Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Asher Rivera/Gabriel Bouchard, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov (background)

Characters:

Original Male Characters, Original Hockey Players (Game Changers), Asher Rivera, Gabriel Bouchard, Brendan Lawrence, Toronto Guardians Team Ensemble (Game Changers), Dallas Kent, Troy Barrett, Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Dylan Forster, Noah Lemaire

Additional Tags:

teammates to friends to lovers, Breakup, Breakup Under Duress, Secret Relationship, Getting Back Together, sappy bullshit, Sexual Assault, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Anxiety, Dissociation, AHL | American Hockey League, Fictional AHL Team, Hockey Trade, Misunderstandings, Self-Sacrificial Bullshit, Rape Culture, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Toxic Locker Room Dynamics, Hockey Drills as PTSD Treatment, PTSD Recovery Summer Camp, Crash-Course Trauma Therapy (don't try this at home), Angst, heavy angst Because For Some Reason I Make My Characters Suffer As a Rule Not an Exception apparently

Language:

English

Series:

Part 3 of the new me fights 'verse

Stats:

Published: 2026-10-07 Updated: 2026-10-21 Words: 5,705 Chapters: 2/?

i have never known a silence like the one fallen here

Summary

Jake asked if Asher had any family he could contact for him. “We wouldn’t even need to tell them what happened, Asher,” he’d said, like the problem was that Asher needed convincing.

“I don’t have any family,” Asher had said. He’d spoken in that same dead-sounding voice that he knew seriously unnerved people, but he couldn’t help it; he’d still been perfecting his normal-person voice at that point. “I never knew my mom. My dad is dead.”

Jake had deflated visibly but tried again and asked about friends.

Asher had stared at him for a little too long but eventually produced a response after the assistant trainer’s question had spent a moment rattling around his head. “I had a boyfriend,” he’d said. He’d smiled, like a reflex. Asher wasn’t even really thinking of Gabe specifically but rather the simple concept that he’d Had A Boyfriend, But Now He Doesn’t. “Kent kinda ruined that for me.”

 

— or: you've heard of Asher Rivera. would you like to meet him?

Notes

welcome, friends. this is the 'companion fic' that grew its own legs and started walking around as a full-length, unnecessary monstrosity.

Asher is quite dear to me, and it didn't feel right to write an OC like him without actually developing him (and having him serve some kind of role in the main Heated Rivalry fic, obviously). He's Shane's baby duckling, of course, but he also is a human roadblock that forces Shane to confront just how young he was and just how shitty what happened to him really was.

There is also a lot of introspection from Shane, as well as outward discussion, about his choice not to testify; Asher's backstory portrays the legal process Shane chose not to subject himself to (and the ramifications of his choice on a personal and professional level). This isn't meant to prove his choice was right, but to more explore the idea that there really is no 'right choice' when it comes to something like that. And, of course, I present to the court Gabriel "Gabe" "Bouch" Bouchard, Asher's 'and they were roommates' ex-boyfriend.

Anyways. I hope you guys enjoy this baby fic (or that it at the very least adds something to the main story). Please be gentle with our little Starshine, he's traumatized and doing his best [which is a big mood LOL]

Obligatory disclaimers: this isn't meant to serve as a how-to guide for BDSM/kink, trauma recovery, or as a 100% real-to-life depiction of the legal process that goes along with a sexual assault trial in Canada. I tried my best

Chapter 1: emotional support human

September 2018

Toronto, Ontario, CAN / Toronto Guardians Practice Facility

Toronto Guardians Training Camp

There’s already a player sitting in the stall next to Asher’s when he reaches the locker room. He stands as Asher approaches and offers a hand to shake.

“Gabe Bouchard,” he says. There’s a warm, friendly smile on his face. Asher’s eyes linger on it for a moment or two longer than necessary.

Asher shakes his hand. “Asher Rivera.”

“’Asher’? Shit, that’s a badass fuckin’ name,” Bouchard says, laughing lightly as they let go of each other’s hands.

Asher finds himself smiling without really meaning to, cheeks pinking just ever so slightly. “Yeah? Well you’ve practically got a built-in nickname, Bouch,” he replies, taking a seat in his own stall. His stall. An NHL stall with his name on it. Holy shit.

