one of my coworkers who's vaguely into hockey asked what my "deal with gavin mckenna" was today and it pissed me off so bad, but i was trying to be civil so i came here to rant. please listen up.
like a lot of stuff that's heralded as canadian culture, the making of hockey comes from indigenous traditions. mi'kmaq people carved the first hockey sticks from ironwood. the lakota souix played shinny like 200 years before it was called hockey. thousands of years before skating was a sport or an artform, the iroquois attached blades to their shoes, made from elk and cariboo tibias, to aid them in moving across the ice.
during the playoffs, rogers (canadian telecom giant) came out with an ad campaign about how hockey is "our game" and it made my blood boil a little, how overwhelmingly white hockey is even though as an indigenous person, it feels kinda like my game in particular.
i've seen indigenous players like chris simon (nika-kakwê-wânaskân) and jordin tootoo be on relied as agitators and enforcers, heard about young players facing abuse from coaching staff, have racist comments made about them online and have their name mocked on espn.
i've never seen an indigenous player be raised up for his skill with such excitement by the hockey community until gavin mckenna, and i was so glad to see him go 1st oa. i was on facetime with my cousin on draft day. we watched gavin get called up, saw his beadwork, saw his clearly indigenous family on the screen. we cried about it a little together, finally feeling like maybe this is our game, a little bit more than it was before.
edit: i've gotten a few anons wondering where i'm from but we're a only a few guys so i'll just say i'm cree and leave it at that. if you wanna come off anon and chat, i'd be more comfortable sharing.
SUMMARY Levi Rivers never thought he needed to tell his friends that his younger sister was off limits. That was a given, all things considered. He especially didn't think Joe, of all people, would need to be told that.
WORD COUNT 24k
WARNINGS/TROPES Brother's best friend, everyone being freaks through music, deafness + sign language (maybe some incorrect terminology relating to those, but I really tried), heavy religious themes, a little angst, hurt/comfort, vulgar (and perhaps a little misplaced yet good-intentioned) jokes, short mention of puking, name-calling, Elsie is openly bisexual but also holds some form of internalized homophobia that stems from her religious upbringing and it isn't addressed
AUTHOR'S NOTE Honestly, I don’t find this age gap (22-23 & 27) particularly controversial, but I’m sticking to the request (I know I said I don't take requests, but the idea was stuck in my head and it clearly got a little way too out of hand haha). Instead, the way they met is more of the questionable part?? I don’t know, Joe and Elsie beat themselves up about it pretty badly, though. Anyway, for the most part, italics are dialogue using sign language.
OCTOBER
"I'm bored."
"I'm sorry, princess," Elsie Rivers deadpanned. "Is my presence not entertaining enough?"
Camille didn't lift her head from the decorative pillow on her couch, voice muffled against the beige woven fabric. "I forgot the Leafs weren't playing tonight. Can't let you experience the bars when there's no collective suffering to be had."
"Every day, I thank God for not being a Leafs fan." Elsie bit back a laugh when Camille shoved her foot off the couch.
"Like the Blues are any better."
"At least they've won something in the last fifty years."
Camille groaned and rolled onto her back. It was a dark, mid-autumnal night, and the comforting hum of the air circulating the small apartment was broken by the boisterous nature of the city beyond the walls that roused a restlessness in her bones, one that Elsie seemed immune to.
"What's your brother up to?" asked Camille. "Think he and his friend would mind if we dropped by?"
Elsie shrugged. It had played out as one big coincidence that she and her older brother's respective best friends lived in the same city, that they could time their visits so perfectly without sending their parents into a state of worry that their kids were alone in a different country, even if they spent their entire trip so far removed from one another: Elsie hadn't seen Levi since they grabbed their bags at the airport, and she had no plans to see him again until their flight home was called to board.
"At a bar, it seems like," she said, turning her screen toward Camille to show the unflattering contact photo running loose in the city. "Feel like getting dressed up?"
Camille grinned, all mischief. "Guess we're going to a bar after all."
The bar was crowded, bodies pressed together like they were squished into a club, and music pounded through the speakers until it rang uncomfortably in their heads. Elsie walked on the tips of her toes, peering over people's heads and shoulders in search of her brother, and Camille clung onto her like a child would their mother.
Finally, she spotted him—the God-awful bleached, buzzed hair, dyed with faded leopard spots like a beacon of light in this dim establishment—and each nearing step revealed the lines of ink scattered along his arms. His back was turned to them, and Elsie's lips crimped with diablerie. Her footsteps slowed, prowling like a predator scouring its prey, and she waited until she was just a hair's breadth from him to blow air into his ear.
Levi flinched, whipping around with a curse flying from his mouth. His expression hardened when he heard his little sister cackling at his distress. He rubbed his ear. "You're not funny."
"I'm hurt, Jeans," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Hey, Camille," Levi greeted, earning a distracted one in return. "What're you doing here?"
"If you don't want your little sister showing up at the same places, then you should probably turn your location off," said Elsie, snatching his beer for a quick sip before he could smack her hand away.
"I share my location with you so you know I'm not dead in a ditch when I don't answer."
"We were bored." Elsie turned to Camille, whose silence drew concern. She followed her best friend's gaze, roaming over the faces she had seen on TV before, and understood. "Quit staring."
"I can't," Camille whispered, wide-eyed.
Levi lifted an eyebrow as he placed his beer on the table surrounded by his best friend's friends. "She's a Leafs fan, right?" he signed dexterously. "Does she know?"
"I guess not. Must have forgotten."
"Oh, this will be fun," Levi smirked when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a presence returning from the bathroom. "Hey, man, look who showed up."
Joseph took a second glance at the woman standing in front of his childhood friend—the same eyes sparkling beneath the lousy lighting, the same crooked smile that spoke only of mischief, even the same bend in their noses like they'd broken it in the same spot. Recognition widened his eyes. "Elsie?" He brought her into a friendly, yet gauche hug. "Almost didn't recognise you without the blue hair."
"God, has it been that long?" she asked before introducing Camille to him, nudging her out of her stupor. Joseph had extended the same gesture to his teammates who made it out to the bars for the night, and their thin smiles had eased at the newfound familiarity.
"Hey, kid!" Levi called before Camille could yank her too far away from the crowded booth and toward the bartenders. He handed her some cash, the corners of his lips curving slightly when she thanked him and ran off.
"Okay, what the hell?" Camille asked at the bar. "Why did you never mention that you know Joseph freaking Woll? You know how much of a Leafs fan I am."
"Sorry," Elsie said sheepishly. "To be fair, in my head, he's just Joey. Half the time, I forget he exists."
Elsie managed to flag a bartender and put down enough money to cover her and Camille's drinks—courtesy of Levi, of course. They took a shot in gratitude for his generosity, then ordered another. She could feel a pair of eyes burning into her as she tipped her head back, and as she brought the lime to her mouth, her gaze couldn't help but skirt past Camille and toward the group of hockey players in the distance until she found the charming blues of her brother's best friend.
Her heart flipped—so quickly, she thought it was from the way the liquor went down her throat.
The flashing lights hid the moment Joseph snapped his attention away with his lip trapped between his teeth.
As time plunged deeper into the night, and it became abundantly clear that Camille was not going to hold her alcohol as she had in college, Elsie put a stopper on her drinks. The stranger who wanted to buy her a drink had raised an eyebrow when she settled for a water and a basket of fries.
Camille's eyes lit up when a basket of fries was shoved into her hands. Elsie laughed, then returned to the stranger—Hailey, she'd come to learn her name was. She took her forwardness with stride, leaning into the touches on her arm and returning the flirty glint in her eyes that seemed to devour every curve and dip of her figure.
It was no surprise that she had ended up with Hailey's mouth on hers not long after.
But a coldness washed over Hailey when a stern throat clearing sliced through the pounding bass of the music.
Their heads turned, and Elsie furrowed her brows.
"Your brother's looking for you," Joseph said with a slight edge in his tone.
Elsie didn't think she'd ever seen him so serious. Her gaze flickered between him and Hailey, who seemed equally as twiddled, before she excused herself and allowed the crowd to swallow her whole. She felt like a fish weaving between threads of seagrass: turning, lingering, observing, with no destination in sight.
Instead, she waited until the familiar mop of dark hair slipped past her a few feet over. Jumping forward, her hand curled around the bend of Joseph's elbow.
The alarm on his face quickly fell. "Jesus, Els."
"What's up?"
Joseph had said something, and Elsie tried her best to decipher it, eyebrows cinching together as she stared hard at his lips—a habit too hard to snap despite the years that had passed. He noticed, then—the focused expression, just how loudly the music was blaring at them, the drunken racket of voices—and glanced around for an emptier part of the bar.
Elsie smiled gratefully when he led her away, on the fringes of the booth with his friends, distant enough to avoid their own clamor. And although everything was still so loud, when he gestured to ask if she was okay, she nodded.
"Do you wanna tell me what's up?" she decided to ask again. "I know my brother's not looking for me."
"Yeah, he is."
A chuckle rolled off her tongue as she raised her phone, revealing the last text she'd received from her brother—a short few minutes ago, but enough time to crumble Joseph's narrative—about leaving with someone.
Joseph inhaled deeply, tried to ignore the faint waft of her vanilla perfume that infiltrated his senses, and rubbed his jaw. "I meant that he wanted me to look after you."
"Levi doesn't ask anyone to do that," Elsie said easily. "Besides, you didn't have to tell me that."
"Wanted to make sure you knew."
Amusement crawled up her face. She stood on her toes to alleviate the scratch of her throat over the music. "You know, if you're gonna lie, at least try to do a better job at it."
Joseph's hand steadied her hip as he leaned down. It had been an innocent move, one to ease the strain on her ears and abate the unsteady stance that came with being on her toes, but he saw it—the wave of goosebumps undulating across her skin as his breath fanned her ear. "You're my best friend's little sister," he said. "I have that responsibility to him to make sure you're safe."
And there it was—the eureka moment, the unfortunate rewrite in her memory that the heady staring from across the room and the seemingly fueled interruption had been nothing but an obligation to the person who bound them together and not born from an excitement seeking danger that sparked all the right spots in her head.
With the slightest turn of her head, Elsie met his eyes, then glanced at his lips. If it weren't for all the noise around her, she might have convinced herself she heard the slight hitch in his breath, but she had never been good at listening to more than one thing at a time. "I'm not a kid," she muttered, somewhat sourly. "I don't need protection."
"Seems like you do," he said, and the seriousness from before returned, masked with a little more mastery until it was nothing more than a drop in his tone. His posture, too, had straightened like he was trying to appear larger than he was. "You could at least pick someone different, Els. Seen her here before; she's friends with this guy who tried to get into a fight with Kniesy."
"Oh, really?" Elsie couldn't help but bark out a laugh. "Thank you, my knight in shining armor. Would you like to screen everyone I talk to?"
Joseph rolled his eyes. "She had her tongue shoved in your mouth. I don't think there was a lot of talking going on."
"Jealous?"
"What?"
Elsie's lips twitched with repressed amusement at the sight of his scandalized expression. "Then, what? You don't fuck with the gays?"
Joseph stammered over his words. "What—no! I fuck with the gays."
"Have you seen who your best friend is? I'm fucking with you." Elsie patted his chest, a little taken aback by the sturdiness she was met with (Of course, he would'd be well-muscled. Why wouldn't he be? Fucking athlete.). "I'm headed back to the bar. You're off the clock, Joey."
"Joey," he said in disbelief. "Your brother doesn't even call me that anymore."
Elsie hadn't expected him to follow her, but when she ordered another water, his voice rang behind her for one more. Then she dipped her head with a laugh when he asked for some chicken tenders and handed his card over to go with it.
"I have one memory of us, Joey," she said. "The only time we ever hung out. This kinda feels like it." She turned around with something reminiscent sparkling in her eyes. "You had to pick me up from piano lessons because someone rear-ended Levi. God, I felt like the coolest girl around, catching a ride with a high schooler who wasn't my brother. Of course, that being the only time it ever happened, the 'cool girl' status didn't really stick around for very long."
Joseph looked almost apologetic. "I honestly forgot that happened."
"I would be surprised if you hadn't," said Elsie, sipping her water. "I never could remember where you took me to get food on the way home, though."
"Could've been Town Square," he said, running his hand over his neck and jaw like he was trying to soothe himself. "I went through a phase when that was all I wanted."
"Huh." Elsie pondered his answer before her face twisted with disbelief. "Really?"
"I hear they changed the recipe for the chicken tenders, though, so I don't think you should go in with the same expectations."
Elsie blew a raspberry, earning a laugh—full-hearted and meaningfully like it'd been the funniest thing he'd seen all day. She couldn't help but smile at the sound, much kinder to her ears than the bass droning from the speakers.
"Do you have your phone on you?" she asked.
Joseph held it out.
"You're incredibly trusting considering who you are in this city."
"You're not a stranger, Els," he said.
Elsie turned her back to him, holding his phone up. "C'mere."
Their mirrored faces stared back at them. Joseph didn't contest when she snapped a photo of them—eyes crinkled with their wide grins, lighting as egregious as the music playing, his posture curved horribly to fit into the frame—finding it almost endearing.
"There," said Elsie, returning his phone. "So you have proof that you didn't let me run wild like hooker over there."
Joseph followed her thumb jutting toward Camille, who was dancing on a table. He shook his head with amusement, both at Camille's antics and at Elsie's jesting tone. She was worse than Levi in that regard, never a serious bone in her body. Levi liked to complain about that sometimes.
A basket of chicken tenders was placed between them. Joseph watched her stuff her mouth, probably faster than she could chew, and something new passed through his eyes—a fondness, perhaps. He sucked in a sharp breath when the realization flickered through his head and looked away, pushing a thin coaster around with his finger.
Elsie swallowed loudly as she watched his calloused, yet lithe fingers twirl the coaster around. She was glad she had a mouthful of chicken right now.
"Shouldn't you be with your teammates?" she decided to ask, wiping the corner of her lips with the back of her hand. A smear of grease-stained red blemished her skin.
"Is all I am to you a wallet?"
Elsie snickered. "No, that's all my brother is. You, on the other hand, I told you that you were off the clock."
Joseph tilted his head. "Do you really want me to leave you alone?"
The quick little flip of her heart happened again. Elsie vigorously shook her head.
Joseph smiled softly, reaching for a napkin. "Alright," he said. "Hold still."
Elsie froze when he held her chin in place between his thumb and pointer finger. Gently, he wiped away the smudged lipstick, careful not to remove what was barely clinging to your lips. Elsie wondered if he could sense the fried brain cells, the disorder she could only describe as highly entropic, the stilted breath that should've pelted against his skin.
Joseph released his hold on her to scrub the back of her hand.
"I could've done that myself," she said. "I'm not a kid."
"You're welcome." Joseph grinned, ruffling her hair.
"Thank you," Elsie said softly.
"Oh, fries!" Camille squeaked out, stumbling into Elsie, who caught her with ease after years of drunken excursions together.
Elsie mourned the bubble that had popped with a laugh that told nothing of it. She flipped Camille's hair out of her face. "Did you have fun dancing on the tables?"
Camille nodded, grabbing a fistful of fries. "So much fun! God, I'm so glad we stalked Levi."
"How about we skip the ranch, yeah?" Elsie said calmly. "I don't think you can stomach it right now."
"Sounds like a dare."
Elsie pulled Camille away from the bartop by her waist. "I think that's our sign to head home."
Joseph reached for his car keys. "Need a ride?" he asked. "You know, for old time's sake. I'll try to remember this one this time."
A smile curved at Elsie's lips. "Yeah, that would be great."
Camille snatched one last portion of fries from the tender-less basket and shoved them into her purse. She cried out in complaint as Elsie dragged her away like she was nothing more than a tantrumming toddler.
"You got her?" asked Joseph.
Elsie couldn't get a letter past her lips when Camille folded over her arms like dead weight. The sudden shift nearly tripped her, and a panicked yelp straggled past her lips. "I don't got her!"
Joseph laughed as he so easily brought Camille into his grasp, her body draped over his arms like a cut of silk. The sound died on his tongue when Elsie slipped her finger into his belt loop, tightening and loosening depending on the thickness of the crowd.
For a short moment, they stopped at the booth with what was left of his teammates to say their goodbyes, and maybe for that short moment, they had fooled his teammates into believing that they had known each other well—beyond the passing pleasantries when they caught rare glimpses of each other over the years, beyond the brief mentions they heard from Levi.
"Go Leafs Go!" Camille shouted over Joseph's shoulder, earning a myriad of responses from patrons throughout the bar.
"How 'bout 'go home go', hm?" Elsie asked with a teasing lilt.
Once they got Camille strapped into the backseat, Joseph and Elsie filled the front. He handed his phone over for her to type in Camille's address and gave her the freedom to browse through an extensive number of playlists.
Part of it felt oddly vulnerable, some sort of translation of his soul laid out for her to judge, but he also felt it was unfair to assume that she was as pretentious about music as her brother was. After all, between the two siblings, only one of them studied music, and it hadn't been her.
"EDM, folk, classical, country," Elsie read out. "Wow, a little bit of everything here."
Joseph turned out of the parking garage as a soft ballad drifted into Je te laisserai des mots—from his playlist of songs he'd bookmarked to learn on the piano, he recognized. A slow smile tugged at his lips. "Do you still play?"
"Not so much anymore," she said remorsefully, thumbing along the base of her hand. "It was one thing that I lost my hearing, but I also broke my wrist in high school. Never been the same since. But it's alright; my brother has all the talent anyway."
"That's funny: Levi always says you had the talent," said Joseph. "Think he was jealous of how easily it came to you."
Elsie smiled at that. "Do you play?"
Joseph was suddenly shy, the tips of his ears burning bright red. "Here and there."
"You'll have to show me one day."
"I really don't think that's something you wanna hear," he said with a dismissive laugh.
"But what if I did? It could be fun."
Ding!
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Elsie couldn't help but steal a glance at Joseph's screen as the notifications piled in and interrupted the tranquil atmosphere.
Levi Rivers
Sorry to ditch
Staying the night
Is my sister still there? I think her phone's dead
Can I put you on babysitting duty? I'll shovel your parents' driveway when it snows
Thanks man
See ya in the morning
Elsie stared at the series of texts that came through before it hit her that she was actively peeping at someone else's phone. Her attention darted, rather, to the passing Toronto skyline she was growing familiar with, fingers thrumming against her thighs.
A chuckle came through. "Subtle, Els. Who was it?"
Crimson spilled across her cheeks. "Levi," she answered, turning her head. Her throat grew dry: Of course, he looked good while driving, with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift, body loose and comfortable like he'd settled in a well-worn chair. "Said he'd clear your parents' driveway when it snows if you'll babysit me for the night."
"Told you," Joseph all but sang.
"Right, but this doesn't seem like it was sent before you cockblocked me," Elsie said with a quirked brow.
"I really don't think cockblocked is the right word."
"Of course, on account of neither of us having cocks. Pussyblocked then."
Joseph took his eyes off the road for a moment, just long enough to send her a flat look that melted when she cracked a cheeky grin. "You've got a mouth on you now," he said. "Did you really think Levi wouldn't ask at all?"
Elsie sank into the red leather seat, suddenly curling into herself. "He never really had to," she said, fiddling with the crucifix hanging from her neck. "I mean, he moved out for college when I was still in middle school. Our circles are pretty fucking distant, if you ask me."
It was as though a bucket of ice had been dumped over his head. Revulsion wormed through Joseph's mind—not at her, but at himself. "God, I forgot how young you are."
"You make it sound like it's a curse," said Elsie. "I'm only five years younger than you. I'm 22."
"In one mile, turn right," his phone announced, and the conversation simmered.
The car seemed to grow colder without Elsie and Joseph talking, and a shiver eventually racked through her body.
"Cold?"
"A little," said Elsie, her voice small, because there was something about him actually looking out for her, vocalizing her needs because she wouldn't, that seemed to reiterate just how childish she appeared to him.
"I can turn the air down," he said, "or there should be a sweater in the back."
"I'll take the sweater." Elsie stretched her body like a cat, blinding pawing for the thick lump of fabric somewhere beside an unconscious Camille. She slipped it on, shielding the world from viewing the deep plunge of her shirt, and shuddered as a warmth and lingering scent of his cologne cradled her.
"Are you doing anything tomorrow night?"
Elsie kept her head down, picking at her nails. She hadn't felt the need to keep them trimmed and neat since she stopped performing all those years ago. "Camille was gonna take me to a bar to watch y'all play. Something about collective suffering." Her eyes jumped up. "No offence."
Joseph huffed out his amusement. "I've heard worse—a lot worse." His fingers tapped against the steering wheel, contemplative, something close to hesitant. "Would you two wanna go to the game?"
Camille suddenly lurched forward, like one final breath of life had possessed her, and Elsie nearly screamed. "You better say yes, Els, I swear to God," she whispered hotly, though her inebriation had let Joseph hear the slurred words loud and clear.
Elsie wished the passenger seat would swallow her whole when Joseph's laughter rang through the car, and for that split second in time, she felt like a little child again—the subject of her brother's teasing, her body flimsy without a confident bone to hold her up, cheeks a permanent shade of red.
"Alright, sit back down," she told Camille. "Have some decorum."
"I'll have Levi send you the tickets in the morning," said Joseph.
Elsie offered a simple smile, yet appreciative all the same. "Thank you."
She turned back to the cityscape, streaks of warm building lights and headlights going the other way blurring together, and remained oblivious to the skin on Joseph's hand blanching as it gripped the gear shift a little tighter—as though he was battling with himself and the little voice in his head that'd been deeply ingrained since his youth, since he first stepped foot into church.
"When'd you stop dying your hair?" he decided to ask. She and Levi always seemed to have layers of colors in their hair for as long as he could remember.
"Right before college," she answered. "Figured I should have a go at being a little 'normal,' I guess."
"Normal can be overrated."
"Coming from the clean-cut, golden child? How you ended up being friends with someone like my brother still astounds me."
Joseph couldn't help but smile. "You know, I play hockey for a living. I wouldn't say that's a very normal job."
"I guess not. You're a goalie, too. Makes you even weirder by default." Elsie grinned when he sent a playful flick to her thigh. It faltered at the edges for a moment, and she shifted in her seat, her voice small. "Did you like it? The hair, I mean."
"I thought it was cool," he said with a casual shrug.
"Really?"
A half-chuckle rolled off his tongue. "Really, Els."
Elsie played with the ends of her hair, clamping them between her pointer and middle fingers like a cigarette as if to examine its stiffness and gauge if the strands could handle going through rounds of bleach and color again. Maybe one of these days, she'd show up to a family function with a head of neon green like she did at sixteen, and she and Levi could battle it out for the largest disappointment in the eyes of their grandparents.
Yeah, one of these days. Maybe the next time she'd get to see Joseph. Whenever that was.
And how juvenile she felt for that, seeking everything in her power to be perceived as cool in the eyes of someone older. She thought she'd gotten over that phase long ago.
Fuck, she just wanted to beg for some semblance of fierce confidence she'd channeled in the bar—even if only an ounce of it. Faintly, she could feel the beads of her seldom-used rosary between her fingers, and a faded prayer sprout at the tip of her tongue, as though God had personally crept into her mind to provide an answer to her wishful pleading.
The reminder of how ineptly she had kept up with the faith she grew up in left a bad taste in her mouth, and something wilted deep within her soul under its weight. She felt like a horrible person. No, scratch that, she was a horrible person for it.
She might even consider having Joseph drive her to the nearest church so she could spill her guilt through the familiar latticed grate.
They hadn't made it through the door before Camille threw a panicky finger toward the bathroom. Joseph held Camille's hair back as Elsie scrambled around for the cleaning products, careful to avoid the splotch of vomit on the floor that failed to make it into the toilet bowl.
Joseph's eyes widened when Camille leaned her weight on him, sending him flopping against the bathtub. He looked down at her, slumped against his chest with a low rumbling snore, and breathed out, giving her a gentle pat on her waist as though she were a baby he had no idea how to hold.
Elsie had chuckled and continued cleaning. "You probably didn't have your night planned out like this."
"Can't say I did. Need any help?"
"Just make sure she makes it to the toilet if she has to throw up again."
Elsie finally settled beside Joseph with a heavy sigh, slouching until she was partly against his arm and the bathtub. "I'm so glad I'm not drunk right now."
Joseph leaned his head on hers, unable to see her eyes flutter shut as though she was bathing under the summer sun, and enjoyed the few moments of silence. He could fall asleep here, he thought, even with Camille passed out on his lap, even with his butt going numb against the tiled floor. If he moved just a few inches, he might reach the cushiony bathmat, but that would mean moving away from Elsie's touch—a soft undercurrent like an old lullaby his mother might have sang to him.
Five minutes had passed, and Joseph nearly thought he was trapped there for the rest of the night when Elsie tilted her head back enough to see the top of his head. "Can you help me put Cami to bed?"
Even if he could say no, the sweetened glimmer in her eyes, all stripped down by the late hour of the night, would have been a very hard refusal, for she looked as a puppy begging for scraps off the table would. And so he did, and he remained by the bedroom door to watch as Elsie gently wiped away the makeup off her friend's face, with something soft etched into his expression.
He was grateful that the dim lighting had cast disguising shadows, so Elsie could never see the cracks in his mind nor the shame that came with it.
Elsie settled on the kitchen counter, legs dangling over the edge, as she observed Joseph, from the way his eyes seemed to roam Camille's apartment—he could recognize the smiley face on the tape of the hockey stick slanted against a corner—to the twiddling of his shirt. Anything, it seemed, to avoid looking at her.
"Do you live far from here?" she asked to make conversation. "Despite what it sounds like, I don't check my brother's location all the time."
"I don't think it matters how far I live from anywhere," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "The city's a nightmare to drive through."
"So I've heard." Elsie tilted her head. "Why're you standing all the way there? Come here."
Joseph audibly gulped when he finally spared her a glance—how prettily the warm overhead lights shone down on her, like an altar worthy of reverence, and how the air seemed to calm against the cityscape beyond the windows. "I don't think that's a good idea."
The easy expression on her face fell.
She guessed why: The sweeping gaze, the looming presence, the unneeded interference. He'd even let slip the turmoil eating at him when they were in the car, the exasperated and nearly abhorrent hiss of how young she was, like he couldn't sit with the thought that he saw her as any bit more than just his best friend's little sister.
"I didn't mean—" Elsie shook her head, small, as though to herself. "Just 'cause," she gestured to her ears, "you know."
Joseph felt like a major jackass, then, but he didn't think he was imagining something forlorn in the way she looked at him. He took a few steps forward, but nothing beyond that, almost hoping it would be enough. All it seemed to do, however, was cement the damnation coursing through his head, how easily he wanted to crumble under her gaze and close every inch of distance between them, and it left him in fear of saying something that would scare her off—or just as scarily, make its way to Levi's ears.
Levi, who was his best friend. Levi, who was just as, if not more, muscular than him, could pound his face in with a simple swing. Levi, who was deathly protective of his younger sister, even if she believed otherwise. Levi, who never had to consider telling his friends not to try anything with her, least of all his best friend, because it was a given, all things considered.
Was this messed up? It felt messed up.
"Hey," Elsie said softly, leaping off the counter. "I can tell your mind's going a million miles an hour." She looked up at him with a gentle tilt of her head. "Are you stressing yourself out because you think I'm hot?"
Joseph's chest filled with air, lots of it. "You're not one to beat around the bush, are you?"
The corner of her lips curved just the tiniest amount, for just the shortest moment. "Is it really so bad?"
"Yeah," he said, "it is. You're my best friend's baby sister. I've known you since you were a kid."
"It's not like you ever paid any real attention to me back then," she said, curling her arms around herself.
Joseph couldn't stand the feeble crack in her voice. He kind of wanted to take it all back, then—wished he'd never gone up to her at the bar at all. Maybe he would save them both from this moment—the inquiry, the shame, the fluster, the dejection. Still, he couldn't help but ask, "Is that supposed to make things better?"
"I think so. Do you even know my birthday?"
Joseph furrowed his brows. "Uh...March 5th?"
"February 17th," Elsie corrected. "Did I ever have braces?"
"Seriously?"
"Timer's tickin', Joey."
He nearly rolled his eyes. "I don't know."
"You would if you ever got close enough to me to pay attention," said Elsie. "I had them for years. C'mon, what do I have to do to get this moral dilemma out of your head?"
"Be the second coming of Christ."
Elsie huffed out a laugh before she reached for his jaw. A spark jolted between them. Joseph swallowed thickly, felt her gently pelting against the armor protecting his dignity, the shred of virtue tearing him apart. Moment by moment, he felt it waver, under her soft stare, under the patience she stood with, under the delicate touch that spoke of nothing more.
It took everything in him to keep his feet planted, to keep himself contained despite the seams of his restraint unraveling. He was starting to believe it was harder than any Game 7 he would ever have to face, and he would be deemed a failure once again when his palm splayed against her hip, the denim of her jeans rough against his calluses as he walked her toward the counter.
The corner of Elsie's mouth lifted in a devilish half-smirk as the base of her spine hit granite. Her heart thundered against her ribs, her chest heavy with his overwhelming presence, caging her against the counter. She glanced at his lips. "It's your move."
For a moment, Joseph leaned forward, felt the faintest, most feather-light brush of her lips against his, felt her breath against his, felt the heat of her body against his, but just as quickly as he'd given up on his restraint, the thought of her brother spurred in his head again, and he pulled his head back.
"Fuck," he hissed, "I can't do this to Levi."
Elsie bit into the inside of her cheek, dejectedly tipping her chin away.
And maybe it was just how sad she looked, defeated like she'd just watched the very last thing keeping her going slip from her fingers, that had him slotting his hand against her neck, nearly searing to the touch. The hope in her eyes was palpable, a bright speck in the dim ambience enveloping them, and suddenly, he felt cruel.
God, messed up and cruel. He was discovering new ways of beating himself up tonight.
"I'm sorry," he said, stepping away from her, away from the chokehold she had on him. "I should go."
Elsie watched him as he crossed the open-plan of Camille's apartment, collecting his keys on the counter, then stumbling as he shoved his feet back into his shoes. She felt naïve, she supposed, in believing that he would indulge her in something like a kiss when he was beating himself up over the mere prospect of even finding her attractive.
It was like she had become every bit the kid he claimed she was—so gullible and easily fond.
"Wait—" Joseph swiveled around, reached into his front pocket, and took his credit card out. "Take this. Use it at the arena, if you or Camille want anything from the store or the concession stands. I don't really care."
"You're crazy," Elsie said. "You don't know me well enough to trust me with your card. I could buy a car, for all you know."
"Your brother asked me to look after you," he said, and something about the way he said it felt pointed.
"Yeah, for the night, not financially. Besides, you've done more than enough by helping me with Camille. We'll be okay. We have grown-up jobs."
"Just—take it," he said. "If you end up with a car, then, fuck, I don't know, you somehow end up with a car."
In some ways, it felt cheap, maybe a little degrading, to accept his credit card after the blow to her dignity his little rejection had managed to inflict—like this was his way of palliating the burn and mending the damage with a bandage made of dollar bills. Still, she plucked the card from between his fingers with no intention of ever using it and walked him to the door.
Joseph was halfway past the doorway when he paused. "Are you gonna tell Levi?"
"Tell him what?" she asked. "That his best friend thinks his sister is hot? That he wanted to kiss her? I really doubt this hasn't happened in history before, but don't worry, Joey, your secret's safe with me."
And despite how scornfully he could've taken her words, the ghost of a smile he noticed revealed something earnest, something sweet, something entirely dangerous for his frenzied mind. He figured even a puck to the head wouldn't shake it out of him.
"Hey, stop beating yourself up over it," she said, a lot less teasingly. "Nothing happened. You just dropped me and Camille off."
Joseph nodded.
"Drive safe, okay?" Elsie told him like they were words she'd always said. "Text me when you get home."
Joseph blinked at her. "You're gonna be the death of me."
Mirth flickered in her eyes. "Should we look for plots together?"
"Goodnight, Els," he said over his shoulder.
Elsie waited until he got into the elevator before retreating.
Once morning came, all Camille could remember from the night before was seeing her favorite team's players before she blacked out—from shock or the insurmountable amount of alcohol she consumed, she was yet to determine—with the minor exception of accepting Joseph's invitation to see the game live.
She would be damned if she forgot that.
Elsie laughed when Camille finally showed face in the morning, eyes barely open as a pounding headache rang obnoxiously against her skull as though a death metal concert was being held there and her feet dragging like her muscles were made of concrete.
Camille could only flip her off before flopping onto the couch. "Don't tell me I embarrassed myself."
A snort sounded, and Camille groaned.
"Alright, let's go whoop these Krakens," Camille said with the most enthusiasm she could force herself to project, which was to say, not very much.
Levi, too, had laughed once Elsie and Camille found their seats beside him, a few rows from the glass. "The sunglasses, Camille?"
She lazily shoved her hand in his face, as if to shush him for speaking so loudly. They hadn't been there for very long, taking a straight path from the parking garage to the lower bowl, but already the pulsing music was worming through her head with the right amount of suffering. "Earplugs, too."
"How hard did y'all go last night?"
"You, singular," said Elsie. "Only one of us went hard last night. Though I'm glad to see you're alive and well."
Levi nudged her. "Hey, that's why I share my location with you." He finally took note of what his sister was wearing, lips curling with disgust with each pass. "Where the hell did you get all that Leafs shit?"
"Cami's closet." Elsie pulled the sleeves of Joseph's sweater over her hands. It hadn't been a total lie—she'd raided the hat and logo-printed socks hidden by her dark-wash jeans back in the apartment—but Levi didn't need to know that the Drew House crew neck, way too large for her or Camille's frame, belonged to his best friend. "Where's yours?"
"I'm a Blues fan." He looked at her like she'd grown a second head, for it had never been a secret. In fact, it was very loudly proclaimed, and his childhood bedroom, decorated with pennant flags and banners and one-of-a-kind memorabilia collected over the years, had been all the evidence she needed. "I'm not wearing another team's gear. You shouldn't either. I thought I raised you better than that."
"But he's Joey." Elsie all but pouted.
"And he knows where my loyalties lie. Who else goes through the hassle of collecting all of his cards?"
Elsie rolled her eyes before scanning the ice. They were about halfway through warm-ups, pucks bouncing off the posts and skidding along the boards while the team glided throughout their zone with envious ease, sharpened blades scratching perfectly over the ice. She turned to Levi, and even if he wore his mask well, she could see it—the longing twisting into the edges of his mouth, the dimmed spark in his eyes, something that could've been a wiry green monster in his heart if she didn't know him as well as she did.
"Do you miss it?" she asked.
"Miss what?"
"Being out there?"
Levi huffed out a laugh, tightening with defensiveness. "I still play beer league. It's not like I've given it all up."
Elsie chewed on the inside of her cheek, tongue soothing over the tender tissue. "I know, but it's not the same as playing with your best friend."
"What are you trying to get at?" Levi nearly snapped. His glare softened almost immediately when he saw her rub her finger along the back of her ear, like the external parts of her cochlear implants had suddenly grown ten times heavier. "I don't blame you, you know," he said gently, draping his arm around her shoulders. "I'd do it all over again. Besides, I like what I do now."
The game started and quickly plunged into a bloodbath of anxiety, neither team ever allowing a lead for very long. Elsie went to grasp her necklace, as though she had hoped for a holy presence to swing the game in their favor—as stupid as she might've called herself for it—but when the cold metal never came to know her fingertips, her heart sank.
She could've sworn she just had it.
Levi raised an eyebrow when she looked under her seat. He asked if she was okay, to which she signed her frustration that she was, indeed, not okay. He raised his hands and let her be.
With an overtime loss for the Leafs, Levi, Else, and Camille filed through the corridors, passes hanging from their necks, until they found the family room, filled with wives, girlfriends, relatives, and children. They had felt a little out of place there, falling into none of the categories that really validated their presence there, so they remained huddled in a corner, waiting for Joseph to find them, as though he were a parent picking their children up from daycare.
"There he is!" Levi exclaimed.
Elsie looked over her shoulder, the hand that was soothing the front of her bare neck coming to a slow halt as her eyes brazenly scanned over the suit fitted against his figure. His tie, colorful and loose around his collar, looked like he couldn't be bothered to knot the fabric together again after the loss looming in the air. A thin smile blossomed on her lips, one that came off a little stilted, yet had painted her restraint fairly well to him.
"Not even a water?" Joseph said to her. He tried not to think too hard about how comfortable she looked in his sweater. "Really?"
"I did appreciate the sentiment," she returned his card, ignoring the spark jumping between their fingers as they brushed against each other, "but one of us is majorly hungover and can't be within a three-foot radius of a drink without wanting to throw up, and the other overpacked her carry-on and can't fit anything she'd want to buy."
Levi seemed offended. "Why didn't I get a card?"
"What?" Joseph furrowed his brows. "You said to take care of your sister."
Elsie smiled sheepishly under her brother's wry glare.
"Need another ride?" asked Joseph.
