summary — william is steady, unshakable—even in love. you’ve always been there, quietly waiting for him to keep the promises he never says out loud. but how long can you wait for someone who won’t move?
warnings — mature content. minors dni (future chapters)
word count — 4.3k (for epilogue)
an — SUPRISE, SUPRISE! i've this in my drafts since june as a half- cooked idea. if you thought my auston story was angsty, boy do i have some news for you. if you are interested in a possible taglistm let me know!
masterlist
the dogs had already paused at the bedroom door before the sun even had a chance to really come up, their nails ticking out isolation rhythms on the hardwood floor. she blinked into wakefulness to the soft shuffle of sheets and a soft groan beside her.
"your children," muttered william, sleep-thickened voice as he pushed deeper into the pillow. "they want you."
she smiled into the silence, pushing her face against the warm curve of his shoulder before getting out of bed. the blur of brown and golden fur from her babies— banksy and pablo—nearly knocked ger over when she opened the door, banksy’s golden fur lashing so hard it clipped the wall. pablo,, tailed behind her, all energy and wide eyes.
their shared condo was otherwise peaceful, early morning light spilling onto the hardwood as she made her way through the kitchen. to her back, she heard william finally stir, half-asleep, rubbing his eyes, warm and shirtless and rumpled from sleep.
they moved around one another like they always had smoothly, at ease. she started the coffee and he washed the leftover bowls from late night ice cream. she joked with him over how they only were this spoiled because of him, and he kissed her cheek back, grumbling something about "my offsprings deserve the best."
this is what eight years looked like. not flashy or loud but soft and steady mornings likes this.
william is unshakeable—both as a boyfriend and on the hockey rink, his laid-back, easy-going nature is what makes him who he is.
and he'd always been steady.
she met him when she was nineteen—him in his first year in toronto, still a boy and too charm, messy blond hair and shy smile.
“this any good?” he asked, as he walked passed a coffee truck he had gotten use to since moving to toronto. he lived near by in his words not wanting to be “too downtown” because him getting called up to the leafs was always a possibility.
he’s gotten use to his commute as he played with marlies at coca-cola coliseum but it always surprises him how long short a distance’s commute is in downtown toronto
“i’m sorry?” she pulled out her headphones, her notes in hand as she revised for her exam with white noise blaring through them.
“the coffee. is it any good?” he wasn’t sure why he was asking and not just trying the coffee. there was something that drew him to her maybe it was the nervous energy or the fact that it with just the two of them waiting outside the truck that brisk fall morning.
“i’ve actually never tried it. the line at tim’s was huge and i was thinking of getting this instead before my exam” she blurted, not sure why she was dumping her stress on this stranger but first year calculus and its not so "mid" term was driving her up the wall/
“i guess it’s our first time.” he stated his smile innocent with no consideration of the possible interpretation of his words. “what do you usually get? like from tim’s?” he followed up
“a large iced coffee but on a day like this, a large black coffee and a red bull later” she half-joked, assuming he could related as a fellow student.
he looked around her age. baby smooth face with no facial hair or shadow on sight. hair a bit too neat compared to her fellow business school kid but maybe, he manages stress better. just looking at him calmed her anxieties and had her tucking away her notes into her backpack
“and?” he raised an eyebrow, “please stop that, that’s terrible for your heath” his carefree mask slipping, suddenly concerned for this stranger
“got to do what we have to do—“ she paused realizing she never even asked him his name
“william” he held out his hand, hers now free from her tucking, her notebook away.
she reached for his hand and jumped at how warm they felt in hers. “y/n”
“beautiful name for a beautiful girl” he replied still holding her hand like he wouldn’t dream to let it go and for the years to come he didn’t
“flattery will get you nowhere, william” suddenly shy she moved up to the owner of the truck before she felt william walk a step behind, he extended his neck between her shoulder and the counter. his figure casting a shadow over her.
“can i get a iced americano with a pump of caramel enough to be able to still taste it and a black coffee” her cheeks warmed at how close his voice was and his consideration of her order. she’d never had a boy so close. her mind must’ve short-circuited because next thing she knew he handed over his card from her over shoulder and the owner thanked him for his tip, while watching the with cupid eyes
she swallowed despite her mouth being dry and william sat on the small ledge of shrubs and gestured for her to sit, “you didn’t have to get me but thank you nonetheless” she looked at her feet suddenly not understanding the message he was trying to give
“anything to help a sleep deprived university student. i live around the corner and i always hear students leaving the library late at night looking like they left their souls in there”
“oh yeah it definitely sucks the soul out of me. those 7th floor study rooms have already seen all my tears and nervous breakdowns and it’s only week four .” she vented, then she realized his mention of university students seemed like it was divided from the rest. was he older? he looked her age. not in school? maybe.
“wait” she started, “are you in school? i’m sorry i assumed you were. you look my age”
william got this a lot mostly in ubers when they asked him what he did he liked do mess with others usually with his responses but for the first time since he was drafted he wanted to be honest with the girl next to him, “you wouldn’t believe me if i told you what i do”
“now that you say it i’m a bit afraid” she laughed
“no, it’s nothing bad. i play hockey. i was actually drafted by toronto” he hadn’t said that much in small talk since he was drafted. he knew how much of a hockey town toronto was, so he thought maybe he could use this fact to win brownie points with the beautiful stranger.
“you got drafted by the blue jays?”
william bursted out laughing. he couldn’t help it.
at first she wasn’t sure where she went wrong and how she embarrassed herself. she decided screw the coffee from the stranger who didn’t blink to pay for her despite her not having the budget for coffee after using her allowance on energy drinks last night and mapped out a quick exit plan standing up before she felt it again. the warmth that radiated from his palm now spread to her forearm as he reached for her to sit back down.
“i don’t appreciate being laughed at” she crossed her arms in almost a childlike manner and william giggled even more to be met with her straight face.
“i’m sorry i just thought if i told you i was drafted into the nhl it’d score me some points with, only to realize you don’t care about hockey do you?” william turned towards her fully now.
stubborn as always, not wanting to admit defeated she played coy, “what gave you that impression?”
“the blue jays are our baseball team”
“who cares they’re both blue” she rolled her eyes and william just chuckled at her
“you have a lot to learn but you’ve got me now”
“i don’t want to learn from you. i don’t care about the blue jays
“maple leafs and somethings tells me you will”
before she could elaborate, their coffees were done and william got up and shook hands with the owner once more before moving back to her and hand her drink and straw
she thanked him before drinking it and gasped at the taste of it. at the same time, william sipped his and played off his burnt tongue to peer at her reaction at his order for her.
“this is so good” the espresso not the only thing rejuvenating her morning.
“when’s your exam?” he asked looking at his watch worrying that he’d somehow made her late because of how she teetered towards the opposite direction he came from
“in two hours” she replied still savouring the bitter and sweet after taste of her coffee, “i came early to study”
he took her statement as the time for him to depart and thank her for the small talk but he wasn’t ready to leave her, “you know i’ve been told by my little sisters i am great study partner”
she peered up at him the resounding shyness still radiating. she’d never been on a date before and here a cute boy she just met today —who is apparently a coffee expert—wants to hang out with her?. the anxiety she felt about her exam wore off in the few minutes they talked. she wanted to hold onto the calm before she was locked into her proctored exam.
“oh, yeah. you know anything about calculus?”
“tons”
he did, in fact, know nothing about calculus.
but from that day forward after he gave her company and what he proclaimed as showed morale support through watching her explain topics he had zero idea about. he just sat there with his chin in his palm and watched her.
after that, they spent every day together. he met her before, after and sometimes in-between classes. the days she wasn't on campus or he was away, they'd facetime. with her childhood relationships disappearing as she gor older, she found a different kind of friend in william. someone who she wasn't forced to be around, yet always craved to be in his company.
he walked her to classes when she arrived at the subway station near his condo usually with a hat and he was able to go unnoticed. those walks she cherished the most. it was usually those he flirted so stupidly while telling her about his day and asking about hers (and the boy in her english 1000 lecture who definitely had a crush on her)
she’d never had a crush before. she'd never been close to boys not for any reason; she were just fine with waiting till adulthood to cross things off—that was until william.
suddenly, he was apart of her routine. it was impossible to not fall for william nylander.
william who carried her schoolbag like it weighed nothing—her aching back says otherwise. gets her drink of choice order depending on her mood. who always responds to morning or late-night texts. william who showed her his favourite park despite it being bus rides away from her school because it was his favourite place to decompress and he could tell with her second semester approaching she needed it.
the same park he kissed her for the first time after she admitted to never being kissed.
it was one of those secrets, she weas embarrassed to admit but during one of their many debriefs side-by-side, she let it slip. it careless and small at first, until it was too late to take it back.
they were sitting on the damp bench under the maple tree, the one that creaked whenever someone shifted their weight. her shoes were muddy from the short walk across the grass, her cheeks pink from the cold, and william sat beside her, hoodie pulled over his ears, gloved hands tucked between his knees.
“you’ve never been kissed?” he’d repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, like he didn’t want the trees to hear.
she shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek. “no. not really a priority when you’re just trying to pass grade 12 bio and not flunk life.” she'd meant for it to sound like a joke, but it came out smaller than she hoped.
he’d smiled then the same slow and easy smile that softened her heart instantly. “that’s crazy,” he said, bumping her shoulder gently. “you’re like...pretty.”
she rolled her eyes, trying to hide the way her heart kicked up. “you’re terrible at compliments.”
“no, i’m not.” he turned toward her, and for a second, she could see the boyish charm slip away. “i’m being honest.”
there was a pause then. a long one. the kind that sits heavy between two people who don’t quite know what comes next.
“do you ever think about it?” he asked finally, his voice quieter now, like he was afraid to ruin the moment.
she hesitated. “sometimes.”
he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the horizon like he couldn’t bear to look at her just yet. “you don’t have to answer this,” he said softly, “but... would it be okay if it was me?”
her breath caught. every sound around her—the rustle of leaves, the hum of traffic in the distance— blurred into nothing.
“will—”
“it’s fine if you don’t want to,” he cut in quickly, nervous now, rubbing the back of his neck. “i just— i like you. i have for a while. and i don’t want you to think i—”
she stopped him before he could spiral, reaching for his sleeve and tugging it gently. “okay,” she whispered.
he blinked. “okay?”
“okay.”
he didn’t move right away. just looked at her, his breath clouding in the chill air, eyes darting to her lips and back like he was memorizing the space between. when he finally leaned in, his nose brushed hers first, hesitant, and then his lips pressed to her soft, unsure, but definitely real.
it was clumsy. sweet. over before she could think to breathe. but when he pulled back, his smile was the same one that still made her weak years later.
“that wasn’t so bad, right?”
she shook her head, heart pounding against her ribs. “no,” you said, smiling despite trying to hold it in. “not bad at all.”
it was in the simple way he moved closer to her any chance he could while asking if she was okay if she ever froze up. the way he treated her no different even after she mentioned her inexperience.
for william, it was always about you. he wanted to do what made you comfortable.
she wondered if he was joking, and then, never actually asking, he just started calling her his girlfriend.
she didn't mind. at that age, it was something nice in how easy it was. how he chose her and made it feel like the most natural thing in the world.
his family had warned her, to give him grace. he's a great but sometimes he just needs things spelt out sometimes. and she believed them. she understood. they were both still young. still trying to work it out and still getting lost in each other's eyes for hours.
and she did. they grew together. through university exams, last-minute study sessions, all-nighters nestled in her school’s library even when he had a game in the morning, insufferable internships, rejection emails, hangovers, promotions, and early morning flights. she were there for each other through wins and losses, became each other's constant in a world that never stood still.
she remember being twenty-two. fresh out of undergrad, working downtown, the city pulsing through her in a way that made every day feel like the start of something new. william had already been living in his condo near the water — neat, minimalist, always smelling faintly like cedar and coffee.
she’d come by after work with two overfilled grocery bags cutting into her hands, the straps threatening to break at any second. he met her in the lobby, baseball cap low, hoodie half-zipped, that lazy grin that still managed to undo her.
“you carrying the whole store or something?” he teased, taking both bags with one hand, like it was nothing.
“i don’t trust you with the list,” she shot back, pressing the elevator button. “last time you came back with just cereal and sparkling water.”
he leaned against the wall, shrugging. “essentials.”
she laughed, shaking her head, and that was when he asked her next, he showed no signs of worry at her saying no. it was just casual, easy, like it was a thought that just came to him.
“you should move in.”
she blinked, thinking she misheard him. “what?”
“it’d make sense, right?” he said again, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “you’re here all the time anyway. might as well stop pretending you’re not.”
his tone was nonchalant, but the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth gave him away. he wanted it—wanted her there, every morning, every night, even if he couldn’t quite say it out loud.
she stared at him for a moment, the fluorescent light humming above her, the elevator door sliding open. “you’re serious?”
he turned to her, keys jangling in his hand. “when am i not?”
she tried to fight the grin that was already breaking across her face, but it faltered, replaced by the quiet flutter of nerves in her chest. “i can’t,” she said finally, voice small. “my parents would freak out. my sister only moved out when she got married, and if i even suggested it” she trailed off, shaking her head.
he raised a brow, half-teasing, half-curious. “what, you think i’m scared of them?”
“yes,” she said without hesitation, even though the truth was she were the one who was.
he laughed—that boyish, easy sound that never failed to pull at something inside her. “fine,” he said, pulling her into him as they walked into the apartment. “i’ll ask them. youll have to ask my dad, you know.”
william looked down at her, that easy grin returning. “i know,” he said. “he loves me.”
“he tolerates you.”
he chuckled, brushing her hair behind her ear. “that’s just because he’s pretending not to like me. i’m a leaf now that gives me at least one advantage.”
“my mom does like you,” she offered, half teasing. "liv doesn't like anyone so that isn't surprising. i am sure she will say no but she doesn't live at home anymore so its down to my parents.
“see?” he said, tapping her chin playfully. “fifty percent approval already. i’ll charm the other fifty soon enough.”
and he did try—right away actually. that weekend, when she brought him home for dinner. her mom had been all warmth and smiles, fussing over him in the kitchen, while her dad stayed seated at the table, arms crossed, watching every move william made. her mom had offered him tea because he was european after all. he said yes even though he hated tea because he was getting third degree from her dad grilling him the way dads do with eyes sharp but not unkind.
"so,” her dad began, in that calm-but-serious tone that made her instantly anxious, “you got called up to the leafs.” he already knew.
“yes, sir,” william replied, polite, hands folded on the table, though she could tell he was holding himself from slouching like he usually did.
“and you think you can handle living with my babygirl while you’re playing more gamest?” he asked, an obvious test to see how much he really cared.
her breath caught but william just smiled, steady and unflinching. “yes, sir. i do.”
her dad raised an eyebrow. “and what happens when hockey gets in the way?”
“it won’t,” william said softly, still meeting his gaze. “she’s my priority.”
the table went quiet for a beat. her mom gave a small smile, eyes darting between them, and her dad leaned back in his chair, lips twitching, not quite a smile, but not obvious disapproval either.
when she left later that night, william walked her to the car, a smug grin tugging at his lips.
“what?” she asked.
“he likes me,” he said simply, unlocking the car.
she laughed. “he interrogated you.”
“yeah, and i passed.” he slung an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I told you. your parents would love me. i'm pretty loveable”
and standing there under the yellow porch light, she realized he wasn’t wrong. maybe it wasn’t love yet, but it was something close enough, the same way he’d always been with her. she traded her quiet little neighborhood for the hustle and bustle of downtown toronto, she moved her plants, books, her life into his. the new apartment smelled faintly of fresh paint and the citrus candle she insisted on lighting every night until it began to smell like home.
and when they outgrew that space and moved into somewhere bigger, she threw a housewarming. it was crowded and warm, laughter echoing through the open kitchen. she remembers how his sister and her sister, olivia, exchanged looks across the room, champagne flutes clinking as they whispered,
“next comes marriage.” she knew what her older sister, olivia was doing. she wanted to see if he would pass the test. similar to their own father's startegy.
her and will had no choice but laugh alongside his younger sister. he’d pulled her into his side, arm slung lazily around her shoulders.
“let them,” he murmured, smiling down at her. “saves us the trouble.”
and yet—years later, here she is. twenty-eight. still in love. still together. still waiting.
the house feels fuller now. their two perfect dogs have taken over the couch. he has her her morning routines down to muscle memory: his kiss to her temple before he gets up, the coffee he makes for her just right, the way he leaves the duvet untucked only on her side because she hates feeling trapped.
he spoils the dogs, washes her car every summer, leaves sticky notes when he’s on the road—small scraps of paper with reminders of appointments and event in a scrawl that she only learned how to read over the years.
she was in love with him. she never loved him less.
but sometimes, when the house is quiet, she catches herself thinking about the things she is not not supposed to think about. the small, stinging question that’s burrowed itself somewhere deep beneath her ribs.
why hasn’t he asked?
it’s not bitterness—just something quieter. something sad. she tells herself he’s never been one for grand gestures. that love for him has always been quiet and steady. she tells herself she's always been patient and that maybe he just needs more time.
but how much time was that exactly?
because she's held out for him through it all—his seasons, playoff wins and losses/ the long nights and the early mornings. she's never wavered. she just waited. quietly. faithfully. never being one to reveal cards she kept to chest so easily.
she's waited for the words he’s never said out loud in the light but always implied. the elephant in every room the're in. she waited for him to fulfill those murmured promises in the dark that never fully formed in the day.
after all in the dark, when it’s just her and the sound of the dogs breathing at her feet, the thought creeps in again—soft and terrifying all at once.
is he ever going to commit to her the way she'd always committed to him?
the thought lingers even as she pushes it away. because mornings like this one make it harder to stay upset, harder to question anything at all.
the condo hums softly with life—the kettle clicking off, the soft pads of paws against hardwood, the gentle shuffle of william moving around the kitchen. he’s already dressed down in only sweats, shirtless, with hair still damp from his shower, and he looks at her like it’s the easiest thing in the world to love her.
“you’re going out?” he asks, leaning against the counter, his mug in hand.
“breakfast,” she says, tying ger hair up as she slip into her jacket. “with the girls. i’m getting picked up.”
he hums, eyes tracing her movements. “that means i’m on dog duty.”
“you’re always on dog duty,” she teased, and he grins, stepping closer.
“yeah, because they listen to me better.”
“because you bribe them with bacon,” she shoots back, smiling when he reaches for her hand.
“maybe i should bribe you too,” he murmurs, tugging her toward him until her chest meets his. his touch is warm, familiar—the kind of touch she could recognize even when she was fast asleep.
she laughed, trying to wriggle free. “will, i’m already late.”
“five minutes won’t kill them,” he says, voice low, wrapping his arms around her waist. “stay.”
“you’re clingy this morning,” she murmurs, resting her forehead against his shoulder.
he shrugs, lips brushing her hair. “you’re leaving me for three whole hours. i have to make the most of the time i have.”
she pulls back just enough to look at him. he’s smiling, all soft eyes and lazy charm, and she feel the ache again—the one that’s been tucked somewhere under her ribs, the one that asks for more than this.
he kisses her once, slow and easy, before letting you go. “tell me when you get there,” he says, voice gentle now.
she nods, slipping her shoes, glancing back at him from the doorway. banksy’s already flopped by his feet, pablo watching her like he wants to follow. william catches her looking and smiles again, that same boyish curve of his mouth that hooked her years ago.
“I love you,” he says simply.
and she says it back—soft, automatic, true.
but when the door clicks shut behind him and the cool morning air hits her face, she feel that quiet ache again because loving him has never been the problem.
summary — william is steady, unshakable—even in love. you’ve always been there, quietly waiting for him to keep the promises he never says out loud. but how long can you wait for someone who won’t move?
warnings — suggestive content. minors dni.
word count — 7.4k
an — i'm sorry this took longer than i expected editing took forever. thank you for the love and support on the prologue <3
masterlist
the brunch spot was wedged between a pilates studio and a luxury boutique on a quiet yorkville corner, all pale stone and tall windows, the kind of place that smelled faintly of citrus and espresso no matter the hour. there were no prices on the menu, never had been, and the mimosas were bottomless in that way that felt indulgent but expected. familiar enough that the host smiled before asking for names. familiar enough that the server already knew who wanted oat milk, who hated ice, who would say they were just having one drink and never meant it.
she slid into her seat slowly, shrugging out of her trench coat, sunglasses pushed up into her hair even though the sun wasn’t doing much. toronto spring had that habit of being bright but unkind, all promise and no warmth. everyone dressed for optimism anyway. soft knits and layered neutrals became the quiet uniform of women who knew each other well enough not to try.
this table had seen them all change.
y/n had met them in her last year of being a teen but got to know them in her twenties, back when being a girlfriend still felt temporary, like a footnote to something bigger. together they’d watched girls come and go, watched trades happen overnight, watched each other learn how to survive the highs and the long, private lows. quiet mornings like this one, after bad losses. afternoons spent dissecting tone shifts and silences, helping each other decode men who lived half their lives in locker rooms and hotel rooms.
they stayed close because no one else quite understood it. the waiting. the way wins made them magnetic and losses made them disappear. they leaned on each other when love felt lonely, when cheering someone on meant swallowing their own needs for a while.
and somewhere along the way, without really noticing when it happened, they’d become more than just hockey club. they became wives, partners, mothers and friends who would exist even if the game disappeared tomorrow.
tessa sat across from her, mock balanced on her knee, his locks soft and unruly, his cheeks flushed from sleep. he was wide-eyed and calm, staring at the light bouncing off the window like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.
“he finally slept through out the night,” tessa said, smiling in that tired, victorious way that only mothers did. “i woke up convinced something was wrong.”
they all laughed softly and some reached out to squeeze mick’s tiny foot.
she leaned forward without thinking, instinctive, careful, adjusting the edge of his blanket where it had slipped. “he’s getting so big,” she murmured.
tessa’s smile widened. “everyone keeps saying that like it’s good news.”
the table dissolved into easy conversations overlapping ranging fro, sleep schedules, planned trips, the best coffee near the rink, which pilates class was actually worth the money. they continued to speak even as the plates arrived with avocado toasts, soft eggs, and delicate pastries.
she listened more than she spoke, fingers warm around the stem of her glass, content to exist in the middle of it. these women knew her. had known her before her mind got complicated. before time started pressing in strange ways.
and then there was her.
auston’s fiancée sat beside her, close but not crowded, posture relaxed, expression open. she wasn’t loud, wasn’t trying to take up space. there was something quietly self-contained about her, like she was still learning the shape of this world and didn’t feel the need to announce herself while she did.
she had always been like this. observant, gentle and generally, someone who listened as if everything you said mattered.
from what she knew of auston —filtered through years of willy’s stories and half-comments—they made sense. they fit together the same way some people don’t need to put their love on a billboard for the world to see, they just lived in it. when they came by the apartment, she’d always find him touching her in small ways. a hand at her waist. a kiss pressed into her hair like a habit. it was never for show ore careless, always with intent just for her.
the ring on her finger caught the light as she twisted it absently now, answering questions about planning, venues, timelines. her voice stayed soft even as the table hummed around her.
she remembered their engagement party earlier that year. how fast it had all felt. they had been together barely a year together and already had a date circled, and their future mapped.
she remembered how auston barely let go of her that whole night, and how william with his drink loose in his hand had leaned over with that familiar grin and said, half-joking, “crazy how fast this is happening, huh?”
and she remembered auston’s answer.
the way he’d pulled her close, arm firm around her waist, kissed the top of her head like it was second nature. “when you know, you know.”
she’d smiled then. genuinely. proud, even.
now, the memory sat differently. not riddled with envy—just heavy. like pressing on a bruise she’d learned to live with.
she glanced down at her phone beneath the table. there was nothing new. a dozen notifcation from slack, she'd deal with later. no messages from will. he was probably took a nap after walking the dogs or is blending that same protein smoothie he swore tasted better every time.
he loved her. she didn’t doubt that. he showed it in his own ways — in the way he reached for her in his sleep, the way he softened when it was just them. the way he could murmur promises into her skin in the dark, convincing enough that she almost believed they existed outside of the moment.
but daylight always came.
auston’s fiancée leaned closer then, her shoulder brushing hers, as her voice lowered so only she could hear.
“how’s your museum project going?” she asked, quiet but intentional, like she’d been holding the question for a while. “you mentioned it once and i remember william said it was a dream come true”
it surprised her—how quickly the weight in her chest eased, how the ache retreated just enough to make room for something else. something hers.
she blinked, then smiled, more openly this time. “yeah,” she said, exhaling. “it is. i mean, it’s the project.”
she found herself sitting up straighter without meaning to, her hands coming alive as she spoke. architecture always did that to her. it pulled her out of herself, anchored her in something tangible.
“it’s a public museum. i am working on the contemporary wing, there should lots of natural light, adaptive galleries,” she continued. “but the part i care about most is accessibility. not as an afterthought but as the starting point.”
she paused, fingers tightening slightly around her glass.
“and that’s where it’s getting hard.”
the brunch noise faded to a dull hum as she spoke. she didn’t notice the plates anymore, or the laughter down the table. just the way the other woman stayed still, attentive, eyes on her face.
“my team keeps treating it like a box to check,” she admitted. “ramps added later. signage squeezed in. things that technically comply, but don’t actually feel welcoming and construction’s already moving forward, so every delay feels like i’m being the difficult one”
she swallowed. “it’s stressing me out more than i want to admit. because if we don’t decide now, it’ll be too late. concrete doesn’t care about good intentions.”
this project had been years in the making. the kind of opportunity she’d imagined in school, hunched over models at two in the morning, believing that design could actually change how people moved through the world. she’d wanted this not just as a career milestone, but as proof that she could insist on better and be taken seriously for it.
right now, it felt like she was carrying it alone.
auston’s fiancée nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
“that sounds exhausting,” she said simply. “the kind of stress that effects your whole life.”
she huffed a quiet laugh. “yeah. exactly that.”
“i get it,” the woman said. “different field, same feeling. i’m a vet and chronically stressed, so trust me, i recognize the signs.”
that earned a genuine smile from her.
“what helps?” she asked, softer now. “because right now i feel like i’m either going to push too hard or give up just to keep the peace.”
the other woman thought for a moment.
“for me,” she said, “it helped to remember that advocating doesn’t have to mean fighting all the time. sometimes it’s reframing. reminding people why the thing matters, not just ethically, but practically in the long run”
she tilted her head. “and also, picking one battle at a time. you don’t have to carry the whole project on your back every day.”
she nodded slowly, the words settling.
“you care deeply,” the woman added gently. “that’s not a flaw. but it does mean you need to protect yourself a little too. even people doing important work need rest.”
something warm bloomed in her chest at that. not relief, exactly but recognition.
“thank you,” she said, and meant it.
the table swelled again with noise — the girls laughing about guest lists, tessa chiming in about seating charts and florists who were most interested at being apart of an athlete’s wedding than effort.. someone mentioned a vow renewal ceremony in italy in the summer. another talked about pushing a date to line up with the playoffs.
she let it wash over her, nodding when it felt appropriate, smiling when someone caught her eye.
but her attention drifted. it always did, at these..
every summer, every off-season trip, every all-star break, they women around her came back as new people with new rings glinting in the sunlight. and new last names being tried on softly. they had pregnancies announced over coffee and laughter eurupting around the table in glee.
and every time, without anyone ever saying it out loud, the shape of the group shifted as they closed ranks. from girlfriends to fiancées to wives.
and there she was, still here and still welcomed and, still loved but in a different way.
she had been here the longest, somehow, knowing the nature of the business it’s hard to lay down roots but she’d been lucky enough to stay home and fall in love with the boy who stole her heart freshmen year. her time here was longer than some marriages had lasted in this league. and yet she was still the one without the title, without the milestones that seemed to legitimize in this world.
what made it harder was that she was still young.
young enough that people assumed time was on her side. young enough that patience was expected of her, like a virtue instead of a quiet endurance. young enough that no one ever asked if she wanted more—only when it would finally happen.
she curled her fingers around her glass, thumb brushing the condensation, grounding herself.
she loved her life. her work. the home she shared, the dogs they raised, the routines that felt like love even when they weren’t out loud.
but sometimes, sitting at tables like this, she felt like a placeholder in a story everyone else was already moving forward in.
the door barely had time to click shut before the dogs were on her.
they came skidding across the hardwood, nails scrambling for traction, bodies colliding into each other in their excitement, tails whipping back and forth so hard they knocked into the wall. it was the same familiar, affectionate chaos that pulled a breathless laugh from her before she even realized she’d made a sound.
she dropped her bag where it fell and sank to her knees, arms immediately full of warm fur and damp noses. one pressed its weight into her chest, the other wedged its head beneath her chin, whining softly like she’d been gone for days instead of a morning.
“okay, okay,” she murmured, smiling despite herself, fingers threading through their coats, pressing kisses into the tops of their heads. “i missed you too.”
and she had in a way that surprised her every time.
they were uncomplicated. they didn’t measure time or progress or milestones. they only knew that she belonged here and that her presence essential.
it made her chest ache in a way that felt both good and shaky at thesame time.
“there she is.”
will’s voice drifted from the kitchen, easy and familiar, like it had never known how to carry weight.
she looked up and found him leaning against the counter, she guessed it making a protein shake, freshly showered, hair still damp and curling slightly at the nape of his neck. he wore old gym shorts—the faded because he refused to throw out—and nothing else, barefoot on the cool tile, completely at ease moving from the blender.
the radio played softly behind him. something mellow. something domestic.
home.
“how was brunch with the girls?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder, mouth curving. “is mick like eight feet tall now like mo said?”
she smiled faintly as she rose, toeing off her shoes. “no. still like a foot. sorry to disappoint.”
he chuckled, setting the cup aside like the verdict had already been decided, and crossed the room. “new parents, huh” he said lightly. “they exaggerate everything.”
before she could reply, his arms wrapped around her, firm and sure, hands settling at the familiar place on her lower back. her cheek pressed into his chest, skin still warm from the shower, the scent of soap clinging to him.
“i missed you,” he said, like it was obvious. like it didn’t require any emphasis.
she softened automatically, her body leaning into his without thought. the years of muscle memory guiding her. “imissed you too.”
the words came easily—they always did—even as part of her stayed seated at that brunch table, fingers twisting beneath crisp linen, aware of glances that lingered just a fraction too long. aware of what everyone noticed without ever naming.
will tilted her chin up and kissed her, slow and practiced, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask questions. it tasted like strawberries and something else. something safe and familiar.
“come here,” he murmured, already guiding her toward the couch.
she followed without resistance, letting him pull her onto his lap, her legs folding over his, his arms closing around her like this was where she belonged because, in every sense, it was.
banksy curled immediately against her ankle. pablo flopped onto the rug with a contented huff, already half asleep.
will reached for the remote, the television flickering to life as he scrolled through netflix to find something to watch.
“you do anything fun after brunch?” he asked, thumb moving idly along her thigh, absent-minded affection.
“just walked around a bit,” she said. “window shopped.”
“mmm,” he hummed, eyes still on the screen. “we should head out later and pick up a few things before stockholm.”
the word settled between them.
stockholm.
she’d been going back with him for years now, ever since she’d moved in. he invited her like it was obvious, she wouldn't be alone all summer. it had woven itself into her life quietly. st. tropez to start with late sunsets and later, swedish bakeries tucked into side streets. cousins who greeted her with hugs like she’d always been there. grandparents who smiled warmly and insisted she eat more.
and like always, eyes that drifted right to her left hand.
she tried not to think about it, but the memory rose anyway: his grandmother last summer, pressing a plate of pie into her hands, pausing just long enough to notice bare skin. nothing said. just that gentle, careful disappointment that felt heavier than any question.
she hated that it made her feel like she was the one falling short.
“emma showed her ring today. it was beautiful, he did well.” she said after a moment, keeping her tone light, conversational. “they’re doing italy. next summer, i think.”
“yeah?” will replied, distracted. the sound of each trailer starting and stopping. “that's nice.”
she shifted slightly on his lap, watching his face—relaxed and completely untouched by the significance of it all. he held her securely, like there was no uncertainty in their world like nothing was missing.
“she was really excited,” she added, quieter now.
“good for them,” he said, thumb tightening briefly at her waist, grounding her even as his attention skimmed past the topic.
she studied him from where she sat. the familiar slope of his shoulders, the calm set of his jaw, the way he listened without absorbing. he loved her, she knew that. he showed it in a hundred small ways in mornings, habits and how naturally he reached for her.
but some things never seemed to land the way she wanted.
“we could go midsummer,” he continued, voice softening. “maybe st. tropez before my parents come. just us and the dogs, if you want.”
she rested her cheek against his shoulder, nodded. “yeah. that sounds nice.”
the words felt padded. distant. like cotton wrapped around what she actually meant.
he kissed her temple, lingering there, and she closed her eyes.
she wanted to ask—do you feel it too? the waiting. the quiet expectation. the way love, left unnamed for too long, started to feel like something fragile instead of secure.
but she stayed silent.
because the moment was gentle.
because she didn’t want to ruin it with questions.
and because maybe—just maybe—if she waited a little longer, he’d say it on his own.
and maybe if she stayed patient, like always, he’d choose her the way she had always chosen him.
the next morning came quietly, pale light slipping through the curtains in thin streaks. the room still held the warmth of sleep, heavy with that in-between calm where nothing had been asked of them yet. she lay half-awake, aware of him before she moved, before thought fully formed. his presence behind her was familiar and grounding, something she felt before she acknowledged it. the same closeness that existed long before the day could intrude.
she focused on his arms, one draping slow and lazy over her belly, the other spread wide over her thigh, fingers creeping closer with every breath she took. she didn't open her eyes yet because she already felt the smirk pressed up against her naked shoulder, the heat of his breath curling down her neck.
“you awake?” he whispered, voice rough and low in her ear, lips tracing the edge of it like he already had the answer.
she let out a sleepy little huff, rubbing her hips against him just enough to make her point.
his laughter was quiet but satisfied, and then he was rolling her underneath him—hot and heavy. his teeth bit into her collarbone, hard enough to make her catch her breath, and she wrapped her leg around his waist, indicating to him exactly where this was going.
his voice growled low, rough against her neck.
“you gonna let me fuck you like this?”
she opened her eyes, a gasp caught in her throat, hips instinctively pushing back against him.
“look at you,” he whispered, lips skating over her ear. “so fucking gorgeous in my shirt. always so eager for me.”
her fingers gripped the sheets as his hand slipped down, slithering under the waistband of her underwear with ease. he nuzzled her shoulder, then her neck, slow and wet-mouthed like he had all morning.
“been thinking about this since you went out for brunch yesterday,” he whispered, running his fingers over her wetness, growling softly. “i meant it i missed you so much, baby. missed this pussy.”
she let out a shattered moan as he ran his fingers over her again, teasing but never quite reaching. his hand crept up to cup her breast, squeezing gently, thumb tracing over her nipple.
she flipped over in his arms, lips capturing his in a hungry kiss. he rolled over her without hesitation, planting himself between her thighs like he was made to be there, because he was. his hips ground against hers, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to make her feel it all.
"will, please" she sighed into his mouth. desperate for more than friction.
“let me take my time,” he breathed, lips tracing down her neck. “wanna make you come like this. nice and slow. gonna make you forget all else but me.”
she nodded, legs around his waist, hands in his blond locks.
he moved a hand back down between her, kissing her through each soft moan, each desperate roll of her hips.
and as he thrust the tip of himself into her—a knock. a hard knock at that. followed by the unmistakable voice of alex.
“okay, gross! stop having sex. golf in an hour, remember? stop fucking and get dressed, romeo.”
she moaned, head rolling back onto the pillow. “oh my god.”
will’s forehead dropped to her chest with an actual whine. “he ruins everything.”
“he does it on purpose,” she explained over a gasping laugh, still trying to keep up with the way her body was aching. “it’s on you. you should've taken his key away”
“you said that was too mean. he should have some respect,” he growled, tracing a kiss down her sternum. “this is sacred.”
then multiple voices echoed from down the hall.
she ceased breathing. will groaned, hand down the most dramatic sound she’d ever heard and let his forehead drop against her chest.
“you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he growled, refusing to move.
“you swore, william,” alex yelled once more. “and i’m not going to let you opt out simply because y/n made a sound that—honestly, i wish i could un-hear.”
“go away!” will growled back, face pressed into her skin. “ten more minutes!”
“ten more minutes?” she laughed shakily, stroking his hair back from his forehead.
“ten more hours,” he growled, lifting his head just enough to graze the curve of her neck.
she’d barely caught her breath when ella’s dry tone wafted down the hallway. “i’m going shopping with my sister-in-law. someone sane who isn’t reenacting porn at 9 a.m.”
will didn’t flinch at the words of her younger sister, but she glanced at his face anyway and searched for a flicker, anything, that indicated he was effected my the term
but of course, with his calm and collected demeanor, will didn’t react. he breathed on her skin, then kissed her again. softly this time, wanting to make the most of his dwindling second .
not even a word— just that silence, the sort that pressed down on her chest harder than any response ever would.
instead, he propped himself up on one elbow, looked down at her like nothing had happened.
“i’ll make it up to you later,” he breathed, kissing her slow and deep, like a promise he didn’t quite know he was making.
she intertwined her fingers in his hair once again, let her eyes drift closed, let herself believe him.
in the kitchen, dressed, he stood behind her while she brewed coffee for the blonde-headed nylanders in their space, his arms around her waist, chin on her shoulder. one of the dogs sat quietly at her feet, the other lay some distance over by the couch, still sleepy.
“want something from the place next to the course?” will breathed softly, nuzzling at her ear.
“surprise me,” she breathed.
“mmm, my favourite thing to do” he answered.
he left a soft, sweet kiss, the kind she’d still be able to sense an hour and left after a round of insane sibling argumentation.
she just smiled and made three coffees anyway. to distract herself, one for herself, one for ella and jackie, who were busy scolding alex over god knows what.
“you two are disgustingly in love,” ella complained as she walked over to the counter, the youngest of the bunch shaking her head.
she smiled, small and automatic, wrapping her hands around the warmth of her mug.
he always knew. when to hold her, when to distract her, when to offer comfort without asking for words. he knew her rhythms, her stress, the way she softened when the world felt too loud.
that kind of knowing had always been enough to steady her.
and for now, she let it be enough.
the soft hum of the boutique played beneath the quiet sound of heels tapping across marble floors. she walked beside ella and jackie, all three of them with arms full of small bags — a re-up of her favorite skin routine, a candle that smelled like clean linen, a pair of sandals she didn’t really need but liked the feel of anyway. it had been a light afternoon. easy. the kind she used to love. the kind that almost tricked her into forgetting things.
then ella said, casually, like it was nothing, “i just need to stop by the jeweller. my chain finally got fixed.”
and the air shifted.
it was the subtle way the quiet suddenly felt loud in her ear. the way her chest tightened just a fraction, like her body had reacted before her mind could catch up.
she followed the younger nylander inside anyway.
the jeweller was warm and quiet, all soft lighting and glass cases that reflected too much of her back at herself. ella went straight to the counter, greeting the associate with a smile that came easily to her, the kind of confidence that came with knowing exactly where she stood in her life.
she stayed a few steps behind, pretending to browse, pretending her attention wasn’t already drifting.
ella laughed softly as the associate returned with a small velvet box, opening it to reveal the repaired gold chain. she lifted it carefully, admiring the way it caught the light, already slipping it around her neck with practiced ease.
and that’s when she drifted sideways.
it wasn’t intentional. it happened automatically, like her feet knew where to go before she did.
her gaze landed on the display beside her—engagement rings arranged neatly in rows. simple solitaires, vintage cuts and diamonds that shimmered quietly under the lights. each piece more timeless than the nexy.
she stepped closer.
her breath caught when she saw it— beautiful pear-shaped halo engagement ring. it understated, soft with small jewels embezzled around in a subtle, not pretentious way. it was the kind she’d always imagined without ever saying out loud. it wasn't not flashy, but was purposeful with the design. like the designer took time to make every jewel feel chosen.
“that one’s pretty,” ella said gently behind her.
she blinked, startled, like she’d been caught somewhere private. “oh yeah. it’s—it’s beautiful.”
ella tilted her head, studying her now instead of the ring. there was no teasing in her expression, not judging but with a careful expression
“y/n"
she smiled quickly, already defensive. “it’s nothing.”
ella shook her head immediately. “no. it’s not. and yeah, he’s my brother, but you’re my sister too. you don’t ever have to lie to me.”
that was what did it.
her throat tightened suddenly, unexpectedly. she turned back to the glass before ella could see it — the way her eyes burned just slightly.
maybe it was because she had seen ella grow up. not just grow older, but grow into this life. the girl who used to sit cross-legged on the floor of the nylander family home, dogs climbing all over her while the boys wrestled in the background and someone inevitably knocked something over. the girl who hovered awkwardly in doorways, unsure where to put her shoes, asking if it was okay before touching anything — the nylander manners instilled in her.
the feeling in her chest of feeling apart of the family and not at the same time reminded her of the first time she moved in with him and finally understood how he’d been raised.
how he’d told alex it was time to find his own place, casual about it, like it wasn’t a big deal like he wasn’t rearranging his entire life without hesitation.
she remembered standing in the doorway of will’s place afterward, suitcase still zipped, heart racing, asking “are you sure?” over and over again.
and even then, even living there, she’d moved like a guest at first.
folding herself smaller. cleaning things that didn’t need cleaning. asking before taking up space. sleeping lightly, like she didn’t quite belong yet. it had taken months before that feeling eased, before she believed she had a permanent place in his life and in the lives of his family.
and now here she was.
nearly thirty and still standing in glass-lit rooms, quietly wondering when the boy she loved would say it out loud in the one way the world seemed to understand.
she lingered a second longer than she meant to, eyes still on the glass, then forced herself to step back. she felt the shift when it happened — the way her shoulders straightened, the way she folded herself back into place. it was something she’d learned how to do well.
jackie noticed anyway.
