when the couple behind your table starts fighting. will smith, macklin celebrini, connor bedard, fraser minten x reader
will smith oh he is absolutely trained by his older sister. it's shocking how he's noticed before you. while his intuition when something... juicy and gossip-worthy is about to happen is uncanny, the way he still can't control his expression is painfully obvious.
he's mid-bite of the steak he cut up when his eyes dart behind you. he's immediately dialed in, eyes hilariously wide and focused. you glance over your shoulder to find what he's looking at. their table is tilted in such a way that you get a full scope of the scene.
the guy sits with both hands on the table, talking like he’s trying to carry the entire conversation on his own. across from him, the girl looks anywhere but at him, her responses short and barely there.
you think nothing of it at first, opting to focus on the food in front of you but the way will's eyes dart over your shoulder (more often that you'd like) makes you all the more curious about the scene behind you.
their food arrives, and whatever conversation he was trying to keep afloat dissolves. they eat in silence. every now and then, he looks up at her, offering small, hopeful smiles she doesn’t return.
finally, you turn to will and he's genuinely locked in, sitting slightly forward just to get a tiny bit of the couple's conversation. "will, are they fighting?" your voice is barely loud enough to hear over the restaurant's ambiance.
he looks at you like he's been waiting for you to say that. "oh my god you noticed too?" you let out a little laugh, "hard not to when you're dialed in on them like that. let's maybe not be too obvious, babe!" your foot nudges his under the table. he let's out his own laugh.
"no but i've been looking over there and that girl's been waiting on that table since we've sat down" he says through gritted teeth, eyes wide and shocked at the situation, your face mirrors his instantly and your hand goes up to cover your mouth. "fuck, seriously? what an ass. who even does that?"
"right?!" will's voice slips out loud enough that the table beside you looks at him, he offers them a short apology and clears his throat. "right?" he tries again, voice appropriately low this time.
you both fall into a quieter kind of watching after that, less obvious but no less invested. the girl finally sets her fork down, says something you can’t quite catch. and suddenly, she stands, grabs her bag, and walks out without looking back.
you and will exchange a look at the exact same time. “good for her,” you murmur.
“good for her,” he echoes, a little too satisfied, before catching himself and ducking his head with a grin. your foot nudges his again under the table, and this time he nudges back.
macklin celebrini you notice it before he does. the mood of the table beside you is dark and brooding, distracting you from the shared pizookie you and mack have. you angle your head to hear the conversation between the couple. a lot of quiet back and forths.
he notices your inattentiveness when he doesn't hear you say anything about one of his teammates slipping on the ice in practice earlier. then he notices you're barely eating any of the dessert, your spoon just pushing it around more than anything.
his brows knit as he watches you, following the tilt of your head. clearly, he's bothered that your attention isn't on him. "what is it?" his spoon clinks yours to grab your attention.
you don't answer him just yet, eyes flicking to the table beside you.
“what?” he whispers, leaning in. “what’s going on?” your tongue clicks, head shaking slightly, like you’re trying not to get caught. “mack,” you murmur, barely moving your lips, trying not to get frustrated at his cluelessness “just— just listen.”
he frowns, clearly unsatisfied with that answer. “listen to what?”
your eyes roll behind your closed eyes, they open just to flick toward the table again “shh—” he exhales quietly through his nose, frustrated himself. but he listens. really listens this time.
mack's brows shoot up and he lets out a sound of realization, a little too loud for your liking. "mack—" you hiss and hit his spoon this time. you cough, a bit too fake but it's enough that the couple beside you doesn't notice that both of you are now leaning in on their argument.
he mutters a small apology as his lips press together and his eyes are wide—fully invested. the girl’s voice comes through a little clearer now that both of you are silent as a mouse.
the girl is undoubtedly irritated and all the more frustrated at the man in front of her. she says something about him never taking her seriously, about how every time she brings something up, he brushes it off like it’s a joke. the guy says something in response, low and defensive, and she immediately cuts him off.
the pizookie between you goes mostly untouched now, your spoons moving absentmindedly, more habit than hunger. every now and then, one of you takes a bite, but it’s not for the dessert anymore—it’s something to do while you listen, like buttered popcorn at a movie.
