Here are a bunch of half-started fics that I had laying around. I'll probably never finish them, because of my crippling laziness. If there are any that cry out to be finished, let me know. I might finish them, but again, crippling laziness. There are more of these laying around all over the place. Sigh...

We got into Edmonton the night before we were supposed to play. That meant an early skate, but we've got sacrifices to make. The fact that we were there early meant that I could walk down memory lane. It was a short walk and I ended up in a bar, but that doesn't matter at all.

Mo came with me. He pretended to be discreet when he touched me, but I didn't care if anyone noticed. We ended up at one of my favorite bar and grills. Mike quirked an eyebrow at me when we walked in side and sat near the bar, but I smiled innocently at him.

"The city does grow on you." Mike said, running his finger along the rim of his glass while he ran his foot up my leg.

I smirked. "I wouldn't be the person I am today without it."

"You're full of shit," he snorted, "but you're also right, so you're forgiven."

I rolled me eyes, before taking a good sweep of the other people around us. A few of the table were filled, but a couple in one of the booths caught my eye. Mike noticed me smiling and turned to see what I was looking at.

He turned back to me with a surprised look. "That's York and Comrie."

"Yep." I nodded, taking a quick drink. "And they're necking."

Mike pouted. "We should've gotten a booth."

"We should go join them." I grabbed my drink, and Mike followed.

Comrie and York thought they were hidden in their little corner, but I spotted them. They were talking quietly, but had exchanged a few heavy kisses when we first noticed them.

Comrie looked up when we appeared near the table. York had at least a look of mild interest, but Comrie didn't look very impressed.

"Hey guys." I said. "Mind if we join you?"

York looked at Comrie, who shrugged, before he turned back to us. "Sure."

We took the other side of the booth. Comrie sat up a little straighter as we got comfortable.

"How's your guys night been?" I asked, innocently.

Comrie looked like he wanted to say something, but York replied first.

"We're doing all right. What are you guys doing here so early? Eager to lose?" York teased.

Mike laughed. "Oh yeah."

I smiled. "We got here early, so I decided to show Mike some of the city. We just thought it was interesting to find you two at the same place."

Comrie took a drink of water, then shrugged. "It's a private place. At least it was."

York sighed, narrowing his eyes at Comrie. "Babes, you don't have to be a jerk."

Comrie turned his glass in his hand, watching the water swirl. He just sat there, quietly.

Mike was making himself comfortable next to me. He slid over to be closer to me. He rested his head on my shoulder, and sighed. It was hard to resist the urge to kiss him on the forehead, but York and Comrie seemed occupied with themselves. I kissed Mike lightly on hairline. He lifted his head with a little grin, and kissed me. I love kissing him in public. Doug hated that.

We felt eyes on us, and turned back to York and Comrie.

Comrie's eyes were very wide, and York's were equally so.

"What?" Was Mike's reaction.

York blinked for a few seconds. "What happened with Doug?"

I chuckled like it was a joke. "What didn't happen with Doug?"

Comrie was staring at me with this strange look in his eyes. I wish I knew this kid better, because I don't understand what this look means. Instead, I turned back to York.

Smiling, I decided to tell me little tale. "Things can't always be what you saw at the Olympics, Yorkie. Doug and I both had a difficult run in the playoffs, and he didn't feel like seeing me over summer. I called him when I rolled into Dallas, and he basically told me to go fuck myself."

"So that's my job now." Mike didn't miss a beat, landing a quick kiss on my cheek.

"What did you say to Doug? What did you tell him?" Comrie asked.

I know Doug had a thing with this kid, but that's all I know. I didn't want Doug to go into detail with it, because despite the fact that I pretended not to care I was jealous.

I shrugged at the question. "I told him the same thing. And I also told him that we're going to see each other again, and he's going to be missing out. He's going to get drunk and leave messages on my answering machine, but that's the price you've got to pay."

Comrie smirked, before turning to York and grinning. York returned the grin, and put his arm around him. Comrie snuggled close to York, and that discomfort I noticed when I first sat down was gone. I broke my ties with Doug, so apparently I'm okay now.

"You guys want to go to a club?" York asked. "We could ride together and save you the cab fair."

Mike looked excited, and I felt equally so.

"That would be great." I said, quickly.

York nodded. He turned to Comrie. "Do you want to pay the bill, or should I?"

Comrie shrugged. "I'm on the outside, I'll do it." He left, leaving the three of us alone.

York looked at us, awaiting questions. "I can't believe Doug said that to you."

I shrugged. "Hey, the guy was my friend and we were very close. It kind of hurt, but I think I've been waiting to leave him behind since I left Edmonton. I like where I am now." I took a quick glance at Mike. "I can do good things in Dallas."

Mike blushed a little, his tan skin flushing.

Comrie returned, and we were off. Comrie drove. I'm glad he did, because he knows this city better than the rest of us. Mike curled up next to me, playing with my hair. He's got such nice hands. Doug's hands were talented, but he didn't seem to care what he did with them. His touches got different as our relationship wore on. His kisses were harder and he didn't seem like he cared about me anymore. I'm thick skinned, and thick headed at times, but losing what we had still hurt me. I'm not sure if I'd be hurting more if we were still together, but that's just how things roll.

I wasn't sure where we were, but there wasn't a line. We parked in the back, Comrie tucking his precious vehicle where no weirdoes could get at it. He shut off the engine, turning back to give me and Mike this small grin.

"How long until curfew for you guys?"

Mo checked his watch. "Our curfew is at one. It's actually midnight, but we'll push it."

Comrie smiled. "Okay."

We went inside, following the two Mikes. I laughed when I thought about that.

Mike raised his eyebrow, and I whispered to him.

"I'm with three guys named Mike." I was practically giggling.

He shrugged. "Hey, we've all got one syllable names that are shortened. What more do you want?"

My friend Bryan was getting married so he put a bunch of us up in a hotel in the city. Anyone that was from out of town got to stay in a decent hotel, and Bryan paid for it. I probably wouldn't have come if he hadn't had convinced me that it was a free trip away from my mom for a weekend. I'm pretty sure he thought he was joking when he said that, but it's truer than he'll ever know.

It was nice to be away from my basement bachelor suit, still in the same town I grew up in. All my life I wanted to get out of that town, and hopefully out of Michigan, but that never happened.

So, I was pretending that I wasn't in some hotel in Detroit, but in some city across the country. I'd stare down the balcony at the lights below me and imagine that I didn't recognize them. I held my glass of water, feeling the urge to drop it down the few floors. I didn't feel any vertigo staring down at my pretend world.

It all looked perfect.

Beside me, the next balcony's door slid open. I took a quick side glance at who stepped out, watching him move to the edge of the railing. A dark haired young man, holding a half-empty glass of red wine, leaned against the rail. He slicked back his hair and closed his eyes. He looked tired, with his shoulders relaxed against the metal railing. To me, he looked sad. But what did he have to be sad about? His clothes were nice and expensive; his shirt was a dark navy and his dress pants were nicely creased. He looked like he was twenty, and shouldn't have any worries. He probably didn't have a dead end job at the local retail store, with slowly dying aspirations.

