LOVE ACTUALLY, REALLY IS, ALL AROUND — quinn hughes x fem!reader
summary: in which, it only takes a month for you to send Quinn Hughes’ world spiralling.
note: this is VERY heavily inspired by Natalie and David’s romance in Love Actually! I really enjoyed writing this and it’s amassed close to 14k words!!
warnings: fem!reader, she/her used, drinking, mentions of reader's past bad relationship, awkward moments, use names; y/n, Linda, Rosalie, Mia and Rick, fluff, slow burn but also fast burn ig?
This is part of ho ho hockey an incredible event set up by @thedevilrisen and the masterlist can be found here! I am very grateful to be considered part of the group of writers taking part and I hope you guys enjoy this!
wc: 13.8k
"Quinn, it's just for the next few months."
"I don't need one."
"It'll help your schedule and take some of the weight off."
"I'm good with what I'm doing now."
Patrik Allvin sighed, his hands clasped together on the desk in front of him as he eyes down the young captain, with darkened eye bags paired with a frown.
"Quinn, look, it's just an assistant," Allvin continued, "they'll help out with your planning and around your apartment, because right now, I'll be honest, you're running yourself into the ground. You're exhausted, we're offering you help, take it."
Quinn was exhausted, that was an undeniable truth.
He didn't know what was happening to him but he felt lost. His head was scrambled, only just solid enough to fake it for a few hours at games and practises before he would crash. He'd skipped out on physio sessions, missed a few meetings he probably shouldn't have, and all in all, was just completely run-down.
He was stuck with a bad case of the slumps— as his mom affectionately named it when he first had it at eight years old. These slumps were the weight of the world crushing down on his shoulders until his knees buckled and his head cracked under the strain. When he was eight, it had been fixed by scoring points in his games, yet he'd found that, that method wasn't working at the minute.
Because he was scoring points...good points, hell, he'd even set the record for most assists by a defenseman in Canucks history, yet his bad case of the slumps made him barely crack a satisfied smile.
Although he tried to conceal the slumps and it's awful ways, it seemed that others had picked up on it, and all of which led him to now.
"I don't need an assistant...look, I've just had a rough few weeks," Quinn admitted, running a hands over his face. "But I have it handled, I don't need somebody to come in and mess everything back up."
Allvin leaned back into his seat with a grimace, a soft breath leaving his mouth.
"I've talked to Tocchet and Foote and we've made the decision to bench you until you agree, maybe you don't see the use in this now, but one day you will."
"That can't be fair?" Quinn's shoulders slumped, his hand combing through his unruly hair. "I haven't let this effect my game."
"This isn't about the game, Q, this is about you," Allvin locked eyes with the man. "You're the captain, you lead the team and you're damn good at it, but being a captain also means you know when to accept help when it's offered."
Quinn let the words settle over the still room, his fingers pinching his nose in thought. The headache pulsing behind his eyes throbbed and begged for remorse as the man allowed his hands to fall to his lap.
"Fine," Quinn reluctantly agreed, a huff of air escaping his bitten lips. "I'll find one."
"Good, I'll have HR send over a few candidates," Allvin seemed to let a sigh of relief slip through his mouth, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "You can meet them all or we have a qualified candidate ready to start tomorrow, already vetted and willing."
"Fine, just send over whoever is ready." Quinn nodded curtly, already regretting his concession. He stood up, the pit of heaviness in his chest somehow amplified by the decision. "But if this doesn't work—"
"Then we'll adjust," Allvin interrupted with a rare, reassuring tone. "But you won't regret this."
Quinn gave a small, noncommittal grunt and left the office, the door clicking shut behind him. He dragged his feet back to his car, the winter chill biting at his skin.
–
It was ten am the next day when the buzzer to his apartment rang out through the living room. Quinn, sat up, his hair askew from lying down across the plush of his couch.
He dragged himself up, his body protesting every step. The grogginess hadn't quite worn off, and part of him hoped this was just some mistake, that maybe the new assistant wouldn't show up. He padded toward the intercom and pressed the button.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Mr. Hughes?" A slightly nervous voice came through the speaker. "I'm y/n. From HR? Uh... your new assistant?"
He sighed, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
Quinn half-heartedly hit the button to unlock the building's entrance and tried to mentally prepare himself for what he was sure would be an awkward introduction.
"Come on up," he mumbled into the intercom, not even sure if the microphone caught it. He ran a hand through his unruly hair and adjusted his hoodie, glancing around his apartment. It wasn't a disaster, but it wasn't quite ready for company either. A few empty water bottles on the coffee table, last night's dinner plate still in the sink.
Oh well...too late now.
The knock on the door came just a minute later.
Taking a steadying breath, he crossed the room and pulled it open.
The person on the other side was...not quite what he expected.
You stood, shifting on your heels, looking a little windblown, nose scrunched from the early November cold. You wore a coat that seemed one size too big, clutching a portfolio close to your chest. Your wide eyes met his, a flicker of nerves passing through them before you mustered a smile.
"Hi," you spoke brightly, your grin spreading up to your eyes. "HR and Allvin said I could start today, said I may be needed."
For a moment, Quinn just stared.
His exhaustion mixed with a sense of surreal disbelief. You were nothing like the buttoned-up, clipboard-wielding professional he'd conjured up in dread of this meeting. You seemed...human, normal.
Your smile wavered slightly under his silence and gaze, and you shifted nervously on your feet once more.
You'd gotten the call at eleven o'clock the night before from your cousin saying that she'd put your name forward for an assistant job weeks prior and that HR was assigning you to an athlete who needed help in the day-to-day...and after almost a month of being unemployed, you were desperate.
"Right," Quinn finally muttered, stepping aside to let you in. "Come in...sorry, I—uh, wasn't expecting someone so soon."
"It's okay," you reassured him, stepping inside the apartment. You glanced around, taking in the apartment without judgment. "You've a nice place."
"Thanks," Quinn followed your gaze, suddenly hyper-aware of the pile of mail on the counter and the shoes kicked off haphazardly by the door. "It's, uh...usually cleaner."
"I'm y/n, by the way," you offered a somewhat sheepish smile. "I know I said it over the intercom but I never trust them to be clear."
"Hello, y/n," Quinn replied, his tone flat but not unkind as his eyebrows scrunched together while a smile lifted across your plush lips.
"Hello, Quinn." Your face immediately dropped and you lifted your hands in a jolt. "I mean 'Mr. Hughes'—oh, shit, I can't believe I said that."
You gaped, eyes wide and blinking in shock.
"Oh no, and now I've gone and said 'shit'—twice. I'm so sorry!"
Quinn blinked in response, his lips twitching slightly as he struggled to keep a straight face.
"That's fine... you can call me Quinn," he supplied, his voice carrying a faint trace of amusement. His head tilted as he attempted to joke. "And you could've said 'fuck,' and then we would've been in real trouble."
You stared at him, eyes wide, a faint laugh escaping your throat.
"Thank you," you stuttered, exhaling sharply, placing your portfolio on the countertop. "I did have an awful premonition I was going to fuck up on my fir—oh my god!" Your hand flew to your mouth in horror. "What is wrong with me?"
Quinn chuckled this time, unable to help himself as his shoulders loosened.
"Relax, it's fine...maybe a rough start, but you're still ahead of my first press conference as captain."
"Really?"
"Yep. Tripped over a wire coming into the room and almost took out a cameraman. At least you're just embarrassing yourself," Quinn seemed to wince at his words ever so slightly, but you took no notice.
"Well, I guess that's...reassuring?" The tension in your shoulders eased just a fraction as you set your bag down and tried to refocus.
"So...they told me you're here to 'make my life easier.'" Quinn leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "What does that actually mean?"
You straightened, hands clasped like a lifeline.
"Uh, yes, right. My role is to help manage your schedule, handle administrative tasks, and assist with anything else that might lighten your workload—on or off the ice."
"Off the ice?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Well, within reason," you clarified quickly, heat rushing to your cheeks. "Like meal prep, errands, maybe organising your living space if needed—"
Quinn's sceptical look made you pause in your rambles.
"I promise, I'm not here to invade your privacy or anything!" you added hastily. "Just to help for the next few months, anyway."
"Alright," He studied you for a moment, his gaze unreadable as your hands clasped together. "Let's see how this goes."
–
Surprisingly, you quite enjoyed being Quinn's personal assistant.
