Someone new
Tags: @qrrieterisunnq
A/N: Loosely (very loosely) based on Dean from Off Campus. Timo just gives me Dean vibes. I honestly didn't mean for it to get this long, but here we are. There will be a second part because Tumblr won't let me post anything longer than this.
Pairing: Timo Meier x reader
Words: 12k
Warning(s): a breakup, and a horrible interaction with an ex
By junior year, the campus had started to feel smaller in the worst possible way. The excitement that once came with late-night food runs, crowded football games, and parties that lasted until sunrise had dulled into repetition, and somehow your relationship had followed the same pattern. You and your boyfriend had been together since freshman orientation week, the kind of couple everyone assumed would survive college because you had already survived so much of it together. At eighteen, it had felt romantic, meeting someone immediately, attaching yourself to them before either of you really knew who you were yet. Back then, he used to wait outside your classes just to walk you home. He memorised your coffee order after two dates. He used to kiss you like he couldn’t believe you were real.
Somewhere along the line, though, all those little things had quietly disappeared beneath routines and obligations and familiarity so deep it almost felt like obligation instead of love. There wasn’t one big fight or betrayal you could point to. That would have been easier. Instead, there was just this constant dull ache sitting in your chest every time he cancelled plans because he was busy, every time conversations felt forced, and every time you caught yourself wondering whether you were staying together because you were actually happy or because neither of you knew how to let go after three years.
That night, when your friends begged you to go out with them, you almost said no out of habit. Your boyfriend had texted earlier, saying he couldn’t make it because he needed to study for an exam. Usually, that would have meant you stayed in too, ordered takeout, and watched a movie alone in your apartment while waiting for him to call later. But something inside you felt restless, tired of constantly shrinking yourself around someone else’s schedule, so instead you found yourself standing in front of your mirror, throwing on a sweater and jeans while your roommate screamed at you to hurry up because the Uber was outside.
The party was already packed by the time you got there, music so loud it rattled the windows, the entire house warm and hazy with alcohol and bodies moving shoulder to shoulder beneath dim coloured lights. Your friends immediately disappeared into the crowd the second you walked in, leaving you standing near the kitchen clutching a drink while trying not to feel awkward. You told yourself you were here to have fun, to stop overthinking everything for one night, but your thoughts still kept drifting back to your relationship, to how guilty you felt lately for questioning something that had once felt so certain.
Across the room, Timo Meier noticed you almost immediately. He was leaning against the kitchen counter beside a couple of teammates, half-listening to whatever story one of them was telling while lazily scanning the crowded room, and then suddenly he wasn’t listening at all because there you were standing near the living room entrance with your sleeves pulled over your hands and an expression on your face that looked strangely disconnected from everyone else around you. You didn’t look miserable exactly. Just distant. Like your body was at the party, but your mind was somewhere else entirely. Timo frowned slightly, straightening without realising it.
“Who’s that?” he asked, nodding toward you. His friends followed his gaze before shrugging almost in unison. None of them recognized you. One guy thought maybe you were a friend of someone from another dorm, another guessed you were probably dating somebody there already because “girls that pretty never show up alone.” Timo barely heard any of them. He kept watching the way you laughed politely when your friend said something to you, the way your smile faded the second the conversation ended, and before he could think too hard about it, he was already pushing himself off the counter and heading across the room toward you.
You noticed him halfway there. It was hard not to. He was tall enough to stand out in a crowd, broad shoulders filling out a dark hoodie, messy hair falling slightly over his forehead like he’d been running his hands through it all night. But what really caught your attention was the fact he was looking directly at you with complete confidence, not cocky exactly, just certain enough to make your stomach twist unexpectedly. Your friend immediately grabbed your arm the second she noticed him approaching.
“Oh my God,” she shouted over the music, grinning like she was witnessing something entertaining. “Hot hockey player incoming.”
You rolled your eyes even as heat crept into your cheeks, trying to ignore the sudden nervous flutter in your chest. When Timo finally stopped in front of you, he smiled in a way that felt unfairly easy, like talking to strangers came naturally to him.
“Hi,” he said simply. You stared at him for half a second too long before managing a quiet “Hi” back.
“I’m Timo.”
“Y/N.” He repeated your name like he was testing it out, then grinned slightly.
“See, that’s good. Nobody knew who you were, and it was starting to bother me.”
You laughed despite yourself, surprised by how quickly he made you feel less tense. “That’s kind of a weird thing to say to someone.”
“Probably,” he admitted easily. “Still true though.”
There was something dangerously effortless about talking to him. Maybe it was because he wasn’t trying too hard. He didn’t have the rehearsed confidence most guys at parties used, didn’t lean too close or throw around lines he’d probably said a hundred times before. Instead, he looked at you like he was genuinely interested, like he actually wanted to know who you were. After a few minutes of conversation, he nodded toward the crowded makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room.
“Come dance with me.” The words should have been harmless, simple even, but your entire body immediately tensed because, for one awful second, you wanted to say yes. Not out of politeness. Not because he was attractive, though he definitely was. You wanted to because talking to him had made you feel lighter than you’d felt in months, and the realisation hit you hard enough to make guilt crawl up your throat. You stepped back slightly, shaking your head.
“I can’t.” Timo’s expression softened with confusion instead of irritation.
“Why not?”
You hesitated just long enough for him to notice before quietly answering, “I have a boyfriend.” Something flickered across his face then, not annoyance exactly, more like disappointment he was trying not to show too clearly.
“Oh,” he said softly. For a second neither of you spoke while people bumped into each other around you and the bass from the speakers shook the floor beneath your feet. Then his eyes met yours again, studying your expression carefully enough to make your chest tighten. “You don’t seem very happy about that,” he said gently. The comment hit harder than it should have because it was true, and the worst part was that a complete stranger had noticed it within minutes.
Your throat tightened slightly as you looked away, suddenly unable to handle how easily he seemed to see through you. “I really shouldn’t,” you repeated quietly, almost more to yourself than to him. Most guys would have pushed after that. Most would have kept flirting anyway or acted irritated about being turned down.
Instead, Timo just nodded slowly and took a small step back, hands lifting slightly in surrender. “Okay,” he said, and somehow the respect in his voice made everything infinitely worse. “Have a good night, Y/N.”
You watched him disappear back into the crowd after that, your heart beating far too hard for someone you’d only spoken to for a few minutes. Your friend immediately turned toward you with wide eyes, already demanding details, but you barely heard her because your gaze kept drifting back toward the kitchen, where Timo had returned to his friends. Every once in a while, you caught him glancing at you again. And standing there in the middle of that loud, overcrowded party, with your boyfriend somewhere else entirely and a stranger somehow making you feel more seen in ten minutes than you had felt in months, you realised with quiet horror that maybe the relationship you’d been clinging to had started ending long before tonight.
The breakup happened on a Thursday night while rain hammered against the dorm windows hard enough to blur the lights outside into streaks of gold and white. You remembered that detail vividly later because everything else about the night felt chaotic and messy and painful in a way that made it difficult to separate one moment from another. Your boyfriend sat at his desk with his laptop open in front of him, barely paying attention to you while you talked about your day from the edge of his bed, and somewhere halfway through a story about your statistics professor, you realised he hadn’t heard a single word you’d said. His fingers continued moving across the keyboard while he nodded absentmindedly every few seconds, offering automatic responses without even looking at you. Three years together, and somehow you had never felt more invisible.