I kept staring at him, while random thoughts floated around in my head. My mother kept telling me that I was too young to forget about my goals. I told her that my goals were ended a long time ago, and there is little I can do now to change them. She'd just roll her eyes, pat me on the hand, and tell me to look on the bright side of life. What bright side�

That's when I noticed the slow trickle of blood running down the stranger's face. He didn't seem to notice the drop rolling from his hairline, and down the side of his face.

I cleared my throat, hoping he'd look up.

He did. His clear brown eyes snapped to me.

I shrugged off the shiver I got when I looked at him, and pointed to his head. "You're bleeding."

He blinked, then touched his head. He rubbed his fingers together, looking at it. "Oh shit."

Quickly, he disappeared off the balcony and back inside. I stood outside my door, watching and waiting for him to come back. I hoped he'd come back out. It just took the brief second I met his eyes to forget the jealousies I'd formed.

A second later, he came back out, holding a towel to the side of his head. "Thanks. I didn't notice I was cut."

I smirked. "No problem. Hey, I've got a first aid kit in my bag if you want to clean it up."

He quirked an eyebrow, grinning. "Why do you have a first aid kit?"

I laughed. "I was in scouts. Always be prepared."

He smiled. "Okay. Come over and take a look at it. I can repay you with wine."

I took a quick pause before nodding. "Sounds like a good deal."

I turned and went back inside, suddenly very glad my mother insisted I pack that stupid kit. I picked it out of my bag, and stopped by the mirror. Shit, why did he care what I looked like? I was just the guy that happened to be staring at him when his head started bleeding. After I grabbing my keycard, I stepped out into the hall.

The door next to me was already opened, and he stood there waiting. He smiled, and let me inside.

"It must have gotten cut during the game. I'm surprised it took this long to open up." He sighed, sitting on the bed. Our rooms were identical, aside from the fact that his clothes were neatly hung in the closet and mine were all over the second bed.

I gave him a questioning look, and he grinned again.

"I play hockey. We just played the Wings, and we're flying out tomorrow." He explained. "My name is Mike."

"Wow," I took a second to let what he'd told me sink in, "that's really cool."

He shrugged, settling back onto his elbows. "Not that cool. We lost."

"The Wings are good, so I don't think it's much to be ashamed of." I made myself sit next to him on the bed, taking out an antiseptic swab from my kit. "My name's Mike too."

"Small world." He turned his head so I could see better.

It was just a little cut, just along the hairline. It probably opened up when he ran his hand over it. It didn't need stitches or anything, but it was good to get it cleaned. His head was warm and his hair was soft as I carefully dabbed around the edge of the cut. It had already stopped bleeding, but you don't want to get an infection. Maybe I should've been a paramedic. That would've been interesting.

He winced a little, and I bit my bottom lip. I didn't want to hurt him.

"There," I announced, sitting back to toss the wipe in the trash next to the bed. I reached up and brushed the hair away. "You should still get it checked out, though."

"Nah," He smirked. "I trust you."

"You're too trusting. Especially in a city like this." I wanted my hand to linger on his forehead, but I quickly moved it away. He was just some too trusting kid. I was staring at him again when he grinned widely. I blinked, and quickly turned away.

"Why are you in town?" He asked. "Something important?"

"Friends wedding." I replied, focusing on the wall. "He paid for this. If he hadn't have offered, I wouldn't have come."

I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye. "My team is on a different floor. I'd usually be with them, and a roommate, but there was an error when we booked."

He was alone. He didn't know anyone on this floor other than me. I slowly turned back towards him, and he smiled again.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" He cocked his head to grin. "

The phone rang. I opened one eye to look at it, before deciding to pick it up. It was five in the morning, the morning of the biggest game of the season for us. We didn't need this early morning wake up call.

I heard Mike groan as I picked up the receiver. He agreed with me on the hour, apparently.

"Hello?" I answered, trying to clean the sleep out of my eyes as I propped myself up on the pillows.

"Mike, it's dad." My father's voice sounded strained. It wasn't angry, like it had been recently. Something was wrong.

"Dad, what is it?" I asked, quickly.

"Mike," He started again. He paused, dead air hanging in my ears. "Paul was in an accident."

"What?" I gasped. "When? Where are you?"

I heard him swallow. "This morning. He rolled your SUV coming back from the Fort."

"How - how is he?" I asked, clutching the phone close to my ears. Mike heard the distress in my voice, and was trying to think of something to do. He touched my arm, but I hardly felt it.

"We're at the University right now." My dad's voice dipped. He was unsure of what to say, and trailed off.

"Dad, we'll be there right away." I said quickly.

He exhaled. "Okay."

I hung up the phone, looking at Mike with a frightened look on my face.

"What is it, Mikey?" He asked. "What's wrong?"

"Paul was in an accident." My voice was low. "We have to get to the hospital."

He nodded, kissing me lightly on the cheek before moving out of the bed. I was frozen in place for a second, unable to move or think. I had been angry with Paul for so long that we'd hardly spoken for months since my injury in January. Only recently had we started to put things back together. Mike had been the one that told me to patch things up. He said he hated seeing me be miserable and angry with Paul, even though I had all rights to be.

"Mike?"

I looked up, blinking away the tears that were threatening to come to my eyes. I didn't want Paul to be hurt. I didn't want it.

Mike knelt next to the bed, resting his hand on my knee. "Let's go, babe. It'll be okay."

Shakily, I nodded. Mike helped me off the bed, forcing me to stand.

We took his vehicle, since Paul had borrowed mine. I watched the streets blur by as Mike cut through the early morning traffic.

"He probably took a turn too sharply. I told him to be careful with that thing. It's not like a car. It's not. It could turn over at any time." I said, just wanting to hear myself talk.

Mike nodded. "I know."

"Why couldn't he listen." I mumbled.

"We don't know what happened yet. Maybe it wasn't his fault." Mike tried to reason with me.

I scoffed. "Not likely. Remember the last time I let him drive it, and he almost flipped it over on the Yellowhead?"

Mike sighed, glancing at me quickly. "Yes, I remember."

He looked back to the road, and I was silent again. I pulled my coat tight to my body as I slumped down in my seat. I didn't know what was wrong, and I think that's what bothered me. He still gets headaches, sometimes, from his concussions. He could've blacked out and lost control. I wanted to know what was going on. I wanted to be there.

Mike was driving as fast as he could. He was always a very cautious driver. I tended to be more careless. I've almost rolled my Durango several times. It's scary.

"I don't want my brother to die, Mike." I said, finally.

We'd stopped at a red light. Mike shot me a firm look, shaking his head.