Sure, he was gruff at first, understandingly uncomfortable with having someone poking around in his day-to-day life, but you quickly realized his bark was worse than his bite. Quinn wasn't rude or dismissive, just a bit guarded, which made sense considering the weight he carried heavily on his shoulders.
By the end of your second week, you had already streamlined his schedule, ensuring he didn't miss a single meeting or physio session. You even managed to sneak in a few breaks, much to his protest.
"You don't need to pencil in a nap for me," Quinn grumbled as he slouched on the couch after practice. "I'm not a child."
"No...but you're an ambitious man, some would argue that you're worse." you countered, placing a glass of water on the coffee table in front of him. "You look like you've been running on fumes for weeks and I'm not letting you keel over on my watch."
He didn't argue further, which felt like a small victory.
You moved swiftly back towards your laptop which you'd set up on his kitchen counter while Quinn's eyes followed your every movement.
"y/n?" His voice called out, causing your head to lift and meet his uncertain eyes.
"Quinn?" you found yourself answering, matching his tone.
"I feel like you know everything about me and I know absolutely nothing about you," his ears reddened slightly, as he leaned forward, elbows resting against his knees. "Feels wrong."
"There's not much to know, I'm afraid," you shrugged, with a half hearted hum.
"Well...um, where do you live?" Quinn asked suddenly.
"Champlain Heights, Killarney...I grew up there."
"And you live with your boyfriend? Girlfriend? Husband? Wife? Three illegitimate but lovely children?"
Your lips quirked up as Quinn joked. Over the week you'd known him, moments like these were rare but you were glad he was trying to make the most of the situation.
"No," you shook your head, tone filled with mirth, before you let a soft sigh escape your lips. "I just split up with my boyfriend actually, so I'm back with my Mom and Dad for a while."
Quinn's smile dropped and somehow you felt guilty at the change of mood.
"Sorry," he mumbled, scratching his head as he awkwardly ducked his head.
"Don't be," you hummed, eyes flitting between his schedule on your screen and the shifting man. And at that second you damned your incessant need to fill silence as your lips opened to speak. "He was a nice guy once upon a time, then he got mean. He, uh...got angry and said awful things. Not a nice guy actually, in the end."
Your lips pursed as you pushed the feeling down deep in your soul where you'd been trying to repress the memories of your ex. The last thing you needed was to be sobbing on the job.
"Right. Well, well..." Quinn's eyes were now locked on you as you shrunk into your body, eyes unmoving from the screen. "You know, uh..." he paused to run a hand over his jaw. "...being Captain, I could have him banned from the arena."
"He was more of a Flames fan, always made me come with him to watch them play you guys." you winced, "but thank you, I'll definitely think about it."
"Do," Quinn nodded, picking up the television remote. The quiet settled between you as he flicked through channels before landing on a hockey game.
"Flames fan, huh?" He finally muttered, breaking the silence. "That explains a lot."
"What's that supposed to mean?" You raised an eyebrow, suppressing a faint smile.
"Means he already had bad taste," Quinn replied without looking up from the TV, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.
You couldn't help but laugh at that, shaking your head.
"You're lucky you're paying me to tolerate this level of trash talk," you chided, eyes lingering on Quinn's chuckling figure.
"I'm not paying you, the team is." His smirk widened, and you rolled your eyes, feeling the atmosphere instantly lighten as you continued to work, the hum of the TV, clicking of your keyboard keys and Quinn's infrequent moving being the only noises to disrupt the peace.
–
"Okay, so—"
Quinn groaned and slumped further back into the plush of his couch as your boots clattered towards the living room, an itinerary sheet in hand.
"Nuh uh," you instantly tutted, "I did not wake up at six thirty to deal with grumpy you."
Today was the dreaded day. The kind of day Quinn dreaded. It would start with morning training (not bad at all), then post raws (a necessary annoyance), then interviews (time-consuming and mostly boring), then the most dreaded of all...filming media content (Quinn Hughes' least favourite part of playing professional hockey).
And the worst thing was, he couldn't even chicken out, it was the one downfall of being Captain.
"Cancel it all," he grumbled, aware of your narrowing eyes. "Not training...everything else, oh! Maybe I could fake an—"
"Nope, we're not going there, Hughes," you instantly cut him off. "You don't need that kind of bad karma."
A month into being Quinn's assistant, you'd gotten more and more comfortable with the man, knowing when to ease off and when to step in.
Quinn, once again, groaned dramatically and flopped back against the couch, dragging a pillow over his face.
"You know," you began, folding your arms and standing in front of him with mock sternness, "for someone who captains a whole team, you're really good at whining like a teenager."
The pillow moved slightly as Quinn peeked out at you, his glare barely convincing.
"I don't whine." His voice was muffled.
"Uh huh...sure," You waved the itinerary in front of him like it was some holy text. "Now, get up. We're leaving for training in thirty minutes, and then—" you added with a smug little grin, "you're going to charm the media like the golden boy we all know you secretly are."
Quinn groaned louder this time, tossing the pillow aside.
"Golden boy?" He scoffed, swinging his legs onto the floor. "You have me confused with Petey."
"Golden boy, grumpy boy, whatever," you mused. "You're still showing up, no ifs or buts."
He gave you one last dramatic sigh but got up, trudging toward his bedroom to finish getting ready.
"I don't know why they even need me for this stuff," he grumbled over his shoulder. "I just play hockey. That's it."
"And lead an entire team," You smirked, calling after him. "Don't forget that part, Captain Hughes."
–
By the time the media circus rolled around, Quinn was already on his second tea of the day. You'd anticipated his reluctance and kept his favourite blend ready, passing it to him with a quick, 'Don't spill it on yourself before the cameras start rolling.'
He muttered a quiet 'Thanks,' which you knew by now was Quinn-speak for I'd be dead without you.
As the interviews began, you stayed off to the side, scrolling through emails and keeping an eye on the time. Quinn handled himself well, answering questions with a mix of practiced professionalism and mild sarcasm. You noticed how his responses were sharper than usual, less mechanical.
Your lips quirked into a small smile as you skimmed over email after email.
During a break, Quinn wandered over to where you were sitting, his hands tugging at the collar of his shirt.
"This thing's choking me," he grumbled, voice low enough that only you could hear.
You reached up instinctively, adjusting the collar for him.
"Better?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, actually...thanks." His gaze lingered on you for a moment, his expression softer than usual before he dropped his gaze to his shoes.
"Only four more to go, and you have a break after the second," You hummed and glanced at the clock. "Need anything?"
"Nah, I'm fine," Quinn rolled his shoulders, glancing back to where the media team were setting up.
"Alright then," you let your hands settle on your hips. "If you need me, I'll be here."
—
The next two media sessions stretched longer than Quinn could ever have anticipated, but the perk of the forty minute break from cameras and strangers was something he welcomed wholeheartedly.
He slumped into a seat beside an equally exhausted Petey. The blonde man nudged Quinn with his elbow, a sly grin playing on his face.
"Rough day, Captain?"
"Don't start." Quinn shot him a sideways glare, the kind that lacked any real heat.
"You know, you seem more tense than usual," Petey shrugged, unfazed by the sharpness of his captain's words. "Maybe you just need to get laid."
Quinn nearly choked.
"What?" His voice came out far harsher than he intended, drawing a few curious glances from the rest of the team along with a few managers standing across the room.
"I'm just saying," Petey smirked wider, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. "Might help loosen you up, how long has it been, hm?" Quinn rubbed a hand down his face, groaning at his friend's words.
" I barely have time these days, so where am I supposed to find someone, huh?" He shot back, eyes narrowed and lips curled. "Think they'll just walk through those doors?"
As if on some sort of cruel and teasing cue, you entered the room carrying yet another cup of tea for Quinn, your stride as confident as ever despite the chaos around you.
"Here, I brought you more tea," you spoke, placing the cup on the table in front of him with an easy smile. Petey's grin widened like a kid who'd just seen a magician pull a rabbit out of a hat. "And I sorted out the media situation so that your last two will be shorter and more like cameo appearances."
"Well...Speak of the devil," Petey drawled in a murmur, barely loud enough for him to hear. Quinn shot him a warning look, his ears burning as you turned your attention to him.
"Everything okay?" you asked, tilting your head in concern as you caught the faint tension in Quinn's expression.
"Fine," he answered quickly, reaching for the tea. "Just...media stuff. You know how it is."
"That I do," Your lips quirked up knowingly. "Not too long left before you're free."
