Kate @bambi-onice17 - Tumblr Blog

Orbiter

fm93 x bedard!dancer!reader

This was a request that can be found here. This isn't real-life timeline-accurate; I just put certain events in certain places to move the plot along. I'm also not a professional dancer, so if there are any inaccuracies with that part of the plot, please send me corrections/feedback if you have any!

Everytime I thought I was done with this, I felt like I had to add more, so...15.5k words. I hope you all enjoy!

(masterlist for this AU)

Some couples could tell you the exact moment they fell in love. They could point to one conversation, one kiss, one look across a crowded room and say, there, that was it. You never could.

For you there wasn’t one moment, there were hundreds, maybe even thousands, because you and Fraser spent your lives growing up next to each other. So many that they blurred together until you couldn’t separate where friendship ended and something else quietly began.

It had always been Fraser.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Your earliest memories of Fraser Minten are those of cold hockey rinks and layers upon layers of jackets.

The mornings always started before the sun came up, long before any five-year-old should’ve been awake. Connor would somehow have endless energy, already halfway dressed in his hockey gear, running around the house while your mom tried to make him eat something besides half a granola bar before you had to leave the house.

You, on the other hand, usually ended up bundled in three layers of blankets in the backseat beside Connor, still half asleep by the time everyone arrived at the rink. Your mom would carry you inside more often than not while your twin brother ran ahead, eager to get on the ice.

Your mother would settle onto the cold bleachers with you tucked against her side, wrapped in your favorite blanket while Connor chased after the other kids toward the locker room.

You never liked talking much, not because you were unfriendly, you were just quiet. The kind of little kid who hid behind her mom's leg when someone new introduced themselves, and who answered questions with tiny nods instead of words.

Connor had always been enough of a talker for the both of you anyway, this far into your life, as early as it was, he was your rock, your best friend, the person who understood you more than anyone else.

Fraser noticed.

He noticed in a different way than adults did. He never tried to pull you out of your shell or tell you to speak louder. He got to know you because he was such good friends with Connor, and he came to realize that you really came out of your shell when Connor was around.

Sometimes before practice, Fraser would wander over to the bleachers already dressed in half his equipment.

“Hi,” he’d say quietly. You'd peek up from your blanket, and say so quietly it was almost inaudible, “...Hi.”

Then silence, but comfortable silence. Most kids would’ve kept talking, asking you questions, trying to get you to say something, but Fraser never seemed to. He’d sit beside you for a minute, swinging his little legs over the edge of the bleachers before one of the coaches called him back onto the ice.

“See you after?” he asked.

A tiny nod from you, always. Then he’d smile and hop back over the boards, “Okay.”

That was always enough. You think that's why you liked him so much. Even then, he never expected more from you than what you wanted to give.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

As the years went on, hockey became tournaments instead of just practices on weeknights and games on Saturday mornings. Long day-trips became weekend trips and hotel stays all over British Columbia.

Eventually, someone had the brilliant idea to start carpooling. The adults loved it, but the kids loved it even more.

Connor always claimed the window so you always somehow ended up squished in the middle. Fraser on one side, Connor on the other. The drives were filled with handheld games and snacks your parents swore you'd ruin your appetite with but never did.

The boys would be talking almost the whole drive. You mostly listened, occasionally laughing, occasionally joining in. Sometimes falling asleep somewhere around the halfway point of the drive.

Without fail, you'd wake up with your head resting against somebody's shoulder. Sometimes Connor’s, but usually Fraser’s.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Hotels quickly became your favorite part of tournaments. The Bedards always stayed one room away from the Mintens, which meant the hallway between your rooms became your own little world.

The boys ran back and forth until one of the parents inevitably yelled for everyone to slow down, and you followed behind them every single time. You played cards on the floor, ate lukewarm pizza from some place down the street, someone always ended up knocking on the wrong hotel room door by accident. Nearly every single night one of your parents was saying, "Okay, that's enough. Everyone back to your own rooms."

None of you ever wanted to.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Your parents noticed things long before any of you did. One afternoon during a tournament, while Connor and Fraser were racing each other around the rink, your mom laughed quietly from her seat in the stands.

“It’s funny,” your mom says.

Mrs. Minten looked over, “What is?”

“They've become best friends,” your mom says while she nodded toward the boys.

Fraser’s mom nods in agreement, “They really have.”

Your mom smiled before glancing toward you. You’d wandered over to the boards by yourself—which at six years old was a big jump from how nervous you had been just a year ago, always wanting to be next to your mother—coloring quietly while occasionally looking up whenever Connor or Fraser skated by.

“But so have they,” your mom adds, gesturing to you looking at Fraser skating by and waving at you. Mrs. Minten followed her gaze.

“I think Fraser's one of the only kids who doesn’t see her as just ‘Connor's twin,’” your mom said.

Mrs. Minten smiled softly. She watched her son wave at you again before circling back into the drill. “I think he wants to see just her.”

⊰══════════════════════⊱

By the time you were eight, everyone expected to see you sitting on the same section of bleachers with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, a snack and book in your hand, watching practice. It became part of the routine.

Which is why one Tuesday evening Fraser looked toward the stands during warmups and frowned. Your seat was empty. He looked further up into the bleachers, thinking maybe you’d chosen to sit with your mom instead.

Nothing.

After warmups he immediately found Connor. “Where's Y/N?”

Connor blinked, not following. Then it clicked, “Oh,” He grinned, “She started ballet.”

Fraser frowned, “Ballet?”

“Yeah,” Connor said, “My mom signed her up. She wanted to try it, so she has lessons now.”

“When?” Fraser asked.

Connor shrugged, “Same time as practice. Our dad takes her.”

Fraser nodded slowly. “Oh.”

He didn't realize he'd sound disappointed until Connor laughed, “Do you miss her?”

Fraser furrowed his brows, “No.”

Connor raised his eyebrows. “You do.”

“I don't. I didn’t say that,” Fraser said.

“You asked where she was,” Connor had argued.

“I was just wondering.”

Connor rolled his eyes, “Sure.”

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Even with ballet taking up nearly as much of your time as hockey took up theirs, you never missed a game. Recitals and practices came second whenever you could help it, you’d still be waiting after every game.

Always waiting to give both boys hugs, because that was your thing. Always hugs. Connor got one first because he was your brother. Fraser got one right after Connor because...well, he was Fraser.

“You played really good,” you’d always say after you hugged Fraser. He’d smile every single time, “Thanks.”

Then, like clockwork, both families would head out to whatever restaurant you kids wanted to eat at. And every time like clockwork, whenever he sat next to you, half the fries on Fraser's plate somehow always disappeared before dinner was over. He never once complained.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Eventually your lives stopped feeling separate, around age eleven. There wasn’t just hockey, there wasn’t just dance, there wasn’t just school, it all blended together.

One of Fraser’s parents would pick up him and Connor from practice, and one of your parents would pick you up from dance, then everyone would meet at the same restaurant. Every Tuesday and Thursday, and almost every weekend.

The boys would spend dinner arguing about whatever happened at practice, and you’d pretend not to listen, hiding your smile behind the rim of your water glass.

Eventually, the conversation would splinter into smaller groups. The parents would fall into conversations about work schedules, upcoming tournaments, or whose turn it was to drive the next weekend. Connor was almost always in the middle of animatedly recounting every drill from practice, talking over anyone who tried to interrupt him.

Fraser would naturally turn toward you instead. “How was ballet today?” he’d always ask.

You looked up from the fry you'd been absentmindedly dipping in ketchup.

“Good,” was sometimes the only response he would get. He smiled knowingly. “Just good?”

You shrugged. “I learned a new combination.”

He turned in the booth to face you while he spoke to you, “Was it hard?”

You nodded, “Really hard.”

“Harder than the one you were doing last week?”

You thought about it for a second before answering, “Yeah, they always get harder. I kept messing up one part.”

“Did you get it by the end?” he asked.

A small smile spread across your face. “...Yeah, but I had to try a lot of times, everyone else got it before me.”

“I knew you would, doesn’t matter when, you still got it.”

You ducked your head a little, hiding your smile as you reached for another fry from his plate. Fraser noticed, of course, he always noticed. But he hardly ever said anything.

“Did your feet hurt today?”

You blinked, “How’d you know?”

He shrugged, “You keep stretching your ankles under the table.”

You looked down, only then realizing you'd been rolling your feet back and forth without thinking. “Oh.”

“Was today pointe?” he asked.

You nodded again, “Miss Meyer says I need stronger ankles.”

“You'll get there,” Fraser said, “You just started, you can’t be perfect at it overnight.”

“How do you know?”

Fraser shrugged like it was obvious. “Because every time you tell me something's hard, the next week you tell me you figured it out.”

You looked at him for a second, not expecting the answer. “...I guess,” you said.

“See?” he said with a grin. “You're already getting better. You’re really good, Y/N, don’t compare what you do to other girls in your class and make yourself sad.”

You smiled to yourself before stealing another fry. Fraser looked down at his plate. “You know those are mine, right?” he asked.

You froze. “Sorry.”

He laughed. “I didn't say you had to stop.” Without another word, he nudged the basket a little closer to you. “You can have some.”

