"Gil, I can't do this anymore," Matthew whispered. He looked up into the face of his boyfriend (who was currently wasted). "Every night you go out to some club and you come back like this, and then I have to take care of you."

"But it's your job to take care of me Mattie," Gilbert drawled. Matthew's eyes narrowed.

"It's not my job to do anything. I don't have to fix your sorry ass up when you have the worst hangover in the history of man. I don't have to help you find a new job whenever you get fired. I don't have to fix you three meals a day, and I certainly don't have to forgive you when you 'accidentally' cheat on me with somebody else!" And suddenly he was standing, staring cruelly into the surprised eyes of his albino lover. Matthew was usually what you would call timid (except when he was on the hockey rink), but in afterthought, he supposed everyone had a breaking point. "I can't do this anymore, Gilbert, because I honestly have no reason to stay in this relationship."

"Then leave." That was when he turned around and raced to their (well, now just Gilbert's) room and started collecting his clothes. His eyes seemed to be almost blinded-with tears or maybe even rage, he really couldn't tell the difference. Matthew zipped the bag and left-but paused for a second to grab his hockey gear. He brushed past Gilbert before stopping again to slip off the necklace he was wearing-a one year anniversary gift that Gil had mad for him. The metal piece glinted in the dim lighting of the living room-it was inscribed with the word 'always'.

"I don't need this anymore," he hissed as he pushed it against his ex-lover's chest. And then he was out the door and in the cool night air for a short while, before climbing into his car and leaving.

.o0o0o0o.

"Williams! Get over here," his coach yelled across the rink. Matthew sighed and skated quickly over to the side, where his coach was currently standing.

"Oooooh, you're in trouble!" His half-brother Alfred called over as the rest of the team laughed.

"Shut your fucking mouth, Jones," he barked back.

"Wow, kitty has claws!" The team broke out into raucous laughter again. God, he did not have the patience for Al's antics.

"Yeah and they'll rip your goddamn lungs out if you don't shut your trap, Al. Why don't you continue shoving burgers in your mouth like you usually do?" Alfred looked a little hurt by this (which kind of made Matthew feel bad, he'd have to apologize later). He turned around to where his coach was. "You wanted to talk to me, coach?"

"Yes I did. And you'll never believe it," he answered. Matthew raised his eyebrows. "Sports Illustrated wants to make you their cover story!" At this, he dropped his hockey stick and helmet.

"Oh my God," he whispered. "Oh my God! Are you serious? Holy shit! Alfred, c'mere!" He watched as he skated over in confusion.

"What's up?" He mentally sighed in relief that he wasn't still mad.

"Coach, tell him what you told me."

"Well, Sports Illustrated called us up and they want Williams to be their cover story." Alfred's eyes lit up.

"Dude, that's awesome!" He pushed Matthew's shoulder playfully. "You're gonna be famous. You're makin' mama proud right now!"

"Oh God, please do not start with that. You are not my mother," Matthew replied, although doing so in a playful tone.

"You hear that boys?!" The team stopped what they were doing to look at Al curiously. "Our little Mattie's gonna be a star!" The team laughed and cheered. "You guys know what that means right?" He slid his eyes over to look at Matthew, an evil glint in his eyes. "DOG PILE!"

"Oh fuck no-" And then he was pressed against the ice with more than a dozen heavy, sweaty hockey players on top of him.

In that moment, he completely forgot about last night's troubles.

.o0o0o0o.

Matthew glanced over at the calendar on the wall of Al's house. January 24, he thought. Our goddamn two year anniversary. It had been over a month since there break-up, and he hadn't heard a word from Gilbert since. He sighed and continued his current task.

"Alfred, where the hell is your maple syrup?" Lately, Matthew had become a little more-vulgar. He lived like he did on the rink, because goddamn, he didn't want to be a push over like he was before. Gilbert would've said that he was being 'awesome' because apparently Gil had always thought it was hot when Matthew was like that. "The fuck?" he whispered to himself. He shouldn't be thinking of that anymore.

