Chapter Text
After that playoff run, to his disappointment, Tooru starts the following season with the Eagles again. He signs a three-year contract extension over the summer, and the first year of the contract is two-way. He gets called up to play a few games for the Avalanche a few weeks in and is then sent back down, despite putting up impressive numbers.
It's more than a little disheartening. Sometimes he feels that because he went undrafted he has to prove himself that much more. "I know I can dominate in this league. I don't know what more I can do to prove I belong up there full time," he tells Hajime in frustration. "I've given everything of myself for this. Is it still not enough?" His voice is weary, muffled against the fabric of Hajime's shirt. He's just so tired. Tired of having to fight to claim a spot, trying to prove he's good enough. Of having that low-hanging branch constantly being jerked out of his reach, leaving him to get swept away by the rushing current as he struggles to keep his head above water. He wants to tear his hair out.
Tooru is beginning to wonder if he’s going to spend his entire career playing at the AHL level. Just because there seems to be no space for him. He knows he has to make the decision harder on management, but still, it’s frustrating.
Hajime kisses the top of Tooru's head. "I know it's frustrating and not what you were expecting. But the fight will make it mean that much more when it happens, right?" Tooru gives a small nod and lifts his head from Hajime's shirt. Hajime's hands are warm on the sides of his face. "You just have to hang in there a little bit longer. Your opportunity will come, and I know you won't let it go."
Come November, Tooru's opportunity indeed comes, and once again, he runs with it. He gets called up to the Avalanche, and this time, he isn't sent back down. He starts making his case for becoming the number one, putting up win after win while holding onto goals against and save percentages just below those of the league's best. People are starting to pay attention, though the constant whispers of doubt about his ability to perform due to his size remain.
The Avalanche make the playoffs again that season, though they exit in the first round. Following the loss in the Cup Finals the previous year, this is especially disappointing.
The following season, following training camp, the number one position goes to Tooru. Right from the jump, it’s apparent that this is his season, that there’s something he wants. He starts off right in the thick of the league leaders in regards to goals-against average and save percentage, and he stays there. What Tooru lacks in height, he makes up for in flexibility and tenacity, coupled with his smooth puck handling skills. When the regular season ends, his name is among those in the conversation for Vezina finalists.
Not too shabby for a small, undrafted goaltender, although his eyes are focused on something far more prestigious.
In the spring while Tooru is in the middle of the playoff run, Hajime graduates from his DPT program. By the grace of the hockey gods, the graduation falls on a day the Avs don’t have a game or morning practice. Tooru catches an early flight to St. Louis to attend the ceremony and spends the remainder of the day celebrating with Hajime until his return flight late that evening.
He's fairly sure Hajime is expecting little fanfare, after all, he's always viewed himself more as someone who encourages others than someone who achieves greatness. Hajime has always downplayed his accomplishments. It is the one thing about him Tooru actually dislikes because he's never viewed Hajime that way. He wishes that Hajime could actually see what he does, that he's every bit as valid and important as everyone else, probably more so.
Tooru cooks dinner, telling Hajime not to worry about lifting a finger. He can feel Hajime's eyes on him from the couch, where he sits nursing a beer while Tooru washes up afterward. Issei and Takahiro would be severely disappointed in Hajime's lack of alcohol consumption thus far. He should probably fix that, Tooru thinks, and once he finished cleaning up, he probably will, but then Hajime's hands are around his waist, lips on the back of his neck.
Hajime picks Tooru up, places him on the kitchen counter. Knowing a hint when he sees one, Tooru kisses him forcefully, Hajime's lips sticky against his own, tasting of beer as well as tequila. It's only after Tooru's elbow knocks into the butter dish, sending it crashing to the floor, that Hajime scoops him off the counter. Tooru's legs wrap around Hajime’s waist as Hajime carries him to the couch. The fragments of the butter dish lie forgotten on the floor.