“You forgot tonight, didn’t you?” you asked quietly.
His hands paused briefly over the keyboard before he glanced back at you with slight confusion. “Forgot what?”
You stared at him for a second, stunned he genuinely didn’t know. “Our anniversary dinner.”
Recognition flashed across his face for half a second before he sighed, leaning back in his chair like you’d reminded him about an assignment instead of something important. “Right. Yeah. I couldn’t make it.”
“You cancelled twenty minutes beforehand.”
“I told you I had work to do.”
The exhaustion already sitting inside your chest deepened instantly. “You always have work to do.”
“Oh my God,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can we not do this tonight?”
Something about that snapped the fragile thread you’d been clinging to for months. Maybe because it confirmed every horrible thought you’d been trying not to admit to yourself. Every ignored text. Every cancelled date. Every conversation where you felt like you were begging him to care about you the way he used to. The room suddenly felt suffocatingly small as you stood from the bed, wrapping your arms around yourself tightly.
“I don’t even know when things changed,” you whispered.
He looked irritated now instead of apologetic, which somehow hurt worse. “Nothing changed.”
“You barely look at me anymore.”
“That’s not true.”
“You don’t talk to me. You don’t make time for me.” Your voice cracked slightly despite your efforts to stay calm. “Half the time I feel like I’m bothering you just by being here.”
He pushed his chair back sharply, frustration flashing across his face. “You act like I’m some horrible boyfriend because I’m busy for once.”
“For once?” You laughed bitterly, tears already burning behind your eyes. “You’ve been gone for months even when you’re sitting right in front of me.”
Silence crashed between you after that.
The kind of silence that changes things permanently.
You watched his expression harden immediately, defensive walls shooting up so quickly it almost took your breath away. “So, what now? I’m failing you somehow?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“It’s obviously what you mean.”
“No,” you said shakily, tears finally slipping free. “What I mean is that I miss you. I mean I feel lonely all the time, and I don’t think you even notice anymore.”
For a second something flickered across his face, maybe it was guilt or sadness, but it disappeared just as quickly beneath frustration. “I can’t do everything perfectly all the time, Y/N.”
“I never asked you to.”
“Then what do you want from me?” The question broke something open inside you because suddenly you realized you didn’t know anymore. You wanted him to fight for you. You wanted him to notice you were slipping away before it was too late. You wanted him to look at you the way he had freshman year when the two of you stayed up until four in the morning talking about nothing because he couldn’t stand the idea of going to sleep yet. But standing there now, staring at someone who looked more exhausted than heartbroken, you realized with awful clarity that maybe neither of you were the same people anymore.
“I don’t think we work anymore,” you whispered.
His jaw tightened immediately. “So that’s it?”
Tears blurred your vision as you shook your head. “I think maybe it’s been it for a while.”
The fight exploded after that. Three years' worth of resentment and hurt pouring out all at once in raised voices and angry tears and accusations neither of you fully meant. He accused you of emotionally checking out months ago. You told him he stopped loving you long before you stopped trying. At some point someone in the hallway pounded on the wall for you both to shut up, but neither of you cared anymore. By the time you finally left his dorm room, your entire body was shaking so badly you could barely breathe properly. The second the door shut behind you, you burst into tears right there in the hallway. And the worst part was that even after everything, your first instinct was still to call him.
The days afterward felt unbearable in quiet ways. Every part of campus reminded you of him somehow. The library booth where he used to save you a seat during finals week. The sidewalk where he kissed you after your first date. The stupid vending machine outside your dorm that always stole his dollar and made him irrationally angry. Three years of memories lived everywhere, and you couldn’t escape any of them. You stopped sleeping properly. Your friends tried distracting you with movie nights and takeout and forced study sessions, but grief followed you anyway, heavy and exhausting. Sometimes you caught yourself reaching for your phone automatically to text him before the reality hit you all over again.
A week after the breakup, you were halfway through a painfully slow shift at the campus coffee shop when the bell above the door rang softly. You glanced up automatically, expecting another exhausted student looking for caffeine, and nearly dropped the cup in your hand when you saw Timo standing there. He looked just as surprised to see you. For a second neither of you moved. Then slowly, his mouth curved into an easy smile that immediately made your stomach twist unexpectedly.
“Well,” he said, walking toward the counter, “now I know where you disappear to every morning.”
You laughed softly before you could stop yourself. “Are you stalking me?”
“Maybe a little.”
“You’re terrible at it.”
“Probably.” His eyes stayed on your face for a second longer than necessary before his expression softened slightly. “You okay?” The question caught you off guard because he asked it so gently, like he actually wanted the real answer. You looked down automatically, focusing on wiping the counter just to avoid his eyes.
“My boyfriend and I broke up.”
The teasing expression disappeared from his face instantly. “Oh.”
“It’s fine,” you said quickly, though your voice sounded unconvincing even to yourself. “Or it will be eventually, I guess.”
Timo leaned against the counter quietly while you made his drink, giving you space instead of forcing conversation. Somehow that made it easier to keep talking.
“It’s weird,” you admitted softly while staring down at the espresso machine. “I know breaking up was the right thing, but I still keep wanting to call him.” You laughed weakly, embarrassed by the confession. “Honestly, I’m scared one night I’m just gonna cave and pretend none of this happened.”
For a moment Timo said nothing. Then he reached over the counter, grabbing a spare receipt and pen sitting beside the register. You watched with confusion while he scribbled something down quickly before sliding the paper toward you.
“My number,” he said simply.
Your eyes widened slightly as you looked back up at him. “Timo…”
“I mean it.” His voice softened. “If you feel like calling him, call me instead.”
Your heartbeat stumbled awkwardly against your ribs.
“You barely know me,” you whispered.
“Still think it’s a better option.” You stared down at the messy handwriting on the receipt while warmth spread unexpectedly through your chest. Nobody had taken care of you like that in a long time. Before leaving, Timo smiled slightly and nodded toward the number in your hand. “Use it if you need to, okay?”
Then he walked out of the coffee shop, leaving you standing there staring after him with your pulse racing for reasons you didn’t want to examine too closely.
Three nights later, you found yourself drunk in the corner booth of a crowded bar while your friends screamed along terribly to some early 2000s song playing overhead. Empty glasses cluttered the sticky table, your cheeks warm from alcohol and laughter and the unfamiliar relief of finally going out again after hiding in your apartment for days. One of your friends was in the middle of an aggressively emotional retelling of a failed situationship while the others booed dramatically, but you barely heard any of it because your attention stayed fixed on your phone sitting in your lap. Your ex-boyfriend’s contact hovered on the screen. One call, and that was all it would take.
Your chest tightened painfully as your thumb hovered over his name because part of you still missed him so much it physically hurt. Missing someone after loving them for three years felt almost automatic, like muscle memory your body hadn’t learned to let go of yet. Then your eyes drifted lower to the crumpled receipt tucked into the back of your phone case. Timo. You stared at his number for a long moment before laughing softly to yourself.
“This is such a horrible idea,” you muttered.
“What is?” your friend asked immediately.
“Nothing.”
“You have the exact face you make before making bad decisions.”