Quinn nodded, grateful as always for you being on top of every annoyance or hardship. You lingered for a moment before bidding the two goodbye before heading towards Allvin, who Quinn suspected was asking for a rundown on him.
As soon as you were out of earshot, Petey leaned in, his grin downright wicked now.
"She's perfect, dude," he whispered.
"Don't start," Quinn muttered again, though his eyes betrayed him, flicking to where you were talking animatedly, laughing and smiling as Allvin spoke.
"I'm just saying," Petey continued, his voice low and teasing. "She's smart, she keeps you in check, and she brings you tea. If that's not wife material, I don't know what is."
Quinn glared at him again, but there was no denying the flicker of truth in Petey's words. Still, he shook his head, leaning back in his chair with a resigned sigh.
"She's my assistant, Petey." He huffed, "Nothing more."
"For now," Petey chuckled, unconvinced.
Quinn ignored him, though his gaze wandered back to you one more time before he forced himself to look away.
—
December's icy air nipped at the tip of your nose as you let yourself into Quinn's apartment complex. You'd had the night off, and allowed yourself to watch the Canucks and Lightning game in your family's living room, curled up in sweatpants and a ratty T-shirt you'd sworn was the most comfortable article of clothing.
You'd found a friend in Quinn Hughes after spending just over a month as his assistant. He'd tried to explain hockey to you and you willingly listened. So when it came to nights off where he was playing a game, you found watching it to be anything but a chore.
However, tonight was different.
The injury had happened so fast that it barely registered in your head until the blood started dripping onto the ice.
One moment, Quinn was battling for the puck along the boards and the next, a high stick caught him just beneath the nose, leaving a jagged gash on his upper lip. He barely made it off the ice before the trainers were rushing to patch him up.
You hadn't asked if he needed help—you just knew he wouldn't. He wasn't the type to admit when he was struggling, even when it was obvious he could use a hand.
Balancing the bag on your hip, you knocked on the door and went it opened moments later, there was Quinn, looking about as grumpy as you'd expected. His upper lip was swollen and stitched, a slight bruise forming across the stitches. He wore sweatpants and a hoodie, the hood pulled up over his messy hair.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice muffled slightly by his injury.
"Checking on you," you answered simply, stepping inside before he could protest. "Brought supplies."
"I'm fine," Quinn sighed but didn't stop you.
"You always say that," you shot back, heading straight for the kitchen. "And yet it has never been true." Quinn looked up, his scowl easing slightly at the sight of you.
"What's all that?" he mumbled, his words slurring a bit from the swelling.
"Just a little emergency care package," you replied with a grin, setting the bag down on the coffee table. "Soup, ice packs, and some entertainment."
"I don't need entertainment," He groaned, leaning back into the couch. "I need my face to stop throbbing."
"Lucky for you, I'm good at multitasking," you teased, handing him a cold pack wrapped in a towel. "Here. Hold this on your lip, it'll help with the swelling."
Quinn grumbled but did as you said, wincing slightly as the cold touched his skin.
"See? Not so bad," you grinned, sitting down beside him. "And hey...at least it's not a concussion or something."
"Yeah, well, tell that to my pride," he muttered. "Can't even talk right without sounding like an idiot."
"You don't sound like an idiot," you assured him, suppressing your growing smile. "You sound like someone who took a high stick to the face and is still here, dealing with it, grumpily dealing with it but dealing nonetheless...Pretty admirable if you ask me."
"Flattering me now?" Quinn snorted, though the motion made him wince and for you to scrunch your nose with a grimace. "Thought you were supposed to keep me humble."
"Oh, don't worry," you teased, leaning back into the plush of the white couch. "I've got a whole list of your flaws I can bring up if your ego gets too big...and don't test me, my notes app list is long."
He rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched upward into the faintest smile. It was the first time he'd looked even close to relaxed since you'd arrived.
"You really didn't have to come, you know," Quinn muttered after a beat of silence, his voice quiet as his head lolled to the side to look at you. "I mean, it's just a busted lip. I'm fine."
"Sure you are," you nudged him lightly with your shoulder. "But maybe I wanted to check on you for me, not you. Ever think of that?"
"For you, huh?" Quinn's gaze flicked toward you, his eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. "What? You worried I'd starve or something?"
"Exactly," you quipped, crossing your arms dramatically. "Imagine the headlines: Quinn Hughes, famed Canucks Captain, Found Passed Out From Hunger in His Own Apartment. Not only would I never live it down but my stellar reference for my resume would be gone."
That pulled a genuine laugh from him, soft and low, and it made something flutter in your chest. You didn't dare let it show, though, instead focusing on the ice pack he still held awkwardly to his lip.
"Here," you tutted, leaning forward and gently adjusting it for him. "You're holding it all wrong."
Your hands brushed over his for the briefest moment, and you paused, hyper-aware of how close you were to him. Quinn seemed to notice too, his eyes locking on yours as you pulled back.
"Thanks," he murmured, his voice softer than before.
You cleared your throat, trying to dispel the sudden tension that has festered.
"So," you started, reaching for the TV remote, "what's your go-to injury movie? Comedy? Action? Something with explosions?"
Quinn tilted his head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the stitches.
"I don't really have a go-to," he admitted. "Usually just watch whatever game is on...or golf."
"Perfect," you rolled your eyes as you flipped through streaming options. "That means I get to pick."
He groaned playfully, but he didn't protest, letting you take the reins. You settled on a lighthearted comedy, something easy and mindless that would keep both of you entertained without requiring too much focus.
As the movie began to play, you found yourself stealing quick side glances at him. His guard was down now, the usual weight he carried in his posture noticeably absent, back slumped against the cushions, his chest rising and falling beneath his oversized hoodie. Even with the swollen lip and the lingering bruises, he looked... softer. Warmer. More intriguing.
"You're staring," Quinn spoke suddenly, his voice pulling you from your thoughts.
"What?" You blinked, caught off guard. "No, I'm not."
"You are," he teased, his smirk widening just enough to make you roll your eyes.
"Fine," you shot back, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. "I was just thinking that you should really invest in some better first-aid supplies. What kind of captain doesn't have proper bandages at home?"
"One who doesn't plan on getting high-sticked in the face," he retorted, leaning back against the couch. "Guess I'll just keep you around to handle it next time."
The words were lighthearted, but something about the way he said them made your chest tighten and your heart to leap to your throat.
That was new.
You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out, the moment hanging between you like a tightened thread waiting to snap.
"You know," he breathed out after a pause, "I really do mean it. Thanks for coming by. I don't... I don't always let people help, but you make it easy." Your breath caught in your throat at his sudden sincerity.
"That's what I'm here for," you managed to say, your voice soft.
Quinn's gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had faded away. The movie played on in the background, but neither of you paid it any attention.
"Y/N," he began, his voice almost hesitant.
"Yeah?" you prompted, your heart hammering in your chest.
"Nothing," he said quickly, shaking his head. "Never mind."
Your teeth found refuge on the inside of your cheek, head nodding and eyes falling down to your lap.
"Alright then..."
—
"I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!" You yelled over the thumping bass of the bar downtown's blaring music, as your friend, Rosalie passed you another drink.
"What's this about?" she asked, raising a perfectly arched brow.
"This stupid job!" you exclaimed, though your rant was accompanied by a dazed, dreamy grin. "Whoever said I could do it was wrong, very wrong!"
Rosalie exchanged a glance with your other friend, Mila, before leaning in.
"You've been killing it at that job," her eyebrows furrowed as she spoke. "What are you even talking about?"
"It's not the job," you slurred slightly, throwing back the rest of your drink like a woman on a mission. "It's him. Stupidly handsome. Stupidly polite. Stupidly nice... Stupid Quinn freaking Hughes."
Both Rosalie and Mila's eyes widened at your confession, and Rosalie grabbed your wrist to steady the drink you'd been reaching for.
"Ohhh," Mila drew out the word as a sly smile spread across her face. "This is about Captain Hockey Pants."
"Captain Hot Pants," you corrected with a drunken huff, slamming the glass down on the table a little harder than you'd meant to. "I mean, who walks around with those stupidly soft brown eyes and that messy hair that somehow always looks perfect?! And don't even get me started on his stupid... his stupid UGH... his stupid need to be so nice."
Rosalie snorted, covering her mouth to muffle her laughter as you held your head in your hands.
"Sounds like someone's got it bad," she teased.
"I don't have it bad!" you protested, though your wobbly tone made it clear you were lying. "It's just... it's so annoying! The way he always says thank you for everything, and the way he listens when I talk, like, really listens, as if I'm the most interesting person in the room...what's that about?! Who does that?!"