“I love you and I’m so proud of you,” Tooru tells Hajime, pulling at his lips long and slow. He's been peppering him with kisses every opportunity he gets, that’s the whole reason he’s here after all. “Look at you. Hajime Iwaizumi. Physical Therapist." He kisses Hajime on the side of the neck, watching the way the skin breaks out into goosebumps as soon as his breath hits it. "Has a nice ring to it.” He repeats the phrase a few times, getting a feel for the way it rolls off his tongue, whispering it into Hajime’s ear, his lips catching on the bottom of his earlobe.
“It kind of does, doesn’t it?” Hajime laughs, or giggles rather, because the amount of beer and tequila he’s consumed are finally taking over.
Nothing wrong with that, Tooru figures. If he'd been in school the last seven years, he'd want to celebrate his freedom and cut loose a bit as well. Hajime's worked hard for this, he's earned it. His skin is hot against Tooru’s, there is a red flush of inebriation on his cheeks.
“Well then, what happens now that you’re an official adult, Mr. Physical Therapist?” Tooru purrs into Hajime’s ear, stroking Hajime’s chest as Hajime’s knees dig into his ribs.
“Well, I’ve already started applying to jobs here,” Hajime begins, his words slurring together. He has one hand caught in Tooru’s hair, the other toying with the waistband of Tooru’s pants. “I’ve settled in pretty nicely here, I wouldn’t mind staying, I’ve enjoyed it.” Hajime’s lips drag across Tooru’s collarbone, perfectly exposed thanks to the shirt Tooru very purposely wore today. “I figured it made sense, seeing as I'm already here, given the size of the job pool and greater opportunity, to apply to jobs in the States and see if anyone offered me anything.”
“Makes perfect sense, very adult and logical” Tooru agrees, blinking slowly as he looks up into the bleary green of Hajime’s eyes. He loses his train of thought for a moment as Hajime’s teeth nip at his skin. “So have you heard anything back yet?”
“From a few places,” Hajime replies, paying more attention to Tooru’s collarbone than the conversation itself.
Tooru shoves lightly at Hajime’s chest because even though Hajime is edging into the territory of being drunk now, and he very much enjoys what he’s doing, this probably isn’t something they should discuss with Hajime straddling his waist. When Hajime gets the hint, Tooru tucks his knees up to his chest.
“That means you have options. Not surprising, I bet everyone wants you. Where are they?”
At the compliment, Hajime blushes, and then his face crinkles up as he tries to remember. “I’m waiting to hear back from a few more interviews but, there’s three so far. One in Massashu...Machasuet...Massachusetts,” Hajime punches out at last, glaring at Tooru who’s failing to suppress a fit of giggles that erupted as a result of his struggle with pronouncing the word. “One here, at a practice where I did one part of my residency. Good people there, I think I got along well with everyone, and I’d like to work there, I think.”
There’s an almost imperceptible hesitation to Hajime’s voice. “If you know you like it there, you should go with that one,” Tooru tells him. “Sounds like a good fit. Why wouldn’t you accept?”
Hajime’s eyes lock on Tooru’s with laser-like focus. “Because of where the third place that offered me a job is.”
“Where’s that?” Tooru’s palms begin to sweat, and he’s about ninety-eight percent sure where Hajime is about to say before he says it.
“Denver.”
Tooru drives his knees into his chest hard enough to bruise, and his stomach clenches as if he were the one who’s consumed several beers and half a bottle of tequila instead of Hajime. He lowers his head to his knees so that his eyes are partially obscured by his hair and swallows hard. “Why Denver?”
“Well, I like it there, the pace of life is so laid back. Plenty to do, it’s gorgeous there. And…”
Please don’t say it, Tooru thinks as his thundering heart claws its way up into his throat.
“You’re there,” Hajime finishes, staring pointedly at Tooru.
Tooru thinks he might pass out, his heart is beating that fast, but for all the wrong reasons. He unwraps his arms from his legs and clasps Hajime’s hands in his. “Hajime you can’t do that for me, that’s not how this should work. Since we were four, you’ve been falling behind in my footsteps, while I’ve been chasing my dreams.” No more, Tooru tells himself. No more him asking Hajime to put him before Hajime’s needs. “I can’t...I can’t ask you to do this. Not when you might have regrets later. You know I could get traded, right? And I’m on the road a lot, I can’t ask you to move somewhere just for me or to make decisions about your life based on where I am.”