“You're sure?”

“Yeah, you like them more than me anyway,” he said.

“Connor already ate all of his,” you said, looking over at your brother. Fraser glanced across the table where Connor was arguing with one of the adults over whether a goal in practice should’ve counted.

“That's because Connor eats like he's in a competition,” Fraser said, “He just wants to finish his food to talk about hockey.”

You giggled, smiling big for the first time the whole evening.

Looking back, it really wasn’t the conversations themselves that stayed with you. You couldn’t remember every story you told him about ballet or every question he asked. What you remembered was the feeling of them, Fraser never made you compete with Connor’s personality to be heard. He never mistook your quietness for having nothing to say. He simply waited, always listened, and somehow made you feel like whatever you were thinking was worth hearing.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Summer tournaments were always your favorite weeks of the year. Not because of the constant rush of hockey and the few months you could rest from ballet, but because it was one of those times where everyone was together.

Pool days after mornings filled with games, ice cream runs became constant, hotel elevators were always packed with the boy’s teammates and their siblings. Inside jokes no one else understood were created quickly, racing down the hallways of small arenas and different floors of hotels were a staple.

Summer tournaments for you meant spending time with people in a way that you didn’t get to anywhere else. You were with people who brought you out of your shell, and that meant more to you than any of them woud be able to understand.

By then, people had stopped introducing Fraser as Connor's teammate whenever he came around. He was just Fraser. He was almost always at your house when the boys had practice so he could see you.

He was integrated into your life in little ways that meant something. He knew where the extra plates were in your kitchen, your parents asked about him when he wasn’t there, his parents asked about you when you missed a game or a tournament because of dance. The lines between the two families blurred until nobody really remembered when it happened.

By the time you were all driving, it felt impossible to remember what life looked like before Fraser was part of it. He wasn't just Connor's best friend anymore, at this point he would consider you his best friend, but he’d never tell Connor that.

Somewhere between early mornings at the rink, endless tournament weekends, shared dinners, hotel hallways, and years of ordinary moments, he'd quietly become one of your favorite people. Neither of you noticed it happening, and neither of you stopped to think about what it meant.

Because to everyone—including the two of you—it was simply the way it’d always been, and neither of you realized just how important that would become.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

When your last year of high school rolled around you couldn't remember the last time you had gone a full week without seeing Fraser.

That was about to change, because Fraser was eligible for the NHL draft, and of course he had taken the opportunity when it was brought to him, because who would he be to turn down the possibility of taking the next step and doing what he loved professionally?

The entire Bedard family sat in front of the television that June, waiting. Connor’s leg was hitting yours, bouncing impatiently, from where he sat next to you on the couch.

Your mom had made enough snacks to feed twenty people even though there were only four people in your house. You kept checking your phone, waiting. You figured the service in the arena must be awful because you hadn’t gotten a message from Fraser since before he left his hotel.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Then Fraser's name was called, and the room erupted.

Toronto Maple Leafs.

Connor was already reaching for his phone before the broadcast had even finished announcing the pick, your parents were smiling and clapping, you were smiling.

You couldn't have been happier for him.

You called him that night, and the second he answered you were already talking.

“I knew it!”

Fraser laughed, “You definitely did not.”

“I absolutely did, I’ve been saying this would happen since we were little.”

Fraser laughed again. “You cried? Connor told me you cried,” he said.

“Maybe, but they were happy tears, can you blame me?”

His laugh softened, “I’m just teasing, I was happy too.”

You hummed in response. “I’m really proud of you,” you said.

“Thanks,” he replied.

You swallowed, “When do you leave?”

Fraser sighed, “Soon.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you.

Thoughts started running rampant in your head. Toronto wasn't just another city, it was on the other side of the country. For the first time since you’d known each other, Fraser wouldn’t just be down the street.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

The airport was the first goodbye that actually hurt, because it felt more permanent. You didn’t know when the next time you’d see him would be. You know the NHL moves quickly, and changes happen all the time you just didn’t want to get your hopes up on any possibilities that he would be close anytime soon.

You hugged him for longer than either of you usually would’ve.

“You'll text me?” you asked.

Fraser smiled, “Every day if you want.”

You laughed through the lump in your throat. “Don't make promises you can't keep,” you told him.

He gently squeezed your shoulder, “I don't. I’ll call you too.”

You sniffle, “You hate phone calls.”

He smiles weakly, “I'll learn to hate them less.”

That made you smile. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

You nod, “Okay.”

Neither of you said, I'm going to miss you, because you didn’t have to, it was obvious.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Only a few months later, life surprised you too. When the early acceptance email from Berklee arrived, you read it three times before believing it. Boston Conservatory at Berklee.

You'd dreamed about studying dance there for years, and so far it had felt impossible, until suddenly it wasn’t.

Your parents cried. Connor lifted you up in the tightest hug you think you’d ever received in your life, while he yelled about how proud he was of you and how excited he was for you.

Fraser called before you even had a chance to text him.

“I heard,” he said as soon as you answered the phone. You laughed, “Connor?”

You could hear Fraser’s smile on the phone, “He sounded more excited than you.”

You smile too, “I'm still processing.”

“You got into Berklee,” Fraser emphasized.

“I know,” you said.

But hearing him say it somehow made it real. “I'm so proud of you,” he continued, “You’re going to be incredible.”

You closed your eyes, “Thanks,” you said shyly.

It was almost funny, the two biggest dreams in your lives were finally happening. And somehow they were both pulling you farther apart.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

The following summer, it was Connor's turn. The draft felt completely different this time. This time you were there in person, crammed into an arena in Nashville, with your brother projected to go first overall.

You sat next to him, holding his hand tightly like you used to do when you were nervous as kids, waiting for the first overall to be called.

Then: “The Chicago Blackhawks are proud to select Connor Bedard.”

Chicago. Your brother was going to Chicago.

You smiled and were on your feet immediately to hug him. He hugged you the longest, murmuring a dozen “thank you for everything, thank you for being here, thank you for supporting me, I love you Bug” into your ear before heading up to the stage to receive his jersey and begin the whirlwind of media for the evening.

You celebrated with your family that night, you went out to dinner, you talked to Connor in your hotel room for nearly three hours before you were finally alone.

As soon as he left the room you collapsed on the bed and cried into your pillow. Not because you weren’t happy or proud of him. You were, you were so unbelievably happy and proud, but for the first time in your entire life, Connor wouldn’t be a few feet away anymore.

There would be no walking into his room whenever you wanted, no late-night conversations on the living room floor, no being able to just go to him when you needed him anymore.

You'd spent eighteen years never knowing what it felt like to be without him, and now you were about to find out.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

By September, everything had changed. Connor was in Chicago, Fraser was in Toronto, and you’re now standing alone in a dorm room in Boston.

The city was beautiful, and Berklee was everything you'd dreamed of. The dance studios were incredible, your professors were kind and excellent at teaching technique and helping you improve. Your classmates were talented, you should’ve loved all of it instantly.

But instead you felt like you were six years old again. The quiet version of yourself you’d almost forgotten existed slowly crept back. You kept your head down in class, you spent more time in your room than anyone probably should. You still smiled politely when people talked to you, and it wasn't that you didn’t want friends, it was that you’d never had to learn how to make them. Connor had always been beside you, he was the outgoing one, the one who was so eager to talk to other people when it made you too anxious.

Then came Fraser who immediately understood how to make you comfortable and included. Without them you felt untethered, like someone had quietly removed the two people who’d always made the world feel safe and familiar, so suddenly it felt like the scariest thing in the world all over again.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Fraser noticed before anyone else, how you were really feeling.

One night he called you after practice. You answered on the third ring, “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” you replied weakly.

“How's Boston?”

“It's good,” you said, your voice lacking much emotion or excitement for you to actually mean it.

He frowned, he knew you said it too quickly and that it sounded practiced and forced.

“You sure?” he asked.

You looked out your dorm window, biting your lip for a moment to keep your emotions in check. “Yeah,” you answered slowly.

Silence followed from his end. “You're lying,” he said a moment later.

You laughed weakly, “I forgot you can do that.”

You can hear the slight smile on his face on the other end of the phone, “I've been doing it since we were five,” he said gently. You don’t know how to respond, so you let the silence linger gently.

Eventually you speak up again, “I just…” Your voice cracked, “...I miss home.”

Fraser doesn’t rush to fill the silence, he lets you talk at your own pace, because he knows if he tries to reassure you too early then you won’t get all your thoughts out. So he hums and waits for you to keep going.

“I don't know anyone here, I’ve had a hard time talking to people outside of class,” you continue. Your voice breaks when you say, “I miss Connor, I really really miss him, it’s so hard not having him here.”

Fraser speaks up gently, “I know.”

“I miss you too, like a lot,” you say through your tears that are now gently falling down your face.

“I miss you too, Y/N. I’d be there if I could, I wish I was with you right now,” Fraser says.

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “You’d like Boston, Frase,” you manage. “It’s a good city.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said.

“Well, I know it’s lucky to have you.”

