𝟎𝟒. 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐲
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐢 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐝, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧—𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲, 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐥𝐲, 𝐧𝐨 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬. 𝐇𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐞. 𝐇𝐞’𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐲. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐇𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬. 𝐇𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐮𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨.
As soon as you and Sasha stepped back into your dorm room right after the game, you headed straight for your closet, pulling open the doors and starting to dig through your clothes. You were looking for something nice—something that felt right, not too much, not too little—while Sasha dropped her bag on her bed and sat down, watching you with that familiar curious glint in her eyes.
“Alright,” she said, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “Spill. What are we doing now? You’re rummaging through your clothes like you’re getting ready for something important.”
You pulled out a soft blue dress, held it up against yourself in the mirror, then shook your head and put it back, reaching for something else.
“We’re going to the hockey house later,” you said casually, like it was no big deal. “For the victory party.”
Sasha’s eyebrows shot straight up. She stood up slowly, walking over to you. “We are? You and me? Going to the hockey house? The place known for being loud, messy, and full of drunk guys who think they’re gods’ gift to the world? You, who would rather study for three extra hours than go to any kind of party? That hockey house?”
You bit your lip, pulling out a simple, comfortable top and a nice pair of jeans, laying them on the bed. You knew there was no point in hiding it anymore—she was going to find out anyway.
“Dean asked me,” you admitted, finally looking at her. “After the game ended. He invited us both.”
Sasha let out a loud gasp, grabbing your arm and shaking it gently. “I knew it! I knew there was something going on! Oh my god, this is getting better and better. First he’s staring at you the whole game, then he asks you to a party? You have got to tell me everything. What did he say? How did he ask? What is happening between you two? Are you dating? Is he trying to date you? Does he like you? Do you like him?”
She didn’t stop talking the whole time you got ready. While you fixed your hair, she was sitting on your bed, firing question after question. While you put on your shoes, she was leaning against the doorframe, analyzing every little detail.
“I mean, come on,” she rambled on. “This is Dean Di Laurentis we’re talking about! The guy who used to have a different girl hanging off his arm every single weekend. The guy who never stayed in one place for more than five minutes if there wasn’t a crowd or a party involved. And now suddenly he’s sitting quietly under trees with you, looking at you like you hung the moon, and inviting you to parties? This is huge. This is like… history in the making. You cannot leave me in the dark here. I need the full story, every single piece of it!”
You laughed, shaking your head as you checked yourself in the mirror one last time. “Sasha, relax. Nothing is ‘happening.’ He’s just… changed. He’s trying. And I’m just… giving him a chance to show me who he is now. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Sasha repeated, rolling her eyes dramatically as she grabbed her jacket. “Honey, when Dean Di Laurentis changes his whole life just to impress one girl? That is never ‘that’s all.’ Mark my words.”
By the time you and Sasha walked up the steps to the hockey house, the music was already thumping loud enough to rattle the windows. The front door was wide open, people were spilling out onto the porch and lawn, and the noise—laughter, shouting, music, cheers—was almost overwhelming. It was exactly the kind of party everyone knew the hockey team threw: huge, chaotic, drinks everywhere, crowded rooms, and enough energy to power the whole campus.
This was Dean’s territory. This was where he used to shine brightest—right in the middle of the noise, the center of attention, the life of every single party.
You stepped inside, Sasha right beside you, and scanned the room. There were people everywhere—students from all years, teammates, friends, girlfriends. You saw Garrett and Hannah laughing near the kitchen, Logan and Grace sitting close together on the couch, and Tucker leaning against the wall talking to a group of guys.
He was standing near the center of the living room, surrounded by people. His teammates were clapping him on the back, girls were hovering nearby trying to get his attention, people were handing him cups, shouting congratulations, talking over each other to be heard. Everyone expected him to be exactly who he used to be: grinning, flirting, drinking, laughing loud, soaking up every bit of attention.
He was barely listening. He was holding a cup but hadn’t drunk from it. His smile was polite, but his eyes were moving constantly, scanning over heads, looking toward the door every few seconds, like he was waiting for something—or someone. He looked restless, like he didn’t belong here at all, like the noise and the crowd were just background noise while he waited for the only person he actually wanted to see.
Then his eyes landed on you.
Everything about him changed instantly. His whole face lit up, the rest of the room seeming to disappear from his view. Without hesitating, he set his cup down on a nearby table, ignored the girl who was stepping right in front of him trying to say something, stepped past his friends who were still talking to him, and walked straight toward you—cutting through the crowd like it wasn’t even there.
