Mat Barzal Imagines

Tell Me the Truth

Warnings: Swearing/language, angst

Word Count: 2.6k

Mat's bloody nose made you feel sick in more ways than one.

You watched your boyfriend bleed on television after getting hit with his visor, and to add insult to injury, the Isles lost. Now, you were watching his press conference, and you hated seeing him hurt. He was going to want a major cuddling session when he came home.

You didn't want to keep it from him any longer than necessary, but there was no way you could tell Mat about the letter sitting in your lap tonight.

Mat disappeared from the screen and was replaced with the TV commentator Shannon Hogan, so you reached for the clicker and pressed the DVR button before grabbing the letter and getting off the couch. You walked into yours and Mat's bedroom, opened the sock and bra drawer on your side of the bed, and shoved the letter into the bottom of the drawer, covering it with a few pairs of socks for good measure. You would have to tell him the truth soon, but tonight was not the night. You'd do it tomorrow after he had a good night's sleep.

You walked back into the living room and started watching the newest episode of The Flash, which you had recorded along with Arrow to watch after the game. Mat's flight from Montreal would arrive in around three hours, so you decided to stay awake until he came home. Unfortunately, your eyelids started to close, and the last thing you remembered before falling asleep was Grant Gustin fighting someone.

                                                            **********

You opened your eyes to find Mat carrying you into the bedroom.

"Did I fall asleep?" you groaned.

Mat looked down at you. "Fuck, I'm sorry I woke you, baby. I just thought you'd be more comfortable in the bed."

"No, I'm sorry I fell asleep. I tried to stay awake for you, but..." You paused when you caught sight of the dried blood at the bottom of his nose. "Babe, your nose," you said, your voice still thick with sleep. "Are you...?"

"Shh, baby, it's okay. It's almost reading week, so I know you're tired. And I'm fine, it was just my visor," he replied before kissing your forehead and putting you down on the bed. You sat up while he pulled back the covers, and you crawled into them. Mat walked over to the other side and collapsed in the bed, but not before wrapping his arms around you and cuddling you.

You lie there for a few minutes, communicating not in words but through touch. Mat rubbed your back while you ran your hands through his hair, letting him know that you were there for him.

Mat finally broke the silence. "It was horrible, babe. We, I, played like shit tonight."

"Yeah, but it's just one game," you said. "One game out of 82."

"Yeah, but we were terrible in California."

"Which you made up for by beating Columbus and Detroit," you countered. "And besides, the Canadians trotted out all of their captains tonight to make sure they were pumped up. It was an unfair advantage, and they dared to dangle Pierre Turgeon in front of us. I swear to God, I was so pissed, I was actually seeing red."

Mat chuckled. "I knew you'd feel that way. Have I told you how much I love that you were a fan of the team and hockey before we met?"

"Yes, many times, actually," you giggled. You were born and raised on Long Island, so you had been an Islanders fan before you started dating Mat two years ago.