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Your first year of college was, in your opinion, the most difficult thing you’d ever experienced. Not because classes were impossible or because people expected too much of you, but because every single thing was new and uncomfortable.

Learning a whole new city filled with completely new people wasn’t an easy experience for anyone, let alone you. You had to live for the first time without a safety net of people around you.

Some days were easier than others. Sometimes you forgot how homesick you were, while others you’d leave rehearsal with your feet throbbing and wonder if you made the biggest mistake of your life by coming all the way out here.

If something reminded you of home, you called Fraser. If rehearsal went well, you called Fraser. If rehearsal went terribly you definitely called Fraser.

Connor still called, of course. Sometimes the three of you would FaceTime together, laughing and catching up until one of you had to leave for class or practice.

Nothing had changed, not really, but at the same time it felt like everything was completely different.

Connor was still your brother, your favorite person, your other half. But somewhere between late-night rehearsals and post-practice phone calls and different time zones, Fraser had quietly become the first person you reached for.

Not because you loved Connor any less, but because Fraser had become the person who understood the version of you that existed away from home. He knew the homesick girl in Boston, he knew the exhausted dancer, the college student trying to figure herself out.

You never meant for it to happen. You weren't even sure when it did, exactly. One day you caught yourself smiling at a text from Fraser before you'd answered Connor’s message, and the realization made your stomach twist. Partially out of guilt for not reaching for Connor first like you had your whole life, but also out of fear, because Fraser had somehow become your first phone call for everything, and you didn’t know what to do with that.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

By the time spring finals were over, your body felt completely shot. Months of rehearsals had left your muscles aching in ways you didn't know were possible.

The semester had been incredible, but twice as hard as it had been in the fall.

When you stepped off the plane in Vancouver for summer break at home, you barely had enough time to get your suitcase off the baggage carousel before someone yelled your name.

“There she is!” Connor.

You turned around and barely saw him before he was wrapping you in a hug so tight your feet left the ground.

“Ow,” you laughed into his shoulder, hugging him back.

He laughed before setting you back on your feet. Then he leaned back just enough to look at you, and his smile softened. “I really missed you,” he said.

“I really missed you too, Con.”

And just like that...you were home.

The drive to the lake house felt almost exactly like it had when you were kids. Except now Connor was driving instead of your parents.

The music was too loud coming through the car speakers, the windows were down despite the breeze coming off the water, and your brother spent nearly the entire drive talking about Chicago, teammates, post-season practices, and something Frank Nazar had done that made him laugh so hard he nearly missed a turn.

You mostly listened, even though you only understood half of what he was saying because you could barely keep up. You'd missed this, missed him. Really missed home.

The familiar roads slowly gave way to winding trees until Connor turned down the gravel driveway you'd driven down nearly every summer since you were little. The lake came into view first through the trees, completely still. It looked glass-like, exactly how it always looks in early summer.

Then the house came into view. Cars were already lined up in the driveway, with a few friends unloading coolers and paddleboards into the front yard.

Connor had barely put the truck in park before opening his door. “We’re here!” he yelled.

You laughed as he grabbed your suitcase out of the backseat.

The moment your feet hit the gravel, voices started calling your name.

“You finally made it!”

“Boston!”

“We’ve missed you!”

“How was the flight?”

One by one you hugged old friends you hadn't seen in months, some of Connor’s old teammates, a couple of girls you’d danced with growing up, a few family friends.

It was loud, busy, but comfortable.

You looked toward the porch, Fraser stood near the porch railing with a bottle of water loosely held in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his shorts. He was listening to one of the guys talk, nodding every so often, his head tilted slightly as he laughed at something you were too far away to hear.

For a moment you just let yourself look at him. He’d changed a little, it was barely noticeable, but it was there.

His shoulders seemed broader than you remembered, years of hockey somehow even more obvious now than they had been before since he’d been playing professionally. His hair had grown out just enough to curl beneath the brim of his hat that was sitting backwards on his head, and there was something steadier about him now. Older, more confident.

But the second he looked up and found you, he was still Fraser. As if he felt your eyes on him, his gaze met yours almost immediately, like he’d been looking for you too.

The conversation beside him stopped holding his attention, and he seemed to completely forget that he was talking to someone at all.

A smile slowly spread across his face, the kind that only ever seemed reserved for you. Without really thinking, he murmured a quick, "Hang on," to the guy beside him before stepping away.

You did the same. One of your old dance friends was halfway through asking you another question when you found yourself apologizing with a distracted smile, “Sorry, I’ll be right back.”

Neither of you hurried, because now there wasn’t any need to. The distance between you closed naturally, the same way it always had over the years; you always found each other.

You met halfway across the yard, and for a second neither of you spoke, you just stood a foot apart.

Fraser broke the silence first. “Hi,” he said. His voice was quieter than everything else around you, but somehow it was the only thing you heard.

You smiled before you even realized you were doing it. “Hi,” you replied.

He looked at you for another second, almost like he was making sure you were actually standing there, just taking you in. Neither of you moved, it felt like you both didn’t know who was supposed to bridge the last little bit of space between you first. Then Fraser smiled to himself, almost like he’d made up his mind, and he opened his arms.

It was a small gesture, questioning. The same way he had always been with you. Asking without words and waiting to gauge what exactly you were comfortable with.

Before he could second-guess himself you stepped into his arms. His arms wrapped around you immediately, and the rest of the world melted away instantly.

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding the second your cheek rested against his shoulder as your arms wrapped around him in return. He smelled exactly the way you remembered. That clean, almost woodsy scent that somehow always reminded you of summer.

You closed your eyes for a moment.

"I missed you," Fraser admitted quietly, just for you.

Your grip tightened around the back of his shirt. “I missed you too,” you replied. The words came out easier than you expected, because of how true they were. You just hadn’t realized how much until he was standing right in front of you.

The hug lingered, not awkwardly, but as if you were making up for lost time, like neither of you seemed eager to let go.

When you finally stepped back, Fraser's hands stayed lightly on your arms for another second before he caught himself and let them fall. He looked at you carefully. “You look…” he trailed off.

You tilted your head. “What?” you asked with a smile.

He smiled, almost embarrassed, “You.”

You laughed. “I don't know what that means, Frase,” you said.

“I know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was going to say ‘different.’”

Your stomach tightened. “Good different?”

He nodded, “Yeah. Really good different.”

You looked down at yourself with a small laugh. “I’ve basically lived in a dance studio for eight months.”

Fraser rolled his eyes playfully, “That’s not what I mean.”

Your eyebrows lifted, “What does that mean?”

“You just…” He searched for the words, “...You look stronger, you look happy.”

The comment caught you off guard. Most people noticed how you changed a bit physically, or how tired you looked, or how ‘Boston had changed you.’ No one had used the word “stronger” and no one had noticed the change in your emotions.

You smiled. “Thanks.”

His expression softened. “You’re happy?”

The question was gentle, careful, like he wasn’t just asking about school or dance. Or Boston. He was asking about you.

You opened your mouth to give your usual ‘yeah.’

The honest answer sat on the tip of your tongue. Not really. I've been lonely. I've missed home more than I ever thought I could, I’m glad to be home now, I don’t want to go back in the fall without everyone.

Instead, you offered him the truth you could manage. “I'm getting there.”

For just a second, something flickered across Fraser's face. He knew. But he didn't ask, didn’t push, he simply nodded once. “You will.”

You looked at him, a small smile on your face, “You sound pretty sure.”

He smiled back, “I am.”

“Why?” you asked.

“Because I know you, I know you’ll find your way, you always have.”

Your laugh escaped before you could stop it. It wasn’t because you thought it was funny, it was because that was exactly what you needed to hear.

“Atta girl,” he said.

Your smile didn’t waver, “What?”

“That sounded like you.”

⊰══════════════════════⊱

The first few days slipped by the way lake days always seemed to. The kind of days where nobody really knew what time it was because there was never any reason to check.

Mornings started with coffee on the deck while everyone wandered into the kitchen one by one, still half asleep. Afternoons disappeared between boat rides, naps, overly competitive card games, and Connor insisting every spikeball match had been scored wrong. Evenings ended around the bonfire with music playing softly in the background and someone always making s'mores.

It was easy.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, you and Fraser slipped back into your old rhythm like the past year had never happened, like the two of you were never apart.

He’d hand you a bottle of water before you realized you were thirsty. Somehow there was always an empty chair beside him at dinner, and whenever everyone broke off into smaller conversations, you almost always found yourselves talking to each other. Sometimes it was about hockey, sometimes ballet, sometimes the book he was reading, and sometimes it was about nothing at all.

One afternoon you wandered down to the dock with a book, hoping for a little quiet in contrast to the constant movement and unintentional chaos of the house. You’d barely finished a chapter before footsteps echoed across the wood.

You looked up to find Fraser holding his own book. “I promise I’m not following you,” he said.

You laughed, “Well good because I was just thinking that you were.”

“I saw you come down here,” he admitted with a shrug. “Figured I’d read too. Take a break from everyone else,” he said sitting down next to you.

“So you are following me,” you joke.

“Maybe a little.”

You rolled your eyes, scooting over to make room for him anyway.