Hajime appears both wounded and thoroughly confused by Tooru’s words. “I thought...we’ve been apart for so long now. Don’t you want to be together, if we can?”
Shaking his head, Tooru squeezes Hajime’s hands. He knows what Hajime wants to hear from him, but what Hajime needs to hear is something different. “I do, but...we need to think about you here. If there’s somewhere here in St. Louis where you think you’ll be happy, then you should stay here.”
“You won’t be upset?” Hajime’s eyes are large and sad, his voice smaller than Tooru’s heard in a long time.
His heart wrenching, Tooru shakes his head. “I’d be far more upset if you put me over your own wants Hajime. We’ve made it work so far these last two and half years or so, haven’t we? We’re doing pretty well. It’s not perfect, but it works, and we’re happy, aren’t we?” He lets go of Hajime’s hands, to brush away a tear that’s sliding down Hajime’s cheek. Cups his palm against Hajime’s cheek. Something wet trickles down his cheek as well as he takes a deep breath. “I think if you know you’re happy here, and you’ve found somewhere you think you’d be happy working, you should stay here,” Tooru repeats. “There’s too much uncertainty surrounding me, especially so early in my career, to make decisions like this based on my location.” He draws another deep breath. “Maybe when my next contract extension comes up, we revisit this conversation, see how we feel?”
There’s an unspoken if hovering around that statement, one Tooru doesn’t want to address at the moment, although it’s one he doesn’t believe they’ll have to. The possibility that they might break up again. In spite of the distance, they’ve managed to establish a solid relationship again, even if it’s not ideal. Hajime nods, but still appears somewhat shaken by Tooru’s response. Tooru rubs his thumb across Hajime’s knuckles, then lifts Hajime’s hand to his lips, kissing it. Then, as softly as he can, Tooru presses his lips to Hajime’s, his eyelashes fluttering against Hajime’s cheeks.
The half-empty bottle of tequila sits appealingly on the coffee table. Knowing he shouldn’t, not if he wants to be in decent shape on his flight in a few hours, Tooru grabs the bottle and takes a large swig, his eyes and throat burning. “Enough adult talk,” Tooru proclaims, taking a second sizable swallow before roughly kissing Hajime’s cheeks. “We’re supposed to be celebrating you here,” he says as he offers the bottle back to Hajime.
Hajime accepts the bottle from Tooru, swirling the contents around the bottom before finishing it off. Tooru pulls Hajime against him, into a loose embrace, from which they both fall down onto the couch.
“We’ll be okay,” Tooru murmurs as he and Hajime lay back down on the couch and he tucks his head onto Hajime’s shoulder.
★★★★★
A month later Tooru once again finds himself at the Stanley Cup Final, his opponents this time, the Boston Bruins, a hard-hitting team and formidable opponent in every way. The Bruins have long been one of the best put-together teams in the league and have scoring depth, reliable goaltending, and a power play that’s guaranteed to score. Tooru and Tuukka Rask, the Bruins goaltender have been battling it out in terms of save percentage and goals against the entire playoffs. Currently, Tooru is ahead.
The wounds from two years ago have only just begun to heal. The loss is still fresh in everyone’s memory, so the team works that much harder to shut the Bruins down. Nobody wants a repeat. Five-on-five the Avalanche hold the edge. The key lies in remaining on their discipline and not allowing the Bruins to get on the power play. That’s where all their Eastern Conference opponents struggled.
The Avalanche, unlike the Eastern Conference opponents, aren't so willing to give in to the brute force of the Bruins. If the Bruins want to win, they'll have to earn it, because the Avalanche are not going down without a fight.
By game six, the Avalanche hold a 3-2 lead in the series. Everyone knows they can’t let this series go seven games. If the Bruins take it back to Boston, it will be almost impossible for them to win. The Bruins too, are aware of this.
