#hes weirdly handsome. he should be uglier. for me

[birbwell]

andreas

Image description by @anistarrose: digital art of Andreas Maler from Pentiment, as he appears in the first act. He's seated with his hands on his knees, and with a slight smile. The background is zoomed-in on a manuscript, featuring an illustration of a cow in a field, and some cut-off Latin text. End description.

[bittysvalentines]

My Best Friend’s Breakup

From: @missweber

To: @pwoops

Tags: Snowy/Tater, Snowy/OFC, background Zimbits, background Parswoops, friends to lovers, fluff, mild angst, accidental marriage, deliberate marriage

Summary: Everyone says that Snowy and his girlfriend are perfect together. This bothers Tater, which makes sense given the crush he has on his best friend. But he’s not the only one who is disturbed by how perfect everyone says Snowy’s girlfriend is. (This is in the same verse as ‘Fourteen Weddings and a Kerfuffle,’ but can be read as a stand-alone story.’)

Alexei wasn’t sure if he loved or hated Family Skate.

Family Skate meant skating with his friends and not having coaches yell at him or some asshole on the other team pick a fight with him. And there was always lots of food. That part, he loved.

What he didn’t love was always showing up alone, with no wife, no girlfriend.

Or no boyfriend, which was an intriguing new way to feel alone.

He tried to be subtle about watching Zimmboni with his little B over by the boards, talking and laughing with Carrie and Snowy…

…and Laurel.

Another thing Alexei hated about Family Skate was that it made him dislike a woman who truly didn’t deserve it. But how could he not dislike Snowy’s girlfriend?

Without his notice or his permission, Alexei’s feelings towards Snowy had turned into something that wasn’t just friendship. It was probably inevitable, given how Snowy was his best friend and a very, very handsome man as well. 

Given that Alexei enjoyed men as much as he enjoyed women, he had been doomed from the start.

For the sake of his heart, Alexei had long ago accepted that nothing would come of his crush and he would enjoy the friendship for what it was. And what it was, was the best kind of friendship a man could hope for.

As for that little touch of melancholy that it would never be more than friendship? It eventually settled into something almost pleasurable, like the soreness after a hard workout, or the burn of vodka searing down his throat.

This was very Russian of him, he decided smugly.

Again, he glided past the little group by the boards, past Zimmboni’s hand on B’s back, past Snowy standing close to Laurel, past Laurel saying something about ‘anniversary.’ 

This time, the jolt of melancholy wasn’t remotely pleasurable.

Everyone said it was only a matter of time before Snowy proposed. Laurel was a sweet girl, a perfect hockey girlfriend who would be a perfect hockey wife. 

Marty had even started a betting pool about when Snowy would propose, and Alexei had been grumpy enough to put money on them breaking up before Easter, just to be an ass. 

His best friend was going to get married and Alexei would just have to learn to live with that and with the fact he had thrown good money away purely out of spite.

* * * 

Dustin sank into the oversized, overstuffed, and over-engineered chair with a groan. Tater’s new recliner wasn’t at all to his taste, what with the red leather and the cup holder, but he would be the first to admit that the vintage Bauhaus furniture in his own apartment was more suited to a fit of ennui than a wallow in self-pity.

“Breakups fucking suck,” he whined.

Tater made a sympathetic noise that abruptly morphed into a huh? 

Dustin side-eyed him and got a puzzled look in return. 

“I thought you break up with her?” Tater asked.

Another groan. Tater’s recliner welcomed him further into its womb-like depths. It was even uglier than Zimmermann’s god-awful running shoes, but damn it was comfortable. 

“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck, because it’s not like I still don’t care about her, y’know?”

Tater grumbled with frustration, probably over Dustin’s tangle of negatives. 

Dustin took pity on him. “I broke her heart, and I feel like the worst person in the whole fucking world right now, okay? And Marty’s gonna slit my throat, because Gabby and Laurel are BFFs, and argh!” He screamed into his hands.

In so many ways, Laurel was perfect. Everyone said they were perfect together. She was hot, smart, funny, fun in bed, thoughtful, able to cope with all the bullshit that went with dating a hockey player…

“I made a big fucking mistake, didn’t I?” 

Thirdy had all but ordered him to lock that down, kid, at Family Skate two weeks ago. He had been weirdly insistent that the end of the regular season would be an awesome time to propose, but that wasn’t the important part.

