Chapter Text
Mack was drunk. Like, really fucking drunk.
He’s not sloppy to start, just feeling loose, laughs coming easily, big gummy smiles being given freely.
He was always so in control; some have argued maybe too in control, that maybe he needed to let go a little more, a little more often. He barely ever allows himself to drink to a point of losing that hard-earned control, unless he feels truly safe and comfortable.
He’s with a good group; Aiden’s here, which is enough to let him relax and enjoy the company, music, and vibes. He was surrounded by people he trusted on and off the ice, but there were also so many strangers; every bar was busy, the streets were packed. But he is safe - and so damn tired - safe enough to get fucked up, tired enough to let his hair down so to speak, but not to get sloppy.
He couldn’t even try to lie about it; the easy smiles and giggles he was sending, and the slight slur to his words, gave him away even before lunchtime. He had been borderline giddy on seeing Will, even if they only briefly met, just for a drink (or two) early in the day before going their separate ways.
He was always tactile - it was his nature - one of the things he actually loved about it. But he had been particularly touchy with his friends today, had draped himself across Aiden’s back a few times, enjoying the scent of him, his brother, the safe-family-pack feeling his warm, woodsy scent evoked as it wafted off of him. These were all people he considered pack at one point, even if only for a year; he had sat with them on his knee, had wrapped an arm around shoulders, rested his head briefly against someone's back when he needed a minute to take a breath.
There was a small voice in the back of his head telling him he should probably be a little concerned about the number of videos and pictures that had been taken through the day, but he was choosing to actively ignore it. Generational talent, franchise savior Macklin Celebrini was also just a 19-year-old kid. Today he wanted to just be Mack.
What could end up on the internet was not a problem today, and pictures or videos of him would be posted no matter how well-behaved he was, so he might as well be himself. That was tomorrow Mack’s problem; today’s Mack was having fun.
He wasn’t one to complain (Will would laugh out loud if Mack said this to him, having had to listen to Mack complain about basically every little thing to happen to him ever, but Mack would continue to deny it until he was blue in the face. He wasn’t one to complain about his life as a whole - small inconveniences, on the other hand, well maybe he could bitch a little.)
He was so happy and grateful for everything he had accomplished, knew that he had worked hard and was still working hard every day for it, harder than most probably knew. He faced setback after setback, injuries, challenges, and criticisms his whole life - but he had also been very privileged. Some would say he was lucky, that he had been born to affluent parents who loved and cherished him, who never saw what he was as something that would hold him back, but just another thing that made him special.
He loved his life, he loved hockey, the team, he loved -
But the gratitude didn’t make exhaustion disappear, and he was so damn tired.
He wasn't one to complain, but sometimes it was just so much. The pressure. The weight on his shoulders. Sometimes - in the quiet of a hotel room - he would think about Atlas, who had borne the literal weight of the world.
Will sometimes went on mythology deep dives, claiming it was leftover childhood curiosity. Mack just thought Will was a nerd at heart, making them sit through one YouTube mythology documentary after another. He would often nap through them, content to drift in and out of slumber, leaning further into Will’s warmth, happy to just be in Will’s company, soaking up his crisp and calm scent of kelp and driftwood, freshest when he was relaxed and happy.
He had been somewhere between awake and asleep, lying curled in a fetal position, mostly on his side, but tilted forward, his face buried in a blanket freshly scented by the team. His head rested on a throw pillow right by Will’s thigh as he drifted between realities when the narrator's calming voice started telling Atlas’ story. Mack had felt himself stiffen, had felt Will's hand still for a moment where he had been running it lightly, slowly up and down his back. They were both patchless, the way they usually were when alone together. Will’s scent had spiked; the serenity of seasalt and sandalwood twisting briefly, a flash of unsettled surf. Mack hadn't opened his eyes, had forced his breathing to stay even, but he was wide awake, focusing on the scents on the blanket at his nose, on the steady rhythm of Will's hand on his back, swallowing around the sadness threatening to spill out into his own scent.