“hey,” she said softly, not touching her, just present. “you can talk to us.”
she smiled again, softer this time, more real—careful not to raise alarms. “no. nothing happened.”
jackie studied her. “that doesn’t always mean nothing’s wrong.”
“i know,” she said. “i just don’t want today to turn into that. i am having fun. i promise. i like being out with you guys. will and i are okay.”
ella glanced between them. “even if you weren’t, you could tell us,” she said, then added with a small grin, “and we love being with you too. at least when willy isn’t hogging you from the rest of us.”
she looked at ella then — really looked. how young she still was, even with all that awareness. how much she loved them both. “you guys,” she said gently.
there was a brief silence. not heavy. just settled.
jackie leaned back against the counter. “you know we don’t see you as just willy’s girlfriend, right?”
she swallowed. “i know.”
“you’re family,” jackie said. “separate from him.”
that landed harder than she expected. her throat tightened, just a little. “i know that too.”
ella reached for her hand then, squeezing it once. “we just want to make sure you’re okay.”
she nodded. “i am. i really am.”
it wasn’t a lie — not exactly. just not the whole truth. and she didn’t have the energy to give shape to the heaviness that had lived in her gut for years, beneath lights that reflected too much of her back at herself.
jackie glanced once at the rings, then deliberately looked away. “let’s go. i need another coffee before i crash.”
ella laughed. “we need to get baby jackie her coffee before she turns into a monster.”
as they turned toward the door, she followed, the weight in her chest settling back into something manageable.
she didn’t want to talk about william—not because she didn’t love him, not because she deep down she was angry—but because loving him had taught her how to hold things quietly.
and today, as always, she wanted to keep it that way.
the sun stayed high and merciless over the course, bleaching the sky into something too blue to feel real. the fairways looked manicured to the point of arrogance, every line sharp, every shadow precise. william adjusted his cap against the glare and reached out without thinking. a club from alex with his left hand, water bottle from the cart with his right.
“no chance he drains that,” alex said, squinting toward the grass.
william smirked, still facing forward. “you said that last hole too.”
“and in theory i would've been correct,” alex replied. “even if the universe hates me.”
johnny snorted, resting his chin on his club. “you’ve sliced three drives today. the universe might have a point.”
auston was half-present, head tipped down toward his phone. his thumb moved fast, pausing only when johnny asked him if everyting was good. he sighed. “she’s stressed. florist changed the centerpiece order without asking. says it ‘fits the space better.’”
johnny winced. “thing you never say that to a bride.”
alex grinned. “that's a rookie mistake.”
auston smiled anyway— soft, fond, the kind that lived permanently at the edges of his mouth lately. “she just wants it perfect.”
alex groaned dramatically. “there it is. the voice. you do that voice every time you talk about her.”
johnny laughed. “he’s gone. fully gone.”
william lined up his ball, eyes narrowing as he judged the distance, but he’d already clocked it—the ease in auston’s tone, the way the word she didn’t need a name anymore. it lingered between them like something settled.
alex glanced between them, then smirked. “speaking of long-suffering women.”
william stiffened a fraction. “what?.”
“what?” alex said innocently. “i didn’t even say her name.”
johnny raised a brow. “you’re about to.”
alex leaned his elbow on the cart, far too pleased with himself. “i’m just saying, mom and dad still owe me fifty bucks.”
william turned then. “for what?”
“the bet,” alex said. “the one where they said you’d propose before thirty and i said you’d drag it out until she threatened bodily harm.”
johnny laughed. “there’s a bet?”
“oh yeah,” alex nodded. “siblings too. it's a whole family pool.”
william stared at him. “y/n better not know she knows about this?”
alex shrugged. “of course not. do you think i'm a monster? but she’s basically my sister at this point. i almost told her a few times.”
“you better fucking not” william said flatly.
alex grinned wider. “relax. i like her too much to scare her away”
auston glanced up from his phone, amused. “how long you two been together now?”
“six years?,” johnny offered.
“eight,” alex corrected. “if you count the time he was pinning for her phase. which didn't last long at all”
william exhaled slowly. “we don’t need a label to validate anything.”
mo, who’d been quiet until now, tilted his head. “sure. but does she feel the same way?”
the question landed gently — which somehow made it heavier.
william shifted his weight, eyes flicking back toward the fairway. “she knows i love her.”
alex’s smile softened, just a touch. “yeah. she does. that’s why mom already calls her her svärdotter.”
william shot him a look. “alex.”
“what?” he said, unapologetic. “she’s at family dinners, in holiday photos. dad asks about her before he asks about you.”
johnny chuckled. "you can’t argue with that.”
auston studied william for a second longer. “i hate to agree with alex bu, she’s been there since day one. she caught flights for you waited foy you after practice when you were in a shit mood. she even showed my girl everything she needed to be comfortable. she's been in family section seats before any of us even had someone.”
alex nodded. “and she still puts up with you. that’s the most admirable trait.”
william swallowed, jaw tightening. “we’re not in a rush.”
mo held his gaze. “or maybe you just aren’t.”
no one spoke after that.
william looked around at them—some of their rings glinting in the sun, phones lighting up with names that made their faces soften, lives already settled into something named and acknowledged. he’d always told himself he didn’t need that kind of indicator. there was no doubt he was committed to y/n.
but standing there, he couldn't ignore the feeling in his chest. it didn't feel wrong just exposed.
“we’re fine,” he said eventually.
and alex didn’t push. for once.
auston’s phone buzzed again and his attention shifted instantly, smile returning as he typed. johnny adjusted his glove. mo looked back toward the grass, focusing on their next hole.
william shrugged his shoulders, turned to the hole, and swung.
he didn't miss but he wouldn't classify this round as a win.
the house was quiet when william got back, the kind of quiet that meant she was home but resting somewhere just out of sight. the dogs lifted their heads at the sound of the door, tails thumping lazily against the floor, but didn’t bother getting up. they knew his timing better than he did.
he kicked off his shoes, keys dropped into the bowl by muscle memory, and followed the low hum of movement toward the kitchen.
she was curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked beneath her, laptop open on her thighs. her hair was loose, glasses perched low on her nose, the kind of focused calm she slipped into when she’d been thinking too hard for too long.
“hey,” he said.
she looked up instantly, a smile breaking across her face like it had been waiting for him. “hey. you’re home.”
he crossed the room in two strides and sat beside her, close enough that their thighs pressed together. always close. he leaned in, brushing a kiss against her lips, then another against her cheek, unhurried.
she looked up immediately, face brightening in that way that still caught him off guard even after years. “you’re back early.”
“course cleared faster than expected,” he said, stepping into her space without asking, hands settling at her waist like they belonged there. because they did.
she leaned back into him easily, head tipping against his shoulder. “how was it?”
“hot and alex talked too much.”
she laughed, soft and familiar. “that tracks.”
he pressed a kiss into her hair, lingering. she smelled like clean laundry and the citrus soap she insisted on buying in bulk. home, in the simplest way.
she laughed softly, nudging his shoulder. “you’re sweaty. go shower.”
“in a minute,” he said, already pulling her feet into his lap. “missed you.”
she pretended to roll her eyes, but her toes curled against his stomach anyway. “you were gone for four hours.”
“felt longer,” he replied easily.
she studied him for a second, then closed her laptop with care before setting it on the coffee table. “i’ve been stressed all morning,” she admitted.
his attention sharpened immediately. “about tomorrow?”
she nodded. “the meeting. i can’t stop thinking about it.”
“talk to me.”
she shifted, turning toward him fully now, knees pressing into his side. “it’s the same thing every time. i bring up accessibility not as a feature, but as a foundation and he keeps brushing it off. says we can ‘think about that it later.’”
“later won't exist once construction starts,” william said without hesitation.
she blinked, surprised, then smiled. “exactly.”
“that guy still making your life hard?” he asked.
“the absolute worst,” she sighed. “he interrupts, reframes everything like it was his idea, and acts like i’m being dramatic for pushing back.”
william’s jaw tightened. “what’s his name again?”
“no,” she said immediately, laughing. “don’t memorize it. i don’t need you fighting with another architect during this project.”
“i can hate him through you,” he said. “as a hobby.”
she snorted, leaning into him. “it just feels like i’m carrying the weight of the project alone sometimes. like if i don’t fight for it, no one else will.”
he drew her back in before she could pull away, one arm firm around her shoulders until her head settled against his chest again, exactly where it always fit. his other hand came up automatically, fingers threading into her hair, slow and deliberate, the pads of his fingers massaging her scalp in small, grounding circles, to ease the migraine he already saw on the horizon.
he felt it then—the tension she’d been holding too carefully, the way her breathing stuttered before evening out again.
“hey,” he murmured, lips brushing the top of her head. “breathe, baby .”
she did, eventually. one deep inhale and then another.
this project had taken more out of her than she let on. he’d watched it creep in quietly —later nights, tighter shoulders, the way she forgot to eat when her mind was too full. it tugged at something protective in him, pulled up a memory he didn’t like revisiting. the night she’d pushed herself too far, insisted she was fine until she wasn’t. feverish, exhausted, stubborn even then. it had scared him more than he’d ever admitted
“min stjärna,” he whispered softly, almost absentmindedly, the swedish curling warm and familiar against her ear.
my star.
the words loosened something in her chest every time. they always had.
the first time he’d called her that, she’d been twenty-one and shaking behind a podium, final semester of undergrad, hands trembling as she presented her thesis to a room full of professors who barely looked impressed. he’d sat in the back, legs stretched out, hoodie pulled low, eyes never leaving her. afterward, when she’d stumbled into his arms, overwhelmed and convinced she’d done terribly, he’d kissed her temple and said it like it was fact.
min stjärna. like it had never been up for debate.
he loved her beauty — that part was obvious, easy to tell when it was written all over him. but it was her mind that held him. the way she thought, the way she noticed what others overlooked, the way she fought for ideas that mattered even when it cost her sleep, energy, peace. that was the part of her that stayed with him. that made him proud in a way that went deeper than attraction.
his thumb traced a gentle line along her hairline. “you’ve care,” he said quietly. “you see things people don’t want to slow down enough to care about.”
“that’s not always a good thing,” she murmured.
“it is,” he said without hesitation. calm. certain. the same steadiness he carried in tight games, in pressure moments, in love. “it’s why you’re good at what you do.”
she went still for a moment, letting that sink in. then she sighed again, softer this time, tension easing beneath his hands. “i wish tomorrow was already over.”
“it will be,” he murmured. “and you’ll have said everything you needed to say.”
she tipped her head back just enough to look up at him. “you’re weirdly confident about that.”
a corner of his mouth lifted. “i’ve watched you talk your way through worse.”
her smile came small, tired, but real. “you were supposed to shower.”
“i know,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. “i just wanted to sit with you first.”
she didn’t argue.
she never did.
and in moments like this —tucked into his chest, his hands steady, his belief in her unwavering—she never questioned how much he loved her.
summary — william is steady, unshakable—even in love. you’ve always been there, quietly waiting for him to keep the promises he never says out loud. but how long can you wait for someone who won’t move?
warnings — descriptions of anxiety.
word count — 11.6k (i got carried away)
an — took me long enough but i got really into describing her in this chapter and picking my architect friend's brain,
masterlist
before she opened her eyes, she already knew the kind of day that was waiting for her.
the morning arrived in soft increments of pale light, creeping across the ceiling and spilling down the far wall of the bedroom. even before opening her eyes, she felt as if her body had been bracing itself for the worst. throughout the night, sleep had never fully claimed her. she had hovered in that half-world between awake and dreaming, caught up in anxiety.
hours earlier, she had been wrapped in william’s arms, her back fitting perfectly into the curve of his chest, his slow, even breathing brushing the nape of her neck. still, she hadn’t settled. anxiety had planted itself low in her stomach, persistent and unshakeable, the kind of first-day-of-school feeling that made even the familiar feel brand new.
she had turned over at some point, pressing her face into his collarbone, inhaling the clean soap scent of him, as if mere proximity could quiet her mind. usually, it did. since the day they mdet, closeness had been effortless, their default.
hours earlier, she had been wrapped in william’s arms, her back fitting perfectly into the curve of his chest, his slow, even breathing brushing the nape of her neck. still, she hadn’t settled. anxiety had planted itself low in her stomach, persistent and unshakeable, the kind of first-day-of-school feeling that made even the familiar feel brand new.
she had turned over at some point, pressing her face into his collarbone, inhaling the clean soap-and-shampoo scent of him, as if mere proximity could quiet her mind. usually, it did. since the day they met, closeness had been effortless, their default.
it hadn’t always been like that.
she remembered the early days, when even the smallest gestures made her heart stutter. one afternoon, they were walking back from class, sunlight bouncing off the pavement. he reached for her hand, just for her to jerk back, cheeks flaming.
“you don’t like it?” he asked, a slight pout forming, eyebrows raised.
“i… i do,” she whispered, flustered, twisting her fingers together.
. “you always flinch or move away when i try to touch you in public. why?” he pressed gently, his thumb brushing hers in that way that made her stomach flutter.
she looked up at him, caught between mortification and something warmer, something she was still figuring out herself. “this is all new to me. i’ve never… never had a crush. never been close like this to a boy. i just—i don’t know how to… exist, i guess.”
he chuckled softly, leaning closer so their foreheads almost touched. “okay,” he said, voice low and gentle. “we’ll figure it out together.”
she had blinked, heart squeezing in a way that made her feel both tiny and invincible. from that moment, the flinches had softened, the awkward pauses had faded, until now, when closeness felt like home, like the air she breathed,
now, it was just how they were. she moved toward him, he toward her, and the old hesitation was gone, replaced by a quiet certainty that gravity itself had been rewritten around them.
but even gravity couldn’t dissolve the worry for today.
his side of the bed was empty and she noticed his absence the way you noticed when you forgot a task the day before—subtle, but undeniable. the mattress had cooled. the sheets held the imprint of his body, like a temporary cast. he had a full day with his teammates before they all went the separate ways for the offseason. he left early for morning skate, and she had felt only the faintest brush of his lips against her shoulder before the bedroom door clicked shut.
she reached for her phone before she could stop herself.
nothing.
no message. no small i love you. no check-in about the dogs behaviour.
she knew better than to read into it. he left his phone in his locker most of the time. When he was on the ice, he had routine, repetition and discipline. she knew his mornings as intimately as she knew the gridlines of her drafting software.
and still, the quiet screen made her chest tighten.
she set the phone face down on the nightstand and stared at the ceiling.
today was the site visit.
her firm was going as a team, which meant the inevitable scrutiny. not from contractors—she handled them effortlessly— but from her colleagues. from the subtle hierarchies and unspoken resentments that had accumulated quietly over the years years.
there were persistent misconceptions about architects. two, actually.
the first—the romanticized version she had imagined in undergrad—envisioned them living entirely on site. hard hats and steel-toed boots covered in dust from drywall powder. always moving, pointing at foundations, measuring beams with calloused hands. real architects, in this version, were legitimate only if their boots left imprints in wet concrete.
the second was the opposite. that architects were interior designers with a fancy degree who were solely invested in the aesthetic of places. their lives consisted of sitting back while machines did the work. something flexible, where a sunlit kitchen table, a laptop, and an oat milk latte could suffice. consisting of all pinterest boards and colour swatches with the occasional site cameo for photographs.
both were wrong. in her years working up from the bottom up, she had learned the truth.
architecture was coordination, orchestration, and precision. she could review structural drawings from anywhere in the world. she could mark up elevations from a terrace in saint-tropez, the mediterranean wind tangling her hair, or sit in a quiet café in stockholm and finalize material schedules before most of her team had poured their first coffee.
and she had.
she had taken calls overlooking harbors, sent revised floor plans across time zones without missing a deadline. her projects had never stalled. clients had not complained and revenue had not dipped.
but success achieved remotely carried a different weight inside the firm.
no one ever said it outright.
they didn’t have to.
there were pauses on conference calls when she joined from somewhere sunlit and distant. comments masked as jokes — must be nice. i wish i could draft from the riviera—subtle reminders about “staying focused” or “being present,” as if presence were defined solely by physical proximity, not by output.
but she never let them see her annoyance instead, she delivered always.
they never considered the stress of balancing outings with william’s family, the early hours she kept before eastern time, or the blood, sweat, and tears she poured into her work. the sleep she sacrificed, the evenings spent drafting floor plans when her body begged for rest, the weekends surrendered to client revisions and deadlines that never waited for her to catch up on sleep.
still, the unspoken tension lingered, especially with the senior architects who preferred things the old-fashioned way: bodies in offices, eyes on screens from nine to six, and the proof of labour measured in visibility rather than results.
and now, this site.
she hadn’t stepped foot on it yet, despite working on the project for over a year and a half. not because she had neglected it, but because she had trusted her team’s updates, reviewed every update, every report. because she had been in contact with a firm in greece to finalize a cultural center competition the office desperately wanted to win. because she had spent mornings in saint-tropez with william during his off-season, working before the sun climbed high enough to paint the white sand orange.
the building was real. its skeleton was rising without her ever having touched the ground. that knowledge pressed against her ribs.
she pushed herself upright, the hardwood floor cool beneath her feet as she crossed the bedroom. the condo was suspended high above the city’s early traffic, insulated from honking, construction, and the constant hum that always left her overstimulated when she stayed down in it too long.
their home helped.
her home office helped more.
the second bedroom had been transformed entirely — a wide drafting table angled toward the windows, material samples arranged in deliberate gradients across low shelves, trays of stone, tile, and metal catching the thin morning light. travertine beside honed marble. brushed brass beside matte blackened steel. Materials she had been sent to gauge how they could conttibute to her projects.
here, she had control.
outside, the city was unpredictable. the noise ricocheting off glass towers, people moving in currents she could not anticipate. but inside this room, she controlled scale, texture, outcome.
and yet, the anxiety followed her in.
she checked her phone again, even though she had told herself she wouldn’t.
still nothing.
the silence felt irrationally ominous. not because of him — she trusted him with a steadiness that surprised even herself — but because the day already felt tilted, as if something small had shifted out of alignment before she had even stood up.
she leaned against her desk and closed her eyes.
she was good at this.
she had been good long before anyone questioned her methods. long before she learned how to steer talking about her location on calls to avoid unwarranted comments. long before she realized that competence did not always shield a woman from being quietly resented.
today wasn’t about proving she worked hard enough.
it was about walking that site with certainty. about letting her heels smack against the unfinished cement without hesitation. about knowing the structure as intimately in person as she did in plan and section.
still, beneath the professionalism, beneath the carefully curated calm of her office, the dread lingered soft and persistent.
like the moment before a crack forms in glass—invisible at first, but inevitable once pressure settles in.
she exhales slowly and moves toward her desk, pressing the power button on her monitor and then her laptop. the screes comes to life, a soft mechanical hum filling the quiet of the room.
she dreaded most interactions with her team, not because she didn’t like them or their work but it was hard for her to break through their perception of her, especially with one person leading the pack—lucas.
even thinking his name annoyed her. they’re the youngest members of the firm, both from the same graduating class. where there should’ve been camaraderie over both starting their careers as fresh-faced grads had the opposite effect, and their shared age irritated him from the beginning.
they first met in the firm’s designated waiting area, two years ago, seated in those low leather chairs that are meant to make candidates feel smaller than they are. she remembers the way he’d introduced himself — firm handshake, lingering eye contact, resume folder balanced neatly on his knee like he was already posing for the cover of a magazine.
“architecture or development?” he’d asked her, glancing at her portfolio case.
“architecture,” she’d replied evenly.
he’d smiled in that way men do when they think they’ve already assessed you. “same. though i’m interested in the business side too. that’s where the real leverage is.”
she hadn’t managed to get a response out before she got called in for the interview. foreshadowing her eventually getting the offer as the newest junior architectural designer instead of him.
it didn’t matter that her resume and references were proof enough she was the better candidate, all he cared about was that she’d gotten the offer first, and he hadn’t.
she’d heard in an offhand comment from hr weeks later that he’d emailed twice for updates.
when a senior associate retired months after she started, lucas was hired to fill the gap. Technically an unoffical lateral and hire. she was more than happy to welcome him, but from the moment he walked back into the firm, this time with a badge clipped to his blazer, there was something in his demeanor that shifted around her. he was sharp, performative.
he carried himself less like an architect and more like the guys she saw when she watched william play at home, probably in finance, who’d wandered into the wrong degree with crisp shirts too tight at the shoulder and loafers polished to a mirror shine. a way of walking into the arena as if they were networking events rather than a hockey game.
the same way lucas wandered into her office. for reasons she couldn’t understand, he had a particular fascination with her office.
“must be nice,” he’d said once, leaning casually against her doorframe, looking around at the high shelves and wide drafting table. “all this space and you’re barely here.”
she’d looked up from her screen, unimpressed. “i’m here enough.”
he’d laughed. “i just mean — if i had this setup? i’d make use of it.”
as if she hadn’t.
as if the projects she’d completed from across the world were somehow less valid because they weren’t witnessed under fluorescent lights of their office.
however, the most annoying thing of all about lucas is that he likes to narrate what she “missed” in her time away from the office.
whether it was team lunches, impromptu brainstorming sessions, disaster site visits, or nonsensical inside jokes. he relayed the information almost like a performance.
“you should’ve been here yesterday,” he’d say. “we had a whole debate about the façade articulation. it got heated. you would’ve loved it.”
he acted like she was desperate for bone to prove she belongs.
when it was his life goal to make her feel like she wasn’t.
the computer loads fully, and she lowers herself into her chair, the leather cool against the back of her legs. her office smells faintly of cedar and paper. there’s a thin layer of dust on the far bookshelf—evidence of the weeks she’s been away. she makes a mental note to wipe it later.
her gaze drifts to the framed photo on the corner of her desk.
william’s arm is slung around her shoulders, both of them crouched down to the dogs, half out of frame, because they refused to sit still. It was imperfect and subtle. She couldn’t think of a better photo to give her company during grueling workdays.
she touches the edge of the frame absently as her inbox begins to flood and right on cue—a knock.
she doesn’t need to look up to know who it is.
lucas nevers waits for an answer before stepping inside.
he moves like he owns the place with his hands tucked into the pockets of tailored trousers, scanning her office again with that familiar assessing glance.
“hey, stranger. today’s a big day,” he says lightly. “finally gracing us with your presence on site.”
she keeps her eyes on her monitor. “i’ve been reviewing the progress reports weekly, lucas.”
“sure, sure.” he waves a hand. “but there’s nothing like actually being there, right? feeling the scale.”
she can hear the smile in his voice.
she types calmly. “i’m aware.”
he steps further into the room. too far for her liking, “i was there tuesday,” he continues. “contractor’s already asking about the cladding revision. thought you’d want to know before you show up and get blindsided.”
her jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
“i’ve already addressed the cladding revision,” she replies evenly. “sent the addendum last week.”
a pause. he hadn’t expected that probably because he was too busy trying to get a leg up on her to monitor updates. “right,” he says after a beat. “well. still. it’ll be good for you to see it in person.”
for you. as if she is his junior like she needs the exposure.
she finally looks up at him, expression composed. “was there something specific you needed, lucas?”
he studies her for a second, recalibrating. “just making sure you’re prepared,” he says. then his gaze drift— deliberately — to the photograph on her desk. “how’s nylander? lots of injuries this past season, eh?”
and there it is.
something in her chest shifts.
she doesn’t know why that’s the comment that thins her patience. it wasn’t the digs about her office, or the insinuations about her absence but the casual invocation of william in this context feels invasive. like lucas is reaching for leverage he doesn’t have.
“he’s fine,” she says shortly.
lucas nods slowly. “must be hard to juggle everything. flying around with him, keeping up here. i’d have serious fomo missing so much work.”
his words land deliberately..
she closes her laptop halfway—not fully, just enough to signal the end of her tolerance.
“i haven’t missed anything that matters,” she says, voice calm but sharpened at the edges.”goodbye, lucas” promptly ending the conversation in its tracks.
he holds her gaze a moment too long, as if searching for a crack, but she gives him none.
after a second, he shrugs. “see you downstairs in an hour.” and he turns and leaves without closing the door.
the silence that follows feels thicker.
she exhales slowly through her nose and leans back in her chair.
it isn’t that lucas intimidates her because he doesn’t. it’s that he lingers like a persistent draft from a door you’ve already shut twice already. always testing and probing for insecurity she refuses to give him.
her eyes drift back to the photograph.
william’s smile is unguarded in it. his hand spread wide against her shoulder like he’s anchoring himself to her.
she straightens.
today is not about lucas.
today is about walking that site and knowing, without hesitation, that every line drawn was deliberate.
still, as she reaches for her phone again, hoping for a message that isn’t there, she can’t shake the faint sense that the tension gathering around her has less to do with steel and concrete and more to do with the quiet fractures forming elsewhere.
the wind is sharper than she remebered when they steped out of the office building.
construction dust hangs faintly in the air across the street where the museum’s frame is rising—skeletal steel cutting into a pale winter sky. traffic moves in impatient bursts between them and the site, engines idling, brakes hissing. and of course, lucas is still talking.
he has been talking since the elevator.
“…and the contractor was saying the delivery window might shift by a week, but i told him we’d need to revisit the sequencing if that happens,” he says, matching her stride too closely as they approach the crosswalk. “i mean, obviously you’ll want to weigh in.”
obviously. she doesn’t say, committed to showing she’s not interested in what he’s rattling on about
she nods once, eyes fixed ahead. “i’ve already adjusted the sequencing in the revised schedule.”
he glances at her. “right. right.”
the light changes. they cross with the rest of the team, five of them in total, hard hats tucked under arms, portfolios slung over shoulders. the museum looms larger with each step, temporary fencing wrapped around the perimeter, banners displaying the renderings she finalized months ago.
she studies it as they approach.
even unfinished, she recognizes her lines. the cantilevered corner that appears to hover. the vertical rhythm of the façade meant to echo organ pipes. the negative space she fought to preserve when budget constraints threatened to flatten the design.
it looks smaller in person but she doesn’t fret because they always do at this stage.
lucas keeps pace beside her, narrating details she already knows. concrete pours, inspection delays and minor disputes about supplier pricing. his voice blends with the city noise until it becomes like a gnat hovering by her ear.
when they reach the gate, the rest of the team gathers closer.
“it’s been a while,” one of the associates, marianne, says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “how’s everything?”
she tilts her head slightly. “good.”
“we figured,” another senior associate, arthur, adds. “you’re always somewhere interesting by this time of year.”
there’s a lightness to the words, but something underneath them feels off—stretched thin. like they’re performing curiosity rather than expressing it.
“you’ll be in stockholm soon, right?” marianne continues. “it always looks beautiful.”
it takes her a second to register that they usually see her location somewhere. instagram, probably. a tagged photo from william because she doesn’t have any of her associates on social media.
“yeah,” she says simply.
“must be nice though,” someone murmurs.
again, the same passive-aggressive tone they always have when talking to her. It’s quite admirable how they maintain that same tone through the teams meetings and in real life.
she brushes it off. people project their own narratives. she knows that and it’s not her job to change their mind. she adjusts her hard hat and steps through the gate.
inside, the air changes. it’s dustier now. the ground uneven with gravel and plywood pathways. scaffolding climbs toward the half-formed ceiling, and sunlight filters through the exposed framework in fractured beams.
the head of the project, daniel, approaches from near the temporary site office, hand extended.
“good, you’re here,” he says, genuine relief in his voice. “i wanted to walk the west wing with you.”
she nods, falling into step beside him as the others trail behind.
“we’re at a critical junction with the atrium detailing,” he continues. “contractor’s proposing a simplified bracket for the suspended panels. i’m not convinced.”
she doesn’t hesitate. “it’ll compromise the shadow lines,” she says immediately. “the depth is what gives that space tension. if they flatten it, the whole vertical pull disappears.”
daniel glances at her, impressed. “that’s what i thought.”
lucas shifts behind them.
they walk through the skeletal corridor toward the future atrium. she navigates instinctively, stepping over cables and around stacked drywall as if she’s memorized the place, because she has. every measurement lives in her head.
daniel gestures upward. “talk me through your intent again.”
she does clearly and precisely. she explains the interplay of light at different hours of the day. how the suspended panels were designed not just for acoustics but to create movement overhead—a visual inhale and exhale. how the material choice interacts with the adjacent concrete so the space never feels cold.
the workers nearby slow slightly, listening.
daniel nods as she speaks. “this is why we didn’t cut it,” he says. “it’s the spine of the whole building.”
behind her, she feels the shift.
it’s subtle at first—a change in atmosphere without anyone saying anything. that’s unto; lucas clears his throat.
“i mean,” he interjects casually, “we do have to be realistic about cost efficiency. sometimes intent evolves.”
she keeps her expression neutral, it is so like lucas to involve himself in her business. she will not bite
“evolution doesn’t mean dilution,” she replies evenly. “we can refine the bracket without losing dimensionality. i’ve already drafted an alternative.”
daniel looks between them. “great! can you send that to me again?”
“of course.”
marianne crosses her arms. “it’s just that when you’re not here for the day-to-day contractor conversations, things feel different on the ground.”
thanks for that, marianne. what happened to being a girls' girl? she turns slightly. “i’ve been on every contractor call.”
“virtually,” lucas adds lightly.
she almost flinches at the jab but recovers quickly.
she studies him for a fraction of a second, then looks back at daniel, he’s who she has to answer to not them. “the building doesn’t know whether i’m standing in this exact spot or reviewing the drawings from my desk,” she says calmly. “it responds to decisions. and the decisions have been made.”
a quiet settles over the group.
daniel nods slowly. “she’s right. the revisions have been thorough.”
praise, when it comes, is direct.
“the façade modulation?” he continues, glancing at the elevation pinned to a temporary board. “client loved it. said it was the first time they could actually see the identity of the museum.”
heat creeps up the back of her neck—not embarrassment, but awareness.
lucas shifts again. “well, we all contributed to that,” he says quickly. “it was a team effort.”
“of course,” daniel replies. but his eyes flick back to her. “still. the concept held.”
the air felt colder now.
they continue walking, but the energy has changed. conversations fragments turned into. whispers half-finished when she turns her head. when she answers a question, someone follows with a qualifier. when she suggests an adjustment, someone reframes it as collaborative hindsight.
undermining without ever crossing a line explicit enough to name.
she recognizes it for what it is.
jealousy is rarely loud. it’s administrative. it hides in tone. in timing and who gets credited first.
she keeps her spine straight and her voice steady, refusing to shrink to make the room more comfortable.
still, as they exit back into the open air and the museum’s frame casts long angular shadows across the pavement, she feels it again—that earlier dread tightening at the edges of her composure.
not because she doesn’t belong here but because she does and they know it.
they’re still standing in the unfinished lobby when she decides she’s done absorbing it.
the space echoes—unfinished concrete, exposed beams, light pouring in through what will eventually be glass waiting to settle. the conversation about façade modulation dissolves into logistics, into cost and timelines.
she waits for the right opening.
“before we move forward,” she says, steady but firm, “we need to address the accessibility elements while we’re still in this phase.”
a few heads turn. lucas shifts his weight. arthur glances at his watch, subtle but not subtle enough.
“the south entrance ramp needs to be recalibrated before they finalize the pour,” she continues. “and the tactile indicators should be embedded now — not layered in later as a retrofit.”
arthur offers a patient smile. the kind reserved for overenthusiasm. “we’ve met code,” he says. “that’s already been signed off.”
she holds his gaze. “code is the minimum.”
“and the minimum is legally sufficient,” he replies smoothly. “we don’t need to complicate the construction schedule for enhancements that can be handled operationally.”
“operationally,” she repeats. “meaning guest services.”
arthur nods once, as if this is obvious.
“meaning if someone needs assistance, there are protocols.”
she feels lucas watching her. If anyone knew what it looked like to annoy her, it was him.
“people shouldn’t need to ask for access,” she says, and her voice is still measured, still professional. “the building should anticipate them. visible and invisible disabilities. Whether that’s mobility, sensory processing, chronic pain, hearing impairments. museums are already overstimulating environments. acoustics alone can make or break someone’s visit.”
she looks at her. “that doesn’t make it negligible.”
lucas folds his arms. “we can’t design for every hypothetical scenario.”
it’s the second time that word has been used today—hypothetical—as if people are theoretical inconveniences rather than real humans who want to that move through space without leaving overstimulated and triggered.
“it’s not hypothetical,” she says. “it’s data. it’s lived experience. we design public institutions. that means anticipating that not everyone is the same.”
arthur’s tone cools by half a degree. “well, y/n. we also design within constraints., budget, deadlines, structural realities. we cannot center every edge case.”
she feels something shift beneath her composure, not explosive — just a tightening. a recognition.
“accessibility isn’t an edge case,” she replies. “it’s fundamental. and if someone has to flag down staff just to navigate a gallery comfortably, then we’ve already signaled that they weren’t the default user in our minds.”
there’s a pause.
one of the junior associates mutters something about signage.
“we can add clear wayfinding,” he says quickly. “and if anyone needs accommodation, guest services can—”
“accommodation implies deviation,” she interrupts before she can stop herself. “it implies that access is special treatment.”
lucas gives a small, nervous laugh. “I think we should table this. you’re making this ideological.”
she turns to him. “it is.”
the word surprises even her with how easily it leaves her mouth.
arthur steps in, voice firm now. “we are not excluding anyone. we are prioritizing feasibility.”
“feasibility for whom?” she asks.
no one answers directly.
marianne mentions that statistically the majority of visitors will be unaffected. arthur inists that they can revisit sensory mitigation “if complaints arise.” he finishes, like they’re overextending themselves trying to anticipate needs that may never materialize.
as if disabled bodies are a myth that appear only once summoned.
the wind moves through the open atrium again and the faint metallic scent of cut steel. she becomes acutely aware of how loud everything feels— the echo of their voices, the scrape of boots, the hollow vastness of the unfinished space.
she thinks of walking into a building and immediately calculating exits, searching for seating, bracing for noise, and deciding whether to ask for help or to leave quietly.
she thinks of how she learned in her career that architectural design either dignifies or diminishes.
arthur shakes his head slightly. “we’re not in the business of peopl’s problems,” he says. “we’re building a museum.”
and in that moment she realizes they have been talking about two entirely different things— they about compliance, optics, and cost; she about people and when she opens her mouth to respond next, she already knows that whatever she says next will not fit neatly into a meeting recap.
the conference room felt stale.
the glass walls, long oak table, and the city stretching indifferently beyond the window. she sits across from daniel, hands folded in her lap to keep them steady. he doesn’t look angry. he looks careful.
“you know i think highly of you,” he begins.
and it feels, absurdly, like being eight years old again. being called aside after recess or told off in class. not in trouble exactly but her teacher always shared the same dissapointed look.
“you’re one of the brightest architext we have,” he continues. “you’re efficient. you deliver. that’s why i’ve trusted you with flexibility. you’ve earned that.”
she nods once. “i’ve never taken it lightly.”
“I know you haven’t.” he exhales. “but you can’t speak to colleagues the way you did on site. not in front of the team and never in front of contractors.”
her spine stiffens. “i didn’t insult anyone.”
he ran his hand through his hair. "you implied they were being negligent.”
“no, i said accessibility shouldn’t be treated like a favor.” she replied, her tongue still sharp, possibly bevause she was still fuming what transpired earlier
his jaw tightens slightly. “it wasn’t what you said. It’s how you said it.”
she almost rolled her eyes right then and there. she could not count how many times her mom said this to her growing up when she somehow offended olivia time and time again. she’s going through some things. be easy on your sister. as if she wasn’t the one, picking fights with her.
he leans back. “i understand what you were saying. i actually agree with most of it. but they’re there every day. they’re handling the contractors in real time. when you come in and challenge decisions, it can feel like you’re dismissing the work they’ve been doing.”
she stares at him. “does that make their work more important than mine?”
“that’s not what i said.” daniel, clearly getting tired of the conversation.
“because it sounds like that,” she presses, her voice no longer perfectly even. “they’re not building what i’m proposing. the contractors are. i’m the one losing sleep drafting the plans they’re executing.”
“no one questions your work ethic,” he says finally. “you are the hardest worker on this team.”
the praise doesn’t soothe her anger at the fact that she’s the one in here being told off while her colleagues look on, “then why does it feel like i’m being reprimanded for caring?”
“because alignment matters,” he replies. “and when you’re rarely here in person, gaps form. perception fills them.”
“you approved my remote schedule,” she says obviously.
“because your output is exceptional,” he answers without hesitation. “but you have to understand how it looks. when people don’t see the hours, they create their own narrative.”
she feels something sink in her chest. no matter what she does it always goes down to her schedule. it always boils down to being seen at a desk instead of being trusted at a distance.
“i’m not asking you to shrink,” daniel adds. “i’m asking you to read the room better.”
if she wasn’t feeling as dejected as she was in this moment. maybe she would’ve replied back, but instead she nods because there’s nothing else to offer without making it worse.
when she steps back into the hallway, the office noise feels amplified— keyboards clacking, laced with low laughter. lucas was the only one who glanced up from his screen as she passed, expression unreadable; she kept walking.
it isn’t the catastrophe she was anticipating.
it’s the quiet realization that even being the hardest worker in the room doesn’t protect you from being misunderstood and that sometimes the respect you thought was solid can shift beneath your feet without warning.
six o’clock arrived at a snails pace. the sky outside the office windows dimming slightly and the collective shuffle of chairs as people begin packing up. she stays seated a moment longer than she needs to, staring at the final email in her inbox without really seeing it, her reflection faintly layered over the screen.
the day has left a residue on her, a film she can’t quite scrub off. when she finally shuts her laptop, the click sounds sharper than usual, like punctuation on something unresolved.
the elevator ride down is quiet, and she’s grateful for it. no small talk, no tight smiles. just the low hum of descent and the sterile shine of metal walls reflecting back a version of her that looks composed enough to pass.
outside, the cold air meets her flushed skin and she inhales deeply, as if the city might clear her head. it doesn’t. the walk home feels longer than usual, every step heavy with the replay of conversations she wishes she’d phrased differently, or perhaps not softened at all.
when she unlocks her apartmentdoor, the silence greets her first. william mentioned last night that his sisters would take the dogs while after he finished his day with the guys, and she hadn’t thought much of it then. now, stepping into a space that holds no immediate demands—no barking, no scrambling paws on hardwood—she feels an unexpected flicker of relief. she loves them, loves the chaos and the warmth, but tonight even their affection would feel like something she was unworthy of.
she slips off her shoes, drops her bag by the entryway without its usual care, and walks down the hallway in a straight line, not turning on any lights.
the hallway is is washed in the soft blue of early evening, shadows stretching long across the floors. she passes her office door—half open, shelves neatly lined with samples, drawings stacked in careful order—and the sight of it makes her chest tighten. that room holds so much of her effort, so many late nights and early mornings, and yet today all she can hear is perception, alignment, navigate.
she reaches the bedroom and doesn’t hesitate. she pulls back the duvet and slides into bed fully dressed, curling instinctively toward william’s side. his pillow still carries the faint trace of his cologne, the warmth of something steady and familiar, and for a second she presses her face into it as if proximity might anchor her. the mattress dips slightly under her weight, the room quiet enough that she can hear the faint rush of blood in her ears.
she tells herself it was just a hard day. everyone has them. she tells herself daniel didn’t mean it the way it felt. that lucas is inconsequential. that accessibility is still on the table. that nothing catastrophic happened.
but the tears come anyway.
they gather slowly, a tightness behind her eyes, a pressure in her throat she tries to swallow down. she blinks them back at first, annoyed at herself, frustrated by the fragility of it. she is not fragile. she has fought too hard, worked too precisely, sacrificed too much sleep to dissolve over a meeting.
and yet one tear slips free, sliding warm across the bridge of her nose into the pillow. then another. she exhales shakily, and that’s when the dam gives way—not dramatically, not loudly, but steadily. her shoulders begin to tremble with the effort of staying quiet, as if even alone she doesn’t want to be heard unraveling.
it isn’t just the site. it isn’t just the meeting. it’s the accumulation of being praised in private and corrected in public, of being called the hardest worker and still told to soften herself for cohesion. it’s the implication that because she isn’t physically present every morning, something about her contribution is less tangible. less owned.
undervalued at work. the phrase loops through her mind with dull insistence.
and then, without her permission, the thought tilts sideways.
she feels undervalued here.
her mind goes back to the empty screen that morning. of how quickly lucas had said william’s name, as if it were shorthand for distraction. of how easily her flexibility is framed as indulgence when it revolves around his schedule—his games, his practices, his trave while her own needs are expected to fold neatly around them.
she knows william loves her; she knows he would never intentionally make her feel secondary. but lying here in the dim room, she feels like she is constantly adjusting, constantly accommodating, constantly proving.
the bed feels too large. the room too silent.
she presses her hand to her mouth to quiet the sound that threatens to escape, tears soaking into the fabric beneath her cheek. she feels stretched thin in every direction exceptional but resented, supportive but unseen, strong but suddenly so tired of being the one who understands.
the sky outside deepens from blue to orange, and she stays there, curled into his side of the bed, crying softly into the dark, because in this the only place she can finally fall apart is the one that is supposed to feel safest.
an hour later, the front door opens with the familiar scrape of metal against metal, followed by the low thud of hockey bags hitting hardwood.
