⋆｡🦈 ˚.⋆ Pairing: Will Smith x Reader.
⋆｡🦈 ˚.⋆ Summary: You went to the SAP Center to watch another Sharks game. During warm-ups, you expected to see Will Smith completely focused on the ice. What you didn't expect was that, between laps, his gaze would start searching for yours. And that a simple puck tossed over the glass could carry much more meaning than it should.
⋆｡🦈 ˚.⋆ The ice reflected the white lights as the players took their warm-up laps. The sound of skates scratched the surface, mingling with the echo of the crowd's lively chatter. You were leaning against the glass, your hands tucked inside the oversized sleeves of a jersey that seemed a bit too big for you, your fingertips brushing the cold glass. You hadn't planned on being so close to the rink, but from there, the view of the game made your heart race in a different way.
In the center of the rink, Will seemed to be in a world of his own, moving with that confidence as he alternated between rapid shots and playing around with his stick. But as the minutes ticked by, that concentration began to waver.
He rounded the curve at the back of the rink, and for a second, his visor tilted in your direction. At first, you thought it was just the reflection of the game, but on the third lap, he held your gaze for a split second longer. You felt those butterflies in your stomach, among the thousands of people there, he had chosen to focus all his attention exactly on you. There was a spark of curiosity there, a genuine interest that made your face flush. He seemed to have noticed the way you huddled into your oversized jersey, watching him with admiration.
The horn blared, signaling the end of the warm-up, and the organized chaos of players moving toward the tunnel. Will, however, slowed down, letting his teammates pass ahead. He came to a smooth stop right in front of you, his chest rising and falling under his pads, his breath forming small clouds of vapor in the cold air that fogged the glass. Sweat trickled down his temples, his cheeks were flushed from the cold and the exertion, and that spark in his eyes seemed to blend charm and audacity.
He scooped the puck off the ice and held it against the glass, right at the level of your hands tucked inside your jersey. He didn’t hand it over immediately: he waited for you to look up. His smile was wide and genuine, making your heart skip a beat. Will leaned in a bit closer, almost touching his helmet to the glass to close the distance between you. "For you." he said, almost imperceptibly, followed by a light sigh and a shake of his head, looking secretly pleased that he’d managed to get your attention.
When you took it, the weight of the puck in your hand felt cold and solid against your warm skin, contrasting with the chill of the arena. Your fingers trembled as you closed them around the object. "Thank you!" you said, your voice nearly fading into the noise of the crowd. Will didn’t just move on. He bit his lower lip, a distractedly charming gesture, and gave you a short nod with his glove. As he spun on his skates to head toward the tunnel, he looked back over his shoulder one last time, making sure you were still there with his puck in your hands.
That last glance over his shoulder implied that his true victory today wouldn't be reflected on the scoreboard, but in the moment he could find you again without the glass between you.