"As much as I want to say that's the bare minimum, guys these days test that," Mila mused with a knowing smile, sipping her drink. "Sounds like the guy might like you,"
"No, no, no," you denied, shaking your head vigorously. "He's just nice. He's nice to everyone. That's the problem. He's too nice and too—" you gestured wildly, nearly spilling Rosalie's drink in the process, "—too perfect!"
"So what you're saying is..." Rosalie grinned, leaning in closer. "you think Quinn Hughes is perfect?"
"Don't say it like that," You groaned, burying your face in your hands once more. "It sounds even worse when you say it out loud."
"It sounds like you're in loveeee," Mila sang with a teasing smile. You froze for a second, the words hitting you like a slap or a sudden dunk in freezing water.
"I am not in love," you insisted, though your voice lacked conviction. "I'm just...professionally frustrated."
"Oh yeah, because you sound real professional when you're ranting about his perfect hair and dazzling eyes."
"Okay, fine!" you exclaimed, throwing your arms up again at Rosalie's words. "Maybe I do like him! Maybe I think he's the most handsome, quietly funny, painfully thoughtful guy I've ever met, and maybe it's driving me insane because I work for him and he probably doesn't even notice me as anything other than the person who makes sure he eats and doesn't miss practice!"
"Aw, babe," Mila winced, reaching over to pat your arm sympathetically. "You've got it bad. Like, rom-com bad. Like David and Natalie Love Actually bad."
Before you could protest, Rosalie suddenly tensed, as her eyes locked on something behind you.
"Uh, speaking of Captain Hot Pants..." she grimaced.
"What?" Your head snapped up, heart dropping into your stomach.
"Relax, relax!" Rosalie whispered quickly at your sharp tone. "He didn't hear anything, at least I think he didn't...but he's... right over there."
Your gaze followed hers, and sure enough, there he was.
Quinn Hughes, in all his effortlessly messy-haired, broad-shouldered glory, standing near the bar with a few teammates, laughing at something Elias Pettersson had just said. He hadn't noticed you—or so you hoped.
"Why is he here?" you hissed, suddenly wishing the ground would swallow you whole.
"It's a bar, babe. People come to bars," Mila said with a shrug. "And clearly, you're both on the same wavelength."
"Don't you dare," you warned, finger pointed towards the girl as Mila's grin turned devilish.
"Relax," Rosalie shushed, holding up her hands. "We won't do anything. But... you might want to make sure you don't yell his name in your next rant."
"Noted," you muttered, sinking lower in your seat in embarrassment.
But as much as you wanted to stay hidden, your eyes kept drifting back to him.
He looked relaxed, his usual guardedness gone as he joked with his friends and when he glanced your way, just briefly, you swore your heart stopped.
"He totally just looked over here." Mila nudged you with her pointed elbow.
"No, he didn't," you stammered quickly, though you were already feeling the flush creeping up your neck.
"Oh, he definitely did," Rosalie teased. "You should go talk to him."
"Absolutely not," you shook your head rapidly. "I've had way too much to drink, and I'll probably just embarrass myself."
"Or," Mila drawled with a grin, "you'll finally find out if Mr. Perfect is as into you as you are into him."
"Oh, shut up!"
As the night went on, Rosalie and Mila made it their mission to disappear on you, claiming they needed to 'use the bathroom' but never returning. You'd texted them both at least five times, but all they responded with were vague excuses and winky face emojis, clearly leaving you to fend for yourself.
And, of course, Quinn was still at the bar, only a few feet away, laughing with his teammates like he didn't have a care in the world. You'd tried to avoid looking in his direction, but it was impossible not to notice him. He stood out without even trying.
You debated whether you should leave. Just slip out unnoticed, go home, and chalk this up to a lesson in why tequila shots and ranting about your secretly handsome boss should never mix.
But before you could act, a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.
"y/n?"
Your stomach flipped as you turned to find Quinn standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, looking down at you with that curious, slightly guarded expression he always wore.
"Oh...hey!" you feebly blurted out, trying not to sound as startled as you felt. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"I could say the same thing," he replied, tilting his head slightly. "I thought you said you didn't really go out."
"Yeah, well, my friends dragged me out tonight," you said with a forced laugh, gesturing toward the empty seats where Rosalie and Mila had abandoned you. "Though apparently, they've decided to leave me to fend for myself."
"Their loss," Quinn's lips quirked into a small smile, the kind that was gone almost as soon as it appeared.
There was a beat of silence, just long enough for you to feel self-conscious under his gaze. He shifted on his feet, glancing toward the bar and then back at you.
"Want to grab a drink?" he asked suddenly, his voice casual but his eyes steady on yours.
Your heart skipped a beat.
"Uh, sure...why not?"
He gestured for you to follow him, and you slipped off your stool, trailing behind him toward the bar. The crowd parted just enough to make space, and you found yourself standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him as he ordered another drink for himself and asked what you wanted.
When the bartender handed you your drink, Quinn leaned against the bar, his body angled toward you. His usual reserved demeanour seemed to have softened, and for once, you weren't talking to Captain Hughes.
You were just talking to Quinn.
Plain old, handsome, attractive, kind Quinn.
"So," he started, taking a sip of his drink. "What were you yelling about earlier?"
"What?" You nearly choked on your own drink.
"I saw you with your friends. You looked pretty... animated," he grinned, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. "Figured it must've been something important."
"Oh, that," you laughed nervously, averting your gaze. "Uh, just...girly...uh girl stuff. You know how it is."
"Girly, girl stuff, hm?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but didn't push further.
Instead, he took another sip of his drink, his eyes lingering on you a moment longer than usual. You tried to ignore the way your pulse thrummed under his steadied gaze.
Just then, your hand drifted to your side to pat your bag reflexively, needing something to do with your hands—and you immediately froze.
It wasn't there.
You spun around, scanning the crowded bar in a panic.
"Oh god...Where's my bag?"
"What?" Quinn frowned, immediately picking up on your alarm.
"My bag," you repeated, your voice rising. "It was right here. My phone, my keys, my wallet...everything's in it!"
"Okay, calm down," Quinn soothed, his voice gentle as he stepped closer, placing a steadying hand on your arm. "We can figure this out...are you sure you had it when you came in?"
"Yes! I had it right next to me!" You glanced around again, your heart racing as your palm met your forehead. "Oh, God. What if someone took it?"
"Stay here," Quinn's expression darkened, his jaw tightening. "Let me check with the bouncer, see if anybody handed it in."
Before you could respond, he was already moving through the crowd, cutting a determined path towards a bouncer stationed by the door. You stood there, your mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Without your bag, you had no way to get home, no way to call Rosalie or Mila, and no ID to even prove who you were.
Quinn returned a few minutes later, shaking his head.
"No one's turned it in," he broke the news slowly, "But we'll keep looking."
"Quinn," your voice trembled slightly, the buzz of tequila still permeating your brain. "What am I supposed to do? I can't even get into my apartment without my keys."
His expression softened as soon as your panic arose as he steadied you with a hand on your shoulder.
"Hey, hey, hey, it's going to be okay, we can figure it out." He hesitated, as if weighing his words carefully. "For now...you can stay at my place tonight."
"What? No..." Your eyes widened, head shaking.
"It's not a big deal," he cut you off, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. "You're not going to wander around drunk and stranded in the middle of the night."
"But!"
"No arguments," he interrupted firmly, his gaze steady. "It's that or if you'd like I can try book you into a hotel?"
Your lip furled between your teeth, eyes darting around the bar for any last sign of your bag or friends.
"So..?"
Your eyes met Quinn's questioning gaze as he quirked a brow. With a soft noise escaping your lips, you found yourself nodding.
"Come on then," he gestured his head towards the exit. "Let's get out of here."
You hesitated, every part of you screaming that this was a terrible idea, but the rational part of your brain, terribly hindered by tequila, knew he was right.
You had no other options.
And, well...it was Quinn.
If there was anyone you trusted, it was him.
The cab ride to Quinn's place was a blur, your head resting against the cool window as the night's events caught up to you. When you finally stepped into his apartment, you were overwhelmed by the quiet warmth of the space.
It was cleaner than the very first day you'd been there but the place was well lived in, a throw across the couch, a mug on the counter, a jacket strewn.
It was quintessentially Quinn.
"Here," he spoke up, handing you a glass of water as you plopped down onto the couch. "Drink this."