Ignoring her, you took a deep breath and pressed call before you could change your mind. The phone rang twice. Then his voice came through the speaker, low and warm and slightly breathless, like you’d interrupted him doing something.
“Y/N?” And suddenly your heart was pounding even harder than before.
The second you heard Timo Meier’s voice through the speaker, warm and rough around the edges like he’d been laughing before answering, all the courage alcohol had given you disappeared instantly. Around you, the bar was still loud and chaotic, your friends shouting over each other while music pounded through the walls hard enough to make the glasses on the table shake slightly, but somehow his voice cut through all of it with alarming ease. For a moment, you just sat there, staring down at your drink, suddenly very aware of how ridiculous this entire situation was. You were drunk. You were heartbroken. And instead of calling your ex-boyfriend, like every self-destructive part of you wanted to, you had called the guy you’d met once at a party and then again at your coffee shop. A guy who somehow already felt dangerous in a completely different way.
“Timo,” you said finally, your voice softer than intended.
A small smile slipped into his voice immediately. “I was honestly starting to think you wouldn’t use the number.”
You laughed quietly, pressing your forehead against your hand. “I almost didn’t.”
“But you did.”
“Unfortunately for you.”
“I don’t know,” he said easily. “I’m feeling pretty lucky right now.”
The comment made heat creep into your cheeks despite the alcohol already warming your skin. You leaned back against the booth, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped at how naturally the conversation came with him. There was no awkwardness. No pressure. Talking to Timo somehow felt easy in a way nothing else in your life had lately.
“You sound drunk,” he observed after a second.
“I am drunk.”
“How drunk?”
You considered it carefully before answering with complete seriousness, “Emotionally drunk.”
Timo laughed loudly enough that you had to pull the phone slightly away from your ear. The sound made something inside your chest loosen unexpectedly.
“That bad, huh?”
“You have no idea.” You sighed dramatically, staring up at the dim lights hanging over the bar. “I was this close to calling my ex.”
“But you called me instead.” His voice softened slightly. “I’m proud of you.”
The words shouldn’t have affected you as much as they did, but suddenly your throat tightened a little. Your ex-boyfriend used to comfort you out of habit, distracted and half-listening while doing five other things at once. Timo, somehow, sounded fully there. Fully focused on you. It scared you a little.
“I still miss him,” you admitted quietly.
There was no judgment in Timo’s voice when he answered. “That’s normal.”
“I hate it.”
“Yeah.” You could hear movement on the other end of the line, like he was grabbing his keys or putting shoes on. “Breakups suck.”
“You know what the worst part is?” you continued, the alcohol making honesty spill out easier than usual. “Nothing even happened. Nobody cheated. Nobody did something unforgivable. We just… stopped being happy.” Your chest tightened painfully around the words. “That almost feels worse somehow.”
Timo went quiet for a second before answering carefully. “Sometimes people can love each other and still not fit anymore.” You swallowed hard. The gentleness in his voice nearly undid you.
One of your friends suddenly leaned across the table, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Who are you talking to?”
“Nobody,” you said immediately.
“Why are you smiling then?”
“I’m not.”
“You literally are.”
Timo laughed softly through the phone. “Your friends sound nosy.”
“They’re evil.”
“We heard that!” someone yelled from across the booth. You couldn’t stop smiling now, shaking your head while hiding your face behind your hand. The past few weeks had felt so unbearably heavy that you’d almost forgotten what it felt like to laugh naturally.
“So,” Timo said after a moment, “which bar are you at?”
Your brows pulled together immediately. “Why?”
“Because I don’t trust emotionally drunk people to get home safely.”
“You don’t have to come get me.”
“I know.”
“But you’re going to anyway?”
“Probably.”
Your heartbeat stumbled awkwardly in your chest. “Timo—”
“Relax,” he interrupted softly. “I’m just making sure you don’t drunk text your ex and ruin all your progress.”
You laughed weakly. “You’re acting like I’m a recovering addict.”
“Aren’t you?”
“That’s rude.”
“But accurate.”
You ended up giving him the name of the bar before you could overthink it. After hanging up, your friends immediately attacked you with questions, practically climbing over the table demanding to know who you’d been talking to for the last twenty minutes. You tried brushing them off at first, but the second you admitted it was the hockey player from the party, chaos erupted.
“The hot one?” your friend gasped dramatically.
“There are multiple hockey players.”
“The really hot one.” You groaned, dropping your face into your hands while they all started yelling over each other.
About twenty minutes later, the bell over the front door rang, and one of your friends immediately smacked your arm hard enough to make you yelp.
“Oh my God,” she whispered aggressively. “He’s here.” You looked up automatically and immediately forgot how breathing worked for a second.
Timo stood near the entrance in a dark hoodie and jeans, hair slightly messy like he’d rushed out the door too quickly, eyes scanning the crowded room until they landed on you. The second he spotted you, his entire expression softened into something warm and amused that made your stomach twist violently.
“There’s no way he came here looking like that,” your friend muttered beside you.
“Shut up,” you hissed, already feeling heat crawl up your neck.
Timo made his way over to the booth, smiling politely at your friends before stopping beside you. “Still emotionally drunk?”
You stared up at him. “Maybe.”
“Thought so.”
Your friends looked ready to combust from excitement.
“You’re leaving already?” one of them asked dramatically.
“She needs water,” Timo answered before you could speak. “And probably food.”
“Wow,” another friend said. “He’s responsible and attractive. That’s terrifying.”
Timo laughed while holding his hand out toward you. "C'mon," you took it before thinking too hard about it.
The cold night air hit your skin the second you stepped outside, instantly helping clear some of the alcohol haze from your head. The campus looked quieter now, streets glowing softly beneath streetlights while distant music drifted from frat houses further down the block. Timo kept his hand lightly against your back while you walked, not controlling or possessive, just steadying.
“You didn’t actually have to come get me,” you said after a while.
“I know.”
“So why did you?”
He glanced down at you with a small shrug. “You sounded sad.” The simplicity of the answer made your chest ache.
For a while the two of you just walked slowly through campus, talking about random things while the night stretched quietly around you. Somehow conversation with him always drifted naturally between teasing and honesty without either of you forcing it. He told you ridiculous stories about his teammates. You complained dramatically about customers at the coffee shop. At some point you admitted how strange it felt not knowing who you were outside your relationship anymore, and instead of giving some meaningless cliché, Timo just listened.
By the time you reached the food truck parked near the library, you felt steadier. Less like you might burst into tears at any moment.
“You hungry?” he asked.
“Starving.”
“Good. You’re getting fries.”
“You say that like it’s medically necessary.”
“I think it might be.”
You ended up sitting on the curb outside the food truck sharing fries and greasy burgers while cold air curled around you. Timo sat close enough that your knees bumped occasionally, and every single time it happened, your pulse jumped stupidly.
“You know,” he said casually after a while, “there is one very effective way to get over someone.”
You narrowed your eyes immediately. “This feels dangerous.”
“It might be.”
“Timo.”
He grinned slightly before taking another fry. “Sometimes to get over someone, you gotta get under someone new.”
You choked on your drink. “Oh my God.”
“What?” he asked innocently. “That’s real advice.”
“That’s terrible advice.”
“It works.”
You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head while warmth flooded your cheeks. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m also right.”
