Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/319439.

Rating:
Not Rated
Archive Warning:
Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category:
M/M
Fandom:
Hockey RPF
Relationship:
Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Character:
Patrick Kane, Jonathan Toews, T.J Oshie
Stats:
Published: 2012-01-13 Words: 26717

armed with every precious failure

by liketheroad

Summary

Patrick wipes at his mouth, glaring. "You're doing a pretty shitty job at the whole soulmate thing so far, I just want you to know that. Sincerely, from me to you, and all that." In which Patrick and Johnny soulbond at the World Juniors in 2007.

Notes

Well, everyone knows that Tazer and Kaner competed in tournaments prior to playing against each other in Juniors. What this fic presupposes is... MAYBE THEY DIDN'T? This fic also presupposes that Eclipse was published in, idk, let's say 2006 or something. WHATEVER, IT'S AN AU. I disclaim. Dates and events may not be entirely as depicted here, etc, etc! Don't Toews me, bro.
Also, thank you to mockturtletale and halflinen and imntsaying and svmadelyn for their help and handholding and general putting up with my blah blah blah blah. IT TAKES A VILLAGE, okay.

The headache starts twenty minutes before the team reaches the arena in Leksand. Johnny tries to shake it off, rolling his shoulders and rubbing a hand to his temple, but the ache settles into him in a way he doesn't recognize, nagging at him the way the bruises and cuts that are apart of his daily routine never do, muted background noise at most.
He settles for ignoring it, if he can't make it go away, and tries to concentrate on the rest of his team, the things the coaches are saying as they walk up and down the isle of the team bus, now just minutes from to the arena where they'll play their first game of the tournament.
When they arrive, though, the pain gets worse, and Johnny has trouble getting up from his seat, needs to lean on Carey a little as they exit the bus.
Inside, Johnny starts to feel better - calmer, more settled inside his skin - but as the team moves through the complex towards their locker room, Johnny feels a persistent tug at the back of his mind, telling him he's going the wrong way, insisting he veer off towards the ice instead of following the rest of the team.
Stammering, "I've got - I have to--" to Carey, he slips away from the team, ducking between guys and hoping the coaches are too far ahead to notice.
Following the instinctive pull in his gut, he gets all the way into stands, watching from above as the American team does drills on the ice. Standing at the top of the bleachers, looking down at them, Jon feels something stutter and settle deep inside his chest, and his eyes fix on number 27.
The rest of the US team is still skating, heads down, but 27's stopped, stock still in the middle of the ice, staring right back up at Johnny.
Something constricts painfully around Johnny's heart, and he raises his hand unthinkingly, waving.
After a second, 27 waves back.
A few seconds later, the whistle blows and 27 snaps back to attention, skating away from centre ice and not looking at Johnny any more.
He tries to shrug it off, the gnawing sense that he's supposed to stay exactly here, watching 27 play, and forces himself to go back and rejoin his own teammates.
The headache starts again the second he lets the doors to the rink swing shut behind him.
---
They win, which is good, that's what they're here for, it's what's expected, and Johnny's not going to be satisfied with anything but bringing home another gold. But despite the win, he can't settle, after the game, can't lose the feeling of being one giant, raw nerve, so he ends up walking the halls of the arena, trying to tire himself out, as if a full game of hockey wasn't enough to do that.
On his fourth circuit, he collides with another player, getting tangled up together the more they try to separate. After a few awkward seconds of excess proximity, they disentangle and Johnny's heart is suddenly racing. He didn't notice how much better he felt when they were touching until they aren't anymore.
"Hey, you're--"
"Jonathan Toews," Johnny says, quick, and the guy nods.
"You were staring at me, before."
Jeez.
"You're 27?"
"Patrick Kane."
And yeah, the name sounds familiar, now. He's the U.S's new hotshot; they've almost met in several other tournaments, but haven't ever actually played each other yet. Johnny's already seen Price obsessing over Patrick's stats from the OHL, though, and he knows Patrick by reputation, a little.
Johnny just nods, not knowing what to do, just knowing he doesn't want to leave, doesn't want to get any further away from Patrick than the half-foot that separates them now. Patrick just follows him with his eyes, bobbing his head along with Johnny, mirroring his movements unconsciously, and Johnny reaches out blindly, needing to touch.
His hand comes to rest on Patrick's shoulder and Patrick's whole body spasms, a shiver running from where Johnny touched him down to his toes, and Johnny watches as Patrick's eyes widen, getting huge and dark.
"What's happening to us?" He asks like he expects Johnny to know, and will trust his answer.
The fucking worst of it is, as soon as Johnny is asked, he realizes he does know the answer. Growing up, the stories about his family members imprinting on their spouses always seemed far-fetched and sentimental, but as soon as Johnny hit puberty, he was forced to acknowledge that something was just... different. Off. Special, his mom always says.
It's just that he never... felt anything. Not like that. For his family, sure, there's no one he loves more in the world - except - except, he tightens his hold on Patrick's shoulder, squeezing down enough to hurt, but Patrick rolls with it, leaning into the touch, demanding more. He ends up with a hand on Johnny's waist, and they continue staring at each other, open-mouthed.
Imprinting on a fucking American. Johnny's never going to hear the end of it.
"It's - we're--" He doesn't know how to god he's going to explain, or why he even thinks bothering to try is a reasonable course of action at this juncture, but Patrick's staring at him, wide-eyed and trusting, and Johnny just goes for it, forcing out the words, "We've imprinted," and bracing himself for laughter or shocked outrage or worse.
Instead, what he gets is Patrick leaning forward a little more, inches between them now, and he licks his lips, and says, "Like in Twilight?"
What? "What?"
Patrick licks his lips again, and oh god, that's going to be such a problem for Johnny, he can't look anywhere else and --
"They're books," Patrick explains patiently, like maybe Johnny doesn't know what books are, and it instantly shakes him out of his stare, making Johnny roll his eyes. Patrick smiles a little, like he's satisfied about something, and keeps going, "They're about, like, vampires, mostly, but Bella - she's the chick in it - she's got this best friend and he's a werewolf and when they meet their, you know, mate, or whatever, they imprint on them, like you said, and they can't do anything about it, that's just it. For life. But it's okay, because they get to be in love with someone who's perfect for them and I always thought that sounded kind of okay, I guess, and who'd want to be a vampire anyway? Werewolves are so much more badass."
Johnny stares. He doesn't even know where to start, and is a bit disappointed in himself when all he can come up with is, "I'm not a werewolf."
Patrick nods magnanimously, like he's willing to overlook that obvious flaw in Johnny's character.
"That's okay," he says reassuringly, squeezing Johnny's hip a little, and then he ducks in closer, pressing his mouth to Jon's.
He flails back, knocked over by how good it feels and - god, oh god - he doesn't know what he's doing - he's never done this before - he never really wanted to and never saw the point, especially after he started believing in the imprinting thing and realized one day he'd meet his imprint and then feel horribly guilty if he'd ever messed around on them, even if he hadn't known them at the time, and besides, there was always hockey and - oh fuck, Patrick's got his tongue in Johnny's mouth and his hand's snaking its way up his shirt and what does he think he's going to find up there - it's not like Johnny's secretly got a pair of breasts or something fun to play with but fuck, okay, maybe Patrick's onto something after all and --
Jon tears himself away despite the screaming protest in every inch of his body, and Patrick glares at him for his efforts, but Jon takes another step back and they stand a couple feet apart, panting at each other.
"Why'd you do that?" Johnny asks, when he feels a little less like his heart is going to leap out of his throat, but his voice still comes out sounding wrecked, run raw.
Patrick swallows and slides his tongue along his lips again. "Wanted to," he says, shrugging.
Johnny shakes his head, trying to make sense of any part of this. "You're not - you believe me?"
Patrick shrugs a second time. "Kind of hard not to. I've been feeling off since we got here, really bad headaches, skating funny, and it just got worse today, all day, until I couldn't even move on the ice, and then I looked up, and there you were." He grins, kind of pained, but mostly covering over that with bravado. "Besides, it's not like there's much to be done, right?"
Johnny doesn't like the sound of that. At all. Patrick doesn't seem bothered by it, doesn't even seem resigned, exactly, but how could he not be at least one or the other? Johnny's grown up with this and he can't get his head around it, so how can Patrick?
"Not really," he admits reluctantly. "The headaches, they'll just get worse if we're apart. But you can still - I mean, we don't actually have to do anything."
Patrick laughs. "Where's the fun in that?"
Johnny flushes. "Yeah, well. I'm just saying. I know this is a lot --" although Patrick isn't acting like it's nearly as much as it is -- "But we can try and manage it. I'm sorry, I can't make it go away, not entirely, but this thing, it's in my blood, passed down across generations, it's who I am." He shakes his head. "But it might not have to be that way for you. You're... you're just my imprint, you don't have the family lineage like I do. You might still be able to leave, the pain might fade, I don't - I've never actually asked." He hangs his head, berating himself over how narrowly he's always considered the bond, always in terms of what it would mean for him, never actually thinking through the repercussions for his imprint. "I'm sorry," he says again, not quite able to meet Patrick's eyes.
Patrick just shrugs, anyway. "Don't be," and he tries to lean in again, pressing against Johnny for another kiss, but Johnny's faster than Patrick this time, catching Patrick in the chest with an open palm, holding him back.
Patrick huffs at him impatiently, using his hands instead of his mouth, and Johnny has to stop pressing back against his chest to catch Patrick's wandering hands.
He's shaking with how badly he wants to let Patrick keep going.
"We have to - talk about this, and think - I mean, we're in the middle of a tournament right now. We're going to have to play against each other and --" God, Johnny doesn't even want to think about what happens after that. He's already been drafted by the Hawks, and hopes to join their training camp that fall. He has a team to go back to in Grand Forks in the meantime, and Patrick's living in London, playing for the Knights, not even drafted yet, and who knows where he'll end up. How the fuck are they supposed to make this work and keep playing?
"Whatever, I can still kick your ass," Patrick says, so unconcerned it sets Johnny's teeth on edge, and he risks touching Patrick again to shake him a little.
"Why are you taking this so well?" he demands hotly, angry about it when he knows he should be grateful.
Patrick grins, showing so much teeth, like pissing Johnny off is almost as good as kissing him. Johnny doesn't even want to think about how much parts of his body seem to agree.
"How else am I supposed to take it? You want me to cry about it or something? Keep cockblocking and I probably will."
Johnny laughs, startled and too-loud, but it feels good, unloosening some of the fear inside him, and he lets Patrick crowd back into his space, not caring, for the moment, that they're still standing in the middle of the arena where any number of their teammates or press could stumble upon them.
"I need to explain what this actually means, we have to talk about--"
"Look, I told you, I already know what it means, so can we just..." Patrick waves a hand between them, leaning forward, lips pursed in a way that should be stupid but comes off as frustratingly hot, and Johnny sighs bitterly and crashes their lips together once more.
He lets it happen until it's either wrench away from Patrick or come in his pants. Patrick makes a low whine, clutching onto Johnny still, and Johnny flushes all the way down to his toes, realizing Patrick's one step ahead of him, there.
"Fuck," Patrick says, with feeling, grinning up at Johnny and kind of sagging against him at the same time, needing Johnny to hold him upright.
"This is so bad," Johnny moans, not even knowing he's speaking aloud, and Patrick kicks him, surprisingly hard for someone who is otherwise boneless in his arms.
"Quit whining," he says, kicking Johnny again.
Johnny laughs, raggedly, and pulls Patrick a little closer.
He breathes into Patrick's hair for awhile, eyes screwed tightly shut, until eventually Patrick kisses Johnny's neck and it's pull away or lose it for real.
"We can't just - kissing isn't talking, it's not going to help us plan and we need to--"
"God, are you always like this?" Patrick interrupts, hands on hips. "Stop pussy-dicking around, man, aren't you excited?"
Excited? It's-- In all the years he thought about this happening, excited was never really the word for it. In his family, imprinting is taken extremely seriously. It's a rite of passage, a responsibility, and okay, maybe he could be doing a better job taking care of his imprint right now instead of freaking out himself, but honestly. He thought it would be years away, if it had to happen at all. And in between hoping if he played enough hockey it just never would, he'd always sort of envisioned a girl, soft around the edges, maybe someone who liked hockey and would come to his games - but never this, never someone like Patrick, someone he'd have to play against, someone who would crawl instantly and effortlessly under his skin, making Johnny want to kiss him and hit him at the same time.
"I can't - really, why aren't you freaking out? Shouldn't you be the one freaking out?" He hates the plaintive tone in his voice, the way he can't stop himself from asking.
Patrick punches him in the arm and says, "Sack up. This is it, man, and if I'm gonna be stuck with you for the rest of our lives, you need to loosen the fuck up, because this is embarrassing, and you're not fooling anybody, anyway."
"No, huh?" It's amazing how easily Patrick can get him riled, careening from one extreme to another at a dizzying rate, choking on need one minute, bristling and wanting to shove him the next.
"No. I mean, protest or freak out or whatever you want, I guess, but it's not like it changes anything."
"You know this isn't just like, those books, or whatever, right? This is real, and it's not always easy - there can be real dangers to--"
"It might not be exactly like the books, but they got one part right, anyway."
"What part's that?" Johnny asks, despite himself.
Patrick grins. "The bit about resistance being totally futile and stupid, I guess. In the books, whoever gets imprinted on always falls in love right back, they can't help it, it just feels too good."
Oh jesus. Johnny feels relief hit him like a wave, and he didn't even realize he was worried about that.
"But you - why--"
"It's just, it's kind of hard not to like it. The way you're looking at me."
"How am I looking at you?" He's not even hostile, when he asks, he just really wants to know. Maybe it'll help Johnny understand this better.
"Kinda like you got hit by a two-by-four. But in a good way. Mostly."
Mostly. Johnny laughs, and he can't believe how much he's done that, already, and how good it feels, every time Patrick makes him.
"That sounds about right," he admits, after a minute.
Patrick's grin softens, and Johnny thinks he's got probably the nicest smile he's ever seen, when it's like simple and genuine like that, no mocking, challenging edge. Not that he minds that other smile, either, when he thinks about it.
Patrick's hands are back on waist, and he slips his fingers under Johnny's shirt again, swooping his thumb along Johnny's hip bone.
"My mom's going to be pissed about grand kids, but whatever, maybe we'll adopt." He says it so matter-of-factly that Johnny laughs again, feeling a giddy rush as he presses their mouths back together.
But fuck, maybe they will.
---
It's way more complicated than that, obviously. Like Johnny said, they still have a tournament to play, and they're both still here to win.
They have their own teams, their own countries, that they have to remain loyal to. They also have to separate, physically, which takes some considerable doing, and Patrick whines about it a lot. The whining actually helps, a bit, because it exasperates Johnny enough that it's easier to push Patrick away from him, easier to resist the steady onslaught of hands and lips that Patrick launches every time Johnny's not actively guarding against it.
They spend about another half hour making-out and trying to talk - well, Johnny tries, anyway - before they finally get away and back to their own teams. The hotel he's staying at with the rest of the guys and his family has a shuttle going back and forth from the arena, and Johnny takes it back there alone, bracing himself for the chaos that no doubt awaits his return, missing for hours.
Nobody even seems to have noticed, though, and when he gets back to his room, the other three guys he's rooming with are already passed out on their beds.
Sitting down on his bed in the dark, alone and away from Patrick, it's like a bucket of ice water has been thrown over him and Johnny's finally waking up to the reality of this situation. And it's bad, jesus, this is so bad. Around Patrick, before, he couldn't think straight, couldn't hold onto one single emotion long enough to take stock of shit or figure anything out, but now everything's crashing down around him - that this is real, and happening to him, that it's going to be this way forever for him, and for Patrick, too. That Johnny did that, to both of them. It's his fault, and it's a good thing he's got a long history of being tough under pressure, or else Johnny might be hyperventilating or sobbing in the shower right now.
