𝟎𝟑. 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐢 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐝, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧—𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲, 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐥𝐲, 𝐧𝐨 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬. 𝐇𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐞. 𝐇𝐞’𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐲. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐇𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬. 𝐇𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐮𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨.
The afternoon was warm and golden, the kind where the sun filtered softly through the leaves and the campus felt slow and peaceful. For the first time in weeks, you had absolutely nothing to do—no classes to rush to, no clinic shifts, no assignments piling up. Just free time.
You walked over to the big oak tree near the library—the same spot where you always stopped to feed the stray cats—and spread your jacket out on the grass. You sat down, opened your book, and settled in to read, fully expecting to be alone. You usually were, when you chose to be.
You were deep into a chapter when you heard footsteps approaching. You looked up and saw Dean walking across the grass.
He wasn’t carrying coffee or sandwiches, wasn’t holding supplies or textbooks, wasn’t coming over with that familiar determined look he always wore when he was trying to help or impress you. He was just… walking. His hands were tucked casually into the pockets of his jeans, his hair a little messy from the breeze, and when he saw you looking at him, he didn’t stop to ask if he could join you. He didn’t say a word.
Instead, he walked over, stopped about three meters away—close enough that you knew he was there, but far enough that you still had your full space—and sat down on the grass, leaning back against the other side of the tree trunk. He pulled a book from his bag, opened it, and immediately started reading.
No jokes. No questions. No demands for attention. Just… quiet.
You watched him for a moment, surprised. The old Dean—the one everyone knew—would have sat right next to you, talked the whole time, tried to make you laugh or look at him, made sure he was the center of whatever was happening. But this Dean? He just sat there, turned the page, and read, completely peaceful, completely comfortable in the silence.
You went back to your own book.
And that was how the next two hours passed. The only sounds were the wind rustling the leaves, the distant chatter of students walking by, and the soft turn of pages. You didn’t speak to each other. You didn’t need to. It was the first time you had ever been together without a task to finish, without work to do, without a reason to be there other than just… existing in the same space. It was calm, easy, and surprisingly nice.
When the sun started to dip lower and you finally closed your book, stretching your legs out, Dean closed his too. He stood up, brushed the grass off his jeans, and walked over to you—slowly, casually, like he didn’t want to break the quiet magic of the afternoon.
He looked down at you, that soft, genuine smile you were starting to know so well on his face.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low and easy.
“Hey,” you answered back, standing up and dusting off your own clothes. “Thanks for… sitting there. You didn’t have to.”
He shrugged, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “I wanted to. Sometimes… I think the best thing you can do for someone is just be there. Not fix anything, not say anything. Just… be there. You do that for people all the time. I wanted to do that for you.”
He paused for a second, then added, “Actually… there’s something else I wanted to ask you.”
You tilted your head, waiting.
“We have a game this Saturday,” he said, a little bit of that familiar nervous energy coming back into his eyes, but still soft, still careful. “Home game. I know you don’t care much about sports, and I know you’re busy… but I’d really like it if you came. If you wanted to, that is. No pressure. You don’t even have to stay the whole time. Just… it would mean a lot to me if you were there.”
You looked at him—at the hope in his face, at how much he had changed, at how hard he had been trying. And you found yourself nodding before you even thought about it.
“Okay,” you said quietly. “I’ll come.”
His face lit up instantly, bright and happy, but he didn’t cheer or make a big deal out of it. He just smiled wider, his blue eyes shining.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Okay,” he said, sounding pleased. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll see you Saturday then.”
He walked away looking lighter than you had ever seen him, and you stood there for a moment, wondering how just sitting quietly under a tree and saying yes to a game could make you feel so calm, and so excited, all at once.
By Saturday afternoon, you were already dressed and ready, standing in the middle of your room while your roommate and best friend, Sasha, sat on her bed watching you with narrowed eyes.
“Come on,” you said, grabbing your bag and nudging her leg. “Get up. We’re going out.”