"Don't think that way; never think that way." His voice was level and firm. He reached out to touch my face, brushing his thumb along my cheekbone. "He won't die."

I blinked, trying to force that thought into my head. "My dad won't like you being there."

Mike smirked, turning back to the road as the light clicked green. "What else is new."

That made me smile a little. We were both quiet again, crisscrossing through the city to the University hospital. There were

We were fighting, and I hated it. We could hardly look at each other without arguing, and it hurt me. It was hurting us both, but Mike especially. I could tell he felt responsible, and I was just making it worse.

His father wants us apart. He thinks that I'm putting Mike in danger, when I'm not. It doesn't help that Paul has been hanging around the team more and more, and trying to put himself into Mike's life with force rather than reason.

It makes me sick.

Mike and I got home from practice later than we're used to. I didn't want to say anything the whole ride about his driving. We'd argued the night before, screamed at each other for over an hour. I don't even remember what it was about, so that's why I was afraid of setting it off again.

He checked the phone messages first thing.

"Did your dad call again?" I asked quietly.

He sighed as he hung up the phone. "No calls."

"Oh." I said, hanging my coat in the closet.

He tried to casually move around me to hang his up, but it seemed awkward. He looked at me and tried to smile.

"This isn't solving anything." He met my eyes with this drained look on his face.

I nodded. "I know."

He folded his arms, turning away to walk over to the couch. He flopped down. Facing me, he waited for me to move to join him. I did, taking the few steps from the front entrance into our living room. I sat next to him, and he rested his head on my shoulder.

"We're stupid for fighting." He sighed.

I rested my head against his, breathing in the scent of freshness the shower had left on him. "I just can't deal with your brother, and your father. You know that."

He nodded, slowly. "I've tried to tell my dad that you're not hurting me."

I did my best not to snort in contempt. I just sat there, silent.

Still, he sat up and glared at me. "Quit doubting me, okay?"

"I'm not doubting you," I kept my voice steady as I replied, "I just think that Paul is going around and undoing everything that you do say to your dad."

"I can't control Paul." He pursed his lips, staring at me.

"Then you shouldn't let him control you." I stated firmly.

He took a shaky breath. "Don't bring this up again. Just don't, okay? There is nothing I can do about it, and neither can you."

"I just don't like your dad calling us and telling you that what you believe in is wrong. I'm sick of him questioning who you are." I narrowed my eyes, settling back against the couch. "He's the one that's wrong, Mike. We're not wrong, he is."

"He tells me the exact same thing." Mike voice was an angry whisper. He ran both his hands through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. He shook his head before looking at me again. "Don't put me in the middle, okay? Be on my side. Don't take a side of your own and argue around me, like I'm some kid. I'm not a kid."

I winced. I touched the side of his face, running my hand along his cheekbone. "I know that. I'm sorry if I�"

"I know." He interrupted. "But I can't change my father."

"I don't want to come between you and your family." The words were forming before I could stop them. "I never meant to."

His eyes were on me in a second. "Don't leave me. Don't ever leave me. Don't think that if you left it would solve everything, because it wouldn't. I would never be able to think without you. You're the only thing that's keeping me sane these days, and I couldn't look at myself in the mirror knowing I put you out my life because of my closed minded father."

I wanted to take away the hurt in his eyes, but I couldn't help but feel the hurt in my chest from the stress this was putting on me. Still, I touched my lips against his cheek and put my arm around him.

"Don't worry, babe. I'd never leave you." I soothed.

He sighed. "We could humiliate my dad."

"What?"

He shrugged. "He's so worried about how the city will view him if this ever got out."

I inwardly groaned. Yeah, that sounded like Bill Comrie. "Aren't you worried too?"

Again, he lifted his shoulders. "I suppose I am. But would it change how we play hockey? I don't think so. I just don't want the team to feel any backlash."

I laughed, bitterly. "The media here would blame it all on me. They'd never trade you away."

"I wouldn't care if we went together." His eyes shone when he looked at me. I liked that look. "We'd never get anywhere with our careers. I don't want to throw it all away just to get at your dad." Although it did sound tempting�

He was planning something. I could feel it when he looked at me. "What if we�"

"No what ifs. Please." I smoothed his hair. "I hate them."

He sighed. "Fine. I promise, as long as we don't fight anymore."

I smiled. "Deal."

He kissed me, sealing the deal.

"There." He said. "Now we're fine."

If you don't care what other people think of you, it's easy to blend into a crowd. You become a face in the crowd, where there is no individuality. Some times it's fun to blend.

I was sitting in one of the higher reaches of GM Place, up where the beer flows and the chants start. You can make a fool of yourself up there, and no one will really care. Corporate seating and box seats take away from what the game is supposed to be for the fans. Sometimes I feel like I'm being throttled when I sit with my father at games. He watches the action with flickering interest, his mind half on the game and half on something else. I suppose that's how I look right now, watching my brother play.

He loves York. He's told me many times that he'd do anything to keep him. Keep him from what? Living? From being suffocated by a relationship that will just be torn apart again when they get traded away from here. Nothing is permanent, and my brother should be the first one to understand that.

The man next to me elbows my in the ribs after Salo makes a standard save. "That was nice, eh? Real nice."

"Looked a little easy to me." I replied, folding my hands on my lap and sitting back in my seat.

He scoffed. "What do you know about hockey? You don't look like you belong up here."

He's right. I belong on the ice. "I paid for my ticket."

He rolled his eyes, then turned to his buddy beside him and started talking about how Naslund was the best thing since wine that came in a box. I hoped he wouldn't talk to me again.

I don't love York. I can't love him. I want him, but I don't love him. This isn't college.

My brother and York will be together when all of this comes to a head. At least I think they're going to be. I've never really been a firm believer in fate, unless it was fate that decided to fuck me over. Was I supposed to be the one that takes over from dad when he dies? Was I supposed to be the one that will be watching from the stands when my brother lifts the Stanley Cup? Maybe I was. If that's the way fate decides things, then my brother and York will win that cup together.

Brewer thinks that I should mind my own business while he's doing more meddling than I ever did. He's the one that's going to make things even worse. I used to think that my brother was better off with him. Eric loves my brother more than he is worth, just like York does.

I've had only one good conversation with my brother on what it was like to walk around and not know anything about yourself. To be empty, except for this tendril of a connection to some one you don't know anything about. I thought he was exaggerating, and he probably is. I have no idea what it's like to be some one else, but I have a great deal of experience at living some one else's life.

The first period passes quickly. There's no score but the action is fast. Back and forth, back and forth.

I stay in my seat during the first period, staring into oblivion as the zamboni leaves paths of water up and down the rink.

There's suddenly a voice behind me, calling my name. "Paul? Paul Comrie?"

I turned, digging through my mind recognize who was speaking. I knew who it was when I saw his face. "David?"