“I guess you’re right,” Bouchard agrees, nodding his head. “We’re still gonna have to figure out a nickname for you, though.”

Asher looks over and meets the other player’s gaze. Bouchard looks dead serious even if playful. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

__________

Asher is halfway through his scrambled eggs when Gabe walks in. He immediately makes his way over to where Asher is tucked away at a table in a corner of the players’ lounge.

“What the hell are you doing here so early?” he asks, sliding into the chair across from Asher.

Asher shrugs. “I’m usually at least fifteen minutes early for everything, but I like having breakfast here in the morning, so thirty,” he explains, stabbing at the eggs.

“Fifteen minutes is a little generous of you, I think,” Gabe replies, narrowing his eyes slightly. “You’re, like, half an hour early to everything.”

“Well, my dad always says that being on time really means being late, so I guess it’s just a habit,” Asher says, shrugging again.

“Hm,” Gabe hums. His gaze drops to the plate of food on the table and then flicks back up as his face transforms into what can only be described as his best ‘puppy dog’ look.

Asher snorts and nudges the plate his way, “You can have some,” Asher says, eyeing him playfully. “But don’t get greedy.”

So they share what’s left of Asher’s breakfast and then make their way to the locker room together afterwards. They’re both among the first few on the ice once they’ve geared up and they’re more than happy to use the extra time before practice to race each other around the ice.

The pair of them have become increasingly competitive rather than settling down as training camp has ground on, but Asher is having too much fun to care and Gabe seems to share the sentiment. Every drill, scrimmage, or shooting drill they’ve done thus far during camp has always managed to become some kind of competition with a completely arbitrary scoring system that changes at will depending on who’s losing. Coaching staff have already started giving them long-suffering sighs and mildly chastising looks when they get up to their antics, but nobody seems to be genuinely upset about it.

Gabe and Asher have been getting to know the rest of the team as time as gone on, but it’s always with both of them serving as the other’s Emotional Support Human. Gabe is already pretty friendly with a few of their teammates, but Asher has taken a bit longer to adjust. He was quiet with the rest of the guys but loud and shamelessly annoying with Gabe for the first week or so of training camp. Asher is starting to find his groove with a few of the younger guys on the team this week, though, so he’s finding his way.

Gabe has been a surprise to Asher. Asher chirps him and holds his own when Gabe chirps right back. Once Asher realized that he and Gabe are basically on the same wavelength, he started allowing the larger man to see how truly ruthless he can be. This only fueled the playful competitive vibe they have going on, so Gabe was accordingly delighted.

__________

Asher can’t help but notice a few days later that Gabe has started showing up early to things, as well. Maybe not a whole half an hour like Asher admittedly does, but definitely a good fifteen to twenty minutes earlier than necessary. Gabe spends this extra time with Asher, too, so they inevitably fall into a sort of routine.

It’s a pretty neat routine they’ve formed, actually: they both take turns bringing coffee for the both of them, they grab breakfast from the options provided to players at the rink, and they eat breakfast together in the far corner of the players’ lounge. Asher has come to really enjoy the quiet time alone together. The fact that Bouch somehow managed to memorize his coffee order without Asher needing to outright tell him hasn’t escaped Asher’s notice, either.

They also eat lunch together every day. It’s usually just the two of them for the most part unless it’s one of the occasional days they link up with their teammates.

They go out to lunch the day before the last day of training camp. The coaching staff have been making cuts as the week has gone on, but somehow the both of them are still here. That doesn’t mean they aren’t nervous, though.

“You think we’re gonna make the team?” Asher asks.

“Man, I sure hope so, but I don’t know,” Gabe replies, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“I don’t want to be demoted,” Asher mumbles, picking at the wrapper under his own sandwich.

Gabe snorts. “If they demote you, I’m getting myself demoted,” he says seriously.

“That’s not how this works.”

Gabe gives him an incredibly unimpressed look. “You underestimate how badly I can play, Rivera,” he deadpans.

