working for the bruins and it being kinda awkward and tense between you and mo after they loose to boston in game 7?
THIS PROMPT, OH MY GOODNESS. Hope I did it justice with the angst.
The entire series, the entire season, the entire time you worked for the Bruins you never imagined it would end like this. Sure, the Leafs had faced the Bruins three times in the playoffs since 2013 but what were the chances it would happen again.
You should’ve known you had been tempting fate the entire time.
You should’ve thought better and more level-headed when Morgan told you that no matter what, it’d be fine no matter the outcome.
You should’ve had an actual conversation about this.
And when that final buzzer sounded, you jumped up with your co-workers, who were just as tired as you were, broken down, celebrating in pure elation and relief and ran onto the ice not even for one second thinking of Morgan until you watched as he hung his head as the Bruins celebrated. You couldn’t react fast enough and he lifted his head just in time to catch you, pure joy, smile radiating bright enough to light TD Garden on its own.
Your heart thudded to a stop in your chest and shattered into millions of pieces. Your boyfriend, who had been so supportive hundreds of miles away, who visited you when he could, who flew you out when you could, who encouraged you to chase every single one your dreams just saw his childhood dream crumble right before his eyes at the expense of your own happiness.
You didn’t even have time to throw him a glance of pity before you were pulled away by the PR staff directing you to capture Tuukka’s celebration for social. When you had finally found a second to glance over your shoulder, his eyes dropped down, his head shaking.
“Y/N, focus!” your co-worker yelled at you, running off to oversee the interviews taking place by the benches. And you had no choice but return to work.
By the time you had finished up and returned to the locker rooms for post-game, your co-worker had already claimed B’s coverage and you had no choice but to return to your offices but not before being stopped by a barrage of Leafs returning to their bus.
You stopped out of courtesy and just maybe to catch a glimpse of Mo before he had to return to his hotel and you got what you wished for.
None of your friends even acknowledged you or looked at you despite being a part of the Leafs family the three years you had been with Morgan and that you understood. What you couldn’t understand was Jake audibly telling Morgan that you were standing there and Morgan shrugging his shoulders and walking by you like you were invisible.
Your heart broke and your breath halted, your blood running cold in your veins. It hurt you.
You moved, your feet carrying you so that you walked in stride alongside your boyfriend of three years.
“Mo,” you whispered only loud enough that he and Jake could hear it so as to not get in trouble. You watched as Jake lifted his head to look at his best friend who walked stoically between you two.
You huffed readjusting your heavy bag on your shoulders which wasn’t helping much with the pace you had to keep.
“Morgan, are you going to even look at her?” Jake asked firmly as he took in your struggle. Morgan didn’t even bat an eyelash, continuing to stare at his feet as he beelined for the bus. That was until Jake had anything to do with it and shoved Morgan just enough for him to collide with you, causing you to drop your bag and thankfully, not your laptop.
“Dude!” Mo yells in frustration, causing busy eyes around you to float toward where the three of you were standing.
Your heart sinks in your chest and your stomach falls when he barely even looked at you, instead glaring at his best friend before taking off.
“Fuck,” you mumble, your hand quickly swatting at the tears that were inevitably coming. You bend down to gather your things when Jake’s hands join yours.
“Jake, you don’t have to—“
“You don’t deserve this, Y/N.” He gathered your media guide, notebooks and pens and shoved them back into your bag.
“Jake, you’ve had a long day, don’t worry about me.” You stand up and pull the strap over your shoulder before you take off, practically running for the privacy of your office.
Once in your space with the door closed behind you, you slide down, your laptop gently falling along your bag onto the carpeted floor. You pull your legs to your chest and try to regulate your breathing. Your mind was racing. Your heart pounding. Your ears were ringing.
“Fuck,” you cursed, trying to count to ten. “One,” breathe. “Two,” breathe.
Your phone buzzes in your hand and before you could even reach three, you’re thrown off again, this time by a message from Jake:
He’s talking to you tonight. I don’t fucking care. We’re still at the Ritz. Come whenever you’re done at work. I’m not letting him do this to you.
You throw your head back in frustration hitting the solid wood door but you don’t even care. You don’t know how you’re going to deal with this at all.
“Fuck,” you curse again and begin scrambling when you hear the feet of others that share your office suite and realize you have quite a bit of work left before you could even think of leaving. You swipe at the tears that fell from your eyes and try your best to look put together while feeling anything but.