I probably looked shocked, and I was. I hadn't seen him since I played in Fort Saskatchewan with his older brother. He looked the same, just like I remembered. Straight blond hair, cut short. Smokey green eyes with flakes of hazel. I never thought I'd see him again.

He smiled brightly when I recognized him. He quickly took the empty seat next to me and grinned. "I never expected to see you here."

"Me neither." I smiled dumbly. "I mean, I never expected to see you here."

He shrugged. "How have you been? I heard what happened with your career; that sucks man."

"Things happen." I paused. "You can't help that."

"You here to watch your brother?" He asked.

I suppose I was. "Yeah I am. He's doing well for himself."

"Yep.

Shawn Horcoff always had a way of getting up to my apartment without a key and without me buzzing him in. He must just stand outside and wait for people to leave so he can get in the front door. He won't tell me, but I'm sure that's it.

He knocked on my door, and I let him in. He grinned at me as he tossed his shoes aside. I frowned, wondering what he was up to.

"Don't be a jerk, Shawn. What are you up to?" I asked.

He shrugged, still grinning. "You're going to meet my friend Mike tonight."

I rolled my eyes. "Shawn, I told you�"

"Come on, Michael�" He pretended to plead.

I went into the kitchen, calling in response. "Don't call me that."

"But it says that on your birth certificate." He smirked, following me.

"Yeah, and it says you're a girl on yours." I opened the fridge. "Do you want anything to drink, Shawna?"

He laughed, sarcastically. "Seriously man, what do you have against my friends?"

I took out two beers, and handed him one. "I don't know. Maybe it's because he's one of our biggest rivals�"

"Well too bad." Shawn opened his beer and took a quick drink. "Because he's coming here."

"Fuck off he's not." I put my bottle down firmly on the counter.

Shawn just grinned.

I groaned. "Why do you do this to me?" I sighed. "Is he coming here here or are we meeting him somewhere?"

"He's coming here and then we can go wherever you want." Shawn answered.

I threw the quickest thing I could find at him. The pencil I'd grabbed bounced harmlessly off the wall and fell to the floor as he ducked. "You gave him my address. Oh, I hate you."

"You won't say that when you see him." Shawn seemed very pleased with himself, and that annoyed me to no end. He'd been bugging me to meet this friend of his from the University of Michigan. I'd been putting it off, hoping to reach the Christmas break and then Shawn would forget. And here he's ambushing me in late October. I wanted to punch him in the mouth.

The phone rang and Shawn dove for it. He snatched it up and answered it.

"Hello?" He grinned at me. "Oh hey, where are you? Really? So we'll meet you there? Okay? Okay, bye." He hung up the phone. "That was Mike. He said he's going to be late, so we should go the restaurant without him."

"I thought you said I got to decide." I raised an eyebrow.

Shawn laughed. "You only eat at one restaurant, you cheapskate."

"Shut the hell up." I snapped. "Hey, so do you."

"What's your point?" He asked, seriously. "My parents are a long distance call away. You could throw a rock and hit yours."

He had me there. I didn't say anything, and took a swig of beer.

Shawn feigned sympathy. "It's okay, Yorkie. You'll leave the nest one day. One day."

Eric and I entered the elevator together like normal people. Civil isn't usually a word in both our vocabularies, but we're getting along. The three of us, Mike included, were watching some television in our room and we decided we were hungry. Eric and I volunteered because Mike was too lazy to get off the bed.

Eric pushed the button moving to relax against the wall next to me.

"So�" He started, trailing off.

I nodded. "Yeah."

He shifted, uncomfortable. "We're playing well this road trip."

"Yep." I nodded. "Mike's doing okay."

Eric nodded. "Doing real well."

I ran my tongue along the outside of my teeth as a I nodded. Awkwardness doesn't describe these moments accurately enough. Mike wants us to get along, but he understands why we can't. I'll hang out with the guy, but I'm not putting a full effort into liking him.

I sighed, watching the floors descend.

The light for the ninth floor blinked out, and I waited for the eighth to light up. We were suddenly lurched, and gravity pulled us in ten directions. The elevator screamed to a halt, and Eric and I ended up on the floor in the dark.

Mike and I watched the snowfall. We were upstairs in his bedroom, watching the snowfall past the window. We'd been lying in bed for most of the day, debating whether or not we should get up. He sighed, burying his head against my shoulder.

"It's April. It shouldn't be snowing." He said, his hand leaving feather light touches along my collarbone.

I sighed, shifting my arm around him. I kissed his forehead. "It's a sign that we should keep playing hockey."

"You think?" He lifted his head and grinned.

I rolled my eyes. "You can be a real idiot at times."

He shrugged, laying his head back down. "I'm not an idiot. I'm just optimistic."

I grinned. "That's a way of putting it."

He yawned, stretching out his legs. "

One of our neighbors died the other night. He was 30, and he just died. Mike and I had been asleep, when we heard a commotion in the hallway. We're normally not nosey, and our neighbors returned that favor, but there was something about the voices that made us nervous. We had to see what it was.

We saw his wife talking to police, and the EMTs arranging equipment in the hallway. Other neighbors were there. Mrs. Clarke found us as we tried to keep our distance, but still figure out what was going on.

"Bobby died." She said, her forehead wrinkling as she adjusted her glasses. "His heart just gave out, apparently."

Mike looked stunned, but regained his composure quickly. "How�how's Gwen? Have you talked to her?"

Mrs. Clarke scratched her gray head, frowning. "Gwen called 911 from her place, then came over to mine. We couldn't do anything."

Instinctively, I took Mike's hand. He looked like he was going to faint. I cleared my throat. "What time was that?"

"Oh, not quite an hour ago." She touched Mike's arm. "You boys should go back to bed. There's nothing we can do."

I could tell Mike wanted to stay out here, but he forced himself to nod. He squeezed my hand, and we went back inside our apartment. Our building was tight knit for a richer crowd. We knew all the people on our floor. Gwen and Bobby had moved in a few months ago. We saw him some mornings going to work or going jogging. He was thin and attractive, with dark hair and blue eyes. Gwen had short curly blond hair, and always looked pretty.

Mike stood next to the door, staring at it. "How could he just die? That doesn't make sense."

I shrugged, walking towards the kitchen. God, it was three in the morning. We had a game tonight, and it was three in the morning. I paused, leaning against the counter. "I don't think it's supposed to make sense."

He folded his arms across his chest. He was wearing one of my old golf shirts, and it fit him loosely. The collar was frayed and the color faded. He tended to look attractive in my clothes, but I didn't insist he wear them.

"We just had them over for dinner a few weeks ago. He looked fine." Mike said, looking confused.

"I know." I replied. "If it was his heart, then there was probably a defect, or something like that."

He came over, putting his hands around my waist and resting his forehead on my shoulder. He sighed. "It's scary."

I nodded. "I know, babe."

"I'm tired." He whispered. He lifted his head to meet my eyes. His brown eyes glittered, looking green for a second. "Can we go to bed?"