Asher rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous, Bouchard,” he says, but pauses and eyes Gabe for a moment as a small smile appears on his face. “But if they demote you I’ll probably do the same thing.”

“But I thought that’s not how it works!” Gabe cries, outraged. “What is this ‘rules for thee but not for me’ shit?”

Asher laughs, loudly and unabashed. He hadn’t laughed like this for a long time until he met Gabe; he’s missed it.

__________

They find out they’ve made the active roster the next morning. They’re both uncontrollably giddy about it, much to their teammates’ amusement. Gabe asks Asher about housing options right after they get the news and has decided he’ll be moving into an apartment in Asher’s complex before they even get on the ice for practice. They talk about carpooling to the rink and hanging out all the time on the walk from the locker room to the ice.

Asher, Gabe, James Douglas, and the team’s back-up goalie Wade Sutherland find themselves joking around during a water break halfway through practice. The conversation shifts to the increasingly insane ways forwards are finding to score on goalies these days.

“I’m just glad the fucking Michigan is hard or else they’d be scoring with that shit all the time,” Wade says with a huff.

“It’s not that hard,” Asher says, rolling his eyes as he leans forward to put his water bottle back on the bench.

“Oh? That fuckass goal isn’t hard?” Gabe says, incredulous. “Are you nuts? We don’t carry pucks like that, Rivera, this isn’t lacrosse. That move is already hard enough without keeping in mind that you can’t telegraph what you’re gonna do even a little bit or it gets shut down immediately.”

“You’ve never scored one?” Asher says, his gaze turning assessing as he looks at his new friend.

“You’re telling me you have?” Gabe replies, eyebrows raised.

Asher laughs, light and easy. “Yeah, ‘course I have,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

“No way,” Gabe says, shaking his head.

“Way,” Asher deadpans.

Gabe crosses his arms. “Prove it.”

Asher gestures towards Wade with a hand. “I’ll never score with it now that he knows it’s coming!”

“So surprise me, then, Rivera,” Wade says with a smirk before pulling down his mask and skating off back towards his net.

Asher looks back to Gabe, who offers him zero sympathy. “You heard him, Ash,” he says smugly. “Let’s see it.”

Asher huffs, but puts his gloves on and heads back across the ice when coach blows the whistle. He takes Sutherland’s advice. He uses the remaining drills to lull him into essentially a false sense of security. He’ll have to keep the time between scooping up the puck and chucking it into the net as short as possible if this has any chance of working.

He waits until halfway through the end-of-practice scrimmage to deploy the trick, waiting for a natural lull where he finds himself behind the net. He steals the puck right out from under Everett Little, scoops it up, carries it on the blade of his stick for barely a second, and tucks it into the corner of the net right over Wade’s shoulder.

There is immediate outrage, much to Asher’s enjoyment.

“See? See? Fucking impossible!” Wade exclaims, but it’s distant because for some reason Asher meets Gabe’s eyes right after the goal and neither of them look away.

“I proved it,” Asher tells Gabe, unable to help the small smirk his lips have formed.

“I see that,” Gabe replies, still appearing genuinely surprised but also kind of impressed.

Asher is practically preening as he skates his way to the bench for a line change. They finish the scrimmage and Asher accepts the over-exaggerated head-pats he receives from some of the vets as they head off the ice towards the locker room.

Asher and Gabe stay behind on the ice to move the nets for the Zamboni driver so he can resurface the ice.

“You’re gonna be a star, Asher,” Gabe says as they make their way down the tunnel towards the locker room once they’re done.

Asher rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, too. “It was one stupid trick goal during practice, Bouch, relax.”

“Yeah, against an NHL goalie even after he knew you were gonna try it,” Bouch insists, nudging Asher slightly with a gloved poke to the side.

“Against an NHL goalie who didn’t think I’d actually be able to do it,” Asher corrects, swatting his friend’s hand away.

“Sounds like something a future superstar would say,” Bouch replies, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

Asher huffs even though a slight pink blush has appeared on his cheeks. “You’re ridiculous.”

“See, Riv? You know I’m right!” Gabe crows, way too giddy. “My little Starshine.”

Asher nearly trips over his own skates. “Your what?”

