will smith x reader where she needs him after an argument and he doesn’t answer and she thinks he doesn’t love her anymore?
𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭
pairing: will x reader
wc: 2k
note: i wrote this super late at night so i barely had time to edit it so please let me know if i have any typos !
it’s been five days since the argument between you and will had taken place and all you’ve gotten from his end is radio silence. it wasn’t that you didn’t try because god, you really did.
you tried so hard.
every text left on read, every call going to voicemail, completely avoiding you at the group hangouts. at first you thought that he may have needed some space, that he was angry and needed some time to cool down but then your mind starts to wonder that maybe he just didn’t care enough to come back to you.
and that thought hurt like a bitch.
because on your end, despite how mad or upset you’ve ever been with him, if he called you’d still answer his calls or text so quick.
you’ve spent most of your days in bed, not even wanting to head down for hangouts with the group anymore knowing that will would be there and completely ignore you the entire night. being in the same room while he acted as if you never existed hurt more than not seeing him at all.
class then back home, work and then back home and that was how your last few days have been looking.
it wasn’t until your friend had finally had enough of your depressive state that you finally leave your house by using her birthday as an opportunity.
all you wanted to do was stay in bed and mope around with a tub of ice cream and a romcom movie in the back to give you some comfort of a relationship when yours with will felt like it was hanging by a thread.
“i hate seeing you this way y/n, come out tonight. for me please?”
and with that you knew you had no choice. you will be leaving and staying out late tonight, no exceptions which leaves you standing in a overcrowded bar wishing you were anywhere but here.
the music was blasting, people all around you having such a good time with their people but you on the other hand feeling the most miserable you’ve ever felt.
the drink in your hand barely sipped at as your friends around you joked around about who knows what. you couldn’t bother to pay attention even if you tried because your mind was currently elsewhere. you glance down at your phone, your last text sent to will stared right back at you.
you: please just talk to me will
read eight hours ago but no response.
you could feel your throat tighten up as you blink back the tears, locking your phone.
you can’t cry; not right now especially when you’re here to celebrate your friends birthday. the group spreads around, some of your friends grabbing another drink, some on the dance floor but you stayed in the booth still working on your first drink of the night.
“hey.”
you look up from your drink, your eyes locking on the man in front of you definitely older and standing a bit too close to your liking.
“hi?”
you look back down at your phone, clearly hoping he’d get the clue and walk away but of course not. your luck always terrible in these situations and now all you wished is that you didn’t respond in the first place.
“you here with somebody?”
“yep.”
“gotta boyfriend orrr?”
your heart feels like it could collapse any moment.
“yeah.”
he laughs, shaking his head. “that’s unfortunate, where is he though?”
you stay quiet, not knowing what else to say but the heaviness in your chest now doubled up more than it was before you came to the bar.
“must not be around if you’re sitting here alone.”
you stand up, trying to excuse yourself from the situation because staying quiet and dry clearly hasn’t worked in your favour so far.
“i’m good, please leave me alone.”
“oh come on now, let’s not be so hasty.”
he follows behind; trying to catch up to you.
“i’m not interested.”
he scoffs, “you didn’t even try and get to know me.”
“i don’t want to.”
you turn to leave but before you could take another step his fingers wrap tightly around your wrist hard stopping you in your tracks.
you freeze.
“i’m just trying to talk.”
his grip tightens slightly and you hiss at the pressure around your wrist.
“let go of me, what the fuck?”
“relax.”
“i said let go!”
you yank your arm harder, managing you get out of his hold stumbling back. your breathing begins to falter and all you know in the moment is that you need to leave.
you turn around and bolt towards the doors, clutching your wrist tightly to yourself. you can hear your friends calling for you but you don’t seem to care, all you need in that moment is to get out of the club.
the second you step outside of the bar, the tears begin streaming down your face. you take a deep breath, trying to regulate your breathing but it wasn’t working and it all just hits you at once.
the fight.
the silence.
the guy grabbing you.
you just needed will, you just want your boyfriend.
with shaky hands, you pull out your phone finding wills contact and hitting the call button.
its rings a couple of times before going to voicemail.
your stomach drops as you try ringing him again.
please answer.
straight back to voicemail, you bite back a sob that ripples through your body now. hands shaking you try one last time. straight to voicemail this time.
and that unanswered call hurt the most because that means he was ignoring you. your legs begin to shake underneath you as you take a seat against the curb, wrapping your arms around yourself as you break into sobs.
then another name crosses your mind.
macklin.
you find his contact and hit call not expecting him to answer so quick.
“hey y/n, what’s up?”
the second you hear his voice, you break down in sobs again.
“mack.”
“hey— hey woah. what’s going on?”
you felt like you couldn’t breathe, everything just becoming too much for you to handle.
“mack.”
“hey— i’m here. slow down for me.”
you try your best to calm yourself down, trying to get the words out as quick as you could without sobs tearing through you.
“some guy— some guy grabbed me.”
the line goes dead quiet.
“what?”
you could hear muffled movement in the back, “what do you mean grabbed you?”
“he wouldn’t leave me alone mack, he grabbed my arm and i told him to stop.”
you let out another shaky sob.
“where are you?”
“i’m outside.”
“okay— okay good. stay where you are.”
the calmness in his voice makes you want to cry more and before you could think the words came slipping out.
“i called will.”
“yeah?”
“i called him mack, i called him three times.”
your voice breaks as you continue, choking back a sob. “and he didn’t answer.”
what you didn’t know is that will is sitting with macklin, listening to every single word over the phone standing up so quickly the second he hears your sobs on the other end. that every word was hitting him like a bus.
“i needed him. i needed him and he didn’t answer.”
will felt as if he could throw up. every bit of anger he felt about the argument had completely vanished. all he knew was that you were crying and that you needed him and he didn’t fucking answer.
“where are you?” macklin asks and you give him the name of the bar you were at.
“does he hate me?”
will freezes as he hears those words.
“y/n—”
“because i don’t know why else he won’t talk to me.”
will felt like his heart has been ripped out of his chest as macklin looks at him with a look he can’t exactly read.
“he doesn’t hate you y/n, i promise.”
his voice is firm, like he’s trying to get it through to you.
wills already moving beside him unbeknownst to you, grabbing his keys but he doesn’t miss the last part of the phone call.
“mack.. i just want him.”
“i know, i know y/n. just stay where you are.”
-
you stayed sitting on the curb, not trusting your legs one bit to be standing. you wrap your arms around yourself, face buried in your knees that you barely hear your name being called.
“baby?”
your head snaps up once you hear his voice. the second you see him and how concerned he looked you can’t help but sob, getting up as quickly as you could with your shaking legs into his arms.
wills arms wrap around you without a second thought, pulling you tightly against him. “i’ve got you.”
“will.”
you can’t make out anything else, sobs taking over your body. you don’t even know what you’re crying about more. whether that will finally came or just everything finally catching up to you.
you cling to him tightly, afraid he’s going to disappear if you let go.
“i know, i know. i’m so fucking sorry.”
“i called you will.”
“i know baby.”
“you didn’t answer.”
will can physically hear his heart crack at how broken you sounded because he didn’t have an excuse. he was angry and immature when all you needed was him.
“i’m so sorry.”
you buried your face deeper in his chest and for the first time in days will lets himself hold you as tight as he possibly could.
-
the entire drive wills hand never left your leg; every few seconds he glanced over to make sure you were okay.
once you both finally get inside the apartment, you’re out of it. will follows behind you to the bedroom, grabbing one of his team issued shirts standing in front of you.
“arms up.”
you do as he says, too tired to even argue against anything. his hands slowly pull the dress off your body; wills eyes landing on the bruise that’s littered around your wrist.
“fuck.” his hands gently brush over the bruise, his heart breaking at the sight of you. the bruise on your arm making the whole thing finally sink in.
someone put their hands on you.
you needed him and he wasn’t there.
“will.”
“i was so angry about the stupid fight. so fucking petty and you needed me and i should’ve answered.”
you blink back tears, looking down at your fingers.
“i thought you didn’t love me anymore.”
will kneels in front of you leaning down to eye level, hands resting on your thighs.
“what?”
“i thought maybe you were done with me.”
“baby-”
“you wouldn’t talk to me, you wouldn’t answer. i thought you stopped loving me will.”
wills hands come up to cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. his eyes teary as they lock with yours.
“don’t ever think that.”
“will—”
“i was angry, and i acted like an idiot but i never stopped loving you. not for one second, i don’t even think im capable enough to ever do that.”
your lips wobble, “really?”
he lets out a watery laugh, “i’m so in love with you y/n and i’m so sorry that i ever made you doubt that.”
the tears you’ve been holding back finally start streaming down your cheeks and this time for a whole different reason. tears of relief after five days of thinking you lost your boyfriend.
will wraps his arms around you, pulling you down into his lap placing kisses against your forehead. “i’m so sorry.”
“i’m sorry too will.”
he shakes his head, pulling you back from his chest locking his eyes with yours.
“hey no, don’t apologize for any of this.”
“but i—”
“no.”
his hands come up to caress your face, resting his forehead against yours as he lets out a shaky breath.
“i love you, i love you so fucking much okay?”
you nod but will shakes his head.
“no baby- i need you to use your words. i love you, do you understand that?”
“yeah, i love you too will.”
he leans closer, his lips pressing against yours. you melt into the kiss immediately, hands coming around his neck to pull him closer to you. he pulls back a bit, resting his forehead against yours.
“never am i ever giving you a chance to have to call macklin because of me again.”
summary: you and macklin decide to play a prank you saw on tiktik on will... his reaction is very unexpected.
warning(s): established relationship, pranks, silly fluff, interpreted implications of cheating.
words: 1.3k
as soon as i showed mack the video, he was bouncing off the walls with anticipation.
i’d come across the trend of calling your boyfriend’s friends to see if they lie or not about him being with them.
now, with macklin’s friends in particular, this idea happens to be a little more complicated. when your boyfriend is constantly traveling around the country for work with his best friends, you really don’t have many opportunities to build good relationships with them.
especially when you —and your boyfriend —both happen to be chronic introverts.
mack lays beside me on the couch, already giggling like a little kid pulling a prank on his parents. “hurry up! i’ve been waiting all day,” he whines while tilting my phone toward him to see if I have a contact pulled up yet.
our first victim, will smith (hockey), is showcased on my screen, ready to call. his contact name causing me many teases since it was first discovered.
sue me for not wanting people to think i’m calling will smith... (actor).
laughing at macklin, i roll my eyes before looking at him seriously. “okay, you have to be quiet though. you know he’ll hang up as soon as he thinks it’s a prank.”
he immediately goes dead silent, nodding quickly.
smiling softly at his antics, i brush his hair out of his face and press a quick kiss to his forehead. in return, he snatches my phone and presses the call icon.
shaking my head, i scoff.
the phone barely rings before will’s panicked voice sounds through my phone speakers. “hey, are you okay?”
instantly channeling a stressed tone, i sigh quietly, convincingly. “uh... actually, not really. i’m sorry, i just have to ask you something.”
his response is immediate, relieved. “oh, so you’re okay then?”
mack raises a brow next to me, staring at the phone like it’ll personally answer his unasked questions.
i realize that my unprompted call —and the fact that macklin isn’t with him right now —probably caused him to think something physically happened to one of us.
“oh, yeah, sorry. i didn’t mean to worry you. i just- is macklin with you?”
i rush the question out with conviction, forcing my voice to sound more worried than it’s ever been in regards to mack’s whereabouts.
there’s a pause... then a simple question, not giving anything up yet.
“why?”
he’s suspicious. macklin is covering his mouth. i kick him.
“well...” i sniffle to make it sound more believable, “he hasn’t answered me for hours, and he said he was going to be with you all evening.”
i don’t say what i’m thinking exactly, letting will put the pieces together by himself. macklin laughs quietly next to me.
my foot makes contact with his ribs this time.
i hear will’s footsteps on the other side of the line, clearly pacing now, connecting the dots. “he’s not answering you?”
i have to pause, pressing my hand to my mouth to stop myself from laughing, before i answer him. “no. i assumed you guys were doing something and he just hadn’t seen it, but now i’m getting worried.”
i don’t hear will’s voice for a hefty minute after that. i’d have thought he figured it out and hung up on me if it weren’t for his loud pacing in the background.
“um... i need to call you back.”
he doesn’t wait for a response. the sound of his steps cut off suddenly. gasping, i whip my head to macklin. he looks at me equally surprised —both of us unsure of what just happened.
then his phone starts ringing.
his eyes go wide, freaking out. “what do i do?!”
“answer it!”
he fumbles with his phone as he answers, immediately falling into character. his voice coming out chill... too chill.
“hey man, what’s up?”
“where the fuck are you?”
will’s voice comes out more serious than i’ve heard it before. from the look on mack’s face, he relates. “woah, dude, what’s wro-”
he doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, will interrupting with a particular protectiveness i wasn’t aware i'd earned from him.
