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the week had been long. too long.
mack had been pushing through every day like he was on autopilot: wake up, practice, gym, eat, sleep, repeat. no softness, no quiet moments, no slipping. he hadn’t let himself. every time the urge crept in, curled around the back of his mind, whispered warm things like you could just rest, or it’s okay to let go, he shut the door hard. locked it. kept walking.
because in his head, slipping into littlespace meant weakness. meant being vulnerable. meant he was failing.
he didn’t want to be seen like that. not even by will.
and god, will had been patient. so patient. watching him bottle things up tighter and tighter all week. watching the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, the way his fingers fidgeted when he thought no one was looking. watching him pull away.
but he hadn’t said anything. not yet. will had just stayed close, warm, open. waiting.
they got home from practice late friday afternoon. the sun was still out, hazy and gold through the windows. mack dropped his bag by the door, shoulders tense, jaw clenched.
will glanced at him as he toed off his shoes. “long day?”
“fine,” mack said quickly. too quickly.
he went straight to the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle, twisting the cap off like it had done something wrong. will followed more slowly, watching the tight line of mack’s shoulders, the way he was holding himself too carefully.
“you hungry?” will asked gently.
mack shook his head.
“you sure? i was gonna make pasta or maybe grilled cheese.”
“i said i’m fine,” mack snapped.
the silence that followed wasn’t angry. just… sad.
will didn’t flinch. didn’t scold him. just said, “okay,” and started getting out the bread and cheese anyway.
mack stood there for a second, feeling the sharp edge of guilt in his throat. he hated snapping at will. hated the way his voice sounded when he was like this: tired, strung out, scared.
he turned away before will could see the tears prickling in his eyes.
he ended up on the couch, curled into the corner with a throw blanket, staring blankly at the tv screen. some nature documentary was playing, soft voiceover and gentle music. he wasn’t watching. his head felt full of static.
will came over a few minutes later with a grilled cheese on a small plate. he set it on the coffee table in front of mack without saying anything, then sat beside him, not too close but close enough.
mack didn’t touch the food.
they sat in silence for a while. the kind of silence that felt loaded, like it was holding something too fragile to speak out loud.
finally, will leaned a little closer. “baby,” he said softly. “can i ask something?”
mack didn’t look at him. just nodded a little.
“have you been trying not to slip?”
mack’s throat tightened. his whole body went stiff. he felt heat rise behind his eyes again, and he blinked hard.
“i don’t-” he started, then stopped. swallowed. “i don’t need to. i’m fine.”
will didn’t argue. didn’t say i know you’re not. just reached out and rested his hand gently on mack’s knee.
“it’s not bad,” he said. “slipping. it’s not weak.”
mack shook his head. “you don’t get it.”
“then help me,” will said. “tell me.”
mack bit his lip. he could feel the words bubbling up, hot and tangled in his chest. it hurt. holding them in hurt.
“it’s stupid,” he whispered. “i feel stupid. i feel like… like i’m too old for it. i'm playing in the nhl. how can i want to be little? how can i need that?”
his voice cracked.
will moved closer, pulling him into a loose hug, not too tight. “baby,” he said again, softer this time. “you’re allowed to need comfort. you’re allowed to feel small sometimes. especially when everything’s hard.”
mack buried his face in will’s shoulder. “i tried so hard not to,” he mumbled. “i thought it would go away.”
“but it didn’t,” will said gently.
mack shook his head.
“you don’t have to fight it anymore.”
mack’s hands curled into will’s hoodie. his body trembled, a quiet sob working its way out of his chest. will rubbed his back slowly, grounding him.
“do you want help?” will asked. “getting there?”
mack didn’t answer right away. but he didn’t pull away, either.
“i think i do,” he finally whispered.
will pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “okay. we’ll go slow. just you and me.”
he helped mack off the couch and led him to the bedroom. the sun had dipped lower, leaving the room full of soft shadows and golden light. the blanket on the bed was already folded back.
will moved carefully, like he knew mack might run if he felt overwhelmed.
“can i grab your stuffie?” he asked quietly.
mack hesitated, then nodded.
will went to the closet and pulled out the little blue bunny mack kept hidden behind his old hoodies. he set it gently on the bed and looked over at mack.
“do you want to change into something comfier?”
mack’s voice was barely audible. “my shark onesie?”
will smiled. “of course.”
he found it in the drawer and handed it to mack, who took it with trembling hands. he changed in the bathroom, coming back out with red eyes and soft socked feet, holding his bunny close to his chest.
will’s heart melted.
“you look so cozy,” he said warmly, opening his arms.
mack didn’t say anything, just climbed into them, hiding his face in will’s chest. his breathing was shaky.
“can i hold you?” will asked.
mack nodded, and will pulled him close, both of them settling onto the bed.
mack clutched his bunny tight. will stroked his hair gently, murmuring soft things. “you’re okay. i’ve got you.”
little by little, mack started to relax. his body stopped shaking so much. his breathing evened out.
his voice, when he spoke again, was soft and small. “dada?”
“yeah, baby?”
“‘m sorry i was mean.”
“oh, sweetheart,” will said, hugging him tighter. “you weren’t mean. you were hurting. i know.”
mack sniffled. “i didn’t wanna be little.”
“i know. but i’m glad you let yourself be.”
mack tucked his face under will’s chin. “it’s nice here.”
“yeah?” will kissed his forehead. “you feel safe now?”
mack nodded.
they lay there like that for a long time. the sky outside darkened, stars beginning to peek through the windows. will hummed softly, thumb brushing against mack’s cheek every so often.
mack mumbled, “thank you, dada.”
“anytime, bug. always.”
and for the first time all week, mack didn’t feel like he had to hold the world on his shoulders. didn’t feel like he was failing. didn’t feel stupid or small in the wrong way.
he just felt safe. warm. loved.
and that was enough.