The important part was that afterwards, things started going a bit… sideways with Laurel. Not bad. Just…

Sometimes, looking at something from a new angle made it look like a completely different thing.

Tater let out the long, rumbling hmmm that meant he was putting concepts together, taking them apart, and carefully reassembling them in a different language. 

While Tater pondered, Dustin thought about begging Laurel to take him back. He could say he was freaked out by the pressure of trying to secure a playoffs spot, and did something impulsive. She would take him back, right?

The certainty that she would knotted up his stomach more than he expected.

Tater got up and went to the kitchen. “This need pie,” he announced. 

Next came the crinkling of foil and the clink of plates being placed on the counter.

“B make blueberry pie, just for me.” Tater called from the kitchen. “When he hear about Laurel, he say I should share.”

The knot in Dustin’s stomach unfurled and bloomed into warmth. “I get Bittle pie? Aw, man, you really do love me.”

A long pause. An exasperated sigh.

“I only share little piece.” 

A few minutes later, Tater came back with two generous slices of pie, warmed up and garnished with a dab of sour cream. 

The first time Tater had served pie with sour cream, Dustin assumed it was a mistake, and that Tater meant to get whipped cream but read the packaging wrong. 

“Is not mistake,” Tater had retorted, testy at being corrected. “You see.”

The combination of hot, sweet fruit and cold, tangy sour cream was a revelation. In retrospect, it should have been obvious how perfect they’d be together.

Tater draped a napkin over Dustin’s lap with a flourish, then handed him the pie. Both plate and napkin were bright and fussy, like something Tater’s babushka might have bought. 

Again, not to Dustin’s taste, but you couldn’t serve sympathy pie on minimalist matte-black plates.

“Now we talk,” Tater said. “You sad because Laurel sad, yes?”

He nodded. He saw events play out as if they’d just happened. The expectant, eager look on Laurel’s face when he said he needed to talk to her, the way her smile just shattered when he said he didn’t want anything long-term, the sound she had made. The sudden nausea when he realized that their anniversary was in three days and she had been expecting will you marry me and not it’s not you it’s me.

“Yeah. Like I said, worst person in the world.” He pointed at himself with his fork. He might not want to spend the rest of his life with Laurel, but he still liked her. Loved her, even if not enough for forever. And he had hurt her. Badly.

“Imagine something for me,” Tater said after a minute, unusually serious. He leaned in and put a hand on Dustin’s shoulder. “Imagine she not sad at all. Okay, maybe little bit sad, but she say ‘You are right, Snowy. We should break up. Now I move to Vancouver and meet someone new.’ How you feel now?”

He thought. He thought about not having her around to go on dates with, to sleep with, to be around, to have fun with. She checked all the right boxes. 

She was the perfect girlfriend—

—for someone else. 

“I feel…”

Underneath the guilt and sadness, he felt the same peace he felt when he first realized he could just end things. He felt the absence of a dread that grew each time someone said something about how perfect they were together, or about locking that down.

He felt relief at avoiding something that was starting to seem inevitable.

Other things became clearer as well.

For example, how fucked up was it that he got more of a cozy domesticity fix from his best friend than he ever had from his girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend.

“I feel like I did the right thing.” 

Laurel could begin moving on instead of waiting for a proposal that would never come or that would turn into a disaster of a marriage. She could find someone who wanted to be with her forever.

“But I still feel like shit for breaking her heart. I wish I could fix that.”

“See? You good person.” Tater punctuated this with a sharp nod. “Not worst in world.”

“You’re a good friend, Tates. The best.” He sighed. “I guess marriage just isn’t my thing.”

Tater went silent and pensive for a moment. Probably thinking about his own lack of relationship success. At least that made two of them, now.

Dustin turned the chair’s massage settings from ‘Meditative Waves’ to ‘Angry Swedish Nurse.’ He deserved it, after all this emotional shit.

“No. I lied. I’m gonna marry this chair.”

Tater tsked. “No. You need time. You just break up, remember?” 

Dustin laughed. If it was shaky, he would blame the massage setting. “Where’d you get this thing anyway? And why?”

Tater muttered something vague about impulse buys and winning lots of money on some stupid bet, then showed Dustin how to turn on the seat warmer.

He could stay here forever.

Funny how that thought didn’t fill him with dread.