“You sound very experienced in this.”
“I’m incredibly wise.”
“You’re incredibly annoying.” His grin widened at that, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners while he looked at you in a way that made your stomach flip dangerously again. The teasing should have felt harmless, but there was something underneath it now. Something warmer. Heavier. And judging by the way his gaze lingered on your mouth for half a second too long, Timo felt it too.
The walk back to your apartment felt quieter after that. It didn’t feel uncomfortable, but it was definitely more charged than before. When you finally stopped outside your building, neither of you moved immediately. You stood facing each other beneath the yellow glow of the streetlight while distant music echoed somewhere across the campus.
“I had fun tonight,” you admitted softly.
Timo smiled a little. “Even the emotionally drunk part?”
“Especially that part, unfortunately.”
He laughed quietly before his expression softened again. “You okay now?”
You thought about it honestly. The heartbreak was still there. The grief. The confusion. But standing here with cold air biting at your cheeks and Timo looking at you like you were someone worth showing up for, things somehow didn’t feel quite as hopeless anymore.
“Yeah,” you said finally. “I think I am.”
For a second it looked like he wanted to kiss you. You could see the hesitation in the way his eyes dropped briefly to your mouth before lifting again. But instead, he stepped back slightly and shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket.
“Call me again if you feel like making bad decisions,” he said softly.
You smiled before you could stop yourself. “What if calling you is the bad decision?”
Timo’s grin returned instantly, slow and devastating. “Guess we’ll have to find out.”
You woke up the next morning with sunlight directly in your eyes, a pounding headache sitting behind your temples, and the distinct feeling that something embarrassing had happened the night before. For a few blissfully empty seconds, you just lay there tangled in your blankets, staring at the ceiling of your apartment while your brain struggled to catch up. Then slowly, pieces of the night came rushing back all at once. The bar, your friends screaming at each other over music, greasy fries on the curb outside the food truck, and Timo looking at you beneath a streetlight like you were the only thing worth paying attention to in the entire world.
Your stomach flipped immediately. “Oh no,” you groaned into your pillow. You grabbed your phone from the nightstand carefully, almost afraid to look at it, but the second the screen lit up your heart betrayed you completely.
Timo — 8:12 AM Alive?
You smiled instantly. A second message sat underneath it.
And how bad is the hangover on a scale from 1 to emotionally catastrophic?
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, quiet and sleepy against the silence of your room. It startled you a little, honestly. The past few weeks had felt so heavy that laughter had become rare enough to notice. You rolled onto your back again, staring at his texts for another second before typing back.
Barely functioning. Might die.
The reply came almost immediately.
Dramatic. Meet me for breakfast in an hour?
Your pulse jumped stupidly hard at how natural the invitation sounded, like this was already something the two of you did regularly. You stared at the message longer than necessary, biting lightly at your lip while trying not to analyse why the thought of seeing him again made warmth spread through your chest so quickly. You told yourself it was harmless. Breakfast wasn’t a date… probably.
The little diner just off campus smelled like coffee and syrup and fried potatoes when you walked in an hour later, still tired enough that your sweatshirt sleeves covered half your hands. Timo was already there, sitting in a booth near the window, one long leg stretched beneath the table while he scrolled through something on his phone. The second he noticed you, his entire face softened into an easy grin that immediately made your stomach feel annoyingly unsteady again.
“Well,” he said as you slid into the booth across from him, “you look alive at least.”
“Barely.”
“You survive the emotional catastrophe?”
“Touch and go for a while.”
He laughed softly, and God, you were starting to realize how dangerous his laugh was for you specifically. There was something warm about it, effortless in a way that made you feel relaxed without even trying.
“You’re wearing sunglasses inside,” he pointed out.
“You’re lucky I even showed up.”
“I knew you would.” The confidence in his voice made your chest tighten slightly. Not arrogant confidence. Certain confidence. Like he already understood you somehow.
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously while reaching for the coffee sitting in front of you. “Did you order for me?”
“You seem like a pancake person.”
“That’s weirdly specific.”
“And?”
“And correct, unfortunately.” His grin widened victoriously.
Breakfast stretched longer than either of you intended. At first, it was just teasing conversation and easy jokes, Timo making fun of how dramatically hungover you were while you accused him of somehow looking unfairly good at ten in the morning. But gradually the conversation softened into something quieter. Easier. You talked about classes and professors you hated and childhood stories and the strange panic of realising college was almost over. Somehow, without meaning to, you also talked about your breakup again. Not in the devastating way you had with your friends. With Timo it felt different.
“I still keep reaching for my phone,” you admitted quietly while tracing your finger around the rim of your coffee mug. “Like my brain hasn’t caught up yet.”
Timo nodded like he understood completely. “That’s normal.”
“It’s annoying.”
“Yeah.”
You glanced up at him carefully. “You’re surprisingly good at this.”
“At breakups?”
“At not making me feel pathetic.”
Something softer flickered across his expression then. “You’re not pathetic.” The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache a little.
For a second, neither of you spoke. Then the waitress interrupted by dropping the check onto the table, and suddenly the moment dissolved before it could become something bigger. Still, when you both stood outside the diner afterwards, neither of you seemed particularly eager to leave.
“Well,” you said awkwardly, adjusting the strap of your bag. “I should probably go to class.”
“Probably.”
Neither of you moved. You almost laughed at how obvious it was becoming. Every conversation somehow stretched too long. Every goodbye lingered awkwardly because neither of you wanted to be the first person to walk away.
Finally, Timo shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket and nodded toward the direction of campus. “What time are your classes done today?”
Your brows lifted slightly. “Why?”
“Just asking.”
“You’re nosy.”
“You already knew that.”
You tried not to smile while checking the time on your phone. “Four.”
Timo nodded once like he was storing the information away casually, though there was nothing casual about the way his eyes stayed on your face afterward.
“Okay,” he said simply.
You spent your entire afternoon distracted. It was embarrassing, honestly. During lecture, you caught yourself rereading the same paragraph of notes three times because your thoughts kept drifting back to breakfast. To the way Timo looked at you when you spoke. To how easy it felt being around him compared to the exhausting heaviness your last relationship had become near the end. Part of you felt guilty for it still. Your breakup was fresh enough that technically your heart should have still belonged entirely to grief. Instead, every time your phone buzzed, your stomach flipped, hoping it was him.
By the time your last class ended, rain had started falling lightly outside the lecture hall windows. Students flooded into the hallway around you while you shoved your notebook into your bag absentmindedly, already mentally preparing yourself for the cold walk back to your apartment. Then you stepped outside and stopped short immediately. Timo leaned against the hood of his car across the street, hoodie damp from the rain, hands shoved into his pockets while he looked down at his phone. Like he’d been waiting there a while. Your heartbeat stumbled violently against your ribs. Before you could stop yourself, you crossed the street toward him. “What are you doing here?”
Timo glanced up immediately, and that familiar grin spread slowly across his face the second he saw you. “Waiting.”
“You literally waited outside my class?”
“You make it sound creepy when you say it like that.”
“It is creepy.”
“Yeah, but you still walked over here.” You hated that he had a point.
Rain misted softly around both of you while students hurried past on the sidewalks, but suddenly you barely noticed any of it because Timo was looking at you again with that warm, amused expression that made your entire chest feel too tight.