“god, i’m starving,” alex mutters, already toeing off his shoes and letting them land wherever they fall. he smells like cold air and sweat and the lingering sharpness of the rink.
william steps in behind him, shrugging out of his jacket, laughter from whatever story they were finishing still half-formed on his lips but it dies quickly.
her shoes are by the door and her work bag tumbled over.
that’s the first thing he notices.the second is the quiet.
usually, when he comes home and she’s beat him there, there’s a rhythm to the space. music low in the background. the soft scratch of a page turning. the glow of her laptop from the couch. sometimes the smell of garlic and olive oil warming in a pan or just her— cross-legged, lost in a book, looking up the second the door opens like she’s been waiting for that exact sound.
now there’s nothing.
alex drops onto the couch with a groan, stretching his legs out. “where’s y/n?” he calls toward the kitchen.
william’s eyes scan the living room. her laptop isn’t on the coffee table. the kitchen lights are off. the office door down the hall is ajar but dark.
something in his chest shifts. a pull to her a quiet instinct that has sharpened over the years. he feels her moods the way he feels changes in weather pressure, subtle but undeniable. when she’s light, the whole place hums. when she’s restless, the air tightens. when she’s upset—he doesn’t wait to finish the thought.
“she’s probably in the room,” he says to alex, already moving down the hallway. “Gimme a second”
alex waves him off, distracted by his phone. “tell her i said hi.”
will doesn’t respond.
he knows she went into the office today. she’d mentioned the site visit all week, that undercurrent of nerves in her voice she’d tried to disguise as preparation. he’d meant to text her after skate to send something simple, like a thinking of you, or good luck, min stjärna — but on ice time bled into workouts, workouts into lunch, lunch into another skate, and then calle had called him over about something stupid and the moment slipped. he’d thought about it in passing, phone in hand, and then, he exhales sharply through his nose as he reaches the bedroom door.
it’s half closed until, he pushes it open gently.
the room is dim, washed in the last blue light of evening. at first he doesn’t see her and then he does. a small, unmistakable shape beneath the duvet. a y/n-shaped figure curled on his side of the bed.
his stomach drops.
he steps inside quietly, closing the door behind him with a soft click. for a second he just stands there, listening. the room is so still he can hear the faint rustle of fabric when she shifts, the uneven rhythm of her breathing.
he moves closer, slower now, as if approaching something fragile.
“baby?” he says softly.
no response.
he rounds the bed and that’s when he sees her face, half-buried in his pillow, eyes swollen and glassy, lashes damp. there’s a tear track dried along the bridge of her nose.
the guilt hits him fast and clean like a check into the boards.
he kneels slightly at the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of hair back from her cheek. “hey,” he murmurs, voice lower now, stripped of the ease it carried in the hallway. “i’m here.”
her eyes flutter open at the sound of him and whatever he’d been bracing for settles fully into his chest as he slowly reaches for her.
she stirs when his hand brushes her hair back, lashes fluttering like she’s surfacing from somewhere deeper than sleep.
“hey,” he murmurs again, softer this time. he leans closer, thumb grazing her cheek. “let me see your beautiful face, baby.”
she makes a small sound of protest at first, instinctively burrowing further into the pillow, but he’s gentle and persistent, sliding his hand beneath her jaw and coaxing her to turn toward him.
“come on,” he whispers. “look at me.”
when she finally does, when her eyes meet his, whatever fragile dam she’d managed to rebuild in the quiet of the room breaks again.
the tears don’t come with noise. that’s what undoes him. they just spill slow, steady tracks down her temples into the pillowcase. her mouth trembles like she’s trying to hold herself together out of habit.
“hey, hey,” he breathes, climbing fully onto the bed beside her without thinking, one knee sinking into the mattress. he cups her face with both hands now, thumbs brushing beneath her eyes, catching tears that keep replacing themselves. “what happened?”
she shakes her head once, a useless attempt at composure.
and he feels it—that familiar, almost electric ache in his chest. he has always felt her like this. from the beginning. like her emotions hum on a frequency only he’s tuned into.
he has a complicated relationship with her job.
not with her love for architecture, he loves that about her. the way her whole face shifts when she talks about space and light and materials. the way she sees buildings like living things. he calls her his star for a reason. he watched her present her thesis years ago and knew there was nothing ordinary about the way her mind worked.
but he hates what the job does to her sometimes.
he’s seen it before—the nights she cried over a grade in undergrad because it wasn’t perfect, even though it was still higher than everyone else’s. the silence after interviews when she replayed every answer in her head, convinced she’d missed something. the way she builds a hard exterior in rooms full of men who underestimate her—and then comes home and lets the armour slip.
despite how composed she looks to the world, she bruises.
he knows that every time she goes into that office, she walks in prepared and leaves with doubts clinging to her anyway.
that’s why he’d meant to text her.
he’d meant to send something after skate. something simple. just to remind her she wasn’t walking into it alone. he’d even had his phone in his hand before the moment slipped away under the noise of the day.
“shit,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to her.
she blinks at him through tears. “what?”
he shakes his head quickly, brushing his forehead against hers. “nothing. i just—” he exhales. “i should’ve texted you. i was going to. i know you had that site visit.”
her lips press together, and that tiny movement tells him everything.
guilt settles heavy in his stomach.
“i’m sorry,” he says, and this time there’s no distraction in his voice. no lightness. “i know how hard says like this are”
she lets out a shaky breath, another tear slipping free.
he pulls her into him carefully, tucking her against his chest the way she’d been the night before, his arm wrapping tight around her waist like he’s physically anchoring her.
“talk to me,” he murmurs into her hair. “what did they do?”
she says it so quietly he almost doesn’t catch it. “they all hate me.”
william’s jaw tightens, but his voice stays soft. “i doubt that, baby.”
she shakes her head against the pillow, eyes glossy, lashes clumped together from tears. “no, you don’t get it. they were just throwing jabs all day. at first i thought maybe i was taking it to heart, being too sensitive or whatever. but it was nonstop.” her fingers twist in the duvet like she needs something to anchor her. “they kept mentioning what i missed while i worked from home. little comments. ‘oh, guess you weren’t here for that.’ ‘maybe you’d know if you came in more.’ and then they kept bringing up stockholm. like i’m neglecting my work.”
william’s hand finds her hip, thumb brushing slow, grounding circles. he stays quiet, lets her spill.
“i just—” she exhales shakily. “i felt like i was in high school all over again. and i went to an all girls catholic school. that says a lot.” there’s a hollow, humourless huff of laughter that breaks halfway through.
his mouth presses into a thin line. “what did daniel say?”
she swallows. “he was happy with me. at first. he said the draft was strong.” her voice wavers. “but then arthur made this comment about one of the accessibility revisions, and it was borderline ableist, will. like, not even subtle. and i snapped. i called him out in front of everyone.” her eyes flick to his like she’s waiting to be told she was wrong.
“good,” william says immediately, with no hesitation.
she nods, but it’s small. “yeah. well. when we got back to daniel’s office he told me off. said i need to be ‘strategic.’ said i should be here more often if i want to have a say in the culture.” her throat tightens around the last word. “and i just feel so—”
she cuts herself off, lips pressing together like the word is too embarrassing to let out.
william leans closer, his forehead brushing hers. “so what, baby?”
her eyes squeeze shut. “small,” she whispers. “i feel so small.”
and then it breaks again.
not the quiet tears from before, not the steady, controlled kind she can pretend aren’t happening. her face crumples and the sound that leaves her is raw, embarrassed, like she hates that he’s hearing it. her fingers fist into his shirt and she buries her face in his chest as if she can hide the unraveling there, but her shoulders start shaking and he feels it all.
william’s chest goes tight. anger flashes hot and immediate—at daniel, at arthur, at every snide comment thrown her way. in his mind he’s already there, already replaying it, already imagining what he would say if he could stand in that office and watch them try it again.
but underneath that anger is something heavier. guilt. because he knew she was anxious last night. he felt it in the way she barely ate, in the way she stared at the ceiling longer than usual.
he holds her tighter. “baby,” he murmurs into her hair, pressing kisses into her temple, her crown, anywhere he can reach. “i’m so sorry they made you feel like that. you didn’t deserve any of it. you hear me? none.”
but she keeps crying.
his hand slides up and down her back, slow and steady, the way he does when she’s sick or half-asleep. usually it works. usually she melts into him and her breathing evens out, her thoughts quieting under the rhythm of his palm. this time it doesn’t. if anything, she clings harder, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt like she’s afraid he might slip through them.
and he doesn’t realize that part of what’s pulling her under is him.
because it isn’t just today. it isn’t just stockholm or arthur or her colleagues and their thinly veiled scrutiny. it’s constantly living in limbo. the years of almosts and someday and of course. the space between what they talk about and what actually happens.
she tells herself she’ll ask. she’ll sit up, wipe her face, say it plainly: why haven’t you? what are we waiting for?
the question rises to her throat and lodges there.
she gets scared.
scared of hearing something she doesn’t want. scared of turning something sacred into something fragile. scared that asking might make her seem small, or worse, desperate. so instead, she buries her face deeper into his chest and keeps crying.
she knows why she’s never asked before. pride, maybe. or fear of becoming the girl who waited too long and then had to beg. she’s seen the pressure get put on the other guys, the jokes in the locker room, the nudges from friends, girlfriends flashing bare fingers at dinners, and then suddenly there’s a ring on their left hand within weeks. loud, celebratory, undeniable.
with william, they’ve been in each other’s lives for so long she assumed it was inevitable. that with every passing birthday, every anniversary, every random tuesday night folded into each other on this same bed, it was building toward something solid. something official.
at first, it had been silly conversations. back in university, lying in that wide field near her campus after her mind-numbing three-hour lecture, fingers laced together while the sun dipped low and painted everything gold.
“i’m going to get to the leafs,” he’d said, staring up at the sky like it was already waiting for him, “and the first thing i do when i sign a contract is get us an obnoxiously huge house.”
she had hummed, eyes closed, leaning into his shoulder. “oh yeah?” she teased, exhaustion softening her voice.
“of course. better yet, i’ll buy the land so you can design it when you’re a big-shot architect.” his tone had been warm, certain. his version of you’re almost there. you can do it.
“brain hurts too much,” she’d murmured, but when he looked over, she was smiling.
“just make sure it has lots of rooms for our kids and grandkids.”
“grandkids?” her eyes had opened then, slow and dramatic. “bold of you to assume i’d do the heavy lifting with the house and kids without a ring.”
he’d laughed, flashing that same disarming smile. “i thought that was a given.”
the same smile he’s giving her now as he pulls back just enough to brush the tears from her cheeks. soft. sure. loving.
and it makes her cry harder.
because beneath the humiliation of today, beneath the anger and the exhaustion, there’s something else she doesn’t dare say out loud. she isn’t only crying over her disastrous site visit. she isn’t even crying over them.
she’s crying because she feels small at work and she feels small here too.
small for wanting more. small for counting the years. small for wondering why everyone else seems to be chosen so loudly while she stays quietly assumed.
bitter, though she hates that word. bitter because there are women in their circle whose men are so sure of them they get down on one knee without hesitation. who don’t let it linger as a joke in a field years ago.
william keeps murmuring reassurances into her hair, keeps holding her like if he squeezes tight enough he can piece her back together. “i’ve got you. always,” he says again.
and she nods against his chest because she believes that.
she just doesn’t know if always means what she thought it did.
she cries for a few moments longer, the intensity slowly dulling into quiet, uneven breaths. her grip on his shirt loosens. her forehead rests against his collarbone as if she’s wrung out every last drop she had in her. william’s hand continues its slow path along her back, gentler now, feeling the way her body sags with exhaustion.
after a while, she pulls back just enough to wipe at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. her eyes are swollen, lashes damp, nose pink. she sniffles and clears her throat, embarrassed by the mess of herself..
after a while, she pulls back just enough to wipe at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. her eyes are swollen, lashes damp, nose pink. she sniffles and clears her throat, embarrassed by the mess of herself.
from the living room, there’s the faint sound of a cabinet closing. a muffled cough.
she blinks. “is that alex?”
william stiffens slightly. shit. he had completely forgotten about his younger brother.
alex had flopped onto the couch asking where she was, and william had barely answered before walking straight to the bedroom. he hadn’t even checked back in.
“yeah,” he admits quietly. “he came with me.”
she nods, swallowing. “you should hang out with him.”
his hand tightens instinctively at her waist. “i don’t want to leave you.”
“will.” her voice is soft but firm, even with the rasp from crying. “he came to see you.”
“i don’t care,” he says immediately. “i’m staying here.”
she gives him a tired look, something fond buried under all the heaviness. “i’ll be fine. i’m just going to sleep it off.”
she presses her fingers to her temple, wincing slightly. “i feel like i’m getting a migraine.”
that makes him frown. “did you drink enough water today?”
she gives him a look that answers that question.
he sighs, brushing his thumb lightly over the spot between her brows. “i can get you meds. water. something to eat.”
“later,” she murmurs. “just… go sit with him for a bit. i’ll sleep. i promise.”
he doesn’t move.
he studies her like he’s trying to read between the lines, like he’s afraid if he steps out of the room she’ll crumble again. and part of her wants him to stay. wants him to choose her without hesitation. but another part—the part that already feels like she’s asking for too much—can’t stand the idea of being the reason he sends his little brother home early.
“i’ll be here when you come back,” she adds gently.
that’s what makes him hesitate the most because it sounds simple. obvious. but something about it twists in his chest.
“i don’t like leaving you like this,” he admits.
she manages a small, exhausted smile. “i’ll survive.”
he leans down, pressing a long kiss to her forehead, then to the corner of her mouth. his hand lingers on her cheek like he’s memorizing it. “text me if it gets worse..”
“i will.”
he stays another second anyway. then another before finally forcing himself to stand.
she watches him walk to the door, watches the way he looks back once more before stepping out into the hallway.
she rolls onto her side, pulling the duvet up to her chin as the dull throb behind her eyes sharpens. the tears have stopped, but the heaviness hasn’t. she stares at the wall, listening faintly to william’s voice in the living room—lighter now, older-brother easy.
she tells herself she’ll sleep.
she closes her eyes and presses her hand to her temple, breathing through the beginning pulse of a migraine, through the ache that has nothing to do with her head at all.
will steps out into the living room and the normalcy of it feels almost jarring. the tv is already glowing, the theme song to ted lasso filling the space with its overly cheerful optimism. alex has made himself completely at home—shoes kicked off, one of the throw blankets bundled at his side, a small mountain of snacks spread across the coffee table like he pays rent there.
he glances up when he hears will. “took you long enough, you are is,” he says, mouth half full of whatever he pulled from the pantry. “where’s y/n?” he repeated his earlier words.
will doesn’t answer right away. he just walks past him into the kitchen, opening the cupboard for her water bottle.
alex pauses the show dramatically and hops off the couch, padding after him. “you better not have ditched me for a quickie,” he adds, wiggling his brows in a way that’s meant to be annoying more than anything.
there’s no bite to it. if anything, it’s fond. alex adores her. has since the first time she helped him with math homework and didn’t once make him feel stupid for not getting it.
will shoots him a flat look and gives his head a light shake. “shut up.”
alex grins, unbothered. “so?”
will fills the bottle with cold water, watching the stream hit the plastic. “tough day at work,” he says finally, quieter now.
that’s enough to wipe the teasing right off alex’s face.
the mood shifts immediately.
“ tough how?” he asks, stepping closer.
will nods once, unscrewing the cap of the small orange prescription bottle they keep in the cabinet for her migraines. he shakes two into his palm, then hesitates, checking the label like he doesn’t already know the dosage by heart.
alex leans against the counter. “is she okay?”
it’s not a casual question. their whole family knows how she is—how hard she is on herself, how she spirals when she thinks she’s fallen short of some impossible standard only she can see. they’ve all seen it before exams, before interviews, before big presentations. she carries everything like it’s solely hers to fix.
will screws the cap back on. “she’ll say she is.”
alex frowns. “that’s not what i asked.”
will exhales through his nose. he grabs the water bottle, the pills still in his hand. “she’s upset. they were making comments. about her working from home. about stockholm.” his jaw tightens again. “she feels like they’re against her.”
alex’s brows pull together. “that’s stupid.”
“yeah,” will mutters. “i know.”
there’s a beat of silence.
“migraine?” alex asks, nodding toward the bottle.
“starting one.”
alex winces in sympathy. he’s seen those too—the way she goes pale and quiet, the way light suddenly becomes her enemy. “do you need me to—” he gestures vaguely toward the hallway. “like, leave?”
despite everything, will huffs a quiet laugh. “you’re fine. she said you could stay but just keep it down.”
alex nods quickly. then softer, “i’ll be quiet as a mouse.”
will looks at him properly then. there’s no teasing left, just genuine concern.
“thanks,” he says.
and with that, he heads back down the hallway, water bottle in one hand, migraine meds in the other, the laughter from ted lasso starting up again behind him—bright and hopeful in a way that feels almost cruel compared to the heaviness waiting for him on the other side of the bedroom door.
hours later she surfaces slowly, like she’s swimming up through something thick and heavy. the room is dimmer now, the soft orange wash of sunset bleeding through the curtains. for a second she doesn’t move, just blinks at the ceiling, disoriented.
then the pain hits.
it’s not sharp—it’s worse. a deep, relentless pounding that feels like it’s coming from behind her eyes, like her brain is pressing against bone, trying to escape. stress, lack of sleep, crying, all of it curdled together into something physical and punishing.
she inhales carefully.
the movement alone makes her wince.
when she finally rolls onto her side, she notices it immediately—her water bottle, filled, condensation still clinging faintly to the outside. the orange prescription bottle sitting uncapped beside it, two pills already popped out and placed neatly on the nightstand like an offering.
her chest tightens in a different way.
she doesn’t remember him coming back in.
slowly, she pushes herself upright. the motion is clumsy, heavy, like her head weighs too much for her body. she swings her legs over the side of the bed and just sits there, elbows resting on her thighs, fingers pressed lightly to her temples.
her brain feels like it’s exploding.
every heartbeat pulses behind her eyes. her neck is stiff from sleeping wrong, from crying, from holding herself tense all day. she stares at the floor, unfocused, breathing shallow through the ache.
she doesn’t even hear the door open.
doesn’t register footsteps.
the first thing she feels is warmth at her knees. hands, familiar and careful, settling there. then his voice—low, close.
“hey.”
she startles slightly, blinking down.
william is crouched in front of her, one knee almost touching the carpet, his forearms resting lightly against her legs like he’s anchoring her to him. his expression softens immediately when he sees her face.
“how’s your head?” he asks quietly.
she doesn’t reply, just nods once. but regrets it instantly.
he doesn’t waste another second. his hands slide gently up, thumbs brushing along her calves, her knees, until he’s close enough to reach her shoulders. “lean forward a little for me,” he murmurs.
she obeys without thinking.
it’s hard to lift her head, like her neck can’t support it, so he adjusts. he shifts even closer, crouched fully now, and slides one hand to the back of her neck. his fingers press in slow, deliberate circles at the base of her skull, right where the tension always knots.
she exhales shakily.
“i’ve got you,” he says, softer now.
his other hand steadies her shoulder as he works carefully, thumbs pressing, releasing, pressing again. he knows the spots. the exact points that hurt the most. he’s learned them over years—through late nights in study rooms, through early mornings before exams, through every migraine she’s ever tried to tough out.
“did you take the meds?” he asks.
she shakes her head slightly. “just woke up.”
“okay.” he keeps massaging, gentle but firm. “take them in a second. you need them.”
her hands rest uselessly in her lap, fingers brushing against his wrist like she needs the contact. she closes her eyes and lets her head tilt forward fully this time, trusting him to hold her up.
the pounding doesn’t disappear, but it dulls at the edges.
he shifts so he’s almost kneeling now, bringing his face closer to hers even though she’s looking down. his thumbs drag slowly along the tense muscles at the base of her neck.
“i’m sorry today was like that,” he says quietly.
she swallows.
“i hate that you feel like you have to carry everything alone.”
the words settle between them, heavy but careful.
she doesn’t answer right away. just breathes. lets him hold her head steady when it feels too heavy to lift. lets him be the structure when her body won’t cooperate.
his hands slow when he feels her sway again, her head dipping forward as if even sitting upright is too much.
“can i change you?” he asks gently.
it’s quiet. careful. like he’s asking permission for something sacred. she doesn’t look at him. just gives him a small, resigned nod.
he stands slowly, one hand steadying her shoulder so she doesn’t tip forward. he moves around the room without turning on any harsh lights, pulling open drawers by memory. he grabs a pair of his basketball shorts—the soft, worn ones she always steals—and one of his old t-shirts.
when he comes back, she’s still sitting exactly where he left her, staring at nothing.
“arms up, baby,” he murmurs.
she lifts them, sluggish and obedient. he peels her work blouse off carefully, mindful of her head, of the way she flinches at sudden movement. the fabric slides away and he tosses it aside, replacing it with the oversized shirt, guiding it down over her torso. then he kneels again to help her step out of her trousers, replacing them with the shorts, pulling the waistband gently into place.
it’s quiet. methodical.
not rushed. not awkward. just practiced care.
when she’s changed, he stands in front of her again. “okay?”
she gives another small nod.
he bends and slides one arm behind her back, the other under her knees, lifting her like she weighs nothing. she doesn’t protest. just lets her head fall against his shoulder, eyes closing again as he carries her down the hallway.
the bathroom light is softer. he sets her carefully on the counter, one hand still braced at her hip in case she sways.
“i’m putting your hair up,” he tells her.
she hums faintly in response.
he gathers her hair gently, pulling it into a loose bun at the crown of her head so it won’t tug at her scalp. his fingers are slow, deliberate, careful not to pull.
then he grabs her toothbrush, squeezes toothpaste onto it, and holds it out to her. “need help?”
she blinks at him, exhausted but still herself enough to whisper, “no.”
he nods. “okay.”
while she brushes, movements slow and mechanical, he turns on the faucet and washes his hands thoroughly. he dries them, then reaches for her cleanser, pumping a small amount into his palm. he waits until she’s done, until she spits and rinses, before stepping closer.
“close your eyes,” he says softly.
she does.
his fingers are gentle as he works the cleanser over her skin, careful around her temples, her jaw, the places she holds tension. he wipes away her makeup with a damp cloth, slow strokes, rinsing and repeating until her skin is clean and bare.
they don’t talk.
partly because her brain feels like it’s splitting in two with every word.
partly because she’s just… tired.
tired of the day. tired of the doubts. tired of the thoughts that won’t quiet even when her body shuts down.
will senses it, even if he doesn’t fully understand the depth of it. so he doesn’t fill the silence. he just keeps moving gently—patting her face dry, reaching for her moisturizer, smoothing it over her cheeks with warm hands.
she watches him through heavy lids, saying nothing.
the bathroom is filled only with the soft rush of water and their breathing, the intimacy of routine care, and the weight of everything unspoken sitting thick between them.
when he’s done, when her skin is clean and her hair is tied back and her toothbrush is back in its place, he turns off the bathroom light and steps back in front of her.
“ready?” he asks softly.
she doesn’t trust her voice, so she just nods.
he lifts her again, just as carefully as before, one arm under her knees, the other firm at her back. she curls into him instinctively this time, her forehead pressing against his collarbone, the steady thud of his heart loud in her ear.
the apartment is dark and quiet. alex must have gone home. There is no sound coming from them; instead, everything goes still.
he lays her down gently on the bed, pulling the duvet up over her shoulders. she shifts onto her side automatically, facing him, eyes heavy but not fully closed.
he brushes a piece of hair away from her forehead.
“did you take the meds?” he murmurs.
she nods faintly. he’d handed them to her with the water somewhere between brushing her teeth and washing her face. she barely remembers swallowing.
he lingers there, crouched beside the bed now instead of in front of her. his hand slides into hers beneath the covers, thumb rubbing slow circles over her knuckles.
“i love you,” he says quietly.
it isn’t a dramatic or grand confession. it is steady and certain.
her chest tightens.she looks at him, really looks at him, through the haze of pain and exhaustion. the same boy from the field near her campus. the same smile, softened now by worry. the same hands that once traced shapes into her palm while talking about houses and contracts and grandkids like they were inevitable.
the words echo faintly in her mind.
she loves him. she knows that in her bones. knows he would drop anything if she truly asked. knows he carried her, changed her, washed her face without hesitation.
but love and certainty don’t always feel like the same thing.
she wants to say something more. wants to tell him that she loves him too—she does—but that sometimes she’s scared of how long they’ve been floating in the in-between. that sometimes she feels foolish for waiting for a question that may not come the way she imagined.
the thoughts are there and they’re heavy and her head throbs.
so instead, she squeezes his hand weakly and whispers, “i love you.”
he leans forward, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.
“get some sleep,” he murmurs.
she watches him for another second, memorizing the shape of him in the dim light, the way his thumb keeps tracing the same comforting pattern over her skin.
and somewhere between the pounding in her skull and the weight in her chest, she drifts off—his hand still wrapped around hers, her unanswered thoughts dissolving into sleep before she can give them words.
an — minors dni. exists in the same universe as another life. happy new year from my babies <3
masterlist
as soon as easton grabbed the puck off his own deflection auston knew he did it.
he had scored his first hat trick after two long years. scotiabank arena erupted in cheers as he embraced his teammates.
not only was this auston’s first hat-trick in just over 600 days, it has happened infront of her.
he watched the hats fall and promised himself to never take this feeling for granted. he never realized how much he missed it until he was tasked to wait. in that time he had changed; he’d become captain of the toronto maple leafs, he’d watched teammate's come and go and also met the love his life.
the love of his life that was screaming her head off in his box with willy’s girlfriend next to her. the two held hands as they jumped, so much unabashed joy he almost wanted the cameras to continue to roll before she noticed. especially with the inevitable embarrassment she gets when she gets caught.
everyone knew about auston’s love life which was a blessing and a curse. he would never hide y/n ever but, there are certain parameters of his life he wants to cherish.
however, for the first time in nhl career, he looked forward to questions about her during the media scrums.
any chance he got, he mentioned “my girl,” “my girlfriend,” and sometimes just “y/n,” because he knew that no matter how many goals he scored or points he racked up, their relationship was his greatest joy.
y/n always flushed at the mention of her post-game, especially when she had to face the same media. auston had said once, after they first whispered i love you on the beaches of mexico, that he would confess his love for her at the top of the hills.
the hills being the overbearing toronto media, who pointed out—to her lack of knowledge— her initials written at the top of his stick’s tape job. when asked about it, like he had been waiting his entire life to answer, he beamed, “it’s so i always have her with me.”
she melted into a puddle.
now she didn’t know anymore joy than being up in the box with his injured teammates and their partners than when she saw him score. she didn’t know it could feel like this.
the games she has been to since she made her big move have been the highest of the highs and the lowest of the lows. she knew auston took a lot of responsibility as captain, so she made her responsibility to pick him up when needed. she let him talk when he wanted and never poked. she would hold him the same as she did when they lost as when they won.
when she attempted to calm down after the replay auston’s smile radiated on the bench. those smiles were her favourites she had noticed the when he was home injured cheering his team on or watching from the same box she was in now.
she flushed seeing his smile on the bench beside her live reaction to the goal on the jumbotron until it panned her now. he took off his gloves and handed to the equipment manager before blowing her a kiss. a kiss in front of twenty thousand people in scotiabank arena.
before she had time to think about it, she blew one back. her eyes watering slightly in a way only he would notice. she was overwhelmed with pride and adrenaline as if she herself had scored the three goals. as she watched at him at the end of the game give his stick to a young fan one of the hundreds with his jersey. the feelings grew even stronger as she looked back at the times he grew frustrated with the season when they were apart and together, she hopes that it feels worth it to him.
forty-five minutes later, she sat across from benny’s fiancée and willy’s girlfriend as they waited for the hockey players.
william’s girlfriend leaned towards her with a wicked smile that in the short time they knew eachother recognized as her scheming place.
it was hard for her mind not to go there, especially because her boyfriend was beyond hot. their sex life since moving in with together had reached new heights. maybe, it was the idea of him coming home after playing such a physical sport or maybe it was just being able to have the love of your life at any moment.
before her friend beside her could finish speaking, she caught the familiar scent of auston’s cologne—the same one she noticed on game nights, when they said their goodbyes with quick kisses to his neck, cheek, and lips before heading their separate ways.
maybe it was the adrenaline from watching auston score not once, not twice, but three times. the moment she felt his chest brush the back of her chair, she turned. grabbing his stupid scarf—one of his newest obsessions—and tugged him closer to press her lips to his.
auston was shocked. never had y/n ever kissed him like this in front is his teammates. he was expecting to tease her about their jumbotron love exchange, but it seems by the way her lips were firm against his that maybe the adrenaline was a contagious.
before he could ask her for permission to further it—not caring about the audience—with the swipe of his tongue on her lower lip. she pulled away and repositioned her arms to loop around his neck.
“i could get use to that” he whispered to her. the girls next to him gave them knowing smiles before she they said their goodbye and joined their respective partners.
“you are incredible, baby!” she smiled and he swears that seeing her practically vibrate in his arms, this feels even better than the goals he scored tonight.
“thank you” he leaned in this time with a very tame (to his degree) peck to her lips. he moved his hand from his waist moving to the subtle sweater with matthews embroidered on the hood. they had chosen their outfits side by side and he said if he couldn’t get her in his jersey—she was still scarred from that fateful preseason game—he chose this sweater that anyone could look at the back and realize who she is to him. his decision was also swayed by the weather she hadn’t yet adjusted to.
“god, i should’ve worn a hat today” she beamed no sense of regrets but a desire to be apart of an age old tradition that they used to celebrate auston’s performance.
“this is perfect” he licked his lips and gave her that look. she knew that look anywhere. it was like their own secret signal to get the hell out of whatever function they were at because their patience was spreading thin and one of them—most of the time both—would die if they didn’t have eachother.
he leaned down once again, this time the faintest brush against her lips as if to give her a preview of what’s to come. the words of william’s girlfriend rang through her mind as he pulled away leaving her desperate for more.
“let me take you home” it wasn’t a question. it was a gentle demand, and you were more than happy to be tucked under his arms and move towards the underground garage.
the traffic was brutal as usual. both desert natives quickly realized that downtown toronto worked at its own time. no matter how late or early you are, a trip a couple blocks down could take forty minutes or sometimes more, especially as the streets buzz over the leafs latest comeback thriller.
she had grown used to filling the car ride back from the arena with updates on their day and any updates in the last three hours they’d been apart.
auston’s hand remained between her thighs, not anything out of the ordinary, but she felt her core clenching when she remembered their kisses and the unspoken promise of more.
she decided to distract herself with her phone, the family group chats, both auston and hers, blowing up at his performance. she laughed out loud at her brother-in-law’s message.
“adrian is in love with you, i swear” she spoke up and auston perched up at the mention of his now close friend, “he said, whatever you’re doing, it’s working. you have a bunch of people from the desert throwing hats at the tv” she read out loud.
at the stop light, she turned her phone to his and there it was hats (and a couple pacifiers) on the floor of y/n’s childhood home.
“he’s my guy” auston smiled at the photo. he will never be over how much her family supported his career it was like having even more motivation to play.
“are you in love with him too? should nat and i be worried?” she teased their self-proclaimed “bromance,” —their words not hers.
at yet another roadblock in traffic, auston’s hand moved deeper between her closed thighs. he leaned over the console and looked her in the eyes before licking his lips slowly.
“you’ve never had anything to worry about” he says squeezing her thigh, this time particularly close to her core. she gasped, sucking in his breath at the close proximity.
when she leaned towards him to finally meet their lips, he pulled back. suddenly, the car was slowly moving forward and he had no choice but to smirked at the way she chased his lips
“i know you can be patient, baby. all the times i’ve been on the road and you’ve waited for me with your legs wide open ready just for me. you can wait until we’re home, and i promise you’ll get your rewards”
rewards. the word travelled around the car and suddenly, the heated seats he always turned on for her weren’t the only thing making her hot.
she pathetically groaned out loud and he moved his hand from her thigh to put his hands at 10/2 like he was a model citizen of road safety.
the presence of his words stayed with them for fifteen gruelling minutes before they arrived at their home. he parked in the underground garage and like clockwork, he rounded his car and opened the door for her. she swung her legs over the side, but before her feet met the pavement, he scooped her legs and wrapped them around his waist.
she giggled but didn’t dare to protest. this display of strength combined with his performance tonight, she would let him do whatever he wanted to her. she then shuddered at the feel of his already hard cock between her legs, cursing the clothes between them.
he reached behind her, picking up her purse and walking quickly towards the elevator. he locked his car, and when the elevator doors opened and he tapped his fob. she had every intention of dropping her legs, but he swatted her butt in response.
“don’t you dare. you’re going to feel me all the way until we reach our floor,” he murmured, already making work of her neck.
she sighed in response, and the minutes passed with each floor, and when they finally reached their floor, she began littering kisses across his neck.
“fuck baby” he whispered, breathlessly while fumbling with his keys.
“better hurry up. i want my rewards” she teased. he knew she could only hold her tongue for so long.
“patience is a virtue,” he sent a silent prayer as he got the door open and pushed through. felix was dozed off, still tired from their earlier walk, as auston made his way to the kitchen counter.
“we made it” he placed her on the counter and pulled back from her neck to see the ways her pupils had dilated with clear need, “my rewards, captain?”
he shuddered at the title falling from her glossed lips, “i did say rewards, didn’t i?”
she nodded eagerly, before he continued, “my baby was so eager after the game. i bet no one noticed, but i did. i always do, and i’ll always take care of you. do you know what three goals means?” he cupped the back of her neck firmly to hold her in place putting them eye-to-eye with her on the counter.
“three goals means get my second hat trick of the night when i make you come three times” he punctuated his words with his fingers—now under her shirt—digging into her waist.
“oh, fuck” was all she could say before she pounced. she attacked his lips with a fever that wasn’t missing in her daily life but surfaced when she was the most desperate for release.
her hips edged off the counter, once again meeting his hard cock through his jeans. he moaned against her lips wanting to savour her taste as much as possible. his hands travelled under her sweater to his ass, pulling her closer. the only time he pulled apart for air was to see the sated look on her face.
“as soon as the last puck hit the net, all i could think about was you. you in the box; on the screen, cheering for me. there’s nothing like playing infront of you” he made work of her neck, licking the expanse.
she shuddered her ass hardly on the counter and instead pressed against him. he could see her eagerness, but decided making her wait would make it feel even better for her. he pulled away from her and placed his hand on her upper thigh. she recognized this as his way of asking for what’s next.
“youre so different on the ice. i wasn’t sure you could get any more sexy but when you first scored, i got so wet.” she admired his hazel eyes, widening as the words left her mouth.
“oh yeah?” he asked rhetorically. the truth is he had noticed the effect his craft had on her body, “mind if i check?” his hand moved now to the top of her jeans.
instead of replying, she gripped his forrearm and muttered what sounded like a please.
and who was he kidding, auston would never make her beg for what was already hers.
he started slowly. first, skimming the perimeter of her lace underwear. he let out a breath at the idea of her wearing the fancy underwear, while cheering for him.
he then dipped his hand in her underwear and made work of her sensitive bud. now completely, side-tracked from kissing and licking his neck, she clung to him in a fierce hold.
she moaned loudly at his moments—a luxury they now had being in the penthouse suite without her sleep-deprived roommate being metres away.
he could feel her getting close. she was sensitive from simulation so when he pulled back to rim her entrance with his thick fingers, she though that would be it for her
“baby” she sighed as her arousal made it easy for him to slip two fingers inside. she was borderline clawing at his shoulders. having flashbacks from all the times in the past month he made her come right on this counter.
when she finally felt her orgasm on the horizon auston—to her horror—pulled away.
“auston!” she exclaimed at the orgasm ripped away from her. he pulled away to look in his eyes, and his heart clenched when he was met with tears pooling in her eyes at the loss of stimulation.
“i’m sorry. i’m so sorry” he whispered while kissing her cheeks, and the single tear that fell down her cheek without her noticing.
“do you trust me?” he pulled away. he already knew the answer, but tonight would be intense and more than anything, he wanted her to be okay.
“i do” she nodded while sniffling. he broke out into a smile before finally scooping her off the counter and walking towards their bedroom.
“i do” she nodded while sniffling. he broke out into a smile before finally scooping her off the counter and walking towards their bedroom.
auston carried her with effortless strength, his arms wrapped securely around her thighs as she clung to him, her breath hot against his neck. the soft glow of the hallway lights guided them, but all she could focus on was the hard bulge pressing insistently between her legs, a promise that made her hips grind against him involuntarily.
he kicked the bedroom door open with his foot, the familiar scent of their shared space—laundry detergent lingering on the sheets and a faint hint of her favourite candle—wrapping around them like an intimate cocoon.
gently, he lowered her onto the edge of the bed, his eyes locking onto hers with that same fierce intensity he'd shown on the ice, a mix of adoration and raw hunger that sent a shiver down her spine.
"you're everything," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, as his hands slid up under her sweater, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts, making her arch into his touch.
she gasped as he peeled the fabric over her head, exposing her to the cool air, her nipples hardening instantly under his gaze. auston's lips trailed down her collarbone, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, while his fingers worked to take off her jeans, sliding them down her legs with deliberate slowness that bordered on torture.
“i need you," she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation, her pussy already throbbing with the ache he'd built earlier in the kitchen.
he groaned in response, his hand slipping between her thighs to cup her through her lace underwear, the fabric damp and clinging to her folds. pushing the material aside, he traced her slick entrance with his fingers, circling her clit with just enough pressure to make her moan as her hips bucking against his hand. the emotional weight of the night surged between them—the thrill of his victory, the way she'd cheered for him made every touch feel like a vow—fueling their desires as he shed his own clothes. his cock springing free, thick and aching, ready for her.
positioning himself between her legs, auston leaned in for a deep kiss, their tongues dancing as he aligned his body with hers, the head of his cock teasing her entrance. she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and with a shared breath, he positioned his cock against her folds. the sensation was unworldly, her inner walls clenching for more him as he moved with a steady rhythm, sending waves of pleasure rippling through her body with each movment,
auston's hands gripped her hips firmly, guiding their movement as his cock moved against her in the most intoxicating way, the slick heat of her directly on his cock.
she arched her back, her breasts pressing against his chest, nipples brushing his skin in a tantalizing friction that made her gasp. the room spun with the intensity of it all—the echo of the crowd's cheers still lingering in her mind, now transformed into the primal rhythm of their bodies connecting.
his breath was hot against her ear, whispering praises that mixed with her moans, the emotional high of his victory on the ice fueling every stroke, making her feel cherished and desired in a way that went beyond the physical.
but as her orgasm began to build, threatening to shatter her too soon, auston slowed his pace, his eyes locking onto hers with a knowing glint that made her heart race. he pulled back gently, his cock slipping away with a wet, reluctant glide that left her whimpering in protest, her body aching for more.
"not yet, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with need, a smile playing on his lips as he kissed his way down her body, lingering on the curve of her breasts before trailing lower.
she knew that look. the hunger in his eyes—he loved this, loved tasting her, savouring every inch of her as if she were his sweetest reward after a hard-fought win. and she loved it too, the way he worshipped her, his hands sliding under her thighs to spread her wider, his breath ghosting over her sensitive folds.
positioning himself between her legs, auston dipped his head, his tongue flicking out to tease her clit with expert precision, drawing a sharp cry from her lips. the feeling of his tongue was electric, his mouth working her with a fervour that spoke of his deep-seated desire, each lick and suck pulling her deeper into a haze of bliss.
she threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him close as he devoured her, his groans vibrating against her core, revealing just how much he relished this act. it wasn't just about the pleasure; it was their connection that had withstood the distance and the hard times because of the way he poured his love into every touch. reminding her that after the lights and the applause, this—her, laid bare before him—was what truly made him feel alive.
her hips bucked instinctively, chasing the high, the room filled with the sounds of her ragged breaths and his devoted attentions, the night's triumphs weaving seamlessly into their shared ecstasy.
as auston's tongue delved deeper, tracing languid circles around her swollen clit, he felt her tremble beneath him, her body arching off the bed in desperate pursuit of release.
"that's it, baby," he murmured against her slick folds, his voice a husky vibration that sent ripples through her core, "let go for me. i've got you." his hands slid up to grip her thighs, holding them steady as he alternated between soft, teasing flicks and firmer strokes, the taste of her arousal coating his lips like a sweet, intoxicating reward.
she gasped, her fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders, then sliding lower to clutch at his back, her nails leaving faint trails as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. the room was alive with the sounds of her ragged breaths and the wet cadence of his mouth on lapping her.
the air was thick with the scent of their shared desire, every sensation amplified by the memory of his triumph on the ice—his goals, his strength, all funneling into this intimate celebration.
he didn't rush—he never did—savouring the way her hips rocked against his face, her body responding to his every word and touch as if they were extensions of his victory.
"you're so close, aren't you, baby?" he whispered, pulling back just enough to lock eyes with her, his breath hot and ragged against her thigh.
her nod was frantic, wordless, and he dove back in with renewed passion. his tongue pressing deeper, curling inside her with a precision that made her cry out.
the promise from the kitchen lingered in the air between them, that vow of three orgasms echoing in his mind, but he could feel her unraveling now.her inner walls fluttering wildly around the tip of his tongue. she gripped him tighter, her hands knotted in his hair as if anchoring herself to him. the surge of pride and love crashing over her like the crowd's roar, transforming into pure ecstasy.
as her first wave shattered her with a sharp, keening moan, her body convulsing under his relentless attention, the orgasm ripping through like his first goal. auston held her through it, his mouth never leaving her, drawing out every spasm until she went limp, her chest heaving with aftershocks.
he lifted his head, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he crawled up her body, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.
"that’s one down," he breathed, his voice laced with affection and promise, his hard cock brushing against her thigh as he settled beside her, the night still young and their connection deeper than ever, a blend of physical bliss and the quiet joy of being utterly, completely his.
beside her on the bed, auston lingered for a moment, his body warm and solid against hers, the heat of his skin a comforting contrast to the cool sheets beneath them. she turned her head to meet his gaze, her breath still coming in shallow waves from the aftershocks, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes pulled her in deeper—his hazel irises softened with a mix of triumph and tenderness, as if scoring those three goals had been nothing compared to watching her come undone for him.
he didn't pull away, not even for a breath, his mouth and fingers moving in perfect harmony as if he'd mapped every inch of her body during their countless nights together.