“Starshine,” Gabe repeats easily with a matter-of-fact nod. “‘Cause you’re gonna be a star.”

“That is fuckin’ terrible, Bouch,” Asher says, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re blushing.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m embarrassed for you,” Asher bickers back, but he’s betrayed by the way his cheeks burn a little hotter.

“Whatever you say, Starshine.”

Chapter 2: bonded pair, do not separate

Chapter Summary

rookie besties being adorable throughout the first month of their NHL careers :)

Chapter Notes

hello friends i'm hoping to pick up the pace here so we can join with TOMH's July chapters, we shall see

October 2018

Toronto, Ontario, CAN / Scotiabank Arena

Toronto Guardians v. Detroit Novas

Asher is so nervous he could throw up as he waits in the tunnel before the start of his first ever NHL game. He’s shifting restlessly from skate to skate, a nervous habit he’s usually able to control.

“Relax, Starshine, you’re gonna do great,” a voice says from behind him. Asher turns to see exactly who he’d expected to: Bouch.

Asher huffs and turns back around. “It’s your first game, too, Bouch,” he says petulantly. “You shouldn’t worry about me.”

Bouch gets closer, slinging an arm over Asher’s shoulder and hanging off of him obnoxiously. “Who said anything about worrying? All I did was state the obvious, Rivera.”

Asher rolls his eyes. “If you say so,” he grumbles, but it’s light-hearted and joking in the same familiar tone that’s developed between the two of them surprisingly quickly over the past month. Asher had never expected to make friends this quickly, let alone a best friend, but here he is barely a month after training camp with Gabe right by his side.

“I don’t just say so, I know so,” Bouch insists, smiling lazily. He leans closer so that he can speak right near Asher’s ear, his voice quiet so only they can hear. “Don’t tell anybody, but you’re the best fuckin’ player on the team, Ash. You remember that when Kent and Barrett start acting like fucking idiots. You’re gonna break fucking records, Starshine.”

Asher’s cheeks warm with what must be a horribly obvious blush. That’s been happening a lot lately, the blushing. Asher had thought maybe it’s a new manifestation of his social anxiety, but to his dismay he’s come to the conclusion the last week or so that it really only seems to happen around Bouch specifically. Asher is very pointedly not thinking too hard about that.

“We, Bouch,” Asher corrects without thinking, leaning back so they can meet each other’s gaze directly. The eye contact is intense, which isn’t a new phenomenon for them but certainly isn’t common, either. “We’re gonna break records, Gabe.”

Bouch’s smile does something funny. It lands on that same warmth he’d extended to Asher all the way back when they didn’t even know each other yet. “Of course, how could I forget?” he says in agreement, nodding his head. “Let’s fucking do it then, yeah?”

“Yeah, let’s fucking do it,” Asher agrees, his lips spreading into their own excited grin.

Asher knows objectively that Bouch is probably right about his skill level. They were both drafted by Toronto within the first round and they’re sharing their rookie season together because their skill justifies keeping two completely green players up in the NHL. AHL reassignments are pretty common for first year players, but Asher and Bouch are valuable enough assets to the team already that they currently occupy permanent roster spots on the third line. They’ve practiced with them both on the second powerplay unit, as well.

He’s still surprised when, late in the first period, he hammers a shot towards the goal and the puck, to his own disbelief, sails over the shoulder of the Detroit goalie and hits the back of the net. A goal. He stops in his tracks, shocked, and then realizes it’s a goal as he turns towards his teammates. His eyes immediately go to Bouch, who’s approaching with this huge smile on his face. He collides with Asher and manhandles him into a hug as their other linemates join in on the celly.

“I told you, Starshine,” Bouch says, craning his neck back to look at Asher’s face. “Nothing to worry about.”

Asher is too happy to even chirp him back for the blatant ‘I told you so.’

Gabe tears off towards the ref when they all part after the celly and Asher is momentarily confused until he realizes he’s going to grab the puck from the goal. Asher’s heart does something funny as his friend skates over, triumphant, with the puck in hand.

“Had to get your first goal puck!” he says when he reaches Asher. They skate side by side the rest of the way to the bench, where Gabe immediately hands the puck off to an equipment manager for safekeeping.

