a/n: happy fraser fridayy! i freaking love malcolm todd and his album is absolute peak, i started writing this the day the album dropped and finished two days later, so i was waiting for today to post it. also, i added a little picture of the texts because i thought it’d be fun to add, i did NOT expect to be editing it for 30-45 minutes… enjoy!
warnings: slight angst because fraser does end up crying and mention of a prior argument
summary: The guy you’ve been hooking up with on the low gets drunk while he’s in Switzerland for the IIHF World Championships. Somehow, it works for the better.
You and Fraser had been a thing since he was drafted by Toronto in 2022. You met him at a bar celebrating his 18th birthday, freshly legal to be allowed to drink in Quebec. You exchanged numbers and hung out the next night, hooking up in your bedroom while your parents weren’t home. Days later, he was selected 38th overall in the NHL entry draft. You didn’t even know he played hockey, he looked like the guy who explained all of the Star Wars lore and played piano for you (which he did do).
Nearly a year ago, he was traded to Boston. Nobody expected this trade, but it happened. In addition to this, you moved to London, Ontario to attend college at Western University. It was about a 9 hour drive, a stark contrast from you living 20 minutes from the hotel teams stayed at when they played the Habs. This made your odd relationship with Fraser difficult.
Classes had finally ended for college and you were back home to Montreal. It was May 31st and you were watching the bronze medal game, Canada unfortunately not fighting for gold due to falling to Finland in the Semi-Finals.
It was overtime against Norway and Noah Steen just scored for Norway, winning bronze and getting the first medal in Norwegian history. You were disappointed, but still proud of your country being undefeated up until then. You got up from your bed, the rest of your house stirring awake. They were hockey fans, but couldn’t stand the fact that they would have to watch their country fight for anything but gold. Even worse that they stood medal-less.
You think of the disappointed looks on everyone’s face, your heart breaking for your country’s team. You think of Fraser, which only makes it worse. You think about texting him, but you haven’t spoken since the Bruins lost to the Sabres in game 6. When you texted him then, it didn’t go well.
You thought you knew how to comfort him, but he just pushed you away. He got mean and defensive about everything, yelling at you. You couldn’t believe he had that in him so you chose to not text him again. A few days after his meltdown, he texted apologizing. You never got back to him because you just couldn’t talk to him after he was so mean. You understood that maybe he didn’t want to talk, but he should've known better than to react.
You make yourself a bowl of cereal and scroll through Instagram. There’s posts already up about Canada being a letdown and people are calling Macklin “Failbrini.” You see a picture of Fraser in one of the posts from overtime, he looked destroyed. You could feel his heartbreak through the screen. He lost twice for his team and his country in the same month. You close your phone and sigh like this was your own personal issue and loss.
Your dad comes downstairs and sees you immediately, your phone being put face down on the countertop. “Hey kiddo, how’d the game go?”
“Bad. They lost in overtime,” you sadly say. Nobody in your family knew about you and Fraser, but they knew you cared deeply for your country’s team in regards to hockey, as did they.
He shook his head, brewing coffee as the room grew silent once more.
After a day of mutual sadness throughout your neighborhood from the game, it reached dinnertime. On Sundays, your family had dinner like every other night, but none of you would have phones on your person. They would be up in your parents room upstairs while you guys talked about life and played board games to keep the family close. Sometimes, it ended in an argument and early, and other days it went smooth and you guys played until your parents realized the time and sent you to bed. Now, only your baby twin siblings had to. You were now a legal adult and could stay down as long as you wanted. You were already planning to binge a show on the big TV rather than the slow one in your room that was rarely smooth running. It had poor connection to your Wi-Fi router and it irritated you. It was almost pointless to have.
Your parents brought the phones down at about 8 PM because your little sister had punched your brother during a game of Clue because he won and she claimed to have “known the entire time.” There was no way she did, her guess was entirely wrong. Your brother ran to his room as your sister went the same direction, but stopping a lot sooner than he did. She didn’t have a phone yet, but she loved to steal your brothers. Your mom grabbed your phone and the screen lit up and she gasped.
