This fic will deal with mental health issues, including (manic) depression, thoughts of self-harm, thoughts of worthlessness, and issues regarding struggles to conceive.
A/N: Here is the ending you've been waiting for! Though we knew through 'Patience is a Virtue' that it all works out for Jacob and Geneviève, this is just a little glimpse into their life. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think!
Jacob Markström and Geneviève Monette-Markström were holding hands in their SUV. It was the first cold day in Calgary, with frost on their home windows and windshield greeting them when they woke up ready for the day. It was a little bit too early for such frost, but truth be told, their minds weren’t on the frost; their minds weren’t on the fact that maybe that switch that turned on their heated driveway would be utilized early this year. No. Their minds were on something completely different. It was right in front of them as they held hands in the car.
Dr. Bhardwaj & Dr. Takhar
Reproductive and Fertility Health Services
Jacob looked over at his wife. Even through her jacket, he could see her chest rising and falling with every breath she took. “Sötnos,” he said softly, getting her to look at him. “I love you. Whatever happens, I love you.”
Geneviève nodded her head. “I know. I love you too,” she said confidently. He loved that she said it confidently; that there wasn’t any doubt.
Several weeks ago, they’d started an IVF cycle after stopping for almost two years. After the weeks of preparation, medication, egg retrieval and monitoring, fertilization, and transfer, Geneviève had taken a pregnancy test at the clinic twelve days after the transfer. In their world full of IVF not taking, it was the most welcome news. But tragedies had happened before – many of them. The new clinic in Calgary knew about them all. So Geneviève took it upon herself, four days later, to take more pregnancy tests at home – five of them – and they had all also come back saying she was pregnant. Now, the (hopefully) last appointment was made with the fertility clinic – an appointment to see if all was well and if an ultrasound could be scheduled in 2-3 weeks before finally transferring over to an OB-GYN.
This was the scary part.
Jacob and Geneviève walked hand in hand across the parking lot and inside the clinic. They greeted the friendly receptionist warmly and hung their jackets in the closet before being led to the back. They were still holding hands when Dr. Bhardwaj came in, holding Geneviève’s file, smiling before closing the door.
Dr. Bhardwaj eyed them playfully. “How are you really feeling?”
There was a slight chuckle from the couple. “Nervous. Very nervous,” Jacob said. “You know our history with this. It’s been one heartbreak after another.”
Dr. Bhardwaj wheeled his chair forward, placing his hand on Geneviève’s forearm. She already had tears welling in her eyes from the anxiety and stress. He squeezed her forearm supportively. “I want to congratulate you both for persisting after everything you’ve been through. And I’m pleased to tell you that your blood work came back, and it was all good. Geneviève – you’re pregnant.”
Geneviève burst into tears. She knew she would, regardless of outcome, but it was as if the entire world had been lifted off her shoulders. Every ounce of grief she felt dissipated. Every sorrow, every heartache, all the anguish and suffering and torture she went through previously – it was all gone.
By some miracle, she was finally pregnant.
***
Geneviève hadn’t stopped smiling since the news. And because Geneviève hadn’t stopped smiling, Jacob hadn’t stopped smiling either.
They hadn’t told anybody yet. They wanted to keep the news to themselves for a while longer, just in case, but they were completely and utterly over the moon. Jacob was already kissing and talking to her non-existent bump every night, especially nights after games. Geneviève was already nesting, ordering a crib and playmat and gender-neutral onesies. They were already discussing paint colours for the nursery and which bedroom it should be and where the rocking chair would go.
So, when they arrived for their ultrasound, they still felt like they were up in the clouds. Nothing bothered them. Not that they had to wait for fifteen minutes because the clinic was running a little behind schedule. Not the cold jelly that was squirted onto Geneviève’s belly. Nothing.
Jacob watched as the ultrasound technician moved the wand slowly over the area. He then kept his eyes glued to the screen, trying to make sense of what he was seeing – a bunch of black, a bunch of blue, and then a black circle shape appearing and disappearing depending on where the wand went. Every so often, he’d look at Geneviève, and she’d be glued to the screen.
“Okay…I want you to take a deep breath,” the ultrasound technician said.
Jacob felt his heart drop in the pit of his stomach. He looked to Geneviève, who was doing as she was told, her eyes still scaring at the screen. “Why?” he asked.
“I think there might be two.”
Geneviève shrieked. She pulled herself up from her position lying down and stared the ultrasound technician right in the eye. “Are you serious?” she demanded.
“I’m serious,” she said, giggling. Jacob was positive he forgot every English word he knew and that it was a foreign language to him again. “Look here,” she began pointing at the monitor, to the dark circle Jacob had his eye on earlier. “Here’s one…” she said, then moved the wand ever so slightly. Jacob then saw two circles side-by-side. “And here’s the other.”
Jacob saw them. He saw them perfectly. He couldn’t stop staring at the screen. He only did when Geneviève looked over at him, still upright from utter shock, and began laughing. He began laughing too.
Twins.
They were having twins.
***
Jacob was getting used to a bunch of new terms. Monochorionic diamniotic – meaning that his twins had one shared placenta, but two separate amniotic sacs. Ultimately, what that meant was one sperm and one egg split into two.
The twins would be identical.
***
Eventually, Jacob and Geneviève began telling people they were pregnant.
It was only natural that they told their families first. Geneviève FaceTimed her parents, and to Jacob’s surprise, they seemed genuinely happy with the news. Geneviève took what she could get with them, so she didn’t think about it too much. She wasn’t expecting such enthusiasm, that was for sure, but she welcomed it. Her brothers were also happy, even Maxim, who waxed poetic about what a joy children are. Though nobody in the family had come to Calgary to visit their new home, Jacob could accept their happiness and well wishes from afar. Protecting his wife was still of the utmost importance to him.
Jacob’s mom screamed and cried over the Zoom call when he and Geneviève told her. Geneviève even started tearing up too, knowing how much she missed them, despite them spending their summers in Sweden. She felt they never spend enough time together, and she was right. Jacob’s mom immediately asked about the due date so she could book a flight to Calgary. When they told his siblings over a separate Zoom call, they were over the moon. Even his niece was excited to have more cousins to play with. Jacob and Geneviève even decided to tell their friends when they went up to Banff for New Year’s.
That night, as they slipped into bed together, Jacob put his hand protectively over her still-pretty-non-existent bump. Geneviève noticed his lingering kisses and deep breaths. “Everything okay?” she asked, running her fingers through his hair.
Jacob placed another kiss on her skin. “I wish my dad was here. He would be so excited.”
Geneviève’s heart broke. She cupped Jacob’s face. “Me too,” she whispered, thinking back to how warm and welcoming Anders was to her the first time she met his family. “He would be so proud of you, Jacob.”
***
‘Doting’ took on a whole new meaning where Jacob Markstrom was concerned. To say that he was doting on his pregnant wife was an understatement. He barely let her lift a finger when he was home. “Here, let me get that.”; “Here, let me help you.”; “Go sit down and let me do that.”. Geneviève would smile, and giggle, and then they’d kiss, and then she’d feel one of the babies kick and she’d grab Jacob’s hand and put it on the spot and he’d feel it too. At night, he’d rub cocoa butter all over her, talking to the babies in English and Swedish as he poked and tapped to see them move. On more than one occasion, they were so active that he began to cry.
Geneviève bought two of everything. She decorated the nursey herself and probably went overboard but she didn’t care. She went maternity clothes shopping. She wrote about being pregnant – finally being pregnant – and her struggles with infertility in Atomic for a feature piece. She bought a blender that was advertised to make excellent baby food. She bought baby gates and kitchen cabinet locks and electrical socket guards. She bought the teeniest tiniest pairs of socks. When she was completely round, only a few weeks shy of her due date, she did a maternity photo shoot.
She did everything she was robbed of so many times before.
***
June 2022
The babies were being born in Calgary. Geneviève made it to just shy of 38 weeks before delivering – full term for twins. To think of where she’d been in all of her heartbreaks to where she was now, ready to bring new life into the world, was astonishing. It was something she always wanted with Jacob, and now they were getting it. After years of waiting, the twins were ready to arrive.
The epidural felt nice, and she progressed well. Her regular OB-GYN was present and monitoring the situation closely. Her nurses were lovely. Jacob was feeding her ice. When she was dilated, she began to push.
And push.
And push.
The moment that they had been waiting so long for had finally come.
“Congratulations! You’re parents to two healthy baby boys!” their doctor exclaimed.
After the boys were cleaned, weighed, and swaddled, Jacob and Geneviève held them close, leaning against each other in the bed. A nurse took a photo of them. When they were given some alone time, Jacob and Geneviève looked at each other.
“I love you so much,” he whispered.
“I love you,” she stressed. “You gave me my life, Jacob. I love you.”
He leaned over to kiss her. “My greatest gifts, right here,” he mumbled against her lips.
***
Waiting was the hardest and most beautiful thing we had to do. But after five years, our wait is over.
Anders Edvin (6lbs, 12oz) and Émile Filip (6lbs 8oz) were born June 23rd, 2022. Our family is doing well.
We are grateful to the staff, nurses, and doctors at the Foothills Medical Centre in Calgary and Dr. Bhardwaj from Reproductive and Fertility Heath Services.
Could you do one with Chris where he comes home after alot of time of filming and you were his long time ex-girlfriend, and you're doing a part time job at a diner where you sing and play a guitar, and he comes over to the diner, and memories just rush back in as she sings Red??? Maybe they meet after, and he tells her how much he loved her and kisses her??
Ok. This was my first time writing for Chris, so I hope I didn't completely butcher it. I know my RED (TV) requests are rolling out slowly and I'm sorry. It's been crazy over here. Plus, writing these in between Christmas requests has been crazy. Anyway... please leave feed back.
WARNINGS: none really. Lots of angst.
Chris was driving his new Maserati down a dead-end street, faster than the wind.
He was home from filming his latest movie and heard you were still at the diner, where you sang on Tuesday nights. If he didn't hurry up and get there, he would miss your performance.
Chris pulled around the block and pulled into a parking space. He quickly shuffled down the street and into the diner.
"Hello!" the hostess said. He wasn't trying to be rude, with his hands in his brown leather jacket, looking around the diner, but he wanted to find you. "How many?" She asked, picking up a menu.
"One," he smiled at the woman.
"Right this way," she walked into the diner and sat him at the counter. Honestly, he didn't know what he wanted to eat, he just wanted to see you.
"Can I get you something to drink?" The waitress asked, smiling at the attractive man.
"Uh, just a coffee, please," Chris said.
"Sure," she went over to the pot, pouring him a cup and came back, putting it on the counter. "Here you go."
"Thank you," he said. "Hey, uh, is," he cleared his throat. "is (Y/N) working tonight?"
"(Y/N)?" she asked. "Yeah. Do you want to sit in her section. I think her shift is almost done though."
"No. No. It's fine. I just wanted to hear her sing," Chris shrugged.
"OH! Well she should be on in about ten minutes," the waitress told him.
"Thank you," he smiled and looked down at the menu.
"Sure. Let me know when you decide," she gestured to the menu.
"Will do," he winked.
The waitress walked away, helping other customers and tidying up.
As Chris was scanning the menu, he heard the sounds of a guitar strumming. His head shot up as he saw you, tuning your guitar with a band of two other women behind you.
You looked great. You got highlights in your hair and your waitress uniform was a bit snug on you, but it was covered up nicely by a long cardigan, as it was Autumn.
Chris smiled and sat back in his seat as he watched you. You had broken up nearly a year ago. Chris was set to be away for a long time, due to filming two movies and the long-distance just wasn't working anymore, so you broke it off.
The waitress came back and Chris ordered a simple burger and fries. "Thanks, hun."
"No problem," the woman giggled at the pet name. "It'll be right out."
She walked away and Chris nodded, his focus back on you.
"Hi everyone," you spoke into the microphone, which you adjusted to your sitting height. "Thanks for coming out tonight. I, uh,- I know it's been a bit since I've been up here and I'm sorry. But I'm back! With a new song and I hope it was worth the wait. This is called 'Red.'"
The opening notes of the song started and Chris smiled, sipping his coffee.
"Loving him is like
Driving a new Maserati down a dead-end street
Faster than the wind, passionate as sin
Ending so suddenly," you sang.
Chris' eyes got wide as he heard the lyrics.
"Loving him is like trying to change your mind
Once you're already flying through the free fall
Like the colors in autumn, so bright
Just before they lose it all."
You always did have a good way with words. The crowd cheered at your vocals on the last line. And Chris looked around the diner, everyone was captivated.
He could tell the chorus was going to be big and he was right.
"Losing him was blue like I'd never known
Missing him was dark gray, all alone (Whoa)
Forgetting him was like
Trying to know somebody you never met
But loving him was red."
Chris couldn't help but chuckle as, of course, he was wearing a dark grey shirt, a staple in his wardrobe. At this point, Chris walked through the crowd, pushing through people, to stand closer to you.
He put his hand on his chin and smiled as you sang, "but lovin' him was red. Yeah, red."
You were waving your hair back and forth while strumming the guitar, looking like a natural up there.
As you kept singing, memories of your relationship flashed through Chris' head.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first time you touched him, like REALLY touched him, you realized that all you ever wanted was right there in front of you.
From his broad shoulders to his facial hair and his abs, the man was perfect in every way. He knew how to please you and just his touch on your cheek or hip made you weak in the knees.
Chris couldn't forget that memory because it was the day he realized he was in love with you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Memorizing him was as
Easy as knowing all the words to your old favorite song."
You stared at him as you were lying in bed on top of him.
"What?" he asked.
"Just trying to remember every detail about you," you smiled.
Chris' face blushed and he kissed you. "Well, I can never tire looking at you, but I want to know more too."
"Like what?" you asked.
"Like what's your favorite song?" He rubbed down your back.
"Hmmmm," you wondered. "Like of all time?"
"Yeah," he chuckled. "Of all time."
"Can I get back to you? There's so many."
"Sure," he chuckled.
"What's yours?" you asked.
"My favorite song?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"Hmm. I love Led Zepplin. I'd say maybe 'Stairway to Heaven," Chris said.
"There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven," you sang.
Chris laughed. "Yeah. That's the one. But I didn't know you could sing that well."
"Oh," you blushed. "I, uh, only sing in my bedroom."
"Well, we're here right now. Why don't you sing a little something for me?" he nudged you playfully.
"Oh, I can't," you hid your face into the sheets.
"Come on," he tickled you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Fighting with him was like
Trying to solve a crossword and realizing there's no right answer."
Your first big fight came six months after you decided to move in together. The unfinished crossword puzzle was sitting on the coffe table and you two were fighting in the kitchen.
"Well, I'm sorry, ok? I'm sorry that I am so exhausted by the time I come home that I don't have enough energy to 'dress up' for you and make you feel good," you yelled.
"It would just be nice if my girlfriend came home happy every once in the while and wanted to spend some time with me," Chris said, taking the chicken out of the oven.
"Well, then maybe you should find a girlfriend who doesn't have to work for a living. Find yourself a damn trophy wife cause I'm done," you slammed down your apron and walked into the bedroom.
You grabbed a duffle bag and started shoving clothes into it, packing all of the essentials and storming out. You threw you bag by the door as you put on your shoes and coat.
"Where are you going?" Chris asked.
"Anywhere but here," you scoffed.
"Please don't leave," he said. "I'm sorry. I-I love you."
You picked up your bag and slammed the door behind you, leaving Chris with a whole chicken and an empty bedroom,
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Regretting him was like
Wishing you never found out that love could be that strong."
You grabbed his collar and pulled him towards you, kissing him passionately. His hand cupped your cheek and you sighed, contently.
When you pulled away, you got a bit shy, your face getting red. "I don't think I've ever felt a love so strong before."
"Me either," he said, smiling. "Which got me thinking."
"What?" you asked, biting your lip.
"Why don't we get married?" he asked.
"Are you proposing to me?" you gasped.
"Unofficially, yeah," he shrugged.
"Yes," you kissed him and pulled him towards you again. "Yes. Yes. Yes."
He smiled and wrapped his fingers in yours.
---------------
2 months later you would regret that decision as he was telling you about the new projects he was filming.
"Australia??!?" you asked. "That's- that's so far away."
"I know, but these two years will fly by in no time," he said, packing his bag.
You started hyperventilating as you sat down on the bed. "Two years?"
"I told you you can come with me," he said, leaning down and rubbing your legs.
You shook your head. "I can't just uproot my life. My family is here. My job is here. My friends... my life... I can't just give all that up to sleep in trailers for two years and not even get to see you all day."
He kissed your head in silence for a minute, his eyes getting glassy. "I love you and I'll wait for you."
You tried to stop your sobbing as you slipped your ring off and handed it to him. "No no. Babe! This is yours."
You shook your head as you started to cry. "I can't be engaged to you, making wedding plans ans not having you here for them and and..."
He lifted you head up and kissed your lips this time. When he pulled away, he was crying too. "Are you saying you want to break-up? We can't try long distance?"
You nodded. "We can try. But I'll just be your girlfriend."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``
You got back to the chorus and the smile on Chris' face disappeared.
"Burnin' red (red, red)," you sang.
He could feel a good bridge coming. You were always amazing at bridges. Your expression changed and you sang more passionately.
"Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes
Tell myself it's time now, gotta let go
But moving on from him is impossible
When I still see it all in my head
In burning red
Loving him was red."
He never let go of you. He's always loved you and always will. Chris shifted and knocked over a waitress with a big tray behind him.
"And that's why he's spinning 'round in my head (Red, red)
Comes back to me, burning red (Red, red)
(Red, red) Yeah, yeah
(Red, red)."
All of the attention went to Chris, including yours. Once you saw the jacket and light hair, you knew exactly who it was and now your heart was pumping faster. What was he doing here?
"I'm sorry. Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry," he said, helping the waitress clean up. When he was done cleaning up, you were coming to the end of the song. Chris stood up and you locked eyes as you sang the last line.
"His love was like
Driving a new Maserati down a dead-end.... street."
The place erupted into cheers as you stopped strumming, but your focus was on him. The crowd just backround noise. You swallowed as Chris smiled at you and waved small at you.
"Uh, thank you everyone. Good-good night," you put your guitar into your case as the back-up singers took everything down.
You were trying to get out of there as fast as you could, but the case didn't want to zipper and you cursed under your breath. Your bandmates said their goodbyes and you thanked them all.
You saw a pair of brown loafers at the edge of the stage and you looked up, locking eyes with him.
"Hi," he practically whispered.
"What are you doing here?" you asked, picking up your stuff and standing up.
"Nice to see you too," he chuckled.
You hopped off the stage, placing your stuff on the counter as you grabbed your coat and purse from the back of the restaurant. When you came back out, Chris was sitting on the counter chair in front of your guitar.
You rolled your eyes and grabbed the case. "Can I help you?"
"I'm back... and I wanted to see you," he said, rubbing the hair on the back of his head.
You chuckled. "How do you know I want to see you?" You started to walk out the diner into the brisk, autumn air.
He shrugged, following you. "I- I hoped you would."
You turned towards him and scowled. "We ended things remember?"
"You ended things, (Y/N)," he reminded you.
"Right," you said.
He looked at your eyes in the moonlight, illuminating. "I've missed you.... so much."
You thought for a second before turning around and walking away.
"(Y/N), (Y/N), wait!" Chris said, running after you, grabbing your arm.
"Why? How do I know-?"
"Know what?" he asked.
"Know that you won't leave me again for years at a time?" you asked, wiping a tear from your eye with your sleeve.
"Because I quit," Chris said.
"You what?" You turned around to face him.
"That was my last movie. I quit acting," he said, cupping your cheek in his hand, wiping the tears with his thumbs.
"Why?" you asked, looking down.
"Told them I want to start a family," he shrugged. "That I missed my girl."
You took in a shaky breath as you started to cry more. You shook your head and backed away from him. "No."
"No?" he asked.
"I can't let you do that. Can't throw away your career for me," you said.
Chris grabbed your free hand and sighed. "I choose you (Y/N)."
You looked up at him, your face wet with tears. "I tried so hard to forget you. To write songs and maybe I'd get you out of my system, but it didn't wo-work."
"I never forgot you (Y/N)," he wiped your tears as he stepped closer. "Everyday, I'd scroll through pictures of us and listen to the playlist you made me."
You couldn't see straight as your tears took over your vision. "Chris..."
"Please, (Y/N). I'm here, begging for you to take me back. I heard that song. You clearly still have feelings for me," he said.
You chuckled, wiping your tears. "That didn't sound conceited."
He chuckled, moving the hair away from your tear-stained face. "You know what I mean." You looked into his eyes and all of the hard feelings went away. The man was beautiful and to give him up over something so stupid... was, well stupid. "Can I kiss you?"
You pulled his face towards yours and kissed him. You jumped into his arms and wrapped your legs around him. He held you up with his strong arms and you kissed up against the glass.
After about 5 minutes of kissing you pulled apart. "Let me drive you home. It's too cold to wait on the bus stop," Chris said.
You looked down the street as the bus was approaching and then looked back at Chris. Biting your lip, you thought about it. "Ok."
You walked towards his Maserati, hand in hand. When you approached his car, he placed your guitar in the back. "So, where are you living now?"
"Been with my mom," you said quietly, looking out the window. "It's just five blocks..."
"down and then two streets over," Chris said. "I remember."
You smiled and he started the car, pulling out of the spot. Maybe you could give him a second chance....
This is part three of the A Starting Point Series.
Word Count: 4.7K (The smut just wouldn’t stop! )
Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI. SMUT, RPF. Employer/Employee relations. Angst, sexual day dreaming, hate sex?, praise AND degradation kink combined, those arm veins, Chris’ piano hands, talk of spanking, talk of masturbation, talk of porn,talk of anal, fingering, teasing, clit clapping, finger fucking, oral sex (m/f receiving), raw sex, begging, breeding kink, fluffl. Not Beta’d.
A/N: This is for My #DJs2KHolidayVisit. Thank you so much for this milestone. This was an ask from @bloomingpresent and combined with the fact that I woke up like this, this got out of hand. Well, let me know if you all like it!
Notice: I no longer operate a taglist. Follow @rampitupandread to be notified when I post. DO NOT COPY, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK.
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
You were arguing with Chris about telling Mark and Joe about you two having a relationship that extended beyond boss/employee. You wanted no parts of any seeming impropriety.
“How about we just tell them I’m resigning.”
“How about we tell them you’re going to be a partner?”
“What are you talking about, Chris?”
“Marry me, y/n.”
How could you say yes to that?
And so you didn’t. After the program that evening, you tried to compromise with Chris, You were terrified, and hid it behind a veil of workplace etiquette. You counter proposed waiting to get married, and no funny business at work. You two would only be together on the low.
Chris was having none of it. It was all or nothing. He wouldn’t hide how he felt any more. He’d wanted you for months. Loved you since he first saw you.
“I’m not some sidepiece that you hide away and use for sex.”
You laughed at Chris, but stopped when you realized that he wasn’t joking.
warnings: lots of swearing, drinking... and ofc, lots of fluff <3 let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 3.8k+
this isnt edited + lowercase intended. enjoy <3
***
you were laying on the couch, entangled with matthew, resting your head on his chest, head moving in sync with his breathing as he had an arm wrapped around you, hand placed on your stomach.
matthew was your best friend, you had known him
and his family since basically the day you were born.
your family had been friends with the tkachuks for years. growing up as neighbours sort of forced you guys to see each other everyday. every saturday you had dinner with the tkachuk's. that was usually held at their place since they had the bigger backyard, yours was taken up by a large shed.
with the dinners, came movie night. that was the saturday tradition. dinner outside if the weather would cooperate and then movies inside right after clean up.
anyone who would look at you and matthew would think you were dating. that wasnt the case though, simply just best friends. normally best friends wouldnt cuddle like how you and matthew did.
you two were obviously in love with each other, everyone could see it... except for you two. whenever someone would bring up the idea you and matthew would simply laugh and say something along the lines of, 'we are best friends. thats funny.'
however, matthew was so deeply in love with you and he knew it.
matthew had realized his not so small crush on you when you guys were nine and you showed up to christmas eve dinner in the most beautiful dress he had ever seen. ever since then matthew has been 'head over heals' for you.
"this movie is boring." matthew leaned down to whisper in your ear. keith had picked the movie as usual. keith's movies weren't the best... nobody ever liked them.
but as your mom says, "its not about the movie, it's about the bond."
you hummed in response to matthew, you were not paying attention to anything as you were slowly drifting in and out of sleep.
matthew made you feel safe. protected. laying with him was your biggest comfort, and your personal favourite thing to do.
**
you and matthew had your fair share of breakups, you especially. of course, matthew was always there for you. always being the shoulder to cry on, the person to rant to. he was your person.
back in 2016 when he was drafted to the calgary flames, saying goodbye was honestly hard for both of you. you went from seeing each other every single day since you were two years old, to only seeing each other on christmas and during the off season. (or if the flames were playing in St. Louis.)
of course, you and matthew couldn't go a day without talking. facetime and text became your main communication source. your brother swore he saw you on facetime with matthew more than he saw you do anything else.
somehow, you had gotten a job up in calgary. when you had gotten the call, you freaked out. literally. you had been apologizing to the lovely lady on the phone for fifteen minutes after your little freak out. very embarrassing but it was very worth it, knowing that you could go back to seeing your best friend everyday in person.
when you moved to calgary, you stayed at matthews apartment until you settled into an apartment of your own about a month later. work is where you met your roommate, avelina.
you met avelina your first day of work. you two talked for an hour then clicked instantly. avelina moved in with you months after you became close.
avelina is very aware of your friendship with matthew. considering hes always at your place and your always at his. she respects the friendship, she doesnt get jealous, or she doesn't try to force you to hang out with her. she knows her boundaries.
***
it was 12 in the afternoon when matthew finally woke up. that was probably due to the fact that last night after the big win against the oilers, the team had gone out to celebrate. matthew had come to your place absolutely hammered. so, you let him stay the night.
"good morning sleeping beauty." you teased as he groaned, plopping himself into the island chair.
"why am i here?" he asked with lots of confusion in his face.
"you were that drunk, huh?" you laughed handing him a glass of water, taking the seat next to him. he had his hands on his face, rubbing his eyes.
"my head is fucking pounding." he whined, laying his head on your shoulder. "dont let me drink without you again."
you laughed and rubbed his back. matthew had no self control when it came to drinking and partying, obviously. he just liked to have fun.
"where's avi?" he questioned keeping his voice low. if avi were home she'd be chirping his ass. they had a 'love hate' relationship. she would probably say something along the lines of, 'dumbass cant handle his liquor.' then laugh at him.
"she left for work a little bit ago. you just missed her." you explained, he let out a quiet 'thank god' and lifted his head.
"you look pretty." he said trying to avoid the fact that his head felt like it was going to explode. a light shade of pink covered your cheeks.
"thank you." you softly replied. "i uh, i have to go into work soon so i just threw something on." you rambled, matthew would complement you all the time but this time you felt flustered. why?
"oh, when do you have to leave?"
"in like 10 minutes. you okay to drive home? you look like you're gonna be sick." you chuckled getting up out of your seat.
"can you drive me? i feel like im going to pass out." he asked with a small smile.
"yeah come on, and put a shirt on or something jesus matthew!" you joked shoving him into the hallway.
two minutes later, matthew came out in new sweatpants and his flames hoodie that he thought he lost. "my hoodie has been here the whole time?"
you looked at him with innocent eyes. "what! no way!" you played it off as if you had no clue. you wore it once and never gave it back.
"you stole it, didn't you?" he laughed.
"well technically i didnt steal it. you let me wear it." you told him straight up.
"i called you and asked if you had it. you told me no. last time i checked, thats stealing." he spoke slowly as if you didnt understand.
"oh shut your trap, tkachuk. get in the car."
***
work was long and stressful. you couldn't wait to leave. all day your boss was piling work up for you to do. you couldn't do it all, you were only one human and the workload was way too much. all week you've been overworked and you were extremely underpaid. you're usually not one to complain about workloads, but that was over the limit.
it had been a long day and you just wanted to cry. when you're stressed you just feel the need to sob. as soon as you got into your car you pulled out your phone and pressed on matthews contact.
tkachukles 🤍
you: matty, can i come over? long day.
tkachukles 🤍: yeah of course
you: okay ill be there in 10
***
you had shown up to matthews house 10 minutes later on the verge of tears. when he had opened the door you immediately threw your arms around him, letting a few tears fall. he accepted the hug and rubbed small circles on your back.
"its okay, its okay." he coed continuing the rubbing motions.
after a minute of that, you let go of each other and headed to the couch. "talk to me. what happened." he asked with a lot of concern. its not everyday you show up at his door step crying.
"work has been a pain the fucking ass." you sighed bringing yourself closer to matthew, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, rubbing your arm.
"ive been so stressed out matty. adelaide's workload is becoming way too much, and i hate to be that person who complains about that shit but its too much. im working all fucking day and doing way more than i should be. and this is gonna sound super shitty and ungrateful but im not getting paid enough. i'm struggling matty." you ranted, by that point, tears had been streaming from your eyes and your whole body had been shaking. matthews concern had also gone up a lot.
matthew was a very good listener, he never judged or interrupted. when you were talking, you were his main focus. now that could either be because hes so damn in love with you or because he is just a good person. maybe a mix of both. matthew let you talk, and honestly you liked that more. he knew that. sometimes you didnt want a response, you just wanted someone to listen.
"i dont know what to do. if i quit, i dont make any money, and i might have to go back to st louis. but i also dont want to be miserable." you started again, taking deep breaths.
"y/n, this has been going on for way too long." he lowly said. "you cant be this stressed out."
"but i feel trapped, like there is nothing i can do about it." you told him. matthew was really the only person you opened up to. from years of being betrayed and lots of trust issues, matthew was the only person who never let you down. you trusted him with everything, and he trusted you. he could read you like an open book as well.
"its okay." he whispered when he noticed your breathing speed up again, squeezing you closer to him. "its okay." he repeated again, and sometimes thats all you needed to hear.
when you had calmed down, matthew had put on a movie. johnny, a teammate of matthew's and his roommate wasnt home... if he was home, he would be teasing you and matthew all night as he always.
you and had matthew had been in that same position you were in when you first sat down, blanket added because you were freezing. the entire time, matthew was wondering to himself, 'what is this? what are we?'
***
you ended up staying the night at matthew's, you were tired and didnt want to drive home. you let avi know you were safe at matthews, as she figured.
you entered matthews kitchen in sweatpants and one of matthews sweaters. johnny and matthew had been standing around by the fridge.
"ooh y/n's here?" johnny smirked, "when did she get here?"
"got here last night johnnycake. after work." you explained as you saw his smirk grow larger. "i was here because i broke drown, shithead."
"oh." was all he said. johnny was most likely the person who was most hoping for a relationship between you and matthew.
"hey make sure you actually give that one back." matthew said pointing at the sweater you had been wearing.
"i will. i will!" you put your hands up in surrender. "do one thing wrong once and all of a sudden your personality is formed out of it." you joked slouching your shoulders.
"wow look what you did chucky." johnny joined in, "made the poor girl sad."
"shut up johnny," matthew slapped the back of his head.
"poor johnny. always picking on the little guy." you announced going to wrap your arms around johnny from behind. "im almost as tall as you!" you then announced, johnny and you had always messed with each other.
"that just means your also short, dumbass." johnny scoffed, shoving you off of him, causing you to erupt in loud laughter. matthew watched you and johnny interact. johnny knew matthew had feelings for you and would never go for you knowing that information. but a part of matthew always felt there was a part of johnny that had feelings for you. johnny of course didnt, he could never do that
"matty, stop sitting there like a sad child and come here!" you called him over, "see, hes so tall! what the fuck did chantal feed you?" you asked staring up at him, matthew was 6'2, which to him, didnt seem that tall.
"i don't know. im not tall, you two are just short." he shrugged.
"wow matty, thats mean." you fake frowned, johnny subtly left the room, it was easy to when you guys were together. its like nobody else was in the room.
"where the fuck did johnnycake go?" you questioned when you realized he had been gone. matthew shrugged.
"probably went to his room. maybe hes on facetime with avi." matthew smirked. johnny had a huge 'crush' on avelina.
"asshole!" johnny called out from his room, matthew chuckled and then pulled you into a hug.
"how you feeling?" he asked, keeping his voice low and gentle.
"ive been better. last night was just the initial response i guess." you mumbled into his chest.
"good." he whispered.
"awww look at you two cuties!" johnny squealed like a 13 year old girl, pulling out his phone and taking a picture.
"johnny i swear, go away." matthew waved him off, johnny left the room, killing himself laughing. "i need a better roommate." matthew scoffed as you two pulled away.
"take mine." you joked. "all she does is talk about johnny, we should trade roommates."
"oh i'll gladly trade." he smiled, "get johnny out of here."
you stayed for another hour or so until you decided to leave. avelina wouldnt stop spam texting you to get home.
avi <3
avi <3: come home bitch
avi <3: i miss you
avi <3: i have newssssss 😉
avi <3: leave your bfs and come home to your bestie!
avi <3: she misses you!
you: okay calm down lmao im leaving matthew's rn
avi <3: finally gosh… love youuu 🤍
***
"whats this news you needed to tell me?" you announced walking into her room without warning.
"okay," she breathed out, "i like johnny, like really like him." she spoke quickly.
"oh yeah i knew that." her smile turned into a confused face. "yeah, its really obvious."
"wha?" she whispered, cheeks turning bright pink.
"you and johnny like each other and its super obvious." you repeated, slower and louder.
"no i heard what you said it's just- wait, johnny likes me?" she asked perking her head up.
"uh... yeah, it's obvious." you chuckled. her face turns even brighter. "go for it." you winked at her, she smiles but quickly turns away.
"bitch stop hiding your dumb smile." you teased, "now go ask the shortie out!" you demanded in a joking tone.
"okay okay, im texting him right now asking if i can come over." she laughed, you were so happy to see avelina happy. she deserves it.
***
instagram
johngaudreau03: aw look at these cuties! 😁
tagged: matthew_tkachuk, y/n_l/n
matthew_tkachuk: dude i thought i told you to delete this
johngaudreau03: matthew_tkachuk oops sorry chucky boy ❤️
y/n_l/n: johnnycake i swear
johngaudreau03: y/n_l/n im sorry did i do something wrong?
***
“johnny fucking gaudreau, delete your post right now!” matthew yelled at johnny entering his room.
“i’m good.” johnny smirked, laughing at matthew like a little kid.
“youre an asshole.” matthew scoffed throwing a pillow at johnny.
“i know.” he smiled. “your girlfriend thinks so too. she’s spamming me right now. shes so pissed at me.” he giggled. hes enjoying this way too much.
johnnycake 🍰
you: johnny gaudreau delete that post right now or i swear to god.
johnnycake 🍰: why? its awesome! 😁
you: johnny delete it now or ill call you shortie for the rest of your life!
johnnycake 🍰: you already do 🤨
you: oh god johnny youre so annoying
you: why wont you just delete it
you: i dont care how annoying i’m being right now
you: matty and i aren’t dating, i dont want people to think we are
johnnycake 🍰: people already do! now stop spamming me im trying to sleep 🙃
you: at 1 in the afternoon?
johnnycake 🍰: yep! i need my beauty sleep. bye now.
***
“saw johnnys instagram. so cute!” avelina teased as she sat with you on the couch.
“im going to kill your boyfriend.” you muttered, mostly joking.
“oh come on, hes not that bad! it was cute.” she defended. “he just loves you and matthew together. even though he knows you aren’t even actually together.” she explains.
“that bitch acts like a child.” you laughed, “why cant he act like a grown ass man?”
“because hes johnny.” she chuckled in response. “speaking of johnny.” she started.
“tell me!” you squeaked moving closer to her.
“well, he asked me out!” she squealed all excited, she hasnt been this happy about a date since she went out with her college girlfriend at 20 years old.