Mack would sometimes feel like he was choking, suffocating as the pressure and weight started to feel crushing. The feeling crept over him on those nights, after rough games; it didn't matter if they had won or lost. There were games when Mack felt like the team had carried him. Games when he disappointed himself with no points, or by taking unnecessary penalties. The nights when he left feeling like he didn't perform, didn't give as much as people expected to be able to take from him, when he would feel like he had failed himself and the team.
He figured Will already knew, figured the Alpha could read him better than anyone else in every other aspect of his life; why wouldn't he know this already too? So Mack would say it out loud, in the safety of darkness, in the anonymity of a hotel room they would probably never see the inside of again, or on the safety of his own couch. He never revealed everything; there were some things he thought he maybe wanted to say, wanted Will to know, but couldn’t find the words for.
It was the worst after the Olympics, when Mack had felt the strongest kinship with Atlas. The games themselves a constant reminder, the history and the symbolism never being lost on him. He had felt the weight of all of Canada, of the guys who had waited years for a chance to play, but he had been chosen over some of them, and he had let them down. Had let everyone down.
He had been told over and over again by so many different people, and he knew they were right; he had said the same things to people before: it's a team sport, it's not on one person, everyone is human, one goal is all it takes to turn a game, and on and on.
But - it is always easier to believe something when you’re saying it to someone else rather than hearing it yourself - easier to give advice than to take it.
He had voiced it then, finally given that thing he had been too scared to say power, by putting it into words, his biggest fear, the thing that held him down, never held him back, but felt like a boulder being pulled behind him, some sick twisting of Atlas and Sisyphus. The thing he had never said out loud; he had confessed it, in his safest place, with his safest person.
“I’m scared we lost because of me,” he had mumbled, curled together, for the first time not on the couch, or a bed in a hotel room, but in Mack’s nest, face buried against a soft neck, nose nuzzling lightly and breathing in the warmth of Will’s ocean-rich scent, cedar and hints of rough surf breaking the waves. Will's own anxiety and protective instincts sparked in response to Mack’s usually fresh, citrus scent turning sour and frost-bitten as the sadness he had been holding at bay took over. He took a deep breath as blond curls tickled his forehead. “I'm scared it’s because I'm an omega.”
He had felt the way Will had tensed for a single breath, before a small shudder and disbelieving chuckle had washed over him. “Mack, sweetheart, Sid is an omega too. Do you think it was his fault? Do you think his designation held you back as a team?”
Mack had known he was right, had brushed it off, hadn't said anything else, even though there was so much more he wanted to say. He had wanted to tell Will everything -
He was tired. He wanted to have fun.
So he got drunk, not because he was sad or tired, but because he wanted to. Because he could, maybe not legally but whatever. He was having fun, and he didn't really give a fuck what anyone would have to say about it. He had given up on trying to hide it sometime around the keg stand. Not that he wanted to or would -he wasn’t embarrassed- getting drunk had been the point, had been the plan.
It was Marmon. Being (maybe a little sloppy) drunk was like, mandatory if you weren't running.
What had not been the plan, however, was being cornered by Cole Hutson of all people and fucking mercilessly teased all day about Will.
At first he had laughed it off, having seen the Alpha only hours before, scent still fresh in his memories, hints of it on his clothes from where Will had run his wrist across his back when they hugged, from where Mack had lightly nuzzled into his neck. It hadn't been long since they had seen each other; the season only just ended, but long enough for Mack to become acutely aware of the distance. He had been able to scent the slight disappointment on Will when the alpha had realized Mack was wearing patches, when Will had nosed back at Mack’s neck only to be met with nothing.
So, he had been able to laugh along, let Cole tease lightly when Mack had joined up with him and the guys later than he had planned because, of course, he and Will had lost track of time just a bit - never wanting to say goodbye.
“Couldn't drag yourself away, huh? You haven't seen us in forever, but you'd still rather be with Smit?” his tone had been light, easygoing, and obviously joking. Mack had smiled brightly, letting a huff of laughter escape him; he hadn’t let the ‘I would always rather be with him’ that had popped into his mind out, had locked the words away, into the little box in his brain labeled ‘do not think about’.