As it is, he ends up knocking on his parents' hotel room door, even though he could be out reveling in his freedom in a new country, hanging with his more adventurous teammates, or at least getting in a good night's sleep.
His mom takes one look at Johnny when he steps inside, and she knows.
His shoulders sag, and she waves him over, making soft, soothing noises and wrapping her arm around his shoulders.
His dad's already in bed, mostly asleep, but that's okay. It's his mom he needs to talk about this with, anyway. It's her bloodline that got him into this mess, it's her who will understand what this feels like, like he's been lit up from the inside by ecstatic hope and crushing guilt all at once.
For a long time, though, he doesn't even say anything, just rests against her, letting his mom card her fingers through his hair, singing to him under her breath like she hasn't done in years, but he's too far gone to even worry about not feeling the slightest bit embarrassed.
Finally, he draws back from her, just a little, and he doesn't know why, exactly, but the only thing he can think to say is, "He's a hockey player."
His mom laughs, low and unsurprised, and pats Johnny's face consolingly. "Of course he is."
---
He barely sleeps, and he's up before the sun, heading down to the rink with the rest of the team, getting in a early skate to try and keep their chemistry going, to try and keep the momentum from their win alive.
He doesn't see Patrick again until that evening, when they meet each other on the ice. Johnny tries to keep his head down, to just focus on playing his game and shut everything else out, but he's hyper-aware of Patrick the entire time, seeming to know where he's going to be on the ice before even Patrick does.
It's easier than he'd thought it would be, playing against each other, and how in-sync they are just makes it better, the competition hot under his skin like nothing Johnny's ever felt, and he should feel bad about it, maybe, guilty or remorseful, but now he doesn't just want his team and country to win. Johnny wants to win, for himself, and more importantly, he wants to beat Patrick. Patrick, who somehow takes every single thing in his life in stride, or he must, if he can handle running headfirst into life-long destiny and soulmates like it's nothing, if he can leave Johnny gaping and wanting and confused when he's supposed to be the one who can handle things, the one who actually knows what's going on.
All his frustration gets funneled into his play, and when the game is all but done, the scoreboard is 6-3 in their favor, and Johnny makes sure to get close to Patrick in the final seconds of the game, shoving him, just a little, and saying, "Team Canada," as obnoxiously as he possibly can.
Patrick just laughs under his breath and skates away, and Johnny watches him, feeling the laughter inside Patrick's chest like it's his own.
---
After the win, most of the team goes out to celebrate. They can't really drink, but his teammates are high enough on their victory that it doesn't even matter. Johnny sticks around for dinner, but heads back to his room right after that, not in any mood to stay up half the night rehashing every minute detail of their win. Usually, he'd be the one leading the charge, picking at every mistake, obsessing over every good play, trying to figure out how to recreate the conditions of their success, but it feels different, wrong, somehow, when they're talking about beating Patrick. As much as he enjoyed it at the time, he'd rather not relive every minute of it with the rest of his team.
He tries to clamp down on that line of thinking - it's no way to feel when they're almost certainly going to play against the Americans again - but he's still up, tossing and turning the same thoughts over and over in his head, when he hears a key-card slide through the lock, and his hotel room door opens.
He thinks it'll be Price or one of the other guys he's rooming with, finally coming back in for the night, but when Johnny sits up in bed, blinking against the darkness, it's Patrick he sees standing before him.
"How did you--"
"Shut up," Patrick says, but Johnny can see his teeth flashing in the dark, lit up by the lights of the city, streaming in through the open curtains, a wicked grin on his face.
Johnny sits up straight, every inch of him suddenly alert, hyper-aware, and he doesn't bother readjusting the blankets pooled haphazardly at his waist.
Patrick makes an approving noise and crosses the room quickly, wasting no time kicking off his shoes and climbing onto the bed. He crawls his way over to Johnny on his knees, hoisting a leg over Johnny's waist and straddling him with more enthusiasm than precision.
Johnny's hands reach out automatically, gripping Patrick's waist, holding him in place.
"Awesome," Patrick says, looking down at Johnny with satisfaction, before pushing their mouths together.
The kiss is entirely without finesse, messy and aggressive like all Patrick's kisses have been, and he changes course and direction almost frantically, like he can't make up his mind one second to the next if he wants to be biting Johnny's lip or caressing it teasingly with his tongue, fingers buried in Johnny's hair or digging moon-shaped bruises into his thighs.
Somewhere along the line, Johnny ends up on his back with his hands tangled in Patric's hair, wishing for more of it to pull on as Patrick bites a trail of kisses down Johnny's neck. He feels the lasts threads of his control threatening to fall away just before a horrible thought occurs to him.
"Did you let us win?" he asks, yanking Patrick's mouth away from his skin, still holding onto him by the hair.
"Oh my god," Patrick responds, rolling his eyes theatrically. "Seriously? See if I ever try and surprise you with a congratulatory blow job again."
Johnny's fingers tighten helplessly in Patrick's hair, and he lets his head fall back, purposefully straining Johnny's hold and rolling his hips encouragingly, but how much he wants Patrick in this moment only makes Johnny angry, suddenly and blindingly so, and he lets go of Patrick entirely, shoving him away roughly.
"Are you serious?" Patrick demands, some combination of outraged and plaintive, glaring at Johnny from where he's crouched on his knees at the other side of the bed.
Johnny shrugs, keeping his face and voice tightly controlled. "Did you let us win?"
"Fuck no, as if. I would have mopped the floor with you Canadian assholes and loved every minute of it, too, if the rest of the guys had been able to keep up." The sheer, unapologetic arrogance in Patrick's voice makes Johnny feel better than anything else has, so far.
He can't quite let it go, though, doubts still nagging at him.
"It's just - you didn't seem very disappointed that you lost." And he still doesn't, especially not if celebratory blow-jobs are still on the table.
Patrick laughs. "That's because I'm not a sore loser and a massive tool, unlike some of us, apparently."
Johnny has the self-awareness - fleeting and uneven though it may be - to flush at that. Losing has never been his strong suit, and it's sort of why he tries to avoid it whenever possible.
Case in point. "But, I mean - out on the ice you seemed, I don't know... happy." It's too incongruous, too far outside his realm of experience to even imagine laughing after a loss like Patrick had, free and full of some private triumph, when they'd connected so briefly in those last seconds of the game.
Patrick grimaces, finally looking guilty, but it's not what Johnny's expecting when he admits, "Kind of hard to be upset when you've just had the best orgasm of your life."
Jesus. "What?"
Patrick grins, shrugging comfortably. "You're hot when you're winning. And it gets you hot, jesus, I've played hockey with a hard-on before, but never for a full fucking game. When you guys scored that last goal, fuck, man, you pretty much did me in, right then and there. Thanks for sharing, by the way."
"I don't - you could feel that?"
Patrick smiles, almost gently, kindly. "Yeah. I could feel it."
Holy crap, fuck. He's almost too shocked to be embarrassed, and the way Patrick is grinning at him like it was the greatest thing ever really has Johnny for a second, but jesus christ - this just keeps getting crazier and crazier - and Patrick keeps not caring.
He's really making Johnny look bad, and it pisses him off. If he's honest.
"How can you be so up for all this? You don't even know what the fuck is happening to you! You don't know who I am or what I want from you and still you come up here, to my hotel room - which I happen to be sharing with a couple dudes who all have at least twenty pounds of muscle on you and pretty much have to hate you on sight, by the way - for what? To give me a blow job for beating your team at hockey? Your country's team? Don't you have any pride?"
Patrick flinches, a dark, warning look flashing in his eyes, but he shakes his head, not rising to the bait Johnny's so intently hurling at him.
"You need to shut up, because you keep talking yourself out of that blow-job, and man, that's just not right. It's not good and just and normal, or whatever the fuck you want to be. So shut the fuck up and let me worry about my pride, okay?"
Johnny wants to give in, he wants it more than anything, just to sink his hands back into Patrick's hair and hold on for the rest of their lives, but he can't stop fighting this, fighting Patrick, even though he doesn't really understand why.
"No fucking blow-job, alright? We need to actually have a fucking conversation - I don't - I mean, I don't even know your middle name."
Patrick laughs. "Timothy. See how fascinating that was?"
"Okay, fine, but the important stuff - like what's happening to us and what we're going to do when--"
Patrick sighs at him, inching closer on the bed. "Come on, why do we have to waste time talking about shit? Can't you just feel it?" he asks, shaking his head a little, impatient, again.
Johnny frowns, looking away from him.
Patrick sighs, but it's a soft, soothing sound, and when he touches Johnny again, it's carefully, like the touch is meant as comfort, instead of a challenge, like all his other touches have been.
"Feel me," Patrick instructs, voice low, curling intimately inside Johnny's chest as he breathes the words in, breathes Patrick in.
Johnny closes his eyes, losing himself to the flood of Patrick's emotions, his thoughts and fears and above all, his need for Johnny. It's there, calling out to him, daring him to follow, to acknowledge his own need and reach out to Patrick's with it, and Johnny has to jerk back, dizzy and hard, choking on the heat of their combined want.
"See?" Patrick says, giving him space for the moment but tipping his chin up at Johnny, neck bared, both a challenge and an invitation. "There's nothing to talk about."
Johnny reaches out, in hand and in mind, and Patrick grins, meeting him half-way.
---
He must fall asleep, somehow, there in the dark with Patrick, but when Johnny wakes up, all his teammates are back, sprawled still dressed on top of the covers, and Jon's bed is empty, no sign that anyone but him slept in it that night.
He lies in bed for the first fifteen minutes, trying to remember how to breathe and wondering if this is what a heart attack actually feels like, or if it's somehow worse. Johnny doesn't really think that's possible.
Both teams have the next day off from games, thank god, but there's still plenty of work to do, and it's not like he can exactly call Patrick up for a chat, and unlike some people, he's not stupid enough to swing by the hotel Patrick's staying at with the rest of the American team, so Johnny ignores the headache and nervous want gnawing at his insides, just bottles it up, shoves it down, and practices that much harder.
The other guys are giving him kind of a large berth, side-eyeing him a little in the locker room, but the coaches don't seem to mind that Johnny's skating like he's possessed, and he figures that's what matters. He wants the other guys to like him, of course, but that's never exactly been his strong suit, getting along with people, just being pals. He's always tended to stand apart, too serious, too bad at taking a joke, even worse at making one. He knows he has the respect of his teammates, at least, he earned that with last year's gold and his performance with the Sioux, and he's not looking to make any new best friends, anyway.
Having the new addition of Patrick in his life is complication enough, thanks.
---
His mom gives him a lot of worried looks that night, back at the hotel, but Johnny ignores them, too. They never quite got around to talking, but when she corners him in line for his dinner, it doesn't look like he can avoid it any longer.
"Now we talk," she says, sitting him down in the hotel dining hall, away from the rest of the team, all eating together.
Johnny flushes. He doesn't want to do this at all - but certainly not here - except she probably planned it this way, because with the whole team around him, he can't just get up and run away, either.
"What's there to talk about? I mean, there's nothing I can do, right?"
She squints at him unhappily, and Johnny sighs. He knows this isn't how she wants him to be reacting, knows she wants him to see this as a gift, a good thing.
When he closes his eyes, and thinks only of Patrick, Johnny almost can.
When he opens his eyes again, and remembers everything else? Not so much.
"There's always something you can do," she says, but reluctantly, and Johnny's head snaps up from where he was staring bleakly down at his napkin.
"What?"
She sighs. "You have a choice, Jonathan. There's always a choice."
"But you've always said it just happens! You imprint, and that's it, it's gonna be that way for the rest of your life, loving that person, wanting to be with them, hurting when you're apart. You've told me a thousand times how it is, how it was, when you met dad." He'd grown up hearing the story, accepting the absolute truth of it, the security that came with it, trusting that much in his parents' love for each other. It's been his foundation, even as he's always been somewhat afraid, wondering what it would be like when it happened to him.
Now that he knows, Johnny thinks he should have been a lot more afraid that he was.
His mother nods, acknowledging the weight of that history, the story she's told him over and over, but that's not the end of it. "The feelings come, yes, as soon as you meet, and there's nothing to be done about it, not at first. But meeting isn't enough, not really. You have to accept the bond willingly, you and your imprint both, you have to solidify it physically and emotionally. If you reject the bond, if you don't speak to your imprint, don't touch, with time, the need will fade. It will make for a painful few months, and you'll never have the chance to have that kind of connection with another person, but there will be room for other things in life, even love, if you want it."
Johnny leans back, reeling. It's - all this time he's been thinking he had no choice, hating that, but somehow, this just makes it worse. Because if he knows he has a choice, then Patrick has to know, too. Which means Johnny has to tell him.
And who knows what Patrick will say then. It's one thing to accept it when he thought there was no choice. But now...
He swallows roughly, shaking his head. "I don't think I want that, not with anyone else."
All his life, all he's ever wanted was to be the best hockey player he possibly could, to make all the sacrifice and dedication his parents put into his career worth it, but now none of that, not even his desire to make them proud, feels as important as Patrick. And they haven't even had a proper conversation, haven't known each other for longer than two days.
His mother reaches out, stroking his wrist. "I always hoped for this, for you, because it has been the greatest joy in my life, to love your father, to have his children. But you're so young, and you've already taken on so much. I wish this could have come later, when you were ready to see how wonderful it could be."
Johnny sighs, and she tips his head up with a finger. "It doesn't have to be the burden you are making it out to be, my son," she says, and he flinches despite her gentle tone.
"I have to tell him, though. About what you said. I thought - and I told him - but maybe he'll change his mind. Now."
"How was his first reaction?" she asks, voice carefully even.
Johnny laughs. "Better than mine. He pretty much..." He flushes again, not exactly wanting to tell his mother that Patrick basically mauled Johnny until he came in his jeans and left Johnny just on the edge of doing the same. Never mind what happened in his hotel room last night.
She only laughs, too, though, and says, "Yes. Your father was like that, too."
"Oh god," Johnny groans, burying his head in his arms, pressing his nose against the table cloth.
She laughs again. "He's a passionate man."
Johnny keeps his head down, and waits longingly for embarrassment to swallow him whole.
---
On the 30th, they play Germany, and the American team comes out to watch.
Johnny feels Patrick in the stands, watching him, and sometimes it's even more acute than that, like he can feel Patrick with him, in his head, on the ice, nudging him one way instead of the other, inclining him towards some moves and not different ones, getting him to notice things he usually wouldn't. He feels like he's going crazy, but he knows that's not it, and anyway, he plays even better than usual.
When they win, he joins the rest of his team in a pile-up around Price, but he can't help looking up at the stands, meeting Patrick's eyes, and raising his fist in the air.
---
He doesn't see Patrick again, after that, and despite the headaches, Johnny loses himself to the flow of the tournament, too busy to think about much of anything, although every night when he closes his eyes, an image of Patrick grinning at him is the last thing Johnny sees.
---
They pretty much sail into the semi's, and the first chance he gets to talk to Patrick again is during the change over between their team's practices on the New Year's Day. Tomorrow, they'll meet to determine which team will play in the gold medal game and which one will be shunted off to fight for bronze against Sweden.
The rest of the American players have mostly cleared out, but Patrick's lounging against the locker room wall, not caring that Johnny's teammates are starting to flow in, milling around, glaring at him.
Johnny jerks his thumb over his shoulder, and Patrick nods, following him out like it's nothing. Johnny takes about a million nervous glances over his shoulder as they go, but no one seems to notice them leaving.
They find an empty bathroom and Patrick backs him up against the inside of a stall, kissing Johnny breathless.