You obeyed, sipping slowly as he disappeared into another room. Your eyes followed him, your teeth sunk deep into the inside skin of your cheek. When he returned, he was holding a neatly folded set of clothes.
"You can change into these," he reddened, placing them on the armrest beside you. "Bathroom's down the hall...but, uh," he paused to scratch his head. "You know that."
"Thanks," you mumbled, suddenly feeling a little sheepish.
When you came back, dressed in an oversized Canucks hoodie and sweatpants that were far too big for you, Quinn had already set up the couch with a pillow and blanket.
"Okay," you announced, crossing your arms as he glanced up at you. "This isn't happening, you're taking the bed."
"I'm fine here," Quinn shook his head, leaning against the back of the couch.
"Quinn, come on—"
"y/n," he interrupted, his tone laced with firmness. "You've had a rough night, take the bed, okay? I'll be fine."
You stared at him, your heart doing an annoying little flip at how insistent he was.
Finally, you sighed, too tired to argue with a man whose eyes shone in the dark.
"Fine, but this whole nice guy thing sucks," you muttered, heading toward his bedroom, your dizzying thoughts causing you to stumble.
Before you could process it, Quinn had leapt to his feet to steady you, his hand reaching for yours. You lifted your head, lips parted as you faltered. His lips was mere centimetres from yours, your blown pupils staring up at him, unable to pull away.
Silence fell between the two of you but you could feel his breath mingling with yours as his eyes scanned your face.
"I..." Quinn cursed beneath his breath, "you almost tripped, didn't want you to get hurt."
"Mhm," you hummed, your grip on him shifting. "Not like you'd have any supplies to deal with it."
Quinn shook his head with a soft grin, head dropping.
"No...No, I wouldn't," he chuckled lowly, "so I think it's best if we just get you into the room."
You nodded and kept your grip on him, his hand in yours as he led you towards his room.
You felt like you were entering a sacred space when he pushed the door open. This was the one room in the apartment that you'd yet to step foot in. You hesitantly followed Quinn inside as his hand dropped from yours, letting you sit atop his navy sheets.
"I, uh...I'll leave you to it then," Quinn stammered, rocking on his heels.
"Quinn?"
His head tilted as you looked up at him with widened eyes.
"Thank you."
Quinn's smile spread across his face in a silent acknowledgment before he left you alone.
You smothered your giddy laughter as you crawled into the bed, the scent of him, clean and woodsy, surrounded you, and you felt a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the blankets.
"Goodnight, y/n," Quinn called out softly from the living room.
"Goodnight, Quinn," you murmured back, a small smile tugging at your lips as you drifted off, feeling safer than you had in a long time
–
Waking up in your boss's bed was something nobody wanted to experience.
The sunlight streamed through the blinds in bright beams of white, warming your face and dragging you out of a deep sleep. For a moment, everything felt hazy, like a dream you were struggling to remember... and then it all came stumbling back into your head like a stampede of elephants trampling any comfort they could find.
You were in Quinn Hughes's bed.
Captain of the Canucks, Quinn Hughes.
Your boss, Quinn Hughes.
Your eyes flew open as panic surged through every pulsing vein as you sat up, heart pounding as you took in your surroundings. The soft navy sheets were tangled around you, the smell of Quinn lingering on your skin as you examined the neat nightstand with a simple alarm clock, the beige walls, the picture frames of his family, the generic photo of some lake house somewhere.
"Oh no, oh no, oh no," you muttered, running your hands over your face in exasperation.
As if hearing your despair, there was a soft knock on the door.
"Y/N?" Quinn's voice filtered through the door, tentative and far too awake for your liking. "You, uh, okay in there?"
"Yeah!" you croaked, wincing at the rasp in your voice and the throbbing in your brain. "Totally fine! Just...uh...give me a sec!"
You scrambled out of bed, the oversized Canucks hoodie swishing around your knees. Padding to the door, you took a deep breath before cracking it open, eyes cautiously peering out.
Quinn stood on the other side, hair adorably messy and an awkward smile tugging at his lips. He held out a steaming mug of tea like it was a peace offering.
"Morning," he greeted, his voice soft.
"Morning," you winced, accepting the drink with a sheepish smile.
"How'd you sleep?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes scanning your face like he was checking to make sure you were okay.
"Like a rock," you admitted, your cheeks heating up. "Your bed is... uh, really comfortable."
As soon as the words left your sleep-addled mind, you cringed.
Quinn chuckled, a low sound that sent a flutter through your chest.
"Glad to hear it," he nodded, "I figured you needed it after last night."
Last night.
You groaned internally as the memories came flooding back; the tequila-fueled rant, losing your bag, Quinn swooping in like some kind of knight in shining armour.
"About last night," you began, clutching the coffee like it was a lifeline. "Thank you...I mean it. You didn't have to do all that."
"Of course I did," Quinn stated simply. "I wasn't going to let you sleep in some alley." He paused as a brief smile crossed your face.
"Anyway," he added, rubbing the back of his neck, "I called the bar this morning and they found your bag."
"Wait, really?!" Relief washed over you in a wave, and you nearly dropped the mug in excitement.
"Yeah," he pulled a smile together. "They said you can pick it up anytime."
"Thank God," you sighed, your shoulders sagging. "I seriously owe you, Quinn."
"You don't owe me anything not after everything you do for me," he shook his head, his tone firm. "But maybe...you'll let me make you breakfast?"
You opened your mouth to reply but it was like the haze had lifted and you were met with the baffling reality of your situation.
Your stomach churned as you stood there in Quinn's apartment, clutching the oversized hoodie around you like a shield.
"I should go," you blurted out, watching as Quinn blinked, caught off guard.
"What? You don't want breakfast or anything?" He started, brows furrowing. "I was just about to..."
"No, no, it's fine," you interrupted, shaking your head as you tried to maintain what little dignity you had left. "I really appreciate everything you did for me, Quinn, but I think I should just grab my stuff and head home."
"Are you sure?" He frowned slightly, the soft crease between his brows betraying his confusion. "At least let me—"
"I'm fine, really," you insisted, forcing a shaky smile. "I just...need to get out of your hair. I've already imposed enough."
Quinn opened his mouth to argue, but the look on your face stopped him. He nodded, a hint of reluctance in his posture.
"Okay, will you let me drive you to the bar then, at least?"
You hesitated for a split second but nodded.
"Yeah, sure...Thanks."
The ride to the bar was tense, the air thick with the kind of awkwardness that made your skin itch like you were invaded in some scraggly mohair jumper.
Quinn didn't push, didn't pry, but his occasional glances your way told you he wanted to say something. You, on the other hand, were too preoccupied with replaying every single thing you'd said about him last night, cringing harder with each memory that resurfaced.
When he pulled up outside the bar, you unbuckled your seatbelt quickly, ready to bolt.
"y/n?" Quinn's voice rang out before you could open the door.
You froze, your hand hovering over the handle.
"I... I hope you're okay," he uttered softly making your chest tighten.
"I'm fine. Really," You turned to look at him, forcing another smile. "Thanks again...for everything."
"Yeah...anytime," He nodded slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line.
Without another word, you climbed out of the car and hurried toward the bar. As the door shut behind you, you let out a shaky breath, your heart still pounding.
You retrieved your bag from the bartender with minimal fuss and stepped back out into the street, half expecting Quinn to still be parked outside.
But he was gone.
And that realisation left you with a strange, hollow feeling in your chest, one you hadn't quite expected to be there.
—
"Alright, Quinn, take a seat."
Allvin gestured towards the seat across from him as Quinn sat down stiffly, his jaw tight, bracing himself for the conversation ahead.
"I wanted to check in," Allvin began, leaning back in his chair. "How are things going with the new arrangement?" Quinn's chest rose as he took a deep breath in.
"She's doing a great job," he evenly started. "No complaints there."
Allvin nodded, though his sharp eyes stayed on Quinn.
"That's good to hear. She's received strong feedback across the board...but this isn't just about her performance." He leaned forward slightly. "How are you doing with it?"
Quinn shifted in his chair, his hands clasped in front of him.
"I'm fine,"
"You don't look fine," Allvin countered. His tone wasn't unkind, but it was firm. "You've been... over the last week and I want to know why. If something's not working, Quinn, this is your chance to tell me."
Quinn's lips pressed into a hard line. He stared at the edge of the desk, his jaw working as if weighing how much he wanted to admit.
Finally, he exhaled.
