Page 49 of Speak in Fever
As the final buzzer sounds, Percy feels the familiar rush of satisfaction that comes with a complete team effort. Around him, his teammates are celebrating—fist bumps, helmet taps, the usual post-win energy that never gets old no matter how many games he's played.
But his attention is entirely focused on Rath.
Rath is skating toward him with that bright, uninhibited smile he gets after particularly good games, his face flushed with exertion and satisfaction. There's something about seeing Rath happy, seeing him confident and successful, that makes Percy's chest tight with pride and affection.
"Hell of a game," Percy says as Rath reaches him, and without thinking, without considering where they are or who might be watching, Percy pulls him into a hug.
It's not unusual for teammates to embrace after big wins. What is unusual is how long they stay pressed together, how Percy's hand finds the back of Rath's neck, how their foreheads come to rest against each other as they catch their breath in the aftermath of adrenaline.
"We're so good together," Rath says quietly, just for Percy's ears, and the words could be about hockey but feel like they're about everything else too.
"Yeah, we are," Percy agrees, his thumb brushing against the skin at Rath's nape where his helmet doesn't quite cover.
They're lost in the moment—in each other—completely forgetting that they're in the middle of TD Garden with thousands of fans in the stands and cameras positioned around the rink.
For thirty seconds, maybe longer, it's just them in their own bubble of shared accomplishment and barely contained affection.
It's JP skating over that breaks the spell.
"Save some celebration for the locker room," JP says with a grin, but there's something pointed in his tone that makes both Percy and Rath step back from each other quickly.
Reality crashes back in—the crowd noise, the bright arena lights, the fact that they're standing at center ice where every camera in the building can see them.
Percy's stomach drops as he realizes how that must have looked, how intimate their celebration had been compared to the standard teammate congratulations happening around them.
"Right," Percy says, trying to sound normal as his heart pounds for entirely different reasons now. "Good game, Platts."
"You too, Cap," Rath replies, but Percy catches the slight flush in his cheeks that has nothing to do with exertion.
They separate to continue the post-game routine—handshake line with Boston, acknowledgment of the crowd, the usual professional behaviors that end every game. But Percy can't shake the feeling that they've crossed a line, been too obvious, let their guard down in exactly the wrong moment.
The locker room celebration is energetic but brief—they have a flight to catch, another game in two days, the relentless schedule that defines professional hockey.
Percy goes through the motions of post-game leadership, making sure everyone's accounted for, that spirits stay high, that they're ready for the next challenge.
But part of his attention keeps drifting to Rath, who seems unusually quiet despite his strong performance. Every time their eyes meet, there's something almost nervous in Rath's expression, like he's thinking about the same thing Percy is.
The bus ride to the airport passes without incident, teammates listening to music or dozing or discussing dinner plans.
Percy tries to lose himself in game tape on his tablet, but he keeps remembering the weight of Rath's forehead against his, the way they'd held each other like they were the only two people in the world.
It's not until they're settled on the plane that Percy's phone starts buzzing with notifications.
Twitter mentions. Instagram tags. Text messages from friends he hasn't heard from in months. Percy's stomach clenches as he opens the first notification, already knowing what he's going to find.
The photo is crystal clear, taken from the perfect angle to capture every detail of their celebration.
Percy and Rath at center ice, pressed together in what looks like an incredibly intimate embrace.
Percy's hand on Rath's neck, their foreheads touching, both of their expressions soft and unguarded in a way that suggests this is about much more than hockey.
The caption reads: " The chemistry between Killinger and Platts continues to be UNREAL. Look at this celebration! #Percrath #ChemistryGoals #ThunderbirdsHockey "
Percy scrolls through the comments, his heart sinking with each one:
"This is so much more than teammates celebrating"
"The way Percy touches his face... I'M CRYING"
"They look like they're about to kiss and I'm here for it"
"Get yourself someone who looks at you the way Percy looks at Rath"
"I've never seen teammates celebrate like this but I NEED MORE"
The hashtag #Percrath is trending. There are GIFs of their celebration, side-by-side comparisons with other "intimate teammate moments," and analysis threads about their "obvious connection" that make Percy's face burn with embarrassment and panic.
He glances across the aisle to where Rath is sitting, and from the pale expression on his face, Percy knows he's seeing the same thing.
This is bad. This is very, very bad.
Percy's phone buzzes with a text from his mom: You okay ?
And finally, most worryingly, one from the team's media relations coordinator: We need to talk first thing tomorrow. Some questions coming in about tonight's celebration.
Percy closes his phone and leans back in his seat, fighting the urge to look at Rath again. They've been so careful for months, maintaining professional boundaries in public, never giving anyone reason to suspect their relationship is anything more than captain and player.
One moment of genuine happiness, one instance of letting their guard down, and suddenly the internet thinks they're in love.
Which they are, but that's beside the point.
The plane touches down in Portland just after midnight, and Percy is grateful for the late hour that means fewer people around to notice or comment. But even in the dim parking garage, he's aware of his teammates' glances, the way JP keeps looking between him and Rath with obvious concern.
"Ride home?" Percy asks Rath quietly as they collect their bags, keeping his voice carefully casual.
Rath hesitates, and Percy can see the conflict in his expression—wanting to say yes but aware of how that might look right now, when they're already under scrutiny.
"I'll catch a ride with JP," Rath says finally, and the rejection stings even though Percy understands the reasoning.
Percy nods and heads for his car alone, spending the drive home thinking about damage control and plausible explanations and how to protect what they have without denying its existence entirely.
His apartment feels too quiet when he gets there, too empty without Rath's presence filling the space. Percy makes himself a cup of tea he doesn't want and settles on his couch with his laptop, reluctantly returning to Twitter to see how bad the situation has gotten.
It's worse than he'd hoped but not as catastrophic as it could be.
Most of the comments are positive, fans who think their "chemistry" is entertaining rather than suspicious.
The shipping content is extensive but seems to be treated as harmless fan speculation rather than serious investigation into their personal lives.
But there are other comments too, ones that make Percy's stomach churn.
Percy's phone buzzes with a call from an unknown number, and he automatically lets it go to voicemail. Then another call, and another. Reporters, probably, or bloggers looking for comments about the "intimate celebration" that's suddenly all over social media.
He turns off his phone and goes to bed, but sleep doesn't come easily. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees that photo—the way they'd looked at each other, touched each other, existed in their own private world for just a moment too long.