“stop. i’m not in the mood to deal with some bullshit right now, macklin. why the hell is your girlfriend asking me where you are? you better have the best fucking excuse —especially after lying to her by telling her you’re with me.”
he leaves no room for mack to turn this into a joke, clearly not willing to mess around with a situation like this. something tells me that mack has never been acquainted with this side of his best friend before. a good thing i suppose.
mack, trying not to burst out laughing, tries to redirect the question. “fuck, she texted you? why didn’t she just wait for me to respond?”
this doesn’t do anything to deter will. “no, she called me. and she didn’t wait because she sounded worried as fuck about you, while you’re doing God knows what. she said it’s been hours. where are you?”
answering his question isn’t optional anymore. his patience is wearing thin.
“i- well... funny stor-”
the phone call ends.
we both stare at each other in awe. the giggles having cleared out at the intensity of will’s voice. “i did not think he’d get that ma-”
cutting mack off for the third time —this time unintentionally —my phone rings again.
i don’t have to check it to know who’s calling.
will smith (hockey)
clicking the accept button, i rush to put it on speaker. “hello?”
he doesn’t wait to rat out his best friend. “he’s not with me.”
covering my mouth with my hand, i rush to put my phone on mute. whispering to mack, “what do i say?”
he whispers back, as if talking louder would cause will to hear our plotting.
“act distraught. ask where i am.”
taking a deep breath, i unmute my mic, breathing a little unevenly. “what? where is he?” my voice coming out pitchier than i intended.
it does the job.
a sigh sounds from my phone speakers. “i- i’m not sure. i’m so sorry. i called him...” i wait for him to continue. he scoffs, thinking of his conversation with mack. “fuck, i’m so sorry, i think he’s with someone, y/n.”
the words escape him too quickly. the concept of his best friend doing something like this pains him. he’s upset with macklin. he’s upset for me.
macklin mouths something to me. he knows i can’t read lips for shit.
i press mute again and tilt my head at him. “what?”
“we have to tell him that it’s a prank. he’s going to kill me.”
i nod quickly, knowing that neither of us expected will to take it this seriously.
unmuting, i clear my throat. opening my mouth to admit to our antics, will speaks up again. “i’m so so sorry. i swear i didn’t know anything about this. if i did, i would’ve- God, i don’t know. i would’ve done something though.”
macklin, like the little asshole that he is, bursts out laughing. sudden, loud, and irritatingly infectuous. i chastise myself for laughing along with him.
i can see tears in his eyes, sending me further into my hysterics. my state only has a ripple effect on him.
“uh... hello?”
i’m not even kidding, will’s voice makes me start crying. by the time we collect ourselves, tears are streaming down both of our faces.
“oh my gosh, will...” i pause to laugh again. “will, i’m so sorry!”
beep beep beep.
the phone call ended again.
my neck hurts from how fast i turn to look at mack. both of us are calm for a second before a text comes through.
will smith (hockey) i hate you both. tell mack to watch out at practice tomorrow.
and just like that, we’re bent over in laughter again.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ will smith x fem!reader. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, jealousy & unspoken feelings, angst, situationship. not revised & english is not my first language. if you’re ever in a situation like this… just RUN.
in which you’ve always been his person. the problem? you were just his best friend.
my main masterlist! ❀
You met Will Smith before anything in your life made sense. Before feelings became too complicated and choices meant losing something, before you learned that love could exist quietly for years without ever being named.
You had just moved to Lexington that summer and your parents made it sound easier than it felt. "They’re good people, you’ll like them", your mom had said one evening, smoothing down your hair before they walked you across the street for lunch.
They already knew his parents, something about old connections and timing lining up again, like this had all been decided before you had any say in it.
Grace was the first of the Smiths to talk to you. She was easy like that, bright and warm in a way that didn’t make you feel like an outsider, even though you felt like one.
She pulled you into conversation like you’d always been there, like you hadn’t just arrived with your whole life in, literally, boxes. Will was different. Quieter at first, a little more watchful, like he was trying to figure you out before deciding what to do with you.
It didn’t take long.
After that, he just… started showing up.
At first it was with his family, trailing behind his parents when they came over, sitting across from you at the table, stealing glances like he didn’t want to be obvious about it. Then it turned into afternoons: Grace asking if you wanted to come over to watch some new movie, Will already halfway out the door before you answered. And then, eventually, it stopped needing a reason at all. He’d knock once and walk in, like your house had quietly become his too.
It was just a slow accumulation of moments that became something permanent before you even realized it, but the first one you remember clearly is the night he knocked on your window.
You were eight, half-asleep and disoriented, pushing your curtains aside to find him standing in your backyard in pajama pants and a sweatshirt, his hockey stick still in his hand.
“Are you serious?” you whispered, pushing the window open just enough to look at him.
He grinned. “Come outside. I promise it’ll be fun.”
“It’s midnight.”
“So?”
“So I’m not allowed to just—” you gestured vaguely, “—leave my house. It’s past my bedtime.”
He tilted his head, like he was actually considering that, then shrugged. “Grace is asleep. My parents think I am too. It’s fair.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“Just this once,” he said, softer now, like he knew that was what would convince you. “Then I’ll let you go.”
You stared at him for a second, already knowing you were going to say yes. You always did, even then, even before you understood why it felt easier to follow him than to stay where you were.
“If I get in trouble, I’m blaming you,” you muttered, already pulling on a hoodie.
“Deal,” he said immediately, like he’d accept any terms as long as you came outside.
High school didn’t arrive all at once. It wasn’t some clean break between who you were and who you were becoming. One day you were still kids running between houses without knocking, and the next you were standing in crowded hallways, lockers slamming and people looking at each other differently.
You and Grace stayed close. Although a bit older, she pulled you through the first weeks the same way she had when you first moved, introducing you her friends, looping your arm through hers in the hallways, making sure you never felt like you didn’t belong.
Will was there too, of course, just… differently. Hockey had already started to take up more of his life, practices running late, weekends filling with games, his schedule becoming something you learned instead of shared.
Still, he found his way back to you, like he always did.
“Wait,” he called one afternoon, jogging to catch up as you and Grace were heading out after school.
Grace smirked immediately. “I’m gonna go ahead,” she said under her breath to you, already stepping away. “He’s been looking for you all day.”
You barely had time to react before she disappeared into the crowd.
“You’re abandoning me?” you called after her.
“Love you!” she shouted back, not even turning around.
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling by the time Will reached you, slightly out of breath like he’d actually rushed.
“What?” you said, glancing at him. “You could’ve just texted.”
“I did. You didn’t answer.”
“I was in class.”
“So was I.”
“And yet you survived!”
“Barely,” he said, falling into step beside you. “Where were you at lunch?”
“With Grace.”
“You always sit with me.”
You frowned slightly. “Since when is it assigned seating?”
He nudged your shoulder. “Since you decided it was, like, three years ago.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
“You did. You just don’t remember because you weren’t paying attention.”
You huffed out a laugh. “That sounds made up.”
“It’s not,” he said, but he was smiling too, easy and familiar, like nothing had changed.
And maybe, with him, it hadn’t.
A few years later, things looked like they had finally settled into place.
Grace leaving for college had shifted things more than you expected. At first, it was small but noticeable —quieter dinners, fewer interruptions, the absence of her easy laughter filling the space between you and Will.
She had always been the bridge without either of you realizing it, the one who softened silences and redirected conversations before they could become something heavier. Without her, there were moments that lingered a little too long, pauses that felt unfamiliar.
You found your own rhythm again, built something that felt steady. You had your own group of friends now, people who filled your days with noise and plans and the kind of laughter that made everything feel lighter. Your world had expanded beyond the small, familiar circle it used to be.
Will’s had too.
Between hockey, school, and his own friends, he was being pulled in more directions than before. His life felt bigger and more defined , like it was already starting to move toward something concrete.
You saw it in the way people talked about him, in the way his schedule filled up, in the way his future was no longer just something he talked about —it was something that was actually happening. And you felt really proud of him.
And somehow, despite all of that, the two of you stayed the same.
You still found each other without trying. Still ended up walking home together more often than not, your steps falling into sync like they always had.
Graduation, though, refused to stay in the background. It was close enough that everyone had started asking the question you’d been avoiding.
“What are you doing next year?”
Your friends asked it like it was simple. Like there was a right answer you were just waiting to say out loud.
“I don’t know,” you admitted one afternoon, sitting cross-legged on the grass while they talked over each other, comparing campuses, programs, plans. “I mean it. I actually have no idea. I want to go somewhere near.”
“You should come to Boston College with us,” one of them said immediately, turning toward you. “It’s close, it’s a good school, and we’d all still be together.”
“Exactly,” another added. “You don’t even want to go far. This is kind of perfect for you.”
You hesitated, picking at the grass beneath your fingers.
There was something comforting about the idea of staying close, not having to start over somewhere unfamiliar, keeping at least part of your life exactly where it was.
“Maybe,” you said finally. “I’ll think about it.”
Later that week, you brought it up to him.
You were sitting on the hood of his car like you had a hundred times before, the metal still warm from the day, the evening settling around you in that quiet, familiar way that always made everything feel simpler when it was just the two of you.
“My friends are all thinking about going to Boston College,” you said, glancing at him. “They want me to go too.”
He nodded slowly, like he was turning the idea over in his head. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You nudged his shoulder lightly. “What about you? Have you figured anything out yet?”
He exhaled, leaning back on his hands, gaze drifting somewhere past the streetlights.
“Not really.”
“Nothing?”
“I mean…” he hesitated, shrugging slightly, “it kind of depends.”
“On what?”
“Hockey,” he said simply. “Wherever that takes me.”
You studied him for a moment, searching his expression for something more certain.
“So you don’t have a plan?”
He glanced back at you, a small, almost amused smile tugging at his lips. “Since when do I ever have a plan?”
You rolled your eyes, but there was something unsettled in your chest. “That’s not reassuring.”
“I’ll figure it out,” he said easily, like it wasn’t something that kept you up at night. “I always do.”
The next time your families got together, everything felt the way it always had.
The table was set near the lake, the water catching the last of the sunlight and reflecting it back in soft, shifting colors. Your parents and his were already deep in conversation, laughing, reminiscing, talking about things that blended into the background.
You sat across from him, barely noticing anything else.
You caught the way he laughed, head tilted back slightly, the way he leaned into his chair like he didn’t have a single thing weighing on him. It was so familiar it almost made you forget how close everything was to changing.
“So… we’ve been meaning to tell you all,” his mom said suddenly, her voice bright with something unmistakably proud. “Will’s probably heading to BC next year.”
Your head snapped up.
“What?” The word slipped out before you could stop it.
No one reacted to the shift in your tone.
“They’ve been in talks for a while,” his dad added, smiling. “The hockey program is a great fit for him. And he’s thinking of majoring in Communication Studies.”
You turned to look at him, expecting something. An explanation, a glance, any acknowledgment that this wasn’t the first time you were hearing it.
But he didn’t meet your eyes.
“That’s amazing,” your mom said warmly. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Will shrugged, casual, like it didn’t carry weight. “It’s not official yet.”
“But still,” Coleen, his mom, insisted, “it’s basically decided.”
Something tightened in your chest, slow and unmistakable, not because of what he had chosen, but because of how you were finding out. Just a few months ago, sitting right next to him, you had asked him what he was going to do, and he had told you he didn’t know. You hadn’t expected a final answer back then, but you had expected honesty, or at least to be included in something that clearly wasn’t as uncertain as he had made it seem.
It wasn’t about Boston College. It wasn’t about his major.
It was about the fact that you hadn’t mattered enough to tell.
You pushed your chair back, the movement sharper than you intended. “I’m gonna go for a walk,” you muttered, not waiting for anyone to respond before stepping away from the table.
The air by the lake was cooler, quieter, the sound of the water soft and steady against the shore. You walked without direction at first, your thoughts louder than your footsteps, your chest tight with something you couldn’t quite push down.
It didn’t take long for him to follow.
“Hey,” he called, catching up to you easily, his button-down slightly wrinkled, sleeves pushed up like he hadn’t bothered fixing them. “What was that?”
You didn’t slow down. “What was what?”
“You just left.”
“Yeah,” you said, staring straight ahead. “I needed some air.”
“You could’ve just said that.”
You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Right. Should I have announced it? ‘Hey everyone, I just found out something I definitely should’ve known already, so I’m gonna go process that for a second.’ Would that have been better?”
He frowned, confusion settling in. “What are you talking about?”
You stopped then, turning to face him fully. “BC. Communication Studies. Ringing any bells?”
He blinked, caught off guard. “It’s not a big deal. We’re literally going to the same place.”
“Not a big deal?” you repeated, disbelief creeping into your voice. “Will, I asked you about this. You told me you didn’t know what you were doing.”
“I didn’t. Not then.”
“That was months ago.”
He exhaled, frustration flickering across his face. “For once, can you understand that things change? I don’t have to tell you everything.”
The words landed harder than he intended, and you saw it immediately in the way his expression shifted, like he realized it too late.