“I was bored,” he added casually after a second.
“You were not bored for two hours.”
“Okay,” he admitted. “Maybe I wanted to see you.” The honesty of it caught you completely off guard. Your breath hitched slightly before you could stop it. Timo seemed to notice because his expression softened immediately afterward, like maybe he realised he’d said too much too soon. But instead of taking it back, he just opened the passenger door for you.
“You hungry?” he asked. You stared at him for another second before climbing into the car, trying and failing to ignore the warmth spreading through your chest.
“Maybe a little,” you admitted. His grin returned instantly. And neither of you mentioned the fact that the two of you were already finding excuses to spend every possible second together.
By the end of the week, spending time with Timo had started to feel dangerously normal. Not in a dramatic way. Neither of you had acknowledged whatever this was becoming, mostly because both of you seemed terrified to look at it too closely. Instead, everything existed in the space between friendship and something else entirely. Breakfast after class turned into walking each other home afterward. Random texts throughout the day became constant conversations stretching late into the night. Sometimes he showed up at the coffee shop just to bother you while pretending he “happened to be nearby,” and sometimes you found yourself lingering outside the hockey arena after your evening class because you knew he’d eventually walk out those doors sweaty and exhausted and grinning the second he spotted you waiting. Neither of you called it anything. Maybe because calling it something would make it real. And real felt dangerous.
Friday night, Timo showed up at your apartment carrying takeout bags in one hand and a six-pack tucked under his arm as if this had always been the plan, even though the invitation had happened impulsively only an hour earlier when you texted him, complaining about being stressed over assignments. He looked unfairly comfortable standing in your doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame while cold night air curled in around him. The second you opened the door, he lifted the bag slightly.
“I come bearing emotional support fries.”
You laughed immediately, stepping aside to let him in. “You really think fries solve everything.”
“They solve most things.”
“That’s deeply concerning.”
“You’ll survive.”
The apartment smelled like rain drifting through the cracked window and whatever cologne lingered faintly on his hoodie after he brushed past you into the kitchen. You tried not to notice how natural his presence felt there. Like he belonged. Which was ridiculous considering you’d only really known him a few weeks. Still, somehow your apartment already felt warmer with him inside it.
The two of you ended up curled into opposite corners of your couch with cartons of takeout balanced on your laps while some terrible action movie played on the television, mostly ignored in the background. Timo spent half the movie making fun of the plot holes dramatically enough that, eventually, you laughed harder at his commentary than at anything actually happening on-screen.
“That is physically impossible,” he said for at least the fifth time, pointing accusingly toward the TV while shoving fries into his mouth. “No human being survives that.”
“It’s literally an action movie.”
“I’m just saying, I have standards.”
“You watch hockey players slam each other into walls for entertainment.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“We’re professionals.” You stared at him flatly for a second before bursting into laughter again. Timo immediately grinned, clearly pleased with himself, and for a moment you forgot entirely that there had ever been a time recently where you felt sad all the time. That realization hit you suddenly and hard. Because just a few weeks ago you had been crying in your dorm hallway after the worst breakup of your life, convinced you’d never stop feeling hollow. Now you were sitting cross-legged on your couch at nearly midnight, stealing fries from Timo’s plate while he argued passionately about fictional physics.
The guilt crept in quietly after that. You became aware of it in small flashes throughout the night. Every time Timo looked at you too softly. Every time your shoulders brushed, neither of you moved away. Every time, your stomach flipped when he smiled at you like you were the funniest person he’d ever met. Your breakup was still fresh enough that part of you felt like you should still be devastated constantly. Like moving forward, this quickly somehow meant the three years with your ex hadn’t mattered enough. But that wasn’t true. The relationship mattered. The heartbreak mattered. And somehow Timo mattered too.
Around one in the morning, the movie credits finally rolled while rain tapped softly against the windows. Neither of you had started another movie yet, mostly because conversation had slowly replaced it. Timo sat turned slightly toward you now, one arm stretched lazily across the back of the couch while the two of you talked quietly about everything and nothing at once.
“You know,” he said eventually, his voice softer than usual, “you laugh more now.”
Your chest tightened slightly. “What?”
“Than you did when I first met you.” His eyes stayed on your face carefully. “At that party you looked sad all the time.”
The honesty of it caught you off guard. You looked down at your hands automatically. “I think I was.”
“And now?”
You hesitated because the truthful answer felt dangerous. “Better,” you admitted quietly.
Timo’s expression softened almost immediately. For a moment, neither of you looked away. The air between you shifted suddenly, becoming heavier somehow. You became painfully aware of how close he was sitting, of the warmth radiating from him, and of how easy it would be to lean forward just slightly when your phone buzzed loudly on the coffee table. The moment was shattered instantly.
You startled hard enough that Timo laughed quietly under his breath while you grabbed your phone too quickly, relieved and disappointed all at once. It was only a text from one of your friends asking if you were “finally making out with hockey boy yet,” which you absolutely did not show Timo.
“You okay there?” he asked suspiciously.
“Perfectly fine.”
“You look guilty.”
“I’m literally just answering a text.”
“Very defensive answer.” You threw a pillow at him.
Eventually, sometime after two, Timo stood reluctantly from the couch and stretched his arms over his head while you walked him toward the front door. The apartment suddenly felt quieter already and colder somehow.
“I should probably let you sleep,” he said.
“You’re assuming I sleep.”
“You look like someone who’s terrible at sleeping.”
“That’s rude.”
“But true.”
You smiled despite yourself while he pulled his shoes back on near the door. For a second, neither of you moved afterwards, lingering awkwardly again, like always. The hallway light outside spilled softly across his face while he looked down at you with an expression that made your heartbeat stumble.
“You busy tomorrow?” he asked casually.
“Maybe.”
“Liar.”
“A little.”
His grin widened slowly. “Text me anyway.”
Then before either of you could overthink the moment too much, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss against your forehead. Your entire body froze. It lasted barely a second, but by the time he pulled back, your heart was beating so hard it hurt.
“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said softly, and then he was gone. You stood there staring at the closed door for several seconds afterwards, fingertips pressed unconsciously against the place beneath your collarbone where your pulse raced wildly. The smile spreading across your face disappeared the second someone knocked on the door again, less than two minutes later. You blinked in confusion before glancing toward the couch. Timo’s jacket.
“Idiot,” you muttered affectionately under your breath, grabbing it quickly from where he’d left it draped across the cushions. Still smiling slightly, you pulled open the apartment door expecting to see Timo standing there sheepishly. Instead, your entire body went cold. Your ex-boyfriend stood in the hallway, and the smile fell from your face immediately. For a second, neither of you spoke, but then his eyes dropped to the jacket in your hands, and everything changed.
His expression hardened instantly, hurt flashing across his face so quickly it almost looked like anger. “Seriously?” he said sharply.
Your stomach dropped. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to you.” His voice grew tighter with every word. “But apparently you’re already busy.”
“It’s not what you think.”
He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair while staring at the jacket. “Oh, come on, Y/N.”
You could physically feel panic beginning to rise in your chest. “We’re just friends.”
“Friends?” he repeated incredulously. “You break up with me after three years and now there’s already another guy at your apartment?”
“He just came over to watch a movie.”
“Do you hear yourself right now?” The hurt in his voice sliced through you immediately.