"I hid it," he heard Al call through the house.

"Why would you do that?" he whined back.

"Because every time you come over, you use the whole bottle! And besides, if you eat too many pancakes, you'll throw up tonight like you did that one time when we were 7. Just imagine that on the front of Sports Illustrated-you next to a pile of throw up, and the title being 'Canadian Pretty Boy Loses His Lunch'," Alfred snickered. He heard the padding of bare feet go by him. Matthew plopped on the floor, his misery clear on his face. "Are you really that upset because I said something? I swear, you are as Canadian as they-" But he never finished. Matthew looked up to find Al's eyes trained on the calendar. "Oh my God, I am so sorry Mattie."

"It's whatever." He fought to keep his voice indifferent. "I can't let anything distract me. The game tonight is too important." It was true; tonight would decide if they participated in Nationals.

"You're not even nervous about the magazine interview and stuff?"

"No." That was a lie. He was extremely anxious, but he couldn't even imagine the teasing he would get if he admitted that. "Anyways, can you give me the syrup? I seriously can't make pancakes if I don't have syrup." Alfred chuckled and shook his head before reaching behind the curtain of the kitchen window.

"Here. Although I honestly don't know why you want pancakes for breakfast," he said as he handed Matthew the bottle. "Don't make too many," he added.

Matthew smiled and (finally) began to make pancakes. His phone rang, though, and he answered it without looking at the caller I.D. "Hello?"

"Mattie?" He froze at the sound of Gilbert's voice.

"Why the hell are you calling me," he hissed.

"Don't you know what today is?"

"I'm not an idiot, Gilbert, I know what the fucking date is. I don't have time for this. I've got a game tonight and I need to focus."

"Won't you just listen-"

"Before, maybe. But that was when I let you push me around. God, it's been a month, and you didn't even contact me. Jesus fuck, and then you call on the day of all days and expect me to listen to you?! Your routine may have worked on me before, but I just can't do that. Now leave me alone, I've got an important game tonight and Sports Illustrated is-" Fuck, he hadn't meant to say that much. "Nevermind." He ended the call angrily and continued stirring the pancake mix-albeit a little more harshly than before. "Alfred, did you want any?" Al turned to him in confusion at the calm tone of his voice.

"Aren't you angry?"

"Yes, but I need to focus. I'll let out the anger during the game-or better yet, if he even thinks about showing up I'll let it out by bashing his head into the wall. Did you want any pancakes?" Alfred blinked before answering.

"Are you going to put in chocolate chips?"

"Maybe."

"And make them into the shape of Mickey Mouse?"

"If you wanna feel 8 years old again, sure."

.o0o0o0o.

Matthew wrung his hands out. He had shown up early, as promised, for the interview. He looked up at the sound of the door to the locker room opening to see a pretty woman with curled blonde hair walk in.

"Hello, Matthew, I'm Lisa Hoyte from Sports Illustrated. I hope you didn't wait too long," she smiled apologetically, revealing her sparkling white teeth.

"No, I've only been here for a couple minutes," he said, flashing a smile of his own. Lisa blushed and took a seat on the bench adjacent to him. She took a pen out of her shirt pocket and opened her small notebook.

"Before we start, how much are you comfortable with me asking? Nothing will be included if you don't want it to be." He smirked, feeling a little more alive than ever since his break-up with Gilbert.

"I'm comfortable with anything, Lisa." She blushed once more and clicked her pen as she cleared her throat.

"A-alright. Full name and age?"

"Matthew Williams, 19."

"How long have you been playing hockey for?"

"Since I learned to walk, practically. I've been playing with my half-brother since we were about 4." Questions similar to these continued, until a peculiar one popped up.

"Are you currently in a relationship?" Matthew cocked an eyebrow and she blushed deeply.

