Thank you to @allthebros for running this little fest, for listening to me whine about this thing, and giving me a bunch of prompts to kick start something, one of which was the word “confession,” which is what I picked.
————- K/T | 1.2k
There’s something weird about the air in his lungs that night.
It’s a thing Patrick will remember about it later, when he thinks back to this–to them starting up for real–that there wasn’t anything out of place he would’ve been able to point to, nothing in particular that spurred it on.
A 1-0 win against Colorado, a little ugly. Cameras in his face about Scotty’s save in the last five minutes, standard. Hanging back in the dressing room just a bit longer with the guys, watching the Epix crew pack up–not as usual, but not unusual either right before their Christmas break, film people and all.
He stands there feeling that way though–full inside while Hoss talks to him about shitty Chicago-to-Slovakia Skype attempts. It’s like something’s happening, or going to, simmering underneath before Jonny’s even registered as anything more than the steady background buzz he seems to regularly occupy inside Patrick’s brain.
Patrick doesn’t even notice he’s walked over until Jonny’s right in front of them, stopping for a smile and a solid thump against Hoss’ shoulder, but still in motion, already moving away before, “Hey, guys, have a good christmas,” has completely left his mouth.
He smiles at Patrick too, plucks quick at his jacket sleeve, casual, before he’s taken long strides towards the doors and disappeared through them without waiting for Patrick’s chance to return the sentiment.
And he guesses he could point to that–blame it on Jonny, except that this isn’t new or weird either.
these english magicians are always very stupid. the poor ones desire an unending supply of turnips, or porridge. the rich ones want more riches, or power, or the world. when he asks for one of those things, I will grant it. it will bring a world of trouble on his head.