how can you look so peaceful?

k | twenties | she/her | hockey writing | masterlist

[writingonleaves]

i once believed love would be black and white (but it's golden) - garrett graham

pairing: garrett graham x best friend! female reader

warnings: swearing, fluff :)

inspired by + title: daylight by taylor swift

word count: 4k

author's note: this is a part two of sorts to this one (like literally starts the morning after). i'm not in love with this one but i hope you all enjoy it anyways. i've been having a lot of fun writing for this pairing so if any of you have any ideas, i'm happy to hear them! thanks for reading - let me know what you think xx

Garrett Graham has been trained from birth to be able to take quick note of his surroundings. 

It’s from hockey. Obviously. The sound of the shrill whistle when his dad, and then his coaches, and then somehow, his dad again, acting as the early trainer. Now, he doesn’t need the whistle to pay attention. He may not always act like it off the ice, choosing to be nonchalant on the exterior, but he always, always, notices. 

The first thing he notices when he wakes up is the faint jasmine smell of her shampoo, as he wrinkles his nose to get the small itch from her hair off his nose. The next is the blanket that’s covering both of them, as he sticks his foot outside of it to get a flash of cool air. The third is his arm tossed over her stomach, caging her close to his chest. The fourth is that the sun is shining in a way that it’s early. Years of hockey practice before the sun got up has him trained to know the difference between a late morning sunshine and an early morning sunshine.

All of this is fine and dandy. They’ve fallen asleep in the same bed before. When Garrett’s exhausted from a game and refuses to drive home. When she’s studying late into the night on his bed and he forces a pillow under her head because she’s too tired for him to feel that it’s safe for her to drive back to hers. 

But then last night rushes back. The surprise when she walked through the front door of a party with Allie and Hannah, which settled into immediate happiness because he always feels instantly happier when she’s around. The comfort of seeing her float around his house, talking to everyone with her classic sweetness and smile. The panic when Tucker came up to him and told him that she had run out of the house in tears. The anxiety when she looked at him sobbing, trying to figure out what was going on and how he could fix it instantly. The relief when he found out that she was in love with him. The regret that he hadn’t said anything sooner. The pure happiness when she kissed him and he felt his world fall into place. The fondness he felt watching her munch on fries sleepily as he drove her back to her dorm. The peace he felt settle in his heart when she told him to stay the night, already dimming the light and offering the blanket for him to crawl underneath. 

He takes a look at her now as she’s still sleeping, chest rising up and down steadily. Garrett carefully extracts his arm from underneath her and she makes a noise, causing him to freeze. But she doesn’t wake up and he exhales a sigh of relief, smiling down at her sleeping figure for a moment before carefully climbing out of bed. He remembers from somewhere in the back of his mind that her roommate Yvonne went home this weekend, so he doesn’t have to worry about running into anyone and explaining something that he’s still wrapping his mind around. 

He brushes his teeth quickly with the toothbrush that he’s left here for over a year now, rinses his face, and makes his way to the kitchen to make them both some coffee. His black, hers with whatever creamer she’s trying out that month. After the pot finishes brewing and he grabs two mugs, he reaches into the fridge and chuckles under his breath. This month’s flavor is Chobani’s confetti birthday cake, whatever the fuck that means. 

Garrett uses his hip to open her bedroom door slowly, careful not to spill either mug. He smiles automatically, seeing she’s now awake, staring bleary eyed at her phone. She squints at him before visibly lighting up, sitting upward in the bed. 

“Hi.”

“Good morning,” he walks over to the bed and hands her her coffee, sitting down on the bed in front of her with one knee bent. “You feeling okay?”

Her nose scrunches. “I’m more hungover than I’d like.”

“What do you need?”

“Coffee’s a good start,” she takes a sip and warms her hands around the mug before yawning. “Do you have practice today?”

“No. Jensen gave us the day off. Must’ve really liked the win.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t question it,” he says. “What are you doing today?”

She shrugs, the blanket shifting the movement. “I have some homework I need to wrap up before tomorrow, but nothing really.” She smirks. “Why do you ask?”

His thumb rubs against her ankle as he looks up at her with a shy smile. “You know why I’m asking.”

She gasps playfully. “Oh my goodness! You want to spend time with me?”

“Well, now you’re pushing it.”

“But I’m not.”

“No,” he admits. “You’re not.”

She leans back, sleepy grin on her face. “You’re so easy all of a sudden.”

“I don’t want to be a pain in the ass and drive you away before things have barely begun”

“You’ve always been a pain in the ass and I haven’t been driven away yet.”

“And how lucky am I?” He places his coffee on her nightstand. “How about we study a bit here and then head over to mine after to chill? We can watch a movie or something, and Tucker’s talked about making chicken pot pie all week.”

She moans at the mention of Tucker’s cooking and Garrett hasn’t been awake for long enough yet to be normal about it. “God bless Tucker.” She tosses the blanket aside and puts her coffee down next to his, stretching her arms up. “I’m gonna take a shower. Do you mind setting up in the living room?”

“You got it.”

As the shower head turns on, he can hear her humming as he grabs both his backpack and her laptop and planner in one trip, and then going back to grab their coffees in another. He then takes a few eggs and some shredded cheese out of the fridge to make them both some food. While the eggs are in the pan, he finds some bread and plops it in the toaster. She’s walking into the living room as he’s sliding the last of the eggs onto both plates. 

Garrett watches as she freezes, hair damp with one of his Briar Hockey t-shirts draped over black flannel pajama pants. He watches in great amusement as her mouth opens, closes and then opens again. “You good?” He asks, not even bothering to hide the smugness from his voice. 

“What are you doing?”

“Uh, I made breakfast?”

She blinks. “You don’t cook.”

“Call it boyfriend privileges.” 

“You’re not usually a boyfriend either.”

“Exactly. It’s your lucky day,”

She chuckles, settling in beside him on the couch and taking her plate of eggs and toast from his hands. She smiles at him so softly and prettily that it causes a butterfly to flutter around in Garrett’s stomach. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, baby.”

She forks some eggs in her mouth. “That’s new.”

“What is?”

“Baby.”

He furrows his eyebrows, munching on his toast. “No it’s not.”

“It is at the frequency you’ve used it in the last 12 hours.”

“True,” he admits. “Sue me. I’m allowed to now and I’m excited about it.”

She stares at him over the rim of her coffee mug and Garrett is so fucking fond. “What else does Boyfriend Garrett Graham entail? Flowers every day? Walking me to class? Forcing me to put on your jersey during games?”

He leans back, settling his arm over the back of the couch where his fingertips are centimeters away from her hair. “You’re allergic to most flowers and I don’t want to kill you. You would hate if I hovered and walked you to every class so that’s also a no. And the last time you wore my jersey we got smacked, and you haven’t done it since.”

“You’re telling me I won’t even get flowers out of this?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Hm. Do you know what is odd, though?”

He plays along. “What?”

She finishes her eggs before pointing the fork in his direction. “You still haven’t kissed me yet this morning.” Garrett blinks. Fuck, he hasn’t. He didn’t even realize it until she pointed it out. She hums, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I mean, it’s not like you’re bad at it, considering you’ve slept with practically half of the-”

“Alright, cut it out,” he says dryly, but his lips quirk up as she giggles. He shrugs, suddenly nervous in front of the girl who knows him practically better than anyone. “Honestly, I kinda forgot. Which sounds silly. But I think I’ve just wanted you for so long that I’m not used to the idea that I can kiss you now.”

She looks down at her coffee. “So you weren’t kidding.”

“About what?”

“When you said you’ve been in love with me since freshman year.”

“Oh. So we’re talking about this now.”

“I was always going to ask you at some point.”

“Nosy,” he says with no heat. His throat bobs up and down, as he takes the time to piece his words together. “Looking back, I think I fell in love with you more and more after every study session, even if I didn’t know it at the time. I thought I made it quite obvious, but I guess not.”

“Maybe you did,” she admits. “But I honestly just thought you wanted to be friends. Or, well, I convinced myself that’s what you wanted. The no girlfriends reputation didn’t help your case either.”

“I thought about telling you a few times.”

She turns her body so it’s directly facing his. “Oh yeah? When?”

“Uh, there was one time early sophomore year when we were at Malone’s. You got drunk and I drove you home and you were so trusting of me and just humming along to the radio under your breath in the car and you looked so beautiful.”

“I don’t even remember that.”

“How many times have I driven you home from Malone’s?” He points out, before continuing. “When we lost the Frozen Four last year, and you came into my room an hour after we had landed even though I was the worst company. You just sat in my room all day with me, even though I was moody and sad and upset.”

“I didn’t want to leave you alone,” she says, her eyes glassy. 

He reaches out to hold her hand, lacing their fingers together. “And that meant a lot to me, even if I didn’t tell you at the time.”

“You didn’t have to tell me,” she says with a casual shrug even though nothing about that moment was casual for Garrett. “I didn’t-you just lost a really big game. I didn’t want you to be sad alone.”

“And I wasn’t alone” he says softly. “Anyways, yeah. I’ve wanted to tell you. I just, I don’t know. I didn’t think you felt the same, and I really didn’t wanna risk it.”

“So instead you waited for me to lose my cool?”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he protests, rubbing his thumb against her knuckles. “But I’m happy you did.”

“Thank you for breakfast,” she says. “But there was one thing I didn’t like.”

His eyebrows immediately furrow in worry. “What’s wrong, baby?”

She pouts. “You still haven’t kissed me.”

He chuckles in relief, scooting closer to her. “Is this how you’re always going to be?”

“You wish.”

“You’re insufferable. Like actually-“

She kisses him to shut him up. Garrett doesn’t mind the slightest.

~*~*~

A few hours later, Garrett kills the engine of his jeep as they both gather their things. They had studied for most of the morning and he tried to be as minimally distracting as possible. It didn’t work, considering how many glares she shot him and how many times she threatened to kick him out. But now he can kiss her as an apology, which is a nice perk. 

Garrett jogs up the steps, looking instinctively behind him, as if she’s going to run away any second. She just grins at him, right hand on her backpack strap and left hand holding her phone. He pushes the door open, holding it so she can walk through first. 

A chorus of greetings rings out from Tucker, Logan and Dean, used to seeing her walk in the house on a Sunday afternoon. Tucker’s cooking up a storm in the kitchen — hopefully the chicken pot pie that he mentioned a few days ago — while Dean and Logan are playing video games, eyes glued to the TV. 

Dean looks over momentarily with an easy smile. “G. Flower.”

Garrett nods as she smiles, taking off her shoes and putting her feet into the slippers that she bought a few months ago and leaves at the hockey house. No one has questioned it.

 “Hi Dean,” she says. Garrett watches as she puts her backpack by the foot of the coffee table, ruffling Dean’s hair (which he yelps at, like always). She puts her hands on Logan’s shoulders, squeezing them in greeting. Logan turns back quickly to smile and say a soft hello before returning back to the game. 

Garrett just trails behind, putting her backpack down next to hers, watching her go to the kitchen, grinning at Tucker. “Hi Tucker.”

“Hi Flower,” he sings, tucking her into his side for a quick hug. “You staying for dinner?”

“If I’m allowed.”

“You’re always allowed,” Tucker nods at his teammate. “‘Sup Garrett.”

Garrett flashes a small smile. “Smells good, man.”

“Thanks.”

She looks over Tucker’s shoulder at his skillet. “Do you need help?”

“Oh, no. I’m-” he stops at the glare she gives him. Tucker’s shoulders deflate. “If you could help chop up the rest of the vegetables, that would be super helpful.”

“Say no more.” Without hesitation, she grabs a clean knife from the drawer and meanders her way to clear up some counter space. She reaches behind the toaster to grab a clean cutting board and starts chopping. Garrett, suddenly extremely aware of how she moves around this kitchen like it’s her own, just sits on a stool at the kitchen island across from the books, observing. 

He and Tucker start talking about mindless things. How Garrett has an exam this week. How the house looked this morning (“Yeah, thanks for helping us clean, asshole,” Dean calls out from the couch. Garrett snaps back. “Usually I’m the one helping out and you’re still sleeping, alone or with someone, so fuck you, Dean.”) Logan tells her that he’ll swing by tomorrow afternoon to take a look at the shelf in her bathroom. She talks about a new project she’s starting with the second grade class she helps teach at a local elementary school as part of her degree. And Garrett just watches her, smile on his lips because she’s his best friend and he loves her. 

When the pie is in the oven and Tucker is upstairs taking a shower, Dean and Logan are done with their game and both wander into the kitchen. “Hey,” Logan starts, pouring himself a cup of orange juice. “Did everything end up okay after last night? You kinda ran out of here and then I couldn’t find Garrett either.”

Having planted herself next to him, she shoots Garrett a knowing look, before turning back to Logan. “Everything’s good. Thanks for checking. You’re sweet.”

Logan smirks, pointing at Garrett. “You hear that, G? Flower called me sweet.”

“Flower has poor judgement,” he responds dryly. 

She gasps, whacking Garrett’s arm. “Rude.”

“But true.”

“Also don’t call me Flower,” she lightly reprimands him. “You don’t do that.”

She’s right. He doesn’t. Deep down, he adores that his friends have adopted a nickname for her, accepted her into the fray way back when with harmless teasing, protective gestures and brotherly hugs. That came with the nickname that Garrett himself never really adopted, choosing just to call her by her name, usually in an exasperated tone. Or baby, now. That’s an option he likes a lot. 

He just shakes his head lightly. “Sorry, baby.”

She smirks. “Forgiven.”

Dean, who is smarter than anyone gives him any credit for, points his spoon inbetween the two of them, honey yogurt partially still in his mouth, which is gross. “Weird.”

She rolls her eyes. “Weird?”

“Whatever just happened between you two. Weird.”

“Eloquent,” Garrett notes. 

“Avoidant,” Dean responds. 

Logan’s head tilts. “Hm. Now that you say it though, Dean, something’s definitely going on.”

She steals a sip from Garrett’s water bottle with a casual shrug. “I think you guys may still be hungover.”

And they let it go for the time being, Garrett with an amused look on his face as Logan and Dean keep going at it with her. There was a time at the start where she was shy, especially at the beginning of their friendship when they were still only hanging out by way of study sessions. But she’s wiggled her way into the hockey house dynamic, which always warms Garrett’s heart. And she’s found herself as more than just Garrett’s constant plus one, as he’s come home many times to her already being here, watching a movie with Dean or helping in the kitchen with Tucker or giving Logan relationship advice he never takes. 

And it’s completely deserved. In Garrett’s eyes, she’s the best person he’s ever met. So of course everyone else wants to be around her.

With that, they both know sooner rather than later, that everyone will find out the new development between them. 

Garrett Graham is observant and careful. Usually. Until 20 minutes later, when Tucker has served the chicken pot pie and everyone is eating in happy silence. She mumbles to herself that she’s going to grab a glass of juice, to which Garrett’s chair scrapes back as he puts a hand on her shoulder. “I got it.” 

That’s normal. Garrett has always done things for her. What’s not normal is when he places the cup in front of her and she says thanks before pecking him on the lips. 

Because Garrett is observant, he notes every single reaction from his friends, while she continues eating because he knows that it slipped her mind completely and it’ll take her a delayed moment to catch up. Logan’s eyes balloon so widely that Garrett thinks they’re going to pop out of his head. A knowing smile just appears on Tucker’s lips. Dean’s motionless, before his fork drops onto the table with a resounding clang.

At the sudden sound, she jumps in her seat. “Jesus, Dean. Hold onto your fork. You almost made me spill my juice.”

“What was that?”

She finishes chewing. “What was what?”

Dean sputters. “That! You just-you two just kissed!”

“Oh my god,” Logan nods sagely. “You guys fucked last night.”

“Logan.” She shakes her head like a disappointed mother.

Garrett tuts. “Don’t be crass, man.”

“No they didn’t,” Tucker pipes up, shoving the last of his chicken pot pie in his mouth and putting his dish in the sink. 

Garrett looks at him suspiciously. “How would you know?”

“Because it’s Flower,” Tucker says matter-of-factly.

Dean’s still processing like someone just told him that he has a secret brother. “So you two are dating? Like, for real dating?”

Garrett just looks at her, smile playing at his lips at how cute she looks with his hoodie on, strands of her hair falling out from her ponytail. He turns back to Dean, eyebrow raised. “Will you be annoying if we say we are?”

Logan smirks at Garrett. “Finally got your head out of your ass, G?”

He rolls his eyes as she giggles. “Oi,” he pokes her side as she squirms away. “Don’t go joining their side.” She just winks at Logan. 

Dean heavily sighs. “Can someone just please answer my question? Are you two dating now? Can I say finally?”

And classic her, always adding fuel to the fire, she just answers the blonde’s question by kissing him She pulls away with a cheeky grin as chaos ignites again from the three boys. Garrett doesn’t even have it in him to be mad. 

~*~*~

Garrett Graham didn’t do girlfriends, but it’s been on his mind since they made things official. 

He heads to Malone’s after his last class of the day, knowing that Hannah works this shift and that it usually isn’t too busy around this time so he won’t be too disruptive as she works. 

The brunette looks up from the counter as soon as the door swings open. In her usual Hannah way, she smiles seeing who it is. “Graham.”

“Wellsy.”

“What can I get for you?”

“Nothing this time, actually.”

Her eyebrows raise. “Oh, so you’re here to bother me?”

“Only for a few minutes,” Garrett sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

Hannah crosses her arms. “What’s up?” He’s silent for a bit too long, and she immediately drops the joking tone. “Garrett?” Her voice softens. “Is everything okay?”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

His eyes lift up from his shoes to meet hers. “Telling me to tell her how I feel.”

She nods slowly, a knowing smile spreading across her face. “Oh yeah? You finally put on your big boy pants?”

“Watch it,” he says with no bite. “But yeah, I did. Well. She did first.”

Hannah snorts. “That’s not surprising.”

He clocks his good friend. “You knew.”

“Allie’s not exactly good at keeping secrets,” Hannah pauses as she quickly refills someone’s coffee. “You also forget I have class three mornings a week with her.”

“She told you?”

“She alluded.”

“So you prodded.”

Hannah rolls her eyes. “I call it making conversation. Not everything is an interrogation.”

Garrett chuckles before clearing his throat. “So, we’re good?”

“Good?”

“Like, there’s no hard feelings?”

“Between us?” He nods. “Garrett, no. Of course not. Why would you think so?”

“I don’t- I don’t want you to think those dates we went on meant nothing or that I was thinking about someone else the whole time.”

“For someone with a reputation of not having time for relationships, you seem to be decently emotionally intelligent.”

“Don’t go spreading that around,” he says dryly. 

“Oh, I’d never,” Hannah smiles. “I’m serious, Graham. We’re good. Don’t worry yourself so much about being a righteous person.”

“I’m not,” he clears his throat. “You’re my friend. And I want to keep being friends. Which means I want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“We are,” she assures. “I promise.”

He stares at her for a few more seconds, before nodding in satisfaction. The smile comes back on his mouth. “Okay, good. I’ll leave you alone and stop bothering you.”

“You always bother me.” 

He rolls his eyes before pulling her into a quick but tight hug. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”

“See you then,” he pulls away and flashes one last smile before turning around. Before he can leave though, she calls out. “Garrett?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t screw this up.”

He nods once. Firmly. Resolutely. “I won’t.”

~*~*~

Garrett Graham grew up believing things were black and white. 

Well, for the most part. He had to learn quicker than most kids that things were rarely simple. But with hockey and other things in his life, he’s sorted things into categories. It’s how he functions. How he manages. How he survives. 

But as he’s staring at her now, her on his bed and him at his desk, a sudden realization floods through his bloodstream that he almost has to shut his textbook due to how overwhelmed he is. She’s chewing the tip of her pen, scrolling through something on her laptop while developing a lesson plan. Her ankles are crossed in the air as she lays on her stomach, sunlight through his window hitting her at an angle where it looks like a spotlight is illuminating her. 

Slowly, day by day, without even trying, throughout the last two and a half years, she’s brought so much color into his life. Life isn’t shades of blacks and whites, he realizes, staring at her concentrated face.

As long as she’s in it, it’ll always be full of color. 

~*~*~

tag: @watercolorskyy

[writingonleaves]

what if it doesn't end well? (would you still stay?) - macklin celebrini

pairing: macklin celebrini x original female character

warnings: swearing, underaged drinking, very specific BU references (finally! got to use my knowledge for something), icky icky fluff!!! so much of it!! not proofread because i got sick of reading my own writing

inspired by + title: what if it doesn't end well by chloe moriondo

word count: 17.9k

author's note: i knew it was a matter of time before i'd do something with mack, especially as someone who was so privileged to watch him play for her alma mater. i will forever cherish those days. if you enjoy, feel free to leave some love or feedback or whatever you wish. it's been such a pleasure to watch him kill it with team canada. that's my son i birthed myself. anyways, this ended up becoming a monster and i put a lot of love into it. thank you in advance for reading!

october 24, 2023

The Charles River Esplanade has always brought Alessia Scarborough peace. 

Growing up 30 minutes away from Boston University, a lot of people in her life questioned why she even wanted to go here. Don’t you want to go somewhere farther for college? But for Alessia, Boston has always been home. She can’t even remember the first time she stepped foot on this side of Commonwealth Avenue, but she knew that when she went to Accepted Students Day that this is where she was meant to be. 

She quickly found that sitting on this particular bench along the Charles River Esplanade became one of her go-to places when she wants to get away. Even if she knows her surroundings inside and out, it’s different actually being in it. She’s a little over a month into her freshman year, and she still hasn’t quite found her people yet. She’s trying, like everyone else is. But sometimes, she needs a second to breathe. 

So the Esplanade it is. Bonus points if it’s right at sunset. Sometimes, the walk from her dorm in West Campus is enough time to clear her head and she only sits at the bench (which never seems to be occupied when she arrives) for a few minutes. Sometimes, she sits for hours. Sometimes, she has headphones in and lets the music accompany her wandering thoughts. Sometimes, she brings a book or her drawing pad. Sometimes, she chats on the phone with a high school friend or her older sister Carmen.

But her time on this bench, by the water, looking across onto the Cambridge skyline, is for Alessia and Alessia only. 

It’s an unusually warm day in October when she meets Macklin Celebrini. As usual, she’s sitting on the bench, this time with a book. She’s so engrossed in her book and used to ignoring the background noise that she almost jumps when she feels a weight on the other side of the bench. 

She looks up and immediately recognizes the superstar freshman on the hockey team. To his credit, he looks sheepish. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Do you mind if I sit here for a minute to catch my breath?”

That’s when Alessia notices the windswept look in Macklin’s hair and his chest heaving up and down. He must be on a run. She just shakes her head. “You’re good. I don’t mind,”

“Thanks,” she watches (non-creepily at all, thank you very much) as he takes a swig of his water bottle. 

She closes her book and swallows, finding the courage. “Good goal the other night against Notre Dame. Or goals, I guess.”

Macklin caps the bottle and tilts his head to the side. “You know who I am?”

She shrugs. “I go to BU and I’m a big hockey fan. Sue me.”

He nods slowly and shoots her a close-lipped smile. “Thanks. Appreciate it. Good bounce back after the night before.” 

Alessai snorts before she can stop herself. “You’re telling me.” 

For a second, she thinks that’s the end. Macklin Celebrini is never going to want to see her again. But instead, he lets out a loud laugh. “Fair enough.” 

She sticks out her hand. “I’m Alessia.” 

“Macklin.” 

“I know, silly.” 

She gets a genuine smile out of him for that. It’s even cuter up close. “What year are you?” 

“Freshman. I study film and TV. Or I want to.” 

He nods. “Cool. You’re a hockey fan?”

“I grew up playing,” she says, hugging her right knee to her chest. “Nothing crazy, but I loved it. Still love watching it, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Macklin echos.

“Do you like Boston so far?” She asks, brushing hair behind her ear so the wind doesn’t mess with it too much. 

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s different than San Jose or Vancouver, but I love it.”

“Good.”

“You?”

She smiles softly. “I’ve grown up coming to the city my whole life. I love it to pieces.”

They both turn out to look at the water. “So is this your spot?” He asks. 

“I guess you could say that.”

“Why?”

She turns to look at him to see that he’s already staring intently at her. It should make her nervous. But it doesn’t. “It’s just far enough away from everything to have a moment to breathe, but also not too far where I forget where I am.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he says, before running a hand through his hair and standing back up. “I should keep going. It was nice to meet you, Alessia.”

A surge of confidence surges through her.  “You too, Superstar. Score one on Friday for me, yeah?”

He lights up, and Alessia has never seen someone actually physically do that. “You going?”

She chuckles softly. “It’s home opener. Of course I’m going.”

He nods once firmly. “Awesome. See you there.”

“See ya.” 

She’s still looking at him as he runs away.

november 1, 2023

“So what did you think?”

Alessia blinks, pausing her music and taking out her headphones. Macklin’s sat himself on the bench, just as out of breath as last week, eyes just as kind and curious. She tries not to smile. “Of what?”

He shoots her an annoyed look, but his lips are quirked up to dull it. “The game.”

She grins. “It was sick.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Was it just as cool for you on the ice?”

“Cooler.”

She scoffs playfully. “Doubt it.”

“I didn’t see you.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“In the student section.”

“Why the- you wouldn’t find me there anyways. There’s like, a million of us.”

“I guess I’ll just have to make it a game for myself then.”

“Well in that case, I’ll sit in a different spot everytime.”

He narrows his eyes. “That’s cheating.”

She shrugs. “You shouldn’t have told me about your little game, then”

They share a laugh before a comfortable silence envelopes them, before Macklin speaks up again. “Are you here every Tuesday?”

She shrugs again. “Maybe. Maybe not. You seemed to find me fine nonetheless.” She picks at a loose thread in her jeans. “I have a break inbetween classes on Tuesdays and my afternoon one is on Bay State, so yeah. More often than not. You?”

“I’ve been trying to go on a run after practice and before class every Tuesday. Last week, uh, was actually my first week of doing it.”

“And you found me. Lucky you. Or sorry that happened.”

Macklin laughs, and Alessia feels like she just accomplished something. His gaze turns toward her hand, which is picking at a loose thread on her pants. “Are those flowers on your jeans?”

“Yeah.”

“You did those yourself?”

She smiles, looking with Macklin at the flowers embroidered on her jeans. “I did.”

“That’s sick.”

“Thanks.”

“What position did you play? When you played hockey?”

Alessia has slight whiplash in how this conversation is going, especially because she told him that little tidbit about her life last week, but from the little she has gathered about Macklin’s personality, it doesn’t totally surprise her. “Center.”

“Really?”

“Is that surprising?”

“A bit,” he admits. “I thought you’d be on defense.”

She shrugs. “I liked scoring.”

He chuckles lowly. “Me and you both.” Silence falls between them again. But Alessia finds she doesn’t mind. “Where do you live on campus?” 

“West. Sleeper.”

“No way. I’m in 1019.”

“Which is definitely a real dorm,” she responds dryly. 

“Hey!” He says in mock indignation, making her giggle. “Now that I know where you live, maybe we’ll run into each other more.”

“I don’t know. We’ve been living in the same area for almost two months and we haven’t bumped into each other yet.”

“Well, I didn’t know to look out for you before.”

She eyes him as he looks over the river. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She tuts, but lets it go, as they stare out into the river. Comfortable silence. 

november 11, 2023

It’s not like Alessia meant to not tell Macklin, but she hasn’t seen him since. And she doesn’t have his number. 

So when she snaps a picture of him rinkside during warmups — she was asked last minute to fill in for the school newspaper and she jumped at the chance to enjoy hockey through a camera again — she merely smiles when she sees his double take. She just nods subtly and chuckles under her breath when he taps his stick against the glass before skating away. 

Macklin doesn’t end up scoring that night, but he notches four assists to his name. It’s hard for Alessia to adhere to complete professionalism, but she manages. She does let herself smile behind the camera often though, especially when getting some crowd shots. She’s growing to love the energy at Agganis quickly and growing to love this team that she’s very quickly calling hers. 

When the game finishes, she decides to take refuge in the now-empty seats to send off some quick shots to the paper for them to post. The arena staff don’t pay her any mind with her media credential as she plops herself a few rows behind the BU bench, taking a deep breath and enjoying the aftermath.

She’s deep in playing around in Lightroom and deep into the zone, sending her final shots, when:

“Itching to jump out there?”

She curses and almost drops her laptop. “Fuck, Macklin!”

His eyes widen, “Sorry!” 

Alessia steadies her things before turning to fully look at him. He’s back in his game-day suit, hair messy and damp from a shower and cheeks still rosy from the game. Her annoyance falls away immediately. “What are you doing here?”

“Recognized the scrunchie in your hair. What are you doing rinkside with a camera?”

She watches as he sits in her row, one seat between them. “Got asked last minute to fill in for the school paper.”

“I didn’t know you worked for the paper.”

“Just trying it out. Seeing if I like it.” 

He peeks over to her laptop and she shifts so he can see. She just so happened to be exporting a photo of him. He whistles lowly. “You make me look good.”

She snorts. “Sure, Superstar. It’s definitely all my doing.” He waits for her to make sure she sends all the files over to the photo editor before she shuts her laptop. She puts it away in her backpack and then leans back, putting her feet on the seat in front of her. “Not a bad night for you.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t score though.”

“You got four assists,” she points out. 

He chuckles. “How’ve you been?”

She swallows, seeing his gaze steady on her, looking like he’s actually curious about her answer. Even though he’s probably tired and has better things to be doing. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Midterms were kinda rough. But I did well enough. You? Aside from all of this, I guess.”

“This kinda is all of it,” he laughs. But she can tell there’s a hint of something solemn under it. Alessia never even once considered playing hockey beyond high school hockey. But she can empathize how being Macklin Celebrini, projected first overall pick in the 2024 NHL Draft, may feel. 

“Have you been able to explore Boston?”

“Yeah. Some of my teammates are from around here so I’ve been kinda letting them lead the way.”

“Favorite spot?”

“I, uh, like the North End a lot.”

Alessia barks in laughter, perhaps catching the younger boy off guard. “Typical.”

“What?”

“Hey. I like the North End as much as everybody else, but that’s such a basic answer,” she takes her hair out of her bun. “You need to venture to the hidden spots to truly explore Boston.”

He sits up straighter, as if he’s preparing for a challenge. “Alright. How about this? You give me a list of places to hit and I’ll hit all of them before the school year ends.”

She scoffs. “Absolutely not. I’m not doing the work for you.”

“Okay, fine. I will compile my own list and keep you updated. Better?”

She turns so she’s completely facing him, the ice to her right. “You don’t actually have to-”

“No,” he says, determined. “It’s good. It’ll give me something to do that’s not just hockey. And I’ll drag Aiden or someone else with me.”

She smiles, amused. “Do you take everything as a challenge?”

“If I see worth in it.”

She looks back out in the crowd, his eye contact suddenly overwhelming. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

He rolls out his neck. “My girlfriend’s flying in, actually. Staying for a few days.”

Alessia hums. She’s somehow both very and not at all surprised. Not because he has a girlfriend, but that he’s telling her so willingly.  “That’s fun. Her first time?” 

“Yeah,” he smirks. “Any recs?” 

She tips her head back in laughter before calming down. “For her, I’ll give you some. She deserves to see the best of Boston.” 

He gasps. “And I don’t?”

“No.” 

He fishes his phone out of his pocket. “Text me some recs? I’d actually really appreciate it.”

She punches in her number and texts herself. “Perhaps.”

(When she compiles a list that night and clicks send, Macklin just thumbs up the text. She has a brief moment of panic as she saves his number, simply under “macklin 🌟” and washes her face probably a bit too hard before going to sleep).

november 21, 2023

Macklin beats her to the bench this time, beanie tucked over his ears and a BU sweatshirt over his torso, chugging a bottle of water. 

She notices him before he notices her, tucking her face in her scarf as she walks up to him. “How are you not freezing?”

He looks up at her, rosy cheeks and all. “It’s not that cold out.” She just eyes him. “Well, what are you doing out here then?”

“Touche,” she sits next to him. “I’m good with the cold, but soon even I’m going to have to pause these Esplanade walks.”

He pouts. Like, literally pouts. “So no more life-altering bench talks?”

She snorts. “Life-altering?”

“For me, they are.”

Alessia is almost impressed at how sincere and blunt Macklin has always been. There’s always no guessing with him, and gosh, is that so rare. “Did Skye enjoy the city?”

Immediately, his jaw tightens. Alessia only notices it because she’s started noticing everything about him. “Uh, yeah. I guess. Besides the breaking up part.”

“Fuck,” she mutters. “I’m so sorry, Mack.”

He shrugs. “Thanks. It was coming, but yeah. It sucks.”

She hesitates. “Are you feeling alright? Did-was it mutual? You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

“It was mutual, kinda,” he says, readjusting his hat. “It was a lot of things, long distance didn’t help, but I guess it was coming.”

“Still sucks though,” she quips softly. 

He lets out a visible breath. “Yeah. Yeah it does.”

She bites her lip before abruptly standing up. “You got anywhere to be?”

Macklin’s eyebrows furrow. “Not until, like, 6. Why?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said it’s too cold to be out here. You need a hot chocolate to cheer you up.”

