Chapter Text
There are many things about the world, and his life, that were, in Mack’s opinion, objective truths. Some include: the sky is blue; the grass is green; Macklin Celebrini is not a morning person; ice is cold; and in the Celebrini family, Macklin is a beta like mom, Aiden is an alpha like dad, and Charlie and RJ are omegas.
The first thing Macklin Celebrini noticed when he woke up was the fact that he was alone, which shouldn’t be anything of note, since he wakes up alone most days. Today, however, it was unusually apparent that he was the only one in his bed. It made him feel equivocally unsettled.
Abruptly, he thought of Will. He wished Will had slept over last night so he could wake up to the alpha’s snoring instead of in the middle of his bed with only the sound of his white noise machine to accompany him. He knew, it was an objective fact that he was subconsciously aware of, that Will would stop the restlessness in the back of his head. Which made his absence all the more noticeable.
The second thing Mack noticed that morning was the time. He groaned, pulling his blanket over his head after he caught sight of his alarm clock. He was up an hour too early, and the blanket over his head was a useless attempt to give sleep another chance to find him. However, Macklin could tell that this was no such time when he’d be able to go back to sleep.
After lying in bed for a very long three minutes, Mack gives up and decides to start his morning early. Grabbing his phone from off his bedside table, he unplugs it from its charger and unlocks it with his thumb.
He scrolls through notifications, finding nothing particularly noteworthy. Mack sighs and turns off his phone, rolling on his back and closing his eyes again. He wonders if Will is awake and briefly considers calling him to get him to come over earlier, but decides against it. He doesn’t need Will, and he doesn't want it to seem like he does.
While on his back, Mack takes note of himself in the typical morning process of becoming a conscious human being again. There’s a dull throbbing in his head, and an inexplicit restlessness in his body that he chalks up to the reason he woke up early, thinking nothing of it.
Sluggishly, Mack rolls out of bed; stands up; rubs a hand over his face, and then through his messy hair. He retrieves his phone from where it found its way under the covers, then makes his way to his en suite bathroom to get himself feeling more alive.
He’s at the sink washing his hands when he looks at himself in the mirror. God, he looks like a mess. His hair is sticking up in odd places, and he has flakes of, what he assumes to be, dried tears around his eyes. He washes his face with water, then runs his wet hands through his hair with decent success at taming it.
Finishing the rest of his bathroom routine, Mack thoughtlessly wanders around his room to find something to wear to practice. He opened his third drawer and pulled out some plain black joggers. Closing the drawer, he caught sight of a hoodie draped over the back of his desk chair. Pulling on the light, nylon cotton blend pants, Mack trudged over to grab the hoodie.
As soon as he picked it up, a comforting scent reached his nose. It smelled like Will. Warm, clean, smoky with a faint hint of sugar, and a whisper of sea salt. Mack brings the soft fabric to his nose and takes a deep breath. His brain stills, his thoughts quieter, headache dissapating, and his head slightly fuzzy as if the cotton of the hoodie became infused in his skull; but in a pleasant, comforting way. It makes the things he has to do and the places he has to be this morning seem less urgent and important.
This was the hoodie Will left at his place a little over a week ago, before their last roadie. It’s unusual that he can still pick up on so much of his scent when it’s that far removed from its source. Mack doesn’t dwell on that, though; the logic of the situation not really mattering to him in that moment. Instead, he hums happily and keeps his nose buried in the fabric for a few more seconds.
It’s after a jolt of awareness that Mack pulls away from the hoodie, and the realization of what he was doing hits him at once. Why the hell is he sniffing his best friend’s hoodie like some creepy overzealous omega fan? Mack closes his eyes only to give his head a quick shake, as if that would clear away the weird fog shrouding the sensible, lucid part of his brain.
Nevertheless, he takes his sleep shirt off and slips the hoodie on without any further thoughts about it. The next part of his getting-ready routine is to check his hockey bag to make sure he has everything he needs in it. It’s a bit of a weird experience for Mack to be getting ready at such a leisurely pace. Typically, he’d be scrambling to get out the door by now.
After confirming his bag is ready to go, he brings it with him as he leaves his bedroom and sets it by the front door. Mack makes his way to his kitchen and takes a moment to be grateful for his living situation. Jumbo’s house has an in-law suite, which he’s so graciously renting to Mack. It’s nice to have his own space while also being close to some familiar people.