mack leans in closer, voice barely above a whisper. “he’s deflecting,” he says, way too serious about it.
you stifle a laugh. “i know, the audacity of this guy” you let out a scoff.
you both fall quiet again, listening like it’s the most important thing in the world.
a few minutes passes.
and then another.
you glance at your phone briefly, eyes widening just a little. “oh my god,” you whisper. “we’ve been here way longer than we planned.” your realization only deepens when the vanilla ice cream on top has now melted into a puddle of white.
your own boyfriend doesn’t even look at you, eyes still fixed past your shoulder. “in a minute,” he murmurs.
you stare at him in disbelief.
“i need to see how this ends.”
connor bedard you've barely handed back the menu to the waiter before your ears perk at the sound of quiet screaming laced with frustration and disbelief. you look to your left to see a couple at the next table, the woman throwing her hands up in exasperation while the man fumbles to say something.
connor, with nothing else to do, follows your gaze. he understands immediately and he lets out a breath. he hums, dismissive. “couple fight. happens.”
a breath comes through your nose and you shake your head as you try and make sense of the situation, your hand even comes up so you can rest your chin there. "what the hell could they be fighting about," you mutter, more to yourself than anything.
connor reaches for his water as he leans back on his chair, "probably something stupid." but then the girl's voice is an octave higher and says something about him not having any more time for her, with practices early in the mornings until late at night, and his gear is all over their place.
your own boyfriend perks up, because even if the girl never explicitly said anything about hockey, it's undeniable that the guy across your table is an athlete.
“…no way,” he mutters, almost to himself. your eyebrows raise as you glance at him, already knowing.
his posture changes instantly—no more leaning back, no more letting whatever conversation was happening next to you go in one ear and out the other. he sets his glass down slowly, eyes widening slightly as he looks at you, properly this time.
“hey,” he says quickly, leaning forward, voice low but urgent. “i would never do that to you.”
you blink at him, a little lost on what he’s trying to say. “what?”
“i wouldn’t–” he cuts himself off and breathes out heavily, like he's trying to calm himself down. “like... early practices—sure i can't control that—but I wouldn’t just… leave my stuff out everywhere and also ignore you. that’s—no.” he shakes his head, almost offended at the idea. “that’s bad.. really bad.”
you laugh at his internal panic. “oh my god connor,” you whisper, half amused, “no one said you would.”
he puts his hands up in mock surrender, “i’m just saying,” he continues anyway, “i wouldn’t do that.”
before you could provide any more assurance, the guy on the other table speaks up, his expression is annoyed more than anything and says that she should have seen it coming and that she knew what she was signing up for.
"what the fuck?" there's an incredulous look to connor's face and his head shakes in disbelief, you can't help but mirror his own disbelief with a hand over your open mouth.
the next few minutes pass with him barely touching his food. his fork only moves to push the vegetables around his plate.
“…he’s deflecting,” he whispers suddenly, leaning forward just a little.
you blink at him but nod in agreement “he is.”
"which means he's guilty." he adds, finally putting some food in his mouth, like he's sure of what he's saying.
"of what exactly?"
"of being wrong? of being an absolute trash of a boyfriend and man—if he even is one."
you turn back to him, eyebrows raised. “oh so you know them now?”
“i can tell,” he insists, leaning in a little more as his shoulders shrug, voice dropping like he’s breaking down post-game footage. “look at her, she’s not even surprised. she’s just… done.”
right on cue, theres an abrupt screeching noise from the table beside you, the girl's chair moves as she stands up.
you watch as his entire posture changes, sitting up straighter now, completely dialed in. his fork is abandoned on the plate as his hands come together, preparing for the worst.
“wait–wait, this is where it gets good,” he murmurs, eyes narrowing. and you stare at him in pure amusement "you're acting like this is a live game or something."
"because it is." he shoots back quietly, not even bothering to look at you. "incredibly high stakes here."
a string of profanities leaves her mouth as she reaches for her glass and throws the contents of it over her now ex-boyfriend.