Asher scores another goal in the second period. Gabe has the primary assist on it, so Asher reacts accordingly, he thinks.

“Your first point!” he practically shouts in Gabe’s face during the celly against the glass.

“That’s what you’re excited about?” Gabe replies, shaking his head. “Your second goal! Two in your first game!”

Gabe gathers the puck and delivers it to the equipment manager on the bench for this goal, as well.

The Novas pull their goalie when the Guardians are winning the game 3-2 with only two minutes remaining on the game clock. Asher finds himself with the puck thirty seconds later and launches it down the length of the ice for an empty net goal.

Gabe grabs the puck for this one, too.

The arena explodes. Three goals in Asher’s first NHL game. Dad would be ecstatic, he thinks to himself as hats rain down onto the ice. Rookies don’t really just go ahead and score hattricks during their first NHL games yet here Asher is, standing in disbelief as fans for a team he just started playing for toss their hats onto the ice in celebration.

Asher makes sure to set the record straight regarding the pucks once they get back to the locker room after the game ends. “It was Bouchard’s first point,” he insists to their incredibly bemused equipment manager, Reese.

“And it’s part of your rookie hattrick stack, Rivera!” Gabe says from over his shoulder, incredulous. “I can’t take it!”

“Then we’ll share it,” Asher says, waving him away as he raises his eyebrows expectantly and looks from Reese’s face to the puck and back.

“Oh, uh huh, sure,” Gabe deadpans, nodding back. “Fifty-fifty custody, yeah?”

Asher turns. “Yeah, exactly, Bouch, you’re finally caught up.”

Gabe scoffs. “I’m so glad the rest of the team can finally see how much of a bitch you can be now!”

“I think it takes one to know one, Bouchard, so really I’m just matching your energy here,” Asher quips right back, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head.

“All right, you idiots,” the Guardians social media manager says, appearing with his phone in hand. “Let’s get a picture of the two of you with your shared puck family, then.”

Both Asher and Gabe are grinning widely, eyes sparkling, in the picture uploaded to the Guardians’ social media that night. Asher is holding the first and third puck in one hand while his other holds the second puck that Gabe also has his hand on.

“I’m getting that printed,” Gabe says the moment he sees it.

Asher finds himself blushing. He doesn’t know why and chooses not to dwell on it. Why should he when he agrees, anyway?

__________

October 2018

Toronto, Ontario, Canada / Asher’s Apartment

Canadian Thanksgiving

Toronto’s game schedule doesn’t leave much room for travel, so Gabe and Asher decide to spend Canadian Thanksgiving together when the topic comes up a few days beforehand.

They’ve both been spending an obscene amount of time together even outside of hockey-related things, but Asher doesn’t mind and he doesn’t think Gabe does either judging by how often he invites Asher over.

On the day of the actual holiday they hole up in Asher’s apartment early in the afternoon. They order way too much Chinese food only after swearing each other to secrecy under threat of the team nutritionist murdering them if she were to find out and eat until they can’t anymore.

Gabe finds a Marvel marathon on TV, so he and Asher create what is essentially a nest out of various throw blankets on his couch and then crawl inside. They keep their cups of iced tea and a few snacks nearby so that there’s no reason they’d need to drag themselves away from the comfort of said nest unless it’s to use the bathroom.

Asher doesn’t remember falling asleep. He wakes up sometime well after the sun has already set to the TV still on and midway through Captain America: The Winter Soldier. He blinks sluggishly and squints as he glances around and tries to get his bearings.

He and Gabe had migrated in their sleep, it seems, because they’re currently curled close together like it’s something they do all the time. Asher should be freaked out, maybe. He knows that there are several of his teammates who would be unnerved or even angry to wake up in such a state with another teammate, but Asher just…isn’t. It’s Gabe. Somehow this just feels like the natural continuation of their friendship, Asher thinks. It’s not like Bouch is spooning him or something as overtly romantic as that.