Standing at the end of the tunnel, Tooru can feel the chants as much as he hears them, pulsating off every surface of the arena. He hits the ice bearing the weight of his name, his team, his fans, and twenty-one years' worth of hope on his shoulders. Two hundred feet of untouched ice and sixty minutes are all that separates him from seeing his dreams come to fruition. The frenzy of the crowd surges directly into his veins as he skates to the crease and settles between the pipes.
David Pastrnak opens the scoring only seven minutes into the game, with an absolute laser from the middle of the right faceoff circle, the puck passes just over Tooru’s shoulder and into the corner of the net. Tooru shakes it off and readjusts his focus as he prepares for the following faceoff.
The game is tightly checked, and winning board battles proves important. The Avalanche have the edge over the Bruins in terms of speed, and they’re staying on their discipline. With about three minutes left in the period, Mikko Rantanen fires a wrister that beats Tuukka Rask on the glove side, and they’re tied at one.
Late period goals tend to spark energy, and it provides just the wake-up call the Avalanche need. They come out with decidedly more jump than the Bruins to start the second. Five minutes into the period, MacKinnon scores from the slot, and they take a 2-1 lead.
Immediately, the Bruins push back, but Tooru doesn’t budge. He smoothly covers the distance between both posts, and prevents any rebound opportunities, even though whistles seem to come later and later. He sprawls on his stomach, right leg tucked against the post, puck somewhere underneath him while sticks continue to hack away trying to knock it loose. Finally, a whistle blows, and the Bruins are evidently frustrated they were unable to score during that sequence.
Heading into the third every fan in the arena remains on their feet. Twenty thousand people hold their collective breath as the Avalanche cling to their one-goal lead. Late, they take a hooking penalty, allowing the Bruins’ lethal power play the opportunity to score. To tie.
Sure enough, the Bruins trap the zone, and Rask is pulled for the extra attacker. With a two-man advantage and the way they work the power play, the Bruins are basically guaranteed to score.
Tooru isn’t going to give them the satisfaction.
Bodies crowd in front of the net, and he turns aside shot after shot. Two minutes, thirty seconds remain in the period and the Avalanche maintain their lead. There are still forty-five seconds left on the kill. The Bruins just fail to connect on a pass, and the puck passes over the blue line. Already, Landeskog is there, and he has an almost clear path to the empty net. Legs pumping furiously, he tears down the ice. He remains in the clear and fires the puck straight into the empty net.
Ninety seconds remain in the period, that’s all. The Bruins win the faceoff in their zone, and transition into the attack. Again, Rask leaves the ice for the extra attacker. Shots continue to hammer Tooru from all angles, until the final buzzer sounds.
As Tooru looks up at the scoreboard and time stops, there are no words.
Realization hits Tooru like a sack of bricks and complete, unadulterated ecstasy and relief wash over him. At the age of twenty-five, he has won his first Stanley Cup.
There are no words when time starts again and Tooru’s teammates swarm around him, tapping him on the top of the helmet, leaping on him. In an uncoordinated mass, they jump up and down, knocking the net off the pegs. Many of them are choked up with tears, the same as him.
There are no words for the way Tooru feels after finally accomplishing his dream of the past twenty-one years, achieving what he’s been working towards nearly his entire life.
The tunnels are opened for media and family members as they line up for the handshake line. Still surrounded by his teammates, Tooru’s eyes immediately sweep the bodies on the ice for Hajime, beaming when he finds him.
Before the Cup is awarded, there is one more matter to take care of, the Conn Smythe, awarded to the most valuable player of the playoffs. Mind still reeling from the win, Tooru is astounded when he hears his name announced. Tooru skates to the table where the trophy rests, accepting it and raising it above his head. Microphones are shoved in his face and Tooru struggles to form coherent thoughts, just shakes his head, continuing to soak in the moment, as he tries to find the words.
"There's not really much I can say. I've spent the last two months trying my best to stop as many pucks as possible, to give the rest of the team a fighting chance. And somewhere along the way, I guess I was good enough to help bring us here, it's unbelievable." His throat is closing up now, he's too choked up to continue much longer. "We've got a great team here, I think we all believed that we could do this. I'm honored to have been a part of it, but truthfully, you could be giving this trophy to any number of guys on the team. I'm flattered for it to have been me. Thank you."