Mack opens his fridge and stands there for a moment, blankly looking at its contents. Nothing in his fridge looks even remotely appealing. Mack glances at the time; there are forty-five whole minutes until Smitty arrives to pick him up for practice.
An unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling runs through him. Mack doesn’t quite know how to describe it. It’s like an anger- or frustration, maybe- at the fact that he has to choose what to eat. He doesn’t want to choose. He wants Will to get here now and make the choice for him, and he wants that so strongly that he almost whines before he catches himself.
Alright, what the hell is wrong with him? He is a fully capable and independent nineteen-year-old beta who is more than able to choose what to eat for breakfast without the assistance of his alpha best friend. He huffs, trying to push that whiny, needy feeling far away.
He reexamines the contents of his fridge with a new determination. His eyes lock on the carton of eggs, and he decides eggs and toast are a perfectly acceptable choice of food this morning. See? He is an independent beta, and he doesn’t need Will to hold his hand through picking breakfast.
Pulling out the carton of eggs, his stomach clenches uncomfortably in a way he’s not entirely sure is related to his choice of food. It's a strange clenching feeling that spreads across his abdomen like a web. It's not quite painful, but it's also distinctly different from anything he's ever felt before. This better not be food poisoning. Mack's been lucky enough to avoid getting any sort of food poisoning so far in his 19 years of life, and he's not really interested in breaking that streak.
Has he eaten anything out of the usual recently? Nothing that he can think of... While trying his best to recall everything he's eaten in the past few days- which is considerably hard since Mack can't remember what he ate for breakfast on a good day- his headache reminds him of its existence. Mack huffs, placing the carton of eggs down on the counter next to the stove, giving up on trying to remember his recent eating history, and returning to his bathroom.
For a reason Mack can’t really put into words, he doesn’t like to take medication when he’s in pain. He knows it’s a stupid -and very alphan- thing to be averse to. Maybe growing up around so many alpha hockey players has caused him to pick up on some of their, sometimes obnoxiously, prideful nature. But to Mack, taking pain medication feels like giving up and admitting defeat. And to add on to that list of objective truths, Macklin Celebrini never gives up.
In the end, with some very good persuasion from his stomach and head, Mack takes the medication. He’d rather take it and do better in practice than not take it and have the discomfort affect his playing. While taking it, he tells himself he absolutely could handle this discomfort on a different day. He's only taking it because he has practice today, and he can't have anything affecting his hockey. This doesn't somehow make him weak, or mean he has a low pain tolerance. He's been hit into the boards hard enough that this 'pain' he's feeling now pales in comparison.
He's only in his situation because he woke up too early. Not getting enough sleep can cause headaches, right? Mack's pretty sure. He probably just needs to drink more water today. He's not a doctor, but he knows dehydration definetly causes headaches, and it can probably also cause stomach issues. Or the stomach thing is because he's hungry. Hunger has never felt like this, but maybe not getting enough sleep and being dehydrated can cause hunger to feel different? Not that it matters. What matters is hockey, which brings him back to why it's not a cop out to take ibuprofen right now. Because Mack could handle this if he didn't have things to do today. He's sure of it.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Sitting down at the kitchen island after making his breakfast, Mack looks at his plate of food with apprehension. After doing all that work to make it, he's not really hungry anymore. He usually starts his morning with a protein shake, but he figured he'd make actual food with his extra time. That, and the fact that the idea of drinking his usual protein shake had his stomach churning even harder in disagreement. Mack grabs one out of his fridge anyway, since he really should put something in his body before practice today.
He tries his best, really, but after spending 10 minutes picking at his eggs and toast, and taking ony a few forceful sips of protein shake, he mostly gives up. Instead of staring at his breakfast like he can will his stomach to accept it, he pulls his phone out from the pocket of his joggers to pass the time. His eyes first lock on the time. 15 minutes until Will should be here. A thrum of anticipation trickles along his spine, and that unsettling restlessness that was at the back of his head when he woke up kicks back into gear.
Mack stands up and starts pacing. He's not sure why he's suddenly feeling so agitated, but he assumes it's just pent-up energy. Getting on the ice will fix whatever is causing that twitchy, jittery, uneasy feeling to creep into his nervous system. Without thinking, he lifts the hoodie- Will's hoodie- he's wearing to his nose. He stills, his pacing coming to a slow stop, and his brain settling. Mack sighs, relieved, and returns to his seat at the kitchen island.