"that's my girl," he murmured against her, his voice a low vibration that sent shockwaves through her core, his fingers pumping faster now, slick with her wetness, stretching and filling her in a way that blurred the line between pleasure and overwhelm.
her hips bucked wildly, chasing the crescendo he was orchestrating, the pressure coiling tighter until it was almost too much to bear—his hazel eyes flicking up to meet hers, dark with desire and that unwavering devotion that always pushed her over the edge. the room echoed with the wet sounds of his fingers thrusting deep, her ragged cries belted out into as she finally shattered.
her second orgasm crashing through her like a tidal wave, her inner walls pulsing around his fingers in rhythmic spasms that left her trembling and breathless.
in the after effects, auston slowed his movements gently, his fingers easing out of her with a tender glide, but he stayed pressed between her thighs, his lips brushing soft kisses along her sensitive folds as if savoring the last echoes of her orgasm.
she laid there, spent and glowing, her chest rising and falling against his as he crawled up to hold her, his hard cock pressing against her hip—a silent promise of more—while the quiet intimacy of their shared space wrapped around them, reminding her that beyond the goals and the crowds, this was the truest connection they had.
he brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers trailing down her cheek to her neck, igniting a fresh shiver that made her arch slightly toward him. "you're incredible," he whispered, his voice rough with lingering desire before capturing her lips in a slow kiss. the taste of her own arousal mixing with the salt of his sweat from his efforts acting as a reminder of the night's dual victories.
his hand slid down her side, tracing the curve of her waist and hip with deliberate intent, his thumb grazing the soft swell of her breast, making her nipple tighten under his touch as he deepened the kiss, his tongue dancing with hers in a rhythm that echoed the steady drive of his earlier plays on the ice.
encouraged by her soft moan, auston shifted his weight, positioning himself over her without breaking their connection, his hard cock pressing firmly against her thigh, slick with his own arousal and the remnants of her release.
she felt the pulse of it, thick and insistent, a silent promise that made her core clench in eager anticipation, her legs parting instinctively to welcome him closer.
"i want to feel you around me. just for a minute," he murmured against her lips, his voice laced with that commanding edge he reserved for moments like this, the one that always made her melt.
he aligned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock teasing her slick folds with a slow, torturous glide that drew a needy gasp from her throat, her hands roaming up his back to dig into the muscles there, feeling
the tension of his efforts from the game still lingered. as he pushed inside, inch by inch, the stretch was exquisite—her pussy welcoming him with a wet, tight heat that pulled a low groan from deep in his chest, their bodies fitting together like they were made for this, the emotional undercurrent of their bond amplifying every sensation.
he moved with a measured pace at first, each thrust deliberate and deep, his hips grinding against hers in a way that hit just the right spot, building the pressure inside her anew, while his hands roamed her body, one cupping her breast to roll her nipple between his fingers, the other anchoring her hip to pull her even closer.
the room filled with their mixed sounds—skin slapping softly against skin, her breathless whimpers blending with his ragged breaths—as the memory of his hat trick fueled their passion, transforming his on-ice prowess into this intimate dominance that left her trembling.
she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper, her inner walls clenching around his cock with every stroke, the friction sparking waves of pleasure that coiled tighter and tighter in her core.
auston's eyes never left hers, his gaze a mirror of the love and pride that had carried him through the game, now channeled into this raw, consuming connection, making her feel cherished even as he drove her toward the edge once more
his own restraint fraying as he whispered, "let me give you this,” auston whispered, his voice a gravelly promise that sent a thrill racing through her veins, as he slowly withdrew from her, his cock glistening with her arousal, leaving her clenching around nothing but the ghost of his presence.
she whimpered at the loss, her body still humming from his thrusts, but he silenced her with a searing kiss, his hands framing her face as if to anchor her in the storm of sensation he was about to unleash.
then, with a deliberate shift, he slid down her body, his lips trailing a path of fire across her breasts, teasing her nipples with the scrape of his teeth before descending lower, his breath hot against her inner thighs as he positioned himself between her legs once more.
his hands gripped her hips firmly, spreading her wider as he dipped his head, his tongue flicking out to trace the slick folds of her pussy with renewed hunger, savoring the taste of their mingled desire like it was the sweetest victory.
"fuck, you taste even better after I've been inside you," he murmured against her, his words vibrating through her core as he eased two fingers into her entrance, curling them just right to stroke that sensitive spot deep within, while his mouth worked her clit with expert laps.
she gasped, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer as waves of pleasure built, the combination of his tongue and fingers overwhelming her in the best way—each thrust of his hand, each swirl of his lips, a testament to how well he knew her body, how he could turn her inside out whenever he wanted.
the room filled with the wet, eager sounds of his mouth on hers. her ragged moans blending with his dirty whispers, like "you're so fucking wet for me, baby, just like you were in that box cheering me on," fueling the fire between them, making every touch feel like a celebration of their unbreakable bond.
as her hips bucked against his face, chasing the edge he'd promised, auston doubled his efforts, his fingers pumping faster while his tongue pressed harder, drawing out gasps that turned into cries of ecstasy.
the emotional weight of the night—his hat trick, her unwavering support—wove through the physical bliss, making her feel cherished even in this raw, primal moment, her body teetering on the brink of that second release, his filthy words anchoring her in the heat of their shared passion.
as her body melted into the sheets, still trembling from the aftershocks, auston held her close, his weight a comforting anchor that grounded her in the haze of pleasure.
his hard cock pressed insistently against her thigh, a throbbing reminder of his own unfulfilled need, and she could feel the heat radiating from him, the slick bead of pre-cum smearing against her skin like a brand. She turned her head to meet his gaze, her eyes heavy-lidded and full of unspoken gratitude, the air between them thick with the scent of their shared arousal and the faint, lingering musk of his post-game exertion.
"you're not done with me yet, are you?" she whispered, her eyes already drooping and her voice a breathless tease as her hand trailed down his chest. her fingers tracing the defined lines of his muscles, still taut from the night's physical demands on the ice.
he smiled, that same triumphant grin he'd worn after his third goal, but softer now, laced with a vulnerability that made her heart swell—his love for her as undeniable as the desire pulsing through his body.
with a low groan of anticipation, auston shifted, guiding her legs to wrap around his waist as he positioned himself above her, his cock sliding through her slick folds in a deliberate tease that made her gasp and arch into him. "not even close," he murmured, his voice rough with restraint as he finally thrust inside, filling her completely in one smooth, powerful stroke that stretched her inner walls and drew a moan from deep in her throat.
the rhythm he set was slower this time, each movement a blend of urgency and tenderness. his hips grinding against hers with just the right pressure to reignite the fire within her. she could feel every inch of him—thick and unyielding—as he drove deeper. his hands roaming to cup her breasts, thumbs circling her hardened nipples, the friction sending sparks of pleasure coursing through her.
their bodies moved in perfect harmony, the emotional undercurrent of his victory and her unwavering support weaving through the physical bliss, making each thrust feel like a reaffirmation of their bond.
as the tension built inside her, coiling tighter with every roll of his hips, she clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as waves of ecstasy threatened to overwhelm her.
auston's breath was hot against her neck as he whispered in an urgent tone," i can't get enough of you." his words sent shivers down her spine.
"i love you," he added softly before capturing one of those shivers with a kiss on the sensitive spot below her ear.
her heart pounded wildly in response to both their physical union and his possessive words.
she wrapped an arm around him tighter and whispered back, "i love you." her voice was barely audible but filled with conviction.
the room blurred around them once more as they lost themselves in each other again. the taste of salt on their lips mingled with their shared passion until finally she shattered again under auston's relentless rhythm. her third orgasm ripped through her like a sudden storm surge as she cried out in pleasure.
auston followed soon after with a guttural groan that seemed to echo through every fiber of their being. their connection deepened in that quiet moment after release where they remained locked together until their breaths slowly returned to normal.
he held her close, his hands stroking her hair as she nuzzled into him. he murmured, "you did so well for me, baby. but i think you need to rest." she nodded, too drained to argue.
he helped her sit up, guiding her to the bathroom where she could freshen up and change into something comfortable. as she emerged from the bathroom, he had already made the bed and was waiting for her with a glass of water. she smiled at him gratefully as she took the glass and climbed into bed next to him. he pulled the covers over them both and held her close, his body warm and comforting against hers.
"no morning skate tomorrow. rest, my love," he whispered, his voice filled with love and care. she closed her eyes, feeling safe and cherished in his arms as she drifted off to sleep
summary — after another playoff loss, auston disappears from the spotlight and unexpectedly crosses paths with y/n—someone from a past life who feels both distant and familiar. they only have the summer, two people from different worlds colliding at the wrong time, reigniting something they never saw coming.
word count — 14.2k
warnings — minors dni. suggestive dialogue.
an — huge thank you to everyone who took this ride with me <3 i can't believe it's been six months since i posted the first chapter. i remember how scared i was before putting my work on here. i never expected so much love and support in my little corner of the internet. i love this couple so bad; they'll always be my babies and this won't be the last time you see them. my inbox is open for requests for blurds. also, you can check the prologue of my willy story here!
masterlist
auston has lost count of how many times he’s had dreams that begin like this.
they’ve been visiting him ever since she walked back into his life last may during an unlikely reunion that rewrote everything he thought he understood about life.
the way she smiled at him then still lives somewhere permanent in his chest. even as time passes it's softer now and steadier in others. she's even more beautiful than she’d been that night in the high school backyard, because now she carries herself like someone who’s worked hard for everything in her life.
his mind used to get ahead of him after that, spinning futures without permission. mornings. dinners. the quiet parts of life he never let himself imagine too clearly. even felix seemed to feel it, drawn to her instantly, tail wagging with the same restless excitement pounding through auston’s heart.
he thinks about the first time she slept in his bed overnight—really slept. how he’d looked down at her face in the dark, her eyebrows finally smoothed out from the stress she carried so easily during the day, and felt something close to disbelief. like the universe had placed something fragile and priceless in his hands and trusted him not to break it.
when he was away, those were the dreams that got him out of bed. the ones that made him reach for his phone before his mind could catch up, just to send her a message, just to tether himself back to her. looking for her had become instinct. written into him. when he closed his eyes at night, he held onto memories like these as proof that what he wanted was real.
he wakes first now—not because he has to, but because he always does. his body still knows routine, still knows discipline. but instead of the familiar jolt of responsibility, there’s a quiet calm that settles in his chest the moment awareness returns.
she’s still here.
she’s tucked against him, one leg tangled with his, her face pressed into the space beneath his chin like it’s always known where to rest. her hair spills everywhere, familiar and new all at once, and he lets himself stay still just to feel it—to feel the weight of her, the way she fits like this was always where she was meant to be.
this is the life he used to only let himself dream about.
he shifts slightly, careful not to wake her, but felix chooses that exact moment to announce himself. there’s a sharp scratch at their bedroom door, followed by an indignant little chirp, like he’s personally offended they’ve forgotten him.
she groans softly, face scrunching before her eyes even open. “felix?”
auston smiles into her hair. “as you can tell, he’s been very patient.”
“he’s dramatic just like his dad,” she mumbles, but she’s smiling too.
the scratching turns more aggressive, claws tapping insistently. auston sighs, laughing under his breath. “don’t worry. i’ll get him.”
she rolls onto her back as he slips out of bed, watching him pad toward the door in nothing but sleep pants, hair messy, shoulders still marked by sleep. it hits her again, sudden and overwhelming, that this is her life now. waking up like this. watching him move through his mornings.
he opens the door and felix bolts in like he’s been starved for years, leaping onto the bed and immediately claiming her chest, purring loudly.
“traitor,” auston mutters, shaking his head.
she laughs, rubbing felix’s ears. “he loves me.”
“no, he loves the person who feeds him,” auston says, but there’s no real bite to it. he leans down, presses a kiss to her forehead. “i’ll take him out. you stay here.”
she reaches for his wrist, fingers curling lightly. “you sure?”
“yeah,” he says easily. “i want to. besides, i’ve got plans for us.”
that gets her attention. she squints at him. “plans?”
he grins, already halfway out the door. “stay in bed. i’ll be back.”
when he returns later, cheeks a little pink from the cold, he’s got his phone in his hand and that look on his face—the one she’s learned means he’s been turning something over in his head longer than he’ll ever admit out loud.
he settled back into bed easily and she roles onto him like it’s already muscle memory. felix hops up between them without asking, curls into the warm space at their hips, sighing like he’s clocking in for a nap. auston waits a beat, thumb hovering over his screen, before finally turning it toward her.
“so,” he starts, casual but not really, scrolling a little. “i made you a list.”
she props herself up on one elbow, brow lifting. “a list of what?”
“places i think you’ll like in the city,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. like everyone does this.
her chest tightens immediately. “you made me a list?” she repeated
“yeah,” he shrugs, suddenly bashful, shoulders dipping. “i get bored on flights.”
she lets out a soft laugh, eyes flicking up to his. “seriously?”
he exhales through a smile, caught. “okay. i get bored and i miss you.”
he turns the phone fully toward her. a notes app fills the screen, longer than she expects. the names are stacked one after another. with everything from coffee shop to bakeries to quiet bookstores. even little parks tucked between streets that they might walk felix through. some. hole-in-the-wall breakfast places that don’t look like much but probably mean everything to the community. some of them have small comments beside them, giving credit where it’s due.
evergreen bakery— has good pastries. willy and his girl swear by it
cloud nine diner—brunch spot. kniesy says portions are huge
deja brewed – mo and tessa love the coffee
her eyes skim at first, then slow. then slow even more. she has to blink hard when her vision starts to blur.
“you asked the guys for me?” she asks quietly, like she’s afraid to break it.
“all of them has something to chip in,” he says. then corrects himself. “well. most of them. i figured they know the city better than i do and i know what you want.”
she swallows. “you did all this for me?” her eyes glazing.
he reaches out, thumb brushing gently along her cheek, grounding. “i want you to feel comfortable here,” he says. not rushed. not defensive. just honest. “i know moving to a new city can feel lonely at first. i don’t want you to feel like you’re just waiting around for me.”
her throat tightens. “but you’re a homebody,” she says softly. “you like staying in. being here.”
he smiles at that, small and fond. “yeah. i am.”
then, quieter, more certain, he continues,“but i want to venture out with you. i want this city to feel like yours too. not just where i play and where we live.”
that’s what does it. she leans forward, presses her forehead to his chest, breathing him in like she needs to anchor herself there for a second. his arms come around her immediately, solid and familiar.
“hey,” he murmurs, lips brushing her hair. “what’s that for?”
“for thinking about me,” she says, voice muffled but steady. “for planning and for proving me right in my decision.”
he kisses the top of her head and doesn’t crowd her. “i want you happy here,” he says quietly. “not just with us but with the city and this life.”
she pulls back, meets his eyes. there’s something open in her expression now, something settled. “i already am.”
his smile spreads slowly, full and almost disbelieving, like he’s still catching up to the reality of it. “good,” he says. “because i was thinking we start today.”
“where should we go?” she asks, warmth curling in her chest.
he glances at the list again, then back at her. “i think you'll love this place. it has good coffee. it’s quiet, warm and feels like somewhere we could lose track of time”
she smiles, heart full in a way that feels steady instead of overwhelming. “well, we better get ready”
she moves around the bedroom quietly, pulling on leggings, a sweater, her hair still a little messy from sleep before she moves to brush it. she reaches for a jacket and doesn’t recognize it’s the same one from since she got here—the one he put around her shoulders the night they watched their first snow fall together. still as oversized as ever with sleeves way too long, a collar worn soft from years of him. she doesn’t even hesitate to put it on..
he watches her from the edge of the bed, amused. “you know i own other jackets, right?”
she glances over her shoulder, unapologetic. “but this one is so warm.”
he huffs a laugh as she steps toward him and without a word he reaches out, fingers catching the zipper and pulls it up slowly, deliberately, until it sits snug beneath her chin. then he adjusts the hood, tugging it over her head like he’s done this a hundred times already, thumbs brushing her jaw.
“can’t have you freezing on me when i’ve just got you here,” he murmurs.
she looks up at him, something soft and open in her expression, and before she can say anything he pulls her closer by the jacket, crowding her space in that familiar way that still makes her heart stutter. his mouth finds hers easily, like it belongs there.
the kiss is slow, unhurried and full of the kind of love that doesn’t need to time or distance to prove itself. his hands settle at her waist, steady and warm, and she melts into him, smiling into the kiss like she’s exactly where she’s meant to be.
when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against hers. “ready?”
she nods, breath still a little uneven. “yeah.”
as soon as they reach the front of the building, the cold bites sharper than she expects, but the jacket does its job. he slips his hand into hers as they start walking, fingers fitting together like they always have.
“it’s only a few blocks,” he tells her, and she believes him, trusting the way he leads her through streets that already feel less foreign with him beside her.
her mind drifts back to old town scottsdale. the warm mornings when they would walk to her favourite coffee spot. the way they used to walk hand in hand under the blazing sun made everything easy and light. that was a different version of them. a version of them that was so naive to the depth of their emotions that had an imaginary shot cluck above their head. always counting down without realizing it.
toronto could not be more different than arizona.
not only the weather. yes, the air is colder but the city was a million times louder. the uncertainty that settled in her mind when imagining their future felt less scary when she has him by her side. the words of her parents and naomi rung in her ears about how this it isn’t temporary. her decision was built on choice, on effort, on showing up for him and most importantly, herself. .
she squeezes his hand as they walk, and he looks over, smiling like he knows exactly what she’s thinking.
and she realizes, with a quiet certainty settling in her chest, that this—right here—feels like more than anywhere they’ve ever been before.
they fall into an easy rhythm as they walk, bodies close enough that her arm slips naturally through his, her hand resting against his forearm like it’s always belonged there. he matches his pace to hers without thinking, glancing down every so often just to check she’s warm, that she’s there.
“so,” he says after a moment, voice light but curious. “what did you actually do while i was gone?”
she tilts her head, smiling faintly. “i updated you all the time. i didn’t want to be annoying.”
he hums, unconvinced. “you, annoying? never. i want to feel like im here with you. you updated me, through texts but want the real version straight from the source.” he nudges her gently with his shoulder. “come on. start from the top.”
she exhales, the sound almost a laugh. “okay. well. i started unpacking. slowly. like at snail’s pace.”
he smiles to himself, already listening like this is his favourite story. “of course you did.”
“i ordered a lot more sweaters,” she continues. “which feels very on brand for my first week as a canadian resident.”
“smart,” he says. “very smart.”
“i reorganized the kitchen three times,” she adds. “not because it needed it, but because i needed something to control.”
he chuckles. “that sounds very you.”
“and i stayed in a lot,” she admits. “mostly. it felt weird being out without you. like i was fast-forwarding.”
his thumb brushes absent-minded circles against her back and she feels it even through her coat. she feels his warmth, encouraging her to keep going.
“i did go out once,” she says after a beat.
his head turns toward her immediately. “yeah?”
“yeah. i got lost.” she said sheepishly.
he stops walking for half a second before catching up, eyebrows lifting. “lost?”
“completely,” she says, unashamed. “what was supposed to be a ten-minute walk turned into two hours.”
his mouth falls open. “you’re kidding.”
“i wish,” she laughs. “i had no idea where i was. every street looked the same. i just… kept walking. and walking.”
“you should’ve called me,” he says instinctively, a hint of concern slipping into his voice.
she looks up at him then, soft but sure. “i know. but it was kind of cathartic.”
he studies her face, lets her finish.
“i didn’t know where i was,” she continues, “but i’ve never seen a place so busy. even in the middle of the day. everyone going somewhere, doing something. it made me feel small, i guess. but in a good way.”
he nods slowly, absorbing every word.
“i stopped at this random coffee place,” she says. “i couldn’t even tell you the name. i just sat by the window. watched people. no plan. no direction. just myself and my thoughts.”
he smiles, quieter now. “i’m glad you did that.”
“yeah?” she asks.
“yeah,” he says. “that city can be a lot. but it’s good you felt it on your own too. it doesn’t mean you’re alone.”
her grip tightens slightly around his arm. “i’m not sure if i felt alone. at least not in that moment,” she says. “i guess it just felt new.”
his chest warms at that. he leans down just enough to brush his cheek against her hair as they keep walking. “well,” he murmurs, “you’ve got me now. no more two-hour detours unless you want them.”
she smiles, resting into him a little more. “good,” she says. “because i’d like a guide.”
he grins. “lucky for you, i’ve lived here a while.”
and as they walk on, side by side, her voice filling the cold air with small details of her days and his attention fixed entirely on her, the city feels less overwhelming like something they’re navigating together instead of her by herself.
when they arrived at the small cafe, the bell above the door gives a soft chime as they step inside, warmth wrapping around them instantly, the smell of coffee and baked bread settling into her bones. the place is quieter than she expected, low music humming, people tucked into corners with laptops and mugs cradled in their hands.
he shrugs out of the cold like it’s nothing and leans closer to her. “i’ve got this,” he says easily. “go grab us a seat.”
she hesitates for half a second, then nods, slipping out of her jacket and weaving toward a small table by the window. she watches him from there, the way he stands at the counter like he belongs, shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets while he talks to the barista. there’s something domestic about it that makes her chest ache in a quiet, good way.
when he finally comes back, he’s tucks his phone in his pocket with a sure- smile
“okay,” he says, setting everything down carefully. “i think i nailed it but tell me if i missed anything.”
he slides the receipt towards hr and looks down.
it was as similar to her her usual order as he could get. a vanilla latte withj oat milk instead of regular because she didn’t like the aftertaste. the sweetness, even the extra shot she doesn’t shy away from admitting she likes. underneath were two pastries a strawberry danish and chocolate croissant.
her brows lift slowly. “A-plus, matthews.”
he grins, sitting across from her. “i even told told he make yours extremely sweet.”
“extremely?” she echoes, amused.
“like,” he says, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “concerningly sweet. my girlfriend wouldn’t have it any other way”
she laughs, shaking her head. “wow. you really know”
“i take my job seriously,” he replies. “also, i ordered us breakfast because we need to eat and i want you fed before i leave for practice.”
she doesn’t answer right away. she just looks at him. the way he’s watching her now, trying to read her face. the way his knee keeps bump against hers under the table without trying. the care in everything he’s done without making a big deal of it.
“what?” he asks, squinting slightly. “why are you staring at me like that?”
she smiles, soft and a little helpless. “nothing.”
he snorts. “that’s never true. you’re weird.”
she laughs again, and before she can respond, he stands, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her cheek, lips warm and familiar. “i’m gonna run to the washroom. try the food when it comes.”
“no promises,” she calls after him.
when he’s gone, she wraps her hands around herself bathing in the warmth of the cafes she scrolls absently through her phone, messages, nothing urgent, just killing time in a way that less stress inducing now that she isn’t on call for work. for once she feels calm instead of restless.
then a shadow falls over the table. she looks up to see the barista standing there, smiling as she sets down napkins and adjusts the plates slightly.
“here you go,” she says kindly. then, with a knowing look, adds, “you know. i can tell your boyfriend.”
her heart stutters.
she blinks, caught off guard. “oh.”
the barista laughs softly. “the way he ordered and how he kept checking back at you like he was hoping you’d approve. it was the sweetest thing i’ve seen all week.”
she feels heat creep into her cheeks, a smile tugging at her lips before she can stop it. “yeah,” she says quietly. “i love him too. so much.”
the barista nods once, satisfied, and heads back toward the counter just as he returns, sliding back into his seat like he never left.
“what’d i miss?” he asks.
she looks at him over the rim of her cup, eyes warm. “nothing,” she says, already noting down this place a favourite not because of the delicious coffee or even the fluffy waffle but because of the man across from her.
two days before christmas, auston flew his family in.
he picks them up from the airport himself, baseball cap pulled low, hoodie familiar, heart light in a way it rarely is during the season. she waits at home, nerves fluttering in her chest even though she’s done this before. even though they’ve already wrapped her into their lives like she was always meant to be there.
when they walk through the door—luggage wheels bumping softly against the floor, cold air following them inside—his mom spots her first.
“there she is,” she says, like she’s been waiting weeks just to say it.
she barely has time to react before she’s being pulled into a hug that smells like winter coats and familiarity, his mom’s arms warm and sure around her shoulders. his dad follows with a smile and a gentle squeeze, his sisters already talking over each other, laughing, asking how the flight was for her last time, if she’s sleeping okay, if toronto’s treating her kindly.
it feels easy. natural. like stepping into a room you’ve been in a hundred times before.
auston watches from a step back for a moment, quiet, something settled and full in his chest. this is what he’s always wanted. not just the career, not just the life he built for himself, but this overlap. the moment the people he loves exist in the same space without a care in the world.
“your mom texted me this morning,” his mom says as they move farther inside, setting bags down. “she says it’s still eighty degrees there and she refuses to turn on the christmas lights until sundown.”
she laughs, warmth blooming. “that sounds like her.”
“she sent pictures of the kids,” his sister adds. “maria looks so tall now. and leo—oh my god.”
her chest tugs softly at the mention, but it’s the good kind of ache. the kind that reminds her she’s loved in more than one place at once.
“we’re doing a facetime with them tomorrow night,” she says, glancing at auston. “my mom already warned me she’s going to cry.”
his mom smiles knowingly. “we’ll cry with her.”
and just like that, the distance feels smaller. bridged by voices and history and the way their families have folded into each other over the years—her mom and his mom checking in, sharing updates, treating this whole thing like something precious they’re both responsible for protecting.
a week earlier, she and auston had put up the tree together.
it had been late, both of them still in sweats, music low in the background while the city blinked outside the windows. she’d handed him ornaments from the box one by one, telling stories as she went—about christmas mornings in arizona, about her nieces and nephews waking up too early, maria insisting on helping everyone open their gifts, leo more interested in the boxes than what was inside.
“my mom always makes too much food,” she’d said, smiling to herself. “like we’re feeding an army.”
he’d laughed, hanging an ornament slightly crooked just to make her fix it. “that's exactly how your mom is.”
they’d talked about his family coming here, about the way christmas always felt loud and full when they were all together, about how strange and right it felt that this year, she was part of that picture.
now, with everyone here, the apartment feels lived in. full. warm in a way that has nothing to do with the blazing heater.
christmas morning comes soft and slow.
the city is hushed in that rare way toronto only ever is once a year—no traffic hum, no urgency pressing in from the outside. no alarms. no schedules. no rink to be at before the sun’s fully up. just quiet, warmth, and the low glow of the tree in the corner of the living room.
it settles into the apartment the same way it always does—soft light creeping through the curtains, the low glow of the tree still lit from the night before, the smell of coffee already drifting down the hall. outside, toronto is hushed beneath fresh snow. inside, everything feels familiar.
coffee cups are half-full and everywhere. wrapping paper is folded instead of torn, stacked neatly on the side like someone couldn’t bring themselves to make a mess of it. laughter drifts easily between rooms, unforced, the kind that comes from people who’ve done this together for years.
she lingers near the couch, fingers curled around a mug gone lukewarm, content to watch it all happen. this is how the matthews do christmas with no rush or o sharp edges just familial warmth.
ema reappears a few minutes later, holding something folded over her arm.
“oh,” she says casually, like she hasn’t just shifted the air in the room. “almost forgot.”
she looks up, confused. “forgot what?”
ema’s eyes meet hers, kind and bright. “your pajamas.”
there’s a half-second where she doesn’t understand. then ema holds them out, the familiar fabric unmistakable, and it clicks all at once.
“ema—” she starts, instinctive. “you didn’t have to—”
ema shakes her head immediately, already dismissing the idea. “don’t be silly.”
she hesitates anyway, hands closing around the fabric but not lifting it yet, something tight gathering in her chest. “i don’t want to intrude,” she says quietly, earnest. “i know this is your tradition.”
ema steps closer, her voice softening but no less certain. “mi hija, you are a part of thre tradition now,” she says, then adds, simpler, steadier“you’re my daughter.”
the words land gently making her throat closes and her eyes sting before she can stop them. “ema…”
ema reaches up, cups her cheek with a familiarity that feels earned, thumb brushing beneath her eye. “go change,” she murmurs. “we’re taking pictures.”
she nods, unable to trust her voice, and slips down the hallway before the tears can spill over.
she closes the bedroom door behind her with more care than necessary, like the moment might shatter if she moves too loudly.
the room is warm, dimmer than the rest of the apartment, curtains half-drawn against the pale winter light. the bed is still rumpled from earlier, evidence of a slow morning not yet finished.
and she sees auston sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, phone abandoned somewhere beside him. he’s already changed into the same pajamas she has in her hands, familiar in a way that makes her chest ache. the matthews christmas uniform. sleeves pushed up, hair still messy, feet bare against the floor.
he looks up the second he hears her and watches her. already, equipped with the skills to identify the emotions clouding her eyes.
his eyes move over her slowly, taking in the fabric, the way it hangs on her, the fact that she’s wearing them. something softens in his expression immediately, something deep and unguarded.
“hey,” he says quietly.
she doesn’t trust her voice yet. she just nods, fingers twisting in the hem of the pajama top like she needs something to hold onto.
he stands without thinking, crossing the space between them in three long steps. “what happened?” he asks gently, already reaching for her, hands warm as they settle at her waist.
she swallows. “your mom,” she manages. “she gave me these.”
his mouth curves, slow and knowing. “i know but why are you emotional?”
she nods again, eyes glassy now. “you knew? i tried to say no because i didn’t want to intruder” her voice wobbles despite herself. “but then she just—” she exhales shakily. “she said i was her daughter.”
his breath leaves him in a quiet rush.
“yeah,” he says again, softer this time, like it explains everything. his forehead rests against hers, thumbs brushing steady circles into her sides. “she may have said that once or a million times”
she lets herself lean into him then, finally. “i didn’t expect it to hit me like that.”
“i know.” he presses a kiss to her hair, lingering. “you don’t ever question your place with us”
she laughs weakly. “i feel ridiculous getting emotional on christmas morning.”
“you’re not.” he pulls back just enough to look at her properly. “you’re family. you’ve been family.”
her eyes search his. “really?”
he doesn’t hesitate. “really.”
then, with the faintest smile, he adds, “also” he gestures between them, glancing down at the matching pajamas. “you'll look really good in this pajamas. you were always meant to be a part of our tradition .”
that gets a real laugh out of her, breathless and warm.
“our,” she repeats. “you said our”
“our,” he confirms.
he guides her back toward the bed, sitting first and tugging her gently down with him until she’s tucked between his legs, back against his chest. his arms wrap around her easily, like muscle memory.
she exhales, fully, for the first time since walking into the room.
“i didnt know it could feel like this,” she murmurs. ”like everyday i’m just overwhelmed with love”
he presses his lips to her temple. “you better get used to it, baby.”
outside, the apartment hums softly with life. inside the bedroom, wrapped in matching pajamas and shared quiet, it feels like the world has narrowed to just this.
and for once, their bubble no longer worried her.
the living room smells faintly of coffee and cinnamon, the soft glow of the christmas tree bouncing off ornaments she helped hang just a week ago. auston and his sisters are sprawled across the couch, laughter drifting over the low hum of the football game. she’s tucked into auston’s side, matching pajamas soft against her skin, the fabric ridiculous and perfect all at once. the city outside is quiet in the rare way toronto gets on christmas morning, but inside the apartment, it’s full, warm and familliar.
she leans into him, the curve of his arm around her shoulders familiar enough to feel like home. his hand moves automatically to her hip, thumb brushing slow, absent-minded circles that are more comfort than touch. she watches the game halfheartedly, but really she’s watching him, the way his smile lifts when he teases his sisters, the way his eyes catch hers, a small private language they share without words.
at one point, his mom grabs her phone and suggests a photo. everyone piles together, pajamas and mugs in hand, the tree sparkling behind them. y/n feels herself blink back tears as auston pulls her closer, pressing his cheek to hers. they laugh when the photo comes out on social media a few minutes later, likes and reposts already climbing. their friends commenting on how perfectly festive they look. she’s never felt so included, so claimed. it’s silly and perfect all at once.
when the half-time buzzer sounds, she stretches just enough to rest her head fully against his chest, inhaling the warmth and the faint scent of pine and cologne. he presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head, murmuring her name softly, like a secret.
“you’re really here,” he says, voice low and certain.
“yeah,” she murmurs, smiling against him. “i’m really happy, auston”
he shifts slightly so he can look at her, eyes bright and steady. “this is all i ever need. all of this. every christmas, every morning, every photo in matching pajamas. i want you in all of it with you.”
she laughs, a little breathless, and presses a kiss to his chest. “that’s good seeing as i’m not going anywhere”
they stay like that, tangled and warm, the game continuing in the background, the room full of easy chatter and laughter. outside, the city is hushed, but here, inside, everything feels steady, whole, and just theirs.
a quarter later, she slips away slowly this time, disentangling herself from him with care, like she’s afraid the moment might shatter if she moves too fast. the living room stays behind her—his sisters stretched out on the couch, the low rumble of football filling the space, the soft glow of the tree reflecting off ornaments that still feel new to her. their life here still does, sometimes.
the kitchen lights are more gentle on her eyes than the tv screen. she turns to the counter the kettle is already hot when she reaches it, steam curling up in thin, lazy spirals. she lines the mugs up the way she always does—his first, then hers—muscle memory guiding her hands. she’s halfway through pouring when she feels the shift in the air behind her.
him.
it wasn’t the sound of footsteps or even the brush of fabric it was. just the quiet certainty of his presence.
his arms come around her slowly, deliberately, like he wants to give her time to lean back into him. his chest presses to her spine, solid and familiar, and his breath warms the side of her neck as he exhales.
“hey,” he murmurs, low, almost reverent.
her shoulders relax immediately. “hey.”
his chin settles against her shoulder, and for a moment he just stays there, holding her like this is exactly where he’s meant to be. his hands rest flat against her stomach, thumbs moving in slow, absent circles that feel more like reassurance than touch.
“you okay?” he asks quietly.
she nods, smiling to herself. “yeah. just getting the drinks.”
“mm,” he hums. “i missed you.”
it’s such a simple thing to say, but it lands heavy anyway.
she tilts her head slightly toward him. “i was gone for maybe two minutes.”
“felt longer,” he says, brushing his nose against her hair.
they stand there like that, the kettle forgotten, the noise of the game muted behind walls and warmth. it feels domestic in a way that still surprises her sometimes—this ease, this softness between them.
then his voice shifts, playful but still gentle.
“look up.”
she frowns slightly, confused, but does it anyway and her breath catches.
because it's one singular mistletoe hanging just above the doorway, tied with a red ribbon that looks slightly crooked, like it was put up in a hurry.
she laughs, soft and breathy. “are you serious?”
“very,” he says, lips brushing her temple. “saw it and thought of you.”
“of course you did.”
she turns in his arms, mugs abandoned on the counter. up close, his cheeks are still faintly pink, eyes warm and bright, like he’s been carrying this quiet happiness around all morning and hasn’t set it down once.
“so?” she asks, eyebrows lifting.
he doesn’t answer. he just leans down and kisses her.
it’s slow. lingering. the kind of kiss that takes its time, that says i’m here without needing anything else. his hand slides up to cradle her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek like he’s grounding himself in the feel of her.
she melts into it, hands fisting lightly in the fabric of his matching pajamas, heart swelling in a way that almost hurts.
when he pulls back, he rests his forehead against hers, noses brushing.
“merry christmas, baby” he whispers.
her voice is softer than she expects when she answers. “merry christmas.”
from the other room, someone cheers at the tv. laughter follows. life keeps happening around them.
and for a moment longer, they stay right there beneath the mistletoe wrapped in warmth and quiet and the certainty of each other with the knowledge this isn’t just a holiday tradition.
auston's family decided to stick around when he left for his first road trip of 2026. without her realizing it, having pieces of arizona with her was more comforting than she realized.
she hadn’t realized how heavy the quiet had been before.how much space emptiness took when it was just her and the apartment, and the echo of his absence in every room.
living through undergrad and vet school, she had built a life of her own across the states, while the boy from the senior party in high school had been carving out his own path, etching himself into maple leafs history. every milestone, every goal she’d watched from afar through screens and lagging streams, had felt like a world apart.
the summer months they’d spent together, the bubble of their own making, had been precious but fleeting. and when he returned here after road trips, after games, there had been uncertainty, distance, missed birthdays and holidays. she wouldn’t take any of it back, because it all led here, to this.
she curls into the corner of the couch, knees tucked beneath her, sweater sleeves pulled over her hands. her phone rests face-down beside her, deliberately ignored. tonight isn’t for notifications or stats or analyzing plays. tonight is for being here.
no one says it out loud.
no one mentions numbers, records, or history. even earlier in the week, when she’d asked him about the game, he’d shrugged with that small, careful deflection
“it’ll happen when it happens.”
like it wasn’t sitting heavy on his shoulders or following him into every shift.
the game starts fast.
she feels it immediately—the tension threading through the room, the way everyone leans forward in sync, bodies angled toward the screen like proximity might change the outcome. when the puck slides past the goalie during the second period—he broke the record she’d watched from a distance—alex, laughing and already standing on tiptoe, has the foresight to start recording, phone angled carefully so it captures the moment, the room, the chaos, the joy.
ema presses her palms together at her chest, eyes shining. his dad exhales hard, shaking his head like he’s still trying to comprehend how quickly time has passed. his sisters clap and laugh, voices tumbling over each other. the house vibrates with pride.
y/n smiles, but her throat tightens. she thinks of arizona without warning—the quiet evenings, sitting on her couch, laptop balanced on her knees, cheering into an empty room. of watching him make history from miles away while she built her own life, carefully, deliberately, without him. every milestone she’d missed was heavy. every cheer was quiet. but now she’s here.
in what is now their home with his family
her chest tightens again as the second period stretches. time seems to start, then syop. people pace, stand, sit. no one refills drinks anyone drinks. his dad clears his throat every few minutes, like bracing for the inevitable.
y/n doesn’t realize her hands are shaking until alex gently nudges her arm and the small touch soothes her.
the period tightens everything. the puck moves until bobby pulls it back smooth and unselfish and instinctively passes the puck to auston. before they could blink, the net ripples.
then the house erupts.
ema cries out, a sound raw and untamed, echoing through the apartment. his dad’s arms sweep through the air, pulling his daughters close, laughing through wet eyes. his sisters jump up and down, screaming his name like he can hear them across the city, across the ice, across every mile.
y/n is moving before she even knows she has. hands clutching her sweater, arms wrapping around eachother in a group hug. she was pulled into the heart of it all. she laughs, cries, then laughs again, overwhelmed by the noise, the movement, the sheer weight of joy.
and in that moment, something in her chest softens.
all the distance, all the milestones she’d missed, every empty cheer from far away, every lonely late night in arizona—they melt into nothing. because she’s here, not as a visitor, not as a spectator, but part of this, part of them.
the realization hits harder than the goal itself. she presses her lips together, eyes stinging, trying to steady herself as the room spins with celebration. gratitude blooms in her chest—full, overwhelming, necessary.
the phone keeps recording, forgotten on the counter as laughter spills into cheers, cheers into tears, the apartment vibrating with it all.
even though she won’t hear his voice tonight, even though they won’t speak until he returns to toronto, until the plane lands and the noise settles, she knows exactly what he’s coming home to: a house that knows his name, a family still glowing with pride, and her, right in the middle of it.
into the early hours of the night, they don’t even pretend they’re going to bed.
the clock creeps past eleven, then midnight, and still the lights stay on. the living room looks nothing like it did a few hours ago — balloons bob gently near the ceiling, silver and blue curling ribbon draped along the backs of chairs, a banner folded neatly on the coffee table because no one wanted to hang it without him here. the air smells faintly like sugar and coffee and anticipation.
y/n sits on the floor for a while, back against the couch, knees pulled in, phone forgotten in her lap. every sound outside makes her look up. every passing car sounds like it might be the one.
ema keeps checking the time, pacing softly, smoothing invisible wrinkles out of her sweater. his dad stands by the window, hands clasped behind his back, pretending not to watch the street like a hawk. his sisters whisper and giggle, excitement buzzing through them like electricity.
it’s past one when they hear his keys behind the front door.
“that’s him,” bry breathes.
no one says anything after that. they just move their feet already shuffling, hearts racing, the front door opening before the car has fully stopped. cold air rushes in with him, sharp and unmistakable, and suddenly he’s there.
tired. flushed. hair still damp from a rushed shower at the rink. the cold definitely no helping and unmistakenly smiling.
ema reaches him first, arms wrapping around his neck like she’s been holding that hug in for days. she kisses his cheek, his temple, murmuring something only a mother would. his dad pulls him in next, a firm hug on and a kiss on his head, pride heavy in the way he exhales.
his sisters swarm him, laughing, clinging, peppering him with words that overlap and blur. some congratulations but mainly about how they screamed their heads off when he got it and of course, asking if he saw the video of them bawling.
he laughs, a little overwhelmed, shoulders shaking as he hugs them back, grounding himself in the familiar weight of family.
then his eyes lift and like always, they find her instantly.
she hasn’t moved from where she’s standing just inside the doorway, hands clasped together like she needs to keep herself in one piece. the noise fades for a second—not gone, just distant— as he move towards her.
he doesn’t say anything when he reaches her. he just wraps his arms around her and pulls her in.
the hug is deep, anchoring, his chin resting against her hair as if he needs to feel her there to believe the night is real. she presses her face into his chest, breathing him his cologne mixed with the outside air, something uniquely him and her arms tighten around his waist.
ema’s voice floats over them, warm and teasing. “you know y/n planned all of this.”
he pulls back slightly, brows knitting together as he looks down at y/n. “what?”
she laughs softly, cheeks warm. “not really”
“she went out in the snow for last minute decoration this afternoon,” ema says proudly, gesturing toward her. “said it couldn’t wait and wanted to be ready for the day.”
his hands slide to her hips, disbelief softening his expression. “you did all this?”
she shrugs, trying to play it off even as her eyes shine. “i didn’t want you coming home to nothing.”
he huffs out a breath, forehead dropping to hers. “what if i didn’t break it?”
she smiles then small, certain. “i knew you would.”
his eyes search her face. “you were that sure?”
