canadian who loves hockey 😲 @skatesnstuff - Tumblr Blog

day by day, year after year

summary: time flies when you're having fun, and summers on the lake fly by all too fast.

request: yes. CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS. SUMMER FIC.

warnings: honestly there's a big chunk o smut in this like I took it as friends to LOVERS ok it's not all smut tho promise ; If you're not into smut you could honestly scroll past it and still enjoy the fic!! nico hischier is portrayed as a little shit in this (baseless) ; lil bit of insecure!quinn. ; sort of au bc hockey is mentioned but not as biblically accurate as I like to be ; big summer friend group vibes ; barely edited i am sorry in advance :(

smut below the cut. minors dni also just a note for everyone: pls don’t allow fictional media to create false expectations for u.

word count: 20k

Summer in Michigan was hot, which was why your mother insisted on buying a house on the lake. Everything one could possibly need was in arms reach; the chain grocery store a 5 minute drive away; a liquor and corner store even closer. With your parents away on an extended trip, the lake house was all yours and your girlfriends'.

You're all laying on towels across the dock, sunbathing, and when you feel like it, taking a dip in the cool water. The neighbours hadn't made it back to the lake just yet, which explained why the water was so still. No boats or jet ski’s disturbing the surface.

“D’you know when those boys will be here?” your friend, Julie, asked as she turned onto her back.

“Who, the Hughes?” You clarified, though you knew damn well who she meant. You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking towards the dock closest to yours. It was close enough to swim to, but certainly not in one breath. “No, why?”

“Oh, come on. You have eyes.” Mila wiggles her eyebrows. Your girlfriends shared wide smiles. You blushed, a specific Hughes coming to mind.

“Who are you kidding? You are so hot for Quinn Hughes,” Chelsea rolls her eyes and grins.

“Good, stay in your lane!” Julie says before she jumps over the side of the dock. She, along with the rest of your friends, could run a Jack Hughes fan club. They absolutely fawned over him. Whatever it was they thought you were doing over the oldest Hughes boy, they were doing tenfold to poor Jack. It had always been that way, though.

Maybe it was because Quinn was so quiet.

Maybe it was because Jack was so easy to like.

Maybe it was because Luke was just a little too young.

You don't argue, because there are parts of you these girls know better than you know yourself. You hold them close to your heart, so close they could see right into it. You close your eyes when you turn over onto your back, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your skin.

.

You're all but ten years old the year your parents buy the lake house. It's a pretty pale blue with white trimming, with no need for renovations, which your dad likes, and it has a jacuzzi, which your mom likes. You stand outside on the big patio, trying to figure out what you like about the house. It looks onto the lake below, where you see a couple of boats and jet skis cutting through the otherwise calm water. The sun is high and it makes everything sparkle.

"Hey!" You hear someone call and you look around. "Come around!" You follow the sound, around to where the balcony wraps around the side of the house. "Over here!" Through the trees you see a boy waving both arms above his head. He barely clears the handrail, so he climbs up over it.

You're terrified for him. It's a long way down, maybe four stories if you consider the land sloping towards the water. There's another boy there, though, one that you can see clearly over the railing. He's maybe your height, and you hope he's got a tight grip on the smaller one. "You should tell your parents you want to live here."

"Yeah? Why?" You call back, straining to rest your chin on the bannister, a front row seat if he were to fall.

"'Cause we're here!" The little boy flashes a big smile, and you can see that he's missing a couple teeth. The boy next to him waves and gives you a matching smile. You want to tell them that your parents already bought the place, you'll be here every summer, when another boy comes into view through the small clearing in the trees.

"What are you guys yelling about out here? Jack! Get him down from there!" He rushes forward and yanks the small boy back inside the confines of the patio. The first boy is grumbling, and the second one is laughing, dragging him away. The third one looks through the tree branches, sees you, and yells, "Sorry about that!"

You don't meet them again until your dad calls you and your mom out onto the dock one random afternoon. The new boat he placed on order had finally arrived, and he had invited the neighbours to help roll it into the lake.

"You're not supposed to be pushing the boat," the same small boy says to you when you follow your dad to where the boat is still attached to his truck. Your mom chats with theirs over on the dock.

"Why not?" you question, crossing your arms.

"You're a girl. You can sit on the boat, but you shouldn't be doing the boat work," he tells you in a bossy tone you don't like. Up close, the gap between his missing teeth is a lot bigger. You look at your dad, who is busy chatting with theirs.

"She's got arms, she can push if she wants to." The other one says, giving his younger brother a nudge. The third boy is standing with your dads, as if he was part of their conversation.

"Honey, have you met the Hughes?" Your dad waves the three of you over. "This is Mr. Hughes and his sons, Quinn, Jack, and Luke." Your dad introduces you before you can tell him that, yes, you've met.

"These boys help me with our boat every year. Real good at taking care of her, 'specially Quinn here," Mr. Hughes puts a hand on the third boy's shoulder. You wonder if he's squinting like that because it's so sunny. No one else is. "You can stay up by the truck and control the wench, we'll get the work done down here. Little lady, do you want to sit in the boat when we get it into the water?" Mr. Hughes asks you, and your dad tilts his head, letting you make your own decision. Pettiness fully bloomed at the age of ten, you glare daggers at a smug looking Luke.

"I want to help push."

Luke scoffs. Jack laughs. Quinn doesn't say anything at all.

Your dad rewards their work by taking everyone out on the lake in the new boat. You sit beside your mom, who sits beside their mom. Luke is nestled in Mrs. Hughes' side. Jack and Quinn are up at the front of the boat with your dads. They let the two older boys take turns 'driving the boat.' The sky is every shade used to describe love, the sun kissing the water in the distance. The wind whipping through the boat is warm. You didn't know it, blowing raspberries across the boat at little Luke Hughes, but he would turn out to be right.

You would come back to the lake, year after year, because they were here.

.

You’re running around your front yard, ‘helping’ your mom plant flowers along the perimeter, when you see your neighbours come out from their front door. They drag big bags and load their car. “Why do you have skates in the summer?” You ask, and stare accusingly at Quinn, who holds a pair in his hands.

“Gonna go play hockey!” Luke yells, jumping out from behind him.

“Hockey? You can’t play hockey,” you say, little voice dripping with pettiness, “My dad watches hockey. You’re way too short.” Luke hated that.

“Don’t listen to her champ- she was watching Sid the Kid. She doesn’t know the first thing about hockey.” Mr. Hughes notices him and comes over, happily greeting each other.

“Why don’t you two come along?” Mr. Hughes asks your dad, “You can help run the drills and the scrimmage, I can explain the game a bit to her. Come hang out.” Your dad looks to your mom, who gives him two thumbs up.

You sit in a cold rink with your dad’s zip up hoodie over your shoulders. You didn’t have any of the right clothes to be inside an ice rink in July. It was freezing. You didn’t know places like this existed in the summer. Your dad puts on a pair of skates and is on the ice, with everyone else. One thing was clear when you saw the neighbours’ kids skating around with the other kids; they were good skaters. Everyone was skating but they were skating fast, stopping fast, and skating backwards really well. Your dad acquires a whistle, and is preparing everyone for puck drop.

Mr. Hughes tells you what that is, and why everyone is standing where they are. There’s a reason for everything. Certain players need to know what this is for themselves as well as someone else, their check. A good player knows all the reasons for anyone on the ice- has to know why their guy wants to be on that side of him, needs to know why he can’t let that happen. “Watch Quinn,” He points out his son near the net. Quinn skates back, boxes his check out in front of his own net, forcing the other guy to the outside corner.

A good player pays attention to the zones, can tell how fast a puck is moving as it’s coming. The lines are important: your side, the “neutral” zone, and their side. You want to be in their side as much as possible, but there are rules to going about doing so. “Look at what Jack’s going to do,” he points him out for you, he’s the one coming off the bench. The moment he does, he taps his stick to the ice. As soon as he receives the pass he steps over the big blue line, and Lukey flies by him headed right to the other goalie. Jack gives it to Luke, who puts it in the net.

“It’s really more of a winter sport,” Mr. Hughes admits to you, “but they enjoy it way too much to hang their skates in the summer.” You spend the rest of the afternoon going back and forth with Mr. Hughes on the bleachers.

.

You're eleven when you first hear the phrase, 'raised by women.' You hear it at the country club, sitting under the shade of the golf cart with your mom and others, playing caddies for a day.

"What little gentlemen those Hughes boys are turning out to be," Mrs. Hischier says, sipping from a straw in a glass. You look over, and sure enough, out of all the boys they're the only ones with their shirts still tucked, though Luke is pushing it.

"That's what happens when you're raised by women."

"You mean raised by the woman. El, what's your secret?" Your mom bumps shoulders with her. They're close- neighbours, boat seat buddies, and occasionally each other's summer babysitters. Mrs. Hughes laughs, doesn't take credit, tells them her husband does a lot, too.

You look out to the dads and boys, each gripping metal clubs. You've sat through enough courses to know the rotation. It'd be Mr. Zegras, then Trevor; Mr. Hischier, Luca, then Nico; Mr. Tkachuk, Matthew, and then Brady; Mr. Hughes, then Quinn, then Jack, and then Luke. Your dad's turn is between Brady Tkachuk and Mr. Hughes. You want to swing too, want to stand in the sun and hit a little ball with all your might. A loud crack makes you jump out of your thoughts, and your eyes settle on Quinn's follow through.

You're eleven when you make a friend out of Quinn Hughes. In middle school you're taught a lot outside of classrooms. It's a boy vs girl world. Boys are brash and brazen and aggressive. Why would anyone ever want a boy? But come summer, it was three boys you'd be stuck with.

You ask Quinn because you can't ask Luke- he's not even that good. Jack is out of the question. He's your age and boys your age are gross. Quinn is older, taller, wiser, at least, you think he is. You walk down their deck, where he's standing with his parents by their boat.

"Hello," you say politely, with all the niceties your mother taught you, "Can I play golf with you?" His parents look at each other, pretending to talk about the boat as they listen in on you.

"Huh? Why?" Quinn faces you fully with somewhat of a frown on his face. You've known him for a summer, seen him enough times to know he just looks like that. He doesn't tell you no, doesn't tell you girls can't. He's raised by a woman, after all.

"I wanna be good," you say, "and I think you're good."

He grins at the compliment- the biggest you've seen him smile. Says, "Okay," with a tug of his mom's dress.

"I think that's a wonderful idea, I'll put you two down for the junior driving range." Her eyes sparkle with something other than the reflection of the sun on the water.

.

You're thirteen the year you realize Jack is pretty. It's the first year your parents let you invite friends to the lake house. You're only allowed to bring two so you choose Julie and Megan. Julie's a no-brainer, she's your best friend. You invite Megan because she's the most popular girl in school. You think it's a good idea until you're stuck with her for three months. She's always on her phone, complaining about anything she can to anyone who will listen. Still, you try and enjoy your summer. Maybe she'll get her parents to pick her up a week early.

You and Julie are sitting in floaties, chatting and keeping close to the dock, where Megan sunbathes on a towel on her phone. A call of your name has you turning your head towards the familiar sound. Every year, they sound a little different, little changes in the pitch of their voices. You’d recognize them all the same.