"It's not her fault,"
"Then what is it?"
"I've never been the kind of guy who likes having someone looking over my shoulder," he explained, his voice low. "It's not about her or how she does the job, it's about me. I've always preferred to deal with things my own way, and this..." He gestured vaguely. "This setup doesn't feel natural. It's a distraction more than anything else."
"So what are you saying?"Allvin studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
"I'm saying maybe it's better if she's reassigned," Quinn's words came out slower than he wanted them to as he looked up, meeting Allvin's gaze. "She deserves to be in a position where she can do her best work without...me making it harder."
"You sure about this?" Allvin's brows furrowed slightly. "From everything I've heard, she's been an asset."
"She has," Quinn admitted, his voice softening. "If I can't handle it, if it's not working, then that's on me, not her."
"Alright," Allvin leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. "If that's how you feel, I'll make the arrangements."
Quinn's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.
"Alright," Allvin said again, this time more decisively. "I'll notify her this afternoon."
"Thank you," Quinn nodded, standing up.
As he left the office, his steps felt heavier than usual, a hollow sort of pang settling in his chest. He told himself it was the right call after he'd dropped you off at the bar but as the elevator doors closed, a quiet thought crept in, uninvited and unwelcome.
He wasn't sure if he'd done the right thing.
And he wasn't quite sure how he'd feel when you were no longer there.
—
And just like that, you'd completely disappeared from his life.
You'd left your set of keys to Quinn's apartment in his mailbox and that had been the last physical evidence of your involvement in his life.
The days after your reassignment stretched on, and Quinn couldn't shake the gnawing anger at himself or the guilt in his chest. He'd tried to move on, to let go of the "what ifs," but your absence still clung to him like an unwanted shadow.
It was worse as the holidays grew closer, everywhere he turned, there were reminders of you. From the mug in his cupboard, you typically used, from the silence that washed over his apartment during moments you would usually occupy, all things he hadn't realised his soul craved until they were missing.
He missed the way you laughed and lit up his life, the way you were unafraid of speaking your mind, the way you rambled about things you loved with so much passion- oh how Quinn wished he was one of them. He missed your smile and your hair and the way you scrunched your nose every time you disagreed with something.
God, he sounded like pathetic.
The lights twinkled along downtown streets, the cheerful music in stores, and even his teammates getting into the holiday spirit only made him feel more alone, more miserable and all of a sudden, he was back to his old ways.
Tired, unorganised, and so goddamned lonely.
He wasn't good at this. Talking. Reaching out. Fixing things when they went wrong. He spent too much time in his own head, too stubborn to admit how much losing you, how much letting you go, had impacted him.
And so, three days from Christmas, Quinn did what he usually did when things felt too heavy.
He skated longer than necessary after practice, and stayed in the cold rink until his muscles burned, hoping to exhaust the thoughts away.
It didn't work.
Nothing ever did.
By the time he got home, the night had settled in, cold and dark. The streets were quiet, most people tucked away with family or friends. Quinn trudged up to his building, the ache in his legs nothing compared to the one in his chest. He checked his mailbox out of habit—though he hadn't been expecting anything but junk.
But when he opened it, there was a single envelope inside. No stamp. Just his name, handwritten in a way that made his heart stop.
Your handwriting.
He'd recognise it anywhere. It was always scrawled across notes for him, or doodled on spare papers scattered on his counter.
Quinn stood there for a moment, his breath caught in his throat as he stared at the envelope.
What was this?
He couldn't tell if it felt like a gift or a blow to his soul, but his hands were already trembling as he pulled it out and tore it open.
The letter was simple, folded neatly, and as his eyes scanned the words, his chest tightened.
Dear Quinn,
Happy Holidays, and I hope you have a very happy New Year.
I wanted to thank you for the opportunity and for the kindness you've shown me. I'm very sorry about everything that happened. It was a very odd night, I overstepped and I apologise and feel like a fool.
You're probably sitting there thinking I shouldn't feel sorry, or that it wasn't my fault, because that's just the kind of person you are. You take the weight of everything on yourself, but I want you to know that whatever happened, I still think the world of you.
You're a good man, Quinn, far better than you give yourself credit for.
I know this letter might come out of nowhere, and it's probably a lot, but Christmas has a funny way of making people realise what matters most.
And if you can't say it at Christmas, when can you, right? So here it is...I care about you, more than I ever let on and despite everything, if you asked me how I feel now, I'd tell you the same thing I wish I'd said before—I'm yours...if you'll have me.
with love,
y/n
p.s. you can ignore this if I've read this entire thing wrong, but I needed to get it out, and I needed to say it.
Quinn read the letter twice, three times, his heart pounding harder and harder with every time his eyes flickered over your writing. He could feel the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, his thoughts swirling through him too fast to untangle and decipher.
You'd written the word love.
You'd called yourself his.
He traced over it with his eyes, half-wondering if he'd imagined all of it.
Hell, it wasn't a grand confession, wasn't anything extravagant, but it was honest, and it felt wholeheartedly like you.
And, God, Quinn realised, that's all he wanted.
—
Quinn made it to his car in record speed, hair tousled and hoodie askew as his car engine roared to life.
Champlain Heights.
You'd told him where you'd lived in the early days of being his assistant, but as soon as he imputed it into his Google Maps, he slumped into his seat.
There were so. many. houses.
So many.
Quinn brushed the thought aside and shook his head. He needed to find you and tell you everything and if that meant knocking on every single door until he found yours, then so be it.
—
Quinn's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as his car crawled through the neighbourhood streets of Champlain Heights. The silence of the night was suffocating, only broken by the faint, static hum of Christmas lights strung up on houses and the crunch of his tires against the frozen pavement.
He barely noticed any of it.
His thoughts were tangled and chaotic, replaying the words from your letter over and over in his head like a broken record.
I care about you... I'm yours.
Quinn had always been someone who second-guessed himself, who stayed in his own way far too often, but right now, there was no hesitation.
He needed to find you.
He needed to tell you that for every word you offered him, he could reciprocate ten times over.
House by house, block by block, he scanned for any sign of you, the lights from decorated windows glowing softly across the snow-dusted sidewalks. Every now and then, he caught a glimpse of someone through a window, but it only made him grip the wheel harder.
He didn't belong here, not in this picturesque holiday scene...not unless you were part of it.
When he finally pulled onto what felt like the fifth identical street, Quinn parked haphazardly against the curb and got out of the car. The cold hit him immediately, biting through his hoodie and lingering on his pinking skin, but he didn't care. His sneakers crunched over the frost-tipped grass as he strode up to the first house, his pulse thundering in his ears.
It was absurd, really, standing in a random neighbourhood to find you like some kind of rom-com protagonist in a film he really didn't enjoy...but this wasn't a movie, and Quinn wasn't charming or smooth.
He was just... him.
Still, you'd written the letter, you'd admitted everything, your feelings, your regrets, and your love and if you were brave enough to say it, then damn it, so was he.
With a deep breath, Quinn stuffed his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and made his way up to the first door. The porch lights were on, and the faint sound of Christmas music played from inside. He raised his fist and knocked firmly, stepping back as he tried not to fidget.
The door opened revealing a woman, hair tied back, wearing an apron dusted with flour. She squinted at him curiously, eyes scanning him suspiciously as she paused her whisking.
"Can I help you?"
"Uh, yeah, hey, sorry to bother you," Quinn stammered. "I'm looking for someone who lives around here—y/n? I don't have her exact address, and I know this sounds weird, but,"
"Sorry, hun, I don't know anyone by that name." The woman's face softened into a polite but unimpressed smile. "Maybe try a few doors down?"
"Yeah...Right, thanks." Quinn backed away awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as she shut the door.
He tilted his head back with a deep breath, looking at the stars above that twinkled and glittered tauntingly.
It was going to be a long night, he supposed, trudging down the street, in search of you.
—
Through the window of the second house Quinn approached, he could see a family gathered around a tree, their living room glowing warmly through the frosted window. Quinn hesitated before knocking, cringing and feeling like an intruder as he did so.
It was a man who answered the door this time, holding a toddler atop his hip and a beer in his other hand
"Uh, hey," Quinn began, eyes wide as his hands clasped together. "Sorry for interrupting your evening, I'm looking for someone who lives in this neighbourhood?...her name's y/n? I think she might live near here?"
The man blinked, clearly caught off guard.
"You're Quinn Hughes," he blurted suddenly, pointing with his free hand. "Holy shit, Quinn Hughes is at my door.