"No, I just got out of a bad break-up." Lisa wrote on her notepad for a moment before ripping off a piece of paper and standing up. She handed it to him before walking towards the door. She paused before leaving.

"Call me." And she turned around and walked out the door. He looked down at the numbers on the paper.

"Yes," he whispered to himself. After a while, his team started filter in and they patted him on the back when he showed them the piece of paper with a smirk. He slowly began to get his gear together and put on; he was still curious as to where Alfred was, though, because he had yet to show up. He shrugged it off and pulled his jersey on. His teammates grew antsy as the game grew closer. Finally, Alfred walked into the room.

"Ah, sorry, Mattie, I got caught up in some...stuff." He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Alright, everyone, shut up for a sec," Matthew called out. The various chatter died out. "Alright. So obviously, this is an important game. But don't think of it as that; this is any other game. I believe in you guys, got it? We're a good team-a great team. I know that we can win this. So go out there and play like winners." The team cheered and hustled out of the locker room. His coach patted him on the back. He waited until everyone left the room until it was just him and Alfred (who was still putting on the last piece of his gear). "Al, fess up. Where the hell were you?"

"I just got held up in something that I was doing," he answered. Matthew narrowed his eyes.

"Whatever." He left the lockers, not too believing of the story Al had given him.

.o0o0o0o.

The crowd erupted into a collective roar when his team skated on the rink. Matthew was leading the players; he was the captain after all. When passing a group of girls (who were actually probably there for him) he winked and did a little wave-which sent them swooning. Matthew laughed but felt his heart pang when he remembered that he used to do that with Gilbert, and then ultimately jumping his bones afterwords because he'd be wearing his team's jersey.

Speaking of Gilbert-why the hell was he in the front of the crowd holding a sign with his name on it?

Their eyes met for an instance and Matthew swore he could see almost every word he wanted to hear-Matthew. I love you, and I need you. God, I was so stupid to let you leave. He felt his mouth open, but then closed it and shook it off. He had a game to play.

He stepped up to the middle, shook hands with the other captain, and the game commenced.

.o0o0o0o.

Matthew took his helmet off and shook the sweat out of his hair. Finally, it was half time and he could get water that his body was aching. He skated over to the sidelines-unfortunately the same side where Gilbert was sitting.

"Hey," Gilbert said. He still had that cocky smile (which he almost always wore-although there were times he could name that he didn't) but his eyes conveyed something different. "I made you a sign." Matthew took a large swig from his water bottle and shot him a raised eyebrow. "Do you wanna see what the back says before I go?"

"You're leaving in the middle of the fucking game? Wow, you really lost your suck up touch." Despite his sharp tone, he looked at what the back of the poster said and choked on air.

"I'm not leaving, per say. I just have...something to do. I'll see you in a bit, babe." Matthew almost (almost) smiled but remembered he was supposed to be angry. He glanced back at the poster before putting his water down.

"Alright, we got a special request from one of the home players, Alfred F. Jones, for someone to come up and speak," the announcer's voice said. He looked at Alfred curiously only to be replied to with a signature 100-watt smile.

"Hallo!" His curious gaze turned murderous as the familiar voice came loud over the speaker. "My name is Gilbert, hi, and I'm speaking because I really need to apologize to one of the players. Actually, I need to apologize to the captain, Matthew Williams! He's the really hot one that plays hockey well. He's also being covered by Sports Illustrated, but you probably already know that. If you didn't, well, you do now. Ahem," the crinkling of a piece of paper could be heard. "So I spent about a month looking for the right words, but it actually looks like I won't have time. So, I am just going to get rid of that-" And then crunching could be heard. "Okay, I'll just wing it, I've always been good with words. Anyways! So um, Matthew and I had been dating for almost 2 years. Oh no! Gay people! Haha, just kidding, we're bisexual, but that's not the point. I'll admit, I was a terrible boyfriend. I'd go out with my friends all the time, get wasted, sometimes even cheat, and then I'd expect Mattie to fix me up. One night, he got tired of it and left. I don't blame him. But-but I...I crumbled without him. He was my lover, my best friend, my everything. He was the pillar that held me up and when he left, I fell to the dust. I'm such a fucking loser without him, and I seriously can't believe I was that much of a douche to take him for granted like that. And now, I see how much I need him. How much I...love him. Matthew, I'm not asking you to take me back. I'm not even asking you to talk to me after this. I just-I need to know that you forgive me. This guilt has been eating me from the inside out, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