Your grip tightened around Timo’s jacket while guilt and frustration twisted painfully together inside your chest. “You don’t get to show up here angry at me.”
“Why not?” he shot back. “You moved on in, what, two weeks?”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Then what happened?” His voice cracked slightly then, anger slipping enough for heartbreak to show through underneath. “Were you even sad? Because it really doesn’t seem like it.” The question hit like a slap.
Your eyes burned instantly. “Of course I was sad,” you whispered.
“Then how are you already with someone else?”
“I’m not with anyone else!”
“But you want to be.” He looked at you for a long moment, a devastated realisation settling across his face. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered quietly. “You do.”
Silence swallowed the hallway after that. Heavy and awful because the worst part was that maybe he wasn’t entirely wrong. You hated how guilty that made you feel. Hated that after spending weeks mourning the end of your relationship, after feeling lonely and invisible for so long, someone had walked into your life and made you feel wanted again before you were ready for it.
Your ex laughed softly again, but this time it sounded more exhausted than angry. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
Tears blurred your vision immediately. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“Well, you did.”
The words settled painfully between you. Then without another word, he turned and walked down the hallway, leaving you standing frozen in your doorway holding another man’s jacket against your chest while guilt crashed over you hard enough to make it difficult to breathe.
For a while after your ex-boyfriend left, you just stood there in the middle of your apartment doorway holding Timo Meier’s jacket against your chest while everything inside you twisted painfully together. You felt guilt, anger, sadness, and confusion. It all sat so heavily in your ribs that breathing suddenly felt difficult. The hallway outside had gone quiet again, the sound of his footsteps long gone now, but his words lingered anyway.
Were you even sad?
You shut the door slowly and leaned back against it, squeezing your eyes closed hard enough to make them ache. Tears burned immediately behind your eyelids because the answer was yes. God, yes. You had been devastated. You had mourned that relationship long before it officially ended, and afterwards, it felt like someone had ripped a permanent piece out of your life. You miss him sometimes still. Missed the familiarity. Missed the history. Missed the version of both of you that existed before everything became exhausting. But standing there now, holding another man’s jacket while your pulse still remembered the feeling of Timo kissing your forehead minutes earlier, you also couldn’t deny that something had changed and that terrified you.
Your apartment suddenly felt unbearably empty. The remains of your takeout still sat abandoned on the coffee table. The movie credits still rolled silently across the television screen. Timo’s laugh still seemed trapped in the air somehow, warm and alive and recent enough to make your chest ache harder.
Before you could overthink it, you grabbed your phone. Your fingers trembled slightly while pressing his contact. The call barely rang once.
"Hey." Timo answered immediately, his voice softer now than it had been earlier. You could hear movement in the background, keys jingling faintly. “Forget how jackets work already?” The joke nearly undid you. Your silence must have said enough because his tone changed instantly. “Y/N?”
You swallowed hard, pressing a shaky hand over your mouth. “Can you come back?”
There was no hesitation. “I’m already turning around.”
The line disconnected before you could say anything else. That somehow made the tears finally fall. You sank down onto the couch still clutching his jacket while trying unsuccessfully to pull yourself together before he got back, but your thoughts wouldn’t stop spiralling. Maybe your ex was right. Maybe you were a horrible person for letting yourself get this close to someone else so quickly. Maybe all of this with Timo existed because you were lonely and heartbroken and desperate to feel wanted again after months of feeling invisible. Or maybe—
The knock on your door interrupted the thought before you could finish it. You opened it almost immediately. Timo stood there slightly out of breath like he’d jogged back from the parking lot, concern already written across his face before you even spoke. The second he saw your expression, every trace of teasing disappeared.
“What happened?” he asked quietly. You stepped aside silently to let him in. The moment the door shut behind him, the fragile composure you’d been clinging to completely collapsed. Tears spilled over immediately, humiliatingly fast, and before you could apologize for it, Timo was already crossing the apartment toward you.
“Hey,” he said softly, hands settling carefully on your arms. “Talk to me.”
Your throat tightened painfully. “My ex came here.”
Timo’s expression darkened instantly, not angry exactly but protective in a way that made your chest ache harder. “Tonight?”
You nodded shakily.
“What did he say?”
You looked down immediately because somehow repeating the conversation out loud made it feel too real. Too complicated. “He saw your jacket.”
Understanding flickered across Timo’s face almost immediately. “Oh.”
“He got upset,” you whispered. “We fought.”
Timo stayed quiet, letting you speak at your own pace.
“He said…” Your voice cracked slightly. “He said I moved on too fast.”
The words hung heavily in the room.
Timo’s hands tightened almost imperceptibly against your arms before softening again. “Y/N.”
“I feel awful,” you admitted shakily. “I know we broke up for a reason, but seeing him like that just…” You pressed a hand against your eyes roughly. “God, I hate hurting him.”
“You’re not doing anything wrong.”
“But it feels like I am.”
Timo looked at you for a long moment then, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them before. “You’re allowed to move forward,” he said quietly. “That doesn’t erase what you had with him.”
You nodded even though tears still blurred your vision. What you didn’t tell him was the worst part of the conversation. The way your ex had looked at you and said, You want to be with him. Because the terrifying thing was that maybe somewhere deep down, he was right. And if Timo realised that now, realised how badly you were already falling into whatever this was, maybe everything between you would suddenly become too real too quickly. So instead, you just whispered, “I don’t know why this hurts so much.”
Timo’s expression softened painfully. “C’mere,” he murmured.
The words barely left his mouth before he pulled you gently against him. The hug felt different than any you’d shared before. Not teasing or flirtatious or accidental. This was steady, warm, and protective. You buried your face against his chest while his arms wrapped around you completely, one hand moving slowly up and down your back in quiet comfort. He smelled faintly like rain and laundry detergent and whatever cologne had already started becoming unfairly familiar to you.
“It’s okay,” he whispered softly against your hair. “You’re okay.” And somehow, held against him like this, you almost believed it.
Eventually Timo guided you back toward the couch, tugging a blanket over both of you while the television continued playing forgotten movie trailers in the background. You curled instinctively against his side while exhaustion settled heavily into your bones now that the adrenaline had faded. Every emotion from the night crashed over you all at once, leaving you drained enough that even keeping your eyes open felt difficult. Timo stayed quiet mostly, just letting you talk whenever the thoughts spilled out. About the breakup. About the guilt. About how strange it felt mourning someone while simultaneously feeling pulled toward something new. He listened to every word without interrupting, his fingers absentmindedly brushing through your hair while you spoke softly into the dim apartment.
At some point your sentences started slowing. Your body felt warm and heavy against him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.
“You know,” Timo murmured quietly after a while, “I’m really glad you called me.”
Your tired eyes lifted toward him slightly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His mouth curved faintly at the corner. “I like being the person you call.” The honesty in his voice wrapped around your heart painfully, gently. You wanted to say something back. Something important, but sleep was already pulling at you too hard. Instead, you just shifted closer unconsciously, your hand curling lightly against his chest beneath the fabric of his hoodie. Timo’s arm tightened around you immediately like it was the most natural thing in the world. And somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, you fell asleep against him.
