to love him.
He still wants Nico to love him.
But Jack had said what he said. Said that he and Nico were just for convenience. Said that he doesn’t really like guys. That it was fun at first, but it’s not like this means anything, right?
He knows he was too harsh. He also knows that he meant none of it. But Nico just—Nico just accepted it. He didn’t tell Jack that it wasn’t just ‘convenient’ for him, or call Jack out on his bullshit, or—he didn’t even say that it meant something, anything to him. And that, really, is the worst of it.
Jack can’t be the one who feels more. He can’t be the vulnerable one. He can’t be the one who needs Nico more than Nico needs him.
Jack’s orgasm hits him like a punch. He’s sweaty, breathing hard and fast into the skin of Nico’s neck, drool or tears staining the collar of Nico’s hoodie.
Nico continues to rut against him, chasing his own release. His grip on Jack’s hips is suffocating and yet not enough. Jack tries to say something—stop or wait, maybe, because he doesn’t want to have to let Nico go. He doesn’t want to go back to the Jack who can’t have Nico anymore—but he can’t get the words out.
Nico stills, muttering a breathless fuck right into Jack’s ear.
They’re quiet after that.
How pathetic, Jack thinks, to have come in his pants and proceed to cry right into Nico’s shoulder because the man he loves doesn’t love him back.
Nico’s hands move up, releasing their punishing hold on Jack. Jack’s shoulders start to shake, because instinctively, he knows this is over. Nico allowed it because it was easy for him. After all, Jack is the one who showed up at his door. Jack is the one who asked for it. Jack is the one who crawled into his lap.
Carefully, Nico’s hands come up to caress his back, strong arms wrapping around Jack and holding him tight.
Nico’s shaking, too.
“I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” Nico confesses, lips moving against Jack’s neck. “I’m so fucking tired, Jack.”
Nico is crying now, too. Jack wants to take all his pain away. He knows he can’t.
“I know,” Jack whispers. He knows he can’t take Nico’s pain away.
I love you. I won’t ever leave you, he wants to say. He doesn’t.
“It’s you and me,” Jack says instead. “You and me, Nico.”
He knows it’s not enough.