You see Jack waving at you from their dock, but you know it wasn't his voice you heard. Your eyes narrow and scan up their deck. Where's Luke? The words are there on your tongue, but before you even open your mouth Julie shrieks as she's yanked underwater. Megan scrambles to her feet in panic, away from the edge of the water, clutching her phone to her chest. Jack jumps in like a lifeguard on duty, swimming towards the group of you.

When Luke and Julie surface they are both red in the face. Julie is gasping for air and Jack helps her get to the ladder up your dock. "Luke, you're the biggest idiot I have ever met." You tell him, watching him grab onto Julie's abandoned floatie.

"Odds were 50-50," he snaps at you, clearly embarrassed. He follows you, swimming back to shore. He hoists both floaties onto the deck and follows you out of the water.

"Are you okay, Jules?" You kneel down next to her, and rub her back as she tries to control her heaving. Jack stands, casting some shade on her, and Megan is quick to stand by his side. She adds to the shadow cast on Julie, but her eyes are on Jack.

"I'm okay!" she assures you with a cheerful voice, despite her coughing, "Just surprised me- is all." Your leg shoots out to kick Luke, who was standing uselessly.

"Ow- I'm sorry," he bends down next to you to apologize sincerely, "I meant to drown that," he refers to you, tone absolutely dripping, and you can't stop yourself from laughing. You wrap one arm around his shoulders, give him a side hug.

"It's nice to see you, too, Lukey." He drops the act, hugs you back. You both help Julie to her feet, and you're about to greet Jack properly when you notice someone else already has. Luke clears his throat, and Jack looks up. He moves forward to hug you, too.

"Hey, Sunshine," he calls you by a name you are only known by here, on this lake. "Who're your friends?"

You remember during your third summer in Michigan, the three brothers were going through their WWE phase. Every morning, they'd yell at you from their dock or their patio at the top of their lungs: 'Hey Sunshine! Can you hear the cannons? Kapow!' and flex and pose ridiculously. They never dared to do it again the following summers, but the nickname stuck and would always remind you.

"This is Julie and Megan," you introduce everyone, "And this is Jack and Luke. They're from next door. They're usually a blast when Luke's not attempting murder," you stick a sharp elbow into his side. "Where's Quinn?"

"He's working on the boat with dad. Should be ready by this afternoon," Luke reports excitedly.

"And why aren't you two aren't helping?" You cross your arms.

"We saw you and wanted to say hi," Jack shrugs innocently, "Do you guys want to come boating when it's ready?

"Yes," Megan answered quickly for the three of you. It was probably the most interest in doing anything she had expressed all summer. You were just happy she was getting involved instead of moping about bad cell service.

You're thirteen the year you realize Jack is pretty. It's not Megan and her googly eyes and lingering touches on his arm. No, that was all normal for Megan. Julie says his name a little too much, stares at him a little too long. You're staring at him too, across the boat. It's something between a squint and a glare, scrutinizing. You don't see it. You see brown curls that stick to his forehead with sweat and lake water. Your friends are much more interested in talking to Jack than you, which you don't like but don't fight either, and move up the boat.

"Can I try?" You ask Quinn, who was holding the wheel, and he steps aside, one hand on the wheel until you get both of yours on. Your dads are sitting behind you, talking through every sport under the sun. The four of you have all had your chance at the wheel before; the day you're all eligible, they'll take you to get your license. They'd love nothing more than to sit in the back with their feet up one day, or go golfing instead of chaperoning a boat day.

"Keep it straight," Quinn says, pulling the wheel ever so slightly. He lets go of the wheel again and you don't say anything. Among the three brothers, Quinn had the least to say. You preferred silence with Quinn over radio silence from your friends. You breathe deeply, enjoying the soft hum of the motor over the chatter in the background. "I think Megan likes Jack."

You give him a sideways look, "Uh huh."

"Does that bother you?"

Your eyebrows furrow, and you turn your head to look at him fully. "When did you become so chatty?"

He reaches out to straighten the boat again. He shrugs, ever so neutral. Out of the three, he's the hardest to get to, the hardest to bother. "You seem bothered by it," he says, "Otherwise, you'd be back there."

"I just want to get some practice in," You weren't all that bothered, you tell yourself, yet you refuse to even look over your shoulder. If anything, he's what's annoying you now, "I'm gonna get my license so I can drive around without them, whenever I want."

"I'm gonna get mine first," he tells you, and it's probably true. After a moment he adds something that is definitely true, "I think Megan likes Jack more than you."

You laugh. Hearing him say it makes you feel better, somehow. You feel seen; he validates your frustration. "I think so, too."

"Don't worry, it's always like that with Jack," Quinn says, an attempt to comfort you. He gives you another shrug accompanied by a small smile, and for the first time he looks bothered. It's his eyes that give him away, blue not like a clear day, but blue like the centre of a hurricane. You smile back. The boat hums beneath you.

.

You're fourteen when Quinn gets in your head. It's not even summer, though you're counting down the days. It'll be exactly three months and four days until summer vacation, three months and two days before you make it back to the lake. You sit in art class with Julie, across from two boys on the basketball team, when you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

Quinn: Heyy

You show Julie under the table and she raises an eyebrow, "What does he want?" You shrug, staring at your text chat. You can't even swipe because it's so short. The only previous messages are from last summer.

Quinn: Hey sunshine it's quinn

hey!! ty I'll save ur number :)

You're reading it over when he sends another.

Quinn: Sorry, that was Luke

haha, ok. how's jack and lukey?

He doesn't reply, and you have never focused on a text chat so much in your life. You check your phone throughout the day, throughout the week, but he never lights up your phone. By the weekend you think to let it go. It's not like he has anything to text you about. And he's older, they're always saying it only gets harder. He's probably busy doing his homework, like you. Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and it's a text from a boy but not the one you want.

.

Megan isn’t invited back the next summer. Quinn’s got his boat license, as he said he would, and it’s the first time you guys are out on the boat unsupervised. He drives down the water, picking up friends along the lake. You and Julie are comfortable in the back, and Jack and Luke are up front with Quinn, who always takes his role too seriously.

“Quinnnn, you’re the man,” Nico daps him up into a hug when he boards the boat. He looks down the boat, greets you and Julie. Nico is the same age as Quinn, and he drives too- only he doesn’t actually have his license. He’s too lazy to get it, and he'll get away with it for as long as he can. “Jack, where’s your friend? You know, the one.” He makes a face, which makes the whole boat snicker. He imitates Megan clinging to Jack’s arm, and quickly gets shoved off. “God, what’s her name?” He snaps his fingers, as if it would help him. He gives up, tapping Quinn, “Yo, pull over on your left here.”

Nico was probably Jack’s best friend, outside of his brothers. He’s a class clown and a loose cannon. He’s annoying, and crass, and loud, and terribly easy to like. He's everything Quinn isn't. He gives Luke pointers on picking up girls like they're trade secrets. Like Jack, he's easy on the eyes. You think that's why he gets away with all the stuff he does, charms his way out of anything. They're a devastating duo on the lake for sure.

He brings Luke up the random dock and disappears up the stairs. They return quickly, faster than you can suggest leaving them. They have two pretty girls in tow, who you recognize from the country club. Luke 's ears are red but he's grinning. You can see Quinn roll his eyes from where you sit at the back of the boat. Nico introduces Chelsea and Mila, and everyone except Quinn finds themselves at the back of the boat. You stare at his back until Jack's voice reels you back in. The conversation is something to do with how certain finishes make docks less slippery. It's nothing interesting, but you suspect Jack could read a telephone book and someone would listen. Even Chelsea and Mila pretend to for a bit.

Chelsea was slender with sharp features, like a supermodel with the height to match. She was easily the tallest person on the boat, clearing even Quinn, who had grown a lot since the previous summer. Mila had a rounder, friendlier face, and was only up to Chelsea's shoulders. You learned that Chelsea liked writing poetry and Mila's goal in life was to become a cat lady. It was hard to believe they weren't sisters, but best friends, like you and Julie.

Nico quickly grows bored of the lack of attention, and lucky for him, Quinn picks up Trevor, and then Matthew and Brady, who board with a bag of ice and a pack of fruit sodas for the cooler.

Matthew gives Quinn a break from driving, and he joins the back of the boat for the first time since setting sail. He leans on the edge of the boat, and you get everyone to squish in, so that he can sit on the cushions, too. "Thanks," he mutters, and sinks down next to you.

You know why he's not sitting on the side with the guys- he doesn't like Nico. He doesn't say much, seated next to you, but he would say even less if he were sitting over there. For Nico was everything that Quinn wasn't; all chatty and charming.

Your thigh rests over his ever so slightly, and you're made hyper aware of how hot his body runs. He leans back and you sit forward. He's still like stone, and you almost forget he's there, with your back half turned to him while you're in conversation with the girls. He doesn't sit for long, and heads back to the wheel, talking quietly with the older Tkachuk brother. His absence makes you feel cold. The surface of the boat is hot to the touch with the sun beating down on it.

The same group, the same night, gathered in the basement of the Hughes house. It was decidedly the biggest and their parents were the most accommodating. Your parents didn't mind if you and Julie were out at night, as long as you were close by. It certainly helped that they knew the Hughes personally.

Matthew opts out of the sleepover, claiming that 'he's too old for this,' and 'he's got better things to do', like calling his girlfriend. That left the ten of you, a mix of sitting and laying down in the Hughes' big comfy basement. The couch downstairs was even bigger than the one upstairs in the living room, you could all fit side by side. But why would you when there were bean bags and floor cushions that were just as comfortable.

You'd outplayed the board games and grew tired of the video games, and it had gotten to that hour of the night, where you would all sneak out to the lake and lay on the grass under the stars. You couldn't imagine doing any of this with anyone else- it was still very boys vs girls back home, and middle school boys were decidedly gross.

Nico reminds you that he's gross, too. "Hey Lukey, who would you rather see topless? Julie or Mila?"

The question cuts through the peaceful silence, and you hear someone sigh. The energy shifts, though no one moves, breaths held.

"Uhh, probably Julie." Luke answers awkwardly, but recovers fast, "Trevor: would you rather kiss five 10/10s, or french two 5/10's?"

You close your eyes as Trevor dissects the question and explains his thought process over something that would never actually happen. "... 5 is pretty good overall. I'm frenching the 5's. Higher possibility of getting to the next base.” You hear hands clap, likely Trevor and Nico high-fiving; for what, you have no idea. It's not like it would ever happen.

"Hey, Sunshine, whose bed would you rather sleep in? Jack or Luke?" Trevor asks you, and you hear coughing from Jack on your right. Luke is eagerly waiting for your answer.

“You know there are three of them, right?” You say to Trevor.

Nico laughs like a dog barks. “Quinn wouldn’t let you in his bed even if you begged him,” He makes you frown in the dark. Trevor snickers, and the group laughs lazily, because Nico is just so funny.

“Mmm, I think I have to go with Lukey." You think before speaking, "Julie, who would you rather go swimming with, Jack or Benji?"

"Who the hell is Benji? Nah, keep it local," Nico cuts in while Julie thinks. You don't know what she's thinking about. She'll say Jack every time.

"Fine," you bite back at him, starting to get annoyed, "Jack or Brady?"

"And swimming? You can do better than that, c'mon now. Make it interesting at least."

"Since when are there so many rules to Would You Rather?" Chelsea speaks up in your defence. You feel her warm hand on your wrist; you don't have to face him alone. Nico's replies are grumbles.

"Jack?" It comes out like a question, as if she's unsure, as if she forgot what the original question was.