"Uh—" Quinn froze as the man started to laugh.
"You're him! The Canucks guy." He jiggled the baby, a wide grin across his face. "Quinn Hughes!"
From somewhere behind him, two older boys appeared in the hallway, their eyes widening with excitement.
"Mom!" One of them yelled, eyes locked in horror on him. "Quinn Hughes is at the door."
Quinn flushed red to the tips of his ears, already feeling like a fool. The toddler blinked at him with no clue who he was, but the kids were now bouncing up and down behind their dad.
"Wait, are you, like, here to visit someone? Do you live nearby?" one of the kids asked breathlessly, peering out from behind his dad.
"No, I...uh—" Quinn stammered, shifting his weight on his feet. "I'm trying to find someone. Her name's y/n. She lives in this area, I think."
"Well, I don't know a y/n," The dad grinned, shaking his head in disbelief. "...but my kids are never going to let me live it down if I don't ask...do you mind taking a picture with them?"
Quinn let out a nervous laugh, running a hand through his messy hair. This was not how he pictured the night going at all but a mission was a mission and you were slowly becoming his only goal.
"Sure...yeah, okay."
Within seconds, Quinn found himself crouched awkwardly in front of the family's Christmas tree while the kids grinned beside him, beaming as their mom snapped the photo. The toddler waved a crumpled, half-bitten and sticky candy cane in his face, and Quinn took it all like a pro, forcing a smile for the camera.
"Thanks, man," the dad cheered, clapping him on the back as he led him towards the front door. "And good luck finding your friend."
"Thanks, have a nice Christmas." Quinn stood, straightening his hoodie as he shuffled back to the sidewalk, the bitter cold doing little to stop his cheeks from burning.
–
The next house wasn't much better and Quinn was beginning to question his luck.
An elderly man cracked the door open an inch and squinted suspiciously at him, his nose peeking out of the cracked door.
"What do you want?"
"Sorry, sir, I'm just looking for someone named y/n?"
"Who?"
"y/n? I think she might live around here?"
"Never heard of her." The man scowled and slammed the door shut, rattling the wooden frame.
Quinn sighed and leaned against the porch railing for a moment, blowing out a long, cold breath.
"Brilliant...great," he muttered to himself. "This is just perfect."
He trudged back toward the sidewalk, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as the cold air bit deep into his skin through the fabric of his hoodie. Doubt started to creep in around the edges of his thoughts...What if this was a terrible idea? What if you weren't home, or didn't want to see him?
What if you changed your mind about everything?
No.
He'd come this far, he refused to give up now.
After walking few houses down, Quinn approached another porch with twinkling lights wrapped all around the decorative railing. His stiff knuckles knocked against the wooden door before he stepped back and waited, shifting on his feet.
The door opened and Quinn's eyes immediately dropped to land on a little boy with a runny nose who peered up at him.
"Mom!" the boy shouted, eyes unmoving from Quinn. "There's a strange man here!"
Quinn blinked in shock, mouth slightly agape as a woman appeared from around a corner, looking frazzled as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel.
"Can I help you?" She asked defensively, gesturing for the little boy to go inside, as her eyes scanned Quinn.
"Sorry to bother you," Quinn blurted out quickly, "I'm looking for y/n? I think she lives around here, I just don't know which house."
"y/n?...hm," The woman frowned thoughtfully, her lips pursed as her hands fell to her lips. "Do you mean y/n y/l/n? Moved back in with her parents a while back, Mary next door said she had a nasty break up...men these days."
As if suddenly aware of her ongoing train of thought, the woman straightened up, nose scrunching.
"Is that her?"
Quinn's chest tightened, his heart practically pounding so hard it stretched the skin of his chest.
"Yeah," he murmured, head bobbing in agreement. "That's her."
"End of the street, it's the blue house with the white porch," The woman hummed and pointed down the block. "You really can't miss it."
"Thank you...I, uh," Quinn's breath caught as relief flooded through him as he quickly glanced down the street before turning back to the woman. "Thank you so much."
"Good luck, Quinn Hughes," she called after him with a knowing smirk.
Quinn didn't even stop to question how she knew who he was—he was already moving. His white sneakers crunched against the frosty sidewalk as he basically jogged toward the end of the street.
And there it was, like a perfect gift ready to be unwrapped.
A modest, blue house with white railings wrapped in twinkling lights. A wreath hung on the door, and the faint glow of light peeked through the windows. Quinn bypassed the multiple cars parked in the driveway, eyes set on the door ahead of him.
He paused at the bottom of the porch steps, his breath misting in the cold air as he tried to steady himself. This was it. He'd finally found you. His chest felt impossibly tight as if someone was squishing and moulding his heart into the perfect picture of you.
Despite his racing heart, he noticed that for the first time since he'd talked to Allvin about your reassignment, the doubt didn't win.
He climbed the steps two at a time, his heartbeat quickening with every second, and raised his hand to knock.
The sound echoed hollowly against the door, and for a moment, nothing happened. He could hear faint movement inside, a crescendo of voices, the clinking of dishes...and then, the sound of footsteps drawing closer.
The door creaked open, revealing a gaggle of people staring back at him, a hush falling over all of them.
"Oh...uh, hello," Quinn's panicked gaze ran over the questioning faces of those staring at him as his hand reached to scratch the back of his head. "Is y/n here?"
"I'm being so serious, if you guys don't leave now you'll never make your flight!"
Quinn's eyes darted behind the group of people, his gaze landing on you who walked down the stairs, adorning a thick cardigan that looked as soft as it did warm, a pair of sweats that pooled at your ankles, and mismatched socks. You were clutching a mug, the steam curling lazily into the air, but all Quinn could focus on was your smiling face.
As you lifted your head, you stopped dead in your tracks at the sight of him, your foot hovering over the last step. Your eyes widened, lips parting slightly in shock, and for a moment, the mug in your hand wobbled dangerously.
"Quinn?" your sweet voice rang through his ears, your voice barely above a whisper, yet it was a sound Quinn wanted to hear every single day.
He swallowed hard, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as his hands shoved deep into the pocket of his hoodie.
"Hey," he let out a soft breath as he finally answered, his voice a little hoarse from the cold (but more so from his nerves).
"Wait, Quinn Hughes?"
Quinn's eyes momentarily drifted to one of your male family members, whose eyebrows pinched together.
The group of people surrounding the door turned back toward you with curious expressions, exchanging glances.
"Wait, you know him?" someone asked, their questioning tone cutting through the thickened silence.
"Uh, yeah," you answered, your voice higher than usual. "I—I do...um...Quinn, can you please wait like five minutes?"
Quinn's heart stuttered as your wide eyes landed on his.
"Y-yeah, yeah, of course," he stammered, stepping back out onto the porch. Turmoil churned in his stomach as the dread crawled up his spine in prickling needle-like pinches.
You turned and carefully handed off your mug to the nearest person, murmuring a distracted "hold this," as you stepped past the crowd. Quinn's heart nearly stopped as you moved closer, your hand outstretched towards his arm before it latched on and dragged him into the warmth of the home.
"I just need to say goodbye, you can wait in the living room," you whispered, eyes darting to the side towards another room.
"You gonna leave her alone with him? A guy? Look at him!" An incredulous voice piped up from the crowd that still watched them. "There's a stranger in your house and you're letting him into the living room?!"
"Oh, no, not the living room," you deadpanned, rolling your eyes. "However will it recover?...listen, Rick, the difference between you and I, is that Mom and Dad trust me, whereas the only reason you're going on this holiday is because your mom can't,"
You paused with a small huff, your eyes narrowing.
"I honestly don't know how Aunt Linda puts up with your childish behaviour, god!"
Quinn's eyebrows raised, his lips quirking up in amusement as the man, Rick—he'd learned, ducked his head and shifted behind another family member.
"We know who he is, silly," a woman chided Rick gently, her tone light and airy. "Our y/n works for him."
"Used to, Mom," you corrected quietly, "but guys you really do have to go, your flight is in an hour."
The sudden burst of chaos of your family's departure filled the house as you guided Quinn into the living room. The space was cosy, and he was instantly engulfed with warmth stemming from the fire crackling softly in the corner and the faint scent of pine and cinnamon lingering in the air. Quinn stood awkwardly by the doorway, his hands still shoved deep into his hoodie pockets as he glanced around, out of place amidst the holiday cheer that filled the entire room.
"I'll be right back," you spoke slowly, your eyes meeting his for a brief moment before you disappeared back into the hallway.