He does a lap with the Conn Smythe, then skates back over towards the rest of the team, the tears of relief flowing freely.
A collective hush falls over the crowd as the Stanley Cup is walked out and placed on its table, where it rests, gleaming in all of its splendor. Everyone is breathless as captain Gabriel Landeskog receives the Cup, hoisting it over his head.
Tooru watches as the trophy makes its way through the roster until it finally reaches him. Twenty-one years it has taken him to arrive at this moment. A lifetime of hard work finally coming to fruition. There are no words for what he feels as he presses his lips against the surface of the Cup and lifts it over his head, more tears springing to the corners of his eyes.
There are no words for what he's feeling, and he wants to hold onto this moment forever.
Euphoria comes closest, but even that is inadequate.
It’s true what they say. It weighs thirty-five pounds, except when you’re lifting it.
There are no words as he releases the Cup and again finds Hajime amidst the crowd, their eyes meeting.
There are no words as Tooru flings himself onto Hajime, who is crying every bit as hard as he is.
There are no words as Hajime whispers “You did it” and “I’m so proud of you” just before Tooru’s lips crash into his.
There are no words as Tooru and Hajime stay locked together in that moment, confetti raining down on them from above.
There are no words when at last, the team makes their way to the locker room to finish off their celebration.
There are no words when Hajime and Tooru return to Tooru’s apartment in the early hours of the morning, still in a daze.
There are no words for when Tooru wakes up the following morning, hungover from the emotions of the previous night, and finds Hajime beside him, lips stretched in a soft smile.
★★★★★
A few weeks later, Tooru is awarded the Vezina Trophy as the top goaltender of the league. Hajime asks Tooru if he’s going to replace him with all his shiny new hardware, with a nod directed at Tooru’s Stanley Cup ring, which he’s twirling around his finger.
“Well the trophies don’t talk back at least,” Tooru teases. “I might have to consider it.”
In July, Hajime takes off from work and they fly back to Japan for a few weeks, waiting for the Cup to arrive from Russia, once it finishes making its rounds through his teammates who live there. Tooru has gone back over the last three off-seasons now, the last two with Hajime, but it still feels unfamiliar to him after six years of largely being away. Odder still because seemingly everyone knows who he is now.
“Well, you did kind of overcome the odds and make it to the NHL and win the Stanley Cup. And you kissed me on a national stage, which is kind of a big deal,” Hajime reminds him as they lie crammed together on Tooru’s old futon. “Isn’t it nice to have the recognition you deserve?” he asks, fingers ghosting across Tooru’s neck.
“It is, but I’d prefer it if Makki and Mattsun would stop fawning over me and drawing attention to me every time we go out in public. I just want to relax while we’re here.”
The two former defensemen greeted them at the airport, jumping on Tooru the moment they saw him. Takahiro had tears in his eyes and was struggling to actually get words out, while Issei at least, managed a congratulations of sorts.
“Tooru, hate to break it to you, but I don’t think that’s ever going to happen. You give those two an inch, and they’ll take a mile. They do it from a place of love though.” Hajime’s hand traces the outline of Tooru’s hipbone. “If you get all bent out of shape about it, you’re just playing into their hands,” he adds, transferring his attention to Tooru’s ear.
Tooru huffs and leans back against Hajime’s chest.
The Stanley Cup arrives at Tooru’s mother’s house early in the morning, white-gloved escort and all. He doesn’t have anything really big planned for his day with the Cup, other than bringing it around Miyagi to a few key places. His mother and Hajime apparently have other plans, and within an hour, the house is teeming with people.
After allowing Tooru only a few short minutes with it, Issei and Takahiro insist on filling the Cup with some questionable mixture of theirs because they claim that part of everyone’s right of passage is drinking from the Stanley Cup after they win it. The rest of the throng seems to agree.