He scoffs, but stands up and falls into step beside her. “Says who?”

“Says me,” she says simply. 

“Where we going?” 

“The only place I can think of on campus that does a decent hot chocolate is Pavement.”

“I haven’t been there yet.”

She gives him an incredulous look. “What the-okay. Fine. You’re sad so I won’t make fun of you.”

“I’m not sad!” He protests, bumping slightly into her. 

“I’m not the one who just got broken up with,” she sings, giggling as he lightly shoves her. 

20 minutes later, when they miraculously find two empty seats by the window, Macklin has a hot chocolate in his hands, beanie still on and cheeks still rosy. There’s a bit more light in his eyes, away from the cold and mentally drifting away from whatever is weighing him down. To Alessia, who sips on her own hot chocolate and is content with listening to Macklin yap about whatever happened at practice that morning, it’s a win.

november 24, 2023

Alessia 🏙️:

how’s nyc?? 

macklin 🌟:

Cold

Sick as hell though. At dinner right now

How was your Thanksgiving?

Alessia 🏙️: 

lovely

i’m going to be stuffed for the next week 

excited for tomorrow?

macklin 🌟:

Yeah 

You gonna watch?

Alessia 🏙️: 

yup 

well i’ll have it on the TV we might have family friends coming over

but they can just deal with it 

macklin 🌟:

Lol love to hear that 

Have you gotten to skate on the pond yet?

Alessia 🏙️: 

no it’s frozen over from the looks of it but i don’t trust it yet

maybe i’ll try over winter break

macklin 🌟:

I have a feeling you’d skate circles around me

Alessia 🏙️: 

you cannot be serious LOL 

you’d totally lap me if we raced

macklin 🌟:

That a bet? 👀

Alessia 🏙️:

you and your bets 

if you’re actually serious about it, you have to tell me i don’t have my skates on campus 

where would we even go

macklin 🌟:

??? We could just go to Agganis 

Alessia 🏙️:

there is no way i would be allowed on there

macklin 🌟:

You’d be with me it’s fine

Alessia swallows at that. Right as she’s figuring out how to respond, she gets a text from the photo editor of the newspaper, asking if she’s around for the Merrimack game on the 2nd. She is, and even if she isn’t, she’ll make sure she can do it, because she’s unexpectedly grown to love photographing hockey. She doesn’t know how it never came to her to combine her passions until now. 

And sure, fine. It has a little something to do with the 17 year old on the team who’s making waves in the hockey world and in hers. To be able to experience the thrill of that team and what he brings to that team in the student section and by the glass has become one of the highlights of her first semester at BU, even if she’s not quite sure where her and Macklin land. Somewhere more than just acquaintances, something a step below friends. 

The only person she’s told about these bench conversations with Macklin is her roommate Kenzie, who has become her closest friend at college so far. Kenzie’s more of a casual hockey fan, just going to games to have something fun to do on a Friday or Saturday night. But she noticed her roommate and friend’s attention and attitude shifting ever so slightly whenever 71 on the ice scored or made a good play and when Kenzie casually asked about it, Alessia spilled the beans. 

The next day, when family friends are mingling around the house after an early dinner, Alessia’s eyes are more or less glued to the TV on low volume from the kitchen island. Even from far away, she can point out Macklin zipping around on the ice as she mindlessly munches on chips, eyes rarely leaving the screen.

Her cousin Grady walks by the screen, and seeing Alessia’s focus, purposefully stands in front of the TV. She shoos him away and he chuckles, coming to sit in the stool next to her and watch alongside her. Grady played soccer growing up, but he learned the basics of hockey watching her games from time to time and likes going to a Bruins game here and there. 

“The BU team any good this year?”

She hums, clenching her fist as Ryan Greene’s shot goes wide. “Yeah. They’re fantastic.”

“You guys have that Celebrini kid, yeah?”

“Mhmm. Projected to go first overall next year.”

They continue watching the game in silence, aside from quips from both of them whenever a particular good or bad play happens. Alessia has always enjoyed Grady’s company, even if they only really hang out during family holidays. He’s a year older than her at Syracuse and they’ve always bonded over their love for sports, whether it’s playing them or watching them. 

After BU loses 2-1 to Cornell, she sighs and turns the TV off. Grady stands up to refill both their glasses of water. “It’s so cool that you get to watch such high talent like, every weekend.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Would you wanna come to a game?”

“Uh, yeah. Totally.”

“I’m pretty sure they play a few during winter break. We could go in the city to watch.”

“Dude. Yes,” Grady grins. “I’d love to.”

She just smiles back. 

january 9, 2024

She wants Grady to get the full experience, so they sit in the student section. Though they’re playing Northeastern today, it is still winter break, so it’s not as packed as it usually would be. 

The energy is still buzzing though, as her and Grady find seats a few rows from the glass. She decided to give Grady her jersey, while she wears a white BU crewneck. 

It’s a tight one that has everyone in the arena hooked from the second the puck drops for the first. Macklin scores on the powerplay in the third to bring BU up 3-2. It’s the classic right circle shot that has Alessia laughing and shaking her head as she watches Macklin’s arms go up in celebration, just casually waiting for his teammates to tackle him in a hug. Luckily, Jeremy Wilmer pots a beauty in overtime and she lets out a sigh of relief. She smiles, watching Grady have a blast with the Dog Pound and singing Hey Baby to celebrate. 

She can’t help it, but her eyes drift towards 71 as they do their usual stick salute at center ice before coming over to the Dog Pound. She’s close enough where she can somewhat make out his face. Her and Grady don’t rush out of the arena, instead choosing to wait out the traffic before heading to the car. As he’s looking at the wall of Terrier alum jerseys, she feels her phone buzz. 

macklin 🌟:

Wait in the lobby? I’ll be out in 15 minutes max

15 minutes? Didn’t he just get off the ice 15 minutes ago? Nonetheless, she looks over towards Grady and grins. She can stall. She likes Macklin’s message. 

17 minutes later, when they’re walking back to the lobby and Grady is none the wiser, yapping away about the BU powerplay (it warms Alessia’s heart, actually. He did learn something watching her games growing up!). She sees Macklin standing there in his suit, hair still wet from the shower. As they approach him, Grady’s yapping halts and Alessia holds in a chuckle.

“Hey,” she says softly, a bit surprised when Macklin wraps her in a quick greeting hug. “Good game.”

“Thanks,” he daps Grady up. “What’s up, man?”

“Hi,” Grady trails off, confused. 

Alessia chuckles. “Mack, this is my cousin Grady. He goes to Syracuse but wanted to catch a game before he went back. Grady, this is Macklin, which, well, you know.”

“Nice to meet you,” Macklin says kindly.

“You too,” Grady turns to his cousin, still confused. “You didn’t tell me you knew each other?”

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” she responds dryly, causing Macklin to laugh. She turns back to him. “How was World Juniors? Besides the, you know, losing part.”

“Thanks,” Macklin says flatly, to which Grady snorts at. “It was good. But excited to be back. You? How was Christmas?”

“It was good,” she says. “Didn’t do much. Spent some time with family and old friends and it was nice to see them.”

“Good, good.” Macklin turns back to Grady. “Did you play hockey like Alessia did growing up?”

Grady snorts. “Hell, no. I played soccer. I watched her games once in awhile though.”

Macklin’s lips twitch. “How was she?”

“Lessie? She was nasty, bro,” Grady grins. Macklin laughs and Alessia rolls her eyes. “No, she was. She had an end-to-end game winner once where she dangled through the entire defense.”

Alessia wants to shrink under Macklin’s gaze. “No kidding,” he comments.

“I was 16,” she points out. 

“I’ll dig out the video for you,” Grady smirks. “I’m sure my mom has it somewhere on her phone.”

“And that’s our cue to leave,” she says pointedly. Luckily, Grady doesn’t push and just laughs. She turns towards Macklin. “Good game. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. I’ll text you,” he says. “And nice to meet you, Grady.”

“You too, man. Good luck the rest of the season.” Macklin nods before turning to walk back towards the locker room. 

Alessia grabs Grady’s sleeve and yanks them to the exit hastily. As they walk to his car, she can feel the nosiness radiating off her older cousin. “Well, I know you have questions. Ask away.”

“We’ve spent like, the whole break together. How did this not come up?”

“I mean, how was I going to bring it up? Oh hey. Number 71? Yeah. We met randomly once and now we’re kinda friends.”

“Literally exactly like that.”

She takes a deep breath, waiting for Grady to start the engine before responding. “I don’t know. I haven’t really told anyone.”

“Why not?”

She shrugs. “Just seems a bit random. And I don’t know, he’s such a big deal.”

Grady softens. “Big deal or not, he’s lucky to have you as a friend.” 

Alessia simply squeezes her cousin’s shoulder and smiles. 

january 21, 2024

Alessia wasn’t joking when she said that she doesn’t see 1019 as a real dorm. She’s leaning against the wall outside the front door, waiting for Macklin who texted her on a cloudy Sunday morning asking if she wanted to join him to study. 

Macklin walks out, in a winter jacket over a hoodie with a beanie tucked on his head and that bright ass red backpack. Hands shoved in his pocket, he flashes a smile full of teeth at her. “Thoughts?”

“Still not a real dorm.”

He laughs, and they start walking towards the Law School cafe, which is one of Alessia’ favorite places on campus to study. When she found out that Macklin hadn't been there before, it didn’t take her long to convince him. “It’s not usually that busy on Sundays and it’s not stuffy like the library and you can bring your own coffee,” she texted and he was sold. 

“Do you actually need to study or were you lying to me?”

“Why would I lie to you?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Well, now that it’s too cold for bench talks, I gotta get my Alessia fix somehow,” he buries his nose into his jacket and Alessia thinks it’s adorable. “And you said you had to finish up an essay today. And I should probably get stuff done so I don’t have to worry about it later in the week.”

She snorts. “Proactive.”

“You know me.”

They find a table that’s near an outlet and chat casually as they both pull out their stuff, setting their backpacks over the back of their chairs. Soon, they settle into a comfortable silence, both with headphones in, laptop keys click clacking and for Alessia, the swoosh of her pen scribbling notes in her notebook for her screen language class. 

Once Alessia finishes reading a chapter, she chances a look at Macklin. He’s staring intently at something on his laptop, eyebrows furrowed and looking majorly confused. “You good?”

He pulls out an earbud, “I think?”

“What are you working on?”

“Something for my writing class.”

“Need help?”

“Do you mind?” He turns his laptop to face her. “I’m trying to figure out if what I wrote makes sense to what I’m supposed to do.”

She hums, pulling his laptop closer. She scans over the prompt and his short excerpt. “I think so. The prompt is asking for like, a lot of examples from the short story though, so I’d pull one or two more to really nail it home. The ones you have are good, just maybe do like, two or three more.”

“Good call.”

Alessia grins. “I’m known to have a few of those every once in awhile.” Macklin rolls his eyes, making her giggle. 

Around 30 minutes later, she’s done with her work. Macklin asks if she minds waiting for 20 more minutes for him to wrap up and she shrugs, pulling out her latest embroidery project. She thrifted a jean jacket for her sister and is gonna stitch some koi fish on it for her birthday in March because Carmen has a weird obsession with them. 

“Where’d you learn that?”

“Embroidery?” Macklin nods. “My mom is an art teacher at a high school, so I just grew up around that my whole life. I think I picked it up sometime in early high school. I don’t know. It’s something to do with my hands.”

“No, it’s-it’s really cool. Is that for yourself?”

“Nah. It’s for my sister.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister. Older or younger?”

“Older,” she rummaged through her bag to find her small scissors. “Her name’s Carmen. She’s a junior at Villanova.”

“Just the one sister?”

She nods. “Yeah. Not like you. There’s three of you, right?”

“Four,” Macklin adjusts his laptop so that it’s not blocking his face. “Aiden’s the oldest. Then me. Then Charlie, my sister. Then baby RJ.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Yeah, she’s 14. The only one out of all of us who doesn’t play hockey. She plays tennis and is really sick at it.”

“God bless her,” Alessia chuckles. “Having to deal with three hockey crazed brothers. The last thing she wanted to do was probably put on hockey skates.”

“Did your sister play hockey too?”

“No. She did a lot of other stuff. Soccer, lacrosse, track. You name it, she tried it. I think she tried hockey like, when we were young, but she always said that if she had a choice, why would she do anything in the cold.”

“She must’ve hated watching your games.”

“Probably, but sucks to suck. I had to sit through her games and wait for her to be done with practice so she could drive me home all the time.”

“I still wanna play 1 v 1 with you one day.”

“Oh, so you want me to embarrass myself.”

“Never!” He laughs. “It’s just, I don’t know. It’d be cool to see you out there.”

“Maybe one day,” she says non-committedly. “You done with your work?”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect. Wanna do a hot chocolate run?”

Macklin slams his laptop screen shut. “Duh. Who do you think I am?”

february 1, 2024

“Thought this would cheer you up.”

Macklin’s eyebrows raise in surprise as he comes out of his dorm as Alessia hands him a hot chocolate. He nods in gratitude as he takes a sip. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” she says softly. “Where do you wanna go?”

“You don’t have class the rest of the day, right?”

“Nope.”

“Anywhere, then. Just, not on campus. Anywhere else.”

She expected this, especially after the sporadic, short and blunt texts she’s been receiving from him the last few days. After being swept by BC over the weekend and then losing in overtime to Northeastern yesterday, he probably wants a distraction right now. “You down to hop on the T?”

“Of course.”

As they’re riding on the T, they exchange quiet, casual conversation. He asks how her classes are going, she asks how practice has been (“intense, as you can probably predict”). He doesn’t ask her where they’re going (“You don’t want to know where we’re going?” “I trust you.”) and to be honest, she doesn’t quite have a final destination. When Macklin helps her tuck in her scarf with a small smile on his lips, she has to make sure she remembers which station they’re getting off at. 

Friends, she can do. She loves being friends with him. But more? That’s not even a possibility Alessia can entertain. There’s no point in even thinking about it because it would never happen. 

As they wander around Back Bay, ducking into random shops and strolling leisurely on the sidewalk while petting dogs who trot by, she can see Macklin relaxing by the minute. She talks about anything and everything, happy to lead the conversation so he doesn’t get in his own head. Everytime a smile peeks through or he laughs, even a little, she takes it as a win. 

It isn’t until two hours later, after a beautiful golden retriever slobbers all over Macklin and they’re making their way back closer to campus, does Macklin crack. 

“You ever think about the future?”

Alessia hums, intrigued at where this is going to go. “All the time.”

“What do you envision?”

“Ideally?” He nods. She shrugs. “I’d like to, you know, graduate, do all I can here, and then, I don’t know. Work for a production company in LA or maybe New York.”

“Have you always wanted that?”

“I don’t know about always. But I’ve always loved film and been interested about the behind the scenes of it all. Then my parents got me a camera for my 13th birthday and then it all kind of snowballed from there.”

He kicks two rocks down the sidewalk. “I’ve always loved hockey. Like, probably too much. And theoretically, I know what the future is going to look like. Or what it could look like. But what if, I don’t know. What if it’s not all that? What if I’m not as good as everyone expects I am or says I am?”

“I thought you said you don’t read shit online.”

“I haven’t,” he assures. “Promise. It’s just, I don’t know. It’s one of those weeks where it feels like it all matters more than usual.”

She nudges him. “I don’t call you Superstar just because, you know. You’re really good at what you do. And I know you’ve been told that your whole life and maybe you believe it sometimes and don’t believe it other times. But you have people who are always in your corner, who know who you really are, and who have no doubt you’re going to work to be the best you can be, all the time.”

“How are you so confident about all of that?”

“Because it’s who you are,” Alessia says simply. “You wouldn’t be you without this fear of failure or this innate need to be the best at everything you do. And the thing is, you’re probably the first person I’ve ever met who I’ve never doubted in the slightest bit that you’ll do everything you set your mind to.”

“Even when we get swept and then lose in overtime?”

“Especially then,” she shoves her hands deeper into her jacket pockets. “I’m not going to pretend I understand even an ounce of the pressure you’re constantly under, but I know you’re doing the best you can all the time. It’s okay to not be feeling the best you can all the time, though. That doesn’t mean you’re any less of a player. Or a person.”

“Thanks,” he says softly. “That-You’re good at that.”

“Talking?” He nods as she snorts lightly. “Thanks.”

“Where did that come from? Being good at talking?”

She lets out a deep breath. This is the part of her hockey past that she hasn’t told Macklin yet. “I didn’t, uh, leave hockey on the best terms so I had time to do a lot of reflection.”

“Injury?”

“No,” she says softly, staring down at her feet. “I decided to quit right before my senior year. Got fed up with my coach targeting me the whole time for never being good enough.”

“That must’ve been a really hard decision,” Macklin comments softly. 

She tries to keep her voice from trembling. “It was.”

“Having a coach, who…yeah. That’s really hard. I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “In the past.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’d never yell at you if we were on the ice together.”

Alessia snorts. “Yeah you would.”

“No,” he drawls, poking her side as she whacks his hand away. “I mean it though. Stepping away from something you love because you love it so much…I can’t really relate, but that takes a lot of guts.”

“Well, of course you can’t relate,” she says playfully. “You probably don’t step away even when you should because you love it so much.”

“Now you’re confusing me.”

She rolls her eyes fondly before taking a deep breath as they stop at a crosswalk. “Honestly, watching you and your team play and getting to be a fan again has been helpful. Makes me love and appreciate hockey again.”

“I still haven’t spotted you in the student section.”

“I move around. Like a snake.”

Macklin wrinkles his nose. “I hate snakes.”

“Also, how hard are you really looking?”

“Not much during the game,” he admits. “But definitely during warmups and at the end.”

“You’ll find me one day. Or maybe not.”

“Are you going to Beanpot?”

She chuckles. “Of course I am. I’ve been going to Beanpot before you probably knew what it was.”

“Okay, relax. You’re only a year older than me.”

“You know what I mean,” she tilts her head. “Are you excited?”

He lets out a breath. “Yeah. TD Garden. Boston tradition. Bright lights. It’ll be good.”

Alessia sidesteps closer into Macklin for a second as she avoids passerbys on the sidewalk. “You do love the bright lights.”

“We’ll see how it goes.”

(It goes well. Macklin nets two within the first seven minutes, and Alessia swears she loses her voice at the second goal, bouncing so much she wants to run down the stairs to the ice and hug Macklin herself. Even from the nosebleeds, she can see his smile)

(And then a week later, when BU loses in the final on a questionable call in overtime, Alessia’s ready the next day, standing in front of his dorm, with a hot chocolate. He folds into her for a hug and she hopes he doesn’t hear her heart skip a beat)

february 24, 2024

As she smooths her hands on her jeans, Alessia takes a deep breath. It’s not the first house party she’s ever been to (grad party-hopping was a fun time last summer) and she got dragged to a frat party at the start of the year (it was horrible and she’s never doing it again), but it’s different this time. Macklin’s the one who invited her. He brought it up as a possibility last week if they won. They swept the weekend series, and then he texted her the address after the game. 

macklin 🌟:

291 Pratt Street

Text me when you’re here!

And here she is, after the game, having changed out of her BU jersey into a plain brown sweater, in Allston, about to walk into a house filled with the men’s hockey team and whoever else is here. Parties are really not her scene, and she still feels like she wants to bolt, but she also knows they’re not Mack’s scene either. They’ll be able to commiserate together. 

She texts Macklin “here” as she swallows, bopping her head along mindlessly to the Pitbull song spilling out of the house. She wishes her heart wasn’t beating so fast and wonders momentarily if alcohol would help or harm that cause. 

Alessia’s looking up at the sky and humming under her breath when Macklin comes bouncing out the front door, skipping a step as he meets her. In his beanie and black sweater and jeans, he looks flushed, but that could just be his face.

“You came.”

“You asked.” She says, trying not to think too much when he pulls her into a warm hug. 

He pulls away and leads her up to the house, “Yeah, but…”

She narrows her eyes, smiling so he knows she isn’t actually suspicious. “What? Are your teammates going to interrogate me?”

“Probably,” he admits. “Sorry in advance.”

“I can hang,” she assures. “I played hockey for most of my life, remember? All you guys are the same.”

“Ouch,” he looks back earnestly. “If any of them give you too hard of a time, tell me and I’ll tell them to fuck off, yeah?”

“You don’t need to protect me.”

He shrugs. “I know. Thought I’d offer anyways.”

When they walk in, it’s exactly what she expects. The lights are dim, there’s a loud speaker blasting music, it’s not packed with people, but there’s enough that she has to politely squeeze past pockets of people. Macklin looks back every once in awhile to make sure she’s not getting lost in the crowd, and every time she just gives him a little assuring smirk. She can handle it, but it’s nice that he’s so worried about her anyways. 

She knows everybody on the team, their face and name at least, but she lets Macklin introduce her to his teammates. They’re nice enough, some more welcoming and smiley than others, but that’s okay. She does find it interesting that none of them seem at all surprised by her presence. It isn’t until Macklin leads her to a guy who looks so eerily similar to him that Alessia instinctively straightens up. 

Macklin adjusts his beanie. “And this is my brother Aiden.”

Aiden smiles and hugs her quickly. “Alessia, right? It’s nice to meet you.”

“Good to meet you too,” she says, making sure she can be heard over the music. 

“I think I’ve seen you in the student section. Were you wearing a bucket hat tonight?”

Alessia laughs. She has to. “I was.”

Macklin pouts, whacking his brother’s arm. “What the fuck? I’ve been trying to find her this whole season!”

“And you haven’t?”

“Not unless she’s by the boards photographing.”

Ryan Greene, who brings his red solo cup to his lips, raises an eyebrow. “You’re a photographer?”

“Sometimes.”

“She’s a film major,” Macklin corrects.

“I fill in for the Boston Hockey Blog if they need someone,” she adds. 

“Which do you like better? Being in the crowd or rinkside?” Jack Hughes asks curiously. 

She shrugs, thanking Aiden with a small smile as he hands her a high noon. “I like both. Depends on the game, maybe.”

“You used to play, right?” Aiden asks. 

Alessia can’t help but tease, looking over at Macklin. It’s fun to know that he talks about her to his teammates. Or his brother, at least. “I did. This one keeps trying to challenge me to a 1 v 1.”

Jack plays along, “You’d so beat him.”

She smirks, deciding that she likes the Northeastern transfer. “That’s why I keep saying no. To save him the embarrassment.”

Macklin rolls his eyes. “Alright, where’s Chancer? Need him to stop bothering me about meeting Lessie.”

“Why does he want to meet me?”

“I think he said you guys are from around the same area in Massachusetts.”

(They’re not, she finds out quickly, as she and Shane both laugh at Macklin for thinking Andover and Medfield are anywhere near each other. But the flush in his cheeks and the way he’s hovering by her side the entire evening has her feeling drunk even though she hasn’t had enough alcohol to even be tipsy. 

When he walks her home and lingers, she hopes he doesn’t notice her hugging him longer than usual) 

march 24, 2024

Alessia feels an extra surge of hate for Boston College after last night. Being in that TD Garden crowd and watching the Terriers get smacked by the biggest rival was a shitty feeling, but as she sits on the bench by the river for the first time this year, it’s also something else. 

Time is running out. Time with Macklin, no matter how much he tells her that he’s fully open to coming back to BU next year no matter what happens at the draft in June, is running out. And it’s hitting her harder and in ways that she doesn’t quite know how to deal with it. 

She stares out into the river, tucking her chin into her coat. In just a few days, he’ll be in South Dakota for Regionals. If all things go to plan, the team will come back to Boston for a week before heading to Minnesota for the Frozen Four. 

And then? Well, she thinks he’s coming back to finish finals. But soon after, he’ll be off to do all the things hockey players who are projected to go first in the NHL draft do before their draft. And their time together that has now become a guaranteed thing at least weekly will soon halt. He’ll be in some other city far away from here and Alessia will still be here in the city that she loves. 

But right now, as she waits for Macklin to come by after class, she can pretend it’s not. Right now, for just a bit longer, they can just be Mack and Lessie. Two college freshmen whose friendship began on this very bench only a few months ago. 

“You look like you’re thinking hard.”

She doesn’t turn her head as Macklin sits down, his jacket brushing against hers. “I’m thinking that I’ve been freezing waiting for you.”

He snorts. “No you’re not. You love the cold.”

And you love me is the unspoken follow up. She just rolls her eyes fondly before nudging him, noticing him holding a tray with two cups. “What you got there?”

“Hot chocolate, duh,” he hands the tray over. “Ladies first.”

They both take sips of their drinks, staring out at the water quietly. He puts his cup down by his feet and shoves his hands in the pockets of his BU hockey puffer. “So what were you thinking about?”

“Honestly?” He nods and she sighs. “How we’re nearing the end of our hot chocolates and bench talks.”

He looks down at his hands. “Yeah.”

“And, like, I’m not trying to make you feel bad about it. But, I don’t know, I’m just really going to miss you.”

“What do you mean?” He chuckles a little, cheeks classically rosy. “I haven’t left yet.”

“Mack,” she deadpans.

He sighs. After a few seconds of silence, “I wish you could come to regionals. And Frozen Four, if we get there.”

“Me too. I’ll be watching though. I wouldn’t miss it.”

One side of his mouth quirks up. “I know.” He picks at his cuticles. “You know, you’re like, one of the only friends I’ve made here who aren’t my teammates or other athletes.”

“I can’t tell if that’s sweet or sad.”

“Shut up,” he says weakly. “I just, I don’t know. I feel like I can tell you anything.”

“You can,” she says sincerely. “You know my hot chocolate obsession so you’re practically stuck with me for life.”

Macklin smiles warmly. Openly. “I wouldn’t mind that at all.” He looks back out to the water again. “You know, I still never saw you in the student section at a game.”

“Next year,” she tries to assure with a weak smile. 

“Next year,” he echoes softly.

Alessia scooches over closer to him and takes a chance, leaning her head on his shoulder. He stiffens for a moment, before relaxing and resting his head on top of hers. 

may 9, 2024

They won against RIT and Minnesota to punch their ticket to the Frozen Four. But after a heartbreaker of a game, they lost to Denver in overtime in the semifinals. Alessia, who was watching with a bunch of her friends in her dorm, just put her head in her hands as Denver celebrated. She rubbed her eyes roughly before turning back to her friends, who were sad but definitely not as devastated as her. She needed to clean up and say goodnight before she could fully lay in her bed and wallow in the sadness. She just sent Macklin a heart emoji before pocketing her phone and picking up trash. 

The day after the team flew back to Boston from St. Paul, Macklin and Alessia met up at the bench again. No hot chocolate this time — it’s starting to become too warm. But otherwise, it felt so similar, but also eerily different.

Everyone has known conceptually it was coming, but the draft is so close now that it’s starting to feel real. Even to Alessia. She hasn’t quite directly asked Macklin how he feels. She figures everyone is asking him that already anyways. And what kind of advice would she offer anyways? 

So she has just kept offering bench talks. And Law School cafe study hours. And aimless walks around the city. 

Today, they’re spending the morning at Agganis Arena. For the first time, Alessia will be on the ice with her own hockey skates. 1 v 1. Against the guy that’s going to be drafted first overall into the NHL next month. 

In a few hours, Macklin will be on a plane to Vancouver before the chaos of the combine and media begin. In a few hours, her friend — one of her best friends, if she’s being completely honest — will be chasing the next phase of his dream and she’s going to have to settle with just watching him continue being great from a distance. 

But right now, as she laces her skates on the bench, throwing a roll of tape at Macklin as he giggles, she can focus on this. Focus on him. 

As they leisurely skate a few laps around the ice, she looks up at the empty seats, looking around and smiling.

“Pretty cool, right?”

“Yeah,” Alessia says softly, meaning it.

“I’m glad we got to do this, even if it took until the very last day.”

She hums. “I’m not going to get in trouble, am I?”

“Nah. They’re taking the ice out tomorrow anyways for graduation,” he skates backwards so they’re facing each other. “When’s the last time you skated?”

She bites her lip. “Not since my last game. So it’s been awhile.”

“Really?” He asks. “Not even, like, skating with friends or anything?”

“Nope.”

He softens, a close lipped smile on his lips. “Well, I’m glad you brought them out today.”

She skates into him slightly, nudging his hip with hers. “I wouldn’t do this just for anybody, Superstar.”

“I know.” 

She takes a deep breath before breaking in her edges. “You better not go easy on me. I want real competition.”

His eyes flare with a challenge. “I can give you that.”

“And you know I need to channel my anger somewhere after my COM final.”

“You got an A-.”

“The least that I deserved after going through that hellhole of a class.”

He chuckles, grabbing two sticks and a puck as they skate by the bench. “I’m going to miss this.”

“Me bitching about my classes?”

“No,” he says pointedly, adjusting his beanie. “Well, yeah. But this. You know what I mean.”

She takes the stick – one of his — from his hand to give her time to say her reply without her voice shaking. “You all packed?”

“Yeah. I’ll leave these two sticks here.”

She hums, gesturing at him to drop the puck so she can try out his stick. The feeling of the puck is foreign to her for a second, which almost makes her sad. But then she and Macklin start passing and it starts feeling familiar again. 

And actually being able to be on the ice with Macklin, even if they’re just passing back and forth, she can see how skilled he actually is. It’s different than watching him, and sure, she’s biased. But just from how he skates, how he handles the puck even just casually in front of her right now, she feels almost reverent. 

“You ready to go?” 

No, but she humors him. “First to three goals wins.”

She feels that competitive thrill in her igniting again and even though she’s completely out of breath and definitely going to be sore tomorrow, it’s exhilarating. She doesn’t even get mad when Macklin just keeps dancing around her and by the end, they’re not even playing proper hockey anymore. Instead, they’re laughing and trying stupid plays and bumping into each other with no care. At one point, she sends his stick flying and she’s laughing so hard as he comes to smother her. She’s close enough where she can kiss him. Instead, she ducks out from under his arm to shoot a goal, which is met, expectedly, with protest. 

“You’re cheating!”

“We’ve both been cheating this whole time,” she calls out, fishing the puck out of the net. She giggles as he comes up to her again and softly crosschecks her. 

“You have mitts,” Macklin says. 

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m really not,” he says sincerely. She looks away, hoping her cheeks aren’t reddening. “You’re so smooth with the puck on your stick. Almost like silk.”

She smiles. “You’re sweet.”

“Just honest.”

“Thanks for letting me use your stick.”

“Always.”

Always. 

Hours later, they say their goodbyes outside of 1019 as Macklin climbs into his uber. Alessia swears they hug for at least three minutes, but it feels like both eternity and not enough time. She doesn’t say much, not trusting her voice to completely break. Macklin doesn’t say much either, just squeezes her with conviction. 

The last thing she says?

“Go be great. You already are.”

(At the airport, where Aiden is already waiting for his younger brother, the two don’t say much and Aiden knows Macklin is lost in his own head. As Macklin is walking around the terminal, anxious just to do something, he gets a message from Aiden. 

It’s a picture from earlier today of Alessia and Macklin on the ice. Aiden must’ve been doing last minute packing at the rink. It’s blurry and not very clear, but you can see wide smiles on both of their faces as Alessia is playfully shoving Macklin. 

Macklin swallows, realizing that he only has a handful of photos of Alessia, most of them are blurry ones of her rolling her eyes and trying to block the lens. This is the only one of them together. Fuck, why didn’t he think of that?

He favorites the picture. It’ll be one he looks at more than he should the next few weeks).

june 28, 2024 

Even though Alessia has plans tonight to reunite with some old friends and classmates at an informal house party / bonfire, she told them she’d be a little late. She has to catch Macklin’s name getting called at The Sphere. 

So here she is, dressed and tote bag ready to go, leaning forward on her couch in anticipation in the dark — no one’s home tonight. When Joe Thornton calls his name, even though everyone expected it, tears immediately spring to her eyes. She lets them fall as she watches Macklin hug his mom, dad and siblings. She rests her chin on her hands as he walks up on the stage, stands up and paces around when he’s doing his interviews, eyes never leaving the screen. 

Suddenly, everything flashes in her mind like a montage. The bench talks, study sessions at the Law School cafe, the thunderous roar everytime he scored at Agganis, his smile behind a hot chocolate, the long hug right before he left for St. Paul, the beanie constantly glued to his head, the daily texts back and forth, holding back tears when he went into his Uber to Logan a little over a month ago. 

She is so, so proud of him. She didn’t know she could feel like this about someone.

Alessia 🏙️:

i know i’m probably one of millions of texts you’re getting but congrats superstar!!! 🌟❤️🕺🥳🦈

so well deserved and i’m so happy for you. enjoy it and embrace it. all the hard work and passion and love has gotten you here and i’m honored to just be a witness to that. go celebrate!!!

Three and a half hours later, Alessia is happily exhausted after hanging out with old friends and classmates. She steps out of the shower and sees that Macklin texted her two minutes ago. Simple. 

macklin 🌟:

Are you still awake? FaceTime?

Without a second thought, she clicks the button. When the call connects, it’s grainy for a second. But that doesn’t dull his smile, which in turn, has Alessia beaming. He’s still wearing the Sharks jersey and the Sharks hat. It’s not the scarlet she’s become used to, but teal looks beautiful on him. It looks right. 