“Sweetie, I don’t know who this ‘Fraser’ person is, but he called you five times an hour ago,” she looked at you with a confused look, you snatched your phone and stared at the screen. Sure enough, four calls from Fraser while you weren’t able to answer from an hour ago. “Is he on your dorm floor?”
You couldn’t form an answer. Switzerland was 6 hours ahead, so it was 2 AM for him right now. When he called, it was between roughly midnight and 1 AM. “Uh, yeah. He’s probably just asking for advice about something. Sorry, I gotta go listen to these–”
You rush upstairs to your room and down the small hall, hearing your brother and sister fighting over who gets the top and bottom bunk. You close the door to your room and hop onto your bed, covering yourself in your duvet before reopening your phone. You scroll up and down, almost double checking that it’s real. When it doesn’t disappear in thin air, you take a deep breath as you stare at the letters of a name you half expected to never make the effort to contact you again.
You open the first voicemail and press play.
You instantly hear your name followed by a long pause. Fraser’s voice is soft, but there’s something under it. “I’m out with the boys to try cheer ourselves up after the bullshit of a game,” you sighed, he was drunk. It went hand in hand with his slurred speech. “A-and Macklin tried to help me and I– I fucking pushed him away. There’s something wrong with me and… and I thought of you because I fucked up with you so bad.”
You were taken off guard, your body jolted up.
“I hope you’re listening, please God, I– shit, please I knew it then but I really know now that it was wrong, I know why I acted the way I did. ‘m so sorry for how I reacted a… month ago? Fuck I… I was just defending myself over nothing, I am comfortable with Macklin so I just… I blew up on him. I shouldn’t have, he’s our captain. I was a dick to him and I know how he thinks, I know he already blames it enough on himself. He was incredible and I– fuck, I got sidetracked.”
The audio cuts out. You roll your eyes and start to play the second one.
“Baby, I am so sorry. What I am trying to say is that I just– I felt comfortable with doing that with you because you’re like… my safe place? I feel corny saying that kind of stuff but, fuck, it’s true. I should never blow up on you like that. You should never have to deal with me when I’m like that and… I don’t know you as much as I should, but I know you weren’t very happy with me after it all– you were completely right to feel that way. You meant well, you were caring for me, and I just– I fuck everything up,” he sobs out, sniffling before he starts again. “I know, it’s fucked that I’m doing this drunk but, I really care about you. Please, I’m truly so sor–”
The phone cuts out again. You’re starting to get irritated as you play the third one.
“I thought my annoying rings would get your attention, but maybe not. I’m still going to tell you I apologize so sincerely, if I were there… I’d be on my hands and knees begging you for forgiveness. I miss you so fucking much, I feel like shit for how I treated you and after tonight, without you trying to comfort me, it’s the fucking worst. You were always there to support me even if not publicly, I don’t even know what we are but I can’t imagine a life–” He was cut off by a teammate of his.
“Dude, are you calling your girlfriend right now?”
“Uh, yeah,” he replied before the recording stopped. You never labeled anything, you certainly weren’t his girlfriend, but explaining the situation he had with you to a teammate would be awkward.
You play the fourth one, sent 20 minutes after the previous one.
“Pick up the phone baby,” you hear his voice come through, an awkward giggle following it. “It’s uhh… it’s Fraser, your boyfriend– or, I honestly don’t… don’t even know what I am to you anymore, actually, uh. But I am calling again and uh– I want you. I want you really bad and uh,” you hear him suck on his teeth, “... yeah, just call me back.” Before the sound fully goes away, you hear an almost sob-like sound come out of his mouth, your name half said before the audio cuts out.
You look confused at your phone’s call log. That seemed like a final voicemail, but one more followed it. You pressed play, expecting it to be accidentally sent 10 minutes after the previous one.