The next morning, sunlight filtered softly through the curtains in pale gold streaks across the apartment walls. For a few sleepy seconds you didn’t understand why you felt unusually warm. Then you became aware of an arm wrapped securely around your waist. Your breath caught. Slowly, still half asleep, you tilted your head upward.
Timo was still there. He lay stretched beside you on the couch, one arm tucked beneath your head while the other held you against his chest even in his sleep. His face looked softer like this, relaxed in a way you rarely saw when he was awake. Morning light caught against the messy dark hair falling over his forehead while his breathing stayed slow and even beside you. Your heart squeezed painfully at the sight because he stayed. He could’ve carried you to bed and left afterward. Could’ve made some excuse. Could’ve kept things easy and casual and uncomplicated. But instead, he spent the entire night holding you together after someone else broke your heart all over again.
Carefully, trying not to wake him, you shifted slightly. Timo stirred almost immediately anyway. His eyes blinked open slowly before focusing on you, still sleepy and unfocused at first. Then recognition settled across his face along with the smallest smile.
“Morning,” he mumbled hoarsely.
Your chest fluttered embarrassingly hard. “Morning.”
Neither of you moved away, and somehow that felt more intimate than anything else so far.
The apartment was still wrapped in sleepy silence, pale sunlight filtering softly through the curtains while the city outside slowly started waking up beyond your windows. You were painfully aware of every small thing all at once. The warmth of his arm still wrapped securely around your waist, the steady rhythm of his breathing against your hair, and the way his hoodie sleeve brushed lightly against your bare arm every time he shifted slightly. It should have felt awkward waking up tangled together like this after everything that happened the night before. Instead, it felt safe.
Timo blinked sleepily down at you for another second before his expression softened completely, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small smile that immediately made your chest tighten.
“You okay?” he asked quietly, his voice still rough from sleep.
You considered the question honestly. The hurt from your ex-boyfriend was still there. The guilt too. But somehow it didn’t feel quite as crushing this morning. Maybe because for the first time in weeks, you hadn’t spent the night alone with your thoughts.
“Yeah,” you admitted softly. “I think so.”
Timo studied your face carefully like he was making sure you actually meant it before nodding once. “Good.”
You expected the moment to become awkward after that. You expected one of you to pull away suddenly or joke about how neither of you had intended to fall asleep on the couch together. But instead, Timo just reached blindly for his phone from the coffee table and squinted at the screen before groaning dramatically.
“What?” you asked, smiling slightly.
“I have practice later.”
“You sound personally offended.”
“I am personally offended.”
You laughed quietly, and God, the sound still seemed to surprise you every time lately. Timo glanced down at you immediately afterwards, his expression softening again at the noise.
“Do you have important classes today?” he asked.
You frowned slightly while mentally running through your schedule. “Not really. Just one lecture this afternoon, but attendance barely matters.”
Timo nodded once like he’d already made a decision before you’d even finished speaking. “Okay.”
“Okay… what?”
“We’re not letting you sit alone thinking about your ex all day.”
Your stomach flipped lightly. “Timo—”
“Nope.” He pointed at you seriously now. “Yesterday was emotionally devastating enough. Today is distraction day.”
You laughed softly. “Distraction day?”
“Exactly.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It’s extremely real.” He finally untangled himself from the couch and stood, stretching lazily before looking back down at you with an annoyingly charming grin. “Go get ready.”
Your brows lifted immediately. “You’re not even gonna tell me where we’re going?”
“No.”
“That’s suspicious.”
“You’ll survive.”
“You’re incredibly bossy for someone who forgot his jacket here twelve hours ago.”
Timo grinned wider at that. “And yet you still let me stay.” Heat crept into your cheeks instantly. Before you could think of a response, he tossed one of your couch pillows lightly at your head and pointed toward the hallway. “Get ready, Y/N.”
An hour later you were sitting in the passenger seat of Timo’s car with coffee in your hand and absolutely no idea where he was taking you. He refused to answer any questions, looking entirely too pleased with himself every time you tried guessing.
“This feels like the beginning of a kidnapping documentary,” you informed him seriously while he drove.
“You’re being dramatic again.”
“You literally won’t tell me where we’re going.”
“Because it ruins the surprise.”
“You planning murders isn’t technically a surprise either.”
Timo laughed loudly, shaking his head. “You watch too many crime documentaries.”
“Statistically, women have to be cautious.”
“You’re safe with me.” The words came so naturally from him that your chest tightened unexpectedly. Safe. That was exactly what he felt like.
Twenty minutes later, Timo pulled into the parking lot of a bowling alley just outside campus. You stared at the sign in confusion before turning slowly toward him.
“Bowling?”
“What?” he asked defensively. “Bowling’s fun.”
“You’re such a hockey player.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It absolutely does.”
Timo narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously. “You better not secretly be competitive.”
“Oh, I’m incredibly competitive.”
“Good.” His grin turned dangerous instantly. “Then this’ll be fun.”
It turned out Timo was annoyingly good at bowling. Not in an effortless way either. He became aggressively competitive almost immediately, celebrating strikes like he’d won a championship while accusing you dramatically of cheating every time you scored. Half the time you spent together there was laughing so hard your stomach hurt, and somewhere between stealing fries from his plate afterward and listening to him rant passionately about why bowling shoes were “psychologically humiliating,” you realized you hadn’t thought about your ex once in nearly three hours. That realization hit quietly. And instead of guilt this time, all you felt was relief.
After bowling, Timo dragged you to a movie despite both of you barely paying attention to half of it. He spent most of the film whispering sarcastic commentary into your ear until eventually you were hiding your face against his shoulder, trying not to laugh loudly enough for people to throw popcorn at you.
“You’re the worst person to watch movies with,” you whispered during one particularly serious scene.
“And yet you’re having the time of your life.” Unfortunately, he was right.
By late afternoon, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Timo seemed to notice because every once in a while you’d catch him looking at you with this unbearably soft expression, like seeing you happy mattered to him more than he intended. It scared you a little how much you liked that look. As the movie ended and people started filing out of the theater, Timo checked the time on his phone before glancing over at you casually.
“So,” he said. “You wanna come to my game tonight?”
Your heartbeat stumbled immediately.
“Oh.”
“You don’t have to,” he added quickly, though something about his expression suggested he really wanted you to say yes.
“No, I want to.” The answer came too fast. “I just…” You looked down at yourself awkwardly. “I don’t exactly have hockey game clothes.”
Timo blinked at you before laughing softly. “Hockey game clothes?”
“You know what I mean.”
“You can literally wear anything.”
“Easy for you to say.”
A slow grin spread across his face suddenly, like he’d just thought of something.
“What?” you asked suspiciously. Instead of answering immediately, Timo reached into the backseat of his car once you climbed inside again. A second later, he pulled out a hockey jersey and tossed it directly into your lap. You stared down at it, it was his jersey.
Your stomach flipped violently. “Timo.”
“What?” he asked innocently while starting the car. “Problem solved.”
Your fingers tightened unconsciously against the fabric while heat flooded your cheeks instantly. Wearing someone’s jersey suddenly felt far more intimate than it probably should have. “You just carry extra jerseys around?” you asked weakly.
“Maybe I was hoping you’d say yes.”
The confession landed softly between you. You looked over at him quickly, but Timo kept his eyes focused on the road now, one hand resting casually against the steering wheel like he hadn’t just completely wrecked your heart rate.