This time around, things were different: Levi, with his long legs and sinewy build, had claimed the passenger seat, forcing Elsie and Camille to the back, and considering her brother's charisma seemed to crowd the car like there were more than four people inside it, the tranquility that once threaded through the space failed to burgeon. Elsie internally bewailed it, wishing that, for a fragment of a second, it was just her and Joseph again.
But sometimes it felt like it was—in the stolen glances in the rearview mirror, in the little ways he had roped her into the conversation, like he had only wanted to listen to what she had to say.
Elsie knew she was being stupid, knew that he was just being Joseph—kind, attentive, caring, funny without meaning to be—but there was a part of her that believed that maybe, just maybe, he actually did like her beyond the intimacy of a bar and the unraveling cloak of night, saw her as more than she was, thought of her as someone worth being selfish for.
She wondered what it'd take to break his resolve, then she realized how behemoth of a task that seemed to be, for how did one tempt someone who possessed the mental fortitude to play at the highest level his sport had to offer?
She could try. She wanted to try.
Even as tortured as he seemed to be last night. That had only enticed her more. The almost flawless gift that kept on giving, coming apart at the seams at a single bat of her eyelashes.
She could reap the consequences of her beguiling before the altar. Surely, God would understand the desire He so put forth in her heart.
"Thanks for the ride, Joe," said Camille. "Can I call you that?"
Joseph snickered. "I think we're on a first-name basis after last night."
Elsie slotted herself between the front two seats, pressing a chaste kiss on her brother's cheek, then one that lingered, for just a hair longer, on Joseph's. She never let her smirk make headway, not even the slightest twitch or slant at the corner of her lips, when the light shade of pink crawled up his neck.
"Thank you, Joey," she said, "for yesterday and today."
He watched her clamber out of the car. "Anytime, kid."
Elsie's step faltered. She knew what he was trying to do, this last-ditch attempt to talk himself out of his wandering gaze and soft-hearted nature, to keep his best friend entirely oblivious to it, too. She was grateful, then, that her back was turned to the car, so he couldn't see the glimmer in her eyes fade, so Levi wouldn't be privy to anything.
But he did anyway. Because he was Levi, and he was almost too attuned to all of his loved ones' fluctuating emotions.
"Hey, kid," he called out. She turned around. "You okay?" he signed. "You've been quiet."
Elsie offered a faint smile. "Fine. Listening fatigue. I'll see you at the airport. Enjoy the rest of your night."
"Not going to stalk us this time?"
With a quick glance at Camille, she laughed. "No," she said. "Night, Jeans."
"Night, kid." Levi rolled the window up.
Joseph waited until Elsie and Camille made it inside before he drove away.
"So, wanna tell me what that was about?" Camille asked once they crossed the threshold into her apartment unit.
"What was what about?"
"Els," Camille stared blankly, "that sweater's not mine; Joe gave you his card; you can't look him in the eye; he kept looking at you—not subtly, either. What the hell did I miss?"
Elsie collapsed onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. "Tomorrow?" she asked with a sigh. "Implants are running out of juice."
Camille chuckled. "Alright."
It had been a few hours later, Elsie mindlessly scrolling on her phone in silence, when she received a video from her brother that spelled out his inebriation like he was teaching a class of toddlers. She didn't need to assume that there was yelling and music blasting—after all, Levi always knew how to have a good time—and neither did she need to assume that Joseph was with him; the only thing surprising that came out of his presence when Levi flipped the camera around, however, was how intensely he had thrown back his shots.
Like he was trying to drown out every thought in his head.
Elsie left his video unanswered and went to put her phone down when she felt it buzz—once, then twice.
josephwoll is now following you
Joseph Woll
I should've kissed you last night.
NOVEMBER
Levi and Elsie weren't the type of siblings who texted all the time (maybe a meme every few weeks), or made plans to see each other every other weekend (they were on par for a hangout every month and a half), or intermingled their friend groups (Levi was as good as their dad as recognizing her friends), or asked for life updates when it'd been too long (Elsie heard from their mom that he was looking to move). They believed that made them, by definition, not close—not estranged, but not best friends like they'd seen some others.
But every once in a while, when he was bored, Levi would remember that she lived in the same city and show up at her door unannounced.
"Joe's in net today," he said. "They're playing the Blues. Watch the game with me."
Elsie's transmitter snapped into place against her head, and the racket from the TV rushed into her ears. How Levi had found her remote when she had no recollection of where it'd last been placed was beyond her, but she kept her lips sealed.
"You're not giving me much of a choice," she said, joining him on the couch. "What happened to your friends? Oh, wait, you don't have any."
Levi rolled his eyes, pulling her throw blanket over his lap. He always thought she had the comfiest things—a perfectly warm lamp on the end table, festive garlands strung along the underside of her island counter, ready for Thanksgiving, silken cushions propped on her couch, all perfectly lived-in. He might drive home with this blanket later, though, if he can sneak it out.
"Turn the captions on."
"You're actually gonna watch with me?" Levi asked in disbelief. "I figured you were gonna leave me be and fuck off."
"It's the middle of the workweek," she said, sinking deeper into the cushions. "I'm not going anywhere if I can help it."
Levi flashed his bleached eyebrows like he understood.
"Can I dye your hair?" asked Elsie.
"What, this weekend?"
"No, like, right now."
Levi inhaled deeply, palming the grown-out buzzcut plagued with dark, overgrown roots, faded color, and brassy ends. "Fuck it, yeah. Buzz it while you're at it."
Elsie saluted and scurried off to her bathroom, finding her stash of bleach, developers, dyes, and gloves that had yet to see the light of day—all prepatory in case she decided to bite the bullet again. She liked to think it was going to happen sooner rather than later.
"Hey, did you go to Mass on Sunday?" Levi yelled from the living room.
"No!" she called back, brows furrowed with concentration. "I'm not driving forty minutes home to feel guilty. I can do that on my own, thank you very much. Did you?"
"No," he said.
A second passed, and like the answer to a millennium problem sprouting in their heads, their eyes lit up with realization.
"So that's why Mom was pissed," they concluded.
"She acts like it's something new," said Levi. "You and I are Creasters, at best. Joe might even be better about that, and he's not even Catholic."
Elsie snorted, about to bring the supplies over to the living room, when she pulled out her phone instead. Away from Levi's eyes, she could do this, stew in her hesitancy, stew in the fluttery feeling in her stomach. Her manicured thumbs hovered over her screen when she read the drunken text Joseph had sent that she never found a response to, and she wondered if she should've at the time, or if sending something now, entirely unrelated to it, was a good idea.
Before she could stop herself, however, the texts were sent.
els ♒︎
heyyy joey
play well tonight (not that you don't normally)
but i need to rub it in my brother's face
Seen now
Elsie returned to the living room and laid down plastic along her rug and couch before forcing Levi onto the floor. Briefly, she looked at the TV as the national anthems rang out, Levi quietly singing along as though it would mask how good his voice truly was, and waited until the final note sounded before she brought the clippers to his head.
Splinters of hair cascaded along Levi's bare shoulders, and she was tempted to leave him with the shaved strip down the center, but her humored giggles earned her a shove, so she kept going.
By the time she had slathered on the bleach and let it process, they were halfway through the first intermission. Levi rushed through the rinse, shouting from Elsie's bathroom as suds dripped into his eyes from his haste.
"Two minutes, Jeans!"
"Fuck me!"
With heavy stomps, Levi stumbled back into the living room with a towel obscuring his vision, drops of water tracing his path along the floor. He plopped back into his spot in front of Elsie, another string of curses falling from his lips as the jagged edges of his fallen hair speared into his legs, adding to the sharp pain radiating from his spine after sticking only his head beneath the shower stream.
Once the game ended, Elsie wasn't sure whether he was bemoaning the overtime loss the Blues had suffered or the black squiggly, ribbon-like lines now encircling his hair. She assumed it was the former, for he'd slid praise to his childhood best friend at some point, only to lament the string of losses piling on his favorite team's record.
"Hey, wanna order in?"
And it was as though Levi had never watched his team lose. "Yeah, what do you want?"
"Chinese?"
"Chinese."
A few minutes later, Elsie's phone vibrated. Her gaze slid to her brother, who was entirely encapsulated by the post-game panel breakdown of the game, before she angled her phone ever so slightly.
Joseph Woll
Was that good enough?
els ♒︎
i was joking, by the way
seeing you get to play is more than enough for me :)
but yes, jeans is a mess
Seen now
Elsie frowned when it appeared that she would receive no additional response. Had she been too much? She didn't think so—just a friend expressing her pride in his accomplishments.
That was what they were now. Friends.
Maybe.
They didn't talk all that much, and she didn't ask Levi about him, just as he didn't ask Levi about her. But they weren't as peripheral anymore, and maybe acquaintances was a better choice of words, but she didn't like the sound of that.
She didn't think it explained the way his hands brushed against hers as they walked to his car, or the way his eyes lingered, or the care with which he handled her, or how desperately he wanted to kiss her.
But with her brother just a few feet away, too perceptive a person for any change in her mood to go unnoticed, she tossed her phone aside.
"Oh, by the way, you got some bleach on your hair," said Levi. "Might be a sign, kid."
DECEMBER
"You couldn't have picked a different color?" Dana Rivers cried when her son showed up on her doorstep on Christmas Eve with neon pink stars drawn on his hair. "Jesus, Levi! What about something Christmas-y, like green or red?"
Levi ducked away from his mother's hands. "I'm not walking around looking like a bloody tampon."
Elsie barked out a laugh. She stood in the foyer, equipped with a spray can, the same chocolatey shade of her hair. She gave the can a few shakes, mixing balls clacking loudly against the calm hum of Christmas hymns warming the old suburban home.
"Oh, you came prepared, huh?" Levi narrowed his eyes.
Dana looked like she was one moment away from letting out a sob. "This is all your fault, Steve! If you had never let..."
Elsie tuned out her mother's voice as she pulled her brother into the bathroom.
Levi plopped onto the toilet lid, hissing when the first icy blast of temporary hair color hit his scalp. "What's Mom's problem?"
"Same ol', same ol'," Elsie said. "They've started up again."
A string of silence dragged on—thick, uncomfortable. Distantly, they could hear Steve finally snap at his wife's incessant badgering.
"I know, Jeans," she said, offering a thin-lipped smile. "The walls spoke."
"How long has it been going on for now?"
Elsie continued spraying his hair. "Started to pick up a few weeks ago, I think. Been especially bad lately. Think it's just the holidays, though."
Levi saw the anxious purse of her lips, the muted spark in her eyes, the bloodied cuticles that juxtaposed the cute and festive designs adorning her nails. "Don't blame yourself for it, kid."
"I don't. Not really. Not this time around."
"Okay. Good."
Levi didn't critique the blotchy work Elsie had done on his hair, not when their parents were ushering them into the car to make it to midnight mass in time to secure their seats after his little color debacle had set them back a few minutes. But he was wholly privy to it when she let out a giggle every once in a while, like it'd been her intention the entire time.
"Joe saved us a spot," he announced.
"Oh, you invited him?" Dana asked. "Well, bless him."
Elsie had slid into the shellacked pew first, flashing Joseph a quick smile when she settled beside him. The air was stiff between them, like they hadn't quite known how to exist around one another beyond the boundless thoughts of what could've happened between them, and perhaps they didn't—not in the way they should, at least.
But how could they when the longing came rushing back to the forefront of their minds?
The moonlight passed through the stained glass with a reverent glow befitting the altar that stood high and mighty, but all Elsie could think was that it illuminated like a spotlight meant to shame her for the temptation flowing through her body, the gravitation that had her seeking Joseph's touch, no matter how slight.
The guilt that followed consumed her like rot when she subtly knocked her knee into his, almost like an accident if neither of them knew any better. But he made no attempt to move away, and the nervous wire stretched tight in her spine loosened.
For a brief moment, their eyes connected, and the faintest smiles danced across their faces.
Despite the relatively lax stance she and her brother had taken toward their faith, each procession came to them like a breath of air—easy, familiar, long-held. Each move taken to stand, to sit, to make the sign of the cross, to recite each prayer, response, and creed—all of it, Elsie swore, she could do even in death.
She did not know if, at the depth of her soul, that made her a good person despite it all, or if it worsened the guilt over her lack of discipline, the guilt over the prurience distracting her, the guilt over her wandering eyes to people the Church would never let her marry, the guilt over allowing her mortal feelings and urges to become the driving force in her decisioins over the religious moral teachings ingrained in her from her youth, the guilt over existing as she did.
Her eyes glazed over with something distant and cloudy as she sank to her knees beneath the crushing weight of it all.
And a part of Joseph felt a heaviness in his chest when he watched from the corner of his eyes, past the rim of his glasses—a moment of innocent, hallowed piety that bewitched his mind and soul with something that should send him scrambling for the confessionals. He knelt faster than a flash of lightning, hoping the Eucharistic Prayer could wash him of his thoughts.
Elsie's dad had received the Eucharistic bread in his hand when she decided to tilt back, only marginally, only enough for Joseph to notice. He leaned forward, just a smidge, ready to hear whatever it was she wanted to say.
"Is there anything you'd like to confess before receiving a blessing?" she asked, lips barely moving, voice even less distinguishable.
But Joseph heard, and all he could do was nudge her forward.
Elsie's cheeks inflated with the laugh she kept contained.
In the chaos of families making their escape after Mass had concluded, Elsie had found her place before the votive candles by one of the alcoves, the gentle candlelight softly dancing against the delicate curves and edges of Mary's statue. It was just her there. She felt small, like a little child seeking the comfort of her mother, and a sudden solace mended her heart when she thought of this as no different.
Still, it was overwhelming, the feeling that gutted her from within—a fearfulness trembling her muscles, a distraughtness stinging behind her eyes.
Elsie couldn't remember the last time she'd clutched her rosary that tightly, fingers blanching like the silvery moonlight high in the sky. Maybe in high school, when she'd been confined to a sling and hoped to play the piano the way she used to, begged God not to take that from her, too. Maybe in middle school, that very day her best friend at the time had innocently grazed her hand, and she felt her heart skip a beat; God, she'd cried and cried and thought something was profoundly wrong with her and hoped she would pray herself into normalcy. Or maybe before that, as a child, pleading to have her hearing back until her knees scarred; she still had the marks to prove it.
It felt a little disingenuous, in all honesty—how she only came before the Lord when she needed something. She wondered if He ever got tired of it, if He thought any less of her for it. But the candlelight continued to burn, and she figured that had to have meant something.
"Do you wanna talk about it?"
Elsie had felt Joseph's presence loitering, and she was deeply grateful that he'd let her be for just a few moments. She hastily brushed away the tears trickling down her cheeks and looked back up at Mary's statue, as though for reassurance. "You been standing there this entire time?" she asked.
"I was on my way out," he said. "Had a feeling I should stop by."
Elsie didn't turn to him when he joined her side.
A long silence lapped between them.
Joseph stuffed his hands into his pockets, craning his neck to observe Mary. Her lips were curled softly, her eyes painted with tenderness, and her palms were turned outward, as though inviting all to stand with her, to unshackle the weight of their troubles onto her, to feel the love that Jesus had.
How kind she appeared before them, despite her grandness. A sort of humility that rippled into succor.
He understood why Elsie would go to her when something troubled her.
Lowering his gaze, he noticed the tired breath expelling from her shoulders, like she didn't quite have the strength to stand from her kneeling position. He reached for her back, his fingertips only able to skim the base of her neck, but that had been enough, it seemed, when the tension in her body loosened beneath his touch, sent her leaning against his leg like it was some lifeline keeping her upright when all she wanted to do was lie down.
"Did my brother ever tell you that our dad's starting to lose his hearing?"
"Once," he said, carefully smoothing his palm over her hair. "You know how he is: For someone so attuned to everyone's emotions, he doesn't like talking about his own."
"It seems stupid to say, but I hope it doesn't get worse," she said, toying with the beads of her rosary. "I don't want him to go through what I did. It was hard getting to where I am, and I struggled—still struggle—a lot."
Joseph pressed his lips together in concentration. "I guess I never really considered how much goes into hearing again."
"Most people don't really think about deafness unless they're insulting someone." The corner of Elsie's lips swept up just the tiniest bit, like she was trying to lighten the air, but the weight of Joseph's presence and Mary's knowing stare had quickly snuffed out that attempt. "I'm grateful that I can hear again, I am, and I live a fairly normal life, all things considered," she continued with furrowed brows, "but it's not the same. Festivals, concerts, large gatherings—they're all kind of...muffled and robotic, and I can't really focus on more than one sound, and emotions don't come through the same way. It's like...I can hear, but I can't listen. Not fully.
"But that's why I studied physics in college. I may not be able to hear like I used to, but I can experience sound through numbers and graphs and vibrations, and the more I studied it, the more I realized that...everything sings. That's kind of comforting, isn't it? Poetic, even.
"Even then, that doesn't remove all the envy I feel. The worst part about everything is that I remember what sound was like before I lost my hearing—barely, but enough that I spent a lot of time upset over it, and some days, I consider just taking these suckers off and never putting them back on." Elsie had felt some sort of relief in admitting this to someone, something like stepping out of the confessionals. "But my parents used to get into fights about it, and obviously, I couldn't really hear them by that point, but I'd feel the walls shake sometimes. One night, I wanted to see what was going on, but instead, I found Levi just sitting in front of my door like he was standing guard. He wouldn't tell me what was happening, but he just looked so...sad, and I knew.
"They all put in so much time and money into helping me; it would feel like a waste if I decided to stop using my implants," she said. "I don't know—He and my mom are already starting to argue again, and I can't stand the thought of my dad experiencing what I did, and I guess, that's assuming he'll even get that bad, but it's hard not to think about it when it kind of looms over us, y'know?"
Joseph wasn't quite sure what to say: He didn't think it was right to tell her that it'd all turn out for the better, that she should be overtly optimistic—this overbearing, false sense of positivity that seemed to do more harm than good—because it was obvious that this had been gnawing at her for a while, that she hadn't quite had the chance to sit with everything fully, and he didn't want to brush her emotions off when she was opening up to someone—to him.
But neither would it feel right to tell that she was strong for persevering when everything seemed so bleak, that she should continue to be strong, because she didn't have much of a choice in the matter. It wasn't like she wanted to lose her hearing, like she wanted to sit through hundreds of audiologist and speech therapy appointments, like she wanted to live knowing that she wasn't experiencing life with the depth that sound gave everyone else.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to dump that onto you." Elsie dismissively shook her head, rubbing her eyes. "It's late."
"Hey," Joseph gently coaxed, dropping to his knees at an instant. His gaze softened when she finally spared him a glance, the skin around her eyes puffy like she'd showered in pollen. His chest tightened when they turned glassy again, her lips trembling with each passing second. "C'mere."
Elsie melted into his grasp, his arms snaking around her shoulders—comforting, anchoring, supporting, all at once. She quite liked the feel of it, how her muscles seemed to loosen, like her shoulders no longer carried the weight of the cross she was burdened with, and for a moment, her mind quieted.
Joseph pulled back enough to let his thumb collect the wetness on her cheeks. He studied her face as she leaned into his touch, felt time slow when she mustered up the courage to meet his gaze, all vulnerable and raw emotion. He knew, then, that he wanted to be the one she went to when she needed a moment away from the responsibilities of the world, so he could shield her while she rested.
Briefly, his gaze drifted to Mary. The candlelight, still as gentle and as strongly lit, seemed to soften her kind expression even more. It had never felt more heavy-laden, however, like the weight of a mother's expectations had now been bestowed upon him. He turned back to Elsie, then.
"You can talk to me about anything," he said. Before he could stop himself, he pressed a kiss onto the top of her head.
Elsie shifted, tucking herself deeper into Joseph's grasp. "I know I didn't really give you much of an option, but thank you for listening."
"You don't have to thank me." His hand brushed over her hair, careful to avoid the implants on either side of her head, and the way his heart flipped blinded him, temporarily, from all the restraint he felt he owed Levi.
But it came surging back in, left his smile fading and his soul heavy with shame for ever feeling what he did when he thought about her, let alone when she was around. The church, too, seemed to agree, the pietistic lighting within the church haloing around her head, laughing at him for ever thinking he would be worthy of her.
Then came the footfalls echoing softly against the stone floor, and maybe a little too quickly, he seemed to shove some distance between them. "You feeling better, kid?"
Elsie had understood fairly quickly—the turmoil ribbing at him and the approaching presence. Hastily, she wiped away what tears were left on her skin, nodding despite the emptiness now feasting on the warmth he had enveloped her in. She might even say she heard a crack form in her heart if it didn't sound so theatrical.
"There you are," Levi's voice rippled from behind them. His strides grew louder, then softer as he slowed down. "I've been looking all over for you, kid. Oh, hey, man."
Joseph offered a nonchalant acknowledgment, a simple jut of his chin. He saw the slight crinkle of Levi's brows at the sight of them, like each rationalization was passing through his face, before he shook his head dismissively. After all, he had no reason to believe anything else.
"Are we still on with Freddy tomorrow?" Levi asked Joseph, who gave some half-assed response. "Sweet. C'mon, kid; Mom and Dad are getting antsy."
"Night, Joey," Elsie said quietly, unable to meet his eyes, entirely enraptured by the rosary clutched dearly in her hands. She trailed alongside her brother.
"What was that about?" asked Levi.
Elsie shrugged. "Nothing."
Levi came to a halt when he heard the faint sniffle, the raspiness of her voice finally striking something in his mind. His gaze finally swept over, with detail, her mottled skin, then the slightly tumid nature of her eyes. "You were crying."
"Let's go, Jeans." Elsie tugged at his arm, but he remained firmly in place.
"What's wrong?" he asked. Briefly, his eyes flickered when Joseph passed them, and he thought back to the past few moments. "Did Joe do anything?"
Elsie stared at him, long and hard. Then she laughed, slapping her hand over her mouth to mute herself. "Joey? Your best friend, Joey? The guy who won 'Most likely to brighten your day' one year? That Joey?"
"I don't know!" Levi threw his arms up. "You were fine when Mass ended, and then I find you with him, crying. I was just throwing shit out there."
Another laugh, more of a giggle this time, had left Elsie's lips, and the sound seemed to knead away the knots in Levi's shoulders. "Joey didn't do anything. He won that superlative for a reason. We were just talking about Dad."
"Oh." Levi fell into step with his sister, opening the church doors for her. "When did you two become so close?"
"When you ditched us in Toronto," she said.
Levi thinned his lips, glaring when Elsie shot him a teasing grin. "Whatever. You steal my clothes, my pens, my car...Next thing I know, you'll be stealing my friends, starting with Joe."
It had been a joke, but Elsie couldn't help but find Joseph as he reached his car, just two spots over. He seemed to feel the weight of her stare and looked up. "You're not losing your friends to a kid, Jeans."
She climbed into the backseat before she could see the way Joseph winced.
Morning had come quickly, and Elsie stirred awake when her phone buzzed. She cursed at herself, wondering if she'd been too tired to silence her phone before she collapsed into bed when they'd gotten home from church, but she lifted her head, bleary eyes clearing to read the texts coming in.
Joseph Woll
Have something for you. Think you can open the door for me?
Elsie shot out of bed, nearly tripping over her comforter tangled between her legs, and hurried out of her childhood bedroom, uncaring of how she looked—hair sticking in different directions, eyes lined with flakes of mascara she'd failed to remove last night, old pyjamas skewed and crumpled.
The front door swung open, and Joseph bit back an endeared laugh at the sight of her.
"Sleep well?" he asked.
Elsie nodded. "So what's this thing you've got for me?"
"Greedy."
"I know what I want," she said.
Joseph pulled a wrapped box out from behind him, small enough to rest entirely in his palm. "Merry Christmas, Els."
"Merry Christmas, Joey." Elsie smiled softly, even if her heart still stung from last night. Her foot seemed to twitch, like it was wondering if she should step forward to hug him or remain where she was. Instead, she took the gift and lowered her gaze, observing the paper littered with Christmas trees. "Thank you," she said. "And thank you again for last night—for listening."
"Like I said, you don't have to thank me. I meant it—when I said you could talk to me about anything."
Elsie gently cradled the wrapped gift between her interlocked fingers. "You can talk to me, too."
"Els, close the door!" Levi shouted from inside. "You're letting all the cold air in."
"It's sixty degrees outside!" Elsie yelled back. "Now, do you want me to leave Joey inside or outside?"
"In, what the hell?"
Joseph tried to suppress his smile when she shot him a wink. He had grown to accept that his resolve eroded away with each moment he spent with her, and how dangerous was that? He stepped into the house when she opened the door a little more.
Elsie felt her face burn when he squeezed her waist in passing. She closed the door, heard the rattle of his voice with Levi's, then his voice with her parents, how familiar it sounded, like an old vinyl on her father's player, then looked at the present in her hands. A smile crooked her lips, and she ran off to her room with a skip in her step.
Carefully, she peeled the taped corners and edges of the gift, revealing a velvet box. She lifted the lid and read the note slipped in there.
Found this in my car and had it repaired.
Merry Christmas, Els ❤︎
Elsie moved the card aside, wondering if her mind had taken the right path, and a scream left her throat before she slapped her hand over her mouth.
"Els?" her father shouted from the living room.
"I'm fine!" she replied. "Spider!"
Elsie liked to believe she could hear Joseph laughing at her obvious lie. Her thumb brushed over the gold chain leading to the crucifix that'd once hung from her neck a few months ago; she had only just begun accepting that she'd never be reunited with it.
Excitement coursed through her body until all she could do was flop onto her back with a squeal, feet kicking in the air.
els ♒︎
you're godsent joey
MARCH
"What happened with your car?" Elsie asked as her brother climbed into the passenger seat.
"You're never gonna believe me," said Levi. "I got rear-ended again."
"You're joking." Elsie gaped. "Any more, and I'll assume you're talking to me about your sex life, which, please, never do."
Levi snorted.
"So, where are we headed?"
"Joe's. Mom and Dad are there."
Elsie's mouth peeled back with offence. "Why wasn't I invited to this?"
"This is your invite," he said. "Besides, I thought you were going out with what's-her-name."
"Rain checked," said Elsie, setting off on the forty-minute drive to their hometown that she had no idea she'd make that night. Of course, she'd known that Joseph was around—the Leafs were in town, and he'd texted her about it—but she wasn't expecting to see him until the next night, under the arena lights, surrounded by the rest of his family and friends that would keep her on her best behavior.
"Let's get this party started!" Levi exclaimed, barging through the front door.
"Where's a bathroom, Jeans?" Elsie asked quietly. She didn't think she recalled the last time she'd set foot in this house, if she'd ever. Following his directions, she turned down a hallway, counted the doors, and went to open the one she'd hoped was the right one.
The door opened as her hand grazed the doorknob, and a sharp gasp sliced through her throat.
"Jesus, Els!" Joseph flinched. "Didn't know you were coming tonight. Levi said you were busy."
Elsie's cheeks flushed at the thought that he might have asked about her before she cleared her throat. "Levi needed a ride here, and Bells canceled."
Joseph glanced down, smiling softly as the gold chain around her neck glinted under the warm houselights. He reached for the crucifix, letting it rest on his fingertips. "Glad to see it hasn't broken off."
The cool metal of the crucifix hit her skin again. Joseph almost wished he'd skipped meeting her eyes—the soft-edged, doe-like feel of them that nearly sent him to his knees, and the smile it'd brought out had wrecked him, gutted him from within until every inch of him craved being near her.
Fuck, he was so screwed.
Levi was going to kill him.
"I don't know how many times I can thank you for it," Elsie said earnestly. "Seriously, Joey."
"It was nothing," he brushed off. Then, he curled his finger into one of her belt loops, tugging at it and steadying her with his other hand on her hip when she stumbled into his chest, and swapped their places in one fell swoop. There was a flutter in his chest when she regarded him with wide eyes and parted lips, as if he'd just taken away any rational thought. "Dinner's in five."
Elsie closed the door, breath ragged and soft, all at once. She wasn't sure how much more of this she could take before her heart exploded. She doubted that it'd be a very pretty sight.
How she had been sandwiched between Matthew and Joseph's younger brother, Michael, at the dinner table, she wasn't quite sure, but she hadn't complained. She knew Michael distantly from the few instances they'd crossed paths in school, and Matthew was charismatic enough to befriend just about anyone.
And maybe it was the sight of it—of Elsie enjoying herself around people closer in age to her—that seemed to tick Joseph off, seemed to set off the same arguments that'd been running through his mind for half a year now. Just when he'd thought he'd begun to quell those thoughts.
Levi and Elsie helped clean up the dining table after everyone had finished their meals, piling on dish after dish.
All it took was the first note, the first press of E on the white piano keys, for Elsie to stop mid-scrub, hot water rolling off her hands. Then the second note rang, and she glanced over her shoulder, finding that her brother was still in the kitchen with her.
So, not Levi.
"Go join the rest of them in the living room," Dana said quietly, taking over at the sink.
Elsie dried her hands on her sweatpants (an unfortunate choice of clothing, because if she'd known where they were going, she would've put in a little more effort to look nicer), then crept toward the archway opening into the living room, where Joseph sat behind an old, upright piano against the wall. Her lips pulled softly with each unraveling of Für Elise that graced her ears, but it quickly fell when it transitioned into another song, as though the opening few notes were simply meant to capture their attention—her attention.
Because it had to be hers that he was chasing when Je te laisserai des mots followed.
And for a moment, she fell through the veil of time, landed back in Toronto, in the front seat of his car as the song gently rippled into the mellow air, the cityscape passing by them in soft blurs, late-night chatter filling in the gaps of knowledge between them. She quite liked that night, liked how calm everything was, even with Camille passed out in the back.
It was sweet, and it was melancholic, and it was tranquil, and it was fun, and it was dejected, and it was far too short, and yet it was something she cherished.
But she was growing to accept that, despite her efforts, she would never get that with him—too devoted to her brother, too embroiled with the thought that she was younger than him.
This fluttering of their hearts, this clandestine dance in the shadows, this rewiring of their minds each time they saw each other that left them breathless and frozen—even as he played his heart out in ways only obvious to them, she would let what simmered between them fizzle out if that was what he wanted.
She knew when to stop. Enacting it would be much harder, however.
As the last few notes dragged out, it seemed like everyone had turned to Levi, who stood behind Elsie. Everyone knew how much of a prodigy he was—how each note flowed through him like they were his life force, how the world seemed to disappear around him once he touched an instrument. It was only right to have him display his talent in front of an audience.
But his gaze had jumped to Elsie.
She shook her head like her life depended on it.
"I haven't played in so long," she said, something like a plea.
Still, Levi nudged her forward, toward Joseph, who had walked over. Her throat bobbed before she latched onto his outstretched hand, letting him pull her toward the piano. He squeezed her shoulders before stepping back, watching, first, with amusement when she tied her hair up, revealing the blue hidden underneath, then, with admiration as she inhaled deeply, eyes sliding shut like she could already feel each bar of music weaving through her soul before her fingertips had even touched the sleek keys.
He'd understood, then, what Levi had meant all those years ago—that this seemed to come easily to her. Because, despite how she'd claimed it'd been ages since she'd played, each note, each slur, each accidental, each break, each pedal mark came to her like a long lost friend—a gentle tune into the good night that required nothing but the heart and soul.
She breathed life into the second movement of the Pathétique Sonata in ways he never believed he could ever do, no matter how much he practiced. He felt it, though—the hauntingly beautiful bittersweetness of the song, like a balm for a troubled spirit—and something remorseful swept him away.
Then came the weight of a stare—Levi's stare—and Joseph wiped away any trace of fondness from his face, replaced with a shameful dip of his head to remain as avoidant of his best friend's dissecting attention as he could.
And Levi was...confused?
His gaze flipped between Joseph and Elsie, like the pieces were starting to fall into place, and questions began to bludgeon him with the force entirely contradictory to the reposeful air around them.
The piece had come to an end before he could sort out his thoughts, and he watched in deliberate silence as Joseph's mother suggested they do a duet, watched as they shared the bench and sat shoulder-to-shoulder as they browsed his phone for songs to try.
They laughed, heartily and unrestrained, with their eyes crinkled fondly and mouths wide. Even as chatter resumed around them, Levi couldn't help but hear their liveliness over it—the excited gasps and pushiness from Elsie when she found a song she liked, and the rejecting cry from Joseph, who had very little faith in his sight-reading skills. It was like they were in a world of their own, trapped in orbit, an instantaneous repulsion of everything else in the room; God, Elsie would laugh at the knowledge that he actually listened to her physics-speak and retained any of it.
"C'mon, Joey," said Elsie. "You know this one. It could be fun."
Levi saw something shift in his best friend, like Elsie had ceased any sense of fight from his body with a simple bat of her eyes.
Joseph gave in embarrassingly quickly, leaving to print off the sheet music they'd found online. In his absence, Elsie had taken to playing a string of keys in the background—softly, then a dip in mood like something in her mind had fallen, before she'd picked it back up again in time to see him return.
Elsie turned her head, and her lips parted with shock, fingers slipping from the keys when Joseph resorted to signing: "Which side of you want to sit on?"
Her eyes snapped up, found the sheepish smile on his face, and returned it softly. "It's your move."
Joseph took the spot to her left, unclamping the sheets of paper between his arm and ribs, spreading them out along the music desk. He'd felt somewhat cowardly taking the easier set of notes, but he felt even more selfish for it, too—for wanting to hear Elsie commandeer control of the melody with her nimble fingers and soulful interpretation, because he didn't think there was anything more angelic and deserving of reverence than hearing her play.
He'd almost missed his cue because of it, and he'd heard the faintest chuckle of hers that told him she'd noticed. His face flushed hot, but he still grinned.
It was a funny little thing—how Interstellar had become associated with him—but he could play the theme in his sleep, he thought, and it sounded otherworldly with Elsie beside him. It would never sound the same after this.
Applause had followed the conclusion of the song, and Elsie briefly hid her gleeful expression against Joseph's shoulder, like she didn't quite know how to receive praise after all these years. He curled his arms around hers—a side-hug just as brief as the slight nuzzle she'd given him, yet it lingered in the gentle sear against her skin.
"You okay?" he asked quietly when he noticed her rubbing her wrist. He'd felt guilty, then.
Elsie nodded, the heat of his gaze easing the throbbing pain spreading to her hand. "Just haven't played like that in a while."
"Do you need anything? I'm sure we have Advil somewhere."
"I'll be fine," she assured softly. "Thank you."
And how could she stop feeling what she did when he treated her so tenderly?
Dana and Steve had decided to go home shortly after, but they'd insisted that their children could stay without them, which Levi had planned to do anyway—and with Elsie being his ride home, she had followed whatever he said.
Everyone spread themselves across the couches and floor, with a movie humming into the dimmed living room. The energy had calmed as time plunged deeper into the night, and Elsie felt her eyelids grow heavy.
"Can I?" she whispered to Joseph, who nodded. She let her head drop to his shoulder, which grew wiry with each passing second, and it didn't take much for her to understand why: She had sensed something radiating from her brother—something unsettling that didn't allow her, or Joseph, to unwind the way everyone else had.
Elsie shifted, her eyes flickering up to find the apprehensive bite of Joseph's lips, the forced unwavering attention on the TV.
"I'm gonna get some water. Do you want any?" he asked quietly, sparing her a glance.
"Sure." Her gaze didn't follow as he stood up and left, something distant taking over. It was barely there, but Levi caught it—the downturn of her lips, the quiet purse of it—from across the couch, and that had been enough. She noticed him follow Joseph into the kitchen.
A few minutes passed before she slinked through the shadows.
"She's a kid!" Levi whispered hotly.
Joseph sighed exasperatedly, skirting his palm over his jaw, because he'd had this conversation before—with himself, countless times.
"I don't believe 23-year-olds are considered children," Elsie inserted herself casually, not bothering to apologize when Joseph's shoulders jumped. She came to his side and grabbed one of the filled glasses of water. "Unless there's someone even younger I don't know about, in which case, wow, you like your women young."
"Els," Joseph sighed again, earning a sheepish smile.
"Hey!" Levi snapped his finger at him from across the island counter. "Don't talk to my fucking sister like that."
Elsie furrowed her brows. "Like what, Jeans? He just said my name."
Levi inhaled deeply, eyes sliding shut for only a moment. "Joe. Really?"
"What about him?" she asked with a tilt of her head.
"You don't have to hide it anymore."
"Hide what? We're not hiding anything."
"Oh, so my best friend hasn't been screwing my baby sister behind my back?"
Elsie's face pinched. "Why'd you say it like that?"
A tired plea leaked into Levi's stare. "You said you two got close in Toronto. What happened?"
"Nothing," said Elsie. Her eyes slipped to Joseph, whose eyebrows scrunched together like he was trying to slow the conversation before him with what little he knew of sign language. "He just dropped me and Camille off at home. There was no secret rendezvous that you think happened."
"Really?" Levi gibed. "I find it really hard to believe that when you were throwing yourself around that night."