A few hours and many drinks later, the evening was wearing on. The chaos had calmed, the crowds clearing and the energy levels dropping. Cole had teased him a few more times, little comments here and there that had always prompted laughter from the group; he understood it, they were still guys, they chirped and teased, and right now, the Will of it all was Mack’s open net.
Mack could feel the telltale signs of a headache beginning to bloom behind his eyes; that was the curse with day drinking, a hangover starting at 10 pm. He was practically vibrating in his seat on the couch. They had made it back to someone's apartment - he couldn't quite remember whose - but it smelled familiar enough. His eyes kept drooping closed, but the buzzing under his skin kept him grounded.
“- I mean, I have another year at BU, but I think I'll be ready next year; the summer will be good for training,” Aiden was saying, one arm around the back of the couch behind Mack.
“Think you'll go straight to the show? Or spend some time in the AHL?” Mack couldn't quite pick out who had asked, but he could feel the way Aiden straightened slightly before sinking back into the couch.
“Probably not. Some more development wouldn't be the worst thing in the world; we can't all be superstars,” he nudged Mack’s shoulder teasingly as he said it, a few more chuckles ringing out across the room, “I just want to play, right?”
“Heyyyyy -,” it was more slurred than he had hoped, “I’m here for a good time, not to be attacked or however it goes-”
Mack was interrupted by Cole, “Oh mini-Celly, don't be like that, you know we're all proud of you, yeah? What you and Smit are building is pretty insane.”
“It’s not just the two of us though, the team is amazing, Dickie, Mis, the vets -”
“We know, we know, honestly, you would think you’d have learned how to take a compliment by now,” someone else joked. Mack felt his cheeks heating; he hated how these conversations went, the way the guys would revere him sometimes.
“Hard work, though,” He replied, flatter than he meant it to be, losing the last of the energy he had in reserve. “It's kinda mad sometimes, right? One minute I'm being praised and then next questioned and doubted, hard not to take it all with a pinch of salt yeah?”
“You know all about hard work, heard some of the guys saying you’re planning some kinda training bootcamp up in Van for the summer?” He had been so thankful in that moment for the subtle subject change, for the way the guys could pick up on his mood, knowing he was never one to sing his own praises, even with his scent hidden, even bathed in blockers and a patch on every gland; these boys knew him well enough to know he was verging on self-deprecating.
“Smitty joining you at any point at camp Celebrini?” Cole asks, the same teasing tone in his voice he had had every time Will had come up throughout the day.
Aiden’s arm tenses behind him again, and Mack can barely hold back the sigh he wants to let out.
“Think so, maybe late July?” he replies, more of a question than an answer.
“Trouble in paradise? You seemed so happy after seeing him this morning, didn't think you two could stand to be away from each other that long,” Cole goes on, tone still light and teasing; a few laughs sound around them, and Mack takes it back; these idiots are fucking useless, he wants to scream at them to read the room, to let it go.
“We’re busy, yeah? He has a bunch of spon and PR shit this summer, and his own training, and contract talks -”
“Ooh, did I hit a nerve? I’m sure you'll survive without him if he doesn't make it,” there's the slightest sneer in Cole's voice now, knowing he had hit the mark, the teasing light but just pushing the boundary towards getting a little too personal.
“It’s not that deep; I'm sure he'll make it if he can. That's the plan for now anyway,” Mack replies, standing as casually as he can, muttering out a ‘bathroom’ as he tries not to stumble on his way out. He can feel a few eyes trailing him as he goes.
Fuck, he wants to leave, wants his nest, wants -
*
Mack misses Boston sometimes; during the season, he had only spent a year there, but it had been one of the first places he had felt settled. He hadn’t known if he would go straight to the show, hadn’t decided if he would sign his ELC immediately after the draft, so he had cultivated relationships, let his guard down, and let himself get close. His pack bond with Aiden had been refreshed, strained, and pulled taut after their year apart.