“i had most of the decorations in the spare bedroom for weeks,” she admits quietly. “i just waited.”
something in his chest gives and he presses her lips to hers—not for show— just a gentle press of lips that says thank you and im so grateful. when he pulls back, his voice is low, almost reverent.
“you believed in me like it was already a done deal.”
she nods. “i believe in you. i am so proud of you, baby.”
around them, the room swells back to life with laughter, balloons being tugged down, someone finally hanging the banner. but for a moment longer, he keeps her close, thumb brushing slow circles into her back.
“i don’t think i’ve ever felt this,” he murmurs.
she squeezes him tighter. “like what?”
“this loved” he settled on his eyes never leaving hers and his family dispersed slowly to grab drink..
and as the house fills with celebration again, as midnight slips further into morning, one thing is certain—he didn’t just come home to a record.
he came home to his family.
a few days later, the magnitude of it still hasn’t settled.
it lingers instead especially in the quiet moments, in the way the apartment feels slower now that the initial chaos has passed, in the way he reaches for her without thinking. his family is out skating, the sounds of blades and laughter long gone, leaving the kitchen wrapped in warmth and morning light.
she’s perched on the counter at first, sipping coffee, until he steps between her knees and lifts her easily onto his lap like it’s instinct. like it’s always been this way.
and still she can’t help herself.
“you know what’s crazy,” she says lightly, arms draping around his shoulders, fingers absentmindedly tracing the seam of his hoodie, “i live with the all-time leading scorer of the toronto maple leafs.”
he exhales a laugh that sounds suspiciously like a plea. “please don’t do this to me before breakfast.”
she smiles, unabashed. “i mean it. i wake up and you’re just there. like this is normal.”
he ducks his head, forehead resting briefly against her collarbone. “never knew you such a brag, baby,” he mutters. “when did that happen?”
“the moment i realized how you wouldn’t,” she says softly. “and how hard you work. and how lucky i am to be here for it.”
that makes him still.
his hands tighten slightly at her waist, grounding, and when he looks up at her again, there’s something open in his eyes— something careful and honest.
“last may,” he begins, voice quieter now, “my life wasn’t about chasing the record or goals for me.” he swallows. “i came off another playoff exit that stung but the same day i flew back to arizona was the day i met you again. the moment you entered my life everything stopped being just hockey and started being about us. about how i want our lives to fit together.”
her breath catches.
“i didn’t know how much i’d been missing,” he continues. “having someone to come home to. someone who sees me and not just the numbers, not just the nights that go right.” his thumb brushes slow circles into her side. “you changed the way i see the game and for that i’m forever grateful.”
she leans closer, listening like she’s afraid to miss a word.
“so when things started happening the goals came back and the milestones crept up i realized i wished for you long before i had you,” he says gently. “i wished you were there because you’re who i want beside me for everything. the good, the bad, the noise loud and the silence. i want you with me through all of it.”
her eyes sting. she presses her forehead to his, voice barely there. “i want that too.”
later, the conversation softens into something quieter, stretching across the kitchen as breakfast comes together. plates slide across the counter, toast pops up forgotten for a second, coffee refilled without asking. they talk about nothing and everything — plans that don’t need to be finalized, jokes that don’t need context — the kind of talk that only happens when two people are settled inside the same life. she watches him move through the space like it’s second nature, like the future has already decided to stay.
by the time evening settles in, the air shifts.
it’s subtle, but she feels it — the way his focus sharpens as he gets ready, the familiar calm settling over him like armor. she helps without being asked, straightening his cuff, smoothing the crease of his sleeve with careful fingers, reverent in the way she touches him now. he clears his throat, once, like he’s steadying himself.
“hey,” he says.
she looks up immediately. “yeah?”
“about the next game,” he starts, voice even but deliberate. “they’re doing something before tomorrow's game for the record.”
her heart stutters anyway. “oh.”
he steps closer, hands warm and grounding at her hips. “and i want you on the ice,” he adds, softer now. “with my family.”
she blinks, breath catching. “me?”
“you,” he says without hesitation, like there was never another option.
she searches his face, trying to read the certainty there. “are you sure? that’s a big moment.”
he nods, conviction settling in his voice. “hey what did i say? that’s exactly why i want you next to me .” then, quieter, honest in a way that makes her chest ache, “i mean ig having you here and coming home to you has it made all of this mean more. i don’t want to be out there not see you.”
emotion breaks across her face before she can stop it. “okay,” she whispers. “if you’re sure.”
he smiles gently, brushing his thumb beneath her eye, tender and steady. “i’m sure,” he says. “i don’t want any of it without you anymore.”
the next night the arena was packed with the energy of a celebration. everyone from old and young flocked to the arena in different variations of matthews 34 jerseys. tonight felt different the lights are brighter and fuller. it contrasted her first game and the ones since it almost felt like she was being pushed into the middle of a dance circle now that the media and the fans knew she was the girlfriend auston raved about. it was like stepping into a world she’s watched from the edges for so long and is finally allowed to stand inside.
his family moves around her easily, practiced in this rhythm. jerseys layered under coats. quiet excitement humming beneath everything. his mom squeezes her hand once as they walk, a silent check-in, and she squeezes back, grateful. she doesn’t feel like an outsider tonight. she feels folded in.
they all look at eachother knowingky withholding their shared secret. auston had been obvious to what they had done all week leading up to this moment.
the video sits finished and saved, tucked away like a secret consisting of messages stitched together from his parents, his sisters, laughter and tears tangled up in words they’ve waited years to say. it’s theirs words for him, and the knowing glances they exchange make her chest ache in the best way.
even felix is there, settled in the hallway leading out to the rink like he belongs, ears twitching as the arena hums beneath him. she laughs quietly at the absurdity of it, at how normal it already feels to share all of this.
and then he appears.
suited up, no helmet yet, broad shoulders filling out the space like he’s carved from it. he is even more tall and commanding but he carries a focused expression. for a moment she just watches him, stunned all over again by how this is her life. how this man, who once felt like distance and longing and timing that never quite lined up, is now walking toward her.
when he spots her with his family, his face breaks open, the edge of intensity softening into something warm and familiar as he reaches the glass. he hugs his parents first, strong and lingering, his mom pressing her cheek to his chest like she’s calming his racing heart from all the attention already on hi . his sisters follow, quick jokes to sooth with while their squeezing his arms through his padss
then his eyes find her and everything else fades.
he steps into her space like it’s second nature, like it’s always been this way, arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her in. she feels the solid heat of him, the quiet steadiness beneath the adrenaline, and she exhales into his shoulder.
“you okay?” he murmurs, just for her.
she nods, smiling up at him. “so proud of you.”
his expression softens, gaze dropping to her mouth for half a second before he leans in and kisses her like he has all time time in the weo for just them. his hand cups her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek like he needs the reminder that she’s real, that she’s here.
the arena roars somewhere behind them, but she barely hears it.
“i’ll see you out there,” he says quietly, forehead resting against hers.
“we’ll be right there,” she replies. “all of us.”
he pulls back reluctantly, giving her one last look—the kind that promises return—before scratching behind felix’s ear affectionately and heading toward the ice
when they follow shortly after being announced, the lights hit first.
not just bright but blinding. white and blue spilling from every angle, bouncing off the ice until it feels like she’s standing inside a photograph she can’t look away from. every reflective surface catches a shard of it, scattering it across the arena in shards that make her stomach flutter. the sound follows seconds later, a wave that rolls over her from the stands, a sold-out roar that vibrates through her bones and sets her pulse hammering. for a heartbeat, she forgets how to breathe.
the announcer’s voice cuts through the chaos, warm and ceremonial, inviting them onto the ice alongside treliving.
her feet hesitate at the edge of the blue carpet.
it stretches ahead like a promise and a dare, vivid against the pristine ice, and suddenly she is aware of everything. the quickening of her pulse, the tremor in her fingers, the sharp inhale she doesn’t even notice until it catches. she curls her hands into the sleeve of his mom’s coat, knuckles whitening.
how does he do this? she asks herself
night after night. pressure like this. eyes like this. expectation this loud.
she draws a shaky breath and steps forward, carefully, deliberately. each stride is measured, the ice solid beneath her skates, unforgiving, a reminder that she belongs here tonight, if only for this moment.
auston steps onto the ice and is greeted by a roar that feels alive, electrifying. helmet tucked under his arm, grin flashing, skates cutting clean lines as he glides toward them. he doesn’t look overwhelmed. he doesn’t look nervous. he looks like he’s come home.
he hugs his parents first, arms wrapping tight, forehead pressing briefly to his dad’s. his sisters follow, laughter and tears blending freely, unguarded. when he crouches, felix barrels into him, tail wagging like a metronome for joy, and auston laughs softly, gloved hand scratching behind the pup’s ears, effortless, like he’s never been anywhere else.
then he looks up.
his eyes find her instantly.
everything else fades away
he skates the last few feet, each stride measured yet effortless, until he stops right in front of her, close enough that she can see the familiar softness settle into his expression a warmth that exists only for her.
“hey,” he murmurs, voice low, just loud enough for her. “you okay?”
she nods, even as her chest lifts and falls too fast, breath catching in the sharp arena air. “i think so. i—this is a lot of people.”
his smile softens, patient and understanding. he steps closer, sliding in beside her as though he’s closing a gap that’s existed for too long, and his hand finds hers without hesitation. fingers lace together firmly, anchoring her in the present. the simple touch steadies her immediately, like a deep, long breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
“you’re doing great,” he murmurs, low, quiet enough to feel intimate despite the roar around them. “just stay by me.”
of course, she does.
the announcer continues, words droning into the background until one phrase slices through the noise, crystal clear
“and now,” the voice says, “we have a special video prepared for auston—”
“what?” he looks shocked beside her. he had no idea.
the ice darkens, enough that the noise softens into an anticipatory hum, and the jumbotron flickers once before settling into focus.
auston’s brow furrows. “what’s going on?” he murmurs, half to himself.
the roar of the crowd fades into a low hum in her ears as the lights shift, and the first frame appears.
his parents.
his mom’s voice comes first, warm and already thick with emotion, filling the arena in a way that feels intimate despite the distance. she sits on their couch back home, hands folded tightly in her lap, eyes shining like she’s holding every proud and tender thought at once. his dad is beside her, arm draped around her shoulders, steady and proud in a way that has always made auston feel rooted.
“auston,” his mom begins, voice trembling just slightly, “we are so incredibly proud of you. not just for the goals, or the records, but for the man you’ve become.”
his dad nods, voice calm but deliberate. “you’ve always worked for everything you have. you never cut corners. you never forgot where you came from.”
auston swallows, jaw tightening, and for a moment she watches him—still in awe, chest tight, as though every word from his family presses inside him like a tangible weight.
the video shifts to his sisters next, squeezed together on a couch, laughing and crying at the same time, tripping over one another in the way only siblings can.
“we knew you’d do this,” one says. “we just didn’t know it would feel this unreal.”
“we love you so much,” another adds, voice breaking. “and we’re so proud it hurts.”
the crowd roars, but the montage carries on—former teammates, old locker rooms, grainy clips, familiar smiles.
“you were always special,” a old coach says.
“best shooter i've had the privleage to work with,” another adds.
“but even better teammate,” everyone recognizes jumbo as he beams.
then current teammates, faces he sees every day, voices that know him in this exact chapter of his life.
“you make everyone around you better.”
“you carry the maple leaf the right way.”
“couldn’t have happened to a better guy.”
leaf legend after leaf legend take their time to praise auston
the music swells just enough that her chest aches with it. and then it's her face that fills the jumbotron.
she freezes seeing herself up close.
“oh god,” she whispers, instinctively pressing closer into auston’s jersey, forehead resting against his chest, fingers clutching the fabric as if holding onto him will steady her.
his arm sweeps around her immediately, protective and grounding. “hey,” he murmurs, stunned, eyes locked on the screen. “it’s okay. i’ve got you.”
and now she hears herself, her own voice, echoing across the arena, steady despite the nerves. she’s sitting somewhere familiar, soft light falling across her features, the quiet of home around her, remembering recording this—but not imagining it would play like this, for all of this.
“auston,” she says, exhaling a small, nervous laugh, “okay. i’m already getting emotional, so that’s probably a good start.”
a ripple of laughter drifts from the crowd, gentle, warm.
“i don’t know how to talk about goals or records the way everyone else can,” she continues, voice clear now, intentional. “but i do know how to talk about you.”
on the ice, auston is still, frozen in a way she’s never seen.
“i’ve watched you work when no one is watching,” she says, a little breathless but steady. “i’ve watched you review film on nights that the world called you perfect. i’ve watched you carry pressure most people couldn’t stand under for five minutes and still, you still come home with a smile on your face. kind, generous and loving, just you”
her face presses harder into his chest, mortified and emotional all at once. “i can’t believe they put me last,” she whispers, and the corner of her mouth quirks into a laugh.
he lets out a shaky laugh in response, voice thick. “i’m glad they did.”
the montage continues, flowing now into quieter, more intimate clips of him smiling with his teammates and staff members.
“being with you has changed my life,” she says softly, voice rising just enough to reach him. “not because of what you do out there, but because of who you are when you come home. loving you has been the greatest privilege of my life. you’ve taught me patience, and the kind of quiet strength i can only hope to emulate.”
she pauses, takes a breath, and keeps speaking, steady, heartfelt. “i’m proud of every goal, every milestone, every moment that's brought you here. i’m even more proud to be by your side for them. i love you.”
the screen fades and then the arena erupts.
auston exhales like the air has been knocked out of him, and he pulls her fully into his arms, forehead pressing to the top of her head. she feels his heart racing through the jersey, the tremor in his breath, the weight of everything he’s held in these moments. and she finally allows herself to sink into it completely, the noise, the love, the pride, all of it wrapping around them, anchoring her in the place she has always belonged
“you okay?” she whispers now, reversing the question, voice unsteady.
he nods against her hair, swallowing hard. “yeah. just… wow.”
he pulls back just enough to look at her, eyes glassy, completely unguarded. “i had no idea,” he says quietly.
she shrugs weakly. “surprise?”
his hand slides to her cheek, thumb brushing away a tear she didn’t realize had fallen. “that was beautiful.”
the lights are bright again. the cameras are everywhere.
but for a moment, it’s just them—her pressed into his side, his arm firm around her waist—standing at center ice, wrapped in love loud enough to rival the roar of the crowd.
as the echo of the video fades, the arena seems to exhale, shifting into something softer, more intimate despite the thousands of voices still swelling around them. auston steps back slightly, and his teammates move forward—mo, willy, johnny, matthew—each carrying bouquets of flowers.
they kneel or bend, handing them to his mom, his sisters, and then to y/n. she takes hers with a small laugh, overwhelmed by how much thought went into it, how tender it all feels. the flowers are bright and fragrant, petals soft against her fingers, and she tucks them carefully against her chest, afraid to let them slip from the moment.
each of the players hugs auston in turn, shoulders bumping, laughter spilling over. auston’s face is full, almost glowing, arms firm and sure around each of them, like he’s sharing the weight of this celebration with the people who’ve carried him through every practice, every locker room, every moment that led here.
then the arena lights shift again, warmer now, the crowd quieting to a murmur of anticipation. mats sundin emerges, taller and commanding, carrying the plaque. the ceremony begins—the passing of the torch. auston takes the plaque with a reverent nod, hands steady despite the swell in his chest. the music rises softly, ceremonial but not stiff, and y/n can feel the weight of history in the pause, the way every eye in the arena is on him.
his hand hovers over the plaque for a heartbeat, like he’s absorbing not just the award but the journey it represents. mats leans slightly, a quiet word of congratulations she can’t hear but knows is profound, and auston’s eyes sweep to his family, then to her. he smiles, breath catching, hand squeezing hers briefly before releasing it to lift the plaque.
and then the chants begin. his name rises, first faint, then louder, swelling around the arena like a living thing.
it’s relentless, thrilling, and he moves, skating slowly, hand pressed over his heart as if to carry every ounce of gratitude through the ice, through the fans, through the entire arena.
y/n’s chest is tight, tears threatening as she watches him—seeing the man he’s become, the respect he’s earned, the love poured into him reflected back by everyone here. his mom clutches the flowers to her chest, his sisters are shedding tears while leaning into one another. he steps back to his spot and leans into her instinctively as she slips an arm around auston’s waist. he leans even more into her, calming his emotions as the arena comes down with cheers.
photos are taken—smiles wide, laughter caught, arms draped over shoulders, flowers cradled like treasures—and she can feel the significance of every frame. this isn’t just a moment on ice, a highlight for a career. it’s a testament to years of effort, of shared struggles, of persistence, of being loved and choosing love in return.
she watches auston glance around constantly, hand still over his heart, acknowledging every cheer, every clap, every voice chanting his name. and though the spotlight is blinding, though the arena is alive in a way she’s never fully felt from the outside, she knows one thing with complete certainty: this is home. not just for him, for them together.
the chants roll on as he skates a slow circle, nodding, waving, gratitude radiating from him like light. y/n leans her head against his shoulder, still clutching her flowers, letting herself soak in the enormity of it all. the family, the arena, the milestone. everything they’d lived apart, every late-night text, every flight, every milestone she’d watched from afar, all of it led to this.
and she thinks, quietly, almost to herself—she may not have been apart of every goal or minute but there’s nothing she would trade this moment for.
BONUS
summer in mexico drenches them in the best way possible. the sun drips over the villa, the tiles beneath their feet warm and slightly sticky from sunscreen. the pool shimmers like a slice of sapphire, reflecting the cloudless sky, the palms leaning in as if to watch them. after a grueling winter in toronto and the chaos of milan for the olympics, every inch of her body feels like it’s finally allowed to breathe. the air tastes of salt and sunscreen, and she lets herself sink into it fully, luxuriating in the freedom of the season.
she’s perched on the lounge chair, towel draped across her shoulders, toes dangling in the cool water, and he’s across from her, shades low, grin half-mischievous, half-relaxed. the tan he’s gained during their travels brings out the angles of his shoulders, the gold in his hair, and she swallows hard, feeling herself weaken just looking at him.
“finally,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing, leaning back on his elbows, letting his gaze roam her body with deliberate slowness. “you’re wearing it. the swimsuit you kept hiding last time.”
she laughs, the sound warm and breathy, tugging self-consciously at the straps. “i wasn’t hiding,” she says, mock offence in her voice. “i didn’t think it was appropriate”
“didn’t think i could handle it?” he finishes for her, voice heavy with amusement. “i mean look at you—sun-kissed, perfect, and completely mine for the week. the fact that you, really.”
her cheeks flare. “well, sorry for not wanting to wear a g-string in front of your sisters. i am not as shameless as you,” she mutters, though the smile betrays her.
“maybe,” he admits, sitting up slightly to lean toward her, fingers tracing a stray lock of hair over her shoulder, “but you are wrong about you not being as shameless as me. if my memory is correct, you couldn't keep your hands off me.”
she presses her lips into his chest, trying to suppress a laugh that bubbles anyway. “that's only because of how much you complained about having to wait,” she teases.
“well,” he mocks her, nuzzling her neck, “now you’re mine for the taking.”
her laughter turns into a quiet groan as he drags a hand along her side, feather-light, fingers tracing teasing lines that make her squirm. she retaliates with a splash of water, smirk tugging at her lips, and he ducks, laughing, eyes sparkling as he flicks it back at her.
soon they’re side by side at the pool’s edge, feet in the water, bodies brushing lightly deliberately. she leans against him, shoulder pressing into his chest, and he drapes an arm over her, hand curling into the small of her back. every touch is charged, a soft, delicious tease that keeps them both smiling and shivering in the heat.
“you know,” he murmurs against her hair, voice low and playful, “i could just retire and lay here all day for the rest of my life”
she tilts her head to look at him, eyes half-lidded, teasing. “oh? and what about me?”
“what about you?” he repeats, mock confusion, then leans in closer, lips brushing her temple. “i mean i would need to continuing seeing you in that swimsuit, skin to skin, makes it really hard to think about anything else.”
her laugh is soft, breathless, as she nudges him with her shoulder. “you’re not retiring and this swimsuit is seasonal.”
“maybe,” he admits, grinning, “but i consider myseldf to be very persuasive.”
she presses herself closer, hands tangling in the back of his hair, pulling him into a kiss at the base of his neck. he hums, low and approving, running a hand along her thigh, lingering just long enough to make her shiver.
hours slip by like this with teasing touches, playful splashes, laughter rolling through the villa. the sun dips lower, painting everything gold, and he leans back, dragging her with him, shoulder to shoulder, chest to chest. “so, are you going to let me have my way in the water too?” he murmurs, a mischievous glint in his eye.
she rolls her eyes, smirking, but her heartbeat betrays her. “maybe,” she says softly. “to keep it down. we have neighbours after all.” she gestures towards the massive walls that shielded them.
“no promises,” he says, brushing a wet strand of hair from her face, “not when you look like that.”
her laughter echoes across the terrace as he pulls her closer, heat radiating between them, and for the first time since the winter grind, since airports and arenas and endless expectations, they let themselves exist entirely in this moment—sun, water, warmth, and each other.
later that week, auston had been unusually particular all afternoon. she caught him inspecting her wardrobe like a general planning a mission, holding up a sundress, then a flowy blouse, then a different dress, frowning slightly.
“wait, this one,” he said finally, holding up the long sundress she wore on their first beach date. “this. it’s perfect. you know i love it.”
she raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “and with all this hovering… what exactly has gotten into you?”
his lips curved, a little smug, a little shy. “i just— want tonight to be perfect. i want everything to feel like it did the first time. with you being you. exactly the way i’ve been thinking about all week.”
she chuckled, shaking her head. “so basically, you’ve been imagining me in this dress the whole time?”
he met her gaze, fingers brushing lightly over the fabric. “maybe. okay, definitely. and now that you’re wearing it… i can’t stop thinking about taking it off.”
she laughed, a soft, teasing sound, and finally let him tug her gently toward the house. the sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon, and she realized the evening was going to be exactly like him so unapologetically auston.
the drive to the beach feels impossibly slow, the sun dipping lower with every mile, painting the sky in shades of coral and gold. she keeps stealing glances at him, the way his sleeve catches the light, the easy lines of his linen pants, the short-sleeve polo hugging his body just right—enough to make her stomach tighten the second she sees him. she almost doesn’t get out of the car, but he’s already watching her, grin teasing, that spark in his eyes daring her to resist.
“you’re staring,” he says, voice low and amused.
“i—” she stammers, cheeks heating, “i just… wow. you look ridiculous.”
“ridiculous?” he repeats, mock offense, running a hand through his hair. “i look incredible, thank you very much. and you" he gestures vaguely at her flowing sundress, “you’re going to make the whole world jealous.”
she laughs, tugging at the hem of the dress as she steps out of the car. the fabric ripples around her ankles, catching in the evening breeze. “sucks because i wore it just for you,” she admits softly.
“good choice,” he says, reaching for her hand. the brush of his fingers sends a shiver through her, and he notices, smirking knowingly. “i insisted for a reason.”
the beach is quiet, just like the night of their first date—waves lapping against the shore, the sand warm under their feet, the horizon glowing in the dying light. it feels like they’ve stepped into a memory, but better, fuller and freer without the anxieties of the future casting a shadow on their trip.
they walk side by side, hands brushing, then lacing together naturally, until they reach the little table they’d chosen the last time. lanterns sway gently, scattering light across the tablecloth, and the ocean murmurs in a rhythm that feels like it belongs to them.
he pulls out her chair, sliding in across from her. she can’t help it—her fingers twitch toward his arm as he leans back, relaxed, that easy confidence that still makes her chest flutter.
“remember this?” he murmurs, nodding at the setting, the table, the waves.
“i do,” she says, eyes soft, tracing the rim of her glass. “i remember it was the best date of my life and never wanting to end.”
he laughs low, reaching across to cover her hand. “well, it didn’t,” he says. “not tonight.”
the server brings their meals—fresh seafood, the same dishes, garnished perfectly—and they eat slowly, savoring everything. not just the food, but the quiet intimacy, the little glances, the gentle teasing that’s become their language.
“you’re staring again,” she teases, voice light, but her heart beats a little faster as he leans forward, hand brushing hers.
“maybe,” he admits, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “i can’t help it. you look perfect. like you were meant for this moment and i was meant to witness your beauty"
she laughs, half in disbelief, half in delight. “stop,” she breathes, leaning into him a little, letting her fingers curl around his.
“not a chance,” he murmurs, eyes twinkling. “i’ve waited all year to see you like this. in the sun, sand, this dress. all mine.”
she presses her forehead to his shoulder, letting the waves crash around them in harmony with the quiet heat between them. the air is warm, the salt tangy, the world narrowing until it’s only them, the water, the fading sunlight, and a memory they’re creating again—just like before, only infinitely better.
they finish their meal slowly, laughing over small things, teasing over bites, but when the plates are cleared, he leans back in his chair, eyes scanning her like she’s the only person in the world.
the sun was melting into the horizon, the sky a riot of oranges and pinks, the ocean catching the light in trembling reflections that danced across the sand. she leaned back slightly, still feeling the warmth of auston beside her, the soft brush of his fingers against hers, the quiet rhythm of him breathing in sync with the waves. for a long moment, neither spoke.
then he let go.
a subtle step back, but it made her chest tighten. she glanced at him, puzzled, until she noticed how careful his stance was, how deliberate his gaze tracked her like he was memorizing the curve of her shoulders, the tilt of her head, the light in her eyes. there was a weight in him tonight—something almost tangible—and her pulse quickened in response.
“y/n” his voice broke the stillness, low, deliberate, almost reverent. she thought he was going to tease, the familiar glint of humor in his words that always made her laugh, but this—this was different.
“to a normal person, this might feel a little ridiculous,” he said, voice tightening with a quiet intensity, “how long i’ve held onto this. in the guest rooms closet or in my carry-ons hoping you wouldn’t find it. how long i’ve pictured this moment, how long i’ve waited for the right place and the right time.”
she frowned slightly, trying to read him, but then her eyes followed the motion of his hand and then her world shifted.
he was on one knee.
the sand pressed against his bent pant leg, ocean light glinting on his face, the horizon framing him like it had been waiting for this exact second. the words froze in her throat. her hands flew to her mouth instinctively, her heart hammering.
he lets out a slow breath, like he’s been holding it for years instead of minutes.
“okay,” he says quietly, almost to himself, before looking back up at her. “i’ve had this planned for a long time. longer than i’ll admit out loud.”
there’s a flicker of a smile, quick and nervous, then it fades as something more serious settles in his expression.
“my whole life has been structured. schedules, seasons, expectations. i’ve always known where i’m supposed to be and what i’m supposed to do. and for a long time, that was enough.”
he shifts slightly on one knee, grounding himself.
“then you came back into my life, and everything that felt permanent changed. not in a bad way. in a way that made my life finally make sens.”
his voice stays steady, but his eyes give him away.
“we didn’t start this when things were easy. we didn’t get the fairytale beginning where everything lines up. we had distance, timing that never quite cooperated, stretches where loving each other meant waiting. watching you work on your career while i was buried in mine. we were on different paths, with different pressures and still chose each other.”
he swallows, while watching her soak in his words.
“you never asked me to be less. never asked me to slow down my world for you. you just stepped into it and somehow made it feel lighter. safer. like no matter how loud everything got out there, i had somewhere quiet to come back to.”
his thumb rubs the edge of the ring box again, absent, familiar.
“you see me when i’m not winning. when i’m tired. when i doubt myself. you don’t care about the numbers or the noise you care about me. and that’s the thing i didn’t even realize i’d been missing.”
he exhales through his nose, a little shaky now.
“coming home to you changed the way i see everything. the game, the pressure, the future. it’s not just about what i’m chasing anymore. it’s about who i’m coming back to.”
his gaze doesn’t leave hers.
“i don’t need perfect days. i don’t need things to be simple. i want the life where we figure it out as we go. where we argue and laugh and travel and come home exhausted and still choose each other at the end of it. i want all of it—the hard parts too—as long as it’s with you.”
the waves crash and he swallows before continuing, “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
he opens the box, the ring catching the last of the sunset.
“so,” he says softly, voice low and sure, “if you’ll let me, i want to spend the rest of my life coming home to you.”
the words don’t come right away.
they catch in her throat, swallowed by the way her chest tightens so fast it almost hurts. her hands are already shaking, pressed over her mouth like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. tears blur everything—the ocean, the sky, him. until all she can really see is the shape of him on one knee, looking up at her like she’s the only thing anchoring him to the ground.
“oh auston” she breathes, voice breaking before it even has the chance to form into anything coherent.
he starts to panic, just a little, it flickers across his face, but then she’s nodding, hard, frantic, tears spilling freely now.
“yes,” she sobs. “yes. oh my god, yes.”
the sound he makes is half laugh, half broken exhale, relief crashing through him so visibly it almost knocks him sideways. he doesn’t even get the chance to stand before she’s moving, stepping into him and collapsing down, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as she falls straight into his arms.
he catches her easily, instinctively, still on one knee, arms locking around her like he’s afraid she might disappear if he lets go. her face buries into his shoulder, sobs wracking through her as the weight of it all finally breaks loose—the waiting, the distance, the travel and the almosts.
he kisses her hair, her temple, anywhere he can reach, murmuring soft, broken reassurances into her ear. "i’ve got you. now and always”
she pulls back just enough to find his face and kisses him — not careful, not composed — just pure emotion, salt and laughter and tears mixing as their mouths crash together. his free hand comes up to cradle her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek like he’s grounding himself again, like he needs to feel this is real.
when they part, she’s crying harder now, forehead pressed to his, breath uneven.
“i love you,” she chokes. "so much"
he smiles through his own glassy eyes, holding her even tighter. “i love you,” he murmurs. “more than life itself”
he stays there on one knee, refusing to move, letting her sob into him as long as she needs. rocking them slightly. steady. patient. like this is exactly where he’s meant to be.
he doesn’t rush her. he stays right there, still on one knee, arms wrapped around her as she cries into his shoulder, her hands fisted in his shirt like she’s afraid the moment might slip away if she lets go. he presses a slow kiss into her hair, grounding, steady.
then, gently, like he had one more thing on the menu tonight, he murmurs against her ear, “turn around, baby.”
she blinks, still dazed, still crying, and pulls back just enough to look at him. there’s a softness on his face now, something knowing, almost amused, like he’s been holding onto one more secret.
“what?” she whispers.
he nods gently, thumb brushing beneath her eye. “just turn around.”
confused alongside her heart still racing, she does. only to break down over again.
they’re standing just a few steps back, gathered together against the glow of the setting sun like they’ve always belonged there. her breath leaves her in a sharp, broken gasp.
her entire family.
her mom is the first one she sees her hands clasped over her mouth, tears streaming freely down her face, pride and disbelief written into every line of her expression. her dad stands beside her, arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders, eyes glassy, chin lifted like he’s trying very hard not to lose it.
“oh my baby,” he murmurs, voice thick.
marcus is there too holding back tears at his little sister’s reaction, one arm around his wife, smiling wide and unrestrained. maria stands in front of him, four years old and glowing with importance, hair pulled back neatly, eyes locked on y/n. the second their gazes meet, maria gasps.
“auntie,” she says, voice full and certain. “you’re getting married.”
y/n lets out a broken laugh as maria runs forward, throwing her arms around her waist. she drops down instantly, gathering her close, sobbing harder now.
“you knew?” y/n manages.
maria nods very seriously. “uncle tone said it was a surprise. but mama said i can say it now.”
behind her, leo hangs back for a second, six years old and suddenly shy, hands tucked into his pockets. then he steps forward, chin lifted, trying to sound grown.
“i love you, auntie,” he says, before adding quickly, “and uncle tone.”
a laugh tears out of her as she reaches for him too, pulling both kids into her arms, kissing the tops of their heads like she needs to anchor herself to something real.
nat approaches next, already crying, shaking her head with a watery smile. “i swear, i’ve held this secret for way too long,” she says, wrapping y/n in a hug that’s tight and familiar. “i’m so happy for you.”
adrian follows, steady and warm, clapping auston on the shoulder. “welcome to the family,” he says quietly, meaning it.
and then there’s naomi.
she’s crying the hardest, completely unraveled, her hands wiping uselessly at her cheeks as she steps forward. when she reaches y/n, she pulls her into a hug that feels like shared history, like late nights and survival and love that never needed words.
“you deserve this,” naomi whispers. “so much.”
y/n turns back toward auston.
he’s already standing now, close enough that she can feel his breath, his hands warm and steady as he reaches for her. the ring catches the last light of the setting sun as he slides it onto her finger slow and deliberate, like he wants to remember every second of it.
when it settles into place, something in her breaks open again.
he cups her face, forehead resting against hers, both of them breathing through it together for a moment that feels too big for words.
behind her, their families stand as one—arms linked, hands clasped, tears unhidden. two lives that ran parallel for so long, now woven together without effort, without doubt.
she laces her fingers with his, lifting their joined hands between them, staring at the ring like it’s proof of something she’s always known but never dared to say out loud.
this moment is the quiet answer to every hard year, every long night, every version of themselves that had to survive to get here.
not a beginning or an ending but instead a life finally coming into focus.
with everyone she loves standing right there to witness it.
summary — after another playoff loss, auston disappears from the spotlight and unexpectedly crosses paths with y/n—someone from a past life who feels both distant and familiar. they only have the summer, two people from different worlds colliding at the wrong time, reigniting something they never saw coming.
word count — 17k (granted this is two chapters combined)
warnings — minors dni. smut. literally right off the bat
an — thank you for your patience and all the support <3 i combined two chapters as my apology for not updating grad school is killing me. but anyways let me know your thoughts, predictions, anything (i realized i had my inbox off)
masterlist
auston wasn’t nearly as superstitious with his gameday routine as some of her peers. he heard stories about guys who planned their mornings down to the minute—who brushed their teeth several times, taped the same shin first, tied the same skate before the other, ate the same breakfast at the same time, sat in silence for exactly seven minutes before warmups.
sure, he had his habits—coffee before anyone spoke to him, stretching with music, a specific undershirt he preferred—but nothing in his world of routine could’ve prepared him for waking up the way he did.
when they fell asleep last night, he’d been more than content just having her there. he’d curled around her with quiet greed, soaking up the feel of her pressed against him, her body still fighting the three-hour time difference since he travel east demanded. he’d stayed awake longer than he should’ve, studying her in the flash of streetlight creeping through the blinds, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, letting the simplicity of holding her drag him under.
auston was usually the first one awake but this time she woke before him.
he knew something was different when the first thing he registered wasn’t light or sound—it was warmth. softness. the feather-light brush of lips against his collarbone, followed by another, and then another, moving slow and unhurried down the curve of his chest.
at first he really did think he was dreaming. his brain, thick with sleep, scrabbled to place sensation with memory—the press of her mouth tracing a lazy path up his throat, the slide of her hair against his skin. then his eyes blinked open, slow and heavy, and there she was. hair spilling forward, drowning in one of his shirts that barely hit mid-thigh, smiling against his skin like she was trying not to wake him too quickly.
“morning,” she whispered, voice low with sleep and mischief.
he made a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh, eyes half-closed as his hand automatically skimmed down her spine. “you look like you're scheming”
she tilted her head, kissing along his jaw. “how so?”
“you're awake before me,” he mumbled, catching her hand and guiding her knuckles to his mouth. he kissed them, slow and lazy. “that only when you have ideas.”
“just one,” she murmured, brushing a kiss to the corner of his lips, lingering there like heat.
she kept moving, mouth trailing back down the line of his throat, then across his chest again. each kiss landed with a softness that still managed to steal his breath. her fingers traced the planes of his stomach, following every groove like she’d mapped him out in her head weeks ago.
he thought about another superstition his former teammate had that swore off anything remotely sexual on gamedays. no distractions, no temptations, nothing that could drain his legs or his focus. auston nearly laughed out loud at the thought. with his girl in his bed on a gameday, he knew he could never live by that kind of rule. wouldn’t even try.
her lips ghosted over the ridges of his abs, and his breath hitched.
“what exactly are your plans?” he managed, voice rough.
she didn’t bother looking up. “i’m sure you can figure it out,” she said, fingers slipping to the waistband of his shorts.
he swallowed when her thumb hooked just beneath the elastic. his pulse dragged low and heavy in his stomach.
“here’s a suggestion,” he rasped, his hand sliding into her hair as he tipped his hips up just enough. “you wrap those pretty lips around my dick”
she froze just long enough to glance up at him, eyes dark, a small smirk tugging at her mouth. “do you think you deserve that?”
“do i need to remind you again about my three week-long dry spell?” he shot back, half-teasing, half-pleading.
her brow lifted. “you survived didn't you?”
“you going to make fun of me, or fix it?” he asked, breath catching when her fingertips skimmed beneath the waistband again.
she hummed, slow and thoughtful, like she had all the time in the world to decide how much mercy to show him. “depends…”
“on?” he pushed, voice cracking when she pressed a kiss just above the hem of his shorts.
“how polite you ask,” she whispered against his skin.
his eyes fluttered shut, a smile tugging at his lips. “please,” he said, already wrecked and she’d barely touched him. “be nice to me.”
her laugh was quiet, warm, and wicked. “oh, i plan to be.”
she pressed one last kiss to his stomach, right above the drawstring of his shorts, then shifted just enough to slide her fingers beneath the waistband. he sucked in a breath, hips jerking before he could stop them.
“needy,” she teased, dragging the fabric down agonizingly slow.
he propped himself on his elbows, watching her with heavy eyes and a lazy grin. “you woke me up like this. what’d you expect me to be, calm?”
she shimmied the shorts down his legs and tossed them aside, her gaze dragging over him with intent that made his pulse thud in his throat. her hands traced the insides of his thighs, barely touching, nails scraping just enough to make him tense.
“you said please,” she murmured, voice warm and almost sweet. “so i guess i can be generous.”
“guess?” he repeated, breath catching when her mouth brushed the sharp line of his hip. “that’s real cute.”
“you want cute,” she said, kissing the spot again, “or you want what you asked for?”
he dragged a hand through her hair, eyes glued to her mouth as she inched lower. “you know what i want.”
her lips hovered just above where he was already hard for her, warm breath ghosting over his skin. she looked up at him through her lashes, smug and devastating. “then lie back.”
he did. immediately. spine melting into the mattress, fingers tightening in the sheets as she settled between his legs, her hair spilling over his stomach. she flattened her tongue and gave one slow, deliberate lick up the length of him—barely applying pressure, just enough to make his head fall back into the pillow with a sharp exhale.
“fuck,” he muttered, voice already raw. “you’re actually trying to kill me today.”
she hummed like she was flattered by the accusation, her hand wrapping around the base of him as she took the tip into her mouth. the heat of it, the wet pull of her lips—he felt his entire body tense, a low sound tearing from his throat.
“jesus,” he groaned, one hand flying to her shoulder before sliding up the back of her neck. not pushing—just holding. grounding. needing.
she worked him slow at first, like she was savoring the effect. the soft suck, the swirl of her tongue, the drag of her fingers along the underside. every few seconds she glanced up to watch his face, and every time she did, his jaw clenched a little tighter.
“you have no idea,” he panted, “how much i missed this.”
she pulled off just enough to stroke him with her hand, lips shiny, eyes dark. “missed me?” she asked, pretending innocence.
“missed your fucking mouth,” he corrected, breathless.
her answering smile was dangerous. “good.”
before he could say anything else, she sank back down, taking him deeper this time. his hips lifted off the mattress, a guttural sound escaping before he could bite it back.
he forced his eyes open, needing to see her—her fingers curled around him, the stretch of her lips, the slow bob of her head. she was ruining him, and she knew it.
“you keep that up,” he warned, voice frayed at the edges, “i'll be useless by warmups”
she smirked around him—he actually felt it—and kept going, unbothered.
“you're their captain,” she said when she came up for a breath, stroking him lazily, “surely. they'll understand his girlfriend wouldn’t let him leave the bed?”
“they might when i show up with jelly legs,” he shot back, eyes screwed shut when she licked a stripe up the underside.
“mmm.” she pressed a teasing kiss to the tip. “then maybe you should focus.”
“i am focused,” he rasped. “on you.”
she rewarded him by sliding her mouth over him again, deeper, slower, and his hand clamped gently at the back of her head, more a plea than any attempt to guide her.
his breathing turned ragged. his thighs tensed. she could tell he was close—she always could—and instead of slowing, she hollowed her cheeks and took just a little more of him, dragging a moan from somewhere low in his chest.
“fuck—baby—” his voice broke, hips stuttering. “i'm—”
she didn’t stop. didn’t ease up. and he couldn’t hold on a second longer if his life depended on it.
it hit fast and hard—his head tipping back, his hand fisting in her hair, a hoarse groan of her name ripping out of him like it had been building for days.
she didn’t pull away until he was done, until his hips stopped twitching and his breathing slowed from frantic to shaky.
only then did she kiss the inside of his thigh and crawl back up his body, straddling his waist like she belonged there.
he was still catching his breath, hair a mess, eyes heavy when he finally managed, “if we win today, i’m crediting you in every interview.”
she laughed softly, leaning down to brush their noses together. “i already know i’m your good luck.”
