Game Face - Joel Eriksson Ek
The podcast studio lights weren’t too bright, but they were bright enough to make her slightly aware of every expression on her face.
Across from her, the host grinned mischievously.
“So… I have to ask,” he said, glancing at his notes. “Are you aware that your boyfriend has a bit of a reputation in the NHL?”
She blinked. “Oh no. Which one?”
The host laughed. “The… let’s say… most punchable face in the league reputation.”
She burst into laughter before she could stop herself, covering her mouth. “Oh my gosh. Yes. Yes, I am aware.”
“So it’s true? You know about this?”
“Unfortunately,” she said dramatically, still laughing. “I regret to inform you that I do.”
The host leaned forward. “And how does he feel about that?”
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “He pretends not to care. But I know he’s seen the memes.”
Back in Minnesota, inside the locker room of the Minnesota Wild, Joel sat on the wooden bench, phone in hand, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. A couple of teammates leaned over his shoulder, snickering.
“Oh, this is good,” one of them muttered.
On screen, she continued.
“I mean, I get it,” she said. “On the rink, he has that intense look. The jaw clench, the stare, the whole ‘I will absolutely annoy you for sixty minutes straight’ vibe.”
The host laughed. “That’s very accurate.”
“But,” she added quickly, her expression softening, “outside the rink? He’s the complete opposite. He’s quiet. Sweet. He overthinks texts. He always makes sure everyone gets home safe. He remembers tiny details about people. He’s… honestly one of the kindest people I know.”
In the locker room, someone let out a dramatic “Awww.”
Joel shook his head, trying and failing to hide his grin. His ears were red.
“And he’s a great boyfriend?” the host teased.
She smiled shyly. “The best. Don’t tell him I said that. His ego doesn’t need it.”
Joel locked his phone, still smiling to himself. One of his teammates nudged him.
“Most punchable face in the league, huh?”
He shrugged, trying to play it cool. “At least someone likes it.”
But the small, soft smile on his face didn’t fade for the rest of practice.
The locker room of the Minnesota Wild was loud, as usual — music playing, sticks clattering, someone arguing about tape jobs.
Joel, however, was very still.
Seated at his stall, elbows on his knees, he held his phone just slightly angled away from the rest of the team.
Which, unfortunately for him, did absolutely nothing.
“Is that her?” a teammate asked, already halfway over his shoulder.
“No,” Joel muttered. “It’s the weather forecast.”
“Ah yes,” another chimed in. “The romantic weather forecast podcast.”
Before Joel could respond, the interviewer’s voice came clearly through the speaker:
“So… are you aware that your boyfriend has a bit of a reputation?”
Joel’s stomach tightened.
On screen, she smiled innocently. “Which one?”
The room went quieter. A couple guys drifted closer.
“The ‘most punchable face in the league’ reputation.”
The second she burst into laughter, the entire locker room exploded.
“Oh my God!” someone yelled.
“Confirmed!”
“We’ve been saying this for YEARS!”
Joel pressed his lips together, but he couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from lifting.
“Traitor,” he murmured under his breath — though his chest felt suspiciously warm.
On the screen, she was still laughing.
“Oh my gosh, yes. I know about that.”
A teammate clutched his heart dramatically. “She didn’t even hesitate.”
Joel nudged him with his elbow. “Shut up.”
“She said YES immediately,” another added. “Didn’t defend you. Not even a little.”
Joel rolled his eyes, but his gaze stayed glued to the screen.
It’s funny. It’s a joke. I’ve heard it a thousand times.
He scratched the back of his neck, trying to ignore how warm his face felt. He knew he had “that look” during games — the stare, the jaw thing. He’d seen the screenshots. The slow-motion replays where he looked like he personally offended someone’s entire family line.
But hearing her laugh about it?
Because she wasn’t laughing at him.
She was laughing like it was an inside joke. Like she knew something no one else did.
On screen, she continued.
“I mean, I get it. On the rink, he looks intense. He’s annoying. He’s in everyone’s face.”
The locker room erupted again.
“ANNNOYING?”
“Clip that!”
“That’s bulletin board material!”
Joel exhaled slowly through his nose.
Annoying is part of the job.
He’d built that reputation. He was proud of it, in a way. If opponents were irritated, he was doing something right.
“But outside of it?” she said, softer now. “He’s the opposite. He’s quiet. Really quiet, actually.”
Someone in the locker room pointed dramatically. “That part’s true.”
Joel didn’t even bother reacting.
“He overthinks texts,” she continued.
“YOU OVERTHINK TEXTS?”
“‘Hey.’ — What does she mean by hey?”
“‘K.’ — Is it over? Is it done?”
Joel dropped his head into his hand.
“You absolutely do,” someone cut in. “I’ve seen you type and delete.”
He glared — which only made them laugh harder.
But then she kept talking.
