Part 1
The first thing you noticed when you woke up wasn’t the sunlight or the lingering warmth of the blanket, it was the music. Faint thumps drifted through the walls, pulsing in rhythm with the quiet shuffle of feet in the kitchen. You knew that playlist by heart now. Classic rock, early 2010s hits, and Will’s favorite twist, one ridiculously cheesy boyband song he swore got him in the zone.
You smiled into the pillow.
Game day.
You pulled one of his sweatshirts over your head, light gray and stretched at the collar from how often you stole it and padded into the kitchen with bare feet. Will was already up, seated at the island, tapping his fingers on the marble counter to the beat. His hair was still damp from the shower, curling slightly at the ends, and his headphones rested around his neck.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” he greeted without turning.
“How do you always know it’s me?”
“I’d know your footsteps anywhere.”
You walked over and wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind, resting your chin on top of his head. “You’re annoyingly charming already. Did you sleep?”
“Five hours,” he said. “Solid for a game day.”
You hummed. “Nerves or excitement?”
“A little of both.” His hand found yours, resting on his shoulder. “Mostly excitement. Home games are the best. And…” He turned enough to meet your eyes. “You being there helps.”
Your heart gave that flutter it always did when he said things like that without hesitation.
“You want the usual?” you asked, stepping away toward the pantry.
“Please and thank you.” He grinned and pressed play on the speaker, the volume going up a notch.
As the kitchen filled with familiar beats, you reached for the bread and peanut butter, then paused and called over your shoulder, “I feel like we need to address the elephant in the room.”
Will groaned. “Don’t.”
“The boyband song. It’s next.”
“It’s tradition.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“It wins games.”
You laughed, spreading peanut butter across the bread. “Do you remember the first time I caught you listening to this?”
He smirked. “Yeah. You made fun of me for twenty straight minutes.”
“And then you played it before that OT win against Vegas. And now, magically, it’s a ‘ritual.’”
“It is,” he insisted, crossing his arms. “It’s the same thing as not touching the Conference Final trophy.”
“You’re not in the Conference Final.”
“Yet.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled, layering banana slices carefully on the sandwich like it was sacred. It was one of the weirdest pre-game meals you’d ever heard of peanut butter, banana, honey, all squished between toasted multigrain bread but Will swore by it.
“I added cinnamon this time,” you said, sliding the plate toward him. “A touch of flair.”
He eyed it suspiciously. “You’re messing with the formula.”
“You said it yourself. We’re not in the Conference Final yet. Might as well experiment.”
Will bit into the sandwich and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Okay. Not bad.”
“I’m a culinary genius.”
He smiled, chewing thoughtfully. “You know… this whole thing? The playlist, the sandwich, the socks none of it felt real until you started doing it with me. Before, it was just something I did to stay calm. Now it’s kind of our thing.”
You sat beside him, suddenly quieter. “I like being part of your pre-game weirdness.”
He reached over and tangled his fingers with yours. “It’s not weird anymore. It’s grounding. Like a promise. That no matter how fast everything moves out there, I’ll always have this with you.”