You shook your head slowly, hurt settling deeper now. “So you just didn’t think to tell me? You were going to what, wait until we ran into each other on campus?”
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
He didn’t answer.
That silence said enough.
“You tell me everything,” you said, quieter now, but steadier. “Or at least that’s what I thought.”
“That’s not fair,” he said, stepping closer. “I do tell you everything.”
“No, you don’t,” you snapped, the frustration finally breaking through. “You tell me things when they’re easy, when they don’t matter. But this is your life, Will, and I had to hear it from your parents?”
“It’s not even final—”
“That’s not the point,” you cut in, your voice rising despite yourself.
He ran a hand through his hair, tension clear now. “Then what is the point? I´m not getting why you´re angry at me. After all, Grace is there, you and me as well. It isn´t that bad.”
You opened your mouth, and for a moment the truth was right there, simple and impossible to say out loud: that you´re andgry because you thought you mattered more, you thought you would be the first to know, not the last.
Instead, you forced your voice to steady. “I know all three of us are going there, but the point is that I asked you because I’m trying to figure out what I’m doing. Because I thought… I don’t know, I just thought you’d tell me.”
He looked at you then, really looked at you, like he was trying to understand something he hadn’t realized before. “I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” he said more quietly. “We’re going to the same place. We’ll still see each other all the time. It’s not like anything’s changing.”
And that was the part that hurt the most.
Because to him, nothing was changing.
“Yeah,” you said, taking a small step back, the distance between you suddenly feeling necessary. “That’s kind of the problem.”
Standing there, with the lake stretching quietly behind you and him just a few feet away, it became clear in a way it never had before. He was moving forward with his life, naturally and easily, stepping into something that was already unfolding for him.
And you weren’t sure you were part of it in the way you had always assumed you would be.
After that night by the lake, nothing between you and Will broke in a way that anyone else could point to, but it shifted just enough that you felt it everywhere.
When you saw each other at school, there was always a second, brief but noticeable, where neither of you quite knew how to start, like you had both forgotten the rhythm you used to fall into so easily.
You still existed in the same orbit.
A week later, it was your friend’s party that brought everything into focus. It wasn’t anything special —just music too loud for the size of the house, people spilling from room to room, the kind of night that felt like an excuse more than an event. You almost didn’t go, but staying home felt worse and your friends insisted you to go with them.
You told yourself it didn’t matter if he was there... you told yourself a lot of things that stopped making sense the second you walked in and saw him.
He was in the living room, surrounded by a loose circle of people, laughing at something someone had said. It wasn’t unusual —he had always been easy like that, pulling people in without trying— but this time, your attention caught on something else.
Her, the blonde curly girl who, since being 9 years, had had a crush on Will.
She was standing close to him, closer than anyone else, her hand brushing his arm when she laughed, her body angled toward him like he was the center of everything in that moment. He leaned in slightly when she spoke, listening in a way that felt familiar in a way you didn’t want to think about.
And for a second, you just let yourself stand there, watching.
This shouldn’t have been new. You had seen him with other girls before, seen the way people gravitated toward him, the way he let them. But something about it felt different now, sharper, like the distance between you had stripped away whatever softness used to protect you from it.
So you walked out, the air being colder than earlier. You hadn’t meant to walk out, but your feet had carried you anyway, needing space, needing something that didn’t feel so crowded.
You heard him coming before he spoke: quicker steps, uneven, like he hadn’t decided if he was rushing or not. “Are you seriously just going to walk away?”
You didn’t turn right away. Your jaw tightened slightly, your fingers curling against your palms before you forced them to relax.
“Was I supposed to stay?” you said, your voice coming out flatter than you expected.
There was a beat of silence behind you, then his steps closing the distance until you could feel him there, close enough that you didn’t have to look to know exactly where he was.
“You didn’t even give me a chance to say hi,” he said, sharper now.
You turned then, the movement quick, almost abrupt. The low light caught the tension in his face. His brows were drawn together, his mouth set like he was holding something back.
“You had a chance,” you said. “You just didn’t take it.”
“That’s not—” he exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair before dropping it again. “You shut it down before I could even say anything.”
“I didn’t shut anything down,” you snapped, your shoulders lifting slightly. “You left.”
“I didn’t leave,” he said, taking a step closer, his voice tightening. “I´m just busy with my stuff.”
You let out a short laugh, but there was nothing amused about it. You looked away for a second, shaking your head, then back at him. “That’s kind of the point.”
He frowned, confusion flickering into irritation. “What is?”
“You always get pulled away,” you said, the words coming faster now, like they’d been sitting there waiting. “Every time something actually matters, something else comes up and you just— go.”
“That’s not true,” he said immediately.
You stepped back without thinking, your heel catching slightly on the uneven ground before you steadied yourself. “It is. You just don’t notice it.”
He stared at you for a second, his chest rising and falling a little faster now. “You’re making this into something it’s not.”
“Am I?” you asked, your voice quieter but tighter, like it was being held in place. “Because it doesn’t feel like that.”
The wind shifted slightly, carrying a burst of laughter from the house before it faded again, leaving the space between you too quiet.
“I came to talk to you,” he said, like that should fix it.
“After an hour,” you replied, your fingers tightening around themselves.
“I didn’t know you were here.”
Your eyes flicked up to his, something sharp settling there. “That’s not better.”
He huffed out a breath, pacing once, his hand dragging across the back of his neck before he stopped in front of you again.
“Then what do you want from me?” he asked, the frustration clearer now, rougher.
The question hit harder than you expected. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, your throat tightening slightly before you forced the words out.
“I want to know where I stand in your life,” you said, tears that had accumulated starting to fall, but it didn’t waver. “I want to know why I’m the person you tell everything to, but somehow never the person you choose when it actually matters.”
He stilled, completely.
Like the words had landed somewhere he hadn’t expected them to.
“That’s not how it is,” he said after a second, but it came out slower this time.
“Then how is it?” you pressed, stepping forward now, closing the space he’d been trying to keep. “Because it feels like I’m just there when it’s easy. When nothing else is going on.”
“That’s not fair,” he said, but there was less edge to it now, more hesitation.
You shook your head, your gaze dropping briefly before snapping back up. “You didn’t tell me about Boston. You didn’t tell me about your major. Tonight you didn’t even look for me. And then we don´t talk as we used to.” Your voice breaking, tears staining your face. “And I’m just supposed to be okay with that?”
“I said I was going to tell you,” he said, his voice rising again, like he needed you to believe it. “And I’m here now.”
“Yeah,” you said, softer, the word almost slipping out. “Now.”
He stopped moving. The space between you felt smaller, tighter, like there wasn’t enough air in it.
“That’s not what you think it is,” he said, quieter now, his eyes fixed on you. “You’re not just someone I talk to when it’s convenient.”
You held his gaze, your chest rising unevenly. “Then what am I?”
The question sat there between you, heavier than anything else you’d said. He looked at you like he was trying to find the answer somewhere on your face, like it might be easier to read it than to say it.
“You’re not like anyone else,” he said finally, his voice lower now.
Your fingers pressed into your palms again. “That’s not an answer.”
“It is,” he insisted, stepping closer, close enough that you could see the way his expression shifted, something more uncertain underneath it. “It’s always been you.”
Your breath caught slightly, your body going still in a way you couldn’t control.
“Then what does that mean?” you asked, barely above a whisper.
He hesitated. His eyes dropped for just a second, then back to yours, like he was weighing something, like he knew saying it out loud would change everything.
“I think I—”
“Will!”
The voice cut through the moment, loud enough to make you both turn. The blonde girl was standing there, a few feet away, her hair slightly messy, her expression impatient but still light, like nothing about this felt serious to her.
“They’re looking for you,” she said, already stepping closer. “Come on, stop talking!”
Will didn’t move right away. His eyes flicked back to you, something tight in his expression now, like he hadn’t meant for it to stop there.
“Hold on,” he said, glancing back at her. “I just need a second.”
“It’ll take two seconds,” she replied, reaching for his arm without hesitation, her fingers wrapping around his sleeve. “Come on.”
He looked at you again. For a second, it felt like he might stay, like he might actually finish what he started.
Your chest tightened, your breath catching without you meaning it to, like your body was bracing for something you didn’t even fully understand yet.
He hesitated... and then he let her pull him.
“I’ll come find you,” he said quickly, almost over his shoulder, like he didn’t want to leave it like that.
But he still turned away.
His hand slipped out of yours without ever touching it, the space between you filling back in too quickly, like nothing had just happened.
You didn’t move.
Didn’t call after him.
You just stood there, the cold settling deeper into your skin, your fingers still curled slightly like they’d been holding onto something that wasn’t there anymore.
And this time, you didn’t try to tell yourself it didn’t matter. You´ve seen it before in movies, but never in real life. You´ve read it in books, but never applied to your life.
You had just realised that you were falling for your best friend.
FRIDAY NIGHT finds you in the laundry room, shoving a week’s worth of clothes into a washing machine while half the campus gets ready for another party. you always do your laundry when there’s a party, because while everyone else is busy drinking, the laundry room is empty.
peaceful, predictable, no waiting around for 5000 years.
you toss a detergent pod into the drum and slam the door. your basket sits at the side while you take a seat on top of the spinning machine, untangling your earphones while the door opens. you don’t look up.
“huh,” they speak, “was starting to think you’d transferred.”
you freeze.
god, please no.
you look up.
will’s standing in the doorway with an overflowing laundry basket in his hands, looking almost surprised by your existence. the second your eyes meet, he grins.
you tuck a bit of your hair behind your ear, lowering your hands as you try to fight the blush. “i . . what? what are you talking about?” you play dumb, forcing a laugh.
ok, so what if you’ve subconsciously been going out of your way to avoid will after you kissed him? only by a little bit - it’s not like you’re taking massive repercussions just to avoid him.
did you cross the soaking, soggy, muddy grass in the middle of campus and ruin your sneakers because he was walking in your direction? maybe, but you were running late for practice anyway.
did you completely by coincidence, start switching up seats from your usual spot just for a change? yeah, ‘cause it seemed . . fun to do?
did you duck underneath the cheerleading table during the student involvement fair because you spotted his baseball cap weaving through the crowd? yeah, but you thought your earring had fell out at the same moment.
will has actually been . . an angel. he’s left you alone. he hasn’t pried. hasn’t seeked you out to hound you. it’s you — you think about him for even a second and you’re riddled with guilt, you hear him and your face flushes with embarrassment, you see him and your chest starts beating too fast and your stomach gets that weird tingly sensation like it did when his tong—
“you’re getting creative.”
he snaps you out of your daze. you blink, lost. “what . . what do you mean?”
“you’re avoiding me.”
his voice makes you straighten, although he’s smiling, gum smacking in his mouth. he has a navy hat on, some baseball team on it, matching his navy t-shirt. “i’m . . i’m not,” you try to play off. “i’ve been busy.”
“doing what?”
“just with classes and stuff . . cheerleading . . usual.”
“i haven’t seen you in class. i was looking for you.”
that makes your heart squeeze with guilt. you’re unfazed when he doesn’t show up to class, he’s missed a dozen classes due to hockey, whether college-related or some variant of international play - you get on with your day.
when you don’t show up one day, will’s brain is wracked wondering if everything’s ok.
“i’ve been every day,” you answer, and you have, you’re not lying . . . you’ve just been on the complete opposite side you usually sit on. “did you need something . . ? my file—”
he shakes his head while lowering his basket, placing it on the floor to opening a machine door. “i just . . wanted to make sure i hadn’t done something.”
you frown. “what?”
he shrugs one shoulder, slightly turning his back to you while he loads up his machine. “just figured i made you uncomfortable or somethin.”
the joking tone is gone.
it’s so matter-of-fact that it makes your chest tighten. “no,” the answer comes instantly as you shake your head. “no will, that’s not . . . no. you didn’t make me uncomfortable.”
he watches you closely, turning around to you. “you promise?”
“i promise,” you hold up your hands as if to prove you’ve got nothing crossed. you even uncross your legs. “you didn’t make me uncomfortable. i . . it’s me.” you confess.
you slump in your spot, like you can no longer carry the weight. “it’s just — every time i see you, i — i get embarrassed. i can’t believe i tried to kiss you and i’m so sorry for it. ‘n then i was scared in case you started telling people and if brad found out so i’ve had this god-awful anxiety all week, it makes me sick—”
will’s standing in front of you now, his brows furrowed as he moves his hands across like as if to cut you off. you do. “you’d think i’d tell people?”
you raise a shoulder. “. . well yeah, like i thought . . maybe you’d tell your friends.”
he just looks at you.
“and they’d joke about it . . .”
still nothing.
“and then someone would overhear . .”
he slowly shakes his head.
“or maybe you’d bring it up to brad.”
will’s brows furrow. “you think i’d tell brad?”
“—not in a cruel way,” you say quickly. “just . . because you two don’t like each other and . . i thought maybe you’d . . . rub it in or something?”
a long silence settles between you. will steps closer, not enough to crowd you, but enough that you’re no longer talking across the room. you can smell his signature scent better, cleanliness and something masculine. “i don’t really like brad.”