“see! i told you! did you say yes? please tell me you said yes!” you spoke quickly, you were very happy for her.
“of course i said yes!” she smiled. “god im so excited.”
“im happy for you ave, you deserve this bae.” you grinned pulling her in for a hug.
“you’re next.” she whispered holding back a laugh, eventually letting it out.
“what the fuck does that mean? sounds like you’re going to murder me.” you cringed.
“bitch i mean that matthew is going to ask you out next.” she slapped your arm. your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape.
“let that go, matthew and i and just best friends.” you spoke quietly. at that point, you honestly had no clue what you and matthew were, or where you feelings for him stood.
“i think you two are more than best friends.” she chuckled.
“what do you mean?” you questioned.
“well, for starters, the way he looks at you. he looks at you like youre the only girl in the room, looks at you with so much love. and the way he treats you. it says a lot. he treats you so well, so damn well. and let me tell you, best friends dont cuddle and hug the way you guys do. but, if you cant see it then, there isnt much i can do.” she explained to you. you stood there speechless.
did you and matthew have feelings for each other? did you feel something for him?
***
tkachukles 🤍
you: boo! im bored. entertain me!
tkachukles 🤍: youre always bored lmao
tkachukles 🤍: how can i entertain you today?
you: come over?
you: avi is out with johnnycake so im lonely 😔
tkachukles 🤍: i guess i can, but do i want to? 🤨
tkachukles 🤍: just messing with you
tkachukles 🤍: ill be over in 15 minutes!
you: yay! 😁
***
“im here!” matthew announced as he just walked into your apartment. “i brought monopoly too!” he added.
“monopoly? what are you 40?” you asked meeting him at the front door.
“nope but i am 24!” he corrects. “you used to love monopoly!”
“when i was seven, then i played against you. youre the worst to monopoly with. you always win.” you tell him taking the box of monopoly jr. “plus this is literally monopoly jr. i play this with my niece.”
“youre mean.” he frowned pulling his flames tuque off his head and threw it at you.
“says the one throwing hats.” you laughed at him, picking up the tuque and putting it on the counter. “dude did you just not do your hair today?” you giggled when you noticed how untamed his curls were. you loved matthews curls.
“why? does it look amazing?” he asked dramatically running a hand through his hair. “i tried my best.” he said with a huge smile.
“it looks fine, matty.” you said softly, for a second you and matthew locked eyes, his deep blue eyes locking with yours. butterflies were erupting in your stomach. why did he have such an effect on you all of a sudden?
he cleared his throat and looked away. “uh so, are we going to play or what?” he cheered.
“do i even have a choice?” you laughed.
“nope. but you asked me to entertain you, so that means we do what i want.” he cockily smirked like a 10 year old boy.
“okay brady.” you mumbled, he sounded like his younger brother brady.
“oh shut it.”
***
“i win! finally!” you exclaimed jumping up off the floor. you had finally beat matthew at a game of monopoly. for the first time ever.
“it only took you 17 years.” he chuckles. he smiled at you as you were so excited.
“what?” you asked when you noticed him staring at you.
he shook his head, “nothing, youre such a dork.” he laughed.
“matthew.” you spoke.
“hm?” he hummed in response.
“what are we?” you asked. yes it was super random, but you couldn’t stop thinking about it. you had feelings for matthew and you knew it.
“what do you mean?” he questioned. he knew exactly what to you meant.
“what is this?” you asked again pointing at you and matthew. “because this isnt just a friendship and you know it, matthew.” you explained.
“i dont know. you tell me, y/n. ive been asking myself the same question for 10 years.” he spoke softly, standing up to meet your level.
you two got very close, you could feel his breath on your skin, inches away from each other’s faces. “can i kiss you?” he then asks. you nod your head, he dips his head in and presses his lips against yours.
the kiss was passionate, he suddenly pulls away. you frowned in confusion. “y/n. i dont want this if it isnt real. or it wasnt what you want.” he whispered.
“matthew. its what i want. its what ive wanted since i was 15.” you told him nodding your head. he smiled widely and pulled you in for another kiss.
when you guys pulled away, slightly out of breath, you both had the biggest smiles, butterflies going crazy in both your stomachs.
“if you were to tell nine year old matthew knew he was kissing you in your apartment at 24, he would slap you in the face and call you crazy.” matthew laughed.
“y/n, are you willing to be more than just my best friend?” he then asked with hopeful eyes.
“yes matty. i am 100% willing to be more than your best friend.” you smiled so fucking wide.
"i love you so much y/n. i have since we were nine." he spoke softly looking into your eyes.
"and i love you matty."
everyone was right, you wnd matthew tkachuk ended up together. nothing really changed, you still did everything you would normally, except now, you didn't hide how you would look at each other. and you definitely dont deny your relationship.
Warnings: swearing, smutty themes (though nothing overly explicit - however still obvious and more than just implied), drinking.
A/N: The above picture of him should be illegal. That’s all.
Summary: Two close friends giving into that obvious chemistry sounds easy, but is it? Maybe if you just let yourself relax into how Brock’s hands feel on your hips or how that look he always gives you really feels, you’ll actually get to experience what your friends have been waiting on all along.
Brock’s smirking at you from across the bar. He’s leaning on the counter having already given the bartender his order and though there is a sea of drunken bodies between you both - beautiful women dressed in their tiniest outfits - you’re still the only one who has his true attention.
You always do, your relationship flirtatious and borderline inappropriate for the just friends façade you’re both always throwing out to everyone else but at the end of the season, Brock left Vancouver with a girlfriend and came back in September single, this vital piece of information making you grin as you sway your hips to the music.
“Use protection tonight,” you hear to your left, Petey smirking as he slides in behind you. He drops his hands to your hips and speaks against the shell of your ear, each of you watching Brock’s gaze shift down your body to where Elias is touching you.
“Relax, Petey. You know we just like to flirt.”
“No,” he laughs, loud enough now that you clearly hear him over the music. “It’s way more than that with the two of you and everyone here knows it.”
He moves away then, shaking his head as he slips off into the crowd but you’re not alone more than two seconds before Brock’s on his way to you, pressing in close in one sweeping movement as his beer lands cool against your back.
“For you,” he hums, pressing a second to your chest. His proximity is too much and somehow not enough all at once, that contrast folding you against him as you easily wrap your fingers around the bottle.
“Thank you, Mr. Boeser,” is all you manage, his answering look cocky and sure as his now free hand glides to your hip. He doesn’t respond verbally, only leans back just enough to pull his drink to his lips, the swig he takes enough to drain nearly half the bottle. “Easy, Tiger,” you tease, voice light and bold, though you take a sip of your own yourself, smirking as his eyes drift to how you lick your lips when you pull it back.
He rolls his eyes at the purposeful gesture, neither of you subtle in how you move and speak when you’re close like you are now and without a fight, he now drops his body in tight next to yours with a smooth, “just c’mere.”
And so the two of you dance, slower than the music really calls for, more sultry and more sexy and with more need in each calculated movement. Your beers drain and you nod your head when Brock asks if you’d like another, taking your hand as to not leave you behind when you give your own easy, “yes, please.”
His touch is warm and it feels right to have your fingers laced, just as it feels right when he places your empty bottles on the bar top only to back you against it, grinning down at you for just a second as you shimmy in place before he smoothly orders above your head.
You’re not as sober as you once were and therefore not as reserved either. It’s the first time in over two years that the two of you have been single at the same time, the first since your friendship really morphed and changed and has become what it is now that placing your hands on his hips feels like something as natural as it actually does when you finally give into it.
You feel him flex against your touch, a reaction that has you drumming your fingers softly against the cotton of his t-shirt, that ache you feel rolling up from your toes only amplified when your fingers dance to the top of his belt and he drags a desperate, “easy,” out as a warning while simultaneously rocking himself closer.
It feels like a moment that’s burning and building and nearly too much for how neither of you are thinking as clearly as usual and for how neither of you are stopping this tension as it rapidly escalates to a place you’ve only been skirting around for years.
“You go easy,” you retort, though the teasing you really wish were living in your tone simply isn’t there, your body too in tune with his to stop as you arch into that touch with a pressure that has him hissing deep below his breath.
“Been going easy for years,” is all you hear back, those words snapping and pulsing in your blood in their truth and though your heartbeat is loud now for where it thunders in your chest, cheeks hot and hands now flat against his stomach, your drinks are ready and both of you have to pull away from how this all feels to get them.
The moment feels like it breaks then, like the tension falls to reality as you slip from his grasp, once again thanking him for the drink as you take it into your waiting hands.
You’re normally the type to go for the things you want - it’s what has made you successful with school and work and relationships of every kind but Brock’s always been different. You take a lot from him in your friendship just as he takes a lot from you too but you’ve never quite had him how you’ve always wanted to and yet now that it seems like maybe you’re finally both on the same page and finally ready and finally willing - you find yourself freezing in a nervousness you’re not at all accustomed to.
You’re not typically the type to run from any of it but you’ve also never quite been here either - never quite had the sweeping roll of intrigue flow through your body quite like it does when Brock’s around.
What brings it all together is that he feels the same, too. He’s had women in his bed and in his life, good ones that he’s been compatible with and whose time with him was wonderful and worth it and he’s had the women who were fleeting and that’s always worked for everyone but then there’s you, and though he has never been able to wrap his head around exactly how it feels to have you close, you’re different than everyone else and that’s really all he knows for sure.
He sees that you’re struggling though and if he’s honest, so is he and though putting space between you both isn’t exactly what he wants either, he lets you make your way back to the booth without his aid and instead of pulling in beside you, you each sit on opposite sides of the table, falling into conversations with your friends who are laughing and carrying on all around you.
You feel Brock though, surely more obviously than you always have and it’s that piercing look in his eye when you finally give in and turn to him that sets your whole body aflame. His normally light blue eyes are deep and serious and although the bar is dark, your body holds onto that look more than how you’re not quite able to see it in its entirety, locked in on him as the rest of the world slips away.
You realize then that it’s not that anything’s really changed between you but that you’re both just giving into what’s always been there. You’re letting yourselves feel it all, live it all and bask in that chemistry and in that pull you both so often fight. And so you let go completely then, that worry gliding from your shoulders and that insecurity shoved to the side and though Petey is beside you and a few of the girls are chatting to your left, you lift your right foot and place it gently on the booth between Brock’s legs.
He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth at the action, the grip he has on his beer tightening where you see the flex of his fingers on the tabletop and yet his free hand subtly moves to your ankle, that touch heavy and purposeful as you stifle a needy groan at how that simple move ricochets up to that pulse in your ears.
It’s barely anything at all and yet it’s speaking volumes in the moment as you press closer, taking a deep breath as he lets his fingers slip to the strap of your heel, inching you in until the ball of your foot presses against the zipper of his jeans.
You both inhale sharply then, your head lulling to the side as you hold his stare only for Quinn’s girlfriend Maddie to bump into your side with a bright laugh and tipsy smile in an ask that you move so that she can get up.
You lose momentum then as you skillfully pull your leg back from Brock’s grasp and turn to her with schooled features that morph into a bright smile of your own. You all shuffle out of the way as she stands and yet you feel a touch on your wrist when you go to sit back down, pulled closer by Petey once again as he grins that devilish little grin he’s always sporting.
“Put him out of his misery, will you?” is all he says and though he nods to behind your head, he doesn’t have to say anything more for you to know what he’s getting at.
“Yeah, yeah,” you nod, rolling your eyes as you shove playfully against his chest, turning now to the other side of the booth where you slide in next to Brock.
He throws an arm over your shoulders in feigned nonchalance and yet you bravely drop your hand along his thigh, inching it higher as you lean and take a deep pull from his beer, smirking at him when you place it back on the table.
“Go easy,” he repeats, though with his deep, broken voice in your ear, you feel that grit shoot up your spine as you squeeze and dance your fingers along the denim.
“Say it with more conviction and maybe I might.”
He groans then, one you can truly feel and hear and he means it, you know he does and as he squirms a bit in his seat, you now reach across the table for your own drink and the two of you distract yourselves by draining the last of the bottles once again.
“Come dance with me,” you say, meaning it yourself as your body buzzes in anticipation. Brock wants to smirk at you, wants to tease and take back that easy control he always has but he can’t, now too captivated by your voice and your touch and with what’s happening as you look up at him with a dangerous, pleading look in your eye.
He’s never normally tongue tied, at least not like this and so he just nods and tucks you closer for a breath before you scoot away and step back to give him room to stand himself.
You’re like magnets now though, his large body pouring over yours as his hands find your hips and until you grin and push through that ache in your chest to take his hand and ease him through the crowd to the dance floor.
It feels heavy, how he’s touching you now. It’s almost too much, like you might explode if you don’t get to really feel his hands slide along your bare skin and yet this burn and this want is something you could live in forever. It’s electric and it’s wild and it pulls you into him as he slots his thigh between your legs, lips parted at the pressure the second the two of you start moving in rhythm to the music.
His hands slip so easily to the small of your back then and you don’t know if he tugs you in or if you’re drawn closer on your own but soon you’re grinding your core against his thigh with your nails biting into his chest for balance and you can feel everywhere he’s touching you in that pulse that’s beating and echoing through your entire body.
He’s right there with you, lost in how it feels and lost in needing to be closer. His right hand slips up to your chest, to your throat and then to cup your jaw and you know that he’s going to kiss you, know that you’ll kiss him right back but then in the blink of an eye you get shoved into him, the jolt wild and jarring before Brock snaps from his own trance and maneuvers you quickly behind him where two guys have started throwing punches right there in the middle of the sea of bodies.
It’s chaos then, their yelling and the way they push and shove each other until the bouncers descend and drag them out the doors. It takes everyone several beats to move on, the laughter continuing as the crowd checks in to see that their friends have caught all the action unfold.
You’re still tucked behind Brock though, your hands inching along his back now that things have begun to calm down and so he turns and folds his hands over your shoulders asking if you’re alright.
“I’m fine, yeah,” you say. ”I’ve been run over by big, burly men before.”
You’re teasing because it was actually Brock who took you out entirely one evening playing beer pong at Bo’s and you always bring up how he crushed you by tripping over Petey as the two of you tumbled to the ground.
“You were fine,” he groans and you’re thankful for the memory and for the moment and the snap of reality pouring back into the night because you aren’t so sure that kissing him is the smartest thing to do right now. You want to and even now that touch of his is still burning you in the best possible way and yet Brock’s always been more than a drunken night, even if you’re always just friends and so though you slip your fingers back through his, you nod to the booth and he quietly goes with you as you soon head back to your friends.
The night comes to a fairly abrupt halt then, the ruckus a reminder to everyone to check the time as the group eventually decides to call it quits. You smile through the drunken hugs everyone passes around and yet you somehow lose Brock in the crowd as you’re pulled into numerous conversations with the girls, your waiting Uber one you share with the few who live closer to your apartment several blocks away.
You realize in the quiet of that car ride just how many drinks you’ve really consumed tonight and similarly just how much your body feels like it’s missing Brock’s touch now that you’ve really felt it. You’ve felt it and you miss it and both of those things stay in your mind as you nod to your friends a simple goodnight and head upstairs to get ready for bed.
You feel a bit flat now and the same too a bit antsy. You’re turned on and left empty and left curious and left alone. You hate it all and yet just as you finish brushing your teeth, your phone rings and everything gets reignited when it’s Brock’s name flashing on the screen.
“Miss me already?” You tease before you can even stop yourself or overthink or really think at all and though there’s such a brief pause in his breath before he replies, his voice settles with a deep roll all through your body when he finally speaks.
“Yes, actually,” he admits, “but I’m just checking that you got home safe.”
You’re friends. You’re good friends and as several other goodnight messages flood into your group chat, the fact that any of you would be checking that everyone is okay isn’t what’s out of the ordinary. It’s that he’s called and not texted and that he’s reached out to you alone.
It feels kind of like how his hands did, all warm and nice and right and good.
“Just getting into bed,” is what you share with him, not a lie for where he can now hear the rustle of your sheets. You still speak softly though, a reaction to his openness that has your body warming and your mind a bit fuzzy.
“Lemme see you.”
And in an instant, that ask has you fidgeting yet again, lost in how it’s always felt when you’ve pushed and pulled through that sexual tension with someone and yet Brock isn’t who normally begs for such a thing from you and that tone he’s now used brings some perspective to the rest in a snap.
There’s no lightness to it and no teasing and no room for interpretation. He’s not joking, not pretending anything is different than how it felt not an hour prior with his touch radiating all through your bones. He’s talking about that exact feeling and your body reacts to it all much more quickly than your brain is able to keep up.
And so it’s his name you manage, nothing less and nothing more but then he repeats his words, softer now somehow but still filled with that neediness and that hope you can’t seem to pull yourself away from either.
“Lemme see you.”
“Brock, we’re not…”
You’re not even sure what you’re not, let alone what it is you really are and yet he interrupts your stuttering, his voice far more sure than your own.
“Yeah we are, Babe. You know we are.”
It’s a statement that echoes in your chest and rattles in the tips of your fingers with an unmistakable buzz that matches that heat climbing up your spine. It’s that moment before the fall that feels so big, bigger than you remember this feeling, bigger because it’s Brock and you’re you and you think that maybe the two of you really have been waiting on this for a long time.
It all feels like a lot though, maybe too much, no matter how right it feels just the same but you think that maybe it’s because he’s not here and therefore that emptiness leaves room for wonder and insecurity and doubt. And so it’s that pause that Brock hears in your breath and it’s enough for him to back off, regardless of how desperately he wishes he were there in that bed with you and kissing you and telling you all about the things he knows the two of you have thought about for years.
“If you’re not…” he starts, though this time it’s you who cuts him off, speaking an honesty that isn’t out of line but one you’re sure you wouldn’t share so boldly without the alcohol running through your system.
“I’m just nervous,” you admit. “You’re not just anybody.”
You can hear his answering grin in that next breath he takes, his words still delivered with a grit that you can’t seem to get enough of. “Neither are you.”
Your chest is aching and your mind still feels so fuzzy and the tips of your fingers have a pulse to them you can’t control either but you keep going in knowing damn well that you can’t turn around from it all now.
Being honest with him is both terrifying and necessary, that honesty personal too for how you know that now is the time for you to truly face your own feelings far above what you’ve been able to shove to the side for so long. So, in that pause and in this moment, you breathe out a truth stemmed from the passing of time and the way he looks at you and how you now know what those hands of his feel like while they ask you for more.
“I don’t know why but I kind of need you to mean that.”
Brock sits on those words for just a moment, lets himself feel them and know them and live in the relief he genuinely feels in how you’re both far more on the same page about how you’ve been fine with waiting and curious about the rest. You’ve both been fine with it and the teasing and the chemistry and the flirting has been fun but it’s not enough anymore, no matter what you each say to those watching. So, he sits on it and smiles through it and gives you both time before he goes to reply.
“Come over tomorrow.”
For some reason your whole body aches at that, the rush up your spine welcomed but surprising and yet you know damn well it’s because the next time you see him won’t be like the rest and you know damn well that it’s because this thing between you is far bigger than either of you really gave it credit for.
“Isn’t everyone going to Petey’s after lunch anyway?”
“That’s Petey’s,” he rushes, sighing but with no frustration in the exhale because he knows what you’re doing, how you’re deflecting even though you want just the same things that he does. ”I want you here.”
“Brock…” You drag his name through a low voice, though you aren’t sure why you’re fighting what you hadn’t been when you were face to face and you aren’t sure why you’re losing that confidence you normally live in.
“For breakfast,” he tells you, urging you without truly pushing. “The dogs and I will be up and waiting for you by 8.”
And it’s that invitation you can’t really ignore, how that sounds as it reaches your ears and how warm you feel in thinking about stepping into his arms with the dogs at your feet. You get lost in that daydream for a beat too long but the ease of it is exactly why you soon agree because you know he won’t back down just like you want to let yourself have the things you’ve truly been thinking about. It’s also because you’re tired and still a little drunk too and so you nod first before you find your true words to respond to him and tell him that you’ll be there, though with no promises that your hangover won’t have you slow and groggy.
He doesn’t mind and you know he’s being sincere and yet you can’t help that after hanging up with him, the vibrator in your bedside table gets quite the workout before you eventually give into your restless sleep and vivid dreams of his blonde hair and those blue eyes and those big, skillful hands rolling over each of your curves.
…
Those nerves haven’t dissipated by morning, though your body aches a bit differently than you’re used to as you float back into consciousness. Your alarm sounds distant when it rings, a bit like you’re underwater, though it doesn’t pull you from sleep like when you’re deep in dreamland. It’s more like you’re stuck in a thick fog, one you trudge through in how choppy your rest really was until your mind catches up and the morning plans you’ve made finally float to the forefront of your consciousness.
You groan with your hands flung over your warm cheeks, your mouth dry and that nervous buzz in your fingertips distracting. You mumble to yourself about how you shouldn’t have had those last few drinks but unlike most lazy mornings after a night out, you’re still a bit too keyed up to let yourself melt back into your pillows.
And so you drag from bed with a tired sigh, though you’re on edge and flick your eyes to your bedside table for just another moment before you give in and pull completely from beneath the sheets, the water in the shower you eventually take likely far hotter than it should be as you scrub at your skin.
You dress comfortably and don’t let yourself get carried away with anything different than your usual lazy day routine. You moisturize and try to get your hungover self to quicken the pace a bit while you check the time and grab your keys before you end up talking yourself out of the whole thing altogether.
You think that maybe you should text Brock, maybe warn him that you’re coming or double check that he really wants you to but you can’t get yourself to really press send on it all, nervous and off in your normal behaviours, now already in the car and on your way to his condo to face whatever is waiting for you head on.
The drive is familiar and so is the parking garage you land in. Everything is familiar about being here, all but that feeling in your chest, an anxiety and an intrigue that you typically don’t experience when Brock’s involved. That’s not entirely true though, you’re always a bit curious and yet you’ve never had it feel like this, never had either one of you teeter so closely to that line you’ve never crossed as you did last night.
And so you hover outside his door for far longer than you usually do, knocking and waiting instead of your usual knocking you do just as you push through the door.
“I thought you might act like a weirdo this morning,” Brock grins, speaking as he swings the door open. His words don’t help your anxiety and yet he just dutifully ignores what you're sure is obvious worry written all over your face as he nods behind him. “C’mon, this is almost ready.”
You bend to greet the dogs though, Brock smirking a soft look you don’t see when you baby talk them with scratches behind their ears before eventually following him.
In the kitchen you find a basic, although complete breakfast waiting for you and as Brock flips the last of the pancakes, he chuckles lowly beneath his breath as he takes in how you’re standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, very much looking the opposite of someone who is normally so comfortable in the space.
“There’s orange juice in the fridge,” he starts, and you note that his voice is a bit deeper than usual, his eyes a bit more glassy too to reflect how late you were all up last night, “and you know where the champagne is if you want to make mimosas while I finish these.”
“Yeah,” you say dumbly, pulling yourself from staring at him. “Yeah, okay.”
You head for the cupboard first and pull two glasses down before moving to where Brock’s substantial collection of various alcohol is stored. After grabbing the orange juice, you give a far heavier pour to the champagne after you open it with an effort that almost had you needing to ask Brock for help.
However, by the time you’re done, Brock’s plated both of your meals and soon follows you with them in hand as you set up at the kitchen island.
“You always have been the best with breakfast foods,” you grin, pushing through your awkwardness in order to speak with him like you normally do.
It’s clear that he’s appreciated the effort as his shoulders soften and he smiles that soft smile you know so well soon after. “That’s why I invited you over; I know it’s your favourite meal of the day.”
“Is it?” You stutter then, falling back into that anxiety that’s still sitting in your chest, the whiplash of it annoying and persistent. You turn to look at him once more and he halts the bite of sausage he has on his fork when he sees your worried expression.
“Is it your favourite meal?” He looks at you quizzically then, clearly confused. “I mean, I thought it was but I guess you’re the one who would know that better than me.”
You realize then that he doesn’t quite understand and so shake your head, halting him further as embarrassment floods your system. “No,” you start, breathing deeply. “Is that why you invited me over?”
Brock sets his fork all the way down now, though pulls a large gulp of his mimosa past his lips with a small shudder that reminds you of the reason behind the dull headache you haven’t quite gotten rid of before you then see him roll over your question as he continues watching you closely.
“We’re friends, you know,” he says simply, his voice sure and serious now as it drops several octaves despite the small shrug he simultaneously gives. “We’re friends and you’ve been here a million times and you - I mean, there’s always been something between us. We’ve always had chemistry.”
“Brock…”
He stops then, though he takes such a big breath that his whole chest moves and when he speaks again, his voice is somehow softer though still so sure. “You know why you’re here now,” he urges, turning his eyes away as he takes another drink. “You know how it always feels, you know how that’s changed over the years. You know how it felt last night. You know why you didn’t just come right in this morning like you always do.” He turns back to you then, more serious now. “You know it and so do I but I’m not forcing anything on you. I told you that we’re friends and I mean that so just eat your breakfast before it gets cold and if you don’t want to talk about the rest, I’m not going to make you.”
He goes back to his meal then, not shutting you out but certainly moving away from the pressure his words seemed to have caused all around you both and though it feels heavy and overwhelming and incredibly nerve wracking too, you pick up your own fork and force yourself to breathe as you take a few minutes to do nothing but enjoy his quiet company and the delicious food he’s made just for two.
When you’re both done, you stand first and reach for Brock’s plate, his, “thank you,” so quiet that you nearly miss it but you nod and head for the dishwasher, only turning back when he asks if you want another drink.
“Um, yeah,” you say, standing up straight again. “Coffee though this time.”
Soon Brock joins you in the kitchen, first busying himself with your drinks and then moving to help where you’re now cleaning up the last of the leftovers and dirty dishes. When there’s nothing left to do but wipe the counter, Brock hands you your mug with an easy, “I’ve got it,” that he speaks while reaching for the cloth on the sink.
And so you step back and let the first few sips of coffee settle into your bones as he finishes up, the new quiet letting his earlier words and your earlier stresses crawl back into the space.
Brock feels it too and though he wants to fight it to let you make this choice for yourself, as he now places his free hands on the edge of the counter, he ignores his own coffee as he hangs his head and takes another one of those big breaths that you feel ache and echo in your own chest from just a few feet away.
He doesn’t turn to you and so that heaviness grows and you know that you’re the one who can change how this feels. You don’t have to talk about those realities, you know that, but you do have to make a final choice to either acknowledge it all or move on from it entirely. You have to because even in Brock’s few words, you know exactly what it is that he really wants.
You know it and if you let yourself settle on the honest truth, you know just what you want as well.
It’s all incredibly obvious and so you place your mug to the side and close the gap between you both, letting your hands rest on his hips before your gentle touch moves up his sides.
It takes a few heavy beats before he’s turning to you, a slow, aching buzz climbing his spine as you bravely hold his stare while his back now falls to rest against the ledge of the countertop.
“I want to talk about it,” you say, speaking with conviction even though your voice remains low. He eyes you closely, flicking his gaze to where your fingers are toying with the hem of his shirt as you speak. “I don’t know what to say but I want to talk about it.”
Brock’s eyes close at your words, more because he knows what you really mean, what the purpose behind you wanting to speak really says no matter your inability to truly come up with the words.
He closes his eyes but his hands reach for you before he even opens them again and you step in closer, drawn to him as he cups your jaw in his large, warm, hands. Everything shifts though, when his eyes land on yours yet again, when his thumbs guide along your skin, when your own hands fist into the fabric of his t-shirt still settled between your fingers.
It all shifts to what’s real and true and obvious. It all shifts to how it felt last night, how it's felt in those fleeting moments over the years, how it’s felt in those bigger stretches of time when you’ve both been drowning in that pull. It’s different now though because neither of you are drunk like you’ve been when you call to one another more obviously than your sober minds allow and neither of you are hiding those subtle touches in a veil of darkness at a bonfire or club and all because both of you have somehow stopped running.
“We’re friends,” he says, repeating his words from earlier with the pads of his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. You feel like you’re on fire but it’s somehow welcomed, somehow a warmth and a want and a burning need you crave so much more of. “We’re friends but I…”
“I don’t think that’s all we are,” you interrupt, his eyes widening and then darkening in an instant.
His touch moves along your skin, stronger now though certainly not rough. “I don’t think that’s all we are either.”
Your whole chest ripples with the emotion and the reality of the moment, your hands tingling in anticipation and your heartbeat loud in your ears and yet you want it, whatever it is with him and he sees that in your eyes before you even press yourself in closer.
It’s in rhythm that the two of you lean in, his hands guiding your lips closer as you stay balanced with your fingers sliding further up his ribcage. When your lips meet, there’s no explosion or fireworks or any other life changing action. Everything morphs though, and quickly still, yet you feel so alive as he kisses you, so at peace and so at home and that thundering heartbeat of yours, the one pounding in your chest and in your ears, that one echos in tandem with his, that chemistry lighting a fire between you both that starts with small embers and catches and grows while you’re melting into one another, pushing and pulling the other closer.
When you’re both out of breath, cheeks warm and bodies alive and needy and calling to the other, Brock slips his hands to the backs of your thighs and lifts you in one swift movement onto the counter that you hadn’t quite been prepared for.
It makes you giggle, a silly sound that’s too loud and too bright for the moment but he only smirks in return, such a fleeting look that you barely register before his lips find yours again, this new angle and freedom seeing you both pour into one another with a relief that’s entirely all consuming.
“You’ve gotta mean it, Babe,” he eventually hums, that kiss of his now warm along your jawline. There’s symmetry between those words of his and the ones you shared the night before just like there’s symmetry between everything you’ve always been for one another.
It’s heavy though because you need him and want him and feel him everywhere but you somehow know that you’ll always want it just the same and how he’s kissing you now and how this feels will always be more than something you’ll be able to let go of.
“I don’t think…” You start speaking without really knowing what to say, those words easily confused for you wanting to pull away from him but as Brock gets his eyes on yours in the pause, he sees the rest of it so clearly that he doesn’t need you to explain.
You’re looking at him like you see a future in those blue eyes of his, like this chemistry he’s always felt with you isn’t something you want to ignore anymore and so he takes a chance with interrupting your slow speech and with his hands back on your hips, ignores too that nagging hint of vulnerability he feels to tell you something he never quite has before.
“You know how I love being home?” His voice is quiet now, that darkness that had been settling at the base of your spine much softer with his change in tone as you pass your fingers just above the waistband of his sweats while nodding for him to continue. “I’ve thought a lot about what it would be like to have you on Prior Lake with me.”
“Brock…”
“Just thought a lot about it,” he hums, voice wistful but honest. “I’ve thought about it way more than I know I should have over the years.”
There’s so much more to what he’s said than just the simple admission. With those words he’s told you how this has felt for him all along and that he’s wondered what it would be like to have you beside him with his family and on those days that leave hockey behind entirely. It means that he feels like this is more than just something that lives in the confines of your friend group and the ease of how that looks and that it’s also far more for him than just Vancouver and convenience and timing.
It means that he’s thought about not having to say goodbye to you and that he’s thought about you being much more than just a friend when he introduces you to new people. It means a lot of things, more than you can even comprehend in the moment.
And so you press up and kiss him, slowly to start but with a weight that has him sighing against you as you reel him in. “Thought about being the one you take back home too,” you manage, breathing your words against his lips. “Thought a lot about it,” you finish, speaking as his fingers press into the warmth of your thighs as he slides his palms forward.
Brock knows a lot about you. He knows what you do when you’re sad and he knows your go to lunch order at your favourite spot down the street and he knows what playlist you reach for while you get ready for a night out with the girls. He knows things you’ve never explicitly told him and ones the two of you have mulled over in length about your respective lives and yet the look you give him now is brand new.
There’s a vulnerability in it just like there’s a want and though he recognizes exactly what it means in tandem with how his body comes to life in seeing it directed right at him this time, no other woman before you has ever settled him and warmed him and called to him quite like you do.
They’ve never kissed him like this either and captivated by how you feel, he’s selfish in crawling his lips back to yours, tasting and taking and giving all there is to share in hopes of hearing those little whimpers and needy little sounds that fall when he touches you like he’s thought of doing for so long now.
And you let him, need him to far above that want and when you breathe out a desperate plea of, “bedroom,” it takes him nothing to drag you down the hall and show you just how this all really feels for him in ways he’ll admit have consumed more of his thoughts and nights without you than he’s ever shared before.
You show him too, that push and pull between you so obvious, the flirting and the chemistry and the years of honesty culminating in how you breathe out his name in broken syllables and how he can do nothing but give you a ragged, “I know,” right back as he kisses along your chest.
Your every sense is on him, every cell in your body pulling him closer and every hope and fleeting thought of a what if coming true as he rocks himself into you, your matching rhythm proving that your compatibility stems to every corner of this relationship you’ve been working on with him since day one.
With his hair in his eyes and his chain hitting your chest, there’s nothing like the way he sighs, nothing like that flex of his muscles as he pulls himself above you, nothing like the way he curses when your nails drag along his back in a plea for more.
There’s nothing like watching him puff ragged breaths through parted lips, nothing like how he captures your own with his hips snapped tight to yours before crawling those lips down your neck with words of praise and groans of pleasure mixed in the thick air.
There’s nothing like how he looks and nothing like how he takes you to that highest high and there’s nothing like when he reaches that peak himself, cursing with his bottom lip pulled tight through his teeth.
Neither of you completely pull away as you catch your breath, his hands tracing erratic patterns along your skin while you let yourself tug and trace along the hair at the back of his neck.
He eventually pulls that wrist of yours to his lips, kissing along your pulse as you each remain quiet, several minutes passing that you selfishly let yourself live in and actively keep at bay any worries that try and creep into that comfortable silence.
You know that you should get up and head for the bathroom but you can’t just yet, lost in all that’s happened but happy, truly happy with what those admissions from you both have offered. You shift though, catching Brock’s eye as you roll to the side and you can’t help but lift to press your thumb along his lips, his answering smirk a look you can’t help but mirror either as you now ache with a different, more warm and pleasant rush.
“Do you remember the day we met?” Brock’s voice is quiet but he’s still grinning when he asks it, the two of you now folded into one another a bit more closely as you each continue to work through all that’s transpired. You nod because of course you do but he only smirks yet again as he leans to kiss your shoulder before crawling that kiss back up to your lips as your hands move boldly into his mess of hair. “Day one of a million,” he tells you, grinning yet again at how your eyes shine in return before you’re soon spun back beneath him, your mischievous smile growing in rhythm with the steady beat in your chest that you somehow know has been just for him all along.
And so it becomes real then, the two of you and though you’re nervous, you’re also far more excited, happily taking those chirps from everyone else when you and Brock arrive hand in hand to Petey’s apartment.
“Another point for me,” Petey grins, shoving into you first before eyeing Brock. “Fucking called this forever ago.”
It makes you laugh but you’re old news soon after, how your friends react to Brock’s hands along your waist just reiterating how right this has always been and nearly a week later when you’re tucked in under a blanket on Brock’s couch, the way those same hands of his sit on your legs is more grounding and more right than you’re able to find the words for.
It’s all right, those puzzle pieces landing perfectly in place but when Brock puts the call he’s made on speaker phone and speaks a confident, “I met someone,” into the space, the way his mother says that she hopes it’s finally you makes your heart sing and your cheeks burn in the very best way.
“Finally, eh?” Brock grins, her squeal covering the way you can’t help but curl deeper into the cushions to kiss him, today another one of those perfect ones as you breathe him in on your way to a million.
Author's Note: Happy Day 10! Is this another Matthew Tkachuk Christmas fic? Yes, yes it is. And does this one happen to be based on the song by Taylor Swift? Yes, yes it is. I hope you enjoy it. Here is today's question: Have you ever been to a Christmas tree farm?