While waiting for Will, Mack opens TikTok to pass the time; and manages to eat a few more bites of food. He doesn't think anything about the way his nose takes up occasional residence in Will's hoodie, because if Mack knows another objective truth: he and Will Smith naturally gravitate towards each other. Ever since their first pre-season camp, they’ve been stuck to each other's sides whenever they can be. They both ground each other, so Mack files away this slightly stronger than normal desire to be around Will without examining it too closely. Will is his best friend; of course, he’s going to want to see him again.
Mostly done with his breakfast, Mack sits back in his chair and refocuses his attention on scrolling through TikTok.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Even though he's was expecting him, Will walking through his front door makes him jump.
“Fuck. You scared the hell out of me.” Mack breathes, putting a hand on his chest.
Will stops, in the middle of swinging his keys around his finger, and looks at Mack in surprise.
“My bad. You look surprisingly awake for this early in the morning. Trouble sleeping?” He looks mildly concerned in the typical Alphan way that Mack usually rolls his eyes at. Today, it warms Mack in a pleasing way that makes him pause. He pauses, considers the feeling, thinks back to the breakfast dilemma, then immediately becomes irritated with himself. If he doesn't need Will to pick what he eats for breakfast, he sure as hell doesn't need him being concerned with Mack's sleeping patterns.
“Not really.” Mack wasn’t planning on saying more, but decides to elaborate after he gets a disbelieving look from Will, “I just woke up a bit early. You know, switching back to our time zone after the roadie and all.” he gestures vaguely, hoping to avoid more questioning.
The problem is, if there’s another objective truth about this world, it’s that nothing can come between Macklin Celebrini and sleeping through the night. He could be shitting-himself-nervous about the Olympics, or flying in from 3 times zones over, and he will still successfully snooze his alarm at least twice.
Thankfully, Will doesn’t push any further, even though it looks like he wants to for a good few seconds. Macklin has a sneaking suspicion that his choice to drop it is at least in part related to his elevated defensiveness this past week. Will and Mack don't really fight, but Mack will admit he's been a bit more prickly with Will the last few days. Nothing fight-worthy, but he has been more irritable recently. It's caused Will to be on the receiving end of some extra eyerolls and attitude, which he's honestly taken like a saint. Mack would feel worse about that if he weren’t so grateful for the fact that it's currently saving him from having to explain himself right now.
“Alright, superstar. Well, since we’re running early, do you want to stop for coffee?” Will asks, switching topics so easily, it makes the conflict anticipation, that Mack didn’t know he was feeling, drain out of his shoulders.
Mack moves to put his dishes in the sink as he thinks about how nothing seems less unappealing to him right now than sitting in a public cafe. With the dishes in the sink, Mack rounds the kitchen island, walking to the entryway, where Will is still standing, to put on his shoes.
Mack stops walking when he gets within six feet of Will. He takes a subtle deep breath through his nose and is mildly surprised. Will’s scent has always stood out to Macklin, and not in a bad way. He smells like clean laundry, freshly extinguished birthday cake candles, and a whisper of the ocean in an unobtrusive but classically New England way. The salty ocean smell was never particularly appealing to Mackin, but he never seemed to mind the way it smelled on Will.
He smells good today. Like, better-than-usual good. Saliva floods his mouth, which has him blink in surprised embarrassment. And, ok, Will’s scent always stood out to him in a good way, but never in this way. He's never felt this deep craving to smell more of him, to bury his nose in Will’s neck and just breathe. It startles him, and as he stops, considers, and realizes the desire shame washes through him hot and fluttery, like he just got into a car on a hot summer day.
It was just hitting him harder today, Will's scent. He must be in pre-rut. Yeah, that’s it, that would explain why today Mack’s inundated by the smell of clean clothes, birthdays, and the ocean breeze. Some distant part of his brain is trying to say that he doesn’t usually enjoy the peri-rut smell of Will; he’ll just notice it more. But that voice in his head is quite enough to ignore, so that’s exactly what Mack decides to do.
The choice to ignore the implications of everything atypical about today relates to yet another objective truth. Macklin Celebrini hates being sick. And faced with any signs of illness, he'll pretend and insist he's fine, as if not accepting the truth will make it false.