“i know.”
“but i like you a lot more than i don’t like him.”
you close your eyes and that, feeling like your heart could melt through your fingers.
he says it so casually, with no shame or embarrassment.
“why would i do something like that? at your cost?”
your throat tightens as he keeps going, and you have to lift your hand to get him to stop taking. “will—”
“—you really thought i’d use you to get at him?”
“n—no.” the word comes out small. “i don’t know what i thought i just . . was overthinking it every possibility,” you lower your head. “. hiding just makes the most sense.”
he smiles, but it’s smaller this time - softer. the one that kind of pulls at your heartstrings. “hey,” he says quietly, waiting until you meet his eyes. “you really don’t have to do all that.”
“what?”
“hide from me.”
the words aren’t teasing anymore, and his gaze holds yours in a comforting reassurance. “i hate to think you’ve spent a week changing where you sit or taking different routes, worrying every time you see me because you think i’m gonna make things weird.” he gives a tiny shake of his head. “i’m not.”
you look down at your hands.
“i haven’t told anybody,” he continues. “and i’m not going to. not my teammates. not my friends. definitely not brad. it’s nobody else’s business but ours, and if you don’t want anyone knowing, then that’s where it stays.”
ours.
it sounds weird coming from him and doesn’t something weird to your limbs.
“you don’t have to explain yourself to me, and you don’t have to spend every day trying to make sure we never end up in the same room,” his voice is warm now, almost comforting. “i’d rather you just be yourself . . ” he’s closer now, standing directly in front of you, your knees almost touch him. “i’d much rather get the version of you that argues with me that i’m not 6’1 in skates and tells me i’m annoying.”
you laugh a little, looking away from his blue eyes. “you are not 6’1 in skates.”
“‘course i am,” he inches closer, face full of fake arrogance although his voice is soft and teasing. it eases your nerves, loosens you a little.
“i . .” you laugh at yourself without any humour in it. “you’re right. i’m sorry, i’m just . . i’m a mess at the minute.” you place your head in your hands.
you don’t know why you assume will to be cruel like that. you know he’s not. maybe it’s a you thing: you have a hard time learning not every guy is brad. it’s instinct to assume they’re all the same.
will doesn’t hesitate to peel your hands from your face, standing almost between your legs if they had been spread apart a little more. “you’re not a mess, y/n.” his hand’s nonchalantly relax on your thighs, your bare thighs because it’s approaching 10PM and you’re dressed for bed in a plain oversized t-shirt while 90% of campus is at that 80s themed party tonight.
your gaze drops to his hands, how they blanket your thighs, the way fingers stretch farther than they seemed capable of around them. when you finally drag your eyes back to his face, he’s already looking at you.
“nobody knows. nobody will know,” his voice is low, like it’s meant only for you.
his hands shift again, slower this time, thumbs brushing absentmindedly against your skin like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “just you and me . . .”
you don’t mean to do it, you try to fight it - but you look anyway - you look at his mouth while he’s talking. pink lips moving, voice smooth like honey, soft in a way that doesn’t match how close he is standing. the sound settles under your skin, soft and slow, it warms every part of you until it feels like you’re physically melting.
your shoulders drop first, tension bleeding out of you in a way that makes you blink like you’ve just woken up.
it’s like the space between you starts shrinking on its own. “will,” you mutter, eyes dropping. “we—you’re too close.”
he huffs a quiet laugh at that. “too close?” his brow twitches, “after a week of not seeing me?”
you give him a look despite his teasing, but you still don’t move.
his lips tug in response, fingers sliding to the crease between your legs and torso, fingers curling around the back until he’s pulling you towards him. your breath catches before you can stop it, your eyes dropping eye-level with his neck. the smell of his aftershave hits you next, clean and sharp, drawing you closer to him.
“you’re telling me to move . . ” he murmurs, “but you keep coming closer.”
“’m not.”
“no?” his nose brushes yours, feather-light, enough to make your heart jump; your eyes close.
you don’t know what he’s saying anymore, your thoughts feel like they’ve been wrapped in cotton and you’re waiting for him to kiss you.
his nose grazes yours again as he leans in, slow enough to give you every chance to pull away, and when you don’t – he finally kisses you.
again.
the kiss is slow. unhurried, like neither of you has anywhere else to be.
somewhere between his hand finding your waist and your fingers curling instinctively into the front of his t-shirt, the noise you’ve been carrying around all week melts into silence, every anxious thought that had been ricocheting around moments ago simply fades.
will’s lips are soft. they’re gentle on yours. it’s so sweet it makes your ears ring.
when he pulls away, your eyes stay closed and you don’t dare move.
he kisses you again.
it deepens this time, his lips parting more gradually until his tongue slides against yours, warm and wet and tasting faintly of something minty. your arms come up to his neck in a mind of their own, tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. you can feel the smirk in his kiss.
he doesn’t let you breathe. it’s a kiss you’ve never experienced before; it sends tingles down your spine and makes your toes curl. you chase more.
will makes a breathy sound, lips pushing harder against yours as his hands tighten around your waist. he pulls your lower half closer to the edge of the machine until your knees bracket his hips and you grab his arm consciously. “will,” you hum breathlessly, his lips brushing yours. “we can’t—”
he cuts you off again, messily slotting his lips against yours.
the alarm bells in your mind silence with the the feel of his hands travelling back to your legs, caressing the top of your thighs, his thumb smoothing the inside of it. it makes your breath stutter; your brain short-circuit and thoughts turn to mush.
“will,” you say again between kisses, eyes closing with every stroke of his tongue massaging yours. it distracts you from the hand slowly making its way between your legs. “mmph—”
the sudden contact of will’s middle finger pressing against your clothed slit sends a jolt through your body; a high-pitched gasp past your lips. he continues to kiss you as you pull away, barely regaining consciousness as your hand snatches a hold of his wrist, stopping his hand from moving another inch. “will, will, will—” you whisper, trying to get him to stop.
he does. the second you whisper, he eases back, breaking the kiss gently between you. his eyes stay closed for a moment longer, forehead hovering yours, his lips glisten with saliva. his breathing is still uneven, his shoulders moving with each intake.
he doesn’t rush. he just lets you go, his nose brushing your cheek as if he’s giving himself a second before reality catches up.
“will . . .” your voice comes out embarrassingly small. you swallow. “i-i can’t.”
this time, he nods. slowly. like he’d already known that was coming.
it makes your chest hurt.
your eyes dart to the door, your heartbeat suddenly loud again.
you look back at him, eyes softening at the devastating sight: blond curls messily spread across his forehead, cheeks flushed pink from your intense makeout. “i’m sorry,” you blurt, gently easing his hand from your waist. he lets you. “i just—we shouldn’t’ve . . i shouldn’t have—”
he gives another small nod and takes half a step back. “i get it,” he says like he’s trying to spare you the conversation. “it’s cool.”
“no—” you trap him between your legs before he can step away anymore. “please wait.”
“it’s fine, y/n.” he unhooks your ankles over him.
“no will, wait, please,” you hop off the washing machine, ignoring the terrible ache down below as you try to get him to look at you. “it’s not you—”
“i know.”
“no but—”
he tries not to sigh. “y/n–”
“please don’t be weird with me.”
he pauses. he looks at you properly, confusion swirling in his eyes. “i won’t . . ?”
“don’t be mad.”
he looks back at you, brows knitting together. “i’m not.”
dismissive. matter-of-fact.
your chest only tightens. “no, but you are,” you insist quietly. “i can tell.”
“i’m not mad at you,” he establishes, furrowing his brows at the accusation.
“promise?”
he lets out a quiet breath through his nose, keeping his gaze on you. “yeah.”
you search his face for something, anything, that tells you he’s telling the truth. “i’m not going to avoid you,” the words spill out too fast, “not this time. i swear.”
his expression softens, eyes drifting to the floor, “you don’t have to promise me anything.”
“no but i do, i—” you don’t even know what to say. “can we just be the same? like, before?” your eyes are pleading as you look up to him. “i don’t want you to—” ditch me? leave me alone? ignore me? “i dunno, i’m — just—don’t change anything. we’re good.” you nod, smoothing the bottom of your shirt. “we’re good. you don’t need to—to disappear on me or—”
“disappear on you?” will perks an eyebrow at that, offended. “that’s you who does that.”
“i know, i know, i’m sorry. i won’t this time, i promise.” you cringe, cheeks flaming. “i’ll literally save you a seat on monday, i— we’re cool. we’re cool. this never happened.”
will raises his head in acknowledgment.
alright.
cool.
he nods. “yeah.”
it isn’t cold. it isn’t angry. if anything, that’s what makes your heart clench. he isn’t going to fight you on it or ask why, he isn’t going to make you feel worse than you already do.
he just accepts your response. “see you around.”
you take a step closer as he makes it to the door, basket scooped in his hand. “will—” you open your mouth, but nothing comes - because what are you even supposed to say?
you settle with a weak ‘i’m sorry’ and he gives another nod. “i know.”
and then he’s gone.
the second the door shuts, your chest caves. you drag a hand over your face.
idiot.
this never happened? why would you say that? that wasn’t what you meant. you feel even worse as you did before, and this time, you promised you wouldn’t avoid him.
-
the party buzzes around you.
people shout over the music, bottles clink somewhere in the kitchen, someone you’ve never met is laughing hard enough to fold in half. it’s chill for a saturday night. you stay tucked into brad’s side most of the night, fingers hooked loosely through his arm. you laugh when everyone else laughs, nod along to conversations you haven’t really heard.
you’re already moving when brad asks for you to get something for him.
you try to have a good time, you’ve had two seltzers to help you, but there’s a strange emptiness following you around all evening.
like something’s missing.
you don’t realize how often your eyes drift across the room until you catch yourself doing it again.
“babe, can you grab me another beer?”
“’course.” you grin, brushing a quick kiss against his cheek before disappearing into the kitchen.
it’s automatic, all of it - the way you lean against him when he pulls you in, play with the hair at the back of his neck while he’s talking to his friends - you’re attentive. sweet.
maybe a little too hard.
you weave through the crowd, muttering quiet apologies as shoulders knock yours from every direction. “sorry.”
“it’s fine.”
you step aside to let them through.
that’s when you see him.
will.
your heart stumbles so hard it almost feels painful.
he’s sunk into the corner of the sofa, one arm stretched lazily along the back of it. a girl sits tucked into his side, laughing at something he’s just said. another sits to his left, their knees touching.
your eyes stay fixed on them, unable to look away despite every part of you screaming to.
he says something that makes the one of the right laugh, and her fingers curl around the front of his t-shirt, collecting a firm grip – and your feet stop.
you watch him nod, lips pulled to the side in that smirk he does and you catch the way his eyes dip to her mouth.
your eyes could slice him.
don’t.
before your brain can make sense of what you’re looking at, will leans in, all confidence. she meets him halfway.
then it happens.
they kiss.
your brows raise and your mouth falls open before your brain has fully registered what’s going on.
he kisses her.
not accidentally.
not drunkenly.
deliberately.
for a second, all you can hear is the rush of blood flooding your head.
your entire body goes hot.
you watch like a complete weirdo, watching the way he slips his tongue in, the way his head moves to meets hers, the way his eyes remain closed and his hand rests on her leg.
something ugly flares inside you violently.
your whole body racks.
“babe?”
brad’s voice reaches you from somewhere behind.
you don’t answer.
you’re still staring.
still hoping, stupidly, that he’ll pull away.
“babe?”
you flinch at a hand brushing your elbow, so hard it almost startles you.
“what?” you bite.
brad blinks. “i just asked if you got my drink . .“
“well, i’m getting it, aren’t i?!”
his eyebrows raise, taken back by the tone. “alright . . .”
honestly, brad is at a loss these days. when he’s being an ass, you act a psycho, when he’s on his best behaviour and treating you good, you act a psycho.
“god!” you scoff, wrenching open the fridge harder than necessary.
“what’s wrong with you?”
“nothing.”
“doesn’t seem like nothing.”
“BRAD!” you shout this time, slamming the door closed with a flare in your eyes. “STOP talking to me.”
a couple of heads turn and brad raises his hands immediately. the look in your eyes is new.
“okay.”
guilt pricks at you for all of half a second when you hand him the can, because when you look up again—they’re still there.
heat surges through you all over again. you don’t even recognize the feeling.
“babe, chill out, alright? what happened?” brad’s voice is soft for once as he stands in front of you, blocking the view. he tries to be gentle. he says he’s been working on himself and you’ve noticed it.
you rip his hand from your side and storm off back to your spot, your whole body almost shaking with emotions you didn’t even know you possessed.
-
monday comes around when you’ve still got that furrow in your brow. the lecture theatre is already half full by the time you arrive, coffee in one hand, headphones still around your neck.
you scan the rows automatically whilst walking up the steps – and there he is.
will.
in your seat.
well, not your seat. your row.
he’s saved the chair beside him with his backpack, spotting you almost immediately. he lifts it onto his lap without a second thought.