Tooru recognizes a very small number of these people and would have preferred a more laid-back day with the Cup, just him, Hajime, his mom and sister, his old teammates. As Hajime said though, it was kind of unavoidable. By early evening, most of the guests have finally filtered out and Tooru carefully cleans out the inside of the Cup before he and Hajime hit the road.
Using his mother’s car, he and Hajime drive to the community rink. Tooru traces his fingers along where his name is engraved on one of the rings of the Cup while Hajime drives. There’s a sense of permanence and honor, feeling his name etched alongside so many of the greats. It makes all of this feel more real rather than just a fever dream, which is how Tooru has felt for most of the last month.
Once your name is engraved on the Cup, it can’t be erased.
When they enter the rink, one of the youth games is going on. Tooru and Hajime stand by the edge of the boards, talking with the owner while they wait for a break in play. Tooru doesn’t know if any of these kids will have an inclination to play hockey for more than a few years, but they need to know that where you’re from isn’t something that has to hold you back. That it might take ridiculous amounts of hard work, but that you really can achieve even the most improbable of dreams. He’d like to think that maybe he can serve as a source of inspiration to at least one of them. Hajime’s arm finds its way to his waist as tiny hands brush against every surface of the Cup and Tooru is hammered with questions about his years in Japan which he patiently answers.
Their old rink at Seijoh marks their final stop of the day. Tooru fishes around in his pocket for a key to the gym and Hajime raises an eyebrow. “I’m sentimental, I had a copy made okay?”
Nostalgia hits Tooru as he enters the building, memories of tears and heartbreak, and countless hours spent at practice. The remainder of the Seijoh team files in to congratulate Tooru and catch a glimpse of the Cup. Both Shigeru and Yutaro burst into tears the moment they see Tooru.
Slowly, everyone filters out other than Issei and Takahiro, who remain on the bench with Tooru and Hajime, reliving their old days and catching up. As the sun sets they take their leave, congratulating Tooru again.
Issei pats Hajime on the back as they go.
"What was that about?"
"Absolutely nothing. Don't worry your pretty little head over it. Shall we?" Hajime extends his arm and Tooru loops one of his through it.
They travel down the hallway to the locker room where Tooru shows his old stall to the Cup. Hajime laughs at him and it sounds louder now in the otherwise empty room. He remembers the last time they were in this room together, nearly seven and a half years ago now, following their final regular season game in their third year of high school. How far they’ve both come since then.
Tooru flushes with embarrassment as Hajime traps him against the wall, claiming it wouldn’t be right if they didn’t make out in their old locker room while they’re here. Tooru wonders if he should have thrown a towel over the Cup, to prevent it from being scandalized. He’s pretty sure he can feel the trophy judging him as his lips slide across Hajime’s.
He definitely feels judged when Hajime begins working his way down his neck, towards his favorite spot, which he marks with more aggression than he’s ever shown towards it in the past. Tooru’s knee digs into Hajime’s hip as he pulls on Hajime’s hair.
“Oh? Am I embarrassing you in front of your new friend?” Hajime glances back over his shoulder, smirking at the Cup. “Sorry, he was mine first you know.” He turns back to Tooru, sucking on his neck with the intent to bruise.
“Not at all,” Tooru purrs, tongue darting into Hajime’s ear. “Why, are you jealous?”
“Of course not,” Hajime replies, “You’re lying, but don’t worry, I won’t fully defile you in front of the Cup” he adds, thumbing at the swell of Tooru’s lower lip before he bites down on it. His other hand drifts towards Tooru’s inner thigh.
To further the sake of nostalgia, they’ve both brought their gear with them. Tooru deposits the Cup on the bench and takes his place in the crease, Hajime at center ice. Suddenly, they’re eighteen years old again. Even though he hasn’t played in years, Hajime skates like he hasn’t missed a day.
Neither of them is surprised though, when Tooru stops every one of Hajime’s shots.
“I did just win the Stanley Cup, get named the most valuable player of the playoffs, and was named the top goalie of the season,” Tooru states, patting him on the cheek. “I wouldn’t beat yourself up too much over it.”