So no, Macklin isn’t coming down with something; it was just Will who’s different than usual.
“Are you going to be ok for the game today?” Mack asks, trying not to let on how disappointing a ‘no’ would be to him. Will gives him a confused look, which in turn confuses Mack. “You smell like pre-rut...” he says slowly. Will is usually very aware of his cycles, never needing to be told when a rut is coming on. This is why his confusion is confusing.
“Do I?” Will asks, sounding puzzled. He brings one of his wrists up to his nose, then the other. “No, I don’t. Do I actually? I shouldn’t?” he touches his hand to his neck, then smells again. “Maybe I’ll check with a trainer when we get there, because that would be concerning, and I don’t smell it on me.”
Mack suddenly feels unsure of himself now, so he takes a step closer and smells again, more intentionally this time. Will usually smells sharper before a rut, with the birthday candle smell intensifying; not that Mack pays particular attention to how his scent changes before a rut. You just pick up on things like that when your best friend is an alpha, and you're around him most of the time. Whatever, back to right now. Will definitely smells stronger overall, but not entirely different than usual.
“I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong. I'm just-” he doesn’t finish his sentence because he’s what? Paying more attention to how he smells today? There's no way he can think of explaining himself that won't make him sound weird. Mack tries his best to ignore the embarrassment that’s creeping up his spine. Maybe he should be the one going to the trainer, he thinks to himself sarcastically, wiping his dry forehead because he's suddenly convinced he's sweating.
“Anyway. I was going to ask if we could just go through the Starbucks drive-through or something. I didn’t want to go into anywhere.” He confesses, moving past Will to put his shoes on.
Will doesn’t answer for a moment, long enough that Mack has enough time to think about whether or not Will heard him, but not long enough for him to ask again.
“Sure, bud. We can do that.” He still sounded a little distracted, like he wasn’t entirely caught up in the conversation. When Mack looks up from retying one of his shoes, Will is studying him carefully. Before Mack can question his look, Will shrugs, picks up Mack’s gear bag, opens the door, and leads the way to his car.
Mack’s protesting scoff falls on deaf ears, seeing as Will was already out the door. Pulling his other shoe on, Mack joins him in the car, opening the passenger's door, as usual.
It’s when he gets into the car, door shutting behind him, that he’s really forced to consider something might be wrong with him. Because sitting in Will’s car surrounded by his scent in the same way he usually is every morning they have practice, Mack feels anything but normal about it.
That fuzzy feeling he got when his nose was pressed into Will’s hoodie earlier this morning returns, but more intensely now. He closes his eyes and practically melts into the seat. Of course, it only gets worse- or better?- when Will shuts the trunk and joins him in the driver’s seat.
The fresh smell of laundry and flames reaches his nose, and he’s suddenly having to swallow back saliva again. He feels slightly pathetic, sitting next to his best friend, practically drooling like an omega in heat. He's sure he'd feel a lot more pathetic if, at the present moment, his brain were able to function at full capacity. However, a good third of his brain is floating somewhere in a sea of candle flame-scented laundry. At least his headache is gone. That ibuprofen must finally be doing its job.
Will doesn’t say anything, just starts the car and pulls out of Jumbo’s driveway, since Mack being half asleep in his passenger seat is an almost everyday occurrence. And if Will realizes they made it the whole drive to Starbucks, then the rink without a single chirp from Mack about the song choice, then he certainly doesn’t say anything about it.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Will parks in their usual spot, and they sit in the car for a quiet moment after Will kills the engine. Will finishes what’s left of his coffee and sighs, “You ready, superstar?” He only gets a hum from Mack, who opens his eyes and pulls the hood of his- or, Will’s- sweater over his head.
Will laughs, short and breathy, then gets out of the car and moves to his trunk. Mack, brain still slightly weighed down with fog, manages to follow close enough behind that he can pick up his gear bag before Will. He doesn’t feel like entertaining any of the other guys’ potential chirps about it today. When he hoists his own bag onto his shoulder, Will gives the bag on Mack's shoulder a quick disapproving look, but makes no comment; wordlessly grabbing his own bag and shutting the trunk.
They walk side by side towards the front door, and Mack takes in the quiet morning. The fresh air sobers him from the floating feeling that clung to his brain in the car. He smiles, small and tired, at the chirping birds and weak sun that warms his face.