By the time you arrived at the arena later that evening, you were wearing his jersey proudly over leggings and sneakers, sleeves slightly too long on you while his name stretched across your back. Every time you caught your reflection in the glass doors walking inside, your stomach flipped all over again. Timo noticed immediately.
“You look good in it,” he said quietly.
Your cheeks burned hotter. “You’re biased.”
“Very.”
The arena buzzed with energy around you, students and fans filling the stands while music blasted overhead, but somehow none of it mattered because Timo kept glancing back at you every few seconds while walking beside you like he wanted to make sure you were still there. And standing there wearing his jersey while he smiled at you like that, something inside you shifted quietly into place. Because somewhere between heartbreak and healing, between late-night phone calls and forehead kisses and mornings tangled together on the couch, you had stopped falling apart and started falling for him instead.
The arena stayed loud long after the final buzzer sounded. Students packed into the stands were still cheering while music blasted overhead, the entire building buzzing with leftover adrenaline after the win. Around you, people slowly started filtering toward the exits, talking loudly about the game while players disappeared off the ice toward the locker rooms beneath the stands. But you stayed exactly where you were near the hallway entrance because Timo had told you earlier to wait for him there afterward.
“Don’t leave without me,” Timo Meier had said before warmups, already halfway walking backward toward his team while pointing at you dramatically. “I’m serious.” As if you were going anywhere.
You stood there now wearing his jersey, still oversized on you, sleeves covering your hands slightly, while your heartbeat refused to settle down completely after the game. Watching Timo play had done something deeply unfair to your nervous system. On campus, he was teasing, smiling, and having soft conversations and late-night drives with music too loud in the car. On the ice, he became something else entirely. Fast. Intense. Completely locked in. Every time he slammed someone into the boards or stole the puck with impossible ease, the crowd erupted around you, and somehow your chest swelled with pride, like his win belonged to you too. Especially after he scored.
You could still see it clearly, the way he grinned after the puck hit the back of the net, immediately turning toward the stands almost instinctively until his eyes found yours. Even across the rink, even through helmets and glass and screaming fans, he looked so happy to see you there that it made your stomach twist painfully.
The locker room doors finally swung open a while later, pulling you from your thoughts. Players spilled into the hallway loudly, exhausted and energised at the same time, while teammates shoved each other around and laughed over the noise. Then, suddenly, Timo appeared among them, hair still damp from his shower, tie hanging loosely around his neck as he talked animatedly to someone beside him. And then he spotted you. His entire face lit up instantly.
“There she is,” one of his teammates called loudly the second they noticed you standing there in Timo’s jersey.
Another one laughed. “About time, honestly.” Heat rushed into your cheeks immediately.
Timo barely acknowledged them. He was already heading straight toward you with that unstoppable post-win grin still stretched across his face, excitement practically radiating off him. Before you could even fully smile back, his hands landed on your waist.
“We won,” he said breathlessly, like you somehow might not have noticed.
You laughed instantly, your hands automatically grabbing his shoulders for balance when he lifted you completely off the ground without warning. A startled squeak escaped you while he spun you once through the middle of the hallway, still running entirely on adrenaline and happiness.
“Timo!”
“What?” he laughed, holding you effortlessly against him. “You should be celebrating.”
“I am celebrating!”
“Not enough.”
Your heart was pounding violently now, partly from surprise and partly because he was looking at you with so much open affection that it almost felt impossible to breathe properly. The noise around you blurred strangely into the background while his teammates continued walking past, several of them openly staring now with amused expressions.
“Nice jersey,” one of them called out teasingly.
Timo looked entirely too pleased by that.
When he finally set you back down, neither of you stepped away immediately. His hands stayed resting against your waist while your fingers remained curled lightly around the front of his dress shirt beneath his jacket. He was still smiling, still flushed from the game, and being this close to him suddenly felt almost overwhelming.
“You were really good tonight,” you admitted softly.
Something warm flickered across his face then. “Yeah?”
You nodded. “I mean it.”
Timo stared at you for a moment after that, and suddenly the noise around you seemed to fade into the background. The teasing smile on his face softened slowly into something warmer, more careful somehow. You became painfully aware of the fact that his hands were still resting against your waist, warm even through the jersey fabric, and that he was standing close enough now that you could smell the clean soap from his shower mixed with lingering adrenaline and sweat underneath.
“You came all the way here just to watch me play hockey,” he said quietly, almost like he still sounded surprised by it.
“You asked me to.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes staying on yours. “I did.”
For a second neither of you moved. The moment stretched between you slowly, heavy with something unspoken that had been building for weeks now. Late-night phone calls. Breakfast dates disguised as distractions. Falling asleep together on the couch. Every lingering glance and accidental touch and almost-moment seemed to settle into the space between you all at once.
And then Timo looked at your mouth. Your breath caught instantly. It was obvious suddenly, painfully obvious that he wanted to kiss you. You could see it in the way his expression changed slightly, the way his grip tightened just a little against your waist before softening again, like he was stopping himself from pulling you closer. His eyes flicked down briefly before returning to yours, and the air between you felt so charged suddenly that your heartbeat started thundering painfully against your ribs.
Neither of you spoke. You didn’t pull away, and for one terrifyingly hopeful second, you thought he was finally going to do it. Instead, Timo’s expression shifted at the last moment into something almost hesitant. Like he remembered something. Like he got scared. Slowly, gently, one of his hands slid upward from your waist to your jaw instead. His thumb brushed lightly against your cheekbone while he leaned in close enough that your breath tangled together, close enough that your eyes fluttered shut automatically in anticipation, but then his lips landed softly against your cheek. Not your mouth. Your cheek. The disappointment hit so quickly and sharply it almost embarrassed you. Still, you smiled anyway. Because what else were you supposed to do?
Timo lingered there for half a second longer than necessary before pulling back slightly, his forehead almost brushing yours now. He looked conflicted suddenly, like he was trying to convince himself he’d made the right decision.
“There’s my girl,” one of his teammates yelled teasingly from further down the hallway. Timo rolled his eyes immediately, but his hand stayed gently against your face for another second before finally dropping away. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to ignore the ache settling unexpectedly in your chest. It wasn’t fair to be upset. He had every right to take things slow, especially after everything with your breakup. Maybe he was trying to be respectful. Careful. Maybe he didn’t want you to feel pressured into something new too quickly. Still, it stung a little that he stopped himself because for one brief moment, you had wanted him to kiss you so badly it scared you.
“You played really well tonight,” you said softly instead, pretending your heart hadn’t just dropped into your stomach.
Timo smiled, but it looked distracted now. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His eyes searched your face carefully for something, then almost like he was trying to figure out whether you were disappointed too. If he noticed anything, he didn’t say it. Instead, he just tugged lightly at the sleeve of the jersey you were wearing. “You look good in this, by the way.”
Heat crept into your cheeks again automatically. “You’re biased.”
“Very.”
You laughed softly, and the tension between you eased just enough to breathe again, but something still lingered beneath it now. Something unresolved. As Timo started leading you down the hallway toward the parking lot, his hand settled carefully against the small of your back like it belonged there. It felt warm, protective, and already so familiar. However, that almost made the almost-kiss worse somehow. Because now all you could think about was how badly you wished he had actually done it.