"I said choose someone other than Jack," Nico snaps.

"Dude, relax," Jack says, and when Jack says that you know Nico's getting wound up. He knows Nico, knows the ebbs and flows of his temper. It's getting tense now. Softly, he says, "Just go, Julie."

'Chelsea, if you had to choose, who would you rather see naked? Trevor or Brady?' Uhhh, Brady. Sure.

'Brady, would you rather shower with Sunny or Mila?' Sunny. Sorry Mila.

'Z, would you rather have Chelsea or Mila sit in your lap?' Mila, definitely, Mila.

'Sunshine, would you rather Netflix and chill with Quinn or Nico?'

You think about it. You're not sure what you're thinking about, because you'd rather drink a cup of lake water than be anywhere close to Nico Hischier. You're so familiar with Quinn that despite the night you can see his face, clear in your mind. You're silent for maybe a little too long.

"Are you actually thinking about it?" Nico's voice is provoking. It seems like he's calmed down, anger turning into shit eating mischief.

"Quinn," you say, jaw tight, controlling your own. But you've been petty since the age of ten, "Easily, Quinn."

"It's not like it would ever happen." Nico mutters. He's good at that, saying things under his breath for everyone to hear.

When Jack tells Nico to calm down, it's because he's getting out of hand.

When Quinn tells Nico to calm down, it's a warning.

"Move on, dude." Quinn doesn't like Nico, not really. You're not fond of Nico either, as fun and funny as he could be. It'd be two summers later that he'd give you a good reason.

.

Of course it's Jack that brings a girlfriend back to the lake first. Her name is Lola and her hair is a pretty shade of light brown so close to blonde, you're surprised it's natural. You learn that she's really good at wakeboarding. She's funny like Luke, and cute like Mila. She's sweet like you and easy to talk to, like Julie. Julie tries not to like her. But like Nico, she's hard to hate.

You're fifteen and meeting a girl like Lola makes you acutely aware of how your shirts fit a little tighter in the chest, and how your tummy folds when you sit down. She looks good in anything she puts on. You were never shy about being in your bathing suit before, but this summer you keep your tshirt on for as long as reasonably possible. Because you're fifteen and now you care what people think of you; want boys to like you, look at you the way Jack looks at Lola.

You were thirteen when you realized Jack is pretty. You're fifteen and you see what Megan saw in your friends. There had to be something in the lake water, because the boys back home don't look anything like they do. They changed every year, bit by bit, sure. But now Luke towers over you, curly hair like the cutest puppy in the pet shop, and Trevor's face is so much sharper, and Brady is as big as he is tall. Quinn looks so fluffy with his hair grown out, and his voice officially dropped. Not that he used it all that much, though he was grumbling about needing a haircut.

"Don't," you tell him quietly, as quietly as he said it. You're helping him with the boat, or more accurately, he's helping you with yours. Your dad is flying in late, and ever neighbourly, Mr. Hughes sends his best (and really only) boater for your assistance.

If he heard you, which he did, he doesn't say anything. The only indication that he did might've been in his eyebrows, which raised for less than a moment. He's focused on checking the oil, the engine, you're not really sure, honestly. You're just cleaning the dust off everything. "You finally getting your license this year?"

"With any luck, yeah." You want to keep him talking now that he’s opened up, "Any tips?"

"Uhh," he stops what he's doing, doesn't quite look at you. Maybe he's thinking. He's not good with his words so, "I can show you, after this?"

"Oh." Your eyes widen, surprised by how much you want that. Before you can reply, you hear shouts of your names.

"Morning!" Julie stretches both arms up to the sky, having just woken up. It’s nearly noon. She looks small on your back deck. You wave at her, and she makes her way down the stairs. You hear Quinn sigh softly, and if you weren't paying so much attention to him and his voice you would have missed it. You have maybe thirty seconds before she makes it to the boat.

"Later, yeah?"

He's quiet, and as Julie approaches he says on a deep exhale, "Yeah, okay."

Julie puts both hands on the boat, using them to help push her feet up off the dock for a few swings. "How's she lookin'?" she asks, peering over at what Quinn's got his hands on (she doesn't know either.)

"What?" Quinn asks, a bit too fast. His ears are red as he all but glares at your best friend. Julie squints at him, squints at you.

"The boat?" she deadpans. "When'll she be ready?"

"Soon," you answer for Quinn, who's retreating back into his shell. “We can probably take it out later this afternoon. I think Quinn said we need to check the… propellers.”

“Okay…” Julie says slowly, “Sounds boring. I’m gonna go eat breakfast with your mom. She says lunch is ready whenever you’re ready, by the way.”

You both watch her disappear up the deck, and Quinn turns to you, “The propellers are fine? We turned them on earlier.”

“I know,” you say, even though you really didn’t, “c’mon, I thought you were going to show me stuff?” You look up at him and turn the key to the boat to start the engine. He laughs, eyes widening as he catches up with your train of thought, takes the wheel from you and quickly pulls away from the dock.

There's not much to driving a boat on a lake, but he tells you what they'll ask of you on the exam, and goes through the motions with you. The two of you drive through every inch of Lake Bloomington, Quinn talking more than you had ever heard him in all your years of knowing him. You like the sound of him, want him to talk to you forever. So you keep him talking.

You ask him and he tells you. He tells you about his goals in life and when they’ll happen, not if. He tells you he’s not one to dwell on dreams. He’ll play in the NHL someday soon. You didn’t realize it was that serious for him, for any of the Hughes, but you tell him not to forget about you when he’s famous. You’re only partially joking. He tells you how he’ll pay off the lake house mortgage for his parents the moment he can. In his own way, he tells you he'll always be here, on this lake.

.

Jack asks you to take care of Lola while he’s out at the rink with the boys. You have Julie, Chelsea, Mila, and Lola over, and you’re lounging around the patio set on your back deck, the trees fanning you with a gentle breeze every now and then.

“Yeah, I want one like that, with its face all squished,” Lola is showing Mila a video of a cat on Instagram. They get along well. You got along well with her, too. And as much as she didn’t want to, so did Julie.

“So, are you guys in relationships, too?” Lola asks, turning a lazy day into an official girls day, hot gossip and all. “I’d be surprised if none of you are.”

“Chelsea just broke up with her boyfriend,” Mila says, and if they weren’t best friends it would have been jarring to hear it from anyone other than Chelsea.

“Good for you, girl,” Lola fist bumps Chelsea across the table. “Guys don’t deserve girls, honestly.”

“What do you mean? Aren’t you with Jack?” Mila asks. You try not to engage her as much, though you want to. Julie is your friend first.

“I am,” she smiles with a nonchalant shrug. She blushes, shows her love for him on her cheeks. “I just mean, you guys are so awesome to be around. Wars were fought over women, y’know? Boys are lucky to be around you. They don’t always deserve it, though. Chelsea knows what I mean.”

And you look at Chelsea, who cries into Mila’s shoulder. When she catches her breath, she tells all about her ex. She’s a writer, so she makes you fall in love with him too, drives you through from start to finish, takes you along the bends. She has such a way with words that you’re all crying by the end of it.

When Jack retrieves Lola it’s half past five. Chelsea’s mom picks the last two up not long after. After dinner, you and Julie lay in the grass by the water. The sun sets extra slowly that day.

You don’t need to look at Julie to know she’s crying. You put an arm around her, squeeze her tight, rub her back. “I hate that I like her.” She struggles to get the words out. “I hate it so much.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “me too.” You hated how she was your age but so much cooler, prettier, wiser. You hated how she made knee length jean shorts look good. You hated how her hair was always perfect, even after wiping out on the water. You hated seeing your best friend cry.

She looks up from your shoulder when she feels you tense up. She lets out a small sob when she sees Jack and Lola, sitting on the Hughes’ dock, feet in the water. She stands and bolts up your patio stairs with tears flying off her face. She dodges Quinn on her way up.

“What are you doing here?” You ask when he reaches you. He ducks down, crawls behind some foliage and motions you to come with.

“Your dad let me in,” he says, but it’s not his regular quiet. He’s being sneaky quiet.

“Okay, that’s how you got here. What are you doing?”

“Spying on Jack, obviously. Are you staying or leaving?” He looks up at you and you feel bad that your first thought isn’t Julie, but you know her well enough that she’ll need time to calm down before you can talk to her again anyways. You make yourself small next to him, leaning towards him to peek around the trees in your way.

They’re laughing, and you note the way Jack’s hand rests on the deck, one arm crossed behind her. Not quite around her yet, but he fixes that quickly. He reaches sideways and hugs her to him. She lays her head on his shoulder and he doesn’t let go. The clouds are pink and they cradle the sun, casting the loveliest light over the lake. It’s picture perfect, their silhouettes on the dock and the setting sun.

As you spy on Jack and Lola watching the sunset, it dawns on you that you’re watching the sunset with Quinn.

.

You're sixteen when your parents let you have a boyfriend, and you're surprised they like him enough to invite him to the lake that summer. He gets well along with Julie, who insists on inviting a friend of her own so she's not third wheeling all summer. You tell her that the gang will still be there, it's not like she's stuck with the two of you. Your parents seem more understanding than you, and let her bring Olivia. You like Olivia too, so of course you're excited to bring more friends to the lake.

Your boyfriend, Jason, is the first guy from school that asked you to hang out and didn't make it weird. He's got a pretty face, is tall and fills out his tshirts with his broad shoulders. He's nice to you and nice to your friends and that's kind of all you look for in a guy at sixteen. Jason Robertson is popular in your middle school and he's popular on the lake, too. Maybe that's why Nico doesn't like him.

To Julie's joy, Lola is no longer in the picture. Olivia and Quinn get along well. You're surprised that he drops his resting bitch face when he talks to her. You suspect the only reason she's not going for Jack is because she knows Julie is. Jason sits in the driver's seat behind you, and you're perched on his knee as you drive your dad's boat down the lake. His arm holds you like a seatbelt, and he chats easily with Trevor, Chelsea, and Mila who are nearby. The only person Jason hasn't had much time with is Quinn, which is fine, because he always seems to be talking to Olivia. Since when does he talk so much?

"Eyes on the road, yeah?" Jason says, chin on your bare shoulder. His hand covers yours and pulls the boat back on path. His voice is the same pitch as Quinn's, and it's among the things you like about him. You hum absently, used to him being so close to you.

"I can take over, Sunshine?" Nico offers out of nowhere. He doesn't like you, but he seems to like Jason even less, hates him enough to be nice to you. He calls you by your nickname every chance he gets- something Jason doesn't have for you. Nico holds it over him like it's his. You have the right mind to tell him off, but you're not in your right mind. You were out on the lake with all your best friends, and you were getting annoyed, and for once it wasn't because of Nico.

"Yeah, fine," you let go of the wheel irresponsibly, walking away from Jason. He's fine to be left alone, after all, everyone else likes him. You walk to the back of the boat where they're wakeboarding and sit down next to Julie in the corner. She's next to Jack, her usual spot, and immediately notices you fuming. She turns to you, asks if you're okay with her eyes. You give her a nod, close your eyes and throw your head back on the seat. The Michigan sun is hot, uncomfortably so.

The Hughes installed a pool table in the basement, so of course all summer long there is a running tournament. There's a leaderboard on the mantle, keeping score. In an attempt to climb the standings, Nico gets alcohol involved. Brady convinces Matthew to boot, who only agrees if he stays to supervise. He sets you guys up with beer pong and drinks a bottle in front of the TV, playing Super Smash Bros. with Jack, Julie, and Mila. It's hard to get Quinn and Luke away from the pool table. It's hard to get Olivia away from Quinn.