“I… fuck,” he breathes out, your name a faint whisper, “I love you. Please believe me, I do, it isn’t the alcohol speaking. I’m not ashamed to say that anymore. I hate losing, but I’d hate losing you more. I am so sorry, baby.” You can hear his soft cries, and by the background sound, you can tell he’s no longer near his teammates in the active and lively bar. “Please answer me when you’re able to, but I’ll stop bugging you. I know I’m not your boyfriend, but– fuck I really wish I was, but I don’t deserve you. Bye, I’m sorry–again.”
You sit frozen in your bed, staring at your screen in disbelief.
Fraser just told you he loved you.
Your heart is beating out of your chest as you open your texts to him. Not only did he call you five times and left voicemails after each one, he texted you a billion times.
You try to call him, but it’s 2:13 AM where he is. You decide to text him, apologizing for not being able to call and explaining why. You promise to talk the next day and try to sleep, but you can’t. The voicemail just keeps replaying in your head. The broken sobs, the anger from losing peeking through his voice, the fact he told you he loved you and you believed him entirely. Hockey players were known to hoe around, but you and Fraser had been exclusive for four years. It was shocking that you hadn’t been together all this time, but it was clear he was unhappy with it just as much as you were.Neither of you were ready to admit you wanted something serious due to distance and restraints due to your schedules for those years. In your head, you just told yourself:
Thank God he had a drink tonight.
After a while, your mind finally slows down. You know you will wake up to a text from Fraser and you would work it out from there. You slowly drift off to sleep, your cheeks hot without anybody present to be making you feel this way.
But, the guy who was making you feel this way was probably blacked out on his hotel room bed.
You wake up and instantly check your phone, but there’s no message. You’re confused, but he also might not be up yet. You think that to yourself, though your phone screen shows that it is 10:37 AM for you, 4:37 PM for him. You choose to be delusional for now.
You went about your day normally, just checking your phone extra. You parents expect you to take your siblings to school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so you are lucky that you got to sleep in today
Then it turns to night again. Your phone is blown up with useless reels your friends send you or TikToks about how places to check, but none of it matters. Fraser was messing with you. He probably had this elaborate plan with his teammates to fuck with you and make you beleive he cared. He was smart enough to do that, you felt dumb and naive for believing it. Right after dinner, you go to your room and cry until you’re about to fall asleep. It was only 9, so your parents were slightly worried, but they were glad you set an example for your siblings to go to bed at a reasonable time. Once they were in bed, your mom came to your bedroom door.
“Mom… I can’t talk right now,” you say, muffled slightly by the pillow that’s damp from tears.
“I know you’re sad, but why? I want to help you–”
“Mama, it’s okay. Just… not now.” You hear her sigh and footsteps retreating towards her room, followed by a door closing. You begin to cry again, dozing off fully this time. You don’t notice the text that pops on your screen from a familiar blue-eyed boy.
You especially don’t notice the part where he tells you that he’s in Quebec and left the rest of the team so he could communicate with you in person.
You awake again, your eyes slightly puffy while you hear your name being called downstairs. It’s your mom, telling you to take your siblings to school.
“Come on, let’s hurry it up twins!” you yell, grabbing your keys while you hop into the car. You open your camera app to see how you look, surprisingly not bad. Your waterproof mascara and eyeliner are insanely durable. Though your eyes are a bit puffy and your lips are chapped, you don’t look half-bad. Honestly, you look presentable.
Your sister hops in the car, claiming her right seat in the back while your brother jumps in on the left. You put the car in drive? heading towards their elementary school. “No fighting each other in school, okay? I can’t defend you guys when I’m not present.”
“We know, sissy,” they say in unison. Once you get there, you stroll up right to the front.