Warnings:
Word Count: 4.9k including song lyrics
In my heart is a Christmas tree farm
Where the people would come
To dance under sparkles and lights
Bundled up in their mittens and coats
And the cider would flow
And I just wanna be there tonight
“Did you just get out of the shower or something?”
“No, why would you ask that?” Matt denies. “Anyway, do you have a towel or something I can use?”
“So you did just get out of the shower!” you exclaim.
“Nooo,” Matt drags. “Look out the window.”
You look out the window and notice it’s snowing. “And?”
“Your apartment building doesn’t have any available parking spots out front so I had to park a few blocks down and walk in the snow. Hence, the wet hair.”
“Do you just want to shower instead?” Matt gives you a confused look. “I don’t want you smelling like a wet dog.”
He snorts. “I was going to dry it instead of dripping all over your floors and couch and pillows, but now, I think I’m going to do that.”
“So towels are in the closet next to the bathroom,” you quickly add.
“Can I shower?” Matt asks on second thought.
“Yeah,” you answer and lead Matt to your washroom and grab him a towel. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re done.”
Matt nods, and you exit the washroom to the living room. You begin to steam some water for tea—peppermint tea. Additionally, you grab a plate to use to cut up the panettone bread. You’re sitting on the couch enjoying your snack as you wait for Matt to get out of the shower. Holiday episodes of a sitcom are playing, and the corny jokes make your insides warm.
“I’m surprised your apartment isn’t more decorated,” Matt says out of nowhere that makes you jump in your skin. When he sees your reaction, he smirks and says, “oh, I’m sorry, did I scare you?”
“You’re not funny,” you grumble as Matt takes a seat next to you. His arm is resting against yours as he puts himself underneath the blankets. A comforting, settling feeling settles in your stomach at his touch. You take in a deep breath, and it’s interesting to smell your shampoo on Matt. You like the scent on him.
“Back to my question, do you have an answer?” Matt asks. His voice is low in his questioning, and it sends a sensation through your body you’ve never felt before. You want to keep hearing this tone on him.
You shrug. “When I moved here over the summer, I only brought the things I needed.”
“So, the Christmas decorations didn’t make the trip from St. Louis.”
You shake your head. “I didn’t think about the Christmas or holiday decorations because I don’t use them every day. I brought the furniture, indoor decor, clothes, kitchen appliances, and a few other things.”
“You’re just going to buy everything new then?”
“Probably,” you answer. You both sit there in a comfortable silence as you both continue eating and watching the show on your TV. You suddenly get an idea and turn to Matt with a wide smile on your face. Matt’s known you since you were a baby. He knows your looks and tells. You know for a fact that Matt knows that this look on your face means that you’ve got an idea that he’s definitely not going to like.
“No, whatever you want, definitely no.”
“Oh come on,” you whine. “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”
“And that’s already too much information.”
“Just at least hear me out?” You give Matt the cutest, most convincing look you can. Matt immediately bends and softens his will—just like when you were children.
“Fine,” he grumbles.
“Why don’t you help me decorate my apartment for Christmas?” you ask with excitement. “Yeah! You can go shopping with me and help me put stuff up and go gift shopping. Oh, Matty, won’t it be fun?”
“For you? Yes. For me? Nope.”
“Please, Matty? Please, please?”
Matt looks at you. He sees how excited you are and can’t help but say yes. He knows how difficult the past few months have been for you since moving to Calgary and being so far from your family and friends. He can’t help but say yes.
When Matt answers, you launch yourself into his arms and hug him tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
With your response, Matt’s doubts immediately fade. You’re so happy that he knows it was the right choice. He wraps his arms around you and holds you close as you, too, hold him in gratitude. He breathes in your scent as you breathe in the shampoo in his hair. It was an interesting scent, but it was the most comforting scent to you both.
If the hug lasted 4.2 seconds too long, then that was your business and no one else’s because Matt was going to be helping you decorate for Christmas.
Sweet dreams of holly and ribbon
Mistakes are forgiven
And everything is icy and blue
And you would be there, too
“I can’t believe you convinced me to do this,” Matt answers as he’s pushing a shopping cart around the holiday aisles of Michael’s.
You smile. “You said yes because you know how happy it would make me.”
“I feel like I should get a happiness thing out of this, too.”
“Oh, look, ribbon!” you exclaim and change the topic. You grab Matt’s hand and pull him towards the ribbon. He lets go of the shopping cart as you continue to drag him. Once you stop and stand in front of the many, many, many rows of ribbon, your hand doesn’t let go of Matt’s. It felt so normal for his hand to be there that you forgot his hand was in yours. On the other hand, Matt noticed, but it felt natural, and he didn’t want to lose the warmth your hand gave him.
“Which one do you want to buy?”
“All of them?”
Matt snorts. “You’re funny.”
“I can’t decide, though,” you whine. You have a pout on your lips, and when Matt looks at you, his entire heart melts. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You have this weird scrunch on your face, and you look concerned.”
Matt shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I’m okay.” No, Matt is definitely not okay. He’s having weird sensations in his body when he looks at you. You’ve been Matt’s friend since birth, but now, those feelings have changed? He thinks they’ve changed, but he doesn’t know how it’s changed.
“I’m definitely going to purchase the sparkly red, blue, and green ribbons, but I don’t know for sure which of the others I want.”
Without thinking, Matt’s thumb begins tracing patterns on your hand, and that’s when it hits you that he’s holding your hand. Every nerve in your body is on high alert to the touch, and you need to get out of the situation. As much as you want Matt to keep holding your hand, you’re not sure if you can handle it. The longer that Matt holds your hand, the harder it will get for you to hide your feelings. “You, um, stay here and make sure no one takes any of the ribbons while I grab the cart.”
“I, okay?” Matt answers as you drop his hand and walk towards the shopping cart. He stands in front of the display of the ribbon and then toward the empty aisle where not a single other person was shopping. You push the cart towards where Matt was standing. Your eyes are staring at the ground and you’re shaking your head as you mumble something to yourself. Matt’s not sure what you’re saying, but you look cute. Your eyebrows are scrunched together in frustration. “Which ones are you buying?”
You don’t respond as you park the shopping cart next to Matt. You don’t go to stand next to him; you opt to stand on the other side of the shopping cart, roughly four feet away from Matt. Furrowing his eyebrows, Matt gives you a confused look. You’re staring down at your purse that is now sitting in the shopping cart, and Matt can see the embarrassment in your eyes. He’s not sure what you’re embarrassed and flustered about, but if you’re still just like when you were a child, you need a distraction immediately or else you’re going to be focusing on this issue for the next fourteen hours. “Do you remember that time when we were five and you, me, Brady, Taryn, and your siblings all sat in your kitchen and were making Christmas cards?”
You look up with a humorous look in your eyes. You weren’t expecting those words to fall from his mouth, but they did. “Yeah, I do remember that.”
Matt smiles. “I remember you were super controlling about what everyone could make on their cards.”
You gasp. “I was not!”
“Yeah, you were. I noticed you haven’t changed all that much.”
You gasp again. “I am not controlling.”
Matt’s smile widens. “Okay, maybe not controlling, but you were bossy. That’s the furthest I’m relenting.”
“Matthew,” you enunciate.
“I’m not wrong.”
You roll your eyes. “In my defense, I remember you were putting green glitter on gold paint which everyone knows is a sin.”
“A sin? You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m ridiculous? You’re the one who called me bossy.”
“Yeah, but you’re smiling.”
You furrow your eyebrows. “I’m sorry?”
Man, you’re cute when you do that with your eyebrow. “You had this look on your eye full of worry and overthinking, and just like when you were a child, I know you’ll hyper fixated on it for hours unless you were distracted, so I had to distract you.”
“I don’t do that.”
“Yes, you do,” Matt insists. “Don’t worry, it’s cute. Now, what ribbons do you want?”
Now you have something else to hyper-fixate on. Matt just called you cute. The guy you’ve been in love with since high school called you cute. Granted, he did call you bossy and controlling seconds before, but still, Matt called you cute. Did that mean anything?
“Ribbons? Oh, please don’t tell me you’re hyper-fixating on something else. I don’t have many thoughts in my head.”
You shake your head in concentration and walk over to Matt. “Right, the red, green, and gold glittery and sparkly ones. I like that light blue one, too.”
Matt nods and starts to grab the ribbons as you stated. “Anything else?”
You point at a few on the lower level. “The ones with snowmen, Christmas Trees, and llamas wearing Santa hats.”
“Llamas?” Matt asks with a snort.
“Just put them in the cart. It’s not like you’re paying for them.”
“If you say so. Anything else?”
You shake your head. “Nope.”
Once you’ve paid and placed the bags in the car and driving back to your apartment, you look at Matt who’s driving. He’s bopping his head along to the Christmas song as he continues driving.
“Hey, Matt?”
“Mm?”
“Thanks for this.”
“For what?”
“For going shopping with me and doing this with me.”
A smile graces his face as he gives you a glance for a second before turning his attention back to the road. “No need to thank me. I had fun, you know, like old times.”
“Like old times,” you agree with a smile.
“You know, just like when you were controlling as a child.”
“Oh shut up,” you say as you swat Matt’s arm. You shake your head and turn your head back to the road. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Matt spares you another glance. Your smile erupts fireworks in his stomach. Only you.
Under the mistletoe
Watching the fire glow
And telling me, "I love you"
Just being in your arms
Takes me back to that little farm
Where every wish comes true
“You’re not wrapping the lights properly,” you point out.
Matt gives you a loo and smirks. “See? Bossy.”
You roll your eyes. “You can’t possibly still be on that.”
“Why don’t you put the lights on the railing instead of standing there with the blankets?”
“But it’s cold,” you whine.
“I’m cold, too, you know.”
“But you play hockey.”
Matt chuckles. “That doesn’t mean a thing.”
You sigh and take the blanket off and lean it on the outdoor couch. You walk over to Matt and begin to help him put the lights on the balcony. “No, like this.”
Matt sighs. “I’m going to stand here and watch you, and I’ll copy.”
“Fine,” you grumble as Matt walks and sits on the couch. He’s got a satisfied smirk on his face as he watches you work. As he watches you hang and wrap the lights up to your liking, Matt knows that he knows exactly how he should have hung the lights. Whenever you get angry or frustrated, you get this little scrunch on your face, and Matt loves it every single time. “Now do you understand how I wanted them to be hung?”
Matt shakes his head with a smirk. “Nope, could you do it again?”
You see Matt’s smirk and know he’s messing with you. You walk over to him and grab Matt’s hands; you pull him up to his feet and drag him toward the railing. You turn Matt and stand behind him so his back is against your front. You wrap your arms around his arms and place your hands on his. You weren’t really thinking your way through this as you realize your proximity to Matt.
“Okay,” you say softly. You lift Matt’s hand so it’s hovering over the wire of the lights. You begin to wrap it as you displayed moments ago. “And now you wrap it.”
Matt nods, or he thinks he nods. Was he nodding? You were so close to his body that it’s making his mind spin. You continued wrapping the lights around the railing with your hand guiding Matt’s hand. You clear your throat. “Do you, um, understand, now?”
“I don’t, I don’t think so,” Matt stutters. His face is burning as he feels your body move against his.
Because Matt is so close to you, you decide to show him again. Once you show him how to wrap the lights again, you lift your hand off Matt’s hand and step back. “I’m going to heat up some apple cider. Can you finish this?”
Matt clears his throat once again. “Yeah, yeah.” Matt’s vision goes to the ground as you begin to walk away. He looks up and watches you walk back into your apartment and kitchen. By the time you walk back to the balcony, the lights are all hung.
“Ready to turn them on?” Matt asks as you’re placing the warm mugs on the table. You nod with a smile. You walk over to the switch and turn the lights on. The light blue illuminates your small balcony against the darkness of the Calgary night.
“They’re so pretty!” you exclaim as you observe the lights. Matt smiles as he watches you take in the sight. Your eyes are sparkling as you continue looking at the sight. It’s not just the lights that are causing the sparkle in your eyes. Your eyes have a natural sparkle to them that he’s not sure he can find anywhere else.
“Come here,” Matt says and pulls you toward the outdoor couch. You let Matt lead you next to him as he sits. He grabs the blankets that you grabbed and sets them atop you both as you grab the two mugs of apple cider.
“Cheers,” you say as you tap your mug against his.
“Cheers,” he responds with a smile. You both take a sip.
Once you take your sip, you return your attention back to the lights on the balcony whereas Matt’s attention goes to you sitting against his side. In all his years in Calgary, this is the first time it’s felt like he’s back home in St. Louis. You’re his home.
In my heart is a Christmas tree farm
There's a light in the barn
We'd run inside out from the cold
In the town kids are dreaming of sleighs
And they're warm and they're safe
They wake to see a blanket of snow
Standing over the box of ornaments, you tried to pick which ornament you should put up first. The tree had the garland and lights already adorned, so now, the all-important task of putting up the first ornament was up to bat. This was your first Christmas in Calgary and this new apartment and with this Christmas tree. You want the memory of putting the first ornament on the tree to be special, to be important.
“Maybe you’re overthinking this,” Matt remarks as you’re still just standing there.
“Maybe you’re putting yourself into a situation that you shouldn’t be inserting yourself into,” you quip back.
Matt chuckles. “May I suggest an ornament for you to use?”
You shrug, and Matt instantly gets up from where he’s sitting on the couch. “It doesn’t mean I’m going to put the ornament up.”
“Yes, you will,” Matt responds and quickly puts on his shoes. He walks out the door and leaves you standing in your living room confused. The blue, white, purple, green, red, and pink ornaments are sitting in front of you on your coffee table. Where could Matt be going?
As you wait for Matt to return from whatever it is he’s doing, you start to unravel the angel from it’s wrapping to put up. You knew that if you couldn’t figure out the first ornament, then you knew that the angel would adorn the top of the tree. It was the angel that your family used when you were growing up. When your parents were putting up their tree a two weeks ago, your mom decided to mail it to you so you had something from home. You had an inkling, though, that you mom wanted to buy a new one.
“I think you’ll like this,” Matt says as he bursts through the door. You walk over to him and take the small box from his hand as he takes off his shoes. You remove the lid and notice it’s a Christmas ornament. You delicately use the ribbon it’s hung on and elevate it as you examine the ornament.
Once you see it, you realize it definitely was going to be the first ornament you put up. “Matt, it’s beautiful,” you gush and walk to the tree and hang it. Matt follows you, and a soft smile adorns his face as he watches you hang the ornament. He stands a few feet behind you as you fix the branches so it’s set to your liking. You take a few steps back, not realizing Matt was standing there, and bump into him. Your balance falters for a few seconds, but Matt wraps his arms around your waist to steady you. Once you’re balanced, Matt doesn’t move his arm, though; he keeps it around your waist.
“Do you like the ornament?”
You nod. “Reminds me of home.”
Matt smiles at you. “That’s what I was trying to go with.” The ornament is glass with one side having a photo of the St. Louis skyline and the other side of the Calgary skyline. It represents the home you could always go back to and the home you’re now building.
“I love it,” you tell him. “Thank you so much.”
Matt pulls you closer to his side before you release yourself of his grasp and walk to put more ornaments on the tree. He watches you for a few seconds before joining you, but those few seconds are enough for him to realize the truth of your friendship. It’s no longer a friendship to Matt. It’s more to him, and all Matt wants is to tell you. Matt wants to tell you that he loves you.
Sweet dreams of holly and ribbon
Mistakes are forgiven
And everything is icy and blue
And you would be there, too
“How about chicken noodle soup?” Matt asks. You’re sitting on his couch bundled in a sweatshirt you borrowed from and two large blankets.
“Okay,” you reply gratefully. You were supposed to go home twenty minutes ago, but the snow started falling and the visibility was too low for you to be able to drive safely. You were going to still attempt to make it home, but Matt pulled you back into his apartment and forced you to stay. There was no way he was going to let you drive home in this weather. He knows for a fact that if his mother caught wind of it, then Matt wouldn’t make it to next season.
The past two weeks have been sending you some really mixed signals. First was the time when you and Matt were putting lights up on your balcony and your actions brought your bodies extremely close together. Matt wasn’t innocent in this thought as he sat right next to you when you were both sipping apple cider. That wasn’t a thing that childhood friends do, is it? It’s not supposed to be, but you enjoyed it. You enjoyed it a lot, and often, you went back to that memory when it was late at night and you were spending the evening alone. Following that, when Matt bought you that ornament. It was a really pretty ornament, and it looked customized. Was it expensive? It was probably expensive, but what did that mean? What did Matt spending a lot of money on something for you mean? On top of that, you accidentally bumped into Matt, and he pulled you close to his body. Was that supposed to mean something or was it just Matt being touchy?
“Are you warm enough?” Matt asks from where he pops his head away from the stove.
“Oh, um, yeah,” you mutter out as your wild thoughts suddenly halt. Matt nods at your response and turns his attention back to the stove where he was heating up the canned soup. You tell yourself to take deep breaths. You overthinking your friendship with Matt wasn’t going to help anything. Was it still a friendship or was it more? Did you want it to be more? If you really thought about it, you did want it to be more. It would be great if it become more, but you couldn’t gauge if Matt felt the same way.
“Here you go,” Matt murmurs as he hands you a bowl of soup. You accept it graciously and take a few slow sips as the soup cools down.
“Thank you.”
“Mhm,” Matt says as he drinks his soup, too. You both drink in silence. The soup and the blankets are warming you up. “Are you finished?” he asks as he breaks the silence. He notices your bowl was warm, and you were only pretending to be sipping the liquid. Your actions sent a deep sensation into his chest that Matt can only attribute to loving you.
“Oh, um, yeah,” you awkwardly respond and hand the bowl to him. Matt takes your bowl and walks to the kitchen to put it in the sink. When he walks back into his living room, he chuckles when he sees your state. You’re sitting huddle in the corner of his couch with one of his sweatshirts and two blankets bundled around you. Matt reaches to pull one of the blankets off of you for himself, but you fiercely grab the blankets closer to your body. “Nope, not happening.”
“I could turn on the heat,” Matt suggests.
“You could turn on the heat, and I still won’t relent these blankets.”
Matt chuckles as he sits on his couch very close to you. He reaches his hand underneath the blanket and wraps his arm around your waist. Once his arm is firmly around your waist, Matt pulls you against his body and holds you close. He lays the blankets across the both of you. “Better?”
You think you nod. You’re pretty sure you nod, but with Matt so close to your body, you have no control of your bodily autonomy anymore. Your body is frozen with Matt being so close to you. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and begins to trace small patterns on your shoulder. He pulls you close against his body, and you rest your head on his shoulder. You take slow, deep breaths as Matt continues to drive you crazy. “I think so?”
Matt throws a deep chuckle your way. “You think so?” Matt pulls you closer against his body. He thinks he knows why you responded the way you do, and if Matt were in your place, he’d be the same. That won’t stop him, though, from continuing to drive you crazy. If you sitting on his couch can drive Matt crazy, then he was going to return the favor.
No, you think to yourself, but you can hear Matt’s smirk in his voice. He’s teasing you, so you, too, were going to return the favor. “Um, maybe,” you respond and snuggle yourself closer to Matt. You move your legs on top of his. You put your hand on your chest and move closer to Matt. You hear Matt’s sharp intake of breath and know that now, Matt, too, was facing a dilemma in figuring out how he feels in relation to you.
Matt opts to pull the blanket tighter against your bodies and rest his head on yours. At some point, you fall asleep because when Matt looks down at you, your eyes are closed and a peaceful look settled on your face. Too bad he couldn’t have this every night.
Under the mistletoe
Watching the fire glow
And telling me, "I love you"
Just being in your arms
Takes me back to that little farm
Where every wish comes true
“What’s with the mistletoe?” Matt asks when he sees you standing on a chair and hanging a plant. Matt walks over to you and places his hands on your waist to help keep your balance steady. You assume he holds you this way so you don’t fall, but if that was his intention, then maybe he should have kept his hands to himself. Immediately, at the touch, your knees went weak, and Matt has to tighten his grip. “Be careful.”
You nod but don’t say anything. Once the mistletoe is securely attached to the ceiling, you, with Matt’s aid, get down off the chair. Your chest is pressed up against his as Matt’s hands remain on your waist.
“What’s with the mistletoe?” Matt inquires again. You don’t meet his eyes as you shrug. Your heart is beating erratically in your chest as you try to take slow, steady breaths. Having Matt this close to you is throwing you off. He was always your friend from growing up, but now, he’s more to you, and it’s all that’s on your mind, constantly. “So, no answer?” There’s a glint in his eyes that sparkles so perfectly.
You shrug again. “It’s cute to catch couples off guard and watch them get flustered at the thought of kissing each other with an audience.”
“We’re under the mistletoe.”
“We are,” you agree.
“Without an audience,” Matt observes, and you nod again. “I don’t know about you, but I’m flustered at the thought of kissing you.”
Your heartbeat matches that of a dance song. It felt like a drum against your chest as Matt’s words settled in.
“Then again, I think I get flustered whenever I’m around you—regardless if we’re kissing or not.”
“I think you should kiss me,” you whisper and wrap your arms around his neck.
“Under the mistletoe?”
“Under the mistletoe,” you answer and meet Matt’s lips halfway. Your lips land on his, and you’re surprised at how soft they are.
It’s a small kiss as you both realize how perfect it feels to have your lips on each other’s and deepen the kiss. Your hands run down the length of his arms and up to his stomach and chest before they land back on his shoulders. Matt’s hands start at your waist before they find themselves at your back of your neck and pulling you closer against him.
You can’t recall if you ever took a breath, but you know it happened because you’re still alive. Barely alive, though, as every organ in your body is jumbled at being this close to Matt.
When you finally pull away, you feel your knees give out. You were in withdrawal of Matt. he seems to notice as a smirk overcomes his face. You peck Matt’s lips again as the butterflies settle in your stomach as you realize this is real. It’s all real.
“I always dreamed of kissing you under the mistletoe,” you whisper against Matt’s lips.
He smirks at your words. “I’ve always dreamed of kissing you. Ever since you moved to Calgary.”
You smile at his words and close your eyes as you close the minuscule space between you and Matt. Finally, the ending to your Christmas adventure.
Oh, baby, baby, Merry Christmas
Oh, baby, baby, Merry Christmas
Oh, baby, baby, Merry Christmas
I love you
When a promotion at work calls for you to transfer back to Philadelphia, your ex-fiancé offers you the guest room of the home you used to share. What could possibly go wrong?
pairing: kevin hayes x reader
warnings: angst angst angst, relationship breakdown, talk of marriage and babies, low key plus size reader (and mention of exercise as an unhealthy coping mechanism), travis konecny sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, the over romanticization of spaghetti bolognese, smut
word count: 11k
a/n: here's the first half of a fic i've been working on for months, sorry not sorry for what i've done. in loving memory of my dearest k @danglesnipecelly who wanted either roommate kevin or ex kevin and instead i murdered her with both
Everyone you knew said it was a terrible idea.
Your mom, your best friends, the coworkers you were leaving behind, even Jimmy and Brady said it was a terrible idea. Jimmy and Brady, who share a single brain cell.
Deep down you recognize for yourself just how bad of an idea it was, but that knowledge was locked deep down beside the residual hurt and the love that you pretended had died long ago.
Maybe you were a masochist, deriving a sick sense of pleasure from torturing yourself like this. Or maybe you were just fucking stupid, naive and ignorant, unable to conceptualize all the ways things could go wrong.
Or maybe you just really missed him.
No matter the reasoning, and no matter how many people in your life tried to convince you otherwise, you were transferring to your company’s Philadelphia office, and the spare bedroom you were moving into was in the house you’d once lived in with your ex fiancé.
-
It was nothing, really, you tried to convince yourself. Just Kev being Kev, lonely what with his buddy and roommate Nolan shipped off to Vegas, and it’s not like you would find a place with cheaper rent than “free, as long as you promise to make dinner now and then.”
You can’t really explain why you reached out in the first place, with only a handful of conversations occurring in the months since you called off your engagement. Part of it was the excitement of it all, you’d gotten so caught up in it all that the second you left your boss’ office your thumb was hovering over his contact in your phone. That hadn’t been the moment you’d called him, though.
No, you’d celebrated the way you’d been forced to grow accustomed to without Kevin in your life - a drink with a few select coworkers and a phone call to your mom.
Maybe some part of you thought you owed it to him, to give him a heads up that you were returning to his city once again, a warning of sorts. Maybe you expected hesitance in his tone, a lack of warmth in his reply.
Kevin’s never really been that predictable though, and his response is nothing short of pure excitement. It’s here that he suggests you move in, at least temporarily, much to your surprise. You tell him you’ll think about it because it’s a big decision, but you’re certain you’ll tell him ‘thanks for the offer, but I have to decline.’
Certain, that is, until he ends the call uncharacteristically soft, nothing but sincerity on the tip of his tongue as he speaks, “I’m really proud of you, you know.”
You call him back the next morning and tell him you’ll do it.
-
Philly’s got an edge to it that you’ve felt drawn to since the first time you set foot in the city. You were sixteen, at some pop punk concert at the Mann your best friend had convinced you to sneak out of the house for. There was something in the air then, and for a moment, in the midst of a high energy show, with everyone around you screaming in unison, you’d felt it. A draw and a pull and a sense of belonging that you didn’t feel again in your hometown.
Not until you were a freshman at Boston College, stumbling into a cute guy with a loud laugh and a thick accent at a house party after a big hockey win.
You feel it again, pulling into the driveway of a very expensive house in a very rich neighborhood of Philly. Your house. Or at least it was, once. You remember the excitement of flying down to Philly twice, touring a dozen different houses before settling on this one. It was the bright and open kitchen that had stolen your heart the minute you’d stepped foot in it. He’d asked his teammates' opinions, but you know that even if they hadn’t all mostly agreed, he would have bought this one for you.
There was a time when Kevin would have done anything for you, if you only asked.
Your SUV is full to the brim with your clothes and the few personal effects you had kept - the majority of your things had been sold or donated when you’d committed to the transfer. It’s weird, to be parking this car in this driveway, as if you’d never taken Kevin’s grandmother’s ring off your finger, as if you’d later slipped on the wedding band to match.
Your ring finger is as bare as it has been for more than a year, though, as you flex your fingers against the steering wheel, willing yourself to move on from your thoughts. They’re not productive, they only serve to further break your own heart. You can’t let it go, though. Not here, not in front of this house. No, you need to sit in it for a moment, collect yourself, take it all in and let yourself wallow in it before you face what was once your dream home.
Kevin comes outside as you’re pulling bags from the trunk, wrapping you up in a hug that feels too real, too genuine, too meaningful. You lean into it against your better judgement, squeezing your arms around him tightly, as if you could put both of your broken pieces back together with a single hug. You have to stop yourself from telling him you missed him, certain he doesn’t want to hear about how you’ve been wallowing your way through life without him.
He has to stop himself from welcoming you home.
“You don’t have to help,” you tell him as he starts grabbing some of your bags. The look he sends you tells it all and you shrug sheepishly, “Thanks.”
With your former fiance’s help, your things are taken inside in only a few trips despite your attempts to prolong the feat. Without the distraction of hauling your things in and then scurrying back to your car, you’re forced to look around at what had once been your home. You’re not surprised to see not much has changed. Between the interior designer he’d hired and your own input, Kev had remarkably little to do with the design of the house.
As you shift side to side on your feet, feeling incredibly awkward and out of place, you spot a frame on the mantle, nestled in beside photos of his siblings and parents and nieces and nephews. The frame blends in perfectly, the exact same metal as the others around it, but you really didn’t think the subject belonged anymore.
Because the photograph contains your and Kevin’s smiling faces, his arms wrapped around your shoulders with your hands settled on his forearms, the sparkling ring glinting on your ring finger, with a beautiful sun setting over Cape Cod.
“It was my favorite,” he says simply and something inside of you breaks. It all kind of hits you then, not for the first time certainly, but it hits you all the same. That photo shouldn’t be the only one that contained you in this living room; there should be beautiful pictures of a wedding day, of you in white and Kevin in his best suit. Of his nieces and nephews in flower girl dresses and little ring bearer suits. Of a little baby boy or girl of your own.
It’s too much and you can’t keep the facade up any longer.
“I’m gonna go start putting things away,” you lie, quickly turning and rushing past him before he can see the telltale look of despair on your face.
“Do you want me to order take out tonight? I can get from that Italian place you like.” It’s an olive branch and a peace offering and an honest to goodness suggestion all rolled into one and you know you shouldn’t be acting like this. You know that if you couldn’t handle it, can’t handle it, you shouldn’t be here at all.
And so you pause in the doorway, still unable to look back at him. “Sure Kev, you know what I like.” It slips out, the easy casualness of it all because it’s how you used to answer when he’d posit the question of what you wanted from whatever restaurant you were ordering from. It was a comfort, really, that he knew you so well he didn’t have to think twice about getting you something you’d enjoy.
It makes the moment feel even heavier than it needs to, even heavier than it had a moment ago when you’d spotted that old familiar photo on the mantel. You don’t know how to take it back, though, don’t know how to explain that you didn’t mean it that way. The silence stretches between the two of you awkwardly in ways it hadn’t ever really in the entirety of your relationship. Even when things were falling apart it hadn’t ever really felt like this.
Like you were two strangers and not people with a long and drawn out history.
You won’t look at him, but he can’t stop the way his eyes track your every move, your words rattling around in his brain. Did he know what you liked? Or did you change your favorite pasta dish like you’d changed the address on your driver's license? Was it still penne alla vodka or did you prefer alfredo now? Did you still take sugar and cream in your coffee or had you kicked the caffeine habit entirely?
For a long time he’d thought about what it would be like for you to step foot back in this house, your presence filling the empty rooms in a way no one had been able to since you’d left. He’d tried, letting Patty move in, and then the girls who’d treated his front door like it was revolving rather than made of wood.
With the door to the spare bedroom clicking behind you softly, you toss yourself onto the unmade bed and cry. You cry for the past, you cry for the present, but most of all you cry for the future that you’d both robbed yourselves of.
When he knocks later to let you know the food has arrived - as if you hadn’t heard the doorbell and the subsequent booming nature of his voice - you’ve stopped crying but your face feels puffy. Kevin has the good sense to not mention it as you move with practiced ease around each other. The silverware is in the same spot it always has been, and so are the glasses. Even the Brita water filter is in the same spot in the refrigerator and it all makes your heart ache more.
Not for the first time, as you sit across from the man you thought you would get to love forever, you wonder what the fuck you’re doing here.
Kevin notices. Of course he fucking notices, what with the way he can’t tear his eyes off of you and the way he used to know you better than the back of his hand. He knew what you looked like first thing in the morning and he knew what you looked like with happy tears streaming down your face the night he’d proposed and he knew what you looked like with your bags packed, shutting the door behind you for the last time.
He notices but he doesn’t do anything because it’s not his place. It’s not his job to anticipate your feelings when you aren’t capable of verbalizing them or to reassure you that your fears are unfounded. Not anymore and it hasn’t been for a long time. He hates that it’s no longer his job or his place and he hates that you’re both in this position and more than anything he hates that you left him and this is what it’s all come to. You home but not really home, only here because of the very job that had torn you apart to begin with.
His heart is heavy and yours is too as you stare at each other from across the too large dining table, both wondering if you were making a mistake as large as the one you’d made when you’d let each other go.
-
Really, living with Kevin in a totally platonic, non-romantic way is both harder and easier than you thought.
It’s harder because you had grossly underestimated how badly being near him would make you want him. You should have known the dull ache in not being his anything anymore would only grow and multiply when the temptation to touch him increased with every interaction. Once a throbbing pain you could ignore by throwing yourself into the job you had chosen over him, now it was constant, unyielding and unforgiving - sharp reminders of what choosing yourself had cost you.
In some ways, it’s so similar to before, the feelings still bubbling under the surface but never boiling over. In the early days after your breakup you’d wondered if you would love him forever despite it all. In a cold and bare apartment in the middle of New York City you knew you would, heart aching and face tear stained. You’re reminded of the hurt in those moments as the weeks pass. Truthfully you don’t remember how to be his friend. For the majority of your adult life he’d been your best friend, sure, but he’d been your best friend in the way only a romantic partner can be.
And yet it’s not the same because in those quiet moments where once you would have leaned into the comfort of his embrace, you find yourself violently ripping away. Because even though your brain is well aware of all the hurt and the need for things like boundaries and space, your body is several steps and many years behind.
It feels wrong to see him soft and warm in the morning light of the kitchen without slipping in behind him and wrapping your arms around his body, your body nearly giving into the urge of its own accord before you can shake the feeling off and head for the coffee pot instead. It’s downright torture to walk past the back of the couch without slipping a hand into his hair and pressing your lips to his cheek.
The feeling is mutual, even if you don’t know it, as he has to resist the urge to press his body against yours while you reach on your tip toes for something in the cupboard or stand at the sink, washing dishes.
It’s easier in that you breathe a little easier in his presence, sleep a little better too. Being around him is as natural as breathing, probably too natural if you were honest with yourself. You catch yourself leaning in a little too much to his innocent touches, slipping up and almost telling him you love him when you say goodnight or he leaves for a string of away games, nearly curling up against his side when he puts a movie on in the living room.
Although sometimes sleep doesn’t come that easy. Not when you spend half the night tossing and turning, micro analyzing every interaction with the man asleep only feet away from you. From the smallest touches to the accidental slip ups that have you stuttering out an apology neither of you are sure you mean, you go through every second of it and wonder how you could have done things differently. On nights like this the guilt threatens to eat you up from the inside out. You run through hundreds of scenarios in your head, from the sweetest reunions to the harshest endings, ones where you sever the ties so completely you can never come back from it.
These nights are the worst when you have to haul your ass out of bed early in the morning to get to the office for eight.
Several months into calling what used to be your spare room home, luckily for you, isn’t one of those nights, but it doesn’t mean the exhaustion seeping into your bones is lessened any as the clock reads several minutes past two a.m. You toss onto your left side, then your right, then on your back, huffing and puffing with the energy of each turn. The pillow is fluffed and turned to the cold side multiple times as the minutes pass and pass. You count sheep, recite the alphabet backwards and forwards, even put on ambient music and then a sleep podcast.
Nothing helps, and you grow more and more exhausted. Until your sleep addled brain decides the best course of action is to slip into the bed that used to be yours.
The house is quiet and dark as you sneak down the hallway, feet cold and silent against the hardwood floor that you’d hated when you’d first moved in. “I like carpet,” you’d grumbled. Kev had only laughed, pressing his lips to yours and promising you that he’d buy you all the area rugs you could possibly want.
Kev doesn’t say anything now as you slip into the master bedroom, not until you’re pausing a few steps away from the bed with so many memories attached to it. Of you moaning and writhing beneath the sheets, of midnight kisses when he got back from a game at home, of lazy Sundays and breakfast in bed - even if the toast had been burnt and the coffee cold.
The comforter is different, but you should have expected that. There’s less pillows, but you should have expected that too. You were the pillow monster after all, adamant that you needed more than the customary two.
He wakes with a fright, and you’re reminded of when he made you sleep with the lights on after watching the first Paranormal Activity in theaters. “I don’t care how much I love you, if you were ever just standing at the foot of the bed watching me sleep I’d kick you in the face.”
“S’wrong?” he slurs, voice heavy with sleep the way you remember it being in the morning, warm and soft, gooey like honey.
You feel so foolish then, you had no business waltzing into this bedroom. What were you expecting, really? It wasn’t his job to make sure you had a good night’s rest. Not that he had when you were dating, more often keeping you up late into the early hours of the morning with his head between your thighs.
“I couldn’t sleep,” you admit, before shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come in here. I-” You move to leave the room and pretend you’d never opened that door, but his large hand comes up to encircle your wrist.
“C’mere,” he says, using that grip to pull you in closer. You go willingly, slipping into bed beside him and letting him pull you into his chest. You fall asleep seconds after closing your eyes, drifting even closer in your slumber.