Asher shifts slightly to get comfortable, trying his best not to wake up the other man present in the nest. He settles, his head tucked towards Bouch’s chest and their legs still very much tangled together, and closes his eyes. He thinks he’s gotten away with it without waking Gabe, but the larger man makes a snuffing sound a few beats later. Asher doesn’t move as Gabe murmurs incomprehensibly and is relieved when Gabe’s body goes lax a moment later, asleep once more.

And if Gabe tossed his arm over Asher’s waist right before he fell back asleep, well, that’s between the two of them.

__________

October 2018

Houston, Texas, USA / Toyota Center Arena

Houston Bobcats vs. Toronto Guardians

Gabe and Asher get their first shot at playing on the second power play unit together during Toronto’s sixth game of the season. They’re in Houston playing the Bobcats who are one of the lower seeded teams in the middle of a re-build this season. The Guardians are up 4-1 early in the third when Matty Roth trips Barrett and earns himself a two-minute tripping minor.

Cooper, their head coach, barks out Gabe and Asher’s names towards the end of the first power play unit’s shift. The pair of them hop the boards for the line change when it’s time with barely contained glee.

Asher and Gabe, much to their coaching staff’s mild annoyance, have an unbelievable amount of chemistry on the ice. Cooper is extremely reluctant to even acknowledge it, let alone directly reference it, but the proof is in how they perform during scrimmages on the ice. Asher and Gabe have worked hard for this shot and they’re not going to waste it.

They quickly find themselves in the Bobcats’ zone. Parson has the puck and sends it to Asher as Gabe makes his way to the front of the net. Asher buys time, coming to a dead stop and then quickly changing directions to effectively break McDonald’s ankles, handling the puck with his blade for a few precious seconds until a lane finally appears and Asher whips the puck forward.

The puck hurtles towards Gabe, who positions his body and the blade of his stick just so that the puck deflects off it and hops into the goal over the goalie’s pad.

Bouch’s first NHL goal.

The goal light flashes red behind Gabe’s head, whose face has momentarily gone blank with shock. His eyes shift and meet Asher’s as a wide grin spreads across his face. Asher skates forwards a few strides and then jumps towards Bouch in celebration. The momentum carries the pair of them backwards as their three teammates pile on.

“That was so fucking great, Bouch!” Asher shouts as Parson places his gloved hand on top of Bouch’s head and shakes it lightly back and forth like he’s mussing a kid’s hair.

Asher hangs back as the rest of his teammates take off towards the bench for their bench roll of fist bumps and a well-earned line change. He politely requests the puck from the ref, who smiles as he hands it over. He holds it up to show it to Bouch as he approaches the bench, whose smile somehow brightens even further. Asher hands it over to one of the assistant equipment managers and then takes his seat on the bench beside Bouch.

“That was a nice fucking deke, Ash,” Gabe says as Asher sits down.

“Old man couldn’t keep up,” Asher replies with a smug smile. “Knew all I had to do after that was get the puck to you. You always get the craziest deflections, Bouch.”

“And you give the best passes,” Bouch says, nodding his head in agreement.

__________

October 2018

Toronto, Ontario, CAN / Scotiabank Arena

Toronto Guardians vs. Ottawa Centaurs

The Ottawa Centaurs are playing surprisingly well this season. Nobody expects that of them, but Asher supposes the addition of one of the best hockey players in the world can do that to a team. They’re not quite something he’d consider a threat considering the level the Guardians seem to be playing at this season, but the Centaurs definitely aren’t a team Asher thinks he should underestimate, either.

Asher’s enjoyed being up close and personal to the players he’d watched on TV growing up as the season has gone on.

Dallas Kent had been only a slight surprise. He comes across as an asshole even to fans, but he’s a lot more hateful and morally…questionable, to say the least, than Asher had expected. Asher has the same opinion of Troy Barrett, but he can’t help but notice how Troy seems to simply be ‘going along’ with whatever Kent says sometimes.

Shane Hollander is every bit of the lethal yet kind-hearted Canadian boy that the media talks him up to be. He’s a force to be reckoned with on the ice and Asher also admittedly buys into Hollander’s reputation of being the ‘hottest guy in the League.’