“Have a good day!” you smile, waving goodbye as they run off, happily reuniting with their friends. You start to drive home, your phone buzzing in the cup holder beside you. The drive was only a maximum of five minutes on heavy traffic days and 3 minutes, but your parents didn’t trust the twins walking. You roll into your driveway and before you can even stop the car, you see the back of a man’s head, definitely not your dad.
You slowly turn the key to turn off the engine, closing the door and locking it, waiting for all three beeps like you had nothing better to do. Each step you took felt like your feet had been submerged in concrete and you were relearning how to walk. You reach the steps up to the porch of your childhood home, it suddenly feels not-so-home-ley. You put your key in the lock, but it's already unlocked. Of course. You turn the knob, entering your home, first seeing your mother in the kitchen making coffee, your dad sitting in his recliner that wasn’t yet reclined, and then you see him.
Fraser Minten in your living room with a gift box and flowers in hand.
You don’t know how to react. Your breath caught in your throat and you felt like you forgot how to breathe, like a lineman just ran into you with full force. You just keep blinking, your palms get sweaty, and your lips get increasingly more dry as the seconds pass.
“Honey, I didn’t know the Fraser that was calling you was Fraser Minten!” your mom exclaimed. You look at her, then immediately back to Fraser, who is staring at you. He knew of this plan, but seeing you in person was completely different than drunkenly calling you.
“Uh…” he started before he cleared his throat and gulped so loud that you could hear it from about 5 yards away. “Can we talk?”
You still couldn’t speak. You just nodded and headed up to your room, Fraser behind you while your parents stayed downstairs, completely baffled and perplexed.
You get to your room, letting him in before you close the door. He sat on your bed as you leant against your door.
“I wanted to talk to you about–“
“Why didn’t you text me yesterday?” you questioned him as soon as you were able to find the words.
He looked at you, face full of confusion. “I had a flight, I thought I texted you but it didn’t go through because I was in the air. I sent you texts last night and today.”
“Okay… as I was saying, I wanted to formally apologize. Not in some shitty, drunk voicemail. You deserve it in person.”
You look at him, looking down at the hardwood floors beneath your socks instead. He slid off the bed onto his knees in front of you so you couldn’t ignore him, kneeling in front of you. Wow, he was living up to that voicemail, you thought.
“I am so sorry for how I treated you. I was out of line and you were doing the best you could to comfort me and I attacked you. You don’t deserve that, baby.”
You just stare at him, replaying all the voicemails in your head. You don’t snap back into reality until you hear your name again.
“You deserve better than me,” his eyes shine with welled up tears, his shaky hands coming up to grab into your hips like you were the only stable thing right now. “But I… I can’t keep pretending I don’t want you, like I don’t want everything with you.”
“I love you. I love you to the point it hurts to even think that I pained you in any way. I– You have been a constant in my life ever since shit got real and… and even if it may have just seemed like we were friends with benefits, you were and still are the only thing that keeps me maintained. I’m not drunk and telling you this, I am sober and telling you I love you.”
You just look down at him, words that you want to say unable to leave your mouth.
“I… I’ll go sober and never drink again if you want. I just want you.” At this point, tears are streaming down his face as he quietly begs, sure to not embarrass you while your parents are downstairs but still displaying his desperation. “I want it to be you so badly, and I don’t know how you see what we have, but I really hope you do. I want to have a life with you, have kids with you, and if not kids, pets. I want to be… fuck, washing our dog as it shakes water on us so we smell bad. But it doesn’t matter to us at the moment because we are happy together and wouldn’t want it any other way. I wouldn’t want it any other way or with anybody else.”
He’s breaking down, his head resting in your left thigh as he tries to compose himself. His hands grip hard enough to stay right where he is without hurting you, he wouldn’t dare be rough. You never saw this gentle side of him. He could be a gentleman, but you never experienced it face-to-face. He looks back up at you, eyes glossy and cheeks red as he repeats your name like a prayer.