He bites down on Patrick's lip hard enough to draw blood, thinking it'll get him to back off, but instead Patrick moans into his mouth and surges forward even more, touching Johnny everywhere, and he has to shove Patrick roughly to get him away.
Patrick wipes at his mouth, glaring. "You're doing a pretty shitty job at the whole soulmate thing so far, I just want you to know that. Sincerely, from me to you, and all that."
"I'm sorry," Johnny says immediately, because he is. He's just so fucking sorry about all of this mess.
Patrick shakes his head, disgusted, but Johnny's not sure about what.
He can feel Patrick, like when Patrick was watching him play the Germans, like when they were together in the hotel room, but Patrick's emotions are more mixed up now, angry and unfocused, where before it was a steady, calm set of instructions, guiding Johnny's stick, tracing the path he needed to follow on the ice, through the other players, all the way to the net. It's easier not to think about what Patrick was helping him to do the other time.
"Don't be sorry, be better," Patrick says, and Johnny laughs, because that's what he'd just been thinking, telling himself.
"Yeah, I'm getting pretty good at that," Patrick says, responding to his thoughts again, and Johnny stares at him, stunned all over again.
"How can you...?"
Patrick shrugs. "I think you probably can, too, if you let yourself. You just have to be open to it. You're all coiled up, man, tense. You're shutting me out. I'm not."
Johnny closes his eyes. "Sorry," he says again.
Patrick rolls his eyes. "What do you want to tell me?"
Shit. Of course he picked up on that, too. "It's - it's good news, I guess."
Patrick looks at him suspiciously. "Doesn't feel like it."
Johnny shrugs awkwardly. "Don't know how you'll react."
Patrick smirks. "I think I've been handling myself pretty well so far." Better than you, Johnny feels him think, loud and clear.
He smiles, despite himself. "Yeah, well," Johnny answers lamely, scratching the back of his neck.
"Spit it out, we've got a game in a couple," Patrick prompts him, rocking back and forth on his heels a little.
Johnny wants to put his hands on Patrick's shoulders, just to still him. To ground him, maybe. But he flushes at that thought, embarrassed by how much it pleases him.
"I was wrong," Johnny says bluntly, because he doesn't think he can manage this any other way. "We don't - I mean, we don't have to accept the bond. We can break it, or just let it fade, if we don't try to keep it together, if we stay away from each other. It'll hurt - you know, the headaches, and all that, but. It'll fade, if we let it."
"Fuck you," Patrick snarls, and Johnny feels his blood boiling hot and angry in an instant. "Is that what you want?"
Johnny shakes his head, confused by the riot of emotions flooding him from every corner of Patrick's mind, but he says, "I don't know. Maybe. We should - you should - have a choice."
"What if I choose for you to be less of a pussy, would that work?" Patrick demands, putting more confidence into his voice than he actually feels, Johnny can tell, because there's fear in him, too, under the red-hot anger, and maybe even relief.
Even the thought that Patrick might be reacting to this news with relief hit Johnny like a punch, making him feel sick and nauseous, and Johnny pulls his walls up again, shoving Patrick out of his head, hating how lonely he instantly feels.
Patrick must feel it too, the absence, because his face goes from angry to coldly blank.
"Fine," he snaps, not looking at Johnny, not even has he shoves past him and stalks out of the room.
---
It's not like they can really get away from each other, not yet, but this time, playing against Patrick, Johnny doesn't feel anything. He's as alone as he's ever been, but he still plays as well as ever, better, maybe, because it's that or lose it entirely. It's play the best game of his life or fall down on his knees on the ice and beg Patrick to let him back in. He absolutely refuses to do the second one, so he does his best to keep his eyes on the puck and pretend Patrick's just another faceless jersey on the ice.
Somehow it almost works, and they win, too. It's Johnny's third shootout goal that does it.
But as he watches Patrick trudge off the bench with the rest of his team, Johnny feels like he's lost far more than he's won.
---
When the celebrations finally die down and Johnny is able to go back to his hotel room in peace, his mom is there waiting for him, and it's clear she knows something's happened with him and Patrick.
He waits, expecting to catch hell for it, but she stays silent, even though he can tell she wants to yell at him for about a month, or at least until he goes back and tries to fix things with Patrick.
Johnny figures she's going easy on him because he's still got a gold medal to win, but he defends himself against her silence anyway.
"I wasn't the one who left. It was his choice," he says, adamant, when all she does is sigh at him, her eyes full of sadness, maybe even pity. Johnny can't deal with the thought that it might actually just be disappointment.
And anyway, it's true. Patrick's the one who walked away. It might have been Johnny's fault, mostly, but it was still Patrick's choice. And if that's how he's going to get every time Johnny shuts down, every time he screws up, it's better for everyone that Patrick made it early.
---
The Americans come again to watch the gold medal game, but Johnny only feels Patrick at the back of his mind twice, this time around.
The first is when Patrick saves him from a check he completely didn't see coming, the second when Patrick guides his stick slightly to the left, allowing him to hold onto the puck for a few crucial seconds before dumping it in the net.
When they win, he thinks he feels a rush of pride and triumph that doesn't belong only to him, but when he looks up into the stands, Patrick is already gone.
---
He doesn't see Patrick again until both teams fly back to Toronto together a few days later. After the game and the feel of Patrick with him again, even just for a few seconds, Johnny's resolved to try and talk to him, sort things out. Now that he doesn't have the weight of the competition on his shoulders, now that he's flush with victory, he feels like he can actually let himself breathe, and give himself room to think about what he wants.
Doesn't take him long to figure out that's Patrick. Even though they are practically strangers, even if they really are as different as they seem already, just from playing each other twice, talking properly fewer times than that.
It takes him halfway through the flight to get up the stones to go talk to Patrick, but it's a good thing, anyway, because by the time he shuffles up to Patrick's seat, his teammate is passed out and drooling beside him.
Johnny clears his throat, and Patrick looks up at him, gaze unblinking and steady.
Johnny struggles to project a bunch of feelings at once - apology for how he acted before their last game, sympathy over Patrick's team's loss, shared pride over their bronze medal victory against Sweden.
It must get mixed up, somehow, though, reading as something else, maybe pity, or maybe Patrick just doesn't want to talk to him, full stop, because his eyes narrow and Patrick says, "Fuck off," before Johnny can say a word, his voice cool and eyes deadly calm.
Johnny opens his mouth to protest, but Patrick hisses, "You heard me," letting a little heat into his words this time.
When Johnny still doesn't move, Patrick repeats himself in his head, screaming at Johnny to go. Patrick's anger echos painfully in his head and Johnny mentally shuts down their connection, wincing. Patrick stares at him for one more second, eyes narrowed and furious, and Johnny recoils from the look more than anything else, staggering back to his seat. Johnny buckles himself in and doesn't turn back around to look at Patrick for the rest of the flight.
---
They get off the plane slowly, stiff joints and half-asleep limbs, the players, coaches and families bumping into each other as they shuffle off the craft.
Johnny gets separated from his teammates in the process, and ends up hanging around the baggage carousal alone, waiting for everyone else to catch up.
He's not surprised, really, when Patrick's the first person to find their way back to him.
At first, when he sees Johnny, Patrick rolls his eyes and shifts tensely on his feet, and Johnny takes a preemptive step back, trying to keep a respectful distance between them, which is what Patrick obviously wants, now that the thrill of the bond has worn off and the reality of it has finally sunk it.
That's what he assumes, anyway, except after a minute or two of standing three careful feet apart, watching luggage revolve around them, Patrick says, "Oh jesus christ," under his breath, grabbing Johnny by the wrist and dragging him back towards the bathrooms.
Johnny's stronger than Patrick, bigger, but he goes with only token protest.
Patrick shuts them up in another bathroom stall, familiar territory for them, but he doesn't immediately try to kiss Johnny, this time.
It's not exactly a surprise, but how disappointed Johnny feels is.
"You have something to say?" Patrick prompts, raising his eyebrows in a silent challenge.
Johnny frowns. "I thought you didn't want to hear anything I have to say." That was certainly the message he got from Patrick on the plane, anyway.
Patrick rolls his eyes, and says, "Not on the plane, dumbass. Mueller doesn't sleep that heavily."
Oh. Yeah, actually, okay. That makes sense.
His surprise must show on his face, or maybe Patrick can just sense it, because he groans, "Jesus, you really are just straight up stupid. Look, I want this - alright? Clear enough for you? I want you, though I'm pretty sure no other sane or self-respecting individual would, given the time I've spent in your head. But if this is just another responsibility for you, then you need to stay the fuck away from me. You're kind of giving me a complex, here."
Johnny reels, trying to sort through the chaotic torrent of emotions bombarding him, want and anger and bravado all twisting together to come out as harsh sincerity, raw and painful to behold. Part of him is jubilant, dizzy with relief, but even though it feels like that should be enough, that wild happiness doesn't make the guilt and frustration over having this choice taken from them go away. What certainty he felt on the plane is gone, now that Johnny has both feet on the ground again, a physical reminder that they're going to have to part company one way or another to return to their home teams, their separate lives.
His head starts to pound, just thinking about it, but hockey was the choice they both made when they still had one, and Johnny can't give that up, can't ask Patrick to. Won't ask Patrick to. Somehow, the fact that Patrick's offering just makes it worse. He can feel fierce sincerity radiating off Patrick, but he can't trust it, can't let himself believe. He's never known a Patrick who wasn't influenced by the pull of their imprint, can't let himself trust that this is what Patrick would really have wanted for himself, if he'd had the chance to be asked before it was too late.
Most of all, Johnny feels afraid, and he's not used to that, not used to fearing anything he doesn't know how to conquer, but the best he can do is ignore the fear, and everything else, pulling himself up straight and saying with confidence he doesn't feel, "It'll fade. You won't see me for awhile and - you'll see. This was just - it was something that happened, outside our control, and once we're free of it you'll feel differently, we both will."
In that moment, he makes himself mean it, and Patrick's face closes off again in response, but it's not anger, this time, just simple resignation.
"Okay," he says, softly, almost soothingly, and Johnny realizes Patrick's talking to himself. He's been staring down at his toes, but looks up to face Johnny when he repeats, "Okay."
Patrick's are wide and caressing, like he's trying to memorize Johnny's face, and it pulls at his chest, making Johnny want to lean in - one more kiss, just one to say goodbye. He gets close, starting to move, and Patrick's still looking at him the exact same way when he swings back and punches Johnny in the face.
Johnny's head is knocked back from the impact, hand flying to his cheek where Patrick caught him with his knuckles, and he gasps, "What the fuck?" as Patrick shoves past him, exiting the stall and leaving Johnny sagged against it.
Just before he's out of sight, Patrick turns back around and says, "If nothing else, at least believe I meant that," and then he's gone.
---
As soon as Patrick's gone, Johnny wants to chase after him, wants to kiss him until he can't breathe and then never let Patrick leave his side, but he knows if he did that, if he ran Patrick down and held him, all the doubts and anger would come still eventually flooding back, and Patrick's right. He can't keep doing that to him, can't keep reeling Patrick in only to shove him violently away as soon as he gets close.
They're supposed to be forever and they didn't even make it a week, but not even Johnny's lifelong vendetta against failure is enough to push past his pride and stubbornness, his need to live for himself and to let Patrick do the same.
---
He returns to Grand Forks in a daze, headaches never really stopping, no matter how much Advil he pops. He tries to keep off it, anyway; there's no point masking pain in his line of work, you have to face it head on and tell it to fuck off until it does.
No amount of willing the pain away will dull the loss of his imprint, though, Johnny knows that, as much as he struggles against it. The only thing that would help is calling Patrick, getting on a plane, but he doesn't have his number, and he ignores the part of his brain that insists it would be so easy to get, too easy to be a real excuse.
He just has to wait it out, keep going, and eventually, the pain will fade, and all that will be left is a hollowed out feeling in his chest where Patrick's supposed to be. In the meantime, Johnny puts his head down and focuses on his game, and tries to let that be enough.
---
His parents have gone back to Winnipeg, by now, but he talks to them as regularly as ever. His mother took Johnny's rejection of his imprint surprisingly well, just shaking her head and patting his face, a distant look in her eye. He expected her to be angry - or at least disappointed - but all she's said about it is that she loves him, always, and that she remembers what it was like to be eighteen.
As well as she took it, Johnny can't shake the feeling that he's let her down, but he ignores that the same way he ignores the part of himself that would trade the Stanley Cup and all the gold medals in the world, just to see Patrick again, even if all he got for his troubles was another punch in the face.
He pretty much deserved that, anyway, and chances are, he'd deserve the next one, too.
---
Sleeping is a problem. At first, being home, he can't sleep at all.
Johnny lies in bed, eyes screwed tightly shut, and Patrick is all he can see, the tight, furious look set to his jaw right before he disappeared from sight, the soft, loving light in his eyes right before he punched Johnny, the feel of his knuckles against Johnny's skin somehow more intimate than a kiss. He ends up tossing and turning, chasing the images back and forth in his head, wanting them out, wanting them gone, but at the same time desperate to hold onto to what piece of Patrick is left, staying up all night, eyes closed, remembering him.
After he adjusts to the timezone again, gets over the jet-lag, though, sleep is all Johnny wants to do.
When he sleeps, he dreams of Patrick.
---
After a month, he gets drunk, arrested, and tries to make out with T.J Oshie, and it would be the worst decision he's ever made, if that ship hadn't already sailed with Patrick.
Oshie sobers him up and takes him out for pancakes after, though, and that part isn't so bad.
---
"So, did they like, switch the medal colours on us without telling me, or what?" T.J asks, lounging against the back of a booth in the diner that has become their regular haunt after practice on Saturdays.
"Huh?" Johnny asks, mouth full of bacon and maple syrup.
T.J rolls his eyes. "Ever since you got back from Juniors you've been dragging yourself around like someone killed your whole family, made you watch, and then gave you a shameful bronze medal instead of a gold one for your pains. You flinch at loud noises and lights turning on and the only time you don't entirely look like a run-over zombie is when you're playing hockey, and even then, man, I've seen you do a lot better, you know?"
All of it's true, but the last part is what makes Johnny frown, furious with himself for letting it show, even angrier for letting it affect his game.
"I don't know, just tired, I guess," he says lamely, but they don't do a lot of caring and sharing, as a general rule, so he thinks it's reasonable to hope Oshie will drop it.
He doesn't, but that's just how Johnny's luck is going, these days.
It's probably what he deserves, anyway.
"Bullshit, you're tired. I room with you, remember? All you fucking do is sleep and play hockey. Too bad that Mennonite work-ethic doesn't extend to scholarly pursuits, or at least we'd be able to get you up for something other than morning skate."
Oshie is one of the few people in Grand Forks who even know what Mennonites are, or that Johnny's dad's family comes from them, and it's just one of the many things Johnny hates about the guy. Right up there with how easily he unwinds and how good he is at hockey.
"I'm sick?" Johnny tries, making as pitiful a face as possible, which comes pretty easily, honestly, because the headaches are still going pretty much 24/7, and low-level agony is just how Johnny rolls, these days.
T.J narrows his eyes. "Yeah, you are. But that's not it, or all of it, is it?"
"Look, you don't want to know, seriously. Just. Drop it, okay?"
T.J laughs, "Yeah, right. Not like you're my friend and my curiosity is all the way up to eleven, now, or anything. I'll absolutely drop it." He rolls his eyes, throwing some bills down on the table. "Let's get out of here, huh?"
"Where are we going?" Johnny asks suspiciously.
T.J grins. "Home."
They end up on the ice, but real ice, outdoor ice, like when Johnny was a kid, skating in his backyard until it got so dark he couldn't even see the puck, until the wind had whipped at his ears so long he couldn't even hear his mom calling at him to come inside.
