Alfred wasn't sure when it happened. One minute, he and Matthew were going crazy, shoving each other out of the way watching hockey together, (nearly getting into a brawl of their own as Abdelkader and Mitchell duked it out on the ice) and the next…Well, he wasn't really sure. Maybe that's why he didn't know when it happened.
Was Matthew always so flushed with excitement, cheeks a glowing pink and breaths short and shallow? While they were wrestling, his jersey had slipped slightly off his shoulder, and he was too busy cheering that impossible block that MacDonald pulled at the last possible moment. Alfred should have been yelling in anger. How did they miss the shot? It was over the line, it was obviously a goal! Shit, now they'd have to go into overtime. But he was too distracted by the slope of Matthew's neck meeting his shoulder.
He blinked a few times and shook his head, shooting Matthew a sheepish grin as he noticed him staring back at him with a raised brow.
"Haha, sorry about that. There's that wildfire in California, and it's a little distracting at times. The smoke gives me a headache. Hey, I'm gonna grab another beer. Want one?"
Matthew grinned and sat back down, fixing his shirt, to Alfred's surprised dismay.
"Yeah sure. But get me the good stuff. I can't drink that piss you insist is beer."
He laughed, bringing up his hands to block as Alfred picked up the nearest throw pillow and tossed it at his head. Alfred smiled as he turned, heading into the kitchen, reveling in that glorious sound of laughter. He stopped, hand midway to the beer in the fridge as the realization hit him.
He was in love.