“Please, please, I’m so sorry. Baby, believe me, I will never do this again,” he cries, hugging your thighs, his lips placing soft kisses while he tries to ground himself. “I miss you, I miss your– your texts after every game and spontaneous questions that I pretend to be irritated with, but I really am not. Please, I don't care how pathetic I look, I just w… fuck, I just want to be with you so badly.”
He muffles his sobs in you while his body shakes against you. You look down at the boy beneath you as your hands find his hair, gently massaging his scalp. He lets out a sigh that makes his entire body relax, pulling away to look up at you.
“I believe you, Fraser. I just can’t believe it took a drink in Switzerland to get it out of either of us,” you laughed, cupping his face in your hand. His lips that were wet from a mix of him licking them and tears streaming down his cheeks formed into a small grin, his pupils dilating as he looked up at you. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not, though. I’m sorry–”
“But I forgive you and I,” you grinned at him, your own eyes welling with tears as you caressed his cheek, not being able to believe that he was here, much less begging on his knees for you. “I love you too, Fraser.”
He just stares at you, his eyes widening as each word leaves your mouth. He couldn’t believe it, his left hand pinching his right (which was still planted around your thigh).
“I mean, I lost hope in you yesterday, but this makes up for it all,” you laugh.
He subtly and quietly laughed at that as he started to stand up, still looking at you while breathing unusually heavy. You were still holding his face as you looked from eye-to-eye, down to his nose, his red cheeks, and lastly, his lips. Those lips you longed for, finally accessible. You lean in and he does at the same time, your lips meeting while one of his hands meets your right cheek and the other remains in the waist it was grabbing onto previously. Your hands find his hair and jaw, kissing him so deeply that you almost forgot the past month. You smiled into it as he did too, his fingers tracing circles on your hip.
He pulled away first just to hold your face and look at you– no, admire you. “I feel so lucky to be here with you… thank you, thank you so much.”
“For letting me in. For letting me do this. For letting me be here with you and for you. I’m sorry I pushed you away, I just needed you closer,” he pulled you in impossibly closer into a hug, “like this.”
“As long as I’m around, I will be checking in on you after wins and losses,” you smiled against his chest.
“I wouldn’t want it any other way, and I promise never to yell at you again. Ever.”
He pulls away from the hug to capture you in a kiss again, happy as he could ever be, almost forgetting that he had lost the bronze medal game the day prior. He pulled away.
“Wait, I brought a gift for you.” He turned around to your bed, the poorly wrapped gift lay on your bed with a yellow ribbon and Christmas paper, though it was the second day of June. You giggled at that, but before you got to it, he turned around with the flowers. “I got you pink roses and peonies. I wanted to get you lilies, but I know you like attracting cats into your home and they’re allergic so… yeah.”
You took them gratefully and smiled as he grabbed the wrapped gift. “Thank you, Fras.”
“Sorry for the horrible wrapping but, you can’t tell what it is, right?” he asked.
“Not a clue in the world,” you smiled. “Likely not something living, though.”
“Then it worked in a way, as long as you don’t care for the aesthetics of it,” he grinned, handing you the present. “You don’t need to open it now, but you can.”
“Can we open it with my parents? And my siblings?”
“You can open it with them but… We? And I don’t recall seeing the twins–”
“They’re at school. You can stay here until they come, they’ll be surprised to see you. Like a fan meet and greet,” you laugh, tossing the box back on the bed as you take his hands in yours. He looks down at your joined hands and just smiles, laughing softly before licking and biting his lip while looking back up at you.
“Are you sure?” he asks, he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries and mess up with you ever again. He’s being very cautious and you really appreciate it.
“Of course! Let me go formally introduce you to my parents,” you move slightly so you have enough room to open the door you were leaning on, holding his hand down the hall.
“Wait,” Fraser calls out your name, you turning around to meet his gaze. You tilt your head, confused. “I want to take you out on a proper date. I want to do this right so you… So you can be my girlfriend, officially.”