You don't like the taste of beer so you're really avoiding losing. Trevor cheers on Nico and Chelsea across the table, and Brady helps you and Jason catch stray ping pong balls. Jason's on the basketball team, so you figure he'd be good at this, and he is.

It could be that he's drunk from drinking all the times Chelsea didn't want to. It could be because Jason's name is still above his on the chalkboard. It could also be because he just lost beer pong to him. Nico didn't like your boyfriend Jason, and he was being so nice to you to spite him that you almost forgot how awful he could be.

Nico whips a ping pong ball at him, misses. "Could it be more obvious that she doesn't even fucking like you, dude?" He's not yelling, but he might as well have been, the way the room falls silent. "She's been into Quinn since like, the sixth grade. Everyone here knows you're a cuck." Jack comes quickly, and you feel Jason breathing heavy beside you, until he's not. He leaves through the basement door, and you don't realize you're crying until Julie grabs you, wipes your face with her thumbs.

You hate the quiet, the room dead silent aside from Jack speaking to Nico in a hushed fury. You hate the way Olivia stares at you, eyes wide next to Quinn. Above all, you hate that Nico reads you for everyone like a children’s book at story time.

Julie’s now talking to you, but it's like you’re underwater, you can’t make out a thing. You look at Nico, who’s arguing with Jack. Behind him you see Quinn, who puts his cue stick down, lays it on the table.

“So I’m just supposed to let him walk all over me? Get real,” Nico snaps, and takes a shove at Jack. Trevor grabs Nico’s shoulder and pulls him back. Nico looks at you, his gaze as hot as his words are cold, “I’m not even wrong, am I?”

“Nico, you ruin everything.” You scream at him and take off through the same door as Jason. Your voice cracks at the end, all the hurt for them to hear. You’ve never been this upset before, not at home, and certainly not at the lake. This was your happy place.

Julie doesn’t run after you, and stops Luke from doing so. She knows you, knows you need to calm down before anyone can talk to you. She looks at Nico like he shot you, and he groans, rubs his hands over his face. He fears he's done more damage than it was worth. It's not his fault you were in the crossfire.

You cross through the trees between your houses, look up and see the light in Jason’s room on. He’s talking on the phone. You can’t face him, can’t face your parents right now, not with how much you’re crying. You sneak down the steps towards the lake. It’s very dark, the moon and stars covered by clouds that begin to cry with you.

The rain is cold, yet the night is warm. It doesn’t rain often in the summertime, but when it does it pours. You like the way it feels, soaking your hair and your tshirt. Your tears run warm down your face, the only evidence you’re still crying. You sit there, mesmerized by the feeling of water falling from the sky and your eyes.

“Julie said you weren’t in your room.” You don’t need to look at him to know. There was only one person who had ever sat here with you. “Thought I’d find you here.”

“How’d you know?” Your voice doesn't sound like your own, weak and hoarse. Quinn lowers himself to the ground, sits down next to you. Every breath feels like a sob.

“Lucky guess.” You feel him shrug. This is the most he’s spoken to you all summer. The realization makes you cry even more. You’re soaked, and soon he will be too. You feel him place something over your shoulders, pull the hood gently over your head. You look over at him, now just in his t-shirt. His eyes look back at you softly, the ghost of a smile across his face. He leans back on his hands, one arm crosses behind you.

Jason's parents fly him back home the next day. You dread September but decide to make the most of what's left of your summer vacation. Quinn's driving the boat around, and it's just the six of you today. You notice that Olivia keeps her distance, instead lets Luke entertain her. He's entertaining, for sure.

"What are you doing?" Julie calls up to Quinn, slight alarm in her voice. You notice him slowing into a dock on the left, connected to the Hischier's house. Nico's standing there, as if he was expecting it. He's got his hands in his pockets and from where you're sitting you can see an ugly bruise around his eye forming. Quinn doesn't reply, just looks at you and calls you over with a tilt of his head. You do so, and everyone follows to the front of the boat, wanting to hear what he has to say.

"I'm sorry," he says, and for the first time, you think he actually feels bad about what he's done. The black eye certainly couldn't feel good. Quinn stays in the drivers' seat. He knows you can face Nico on your own. If anything happens, you have Luke and Jack by your side.

"Yeah? For what?" Your words are dull when you want them to be sharp. You're mad but you don't hate him like you want to. You grew up with him, and he's made you laugh a million times. It's hard to hate guys like Nico.

"For making you cry," he says gently, and you know it's the truth. He apologizes for what he's sorry for, because he's not sorry about what he said to Jason, not sorry for driving him away. "It wasn't cool and..." Nico's eyes drift from yours for a moment, behind you, to Quinn, "...I know it's not true." He lets out a weak laugh, "I mean, you and Quinn-"

You stop him before he can make things worse for himself, point to your own eye and ask, "That hurt?"

"Yeah, fuck me. Like, every time I blink." he whines.

"Good,” you say, and hear Quinn laugh. It's beneath the sound of the water swishing against the boat, but your ears are so tuned to him; you wouldn't miss such a pretty sound.

"We good, then?"

"We're good." Quinn quickly peels away from the platform and drives around in a tight circle, makes the water come up and spray Nico, who's left standing on the dock. He yells and cusses at the boat, but he laughs as much as you do. You wave at him getting smaller in the distance. He flips you off, and you give it right back with a smile.

You walk over to Quinn, lean against the wall behind the drivers seat, while his brothers and your friends return to the comfy cushions at the back of the boat. “Thanks, Q,” you make his nickname even shorter. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make it weird, but you know he heard you. You know by the way the tops of his ears turn pink and his shoulders roll back. He looks up at you over his shoulder quickly. The moment felt like an hour, his eyes look through you like you're made of glass. You blinked and he was looking forward, driving responsibly.

.

You're seventeen when Julie stops holding out for Jack. She's probably still his biggest fan, but she's not hung up on him like she used to be. She goes to homecoming with a guy that smiles just like him. You don't go with anyone, for once. Neither does Jason. He's kind, kinder than you deserve, when he doesn't let anyone say anything bad about you when people gossip about your breakup.

You sit on the bleachers with the other dateless kids, scrolling on your phone. It's homecoming for Jack and Quinn, too. You open Quinn's story after seeing Jack post from the dance floor. The night feels even lonelier, seeing him repost a girl's story. There are no words, no emojis, it's just him in a suit, with his arm around a girl in a hot pink dress. She seems really close to him. He's holding her really close to him. You wonder if he'll bring her back to the lake, if you'll ever meet her. You wonder if he felt this way when you introduced them to Jason.

You're nervous for the Hughes to arrive this year- they come from Toronto, a little farther, travel a little longer. Luke texts you like a warning. They'll arrive this evening, Quin'll have the boat ready by tomorrow, they can't wait to see you. You tell him to help this time, and maybe he might. Your dad got the boat all ready, and you sit next to it, alone on your dock. It's 6:00pm and the sun is still high enough to light the sky. You feel footsteps ripple across the wood, more so than you hear them. You look over your shoulder, surprised to see Quinn coming down towards you.

His face is slimmer though his cheeks are still full. His hair is shorter than you prefer, but still fluffy, like you like. Before you know it, the sun starts its descent, and he's in front of you, and you're breaking your neck to look up at him from where you sit. "Hey," you look back at his house, see the lights turn on one by one, "What're you doing here?" He belongs on this lake, so that's not what you're asking. "Shouldn't you be unpacking?"

"Saw you and wanted to say hi," he shrugs, taking his hands out of his pockets. You've heard it before, though you can't quite remember when he stirs your thoughts like this. You smile and stand up to greet him properly. He's taller, you tilt your chin up ever so slightly, feel your eyes raise to meet his. He's actually pretty lanky, though it's not so obvious when he's next to Luke.

"Wanna take her for a spin?" You hop up onto your dad's boat, knowing he'll follow. He belongs on this lake. He has his drivers license now, he updates you, as he drives the boat down the lake. He's always been this way; first to the finish line. He's a high achiever, however nonchalant he is about it. You congratulate him, joke that he should help you get yours too, like he did your boat license. Whoever @abbeeclarke is, she doesn't make an appearance at the lake house. He doesn't mention her once, and neither do you. You let it go and avoid wearing hot pink.

You’re seventeen when you’re down bad for Quinn Hughes. You get it. You get his appeal. He’s stoic and gloomy and he’s all sharp edges. He looks like a question waiting for an answer, but you know if asked, he'll tell. He’s someone you want to like you. You like seeing the drastic change in his face when he sees you coming his way. How he relaxes, leans back; how he smiles small and wide. His shoulders shake when he laughs. You like when you exchange glances cross the boat, or the basement; you like the way his gaze makes it feels like it’s just you and him.

From playing Would You Rather in the grass to beer pong in the Hughes' basement, the stakes only get higher. After all, a game is only fun when someone has something to lose. You watch Mila spin the bottle. It lands on Trevor who practically drags her to the closet, and closes the door before anyone can even start the timer.

Everyone picks up a Wii remote- readying up for another round of Mario Kart. You learn that three laps across three maps take about seven minutes to complete. You're in second, until you blue shell Quinn for first. He doesn't lose often, grumbles to you, "You sure you need driving lessons?"

You laugh, the alcohol in you swaying you off balance, and you straighten yourself with a hand on his bicep. Chelsea pours shots for everyone who doesn't make top three. The glasses hit the table the same time Trevor and Mila come out of the closet, giggling and wiping their mouths.

The group circles up around the bottle again. Quinn spins and you sit on your knees, watching it slow to a stop. It lands on Chelsea, and you can't help but see how much she looks like that girl on Quinn's Instagram. Chelsea doesn't move, looks across the circle to Quinn, and you beside him. Her eyes flicker to yours, and you can't make out what she's saying with her eyes. She doesn't move.

"Pass," Quinn pours himself two as per the rules of the game, using your shot glass for the second. The group isn't quiet about it, the exception created for the Hughes' sake on the odd chance a player lands on their sibling. It's never used to pass just for the sake of passing. "I'm calling it a night," he says, doesn't look at you when he leaves up the stairs. You hear the basement door shut at the top, and that's when you realize you're staring after him.

"Fuckin' buzzkill, eh?" Nico huffs, changes the game. "Chelsea, truth or dare?" We move away from the bottle on the floor, settling into the conversation pit.

"Truth," Chelsea's smart. Nico's dares aren’t worth hearing. You all know each other well enough. When Nico's asking, it's more like Truth or Drink.

"Boo. Did you want to go in the closet with Quinn?"

"Not really." She does it again, looks at you. She smiles, says evenly, "Sunshine, truth or dare?"

"Dare." You're drunk.

"Sneak into Quinn's room." Chelsea's words give the night new energy. This game, on par with Would You Rather, is interesting now that the stakes are raised. Trevor and Brady's eyebrows raise, and they drop their conversation, turn their heads towards the game.

"That's all?" You're drunk. You have to be.

"Come back with the shirt he was wearing, to prove you did," she adds, and they jeer you to your feet.

"It was a Leafs' shirt," Luke clarifies for everyone. You look at Julie, who shakes the bottle of Absolut watermelon. You can always back out, you just have to drink. Rules are rules.