“Win one Stanley Cup and your ego goes through the roof,” Hajime mocks, dodging Tooru’s punch. He skates to the bench and grabs the Cup, placing it on the ice beside the goal. “I figure it should see where you did your best work during your early years,” he tells Tooru. “We had a lot of good times here, didn’t we?”
“We did,” Tooru agrees. “I don’t think I would be where I am today without this place, I certainly wouldn’t be if it weren’t for you. I owe a lot to you, you know Hajime.”
Hajime takes Tooru’s hands in his own. “Did you ever think back then, that we would come back here after you had won the Stanley Cup?” Tooru shakes his head. “Even back then, I knew you were meant for more than all of this,” he says gesturing at the arena. “I’ve probably known since we were four. Tooru, you have come so far, and I could not be proud of you. I know you’ve earned a lot of trophies in the last few weeks. This probably pales in comparison to all of them, especially the achievement of your lifelong goal.” Hajime fumbles around in his pocket, pulling out a small blue box. “I’ve always supported you, and I want to continue to do so, for the rest of our lives.” He takes a deep breath as he opens the box, fingers catching on the latch, eyes focused on Tooru’s as he asks “Tooru, will you marry me?”
Tooru stares into Hajime’s eyes and then down at the elegant silver band nestled between the velvet pillows of the box.
“I’m sorry,” Tooru says and Hajime flinches.
Tooru’s eyes flit down towards the ice and he continues. “Since I was four, I’ve wanted nothing more than a chance to hold you. Chasing you has been my greatest dream and I’m so happy we met. My greatest dream, perhaps save for one other thing. We’ve had a good time, and I want you to know, I’m not giving up on you. We’re going to meet again. I promise you that.”
Hajime sniggers. “Tooru, are you...? Are you breaking up with the Stanley Cup? For me?” He laughs, quickly turning it into a cough when Tooru glowers at him.
Unperturbed, Tooru rolls his eyes and continues with his speech, maintaining Hajime’s gaze. “This man right here. My whole life, the only thing I wanted more than you was to be with him. I want you to know, I still love you, but he means more to me. This ring right here, means more to me. I hope you understand.” He wraps his arms around Hajime’s neck. “Yes,” he whispers, and gold explodes through the green of Hajime’s eyes.
Lowering his head, Tooru brings his lips to meet Hajime’s and there are no words as Hajime kisses him back, everything else fading away.
★★★★★
Nine years later
It took a few hours for everything to die down, there are still traces of confetti that managed to escape the broom’s wrath. Other than that, the arena is oddly silent.
Tooru stands just at the edge of the ice, gear at his feet, in quiet ecstasy, still absorbing the moment. Hard to believe he’s wound up here yet again. He’s been fortunate enough to find himself here multiple times. It’s not exactly the same as the first time, this time it feels more final.
“You about ready to go?”
Tooru twists his head to the side, shaking the hair out of his eyes, fiddling with the ring on his finger. “Almost.”
A skeptical eye roll, followed by a throaty laugh. “Liar. Just know, I am fully prepared to drag you out of here.”
Tooru bats his eyes and bumps his hip against Hajime. “I rather like the sound of that. It’s been a long time since you’ve had to.” He turns back to face the ice, a wistful sigh escaping his lips.
“Aren’t you supposed to be happy? You’d think you just announced your retirement here. You’re already thinking about the next one, aren’t you?” Hajime laughs again as he hip checks Tooru back. “Three isn’t enough for you? You are, aren’t you?”
“You do know me best. There’s still time to try for another,” Tooru replies with a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners, even though he knows this will most likely be his last. At thirty-four, edging on thirty-five, the chances of his winning another Cup are slim. Another four, maybe five years before he retires, barring injury trouble.
There are plenty of players who never get the chance to lift the Cup, and yet here Tooru is, still basking in the afterglow of winning it a third time. He may be nearing the end of his career, and the end of his chances, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to give up. He’s never been one to shy away from the unlikely and improbable, after all.
Another several minutes of silence, before at last, Tooru is ready to leave. He peels himself away from the boards and offers his hand to Hajime, kissing him before he folds their fingers together. “Ready to go home?”