“He remembers little things. Like if I say I liked something once, he’ll show up with it weeks later. He checks if I got home. He always makes sure everyone else is okay before himself.”
Joel felt his throat tighten unexpectedly.
He hadn’t realized she noticed that stuff.
He did it automatically. It wasn’t… something he thought about.
“He’s one of the kindest people I know,” she finished. “He just hides it behind that scary game face.”
There was a collective “Awwww.”
Someone clapped him on the back hard enough to jolt him forward.
“Kindest guy I know,” the teammate mocked gently.
“Shut up,” Joel muttered, but his voice lacked bite.
On screen, the host teased, “And he’s a great boyfriend?”
She smiled, soft and a little shy.
“The best. Don’t tell him I said that.”
Joel’s heart did something very inconvenient in his chest.
“Well,” one teammate announced, standing dramatically, “I would like to formally apologize. Your face may be punchable, but your heart is apparently gold.”
Another nodded solemnly. “We misjudged you.”
Joel locked his phone before they could rewind it again.
“Practice,” he said, standing up.
“Oh no, we’re not done,” someone insisted. “We need to discuss the text overthinking.”
He shook his head, but he couldn’t stop smiling.
As he grabbed his gloves, one teammate leaned in and lowered his voice.
“She’s good for you, man.”
He looked back at the dark screen of his phone, where her frozen smile reflected faintly.
Then, with that familiar serious expression settling back onto his face — the one that had started all the memes in the first place — he headed toward the ice.
Most punchable face in the league.
She didn’t think he’d actually watch it.
Maybe clips. Maybe someone would send him the “most punchable face” part and he’d roll his eyes.
She was halfway through taking off her heels in their apartment when she noticed something odd.
Joel:
So I overthink texts?
She stared at the message for a full ten seconds.
The reply came almost instantly.
Joel:
Unfortunately.
The whole team watched it.
Before she could respond, the apartment door opened.
Still in sweats from the rink. Hair slightly damp from the shower. That familiar serious expression on his face — the one that had earned Joel Eriksson Ek his infamous reputation.
“Hi,” she said cautiously.
He stepped inside, closed the door slowly.
“You regret my face?” he asked, completely deadpan.
Her hands flew up. “I said I regret that you have the reputation! Not your actual face!”
She squinted at him. “Are you enjoying this?”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“I panicked!” she defended. “It was funny! You know it’s funny!”
He took a few steps closer. “The most punchable face in the league?”
“On the rink,” she corrected quickly. “Specifically on the rink.”
She folded her arms. “You absolutely do.”
“You once rewrote ‘Drive safe’ four times.”
“I was trying to sound calm.”
Then she broke first, laughing.
And just like that, his serious expression cracked completely.
He smiled — wide and real.
“Okay,” he admitted quietly. “Maybe I overthink texts.”
“I know,” she said gently.
The Reunion After It Airs
Later that night, after the teasing messages from teammates finally slowed down, they ended up on the couch together.
The episode was trending.
Memes already circulating.
She buried her face in his shoulder. “I made it worse.”
“They’re going to use it forever now.”
“They were going to anyway.”
She peeked up at him. “You’re not mad?”
He looked at her like the question didn’t even make sense.
“I laughed at your reputation. I told the world you overthink. I exposed your soft side.”
He leaned back against the couch, pulling her with him until she was half draped over his chest.
“I liked it,” he said simply.
She blinked. “You… liked it?”
His fingers traced lazy circles on her arm.
“You didn’t sound embarrassed,” he explained. “You sounded… proud.”
He hesitated for a second — just long enough to show that this part mattered.
“When you said I’m kind,” he continued quietly, “I didn’t know you noticed that stuff.”
She lifted herself up slightly so she could see him properly.
“Joel,” she said, voice soft but firm. “I notice everything about you.”
That tiny shift in his expression — the one that never showed up on the ice — appeared.
The walls down. The intensity gone.
“You really don’t mind the face thing?” she asked gently.
He shrugged. “If they’re trying to punch me, they’re not scoring.”
She snorted. “That’s the most hockey answer you could’ve given.”
He smiled again — smaller this time.
“And,” he added, “if the worst thing people say about me is that I look annoying during games… I’m doing okay.”
She studied him for a second.
“You know,” she said, brushing her thumb along his jaw, “I actually love your game face.”
“Yeah. It’s terrifying. Very attractive.”
“Terrifying and attractive?”
He shook his head, but he was smiling again — that shy, almost boyish smile that barely anyone outside of family and close friends ever saw.
“Come here,” he murmured.
She settled back against him.
After a quiet moment, she added, teasing, “You’re going to overthink posting about this, aren’t you?”
And as the episode continued playing softly in the background, Joel pressed a kiss to the top of her head — subtle, private, unseen by cameras or commentators.
On the rink, he might have the most punchable face in the league.
turnnoffyourmind
origamiaround
annaxmalina
stormborns
izzy806
baratheonpilled
pixelskylines
areudirty