He trains on and off in the days after Marmon, a few gym sessions and a couple of hours here and there on the ice, but more than anything, he tries to give himself some peace, to take a break. He knows he has earned it - knows he deserves it. He goes to the cinema, out for dinner, and spends time with Aiden and the boys.
He and Will meet for a gym session; Will manages to talk Mack into coming to the BC campus gym. Will picks him up, even though Mack says he can just Uber; it's out of the way, but Will insists, and Mack doesn’t bother to argue too hard. He pulls up, tank top showing off his already bronzing skin and shorts hugging his thighs, sunglasses and a backward cap on, and Mack can’t help but take a minute to appreciate him.
“What you staring at, weirdo?” Will asks, a small smile on his face in greeting - he knows fine well he looks good.
“Nothing, just your ugly mug,” Mack replies without thinking, their banter automatic at this point.
“Sure, sure, how you doing anyways? Recovered from the Marmon hangover?”
“Fuck, that was bad,” Mack shudders thinking about it; he had suffered the next day, had barely left his nest, only to vomit once or twice and collect his DoorDash delivery, a feast of greasy cheat food he felt absolutely zero guilt shoveling down, complaining when Aiden teased him about being a lightweight.
“You were pretty fucked up, s’not like you.”
“Maybe I just wanted to let loose a bit. You can't exactly judge, dude, you weren't much better.”
“Yeah, but I didn't get caught on video multiple times.”
“Not my fault the people love me,” Mack shoots back, tone dripping with snark.
“Not all of us can be a superstar, I suppose,” Will replies just as quickly.
“Fuck off, I deserve to have fun,” Mack replies, trying to keep the jokey tone going, but he knows Will sees right through him, as he always does.
“‘Course ya do, dude, I'm just teasing, you’re so easy,” Will laughs brightly, letting the tone in the car reset. They fill the rest of the drive with easy chatter, just catching up on the past few days. The conversation never wavers, continues the whole way into the gym, only really taking breaks during their sets.
They work legs, deadlifts, barbell, and split squats, spotting each other easily, encouraging and hyping each other up as they go. They superset with bursts of cardio, mountain climbers, high knees, or fast feet. Mack drinks from Will’s bottle, knowing he always has the best flavor pre-workout, not even reacting to Will's complaints, just waving him off. Will casually adjusts Mack's shirt when it gets caught during one of his squat sets. And they compete over every little thing, pushing each other to work harder, one more set, one more push. Mack’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much by the time they are back in the locker room, showering off quickly before dressing.
“What you got going on now?” Will asks, a small smile on his face; it's still early in the day.
“Nothing much planned, maybe grabbing dinner with the Hutsons and Aid later. Obviously saw Cole at Marmon, but Lane wasn’t there. Will be good to see him.” Mack replies easily, “What about you?”
“Just chilling, have an afternoon ice slot but not till later, wanna grab a coffee and lunch somewhere close by?”
“Let me guess, you saw a new place on TikTok that wasn’t open when we lived here, and you just have to try it?”
“Hey! You always like the places I pick out!” Will looks genuinely affronted; Mack feels only a little bad, throwing him a wide apologetic smile. Will's scent blooms a little in response, sun-warmed, and salty, shooting his own beaming smile back at Mack as he leans over to grab his bag.
“Yes, yes, fine, I could eat,” Mack replies.
“You can always eat,” Will mutters back.
Mack flips Will the bird with one hand in response, not looking up at him as he does, reaching into his own bag with the other and pulling out a battered box of patches, the cardboard fraying and torn.
“What's so exciting about this place then?” He asks as he reaches into the box - only to be met with nothing. It’s empty - fuck. His scent must spike with panic, because Will bristles, nostrils flaring slightly.
“What's wrong?” He asks, coming closer, a hand on Mack's arm, firm and grounding.
“It's nothing, not a big deal, I just - um, I ran out of patches,” Mack replies, trying to get his scent to calm; he is around Will without them often enough; that's not the problem. He just doesn't go out in public without them. Ever. He hates how expressive his scent can be, how he can’t hide; he leans into the safety of wearing patches, of knowing strangers can’t read him. Knowing it’s not immediately obvious he is an omega without his scent giving him away.