Ilya Rozanov comes across as a chippy player on TV. He provokes other players into spats on the ice that often leave the Centaurs, somehow, with a power play. He excels at fighting on the ice but also certainly gives Hollander a run for his money in terms of sheer skill.

He’s a menace.

Almost violently Russian, kind of in the same way that Hollander is damn near aggressively Canadian.

And, yeah, hot as hell, just like Hollander.

But most of all, and to Asher’s dismay, he hits fucking hard. Rozanov slams into him from the side during a battle for the puck halfway through the first period of the game with a hit that rattles the teeth in Asher’s skull. Asher shakes his head once to clear it and then takes off after him as the Centaurs player tears off with the puck.

Rozanov buries the puck in the back of the net. Asher watches, dismayed, as he and the rest of his Centaurs teammates celebrate the goal together on the ice and the goal horn sounds.

Dammit, Asher thinks. Then, what the fuck is wrong with me?

He’s furious with himself when he returns to the bench for a line change.

“Why’s your face look like that?” Gabe asks the second Asher sits down.

Asher scowls. “It’s just my face, Bouch.”

“Nope, I’m not buying it,” Gabe says, shaking his head. He nudges Asher’s knee with his own. “You know that wasn’t your fault, right? Rozanov hits like he’s trying to commit a felony.”

Asher looks at him out of the corner of his eye as his lip twitches. “It wasn’t that hard, Bouch. I took too long to recover.”

Gabe turns to an older veteran player, Thomas Dubois, who’s seated to his left. “Tommer, Rivera’s saying that Rozanov didn’t check him ‘that hard,’” he deadpans.

Asher swats him on the thigh of his breezers. “Gabe!” he says, cheeks heating.

Dubey leans forward on the bench so that he can look past Bouch and directly at Asher. “Don’t be ridiculous, Rivs, Roz fuckin’ rocked you, I’m serious,” he says matter-of-factly. Asher stares. “He probably woulda scored if he checked me that hard, too.”

He leans back and Asher redirects his attention back to Gabe, who raises his eyebrows expectantly. “See? Relax, Starshine, it’s not a big deal. We’ll get them back.”

Asher only half believes them, but he nods and tries his best to focus back in on the game. He only truly believes them when the team is joking with him just like normal when they return to the locker room for the first intermission. Nobody is pissed off or mean about it. Hm.

And better yet, Bouch wasn’t wrong: Barrett scores from a pass off of Kent in the third and the Guardians win the game 3-2.

__________

October 2018

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA

Philadelphia Falcons vs. Toronto Guardians

The Guardians fly to Philadelphia towards the end of October to begin Asher and Gabe’s first true NHL away game ‘roadie.’ It’s the Northeastern swing, so they’ll play the Falcons in Philly followed by the Seagulls in New Jersey, the New York Admirals, the Brooklyn Scouts, then the Boston Bears, the Buffalo Bisons, and finally rounding it off with the Pittsburgh Penguins before they head back to Toronto.

Asher scores one goal with Gabe as the primary assist against the Falcons, which is becoming a habit of theirs. It’s not like anyone’s complaining, though, that’s for sure.

Toronto wins the game 5-2. The Guardians have been on a tear the last few weeks and nobody wants to mess with that kind of momentum.

Marcel Houde, a veteran player, makes his way towards Asher’s stall shortly after the team gets to the locker room after the end of the game. “A bunch of us are going out to a nice steakhouse Hamilton found,” Houde says as he walks up. “You in, Rivera? And where’s your partner in crime? Bring him, too.”

“Oh, no thanks, we’ve got dinner plans,” Gabe says, walking up behind Houde and clapping him lightly on the shoulder.

Asher snorts. Yeah. ‘Dinner plans.’ More like the two of them have plans to tuck themselves away in their hotel room, order room service, and watch trashy movies on TV until they inevitably pass the fuck out.

They started a new away game ‘tradition’ during the last few shorter road trips they’ve taken. Every hotel’s room-service seems to, without fail, include chicken tenders as an option. It’s such a mundane, ordinary thing to notice, so of course Asher and Gabe took this knowledge and turned it into an entire production. They have taken to ordering room-service chicken tenders from every hotel they stay at over the past few weeks, and it’s evolved into an entire thing where they write down their rating for each hotel.