“morning sunshine.” he says.
like friday never happened.
like saturday didn’t exist.
like two girls hadn’t practically climbed into his lap before midnight.
your jaw tightens.
“. . hi.”
you slide into the chair without looking at him.
the silence stretches. he doesn’t seem bothered by it.
“good weekend?”
is that a joke?
you just nod, keeping your head to the front. will lifts his in acknowledgment, sensing you’re not in a chatty mood.
“brad got asked to skate with us tomorrow,” he says after a while, looking over at you after he finishes taking notes off the slide.
that grabs your attention. you look up, barely meeting his eyes for a second, trying to sound interested. “he did?”
“yeah. jake’s got mono, leno’s concussed . . asked if he’d come by the rink tomorrow afternoon.”
you hum, typing on your laptop.
conversation = over.
he studies you for a second as you avoid his gaze, then shakes his head so subtly, you don’t see it.
something’s up.
you type while will scribbles notes. every now and then he fidgets in his seat, his elbow brushes yours, he stretches dramatically or readjusts his hat on his head and it slowly chips at your patience.
“will, quit smacking your gum.”
“will, your volume.”
“will,” you nudge his arm off your side of the desk. “your elbow.”
you try not to sound so quick with it, but you swear, he must be doing it on purpose. you’re laser-focused on the screen at the front of the room while he texts from next to you, and you can’t take it.
“oh my god, smitty! can you breathe through your nose?” your head cranks to him, unable to concentrate on anything other than the sound of his breathing next to you.
will pauses, mouth still open, glancing at you.
he shuts his mouth, not tearing his eyes from you.
ok.
five minutes later, after trying to be as mute as possible, he yawns.
you don’t even look up. “will.”
“huh?”
“why are you being so loud.”
he freezes. “ . . what?”
“seriously.” you grit your teeth.
will’s brows furrow. your attitude is clear as day to him now. “i . . yawned.”
“yeah. out loud. for everyone to hear.”
“i wasn’t aware there was another method?” he responds sarcastically, squinting his eyes at you.
“come up with one.”
his brow twitches. so that’s the mood you’re in today? he looks around theatrically. “anybody know how to yawn quietly?”
a couple of students glance over before returning to their conversations. will looks back at you. “you are in a mood.”
“i’m not.”
“could’ve fooled me,” he tilts his head, making your stomach flip. “seriously . .” he turns back to fix his notes, “tell brad to step his game up or something.”
you shoot him a look. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
he shrugs. “i don’t know. dude’s clearly slacking if this is what i’m dealing with on a monday morning.”
your jaw falls. “he’s not slacking in anything.”
“pfft. ok.”
“hey!” you snap, “what are you getting at?”
“nothing.”
“no say it.”
“i said nothing.”
“you’re implying something.”
“you’re hearing things,” he smiles at himself, tongue poking his cheek. it’s cute seeing you mad. it’s actually cute seeing you mad at him.
you don’t find it funny.
instead, you thump his arm with your fist.
“OW!”
“you’re an asshole.”
“that’s assault.”
“good.”
he rubs his bicep dramatically but smiles. “jesus.”
the professor begins wrapping up the lecture, peers already exiting the room while others are still packing their bag. you’re halfway through closing a document to get out of here when—
clap!
your laptop snaps shut, and you jump.
will’s already standing, one hand still resting on the top of it. “tell your boyfriend he owes the rest of us an apology,” he says, swinging his bag over his shoulder, and your brows furrow. “ . . he’s gotta be doing something wrong if this is the mood he’s sending you into class with.”
there he is again. picking at your relationship. acting like he knows everything.
you snatch your laptop back. “get off his back.”
will’s lets out a quiet breath through his nose. “you should try getting off mine.” he bargains, inching close to your face.
you open your mouth, but end up looking like a goldfish because you open and close your mouth ‘cause nothing comes out. too distracted by him getting too close in your face, the dimple on his cheek, how pink his lips are. he walks off, unbeknownst to the heat clawing at your body.
-
you spend the rest of the week going about your day as normal. you go to class, you go to practice, you’ve even been to the rink, watching brad who’s been filling in for defence. it’s surprisingly easy tuning out the annoying sound that is will.
or at least you pretend it is.
in group discussions, you pretend to write something super important in your notebook when he gives his input. you don’t look at him when he talks. if someone asks the group a question, you answer them all but him. you leave your earphones in through every lecture you share, even when nothing’s playing anymore. at the rink, you don’t even turn your head when he flies past on the ice a dozen times, barely allowing yourself to clap twice when he makes a good play because everyone around you does.
the anger starts to dull around the edges by midweek, as if being away from him has allowed you to cool down and realize it’s not that deep. that you’re overreacting and his little remarks are nothing out the ordinary from him. you almost ask him for his notes on a slide that went by too fast — almost.
until a girl in the row in front turns around and asks for a pencil.
will passes her one before you even comprehend what she says, and you watch the way they interact: the way she smiles up at him, how she says his name when she thanks him, the way he winks back in response.
suddenly, you’re staring at his side profile and you’re replaying the image of him slipping his tongue in some girl’s mouth.
“FUCK!” you unexpectedly say out loud, palms smacking your forehead.
people turn and look at you concerned, including will, who’s is more confused, but assumes, like everyone else, that it’s an answer you’ve answered incorrectly on your sheet as you look down at it.
it’s not. you’re just going insane. you swear. you swear, you’re going insane.
friday rolls around when you find yourself at the rink, running a little behind to meet brad after he pitched dinner and a movie at his place after you were both finished with practice. you texted him you’d be there in ten and he never answered, so made your way in to the arena anyway, only to be met with the sound of a single set of skates still cutting through the ice.
i already know who this is, you think to yourself, strutting over to the ledge.
will sees you when you come in, still shooting pucks in the net despite practice ending 10 minutes ago. he’s always the last off the ice. always putting in an extra shift.
he goes back to firing shot after shot, aiming for a different angle in the net until the person on the zamboni will have to force him off the ice. he doesn’t acknowledge you. you don’t acknowledge him.
you set your bag up on the ledge to dig through the clutter for your phone; a mess of makeup products, your sweaty uniform, a bra, loose change, hair clips, pom-pom strands and water bottles - it makes it harder then necessary.
by the time you pull it out, you don’t waste time in checking if brad got your message and call him instead - trying to block out the crack of each shot that echoes around the rink. “hello?”
“hey. what’s up?”
“where are you, i just got here. i’m standing in the box?” you glance around, trying to see if you can catch sight of him lingering in the tunnel.
“babe, i left like 5 minutes ago. i was gonna hang at jordan’s ‘til you were done practice?”
“i told you i finished the same time as you?”
crack.
your eyes follow the trail of the puck hitting the boards.
“i though you finished at 5:30? and by the time you get showered ‘n shit i was just gonna wait for you to call me . .”
“i finish at 5:00 and that’s including getting showered ‘n stuff.” you glance to the side in disbelief.
“oh.”
“oh?” you repeat. “will i meet you at your place or not?”
“look, just come to jordan’s. i’ll text you the address. i’ve already had a beer so you’ll have to come grab me anyway.”
“okay,” you huff, lowering your phone. “bye.”
“bye.”
you throw your phone in your bag, shoving the other things you had to take out back in when your favourite lipstick hits the ice with a ‘clack’ as it falls from the ledge and begins rolling further out.
past the blue line, past the face-off dot, until it finally comes to a stop almost dead centre of the rink.
you eyes immediately jump to will, the only one on the ice, who was watching it as well.
he’s smacking his gum (as always), and shrugs a shoulder while looking at you. “i’m not getting it.”
the bluntness makes you straighten.
you blink.
“you act like i don’t exist so,” he pulls a face like it’s something out of his control, turning back to his setup. “come get it yourself.” another crack of the boards deafens your ears.
you look back to the lipstick in the middle of the rink, then to the type of shoes on your feet.
ordinary sneakers. barely a grip on them with how long you’ve had them.
can you even walk on ice with regular shoes on?
you look at will to see if he’s being serious, but he’s too busy on stick work, not even sparing you a second glance.
you swallow nervously.
is he really gonna make you grab it yourself?
you contemplate how badly you really need it, considering you haven’t skated on the ice since you were 10 and at that, had a penguin skating aid to lean on.
you then consider the fact the zamboni will probably crush a perfectly good $25 lipstick into little tiny pieces if you do.
you also then consider the worst case scenario: what if it shoots out a tiny piece at somebody? and causes a total freak accident where blood is on your hands because you couldn’t be bothered to pick up after yourself? that gets you moving.
you set your bag down and tuck your hair back so it doesn’t block your view. you mutter something under your breath and step carefully through the open gate, goosebumps running along your legs.
the second the rubber mat disappears beneath your white nikes, your confidence goes with it.
your foot slides at least a foot.
you immediately grab the boards.
you hear him snort.
you ignore it.
with one hand clamped to the top of the boards, you shuffle forward awkwardly, feet barely leaving the ice.
god, how are you making it to the centre?
you make it a whole three steps before one foot shoots slightly ahead of the other when will sends another puck against the boards, making you jump and lose footing. “whoa!—” you catch yourself at the last second.
you quickly realize how terrifying and dangerous it is be on the ice during a game.
the boards rattle with you.
you continue inching forward, tiny steps at a time, looking no-where but the golden-like rectangle. it’s so slippy. the shooting has stopped so you assume will is watching you. you don’t wanna know how stupid you must look tight now.
stiff. jumpy. covered in goosebumps.
it’s so cold, your arms and legs suffering the most as they remain bare from the worn BC t-shirt and shorts you first got years ago. you’re convinced the shivering isn’t helping with your balance.
will watches, leaning lazily on his stick before setting it against the boards beside his helmet. then, with a couple of effortless strides, he’s gliding towards you, almost racing you without looking like he’s trying.
you refuse to look at him.
your eyes stay fixed on the lipstick.
just a little bit more . . .
you crouch carefully, every muscle in your body tensing as your fingertips hover inches away – when a pair of skates come into view and give a soft tap of the golden case, sending the thing gliding further on down to the right, a few more feet across the ice.
you freeze, mouth dropping as you look up to see will already drifting backwards.
“ . . . ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!”
“oh.” he looks theatrically around the empty rink. “you can see me?”
you stand in such a rush, stumbling, forgetting where you when his arm out stretches to catch you - and you hold on, closing the distance between you in two careful, clumsy steps, grabbing a fistful of the arms of his jersey. “you’re an asshole!”
“damn, i didn’t think you’d know it was me,” he continues with the joke, staring down at your face, “forgot my invisible cloak.”
“i’ve seen you all week, i’ve just been purposely ignoring you!” you snap, feeling smaller than usual as he towers inches above you in his skates.
“for no other reason than . . ?”
“for no other reason being you’re insufferable company and nothing but a pain in my ass.”
he rocks gently on his skates, taken aback but still finding it amusing. he loves when you swear. it’s surprisingly out of character. “gee . .” he tilts his head slightly, eyebrow twitching up, “guess brad’s still being a pussy and not eating yours.”
your face falls.
almost horror-like, as if you can’t believe he just said that.
you can’t believe he just said that.
your mouth hangs open.
nothing.
not a single comeback.
you just stare at him, heat rushing up your neck so fast it burns your cheeks. for once, your brain doesn’t have anything clever to throw back. just stunned, offended silence.
“you—” is all you manage, breathless with disbelief.
it isn’t even anger at first, it’s pure, stunned embarrassment.
you shove against his chest on instinct, creating space between you like distance might somehow undo what he’d just said. you can’t even bring yourself to meet his eyes. you just push him away, allowing him grin to himself while you twist on your heel to fetch your lipstick and go.
you make it just three steps in when your foot slips sideways and a squeak leaves you. “WHEUP!—”
your knees slam into the ice.
hard.
a cold thump echoes across the rink before your palms slap down after them, and the pain is immediate.
hot.
your mouth falls open, but nothing comes out. you stay frozen on all fours, forehead bowed, your palms stinging against the freezing ice as your knees throb beneath you.
it hurts so bad.
the scrape of skate blades reaches you seconds later. “shit, hey—” a gloved hand appears in front of you. you bat it away without thinking. you can’t even tell him to leave you alone, a lump lodged too tightly in your throat.
he’s surprised. “y/n,” he says, his voice different. the teasing is totally gone.
instead, you turn your face away from him, swallowing hard, refusing to let him see the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes - whether from the pain or the embarrassment, you don’t know. you force yourself forward, practically crawling the first couple of feet before grabbing onto the boards with both hands. every movement sends another throb to your knees.
will watches, heart racing, the guilt pulling him down. he wants to throw himself down on the ice and break every one of his teeth if it would make you feel any better.
he stays where he is when you push through the gate without another glance, limping while picking up your bag.
he stands in the silence on his own, his eyes drifting to the abandoned gold tube sitting alone in the middle of the ice. he spots the little dots of blood from where you’ve cut your hands.
he throws his head back, sighing loudly.
why did he do that?