"oh my god.." you and connor say at the same time, eyes darting back and forth between the two of them
the entire table—and restaurant goes still. the guy looks completely stunned, water dripping from his hair and collar, while she stands there—chest rising and falling, hands shaking just slightly as her hand forms as fist.
connor slowly leans back in his chair, both hands coming up to rest on his head like he just witnessed the craziest play of his life.
“no way,” he breathes out, half in disbelief, half in awe.
“that was absolute cinema.”
fraser minten you're halfway through putting a forkful of pasta in your mouth when you notice it. the uncomfortable kind of silence and the intimidating aura radiating from the table behind fraser.
you notice the way the guy’s fork scrapes a little too loudly against his plate. the way the girl hasn’t touched her drink. then suddenly, a sharp exhale and a serious, irritated look comes from her.
your eyes widen as you lean in closer, trying to make sense of the situation.
“…not what i'm trying to say,” the guy mutters.
“then what are you trying to say?” she shoots back, harsh yet quiet.
across from you, your boyfriend is focused on his food. he's getting his last chew of his chicken when he notices your line of sight falls behind him.
"what?" he says a little too loudly as he looks directly at the couple's table.
your feet moves quickly to kick at his shin. "don't make it too obvious!" you say through gritted teeth.
you both overcompensate by looking down at your food and picking at it. thankfully, the couple is too absorbed in their own fight that they paid no mind to both of you.
both of you remain quiet after that, with fraser taking quick glances behind him sometimes craning his head to hear their fight better.
gradually, you see his expression shift from confusion to a slight irritation.
"i have to go." he says with the kind of urgency that's almost worrying.
you don't get a single word in when he's already pushing his chair back as he makes a beeline towards the bathroom, which is coincidentally right past their table.
you watch him go, narrowing your eyes slightly as he just so happens to slow down near them, head tilting the slightest bit.
“unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath.
he's gone longer than necessary.
when he finally comes back, he doesn’t even try to act normal, sliding into his seat with a look that says everything.
you don’t even bother easing into it "what did you hear?” you lean in close, grabbing his sleeve.
"no—genuinely you cannot make this shit up babe," your boyfriend laughs to himself, knowing what he's about to say is absurd.
“he turned his phone off during his game without telling her beforehand,” he explains. “i think she was checking in because she didn’t know where he was or if something went wrong. totally reasonable, right?”
you nod along.
“and then, he got annoyed at the messages instead of... i don't know—understanding why she was sending them?!” fraser's voice heightens and the tension in his body is visible as he continues.
“so now he’s saying stuff like she’s the problem for not ‘knowing he’d be busy.’” the last part he air quotes with all the sarcasm in his body, eyes rolling.
you scoff at the audacity of the man, eyes flickering to him. "yeah he seems like the type," your head shakes in disappointment.
"hmm," your boyfriend hums in agreement. "you don't get to disappear on someone like that and then get mad when they react and get worried." he shrugs like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and it is. but it apparently is not for the man in the table next to yours.
suddenly, you start to make sense of the situation, and how silly it is (at least from your perspective)
because how can fraser know all this?
you barely know the couple. you've caught maybe half a dozen of cut-off conversations at most. and yet he manages to get a full narrative before the clock's even had the chance to change the hour.
you eyes narrow a him just a little and he notices, he shifts in his seat like he's the one in trouble now.
"how do you know all this frase?"
he shrugs and looks down, seeming guilty. "i listened when i went to the bathroom."
"right..." you trail off, waiting for him to say anything else. he doesn't.
"you barely passed by their table though?" your head tilts, catching his eyes for a moment.
"i may have... stayed back to listen to the servers gossip." he confesses, muttering the last part like he's admitting to a crime.
you stare at him, deadpan. "fraser,,, babe."
"what?" he replies quickly as he straightens a little and finally makes eye contact with you. "it wasn't my fault they were loud enough for me to hear!'
you shake your head, a laugh slipping out despite yourself. “you’re unbelievable.”
he shrugs, completely unbothered now and he smiles at himself. "this is peak citizen journalism, babe."
notes: i HAD to get this out today. also.. got suddenly invited to a summit/seminar thing WHEN HALF MY STUFF IS AT HOME SO IM DOING WITH WHAT I HAVE IN MY DORM. which means i wrote this on my ipad and phone. no one gets to judge me if its buns 🥹✌️