You wake up first, comfortable and warm and secure, but you sneak out before he even has a chance to wake.
He thinks he dreamt the whole thing.
-
Though your relationship with Kevin had been born out of a chance encounter at a house party, it had really developed around food. Your early dates had been dinners after hockey games, you in his jersey and he always wearing a backwards BC hat, legs linked under the table. Sometimes his teammates wouldn’t pick up on his very obvious social cues that it wasn’t an open invitation, and you’d have to squish between Kev and Johnny on one side of a faded booth.
Later, the venue became the kitchen. That’s not to say the two of you didn’t enjoy a nice night out together, or didn’t indulge in more than your fair share of take out, because you certainly did.
It’s just, you’d grown up with your parents cooking together in the kitchen, witnessed many sweet moments of adoration and love - even if things weren’t always perfect with their marriage, they never missed cooking Sunday dinner together. It was one of the things you were most grateful for in your childhood, and something you’d always vowed to make part of your future relationships.
Of course with his hockey career, Sunday wasn’t always feasible, and neither was a strict once a week schedule, but you’d always leaned into the moments you could.
Kevin wasn’t ever really the best cook, absolutely spoiled by his mom’s skills in the kitchen and then the dining plan at BC and then you’d taken it upon yourself to make sure he was always well fed. What he lacked in skill though he absolutely made up for in enthusiasm and willingness to be bossed around by you.
“I like when you tell me what to do,” he’d smirked at you once during the first years in New York together, dutifully cutting vegetables for your casserole.
And then you’d fallen in love with this very kitchen, with its marble detailing and offwhite cabinetry and gold handles. The built in butcher block and the sink in the island, the stainless steel, french-door refrigerator and matching stove. Enough space for you and Kevin to cook together in harmony while your own children could look on in awe at how much their parents loved each other.
You’d envisioned all those moments here in that kitchen and then you’d watched them disappear like smoke.
Now you were half a year into living with Kevin, still dancing around the feelings you never let go of, picturing some other woman cooking with him at the kitchen island, their children watching them the way you always thought yours would.
-
It was an accident, you repeat to yourself over and over again. That mantra on a loop as you sit on your bed in Kevin’s guest room, trying and failing to keep your breathing even. The problem is you can still taste his lips on your tongue, can feel his stubble beneath your hand and the ghost of his touch on your hips.
It was an accident, the way his hands found the skin just above your jeans as he attempted to move past you in the kitchen. The way your body lit up under his touch, the way you leaned into it all. Muscle memory, really, as your lips met his right around the time your hands slid up his shoulders to cup his face.
It was an accident, how you stepped even closer, pressing the entire length of your body against his. The growl deep in his chest as he held you tightly to him. The slip of his tongue inside your mouth, the scrape of your teeth against his lips.
And then nothing, as you’d stepped back in a panic with eyes wide and chest heaving.
You’d turned and ran back to the sanctity of this bedroom, your untouched plate of food entirely forgotten.
The sound of the front door is not easily mistaken, and soon you realize you’re all alone in the house. Suddenly there’s only one person you want to hear from.
Grabbing your phone, you slump to the ground with your back against the closet door, knees pulled to your chest while you hear the familiar sound of the dial tone.
“Hello?”
You sigh, the familiar voice of one of your oldest friends like music to your ears. “Jimmy?”
The background noise fades as you can only assume he’s separated himself from whoever he was with. He says your name softly, an edge of confusion laced within it, “Are you okay?”
You sigh again. The truth is, you’re not even sure if you’re okay or not. Being near Kevin is as good for your soul as it is harmful to your heart. Unadulterated pleasure at being witness to his bedhead in the morning once again, sweatpants hung low on his hips as he leaves the bedroom you’d once shared, yet the sharpest pain as you try to exist together in this house, yet so, so apart. Every day you break your heart, yet every day you heal a bit of it too.
“I’m not going to say I told you so,” he says minutes later after you’ve gotten everything you needed to say off your chest.
You groan a little, Jimmy’s always been a bit of a know-it-all. “Stupid Harvard,” you grumble under your breath. He laughs, not at all offended and very used to the chirps.
“You know I love you, but...”
“But you told me so,” you sigh again. “I don’t know what to do Jimmy.”
“Talk to him. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Truthfully, there’s a long list of worst case scenarios, and you’ve already run them in your head a hundred times.
Kevin doesn’t come home until darkness has descended on Philly. In the meantime you’ve had two mental breakdowns and ten imaginary arguments with him in your head. You’ve written down every important point you want to say four times, the four pieces of paper crumpled in the garbage can more than enough proof of that.
You’re sitting on the couch when he comes in, your entire body freezing as you brace for a fight. It never comes, though. Kevin acts like nothing’s wrong, like he didn't have his tongue down your throat only a few hours ago. He’s picture perfect normal, asking you if you want to order take out tonight or if you’d already taken something out for supper. You stumble through your responses but he never breaks.
It hurts more than you thought it would, certainly far more than it would have if he had yelled and screamed the minute he walked through the door. He even sits down on the other end of the couch, arm outstretched and entire body looking so welcoming, so enticing. As if you could just curl up against him like you used to do so many nights before.
You don’t, though. You stay scrunched up on your little corner of the couch, body rigid and face emotionless until you give in and go to bed alone, with far more questions than answers.
-
Right when things started going wrong, you’d taken up running. Truthfully it was more of a brisk walk interspersed with moments of sprinting that usually left you out of breath and cursing yourself for not being more in shape. It had been silly, a way for you to attempt to fit into the mold of the stereotypical WAG. Part of you thought if you were just able to get in shape, shed a few pounds, that you would be able to save your relationship.
It’s stupid, now that you look back on it, but you’d been so convinced that your size was going to be the downfall of your relationship. If you could only push past your hurt and your ego, you’d realize it was a breakdown in communication above anything else.
Regardless, you’d kept up with it, slowly turning into more of a runner and less of a walker. It hadn’t done much for slimming you down, but you felt healthier, didn’t feel like your heart was going to burst out of your chest or like you’d never pull enough air into your lungs ever again after a short jaunt.
You find yourself running again, a strange sense of nostalgia and heartbreak washing over you as you make the same old, familiar trail around the neighborhood. More houses have come up, some have come down, new cars and new families all around reminding you that while your world may have ended in the brick house four blocks away, it had continued to spin for everyone else.
When you return, Kevin’s just leaving for practice. The air is thick with tension and awkward energy as you carefully dance around one another. The desire to shower is so strong, but as he steps into his shoes you can’t help but blurt out, “Are we not going to talk about it?”
He looks alarmed, face frozen in the expression it had been before you spoke, but his eyes told the wildest tale all on their own. You’re sure your eyes match his own - wild, crazy, disbelieving. Where he had been unable to believe you’d just asked that, you’d been just as bewildered that the words had actually left your mouth.
“What?” he says stupidly.
You gulp and run a hand over your forehead, before repeating yourself. “Are we really not going to talk about it?”
His jaw clicks as he ponders your words, eyes sliding to the box under the television that reads the time. “I’m sorry, I-” he pauses, words perched at the very tip of his tongue, “I have to get to practice.”
“Right,” you nod slowly, “Well have fun with that.” You turn on your heel and head in the direction of the guest bathroom, determined to wash off not only the sweat of your run, but the awkward tension of the conversation from your skin.
-
Weeks pass without any more slip ups, but without any more explanation, either.
Somehow, you get better at shoving your feelings down, even as Kevin does nothing to help quell them. You gain more comfort in your position at work, you grow and learn and thrive, even as the little voice in the back of your head reminds you the only reason you’ve made it this far is because you let Kevin go.
Slowly, Kevin’s life reintegrates with yours. It starts with a few of the boys lingering in the doorway when picking Kev up for the bus or the plane, new eyes curious and old stares hardened against you. An errant happy hour after work sees Kevin meeting your new subordinates and coworkers as well as your friend Emily who you referred to jokingly as your ‘work wife’ when the two of you had been dating. He waves off all your apologies, far more concerned with getting you home safely than anything else, and when he tells Em it was good to see her, you think he means it.
From there, the boys start to make more frequent appearances at the house, as you imagine they’ve been doing in the time you’ve been gone. Their hesitancy gives you pause, makes you feel like maybe you’re interfering with Kev’s life - a brick wall where there used to be a doorway.
Soon, it’s not uncommon for at least one Flyer or two to be hanging around in some capacity. They’re all polite enough, offering you a smile and a greeting. Of them all, G is probably the most genuine, telling you a bit about his kids and always reminding you Ryanne would love to see you.
You can’t step back into that world though, certainly not when you are neither wife nor girlfriend, but rather the pathetic ex being shown more kindness than you think you deserve. And so you always smile, but decline any efforts to include you and hide in your room until they leave.
Travis isn’t so friendly.
From the first time he sets his eyes on you once again, there’s nothing but contempt behind them. It’s such a startling difference from how he existed in your memory - friendly, kind, excitable. Now his stare is burning and unsettling.
You do your best to ignore it, hiding away in your room and only coming out when necessary.
It’s like Travis is lying in wait as he all but pounces on you when you leave the sanctity of the guest room an hour or two after getting home. “Travis,” you state politely while trying to edge around him toward the kitchen and a glass of water. He replies with your name in a tone far less cordial. Something about it all has the hair on the back of your neck standing up and your body moving into a defensive position; you’re pretty sure you’re in for a fight whether you want one or not.
“What do you want Teeks?” you ask after a minute long staredown that feels like an eternity. There’s no mistaking the way his jaw clenches as his nickname leaves your lips.
“You can’t keep hurting him like this,” he says simply. Your posture relaxes when you realize you’re not in for a verbal lashing, but then you’re confused. Hurting him? By simply existing?
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t act so surprised or confused. You know exactly what you’re doing,” he replies, but doesn’t elaborate further, shouting that he’s coming when someone calls for him. Travis walks backwards a few steps, his eyes never leaving yours before he’s shaking his head and rejoining the others.
You can’t stop thinking about it though, the conversation replaying over and over in your mind. What exactly did Travis think you were doing, and why was it hurting Kevin? Was your presence really that toxic, your existence here, in this house, that painful? You can read between the lines, fluent in the art of never saying what you mean, and so you know that Travis (and likely everyone else) thinks you have ulterior motives, like it’s fun for you or some sort of game the way you dance around Kevin, lost in the memory of what it’s like to have him and lose him.
And so you pull away even further. Gone are the nights spent separately but together on the couch. Conveniently, work picks up around the same time, giving you the out of late nights in the office where you return so exhausted you do nothing but shower and fall into bed.
You start looking for apartments to rent once again.
It works for a time. Kevin’s busy being a superstar, you’re busy avoiding him - the perfect scenario, really. But he’s not stupid, he knows something is going on, that there’s something you’re not telling him.
“You’re not holding up your end of the bargain, you know,” he states offhandedly on one of the rare occasions he has to speak with you before you flee in the morning. You pause with your hand on the coffee pot and turn to him with your eyebrows raised. “Home cooked dinner, remember?”
Gulping, you turn back to the task at hand, fixing up your travel mug of coffee just the way you like it. With a tone that feels clipped and forced, you reply, “Right, how about tomorrow night?”
“It’s a date.”
-
“Something smells good,” Kevin’s loud voice breaks the silence you’d been cooking in.
You shrug, stirring the sauce briefly before pulling a noodle from the pot to test. He can’t help the smile that breaks out upon watching your face scrunch up thoughtfully before you sigh, “Needs another minute. Think you can set the table?”
He does as he’s told; he always was the type to ask ‘how high’ when you told him to jump.
“Tastes good, too,” he states later while sitting across from you at the dining table the two of you only ever used when his mom was in town. There’s an open bottle of wine on the table between you, but you can’t help but shift your eyes toward the wine rack behind him, thinking you’ll likely need another soon.
“It’s just spaghetti bolognese,” you shrug self-deprecatingly. It’s not like it took a whole lot of effort, or like you’d slaved away all day at it.
He appreciates it all the same though, smiling genuinely at you before softly speaking, “It always reminds me of sophomore year.”
Though the memory of being so in love during your college years is a painful one now, what with how it all ended, it still brings a thoughtful smile to your face. You had hated living on campus, your freshman year roommate was a total snob and you despised the lack of privacy, and so you’d rented an apartment nearby sophomore year with a few friends you’d met in an intro econ class. Kev had spent all his free time at your apartment rather than his own space, not that you had minded.
To celebrate your first anniversary, you’d sexiled your roommates and made him the very meal you were now eating.
For a moment you’re embarrassed, it’s not that you’d exactly forgotten the memory, but it hadn’t been on your mind as you’d started cooking. It was just quick and easy, and in all honesty, you’d probably be able to make it in your sleep by now. He doesn’t bug you, though, doesn’t say anything stupid or make you feel like you were in the wrong.
It’s quiet then, the only sound being your playlist quietly playing through the speaker in the kitchen from where you’d forgotten to stop it. Quiet, that is until he opens his mouth.
“You’ve been avoiding me.” It’s a statement, not a question, but you freeze with your fork midair just the same.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, prim and proper, hoping he lets it go. That wasn’t really Kevin’s style, though, not until the last few months before the end of your relationship. When he’d let you speak in half truths and responded in kind, if either of you spoke at all. Before then, he was a straight-to-the-point, never go to sleep angry kind of guy, and so you knew your hopes were unfounded.
“Cut the shit.” His body language mirrors his tone of voice, shoulders slumped and expression melancholy.
“Nothing, work’s just picked up and I’m a little stressed about some deadlines. No big deal.” You avoid his eyes, carefully twirling some spaghetti around your fork.
He says your name with such conviction that you almost break, bottom lip twitching with the desire to pout. You swallow down whatever you might have said alongside a bite of your food. A low growl leaves his throat then, alongside the slamming of his fist on the dinner table, the silverware rattling in response. You flinch, but finally meet his eyes and is that not what he had wanted? “What’s. Going. On?” His words are short, and his temper is too, but beneath it all is a desire to know that you’re okay.
Part of you wonders if it would be better to double down. To insist that he’s crazy, that nothing’s wrong. It calls back a bit too strongly to the last set of fights between the two of you right before you left with your bags backed and an empty ring finger. When you danced around the truth, hinting and implying and speaking in tongues rather than admit your insecurities. There were many nights in the time since where you wondered if you’d just dug in a little deeper, let him in a little closer, if things wouldn’t have ended up the way they did.
Another part of you kind of wants to hash it all out, right here, right now. Inside of you is that sweet eighteen year old who fell in love with a gentle giant at a house party and she’s practically begging on her knees for you to let her speak. To let her carve out the heart that still beats for him and place it neatly on the table for him to take. You can’t though. Not while the you with her bags packed and the shattered pieces of her heart stuck together with a shoddy bandaid stands in front screaming to get out of here.
And then there’s you, as you are, sitting at this dinner table that holds so many memories - the first night in the new house, birthdays, anniversaries, the laughter of his nieces and nephews. You are sad that it’s come to this, broken at the idea of the distance between you expanding far past the length of the dining room table, confused that now he’s choosing to talk about it when it was fine for months to skirt around the issues.
“Now you wanna talk about it?” you can’t help but snap. Kevin reacts like you’ve slapped him, flinching and grimacing and you know you haven’t been wrong that it was purposeful the way he’s avoided it all.
It doesn’t temper his attitude though, his grip on his fork only tightening as he speaks through a tense jaw, “Yeah, I do. So talk.” And you really want to latch onto the anger and the hurt you feel licking up your spine and wield words like a knife. But what right do you have to do that? To throw things back at him. He’s not your fiance, not even your boyfriend anymore. Just an ex with a big heart, letting you stay in the house you picked out until you find your own brick house with a bright open concept kitchen and someone new to cook dinner with in it.
And so you decide to be a little vulnerable. Sighing, you ask, “Do you regret letting me stay?”
Though the syllables are anything but complex, the question is not an easy one and neither is the answer. He’s silent for long enough that you start to wonder if you’ve said something wrong. He lets a hand run down his face, squeezing his chin for a second. “Why are you asking me that?” Kevin might not be the man warming your bed every night anymore, but he still knows you better than anyone else and he’s sure there’s something more going on here than a little doubt and insecurity.
“Can you please just answer the question?” you snap again. You’d feel bad about it, but you can’t feel anything beyond the anxiety that’s causing your heart to race in your chest.
“No, I don’t,” he says finally and you really don’t know if the emotion you feel is relief or grief. They’re so similar, sisters not twins in the way they both cause your jaw to unclench, your shoulders to drop.
“Why don’t you regret it?”
His expression falls just the tiniest amount further, and if you didn’t know every line of his face so intimately, you probably wouldn’t notice. “I’m only going to ask you one more time,” he speaks through a clenched jaw, “Why are you asking me all this?”
You swallow hard then, the image of Travis with a snarled mouth just outside your door so clear in your mind. “Travis said something,” you admit softly. He curses softly under his breath, rising from his chair and crossing the space between you quickly before pulling you up along with him. The weight of your hands in his is as comforting and grounding as you remember, though you focus your gaze on where your limbs are linked. He squeezes your fingers, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you look up into his eyes.
“His heart’s in the right place,” he says and you can’t find it in yours to disagree. You know that Kev was as broken by the break up as you were and you know that you left the mess for the likes of Trav and Nolan and everyone else to clean. The thing is, you know this and you’ve already been feeling guilty about this, but to have such a harsh reminder thrown in your face hit you that much harder. “None of this has been easy for me, you know. Nothing has, not since... well...” Not since you left. “But I will always want what is best for you and that’s why I invited you to stay and that’s why I want you to keep staying here.”
You feel it, all the words unspoken between you, all the hurt and the anguish and the yearning. You feel it, and yet you allow him to pull you in for a heavy hug, one where his every emotion pours out of every inch of his skin. Squeezing him tightly right back, you listen to the steady rhythm of his heart, inhale the heady scent of his aftershave, memorize the feel of him all around you, invading every single one of your senses.
“We’re okay right? You still mean a lot to me and I don’t ever want us to feel like strangers.” You may not have Kevin in the way you used to, but you can’t ever go back to watching his life from the sidelines. It’s another sliver of vulnerability and he swallows it up greedily. One hand slides to the underside of your jaw, cradling your face in his large hand as he tilts your head backwards just a smidge. He presses his lips to your forehead in a motion that you feel all the way down to the tips of your toes.
“We’re okay, baby. We’re okay.” The pet name slips out without much thought from him, but he doesn’t take it back and you don’t make a big deal out of it.
And you are okay. You resume watching tv on the couch separately but together, the inches between you slowly fading until you find yourself resting your head on his shoulder while some terrible action flick plays on. The home cooked dinners ramp up too, a mix of old and new favorites enjoyed at the dining table, with good conversation and even better laughter. Somehow, Ryanne even convinces you to come to a few home games, and it doesn’t even make you feel that strange or that much of an outsider - especially not after a cold beer during warmups and a cuddly Gav on your lap for most of the game.
You’re okay but you’re not okay because you do all these things as a side character in his life. No longer are you a starring cast member of the Kevin Hayes Show, the smarter half of the A plotline. You’re a C plot at best, a minor background character who delivers the punchline that is your new relationship or lack thereof. There are no hands on thighs or asses or breasts when you sit on the couch together, no pretext or motive behind watching the film like there once was. When you cook those dinners, you don’t have to ward off wandering hands and stolen kisses that distract you long enough for the smoke detector to start beeping. Ryanne is a friend but so is Kevin and the family box doesn’t hold the same comfort it once did.
It’s still hard and it still hurts, but you’re navigating a life with Kevin that isn’t a life with Kevin. Not the kind you’d always imagined and dreamed of, that is.
-
It’s an old habit, the way you pull your favorite navy suit of his from his closet, hanging it carefully on the hook on the back of his door. You used to do this, before; set out a suit for him to wear for his game while he was at morning skate. There’s no real explanation for why you do it now, except, maybe, that it feels right to do so. Like maybe you could lean into it for a moment and pretend that nothing had ever gone wrong, that you’d never been hurt.
That feeling doesn’t last long, not as you return to the living room and curl up on the couch, old reruns of some sitcom playing on tv while you pretend you’re not waiting for him to come home.
Home.
What a strange word, with an even stranger connotation. Once this house had been your home, the bedroom he now sleeps alone in had once contained your shared bed, his closet that is no longer full once held your work clothes alongside his suits, his ensuite once boasted your toothbrush alongside his. And then it had been cruelly taken from you, the very rug you now stand on had been pulled from beneath your feet. It had been your doing as much as it had been his, of course, but the point remains the same. This was no longer your house, so when did it become home to you once again?
Although, was it the brick and mortar that felt like home or was it the person?
You don’t have much time to dwell on it before he’s back, time fading as he grabs a bite to eat and then heads to his room for a nap. Once upon a time, he would have begged you to join him, probably copping a feel in the process. Once upon a time, you used to fall asleep with your head on his chest.
When he emerges a while later, you have to pretend like you’re not caught up in the memory of it all by the sight of him in that suit. Like you don’t remember the press of that belt buckle into your stomach, or the slide of those lapels under your fingertips. He thanks you with that big dumb grin of his, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he leaves for the arena.
You don’t go to the game; he’d never invited you to and you were still too stuck on how to co-exist within this space without crossing boundaries that it never even occurred to you to ask instead, but that doesn’t stop you from watching from the couch. The sweater you wear is old, nearly a decade old in fact, a souvenir from the first year you’d known Kevin. It’s a Boston College hoodie, the maroon and gold lettering long since faded, something you’d borrowed from him when you were still ‘just friends’ and hadn’t ever given back. Not even when you left him.
The game is a good one, you think, even though you’ve only got eyes for number thirteen. Some time between the first and second periods, you’d cracked a bottle of wine, and by the time Kevin comes home, you’re well on your way to downing a second bottle. It’s late, and if you’d been sleeping you’re certain you would have woken up from the sound of him bustling through the door.
“Jesus, you didn’t drive here did you?” you snap as he trips over his own discarded loafers.
“Ubered,” he shrugs, before he’s lighting up with a grin. “You really do care.”
“Of course I care, Kev,” you reply earnestly, and all traces of laughter are gone immediately from his face. There’s a tension then, and you’re not sure if it rests in the weight of your words and their implication, or if the tension has existed here all along. Truthfully it’s likely a mix of the two, but you don’t dwell on it as you lift from your spot on the couch and approach him. There’s no mistaking the look in his eyes as he takes in the sweater you’re wearing, his old number on the sleeve.
The stubble on his cheek looks so inviting to your tipsy mind, your fingertips flexing with your desire to cup his jaw. You come together, then, unsure of who exactly took the first step forward. It doesn’t really matter though, not with your entire being caged within his arms. It’s gentler than you can remember ever being with Kevin before, almost as if you’re both parcels stamped ‘fragile, handle with care’ and one wrong move will result in pieces of shattered glass on the hardwood floor. It’s intimate and warm and comforting, your head pressed against his chest, like not a single other thing matters in the world.
As you pull apart you press a chaste kiss to his adams apple where the top button of his shirt has been undone. It’s like something is set off within you from just that simple touch, as you suddenly feel the urge to kiss every inch of his skin. Slowly and methodically, you unbutton the rest of the way down, kissing the newly revealed flesh after every one comes undone. It’s gentle and reverent, the way you practically worship at the altar of his body.
He lets you do it without any sort of protest or movement, hands awkwardly dropped at his sides until you reach the last button and pull the bottom of his shirt to untuck it. It’s like something has awoken in him too, as he reaches for you, pulling you up to him where he’s leaned in as well. One hand cups your cheek, thumb gently rubbing at your cheekbone, while the other tangles in your hair as your lips meet. He tastes like beer and honey, and on anyone else it would be a strange combination, but you can’t get enough of it even as your hands slide his shirt off his shoulders.
As the garment drops to the floor, Kevin’s reaching for your sweatshirt, calloused fingertips brushing against your skin as he helps you take it off, the kiss breaking for only the time it takes for the offending item to leave your body. From there he walks you to his bedroom with practiced ease, and if his tongue hadn’t been down your throat, you might have allowed yourself to wallow in the hurt that comes with the knowledge of how he’d gotten all that practice.
As it stands, you can barely remember your own name, so caught up in the feel of his bare chest and the gentle roll of his hips against your own.
You’re overcome with emotion when he lays you down so gently, so carefully, against the sheets of his unmade bed. His kiss is soft and sweet, but yet still so inexplicably heavy you feel it all over your body. He’s gentle still as he makes his way down your body, ridding you of your leggings and underwear and settling between your thighs.
There’s a reverent look on his eyes as he presses gentle kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, and you can’t help the way his name falls from your lips, pleading. He smiles up at you then, a tender grin on his face as he says, “Yeah, baby, I know what you need.” And he does, finally pressing his mouth to the ache between your thighs. You sigh contently, the feeling one you’d sorely missed all these months, curling one hand into the hair atop his head and lacing the other with his fingers on your hip.
He coaxes you through one gentle orgasm and then another, humming and moaning against you in clear pleasure, asking and pleading for you to ‘give him one more’.
When he pulls back from your body, chin gleaming and chest heaving, you instinctively begin to turn onto your stomach, into his favorite position to have you in. He stops you, one hand sliding to cup your chin as he presses his lips to yours solidly, “Wanna see you.”
It sends a rush of longing through you, and so you settle further into his pillows, wrapping your arms around him and reeling him in. It’s a stretch as he fills you, little whines escaping your lips until he’s fully sheathed within you. You’d be content to lie here forever like this with him, but moments later he’s pulling your leg to wrap around his waist while he slowly begins to move.
There’s a moment, though, of almost full clarity as your hands tangle in his hair while your head is thrown back. He pauses, eyes boring into your very soul, open mouths doing nothing but passing air into each other’s lungs. He’s not moving but you feel him, every inch of his body and mind and love and it’s everything you could never say, every word you likely never would. It’s everything and he’s everything and you never want the moment to end.
It does, with a flex of his hips and your nails scratching at his scalp, his chain hovering and dragging over your breasts as you find salvation together. “You were fuckin’ made for me,” he groans into the skin of your neck, kissing and sucking and biting.
You fall asleep in his arms, sweaty and tired and content in a way you’ve been a thousand times before, the way it should always be.
-
The harsh morning rays of the sun tell a different story. You come into consciousness with the feeling of being completely encapsulated by another’s warmth. On instinct, you press back against his still naked body, preening as his arm tightens around your waist in return.
Until you remember this isn’t your bed or your home and the man asleep next to you isn’t your fiancé anymore. Guilt and shame and self-loathing bubble in your gut as the harsh realization settles in. It descends into panic as you try to plot your way out of the hole you dug with your bare hands.
It all only worsens as Kevin begins to stir, a mumbled ‘morning’ in your ear that you feel like a buzz of electricity down your spine. It would be so easy to lean back into the warmth of his body, the comforting weight of his hands, the soft press of his lips to your skin.
But none of that is yours to want anymore.
Kevin’s more than a little disoriented, as sleep lets him shake free of her clutches, he comes to a few realizations of his own. You’re here, in this bed you’d once shared. Your naked frame is pressed to his own and the scent of your shampoo is everywhere. For the briefest of moments he lets himself hope, lets himself believe that this is the moment he’s been waiting for, the one where you come home to him and you stay. In this bed, in these sheets, in this home. But you’re not replying to his morning greeting, and then you’re pulling from his embrace, movements jilted and awkward and hurried. “What-”
“This was a mistake,” you blurt out, hopping back into your pants and eyes frantically searching for your shirt. The memory of your sweatshirt hitting the ground in the kitchen has you squeezing your eyes shut for a moment before you’re slipping on a hoodie of his that was lying on the chair.
He sits up in bed, the sheet falling to pool at his waist and you have to force your eyes to remain above his shoulders. Truthfully, it’s not that difficult considering your eyes are focused on the wall behind him. He’s a little defensive, and a lot indignant as he all but asks you to repeat yourself. “A mistake? You’re gonna call this a mistake?”
“Yes, a mistake. You were just lonely and horny and that’s my fault because I've just been hanging around here like your shadow.” It’s the best you can come up with, some half-cocked explanation with more holes in it than a screen door. It’s flimsy like one too, rattling in the wind that is Kevin’s anger.
He gets up, slipping on a pair of underwear and stalking towards you with an unreadable look in his eye. “Horny and lonely? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Horny and lonely, Kevin. And- And if you need me to leave the house so you can pick up, I can do that or- or I’ll stay in my room and-“
“What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t want to ‘pick up’.” He sounds disgusted with the idea, disgusted with the way you’re talking right now but you can’t stop yourself.
“Well clearly you should be, there’s no other explanation for last night.” You’re doubling down on your bullshit, unwilling and unable to listen to the voice inside of you that is screaming your love for him. It had been long buried, tucked beneath the hurt and the sadness and the anger, but last night had brought it to the surface. Everything about Kevin is so drawing to you, from the soft warmth of his body to the hard expression on his face, but you swallow it down.
“No other explanation?” He shakes his head in disbelief, the image of you in bed next to him quickly lighting up in flames, pooling into ash at his feet. “Tell me the fucking truth.”
You inhale sharply and he knows he’s hit his mark. It’s satisfying, the way he cuts through your bullshit, but the satisfaction doesn’t last. Because while he’s thinking about everything that could go right, you’re still hung up on everything that went wrong. On the last few months of your relationship, but especially on that final fight that nailed the very last nail in the coffin.
For a minute you’re back in this house, a few rooms over, a little younger.
“I don’t know what I want to do!” you shout, dragging your hands down your face. The argument isn’t a new one, in fact it’s been a recurring disagreement, ever since you were first put forward for the promotion. It’s kind of a big deal - a leadership position at your age is almost unheard of, but it was your name put forward, and your position to accept.
“I think you do, I think you’re just too much of a coward to say it out loud. There’s two choices here, baby,” the way the pet name leaves his lips is a mockery of the syllables, the frustration and the anger that’s been building for months finally coming to a head, “either you stay with me, or you take the job and go. We both know what you’re going to choose.”
You can’t help the way you go immediately on the attack, the fear of losing everything before you so great, it’s got you completely and wholly irrational. “I can’t just sit around here and raise your babies and post on instagram and have a stupid lifestyle blog. I’m sorry that I can’t be the perfect wife and go to all of your home games and decorate stupid jean jackets.”
It’s not what he’s asking you to do, not really. He’s asking for you to finally make a decision and stick to it. He knows and you know and everyone else around you knows that this is the fork in the road of your relationship. His schedule is insane enough, there’s no way you’ll be able to handle a long distance relationship. It’s less than 100 miles between your front door and New York, but it might as well be oceans away with how little you’ll see each other. And he knows, he knows this is an amazing opportunity for you, a once in a lifetime shot, and though he wants to beg you to stay, he knows he needs to let you go. He loves you more than he cares for himself and he wants your every dream to come true. Above everything, he knows you need to go to New York and you need to take this opportunity and you need to leave him behind.
He knows all this, and yet it still stings as you all but tell him you don’t want to have his children. Kev’s wanted to be a dad for as long as he can remember, and he’s wanted you to be their mom for as long as he’s known you. For the better part of a decade, he’s pictured babies, and he’s pictured you loving them and holding them and raising them. He’s pictured half of you and all the best parts of himself together. It’s a dream he’s slowly been letting go of in the time that’s passed since you first brought up the promotion, but to have it so neatly and completely taken from him is staggering.
“I never asked you for any of those things,” he argues, one hand gripping at the curls at the top of his head. “I know you’re driven and I know you’re smarter than me or anyone I know. And that’s why I know you’re going to take this job and you’re going to leave me. I want you to have everything that you want.”
“But what if what I want is you?” You’re hysterical now, though this is not a new argument, it’s never reached these levels before. You feel it, deep in your bones that this is it, that this is the end of something beautiful and magical. The relationship is slipping through your fingers, grains of sand falling and falling and falling until your hourglass is tipped over and empty.
“It’s not,” he says simply. “It’s not enough.”
There’s a final note in his voice and you know he’s not going to change his mind and you know you’re not either. Because truthfully, you were probably always going to pick the job and the future. You’d just hoped that the two of you could find compromise along the way. Although a large part of you always knew it wasn’t meant to last, that you would never be the kind of girl who was good enough to marry the likes of Kevin Hayes. No matter how much you loved him, nothing would ever change the fact that you didn’t have the look or the lifestyle or the wealthy family to fall back on. You knew that he would grow to resent all the things that once made him fall in love with you, that your contrarian ways and your ego and your goals and aspirations made you incompatible with the WAG life. You knew that when he said it wasn’t enough, he really meant you.
You don’t compromise; you accept the position and move out two weeks later.
And then you’re back here, a little older, a little wiser. And so you shake your head, backing away slowly. “It doesn’t fucking matter, Kevin. Okay? It doesn’t fucking matter because I’m still me and you’re still you and you told me that it wasn’t enough. Okay? So it doesn’t matter.” He goes to follow you but you put your hand out in an attempt to keep the distance, “Don’t. Okay? Don’t. I’ll give you your sweater back, I promise, but I need some space.”
“Okay,” his voice shakes as he speaks, “Have your space, but please come home.”
When a promotion at work calls for you to transfer back to Philadelphia, your ex-fiancé offers you the guest room of the home you used to share. What could possibly go wrong?
pairing: kevin hayes x reader
warnings: angst angst angst, relationship breakdown, talk of marriage and babies, low key plus size reader (and mention of exercise as an unhealthy coping mechanism), travis konecny sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, the over romanticization of spaghetti bolognese, smut
word count: 11k
a/n: here's the first half of a fic i've been working on for months, sorry not sorry for what i've done. in loving memory of my dearest k @danglesnipecelly who wanted either roommate kevin or ex kevin and instead i murdered her with both
Everyone you knew said it was a terrible idea.
Your mom, your best friends, the coworkers you were leaving behind, even Jimmy and Brady said it was a terrible idea. Jimmy and Brady, who share a single brain cell.
Deep down you recognize for yourself just how bad of an idea it was, but that knowledge was locked deep down beside the residual hurt and the love that you pretended had died long ago.
Maybe you were a masochist, deriving a sick sense of pleasure from torturing yourself like this. Or maybe you were just fucking stupid, naive and ignorant, unable to conceptualize all the ways things could go wrong.
Or maybe you just really missed him.
No matter the reasoning, and no matter how many people in your life tried to convince you otherwise, you were transferring to your company’s Philadelphia office, and the spare bedroom you were moving into was in the house you’d once lived in with your ex fiancé.
-
It was nothing, really, you tried to convince yourself. Just Kev being Kev, lonely what with his buddy and roommate Nolan shipped off to Vegas, and it’s not like you would find a place with cheaper rent than “free, as long as you promise to make dinner now and then.”
You can’t really explain why you reached out in the first place, with only a handful of conversations occurring in the months since you called off your engagement. Part of it was the excitement of it all, you’d gotten so caught up in it all that the second you left your boss’ office your thumb was hovering over his contact in your phone. That hadn’t been the moment you’d called him, though.
No, you’d celebrated the way you’d been forced to grow accustomed to without Kevin in your life - a drink with a few select coworkers and a phone call to your mom.
Maybe some part of you thought you owed it to him, to give him a heads up that you were returning to his city once again, a warning of sorts. Maybe you expected hesitance in his tone, a lack of warmth in his reply.
Kevin’s never really been that predictable though, and his response is nothing short of pure excitement. It’s here that he suggests you move in, at least temporarily, much to your surprise. You tell him you’ll think about it because it’s a big decision, but you’re certain you’ll tell him ‘thanks for the offer, but I have to decline.’
Certain, that is, until he ends the call uncharacteristically soft, nothing but sincerity on the tip of his tongue as he speaks, “I’m really proud of you, you know.”
You call him back the next morning and tell him you’ll do it.