If you weren’t already smiling big enough, you surely were now. “I’d like that.”
He pulled you into a hug again, kissing the top of your head before letting you lead the way down the stairs, meeting your parents in a proper manner.
Your sibling's excitement had finally died down from the initial shock of seeing Fraser Minten in your house, then the additional surprise when they saw you holding his hand. Their jaws were on the floor and they were slowly retreating.
“Fraser got me a gift and he brought it, I wanted to open it all with you because I was wrapped in Christmas paper,” you laughed. “It’s like Christmas morning except it’s only me having a gift.”
“Hey, I didn’t have anything else! Trust me, next time I will have gifts for all of you, though,” he smiled at your entire family. Your parents happily looked at him, glad you had finally found a gentleman (they will never know how you guys actually met). “I’ll go grab it for you.”
He pats your thigh as he stands up, running up the stairs to grab it. He nearly misses a step because he’s so excited to give you it– he’s been dreaming of it ever since he saw your reply.
He comes back down and hands it to you, and now, all eyes are on you. You look around quickly before paying attention to the present on your lap. The wrapping somehow looks even worse, a whole flap of gift paper sticking out. You choose to start from there once the ribbon is completely off. Once it is, you are faced with a basic cardboard box. There’s a Canada Hockey logo on the top, but you think it was probably the last box he had on such short notice. As you open it, your jaw drops.
There is no fucking way he gave you this.
“Fraser– holy shit, you did not,” you say, looking up at him.
“Language, young lady,” your mom says.
“No, mama, look!” you take the gift out of the box, showing your entire family. Everyone’s face goes from confused to shocked, and then to pure happiness.
“Holy shit!” your mom exclaims, smacking her hand to her mouth. “Sorry!”
In your hands is Fraser’s team Canada hockey jersey. Based on the frayed thread and unexplainable rubbed marks and blemishes, it wasn’t just a Minten jersey. It was his game worn, authentic jersey.
“Don’t you want to give this to your mom? Put it in your room?” you ask him, hands holding the jersey so delicately that it seemed as if you thought it would cease to exist in thin air.
“I gave my mom the red one. She said she preferred that one, anyway,” he reassures you, putting his hand on your shoulder as he faces in your relative direction, but not entirely towards you.
“I can’t– thank you so much,” you lunged at him to hug him, surprising him before he immediately melted into your arms.
“Of course,” he said. Then quietly in your ear, “anytime, baby. I love you.”
You pulled away, happy. “You won’t catch me wearing this when you’re playing the Habs, though.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to at all.”
You folded the jersey back up, putting it back into the box and running upstairs to put it in your room. You pulled it right back out to put it on a hanger above your bed, a reminder of him before you went to sleep each night. Before leaving, Fraser was at your bedroom door.
“Hi,” he replied, your name coming off his tongue as happiness seeped through his voice.
“How long are you here in Quebec?” you asked. You knew he was dreading that question.
“I don’t have a flight booked, but I want to go see my own family back in Vancouver,” he replied. You knew neither of you wanted to be far from each other again. But then, he looked up at you hopefully. “Maybe by that point, you feel comfortable enough to come with.”
“You can’t just say ‘perchance,’” he replied, rolling his eyes playfully, the grin on his mouth betraying him. “Let us just focus on the present now. Work on us.”
“That sounds like a plan I can get behind.” He smiled that beautiful smile you missed so dearly, pulling you in to kiss you again. He deepened the kiss as he placed his hand on the back of your head, his other hand cupping your cheek like you were the most delicate thing he had ever and would ever touch. You grinned into the kiss, thinking many things at once but one thing in particular: Thank God for bars. Though it sounded silly, you met at a bar and Fraser finally admitted his true feelings thanks to drinking at a bar and leaving you voicemails thousands of miles away. You held onto him, never wanting to let go, and so did he.
Fraser knew he would love you until his last breath and he would do anything to keep you around just as you are.