They still have all their gear with them from practice, and they throw on their skates, leaving the rest in T.J's car. They skate hard, pushing themselves more than they should after a full practice that morning, but it feels good, being out there, enough ice between them that Johnny can feel like he's alone but finally not lonely, for the first time since Sweden. Since Patrick.
He's so lost to it he doesn't even see T.J coming, gunning for the puck. They're just messing around, of course, but neither of them knows how to take it easy, or maybe Johnny just brings that out in other people, but either way, T.J knocks him down, hard, stealing the puck and leaving Johnny on his ass, staring up at him.
Something got knocked loose inside him along with the body check from Oshie and Johnny finds himself laughing, loud and messy and uncontrollable, feeling better and worse than he has since he last saw Patrick, in the fleeting moment he's almost able to forget about him.
Oshie stands above him, hands on his hips, puck forgotten now, until Johnny finally wears himself out, laughter turning into quick, painful gasps.
T.J shakes his head, and holds out a hand to Johnny.
Johnny takes it grudgingly, embarrassed enough that he kind if wishes T.J would just leave him there to die, or eventually pick himself back up, and T.J shakes his head again, announcing with alarming sincerity, "Jonathan Toews, I'm going to teach you how to live."
Johnny groans and elbows him sharply, but at the same time, he can't help thinking it's about time someone did.
---
For the first couple weeks, 'teaching Johnny how to live' consists of T.J hiding his alarm and making him sleep in past a couple optional skates, stealing all his protein shakes and then making Johnny eat more burgers and pizza than is either healthy or normal, and occasionally popping up out of nowhere to ask him what his favorite colour is or if he likes Metallica, stupid shit like that that Johnny mostly doesn't answer and doesn't really understand the point of.
One afternoon, T.J sits down on Johnny's bed and hands him a notebook and a pen.
"What am I supposed to do with this? You want me to make a fucking dream journal now or something?" he asks, letting his complete lack of faith in T.J's methods ring clearly in his voice.
As usual, T.J ignores him, and says, "Make me a list. Five things you like that aren't hockey related."
Johnny stares at him, looks down at the notebook, and then up at T.J again. "No?" he tries, because honestly, it's not like he ever officially agreed to this shit, anyway. What's Oshie going to do? Fight him? Because Johnny could totally take him, and getting in a fight with someone right about now actually sounds pretty good, when he thinks about it. It might take his mind off his headache, anyway.
"Yes," T.J replies firmly, poking Johnny in the shoulder with the pen. "This is a timed quiz, you have three minutes, go!" He waves his cellphone at Johnny, set with a timer and everything, jesus, why doesn't T.J apply this level of dedication to his game - it would be so - "Stop, stop, right now, I can see you're still thinking about hockey," T.J reprimands, turning off the timer. "Get with it, man, come on. Show a little personality, give me something to work with."
"I've been your teammate for a year and a half, I've lived with you for the past seven months. You know me already."
"I know you like hockey, and working yourself to the bone, and lecturing people with your silent, judgemental face. I know jack about what gets you going in the morning other than that shit, and honestly, I'm starting to worry not much else does."
Johnny shakes his head, looking away and rolling his eyes, but his eyes fall back down on the notebook and he grabs the pen out of T.J's hand, not even caring that he's probably being played, his competitive instincts kicking in anyway.
Gleeful, T.J restarts the countdown, and Johnny wracks his brain, trying to think past hockey - trying to ignore the thought that mockingly tells him that he should just write Patrick's name down five times and be done with it, and maybe he should have, because in the end, the timer runs out and all Johnny has down is, well,
"Number one: your family - god you're a dork. Number two: winter - which totally doesn't count, okay, I happen to know you're a huge bitch about the cold, so that one's still clearly hockey related, asshole. And number three... golfing. Oh my god, of course you'd like golfing. As long as there's a stick, right? Want to try lacrosse next, asshole? Really broaden those horizons?"
"Shut up."
"Also, that's three things, not five. And really it's two, because like I said, winter does not count for shit, okay. What else?"
Johnny shrugs. "I don't know, nothing I guess. I mean, I like doing all kinds of stuff with my family, my brother and all that, but well, okay, we mostly play hockey. Or videos games," about hockey, he leaves out, but it's pretty much implied. There are other sports he excels at, but hockey is the only one he really loves, beyond the satisfaction of winning, whatever the sport.
"You're a disgrace," T.J says sincerely, but then he claps Johnny on the shoulder encouragingly. "But it's okay. I am going to turn you into a real boy if it's the last thing I do, alright?"
Frustrated, embarrassed, Johnny demands, "Why the fuck do you even care?"
T.J flinches, showing something other than cheerful bravado for the first time, and he frowns a little, after the fact. "Because you're my friend, stupid. And you've been pretty much miserable for the last two months straight, and even before that, I mean, I don't know, man. You never really seemed..."
"What?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. Like you were really all the way present, or whatever. It was always just so hard to talk to you, get you to loosen up, and at first I thought, whatever, awkward kid, good hockey player, maybe a bit too young to be so good, didn't really get the chance to know how to do much else, but it's deeper than that, man, or it seems like it, and I don't know. Never really seemed like you gave yourself enough credit outside of the sport, I guess."
"You're not like, in love with me, or anything, right?" he asks, trying to joke, but basically missing the mark, as usual, coming off more anxious than anything.
Thankfully, T.J just laughs, too loud and sharp enough to be anything but sincere. "Hell no, thank god. Can you imagine? When you tried to kiss me last month I thought maybe you were dying, or something, it was that bad."
"Hey! I'm a great kisser," Johnny defends himself, even though he really has no idea if that's true. He never really got around to asking Patrick.
"Maybe when you're kissing someone else, man. But with me it was like you were trying to prove a point but you didn't even know what that point was."
Which is. Yeah. Pretty accurate. "Since when are you all intuitive? What the fuck?"
T.J just grins. "I happen to be a deep and sensitive soul, my son. Stick with me, we'll get you there."
The worst part of it is, Johnny's starting to believe him.
---
Over the next month, Johnny adds "paintball, "ice fishing," and, weirdly, "decoupage," to the list of things he likes. He also begins compiling a list of reasons why T.J is the worst friend he's ever had, which includes such items as "line dancing," "being T.J's wing-man," and, most notably, "cow tipping." Let's just say they were drinking and never speak of it again.
By March, though, he stops adding to either list, and actually starts simply enjoying himself occasionally, which in itself is probably a lot weirder than the time they entered a dominoes tournament at the rec center and came in third, anyway.
---
The headaches start to fade, so slowly he doesn't even notice, at first, until it's been days since he can remember the last one, even longer since he woke up cold for no reason, feeling shaky and sick from the persistent feeling that he's not where he's supposed to be.
The headaches stop, but missing Patrick doesn't, and Johnny finds himself wishing they'd come back, because at least then he could still pretend they were the only reason he did.
---
At the end of March, they're off for the season, having done well enough that he's satisfied if not happy, but instead of letting Johnny throw himself into training for the upcoming World Championship in Moscow, T.J locks Johnny in their dorm and suggests they get high.
"Are you kidding me? No, get that shit away from me."
"Jesus, dude, it's not contagious or whatever. Relax, okay, it's just pot. Aren't you Canadians supposed to be more chill about this shit?"
Johnny's face is stuck in a pinched frown he knows makes him look like a complete tool, but he can't do anything about it. He leans into it instead, crossing his arms to complete the overall effect of being a joyless fun-suck. Go with what you know, right?
"I'm not smoking that shit, so get over the disappointment now, okay? I'm not doing anything to screw up my game."
"First of all, it won't. Second of all, I thought we agreed that you weren't going to let hockey get in the way of you living your life anymore."
Johnny's frown intensifies. "Hockey doesn't get in the way of me living my life--"
"Your life gets in the way of you playing hockey? Yeah, man, that's what we're trying to fix, remember?"
Johnny forces the frown off his face, feeling sullen about how often T.J is right these days. It's unsettling.
"Look, if you want to get fucked up, why don't we just drink some beers or something? I swear I won't talk about hockey once," he crosses his hand over his heart and everything.
T.J laughs, and says, "Okay, but fair warning, I'm gonna wait until you have enough of a buzz on to see the brilliance of my plan and then we're going to light this candle, believe."
Johnny rolls his eyes, embarrassed for everyone involved that T.J actually talks like that without irony, and then shoves T.J in the direction of their well-stocked mini-fridge.
---
True to his word, three beers and a shot in, T.J pulls the joint back out and waves it in Johnny's face.
He's actually kind of terrible at drinking - it's not something he likes to spread around, but what he's had is more than enough for T.J's stupid peer pressure and upsettingly hopeful eyes to do the trick.
He doesn't cough, which fills Johnny with a warm sense of pride, and then he realizes that might be the drugs talking, taking another hit as he contemplates this and other mysteries of life.
Somehow, he finds himself lying on the carpet, and T.J is right there with him.
"Am I supposed to find the ceiling fascinating now or something? Because I totally don't." Okay. Maybe a little bit.
T.J giggles, and Johnny kicks him in the leg. "You're embarrassing. Have I mentioned? I can't believe I tried to kiss you."
"Yeah," T.J says, giggling more, "Neither can I. What was that about, anyway?"
Johnny's furrows his brow, feeling vaguely conspired against. "Did you get me high to talk about my feelings?"
T.J rolls onto his side, leaning closer a bit, and says, "I got you high to even acknowledge you have any, actually. Talking about them is the icing on the feelings cake."
Cake would be so great right now.
"Of course I have feelings. I'm a - I have all the - do we have cake?"
"No," T.J says, his voice heavy with sadness, which Johnny feels is totally appropriate to the gravity of the situation, and he tries to sit up, thinking maybe they could go get some, but it turns out to be a terrible idea.
"Oh man, the floor, though. It's a good place to be."
T.J hums his agreement, and flops onto his back, their shoulders brushing. "You were telling me about how you have every feeling," he reminds Johnny, who nods immediately.
"I was. And I do. Every fucking - did you know that feelings are the worst? Because they are. And it turns out - once you start having them - it doesn't matter what you do, they don't go away. Stupid fucking headaches went away. The feelings? Not so much."
"Wait, what headaches? Oh man, are you finally going to tell me about your freaky superpowers?" T.J asks, rolling over onto his side again, and really, Johnny can't see any need for that much movement.
He may never move again, in fact.
Also, "I don't have freaky superpowers, what the hell, man."
"Are you sure? Because I feel like maybe you do. Like I'm not saying you're a werewolf, or anything, but there's definitely something--"
"Patrick loves werewolves."
"Who?"
"Patrick. He's mine." He rubs at his face, suddenly overcome with melancholy, hitting him hard and all at once. "Or he was supposed to be - but I - I sent him away, I made him - I bet if I was a werewolf he never would have listened to me, though. Werewolves are cool, right?"
T.J stares at him, and Johnny wonders why he's never noticed that T.J has really dumb looking eyebrows.
"Right?" Johnny prompts, starting to feel anxious when T.J doesn't answer him.
"Yeah," he says slowly, not looking nearly as loose and fuzzy around the edges as he did a second ago, "Yeah, Johnny. Werewolves are cool."
Johnny nods. "Yeah, I guess so. Patrick thinks so, anyway."
"And Patrick's... oh god, Patrick Kane?"
Johnny groans and covers his face. "No."
T.J laughs, kind of high and hysterical sounding. Johnny can relate. He's not sobering up, exactly, but it's - it's not good.
"Oh my god, seriously? Jesus, you guys are like Romeo and Juliet, shit man!"
Johnny plans to never remove his hands from his face. Leaving the floor isn't any higher up on his list of priorities, either. "We're really not."
"Oh dude, you so are, though! Star-crossed lovers, two rival countries, both alike in dignity, in fair Sweden where we lay our scene!" T.J kicks his feet a little, seemingly in delight. Johnny hates him. "What happened - shit, was it love at first sight? That's so cool - did you like, see him from across the ice and just know?"
The question hits way too close to home, and Johnny yanks himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the lurch of nausea and the dizziness that persists even when he closes his eyes. It's better with them open, actually. Except he has to see the look on T.J's face.
"You did, didn't you?" he asks, but his voice is serious, now.
Johnny nods. "It's," he chuckles bitterly, "my superpower."
"Getting dudes to fall in love with you?"
"No - well, yeah. Kind of."
"How come it didn't work on me, then?"
He's taking this way too well. Why are people always better at this than Johnny?
"It's not like that. It's just - it's a family thing. My mom's family. We - I don't know why it happens, it just does. We're different. We have... they're called imprints, or, whatever, soulmates. We meet them and it's - we love them. They love us. But it's chemical, biological, something like that I guess, anyway, and it comes with all this other shit. It's not. It's weird."
T.J shakes his head a little, taking it all in, but then he just shrugs and says, "And you imprinted on Patrick Kane?"
"Yeah."
"But he's back in London, now."
"Yeah."
"And that's why... the whole zombie act? The headaches?"
"Yeah."
"But you love him?"
"Yeah."
"More than hockey?"
Johnny laughs, but it feels more like he's crying. "Yeah. Turns out."
T.J sits up, too, and puts his head on Johnny's shoulder, which is stupid, especially the part where Johnny finds it comforting.
"You should have put him on your list, man. Might have helped us figure some shit out a little sooner."
Johnny sighs, and lets his head rest against T.J's.
"Yeah. Might have."
---
They don't talk about it the next day. They don't talk much at all, actually, because apparently there's some rhyme about how you shouldn't drink liquor and smoke pot at the same time that no one told Johnny about, and he feels like absolute shit until well after the sun's gone down again.
T.J looks at him exactly the same, though, like he's exasperating and unintentionally hilarious and weirder than anyone T.J's ever met, and Johnny's pretty much okay with that.
Just before they're going to bed, T.J makes a crack about the upcoming full moon, and Johnny throws a pillow at him, hitting him right in the face.
T.J calls him an asshole, and Johnny calls him a prick, and they both go to sleep with smiles on their faces.
---
It's a little better, after that. Not any one thing in particular, just. Well. everything. He keeps right on missing Patrick, keeps right on trying to trick himself into believing he doesn't, but sometimes T.J will look at him, a knowing smile on his face, or he'll knock shoulders with Johnny when a teammate randomly brings up this year's top draft prospects, dropping Patrick's name, or asks Johnny again about the Juniors, and it's... It's nice, he guesses. Having someone else know, and not treat him any differently.
---
He flies out to Moscow at the end of April, and spends two weeks playing what's probably some of the best hockey of his life. He's not actually playing all that spectacularly, really, but he's enjoying it again, maybe more than he has in years, and certainly more than he has since Sweden, and when they win, it's great, but he feels like, for once, he might not have cared too much if they hadn't.
He gets back home on the 15th, and officially signs with the Blackhawks the next day.
---
While he was away, Patrick made OHL rookie of the year, and when he finds out, Johnny's got his phone of his pocket before he realizes he doesn't have Patrick's number, and wouldn't be welcome to call and congratulate him, anyway.
He sends an anonymous bouquet of flowers to the team office, instead, and hopes Patrick doesn't guess they're from him.
---
It's the end of May, and he's going to fly home in a couple days, spending the summer in Winnipeg, getting ready for training camp in September, trying to imagine what it would be like to actually start in the NHL that fall. Somewhat counter-intuitively, him and Oshie have been smoking kind of a lot, since he got back from Moscow, but this is the new, laid-back Jonathan Toews, and for the possibly the first time ever, he's cutting himself a break. He still feels guilty about it, but it's not like that's a surprise to anyone. Luckily, he's mastered the ability to get high without talking about his feelings, so, win.