-
Philly’s got an edge to it that you’ve felt drawn to since the first time you set foot in the city. You were sixteen, at some pop punk concert at the Mann your best friend had convinced you to sneak out of the house for. There was something in the air then, and for a moment, in the midst of a high energy show, with everyone around you screaming in unison, you’d felt it. A draw and a pull and a sense of belonging that you didn’t feel again in your hometown.
Not until you were a freshman at Boston College, stumbling into a cute guy with a loud laugh and a thick accent at a house party after a big hockey win.
You feel it again, pulling into the driveway of a very expensive house in a very rich neighborhood of Philly. Your house. Or at least it was, once. You remember the excitement of flying down to Philly twice, touring a dozen different houses before settling on this one. It was the bright and open kitchen that had stolen your heart the minute you’d stepped foot in it. He’d asked his teammates' opinions, but you know that even if they hadn’t all mostly agreed, he would have bought this one for you.
There was a time when Kevin would have done anything for you, if you only asked.
Your SUV is full to the brim with your clothes and the few personal effects you had kept - the majority of your things had been sold or donated when you’d committed to the transfer. It’s weird, to be parking this car in this driveway, as if you’d never taken Kevin’s grandmother’s ring off your finger, as if you’d later slipped on the wedding band to match.
Your ring finger is as bare as it has been for more than a year, though, as you flex your fingers against the steering wheel, willing yourself to move on from your thoughts. They’re not productive, they only serve to further break your own heart. You can’t let it go, though. Not here, not in front of this house. No, you need to sit in it for a moment, collect yourself, take it all in and let yourself wallow in it before you face what was once your dream home.
Kevin comes outside as you’re pulling bags from the trunk, wrapping you up in a hug that feels too real, too genuine, too meaningful. You lean into it against your better judgement, squeezing your arms around him tightly, as if you could put both of your broken pieces back together with a single hug. You have to stop yourself from telling him you missed him, certain he doesn’t want to hear about how you’ve been wallowing your way through life without him.
He has to stop himself from welcoming you home.
“You don’t have to help,” you tell him as he starts grabbing some of your bags. The look he sends you tells it all and you shrug sheepishly, “Thanks.”
With your former fiance’s help, your things are taken inside in only a few trips despite your attempts to prolong the feat. Without the distraction of hauling your things in and then scurrying back to your car, you’re forced to look around at what had once been your home. You’re not surprised to see not much has changed. Between the interior designer he’d hired and your own input, Kev had remarkably little to do with the design of the house.
As you shift side to side on your feet, feeling incredibly awkward and out of place, you spot a frame on the mantle, nestled in beside photos of his siblings and parents and nieces and nephews. The frame blends in perfectly, the exact same metal as the others around it, but you really didn’t think the subject belonged anymore.
Because the photograph contains your and Kevin’s smiling faces, his arms wrapped around your shoulders with your hands settled on his forearms, the sparkling ring glinting on your ring finger, with a beautiful sun setting over Cape Cod.
“It was my favorite,” he says simply and something inside of you breaks. It all kind of hits you then, not for the first time certainly, but it hits you all the same. That photo shouldn’t be the only one that contained you in this living room; there should be beautiful pictures of a wedding day, of you in white and Kevin in his best suit. Of his nieces and nephews in flower girl dresses and little ring bearer suits. Of a little baby boy or girl of your own.
It’s too much and you can’t keep the facade up any longer.
“I’m gonna go start putting things away,” you lie, quickly turning and rushing past him before he can see the telltale look of despair on your face.
“Do you want me to order take out tonight? I can get from that Italian place you like.” It’s an olive branch and a peace offering and an honest to goodness suggestion all rolled into one and you know you shouldn’t be acting like this. You know that if you couldn’t handle it, can’t handle it, you shouldn’t be here at all.
And so you pause in the doorway, still unable to look back at him. “Sure Kev, you know what I like.” It slips out, the easy casualness of it all because it’s how you used to answer when he’d posit the question of what you wanted from whatever restaurant you were ordering from. It was a comfort, really, that he knew you so well he didn’t have to think twice about getting you something you’d enjoy.
It makes the moment feel even heavier than it needs to, even heavier than it had a moment ago when you’d spotted that old familiar photo on the mantel. You don’t know how to take it back, though, don’t know how to explain that you didn’t mean it that way. The silence stretches between the two of you awkwardly in ways it hadn’t ever really in the entirety of your relationship. Even when things were falling apart it hadn’t ever really felt like this.
Like you were two strangers and not people with a long and drawn out history.
You won’t look at him, but he can’t stop the way his eyes track your every move, your words rattling around in his brain. Did he know what you liked? Or did you change your favorite pasta dish like you’d changed the address on your driver's license? Was it still penne alla vodka or did you prefer alfredo now? Did you still take sugar and cream in your coffee or had you kicked the caffeine habit entirely?
For a long time he’d thought about what it would be like for you to step foot back in this house, your presence filling the empty rooms in a way no one had been able to since you’d left. He’d tried, letting Patty move in, and then the girls who’d treated his front door like it was revolving rather than made of wood.
With the door to the spare bedroom clicking behind you softly, you toss yourself onto the unmade bed and cry. You cry for the past, you cry for the present, but most of all you cry for the future that you’d both robbed yourselves of.
When he knocks later to let you know the food has arrived - as if you hadn’t heard the doorbell and the subsequent booming nature of his voice - you’ve stopped crying but your face feels puffy. Kevin has the good sense to not mention it as you move with practiced ease around each other. The silverware is in the same spot it always has been, and so are the glasses. Even the Brita water filter is in the same spot in the refrigerator and it all makes your heart ache more.
Not for the first time, as you sit across from the man you thought you would get to love forever, you wonder what the fuck you’re doing here.
Kevin notices. Of course he fucking notices, what with the way he can’t tear his eyes off of you and the way he used to know you better than the back of his hand. He knew what you looked like first thing in the morning and he knew what you looked like with happy tears streaming down your face the night he’d proposed and he knew what you looked like with your bags packed, shutting the door behind you for the last time.
He notices but he doesn’t do anything because it’s not his place. It’s not his job to anticipate your feelings when you aren’t capable of verbalizing them or to reassure you that your fears are unfounded. Not anymore and it hasn’t been for a long time. He hates that it’s no longer his job or his place and he hates that you’re both in this position and more than anything he hates that you left him and this is what it’s all come to. You home but not really home, only here because of the very job that had torn you apart to begin with.
His heart is heavy and yours is too as you stare at each other from across the too large dining table, both wondering if you were making a mistake as large as the one you’d made when you’d let each other go.
-
Really, living with Kevin in a totally platonic, non-romantic way is both harder and easier than you thought.
It’s harder because you had grossly underestimated how badly being near him would make you want him. You should have known the dull ache in not being his anything anymore would only grow and multiply when the temptation to touch him increased with every interaction. Once a throbbing pain you could ignore by throwing yourself into the job you had chosen over him, now it was constant, unyielding and unforgiving - sharp reminders of what choosing yourself had cost you.
In some ways, it’s so similar to before, the feelings still bubbling under the surface but never boiling over. In the early days after your breakup you’d wondered if you would love him forever despite it all. In a cold and bare apartment in the middle of New York City you knew you would, heart aching and face tear stained. You’re reminded of the hurt in those moments as the weeks pass. Truthfully you don’t remember how to be his friend. For the majority of your adult life he’d been your best friend, sure, but he’d been your best friend in the way only a romantic partner can be.
And yet it’s not the same because in those quiet moments where once you would have leaned into the comfort of his embrace, you find yourself violently ripping away. Because even though your brain is well aware of all the hurt and the need for things like boundaries and space, your body is several steps and many years behind.
It feels wrong to see him soft and warm in the morning light of the kitchen without slipping in behind him and wrapping your arms around his body, your body nearly giving into the urge of its own accord before you can shake the feeling off and head for the coffee pot instead. It’s downright torture to walk past the back of the couch without slipping a hand into his hair and pressing your lips to his cheek.
The feeling is mutual, even if you don’t know it, as he has to resist the urge to press his body against yours while you reach on your tip toes for something in the cupboard or stand at the sink, washing dishes.
It’s easier in that you breathe a little easier in his presence, sleep a little better too. Being around him is as natural as breathing, probably too natural if you were honest with yourself. You catch yourself leaning in a little too much to his innocent touches, slipping up and almost telling him you love him when you say goodnight or he leaves for a string of away games, nearly curling up against his side when he puts a movie on in the living room.
Although sometimes sleep doesn’t come that easy. Not when you spend half the night tossing and turning, micro analyzing every interaction with the man asleep only feet away from you. From the smallest touches to the accidental slip ups that have you stuttering out an apology neither of you are sure you mean, you go through every second of it and wonder how you could have done things differently. On nights like this the guilt threatens to eat you up from the inside out. You run through hundreds of scenarios in your head, from the sweetest reunions to the harshest endings, ones where you sever the ties so completely you can never come back from it.
These nights are the worst when you have to haul your ass out of bed early in the morning to get to the office for eight.
Several months into calling what used to be your spare room home, luckily for you, isn’t one of those nights, but it doesn’t mean the exhaustion seeping into your bones is lessened any as the clock reads several minutes past two a.m. You toss onto your left side, then your right, then on your back, huffing and puffing with the energy of each turn. The pillow is fluffed and turned to the cold side multiple times as the minutes pass and pass. You count sheep, recite the alphabet backwards and forwards, even put on ambient music and then a sleep podcast.
Nothing helps, and you grow more and more exhausted. Until your sleep addled brain decides the best course of action is to slip into the bed that used to be yours.
The house is quiet and dark as you sneak down the hallway, feet cold and silent against the hardwood floor that you’d hated when you’d first moved in. “I like carpet,” you’d grumbled. Kev had only laughed, pressing his lips to yours and promising you that he’d buy you all the area rugs you could possibly want.
Kev doesn’t say anything now as you slip into the master bedroom, not until you’re pausing a few steps away from the bed with so many memories attached to it. Of you moaning and writhing beneath the sheets, of midnight kisses when he got back from a game at home, of lazy Sundays and breakfast in bed - even if the toast had been burnt and the coffee cold.
The comforter is different, but you should have expected that. There’s less pillows, but you should have expected that too. You were the pillow monster after all, adamant that you needed more than the customary two.
He wakes with a fright, and you’re reminded of when he made you sleep with the lights on after watching the first Paranormal Activity in theaters. “I don’t care how much I love you, if you were ever just standing at the foot of the bed watching me sleep I’d kick you in the face.”
“S’wrong?” he slurs, voice heavy with sleep the way you remember it being in the morning, warm and soft, gooey like honey.
You feel so foolish then, you had no business waltzing into this bedroom. What were you expecting, really? It wasn’t his job to make sure you had a good night’s rest. Not that he had when you were dating, more often keeping you up late into the early hours of the morning with his head between your thighs.
“I couldn’t sleep,” you admit, before shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come in here. I-” You move to leave the room and pretend you’d never opened that door, but his large hand comes up to encircle your wrist.
“C’mere,” he says, using that grip to pull you in closer. You go willingly, slipping into bed beside him and letting him pull you into his chest. You fall asleep seconds after closing your eyes, drifting even closer in your slumber.
You wake up first, comfortable and warm and secure, but you sneak out before he even has a chance to wake.
He thinks he dreamt the whole thing.
-
Though your relationship with Kevin had been born out of a chance encounter at a house party, it had really developed around food. Your early dates had been dinners after hockey games, you in his jersey and he always wearing a backwards BC hat, legs linked under the table. Sometimes his teammates wouldn’t pick up on his very obvious social cues that it wasn’t an open invitation, and you’d have to squish between Kev and Johnny on one side of a faded booth.
Later, the venue became the kitchen. That’s not to say the two of you didn’t enjoy a nice night out together, or didn’t indulge in more than your fair share of take out, because you certainly did.
It’s just, you’d grown up with your parents cooking together in the kitchen, witnessed many sweet moments of adoration and love - even if things weren’t always perfect with their marriage, they never missed cooking Sunday dinner together. It was one of the things you were most grateful for in your childhood, and something you’d always vowed to make part of your future relationships.
Of course with his hockey career, Sunday wasn’t always feasible, and neither was a strict once a week schedule, but you’d always leaned into the moments you could.
Kevin wasn’t ever really the best cook, absolutely spoiled by his mom’s skills in the kitchen and then the dining plan at BC and then you’d taken it upon yourself to make sure he was always well fed. What he lacked in skill though he absolutely made up for in enthusiasm and willingness to be bossed around by you.
“I like when you tell me what to do,” he’d smirked at you once during the first years in New York together, dutifully cutting vegetables for your casserole.
And then you’d fallen in love with this very kitchen, with its marble detailing and offwhite cabinetry and gold handles. The built in butcher block and the sink in the island, the stainless steel, french-door refrigerator and matching stove. Enough space for you and Kevin to cook together in harmony while your own children could look on in awe at how much their parents loved each other.
You’d envisioned all those moments here in that kitchen and then you’d watched them disappear like smoke.
Now you were half a year into living with Kevin, still dancing around the feelings you never let go of, picturing some other woman cooking with him at the kitchen island, their children watching them the way you always thought yours would.
-
It was an accident, you repeat to yourself over and over again. That mantra on a loop as you sit on your bed in Kevin’s guest room, trying and failing to keep your breathing even. The problem is you can still taste his lips on your tongue, can feel his stubble beneath your hand and the ghost of his touch on your hips.
It was an accident, the way his hands found the skin just above your jeans as he attempted to move past you in the kitchen. The way your body lit up under his touch, the way you leaned into it all. Muscle memory, really, as your lips met his right around the time your hands slid up his shoulders to cup his face.
It was an accident, how you stepped even closer, pressing the entire length of your body against his. The growl deep in his chest as he held you tightly to him. The slip of his tongue inside your mouth, the scrape of your teeth against his lips.
And then nothing, as you’d stepped back in a panic with eyes wide and chest heaving.
You’d turned and ran back to the sanctity of this bedroom, your untouched plate of food entirely forgotten.
The sound of the front door is not easily mistaken, and soon you realize you’re all alone in the house. Suddenly there’s only one person you want to hear from.
Grabbing your phone, you slump to the ground with your back against the closet door, knees pulled to your chest while you hear the familiar sound of the dial tone.
“Hello?”
You sigh, the familiar voice of one of your oldest friends like music to your ears. “Jimmy?”
The background noise fades as you can only assume he’s separated himself from whoever he was with. He says your name softly, an edge of confusion laced within it, “Are you okay?”
You sigh again. The truth is, you’re not even sure if you’re okay or not. Being near Kevin is as good for your soul as it is harmful to your heart. Unadulterated pleasure at being witness to his bedhead in the morning once again, sweatpants hung low on his hips as he leaves the bedroom you’d once shared, yet the sharpest pain as you try to exist together in this house, yet so, so apart. Every day you break your heart, yet every day you heal a bit of it too.
“I’m not going to say I told you so,” he says minutes later after you’ve gotten everything you needed to say off your chest.
You groan a little, Jimmy’s always been a bit of a know-it-all. “Stupid Harvard,” you grumble under your breath. He laughs, not at all offended and very used to the chirps.
“You know I love you, but...”
“But you told me so,” you sigh again. “I don’t know what to do Jimmy.”
“Talk to him. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Truthfully, there’s a long list of worst case scenarios, and you’ve already run them in your head a hundred times.
Kevin doesn’t come home until darkness has descended on Philly. In the meantime you’ve had two mental breakdowns and ten imaginary arguments with him in your head. You’ve written down every important point you want to say four times, the four pieces of paper crumpled in the garbage can more than enough proof of that.
You’re sitting on the couch when he comes in, your entire body freezing as you brace for a fight. It never comes, though. Kevin acts like nothing’s wrong, like he didn't have his tongue down your throat only a few hours ago. He’s picture perfect normal, asking you if you want to order take out tonight or if you’d already taken something out for supper. You stumble through your responses but he never breaks.
It hurts more than you thought it would, certainly far more than it would have if he had yelled and screamed the minute he walked through the door. He even sits down on the other end of the couch, arm outstretched and entire body looking so welcoming, so enticing. As if you could just curl up against him like you used to do so many nights before.
You don’t, though. You stay scrunched up on your little corner of the couch, body rigid and face emotionless until you give in and go to bed alone, with far more questions than answers.
-
Right when things started going wrong, you’d taken up running. Truthfully it was more of a brisk walk interspersed with moments of sprinting that usually left you out of breath and cursing yourself for not being more in shape. It had been silly, a way for you to attempt to fit into the mold of the stereotypical WAG. Part of you thought if you were just able to get in shape, shed a few pounds, that you would be able to save your relationship.
It’s stupid, now that you look back on it, but you’d been so convinced that your size was going to be the downfall of your relationship. If you could only push past your hurt and your ego, you’d realize it was a breakdown in communication above anything else.
Regardless, you’d kept up with it, slowly turning into more of a runner and less of a walker. It hadn’t done much for slimming you down, but you felt healthier, didn’t feel like your heart was going to burst out of your chest or like you’d never pull enough air into your lungs ever again after a short jaunt.
You find yourself running again, a strange sense of nostalgia and heartbreak washing over you as you make the same old, familiar trail around the neighborhood. More houses have come up, some have come down, new cars and new families all around reminding you that while your world may have ended in the brick house four blocks away, it had continued to spin for everyone else.
When you return, Kevin’s just leaving for practice. The air is thick with tension and awkward energy as you carefully dance around one another. The desire to shower is so strong, but as he steps into his shoes you can’t help but blurt out, “Are we not going to talk about it?”
He looks alarmed, face frozen in the expression it had been before you spoke, but his eyes told the wildest tale all on their own. You’re sure your eyes match his own - wild, crazy, disbelieving. Where he had been unable to believe you’d just asked that, you’d been just as bewildered that the words had actually left your mouth.
“What?” he says stupidly.
You gulp and run a hand over your forehead, before repeating yourself. “Are we really not going to talk about it?”
His jaw clicks as he ponders your words, eyes sliding to the box under the television that reads the time. “I’m sorry, I-” he pauses, words perched at the very tip of his tongue, “I have to get to practice.”
“Right,” you nod slowly, “Well have fun with that.” You turn on your heel and head in the direction of the guest bathroom, determined to wash off not only the sweat of your run, but the awkward tension of the conversation from your skin.
-
Weeks pass without any more slip ups, but without any more explanation, either.
Somehow, you get better at shoving your feelings down, even as Kevin does nothing to help quell them. You gain more comfort in your position at work, you grow and learn and thrive, even as the little voice in the back of your head reminds you the only reason you’ve made it this far is because you let Kevin go.
Slowly, Kevin’s life reintegrates with yours. It starts with a few of the boys lingering in the doorway when picking Kev up for the bus or the plane, new eyes curious and old stares hardened against you. An errant happy hour after work sees Kevin meeting your new subordinates and coworkers as well as your friend Emily who you referred to jokingly as your ‘work wife’ when the two of you had been dating. He waves off all your apologies, far more concerned with getting you home safely than anything else, and when he tells Em it was good to see her, you think he means it.
From there, the boys start to make more frequent appearances at the house, as you imagine they’ve been doing in the time you’ve been gone. Their hesitancy gives you pause, makes you feel like maybe you’re interfering with Kev’s life - a brick wall where there used to be a doorway.
Soon, it’s not uncommon for at least one Flyer or two to be hanging around in some capacity. They’re all polite enough, offering you a smile and a greeting. Of them all, G is probably the most genuine, telling you a bit about his kids and always reminding you Ryanne would love to see you.
You can’t step back into that world though, certainly not when you are neither wife nor girlfriend, but rather the pathetic ex being shown more kindness than you think you deserve. And so you always smile, but decline any efforts to include you and hide in your room until they leave.
Travis isn’t so friendly.
From the first time he sets his eyes on you once again, there’s nothing but contempt behind them. It’s such a startling difference from how he existed in your memory - friendly, kind, excitable. Now his stare is burning and unsettling.
You do your best to ignore it, hiding away in your room and only coming out when necessary.
It’s like Travis is lying in wait as he all but pounces on you when you leave the sanctity of the guest room an hour or two after getting home. “Travis,” you state politely while trying to edge around him toward the kitchen and a glass of water. He replies with your name in a tone far less cordial. Something about it all has the hair on the back of your neck standing up and your body moving into a defensive position; you’re pretty sure you’re in for a fight whether you want one or not.
“What do you want Teeks?” you ask after a minute long staredown that feels like an eternity. There’s no mistaking the way his jaw clenches as his nickname leaves your lips.
“You can’t keep hurting him like this,” he says simply. Your posture relaxes when you realize you’re not in for a verbal lashing, but then you’re confused. Hurting him? By simply existing?
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t act so surprised or confused. You know exactly what you’re doing,” he replies, but doesn’t elaborate further, shouting that he’s coming when someone calls for him. Travis walks backwards a few steps, his eyes never leaving yours before he’s shaking his head and rejoining the others.
You can’t stop thinking about it though, the conversation replaying over and over in your mind. What exactly did Travis think you were doing, and why was it hurting Kevin? Was your presence really that toxic, your existence here, in this house, that painful? You can read between the lines, fluent in the art of never saying what you mean, and so you know that Travis (and likely everyone else) thinks you have ulterior motives, like it’s fun for you or some sort of game the way you dance around Kevin, lost in the memory of what it’s like to have him and lose him.
And so you pull away even further. Gone are the nights spent separately but together on the couch. Conveniently, work picks up around the same time, giving you the out of late nights in the office where you return so exhausted you do nothing but shower and fall into bed.
You start looking for apartments to rent once again.
It works for a time. Kevin’s busy being a superstar, you’re busy avoiding him - the perfect scenario, really. But he’s not stupid, he knows something is going on, that there’s something you’re not telling him.
“You’re not holding up your end of the bargain, you know,” he states offhandedly on one of the rare occasions he has to speak with you before you flee in the morning. You pause with your hand on the coffee pot and turn to him with your eyebrows raised. “Home cooked dinner, remember?”
Gulping, you turn back to the task at hand, fixing up your travel mug of coffee just the way you like it. With a tone that feels clipped and forced, you reply, “Right, how about tomorrow night?”
“It’s a date.”
-
“Something smells good,” Kevin’s loud voice breaks the silence you’d been cooking in.
You shrug, stirring the sauce briefly before pulling a noodle from the pot to test. He can’t help the smile that breaks out upon watching your face scrunch up thoughtfully before you sigh, “Needs another minute. Think you can set the table?”
He does as he’s told; he always was the type to ask ‘how high’ when you told him to jump.
“Tastes good, too,” he states later while sitting across from you at the dining table the two of you only ever used when his mom was in town. There’s an open bottle of wine on the table between you, but you can’t help but shift your eyes toward the wine rack behind him, thinking you’ll likely need another soon.
“It’s just spaghetti bolognese,” you shrug self-deprecatingly. It’s not like it took a whole lot of effort, or like you’d slaved away all day at it.
He appreciates it all the same though, smiling genuinely at you before softly speaking, “It always reminds me of sophomore year.”
Though the memory of being so in love during your college years is a painful one now, what with how it all ended, it still brings a thoughtful smile to your face. You had hated living on campus, your freshman year roommate was a total snob and you despised the lack of privacy, and so you’d rented an apartment nearby sophomore year with a few friends you’d met in an intro econ class. Kev had spent all his free time at your apartment rather than his own space, not that you had minded.
To celebrate your first anniversary, you’d sexiled your roommates and made him the very meal you were now eating.
For a moment you’re embarrassed, it’s not that you’d exactly forgotten the memory, but it hadn’t been on your mind as you’d started cooking. It was just quick and easy, and in all honesty, you’d probably be able to make it in your sleep by now. He doesn’t bug you, though, doesn’t say anything stupid or make you feel like you were in the wrong.
It’s quiet then, the only sound being your playlist quietly playing through the speaker in the kitchen from where you’d forgotten to stop it. Quiet, that is until he opens his mouth.
“You’ve been avoiding me.” It’s a statement, not a question, but you freeze with your fork midair just the same.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, prim and proper, hoping he lets it go. That wasn’t really Kevin’s style, though, not until the last few months before the end of your relationship. When he’d let you speak in half truths and responded in kind, if either of you spoke at all. Before then, he was a straight-to-the-point, never go to sleep angry kind of guy, and so you knew your hopes were unfounded.
“Cut the shit.” His body language mirrors his tone of voice, shoulders slumped and expression melancholy.
“Nothing, work’s just picked up and I’m a little stressed about some deadlines. No big deal.” You avoid his eyes, carefully twirling some spaghetti around your fork.
He says your name with such conviction that you almost break, bottom lip twitching with the desire to pout. You swallow down whatever you might have said alongside a bite of your food. A low growl leaves his throat then, alongside the slamming of his fist on the dinner table, the silverware rattling in response. You flinch, but finally meet his eyes and is that not what he had wanted? “What’s. Going. On?” His words are short, and his temper is too, but beneath it all is a desire to know that you’re okay.
Part of you wonders if it would be better to double down. To insist that he’s crazy, that nothing’s wrong. It calls back a bit too strongly to the last set of fights between the two of you right before you left with your bags backed and an empty ring finger. When you danced around the truth, hinting and implying and speaking in tongues rather than admit your insecurities. There were many nights in the time since where you wondered if you’d just dug in a little deeper, let him in a little closer, if things wouldn’t have ended up the way they did.
Another part of you kind of wants to hash it all out, right here, right now. Inside of you is that sweet eighteen year old who fell in love with a gentle giant at a house party and she’s practically begging on her knees for you to let her speak. To let her carve out the heart that still beats for him and place it neatly on the table for him to take. You can’t though. Not while the you with her bags packed and the shattered pieces of her heart stuck together with a shoddy bandaid stands in front screaming to get out of here.
And then there’s you, as you are, sitting at this dinner table that holds so many memories - the first night in the new house, birthdays, anniversaries, the laughter of his nieces and nephews. You are sad that it’s come to this, broken at the idea of the distance between you expanding far past the length of the dining room table, confused that now he’s choosing to talk about it when it was fine for months to skirt around the issues.
“Now you wanna talk about it?” you can’t help but snap. Kevin reacts like you’ve slapped him, flinching and grimacing and you know you haven’t been wrong that it was purposeful the way he’s avoided it all.
It doesn’t temper his attitude though, his grip on his fork only tightening as he speaks through a tense jaw, “Yeah, I do. So talk.” And you really want to latch onto the anger and the hurt you feel licking up your spine and wield words like a knife. But what right do you have to do that? To throw things back at him. He’s not your fiance, not even your boyfriend anymore. Just an ex with a big heart, letting you stay in the house you picked out until you find your own brick house with a bright open concept kitchen and someone new to cook dinner with in it.
And so you decide to be a little vulnerable. Sighing, you ask, “Do you regret letting me stay?”
Though the syllables are anything but complex, the question is not an easy one and neither is the answer. He’s silent for long enough that you start to wonder if you’ve said something wrong. He lets a hand run down his face, squeezing his chin for a second. “Why are you asking me that?” Kevin might not be the man warming your bed every night anymore, but he still knows you better than anyone else and he’s sure there’s something more going on here than a little doubt and insecurity.
“Can you please just answer the question?” you snap again. You’d feel bad about it, but you can’t feel anything beyond the anxiety that’s causing your heart to race in your chest.
“No, I don’t,” he says finally and you really don’t know if the emotion you feel is relief or grief. They’re so similar, sisters not twins in the way they both cause your jaw to unclench, your shoulders to drop.
“Why don’t you regret it?”
His expression falls just the tiniest amount further, and if you didn’t know every line of his face so intimately, you probably wouldn’t notice. “I’m only going to ask you one more time,” he speaks through a clenched jaw, “Why are you asking me all this?”
You swallow hard then, the image of Travis with a snarled mouth just outside your door so clear in your mind. “Travis said something,” you admit softly. He curses softly under his breath, rising from his chair and crossing the space between you quickly before pulling you up along with him. The weight of your hands in his is as comforting and grounding as you remember, though you focus your gaze on where your limbs are linked. He squeezes your fingers, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you look up into his eyes.
“His heart’s in the right place,” he says and you can’t find it in yours to disagree. You know that Kev was as broken by the break up as you were and you know that you left the mess for the likes of Trav and Nolan and everyone else to clean. The thing is, you know this and you’ve already been feeling guilty about this, but to have such a harsh reminder thrown in your face hit you that much harder. “None of this has been easy for me, you know. Nothing has, not since... well...” Not since you left. “But I will always want what is best for you and that’s why I invited you to stay and that’s why I want you to keep staying here.”
You feel it, all the words unspoken between you, all the hurt and the anguish and the yearning. You feel it, and yet you allow him to pull you in for a heavy hug, one where his every emotion pours out of every inch of his skin. Squeezing him tightly right back, you listen to the steady rhythm of his heart, inhale the heady scent of his aftershave, memorize the feel of him all around you, invading every single one of your senses.
“We’re okay right? You still mean a lot to me and I don’t ever want us to feel like strangers.” You may not have Kevin in the way you used to, but you can’t ever go back to watching his life from the sidelines. It’s another sliver of vulnerability and he swallows it up greedily. One hand slides to the underside of your jaw, cradling your face in his large hand as he tilts your head backwards just a smidge. He presses his lips to your forehead in a motion that you feel all the way down to the tips of your toes.
“We’re okay, baby. We’re okay.” The pet name slips out without much thought from him, but he doesn’t take it back and you don’t make a big deal out of it.
And you are okay. You resume watching tv on the couch separately but together, the inches between you slowly fading until you find yourself resting your head on his shoulder while some terrible action flick plays on. The home cooked dinners ramp up too, a mix of old and new favorites enjoyed at the dining table, with good conversation and even better laughter. Somehow, Ryanne even convinces you to come to a few home games, and it doesn’t even make you feel that strange or that much of an outsider - especially not after a cold beer during warmups and a cuddly Gav on your lap for most of the game.
You’re okay but you’re not okay because you do all these things as a side character in his life. No longer are you a starring cast member of the Kevin Hayes Show, the smarter half of the A plotline. You’re a C plot at best, a minor background character who delivers the punchline that is your new relationship or lack thereof. There are no hands on thighs or asses or breasts when you sit on the couch together, no pretext or motive behind watching the film like there once was. When you cook those dinners, you don’t have to ward off wandering hands and stolen kisses that distract you long enough for the smoke detector to start beeping. Ryanne is a friend but so is Kevin and the family box doesn’t hold the same comfort it once did.
It’s still hard and it still hurts, but you’re navigating a life with Kevin that isn’t a life with Kevin. Not the kind you’d always imagined and dreamed of, that is.
-
It’s an old habit, the way you pull your favorite navy suit of his from his closet, hanging it carefully on the hook on the back of his door. You used to do this, before; set out a suit for him to wear for his game while he was at morning skate. There’s no real explanation for why you do it now, except, maybe, that it feels right to do so. Like maybe you could lean into it for a moment and pretend that nothing had ever gone wrong, that you’d never been hurt.
That feeling doesn’t last long, not as you return to the living room and curl up on the couch, old reruns of some sitcom playing on tv while you pretend you’re not waiting for him to come home.
Home.
What a strange word, with an even stranger connotation. Once this house had been your home, the bedroom he now sleeps alone in had once contained your shared bed, his closet that is no longer full once held your work clothes alongside his suits, his ensuite once boasted your toothbrush alongside his. And then it had been cruelly taken from you, the very rug you now stand on had been pulled from beneath your feet. It had been your doing as much as it had been his, of course, but the point remains the same. This was no longer your house, so when did it become home to you once again?
Although, was it the brick and mortar that felt like home or was it the person?
You don’t have much time to dwell on it before he’s back, time fading as he grabs a bite to eat and then heads to his room for a nap. Once upon a time, he would have begged you to join him, probably copping a feel in the process. Once upon a time, you used to fall asleep with your head on his chest.
When he emerges a while later, you have to pretend like you’re not caught up in the memory of it all by the sight of him in that suit. Like you don’t remember the press of that belt buckle into your stomach, or the slide of those lapels under your fingertips. He thanks you with that big dumb grin of his, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he leaves for the arena.
You don’t go to the game; he’d never invited you to and you were still too stuck on how to co-exist within this space without crossing boundaries that it never even occurred to you to ask instead, but that doesn’t stop you from watching from the couch. The sweater you wear is old, nearly a decade old in fact, a souvenir from the first year you’d known Kevin. It’s a Boston College hoodie, the maroon and gold lettering long since faded, something you’d borrowed from him when you were still ‘just friends’ and hadn’t ever given back. Not even when you left him.
The game is a good one, you think, even though you’ve only got eyes for number thirteen. Some time between the first and second periods, you’d cracked a bottle of wine, and by the time Kevin comes home, you’re well on your way to downing a second bottle. It’s late, and if you’d been sleeping you’re certain you would have woken up from the sound of him bustling through the door.
“Jesus, you didn’t drive here did you?” you snap as he trips over his own discarded loafers.
“Ubered,” he shrugs, before he’s lighting up with a grin. “You really do care.”
“Of course I care, Kev,” you reply earnestly, and all traces of laughter are gone immediately from his face. There’s a tension then, and you’re not sure if it rests in the weight of your words and their implication, or if the tension has existed here all along. Truthfully it’s likely a mix of the two, but you don’t dwell on it as you lift from your spot on the couch and approach him. There’s no mistaking the look in his eyes as he takes in the sweater you’re wearing, his old number on the sleeve.
The stubble on his cheek looks so inviting to your tipsy mind, your fingertips flexing with your desire to cup his jaw. You come together, then, unsure of who exactly took the first step forward. It doesn’t really matter though, not with your entire being caged within his arms. It’s gentler than you can remember ever being with Kevin before, almost as if you’re both parcels stamped ‘fragile, handle with care’ and one wrong move will result in pieces of shattered glass on the hardwood floor. It’s intimate and warm and comforting, your head pressed against his chest, like not a single other thing matters in the world.
As you pull apart you press a chaste kiss to his adams apple where the top button of his shirt has been undone. It’s like something is set off within you from just that simple touch, as you suddenly feel the urge to kiss every inch of his skin. Slowly and methodically, you unbutton the rest of the way down, kissing the newly revealed flesh after every one comes undone. It’s gentle and reverent, the way you practically worship at the altar of his body.
He lets you do it without any sort of protest or movement, hands awkwardly dropped at his sides until you reach the last button and pull the bottom of his shirt to untuck it. It’s like something has awoken in him too, as he reaches for you, pulling you up to him where he’s leaned in as well. One hand cups your cheek, thumb gently rubbing at your cheekbone, while the other tangles in your hair as your lips meet. He tastes like beer and honey, and on anyone else it would be a strange combination, but you can’t get enough of it even as your hands slide his shirt off his shoulders.
As the garment drops to the floor, Kevin’s reaching for your sweatshirt, calloused fingertips brushing against your skin as he helps you take it off, the kiss breaking for only the time it takes for the offending item to leave your body. From there he walks you to his bedroom with practiced ease, and if his tongue hadn’t been down your throat, you might have allowed yourself to wallow in the hurt that comes with the knowledge of how he’d gotten all that practice.
As it stands, you can barely remember your own name, so caught up in the feel of his bare chest and the gentle roll of his hips against your own.
You’re overcome with emotion when he lays you down so gently, so carefully, against the sheets of his unmade bed. His kiss is soft and sweet, but yet still so inexplicably heavy you feel it all over your body. He’s gentle still as he makes his way down your body, ridding you of your leggings and underwear and settling between your thighs.
There’s a reverent look on his eyes as he presses gentle kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, and you can’t help the way his name falls from your lips, pleading. He smiles up at you then, a tender grin on his face as he says, “Yeah, baby, I know what you need.” And he does, finally pressing his mouth to the ache between your thighs. You sigh contently, the feeling one you’d sorely missed all these months, curling one hand into the hair atop his head and lacing the other with his fingers on your hip.