* * *

Alexei spent more time at B and Zimmboni’s place in the days after winning the Cup than he did at his own. It wasn’t exactly intentional, but Zimmboni had a couch that was long enough for him to stretch out his bad leg, and B loved having someone to fuss over. Besides, his apartment was just two floors down so he could go there any time he wanted. 

In theory.

“I’m surprised you aren’t spending more time with Snowy,” B said. It sounded like a question. Zimmboni shot him a look.

B ignored that and handed Alexei a slice of pecan pie. It had taken some coaching on B’s part, but Alexei could finally pronounce ‘pecan’ correctly. He would have to find an excuse to drop it into an interview at some point.

“Snowy live in building two blocks over, not two floors up,” he said between bites of pie. “And his furniture not comfortable.” He sketched out the shape of one of Snowy’s chairs in mid-air. It looked more like a geometry exercise than something you could sit in. “All metal and edges and… yuck!”

It was a reason, but it wasn’t the only reason.

“I see,” B said brightly. “And here I was all worried that something was wrong between you two.”

“Wrong? Nothing wrong! Why you think something wrong?”

It wasn’t really a lie if things were only wrong in his own head, right? Once he stopped dreaming about kissing Snowy after winning the Cup the way Zimmboni had kissed B, everything would be fine. Right?

“Oh, no reason,” B said, voice like sugar. “Just… you two normally spend all your free time together, but instead you’re here.”

Alexei smiled and held out his now-empty plate for a refill. “No. Everything fine!”

B took the plate, but did not head back to the kitchen. He looked down at Alexei. 

“Normally, I would never, ever be deliberately rude to a guest, especially an injured guest who knows how to properly appreciate a good slice of pie, or a half-dozen biscuits with gravy, or a whole pound of bacon, but you’ve got me wondering, hon—what’s Russian for ‘cock-blocking’?”

“Jesus, Bits…” Zimmboni groaned, but he was also laughing. “It’s not that we don’t love you Tater—”

“—but a little alone time would be kind of nice. Listen. Whyn’t you come up for breakfast tomorrow? You and Snowy both. I’ll make those blueberry pancakes you like so much.”

Before Tater could do anything but nod, B was on the phone with Snowy. “If you want to come over and retrieve your favorite Russian, that pie I promised is all ready for you… Mmm-hmm… Blackberry with crumb topping… Right… See you soon!” He hung up and his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, showing that any irritation he had felt had melted away. “I think he’s missed you, the past few days.” 

It took less time than it should for Snowy to get to Zimmboni’s place. Maybe he was already on his way over when B called, and Alexei didn’t know what to do with that idea.

Maybe Snowy didn’t know, either, because instead of coming right in when B opened the door for him, he just stood there for a moment. 

“Hey, Tater,” he said, strangely quiet. B ignored any awkwardness, and handed Snowy a pie box before dragging Zimmboni down the hall towards the bedroom. Neither he nor Snowy said anything until they heard a door being shut firmly.

“Sorry if I’ve kind of been avoiding you the past couple days,” Snowy said. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling it all out of order. “I had to get my head around a couple of things.”

“I understand.” The daydream about kissing Snowy started up in the back of his mind. He had no idea how to stop it playing. Also, hadn’t he been the one avoiding Snowy? “Is okay, now?”

Snowy nodded sharply. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about things since I broke up with Laurel, and also since…” He nodded down the hallway. It was quiet for now, but it wouldn’t be much longer. “Things have changed, or no… it’s not that they’ve changed. I’m just seeing them differently. Anyhow, I’m not making a whole lot of sense, so let me just get to it—can I take you out to dinner?”

Alexei looked at Snowy. At the way Snowy looked at him. “That sound like date,” he said cautiously.

“It can be.” Snowy paused, so nervous it broke Alexei’s heart. “If you want, that is.”

“I do. I do want. For long, long time.”

* * *

Two years later, or at least close enough to the two-year-anniversary of being more-than-friends, Dustin and Tater woke up in a Las Vegas hotel room that made Tater’s apartment look starkly minimalist by comparison.

Tater frowned at the ring on his left hand. Dustin had a matching one. “Not again…” Tater groaned.

“Viva Las Vegas,” Dustin muttered. It was about time he got accidentally married in Vegas, like so many other Falcs had. Tater had been through it twice already with Parson and Seguin (they really needed to not have the NHL awards in Vegas). “So, you know what to do about this?” 

