is there a way to mute someone's account? i don't want to block them because i'd feel bad but i also don't want to keep seeing them on my tl, idk what to dooo
sooo what do we think happened today? aiden followed will, and then will followed both aiden and rj back. i'm guessing he's staying at mack's, but i'm curious what exactly led to all of this
summary: in your first year of uni you start a secret, no-strings-attached relationship with BC centre will smith. its easy at first but as feelings grow stronger, you're forced to decide whether love is worth risking everything.
warnings: one of my first attempts at 2nd person, suggestive, not proof read
word count (approx): 4.9k
author speaks! i feel like it's way easier to be detailed in 2nd person, tbh this is lowkey way better than my usual work 😬 i love wattpad but something about this app just gets my brain thinking.
also title is bags by clairo!
the cold in boston during the winter didn't just chill you it settled deep into your bones. the kind of frost that rolled off the rivers and hung in the air like real weight. on those nights the brick buildings of boston college looked like silhouettes against the purple-gray sky. inside your single dorm room the radiator hissed a heartbeat that kept the worst of the cold out.
usually, you sat on your small, lumpy bed waiting for your phone to light up. the text always arrived around eleven.
here.
no greeting, just a single word that sent a string of nervous energy straight to your stomach.
you’d pull on a thick hoodie, slide your feet into a pair of worn-out slippers, and slip down the half lit hallway of your dorm floor. the lobby was always empty and quiet at that hour. the sleepy-eyed security guard who barely looked up from his phone when you swiped your card to exit was the only there beside you.
stepping outside the cold air would instantly hit your face, making your breath turn into white clouds. and there, sitting near the curb with its headlights low, would be his car. you’d walk over, open the passenger door, and slide into the dry warmth of the front seat.
"hey." will would say.
"hey." you'd reply.
and just like that the rest of the world would fade away. it was replaced by the smell of leather, his cologne, and the faint scent of the rink — cold ice, sweat, and leather hockey gloves — that seemed permanently stuck to his skin.
will smith was a name that carried on campus. you couldn't walk into the dining hall, grab a coffee, or sit in a lecture hall without hearing it. as the fourth overall draft pick in the nhl, he was the highest-drafted player in boston college hockey history. his future wasn't just bright, it was blinding.
he lived in a glass house, and he knew it. he had a blueprint for his life, a perfectly drawn out plan where every single hour of his day was accounted for. morning skates, classes, video review, gym sessions, team meetings, study hall, sleep. there was no room for error. and there was certainly no room for distractions.
which was exactly why, when the two of you had first started crossing paths at campus parties and late-night study lounges, he had laid the ground rules down pretty firmly.
"i just can't do the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing right now." he’d told you, his voice quiet but incredibly steady, his blue eyes locking onto yours. "my head has to be entirely in the game. my career is everything to me, and i've worked too hard, for too many years, to let anything get in the way of it. i can't have distractions. i can't do labels."
you had nodded. you had smiled. you had looked at his handsome face, the sharp line of his jaw, the soft sweep of his hair, and you had lied directly to yourself.
i can do that, you had thought. a situationship is fine. a sneaky link is fine. having a piece of him is better than having nothing at all.
typically, the encounters were simple. after a big home win when the adrenaline was still pumping through his veins and his mind was too alive for sleep, he’d wait for you in the parking lot. you’d slip into his car, and he’d navigate the streets back to your dorm.
you always went to yours. it was a rule that you both understood without having to say it out loud. will shared a dorm with his teammate and close friend, ryan leonard.
ryan was great, but he was also loud, observant, and had zero boundaries when it came to his friends personal lives. the last thing will wanted — and the last thing he was going to risk — was ryan walking into their room and finding a girl in his bed. that would cause so much teasing, questions, and unwanted attention. will hated the gossip. he hated the idea of his personal life becoming locker-room talk.
so, your single dorm room became the place.
it was small and decorated with posters and string lights, but to will, it was a place where nobody wanted anything from him. he didn't have to be the fourth overall pick in here. he didn't have to worry about his next game, his plus-minus rating, or the sports reporters waiting outside the locker room. he could just be an eighteen-year-old.
on those nights, you’d let him lose himself in you, letting the pressure of his hockey career melt away in the dark of your room. he'd hold you tight, touch you, and he'd whisper things against your skin that felt too close to affection. before the first signs of dawn could slide through your curtains, he’d pull his clothes back on, kiss you softly, and slip out into the morning. he'd leave your bed cold and smelling like him.