He coaxes you through one gentle orgasm and then another, humming and moaning against you in clear pleasure, asking and pleading for you to ‘give him one more’.
When he pulls back from your body, chin gleaming and chest heaving, you instinctively begin to turn onto your stomach, into his favorite position to have you in. He stops you, one hand sliding to cup your chin as he presses his lips to yours solidly, “Wanna see you.”
It sends a rush of longing through you, and so you settle further into his pillows, wrapping your arms around him and reeling him in. It’s a stretch as he fills you, little whines escaping your lips until he’s fully sheathed within you. You’d be content to lie here forever like this with him, but moments later he’s pulling your leg to wrap around his waist while he slowly begins to move.
There’s a moment, though, of almost full clarity as your hands tangle in his hair while your head is thrown back. He pauses, eyes boring into your very soul, open mouths doing nothing but passing air into each other’s lungs. He’s not moving but you feel him, every inch of his body and mind and love and it’s everything you could never say, every word you likely never would. It’s everything and he’s everything and you never want the moment to end.
It does, with a flex of his hips and your nails scratching at his scalp, his chain hovering and dragging over your breasts as you find salvation together. “You were fuckin’ made for me,” he groans into the skin of your neck, kissing and sucking and biting.
You fall asleep in his arms, sweaty and tired and content in a way you’ve been a thousand times before, the way it should always be.
-
The harsh morning rays of the sun tell a different story. You come into consciousness with the feeling of being completely encapsulated by another’s warmth. On instinct, you press back against his still naked body, preening as his arm tightens around your waist in return.
Until you remember this isn’t your bed or your home and the man asleep next to you isn’t your fiancé anymore. Guilt and shame and self-loathing bubble in your gut as the harsh realization settles in. It descends into panic as you try to plot your way out of the hole you dug with your bare hands.
It all only worsens as Kevin begins to stir, a mumbled ‘morning’ in your ear that you feel like a buzz of electricity down your spine. It would be so easy to lean back into the warmth of his body, the comforting weight of his hands, the soft press of his lips to your skin.
But none of that is yours to want anymore.
Kevin’s more than a little disoriented, as sleep lets him shake free of her clutches, he comes to a few realizations of his own. You’re here, in this bed you’d once shared. Your naked frame is pressed to his own and the scent of your shampoo is everywhere. For the briefest of moments he lets himself hope, lets himself believe that this is the moment he’s been waiting for, the one where you come home to him and you stay. In this bed, in these sheets, in this home. But you’re not replying to his morning greeting, and then you’re pulling from his embrace, movements jilted and awkward and hurried. “What-”
“This was a mistake,” you blurt out, hopping back into your pants and eyes frantically searching for your shirt. The memory of your sweatshirt hitting the ground in the kitchen has you squeezing your eyes shut for a moment before you’re slipping on a hoodie of his that was lying on the chair.
He sits up in bed, the sheet falling to pool at his waist and you have to force your eyes to remain above his shoulders. Truthfully, it’s not that difficult considering your eyes are focused on the wall behind him. He’s a little defensive, and a lot indignant as he all but asks you to repeat yourself. “A mistake? You’re gonna call this a mistake?”
“Yes, a mistake. You were just lonely and horny and that’s my fault because I've just been hanging around here like your shadow.” It’s the best you can come up with, some half-cocked explanation with more holes in it than a screen door. It’s flimsy like one too, rattling in the wind that is Kevin’s anger.
He gets up, slipping on a pair of underwear and stalking towards you with an unreadable look in his eye. “Horny and lonely? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Horny and lonely, Kevin. And- And if you need me to leave the house so you can pick up, I can do that or- or I’ll stay in my room and-“
“What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t want to ‘pick up’.” He sounds disgusted with the idea, disgusted with the way you’re talking right now but you can’t stop yourself.
“Well clearly you should be, there’s no other explanation for last night.” You’re doubling down on your bullshit, unwilling and unable to listen to the voice inside of you that is screaming your love for him. It had been long buried, tucked beneath the hurt and the sadness and the anger, but last night had brought it to the surface. Everything about Kevin is so drawing to you, from the soft warmth of his body to the hard expression on his face, but you swallow it down.
“No other explanation?” He shakes his head in disbelief, the image of you in bed next to him quickly lighting up in flames, pooling into ash at his feet. “Tell me the fucking truth.”
You inhale sharply and he knows he’s hit his mark. It’s satisfying, the way he cuts through your bullshit, but the satisfaction doesn’t last. Because while he’s thinking about everything that could go right, you’re still hung up on everything that went wrong. On the last few months of your relationship, but especially on that final fight that nailed the very last nail in the coffin.
For a minute you’re back in this house, a few rooms over, a little younger.
“I don’t know what I want to do!” you shout, dragging your hands down your face. The argument isn’t a new one, in fact it’s been a recurring disagreement, ever since you were first put forward for the promotion. It’s kind of a big deal - a leadership position at your age is almost unheard of, but it was your name put forward, and your position to accept.
“I think you do, I think you’re just too much of a coward to say it out loud. There’s two choices here, baby,” the way the pet name leaves his lips is a mockery of the syllables, the frustration and the anger that’s been building for months finally coming to a head, “either you stay with me, or you take the job and go. We both know what you’re going to choose.”
You can’t help the way you go immediately on the attack, the fear of losing everything before you so great, it’s got you completely and wholly irrational. “I can’t just sit around here and raise your babies and post on instagram and have a stupid lifestyle blog. I’m sorry that I can’t be the perfect wife and go to all of your home games and decorate stupid jean jackets.”
It’s not what he’s asking you to do, not really. He’s asking for you to finally make a decision and stick to it. He knows and you know and everyone else around you knows that this is the fork in the road of your relationship. His schedule is insane enough, there’s no way you’ll be able to handle a long distance relationship. It’s less than 100 miles between your front door and New York, but it might as well be oceans away with how little you’ll see each other. And he knows, he knows this is an amazing opportunity for you, a once in a lifetime shot, and though he wants to beg you to stay, he knows he needs to let you go. He loves you more than he cares for himself and he wants your every dream to come true. Above everything, he knows you need to go to New York and you need to take this opportunity and you need to leave him behind.
He knows all this, and yet it still stings as you all but tell him you don’t want to have his children. Kev’s wanted to be a dad for as long as he can remember, and he’s wanted you to be their mom for as long as he’s known you. For the better part of a decade, he’s pictured babies, and he’s pictured you loving them and holding them and raising them. He’s pictured half of you and all the best parts of himself together. It’s a dream he’s slowly been letting go of in the time that’s passed since you first brought up the promotion, but to have it so neatly and completely taken from him is staggering.
“I never asked you for any of those things,” he argues, one hand gripping at the curls at the top of his head. “I know you’re driven and I know you’re smarter than me or anyone I know. And that’s why I know you’re going to take this job and you’re going to leave me. I want you to have everything that you want.”
“But what if what I want is you?” You’re hysterical now, though this is not a new argument, it’s never reached these levels before. You feel it, deep in your bones that this is it, that this is the end of something beautiful and magical. The relationship is slipping through your fingers, grains of sand falling and falling and falling until your hourglass is tipped over and empty.
“It’s not,” he says simply. “It’s not enough.”
There’s a final note in his voice and you know he’s not going to change his mind and you know you’re not either. Because truthfully, you were probably always going to pick the job and the future. You’d just hoped that the two of you could find compromise along the way. Although a large part of you always knew it wasn’t meant to last, that you would never be the kind of girl who was good enough to marry the likes of Kevin Hayes. No matter how much you loved him, nothing would ever change the fact that you didn’t have the look or the lifestyle or the wealthy family to fall back on. You knew that he would grow to resent all the things that once made him fall in love with you, that your contrarian ways and your ego and your goals and aspirations made you incompatible with the WAG life. You knew that when he said it wasn’t enough, he really meant you.
You don’t compromise; you accept the position and move out two weeks later.
And then you’re back here, a little older, a little wiser. And so you shake your head, backing away slowly. “It doesn’t fucking matter, Kevin. Okay? It doesn’t fucking matter because I’m still me and you’re still you and you told me that it wasn’t enough. Okay? So it doesn’t matter.” He goes to follow you but you put your hand out in an attempt to keep the distance, “Don’t. Okay? Don’t. I’ll give you your sweater back, I promise, but I need some space.”
“Okay,” his voice shakes as he speaks, “Have your space, but please come home.”
→ All flights are cancelled and we’re the only ones who didn’t make it home to see our families.
♦ pairing: denis gurianov x reader
♦ word count: 1.2k+
♦ an: part four of my holiday blurb series :) hope you enjoy!
“No, no, no, no, NO.”
You knew that you were being dramatic as you dropped your bag to the floor as saw the word cancelled flash across the flight board. Every single flight had one of those dreaded messaged next to it, and you felt like you could cry.
“Looks like we were too late.”
The last thing you expected was to hear a friendly voice in the middle of your breakdown, but when you spun around at the sound, you felt a momentary relief when you saw Denis standing behind you. He looked just as dejected as you did, but when your eyes met, he still managed a smile.
“No luck for you either, huh?” you asked, even though you were sure you already knew the answer. The storm that was coming had grounded all flights, bringing air travel to a standstill in Dallas.
“I guess that’s what I get for making a last-minute flight,” he mused, and you let out a defeated sigh in response.
When a promotion at work calls for you to transfer back to Philadelphia, your ex-fiancé offers you the guest room of the home you used to share. What could possibly go wrong?
Inside of you is that sweet eighteen year old who fell in love with a gentle giant at a house party and she’s practically begging on her knees for you to let her speak. To let her carve out the heart that still beats for him and place it neatly on the table for him to take. You can’t though. Not while the you with her bags packed and the shattered pieces of her heart stuck together with a shoddy bandaid stands in front screaming to get out of here.
summary: seeing tyson for the first time since the break up brings up a bunch of feelings and stuff from your past.
specified pronouns: she/her.
word count: 1.8k
warnings: angst and maybe one bad word.
a/n: work three! ari causing us pain, likely. well enjoy, I promise the next one is pretty cute.
(*credit to gif owner*)
Y/N was back home for the holidays. Sitting in her childhood bedroom as she took in all the small details of the room she had grown up in. Nothing had changed since she was last here. Everything still remained the same as if she was still in high school.
She hadn’t come home the past few christmases, always making up excuses of how she had to work christmas day or how there were no flights available. Except it was so much more than that. See the thing is coming back home and sitting here made all these memories resurface. All these memories of how she had gotten broken up with in this very room, how she had her first kiss in the living room downstairs, and how she had first experienced the feeling of love right on her very front porch. Experienced all her firsts with the same guy and since they had broken up she hadn't seen him, couldn't bring herself to see him.
But after two years Y/N felt as though she had to put her big girl boots on and drive herself home. Because no guy was going to ruin the feeling of happiness of seeing her family. Or the comfort of being back home.
~~~
There was a knock on the door, Y/N rushing down the stairs since no one was home but her. Yelling a coming before opening the door and expecting a stranger leaving a package that she had to sign for. But what she didn't expect was her ex boyfriend on the front porch, with cookies in hand.
Y/N took a step back, trying to process that this was the first time that they were seeing each other since the break up. All these memories coming back to her.
first love.
Y/N and Tyson sat on the porch. It was late at night. Both of them having got home from a date at the small diner in town. All of this was still new to them. The fuzzy feeling that they brought each other. They had been going out for about six months now, their parents saying that it was about time. Now them sitting side by side as they enjoyed each other's warmth.
“You know I love you right.” Tyson said, taking in the girl next to him. How all of this, them two here in each other's arms just seemed so natural. How both of them didn't want to let go, because it seemed as if they did they wouldn't be able to come back to each other.
~~~
“Oh uhm Tyson, hello.” the girl said as she wrapped her arms around her, feeling all of a sudden exposed.
“Hey uhm my mom made these cookies and wanted me to bring them over. It's nice to see you back home.” he said as he took in your appearance. See the thing was, was it though, it was just a thing people said to be nice and nothing more.
“Tell her thank you.” She said as she grabbed the cookies and their fingers lightly grazed each other. Both of them pulled away after feeling the warmth that both of them brought compared to the cold winter air.
“I guess I'll see you around then.” Tyson said as a small smile laid on his face and he turned around and started to walk back home.
“Yeah I guess so.” Y/N said but he was already down the steps and off the porch, too far away to hear her.
~~~
Y/N’s family always threw a gathering for Christmas. It was just a thing they did to bring the neighborhood together. Since she was a little girl she could remember dancing with the old lady from next door and waiting for her turn to get one of those fancy glasses filled with the bubbly drink flavored like apple that she loved so much.
So now she was in her room getting ready for the party that was already in full swing downstairs. Putting on a “christmasy” outfit and the last finishing touches to her outfit before heading downstairs.
After saying hello to everyone and then sitting on the couch with a drink in hand. Sitting next to the younger Jost sibling, Kacey.
“Oh my god Kacey hi.” Y/N said as she hugged the younger girl.
“Y/N hey nice to see you back home, How are you?” Kacey asked her.
"I'm doing pretty good, just enjoying being back home. How are you? How's school?” Y/N responded back.
“Oh, I'm good. School’s good , you know…” Before Kacey finished her older brother came behind her making her halt mid conversation.
“Kacey mom wants you to go across the street to get the present for white elephant. She forgot it.” Tyson told his younger kid sister.
“Did she actually tell you to tell me to do it or do you not just want to do it?” She said, rolling her eyes at her older brother.
“No yeah. She actually sent you.” He told her as Kacey said she'd be right back and headed out into the cold St. Albert weather. Leaving you and Tyson sitting now on the couch side by side. Now you weren't sure what the universe was trying to do honestly. Somehow you were back home for the first time in two years and everytime you bumped into your ex it happened somewhere where something in your relationship had happened. Like now both of you were sitting where your first kiss had happened almost four years ago.
first kiss.
It was the day after new years. The first day of the new year you could say. The high of welcoming the new year wearing off. Tyson and Y/N both laying on the couch in each other's arms. It had been a lazy day, both of them doing nothing and having nothing to do.
“I forgot to do something last night.” Tyson spoke up as you guys watched whatever rerun was on tv.
"What did you forget?” You asked knitting your eyebrows in confusion thinking of what he could have forgotten.
“I forgot this.” He said as he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your lips. “Happy new year.” He said as he gave you your New Year's kiss. You laughed at his attempt at a pick up line.
"Oh you're good jost.” You said as you hit him on the shoulder. An easy carefree feeling between the two of you.
~~~
Both of you sat there, none of you starting the conversation. “I like the matching sweaters.” You told him as you took in his sweater that was the same as Kacey’s.
“Thanks, my mom thought it was a good idea since she has both of us home.” He told you as both of you smiled at each other but no further conversation was said.
~~~
Y/N sat in her room. She was going to be leaving in a few days so she was packing her bags. Smiling as she saw Kacey and Tyson out in the front yard throwing snowballs and laughing at each other. Her heart warming at the sibling gesture.
She thought about the past couple of days and how Tyson had made her feel. She had missed him, missed the way he made her feel. Except she knew that if they did get back together it wasn't going to be the same, be the same as what they had four years ago. Because now, both of them had grown and were way different people that they were when they first started dating. So Y/N shook the idea out of her mind. Knowing that she was only feeling this because she was seeing him again since the breakup and since coming back home.
first heartbreak.
Here Y/N laid in her bed. The only source of light coming from the full moon outside. She was talking to Tyson on the phone. He had made his NHL debut already. Grown accustomed to life in Colorado. Except as he was growing accustomed to life there his life here was slowly slipping away. They knew it was bound to happen. I mean with so many miles between them. Except that she didn't expect to be broken up with tonight, I mean did anyone really expect to be broken up with on a specific day.
"Y/N i love you. You know that right.” Tyson said as he took in his girlfriend on the facetime call.
“Ty I love you too.” She replied back.
“I love you so goddamn much that it's scary. And I hate that us being apart is slowly breaking you. But it's been a year Y/N. A year since we've seen each other. I don't want to keep on doing this to you.” He said.
“Tyson what are you saying?” Y/N said as she looked at her boyfriend.
“I'm saying that maybe it's best if we take a break. Just until I can go back home.” Tyson said almost pleadingly.
“Are you fucking kidding.” Y/N whispered to herself as she let out a bitter laugh. “Tyson you can't just break up with me because you think it's breaking me. I think I should be able to state my opinion also.” She said. A break, he wanted a break. Of course she knew that this wasn't going to be just a break, I mean when was he actually going to be coming home, there wasn't a set time. It could be a few weeks, or months.
“Y/N please. I want what's best for you.”
“Tyson if you wanted what was best for me you wouldn't be breaking up with me right now. But fine if you want a break, let's take a break.” She said as she ran her hands over her face.
After that night everything was different. Y/N avoided Tyson. Trying to understand what she could've done to change the circumstances, even if she knew Tyson was partially right. But of course Tyson being the person he was always put everyone before himself and as he broke your heart all he was thinking about was how the long distance was breaking you, except as you laid in your room that night he had also broken your heart which made things even worse.
~~~
Coming back home was good. It was nice. Comforting maybe. But the thing is that at some point you have to face reality again. So once she left St. Albert none of this would matter again because all that would matter would be her life, her job, her responsibilities. Because the comfort of home was just for a while, for a few days, and she would have to wait till next christmas to experience it again.
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summary: What started in Dallas finds its roots in Seattle.
warnings: conversations about cancer, infertility (as a result of a total hysterectomy), and a subsequent discussion about being a 'failure of a woman' in reference to other conversations that happened prior to this fic.
Devin hadn’t meant to make a habit of showing up at parties as a loose plus one. The connections were getting looser and looser with every party, but she supposed that she’d shown her face enough that people were beginning to assume she belonged. She wasn’t entirely wrong when she was being greeted by name every five minutes.
The house the Uber had dropped her off at was new to her and all she’d been told in the message from Naomi was ‘Athlete’—it checked out. It was nicely sized and contemporary, and she couldn’t wait to find the best vantage point to see Shilshole Bay in all its glory.
There were a few familiar faces hovering about, enough that Devin was able to kill time before Naomi showed without just drinking alone in the corner—though judging by some of the people milling about she would not have been the only one.
Devin squeezed through a doorway that was occupied by two people making out aggressively and headed towards the bar in search of her next drink. There was a mirror on the wall behind the bar, reflecting the room back at her as she leant over it to grab tequila and a shot glass. She was just about to straight up when a large hand landed on her lower back… her ass. It was definitely on her ass.
“I’d remember if I’d seen you before.”
Devin raised her head, saw who was reflected in the mirror and snorted.
“Get your hand off my ass, Jamie.”
Jamie flinched, immediately retracting his hand and at least looking a little sheepish.
“Devin—you got a haircut,” he said, staring pointedly at her face as she turned and settled her back against the bar.
“I also got new tits but thank you for not mentioning that first,” she winked.
Jamie pulled another shot glass from behind the bar and gestured for Devin to pour them shots. They both grimaced but tried to pretend they were unfazed as tequila slid down their throats.”
“It’s a big change,” he said, gesturing to her hair and still not looking at her chest.
It was a big change. Her hair, when she’d left Dallas, had been long enough to reach the curve of her ass and had been naturally black. The change, and it was recent enough that she was still getting used to it herself, had it barely brushing her jawline and dyed a platinum blonde.
“I look good, though.”
“Of course, you do.”
Devin smiled and shimmied her shoulders a little before putting the tequila and shot glass back on the bar. With her hands free, she patted both of his shoulders.
“Do me a favour and don’t immediately go for the ass grab. Consent is sexy.”
Devin left him at the bar with the instruction for him to find her later.
Later arrived after a rather uneventful evening—Devin had started to wander around the house, everyone was drunk enough that they didn’t seem to notice her opening doors that had otherwise been closed. The couple who had been making out in the doorway really did not seem to notice when Devin opened a bedroom door and caught them mid-blowjob.
“Do you always go through every room at a house party?” Jamie asked, materialisation out of thin air despite being the biggest man there.
“Only when I’m trying to find the best view of the Bay,” she answered, unembarrassed, as she innocently opened another door.
“It’s not from in there,” Jamie said knowingly. Sure enough, the door opened to a linen closet. “Come with me—I know exactly where to see the view.”
Devin followed him down the hall and into what must have been the master bedroom.
She sighed, her eyes rolling instinctively when she saw the framed jersey on the wall—a Dallas Stars Winter Classic jersey with the Number 2 on the arms.
“This is your house.”
“You didn’t know that?” Jamie asked, turning back with one hand still on his balcony door.
“Babe, I just get told where the party is and show up.”
“I should have known.”
He pushed the balcony door open, and Devin averted her eyes to avoid his devilish smirk.
It had been how they’d met; Devin being told about a house party at Seguin’s. The invite was as vague as anything she’d received since prior or since, but she’d shown up, acted like she fit in, and ended up with a genuine invite back to Jamie’s place; nearly four years had passed since that night.
Devin stepped onto the balcony, keeping a wide berth between her and Jamie. The view didn’t disappoint, so she stepped towards the railing, rested her hands on it, and stared out over the water to Bainbridge Island.
“Is the view what you wanted?”
“It’s beautiful,” Devin answered. “I think I like Seattle better than Dallas.”
“I don’t think you can ever go back now.”
“Wasn’t ever planning on it to be honest. You were never gonna see me again.”
Jamie was silent behind her for long enough that Devin looked back over her shoulder to check on him. It didn’t surprise her, really, to find him staring at her.
“It’s really nice to see you again.”
His voice was softer than she’d ever remembered hearing, and it caused her to tilt her head as she tried to run it through her mind again. His face was just as soft, though maybe a little intense in the eyes, and her heart might have skipped a beat.
“I’m really glad you ended up here,” she said back, even if it was a silly admission to make to someone who had been back in her life for only a couple of hours. He hadn’t even really been in her life much before she left.
That didn’t matter, though. Devin was moving towards him before she had time to think of much else. He seemed to be expecting her, catching her effortlessly as she pushed herself into his personal space, craning her neck to kiss him with an intensity that caught them both off guard.
Devin wasn’t small—growing up she was always the tallest girl in her class, sometimes even the tallest student—and yet Jamie always managed to make her feel that way. At six foot tall, there were few men in her everyday life who were taller than her, and even fewer who were comfortable being shorter than her; Jamie, though, had never been an issue.
There was familiarity in everything that followed, even though it had been years since their irregular hookups—Jamie still knew exactly the right pressure to put on her hips with his fingers, how to make her moan with little bites to her inner thighs.
“You’re a lot better at that than last time,” Devin said between heavy breaths, reaching up to grip the planks of the headboard just to cool herself down. “You’ve been practicing.”
Jamie’s laugh was melodic, “Someone told me that I couldn’t just rely on size, and I went and worked on it.”
“That someone was very wise,” Devin retorted, smiling to the ceiling.
She stayed staring at the ceiling, even as Jamie started moving around beside her. Every muscle in her body tensed up when she felt his finger ghost over her stomach—the shudder that ran through he was involuntary.
“These are new,” Jamie mumbled, his fingers brushing over what Devin knew was a small alien head.
“I did them myself,” she said slowly, looking down at her stomach and his large fingers. “A little at home stick-and-poke.”
Jamie moved up the ghost tattoo, saying, “Unusual placements.”
“Uh, yeah. Remember when my uterus tried to kill me?”
She knew that he’d heard about it because he’d called her the day he found out, making sure she was going to be alright in Seattle by herself, making sure the medical bills were going to be manageable.
“I do, yeah.”
“I had it removed and I hated the scars. They’ll probably go away, they’re not that big, but I just couldn’t stand to look at them. It also stops guys asking about the scars which means they can’t make me feel like I’m a failure of a woman.”
A silence followed. Silence was typical for when she told men about what she’d been through, the handful she’d thought deserved to know all immediately lost their words and let a suffocatingly heavy silence sit between them as they worked out how to tell her that she wasn’t good enough.
Jamie’s silence was different, though,
“Dev.”
“I know, it’s horrible, and if I heard anyone else say it, I’d have a fit, but I can’t shake it. It’s also why I got these done,” Devin said, gesturing to her breasts and the incision in the inframammary fold. “I can’t quite get the right angle to get those scars myself.”
“I didn’t even notice them.”
Devin sighed at the strain in Jamie’s voice, the way he was obviously trying to hide whatever emotions he was clearly feeling. She lowered a hand from the headboard and placed it on his head, flattening out his unruly hair.
“You don’t have to fix me. Or make up for anything any other guy has done.”
“There’s nothing about you that needs fixing.”
Her eye roll was instantaneous; the skip in heart took a little longer. Nothing more was said, it was just Jamie brushing his fingers over the tiny fairy to the equally tiny werewolf and finally over the vampire teeth. Devin’s hand didn’t leave his hair until he was sitting up with an unsettled grunt.
“I should probably make sure the rest of my house is still standing,” he said, looking less than happy as he was standing and pulling on his discarded clothes.
Devin sat up, her hands falling into her lap as she asked, “Do you want me to head out?”
“Nah, not at all. I don’t have to be anywhere until tomorrow afternoon; you can stay as long as you want.”
He kissed her, something she wasn’t at all expecting; one large hand holding her cheek as he tilted her face towards his and she melted so easily into it that she found herself chasing his lips even as he was pulling away and leaving the room.
She decided to rifle through his closet for a shirt she could wear because she didn’t want to sleep totally naked when there were still people milling about the house, and then slipped back underneath the covers and curled up. She was asleep before Jamie even made it back to the room.
Devin wasn’t going to admit that her heart sank when she woke up to an empty bed.
Her phone was still in the pocket of her jeans, so she pulled herself out of the bed to check the time and anything she’d missed overnight—it was nearly ten and there were two missed calls and a handful of texts from Naomi. She apologised to Naomi, said that she was fine and would explain later, and then gathered up her clothes.
It would be overstepping, in her mind, to help herself to a shower even though she desperately wanted to, so she pulled on her underwear and jeans and left Jamie’s bedroom with her shirt and shoes in hand.
Multiple voices could be heard as she descended the staircase, and Devin knew that she could slip out the front door completely undetected. She stared out the glass panel of the door, into the brewing storm and heard Jamie’s ‘you can stay as long as you want’ on repeat in her head.
She placed her shoes down by the front door, set her shirt down with them, and stepped gently towards the voices in the kitchen. She was hopeful that Jamie would be the first to see her, with anyone else’s back to her, but when she did turn the corner, it wasn’t Jamie she was met with.
“You must be Devin from Texas,” one of the unknown men said.
Jamie turned around immediately, his arm stretching out before he’d even said any words. Devin stepped into him easily, letting him wrap his arm around her shoulders.
She said to the man who had spoken to her, “That would be me,” as well as she could as Jamie kissed the top of her head and her brain momentarily short circuited.
They introduced themselves as Mason and Haydn—Jamie’s teammates, though Devin had presumed that already—and did not seem at all fazed by the way Jamie’s hand was creeping under her shirt, further and further up her stomach until his thumb was touching the underside of her breast.
“I’ll see you boys on the plane?” Jamie asked.
They both understood it was less of a question and more of an instruction to leave and Devin waited in the kitchen, trying to work out how to make herself a coffee, for Jamie to see them out to their cars.
“You’ve got me for four hours,” Jamie said, his hand pushing under her shirt again, but this time up her spine, “we can shower and then get brunch?”
Devin’s hands froze over the top of the coffee machine, a result of being distracted by the shivers his hand was sending up her spine and down her arms, combined with his suggestion taking a moment to sink in.
She faced him, his hand falling back by his side as he waited expectantly. Devin asked bluntly, “Do you just like me now because I’m a blonde with big tits?”
“We fucked when neither of those things was true,” he said resolutely, his voice pitched low so she knew just how serious he was being.
“You’ve never asked me to stay before.”
It had only been a handful of times, granted, but Devin remembered each time vividly. It would be a lie to say she’d been pining after him, it had very much just been a matter of convenience but she would always go home with him over anyone else.
Despite her comments from the night before about him improving, she’d always choose him and his careful touches and desire to please over anyone else.
She’d always left when they were done, though, and he’d always let her.
“You’ve always been a little scary, did you know that? I never wanted to ask for anything I didn’t already know you wanted.”
“Am I not scary anymore?”
“A little, mostly I just put on my big boy pants,” he said, his grin jokingly proud. “Are we going to get brunch?”
“Brunch,” Devin mocked, “You haven’t even been in Seattle half a year and they’ve already got you.”
“Are you going to answer my question?”
He was pushing her for an answer; she knew she could say no and that would be the end of it. Yet, when she looked at him closely, she knew that that’s not what she wanted to say. There were just other things she needed to get out before she could agree to something as simple as brunch.
“You get that I can’t have kids, right?”
Jamie was taken aback; Devin had expected him to be.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. Certainly. “It doesn’t bother me. Bit soon to be bringing up kids, though, isn’t it?”
“So many guys can’t handle it,” Devin sighed and then quickly found anger rising within her, “because women are only good for breeding.”
“Fucking hell,” Jamie said, his voice getting low, somewhat scary, “who have you been dating?”
Devin sighed, “It’s been a long eighteen months.”
The prior year and a half ran through her brain, a highlight reel of every time the conversation had gone the opposite direction. Of every man who had made her feel comfortable and wanted, until neither of those was true.
There were no words that could accurately describe what washed over her when Jamie next spoke, just that it was all she had wanted to hear, since even before the cancer and the surgery.
“I want you, exactly the way you come.”
Please consider leaving feedback—reblog and write in the tags or send an ask, I’m not fussed. I just want to know what you’re thinking!
A/N: @alittleoffside chatted briefly about an idea like this and though I’ve strayed from some of it, I hope that I’ve captured at least a few of the elements you had in your mind!
Summary: Your group of friends from home is small but each person holds a special place in your life and in those memories of the east coast that your time in LA will just never bring you. There’s something about Charlie in particular though, maybe his smile and maybe the way his expression makes you feel each time you catch his eye - a look that finally leads to the two of you exploring just what a lifetime of skirting around some chemistry could really mean for a weekend tucked away from that December snowfall.
It’s always the nostalgia that hits you when you’re back in Weymouth, the familiarity and the memories that live around each turn capturing you as you take in the place you’ll always call home. There are a million little changes each time you visit though, new houses popped up in what used to be quiet neighbourhoods or even those little cafes that seem to change hands with the seasons.
There are so many of those little bouts of newness sprinkled around the city but home still gives you such a sense of that peace you always crave when you’re in LA, such a breath of calm and those flickers of clarity and purpose that only these streets have ever been able to truly offer.
It’s the way your parents light up when they see you and the way those old friends from high school pull you in for a long overdue hug and it’s the way the crew of you always find that time to reminisce no matter how short your time back in Massachusetts really is.
It’s all of it that brings such a smile to your face and though you miss this place and these people far more than you really know how to say, it also makes your time with them and your time wandering these streets more special for the memories and the moments that you purposely cherish now how you hadn’t always made the time when you actually lived here.
“You definitely kissed him that night,” Madison says, eyeing you from across the crackling fire with a silly smirk and her wine pulled to her lips. Like everyone else around the circle, you’re bundled in your seat pretending that the December snowfall isn’t going to eventually chase you all inside and yet it’s the laughter that truly keeps you warm, the comfort in these stories that have all been told so many times before keeping you planted in place.
Madison is teasing you about a notorious night from high school and yet all you manage is an eye roll before you hear Charlie’s distinct voice as he steps in behind your chair.
“God, are we really going to talk about this one’s stupid crush on Donnie Campagnoni every single Christmas?”
Charlie’s hands land on your shoulders as he speaks and yet you don’t have long to settle on the warmth in that touch as chaos soon ensues all around you. His surprise visit sees everyone leaping from beneath their blankets to greet the hometown golden boy and yet you’re slow to stand yourself, always a hint behind when it comes to Charlie.
He’s genuine in each of his greetings and yet with you the last one to go in for a hug, he just smirks that same smirk he’s been carrying around for years as he offers an easy, “you look good,” that you give nothing more than an eye roll to before you’re drug deep into his chest.
And it’s not that you don’t appreciate the compliment but tonight isn’t really the night when you’d say you look that good at all, the fuzzy leggings and oversized hoodie you’re in paired with the winter boots and the parka and the messy hair really not the outfit of choice you’d say you look your best in but Charlie’s always been a bit oblivious to how you overthink every little thing and so he just hugs you close and he just means it before Jack beckons him over to one of the other chairs and you eventually all shift back to your seats yourselves.
It’s nice to catch up and nice for Charlie to not talk hockey at all for a few hours and though it doesn’t take long before you all decide to give in and shuffle inside, the few drinks you have and those hours of reminiscing all do a lot of good, even though you can feel Charlie’s eyes on you far more than they land on anyone else. It’s always like this on those visits when you see one another and always has been since you were kids and you can’t help but roll your own eyes at him once again when you finally turn in his direction.
“Take a picture; it will last longer,” you grin, the group laughing along with your genuine smile as conversation fades to the light teasing they’re all used to when it comes to you and Charlie.
He just shakes his head, beer pulled to his lips as he goes, that signature smirk warming you just the same as it has for years now. “If you’re offering a private photo shoot, you know damn well there’s no way I’ll turn you down,” he says and that confidence in his delivery makes it hard to come up with much more to say, your crush on Donnie Campagnoni in high school really nothing to the way you’ve always felt for Charlie. It’s a stupid crush because of his stupid face but you’re an adult now and you’ve dated and had great sex and you normally live for this kind of banter and yet Charlie always makes you feel exactly like you’re sixteen again.
Sometimes you think that he sees it and feels it and that’s why he pushes but then it’s gone in a flash, that look of wonder in his eyes, as he soon lets out a smooth, deep laugh of his own at your lack of response before continuing to speak. “Just wondering when you’re going to be done with big, bad, Los Angeles,” he starts again, everyone grinning as they hang onto his every word just like is commonplace each time he’s free for nights like this. “You’ve always been an east coast girl so you’ve gotta come home sometime.”
“Come home to what, Coyle?” You’re the one laughing this time, freely and with ease as you move to pull your own drink back to your lips. “My parent’s basement? I’ll pass.”
You think he’s going to let it go, though in reality you know him better than what your assumption really is and so his damn smirk is easy as he grins across from you in the kitchen.
“I’m here,” he shrugs and though your body instantly warms at his words, you’re not new to his teasing and though Charlie isn’t quite like anyone else and though you’d be lying if you didn’t let yourself settle on the what ifs of it all each time you’re home, you’re not sixteen anymore like seeing him makes you feel and life really does move on no matter what those silly thoughts have you questioning.
“So are all the rest of my friends,” you tell him, rolling into your next words, “and yet there’s lots of sun and good food and great sex in LA…”
Your words trail off and Charlie chokes on his sip of beer, just the reaction you were hoping for as you grin and move by Madison to grab a handful of chips.
“There’s great sex in Boston too,” she laughs, the graphic details she’d shared over a FaceTime with you the other day quickly coming to mind.
“Oh yes,” you smirk. “How’s Michael?”
“Don’t know a thing about him other than what he’s like naked,” she admits, the boys all groaning as she carries on, “but that’s just enough for me.”
“Nothing like a good sex friend,” you speak between bites, chewing even louder when Joey throws a piece of popcorn at your head.
Conversation moves on then, the crew of you slowly winding down into more serious talks about your jobs and relationships and life without the tilt of teasing to it all this time. Those beers switch to waters and by midnight most of you decide to head home, promising to have another night like this in the summer and those who live close by promising to catch Charlie at some home games when they’re all able.
“You’re the odd man out,” he says to you, just as you shuffle back into your coat. “You’ll have to cheer me on from the sunny coast.”
“Or, I’ll cheer on the Rangers just for fun.”
“You wouldn’t fucking dare,” he laughs, opening the door as the few of you leaving are finally ready, “not growing up around here.”