Elsie returned a scoff, just as scorned. She gripped the edge of the counter and leaned forward to hiss, "You are un-fucking-believable, you misogynistic pig! You were whoring it out, too."
"Dude!" Joseph looked at Levi in disbelief. "What the hell?"
Levi went to point a firm finger at him when the floorboards creaked.
Their heads whipped around just as the new set of footsteps came to a halt. Matthew's gaze swept over the kitchen—the rollercoaster of emotions etched on everyone's faces, the way Levi's jabbing finger and Elsie's iron-clad grip on the counter didn't speak of a peaceful confrontation, the apprehension corded through Joseph as he looked on, the tense air that stilled the heater circulating through the house.
"I'm just gonna..." Matthew crept on his tiptoes toward the cupboards, but Joseph had shoved his untouched glass of water in his direction with an apologetic look and sent him off.
Elsie turned to Joseph when his hand soothed along her back, as though the space above the spine of her scapula had been worn away by his touch. It was subconscious, she knew, because he'd stopped once she laid eyes on him, but it'd worked—softening the harsh edges that wanted to serrate through the conversation—because it wasn't a string of argumentative words that she'd thrown at her brother this time, it was a defeated sigh that returned the color to her fingers.
"Why?" she asked. "What set this off, Jeans?"
"I have eyes, kid," he said. He also had the awareness of an omniscient being—attuned to every change in the air, to every oscillation and battle in his loved ones' eyes and hearts—and everyone knew that, knew that there was very little they could get by him without him sniffing it out.
Perhaps the most impressive feat was how long it had taken him to notice something bubbling between the two people closest to him, but that, too, could have been boiled down to the simple idea that he never thought he needed to consider it.
"Do you like him?" he asked, something earnest swirling in the depths of his eyes.
Hesitation seized the use of Elsie's hands for a second, as though she was unsure if she wanted to put it all out there for Levi to pick apart, but the momentary silence was enough, and the way he looked at her—a cross between disappointment, moreso in himself than her, and remorse, like he'd wished he'd broached this differently—had her seeking comfort elsewhere.
The soft stare she received from Joseph seemed to erode the tension in her muscles, seemed to slow her heart that was coiling with anxiety. Because he knew, truly, what nestled in her chest, and if she couldn't get the words out to announce it to the rest of the world, at the very least, he knew.
And maybe that was all that mattered to her.
"Of course you do," Levi muttered, hands sliding down his face. "You're my sister, Els, and he's known you since you were a kid. You were still in middle school when we left for college, for Christ's sake!"
"Jesus, Jeans, it's not like anything happened back then, and nothing happened in Toronto because he shut me down that night!" she snapped, watching the way his face morphed with something else, something less fueled. "If you're gonna get mad at someone, it should've never been at him, because he was thinking of you. He cares about you, Jeans, and he knows what it looks like. Trust me, I've heard it all."
Levi blew a long breath past his lips. "Just—give me a moment."
He left the kitchen without so much as a glance, footsteps heavy with the intensity of his emotions.
Elsie expelled a heavy breath, cradling her head in her hands, a sharp pain radiating up from her elbows as they hit the counter. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Joseph squeezed her waist, but the initial shock had faded quickly. Still, she couldn't muster up the courage to look at him. "How long have you been learning sign language?"
"A few months," he admitted quietly.
"How much of it did you understand?"
"Not all of it, but enough." Joseph rubbed her back, finally drawing a gentle tilt of her head. He leaned down slightly, tried to get their eyes level. "I care about you, too, Els."
"I know," she hummed, "but not enough to risk your friendship with my brother, and I get it. Really. No hard feelings."
Joseph didn't say anything. Not yet. Because he did care, more than enough, and that'd been what sparked the fuse that left the kitchen a pile of rubble. He cared so much that he was willing to test the foundation of his friendship with Levi, willing to risk it for even a chance with her.
Because he'd accepted that this rush of warmth, this constant warring between his heart and his ribs, this lingering ghost of her perfume that followed him everywhere—all of it had taken root like an ancient tree, fortified, unrelenting, spreading. It wasn't going away, no matter how much he'd tried to rid himself of it.
But it felt entirely opportunistic to sweep into Elsie's life as something more after this—as a strange silence befell them, as the exchange with Levi remained fresh in their minds, as the emotions went unregulated in their bodies, as he stood as the trigger between the two people he loved.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Elsie shook her head dismissively, a large rush of air entering through her nose as she shoved her hair out of her face. "I'm sorry for starting this whole thing."
She left without giving him any room to speak.
Joseph closed his eyes with his head thrown back, a heavy sigh weighing his shoulders down. He dreaded returning to the living room, in all honesty, exposed to the all-knowing eyes of his best friend, his mother, and the girl who seemed to consume every thought of his.
But he knew he had no other choice but to join everyone else, and with a new glass of water and the one Elsie had left on the counter, he hoped his strides didn't quite show his unease as he slinked back to his spot on the couch.
Elsie glanced up when the cushion beside her dipped. She offered a slight smile when Joseph held her water out, hand spelling out her gratitude in a way that told him she wasn't in the mood to hear anything. The implants lying on her lap only confirmed that.
"You'll be okay?" he asked.
The corners of Elsie's mouth couldn't help but tug wider. How exciting that he was speaking to her in her language when no one else she'd been with had ever bothered to, not when her implants seemed to patch up that small bump in communication. Maybe they'd work in a separate universe; maybe she'd go back to school to research the possibility of a multiverse just to find the one that was true in.
"Don't you worry about me, Saint Joseph."
The joke had nearly written itself: the holy father of Christ—the protector, ever the worrier, the model of faith, of obedience, of humility, even when confusion grabbed hold of him. Elsie had seen all of that in Joseph, even as he shook the nickname off like he didn't think so, like it was too sacrilegious to believe otherwise.
As the movie droned on, the quiet and calm hum of silence surrounding her gently pulled Elsie back to a sleepy state. She shifted, and as though it'd been a puck flying at him, Joseph caught the exterior parts of her implants sliding off her thigh before they could hit the cushions, before she could accidentally roll over them amidst her slumber, the way she seemed to roll onto him.
Joseph stilled, then relaxed when he spared her a cursory glance, noticed the way the wrinkles between her brows smoothed, the soft breaths pelting against his sweater, the almost purring hum rumbling from her as she nuzzled against him. For a moment, he'd forgotten what transpired after dinner and let his fingers twirl the ends of her hair, the edges of his lips lifted when he collected the chunks of blue hidden beneath a mop of brown.
He'd always thought she and Levi were so much cooler than him for that, even with all the bad color choices over the years, the strange mixes that didn't quite blend together, or the bold and experimental choices that left him looking like a toddler had taken a paintbrush to their hair with free rein.
Then he felt the heavy stare from across the living room—dissecting, studying, frowning. And maybe, for a split second, he'd considered moving Elsie off of him, so Levi would relent the piercing examination he was inflicting on them, but their hearts had already been laid out before them, and there was no use in pretending that he wasn't at his most tender state of mind when he was with her when the one person he was most scared of knowing already knew.
So, he let her be.
But Elsie had been the kind to be attuned to every shift in the air in a way that wasn't lauded like her brother, and even in her sleep, that seemed to ring true, for she moved again, turned so her back was to Joseph, body slumped over the arm of the couch, curled up in her little corner of the sectional like a feline basking under the long summer sun.
Joseph pulled the hem of her rumpled sweater down to cover the sliver of skin across her back that'd been exposed amidst her tossing and turning, then draped one of the throw blankets over her. He didn't dare look anywhere but the screen after that.
Then came the time when everyone decided to call it a night.
Levi had volunteered to be Joseph and Matthew's ride back into the city, so not Shelley nor Bob nor Michael nor Emma had to make the back and forth through the dark abyss.
Michael snorted. "Does Els know you're offering her car up?"
"Well, she's dead asleep," said Levi, sifting through her purse for her car keys. "I don't think she really has much of a say."
"Just don't get rear-ended again, kid," Shelley snickered, grabbing Elsie's glass off the coffee table. She pressed a kiss on Levi's head. "I don't think she'd appreciate that."
Elsie stirred awake, feeling the subtle vibrations through the cushions. She blearily looked around, her heart rate skipping when clarity revealed the numerous eyes on her. She might've made a sound, perhaps a squeak, if the chests shaking with laughter was anything to go by. "What is going on?"
"I'm driving us home," said Levi, head cocking toward Matthew and Joseph.
Elsie shot up, attention flickering, searching. She shot Joseph an appreciative glance when he handed over her implants. Sound assailed her from every direction once the external transmitter snapped into place against her head. "Like Hell you are, Jeans. Not on God's green fucking Earth are you going anywhere near my fucking car."
A string of laughter echoed through the living room as offence marred Levi's face.
"Sorry for my language, Mrs. Woll."
Shelley waved her off, leaving for the kitchen.
"Is it okay if I use the bathroom before we go?" Elsie asked.
She had nearly screamed when she opened the door to leave the bathroom and was met with her brother's towering figure.
"I'm sorry," said Levi.
"It's fine," Elsie mumbled, ready to slip past him when he shoved his arm out in front of her.
"Not for scaring you," he said. "About Joe."
"Oh."
"You really want him?"
Elsie looked down with a nod, picking at her nails. She had been doing so well at leaving them alone. "Yeah," she said. "I do." She inhaled so sharply that it nearly hurt. "He's kind, and he's thoughtful, and he's funny, and he took care of me before you asked him to, even helped put Camille to bed when she was too drunk to remember her own name, and he had my necklace fixed and returned, and he listens when I tell him things I'd never told anyone else, and he's been learning sign language, and he puts up with all my teaisng, and—"
"And he likes you, too," said Levi.
"And it kills him," she added with a sigh, letting her forehead fall against his outstretched arm. "What the fuck am I doing, Jeans? I don't wanna get in between you and him. He's your best friend, and I don't want you to get angry at him."
"Hey, he and I are good. I'm not angry at him." Levi bent his arm, using the crease of his elbow to pull Elsie in. "You know, I still see you as a kid," he said, eyes closing as her grasp snaked around his torso. "You're my baby sister, and that's not changing, not even fifty years from now. I'll always hate the guys and girls you bring home, because no one could possibly be good enough for you. Except maybe Joe."
Elsie stilled.
"He takes care of you, kid, and he makes you happy." Levi rubbed her back until the tension faded from her muscles. "That's all I could ask for, and I'm sorry that neither of you felt like you could tell me, and I'm sorry for getting all up in your faces about it, and I'm sorry for what I said in the kitchen."
"I love you, Jeans," mumbled Elsie. "But I'm not apologizing for saying you were whoring it out."
Levi smiled to himself. "It's what started this anyway, wasn't it?"
"Oh, yeah," she said easily, pulling away from the hug. "He came up to me after you'd left."
"Opportunistic prick."
Elsie smacked his stomach, earning a pained grunt.
Levi ruffled her hair. "I love you, too, kid. Now, get. I really gotta piss."
Elsie stumbled past the doorframe with a laugh—a soft sound that promptly died on her tongue when she spotted Joseph at the end of the hallway, talking to Matthew by the front door. Her shoulders felt a little lighter, a little less weighed down with guilt and shame and secrecy for who had her wrapped around their finger, but none of that mattered when the person in question had cemented the notion that they could never be.
So, with feet as heavy as lead, she dragged herself over, holding her breath as she walked past him to grab her purse and bid her final farewells to Joseph's family. She came to Joseph and Matthew's side with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, fingers twiddling with the crucifix on her chest like it'd alleviate the tension whorling in her body.
"Do you want me to drive?" asked Joseph.
Elsie loosened her grasp around herself. "No, it's okay. Thank you, though." Her gaze flickered. "So, before my brother comes back, which one of you wants shotgun?"
Matthew's hand shot up. "Dibs!"
Levi eventually made his way over to the sedan parked curbside. Elsie grinned when he went to open the passenger seat door, only to find Matthew there instead. He sighed and stuffed himself into the back beside Joseph, their knees flush against the front seats and spines hunched to avoid smacking their heads against the ceiling. "You need a bigger car."
"I don't normally have three giants in here," she said. "My car is perfect for normal-sized people."
"Whatever happened to that car you said you were gonna buy with my card?" asked Joseph. "Bill never came in for that."
Elsie met his gaze through the rearview mirror and smirked. "Declined when I tried."
Matthew barked out a laugh, and Levi dragged a tired hand down his face, like he was dreading the thought of his sister's teasing infiltrating his best friend's life. Maybe his protectiveness had been all screwed up, twisted to shield the wrong person; maybe he should've been protecting Joseph from Elsie instead.
Levi's apartment had been the first stop, the closest to the suburbs out of the three of them.
"Don't worry about tomorrow," he told her. "I'll catch an Uber or something or have Mom and Dad pick me up on their way to the game."
"You sure, Jeans?"
Levi nodded, pressing a kiss to her cheek. He had nearly slipped out of the car when he turned his head. "You know, I should've said this earlier, but you two seem to forget that I studied music at Juilliard." His face twisted. "You absolute freaks. That's what gave you away."
"Get out of my car," Elsie said, cheeks flamed.
"Alright, see you tomorrow!" Joseph reached over and closed the door, muffling Levi's laughter as he waved and headed inside. "Hit the gas, Els."
"One step ahead of you."
In the silent hum of the night, tires trekking over the asphalt into the depths of the city, Matthew's fingers tapped against the center console. "So...you two...when did that, you know..."
Joseph hid his face in his hands. "Oh, God."
"Good going, Matt," said Elsie. "You've got the ol' saint saying the Lord's name in vain."
"Jesus, Els."
"Sorry." She smiled sheepishly before going on some tangent that managed to distract Matthew for long enough.
Matthew thanked her for the ride once she pulled into the hotel lobby, receiving a kind smile in return.
"Hey, you go ahead," Joseph told him. The passenger side door closed gently, and Joseph slid to the middle, leaning his forearms against the center console, eyes carefully tracing the side of Elsie's face—the slight tilt of her head to look at him, the slow drag of her eyelids over her eyes, the straightened line of her lips. "Stay the night. You're tired."
"I'll be fine," she said. "It's a ten-minute drive at most."
Joseph sucked in a sharp breath. "Let me rephrase that: Stay. Because I want you to."
Elsie wanted to cave—because this sort of admission had seemed impossible all those months ago—but she couldn't get the image out of her head, the pained twist of his face when he thought of her, the casualness with which he brushed her off when her brother was around. "Have you reconciled with the fact that you like me?"
"Yeah, I have," he said easily. "I like you a lot, Elsie Rivers, and I want to be with you, if you'll have me."
"Are you saying that because my brother says he's okay with it?"
"It certainly helps," he said, "but no. I was planning on asking you out while I was home—tomorrow, mostly, but tonight works, too."
Elsie pursed her lips, ponderous. This was all she wanted, wasn't it? After all these months, it could finally happen, free of the shackles that'd tied them with guilt. She could have what she wanted, could even have a hand at a relationship that the Church would bless. Why should she deprive herself of such a thing when it was practically begging on its hands and knees?
After all, hadn't she always been a greedy little thing?
Joseph silently watched as she reached across for the glove box, browsing its contents.
"You're lucky I have a spare charger in here. Now, move up front; I feel like a chauffeur."
Joseph was there in a split second.
The ride up the elevator felt too long, steeped in silence that grew thick until Joseph let his hand brush against hers; then, it was calm. Elsie glanced at the small space between them, then turned her palm out, smiling to herself when he twined their fingers together.
For only a moment, the room was shrouded in darkness, and Elsie hoped the whir of the air conditioner masked the ferocity with which her heart pounded. She followed him in, thanked him when he gave her some clothes to change into, and locked herself in the bathroom.
Not even the coldest water from the faucet could clear her mind. It was incredible how easily he'd reduced her to a nervous wreck.
"I can't breathe."
Joseph's head shot up from the mountain of pillows on the bed. "What?"
Elsie plopped her clothes over her purse near a corner of the room. "My heart's beating so quickly, I think it might actually jump out of my chest, and my hands won't stop shaking, and I'm starting to sweat, and—" She inhaled deeply. "I just never thought this would happen. I mean, are you sure you want me?" she asked, somewhat pitifully. "Ever since Toronto, I kept going back and forth between wanting to tempt you into betraying everything that makes you you, and accepting that it would never lead anywhere, that I was just being a stupid kid trying to seduce the lifeguard at the pool all over again, that this was just a little crush I needed to get over."
Joseph climbed out of bed, scrambling to reach her. His hand carefully slotted against her jaw, feeling the warm skin and thunderous rushing of her blood beneath his fingers. "Please don't get over it," he said, eyes flickering between hers, catching the subtle dilation and contraction of her pupils. "I want you, Els. I want you so bad, it scares me. I thought I fucked it all up tonight—with you, with Levi—and I'm sorry for putting you through the wringer while I came to terms with it."
A loud gulp constricted her throat, her trembling hands gliding over his chest and nestling into the hairs near the nape of his neck. Her heart stammered when he leaned into her touch, like he was entirely at her mercy.
"I forgive you," she whispered.
Joseph breathed a little heavier now, pulse throbbing in his throat. He leaned in, like he wanted to show his gratefulness in a million little kisses across her skin, before he stopped just shy of her lips. "It's your move."
"Hey, that's my line. You can't steal my line."
"What're you gonna do about it?"
The corner of Elsie's mouth twitched before their lips met—softly, at first, then again in a rushed and messy collision, all teeth and tongue and desperation. A gasp sliced through the air when her back hit the wall.
"Fuck," he groaned into her mouth when her fingers tangled in his hair.
"Knew you had a filthy mouth behind all that sweet talk," she said as he dragged his lips down her neck, nipping a path but not sharp enough to leave any marks.
"Jump." Joseph easily caught her as her legs wrapped around his waist, his large hands sprawled along the underside of her thighs. He blindly walked them away from the wall, cursing, when his toe stubbed against one of the legs supporting the bed.
Elsie erupted in laughter at how quickly Joseph had dropped her onto the mattress, his balance knocked off-center until he had no other choice but to fall atop her.
"Fuck, that actually hurts," he said, laughter leaking into his tone.
"The poor bed," she joked, hands gently cradling his face. Her breaths slowed as she glanced at his lips, a gently bitten pink, before bringing him in for another kiss—softer, this time, less urgent and desperate, less frenzied, like everything had started to quiet.
Joseph pulled away only to tug his shirt off, revealing the ridges of toned muscle and the smattering of hair that dipped beneath his pants.
"You should go tarps off in an interview one day," she said, looping her arms around his neck as he came back down. Her legs twined around his hips, and she felt him shiver as her cold hands found his back, mapping out the texture and dips and curves of his body.
"How do you know I haven't?" he asked, lips tracing a path from the collar of her shirt and up her neck, past the delicate necklace that abhorred the thoughts running through his mind.
"Trust me," she whispered, "I would know."
Joseph amusedly raised his eyebrows, a chuckle rolling off his tongue when she looped her finger around his chain to kiss him again. By then, they'd lost the feverish rush and simmered in something gentler, something as patient as the feelings they'd stewed on for months.
"Can I take you out for breakfast tomorrow?" he asked between kisses, fingers laced with hers beside her head like he needed to anchor himself to the moment.
"I was wondering if you were gonna bring that up before or after you fucked me," she said.
Joseph hid his face against the crook of her neck, his shoulders shaking with laughter.
"I'm being so serious right now." But even Elsie couldn't stop herself from joining in.
"See, I was getting the impression that sex wasn't on the table tonight," he said, his palm smoothing over the skin of her thigh, creeping up her hip and under her shirt to hold her ribs. He was met with a soft sigh as his thumb caressed her, and her eyes slipped shut, struggled to open back up. That only strengthened his belief. "You can barely keep your eyes open."
Elsie smiled, slow and lazy, staring into his too-blue eyes with a loud fondness. She couldn't stop herself from brushing her thumb along the ends of his eyelashes, feeling them flutter gently. She leaned up to connect their lips, like she never wanted to deprive herself of feeling them ever again. "Breakfast sounds good."
"Good," hummed Joseph. He pulled away slightly, still close enough that their noses could brush, still close enough to greedily pick apart every detail of her face. "You're so fucking beautiful."
With beet-red cheeks, Elsie bit her lip, as though she thought just showing how wide her smile wanted to be would scare him off, and looked away.
"Oh, you're shy now?"
"It's different when it's from you," she said, pushing a loose lock of hair out of his face. "It's actually so embarrassing how shy and giddy you make me."
"It's cute," he said, kissing the corner of her mouth, then the tip of her nose, then her cheek, his stubble scratching against her skin in the most perfect way.
"Did you really think you fucked it up tonight?"
Joseph pushed his tongue against his cheek, nodding. "I did," he said. "I thought you'd had enough of the way I'd been treating you these past few months, and—"
"How have you been treating me?" asked Elsie. "Because I remember you taking care of me and my best friend. I remember you listening to me at church. I remember the happy birthday text at midnight. I remember the times you've checked up on me, over the phone or in person."
"I've been mean, Els," he said. "Don't pretend like I haven't been. Pushing you away when it felt a little too real, or when your brother was around, or when that little voice in my head cursed at me for thinking about you. I've seen the frowns, so has your brother, and that's why he cornered me in the kitchen, and after that, I thought I'd lost my best friend and any chance with you."
Elsie's stare lingered, her chest rising and falling gently against his, quiet and minty breaths calm as they hit his face. "You're never going to lose Levi; there has never been a Levi Rivers without a Joseph Woll. He was just being my brother," she said, thumb brushing over his lip. "And you're right: The good doesn't erase the bad, but are you gonna go cold on me again?"
Joseph shook his head. "Never," he said. "I want you, and I'll never let anything come between that."
A slow grin danced across Elsie's face. "Then that's all I care about."
She nudged her leg into his hip, pushing him onto his back. He looked pretty like this—beneath her, wide eyes staring up at her, swollen lips parted to let his ragged breaths through, his hair tousled from the way she'd played with it, his hands holding her steady against him. Hands raking up his torso, she leaned down and let her lips drag over his chest, neck, and jaw, committing it all to memory.
Joseph tightened his hold around her waist, a contented sigh shedding weight from his soul as she melted into his grasp. He thought he could stay like this for the rest of his days—with Elsie in his arms, her legs tangled with his, her finger tracing amorphous blobs along his skin.
Propping her chin on his chest, she innocently batted her eyelashes. "Can I ask you to grab the charger for my implants?"
He squeezed her waist before gently maneuvering her aside. "Give me a second," he said, lips soft against her forehead. "I'll be back."
Elsie kept her eyes trained on his back—the muscles that rippled with each swing of his arms—as he walked to the bathroom. The door closed behind him, and her body collapsed against the mattress with a smile that burned her cheeks as she stared at the ceiling. It took everything in her to keep her squeal in.
Joseph returned with his glasses on. Amusement knit through his face when he found her with her teeth digging into her fist. "You okay?"
An affirmative hum sounded. "Just giddy."
"I see that," he said with a laugh, turning to the TV stand, where a cable rested tangled on the surface. He settled on the side of the bed as Elsie braced herself on her forearm, squeezing into the space between his arm and ribs, humming when he made room for her.
"Wanna get your last words in before I take these suckers off?" she asked.
"Hardly my last words," he signed.
"You're gonna regret learning sign language," she said. "Set yourself up for a whole new world of shit my brother will say in public."
Joseph breathed out a laugh through his nose. "Mr. Pottymouth right there. We all know where you learned your vibrant vocabulary."
Elsie smiled. She reached for the external pieces on the sides of her head, but before she could pluck them off, Joseph's voice rang through.
"Wait, one last thing," he said, earning an inquisitive stare that widened her eyes like a doe. "I think the hair's cool. I didn't get to tell you that earlier."
A moment passed. Elsie reached for the underside of her hair, blue strands twirling around her finger. Her mouth curved upward.
She snatched her implants off, and the world went blissfully silent.
There was no whirring of the air conditioner, no rare honk from outside, no rustling of the sheets beneath them, not even the rush of blood in her head. But she felt them—felt the hum of night rumble through the walls, in the springs of the mattress, in the fibres of her clothes.
It was a sensation she wasn't sure she could describe—not quite nothingness, but perhaps something like a hollow oblivion.
Joseph watched intently as Elsie twisted the battery modules off the processor and plugged them into the Y-shaped charging port. There was a flashing green light.
Elsie canted her head slightly, noticed the attentive gleam in his eyes. "It'll be a steady green light when it's fully charged," she said slowly. "Takes about four hours."
Joseph didn't feel embarrassed that he'd been caught watching her—no, now that everything had been left out in the open, he felt very little shame in his actions and thoughts. His bottom lip slipped between his teeth, and he eagerly followed as Elsie shuffled across the bed with a crooked finger.
She had barely dropped her head onto the pillow when he kissed her again, like he couldn't quite get enough of her, not when he'd deprived himself of it for so long. Her hand slotted against his neck and felt the vibrations of a groan against her skin; she could imagine how low and raspy it was as the night draped heavier against them.
Elsie waited for him to slip under the covers before nestling into his side again, her chin set against his chest as she stared up at him. He ran his fingers through her hair, watched her eyes slip shut contentedly, heard the little purr again.
Joseph wondered what it was like—to not hear anything, not even the birds chirping on a calm summer morning, except maybe her stream of consciousness. Maybe he'd grow to hate the silence, constantly seeking any chance he could to have sound wiggle into his head, or maybe he'd grow to love it, the way she had, and maybe he'd even find peace in it.
Toying with his chain, Elsie pushed it around his chest until her fingertips found the heavy thumping of his heart. She laid her palm there, felt the stuttering and racing beat that mirrored the one against her ribcage, feeling the very force that kept him running, kept him alive.
It was an oddly vulnerable thing, something he couldn't hide like he could a smile or glance, but he was alright with that.
Joseph tightened his hold on her, pulled her closer against him like she'd get absorbed into his side and fill the missing spaces in his ribs. His skin prickled as her minty breath fanned against his neck, her lips ghosting over his pulse. She pressed a chaste peck there before shifting, tucking her head under his chin. He'd nearly chuckled, his hand rubbing up and down her back.
The feel of his fingers lightly tracing along her shoulders, her arms, and her neck, as if he were trying to memorize the curves of her body, like he might a new song, had lulled Elsie into a peaceful slumber, the drumming of his heart a steady rhythm against her ear.
In the back of her mind, she might have believed she'd listened to it bouncing around in her skull like a lullaby.
It was a few minutes later when Joseph went to sleep, feeling like his soul had been freed of condemnation.
APRIL
To no one's surprise, Elsie had grown to like Toronto. She wasn't oblivious as to why that'd come to be, but it had become a recurring thought with each growing moment she spent in the city.
"Hey, Els, put your stuff with ours," Camille's father told Elsie as they stood in line in the team shop, the crowds of Scotiabank Arena cramming into the small space. She had not demurred, simply accepted the offer like it'd been her plan the entire time, and Camille spared her an inquisitive glance.
They reached the front of the line, jerseys and other apparel stacked onto the counter, each from Camille, her father, her mother, and her two brothers. Elsie watched the total price rack up, sucking in a deep breath before managing to beat Mathieu at putting her card down.
Mathieu looked affronted. "What is wrong with you?"
"What isn't wrong with her?" Camille teased, only to get reprimanded by her mother.
Elsie felt her face heat up like she was face-to-face with the Sun. "Don't worry about it. It's a small birthday gift for you."
"Small?" Mathieu cried out.
Camille had spied Elsie taking her phone out and sending a quick text. Realization clicked in her head, and her hand shot out to Elsie's bicep, subtly shooting her eyes open, only to receive a cheeky smile in return.
"I'm jealous," said Camille. "You probably snagged up the only good guy in this city."
"It probably helps that he's not from this city," said Elsie. "And you're just saying that because he's been hooking you up with tickets for most of this season."
"Yeah, and thank God for that. My parents now think I'm some hockey god for somehow always finding them decently-priced tickets in the lower bowl."
Elsie laughed.
Max, the eldest of the Charbonneau children, had gaped when they inched closer to the glass, the sound of pucks hitting the boards during warmups loud against the hard bass of the music. "Jesus, Cami, how the hell did you manage to get us all seats here?"
"I didn't this time," she said. "Els did."
"Tell me your ways, Els," said Alexis, childish eyes shimmering with awe.
Elsie staved off a smile as she led the group down the row of seats until they found Levi, who rolled his eyes at the beers in their hands and the bags hanging from their arms like they'd gone on a shopping spree at the mall, but he accepted the drink his sister held out for him.
"You're welcome," she said.
"I believe my thanks go to Joe's card, which, knowing you, I don't know why he trusts you with it."
Elsie scoffed. "At least I thought to use it to buy you something."
Levi grumbled out his gratitude before his eyes raked over Elsie's outfit—the blue marbled sweater she'd worn last time, and the ripped jeans revealing her pirckled skin beneath. "That's his, isn't it? The sweater? I thought it looked familiar. Man, I should've known."
Elsie gave a thin-lipped smile. "Guilty. It's mine now, though."
She set her things down before slipping back into the aisle, gesturing for the young Alexis to follow her. They stood just three steps from the glass, exchanging humorous words, and Elsie wondered if this was how Levi felt when talking to her when he was around her age.
Joseph spotted them from the ice and skated over, shoveling a puck onto the blade of his stick. He waited for a moment before flipping it over the glass, grinning beneath his mask when Elsie caught it and immediately handed it over to Alexis, whose face immediately lit up.
Elsie couldn't hide her fond laughter as Alexis jumped up and down, throwing his arms around her shoulders. Her gaze slid briefly to the ice, catching the wink Joseph sent her before he returned to the net.
"Mom, Dad, look!" Alexis exclaimed, nearly tripping his way down the row of seats with the puck held up high.
Camille mouthed a 'thank you' as Elsie slipped past her, earning a dismissive shake of her head in return.
With the way Elsie had cheered throughout the game, it would've been easy to assume that she'd been a lifelong Leafs fan. Camille was a little bitter that it hadn't been her arduous attempts at convincing her to join the dark side that had done it, but she would not complain when the very reason had been generous to her for most of the season.
Adrenaline coursed through their veins when the final horn blew, sealing a win for the home team against the Oilers. Their voices joined the cacophony of other fans as they made their way through the concourse, and as they went further away from the main crowds and toward the little area with several of the family members, Elsie heard the first hushed comment.
"I don't think we're supposed to be here," said Mathieu.
"Oh, wait, passes!" Camille chucked them out of her bag and handed them to her family.
"Seriously, what is going on?"
Elsie grinned, playing with the ends of her hair, now entirely the same shade of blue as the Leafs. "As I said, it's a small birthday thing."
Mathieu was starting to think his daughter's best friend from college was genuinely insane.
"Bet you've started rethinking giving these two your card," Levi said as Joseph approached them.
Joseph laughed, eyes crinkling softly. "I don't mind," he said, squeezing Elsie's waist and pressing a swift kiss to her temple. "Plus, I heard we had a birthday happening?"
Mathieu had looked like every neuron in his brain had short-circuited. His eyes flipped between Camille, Elsie, Levi, Joseph, then all over again. The rest of his family had looked no better.
"Happy birthday, Mr. Charbonneau," said Joseph, leaning past Elsie to shake his hand.
Mathieu's jaw dropped. "Holy shit, you're Joseph Woll."
Joseph's face had flushed a gentle pink.
"Here." Elsie handed a marker over to Joseph as Camille searched through the bags for something he could sign for her father.
Alexis was the first to break out of the spell ensorcelling his family. "So that's how."
Elsie grabbed his shoulders. "Don't go telling my secret now."
Alexis mimed zipping his lips, grinning when Elsie shot him a wink.
"You know, it's crazy to think that he's just Joe to us," Levi said when his sister came to his side, watching his best friend sign memorabilia and take photos with Camille's family. A twang of pride swelled in his chest as he thought back to their early hockey days in St. Louis—all of the dumb fun they got themselves into, all of the drills ingrained in their heads, all the effort that got Joseph to where he was.
Even though their journeys had led them to very different careers, at some point, their humble beginnings were something they kept dear to them.
Elsie noticed the proud glimmer in her brother's eyes and smiled softly as she leaned her head on his shoulder. She, too, had felt an admiration spark in her chest as she observed from the side, got to see him extend his attentive and caring ways to everyone else, and it only blossomed when his gaze flickered to her, his mouth tugging wider, before he looked away.
"Gross," said Levi, but it wasn't hard to pick out the lack of animosity in his tone.
"The only disgusting thing here is your hair," Camille said as she walked over to them, her lips twisting at the sight of his brassy buzz cut.
Levi gasped out her name in offense.
"She's right, brother dearest." Elsie scrunched her nose condescendingly.
"For the millionth time, I ran out of toner!" he defended.
Elsie snuck away as Camille and Levi bickered back and forth like they'd grown up together. She tucked herself into Joseph's side as he talked to Camille's family, his arm draping around her without missing a beat in conversation.
"So you're the reason why Cami's able to get all these tickets," said Sophie.
"All this guy." Elsie patted Joseph's chest, feeling the rumble of his laughter against her fingertips.
Joseph leaned down slightly, unaware of the kaleidoscope of butterflies he'd set off in her stomach. "If you hurry, I think you'll be able to snag the seat up front before your brother does."
Elsie's gaze snapped up. "Give me your keys."
"Hand over the bags."
They swapped items, and Elsie made her way through her goodbyes, wishing Mathieu a happy birthday, before giving Joseph a quick peck on the lips. She bolted through the throng of family members, then, nearly knocking Matthew over in her haste. Joseph's flushed cheeks puffed out with his suppressed laugh when Matthew looked at him with wild eyes and furrowed brows.
"Well, I suppose that's our sign to go," said Max, clasping his little brother's shoulder. "Thank you for today, Joe."
"Yeah, of course," he said. "Camille's one of Elsie's best friends. I'd do anything they asked."
Sophie snorted. "I'd be careful with saying that. Our Cami can be greedy."
Joseph chuckled because Elsie was no better, and he loved her no less for it.
Camille's family had announced to her that they were leaving, and Levi glanced around.
"Where'd my sister go?" he asked.
Joseph scratched the back of his neck. "Toilet. She'll meet us at the car."
"Liar," Alexis sang under his breath, his mouth splitting into a shit-eating grin when he received a gentle nudge from his favorite hockey player. He would be sure to bother his sister about seeing Joseph more.
Camille commandeered the string of farewells, and Joseph led the way out. One of his eyebrows arched when he spotted Elsie in the distance, not tucked away in his car as he'd expected, but locked in a conversation that drew a wide grin and hearty laugh. With each nearing step, the pillar grew less obstructive, and around the corner, Joseph found Trent on the other end of it.
Elsie's head snapped in the direction of growing voices, and her eyes widened. She seemed to give Trent a barely-there bye and darted further into the parking garage.
"A Leafs fan, dude? I thought you taught your sister better than that," Trent said to Levi, who grumbled and threw Joseph a flippant glare.
Joseph merely smiled, head hanging low.
Trent couldn't loiter for long, and after bartering promises of seeing each other when they were all back home, he ran off to get on the team bus.
"I always forget that you know all these people," Camille told Levi. "You're you, and they're them."
"What's the supposed to mean?" Levi asked, flabbergasted.
"Look in the mirror."
Levi rolled his eyes. "Well, the league could use more people with stupid hair and piercings and dumb Pinterest tattoos."
Joseph nodded slowly. "Could've been you."
"It was either hockey or my sister hearing again. I think I made the right choice," he said nonchalantly, like he hadn't just dropped a heavy piece of himself out into the world.
Something passed through Joseph's face—an understanding of some sort, of what Elsie had said back in the church: It wasn't just her parents who'd given so much for her; it was also Levi, who'd one day quit his team without so much as a reason to anyone, and she'd felt indebted to them all for everything they'd sacrificed to allow her a chance at hearing again, even if some days she wished they never did.
"Seriously?" Levi narrowed his eyes when he found his sister in the passenger seat of Joseph's car.
Joseph could only offer a thin-lipped, apologetic smile and shrug.
"Girlfriend privileges," Camille said.
"She wouldn't be his girlfriend if it weren't for me," said Levi, cramming himself into the back seat, red leather soft to the touch.
"Sorry, Jeans," said Elsie.
"No, you're not."
"No, I'm not."
Joseph passed his phone over to Elsie, oblivious to the soft blush on her face when she noticed the new lock screen background—the selfie she'd forced him to take with her at the same bar they were headed to. It looked worse than she remembered it, blurry and of poor lighting, but she could pick out their smiles, not yet laced with affection in the way they were now, yet fond in ways that spoke of what could be, and what did.
Elsie shook her head, as if ridding herself of all the mushy thoughts in her mind, and went to choose a playlist to fill the silence as they drove out of the parking garage.
The bar was as she remembered it to be—loud, busy, trembling with music and laughter against its walls. Elsie and Camille had run off to the bartenders, taking their first round of shots, face curling as the flaming liquid raced down their throats.
Joseph's eyes were a welcome weight against her body as she and Camille bounced between the dance floor and the bar, much less stained with a curling green monster she'd finally got him to admit to housing that very first night.