-
by saturday night, you’re exhausted. it’s ridiculous: the weekend’s barely started. your knees are still bruised, ugly shades of purple blooming beneath the skin. every time you kneel or bend them too far, they remind you exactly how hard you hit the ice.
you cried in the car. not because of will, because they hurt fucking bad – because the second the adrenaline wore off, every movement stung like a motherfucker. only for 2 minutes, because you had to go collect brad, and brad hated crying, or he hated dealing with it, rather.
date night hadn’t lasted long anyway. the first time you’d shifted in your place, you’d sucked in a sharp breath.
‘what’s wrong?’ he’d asked, giving you a weird look.
‘it’s nothing, just . . my knees’ you rolled your pyjamas up to show the violent bruising already coating them. brad’s brows furrowed. ‘what’d you do?’
that made you pause, because you didn’t know what to say. the instant will comes to mind, your immediate reaction is to deflect and deny when brad brings him up. ‘i don’t know.’
you knew it was the wrong answer the second you’d said it.
‘you don’t know?’ he repeated, staring at you.
‘well i . . i fell, what’d you think i did?” you chuckled nervously, settling on the lie you did it at practice. however, brad’s face hardens at your remark, and you don’t realize the damage you’re doing right now.
he squints his eyes. ‘you tell me — what were you doing?’
you can guess how it ended.
now, you’re catching up on laundry, again, because there’s a party and you offered to do katie’s now that she’s back at her boyfriend’s place. as always, it’s empty. chill vibes. you have one earphone in, listening to your 80s playlist you always play, thinking about the little bit of work you could catch up on when you get back.
you finish sorting another pile before setting your next basket down next you, opening the door to switch them out.
when you finish emptying the machine, you reach for the next basket - only to find the little glimmer of gold sitting on top.
your hand pauses.
your lipstick.
from the rink.
you stare at it for a second before turning around, met with will standing opposite side of the room at a machine.
he stands with his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, his laundry basket next to him.
and all you can think is why — why does the sight of him tug at your heart?
you look back down at the lipstick.
it’s spotless, the scuffs are gone, there’s not a fingerprint on the metallic surface. he’s taken the time to make sure it wasn’t ruined before giving it back.
will’s loading up a machine when you look back at him, pressing buttons effortlessly before he turns around to lean against it, crossing his legs, his eyes focused on his phone.
you let out a quiet breath, turning back to your laundry.
you can’t seem to stay mad at him. you’re not mad at all when you block out saturday altogether, not when you know will is completely clueless to the situation - rightfully confused because he did, in fact, do nothing wrong.
you don’t even know what he did wrong. you just didn’t like seeing him with another girl, which is so strange to admit to yourself because you have a boyfriend . . . you like to think it’s because by seeing someone else look that excited to kiss someone made something uncomfortable shift in your own chest.
maybe it forced you to notice something your relationship had been missing for a while. that easy pull towards someone, that excitement, that thrill.
god, you don’t know. you still don’t know. it makes your head hurt when you think about it for too long. you just know it made you uncomfortable and you have to assume it’s somewhat an indication that your relationship is lacking in something. you want to feel what that girl felt. experience what she felt.
but you do know how she felt, you just don’t know what to do with the fact that it wasn’t with brad.
one thing is for certain is that it’s something for you to work on, not will. you’re mature enough to accept he did nothing wrong and he doesn’t deserve your cold shoulder while you try to figure out how to fix yourself.
you’re the fucked up one, not him.
will’s been nothing but sweet to you.
respectful.
familiar.
even though he had his tongue in another girl’s mouth.
FUCK!
why the fuck are you keep coming back to that, y/n?!
will glances up as you close your eyes and clench your jaw - and he immediately feels like he’s right back to square one.
stop thinking about it y/n. stop it. just focus on . . . laundry. you were doing laundry.
you steal a glance at him while picking up a shirt to fold, scanning him head to toe as if he’s gonna look any different from yesterday. he stays distracted on his phone, head dipped down. the only thing moving is his thumb, his fingers adjusting their grip every now and then around the phone. you swallow.
he’s so big.
tall! you mean tall. he’s still so tall even without skates.
he shifts, one leg holding most of him while the other relaxes, and you quickly look down, hoping you haven’t been caught studying him after ignoring him a whole week. he keeps one hand tucked under his armpit, the sleeves of his hoodie contracting against his forarms.
you divert your focus back to your dirty and clean clothes, the hum of the dryers being the only sound in the room. your music isn’t playing anymore, your earphones abandoned at the side.
he still hasn’t said anything.
ignore him. just ignore him, y/n, he literally can’t say anything without offending y—
“are you ignoring me now?”
the words leave before you can stop them . . and you can only own them once they leave, standing with a hand on your hip as your face frowns.
why did you just do that??
will looks at you confused, even glances around to see if you’re talking to anybody else.
“—‘cause i’m supposed to be ignoring you,” you continue, not knowing what you’re doing.
the fuck?
“i . . isn’t that what you want . . ?” will looks at you confused, tilting his head.
“i never said that?” you look at him like he’s not making any sense.
“oh, no i just . . assumed when you said . . i was insufferable company and you’d been purposefully ignoring me all week, that . . you wanted me to fuck off.”
oh yeah, you did say that.
still, it’s too late to back down now. “no . . ?”
will stares at you, mouth open, breathing without another thought in his head before shaking it off and turning his attention back to his phone.
you slouch, dropping your stance and backtrack. “ok ok, i’m sorry. i’m sorry, just — forget that. i’m sorry. i’m being annoying and . . gaslighting you to be honest. i don’t know what i’m saying.”
will slides his phone into his pocket then, giving you his full attention. “that’s the problem. if you don’t know, how am i supposed to know?” his tone pinches at your heart, because it’s gentle as always, despite your sense of frustration. “i’m doing what you asked, i gave you space and tried to keep things normal, and you . . wanted to rip my head off ‘cause i breathed too loud?”
“oh but will you always breathe loud! you’re a mouth breather,” your palm hits the washing machine like that’s an unfair reason to be mad.
he gives you a flat look.
you slump. “sorry.”
you do feel guilty, because he’s so right. the whole week, every stupid joke, every sarcastic comment, he’d been trying to get you back to normal – and you’d punished him for it.
“the rink yesterday, it was just me and you - i was messing with you ‘cause,” he shrugs awkwardly, “i don’t know. i thought it’d get you talking to me again.” then he pulls a face. “clearly misjudged that one.”
your eyes fall to the floor. “no, will—”
“—then you hit the ice and i can’t stop thinking about it. i felt like it was my fault. i shouldn’t have kicked it away again, i was just playing around, but . . i felt like an asshole after. it looked real sore. it looks real sore” his eyes dart to your purple knees.
“it is, but it wasn’t your fault,” you shake your head, “i probably would have fell anyway. i was storming off and forgot i wasn’t on normal ground.”
“did you cry?”
the equation surprised you. you debate telling him, your face straight. “yes . . . but because it hurt, not ‘cause of you . . ”
that still makes will’s stomach sick with guilt. he lets out a soft sigh. “look y/n—”
no, no what happened to gorgeous?
“—i don’t know what i did to make you mad, if i crossed a line, just tell me—”
“—you didn’t.”
“—ok but are you saying that because it’s true?” he looks back up at you. “or are you just saying it because you don’t want me to feel bad?”
“no! no i promise.”
“so why? why the bad attitude? why have you spent the whole week mad at me? are you mad at everybody?”
to be honest, yeah — you have been mad at everybody, and it’s all because of him.
but there’s no way in hell you’re telling him that.
‘i saw you kissing another girl and it ruined my weekend. more than it did when i caught my boyfriend staring at our waitresses ass on my birthday.’
you’d rather launch yourself into traffic.
“i . . i don’t know,” you rub your arm. you’re not used to this amount of communication. you’re also not used to having to think like this. usually sorry’s enough and you deal with whatever consequences that follow after.
will deserves more than that. “i guess i’m mad . . at myself. maybe. i don’t know. i just don’t like . . how i can’t think straight anymore. my head is so messed up. i don’t even know anymore. i don’t know. i don’t know what i’m doing.” your head falls into your hands with stress.
will’s expression softens almost immediately. he lets out a slow breath through his nose. “hey.”
you look up.
“i don’t want that.”
you frown.
“whatever’s going on in your head,” he gestures vaguely towards you. “i don’t want you feeling like you’ve got to force yourself into anything because of me.”
your chest tightens.
“if you’re fighting yourself over this . . . that’s not something i want to add to.”
“i’m not—”
he sighs, eyes stuck on you. “y/n, listen - there’s no hard feelings. if things were simple . . you’d probably know what you wanted. i’m not saying that to make you choose, don’t take it that way,” he holds his hands up, “i just . . i think you are happy in you’re relationship and i need to stop trying to get your attention, because it’s my interference that’s messing with your head.”
your heart sinks.
what?
“if me doing that means you spend the next week feeling guilty . . or confused . . or taking it out on yourself . . ” he shakes his head, “. . i don’t want that.”
your face falls.
oh no.
he notices your expression and immediately backtracks. “that’s not me trying to make this a thing,” he says quickly. “honestly. i’m just saying . . . maybe the best thing i can do is stop,” he gives another small shrug, his face offering a small, playful smile. “i’ll cool it with the jokes. stop trying to steal your attention. give you space, divert my attention on someone else.”
“no,” it comes out far too quickly, your face falling completely as you shake your head. “no, no, no,” you slip off the machine.
will watches you, face pulling in confusion as you approach him. “i have to—”
“no! no i—” you rush to him, hands instinctively grabbing his forearms as you almost collide. “i want your attention. i want you to annoy me, i—” your hands are on his face before you can even think, pulling him down to you. the kiss cuts him off completely.
you don’t even know what you’re doing.
all you know is that he’s saying the complete wrong thing and you don’t even want him to leave you be.
you don’t want that.
your lips collide forcefully, enough that will can sense your desperation.
you kiss him slow, lips lingering before taking a short second to part, just to breathe, before kissing him again.
hungrier.
will reciprocates this time, kissing you back. he takes a second to switch his hat backward, before his hands carefully place themselves on your waist and dips his head to meet you. you hum, melting against him.
he’s warm and soft and just as you remember him.
you kiss him harder, longer, like you can’t get enough, and quickly quicken the pace. you open your mouth, missing his tongue, missing him being up all close on you. tingles dance down your spine when you feel it, butterflies shooting around your stomach. “don’t ignore me,” you plea breathlessly, speaking between kisses, “don’t stop with your jokes . . and your teasing . . and–“ kiss “–your annoying breathing.”
a laugh escapes him, swallowed immediately by another kiss. “no?” -kiss- “you don’t want that?”
“no,” you kiss him back, needing him to stop talking.
“why’s that?” he pulls away to look at you, smirk taking up his whole face. when you try to kiss him again, he pulls back
“because m—” you inch closer again, watching him look at you with amusemen, “my days would be boring without you,” you confess, trying to pull his neck back down to you.
will’s brow twitches cockily.
not that you can see, you’re too busy focused on his lips.
your whole body feels electric. that weird, foreign feeling back in your belly as you hands gravitate shyly down his torso, resting there, unable to look him in the eye.
“y’want me to keep annoying you?”
you nod.
“want me to keep calling you gorgeous?”
you look up at him at that, and nod again.
he perks a brow. “you think you’re gorgeous?”
you tighten your grip on the back of his neck and pull him back into another kiss before he can tease you again. “shut up will.”
will smiles, satisfied, and gives you what you want. he kisses you good, real good, so good you forget all about that disgusting, green jealousy that’s been following you about you all week.
his lips are soft but his hands are rough - dropping to your hips with a firm grip, he pulls you against him in a way that makes your nerves explode and brain short circuit.
“will,” you half-gasp when he instinctively picks you up, setting you down on a different machine. he steps in between your legs, your hands on his shoulders as your eyes widen as he settles in front of you. the pulse in your neck sky-rockets from the closeness, from the familiarity or his hands.
his eyes look dark, pupils blew out, but the familiar softness of blue still remains there comfortingly.
you smile into another kiss, melting against him as his tongue slowly crashing against yours. you don’t realize his hands brushing your legs, your knees that are battered - you don’t even flinch, that’s how gentle he is.
he places them flat on your thighs, large, paw-like palms soothing you with warmth and familiarity as they move up and down. your mind is already hazy when you move closer to him, inching forward in a rocking-like motion which brings will to a pause. his eyes look up from you legs, blue orbs boring into yours as his voices lowers.
“i need you to make a deal with me.”
“what is it?” you hook your arms around his neck, keeping him close.
“i need you to promise me you’re not going to go weird on me again,” his eyes scan your face, distracting you from his fingers slipping between your thighs.
“i—i won’t,” you stutter.
