Chapter Text
They moved in on a Tuesday bright with early-May sun.
Most of their friends and teammates had gone home as soon as spring semester ended, but Mack and Will each needed one stray summer credit to stay on track. Nothing brutal. One class apiece, a couple afternoons a week; just enough to keep them in Boston while the city emptied out around campus.
They’d been talking about living together since March, in the vague, noncommittal way you talk about things that already feel decided. It was practical. They trained together and spent most of their time in the same space anyway.
The apartment wasn’t impressive. Second floor, slightly crooked blinds, scuffed hardwood that looked better in dim light. Two small bedrooms on opposite sides of a narrow hallway, a living room that would only feel big if the windows were open, and a kitchen that required one of them to step aside if the other wanted to pass through. It was temporary in the way summer places always are - functional, close to campus, good enough.
Will claimed the room with the slightly bigger window. Mack didn’t argue.
By late afternoon, they had mostly finished moving in.
The beds were made, the table assembled, and the kitchen stuff was mostly where it belonged. Mack had wanted to get it squared away so they wouldn’t have to deal with it later. Will didn’t really care either way, but he helped without comment, tightening screws and dragging boxes into the hall like it was just another drill they were running through together.
At some point, Will had placed a framed photo from their spring break trip to the beach on the bookshelf.
“Your mom printed that, didn’t she?” Mack teased.
“She did,” Will said with a grin. “She kept going on about how we can’t live forever like we’re still in a freshman dorm.”
“Speak for yourself,” Mack said, laughing as he leaned in to get a closer look at it.
They were both shirtless in the picture, sunburned at the edges, squinting into the light. Will was mid-laugh, head tipped back a little, teeth showing in that slightly ridiculous grin he got sometimes. His hair was a mess from the wind. Sand stuck to his shoulder.
He looked good.
Mack nudged the frame straighter and stepped back.
The photo stayed.
They ordered takeout that night and ate at the table they’d just finished putting together, cartons spread between them, elbows knocking every now and then.
It felt easy.
That was the word for them most of the time. Easy.
They had been easy since freshman year, since early morning lifts and bus rides and the particular closeness that comes from playing on the same team, since late study nights that turned into sleeping on opposite ends of the same couch. Since the first time one of them had admitted frustration about something, and the other hadn’t laughed it off. The physical side of things had happened later, slowly, without announcement.
The first time had been framed as a joke.
The second time hadn’t been.
After that, it settled into something understood. It didn’t happen often. It didn’t require planning. It surfaced when it did and disappeared just as quickly. They never talked about it afterward. They didn’t need to. Nothing about it changed how they moved around each other the next day.
It was just another way they were close.
That night, after the food was gone and the light outside had softened into blue, Mack lay flat on the living room floor staring at the ceiling fan as it turned.
Will stretched out on the couch, one arm hanging over the side. The breeze pushed warm air across his face, lifting his hair every few seconds.
“Run tomorrow?” Mack asked from the floor, propping up on his elbows to look at Will.
Will shifted on the couch. “Yeah. Let’s go early. And I found a new coffee place we can hit after.”
Mack narrowed his eyes immediately. “The last place you found sucked.”
“It did not.”
Mack pulled a face at him, unimpressed, and Will let out a laugh. They both knew it had been terrible.
“Come on,” Will said, nudging his foot lightly against Mack’s shoulder. “If it’s bad this time, I’ll buy.”
Mack considered that. “Fine. But I’m picking the route.”
“Deal.”
The first few days of summer settled into routine quickly. Early runs. Driving to class together, Will on aux. Afternoon lifts. Movies at night, half-watching, half-talking over them. Will started cooking more, mostly because he had time. He tried out cleaner meals with lighter sauces and vegetables thrown into things purposefully instead of as an afterthought.
He figured he’d try to lean out a little - it wasn’t a decision so much as a quiet adjustment. Nothing crazy. Just a small cut while workouts were steady and life was simple.
One morning, around two weeks in, he found an old scale forgotten by previous residents under the bathroom sink while looking for a trash bag. He dragged it out absentmindedly and set it on the bathroom tile, stepping on without thinking too hard about it.
The number blinked and settled.
Lower than he expected.
He frowned slightly, then stepped off and back on again as if that might change it.
It didn’t.
Five pounds down from where he’d been at the end of the semester.
He stood there for a moment, considering.
He hadn’t been trying, not seriously. He’d just been moving more, eating a little cleaner. It made sense. Still, seeing it quantified did something small and sharp inside his chest.
Five looked good.
A small reflection of his new effort for consistency.
He slid the scale back against the wall, not hiding it exactly, but not leaving it in the center of the room either.
That afternoon, Mack and Will went to the gym for their afternoon lift, escaping the humidity outside.
Between sets, Mack stepped closer, looking Will over with an exaggerated squint.
“You’re leaning out,” Mack said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Look at you.”
He reached out and pressed his fingers lightly against Will’s side, just above his hip, as if testing firmness.
Will swatted him away, laughing. “Relax.”
“I’m serious. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”
Mack was proud. The kind of feeling that comes from seeing a teammate and friend working hard.
Will rolled his eyes like it didn’t matter, but warmth spread low and steady in his chest. He hadn’t been sure anyone would notice. Five pounds wasn't dramatic. He’d told himself it was barely visible.
But Mack saw it.
And that mattered more than he wanted to admit.
That night, they ended up on the couch, close enough that their shoulders touched. Mack’s knee bumped against his and stayed there. The game on TV blurred into background noise.
Will thought briefly about the number on the scale. Five.
It had felt good to see. Had felt even better to hear Mack’s praise.
He let his head tilt back against the couch cushion, eyes half on the screen.
Ten would probably feel better.
The thought hovered quietly, something to consider.