“Well, well, well,” she sings softly, turning on another light in her room. “Look at that smile.”

The camera moves for a minute and suddenly he’s outside somewhere. He looks the slightest bit flushed and very tired, but his smile is genuine. “Hi.”

“Congrats, Superstar,” she smiles. “You feel a weight off your chest?”

He breathes out a chuckle. “Yeah, honestly. Just happy that it’s all done, you know?”

“Yeah,” she lets the silence between them linger for a moment. “Where are you right now?”

“The family rented out some part of a restaurant. I, like, basically just got out of doing all the media. It’s crazy. A lot. It’s good though. I’m starving.”

She tucks her blanket to her chin, leaning back in her bed. “I bet you have a million texts to sift through.”

“It feels like it,” he says. “I haven’t really read any of them yet though. You’re the first person I’m talking to who’s not here with me.”

And that, well, that invites a frog into Alessia’s throat. She’s the first one? “Mack, you didn’t-”

“I know, but I don’t know. Just wanted to hear your voice. Even if just for a minute.”

She can’t control herself now, as a tear falls. She wipes it away quickly, hoping he doesn’t catch it. “You deserve it, you know? I’m so…first overall. That’s-that’s a huge deal. I’m so happy for you. You’ve earned every bit of it.”

“Thank you,” he says. “T-That means so much coming from you, you have no idea.”

“So, that’s it, huh?” She chuckles, trying not to let him hear the shakiness underlying it. “Off to San Jose and never looking back?”

“Don’t say that,” he admonishes lightly. “I don’t know yet.”

She lets it go, “Alright, alright.” She wipes another tear and sniffles. “You’ll tell me when you’re back in Boston next?”

“Of course. You’ll be the first person to know,” he assures. 

But Alessia isn’t a fool. He’s not coming back to Boston. At least, not until the Sharks come to Boston to play the Bruins. But she lets herself believe for a few seconds. “I’ll let you go. Enjoy celebrating with everyone and tell Aiden I said hi.”

“Will do,” Macklin says softly. “I’ll call you when I can.”

“Don’t sweat it,” she assures. “I mean it, Mack. Enjoy it. You deserve it.”

“Thanks, Less. Sweet dreams.”

She just stares at her phone for a second before hastily shoving it in her pocket. If she continues scrolling, she’ll start crying in a way that’s not pretty. Or text something stupid like “I love you.”

(A few days later, she comes downstairs to a package addressed to her sitting on the counter. Furrowing her eyebrow, she looks at the return address and sees it’s from Vancouver. She opens it and gasps, letting the custom Kevin Leonel creation gently unfold. She saw this jacket floating around her Tiktok and had fallen in love. It’s a customized Sharks jacket made especially for the draft. For Macklin. A folded piece of paper slips out and in Macklin’s distinct scribble, it reads: 

i knew the second i saw this that i wanted you to have it. you’d put it to good use more than i would. i’m not sure when i’ll be back in boston, but in the meantime, i hope this acts as a little piece of me over in beantown. keep it safe for me!

Alessia isn’t stupid. She knows, deep down, this is his way of saying that he loves her too.

She folds the note and clutches the jacket to her chest.)

july 5, 2024

“I’m signing.”

Alessia just smiles, tilting her head to the side. “Yeah?”

Macklin nods from somewhere in San Jose. Or Vancouver. She’s not sure if he’s flown home yet after development camp. “Yeah. I-I thought really hard about it. But I’m ready.”

“Congrats, Macky.” 

“Thanks,” he licks his chapped lips. “You don’t sound shocked.”

“Because I’m not,” she says simply, sipping her smoothie. “BU’s going to miss you a lot. But I’m happy for you. You deserve it.”

“I thought really hard about it,” he says. “Like, it could’ve gone either way. I-I love BU. I always will.”

She chuckles, “You don’t need to defend yourself. Especially to me. I always knew that your time with the scarlet would be fleeting.”

He visibly swallows. “You’re not mad?”

“Why-Mack,” she starts. “This is your career. Your life. Why would I be mad? I’m the proudest I’ve ever been. We’ll just have to adjust our bench talks to couch FaceTimes now or something. No sweat.”

“Yeah?” He says with a hopeful lift in his voice.

Alessia picks up on it, nodding with a grin. “Those 10 p.m. game start times are going to be rough, but I’ve always been a night owl.”

“You’ll watch?”

“Stop asking stupid questions. Of course I’m gonna watch. Also, I want a Macklin Celebrini Sharks jersey ASAP. The traditional teal one is nice, but I could also settle with the black Cali fin.”

He chuckles and her heart aches. “You got it. Enough about me, though. How’s your summer been? How are the kids?”

She sighs at the mention of the little monsters called kids that she’s been wrangling at a day summer camp she’s been working at since she was 16. “Impossible. Why are they always the most energetic at the arts and crafts section? Bailey over at sports doesn’t seem to have that issue, besides the occasional scraped knee.”

“Probably because you’re so nice to them and it makes them excited.”

“Caiden, one of the younger ones, is from San Jose, funny enough. His family moved last year. He got excited when I told him I knew you.”

“Using me for clout?”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

He chuckles. “Tell me more about him. All of them.”

Leaning back on her couch, she launches into telling Macklin about all the kids. It almost feels normal. 

october 5, 2024

An uncontrollable smile spreads across Alessia’s face as she picks up her media credentials at Agganis Arena. Her second BU home opener. She hopes it never gets old. 

She has time to kill before she has to be down by the ice for warmups, so she wanders around the arena. When she gets to the jersey wall, she halts. 

How could she not have known? Of course Macklin’s jersey is up. The 71 shining proudly in the teal. She’s thankful doors haven’t opened yet, as she just stands there and stares. She instinctively raises her camera and takes a picture, before grabbing her phone and doing the same. 

She’s been preparing to see this team without Macklin for the first time. And she knows it’ll pass one day. But right now, as she’s looking at the Sharks jersey, she feels everything bubble up in her throat — pride, sadness, joy, the feeling of time expiring, the feeling of something beginning. Will BU hockey feel the same without him? Will it still mean something to her?

Hearing voices shakes her back to reality, as she straightens up, takes one last look, before walking away.

And later, when she’s photographing, she has to remind herself multiple times as her camera and her eyes search for 71, that there isn’t one anymore.

october 10, 2024

She only heard from Macklin this morning when she wished him good luck at the home opener, but that’s fine. She expects that he’s extremely busy. 

When he scores, she yelps probably a bit too loudly. Thankfully Kenzie is a deep sleeper. But it doesn’t matter, as Alessia grins from ear to ear, picking up her phone and pulling up her and Macklin’s text thread. 

Alessia 🏙️:

OH MY GOD

MACKLIN!!!!!

YOUR FIRST GOAL IN YOUR FIRST GAME!!!! 

AHHHHHHHHHH

YOU’RE A SUPERSTAR

She’s fast asleep practically seconds after the game ends, so she doesn’t see his response until the next morning. 

macklin 🌟:

❤️

She tries to call him. It goes to voicemail probably because he’s still asleep. He tries to call her a few hours later, but she has to send him to voicemail because she’s in class. 

It’s starting. The feeling of missing each other. 

november 19, 2024

That feeling? Alessia is realizing that it’ll never go away. It’s just a part of her now, as she watches his career unfold from afar. She considers herself lucky that they still text on a daily basis and call semi-frequently. But the feeling is still there. It might never leave. 

She went to the bench a few times earlier in the semester, but it doesn’t feel the same anymore. She didn’t realize how much her bench time became their bench time. 

And sophomore year has been going good. Great, even. She feels more at home walking around campus and has settled into a routine comfortably. She feels less like a wide-eyed skittish deer and more confident in her surroundings and the way she’s carrying herself. She’s making more friends and more selective with who and how she chooses to spend her time. 

But late at night, or even sometimes in the stillness of an early morning, she misses him. She misses him so much.

december 8, 2024

“It can’t be that bad.”

Alessia huffs, looking down at her phone screen at Macklin, who’s just coming home from morning skate. Meanwhile, Alessia is walking back to her dorm from her last class of the semester, airpods in and face buried in the chunky white scarf her mom knitted for her years ago. 

“Didn’t you say Aiden has been talking to you about how BU has been?”

“Yeah.”

“So you know their gimmick these days of losing the Friday night game.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Yeah,” she repeats pointedly. “And do you realize how not fun that is when the Friday night game is usually the one at Agganis?”

Macklin chuckles. “Fine. That’s fair.”

She softens, taking in his dark eyebags. “How’ve you been holding up? We haven’t caught up in a bit.”

“Three weeks,” he croaks out with a humorless scoff. “I’m okay. Just, you know, grinding.”

“Sleeping enough?”

“Trying to.”

“You look great out there. I’ve been catching whatever game I can.”

“Thanks for watching. Sorry you’re catching mostly losses.”

She shrugs. “Happy to if it means I’m watching you.”

“Don’t say that,” Macklin shakes his head. “I’ve been playing fine, but it’s not good enough.”

“Mack,” she deadpans.

“I, just, I hate losing. And all we’ve been doing is losing.”

“I know,” she says gently. “But you play hard every game even if you’re losing. The wins will come.”

“But they would be coming more if I could do-

“Stop it,” she says gently but with a tone of finality. “You are doing the best you can every shift you take. You are the future of a rebuilding team. Stop beating yourself up for not doing enough. You’re going to destroy yourself before it all even really begins.”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, looking elsewhere for a few seconds before locking eyes with her through the screen again. She’s just staring at him as she waits at a stoplight. 

One side of his mouth quirks up. “I miss you.”

Alessia blinks, not expecting that. “I miss you too.”

“I just feel like you always know what to say.”

“I think it’s just because you just always listen to me,” she jokes. 

He grins, teeth shining and so familiar. “That too.”

“I miss you a lot too. The team isn’t the same without you, obviously. But study sessions are also way more boring.”

“You probably get more work done though.”

“Oh definitely.”

“Have you thought about it?”

Alessia sighs, staring at Macklin’s hopeful face. It’s been a week since he texted her with just a screenshot of the game when the Sharks are in town to play the Bruins in January. It would be a no brainer. It’s right at the start of the semester, so school won’t be in the way. Except-

“Mack. I’m saving up for a camera. I can’t afford it.”

“And I told you that I could cover you with no problem.”

“And I told you that I’m not letting you do that.”

“How about if it’s an early birthday present?” Macklin suggests. “You’re not going to deny a present, are you?”

“Macklin-”

“Please,” he pleads. “I want you there. And I know you want to be there. I can get two tickets so you won’t be alone.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “No. One ticket is enough.”

“So you’ll come?”

“If it’s a birthday present…”

She wishes she could freeze the smile on his face and keep it deep within her heart forever. 

december 25, 2024

There’s one present that Alessia chose not to put under the Christmas tree, instead hiding it in her room in the closet. Macklin’s gift. She wanted to keep it to herself for a bit longer, because Carmen is ultimately going to find out and Alessia’s been in her head about Macklin a lot lately. Since he left Boston, to be honest. 

She knows that Macklin got her present already, as he sent her a picture of the crochet teal blanket with texts that had way too many exclamation points and emojis. It was sweet how grateful and excited he seemed about it, sending pictures of his sister and mom wrapping it around their shoulders, which made Alessia’s stomach flutter.

She takes a deep breath as she unwraps the box carefully, chuckling at the likely idea that his mom wrapped up the box. There’s a card up top and she rips open the envelope, smiling as her eyes scan the short but sweet note in Macklin’s messy scrawl. 

Lessie, 

Merry Christmas! I’m so glad that I’ll be able to see you soon. 

I wasn’t quite sure what to get you, to be honest. But I hope you put this to good use. Missing our bench talks everyday. I hope you have a good holiday and new year.

Macklin 

She brushes the tissue paper aside before her hands still, the Boston University staring up at her. The scarlet red Hockey East patch on the left and the Frozen Four patch on the right. It’s crispy white. It’s her favorite BU jersey. She bites her lip as she holds it up, before turning it around.

M. Celebrini 71. 

She can’t help but let her lower lip quiver, smiling as she turns over the jersey in her hands. He had sent her a Sharks jersey at the start of the summer, but this one is special. She looks towards her closet that has the Sharks draft jacket he sent her hanging carefully and reverently on a hanger. The Sharks jersey is back at school. 

She’s not sure where this one belongs. 

january 20, 2026

Alessia’s never been a girl who cares about what she wears. 

She likes to dress nice and try new things, especially since she started embroidering clothes, but she wouldn’t necessarily call herself fashion-forward. 

But for some reason, for this Bruins vs Sharks game, the decision is weighing on her. She has some Bruins gear, she has all her BU stuff and she has the Sharks jersey Macklin sent her in October. She also has the M.Celebrini 71 BU jersey. 

Alessia paces around her room, glancing between all the options laid out with various levels of care on her bed. Her eyes dart between all the clothes on her bed as she bites her poor lip to the point where she tastes blood. She takes a deep breath before snatching the Celebrini BU jersey and the Bruins beanie. Playing both sides. She can do that. 

As she rides on the T to TD Garden, she stares out the window with her AirPods in, burying her nose in her chunky red scarf and shoving her hands in her pockets. As she gets closer to the arena, the number of Bruins jerseys increases and her heart starts racing. She hasn’t been to a Bruins game in a few years and she forgets how elevated the feel of an NHL game is. And she’s riding solo. 

The Sharks end up losing, which isn’t totally unexpected. Macklin doesn’t get a point, which is a bit more unexpected. He had told her to linger around so that he could say hi afterwards, so she watches the Garden clear out, smiling at numerous groups who are also lingering just like her, no doubt waiting to greet the various Massachusetts natives on the team. 

By process of elimination, and the fact that Shane Lachance is giant, she sees the Celebrini contingent. So she casually floats her way over to where they are, figuring out if she wants to make herself known or linger in the background. 

It turns out she doesn’t have to make a decision, because Macklin sees her first. She halts as he climbs down the stairs in his game day suit sans jacket. Her grin is so wide that her cheeks start hurting. She wants to run to him, but she waits as he eventually quickens his pace to a jog. 

Suddenly, he’s standing in front of her. They both stare at each other before she lets out a soft “oof” as he corrals her into his chest. “Hi.” She says softly. 

“Hey,” he says into her hair and she feels him physically exhale. “God, it’s so good to see you.”

“I’ve missed you,” she says into his chest. 

“I’ve missed you too,” he says as they finally pull away. His eyes flicker to her jersey in recognition before the signature, toothy grin appears. 

She puts her hand up. “Don’t even start.”

“What?” Macklin chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m surprised you didn’t go with the Sharks jersey.”

Alessia looks down at her jersey before locking eyes with him, softening. “It felt like the perfect opportunity.”

“Well, it looks good on you.”

“Thanks, Superstar,” she ruffles his hair instinctively to try and calm her racing heart. “You played good out there. And before you go on about having no points, I don’t care. You played good.”

“You always tell me I play good.”

She snorts. “No I don’t.”

“You’re right. You don’t.”

“Exactly. Don’t paint me as a liar.” She crosses her arms over herself. “Does it still feel cool? Being out there?”

“Yeah,” Macklin admits, leaning his lower back against a seat. “Felt especially meaningful on this ice. In front of the boys. In front of you.”

“You’ll always have plenty of support in Boston,” she grins. “It’s just unreal. The whole game I was just watching you and I had to keep telling myself that it was you out there. I’m so proud of you, Macky.”

“Thanks, Lessie,” he says. “What classes do you have tomorrow again?”

She sighs. “Tuesdays and Thursdays are gonna be kinda brutal. I have two film classes and one statistics class back to back. But then my Wednesdays and Fridays are super chill.”

He whistles. “And have you heard back about the internship yet?

“No. I don’t think I’ll hear back for a bit.”

“You’ll get it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Maybe not. But I believe in you.”

She presses her shaking lips together at his blunt but genuine response. She then peeks behind him to see his college teammates and reality sets in as she straightens up. “I’ll let you get to your admirers.”

Macklin opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. Neither of them wants to leave, but neither of them can linger. Not like they used to do. “Thank you for coming. Seriously. It means a lot.”

“I’ll always take the chance to watch you play in person when I can,” she promises before wrapping him in one last tight hug. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Soon,” he promises. Alessia swallows roughly, chanting at herself not to cry in front of him. “Text me when you’re back.”

“I will.”

She watches as he walks away from her and towards his old teammates and friends, a smile peeking through as they all whoop and cheer. She observes as Shane facewashes him and Jack shoves his shoulder. She turns away when he embraces Aiden, walking back to the concourse and then down the stairs to the train. 

(She doesn’t notice that many pairs of knowing eyes were lingering on her and Macklin. No one asks anything to Macklin, but Aiden especially tucks it away in the back of his mind)

january 24, 2025

Alessia is sitting in the stands after a brutal loss against BC, arena staff and others mingling around adding to the soundtrack that she’s grown to embrace. 

“Hey.”

She looks behind her to see Shane, Ryan and Cole Eiserman lingering, the first two with small but warm smiles on their face, as Cole is looking curiously. It’s not weird that some of the players linger around while she’s editing photos. Sometimes the ones who remember her from the party last year stop by for a little conversation, but most of the times they just nod with a polite smile. 

“Hi guys.” She turns her body fully to face them as they climb down the stairs to come closer to her. She smiles. “Sorry about the loss.

“Thanks,” Ryan says. “We were ass.”

She grins wryly. “When I have this media pass around my neck, I’m the most objective I’ll ever be.” They all laugh as she shifts her attention to Cole. “Hi. I’m Alessia. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Cole,” he sticks out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“From these two?” 

Cole smirks. “Sure. We’ll go with that.”

She narrows her eyes, but lets it go. “You’ve been tearing it up recently.”

Adorably, Cole lights up. “You’re a fan?”

Shane laughs. “If she’s not photographing, she’s in the student section. I’ll point her out next time.”

“Don’t expose me like that.”

“It’s kinda easy to find you with your bucket hat,” Ryan smirks. “I don’t know how Mack never found you.”

Alessia just shrugs, thankful that no one can hear her heart beating faster. “Maybe because he was so locked into the game. You could take some hints.”

That makes the guys laugh as Ryan shakes his head fondly. “You coming to Beanpot?”

“I don’t think I can make it to the semifinals, but I’ll be watching on my laptop.”

“What?” Shane pouts.

She rolls her eyes. “Make it to the finals and then I’ll come.” 

Cole stares at her with all seriousness. “We will.”

She shakes his hand. “Then it’s a deal.”

The guys then bid her farewell and let her continue editing. Alessia leans back in her seat and takes a deep breath. The Sharks game starts in an hour. She’ll be back in her dorm by then. 

And before she leaves, she pauses for a split second in front of Macklin’s jersey hanging up.

february 10, 2025

Alessia can’t wipe the smile off her face, as she bids farewell for the moment to Kenzie and Mari, triple checking her texts with Macklin to double check which box he’s in. She’s been looking at the text non-stop since he sent it almost an hour ago when she was on the T as if it’ll just disappear. 

It’s only been three weeks, but it feels like forever. Beanpot Final. BU vs BC. And Macklin is back.

Alessia’s about to send him a text that she’s just outside when he walks out. She barely sees his wide grin before she slams into his chest. They squeeze each other and Alessia feels herself relaxing as he rests his head on her right shoulder. 

“Hi Lessie,” he mumbles into her BU jersey. Just the generic one this time. She didn’t want to face any possible questions from her fellow students.

“Hey,” she leans back and grins. “It’s so good to see you.”

“It feels like it’s been forever even though it hasn’t,” he chuckles a bit, adjusting his black beanie. “It’s buzzing in here.”

“Bring back good memories?”

He nods, "Definitely.” He puts a hand on her back and Alessia has to suppress the chill down her spine. “Come on. Let’s go in the box for a sec. Get out of the way.” They head to the box as the teams on the ice are warming up. “What’s new?”

“Since we called two days ago? Literally nothing.”

“That’s not true. How did your philosophy exam go?”

“Oh, I forgot about that. Yeah, I got an 88.”

“Let’s go,” Macklin says, actually looking excited. “I know you were stressed out about it.” He opens his mouth to probably ask another question but pauses, his focus shifting to something over Alessia’s shoulder. She turns around and sees Will Smith, also trying to go incognito in his all-black outfit. It’s probably not working, since she thinks he just finished signing something for a kid. 

There’s a half smile on the BC alum’s face as he walks closer. “Hey. You must be Alessia.”

“I am. Hi,” she tries to hide her surprise when Will goes in for a quick but friendly hug. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Trust me,” Will smirks. “It’s not as much as he talks about you.”

“Bro, chill,” Macklin warns and Alessia can’t help but nudge him to assure him that it’s all good. 

“You guys flew in together yesterday, right?” She asks. 

Will nods. “Yeah. Got in pretty late last night because we were delayed and stayed at my parents’ place before heading to do our own thing during the day.”

“You go back to BC, I assume?”

Will grins. “Don’t sound so excited.”

Alessia rolls her eyes on instinct as Macklin chuckles. “Don’t get her started, Smitty. She was there at Hockey East, you know.”

“And at every other time we played BC that year,” she adds. “I never forget.”

Will just laughs in an easy-going manner that has Alessia realizing a bit more about why Macklin has become fast friends with him. “Tough first impression then, eh?”

She shrugs with a small smile. “Mack seems to like you enough, so I’ll reserve my judgement and hatred.”

Just then, a few kids call Macklin’s name shyly and he waves. She nods at him encouragingly and he excuses himself, shooting Will a look before walking to the other side of the box. 

That leaves Alessia and Will as they look out into the stands slowly being filled. Alessia can’t help but feel a thrill humming in her veins in anticipation. Will nods to her BU bucket hat.“You make that?”

“Yeah. Crocheted it.”

“Cool. My girlfriend crochets a bit too.”

Alessia hums. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says. “She’s out there in the crowd somewhere. Came by just before you did.”

“She goes to BC?”

“Yeah. Met her in class and kinda fell in love the second I saw her.”

“That’s sweet,” Alessia says softly and truthfully. She hears Macklin’s voice float across the box and something in her stomach flips. 

She looks at Will, who’s already looking at her in thought. It’s a bit uncanny. It feels like he knows something about her that she doesn’t. He clears his throat, “I wasn’t lying earlier. Mack talks about you a lot. Says you’re super cool, talented, every nice word in the book.”

“Sorry about that. I’m sure it’s annoying to hear.”

“Nah. I mean, yeah. I give him shit for it sometimes. But it’s nice. He cares about you a lot.”

“I care about him a lot too,” she says. “I try to stay up and watch as many Sharks games as I can, but the 10 pm start times don’t mesh well with my 8 a.ms.”

Will grins. “That’s completely fair. It’s nice that you’re watching anyways.”

“You’re really good,” Alessia adjusts her hat. “I’ve watched a lot of hockey, so I’m not just saying that. The goal you had against the Bruins the other week here was fantastic.”

“I appreciate that a lot. Thank you.” A few seconds of silence pass between them, before Will speaks up again. “Have you thought about visiting San Jose?”

“Oh,” she blinks. “Uh, I mean, I’d love to some day. I’ve never been to California.”

“You could catch a Sharks game in person. See what the Tank is about.”

“That would be nice.”

He eyes her curiously. “Mack mentions you played.”

“Yeah.”

“So you know the game well.”

She grins at him lazily. “What? You want me to critique your backcheck and board battles?”

He snorts. “Maybe another time. I’ll be back in Boston for the off-season. Maybe we could hang then?”

Alessia’s grin turns into a genuine smile. “1 v 1?”

Will chuckles. “It would be an honor.”

“What did I miss?” Macklin says, walking back towards them. 

She jabs her thumb in Will’s direction. “You’re gonna have to start giving him tips on how to beat me in a 1 v 1.”

Macklin’s eyes widen. “She’s relentless, dude. Like, skated circles around me.”

“You still won though,” she says with an eye roll. She looks at the time and the crowd that’s beginning to form in the student section, backing away. “I should probably head back.”

“Want me to walk you?”

She so badly wants to say yes, but she shakes her head. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Text me?”

“Of course.”

She grins at Will. “It was nice to meet you, Will. I hope BC chokes.”

He laughs, wrapping her in a quick hug. “I hope BU humiliates themselves. See you soon.”

She gives the boys one last wave before walking out of the section. 

BU wins, and Alessia is having the time of her life in the student section, jumping around and hugging Kenzie and Mari, high-fiving everyone around her. The band is loud and celebratory and the section is filled with unbridled joy. As the team on the ice is celebrating, her, Kenzie and Mari watch and cheer, waiting for the crowd to thin just the slightest bit before trying to tackle the T. 

They’re so high up, but with a squint, Alessia swears she sees Macklin on the ice, embracing his old teammates and taking pictures. Her heart soars, both at him being back but also the fact that he didn’t get the chance to win one himself. 

It’s on the packed train ride home when her phone buzzes. 

macklin 🌟:

Come out to celebrate with us?

Alessia 🏙️:

you sure? i sure as hell didn’t do anything

and also, i have class tomorrow 

macklin 🌟:

Please? We’re headed to Allston. Even just for a bit.

I just wanna say hi. I’ll  pay for your drinks.

Alessia 🏙️:

neither of us can legally drink

fine

i just got off the train gimme like half an hour?

macklin 🌟:

Yay :D

We’re going to the draft btw 

Alessia 🏙️:

oh god

i’ll text you when im there

45 minutes later, her face tucked into her jacket and having changed into a plain brown sweater, she shuffles over to The Draft. She tells herself it’ll only be for 30 minutes maximum. But when Macklin steps out, his air visible in the cold and that goddamn black beanie on his head but his smile incredibly bright, she knows she’s done for. 

He waits until she’s right in front of him. “Hi,” he breathes out.

She chuckles a bit. “Hi.”

“How was the student section?”

“Electric. I mean, you know. You were there.”

“I still couldn’t find you,” he jokes. 

She throws her head back in laughter. “The trend continues. I was like, a few rows above where you were waving the flag. Unbelievable.”

He nods towards the door. “Come on. It’s cold out here.”

“Spent that much time in San Jose already that you’re not used to Boston cold?” She jokes as she follows him in. She hesitates for a second, taking a deep breath as she prepares to immerse herself into the loud bar environment. 

Macklin notices, hand hovering over the door handle as he looks back. “We can just walk around if you want. I just wanted to see you.”

“No, I’m going in,” she says, determined. “I just needed a second.”

When they do go in, to Alessia’s surprise, there’s a cheer. She unravels her scarf as Cole Eiserman comes up first with a big smile on his face, pulling her into a surprisingly warm hug. Even Cole Hutson, who she’s only exchanged brief words with, cracks a smile as Shane ruffles her hair. 

“Good to have your boy back, eh?” Ryan grins as a High Noon is shoved in her hands. 

She blinks, looking at Macklin, who just takes a sip of his own drink, a small smile playing at his lips. She bumps his hip with hers. “He doesn’t have a Beanpot though. You do.”

That sends everyone into a fit of laughter as Macklin pouts. She smiles at him to soothe the sting of the joke as Macklin unconsciously tugs her into his side.

She meets the rest of the team, being thrown around in introductions with guys she hasn’t met yet and joyous greetings from ones she has. But everyone’s reeling from their win and a bit tipsy and there’s so many of them so Alessia is kinda tossed around. She meets some family members and girlfriends, always tripping over how to introduce herself. She just settles with saying she’s a college friend of Macklin’s. Which is 100% true. But she thinks some of the girlfriends especially, are suspicious. 

Some time later, she’s nursing her second high noon off to the side as she watches Macklin let loose, a drink in his hand as he belts out Time To Pretend with his arm around Cole, beanie lopsided on his head. He rarely lets himself enjoy like this, with freedom and no care in the world. His cheeks are rosier than ever thanks to the alcohol and dim lighting and it’s anything but quiet in the room yet she feels her heart settle into something comfortable. Something full. 

But as always, it’s fleeting. And for one night, she wishes it would cease to exist. Just one night. He’s right in front of her. Why can’t she cherish that when she can? 

Oh. It’s because she’s already anticipating the goodbye. And all the goodbyes after that.

As his eyes float to hers, she offers a small smile back. In seconds, he untangles himself from his friends and walks over to where she’s standing. She automatically straightens up. 

“Hi,” he breathes out. 

“Hey,” she says, amused. 

“It’s late.”

“Yeah. I was thinking of heading out in a second.”

“Okay,” he says simply. “Do you wanna make a run for it?”

She snorts. “No. I’ll say goodbye to a few people. Are you leaving too?”

“No. But I was going to walk you home.”

“Mack-”

He puts a hand up. “At least, walk you out. I need to tell you something anyways.”

Alessia blinks. “Okay. You’re being weird.”

“No I’m not.”

She narrows her eyes but lets it go, as she goes around to say goodbye to some of the guys as Macklin heads outside. She notices that Aiden hugs her longer than the others, with a big smile on his face but something in his eyes that seems knowing. She brushes it off and bids farewell to other people before throwing on her scarf and coat and going outside to meet Macklin.

She finds him outside pacing, cheeks still rosy and blowing air on his hands to warm them up. “Cold?”

“No,” he says stubbornly. She snorts. “You had a good time?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

She chuckles softly. “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to.”

“I know. It’s just-” he stops abruptly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. She waits patiently. “I know it’s not the same as it was before.”

Suddenly, Alessia’s head clears and her thoughts sharpen into focus. “What isn’t?” She asks cautiously. 

“This. Us,” he pauses as they both step aside to a small alley so they’re not in anyone’s way. “All the time we used to spend together.”

“I mean, of course it isn’t,” she says matter-of-factly. “It’s hard to do that when we don’t live on the same street anymore.”

“And even now, when we finally are in the same city, it’s only for a few hours. Maybe a day if we’re lucky.”

“Macky. What is this really about?”

“You don’t ever resent me for upping and leaving?”

She opens her mouth and closes it. This is not at all what she was expecting when he said he wanted to talk to her. “There’s nothing to resent. You came here. We met. You were always going to leave. I knew that from the start. That didn’t stop me from wanting to be friends with you.”

“Sometimes I feel selfish,” he whispers in tipsy confession. “And it feels like I keep asking and asking and asking for things.”

“You’re talking in circles. I’m not getting-”

He forges on, words spilling out from him like he needs to get them out. “And here I am. Feeling so selfish in what we have and having asked you to come out on a Monday night, which I know you hate doing, just so I could see you. And it’s with most of my old teammates who you aren’t friends with and you still showed up and-”

“You’re not being selfish, Mack,” she says. “We’re friends. This is-this is what friendship is. It’s not about give and take or whatever. You’re in town. Of course I’m going to see you in whatever capacity I can.”

He looks at her, vulnerability in his green eyes and Alessia feels the energy shift. “I’m going to be selfish again.”

“You’re not-”

“No, I am,” he says firmly. That shuts her up. “Because if I don’t say it now, I’ll never get the nerve to say it again.”

“Okay. You can tell me anything-”

“I love you.” 

Alessia’s throat suddenly dries. She can vaguely recognize the city noise around her, but it all falls to a dull hum as she looks at Macklin, who looks so much like her Macklin. His lips are parted, eyes bright, expression earnest.

“Macklin,” she somehow breathes out. 

“I know. I know what I’m saying is unfair and we’ve been dancing around each other for months and-and I don’t even live in the same coast as you anymore and won’t for who knows how long but, Lessie, you’re-you’re the only thing outside of hockey that makes sense to me. It’s been like that for awhile, but just seeing you in brief spurts now, it hurts. It hurts because I want to be around you all the time and I can’t and I just, I don’t know. I feel like I should’ve said something when I was still here and it just feels like I’m too late.”

“Macklin. You-you can’t just throw that around like that.”

“What? That I love you? Why not? I do. That’s like, the only thing I’m doing right now that I’m sure about.”

“How?”

“How do I know I love you?” She nods and he laughs, almost as if she’s being ridiculous. “You’re the coolest person I know. Everything about you feels easy. I never get tired of talking to you. You’re literally the prettiest person I’ve seen in my life. You make all of this make sense, Lessie. I get if-if all of this is too much and you don’t feel the same way. That’s fine. You can tell me to fuck off and I will. But I do love you. That part I don’t doubt for a second.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, but a tear slips through anyways. “Mack. You-you know I feel the same way. Like, you know that right?”

“You do?”

“Of course I do,” she tucks her chin into her scarf. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Maybe it was. Will clocked something within seconds of seeing us earlier,” Macklin admits. 

Momentarily, she’s distracted and chuckles. “Did he?”

“Yeah. Just gave me a look after you left and said ‘you’re a dumbass.’ He’s not completely wrong.”

She laughs shakily, before leaning her back against the brick wall behind herl. She takes a deep breath. “You’re not drunk, right? You’re not just saying all this to fuck with me?”

“Alessia, no. I wouldn’t.”

“So you’re not drunk.”

“Okay, maybe I’m a little tipsy. But that doesn’t change anything. Don’t change the subject.”

The air feels heavy and charged, as stragglers walk by, paying them no mind. Celebrations can be heard faintly from inside the bar and Alessia knows that whatever is said next could change things forever. 