Groggy from a night of smoking and decoupage - don't ask - Johnny wakes up to the sound of his phone, and he reaches for it blindly, answering before checking who it is, siting up in the grey dark of the early morning.
"So, I hear you imprinted on an American."
"Oh, jesus. Mom told you?"
David laughs, full of more glee than Johnny feels is either fair or appropriate, but is still probably David's due by little brother rightnos. "Yep, saw some pictures, too. He's kind of weird looking, did you notice? And scrawny. Pretty embarrassing for you, all around, I'd say."
Johnny closes his eyes, scrubbing his face with his free hand. "It doesn't matter. It's over."
David laughs again. "Sure."
"It is!" As much as he wishes it wasn't, now.
"Well, you should try telling mom that."
"I have! Wait, why?"
"Let's just say that I know more about the London Knights than I ever have before, and have heard a lot more about the city of Buffalo in the past few months than I ever cared to. I think she might also be friends with his mom on Facebook."
"Oh god," Johnny groans, wanting to give into the childish impulse to lie back down and burrow under the covers, but refusing himself that luxury, even though no one would be there to see him do it.
"I think she's started keeping a file on him, you know, like game stats and all his awards and shit. I wouldn't be surprised if she sent you some of it, actually, so you have that to look forward to."
"What the hell - there's no point in - look, Dave, you have to get her to stop. It's not going to happen, no matter how many things she sends me." He doesn't even want to think about his mom and Patrick's mom commenting on each other's status updates or whatever it is people do on Facebook.
"Why not?" David asks, sounding serious for the first time, dropping the taunting little brother act far too easily for Johnny to miss the undercurrent of genuine concern, there.
"Because I fucked it up."
"So? Fix it."
"I don't know how."
David sighs at him. "Look, bro, I know how you hate things you're not already the best at, but this is kind of important, you know? Might be worth it to take a shot, anyway, see what happens."
"He doesn't want anything to do with me." Not anymore. Besides, the pain of the bond has almost entirely faded. Probably, Patrick's feelings for him have faded with it.
"You sure about that?"
He's not, but he's not going to say otherwise, either. He has to believe it's true, or else the past few months have been for nothing.
Barrelling over Johnny's silence, David continues, "Because I have a buddy with the Knights, you know."
He does. If Johnny's honest, it's a big part of why he hasn't called his brother since Sweden.
"So?" he asks, a warning in his voice that David blithely ignores.
"So, he complained all season about how this Kaner dude came back from Juniors replaced by a pod person. Apparently he used to be the life of the locker room, cracking jokes and chirping everyone in sight, and since he got back he barely talks at all, just sits around, all scary and intense, looking past people like he's in another world. Really seems to be freaking the rest of the guys right out. Sounds like the only time he comes alive anymore is the ice. He beat you in scoring, by the way."
Johnny shakes his head. He's not going to admit it to his little brother, but of course he's been following Patrick this season, too. Just out of curiosity, and all, since they'll probably end up playing against each other one day, maybe sooner than he'd like. Between the season Patrick's just had and his performance at Juniors, his draft status is through the roof. He might even go higher than Johnny did, and he can't decide yet if that bothers him or makes him proud, even though he has no to right to feel either.
He stays silent, hoping David will take the less than subtle hint and change the subject, but instead he says, "I think mom might actually try to organize a road-trip, you know, go see his entry draft, maybe start a cheering section."
Johnny grits his teeth. "She can't do that."
David laughs. "She will if she wants to."
Johnny sighs. She always does.
"It doesn't matter, anyway. If she did. Like I said, it's over."
"I've never known you to give up on something you wanted so easily," David says then, voice more sad than reproachful, and that much worse for it.
"I don't even - you don't know what it's like. As soon as I saw him, I lost control - of myself, of my life - and yeah, it felt better than basically anything, but I don't even know if it was real - if everything I felt and wanted was me or if it was all the imprint. And I couldn't know any better what he really wanted, either. Neither of us could think straight, around each other."
"Did you try maybe talking to him, though? And I mean where you listened, too, not just the talking at people until they finally buckle down and see the infinite wisdom of what you're telling them thing you like so much."
"I don't--"
"Case in point, bud."
Johnny sighs. "Fine. I do that. Another reason for him to be better off without me."
"You - jesus, Johnny. You're really doing a number on yourself with this one, huh? I mean, I know you like to be hard on yourself, but come on."
"I'm just - I've been trying to do the right thing. For both of us."
"I know that's what - you know what, don't listen to me. You should talk to dad."
"Huh? Why? I've talked to mom - she's explained the bond to me a bunch of times, I know what--"
"Yeah, yeah, surprise surprise, you've talked to mom, no shit, okay. We all know how she's your favorite and all, but you should still talk to dad."
Johnny winces. It's true, about his mom, and he's her favorite, too. It's not something they exactly bring up at family dinners, or anything, but everybody knows. Johnny's always felt vaguely guilty about it, but it sort of evens out, anyway, since David's their dad's favorite. He's just glad they don't have any other siblings.
"What's he gonna tell me mom hasn't?" Johnny asks, sidestepping the rest.
David makes an impatient sound. "Oh, I don't know - maybe what it feels like to get imprinted on from the other side, not growing up expecting it? Maybe something about how it might have felt for Patrick, too?"
And jesus, Patrick was so right. Johnny really is straight up stupid. It's a wonder he can walk upright, never mind skate well, fuck.
"I... didn't think of that."
"No shit, you self-centered fuck," David says, but warmly, full of fierce affection.
"I'm gonna - Is he around? Would you pass him to me?"
David snorts, but in the same fond, accepting way, and says, "Sure thing, bro. Keep your stick on the ice, huh?"
Johnny chuckles. "Yeah, man. You too. And hey, thanks, or whatever, you know."
David just hums in response, and then hands the phone over to Johnny's dad.
"Hello, son," his dad says, voice guarded in a way that Johnny doesn't understand, not even sounding like himself.
"Hey, dad," Johnny says, shifting nervously in bed, not knowing why he suddenly feels so apprehensive. "Listen, I was wondering if you could tell me a bit about, you know, how it was for you, when you first met mom."
There's a long silence, and then the sound of a door closing, and Johnny sits up straighter, shoulders at attention, bracing himself for something, but he doesn't know what.
"It was the greatest moment of my life, until you were born, and then your brother," his dad says, but his voice is still carefully controlled, distant.
Johnny can't help but cut in. "Are you... mad at me? Or something?"
He expects his father to deny it right away; he hasn't gotten seriously angry at Johnny since he kept his brother out half the night, skating the puck on their backyard rink while his parents were out and he was supposed to be babysitting, both of them ending up with mild frostbite and no sleep at the end of it.
Instead, his father clears his throat, and equivocates, "I would never want to see you in a situation that made you unhappy, Jonathan, and you know your mother and I support you no matter what, that we love you--"
"But yeah, you are?"
"Not angry, son. But I am surprised."
And disappointed, clearly. Maybe more than he ever has been in Johnny.
He swallows roughly. "I let you down, huh? This wasn't what you expected of me." You expected me to be better, like always, like I wish I was.
"No, I admit. It's not. You've always handled responsibility so well, taken to leadership like you were born for it. That never struck me as the behavior of a man who ever wanted to be treated like a boy, and certainly not someone who would hide behind age when dealing with something like this."
"But it's not - I don't care that I'm nineteen, that Patrick's younger than that - I care that we never had a choice in the first place, that we'd have been stuck like this no matter how old we were when we met."
"I'm not saying it's your excuse, I'm saying it's how you're acting."
And shit. That's so much worse. Johnny closes his eyes. This is. Well. It's pretty much his nightmare, and worse, he knows he deserves it.
"What am I supposed to do? How do I fix it?"
"Do you want to?"
"I. Yeah. I mean, I thought it would go away, you know. The feelings. But even though the headaches, all the physical stuff from the bond, is mostly gone, the rest. I still. I don't know. I think about him. Miss him."
His father sighs, a little gentler, now. "You've grown up with this, Jonathan, you've watched your mother and I. Did you really think that's all it was? The physical pain of the bond keeping us together, keeping our family together?"
"No, I. I never thought that. I know how much you two love each other, how happy you are together."
"Then why couldn't you trust that with Patrick?"
"I just - I didn't feel like myself, around him, I couldn't think, couldn't even barely breathe, when he was around."
"That's what love is, Jonathan. It makes us more than we are, it changes us."
"Yeah but - this is more than that. You know that, you have to."
"I think you're looking at this the wrong way, son, that's what I'm saying to you. The imprint, it's not an imitation of love, it's not a warped, sinister version of it. It's love in it's deepest form, it's truest form. It's about completion, the two of you, together, one person, one heart."
It should be so painfully cheesy, so embarrassing, hearing his dad talk that way, about himself, about Johnny, but instead he feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest, like he can take a breath and finally have it not hurt.
"It really felt that way to you? Right away? Even when you didn't know what was happening?"
"Johnny, what you have to understand is that the imprinting process is a two-way street, always. It's not just that you're different, that your mother was different. I was different too, and I'd guess Patrick is the same. Most people, they grow up, and they're chasing any number of people, falling in and out of love, having crushes, having flings, and I watched all that, and never understood it, never felt a part of it. It wasn't that I wasn't looking - it wasn't that I didn't want that connection. I just couldn't find it, couldn't make it. It's an incredibly lonely way to grow up, doubly so when you don't understand why it's happening to you. That's where I was, that's how I felt, all the years of my life, until I met your mother. And then," he sighs, lost in a happy memory. "It was like I was waking up, coming alive for the first time. I'd never felt like I fit, not in the world, and not in my own body, not until her."
Johnny pulls his knees up against his chest instinctively, pressing his face down against them, trying to breathe. "I took that away from him. I took it away and I didn't even think about what I was doing - I was so sure it was the right thing but I didn't even--"
"Son, son, calm down, it's alright," his father soothes, and Johnny feels marginally better even though nothing has changed.
He makes himself look up from where his face was buried in his knees, even though there's no one to look at.
"How can it be alright? You said it - this isn't what I was supposed to do. It's not who I'm supposed to be."
"It's not too late, Jon. This doesn't have to be the choice you make for the rest of your life."
"But I - it's been months, and the bond is dead, it's gone."
"Maybe so - but Patrick isn't."
"What - but he--"
"He's not dead, is he?"
"No," Johnny says uncertainly.
"Well then, I don't see the problem. If you want Patrick, go after him. All this time, you've said you wanted a choice, and you have one, choose him."
"But the bond--"
"There's a reason you imprint on who you do, Jon. It's a gift, not a trap - a way to see what you might otherwise miss, a signal, pointing your way. But it's still your way. Where the imprint leads you, that's where you belong. Whether the bond lasts or not, you don't change, Patrick doesn't change, not fundamentally, you're each still the person the other is meant to be with, it's just you might have to get there the old fashioned way, now. A bit more hard work, but you've never been adverse to that before."
"So it's my choice, now, huh?" Johnny says, voice weakly incredulous.
His dad's tone, however, is confident and sure when he replies, "It always was."
---
Â
As soon as he gets off the phone with his father, Johnny gets out of bed and drops to the floor, doing push-ups with his eyes closed, thinking of Patrick.
He's still at it when T.J wanders back into their room carrying a bag of muffins he drops on Johnny's back and a tray with two coffees.
Johnny grunts a hello and pulls himself off the floor, gathering up the muffins that have spilled onto the floor and wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Self-flagellating, or just being you?" T.J asks, glancing at the floor where Johnny just was.
He shrugs. "Thinking."
T.J takes a huge bite of muffin and waits.
"I talked to my dad," Johnny says, shifting his eyes nervously, not quite meeting T.J's.
He nods. "How's the homestead?"
"Fine, I guess. I didn't really ask, actually," he admits, frowning.
T.J shakes his head. "You're a prince. What'd you talk about, then?"
Johnny sighs. "Patrick."
T.J raises his eyebrows. Aside from the first time, stoned, Johnny hasn't said his name.
"We're admitting that happened, now?"
"I guess," Johnny says through the side of his pinched mouth.
"The freaky magic love powers, too?"
Johnny laughs faintly. "Yeah, them too. That's what it was about, sort of, anyway. The bond is, I don't know, it's gone, it's too late for that. He sort of made the point, well. Maybe it's not too late in general?"
T.J squints at him. "You needed someone to make that point? What are you, new?"
Johnny shrugs defensively. "There's no guarantee he's right, you know. I mean. Patrick could still - if the bond's gone, he's not tied to me. Might not want to be, either."
"You going to keep letting that be your excuse?"
It's been getting him by this long, but this time, Johnny shakes his head, puffing out his chest and standing up a little taller. "Nope."
---
It's kind of embarrassing, how easy it is to get Patrick's number. It's in the phone book, and everything.
T.J looks embarrassed to know him. "You didn't think of that?"
"Who has a land-line anymore?" Johnny responds defensively, because, really. It's 2007.
"The world you live in is very different from the one the rest of us live in, isn't it? Is it nice there, or is it all just obnoxiously hard-working people with tunnel vision?"
Johnny just rolls his eyes and shoves T.J unceremoniously out of their room, locking him on the outside.
He pounds on the door, shouting that someone needs to be there to make sure Johnny doesn't completely fuck the conversation up, but Johnny keeps the door shut, not because he doesn't think he could use the help, but because he refuses to let himself need it.
---
His palms sweat as he dials, and when it starts to ring, Johnny's throat goes dry. His free hand shakes a little, and he clenches it into a fist, knuckles pressed against his thigh.
Patrick picks up on the third ring, a garbled, "What?"
Johnny swallows with difficulty, and says, "Hey, it's me." He meant to say something better, an apology, maybe, something moving, somehow, but in the end, those are the only words he can find.
"Are you kidding me?" Patrick asks, voice cold and flat.
"No, I - listen, I'm sorry--"
"You think I want to hear that from you? Fuck you. Don't call me again."
And then Patrick's gone.
Johnny closes his eyes, head bowed, and doesn't move for a very long time.
---
He doesn't listen. Not listening might have gotten him into this mess, but that's no reason to stop now.
Everyday, for the next week, he calls Patrick. He tries different times, chasing the vain hope that he might eventually catch Patrick in a good enough mood that he'll actually stay on the line, but he never does.
He always picks up, though, and Johnny tries to believe that's something.
---
He flies back to Winnipeg, but keeps up his routine of calling Patrick. Sometimes, he doesn't even get as far as actually saying hello, Patrick just picks up and then hangs up a second later, cutting Johnny off before he can get a syllable out.
Other times, he lets Johnny go for a full minute, two, pushing out every attempt at an explanation and an apology he can think of, but Patrick never says anything, his only response the dial tone that always comes, sooner or later.
---
In June, Patrick joins that year's Combine, and Johnny is glued to his computer, getting updates from the Blackhawks scouts pretty much hourly. Patrick is kicking ass, and that's no surprise, but the Hawks are going to have first pick in the history of the franchise, and they're leaning towards Patrick pretty hard, which is. Despite his talent, his size has always counted against him, but it sounds like, everyday, Patrick's out there proving that it shouldn't.
Johnny's more nervous than he was about his own draft, barely sleeping from it, and he's been up a solid twenty-four hours by the time it's set to air. He watches with his whole family, and he knows Patrick's going to be picked, now, has already heard from the GM and the coaching staff, but the whole Toews family is glued to the screen anyway, waiting to see Patrick walk across the stage, to don the same jersey Johnny did a year ago.
When it happens, Johnny is knocked back, just for an instant, by anger so strong it sets his whole body alight, and he feels trapped all over again, locked into a destiny he doesn't control, but then he looks back at the screen, and sees Patrick smile, and realizes he doesn't care.
The anger drains out of him as quickly as it came, and Johnny reaches for his phone, leaving Patrick a message that says, "You deserve it," and just hopes Patrick will believe him.