Jack distracts her with a hand over hers, setting the bottle back on the table. He nods for you to go with a mischievous grin, "Quinn's is the one next to the bathroom."

Bedrooms were off limits, always has been. No matter how much your parents liked the Hughes boys and no matter how much their parents trusted you. It's why the Hughes renovated their whole basement for you crazy kids. You take the stairs step by step, hearing Nico grumbling about, 'I swear to god...'

You know the Hughes' house well, what with all grabbing emergency towels and helping Mrs. Hughes pack boat lunch, and all the times your parents dropped you off on date night; you've become familiar with it's halls and creaky steps over the years. All the bedrooms are on the second floor, which is uncharted territory for you. Identical white doors, you choose the right one thanks to Jack. You don't knock- it'd be too loud, with his parents' room at the other end of the hall. There's no light under their door, which makes sense as it's half past one. You open the door quickly, step in, and rest your back on the other side of the door. You don't want to get caught in his room, but you don't want to get caught in the hall outside of it either.

Quinn's room is exactly what you expected, not that you spend much time thinking about it. It's dark, but your eyes adjust within a few breaths. There are posters of athletes on his wall, hockey sticks sitting in the corner. There are clothes all across the floor. The laundry bin by his closet isn't even full but there are clothes spilling out of it, like he just missed the basket. There are random bottles of water scattered like easter eggs, the floor, his bedside table, his windowsill. His window is open, and it's strikingly cold.

"I don't want to talk about it, Luke," you hear Quinn groan from his bed. He's under the covers, facing the wall where Sidney Crosby stares back at him.

"It's- It's me," you whisper, press yourself against the door even more. He stills, silent, then sits. The blanket rustles as he jolts up. There's a girl in his room. He's eighteen and there's a girl in his room and that girl is you.

He gets out from under the covers and swings his legs over the side of the bed. The moon beyond his bedroom window casts light on the right side of his face. Your breath hitches when you meet his eyes. He doesn't kick you out, doesn't get angry. He asks if you're okay. "Come here," he says, urges you forward, "I can't hear you."

You cross the room towards him, maybe four steps, and sit at the very edge of his bed. Not too close, not close at all, in fact. Not enough to make it weird, you hope. You tell him your mission. "I need that shirt."

He grabs a handful of his shirt, the one he's wearing, "Has to be this one?" he questions, watches you swallow and nod silently. He wonders who put you up to this, wonders who he has to thank tomorrow. Because he smiles at you, backlit by the moon. You're glowing, each stray strand of your messy hair frames you like a halo. "I'll take it off, if you take off yours."

What? The question doesn't make it past your throat. The same Quinn who passed on making out in a closet, now trying to get you topless in his bedroom. On his bed. He's drunk, you tell yourself, drunk out of his mind. He has to be.

He doesn't hesitate for a moment, pulls his shirt over his head. It's nothing you haven't seen before- he's shirtless half the summer, soft abs on display. But it makes sense for him to be shirtless on the water. Not here in front of you, in his sweatpants with his hair all soft and messy. The moonlight casts shadows across his face that remind you he's older, he's got a whole year on you. You try to remind yourself he's the same Quinn that tries to carry all the groceries in one run, the same Quinn that helps your dad with the grill, and you with the boat. He's familiar, face impossibly unreadable but you know where to look for answers. His eyes, ghostly in the night, are having fun. He's having fun with you. He holds his shirt out to you, eggs you on, "I'll trade you."

Your fingers find the bottom of your own, and you begin to pull it up, slow because you're unsure. He thinks you're slow because you're a tease, audibly exhaling when you finally get it past your neck. The room is way too cold to be in sweat shorts and a bralette, but it's his words that makes you shiver. “Damn,” it falls softly from his lips. He's seen you in a bikini before, sees it all the time, but his eyes fall in a way they never would in the daylight. You lean forward to put your shirt in his other hand. He tosses it across the room, and when you reach for his blue Toronto Maple Leafs shirt, he drops it before you even feel the fabric.

He pulls you forward to him, and you struggle to keep your yelp of surprise in. Your hand grabs his bare shoulder and pushes him down on his back. He puts his hands on your hips, helps steady you as if he wasn't the one who knocked you off balance in the first place. He watches your face closely, a few centimetres above his, as he tests the water; a hand on the back of your knee adjust you so that he's in between them. His hand stays on the back of your thigh, searing. He's got you right where he wants you.

"Tell me to stop and I will." Is the last thing he says before he pulls your lips, and your hips, down on his. You'd be lying if you said you never thought about what his kisses would be like. Despite every opportunity, the bottle never landed on Quinn. Kissing him now, you fear you'd never be able to stop thinking about it.

He's thorough with his lips on yours and a hand in your hair. The hand on your hip guides you over his lap. You've never been kissed or held or wanted quite like this before. You feel him want you through his sweatpants, feel him want you on his tongue. He's minty, having must have brushed his teeth, but his breaths come in puffs of watermelon. You exhale a whine when his mouth leaves yours in favour for your cheek, then your neck. You don’t realize your hips are moving on their own until his hands are on your breasts, pushing them together for him. He kisses soft skin above your bralette, the thin fabric doing little to hide you. He squeezes hard enough to make you moan out.

You both freeze for one moment, two moments- making sure no doors open, no lights turn on in the hall.

He brings your attention back to him, bites hard on the inside of your breast, then soothes it with a suck that slowly starts to hurt more than the bite. You whimper, and he stops, looks up at you. He sits up and you sit up with him, straddling him properly now, sitting on your knees on either side of him. You use them as leverage to ride his lap more diligently. His hands grab your ass, fingers slip up under the hem of your sweat shorts. He squeezes softly and pulls, spreading you apart, creating a better slot for him to thrust against. You feel the difference immediately, melting into his chest, head over his shoulder. Everything about him is hot; the warmth from his body, his soft groans, how he looks at you through the hair that falls over his eyes.

He kisses you, different than the first, completely overwhelms you with him. All you can focus on is the drag of his hard cock against you, the position so perfectly right. It’s enough to get you off, chase something you don't know how to catch, and you moan freely into his mouth. You ride his lap eagerly, and if you were sober you might've been embarrassed showing him how much you want him.

“Be quiet for me,” he whispers as he pulls your head back, exposes your neck to him. He kisses, kisses, bites, then sucks. Not too high, nowhere too obvious. He still wants your dad to like him. He doesn’t want to get caught, and he doesn’t want to stop, and you’re gonna make him cum in his pants if he keeps listening to you. You whimper under erratic breaths; he’s so incredibly hard under you. Once he's satisfied he's given your tits the attention they deserve, he flips you over, lays you down in his double bed. He holds himself over you with one arm by your head, and his hand by your side. Your legs wrap around him, keeping him there, and he can't keep the smile off his face, looking at you.

Because it's you in his bed. It's you, eyes half lidded and shirtless and wanting him as much as he wants you. It's you, lips as soft as he always thought they'd be, kisses sweeter than he could dream. It's you, all marked up because of him. You pull him back to earth with a tiny tug on the garter of his sweatpants. He shakes his head, pecks to your lips. It's too short, he notes, as you follow after him, back arching as he pulls away. He comes back down to give you a deeper one, because he'll do nothing if not satisfy you.

"I'll take mine off if you take off yours," you whisper to him, slip a finger in the waistband of not his sweatpants, but his boxers. You tug at the clothes he has left. He swallows thickly, because he wants nothing more.

"Can't." It's the first time he sounds as affected as you feel. He closes his eyes, so he doesn't have to see you pout. Not that it matters, he's memorized every expression you've ever worn. "I... I don't have any condoms on me."

You remember that he's raised by a woman, and you're glad but it doesn't keep you from sighing softly. You remove your hand from his pants, bring your arms up around his neck. Your legs tighten around him, bring him back down against you. You wonder if he's aware of how wet you are through your shorts. He doesn't move, doesn't take things further, though you can see the want in his eyes. He's got more self control than you do, you'll give him that. Your hips move against him slowly, calves pushing him into you as hard as you please. You look him in the eyes when you tell him, "I don't care."

He watches you, blue eyes flicker over every detail of your face before he speaks, "You're drunk."

"I don't want you to stop."

His head drops down to your shoulder, lays a kiss there. He's strained, groans into your skin, "You're an angel."

"Please, Quinn."

"Can't," he repeats, and he sounds even less convincing than the first time. He hugs you, drops his body to yours, envelops you for a moment. Your hips still under his weight, but you don't find it in you to complain. You want this part of him, too. He rolls off you to the lay on his side, holds you to him. His thumb rubs the soft skin at your hip, dips under your shorts. His touch is so comforting, you almost let it distract you.

"I want it to be you." You're making things really hard. You're making him really hard.

You feel his hand slip under your shorts, and you're absolutely shut up. At first he's a little off target, but he's quick to find you where you need him, hot and wet, wetter than his dreams. You wonder if it's his first time too, as he runs a fingertip against you softly, too soft. He feels how much you want him, his finger dips inside despite the wet fabric of your panties. Your thighs fall open, give him access to all of you.

"Fuck," he mutters, and leans down to catch your parted lips. He wonders if it's your first time, when he slips his tongue in your mouth as he pushes your panties aside. His finger slips in so easily, you're so wet for him. He pulls away, breathless, and lays his forehead against yours, eyes shut tight as he feels inside you, soft and squishy and squeezing. He pulls back, drags along your walls in a way you need more of. Your hips lift, chase his hand, and he pushes back in, slow and firm, pressing your hips into the mattress. He sees your mouth fall open and he's quick to cover your mouth with his other hand, muffles the lustful sob that falls from your lips.

"Shh," he tuts, picks up the pace, which makes it worse. You're being louder than his palm can silence, and it makes him panic and loop his thumb in your mouth, pressing on your tongue. Your lips close around it, and he feels your moans vibrate as you start to suck it. He comes to the realization that he's probably going to cum in his pants tonight, but it feels good. You feel so good around his fingers. Your hands grip his forearm and his hand stutters. He adds a second finger, and your pussy grips them in a way that makes it hard to move, but he persists. You seem to like it when his palm is flush against you, so he does just that. The hand hooked into your mouth cups your face, and you lean into his touch, sucking quietly. Your eyes flutter open, and he almost lets himself go with way you're looking at him. You've got one hand gripping his straining forearm, and bring your other up to gently hold his palm to your face, like you're cherishing his touch. The arm you grip is getting tired, his wrist not used to being in this angle, but he's a high achiever, always has been.

"Quinn, I-" you try to say with his thumb in your mouth, but you're falling apart in his hands. He can feel it, hear it the way you're gushing around his fingers. "Oh, god," your back arches, presses the fabric of your bralette against his chest. He sees you through it, fingers pump steadily until you finally still in his arms. You curl up in his chest, and he wipes his fingers on his sheets before wrapping his arms around you. It's quiet now, your breaths the loudest sound in the room. You catch your breath before he does and move to straddle him again. He lays on his back, stretches his arms before putting his hands firm on your waist. He has a dopey smile on his face, smirks up at you and holds you still, doesn't let you try anything. "Quinn," you whine, thinking you were getting somewhere with him.

He sits up, leans back against his headboard, and you follow, inch ever closer. "We're not fucking tonight," he tells you, and before the words can break your heart he touches his forehead to yours, "I want you," he assures you, "God, I want you so bad," he confesses, and your hips thrust on impulse. He chuckles, and his arms wrap around you again, pulls you into a hug that you fear you’ll never stop craving. "If you still want it tomorrow-"

"Tomorrow, then." You say, before he can convince himself otherwise.