I kissed him, gently. "Of course."

We did go to bed, but sleep took a while to take hold. Mike laid awake for a long time. His head rested on my chest, listening to my heartbeat. He'd sit up every few minutes and look at me in the dark, then lay back down again.

This was the first time in the month since his accident that I understand what he's thinking. Lately, he's been distant and we've had fights. I was even banished to the couch for a few nights. Mike has been arguing with his dad and his brother. I just don't know what to think. Mike's dad blames me for Mike's injury; he also blames me for the arguments Mike and Paul have been having. I hate being the scapegoat, and Mike hates putting me in the middle.

No matter what has happened since I got back to Edmonton, I've never truly questioned our relationship. I've thought about it in my mind, and perhaps in my heart, but never in my soul. As lame as it sounds, I think that there is nothing that can separate Mike from me, and me from him. I didn't need anyone to die to tell me that. But the way he fell asleep clinging to me, I think he did. Mike can be overconfident in many things, but when he doubts himself he's very depressing.

In the morning, after about six hours of sleep, I was awake. I let Mike sleep, hoping that he would put the extra rest to good use and not be unresponsive the rest of the day. That's what would happen after we'd have a fight at home. We'd go to practice or a game and he'd make little mistakes and not really care. We couldn't do that. The rule for us is leave it out of the game. If the game suffers, Kevin and Craig have told us many times, then

Doug,

I'm writing this to you without ever planning to send it. I just had to write it. I had to get it out of my head, because it's been eating away at me.

I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I never should have walked out like that on you. The moment I turned away, I wanted to go running back inside. It hurt to walk away. I'm just not sure if it hurt you as much as it hurt me. Remember when I left Edmonton? I was leaving, and the only goodbye I got from you a shrug and a kiss on the cheek. Remember? You said told me that you wouldn't be far behind. I didn't know when I was going to see you again! I just needed you to tell me everything was going to be all right. You were never like that. I shouldn't have expected you to be anything but yourself.

Modano came over the other day. I told him you and I were done. He looked so sorry, genuinely sorry. He said he knew it would never really be what I wanted. Am I really that selfish and obvious? Mike knew! After I told him, he kissed me. Not friends kiss either, not like�not like the ones you and I had before. He kissed me, touched me, and told me if I ever needed anything he'd be there.

I was wrong, Doug. I was wrong and I'm sorry. I was being selfish when I was asking for more. You were always so devoted to me, and I was just too blind to see it. We could talk. We could have fun. I'm sorry I put you second to Kara; you're so much more to me than Kara will ever be.

Fuck. I hate this. I really do.

I love you. I'm sorry I hurt you.

I still want to be your friend, but I'm afraid the next time I talk to you these words will just come spilling out of my mouth. I am still your friend. I want us to take fishing trips together. I want our wives to be waiting for us on the shore when we come back. I want normal.

But I also want you. I want to feel your touches, taste your kisses, feel you inside me�and I know that's what you want too.

Do you remember that one road trip the team took to Colorado? We lost, but that night you held me in front of everyone on the plane. I knew you didn't like broadcasting our relationship, but I was just so upset at losing. You held me, kissed me, and told me that no matter how many games we lost or by how much we would still be together. You turned to the others and said that we were still a team no matter how many goals we let in or how many we won by. You were such a good captain; I missed that in Boston. I still miss that in Dallas.

It's too late for me to turn back. I want to call you, ask you what I should do, but I'm not going to. I'm going to be strong for me, and to show you that I can be.

Maybe I'll see you at the Allstar game. Maybe I'll smile when I see you, and maybe you'll give me a hug. We'll be playing for the same team, and maybe you'll set me up on a goal like you used to.

Christ, I'm the one that pulled us apart because I thought you couldn't let go of the past.

I'm going to fold this piece of paper up, and put it in a box and forget about it. Maybe one day, when I'm cleaning out my garage, I'll find it again. I hope that I'll still have your phone number then.

Doug, I love you. I'm sorry I couldn't see how much I did before.

~Billy

He laughed, turning to watch me over the back of the couch. "You work so hard around here."

I rolled my eyes, picking up the phone off the kitchen counter. "Hello?"

"Oh, hello." It was Bill, Mike's dad. "How are you?"

I inwardly groaned at is pathetic attempt at small talk. "I'm okay. How have you been?"

"Just fine." He paused. "May I speak to Mike please?"

"Okay, let me get him." I waved Mike over and he grabbed the phone from my hand. Leaving him in the kitchen, I went back to the living room.

Listening from the couch, I could hear Mike's side of the conversation. The conversation was quickly spiraling into an argument. Mike's dad has decided that he should leave me. After Mike's injury, which is a way of putting whatever memory lapse he had mildly, he's had problems with his family. He has been avoiding Paul and arguing with his father. It's been a month since this all started, and it's been draining on both of us.

I could hear Mike yelling in the kitchen, and put a pillow over my head. He hates the distance with his family, and broods to himself. We still haven't worked out a lot of the issues stemming from his amnesia, and I know that hurts him inside. He tells me that everything that could've been fixed was fixed.

I thought he was over his need to lie to protect himself.

He comes into the room holding the phone like a weapon. He glared at it, before looking up to me. "That man is unbelievable."

I shifted so he could sit next to me. "Unbelievably loving and understanding?"

He ignores my comment, and continues with his previous thought. "He thinks that if I started dating women, I'd instantly be straight. He thinks that I wouldn't have been hurt if I weren't with you. He doesn't understand anything." He sets his elbows on his legs and rests his chin on his hands. He mumbles, frowning. "Why can't he understand?"

I talk low, eyeing the coffee table. "I think that's the point. He doesn't understand, so he comes up with the wrong ideas."

Mike sat up, then moved so he was laying across the couch. He stared up at me from where his head rested on my lap. "He puts things into such black and white terms. He always has."

I looked down at him, and tried to smile. "Tell me what he said."

He sighed. "He said that if I got hurt again, he wouldn't be there to support me like he did Paul."

"What?" I was shocked. "How could he tell that to you? You're his son!"

"So is Paul, and as long as he doesn't tell dad he's gay, dad still has another side to argue." Mike looked distant and sad. "I just don't know what to do."

"Tell your dad about Paul?" I suggested.

He shook his head. "Dad wouldn't believe me."

"We could tell Paul to quit being such a selfish asshole?" I said with a serious expression on my face.

Mike laughed, which was partially my goal. "I've been trying that for years." He trailed off, staring up at me while he thought.

"You could let me kiss you." I touched his forehead, letting my hand follow his hairline. His eyes flicked from my hand, then back to my face. The worry was still there, but he was distracted from it for a little while.

He sat up, smiling. "What would that solve?"

I shrugged. "Probably nothing." I leaned over and kissed him. He parted first, but not before he gave me a quick kiss in return. He put his head on my shoulder, telling me he'd rather just be held. I didn't mind that.