The two of you then spent the next half hour reading in comfortable silence, occasionally looking up to point out a passing boat or laugh when Connor’s voice carried all the way across the yard down to the dock.

It never felt awkward, it never had. You didn’t think much of it, you had never thought much of it. You didn’t think much of the way your eyes searched for Fraser whenever everyone scattered around the property, or how he always seemed to find you a few minutes later.

Why would you? It had always been that way.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

The fourth night, you couldn’t sleep. Everyone else had gone to bed almost an hour ago, and the house had fallen completely quiet.

You slipped out the back door without bothering to put shoes on and padded across the yard towards the dock, the only light being from the one on the dock and the moon casting a soft glow across the lawn.

The dock was cool beneath your feet once you got to it, and the lake reflected the moon so perfectly it almost looked silver.

You took a seat at the end of the dock, pulled your knees against your chest and breathed. For the first time in…so long; you got to breathe. As much as you love it at the lake house with everyone, it’s a lot of talking, a lot of keeping up with everyone.

“You always end up here,” you hear someone say from behind you. You smiled before turning around.

“I knew you'd find me,” you replied.

Fraser walked down the dock with his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatshirt. “I wasn't looking,” he said.

“No?”

He shook his head. “I just had a feeling.”

He sat beside you, not too close but close enough.

“You okay?” he asked eventually.

You nodded, “I think so.”

“‘Think’?”

You turned your gaze to watch the water ripple beneath the dock. “I don't know,” you admitted.

He waited for you to keep going, because he always knew when you had more to say.

“You were right,” you eventually say.

He looked over. “About what?”

“About me not being happy in Boston.” You pause again, gathering your thoughts, and continue; “I love dancing.”

Fraser hums in understanding as you keep going.

“More than anything I love dance, what hockey is for you, dance is for me. I also love my school, but…it was so lonely over there. I felt like I didn’t have anyone.”

Fraser looked down at his hands. “I wish I'd been closer,” he said, “I would’ve come.”

You smiled sadly, “I know, but I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

Fraser’s answer was immediate, “You would’ve never had to ask.”

Your heart stumbled, and you looked over at him to see that he was already looking back.

Then Fraser stood, “You wanna swim?” he asked.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. “Right now?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

You laughed, “We’re adults and it’s the middle of the night.”

“So?”

“We should know better.”

“We absolutely should,” he agreed

Before you could respond, he reached for the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head in one easy motion, tossing it onto the dock beside him.

You shook your head, laughing to yourself. “You didn't even think about it.”

“Nope,” he replied easily.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face gave you away. Setting your phone beside his shirt, you slipped off your sweatshirt and folded it into a small pile on the dock. The cool summer night air wrapped around your skin, cold after the warmth of the oversized hoodie.

Fraser politely looked back out toward the lake, giving you the privacy to finish getting undressed without making a big deal out of it. It was such a small gesture that anyone else probably would've missed it.

“Okay,” you said, tugging your shorts off so you were standing in the same thing you'd worn under your clothes to sleep. “No laughing.”

Fraser glanced back over with a grin, “At what?”

“The fact that I'm actually agreeing to this,” you said.

You nudged his shoulder as you walked past him toward the edge of the dock.

You shrieked the second you jumped in, the water was freezing, much more than you had anticipated.

Fraser was already laughing. “I forgot how dramatic you are,” he teased.

“It's freezing!” you exclaimed.

“It is not,” he started to argue.

“It absolutely is!” you countered.

He splashed you, so of course you splashed him back. Within minutes, both of you were laughing so hard your stomach hurt. Water flew everywhere as you tried to shove him under the surface, which accomplished absolutely nothing considering he had nearly half a foot on you.

“You know,” you laughed, trying to catch your breath, “you’re really annoying.”

Fraser hummed, “So I've been told.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself, and took another step backward to get away from another splash. Your foot searched for the lakebed, then you realized you couldn’t touch. You froze, still trying to find your footing despite finding nothing.

“...Frase,” you said cautiously.

He immediately stopped smiling at the tone of your voice. “What?”

“I can’t touch,” you said, treading water.

He looked down for half a second before realizing you’d wandered into the deeper part of the lake. “You’ve got another step behind you,” he said calmly, moving a bit closer to you.

You carefully reached your foot back. Nothing. “I really can't touch.”

The confidence disappeared from your voice almost instantly, and Fraser was beside you before you could say anything else. “I’ve got you,” he said. One of his hands settled gently around your waist beneath the water, steadying you before you had the chance to panic.

Your hands found his forearms, and your legs instinctively circled his hips. You tensed up at the closeness, and the warmth of his skin in contrast to the temperature of the water.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded too quickly, “Mhm, all good.”

He smiled a little. “You don't really sound convinced.”

“I'm fine, I promise.”

“You’ve gone all stiff, too,” he said, poking your side with his free hand.

The gesture made you smile slightly. “Because I can’t touch.”

“You’re okay,” he said softly. “I’m not letting go.”

You looked up at him, now really realizing how close he was, so close that you could feel his breath on the skin of your face.

“I know,” you replied, your voice a whisper now. And you did know he wouldn’t let you go, there was never a second where you questioned it. It was Fraser, he’d never let you fall. Never.

He adjusted the way your body was resting against his, so you didn’t have to hold on as tight, and now he’s holding you more and just letting you relax against him, while the water pushes you closer whenever a small wave rolls through because of the wind.

“There,” he smiled. “Better?”

“A little, yeah,” you said.

“You trust me?”

You answered without thinking, “Always.”

The word hung between you, and now the only sounds left were the quiet ripples of the lake and your uneven breathing. His hands were still resting carefully against your waist, not gripping, just holding you there.

Your hands hadn’t left his arms either, your thumb lightly tracing a muscle in his forearm. Right now you’re closer than you’d ever been before. You notice the droplets of water running down the side of his face, before you notice his eyes searching for yours.

Your eyes found his, then almost hesitantly his eyes dropped down to your lips quickly. Your heart stuttered immediately, and everything around you seemed impossibly quiet.

The house lights blurred behind him, the sound of the water and the bugs on the bank vanished, everything seemed to slow down until it was just the two of you. All you could feel were his hands and all you could hear was your own heartbeat in your ears as your gaze flicked down to his lips in return.

He leaned in, only an inch, just enough that you knew what he was asking. He was giving you every opportunity to stop him. You wanted to close the distance, god you wanted to so badly.

“Fraser,” you said, meeting his eyes.

He stopped immediately, and your eyes squeezed shut, a guilty feeling pooled in your gut before you said, “I can’t.”

And for a second, neither of you moved. Then his hands loosened ever so slightly around your waist; not letting go, just giving you room to step away if you wanted to.

“Okay,” he replied, his voice just above a whisper. Not an ounce of frustration or disappointment, which somehow made you feel even worse.

He took a few steps closer to the dock, and when he reached a higher point of the lakebed he gave your thigh a small tap, silently telling you the water was shallow enough for you to touch now. You slowly stepped back toward the shallower water, your feet finally finding the lakebed again, and only then did Fraser let his hands fall away.

The absence of him against you was immediate, and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

He shook his head, “You don't have to apologize.”

“I do.”

“Y/N, you really don’t.”

You looked at him one last time. The moonlight caught in his eyes, and for the first time since you'd been five years old, being with Fraser didn’t feel simple anymore.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

After the lake house, life became relentless. It felt like summer had gone by far too quickly. Now you’re back in Boston, and ballet was demanding everything from you.

Your professors expected perfection every single day, because at Berklee, everyone had been the best dancer in their hometown before they arrived. Suddenly, you weren't exceptional anymore. You were one of hundreds. Of course you’d known this coming in, but it was your second year, no one was treating you gently anymore.

Technique classes started before the sun was fully up, hours of rehearsals stretched well into the evening. Corrections never seemed to come to an end, some you took easily, others started to get to you.

Recovery was getting more and more difficult each day. Your body never stopped hurting, your toes were taped constantly, and you didn’t even want to think about how many tubes of IcyHot you had gone through by the time November rolled around.

Every evening you peeled the tape back off, revealing blisters that had reopened before yesterday’s had even healed. Your arches constantly ached, your calves were permanently tight, and some nights your legs were so sore you had to lower yourself onto your bed with both hands because your feet refused to cooperate.

You loved ballet, you always would. But loving something didn’t make it easy, oftentimes it just made it feel harder.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Fraser noticed, but he didn’t realize the real reason for your exhaustion and why you were distant. He just assumed you were overwhelmed and overworked. He noticed the texts that turned into answered texts six hours later, phone calls that ended because you said you needed to finish another assignment. How your voice sounded heavier every time the two of you talked.

“You don’t have to call me if you’re exhausted,” he told you one night.

“I wanted to,” you said.

“I know.” His voice stayed gentle, “I just don’t want you feeling like you have to keep me company.”

You frowned. “I don’t feel like I have to, I want to.”

Fraser sighed, “I know dance is a lot right now. If you need space, I’ll still be here.”

You closed your eyes. The sentence almost made your chest hurt. You swallowed, “I know.”

And that was the problem, he would always be there but you didn’t want to stop calling him. You assumed, though, from the way he had offered you space, that maybe he was the one that wanted space.

