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It's Hockey Hunk time, and it's Friday, and wow, it's the third chapter of the week - how awesome! It's been a lot of fun, and the story is slowly going towards the end of the season indeed, but many adventures await us still...in due time! *chuckle* Still a few chapters to go before the season break!

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Have a nice read!

*

Well, it seemed that everything was packed now. A further scan of the room with my eyes did not bring out anything out of the ordinary, or at least, something that I suspected would belong to me. The wardrobe was open and empty, I had checked the drawers, and the paper sheets of the bed were stuffed into a plastic bag I had carefully closed afterwards. Three bags were lined up next to the bed, each bulging with all of my stuff that had accumulated here during my stay, either by being bought, or the brief visits to my apartment to fetch anything I needed.

I was pretty sure I had everything packed now...yes..laptop, too, safely tucked in its bag...had I surely packed the charger, too? I leaned over to pull the zipper open and check that the mass of black cables were to be found.

"The food's not ready until another thirty minutes or so."

I was almost startled. Peter had padded into the room noiselessly, and when he spoke, it was sudden enough to make my ears flick rapidly up and down. I confirmed the existence of my laptop charger and zipped the bag up as I stood up. Peter was standing on the doorway and looking at me, slim arms folded over his chest covered by a black T-shirt. He was wearing his favorite grey gym pants, too, loose fabric clinging to his hips with a cord. White slippers covered his footpaws.

"Well that's fine," I smiled quickly, "I haven't ordered the cab yet."

"Well that's good," Peter nodded briefly, "I suppose you don't have any food at home."

"None," I shook my head ," I'll have to go to the supermarket after I've unpacked, I guess."

"Sure," he nodded quietly again.

"Well I took the sheets off like you told me," I pointed at the rumpled black bag, "I also took any laundry I had left and put them in that duffel bag."

"I see," he observed the bag with what I could only describe as very mild interest.

"I don't think I left anything out of place," I rubbed my chin as I mad my visual rounds again, "I think."

"I'll give it a good scrub once you've left, it'll be fine," Peter said.

I snuffled, breathing in the strange scent of the room, a mixture of some foul-smelling disinfectant and a whole lot of me, of course, having lived here for weeks now. I could almost smell a hint of Victor, all the way back from his one-night stay during his escape from Cobb. Soon that'd be wiped away with rubbing alcohol and Clorox, I thought...and me, too, in a way scrubbed out of existence. Out of memory, perhaps.

"I could give you a paw," I spoke honestly.

"I don't trust anyone else with my washing, sorry," his busy tailtip tapped against the doorframe.

I let out a small rumble, but nodded.

"Alright."

"Want me to help you carry this stuff out to the hall?" his paw waved.

"It's fine, I said, "no hurry yet. I'll do it after we've eaten. I think that's the best way to do it."

"As you wish."

"Yeah", I nodded.

Damn. I could feel the tension all the way in my whiskers. My tail just wouldn't stay still, either. Peter didn't seem to be any better off, either, with all sorts of things bubbling beneath that relatively calm surface. We had talked a bit, of course, but now that I was really leaving...guess it simply was much more real now.

Peter's ears flicked in reaction to a hissing noise coming from behind him, and he swiveled about.

"I have to check the food..."

He disappeared in a flurry of tail and paws, leaving me alone for a brief moment. I decided to follow, since standing there on my own made me feel like a fool. A few padded steps later it was my turn to stand on a doorway, this time to watch Peter stir something delicious-smelling on the stove. He noticed me and gave me a token nod while he kept on using his wooden spoon.

"Have to be careful with this sauce. Have to let it simmer properly or it'll lose that special tang. There's a hint of cinnamon, you see."

"Well you definitely know your way around the kitchen better than I do," I mused," you know I just throw something on the pan and hope it won't come out all black."

"And that's why you don't cook here," Peter added half a spoonful of something from a glass bottle containing some herbs or the like, and kept on stirring.

"Well I used to," I noted. "When you were too tired to do it yourself."

"It was better than meals on wheels," he replied, still not looking back to me. "That stuff would've killed me, too. Too much salt, too much fat, too much protein, too much..."

"Tin foil?" I offered.