Dean reached you in seconds, stopping right in front of you, his expression soft and relieved, like he had been waiting for hours just to see you. He didn’t grab your hand, didn’t pull you close, didn’t do any of the bold, cocky things he used to do. He just smiled, that same genuine, quiet smile you were starting to know so well.
“You came,” he said, his voice warm and happy, even over the loud music, his eyes sparkling like he had just won the biggest prize of all.
“You invited us,” you answered, smiling back, your heart beating a little faster under his gaze.
He glanced around at the chaos, the noise, the people pushing past each other, and then looked back at you, reading your expression perfectly.
“It’s too loud in here, isn’t it?” he said, understanding immediately. “Come on. Let’s get out of here for a bit.”
He gestured toward the back of the house, leading the way through the crowd, stepping carefully so you wouldn’t get bumped. He opened the back door and held it for you, letting you step out first into the cool, quiet night air.
The backyard was dark, lit only by a few string lights strung above the porch, and completely empty—far away from the music, the shouting, the chaos inside. It was peaceful, calm, and quiet.
Dean walked over to a small table near the wall where he had set things out earlier, and picked up two bottles—one for you, one for himself. He handed yours to you; it was cold, clear, and definitely not alcohol.
“I figured you’d prefer this,” he said softly, sitting down on the wide wooden step, leaving just enough space to be respectful, but close enough that your knees almost brushed against his. “Water. Or soda, if you’d rather. I didn’t know which, so I brought both. Safe choice, right?”
“Water is perfect. Thank you,” you said softly, twisting the cap open and taking a small sip, the cool liquid refreshing after the heat inside. “And very thoughtful. I’m impressed.”
He leaned back on his hands, stretching his long legs out in front of him, tilting his head back to look at the sky for a second before turning his gaze fully toward you. There was a light, playful glint in his eyes—that familiar confidence, but softer, warmer, and directed only at you, making your stomach do that familiar little flip.
“You know…” he started, his voice dropping low, smooth and warm, like a secret only meant for you. “I played my hardest out there tonight. Ran faster, skated harder, fought for every puck, played better than I have all season. And you know what the craziest part is?”
He leaned in just a tiny bit closer, his elbow resting on his knee, his blue eyes locked deep into yours, refusing to look away.
You tilted your head, playing along, though your voice came out a little quieter than you intended. “What? That you actually listened to the coach for once? I honestly thought that was impossible.”
Dean let out a low, warm laugh, the sound rumbling in his chest and sending little shivers down your spine. He shook his head, grinning wider, that boyish, charming smile making your heart race.
“Funny. Very funny. I see you haven’t lost that talent of making fun of me. But no, that’s not it.” He paused, his gaze dropping slowly from your eyes to your lips, lingering there for a heartbeat before coming back up, slow and deliberate, like he was admiring every single part of you. “The craziest part is… I didn’t do it for the trophy. Or the crowd. Or the team. I didn’t even do it for the win.”
He leaned a little closer still, his voice turning soft, sincere, and incredibly flirty, like he was confessing something huge.
“I did it because I knew you were watching. Because I knew you were sitting in the stands, and I wanted to make you proud. I wanted to play so well that you couldn’t look away. And honestly? The second I saw you there… everything else just faded away. The noise, the pressure, the game… none of it mattered anymore. Only you did.”
You felt your cheeks heat up, and you looked down at your bottle, trying to hide the shy, giddy smile spreading across your face. “Oh, so that’s your secret? You only play well when you have an audience? I guess I should start showing up to every practice then, huh? If it helps the team win.”
Dean shook his head immediately, leaning in even closer now, so close you could smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with fresh air and something sweet. He reached out slowly, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin, sending sparks all over you.
“Not just any audience, baby,” he corrected softly, his voice low and rough with feeling, his thumb lingering near your cheek like he couldn’t help himself. “Only this audience. Only you. You have no idea… the things you do to me. I’ve played in front of thousands of people, in big arenas, loud crowds… but nothing, absolutely nothing, makes me as nervous or as determined as just having you look at me.”
He pulled his hand back slowly, but his eyes stayed fixed on yours, dark and full of so much emotion it made your breath catch.
“Makes a guy want to be better. Want to be the best. Makes me want to win every single game, every single time… just so I can look over here and see you smiling at me like that. Just so I know I impressed you.”