He smiles small, presses a kiss to your forehead, repeats, "Tomorrow, then." You nod, feeling mutually understood. You swing your leg over, get off his lap. "Where're you going?" he asks when you stand from the bed.

"Home?" You're trying to find your shirt from the floor in the dark.

"You sleep over all the time," he tries to reason.

"Yeah, downstairs with everyone else," You stop searching to look at him, laying in his bed. Shirtless, messier than he was before. You forget where you're going with your argument. "I'm not supposed to be here." He sighs, knows you're right, despite everything he wants. He gets up from his bed, and you feel small when he walks over and hands you a shirt, his grumbly silhouette daunting in dark. He pulls a hoodie over his head. "Where are you going?"

"At least let me walk you home." He looks over his shoulder at you from his closet. He walks back to you, puts a hoodie in your hands. "It's cold," he mutters, seemingly back to his stoic self again, but he always looks at you softly. The two of you escape from his room, and escape down the stairs. You can hear Brady and Nico snoring behind the closed door leading to the basement. You leave through the back, and he leads with his hands in his pockets. Your face is hot thinking about them and the way they felt on you tonight. The night breeze cools your skin. You think back to when you held his hand to your face, wonder what your hand would feel like in his.

Between your dock and his, he doesn't take his hands out of his pockets once. He doesn't reach for your hand, he doesn't even brush his arm to yours. He keeps his distance and you're painfully aware of the space between you. You should have taken it as a warning sign.

The next day you're driving your dads’ boat, dropping everyone back home because apparently you had 'drank the least.'

Julie had stumbled home before you woke up, and was surprised to see you in your bed. She gave you a weird look when on possibly the hottest day of the year you stepped out in a tshirt, but was way too hungover to ask questions. She helped you lug a cooler full of gatorade and ice onto the boat before sitting and texting the rest of them to hurry up, if they wanted a ride home. She opted to stay home to sleep, like Luke and Jack likely were. You wonder if Quinn will be the boy who cried hangover.

You hear the soft thumps of rubber on wood, the telltale sound of your friends marching down the steps. If you didn't know any better, you were witnessing the walk of shame. You would definitely be a part of it, had you not left the night early. You smiled, waved at Quinn, who waved back, herding the sorry teens down the dock.

You met them at the side, and the two of you ensured everyone got on the boat safely. Quinn sat beside Trevor and Brady, while simultaneously boxing Nico in from walking right off the side. Chelsea and Mila held each other, slumped peacefully. You move the boat slowly up the lake. It's just past noon and the sun is at it's highest point.

Occasionally you feel Quinn's eyes on your back, but his current task is too important to walk away from. Your swimsuit tie is visible at the nape of your neck, but you keep your dark grey t-shirt on. If Brady walks into the lake right now, Quinn didn't know how he was going to get him back in the boat. He's honestly out of breath, glad that Nico passed out in the middle of the boat, hopefully of exhaustion and nothing else. He's panting when you pull over at your first stop, Trevor’s house. Quinn walks him all the way up to his back deck, the blonde slumped against him the whole time. He did the same with Nico, and then you helped him with Chelsea and Mila.

You hand him a gatorade when he returns to the boat alone after dropping off Brady. "Do you want to switch? I can drive back," he offers, and you move to let him take the wheel. He reaches around you, trapping you between him and the wheel, and you hold your breath. He rests his chin on your shoulder as he turns the boat around, puts the boat in 9MPH, just has to keep the wheel straight until you see your house. He keeps one hand on the wheel and wraps the other around you, slips his hand under up your t-shirt. Your hands are on the wheel uselessly, purely decorative at this point. You find yourself arching, pressing back into him when his hand grips your breast, groping you in broad daylight. He had sailed a bit further into the lake, farther from the docks and parked boats on the side. "Angel, what's with the shirt?" With the hand under your shirt he tugs the collar down, finds what he’s looking for.

He groans deeply, looking at the dark hickeys across your chest, "What's the matter?" He pulls up your shirt, looks over your shoulder when he lifts it over your bikini top, the love bites on display for him "Don't want them to know you're all mine?" His lips land on your neck, threatening to give you one for all to see. He presses his erection to the swell of your ass and you moan out. He takes the opportunity to stuff the hem of your tshirt into your mouth. It serves two purposes; it keeps your body in full view for him, and muffles the draw of attention your utterly pornographic moans are.

"Both hands on the wheel, right angel? Keep the boat straight," he tells you. It's not hard, and it shouldn't be as hard as it is when he's grinding against you, rubbing his length between your bathing suit and his shorts. His fingers slip under the strings of your bikini bottoms, just so he can grip your hips and feel the skin unobstructed. He can barely keep his eyes off your marked up tits and occasionally one hand will come up and show them some love. He sits down on the drivers' seat, pulling you down with him. It's easier to rub against him, sitting on his lap like this. The angle has him dragging along your clit and the friction of his shorts on your thighs have you blushing and sweating.

“You still want this?” he asks you, breathing so attractively jagged.

“Kind of unfair to ask,” you look over your shoulder at him, “when you’ve got me like this, don't you think?” He chuckles, puts a hand on the wheel and straightens the boat while you continue to grind on him as you please. You subconsciously trace the length of him, gauge his size.

“I want it,” he tells you, low and honest, “Can you blame a guy for trying to convince you?” To your surprise, he pushes you down his lap, closer to his knee, holds you still there. “Tonight, then?” You groan. He's teasing you.

He definitely didn't expect you to place two hands on his knee and start riding his thigh. He must have underestimated how close you were, and if you turned your head to look at him you would have seen his eyes widen in the realization that he can make you cum again, right here and now.

"Holy shit, Sunshine," he groans, and your heart flutters, remember who you are and who he is. Jack and Luke's older brother. The high achiever. The best driving instructor on the lake. "You're gonna make me cum in my pants again," he leans forward, presses his chest to your back, whispers softly in your ear, "Fuck."

You drag yourself across his thigh at a steady pace, the sheen of sweat building on you glimmered in the sunlight. You're lucky he's gagged you with your own shirt, because his hand had moved from your breast to the top of your swimsuit bottoms, and let himself in. He was pleasantly surprised with how wet you were, your swimsuit doing its job at absorbing liquid. He lubricated his fingers with your honey and laid his hand to your front. You wonder if he knew, or if the stutter of your hips gave you away, but he found your clit and began to pet it, back and forth, firm and fast. He turned the boat quickly, facing away from the houses and shut off the engine. He wasn't that much of of risk taker.

His free hand snakes up your breast, gives it a feel before slotting his wrist in between them, reaching up to pull you back into him by your throat. His grip isn't tight, but it's firm enough to hold you in place, back to his chest. It's harder for you to ride his thigh at the angle he's forced you into, but his fingers never leave your clit, now rubbing you in circles. "Is this how bad you want it?" he laughs in your ear, "Tell me you want it." All you could do is whimper and nod frantically, chasing your finish line. He smiles, and the hand on your throat helps take the shirt from your mouth. Your shirt falls down over his arm, wrinkly and damp. He turns your head to him, tilts your mouth up to meet his.

"I want it," You say agains his lips. You lay your head back onto his shoulder, tell Quinn, "I want you."

He looks at your face for what feels like hours, as he gropes your tits lazily, not letting up on his attention to your clit. You rub on his thigh erratically, his grip on your throat doing wonders to hide your desperate whines. "Oh, Angel, you're killin' me. You have no idea how much I want to be inside you right now," Quinn had never sounded so needy in his life, "Need you to want it."

"Q..." He quickly thinks to turn the engine on, hopefully mask the sound of you letting go. For the second time in the last twelve hours, you're breathing heavily against each other. "So..." you start, swinging your leg over so that you were sitting properly in his lap, "Tonight, then?" You lift your tshirt to wipe the sweat from the back of your neck.

He catches one last glimpse at your hickey covered tits and makes note to rub a few out before he sees you later.

They say the hottest day of the summer tends to feel like the longest. It surely did, as the group lounged in and around the Hischier house pool, still recovering from the night before. The Hughes had a pool, too, but Nico's had better shading and seating all around.

You lay on a shaded couch with Julie, Mila, and Chelsea while the boys sat in and along the pool. Luke and Brady drifted on large floaties, and the rest of the guys either sat on the stairs or just had their feet in the water. The gathering needed no scheduling, it was an unspoken rule of the lake that every recovery day is a pool day. Quinn's got his back to you, and you're burning holes into him with the way you're staring.

"You alright, Sunny?" Julie waves her hand in your face. You don't want to say anything yet, not until there's something to tell. Until then, you can't tell her that Quinn's acting weird, and part of it is because he's not acting weird at all. He's being so normal and it frustrates you.

"Yeah, I'm good," you assure her, finally redirecting your attention and looking at her.

"You're like, glowing," she says, though there's not much energy in her voice. She's hungover after all. She looks and sounds suspicious of you, if anything. Or maybe she's just suffering.

"Thank you?" You try to smile your way out of admitting anything. You'll tell her after tonight, get the whole story.

"Why don't we get in the pool?" Mila suggests already tying up her hair.

"I'm good here," you say quickly, "I don't want to get my hair wet today." Your friends look at you oddly, but don't push. They leave you on your own with a splash as they enter the water. You're not left alone for long, as Luke hops over the back of the couch to land next to you.

"Hey, Sunshine," he says, and just off his tone you know he knows something. It has to do with the way he can't keep his voice even to save his life. Could just be puberty... Your eyes narrow and you cross your arms over your chest.

"Hi Lukey," your voice is dripping with suspicion.

"How'd mission impossible go last night?" he asks, glances at you and then his eyes bounce off everyone in the pool. Luke Hughes was probably the most shit-eating person you had ever met, and so far he was playing it very cool.

"What'd he tell you?" you deadpan quietly. There's panic in your voice and in your eyes, while his glow with mischief.

"Nothin'," Luke Hughes was certainly the most shit-eating person you had ever met, "Why, is there somethin' to tell?"

Your face heats up, as if it the heat wasn't already unbearable in a tshirt. You were in the shade and the air was warm. "Shut up, Luke," you strike his arm with a fist and he feigns injury. Another body drops onto the couch, a little wet for your liking. The cushion starts to soak up the added pool water, and you inch away from Trevor and closer to Luke, who's at least dry.

"What's the deal, Sunshine?" Trevor's arm hangs over the back of the couch, "You're wearing more clothes than you have all summer." Of course he'd notice. He tugs at the collar of your cropped tshirt, and it hikes up a bit, the hem just lifting to show a bit of under boob. Thankfully you're still wearing your swimsuit despite having no plans to actually swim today, and probably for the next few days.

"Fuck off, Z," Luke swats his hand. Maybe he does know something, but you could care less in the moment, tugging your shirt down hard. Trevor raises his hands in apology when Quinn sits down on the other side of Luke. He doesn't look happy, though when does he ever, and you can't tell if he's glaring at you or Trevor. Deciding that you're not going to stick around and find out, you get up to get yourself a drink.

"Sunshine, can you bring the cooler down when you get back?" Nico calls from the pool when he sees you're heading inside. You wave your hand, letting him know you will. It's cool inside the Hischier house; they have air conditioning, after all. You feel your sweat drying two steps past the door. You kick off your shoes and head straight to the fridge, sighing happily as the cold air rushes you when you open it. You grab a cold can and press it to your cheek before cracking it open and quenching your thirst.