It’s not about shame - he isn't ashamed - it's not - it's about feeling safe. He knows people know his designation; it was the talk of the town when he was drafted, and even before that, ‘Macklin Celebrini, Omega’ had followed him for years; it's not a secret. There have been enough ‘think pieces’ about him and his designation and ‘what it means for hockey’ since the Olympics alone that he knows, if everyone didn't know before, they do now. Comes with living in the spotlight. But maybe, sometimes, he wants a little anonymity, wants to keep something to himself.
“Oh, um, I have some, but they’re alpha-specific? I don't know if it's just marketing or, like, are the pheromones different? Do they work differently?” Will replies, starting to rummage through his bag.
“I don't think- um, yeah, I usually use omega-specific ones. I think they’re like, stronger or something? Or have a different composition, I don't know, though,” Mack replies, voice a little flat and unsure.
“Mack, it'll be fine, it's just a cafe. Maybe - I don't know - maybe it'll be good for you? To like, go out without them? I know you don't love doing it, but like, you're safe with me, yeah? Maybe it’ll be good to know nothing bad happens if you don't wear them?” Will is looking at him as he says it, eyes bright and so earnest, so pretty, that Mack kind of melts. He lets his anxiety fade, focuses on the steadiness of Will's own aroma, and nods.
Mack fidgets the whole drive, plays with his fingers, tugs on a loose thread on his shorts, puts the window up and down, until Will sighs and grabs both his hands in one of his and holds them still against Mack's own thigh. It's not a totally unprecedented gesture; Will has done the same thing enough times driving to games for Mack to not be surprised. He is surprised, though, by how easily he settles once Will is touching him. How easily he gives in to the alpha.
“Better?” Will asks, not a hint of teasing in his tone, the question so genuine.
“Yeah, thank you.”
They drive the rest of the way without conversation, letting the soft music wash over them, just enjoying each other's company.
The cafe is busy; a queue from the counter all the way to the door, baristas and servers flittering around behind the counter and between tables; there are a few empty tables, most people getting takeaway orders. Will shoots him a glance as they walk in, concern clear on his face. “Sorry, I didn't think - lunch rush - I guess other people saw the same TikTok I did,” he shrugs a little as he says it.
“No. No - it's, it's okay, you're right, it's not that big a deal, right? Most people don't wear them all the time - I'm okay.” Mack replies, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. It's the thought that matters, though, right?
“Wanna sit outside? It's sunny, and maybe that'll be less overwhelming?” Will asks, so easily knowing exactly what Mack needs even when he doesn't know himself.
“Yeah, yeah, yes. That would be better,” He replies with a sigh of relief he can't stop. “Wanna grab two menus and I'll get a table?” They had passed a few empty ones on the way in; he already knows which one he wants, far from the outdoor trash can and in the sun.
“For sure, want me to order us coffees now or wait and get them with food?”
“Let's wait, I wanna see what they've got first.”
Mack turns, heading straight for the picnic-style table; he had seen that it was, thankfully, still free. He doesn't wait long, Will climbing in across from him not long after.
They peruse the menus, Will deciding quickly while Mack looks a little longer, having to ask a server for more time when he wanders over. He can't decide if he's more in the mood for lunch or brunch food; the falafel plate, loaded with salads, dips, and bread, looks so good, but so does the Shakshukah.
“You’re always so indecisive,” Will teases.
“It all just looks so good! You know I'm a sucker for Middle Eastern food.”
“Yeah, I do. Why do you think I picked this place?”
Mack blushes, leaning over the table and smacking Will on his arm, “Don't be mean.”
“I wasn’t! I meant it; I saw a vid and immediately knew you’d like it. I was being nice.”
The server comes back at that exact moment, interrupting them as they giggle at each other. He has a fond smile on his face as he looks between them.
“We all good to order here?”