“It’s been so fucking hard not seeing you this year,” she admits, lip trembling. “Everytime I walk into Agganis, for a split second, I expect to see you zipping around. But you’re not. And I’m so proud of you. I don’t want you to think that I’m mad at you for leaving at all. But tonight has been a lot, just, seeing you again like this and in front of me and knowing that I’m just going to have to settle with whatever part of you I can get whenever I can.”

“What do you mean?” Macklin whispers. “What do you mean ‘settle?’”

She swallows, trying to gather her words. “You’re this mega superstar now. You always have been. But back when you were at BU, I don’t know, it didn’t feel like that, you know? I mean, you’ll always just be Mack to me. Lover of hot chocolate, gummy smile, my favorite person to have a conversation with. But everyone wants a piece of you now. I get it. But-”

“No, no.” Macklin runs his hands through his hair, eyes shining and frantic. “No, Lessie. No. You-you have all of me. You’re not sharing me with anyone. You never have had to and you never will have to. You don’t get it. You’re-you’re everything. Like, that’s what I mean when I say I love you. You don’t have to compete with anyone. You have me. You’ve had me for a long time. Even from across the country. Especially then.”

“I-I don’t get it,” she whispers. “You’re so…you. Everyone loves you. What do I have that rises up to that kind of-”

“Don’t,” he says firmly. “Don’t finish that sentence. Don’t put yourself down like that. Not in front of me.”

“You don’t think I’m a distraction?”

“What? Who told you that?” He demands. 

She sighs. “No one directly tells me these things, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist as thoughts.”

“That’s stupid,” Macklin says. “Why would you be a distraction? You’re my best friend.”

“Okay, what happens when you leave tomorrow? When I have two plus more years in Boston? What happens then?”

His shoulders sag as he lets out a visible breath. The cold air suddenly feels extra cold as she waits for his answer. “That’s the selfish part. I don’t know. I don’t know what happens from here. I just-I’m already so late in telling you how I feel. I didn’t really think this far ahead. I’m sorry. I know that’s not fair.”

“It’s not selfish. But I’m not going to pretend it’s fair,,” she says flatly.. She leans her head back, closing her eyes to try and think. She’s outside a shitty college bar in Allston, very much not buzzed anymore, on a Monday night for fuck’s sake, with the NHL’s young star staring at her, telling her that he loves her. When he’s going to be on a flight in less than 24 hours and may not be back for awhile.

When Alessia opens her eyes, Macklin’s still looking at her, searching for something, anything from her. He’s fiddling with his fingers and he’s heavy breathing like he just finished a long shift. She grabs his hands, interlacing her fingers with his. As if on instinct, he squeezes and she feels a slight shift of puzzle pieces coming together. “You’re crazy.” She remarks. 

A corner of his lips quirk up, “Yeah?”

“I have no idea when I’d even see you next.”

“I’ll come back as soon as the season is over.”

“You’re, like, famous. And I’m just a college student.”

He snorts. “No, I’m not. And technically, I could still be a college student.” He pulls at her hands lightly so they’re standing closer. She can see his eyelashes clearly now. “I love you.”

“You’re serious?” She whispers.

“100%.” 

She just keeps looking at him, searching for any doubt in his eyes. Nothing. Commotion from the bar spills out onto the street and she can faintly match some voices to guys on the team. The bubble doesn't quite pop, but it loosens as Macklin straightens up. 

“You’re done with class at 2 tomorrow, right?” She nods. “We can go on a proper date. Then after, you can decide.”

“Decide what?”

He swallows. “If you want to try this. Us.”

“Mack-”

“Tomorrow,” he promises. 

“I can give you an answer now,” she pleads lightly.

He shakes his head before bringing her into his chest, pressing a sweet kiss on her temple. “I know, but I also know I sprung this all onto you, and you’re going to try to tell me that it’s okay, but I know you’ve had a long day and it’s late. I’m still going to be here tomorrow and I’m still going to love you tomorrow.”

Alessia opens her mouth to protest, but decides to shut it. Instead, she feels her heartbeat slow down and squeezes him tighter. 

“You’re really leaving the decision up to me?” She asks, so soft that she thinks the honks of the cars may have taken her question with her. 

He chuckles dejectedly as he pulls away. “Well. I think I can at least afford you the choice.”

“Telling me how you feel isn’t selfish, Mack.”

“It feels like it is.”

She can pick out Shane’s voice and she knows her time is running out. She gets on her tiptoes and presses a kiss on Macklin’s cheek. “You talked so much you didn’t even let me say how I feel.”

“Sorry,” he says instinctively. 

She giggles. “Don’t be,” she swallows. “I’ve loved you for a long time, Superstar.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I don’t know,” she says honestly. “I didn’t want to be that person from college who was missing you from the other side of the country and holding you back from your dream.”

He shakes his head emphatically. “You could never. You make me better.”

“I should go,” she says softly but unconvincingly.

“I know,” he says. “You sure you don’t want me to walk you home?

“You go make sure all your boys get home in one piece,” she chuckles. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Text me when you’re home.”

“Okay.” In a brave flash, she presses a kiss to his lips. It’s quick and chaste, nothing more than it needs to be. But they both pull away grinning like they just won the lottery. 

“I love you. And you’re not selfish for telling me that,” she says.

He lets out an audible breath. “I’ll work on it.”

“Promise.”

“Promise. For you.”

She backs away even though she doesn't want to. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. I love you.”

She will never tire of hearing that from him. 

december 31, 2025

After he hangs up on Doug Armstrong, Macklin clicks his mom’s contact with a shaky hand. She answers right away, his dad in the background pouring himself a cup of coffee. He tells them. Robyn chokes out a sob, hand over her mouth as Rick beams. There’s yelling in the background and Macklin can see RJ running around the house singing O, Canada as Charlie smiles wryly, saying a simple “congratulations” that Macklin laughs at. He then calls Aiden, who’s on a little getaway vacation with his girlfriend. His older brother picks up immediately, a knowing smile on his face as soon as he sees the look in Macklin’s eyes. He tells him and Aiden just grins. Macklin knows and is so grateful. 

He eventually hangs up on Aiden and takes three deep breaths, elbows on his knees as he leans forward from where he’s sitting at the edge of his bed. He feels like his veins are buzzing. His head is all over the place. 

Finally, he walks out of the room, to where he left Alessia sitting half an hour ago. She’s still embroidering, relaxing on the corner of the couch with a cup of coffee that’s long gone cold on the table beside her. The late morning sunlight casts her in a soft glow that has Macklin’s mind stilling in peace. She looks up when she hears Macklin shuffles into the room.

She sets her embroidery aside, sitting up straight. “So?”

“I made it,” he chokes out. “I’m going to Milan.”

It’s not loud. It’s not explosive. But Alessia’s smile widens slowly as she stands up and Macklin feels like he just won something else entirely. She walks towards him, stopping for a second before pulling him into a tight hug. “Congratulations.”

Macklin tucks his face into her neck, clutching her sweatshirt. “I’m an Olympian, Less. Holy shit.”

She giggles into his chest and pulls back, pushing his hair out of his eyes and then holding his face in her hands. “Holy shit,” she repeats. “I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard and you deserve it.”

He just wraps his fingers around her wrists, steadying himself. He swallows. “None of this would’ve happened without you. You know that, right?”

“You got here all on your own,” she reminds him. 

“No. I didn’t.”

She lets it go as she presses her lips against his. “My superstar,” she mumbles against his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says, pulling away. Before peppering kisses all over her face, causing her to giggle. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

And as Alessia is flittering around in the apartment later to get ready for the game, Macklin just leans against the doorway for a second to watch. He’s having an amazing sophomore season. He’s playing some really good hockey with some of his best friends in a city that he has grown to love and have grown to love him. He’s about to represent his country at the highest stage. 

But as Alessia turns around and asks him which jeans she should wear, Macklin realizes. This is better than breaking any record or winning any gold medal or any career success. He’ll always win with Alessia.

[void-in-blue]

(𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮) 𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 // 𝐅𝐌𝟗𝟑

PART ONE┃SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: “Are you wearing a wedding dress?” – or the one where Fraser offers to drive a drunk girl home, and aside from being a total mess, she’s also quite cute.

Pairing: Fraser Minten x afab! reader with she/her pronouns

Word count: 11.7k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI ★ eventual smut in future parts. read chapter specific warnings. minimal use of Y/N. for this part: mature language, alcohol, reader has had rough night, girls being mean, mentions of a breakup and a shitty ex-boyfriend. otherwise this is very fluffy and Fraser is a sweetheart.

A/N: please tell me what you think and if you have any ideas or theories for future parts!! i'm so excited to start this!! ◡̈

PART ONE┃Ballerina Out of Control  

Oliver’s place was too loud for a night that wasn’t supposed to be anything serious. Fraser should’ve known that before he even stepped inside. It didn’t really matter what the plan was; it always ended the same way. Too many voices stacked on top of each other, too much energy in a space that wasn’t quite built to hold it. 

It came with the job, he guessed. After all, he was in a team full of players and personnel who did not know how to keep the volume down—even for a simple night gathered around the PlayStation and a couple of cases of beer. 

Fraser had been ready to leave an hour ago.

He sat stretched out at the end of the couch, one ankle hooked over the opposite knee, a soda can resting loosely in his hand. The condensation had long since dried, the drink inside gone warm and flat, but he hadn’t bothered to replace it. Or even finish it.

Across the room, someone shouted over a missed play from last week’s preseason game against Philadelphia, already halfway into a reenactment no one had asked for. A controller clattered to the floor. Laughter followed, loud and effortless.

Fraser didn’t really look.

He shifted in his seat slightly, letting his gaze drift instead of fixing on anything in particular. It was a habit he never quite turned off—the constant, quiet awareness. Who was moving. Who was too close to knocking something over. Which conversation was about to turn into something louder than it needed to be. Or maybe even an argument. 

Hockey brain. That’s what Oliver called it at least—their assistant strength and conditioning coach. How some players always watched and anticipated people’s moves. It probably made Fraser better at what he did, but it also made it awfully difficult to relax in rooms like this. He couldn’t be in the noise without absorbing it. 

Tonight, it simply felt like too much.

His thumb traced absently along the rim of the can as he mused, already thinking about the quiet of his apartment. The dark. The feeling of being completely alone in a space where he felt comfortable. 

The sound of gentle steps coming down the stairs cut through his thoughts.

Miriam appeared at the top of the stairs, one hand trailing lightly along the railing as she made her way down slowly, like testing her patience before fully committing to being in the chaos of the living room.

Fraser hadn’t even known she was home. He found himself wondering how long she’d been upstairs.

She reached the bottom step and paused there briefly, scanning the room. 

She had one of Oliver’s hoodies pulled over her, sleeves swallowing her hands, the fabric hanging loose around her frame. There was a flush high on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the lighting, and even from across the room, Fraser could see the faint sheen at her temples. 

She looked sick. Like, not in a cool way, but actually ill. 

Oliver noticed her at the exact same time. He was on his feet before she’d taken another step, his entire focus shifting like someone had flipped a switch.

“How’s the fever, babe?” His voice dropped without him thinking about it, a soft and gentle tone very unlike his usual high-pitched laughter. 

Fraser had seen it before.

Oliver was loud and easygoing, the kind of guy who filled a room without trying—but when it came to Miriam, everything narrowed. The rest of the world dimmed around her, at least for Oliver. 

The team had given him hell for it at first. Endless chirping, disbelief that Oliver—who couldn’t keep a girl around for more than a few weeks—had somehow ended up completely, undeniably gone for someone. Once they had gotten to know Miriam, though, it just sort of made sense that it would be her he fell for. 

Miriam gave a small shrug, the movement slow, like it took more effort than it should have. “Still a fever, I think.”

Fraser found himself sitting a little straighter without meaning to, his attention locking in. Had Oliver really invited all the boys over while his girlfriend was sick? Maybe he was worse of a boyfriend than he got credit for. 

“We weren’t too loud, right?” Oliver added quickly, glancing toward the living room like he was only just now registering the volume.

“No, no. It’s fine.” Miriam shook her head. “I just need some of the guys to move their cars so I can get mine out.”

There was a beat of silence—just enough for Oliver to turn confused. He blinked at her. “I’m not letting you drive when you’re sick.”

“But Y/N called,” she said, pushing a hand through her hair before tugging the sleeve back down over her fingers. “I need to pick her up from Club Satine. She’s, like, drunk and sad and other totally reasonable emotions.”

“Star is drunk? I’d pay to see that,” Oliver said, a grin pulling at his mouth.

“Don’t laugh at her, Oliver,” Miriam sighed. “She’s having a hard time, and you know that.” 

Oliver held up his hands in surrender, his grin easing into something gentler. “Still don’t think you should drive with a fever, sweetheart.” 

Miriam exhaled, a frustrated sound, already reaching for her phone like she was about to solve the problem herself if no one else would.

Fraser watched her for a second longer than he meant to. The slight shift in her stance made it like her balance wasn’t quite steady. The way she pressed her lips together, holding back either an argument or another sigh.

He didn’t know who this Star was. Just a nickname he’d heard a few times before. But she was someone Miriam cared about enough to leave home, like this, while she was sick, just to make sure she got home safe. That kind of told him enough.

“I can probably drive her home, if you want,” Fraser heard himself say. 

“You’d do that?” Miriam lit up. 

Fraser shrugged, setting the can down on the table with a quiet click as he pushed himself to his feet. “Yeah. I mean, I was thinking of calling it a night, and Satine is practically on my way.”

It wasn’t really. 

But it was close enough for it to sound reasonable. And more importantly, it sounded easy. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t already reaching for his keys and had been desperate for an excuse to leave anyway. Might as well make it useful.

“Oh, Frase. You’re a lifesaver. I owe you one. Big time.” 

He huffed out a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he stepped around the coffee table. “Big time? Am I going to regret this?”

“No, no,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “She’s my little cousin and a total saint. And you can invoice Oliver if she makes a mess of your car.”

“Hey—” Oliver cut in, but there was no real protest behind it.

Fraser’s mouth twitched as he fished out his car keys from his front pocket, turning them once between his fingers. 

“I’ll text her you’re coming,” Miriam added, thumbs already moving over her screen. “And that you’re a trusted adult.”

“A trusted adult,” Fraser repeated, glancing back at her, one brow lifting slightly. “That’s a new one.”

Miriam smiled at him—tired and a little crookedly. “You have a kind face. It makes you trustworthy.”

Fraser let out a quiet breath of amusement through his nose. He’d heard that before. Usually right before someone asked him for something.

He nodded toward her phone. “Wait. What does she look like?”

Miriam’s gaze flicked up from the screen, something almost knowing settling into her expression despite the fever, like she was in on a joke he hadn’t heard yet.

“I think you’ll know when you see her.” 

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

The line outside Club Satine was thin by the time Fraser pulled up.

A few groups lingered near the entrance, either smoking or slowly filtering toward waiting Ubers. Despite the October cold, there were bare legs and open jackets everywhere, as though enough alcohol could convince a person they were immune to the temperature. The neon sign above the club washed the sidewalk in pink, turning everything beneath it soft around the edges—artificial, almost dreamlike.

Fraser shifted the car into park and looked up at the building.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to Satine. Probably just a few months after being traded to Boston, back when he’d agreed to just about anything his new teammates suggested because forcing himself to fit in seemed easier than surviving another Toronto.

He definitely hadn’t enjoyed his experience here, though. That much he remembered. Satine was the sort of place people came to get absolutely shitfaced without anyone batting an eye, and that wasn’t exactly what Fraser looked for in life.

His phone lit up on the center console. Miriam’s latest text still sat at the top of the screen.

She’s waiting outside. White dress. 

That was all she’d sent. Extremely helpful. 

Fraser scanned the sidewalk from the driver seat. It didn’t take him long to find you. Not because Miriam had described you—she stubbornly hadn’t—but because there was no one else it could’ve been.

A girl his own age sat alone on the curb a little ways down from the entrance, separated from the clusters of people spilling in and out of the club. Bare legs and feet tucked awkwardly to one side, elbows resting on your knees. Your head was tilted toward the sky like you were searching for something above the city lights and tall buildings. 

From where he sat, he couldn’t make out your face. Just the stark white dress. Lace caught every flicker of neon, almost glowing against the darkness. It hugged your frame before flaring softly at your hips, bright enough to pull the eye from everything else around you.

Was that a freaking wedding dress? 

Fraser frowned faintly, leaning forward over the steering wheel as if that would somehow help him make more sense of it. It wasn’t full-length like wedding dresses traditionally were, but it was his first honest thought. Who wore white lace to a night club? Had you been to a bachelorette party? Some kind of bridal event?

He exhaled slowly through his nose, already reaching for the door handle.

Yeah. That had to be you.

The music from inside the club thudded faintly as he stepped out, the cold hitting him immediately, sharp and clean compared to the warmth of the car. He barely had time to notice it because his attention was already locked on you.

As he walked closer, the details of you sharpened.

You looked heartbreakingly out of place—a true juxtaposition to Club Satine—like a fictional character that had somehow wandered into the wrong story.

There was mascara smudged beneath your eyes, dark streaks following faintly down your cheeks, like you’d tried to wipe tears away at some point and only made it worse. Your lipstick had long since faded too, uneven around the edges, the kind of wear that came from talking too much or drinking too much.

It was probably both.

Your fingers idly twisted the edge of your dress, over and over, like they needed something to do.

Fraser slowed as he approached, something unexpectedly tightening in his chest. It wasn’t pity, but everyone knew what it looked like when somebody was trying very hard to keep themselves together. You looked like you’d lost that fight hours ago.

Your head lifted as his shadow stretched across the pavement, swallowing the pink glow around you.

Up close, your eyes still shimmered with the remains of fresh tears. Your breathing hitched every so often, tiny uneven breaths that sounded almost like hiccups. When you saw him, your shoulders sagged another inch, as though simply recognizing the ride Miriam had promised finally gave you permission to relax. 

“Are you the trusted adult Miriam sent?” 

The question caught him so off guard he almost laughed, even if it was exactly how Miriam had described him earlier. 

“Yeah,” he said, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “I think so. I’m Fraser.”

Your expression softened a little, but it wasn’t quite a smile. Then, with complete sincerity, you held out a hand. 

“Hi,” you said with perfect politeness. “Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

Fraser stared at your hand for half a second before shaking it. Because apparently you were introducing yourself like this was a networking event instead of midnight, barefoot, on a curb outside a nightclub.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

Your hand was surprisingly warm—warmer than he thought it should’ve been in the cold. His grip lingered for a little too long before he let go, his eyes catching on an angry red patch across the back of your hand. The skin looked raw, almost polished from being so irritated. 

He frowned almost imperceptibly. 

Had you done that to yourself?

Without thinking, his gaze drifted over the rest of you. No jacket, bare legs, and only a thin lace dress on. You were shivering. The movement subtle enough that he might have missed it if he weren’t already looking.

“Here, let me—”

Fraser shrugged out of his hoodie before he could second-guess himself and held it out.

Your eyes followed the movement.

“I had a jacket,” you said, sounding genuinely apologetic about the fact. “But I think I left it at Cara’s place.”

You sounded disappointed in yourself, like misplacing your jacket at a friend’s house was an unsolvable problem. 

“That’s okay,” Fraser said easily. “So take my hoodie.”

You accepted it without hesitation, which surprised him. Somehow he’d expected you to insist you were fine.

You tugged it on a little clumsily, the fabric swallowing your hands the same way Miriam’s stolen hoodie from Oliver had earlier. The hood bunched awkwardly at the back of your neck, a little too big on you. You instinctively tucked your hands into the pockets, curling into the warmth, probably without realizing you were doing it.

For reasons Fraser couldn’t quite explain, he looked away.

The club door swung open behind him. Music flooded onto the sidewalk for a heartbeat before the door shut again, leaving only the distant bass vibrating through the walls.

When he looked back, you were already staring at him, brows knitted together.

“I think I recognize you.” 

A small sense of dread settled in Fraser’s stomach.

Usually, when people recognized him, one of two things happened. They either wanted tickets—which he couldn't magically produce no matter how many people seemed convinced otherwise—or they wanted to explain exactly what he’d done wrong in last week’s game.

“You’re, uh…” You gestured vaguely toward him, your hand lingering in the air as though the rest of the sentence might simply drift into it. “A player on Oliver’s team, right?”

Fraser huffed out a quiet breath, something like a laugh. “On his team? He doesn’t even play.”

“I know, I know.” You waved a hand, dismissing your own wording. “It’s the Boston Bruins, blah blah blah. I don’t give a shit about hockey, but I do happen to care about Oliver, okay?”

The words tumbled out without a filter, softened around the edges by alcohol. Fraser couldn’t help the smile threatening to form at the corner of his mouth. He saw a little spark in your eyes as you talked about it, or about Oliver, he guessed. Just simple, matter-of-fact loyalty because you cared about him. He found, rather unexpectedly, that he couldn’t even be offended on hockey’s behalf because of it. 

“Okay,” he said. “And yes, I play hockey.”

You studied him for a long second, your head tilting thoughtfully to one side. You were evaluating the information rather than admiring it. It was strangely refreshing. Most people either knew exactly who he was or didn’t know him at all. You seemed to be stuck in the middle. 

“You any good?” you asked. 

That almost got a real laugh out of him. Fraser folded his arms loosely against the cold.

“I guess we’ll see in April.” 

You held his gaze for another beat before giving a slow nod, as if that answered the question perfectly. Like professional athletes should only be judged by what happened in the playoffs.

“Shit,” you murmured. “Fair enough.”

Fraser found himself entertained by your frankness.

You were still looking at him, though. Halfway between present and somewhere else entirely. Once you realized you were staring, almost sheepishly, your eyes dropped toward the pavement.

His followed.

Right. You were barefoot for some reason. 

He glanced around, scanning the immediate area—the sidewalk, the edge of the street, the cluster of people lingering outside the club. Nothing obvious. No abandoned heels kicked off to the side, no sign of anything that belonged to you, really. He was at least happy to see that you were holding a purse. He was choosing to assume it belonged to you, anyway. 

“You got shoes?” he asked, already pretty sure he knew the answer.

You looked at your feet like you were seeing them for the first time, eyebrows raised. 

“I used to,” you mumbled. 

Fraser huffed another quiet breath through his nose. “Okay,” he said, more to himself than to you. “Let’s get you in the car first.”

He offered his hand to you, chivalrous without really meaning to, but he also suspected your balance wouldn’t be perfect right now. 

Your grip was still warm and a little unsteady as you pushed yourself up. You swayed almost immediately, the motion pulling you off balance before you could correct for it. Fraser reacted without thinking, catching your elbow with his free hand before gravity could finish the job.

“Easy.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted. 

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I can see that.”

To his surprise, you didn’t argue again. Fraser kept his pace slow, matching yours step for step while you glanced down at your bare feet to see where you placed them. 

By the time you reached his car, you were looking at it with open suspicion.

“Alright,” he said, opening the passenger door. “In you go.”

You suddenly stopped dead.

“This is a really nice truck,” you said, as if that were an issue.

Fraser blinked. “Thank you?”

You pointed at the open door, then at yourself, then vaguely at the sidewalk behind you. “I just sat on a dirty curb. I can’t sit in your—” You squinted at the badge on the side of the truck. “Is it a Chevrolet? I don’t know that many car brands.”

“It is,” Fraser admitted, unable to hide his amusement. “And yes, you can.”

You looked unconvinced in the way only a very drunk person could manage—completely earnest, entirely unreasonable.

“No,” you said with conviction. “I can’t. That would be disrespectful.”

Fraser scoffed. “Disrespectful? How?”

“Yes.” You nodded once. “To the truck.”

He laughed then, short and surprised, because you were standing there barefoot in his hoodie, refusing to get into his car on principle, like the truck had feelings that might be hurt by some dirt on your dress. 

Fraser couldn’t care less about that. 

“It’ll survive,” he said.

You still looked a little unconvinced, but eventually Fraser’s determination won out. You climbed into the passenger seat slowly, with the kind of intense concentration usually reserved for complicated puzzles.

Fraser leaned in to guide the seatbelt across you, pausing just long enough to make sure you didn’t tip forward or get tangled in the process. For a second he caught the faint scent of your perfume beneath the smell of alcohol.

Vanilla. Or maybe it was some sort of wood. Before he could place it, the moment passed.

“Stay here and I’ll see if I can find your shoes,” he said.

You made a small, noncommittal sound in response as he gently shut the door and turned back toward the club. 

Fraser had barely taken three steps toward the entrance before the club door swung open again. A girl stepped out, pausing just beyond the threshold like she needed a second to adjust to the cold. She had a pair of heels dangling from her fingers while already wearing another pair on her feet.

White. The heels in her hands were white. 

He could thank his hockey brain for being so annoyingly observant.

The girl noticed him a moment later.

“Do you know Y/N?” she asked, her tone quick and practical. “They’re—um—” She glanced past him, scanning the street. “She went out for a breather. Girl in a lace dress?”

“Yeah,” Fraser said, nodding toward the truck parked a little farther down the curb. “I’m driving her home.” 

She looked him up and down in one swift, assessing sweep. Not curious, exactly. More like she was deciding whether he looked like someone she’d trust alone with a drunk girl. Then her eyes narrowed.

Fraser stood up straighter without meaning to.

“You’re not Kevin, are you?” she asked. 

He blinked, thrown just enough to show it. “No, I’m—” 

“‘Cause I’ll beat your ass if you are,” she cut in, dead serious.

That pulled a short, surprised laugh out of him before he could stop it. “I’m Fraser,” he said, lifting a hand slightly in something like surrender. “Just a friend picking her up.”

Friend wasn’t quite the right word, but it was the easiest one to reach for. It was simpler than trying to name whatever this was—the immediate, unthinking concern that had settled in his chest the second Miriam had mentioned you. The way he’d already started solving problems before he’d even met you. Something about the whole thing had hooked into him. 

The girl’s expression softened only a fraction, though she kept hold of the shoes for another beat. Fraser got the distinct impression she wasn’t hesitating because she cared about the shoes.

She was deciding whether she believed him.

“Take care of her, okay?” she said, pointing the heels in his direction. “Or I’ll find a way to beat your ass tomorrow.”

“I will. I promise,” he answered without hesitation, and the steadiness in his own voice almost surprised him. It was an easy promise to make, somehow.

Apparently satisfied, she handed over the shoes, giving him a small nod before turning back toward the door, disappearing inside without another word.

Fraser stood there for a moment with your heels hanging from his fingers.

Who the fuck was Kevin? 

That was twice now he’d heard concern where there should’ve been annoyance in regard to you. First Miriam, and now this random girl. Neither of them had rolled their eyes about having to deal with a drunk friend. Instead, they'd spoken about you with the same quiet concern, like they were sending something precious out into the world and hoping it came back in one piece.

It sat a little oddly with him. People didn't usually react like that unless they’d already watched someone get hurt.

He glanced back toward the car. You were visible through the passenger window, head resting against it, your eyes softly shut. 

Fraser tightened his grip around the white heels. Despite knowing almost nothing about you, he found himself wondering what kind of idiot Kevin must’ve been.

He hurried around to the driver’s side, pulling the door open, his mind already assembling a list of what needed to happen next. Get out of downtown. Ask where you lived. Put the address into the GPS. Get you home before Miriam had time to worry and start harassing him over the phone about it.

Simple, in theory, but when he looked over at the passenger side, you were asleep.

Knocked out cold, just like that.

Curled into the passenger seat as though you’d been there for hours instead of barely a minute. His hoodie hugged your frame, one sleeve twisted between your fingers like you’d instinctively reached for something to hold onto. Your cheek rested lightly against the window, breath fogging a small patch of glass every few seconds.

Somewhere between him retrieving your shoes and walking back to the car, you’d apparently decided you’d had enough of being awake.

Fraser stood frozen for a beat.

Well. This complicated things.

He climbed into the driver’s seat as quietly as possible, setting your heels carefully on the floorboard behind you. They landed with a dull thud, but you didn’t so much as flinch.

For a moment, he simply sat there, one hand resting on the steering wheel, looking straight ahead while his brain refused to commit to a decision. Then he moved purely on instinct—pulling away from the curb, merging into traffic, putting distance between you and the noise of the club just to get away from there. 

But you didn’t stir. Not when the engine started. Not when he turned onto the main road. Not even when he hit a red light a little too hard and the car dipped forward with a soft jolt.

Fraser glanced over at you every so often.

Your head had tilted slightly farther against the glass, and a loose strand of hair had fallen across your face. Other than that, he didn’t know how to describe you. Not in any way that felt fair to whatever drunk and strange half-formed impression you were making on him, anyway. 

The tension he’d noticed outside the club had disappeared from your face. Whatever grief had followed you onto that curb seemed, at least temporarily, to have loosened its grip.

You also looked less sad.

That thought arrived before Fraser could stop himself. And then, because his brain apparently refused to leave well enough alone, he found himself noticing other things too.

The way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks. The small, unconscious parting of your lips as you breathed. The fact that your expression, stripped of all the effort it took to keep it composed, was so much softer than he’d expected. Not prettier, but maybe like sleep had finally convinced your mind to stop fighting itself for a little while.

Fraser sighed, looking back at the road.

Okay. What were his options?

He could just wake you up. That was the obvious choice. But beside him, you shifted slightly in your sleep, brow furrowing for just a second before smoothing out again, your grip tightening unconsciously on the sleeve of his hoodie. 

You looked so comfortable that interrupting it actually felt cruel.

Option two. He could turn around and head back to Oliver’s place. Drop you off there and let Miriam deal with it.

He exhaled again, longer this time. That option was also a no.

The idea of carrying you back into that crowded house—still half-asleep, still wrapped in his hoodie, mascara smudged and dress wrinkled—and handing you off like a problem he’d offered to take care of but now didn’t feel like solving anymore, especially to Miriam with her fever, sat very wrong with him.

Which left this, apparently. Just driving you around for no reason, like some kind of idiot. Or creep. Was he being creepy right now? 

The streets blurred together beneath pools of amber streetlights. Familiar intersections gave way to unfamiliar ones before looping back again. He passed the same convenience store twice, a twenty-four-hour diner with a flickering neon sign, and a gas station that looked as though it hadn’t been renovated since the eighties.

At one point Fraser became fairly certain he’d driven in a circle. You continued sleeping through all of it, which was honestly impressive considering how he was driving. 

He wondered, briefly, if this qualified as kidnapping.

No. Definitely not. You had, technically, asked for a ride. Fraser just didn’t know where to drive you. Still, if you woke up now, how exactly was he supposed to explain this?

Sorry, you looked peaceful, and I didn’t want to bother you, so I've been aimlessly touring Greater Boston for the last thirty minutes?

He closed his eyes for half a second at a red light. He was being unbelievably pathetic right now. 

Eventually, though, movement in his periphery caught his attention. A small sound escaped you, a gentle groan mixed with a yawn. 

Fraser glanced over.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, unfocused at first. You looked around the car as though trying to remember where you were, then your memory seemed to return all at once.

“Oh my god.” You jerked upright so fast your shoulder hit the car window. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m sorry.” 

Fraser kept one hand on the wheel, driving slowly while looking over just long enough to see the full horror of your expression. 

“It’s okay.”

“No, it's not. Did I snore?” You pressed a hand to your face, covering up. “Please tell me I didn't snore.”

“You didn’t.” 

“This is so embarrassing.”

“You didn’t snore,” Fraser repeated, unable to stop the faint smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “I promise.”

The silence that followed gave Fraser exactly enough room for every unanswered question to come rushing back. He had spent the better part of half an hour collecting them, after all. It wasn’t every day he had to take care of a drunk stranger. 

“Can I ask you a couple questions?” he said.

“Yeah,” you answered, shifting in your seat, still sounding mortified.

Fraser glanced at you, then back at the road. You were half-curled into the seat, your embarrassment so immediate and earnest it almost made him feel bad for asking anything at all. But he had to know. 

“Are you wearing a wedding dress?” 

The question came out more carefully than he intended, because he realized too late that he was asking it for reasons that had very little to do with the dress itself. He just needed to know what kind of night this had been. What kind of person got left on a sidewalk in white lace with tears in their eyes? 

“Nope.” You shook your head, popping the “p” as you said it. “Okay. Well. I guess any dress could be a wedding dress, but if you mean ‘have I gotten married in this dress?’ then the answer is no.”

Fraser let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Ridiculously relieved, if he were being honest with himself. Not because the alternative had been likely, exactly, but because for one brief second he’d pictured some absurdly complicated version of your evening that involved vows and a runaway bride and a whole different kind of disaster.

You shifted in your seat again, tucking your legs up, making yourself smaller on the passenger side as though you were trying to take up less space. 

“I was at a bachelorette party,” you went on. “We had to wear white. Which is—” you waved a hand vaguely, “—ironic, because I am statistically the least likely person there to get married anytime soon.”

That was a strange little joke with something bruised underneath it. Fraser felt the weight of it, but he let it pass without asking. He didn’t know you well enough to ask. 

“Second question,” he said instead, because if he didn’t keep moving, he was going to start thinking too hard about the sadness in your tone, and he had already done enough of that tonight. His eyes flicked briefly to your hand; the mark on it had irked him since he first noticed. Probably because it looked like it hurt. “What’s that red mark on your hand?”