“you’re my everything,” he said before he could stop himself—not embarrassed, not apologizing for it, just stating fact.
her smile faltered into something softer. “then you better score for me.”
he tilted his head and kissed her slow, curling his fingers around the back of her neck. “i’ll score two.”
she raised a brow, amused. “cocky.”
he looked her straight in the eye, lips brushing hers again, voice quiet but certain. “motivated.”
he rolled onto his back, arm looping around her waist, pulling her on top of him so she straddled his hips. sunlight cut through the blinds, catching in her hair, painting her in gold. he swore under his breath, smiling faintly. “god, you’re unreal.”
she kissed him once more, softer this time, and he knew—more than any superstition, any routine, any rhythm of his career—that this was what grounded him.
not luck or superstition just her.
she checked her reflection one last time in the hallway mirror — jersey straight, lip gloss mostly recovered, hair fixed where auston’s hands had tried their best to ruin it.
felix sat by the front door like he could sense she was leaving again, tail thumping slowly against the floor in judgment.
“i’ll be back in a few hours,” she promised, crouching to scratch behind his ears. “and i’ll bring your dad home in one piece. ideally.”
he huffed, unconvinced.
a sharp double honk outside cut through the quiet. she stood, grabbed her bag, and opened the door just as willy’s girlfriend leaned across the passenger seat of a sleek black SUV and yelled out the window:
“get in loser, we’re going to the boy aquarium.”
she laughed — nerves loosening instantly — and jogged down the steps.
“okay, regina george,” she said as she climbed in, buckling up. “you realize i have no idea what i’m doing, right?”
“good,” she said, shifting into drive with a grin. “it’s more fun that way.”
they pulled away from the house, autumn air fogging the windows slightly.
“i still can’t believe you pulled off that birthday dinner,” she added after a beat. “he hasn’t shut up about it. like, genuinely — i’ve heard ‘i can’t believe she did that’ at least thirty times.”
warmth bloomed in her chest. she tried to play it cool. failed.
“honestly, i’m shocked nobody spoiled it,” she admitted. “i thought for sure your man would’ve slipped.”
“william did slip,” she snorted. “but luckily auston was too busy chirping him to notice.”
they drove in easy silence for a moment, city streets shifting as they got closer to downtown. she noticed how traffic thickened, people in blue jerseys everywhere — little kids with foam fingers, couples in matching sweaters, scalpers already shouting outside convenience stores.
“this is insane,” she murmured, staring out the window. “i’ve never seen anything like this. they’re all here for preseaon?”
“welcome to toronto,” the other woman said, smiling knowingly. “this isn’t just a sport here. it’s way of life. and tonight… you're getting thrown right into the thick of it .”
the words hit her harder than she expected.
that’s auston. that’s who he is here. she swallowed.
“does it ever get i don't know. less overwhelming?” she asked quietly.
“no,” she said honestly. “but you get better at carving out the parts that feel like yours.”
she glanced over.
“and from what i saw at that birthday dinner? he’s already made it pretty clear what part is yours.”
heat flushed her cheeks.
she stared out the windshield, heart pounding faster with every street they passed.
scotiabank arena rose ahead — glowing like some kind of temple.
and for the first time all day, it hit her: she was about to watch him play. in his world. wearing his name.
the elevator chimed softly before the doors slid open to a private floor, and the deafening roar from the lower bowl faded into something deeper — a vibration she could feel in her ribs. even this high up, the arena seemed alive. the walls thrummed like a pulse.
they moved down a long hallway lined with framed photos of leafs and raptors legends. everything smelled faintly of new carpet and cold air. below, through the glass railing, fans swarmed through the concourse in a sea of blue and white — dads hoisting little boys in tiny 34 jerseys, teenage girls with glittery signs that read marry me willy, middle-aged men already heated over line changes.
she tugged at the sleeves of her own jersey — his name across her shoulders, the captain’s patch stitched over her heart — suddenly hyperaware of the fabric against her skin.
the woman walking with her looked completely at ease, chatting with two ushers by name, flashing her badge to security with a wink as someone handed her a lanyard. she didn’t hesitate, didn’t glance around for reassurance. she belonged here in a way that made y/n’s chest tighten.
y/n wasn’t sure where she belonged.
they reached the “wag suite,” the door propped slightly open, warm light spilling into the hallway. laughter drifted out, overlapping with the clink of glassware and the faint scent of perfume and catered appetizers.
inside were four women she’d definitely seen in the background of tagged photos online, plus a toddler in a leafs onesie methodically chewing the tip of a foam finger. glossy hair, tailored trousers, diamonds catching the light when they moved.
not a single jersey in sight.
she hesitated just inside the doorway, heat spreading across the back of her neck. suddenly her leather skirt felt too short. the thigh-high boots — too much. the way she’d tucked his jersey just enough to show leg — stupid. her hair — undone. her makeup — too extra. her nails — too bold.
she leaned in close to the woman beside her, her voice barely above a whisper. “wait was this not the right— are we supposed not suppose to wear jerseys?"
the other woman followed her gaze — pearl studs, silk blouses, blowouts, manicures. one of the wives wore Louboutins.
“oh. shit,” she muttered. “forgot to mention — some of them prefer… cocktail hour chic. don’t stress. more people will come.”
“i just—” y/n looked down at herself helplessly. “i feel like i missed the memo.”
“you didn’t,” she said firmly. “you look like someone who actually likes hockey. trust me, that’s rare.”
before y/n could reply, someone across the suite called her name. she pressed a quick squeeze to y/n’s arm. “give me two minutes. i left something in the car. grab a seat, i’ll be right back.”
and then she was gone.
well — not entirely gone. two women glanced over and offered polite smiles before drifting back into a conversation about private preschools and wintering back home. the toddler’s foam finger squeaked against the glass.
y/n sat down near the window, perching stiffly in a plush seat and setting her bag in her lap like a shield. she could see the ice below — glowing white under the lights, like a stage waiting for players to storm it. the first guys were trickling out for warmups, blades cutting clean lines as they stepped onto the surface.
she found him instantly.
thirty-four. the C stitched bold on his chest. hair tucked behind one ear beneath his helmet. his strides were easy, confident, familiar. he looked like this was gravity — like the puck would bend toward him if it knew what was good for it.
he didn’t look nervous.
he looked home.
her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. a thought she hadn’t meant to think surfaced anyway: am i cut out for this?
her phone lit up in her hand — a string of texts from her sister, a photo of maria sprawled upside down on the couch, a random screenshot she’d forgotten to delete. then in her background a photo of auston and her sprawled on the couch with felix. his nose pressed to her neck like she was the only thing worth breathing in.
her throat ached before she could swallow it down.
she didn’t register someone returning until a soft thump hit the seat beside her.
she looked up and there she was plopped down with a dramatic exhale, now wearing an nylander 88 jersey over what was definitely a her designer top.
“figured you looked lonely,” she said, nudging y/n’s shoulder with a grin that was too easy to fake. “couldn’t let you be the only one repping tonight.”
y/n’s eyes stung more than she wanted to admit. “you really didn’t have to—”
“hey,” the other woman cut in, already reaching for a can of sparkling water. “this isn’t a fashion show. it’s hockey night.”
y/n blinked, uncertain. “but i thought everyone—”
“they’re a little more lax preseason but when the season starts the girls and the kids are wearing jerseys every night” she said, waving a hand. “besides it's scientifically proven the guys play better when the people they care about are wearing their names.”
the laugh that slipped out of y/n was shaky, but real. the knot in her chest loosened a fraction. the roar of the crowd below swelled as more players hit the ice, sticks tapping, pucks cracking off boards.
for the first time since stepping into the arena, she felt the knot in her chest release.
"ready?” willy’s girlfriend asked as she stood, smoothing her jersey like she’d done this a thousand times.
“define ready,” y/n muttered, clutching her phone like a flotation device.
“too late,” she grinned, hooking an arm through hers and dragging her toward the door. “you’re officially in wag territory now. no running.”
the hallways underneath scotiabank were colder, the sound of blades and pucks echoing in bursts like thunderclaps in a cave. every few feet was a staffer or security guard giving friendly nods — not to y/n, but to the woman leading her. like she belonged here. y/n still had to get use to flashing her pass.
“so we just walk right up to the glass?” she whispered.
“yep.” she said with her certainty, like she'd done this all before.
“and they just… see us?”
“yup.”
“do we wave? how would he find us?” she asked feeling like a fish out of water.
they stepped out of the tunnel and everything hit at once.
the cold slapped first, crisp and sharp, carrying that clean metallic scent of ice and rubber. lights blazed overhead like a thousand suns. music thumped through the boards, vibrating up y/n’s shoes. players flew past like comets, skates carving into the surface with surgical precision.
she barely had time to adjust when auston spotted her.
of course he did — he was circling near the blue line, and the second his eyes flicked toward their directiom, his entire body changed. pace slowed. shoulders dropped with familiarity. his mouth tugged into a look he only wore for her — soft, intimate, private.
he didn’t even pretend to keep warming up. he just skated straight over.
y/n’s hands fidgeted uselessly at her sides, unsure if she was supposed to wave or press against the glass dramatically like all the romance films she'd ever watched. she settled for standing there frozen, her heart beating a mile a minute.
auston stopped right in front of her, visor fogged slightly from his breath. he lifted his gloved fist and rapped twice against the glass.
she jumped as he laughed at her reaction. as soon as he stood face-to-face with her through the glass, her brain melted.
his gaze dipped — slowly — taking in his jersey draped over her, tucked casually into that leather skirt, one hip cocked, boots tall enough to be illegal. he tilted his head like he was appreciating fine art.
her face went hot at his blatant ogling. to distract from her shyness at his watchful eyes, she mouthed, what?
he mouthed back, exaggerated and slow — you look hot
“you’ve got people watching, superstar,” she mouthed, pointing toward a group calling his name.
auston just shrugged, grin widening beneath his visor. he lifted a gloved hand like so what? then pointed right back at her, mouthing, only see you.
she groaned, covering her face with both hands, though she couldn’t stop smiling.
william’s girlfriend laughed under her breath. “yeah, no, he’s done for.”
as if summoned by the insult, william skated in like a golden retriever on blades.
"look who’s joined the show!” he announced, resting his chin dramatically on his stick. “nice jersey. but you could’ve matched with my girl.”
“keep dreaming,” auston said without looking away from y/n.
“she’ll convert,” william shrugged. “everyone does eventually.”
“not this one.”
“we’ll see.”
y/n finally found her voice, pressing a hand to the glass. “hi.”
auston’s gaze softened like she’d flipped a switch inside him.
he matched her hand through the glass, palm to palm, even though there was an inch of g;ass between them.
“stop flirting during warmups,” willy teased, there was no bite to his words.
auston smirked — that deadly, dimpled, she’s mine kind of smirk — then pushed off with a promise in his eyes that made her entire spine go weak.
as he skated away, william muttered loud enough for everyone to hear:
“fucking whipped.”
auston raised his glove without turning and flipped him off casually.
y/n laughed so hard she nearly fogged up the glass herself.
they didn’t stay upstairs long.
as soon as warmups ended and the guys disappeared down the tunnel, someone suggested drinks and the whole suite shifted like they’d done this a hundred times — a couple of the girls drifting to the bar tucked in the corner, another bouncing the toddler on her hip while scrolling her phone. chatter picked back up, easy and familiar.
“come on,” the other woman said, tugging y/n’s sleeve before she could overthink it. “we’ll grab something and head back down for puck drop.”
“we’re going back to the glass?” y/n asked, trying not to sound surprised.
“first few minutes are the best views,” she said. “before the crowd fully packs in.”
they each took a drink — hers untouched in her hand — and headed back down the private stairs toward ice level.
closer to puck drop, the arena grew louder now. seats filling. fans thumping on the boards. the anthems buzzed through the air, and y/n could feel every vibration in her sternum.
she tried to focus on the familiar — that jersey on her back, his name heavy against her shoulder blades…but being this close? she wasn’t prepared.
the opening faceoff snapped like a gunshot.
auston was out for the first shift.
she pressed near the glass with the others, forcing a steady breath. the game was faster from here — too fast. bodies crashed together like collisions in traffic, skates cutting like knives, the boards shaking with every check.
then came the first real hit.
a forward from ottawa tried to cut up the wall with the puck and two leafs players crushed him into the boards with the kind of force you feel in your ribs. the glass shuddered. the fans roared. someone beside her clapped.
y/n flinched so hard her drink nearly sloshed.
she stared at the divot the body left in the reflection and suddenly her lungs didn’t feel big enough. she glanced at the bench, searching for him — helmet, visor, shoulders broad under blue — just to make sure he was upright, breathing, intact.
she felt a bit out of place, her nerves tingling as she observed the scene around her. everyone seemed so at ease, even when the hits came swiftly. the crowd's energy was infectious, and she watched them process each line change with a speed that was hard for her to grasp, feeling a mix of awe and uncertainty.
the play resumed. another hit rattled the dashers five feet from where she stood. the crack of sticks, the scrape of blades, the slap of a blocked shot — it was all teeth and bone and noise.
her fingers tightened around the cup until the plastic crunched.
she didn’t say anything. didn’t move. just stared with wide, unblinking eyes, the kind that come with every muscle held too tight. she could already feel her heartbeat in her throat.
beside her, willy's girlfriend didn’t say a word — but wordlessly noticed.
she shifted her drink to one hand, and without making a scene, brushed her knuckles gently against y/n’s arm. a silent hey. i see you.
the period dragged and blurred all at once. she tracked him every shift, counting the seconds until he hit the bench, until his gloved hand tugged at his chin strap, until he stood up again and vanished back into the chaos.
by the time the horn sounded, she wasn’t sure if she’d breathed at all.
fans cheered. the teams funneled out of the tunnel. she finally exhaled.
she was still trying to get her breathing under control when something shifted on the ice.
midway through the period, he hopped over the boards for his second shift. she tracked him without meaning to — the way he accelerated through the neutral zone, how the puck found him like it always did.
the leafs cycled once, twice. then it happened so fast she almost missed it.
a give-and-go near the hashmarks — a pass from ekman-larsson, a flash of blue, and auston ripped it off his blade like it was nothing. the puck sailed clean over the goalie’s shoulder, kissed the crossbar, and dropped into the net.
the horn went off like the roof split and before she processed the crowd erupt she was on her feet
her free hand slammed against the glass with a sharp smack as she clapped, her drink forgotten, a startled laugh catching in her throat. the rush of it — pride, relief, adrenaline — hit harder than she expected.
not some lazy glance. not a quick sweep of the boards.
he found her.
through all the bodies on the ice, through the bench erupting behind him, through the chaos of the goal horn and fans losing their minds — his eyes went straight to her.
and it wasn’t just a glance. it was intentional. like even in the noise and the blur of blue and white, she was the only thing that mattered.
the second he saw her hand pressed to the glass, his mouth curved. not a grin, not for the cameras or the boys — just this small, private smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. the kind that belonged to her and only her.
he lifted his stick and tapped the glass right in front of her — once, quick, before skating away toward his bench.
and just like that, something in her chest loosened.
the panic that had been clawing up her ribs dulled. the crowd’s roar turned into background noise. her heart still beat too fast, but it didn’t feel like it was trying to escape anymore. a flush of warmth climbed up her neck as she realized she was still pressed against the glass like a kid, grinning like an idiot.
“you okay?” the other woman asked, voice soft but knowing, eyes still on the ice.
y/n swallowed, her gaze locked where he’d just been seconds ago. “yeah,” she breathed, almost disbelieving how steady she sounded. “yeah, i’m okay.”
and she meant it.
they stayed until the next whistle — until the play slowed, his line changed, and the rhythm of the game found its hum again. once she saw him back on the bench, helmet tilted up as he sipped from his bottle, she finally stepped back.
“ready to head up?” the other woman asked gently, glancing at her with a small smile, already knowing the answer.
y/n nodded. “yeah. before i forget how to breathe again.”
the other woman laughed quietly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “come on. first period’s enough exposure therapy for one night.”
they slipped away from the glass before the puck dropped again, ducking into the tunnel just as the next line jumped over the boards.
she didn’t tease her or try to fill the silence — just walked beside her toward the elevator, letting the crowd and noise swallow everything else.
y/n didn’t get the chance to say thank you, but she didn’t need to. there was something in the way the other woman’s expression softened — a quiet kind of understanding that said it’s okay.
her shoulders dropped half an inch as the elevator doors slid shut, the roar of the arena turning into a muffled hum. it was enough to breathe again.
once he was back on the bench, helmet tilted up as he drank from his bottle, she finally stepped back.
“ready to head up?” she asked, like it wasn’t a question she already knew the answer to.
y/n nodded.
the anxiety wasn’t gone — but it wasn’t choking her anymore. not when he could look at her like that in the middle of it all.
they slipped away from the glass before the puck dropped again, disappearing into the tunnel just as the next line jumped over the boards
“come on,” the other woman said simply, nodding toward the concourse. “we’ll head back up. first period’s enough exposure therapy for one night.”
she didn’t tease her. didn’t call her out. just walked with her toward the elevator, letting the crowds and noise swallow the silence between them.
y/n didn’t say get the chance to thank her but by the care etched across her new friend's face she knew . she didn’t have to.
her shoulders dropped half an inch as the door slid shut behind them and the roar of the arena turned back into a hum, and that was enough to know she was understood
being back in the suite helped more than she expected. the energy was still there, but muted — laughter, the low buzz of conversation, the clink of glasses. she could breathe here.
the nerves that had been clawing up her spine near the ice had eased after his goal — after the way he’d found her through the chaos, eyes locking like she was the only person in the arena. now, between periods, she sat cross-legged on the carpet with two of the little kids who belonged to one of the older players.
one was scribbling furiously on a coloring sheet of carlton the bear, markers squeaking across the page. the other, a toddler with a pacifier and cheeks round as apples, kept offering her goldfish one by one, grinning each time she took one. y/n didn’t mind — she’d take this over small talk any day.
around them, the suite buzzed with conversation, the girls swapping stories and laughing. but y/n was perfectly happy where she was — shoes off, hair down, being used as a human beanbag. the hum of the rink below felt far away.
she was helping one of the kids peel stickers from a sheet when the suite door opened behind them. she didn’t look up at first, assuming it was someone grabbing another drink or a staffer passing through.
a voice, light and teasing, broke through: “brace yourself — they take forever coming up after games.”
y/n smiled faintly at that, not realizing the irony until another woman murmured, “i think that one’s yours.”
she turned and there he was.
helmet gone, hair damp like he rushed out the shower, that faint, intoxicating mix of cold air, ice, and his cologne clinging to him. he wasn’t in a suit tonight — just that soft navy sweater she loved, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, straight-legged pants that made him look impossibly relaxed, and the silver chain she’d given him glinting faintly at his collarbone. her pulse jumped.
his stride was unhurried, confident — the kind of quiet that filled a room without needing to try. in his hand, he held something small and black.
a puck.
but not just any puck.
“thought you might want this,” he said, voice low, warm, that teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
she blinked. “is that—”
“this is for your first game,” he confirmed, stepping closer, holding it out between two fingers. “johnny snagged it for me.”
she gasped, her face lighting up in a way that drew half the suite’s attention. “are you serious? this is the same puck?”
he grinned, watching her eyes go wide as she turned it over in her hands, studying every scuff mark and streak of rubber. “it even looks like it went in hard,” she murmured, almost reverent.
“it did,” he said, soft and close now. “you should’ve seen your face when it hit the net.”
someone nearby chuckled. “we did. the jumbotron did too.”
auston’s grin deepened. “it was a good view.”
“oh my god,” she whispered, mortified and blushing. “they showed me?”
“front and center,” he murmured, leaning down so his breath brushed her ear. “it was the perfect pick-me-up.”
she swatted at his arm lightly, but couldn’t stop smiling. before she could say anything else, he shifted behind her, guiding her back toward the couch. he sank into it, pulling her gently with him until she was settled between his legs, back to his chest, the puck still warm from her hands.
his arms came around her waist, the weight of them solid and secure. his thumbs brushed idly along the hem of the oversized jersey, just enough to make her squirm. she could feel his breath against her temple, his chain brushing her neck when he leaned close.
“you’re so easy to please,” he teased, voice low, lips ghosting near her ear.
“you literally scored a goal and brought me the puck,” she said, twisting slightly to look up at him. “this is top-tier boyfriend behaviour.”
he chuckled, low and soft. “good. i like setting the bar high.”
“dangerous move,” she murmured, turning the puck over in her hand. “now you have to keep it up.”
“i’ll manage.”
his voice dipped, the teasing melting into something tender. “you looked good tonight, by the way.”
she tilted her head. “you think so?”
“yeah,” he said simply, eyes dragging over her with that familiar mix of affection and heat. “i can see why you’re captain. you belong here.”
her breath hitched — not from the words, but from the way he said them. slow and certain.
willy’s girlfriend caught the moment from across the room, smiling softly before lifting her phone. the quiet click of the shutter barely broke the moment as she captured it — y/n in his jersey, puck in her hands, his arms wrapped around her like she was the only thing anchoring him to earth.
“ready to go home after this?” she asked quietly, tilting her head back against his shoulder.
“home,” he repeated softly, liking the sound of it on her tongue. “yeah. let’s get out of here.”
she nodded, standing when he did. she tucked the puck carefully into her bag like it was made of glass.
she made the rounds — hugs, thank-yous, goodbyes. when she reached willy’s girlfriend, she squeezed her hand. “thank you for tonight. really. and i guess see you later? we’re heading out early tomorrow for my sister’s wedding.”
the other woman grinned. “congratulations to her. and thank you! honestly? i don’t know how i’m supposed to go back to normal game days after this. you’ve ruined it for me.”
y/n laughed, cheeks warm. “i’ll take that as a compliment.”
auston’s hand found the small of her back as he led her toward the door, his thumb tracing lazy circles there as they walked down the quiet hall. her bag was light except for the weight of that single puck, and it felt like carrying proof of everything that mattered.
the night outside hummed low and distant, but in here, it was just them — the hum of the lights, his hand steady on her spine, and the easy quiet of two people who didn’t need to fill the silence to be full.
and as they stepped out of the suite, y/n realized she didn’t just feel proud of him — she felt part of it. part of him.
and he, every glance, every touch, made sure she knew it.
the car had barely moved out of the arena parking lot before y/n’s head tipped against the window. the adrenaline had finally faded, leaving her muscles slack and her eyelids impossibly heavy. she’d tried to keep up conversation, asking questions about the game, teasing auston about how dramatic the goal celebrations looked on tv — but somewhere along the gardiner, she’d drifted off, soft snores barely audible over the hum of the engine.
auston glanced at her from the driver’s seat, the glow of streetlights flickering across her sleeping face. she looked small, almost fragile, even though he knew how much chaos she’d just survived. her hand still clutched the strap of the bag with the puck, her other hand resting limply against the door.
he sighed, a mix of pride and protectiveness twisting in his chest. she handled long trips, big games, crowds — but seeing her like this made him realize how much he needed to look after her, at least for the next few hours. and tomorrow, another flight awaited. another early morning, another hotel. he hated that it was always this hard on her.
“almost there, baby,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. she shifted slightly, burrowing closer to the window, muffling a little sigh. he reached over, brushing a lock of hair from her face, careful not to wake her.
the drive crawled through traffic — the city stretched on endlessly, red brake lights reflecting in the rain-speckled windshield. auston’s mind wandered, counting the minutes until he could get her inside and warm.
finally, the garage door rumbled open, and he eased the car inside. carefully, he unbuckled her seatbelt, then lifted her effortlessly, holding her close as she murmured incoherent sleep-heavy words against his chest.
“i’ve got you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “let’s get you inside.”
she stirred as he carried her through the front door, blinking at the warm light and the familiar scent of his home. “auston… you’re… you’re supposed to be tired too,” she muttered, eyes half-lidded, “i should be taking care of you.”
he laughed softly, shaking his head. “you think i haven’t been hit into the boards? i’m fine. besides taking care of my girl is not a job i take lightly get to take care of my girl. that’s my job tonight.”
she tried to protest, but her words dissolved into a yawn. he guided her to the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed. she curled slightly, still in her jacket and skirt from the arena.
“okay,” he said, tugging the zipper of her jacket down and sliding it off her shoulders. “let’s get you comfortable.”
“i’m the worst girlfriend,” she murmured, sitting up just enough to let him help her change into softer clothes. “you’re the one who should be—”
“shh,” he said, pressing a finger to her lips with a teasing grin. “i said i’m fine. really. i just want you relaxed.”
her shoulders eased, and she finally let herself sink into his touch as he helped her into a loose t-shirt and soft leggings. every movement was careful, gentle, like he was holding something precious and he was, because she was yhe most precious person in his life.
once she was settled, he sat back on the edge of the bed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “so first game,” he prompted softly, “how’d it feel?”
y/n leaned back against him, head resting on his shoulder, breathing deep. “intense,” she said, voice low. “overwhelming… but… amazing. i didn’t realize how fast it all moves. and… seeing you score? there’s nothing like it ” she trailed off, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
he chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “i told you i'd score for you. i’d do anything for you” he teased.
they fell into a quiet rhythm — her hand tracing patterns on his arm, his arm around her waist, grounding her after all the chaos of the ice.
felix padded into the room quietly, tail wagging, nuzzling against her leg. y/n laughed softly, rubbing his ears, and auston smiled, watching her relax completely for the first time since the game.
“we’ll get through tomorrow’s travel too,” he said quietly, more to himself. “but tonight… tonight you just rest.”
she blinked up at him, sleep still heavy in her eyes. “promise we can talk about the game later?”
“of course,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to her temple. “we’ll relive everything later but right now, sleep. you deserve it.”
she yawned, curling fully against him. “you’re the best,” she whispered, voice fading.
“and you’re mine,” he said, brushing her hair back and holding her close. “now rest. i’ve got you.”
and finally, she let herself fall fully asleep, breathing slow and even, while auston lay beside her, thinking quietly about how lucky he was to have her — and how he’d keep taking care of her, every game, every trip, every night.
the next morning the light spilled in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, pale and slow, catching on the half-packed suitcases by the door. her dress garment bag hung on the closet handle, his suit already folded with obsessive neatness. the condo looked lived-in in a way it hadn’t before she came — her shoes by the entry, a mug with lipstick on the counter, a hair tie on the coffee table. it made the space feel fuller. it made what came after feel worse.
she was crouched by the couch, triple-checking the gift bags. “your mom’s is wrapped, my mom’s is wrapped, nat’s is wrapped—”
“and the kids?” auston leaned in the doorway of the bedroom, arms folded across his chest, hair still damp from the shower. he’d woken up before her, made coffee, tried not to think about her emptying out his home again in a few days.
she didn’t look up. “yes, the gremlins too.”
“all the nieces and nephews,” he corrected absentmindedly, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “don’t forget my medal for ‘best boyfriend slash wedding guest.’”
she shot him a dry look over her shoulder. “you already got that when you sent my mom flowers on mother’s day.”
“you’re just mad she likes me more than you now.”
“you’re a suck-up,” she muttered, tying the ribbon tighter than necessary. “you could charm a brick wall.”
“worked on you, didn’t it?.”
she rolled her eyes, but her mouth curved. “barely.”
he watched her for a beat — the way she sat back on her heels, how her sweatshirt slid off one shoulder, how she looked at the pile of luggage like it was a countdown clock. he could feel the shift in it, the almost-ending. tomorrow they’d land in arizona, and after the wedding… he’d fly back to toronto alone. she’d go home to her apartment, her job, her life.
it had been easy here — too easy. waking up with her, falling asleep with her, tripping over felix together in the hallway. his mom had looked him dead in the eye in mexico and said, “why haven’t you asked her to move in yet?” and he’d had no good answer. maybe because he was terrified she’d say no. maybe because she hadn’t asked either.
she stood and brushed off her knees, pretending she didn’t feel his eyes on her. “should we leave in like an hour? i still have to do my hair.”
he didn’t respond right away. he just crossed the space between them and slid his arms around her from behind, his chin fitting into the curve where her neck met her shoulder. she stilled, then melted, like she always did with him.
“you packed your suit, right?” she asked, trying for lightness.
he hummed, not really answering, his nose in her hair. she smelled like his body wash. like she belonged here.
“and your tie?”
“mhm.”
“and your shoes—”
“stop worrying about me,” he mumbled against her skin, his hands flattening over her stomach. “i’m more organized than you.”
she scoffed softly. “that’s debatable.”
he didn’t let go. didn’t step back. just sighed into her, like he could delay time by holding her tighter.
“it’s gonna suck when you’re not here,” he said finally, quiet, almost offhand — but not really.
her fingers curled around his forearms. she didn’t turn around. “i know.
they stood there, letting the silence stretch, pretending it wasn’t saying everything they hadn’t.
she could feel his heartbeat against her back, steady and heavy, and for a second she thought about saying it — the thing that had been pressing on her ribs since mexico, since the night before he left for camp, since before either of them would admit how bad the distance hurt. but the words lodged in her throat the way they always did.
“we’ll figure it out,” she said instead, barely above a whisper. unsure like she was convincing herself.
he nodded against her shoulder like he wanted to believe it. like maybe if he didn’t move, didn’t breathe too hard, she wouldn’t slip through his fingers again.
“you sure you have everything?” he asked, his voice rough in a way that made it sound like so much more than what he was saying.
“yes,” she murmured. “and yes, that includes the gifts. and no, i didn’t forget your shoes.”
“just checking.” his lips brushed the side of her neck, lingering there. “you know i only nag because i care.”
she huffed out a tiny laugh. “you nag because you’re you.”
he didn’t deny it. “and you love me.”
she didn’t deny that either. “unfortunately.”
that earned her a soft pinch at her hip and his breath warm in her ear. “you’re lucky i’m secure.”
she turned in his arms then, finally facing him. his hair was still a little messy from the towel, his jaw shadowed, eyes soft in that way they only ever were with her. he looked like home. and she hated that in forty-eight hours, he wouldn’t be.
“seriously, though,” he said, brushing a piece of hair off her forehead, “we land, do rehearsal dinner, survive your sister’s wrath—”
“i don’t think anyone can survive nat’s wrath.”
“true,” he said, deadpan, and she flicked his chest, making him grin. “but after the wedding…”
she swallowed, knowing where he was going.
“i don’t like thinking about going back without you,” he admitted. no joke in it, no teasing. just truth.
her fingers found the hem of his t-shirt, curling there. “i know.”
“and felix’s gonna stage a hunger strike with the sitter.”
that pulled a real laugh out of her, shaky but there. “he’s probably more attached to you than me at this point.”
“he’s got taste.”
she rose on her toes and kissed him once — slow, quiet, apologetic for something neither of them had named. he cupped the back of her neck like he was scared she’d vanish if he let go.
when she pulled back, his eyes searched hers. “we should leave soon.”
“yeah,” she said, but neither of them moved.
“you’re not allowed to sit six rows away from me on the plane again,” he added, as if that settled it. “i’m claiming the window seat and your entire thigh.”
“bold of you to assume i won’t ditch you for more leg room,” she said, trying for light, but her voice wobbled halfway through.
he didn’t let it slide. “hey.” his thumb traced her cheek. “we have a few more days. let me be happy about that before i start missing you.”
her throat tightened, and she just nodded.
he kissed her again, slower this time, like he was memorising. then, with reluctance stitched through every movement, he let his forehead rest against hers and whispered, “come on, baby. let’s go watch your sister get married and try not to think about the part where i don’t get to take you home after.”
the morning started too early — that bleary, gray kind of early that made the airport lights too bright and the coffee too weak. she was still rubbing sleep from her eyes when auston took the handle of her suitcase right out of her hand.
“i’ve got it,” he said simply, already wheeling it toward the check-in counter.
“auston,” she tried, soft but amused. “i can—”
he looked back at her, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth. “you can let me do this. i like feeling useful.”
she rolled her eyes but followed, the smile impossible to fight. he’d been like that all morning — hovering, double-checking the boarding passes, tucking her passport in the front pocket of her tote. half boyfriend, half overprotective bodyguard.
by the time they made it through security, he had her coffee in one hand, her carry-on slung over his shoulder.
“you’re spoiling me,” she said when he handed her the cup, fingers brushing his.
he gave a short laugh, eyes soft. “good. maybe you’ll miss me more when you’re in arizona and i’m stuck back in toronto.”
the words landed quietly between them — the reminder that this trip would end with a flight in opposite directions. she looked up at him, lips parting to say something, but he reached for her hand before she could. “come on. gate’s this way.”
the flight wasn’t full, which felt like luck. they got two seats together near the back — window and middle — and the moment the seatbelt sign went off, she curled against him, head on his shoulder, his hand tracing slow circles on her thigh beneath the blanket.
“comfortable?” he murmured, voice low, almost sleepy.
“mhm,” she hummed, eyes half-shut.
he kissed the top of her head. “good. stay like that.”
the rest of the flight was quiet. she dozed on and off; he scrolled absently through his phone, replying to a few messages, glancing down at her every now and then like he couldn’t believe she was real. when turbulence hit lightly, she shifted in her sleep and he tightened his arm around her automatically.
by the time they landed in california, the sun was a soft, golden blur across the sky. he grabbed her bag from the overhead compartment before she could even reach for it.
“you’re really determined to make me useless,” she teased as they walked through the terminal.
“i just like taking care of you,” he said easily. “just like taking care of you.”
that made her heart tug, though she hid it behind a small smile. “i need to be careful when your this sweet”
“jokes on you, i’m always sweet ”
when they got to their room, they barely had two hours before the rehearsal dinner. he kicked off his shoes, dropping their bags by the wall, and collapsed backward onto the bed with a groan.
“five minutes,” he said, eyes closing.
“five turns into hours with you,” she said, tugging at his arm.
he caught her hand and pulled her down on top of him instead, his grin slow and lazy. “then stay with me.”
she sighed but melted against him anyway, her cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “you just want an excuse to nap.”
“no,” he said, voice already low, thumb tracing the hem of her shirt. “i just want an excuse to hold you before everything gets crazy.”
she smiled against him. “you’re getting sentimental on me.”
“don’t tell the guys.”
the room went still, their bodies tangled, sunlight spilling through gauzy curtains. it was the kind of quiet that made everything else disappear.
until the door burst open.
“are you kidding me?” nat’s voice rang out, sharp as ever. “you’re lying down? we have two hours before the dinner and you’re—are you seriously napping?”
y/n groaned into auston’s chest. “oh my god, she’s here.”
auston didn’t even open his eyes. “maybe if we stay still, she’ll go away.”
“get up!” nat barked, hands on her hips, full-blown bridezilla mode. “you’re supposed to be dressed, ready, glowing!”
then came naomi, appearing in the doorway with a smirk and a garment bag. “i told her you two would be horizontal by the time we got here.”
“we were just resting our eyes,” y/n said weakly.
“uh-huh,” naomi said, dragging out the words.
auston finally opened his eyes and sat up, running a hand through his hair. “hi, nat. congrats, by the way.”
nat glared. “don’t try to charm me, matthews. we’re on a schedule.”
“the dinner’s in two hours,” he reminded gently.
“and early is on time, on time is late.”
“she’s been saying that all day,” naomi said from the doorway, clearly enjoying herself.
y/n sighed, slipping off the bed and shooting auston a look that said welcome to my life .
he smiled, unbothered. “worth it.”
nat pointed at him. “you — iron your shirt. you — dress, hair, makeup. now.”
as nat stormed out and naomi trailed after her, y/n turned to auston with a faint smile. “sorry.”
he shook his head. “don’t be. she’s terrifying. but in, like an efficient way.”
she laughed, brushing her fingers through his hair. “you’re not supposed to say that about the bride.”
“i’m always terrified of your sister.”
“get ready,” she said, stealing a quick kiss before grabbing her bag. “rehearsal dinner’s waiting.”
he leaned against the doorway, watching her with that soft look he always got when he thought she wasn’t noticing.
“fine,” he murmured. “but after this, you owe me that nap.”
“deal.”
and he thought, as the door closed behind her — yeah, he could get used to this.
the suite was chaos in the best way. curling irons buzzed, hair spray hung in the air, laughter echoed from every corner. y/n stood near the vanity, a robe tied loosely around her waist, one hand holding her phone, the other reaching for her makeup bag. every few minutes, nat barked out something about schedules or seating charts, and y/n responded with patient reassurance — it was the only way to keep her sister from combusting before her own wedding.
auston leaned against the doorway, already half dressed in a tailored shirt and black slacks, his tie still loose around his neck. he was watching her — not in the way of someone simply admiring, but with that quiet kind of pride, like he couldn’t believe he got to be there, in her orbit, watching her glow.
“you’re staring,” she murmured, eyes still on her mascara wand in the mirror.
“yeah,” he said easily, pushing off the wall. “you make it hard not to.”
her lips twitched, pretending to roll her eyes. “you’re gonna be late if you don’t leave soon. i still have to deal with a mini crisis about who’s sitting next to aunt renee.”
“sounds serious,” he teased, coming up behind her, his hands slipping to her waist. “want me to fight her for you?”
“no violence at my sister’s wedding, please,” she said through a soft laugh, leaning briefly into his chest before pulling away. “go, they’re probably waiting for you already.”
he kissed her cheek before heading out — and the second he was gone, nat’s voice rose again from across the room, summoning her maid of honour.
moments later, he found himself in the courtyard of the venue, sunlight already dipping golden over the rows of flowers. the rehearsal crowd had gathered — family, groomsmen, flower girls running wild — and the low hum of conversation filled the air.
“matty!”
the small, high-pitched voice came from nowhere and then thump — maria, y/n’s youngest niece, launched herself at him, tiny arms locking around his leg. her hair was a mess of curls, her shoes half untied.
“hey, maria,” he said, crouching down and scooping her up into his arms. “you remember me?”
“you are uncle matty,” she said confidently, her little fingers gripping the collar of his shirt.
he grinned. “that’s right. but you’ve gotten taller. what are they feeding you?”
“pasta,” she answered seriously, like it explained everything.
he laughed, ruffling her hair just as marcus — y/n’s older brother — came over, followed by adrian, the groom, and their dad.
“look who the cat dragged in,” marcus said, clapping him on the shoulder. “toronto’s finest.”
“i don’t know about finest,” auston joked, setting maria down as she darted off toward the dessert table-in-progress. “but i’ll take it.”
their dad smiled warmly, shaking his hand. “good to see you again, son. y/n’s been keeping us updated. she sent that picture of the first preseason game. looked like quite the crowd.”
“yeah, she wouldn’t stop texting me about what outfit to wear,” auston admitted with a small chuckle.
“that sounds about right,” marcus said knowingly, crossing his arms. “the group chat’s just been photos of you two and felix lately.”
“hey, i’m not complaining,” auston said, grinning. “felix is easier to photograph than i am.”
the men laughed, and for a moment, it felt natural — like he belonged. no spotlight, no media, just him standing in the middle of her family, everyone talking over each other, the way families do.
the kids — maria, leo, and sofia — ran back and forth between the adults, stopping now and then to show him something. hockey had clearly infiltrated their little world, if their miniature leafs jerseys were any indication.
“they’ve been obsessed,” marcus said with a shake of his head. “you’ve got three more fans, congratulations.”
“good,” auston said. “i’ll take all the fans i can get — especially if they’re this cute.”
“they even started playing knee hockey in the living room,” their dad added, laughing. “we have to stop them from taping sticks to the walls.”
“that tracks,” auston said with a grin, hands in his pockets.
then y/n’s mom joined them, wiping her hands on her dress as she came over, smiling. “auston! finally, i get to see you outside of a phone screen.”
he hugged her warmly. “i missed everyone. it feels like forever since the holidays.”
“too long,” she agreed. “and we’ve been keeping up with you. that last game — even though you didn’t play, the broadcast wouldn’t stop mentioning you. you’re making everyone proud.”
he ducked his head modestly. “trying my best.”
she nodded, glancing across the courtyard to where y/n was now wrangling nat’s endless requests. “she’s proud of you, you know. she won’t say it out loud because she thinks it’ll inflate your ego.”
“too late,” marcus joked.
auston smiled, gaze drifting toward y/n. “yeah,” he murmured quietly. “she keeps me grounded.”
“good,” her mom said. “that’s what matters.”
as rehearsal got underway, maria tugged on his hand again, whispering, “come play hockey, uncle matty.”
he bent down, whispering back conspiratorially, “maybe later. don’t tell your parents.”
she nodded solemnly, like she’d been entrusted with state secrets — and ran off again.
and when he looked up, y/n was watching him from across the courtyard — tired, beautiful, smiling in that small, soft way that made his chest ache.
for a moment, he thought about the ring he didn’t buy yet. the words he hadn’t said.
and how much harder it would be when she flew back to arizona
auston lingered near the patio, a glass of water in hand, watching the sun dip low over the california hills. the warm light spilled across the tables, painting the remnants of the rehearsal dinner in amber and gold. laughter still echoed from inside, but out here, it was quieter — calmer. adrian, nat’s fiancé, soon-to-be husband, joined him, loosening his tie as if he’d finally allowed himself to breathe.
“you’re settling in nicely,” auston said with a small smirk, tilting his glass toward him. “wedding prep treating you okay?”
adrian chuckled, his nerves replaced with the relaxed air of someone who had survived a long day of family and speeches. “better than i expected. nat’s… nat. organized chaos, but she runs the show. you’ve seen her in action.”
“oh, i’ve seen,” auston said, glancing toward the open doors where the girls were still laughing over dessert plates. “she’s got everyone moving like it’s game day.”
“exactly,” adrian said, smiling. “but she means well. always has. i think that’s why it works.”
“yeah,” auston murmured. “she’s something else.”
“so is y/n,” adrian said casually, leaning against the railing, watching the last streaks of pink fade in the sky. “you got lucky with that one.”
auston’s brows lifted, but he smiled. “you think?”