From his spot, Quinn could hear snippets of conversation as you hurriedly ushered everyone out the door.
"Y/n, are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes, Mom. I'm fine. Just go, you'll miss your flight."
"Well, if you're sure... Oh, and don't forget to water the tree while we're gone!"
"I won't, I promise." Your words were punctured with laughter. "Now go!"
He couldn't help but chuckle softly as you finally managed to shepherd the last of your family out, their voices fading into the distance as car doors slammed and engines roared to life.
The house grew startlingly quiet and Quinn could only hear the rush of blood in his ears.
Moments later, you reappeared, rubbing your hands together as if attempting to brush off the last of the chaos. You stopped just inside the doorway, your expression unreadable as you took him in, examining his reddened nose, the black bags beneath his eyes, the way his lips downturned.
"You didn't have to come all the way here, you know," you began, stepping into the warmth of the room.
"I did," Quinn replied immediately, his eyes locking onto yours. "I had to."
"Why now, Quinn?" You hesitated, crossing your arms as if trying to shield yourself. "You got me reassigned, you didn't talk to me...why now? Why would you—"
"Because I can't stop thinking about you," he interrupted, his voice breaking slightly as his hands emerged from his hoodie pocket, gesturing helplessly. "I read your letter, Y/N, hell, I've read it so many times, and I know you told me I didn't have to say anything, but I couldn't not say something...not after everything you wrote."
Your breath hitched, and you froze, your eyes widening slightly.
"You...you read it?" Your voice came out like a softened squeak.
"Yeah, every word, I just..." Quinn ran a hand through his hair, dishevelling it even further as he took a deep breath. "I just needed to tell you that I'm sorry...for everything."
"For what?" You blinked, surprised by his sudden vulnerability.
"For letting you go," his voice cracked as he spoke. "For not saying anything that night at the bar or the morning after, or even when you left. For making you feel like I didn't care—because I do. I care about you so much, probably too much, and I should've told you that the moment I knew."
"Quinn..."
He shook his head quickly, cutting you off.
"No, let me finish, please." He took another step closer, his eyes locking onto yours. "I didn't know how to say it. I didn't know how to deal with what I was feeling, and I thought pushing you away was the right thing to do, but it wasn't. It was the worst mistake I've ever made, and I don't want to spend another second pretending like I don't feel what I feel for you."
Your breath caught in your throat, your arms tightening around yourself. Your head tilted, face screwing up ever so slightly as you watched him run a hand through his hair.
"I read your letter," Quinn continued, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "And it made me realize that I've been lying to myself this whole time. I'm not fine without you, I don't want to be fine without you...and if you mean what you said in your letter...I want to be yours if you'll have me."
"Quinn," your voice was a mere breath as you stepped closer to the man.
"And I know I hurt you, and I'll never forgive myself for it," he rasped, eyes locked on yours. "But you did matter...God, you matter so much, and I was just too scared to admit it to myself. I didn't think I was enough for you, that I could give you what you deserve."
"And now?" you asked, your voice unsure as you took another step toward him, your feet silent on the carpeted floor. "What's changed?"
Quinn let out a shaky breath, his hands falling to his sides as he looked at you with everything he'd been too afraid to show before.
"I don't care if I'm...scared anymore," he simply put, his hands hovered over yours and upon receiving a nod from you, his warm hands gripped yours. "All I know is I can't lose you again and I don't care if I have to spend every day proving it to you. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere unless you tell me to leave."
For a moment, the typically vibrant room was unusually quiet except for the crackling fire and the sound of your shallow breathing. His words hung heavy over the confines of your soul, the rawness of his words and the pleading in his eyes making your heart throb and ache.
"Quinn," you eventually whispered, stepping even closer until there was barely any space between you. "You idiot."
His brows furrowed in surprise, a flicker of uncertainty flashing in his eyes.
"You absolute idiot," you murmured again, shaking your head as you blinked away the tears brimming your lower lash line.
Quinn's lips twitched into a small, nervous smile, eyes focused solely on you.
"You said that already," he teased, his voice soft yet strained.
"Well, you are one," you shot back, stepping closer until your face was just inches from his. "Who waits until Christmas to show up out of nowhere and spill his heart like a Hallmark movie? What if I'd moved on, hm? What if I had a boyfriend, husband or three illegitimate children here?"
"Do you?" Quinn mused, his brows furrowing deeper in thought as you repeated the words he'd spoken to you a month ago.
"No, Quinn, I don't," You couldn't help but laugh, the sound surprising both of you.
Relief washed over his face so comically fast that you had to bite back another laugh.
"Good," he murmured, his lips quirking up into a crooked smile. "Because I didn't really have a Plan B."
"Clearly," you replied, rolling your eyes, yet your smile reserved solely for him remained cemented on your face. "Seriously, showing up like this without warning? I should've slammed the door in your face for getting me reassigned."
"You wouldn't have," he spoke confidently, though the corner of his mouth twitched downwards nervously. "Right?"
"Hmm," you teased, pretending to think about it as your arms crossed. "It was definitely tempting..."
"Come on, cut me some slack here, please."Quinn groaned, running a hand down his face, eyes scrunched closed. "This is the most terrifying thing I've ever done."
"Oh, the terrifying thing is admitting your feelings to a girl?" you teased, but there was a warmth in your voice that softened the jab. "Not, you know, playing in front of thousands of people for a living?"
"Those people don't matter," he said it so simply yet you felt the words etch themselves into your soul, slowly and surely as his eyes locked onto yours. "You do."
"Quinn..." You felt the heat rush to your cheeks, as his gaze settled over you like a warm blanket.
"Listen, I know I've been an idiot, I know I messed up letting you go," he interrupted, his hands twitching at his sides as if he was fighting the urge to reach for you. "...but I'm here now and I'll keep showing up, as many times as it takes, until you believe me when I say I love you."
Your heart flipped, and you couldn't hold back the wide grin spreading rapidly across your face.
"You're lucky you're cute," you muttered, finally giving in and poking a finger against his chest.
"Yeah?" His grin widened, the boyish charm that had always made your heart flutter suddenly on full display. "Does that mean you forgive me?"
"Hmm, maybe...but you'll have to prove it," You raised a brow, pretending to mull it over.
"Name it," he quickly, almost too quickly if he wasn't looking at you with his wide, glinting eyes as he leaned closer. "I'll do anything."
"Anything?"
"Anything," he confirmed, his voice dropping slightly as his gaze flickered to your lips.
"Then kiss me, Hughes," you dared boldly, your voice light but steady.
Quinn froze for half a second before his smile returned, wider and brighter than you'd ever seen it.
"That," he whispered, his hands finally reaching out to rest on your waist, "is the easiest thing you've ever asked me to do."
And before you could fire back with another snarky comment, his lips were on yours, warm and firm and practically filled with all of the tension that had been culminating between the two of you.
The kiss was careful, tentative, but when your hands slid up to tangle in his hair, he pulled you closer by your hips, pouring every ounce of emotion he had into the moment. It wasn't perfect, you could feel the slight shake of his hands and the unsteady rhythm of his breath, but it was real, it was Quinn and it was more than enough to make your head spin.
When you finally broke apart, breath mingling, chests heaving as your foreheads pressed together, both of you were grinning like utter fools.
"Was that good enough for you, hm?" he asked, his voice breathless but full of humor.
"Not bad," you breathed out with a chuckle, eyes falling to his lips. "I guess you can stick around."
"Oh, you guess, do you?" he repeated, breathing out a soft chuckle as he pulled you into his arms, his nose brushing yours. "Well, I guess I'll take it."
You laughed as Quinn's lips captured yours once more, slower and more tender than before, his cold hands cupping the warmth of your cheek as your hands curled around the back of his neck to relish the feel of his body against yours.
The kiss deepened, and for the first time since you'd been reassigned, Quinn felt completely whole. You slotted against his body like you were made for him, arms perfectly placed and lips moulded into the most perfect alignment with his.
His thumb swept across the skin of your cheekbone and when he eventually pulled away, his cheeks dusted in a soft pink as he looked down at your widened eyes and soft smile.
He leaned forward, his forehead resting against yours, your breath warm against his lips.
The two of you stayed quiet, lingering in the peace completely wrapped up in one another as the snow outside began to fall in a sprinkle of glittering white, leaving you and Quinn to settle in the comfort of one another.
"I meant it by the way," Quinn murmured, nudging your nose with his. "I'm yours."
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