You looked down at it like you’d forgotten it was there.

“Oh.” You turned your hand over. “Some guy put a cigarette out on my hand.”

Fraser’s entire body went rigid. “What?”

He didn't know where it came from, but the word came out sharper than he intended, clipped with a flash of anger. His grip tightened on the steering wheel before he could stop it, knuckles whitening against the leather.

“Not, like, on purpose, of course,” you said quickly, shrugging. “It was just very crowded outside, and it grazed me. Didn’t even hurt.”

Fraser looked at you then, and the burn on your hand suddenly seemed much too small for the reaction it had managed to get out of him. 

“But you have a burn mark on your hand.”

It sounded stupidly obvious when he said it out loud, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. The whole thing sat wrong with him. The way you were saying it like it was a minor inconvenience, like it belonged in the same category as spilled drinks or a lost earring.

“A nice girl in the bathroom put ice on it,” you added, as though that was the important part. “She said she was in med school.”

He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of the tightness in it. “You’re serious?”

You nodded, completely unbothered. “Mm-hm.”

Fraser looked back at the road, but the city had gone a little blurry around the edges. Not from the lights. From the effort of not turning around and asking who had done it, who had been careless enough to leave a mark on your skin and walk away from it like nothing had happened. He didn’t know why that bothered him so much.

For a second he just drove, jaw set, trying to gather himself and failing a little.

“Okay, uh—” He hesitated, then decided to just say it. “What’s your address? So I can stop driving aimlessly.”

“…Aimlessly?”

Damn it. Fraser immediately regretted his wording. 

You sat up a little straighter. “Have you just been driving around? How long was I asleep for?”

“Just like, five minutes,” Fraser lied. “See? We’re still in the same area.” 

You looked out the window, then back at him. By pure coincidence, Fraser happened to be driving past Club Satine right at that moment.

“So, your address?” he prompted again, mostly to save himself the embarrassment.

“Actually, uhm—” your voice faltered. 

Fraser waited.

“—Would it be, like, a huge, massive inconvenience if we stopped for food?” you asked, your voice turning tentative. “I’m starving.”

You were watching him now, a little tentative and a little hopeful. You didn’t seem entirely sure if you were allowed to ask for that, like hunger itself was something you ought to apologize for.

For a second, Fraser considered all the reasons he should probably take you home.

It was after midnight. You were still noticeably drunk. You barely knew each other. This entire evening had already become significantly more complicated than intended.

Then your stomach growled loud enough for the both of you to hear it. Your eyes widened in horror.

Fraser looked back at the road before you could see the smile threatening to appear.

“Yeah,” he said, turning onto the next street. “Yeah, we can get food.”

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

Fraser had never seen someone so enthusiastic about a McDonald’s cheeseburger in his life as you were right now. 

You looked almost reverent about it, as if the thing in your hands were a sacred object and not something sloppily assembled by a teenager earning minimum wage. The wrapper crackled as you tore it open with alarming urgency. Before Fraser had even managed to get the door for you, you’d already taken a bite that took nearly half the burger with it. Your nails pressed into the bun, ketchup immediately escaping to smear the corner of your mouth.

You didn’t really seem to care, though. Or maybe you did and simply didn’t care. Either way, you looked absurdly content. It was, Fraser decided, a little adorable. Almost in the same way a toddler was adorable right before it smeared applesauce into the upholstery.

“You always eat like that?” he asked. 

You paused mid-chew. “Like what?”

“Like someone’s going to take it from you.”

“Shut up.” You swallowed, then pushed your bottom lip out in a small, offended pout. “I’m hungry.”

Fraser’s mouth twitched into a smile.

There wasn't a trace of embarrassment in your voice. Just a simple statement of fact, as though being starving was a perfectly reasonable explanation for inhaling an entire cheeseburger before you’d even crossed the parking lot.

Honestly, it probably was.

With your heels now back on, you wandered through the parking lot toward his car, still working determinedly on the burger. The alcohol hadn’t made you incapable of walking, exactly. It had simply convinced your balance that straight lines weren’t necessary. 

Fraser found himself lingering a step behind. Just close enough that if your ankles gave out, he wouldn’t have to sprint to catch you. 

The parking lot was nearly empty, washed in the soft yellow glow of aging streetlights. Beyond it, Boston settled into that strange middle ground between night and morning, where the city had gone quiet but never quite asleep. A few cars hissed past on the road beyond, their headlights sliding over the asphalt and disappearing again.

Fraser was fishing his keys from his pocket when he realized your footsteps had stopped. The uneven click of your heels against the pavement vanished.

He looked up to see you staring at the sky. 

There was something almost childlike about the complete absorption on your face, as though the stars had managed to interrupt the concentration you had on your burger a second earlier.

Before Fraser could ask what had caught your attention, you drifted toward one of the concrete foundations anchoring a light pole.

Then, without hesitation, stepped onto it.

His stomach dropped. “Oh, holy shi— please don’t fall down!”

For one horrifying second Fraser saw the whole thing in brutal, cinematic detail: your heel slipping, your ankle folding, your head striking the concrete with a cracking sound he would hear in his nightmares for the rest of his life. Oliver asking how, exactly, he had managed to kill Miriam’s favorite cousin in a McDonald’s parking lot.

An impressively terrible story all around.

He was moving before the thought had even finished, covering the remaining distance to you in quick strides. Some protective instinct taking over before embarrassment had a chance to object. One of his hands found the back of your knee, steadying your leg before it had the chance to wobble. The other wrapped carefully around your calf.

Warm. 

Your skin was warm beneath his palm again even though it shouldn’t be and softer than he’d expected, the curve of your leg settling into his hand with disarming ease. Fraser became very aware, very quickly, that he was holding your bare leg after only knowing you for about an hour. 

The breeze swept through the lot then, tugging lazily at the hem of your dress and lifting the fabric around your legs enough for Fraser to see a little too much. 

His eyes reacted before the rest of him did.

Absolutely not. Don’t you dare look up her dress, Fraser. 

His gaze shot somewhere else completely, locking determinedly onto the glowing golden arches across the lot. 

“I wanted to be closer to the stars,” you said, with the solemn certainty of a child and the loose, dreamy logic of someone who’d had a little too much to drink.

Fraser let out a slow breath through his nose.

He glanced up at you, then down at the concrete block beneath your feet. Generously speaking, you’d gained another twenty inches of elevation, which didn’t seem like it would help much. Apparently it mattered to you, though.

“Is that the Big or Little Dipper?” you asked. 

Fraser squinted at the patch of sky you were pointing toward, still holding half a cheeseburger in your hand like a tiny, greasy trophy.

“I don’t think it’s either.”

You kept looking up, brow furrowed in concentration. “What do you mean?” you asked. “It’s sort of shaped like a shopping cart.”

Fraser glanced between your face and the stars, then tipped his chin upward again. “I think it’s Orion.”

That made you look at him, then back at the sky.

“See those three stars forming a line?” he said, pointing up. Your eyes followed his finger. “That’s Orion’s belt.”

He let his hand fall back to hold your leg again, shrugging. 

“I have absolutely no idea if I’m right, by the way.”

“I think you are,” you murmured. 

You were still looking up, and Fraser noticed you smiling at the sky. Not a tired smile, or a polite one, or the kind people wear when they’re trying to be agreeable. This one was bigger. Much softer. It reached your eyes and lit your whole face from the inside out.

Fraser found himself staring at you for a long moment, awkwardly sideways, still holding your leg so you wouldn’t topple off your improvised pedestal like a tipsy little saint. He looked long enough to realize, with a quiet jolt, that he liked seeing you smile like this.

He held a hand out toward you.

“Come on.”

You looked down at it for a moment before taking it. 

Your fingers slipped easily into his palm. Fraser steadied you as you stepped carefully off the concrete foundation, his other hand hovering instinctively near your elbow until both of your heels found the ground again.

He didn’t know why he expected you to politely start walking back to the car next so he could get you both home. Perhaps because that would have been the sensible thing to do. The sort of thing Fraser preferred. Instead, you immediately sat down on the edge of the concrete block you’d just climbed off, smoothing your dress beneath you before taking another unapologetically enormous bite of your cheeseburger.

You looked up at him, still chewing, before patting the concrete beside you for him to sit down too. With a quiet sigh that suggested resignation more than annoyance, he obeyed. 

“We're sitting here now?”

You shrugged one shoulder. “I like it here.”

Fraser followed your gaze back up to the stars as the night settled comfortably around the two of you. Traffic murmured somewhere beyond the lot. The restaurant door opened and shut behind them with a burst of warm noise and the smell of fries. Overhead, the sky stretched clear and dark, interrupted only by the amber halo of the streetlight above you.

You didn’t seem to notice any of it. 

Your eyes remained fixed on everything beyond it.

Fraser watched you, trying and failing to decide what exactly it was about the sight that held him so still. Maybe it was the way you looked when you were quiet, and so very focused. Maybe it was the fact that, for all your drunken wobbling and burger enthusiasm, you seemed to have found something in the sky that mattered more than the rest of the world combined.

Eventually, he asked the question that had been sitting in the back of his mind ever since he’d heard your nickname.

“Do you like space?” 

You looked over.

“I mean,” he added, nodding toward you, “I heard Miriam and Oliver call you Star, for some reason.”

You swallowed down the final bite of your burger and crinkled the paper wrapper into a little ball in your fist. “It’s just a silly nickname my dad gave me as a kid,” you said.

There was enough fondness in your voice that Fraser suspected it wasn’t silly at all.

You tipped your head back again, eyes returning to the sky.

“I’m actually kind of scared of space.”

Fraser looked at you in confusion, brows drawing together.

“It's beautiful up there but also so very…” You searched for the word, your free hand lifting vaguely toward the endless stretch of stars overhead. “…vast.” 

The word seemed insufficient somehow. Fraser understood that immediately, though he would have struggled to explain why. Language wasn’t really built to describe something that refused to end.

“Gives me vertigo almost,” you went on, frowning thoughtfully. “Or maybe that’s the alcohol.”

“It gives you vertigo?” Fraser repeated, because he couldn’t quite tell whether you were joking or not.

“I mean, there’s like hundreds of billions stars in just the Milky Way alone. And then there’s even more billions of galaxies just as big as ours. Ones we can’t even observe.” You shook your head, still staring upward as though the sheer scale of it offended you personally. “That’s crazy, right?”

“A little bit,” he admitted. 

He said it lightly, but he meant it. Fraser had spent enough nights under the same sky to know it was beautiful. He’d also spent enough of his life trying to keep things manageable to appreciate the comfort of limits. A broken fence could be fixed. A flat tire could be changed. A problem could be solved. The universe could not.

“And no one knows why it exists. Like sure, evolution makes sense and all that. But that’s just Earth.” You looked over at him then, genuinely perplexed. “Like why the fuck does the universe exist?”

“Great question,” Fraser said dryly.

“Even Google can’t answer it. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Fraser turned his head. “You googled why the universe exists?”

“Repeatedly.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. 

“Seriously,” you continued, apparently encouraged by his laughter. “Scientists can explain how it formed through, like, the Big Bang and quantum physics. But if you ask why, it’s all philosophical bullshit.”

The sheer irritation in your voice made him laugh again. “You think philosophy is bullshit?” 

“Only when I’m after a definite answer.” You shrugged. “So yeah, I get a little dizzy thinking about everything up there. I like sci-fi movies, though. They can make up definite answers.”

Fraser looked up at the sky himself. 

He’d never thought of it in this way, even though he lived beneath it and saw it every night. Driving home after late games. Standing outside bars he didn’t really want to be at. Waiting for the team bus that was always either too early or too late. He’d looked at the sky often enough to know its shape, its color, the way it changed with the seasons.

But he’d never once asked why it was there.

That wasn’t how his mind worked. Fraser was a how-person. How do you fix this? How do you get there? How do you make sure no one gets hurt? How do you keep moving when the answer isn’t obvious? He was practical like that. He trusted things that could be measured, repaired, or at least understood well enough to be useful.

Why was a much more dangerous question.

Why could go on forever.

Why could swallow a person whole if they let it.

Fraser didn’t like why. He didn’t know what to do with questions like that.

But he liked that you asked them.

He glanced back at you, still sitting on the concrete block, fidgeting with your burger wrapper in your hands. But your smile had disappeared—that shameless smile you’d stared at the stars with, mesmerized by their existence alone.

Your sadness was back. Subtle and lurking around the edges. Your bottom lip jutting out, almost quivering in your effort to hold back tears. Some thought in your head must’ve suddenly taken a wrong turn.

“You okay?” he asked. 

You let out a quiet breath. “Define okay.”

Fraser kept his eyes on your face. “Did you have a fun night?” he tried. 

“I think I tried to.” You laughed softly through your nose. “It was just… a really bad bachelorette.” 

Fraser didn’t interrupt. He didn’t know enough about how girls hung out in groups to question it, and you sounded like you were at the beginning of a rant anyway. 

“I try not to talk badly about other women because I’m a feminist, and I believe it does more harm to us as a group than any good, but—” You stopped yourself, chewing lightly on the inside of your cheek. “But it becomes very difficult to uphold those principles when girls can be so fucking cruel to each other.” 

The laugh you let out wasn’t really a laugh this time.

“They were all…” You gestured vaguely into the air, searching for a word that never quite came. “Very together. Like, aggressively together. And I was just… there.”

Fraser could picture it immediately, even if you hadn’t described it particularly well. The feeling of standing in a room full of people you were supposed to fit in with and somehow still being on the outside of it, watching everyone else laugh like they’d been handed the same script.

He knew that one too well from locker rooms full of guys who actually had nothing in common with him if you erased hockey from the equation.

“Then why did you go?” 

“Because the bride is my cousin,” you said as a matter-of-fact.  

Fair enough, Fraser thought to himself. 

He found himself wondering which side of the family this cousin belonged to. Maybe Miriam had gotten lucky, fever and all. Or maybe this bride was a cousin on the other side of your family.

He wasn’t about to ask, though. 

Your heel nudged absentmindedly against the edge of the concrete.

“Kinda felt like her friends were laughing at me the entire time, and I don’t know if I did something to them to deserve that.” 

The words came out almost apologetically, like you were worried you might be accusing people unfairly. Fraser had the absurd thought that you probably would’ve apologized to a mugger if you thought you’d inconvenienced him. That was how you came across. 

“I hope I didn’t, because that would suck. I try very hard to be kind.” 

Fraser believed you immediately. Not just kind. You were criminally kind. The sort of person who sounded genuinely distressed even when talking badly about women who’d spent the night making you feel like shit.

“But if they were laughing for the reason I suspect, then I really hate those bi—” You stopped yourself with a tiny wince. “No, sorry. Shouldn’t use that word.” 

Fraser almost laughed. “You can say it.” 

“But it’s not nice,” you argued. 

“Just say it.” 

You let out a long breath, as if you were preparing to commit a felony. “They’re… bitches.”

Fraser snorted. “Felt good, didn’t it?” he asked, amused.

You seemed to think about it like a moral dilemma. “I don’t know. Maybe.” 

He shook his head, smiling despite himself. You were a little unbelievable. Apparently even your anger came with a warning label.

Even you let out a shy little laugh, hand coming up to cover your mouth, before silence settled between you again. Fraser looked down at the wrapper in your hands, then back at your face, trying to decide where to start. He could ask more about the bride, about the girls, about the night in general—but the answer was already sitting there, half-hidden in everything you’d said.

“Is this all about some guy named Kevin?”

You looked over immediately. “Did Miriam tell you?” 

He shook his head. “No, the girl who had your heels kind of did. Said she’d beat my ass if I were Kevin.” 

Your eyebrows shot up. “Really? Oh my god, she was so nice to me for no apparent reason. I don’t even remember her name! That’s so bad from me.” 

Fraser smiled to himself. Somehow, forgetting the name of the woman who’d defended your honor seemed like exactly the kind of thing you’d feel guilty about. To remember kindness and punish yourself for not returning it properly.

“So what happened with Kevin?” he asked after a beat.

You stared down at the wrapper in your hands, turning it over once, then again, as if the answer might be printed on the grease-stained paper.

“Je suis… dumped, I guess. By Kevin.”

He could’ve almost guessed it, but what he didn’t understand was why. A darn why-question bothering him again. 

“And he’s friends with the groom,” you continued. “So I think all the girls took his side or something. I don’t want to know the story he’s been telling them.” 

Fraser kept quiet. He had the distinct impression that listening worked better than sympathy with you. You would simply unfold if he gave you the time. 

“I didn’t even notice anything was off in our relationship until he said I was too boring to be his girlfriend. After four years together, that’s the only explanation I got.”  

Your fingers tightened around the wrapper.

Fraser frowned. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.”

He looked at you for a second, and your eyes were totally empty. Carefully holding things together to not fall apart. It was hard to reconcile that with the girl who’d turned his whole night into an adventure. Harder still to imagine Kevin looking at you and deciding boring was the word to best describe you with.

“Do I look boring?” you asked. “Or act it?” 

“No, you don’t.” Fraser didn’t even have to think about it. “I think Kevin sounds like an idiot.” 

You nodded with complete seriousness. “He was tall, though.”

Fraser barked out a laugh. “That doesn’t help his case.”

“It did for a while,” you admitted, then immediately frowned like you weren’t sure why you’d said that out loud. “Holy fuck, that’s so pathetic.” 

Fraser’s smile faded. Some people might have pitied you—you seemed to be doing enough of that yourself—but Fraser couldn’t manage pity. What he felt instead was a slow, rising disbelief, sharp enough to sting. He couldn’t understand how anyone could have looked at you for four years and reduced you to something so small. 

“I’m not thinking about him,” you admitted weakly, and when a tear slipped free, you wiped it away with the heel of your hand. “I’m thinking about what it says about me.”

It wasn’t about Kevin himself, Fraser realized, although it seemed impossible to somehow be your fault. It was the question he'd left behind. The one you'd been carrying around ever since, one that had rooted itself somewhere so deep even strangers could hear it if they listened closely enough.

Why weren’t you enough for him?

“It really looks like I had fun, right?” you said, smiling in a way that was almost cruel to yourself, as if you were trying to make a joke out of your own humiliation. You wiped at your face again, harder this time, dragging away more tears. “That’s what I get for trying not to be boring for one night.”

Before Fraser could think better of it, before he could remind himself that he barely knew you, that he had no business touching you like this, his hand lifted.

His thumb brushed beneath your eye, gentle as a breath, and caught the tears there along with the dark smear of mascara that had already begun to dry against your cheek. His touch was so careful it almost felt like an apology. Only after he’d done it did he realize how forward it might have been.

How intimate.

How much he wanted to keep doing it.

“Wow.”

Fraser frowned. “What?”

Your gaze had dropped to his hand, still resting, barely, against your cheek.

“Your hands are fucking huge.”

You looked up at him then, wide-eyed and shining in the pale wash of moonlight, your expression so open in the wait of a reaction from him. For one sudden, traitorous second, half-delirious with the closeness of it, Fraser had the absurd urge to part your lips with his thumb and see what you’d do. Whether you’d let him. Whether you’d take it into your mouth or not.

The thought came without warning. Just as quickly, he wanted to rip it out of his own head.

Jesus Christ. Really? Now? When she’s crying?

“It’s a hockey thing, I-I think,” Fraser stuttered out. 

For one suspended second, you only stared at him. 

Then you laughed so hard you doubled over.

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

Fraser wasn’t entirely sure how he’d managed it, but a little while later you were back in the car, buckled safely into the passenger seat with a paper bag full of his leftover fries resting in your lap.

He suspected the fries had played a significant role in your cooperation.

The heater hummed quietly, warm air slowly chasing away the cold that had settled into both of you outside. He reversed out of the parking spot, hand on your seat to twist back and see. The lingering smell of fried food mixed with the faint perfume still clinging to you, and for a few peaceful moments neither of you spoke.

It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence anymore. Somewhere along the way, you’d moved past that. He couldn’t believe how nervous he’d been when you’d fallen asleep earlier. Now he wouldn’t have thought twice about waking you up if it happened again. 

“You can connect your phone, if you want to,” Fraser said absently, pulling into traffic. 

He also finally had your address now! 

You turned so quickly he almost laughed. “I can?” 

A smug, ingenious little smile crept across your mouth. Your excitement was entirely disproportionate to the privilege of controlling someone’s car stereo. 

“Oh no,” Fraser mumbled under his breath.

You either didn’t hear him or chose not to. After some fiddling with your phone, the opening guitar riff of a song that sounded older than both of you burst through the speakers.

Fraser frowned instinctively, reading the title of the display. Anything, anything by some band called Dramarama. Not that he considered himself to have any sort of musical authority, but that had to be one of the worst band names he’d ever heard.

“What even is this?” he huffed. 

“Don’t laugh at my music taste.” You gasped dramatically, one hand flying to your chest. “This was on the soundtrack to Nightmare on Elm Street 4.”  

“Four?” Fraser smiled, glancing over at you briefly before returning his attention to the road. “Oh, I’m sure that’s significantly better than the first three.” 

“I like stuff from the eighties. Sue me.” 

You stuck your tongue out at him.

It was so unexpectedly childish that Fraser laughed—a little more loudly and unguarded than he’d planned to—so his hand immediately came up to cover his mouth as he did. A habit that had settled in years ago, somewhere around the awkward stretch between childhood and adulthood, and he’d never quite managed to shake it.

You noticed immediately, tilting your head at him. “Do you always cover your face when you laugh?” 

Fraser lowered his hand. “No, I just—”  

“I do the same thing, but I used to have fucked-up teeth,” you cut him off, shrugging like it was nothing. “Had braces to fix most of it, but I still have a gap right—” You leaned closer across the center console, pointing dramatically. “—here.” 

Fraser looked briefly where you were pointing, your finger perched on your bottom lip as you showed the most minuscule little gap between two upper incisors. 

Fuck. You were stupidly cute.

“I used to be able to fit a straw between them,” you continued thoughtfully. “Maybe I still can, but it’s not as easy with freaking paper straws.”

Fraser smiled, shaking his head. “But think of all the turtles we’re saving.” 

“I don’t think straws alone are doing squat, Fraser.” 

He laughed at your wording, again just as unguarded and loud as before. His hand practically itched to lift and cover his mouth, but for some reason—a sudden ounce of added willpower—he didn’t. You noticed. He saw the tiny smile beginning to tug at the corner of your mouth. But, thankfully, you didn’t point it out.

Fraser would’ve been embarrassed if you did. 

Instead, you simply reached over and turned the music up a little. The obnoxious rock song eventually faded into something slower. Then another. Your playlist seemed perpetually stuck in 1987. 

Soon the car filled with soft synthesizers and warm guitar tones, the sort of music that sounded strangely comforting despite Fraser recognizing almost none of it. The roads had emptied considerably by now, streetlights sliding across the windshield in long ribbons of gold as the city drifted quietly around them.

Somewhere between one song and the next, the conversation wandered.

He found out you worked at a library.

Well—

“A library assistant,” you corrected.

Because apparently there was a major difference between librarians and library assistants. You couldn’t quite explain it to him, though, beyond the fact that librarians had master’s degrees and better paychecks. The workload seemed about the same.

Still, you were getting your master’s, and you were insistent on that. You talked shyly about hopefully starting sometime next year. You didn’t know if you’d get in, or if you did, whether you’d be able to handle the pressure. But you seemed determined, like you’d already decided that was where your life was headed and were simply waiting for everything else to catch up.

When Fraser told you he had no doubts about you succeeding, you argued that he knew nothing.

“No, I don’t,” he admitted. “But you seem like someone who finishes what she starts.”

For a second, you didn’t say anything. Just looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read before your attention drifted back out the window.

“My dad always says that too.”

The sentence was so soft Fraser almost missed it. He smiled to himself as he turned onto your street. 

It was well after one in the morning now. The streets of this suburban neighborhood lay completely empty, settling into that strange middle ground between night and morning, where every porch light seemed brighter than it should’ve and every parked car looked abandoned.

“This one,” you murmured eventually, pointing lazily through the windshield.

Fraser slowed, pulling alongside a modest redbrick house near the end of the block.

It wasn’t hard for him to put the pieces together.

The truck parked in the driveway carried the faded logo of what looked like a plumbing company. Flower boxes sat beneath the front windows, empty now except for dark soil waiting for spring. A wind chime made from seashells hung beside the porch, gently clicking together in the breeze.

This was your parents’ place. 

He wondered if this was the house you’d grown up in. Wondered how long ago you’d moved back. Wondered if packing up four years of a shared life with Kevin had happened all at once or little by little. He wondered far too many things about someone he’d met less than three hours ago.

The engine clicked softly as it cooled.

You were quick to undo your belt, and Fraser followed swiftly. By the time he rounded the hood of the car, you were standing on the sidewalk waiting for him, swaying ever so slightly in your heels, as if your body still hadn’t quite decided which way was up.

“You sure you’re okay getting inside?” he asked. 

“Fine and dandy,” you smiled. 

He believed exactly half of that.

Fraser followed behind you toward the front porch anyway, close enough to catch you if your balance betrayed you again, but far enough back that it wouldn’t feel like he was hovering. The porch light flickered on automatically as you reached it. 

For a moment everything felt strangely quiet.

The conversation had finally run out. The night, which had stretched far longer than Fraser expected, seemed to be gently arriving at its natural ending. And he had no words for it. 

He wasn’t good at endings. Never really had been.

“Good night—” Fraser tried to say, but he was cut off by you turning around on the porch, saying something at the exact same time, your words tangling together.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” 

The question hit him like an eighteen-wheeler going flat out over his body, even if he only heard the last end of it. He stared at you, mouth slightly open, while every coherent thought in his head scattered in different directions like startled birds.

He was aware, dimly, of the porch light buzzing overhead. Of the cool night air against his face. Of the fact that you were standing there in his hoodie, looking at him innocently for some reason. He hoped deeply that whatever he was feeling internally didn’t show externally to you.

“W-what?” was all that he could manage. 

You blinked at him, perfectly serious.

“Do you want to come inside and fuck me?” 

“What?” he repeated, continuing to stare at you. Of all the things he’d expected you to say, that would’ve never made the list. “Now?” 

“No, in three weeks.” You looked at him like he was the ridiculous one. “Of course I meant now.”

For one dangerous heartbeat, his imagination tried to answer the question before his brain could stop it. What would happen if he said yes? If he stepped inside with you, if he let the night tip over into something neither of you could take back? The thought was gone almost as quickly as it’d appeared, buried under something much stronger. You were drunk. Definitely still heartbroken. You’d spent half the night crying over another man, for Christ’s sake. 

“I can’t—” 

The words barely left his mouth before your expression changed, sobering up. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry—” 

You physically recoiled from yourself, as if the words had come out of someone else’s mouth and you were only now realizing what they meant. Both hands flew to your face, fingers splaying over your cheeks, and your shoulders curled inward so sharply Fraser could almost see you trying to fold yourself out of existence.

He took an instinctive step forward.

“No, no. I meant because you’re drunk and I’m not,” he explained quickly, keeping his voice gentle even as his own pulse kicked hard against his ribs. “I don’t think you know what you want right now.”

You slowly lowered your hands, letting them dangle awkwardly at your sides. “Oh, you’re being sweet, aren’t you? Fuck, that’s— You’ve been too nice to me all night. You don’t even know me—” 

Seeing you spiral in front of him was almost adorable.

He only watched you for a moment—the way your eyes darted quickly around in horror, refusing to settle on him for more than a second. The way your shoulders had gone tight with embarrassment. The way your hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie as apology after apology kept tumbling out, each one somehow creating the need for another.

It would’ve been funny if you hadn’t looked so genuinely mortified.

Fraser swallowed, forcing himself to stay where he was instead of stepping closer, instead of doing the stupid, instinctive thing and trying to fix it for you. He wanted to hug you. But he couldn’t crowd you. He didn’t want to make this worse by making you feel cornered, or worse still, like he was taking advantage of how badly you were floundering.

He didn’t know you.

He knew your laugh, and the way you talked with your hands when you were trying to make a point. He knew you got quiet when you were sad and a little reckless when you were trying not to be. He knew you’d cried over a man who didn’t deserve it, and then somehow still managed to ask him to come inside like it was the most natural thing in the world. He knew enough to understand that you were hurting, and drunk, and probably lonely in a way that had nothing to do with sex at all, but you somehow thought it did. 

And he especially knew that you deserved better than what you were drunkenly asking for. He refused to be something you woke up to tomorrow morning and regretted. 

So he kept his voice soft when he spoke again.

“Hey,” he said, careful and steady. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

Because you were embarrassed enough for both of you. And because, despite everything, he could still feel the ridiculous pull of wanting to make you feel better.

“I just propositioned a stranger outside my parents’ house.” You gestured weakly toward the front door, squeezing your eyes shut. “Like, they’re literally inside. What the actual fuck was I thinking?” 

You looked so sincerely devastated by your own behavior, Fraser had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. Not at you, but at the sheer, impossible what-the-fuck of it all.

“I’m gonna go inside now,” you said, voice still a little strained with embarrassment, but determined. “Thank you for driving me, Fraser.”

“It was nothing, really,” he said softly.

You climbed the porch steps again, this time without turning around.

Fraser waited until you disappeared inside before finally letting out the breath he’d been holding. The front door clicked shut behind you. The porch light stayed on, spilling a pale yellow glow across the steps and the little patch of front yard beyond him.

He should’ve gone then. He knew that. Instead, he stood there for another moment, hands shoved into his pockets, staring up at the dark sky as if it might offer him some kind of explanation.

He thought about the stars. About the way you’d looked at the universe like it was simultaneously the most beautiful and most terrifying thing you’d ever encountered. 

And cheeseburgers.

About paper straws and the gap between your front teeth, for some reason. 

And impossible questions asked outside your parents' house at one-thirty in the morning: whether or not he wanted to come inside and sleep with you.

And he was slowly realizing, with growing annoyance, that he was probably going to be thinking about you for quite a while.

He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. How exactly was he supposed to wake up tomorrow and carry on with life like this had been a normal evening? Because absolutely nothing about tonight had been normal.

He looked once more toward the front door.

This Kevin dude had been so wrong. Whatever else you were, you certainly weren’t boring.

Suddenly, the front door swung open again. Fraser looked just in time to see you hurry back onto the porch, barefoot now with his hoodie clutched in your hands.

“I still have your hoodie—”

“Keep it,” he said immediately.

Your eyebrows lifted.

“Seriously keep it, Star.”

You looked down at the hoodie for a moment, fingers tightening around the fabric, before a quiet smile spread across your face. Then you disappeared back through the front door a few seconds later.

“Good night, Fraser.”

Thank you for reading ◡̈ Please tell me what you think My ask box is always open!

[writingonleaves]

you don't look the same when i look at you now - macklin celebrini

pairing: macklin celebrini x original female character

warnings: swearing, angst (or my level of angst which isn't much)

inspired by + title: death wish by gracie abrams

word count: 5.1k

author's note: i guess i've really been into second chance romances recently. hope you guys enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it. - i'm really proud of this one so let me know what you think xx

Aurora Vallee should’ve known her luck would run out. 

San Jose is not that big and she knows the guys frequent the same places as they did before. Hockey players are creatures of habit. Maybe in another world, after the breakup, she would’ve completely avoided the area altogether. But she grew to love it here during her college years. This place was hers long before Macklin Celebrini came along. And has still been hers after he's left.

So she’s here at Salt & Coffee, waiting in a long line for her usual iced caramel latte. She took her black graduation robe and cap off, leaving them in the car with her family. Her family is currently sitting in a nearby park and talking amongst themselves before their dinner reservation. But Aurora is surviving on four hours of sleep. After sitting through the heat at commencement earlier, she thinks she’s earned a sweet treat.

“Rory?”

The casual turn of her body to greet the voice stops suddenly, as Will Smith scratches the back of his neck. He’s wearing a navy hoodie with shorts, baseball cap flipped backwards on his head to cover his long curls. He has an easy smile on his face though, because everything about Will has always been effortlessly easy. 

“Will,” she says, the tone echoing something that’s equal parts gentle and accusatory. 

If he’s offended, he doesn’t show it. “Thought that was you. Hey. It’s good to see you.”

“Hey,” she greets, swallowing as he steps in line with her, elbow brushing against hers. “It’s been a bit.”

“Around a year, yeah,” he responds quickly. Almost too quickly. “How’ve you been?”

Aurora looks away briefly, because the natural piercing blue of Will’s eyes are dangerous in the way that whenever he had wiggled himself inbetween her and Macklin in the past, she had a sudden urge to tell him everything. Her eyes meet his again as she tries to smile. “Okay. I’ve been-yeah. Okay.”

“Good,” he nods. His eyes finally scan her outfit, a white dress that stops just above her knee, the soft layers of the skirt billowing with the wind that sneaks in whenever the front door of the cafe opens. And Will. Sweet Will, who’s smarter than most people give him credit for, blinks, before recognition sits on his face. “Did you graduate today?”

She nods, trying not to smile but failing anyways. “Yeah.”

They move forward in line as he grins. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

He shakes his head, fond smile still sitting on his lips. “Miss. Stanford. How do you feel?”

“Like I want to sleep for a million years. Hence the coffee.”