“i know,” adrian said easily. “she’s the glue in that family. her dad, marcus — he pretends he’s the intimidating one, but put his wife or y/n in the room, and the guy melts faster than ice on asphalt.”
auston laughed, the image hitting a little too true. “yeah, i noticed. he tried to grill me the first time we met, but then y/n walked in, and he just… softened.”
“exactly,” adrian grinned. “they’re all like that — big hearts, even bigger loyalty. you can’t half-love a woman from that family. it’s all or nothing.”
that last line lingered, catching auston off guard. he swirled the water in his glass, watching it catch the dying light. “yeah… that sounds about right.”
“so, what’s it like being the last one not related by marriage or blood in the fantasy football group?” adrian asked after a beat, smirking.
auston huffed a laugh. “chaotic. marcus still cries about the waiver claim i “stole” from him i swear he’s more competitive than half my teammates.”
“oh, he absolutely is,” adrian said, laughing. “i learned that the hard way. but hey, it’s kind of nice, isn’t it? being looped into all of that. the dinners, the smack talk, the traditions.”
“it is,” auston admitted. “i never really had that — big, noisy family stuff. it’s… different. good different.”
“yeah, it grows on you,” adrian said softly. “you two fit right in. give it some time, and it’ll be you and y/n hosting those dinners.”
auston’s head turned, a flicker of something crossing his face — surprise, maybe, or hesitation. “me and y/n?”
“yeah,” adrian said easily, nudging him with his elbow. “you’re next, right?”
the words landed heavier than adrian probably meant them to. auston’s throat tightened a little, his mind immediately drifting somewhere else — the way y/n had looked at him that night in toronto, eyes soft but unsure; how his heart had been beating out of his chest when he asked her to marry him; how gently she’d said no.
“uh,” he started, clearing his throat. “yeah, about that…”
adrian caught the shift in tone immediately. “what?”
auston hesitated, tracing the condensation on his glass with his thumb. “i, uh… i actually proposed to her once. before i left toronto.”
adrian blinked, stunned for a second. “you what?”
auston exhaled, the confession leaving him in a rush. “yeah. she said no.”
the silence between them stretched, broken only by the sound of crickets and the faint music from inside. adrian’s brows drew together, not in judgment — just surprise. “she said no?”
“yeah,” auston said quietly. “it wasn’t a fight or anything. she just… wasn’t ready. her life’s here. her job, her family. and i can’t blame her. asking her to pick up and start over again in toronto—it’s not small. i get it. but it still… it stung.”
adrian nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “that’s heavy, man. i’m guessing not many people know about that.”
“you’re the first, actually,” auston said with a wry smile.
adrian let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “well, damn. i’m honored, i guess.”
auston laughed quietly, though it came out more like a sigh. “i just keep thinking about it. about her. how she fits here — with her family, the way things are. i worry she won’t want to come with me. won’t want to start something new again.”
adrian leaned his elbows on the railing. “hey, i get that. when nat and i first got serious, i had the same doubts. long distance, different cities, trying to plan a life between flights. but it worked out because… we wanted it to. even when it sucked.”
he paused, glancing toward the house where y/n was now kneeling to adjust one of the flower girl’s headbands. “and you know what? families like theirs — they’ll test you, but they’ll love you just as hard. marcus might act like he’s made of stone, but with his wife and that little girl? guy’s a marshmallow. and her dad — toughest handshake i’ve ever had, but i’ve never seen him look prouder than when y/n talks about you.”
auston’s chest tightened, a warmth creeping through the ache.
“the thing about girls like them,” adrian said, “the ones who come from families like that? they love hard, but they love carefully. once they let you in, though, that’s it. you’re part of the family. no takebacks.”
“i’m saying don’t give up,” adrian said, clapping him on the shoulder. “don’t let the ‘no’ make you forget why you asked in the first place. and honestly? i feel like we’ll all be family eventually anyway. i already look out for y/n like she’s my kid sister — and you fit right in with us.”
auston glanced back toward y/n, her laughter ringing across the patio.
“yeah,” he murmured. “i hope you’re right.”
before adrian could respond, y/n’s voice called from inside, teasing, “adrian! nat says if you don’t come in now, she’s cutting you out of the thank-you speech!”
adrian groaned, pushing off the railing. “yeah, that’s my cue. go easy on yourself, auston. and hey — you’ll get your ‘yes.’”
and as the night breeze brushed past him, he thought — if she ever says yes, i’ll make sure it’s a world she never wants to leave.
auston looked back toward the house where y/n stood with nat, laughing over something. the sound carried all the way out to the patio, soft and bright.
“you’re guys will be next, you know,” adrian said suddenly, a teasing grin returning to his face.
auston raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. “next?”
“yeah. don’t give me that look,” adrian said, bumping his shoulder. “it’s obvious. nat and i both see it. you and y/n are next. it’s just a matter of time you’ll be marrying into the family too.”
auston tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out uneven. next. the word hit harder than it should’ve. his grip on the glass tightened slightly as the memories crept in — toronto, the quiet of their apartment, the small box burning a hole in sock drawer, and her eyes when she said no.
auston’s eyes followed him as he disappeared inside, then drifted toward y/n under the string lights.
before adrian could respond, y/n’s voice called from inside, teasing, “adrian! nat says if you don’t come in now, she’s cutting you out of the thank-you speech!”
adrian groaned, pushing off the railing. “yeah, that’s my cue. go easy on yourself, auston. and hey — i have a feeling we’ll be married into the family soon’”
auston’s eyes followed him as he disappeared inside, then drifted toward y/n under the string lights.
and as the night breeze brushed past him, he thought — if she ever says yes, i’ll make sure it’s a world she never wants to leave.
the music from inside was faint now — just the muffled bass of some slow song nat must’ve chosen to keep everyone from leaving yet. out on the patio, it was quiet except for the sound of her bare feet brushing against the deck as she stepped toward him, heels dangling loosely from her fingers, hair undone from the humidity and soft around her face.
“you know i lied to him, right?”
auston turned, lips tugging upward. “lied to who?”
“adrian,” she said, grinning like she’d been waiting to confess it. “told him nat needed him inside so i could get away.”
he chuckled, leaning against the railing. “so the bride doesn’t actually need her groom?”
“nope,” she said. “she’s fine. she’s just—” she exhaled, shoulders dropping as she stepped into his space. “she’s driving me insane. in a cute, sisterly way, but still. if she asks me one more time whether the napkins match the flowers, i’m throwing her in the pool.”
“sounds like her,” he said softly, his arms coming up to wrap around her waist.
“mm,” she hummed, pressing her cheek against his chest. “it’s chaos. beautiful, though. all of it.”
he looked down at her — the way her fingers toyed absently with the collar of his shirt, the way she fit perfectly against him like this was her place. for the first time all night, they were still. no chatter, no planning, no rehearsals or photos — just her.
“hey,” he murmured, catching her chin between his fingers. she tilted her head up, and the string lights caught in her eyes, warm and soft. he didn’t mean to stare as long as he did, didn’t mean to let his thumb trace the edge of her cheek, but she looked so damn real standing there.
she blinked, a small smile tugging at her lips. “what?”
he swallowed, his voice quiet. “just… you.”
“me?” she teased lightly, but her voice was softer now, curious.
he nodded, hand sliding to cradle her jaw, the pad of his thumb brushing beneath her eye. his chest ached with it — everything adrian had said, everything he hadn’t been able to say out loud himself. the ring tucked somewhere safe, the nights he’d almost asked again, the way he kept stopping himself because he was scared of losing her to the life she’d built before him.
and somehow, the words came out anyway — unplanned, unguarded, low enough that only she could hear.
“i love you.”
her breath caught. it wasn’t that he hadn’t said it before — he had, countless times — but something about the way he said it now felt different. heavier. not rushed, not playful, just true.
she looked up at him, searching his face. “yeah?”
he smiled faintly. “yeah.”
for a heartbeat, she just stared — her hand coming up to cover his, fingers slotting between his like they belonged there. “good,” she whispered. “because i really love you too.”
he leaned down then, their foreheads touching, the space between them gone. she smelled like vanilla and the faint salt of the ocean, and he thought — god, i can’t let this go.
“don’t look at me like that,” she murmured against his mouth, half-smiling.
“like what?” he asked, voice brushing against her lips.
“like you’re gonna make me forget there’s a rehearsal dinner going on.”
he grinned. “i could try.”
she laughed, soft and breathless, then kissed him anyway — slow and sweet, his hand still holding her face like it was something fragile he’d promised to protect.
when she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, eyes still half-lidded. “nat’s gonna kill me if i mess up my lipstick before photos.”
“worth it,” he said simply.
she smiled at that — the kind that reached her eyes — and rested her forehead against his again.
“you know,” she murmured, “you saying that doesn’t make it any easier to leave after the wedding.”
he sighed, thumb tracing the corner of her mouth. “i know.”
for a long, aching moment, they just stood there — the world narrowing to the space between them. the sounds from inside faded, replaced by the rhythm of their breathing, the pulse he could feel under her skin and just when his lips brushed hers —
“y/n!”
y/n froze, lips barely a breath from auston’s, her hands still caught in the fabric of his shirt. she blinked, then groaned softly against his chest as he bit back a laugh.
“no,” she muttered, leaning into his chest.
“y/n!” nat called again, louder this time, the click of her heels fast approaching. “where the hell are you? the photographer’s asking for you and adrian’s about to start sweating through his shirt—oh.”
she stopped right at the enterance.
auston’s hands were still at y/n’s waist. y/n’s palms were flat against his chest, her lips dangerously close to his, both of them turning toward nat like two kids caught sneaking cookies before dinner.
nat blinked. once. twice. then sighed, dragging a manicured hand over her face. “oh my god, of course you two are out here making out when i need you.”
“we weren’t—” y/n started, pulling back slightly, cheeks flushed.
“please don’t lie to me right now,” nat said, pointing a finger at her. “your hair’s all over the place and he looks like he’s about to forget how to breathe. save it for the afterparty.”
auston snorted, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. y/n shot him a glare that only made him grin harder.
“you’re so not helping,” she whispered.
“sorry,” he murmured, not sounding sorry at all.
“come on!” nat clapped her hands dramatically. “five minutes, maid of honor. i need you smiling, not flirting, and definitely not making me wait—again.”
“you’re unbelievable,” y/n said under her breath, grabbing her shoes off the ground.
nat was already halfway back inside, yelling something about champagne flutes, when y/n turned back to auston, shaking her head but smiling all the same.
“you’re enjoying me getting in trouble way too much,” she accused.
“a little,” he admitted, eyes softening as he reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “but for the record—i was this close to scoring.”
she rolled her eyes but her grin gave her away. “whatever floats your boat. you’ll have to survive without me which we know isn’t an easy feat for you”
he leaned in, voice low. “you sure about that?”
“positive,” she said, though her voice wavered when his breath ghosted over her cheek.
then, before either of them could tempt fate again, nat shouted her name one more time, and y/n groaned, tossing her head back
“i swear we are eloping,” she muttered, already backing toward the door.
“good to know,” auston said, smirking. “i’ll start practicing my vows.”
she shot him a look over her shoulder — part warning, part promise — before disappearing inside.
and when she was gone, he just stood there, smiling to himself, her laughter still echoing faintly through the night.
the morning came quietly — soft light spilling through the sheer curtains, the faint hum of movement from somewhere down the hall. auston stirred at the sound of footsteps, the rustle of fabric, the whisper of perfume that he knew by heart before his eyes even opened.
“hey,” she murmured, barely above a whisper.
he blinked awake, squinting against the early sun. she was already dressed in a silk robe, her hair pinned loosely back, eyes bright despite how early it was. she looked ethereal — tired, nervous, but glowing in that way he always noticed when she was around the people she loved.
“you’re up early,” he rasped, voice still heavy with sleep.
“nat would murder me if i wasn’t,” y/n whispered, smiling. “we’re starting hair and makeup in an hour.”
he groaned softly, rolling onto his back. “what time is it?”
“too early for you,” she said, leaning down to kiss him. it was soft, fleeting — a brush of warmth that lingered even after she pulled away. “go back to sleep, okay? i don’t want you tired later.”
“you leaving already?” he mumbled, reaching for her wrist before she could stand.
“yeah,” she said, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. “we’re setting up in nat’s suite. i’ll see you at the ceremony.”
he opened his eyes fully then, memorizing the sight of her — the gentle curl of her smile, the silk slipping against her shoulder, the faint nerves hidden under her calm. “you look beautiful already.”
she laughed quietly, shaking her head. “you’re barely awake.”
“doesn’t change the fact,” he murmured, still holding her hand.
her expression softened. “go eat something, please. my dad, marcus, adrian — they’re all down for breakfast. i don’t trust you to remember to eat if i don’t tell you.”
“you sound like my mom,” he teased, his voice hoarse, teasing through a sleepy grin.
“good,” she said, squeezing his hand. “maybe you’ll listen.”
he smiled, pulling her closer until she was leaning over him again. “one more kiss?”
she rolled her eyes but bent down anyway, pressing her lips to his. it was unhurried, sweet — one that said more than either of them could in the soft, sleepy quiet. when she finally pulled back, she whispered, “i'll see you later, baby.”
and then she was gone, her scent and warmth lingering long after the door clicked shut.
downstairs, the men had gathered around the patio table, coffee cups steaming and plates of fruit and eggs scattered across the table. y/n’s dad waved him over immediately, beaming like he’d been waiting for him.
“there he is,” her dad said, clapping him on the shoulder. “finally awake?”
“barely,” auston admitted with a grin, sliding into a chair beside marcus. “y/n already left me behind.”
“bride duty,” marcus said knowingly. “we’re lucky we’re not on nat’s list of errands.”
the table erupted with easy laughter — adrian joining in, visibly relaxed now that the big day had finally arrived. the conversation drifted easily between hockey, travel, and family stories — her uncles teasing each other about their speeches, her dad joking about who would cry first.
“not me,” marcus insisted. “that’s you, dad.”
“please,” her dad said, waving him off, though his smile gave him away. “you’ll be a mess by the vows.”
auston leaned back in his chair, soaking it in — the warmth, the laughter, the comfort that seemed to follow this family wherever they went. it wasn’t loud or chaotic like a locker room, but it had the same kind of belonging.
“you’re quiet this morning, matt,” adrian said, raising a brow.
“you have no idea,” marcus said, chuckling. “and you’re in it now, so good luck.”
“no takebacks,” one of the uncles added with a grin, and the table broke into laughter again.
across the venue, the time the women were fully awake, the suite upstairs had transformed into a blur of curling irons, coffee cups, and soft classical music. y/n sat by the window in her silk robe, one leg tucked under the other as the makeup artist worked. nat was pacing — phone in hand, already half in tears and half giving orders.
“i swear if adrian forgets his cufflinks—”
“he won’t,” y/n said calmly, sipping her iced coffee. “he’s fine. breathe.”
nat groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. “you’re too calm. how are you so calm?”
“i’m not the one getting married,” y/n teased, earning a glare that melted into a laugh.
the room was light and warm — bridesmaids chatting, maria playing on the floor with flower petals, the ocean breeze sweeping in through the open balcony doors.
y/n’s dress hung on the doorframe, sunlight catching on the delicate champagne silk. her hair was pinned half-up, waves cascading down her back, her makeup soft and dewy. when she finally stood to change, the room seemed to still for a second — nat turning mid-sentence and gasping.
“you look insane,” nat said, pressing a hand to her heart. “like actually, unfairly gorgeous.”
y/n blushed, smoothing the fabric down her hips. “you’re only saying that because you’re emotional.”
“no,” nat insisted, grabbing her hands. “i’m saying that because if i weren’t getting married today, i’d be worried you’d steal all the attention.”
“please,” y/n said with a laugh, shaking her head. “this is your day. i’m just here to make sure you don’t run away.”
“because your boy’s here,” nat said knowingly, grinning when y/n rolled her eyes.
“nat—”
“don’t nat me,” she said, laughing. “you think i don’t see the way he looks at you? he’s gone, babe. totally gone.”
y/n’s cheeks warmed, but her smile lingered. “yeah,” she said softly. “i know.”
the morning had been long, but in that unhurried, golden kind of way—coffee with her dad and marcus on the terrace, laughter echoing from the uncles, adrian making rounds to calm his nerves. auston sat there with top buttons undone neck, stirring sugar into his coffee while maria tried to braid his hair with her tiny fingers, her giggles filling the quiet of the courtyard.
he’d been up early because y/n had kissed him goodbye before sunrise—soft, sleepy, and fleeting, her lips brushing his cheek before she whispered, “go back to sleep, baby.” he hadn’t. instead, he’d laid there, trying to memorize the smell of her perfume that lingered on his pillow, the faint rustle of her dress as she left to help nat.
by the time he made it downstairs, she was long gone. and even though the morning passed easily enough with the guys—talking hockey, the wedding schedule, the california heat—his mind drifted constantly back to her. he pictured her fussing over nat’s veil, making sure everything was perfect, probably forgetting to eat breakfast.
later that afternoon, when everyone was bustling around trying to get ready for the ceremony, he finally spotted her. she was slipping through one of the back hallways of the venue, head down, clutching her bouquet.
“hey,” he called softly, catching her before she could disappear.
she turned, startled at first—then smiled when she saw him. auston didn’t hesitate; he reached out and caught her hand, pulling her gently toward him until she was pressed against his chest.
“you trying to sneak past me?” he murmured, eyes dropping to hers.
“maybe,” she teased, breathless from how suddenly close he was. “you looked busy with the boy bonding.”
“you look—” he stopped, genuinely caught off guard as his gaze swept down her. “—unreal.”
the dress was simple but it didn’t need to be anything else. it hugged her in all the right places, soft fabric glinting faintly in the sunlight streaming through the hallway windows. her hair was pinned loosely, a few strands framing her face.
y/n tilted her head, pretending to examine his tux. “you don’t look too bad yourself”
he laughed under his breath, but there was a look in his eyes that made her throat tighten. that look that always said he wanted more time.
“so, who’s the guy you’re walking with? asking for a friend” he asked, voice low and teasing.
“luca,” she said, rolling her eyes with a grin. “he’s gay, auston. completely uninterested.”
“oh, thank god,” he sighed dramatically, pretending to wipe his brow. “for a second there, i thought i’d have competition.”
she smacked his chest lightly, biting back a smile. “someone’s territorial.”
“yeah, but you like it.”
he reached up, his hand sliding along her jaw until his thumb brushed her bottom lip. the noise of the wedding party getting ready seemed to fade for a moment, replaced only by the sound of her breathing and the faint hum of music in the distance.
“you’ve been running around all day,” he murmured, eyes soft. “you okay?”
“i’m good,” she said, voice quieter now. “i am just ready for it to be over so i can actually see you again.”
his mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile. “you’re seeing me now.”
“not enough,” she whispered, looking up at him through her lashes.
his hand tightened slightly at her waist, like he wanted to pull her closer—like he might’ve if they weren’t surrounded by family, photographers, and chaos just beyond the door.
before he could say anything else, someone called her name—nat’s voice, sharp and panicked.
y/n groaned under her breath. “of course.”
he leaned down, murmuring near her ear, “we’ll finish this later.”
she gave him a look, a mix of warning and promise, before pulling away.
and as she disappeared down the hallway again, auston stood there for a second longer, trying to collect himself—heart still racing, cheeks aching from how hard he was smiling.
-
the ceremony went by in a blur — but he remembered her.
y/n walking down the aisle, sunlight spilling through the garden’s canopy, the soft rustle of fabric as she moved. she wasn’t the bride, but god, she could’ve been. auston swore his heart had stopped the moment her eyes found him through the rows of chairs. she smiled—small, almost shy—and he forgot about everyone else.
nat and adrian’s vows were private, whispered to each other beneath the arch while everyone looked on, a delicate song playing faintly over the hum of the ocean behind them. it was beautiful, intimate, and quick—like a dream he wasn’t ready to wake from.
and before he knew it, there was laughter, cheers, the clinking of champagne glasses, and he was being ushered toward the reception tables.
he found himself seated with her parents—right where he wanted to be. her mom was radiant, glowing with pride, and her dad was already dabbing at his eyes with the corner of a napkin. he’d been crying since nat walked down the aisle, and auston didn’t blame him. the love in the room was enough to make anyone tear up.
he raised his glass toward him with a soft smile. “you holding up okay, sir?”
her dad laughed, shaking his head. “don’t call me ‘sir,’ auston. you’re family.”
that word, family, hit him harder than he expected.
they talked about the ceremony, about adrian’s vows and how nat had somehow managed to keep them a surprise. her mom teased him about how emotional he’d get when it was y/n’s turn, and auston just smiled, half hiding behind his drink.
and then, quietly, between courses, when the table was distracted by maria dropping a roll and giggling uncontrollably, he turned to her parents.
“can i ask you something?” he said softly.
her mom looked at him curiously. “of course.”
he took a deep breath—his palms a little clammy despite the cool air drifting in from the open doors. “i should’ve asked this a long time ago. honestly, i can’t believe i didn’t. but i wanted to do it right. and… it feels right now.”
her dad stilled, blinking at him. her mom’s hand gently covered his.
“i love your daughter,” he began, voice low and deliberate, vibrating with something deeper than mere words. “i mean… i really, really love her. more than i thought it was possible to love someone.” his chest rose and fell slightly faster, as if his heart itself were trying to insist the words reach every corner of the room.
“i didn’t know what love was before her,” he continued, his eyes flicking for the briefest moment to y/n as she stood nearby, her presence grounding him, giving weight to every word. “she’s… she’s changed me. made me want to be better, not just for me, but for her. for the life we could have, for the family she’s built around her, and…” he paused, swallowing hard again, “…and i don’t know exactly what the future’s supposed to look like. i don’t know the timing, the place, or all the steps we’re meant to take.”
his voice softened, almost breaking, but there was a steel in it that could not be missed. “but i know this one thing for certain,” he said, letting a small, almost vulnerable smile tug at his lips. “she’s in it. whatever happens, however far apart or close we are, she’s in it. and she’s the reason i want it to work, no matter what.”
he let the words hang in the air for a moment, his eyes locking with her dad’s, silently asking for understanding, for trust, for the unspoken permission he’d been longing to hear.
her mom’s eyes softened instantly. her dad exhaled, visibly holding himself together.
“i wanted to ask,” auston continued, gaze flicking between them, “for your permission—to marry her. not today, not even this year, maybe. but soon. when it feels right for her.”
there was a beat of silence, only the sound of maria’s laughter and soft music in the background.
her dad cleared his throat, already blinking away fresh tears. “you never needed our permission, son. but thank you for asking.”
her mom smiled through misty eyes. “that’s exactly what she’d want. you involving us. she’s… she’s always been so family-oriented, you know that. it’s how she shows love.”
“i know,” auston said quietly. “that’s why i didn’t want to just go ahead with it. she was right about that. about wanting her family to be part of it.”
her dad reached over, patting his arm with a trembling hand. “auston, you have my yes. you’ve had it since the first time i heard my wife talking about ema and brian’s son seeing our daughter.”
he laughed, a little shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.
her dad chuckled through his tears. “she’s our baby girl, you know. but seeing how happy she is with you—how you love her—it’s the easiest yes i’ll ever give.”
her mom nodded, smiling softly. “just… make sure when you do it, it’s a moment she’ll remember. she deserves that. you both do”
“she’ll get it,” auston promised. “i’ll make sure of it.”
he leaned back in his chair after that, heart pounding, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. he couldn’t believe he hadn’t done this before—hadn’t realized how much it would mean to them, or to her.
as the laughter picked up again and maria climbed into his lap to show him her cupcake, auston’s mind drifted.
he thought about y/n somewhere across the venue, probably laughing with nat, her hair shining under the fairy lights. and he knew, right then, exactly how he’d do it—how he’d ask her to spend the rest of her life with him.
he wasn’t going to pressure her to move. he wasn’t going to rush her. he’d give her everything she needed, at her own pace.
auston sat back slightly, heart still racing from the conversation with her parents, when he noticed her dad sniffle again. the man’s shoulders were slightly hunched, eyes glistening in the soft glow of the reception lights. auston’s chest tightened—he knew exactly why. he’d seen the tears for nat, but this was different. his baby girl.
“is my dad crying again,” y/n’s voice chimed she made her towards them. playful but soft, and auston’s head lifted immediately. she leaned casually against the frame for a moment, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “must be about nat, right?” she teased, smirking at her father.
her dad wiped at his cheeks, chuckling through the tears, but auston could see the pride and love in his gaze. “your heart doesn’t get any bigger than this, kid,” he murmured, still holding back a full flood of emotion.
y/n stepped closer, and auston felt her presence before he even registered her voice. the familiar warmth of her hands brushing his shoulders sent a jolt through him. he instinctively leaned forward, pressing his lips to her hand, the contact grounding him.
she finally wrapped her arms fully around his shoulders, her familiar hands settling across him, and he let himself melt into her touch. her scent, soft and comforting, filled his senses. he could feel the tension leave him, the day’s worries, the nervous energy—it all seemed to dissipate in the press of her body against his.
“come sit,” he whispered against her ear, the words barely audible. he lifted her effortlessly, letting her perch on his lap as they joined her family at the table. she leaned into him, and he could feel her fingers tracing small patterns along his back, quiet and familiar. he tilted his head, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek.
finally, after weeks of being pulled in a thousand directions, y/n was free of her duties, at least for this moment. her lips curved into a soft smile as she leaned her forehead against his shoulder. auston let his hands rest on her waist, steadying her, memorizing the way she fit there.
around them, her family laughed and talked, the soft clinking of glasses punctuating the quiet joy of the moment. auston caught her eyes, kissed her hand again, and whispered, “finally, a little peace for us.”
y/n laughed softly, the sound warm and relieved. “yeah,” she said, “finally.”
he pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, holding her closer, savoring the rare calm, the way she belonged there with him, and the quiet certainty that no matter how long distance or hectic life became, moments like this were everything he’d been waiting for.
later he found her just off the dance floor, talking with a cousin, her smile soft but tired-around the edges. he slipped a hand to the small of her back, warm and grounding, and she turned, breath catching the moment their eyes met.
“dance with me,” he murmured, already gently tugging her toward the floor.
she blinked, surprised. “you still have time?”
his lips curved, something tender and fleeting. “i’ll make time.”
her chest tightened. of course he would say that — even when she knew he didn’t have any to spare.
he guided her into the slow rhythm, his palm settling against her waist like it had been waiting there all night. she slid her hands up to his shoulders, feeling the familiar strength beneath the suit, the soft fabric warming under her fingers.
“you okay?” he asked quietly, dipping his head to catch her gaze.
she nodded, though her throat felt tight. “just sad,” she whispered.
he swayed them with the music, keeping her close, like he could shield her from the clock ticking just behind them.
“you spent the whole night running around,” he murmured. “barely saw you.”
“i know,” she breathed. “it just… went by too fast.” her voice trembled, embarrassingly honest.
his brows softened, thumb tracing slow circles at her hip. “i get it.”
she rested her cheek against his chest — the safest place she knew. his heartbeat thudded steady beneath her ear, a phantom promise she wished she could hold onto forever.
he pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, holding her closer, savoring the rare calm, the way she belonged there with him, and the quiet certainty that no matter how long distance or hectic life became, moments like this were everything he’d been waiting for.
but songs end — and this one was no exception.
as their dance wrapped up, she stepped out of his embrace and met his eyes. he glanced at his watch, and she watched the subtle movements, knowing — just like the song — their night was ending. their window to be together slowly shutting
y/n looped her waist around his to bring his attention back to her. “i’ll walk you back,” she whispered.
auston looked at her, then down the hallway, but didn’t question it. he looped her arm through his, and they walked together, the air heavy with unspoken words and quiet longing. each step felt slower than the last, as if they were silently trying to stretch these last minutes.
as soon as they reached the room, auston shut the door, and his back met the surface just as y/n pressed him gently against it.
“what are you doing?” he asked softly, eyes searching hers, though he already knew the answer. she knew him, better than he knew himself sometimes, and the way she looked at him now, there was no pretending. the fact they’d lasted this long without giving in might have been a record for them.
without a word, her lips crashed onto his, hands threading into the back of his neck to anchor him in place. he kissed her back, matching her fever, his own hands sliding behind her neck to draw her impossibly closer. the world outside the room disappeared, leaving only the rush of warmth and the quiet thrum of desire.
she pulled back first, breathless, just enough to murmur, “making sure you packed.”
“oh yeah?” he asked, his voice low, teasing, but his eyes betrayed him — they were soft, almost tender. “and are you satisfied with my packing skills?”
she shook her head, pressing another quick, heated kiss to his lips. “not even close,” she whispered.
he groaned softly, tilting his head so he could capture her lips again. “you’re going to make me miss my flight if you keep doing that,” he murmured, though the hand at her waist tightened.
“i’m not ready for you to go,” she admitted, her forehead resting against his chest, heart hammering against him.
he cupped her face gently, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. “me neither,” he said softly. “but you… you did amazing tonight. everything was perfect. you made it all perfect.”
her lips trembled into a smile, but her eyes glistened. “i just wish we had more time. a little longer.”
“we have it now,” he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers.
she pressed herself into him in response, lingering in every kiss, every touch, every heartbeat that reminded her he was real, and here, and hers, even if only for a little while longer.
she unbuttoned the remainder of his shirt
“please, auston” she pleaded, lips still against his, “i don’t know when we’ll be together again” she admitted.
his chest tightened. he felt that truth too — that hollow space opening, knowing tomorrow meant flights and schedules and days without her warmth within reach.
he considered it — skipping the flight, calling the staff, making an excuse. captain or not, he was still human. and twenty more minutes with her felt more vital than anything waiting for him tomorrow.
but he’d already missed their final preseason game for this wedding. he couldn’t abandon the team again.
still, her fingers curling into his shirt, her eyes shimmering up at him, that soft pleading — it nearly undid him completely.
“fuck it” he continued to kiss her putting his hand through the slit of her dress to feel the fabric of her dress. he hitched her leg against his hip placing her between the door and the wall
there was nothing casual about their touch and she reached for his belt. this was his favourite version of her when she didn’t hesitate and took something she wanted especially him
he moved to her neck, “you always feel so good”
the room felt smaller with their closeness — air thick with heat and wanting — the faint hum of the wedding below vibrating through the walls. soft lamplight brushed over their faces, casting moving shadows on the cream walls, making this moment feel suspended outside of everything else.
his mouth moved down her throat, slow but hungry, lingering like he was memorizing the taste of her skin. she shuddered beneath him, fingers curling in his hair, guiding him where she needed him most.
“then stay with me,” she whispered, voice unsteady, half–breath, half–prayer.
he paused — just enough for his forehead to rest against hers. his breath came warm against her lips. then he kissed her again, slower this time, deep and steady, a silent promise that no matter the miles, no matter the flights, they’d always find their way back to this.
his hands traced down her sides, over the slit of her dress. fabric pooled slightly where his fingers pressed, devouring the space between them. he hooked one hand beneath her thigh, lifting it higher on his hip, securing her completely against him. her gasp hit his mouth, and he swallowed it whole.
“auston…” she breathed, not quite a word, more like a feeling.
he kissed her jaw, then her cheek, then the corner of her mouth like he couldn’t decide where he needed her most. “i hate leaving you,” he murmured into her skin. “i hate it every time.”
she blinked hard, trying to keep her tears at bay. “i just want a little longer,” she whispered. “just a little.”
his hands slowed on her body — not stopping, but changing. gentler. reverent. like the frantic urgency had melted into something softer, more achingly real.
he pressed a kiss to her temple. “if i could choose… i’d stay. you know that.”
“i know,” she whispered, voice cracking.
for a moment, neither moved — just breathing the same air, holding on.
then he pulled back, brushing his thumb under her eye where moisture threatened. “come here,” he murmured, unwinding her legs from his hips. he guided her toward the bed with careful hands, not rushing, not letting the moment shatter.
she watched him, breath still uneven, as he lifted the fallen strap of her dress and smoothed the fabric back over her shoulder. his fingers skimmed her collarbone, lingering just a second too long, like he couldn’t stand the idea of losing contact.
“turn,” he whispered.
she did, spine straight, breathing quiet. his hands were steady as he fastened the tiny buttons she’d undone, fingers brushing her skin with each careful closure — a tender undoing of the moment, but without taking any of the intimacy away. every touch felt like a promise: this isn’t goodbye.
she swallowed, eyes down, trying to keep her breath even. but the second he tied the final clasp, she felt her throat knot. her vision blurred.
he noticed instantly.
“hey” his hands slid up her arms and rested at her shoulders. she kept her gaze forward, small sniff betraying her.
he leaned forward, pressing a feather–soft kiss just behind her ear. “don’t cry,” he murmured. “not right now. not tonight. you’ve been so strong.”
she closed her eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. “i just… i feel like i blink and we’re apart again.”
he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her flush against him. she sank into the hold, her hands gripping his forearms. “i’m always coming back to you,” he said quietly. “always.”
when she finally turned to face him, her eyes were glossy but dry. he brushed one last kiss to her lips — gentle, grounding.
“go,” he whispered, voice thick. “your sister will want you. the photos and speeches…” he tried to smile.
she nodded, though it took her a moment to find her footing. he reached for her hand, guiding her toward the door like she was something precious he refused to break.
just before he opened it, she rose onto her toes and kissed him again — soft, lingering, too short and too much all at once.
“i’ll see you soon?” she breathed.
his fingers tightened around hers. “see you soon.”
and then — slowly, reluctantly — he let her hand slip from his, opening the door to send her back into the night, back into the world that waited for her downstairs.
she stepped into the hallway, looking back one more time.
he stood there in the doorway, shirt rumpled, hair a mess from her fingers, chest rising and falling like he was trying to catch the last of her breath in his lungs.
she gave a trembling smile.
he gave her one back — the soft one, the one only she ever saw — before gently closing the door between them.
summary — after another playoff loss, auston disappears from the spotlight and unexpectedly crosses paths with y/n—someone from a past life who feels both distant and familiar. they only have the summer, two people from different worlds colliding at the wrong time, reigniting something they never saw coming.
word count — 10k
warnings — smut. minors dni. take a shot everytime they love sickeningly say "home"
an — how can i not cry over this couple? epilogue is next 😭
masterlist
the cold hits her the second the sliding doors slide open, but it isn’t the cold that makes her hesitate.
it’s the quiet.
not silence exactly, but that hollowed-out feeling that comes with being somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere that isn’t yours yet. the airport behind her hums with movement, with people reuniting and parting and rushing off to lives that don’t include her. the night stretches out in front of her, dark and sharp and real.
this is it, she thinks.
for weeks her life had been goodbyes, nostalgic dinners, hugs that lasted a second too long. the rooms slowly emptying as her life folded itself into suitcases. countless conversations validating her decision andhow brave she is. the excitement and pride in their words while she nodded and smiled and swallowed the fear that lived just beneath it all.
the cold snaps into her immediately, cutting straight through the sweatsuit she’d convinced herself would be fine. it steals the air from her lungs, turns her breath into a cloud that pulls a incredulous laugh from her.
“oh my god,” she mutters, shoulders hunching instinctively as she clutches her bags. “it's freezing.”
goosebumps race up her arms and her nose stings already. the arizona native in her is profoundly offended by the frigid tempature. november in toronto is nothing like the mild evenings she grew up with, nothing like the warmth she’s always known. this cold doesn’t just sit on your skin, it burrows deep in your bones.
for a split second, the doubts creep in.
what if i can’t do this? what if i’m in over my head. what if loving him isn’t enough to make this feel like home?
she scans the curb, heart thudding too hard for how tired she is. she knows he’s here. he promised he’d be here. but fear is irrational like that, loud in moments where it doesn’t belong.
and then she sees him.
leaning against his car, hands tucked into his pockets, posture deceptively easy. like he hasn’t been counting minutes. like he hasn’t been replaying her flight path in his head. the terminal lights frame him in a way that makes her chest ache—the familiar lines of his face, the slope of his shoulders, the softness around his eyes that only shows when he’s not guarding himself.
from here, he looks steady and grounded. like he’s exactly where he wants to be. and just like that, the knot in her chest loosens.
everything else fades into the background—the cold, the fear, the weight of the decision she’s just made. all of it dims when she lays eyes on him.
“auston,” she breathes, the word slipping out like a plea.
suddenly, she doesn’t remember the months they spent apart, only that she’s walking faster, practically running, cold forgotten as her heart stumbles over itself trying to catch up. the moment her voice reaches him, his head lifts and finally, their eyes meet.
his face transforms instantly. the careful calm breaks into a smile so wide and unguarded it almost hurts to see. the kind of smile that tells her she didn’t imagine any of it. that she belongs here with him.
“hey baby,” he says, voice warm and certain, like this was always how the night was supposed to go.
she laughs, a breathless sound that borders on a sob, and then she launches her in his arms.
he pulls her into him with fierce urgency arms firm and sure around her, like the tighter he holds onto her it will imortalize this moment forever. she presses her face into his chest breathing him in. him. his familiar cologne, even through his winter jacket with the sharp edge of winter clinging to his clothes and it makes her breakout into a grin.
“i’m freezing,” she mumbles into him.
his laugh rumbles low in his chest. “yeah,” he says, already moving. “i figured.”
before she can argue, his jacket is shrugging off his shoulders and settling around hers, his hands zipping it up with practiced ease. it’s heavy, warm, unmistakably his. it swallows her whole, the scent of him wrapping around her until her shoulders finally drop.
“you live here,” she says, looking up at him, cheeks flushed pink. “of course, you're immune.”
he shrugs lightly, eyes never leaving her face. “this is home,” he says simply. “you’ll get used to it.”
the word home lands somewhere deep in her chest. she studies him then, really looks at him. the way his eyes soften like they always do when they meet hers. the way his hands linger at her waist like he’s afraid she might disappear again.
“i expect a romantic airport kiss,” she teases softly, trying to keep her voice light. “you set the bar when you left. i think i deserve a repeat.”
his smile slows. deepens. turns deliberate.“yeah?” he murmurs.
“yeah.” her eyes bouncing between his eyes and lips.
he lifts his hands to her face, thumbs brushing warmth back into her skin, steadying her in a way that feels instinctive. familiar.
“good,” he says quietly. “because we’re never doing that goodbye again.”
her breath stutters. “never?”
“never,” he repeats, resting his forehead against hers. “so i better make this one count.”
and then he kisses her.
slowly at first, like he’s giving her time to breathe and feel the weight of the moment. his hand slides to the back of her neck, warm and steady, anchoring her there as if the world might tilt if he lets go. his lips move against hers with a softness that feels deliberate, reverent, like he’s relearning her in real time.
it isn’t rushed. there’s no urgency motivated by a lack of time. it’s deep and achingly familiar, the kind of kiss that carries weeks of distance and unspoken fear and turns it into something whole. she feels it deep in her bones, heavy in the best way, like something fractured finally sliding back into place.
she melts into him without thinking, body recognizing him before her mind can catch up. her fingers curl into the front of his sweater, gripping like she needs the confirmation he’s here and this isn’t another goodbye. her heart thuds hard against his chest, wild for half a second before it steadies, syncing with his in a way that feels inevitable.
his other hand finds her waist, holding her there, firm and protective, like he’s promising without words. warmth spreads through her, starting where their mouths meet and radiating outward until the cold disappears entirely. for a moment, there is nothing but this—his breath, her breath, the quiet certainty of being held by the person who feels like home.
when he pulls back, he stays close, forehead still resting against hers.
“you warm now?” he asks softly.
she laughs, breathless, eyes shining. “yeah. completely.”
“good,” he says, brushing one last gentle kiss to her lips. “because we need to get you home.”
her hands stay fisted in his sweater, reluctant to let go, and when she tilts her head up to look at him, smiling soft and dazed—she freezes.
“auston,” she whispers. her voice in pure debelief.
he frowns slightly, concern flickering across his face. “what? are you okay?”
she doesn’t answer him right away. her eyes drift past his shoulder, wide and unblinking.
tiny white flakes are drifting down from the sky, catching in the airport lights, spinning lazily like they’re not in any hurry at all.
snow. real snow.
she lets out a quiet, breathless laugh. “oh my god,” she says. “is that—”
he turns, following her gaze, then looks back at her, something warm and unmistakably tender settling into his expression. “yeah,” he says gently. “it’s snowing.”
she steps back half a pace, still swallowed in his jacket, lifting her hand like the moment might vanish if she moves too quickly. a flake lands on her sleeve, darkening the fabric before melting away.
“i’ve never seen snow before,” she murmurs, voice hushed with awe. “only in movies.”
and something in his chest tightens.
he watches her instead of the sky, because nothing about this feels ordinary to him. not the way her eyes track every falling flake like it’s magic, not the small smile tugging at her mouth, not the way wonder softens the exhaustion and fear she’s been carrying for weeks. the cold has turned her cheeks red, lashes fluttering as she blinks up at the sky, and she looks impossibly alive in the moment.
he thinks, distantly, that he’s skated through more winters than he can count. snow has always just been part of his life in zurich and currently, toronto. the snow as never a spectacle and life almsot alwats went on. the people were practical about the snow being something you dress for and work through. but watching her see it for the first time changes it completely. this is what it’s for, he realizes. this quiet beauty. this pause. this feeling of standing at the edge of something new together.
and it hits him, sudden and steady all at once, that the first snowfall isn’t just a coincidence.
it marks her arrival. not just to the city, not just to his home, but to his life in a way that’s permanent. the way seasons turn without asking permission. the way you wake up one day and everything looks different, softer, heavier with meaning.
the delicate snow flakes that catch into the strands of hair that escaped his jacket’s hood represents the start of their lives.
love settles into him, not the kind that rushes or overwhelms, but the kind that that understands this moment will be one they’ll talk about years from now, like it was always meant to happen this way.
he steps closer, hand finding her lower back, grounding her gently. “guess you picked a good night to come,” he says softly.
she looks at him then, eyes bright, smile unguarded, and he knows—with a fullness that almost hurts—that he would stand in the cold as long as it takes, just to be here when her life shifts, just to be the place she lands.