“y’promise?” his finger brushes your front again, making you jolt. “you promise me this is what you want?”
your mouth slowly falls open as will slowly begins to stroke you through your panties, his gaze locked on you.
you forget what he’s asking. “m—will.”
“tell me,” he looks down at you, standing tall and full of confidence. entire frame blocking you from anyone who could walk in.
“—i promise . . i promise this is what i want,” you moan embarrassingly, head dropping in shame.
fuck! what are you doing right now?
his fingers move slowly, feeling your hot slick begin to pool through the material, “want me to keep goin’?”
you bite your lip to conceal your noises, nodding frantically. “mhm.”
he pushes your knees further apart, spreading them while slowly lifting his hand to slide under the waistband on your underwear. when his hand comes into contact with your bare cunt, you flinch, legs closing from the touch, your eyes shooting to him for comfort.
he’s not looking at you though, soley focused on his hand buried in your shorts.
his middle finger slides through your folds, soaked immediately, your arousal no longer a secret. a sharp gasp escapes you, your mouth hanging open. he watches your face carefully while sliding his finger in, watching the way your lips part and your eyes blink in poor consciousness as you stretch around his finger.
fuck, feels so good already.
“oh my god,” you whine, legs trying to close. “will—”
“—shh,” he leans in and kisses you again, wasting no time in sliding a second finger, using his other hand to keep your legs open.
you moan loudly against his mouth, brows pinched together with unfamiliar pleasure while your focus slips. “hmmm—fuck.”
“this what you wanted?” he grins, pumping his digits into you at a steady pace. “this what you needed all week, gorgeous?”
you’re already clenching your thighs, trying to push them together again. “uh-uh—huh.”
he grins at your lack of speech, kissing your lips, endeared. “—and you’re not gonna ignore me after this, right?” his fingers work faster in you, moving them in coordination with how your body responds.
the moans and whimpers don’t stop flying from your lips.
“m—mhm!”
“tell me. tell me you’re not gonna ignore me.” he tries to hold your eyes.
“i—i—will!”
“you will?” he fakes concern, stopping his movements.
“NO! no i won’t! i’m not! please! please i’m not going to!” you cry, grabbing his wrist. “please! don’t stop.”
will’s smirk grows as he continues.
he watches you, the way your head tips back on the machine, the way your mouth hangs open the majority of the time. it’s like you don’t even know where you are right now, the idea of someone being able to walk in not even a concept in your mind.
you’re completely surrendered to him.
just him and his fingers shoved knuckle deep in you. “FUCK!”
you cry out, ears burning with the noise of your juices slicking.
your stomach clenches, your legs flinching as you feel an unfamiliar build grow more and more by the second. it scares you. “will, will, will—” you squeak, feeling his fingers curl at a particular spot that makes you feel like you need to pee. “will stop, stop—”
“what’s wrong, baby?” he breathes, trying to hide his confusion, the nickname going straight to your core. he knows your close - he can feel you clenching around him, it almost hurts. “you gonna cum for me?”
your eyes practically roll to the back of your head at his words, struggling to stay open with each dazed blink. “i—i-”
“it’s ok babe, just let go. that’s what i want you to do,” his voice is soft and gentle, contradicting the violation his hand is doing to your pussy.
he has you melted down to nothing.
your face pulls together as your whole body racks, your hand clutching his wrist for stability as you breathe frantically. “can’t i—i need, you need—”
“—you can, gorgeous. cum for me. cum right now,” his fingers speed up inside you, pumping frantically, squelching deafeningly. little weird stars dot your vision as your eyes lock on each other’s. those sweet, dark and dangerous baby blues.
the moment will’s thumb presses against your nerves, you’re a goner. your jaw goes slack, your eyes flutter and your legs thrash trying to pull away. a wet, gushing, drip-like sound rings in your ears as you cum. “WILL!” you sob, nails digging into his skin. will’s fingers don’t falter, not even as he drops his gaze to see the water-like liquid squirt out of you, dripping onto washing machine, splashing onto the floor.
“holy fuck.” he breathes, neck craning to the ground as you cry out. you try to cover your mouth with your arm, embarrassed by the noise leaving you.
your eyes find his, immediately giving you away.
he sees it - the surprise. the nerves.
the quiet panic of not understanding your own body. your own heart.
but he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t point it out.
doesn’t make you feel exposed.
instead, a gentle smile tugs at his lips, so warm it quiets every anxious thought in your head.
he grins at you like you just hung a medal around his neck. “good job, gorgeous.” he praises.
you can only look at him, face blooming, contorted as your body slowly finishes riding out it’s orgasm on his hand.
will’s fingers slow, remaining inside you.
your chest rises and falls as you look at will with an intensity he’s never seen before.
you refuse to look anywhere else but him.
for a moment, neither of you say anything.
it’s fine.
you’re just staring at each other, heavy breathing filling the silence.
partly because both of you can’t believe what just happened.
“i didn’t — done that before.”
will’s face falls into a soft amusement, his lips tugging at the sides. “you what?”
“i mean!—” you facepalm a second, eyes closing as you try to think of what you’re trying to say. “. . i’ve never done that before. i don’t even—was—was ‘at supposed to happen?” you gulp.
anxiety immediately begins to set in.
oh god, did you just pee?!
will’s chuckle drowns out any second-guessing as he inches close enough that your noses touch, his voice smooth like honey. “that’s the hottest thing that could have happened . . .” his hair tickles you, “can’t teach that.”
your face burns, chest still rising as you refuse to meet his gaze.
will slowly retreats his hand, apologising when he notices the furrow in your brows at the discomfort and emptiness. “sorry gorgeous.”
you wipe your sweaty palms on your thighs that even feel sensitive while your eyes find the door, a weird sinking filling your chest.
that was a really stupid thing to do.
you don’t regret it.
you look back to will, waiting for him to make a move while you wait for the embarrassment to rush in any second now. it always does.
instead, he holds out both his hands for you to take.
still catching your breath, you take them.
he smiles, steadying you as you slide carefully off the washing machine. your legs wobble, but his grip tightens instinctively around your hands.
your legs are like jelly.
once you’re steady, he lets go, but he stays where he is, in front of you, watching you tuck your hair behind your ear.
his eyes dart across your face, the soft glow to it whether from him or the heat of the small room. “you okay?” he tucks a strand you missed.
you nod, too embarrassed to speak. hardly able to look at him.
he senses it. “i hope you meant what you said.”
you freeze, head snapping to him. “what did i say?”
will lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his had with a little smile. “about you wanting me to keep annoying you . . paying you attention . .” he teases.
you give his shoulder a playful shove. he barely moves. “ok.”
“your days would be boring without me—”
“—ok will!” another pathetic shove, still feeling loose on your feet.
“alright, alright.” he’s laughing now, catching your wrist before you can push him again. “just making sure you remembered.”
“i do,” you say, pulling away. “and . . i meant it.”
he smiles. “good. i meant what i said too.”
“about what?”
“about how you better not be a weirdo and start hiding on me again,” he sways on his feet, hands shoved in his pockets. “i don’t want you feeling like you ever need to avoid me . .” your eyes soften, “. . or worry i’m gonna tell anyone. this stays between us. whatever it is we do . .”
your shoulders loosen without meaning to.
the knot that’s been sitting in your chest since the kiss finally begins to ease.
he notices the perk up. you smile. “okay . . cool.”
“cool.” he smiles back.
before either of you can say anything else, before you can stand any longer just looking at each other, the laundry room door swings open. “YO! will!”
it’s one of the guys from the hockey team.
he walks in carrying an overflowing basket, not a shirt on, a towel around his neck.
will steps back so naturally you’d almost think nothing had happened. “what’s up?”
“you here?” he nods towards the empty machine.
“nah, all yours.”
“sweet.” the guy glances between the two of you. “hey.”
“hey,” you answer, hoping your face isn’t still flaming. he bends down, beginning to sort his washing without another thought.
will reaches for his own basket, then looks at yours. “you heading back to your dorm?”
you nod.
“i’ll carry that for you.”
he says it as casually as asking what time it is, already lifting it before you’ve answered.
you can’t help the small smile that escapes. “thanks smitty . . ”
“don’t mention it,” he shoots you a wink. “just focus on getting up those stairs on your own.”
you give him a look, and somehow, with him carrying your laundry and teasing you exactly like before — it feels like nothing has changed.
Summary: Your friend sets you up on a blind date and it ends up being the best thing that’s ever happened
You’re tempted to cancel. You’re standing in front of your mirror, turning in circles inspecting your outfit, and wondering if this is a good idea. You’re going on a blind date, set up by your friend who swears on her life that this man is “literally perfect for you.”
But “literally perfect” could mean literally anything. What if he’s ugly? What if he chews with his mouth open? What if he won’t stop talking about bitcoin or how much he wants to suck Elon’s dick? Okay, dating in the Bay Area has scarred you.
You stare at your phone, already drafting the text to your friend in your head. Maybe you have a migraine. Or food poisoning. Maybe your car won’t start.
But instead you grab your purse. Because honestly, fine, whatever. If it’s awful, at least you’ll get a good story out of it.
⊱ —————- °.• ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ •.° —————— ⊰
The restaurant your friends picked out is small, quaint even. Not fancy enough to make you more nervous than you already are, but it’s not casual either. You walk up to the hostess stand.
“Reservation for Will?” You ask, trying, and slightly failing, not to sound too anxious.
She smiles warmly at you. “Right this way.”
Your heart starts pounding. He’s already here? You’re already ten minutes early, how long has he been waiting? And right in the middle of your spiraling, you see him.
He’s tall, blond hair slightly messy, wearing a nice sweater. He looks up as you approach and he freezes. Then he stands up so fast he almost knocks his chair backwards.
You freeze too for half a second because oh my fuck he’s beautiful. Not just like objectively attractive, he’s stupidly, unfairly pretty. Clear skin, great jawline, and soft blue eyes that are staring straight at you. And he looks just as nervous as you feel.
“Hey.” He says, then he laughs under is breath at that. “Hi, sorry. You must be-”
You tell him your name and he repeats it back to you.
There’s a second where he clearly doesn’t know what to do next. He steps forwards like he’s going to hug you, but then he hesitates and offers a handshake, but then he pulls back like that’s too formal. You start laughing slightly.
He grins. “I swear I’m not normally this awkward.”
“Yeah?” You tease.
And just like that, all the nerves dissolve. He ends up giving you a quick hug. Then the two of you sit down.
“I’m happy you’re real,” he says, shaking his head like he’s stunned. “I was almost convinced my buddy catfished me.”
You tilt your head slightly. “Excuse me?”
He gestures at you. “He said I’d like you. He did not mention you’re literally gorgeous.”
You feel your cheeks heat instantly and you look down at the table. “Laying it on thick already, huh?”
He smiles at that. “Never, I’m just being honest.”
You laugh, full and unguarded, and he visibly relaxes like that was the goal all along. After that, dinner flows like you’ve known each other for years.
He’s hilarious in that effortless way, quick, dry, very self-aware. He leans in when you talk and he actually listens, nodding along and asking followup questions.
He tells you he was skeptical too.
“Yeah, I was terrified it was gonna be, like, the worst experience of my life. But it’s definitely not.” He says, taking a sip of water.
“Right?” You agree. “I was worried you’d chew with your mouth open or something.”
“Chew with my mouth open?” He exclaims, appalled at even the thought of that. “I have excellent manners. I’m media trained.”
“Media trained? What are you, an actor?” You ask, laughing.
He gives you a sheepish smile. “I’m an athlete.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Like, professional?”
He nods. “Yeah…I play for the Sharks. Hockey.”
You just stare at him. “You’re joking.”
He shakes his head, smiling, clearly finding the whole situation amusing. “I would never lie, remember? I’m honest.”
“And my friends didn’t think to mention that?” You say, smiling now too.
He shrugs. “I told them not to. I wanted you to meet me as me, not…that.”
The way he says it is soft, like he’s almost shy now. And that’s the moment it shifts for you, because he could’ve led with that. He could’ve flexed it or walked in expecting you to be impressed. But instead, he was nervous about whether to hug you. Your expression softens as you stare at him.
“What?” he asks, smiling like he already knows.
“Nothing,” you say. “I just… wasn’t expecting this.”
“Good kind of unexpected I hope?” he asks, quieter now.
You hold his gaze. “The best kind.”
His smile softens into something warmer. By the time dessert comes, you’re leaning toward each other across the table like magnets. Your knees brush under the table and neither of you move away. It doesn’t feel like a first date anymore.
When you step outside, the night air is cool and quiet.
He rubs the back of his neck like he’s nervous again. “So.”
“So,” you echo.
“I had a really good time,” he says honestly.
“Me too.”
He steps closer. “Can I be honest?”
“Aren’t you an ‘honest guy’?”
He rolls his eyes playfully. “I was hoping you’d be great. But I didn’t expect this to feel… so easy.”
“Easy?” you repeat.
“In a good way,” he says quickly. “Like I don’t have to try to be anything, like I can be myself.”
Your heart does something ridiculous in your chest.