Sighing, I took his hand in mine. "I don't want you to be unhappy, Mikey."

"I'm not unhappy." He'd closed his eyes, and his voice was quiet.

"You miss your dad and Paul. I don't want to get in the way of your family." I tried to talk as gently as I could. I didn't want to upset him, but I did want him to know that just because I disagreed with his father and brother didn't mean I wanted him to put them out of his life. I know they're important to him, even after Paul tried to set Mike against me by bringing up the past.

He squeezed my hand. "I don't want to let you go."

I didn't want to let him go. I also didn't want to see him be melancholy and angry with his dad. Pondering, I chewed on my bottom lip.

"Maybe you should call your dad back, and try to explain to him that I'm not as incompetent as he thinks I am, that I'm good enough for you, and will do anything to keep you safe. Better yet, let me talk to him." I said.

Mike shook his head. "My dad's opinions of people come from first impressions. You can't change those."

"Well, have you tried?" I didn't want to come off sounding sarcastic, but I must have. Mike's hand stiffened around mine, and I heard him exhale impatiently.

He sat up, looking at me with a mix of disbelief and exhaustion. He narrowed his eyes. "Don't you think I have?"

"You've just seemed to have given up. That's not like you." I explained, keeping my voice level.

"Does asking for help mean I've given up?" He shook his head as he spoke, and it bobbed in disbelief.

I snorted. "It sounded more like whining than asking." He was drawing us into an argument. He was being stubborn, and I was getting fed up with it.

"I wasn't whining." He snapped. It was mild, but we were both had minimal patience. He can be really annoying when he gets low on himself. When Mike feels depressed, he usually drags me down with him.

I exhaled sharply, but didn't say anything in return. There was an underlying frustration when our eyes locked. He stared at me for a few seconds, gauging me. He didn't want to fight with me.

He sighed, defeated, and looked away. "My dad said that I could meet him for dinner tomorrow, if I wanted to talk more." He fisted his hands before giving me a sideways glance.

"I think you should." Evenly, I replied.

"I think I'm going to."

There was a mutual silence, before he looked at me again.

"Is it wrong to give up family for love?" He asked, but he kept going before I could think up an answer. "It shouldn't be wrong, but it feels wrong. He's never really had to deal with me living outside his rules, and now suddenly�" He paused. "And you're stuck in the middle�."

"Mikey, we both know our relationship isn't perfect right now." I said, and he turned to look out the window. "Maybe you should deal with your family first, because I can see its hurting you."

I heard him make an audible sound of disgust. He folded his arms across his chest, glaring at nothing.

"You're always making me choose." His eyes were fixed firmly away from me, and I had to lean forward to see his expression. "When we broke up in Michigan, you were making me choose whether or not I was mature enough for a real relationship. When you were traded here, you made me choose between you and Eric." He scoffed. "When do you have to make the decisions in this relationship?"

"Just because you're problems seem more important than mine doesn't mean the decisions I've made are any less important." He turned as I spoke, my voice quickening. "I decided to take you back, remember? And I decided that nothing you could ever do, no matter how much it hurt, could ever make me stop caring for you. You shouldn't question me, Mike. I've had to make decisions too."

He looked suddenly crushed, and I couldn't see why. "I do things that hurt you?"

I shook my head, trying to stop the knot in my stomach from tightening. "You know what I mean."

"No I don't." Mike still looked pained. "I'd never do anything to hurt you."

"You have done things Mike, but I've forgiven you." I tried to touch his shoulder. "I know you didn't mean to."

He flinched away. "Why are you brining this up now?"

"Me? I didn't bring it up." I sat back, glaring at him. "I was just being honest."

I didn't know where this was going. We'd had some arguments lately, but most of them fizzle out into nothing before we end up in a serious fight. This one had a strange tepidness to it. Maybe he was arguing with me because he couldn't argue with his father. As long as we sat here and worked it out, we'd be okay. If either of us tried to run, we'd be in trouble.

He pursed his lips, then rapidly stood from the couch. "I'm going for a walk."

No, no, no. He can't go; that's against the rules. But I could tell he was serious by the look on his face. I sighed. "I'm waiting up for you."

He stood by the door, slipping on his coat. Mike paused, rubbing the cuffs of his sleeves. His voice was soft. "I know you will. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

He closed the door behind him. I stared at it for a few minutes, wondering why I let him get away with so much. I hope he's angrier with his father than with me. That's selfish, but I really don't know what to think.

I don't want my life with Mike to fall apart just because his father won't change. Or maybe I should change. I just don't know.

I turned the television back on and numbed my mind, waiting for Mike to come home.

(Comrie's POV)

Mike didn't say anything that really bothered me. What he said made me realize some things, though. I do whine and I do hurt him.

It must hurt to see me mope around, but he doesn't really help matters telling me I've given up. I haven't given up, but my options are getting narrower. Dad thinks he can scare me straight by telling me he might yank his finances from me. That's a new one. My dad has never liked Mike. He didn't seem to mind Eric. Is it the relationship I'm in, or is it me? He hasn't been real clear when he's dictating how I should live my life.

It was cool outside. Everything had a fine white coating on it. It has snowed this evening. I got farther and farther from our building, moving quickly down the street. Dad hated where Mike and I had chosen to live. He was mad when I got rid of the old place. He got over that, but he hasn't gotten over the fact that I wanted to live with Mike.

I'm mad at my dad, not Mike. Why did I argue with Mike, then?

I can't make things work inside my head. I try to think up ways to appease my father, to reconcile with my brother, and to keep my independence. Few of the plans I've made get off the ground, and most of them are so bad that I just give up on them from the start.

Mike always seems to willing to help, except when I really need him. He seems to think that I need to do some things without his input. I know it's my decision, but he'll be affected by it. It's so frustrating when he drops something in my lap and tells me 'You decide.'

I hate it when he says that. I think he tells me that because he doesn't know what to do. I like to think he always knows what to do, and so does he. We're both so sure of ourselves. At least I was until I lost my memory. When I got it back, I found out more than I wanted to know.

It still makes my stomach knot when I think about that. I think Mike pretends that I haven't changed, or he just acts like it.

I laughed, bitterly, to myself. I was getting angrier with him by the second. This wasn't my goal at all.

I stopped walking for a moment. I should turn around and go back. This is just going to build the further I go. I should go back. That would be the mature thing to do. Or I could say 'Fuck Maturity' and phone my friends and get wasted. Hmm, now which one seems more favorable?

Just as I was thinking about my cell phone, it rang. I had shoved it into one of my pockets, and had to do a rapid search to find it.

"Hello?" I answered, continuing walking.

"Hey." It was Mike. "Your dad called again."

I sighed. "What did you tell him?"

"That you'd call him back." He replied, before taking a short breath. "You didn't have to leave, you know."