You didn’t know what to do with that information, and your mind automatically jumped to the assumption that he just didn't want you around as much as you had been before. Maybe it was because of the night at the lake a couple of months ago. Surprisingly you hadn’t thought about that night much since it happened, because you’d been so busy, but now you start replaying every second of it in your head.

So after you hung up the phone, you came to the conclusion that he was subtly asking for space, so you gave it to him.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Now it’s a Thursday, and you haven’t talked to Fraser in a few days, and you think it’s safe to say that this day has been one of the worst during your time so far at Berklee.

You barely made it back to your dorm before your body gave out. Your dance bag hit the floor, and you barely managed to make it to the edge of your bed to sit down and kick off your Birks and peel off your socks. Your hands were shaking and you were trying to hold back tears.

By the time you finally pulled the shoes off, your feet were raw. Blisters were bleeding through the tape you’d put on this morning and replaced halfway through the day. Every muscle in your lower body was aching.

You stared at your feet, not even processing everything going through your mind, and that was the breaking point. Suddenly you felt like you couldn’t do it anymore.

Your phone was already in your hand and you quickly dialed the number pinned at the top of your contacts.

Connor answered on the second ring. “Hey, Bug.”

The nickname shattered whatever composure you had left, and a sob escaped your mouth before you could stop it.

On the other end of the phone you could hear Connor sit up from wherever he had been laying. “Y/N?” he said your name with caution, as if he didn’t want to do anything to overwhelm you more than he assumed you already were.

You couldn't answer, so you just cried. You cried and cried and cried until your chest hurt. You cried hard enough that breathing became difficult. Not once did Connor tell you to calm down, or try and ask you what was wrong, he just knew that you needed him there in that moment, and on the phone was as good as it was going to get.

Eventually you managed— “I can’t do this.”

His heart sank, “What happened?”

“My legs…” you whispered, “They hurt so bad. My feet are bleeding again, I know I’m not supposed to feel perfect but it just won’t stop.”

You buried your face in your hand, your voice muffled as you continued, “I keep messing everything up, I can’t do anything right.”

“You are not messing everything up—” Connor said, but you interrupted.

“I am.”

“You’ve wanted this since you were little,” he said.

You let out another sob, “I know, I’m just so tired, Connor.”

Connor let the silence settle, he’s heard you say those words before but not like this, not with that much defeat behind them.

“You want to go home?” he asked quietly.

“I can’t, I can’t leave everything I’ve worked on and I don’t have time for just a visit,” you say.

“You want me to come to you? I can book a flight and stay with you for a few days,” he offers.

Immediately you’re shaking your head even though he can’t see you. “You don’t have to drop everything you’re doing just for me, Con,” you sniffle. “I love you but I’m not letting you do that.”

Connor just listens to your shaky breathing on the other end of the line as you calm down a bit, and as he thinks he starts to realize that this isn’t about dance. You’d danced through stress fractures, performed with fevers and food poisoning, competed while injured; you had never sounded like this talking about dance.

Something else was hurting you, something you weren’t saying. Connor thought about asking, Is this really about ballet? But he didn’t, he knew that if you weren’t ready, forcing it wouldn’t help.

So he stayed on the phone for hours. He talked and you listened. He talked about home, about how it was in Chicago, new recipes he was trying to make, about anything and everything.

By the time your breathing had fully evened out he asked, “You okay?”

“A little.”

“You don’t have to be okay tonight,” he said.

Your eyes filled again, “I know.”

“You just have to get through tonight, yeah?”

You nodded before remembering he couldn't see you, “Yeah.”

Connor sighed softly. “You want me to stay on the phone with you until you fall asleep?” he asked gently.

The question made you feel like a little kid again. Whenever you had a hard day, he would always sit in your room with you until you fell asleep, so you’d feel less alone. Even now with all the distance and how much your lives had changed he always knew what you needed.

“Yes please,” you say softly.

“Yeah,” Connor replied without hesitation. “I’ve got you.”

You smiled despite yourself, pulling your comforter higher around your shoulders.

Connor kept talking, his voice low and familiar as he told you about a teammate trying (and failing) to cook a fancy dinner the night before, about a coffee shop he'd found near the rink that he thought you would like that he wants to take you to next time you visit, about a movie he thought you’d like.

None of it was particularly important, but that wasn’t the point. He was just giving your mind somewhere else to go.

Eventually, your responses became quieter, they turned into little hums rather than words, and then they stopped altogether. Connor listened for a moment, smiling to himself when your breathing settled into the slow, steady rhythm he'd recognized his entire life.

“Goodnight, Bug,” he whispered, even though he knew you were already asleep. He stayed on the line for another few minutes anyway, just to make sure you weren’t alone.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

It was almost ten o'clock on a Tuesday night when your phone buzzed on your desk. You were sprawled across the floor, stretching and foam rolling your legs. You barely looked up, you figured it was Connor and he could wait a few minutes, you’d call him back.

You reached for it absentmindedly a few minutes later, settling into your desk chair. Your stomach dropped at the name attached to all the notifications.

Frase.

Two calls and a text.

Hey, you’re probably busy but just call me when you get a chance, please?

Your first reaction is that it’s something serious, otherwise he wouldn’t have called more than once, or maybe he just wants to talk to you since you haven’t in a while, and that “space” you thought he wanted is disappearing and he wants to talk to you again.

Before you can overthink it or lose the little bit of courage you’ve worked up to call him back, you tap his name on your contacts, and the phone begins to ring.

It barely rings three times before the call connects.

“Hi.” His voice is warm and easy, like no time has passed at all. He sounds happy, so the worry in your stomach is starting to ease, knowing that he didn’t call you to talk to you about something negative.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” he asks.

You glanced around your dorm room, “No,” you say, not very convincingly. It’s not a bad time for him to be calling, but at the same time it is, because you hadn’t spoken properly in nearly two weeks, so you don’t really have a lot to say.

“You sure?”

“Mhm,” you answer, “I was just stretching.”

“Okay.” There wasn't an ounce of doubt in his voice.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, but unlike you expected the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It had never been uncomfortable and right now you didn’t know what to do with that, it felt like you were shrinking back into yourself like you would do when you were little. “Forgetting your words,” as you used to call it.

Fraser had always been good at not forcing a conversation, and right now he could tell that you might not exactly want to speak a lot, so he waited.

After a little bit he figured he’d ease into it, not asking questions that would make you talk but might make you think of something you’d be comfortable to talk about. “So…” his voice was light, no pressure, “How’s your week been?”

You picked absentmindedly at the sleeve of your sweatshirt, understanding what he was doing. “Busy,” you said.

“I figured,” he said, followed by a small pause. “I saw Berklee posted rehearsal photos,” he continued.

You smiled a little. “You saw those?”

“Yeah, you looked really happy.”

Your smile grew without you realizing. “It was a good rehearsal,” you said, your voice so soft it was nearly not there.

“I could tell,” Fraser replied.

“Really?” you asked.

“You looked proud.” The words were so matter-of-fact that they didn’t feel like an observation, just something he’d noticed, because he always noticed little things about you and he knew how you were when you felt good about something.

You looked down at your lap, suddenly feeling strangely shy. “It was a good day.”

Fraser hummed, “I'm glad.” Nothing more. No ‘Tell me about it,’ or ‘What made it good?’ No trying to pull the story out of you.

Somehow, that made you want to tell him all the details anyway. Since he noticed you were happy and proud you now wanted him to know why. “We finally got through the last section of choreography,” you said.

His smile was audible, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you laughed softly. “It only took us three weeks.”

“Worth it?”

“Definitely.”

You tucked one leg beneath you on your desk chair, absentmindedly twisting the sleeve of your sweatshirt around your fingers.

“So…” Fraser said after another comfortable pause. “I actually called because I wanted you to hear something from me before everyone else.”

You frowned slightly. “What do you mean?” you asked, concern lacing your tone.

He let out a quiet breath, almost like he was smiling to himself. “I found out this afternoon.”

“Found out what?” There was another beat of silence. Not because he was trying to be mysterious, but because he was still wrapping his own head around it.

“I got traded.”

Your eyebrows pulled together, confusion washing over you, because the last thing you had heard was that things were going great for him in Toronto. “Traded?”

“Yeah.”

You sat up a little straighter, definitely not satisfied with the one word response from him. “Where?” you asked.

Fraser laughed softly. “I was wondering how long it'd take you to ask.”

“Frase, tell me.”

“I’m getting there.”

“Fraser.”

“Okay, okay.” You could hear him smiling now. “I’m coming to Boston.”

Everything around you stopped. Your fingers loosened around your sweatshirt and your jaw physically dropped. For a second you thought he was joking, but you quickly realized that he wouldn’t joke about something like this.

“What?” you asked, like you needed to hear it again to really believe it.

“The Bruins,” he said. “I’m playing for Boston now.” His voice somehow sounded even softer when he said it out loud. “They traded for me this morning.”

You blinked. “Boston?” you repeated, emotion now lacing your tone.

“Mhm.”

You inhaled sharply, “You mean…” You couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“I’ll be living there.” He laughed quietly.

