Heating Pad & Hockey Boyfriend
Pairing: Garrett Graham x Reader
Word Count: 1979
Request open!
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Garrett Graham knew something was wrong the second you walked into the kitchen.
You tried to act normal. You really did. You even gave him a small smile, which would have worked on almost anyone else.
But Garrett had spent enough time around you to know that the smile was fake, your shoulders were tense, and you were moving like every step had to be negotiated with your own body.
He leaned against the counter, one eyebrow lifting. “Okay,” he said. “What happened?”
You blinked at him from the fridge door. “What makes you think something happened?”
“Because you look like you’re about to fight the entire human race,” he said. “And lose. Badly.”
You shut the fridge a little too hard. “I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I am.”
Garrett pushed off the counter and crossed the kitchen in a few easy steps, stopping in front of you. “Sweetheart,” he said, softer now, “that is absolutely not the face of a fine person.”
You opened your mouth, ready with some sharp reply, but another cramp ripped through your stomach so suddenly you had to grab the edge of the counter.
Garrett’s expression changed instantly. “There it is.”
You shot him a glare. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t do that thing where you act like you know everything.”
He gave you a flat look. “You are literally bent over in the kitchen.”
“Not helping.”
“I’m aware,” he said. “I’m trying to help in a very Garrett Graham way, which, for the record, is still better than most people’s way.”
You let out a breath that was halfway between a laugh and a groan. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here you are.”
You made a face, but the pain hit again, and your hand went to your lower stomach. Garrett noticed immediately. Of course he did. He was infuriatingly observant when it counted.
He lowered his voice. “Period?”
You stared at him.
He stared back, then pointed at your sweatpants. “I’m not asking because I want details. I’m asking because I know the look.”
You exhaled. “Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay,” he said, as if this was the easiest answer in the world. “What do you need?”
You paused.
Because that was Garrett Graham, captain of Briar hockey, loudmouth, smug genius, and somehow also the guy who could go from teasing you mercilessly to gentle in a single second.
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Heat maybe. And painkillers. And maybe to not be perceived by anyone for the next twelve to forty-eight hours.”
He nodded once, all seriousness now. “That can be arranged.”
You gave him a skeptical look. “By who? You?”
“Obviously.”
You huffed. “You don’t even know where the heating pad is.”
Garrett pointed at you like you’d just made his case for him. “You see? This is why I’m asking. Because I am a man who solves problems.”
“You also leave your laundry on the floor.”
“That is unrelated.”
“Is it?”
He stepped around you and opened the cabinet over the sink. “Heating pad’s in here, right?”
You blinked. “How did you know that?”
He looked over his shoulder, that arrogant little grin showing up again. “Because I pay attention.”
You crossed your arms, trying very hard not to smile and failing a little. “You’re unbearable.”
“And yet,” he said, pulling out the heating pad, “I’m the one who knows where the stuff is.”
He plugged it in at the outlet near the counter, then turned back to you. “Come here.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Why does that sound suspicious.”
“Because you’re dramatic.”
“Garrett.”
“Y/N.”
You stared each other down for one beat, then two, until he sighed and held up both hands in surrender. “Fine. No tricks. I just want to get you on the couch before you decide to act tough and pass out dramatically on the kitchen floor.”
“That is not a thing I do.”
He lifted one brow. “Last month you almost cried because your socks were wet.”
“Those socks were the worst socks in the history of socks.”
“Exactly my point.”
You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched. Garrett noticed, because of course he did, and his face softened again.
“C’mon,” he said. “Couch. Blankets. Water. Painkillers. I’ll be your full-time service boyfriend for the evening.”
“That is not a real title.”
“It is tonight.”
He guided you toward the living room with a hand on your lower back, warm and steady. You hated how much that helped. You hated even more that he knew exactly how to move with you without making a big deal out of it.
Once you were settled on the couch, Garrett disappeared into the kitchen and came back carrying a water bottle, a bag of chips, and the heating pad wrapped in one of his hoodies because, apparently, he had decided basic competence was suddenly his brand.
You stared at the pile in his arms. “Did you just assemble a period survival kit?”
“Yes,” he said. “Try to sound less impressed.”
You snorted and took the water bottle. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re pale. Which is a problem, because I prefer you looking less like a Victorian ghost.”
You laughed despite yourself, then winced and pressed a hand to your stomach.
Garrett sat beside you immediately. “How bad is it?”
You shrugged, but it was a useless motion. “Annoying. Sharp. Stupid.”
“On a scale from one to ten?”
You looked at him. “Since when are you so organized?”
“Since I became responsible for your wellbeing,” he said, like it was obvious. “Now answer the question.”
You sighed. “Six? Maybe seven.”
His jaw tightened a little. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“Because I’m not trying to be a problem.”
Garrett turned fully toward you. “Hey.” His voice was gentle, but there was steel in it too. “You are never a problem.”
That made you go quiet.
He rubbed a thumb along the side of the water bottle, then added, “You could’ve woken me up, texted me, yelled across the campus, whatever. I don’t care. I’d rather know.”
You studied him. “You’d really help?”