“I can imagine.”

Her stomach settles from the aware and defensive stage into something more comfortable. “How was your season?”

His eyebrows lift. “You weren’t keeping track?”

She shrugs. Because she was. But saying it out loud feels like admitting defeat, which she doesn’t want to give him so easily. “Numbers don’t tell the whole story.”

She sees Will’s eyes shift into something else. And it takes her a second to catch up. When she does, she curses herself internally. Because it sounds exactly like something Macklin would say. Thankfully, Will continues without causing a fuss. “It went well. Wish we made a deeper run in the playoffs, but it’s a step forward.”

“When are you heading back to Boston?”

“In a week or so. Just chilling around San Jose for a bit.” They’re interrupted when they step to the front of the line. She orders first, ready to slide her card in but Will simply covers her card with his hand. She opens her mouth to protest but it’s drowned out by Will ordering. A cold brew and an oat milk latte. Two drinks, she notes. And then her stomach sinks. 

Oat milk latte. Macklin’s order. 

“You really didn’t have to,” she says as they step aside. She feels small all of a sudden for a reason she doesn’t want to explain out loud. 

“Consider it a grad gift,” he says casually. Casual: another thing that he embodies that Macklin never really could naturally. When the three of them used to hang out together, it was a balance that Aurora always welcomed, and, if she’s honest, took for granted. 

“Thank you,” she smiles, hoping that Will understands. It seems like he does, based on the smile he gives back. That’s another thing about Will that Aurora grew to love. He always had a smile on his face, always determined to make sure she had one as well. And it usually worked.

They grab their drinks from the counter, and Will clears his throat. “I should go, before-”

Before Macklin throws a fit. She just smiles, hoping it doesn’t look pained. It feels pained, but lucky for her, Will doesn’t comment on it. “Thank you,” she repeats. “It was good to see you.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” he says, and he stares at her in a way that has Aurora wanting to actually listen. “I mean it,” he continues. “I know what happened between you and Macklin… happened, but I miss hanging out with you. We all do.”

“I miss you guys too,” she manages to say. 

“Are you still going to be in the area? After grad, I mean.”

“Yeah. I’m working at a clinic nearby while applying to med school.”

“Cool,” Will says. “I know I won't be here for a bit but you have a phone. Use it.”

“Bossy.”

“I’ll send pictures of Rigney if that helps?”

“You make a tempting offer.”

He chuckles, before wrapping her in a hug. Or trying his best with a drink in each hand. “Congrats, Rory. Seriously. I’ve always known you were a smart cookie. Now you have the degree to back it up.”

“Thanks, Will. Have a good summer.”

With one last smile, he walks out. Aurora takes three deep breaths before walking outside back to her family. 

~*~*~

13 months earlier…

It’s Monday morning. They’re both at their favorite cafe in downtown San Jose, Salt & Coffee. Well, that’s the plan. Aurora’s been here for around 15 minutes waiting for Macklin to finish practice. She doesn’t mind. Not really. It’s not the first time he’s been running late because of hockey. 

She drums her fingers against the side of her iced caramel latte, having claimed a spot by the window so that she can see when he comes through the front door. But mostly she likes staring at the daffodils growing in a small patch of grass on the sidewalk. 

She feels antsy in a way that shouldn’t be happening because she and Macklin have been dating for a good year now. But it’s the kind of antsy that’s been sitting at the front of her heart for weeks now. Where she’s been taking note of everything she says when she’s around him, or not taking note at all and then bracing for his response. He’s never cruel, never would be. There’s no bone in his body that’s born cruel. But the snippy remarks and the controlled breaths between both of them have heightened recently, with no practice or losing skid or exam or school club drama to blame it on. 

The only blame can be put on both of them. But they’re both too tired, too stubborn, too prideful to admit it. So they just continue sitting in this weird in-between. 

Macklin walks into the cafe a few minutes later, ordering his oat milk latte before stopping at her table. He flashes a smile before sitting down across from her. They small talk about how their days are going and what the rest of the day is going to look like, before he has to go grab his drink. 

While walking back to the table, he’s stopped by a few girls, no doubt asking for a picture or an autograph or both. They look to be around their age, maybe a bit younger. He obliges, and his smile doesn’t actually look pained today like it usually does. Aurora pointedly looks away, staring out the window again. 

“Sorry,” he says, sitting back down. 

“It’s okay.” She says, because it is. And isn’t. But mostly, it is. “How was practice?”

“Good. Tiring,” he signs, leaning back. “Just, you know, playoff push. Everything’s going all the time.”

“Yeah.”

“How are you? Exams are soon, right?”

“In a few weeks, yeah.”

“You ready?”

“Probably. Probably not.”

“Have time to spare for a game anytime soon?” She tenses. She hates that she does. Looking up, Macklin’s eyes are wide. He clears his throat. “It’s been awhile since you’ve been.”

“I don’t know,” she trails off. “I just have so much going on.”

“No worries,” he responds, but the damage has already been done. The usual Macklin excitement that she fell in love with way back when is muted. Not in the way where it is when he meets fans, where it’s genuine but careful. This one is something entirely different. Like he has already accepted the hurt and disappointment. 

She opens her mouth, but finds that nothing comes out. She tries again, clearing her throat. “But I’ll be there for the last home game. Promise.”

He nods, already miles away even though he’s right in front of her. 

~*~*

A week later, they broke up. No fanfare, though it also felt like it was a snowball waiting to crash at the bottom of a hill. The hurtful words didn’t come all at once. Instead, they had dispersed over a few months until that day. Just a muted conversation at that very cafe where someone muttered “this isn’t working anymore” and the other person just said “I know.” Aurora didn’t leave that cafe for a long time, silent tears streaming down her face long after Macklin had driven away. 

She never did get around to seeing that last home game in person. She hasn’t seen any hockey game in person since then, actually. Which is a shame. She grew to love going to Sharks games while she and Macklin were dating. It was the perfect break whenever she felt herself drowning a bit too much in exams. When the throb behind her eyes hurt a bit too much, going to a hockey game always made it better. 

But she knew she had to give that up after they broke up. Maybe one day she’ll go back to a game, but she’s not ready yet. It’s been over a year, and she’s still not ready. 

It’s been around a month since she ran into Will. She’s tucked it in the back of her head mostly. Except he kept to his promise and started texting her. Nothing crazy or needing commitment, but sending pictures of his dog or a funny meme that reminded him of her. It’s exactly how he used to text her when she and Macklin were still dating. But she finds she doesn’t mind it, having caught herself smiling more than once on breaks at the clinic. 

Aurora has technically moved on. She went through the months where she cried her eyes out. Deleted the text chain. Doesn’t have the urge to look through her camera roll anymore. She’s even gone on a few dates from guys she’s come across in class or on the dating apps. But nothing has quite stuck. 

Sometimes, only sometimes, she lets herself indulge and watch a Sharks game on her laptop. notebooks and textbooks and highlighters littering all over her desk as she watches Macklin break yet another franchise record. She can’t help but smile whenever the camera zooms on him. His intensity on the bench, his frustration after a missed shot, or, on the rare instance, an elated smile. 

Being with him during his sophomore season was beautiful, looking back. Seeing him burst out on the scene, nationally and internationally, and prove to everyone what she knew the second she met him at Salt & Coffee after he accidentally reached for her order: he’s a star. And nothing will stop him.

Even her. 

It’s a nice Sunday morning in August, and Aurora dragged herself to, you guessed it, Salt & Coffee. In her tote bag is her laptop, a notebook, a bunch of highlighters and pens and her textbook. She’s taking the MCAT in October, so when she’s not at the clinic typing up notes, meeting patients, or dealing with her shitty boss who knows no boundaries, she’s studying. 

It's summer. Which means fewer students around. Which means the cafe is emptier than it would be during the school year. 

Summer also means no hockey players. Or, it should. 

“Aurora?”

For a split second, she feels a sense of deja vu. But that’s immediately replaced by a sense of dread paired with panic. It takes everything in her to look up, putting the cap back on her highlighter. “Macklin.”

He’s wearing a backwards hat, a gray sweatshirt and shorts, which is a very typical outfit for him. But he looks older than he did just a year ago. Sharper jawline and features growing into themselves. His eyes scan all the study materials on her table and her outfit of a Stanford sweatshirt and jean shorts. She wonders if he’s thinking the same thing. If she also looks older. More tired. 

He clears his throat. “Sorry. Sorry if I’m-”

“You’re not.” He looks at her unconvinced. She hastily closes her textbook and places her notebook on top while gathering her pens over to one side. “You wanna sit?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I could use a break.”

He nods, before sitting down across from her, tentatively setting his latte down in front of him as she slides her laptop back in her bag. “Studying?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s the summer.”

She can’t help but chuckle a bit. “How do you think you get into med school? I'm taking the MCAT in October.”

Macklin chuckles sheepishly, looking down at the table. “Right.”

A flood of something uncomfortable rushes through her stomach. And then it’s gone. She wets her lips, trying not to let her voice crack. “It’s August. I thought hockey players dispersed back to their hometowns in the summer.”

He shrugs. “Had to take care of some things. I’m going back home tomorrow though.”

“That’s not vague at all.”

He smiles. Almost smiles, at least. “It’s August. I thought students dispersed back to their hometowns in the summer.”

“Not a student anymore,” she smirks. “At least, not yet. I’m working at a clinic here for my gap year.”

“Sounds smart.”

“You think everything I do sounds smart.”

“True.”

They both take a sip of their coffee, staring out the window at the tourists slowly admiring downtown, the residents walking with purpose to wherever they have to go and the workers on their own coffee runs, chatting with other coworkers about office politics, lanyards with IDs clipped to their blazer or slack pockets. If they squint in the right direction, they can see the tip of SAP Center. 

“How’ve you been?” He asks. 

She turns back to him. He’s not quite staring at her, but not looking away either. “I’ve been okay,” she says. “You?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“You enjoying off-season?”

He nods. “I am.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows lift. 

“Trying to,” he admits. 

“That sounds more like it.”

The right side of his lips lift up before it disappears again. “How does it feel? Being a college graduate.”

“The same as it does being a non-college graduate. Except people automatically assume you know what you’re doing just because you have some piece of paper now.”

He leans back in his seat. “I don’t know. I feel like you always gave off the impression that you knew exactly what you were doing.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

She takes a sip of her drink, noting the condensation. “Congrats on playoffs. I’m sure it wasn’t as far as you wanted to go, but still.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he says, so casual to the point where she could’ve been asking about the weather, not talking to one of the NHL’s biggest stars on the season he completed a few months ago. 

Aurora can’t help but roll her eyes. “Never satisfied, huh?”

“I could say the same about you,” he says, nodding to her textbook. 

“I don’t really have a choice.”

“That’s not true. It’s all a choice.” 

She swallows, lips suddenly drying up. She opens her mouth to say something but closes it when she can’t decide what should come out of it. Macklin, who has found a particular spot on the table to look at periodically throughout the conversation lifts his gaze back up. Steady, but something unsure swirling behind the murky green of his eyes. 

“I’m really sorry.” 

The air between them becomes heavy as Aurora gulps. She notes coffee machines whirring and something that sounds suspiciously like Gracie Abrams crooning softly in the background. It feels cruel, in a way, to be having this conversation here. At the place where they met, the place they came together over a hundred times and the place where they broke up. 

But everything surrounding Macklin has felt like a movie, in the best and worst way possible, so maybe she should’ve expected this. 

He forges on. “I’m sorry for everything. For how it went down. I really didn’t want it to go down the way it did.” 

“I’m sorry too,” she says.

He leans forward, hands on his coffee. “I said some pretty awful stuff in the months leading up, and I know you said it was okay but it wasn’t. I’m really sorry.”

She bites her lip, “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“But I did anyways.”

“Yeah. I also hurt you too, though.”

He shakes his head so hard that she’s momentarily afraid he’s going to hurt himself. “No. No. It wasn’t the same.” He clears his throat before taking a deep breath. “I think-I wanted to be with you. That never changed. But I didn’t know how to do it and be everything else.”

“Everything else?”

“Hockey, mainly. But also, just, you. And not in the way where you were something to handle. Or at least, I didn’t want it to be like that.”

“But it ended up feeling that way,” she concludes for him flatly. 

“Because I didn’t know how to handle it,” he huffs. “It was nothing about you. I loved you for everything you were. The late night studying and the intense love for french fries and the fact that you always have a pen behind your ear. Everything.” Sure enough, there’s a black pen behind her ear right now. She hastily takes it out and he makes a noise, not quite a laugh but something close. 

The words circle her throat like something circling down a drain before she forces them out. “I don’t think I made it easier sometimes. When you had to deal with the hockey stuff and also with me.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“And I didn’t ever mean to make you choose between the two.”

“I know,” he assures quickly. She thinks he’s telling the truth. She hopes. “But it still felt like that sometimes.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry for not taking the time to get it. I thought I had it down, but I didn’t realize… or maybe I knew. I don’t know. Maybe I knew and was too stubborn to acknowledge it and do something about it. It always felt like we were at a crossroad where neither of us was willing to help the other find their way.”

“Yeah,” he says. And tension in the air loosens. Not completely undone, but unwound like two limp strings. Two people who used to be everything to each other trying to figure out where that changed, while acknowledging that they both inherently have changed as well. 

Aurora is starting to breathe easier. Breathe without thinking. He crosses his arms and leans on the table, looking at her. “There was just a lot going on that year. Sophomore season, so I wanted to prove that the rookie year wasn’t a fluke. And then the Olympics. And then losing in the Olympics. And then being in reach of the playoffs. And then not reaching the playoffs. And along the way, I thought you’d just adjust with me. But that’s not how it works. I should’ve made room for you, not made you feel like you had to squeeze into the space.”

“Macklin-”

“You had your own life, with school and everything that I didn’t try to really understand. I just acknowledged that it was your world, rather than finding out where I fit in there.”

She plays with her straw wrapper, ripping it into tiny pieces. “I loved the fact that you were so intense though.”

“Even when I forgot about you?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t always mind it.”

“Not sustainable for a long term relationship though.”

“Probably not.”

A smile tugs at his lips and Aurora remembers how beautiful a Macklin Celebrini smile is. “I also didn’t intend to ever give off the idea that your life was less than mine in any way. I’m sorry if it ever felt that way.”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

His phone, which has been face down on the table this whole time, buzzes. Macklin takes a peek and chuckles before locking it. “It’s Charlie. Said if I don’t come back for a croissant for her she’s going to burn all my hockey gear.”

That gets a genuine laugh out of Aurora. “She just graduated, right?”

“Yeah,” Macklin purses his lips. 

“Why is she in San Jose with you?”

“Funny you ask. She’s, uh, moving into college today. At Stanford.”

Aurora snorts before she can control it. “You’re joking.”

“I’m dead serious.”

“What was your reaction when you found out?”

“I was so proud,” he admits, like getting him to say that he’s happy for his baby sister is harder than pulling out teeth. “Said that now two of the best people I know will have gone there.”

Her stomach becomes gooey before she can help it. “Flatterer.”

“Only telling the truth.” 

“Well, that’s great news. Give her my number or something. I can tell her all the places to go.”

“Maybe you could tell her yourself?” She blinks as Macklin’s eyes widen in panic. “Shit. I, uh, I’m jumping ahead.”

“No, keep going. I’m enjoying this.”

“Can we forget I just said that?”

“No. But I can pretend to. For your sake.”

“Typical.”

“You know me.”

That gets a laugh out of him, one where all his teeth are showing and he’s actually laughing, not just doing it for the cameras. 

His teeth disappear and he fidgets with his sweatshirt sleeve. “I was in the car when you ran into Will here.”

“I figured.”

“You did?”

“Well, I know Will doesn’t drink oak milk lattes and you guys do everything together.”

He bites his lip. “Did that ever bother you?”

“What? Your oat milk lattes?”

“No. Will. The fact that we’re-”

“Best friends?” Aurora shakes her head emphatically. “No. It never bothered me. I love Will. And you both need each other.”

“It really never bothered you?”

“Maybe if it was anyone else, it would’ve,” she responds honestly. “But with Will? No.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah.”

Macklin clears his throat. “Anyways, when he told me he saw you, I kinda, I don’t know. It probably should’ve hurt. And it did, a little. But he talked about how you were literally in your graduation outfit and how happy you looked and all I felt in that moment was pride.”

Her eyes become wet all of a sudden. “Mack-”

“I just, I remember when I’d come to yours after a game and I was dead on my feet but you were wide awake with three textbooks spread out and three coffees deep, with your arm out as you were looking at it trying to memorize God knows what.”

“So, after every home game?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. So, I know you’ve worked hard. And I’m really proud of you. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“So what’s next? Just studying for the MCAT?

She swirls her half-empty macchiato with her straw, crossing her legs. “I started working at an allergy clinic last month. So doing that, while studying.”

Macklin lets out a low whistle. “Non-stop.”

“Same as you.”

“I have an off-season.”

“Like hell you do.”

He tugs at his lower lip and Aurora straightens up, because she has a feeling the next thing he says is going to ruin her. 

“I’ve missed you a lot.”

Even though she was prepared, her throat dries up. “Mack-”

“And I know that doesn’t fix anything that I did.”

Silence. Before Aurora tries to shave the bitterness out of her voice. “It shouldn’t.”

The right side of his lip quirks up in a way that reminds her that while he never graduated, he did go to college and knows how to be a pain in the ass. “Oh?”

“Don’t even,” she says with an eye roll, before her shoulders deflate. “I’ve missed you too.”

Any hint of smugness disappears as his eyes soften. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs. “I shouldn’t. And for awhile I really tried to shove that feeling away. But I don’t know. With you in front of me right now…”

“Yeah, I get it,” he says. “I gotta say, though, I’m surprised you’re admitting it so easily. It used to take a lot more for you to tell me what you were feeling.”

“Because I like giving you a hard time,” she says with a smirk as he rolls his eyes fondly. She bites her lip. “But I don’t know. I think that was part of the problem too. I should’ve told you more about how I felt before letting it fester.”

“I don’t think I always made it easy for you to do that though.”

“Well, we’re both just a duo of shit communicators, aren’t we?”

Macklin laughs. Truly laughs. Not the one he plasters on for interviews or politely in front of fans. His real laugh. Her heart aches. He nods towards her coffee. “Caramel latte?” 

“I’m a girl of routine.”

“I know. I love it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Mack bites the right side of his lip before letting it go with a swallow. He looks straight at her in a way that makes Aurora’s throat close. “You always felt like home.” The words settle over her like a heated blanket that had gone too hot in the middle of the night. Then, he chuckles. “Don’t respond to that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s sappy and cringe.”

“You are sappy and cringe, Macklin.”

“I have a reputation to uphold.”

“To who? The Sharks fans who call you Captain Baby?”

“Straight out of the cradle, as they say.”

She shakes her head fondly, before looking down at her phone. Her eyes widen when she realizes what time it is. She’s supposed to meet some friends for happy hour in two hours and she’s behind on her study plan. Macklin, who still has the ability to be one step ahead of her mouth, shifts in his seat. “I’ll leave you to study.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I won’t be the reason you’re behind schedule. I'd rather be benched in the Stanley Cup final."

“That's dramatic. I’m literally telling you that you can be.”

“Maybe when I get back next month?”

That makes her freeze. She watches Macklin watch her. He starts fidgeting, which was always the most obvious signal that he just said something and is afraid to hear the answer. She remembers when he would do that when he cancelled plans for the third time in a row, or when he couldn’t go to an important event of hers because of hockey. 

And now, it’s happening not because he’s about to reject her, but he’s afraid of her rejecting him. 

“Macklin-”

“If the door is closed shut completely, I get it. And I’ll leave you alone. But if there’s even a small chance of a crack or an opening, I’d love to take it.”

Aurora stares down at her hands. She used to dream of these words coming out of his mouth, but now that they are, she’s not so sure how she feels about it. But she owes him an answer. Even if it’s not the prettiest. 

“I can’t do it again if it’s the same exact thing we tried the first time.”

“I know. I can’t either,” he says firmly. She watches his throat bob up and down as he tries to find the right words. “And it won’t be. You’re different. I’m different.”

Her lip trembles. “I’m going to be just as busy studying and then med school. You’re only going to get busier. What’s really different this time around?”

“I know what life is like without you now. And it absolutely fucking sucks.”

She lets out a choked chuckle and Macklin’s eyes flash with the briefest hint of hope before it disappears again, as if he won’t let himself feel that yet. She can feel the sweat on her stomach and squeezes her eyes shut momentarily, before opening them and forcing herself to look him in the eye. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” she says with a single nod. “We try again. And we try to fuck it up less this time.”

He laughs in relief, eyes sincere and glowing. “I’ll try my damn hardest.” He stands up and takes three steps over to her side, bending down to place a soft kiss on her cheek. “I’ll leave you to study.”

A smile spreads across Aurora’s lips before she can help it. “Okay. Tell Charlie I said hi and give her my number?”

“I will. Promise,” he says, grabbing both of their empty cups to throw them away. He turns to leave but stops himself, facing her again. “Should I go with the chocolate croissant or the plain one?”

Her smile settles into something comfortable and worn, like your favorite sweatshirt that you refuse to part with. “You know that’s a dumb question to ask me.”

He laughs. “Chocolate it is.” His teeth disappear but his gaze is soft, scanning over Aurora one last time. “I’ll text you.”

“Okay.”

She doesn’t take her eyes off him as he orders and walks out the door, waving when he waves through the window. Aurora turns back to her work only when Macklin’s completely out of sight. Well, she tries, because her phone buzzes. She turns it around, glancing at the screen to see a name she hasn’t seen pop up in a long time. It makes her stomach warm. 

Macklin🩵

Good seeing you 

And I mean it. Thank you for the second chance

I won’t let you down

The first tear of the day falls down her face as she types back with shaky hands 

Aurora 🎇

I know you won’t 

And as Macklin sends a red heart back, she knows she’s right.

[jonasiegenthaler]

[writingonleaves]

despite. gestures vaguely, the nhl proves to be the most hilarious thing on earth

[writingonleaves]

would you do a part 2 of best friend reader x garrett where their friends find out they’re finally together? maybe they go to malones or something the next day? love your writing!!

hi friend! thanks for the ask.

you read my mind - i'm literally in the middle of writing the next part, and that encompasses (some) of their friends finding out! it's over halfway done so it'll be out sooner rather than later.

if there's anything else you'd want to see from them, let me know! always looking for more ideas. thank you for the love xx i hope you're well!

[writingonleaves]

you don't look the same when i look at you now - macklin celebrini

pairing: macklin celebrini x original female character

warnings: swearing, angst (or my level of angst which isn't much)

inspired by + title: death wish by gracie abrams

word count: 5.1k

author's note: i guess i've really been into second chance romances recently. hope you guys enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it. - i'm really proud of this one so let me know what you think xx

Aurora Vallee should’ve known her luck would run out. 

San Jose is not that big and she knows the guys frequent the same places as they did before. Hockey players are creatures of habit. Maybe in another world, after the breakup, she would’ve completely avoided the area altogether. But she grew to love it here during her college years. This place was hers long before Macklin Celebrini came along. And has still been hers after he's left.

So she’s here at Salt & Coffee, waiting in a long line for her usual iced caramel latte. She took her black graduation robe and cap off, leaving them in the car with her family. Her family is currently sitting in a nearby park and talking amongst themselves before their dinner reservation. But Aurora is surviving on four hours of sleep. After sitting through the heat at commencement earlier, she thinks she’s earned a sweet treat.

“Rory?”

The casual turn of her body to greet the voice stops suddenly, as Will Smith scratches the back of his neck. He’s wearing a navy hoodie with shorts, baseball cap flipped backwards on his head to cover his long curls. He has an easy smile on his face though, because everything about Will has always been effortlessly easy. 

“Will,” she says, the tone echoing something that’s equal parts gentle and accusatory. 

If he’s offended, he doesn’t show it. “Thought that was you. Hey. It’s good to see you.”

“Hey,” she greets, swallowing as he steps in line with her, elbow brushing against hers. “It’s been a bit.”

“Around a year, yeah,” he responds quickly. Almost too quickly. “How’ve you been?”

Aurora looks away briefly, because the natural piercing blue of Will’s eyes are dangerous in the way that whenever he had wiggled himself inbetween her and Macklin in the past, she had a sudden urge to tell him everything. Her eyes meet his again as she tries to smile. “Okay. I’ve been-yeah. Okay.”

“Good,” he nods. His eyes finally scan her outfit, a white dress that stops just above her knee, the soft layers of the skirt billowing with the wind that sneaks in whenever the front door of the cafe opens. And Will. Sweet Will, who’s smarter than most people give him credit for, blinks, before recognition sits on his face. “Did you graduate today?”

She nods, trying not to smile but failing anyways. “Yeah.”

They move forward in line as he grins. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

He shakes his head, fond smile still sitting on his lips. “Miss. Stanford. How do you feel?”

“Like I want to sleep for a million years. Hence the coffee.”

“I can imagine.”

Her stomach settles from the aware and defensive stage into something more comfortable. “How was your season?”

His eyebrows lift. “You weren’t keeping track?”

She shrugs. Because she was. But saying it out loud feels like admitting defeat, which she doesn’t want to give him so easily. “Numbers don’t tell the whole story.”

She sees Will’s eyes shift into something else. And it takes her a second to catch up. When she does, she curses herself internally. Because it sounds exactly like something Macklin would say. Thankfully, Will continues without causing a fuss. “It went well. Wish we made a deeper run in the playoffs, but it’s a step forward.”

“When are you heading back to Boston?”

“In a week or so. Just chilling around San Jose for a bit.” They’re interrupted when they step to the front of the line. She orders first, ready to slide her card in but Will simply covers her card with his hand. She opens her mouth to protest but it’s drowned out by Will ordering. A cold brew and an oat milk latte. Two drinks, she notes. And then her stomach sinks. 

Oat milk latte. Macklin’s order. 

“You really didn’t have to,” she says as they step aside. She feels small all of a sudden for a reason she doesn’t want to explain out loud. 

“Consider it a grad gift,” he says casually. Casual: another thing that he embodies that Macklin never really could naturally. When the three of them used to hang out together, it was a balance that Aurora always welcomed, and, if she’s honest, took for granted. 

“Thank you,” she smiles, hoping that Will understands. It seems like he does, based on the smile he gives back. That’s another thing about Will that Aurora grew to love. He always had a smile on his face, always determined to make sure she had one as well. And it usually worked.

They grab their drinks from the counter, and Will clears his throat. “I should go, before-”

Before Macklin throws a fit. She just smiles, hoping it doesn’t look pained. It feels pained, but lucky for her, Will doesn’t comment on it. “Thank you,” she repeats. “It was good to see you.”

“Don’t be a stranger,” he says, and he stares at her in a way that has Aurora wanting to actually listen. “I mean it,” he continues. “I know what happened between you and Macklin… happened, but I miss hanging out with you. We all do.”

“I miss you guys too,” she manages to say. 

“Are you still going to be in the area? After grad, I mean.”

“Yeah. I’m working at a clinic nearby while applying to med school.”

“Cool,” Will says. “I know I won't be here for a bit but you have a phone. Use it.”

“Bossy.”

“I’ll send pictures of Rigney if that helps?”

“You make a tempting offer.”

He chuckles, before wrapping her in a hug. Or trying his best with a drink in each hand. “Congrats, Rory. Seriously. I’ve always known you were a smart cookie. Now you have the degree to back it up.”

“Thanks, Will. Have a good summer.”

With one last smile, he walks out. Aurora takes three deep breaths before walking outside back to her family. 

~*~*~

13 months earlier…

It’s Monday morning. They’re both at their favorite cafe in downtown San Jose, Salt & Coffee. Well, that’s the plan. Aurora’s been here for around 15 minutes waiting for Macklin to finish practice. She doesn’t mind. Not really. It’s not the first time he’s been running late because of hockey. 

She drums her fingers against the side of her iced caramel latte, having claimed a spot by the window so that she can see when he comes through the front door. But mostly she likes staring at the daffodils growing in a small patch of grass on the sidewalk. 

She feels antsy in a way that shouldn’t be happening because she and Macklin have been dating for a good year now. But it’s the kind of antsy that’s been sitting at the front of her heart for weeks now. Where she’s been taking note of everything she says when she’s around him, or not taking note at all and then bracing for his response. He’s never cruel, never would be. There’s no bone in his body that’s born cruel. But the snippy remarks and the controlled breaths between both of them have heightened recently, with no practice or losing skid or exam or school club drama to blame it on. 

The only blame can be put on both of them. But they’re both too tired, too stubborn, too prideful to admit it. So they just continue sitting in this weird in-between. 

Macklin walks into the cafe a few minutes later, ordering his oat milk latte before stopping at her table. He flashes a smile before sitting down across from her. They small talk about how their days are going and what the rest of the day is going to look like, before he has to go grab his drink. 

While walking back to the table, he’s stopped by a few girls, no doubt asking for a picture or an autograph or both. They look to be around their age, maybe a bit younger. He obliges, and his smile doesn’t actually look pained today like it usually does. Aurora pointedly looks away, staring out the window again. 

“Sorry,” he says, sitting back down. 

“It’s okay.” She says, because it is. And isn’t. But mostly, it is. “How was practice?”

“Good. Tiring,” he signs, leaning back. “Just, you know, playoff push. Everything’s going all the time.”

“Yeah.”

“How are you? Exams are soon, right?”

“In a few weeks, yeah.”

“You ready?”

“Probably. Probably not.”

“Have time to spare for a game anytime soon?” She tenses. She hates that she does. Looking up, Macklin’s eyes are wide. He clears his throat. “It’s been awhile since you’ve been.”

“I don’t know,” she trails off. “I just have so much going on.”

“No worries,” he responds, but the damage has already been done. The usual Macklin excitement that she fell in love with way back when is muted. Not in the way where it is when he meets fans, where it’s genuine but careful. This one is something entirely different. Like he has already accepted the hurt and disappointment. 

She opens her mouth, but finds that nothing comes out. She tries again, clearing her throat. “But I’ll be there for the last home game. Promise.”

He nods, already miles away even though he’s right in front of her. 

~*~*

A week later, they broke up. No fanfare, though it also felt like it was a snowball waiting to crash at the bottom of a hill. The hurtful words didn’t come all at once. Instead, they had dispersed over a few months until that day. Just a muted conversation at that very cafe where someone muttered “this isn’t working anymore” and the other person just said “I know.” Aurora didn’t leave that cafe for a long time, silent tears streaming down her face long after Macklin had driven away. 

She never did get around to seeing that last home game in person. She hasn’t seen any hockey game in person since then, actually. Which is a shame. She grew to love going to Sharks games while she and Macklin were dating. It was the perfect break whenever she felt herself drowning a bit too much in exams. When the throb behind her eyes hurt a bit too much, going to a hockey game always made it better. 

But she knew she had to give that up after they broke up. Maybe one day she’ll go back to a game, but she’s not ready yet. It’s been over a year, and she’s still not ready. 

It’s been around a month since she ran into Will. She’s tucked it in the back of her head mostly. Except he kept to his promise and started texting her. Nothing crazy or needing commitment, but sending pictures of his dog or a funny meme that reminded him of her. It’s exactly how he used to text her when she and Macklin were still dating. But she finds she doesn’t mind it, having caught herself smiling more than once on breaks at the clinic. 

Aurora has technically moved on. She went through the months where she cried her eyes out. Deleted the text chain. Doesn’t have the urge to look through her camera roll anymore. She’s even gone on a few dates from guys she’s come across in class or on the dating apps. But nothing has quite stuck. 

Sometimes, only sometimes, she lets herself indulge and watch a Sharks game on her laptop. notebooks and textbooks and highlighters littering all over her desk as she watches Macklin break yet another franchise record. She can’t help but smile whenever the camera zooms on him. His intensity on the bench, his frustration after a missed shot, or, on the rare instance, an elated smile. 

Being with him during his sophomore season was beautiful, looking back. Seeing him burst out on the scene, nationally and internationally, and prove to everyone what she knew the second she met him at Salt & Coffee after he accidentally reached for her order: he’s a star. And nothing will stop him.

Even her. 

It’s a nice Sunday morning in August, and Aurora dragged herself to, you guessed it, Salt & Coffee. In her tote bag is her laptop, a notebook, a bunch of highlighters and pens and her textbook. She’s taking the MCAT in October, so when she’s not at the clinic typing up notes, meeting patients, or dealing with her shitty boss who knows no boundaries, she’s studying. 

It's summer. Which means fewer students around. Which means the cafe is emptier than it would be during the school year. 

Summer also means no hockey players. Or, it should. 

“Aurora?”

For a split second, she feels a sense of deja vu. But that’s immediately replaced by a sense of dread paired with panic. It takes everything in her to look up, putting the cap back on her highlighter. “Macklin.”

He’s wearing a backwards hat, a gray sweatshirt and shorts, which is a very typical outfit for him. But he looks older than he did just a year ago. Sharper jawline and features growing into themselves. His eyes scan all the study materials on her table and her outfit of a Stanford sweatshirt and jean shorts. She wonders if he’s thinking the same thing. If she also looks older. More tired. 