"Man, it's cold in here," Quinn says, coming through the door. You tense up, not in the mood to engage him right now. You turn around, ready to give him an earful, when he sets down the cooler by your feet. "Nico forgot that he had brought it down already, just needs a a refill," Quinn explains, already opening a bag of ice and pouring it in. You put your drink down and help him by dropping some beverages from the fridge into the ice filled cooler. He doesn’t say a thing, and neither do you, despite having a lot in your head. Do you even like me?

The refrigerator door closes and this time it’s your thoughts that chill you, enough to make you shiver. Because he never once said he likes you. Sure, he said he wanted you, but at seventeen you knew those two things weren’t one and the same.

The hickeys start to feel like plain bruises, your chest aching at the realization. Through all his gloominess, you liked him. You liked him when he had braces. You liked him through every bad haircut. You liked him in the summer rain, under the hot Michigan sun, and in the seasons when he was nowhere near. But he was a pearl, and you were still trying to figure out how to shuck an oyster.

It went against every standard you held yourself to. But you like him, so you sneak out to meet him by his dad’s boat, late into the night. He stands on his dock at one in the morning, hands in his pockets.

Do you like me? The question is there, on the tip of your tongue, but you can't bring yourself to ask, ruin whatever could happen between you. He takes your hand, helps you onto the boat, and with the engine low, drives across to the quiet side of the lake and turns it off.

It's so quiet you can hear the water lapping at the side of the boat, and the distinct lack of energy lines you found in the city. The houses along the lake had all gone dark, save for any garden or outdoor lights. They join the stars, twinkling in the dark of night.

He's laid out what looks like every one of his moms blankets at the back of the boat and sits back on pillows you recognize from his couch. He pats the blanket next to him, but you move to straddle his lap, instead. His hands immediately find your hips, but his lips don't meet yours as fast as you expected them to. They part, asks you, "Are you sure about this?"

How can he ask that? When he's gone through all this trouble, already made you finish twice, and hasn't gotten a thing in return? How can he ask that, when it's so painfully obvious that you like him? That you've always wanted him; from the moment you knew how to want a boy, you wanted him. You think about telling him you've never been more sure of anything in your life. You also consider lying, tell him you just don't want to be a virgin anymore. But he knows you well, knows every tell you have. Not trusting your own voice, all you do is nod, lean in, and press your lips to his, hips rolling.

"Just say the word and we stop." He gives you an out, but the moment his tongue is in your mouth it doesn't cross your mind once.

Getting the condom on was trickier than you thought it would be, at least in the dark, lit only by the moon and stars. You both laughed when you rolled it on the wrong way, rendering it useless. He's glad Matthew gave him three, and the two of you manage to figure it out. He confesses that it's his first time actually having sex, and you're surprised and elated that he's doing it with you. You tell him he's your first, too, and you see the relief wash over his face.

You warn him not to leave any more marks on you, the existing ones will take long enough to fade. There wasn't much of the summer left, and it would be cooling down soon, but even you know how unusual it is for you to be covering up so much. He's got a dirty mouth, low groans of mine, mine, mine all across your skin. He kisses each healing hickey. You follow with soft moans of your own; yours, yours, I want to be yours. He fucks you slow and sweet and you feel like you might be.

You lay with your head on his bicep, both coming down from the summit. The stars blink back at you, and with your leg hooked over his torso, you reach down and pet his cock back to life. He's eighteen, just fucked for the first time, and he doesn't know when he'll get the chance to again, so of course he's getting hard. You've moved from his side to between his legs; of course he's getting hard. It's you, of course he's hard. He runs his hand through his hair, adjusts so he has a better view of you, not that it matters because as soon as you take him into your mouth, his head falls back against the cushions.

The warm summer air envelopes the both of you like a blanket. You're lying naked on the lake you both grew up on. He fills two condoms and you think he's finally spent, holding you like a teaspoon, until you feel his dick get heavier against your inner thigh. You make no move when he reaches down, runs the tip of him along your slit, sopping wet from multiple orgasms. He threatens to dip in with each pass; up, down, up, down.

"Can I?" he asks, completely void of all rational thought. His breaths are hot in your ear and while you want nothing more than for him to fuck you raw, “I just want to be inside you... No moving, and I won't cum… Honestly, I think I'm out." He makes you giggle, and you scoot your hips back, push him in yourself. You both sigh contentedly, and he hugs you close, snugs his head in the crook of your neck.

.

You wake when the sun breaks the horizon. Thankfully the morning light wakes you up early, before any other boats hit the lake. You're definitely suspiciously parked, out in no mans land.

Quinn's arm is around your waist, and with each sway of the boat, he gets harder inside you. His grip around you tightens, and you start to squirm against him. "Fuck, baby, stop moving..." He groans, and it's his morning voice that sets you off. You turn your head, look over you shoulder, and you want him all over again, moving your hips in time with the rocking of the boat to get yourself off on him. He tries to keep you still, but can't even control the way his hips move desperately against yours.

He doesn't pull out, as irresponsible as it is, he doesn't want to. He cums inside of you, and you like it so much you cum, too. Your hips slow to a stop, and your eyes widen when you feel the mess between your thighs. You scramble to sit up, unintentionally giving him a great view of his cum dripping out of you. As scared as you are, with the way he's looking at you, you finally feel like you're his.

Early that afternoon, you're in the passenger's seat of the Hughes' family car, while he drives to the nearest grocery store. Under the guise of helping pick up last minute items for the barbeque your parents were hosting tonight, you were running to the pharmacy to pick up Plan B.

It's Quinn that walks up to the counter and finds you in the drinks aisle with a box in his hand. Your mom texted you a list, so you do end up filling a cart with Quinn. Neither of you are too chatty this morning, nerves both high hoping there were no consequences to recent actions. You're surprised to hear your name called down the aisle, and it’s the Tkachuk brothers that find you two.

"Yo, fancy seeing you two here," Brady says, daps up Quinn and Matthew does the same.

"Just pickin' stuff up for my mom for tonight," you tell them honestly, but you don't miss the way Matthew's eyes flicker between you and Quinn. Quinn is really good at being neutral.

"Nice, so're we." Brady shows you his basket full of fruit and cheese.

"You're coming over later, yeah?" You try to hold a normal conversation with Brady while Matthew and Quinn have a silent one of their own. Matthew's grin turns shit eating when he catches wind of the little blue box sitting in your cart.

"Yeah, we'll see you then?" You're relieved when Brady takes it upon himself to walk away, taking Matthew with him. The older Tkachuk whistles low as he departs, patting Quinn on the shoulder as he goes. You whack the same arm.

"You told Matthew?" You whisper furiously, pushing the cart down the aisle.

"I never told him it was you," he cards a hand through his hair, looks down and looks at you as he does. An unfair, fail safe move; It should be illegal to take your breath the way he does. "Who do you think gave me the condoms?"

.

The barbeque at yours is probably the last time your families will all gather this summer, parents and kids all in one place that isn’t the country club. Your mom takes great pride in being a gracious host. You’re in the kitchen, helping her finish a couple platters. You look up out the window and see your dad handing Quinn a beer over the grill. Your parents didn’t mind giving you kids a drink or two, as long as it was low in percentage and no one was driving. He brings the bottle to his lips and finds you through the glass, sends you a big smile.

“Honey?” Your mom calls, “Are you coming?” She glances at Quinn out the window, tries to keep her smile to herself by bringing one dish to the table. You follow her out to the deck and set one down, too. The cropped tank top you’re wearing has a high neckline, keeping you safe from suspicion.

You’re surrounded by friends and family on perhaps the nicest evening on the lake. The pretty patio lights your mom had your dad set up switched on; the sun now far enough that the solar panels couldn’t read its rays. You hold a plate for Quinn to take things off the grill and set it down on the table once it fills up. There's a long table in the middle of your patio, you and your mom had set up together complete with a tablecloth and floral details. As soon as the meat starts to hit the table, the guests flock to a seat.

Off the conversations of your parents, you realize that Quinn will be applying to colleges next year. Trevor is going to follow Brady to Boston, and Nico's going to try his hand at the hockey leagues back home in Switzerland. He's confident that he'll be able to catch a scout's eye from across the water. Chelsea got into UCLA, and Quinn wants to go to one with a good hockey program, after all, he has a big dream to achieve. He sits beside you, but hearing him talk about it makes the gap between you feel even bigger. You wonder if it shows on your face, because once glance at you and you feel his hand on your knee under the tablecloth. His touch is warm and assuring, but does nothing to settle your thoughts, only distracts you momentarily.

At the end of the night, you and Quinn sneak away, down the dock towards the lake. If anyone notices, they let the two of you go. You both did lots to prep and set up the night, the other kids can help bring things inside. You stop before the dock, on the grass; your usual spot. Knowing you're out of sight, sitting in the grass under the stars, he takes your hand in his. He's touched you all sorts of ways in the last three days, but you like this the most. He looks through you like glass, holds you like you'll shatter. "What's the matter, Angel? You seem bothered."

"I shouldn't be," you confess, "I guess... I feel like you're leaving me behind?"

Quinn hums, nodding slowly, thinking before he speaks. "It's harder to leave the lake this year, for me for sure." It's hard for me to leave you.

"I just mean, when you go to college and all..." Where does this leave us?

"I see." His thumb strokes the knuckles of your hand. "I..." like you but can't be in a relationship right now. He starts but doesn't finish, knows it's the wrong thing to say, so he tries to think of the right one. There are a lot of things in the way right now. He knows he should just be honest, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't scared out of his mind to say what he actually wants to say. "I'll miss you," he says, "I miss you every time, actually... remember when I said Luke texted you on my phone?"

It feels like ages ago, but you'd never forget the way your heart skipped in art class in the eighth grade. But you're petty, always have been, "The time you left me on read?"

"Did I?" he chuckles under your glare, scratches the back of his neck bashfully. "I'm sorry, Angel," his arm comes around you, hugs you to him, "Well, it was me. I wanted to talk to you, just didn't want to talk about Jack and Luke and... I didn't know how to get any further with you. Can I text you?"

Your heart is like a stone skipping over water, your breaths shallow. "Okay..."

"Just okay?" he teases, leans down and brushes his nose to your cheek.

"Okay," you playfully shove him, "I'd like that." If you were being honest with yourself, you didn't want to be in a long distance relationship during your senior year. Whatever it is that you have with Quinn would have to remain at the lake for the time being. And you would have to be okay with that.

.

The week passes by so quickly. It's Friday and you're sad, because all your friends are leaving, one by one.

Q ♡ : Good morning, beautiful.

Quinn texts incite both joy and anger in you. He's so painfully boyfriend material, and each morning he reminds you.

Morning

Q ♡ : Can you meet me at our spot?

Our spot. You have to remind yourself it's not happening. He's not going to get down on one knee, he's not going to ask you to be his girlfriend, he's not going to do anything of the sort. He's going to pack up his parents' car in a few hours and drive off to the airport and fly home and apply to a college far away and you won't see or hear from him until next summer.

Q ♡ : I want to see you before I go

I'll be there in 5?

Quinn's already there when you get to the grassy area just off your deck steps. Our spot. He's holding something covered in plastic wrap in his hand, with a little shovel at his feet. He sees you.

"What do you have there?"