"You're back, eh?"
Elsie turned her head and burst out in laughter when she met Hailey's eyes.
"Your boy's not gonna jump me for talking to you, is he?" she asked, tossing a glance across the bar. "I'm not really in the mood to be on an NHLer's bad side today."
"You know, he's probably the least scary person on the team."
"I don't know," Hailey said with inflection. "I've watched enough games to catch the times he's lost his cool on the ice."
Elsie smiled with a small huff.
Hailey returned the smile before tilting her drink toward Elsie, as if to excuse herself, then to an observing Joseph, an unspoken truce. She disappeared into the crowd not long after.
Camille had long gotten lost in the tangle of bodies when Elsie tried to find her again, and she soon gave up. She figured her best friend would show face once she was ready for another drink or to leave, and so she sauntered over to Joseph.
"—leave for the night," Levi had said.
Elsie raised an eyebrow, hand gliding over Joseph's shoulder as she nestled into his side. His touch was light, yet firm, against the dip of her spine. "Ditching us already, Jeans?"
"Just in time, actually," he said, eyes flickering between them before looking over his shoulder.
Following his gaze, Elsie's own softened when she found the guy waiting by the door, his posture reeking of nothing but nervousness. She grabbed her brother's shoulder, gently nudging him away. "Go. Just send me a text of something, so I know you're not dead."
Levi saluted her, his serious expression fading with a laugh. He kissed her cheek. "Camille's on a table, by the way."
"She'll be okay," said Elsie, waving her brother away.
Joseph tightened his hold on Elsie's waist, managing to trade their places on the stool he'd been sitting on in one fell swoop. His stomach fluttered at the sound of her laughter, and again at the look she gave him—tender, despite the rambunctious air around them, and devout, like he was the sun at the center of the solar system she orbited.
"Thank you for today," she said, winding her arms around his neck. "For having me and my brother, for having Camille's family. I think you made their year."
"You and Camille did," he said, pressing his lips against her bicep. "You were the ones to think of it."
"But it wouldn't have worked out if it weren't for you, so thank you, and thank you for this."
Joseph plucked his card from her fingers, swiftly putting it away. "You really don't have to thank me. You know I'd do anything you asked."
"You should learn to tell me no one day," she said.
Joseph hummed, sounding inauthentic in his pondering. "No."
Elsie's expression turned wry. "Funny."
A smile danced along his lips.
The night had slipped from them, the hours bleeding into the early morning before they had made it back to Joseph's car. Camille was safely strapped into the back seat, and Elsie had curled up in the passenger seat, tired eyes locked on Joseph as he steered through the city, one hand interlocked with hers.
Music gently hummed in the background, and Elsie unconsciously drew shapes into his forearm to the beat of the song.
"I'm getting major déjà vu right now," she said. "A few months ago, you would've hated yourself for this."
"I didn't hate myself—" Joseph felt the look he was getting from her. "Yeah, I would've."
Elsie playfully punched his arm. "Look at that. Growth."
Joseph squeezed her thigh, his lips peeling back into a pearly smile as her laughter echoed softly through the air. "As long as you didn't think I hated you."
"I know you didn't," she said, leaning forward to kiss his shoulder. "You were so into me, you creep."
Putting Camille to sleep had been easy this time around, and with a glass of water on her bedside table, Elsie and Joseph left her alone. The door closed with a soft click, masking the exhausted snores rippling from deep within the room.
A simple slant came to Elsie's lips, one that didn't quite carry any of the haughtiness a smirk did, as Joseph's arms bracketed her against the kitchen counter. Her heart flipped in her chest, disturbed the electrical pulses that kept each pump of blood steady, under his watchful and tender stare. "It's your move."
Joseph chuckled, leaning forward, sure of every move as he kissed her.
Yeah, he didn't know why he ever thought he could deprive himself of what felt like the closest coming of heaven on earth.
Summary: “So, is your aunt actually dead? Or did you come up with lies every time?” – or the one where Nico is weirdly infatuated with his neighbor and his solution is to buy flowers from her every week.
Pairing: Nico Hischier x afab! reader with she/her pronouns
Word count: 16k
Warnings: No real warnings for this one. It's mostly cute. There's mentions of loneliness, hinting at depression almost, and also an argument between reader and her sister ★
A/N: One singular request for it and I will post a smutty little part two to this that I've already written. Please come tell me what you think ◡̈
The first time Nico saw you was the day he moved into his new apartment.
It had only taken him close to a decade, but he finally had a place in Jersey that wasn’t just somewhere his stuff happened to live. He’d bought a home. A penthouse, no less—top floor of a redbrick building that was probably an old factory in a past life. The real estate agent had talked a lot about its historic charm, but Nico had stopped listening somewhere between exposed piping and original hardwood floors.
All he’d really wanted was space. And big windows. Now he had both.
More closet space for clothes he didn’t own. A dining table large enough to host dinner parties he would absolutely never throw. A balcony perfect for long, reflective evenings he would definitely spend… inside. Just your classic, upscale bachelor pad.
He’d spent the morning directing the movers like a man who knew exactly what he was doing and the afternoon correcting everything Timo had unpacked like a man who absolutely did not.
By the time Timo finally left, Nico felt like he could sit down and breathe for the first time all day.
His kitchen was sleek—high-gloss black cabinets and brick accent walls, the kind of place that made you feel like you should know how to cook something impressive. He did not. One of the dining chairs wobbled when he sat down, which he chose to blame entirely on Timo, who had assembled them, and not at all on his own lack of supervision.
Through the massive windows, the apartment overlooked a courtyard—four tall buildings forming a quiet square around a patch of green. It felt almost hidden, like a secret garden for people who paid too much in maintenance fees. That had been a selling point. Nico preferred it to the constant noise of the street his old place faced.
Most of the windows across the courtyard were dark or shuttered. It was getting late, he figured. All except for one lonely window.
Directly opposite his apartment, in a unit that mirrored his almost exactly, a kitchen glowed softly. Same layout, same angles—just more lived-in. The cabinets were white instead of black. Lace curtains framed the windows. Potted plants lined the sill like they’d been there long enough to grow stuck.
And on the table, a single white candle burned in a holder, steady and bright. For a second, Nico’s brain went straight to fire hazard. Then you sat down.
Hood up, like you were hiding from the world—or just the evening. A mug cupped between your hands, something warm curling up in faint wisps. You settled easily at the kitchen table. Like you’d done it a hundred times before, and like you might do it a hundred more.
Nico looked away almost immediately, suddenly very interested in unpacking a box of kitchen utensils he didn’t remember owning. When the fuck had he bought a garlic press? He told himself not to stare. He folded laundry. He stacked plates. He tightened the screws on the chair Timo had “definitely assembled correctly, bro, trust me.”
But every now and then, he glanced back across the courtyard. You were still there.
Sometimes you smiled faintly at something on your phone. Other times, you scribbled in a notebook, pausing like you were deciding whether the thought was worth keeping or if you should erase it. And sometimes you just sat there, your gaze weirdly empty. Watching the candle. Letting the wax drip over your fingers as if you had nowhere else to be.
By midnight, Nico was brushing his teeth, half-asleep on his feet. He glanced over one last time, toothbrush hanging from his mouth. You were still there. Your head dipped slightly, like sleep was catching up to you in slow motion. But you didn’t leave the table. He couldn’t understand how you weren’t bored out of your mind yet, having sat still for hours at this point.
Nico turned off the lights in his apartment, the darkness folding in around him. And when he finally fell asleep, it was with a distinct, slightly ridiculous certainty that he would be dreaming of a girl that looked a little too much like his new neighbor.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
Nico didn’t mean for it to become a habit. It just happened.
At first, it was accidental—passing glances while he heated something in the microwave or waited for his coffee to brew. But somewhere along the way, it turned into something else. A predictable routine. Slightly embarrassing, if he ever admitted it out loud.
Whenever he was home, he would look your way. He even started to notice things about you.
Like how your curtains changed with the seasons. In October, they’d been replaced with ones patterned with tiny pumpkins—subtle, but unmistakable if you were, for example, someone who apparently spent a concerning amount of time looking into a stranger’s kitchen. And then in December, the curtains were red, of course.
Or how every Saturday night, without fail, your apartment filled with people. Four girls, always the same ones. Nico had seen them enough times entering the building that he could almost recognize their voices echoing up from the courtyard.
And then, the rest of the week—there was nothing. Just you in your window. A candle always flickering while you simply sat there. Sometimes you cooked; other times he’d see delivery drivers outside the front door. Sometimes he could sense you were listening to music by the way you mouthed along or bobbed your head to a beat. But mostly you were quiet.
Maybe that was by choice. Maybe you like it that way. Nico told himself that had to be it. Plenty of people liked being alone. But for some reason, he wasn’t entirely convinced you were one of them.
You never looked his way. Or—at least—he’d never caught you doing it.
Not once. Not even accidentally. Which felt statistically unlikely, considering he was a full-grown man basically haunting the space the minimal time he spent at home. He liked his new apartment—he really did. But he was not one of those people who enjoyed being alone.
Over Christmas, you disappeared entirely. Nico noticed on the second day. By the third, he’d caught himself checking your dark windows out of pure reflex. By the fourth, he stopped pretending it didn’t bother him.
He stayed in Jersey.
There wasn’t enough time to make it back to Switzerland between games, and his parents hadn’t managed to come over this year. It wasn’t new. It didn’t even feel particularly sad anymore. It was just the way things worked when you had to move across the Atlantic to live out your dreams.
He’d celebrate with some of the guys from the team, eat too much, laugh a little too loudly, and then spend an hour or two on FaceTime with his family, trying to ignore the time difference and the way calls always ended a little too soon.
Still, the apartment felt bigger without you across from him. Colder, somehow. Maybe he just needed to decorate his place more. Bring in some of that warmth that you seemed to have at your place.
As snow gently fell over the courtyard, frost clinging to the windows, his habit of looking for you was, of course, still there—only now he was filled with a sense of longing every time he noticed you still weren’t there.
He wished for you to have a nice Christmas wherever you were. He hoped you were somewhere warm. Somewhere familiar and good. Mostly he hoped you weren’t alone.
A few days after Christmas, the candle was burning again.
Nico noticed immediately. He came home late from a New Year’s Day game—legs heavy, brain somewhere between exhausted and wired—and he saw the flickering light coming from your kitchen.
You stood by the stove, stirring something in a pot, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly messy like you’d been at it for a while. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed that until he felt his shoulders relax at the sight. Which Nico knew was totally ridiculous.
January dragged on, slow and gray, until eventually the days started stretching again. More light filtered into the courtyard, lingering a little longer each afternoon.
Your window changed with it.
Sometimes there were fresh flowers on the table, bright and out of place against the winter backdrop. Other times, they’d be pushed aside to make room for dinner plates or board games or a bottle of wine that never seemed to stay full for very long.
The four girls came and went, just like always.
Nico had even run into them once—on his way out for a late practice, bag slung over his shoulder, already mentally halfway at the rink. They’d smiled and said hi. One of them had nudged another like they were sharing a joke he wasn’t in on.
You weren’t with them. Obviously. They were on their way to your apartment.
In fact, Nico had yet to see you anywhere that wasn’t framed by your kitchen window. It was starting to feel intentional. Like you existed exclusively in that space—lit by candlelight, half-hidden behind glass, untouchable in a way that didn’t make any logical sense.
After your friends left on Saturdays, you always lingered. Sitting alone at the table again. Sometimes with your phone, sometimes with that notebook, sometimes just staring at the candle like it had you hypnotized.
Nico wondered what you were thinking about. He wondered if you needed the quiet—or if you were just used to it. If the dinners you hosted drained your battery to the point where you needed to recharge alone for a few hours afterward, or if you just simply liked sitting there in your kitchen.
He also wondered, briefly, how deeply unsettling it would be if you knew how much a professional athlete—someone who, on paper, had much better things to do—was thinking about a girl he’d never spoken to.
Probably very. He tried not to think about that part.
Nico also had no idea what he’d do if he ever saw you outside of that window. He wasn’t even entirely sure he’d recognize you.
Turns out he would.
And you wouldn’t give him nearly enough time to come up with a plan.
One morning, Nico stumbled out of his building, barely awake, already mentally complaining about the practice waiting for him. The cold hit him immediately, sharp and rude, and he hunched deeper into his jacket as light snow drifted lazily through the air.
And there you were, on the other side of the courtyard, crouched slightly as you unchained a bike. He thought you were crazy for riding a bike in this weather.
Nico slowed without meaning to, watching as you tugged on a pair of mittens with your teeth. Up close—or just closer—you looked exactly the same. But also less like something framed behind glass.
You were human and not just a figment of his imagination.
Your coat was oversized, the kind that swallowed you whole, and a few strands of hair had escaped from under your knitted beanie, catching the light as they moved. Nico found himself noticing the smallest things—the way you shifted your weight, the way your breath came out in little clouds, the way you seemed entirely in your own world.
Without thinking twice, he said a quiet hello as he walked past you. He was only being a nice neighbor. You were on the way to the car park anyway.
Butyou didn’t react to it at all—you just adjusted your scarf, grabbed the handlebars, and started walking your bike toward the sidewalk as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You didn’t even give a glance in his direction.
Nico slowed to a stop for half a second, something awkward settling in his chest. Then he kept walking. He told himself you probably hadn’t heard him. The snow, the distance, the early hour—any number of reasons. Maybe you were painfully shy.
The silence followed him all the way to his car. And all the way to the rink. And, annoyingly, through most of practice.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
A few days later, some of Nico’s teammates invited themselves over.
Officially, it was to see his new place. Unofficially, Nico was about ninety percent sure it was because he had the biggest TV and the least likelihood of someone’s girlfriend telling them all to go home every twenty minutes.
Also—if he was being honest—there was a faint air of guilt to it too. Most of the guys were in long-term relationships now. Engagements, shared apartments, children. Guy’s nights had become something you had to schedule a month in advance, like a dentist appointment.
Meanwhile, Nico still had single written across his forehead in bold, capital letters.
He didn’t really mind, though—if they were here because of guilt. Not when his apartment was full like this. Voices overlapping, laughter bouncing off the high ceilings, someone yelling about a missed pass on Chel like it was Game 7 of the finals.
It felt good. Almost entirely normal.
Dawson’s voice cut through the room from the couch, loud and indignant as he accused someone of being blind for missing an obvious offside. The response came just as quickly, dismissive and amused, reminding him that it was just a video game and he needed to relax.
And then they had the never-ending discussion about pineapple on pizza when they decided what to order for dinner. Someone declared it should be illegal. Another disagreed. The consensus was that pineapple wasn’t really that terrible when Jesper told everyone about how Swedish pizza places usually offered banana as a topping too.
Nico needed a moment to himself after eating. That’s what he told himself, anyway. Dishes. Trash. Totally normal, productive reasons to step away from a loud room full of grown men shouting over a video game.
He grabbed a couple of empty bottles, stacking them together as he moved toward the sink. He hadn’t even turned the water on yet when he heard footsteps behind him.
Timo. Of course.
“Are you okay, dude?” he asked, leaning casually against the counter like he hadn’t followed him in here on purpose. “You haven’t said a word all night.”
He said it in German, which helped approximately zero considering half the team could still probably guess what was being said just from tone alone.
Nico rinsed out a glass, focusing a little too hard on something that did not require that much concentration.
“I’m just tired, I think,” he muttered in response.
Timo hummed, unconvinced.
Nico braced himself. He could practically feel it coming—the follow-up question, the inevitable digging. Timo had that look, the one that meant he wasn’t done yet. Nico half expected something along the lines of “you sure? you’ve been weird” or, worse, something about him needing to “get out more.”
He kept his back turned, focusing on the glass that was definitely clean now. There was a pause. Long enough that Nico figured he’d gotten away with it. He knew he had when Timo asked something totally unrelated.
“Have you noticed your deaf neighbors across the street?”
Nico didn’t know what he was talking about at first, seeing Timo stare out his window with furrowed brows. He reached for a towel to dry his hands as he walked over to see for himself.
“I think they’re arguing in sign language,” Timo continued, pointing to the window for Nico to see.
The only window with a light turned on was yours, and through it he could see you and one of your friends. It was Saturday after all. For some reason, the other two girls in the group were missing.
And Timo was right; you were talking in what appeared to be sign language, hands frantically gesticulating. Even from a distance, it was obvious that this wasn’t casual conversation. It was tense. Emotional in a way that didn’t need sound to be understood.
Nico’s stomach dropped a little, though he couldn’t have said why.
“What was that look?” Timo asked, watching him now instead of the window. “Do you know them?”
“I tried talking to her once,” he admitted.
“Wait—what?”
“A few days ago. Outside.” Nico rubbed the back of his neck. “She just… ignored me.”
Timo’s expression shifted—somewhere between sympathy and barely contained amusement. “You tried talking to a deaf person without knowing she’s deaf?” he said. “That’s rough, dude.”
Nico exhaled. “Yeah.” Obviously.
But suddenly, it made sense. The silence. The lack of reaction. The way you hadn’t even glanced at him when he said hello. Maybe you couldn’t have heard him no matter what he’d said. How could he not have noticed the sign language before?
“Which one was it?” Timo asked, turning back toward the window.
“The one in the red shirt,” Nico said quietly. “She’s the one who lives there.”
Timo nodded once, assessing. “She’s cute.”
Nico let out a short breath. “Why do you think I tried talking to her?”
“Fair,” Timo said. “Still didn’t hear you, though.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Timo grinned, entirely unhelpful.
“Have you given Jonas’s wife’s friend another chance, by the way?” he added. “The redhead from Halloween?”
Nico groaned immediately. “No. Why would I?”
“I don’t know.” Timo shrugged. “She seemed interested in you. And you can’t just sit around moping over your neighbor who you literally can’t talk to.”
“I’m not moping.”
“You left a room full of people to do the dishes.”
Nico sighed. “I guess I’ll… think about it. Okay?”
From the living room, someone yelled, “Yo—are you two starting a separate party in there, or are you bringing more beer?”
“Coming!” Timo called back.
He clapped Nico once on the shoulder before heading out, like the conversation had been successfully completed. Nico stayed for a second longer. Just long enough to glance back at your window. Your friend was gone, but you weren’t.
After his teammates left that night, the apartment fell quiet again.
Nico sat at his kitchen table, laptop open in front of him, some half-hearted attempt at planning his summer schedule blinking back at him. His mind was obviously elsewhere. Right across the courtyard actually.
You were sitting in your usual spot, mirroring him. The candle was lit like usual, but everything else was off. There was no laughter. No music. No movement from the rest of your apartment. Just you, sitting still, staring into the flame.
Nico frowned slightly. Saturday nights at your place were supposed to look different. Like something out of an indie movie about friendship, crowded kitchens, and cheap wine that somehow tasted better in the right company.
Of course, he didn’t actually know anything about the situation, but it still felt out of character for your friends to be arguing. Tonight, you just looked sad. More alone than usual. He kept on wondering what you’d argued about.
Your shoulders were slumped, your expression distant, like you were somewhere else entirely. Even from across the courtyard, he could see it. And then, the mascara. Dark streaks trailing down your cheeks, untouched. Like you either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care enough to fix it.
Nico sat up a little straighter.
On the table in front of you was a rectangular box. And something in your hands—a card, maybe. You kept turning it over, fingers lingering on the edges like whatever it said mattered more than you wanted it to.
He knew he shouldn’t be watching. This was already too much. He didn’t even know your name, and yet he was here, piecing together a story from fragments he had no right to.
But he couldn’t tear his eyes away when you opened the box, gently unwrapping what looked like just a bunch of green fabric at first. It wasn’t until you held it up that he realized it was a dress. A long, flowing dress. Maybe in silk or chiffon. It looked expensive just from the box it came in.
Your hands trembled slightly as you held it. And then, you broke.
The kind of crying that wasn’t quiet or controlled. It hit all at once, like whatever you’d been holding back had finally decided it was done waiting.
Nico froze. Helpless, halfway across a courtyard, watching something he couldn’t reach, couldn’t interrupt, couldn’t fix.
You dropped the dress like it had burned you. Then you turned and left the kitchen so quickly it was almost abrupt—like if you stayed even a second longer, you might fall apart completely.
Nico couldn’t see where you went. The kitchen just went still. But the candle kept burning, and the dress lay crumpled on the floor. He didn’t know why it hurt him so.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
Now, did Nico try harder after that? No. Obviously, he did the exact opposite. He avoided you.
Or—more accurately—he avoided the idea of you. Because in reality, you were still there, right across the courtyard, existing exactly as you always had. Nico was the one changing his behavior like that might somehow solve the problem.
He couldn’t figure out how to talk to you. Hell, he barely even saw you outside of his window anyway, so what was the point? And even if he did—what then? He didn’t know sign language. You wouldn’t hear him. He’d already embarrassed himself once. That felt like enough.
So he stopped looking. Or, at least, he tried to. He went to bed earlier. Found reasons to stay busy. Kept his gaze firmly not drifting toward the window every time he walked into his kitchen, like it had developed a magnetic pull.
It worked. Kind of. Until the next Saturday.
He noticed it immediately. You were alone—and it wasn’t even evening yet. By the time Nico got back from a home game, the candle was already burning. Too early. Wrong, somehow. Your friends didn’t come that night.
They didn’t come the weekend after that either.
Not that Nico kept track or anything. But it was weird. He told himself it didn’t mean anything. People got busy. Plans changed. Life happened. Still, something about it sat wrong with him. Maybe it was the way tears had violently fallen from your eyes last time he’d seen you with your friends.
So naturally, instead of dealing with that in any kind of healthy or logical way, Nico agreed to go on a date. Timo and Jonas had been trying to set him up for weeks, and at this point, saying yes felt less like a decision and more like a way to get them to stop talking about it.
Her name was Cassie. She’d been nice to him at the team’s Halloween party last year. Red hair and a nice smile. Seemed fairly normal. That was… about all he had. Which was fine. Probably. Definitely a solid foundation for a first date.
But Nico had never felt more ridiculous than when he stepped out of his apartment that evening.
The button-up shirt alone should’ve been a warning sign. He didn’t wear button-ups unless someone forced him. Or unless there was a formal event. Or unless he was actively trying to impress someone—which, in this case, felt a little forced, considering he wasn’t even sure he wanted to be there.
The collar scratched at his neck. Actually—no. It wasn’t scratching. It was stabbing. He reached back, frowning, trying to discreetly feel for a tag. There was no tag. This was just the way he felt.
He dropped his hand with a quiet sigh, already mildly irritated and not even five minutes into the evening. This was going great. But he had a plan. A good one, even.
Flowers.
If he showed up with flowers, it automatically made him seem thoughtful. Intentional. Like he had his life together. Which—objectively—he did not. But that wasn’t the point. If he turned out to be the most boring date ever for Cassie, then at least she got flowers out of it. He certainly felt boring.
So, before calling a cab, he’d pulled out his phone, googled “flower shop near me,” and followed the directions with increasing hesitation the closer he got. It turned out to be just around the corner.
He’d lived here for months and somehow never noticed it. Then again, he bought flowers approximately never. The slowly dying house plant on his windowsill was proof enough of that.
Nico slowed to a stop outside the shop. A small wooden sign hung above the door, the lettering hand-painted in looping script spelling out Lennon & Lilies.
It was a cute little store, sat tucked between a café and a vintage store, its exterior painted a soft, weathered sage green that stood out gently against the street of redbrick buildings. A string of tiny warm lights framed the window, glowing softly even in the fading daylight, twinkling gold so that he could see inside.
The flower arrangements were really nice as they lined the storefront in various colors and heights. Like, twentieth-wedding-anniversary nice. And not impress-a-date-you-barely-know nice.
Nico stepped a little closer to see more.
That’s when something about the girl behind the counter caught his attention.
At first, it was small—just a flicker of familiarity he couldn’t quite place. Like how strangers in passing sometimes looked like someone you knew. But this was a little more than that. Unsettling almost—like he’d seen her before without ever being there. Like a memory framed by glass, softened by distance and light. The window display wasn’t too different from seeing you through his kitchen window.
Nico could’ve recognized you anywhere.
The way you wore your hair. The shape of your face. The fit of your clothes. The way you moved was familiar in a way that didn’t make sense, considering he’d never actually stood this close before.
His neighbor was a florist.
You were ringing something up at the register. Smiling widely and talking to a customer who held the biggest bouquet of… some pink flower he couldn’t name.
Your voice didn’t reach him through the glass, but your mouth moved easily, naturally, as you gestured toward a bouquet, explaining something with a brightness he hadn’t seen before.
What?
He straightened slightly, trying to make sense of it.
You were deaf. Weren’t you?
He’d seen you sign during that argument with your friend. He’d built an entire understanding around that fact—adjusted his expectations, his assumptions, his everything.
And now—you were talking. Laughing, even. Like there had never been a barrier at all.
Nico frowned, a little thrown off balance.
Okay. So maybe you weren’t deaf. Or maybe you were, but also… talked? Was that a thing? Of course it was a thing. Probably. He just had absolutely no idea how any of it worked. Which, in hindsight, felt like an important detail he maybe should’ve considered earlier.
The customer said something that made you laugh even harder, and Nico felt something in his chest shift.
You weren’t just a quiet figure in a window. You worked here. You existed outside of that kitchen. Outside of the candlelight and the stillness and the version of you he’d built entirely from observation.
You were right there.
Nico’s grip tightened slightly around his phone. He could go in. It would be easy. Normal, even. Walk through the door. Buy flowers. Say something simple. This was the perfect excuse. The most natural opening he was ever going to get. His brain, however, chose that exact moment to be deeply unhelpful.
What was he going to say?
Hey, I live across from you, and I’ve been accidentally watching you for months? Also, sorry I thought you were deaf, but apparently I don’t understand how anything works?
Yeah. Great plan.
He exhaled slowly, shifting his weight. Through the window, you turned slightly, reaching for something behind the counter. Slightly closer to the door now. Closer to him.
Nico instantly took a step back. Then another. He stared at the shop for a second, like he might still change his mind. But he didn’t. Instead, he turned, pulling his jacket a little tighter around himself as he walked away.
No flowers. He just needed out.
By the time he reached the street corner, he was already checking his phone. Cassie’s number stared back at him. Nico winced as he typed it, but at least it was honest.
Hey, I’m really sorry, something came up. Another time?
Nico let out a breath as he hit send, shoving his phone back into his pocket as he stood there on the sidewalk, feeling not better, exactly. But not worse either.
He’d just made a rash decision without understanding why. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to try. It was that he didn’t know how to start without already feeling like he had messed up. And that was always enough to stop him.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
The Devils locker room was loud as usual when Nico stepped in after practice—gear clattering against benches, doors slamming shut, and voices overlapping as guys shouted across the room about nothing and everything at once.
Nico barely registered any of it. It all blurred into background noise, distant and unfocused, as he kept his attention fixed on his own little corner. He kept his head down, fingers working slowly at his skates, giving himself something to concentrate on. If he didn’t look up, there was still a chance—however small—that no one would start anything.
“Did you seriously stand up Cassie?”
Jonas’s voice cut clean through the locker room noise, sharp and immediate—like he’d been holding onto that question all practice, just waiting for the right moment to drop it.
Nico didn’t look up. “I texted her,” he said quickly, because technically, that was true. “Like an hour in advance that I wouldn’t be able to make it.”
Even to his own ears, it sounded weak.
Jonas stepped closer. Nico could feel it without looking—how he stared down at him.
“That’s still a shitty move, Nico.”
Nico exhaled, dragging a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly aware of how warm the room felt. Maybe he was just sweaty. “I just— I didn’t want to go,” he admitted. “I figured it would be more unfair to her if I did.”
That also sounded like a cop-out. But it wasn’t wrong.
“You ditched the date we set up?”
Timo’s voice joined in from somewhere to his left, and Nico briefly considered just getting up and leaving. Pretending he had somewhere else to be. A special captain’s meeting. A phone call. Literally anything.
“Is this about your neighbor again?” Timo pressed.
That made Nico finally glance up.
Jonas frowned. “What neighbor?”
Of course Timo would say something. He was as annoying as his own siblings. Except Timo was on the same continent as him and could call him out on his bullshit in person. He was a lovely friend to have, but god, did he need to mind his own business a little more.
Timo continued to not hesitate. “He has this deaf neighbor,” he explained to Jonas. “Who he apparently thinks is pretty, but he can’t talk to her. For obvious reasons.”
Nico closed his eyes briefly. Perfect. That was exactly how he wanted this explained.
Jonas snorted out a laugh, then leaned in to touch Nico’s shoulder, interest immediately piqued. “Can you see her naked from your apartment or what’s going on? Why is she special?”
He cut himself off. Abort. This was already going badly, and giving Jonas more material felt like actively choosing to make it worse.
“I was going to get Cassie flowers before the date,” he said instead, like that might redirect things.
Jonas scoffed. “What a gentleman.”
“But,” Nico continued, ignoring him, “my neighbor is a florist. I almost walked right into her shop. And I don’t think she’s deaf because she was talking perfectly fine to a customer.”
He could still see it, clear as anything—the way you’d smiled, the way your hands had moved, the way your mouth—wow, he really shouldn’t be thinking about your mouth like that.
Yeah. None of that had looked like someone who could not hear.
Timo tilted his head, considering. “So… she ignored you on purpose?”
Nico shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“How exactly did you try and talk to her?” Timo asked.
Nico hesitated. Because now that the question was being asked directly, the answer sounded… significantly worse.
“I said hi,” he admitted.
There was already a pause, and Timo made a weird face. Not a good sign.
“I was walking to my car,” he added quickly, like context might help. “She was on the other side of the courtyard unlocking her bike.”
Jonas stared at him. Then leaned back slowly, like he needed physical space to process what he’d just heard. “I shouldn’t have to tell you this,” he said, very calmly, “but are you fucking stupid, Nico?”
Nico huffed automatically. “Oh, come on—”
“That’s like fifty feet,” Jonas continued. “Fifty. Minimum.”
Timo nodded, already on board. “She doesn’t have to be deaf to not hear you.”
“Was she wearing—I don’t know—headphones?” Jonas added. “A beanie? Was there wind? Traffic? Literally anything?”
“I don’t know,” Nico muttered.
“Exactly,” Timo said. “You don’t know.”
The words stuck a little. Because it was true. He didn’t know anything. Not really. Not about that moment. Not about you. Not about why this had turned into… whatever this was.
Nico dropped his gaze back to his skates, picking at the laces again just to have something to do with his hands.
“It doesn’t mean anything anyway,” he muttered. “I’ll probably never talk to her, so what’s the point?”
Timo’s expression shifted slightly. “Are you seriously giving up?”
Nico shrugged, like it didn’t matter. “What else can I do?”
“You buy flowers from her. Duh.”
Nico looked up again.
Timo gestured like this was the most obvious solution in the world. “She’s a florist. You say you need flowers. This is not complicated.”
Jonas nodded, butting in again. “Yeah, and then you’ll figure it out.”
“Figure what out?” Nico asked.
“If this whole thing is real,” Jonas said, waving a hand vaguely in Nico’s direction, “or if it’s just you being weird about a girl you’ve never spoken to.”
“That’s not—”
“Maybe she’s terrible,” Jonas continued, ignoring him. “Bad customer service. Annoying voice. Maybe she has really bad breath.”
Timo snorted. “That would solve everything, actually.”
Nico huffed out a quiet laugh before he could stop himself. “And what if she’s not terrible?” he asked.
Timo and Jonas exchanged a look. Then Timo shrugged. “Then you’re fucked.”
Jonas nodded. “Completely.”
Fucked. Yeah, that sounded about right.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
Nico almost turned around twice before actually going in.
Once at the corner—easy excuse, he could’ve just kept walking, pretended he’d never even had the idea. Once right outside the door—close enough to see his reflection in the glass, slightly warped between bundles of flowers, like even his own face wasn’t fully committing to being here.
This was so stupid. He was a grown man. A professional athlete. A captain, supposedly a leader. He played in front of thousands of people on a regular basis.
Buying flowers should not be where he drew the line.
He had to physically force himself by quickly pushing the door open and stepping inside, because if he was gentle about it, he knew he would just turn around and never look back.
A distinct smell hit him immediately. Sweet and damp. Almost thick—like the air itself was holding onto water. It wrapped around him in a way that felt a little overwhelming at first.
And he noticed the colors. They were everywhere. Bright, soft, pale, dark—flowers stacked and arranged in a way that felt intentional without looking staged. It was a lot. More than he expected. More than he knew what to do with.
The shop stretched further back than it looked from the street—rows of fresh flowers, houseplants, little decorations tucked into corners like someone had thought about every inch of the space. So big he didn’t even see you at first and figured he had yet another chance at escaping.
But the door had a bell above him that rattled as soon as it opened. And you poked your little head out from behind door deep into the shop that said staff only.
“I’ll be out in a second!” you quickly said to him.
Your voice was bubbly, a polished happiness covering it in a true retail worker spirit. And nothing like Nico had imagined. Actually scratch that, he didn’t know what he’d imagined. Jonas’s dealbreaker about you having an annoying voice was obviously not going to work, though, because you sounded perfectly normal.
Nico froze on the spot when you finally walked out. You looked different like this. Not in a way he could clearly define—just different. Maybe because this was proof you were an actual person. He was still weirdly unsure about that part.
“Can I help you with anything?” You smiled at him, expectant and patient.
Right, he needed to say something. That’s how this worked.
“Yeah,” Nico managed, his voice coming out just a fraction too late. “Uhm— I need a bouquet.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” you said with a small laugh, like you’d heard that exact line a hundred times before. Of course you had.
You turned, already moving deeper into the shop, and Nico followed a half-step behind, trying very hard to act like this was not the most stressful interaction he’d had all week. He’d scored in a shootout against Vasilevskiy yesterday, yet this had him sweating more.
Keep it together, man.
You moved easily through the space, weaving between tables and displays without hesitation, your hands brushing past leaves and stems like you knew exactly where everything was. Which you probably did.
You looked adorable. You were wearing denim dungarees, practical and a little oversized, with pruning shears tucked into every possible pocket. Not at all mysterious or as cryptic as he had made you up to be in his head. Not some quiet, untouchable figure behind glass.
You were simply adorable, and appeared to have a vast knowledge of flowers. And completely, terrifyingly easy to be around. Which made Nico feel even more like he was doing something wrong.
“What’s the occasion?” you asked, glancing back at him briefly. “See if that can give me something to work with.”
“Oh, they’re for—” Nico hadn’t thought about this at all. “A funeral.”
What the fuck? Why would he say that?
“Or—not really a funeral,” he added, because apparently digging the hole deeper was the plan now. “Just for the grave. My—uh—my aunt. Very sad.”
Nico wanted to leave his own body.
You blinked at him, your expression shifting immediately. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”
Nico felt something twist in his chest. Because now you looked genuinely sympathetic. Concerned, even. And he’d just invented a dead relative. Or he had an aunt, but she was perfectly alive as far as he knew.
“Do you want a bouquet,” you continued gently, “or more of a traditional grave arrangement?”
“Just a bouquet,” Nico said quickly. “I think.”
You nodded, already turning back to the flowers. “Lilies are a popular choice for that,” you said. “You could also do carnations—they tend to last longer this time of year.”
You gestured toward a cluster of flowers, and Nico followed your hand.
He had absolutely no idea what he was looking at. They were flowers. That was all he had. Smaller than roses and more wrinkly? Maybe? He nodded anyway, committing fully to pretending he understood.
“Yeah. Those look good.”
You looked back at him, and it was obvious that you saw right through him. Not in a mean way, just unmistakable in the way you paused and the corner of your moth twitched, like you were holding back a smile. Like you’d already figured him out.
“I just got these yellow ones this morning,” you added, a little softer now. You were adjusting for him. “And then we could fill it out with some greenery and baby’s breath.”
A baby’s what?
Nico nodded anyway. “That sounds great. I’m trusting your opinion on this.”
Which was the only smart decision he’d made so far.
You smiled again and got to work. Nico stood there, watching. Your hands moved quickly, confidently, pulling stems, trimming, arranging like it was second nature. There was something almost calming about it.
“I hope your aunt will appreciate them,” you said, walking over to the register when you were done tying the bouquet together. “From heaven, or whatever.”
Nico let out a quiet breath. “I know she will,” he said.
Because at this point, there was no turning back from that lie.
After he’d paid, you held out the bouquet to him, carefully wrapped in brown paper and a white ribbon. “There you go.”
He took it carefully, like he might somehow mess that up too.
“Thank you, Y/N.”
The name slipped out without thinking, something he’d caught just a second earlier on the small badge clipped to the front pocket of your overalls. He hadn’t meant to make a big deal out of it, but, of course, you just had to have the sort of name that sounded perfectly leaving his mouth.
It felt strangely important, like finally putting something concrete to you.
You blinked at him, just slightly surprised, before your smile softened. “You’re welcome…” you said, letting the words linger just enough to feel intentional.
Oh. You wanted to know his name.