Will just stares at him, a smile tugging at his lips. “If princess over here has finally decided…”
Mack just makes an indignant noise in response, looking back at the menu. “You order, I need the pressure, I’ll, I don't know, just know in the moment.”
Will rolls his eyes, “Chili scramble please, but can I add avo, hashbrowns and bacon? And I’ll have a cold brew, light ice with one sweetener. He'll have a med-ice hazelnut latte, skim milk and…”
Mack looks up; he hadn't even had a chance to look at the drinks, too busy trying to decide on his food, but somehow Will knew exactly what he was in the mood for. His scent brightens, blood orange leaking from him. He can't help but glance at the server, who is smiling even wider than before.
“The falafel plate,” Mack finishes for Will, looking back at the alpha, who is leaning back a little, a self-satisfied smile on his face. Mack can't see his eyes behind his glasses, but imagines they're shining bright.
They chat away through lunch; it's as good as he thought it looked, and he tells Will as much. Practically forgets about not wearing a patch, feeling comfortable and safe. Exactly as Will had said; nothing bad happened.
“What’s your plan for the rest of the week then? You head back to San Jose soon to get ready for Worlds, right?”
“Yeah, I’m meeting up with Dickie this weekend; we're gonna go bar hopping, a last hurrah before we have to lock back in.”
“We should get dinner, could ask Gabo to join us or something if you want? You've not seen him; he was asking how you are. Maybe we can go to Strega, something nice before you go?”
“Hmm, yeah, sounds good. You could come out with me and Dickie too, we’ve not gotten fucked up together in ages,” Mack replies, drawing out the last word. “Could be fun.”
“What night is that again?”
“Friday, we fly back to San Jose on Tuesday.”
“Think Voter is having the boys to his on Friday night, already said I'd go, but I'll see how the night goes, let you know if I'm gonna come meet you, yeah? But dinner Sunday, for sure if I don't see you Friday?”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
**
Will doesn't show; he doesn't text or call or anything to let them know he isn't coming.
And it shouldn't matter; it wasn't a set plan. He didn't like, cancel, or ditch them or him or whatever, but it is so unlike Will; he is chronically attached to his phone - and he knows how Mack can be, how he hates the unknown. Part of him is genuinely concerned about him, worried that maybe something had happened.
He doesn't say anything, keeps a smile on his face, and is having a good night; Sam is always good company. The alpha is so laid back and easy to be around, kind and funny, and Mack honestly adores him, so it's not hard to put it out of his mind for a while.
He lets the drinks flow, chatting to strangers and flirting with men and women, never taking it far enough to mean anything. Makes out with a female beta in a cowboy hat on the dance floor of a random country bar; Sam cheers, egging him on and making him laugh into her mouth - but that's okay because she is laughing too, the high-pitched ‘woo’s’ from her own girlfriends setting them both off again.
It's easy. With Sam, he never feels the need to perform; it's similar to how he feels with Will, but maybe even easier sometimes, because there isn't the undercurrent of something between him and Sam. He doesn't feel like he has to impress Sam; he can just be himself.
He gets back to their table, having said pleasant goodbyes to the girl, not wanting anything else, just enjoying the kiss. He folds away a fleeting thought of wishing it were someone else, packs it up in the box in his mind, and lets himself melt into the comfort of having someone close. He is a little sweaty, hair wet at his nape, cheeks flushed.
“Bro, she was smokin’, you not gonna hit that?”
“Don’t be crass Dickie, can’t a man just enjoy an innocent kiss without it-”
“Aw, Mackie, you're so sensitive sometimes. I'm just teasing, I don't really give a fuck what you do with your dick, in fact, I would rather not think about it.” Sam screws up his face, mocking disgust; Mack thumps him in response, but can't help but laugh.
“Oh, I bet you would love to know, but maybe not my dick, maybe what I can do with other peo-”
“No, no, nope, you’re a virgin, the virgin Mary who will immaculately conceive the next hockey Jesus,” Dickie replies, throwing his hand up to cover Mack's mouth. Mack licks him in response, to Sam’s absolute horror.