You covered your mouth, a laugh escaping before you could stop it. “No way.”

“I swear,” he said.

“No…” You stood from your chair without even realizing it, beginning to pace the tiny dorm room. “No way, Frase. You’re serious?”

“I’m serious, the teams are announcing it tomorrow.”

You laughed again, this one completely breathless. “You’re going to be here. In Boston, you’ll be here with me.”

There was something in the way you said here that made Fraser's smile slowly fade into something softer. “Yeah. Twenty minutes from campus, actually.”

You stopped pacing. “Twenty?”

“Mhm, I checked as soon as I got details on everything about the move.”

Of course he had checked. Your chest tightened. “You checked?” you asked softly.

“I wanted to know,” you could practically hear him shrugging over the phone, “So I looked.”

Your eyes started to sting. “You’ll…” Your voice caught. “...You’ll actually be here.”

“Yeah, Y/N, I will.”

For a second after that, neither of you spoke. Then Fraser was the one who broke the silence. “You okay?” he asked.

A laugh escaped through the tears already gathering in your eyes, “Yeah.”

“You crying?”

You laughed harder. “Maybe.”

“Happy tears?”

You nodded instinctively before remembering he couldn't see you. “Happy tears.”

He smiled, “Good.”

You sat back down in your chair, suddenly feeling lighter than you had in months. “I can’t believe you’re coming here.”

“I can’t either. When they told me I thought, ‘what are the chances?’”

“You’ll like Boston, Frase, you’ll like it a lot,” you said, even though you’ve told him the same thing two dozen times since moving here.

“I was actually hoping you could show me around,” he said. You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt. The thought of taking him to your favorite spots, walking with him in the parks around the city when you both had free time (that part wasn’t entirely realistic, but you didn’t care). Having someone here that actually knows you, who gets you, after how hard the past few weeks of the semester had been you think that this is hands down one of the most relieving things you’ve ever had happen to you.

“I think I could do that, there’s a lot of cool places I’ve found.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Fraser said, before silence settled between you again. It didn’t last long, because he broke it again. “I’ve missed you, Y/N, I’ve missed you a lot,” he said quietly, without hesitation in his voice, while also not trying to make it into something bigger than it was. To him it was just the truth.

You closed your eyes, trying to keep your tears from turning from happy to sad, “I’ve missed you too.”

He smiled. “I was kind of getting tired of only seeing you through a phone screen,” he said.

You laughed, “Me too.”

For the first time since you’d left Vancouver, Boston didn’t feel quite so lonely. And for the first time since that night at the lake…talking to him felt somewhat normal again.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

The first couple of months after Fraser moved to Boston settled into something that felt almost dangerously easy. Despite both of your schedules, somehow you always found each other.

If he had an afternoon off and you finished rehearsal before dinner, he’d be waiting outside the dance building with a coffee in one hand and a grin that made even the longest rehearsal feel a little more manageable.

If you had a free Sunday and the Bruins happened to be home, you'd end up curled into the corner of his couch with takeout containers spread across the coffee table while some random hockey game played quietly in the background. Sometimes neither of you paid attention to the television at all.

You showed him the city exactly like you’d promised. The coffee shop tucked down a side street where the owner already knew your order. The bookstore near the Common where you’d hide between classes more times than you could count. The Charles River walking paths that looked beautiful no matter the season.

He showed you his side of Boston, too. Practice at TD Garden when the arena sat almost empty. His favorite diner near the apartments. The grocery store he’d declared had the best produce after somehow turning grocery shopping into a ranking system of which stores he liked the best.

Somewhere along the way, your shampoo quietly appeared in his shower, and an extra pair of your sweatpants sat folded in one of his dresser drawers.

He bought reusable ice packs because he was tired of watching you wrap frozen bags of peas around your ankles and arches after rehearsals.

The only thing you weren’t being open with each other about was the lake. Neither of you ever mentioned it or talked about the almost kiss. It hung over the two of you noticeably, but unbeknownst to the other person, you each thought bringing it up would cause a stir in your friendship, and you individually decided it was better if the whole thing went unspoken.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

It almost felt fitting that Connor’s first trip to Boston during the NHL season happened to be the same weekend as your midterm showcase.

The Blackhawks were in town to play the Bruins, and your showcase was late in the afternoon the day before the game. The Blackhawks were in town early, so for the first time in what felt like forever; all three of you were in the same city.

Standing backstage after the final curtain, your chest was still rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. Sweat clung to your temples beneath the neat ballet bun you'd managed to keep intact. Your body was already aching from all the dancing, and you just wanted to go home and crash, but you knew with both boys in town that wasn’t going to be happening.

By the time you reached the lobby it was already buzzing with families and friends of the other dancers. It felt like too much, and you almost turned around to go straight back to your dressing room, until you heard someone call your name.

You turned just in time to see Connor pushing through the crowd, an enormous bouquet of flowers balanced awkwardly in the crook of his arm.

You burst into laughter. “Con…”

“What?” he questioned as he stopped right in front of you.

“That looks like half a garden has been dug up.”

He looked down at the bouquet, “I panicked, all the bouquets were pretty and I know you like lots of colors so I told the lady to surprise me and to ‘make it colorful,’” he said.

“You panicked?”

He shrugged, “It’s not like I could go to someplace familiar that puts together bouquets exactly how I know you like. I figured too many was better than not enough.”

You laughed again, softer this time, “Thank you, Connor.”

He smiled at you. “Of course, Bug. You danced beautifully, I missed seeing your perform.”

You smiled softly back at him, “Thank you,” you said leaning into him a bit. Immediately he pulled you into a hug.

Looking over his shoulder, you saw Fraser walking towards the two of you, holding another bouquet in his hands. Smaller, wrapped in simple brown paper tied with white ribbon. Your favorite flowers, tulips and baby’s breath.

He smiled at you, and you pulled away from Connor’s hug slowly. Fraser stopped in front of you, offering them with an almost shy smile. “These are for you.”

You took them carefully, your fingers brushing his for the briefest second.

“They're beautiful,” you said quietly, looking down at them before glancing back up. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for being here,” you said. “Both of you.”

Fraser's expression softened immediately. “There wasn't anywhere else I'd rather be.” The words were simple, said with complete sincerity.

You looked at him for a second longer than you probably should have before smiling again. “It means a lot.”

He gave you one of those small nods he always did, like he understood exactly what you weren't saying out loud. “You danced really well,” he said. “I don’t know enough about ballet to sound convincing, but...” A tiny grin appeared on his face. “I know you looked happy up there.”

That caught you off guard. Connor had noticed your performance. Fraser had noticed how you felt during it. The difference was interesting, but neither compliment was less valuable than the other.

Your chest warmed. “I was,” you admitted. “I was nervous at first, like always, but once the music started it felt right.”

Fraser’s smile never faltered. “I could tell,” he said.

You looked down at the bouquet in your hands, smiling to yourself.

A stage manager poked her head into the lobby and announced, “Twenty minutes until we need the dressing rooms cleared!”

You sighed dramatically. “I should probably go change and get my stuff together.”

Connor nodded immediately. “Take your time.”

“We'll wait,” Fraser added.

You glanced between them. “You guys don't have to just stand around here until I’m done.”

Connor laughed. “We’re meeting everyone downstairs anyway.”

“Reservation’s in forty-five,” Fraser said. “Your girls are riding with us.”

“And then,” Connor added with a grin, “apparently somebody decided we're all going out afterward.”

You rolled your eyes. “That was definitely Frank.”

“It was absolutely Frank,” Connor confirmed.

You laughed, clutching both bouquets against your chest. “Okay,” you said. “Give me...twenty minutes? I’ll be quick.”

“You’ve got it,” Fraser replied. “Take your time.”

You took a few backward steps toward the dressing rooms before stopping. “Hey?” They both turned and looked at you. “Thanks,” you said.

Neither of them asked what for, because they already knew, and they knew they’d hear it a million other times tonight.

Connor simply pointed toward the hallway. “Go shower, ballerina.”

Fraser smiled. “We’ll be here when you’re done.”

You nodded once before disappearing backstage, somehow feeling lighter than you had when you’d walked offstage only minutes earlier.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

By the time you arrived at the Italian restaurant near the outside of the city, dinner stretched longer than anyone intended. The crowd for the night consisted of a couple of Fraser’s teammates from the Bruins. A handful of Connor’s teammates from Chicago, and several girls from your ballet program.

You honestly weren't sure how the combination worked as well as it did, but it was a very comfortable group, lots of easy conversation and laughter. Frank Nazar was asking a million questions about pointe shoes, and all of the boys seemed genuinely concerned to find out that dancers stand on their toes inside the shoe, no matter how much support they get from the box and padding.

After dinner everyone migrated to a nearby bar. Music filled the room and people scattered into different conversations.

You stayed for almost two hours before Fraser noticed something nobody else did. You’d stopped talking. Your smile was still there, but it looked tired.

He leaned over just enough that only you could hear him. “You ready to head out?”

You looked at him for half a second before nodding immediately. “Yeah,” you replied quickly and quietly.

He smiled. “Let’s go.”