for a long time, you convinced yourself that this was enough. you were happy to be the person he ran to when he needed to breathe. the only problem with rules is that they are incredibly hard to keep when you're dealing with matters of the heart. the problem with will was that, despite his self-imposed ban on labels, he was terrible at keeping his distance.
sometimes, the lines got so blurry they practically disappeared.
sometimes, he treated you exactly like a boyfriend would.
there was one cold tuesday evening in november that played on a loop in your head, a constant, beautiful but painful memory. he had texted you saying he was coming over, but when you had opened your door to let him in, you were a complete mess.
you had spent the entire afternoon crying over a brutal exam, your head was pounding, your eyes were swollen, and the weight of your own life felt like a crushing pressure on your chest. you were exhausted, emotionally drained, and you absolutely did not have the energy to put on the happy, uncomplicated act you usually wore for him.
you had stood in the doorway, your sweatpants baggy and your hair tied up in a messy bun, looking down at the floor.
"hey." you had whispered, your voice stripped and rough. "i'm sorry, will. i... i don't think tonight is a good night. i'm really not in the mood. i'm just so tired."
you had braced yourself for him to nod, make a polite excuse, and turn around to walk down the hall. after all, that was the contract, wasn't it? you were his escape. if you couldn't provide that, why would he stay? instead, will had just stared at you for a long time, his blue eyes softening in a way you had never seen before.
"okay." he had said softly.
he didn't leave. instead, he stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. he didn't reach for you, didn't try to kiss you. he just kicked off his sneakers, leaving them neatly by the door.
"will, you don't have to—"
"shh." he murmured, walking past you and into your makeshift kitchen. "where do you keep your snacks?"
you had blinked in confusion. "the cabinet above the microwave. why?"
will opened the cabinet rummaging through the contents until his hand landed on a half-eaten bar of dark chocolate you’d bought weeks ago and forgotten about. a small smile played on his lips. he reached into your mini fridge pulling out an unopened box of fresh strawberries.
"go sit down." he instructed gently.
you had watched him grab two bowls from the top drawer of the 'dresser' that your microwave sat on. he stood there in his gray bc hockey t-shirt, his shoulders slightly hunched, carefully breaking the chocolate bar into small, even pieces and dropping them into the bowl. he was so focused, his brow furrowing slightly as he stirred the melting chocolate with a spoon ensuring it didn't burn.
when the chocolate was done, he brought the bowl over to your couch, along with a bowl of washed and dried strawberries. he sat down beside you, his legs stretching out in the space. he handed you a strawberry.
"here." he said, his voice quiet. "eat."
you had taken the fruit, dipped it into the warm chocolate, and took a bite. the sweetness of the strawberry combined with the warmth of the chocolate was incredibly comforting, but not half as comforting as the simple presence of the boy sitting next to you. you didn't do anything physical that night. you didn't even kiss. instead, you just sat on your couch for three hours, dipping strawberries into chocolate and talking.
you talked about your childhood, about your annoying professor who refused to curve grades, about how much you missed your family back home. will had listened. he didn't check his phone once. he didn't talk about hockey, or the draft, or the pressure. he just looked at you his eyes fixed on your face, laughing at your stupid jokes with a warmth that made your chest ache horribly.
at one point, when you had shivered slightly from a wind coming through the window, will had reached over, grabbed your favorite fleece blanket from the bed, and draped it over your shoulders, tucking it in around you with a gentleness that felt so deeply intimate it made you want to cry.
when he finally left that night, he had kissed your cheek, lingering for a second too long, his breath warm against your skin.
"thanks for hanging out." he had whispered. "i needed that."
it was nights like those that ruined you. because how were you supposed to keep your heart out of it when he was doing things like that? how were you supposed to remind yourself that you were just 'fuck buddies' when he looked at you with so much more than lust?
as the weeks bled into months the situationship began to change. what had once felt exciting and secret began to feel heavy and suffocating. the emotional baggage of your unspoken feelings grew larger with every passing day, an invisible shoulder bag you had to carry around.
you started noticing the little things. you noticed how he never held your hand when you walked from his car to the dorm entrance, his eyes constantly scanning to make sure no one was watching. you noticed how he never posted anything that could even remotely suggest he was spending time with someone. you noticed the way your chest ached when you saw other couples walking hand-in-hand near the library, their faces bright and completely free of the secrecy that was your love life.
you wanted that. you wanted to be his girlfriend. you wanted to sit in the stands at the arena wearing his number and have him look up into the crowd and know you were there for him. you wanted to be able to text him during the day just to say you were thinking of him without worrying if you were crossing some invisible boundary he had set up to protect his career.