That shouldn’t feel like anything. You were just being nice. That was literally your job—customer service, basic politeness. You probably did this with everyone who walked through that door. It didn’t mean anything. It absolutely did not mean anything.
“I’m Nico,” he said, still.
Your smile returned, easy and warm. “Nice to meet you, Nico.”
Hearing his name in your voice did something deeply unhelpful to his body. He nodded once, because apparently words were no longer reliable, clutching the bouquet like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality.
This was normal. Just a transaction. He had bought flowers. You had been nice to him because that was your job. That was it.
And yet, as he lingered for one second too long before finally turning toward the door, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted—small, probably insignificant, but enough that leaving felt harder than coming in had been.
The bell rattled again as he stepped outside, the cool air hitting him like a reset he didn’t quite accept. He stood there for a moment on the sidewalk, bouquet in hand, staring down at it like it might offer him some kind of explanation.
Yellow carnations, whatever that now meant.
He exhaled slowly, already turning toward home, because now he had to figure out what to do with them. He couldn’t exactly leave them somewhere without looking insane, and throwing them out felt wrong.
So that left one option: take them home, find something to put them in, and pretend this had been a normal, well-thought-out decision. Which meant he was about to walk into his apartment with a bouquet meant for a fake dead relative and spend the next ten minutes googling how to properly arrange flowers in a vase.
Did he even own a vase?
But how else had he expected his interaction to go? That he would miraculously leave with a date? This would be so much easier if you’d turned out to be horrible, just like his teammates had said.
But no. You just had to be fucking adorable.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
“Here, take these.”
Nico tossed a bouquet of flowers at Jonas mid-set.
The weight room at the Prudential Center was loud in a different way than the locker room. Less chaotic, more rhythmic—metal clanging, plates sliding onto bars, the dull thud of weights hitting rubber flooring just a little too hard. Music pulsed through a speaker, bass heavy enough that Nico felt it in his chest as much as he could hear it. The air smelled like sweat and something faintly chemical from whatever cleaning spray had been used hours ago and definitely hadn’t won.
Jonas barely caught them, the barbell clanging back into the rack as his entire focus shifted to not dropping what was, apparently, a carefully arranged bundle of pink peonies. A few petals shook loose on impact, drifting down onto the floor like evidence.
Jonas stared at the bouquet. Then at Nico. Then back at the bouquet.
“What the fuck, Nico?”
Nico reached for his water bottle, taking a long sip just to avoid answering right away. He already knew how ridiculous this was.
“Give them to your wife,” he said. “The last ones haven’t died yet. I only own one vase.”
It was becoming a real logistical issue. At this point, his apartment looked less like a place someone lived and more like a greenhouse.
Jonas still hadn’t moved, eyes locked on the peonies. “You bought flowers,” he said slowly, like he was trying to confirm reality, “again?”
Nico shrugged, aiming for casual and landing somewhere closer to defensive indifference.
He had his reasons for buying flowers. He’d had lots of reasons. Actually, he’d gone through every possible explanation at this point, cycling through them like plays he wasn’t entirely convinced would work. The logic never really held up under pressure—but that didn’t stop him from trying.
In the past month, he’d bought flowers from you five times.
There had been his mom’s promotion—despite the small, inconvenient detail that she lived in Switzerland and would never see them. Then the baby shower, which had required him to invent not only a pregnant friend but also an entire social circle that suggested he was the kind of person who got invited to baby showers in the first place. After that, Timo’s birthday—which had been especially bold, considering Timo’s birthday was in October and it was currently April.
And yet, you’d smiled every time.
Asked him questions. Remembered small details. Once, you’d even said, “Back again?” in that light, teasing way that had made his brain completely shut down for a solid five seconds while he stood there holding a bouquet he didn’t need, trying to remember how words worked.
There had been an attempt to ask how long you’d worked there—except it came out as, “How long have you been… flowers?” There had been another where he meant to compliment the shop and instead said, “It smells… like plants. Good plants.” And once he’d almost asked for your name again, even though you always wore a name tag.
Progress, clearly, was not being made.
He did try to space out his visits. For dignity, mostly. But standing here now, in the weight room, watching Jonas hold yet another bouquet, Nico had a sinking feeling that whatever system he thought he’d created was not nearly as subtle as he’d hoped.
Across the room, Timo let out a quiet laugh like he’d just been proven right about something he hadn’t even said out loud yet.
“I can give them to Nicole if you don’t want them,” Jesper cut in, already stepping closer, hand halfway extended like this was a perfectly normal exchange that had happened before.
Maybe because it had.
“No, no, I’ll take them,” Jonas said quickly, pulling the flowers back toward himself before Jesper could grab them. “I’m about to be husband of the year. For free.”
Nico huffed quietly, lifting his water bottle to his mouth again just to have something to do. Hydration had become his main coping mechanism in situations like this. It stopped him from having to actually talk.
Jonas, however, wasn’t done. He looked up again, expression shifting from amused to something far more pointed. “But we can’t keep acting like this is normal behavior, Nico.”
Nico took a sip, buying himself time. “It’s not that weird,” he said after swallowing down a big gulp.
“It’s very weird,” Timo said immediately, not even giving the idea a second to breathe. “I’ve lost count of how many bouquets you’ve bought.”
“That feels like a you problem,” Nico muttered, lowering the bottle.
“It’s very much a you problem,” Jonas shot back, gesturing clearly with the flowers.
Nico rolled his shoulders, already feeling a familiar frustration creeping in—the kind that settled low in his chest and tightened there, stubborn like hell, because he didn’t have the words to explain it. It wasn’t just annoyance at being questioned; it was the deeper irritation of knowing he looked ridiculous from the outside and still not doing anything to change that feeling on the inside.
“I just—” Nico started, then stopped, because there was no version of this that sounded normal out loud. So he defaulted to the simplest possible explanation. “I go in,” he said instead. “We talk. She makes the flowers. I leave.”
There was a loud pause. Jonas blinked at him slowly.
“…and?” he prompted.
Nico frowned. “That’s it.”
That was so not the correct answer.
Jonas dragged a hand down his face, groaning under his breath. “You’re killing me,” he muttered. “You’re actually killing me!”
Nico felt his chest tighten, irritation flaring just enough to push back. “What do you want me to do?” he shot back. “Just ask her out? Out of nowhere?”
“Yes!” Timo said immediately.
No nuance allowed there.
“It’s literally the only step left,” Jonas added, like they were discussing something painfully obvious that Nico had somehow missed.
Nico shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “No. I don’t— I don’t even know if she’s—”
He stopped again. Because the second he said it, it would sound stupid. As if this entire exchange wasn’t already a joke on his behalf.
Timo raised an eyebrow. “If she’s what?”
Nico heavily sighed. “Interested.”
There it was—out in the open, sitting between them in a way that made it feel just as big as it did in his head. And Nico regretted it instantly.
Because saying it out loud was like agreeing to how ridiculous it was. Like he was overcomplicating something that, for most people, wasn’t complicated at all. Nico had never been this guy before—the one hesitating, second-guessing, getting stuck in his own head over whether someone might like him back. That had never really been his problem.
If anything, it had always been the opposite.
Girls approached him. Conversations came easy because he didn’t have to initiate them. There was no pressure to figure out the right thing to say, no risk of getting it wrong before anything had even started. It had always just happened.
And now he was standing in a flower shop, forgetting how to form sentences because you simply smiled at him. It threw him off in a way he didn’t know how to recover from.
He hadn’t felt like this before. And the worst part was, he didn’t even know why it mattered this much. He just knew that it did.
Timo stared at him for a second, then let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “What has happened to your confidence, dude? Go look at yourself in the mirror.”
Nico let out a dry breath. “That’s not the point.”
“It is exactly the point,” Jonas said, already shaking his head.
Because to them, it probably was that simple.
Walk in. Ask you out. If yes, great. If no, then move the fuck on.
But they hadn’t stood in that shop, trying to form a coherent sentence while you looked at him like he was a normal person instead of someone whose brain had just completely abandoned him.
They hadn’t had to process the way you laughed, or how easily you filled the silence with adorable nonsense, or how every interaction somehow left Nico feeling like he was capable of jumping to the moon just from pure energy.
“I don’t have it in me to just randomly ask her out,” Nico admitted finally, more honest than he’d intended. “So yeah. I’m stuck.”
For a second, no one said anything. Then Jonas glanced down at the flowers again, turning them slightly in his hands before setting them off to the side like he needed both hands free for what came next.
When he looked back at Nico, the amusement was still there—but there was something else under it now. Something a little more direct.
“You’re not stuck because you can’t talk to her,” he said. “You’re stuck because you won’t.”
Nico didn’t respond. He didn’t really need to. Because it was so clearly true and hit so hard that Nico completely froze. Just enough to settle somewhere uncomfortable and stay there, even as Timo snorted under his breath and reached for a weight like the conversation was already over.
Nico took another sip of water. His teammates were still laughing. And they were still right no matter how much Nico avoided it.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
Nico almost didn’t go in. Again. He always felt like he was standing on a ledge every time he found himself outside of Lennon & Lilies. He still had no idea what that name meant. Maybe that could be something normal for him to ask you about.
He lingered outside longer than necessary, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, rocking slightly on his heels like he might still turn around if he gave himself one more second. The glass reflected him faintly—blurred between rows of carefully arranged flowers—and for a moment he focused on that instead of what was inside.
This wasn’t going anywhere. Same routine. Same conversation. Same careful, meaningless small talk that never actually led anywhere. He already knew how it would go.
You’d smile. Ask what he needed. He’d come up with something very unconvincing. You’d build something beautiful anyway—always something a little too thoughtful for whatever excuse he’d come up with. He’d thank you, leave, and spend the walk home replaying every second, rewriting his own lines in his head like that might change something retroactively.
And repeat.
Yet, he continued to walk inside. The bell above the door chimed loudly as always.
“Hi Nico,” you said happily, sitting on a stool behind the register.
He looked up at the sound of your voice. You must’ve been looking at him even before he stepped inside.
It hit him—again, like it always did, stupidly and without warning—how easy you seemed in your own space. Like everything in this store made sense because you were part of it.
You had your sleeves pushed up, a faint green smear along your wrist that you either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care about. Your hair was pulled back in a way that clearly hadn’t been overthought, a bunch of loose strands slipping free when you tilted your head just slightly at him.
And of course, you smiled at him. Wide and a little crooked. Enough to make Nico feel like his legs were about to give in.
He suddenly had the very real, very inconvenient thought that he could probably stand here and look at you for an unreasonable amount of time before realizing he hadn’t said anything yet.
“Hi,” he answered, a little quieter than intended.
“You need another bouquet?” you asked. You’d picked up on the pattern just the second time he came into the store.
“Yeah,” Nico said, nodding once. “You can pick freely.”
“Oh, I love when customers let me do that,” you said, already hopping off the stool. “It’s way more fun.”
Nico followed in your direction without thinking. He always did.
He watched the way you moved through the space—not rushing, just very certain in what you wanted. You reached for stems without needing to check where they were, turning them in your hands like you already knew what they’d become before you even started.
There was something almost unfair about how easy you made it look, because he knew it probably wasn’t.
Your fingers worked quickly—trimming, adjusting, and aligning things just slightly off-center before correcting it again. You paused sometimes, tilting your head the smallest amount, like you were seeing something he definitely couldn’t.
Nico found himself staring. Again. God, get it together.
“I’m going to give you one of my personal favorites,” you said, glancing back at him briefly. “I just got these burgundy dahlias that are absolutely spectacular.”
He nodded like that meant anything to him. It didn’t, really. But the way you said it mattered.
“Sounds good.”
Of course it did. Because you said it did.
He watched as you added them to the bouquet, adjusting them slightly—turning one, then another, stepping back just a fraction like you were checking something only you could see. Your lips pressed together in thought for a second before relaxing again, satisfied.
It was such a small thing.
But Nico noticed it—of course he did, because he noticed everything about you, every small, effortless thing that made you seem like the most wonderful person in the world. It wasn’t great, not really, because all that noticing didn’t actually get him anywhere. He was still left standing there, stuck in the same place as always, quietly collecting details that felt important and meaningful and entirely useless all at once.
“Who are they for this time?” you asked.
Your back was still turned to him as you tied the stems together and wrapped the bouquet in the same brown paper you always used. Your little logo consisting of a lily was embossed on it.
“Me, I think.”
Nico, for once, didn’t reach for a lie. He noticed it the second he said it—how tired he was of lying. The words came out in a quiet admission, like he hadn’t fully decided on them until they were already said.
You turned around and pushed a few buttons on the register, gently nodding at what he’d said like it wasn’t any different than all his lies. Then you looked up and tilted your head at him.
You quickly hesitated. That was a little new. You didn’t usually hesitate.
It was subtle. Anyone else might’ve missed it. But Nico had spent an unreasonable amount of time watching you exist. He noticed the way your shoulders shifted, the way your fingers froze on the register for a second too long before continuing.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed about buying flowers for yourself,” you said softly. “I’m not going to judge you.”
Your gaze went back to the register as you spoke, like you were giving him an out.
“I’m not going to judge you. I think it’s sweet,” you added, almost under your breath, like it had slipped out before you could stop it. “A guy wanting fresh flowers on his kitchen table every week.”
“What?” Nico managed to repeat, the confusion he was suddenly feeling slowly starting to settle.
You let out a small laugh, barely audible. Then you glanced up at him, and there was something different there. “You know we’re neighbors, right?” you said, carefully, like you were testing the ground before stepping forward. “I can see the bouquets through my window.”
Nico couldn’t move. He wasn’t even sure he blinked.
The pause that followed wasn’t long, but it stretched. You shifted slightly, like you suddenly felt the need to explain yourself. “Not in a weird way,” you added, too fast. “I just—Our windows face each other, so—” You stopped, cutting yourself off, and for the first time since he’d known you, you looked unsure. Not fully embarrassed, but close enough that it registered.
Nico’s brain, meanwhile, had completely short-circuited. The realization didn’t hit all at once—it stacked, piece by piece, each one worse than the last. You could see his kitchen. The table. The flowers. Every single time he’d stood there, pretending not to look across the courtyard. Also every time he had looked. Every bouquet lined up like quiet, undeniable proof of… something going on.
Holy fuck.
“I—” he started, and immediately stalled out. Nothing followed. He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling sharply, trying to grab onto literally anything that resembled a coherent thought. “I didn’t— I wasn’t—”
What? Spying on you? Lying about dead relatives? Building an entire routine around five-minute conversations he couldn’t get past? Literally pick one and they’re all equally bad.
You misunderstood him instantly.
“I hope you don’t think I’m weird for saying that,” you rushed out, words overlapping with his as you tried to backtrack. “I didn’t mean to—I mean, I did notice, but not like—” You huffed out a small, awkward breath, shaking your head at yourself. “Okay, maybe it is a little weird,” you admitted. “But not in a bad way, I don’t think.”
That somehow made it both better and worse at the same time.
Nico let out a laugh, something in his shoulders loosening despite the absolute chaos still happening in his head.
Because you weren’t calling him out. You weren’t making it into something uncomfortable or exposing. If anything, you were meeting him halfway by admitting you’d seen exactly the thing he’d seen through his window but about him.
Before he could figure out how to respond—how to say anything that didn’t immediately make this worse—you moved on.
“Here,” you said, holding out the bouquet. “Your flowers.”
You saved him from further embarrassment.
He took them automatically, his fingers brushing yours for half a second before pulling back, the contact brief but enough to spark a little.
The bouquet was spectacular, to use your own words. Nico didn’t know what a dahlia was, but they were big and delicate, a deep red color filled out with wispy greenery and small white flowers for the rest of the bouquet.
You were damn good at your job. You made the whole thing feel very intentional. Like it belonged somewhere. Like it belonged on a grand table. His table that you’d seen. More than once. Had you purposely tried to match them to his kitchen?
Nico swallowed, adjusting his grip slightly. “Thank you,” he said.
You nodded quickly, still smiling, hiding awkwardness behind it. “See you around, neighbor.”
He left the shop in a bit of a blur. Not because anything had gone wrong, but because for the first time since this whole thing had started, it didn’t feel like he was stuck in place anymore.
—
By the time Nico got home, it was already dark, the apartment quiet as he stepped inside and kicked off his shoes, still holding the bouquet he set down on the kitchen counter without much thought.
His mind lagged behind him, trying to catch up to what had just happened—how you knew, how you’d known for a while probably, and not just about the flowers but about him, or at least enough to make everything feel suddenly, undeniably closer.
The candle on your table was already lit across the courtyard, as it always seemed to be, a steady presence he never had to search for, even when he pretended not to notice it.
But Nico didn’t look at it. Not right away.
He made himself dinner and cleaned some things around his apartment, all without looking out the windows. Moved through his apartment with a kind of deliberate focus, like if he just stayed busy enough, he wouldn’t have to think about what the fuck all of this meant. Maybe it didn’t mean a thing.
Coming across as needy or intrusive was the least of his intentions.
It wasn’t until later, when he was getting ready for bed, that he finally drifted toward the window. His hand paused on the blinds before he looked out—and there you were, like always.
You were not at the table this time. You were closer, leaning against the windowsill with your arms folded and your head resting lightly on them, gazing out into the courtyard in a way that felt almost deliberate, almost like you were waiting.
Nico stilled, caught for a moment in the quiet of it, and then you looked up, meeting his eyes without hesitation or confusion.You immediately flashed him a little smile and waved your hand daintily.
Nico took an embarrassingly long amount of time to react, but he smiled and waved back. He fell asleep that night with the same stupid smile still stuck on his face.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
It was raining. Not lightly either—proper, relentless rain that soaked through everything within seconds and made the whole courtyard look washed out and gray.
Nico was halfway down the stairs of his building, jacket thrown on, keys in hand, already mentally set for yet another Saturday alone, when the patter of raindrops finally registered. The steady drumming against doors and windows. The way the light outside had dimmed into complete dullness.
Fucking perfect.
He needed groceries, and maybe another bouquet if he found his way past your shop. But his evening was now ruined before he’d even made it to his car.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he glanced out through the glass doors—and paused.
There was someone crossing the courtyard.
A polka dot umbrella tilted against the rain, moving a little too quickly for it to be comfortable. That would be the rain’s doing. The wind pushed at the umbrella, tugging the fabric sideways, and whoever it was adjusted their grip without slowing down.
Nico watched, distracted more by the movement than anything else at first.
Something about it felt familiar.
The way you walked. Slightly forward, like you were always already on your way to the next thing. The shape of your body, your height, and your stance. The way messy strands of your hair were visible peaking out from under your raincoat’s hood.
His brain caught up a second later, but he still didn’t move.
Just stood there, watching as you crossed the last stretch of pavement, stepping up onto the covered entrance with a small, relieved exhale. You shook the umbrella once, careful not to splash too much water everywhere, and closed it swiftly. In the same moment, Nico saw you adjust your grip on a paper-wrapped bouquet.
Of course.
Nico stared as you opened the door to his building and immediately caught sight of him.
You weren’t supposed to be here. Not like this and not anywhere except behind the counter or framed by your kitchen window with that stupid candle burning beside you.
But you were.
You were wearing rain boots—actual rubber rain boots in bright yellow—and your jeans were tucked messily into them, like you’d done it in a hurry. Your jacket looked a little too big, sleeves pushed up just enough to keep them out of the way, and your hair was already a little damp, a few strands sticking to your cheek where the wind had gotten to it.
“Hi,” you said, a little breathless.
“Hi,” Nico said back, which felt wildly insufficient considering the situation.
There was a brief pause where neither of you moved. Rain filled the space instead as the sound filtered in through the door you held open.
“I, um—” you started, shifting your weight slightly. “I figured I could bring these to you.” You held the bouquet out just a little, like you weren’t entirely sure how to present it. “So you wouldn’t have to come to the shop in this weather.”
“You—” he started, then stopped. “You came here for me?”
“Yeah,” you said, like that part was obvious. “It’s not far.”
It was. Well, not far, far—but far enough that no one in their right mind would walk from the store in pouring rain just to deliver flowers to someone who… bought them every week. Oh, right. He did that. And you still believed it was because he liked having fresh-cut flowers at home.
“That’s—” Nico exhaled, a hand automatically going to the back of his neck. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. I just thought, since you always—” You trailed off slightly, like you were suddenly aware of how that sounded. “They’re parrot tulips,” you added instead, lifting the bouquet a little. “Straight from Holland. Kind of a spring special.”
Nico looked down at them. They were tulips, presumably. A little messier than the ones he’d seen before. The petals curled and ruffled in a way that made them look almost unfinished.
“Parrot?” he repeated.
“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “The petals look like feathers. More ruffled than normal tulips.”
You said it like it mattered, like he should care, or that you thought he cared. For a second he almost did, but it was never about the flowers. It was about the way you were explaining them, about the fact that you’d brought them here for him despite the rain.
Something in his chest tightened and shifted, and then, before he could stop himself, he felt everything he’d built up slowly unravel.
“Actually, can I—” Nico started. He hesitated, feeling his mouth go dry as he gambled with what to say next. “Do you want them instead?”
“Why?” you asked, genuinely confused. “Do you not like them?”
“No, no,” Nico said quickly. “They’re beautiful.”
They were. That had never been the problem.
“I just—” he exhaled, running a hand through his hair, already feeling this go horribly wrong. “I don’t really need them.”
You tilted your head slightly. “You don’t?”
“No,” he said, and then, because apparently he had lost all sense of self-preservation, added, “I don’t really want them either.”
There was a brief pause, filled only by the steady sound of rain. You kept staring at him. It didn’t look like he’d offended you, but you were still confused. It made everything just a little worse because your confused little frown was maybe the most adorable expression he’d seen.
“I don’t—” Nico started again, the beginning of a spiral. “I don’t care about flowers. At all.”
Your brows pulled together even more. “Then why do you keep—”
“I’ve been coming to the shop every week because I’ve been trying to ask you out.”
The words dropped between you, heavy and stupidly quick. Even the rain seemed to quiet around you. Nico froze the second he said it, because that had absolutely not been the plan. Not to admit it that directly, anyway.
“And when I obviously failed at that,” he continued, unable to stop himself, “I just bought flowers so I’d have a reason to talk to you.”
Nico stepped back slightly, already cringing. “Oh my god. That sounds—” He cut himself off with a quiet groan. Bad. It sounded bad. “That sounds worse out loud. I’m not—I mean, I am, but not like—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I can just go. Or move out. That’s also an option. I don’t have to live here—”
“Nico.”
He stopped rambling instantly.
You were looking at him with a smile now—a stupid, happy grin, maybe a little smug because you’d finally figured him out.
“Can you stop talking for a second?”
He closed his mouth and nodded once.
The silence that followed wasn’t nearly as unbearable as the one before. You adjusted your grip on the closed umbrella, shifting the bouquet slightly in your other hand as you thought.
“There’s this diner a few blocks away,” you said.
Nico blinked, thrown. What?
“Ruthie’s,” you added. “If you’ve heard of it.” He hadn’t, but he figured it didn’t matter. “They do really good malt milkshakes. And the burgers are kind of insane.”
You paused, then looked back up at him, still stupidly smiling. “Are you busy? Or—” you hesitated just slightly. “Do you want to come with me? Like right now, maybe?”
Rain kept on pouring steadily around you, soaking the pavement and pattering against the building. Nico stood there, brain still catching up, heart doing backflips inside his chest.
“Yes!” he said too quickly, before steadying himself. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
Nico barely heard what you said as you started to talk.
The diner was exactly what you’d promised. Full fifties kitsch—checkerboard floors, chrome details, and red leather booths that stuck slightly to the back of his jacket. There was an old jukebox humming somewhere in the corner and the faint smell of bacon grease and pancake syrup hanging in the air.
It should’ve been distracting—to have all of that around him—but it wasn’t.
Not when you were sitting across from him, damp hair curling slightly at the ends, a warm oversized sweater pulled over your hands as you leaned forward just a little and wrapped your lips around the straw of your vanilla milkshake.
Nico’s brain sizzled like telephone wires.
The maraschino cherry balanced on top disappeared between your lips, and he watched helplessly as you bit down, chewing softly before speaking as if nothing significant had happened at all. As if it hadn't stained your lips a perfect shade of pink.
“So,” you said, and Nico actually managed to listen, “is your aunt actually dead? Or did you come up with lies every time?”
“She’s very much alive,” he said, clearing his throat slightly. “Somewhere in Switzerland.”
You perked up a little. “That’s where you’re from?”
“Yeah. Born and raised.” He shrugged lightly. “Most of them were lies, by the way. Except for one. I did get flowers for a friend’s birthday. I don’t think he appreciated them, but I didn’t lie that time.”
Nico left out the part about Timo’s birthday being in October.
You laughed, it gently slipping out like you couldn’t stop it. “That’s cute.”
He hummed in response, too aware of his own awkwardness to continue digging himself into a hole about it. You either didn’t pick up on it, or you didn’t care. He wondered if you thought you were on level playing fields—as if you’d overstepped the boundary that strangers were supposed to have just as much as he had.
Nico busied himself by taking a bite out of his burger, but not before picking away the slices of pickles that society insisted on putting there. He wasn’t picky enough to ask for them to be excluded, but he thought removing them himself was perfectly normal.
“Wait,” you said, staring at his plate like he’d personally offended you. “You don’t like pickles?”
Nico chewed before explaining. “They’re too tangy.”
Your phone buzzed against the tabletop before you could argue with him. Once. Twice. Then again. Three messages coming in quick succession. You glanced down at it briefly, your expression flickering—something tired passing through it—but you didn’t pick it up.
“You can just say you’re childish, Nico,” you corrected easily, already reaching across the table. “But I will be taking these.”
He watched as you plucked the pickles straight off his plate like you’d been doing it your entire life.
“You can have them,” he said. “But you’re not stealing my fries.”
Your phone buzzed again, and this time you totally ignored it. You popped one of the pickles into your mouth instead, chewing and then proudly grinning at him.
Nico let out a snort, but before he could be embarrassed about it, your phone buzzed a third time. Or technically maybe sixth.
“I’m sorry,” you said, finally reaching for it. “My sister keeps texting me. She’s being a pain in my ass.”
Nico shrugged lightly. “You can answer if you want.”
“No,” you said quickly, muting it. “If I start, I won’t stop.”
You set the phone aside, but your fingers lingered on it for a second longer than necessary, brushing absently over the edge of the screen like you were fully expecting it to light up again within seconds.
It didn’t.
Nico noticed the way your demeanor changed. Your shoulders had tightened just slightly, barely noticeable unless someone was really paying attention, and your gaze dipped for a moment—not avoiding him, but not quite meeting his eyes either.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
You looked up at him, a little surprised. “You want to hear me rant about my sister?”
He leaned back slightly, picking up his chocolate milkshake. “Yeah. Hit me.”
You looked like you studied Nico for a moment, squinting your eyes. Like you were deciding if he meant it or not. But you started talking before he could reassure you again.
“I haven’t talked to her in over a month,” you said, lips twisting into a tight line. “Not properly, anyway. We just keep arguing about the same thing.”
Nico nodded once, letting you continue. He tried to connect the dots, wondering if one of the girls who used to come to your place for Saturday dinners was actually your sister.
“She’s getting married this summer, and she picked out my bridesmaid dress without telling me,” you went on before pausing, exhaling slightly. “Which would be such a non-issue if I were able to be normal about it. Everyone thinks I’m overreacting, but I just—I don’t even know.”
You looked down at your hands instead of looking at Nico. You, crying over a dress in your kitchen, was really starting to make sense to him now.
Your thumb worried at the edge of your cuticle, picking at it absentmindedly, then not so absentmindedly when it caught and stung. Nico could see you wince. He felt a strange, almost overwhelming urge to reach across the table and still your hands. To catch your fingers in his and make you stop. But he didn’t.
“She has this great guy,” you continued, a little quieter. “And she gets to wear our mom’s old wedding dress, and they’re getting married at a sunflower farm, which is just—” You huffed out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Adorable.”
Nico smiled slightly. “Sounds kind of perfect.”
“It is,” you said. “That’s the problem.”
You didn’t hesitate when you said it, but something in your expression shifted right after, like the words had maybe come out a little too honest.
Nico watched you, trying to piece it together. He wasn’t sure he fully understood how something perfect could feel like a problem. But there was something familiar in it anyway—the way things could look so complete from the outside that there didn’t seem to be any space left for you in them.
He sort of felt that way with his own siblings; when they celebrated a milestone of any kind, Nico always wondered when it would be his turn, and what that would even look like.
“She’s deaf,” you added, like you were circling back to something steadier. “And he learned a bunch of sign language before their first date. How disgustingly cute is that?”
Ah. That explained why he’d seen you two sign through the window.
There was a new softness to your voice. Fondness. A little tired maybe, but mostly fond.
“It took him like six months to become fluent,” you continued. “It took me twelve years.”
Nico tilted his head slightly. “Were those your first twelve years alive?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at your mouth. “Maybe.”
“Okay,” he said, holding up his hands slightly. “Then it’s fair.”
You laughed again, freely, like it bubbled up without a way to stop it.
God. He liked that sound a little too much.
“He’s a great guy,” you went on. “They’re going to have this amazing wedding, and I’m—” You gestured vaguely to yourself, hands hovering in the air like you weren’t entirely sure what to do with them. “—busy feeling sorry for myself because she chose a dress I’m not comfortable with. It’s so stupid.”
Nico leaned forward slightly, elbows braced on the table, trying to catch your eye. “What’s wrong with it?”
From his view through the window, it had looked like a pretty standard dress, but he also wasn’t that well-versed in the world of women’s clothing.
He could visibly see you hesitate again. Your mouth opened, then closed again, like you were reconsidering whether you actually wanted to say it out loud. Your shoulders shifted, pulling in just slightly, and then you dumped it all out.
“It’s beautiful,” you said quickly, almost too quickly. “Like—objectively.” You let out a small breath, eyes flicking up to him for half a second before dropping again. “But the straps are super thin, so you can’t wear a bra, and the back is completely open, so all I can think about is how—”
You stopped, the words caught somewhere between your brain and mouth.
Nico frowned slightly, confusion flickering across his face as he waited, not quite sure if you were going to finish the sentence or not.
“How?” he prompted softly.
“How gross my back acne scars look,” you mumbled out in a hurry, as if you said it fast enough he wouldn’t hear it. “See? I told you it was silly. We’ve been arguing for months about nothing.”
You were sitting there, shoulders slightly hunched in on yourself, like you were bracing for him to agree. Like you’d already decided how this sounded out loud and didn’t expect anyone to take it seriously.
Nico didn’t think it was silly, but he didn’t know how to say that out loud.
You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “This is so not a first date conversation. You’re allowed to run away. I’ll even pay for your meal.”
“I’d like to stay,” Nico said immediately.
No hesitation. Absolutely none. You blinked at him in surprise.
“I mean, if that’s okay with you,” he added in recovery.
He saw you relax as he said it. Your shoulders loosened just a little, and the corner of your mouth tipped up in this small, almost shy smile that felt completely different from the easy ones you’d been giving him all night.
It caught Nico off guard, forgetting anything he might’ve wanted to say. He was too busy watching the way your lips puckered around your straw again as you ducked your head just slightly like you were trying to play it off.
“I’ll get over it,” you said after taking a sip, trying to brush it over. “I know I will. I just wish I wasn’t such a… bitch about it.”
“I don’t think you are.” Nico shook his head. “I think you care about her day being perfect,” he continued. “And you can’t really do that if you’re uncomfortable the whole time.”
“Yeah, maybe,” you said. Then with a small exhale, “Can we talk about something else now?”
Nico smiled. “Yeah, of course.”
You both lingered there for a second, the conversation settling between you like something gently folded. You dragged your straw through your milkshake with a soft, hollow sound, eyes flicking briefly to the side like you were searching for something lighter to grab onto. Nico picked at the edge of his napkin, folding and unfolding it without really thinking, giving you the space to shift things without rushing you.
Maybe it was his turn to come up with something.
“Uhm, how’s your hockey thing going?” you asked suddenly, straightening a little.
He blinked. “You know I play hockey?”
“Yeah, I mean,” you said, popping the other pickle slice you'd stolen from him into your mouth, “you learn quite a lot by staring out the window.”
Nico stilled. Right, the windows. If he saw through yours, you saw through his. His brain immediately started flipping through every single morning he’d ever spent in that kitchen like it was trying to pull up security footage. It was embarrassing enough that you’d seen the flower bouquets collecting on his table; what else could you have seen?
Making coffee. Eating at the table. Talking on the phone. Occasionally pacing. Definitely staring out the window like an idiot. He hadn’t done anything inappropriate. No, he hadn’t, right?
He frowned slightly, trying to picture it. There had been mornings where he’d just thrown on sweatpants. Or a shirt. Or… there had definitely been a towel situation once or twice.
Fuck.
His lips curved into a dimpled smile anyway. “What?”
You grinned back. “Your morning ritual of making coffee naked needs to stop, Nico.”
Nico choked on nothing. “What?”
His brain short-circuited again. Because now he was actively trying to remember if there had been a single moment where he’d walked into his kitchen without thinking, half-asleep, not dressed.
Jesus fucking Christ.
You burst out laughing. “That was a joke,” you said quickly. Then paused. “Wait—do you make coffee naked?”
“No,” he said, way too fast. “No, I don’t.”
He definitely didn’t. Probably.
“Okay, good,” you said, nodding. “Or I don’t know if it’s a good thing— Actually, why don’t I keep my mouth shut?”
You exhaled all the air you held inside into a laugh, hiding your face in your hands like you were trying to physically retreat from what you’d just said.
Nico now felt how heat had risen to his cheeks, letting out a soft breath as his shoulders loosened, watching you, the flirty tension easing just enough for him to latch onto something safer.
“I get what you mean, though,” he said. “You can basically see someone’s whole life from those windows.”
He kept it to himself that it was your life he was talking about.
“Oh, absolutely,” you hummed in agreement. “I once saw the lady below you aggressively pick her nose. That was certainly an experience.”
Nico winced. “That’s rough.”
Then you pointed at him, just slightly, like you’d remembered something. “You mostly just sit at your table, though,” you said. “Very mysterious. Annoyingly normal. I couldn’t figure out anything about you at first.”
He shrugged, looking down at the table for a moment. “I don’t think there’s much to figure out.”
“See, I disagree,” you said, leaning forward a little, resting your chin in your hand. “My sister saw you leave once carrying this huge hockey trunk. Like—massive. And her fiancé is a Rangers fan, so they’ve basically been trying to spy on you from my kitchen ever since.”
Nico snorted. “Any luck?”
“None,” you said, smiling. “I haven’t told them you play for the Devils, but she won’t stop talking about how I live next to some hot athlete anyway.”
He tilted his head slightly, watching you a little more closely now. “You think I’m… hot?”
“No. Definitely not.” You didn’t even hesitate. “I only date guys I find repulsive.”
“Perfect,” Nico sighed. “That works out for me.”
Your smile softened at that—just enough that he noticed. He could see through your sarcasm.
“My sister might actually kill me for asking you out without telling her,” you went on, glancing down at your phone for a second before pushing it further away. “If the dress thing doesn’t get me first.”
Nico leaned forward slightly this time, mirroring you without really thinking about it. His hand moved before he could second-guess it, reaching across the table to take yours—warm, a little tentative, but steady once he had it.
“I can keep a secret.”
—
Nico’s cheeks hurt by the time he reached his building.
He hadn’t realized how much he’d been smiling until he was alone again, the night air cooler now, the rain reduced to a soft drizzle that clung to his jacket instead of soaking through it.
He’d walked you to your door. Stood there for way too long. Said goodnight like a somewhat normal person. And then left, like an idiot.
He ran a hand over his face as he climbed the stairs, letting out a quiet breath that turned into something dangerously close to a laugh. He was actually unbelievably bad at this. All of that, and he’d just…walked away.
Nico pushed his door open and stepped inside, toeing off his shoes without much thought, the familiar space of his apartment feeling slightly different. Or maybe that was just him. Because everything felt different.
His phone buzzed in his hand as he was just about to put it down on his hallway table. Nico blinked down at it and saw your name. You had exchanged numbers so maybe he wasn’t as helpless as he felt.
He picked up before it could ring a second time. “Hi.”
“You got home safe?” you giggled from across the line.
Nico snorted out a laugh, shrugging off his jacket. “Yeah. Made the long journey home.”
“Good,” you said. There was a small pause before he heard your voice again. “Can you go to your kitchen?”
Nico stilled slightly, glancing toward the window. “Why?”
“So I can see you.”
That did something irrevocable to Nico. Like his brain tripped over itself, missed a step, and went tumbling straight down a flight of stairs, headed for a place labeled “Oh no, I’m in love now.”
“Okay,” he said, already moving.
He didn’t bother turning on more lights, just walked straight into the kitchen, phone still pressed to his ear as he reached for the edge of the counter.
When he looked out, your window was lit. Of course it was. The candle was there too, flickering softly against the glass, casting everything in that warm, familiar glow he’d spent months pretending not to search for.
And there you were—standing by the window, looking right at him.