"Something for future you," he hands it to you, lets you hold it in your hands. It's a box, wound tightly with plastic wrap.

"Future me?"

"Yup." He's pretty excited about whatever's inside, beaming as you turn it every which way. "I'm gonna bury it right here, at our spot. Next summer, you get to dig it up."

"What's stopping me from opening it right now?"

"Well, for one, a shit ton of plastic wrap. Second of all, me," he swipes it from you, and starts to dig a relatively deep hole in the ground. You crouch down, watching him work with his hands that you like so much, "and third, you won't." He drops the box in and you help him fill the hole. Your dirt covered hand brushes his, and he stops to smile at you.

"Do I have dirt on my face or something?"

"No, not yet." Before you can ask, he brings a hand to your face, and pulls you in. You fear it's the last kiss you'll ever share; a lot can change in a year. It's enough for you to set aside the thought of dirt on your face and kiss him back. His kiss is slow and lingering, and he barely pulls away when he does, resting his forehead against yours.

.

You find out Quinn got accepted into the kinesiology program at the University of Michigan, not through him but through Instagram. You text him congratulations and he tells you it's because they had the nicest rink. He's so close to the lake, you joke about meeting him there during his reading break. He leaves you on read and you wish you never said anything.

You complain to Julie, because she always knows when something is wrong. You’re in her bedroom, laying across the foot of her bed while she sits on her vanity chair. You have to tell her everything, she’s your best friend. Maybe not everything. Maybe you don’t mention that you fucked on the boat that she rides every summer.

“Girl, you gotta get your mind off him.” She’s sorting her makeup brushes, talking to you through the mirror. “He texts you just to ghost you and that’s not fair! He doesn’t get to have you just when it’s convenient for him.”

She’s right, so you let her take you to the basketball team’s party that weekend. You play beer pong with Jason Robertson, for old times sake, and Julie captures it on her Instagram story. There’s no bad blood between you anymore, and the two of you dominate the table that night.

Quinn texts you for the first time in three weeks and you leave him on read.

Q ♡ : Angel, I’m missing you extra

Q ♡ : Are you mad at me?

.

Quinn is nineteen when he gets drafted for the Vancouver Canucks. He’s surrounded by family and he’s got 91 notifications and he can’t help but notice that not one of them is from you.

.

You’re eighteen the first summer you spend without Quinn. He’s busy in Vancouver, getting to know the city and his new teammates.

Julie takes it upon herself to make it the best summer ever. She pulls you from the depths of your own despair, and gets you back on your feet. Tells you the world doesn’t revolve around Quinn Hughes, and neither should yours. As much as she likes Quinn, she hates the way he has you moping around.

Our spot, he called it. You don’t find yourself there once that summer.

.

Quinn is twenty the next time you see him. He’s got the makings of a beard, he fills out his tshirts, and he looks as stoic and haggard as ever. He calls to you from his porch.

“Hey, Sunshine.” You didn’t think his voice could get any deeper. It’s hoarse from being used more than he’s used to. You sit up from where you lay across a patio chair, rush embarrassingly quickly to where you can see him through the trees.

“Quinn?” You hate the way you feel; your heart betrays every thought in your mind.

“I missed you,” he leans against the bannister, “Come over later tonight?”

His invitation is nothing like you think it is. You and Julie descend the steps of the Hughes’ basement to a room full of faces, both familiar and not. Quinn comes to greet you while Julie makes her way to Jack, who’s surrounded by girls.

“How’ve you been?” He doesn’t hug you like Luke does. He keeps his distance, one hand on a red solo cup and the other in his pocket. “Did you bring Jason?”

“I didn’t. What’s with the small talk?” You mutter, crossing your arms over your chest, attempt to close yourself off to him.

He leans down ever so slightly, still doesn’t touch you once, “Nothin’ small about it,” he says, low in your ear. His confidence is new to you, and while your mind is still figuring out if you like it, there are butterflies in your stomach that certainly do. A lot has changed over the years. He pulls away, “Let me introduce you.”

You find out he’s only invited two guys from his college team. It’s Nico and Trevor that brought all the ladies, and are grumbling about it when they’re all interested in Jack. You giggle when they tell you, because there’s nothing that makes you laugh quite like Nico not getting what he wants. Quinn smiles softly at the familiar sound, and offers to get you something to drink. He hands you a watermelon vodka sprite and you wonder if he’s doing it on purpose. Running his hands through his hair, the backwards baseball cap, each lick of his lips.

The girls that don’t get Jack’s attention quickly decide that they’d gladly take any of the Hughes. You have the right mind to tell these college girls that Luke’s only seventeen, until you remind yourself that you have no ground to stand on. You were seventeen once, too.

You were seventeen when Quinn first put his hands on you, you’re reminded of it when is hand finds your hip. You stare at him over the rim of your cup as he talks to the friends he introduced you to. His arm around you is loose, and while you want nothing more than to take a step closer, you don’t.

A girl comes up and asks him to be her beer pong partner, points behind her where Trevor and Mila are setting up the table. He glances at you with a look you’ve never seen on him before, and excuses himself to follow after her. Now your hip is cold and it has nothing to do with how short your crop top is.

You find Chelsea and Julie at the other end of the couch.

“You two are peas in a pod, you know that?” You and Julie are seemingly in the same boat, and Chelsea is all but amused.

“What are you jealous about?” Julie snaps at you, “You’ve had him in your pocket for the last how many years?” You rub your face with your hands, because that was then. Right now, he's playing beer pong with a girl you fear he finds much prettier than you.

“You know he’s only doing this because he saw you playing pong with your ex on Julie’s story, right?” Chelsea says.

“Huh?” Julie drawls, words extended by alcohol, “That was like, months ago.”

“You’ll probably remember this months later, too,” Chelsea’s eyes flicker to Jack, talking with a girl seated in his lap. Julie rubs her eyes, too.

“Whatever, I am so done with Jack Hughes.” You watch her storm off towards the pool table, and from where you sit, you see that Jack notices her bad mood, too. You pray that he gets up and follows her, and he does. You always want what you can’t have, and you hope Julie hasn’t closed her heart off to Jack just yet.

“So, he’s doing all this just to make me jealous?” You ask Chelsea, eyes on the brown haired boy tossing ping pong balls across a table.

“Mhm, fight fire with fire no?” she follows your line of sight, “Were you not doing the same when you decided to play with Jason?”

You don’t say anything because there’s nothing more to say. She’s absolutely right that you had Quinn in your head and your heart, however bitterly at the time. Your eyes widen, and you scramble to your feet. “I gotta go,” you rush out the side exit before Chelsea can respond. She doesn’t miss the way Quinn looks at his phone and leaves mid game, following after you only five minutes later. She’s a poet and hopeless romantic; she‘ll notice every glance and touch. Chelsea smiles softly to herself and takes Quinn’s place against Mila and Trevor.

Meet me at our spot.

“You never dug it up,” he’s breathing heavily when he gets there, as if he ran to you, “I thought you forgot.”

“I did, and I didn’t,” you say, defences up again. “Why didn’t you text me?”

“You’re the one who stopped texting me,” he responds fast, looking at you incredulously, then question for question, punch for punch, “Why didn’t you dig it up?”

“I didn’t want to,” your voice is cold, freezes over what you really want to say. I didn't want to do it alone.

The look on Quinn’s face almost made you take it all back. He takes a step back from you, like you struck him. “Well, it’ll be here when you want it,” his tone doesn’t match yours. It’s soft and sad and he’s already walking away.

The taste of watermelon is bitter on your tongue as you walk home alone.

Julie stumbles home around half past one and passes out quickly. You’ve been lying in bed for hours trying to sleep, but your mind just keeps racing. Are they sleeping over at the Hughes? All those pretty girls?

You check you phone for the time, see a text from Quinn from an hour ago.

Q ♡ : I’m sorry

Q ♡ : Let’s dig it up together

He could always see right through you.

.

It’s four in the morning when you meet Quinn at your spot. He’s got a shovel in hand, the same one he used to bury it. This time, he hugs you when he sees you and you hug him tightly back, breathing him in. “I’m sorry, Angel,” he speaks into the top of your head, “I shouldn’t have held anything against you…”

“I’m sorry, too,” you look up at him, keep him close, “I should’ve texted you back those times. I should’ve called.”

“You were busy,” he shook his head, “I understand.”

“I’ll never be too busy for you,” you tell him earnestly, and his gaze visibly softens, and the two of you get to digging. Quinn dusts the box off and begins unravelling all the plastic. Dawn breaks the night sky when he hands you the small box. You shake it to your ear, but don’t hear anything. He’s avoiding eye contact with you now, sits down in the grass and leans back on his hands. “Go on, open it.”

A year late too late, you open up the box to find a small, folded piece of paper.

Thank you for seeing me when no one else does. When I’m with you, I lack nothing. You mean everything to me. I’ll never be the loudest guy in the room, but if you let me, I’ll never shut up about how much I love you.

“Don’t laugh, I literally had Chelsea proof-read it.” He’s forcing himself to watch your reaction, turns his face when you look at him. He falls back in the grass, doesn’t expect you to throw yourself at him the way you do. Your arms around his neck, you kiss him with all your heart.

“Nico is gonna lose his mind,” you giggle, pull away a couple millimetres, “Because I really have loved you all this time.”

He sits up, brings you with him, and kisses you as the sun starts to rise. “God knows, I’ve loved you for so long.”

.

You’re nineteen the summer you’re head over heels for Quinn. You tell your parents and they’re not surprised in the slightest. Your friends all claim to have known for years. Nico tries to take credit for setting you guys up. You sneak off to watch the sunset with Quinn all the time. He takes you on late night drives and even tours you through his old college campus. You’re his just as much as he is yours.

Quinn’s debuted in the big leagues, and he’s on track for the Calder Award. You care a lot more about hockey, now that your boyfriend plays professionally. You watch all his games no matter where you are, and he always makes sure to see you when he’s playing in your city.

Long distance is hard, but the two of you make it work. It’s a lot of long, late calls, post office problems, and good morning and good night texts, but not a day goes by that Quinn doesn’t make you feel loved.

When he’s with you, he can finally drop his shoulders, feel the connective tissue between his joints just release. He’ll never know rest like the relaxation he feels when he’s with you. And while his life is now in the city of Vancouver, his heart remains on a lake in Michigan. He’ll return to it, year after year, because that’s where he knows you’ll be.

.

You’re twenty-two when he asks you to move in with him. You’re at the driving range, hitting a little white ball with all your might.

“I’m in my second year at NYU,” you shake your head, though you can’t help daydreaming of the idea of waking up next to him every day. He leans against the pillar, dropping you golf balls in between swings. You push it around on the green, centring it on the patch of turf where you like it.

“UBC has a good program you can transfer into. With your transcript, there’s no way you don’t get in,” he presses on, “And… I’m gonna be captain next year… please, baby, I need you.”

He looks at you with his stupid puppy dog eyes, runs his hand through his hair. That’s all it takes for you to cave. “Fine, only if I make the transfer. Don’t get your hopes up.”

You swing and it flies close to the sun.

.

Quinn is twenty-three when his home becomes yours. His lack of things is compensated by your abundance of personal touches. Cute couch cushions and bedsheets, stuffed animals, and house plants.

On a good day, on a bad day, on days that were just plain long. He comes home and melts in your arms every time. What a privilege it is to be loved by you.

He no longer counts the days till summer.

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