“I don’t know, there’s something about the lights of MSG…”
“Goodnight, everyone!” Charlie’s voice booms out into the porch, wild laughter following from the others as the teasing soon fades to heartfelt wishes for the holiday and a safe new year to come.
You’re sure this is it, the goodbyes always dragging on and yet your smile fades as you make it to your car, that small pit in your stomach one that always lives there when you leave the place and the people who’ve always felt like home.
“You know,” you hear then, Charlie’s voice startling you for where you’d been caught up in your own head, “Next Page is still open.”
Everyone else is in their cars now, the lights in the house darkening too and yet Charlie’s still standing there in the snow under the streetlight just a few feet behind you, hands shoved in his pockets as he waits for you to acknowledge him.
“I know,” you smirk. “Working there in high school really kicked my ass with the late nights.”
“C’mon,” he groans, “throw me a bone here or something, will you? We never see each other anymore.”
You hear the sincerity in his tone, an ache to it that settles down deep into your toes and with your back now rested against the car, you let yourself hold his eye for a beat longer than appropriate. You know what he’s getting at and though the two of you rarely go off on your own, there’s something in the stillness all around you and that look on his face that stops you from second guessing this moment like you so often would before.
And so you nod with a confident, “meet you there, Coyle,” that you throw out, regardless of how nervous you now feel in having just rolled with it, all of the reasons behind the nerves ones only sixteen year old you would really be willing to admit to. “I’ll never hear the end of it from Mads if she looks out and still sees one of our cars in the driveway.”
He grins back at the house, though there’s such a softness in his expression that you get a bit lost in it as he eventually turns back to you, catching that mirrored look in your eye. “I’ll follow you,” he says, though his voice isn’t as loud anymore and you feel that change deep in your chest.
“Don’t trust my driving?”
“Just want to make sure you get there safe,” he shrugs. “It’s not snowing a lot but it’s still snowing.”
“And everyone always said you and my brother were so alike and yet he’s never once given a shit about my winter safety.”
You’re teasing and Charlie gives into your change in tone with a small, easy laugh of his own and yet he says something you don’t hear as he opens his truck door, doing nothing more than nodding at you to hurry up when you look back to him in question.
It’s cold and you need the few minutes alone to resettle your mind and so you shake your head at him and climb inside your vehicle, thankful that the light snowfall doesn’t need more than a few flicks of your wipers.
The drive to Next Page is short and there are a flood of old memories that pass over you as you park. You spent a lot of time here in your younger years but it’s been a while since you’ve been inside the niche little cafe and so as you wordlessly meet Charlie out front, you let yourself get caught up in the moment, not speaking until you thank him when he opens the door for you.
The ding of the bell alerts the young girl behind the counter that you’ve arrived, the coffee shop glowing beneath soft lighting and quiet Christmas music. There are only two other patrons tucked along the far wall, the pair lost in conversation over their steaming mugs.
You feel Charlie behind you and yet he steps in closer, slinging his arm up and over your shoulders like he always has, still so seemingly oblivious to how that’s always made you feel. “London Fog?” His voice is soft and easy like the atmosphere and you just tip your eyes up to his as he speaks. “Or did you somehow switch to being a coffee drinker?”
“No,” you say, smirking at him in return, though still living in those annoying few nerves radiating deep beneath your skin, “I‘m just surprised you remembered is all.”
“We’ve been friends for years,” he tells you, fake annoyance in his voice as he tucks you closer while shuffling you up in front of the counter, “it’s like you always forget that.”
Before you can even speak, Charlie greets the young girl, giving your order first and then his before pulling away from you so that he can reach for his wallet. “Want anything else?”
He’s looking right at you now, though the young girl is looking right at him and you smile for how easy it is for everyone to get caught up in all that is Charlie’s smile. “That’s perfect,” you nod, thanking him for paying but he just grins and nods over to one of the corner tables, telling you to go sit and that he’ll bring your drinks over when they’re ready.
And so you make your way over to the opposite side of the cafe, tucking into the corner booth that’s always been your favourite place to sit, to study and to chat with friends. It feels so nice to settle into the worn leather and yet it doesn’t take long for Charlie to slide in opposite of you with two mugs in hand as he shrugs from his large coat himself.
“Thank you,” you repeat, though he just settles back in his seat and takes a big, soothing breath before he replies.
“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” he nods. “It’s just a drink.”
“One you didn’t have to buy me,” you say. “Big, bad, NHL job or not, you don’t always have to foot the bill when we’re all out.”
“I know,” he nods, easing forward to take a cautious sip of his coffee, “but we’re not all out; it’s just you and I and so the bill’s on me.” There’s something in what he’s said that makes you feel a bit warmer than just a minute before and yet you don’t have a chance to read into it all too much more before he continues on. “But if I ever actually get you to agree to go to dinner with me, I’ll still buy then too, just to clarify.”
Now you know for sure what he’s getting at and it’s not just the old habits driving you but the man in front of you towing that line between teasing and flirting as he’s done for years. It always throws you off and makes you flustered and you hate it because the confidence you always have in every other interaction fades to nothingness the second he’s around.
He’s done it for years but there’s something about tonight and about how he’s looking at you and how that touch felt from earlier that doesn’t feel as innocent as it always has. There’s something in those memories of you both as kids that you can’t shake tonight and something in how there’s more quiet sincerity in those words of his that are often delivered far more in jest than they are right now.
The realization gives you an extra lick of that confidence you’re struggling to find balance in with him, one carried forward by intrigue and your sixteen year old self and so you give back to him what he’s giving to you, enjoying the way you’ve always been able to read his change in expression as you speak. “You’ve never actually asked me to dinner, you know,” you smile, humming into your next sip. “So, you don’t get to sit there and pretend like I’m some woman on the run here.”
“Oh, c’mon,” he laughs, the quick jolt of his voice a bit too loud for the space as he reels it in, shaking his head at you as he soon softens. ”I’ve asked you out like a thousand times over the years, so don’t give me that shit.”
“That’s definitely not true,” you rush, sitting back in your own seat, “sixteen year old me would never have turned you down.”
“Maybe so but eighteen year old you sure did. I asked you to prom but you went with Donnie and I ended up asking Kate.”
“You didn’t actually ask me!” You laugh though, now the one who needs to lower their tone in the quiet cafe. ”I hope you’ve learned that half assed ‘if you don’t have a date, I’ll take you’ proposals are not the key to a woman’s heart.”
He shrugs but there’s lightness to the movement and though he ducks his head, his eyes soon lift back to yours, a new darkness in them that you feel ricochet at the base of your spine.
“I’ll admit it wasn’t my best work,” he says, “and no, it’s never really worked but if it helps at all, I definitely wish we’d gone together.”
“That’s just because you know I had sex with Donnie that night and we all know Kate left the afterparty with Bobby.” You grin again, winking at him with both a cockiness and a sense of teasing that you hope he latches onto.
Your words and actions are likely more bold than you should be offering and yet at this point, there’s no need to hold onto the rest. Charlie knows he’s good looking and how that statement has always been true, and you’ve got enough of your own confidence to carry you through the rest and yet above that, the two of you really have been friends for years no matter the distance and the way that your relationship has morphed and changed over time and distance.
“The rest of us really all were in competition with Donnie Campagnoni all along, weren’t we?”
“That's entirely false,” you laugh, eyes shifting to around the room, but slowly as you smirk over to him while settling your newly busy fingers. “I liked the attention he gave me but there wasn’t ever any competition going on in our high school other than between the groups of girls all vying for you and the boys at games.”
There’s a lot more that Charlie thinks to say at that, a few of those lingering words dancing right to the tip of his tongue and yet he’s never had you quite like this, not just the two of you quietly skirting around some honesties that settle into his chest. He hasn’t seen that soft glint of mischief in your eye directed just at him for many years now and though there’s a moment of hesitation in not wanting to overstep into this new territory it seems like you’re both bravely walking toward, he still goes for it, masking his feigned indifference by bringing that coffee back into his hands.
“And what about now?”
You lift a brow at him, that tightness in your chest amplifying with the new seriousness in his expression. “What about now what?” You think you may know what he’s getting at but as always, you’re just a step behind with Charlie, always a bit slower to see the truth for how he seems to have such an uncanny ability to make you nervous.
“What’s the competition like now?”
You smirk at him though, pulling your tea to your lips soon after before you respond. “I’d bet there’s more girls knocking down your door than guys knocking down mine,” you say, though there isn’t any jealousy in your tone, just the assumption that a man who looks like Charlie and who lives the way he does likely has more going on in his personal life than you do.
“I thought the sex was great in LA,” he teases and you relax entirely then, beaming at him with your wavering confidence quickly restored.
“There certainly is,” you nod, “and yet…”
“You wanna get out of here?” His ask is quick and you’re knocked back by the interruption and yet he’s just grinning at you with that boyish look that holds the same vault of memories as this cafe does. It’s a bold interruption but one that doesn’t feel nearly as out of place as it surely would on any other night and you like how it sounds and feels and how he looks sitting across from you just enough that you don’t bother to fight it.
“I thought you were planning on asking me to dinner.”
Your teasing has him pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and huffing out the smallest breath through that now cocky expression.
“Switching it up this time in hopes you don’t turn me down like you normally do.”
“We don’t normally do anything, you idiot,” you grin. “We don’t even live in the same place and we see each other like… maybe once outside of the summer every year.”
“It’s like pulling teeth with you,” he hums, chuckling to himself with another shake of his head. “Always has been.” You roll your eyes but he loves it and you’re so caught up in the rush of what’s happening that you can’t be bothered to settle on anything more pressing than how he looks in the low light and how his voice sounds passing over your skin and how that expression matches the words you’re both playing around with.
You’re just watching him now though, him doing the same back at you and yet he’s the one who lifts his brow now, challenging you but with an air of that confidence emanating from his every pore that you can’t seem to get yourself to pull away from.
“Nearly twenty years of knowing each other and you pick tonight?” Your fingers slide up into your mess of hair and you take a quick mental calculation of what underwear you’re wearing under the cozy outfit you have on and yet Charlie only smiles back at you, one somehow more sincere than the rest.
“If we’re being honest, I picked that morning in ninth grade when you showed up with a low cut shirt on for the first time so the ball’s definitely in your court by now.”
You’re warm and interested and curious too above how his words make you laugh and so you pull your own lip between your teeth now and flick your eyes out through the window to see that the snow has completely stopped before they land back on Charlie where they take in each fleck of colour in his still darkening expression.
“Your place have a nice view?”
And soon you’re up from your chairs and Charlie’s hand is on the small of your back as he guides you from the cafe, that touch warm regardless of how you can’t actually feel it through your winter coat. It’s warm nonetheless though, warm like your blood moving through your veins and warm like the desperate, achingly slow kiss he gives into as he backs you against your car door outside.
You’re the one who curses when his lips trail down your jawline, that contrast of the heat pouring through your body and between your thighs so opposite of the December air. It feels so out of the blue to have him pouring over you like he is and yet simultaneously it feels like you’ve been waiting a lifetime to hear him call you babe like he does when he curses himself and rolls his hips in a quick snap against yours.
“We didn’t think this through,” you grit, voice rough in ways Charlie can’t get enough of. “We can’t fuck in the parking lot of some shitty old cafe two blocks up from our high school.”
“Fifteen minutes to my house,” he tries, though he sounds out of breath and looks a bit lost when he finally gets his eyes on yours. “Fifteen minutes.”
The laugh that escapes you is light and filled with disbelief and yet you’re not about to stop how this feels, no matter how inconvenient a drive is in the middle of the foreplay you find yourself desperately needing more of.
“I’ll follow you this time,” you sigh, leaning into him. “If you change your mind though just tap your breaks or something and I’ll get the message.”
You smirk at him with that but he just groans and presses back in to kiss you, dragging away to speak after letting himself get far too caught up in how you taste.
“Not gonna change my mind,” he groans. “Definitely not.”
His fingers linger on your cheeks, pressing into your skin until he chuckles with a darkness and a sexiness that ripples through your whole body when you’re finally tucked into your car and following behind his truck for the slow drive.
The roads are fine but still dusted with that early morning snowfall and yet you turn up your music to distract yourself from all of the ways your mind could turn this evening into something more nerve wracking, smiling to yourself when Taylor Swift starts pouring through your speakers.
“How fitting,” you speak out loud, Tis’ the Damn Season filtering through your car. You sing along though, distracting yourself with the lyrics and the nostalgia and the newness of it all too and yet you focus in on Charlie’s tail lights, grinning when he soon signals into a driveway without once hitting those breaks unnecessarily.
“Didn’t change your mind?” You tease him as you eventually pull back out of your car and into the cold, Charlie already making his way to you. They’re purposeful steps he’s taking, primal and needy and the attraction neither of you have ever truly given into takes over then, his hands crawling back to your cheeks and his lips landing back on yours without missing a beat.
“Definitely not,” he hums, pressing in closer but he’s frustrated by the bulk of your winter coats and the chill of the early morning air and so soon he’s taking your hand and leading you inside where you’re instantly hit with a surprising sense of home that you hadn’t quite expected.
You’ve never been to his place, those summers spent on the water or at parties are ones that have never led you here and yet as you step through the door, you feel like you’ve been in his home a million times before. You’re distracted by his presence and the new intention that lives in your interaction tonight and yet as Charlie steps in behind you, voice low against your neck just as his hands pull that jacket from your shoulders, you shiver from the warmth you feel once more, rather than the cold in the dampness outside.
“You okay?” It’s a soft ask just like it’s a simple one and you nod, hands crawling over his after he throws your coat on the chair and steps back into you, close and sure and confident.
“I like this place,” you comment, meaning it as your eyes shift around the room.
He spins you then, slowly and in control of your turn and that smile on his face is one you feel deep in your chest now that you’re letting yourself really live in it.
“Me too,” he says, inching closer until his lips are nearly on yours. “Looks pretty damn good with you in it though I’ll admit.”
And it’s a statement that twists in your belly and cracks the softness of the moment and soon he’s backing you down the hall and pressing you into his bed and soon that chain around his neck is one your fingers are tangled in as he kisses his way over every curve of your body.
You don’t have time to be self conscious because not only is he looking at you like your younger self had always hoped he would but he sounds like everything your current self wants in the bedroom, needy but rough and then praising you for how good you’re being just for him.
It’s a lot but your focus lands on the plains of his chest and the curve of his ass and the grit in each thrust that takes you both over the edge in what feels like the perfect acknowledgment of making up for lost time.
You’re satisfied beyond words when you finally break apart, arms and legs like jelly lying there in his bed but he’s no better, promising that he’ll get you both cleaned up if you just, “give me a second,” that he delivers in a far more breathless pull than you expect given his athletic stature.
In the pause his hand finds your hip and though you tense now in this afterglow of vulnerability, he just mutters about how beautiful you are as he continues his easy ministrations for several more lazy minutes.
It’s nice and you’re caught up in the truth in that when he slowly moves away, standing to get cleaned up which you go to do the same with as well. He makes it to the ensuite before you’re really up and out of bed though and so you surprise him as he comes back into the room, eyes wide and dark for where they take in your naked frame walking toward him.
“A walking, talking fantasy,” he groans and yet you just swat at him and move by, taking the warm cloth in his hands as you go.
You take your time in the bathroom and focus on not panicking like those little bits of insecurity want to do but you’re letting yourself have this for the night, have him and have that little win for your younger self and you don’t want any awkwardness to creep in and ruin what doesn’t need to be tarnished by any second guessing.
You imagine that you should likely redress and head back for that old bedroom at your parent’s place and yet when you step back into view, Charlie’s still up and standing with his eyes pouring over the city through his large bedroom window.
“View isn’t so bad,” you grin, words pressing on your earlier comment but Charlie just laughs when he turns and sees your eyes on his ass and not the lights at all.
“Just c’mere,” he hums, beckoning you closer as if the city and his body weren’t calling to you already.
It’s surreal though, the turn of the evening and how his eyes trail over your skin but you’re not embarrassed by the look, far from it actually for how your hands move to his chest when you make it to him and for how his own slip down the curves of your ass.
You kiss him then, taking the opportunity to have the things you’ve wanted for too long. Your time home is fleeting and as real as this is, it’s not built to last and so you’re going to enjoy every aching second of his skin sliding along yours and it’s going to matter, if only for the weekend.
He doesn’t hesitate in dragging you in, hips flush and your taste on his tongue as he turns and backs you against the cool window. You giggle at the feeling, just like you giggle at the way this whole experience feels like a dream and yet with Charlie’s lips and teeth sucking and pulling along the skin of your throat, your hands drift south with all thoughts of anything but round two gone in a flash.
And it’s slower this time, at least to start. Charlie takes his time tasting you, pausing and grinding into you until you’re sure you can’t take it anymore and there’s more laughter this time and more communication too. There’s more of everything until that tension grows and you let yourself beg for more from him, a more that turns primal when he flips you and lets the sting of his palm urge you both to stop handling one another with such care.
You can’t help but curse when he pulls your back to his chest, folding you around him as he thrusts into you with deep purpose. “Fuck, Babe,” he grins, breath fanning along your neck as those lips of his pull so close to your skin that you feel goosebumps rise and ache along every inch of your body.
“I’m close,” you tell him, the words wrecked as you arch closer and so he keeps his rhythm and rolls his right hand around to tweak your nipples, urging you to let go with words that filter from soft to demanding to once again praising you for the good girl you’re still being just for him.
And it’s been a while since you’ve ridden such a high, just like it’s been a while since you’ve watched a man who looks like him reach that high himself but it’s a sound you want ingrained in your memory and tattooed on your skin, this trip home one you’ll hang onto forever no matter if it’s true that you‘ll soon pull from this bed and go back to having Charlie like you always have.
You don’t end up rushing from beneath the sheets though, in part due to the film of sweat along your skin paired with your heaving chest that both need a moment to recover and the same too because Charlie’s on his back beside you with one of his large hands resting on your thigh and there’s a weight in that touch that keeps you still and thoughtful.
The moment could be awkward but it’s somehow not and you settle into that comfortable silence as you catch your breath and watch those memories of the two of you over time flash behind your closed eyes.
There are so many moments of familiarity flickering through that capsule and yet even younger you would be surprised by this, enough so that you start chuckling lowly beneath your breath, a smile you can’t contain now taking over your features.
Charlie joins in and though he doesn’t know for sure why you’re laughing, he can certainly guess based on knowing you and feeling how this moment transcends everything else you’ve ever experienced together. And so he takes a chance then, turning his head to grin over at you, voice soft and sure and so him.
“That was fucking good though, wasn’t it?”
You nod, chuckling once more as you go. “Maybe it’s not so bad that we waited until now. I’m sure if we’d went for it that morning in ninth grade, or even prom,” you continue, Charlie now laughing more brightly himself, “the end result and the ease of it all probably wouldn’t have been there.”
“That’s true,” he soon agrees, though he quiets beside you then and though it’s not uncomfortable in its shift, it’s still noticeable and has you soon flicking your eyes over to his to catch that roll of sincerity in his expression. “What do you think would have happened if we went to prom together?”
There’s more to his question than what appears on face value and though you don’t quite know what it is, you still see it and feel it and it still pauses you for an extra beat. “That night or…” Your voice soon trails off though, as his expression morphs right in front of you, the now obvious implication of there having been a future for the two of you clearly settled into each word.
“All of it,” he says softly. “I’d be lying if I said I never wondered.”
And it’s strange because you’re not the closest to him in your group of friends from home. You see him when you’re back on the east coast and you feel him when he enters back into your life each time and yet he’s not alone in having ever wondered about the what ifs. You’ve felt it and thought it a million times before but never so seriously as you are now in this very real moment where he’s said it all out loud.
You’ve wondered what sixteen year old you would have done if he had kissed you that evening on the park bench when he was back from camp that one summer and you’ve wondered what eighteen year old you would have said to her parents if Charlie had been the one to pick her up for prom. You’ve wondered what would have happened if he didn’t have that beautiful girl on his arm when you were home last Christmas talking about all of those future plans that clearly never happened and yet it’s still different tonight.
It’s different but it’s only temporary and somehow you both know it to be true, those wonders and roll of your history filtering through both of your minds an easy film to get lost in but it’s not more than this is now.
And this is good and it’s real and it’s nice, that chemistry and how his smooth voice feels paired with the way his hands pass over your skin. The bed is warm, warm in a way you can’t explain because it’s so much more than just the sheets and the duvet and the way Charlie curls in closer to tangle his legs with yours.
You can’t stay here forever and you won’t and yet Charlie doesn’t seem to be rushing you out the door. You appreciate it, your years in each other’s lives settling all around you and you once again smile at the memories, just like you smile for letting yourself have this with him.
“What’s that look for?”
Charlie’s voice has an air of grit to it, that tone causing your expression to soften as your right hand rolls over his chest.
“Just thinkin’ bout us,” you tell him and he smiles too for what he knows that all means. He only really has you for the weekend and you’re not kids anymore, those what ifs still not worth spending too much time on and he knows that he won’t ask you to stay just like he knows you won’t ask him to wait for you.
LA is your home now and his life is one that really only has you on the outskirts but he’s still thankful for tonight, just like he’s still thankful for you.
“I’m thinkin’ bout us too, Babe.”
You smile somehow brighter at that, giggling now as you press in to kiss him, warm and with that ghost of his touch pouring along your spine.
You fall asleep in that bed, woken around noon by Charlie’s stubble dancing along your skin and you spend the morning getting even with each other, taking and giving and keeping count until you lose track of time but soon the sun starts melting last night’s snowfall and soon you’re slipping back into your boots and coat before your hands slip back into his for a goodbye unlike one you’ve shared before.
“See you this summer, Coyle,” you grin, lips against his jawline as he drops your hands to pull you closer.
“We’ll be here,” he hums. “These old roads and me.”
And there’s maybe more to what he’s saying than either of you know to delve into right now but you still let yourself kiss him and he still commits your smile to memory and lets himself imagine you back here with that glow of the sun on your skin in July.
He’s looking forward to July and even in your smirky, “see ya,” you give him just before the door shuts behind you, he knows for sure that you’re looking forward to July too.
First of all this is all I’ve ever wanted and more so jot that down.
Second Donnie Campagnoni is the Most Massachusetts name I’ve ever seen I love it so much
Third - Charlie saying ‘you look good’ to her at the beginning immediately made me think of pacific time and Charlie Hunnam which probably isn’t something you intended but thank you for that
Fourth - I’m just so god damn giddy about this fic! The maturity, the giving in even though you know it’s short term, the LONGING BY CHARLIE, wanting to scream about how good they could be but not wanting her to give up her life for a man!!!!!! All the teasing and the friends!!!! THE CHAIN AROUND HIS NECK GOD!!!!!
I cannot say enough, thank you for taking our conversation and turning it into this MASTERPIECE 💗💗💗
Notes: happy birthday to me :) I realized that I haven’t written a bigger Jamie piece and I can’t look at a photo of him without feeling things, so I wrote myself a birthday present! Inspired by Don’t Happen Twice - Kenny Chesney
~~~~~
August 2007 – Vancouver Island
Saturday night, end of summer… you should have been doing something fun. With the first day of college looming, you had been trying to enjoy every last second of your life before it inevitably changed. But tonight, you knew your best friend Sam was out spending the night with her boyfriend – it was his last night in town before he left to go play hockey, after all. So, you were spending your night at home alone, laying on your bed and staring at the ceiling like that’s normal and not totally emo.
Your phone buzzes with a text message, and you frown at the name on your screen, sliding it open so you can get the keyboard.
Jamie Benn: I’m bored. Let’s do something.
Swallowing hard, you try to calm your racing heart. This doesn’t mean anything, you tell yourself. Jamie’s just in the same situation as you right now, abandoned by his best friend on the last real night of summer.
Me: it’s kinda late….
Jamie texts back almost immediately, and it surprises you.
Jamie Benn: I’m outside. Just sneak out.
And this – you’d never done something like this before. You were always the good girl, always following the rules and doing exactly what’s expected of you. The fact that this cute boy was asking you to the break the rules with him, well… it felt good.
a/n: left my catholic high school education out the window with this one. happy no nut november
requested: yes/no
masterlist // requests are open for the moment!
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you knew something was up pretty early on. the first incident was early in the month, around the 2nd, and you were both in the kitchen finishing up the dishes. you all had a system, you would wash and tyson would dry, placing everything back in cabinets afterwards. “wait, where did you say you wanted mugs to go now?”
you shrug, “they can go on the bottom of the right cabinet,”
tyson turns, then frowns when he opens the cabinet and sees it’s full. “babe, that’s not gonna work.”
you sigh with a small laugh, wiping your hands off and turning to him. plucking the mug out of his hands, you make room for the mug on the row. tyson hadn’t ever moved from his position against the counter, meaning your body had been pressed against him to put the mug away. “find a way or make one,” you tease, leaning into his body further. with a quick inhale, tyson’s whole body flexes at the feeling of you on him.
you lean in for a kiss, which he reciprocates a little extra hard. your hands swim up his body to let your fingers take purchase in his curls, that warm feeling settling in your stomach, and your legs coming on either side of one of his thighs. he moans lowly at the feeling, strong thigh clenching, and as your tongue slips in his mouth, he pulls away.
you were a little hazy, and so was he, his hair extra fluffy and his pupils blown, and a hardness evident in his shorts. apparently, you had read him wrong, because you hopped up on the counter behind you and wrapped your legs around him, to which he flinched away from.
“oh, wanna go to the bed instead?”
“no, i uh,” he takes a deep breath. “i gotta get in the shower and go to sleep,”
you look at him with confusion. “oh, already?”
“yeah, we have early skate tomorrow and i wanna get to the trainers before?” he didn’t sound certain of what he was saying in the slightest. but before you can question anything, he’s giving you a quick peck on the lips, quickly walking through the condo to the bedroom.
the second time he was being weird, it was less discreet, but still apparent to you. mel and gabe were hosting a couples’ game night of sorts, but it had regressed into all of you being a little past wine tipsy. out of pure reflex, you had been leaning your head on tyson’s shoulder, his arm around you comfortably on the couch. you had been like that for a while until sydney had asked you to help her find the next bottle of wine in the kitchen, and when you came back, you had plopped down on tyson’s lap instead of next to him. this wasn’t a rare occurrence, he often pulled you onto him anyway, but this time, he made a noise in the back of his throat. “you ok?” you whisper to him, trying not to draw attention to the two of you.
“‘m good babe,” he grimaces, patting your thigh like a father might pat his child’s head. you snuggle back down into his chest, arms wrapped around him as you sat sideways in a conversation with syd, trying to ignore how stiff tyson was acting underneath you. instead of you sitting on your boyfriend of multiple years’ lap, it felt like you were sitting on santa at the mall, and it doesn’t take long for tyson to finally break. “y/n i gotta go to the bathroom,” he says, sliding you off of him.
feeling a little embarrassed, and a lot a bit tipsy, you pout up at him. “are you sure everything’s okay, tys?”
he sees the worry swimming in your eyes, but he also feels jt staring at him behind him, so he sighs and nods. “all good, just a little off. probably had too much,”
he had less than you. you both knew that. but nevertheless, he jets off, leaving you on the couch with warm cheeks of embarrassment, and the feeling of rejection settling on your skin. “what’s that about?” sydney asks cautiously.
you shrug. “he’s been so weird for, like, a week. i guess it’s just stress with the season starting.”
sydney nods and whispers, “yeah, jt’s been off too, wonder if it’s the road schedule or something,” it was strange that you felt solace in the fact she also wasn’t having the rosiest time ever, but it also exacerbated your confusion. what the hell was going on?
the third time was your breaking point. it was a few days later, and you had been sitting up in the bed, catching up on your reading, when tyson had come out the shower, humming a song from your playlist. “so you do like the music i pick,” you smirk, looking up from your page. his towel was hanging low on his hips, and he was rubbing another one through his hair.
tyson chuckles. “some of it’s doable.”
“you like my r&b,” you say, “one playlist is a favorite, if i remember correctly.” he knows exactly what you’re talking about, the playlist entitled ‘i really really love you,’ one you made for your anniversary last year full of well, sex songs. it had been used beyond that one day, much more beyond that day, actually.
tyson’s cheeks flush, and he rubs the towel through his hair another time. “‘s a good playlist,” he tries to say coolly. he slips on his boxers and hops in the bed next to you, the fresh smell of his body wash swirling up your nose. with an excited grin, you grab your phone from your nightstand and change the music from the chill songs originally playing, to i really really love you.
you straddle his hips, sleep shorts bunching up slightly, and on reflex his hands meet your hips. “hi there,” he says with a strained voice.
you lean down, lips ghosting his, mumbling, “hey,” before kissing him hungrily. he kisses you back, but you can feel him holding himself back somehow. when you rock your hips into his, he tenses under you yet again, and you feel him growing in his boxers. it had been a while, and you missed this feeling. the distance between you two was finally closing, and you couldn’t have been more thrilled. leaning back up, you grab either side of your tank top to pull it over your head, but your movements are stopped by tyson’s hands.
“babe,” he lets out hoarsely. “i-we, fuck,” he groans.
“what’s wrong, baby?” you ask, seeing what looked like genuine pain in his face.
“i can’t do this,” he admits, sliding you off of him. here came the embarrassment once again, you felt like you had jumped his bones, and it was slightly humiliating.
“oh. i’m sorry,” you say in a small voice, turning the music off and pulling one strap of your top up after it had fallen down. your eyes were starting to water, and you turned over, facing away from tyson with the covers up to your shoulders.
“y/n,” he frowns, reaching for you. “i’m, it’s not you, it’s me.”
“fuck, tyson that’s literally worse to hear,” you say.
“it’s the truth!”
“ok, so, then, why won’t you fuck me?” you finally blurt, sitting back up in the bed. he looks truly torn, until he finally gives in with a groan.
“i’m doing no nut november.” he eventually mutters.
your eyes widen. “you’re doing what?”
“no nut november, you know, all month i can’t-”
“yes, i fucking know what that means,” you hiss. “why on earth are you doing this?”
he falls back into his pillows. “because burky brought it up and then jt and cale were giving me shit about it, saying there was no chance i could ever do it. but then i said he wouldn’t last, then mikko started talking shit, so now we’re all betting and there’s money on the line.”
“how much?” you cross your arms over your chest.
“1000 each.”
your mouth drops open. “you all are actually ridiculous,”
“i know,”
“and you made me feel like i was some horny frat boy trying to get in you in bed for like, what, 10 days!” you huff, then you groan in realization. “tyson! it’s only november 10th, that’s 20 days left,”
“oh, i fuckin’ know. i’ve had a boner for the last 8,”
“you’re stupid. you all are.”
“very.” you look down at him, breaking into a little smile at his pitiful expression. “‘n i’m sorry for making you feel like that. explaining it just felt weird.”
“cannot believe i don’t get real relief for 30 days because your pride is too big.”
tyson shrugs. “well, you’re not technically in the bet, i could get you off,”
“seriously,” you chuckle incredulously. “tys, you nearly came in your shorts last month because i pulled your hair too hard.”
his cheeks get even pinker. “ok, fair enough. d’you still have that vibrator we got?” your eye twitches at the concept of your boyfriend actively trying to find you alternatives to having sex with him. “just don’t use it around me, where i can hear, or like, see. oh! and hair pulling? let’s not right now.”
“any more rules?” you ask mockingly.
“sass,” he notes. “but yes. i definitely can’t take a shower with you, definitely can’t have you straddle me, please save any lingerie for december 1st, do not, and i mean it y/n, do not hold linnea.”
“tys,”
“for the love of god, don’t wear my jersey,”
“i get it! be a pious virgin until further notice.” you erupt. “this has been one of the strangest conversations of my life,”
“just a few weeks, then i’ll do anything,” he tries.
you look at him with intrigued eyes. “anything?” you had talked about exploring things with him briefly, fantasies each of you had that you felt comfortable sharing with each other.
“within reason,” he clarifies. “you look way too excited.”
“nope, just can’t wait till december now,” you deflect. “‘m tired now,”
“right.” he leans up to kiss you swiftly. “g’night babe. love you so much. like, so much. the most.”
you chuckle slightly. “love you too, tys.”
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you let him live in peace for the next few days, seeing as though you had your job to keep up with and a trusty vibrator in your bedside drawer. it was still annoying, and a little frustrating, but 1000 dollars and his pride was a hefty wager, and you respected that. kind of.
tyson, however, was close to losing his mind. were you always that dewy and glistening after your saturday morning yoga classes? did you always sip your glasses of water that slowly, and hum so sensually after a nice swallow of the icy liquid? did it always take you that long to get into your pajamas after a shower?
in reality, you had done nothing to change your routine. if anything, tyson was the person changing his behavior up, spending as little time as possible in your shared spaces and working out quite a bit more. his thighs looked even stronger than usual, and he would come back from runs with his shirt tucked in his waist band or around his neck, curls damp with sweat. it was a painful existence for the both of you, and you were willing this damn month to be over already.
the next home game was that weekend, and you shouldn’t have been surprised when jt cornered you before tyson came out. you were standing in the hallway where the other significant others and families usually did, in your warmest avalanche hoodie, ordering some takeout to pick up when jt came up to you, heels hot.
“help me get him to crack.”
you look up at him in confusion, and then you recognize that frantic look in his eyes, because tyson had the same one, and you frown. “you’re delusional.”
“if you help me, i’ll give you 10%.”
“that’s literally money from my boyfriend, why would that entice me?”
jt rolls his eyes. “because the faster he cracks, the faster you can have sex again.”
“no way we’re having this conversation.”
“y/n! come on, are you not blue balled yet? it’s the 15th!”
“oh yeah? what about you! what about your girlfriend!”
“enough with the yelling,” mikko chastises as he passes, his own girlfriend on his hip. without a doubt he knew what you two were yelling about, because the smug grin on his lips told it all. sure, he was out a grand, but with contracts like theirs, it barely made a dent, and he got relief all month. jealousy simmers in the pit of your stomach over tyson’s pride.
“hey babe, you bout ready to go?” tyson finally comes out, game day suit on, making you want to bang your head into the wall. he had undone the first few buttons on his shirt, making your mouth water and his arm feel like fire as it circled your waist. he sees jt in front of you, and his eyes narrow. “what’re you doing,” he says suspiciously.
“was asking y/n about your holiday plans in december,” jt smirks at you, “excited to go home, y/n/n?”
“very,” you say through gritted teeth.
“right,” tyson says. “did you order the food?” he asks you, turning you into his body more. it was movements like these, the unconscious things he did, like always needing a hand on you, or rubbing up and down your back, that was making you weaker and weaker. tyson was a tactile person, and a tactile lover, and any other point in time, you loved it. now, it was torturous.
“i did, should be ready by the time we get there,” he smiles down at you, kissing you quickly.
“i’ll bring the car around then. be right back,” he says, sending jt one more watchful eye before jetting off. you turn back to the redhead, who was pretending to be on his phone.
“fine.”
“you’re in?”
you scoff. “don’t be weird. this isn’t a covert operation, and i’m not doing it for you. i just wanna have sex with my boyfriend.”
“and i want that for you too.”
“god, shut up, jt.”
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with a bag full of lo mein and potstickers at your feet, you were finally on the way home, with you in the passenger seat and tyson driving. he always drove so laid back, one hand on the wheel and one either on your lap or on the gear shift. today, it had been fiddling with the volume knob, then found purchase on your thigh, just like you had hoped it would.
his thumb rubbed mindless circles on your skin, which was distracting, and made you prickle with anticipation. you shifted in your seat, allowing you movement to shift his hand further up, which he didn’t notice. it’s not until you squeeze your thighs together out of fake instinct that his whole body tenses, and his hand flinches away from where he was inching towards where you so desperately needed.
“my bad,” you say with innocence lacing your words.