but most of all, you were terrified. the fear of confessing your feelings was a constant fever that burned in the back of your mind. you knew will. you knew how stubborn he was, how protective he was of his career and his dream. he had a plan, and he didn't like to stray from it, no matter what.
if you told him the truth, laid your heart out on the table and told him that the situationship was destroying you what would he do? the answer was always the same in your head a hard truth that made your stomach sink.
he would leave.
he would look at you with those serious blue eyes, apologize, and tell you that he couldn't give you what you wanted. he would pack up his things, walk out your door, and you would never sit in his car in the middle of the night again. you would lose the chocolate-covered strawberries, and the quiet laughter. you would lose him entirely.
so, you stayed silent.
you swallowed your feelings every time they threatened to rise up. you smiled when he came over, you gave him a good time after his wins, and you pretended that the quiet hollow in your chest didn't exist. you wore your 'i'm perfectly fine with this' mask.
but masks have a habit of slipping, especially when the weight of them become too heavy to bear. as the winter wind continued outside your window you knew you were running out of time before the pressure finally broke you.
the winter chill had settled deep into the streets of BC turning the parking of the on-campus dairy queen into a frozen lake that reflected the neon red and blue of the sign above. the sign buzzed a low hum that was the only sound cutting through the quiet massachusetts night. inside will’s car, the heater was going full blast blowing hot-dry air through the vents, keeping the frost from creeping up the windshield.
it was 9:45 p.m.
by some miracle of the hockey gods the game at conte forum had been scheduled for an early afternoon slot. the final horn had sounded at exactly 8:15 p.m. leaving the entire evening wide open. post-game media, showers, coach meetings, and locker room wind-downs dragged on until the late hours of the night. but tonight, will had practically flown through his obligations, his skates off and his street clothes on in record time.
when he had pulled up to your dorm, he hadn't texted his usual, dry here. instead, his name had popped up on your screen with a message that made your chest squeeze.
will: game ended early. get dressed. we're getting dq.
now, you were sitting in the passenger seat the paper cup of a blizzard sweating condensation against your palms. will sat beside you his body was relaxed against the driver's seat, his legs stretched out under the steering wheel. his hair was still slightly damp from his post-game shower curling softly at the nape of his neck and he smelled of the team's body wash and the clean scent of the rink.
he was on a high. they had won, four to one, and he had gotten two assists. he was gesturing with his red plastic spoon his blue eyes bright as he broke down the second goal of the night.
"so, ryan gets the puck along the boards, right?" will said, his voice lively. he scooped up a bite of vanilla soft-serve mixed with cookie dough. "and i see the defenseman committing way too early. he’s leaning on his left skate thinking ryan’s going to cycle it back down. so i just skate into a better spot. i’m hitting my stick like, dude, just pass it. ryan spots me tape-to-tape pass, and boom i just tap it over to gabe. goalie didn't even have time to slide."
you forced a smile. "it was a good play will. i saw the highlight on my feed."
"it was perfect." he grinned. "absolutely perfect. coach was buzzing in the locker room. he said if we keep playing like this, the frozen four isn't just a possibility it's ours to lose."
"you guys deserve it." you murmured. "you’ve been working hard."
"yeah. it's all paying off. every early morning, every extra skate." will leaned his head back against the headrest, looking over at you with a soft, content expression. "it feels good. and it feels good to just sit here with you. no pressure. just ice cream."
he reached over, his thumb gently catching a stray bit of chocolate on your bottom lip, wiping it away before licking his thumb with a grin. the casual intimacy of the gesture sent an agonizing pang straight through your ribs.
the silence fell back over the car but it wasn't the comfortable kind. not for you.
the words you had been suppressing for months were clawing their way up your throat. you stared down at your melting cup your fingers tightening around the paper until it folded. you couldn't keep doing this. you couldn't keep pretending that this car was the only place you existed to him. you couldn't keep playing the part of the chill girl who didn't mind being hidden away.
"will." you said quietly.
he turned his head, his brow furrowing slightly at the change in your tone. "yeah? what's up? you barely touched your blizzard."
"i need to tell you something." your voice was trembling, and you hated it.
you cleared your throat trying to find some semblance of strength, but your heart was hammering so violently against your ribs you were sure he could hear it.
will set his cup down in the cup holder, his entire posture shifting. "okay. you're using your serious voice. did something happen?"