---
He doesn't hear anything back from Patrick after the draft, and stops trying to call, knowing he'll be busy doing everything he can to make the team this season. Johnny misses him, and it feels sharper, somehow, knowing he'll be seeing Patrick again soon, itching for it, constantly restless, still not sleeping much.
June goes quickly, lost to a blur of training and restless nights spent dreaming of Patrick, and before Johnny feels ready for it, prospect camp is happening and he's taken a flight out to Chicago. It's not camp he feels unprepared for - Johnny's in better shape than he's ever been in his life, fighting shape, putting on enough bulk that he doesn't think he's going to have any issue making a good showing - it's just seeing Patrick that's giving him trouble. He hasn't known how to prepare for that, no exercises he knows, mental or physical, seem up to the task, so he tries to stay focused on playing his best game, earning his place that way. The rest will come, he hopes. One way or another, Johnny's pretty sure Patrick's going to be starting this season, and Johnny's going to make damn sure he's right there with him.
---
The night before prospect camp actually starts, the organization puts together a small dinner, welcoming the hopefuls and giving them all a chance to bump elbows a little before knocking each other around on the ice.
Johnny gets there early, not really thinking this is the time to show off his more recent advances in being laid-back, and for awhile he hangs around talking with the coaching staff and Duncan Keith, who's a Winnipeg native too, even if he didn't really grow up there. They talk hockey, because that's what they're all here for, and Johnny can pretty much talk about hockey to anyone, so after the first hour, he's as close to loose as he ever gets.
He's still watching for Patrick, though, waiting for him, and finally, he looks up and there Patrick is, just stepping into the room.
Seeing Patrick again for the first time isn't at all like how he thought it would be. Johnny was expecting the same pull as before, the same certainty, however fleeting, that wherever Patrick was, that's where he was meant to be. Even without the bond, he was ready to feel that, and to trust it, this time.
But he barely recognizes this Patrick. He's bulked up, just like Johnny has, but he seems diminished, somehow, despite that. He's pale, dark circles under his eyes, and most striking of all, he's carrying himself differently, arms wrapped tight around his chest as he stands at the opposite end of the room. It hurts to look at him, and meeting Patrick's eyes is worse.
They're cold, shut tight against him, no recognition showing there, no warmth. Johnny shakes his head, moving towards Patrick despite the warning ringing in his ears, and he gets halfway across the dinning hall before Patrick rabbits, waving to people he probably doesn't even know and avoiding Johnny's path.
He stands in the middle of the room, watching Patrick go, and reminds himself to show a little restraint, show a little patience. It's not how he wanted their reunion to go, but it's not like Patrick's going anywhere, not really. Johnny just needs some time to prove that, this time, he isn't either.
---
He and Patrick get put together for some promotional photos at the end of the night. Just standing side by side is enough to make Johnny breathe easier, and he feels better, stronger, and more settled, in body and mind, even without the pain of the imprint to remind him where he's supposed to be.
Patrick shows no similar sighs of contentment, but he doesn't flinch away when the photographer instructs Johnny to put his arm around Patrick's shoulder, and Johnny lets himself enjoy the feel of Patrick against him, even if the smile on his face is pasted on.
---
He doesn't see Patrick during physicals, first thing, but of course he's on the ice with the rest of the guys when they hit the Eagle that afternoon.
On the bus over, Patrick sits up front with Skillie, and Johnny can't help feeling like Patrick's laughing louder and more often than necessary, just to fuck with him, but he can't prove it, and even if he could, he guesses there are those who might say he deserves it. Still, he sulks a little on the ride, and then it's even more awkward, trying not to accidentally bump into each other in the locker room. Patrick's trying, anyway.
It's better once they hit the ice, though. In fact, it's fucking electric. Patrick wouldn't even look at him in the locker room, but as soon as they're suited up, on the ice, it's like they stop being two people, it's like no time has passed since the moment they first saw each other, since Johnny looked down at Patrick and he looked up, their bodies moving together without their conscious control, waving in tandem. They move together like they were born to do it, and Johnny doesn't mind anymore that they probably were. He's glad for it, like he always should have been, and he swallows down the anger and regret that it took him this long to realize how lucky he is, how lucky they both are, and just focuses on getting Patrick to believe that again, too.
---
How well they play together doesn't go unnoticed by Savard or the other guys in camp, either. They start putting Patrick and Johnny on a line together pretty much right away, and they click like it's nothing. Even without Patrick in his head, Johnny still always knows where he's going to be on the ice; he can pass without looking, just trusting Patrick will be where Johnny needs him to be, and every time he is, Johnny's more sure this is all he wants, for the rest of his life.
---
At the end of the four days, Johnny is a walking bruise, and he'd guess Patrick is no better, the way he winces and sort of curls in on himself every other second, when he thinks no one's looking. They're both invited back for training camp, though, and Johnny's so fucking pumped, so thrilled, he forgets himself, and pulls Patrick into a crushing hug without even thinking, lifting Patrick off the ground a little with the force of t.
Patrick goes rigid in his arms, and he makes a sharp, angry sound, causing Johnny to drop his hands like Patrick's skin is on fire.
They're with the rest of the guys from camp, in front of everybody, so Patrick doesn't yell at Johnny like he pretty clearly wants to, but he stalks away from him without a smile or a second glance, accepting pats on the back and congratulations from the other guys, not once turning back to look at Johnny.
---
He tries to get Patrick to talk to him, after, but Patrick's having none of it, and they part company having not spoken a word.
---
Johnny spends the rest of the summer working out and trying not to think about Patrick, and it works okay until T.J comes up for a weekend and makes Johnny drink and talk about how much of a fuck-up he's turned out to be.
"It's ironic," he says seriously, nodding very slowly, because he's had a lot to drink but also because it's an important point that needs to be made.
Because, generally. Fucking up is the opposite of what he's known for. Ask anyone. Who knows him in a hockey related context.
Which is pretty much everyone who matters.
Not even Patrick could claim Johnny is a fuck-up where hockey is concerned.
T.J pats him on the shoulder, and then goes to get Johnny another beer.
---
Jon flies back to Chicago at the beginning of September. The pre-season training camp starts mid-month, and he's not sure how things will shake out on the team, guys he might click with, at least enough to room with, if he goes that route, and there's always still the chance he might get cut, so for now Johnny's rented a hotel suite and is living out of suitcases. Well, duffel bags, but same difference.
He tries to learn the city a little, just wandering, doing touristy stuff, and he falls into the rhythm of the city easily, feeling at home almost instantly. It's a bit like Winnipeg, in some ways, bits of the architecture, shades of the climate, and he thinks he could like it even better, fit here better, if given the chance. Maybe that's just the excitement talking, the idea that this place is going to mean more than somewhere to just live, the idea that it's his first NHL city, a place where he can come not just to play, but to play with Patrick.
And yeah. There's that excitement, too. He still hasn't actually talked to Patrick, but he'll be seeing him again soon, training with him, fighting to get ice time, to prove themselves. With any luck, they'll both be here for at least a couple years, and that has to be long enough, he's sure, for Patrick to forgive him, at least a little. Maybe more than. Johnny can be pretty fucking persistent, when he needs to be. When he thinks about it, of getting Patrick back, of earning it, Johnny feels hope squirm painfully in his chest, and he can't help thinking that maybe it was always supposed to be like this, all the mistakes and time apart leading up to this chance, this one goal.
He'll take whatever help from destiny or fate he can, and hell, the imprint too, if it means he gets stay a part of this team in this city, if it means he gets to live his dream and have Patrick with him, every step of the way.
---
It doesn't go quite like that. Patrick still ignores him, for one, and they're not playing together much yet, for two.
When the actual season starts, Patrick plays before him, and it kills Johnny a little, watching him out on the ice alone. It's not even that Patrick's starting ahead of him, although okay, maybe it's that a little, but it just feels wrong, watching him from the bench, not being there with him. Patrick's gorgeous to watch, though, so that helps, a little.
---
Before Johnny's first game, not even a week later, Patrick finally talks to him. They both arrive in the locker room early, and Patrick actually grabs Johnny by the jersey, tugging their faces close together, hissing,
"I'll play wherever they tell me do, and do whatever I have to to help the team win, so if that means playing on your wing, then fine. But off the ice? I don't know you, got it?"
Johnny swallows back a thousand rebuttals and nods, sharp and quick. "Got it."
---
He means to listen, means to try and give Patrick what he's asking for, for once, but it turns out this is another thing that's mostly outside their control.
They play too fucking well together, is the thing. The press loves it, eats them up almost instantly, and they go from being separate entities to being Kane and Toews, always in that order, too, which would piss Johnny off, if he didn't get a thrill of pleasure every time he hears their names linked together, like if the press says it enough times, how well they fit, it'll have to be true.
The best thing about playing, though, is that on the ice, Patrick will look at him, Patrick will touch him. When he scores for the first time, his first shot in the NHL, it's Patrick's assist that does it, and he feels drunk before the refs have even called the play, riding the high for the rest of the night, and he catches Patrick grinning and then shaking his head, like he's trying to shake the happiness off but can't quite manage it.
No matter how coldly he treats Johnny off the ice, away from the press, when they're playing together, Johnny can score a goal and know that Patrick will be there, crashing against him, laughing and hugging him close, even just for a second, even just for show.
It feels like it has to be more than that, sometimes, the joy of scoring, of winning, too infectious to be denied, adrenaline high and the roar of the crowd, but whatever gets Patrick close, Johnny will take, and he puts his heart and soul into the every game, playing to win, playing for Patrick.
---
He moves in with Seabrook, which is cool, because the guy is ridiculously easy to get along with and doesn't really seem to mind all the ways Johnny isn't.
Through what most people might incorrectly consider no fault of Brent's own, he ends up getting on Johnny's nerves anyway, enough to cause Johnny to totally flip out and almost kill Seabs while also earning himself the less than awesome nickname Mr. Serious, but Johnny figures that's a small price to pay for how well Seabs plays defense and how little he pushes when they're at home, never asking Johnny more about himself that he wants to tell.
---
T.J calls him up in late November, and says, "So the whole world knows you guys are hockey soulmates now, how does that make you feel?"
Johnny laughs, wishing it didn't hurt so much to have to say, "Be better if he didn't hate me quite so much."
"Yeah, well, you had that coming," T.J says, not feeling sorry for Johnny in the least.
"Kind of makes it worse, not better," Johnny says, because, well, it's true.
"You'll wear him down, just put your back into it, you know, nose to the grind stone, all that."
"That's the plan," Johnny says, trying to sound resolute despite T.J's mocking tone, and T.J laughs at him for his efforts.
"Stick to it, don't worry, no one can withstand the force of your stubbornness forever."
"You make me sound like a real catch."
"Eh, you have your moments."
"Could do with a few more of them, lately," Johnny admits.
"You've tried apologizing, right?"
"Only a million times." Or twice. At least twice.
"Well, maybe it's time to take a different tack - humility's not really your strong suit - I mean, I know you like to think so, but um. No."
"What do you suggest?" Johnny asks, rolling his eyes.
"I don't know, trust your instincts, man, they're what got you two into this mess in the first place, right? And I mean your less asshole-ish instincts, here, if you can locate those. But you know, when in doubt, play to your strengths. You're supposed to be so cosmically right for each other and junk, aren't you? So, you know, be yourself."
"I thought we'd pretty conclusively established that I'm the worst," Johnny points out.
T.J laughs. "Yeah, but who knows. Maybe he's into that sort of thing."
After a second, Johnny laughs too. Stranger things have happened.
---
Because of the hype that's building around the two of them, him and Patrick have been playing buddies for the press, attempting to pass off the weirdness between them the rest of the time as being down to Johnny's general awkwardness and the growing consensus that Patrick can be a truly annoying fucker, when the mood strikes him. Which it almost always does. If Johnny wasn't so busy trying to win him back, he'd take a minute to be seriously embarrassed by how much he wants to.
Still, though, it's not like they can actually get away with pretending to be strangers when they're just hanging with the other guys. Team building happens on and off the ice, and he and Patrick are lumped together, either way.
"Shove over," Patrick grunts at him, flopping down on a couch in Burish's place, where half the team has gathered for a afternoon's worth of video games and trash talk.
Johnny moves, but probably not as much as Patrick would like, given the glare he throws over his shoulder when no one else is looking.
As per T.J's probably terrible advice, Johnny has been trying a new thing, lately, not chasing after Patrick, trying to apologize, looking guilty all the time, and so he puts on the smuggest smile he can manage, and spreads his legs a little, pressing his thigh up against Patrick's.
Patrick jerks back, knocking into Seabs and making him snap, "Children, behave," before turning back to the screen, engaged in an epic struggle against Sharpy.
"I hate you," Patrick says, because no one is paying attention to them.
For the same reason, Johnny leans even closer against him and whispers in his ear, "No, you don't."
"Oh my god," Patrick says, horrified, and maybe Johnny was pushing it a little with that one, the suggestive tone, and all, but when he looks at Patrick, he sees his ears are red, and that he's struggling hard to keep the glare on his face.
Johnny grins to himself, and settles back more comfortably in his seat, his legs still sprawled wide, every possible inch of him touching Patrick.
Patrick rolls his eyes, but doesn't move away.
---
When they all filter out of Burish's place that evening, Johnny notices a little more colour in Patrick's cheeks, and when he nods a good-bye to Patrick, he pauses for a second, staring at Johnny hard, before doing the same.
---
The first time he makes Patrick laugh, it's because he got hit in the face with a puck, but whatever, Johnny still counts it as a win.
---
"You're not actually captain, you know," Patrick grouses after the fourth time that practice Johnny has gotten after him about moving the puck more.
"You've gotta use me more," Johnny insists, ignoring the truth of that statement, because whatever, alternate is close enough. "You see me, I know you do, but sometimes you don't pass and it's like you're trying to intentionally fuck up a play."
Patrick shoves him a little, and Johnny just plants himself more firmly, not letting himself be moved.
"Why would I want do to that?"
Johnny shrugs. "Maybe because you think they'll break us up, put us on different lines, and you want that?"
Patrick chews on his mouth-guard furiously and shakes his head. He says, "Good to see you're as dumb as ever," and then skates away.
---
By December, there are no more doubts left in his mind. This is where he needs to be, here in this city with this team.
It's not just Patrick anymore, not just the chance to be near him, and to do it while playing the game they both love. It's all the guys, even though he knows he runs them harder than a rookie has any right to, bossing them around when he should be shutting up and listening. They don't make him feel out of place, though, for being how he is, how he can't help being, and wouldn't try to be otherwise if he could, honestly, and it's something he's never quite found, playing anywhere else. Not just a team, but a home, too.
---
He starts noticing it slowly, that Patrick's touching him more. Not just when they're playing, anymore, not just when one of them has scored, the unspoken rule that that was the only time he'd let Johnny close giving way to rough touches off the ice, too. Mostly, Patrick shoves him, or kicks him in the foot on the way to his locker, sometimes elbowing Johnny out of the way when they're lining up for a team meal, or bitching that Johnny takes up too much space in the seat beside him when they fly to away games, but then doing nothing to stop the way they end up with their whole sides pressed together the entire flight. Patrick's fallen asleep with his head on Johnny's shoulder more than once, and all Johnny's ever done about it is sit by and let Sharpy draw dicks on his cheek.
No one says anything about it, the way they're doing a better job at acting like the best friends they're supposed to be, the dream team of the rejuvenated Blackhawks and the darlings of Chicago, and Johnny just figures everyone, the team included, is grateful Johnny and Patrick are finally doing a convincing job of playing their parts.
---
They room together, too, and Johnny likes it, even though he gets zero action out of the arrangement, even though Patrick constantly insists on taking the bed at the far side of the room, after Johnny patiently explained to Patrick that that was his side, and everything.