"Too much tin foil," Peter harrumphed." I used to burn to my pads on that stuff. And it all tasted the same. Every single day."

"Don't have to worry about that now, though," I proposed. "You can eat whatever you want...as long as it's not cooked by me, apparently."

"Heheh," he chuckled quickly, tail swaying behind him.

"I just thought it was because you thought my paws were dirty or that I sneezed into the food or something."

"That too."

I snuffled.

"Of course."

Peter finished with his stirring, replaced the lid, and put the wooden spoon down to a folded piece of kitchen roll on the spotless counter before he gingerly turned about to face me again. One paw flew up to scratch the opposite arm, slowly, with conviction. The meds again, I thought.

"Bet you'll miss the cooking," Peter launched.

"Of course I will," I rumbled.

"Shame that you aren't dating that other Holden," Peter proposed. "He seems to be quite handy in the kitchen."

I flinched.

"I don't think the world would be ready to face a gay Jacob Holden," I said.

"A shame indeed," Peter kept on scratching, "he'd make a good gay man, though. Loud, vain and self-centered."

"He's not all that bad," I wasn't sure what I was doing, but my tongue rose to the defense of the Dobie brother with surprisingly little effort," as long as you keep him away from coffee and any drama."

"He seems to be quite adept at making drama, too."

Ugh. He wasn't at all wrong about that, for sure.

"Well I'm sure he's been over the moon last night," I mused, "what's with that old football buddy of his visiting and all."

"Oh yes," Peter nodded sagely, "the great reunion..."

Victor had sounded quite eager, I had to admit, when he told me about the upcoming visit, which had finally taken place last night, and I hadn't yet heard how it went yet. The urge to text Victor had been great, of course, but considering that he was supposed to drop by around 2 today...I could wait that long. Maybe a quick text from the cab once I was on my way...

"I'm sure it was great," I said, "Cobb was planning a...finger food buffet dinner, or whatever it was that he called it...sounded like something out of The Thirsk..."

Peter rubbed his chin.

"Shame that there were only three plates..."

I wasn't sure whether that was meant as a jab or not...it did make me tense a bit. The fact that I wasn't invited had been something of a point of interest to Peter, maybe even more so than for me...

"Well Victor didn't want to provoke Cobb..."I explained Victor's mindset, briefly, like I had recapped to Peter before when I told about the Friday extravaganza before.

"I suppose that's true..." Peter murmured.

"Why do you make it sound like a big deal?" I said. "We know how Cobb gets hyper-excited about everything that involves his brother, it would've been a potential disaster."

"But still..."

"I'm sure there'll be other opportunities to meet Victor's friends," I said, "possibly in a more Cobb-less setting that'd make it easier."

"Well he has surely met yours..." Peter proposed.

"I did meet Victor's hockey buddies," I suggested.

And how nicely that turned out...causing our first argument...ugh...

"I suppose that counts."

"Well I'm sure we can arrange a much more sedate meeting at some point," I said, "less drama and more...uhm...getting to know each other...?"

"Less crying fits from Dobermans, too."

Hmmm...crying Cobb...yeah...not to mention, hung over. Made my list of least favorite Cobbs with the coffee-drinking one well on the top, of course.

"Indeed," I mused.

"Yes," Peter said.

Well he didn't sound happy at all.

"And of course I'll come visit more often," I said, "I kinda feel bad about not coming more during the winter..."

Peter gave me a blank look.

"Well I was quite busy at the time."

Too busy grieving and not really wanting to see me except for friends-with-benefits invalid sex...

_ _

My ears drooped. It must've looked bad enough for Peter to interfere. His snuffle alarmed me just before he had walked up upon me and put his arm around me. The soft squeeze of his fluffy paws and his chin on my shoulder felt familiar, and good. I tentatively put my own arms around his back. A couple of inches separated us, but just about. His breath tickled my shoulder.

"You must live," Peter whispered without looking up to my eyes.

I slowly stroked his back, up and down, feeling the give of his thickened fur beneath my fingers.

"And you?" I husked. "How can I help you when I'm not here?"

"Just live," Peter rumbled. "Oh just live..."

Sometimes love hurt so damn bad and felt so damn good at the same time.

*

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See you on Monday with the chapter entitled Bark, Bite and Bump :P