He looked offended. “Y/N. I am insulted on a spiritual level.”
You laughed again, then made a face as another cramp hit.
Garrett was up in a second, setting the heating pad onto your stomach and adjusting the hoodie around it so it stayed in place. He was careful, almost reverent about it, like he didn’t want to do anything wrong.
“Better?” he asked.
You nodded, already feeling some relief from the warmth. “Yeah. Actually, yeah.”
“Good.”
He leaned back and stretched an arm along the top of the couch behind you. “Now tell me what else I need to do.”
You glanced at him. “You’re taking this very seriously.”
“I’m a serious guy.”
“That is the funniest thing you’ve ever said.”
He looked offended again. “You wound me.”
“You mock me every day.”
“That’s different.”
You smiled into your water bottle and took a sip. The room was quiet for a few seconds, just the low hum of the heater and the distant noise of the guys somewhere upstairs.
Then Garrett said, “Do you want ice cream?”
You stared. “You just asked me that like it was a medical treatment.”
“It is.”
“It is not.”
“It absolutely is. Comfort food counts.”
You bit your lip to hide your grin. “We don’t have ice cream.”
“I’ll get some.”
“You’re not going out just for that.”
He looked at you like you were being unreasonable. “Why not?”
“Because it’s raining.”
“So?”
“Garrett.”
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Sweetheart, I play hockey. Rain does not scare me. Neither does a grocery store.”
Your eyes narrowed. “It’s 10 p.m.”
“And?”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re still not answering the question.”
You sighed. “No ice cream. I’m fine.”
He gave you a look that said he did not believe you for one second, then nodded toward the blanket folded on the armchair. “At least let me get you that.”
You hesitated, then said, “Okay.”
He got up, grabbed the blanket, and came back to drape it over you with way more care than he needed to. It covered your legs, your shoulders, and part of the hoodie warming your stomach. You looked like you had been wrapped up by someone who actually wanted you comfortable instead of just out of the way.
Garrett sat back down and crossed one ankle over the other. “There.”
You looked over at him. “You really don’t have to babysit me, you know.”
He smirked. “That’s funny. Because I’m pretty sure I volunteered.”
“I didn’t accept your application.”
“I’m not sure you have the authority to reject it.”
You laughed, then rested your head against the cushion. “You’re smug.”
“Correct.”
“And annoying.”
“Also correct.”
“And weirdly good at this.”
That made him go quiet for a beat.
Then he glanced at you, something softer moving across his face. “Yeah?”
You nodded once. “Yeah.”
He looked almost shy for half a second, which was so unlike him you would have missed it if you weren’t paying attention. Then he cleared his throat and reached for the remote. “Okay. Movie?”
You made a face. “You’re picking?”
“Obviously.”
“That means some ridiculous action movie where people explode for no reason.”
“First of all, there are always reasons.”
“Garrett.”
He grinned. “Fine. Romantic comedy.”
You stared at him. “You? Choosing a romantic comedy?”
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
“You once said love stories were ‘predictable nonsense.’”
“That was before I learned they’re useful for distracting my girlfriend from murdering me with her period cramps.”
Your face warmed. “Your girlfriend?”
He looked at you with that easy, devastating smile that always made your heart stutter. “Yeah. You.”
The words sat in the space between you, simple and warm and unexpectedly perfect.
You looked away first, but not because you wanted to. Because if you kept looking at him like that, you were going to melt into the couch like a stupid puddle.
Garrett, apparently satisfied with the effect he had just had on you, selected a movie and settled in beside you. After a few minutes, you shifted closer without thinking, your head brushing his shoulder.
His arm came around you right away.
“You comfortable?” he asked.
You nodded against him. “Mhm.”
“Pain any better?”
“A little.”
“Good.”
A pause.
Then, in a lower voice, he said, “You know you don’t have to act tough with me, right?”
You went still.
He continued, carefully, “You don’t have to smile when you feel like garbage. You don’t have to pretend you’re not hurting. I’d rather you be honest.”
The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten.
You swallowed. “I don’t like feeling helpless.”
“I know.”
“That’s part of it.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re not helpless. You’re just cramping your ass off and pretending you’re not.”
A laugh escaped you, quiet and real this time. “That was terrible.”
“I know.”
“It was very bad.”
“I’m still right.”
You turned your face into his shoulder to hide your smile. “You’re unbearably sweet when I’m miserable.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“I wouldn’t survive the embarrassment.”
He snorted softly, then squeezed you a little tighter. “Go to sleep if you want.”
“You’ll wake me up?”
“Nope. I’ll carry you to bed eventually.”
“Eventually?”
He looked down at you with a lazy grin. “Right now, I’ve got the couch. You’ve got the blanket. And I’m winning.”
You shook your head, smiling despite the pain, despite the bad mood, despite the whole unfairness of your body deciding to punish you on a random Tuesday night.
“Garrett?”
“Yeah?”
You hesitated, then said quietly, “Thank you.”
He brushed his thumb over your arm. “Always.”
And for the rest of the night, he stayed right there with you,warm, steady, annoyingly smug, and somehow exactly what you needed.