Patrick's own list of complaints about Johnny's roommate credentials is considerably longer, but Johnny is currently developing the theory that he's a joy to be around, so Patrick can just deal with it. Exercise is a prerequisite at their level, anyway, and he sees no problem with wanting to get started early in the day.
"You have to do that in here?" Patrick complains loudly as Johnny begins his morning routine.
He's not winded yet, but he's concentrating, so it takes Johnny awhile to respond, even though all he says is a deeply snotty, "Yes."
"And I suppose putting more clothes on would be out of the question?"
Johnny pauses, mid squat thrust, grinning up at Patrick. "Too much for you, huh?"
Patrick makes a gagging sound in his general direction and spends the rest of the morning with his face hidden squarely behind his laptop screen.
---
Johnny fucks up his knee in January, and he has to stop playing for awhile. He hates it more than anything, and tries and mostly fails to take all the ribbing he gets from the guys about him screwing up his chances at the Calder with good spirits. Patrick mostly stays silent, though, occasionally piping up that Johnny's chances are still good, that he still expects Johnny to take it, and even if that's just for the press, too, Johnny appreciates it.
It doesn't exactly make up for how much less contact them have, physical or otherwise, now that they're not playing or even practicing together, but it's something.
---
"You alright, Kaner?"
Johnny's halfway inside the locker room, but he stops mid-step, listening shamelessly for Patrick's answer to Sharpy's question. Craning his neck a little, Johnny can see Burish hovering too. They're both standing over Patrick, and he's crouched on the bench, head in his hands.
He watches Patrick shake himself out of it, or try, looking up at them blearily.
"Fine," he says, through his teeth, and worry pricks at Johnny, painful and quick.
Johnny's still not playing, so no one's really expecting him, and the rest of the guys are already out on the ice, so Johnny stays where he is, watching.
Sharp leans down, putting his hand on Patrick's shoulder. "You're looking a little green around the edges, there Peaks," he says, stern tone doing a poor job of covering Sharpy's concern.
Patrick shrugs out of the touch, twitching a little. He hasn't really thought about it, before now, but Johnny's seen Patrick react like that before, quite a bit, actually. Ducking away from any touches that weren't made through inches of padding and flinching a little when he didn't quite get away in time.
"I'm fine. It's just a headache," Patrick snaps, and Johnny feels like the floor has dropped out from under him, just for a second, before he shuts down his own excitement, reminding himself headaches are pretty normal, actually.
Still, Burish presses right where Sharpy left off, "Having those a lot lately, huh?"
Patrick shrugs, looking a bit wild, around the eyes, pushing himself up off the bench, standing up to his full height.
"I'm used to it," he says, shrugging again, and there's enough resignation there to choke Johnny, hope and guilt warring inside him, making him feel alive, sharp and real, in a way he hasn't, not in over a year, not since he first pushed Patrick away.
Burish and Sharpy exchange worried looks, and Johnny can't help the sigh he lets out, Patrick's eyes snapping to meet his, widening and then narrowing rapidly, face going carefully blank.
"Morning boys," Johnny says, sidling into the room, and Bur and Sharpy each thump him on the back in greeting.
Patrick holds himself back, but Johnny doesn't, marching right up to him and putting both hands on Patrick's shoulders.
He jerks away almost instantly, but Johnny doesn't miss the shiver that passes through Patrick, doesn't miss the way he leaned in, just for a second, his body open and responsive under Johnny's touch like he was starving for it.
---
He follows Patrick home after the game that night because, well. Enough is enough, already.
Maybe Patrick even agrees, because he lets Johnny in after only the fourth insistent bang on his door.
"What the hell do you want?" Patrick demands, but his heart's not really in it, even Johnny can see that.
He doesn't bother saying anything, just gets close enough to Patrick to touch, one hand against his neck, the other curved around his waist.
Patrick shuts his eyes and sways closer, caught for a second like a moth in a flame, before yanking himself away and spitting in Johnny's face.
It's a change from the punch he was expecting, anyway. Unblinking, Johnny wipes his face clean, and muscles right back into Patrick's space.
"Get the fuck away from me, man," Patrick says, probably shooting for forceful but coming out sounding almost frantic, instead.
Johnny shakes his head, suspicions confirmed, his mind racing from triumph to anger, guilt, and then back again.
"The bond's not dead," he says wonderingly, needing to hear the words to really believe they're true.
Patrick flinches, but then turns it into a scoff. "You sure thought it was, though, which shows what fucking good you are, one way or another. So you just go right back to thinking it is, okay?"
Not okay.
"There's no way I'm going to do that," Johnny says, voice even, totally sure. "I'm not going to let you keep hurting yourself over this." Because he has been, Johnny realizes now.
Somehow, Patrick's been keeping up his side of the bond this whole time, and paying for it, every minute they've been apart.
"Why the fuck not? You were happy enough to be rid of me even before you thought it was gone, and you sure as fuck didn't care about my pain and suffering then. What's different now?"
"Everything!" Johnny shouts. "This - I've been trying to tell you for months, fuck, since I first called you when I was still back in Grand Forks, every fucking day since then, I've been trying to tell you. I'm sorry. I fucked up. I was wrong. You could hate me if you wanted, and that would be fair, and maybe if you did, I could let this go - but look at you, Patrick. I've been here five minutes and you're already standing taller, you've got back color in your skin, there's no pain hiding behind your eyes. You still need this, need me."
Patrick laughs, so loud and ragged and painful, and he says, "I always fucking have. But you didn't care then, so you can go fuck yourself if you think I'm going to believe you care now."
Johnny crowds up against Patrick, backing him into a wall, and Patrick lets him, but he doesn't give Johnny an inch, not in his face, staying as closed off and defiant as ever.
"Feel me," Johnny instructs softly, like Patrick once did, trying to make himself open, no walls between them, mental or otherwise.
Patrick is loose and unresisting against him, just for a beat, then two, and then he knees Johnny in the groin and says, "Go to hell, seriously. You think I want your pity? Your god damn solicitations? Fuck no, and fuck you."
Johnny staggers back, grits his teeth, and says, "It's not pity, you asshole. I want this - I've always wanted this, it just took me for fucking ever to realize it was okay to. And in case you didn't catch it the million other times I said so, I'm fucking sorry about that."
"I don't care if you're sorry! You're the worst thing that's ever happened to me and I wish I'd never fucking met you!"
Patrick's voice rings out between them, turning Johnny's insides cold and roiling, and Patrick swallows, pale again, shaking his head, like even he can't quite believe what just came out of his mouth.
"I don't--"
"No, it's - yeah. No. Totally. I deserve that." Johnny says, voice clipped, not quite able to meet Patrick's eyes, even though he feels like he owes him that much, at least.
It's the freakiest thing, but Patrick smiles. Small and sharp and not particularly happy, but there.
"I take it back, okay, stop looking so fucking heartbroken and self-sacrificing." He shakes his head ruefully. "Well, okay, maybe just the second part. You're still pretty much the worst thing that's ever happened to me."
Even freakier, Johnny finds himself laughing. "Yeah, you know, I think I know exactly what you mean."
Patrick grins, and Johnny feels like, for the first time ever with Patrick, he's actually done something right.
---
They don't talk any more, that night, but Johnny stays, for awhile, just slumped beside Patrick on his couch, pretending to watch TV. He wasn't invited, exactly, but Patrick said, "I'm watching Entourage," with a challenge in his voice, like he was daring Johnny to make something of it, but he'd just shrugged, and said, "Cool, I'll watch with you."
Patrick hadn't kicked him out, which was good enough for Johnny.
And beyond that, the occasional brush of their knees, infrequent enough to at least give the illusion of being accidental, is enough to keep Patrick's shoulders loose, no strain in his eyes giving sign of an oncoming headache, and Johnny finds himself happier than he's been in over a year, just doing that much, finally able to give Patrick something instead of taking it away.
---
The next day, the team doesn't have practice, and after his physical therapy, still working out the kinks in his knee, Johnny shows back up at Patrick's place, and bullies him into going out for brunch.
"This is really gay," Patrick informs him, as they sit down, fiddling with his silverware.
Johnny shrugs. "So are we."
Patrick rolls his eyes. "I meant lame, which, yeah, you are."
Johnny laughs. "It's part of my charm."
After a second, Patrick laughs too. "Yeah, I guess it had better be."
---
He finds ways to touch Patrick all through the meal, nothing invasive, sure as fuck nothing sexual, he's not looking to like, force himself, just to help, just to give Patrick what he needs without having to suffer the humiliation of asking for it, taking the edge off the pain of the imprint, even if it's just enough so that Patrick can keep pretending it's not there at all, at least for now.
---
In the end, he's out for sixteen games, which fucking sucks, but he doesn't let that keep him away from Patrick, not anymore. They start hanging out all the time, grudgingly on Patrick's part, at first, but after awhile, he stops rolling his eyes and taking forever to answer the door when Johnny shows up, occasionally even initiating a conversation or two, even if those all start with insults.
The mood in the locker room improves, spirits lifted by the reduction in the tension between him and Kaner, and Burish and Sharpy stop giving Patrick so many worried glances when he's not looking.
The first game Johnny's back, he lights it up, him and Patrick both, and when they collide on the ice, celebrating a goal, Johnny's sure Patrick's not doing it for anyone but themselves.
---
The first morning Johnny wakes up with a splitting headache and a cold, clammy feeling all over, he's so happy he almost cries, not even kidding, but he curls up in a ball instead, reaching for the phone, and dials Patrick, who he hasn't seen since reluctantly leaving his company the night before.
"What the fuck?" Patrick grouses, picking up after half a ring.
"Come over, I'm dying," Johnny says, and he'd be laughing, if even the thought of it didn't hurt.
"Would serve you right, too," Patrick says with satisfaction, and then he pauses, "Wait, why? Are you hungover or something? Because we have a game tonight, you know. You're letting yourself down, man, you're letting the kids down."
"Not hungover," Johnny says, light and sing-songy. "Headache."
There's a silence that's sharper than a gasp, and Johnny can feel it when Patrick realizes what he means.
He has to laugh out loud, then, and take the pain that comes with it as his due.
"Come over," he says again, when all he gets from Patrick is a flood of shock and hope and disbelief.
"Fuck you, I've been waking up to these everyday for over a year, you come over."
"You're the one with the tolerance," Johnny protests, and Patrick laughs.
"You're really going to try and use that against me? Really? What happened to the guilt-wrecked martyr I know and hate?"
"Got rid of him," Johnny says, hoping his grin comes through in his voice, hoping Patrick can hear the blinding happiness that's stealing his breath.
"Well, good, then, cause he totally sucked," Patrick says, with feeling.
"Come over," Johnny says, a third time.
"Fuck that, you lazy bastard. I'm hungry, anyway. Meet you half way? Waffles?"
Johnny laughs, and hopes to hell that's a euphemism. "Done."
---
He beats Patrick there, but only by a minute. He's glad, though, glad to be there, and waiting, when Patrick arrives.
Patrick pauses in front of the table, hesitating for a second, long enough to make Johnny sweat, but then he grins, and Johnny realizes it was intentional.
"You're an asshole," Johnny tells him, but he means it as a compliment, and trusts Patrick to take it that way.
Patrick slides into his chair, and kicks Johnny under the table.
"You do that a lot, have you noticed?" Johnny asks, leaning down to rub his shin. Patrick kicks really fucking hard.
"You deserve it a lot, have you noticed?"
Johnny shrugs. "We make it work."
Patrick laughs, rubbing his face with his hand. "You'd call this making it work?"
Johnny's smile turns a little uncertain, but he says, "Well, I mean, lately. A bit."
Patrick nods, a little wary, maybe, and Johnny forces more confidence back into his smile, meaning it, just needing to take the minute to get there.
"I'm pretty sure we can do better, though."
Patrick smiles, his whole face lit up, and then he rolls his eyes. "You fucking would."
---
Turns out, waffles totally isn't a euphemism, but Johnny has a pretty alright time, even so.
---
Now that their connection is open again, they play even better than before, constantly edging each other out on points, assisting each other enough that almost every goal is worth something to both of them, but not much else changes between them.
They keep hanging out, shoving each other around off the ice and screaming bloody murder at each other on it, more often than not. They spend a lot of time goofing off for the cameras, too, or at least Patrick does, and Johnny stands by, trying to look natural and mostly failing, but it's sure a hell of a lot easier than when they were both faking. Their touches stay fleeting, rough and ostensibly accidental, but it's working, finally, and Johnny goes to sleep alone each night with a smile on his face, looking forward to waking up missing Patrick like a limb.
---
After an away-game loss to the Stars at the end of February, in an effort to distract Patrick from pacing manically around their hotel room, Johnny finally asks, "Why?" letting Patrick hear the rest of the question in his head - why keep the bond alive, why put yourself through that.
Patrick shrugs. "Spite, mainly, I guess, at first. You were so sure the feelings would fade when the bond did, like that was the only reason I felt anything, and I figured I could prove you wrong by keeping the bond and losing the feelings. Aside from the hating you ones, obviously."
Obviously.
Still, "Why would you want to? Keep it?"
Patrick looks at him. "You get that you're being an asshole?"
Johnny nods. "Yeah."
"Okay, then. I don't know, it wasn't so bad, at first. I had the headaches, sure, but I was managing it. I think it was probably a lot rougher for you, those first couple months, 'cause you were still fighting the bond all the time. Makes it worse. And it's not like I couldn't keep playing, so. It was better than before, anyway."
"How?"
"At least I was feeling something, you know? And you were still there, in the back of my mind, even if I couldn't get a clear read off you. I didn't want to deal with your shit, or see your stupid face, but I guess I didn't want to be entirely alone, either." He glares at Johnny for a second, daring him to laugh, but Johnny just nods, trying to be worthy of the admission.
Satisfied, Patrick continues, "It was best when you were sleeping, I could pretty much get everything, then. But it was mostly random stuff, like dreams are, so I didn't have to put up with how terrible you are."
Johnny laughs, and then admits, "I used to dream about you."
Patrick smiles, a little meanly. "Yeah, I know. Really pissed me off when you started that."
"Sorry?"
"Yeah, well. Whatever. Didn't get really bad until you let go of the bond entirely, and then it was just me. Had me on my ass for a couple."
"Sorry," Johnny says again, sincerely this time.
Patrick waves his hand dismissively. "Helped me stay mad at you, at least. Sometimes you'd get a little sentimental, in those dreams, give me all kinds of stupid ideas. So. It was better, in that way."
"They weren't stupid," Johnny says, after grappling for a better way to say it and failing.
Patrick just shrugs. "They kind of were. I didn't even - in no way is this permission for you to let yourself off the hook, because you fucking suck - but I maybe didn't quite know what I was getting myself into, either. I met you and I wanted you and I was so excited to want anyone that I really didn't even take a second to notice much of anything about you and, well. Chances are we would have ended up murdering each other in our beds or some shit if we'd just jumped into that thing with both feet, you know? Because, to be clear, you're horrible."
Johnny laughs. "Right back at you."
---
They start carpooling to practices and home games, because, well, having the excuse of driving in together in the mornings is better, sometimes, than admitting their heads are pounding and their hearts are racing from the bottomless anxiety of being away from each other too long.
As long as they're together enough, now, they can pretty much ignore the bond, unless Patrick wants to use it to scream at Johnny when he's too far down the ice, or to put horrifying images of their teammates having sex or wearing dresses in Johnny's head when he's bored on the road. Johnny occasionally tries to retaliate by thinking about Patrick's sisters, but Patrick always immediately responds by imagining Johnny's mom flirting with Sharpy, which has happened in real life, so Johnny stops that pretty quick.