Your fingers type shakily, your brain going into overdrive as you tried to process what it was you were tweeting while you tried to calm and distract yourself at the same time.
The quiet knock at your door goes unnoticed with your noise cancelling headphones drowning out all possible distractions until a hand claps on your shoulder causing you to audibly gasp and jump.
“Hey, how’re you doing? Almost done?” your flirty co-worker asks, a grin spreading across his cheeks.
“Yeah,” you mumbled. “Just wrapping up.”
“You wanna get outta here? A lot of us are going out to celebrate.”
You shrink away from him closing your laptop and standing up to create as much distance between the two of you as possible.
“I have something I have to take care of.” You begin to stuff your backpack with your belongings not even bothering to keep polite eye contact.
“At 10:45 at night?” he points out.
You shake your head. “I just gotta go, Ryan. I—“ you don’t even hesitate moving past him and holding your door open for him to leave, locking up and turning on your heel before he could even come up with some retort.
You practically run to your car, leaning your head back against the seat rest as soon as you lock the door behind you. Your eyes fall close and a tear escapes.
Before you could talk yourself down and head home, you put your car into drive and pull out into traffic in the direction of the Leafs’ hotel.
I’m parking, you text Jake.
You sit in your car for a moment, dreading every second of what is to come.
It had never been this bad with Morgan. Everything had always been easy. You had gotten into arguments before but it was always resolved at the end of the day when he crawled into bed with you and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, whispered an apology. If this wasn’t resolved, who knew what was to come? He wasn’t going to be here with you come sunrise. You didn’t have much time.
Your time was cut even shorter when you spotted Morgan waiting for you in the lobby. He didn’t even wait for you to come to him. He didn’t want to.
Your arms wrap around yourself, holding yourself together.
When you approach him, you get nothing but a cold, empty stare.
“Hey,” you greet, coming to a stop in front of where he sat on a one seat chair in the shadows of the lobby.
“Hi.” You stood there awkwardly before turning around and slowly lowering yourself to the coffee table behind you, your knees pressed up against Morgan’s.
You sigh, breathing coming more difficult that you could even imagine.
“Talk to me,” you beg trying to grab his hands out of his lap. You needed to feel him, his warmth to know that you were going to be okay. Your heart only breaks even more when he pulls his hands away from you and he leans back in the chair.
“What is there to talk about?” he questions stubbornly, his blue eyes nothing but harsh when they take your desperation in.
And suddenly you’re angry about his passiveness. “So what? This is it? You don’t want to look at me? Talk to me anymore? My touch is so disgusting that you have to move away?” You could feel the angry tears touch your cheeks, leave their trail.
“You don’t want to see me anymore because of a fucking loss that I had nothing to do with? Something you said wouldn’t bother you, wouldn’t hinder us.” You wanted to inflict pain on him, the same kind of pain he was inflicting on you. “You coward.”
That got him. That hit him. The fire ignited in his eyes and he leaned forward and laughs.
“You think this is funny? Morgan, I haven’t slept well in weeks. I haven’t felt normal and unstressed and for once, for a split second I was happy and you—“
“You’re stressed?” Morgan cut you off. “You don’t know what that’s like.”
You drop your gaze from Morgan’s and shake your head, wiping the tears away. You couldn’t get to him. You didn’t know this man.
“I didn’t expect you to be happy. I just wanted you to be proud,” you whisper quietly, breaking. “I’m—I’m going home,” you sigh, having given up. You stand to leave without looking at him but you couldn’t help it. You take one last look at Morgan who had returned his attention to the phone in his hand.
“So you don’t want to see me? Don’t want me in Vancouver with you this summer?” You couldn’t help the defeat in your voice. Everything about you was beaten down.
You watched as Morgan’s face contorted with something, his eyebrows pulling together although he doesn’t look away from the screen in his hand.
“I don’t know… what I do know is that I have a flight to catch tomorrow and loose ends to tie up in Toronto so I should get going.” You flinched as he got up abruptly and brushed past you, his hand gently falling along your forearm in the process to stabilize you. You closed your eyes as his fingers lingered, though you were sure you imagined it as an act of self-preservation.
The walk back to your car was a cold and lonely one despite your warm coat, Morgan’s old scarf wrapped around you and the pitying look Jake shot you as you found your way back home.
It had been four days and two home games since you had any contact with Morgan. To say you were exhausted was an absolute understatement, between long days and long nights spent tossing and turning with nothing but blonde hair and blue eyes on your mind and in your dreams. If it wasn’t for coffee and melatonin, you weren’t sure how you would’ve survived.