Sasha raised an eyebrow. “Going out where? You haven’t left the dorm for anything other than class or the clinic in three weeks. And you usually threaten people with textbooks if they suggest doing anything that isn’t studying.”
You bit your lip, trying to sound casual. “I thought… we could go to the hockey game. It’s at the arena. We both need a break from studying, right? Fresh air, loud noise… it’ll be fun.”
Sasha stood up slowly, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at you like she had just caught you hiding something.
“Wait a second,” she said, her voice dripping with suspicion. “You want to go to a hockey game? You? The girl who doesn’t know a puck from a basketball? The girl who says sports are ‘just people running around in circles’?” She leaned closer, grinning. “You are not a sports fan. You have never willingly gone to any game in all the time I’ve known you. But suddenly you’re dragging me to one? Suspicious. Very suspicious.”
You felt your cheeks warm up as you pulled her toward the door. “It’s just… something different. Come on, please? I’ll buy you hot chocolate after.”
Sasha laughed, shaking her head as she let you pull her along. “Fine, fine. But we both know this has nothing to do with ‘needing a break.’”
When you walked into the arena, it was loud, crowded, and freezing cold. The stands were already half full, everyone cheering, music blasting, people yelling and laughing. You found a spot near the ice, close enough to see everything perfectly, and you realized Dean must have saved this spot—right where the players would be able to see the crowd clearly.
The lights went down, the team came out onto the ice, and the noise got even louder. You watched as they skated out, warm-ups starting, sticks clacking against the ice, players calling to each other.
And then you saw him.
Dean was wearing his jersey, his hair tucked up under his helmet, skates gliding smoothly over the ice like he was born to be there. You had seen him in classrooms, in the clinic, feeding cats, carrying boxes, reading books. You had never seen him like this.
Here, he was fast, sharp, focused. Every movement was confident and strong. He moved across the ice like it was his second home, weaving between teammates, passing the puck hard and fast, calling out plays, directing the others. He wasn’t just the star player—he was the leader. He was everywhere at once, working harder than anyone else, chasing the puck, helping his teammates up when they stumbled, shouting encouragement even when things got messy.
He was completely in his element.
And then, right in the middle of warm-ups, he stopped skating for a second, scanned the crowd, his eyes moving over the stands like he was looking for something. And then they locked right onto you.
He stopped moving entirely for a heartbeat, a slow, bright smile spreading across his face—one that had nothing to do with the game or the crowd or being cool. Just pure happiness that you were actually there.
Then, suddenly, he took off. He weaved around two of his own teammates, stickhandling the puck so fast it was almost a blur, faked out a guy from the other team who was just skating by, and sent the puck flying hard against the boards right in front of where you were sitting—controlled, precise, and impressive. He looked right at you as he did it, a little glint of playfulness in his eyes, showing off, just a little bit, but in the best way possible.
Sasha nudged your arm hard, leaning in close with wide, curious eyes.
“Is Dean looking at you?” she whispered loudly, then gasped, her grin turning mischievous and suspicious all at once. “Oh my god, he is! He keeps looking over here, and he did that whole fancy move right in front of us! Okay, no more hiding. You have to tell me everything. What is going on between you two? I need all the tea, all the drama, every single detail. There is definitely a story here and I am not letting you keep it to yourself!”
You couldn’t even argue. You were too busy watching him, realizing that while he had changed so much—grown up, become kinder, more responsible—this part of him, the part that loved the game, the part that was talented and brilliant and full of life… that was still there, too. And it was amazing to watch.
The game started properly after that, and it was intense. Back and forth, fast and rough, the crowd screaming so loud your ears rang. Dean was everywhere—defending, attacking, passing, shooting. He played with everything he had, every shift like it was the last one he’d ever get. And every time he skated past your section, his eyes found you, just for a second, like he was checking to make sure you were still there.
In the final period, with only two minutes left, the score was tied. Dean got the puck behind the net, fought off two guys from the other team, spun around fast, and sent a perfect pass right onto his teammate’s stick—who shot it straight into the net.