The best thing it's good for, really, is taking one for the team and saving the rest of the guys some of the agony of being on a long flight or bus ride with Kaner, when Johnny will stoically absorb Patrick's not-usually-so-internal monologue of excitement and chirping and general running of his stupid mouth, getting a steady stream of it in his head instead of letting Patrick subject the entire team to his bullshit.
Sharpy actually thanks Johnny for it, once, in a sort of round-about way. They're on their way to Detroit and Patrick's completely wired, talking at Johnny a mile a minute, but silently, and even though Johnny's mostly ignoring him, he can tell Patrick's satisfied by how much he's aggravating Johnny, slowly but surely pushing Johnny to his limit, making him want to reach out and dig his nails into Patrick's arm, just to give him something else to think about for a second.
While this is happening, Sharpy sidles up to their seats and Patrick doesn't even look up from his phone, which half of his mind is paying attention to while the rest pesters Johnny, and Sharp says, "I don't know what you're doing with him, but whatever it is, Toe-ez, keep it up."
Johnny throws Sharpy a mock salute and Sharpy gives him a clap on the shoulder before wandering away.
"See?" Johnny says, nodding in his direction, "That's why I'm going to be captain by next season. Leadership. Self-sacrifice."
Mentally, Patrick corrects, control issues, delusions of grandeur, and then goes back to making up a truly terrible rap about his puck handling skills to the tune of what sounds suspiciously like a remixed N'Sync song.
---
Johnny's parents came out for his first game, they saw him score, and even though he's pretty sure they were both more excited about the hug he shared with Patrick after, he's still glad they were there to see it, to watch him make good on all the work they poured into his career over the years.
They come back again in February to watch a few more home games, and his mom waits until they've been in Chicago for two days, lulling Johnny into a sense of false security, before saying, "It's time for us to meet Patrick."
Johnny flushes and shakes his head. "It's not like that between us, anymore. We're," he shrugs, amazed that it's actually true, but, "friends, now. It's working for us."
David's come down too, and he scoffs. "You still totally want to do him, though, right?"
"Oh my god!" Johnny shouts, because, hello, parents, but David shrugs, unapologetic.
Johnny takes back every time he thought he missed his family.
"Well, don't you?" his mom prompts, grinning, and Johnny closes his eyes and prays for death.
---
They don't let up, though, and, weirdly, Patrick is into it.
"Fuck yeah, I'll meet your family. Are they as terrible as you?"
"No," Johnny says, ever loyal, despite recent events.
Patrick nods like that makes sense. "I guess it would be pretty hard for them to be, what with you excelling so highly at it." He frowns for a second. "They're not going to like, get after me to make an honest man out of you or some shit, right?"
Johnny shakes his head. "No, I've explained it's not like that. They'll deal."
Patrick's eyes narrow, just for a second, but then he nods, smile on his face says, "Good then. Wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea."
Johnny nods, not exactly liking the edge in Patrick's tone, but his head is full up of ways to embarrass Johnny in front of his family, and Patrick seems pretty stoked about the endless possibilities, so Johnny figures they're still okay.
---
It goes better than he expects, at least at first. His parents are inexplicably charmed by Patrick, even though he doesn't bother to tone himself down at all, and he and David team up almost instantly, bonding over how much Johnny has bossed both of them around. Whatever, they should both consider themselves lucky to be inspired by his example.
They're getting to the stories about how Johnny was a terrible friend and child who would be up at six am running drills on the ice while his friends drank hot chocolate and made fun of him, when Johnny's parents slip into that imprint thing they do, sometimes, where they're having two sides of a conversation in their heads but only one of them is talking, laughing at stuff the other says and reporting it back, and Johnny's used to it, they've always been like that, more one person than two, but he notices Patrick watching them, going mostly silent, a hungry look in his eye.
Johnny reaches out to him in his mind without thinking, and is surprised when Patrick shoves him out immediately. He blinks at Patrick, confused, because they haven't even tried to put walls up with each other for weeks, now, but Patrick shrugs a little, almost an apology, and then looks away from Johnny, back to his parents, his hand curved tightly around his jaw.
---
At the end of the night, everyone in Johnny's family hugs Patrick good-bye before going back to their hotel, and he hears David say, "Sorry he's such an asshole," into Patrick's ear before letting him go.
They drive home together, him and Patrick, and when they get to Patrick's place, Johnny wants to follow him up, crash for awhile with some Halo or something, maybe, but Patrick shakes his head before Johnny even has the question out.
"I'm wiped, man, going to just head to bed," he says, his tone casual, but his thoughts locked tightly against Johnny.
He reaches out, putting his hand on Patrick's knee, squeezing briefly before letting go and saying, "Sure thing. Get some rest, you were dragging your ass a little bit at last night's game, gotta be better."
Patrick laughs, and says, "Don't I always?"
---
Before his family leaves, Johnny's mom takes him out for breakfast and talks to him in French for awhile, which he totally should have known was a trap, because even though she's the one who first taught him, she still flinches at his accent, sometimes. Too anglo, too prairies, for her tastes, despite his best efforts.
He loves it, though, using the language, and so he's having a pretty good time until she says, "You need to stop hurting that boy. It's beneath you, how you're behaving. It's a disservice to your imprint, and to yourself."
Johnny stares, shocked and more than a little wounded. "I'm not doing anything! I told you - we're good now. We're friends. It's what he wants." No more than that, no pushing, that's the deal. They can touch, but just enough for necessity, and they can spend time, but only under the terms of their friendly hostility.
She shakes her head, a little despairingly. "Even with the bond open, still you don't see. Where are you looking, Jon? What do you see when you're in his head? Are you really telling me that you honestly don't see how much he admires you, how much he loves you?"
Johnny laughs. "Admires - look, we respect each other and how we play, we can't not. But that's - I mean, I don't know why the imprint happened between us, but it had to be some kind of mistake, or something, because we drive each other crazy. Trust me, this is, it's better for everyone."
"You think love has to be agreeing about everything?" she asks, shaking her head again.
Johnny shrugs. "I don't know - I mean, with you and dad, you never fight. You're just - you're always in sync. With me and Patrick, that's only when we're playing. And even then, we're down each other's throats more often that not."
It comes out way dirtier than he could have possibly feared, and Johnny goes beet red as his mother smirks, just for a second, before growing serious again.
"Your father and I - we fight. We're better than we once were, we've obviously learned our way with each other, but in those first few years, before we had you, and even after, we'd go days without talking to each other in person because we were too busy yelling at each other in our heads."
"I didn't--"
"We didn't want you to know, of course we didn't. It's a great advantage, being to argue as loudly as you like and still not upset your children. We've always made the most of that, and thank god we could. That's what the bond is for, Jon, to make what should be too hard possible, to let you be with who you're supposed to, even though on paper it shouldn't work, maybe couldn't, without the extra help."
Johnny takes a long sip of coffee, trying to digest this. "You really think that's how it is for us, too?"
"You'll have to figure that out for yourself, Jon, but first you have to be willing to try."
"I am - I have been - but he's made it pretty--"
"I think at this point, son, you might want to consider that what you find clear might not be so to others, hmm?"
Johnny ducks his head, rueful, and, upon review of the past year and a bit, willing to acknowledge okay, yeah. Maybe she has a point.
---
He takes them to the airport and hugs his family goodbye, feeling momentarily overcome with homesickness as he watches them go through security, and after swallowing down the sadness, Johnny gets back into his car and drives to Patrick's place.
The door's open, so he doesn't bother to knock, and Patrick's in a pair of sweats and nothing else, sitting cross-legged on his living room floor. The T.V's on, and it looks like a bootlegged copy of the first Twilight movie. He's pretty sure Patrick's already seen it twice in theatres.
Johnny laughs. "Why do you like this shit?"
Patrick startles, apparently not hearing Johnny come in, and it's weird that he wouldn't at least sense Johnny's presence, but when he feels around a bit, he realizes Patrick's still shutting him out.
Johnny sighs, sitting down on the floor with him.
Patrick winds around, pausing the movie on the ipod that's connected to the TV, and says haughtily, "I identify with the characters."
Johnny gets that he's going for humor, but he winces anyway. "Listen, about that..."
Patrick glances at him, shifting away from him a little on the floor. "I really don't feel like getting into this with you again, okay? This is - we're good. Everything's fine. Don't fuck it up by insisting on being yourself, you know?"
Johnny shakes his head. "Not talking about it is fucking things up more."
"How would you know? Things are better than they were, right?" he demands, jostling Johnny's leg with his own, easing some of the tension in Jonny's head through the simple touch.
"Yeah," he acknowledges. "They're better. But they're not all they could be - and I've been thinking, okay, you know, this is all he wants, let this be enough. We can be friends, we can be linemates, and I can get a little bit of what everything's supposed to be like, between us, just playing together like that, feeling you with me all the time, at least on the ice, but if you --" He takes a deep breath. "I want more if you do."
Patrick scoffs. "Since when?"
Johnny shrugs. He wants to say, since always, but one way or another, they both know that's far from true. The closes he can get is to say, "Since, I don't know, now, I guess. I kind of - I like you, I guess."
Patrick laughs. "You like me?"
Johnny nods, embarrassed, but committed, here. "I kind of - you make me fucking out of my mind, most of the time, I mean - you're probably the most frustrating person I've ever had the misfortune of knowing, but I guess, I don't know. I like that about you. Maybe."
"You're probably just horny," Patrick says comfortingly, and Johnny grins.
"Well, you don't exactly help with that, either." Among other things, that part of their connection still goes both ways, and Johnny's skated more than a few games with a semi, watching Patrick, feeling him.
"So this would be like, just buddies?" Patrick clarifies.
Johnny thinks maybe he could get away with saying yes, and maybe try to go for more once they'd gotten that much started, but that's not what he wants, not what he means, and he owes it to Patrick to say so.
"No, this would be like, for real. We'd do this. The whole thing. Accept the imprint completely, commit to it."
Patrick glares at him suspiciously, and Johnny raises his hands, signaling whatever surrender Patrick's looking for, trying to keep his mind open, letting Patrick find whatever he needs to see Johnny means this.
His mind flashes to his conversation with his mother, and Patrick jerks a little further away from him, mouth in a tight, furious line, now.
"This is happening to me, too, you know. I can feel you, right now. All that guilt, that crushing sense of obligation, you think I want that? Want to be that?"
Johnny's head snaps up, eyes flashing. "That's not what you are." But knowing he's made Patrick think that - feel that, even after all this time - makes Johnny hate himself.
Patrick shakes his head. "What happened to you?"
"What do you mean?"
"The way I see it, you've got more talent than most guys would know what to do with, and an obnoxiously loving family. Where'd you get the chance to cultivate so much self-loathing?"
"It's not--" Not loathing, just. His standards are high, and they just keep getting higher; the more he achieves, the less it seems to mean, not in the face of what has to be conquered next.
"I'm sorry," he says, when he can't think of anything else, and Patrick groans.
"Stop apologizing! Stop acting like this is something you did to me and get with the fucking program. This is not about you - it's about us."
And the way Patrick says it, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, like what they are meant to be together is the most fundamental and defining part of either of their lives, makes Johnny feel like he can finally breathe again.
"Us, huh?"
"Well, if you're serious, then yeah," Patrick says, nodding with determination. "I could - it could be you and me now, against the world. But not if - no fucking take-backs, you know? You're way too lame for me to cry over again, alright? So if you fuck this up again, I will fucking kill you, seriously."
"Deal," Johnny replies instantly, quiet but sure, and Patrick laughs incredulously.
"I get to kill you?"
Johnny shrugs. "The other part, if you think you can stand it."
Patrick laughs again, bright and almost painfully happy.
"You're such a headcase," he laments, shaking his head, but Patrick sounds indulgent, fond, and Jonny starts to smile.
"Takes one to know one,"
"You have zero game," Patrick informs him, seriously, like he's trying to break it to Johnny gently, but Johnny just shrugs, and grabs Patrick's shoulders, tugging him closer.
Patrick lets himself be manhandled, and yeah, he likes that, so good, because Johnny does too, pulling Patrick up onto his lap and taking a minute to appreciate that Patrick's already only half-dressed.
"Considerate of you," he mentions, surveying Patrick's chest and trying to decide where he wants to put his mouth first.
Patrick rolls his eyes, and makes the decision for him, crushing their lips together while thinking that it's pretty fucking gross, how happy they both are in this moment.
---
After that, everything else is pretty much the same, except him and Patrick are having lot of enthusiastic but kind of messy and embarrassing sex, and yeah, okay, maybe nothing's really the same at all, or it is, it's just, it's a whole lot fucking better.
---
After the first couple of weeks, Johnny texts T.J to triumphantly confirm, You suck, I rule at kissing! P totally won't admit it aloud, but I can read his mind so. \o/
T.J replies almost instantly with, :P lock that shit down, I guarentee u willl never never find any1 else dumb enough to agree.
Johnny just laughs, and doesn't reply. He trusts T.J to know he's pretty much okay with that, now.
---
They still fight, like, maybe more, because there are no limits, now, nothing between them, and they can push as much as they want, knowing they're past the point of screwing it up permanently.
That's what Johnny hopes, anyway, since they haven't actually ever quite gotten to like, say the words, or anything, not beyond Patrick's probably completely sincere threat of death if it goes otherwise.
Johnny throws himself fully into every argument, just hoping he's right, because this is as much a competition as everything else between them has been, and as always, Johnny fights to win.
Things get a little much, maybe, one morning when they've been trying for over an hour to actually get out of Patrick's apartment, where Johnny's been all but living for the past month. They seriously need to get a move on, because they've got practice in a bit, but they can't stop screaming at each other for basically every single thing, from the tooth paste Patrick left crusted on the sink to the way Johnny allegedly wakes him up way earlier than is 'fucking decent or humane,' although, really, Johnny thinks they might be fighting about whether or not to tell the team. He's been running pretty low on excuses for Seabs, lately, is the thing, but it's actually pretty hard to tell, because it really does piss him off how much of a fucking slob Patrick is sometimes, and he's fairly certain Patrick would say the same about him.
He's about to launch into another round of Patrick's obvious flaws when Patrick just sags, suddenly, giving up, and says, "Let's not - just let's not do this now, alright? We have practice in... ten minutes ago."
"This is more important than hockey!" Johnny shouts back immediately, his voice hoarse from yelling for the past half hour.
It's the first thing he's said that's actually been able to shut Patrick up, till now, to the point where he's staring at Johnny with a wide, stunned expression on his face.
"Well?" he says, when Patrick doesn't say anything. "Isn't it?"
Patrick keeps staring, and then, slowly, almost like he's underwater, or waking up from a long sleep, he shakes his head.
Rejection hits Johnny sharp and cold in the stomach, but even as he's shaking his head, Patrick's beginning to smile.
"That's the worst declaration of love I've ever heard," he says, full-on grinning, now, and the light in his eyes and the angle of his smile are infectious, making Johnny smile automatically back.
"Well, I have always thought that love was like a great sports play."
He's joking, almost, except not - because well - sometimes it's about the luck of the moment - the rush - but mostly, turns out, when it happens, it's because of a fuck-ton of hard work, and anyway, Patrick just shakes his head ruefully, and says, "You would."
Patrick looks at him, then, and his face is warm, inviting, so Johnny seizes the opportunity, for once, cupping Patrick's face in his hands and drawing him up into a kiss. It starts out tentatively, a hello and an apology - they've been fighting for a few days straight, by now - but Patrick changes that pretty quick, pouring what has to be months worth of want and anger and love into the kiss, and the thing Johnny feels most of all when they finally separate is known. Not exposed, not caught out, but understood, and violently, unreservedly, loved.
He pulls Patrick up for another kiss, and does his best to make Patrick feel the same way.

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!