“no, that was me,” he speaks up with a hoarser voice, making your breath hitch ever so slightly. his neck looked strained, fingers itching to have purchase on something. you place his hand back on your thigh, but your legs are a bit tighter together now, and he knows that. you try to hide the smug smirk on your face by looking out the window when you see that his jaw is still gritted, and he’s silent the rest of the way home.
you give him peace during your eating of dinner on the couch as you watch ozark, but when you look back down in the takeout bag, you notice some lollipops they had given as thank yous. you smile deviously, picking one up and unwrapping it.
tyson doesn’t notice until you’re laughing at something buddy said, and he spares you a quick glance of what was intended to be adoration, but turned to shock. you had that cherry sucker between your plump lips, which looked even more red from the sweet candy, and you were savoring every minute of it. you hadn’t looked over at him once, he knew it was all in his head, (or so he thought,) and the entire thing was making him sweat. he tries to put his eyes back on the large television, but he couldn’t strip them away from how your tongue danced against the hard candy, and how you licked your lips with a hum at the taste. he’s finally snapped out his reverie when you chomp down on the lollipop, crushing the ball, and he clears his throat with a wince.
“you okay, tys?” you say with faux concern.
“yeah, i’m fine,” he tries to smile. you search his face with more of your acting abilities, laying your head on his chest when you’re done. you can quite literally feel his heart beating quickly, and it does nothing but excite you.
it was little moments like that that kept tyson on edge for the next few days, along with wearing the smallest pajama shorts you owned and the skimpiest tank tops. tyson was a space heater anyway, it’s not like you needed to wear much to bed in the first place. but you normally did, you normally wore an old shirt of his, or even a hoodie when the cold got bad in the winter, so he knew something was up.
“it’s not gonna work,” he says, coming into the home office you two also used as a yoga/strength room. you were ‘working on your yoga poses’ in your most busty sports bra and spandex, while one of the songs from the i really really love you playlist flowed through the surround sound speakers. “‘m not that weak, babe.”
oh, and you knew. it was november 23, he had made it pretty far, but you were sick and tired. and horny. and he had a game tonight, which meant he was already pumping with adrenaline.
“dunno what you’re talking about, tyson,” you spit, swinging one of your legs forward into warrior stance. you very rarely called him by his whole name, and it sounded like a reprimand. “just trying to work out here.”
“oh yeah, in that bra?”
“everything else is in the wash, would you rather me naked?”
“y/n,” he warns. you cut your eyes at him through the huge mirror on the wall. you continue to go through your poses, hoping this would calm you down slightly. “it’s just 7 more days.”
“cool, can’t wait,” you blow off, stepping off your mat, walking towards the mirror, where your block and water bottle were placed. tyson wasn’t an extreme dominant in the bedroom, but he could get pretty close, and it was your favorite thing in the world. the fans, the media, everyone knew tyson as the sweet guy with a sweeter laugh, but you knew that he had other sides to him, and some were only for you to see.
you were so keyed up in your own thoughts, you don’t realize tyson had walked into the room, and up to you, until you’re pressed against the mirror, his hands bracketing your hips in.
“say that again?” he growls, his nose nearly touching yours. you exhale sharply, the feeling of his body so close to yours making you squirm.
you loved it when he got like this, all possessive and short-tempered. “you said it first, 7 more days,” you taunt.
tyson’s eyes darken even further, whether it’s out of annoyance or lust or all of the above. “you’re being a brat.”
“sure am,”
he takes you by surprise with a hungry and hard kiss, one that makes you gasp, then moan when his tongue enters your mouth. one arm lifts one of your legs up to his waist, and you whine at the feeling of him hard against your center. it had to be torture, he was rock hard, and felt like he had been that way for a while. cold showers can’t outlast 23 days.
when you jump your other leg up around his waist, he pushes your hips back against the mirror, abruptly halting your movements. “stop.”
“tys, please,”
“i gotta get to the rink,”
you look at him incredulously. “you kissed me!”
“you’re a good kisser,” he shrugs, grabbing his hoodie off the weight rack he used this morning. “going to the trainers early for my ankle. see you tonight, babe.”
your arms are folding over your chest like a child pouting, pure anger flowing through your veins. “bye.”
“don’t be like that,” he says with a pout of his own, but also an underlying warning.
“goodbye, tyson.”
he smirks as he grabs his car keys from the entryway, opening the front door. “i love you,”
“love you.” you mutter, watching the door close behind him. you hate november, it’s decided.
when you have lunch with mel and sydney, you finally explode and air out your grievances. “i mean, this is fucking insane, right? it’s been over three weeks! i haven’t done anything wrong, haven’t placed myself in any bets, why am i punished too?”
“don’t look at me,” syd scoffs. “he’s right there in the pool too. no fucking clue how it’s been this long,”
“gabe lost week one, sorry girls.”
you groan. “mikko cracked first week, tys told me.”
“this is a strangely invasive bet,”
“one that i wish was over,” you pout. “like, fuck! sorry to tmi you, but we haven’t gone this long without having sex since we started dating. i’ve had to recharge that damn vibrator like 4 times,”
mel shrugs. “well, you could always just get him to lose,”
“been trying that,” you frown. “not sure what to even attempt next,”
sydney thinks for a moment. “what’s his tick?”
“huh?”
“you know, the thing that makes him lose it. a kink. some guys like lingerie, some are into voyeurism, that kinda thing.”
you ponder for a moment. “he’s not a jealous guy, per se, but he gets so possessive sometimes, you wouldn’t even believe,”
“tyson, really?” mel gapes. you feel your cheeks heat up as you nod, and both women make teasing noises, making you laugh.
“ok, this is perfect, i have an idea.” syd starts. “could be a 50/50 on success, though.”
“honestly, i’m all ears.”
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you were overjoyed upon hearing sydney’s plan, and you carried it out with a little too much excitement. she was right, this was a risky success rate, but it was hail mary time anyway.
tyson was agitated for the wrong reason when he looked up at the box the first time. all he saw originally when he looked up at the beginning of the second period was you in an avs jersey, obviously his, which he was absolutely certain was on the no-no list he gave you for the month of november. he looked back down with a gritted jaw, downing even more water.
“he’s going to flip,” syd notes, having seen his face too. “i don’t think he realized.”
“he’s not beating cale’s ass, so i don’t think he did either.”
yes, you were wearing an avalanche jersey. was it tyson’s? no, not at all. a quick trip to the fan store before the game had ended with you picking up a ‘makar 8’ jersey, all while you smirked at the ‘jost 17’ you already owned.
tyson, for his own good, keeps his focus on the game for the rest of it. they won, which was always a joy, because if you were pulling this stunt while he was in a bad mood, who knows what the outcome would have been.
families make it down to the hall, like always after the game, and you watch the door with anticipation, and the slightest bit of nerves. gabe comes out first, nearly choking with laughter at what you had on. mikko and erik have the same reaction, erik laughing through, “josty’s gonna die when he sees.”
jt loved it, but turned to guilt when faced with his own girlfriend, who was ready to murder him, and cale’s face turned even redder. “come on, y/n/n, why’d you choose me?”
“you’re a cutie,” jt says with a shrug.
“who lost 3 days ago,” mikko chimes on his way out.
you stifle your laugh as you look at cale. “nothing personal calesy. just be a good sport, yeah?”
“he’s gonna kill me.”
“get going now then,” jt chuckles, messing the younger boy’s hair up.
tyson comes out a few moments later, the frustration of you in a jersey turning to absolute shock when he realizes, you’re not wearing number 17. you’re wearing number 8.
“what is this?” he says, smoke practically coming out his ears.
“hi tys,” you say innocently. syd and jt stealthily exit, smart choice.
“what is this?” he repeats. “why are you, no. why the fuck do you have this?”
“you told me not to wear yours,” you shrug. “‘m following rules.”
he looks at you almost dumbfounded, before his face settles with that eerily calm anger, and he’s nodding at the exit. “let’s go. now.”
he’s silent the entire car ride, not even plugging his phone in for music. his eyes never tear from the road, and yours barely tear from him. his jaw was so tensely set, his fingers clenched around the wheel as the other rests on the gear shift. he was such a talkative man, the fact he was completely mute meant he was mad. and you were practically giddy with excitement.
when you arrive home, you walk in the house calmly, dropping your bag on the hook and walking towards the bedroom to plug your phone in. tyson had been a few paces behind you, and you heard his shoes click until he hit the rug on the floor of your bedroom. you had just gotten your phone on your nightstand when he started speaking. “take it off.”
“hm?” you hum, looking up at him.
“take the jersey off, now.” you shrug with an obeying nod, shirking the heavy material off, leaving you shirtless in your jeans. he curses under his breath at the sight, making you smirk as you walk towards him.
“this better?”
“y/n,”
“thought so.”
throwing caution to the wind, he finally kisses you deeply and wraps you into his arms, you smile against his lips so wide he growled. “you did this all on purpose.” his tongue licks into your mouth, him in complete control of the kiss.
“cale nearly shat himself when he saw me,”
he grasps you tighter. “don’t talk about him.”
he hoists you into his arms, legs on either side of his hips as he takes the two steps to the king bed you shared, throwing you down on the bedspread. “‘s your lucky day babe,” he mutters. “since i’m gonna lose, might as well make it good. wanna finally do it?”
your eyes widen in excitement as your mouth waters. it was almost comedic, that you both knew exactly what your it was, the same thing he had promised if you behaved all november. but really, what were both of you starving yourselves of at this point? “really?”
“if you want,” he backtracks.
“oh no, yeah, i’m doin’ it,” you say eagerly.
you sunk to the ground without further speech, grin growing when he unbuckles his belt. you pressed your thighs together to relieve pressure, but it did little to quell your nerves when the sight before you was so great.
“i really shouldn’t let you get what you want after everything, but i’m so hard it hurts,” he moans.
“there’s literally no way 1000 dollars is worth blue balls.”
“hey, my pride too!”
you look up at him with irritation. “fine. see you in 7 days,”
“aht,” he tuts, pushing your shoulders back down in a way that should not have been as hot to you as it was. “not what i meant.”
with a snicker and eager hands, you pull at his belt, taking his pants down with his boxers. tyson ran his thumb across your lower lip, and his breath hitches when you take the digit in your mouth. you suck lightly, tongue dancing across the pad of his thumb, a pop resounding through the air when he takes it out. “you’re so pretty,” he says with a small grin, knowing what it would do to you. that little praise thing you had, the little zip it sent up your spine. he knew you, just like you knew him.
placing your hands on his strong thighs as his bunched in your hair, you pressed a kiss to his base. “fuck babe,” he breathes, the first taste of relief being delicious. his hands tighten, and you whine at the feeling. tyson was never this dominant, and it was only right after 23 days. you could feel your panties uncomfortably wet below your jeans, which you were dying to get out of.
he let you start off gently, adjusting to the feeling and speed, before one hand moved from your hair to the base of your head. taking a breath, you press a kiss to the tip, making him twitch. “you’re doing so good,” he praises. “should’ve done this earlier, hm?”
you just smile and nod, because you had been begging for him to take you like this for weeks, if not months, and he was the one afraid to push your limits. he was still feeling a little testy, so you decide to just go with it.
when you take him in your mouth again, slowly, he has you pick up the pace. you could feel all of him when your nose pressed against his stomach, moaning at the feeling and vibrating around him. he lets out a pleasure filled groan, hips twitching as your hands rub up and down his thighs. “you’re gonna kill me,” he whines. when you begin to bob, he understands the go ahead, and begins to thrust. after 3 weeks and some change, you had intended his official loss of no nut november to be inside you, but now, you were almost certain this would be enough for you.
your nose grazes his stomach one more time when he pulls you up, mascara running and mouth wet. “what?” you ask with a pout.
“i have to fuck you, like, now,” he pulls you back up on the bed, practically ripping his dress shirt off and pulling you over him. he unbuttons your pants and pulls them down your legs, leaving you in your ruined lace panties.
“how do you want me then, baby?”
his chest was heaving the best way, eyes wild and hands everywhere.
“turn over.” he says simply, popping your ass quickly when your devious grin grows.
tyson taking you from the back was something straight out of your dreams, his strong body over yours as he just took you, finally giving into his instincts. he smoothed over your backside with a large, coarse hand, and you yelp when one comes down for a spank.
“good girl,” he practically whispers, and your hips raise into him even further.
“please tys,”
“cale got you this weak and whimpering, babe?”
“no, you did, only you,” you whine, shaking your hips once again. “i want you so bad,”
“thought so.” tyson taunts your previous words, sliding into you in one swift movement. the feeling takes your breath away, and he groans as you fluttered around him. “jesus, babe,”
“you feel so good,” you gasp, arms practically giving out below you. with every thrust, you feel him deeper, and you can’t help clenching as you finally get relief. as he continues to take you, feeling like you’re sinking deeper and deeper into your mattress, your moans get louder as his breaths grow stronger. tyson’s thrusts begin to speed rapidly, the vision in front of him dizzying.
“you close babe? i can feel it,” his strokes dove deeper than you could have ever imagined, sending you into a daze of babbles.
“all mine.” he states, fingers digging into your hips.
“only yours,” you confirm, hands clutching the bed spread. “fuck, tys, i’m,” you can’t finish your sentence, pleasure too much.
“come on babe, let me feel you,” he coos, pressing featherlike kisses to your spine, detonating your release. your walls tighten around him, making his body tense as your back arches.
tyson’s eyes were still shut when you looked at him, his muscle memory pulling you into his side. his skin was dewy, chest heaving, but so was yours. you smile contently, running hands through his hair. “love you so much, baby.”
“love you more,” he smiles dopily.
“you know i didn’t actually own that jersey, i bought it this morning,”
“i really don’t care, because you’re throwing it out. like, as soon as you get up from this bed.”
“tough, because i don’t intend on getting out of bed for a while,” you say suggestively, straddling him once again.
warnings: cursing, a little bit of sad girl evie in the beginning but almost all fluff! just lots of fluff
song rec: little by little by the marías (part of the album series! masterlist here)
((part 2 to meet me on the other side! read that HERE to understand whats going on))
masterlist // requests are open for the moment!
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evie was nervous to walk back in her own apartment. she hadn’t spoken to matthew since she yelled at him on the phone, and she’s certain ginny’s been caught up to a certain speed about the whole situation. and personally, evie didn’t want to deal with that right now. what she wanted to do was clean her room, go to the gym, and enjoy her last day off of work before her schedule went back to normal.
the apartment is quiet when she walks in, but it was 11 am, which meant that ginny wasn’t home. ginny was an early riser, and would be found on the couch or at the kitchen counter reading documents by 9 at the latest. taking a deep breath, evie proceeds into the space. when she looks over at the kitchen island, her heart aches, noticing that her tulips were dead. she went to the farmer’s market every sunday morning downtown and got new ones, but obviously, she had missed it this week. the tulips were withering away, petals falling on the island, while the lilies were standing tall and beautiful beside them. another fun metaphor.
evie texts brady, who was dad-ing her the entire train ride, that she made it back safe, and then her family, walking back into her room and flopping on the bed. she allows herself a few deep breaths, trying to quell all the thoughts she had. “one step at a time,” she whispers to herself, looking at her full duffel bag.
ginny came in about thirty minutes later, and the sound of the door made evie straighten up immediately. ginny knew she was home, because the dead tulips were gone, and her water bottle was drying on the kitchen rack. “ev?”
coming out her room, evie gives ginny a weak smile. “hi gin.”
“hey,” she breathes, putting the tote bag down off her shoulder. “how was the trip?”
“good, they liked me,” evie answers. “think it’s looking up.”
“knew it would,” ginny smiles. this is awkward. painfully so. they’ve never had a conversation like this, the air has never been this charged and uncomfortable. “hey i uh, went to the market today. got you some stuff.”
evie leans against the kitchen table, not sure what to anticipate. ginny unwraps the paper in her hands, revealing new flowers. new tulips. “yours died, and it made me sad. you’re usually here to keep them alive,” she explains, placing them in the water.
“oh gin, thank you,”
“i also got us some strawberries, and a few candles those little girls help their mom make.”
evie wants to cry, she wants to keep sobbing and weeping because here stood a person who knew her so well, loved her so much, and yet, evie resented her. so she just pulls ginny into a hug, unable to do anything else. “i’ve been off this week, and i’m sorry,” she says, holding her tighter.
“we gotta talk, ev. matthew told me you didn’t tell him about ottawa, even though you stayed with brady,”
she flinches, and pulls back. evie wipes her tears quickly, breathing deeply. “yeah, i didn’t. i um, shit ginny, i owe a few apologies. and explanations, i guess.”
ginny smiles bitterly. “i’m not stupid, you know,” she starts. “i wish you would’ve just told me about how you felt.”
“i should have, but i didn’t. and you did, you had the guts to say you were into him, so it’s my problem i was scared. who was i to stop you from getting to know him?”
ginny’s mouth quirks. “sure, i guess,” her expression morphs into a sad smile. “but he doesn’t look at me like he looks at you, ev. you know that, and so do i.”
evie breaks eye contact, unable to accept it for herself. “brady would always try to convince me to get out of my head about it.”
“yeah, brady,” ginny repeats. “his brother of all people. and taryn texts and calls you on a regular, and you’ve been home for thanksgiving with him,” she chuckles. “we’re fucking canadian.”
evie laughs. “was a strange weekend.” she looks back up at her best friend, finally getting a backbone back. “i like matthew, might love him, i guess. have for a while. when you told me what you told me, i wanted to be so mad, ginny. so fucking pissed, and i was,”
“so why didn’t you say something?” ginny interjects.
evie sighs, moving to sit down on the couch, and her roommate follows. “because, the last time you liked someone, we were 17.”
“evangeline,”
“virginia,” she retorts. “at least see where i’m coming from.”
ginny sighs. “i see it. still don’t like it, but i see it.”
“‘kay.” evie bites her lip. “so we’re good?”
“of course, i’m not letting this bother me, matthew and i barely have shit in common anyway,” evie smiles at her demeanor, but then gets nervous again when ginny’s eyes narrow. “but you need to talk to him. not just about this, but about ottawa. seriously, dude.”
evie groans. “they haven’t even offered me a position yet,”
“and when they do?” evie doesn’t say anything, making ginny chuckle. “make good choices, ev. and follow your damn heart for once.”
squeezing her ankle endearingly one last time, she slips off the sofa and into her room, leaving evie with her thoughts, and plans to go see matthew.
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matthew has never felt this far from evie in his life. she’s standing in his living room, in sweat shorts and a comfy looking hoodie, one that engulfs her figure and makes her look as small as she feels.
“i need to talk to you about this weekend.”
“i’m listening,” he stays at the kitchen island.
she clears her throat, and takes a deep breath. “i stayed at brady’s place, did a job interview in ottawa, and i’m a short list for the job.”
“okay.”
“i don’t particularly like ottawa, and i wouldn’t want to raise a family there, i’d much rather be here, but they pay crazy well and i’d be promoted.”
“understood.”
“but that promotion sounds meaningless if i’m a whole province away from you, and at first, that’s the reason why i even entertained it. you were going out with ginny, and i hated watching, and leaving for ottawa was perfect.”
“but evie, you-”
“set you guys up, yes! god, everyone won’t shut up about it as if i didn’t live it,” evie snaps. “i fucked up, i didn’t say how i felt, and it snowballed. there. i already cussed you out on the phone, you know where i stand. ginny and i talked, she’s still my best friend. brady thinks i’m dumb, i’m afraid to even talk to taryn, and yet, most of all, i’m terrified this means losing you for good.”
she breathes shakily, and matthew can’t help the reflex to sweep her up in his arms. “you can’t lose me, that wouldn’t ever happen,” he says earnestly. “i’m always yours.”
“i’m sorry for this all,” she says against his chest, tears prickling her eyes. “i’m so sorry, matty.”
“you’re here now, that’s all i wanted,”
she looks up at him pitifully, hope being the only thing propelling her. “i’m serious, matty. i care about you so much,”
and that’s his call to action. matthew kisses her, emotions running high and too much to say all at once. his kiss felt so sweet and so right against her lips that the guilt washed away from her, the fear of this being her only chance to have him, especially like this, making her instincts take over rational thinking. so she kissed him back, and let the feeling wash over her entire being. evie’s hands found themselves in his curls, tugging in a way that made him pull her even tighter against him. the skin on her waist felt so smooth under his touch, and he couldn’t help but rub circles in their place. she began to walk backwards towards the couch, making matthew’s brain light back up into reality.
“evie,” he pulls away. “i cannot do this with you if it’s not real.”
evie’s fingers reflexively twitch in his hair. “what do you mean?”
“i mean,” here went nothing. “i think-well, no. don’t even think it anymore. i know that i love you, and maybe that’s a lot to say, but it’s the damn truth. i, fuck ev, i never even liked ginny, and i’m an asshole for that. you’re all i’ve wanted, and i want you bad.”
“then we stop being stupid. i’m yours and you’re mine, and that’s all we know for certain.”
the intent look in her eyes captivates him momentarily, and then that grin she missed comes back full force. he hoists her up in his arms, making her squeal with a giggle, as he peppers her face with kisses as he sits down on the couch. “all mine,” he mumbles, still immersed in her.
“all yours, my love.”
--
brady smirks when evie answers matthew’s phone instead of him. they had gone to take a nap in matthew’s bed, and he was still knocked out when his phone began to vibrate. “bing bong,” she answers, making him roll his eyes.
“tiktok trend greeting, cute,” he says. “which makes me assume we’re in good spirits. you kiss and make up or what?”
“made up, then kissed.”
“gross.”
“you should be happy, i won’t be crying on your couch anymore.”
“so i hope,” he sighs. “where even is he?”
evie sinks back down into the bed, assuming her position on his chest, making brady gag. “an explanation would have sufficed.”
his noise of disgust awakes matthew, who groggily opens his eyes, to see his girl on the phone with his brother. “is that my phone?”
“yeah, i called you and got your other half instead,”
“how long have you been waiting to use these jokes?”
“when did i meet you?”
evie scoffs. “whatever. i’m hungry, i’m gonna go make a snack. want anything?” she asks matthew, looking up at him tenderly. he shakes his head no, and presses a feather like kiss to her nose, making it scrunch affectionately. evie pecks his lips, getting up and slipping her sweatshirt back on over the tee shirt and shorts. matthew watches her the whole way, brady a bystander on the phone.
“you are so in love with her,” he notes, not even getting a look from his brother yet.
“more than i could ever explain.”
brady can’t help but genuinely smile at the sincerity of his brother’s words. matthew was a passionate guy, about his family, hockey, his favorite blanket at home that no one else was allowed to use if he was home. but this was a side he didn’t get to see much, his passionate loving side. “i’m happy for you, matt.”
“thanks, ‘s the best fucking feeling in the world waking up, and she’s there.”
“and think, this is only the first day,” brady notes. “don’t fuck it up.”
matthew snorts at his younger brother. “what did you want?”
“wanted to double-check you were still coming to charlottesville,” taryn had a big game coming up, and the family had all made plans to get to one on a weekend where both brady and matthew weren’t set to have games.
“course i am, i get in friday night.”
“cool, i’m early saturday morning.” the idea strikes brady’s brain, and he can’t help but ask. “is evie coming?”
“coming where?” she plops back on his bed, tucking her legs beneath her as she picks a slice of pear up out of a bowl. he smiles slightly, she’s the only reason why pears are in his fridge.
“next weekend, we’re going to uva to watch tar’s game,” matthew explains.
“oh, that’s so sweet, tell her i said good luck!” evie says.
“well, i mean, you could come. you should come?” he corrects hesitantly.
“i’m hanging up,” brady singsongs, making matthew roll his eyes and press the red button on his phone.
“i don’t want to intrude,” evie says quickly. “just tell me how it goes,”
“you’re not intruding ev, taryn loves you, so do mom and dad. you and brady are close too, which i don’t know if i love or hate,” she giggles at that. “but yeah, don’t think you’re not invited, or that they wouldn't want you there.”
evie bites her lip. “that tickets gonna be stupidly expensive,” matthew deadpans. she frowns. “no. i’m not letting you start buying me shit. didn’t work before, not working now.”
“consider it an early birthday gift.”
“my birthday’s in january?”
“evangeline,” he says in a rather parental voice, “you’re coming. i’m telling taryn now, and i know you don’t want to disappoint her,” matthew picks up his phone once again and quickly texts taryn, while evie leaps up at him.
“matty! stop, don’t-”
“sent,” he says easily, smirking when she deflates on top of him, fight forfeited. “now you have to go, sorry.”
she huffs. “ass.”
“yours is better,”
“matthew!”
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matthew doesn’t know why he’s so nervous when ginny’s the one who opens the door that day instead of evie. they had talked about the whole situation, and were on absolute positive terms. but he still felt greatly guilty, despite her calm smile.
“hi matthew,” she leaves the door open, going back to where she was making her lunch in the kitchen.
“hey gin, how’s it going?”
“‘s goin good, and you?”
“fine,” he says awkwardly, rocking back on his toes. she looks up at him in amusement, picking up on his discomfort.
“you can hop off those eggshells, you know.” he opens his mouth in surprise, then quickly closes it again, making her laugh. “don’t be weird now,”
“‘m sorry. i just feel bad still, i think,”
“you seriously should not. you should be happy, and excited,” ginny says. “i know she is,” and there’s not one bit of jealousy in her voice. it’s actually a content voice, genuinely happy for her best friend. ginny was a great person, and a great best friend, and that was beyond certain.
evie pulls her small suitcase out her room, backpack snug on her back and a beanie covering her head. “i hope i packed enough, 3 days is hard,”
“i only have a duffle,”
“you’re also a boy.”
“that’s true, nate said he only changed his underwear every other day once,” ginny amends.
matthew’s nose scrunches. “that’s disgusting, nate’s just a freak,” evie snorts, moving past him to get her coat. “we do not all do that!”
“sure,” she says with hints of a laugh, shrugging the coat on.
“taryn’s so gassed to see you,” matthew says as they wait at the terminal.
“i know, i talked her last night. it’s gonna be my first time seeing her play,” evie grins. “can’t wait.”
“question,” matthew starts. “did you watch hockey before me?”
evie narrows her eyes at him. “you do know i’m from edmonton, right?”
“well yeah, but you lived in the US for a while,”
“my family would die for the oiler’s franchise to win a cup, i’m quite certain of that,” evie says plainly. “nadia always says, well never mind,” she decides to keep that joke to herself.
“nads says what?”
“it’s just a stupid joke of hers, she kept saying i should give up on you and marry draisaitl,” she chuckles, biting into another oreo, before realizing matthew’s playfulness had diminished. “oh come on, don’t do that,”
“do what?”
“you’re pouting.” am not, he wants to argue, but he knows and feels he is. the rivalry was always comedic to him, but even joking about evie ever finding someone better suited for her, it made him nauseous. he settles for clasping his hand in hers and pressing a kiss to the back of it, giving her a reassuring smile.
“all i know is, he doesn’t have you in a seat next to him to see his family, does he?”
“and won’t ever,” evie beams, kissing him sweetly. yeah, he was in love.
–
chantal wrapped evie up in the biggest hug imaginable, squeezing her tight. even keith gave her a big hug before they both moved onto their son, which he couldn’t even make a joke about. he was just so in awe that the people he loved most, loved her, and he couldn’t ask for more. taryn practically catapulted towards her when they made it to campus after dropping stuff off at the hotel, overly excited to show her the dorm and her favorite spots on campus. when she brought the family to her dorm room, she halts everyone at the door. “this is a girls’ only dorm, mom, evie, follow me. dad, matty, bye.”
the two of them stand in the lobby with gaping mouths, while the three girls laugh their way up the stairs.
“oh wow, tar, this is really nice,” evie compliments, tracing her fingers down the ivy streaming down her bookshelf. she had a really comfy room, with a beanbag in the corner and pictures of friends and family from home. her roommate’s side was pretty messy, and there was a clear line down the middle where taryn’s side started, and the tidiness kicked in. “you need to clean up matty’s room, sheesh,”
“he’s still messy?” she gags. “you would think living on your own would fix that. brady did,”
“brady also lives with his girlfriend, matthew lives with a teammate.” chantal chimes.
“so when he moves in with evie, i’ll see a difference?” evie looks up from the polaroid carousel in shock of hearing her name. apparently, taryn hadn’t even said it to be reactionary, and chantal hadn’t been shocked by it at all, because she simply continues.
“i would hope so, yes,”
swallowing forcefully, evie clears her throat and continues to look at things on taryn’s desk. she had never really envisioned her future with matthew, just that there was one. she didn’t picture their shared house or what their kids would look like, she just knew that she wanted all of it with him. it was one big blob in her brain as they tried to even figure out their present life, but she was excited to formulate it all with him.
“ev, did you see this?” taryn slides over to her desk, picking up a postcard from the corkboard. it was the christmas card ginny and evie had sent out last season, a jokey family card they made, photoshoot and all.
“oh god, i forgot we sent you guys one,”
“it was the cutest thing,” chantal swoons. “if only you had a dog or something to add in.”
“ginny’s allergic,”
taryn’s brain ticks audibly. “so wait, ginny’s the one that-”
“place and time for everything, tar,” evie interrupts, eyes cutting to chantal, who’s already looking at posters on the wall instead of paying attention to the conversation at hand.
nothing’s brought up on the topic until they’re descending the stairs a few moments later, and taryn catches up to evie’s ear. “but that is the same girl that liked ma-”
“yes!” evie blurts, not wanting to rehash it in front of his mother.
“hilarious. glad it’s all figured out though, you were always the one supposed to be here,” she says, easing past evie on the staircase, leaving her stunned slightly.
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“can’t believe my dad invited you to go golfing next time you’re in st. louis. do you know how long it took for me and brady to get invited?”
“i’m just like that, baby, what can i say,” evie shrugs, finishing putting moisturizer on her face. suppressing the backflip in his stomach at the mention of her calling him baby, he gets up from the bed and stands behind where she’s sitting in the hotel vanity mirror. “yes?” she says with a smile.
“just really happy you’re here,” he leans down, so his face is even with hers, looking on into the mirror.
“happy to be here,” she reciprocates his expression. “you guys always make me feel so welcomed.”
matthew takes evie by the hand, lifting her out of her seat and into his arms. she giggles at the motion, the silly nature of them in their hotel room, smiling stupidly at each other and unable to express the vast amount of love they had.
“you were always welcome, but now you’re expected,” he corrects. “my mom really likes you, so good luck getting out of anything from this point forward. and wait until you meet nana,”
“can’t wait,” evie kisses him sweetly before taking her glasses off and placing them on the nightstand, heading over to the bed. he’s about to say something to her when her phone begins to ring, and her eyes widen. “oh shit, it’s the ottawa office,”
matthew’s blood runs cold. it had taken them long enough to get back to her, but he had also been dreading it this whole time. when they steal her away to a different province, just when life was getting right between them.
“hi this is evangeline,” she answers professionally. he watches her with attentive, nervous eyes as she converses with the representative on the phone. her expression didn’t give anything away, she was just focused and looking ahead of her.
“okay, yes i will definitely keep in touch, thank you,” and with that, she hangs up, tipping her glasses back up her nose.
“so,”
“so,” he repeats, looking up at her from his seat beside her.
“you won’t have to worry about me being stolen away to ottawa,” she smiles bitterly. and matthew’s surprised with himself, because he’s not happy. he thought this was what he wanted, for her to stay in calgary with him. but this was an incredible opportunity, and she was deserving of it.
“oh ev,” he breathes. “i’m sorry,”
“they said i’m more than capable of doing an amazing job, but because i’m so amazing, they need me to stay in calgary. and when the position opens up here, it’ll more than likely be mine,” she explains with a shrug. “‘s fine i guess.”
evie lays back in the bed, matthew going back with her. he slides in beside her, hands coming comfortably around her middle and a leg in between hers. it was funny now, because they had always seemed to find themselves cuddling before this all, and then sitting up or waking up in embarrassment or shock. but now, they could both be open and free about it, and that’s exactly what they intended to do.
“you don’t have to pretend to be sad, you know.”
“i mean, i’m selfish, i want you where i am always,” she snuggles into him deeper at this, “but i know you wanted this. you should’ve gotten it,”
“one day,” she sighs. “just gotta keep doing what i do.”
“what you do amazingly,” he kisses the side of her head. trying to take her mind off of it before she fell asleep, he changes the subject. “you know dad told me we have to go pick brady up, right?”
evie groans. “he gets in at like 7,”
“7:10, if you need those extra 10 minutes of sleep,”
“am i driving or you?”
“isn’t the boyfriend supposed to drive?”
evie turns around in his hold, which matthew is excited for, until he notices the snit in her brow. “you never even asked me to be your girlfriend, actually,”
oh, he thought. in the whirlwind of emotions, he thought they had done that. and it’s not like evie cared, not at all. but it was fun to mess with him.
“okay, will you be my girlfriend?”
“you’re asking me this while i have acne patches on my face and your retainer is in.”
“it’s invisalign, for the last time,”
“i’m not answering you,” she huffs, turning back around.
“ev,” he whines, but she doesn’t budge. “babe, come on,”
“go to sleep, matthew. you’re driving in the morning.”
“so does that make me your boyfriend?”
with no response intended, evie leans up to turn the bedside lamp off, then snuggles back into the covers. in the silence of the dark, she hears matthew mutter, “definitely my girlfriend,” making her crack a smile.
–
brady and his girlfriend sit in the backseat casually for a few miles after the pickup, but evie can tell through the rearview mirror he’s about to burst. “anything you’d like to say, braeden?”
“not at the current moment, evangeline, but it’s cooking,” he says smugly.
“not surprised,” matthew mutters, switching lanes.
“i mean, i feel like i’m justified for at least 3 good ones,” he says. “playing therapist for 6 plus months involves some kind of restitution.”
“i’m so surprised you know what that word means,” evie bites back, making brady chuckle.
“leave the asshole bits to your boyfriend.”
“not my boyfriend.”
matthew groans from next to her. “ev, are we really gonna do this?”
“yes!”
“oh my god!” brady’s girlfriend snaps. “everyone, please shut the fuck up. it’s been less than 10 minutes, can we have peace before all of you are together?”
everyone’s silent in the car, because she was right. more tkachuks together was only going to be more fuel to the fire, and this was probably the most peaceful part of the day.
“seriously, brady, can you just marry her?”
“oh believe me, i’m trying.”
after dropping their things off at the hotel, the group quickly got ready to head to taryn’s game. evie had ordered a uva hoodie to wear along with a beanie stolen from matthew, the warm material welcomed over her ears. matthew hadn’t really recognized that that was the beanie he had spent 30 minutes looking for at home until he had opened the car door for her at the field.
“you’re a little thief, you know that?”
“i’m a pretty big one, actually.”
taryn’s brothers, along with evie of course, nearly cost the team a yellow card from their yelling and heckling, all of which none of them would stop, even when they were asked to. they nearly stormed the field when taryn scored the game winning goal, and pictures upon pictures were taken with the star athlete.
it was just another example of how easily evie fit in the family to matthew, how taryn pulled her away to talk about what she was going to wear to a party tomorrow night, and other things matthew apparently wasn’t allowed to know about. it was in the way brady and evie could tease each other and not have any problems, how she could take it as well as she could dish it.
“you know i love you, right?” matthew says to her, completely interrupting her ramblings as they waited outside the restaurant for everyone else to finish getting their things from the table.
“i love you too, matty,” she smiles back, still confused on why he blurted that.
“i know that was random, but i mean it, every time i say it i mean it,”
“i mean it too,”
“and i know you’re messing with me about the boyfriend thing, but i really do want to be that for you,”
“matthew,”
“like, so bad.”
“i know that,” she laughs. she brings a hand up to caress his face. “and i’ll be your girlfriend, since you’d apparently rather die than say it like a normal person,” she can’t help but tease.
“nothing we’ve done is normal,”
“that’s true,” she grins, bringing her other hand up to his face. they kiss sweetly and long, savoring the feeling of each other, something they’re certain they’ll never get tired of.