He clears his throat. “Sorry. Sorry if I’m-”

“You’re not.” He looks at her unconvinced. She hastily closes her textbook and places her notebook on top while gathering her pens over to one side. “You wanna sit?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I could use a break.”

He nods, before sitting down across from her, tentatively setting his latte down in front of him as she slides her laptop back in her bag. “Studying?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s the summer.”

She can’t help but chuckle a bit. “How do you think you get into med school? I'm taking the MCAT in October.”

Macklin chuckles sheepishly, looking down at the table. “Right.”

A flood of something uncomfortable rushes through her stomach. And then it’s gone. She wets her lips, trying not to let her voice crack. “It’s August. I thought hockey players dispersed back to their hometowns in the summer.”

He shrugs. “Had to take care of some things. I’m going back home tomorrow though.”

“That’s not vague at all.”

He smiles. Almost smiles, at least. “It’s August. I thought students dispersed back to their hometowns in the summer.”

“Not a student anymore,” she smirks. “At least, not yet. I’m working at a clinic here for my gap year.”

“Sounds smart.”

“You think everything I do sounds smart.”

“True.”

They both take a sip of their coffee, staring out the window at the tourists slowly admiring downtown, the residents walking with purpose to wherever they have to go and the workers on their own coffee runs, chatting with other coworkers about office politics, lanyards with IDs clipped to their blazer or slack pockets. If they squint in the right direction, they can see the tip of SAP Center. 

“How’ve you been?” He asks. 

She turns back to him. He’s not quite staring at her, but not looking away either. “I’ve been okay,” she says. “You?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“You enjoying off-season?”

He nods. “I am.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows lift. 

“Trying to,” he admits. 

“That sounds more like it.”

The right side of his lips lift up before it disappears again. “How does it feel? Being a college graduate.”

“The same as it does being a non-college graduate. Except people automatically assume you know what you’re doing just because you have some piece of paper now.”

He leans back in his seat. “I don’t know. I feel like you always gave off the impression that you knew exactly what you were doing.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

She takes a sip of her drink, noting the condensation. “Congrats on playoffs. I’m sure it wasn’t as far as you wanted to go, but still.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he says, so casual to the point where she could’ve been asking about the weather, not talking to one of the NHL’s biggest stars on the season he completed a few months ago. 

Aurora can’t help but roll her eyes. “Never satisfied, huh?”

“I could say the same about you,” he says, nodding to her textbook. 

“I don’t really have a choice.”

“That’s not true. It’s all a choice.” 

She swallows, lips suddenly drying up. She opens her mouth to say something but closes it when she can’t decide what should come out of it. Macklin, who has found a particular spot on the table to look at periodically throughout the conversation lifts his gaze back up. Steady, but something unsure swirling behind the murky green of his eyes. 

“I’m really sorry.” 

The air between them becomes heavy as Aurora gulps. She notes coffee machines whirring and something that sounds suspiciously like Gracie Abrams crooning softly in the background. It feels cruel, in a way, to be having this conversation here. At the place where they met, the place they came together over a hundred times and the place where they broke up. 

But everything surrounding Macklin has felt like a movie, in the best and worst way possible, so maybe she should’ve expected this. 

He forges on. “I’m sorry for everything. For how it went down. I really didn’t want it to go down the way it did.” 

“I’m sorry too,” she says.

He leans forward, hands on his coffee. “I said some pretty awful stuff in the months leading up, and I know you said it was okay but it wasn’t. I’m really sorry.”

She bites her lip, “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“But I did anyways.”

“Yeah. I also hurt you too, though.”

He shakes his head so hard that she’s momentarily afraid he’s going to hurt himself. “No. No. It wasn’t the same.” He clears his throat before taking a deep breath. “I think-I wanted to be with you. That never changed. But I didn’t know how to do it and be everything else.”

“Everything else?”

“Hockey, mainly. But also, just, you. And not in the way where you were something to handle. Or at least, I didn’t want it to be like that.”

“But it ended up feeling that way,” she concludes for him flatly. 

“Because I didn’t know how to handle it,” he huffs. “It was nothing about you. I loved you for everything you were. The late night studying and the intense love for french fries and the fact that you always have a pen behind your ear. Everything.” Sure enough, there’s a black pen behind her ear right now. She hastily takes it out and he makes a noise, not quite a laugh but something close. 

The words circle her throat like something circling down a drain before she forces them out. “I don’t think I made it easier sometimes. When you had to deal with the hockey stuff and also with me.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“And I didn’t ever mean to make you choose between the two.”

“I know,” he assures quickly. She thinks he’s telling the truth. She hopes. “But it still felt like that sometimes.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry for not taking the time to get it. I thought I had it down, but I didn’t realize… or maybe I knew. I don’t know. Maybe I knew and was too stubborn to acknowledge it and do something about it. It always felt like we were at a crossroad where neither of us was willing to help the other find their way.”

“Yeah,” he says. And tension in the air loosens. Not completely undone, but unwound like two limp strings. Two people who used to be everything to each other trying to figure out where that changed, while acknowledging that they both inherently have changed as well. 

Aurora is starting to breathe easier. Breathe without thinking. He crosses his arms and leans on the table, looking at her. “There was just a lot going on that year. Sophomore season, so I wanted to prove that the rookie year wasn’t a fluke. And then the Olympics. And then losing in the Olympics. And then being in reach of the playoffs. And then not reaching the playoffs. And along the way, I thought you’d just adjust with me. But that’s not how it works. I should’ve made room for you, not made you feel like you had to squeeze into the space.”

“Macklin-”

“You had your own life, with school and everything that I didn’t try to really understand. I just acknowledged that it was your world, rather than finding out where I fit in there.”

She plays with her straw wrapper, ripping it into tiny pieces. “I loved the fact that you were so intense though.”

“Even when I forgot about you?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t always mind it.”

“Not sustainable for a long term relationship though.”

“Probably not.”

A smile tugs at his lips and Aurora remembers how beautiful a Macklin Celebrini smile is. “I also didn’t intend to ever give off the idea that your life was less than mine in any way. I’m sorry if it ever felt that way.”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

His phone, which has been face down on the table this whole time, buzzes. Macklin takes a peek and chuckles before locking it. “It’s Charlie. Said if I don’t come back for a croissant for her she’s going to burn all my hockey gear.”

That gets a genuine laugh out of Aurora. “She just graduated, right?”

“Yeah,” Macklin purses his lips. 

“Why is she in San Jose with you?”

“Funny you ask. She’s, uh, moving into college today. At Stanford.”

Aurora snorts before she can control it. “You’re joking.”

“I’m dead serious.”

“What was your reaction when you found out?”

“I was so proud,” he admits, like getting him to say that he’s happy for his baby sister is harder than pulling out teeth. “Said that now two of the best people I know will have gone there.”

Her stomach becomes gooey before she can help it. “Flatterer.”

“Only telling the truth.” 

“Well, that’s great news. Give her my number or something. I can tell her all the places to go.”

“Maybe you could tell her yourself?” She blinks as Macklin’s eyes widen in panic. “Shit. I, uh, I’m jumping ahead.”

“No, keep going. I’m enjoying this.”

“Can we forget I just said that?”

“No. But I can pretend to. For your sake.”

“Typical.”

“You know me.”

That gets a laugh out of him, one where all his teeth are showing and he’s actually laughing, not just doing it for the cameras. 

His teeth disappear and he fidgets with his sweatshirt sleeve. “I was in the car when you ran into Will here.”

“I figured.”

“You did?”

“Well, I know Will doesn’t drink oak milk lattes and you guys do everything together.”

He bites his lip. “Did that ever bother you?”

“What? Your oat milk lattes?”

“No. Will. The fact that we’re-”

“Best friends?” Aurora shakes her head emphatically. “No. It never bothered me. I love Will. And you both need each other.”

“It really never bothered you?”

“Maybe if it was anyone else, it would’ve,” she responds honestly. “But with Will? No.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah.”

Macklin clears his throat. “Anyways, when he told me he saw you, I kinda, I don’t know. It probably should’ve hurt. And it did, a little. But he talked about how you were literally in your graduation outfit and how happy you looked and all I felt in that moment was pride.”

Her eyes become wet all of a sudden. “Mack-”

“I just, I remember when I’d come to yours after a game and I was dead on my feet but you were wide awake with three textbooks spread out and three coffees deep, with your arm out as you were looking at it trying to memorize God knows what.”

“So, after every home game?”

He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. So, I know you’ve worked hard. And I’m really proud of you. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“So what’s next? Just studying for the MCAT?

She swirls her half-empty macchiato with her straw, crossing her legs. “I started working at an allergy clinic last month. So doing that, while studying.”

Macklin lets out a low whistle. “Non-stop.”

“Same as you.”

“I have an off-season.”

“Like hell you do.”

He tugs at his lower lip and Aurora straightens up, because she has a feeling the next thing he says is going to ruin her. 

“I’ve missed you a lot.”

Even though she was prepared, her throat dries up. “Mack-”

“And I know that doesn’t fix anything that I did.”

Silence. Before Aurora tries to shave the bitterness out of her voice. “It shouldn’t.”

The right side of his lip quirks up in a way that reminds her that while he never graduated, he did go to college and knows how to be a pain in the ass. “Oh?”

“Don’t even,” she says with an eye roll, before her shoulders deflate. “I’ve missed you too.”

Any hint of smugness disappears as his eyes soften. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs. “I shouldn’t. And for awhile I really tried to shove that feeling away. But I don’t know. With you in front of me right now…”

“Yeah, I get it,” he says. “I gotta say, though, I’m surprised you’re admitting it so easily. It used to take a lot more for you to tell me what you were feeling.”

“Because I like giving you a hard time,” she says with a smirk as he rolls his eyes fondly. She bites her lip. “But I don’t know. I think that was part of the problem too. I should’ve told you more about how I felt before letting it fester.”

“I don’t think I always made it easy for you to do that though.”

“Well, we’re both just a duo of shit communicators, aren’t we?”

Macklin laughs. Truly laughs. Not the one he plasters on for interviews or politely in front of fans. His real laugh. Her heart aches. He nods towards her coffee. “Caramel latte?” 

“I’m a girl of routine.”

“I know. I love it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Mack bites the right side of his lip before letting it go with a swallow. He looks straight at her in a way that makes Aurora’s throat close. “You always felt like home.” The words settle over her like a heated blanket that had gone too hot in the middle of the night. Then, he chuckles. “Don’t respond to that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s sappy and cringe.”

“You are sappy and cringe, Macklin.”

“I have a reputation to uphold.”

“To who? The Sharks fans who call you Captain Baby?”

“Straight out of the cradle, as they say.”

She shakes her head fondly, before looking down at her phone. Her eyes widen when she realizes what time it is. She’s supposed to meet some friends for happy hour in two hours and she’s behind on her study plan. Macklin, who still has the ability to be one step ahead of her mouth, shifts in his seat. “I’ll leave you to study.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I won’t be the reason you’re behind schedule. I'd rather be benched in the Stanley Cup final."

“That's dramatic. I’m literally telling you that you can be.”

“Maybe when I get back next month?”

That makes her freeze. She watches Macklin watch her. He starts fidgeting, which was always the most obvious signal that he just said something and is afraid to hear the answer. She remembers when he would do that when he cancelled plans for the third time in a row, or when he couldn’t go to an important event of hers because of hockey. 

And now, it’s happening not because he’s about to reject her, but he’s afraid of her rejecting him. 

“Macklin-”

“If the door is closed shut completely, I get it. And I’ll leave you alone. But if there’s even a small chance of a crack or an opening, I’d love to take it.”

Aurora stares down at her hands. She used to dream of these words coming out of his mouth, but now that they are, she’s not so sure how she feels about it. But she owes him an answer. Even if it’s not the prettiest. 

“I can’t do it again if it’s the same exact thing we tried the first time.”

“I know. I can’t either,” he says firmly. She watches his throat bob up and down as he tries to find the right words. “And it won’t be. You’re different. I’m different.”

Her lip trembles. “I’m going to be just as busy studying and then med school. You’re only going to get busier. What’s really different this time around?”

“I know what life is like without you now. And it absolutely fucking sucks.”

She lets out a choked chuckle and Macklin’s eyes flash with the briefest hint of hope before it disappears again, as if he won’t let himself feel that yet. She can feel the sweat on her stomach and squeezes her eyes shut momentarily, before opening them and forcing herself to look him in the eye. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” she says with a single nod. “We try again. And we try to fuck it up less this time.”

He laughs in relief, eyes sincere and glowing. “I’ll try my damn hardest.” He stands up and takes three steps over to her side, bending down to place a soft kiss on her cheek. “I’ll leave you to study.”

A smile spreads across Aurora’s lips before she can help it. “Okay. Tell Charlie I said hi and give her my number?”

“I will. Promise,” he says, grabbing both of their empty cups to throw them away. He turns to leave but stops himself, facing her again. “Should I go with the chocolate croissant or the plain one?”

Her smile settles into something comfortable and worn, like your favorite sweatshirt that you refuse to part with. “You know that’s a dumb question to ask me.”

He laughs. “Chocolate it is.” His teeth disappear but his gaze is soft, scanning over Aurora one last time. “I’ll text you.”

“Okay.”

She doesn’t take her eyes off him as he orders and walks out the door, waving when he waves through the window. Aurora turns back to her work only when Macklin’s completely out of sight. Well, she tries, because her phone buzzes. She turns it around, glancing at the screen to see a name she hasn’t seen pop up in a long time. It makes her stomach warm. 

Macklin🩵

Good seeing you 

And I mean it. Thank you for the second chance

I won’t let you down

The first tear of the day falls down her face as she types back with shaky hands 

Aurora 🎇

I know you won’t 

And as Macklin sends a red heart back, she knows she’s right.

[writingonleaves]

Obsessed with your Garrett fic. Would love if you wrote more of that pairing 🫶🏻

hi friend! im so glad you enjoyed. anything in particular you'd be keen on seeing?

thanks for reading❤️

[writingonleaves]

i don't know what you are waiting for (you know that i've been waiting for you) - garrett graham

pairing: garrett graham x best friend! female reader

warnings: swearing, alcohol mention, i did proofread but also wrote in a different style than my normal so please forgive any mistakes!

inspired by + title: party 4 u by charli xcx

word count: 5.2k

author's note: im taking a leap and straying away from nhl for a second but i unexpectedly really enjoyed off campus for the most part and like a lot of people, fell in love with garrett graham. and it's been fun to challenge myself with a pro hockey player who's not real lol. as i kept writing for this pairing, i really fell in love with them, so if the interest in there, i'm happy to write more. let me know what you think xx

It all comes crashing down on a random, abnormally mild Saturday night in February, which is so cliche in itself that she would laugh about it if it wasn’t so stupid. 

It’s the night after a big home win that required overtime heroics from Logan. Garrett notched the slick assist, but no one would know that since he’s his typical easy going self, both taking in the praise but also brushing it off in a way that only he can get away with. 

She was convinced by Allie and Hannah to come by the hockey house for the party, which, to some people’s surprise, despite being a close friend of Garrett’s, she doesn’t love doing. Parties have never really been her scene and she’d rather cuddle up in bed with a movie. She’s seen the hockey house more in the morning aftermath of a party than when the party is actually happening. And that’s been the case for three years.

But Allie started tossing clothes at her right after she two came back to her dorm from the game. 10 minutes later, her roommate Hannah had wandered in, quietly urging her to come out in contrast to Allie’s loud begging. 

She met Allie when doing lights and sound for a theater production way back in freshman year, and she’s become a great friend since. Hannah, she doesn’t know as well, but she always has a smile on her face when serving her and her friends at Malone’s and is a very easy conversationalist. 

She also knows that a few months back, Hannah and Garrett went on a couple of dates, which only perked her interest because Garrett Graham doesn’t go on dates. No one really told her what happened — she doesn’t feel close enough to Hannah to directly ask and Garrett weirdly avoided any interrogation she would try to start — but as far as she knows, they’re not dating. Which is weird. Because Hannah is actually a really great girl and if someone were to lock Garrett down, it would be someone like Hannah.

Briar is small enough where it’s not weird that people who wouldn’t ordinarily cross paths do. How she and Garrett met was really simple, despite him being a hockey hotshot and a history major and her being a education major who dabbles in the theater department. They were both put in a four-person group project in their Intro to Psychology class the second semester of freshman year. Somehow, she and the Garrett were the ones who pulled the weight, and she got to know the hockey superstar through multiple library sessions, where by the end of the semester, he knew her coffee order by heart and knew when making a snarky comment would earn a laugh or a surprisingly hard slap in the chest. He always took both in stride.

After that class had ended, she figured that would be it. But on the first day of sophomore year, she had run into him on the quad and caught up with him on their summers and it felt like no time had passed at all. Since then, they’ve become close friends. If she thought too much about it, she would even consider Garrett her best friend. 

She knows when the smile on his face is polite versus real. The latter comes out in flashes, either when they’re both watching a movie on her bed on a Wednesday night or at Malone’s on karaoke night and Tucker is trying to find the melody. She knows the way his jaw clicks when he looks down at his phone and it’s his dad trying to reach him, or how and why he shuts down when his dad is in the crowd of his games. He’s a boy, so everything she’s learned about his relationship with his dad has come little by little, usually accidentally. She knows that despite the cocky, charming aura he exudes across campus, he’s deeply caring and has taken the time and effort to learn things about her that she’s never outwardly told him. 

Garrett knows parties like this aren’t her thing and has always respected that. So when she does trail behind Allie and Hannah into the lively house, dressed in embroidered jeans and a basic white t-shirt, he notices her immediately and makes a beeline towards her. 

He wraps both Allie and Hannah in side hugs first before his eyes land on her, smirk already forming on his face. “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise.”

She rolls her eyes, eyeing his black hoodie ensemble. How boring. “I’m already regretting it.”

His arms come around her shoulders and he kisses the top of her head as she pulls away, his arm still around her shoulder as she instinctively tucks into his side. “Glad you’re here,” he says.

“Thank these two.”

He turns to Allie and Hannah with a chuckle. “Thank you for dragging the princess out of her tower.” He earns a slap in the stomach for that one, just as Dean comes up with his classic Dean charm, two drinks in his hand. 

“Hello my fair ladies.”

“Dean,” she greets flatly, as he kisses Allie on the cheek. Hannah just flashes a friendly smile.

He hands Allie a red cup and Hannah a closed can of what looks like a canned margarita. He nods at her. “Surprised to see you here, Flower.”

Instinctively, she rolls her eyes at the nickname that Dean coined for her ages ago, based on the amount of floral clothes she has in her closet. “Don’t go announcing it everywhere. I just wanna come in, maybe enjoy a drink or two, watch people make bad decisions, and then go home. Maybe get some fries along the way.”

Just then, Beau’s walking past and even he double takes. “Oh my goodness! Flower’s here.”

Yeah, the nickname caught on. She smiles, though. She’s always had a soft spot for Beau. “Hi Beau.”

Beau elbows Garrett. “Get your girl a drink, dude. What are you doing just standing there?”

“I was getting there,” he says pointedly before turning to her, Allie, Dean and Hannah already wandering farther into the house. “Come on. I’ll make you something.”

He steers them both to the kitchen even though she could navigate this house with her eyes closed. “Since when did you become a bartender?”

“I’m not. If I had been expecting you though, I would’ve been ready with a drink for you as soon as you walked in.” He opens a higher cabinet and takes out a bottle before grabbing a red cup. “Whiskey and coke still good for you?”

“Whiskey seems a bit fancy for a pseudo-frat party.”

He pours the whiskey before going into the fridge for a can of coke. “We don’t usually bring it out, hence it being on the top shelf.”

“Oh, so I get the special treatment.”

He shrugs, closing the fridge and opening the can of coke. “You get the Garrett Graham treatment.”

“Delightful.” she says, tone completely the opposite.

He hands the cup over to her. “You love it.”

“Mmhmm.”

“But really. What made you want to come out tonight?”

She shrugs. “Sometimes Allie and Hannah can be really convincing.”

“More than me?”

“You haven’t asked me to come to one of these things in over a year.”

His tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “Did you want me to ask?”

She laughs. “No, Garrett. God, no. This is a very limited time thing for me.”

“Okay. Good. Because you’re always welcome. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, Graham,” she takes a sip of her drink and hums. 

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you about to give me a grade?”

“Maybe.”

“Alright, hit me with it.”

“A solid B. More whiskey, please.”

He blinks, before barking out a laugh, reaching back into the cabinet. “My bad. I’m out of practice. I forgot you like your drinks strong.”

He pours a shot’s amount more of alcohol into her cup and she smiles sweetly. “Thank you.” She takes a sip before looking around the house that’s filled with people. Dean, Tucker, Allie and Hannah are now playing what she thinks is beer pong, though the rules seem to be very loose. And a bunch of people whose faces she recognizes are scattered around. Her ears pick up on a familiar tune and she chuckles, turning back to Garrett. “XS by Rina Sawayama? Really?”

“You love this song.”

“I do. But I figured hockey parties would be a breeding ground for Top 40 or like, rap.”

“Not when I’m in charge of the aux.”

The song then changes to Wet Dream by Wet Leg. She narrows her eyes at him, as he’s trying to hide a smile. “Are you playing our shared playlist?

“Maybe.”

“Do you do this at every party?”

“Maybe,” he smiles charmingly in his way that even has professors going easy on him. Not on her though. The shine has long gone dull. But she loves it anyways.

“I do have good music taste.”

He scoffs and comes closer so she can hear him better. “Excuse me. It’s our music taste.”

“Yeah. Totally. Whatever you say.” She bumps his hip with hers. “Where’s Logan?”

“Probably out on the porch. Why?”

“I need to ask him if he can fix up this shelf in my bathroom.” She flashes a bright smile at Garrett. “Catch you later?”

“Of course.”

Later turns into an hour and a half. She’s buzzed to the point where her tongue is more loose than normal and her reaction time is a hair slower, but she’s having a better time than she thought she would, chatting with her friends and dancing when a particular catchy song comes on. She hasn’t really talked to Garrett, as he’s been floating around from person to person like the popular busy bee he is. But she doesn’t mind. 

Or, she thinks she doesn’t. Until she’s talking to Tucker and her eye catches Garrett across the room sitting on a chair smiling at… Maeve? Molly? He’s smiling his real smile at her, as Melissa or Melanie perches on the arm of the chair. They’re close enough that she knows where this is headed, Garrett’s demeanor flirty enough to know what he wants. A small flame of unwarranted hurt and indignation flares up in her stomach. 

She must not hide it well, because Tucker tracks her eyesight and gives her a look. “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just, I think I’m going to go get some air.”

She doesn't wait for a response before she scurries to the front door, ignoring Tucker yelling after her. The alcohol in her body also causes her to shiver, as she wraps her bare arms around herself to try to generate some heat. 

It’s annoying at best and aggravating at worst that she’s in love with Garrett Graham. It’s so hilariously predictable that she would be partly ashamed if she had some tact.  And she knows he doesn’t feel the same way. She’s heard stories of his hookups. From himself and other girls on campus. It makes her feel almost worse that even though he sleeps around, he’s rarely truly a dick to the people he hooks up with. It would almost be easier if he was. 

And the thing is, she knew. When she first met him, she knew there would never be the chance. Yet, sometime during the end of sophomore year, when he had squeezed her so tight and taken her out to dinner to celebrate her getting her dream summer internship, the realization hit her like a truck. 

And what did she do about it? Absolutely nothing. She would rather be shoved so deep in the friend box because at least she’d still have him. And she loves being his friend. Truly.

She doesn't know why it’s hitting especially hard tonight. She’s been pretty good at hiding it from everyone. Maybe this is partially why she doesn't go to parties. The bass and the alcohol and the people and the hormones mix together to create a higher possibility of emotions slipping free. 

She didn’t even realize she had started crying. She curses under her breath, wiping at her eyes to try to get herself to stop fucking crying. The night isn’t over yet. She wants to go back inside and have fun. But as she swallows and squeezes her eyes shut, that sinking feeling gets more impossible to usher out. 

“Hey!” 

She lets out a deep breath. Of course. She turns and plasters a smile on her face as Garrett walks closer. “Hey, Graham.”

“Tucker told me you stormed out and looked upset. What’s-are you crying?”

She sniffles. “No.”

Garrett snorts, “I believe you.” He stops right in front of her and his expression turns serious as she’s trying her best not to make eye contact. “What’s going on?”

“I’m fine.” And she thinks she would’ve maybe gotten away with it, if her voice hadn’t cracked at the end of the word. 

“Hey. Hey.”

And something about how soft and caring his tone is has a sob escaping from her lips. His eyes flash in a panic as he quickly scans her face, trying to figure out what’s going on. She hiccups while trying to calm herself down, staring determinedly at her shoes. 

“Here,” he says in the middle of a hiccup. She looks to see him holding out a hoodie for her. He must’ve grabbed it when Tucker told her she came outside. It’s the purple one she steals constantly when she comes over because Garrett likes keeping his room absurdly cold. That alone has more tears rushing down her face. She thanks him softly, tugging the sweatshirt over herself. Immediately, she’s warm, surrounded by the scent of his laundry detergent, eucalyptus from his shampoo and something so inherently Garrett. 

“Talk to me. What’s going on?” She swallows, trying to wet her throat so she can respond. “Did someone hurt you?” He asks firmly.

“No, Garrett. No. Nothing of that sort.”

“Did someone say something?”

“Unless you count your roommates being their typical selves.”

“Hey, you know the stuff that comes out of Dean’s mouth sometimes is absurd,” he says with a hint of playfulness. 

That gets her lips rising quickly in a smile. “Dean’s harmless.”

“Well, he likes you. So that helps.” She crosses her arms again, making herself small as Garrett watches, giving her space but trying to figure out exactly how much. “Do you want to go somewhere warmer?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay.”

“I’m okay,” she tries to assure him. “Really. You can go back in and keep talking to whoever you were talking to.”

He waves his hand noncommittedly towards the direction of the house. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re out here crying and I don’t know why.”

“Garrett.”

“Please talk to me.”

“I’m fine,” she says, wiping tears that are still coming out of her eyes. “Just hormonal probably.”

“Nope,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You were on your period last week and you hate using that as an excuse. Nice try.”

Momentarily, she blinks in pure confusion. “How do you know that?”

He chuckles. “You forgot your painkillers, remember? You rearranged my room to find a bottle of Motrin even though it was in my desk drawer all along and you just didn’t see it the first time.” He jabs his pointer finger at her. “You’re purposefully trying to avoid the subject.”

She pouts. “It’s not working?”

“Never. Not with me.”

She looks back towards the house as people continue casually spilling in and out. The bass is loud enough to be heard, but not in any way where any neighbor would be concerned. The hockey house always looks almost ethereal like this. Like a liminal space if it smelled like beer and the floors were sticky. 

And Garrett, her dear best friend, just waits patiently. Never pushing, but not giving any indication that he’s leaving. She could lie, but what would she say? Plus, he’d see right through her. When she’s completely sober and it’s not nearing midnight, she has better control of her emotions. But apparently, three whiskey and cokes in, the buzz of a college party and seeing her best friend talk to a girl who looks nothing like her will have you losing your filter a bit.

She looks back at him. And it sounds dramatic, but it feels like what she’s about to say is going to shift their relationship forever. She wonders if he can feel it too. 

“I’m in love with you.”

He freezes. She partially can’t believe that she actually said it. But that thought is quickly overshadowed by the fact that she can’t read his face at all. Something that she’s gotten really good at the last three years. That’s not good.

And because she apparently can’t shut her mouth anymore, she barrels on, wiping her tears now with haste. “I’m in love with you. And I saw you talking to Molly or Marissa or Mabel or whatever and something in me snapped. So then I came out here. Which is dumb, because it’s not like you haven’t talked to girls before in front of me. But there’s a first for everything, I guess.” She’s heaving now and she bites her trembling lip, waiting for his reaction. 

Finally, after seemingly an eternity, he clears his throat. “You’re in love with me?”

For some reason, that causes another set of tears to fall down her face. Gosh, can she stop crying? “Trust me, I’ve tried not to be,” she tries to joke. “Would be a hell of a lot easier if I wasn’t.”

“Baby-”

“Do you know why I avoid coming to parties you guys host?” She breezes past him calling her baby because she cannot handle that right now. “Because I don’t actually mind parties once in awhile. It’s because everytime, it ends up with you going upstairs to hook up with a girl and I just have to stand there and watch and pretend it doesn’t fucking kill me that you’ll never want me like that.”

He looks torn. “That’s not-”

“And the thing is,” she’s on a roll now, having backed away from him slightly but hands waving wildly. “The thing is, is that it’s not even your fault. Garrett Graham doesn’t do girlfriends. I’ve known that since before we even met. But sometimes, I see you go upstairs holding a girl’s hand or at the dining hall chatting someone up or at Malone’s completely at ease with a bunch of girls around the team or, fuck, even when you went on a few dates with Hannah, which makes me feel even shitter because I actually like her. Anyways, it just all makes me feel really shitty. It’s not valid, I know it’s not. But that’s how it makes me feel.”

Garrett opens his mouth, but then closes it again, his hazel eyes murky and swirling with emotion that she can’t place. She swallows, bracing herself for the ultimate rejection.

He steps forward and she thinks, this is it. This is when she loses him. But he grabs her hands gently, interlacing their fingers together. She’s too in shock to do anything but reciprocate. 

“Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Why didn’t I-because we’re friends, Garrett. I didn’t want to ruin everything.”

“How was I supposed to know there was something to possibly ruin when you never gave a single hint that you loved me?”

She bites her lip. “You weren’t ever supposed to know.”

He scoffs. “What, so you were just never going to tell me?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, that’s a shit fucking plan. You’re my best friend. Of course I was going to find out eventually.”

“Okay, ouch.”

“No, it’s just,” he heaves out a sigh and their hands are still fucking intertwined. “Holy shit. You’re my best fucking friend.”

“I know. You already said that.”

Garrett shakes his head. “No, I don’t think you do know. I-I don’t do relationships for a lot of reasons. You know that. But, fuck, baby. I’ve been in love with you since freshman year.”

Immediately, she recoils. “No you haven’t.”

“Yes I have,” he lets go of her hands finally, but now it’s his turn to back away. He runs a hand through his hair. “I never acted on it because since day one, you’ve given me shit like it’s your full time job but in a way that always makes me feel so fucking seen. You always know after a bad game if I need a verbal ass whooping or a warm hug and some mediocre pizza. You always pick up on how I’m feeling just a few seconds before I can and you adjust so seamlessly. At some point, you shifted from being a part of my life to just being my life. And that scared me because I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same way. So yeah, I just hook up with people with no attachments because I just accepted the fact that you’re never going to love me back.”

“Garrett, that’s kinda sad.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Maybe. But at least in that way, I’d always have you in my life somehow. I always told myself that graduation was my deadline. I had to tell you before we graduated if I hadn’t already.” He steps forward and their toes are touching. “But classically, you beat me to it.”

“I beat you to everything.”

“That you do, baby.”

Her stomach can’t help but flutter when he calls her that. She swallows. “You’re not lying to me, right? Like, this isn’t some sort of bet and Dean is going to pop out and blow a noisemaker in my face?”

He flinches back, hurt flashing through his eyes at the mere idea. “No, of course not. I’d never do that to you.”

“So what? You don’t do girlfriends because you were convinced that I was never going to date you?”

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds pathetic.”

“You are pathetic,” she deadpans. 

He rolls his eyes fondly. “No. I didn’t do girlfriends because hockey and school are important and they take up all my time. Also, so do emotions. But then we got put into a group in Professor Knight’s class and I fucking fell in love with you anyways. Then, I didn’t do girlfriends because they weren’t - do I ever tell you what actually happened between me and Hannah?”

She narrows her eyes. “No…”

“Did she ever tell you?”

“Honestly, not really.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Go figure.” He takes a deep breath. “Hannah’s great. You know that. I know that. But she clocked me on the third date when we were about to leave Shelly’s. I ordered your usual because it was right after that big exam you had last month and then when I was driving her home, before she got out of the car, she just turned to me and was like ‘there isn’t going to be a fourth date, is there?’ And God, I felt so bad, but she got me to basically spill the beans and I told her I loved you and I’ve loved you for the last three years. And, fucking Wellsy, she just laughed and told me to stop being an idiot and just tell you how I feel.”

“Hannah’s better than both of us combined.”

“Agreed.” 

Silence falls between them both. Her tears have stopped, thankfully, but her voice still cracks. “We wasted so much time.”

“No, we didn’t,” she looks up as he cups her face with so much care that she feels like someone just pulled in to tug her heart out of her chest. “I wouldn’t trade any second of what we’ve been for anything.”

“You’re my best friend,” she whispers, her lips brushing against his. 

“You’re my favorite person in the world,” he says, words rushing out like his mouth is speaking before his brain. “Can I kiss you? Please?”

She giggles. “Never thought you’d be the kind of person to ask, Graham.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“You’re the one who wants to kiss me.”

He laughs breathily. “Yeah, baby. Yeah, I do.”