I nodded to myself. "I know."

"Be back soon, okay?" He sounded worried. Should he be worried?

"I won't be long. Maybe an hour." I took a quick glance at my watch.

"Okay. See you later." Mike said.

He hung up, and I sighed. Maybe it was a good thing that my dad had called. It gave Mike and an excuse to talk to me.

I stuck my cell phone back in my coat pocket, and kept walking.

After a few minutes, I heard some one yelling down the street. I kept going. I didn't want to sign an autograph right now. I picked up my pace, hoping he'd take the hint.

"Hey!" He called, running up behind me.

I turned over my shoulder, ready to turn him down.

But instead of a picture, he handed me my wallet. He was a light-haired young man with crystal blue eyes and pink tinted lips. He looked a little out of breath as he handed me my black leather wallet.

"You dropped this when you took out your phone." He smiled.

I felt my breath catch when he smiled. It was so warm and sincere. I swallowed, hoping my face didn't betray the emotions that were rolling around my head.

"Thank you. I didn't notice." My hand brushed his as I took it from him. I tucked it in my jean's pocket this time.

He shrugged. "Hey, no problem. I'm just glad I caught you. I didn't think you heard me."

"I didn't." I lied, not wanting to seem rude all of a sudden. "You know, few people would've done this."

He titled his head, smiling innocently. "What do you mean?"

I laughed. "I don't think I would've chased after a stranger to give him back his wallet."

He pocketed his hands, looking me up and down. He settled back on my eyes, smiling. "Well, if the stranger was cute enough you'd do it."

I must have turned a bright shade of red as a grinned. Some one I didn't know was hitting on me. I think all of my problems were just thrown out the window. "I just might've."

He extended his hand. "I'm Gabriel"

I returned the handshake. "I'm Mike."

"Would you like some coffee? I was just headed out." He asked, smiling. "Before I saw you."

He didn't know I had a boyfriend. I was leading him on. Hell, I was leading myself on. It was wrong. Mike was right when he said I do things to hurt him. But it wouldn't hurt to just have coffee, right? I have coffee or lunch all the time with Dan, Josh, or Shawn. He didn't object to that. And I let him have lunch with Janne, and I knew he had a thing for him.

"I'd love to." I grinned, happily convinced myself. "Since I've got my wallet."

We walked a little ways to the nearest coffee shot, thankfully not a Starbucks. I didn't realize how cold I was until we got inside. Gabriel's hair looked almost white in the glow from the lights. It was straight, but shorter than Mike's. He looked younger than I did. Not much younger, but younger.

I forgot what I ordered when he smiled at me while we waited. When the server handed me my cup, I found my hands were shaking

This wasn't good.

We sat in a little booth off to the side. He looked from the table, then back to me. "So, do you live around here?"

I nodded. "Not far from here, actually."

"Me too." He took a short sip, before continuing. "It's a little far from school, but I don't mind public transit."

My throat tightened at school, but I asked my question casually enough. "Which school do you go to?"

We were on the pond near our hometown, getting some laps in. Tryouts were next week. If I worked hard enough, I could make the same team as Jim.

"Mikey skate faster." Jim swooped near me. He brushed my shoulder, and grinned.

I glared. "I'm trying."

He shoved me with his stick. "I told you to stretch. You should've. Your legs would feel better."

I know he just wanted me to be at my best, but I didn't really care. Even if I didn't make his team, I pretty much had a guaranteed spot with my group from last year. I wasn't worried. I'd rather play with my 12-year-old friends than my older brother, anyhow.

Jim shoved me. "Come on, let's race."

He sped off, and I had to push to keep up.

"Jim, I'm tired." I called as he sped ahead.

He spun, skating backwards. That slowed him down, and I caught up. We pushed each other back and forth, until he turned and skated off again. In a burst of speed he was ahead of me again. I focused on my brother, and fought hard to keep up with him.

I was thinking about Jim, and not what was ahead of me.

My skate caught something. I heard the clunk and scratch as the metal met some hard object imbedded in the pond ice. Details flooded through my senses as I twisted in the air. I could feel the air, and the coolness that was rising from the ice. I could hear the sound of my brother's skates as they turned. I didn't know when I was going to land, but I was sure it was going to be hard.

There was a sickening crack when I hit the ice. I felt a bone break, and heard it too. Fire raced up my leg as the oxygen tried to force its way back into my lungs. Rolling over, I clutched at my leg. I wasn't crying, but it hurt. I heard Jim yelling at me.

Suddenly, warm tears flooded over my cheeks. Jim was suddenly near me, turning me over. His dark eyes widened when he looked at me. He didn't know what to do. He didn't say it, but I could read it on his face. The last thing I remember was the look of fear on my brother's face when I blacked out.

I woke up late for work. I wasn't exactly late, but I was going to be late. I didn't really care.

I numbly rolled out of bed, passing by the ever-growing pile of laundry in my hallway. When you live alone, you don't really have to care about where things go. Laundry here, dishes there�

I'd left the television on last night. It was showing highlights of the football games last night, but I turned them off. If I sat down, I'd end up sitting on the couch all day instead of forcing myself to go to my job, that I hate.

There was a message on the machine from my mom. She was talking about having me over for dinner this weekend. That usually means she's got a plan to set me up with some one. I can't imagine the load of shit she must feed these girls. 'This is my son, and his life is going no where,' or something like that. None of them are my type, but I think that's because I haven't really defined what my type is.

Deciding to call my mother later, I straighten the clothes I fell asleep in last night. If I ever have to work early, I usually sleep in the same clothes the night before. No one really notices there, and if they do I couldn't care less. I'm the little guy on the crew, so I'm like their mascot. Get Yorkie to do it. Yeah, he likes that sort of thing. I've been working there too long.

I made a sandwich, and threw it in a paper bag, before heading out to my car. I numbly headed to work, hoping that it won't be there when I arrive. It's a moderate drive from my little place, but it's work. The buildings look like they were build in the late '40s with crumbling yellow walls. Gee, it feels great to work there.

We repair all of the city buses and vehicles. I do some light work in the machine shops as well as the offices. It's pretty much dead end.

Patty, our office's secretary, snags my coat as I try to slink by.

"Yorkie, you shouldn't be late." Her eyes soften. She's like my mom. "What's wrong? Is something the matter at home?"

I shrug. "How can anything be the matter?"

She shakes her head. "You're better than this, Michael. I know you are. I can see it in you."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Where's this job going to take me, Patty? It's not going to take me very far, if you ask me."

"You could save up and go to college." She smiled. "Don't give up."

I rolled my eyes. "I missed the boat to college last time by not having enough money. If I would've had a scholarship, I would've been all right. But I didn't, so I couldn't go. End of story."

Patty licked her lips, thinking of what to say. "Take the day off, Mike. I talked to Larry, and he said it would be okay. Go visit your mom, and take some time to yourself. Everyone's noticed how down you've been lately�"

I narrowed my eyes at her, confused. "What are you saying?"

