TMD; The Mighty Ducks; Preferences and Imagines

𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕔𝕣𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘

𝔾𝕦𝕪 𝔾𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕖

You hear it before you see anything—the sound of muffled crying.

At first, you think maybe you imagined it. The hallway outside his room is quiet, still. But as you get closer to his closed door, the soft, broken sound becomes clearer. A choked sob, the kind someone tries really hard to hold in. It stops you cold.

You knock gently. "Guy?"

No answer.

You press your ear to the door, just to be sure, and there it is again—heart-wrenching, buried, raw.

Your chest tightens as you slowly turn the knob and let yourself in.

The room is dark. His duffel bag from practice is dumped by the door, his sneakers half-kicked under the desk. But your eyes go straight to the bed, where the blanket is pulled up high over his head. He's curled up, almost like he's trying to disappear.

"Guy...?" you say quietly, stepping inside.

He doesn't respond. But you can see the shape of his shoulders trembling.

You sit carefully on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on his back. "Babe. I can hear you crying. What's going on?"

At first, he stiffens under your touch. Then he mumbles something into the pillow that you can't quite catch.

You rub your hand slowly over his back, just to let him know you're here. "Talk to me. Please."

He shakes his head. "I'm fine."

"That didn't sound like fine," you say, not unkindly.

"I just—" His voice cracks, and he stops again.

You wait. He's not ready, not yet. That's okay. You won't leave. You lie down next to him on top of the covers, close enough for him to feel your warmth but not too close to crowd him. Your hand never leaves his back.

After a few minutes, he finally speaks. "I didn't want you to see me like this."

Your heart squeezes. "Why not?"

He doesn't answer right away. When he does, it's with that same strained voice. "Because I'm supposed to be the guy who holds it together. Everyone sees me like that. Like I'm always chill, always smiling, always up for anything."

He pulls the blanket down just enough to peek at you with red-rimmed eyes. "But I'm not. Not all the time."

"I know that," you say softly. "And I love you anyway. Because of that."

He blinks fast, trying to stop more tears. "It's like... everything's just piling up. Hockey's been rough lately. Coach benched me for most of last game, and I didn't want to say anything, but it felt like I didn't even exist out there. And school's just been—" He laughs bitterly. "—a disaster. I bombed that stats quiz I didn't tell you about. I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

He curls his hands into fists. "I feel like I'm letting everyone down. My team. My parents. You."

"Me?" You shake your head, shifting so you're facing him. "Guy, no. You've never let me down. You don't have to be perfect for me."

He finally looks at you, really looks. His expression is so raw, like a dam that's cracked wide open.

"I just don't want you to think I'm weak."

You reach out and gently cup his face, brushing away a tear with your thumb.

"Being vulnerable doesn't make you weak. It makes you real. And real is what I love about you."