Connor caught the movement from across the room. “You guys heading out?” he asked as he made his way over to you and Fraser standing by the door.

Fraser nodded.

Connor looked at you. “You okay?”

You smiled. “Just tired.”

Connor nodded once. “Text me when you get there.”

“I will,” you said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” Connor said as he pulled you into a quick hug.

Nobody questioned it when you and Fraser walked out the door, to them it was simply Fraser knowing what you needed, and taking care of you, making sure you were comfortable. Like he always had.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

His apartment was quiet when you stepped inside. The silence felt almost startling after the noise of the restaurant and bar, but you absolutely adored it. You slipped your flats off with a relieved sigh. “My feet are going to fall off,” you said, stretching your feet slightly.

Fraser let out an amused huff, “They’re not. You’re strong.” He started to make his way to the kitchen, saying over his shoulder, “Go sit on the couch, I’ll be right there.”

Fraser disappeared into the kitchen and you made your way to the living room, throwing yourself onto the couch, and shooting Connor a quick text you'd made it to Fraser's.

Fraser returned a moment later with a small tub of water and a cup of ice in his hand. “For your feet,” he said, setting the tub on the floor in front of you.

You laughed. “Bossy.”

“I’ve seen showcase weeks, I’ve also seen you do this a million times, I know it helps,” he countered.

You put your feet into the tub, and he dumped the cup of ice into the water. The relief it brought you was almost immediate, as you sunk further into the couch with a dramatic groan.

He crouched in front of you, and his eyebrows immediately pulled together. “Too cold?”

You shook your head. “No, it feels good.”

“Too much?”

You shake your head, closing your eyes.

“Okay,” he said softly, standing up to move to sit in the armchair next to the couch.

After about ten minutes, you raised your feet out of the tub and onto the towel he had brought you, drying them off. Without saying a word, Fraser stood up and grabbed one side of the coffee table, scooting it out of the middle of the floor.

“What are you doing?” you asked, genuinely confused as to why he was moving the table.

“Making room,” he answered easily.

“For what?”

He looked at you like the answer was obvious. “For you to stretch,” he said.

Within ten more seconds the table was gone from the center of the room, and the whole living room floor remained open for you.

“There,” he said, standing up, satisfied with his work.

You smiled despite yourself. “I never asked you to do that.”

He shrugged, “You didn't have to.”

Your chest tightened unexpectedly. You stepped onto the rug and slowly worked through your usual routine. Calves, hamstrings, hip flexors, and of course your foam roller on your legs.

Fraser disappeared into the kitchen while you stretched before returning with two glasses of water. He didn’t interrupt, he didn’t hover, he just let you do your thing. He sat on the floor a few feet away, reading through something on his phone while occasionally glancing up to make sure you weren’t pushing yourself too hard.

By the time you finished stretching, your body finally felt like it belonged to you again, like you’ve finally wound down for the night and settled back into yourself.

You stood up and collapsed dramatically onto the couch. “I don't think I can move,” you groaned, sprawling all your limbs out onto the sectional.

“I’ve heard that before,” Fraser said from where he was still sitting on the floor.

“I mean it this time,” you say, rubbing your eyes.

“I’m sure you do,” he said, getting up and sitting down next to your feet.

You laid there, he sat next to you, occasionally brushing his hand against your leg or the arch of your foot, providing a little extra comfort. The two of you started talking about anything and nothing, you just let the conversation drift. You talked about funny things that happened at dinner with all your friends, you talked about Connor and how confused he was when you tried to pick him up at the airport the day before. Eventually Fraser started talking about hockey and his upcoming few games. But what you really settled the conversation on was summer at home.

It started as something nostalgic, but it quickly turned into something else when Fraser said, “I don't think Connor ever figured out that we went swimming in the middle of the night this past summer.”

Your smile froze, and you looked down at your hands. “Yeah,” you murmured.

He leaned back into the couch, “It feels weird now. I think about that trip more than I should.”

You nodded faintly.

He kept going, “I think about that trip more than I probably should. I kept wondering what I’d done wrong”

Your head lifted. “What?” you asked, confused as to what he meant because he hadn’t done anything wrong, at least not with you.

He sighed. “After that night, after summer was over and we all went back to our different cities you stopped calling as much.”

Your stomach tightened, an anxious feeling creeping into your bones.

He laughed softly, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “You’d answer eventually, but everything felt different.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, “I figured I’d crossed a line.”

You stared at your lap now.

He shook his head. “I thought maybe you didn’t really want me around anymore.”

Your eyebrows pull together. “What in the world are you talking about?”

He looked over, noticing that you weren’t meeting his eyes. “You wanted space,” he said.

“No,” you answered.

“You stopped—”

You cut him off before he could say anything else, “I thought you wanted space.”

Fraser blinked. “What?”

“You said if I needed space…”

“I said if you needed it, Y/N. I never said I needed it,” his statement was firm but his voice remained gentle.

“I thought…” your voice got incredibly smaller. “...I thought you were asking for yours.”

The room fell completely silent. You had no idea what to say, all you could think is that you were the one who got it wrong so it’s your fault everything had been so off lately, that it was your fault he had been distant. The thoughts started to roll faster and faster around your head, and the silence wasn’t helping.

The silence stretched between you. It wasn’t an angry silence, but it was heavy. It was like twenty years of knowing each other had suddenly been viewed through an entirely different lens.

Fraser was the first to speak. “I never wanted space from you,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know how to fix what happened at the lake, but I never wanted you gone.”

You kept looking down at your hands, twisting the sleeve of your sweatshirt around your fingers until your knuckles turned white. “I thought…” you swallowed, not quite knowing if you had gained all the courage to speak. “I thought maybe you regretted it,” you managed.

“What?”

“The kiss.”

Fraser shook his head slightly, leaning his head down to try and look at your face, “It never happened.”

You let out a semi-frustrated huff, “You know what I mean.”

He stared at you for a second before slowly shaking his head again. “No.”

Your eyes burned. “You said if I needed space,” you whispered. “I figured...I figured you were trying to let me down gently because I messed everything up.”

Fraser frowned. “Y/N…”

You kept going, “So I stopped calling as much.”

“You thought that's what I wanted?” Fraser asked, really trying to make sure he was understanding you correctly.

You nodded. “I didn't want to make things harder for you,” you tell him.

His shoulders fell. “Oh…” The word came out like someone had knocked the air out of him. “You were trying to be nice,” he added.

“I was trying to respect what I thought you needed,” you correct.

“I spent months thinking I'd ruined the most important friendship in my life,” Fraser admits.

Your head snapped toward him now. “You never ruined anything,” you tell him. You take in a shaky breath before looking down at your lap and whispering, “I just got scared.”

His expression softened immediately. “I know.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I don't think you do.” Your vision blurred even more, and you hate that it’s happening while you’re trying to be brave and say how you feel. “I wanted you to kiss me,” you manage. A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. “I wanted you to so badly.”

Fraser didn’t move, and he didn’t interrupt. You always needed to finish your thoughts before anyone tried to comfort you, he knew that, and he wanted you to be able to say everything you were thinking, so he let silence fill the room until you said something else.

“I was terrified,” your voice cracked, “If something happened between us…” you kept looking at your lap. “What if it changed everything? Or what if things got weird with Connor?” You took in another shaky breath and said, “What if something happened and we weren’t friends anymore.”

You laughed through your tears. “I’ve spent my whole life with the two of you. I couldn’t lose either of you like that.”

Fraser’s heart broke, and he shifted a little closer to you on the couch. Not touching, just closer. “I know,” he said.

“You do?”

He nodded. “I would’ve had the exact same fear.”

You sniffle, “I just really couldn’t think about the idea that I might lose my brother because of it, even though I know I probably wouldn’t…I couldn’t risk it for my own peace of mind. Which is selfish of me.”

“No, it’s not selfish,” Fraser says. “I understand exactly what you mean, it’s not selfish at all, Y/N, please don’t think that way about it.”

You looked at him, finally. “Can I ask something?” you question cautiously.

“Anything.”

“Do you ever think about…” your voice almost disappeared, “...what would've happened if I didn't stop you?”

Silence, real silence this time, like you’ve fully caught him off guard and he doesn’t know what to say. Fraser looked down at his hands, his thumbs rubbing together absentmindedly.

Then he nods once and says, “All the time.”

The tears you'd been trying so hard to keep in finally fell, silently, and you let them.

“I think about it after games,” he continues, “When I can’t sleep, when I’m driving, when someone mentions the trip or a memory pops up on my phone. When I come back to an empty apartment after a road trip…” he looks up at you, now. “I think about it more than I probably should.”

You can’t stop crying now. “I’m sorry,” you manage through your tears.

His head shakes immediately. “No.”

Your breath hitches, “I’m so—”

“No,” he says firmly. “I don’t want you apologizing for protecting something you love. Your relationship with your brother is important, you shouldn’t feel bad for not wanting to waver that.”

He rubs his hands over his face before he says, “I love Connor too, he’s one of my best friends, he always has been.”

You nod, tears still falling steadily down your face, and you reach up to wipe some of them away with the back of your hand.