“Hi,” you said again, smiling.
“Hi,” he echoed.
For a second, neither of you said anything. You just took each other in, finally, like there was no glass in the way.
“I had a really good time tonight,” you said eventually, your voice still in his ear, even as he watched your lips form the words across the courtyard.
“Yeah,” Nico said. “Me too.”
Then you lifted something slightly into view. The tulips.
“Thank you for these, by the way.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, of course. I’m really good at picking out flowers.”
“Clearly,” you said, amused.
There was another soft pause—the kind that didn’t need to be filled.
Nico leaned back slightly against the counter, still watching you, still half-convinced this wasn’t real. This had to be something he’d made up. Something his brain had come up with after one too many nights staring out the window.
“You know,” you said, tilting your head slightly, “you could’ve kissed me.”
Nico blinked.
For a split second, he was back there again—standing outside your door, rain still clinging to his jacket, your hand lingering just a little too close to his as you said goodnight. He’d thought about it. God, he’d thought about it. The way you’d looked at him, the way neither of you had moved right away—it had felt like something was supposed to happen. Like he was supposed to lean in, close that small, stupid distance. And instead, he’d just… smiled. Said goodnight. Walked away like he hadn’t spent the entire evening staring at your cherry-stained lips.
“I could’ve?”
“Yeah,” you said simply. “I wouldn’t have minded.”
His grip tightened slightly around the phone. Fuck. Good to know.
“I’ll remember that,” he said. “For next time.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
You didn’t hang up right away. Neither did he.
The line stayed open, quiet except for the faint sound of your breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. Nico shifted slightly where he stood, his shoulder brushing the edge of the counter, eyes still fixed on you through the glass.
You hadn’t moved either.
Still standing there, framed by that warm light, the candle flickering softly beside you like it always had—except now it didn’t feel like something distant. It felt close. You felt close. Like he could reach out and touch you if he wanted to.
After a moment, you lifted your hand slightly, giving him a small wave through the window. He mirrored it without thinking. This was ridiculous. Ridiculously perfect.
“Good night, Nico.”
He let out a quiet breath, something easing in his shoulders as he smiled. “Good night, schatz.”
—
What happened after that is probably better left unsaid. Or maybe it’s simple.
You’d stopped spending most of your nights alone. And Nico didn’t have to look out of his window to see you anymore. Most nights, he could just turn over in bed and find you there instead.
Half asleep, wrapped up in one of his shirts, your hair a mess against his pillow. He’d lie awake sometimes, longer than he should, just watching you. Counting your birthmarks. Tracing the shape of your face without touching, like he was still half-afraid you might disappear if he got it wrong.
Other nights, you’d still find your way to the kitchen—whether that was his or yours. Always in front of a candle burning brightly, doodling in a notepad. Sometimes he’d watch you from the doorway, leaning against the frame like he used to lean against his counter. Other times he would join you at the table, borrowing a pencil to hijack your doodling.
“What are you drawing?” he’d ask.
You’d shrug. “Nothing.”
It was never nothing. It was always flowers.
On your sister’s wedding day, he’d been your date.
It was an overwhelmingly beautiful day. Slightly chaotic. Full of too many people, too much laughter, and too many emotions stacked on top of each other until it all burned into a memory strong enough to watch like film in your head.
Sunflowers had stretched endlessly behind the ceremony, glowing gold in the late afternoon light. The kind of setting that didn’t feel real until you were standing in the middle of it, squinting into the sun and trying not to cry.
Nico had watched you the entire time.
Not in a way that anyone else would notice—he’d learned how to be more subtle about it now—but enough that you noticed every time you caught him across the room.
By the time night settled in, the wedding had turned into something looser. Music spilling out across the fields, people barefoot in the grass, ties long abandoned and heels carried instead of worn.
Nico had lost track of you at some point.
You got pulled into conversations, into dances, into hugs that lasted longer than you were comfortable with. Every time he thought about stepping in, someone else was already there, spinning you away again.
So he’d let it happen. Leaning back against the edge of the reception space, watching from a distance. Smiling to himself like an idiot over the most beautiful girl in the room.
He’d found you on the balcony much later, overlooking the fields, where the noise softened into something distant and the night air cooled the lingering heat of the day.
Standing by the railing, arms resting lightly against it, your back to him. The dress dipped low just like you’d said it would, the fabric falling away to expose the skin you’d been so worried about.
Nico had walked up and kissed your shoulder, shrugged off his suit jacket without thinking about it, stepping into your space just enough to drape it gently over you.
Then you’d danced on the balcony, softly to some Beatles song your sister had picked out. Even if she couldn’t hear it, you insisted she liked certain vibrations of music, nylon-stringed guitars, and Lennon & McCartney’s lyrics.
God, he loved you. The words had come easy, spilling from his lips over and over again.
Thank you for reading ◡̈
Please tell me what you think
My ask box is always open!
the difference in performance between female and male athletes has far less to do with physiology and far more to do with the fact that boy athletes get the good coaches and the best ice time slot and the set of baby skates and the girl athletes get to change in the bathroom and to know that this won't be a career for them
Baby, It’s You. | Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader, (feat. Ethan Edwards x Best Friend!Reader)
warnings! enemies to friends to enemies to lovers, angsty, mean!Luke, mentions of drinking, stress, slow burn lol, oh and Luke being a dick.
word count: 25.5k (im so sorry)
summary: You are the sports media intern for the UMich hockey team which is so great because your best friend, Ethan Edwards, plays for the team. However, his friend and your arch nemesis is also on the team and his name is Luke Hughes. He gets the most joy by pestering you without realizing the effects it had on you.
a/n: another lukey fic for you guys! I tried something new by changing up how I typically write Luke and how I wrote this in general and I am so sorry that it is so long and lowkey super repetitive... I wanted to capture the push and pull between them but I think I went overboard. This was my first time writing enemies to lovers so please be nice if it’s actually awful😭 Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!
The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting a sterile glow over the too-white walls with scratches from chairs scraping against the paint a couple of times, and the scuffed linoleum floor of the student athlete resource center. The buzz of the printer echoed in the mostly empty area in addition to the occasional crunching of the paper jamming halfway through the rollers. The place smelled faintly of printer ink, stress, and forgotten coffee cups.
You stood at the front of the print station, one hand clutching onto the edge of the table, the other pressing the Reprint button repeatedly, “I swear, this machine has a personal vendetta against me.”
Ethan Edwards laughed behind you, the sound warm and easy, like it always was with him, “Maybe it just knows you’re not officially on the team and feels threatened.”
You shot him a playful glare over your shoulder, “Hey, I’m helping you with your disaster of a paperwork situation, you should at least be nice.”
He grinned with his expression unbothered, “You're right, I’m sorry. You’re an angel. A queen, and coach would have my head if I forgot to bring in these papers again”
You snorted, rolling your eyes at him, “These forms are the only thing standing between Michigan Hockey and NCAA travel sanctions.”
Ethan leaned on the counter beside you, his Wolverines jacket slightly rumpled, a half-empty shaker bottle in one hand. His eyes were crinkled at the corners from laughing too much. You’d met him in Sport Management 101 your first semester of college. He’d been one of the only athletes who actually participated in discussion and didn’t act like the class was a punishment. You’d bonded over a shared love for Canadian sports teams, given that you two are both from Canada. He was the kind of friend who texted you links to ridiculous sports Instagram posts at 2 a.m. and brought you a spare umbrella when the forecast betrayed you. Ethan never tried to be more than your friend, never crossed a line, and in a major where networking often blurred into flirting, that made him gold.
“You still owe me for this,” You said, stacking the semi-wrinkled waivers into a neat pile.
He nodded, “A week of bagels, I know. I’m thinking cinnamon sugar. Toasted. Maybe with a cold brew as a chaser?”
You handed him the last sheet with an amused smile, “And this is why you’re my favourite.”
“Tell that to Luke,” Ethan mumbled under his breath. You stiffened slightly at the mention of his name, but before you could reply, the door swung open with a squeak of the hinges.
Speaking of the actual devil, Luke Hughes walked in, dragging the sharp chill of the fall air with him. His team hoodie clung to his frame, still damp from sweat. His skates were slung over his shoulder by the laces, the metal blades clinking faintly with each step. His curly hair was a mess of dark blonde, his jawline sharp, his eyes sharper.
His eyes landed on you instantly, and his expression shifted from neutral to unmistakably irritated in a split second.
“Oh,” He said flatly, “It’s you.”
You didn’t even flinch, “Unfortunately.”
He turned to Ethan, “You ready? Coach is losing his mind about ice time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ethan replied, picking up the forms that you had stacked up for him, “We’re good. She helped me print them.”
Luke glanced at the stack in your hands, then at you, eyebrows arching like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “Didn’t know they taught you how to print in sport management.”
“Didn’t know they taught you how to be a dick in hockey, I guess we’re both learning new things today,” You shot back with your eyebrows raised.
Ethan shifted his weight uncomfortably, clearly sensing the growing tension, “Okay, cool. I love this banter. Let’s… save this energy for the game tomorrow, Hughesy.”
You took a step forward, plopping the stack of papers in Ethan’s hands a little harder than necessary, “Here, good luck with whatever this season turns into.”
You were halfway out the door when Luke’s voice followed you, as smooth and smug as ever, “You know, some of us are actually going places.”
You stopped in your tracks and slowly, you turned around to face him. He was still leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world, arms crossed, half-grin playing at the corners of his mouth.
“My skills come naturally, y’know,” He said. “It’s basically genetic, like my brothers both play in the NHL and I’m already drafted. So while I’m signing pro contracts, you’ll be figuring out how to pay off your student loans for the next ten years.”
The words landed like a slap. But instead of backing down, you met his eyes and smiled sweetly.
“Wow,” You scoffed, “Was being an asshole also mandatory when getting drafted? Or is that just the online hype getting to your head?”
Something flickered in his expression, barely noticeable. You didn’t wait for him to answer, you turned on your heel and walked out, letting the heavy door swing closed behind you.
Outside, the crisp late September air bit at your cheeks, but you welcomed it. Anything to clear the residue of Luke Hughes off your skin. He was the only person who could make a hockey rink feel like a battlefield.
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
You hadn’t meant to walk past Yost.
The smart thing would’ve been to take the long way around, down State Street, away from the thick smell of rubber pucks, melting ice, and testosterone. But your marketing lecture had let out early, and your shortcut to your apartment required you to go straight through the arena’s lobby.
The glass doors creaked as you pushed them open. Inside, the air was cooler, the walls were lined with black-and-white photos of championship teams and action shots of hockey legends frozen in time, and Luke Hughes among them, of course.
You kept your eyes down, footsteps quiet on the slick floor. The rink was alive behind the glass, with players slicing across the ice, barked instructions from a coach echoing off the boards. The clatter of sticks and skates blended with the distant hum of the Zamboni, like the building was vibrating with movement.
You were halfway across the lobby when a familiar voice cut through the static.
“Hey,”
Your shoulders tensed before you even turned around. He leaned against the wall just outside the locker room, damp curls sticking to his forehead, sleeves of his Michigan hoodie pushed up his forearms. He looked like he’d just walked off the ice, and right back into your personal space.
You paused, “Don’t you have calls to argue about or something?”
He grinned, all sharp edges and irritating confidence, “I was hoping you’d swing by. Wanted to thank you for earlier, your printing skills were truly elite.”
You tilted your head slightly, “You’re still hung up on that? You must be exhausted from all the grudges you’re carrying.”
Luke pushed off the wall with lazy ease, “Not a grudge. Just a public service. Thought I’d give you a little reality check before your delusions got out of hand.”
You blinked, stunned by the sheer nerve of him, “Excuse me?”
“You act like you’re some rising exec by being in sports management,” He said, stepping closer, “But let’s be honest, you hang around the team like it’ll magically get you somewhere. Like it’s just your golden ticket to the press box, or maybe to dating someone on the roster.”
Your pulse pounded in your ears, “I’m in this program because I actually want a career in sports,” You snapped with your voice low, “Not that I owe you an explanation.”
Luke raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered, “Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“You think being drafted makes you untouchable. But you’re just another kid with a big name coasting on your back.”
That landed. You saw it, the moment his jaw clenched slightly. His smirk dipped for half a second. But then it was back,
“Don’t act like you know me,” He told you with his voice firm
“Oh, believe me, I don’t want to,” You shot back, “But unfortunately, you keep making that impossible.”
“Wow. You guys really going for Round Two today?” Ethan appeared at the end of the hallway, his hair still wet from a post-practice shower. He looked between you and Luke like he’d just walked into the middle of a fight he hadn’t agreed to referee.
Luke stepped back, his eyes still locked on yours, “Just offering her some career advice.”
“Yeah,” You muttered, brushing past him, “Let me know when you’re finally qualified to give it.”
You pushed through the exit doors, cold air hitting your face in an instant, wind threading through your hair like ice. It wasn’t just that Luke was rude. It was that he saw you and chose to treat you like you didn’t belong. Like your ambition was cute but pointless. Like you’d never belong in the world of sports.
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
You stood near the long folding table by the windows, clipboard in one hand, your other hand rifling through a pile of jerseys that weren’t in the right order. Your hair kept falling in your face, sticking slightly from the humidity that rose with the sheer body heat in the room. You pushed it back absently, scanning the team media schedule you’d printed that morning.
Behind you, Ethan Edwards was laughing at something one of the freshmen players had said, but he still caught your eye every few minutes to make sure you were doing okay. You appreciated that about him, how he always managed to make sure you didn’t feel like just background noise.
He wandered over to you between photoshoots, “You surviving the chaos?”
You laughed lightly, “Barely, they keep knocking the sponsor signs off the walls. I’ve re-taped the same Tim Hortons logo four times.”
“Honestly, you’re the only reason this thing is running at all,” Ethan said, peeling the backing off a fresh name tag and handing it to you, “They should put you on payroll.”
You shrugged, “It’s just part of the internship, it helps my resume.”
“Still, you didn’t have to stay this late, I thought you’d be long gone by now.”
You smiled at that, “You said you wanted to hang out after, remember? I figured I’d earn it first by helping out your team”
Ethan looked like he was about to say something else but then the locker room door swung open with a solid thud, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Luke Hughes walked in, late as always. His shoulder pads still on beneath his school-branded jersey, a helmet tucked under one arm. His cheeks were flushed from the cold of the rink, and his eyes landed on you almost immediately.
Something in his posture changed, but you didn’t look away. Luke’s gaze dragged across the room, and then his voice cut through the chaos, smooth and loud enough to turn heads, “Oh. She’s still around? I thought she would’ve made other friends by now.”
The words floated in the air for a second too long. Your heart dropped and you froze, caught in that horrible space between wanting to say something and not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten under your skin.
A few of the guys laughed awkwardly, but most went quiet.
Ethan’s face dropped instantly. “Hughesy, chill dude.”
Luke shrugged as started unlacing his skates, completely unaffected.
You tried to brush it off, and try not to let the tears build up in your eyes. But the room suddenly felt too loud, too bright, too small.
“I should just go,” You said quietly to no one in particular as you quickly wiped the threatening tears away from your eyes while you shoved your things into your bag.
“No, hey,” Ethan stepped between you and the doorway with his hand out, “No stay, c’mon you said you’d hang out today.”
“Maybe on your walk back, you can meet some girls you can actually be friends with,” Luke chirped without looking at you, “Then you’ll have someone to hang out with instead of showing up here every day.”
Silence fell again but this time, no one laughed. Not even Mark, who normally matched Luke’s sarcasm beat for beat, looked down at his phone and said nothing.
You felt your throat tighten as you clutched the strap of your bag, “I just—” You started, barely holding your voice steady, “I should go… I’m sorry Eddy, maybe another time.”
You shoved the clipboard you held gently into Ethan’s chest and turned toward the hallway, footsteps echoing too loud in the silence that followed. You didn’t hear Luke say anything else, though whether he actually stopped or you just blocked him out, you weren’t sure.
Ethan caught up with you a few seconds later, his brows furrowed with a mix of concern and quiet frustration. You shook your head at him, biting the inside of your cheek hard enough to sting.
“Are you okay?” He asked softly
You looked up at him, “I’m really sorry, Eddy. I just… I don’t want to be there if I’m not welcome. I don’t get why he’s still acting like this,” You told him before you paused as your voice cracked slightly, “It’s been over a year. I was hoping he’d drop the bit by now.”
Ethan sighed, running his hand through his hair, “Me too. I thought he had.”
You crossed your arms, hugging yourself without realizing it, “I don’t even care that he doesn’t like me, but I know that I don’t deserve to be humiliated in front of half the team.”
“You don’t,” Ethan’s jaw tightened, “And if he says anything like that again, I’ll call him out harder.”
“I don’t want you to fight my battles,” You told him gently, still trying to hold onto your pride, “I just want to do my job and not feel like I’m a joke for showing up.”
Ethan nodded, like he understood on a level deeper than just sympathy.
You took a breath, mainly to steady yourself, “Thanks for coming after me.”
“Always,” He said with a gentle squeeze to your shoulder, “You’re not alone in this.”
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
The post-media day haze settled like a fog over the house as each of the boys slowly walked in, dropping their hockey bags by the door. A half-eaten pizza box lay open on the coffee table, the TV screen glowed with some muted sports replay, and the clatter of video game controllers had faded into nothing. The guys were around, with some on their phones, others talking in low voices, but for once it wasn’t loud.
He hadn’t said a word since you left Yost. Not when Ethan went after you with that look on his face. Not when Mark gave him that sharp, disappointed shake of the head. Not when no one cracked a joke to break the tension in the media room.
He sat slouched at the end of the couch, bouncing his knee, a lukewarm Gatorade bottle clutched in one hand. The kind of silence that stretched on too long had always made him feel itchy, like he was standing on a sheet of thin ice, and everyone else could hear it cracking but him.
God, what the hell had he said? He reflected on how the words had come out fast, too fast. That smug, sharp tone that always cut too deep when he let it. He hadn’t meant it the way it landed. Except maybe he had.
The front door opened, cool night air slipping in as another one of his housemates entered the house. He heard them shut it behind themselves with more force than necessary. The guys kept their heads down, Luke didn’t look up until Ethan dropped into the chair across from him.
“You seriously need to cut the shit,” Ethan told him, his voice wasn’t loud, but there was an edge in it and disappointment. A lot of it.
Luke exhaled, slow and heavy, “It was a joke.”
Ethan’s laugh was empty, “You think that was funny?” He asked, “Making her feel like garbage in front of everyone?”
Luke shrugged, jaw tight, “She doesn’t need you to defend her. She gives it back just fine.”
“Yeah, she does. But that’s not the point, Luke,” Ethan leaned forward as elbows pressed onto his knees, “You don’t get it, do you?”
Luke didn’t answer and Ethan continued to stare at him, “You think she’s just some girl hanging around the team for fun?”
“She’s always around,” Luke mumbled, with a roll of his eyes, “It’s not like-”
“She’s around because she’s doing work,” Ethan snapped, “The kind of work no one thanks her for. The kind of work that makes our lives easier.”
Luke blinked, clearly taken aback from Ethan’s tone.
“You ever filled out a compliance form? Coordinated team travel with six guys forgetting to turn in their info? Talked to a professor to help get someone excused from a class for away games?” Ethan’s voice rose, “No? Because she does all of that. Quietly. Without complaint.”
Luke opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“She goes to class, works a part-time job, handles internship stuff, runs media days, helps keep the coaching staff sane, and still finds time to show up and support this team more than half of the people getting scholarships to play here.”
Luke stared at the floor, his throat dry and his fingers fumbling with the silicon bracelet that surrounded the rim of his gatorade bottle.
“And you treat her like she’s in the way,” Ethan’s voice had dropped to a low tone, “Like she’s some annoying fan who doesn’t belong.”
A beat passed, then Ethan added, “She told me the other day she thinks you hate her.”
Luke sat back further into the couch cushions. He hadn’t realized she thought that, but he remembered the look on her face from earlier. The way her voice cracked when she said she should just go. The look in her eyes when she apologized to Ethan, like she was the one at fault. Like he hadn’t just dragged her down in front of the entire team for a quick laugh.
“I don’t hate her,” Luke said, but even to his own ears, it didn’t sound convincing.
“Then what is it?” Ethan asked, softer now, “Because if you like her, you’ve got the worst way of showing it. And if you don’t, then why can’t you leave her the hell alone?”
Luke didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to explain the way something in him twisted up whenever he saw you laughing with the guys, how he hated that it felt like you fit in better than he did sometimes. That you didn’t carry the weight he did, of the Hughes name, the fourth overall draft pick, the spotlight, and still shined like it came naturally. Like you didn’t have to try.
That when you looked at him, he couldn’t tell if you saw Luke Hughes, third brother, NHL-bound golden boy... or just Luke, who didn’t know what the hell he was doing half the time.
“She didn’t want to make it awkward,” Ethan told him, “She just wanted to help and you made her feel like an inconvenience.”
Luke looked up from his lap to his friend who was already staring back at him.
“You’re gonna go pro,” Ethan continued as he kept his voice gentle, “You’ve got everything lined up. But if you keep pushing people like her away, you’re going to get there and find out you lost something way more important.”
And with that, Ethan stood and walked down out of the living room, his footsteps fading up the stairs and into his bedroom. Luke sat in his same position on the couch, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor as he thought back to your interactions that day.
You didn’t go to the rink the next day, you didn’t even leave your apartment. Your desk lamp was the only source of light in the room, casting a warm glow across your cluttered desk, dimly lighting over your half-finished notes. Outside the window of your bedroom, morning had come and gone, unnoticed. The sky was overcast, soft and heavy with the threat of rain and occasionally, wind rattled the loose pane in the top corner of the glass.
You pulled your sweatshirt tighter around your frame with your legs tucked beneath you in the chair by your desk. One hand rested on your trackpad, aimlessly scrolling through your mock proposal for University of Michigan Sports and Athletics’ Management Department though you hadn’t read a word of what you have written in the past twenty minutes.
It didn’t matter. You couldn’t focus. Not after yesterday. Your mind drifted back to the locker room, the scuffed tile floors, the sharp tang of sweat and men’s deodorant in the air, the echo of camera shutters, of laughter that didn’t feel like it included you. And then, his voice. That perfectly timed jab that landed like a punch to the chest, right in front of everyone.
“Oh she’s still around? I thought she would’ve made friends by now.”
You hadn’t said anything. Just laughed awkwardly, a fragile sound that cracked at the edges.
And then you left, before your throat could fully close and before anyone could see your face fall.
You were drawn out of your trance when your phone buzzed for the third time that morning.
Ethan :) : Hey, you good?
Ethan :) : We’re doing promo photos. You usually run the form chart, remember?
Ethan :) : Melanie said you haven’t been in all day, where are you?
You bit your lip, staring at the screen, thumb hovering. The memory of Luke’s smirk flickered in your mind, rather than responding to Ethan like you usually did, you opted to turn your phone facedown. Let them figure it out without you for once.
The air in your room felt heavier than usual, like it hadn’t been moved in hours. Maybe it hadn’t. You hadn’t opened a window and you didn’t shower in the morning like normal. The coffee from this morning was still sitting in the mug beside your laptop, now cold and untouched.
It wasn’t just the embarrassment that was chewing away inside of you. It was the accumulation. You’d worked your ass off all freshman year to prove you could hang in the sport management world, especially one so saturated with guys who either underestimated you or overestimated your interest in them. But you did it. You'd navigated the politics of team culture, built trust, juggled fifteen-hour weeks between your classes and your assignments, and somehow made it all work.
And still, with just one careless comment, Luke Hughes had managed to reduce all of that to nothing. Like you were just there, tagging along, tolerated but not wanted. Worse, no one really stood up for you. Even Ethan, who you knew meant well, had tried to smooth it over like it was just Luke being Luke. It wasn’t some harmless teasing joke anymore, not when it had chipped away at your confidence, your joy, and your reason for showing up.
You exhaled shakily and clicked to your email inbox. One new message notification.
From: Coach
Email Subject: Missed you at the rink, everything alright?
Hey Y/N. Noticed that you didn't show up today for team photos. Just checking to see if you're alright.
You hesitated, your fingers hovering over your keyboard as you debated your options. You could lie and say you had a midterm or caught the flu. Something they’d believe, no questions asked. Instead, your fingers typed something honest.
From: Y/N
Email Subject: Re: Missed you at the rink, everything alright?
Hi Coach. Would it be possible to reassign me from hockey media duties for a few weeks? I think it might be good to rotate to another varsity team. I’m happy to take on football or rugby if coverage is needed. — Y/N.
You stared at the blinking cursor for a moment before pressing send while inhaling sharply, within seconds, a response message appeared in your inbox
From: Coach
Email Subject: Re: Missed you at the rink, everything alright?
Understood. Thanks for the heads-up. We’ll switch you to football for now. Hope all is well.
You leaned back in your chair, your eyes still glued to the email as you tried to accept your changing reality.
Outside, the wind finally delivered on its promise. Rain began tapping against the window in soft, uneven rhythms. First as a drizzle, then steadily, soaking the glass and blurring the view of North Campus in watercolor streaks.
You watched students walk by on the sidewalks in front of your house, each under umbrellas, some sprinting for cover, some strolling like they had nowhere to be. Each of them moving, existing, belonging. And you? You felt frozen and stuck in a space you had once loved, now made hollow by one boy’s casual cruelty.
Your phone vibrated against your desk again.
Ethan :) : Wasn’t the same without you today.
Ethan :) : Let me know if you want to talk.
You stared at his text message, you sighed and typed out a reply, deleted it, and tried again.
You: Hey. Sorry I’ve been off. Yesterday just kind of… sucked.
You didn’t know what else to say to Ethan, and Ethan, ever the fast replier, his response came.
Ethan :) : Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, he was way out of line. I talked to him last night.
Ethan :) : You didn’t deserve that, okay?
You closed your eyes and you wished you could believe him. You wished the ache in your chest didn’t twist tighter at the thought of walking back into that locker room, or bumping into Luke in the hallway, or sitting next to players who had laughed but said nothing.
So instead, you stayed wrapped in your hoodie, feet curled beneath you, fingers tracing the rim of your forgotten coffee cup. You opened your planner and started filling in blocks with highlighters, pretending that color-coded to-do lists were enough to restore control, but you found yourself staring blankly at the pages. And for the first time in a while, you let yourself cry.
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
The locker room had long emptied out, but Luke stayed in his locker with his phone in hand as he texted his brothers. His curls were sticking to the back of his neck and his hoodie was draped over his lap. The air reeked of sweat and stale Gatorade, the blinding lights above casting their dim yellow tinge that made everything look more tired.
He didn’t know why he hadn’t left yet, even though he was certain that his teammates and housemates had already gone back. Just that something about the silence tightened the knot in his chest. Then he heard Ethan’s voice from down the hall, “Hey, hey, slow down. I can barely hear you.”
His tone was unfamiliar, nothing like the playful Ethan that Luke was used to hearing. His voice was gentle but strained. Luke sat up straighter.
Ethan was near the coaches’ offices, standing in that narrow hallway with his phone pressed tight to his ear. His back was to the wall, shoulders slightly hunched like your voice on the other end of the call might crack if he breathed too loud.
Luke didn’t need to ask who he was talking to, he already knew.
Your name wasn’t said. It didn’t have to be. There was a trembling edge in Ethan’s voice, and in the silence between his words, Luke could hear you sniffling, breathing in those tiny hitched gasps that meant you were crying and trying not to be and something cold twisted in his gut.
“Where are you right now?” Ethan asked you, there was a pause that was filled with silence. Luke looked away. He hated himself for listening, hated himself even more for wanting to, “You don’t have to apologize, alright? You’ve done so much for us, hell, we’d be lost without you half the time.”
Another pause, “I mean it. None of the guys know what you're juggling. You show up early, stay late, you handle everything. And you never ask for anything in return.”
Luke’s heart dropped like a stone in his chest. He had noticed those things, every one of them. He’d noticed how you always showed up to the rink earlier than anyone, laptop in hand, hair still wet from your morning shower. How your shoulders stiffened every time the locker room doors opened and you had to brace for whatever mess someone left for you. He noticed how you never complained. How you always figured it out and he’d respond with sarcasm and smug little digs, like an idiot.
Ethan’s voice was quieter, “I'm coming to get you, okay? Just tell me where you are.”
Luke turned slightly, just enough to glance around the corner and that’s when Ethan saw him. The glare he sent felt like a slap. It wasn’t fury. It was disappointment, deeper and sharper than anger ever could be.
Ethan shifted the phone slightly away from his mouth, “You hear that?” He asked him, “She’s crying right now because of the way she’s been treated around here.”
Luke couldn’t breathe and his jaw remained clenched. Ethan stepped forward, voice rising just enough to slice through the stillness, “You think this is just some joke? That teasing her is funny? You think she didn’t show up today for no reason?”
Luke opened his mouth, but the words dried up before they formed.
“She skipped today. Reassigned herself to another team,” Ethan snapped, “And I don’t blame her.”
He looked Luke up and down, shaking his head, “You have no idea what she gives up for us. She stays late editing your goddamn interviews. She helps organize schedules, puts out fires we start, reminds guys about deadlines we all ignore. She makes this entire operation work, and you make her feel like a fucking joke.”
Luke couldn’t look him in the eye because every word was true.
“You act like you’re the only one under pressure. Like your problems are heavier than everyone else’s. And maybe they are. But that doesn’t give you the right to treat her like she’s beneath you,” Ethan stepped toward the door now, phone back to his ear, “I don’t know what your problem is,” He mumbled, half to himself,
“But if this is how you treat someone who gives a shit about you… maybe you’re not the guy I thought you were.” Ethan told Luke firmly as he threw his letterman jacket over his shoulder and grabbed his bag. He headed out of the locker room and gave one last look over his shoulder, “You want to be a leader? Then stop pretending you don’t care now that she’s gone.”
And then he left. Luke sank back into his locker, the weight in his chest collapsing in on itself like an implosion. Your voice, choked and quiet, haunted the edges of his memory.
The house was silent with your roommates out for the night. You sat curled up in the corner of your couch, knees tucked close to your chest, a throw blanket draped over your shoulders like some kind of protective armor. The tears had come and gone, leaving your eyes dry and sore. Every time you blinked, you felt the sting of regret, the regret that you couldn’t just brush it off. The way Luke had treated you, the way he’d smiled with that arrogant little tilt of his head. You had almost convinced yourself it didn’t matter. That it didn’t hurt.
But it did.
A soft knock on your door jolted you from your thoughts. You didn’t even have to check the time to know it was Ethan. It had been twenty minutes since you’d hung up with him, and you could feel the weight of his concern lingering even through the distance between your two worlds.
You stood, letting the blanket fall from your shoulders, and walked over to the door. Your legs felt heavy, like they weren’t entirely your own as you unlocked the door.
Ethan stood there, the cool night air behind him, carrying the faint scent of rain. His eyes softened when he saw you, his brows pulling together in a way that made your chest tighten. He looked like he was trying to keep it together, just like you had been trying to do.
"Hey," he said, his voice gentle but firm, like a steady hand reaching through the chaos, "I’m here."
You nodded, stepping back so he could enter. The door clicked softly behind you, sealing you both inside the small, dimly lit home. Ethan didn’t waste time. He walked toward the couch and when he sat down beside you, the space between you felt vast despite how close he was.
“Are you okay?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid the wrong question would send you further into yourself. You wanted to lie, to say you were fine, but you couldn’t at least not to him. You shook your head, not trusting your voice. Instead, you wrapped your arms tighter around your knees, curling into yourself.
The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that felt like understanding, like Ethan knew you didn’t need words right now, just presence. He’d always been that way, a friend who could sit with you in your mess without expecting you to explain.
After a few minutes, Ethan sighed deeply, and when he spoke again, his words were measured, like he’d been holding them back for a while.
“Listen… I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but you need to hear it.” He hesitated as you glanced at him, his gaze steady but full of something else. Worry? Pain? You weren’t too sure, but it made your throat tighten.
“I hate seeing you like this,” He told you, “I hate seeing you put yourself last just to clean up our messes. You’ve been doing that for way too long.”
You blinked, unsure of how to process his words. You weren’t sure if you’d ever heard him talk like this. Ethan continued, his voice growing more intense, “You take care of everyone else, Luke, Mark, all of us. But who takes care of you when you’re the one falling apart?”
The truth of it hit you hard, but you couldn’t let him see that. You didn’t want to seem weak, especially not now, “I’m fine, Ethan,” You said, your voice shaky but trying to sound confident, “I’m just tired.”
His eyes softened, and he shook his head lowly, “No, you’re not and you’re burning out, and I can’t stand watching you do that to yourself.”
You swallowed thickly, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay. But they were there, just below the surface, and you could feel them threatening to spill again.
“Luke…” you started, your voice soft and shaky, but you couldn’t finish.
Ethan didn’t interrupt. He just looked at you, his gaze understanding, “He’s an idiot, you know that, right? You deserve better than that. You deserve someone who doesn’t make you feel like you’re invisible just because you’re not on a damn hockey rink. You’re smart, you’re hardworking, and you matter.”
The truth in his words, the way he said them like they were facts, made something break inside you. You looked down at your hands and holding your tears back,
“He’s not a bad guy,” You whispered, your voice so small you barely recognized it, “He just... he doesn’t see me, Ethan. Not really.”
Ethan’s face softened, his hand reaching out to gently pull your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, “He does see you, but he’s too scared to admit it.”
You blinked up at him, confusion and disbelief swirling in your chest, “What do you mean?”
He sighed, running a hand across his jaw, frustration flickering across his features, “Luke doesn’t know how to handle someone like you.” His words came slowly, as if he was trying to choose them carefully, “He’s not used to people who don’t fit into his world of high expectations and constant pressure. You’ve got it all together in ways he never will and that makes him uncomfortable. So he pushes you away,”
You opened your mouth, but Ethan quickly cut you off.
“I know you think it’s you, but it’s not. It’s him, okay? He’s the one who’s scared.”
Your chest tightened at the weight of his words. For the first time, you wondered if maybe it had never been about you. Maybe it was always about him. You took a deep breath, the air feeling thicker now. You had no idea what the next step was, or if there even was one.
Ethan’s eyes softened as he watched you, his hand still resting lightly on yours and giving your hand a reassuring squeeze, “You don’t have to do this alone,” He told you softly,. “I’ve got your back. I always will.”
You squeezed his hand back, grateful for his unwavering presence, but still, part of you wished you could just step away from the mess of it all.
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
The sound of your phone buzzing on the table in the library barely registered at first. You were focused, as always, on the pile of work in front of you. A mix of emails, assignments, and team-related documents from the last few days had kept you buried in your thoughts. But when your phone buzzed again, the name that flashed across the screen made your stomach twist.
Luke.
You stared at the message for a long moment before reluctantly tapping on the notification. It wasn’t the first time he had tried to reach out, but the sting from his words and actions still hurt you enough to make you not want to reply.
Luke Hughes: Can we talk? I’m sorry. I really need to say something. Meet me at the rink?
You didn’t know what you expected, but something about seeing him try made you hesitate. But the words that followed weren’t what you had hoped for. They felt like empty promises. And you had spent far too much time dealing with apologies that came too late.
You typed back a quick reply before you could talk yourself out of it.
You: Fine. But I’m not sure there’s anything left to say.
He stood at the edge of the rink, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, the cold air nipping at his face. The glow from the bright lights above reflected off the ice, casting a soft sheen on everything below. His gaze flickered back toward the entrance, where you were supposed to meet him. His heart pounded, he wasn’t too sure why, but the weight of this conversation felt heavier than any game he had ever played.
It wasn’t like him to apologize. It wasn’t even something he was good at, but Ethan’s words had been haunting him for the past few days, replaying in his mind with every mistake he’d made, every moment he had taken for granted. If there was one thing he knew about himself, it was that he was good at running away from his problems.
When you walked into the rink, your face was hard to read. The walls you’d built up around yourself were even stronger now, like you were trying to make it clear that you didn’t even want to be there. You stopped a few steps away from him, arms crossed over your chest, your eyes studying him with an unreadable expression.
"I’m here," You said flatly, your voice echoing slightly in the large space of the rink, "So say what you need to say."
Luke swallowed, trying to push the lump in his throat down, trying to find the words that he had been avoiding, "I—" He paused, running a hand over his face, "I’m sorry. For everything. The way I’ve treated you. The way I’ve acted. I know I’ve been a complete asshole,"
He looked at you, trying to read your reaction, but your face remained neutral, like you were shutting him out, guarding yourself from getting hurt again. It made his chest tighten. You didn’t immediately respond. Instead, you let out a slow breath, your arms uncrossing, but your body language was still closed off. You stared at him, your eyes full of something he couldn’t quite place, maybe it was the look of hurt.
"You’re sorry," You repeated, your voice calm but with an edge that made him wince, "That’s great, but I’ve heard it before and I’m tired of hearing it."