You looked back up at him, finding the courage to tease him right back, even though your heart was hammering hard against your ribs.
“A whole game just to impress me? That’s a lot of effort, Dean. I hope you know I’m a tough critic. I still remember the time you showed up late to practice and couldn’t even skate straight. You’ve got a lot of ground to make up.”
Dean gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like he’d been shot, eyes wide with mock offense. “Wow. Ouch. That hurt, honestly. Here I am pouring my heart out, telling you I’d run until my legs fall off just to see you smile, and you bring up one tiny, little, insignificant mistake from like… months ago? You hold grudges, don’t you?”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, grinning like he loved every second of it. “But fine. Challenge accepted. You want me to make up for it? Watch me. I’ll be the best player, the best student, the best… everything. You won’t find a single thing to complain about soon enough. You’ll get sick of how perfect I am.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Somehow I doubt that. I feel like you’ll always find a way to be a little bit… you. And I don’t think ‘perfect’ is ever going to be in your vocabulary.”
“Hey! I can be perfect!” He protested playfully, leaning closer, his voice dropping to that low, flirty tone again. “Or… at least perfect for you. I’m working on it, you know. Every day. I study harder, I show up on time, I listen to people… all because I know you like that kind of thing. I’m basically your personal project now. You can’t get rid of me.”
He winked, and you felt that familiar flip in your stomach again.
“Oh, so I own you now? Is that what this is?” You teased, raising an eyebrow. “I should’ve asked for something better then. Maybe I should’ve made you promise to carry my books for a month, or buy me coffee every single morning. You’re giving me all the power here, Dean. Dangerous move.”
He laughed, the sound warm and happy, leaning back again but still keeping his gaze locked on yours.
“Take all the power you want. Seriously. I’d hand you every single bit of it if I could. You could ask me to do anything—skate backwards for a whole game, run laps until I pass out, read every single book you’ve ever read… and I’d do it. No questions asked. Just because you asked.”
He paused, his expression softening, the teasing fading just a little into something deeper, sweeter.
“Honestly… I think I could score a hundred goals if I knew you’d look at me like this again. Like I’m actually something special. Like I’m worth your time.”
He leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, soft and sweet and so incredibly kilig inducing you almost forgot how to breathe.
“And you know what the best part is? Winning the game felt great… but coming out here and seeing you waiting for me? Talking to you like this? That feels like the real win. That feels like everything I’ve ever wanted.”
You laughed softly, breathless and shy, shaking your head at his words. “You’re very persuasive, Dean Di Laurentis. And very dramatic, by the way. A hundred goals? That’s a lot. You’d probably collapse halfway through.”
“Maybe. But I’d do it anyway.” He shrugged like it was the easiest thing in the world, his eyes sparkling. “And hey… even if I don’t score a hundred… even if I never win another trophy again… as long as I get to sit here with you, making you laugh, listening to you tease me? I’m still the happiest guy in the world. So really… I win no matter what.”
He looked at you for a long moment, the playfulness softening into something warm and sincere.
“You know… I used to think this—parties, winning, everyone cheering—was the best part of everything. I thought this was what success felt like. I thought this was what being happy was supposed to look like.”
He gestured vaguely toward the house, where the music was still thumping loudly.
“But tonight? When I was standing in there, with everyone yelling and talking and drinking… all I could think about was you. All I wanted was to be out here, with you. Quiet. Just… talking. Or not even talking. Just… being here. Just… breathing the same air as you.”
He turned fully toward you now, his expression open and true, his eyes shining bright under the string lights.
“I don’t care about any of that stuff anymore. The attention, the crowds, the parties… none of it matters. Not even close. The only thing that matters to me now is being near you. Knowing you’re here. Knowing I get to talk to you, or just sit with you, like this. That’s the only thing that actually feels like a win to me.”
He leaned in just a tiny bit closer, his voice dropping to that soft, intimate tone again, sending butterflies wild in your stomach.
“And for the record? Sitting here, looking at you, listening to you make fun of me, knowing you came here just to see me… this is way better than any trophy I’ve ever held. Way better than any win I’ve ever had. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
Inside the house, pressed tight against the wall near the back window, crouched down low behind a stack of coats and bags, were Logan, Grace, Garrett, Hannah, and Tucker. They were all squeezed together, shoulders bumping, trying desperately to stay hidden while peeking through the small gap in the curtains.