They both lose it then, laughing obnoxiously loudly right as the music pauses, a brief interlude before the next song starts. The dirty looks thrown at them by the band on the small stage in the corner set them off again, leaving them doubled over, laughing even louder.
“Okay, let's get out of here, next bar?” Mack says, finally righting himself, wiping a tear from his eye.
Sam nods, lifting his beer bottle and downing the rest.
They're walking to the next bar Sam had chosen, having picked a few each and figured out a route beforehand; Sam's scrolling on his phone while Mack chats away, his brain-to-mouth filter even looser with the alcohol coursing through him. He must bring up Will without even realizing, because Sam looks at him curiously.
“Where is Smitty tonight? I thought you said he might join us?”
Mack can't help the way his mood immediately plummets; Sam must see something in his face because his own turns worried.
“You're not fighting, or something, are you?” He asks, immediately assuming the worst, his scent going slightly stale, sharper with worry. Mack almost wishes he could say yes, give a valid reason for having such a visceral reaction; fuck, he is glad he is wearing patches tonight.
“Nah man, he just had plans with the BC boys, thought he might come after but, I don't know, thought he would,” Mack pauses, taking a breath, hiccuping a little, but his speech not at the point of slurring yet, “like, let us know he wasn’t coming or whatever, hearing nothing-”
“I’m sure he's fine, Mack, I know how you get, like to know where everyone is and what we're all doing, proper little pack herder you are,” Sam teases, trying to lighten the slightly soured mood.
“Fuck off, I know he’s fine, just y’know, a text would have been nice.”
“Aw look, here, Voters' private Insta story - he’s fine.” Sam holds his phone up to him; Mack has to squint a little, the screen swimming slightly; Sam not exactly holding it still doesn't help. He can see enough though; Vote has taken a group shot, a group of about eight guys all squished into a small apartment living room, some lounging on a couch, others standing around or sitting on the floor.
Will is sitting on the floor with one leg bent up, the other straight in front of him, one arm resting on his knee, a beer hanging precariously in his hand. His other is by his side, right up against the thigh of the guy next to him, against Ryan's thigh; their sides are pressed close, Ryan's arm around Will’s shoulder, holding a beer of his own. They’re not paying attention to the camera, heads bent together; Will’s mouth is open, mid-sentence, and his face is serious; they are clearly deep in conversation.
Mack can’t help the pang of something he feels, chalks the light nausea that rolls through him down to the alcohol.
He is once again so glad he’s wearing patches.
“See, Mackie, all good, everyone is good.”
Mack forces a smile onto his face, tugging Sam onwards, “Come on, I want another drink.” He says in lieu of a proper response.
They continue to drink, dancing and laughing, and Mack makes out with two more people. A very pretty male omega, with pretty blue eyes and blond curls, which Mack threads his fingers into and tugs a little; the other boy, Ben, gasps lightly into Mack's mouth, before trailing a hand down to cup Mack’s ass. Mack pulls away, then smiles coyly at him, shaking his head a little. He catches the small look of disappointment shot his way; he smiles again, shrugs, and turns around. He means to look for Sam, but instead he makes eye contact with a tall, dark, and handsome alpha who is looking him up and down, a slightly predatory look in his eye. He, James, had a thick dark beard that leaves Mack’s face tingling when they finally pull apart. If Mack swings his hips a little more than usual as he walks away, it’s no one's business.
He resoundingly ignores the very pointed look Sam shoots him when he gets back to the bar, downs the vodka Coke Sam had ordered for him, and orders four shots of tequila.
“Whoa, you good, Mack? Going hard tonight?”
“Fuck yeah. Last blowout before Worlds, right?” Mack replies, his words now starting to slur.
“Fuck yeah,” Sam laughs.
The bartender sets the tequila down, shooting them an exasperated look as they laugh at each other. They salt the backs of each other's hands, hook their arms together, lick the salt, throw back the shots, one after the other, shuddering as they bite into the lime.
Everything after that is a bit of a blur.