The room was so silent-the quietest Matthew had ever heard. He had finally spotted the announcer's box, and could see Gilbert, who was looking right at him. And suddenly he was listening with his whole heart.

"I just want you to know that I love you. Gott, I love everything about you so much it hurts. I love the way you smack me on the back of the head when I say something stupid or offensive-which is a lot, if you can believe it. I love when you make pancakes for lunch and you look at me all weird when I suggest that we eat actual lunch food. I love it when you would just wake up and you'd be all bleary-eyed and you'd cuddle with me when I tried to make breakfast. And then you'd wake up fully and see I'd make pancakes and you'd tell me I'm doing it all wrong but then you'd eat them anyways. I can't-it's so hard for me to say stuff like this, because normally I'd think it would be so weird to do this. There's millions of words in the English and German language and I can't string enough of them together to convey to you just how bad I feel and how much I love you." And the mic was handed back to the announcer and it was time to play again.

.o0o0o0o.

Matthew glanced up at the scoreboard. They were tied-and only thirty seconds left. Goddamn, he would win this game or die trying.

He focused back on the puck; Al had it currently and was looking for a pass. Matthew surged forward and felt triumph run through his body when he received the puck without interception. He raced toward the goal.

10 seconds. God, he was almost there and no one had caught up with him; people were right when they named him the fastest man on the ice.

5 seconds. He heard the crowd cheer the countdown before his mind shut it out-the only thing he could see was the goal and the only thing he could hear was the pounding of his blood in his ears.

2 seconds. Matthew drew the puck back and swung with all the force and emotion his body could muster.

The buzzer rang and he lifted his stick in victory as the puck sailed by the goal keeper and hit the back of the goal's net. The cheers of the crowd came back full force into his ears. Matthew cheered along with them and pumped his fists in the air. His team surged forward and lifted him up on their shoulders. They skated around the rink before bringing him to the side where Gilbert stood. After a moment of looking at each other, they met in a hungry kiss and the roar of the crowd grew louder. He gripped the fabric of the jersey that his boyfriend (when he had accepted Gil's apology, he didn't know) wore and knew that he was okay.

.o0o0o0o.

The door slammed shut and Matthew lustfully pressed Gilbert against the wall before capturing his lips in a sloppy kiss-their teeth were gnashing and there was probably way too much saliva, but both of them could care less. He drew back before licking and sucking at his lover's neck. He could feel Gilbert arch his back as he found the spot and heard a drawn out moan. It wasn't very often that Matthew was the one to initiate things like this, much less lead. But, as it was, soon they made it into the bedroom and Matthew had no plans of handing over the wheel.

He pulled Gilbert's jersey off before latching on to his right nipple. He smirked when Gil cried out. After giving the other the same treatment, he slowly crawled his way down, making sure to leave as many marks as he could. Matthew was really loving the way Gilbert was voicing his opinion on what he was doing through the several moans and cries that rang out-he knew how to please (although in afterthought he realized that he wasn't doing anything right, but that didn't really matter). He quickly slipped off his own shirt before pressing his lips against Gilbert's in an almost needy fashion. His fingers fumbled with the button of his pants before successfully undoing them and taking off the pants, albeit in a hasty way before throwing it to God knows where. He gazed up into the red eyes of his lover as he playfully ran his fingers above the waistband of Gil's boxers. Matthew paused for a moment before slipping them off. Gilbert gasped as cold air hit him, and soon arched his back as Matthew's hot breath followed.