“You don’t have to be anyone else,” you say softly.
There’s a beat of silence.
And then, because he’s Will, he grins. “Okay, but can I kiss you or is that too forward for someone who didn’t know whether to hug you an hour ago?”
You laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Is that a yes?”
You step closer, nodding. His hand slides gently to your waist, hesitant for half a second. When he kisses you, it’s soft and perfect.
“Yeah,” he murmurs after he pulls away. “Best blind date ever.”
You smile, breathless. You can’t believe you almost cancelled tonight. Because now, with him walking you back to your car, his fingers laced through yours, it’s the most natural thing in the world.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 𐚁° ALL THOSE OTHER GIRLS, THEY’RE BEAUTIFUL, BUT WOULD THEY WRITE A SONG FOR YOU? — WS2
pairing: will smith x popstar!reader
synopsis: famous popstar y/n has a weakness for pretty hockey boys, and when one comes to her concert, she just can’t help but write a song about him!
series masterlist
liked by sabrinacarpenter, _willsmith2, and 7.8M others
ynuser thank u guys so so much for all ur support, ilysm. stay tuned for a new single 💘💘
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sabrinacarpenter never seen anyone more deserving of your success ily bae
➥ ynuser i literally LOVE you
user1 THESE PICS ARE TO DIE FOR
user2 is this the female popstar that will saw when he was in boston??
➥ user3 has to be!! he’s in her likes and i’m pretty sure he posted a pic at her concert
user4 NEW SINGLE??
gabeperreault44 nice pics
➥ ynuser thanks perreault 😝
➥ user5 OH?
user6 what’s hockey boy doing in my gf’s comments
➥ user7 y/n has always had hockey affiliation! she had hockey player exes & she’s close friends with beckett & gabe!
beckettsennecke_ can’t wait
texts between gabe + will
texts between y/n + beckett
liked by beckettsennecke_, _willsmith2, and 5.6M others
ynuser new single “hey stephen” is out now!!! cannot wait for you guys to hear it, it’s one of those songs that makes me so happy and want to dance in my living room! please look out for my new album coming out sooooonnn 💛💐
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beckettsennecke_ you are awesome
➥ ynuser BECK 💋💋
➥ user8 are they dating?
➥ user9 don’t think so! they are very close friends tho
user10 the people’s princess
sabrinacarpenter LOVEE
gabeperreault44 i can picture u dancing in the living room
➥ ynuser gabe you could’ve worded this any other way
➥ user11 LMFAO i love their friendship
inlovewithyn guys.. let’s talk about y/n’s new single because i am so obsessed!! we barley see her write super lovey dovey songs so this was so refreshing like LOOK AT THE LYRICS C’MON
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user12 i loveeed it so much it was so cute
user13 did yall see her new album cover? it’s her in hockey gear!!
➥ user14 YESS i think the song is about a hockey player
user15 ok wait.. new album cover is her in hockey gear, she has a lot of hockey friends & a hockey player recently went to her concert.. she definitely wrote this about that player
➥ user16 who was the hockey player?
➥ user17 it was _willsmith2
user18 could it be about beckett or gabe?
➥ user19 i highly doubt it because they’ve been close friends for so long and im pretty sure it’s platonic!
user20 _willsmith2 has been in her likes so it tracks
HE’S AN EAST COAST, JEANS ROLLED, NO COMMUNICATION. SHE’S A WELCOME SIGN. ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ
summary: in which… hockey captain will smith and you seem like a crazy match, mainly because you’re his best friend’s ex—but he proves everyone wrong by being the perfect guy for you OR the 3 times everybody was confused about you and will + the one time he finally shut them up about it
warnings: suggestive + cursing
♡ author’s note: hellooo ppl! new will smith au time 🤭 this has been in my drafts for soo long but college has had your girl busy & i finally had time to finish it!! please please send in any ideas or just some thoughts on how you feel about this au but this is one of the installments of it so far!
1. It was the third week after your very public and humiliating breakup with your ex boyfriend, Macklin. Word had traveled like wildfire—Mack, the hockey egomaniac and prodigy of your college, had told you right in the middle of your dining hall meal that he needed to focus on hockey and less on… you.
You had disappeared for a while after that, keeping your head low with the help of your sorority sisters who made sure you were still eating and well… functioning.
So when you came messy haired into the dining hall with Will Smiths’ hockey hoodie on out of all hoodies you could’ve picked, all heads turned. You sat down with your tray, unbothered, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands.
Will slid into the seat beside you, sleep in his eyes, hair still damp from morning skate. He handed you a cup of orange juice without asking. You smiled.
Two tables over, a girl leaned into her friend. “Is that seriously Will Smith? The hockey kid?”
“I thought she’d sworn off hockey guys entirely after Macklin.”
They were whispering as if you weren’t right there. But it didn’t matter, because you were too sleep deprived to care as the girls continued to chatter on.
“I don’t get it. He’s like… hot, captain and all that but he’s on the same team as Macklin, that’s gotta be weird, right? Also, he kind of looks like he’s always just a bit confused about what’s going on.”
Will glanced over. Raised an eyebrow. You almost died laughing into your eggs.
“Uh—I can hear you,” he called.
The girls went red. One of them whispered, “What did she see in him?”
You reached across the table, picked a crumb off his cheek, and popped it into your mouth.
“You said it yourself. He’s hot.” you said simply.
Will flushed to the tips of his ears.
2. The two of you found yourself at a joint party, where it was loud and weirdly sticky. It also reeked of vodka and the smell of cigarettes.
You were tipsy, and although you usually didn’t drink because of the hangover the next day, Will was very charming in convincing you to take a few shots. He obviously was wasted. And, in his defense, it was your fault he was kissing you against the hallway wall like he forgot other people existed.
You giggled into his mouth. “Will, someone’s gonna see—”
“I want them to,” he mumbled, hands on your hips, voice low and slurred and sweet. “They should know who you’re going home with.”
Two girls stepped out at that exact moment and froze. One clutched her bag close to her side. “Is that—?”
“Oh my God, it’s her. With Will. Smitty.”
“I thought she was still recovering from Mack?”
“Nope. She’s out here healing with another hockey boy.”
Will finally noticed them. Looked up. Smiled. “Hey,” he slurred. “That’s my girlfriend.”
You shush him. “Will.”
The issue was—he didn’t exactly ask you to be his official girlfriend just yet. And he couldn’t. Despite most people on campus catching onto you and Will, Macklin was none the wiser. It kind of had a lot to do with how everybody was self aware and Macklin was lack of, and how he really meant it when he told you he just wanted to focus on hockey.
He didn’t even have time to realize that you were seeing his best friend.
“No, no, let me have this moment.” He grinned at the girls. “She likes me. On purpose.”
They both stared. “Good for you Smitty.” The taller one of the two says. “Heard she was a keeper.”
3. Although Will was his close friend, Gabe didn’t exactly see what you saw in him.
He walked to his car after a long day of skating practice, and funny enough, he had parked right next to Will’s car.
He was just going to scare the boy by loudly knocking on his window until his eyes focused on you, who was curled up in Will’s passenger seat, sipping a matcha with both hands while he argued with the CarPlay that wasn’t connecting.
“Perreault!” You say excitedly, rolling down your window. “Come with us for dinner?”
He should’ve said no. He had a lot—and by a lot—it was at least 7 pages of literature homework to get through. But he wanted to see how the two of you worked in action.
“Jesus,” Gabe said later that night, watching you giggle as Will tried to parallel park and failed three times. “At least she’s not with Mack anymore.”
When Will finally drops you off home that night, he gets out of his car and walks you to your dorm, making sure you’re all cozied in before retrieving back to his car.
This makes Gabe smirk, and Will notices right away, eyes already ready to roll.
“Shut up,” Will muttered, cheeks red. “We’re just hanging out.”
But “just hanging out” didn’t explain the way Will remembered your matcha order down to the oat milk ratio. Or the way you wore his hoodie to the dining hall and Econ like it belonged to you now. Or the way Will’s voice softened, every damn time he said your name.
You two weren’t supposed to make sense.
You were Friday night by the sea with a movie playing on a projector. Tea at 4pm with a book in hand. A girl who journaled her feelings and told people thank you with eye contact.
Will was a commitment issues on legs—except to hockey—God, what was it with hockey boys and their commitment issues to everything but their sport?
He missed dinners, skipped hockey meetings, and hated obligation like it was contagious.
You two weren’t supposed to fit. He was your ex boyfriend’s best friend, teammate, the guy who skated with him since the start of college. It just didn’t make sense how you two could even fit.
But you did. And that confused Gabe more than ever.
But Will’s his close friend, and over the past few months of sitting with you in Econ, you were starting to become one of Gabe’s friends as well. When you were with Mack, you barely interacted with any of the hockey guys.
To them, you were just someone who was in the passing. You’d come to their practices, obviously, but you were reduced to someone who was just in Macklin’s world.
So the two of you were happy, which it sure as hell looked like it, Gabe was happy for you.
+ 1 The next party was supposed to be chill.
It wasn’t hosted by Signu, thank God. It was just some house off campus, filled with some of the hockey guys and a really good playlist on for once. You were having a good night—wearing a black mini skirt with a short top, sipping a strawberry seltzer, and laughing at something Gabe said about the freshman who tried to body slam him into the boards.
Will was close by. Always close. Arm around your waist, chin brushing your temple when he leaned in to make some snarky comment. Every time he laughed, it rumbled against your back. You were warm and buzzed and exactly where you wanted to be.
Until she showed up. You didn’t know her name. But the moment Will stiffened beside you, shoulders tight and mouth in a line, you knew she was someone from the past. His past.
“Will,” the girl practically whined as she approached, red cup dangling from her hand. She was tall, tanned, and clearly drunk.
You stepped slightly aside, but Will didn’t let go of your waist. If anything, he held you tighter.
“Ava.” Will says, clearly already over the conversation.
“Oh wow,” the girl, who you now know as Ava, steps right in front of him and glances at you like you were some inconvenient barrier to her night. “You’re still with her? Like actually, with her?”
Will blinked once. “Yeah. I am.”
She scoffed. “Seriously? What happened to you?”
You raised an eyebrow. Will didn’t say anything. But his grip didn’t loosen.
Ava takes a sip from her cup. “You used to be fun. Like… remember that night welcome week of freshman year? In the upstairs bathroom at Dickinson’s thing?” She leaned in, eyes twitching. “I don’t remember you being into the whole soft boyfriend thing.”
You opened your mouth, stunned. But then she said it. Loud enough for you, and everyone nearby, to hear.
“What? Is she friends with all your hockey buddies or something? I know she was Mack’s ex, that’s gotta mean something if she can get both him and you, huh? Easygoing like how you like them? Or does she give really good head?”
The silence was immediate. You froze. So did Gabe, whose jaw was practically on the floor by now. And cruelly enough, the music too for a second, as someone tripped over the aux cord—Dickinson, too gagged by your conversation—didn’t chew the person out right away.
“Say that again.”
Ava blinked. Eyes starting to water in frustration. “What?”
Will stepped forward. “You think it’s funny disrespecting her like that?” he said, voice low, steady. “You think now that you’re in some fucking low tier sorority that you get to talk about her like she’s a joke?”
Ava’s breath hitches.
“She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Will went on, “So if you’re bitter, if you’re mad I moved on from your drunk ass and actually found someone who matters—go scream into a pillow or something. But don’t talk to her that way.”
Ava stares at him, stunned.
“I don’t go about things like that,” he said, louder now. “I don’t hook up behind backs and I don’t keep people around to use when I’m bored. You and me? That was a mistake, and I’m sorry that you were under the impression that it was otherwise.”
Ava’s crying by now, her drunken rambles from earlier now gone as she sobered up right in front of you from Will’s words. You almost feel bad because she got humiliated right in front of the whole hockey team and some more, but you then remember what she had just said about you.
“You’re a jackass, Will.” She cries, storming off into the backyard.
Will’s chest is heaving, and you can tell he’s stressed out by the way his hands shake and his eyes are darting back and forth between you and where Ava just stormed off.
“Hey,” you say, pulling him upstairs. Gabe gives you a nod, as if he was thanking you for being there for his friend in such a weird moment like this.
“Breathe.” You place your hand on his chest, your other hand comes to hold his shaking one, and he finally lets out a deep exhale.
“Sorry.” He says.
“No.” You shake your head. “Why would you be sorry?”
“I usually don’t do that.” He says.
“I know.” Your voice is so soft it makes Will want to cry. You’re just so sweet, too sweet, and it makes Will feel horrible that people like Mack and Ava treated you so badly.
“Thank you for defending my honor.” You joke. “Even if she was right about some things.”
“Nah,” he finally smiles, the same smile you grew to love each time you saw it on Will’s face. “Maybe one. The really good head one.”
You elbow him in the side, making blonde boy groan out in pain.
“Sorry, sorry.” He says, throwing his hands out in surrender.
“You’re lucky I like you, Smitty.” You smile, closing the gap between you and him.