Luke flinched, the words landing harder than he expected, "I know I’ve said it before, but," He took a step toward you, "This time I mean it. I don’t want you to think I don’t care, because I do. I just-"
You cut him off before he could continue, and your words stung like a slap across the face, "Have you ever thought that maybe not all people care about sports? Some of us care about more important things in life. Family. Friends. And working to support our living. Not everyone has the luxury of being able to screw up and have everything handed to them because they’re good at a stupid game."
Luke blinked, clearly stunned by your words and for a moment, he couldn’t find a way to respond. All of his usual defenses like the sharp retorts and the sarcastic comebacks felt useless.
You shook your head, the cold rink air swirling around you, "I’ve been doing this for so long, Luke. Watching you walk around like the world owes you something, pushing me to the side like I don’t matter. But you don’t get to just pull me back in with an apology, I’ve spent enough time trying to make myself fit into your world, only for you to push me away again."
His chest constricted as you spoke, each word feeling like a blow to the gut. He had always seen you as strong, independent, someone who could handle anything thrown her way. But hearing you say those words, he realized he had never really seen the pressure you were under, the sacrifices you had made just to keep everything in balance.
"I’m sorry," He told you again, the words coming slower now, "I was an idiot. I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. Hell, I don’t even deserve it, but I want to make it right. If you’ll let me."
The air between you and Luke felt colder than the rink’s steel beams above you. Luke’s apology lingered in the space between you, but the bitterness you had carried for so long wouldn't let you accept it. You shook your head, staring at the frozen surface beneath your sneakers, your arms once again wrapped tightly across your chest. If you let yourself believe him this time, if you let your guard down even a little, you’d be putting yourself at risk. And you couldn’t do that anymore.
"I don’t know why you expect me to believe that, Luke" You said to him, "You’ve apologized before, and you’ve said the same damn thing before, and look where it’s gotten us. You never change."
You looked up at him, your gaze hard, "It’s exhausting. Always waiting for you to actually do something to prove it but you never do, so why should this time be any different?"
Luke opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. The anger and regret mixed into something like desperation as he took a hesitant step toward you, "I get it and you should feel that way because I’m the one who’s messed up, and I’m the one who has to fix it. But please," He hesitated while his eyes searched your face, "Give me a chance. I will prove it this time."
“I don’t know, Luke,” You whispered, your voice softer now, the walls you had built around yourself slowly starting to crack, “I just don’t know.”
The silence stretched between you both, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. But then, just as you thought you were about to leave the conversation behind you, Luke’s voice broke the quiet.
“Please,” Luke said with a gentle tone, “At least come back to the team. It’s not the same without you. The team misses you. I miss you.”
You could hear the genuine plea in his voice, but even then, it didn’t sway you easily, “I don’t know if I can, Luke. It feels… complicated now.” You shifted your weight, “It’s not just about me being there for you anymore. I need to take care of my own priorities.”
“I get that,” Luke replied, stepping closer, “But you’re not just some background figure. You’ve always been a part of the team, and it’s weird without you there. I miss working with you, with everything you do for the guys. It’s not the same without you.”
You stared at him and despite yourself, you felt a small flicker of something, something like warmth, something like a reminder of the bond you once shared. But it was buried beneath so many layers now, so many wounds, that it felt almost impossible to touch.
“I don’t know, Luke. I just… I need some time.” Your words were softer now, quieter, but no less firm. “I don’t know if I can just pick up where we left off like nothing’s happened.”
Luke took another step, just a fraction closer, and his eyes softened with understanding. “I don’t expect you to, I know I’ve lost your trust but I just want to make it right.”
You looked down at your feet, the weight of his words pressing against you like a physical force. Maybe, just maybe, you could give him a chance, but you weren’t ready to let him back in just yet, “Let me think about it, okay?” You said quietly before turning toward the door.
He nodded, the silence between you both growing heavy again before you pushed past the glass doors and started heading home for the night.
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
You hadn’t expected to feel so out of place, but the moment you stepped back into the team’s office for your internship, it was like you had never left. The familiar hum of printers, the clutter of gear bags stacked in corners, the whiteboards covered in tactical diagrams, it all looked the same. But the atmosphere felt a little different now, like everyone was walking on eggshells around you.
Ethan and Mark were the first to notice you walk in, their heads snapping up from their conversation as if they had been waiting for you to return. Ethan’s face immediately broke into a smile, his expression clearly thrilled that you decided to come back rather than work with the football team. Mark, on the other hand, gave you a short nod, his eyes scanning the room before landing on you with a protective, almost assessing look.
"Hey," Ethan greeted as he walked over to you, making a point to stand a little closer than necessary, his broad frame almost shielding you from the rest of the room. It was a subtle gesture, but you noticed it, "Good to see you back."
You smiled weakly, "Thanks, Eddy, it’s good to be back."
Mark’s gaze flickered toward the door, his expression hardening slightly. You followed his gaze just as Luke entered the office, his broad shoulders filling the doorframe. The room seemed to tighten in response, a collective shift in the air as everyone adjusted to his presence.
You could feel the old tension immediately. Luke’s eyes briefly met yours, but you didn’t acknowledge him. You weren’t ready to let him in, not yet. Instead, you turned to Ethan and Mark, who seemed to sense your discomfort instantly. Ethan leaned closer, lowering his voice to make sure only you could hear.
"Just let us know if you want to step out, okay?" Ethan told you, his tone barely above a whisper, "We’ve got your back."
You nodded, grateful for the quiet support, but you didn’t want to make it obvious to Luke that you needed it. That would give him the satisfaction of knowing he was still affecting you, even now.
"Hey," Luke said, his voice uncharacteristically soft for the first time in a while. "Can we talk for a minute?"
You didn’t answer right away, and instead, your eyes shifted to Ethan and Mark. Both were standing just a little too close to you, their arms subtly brushing against yours in a way that felt comforting. They didn’t say anything, but the protective stance they took was clear. They were not going to let you be alone with Luke.
"You can talk to her later, Luke. Maybe after the team meeting." Ethan told him with his tone that was casual yet protective, "We’ve got things to do now."
After a long breath, Luke nodded, giving you a final hesitant glance before turning to walk toward the back of the office, muttering something under his breath to one of the coaches. You could feel the weight of the conversation lingering, but you couldn’t bring yourself to follow.
Mark gave you a brief glance, "You okay?" He asked you
You nodded, though the tightness in your chest told you that you were anything but okay, "Yeah. Just a lot to figure out."
Ethan, ever the optimist, gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, "You don’t have to figure it all out right now. We’re here for you, and don’t worry about Luke. He’s not going to get in the way of what you need to do."
You gave them both a small smile, feeling the weight of their protection and support settle over you like a blanket. As the hours passed, you kept your focus on the work at hand, doing your best to ignore the tension between you and Luke, even as it lingered in the air, thick and unspoken. Ethan and Mark were there, making sure the space around you remained safe, and though you appreciated their efforts, you couldn’t help but feel the pull of something unresolved, something that needed to be addressed sooner or later. For now, you were surrounded by the team again, your internship resuming with a new sense of wariness, and the fragile thread of your relationship with Luke hanging in the balance.
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
The arena was nearly empty, the echo of your footsteps echoing off the cold and concrete walls. The usual hum of activity from the hockey excitement had long since dissipated, the buzz of the game had been replaced by the silence of late-night work.
You should’ve been home hours ago, but there was always more work to do. Always another form to fill out, another task on the checklist to complete. The workload never ended for you, not when there was always something else to be done, another deadline to meet. It was the price you paid for being one of the few students with an internship tied to the hockey team. The job wasn’t glamorous, but it was yours, and you were determined to prove you could handle it. Even if it meant spending a Friday night buried in paperwork while everyone else had already gone home to their weekend plans.
Your back ached from being hunched over the desk for so long, your eyes heavy with exhaustion. You ran a hand through your hair before pulling it into a messy bun and adjusted your hoodie over your frame.
The facility felt colder now, quieter. The team’s locker rooms were dark, the zamboni machines in their corners waiting for their next shift. You sighed, rolling your shoulders back to loosen up the tension. It had been a tough week, just one of those weeks where everything seemed to pile on top of you at once. You didn’t even have the time to think about the tension between you and Luke, let alone confront it.
The sound of sneakers padding against the cold concrete broke the stillness, and you didn’t have to look up to know who it was.
"Late night, huh?" Luke asked, his tone wasn’t the usual sarcastic you’d grown used to. He sounded... neutral, maybe even a little concerned.
You didn’t have the energy to deal with it tonight. Not with everything already weighing you down. Not with the frustration you had bottled up every time he had pulled that same smug attitude around you.
You looked up at him, annoyance flashing in your tired eyes, "What do you care?" You snapped, your voice sharper than you had intended, "Shouldn't you be getting some rest for your next game or at some frat party?"
Luke blinked, taken aback by your tone, but he didn’t pull back as he just stood there, his gaze softening slightly as he studied you, "I wasn’t trying to make fun of you," he said slowly, his voice almost hesitant now.
But you were too far gone, already on the edge of your limits. All the exhaustion, all the stress, all the things you’d been bottling up came crashing down on you in that moment, and before you could stop it, the words slipped out.
"It’s not just hockey," You breathed out, your voice cracking slightly, a tear you hadn’t even realized falling down your cheek, "It’s everything, I’m always running on empty, trying to do everything for everyone, trying to prove I’m good enough for this stupid internship when no one even thinks I belong here in the first place. It’s too much."
You blinked your eyes quickly as you tried to stop yourself from letting the tears fall, but it was already too late. The tears came, spilling over in frustration, exhaustion, and all the pressure you had been holding in.
Luke’s expression shifted to something softer, more vulnerable in his gaze now, something that made you pause even in the midst of your breakdown.
“Hey,” He said, his voice low and steady, stepping closer to you, “Please don’t cry.”
No one had ever said that to you before, not like that, and not with that kind of genuine care, like he wasn’t trying to fix you, but just to be there for you. You tried to brush the tears away, frustrated with yourself for even letting them fall, but it was impossible to stop now. You were too tired, too broken down, too stretched thin to keep up your mask.
Luke hesitated for a moment, and then, without saying another word, he moved closer, his presence suddenly surrounding you. He was still quiet, his steps tentative as though he wasn’t sure whether to comfort you, but it was clear he wanted to. He just didn’t know how to do it without making things worse. But the hesitation, the careful nature of his actions, was almost comforting.
“You’ve been doing this alone, haven’t you?” His voice was soft, almost like he was reading your mind, “All of this pressure and you’re carrying it all by yourself.”
"I’m sorry," You mumbled out, your voice trembling as you were embarrassed by the tears, "I shouldn’t be acting like this."
Luke’s hand suddenly appeared on your shoulder and this touch was gentle, “It’s okay,” He told you and his eyes were sincere, like he wasn’t just saying the words but actually meant them for once, “I never really understood what you’ve been managing, but I can see it now and you’re doing your best. You’re doing something a lot of people wouldn’t even think to do.”
The quiet sincerity of his words hit you like a wave. For the first time, in that moment, you felt seen. The tension between you that had been simmering for a while now, it didn’t matter anymore.
You sniffled, wiping at your face with the back of your hand, and nodded again as you tried to regain your composure. Luke stood still, not rushing you, just waiting. When you finally looked up at him, you saw the same hesitant expression, but there was something else in his eyes now, like something more gentle and less guarded.
“Let me walk you home,” He offered suddenly, which broke the silence that fell between you two, “It’s late and you shouldn’t be walking home alone.”
You hesitated, there was a part of you that wanted to turn him down, mainly to maintain your distance. But, at the same time, you were so tired, and the thought of walking home in the dark alone didn’t feel safe.
You looked at him and for the first time in a while, you felt that maybe he wasn’t the same person who had been so rude to you earlier in the year.
"Okay," You nodded, the word slipping out easier than you expected it to, "Thank you."
Luke gave you a small and genuine smile that tugged at the edges of his lips, and for the first time since you had met him, the tension in your chest seemed to loosen a little. Tonight, he wasn’t the enemy, rather he was someone who was there, offering to help you find your way home. The two of you left the arena side by side, the cold night air surrounding you, and for the first time, you didn’t feel like the defenseman hated you.
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
The campus was quiet the next morning, the kind of quiet that only came after the rush of classes and team practices. The late autumn air had a crisp to it, carrying with it the faint scent of fallen leaves and the promise of cooler days ahead. You walked across the quad, your backpack slung over one shoulder, the late night still fresh in your mind. You had spent the rest of the evening trying to shake off the exhaustion that seemed to have seeped into every part of you. You somehow felt lighter. Maybe it was the fact that for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel like you were holding your breath, constantly bracing for the next blow from Luke. Maybe it was just the relief of finally not being alone in your stress.
When you turned the corner of the crosswalk, you spotted Luke leaning against the brick wall with his hockey bag at his feet, eyes scanning the campus like he was waiting for someone. The moment he saw you, he pushed off from the wall and made his way to you..
"Hey," He greeted with his voice a little rough, like he hadn’t quite woken up yet, "I thought I’d catch you before you headed to class."
You nodded as you unsure what to say, you weren’t exactly expecting to see him this morning. Last night had been a turning point, but it felt too soon to figure out what it all meant. Was it just a random moment of kindness? Or was something changing between the two of you?
“Oh, thanks for last night,” You said quietly and Luke’s expression softened.
“Don’t mention it," He told you before clearing his throat, "You were... you seemed like you needed someone. It’s no big deal."
The easy, almost careless way he dismissed it made you smile despite yourself. It was almost like he was trying not to make a big deal out of his actions, but you could tell by the slight shift in his tone and the way his gaze lingered on you that he was at least starting to understand. Before you could respond, a voice from behind you interrupted the moment.
"Really?" Ethan called out, you turned to see him approaching the two of you with his eyes narrowing slightly as he caught sight of Luke.
"You’re really gonna start acting like a good guy now?" Ethan scoffed, but Luke didn’t flinch. He just stood there with his jaw clenched like he was trying to hold something back.
“Ethan, it’s okay,” You reassured him while keeping your voice steady, though you could feel a tiny shake of nervousness running through you, “I’m not a kid anymore, you don’t have to defend me from everyone.”
Ethan’s brows furrowed, his gaze flicking between you and Luke, searching for any signs of insincerity from either of you, “I know you’re not a kid, but you’ve been through enough with this guy. He’s not just going to suddenly change and become your best friend, just because he’s decided to play nice now.”
You felt a lump form in your throat at his words, but you had to admit, Ethan had a good point. You had your doubts too, although you felt like something was different this time. The apology wasn’t just a word, you had felt the sincerity behind it.
“I know, Ethan,” You sighed, “But last night when he helped me, it wasn’t like how he used to act, I just need you to trust me on this.”
“Doesn’t matter,” He told you as his voice stayed low, “I’ve been watching you get pushed around by this guy for the past year and whatever number of months, I don’t care if he’s showing up with some half-assed apology now. He hurt you (Y/N), you can’t just forget that.”
Luke didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, letting the silence hang between them and for a moment, you thought maybe it would escalate into something else, but then Luke broke the tension, his voice quieter than it had been before.
“Dude, I get it,” He said as a sigh escaped him, “I don’t deserve forgiveness, and I don’t expect it to come easy. I’m trying to do better for her. I just need a chance to show I’m not that person anymore.”
You glanced at Luke as you searched his expression. There was no arrogance there now, just an honesty that made you think maybe he was telling the truth. Ethan was still hesitant, his gaze hard, but his posture softened as he looked between you and Luke.
“I don’t know,” He mumbled, with his eyes still on you.
“You don’t have to,” You reached out to place a hand on Ethan’s arm, “But I trust him, okay? I need you to trust me, too.”
For a moment, neither of them said anything but with a slow nod, Ethan stepped back, still wary,
“Fine,” He breathed out but still not fully convinced, “But if he messes up again, I’m not letting you go through that again.”
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
Luke sat next to you on the wooden bench in the hallway outside of the locker room, with his legs stretched out, a half-empty Gatorade bottle dangling from his fingers. Practice had ended nearly an hour ago, but you’d stayed behind, sorting through a pile of tangled jerseys and team media requests at the small table. You didn’t notice he had stayed behind too until you turned around and he was leaning against the wall, watching you without saying a word.
That used to annoy you, with the quiet way he hovered, like he was too good to speak unless it was to make a snide remark. But now it felt slightly different. He was still quiet, still awkward in his stillness. But his presence wasn’t sharp anymore. It was softer, less suffocating. He didn’t speak unless you looked at him first. He didn’t push. He didn’t tease. He was just there and honestly, that meant more than you could say.
“Here,” He said, finally breaking the silence as he offered you the bottle. You took it without thinking, the plastic cool against your palm even though you weren’t even thirsty.
“Thanks,” You murmured as you kept your eyes on the hallway floor. You were just tired, drained from balancing everything: classes, your internship, the emotional strain of still trying to believe Luke wouldn’t shoot some insult to you at that moment.
“You always stay this late?” He asked quietly.
You glanced over at him, “Lately, yeah.”
He nodded slowly, “You ever get a break?”
You gave a dry laugh as you typed away at your laptop, “Not really.”
He went quiet again, and for a moment you worried he’d say something backhanded or smug. That old instinct to brace yourself coming up, but it faded as you caught the way his brows pinched slightly, like the idea of you constantly overworking yourself actually bothered him.
“You shouldn’t have to do all of this by yourself,” He commented as he fiddled with his phone, “The team relies on you for everything. I didn’t realize how much until you stopped coming around.”
You shrugged, “No one really noticed before.”
“I noticed and I was a dick,” He added, “To you for no reason.”
You stayed silent, your fingers curling around the edge of the table in front of you.
“You were always just so good at everything, smart, and confident. People actually wanted you around. And I don’t know, I guess I hated that.”
You blinked as the words continued to fall from his mouth.
“I mean, not hated,” Luke corrected quickly with his cheeks slightly flustered, “I just resented it. You didn’t have to constantly prove yourself the way I do. You’re not expected to be some golden child or carry a last name.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, the words spilling out now, “And Ethan, he’s always been close to you. He talks about you like you’re this genius superhero, and it pissed me off. I told myself you thought you were better than everyone, but you weren’t. You were just doing your job. You’ve always worked harder than the rest of us and never asked for anything back.”
You stared at him for a moment as you felt your chest tighten
“That doesn’t make it okay, but I need you to know I know that now.”
You took a slow and slightly shaky breath. The hallway in Yost was so quiet you swore that you could hear your own heartbeat. You didn’t want to forgive him, not entirely, however a part of you recognized how hard it must’ve been for Luke to say any of that. You gave him a small nod, “Thank you.”
He nodded back and gave you a small smile.
Over the next few weeks, things began to shift between you and Luke, not all at once, but slowly. A conversation here, a shared laugh there, just the little things.
He stayed behind after practice more often, offering to help with things you knew he probably hated, like paperwork, setting up video equipment, and adding transcripts on video footage. He didn’t complain, though. He just did it.
One evening after another long day, you handed him a media release form with a weak smile, “You do realize you don’t have to be my assistant, right?”
Luke smirked, “I don’t mind, it makes me feel useful.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him. What surprised you most wasn’t the change in behaviour, but it was how easy the silence between you had become. It was comfortable and friendly, and it didn’t weigh you down anymore. If anything, it started to feel like something you could lean into.
Of course, Ethan still kept a close eye on you. He noticed every time Luke lingered a little longer in the media office. Every time he offered to carry a stack of folders or filled your water bottle without being asked. Every time his gaze lingered on you like he was trying to learn your behaviours and habits that he’d never bothered with before.
One afternoon, as you and Luke stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the gear room, laughing at a crooked helmet sticker, Ethan walked in and froze.
He crossed his arms, eyebrows raised, “You good?”
Luke grinned with amusement, “Better than ever, Eddy.”
You shot Ethan a glance, trying to silently reassure him. You could see the conflict on his face, his desire to protect you and the fact that you weren’t pushing Luke away anymore.
Later that day, as you were packing up your things, Ethan pulled you aside.
“You sure about this?” He asked you gently.
You nodded, “Yeah, it’s different now and I can tell he’s trying, I’m not saying we’re best friends or anything, but I want to see where it goes.”
Ethan sighed as he leaned his head back against his locker, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
“I know,” You whispered, “But I don’t think he wants to hurt me.”
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
The rink was quiet again as it was nearly midnight. The majority of the team had left hours ago, and you should’ve been gone too, but the pile of rosters and unfinished budget forms on your laptop had kept you longer than intended, yet again.
You sat in the small lounge next to the training room, legs curled beneath you on the old leather couch, the only sounds were the hum of the vending machine that stood in the corner and the shuffling of papers on your table.
You didn’t hear Luke come in, it was only when you looked up, when you saw him leaning the the doorway with his hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, a quiet sort of tired etched into his features.
“You live here now?” He chuckled as he leaned further against the doorframe.
You managed a half-smile, “Sure feels like it.”
He gave you a smile before he walked in to grab a chair, and sit across from you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like being here with you, even past midnight, was exactly where he wanted to be.
You closed your laptop slowly, sensing something different in the air tonight, “You okay?”
Luke looked off as if he was debating whether or not to tell you about the thoughts running through his head, “I used to think if I wasn’t the best, I was nothing.”
You blinked as you were startled by his confession.
He stared down at his hands, picking at a thread on his sleeve, “My brothers, Jack and Quinn, they’ve always been incredible. NHL stars, everyone talks about them like they’re gods. I love them, I do. But growing up in that constant shadow, it messes with your head.”
You stayed quiet, sensing he wasn’t finished as his mouth opened and shut a few times in the silence,
“I got drafted and everyone said I’d made it. But I still feel like I’m just trying to catch up, like no matter what I do, I’m always just Luke Hughes, the little brother.” He looked up at you, eyes drooping slightly from fatigue, “You probably think that’s ridiculous.”
“I don’t,” You told him softly
He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw, “You always seem like you have it figured out, Ethan thinks you’re the glue holding this whole program together.”
“That;s not true,” You mumbled, “I’m just holding myself together long enough to get through each day.”
His brows furrowed as you spoke, you took a shaky breath, the words slipping out before you could catch them, “My parents are barely getting by at home, I’m working this internship unpaid, taking on shifts at the student center, applying for scholarships every semester just to stay here. Some nights I don’t sleep, so I just try not to drown.”
The room fell into a weighted silence, you looked at him and you saw not just the hockey player. Not the cocky, golden-boy persona he typically wore. You saw the boy behind it all, tired, afraid, trying so hard not to fall short of the people around him and it felt a lot like looking into a mirror.
“I think we’re more alike than we realized.”
Luke met your gaze, something soft and quiet flickering in his expression, “Yeah,I think so too.”
Neither of you moved for a long time, you didn’t need to. It felt safe and it felt like the start of something new.
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
You weren’t even sure why you agreed to come.
The hockey house was already booming with music by the time you got there, windows glowing blue and gold from the inside, bass thumping hard enough to feel in your chest. They were celebrating yet another win. You hadn’t been to one of these in a while, but Ethan had asked, and the way he’d looked at you with that half hopeful and half protective look, made it impossible to say no.
Besides, you missed this, not the chaos and not the sticky floors or the overpowering cologne clouds. But rather the people and the moments when you could just exist without carrying everything on your back.
“Come on,” Ethan had said, slinging an arm around your shoulder as he led you into the house, “We’ll stick together, just like old times.”
For the first hour, it was fine as you stayed near the kitchen while Ethan handed you a solo cup with something vaguely citrusy inside. You talked with Mark and Dylan, laughed with a couple of the rookies who had no idea how much of the team’s media magic was your doing. You felt seen and in a way you hadn’t for a while.
Then Ethan got pulled away, something about someone stealing his speaker and you found yourself standing alone by the counter, your cup mostly empty and your body buzzing more from exhaustion than the drink you held.
Luke showed up like he always did, the sleeves of his black t-shirt hugging his biceps perfectly, curls still damp from a shower, and his usual smug energy was replaced by something lighter. He didn’t say anything at first as he just nodded at you like he’d been waiting for a moment like this all night.
You raised a brow, “What? No sarcastic comment about how I’m slumming it with the peasants?”
His lips curved into a slow smirk, “I’ve been working on that.”
“Your sarcasm?”
“No, not being a jackass.”
You snorted, and he laughed, the sound warm and open in a way you hadn’t heard from him before. A few people brushed past you as the hallway was tightening with bodies, so he shifted closer, not too close, but enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him.
“Ethan ditched me,” You told him as you glanced around, “So much for sticking together.”
Luke tilted his head with a small knowing smile, “Guess that makes me your emergency contact now.”
You gave him a side-eye, “That’s a terrifying thought.”
He grinned, “I’m excellent in emergencies, watch this.”
Before you could ask what he meant, he darted away and returned seconds later with a fresh cup with same citrusy drink, but colder this time.
“See? Life-saving,” He said while handing it to you with a cocked bow.
You rolled your eyes but took it, “Heroic.”
You ended up finding a quieter spot in the corner of the living room, where the music wasn’t as deafening and the couch cushions didn’t smell like beer yet. The two of you talked, like really talked. About stupid things, like the worst pregame pump-up songs on the team’s playlist. About more real things too: how overwhelming classes had been and upcoming exams and deadlines.
At one point, you were both laughing so hard your drink almost spilled. Luke was telling a story about Mark locking himself out of the team bus in only compression shorts, and you could barely breathe, cheeks aching from the large smile that was stretched across your face.
“I forgot you were funny,” You said between giggles.
“I forgot you could stand being around me,” He replied.
You looked at him and there was no mask this time and no shields. Just Luke, and it startled you how comfortable you felt because of how easy it was to be near him when the tension was stripped away.
Someone bumped into the couch which caused some of the cushions to shift. You swayed slightly, your shoulder brushing his, and he didn’t move but neither did you.
“Hey,” He added after a moment, voice low, “I like this.”
“This?” You asked, pretending not to notice the closeness of your bodies.
“Being around you when I’m not screwing it up.”
You swallowed hard as your heart skipped a beat or two while you didn’t know what to say. You enjoyed it too, it was easy and comfortable. The way your laughter hung in the air between you. The way the noise of the party blurred into the background. The way Luke looked at you like a person he wanted to get to know.
You were content to stay right where you were.
The party had started to thin out by the time you stepped outside, the music still humming behind the walls like an echo refusing to die. The night air wrapped around your shoulders like a relief, it was cool and calm, scented faintly with pine and wet pavement. Somewhere in the distance, a car passed by, headlights cutting briefly across the sidewalk before disappearing into the dark.
Luke stood beside you. He hadn’t said anything when you pulled your jacket on. Just followed you to the door like he’d already decided he wasn’t letting you walk home alone. You didn’t argue. It was late, and your limbs were heavy with exhaustion and a few drinks, and, if you were being honest, a small part of you wanted him there.
You walked in silence at first, shoes scuffing along the uneven pavement, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. Every so often, your arms would brush. Neither of you pulled away.
“Thanks for not letting me sit in a corner all night,” You finally said, your voice quiet in the hush of midnight.
Luke glanced over, eyes catching the glow from a streetlight, “You were holding your own pretty well.”
“Still, you didn’t have to hang out with me.”
“I wanted to.” There was no edge to his voice. No teasing. Just honesty.
You glanced down at the sidewalk, counting cracks to keep your thoughts in order. You weren’t used to this version of Luke, the one who didn’t talk like he was trying to win a game. The one who laughed without smugness, who looked at you like he actually saw you and was doing things to your chest you didn’t want to think about.
At the corner of State Street, the world felt softer and quieter. A few golden leaves skittered past your shoes. You slowed your steps.
“You’ve been different lately,” You told Luke while keeping your eyes straight.
Luke exhaled, like he’d been expecting that, “Yeah. I know.”
“What changed?”
“You did,” He answered
That landed harder than you expected. You looked at him, and he was already looking at you. Something bloomed in your chest, small and uninvited. A warmth that had nothing to do with the drinks earlier or the brisk November air. It curled around your ribs in a way that made breathing harder.
“Well,” You said, mustering a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, “don’t get used to me being impressed by your emotional growth.”
Luke laughed quietly. “Noted.”
You reached the steps to your house with the yellow porch light flickering overhead. You paused, turning back toward him, “Thanks for walking me,”
He shrugged, but there was something almost shy about the way he stood there, rocking slightly on his heels, “Anytime.”
The silence stretched again but it wasn’t awkward, just filled with something that wasn’t there before. Like something had shifted between you and hadn’t quite settled.
You gave him one last smile and turned toward the door, but as you slipped inside and leaned against the back of your front door, heart beating a little too fast, you realized something.
You were starting to feel something for Luke Hughes and it terrified you.
So you shoved it down and buried it deep beneath school and work and exhaustion and self-preservation, because caring about Luke meant giving him the power to hurt you again. You weren’t sure you could survive that twice.
Luke had watched you disappear behind that door, a quiet click sealing the space between you, but he didn’t move right away. Just stood there on the sidewalk, staring at the empty step like it might give him an answer. The walk back to his house felt longer than usual. The November air had dropped fast, cutting through his sweatshirt and nipped at his skin. He shoved his hands deeper into the front pocket, footsteps loud against the quiet streets. The city was asleep, but his mind? It was restless.
He wasn’t sure what was happening, all he knew was that something had shifted between the two of you.
He could still hear your laugh echoing in his memory from the party earlier, the way you leaned into him when Ethan disappeared, trusting him enough to stay by your side, and the way you were starting to let him in, piece by piece.
It scared the shit out of him.
By the time he made it home, his head was buzzing. Not with adrenaline, not with nerves before a game, but with you. With thoughts of how tired you looked tonight, how you still stayed until the end, how your smile lingered even when you tried to hide it behind sarcasm.
Luke plopped onto the mattress of his bed, stretching his legs out before relaxing. His phone vibrated in his pocket.
It was Jack, so he pressed the green button without thinking.
“Yo,” he mumbled, one hand on his forehead.
Jack’s voice crackled over the speaker, “How was the game?”
“Good. 4–1 win. Felt solid.”
“You looked sharp, I saw the clips.”
Luke let the compliment pass, the game already felt like a memory and the only thing still playing in his brain was you.
“You good?” Jack asked after a brief moment, “You sound off.”
Luke hesitated, “I walked her home.”
Another pause, “Her?” Jack repeated and Luke could practically hear the grin forming on his brother’s face, “Wait, like the girl you’ve been beefing with since freshman year?”
Luke ran a hand through his curls and sighed, “Yeah.”
“No way.”
“She’s not who I thought she was.”
Jack laughed, “You’re telling me the girl who’s been busting your balls for a year suddenly has your attention?”
“It’s not sudden,” Luke said a bit more quietly like he was afraid that one of his teammates would hear him through the thin walls, “She’s always been something. Smart. Sharp. But tonight I saw her actually relax. She’s amazing, Jack.”
“Damn,” Jack mumbled, “You’ve got it bad, dude.”
Luke didn’t argue as he leaned his head back on his headboard, eyes on the ceiling, “She stays late for the team. Does stuff no one even notices like Ethan was telling me, she makes everything run smoother and she never complains. Never asks for credit. She’s just there, holding everything together.”
Silence stretched for a moment too long which made Luke’s stomach twist since Jack was typically quick at saying something back.
“She sounds awesome,” Jack told him carefully, “But Luke...”
“I know.”
“You don’t know when the call’s coming.”
Luke shut his eyes. The call. The inevitable weight of it, like the clock he couldn’t see but always heard ticking in the back of his head.
“It’s gonna be soon, I can feel it. Like you could be in Jersey next week. You don’t want to get attached, man.”
Luke swallowed hard and his voice was dry, “Too late.”
There was a rustling on Jack’s end like he was pacing his apartment, “Just be careful, alright? I know you want something real, but you’re not in a normal situation. Don’t give her something you can’t promise, it’s not fair to her.”
Luke didn’t respond right away because he knew that Jack was right. And it hurt.
Because in the flickering light outside your door, Luke had seen something he hadn’t let himself want in a long time, you. The one person who didn’t expect him to be anything but himself and still somehow made him want to be better.
He didn’t know when the call would come, but for the first time, he kind of wished it wouldn’t.
“Yeah,” Luke said eventually, “I’ll figure it out.”
Jack sighed, “Alright, I gotta crash but you’ll be okay.”
“Night, man.”
The call ended. Luke stared at the dark screen as you were still lingering in his thoughts. And now, you were in the one place he didn’t know how to guard anymore, which was his heart.
He should’ve kept his distance, but it was already too late.
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
You noticed the shift.
It started subtly like a slow retreat, soft and quiet and careful. Luke still showed up. He still flashed that crooked, boyish grin whenever your paths crossed in the hallway outside the team room. Still bumped your shoulder with his when he passed by and still called you “rookie” even though you were both well past that title.
But there was something different now.
His texts used to come quick — fast, teasing replies in the middle of the night or a random meme that made you laugh until your stomach hurt. Now they came late, hours after the conversation had moved on or sometimes they didn’t come at all.
He used to lean against the wall and talk to you until the equipment room emptied, until it was only the two of you in the entire arena. Now, he always seemed to be somewhere else. Skates half-laced. Phone in hand. Eyes drifting toward the exit like he had one foot already out the door.
“It’s just the Frozen Four,” Ethan said when you mentioned it offhandedly, “He gets like this before big games, like hyper-focused and shit.”
And maybe that was true, maybe Luke was just locked in and chasing the championship that had been dangling in front of them since the start of the season. Maybe it had nothing to do with you at all.
But still, something in your chest curled in on itself every time he passed you in the hallway without stopping. Every time you said hi and he said hey back but didn’t linger around you.
Tonight was worse.
You were alone in the equipment room, the dull lights making your eyes ache. The clock on the wall read 10:03 PM. The arena had long since emptied, the hum of the Zamboni now replaced with the occasional sounds coming from your typing. Everyone had gone home, except you.
Your laptop was open, with its battery almost dead. A spreadsheet full of media schedules glared back at you. You’d been finalizing graphics, sending press requests, and rewriting email drafts for the third time, your brain foggy with exhaustion. You couldn’t remember the last time you blinked.
A cold can of Diet Coke sweated on the desk beside you, untouched and you were so tired.
Not just physically, but in that deep, bone-heavy way that comes from caring too much and never knowing where you stood. You told yourself you didn’t care about Luke, about the distance and the confusion, but it was a lie you were starting to trip over.
You cared and you cared way too much. You blinked hard when your eyes started to sting. The door creaked open, and your head snapped up, heart skipping a beat.
Luke stood in the doorway, cheeks flushed, hair damp from his shower, his stick slung casually over his shoulder. His eyes found yours instantly.
“I didn’t think anyone was still here,” He said, voice lower than usual.
You swallowed, fingers dancing over your keyboard, “Just wrapping stuff up.”
He stepped inside as his footsteps echoed softly against the floor, “It’s late.”
“Yeah,” You mumbled, “I lost track of time”
Luke glanced at your screen, “You’ve been working on that all night?”
“Someone has to.”
There was a pause. Something shifted in the air, it barely a breeze but enough to unsettle the dust.
“You okay?” He asked carefully.
You let out a bitter laugh, “Are you seriously asking me that now?”
His brows furrowed, and he stepped closer to you, “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Your voice cracked, and you hated it. You stood abruptly, pushing the chair back with a soft scrape, “I mean don’t act like you care when you’ve barely said two words to me in days. Just say what you want to say and go.”
Luke looked stunned, like you’d slapped him.
“I-” He started, but you were already lowly shaking your head.
“I’m tired, Luke. I’m tired of trying to figure out what version of you I’m going to get every time I see you and I’m tired of pretending like I don’t notice you pulling away.”
His expression faltered, “I’m not- I’m just focused right now. With the tournament and the pressure and-”
You laughed again, but it came out shaky and broken, “No, it’s fine. I get it. You have hockey. You have everything. I’m just the girl behind the spreadsheet who makes your life easier and then vanishes when you don’t need her.”
“That’s not fair.”
You looked up, eyes glassy, “Isn’t it?”
And then, without warning, the tears came. You’d been holding them back for hours, maybe days, and now they blurred your vision and burned down your cheeks before you could stop them.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N” Luke said suddenly, voice cracking in the process. Luke didn’t try to explain himself again. He just stood there, frozen for a moment, then quietly set his stick against the wall and crossed the room. You felt his presence beside you before you saw him, and then gently, he wrapped his arms around you.
You froze, your breath catching in your throat but then your body gave in, softening against his chest as your hands clutched the fabric of his hoodie. You didn’t sob. You didn’t collapse. You just stood there, trembling quietly while he held you.
“I’m sorry,” He whispered, and it felt too late and not enough and somehow still everything.
After a while, you felt him shift.
“It’s late,” he said, still soft. “Let me walk you home.”
You hesitated, but then nodded.
He didn’t try to talk on the walk back, just kept his steps steady beside yours, hands tucked in his hoodie pocket, glancing at you every now and then like he was making sure you hadn’t changed your mind.
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
The locker room buzzed with pregame energy, the thuds of tape rolls hitting the floor, the music playing off of one of his teammate’s speakers, the echo of chirps bouncing off the walls. Familiar chaos.
But Luke barely heard any of it.