She cleared her throat. "Larry said if your attitude doesn't improve, you'll be fired. I'm telling you this now so you can take a day to think about whatever is going on with you right now. You've been late and reckless the past few weeks. Please?"

She was giving me the day off. Would I rather work? No.

I finally nodded, and she smiled. I went back out to my car to stare out the window for a few minutes.

I should've told her why I've had a poor attitude lately. I'm going nowhere. I'm doing nothing with my life. I'm never getting out of Michigan, and if I lose my job I'm going to have to move back home. That's not what I had planned for my life, and although it has taken a while to set it, I've finally realized how unimportant I am. I'm not depressed, but it has got me thinking.

I drove back home. She could've told me that over the phone and saved me gas money. I've got to save every dollar if I'm going to get canned any day now.

Back to the duplex. Back to my half a house.

My friend Trey called me after eight that night. Eight? I'd fallen asleep after I got home, and hadn't woken up until he called. Shit.

Trey's voice woke me up with every syllable. "So, how about it?"

"How about what?" I reply, sleepily.

"Dude, were you sleeping? Didn't you have work today?" I can hear the creak of his home office chair as he swivels around.

I laughed, bitterly. "They sent me home because I have a bad attitude."

Trey, ever the humorist, chuckled. "Sure doesn't sound like you've got a bad attitude there, Yorkie. I was asking you if you want to come out with Shannon and me to the bar tonight. Some place nice and trendy with the little college sluts all over it. Shannon can call some of her friends if you want."

Sighing, I sat up. "Sure, why not?"

I heard him stifle a laugh. "If you're going to be a jerk, you don't have to come."

I rolled my eyes. "Trey, I'll be good."

"I don't know about you, Yorkie." I could hear the wink in his voice. "You're a trouble maker."

I laughed, with half the vigor and half the effort of a real laugh. "You know me too well, Trey. What time are you going to be here?"

"Umm�" He thought. "8:30? Would that be good for you?"

I nodded. "Yeah, no problem."

Mike York grinned and raised his half-empty glass. "To Eric and Janne, and their two month anniversary."

Laughing, Mike Comrie joined in on the toast. "Hope you enjoyed it. It all goes to hell after this."

Across the living room, Eric Brewer rolled his eyes. "It will only go to hell if I sit around and drink with you two all the time."

"Don't be an ass, Eric." Janne managed a smile as he shook his head, lifting his glass towards York. "Thank you, Mike."

"Hey, no problem." Mike grinned, letting his drink slosh back and forth as he settled down into the loveseat. He drained the last of the wine, before draping his arm around Comrie's shoulders, letting the empty cup dangle from his grip.

"I wasn't being an ass," Eric pointed at York, "He's drunk."

York laughed, stretching out to rest his head on Comrie's lap and leaving his feet dangling over to edge of the loveseat. He put his glass on the table as he chuckled. "Yeah, I'm pretty drunk."

Comrie stroked York's hair, smiling at the frank admission. "At least he admits it."

That brought a smile to Eric's face. "I've never seen him drunk before."

"Hey, stop talking about me like I'm not here, because I am here. Talk about something else." York mumbled, pointing incoherently at Eric. He brought his hand down hard on the coffee table, rattling their drinks.

"Babe, don't break things." Comrie took York's hand away from the table, pinning it against the cushions.

"Okay." York whispered.

Eric had been taking in the affectionate way Comrie had been caressing York's hair, and put his hand over Janne's. There were still lingering insecurities between the two couples whenever they gathered together, despite York and Comrie's collaboration to get Eric and Janne together. Showing affection was one of the stepping stones they had to cross.

Janne smiled brightly when Eric took his hand. He'd noticed how comfortable York and Comrie had been as well.

Comrie sighed, drawing their attention to him. "You two are so great together."

Eric smirked. "It took a lot of work."

Grinning, Janne rested his head against Eric's shoulder. "Not everything can be perfect right away."

The evening had started off with dinner at York and Comrie's apartment, and slowly ended up in the living room with several bottles of wine. Celebrating Eric and Janne's relationship had been the main focus, but the team having clinched a playoffs spot had been in the back of their minds. York and Comrie had convinced Janne and Eric to try dating, and with their help the relationship had helped bring the four closer.

York yawned as he suddenly sat up. "I think I should get more wine."

Comrie held him down by the shoulders. "No. We don't need any more wine."

"Not for you guys, for me." York laughed, trying to stand again.

Grabbing him by the waist this time, Comrie held him in place. "Don't."

"Or what?" York quirked an eyebrow, running his hand up Comrie's arm. His hand moved up, until his knuckles brushed down Comrie's face. York brushed his lips against Comrie's cheek, slowly moving closer.

Eric cleared his throat as he nudged Janne and stood. "Well, I think we should be going."

Breaking away from the distraction of each other, York and Comrie looked at the other two men.

"Thank you for dinner." Janne quickly chimed in.

"We can walk you out." Comrie stood, letting York slide off him and onto the cushions. Mike paused before following Eric and Janne to the door. "I mean I can walk you out."

They made their way to the door, leaving York by himself. Eric took both his and Janne's coats off the rack before giving Mike a quick smile.

"I'm glad we're friends, Mike." He said, pulling on his coat.

Mike grinned, hugging him and pressing his lips quickly against Eric's cheek. "I'm glad you finally got used to the idea."

Eric blushed, nodding in admission.

Mike turned to Janne, "You've taught him better than I could." He pulled him into a quick parting hug as well, though it was still slightly more cautious than the one he shared with Eric, it still held the same sentiment.

"I suppose I did." Janne grinned, stepping towards the door.

Mike waved them out, exchanging goodnights and closing the door behind them. He stopped to enjoy the happy atmosphere of the apartment. He never thought he'd be welcoming Eric and Janne into his apartment as a couple, especially after the problems that stemmed from his memory loss those short months ago. With hockey filling that time, they'd barely had time to blink, let alone strengthen relationships.

Grinning to himself, he locked the door and returned to the living room. York had moved from the loveseat to the couch, and had another bottle of wine opened.

"Hey baby." York noticed Comrie had returned to the room and smiled widely. "I missed you."

Comrie folded his arms across his chest, and gave York a half grin. "I shouldn't let you drink."

"It's just wine. It's not bad. It's not like I'm an alcoholic." He patted the spot next to him, "Come sit with me."

Comrie sighed, slowly crossing the room to sit down. He settled next to York, resting his head against his shoulder. "This was a nice night."

"Nice and normal. Everyone is finally happy." York put his arm around Comrie's shoulder, kissing his temple when he finished speaking.

Raising his eyebrows, Comrie exhaled with a smirk. "That's not really the response I was looking for, but I'll take it."

York rested his head against Comrie's, chuckling. "I lose my eloquence with words when I drink, I'm sorry."