So when the time came to leave early and return home following a long media session before the team took to the road, you were ready to just hide in your sheets not to see the light of day until absolutely necessary.
However, as luck had it, that wasn’t going to happen.
You spotted your kitchen light lit from your window and the idea creeping in the back of your mind sent your heart racing. Surely you had turned it off before you left for the rink that morning but you weren’t sure of anything anymore. Your hand shook as you unlocked your front door, your heart racing in your chest.
You creeped in quietly, not ready for any confrontation but bracing yourself for whatever was to come, stranger be damned. You had gone through enough these past few days that a break in would just be something added to the list.
Suddenly strong arms wrap around you and before you could scream and fight, you feel. You sink into the feeling of familiarity, of being welcomed home. You would know this feeling anywhere in the world. You would always know him.
You couldn’t help the sob that escapes your lips as he holds you there in the foyer of your tiny Boston apartment. Your arms drop everything you’re holding and clutch onto him.
Despite everything that had happened, you needed him.
“Please forgive me,” he begs, his lips pressing to the crown of your head as he holds you to his chest. You bury your face in his hoodie and let the frustrations of the last few days pour out, your glass finally emptied, your bubble burst. “I was so stupid, so selfish to do that to you. I’m so proud of you, baby girl and I let myself make you think otherwise.”
You try to regulate your breathing, just like you had done so much recently but this time, Morgan’s hand rubbing gently circles on the skin at the base of your neck helps immensely and your breaths even out in a matter of seconds.
“I will never forgive myself,” he vows. “I may be upset with myself for not leading the team—but this… this is unforgivable. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again.”
You breathe in and out. “There will never be a day that passes that I don’t want to see you, that I don’t want you by side,” you answer truthfully. “These past few days have been hell for me and for you. I just want you to hold me… please.”
“I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do.” He pulls back and takes the purse that was half hanging off your shoulder and your bag that was in the floor and moved it aside before pulling you back into his side and leading you into your apartment.
“Go get changed, baby girl,” he suggests, gently. “I’ll be right here.” And you do, washing your face of the makeup and impurities of the day, shrugging into the pair of joggers and Morgan’s comfy crew neck that he left out for you.
When you pad back to your living room, Morgan was just setting down a cup of tea on your coffee table. He looks to you and for the first time you take him in, tired and drained, the bag under his eyes bruised with exhaustion.
He takes a seat and holds his arms open to you and you oblige, straddling him and your arms encircling him as your head falls on his shoulder. He drapes a blanket over you both and holds you to his chest. You press your nose into his neck and let yourself give in and for the first time in almost a week, completely unwind.
“I love you,” he whispers against your forehead.
“I love you, too, Morgan,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his neck.
Morgan’s hand finds the back of your neck and gently guides you back and you sit up in his lap. His fingers gently trace your features as you watch him lovingly. His thumb follow the curve of your lips and when they reach the dark circles under your eyes, he frowns deeply.
“I caused that,” he says so softly yet harshly that you’re not so sure you hear it. “I’m so fucking stupid.”
Your hand grasps his in yours and you bring it down and kiss his palm.
“You had so much on your shoulders that it finally caved in on you. You can’t do this on your own, Mo and I wish that I could’ve been there for you. I’m so proud of you and everything you are. That loss does not define you, it doesn’t define that team. I’m proud of you. You are the heart and soul of that team.” You trace along his palm and when you look back to him, his eyes are burning into yours, suddenly a deep ocean rather than a clear sky.
His hands gently grasp your face in his and pull you to him, his lips molding around yours for the first time in weeks, his sweet taste in your tongue and all around you.
He pulls back suddenly. “And for the record, I am so proud of you. I am happy for you… Even though you look better in Leafs blue,” he teases, grin lopsided. And that’s your boy. He’s back and with you and all around you.
You can’t help but press your lips to his again but pull back much to his displeasure.
“So you do want me back with you in Vancouver?” you ask, teasing him, making him wait.
He smiles at you brightly. “Who needs to wait for Vancouver when I’ll be here cheering you on here in Boston.”
He pulls you back to him, your head resting on his shoulder, his arms rubbing up the skin of your back, comfortingly.
He presses a kiss to your shoulder and you know, that come the morning, everything will be more than okay.
MO SOFT/THIRST NIGHT! (cont’d)
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