“Already have plans? What, you got family in the city or something?” the veteran player says, eyebrows raised.

“They’re like a bonded pair, Houdy, and apparently they order chicken fingers at least one night per city,” William Parson says matter-of-factly from a stall over.

Asher can’t help himself. “It’s a routine,” he chimes in, smug and proud.

Houde shakes his head and walks away, muttering, “—these fuckin’ kids are more superstitious than Sinclair, jesus fuck.”

***

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA / Toronto Guardians Team Hotel

Gabe puts the order in for room service while Asher takes the first shower. This is part of the road routine they’ve settled into lately: the person who showers second orders room service. Bouch has found a channel that’s playing old re-runs of Grey’s Anatomy when Asher emerges from the bathroom.

“What dessert did you get?” Asher asks as he makes his way to where he left his suitcase sitting wide open on the end of the bed.

Gabe tsks. “You know that part is always a surprise, Rivera,” he says matter-of-factly, wagging a finger.

Asher rolls his eyes. “You harassed me until I told you when it was my turn last time,” he deadpans, unimpressed.

“Extenuating circumstances,” Bouch replies with an uncaring shrug.

“Which were?”

“They had cinnamon buns on the menu, Starshine,” Gabe replies, like that is an explanation in and of itself.

Asher supposes it kind of is. “Right, I forgot you’re a fuckin’ slut for cinnamon rolls,” he says, nodding reasonably.

“That’s right,” Gabe says in agreement as he gets to his feet with his pajamas in hand, “And I’m not ashamed, either.”

“Oh, I know you’re not,” Asher says blandly, turning his head to follow Gabe as he moves across the room towards the bathroom. “I kind of figured considering the borderline pornographic moaning noises you made while you ate them.”

“I am what I am!” Gabe crows, not turning back as he walks into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. He doesn’t lock it, though. Neither of them do, for some reason, not when they’re sharing a hotel room with each other.

Room-service arrives a few moments after the water cuts off at the end of Gabe’s shower. Asher waits a few moments and then opens the door to bring the trays inside. He sets them on the table by the room’s cuck chair and then pauses to set the room up for ‘bedtime.’ He and Gabe like to be able to just go right to sleep whenever they want after they eat without having to worry about logistical things like setting alarms or plugging their phones in to charge. Asher has been more than happy to take over the responsibility for the both of them, another part of that road trip routine of theirs.

Gabe joins him back in the room a few minutes later. Asher has already relocated the trays to Gabe’s bed and parked himself upright against the headboard. Gabe climbs into the bed beside him and they don’t waste any more time, digging right into the food before them.

The chicken tenders themselves get a solid 7/10 as their entirely arbitrary overall rating. Breading 6/10. Crispiness 7/10. Flavor earns a decent 6/10. They decide pretty quickly that they definitely belong in the ‘would eat again’ category. Asher writes this all down hastily in a mini-notebook he brings on road trips solely for this purpose like this is very valuable data.

“I think I’ve finally thought of a name for the rating scale,” Gabe says as he pops the last bite of the remaining tender into his mouth.

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

“The Rivera-Bouchard North American Hotel Chicken Tender Index,” Gabe says between chews. He takes a sip of his seltzer water before he continues, “The R-B NAHCT Index for short.”

“Jesus christ.”

Gabe kicks Asher’s calf lightly. “Do you have any better suggestions?”

Asher sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Right, I didn’t think so,” Gabe says triumphantly. “Write the name down in the book, Rivera! It’s official now!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Asher mutters, flipping the small notebook open to the front cover and doing just that. “What’d you pick for dessert? Lemme see.”

Gabe pulls the cover off the plate to reveal a spread of Italian cannoli. Asher isn’t upset, that’s for sure, they look delicious. He chirps Gabe about it, anyways, raising an eyebrow as he says, “Leaned into the Philly theme, didn’t you?”

Gabe huffs. “Just eat a fucking cannoli, Rivera.”

“Will do, Bouchard,” Asher replies, giving him a sarcastic salute before grabbing one of the desserts off the plate.

Chapter End Notes

they are so very precious to me ngl