The arena erupted.
They won.
The team piled onto each other, cheering, yelling, hugging, slapping each other on the back. Dean was right in the middle of it, laughing, bright and happy, his face flushed, his helmet off, hair messy and damp with sweat. But even in the middle of the celebration, he was scanning the crowd again, looking for you.
When he found you, standing up and clapping with everyone else, his whole face softened. He didn’t wave, didn’t point, didn’t draw attention to himself. He just smiled—soft, private, only for you—before his teammates dragged him away toward the locker room.
You and Sasha waited outside near the player exit, shivering a little in the cold air, still hearing the noise of the crowd inside. Sasha didn’t let up the whole time, poking your arm and whispering, “You’re telling me everything. Every. Single. Thing. I’m serious.”
It took a while, but eventually, the door opened, and the guys started coming out, laughing and talking, still hyped up from the win.
Dean came out a few minutes later, changed into jeans and a hoodie, hair still damp, looking tired but incredibly happy. As soon as he saw you, he said something quick to Garrett and Logan, who were walking beside him, and came straight over to you.
Sasha winked at you and quickly made an excuse to go find the others, leaving the two of you alone—but not before giving you a pointed look that said I’m still waiting for the story.
Dean stopped in front of you, shoving his hands into his pockets, trying to look casual but failing completely because he was practically glowing.
“Hey,” he said, his voice a little breathless, a little nervous, a lot happy. “You came.”
“I said I would,” you answered, smiling back at him.
He rocked back on his heels, looking down at his shoes for a second before looking back up at you, that bright, giddy energy still all over him.
“So… what did you think?” he asked, almost shyly. “Was it okay? I know it’s kind of loud and crazy…”
You looked at him—really looked at him—and thought about how you had seen him today: quiet and calm under the tree, and then fierce, brilliant, and strong on the ice. You thought about everything he had been doing, every day, every effort, every change.
“You were amazing, Dean,” you said honestly. “Fast, and smart, and you led the whole team. You played really, really good.”
For a second, Dean just stood there, blinking at you. Then, his cheeks turned slightly pink, his smile widened into something so big and genuine it looked like it hurt, and he let out a small, happy, giddy little giggle—soft, boyish, completely unlike the cool, confident guy everyone else knew.
He bit his lip, trying to hold it back, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“Really?” he asked, his voice lighter than air. “You really thought so?”
“Really,” you said, and you found yourself smiling right along with him.
He looked at you, his eyes warm and bright, and for the first time, you didn’t just see a guy who was trying. You saw a guy who was shining. And you realized that seeing him happy—really happy—made you happier than you had been in a long time.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, stepping a little closer, but still careful, still respectful. “For coming. For saying that. It… it means everything to me.”
He stood there for a moment longer, like he didn’t want to leave, like he wanted to stay right there with you forever.
Then, he remembered something, and his face lit up even more.
“Hey… the whole team is throwing a party at the house later tonight to celebrate the win,” he said, hopeful and soft, his eyes searching yours. “Everyone’s going. It’s just… food, music, everyone hanging out. Nothing crazy, I promise. I’d really love it if you came. You don’t have to stay long, and if it gets too loud or too much, I’ll walk you out whenever you want. But… would you come? Please?”
He waited, nervous and eager, standing there with that same look he had when he asked you to the game—like your answer was the only thing that mattered.
You laughed softly, nodding. “Okay. I’ll come. Me and Sasha.”
Dean’s grin got so wide it almost split his face. “Yeah? Really?”
“Really.”
“Okay,” he said, sounding like he was floating on air. “Okay. I’ll see you there then. I’ll save you a spot. And… I’ll be looking for you.”
He watched you walk away to catch up with Sasha, and even when you turned back to look one last time, he was still standing there, watching you go, smiling like he had just won the biggest prize of all.
And honestly? He felt like he had.