"no. nothing happened. it's just..." you took a deep breath looking him straight in the eyes, determined not to look away. "i can't do this anymore."
will blinked his expression blank for a second. "do what?"
"this." you said gesturing between the two of us. "the late-night texts. the sneaking around. the 'no labels' rule. i can't keep pretending that this is enough for me."
the silence that followed was loud. the neon light from the dairy queen sign cast a red glow across the side of will's face highlighting the sudden, sharp tension in his jaw.
"we talked about this." he said his voice dropping into a quiet, careful tone. "right at the beginning. i thought we were on the same page."
"we were. or, i thought we were." you corrected, your voice cracking.
you pressed your hand against your chest, trying to quiet the hurt. "but it's been months, will. and the more time we spend together, the harder it is to just turn my feelings off when you walk out my door at three in the morning. we don't just act like a 'sneaky link.' we sit on my couch and melt chocolate and talk for hours about our families. you look at me like you care about me, and then the next day, we walk past each other on the quad and we have to pretend we're strangers."
"i have to keep things simple." will said, his voice tight. he gripped the steering wheel with one hand.. "you know what my life is like right now. the pressure is insane. if the media gets wind of anything, or if i get distracted—"
"is a relationship really a distraction, will?" you interrupted, a single tear finally escaping and slipping down your cheek. "or are you just scared?"
"it's not about being scared." he snapped though his voice lacked its usual certainty.
he looked away staring out the windshield at the empty parking lot. "it's about my career. i am the fourth overall pick. everything i do is under a microscope. i have to be focused on hockey. entirely. i can't be worrying about relationship drama, or putting effort into a label when my entire life is about to change in a few months. i really, really like you. you have to know that. but i can't give you what you want right now. i can't do the boyfriend thing."
there it was. the cold hard boundary you had been terrified of hitting.
the pain was sharp but you forced your face into a look of calm acceptance. you had spent weeks preparing for this exact moment, bracing yourself for the worst. you wouldn't beg. you wouldn't make him feel guilty for choosing his dream.
"okay." you whispered.
will looked back at you, surprise flickering in his eyes at how easily you had let it go. "okay?"
"yeah. i get it." you said forcing a small, empty smile onto your face. you set your half-eaten blizzard in the console. "you've always been honest with me. i'm not going to argue with you about your own life. let's just... go back."
"are you mad at me?" he asked, his voice suddenly sounding younger, almost vulnerable.
"no, will. i'm not mad." you lied smoothly. "i'm just tired. let's just go."
the drive back to the dorms was excruciating. neither of you said a word. the radio played some soft pop song in the background. it was a big difference to the tension inside the car. when he pulled up to the curb of your building, he didn't turn the engine off.
"i'll text you." he said quietly, his eyes searching yours in the dim light of the dashboard.
"goodnight, will." you replied, not answering his promise.
you grabbed your phone, opened the door, and stepped out into the freezing night. you didn't look back.
for the next several days, your phone was completely silent.
no texts from will. no random updates about practice, no post-game check-ins. you spent monday, tuesday, and wednesday trying to throw yourself into your schoolwork, staring at your textbooks until the words blurred together. every time your phone buzzed with a notification, your heart would leap into your throat, only to crash back down when you saw it was just an email or a text from a classmate.
you told yourself it was for the best. you had drawn the line, and he had chosen his side. the band-aid had been ripped off. now you just had to wait for the wound to heal.
but then came thursday.
it was around 8:00 p.m. you were sitting at your desk, wrapped in a blanket, typing out a response to a discussion board post. the rain was beating a steady, relentless tattoo against your window pane.
buzz.
you glanced at your phone, expecting nothing.
will: are you busy? can i come over?
your breath hitched. you stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. you should say no. you should tell him that unless he had changed his mind, there was no point in reopening the wound. but the feeling of his absence over the last week was a powerful and terrible force.
you: i'm not busy.
not even ten minutes passed before there was a knock on your door.
it wasn't the usual, quiet, almost silent double-tap he used when he was trying to slide under the radar of the resident supervisors. it was a firm and solid knock that echoed in the quiet hallway.
you stood up, your legs feeling like they could fail you at any moment, and walked over to the door. you took a deep breath steadying yourself, and pulled it open. the words you had prepared — the firm, polite boundary to protect yourself — died instantly in your throat.
will was standing in the hallway, looking like an absolute wreck. his hair was wet from the rain, sticking to his forehead in messy, dark clumps. his chest was heaving, his cheeks flushed red, and his hands were shaking slightly. in his right hand, he was clutching a small, slightly squished bouquet of grocery-store flowers — bright yellow daisies and red carnations wrapped in cheap, crinkly plastic.
before you could even ask him what he was doing, he pushed past you into the warm, narrow space of your single dorm, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click.