“Ow! Tucker, your elbow is in my ribs!” Garrett hissed, shoving Tucker’s arm away.
“Stop moving then!” Tucker whispered back loudly. “I can’t help it if you take up half the space! You eat too much!”
“Shhh! Both of you, shut up or they’re gonna hear us!” Grace scolded, leaning forward to get a better look, pulling Logan with her. “Oh my god… look at him! He’s smiling. Like, actually smiling like a lovesick idiot. And he’s joking with her! Dean joking softly and sweetly instead of showing off? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dean look that soft, or that… gone in my life.”
Hannah nodded, eyes wide and shining. “And did you hear what he said? About playing the whole game just because she was watching? And tucking her hair behind her ear?! And letting her tease him and laughing about it?! That is… insane. Dean used to say feelings were ‘overrated.’ Now he’s talking like he’s in a romance novel and letting her roast him! He likes it!”
Logan leaned forward, squinting through the gap, looking completely baffled and amazed at the same time. “Okay, seriously… is this our Dean? The same guy who last month tried to convince us that ‘commitment’ was a type of breakfast food? The guy who couldn’t remember one girl’s name long enough to get through a date? Because this guy out there is acting like a prince from a fairy tale and it is weird but also… kind of amazing. I didn’t know he could even talk like that.”
“Look! Look! He leaned closer!” Tucker whispered, practically vibrating with excitement, accidentally knocking Garrett’s shoulder. “Did you see that? The way he looked at her?! And he said he’d do anything she asks?! I think I just saw my best friend fall in love right in front of my eyes. It’s… it’s beautiful! It’s true love, guys! True love! He’s totally wrapped around her finger and he loves it!”
Garrett rolled his eyes but was still grinning like an idiot, completely invested. “It’s weird, is what it is. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s good. He’s finally growing up. But Dean flirting like a normal, sweet human being instead of trying to be the coolest guy in the room? And being all soft and sweet and… romantic and letting her make fun of him? It’s throwing me off. I feel like I’m in an alternate universe.”
“Wait, wait—hold on!” Hannah grabbed Garrett’s arm, pointing frantically. “She laughed! She laughed at something he said! And she teased him back! And she’s blushing! Oh my gosh, she likes him! She definitely likes him! I knew it! I told you guys there was something here! I called it!”
“Okay, okay, calm down,” Logan said, though he was grinning just as hard and bumping Grace’s shoulder. “But yeah… he’s completely gone. Look at him. He hasn’t even looked back at the house once. He turned down free beer, free food, and three different girls hitting on him just to sit on a cold step and whisper sweet nothings and joke around with her.”
Grace leaned back from the window, shaking her head in disbelief, holding back laughter. “I can’t believe it. Dean Di Laurentis… whipped. Like, completely, hopelessly whipped. And honestly? I love it. She’s good for him. You can tell just by looking at them. And honestly? The way he looks at her? I’m jealous. I want someone to look at me like that, and let me tease them like that, and think I’m the best thing ever.”
“Hey, I look at you like that!” Logan protested quietly, making everyone shush him loudly.
“Okay, mission accomplished,” Tucker whispered, trying to stand up quietly but banging his head hard on the window ledge. “OUCH! Okay, we saw everything, we confirmed the romance, we have all the tea, we saw the hair tuck, we saw the soft smiles, we saw the banter… now we need to get out of here before they turn around and catch us acting like total creeps!”
“Speak for yourself,” Garrett said, still peeking through the gap, eyes wide. “I want to see if he tries to hold her hand. This is better than any movie, better than any game we ever played. This is gold.”
“Garrett, move!” Hannah laughed, pulling him back by the back of his shirt. “If they catch us, Dean will never let us live it down. He’ll tease us forever. Come on, let’s go act like we definitely didn’t just spy on the most important conversation of Dean’s life for twenty minutes.”
They all scrambled away from the window, tripping over each other, bumping into furniture, stepping on each other’s feet, and trying (and failing miserably) to look casual and innocent as they stood up straight, smoothing their clothes and pretending they had definitely not just been pressed against a window like a bunch of nosy kids.
But as they walked back into the main room, they all exchanged the same knowing, amused, and incredibly impressed look.
Dean Di Laurentis wasn’t just changed. He was completely, utterly gone. And for the first time ever, none of them were surprised. Not even a little bit.
𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @purplerainx1 @destinyg237 @bookluver114 @beathreat @snowtargaryen