Matthew smirked before running his tongue over the tip, earning a long moan. He slowly took Gilbert's member fully into his mouth. He expertly pulled back and went forward again; he'd done this many times. He could hear Gil's breath quicken and he could tell that he was close. Matthew pulled away quickly before he could orgasm, though, which received a needy whine. He met Gilbert's gaze and smirked as he undid the buttons of his pants to reveal very tented boxers. His pants dropped to the ground as he climbed on top of his boyfriend. His forehead touched with Gil's and they met in a quick kiss before Matthew reached over to the nightstand. He pulled a small bottle of lube and opened it; he quickly put some on his fingers. He closed it and placed it beside him. Matthew flipped Gilbert over (at least as best as he could with one arm) and slowly pushed one finger inside of him.

"Hnng, Mattieee," Gilbert moaned. Matthew felt his muscles contract a little around his finger. He slowly inserted another, and after another pause, he began to scissor his fingers. Gilbert was practically writhing underneath him, and goddamn it was making him hot and impatient. He lowered his head by Gil's ear.

"You ready?" Matthew's breath ghosted around his face and he shivered. Gilbert nodded and he pulled his fingers out. He grabbed the bottle and squirted some onto his hand. Mattie slowly slipped his boxers off and coated his member in the cool liquid, making him groan. After a moment, he slipped the tip inside of Gilbert.

"Ah," Gilbert said into the sheets. Matthew slowly pushed in further and further until he was completely buried in his lover. No matter how many times he got the chance to do this, he marveled at how tight and just how good it felt. After being at a standstill for a few seconds, he began to pull back out before pushing in again. Matthew gained speed until finally he hit the spot. "Ah, hnng, f-fuck, do that again, Mattie," Gilbert cried. Matthew pulled back and hit his prostate, again and again until he could feel Gil tremble beneath him. He could feel the familiar warmth and tightness gather into his abdomen. A few more thrusts and Gilbert cried out. "Fuck! A-ah, I love you!" He was slightly surprised; usually Gilbert was only rough and crude whenever they had sex. He pulled out (though he did so frustrated) and let him recover for a moment before turning him over. Gilbert seemingly knew the problem and took Matthew in his mouth without warning.

"Fuck! Hnng, f-fucking hell, a little warning next time," he panted. He felt Gilbert smirk around his member before bobbing forward again. Matthew gripped his snow-white hair and moaned at the sudden movement. "G-goddamn, I'm close." He was already thrusting his hips desperately; a few more thrusts and Matthew cried out and came into Gil's mouth, who greedily swallowed it all. They collapsed in a sweaty heap, sharing a tired kiss before sleep overcame them both.

.o0o0o0o.

"Mattie! The magazine's out!" Matthew looked up from his computer to see Gilbert rushing in with the magazine in hand. It had been a few weeks since they had made up; Gilbert rarely went out anymore and he actually did some of the chores that Matthew usually had to do. He smiled at Gilbert's smiling face and pushed up his glasses (which he normally only had to wear when he was reading, but it seemed Matthew's eyesight was getting worse as time progressed).

"Oh wow," he whispered. The cover was a close up of him making the final goal of the game. Matthew wore a look a pure determination on his face and it made him look bad ass.He excitedly flipped to the section and laughed when he saw a picture of him kissing Gil on his teammates' shoulders. There were other photos there; him talking to his huddled team and skating around the rink at the beginning.

"Isn't it so cool?! My little Mattie's a star!" Gilbert laughed (which most people found annoying, but Matthew found it quirky and cute). "This is so awesome," he murmured. He pressed a kiss to Matthew's cheek and he sighed in contentment.

Sure, they might not've been the most perfect couple, but he was completely okay with that (because most of the time, their arguments ended in hot steamy sex).