“Da. We take care of before practice, easy-peasy.” 

Or not so easy-peasy, as it happened. The Aces’ lawyer, a fussy, grumpy little man, glared at them through big, round spectacles as he explained why—given that they freely admitted to engaging in intimate relations over the past two years—a nice, speedy annulment was not an option.

“It will have to be a divorce, which will take longer, which means more of my time that will be billed to the Falconers. Most teams have it set up so the fees can be deducted from your paycheck. Please note that I bill five hundred dollars hourly, and that—”

“No,” Dustin blurted out. In the silence that followed, he wondered what the hell had possessed him.

“No?” The lawyer’s gaze could have impaled butterflies to a mounting board. 

“No?” Tater just looked confused. And also a little sad. “But you always say you not want marriage, nyet? Is why you break up with Laurel. So we divorce.”

“Yeah, you’re right. No! Not about the divorce!” he said quickly, before Tater could look any more sad. “I mean about Laurel and why I broke up with her.”

The lawyer cleared his throat. “While these soap opera dramatics are entertaining, gentlemen, I do have other business today…”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Look, it took me a couple of years, but I finally figured it out.”

Tater raised an eyebrow. He looked as if he didn’t trust himself to speak. 

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be married. What I didn’t want was to be married to someone who isn’t my best friend. Who isn’t you.”

Tater’s smile started small, then bloomed across his face. He turned to the lawyer. “Never mind! We go!”

“Yes, yes, fine.” He shooed them off with a flick of his fingers. “Congratulations and so on, but please refrain from any celebratory fornication until you are off the premises.”

They hurried out past the line of other happy couples waiting to have their marriages annulled. Tater paused to fist-bump Bogrov, his good buddy on the Aces, who apparently had accidentally married one of the linesmen instead of his girlfriend. They also nodded hello to Marty and Guy, and said they’d tell the coach they might be a little late to practice.

“So, when do you want to tell the guys?” Dustin asked. 

Tater looked guilty. “I already tell them about accidental marriage.”

“What?!” 

“Not that we decide we stay married,” Tater hurried to explained, “but Parson tell Zimmboni about tradition Aces have—”

They entered the locker room just then, and Dustin learned the hard way that the Aces glitter-bombed players who got drunk-married for the first time.

He was still finding glitter in awkward places later that night, when he and most of the other Falcs were at Kent Parson and Jeff Troy’s place for a sudden but not-so-accidental wedding.

He enjoyed the ceremony, even though both grooms had crashed his net a total of four times during last night’s game and they were all in the middle of the goddamn Stanley Cup Finals. He would always remember how for a few blissful hours under the desert sky, it didn’t matter that they’d played a vicious game last night and would play another one tomorrow night. 

What he would remember most of all, though, was the way Parson and Troy couldn’t stop gazing into each other’s eyes as they recited their vows. It left him awestruck and reaching for Tater’s hand. From the way Tater squeezed his hand in return, Dustin knew he felt it, too. 

If that’s how he and Tater looked at each other, then why the hell had they taken so long to get their act together?

“Wanna join in?” he whispered to Tater. A number of other couples were taking advantage of Nevada’s marriage laws and the presence of an ordained Elvis impersonator to tie the knot or to renew their vows. “It kind of sucks that our friends weren’t at our first wedding, huh?”

Dustin wasn’t sure what he expected when Tater told the group that they were staying married and renewing their vows. Congratulations, for sure. Also chirping. Marty might take in and dole out cash as people collected and paid off wagers on their wedding. There might even be tears.

What he was not expecting was slack-jawed silence followed by “Wait, WHAT?”

“Uh, I don’t see what’s so surprising, guys. We’ve been dating for like two y—”

“You’re dating?!”

“TWO YEARS??”

As for poor Jack, he looked like someone had shorted his circuits.

“I think we forget to tell them,” Tater whispered.

“Whoops?”

The only one not surprised was Bitty, who gave the rest of the Falcs a gentle bless your hearts before turning back to him and Tater. 

“I think what they all meant to say is ‘congratulations.’ I don’t know why they’re so surprised. After all, anyone can see that the two of you are perfect together,” Bitty said. 

Other people had said that to him once, and it had felt like a life sentence. Now, though, it felt like freedom.

“Yeah,” he said. Dustin leaned up to peck his husband on the cheek. “It just took some of us longer to see that than others.”