“first snowfall,” he says softly. “of the year.”
“of my life,” she corrects, smiling up at him.
“come here,” he says, pulling her back gently, arms sliding around her from behind. he tucks his chin over her shoulder, both of them watching the snow fall together, her back warm against his chest.
“i didn’t know it was going to snow,” she says quietly. “this is unreal.”
“welcome to toronto weather,” he murmurs. “it’s kind of dramatic.”
she laughs, leaning into him. “of course it is. only you would live somewhere dramatic.”
he presses a kiss to her temple. “you picked the perfect night.”
she turns in his arms to face him again, eyes shining. “i'm freezing. a warning would've been great.”
he smiles, unrepentant. “well, you will grow to learn that weather predictions are pretty useless here. it's a feeling, baby.”
she shakes her head, laughing softly, then rises onto her toes and kisses him again—slower this time, sweeter, snow falling around them like a promise.
when she pulls back, breath warm between them, she whispers, “this really your home.”
he nods, thumb brushing her cheek. “and now,” he says, just as quietly, “it's ours.”
they settle into his car and the city opens up around them as he pulls onto the road, downtown toronto glowing softly through the windshield. streetlights blur into long lines of gold and white, snow drifting lazily through the air like it’s part of the scenery instead of the weather.
she sinks deeper into the passenger seat, still bundled in his jacket, warmth finally reaching places the cold had touched. the heated seats radiate beneath her, and she lets out a quiet contented sigh.
“nothing,” he says, lips tugging up. “just making sure you didn’t disappear.”
she laughs softly, squeezing his hand. “not going anywhere.”
the streets feel both familiar and distant to her. “last time i was here,” she says quietly, “i don’t remember much. i was such a mess. i got lost trying to find my uber and almost cried.”
“i was having a breakdown at the same time because your location was off,” he reminds her, smiling now because he knew it was apart of her scheme.
“which i probably should've told you, so i could figure out the terrifying monster that is pearson airport but" she pauses, "the look on your face was worth it. even when the city made me feel like such a fish out of water"
"i don't take it for granted,” he says, eyes flicking to her again. “that meant everything.”
she swallows. “but i want you to know, auston that, that was what helped me realize this is where i want to be.”
his grip tightens around her hand for a second. “that was september,” he murmurs. “feels like a lifetime ago.”
“it does,” she agrees. “everything’s different now.”
“yeah,” he says softly. “it's better.”
at a red light, he lifts her hand and kisses it slowly, deliberately, like he’s sealing the thought. she watches the snow collect on the windshield and melt away.
he shakes his head slightly, smiling to himself. “i remember my first real toronto winter,” he says. “thought i was tough because i am use to rinks that i didn’t need a good coat.”
“and let me guess. you were wrong?” she asks.
“so wrong,” he says easily. “you’re shopping for one while i’m away.”
she wrinkles her nose. “i need the thickest one. the warmest. something that could warm me up in antartica because that what this basically is.”
“i'll see what's on the market,” he says. “i’ll be gone for a week and you’ll come back looking like a native.”
she watches him as he drives—the way his jaw relaxes now, the way his shoulders seem lighter. “you keep looking at me,” she says gently.
“can’t help it,” he admits. “every time i do, it feels real all over again.”
they fall into easy conversation after that. she tells him about the flight—the turbulence, the crying baby two rows back, the moment she finally slept with her forehead against the window. he listens like nothing else exists, nodding, asking questions, kissing her hand whenever she pauses.
downtown rises around them, familiar and new all at once. snow continues to fall, quiet and steady.
this time, she isn’t visiting.
this time, she’s home.
the car slows as they turn onto his street, familiar in a way that makes her chest ache.
she recognizes it immediately—the quiet stretch, the way the lights cast a soft glow over the sidewalks, the building rising ahead like something she’s seen in dreams more than memory. it looks the same. feels different.
“we're home,” he says, with another kiss to her hand.
he parks and turns the engine off, but neither of them moves right away. snow dusts the steps leading up to the building, settling gently like the night is trying to be kind.
when they step out, the cold bites again, but he’s already pulling her into him, arms wrapping around her fully as they pause on the steps. she tucks herself against his chest, the jacket still warm, and tilts her face up toward his.
he kisses her again, slow and familiar, like he needs it as much as she does.
“home,” he murmurs against her lips.
she nods, smiling softly. “yeah.”
he reaches into his pocket then and presses the keys into her palm. “head up” he says quietly. “go see felix. i doubt he’s asleep.”
her face lights up instantly. “really?”
he laughs. “he’s been restless all day. i think he knows.”
she laughs too, eyes already glassy. “i am dying to see him.”
“he’ll be the second happiest to see you,” he adds, teasing gently. “after me.”
she grins, then suddenly shrugs out of his jacket and thrusts it back at him. “you’re going to freeze.”
“i’ll survive,” he says, amused.
she gives him a quick peck, soft and affectionate. “thank you.”
then she’s already halfway to the door, keys jingling, calling felix’s name under her breath.
behind her, he shakes his head with a smile, bending to grab her luggage—all three suitcases, heavy and awkward. snow dusts his shoulders as he hauls them up the steps, watching her disappear inside, heart full in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.
she’s here and suddenly, everything feels right.
the door clicks shut behind her, warmth rushing in all at once.
before she can even turn the light fully on, there’s movement—soft paws skidding across the floor, a low, excited whine breaking the quiet.
“felix,” she breathes.
he comes flying down the hall, nails clicking wildly, tail wagging so hard his whole body follows. she barely has time to drop her bag before she’s on the floor, laughing through a sudden rush of emotion as he barrels into her, licking her face like he’s been holding it in for weeks.
“hi,” she laughs, hands sinking into his fur. “hi, baby. i missed you so much.”
he presses his weight into her, nose tucked under her chin, whining softly like he’s telling her every feeling he’s had since she left. she curls around him instinctively, forehead resting against his, breathing him in like comfort itself.
“you didn’t forget me,” she whispers, voice thick. “you didn’t.”
felix answers by licking her again, tail thumping against the floor in rapid approval.
she stays there, sitting cross-legged on the hardwood, jacket pooled beside her, letting him climb halfway into her lap even though he’s far too big for it. her fingers trace familiar paths through his fur, grounding her in the quiet of the apartment, the reality of being here.
she hears footsteps sound behind her and looks up just as auston steps inside, arms full of luggage, hair dusted with melting snow. he pauses when he sees them—her on the floor, felix jumping onto her like he’s afraid she’ll disappear again.
his expression softens completely at the scene.
“yeah,” he murmurs, dropping the bags with a quiet thud. “can’t say i didn’t expect this.”
she smiles up at him, eyes bright and tired. “he missed me.”
felix wags harder, like he agrees.
auston crouches down beside them, one hand resting on felix’s back, the other brushing her knee. “it's hard not to,” he says gently. “he’s been waiting.”
she leans into him, still on the floor, surrounded by warmth and fur and familiar quiet. for the first time all day, her shoulders relax.
he watches her for a moment, noticing the way her eyelids droop just slightly, the soft slump of her shoulders. it’s nearing midnight, and he knows she’s been up nearly twenty-four hours straight.
“hey,” he murmurs, voice low, “you look like you’re about to collapse.”
she laughs, still on the floor with felix, who’s rolling onto his back, paws flailing in excitement. “i don’t want to stop,” she says, voice soft, “he’s been patient enough waiting for me.”
he shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. before she can protest, he scoops her up effortlessly off the floor, one arm under her back, the other under her knees. she giggles, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“did you get any sleep today?” he asks, carrying her toward the bathroom.
“no,” she admits, pressing her face into his shoulder. “i did some last minute packing the night before to make sure i didn't miss anything. then, i couldn’t nap on the plane. i was too excited.”
“that explains it,” he murmurs. “but we need to fix that.”
she leans against him as he sets her down gently by the shower. she starts the water, steam rising almost immediately, filling the space with warmth. he stands behind her, letting her adjust the temperature, offering a hand if she needs it, playful smiles exchanged in the mirror.
minutes later, they’re brushing their teeth side by side. she notices her own toothbrush, toothpaste, and other products neatly lined up on the counter.
“you were prepared,” she teases, brushing quickly.
“of course,” he says, leaning slightly closer, brushing his teeth as well. “i wasn’t going to let you feel like you had to bring everything from arizona.”
she smiles, feeling the familiarity, the comfort, the little things that already make this feel like home. the exhaustion is still there, but it’s softened, dulled by the presence of him, by the quiet intimacy of the shared routine.
when they finish, he catches her hand with his, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “come on,” he says gently. “bed. you deserve to rest.”
she nods, letting him guide her out of the bathroom, felix trailing behind them, and for the first time since leaving arizona, she feels completely, undeniably, where she belongs.
the bedroom is cozy, warm from the heater, the city lights outside painting soft streaks across the walls. felix curls at the foot of the bed, his soft snoring filling the quiet. she snuggles under the blankets, and he slides in beside her, curling around her like they were made to fit.
there’s something different in the way they settle into each other this time.
not rushed. not stolen. not quietly counting down in the back of their minds.
she feels it as she breathes him in—how her body doesn’t brace for an ending, how her chest doesn’t tighten with the familiar ache of soon. the panic that usually hums beneath moments like this is gone. replaced with something steadier. heavier in the best way.
because they this isn’t a visit. this is now her life, finally folding back into his.
she presses closer, fitting against him like muscle memory finally allowed to relax. her legs tangle with his. her forehead stays tucked beneath his chin. and for the first time in so long, she lets herself go still.
he feels it too.
the way she doesn’t hesitate or act like someone who is about to leave. the feeling of how she settles goes straight to his heart. it hits him slowly, then all at once, and his chest aches with the magnitude of it.
she’s doesn't have to leave in a few days because she chose this.
“this feels different,” he murmurs eventually, voice quiet like he doesn’t want to scare it away.
she hums softly in agreement, fingers idly tracing the seam of his sleeve. “yeah. i was thinking the same thing.”
he shifts just enough to look at her, eyes searching her face, not for reassurance—but recognition. “before, it always felt like we were borrowing time. like we had to be careful with it.”
her throat tightens, because he’s right. because she’s felt that too. every goodbye layered over the one before it.
“now?” she whispers.
his thumb brushes her cheek, reverent. “now it feels like we finally get to be together fully. completely.”
that lands somewhere deep. permanent. grounding.
she exhales, slow and full. “i don’t have to count the months anymore.”
he swallows. “neither do i.”
they lie there like that, bodies pressed together, the weight of the future settling not as pressure, but as possibility. his home feels like a glimpse into the life they get to shape together. the mornings, routines and quiet nights where nothing is on the hanging on them except dinner plans and who forgot to buy groceries.
she thinks about waking up here when he’s gone on the road. about waiting for him without distance swallowing her whole and building something that doesn’t disappear when the season begins.
it’s almost embarrassing how much auston has though about thinks about coming home to her. It was one of the thoughts that kept heim afloat during the trials of the hockey season and rehab days. now he could end his days with her on the couch with laughter bleeding into silence without lonlieness burdening him. they now get to think about a life that finally stretches forward instead of looping back.
he presses his forehead to hers again, grounding himself in the truth of it. “thank you,” he says softly, not for the first time but this time it sounds different. “for choosing the real thing.”
she smiles, eyes shining. “i'll always choose you us.”
his arms tighten around her, protective and certain. “then i’m not letting go.”
she relaxes fully into him, heart steady, body warm, future open.
and for the first time since the summer, being together doesn’t feel like something they have to protect from ending.
it feels like something they finally get to build.
the room is still dark when he wakes.
not from his alarm—he turned it off before it could make a sound—but from habit, from the quiet pull of responsibility he’s lived with for years. the city outside is barely stirring, streetlights still glowing faintly through the curtains. everything feels hushed, suspended.
she’s here.
that’s the first thing he registers. the second is how rested he feels, truly rested. the kind that relaxes him muscles perfectly before a travel day. they were supposed to sleep early. they didn’t. he doesn’t regret it for a second.
he stays still, careful not to wake her, one arm wrapped securely around her back, the other tucked beneath her head. her face is relaxed in sleep, lashes resting softly against her cheeks, lips parted just slightly. there’s no tension in her brow, nworry etched there.
she looks safe with him.
his chest tightens at the thought.
he studies her like he’s trying to memorize her all over again, like this version of her—here, in his bed, tangled up in his arms—is something sacred. his thumb brushes lightly over her shoulder, barely there. he remembers the first time they slept like this, really slept like this, on her couch back home. maria on her play mat nearby, babbling softly while they pretended they weren’t exhausted. how he’d thought then that he could get used to that kind of happiness.
he had no idea how deep it would go.
how loving her would become this steady, anchor in his life. how choosing her would feel like choosing oxygen.
he presses his forehead lightly to her hair, breathing her in. this is my person, he thinks, not for the first time—but this time it lands with certainty instead of longing.
he wants to stay.
the thought comes sharp and instinctive. this is the life they’ve both chosen to navigate, together now, even when it pulls them apart for stretches of time.
still, leaving hurts.
he leans down, brushing a soft kiss to her eyelid. then her forehead. gentle, unhurried. she stirs at the second one, a quiet sound leaving her throat as her body shifts closer on instinct.
“hey,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper.
her eyes blink open slowly, unfocused at first, then softening when they find him. “already?”
“yeah,” he says quietly. “i tried to be quiet.”
she exhales, sleepy but aware now, her hand sliding up to rest on his chest. “what time is it?”
“6,” he says. “flights at 7:45.”
she nods, absorbing it, then presses her face into him, arms tightening around his torso. the gesture is small but it hits him hard. he wraps both arms around her, holding her firmly, grounding himself in the feel of her.
“call me,” he says into her hair. “for anything. i don’t care what time it is. i don’t care if it feels stupid. you call me.”
she lifts her head, eyes heavy with sleep but steady. she leans forward, presses a slow kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “i’ll be okay,” she says softly. “i promise. i’m a big girl.”
he huffs out a quiet breath, half a laugh, half a sigh. “i know you are.”
“and you’ll be back before i know it,” she adds.
“yeah,” he says, brushing his thumb along her jaw. “i will.”
she looks up at him then, completely awake now, gaze sure and warm. “i’ll be here.”
something in his chest settles at that. not the same hope they held onto, no, this time it was certainty.
he kisses her one more time, lingering, then pulls back just enough to look at her. “i love you,” he says, simple and unwavering.
she smiles, soft and real. “i love you too.”
he forces himself to move after that. slowly, carefully, disentangling their limbs. every step toward the door feels heavier than it should, but he doesn’t look back until he’s almost out of the room.
she’s already curled back into the blankets, watching him with a small smile.
and even as he leaves—quietly, reluctantly—he knows something fundamental has shifted.
this goodbye isn’t an ending.
it’s just a pause.
because this time, she’s not waiting somewhere far away.
she would be waiting for him in their home.
hours later, she wakes slowly, drifting up from sleep without urgency, without the sharp pull of an alarm or a schedule waiting to claim her.
the first thing she notices is the quiet.
not the peaceful kind she’s used to—morning light spilling into her old apartment, the distant hum of pedastrians walking up and down the sidewalk, naomi moving around before a flight—but an unfamiliar stillness. the kind that makes a space feel bigger than it should.
she turns her body instinctively. only to find the other side of the bed is empty.
the sheets are still warm where he was, faintly rumpled, his pillow carrying the lingering impression of his head. her chest tightens before her mind catches up. felix is curled neatly at the foot of the bed, paws tucked under himself, eyes half-open. he lifts his head when she moves, tail giving a small, lazy thump—like he knows they both miss him but it’s now his responsible to keep watch.
“good morning, buddy” she murmurs softly, voice thick with sleep.
felix doesn’t move. he just settles again, content but alert, exactly how he gets when auston’s gone.
the feeling is familiar enough to sting.
she remebers preseason when he went to ottawa. the early morning where she’d woken up in this same bed alone, counting the hpurs until he came back. but that was temporary, something with a clear end.
this isn’t that.
she stares up at the ceiling, the reality settling in slowly, heavily. she doesn’t need to set an alarm. doesn’t need to rush to get dressed, to grab her daily coffee from her favorite spot, to arrive early and lay out charts and prep materials before anyone else came in. there’s no clipboard waiting for her. no morning routine shaped by responsibility and momentum.
that life is gone.
the thought lands harder than she expects.
in the span of two weeks, everything shifted—her job, city, country, all versions of herself she thought were cemented in place. she’d braced for the moment on the plane, for the goodbye to her apartment, for the last box taped shut. she’d thought that’s where it would hit.
but it’s this.
her waking up alone in his bed.
being with him, but not with him—not in the easy, sun-drenched way summer had allowed. not in the way where time felt abundant and absence didn’t yet setyle. this is real life now. schedules, road trips and mornings like this.
her heart clenches, sharp and sudden.
she rolls onto her side, pulling his pillow closer, breathing in what’s left of him—soap, laundry detergent, something unmistakably him. felix shifts closer, pressing his back against her legs, grounding her just enough to keep the ache from spilling over.
“this is it,” she whispers to no one.
not fear. not regret. just the quiet understanding that love doesn’t freeze time—it asks you to live inside it, even when it hurts.
she closes her eyes again, letting herself feel it fully this time. the loss of the old rhythm. the weight of the new one. the strange, hollow space between missing him and choosing this anyway.
her life has changed.
and as much as it scares her, as much as it aches, she knows—deep down, steady beneath the fear—that she would still make the same choice.
even now.
especially now.
after recharging up on cuddles with felix, she decides cuddles aren’t enough and he needs a walk. she gets up to change, the quiet trailing after her like it’s unsure where to settle. the door clicks shut behind her and for a second she just stands there, listening—to the hum of the heater, to the faint city sounds leaking through the windows, to the absence of him.
she reaches for the closet door and slides it open, fingers skimming hangers until they brush against something heavier, softer. one of his hoodies, navy, worn thin at the cuffs. when she pulls it free, a small square of white slips out and flutters to the floor.
she already knows.
she bends to pick it up, knees brushing the carpet, and unfolds it slowly like she’s bracing herself.
what’s mine is yours. especially my clothes.
i’ve waited long enough to see you in them. don’t fight it.
— a
her throat tightens before she can stop it. she lets out a quiet laugh that comes out a little broken, pressing the note to her chest for a beat before setting it on the dresser.
“he’s actually unbelievable,” she murmurs, shaking her head, but her smile is soft and helpless.
she pulls the hoodie on, fabric swallowing her whole, sleeves slipping past her hands. it smells like him that makes her chest ache. she closes her eyes for just a second, breathing him in, letting herself be held by something even when he’s not here.
from the dresser, she grabs the toque he left out for. it was black and simple with the leafs logo stitched neatly on the front, his number etched small along the edge like a secret meant just for her. she runs her thumb over it absently before pulling it down over her hair.
felix pads into the room then, sitting at her feet with the leash in his mouth, tail thumping once against the floor.
“i know,” she tells him quietly. “you’re ready. i’m getting there.”
she reaches for the jacket next—the one she wore last night when he picked her up. his jacket. heavy, oversized, still holding the shape of his shoulders. she hesitates only a moment before slipping it on too, letting it hang off her frame, letting herself disappear into it a little.
when she catches her reflection in the mirror, she pauses.
it’s not just that she’s wrapped in his things. it’s the way she almost burst out laughing at how bundled up she looks. she’s sure the lengths she’s gone screams tourist.
she grabs her phone almost without thinking and lifts it, snapping a mirror selfie. the hoodie drowning her, the jacket zipped halfway, the toque pulled low. felix makes it into the frame too, sitting proudly at her side like he knows this moment matters.
she doesn’t overthink the caption.
baby 🤍: do you think people can tell i’m not a local?
she sends it before she can second-guess herself.
then she moves toward the foyer, pulling on her uggs, shrugging deeper into the jacket. the mirror by the door catches her again—full view this time, all layers and resolve and quiet nerves.
for a moment, she just stands there, phone still in her hand, imagining him somewhere between flights or rehab or meetings, pulling it out and smiling, really smiling, at the sight of her like this.
she presses her forehead briefly to the door, eyes closing. “okay,” she murmurs to herself, like she’s steadying more than just her nerves. “we’ve got this.”
felix looks up at her, tail thumping, entirely confident in her. she manages a small smile, crouching to clip on his leash, brushing her thumb through his fur. “first walk, buddy” she tells him softly. “guess it’s just us, huh?”
the thought aches, but it doesn’t break her.
because beneath the missing, beneath the distance, there’s something steady now. the knowledge that she isn’t walking back to an empty place forever. that this quiet is temporary. that somewhere, he’s thinking about coming home too.
she straightens, opens the door, and steps out into the cold with felix at her side—heart a little heavy, but grounded. choosing to move forward anyway.
the hotel restaurant hums with low conversation and the scrape of cutlery, plates being cleared almost as quickly as they’re set down. team lunch always has that strange in-between feeling—too calm for game day nerves, too loud for real quiet. auston sits near the middle of the long table, hoodie sleeves pushed up, phone face down beside his plate.
he’d left it that way all morning.
practice had demanded his full attention, rehab after, meetings stacked back to back. but underneath it all there’d been this steady, grounding thought he kept coming back to—she’s there. at his place. their place now. felix on the bed, the few things in the closet she left during her last visit, her prescence filling the rooms he’d learned to live in alone in.
it makes his shoulders loosen without him even realizing.
he finally flips his phone over as lunch winds down, thumb hovering for half a second before unlocking it. the photo loads instantly.
it’s her drowned in his hoodie and jacket, his toque pulled low, felix sitting like a proud little sentinel at her side. something warm spreads through his chest so fast it almost catches him off guard. he smiles at the screen—full, unguarded, the kind he doesn’t even try to hide.
“oh my god,” willy says from across the table, already grinning. “look at you.”
auston looks up, caught, but doesn’t bother pretending. “what?”
“that smile,” willy says, leaning back in his chair. “that’s not a smile anyone gives before morning skate. that’s your y/n smile”
auston scoffs, but there’s no heat in it. “relax.”
“I am happy for you guts” willy presses, eyes bright. “i had that same look when my girl moved in and i didn’t have to wait to see her the morning after roadies. except honestly?” he laughs. “i think she loves y/n more than she loves me.”
“yeah, yeah,” auston says, shaking his head, but he’s still smiling. “well she’ll have to get in line. no visitors when i get back home.”
“no visitors?” a voice pipes up from behind him, exaggeratedly wounded.
auston groans before he even turns. “kniesy, don’t start.”
matthew knies drops into the chair beside him like a kid who’s just been told christmas is canceled. “all i heard was no visitors. you can’t just say that in front of me.”
“you live in the building next door,” auston says flatly. “you’re not a visitor, you’re a problem.”
“hey, i was your rook,” knies corrects. “you know i’m used to this. first jt, now you. i show up, i eat, i leave. it’s tradition.”
willy snorts. “he’s not wrong.”
auston rubs his face. “she moved in,” he says, finally. “that’s what i meant.”
knies’s pout melts instantly. “oh. wait—y/n moved in?”
“yeah,” auston says, softer now.
knies breaks into a grin. “oh that’s sick. she was cool when i met her in arizona. way nicer than you.”
“low bar,” auston mutters.
“so,” knies continues, undeterred, “free meals still a thing or—”
“we’ll have extra,” auston sighs. “but don’t get comfortable.”
knies claps his hands once. “this might be best day ever.”
auston rolls his eyes, but there’s fondness there, the kind that comes with knowing things are finally, genuinely good.
his phone buzzes again in his hand, like it knows he’s been putting this off long enough. he looks back down at her messages, rereads them once, twice, thumb hovering as his chest tightens in the best way.
baby🤍: do you think people can tell i’m not a local?
his reply comes easily.
auston <3: besides the stressful energy you are radiating, you look perfect.
he hesitates, then adds:
auston <3: thank you for being there. i feel lighter just knowing you are.
he sends it, locking the phone and tucking it back into his hand like something precious.
the game day still looms and the road trip will still stretch ahead.
but for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel like he’s leaving something behind and he cannot wait to come home.
they only get a few quiet minutes before someone calls out that it’s time to load the bus, to the rink the room shifting again, chairs scraping, voices rising. auston slips away anyway, phone already to his ear as he steps into the hallway where it’s quieter, cooler, easier to breathe.
“hey,” he says, low and soft, like he’s afraid the moment might break if he speaks too loudly.
her voice comes through a second later, warm and familiar, and something in his chest settles instantly. “hi.”
there’s a small pause, the kind that’s still new between them, careful in a way that isn’t fragile anymore—just aware.
“i didn’t know if i should call,” she admits, and he can picture her standing in his kitchen, one hand on the counter, felix probably weaving around her ankles. “you’re usually busy around now, and with the time difference...i didn’t want to throw you off.”
he leans back against the wall, smiling to himself. “yeah,” he says quietly. “i guess we’re gonna have to get used to that. eastern time now. feels weird being in the same timezone.”
“it does,” she agrees, a soft laugh in her voice. “i keep checking the clock like i’m doing something wrong.”
“you’re not,” he says immediately. “none of this is wrong.”
the words sit between them for a second, heavier than he meant them to be, so he clears his throat and lets the smile back into his voice. “also—can we talk about you preparing for war?”
she laughs, real and unguarded. “okay, maybe i exaggerated a little.”
“a little?” he teases. “you looked like you were about to go across the arctic.”
“listen,” she says defensively, but she’s smiling, he can hear it. “your jacket is incredible, by the way. super warm. i only felt cold for, like sixty percent of the walk.”
he grins. “that’s pretty good. look at you—canadian in the making.”
“don’t push it,” she says, amused. “but seriously. i get the hype now.”
“you can get your own whenever you want,” he tells her. “i’ll take you.”
she doesn’t answer right away, and when she does her voice is softer, steadier. “i’ll wait,” she says. “i want to do it with you.”
something in him stills. the hallway noise fades, the game, the bus, the night ahead all blurring at the edges. “yeah?” he murmurs.
“yeah.”
his heart warms in that slow, domestic way that sneaks up on him—visions of ordinary things suddenly feeling monumental. errands. jackets. choosing things together.
“okay,” he says quietly. “we’ll do it together.”
they shift naturally after that, the way they always do, into the thing that’s right in front of them. “how are you feeling?” she asks. “really.”
he exhales, honest. “nervous,” he admits. “but good. ready. it feels good to be back, even if i’m still thinking about it a little.”
“that’s normal,” she says gently. “i’ll be watching. yelling at the tv. probably scaring felix.”
he laughs. “felix gets hyped too. so atleast, you have eacheother.”
“always,” she says. “just—be careful, okay?”
he closes his eyes for a second, anchoring himself in her voice. “i will. i promise.”
there’s another pause, full this time, not awkward—just heavy with everything unsaid.
“go,” she tells him softly. “i’m right here.”
he smiles, warmth spreading through him again. “i know. i’ll call you after.”
and as he pulls the phone away, heading back toward the noise and the lights and the night ahead, he carries her with him—steady, waiting, already part of the rhythm of his days.
the apartment feels different at night without him, quieter in a way that isn’t empty exactly—just unfamiliar. y/n curls into the corner of the couch, felix tucked warm against her thigh, the glow of the tv washing the living room in blue and white. auston’s jersey is folded over the armrest like she left it there on purpose, something solid to keep her company while the game plays on.
she tries to focus. she really does. but watching him always pulls at something deeper now that she’s here, now that this is his space too—hers, even if she’s still getting used to saying that. every stride he takes across the ice feels personal, every hit a little too close to home.
her phone buzzes on the coffee table just as the puck gets cleared out of the zone.
naomi.
she smiles before she even answers.
“hey,” she says softly, angling the phone so naomi can see her face, the couch, a sliver of the tv in the background.
naomi’s on her bed, hair pulled into a messy bun, hoodie swallowed up around her shoulders. she looks tired, but her eyes soften immediately. “hi,” she says, dragging the word out like she’s been holding it in. “i just wanted to check on you.”
y/n shrugs lightly, but there’s affection in it. “i’m okay. just… watching.”
naomi nods, like she already knew that answer. she doesn’t say i miss you or i wish i was there. she’s always been good at that—knowing when not to say the thing out loud. “i’m keeping you company through the screen,” she says instead. “same as always.”
it makes y/n’s chest ache a little, in a good way.
the broadcast cuts to auston circling behind the net, fast, sharp, clearly hungry. naomi squints at the screen. “okay, i just tuned in. how’s he playing?”
“quick,” y/n says immediately, eyes never leaving the ice. “aggressive. i can tell he wants one badly.”
“of course he does,” naomi says. “that man hates not scoring.”
y/n huffs a quiet laugh. “yeah. but the capitals are… annoying for the leafs. always have been.”
naomi groans dramatically. “you’re telling me. one of the last games we watched together—”
“we don’t talk about that,” y/n cuts in, smiling despite herself.
naomi laughs, the sound familiar and grounding. “fair. but honestly?” she tilts her head, studying y/n through the screen. “if i didn’t already know you loved him, watching you sit through a three-goal loss without throwing something would’ve convinced me.”
y/n laughs softly, shaking her head. “that’s growth.”
“that’s devotion,” naomi corrects. “i still don’t understand the rules, by the way.”
“you never did,” y/n says fondly.
“and yet,” naomi adds, “i watched every single game with you. because you cared. because he cared. that’s love, babe.”
the words settle gently between them, not heavy—just true.
the horn sounds to end the period, and y/n exhales, finally looking down at her phone. “stay?” she asks quietly, not needing to explain.
naomi smiles, already settling in. “i’m not going anywhere. talk to me. what’s it like… being there?”
the game fades into background noise as they keep talking, voices overlapping softly with the commentators.
“i haven’t really gone anywhere,” y/n admits after a beat, picking at the cuff of the hoodie she’s wearing. “i mean… i walked felix. that’s it. and i know it sounds stupid because i already did the big scary part. i moved. but the idea of actually venturing out on my own?” she exhales. “it kind of freaks me out.”
naomi’s expression shifts immediately, all seriousness and care. “that’s not stupid. at all.”
y/n looks at the screen. “it’s not?”
“no,” naomi says firmly. “moving somewhere doesn’t magically make it feel like home. especially when you’re there because of someone you love.” she tilts her head. “and listen—my whole life is airports and new cities and hotel rooms. i thrive on that. but you?” she smiles softly. “you’ve always been the grounded one.”
y/n’s throat tightens a little.
“you like structure,” naomi continues. “routines. knowing where your coffee is, which street feels safe, what your day looks like. that’s not a flaw—it’s one of the things i admire most about you.”
y/n swallows. “i just don’t know how to do that there yet.”
“because you’ve been there for twenty-four hours,” naomi says gently. “you’re not supposed to have it figured out. give yourself some grace.”
on the tv, auston skates hard into the corner, fighting for the puck. y/n watches him, jaw set, heart tugging.
“yeah,” she murmurs. “i just wish he was here.”
“of course you do,” naomi says. “but honestly?” she smiles, softer now. “there is nowhere he would rather be than walking around that city with you. showing you his favorite spots, making it yours too. he’s probably dying that he can’t.”
y/n’s lips curve into a small, sad smile. “he would love that.”
“exactly,” naomi says. “so until then, you take it slow. one walk. one coffee shop. one little routine at a time. you don’t have to conquer canada in a week.”
y/n laughs quietly. “thank god.”
naomi grins. “you’re doing something brave. even if it doesn’t feel like it yet.”
y/n looks back at the screen, at him, at the life slowly unfolding in front of her. “i hope it starts feeling real soon.”
“it will,” naomi says with certainty. “and when it does, you won’t be doing it alone. not really.”
y/n nods, blinking back the sting in her eyes. “thanks for staying on the phone.”
“always,” naomi replies. “just like before.”
and as the game rolls on, the distance feels a little less sharp, softened by familiar voices, shared history, and the quiet promise that this—too—will become home.
the road trip ends the way no one expected it to—four wins, momentum finally rolling, the room light, the boys loud as they file onto the bus outside lenovo center. it should feel satisfying. it does, in a way. but all he can think about is getting home.
his phone buzzes just as he drops into his seat.
baby 🤍: are you on the way to the airport?
his brows knit together. he thumbs back, confused.
auston <3: on the bus. why?
three dots appear. disappear. then:
baby 🤍: turn your brightness down.
that makes his stomach flip.
he does it immediately, instinctively glancing around before opening the photo. the bus is still chaotic—music playing, guys talking over each other—but the world narrows the second the image fills his screen.
it’s her.
a mirror selfie taken from the dresser across from his bed. their bed. the room he knows so well—his nightstand, the edge of the headboard, the mirror that’s seen him half-asleep a hundred mornings—except now she’s in it. barefoot. tank top. lounge shorts she knows he loves, the ones that sit just right on her hips. casual. intimate. unmistakably at home.
his breath catches.
he looks up fast, scanning the bus, pulse spiking like he’s been caught doing something illegal. no one’s looking. still, he angles his phone closer to his chest, thumbs already flying.
auston <3: you’re trying to kill me.
a second later, another text from her.
baby 🤍: just wanted you to know i’m waiting for you.
his chest tightens, warm and almost painful. he leans back in his seat, shaking his head to himself, a grin spreading across his face that he can’t stop.
this is it, he realizes. this is the first time he’s coming home and she’ll be there. not visiting. not passing through. home.
it feels like christmas eve—like something precious and long-anticipated sitting just on the other side of sleep. the kind of excitement that makes it hard to breathe, that makes time feel cruelly slow.
he types again, slower this time, savoring it.
auston <3: i’m counting the minutes.
he locks his phone, presses it to his chest for half a second, and stares out the bus window as the city blurs past.
four wins. a successful trip and all of it fades in comparison to the thought waiting for him at the end of it.
for the first time in his life, he isn’t just going home.
he’s going home to her.
auston stepped through the front door of his home, the familiar creak of the hinges cutting through the quiet night like a whispered secret. the clock on the wall ticked past three and the house felt alive in a way it never had before—warm, lived-in, scented with her faint lavender shampoo that lingered in the air.
he'd been buzzing with anticipation since that photo, his cock straining against his sweats on the entire flight back from carolina, but now, standing in the doorway of their bedroom, the sight of her hit him like a puck to the chest.
there she was, sprawled on his king-sized bed, the same one he'd left behind weeks ago, her bare feet dangling off the edge, toes painted a soft pink that caught the moonlight filtering through the curtains.
her tank top had ridden up slightly, exposing the curve of her waist, and those lounge shorts hugged her body just as he remembered, the fabric thin enough to tease the outline of her.
he couldn't hold back; his hands were on her before he even dropped his bag, fingers grazing the soft skin of her arm as he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.
“i missed you," he murmured, his voice rough with exhaustion and desire, his hard length pressing insistently against her side as he pulled her closer.
she stirred awake with a sleepy smile, her eyes fluttering open to meet his, and the way she looked at him—full of that easy, unguarded affection—made his heart race even faster than any game-winning goal.
her hand slid up his chest, tracing the muscles he'd built through endless training, and he felt the heat of her touch ignite every nerve.
“i missed you” she whispered, her voice still recovering from slumber
he kissed her then, deep and hungry, his lips capturing hers with a urgency that spoke of all the lonely nights apart. his hands roamed lower, slipping under the hem of her shorts to cup the warmth between her legs, feeling the dampness there that mirrored his own arousal. she gasped into his mouth, her body arching toward him.
"god," auston groaned against her lips as he pulled back slightly to look at her face. "you're so fucking beautiful."
his hands moved from between her legs to cup one breast through her tank top. "i’ve been thinking about this all day," he murmured as he ran his thumb over her nipple through thin fabric.
she moaned softly and arched into his touch. "me too. couldn’t wait" she whispered back.
he kissed down from her mouth to her neck as he tugged at her shorts with one hand. "i can't wait to feel you again," he said huskily as they fell away revealing more of her body.
he positioned himself between her legs and entered slowly savoring tight wet grip body enveloped him each thrust deliberate from the time time apart. her nails digging shoulders while whispered how good she felt thought nothing else room filled sounds bodies moving together slick slide skin breathy moans low grunts moment world outside faded leaving raw emotional tangle reunion.
the world outside faded into oblivion, leaving only the raw emotional tangle of their reunion, auston sank deeper into her with a slow, deliberate grind, his cock throbbing inside the slick heat of her pussy, every inch enveloped in a rhythm that felt both familiar and electric.
her legs wrapped tighter around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back as she pulled him closer, her breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps that mingled with his own.
the room was alive with the intimate sounds of their bodies—the wet, slapping sounds of skin meeting skin, the musky scent of their arousal thickening the air, and the faint creak of the bed beneath them.
he could feel the way her inner walls clenched around him, a grip that sent jolts of pleasure straight to the base of his cock, while his hands roamed up her sides, thumbs brushing over the swell of her breasts, teasing her hardened nipples through the thin fabric of her tank top until she arched her back, a soft cry escaping her lips.
in that hazy blur of desire, memories of the weeks apart flooded back—late-night video calls that had only stoked the fire, the ache of empty hotel beds, and now, this perfect combination of need and affection.
she whispered his name, her voice a tender plea laced with urgency, and he responded by capturing her mouth in a searing kiss, their tongues dancing as he thrust harder, deeper, each movement a promise of how much he'd craved this connection.
her fingers threaded through his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, while her other hand trailed down his back, feeling the taut muscles flex with every roll of his hips.
the emotional weight of their reunion amplified the physical pleasure, making every sensation more vivid—the way her pussy tightened around him in rhythmic pulses, the salty taste of sweat on her neck as he trailed kisses along her collarbone.
the overwhelming rush of love that made his heart pound in sync with his body's demands.
he slowed for a moment, pulling back just enough to lock eyes with her, the moonlight casting a soft glow on her flushed face, her lips parted in a mix of pleasure and adoration.
"i’m so fucking in love with you," he murmured, his voice husky and raw, before driving into her again with renewed fervor.
their bodies moving in perfect harmony, building toward that shared pinnacle where pleasure and emotion intertwined completely.
the heat between them intensified, her moans growing louder, more desperate, as he felt the first tremors of her climax beginning to ripple through her, pulling him inexorably along with her into the depths of their unbridled passion.
he stays close, like the idea of space between them doesn’t make sense anymore. his arm drapes over her waist, thumb brushing slow, absent-minded circles into her skin, grounding both of them.
“you know what i kept thinking on the flight back?” he says quietly, almost to himself.
she hums, nose tucked under his chin. “what?”
he exhales, a soft, disbelieving sound. “i don’t know how i did it. all those years. coming home to an empty place. dropping my keys on the counter and just… sitting there.” his voice turns gentle, awed. “i really don’t know how i survived it.”
she lifts her head to look at him, eyes sleepy but attentive. “you did.”
“yeah,” he says, smiling faintly. “but i think it was just so i could get here. so i could come home to you instead.”
her chest tightens in that warm, overwhelming way, like her heart is too full for her ribs. “that’s a lot of pressure, matthews" she teases softly, even as her fingers curl into his shirt.
“i know,” he replies, brushing his nose against hers. “but it’s true. this?” he gestures vaguely between them, the bed, the quiet, the shared warmth. “this feels like what i was waiting for. like everything before was just practice.”
she laughs quietly, eyes shining. “practice for what?”
“for knowing how to love you,” he says without hesitation. “for knowing how to be still. for knowing that coming home doesn’t have to feel lonely.”
she presses her forehead to his, overwhelmed in the best way. “i am glad you're home,” she whispers.
his smile softens, something settled and sure in it. “yeah,” he says. “i really am.”
they fall quiet after that, limbs tangled, breathing syncing without effort. he kisses her hair once, then again, like a habit he’s already formed.
outside, the city keeps moving. inside, wrapped around each other, it finally feels like neither of them has anywhere else they need to be.
an — consider this my apology for the lack of updates 🥲 let me know why you think! also, this was to get to know some other important characters who will get their own series after this one
masterlist
liked by youruser, nat95 and more
austonmatthews: forever plus one 🤍 congrats nat and adrian
comments are turned off
liked by williamnylander, marner_93 and others
austonmatthews: felix’s mama
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ema_matthews: mi hija ❤️❤️❤️
marner_93: now that the adoption is through i’ll start preparing my best man speech
williamnylander: she’s not the stepmom. she’s the mom who stepped up
naomiverse: could’ve made a strong argument for baby trapping if he wasn’t so damn cute
youruser: @naomiverse that’s my baby you’re talking about
austonmatthews: whack her again baby
📍toronto, ontario
liked by naomiverse, nat97 and others
youruser: o, canada
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marcusinthemiddle: you guys make me sick me (lovingly)
nat95: so that’s what you’ve been up to or should i say….
naomiverse: @nat95 please elaborate
youruser: or don’t
austonmatthews: or do
youruser: our parents are here you, freak
marcusinthemiddle: @youruser forget the parents. I AM on HERE. why am i seeing this implied on my phone i paid for
youruser: i am surrounded by idiots
austonmatthews: yeah but you loooove me
youruser: unfortunately
liked by austonmatthews, mapleleafs and others
youruser: i’ve been indoctrinated
tagged: @min.stjarna
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austonmatthews: missed oppurtunity to post your outfit
youruser: greedy
min.stjarna: my girl!! had the best time with you 💙
austonmatthews: no, MY girl
min.stajarna: he’s out again
naomiverse: have i been replaced?
youruser: @naomiverse well, yes. since you and nat have been conspiring against me as of recently.
min.stjarna @naomiverse hey i am always down for a three way
williamnylander: @min.stjarna ?
min.stjarna: @youruser you let HIM in which makes my accepted request less heartfelt
youruser: @min.stjarna he requested to see the photos of you
min.stjarna: i’ll allow it
breyana_matthews: next time we come, we gotta ditch the brother
alexandriajmatthews: agreed
youruser: i second that
austonmatthews: what am i cold turkey?