He sat at his locker stall, lacing his skates with more focus than usual, jaw tight, muscles already coiled from the morning. His hands moved methodically, over-under, tug, loop, but his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
More specifically, with you.
He’d seen the way your hair fell slightly into your face as you worked on your laptop the night before, the soft glow of your screen casting delicate shadows across your cheeks. You’d looked tired but determined.
“You gonna stare a hole through the floor, Hughesy?”
Luke blinked, pulled from his spiral by Ethan’s voice. The guy was leaning casually against the stall next to his, arms crossed, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Luke looked up from his skates, “What?”
Mark plopped down on the other side, grinning, “You’re acting like you’re about to propose. What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing,” Luke mumbled.
Ethan gave a low whistle, “You know she’s here, right? Upstairs. Putting together final media edits before puck drop.”
Mark wiggled his eyebrows, “Ohh, is that why you’ve got that dreamy little look on your face?”
“I don’t have a look on my face,” Luke muttered, yanking a little harder on his skate laces than necessary.
“You totally do,” Ethan said, nudging him. “It's the ‘I’m trying not to smile because I might give myself away’ look. Classic move.”
Luke sighed, “You guys are insufferable.”
Mark leaned in closer to the curly headed hockey player, “We’re just saying it’s nice to see you two spending good quality time together in the arena”
“She deserves better than that,” Luke told them before he could stop himself.
Both Ethan and Mark exchanged a glance, a quick flicker of surprise and something else. Ethan’s expression softened,
“That’s the first true thing you’ve said in weeks,” Ethan chuckled, “But for real, man. Don’t pull her into your storm unless you’re gonna be the one to give her calm too. She’s been through enough.”
Luke met his eyes and nodded, “I know, I’m trying.”
Mark clapped a hand on his shoulder, “Then try harder. 'Cause if you screw it up again, Ethan and I have already agreed to run you into the boards. During practice, accidentally.”
“‘Accidentally,’” Ethan repeated with a grin.
Luke rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah alright.”
From the hallway beyond the locker room, he heard your laugh just faintly, carried on the air like a thread pulling him forward.
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
The energy in the arena was a living, breathing thing. It surged in waves, pulsed through the crowd like an electric current. You could feel it, even sitting in the media box, the blaring music, the chatter of excited fans, the scrape of skates on the ice, it all blurred into a constant roar.
But amid the noise, there was a moment of perfect, ringing clarity, it came when the puck dropped and everything snapped into place.
You glanced down at the ice, your fingers still tapping away at your laptop, but your attention fully absorbed by the game. The Michigan Wolverines were skating fast, tight, focused, the kind of play that made your heart race in time with every stride. You were typing out updates without really thinking, eyes flitting back and forth between the rink and your screen.
You didn’t expect it to happen so suddenly.
One swift pass. The sound of blades cutting ice, the swift snap of a stick, and the puck was heading toward the net with such force you could hear the wind whistling past it. The goalie was out of position, his eyes locked on a different angle, and you knew that this was it.
The puck hit the back of the net with a sharp, satisfying thunk. The crowd exploded into noise and then you saw him.
Luke.
You’d been watching him all game, but this was different. This was something else entirely. He was skating toward the corner, arms raised in victory, his mouth open in a shout of celebration. His face was flushed with exertion, his eyes gleaming with the kind of pride that could only come from the buildup of hard work and focus.
But then he looked at you and it wasn’t some offhand glance or a passing acknowledgment.
His gaze found yours from across the rink, as if the rest of the world had fallen away, as if there was only you and him in that entire moment. The noise, the celebration, the flashing cameras, it all faded into the background. His expression softened, just the slightest bit. His lips curled into that small, hesitant smile that made something warm unfurl inside your chest. It wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t arrogant. It was just… Luke.
The smile wasn’t for the crowd. It wasn’t even for the game.
It was for you and it melted something in you.
You couldn’t stop the smile that grew across your face, the one that started in your chest and spread through your limbs, the one that mirrored his without even thinking. For a second, it was just you and him, standing on the edge of something delicate and raw, something neither of you had been ready for until now.
The smile that passed between you both said more than a thousand words could. It was a silent agreement. An understanding. Something unspoken but clear.
And just as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. Luke turned back to his teammates, joining the celebration, the roar of the crowd crashing back into your senses like a wave breaking against the shore. The noise was overwhelming again, fans chanting, clapping, the buzz of excitement reverberating in the rafters.
But you didn’t turn away.
Even as the game continued, and even as Luke disappeared into the cluster of his teammates, you could still feel that moment between you both lingering like the aftertaste of something sweet.
You had to look down at your hands to steady yourself, fingers trembling slightly as you typed out the next update, but your thoughts were far from the game. They were with him and with that smile.
It was a small thing. A fraction of a second, but it meant everything.
The game moved on, as games do. Goals were scored, hits were delivered, and the clock continued ticking toward the final buzzer. But no matter what happened, no matter how many times the puck crossed the line or how loud the crowd cheered, you couldn’t shake the weight of that smile.
The final whistle blew, signaling the end of the game. The players were already heading off the ice, their faces flushed with adrenaline and victory. But Luke didn’t leave with the rest of them. He stopped just at the edge of the tunnel, looking back over his shoulder, as if searching for something in the crowd.
You didn’t want to admit it, but you knew he was looking for you.
And, somehow, in that moment, you realized you were looking for him too.
The media room buzzed with its usual energy after the game. Reporters crowded in, shouting questions at the players, capturing every moment, every word that might matter. The players, flushed with victory, moved through the room with that familiar mix of exhaustion and adrenaline. They were still riding the high of the win, but the overwhelming noise of the media was enough to dull the edge of excitement.
You sat at your desk in the corner of the room, hunched over your laptop, fingers moving quickly as you typed out the post-game details. The rink lights were still shining into your vision, the feeling of the crowd’s roar still ringing in your ears, but here, in the quiet corner of the media room, the world felt distant. For a moment, you could breathe.
There was a shift in the air. The room was full of voices, but you could feel his presence through the noise. You looked up to find Luke standing at the edge of the room, still in his full gear, sweat glistening on his brow, his jersey clinging to his chest. His eyes scanned the room, but the moment they landed on you, they softened.
You didn’t expect him to approach you, not tonight at least. The high of the game, the energy that had been building between you both, was still there but you’d expected him to be swept up in the aftermath, caught up in the celebrations, like every other player.
But he wasn’t. He was here, standing still, like he was waiting for something.
Waiting for you.
He pushed through the crowd with a natural grace, his broad shoulders brushing past the reporters, his movements easy but purposeful. And then, he was standing in front of your desk, slightly out of breath, his eyes on yours in a way that made everything around you feel still.
“Hey,” He said, his voice soft but thick with emotion that wasn’t just adrenaline
“Hey,” You replied, blinking as you tore your eyes away from his, trying to focus on your laptop. Your fingers hovered over the keys for a moment, unsure of what to type, unsure of what to say but nothing came out.
There was a quiet beat. You could hear the buzz of conversations behind you, but in the space between the two of you, it felt like everything had gone silent.
Luke shifted slightly, his gaze flickering between you and the chaos of the room. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he seemed to hesitate.
"Great game," You told him as you broke the silence. It was all you could manage. It felt awkward, out of place, but it was all you had at the moment.
Luke gave a tight smile, but his eyes betrayed something more. There was a weight behind them, something deeper than just the game, "Yeah," he replied, his voice quieter now, "It felt good. But I’ve got to admit, it felt better when I saw you smiling."
Your heart stuttered at the words. You glanced up at him, trying to gauge whether he was teasing you again, but there was no hint of sarcasm, no playful edge. Just the raw sincerity in his eyes.
"You saw that?" You asked, almost breathless.
He nodded, his gaze fixed on yours, "I’ve been seeing a lot of things lately."
The air between you shifted again, something unspoken passing between you like an electric pulse. The words you couldn’t say, the things you’d been dancing around for weeks, felt almost too close now. It was as if the game had peeled away a layer, making it impossible to ignore anymore.
Before you could say anything else, one of the reporters called out to Luke, breaking the tension in the room. Luke turned briefly, acknowledging the noise before glancing back at you.
"I’ll let you get back to work," He said, "But I just wanted to say thanks. For being here. For everything."
You opened your mouth, not sure what to say. You weren’t sure if you should say anything at all. But before you could form the words, he was already moving toward the door. Just as he reached the doorway, he turned back. His expression was a little more serious now, a little more vulnerable than you had ever seen him.
"Hey," he called softly, and you looked up, meeting his gaze again, "I meant it, about the smile."
You nodded, something tightening in your chest as his words lingered between you.
"I’ll see you after," He added with a small smirk on his features, before disappearing into the hallway, leaving the chaos of the media room behind.
You sat there for a moment, the hum of voices, the clatter of equipment, and the soft scrape of shoes on the floor all feeling distant. You stared at your screen, but your mind was elsewhere with Luke, with that smile, with the unspoken words that hung between you.
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
The excitement of the quarterfinal win was still lingering in the air, thick with the scent of victory and the hum of celebration. The locker room was filled with shouts, high-fives, and the victorious clinking of water bottles against one another, but you weren’t really paying attention to the noise. You were standing to the side with your camera bag slung over your shoulder, trying to make sense of the blur of emotions from the game.
You were drained, but in a good way. The tension, the stress of the past few weeks, had all melted away after the final buzzer. And it wasn’t just the win itself. It was the way everyone had worked together, the effort, the adrenaline.
But what kept you there, sitting on the bench, wasn’t the excitement of the team. It was Luke.
He’d scored that crucial goal in the third period, the one that solidified the lead and kept the game in their favour. You could still hear the roar of the crowd when it happened, the way his eyes immediately sought out the stands with his eyes looking for you.
The locker room was starting to clear out now, with the guys starting to head to the showers and preparing for the post-game celebration. You reached over to grab your things, your hands still a little shaky from the excitement.
Just as you turned to leave the room, you felt a presence behind you. You glanced over your shoulder to see Luke standing there, his damp curls falling over his forehead, a slight crooked smile on his lips. His jersey was soaked with sweat, but he still looked so effortlessly cool, like the victory was just a part of his routine.
"Hey," He greeted you softly, "You’re not leaving already, are you?"
You shrugged, the familiar comfort of his voice making your heart flutter a little, "I’ve got some stuff to finish up with the media team. You know how it is. But it looks like you guys are having your moment."
Luke chuckled, rubbing his jaw with his hand, "Yeah, it’s chaotic in there but you’re not the type to get caught up in that, are you?"
You smiled at him, feeling a warmth spread through you at how he seemed to understand you so well, "Not really. I’m more of a behind-the-scenes kind of person."
Luke nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at you, "Well, I noticed that today with how you were right there the whole game, capturing everything, even when I didn’t expect it. It’s like you’re always one step ahead of the rest of us."
You raised an eyebrow, not sure if he was teasing or being sincere, "Really? You’re not just saying that because you scored?"
He shook his head, the smile on his lips deepening, "No, I mean it. You capture the moments that people miss. And I’ve seen it in the locker room too, how you’re always making sure everything’s running smoothly. You don’t get enough credit for it."
You felt your cheeks warm as they flushed a light shade of pink, the genuine praise catching you off guard, "Thanks, Luke, that means a lot."
He took a step closer, and for a moment, the buzz of the locker room seemed to fade into the background. It was just you and him, standing there in the quiet after the storm of the game. Luke ran a hand through his curls, his smile turning sheepish for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure how to act in the softer moment between you two.
"You know," He said slowly, "I’ve been thinking about how we don’t get many moments like this. All the chaos, the games, the practices, and it’s easy to get caught up in it. But after today, I realized I don’t want to just be another face on the team. I want to be someone you can count on. Someone who’s there for you."
"You are someone I can count on," You told him, "You’ve been there for me a lot recently."
"I know I was a pain in the ass," Luke added, "I didn’t make things easy between us."
There was a long silence before Luke looked back over at you, his blue eyes steady, “I don’t know what it is, but you’re real with me. I don’t have to pretend and I don’t want to mess that up."
A small smile tugged at your lips, "You don’t have to try so hard. Just be you."
Luke grinned, stepping a little closer to you. He was inches away now, the air between you charged with something soft, something both of you had been trying to ignore for far too long.
"That’s what I’m trying to do," he said, his voice quiet.
The moment hung there, delicate and fragile. Then, without warning, Luke reached out, offering you a fist bump, his playful side creeping back into his voice.
"To the win," He said as his grin returned.
You laughed, the tension finally breaking. You bumped his fist with yours, the laughter easy and comforting between you.
"To the win," You repeated.
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
The Frozen Four semifinal game was underway, and the intensity of it all gripped the arena like a vice. The Michigan Wolverines were up against a fierce opponent, both teams hungry for victory, and the air was thick with anticipation. Fans in maize and blue filled the stands, chanting, cheering, and holding their breath with every second of play.
You were seated near the glass, the smell of fresh ice and the sound of skates cutting across the rink blending with the loud noise from the crowd. As much as you tried to focus on the game, your attention kept shifting to the players, Luke in particular. You could see the tension in his movements, the fire in his eyes. It was clear that he was giving everything he had, but you could also see the toll it was taking on him. The pressure of this game weighed heavily on his shoulders.
The game moved fast. There were hits, fast breaks, and thrilling shots on goal. Luke was everywhere dodging his opponents, pushing the puck up the ice with precision. You could hear the heavy breathing from the players as the game wore on, every moment stretched thin by the stakes.
The tension was unbearable as the final minutes of the third period ticked down. The score was tied 3-3. The whole arena was on edge, holding their breath with every shift. Fans jumped to their feet as Michigan pushed for one last offensive drive, hoping for a miracle to break the tie. And then, as if the game had a mind of its own, disaster struck.
A last-ditch effort by the opposing team ended with a quick goal and then Michigan was trailing 4-3, with only seconds left on the clock. The crowd gasped, disbelief washing over them. You could feel the collective sinking of hearts, the weight of reality crashing down.
Luke didn’t even flinch. His eyes were locked on the ice, his jaw clenched but you could see it, he was devastated. The final buzzer rang, and the arena exploded into an unsettling mix of cheers and groans. Michigan had lost in the semifinals of the Frozen Four, and the weight of that finality was immediate. The stands slowly emptied out, the cheers of the opposing fans echoing louder as the Wolverines stood there, crushed, trying to comprehend the game that had just slipped away from them.
You stayed in your seat for a moment, letting the sound of the crowd wash over you, trying to hold onto something familiar. There was no denying the sting. You felt the loss in the pit of your stomach, but your thoughts quickly turned to Luke. You’d seen how much he had poured into this game with his effort, the focus, the pride in every play, and you knew this loss was hitting him harder than anyone else.
As the players began to file into the locker room, you stood up slowly from where you were seated. Ethan was already looking at you, his brow furrowed in concern. He was trying to hold it together, but his frustration was evident. You could see him glancing toward the locker room, his eyes darting to Luke, who had already disappeared inside.
“Let’s go talk to him,” Ethan said, "He’ll need someone."
You nodded, but as you walked together, you could feel Ethan’s unease. He was trying to be brave for both of you, but you knew he was hurting, too. You could see the subtle tension in his posture as he approached the locker room and when the door swung open, the cold, sterile air of the space hit you — the smell of sweat and ice mingling with the stench of defeat.
You saw Luke right away, slumped in his locker stall, his face twisted in a mix of anger and disbelief. His usual relaxed self was gone but replaced by something else, something you didn’t recognize. He didn’t even acknowledge you at first, his attention fixed on the floor. The space around him was tense, and even Ethan seemed unsure of how to approach him.
You stood there for a moment, unsure whether to speak or not. The silence was thick, suffocating, but Ethan broke it with a heavy sigh.
"Hey, man," he started, his voice trying to stay calm, "We’ll get ‘em next year. It’s not the end of the world."
Luke didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel the shift in the air with the heaviness in the way Luke pulled away from the words. His jaw clenched, and when he finally spoke, his voice was strained, biting.
“Yeah, whatever,” Luke mumbled, not looking up from the floor, "Next year, great. I just don't know why I bother anymore."
You felt the sting of his words even though they weren’t directed at you. His frustration wasn’t aimed at Ethan, not at first, but there was an obvious sense of anger in his tone, like he was trying to push everyone away. Ethan glanced at you, his eyes softening, but he knew better than to push further. Instead, he turned to you, his gaze asking for a sign.
You walked over to Luke, your steps slower, more cautious than usual. The air between you two was tense, but you had been through too much together to leave him alone now. You tried to meet his gaze, but Luke wouldn’t look up.
“You did your best,” You told him quietly with your tone full of the comfort you wanted to give him, even if he didn’t want it right now, “You all did.”
He scoffed, his shoulders tensing as he finally looked up at you. His eyes, usually so full of fire, were dull now, clouded with frustration. He shook his head, the words coming out rough, “You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to put everything into something, only for it to slip away at the last second," His voice cracked slightly before he quickly masked it with more bitterness.
You could feel his pain, his anger bubbling beneath the surface. It wasn’t just the loss; it was everything else he was dealing with like the expectations, the pressure, the constant feeling like he had to prove something to everyone. But you didn’t back down, instead you nodded and tried again to comfort him
“Maybe not,” You hummed, “but I know what it’s like to have everything riding on something, to try your hardest and still feel like it’s never enough, but you can’t keep beating yourself up. This isn’t all on you.”
He looked at you, his eyes flickering between anger and something softer, something that made your heart ache. But before he could respond, Ethan stepped forward, his voice much lighter.
“Come on, Hughesy,” Ethan’s hand clapped onto Luke’s shoulder, “We still have next year, right? We’ll get ‘em then”
Luke didn’t even smile, he didn’t meet Ethan’s eye. His gaze was stuck somewhere far off, locked on nothing in particular. The air was thick with the weight of his frustration, but he wasn’t ready to let anyone in.
You gave Luke one last look before turning to Ethan, “I’ll be outside, okay?” You told him as you kept your voice gentle.
Ethan nodded and gave you a look that said it all, he was worried about you too. He was always protective, but this time, he was just as vulnerable as you were. As you walked out of the locker room, the sound of Luke’s heavy silence lingered in your ears. It seemed as though Ethan opted to follow you, his arm wrapping around your shoulder in a comforting gesture. He squeezed you once, then sighed deeply.
“He’s taking it harder than I thought,” Ethan murmured, almost to himself.
You nodded, “I know, but I think he just needs some space. He’s not used to this feeling.”
“Yeah,” Ethan agreed quietly, “But just be careful, okay? I know you two have been getting closer, but he’s got a lot going on right now. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
You stopped walking, glancing up at Ethan, "I won't get hurt. I just want to be there for him, you know?" You gave a soft sigh as you rubbed your eyes, "But I’ll be careful."
"Alright, I trust you. Just don’t let him shut you out completely, okay?"
You nodded and headed toward the exit, the cool night air outside a sharp contrast to the warmth of the locker room. Despite the sting of Michigan’s loss, you couldn’t help but feel like this moment, this shift between you and Luke, was something significant.
The rest of the night would unfold in its own way, but for now, you knew you’d be there for him. Even if he wasn’t quite ready to let you in yet.
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
You were hunched over your laptop, the glow of your laptop screen casting a soft light against your tired face. These late hours were taking their toll on you with your eyes burning from exhaustion, shoulders stiff from too many long nights spent in front of the screen. But you were almost done, and there was one more media release to finish before you could head home for the night.
The door to the media room creaked open, and you didn’t need to look up to know it was Luke. But tonight, the usual warmth in his approach had been replaced by a quiet and cold, almost detached energy. He didn’t say anything at first, but the silence that hung between you two was deafening.
Ethan was keeping you company but was currently grabbing both of you something to eat from a cafeteria in a residence building, and you thought that maybe you could escape the awkwardness that had been lingering between you and Luke for the past few days. You finally looked up from your work, meeting his eyes. You didn’t know what to expect anymore and you were growing tired of this push and pull relationship that you and Luke had going on for the past month or so.
“What?” You asked him
Luke’s lips curled into a smirk, “You still here, huh? Thought you had better things to do than sticking around this place.”
You frowned, feeling the sting of his words, “I have work to do, Luke, you know that I’m not here for fun.”
He scoffed, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, sure. Work. Like we need your media expertise around here. You could be doing something more... important, don’t you think?”
The words cut through you like a blade. You knew Luke had his moments of teasing and joking around to keep things lighthearted. But this wasn’t his playful teasing, it felt like he was deliberately trying to hurt you.
“Excuse me?” You shot back, “I’ve been working with your team for months now, Luke. I’m doing my job.”
“Yeah, your job,” He repeated putting air quotes around the word like it was a joke, “I didn’t realize media work was so important when you’ve got a bunch of guys on the ice doing all the hard stuff. But hey, what do I know?”
You clenched your jaw, trying not to let his words affect you, but the weight of them was unbearable. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could get a word out, Ethan walked back into the room with two white take out containers in his hands and a look of confusion crossing his face as he took in the tension between you two.
“What’s going on in here?” Ethan asked, eyeing Luke, who had now turned his back to you, clearly ignoring the situation.
Luke shrugged, still keeping his distance, “Nothing, just telling her the truth of her position. Media work’s not as important as she thinks.”
Ethan’s gaze flickered between you and Luke, his brow furrowing, “If you’re going to talk out of your ass like that, at least turn around so I can hear you better,”
Luke’s eyes narrowed, “What’s your problem, Edwards?”
“My problem?” Ethan stepped forward, his voice becoming more firm, “My problem is you being a jackass when she’s just trying to do her job, and you being an even bigger one when you’re talking down to her like that. I’ve had enough of your shit, Hughes.”
You didn’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated. You hadn’t expected Ethan to step in, but part of you was grateful. It didn’t make the sting of Luke’s words disappear, but at least someone was standing up for you. Luke shifted uncomfortably but didn’t back down, “She doesn’t need you to protect her, man.”
“I’m not protecting her. I’m telling you to stop being a dick,” Ethan snapped.
But Luke didn’t seem to care. He just scoffed again as he said something just under his breath, and walked out of the room without looking back. You stood there, staring at the door long after he had left, the coldness in the room making it hard to breathe.
Ethan stood beside you, his expression softening, “You okay?”
You nodded, though it wasn’t entirely true, “I’m fine.”
“Don’t let him get to you. You don’t deserve that.”
“I know,” You mumbled, but the weight of Luke’s words still hung in the air, “I just don’t understand what’s going on with him and I’m so sick of this back and forth we’ve been having. Like we’re fine for one week but the next he hates me again”
Ethan let out a long and tired sigh as he placed the food onto the table for both of you, “I don’t know either, but you don’t have to take it. You’re doing an amazing job here, don’t let him make you question that.”
You smiled weakly at him, appreciating his kindness, “Thanks, Eddy”
He gave you a quick embrace before motioning towards the food, he reopened his laptop to continue the movie he was watching as he ate. You sat back down at your desk, trying to focus on the work in front of you, but all you could think about was Luke. His coldness. His sharp words. It hurt more than you cared to admit.
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
The phone buzzed in Luke’s pocket, and for a moment, he thought about ignoring it. He had just finished a grueling practice, the kind that left his legs burning and his head buzzing with exhaustion. But something in the pit of his stomach told him this call was different. Something was going to change. He pulled the phone out and glanced at the screen, the name Tom Fitzgerald flashing in bold letters. He was the general manager for the Devils, meaning this call could be the opportunity Luke had been waiting for, but never truly expected to happen.
“Hey, Tom,” Luke answered, his voice tight as he tried to control the sudden surge of adrenaline in his veins.
“Luke, listen. We’ve been watching you closely, and we think it’s time. We want you to play next Wednesday”
The words hit Luke like a freight train. His pulse quickened, and he had to grip onto the nearest bench to steady himself, “Wait… what?” He asked as the disbelief made his voice crack.
“We’re calling you up, Hughes. You’re going to join the team. It’s official. You leave in two days, I’ll have Jack send you your flight tickets. We’re excited to see you, kid”
Luke’s mind raced, his heart pounding in his chest. He had always known this day would come and he had always dreamt of it. But now that it was here, it felt like his world had just shifted beneath his feet. The weight of the moment hit him like a ton of bricks, and for a second, everything else faded into the background. He had worked for this. Had put in the hours, the sweat, the pain. Every early morning and late night, every sacrifice. It had led him to this moment. The New Jersey Devils. The NHL.
But then his thoughts drifted as they always did these days to you.
The sudden warmth he felt for you was buried beneath layers of confusion. He had been shutting you out, pushing you away, and now here he was, about to leave without even telling you. The thought made him feel selfish. Maybe it wasn’t just about the career move or maybe it was more than that.
“Alright, thanks, Tom,” Luke breathed out, his mind whirling with thoughts he wasn’t ready to confront, “I’ll get the details from you and I’ll tell my coach and team here”
The conversation ended, and Luke stared at the phone in his hand for a moment, the weight of his decision sinking in. This was it. His future was set. But it was a future he’d be leaving behind everything and everyone for, including you.
Later that day, Luke stood in front of his teammates, the weight of the moment settling heavier with every passing second. His coach was there, standing at the front of the locker room, a rare expression of solemnity on his face. The team had just finished another intense training session, but now, the room was full of hushed murmurs. Everyone could sense something big was about to happen.
Luke stood tall, feeling the eyes of every single player on him, their curiosity evident in their faces. They all knew something was off, they knew he’d been distant lately, snapping at them for reasons they couldn’t quite figure out. But this was something different.
“Alright, guys,” Luke began, his voice steady, but a slight tremor betrayed the emotions brewing inside of him, “I’ve got some news, big news.”
The room went still.
“I’ve been called up,” He continued, letting the words hang in the air as a small smile crept onto his face, “I’m heading to New Jersey to play for the Devils the day after tomorrow.”
A collective gasp echoed through the room. The weight of the announcement hit the team like a wave. There were slaps on his back, congratulations, but Luke felt strangely detached from it all.
Mark grinned as he slapped him on the shoulder. “Look at you, man. Going pro. Gonna leave us in the dust.”
Luke forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes, the excitement of the moment felt distant.
Ethan, always the emotional one, stepped forward with a grin for his friend, “That’s awesome, Hughes. You’ve earned it, I’m really proud of you.”
Luke nodded absently, trying to hide the storm swirling inside of him. He had expected this moment and had rehearsed it in his mind a hundred times. But none of those scenarios had prepared him for how empty it would feel.
“Thanks, man,” Luke nodded.
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
You sat in the seat in front of your desk, staring down at the scattered papers in front of you, but not really seeing them. You were supposed to be working, supposed to be focusing on the media notes for the team, but every time you tried to concentrate, your mind would inevitably drift back to Luke. His sudden departure felt like a punch in the stomach.
It wasn’t just the fact that he was gone, but rather it was the way he left. No goodbyes, no explanations. You had barely heard from him since the day he told everyone he was leaving for New Jersey and even then, it was brief. The Luke you had once known as the one who could light up a room with his sarcastic humor or annoy the hell out of you with his attitude felt like a memory now.
The door creaked, and Ethan stepped in, his presence immediately filling the empty space in the room. His smile was soft, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. You could see the concern in his gaze as he took a seat next to you.
“Hey,” Ethan told you gently, nudging your shoulder, “You doing okay?”
You nodded, but the tightness in your chest told a different story, “I’m fine.”
Ethan didn’t believe you for a second, and you knew it. He had been there for you through it, with the games, the late nights, the times you had gotten frustrated with Luke and even the moments you had found yourself falling for him. But now, after Luke was gone, things felt different. It was like the silence was suffocating you both.
Ethan let out a breath, running a hand through his hair, his eyes still fixed on you, “You don’t have to lie to me. It’s okay to not be okay.”
You glanced at him, forcing a small smile, “I know. It’s just… it feels like everything’s changed.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Ethan said as he sat back, stretching his legs out in front of him. “It’s not easy. For any of us. I mean, I know you two had your… issues, but he’s gone now and that’s gotta hurt.”
You swallowed hard, your throat tightening at the mention of Luke. You had thought that with time, you’d be able to move on, to get over the emotional rollercoaster that had been your relationship with him. But instead, his absence felt like a gaping hole in the team, in your life, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that things would never be the same.
“I don’t know why it hurts this much,” You admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, “It’s like he was never really there, but I still feel this emptiness now that he’s gone.”
Ethan’s gaze softened, and he leaned in slightly, “It’s because he mattered. Even when he was a jerk, you cared about him and that doesn’t just go away overnight. Hell, it doesn’t go away at all. But I’m here for you, okay? I always will be. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
You took a shaky breath as you nodded, “I just don’t understand him, Ethan. One minute he’s pulling me in, and the next he’s pushing me away. I thought we were getting somewhere, but then…” You trailed off, your voice cracking slightly, “And now he’s gone, and I feel like I’ve lost something I didn’t even know I needed.”
Ethan’s eyes flickered with something that resembled a mixture of sympathy and concern. He placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm, but not overbearing.
“You didn’t lose anything,” Ethan said softly, “You gained something. You gained a lesson. You learned how to not let someone else’s bullshit affect you. You learned that you’re strong enough to survive even when things don’t go the way you want them to.”
You met his gaze, the intensity in his eyes giving you a sense of comfort you hadn’t realized you needed, “But I still care and I don’t know how to stop.”
Ethan’s smile was small but genuine, “It’s not about stopping. It’s about moving forward, one step at a time. You’ll get there, I promise.”
You let out a breath, leaning back against the bench and closing your eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of everything start to lift, “Thanks, Ethan. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Ethan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he sat leaned against the wall next to you, the two of you staring at the rink in silence, the occasional sound of skates scraping against the ice breaking the stillness. It was comforting, in a way. There was no need for words, just the presence of someone who understood.
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
Life with the New Jersey Devils was everything Luke had dreamed of. The adrenaline of skating out onto the ice, the roar of the crowd, the pressure of each game, it was the stuff he had worked for since he was a kid, and now it was his reality. His brother, Jack, was right beside him, and it felt like everything was falling into place.
The mornings were filled with drills and team strategy, followed by afternoons spent lifting weights and studying film. It was a routine that Luke had grown to love, each day a reminder of how far he’d come. Playing with Jack was something he had always fantasized about, and now that it was happening, he found himself enjoying every moment. There was an unspoken understanding between them, like a shorthand that allowed them to communicate without words, a bond that made everything on the ice feel effortless.
But for all the things he loved about this life, there were moments when the noise of it all quieted down, and the emptiness of his decisions crept in.
It was late one evening after a team dinner when he found himself alone in the locker room, sitting on a bench, his skates still on as he stared at his reflection in the locker room mirror. The hum of the arena was faint in the background, and the sound of his teammates talking and laughing in the distance seemed so far away. He felt restless, like there was something missing.
The chaos of the NHL, the intensity of the games, the pressure, it was all exhilarating but something inside him was unsettled. He ran his hand over his face, eyes drifting to the messages on his phone, his thumb hovering over a number that used to feel like second nature.
Your number.
The last few weeks had been a whirlwind. Getting drafted, making the roster, joining the team, all of it had happened so fast. He hadn’t allowed himself the time to slow down and think about anything beyond hockey. The reality of playing professionally, of having this spotlight on him, had consumed him. But in these quiet moments, the weight of his own decisions was heavier than ever.
He had been cold. He had pushed you away when you needed someone, when you had been there for him more than anyone else had. He had told himself it was for your own good, that you deserved someone who could give you more than he could, but deep down, he knew the truth. It wasn’t about that. It was about him. He had been afraid. Afraid of letting someone get too close. Afraid of needing someone who wasn’t a part of his world, afraid of the vulnerability it brought.
And now, here he was. The NHL was everything he had wanted and everything he had worked for, but a part of him missed you. He missed how easy it had been to talk to you, to laugh with you, and to be around someone who saw him for more than just the player. He missed the way you would text him about the little things, like how your day went, how classes were going, how you were looking forward to the next time they’d hang out in the media room.
He missed your laugh and the way you made him feel like he was seen, like he wasn’t just the hockey player everyone expected him to be.
It was strange, this feeling. He had never been one to question his decisions. He had always been focused on what was in front of him, never looking back. But now, as he sat in the locker room, it was hard to ignore the tug of regret.
Jack’s voice broke through his thoughts as he walked in, tossing his bag into his locker, “You good, man?”
Luke looked up, forcing a smile, “Yeah, just tired. Long day.”
Jack raised an eyebrow, he knew his little brother better than anyone, “You sure? I mean, you’ve been a little off lately. You’ve been kinda quiet.”
Luke leaned back against the locker, his eyes flicking back to his phone for a moment before he put it down, “I don’t know, dude. Just thinking.”
“About what?” Jack asked with more curiosity evident in his tone, “You’ve been killing it out there, Luke. First season and you’re already making an impact. I don’t know what you’re thinking about, but you’ve got everything you’ve ever wanted.”
Luke let out a sigh, running a hand through his curls, “I know I do, it’s just… I don’t know, Jack. There’s this feeling I can’t shake, like something’s missing.”
Jack tilted his head, “Missing? What are you talking about?”
Luke hesitated, his thoughts drifting back to you, “I don’t know, man. I thought I had it all figured out. I pushed some things aside...people aside, actually. But sometimes, it feels like I might have made a mistake.”
Jack’s face softened, understanding the weight of his brother’s words, “You’re talking about her, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb, Luke,” Jack said, his tone gentle but firm, “You’ve been acting off ever since you got here. You’ve been so focused on the game, I get it. But you don’t have to shut out everyone else, especially not her. You made a decision, I know, but you also know that sometimes the hardest thing to do is admit when you’re wrong.”
Luke’s jaw clenched, “I didn’t want to drag her into this. I didn’t want to risk messing things up because of my career. She deserved better than me, especially with what I’ve got going on right now.”
Jack shook his head, “I get that you’re trying to protect her, but Luke, sometimes you can’t protect people from how you feel. You’ve got to decide, do you want to keep running from this, or are you going to do something about it?”
Luke didn’t answer right away. He stared at the floor, contemplating his brother’s words. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken thoughts and feelings.
“Maybe you’re right,” Luke finally said, his voice hushed, “I don’t know what to do, but I can’t stop thinking about her, Jack. I think I might have messed things up too much.”
Jack gave him a knowing look, his hand resting on his brother’s shoulder, “It’s never too late to make things right, Luke. But you’ve got to decide if you want to fix it or if you’re going to let it go.”
₊˚ˑ༄ؘ
The late night breeze brushed against you when you stepped outside the arena that night, the air causing your hair to blow around your head. The sky was dark, and the world around you was quiet and you were tired of pretending you were fine, tired of trying to move on from something that had never really ended.
You weren’t expecting anyone to be waiting outside of Yost, but there he was.
Luke stood just outside the parking lot, hands shoved into the pockets of his joggers, his head down like he didn’t quite know if he had the right to be there. He looked up when he heard your footsteps, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.
Your heart slammed against your chest,
“What are you doing here?” You asked with your voice barely audible
He stepped forward slowly, “I needed to see you.”
You swallowed hard, “You left.”
“I know,” His voice was thick, his eyes filled with desperation, “And I regret it every single day. I thought I was doing the right thing by choosing the career, staying focused, keeping you from the mess I was becoming, but all I did was hurt you and God, I hate that I did that.”
You stood still, breath caught, as he spoke like you couldn’t quite tell if you reached the level of exhaustion where you started hallucinating.
“I’ve had everything I ever dreamed of handed to me in Jersey but none of it feels right.,” He sighed as his eyes locked on yours, “Because I don’t get to share it with you. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like more than just the youngest Hughes brother. You saw me. You made me feel grounded and real, like I had a place to land after all the chaos and I tried so hard to forget that and to move on, but I can’t.”
His voice dropped to a whisper, “Baby, it’s you. It’s always been you.”
A tremor rippled through you as your heart skipped a few beats and your cheeks reddened.
“I love you. I’ve loved you for so long I don’t even remember when it started. I was scared. I thought if I let you in, I’d lose focus, I’d mess it all up, but losing you… that’s the only thing I got wrong and I can’t stand not having you in my life.” Luke confessed with his voice dropping a bit as his throat tightened
Your voice was shaky, “You broke my heart.”
“I know. And I swear to you, if you give me even the smallest chance, I will spend every day proving that I’m worth trying again for.”
You were crying now, but it didn’t feel like the pain you’d carried for the past weeks, it felt like release, like everything you’d bottled up was finally being let out. You stepped toward him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, “You’re such an idiot.”
He let out a broken laugh, chest shaking, “Yeah. I am.”
And then you kissed him.
Not gently. Not cautiously. It was a collision of longing, of anger, of all the unsaid things finally being spoken in the way you knew best. His hands cupped your cheeks, your fingers twisted in the collar of his sweatshirt, and the breeze swirled around you as if the universe was finally giving its blessing.
When the kiss broke, your foreheads rested against each other, his breath warm against your skin.
“I love you too,” You whispered.
His lips curled into a smile, soft and a little stunned, “God, I missed you.”
among the MANY hilarious things in this brawl, there is also the adorable fact that the baby rookies stayed back, found each other, and stood there watching it all happen while holding hands.