He looks at you for a long moment. Then he says something so quietly you almost miss it, and you definitely assume you mis-hear it.

“I love you.”

Everything stopped. The quiet sounds of the apartment die in your ears, your mind goes blank, like someone unplugged everything keeping your thoughts running, you have no idea how to respond, no clue how to process the words you’ve just heard, but you don’t have to, because Fraser keeps talking.

He smiles, almost sadly, “I think I’ve loved you for a lot longer than I’ve been willing to admit.”

All you do is stare at him while he talks.

“I don’t even know when it happened. I’ve tried to figure it out, I thought maybe in high school. Then I’d remember something from when we were twelve…then when we were eight. I honestly think it just never stopped. You’ve always been my favorite person, you always will be, I know that.”

He’s smiling softly at you now, the most tender look in his eyes as he says, “You feel things so deeply, and I love that about you. I love that you notice things no one else notices. You make room for everyone, you always make people feel seen. You work harder than anyone I’ve ever met, and you’ve spent so much of your life worrying about and putting other people before yourself. You’ve never been loud, but you’ve always been the loudest part of my life, the part I notice the most.”

Your face crumpled, and you covered your mouth with your hand to stop the sob that escaped. Fraser’s expression immediately changed, concern replaced everything else.

“Oh, sweetheart…” The pet name slipped out before he could think, he’d only called you that once before when you had a stress fracture in your ankle when you were sixteen.

He hadn’t called you that since because he had always wanted it to mean something to both of you, and he didn't feel like any other time had been appropriate until now. All he wanted to do right now was hold you and make all your tears go away. He wanted to make sure you were okay, and that you felt safe because he’d just hit you with probably one of the most overwhelming things you’d ever heard.

He reached toward you before stopping himself halfway. “Can I…”

He didn't finish the question. He didn't have to, because you nodded immediately.

The second his arms wrapped around you, every wall you’d spent months building collapsed. You buried your face against his shoulder, crying harder than you meant to. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

His hand gently cradled the back of your head. “No.”

“I should've told you—” you choked out.

“No, no.”

“I made everything worse,” you cried.

“You didn’t, Y/N, you didn’t.” His voice was impossibly soft. “We both thought we were protecting each other.”

You stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in him. Neither of you tried to fix anything, and neither of you were pretending anymore, nearly everything was out in the open now.

After a few minutes your breathing evened out and you pulled back enough to look at him through tear-soaked lashes. “I love you too.” The words came quietly, you’d been holding on to them for years.

“You’ve always—,” you smiled through your tears, still falling hot down your face, “you’ve always been safe.”

Fraser’s heart melted immediately, and it took everything in him not to pull you down into another hug.

“When I was little you never tried to make me talk, or be loud, or be in a situation I wasn’t comfortable with. You never made me feel like I wasn’t enough. You were just there for me, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more thankful for something in my life.”

Fraser smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

After another quiet moment, he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You should stay tonight,” he suggested quietly. You nodded before he had even finished asking.

“I don’t really want to be alone.”

“You won’t be.”

“Will you sleep in the bed with me?”

He smiled. Not teasing, not surprised, just warm. “Only if that’s what you want.”

You nod, “It is.”

He stood, offering you his hand, you took it. His fingers intertwined with yours naturally, like they’d done it a thousand times before, though somehow this felt entirely new.

The night didn’t end with a grand declaration that would change things in the morning, there was no kiss, there was no label. All there was, were feelings that had been kept private for fifteen years, and two people finally admitting to choosing each other in every way, like they always had.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

A week later, Boston still felt different even though not much had changed on the surface.

You still went over to Fraser’s after rehearsals whenever he was home. Usually your dance bag was slung over one shoulder and your hair had started falling out of its usual tidy bun by the time you climbed the stairs to his apartment.

Fraser still kept a drawer in his bathroom stocked with tape for your toes, blister pads, IcyHot, extra hair ties, while in the kitchen he made sure to have your favorite tea, and nearly every snack you’d ever mentioned liking.

You’d stretch on the living room floor while he cooked dinner, occasionally asking him to pass you your foam roller without either of you looking away from what you were doing. He’d complain that you were stealing vegetables off the cutting board before they ever made it into the pan, and you’d remind him that he'd left them within reach.

Dinner was almost always eaten on the couch just because it was more comfortable than sitting at the kitchen island. Afterward, you’d tell each other about your days until the exhaustion caught up to both of you. And eventually, almost without fail, you’d find yourselves in his room.

Sometimes you’d read while he watched film. Sometimes he’d fall asleep before you did, and you'd quietly mark your place in your book just to watch him for a minute, smiling to yourself before turning the light off.

Sometimes he’d wake up before you and slip out of bed to make coffee before you had to get up for class, leaving one of his sweatshirts draped over you because you’d always reach for it as soon as you woke up.

Nothing looked different, but everything felt different, there wasn’t pretending anymore.

Your hand found his without thinking, not because either of you needed reassurance anymore, but simply because it felt right. He brushed loose strands of hair behind your ear whenever they fell into your face. You leaned against him whenever you were tired. He kissed the top of your head absentmindedly while he stirred pasta sauce or reached around you for a plate.

Small things. Ordinary things.

The kind of things that would’ve absolutely terrified you a month ago, but now they just fit.

Neither of you rushed to define it. You still hadn’t had a conversation about what you were, there was no grand announcement, no labels (yet). Fraser never asked you for one, he knew you’d get there when you were ready. He’d already waited this long, it didn’t hurt to wait any longer.

One evening, while the two of you stood side by side in his kitchen washing dishes after dinner, your phone buzzed against the counter.

Connor.

You glanced at the screen before looking over at Fraser who was drying one of the plates with a dish towel, completely unaware that you were watching him.

"What?" he asked, catching your stare. You smiled to yourself. “Nothing,” you said, returning your gaze to the bowl you were rinsing out.

He looked unconvinced. “That wasn’t a ‘nothing’ smile.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head before drying your hands on a towel. “I was just thinking about…about telling Connor at some point.”

Fraser nodded almost immediately. “Yeah,” he said, no hint of hesitation in his voice. Not because he wasn’t nervous, but because Connor mattered to him too.

“He’ll probably figure it out before we tell him anyway,” Fraser said with a small grin.

You laughed. “He absolutely will, he probably already has.”

His smile softened, and silence settled between you again.

You traced your thumb absentmindedly along the edge of the kitchen towel in your hands before speaking again. “Can we wait a little?”

Fraser looked over immediately. “To tell him?” he asked.

You nodded. “I’m not scared to, but I feel like I’ve spent my whole life sharing things with Connor…I’d kind of like this to be just ours for a little while.”

He didn't answer right away, but he turned to face you, his hip now braced against the countertop. “I’d like that too,” he said.

Your shoulders relaxed almost instantly. “I want us to figure this out,” you admitted. “Without everyone asking questions or expecting us to have answers.”

Fraser reached for your hand, his fingers naturally finding the spaces between yours. “We can do that,” he said gently.

“You don’t mind?”

He smiled, almost like the question surprised him. “Y/N,” he said as his thumb brushed slowly across your knuckles, “I’ve never been in a rush. And whenever you’re ready we can tell Connor.”

A smile spreads across your face at that. “When we’re ready,” you correct.

He squeezes your hand once. “When we’re ready.”

The conversation ended there. It didn’t need anything else. You finished the dishes together, bumping shoulders every time one of you reached for the same cabinet. Fraser made you tea before bed, and you both ended up curled on the couch beneath one blanket. Your feet resting comfortably across his lap while he absentmindedly rubbed slow circles into your sore arches, you found yourself reading the same page of your book three times, because every few minutes you caught yourself looking at him.

He noticed eventually. “What?” he asked without looking up from whatever game happened to be on the television.

You smiled. “Nothing,” you said, your gaze returning to your book.

He chuckled. “That one I believe.”

Outside, the city carried on as it always did. Cars passed below the apartment windows, people mingled on the streets, moving about their lives. The whole world kept moving contentedly. But inside Fraser’s apartment, time seemed perfectly content to slow down.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Some couples could tell you the exact moment they fell in love. They could point to one conversation, one kiss, one look across a crowded room and say, there, that was it.

You never could. Maybe it had been when the boy on your brother’s hockey team sat next to you on the bleachers before and after practice. It could have been when he let you steal fries off of his plate after he had practice and you had ballet lessons. It might’ve started when he became another rock for you, always willing to listen, to be there for you when you needed someone. None of that changed even when you lived hours apart from each other, and everything went back to normal when you were physically next to each other. In a lake in the middle of the night in the summer, or sitting on the couch in his new apartment in Boston that had hardly any other furniture.

Or maybe it had always been every ordinary moment in between. You still couldn’t tell anyone the exact moment you fell in love with Fraser Minten, you don’t think you’d ever be able to. But for the first time, you knew one thing for certain; you never have to pretend that you hadn’t loved him your whole life.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

I don't know how well I could keep up with 2 AUs, but if y'all wanted more of these two, let me know. I think for this one, though, there would be less of a plot and more just little things within the universe, past and present. I loved writing this sm, and I want to write more, so feel free to send me your thoughts/feedback!

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