"i can't stop thinking about you." he started, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a breathless, chaotic rush.
he didn't even drop his winter jacket. he just stood in the centre of your room, holding the squished flowers out toward you like a peace offering. "i haven't slept. at all. for three days. i tried to focus during video review yesterday, and coach literally called me out in front of the entire team because i was just staring at the screen with my head completely somewhere else. i almost got dusted at practice today because i was thinking about what you said at dairy queen."
you blinked, utterly stunned, your back pressed against the wood of your door. "will... what are you talking about?"
"i'm talking about us." he said, taking a step closer, his eyes incredibly blue and incredibly desperate. "i thought about it. i thought about it during every single drill, during every skate, during the entire drive over here. and i was being an idiot. a complete, absolute idiot."
"will—"
"no, please, just let me finish before i lose my flow." he pleaded, running a shaky hand through his wet hair completely ignoring the way the water dripped down his face. "you asked if a relationship was a distraction, or if i was just scared. and the truth is i was scared. i've spent my entire life being told that if i want to make it to the nhl, i have to sacrifice everything. i have to put hockey first, always. no exceptions. so i built this rule, and i told myself that labels were the enemy."
he took another step, his shadow falling over you, the scent of rain and his familiar cologne filling the small room.
"but the truth is." will continued, his voice softening. "not having you is a way bigger distraction than having you could ever be. i don't think placing a label on what we have is going to change things the way i thought it would. we already do the relationship stuff. we already sit on your couch and talk until two in the morning. you already know the worst parts of me, and you're still here."
a soft, breathless laugh escaped your lips your hands coming up to cover your mouth. will saw the shift in your expression, and a tiny hopeful spark lit up in his eyes.
he rushed forward, his words picking up speed again. "and i'm tired of the secrets. i'm tired of having to pretend i font know you when you walk past. i want to be able to hold your hand when we go get coffee. i want to take you out to a real dinner, not just hide in my car at dairy queen. and most of all i want to have the right to get jealous in public when another guy gets a little too close to you at a party. i want to be able to walk up, put my arm around you, and tell them you're mine."
you let out a bubbling laugh at that, the tears finally spilling over your eyelashes and running down your cheeks. "you want to get jealous?"
"yes!" will exclaimed, a sheepish grin finally breaking through his anxious expression. "absolutely. ryan was talking to some girl the other day who was talking about her friend who thought i was cute, and i literally had to sit there and pretend i didn't care because i didn't have the right to tell him i was already taken. it was torture."
he stopped rambling, his chest still heaving as he stared down at you. he slowly lowered his hands, setting the slightly battered bouquet of flowers onto your desk, before turning back to face you completely. he took your hands in his. his fingers were warm but still damp from the rain. they wrapped around yours with a strength that felt permanent.
"so please." will whispered, his voice cracking slightly with emotion. "will you be my girlfriend? for real this time?"
the relief that washed over you was so immense it felt like you were floating. the heavy, suffocating weight you had been carrying for months simply vanished into the warm air of your room.
"yes." you laughed, leaning into him your forehead resting against his shoulder. "yes, will. of course i will."
the words had barely left your mouth before his hands left yours, sliding up to cup your face. his palms were warm against your cheeks, his fingers sweeping back into your hair as he pulled you up into a kiss.
it was completely different from any kiss you had shared before. it wasn't a rushed, quiet moment in the dark of his car or a hurried goodbye before dawn. this kiss was slow, incredibly deep, and overflowing with a sweet, aching relief. he pressed his lips to yours so lovingly, his body relaxing completely as he pulled you flush against his chest, wrapping his strong arms around your waist.
you could feel the radiant smile stretching across his lips even as he kissed you, his shoulders shaking with a happy laugh. he pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he stared down at you.
"girlfriend." he murmured, the word sounding sweet and foreign on his tongue. "i like the sound of that."
"me too, will." you smiled, wrapping your arms securely around his neck, finally at home. "me too."
can i just say that it's painfully obvious when someone writes with ai? ive come across more ai written fics than I'd like to admit, and you can spot them from a mile away
no matter how much someone trys to edits the wording ai has such a distinctive way of structuring sentences, organizing ideas, and phrasing things that it always gives itself away, and what surprises me the most is how many of you don't even seem to notice