The locker room is surprisingly full when they arrive, and the second they enter, Mack's ears are assaulted by the, way-too-loud, cheerful greetings of his team. Mack briefly mourns the end of his slow, quiet morning.
“Yo, Smitty! Celly! Get over here!” The pair is immediately pulled into some conversation by Reavo’s loud voice. Mack winces at the sudden yelling, and Will, with his eagle-like eyesight for spotting Mack's discomfort, shoots him a questioning look. Mack doesn’t pay much attention to whatever the two alphas start talking about. He only knows that at some point, Ekky and Toff are dragged into it as well.
There’s nothing different about the atmosphere of the locker room today, not really. The only difference is Mack’s quiet absence from the general conversation. If Mack were a less stubborn individual, now might be the time he'd admit to himself that he may be coming down with some sort of cold. He's not, however, so even though he finds himself wishing he could turn the volume of the world down right now, despite the fact that the locker room isn't unusually loud, Mack doesn't let himself think much of his discomfort. He’s just noticing the loudness more today because of his lack of sleep, he shrugs.
Mack is silently putting on his gear while paying half attention to the conversation Will's engaged in. That restless feeling from earlier this morning is showing its ugly face again, and this time it's thrumming through Mack’s whole body. It’s showing up as an awareness, an itch, a frustration, a need to be somewhere other than right here, right now. Mack just wants to be out on the ice already. Away from all the loud talking, doing something that will settle him. Hockey always settles him…
And that craving, that almost need, to settle the restlessness made him think of Will. It makes him think of this morning, when he had his nose shoved into Will's hoodie and all the discomfort- the headache, that uneasy feeling, the warmth creeping beneath his skin, the stomach fluttering- melted away like cotton candy in water.
Mack blinks away the memory, hoping his face doesn’t look as red as it feels. It’s bad enough that he was huffing the scent off of Will’s hoodie this morning; he doesn’t need to now be reminiscing on doing that very thing in the middle of the locker room, surrounded by his teammates
Even with his preoccupation, Will notices that Mack’s feeling off, because he always notices Mack. At first, he shows it in glances. Will, still engaged in his conversation with Ekky, Reavo, and Toff, ever so often sends his assessing eyes Mack’s way. Mack pointedly ignores him, not really knowing how to explain that the locker room is just too much right now, because it’s never been too much before.
“... Remember that, Mack?” Will’s voice pulls his attention away from where he’s about to start putting on his skates. Mack hopes it’s not too obvious how utterly lost he is in this conversation, but at the same time, he doesn’t entirely care. Mack gives a very noncommittal hum, laugh, and shrug; not really responding, but doing just enough as not to completely ignore the fact that he was being spoken to.
Of course, Mack’s non-answer answer doesn’t satisfy Will, who clearly thinks that there’s something wrong with Mack this morning. Mack internally rolls his eyes at the apha’s overconcerned antics. Mack swears he could sneeze and the alpa would come running.
Will sits down on the bench next to Mack, still in the middle of the conversation that Mack is paying little to no attention to. While Toff is going on about something or other, Will slides close enough to Mack that he can speak for his ears only, “You good, Mackers?” His voice was light and carefree, but the heavier emphasis of smoke in his scent betrays the fact that he actually is worried.
“I’m fine…” Mack sighs, pulling a skate on with a little more aggression than needed. “I just-” He huffs, “It’s loud, you know?” He tries, despite knowing very well that Will would not know why the normal loud volume of the locker room would be bothering him.
Will frowns, thinking more than Mack would like about his slightly off behavior today. To rectify this, Mack plasters on a, hopefully, reassuring smile, “Waking up early just threw me off a bit. I’ll be better once we hit the ice.”He insists.
Will seems to accept this answer as good enough, because another objective truth: Macklin Celebrini does not like unexpected schedule changes. Going off Will's facial expressions, he knows he's not entirely in the clear. Will has that 'I'll check in with you later' look on his face that Mack dreads. Will turns his attention back to his conversation, but he remains sitting next to Mack as he continues lacing his skate.
Mack’s head pounds, as if protesting the excuse he just gave Will. And as the sound of the locker room presses in on him from all sides, all Mack can think is “I really fucking be better once I hit the ice.”