She closes the gap and immediately, it feels like she’s kissed him in a past life. He tastes like the beer he’s been drinking all night with the spearmint from the gum he’s always smacking, and he’s kissing her like he’s been waiting to do this for a long time. She hums happily against his mouth, and he responds by kissing her deeper and lowering his hands from her cheeks to the small of her back. She feels like she’s coming home after a long day.

When she eventually pulls away, he chases her lips and she laughs, letting him sneak one more kiss before putting her hands on his chest to hold him still. “Give me a second, Casanova.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, not sounding sorry at all and staring at her lips.

“Don’t be,” she says. their usual bantering energy softening into the moment. She moves a hand from his cheek to tuck one of his stray hairs away from his forehead. He catches her right hand mid-air with his own, and she looks into his eyes as he raises it to his lips and kisses the inside of her wrist. She chokes out a laugh. “You’re such a sap.”

“No I’m not.” He protests.

She grins. “You so are.”

He shrugs. “Fine. You win. Maybe I am.”

She lets out a loud chuckle. “Wow. This is all it takes for you to admit defeat? To tell you I love you? If I had known that, maybe I would’ve done it sooner.”

“Why didn’t you do it sooner?” He asks, tone becoming serious again. “Why tonight?”

Shrugging, she looks down at her feet, not really wanting to admit the real reason because it sounds so petty and jealous even though that’s exactly what it is. 

“Was it only because I was talking to Maria, who, by the way, is very in love with her girlfriend?” He asks. She looks up, and there’s a hint of smugness in his eyes that’s so annoyingly Garrett that she instinctively shoves his shoulders. 

“Fuck you.”

“So it was.”

“Not completely.”

“Oh?”

“For starters, I’m three whiskey and cokes in.”

“I know. I could taste it on your lips.”

She pokes him in the chest. “Rude.”

He catches her hand and intertwines their fingers and she hates that it immediately settles something in her. “But true.”

“And, I don’t really know,” she admits. “This is why I don’t go to parties.”

“They invite you to admit your feelings?”

“They invite me to do things I wouldn’t normally do,” she corrects. “And often it’s things I regret.”

“Not this time, though. Right?” She looks back into Garrett’s forest green eyes again and sees the slight uncertainty in his eyes. As if the idea of her telling him how she felt would be something she would regret, even though he told her he felt the same way. 

It’s hilarious, almost. Sweet, most definitely. 

She lifts up on her tiptops to place a chaste kiss on his lips. “Right.”

He smiles, stealing another. “It’s getting chilly. What do you want to do? Do you wanna go back inside? We can hang downstairs with everyone or go upstairs to my room? We can go back to yours if you want.”

She hums in thought. “What do you wanna do?”

“Whatever you wanna do, baby,” he fixes the drawstrings on his, or her, hoodie. “Wherever you are, that’s where I wanna be.”

She looks back at the house, at the life of a college party that’s still going strong and not dying anytime soon. She looks back at Garrett, watching him watching her. Patient, waiting, hers. 

“Can we go back to mine?”

“Yeah, of course. Let me just grab my keys. Do you want to say bye to anyone inside?”

“Not particularly. I’ll text Allie and Hannah so they don’t think I went missing.”

“Okay,” he says softly, before kissing her on the cheek. “You can wait by my car. I’ll be two minutes tops.”

She nods before he spins and jogs back to the front door. She walks the 200 feet to his Jeep before leaning on the passenger door, mind trying to wrap around the last 15 minutes and what the next 15 minutes, and subsequently, day and week and life could bring. Which sounds crazy, but it’s Garrett. So it actually sounds like one of the best possible things right now. 

Her attention perks back up when Garrett steps through the front door again, his black backpack slung over his right shoulder. Because he’s Garrett Graham, he’s stopped by a few people as he’s leaving. Because he’s Garrett Graham, he politely smiles and gets pulled into a conversation or two. But the flutter in her heart that’s been occurring at an alarming rate since he told her he loved her is back, as his eyes dart to her direction and he nods in the middle of listening to someone else talk. Sorry. He’s saying. Give me another minute. He’s assuring. I love you. He’s reminding. 

Her smile is already on her face as he bounds down the front lawn towards her. He squints suspiciously. “What’s that smile for?”

“Nothing,” she sings, thanking him quietly as he does what he always does — opens the door for her. 

“Mhmm,” he hums. “I definitely believe you.” She doesn’t settle in her seat all the way, knees turning towards him as he leans his elbow on the top of the car, looking down at her. His teasing smile turns into a genuine one. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He murmurs. 

“Just,” she swallows, because she can be honest now. “Wanna look at you. That’s all.”

Another night, Garrett would probably snort and make fun of her. But tonight, his eyes just soften. “You’re so beautiful.”

“I’m tipsy and dressed in your hoodie and I have to wash my hair tomorrow. I also just told you I love you. Of course you think that.” I also feel and probably look sluggish.” 

“Still beautiful. Always beautiful,” he reaches into the side pocket of his backpack and pulls out a bottle of water. “Drink. Did you eat before you got here?”

She gulps down the cold water and hands it back to him. “Enough.” An idea pops into her head. “But can we-”

“Yeah,” he looks at her fondly. “We’ll stop for fries.”

She laughs tiredly, but it’s tinted at the edge with something comfortable. Something warm. Something new. “How’d you know?”

“Because I know you.” 

He stares at her for a few more seconds before guiding her legs gently forward and shutting the door. She smiles giddly to herself before he opens the door to the driver's seat. He turns on the engine and cranks the heat up, before turning to her. He smiles, not in the polite way. Not in the Garrett Graham is the guy everyone knows on campus way. But in the way that’s solely always been private. 

And now, she’s realizing, it’s been because of her. 

“You’re staring again.”

“Shut up and drive me to my fries, Graham.”

He puts his arm behind her chair to reverse, but not before placing a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Yes, ma’am.”

[incloudcity]

something to hold on to | fm93

requests are open | navigation

a/n: i was so excited about this i wrote it directly on to tumblr so excuse me if there's any mistakes lol

The thing about summer is that it makes you nostalgic for things you're still living inside of.

Fraser notices this on the first night everyone is back together, crammed onto the back porch, knees touching knees, voices getting louder in that specific way that only happens when you're all finally in the same place after months of being apart. Someone has a speaker going and the music is low enough that nobody's really listening to it, which means it's doing exactly what it's supposed to do. There's a fire going even though it's not quite cold enough for one, because it never actually has to be cold enough. It just has to be summer.

Fraser has a beer he's barely touching.

He's watching you from across the fire and telling himself he isn't.

You'd showed up late, which you always do, and when you pushed through the side gate everyone made that sound, not quite a cheer but more like a collective exhale. Like the table had been a little uneven all night and someone had finally wedged something under the leg.

Fraser had felt it too. That settling.

He'd watched you hug everyone in turn, watched you laugh at something Connor said before he's even finished saying it, watched you drop into the empty chair like you owned it, like you'd always owned it. And he'd thought, with a clarity that startled him:

there you are.

Not like he'd been looking for you.

More like he'd just realized he had been.

The thing Fraser can't explain, even to himself, is that it isn't new. That's the part that keeps him up. None of this is new. He's been watching you from across rooms his entire adult life, cataloging the small things, the particular way you hold your glass, the way you tuck one leg under yourself when you sit, the way you always respond to bad news with a kind of stillness before you say anything at all. He's been doing it for years. He's extremely practiced at it.

The difference is that this summer something had shifted in him. Like a thing that was always slightly out of alignment finally slipped into place and he can feel how wrong it was before.

He knows, now, what he was doing all along. He just doesn't know what to do with that.

The cottage is the kind of place that exists outside of normal time, and Fraser has always loved it for that reason without entirely understanding why until now.

Three days in July, all ten of them, sleeping bags on the floor and someone always in the kitchen at midnight making toast. The lake is cold even in the height of summer and the dock creaks in a way that everyone knows the specific rhythm of, the particular groan of the second plank from the end. There are board games with missing pieces. There is a hammock that can technically hold two people but only comfortably holds one. There is a tradition of watching the worst movie anyone can find on the third night and arguing about it until someone falls asleep mid-sentence.

Fraser has been coming here for six years.

This is the first year he has spent the whole time acutely, almost painfully aware of exactly where you are in every room.

It's not that he ever had no idea.

He knew. In the way you know things you haven't decided to do anything about yet. In the way you know a song is your favorite before you've said it out loud to anyone.

There was a year — he thinks it was the year after they all graduated, but the timing blurs — where the two of you talked on the phone almost every night. Not about anything important. About everything and nothing in the specific proportion that only happens with someone you're completely comfortable with. He'd lie in bed in the dark with the phone against his ear and listen to you move around your apartment while you talked, the sound of cupboards opening and closing, water running, the occasional clatter of something dropped and retrieved. He'd memorized the acoustic geography of a place he'd only been to twice.

He never thought about why that was.

Or maybe he thought about it too much and then put it very carefully somewhere he didn't have to look at it.

The night that lives in him most is not dramatic.

It was the kind of party that starts with a plan and ends with sleeping bags on every available surface. At some point it had thinned out, the ones who had places to be had gone, and the ones who didn't had gotten quieter, and somehow Fraser had ended up lying on his back on the floor of the spare room with you beside him, shoulders almost touching, both of you too tired to move and not quite tired enough to sleep.

He doesn't remember what you'd been talking about.

He remembers the specific quality of the quiet between topics. He remembers the ceiling had a water stain in the shape of something he couldn't identify. He remembers your voice being softer than usual, the way it gets when you're not performing for anyone.

He remembers you saying, into the dark:

"I think if we ever actually tried this we'd ruin it."

He'd laughed. Something tight and reflexive.

"Yeah, probably," he'd said, or something like that, some version of agreeing, and then neither of you had said anything for a while and then one of you had changed the subject and that had been it.

He's replayed that conversation approximately four hundred times since.

He still doesn't know what you meant.

He still doesn't know what he meant.

The worst part is that he'd thought, at the time, with that particular careless confidence of someone who believes there will always be another opportunity: we'll come back to this. We'll be braver when we're less tired, when we're less scared, when it feels more like the right moment and less like a leap into fog.

He'd waited for the right moment for so long that he'd simply not noticed it pass.

The line that breaks something in him comes on the third night of the cottage weekend, which is also movie night, which means everyone is crammed onto the various couches and floor cushions in the living room with the lights off and the movie already forgotten in favor of talking over it.

Fraser is on the far couch, you're cross-legged on a pile of pillows near the window, leaning back on your hands, and the light from the TV catches the side of your face and Fraser is not looking at you. He is extremely not looking at you.

He catches maybe thirty percent of the conversation.

Then Mack — and it's Mack, it's always Mack, the guy has the social awareness of a golden retriever and somehow gets away with it — Mack says, reaching for another chip, not even looking up:

"God, I totally forgot you two almost dated."

He says it the way you'd say I forgot we had that dinner or I forgot that movie existed. Breezy. A footnote.

A small ripple of laughter around the room.

Fraser hears his own laugh come out of him before he's decided to produce it. Muscle memory. Reflexive. Something his face does without asking him.

"That would've been so weird," someone says. Connor, maybe. He isn't tracking.

"Honestly, I can't even picture it now."

More laughter.

You're laughing too. He doesn't look at you. He is very deliberately not looking at you. He studies a point on the far wall with the concentration of someone diffusing a bomb.

The conversation moves on. Within thirty seconds someone is talking about the movie again, or about something else entirely, and the moment is completely, totally, thoroughly over.

Fraser sits very still with a beer getting warm in his hand and thinks:

no.

No, but it wasn't nothing.

Was it?

This is the part that makes him feel insane.

With a breakup, you have evidence. You have a beginning with a name, a middle with memories that belong specifically to the two of you, an end that might be terrible but at least confirms the whole thing happened. You have the ability to say: we were something. Past tense, real and solid. Something that existed.

He doesn't have that.

He has six years of almost. He has late-night phone calls and a conversation on a floor in the dark and a thousand small moments that felt like they meant something but were never named. He has a feeling — this deep, persistent, inconvenient feeling — but a feeling is not a fact, and he can't point at a feeling and say here, this, this is proof.

And the thing that Mack said — I totally forgot you two almost dated — Fraser keeps coming back to the word almost. Because almost implies the real thing was close. Almost implies that someone, at some point, was aware that there was something to almost. Almost means it wasn't invisible.

But then I can't even picture it now erases the whole thing.

Both of those sentences were said in the same ten seconds.

Which one is true?

He starts, without meaning to, collecting evidence.

It isn't a decision he makes. It just starts happening.

The day after the cottage, back in the city, a group of them meet for lunch at a place near the park. At some point you mention a restaurant on the east side, and you say that place we used to go to, you know the one, the one with the bad lighting but amazing pasta.

Fraser's stomach drops.

You remembered. You said we. You included him in the we.

Then the conversation moves on.

He thinks about it for the rest of the day.

A week later, road trip stories come up — this happens at every gathering, there's a legendary road trip from four summers ago that's been retold so many times it's achieved a kind of mythological status — and at the mention of it you immediately look at him. Just for a second. Quick and reflexive. Because of the inside joke, the specific thing that only he and you know about, the moment that happened that was only funny to the two of you.

He sees it. The look. The you'll know what I mean of it.

He feels relief flood through him so completely he goes slightly light-headed.

Then you don't say anything. The moment passes. The story continues without the inside joke being surfaced, and he doesn't surface it either, and afterward he isn't sure if the look counted as evidence or if he projected the whole thing.

He turns it over in his head for four days.

You show up to drinks that Friday in a navy hoodie that Fraser recognizes before he consciously processes why.

It takes him a full twenty minutes, sitting across from you in the bar, before it clicks.

That's his hoodie.

Not like, a hoodie like one he owns. That specific hoodie. He'd lost it years ago and assumed it was at Connor's or at his parents' or somewhere else entirely and had stopped thinking about it.

It's his hoodie.

You're wearing his hoodie.

The soft worn cuffs. The specific kind of fading at the collar. He would recognize it anywhere, which is an absurd thing to realize in the middle of a Wednesday evening but here he is, recognizing it.

He spends the next three days wondering if you know it's his.

He never asks.

He can't figure out how to ask without it sounding like what it actually is: do you know that I gave that to you once and do you still think about that and does it mean something that you kept it.

He can't ask that. So he just doesn't.

The problem, Fraser has started to understand, is not that he wants you back. You can't want something back that you never formally had.

The problem is more specific than that. More humiliating, in a way.

He wants proof that he didn't imagine it.

That's what this is. That's all of this. All the evidence-collecting, all the watching, all the replaying of the road trip glance and the we and the hoodie that might or might not be his — it's not about getting you. It's about needing to know that it was real. That whatever that was, the almost, the charged silences, the conversations that felt like they were about something underneath what they were actually about — he needs to know that it happened to you, too.

Because if it only happened to him, then he's been grieving something that never existed. And that's a specific kind of awful that he doesn't have words for yet.

But if it happened to both of you—

then it's real.

Even if it went nowhere. Even if it was just a thing that lived in the space between what they were and what they might have been. It was real.

He just needs one of those pieces to confirm it.

August arrives the way August always does, aggressive and golden, like it knows it's almost over.

There's a birthday party for someone Fraser went to school with, backyard, string lights, the whole thing. He almost doesn't go. He goes because you'll be there.

He's not proud of this.

You're in a green dress and you're laughing at something when he arrives, head tipped back, completely unguarded, and Fraser stands at the edge of the patio for a moment and thinks, with a kind of exhausted finality: this is what the rest of my life is going to feel like if I keep doing this.

He gets a drink. He finds the people he knows. He is, by all observable metrics, fine.

You find him later, when the party has gotten loud enough that the edges of it are quieter by contrast. You come and stand next to him near the back fence, where someone has left a candle burning, and for a minute you just stand there together watching the party like you're both viewing it from a slight remove.

"Hey," you say.

"Hey."

"You've been weirdly quiet tonight."

He looks at you. "Have I?"

"You went somewhere," you say. Not accusing. Just noticing. The way you just notice things he doesn't think he's broadcasting.

He's quiet for a moment.

"Just thinking," he says. Which is technically true.

You make a small sound, not quite agreement, and you're quiet too for a while, and Fraser is thinking about how you've always been able to do this — stand in silence with someone without trying to fill it, without making it weird, without making him feel like he has to perform being okay when he isn't. He has always found it extraordinarily comfortable and tonight it is also extraordinarily painful.

"Can I ask you something?" he hears himself say.

You look at him, patient. "Yeah."

He opens his mouth.

He closes it.

He can't do it. He can't ask do you ever think about that night at Connor's place, the one years ago, when you said that thing in the dark because the question reveals everything and he has been so careful, so unbelievably careful, for so long.

"Never mind," he says. "Forget it."

You look at him for a moment longer than you need to.

"Okay," you say, and you don't push it, which is also something you've always done — known when to let something be. He's always loved that about you. He's currently finding it extremely inconvenient.

The last group hang before summer ends is another bonfire, back at Mack's, which is where they always start and end. It has the feeling of a season finale, the specific bittersweet quality of knowing everyone is about to scatter again and trying to wring one last good night out of the remaining time.

Fraser is better at pretending tonight. He's had practice.

At some point late in the evening the group thins out — couples heading home, people with early flights, the usual attrition — until it's just the four of them who are always the last four: him, you, Mack, and Connor. The fire has burned down to something smaller and redder. Nobody's refilled their drinks in a while. The conversation has gotten quieter, the particular quiet of people who don't have to perform for each other anymore.

Mack says something that makes Connor groan and stand up to prove him wrong about something inside, and then it's just Fraser and you on opposite sides of a dying fire and the night around you.

He's watching the coals.

He's not going to say anything.

He's decided not to say anything, which is, he recognizes, entirely consistent with a lifelong pattern of deciding not to say anything, and look where that's gotten him.

Then you say:

"I still think about that night sometimes."

Fraser goes very still.

He's not sure he heard you right. He keeps his eyes on the fire and does not let himself look at you too quickly, the way you'd move slowly around something you didn't want to startle.

"Which night," he says. Barely.

You're quiet for a second.

"Connor's party," you say. "The night everyone slept over and we talked until like four in the morning."

The specific contours of that night rearrange themselves in his chest.

"Yeah," he says. His voice comes out roughly. "Me too."

Another silence.

The fire shifts, a log settling into itself.

"I said something stupid," you say. Conversational, almost. Like you're discussing the weather. Like this isn't the thing he has been quietly coming apart over for the better part of three months.

"You didn't," he says.

"I did," you say. "I said we'd ruin it. Like it was already decided. Like I already knew."

Fraser is very carefully not breathing.

"Did you?" he asks. "Know?"

You're quiet for a long moment.

"I think I was scared," you say finally. "I think I said the ending out loud before it could happen to me."

He looks at you then. He can't help it.

You're looking at the fire too. Your face is lit redly by what's left of it, and you look — he doesn't have a word for it, exactly. Something open. Something old.

"I kept waiting for you to bring it up again," he says. He doesn't mean it to come out like a confession but it does.

"I kept waiting for you to bring it up first," you say.

He laughs. It comes out strange. Not quite a laugh.

"Of course you did," he says. "Of course that's what was happening."

You look at him then, finally, and the expression on your face does something complicated to his chest.

"I heard what Mack said," you tell him. "At the cottage."

"Yeah."

"I didn't laugh because it was nothing," you say. "I laughed because everyone was laughing and I didn't know how to be the person who didn't. Who sat there looking all—" you gesture vaguely at yourself, "—meaningful about it."

"So it was something," he says.

You look at him steadily. "Fraser."

"I just need to hear it," he says. "I know that sounds—I know. But I need to hear it said."

A beat.

"It was something," you say. "It was always something."

He breathes out.

He didn't know, until this moment, how much weight he has been carrying in his chest until he feels some part of it loosen. Not all of it. Not even most of it. But some.

"Okay," he says.

"Okay," you say.

The fire makes a small sound. Somewhere across the yard, Connor says something and Mack laughs, and the world continues in that easy way it does when it doesn't know that something irreversible is happening in a corner of a backyard.

Fraser looks at the coals.

He thinks about six years of almost. About a conversation in the dark and every moment after it that he didn't say anything. About a hoodie and a look and a restaurant and a thousand pieces of evidence he collected like a man building a case in a trial he never intended to bring.

He thinks: I could let it stay here. Resolved, in the way that unsaid things sometimes get resolved, quietly, without having to become anything. He has proof now. He has what he needed. He could file it somewhere real and leave it.

He thinks: but I have been letting things stay here for six years.

He looks at you.

You're already looking at him, and for a second the expression on your face is so familiar that it pulls at something under his sternum, something he has had no name for and has had no name for and is very tired of having no name for.

"What if we didn't wait anymore," he says.

Not a question, quite. Not a declaration. Something in between, the same ambiguous territory they have been living in forever, except this time he is choosing it deliberately. He is saying: here. This edge. Let's stand here together and name it.

You look at him for a long moment.

"Yeah," you say.

Simple as that.

"Yeah," you say, and something in his chest finally, after all of it, settles.

Outside, the summer does what summers do at their ends.

It becomes the thing you'll spend the rest of the year trying to remember clearly enough.

[jonasiegenthaler]

Nico Hischier | Blick does the Switzerland check

[writingonleaves]

i’m just mad as hell cause i loved this place (for so long) - will smith

pairing: will smith x original female character

warnings: swearing, angst (or as much as i can do)

inspired by + title: so long, london by taylor swift

word count: 3.9k

author's note: something short that came up in my mind on a long airplane ride!! and i always am trying to improve my writing and this time i tried to focus on arguments. hope you enjoy and let me know what you think <3

Three years. Three years since Trinity Scarafone has walked through the Boston College campus that she spent four years at. 

Part of it is because she just simply hasn’t been here a lot since then. Her job as part of the equipment management team with the Seattle Kraken only has her in Boston once a year, and in the summers, she spends them in her hometown in upstate New York. 

The campus itself is still incredibly beautiful. Gasson Hall is still worth standing still for a second to admire, especially if there’s a clear blue sky behind to compliment it. She can feel her past self in various crevices along campus, whether it’s a particular bench or a grassy spot under the tree that she always liked to read at. She doesn’t take the time to walk inside any of the buildings, unsure if she’d be able to get into some of them anyways without a valid student ID. 

There’s only one building she’s required to walk into today. 

Conte Forum hasn’t changed much on the outside. Unassuming and shaped a bit weirdly, almost like a kid was given Lego blocks and someone took that as architectural design. She became accustomed to the gray skies, with specks of snow over the dead grass during the season. But seeing Conte at the start of a school year makes it look untouched. Like a building of promise and fresh air, the shadows of the previous season fading. 

She didn’t tell anyone that she’d be back for Homecoming. In a way, she’s still a bit confused how she convinced herself to come. It’s not like she didn’t like her time at BC. She owes a lot of who she is now professionally to her experiences during the three years when she was on the equipment team at Boston College. She owes them everything, in a way. 

Every year, a bunch of alumni — players and staff — come back for Homecoming and the day before the football game, there’s an informal skate at Conte. It’s mostly just an excuse for people in the hockey program of all generations to come together. This year, something in Trinity stopped when she saw the invite in the email two months ago. And instead of clicking “will not attend” in the RSVP like she had done the last three years, she clicked yes. She had then texted Adam, her old boss, who was ecstatic and then Hayley, her former partner in crime who was now in the hockey operations department with the AHL and who Trinity knew had been coming every year since graduation. She had proceeded to forgo the texting formality and called Trinity instead, talking a million miles a minute about how excited she was. 

“Everybody’s going to be so excited to see you,” Hayley had exclaimed. “Seriously. The other times I’ve gone, the first question people ask me is where you are.”

Trinity hadn’t asked more than that, just merely humming and assuring Hayley she’d text her the travel plans when she made them. 

She opens the back door into Conte, surprised that it’s unlocked. There’s no fanfare, which is how Trinity likes to remember Conte. While she loved how filled the stands got for game days and the thrill of being behind the bench during a game, it was in the everyday low buzz where Trinity really fell in love with this building — first when she was 18 at her first BC hockey game, then at 20 when she interviewed for the job. 

As she’s walking to the main concourse, where the email told them to meet, it starts becoming louder. Suddenly, Trinity’s hands start clamming up and she wipes them on her long skirt to try to compensate. There’s no reason to be nervous. She has the right to be here just as much as everyone else. 

“Trinity Scarafone?”

As she whips around at the familiar voice, her lips instinctively raise into a genuine smile. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Ryan Leonard.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” he walks briskly up to her as she lets out an involuntary oof when he thumps her into a tight hug. “You act like we haven’t seen each other in years.”

“Twice a season where we exchange maybe three sentences tops isn’t the same,” Trinity mutters into his chest before backing away. Ryan’s dressed in an old BC sweatshirt paired with black shorts, sneakers on his feet that probably cost more than what Trinity makes in six months. He’s 23 now, with a fresh A stitched on his Washington Capitals jersey, but he’s still baby Ryan to her. She thinks he always will be. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s even better to see you,” Ryan replies with ease, falling into step with her as they continue to the lobby. “And now I get to brag to everyone that I got the first hug.”

“Who blabbed?”

“No one blabbed,” Trinity just gives him an unimpressed look. Ryan rolls his eyes. “Okay, Hayley may have mentioned it to Jimmy that you were coming and you know Jim.”

She can’t even pretend to be surprised. “The baby freshmen always did love Hayley.”

“It’s cause she always snuck them candy. With you, on the other hand, we were lucky if we ever got a smile out of you.”

“You know that’s not true,” she lightly scolds.

Ryan bumps his hip with hers. “I know. I’m just playing.”

“So James is here?” She asks, trying to appear casual. 

If Ryan knows she’s trying to fish, he doesn’t show it. “Yeah, showed up with Dean and Gasser. I think I saw Rammer and Forter running around too. The Powells. Fowler. Gabo’s showing up at some point. Oh, and some of the guys from your first year on the team.” He smirks. “I know you have a soft spot for them.”

“I loved you all equally,” she says diplomatically. But he’s right. She’ll never forget the first roster she worked for. The one that planted the seed in her brain that this could be something she wanted to do for the rest of her life. 

Ryan hums. “He’s also here.”

She doesn’t need to ask him to specify who he’s talking about. “I figured. He loves a reunion,” she says evenly. 

“You going to be okay?”

She smiles thinly. “Wouldn’t have come by if I wasn’t going to be.” He hums again, and she’s once again thankful that he doesn’t press. “And it was so long ago anyways.”

Ryan gives her a major side eye. “Sure. But I also love holding a grudge, so I wouldn’t blame you.”

She barks out a laugh at that. Ryan was always extremely stubborn, on the ice and off it. It drove Trinity up the wall sometimes, as someone who had to work with him a daily basis. She just leans into him briefly, squeezing his elbow. “It’s good to see you, Ryan.”

“Sap,” he says, before they turn the corner. And suddenly, a flurry of voices call her name in excitement and Ryan just pushes her forward with a smug grin. Her throat is filled with sudden emotion as Hayley runs to embrace her, and then Cutter’s arms wrap around them both. She’s seen a lot of these guys playing on various NHL teams, or with Hayley, running around the same hockey professional circles, but it doesn’t compare to having everybody together under this roof again. It makes the uncertainty of being back at BC a bit duller. 

She’s overwhelmed at how enthusiastically she’s being passed around into hugs. Even Coach Brown catches her and shakes her hand warmly. It isn’t until the end when she has her senses again when she’s face to face with a painfully familiar set of eyes. 

Will Smith. Still the darling of BC hockey all these years later. A backwards cap sitting on top of his curls and dressed in a BC branded maroon quarterzip. His blue eyes have somehow gotten bluer with age and Trinity kinda wants to throw a drink at his face. 

Instead, she tries to muster out a smile. Part of it is genuine. “Hi Will.”

The grin that’s always on his face settles down into something smaller. No less bright, but something softer and more bittersweet and longing. Good. She’s vindicated that she still has that effect on him. “Hey Trin,” he says softly. “It’s good to see you.”

“Is it?” She tries to joke, but there’s an edge to it. 

“Yeah. It is.” 

She hates how sincere he sounds. She hates that she has to be the first one to break eye contact.

Luckily for them both, the flurry of activity around them tears their attention away from each other. Trinity settles back in with the people she knows the best, exchanging stories with smiles and laughter that bounces off the walls. It’s weird to walk around these halls again. It feels like walking back into your childhood home after years. She has tried her damn hardest to push the BC years away from her brain, or at least make peace with them. She’s done pretty well, but being back here is both exhilarating and heartbreaking, just like she knew it would be. 

The big event of the day is an informal skate and scrimmage for the players. and for old times sake, she finds herself back in the gear room, fiddling with machines and handing out practice jerseys. She’s lucky that she does this full time with an NHL team now, but when Gabe comes by and asks her with a twinkle in his eye if she can sharpen his skates, the grin almost breaks her face from how wide it is. 

People on the outside don’t quite realize how much the equipment management team is integrated into a hockey team’s everyday routine. She was often in at least an hour before the guys were, whether it was early morning practices to Friday night gamedays. After games, Trinity was always one of the last ones out of the building, though part of that became personal preference, as she developed her own little routine. Part of that became ending the night sitting in the stands for five minutes. 

She finds herself behind the bench as some of the alumni scrimmage each other, chatting with Hayley and Adam and taking it all in. She’s really glad she came back, even though there are moments when she catches herself and her stomach ties in knots. 

After the scrimmage, people are planning to disperse into various other homecoming activities, formal and informal. It’s all leading up to the homecoming football game tomorrow. Trinity takes a deep breath as she says goodbye to people. This was the hard part. And it’s over. 

As she’s walking past the rink again, she halts. She looks around and thinks for a moment before deciding, fuck it. 

She heads to the home bench, where she used to stand behind every Friday and Saturday night. Now, she gets to do it for a living in NHL arenas across the continent, but this is where it all started. She mutters under her breath, something like an apology to this arena, this place, this college, for not coming back all these years. Call her crazy, but in the hum of the arena, she feels like the ice is telling her it’s okay and that it forgives her. 

Trinity hears footsteps, and she suddenly shifts. “Yeah, I’m leaving in a second!” She calls out, grabbing her bag from the bench. She hears no reply and the footsteps stop. She slowly turns her head to the doorway to see Will, hands shoved in his khakis, teal gear bag on his shoulder, rocking back and forth on his feet nervously. She swallows. “How’d you know I was here?”

“You used to always linger after games.” She just stares at him. “Leno also told me he saw you coming out,” he admits. 

“I’m going to kill him,” she mutters under her breath. Will drops his gear bag and starts walking towards her. She sighs. “Will. I really don’t wanna do this.”

“It’s been six years. If we’re not going to do this now, then when?”

She scoffs, crossing her arms and fully shifting herself to face him on the bench as he stops in front of her. “That’s incredibly fucking rich coming from you,” she snaps.

His shoulders shake slightly as he lets out a deep breath. He looks torn and Trinity can’t really bring herself to care. “I know,” he says lowly. “I know. I-I-” 

He trails off and she turns away, facing the empty ice. She flinches as he slides on the bench next to her. He’s close, but not close enough to touch. That’s good, she thinks. He knows better. 

“I’m surprised you came.”

“BC isn’t just yours,” she says coolly. “I have good memories here too. It’s not about you, which may be surprising.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Will backtracks quickly. “I’m glad you came. Everyone was really excited.”

She hums as silence falls over them again. Until Trinity, who hates that she doesn’t have the self control, breaks it first. “If you’re here to actually say something to me, then say it. If not, then I’ll see you when we play the Sharks.”

“That’s the thing, though.” he chuckles, even though there’s no humor. “You act like we don’t even know each other when we play each other.”

She cocks her head. “I mean, it’s pretty similar to how we left things off, no?” And Trinity knows. She knows she’s being petty. But he’s right here and she might as well be completely honest with him and say how she feels. 

“Trin-”

“And you know what? It sucked, sure. But I got the hint. And I kept showing up here at Conte because I had no other choice and I grew up love it again. I loved being at this rink and working, despite the fact that the person who made me really fall in love with BC hockey in the first place came back from losing in the national championship and proceeded to pretend I didn’t exist.” 

“Trinity-”

It feels like a dam has broken and she can’t stop as her voice cracks. “And that would’ve been all fine and dandy if you hadn’t made me think that whole fucking season that we actually had something.”

“We did,” he swallows roughly. “We did.”

“Then why do it?” She whispers. “Why ignore me and literally ghost me and not give me an explanation? Did you lose feelings for me? Did I become too clingy? Was it all just in my head? Did, fuck, I don’t know. Whatever. It doesn’t even matter anymore. Time’s passed. But it was shitty, and for you to try and finally talk about it with me six fucking years later is also really shitty.”

One long second of silence, and then Will shifts. “You done?”

She scoffs, staring back out at the ice.  “You have some nerve, Will Smith.”

“I do, because I didn’t six years ago and that’s why we’re here.” That gets Trinity to shut up. She feels him shift closer and she bites her tongue. He sighs. “I’m sorry. For all of it. I’m so sorry. For cutting you off after that game and ignoring you and not giving you any sort of explanation.”

“Well, do you have one?”

“What? An explanation?” She nods and he shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter now, I guess, why I did it. It’s been so long.”

“I’d like to hear it anyways,” she says with her chin up. 

He blinks and a small smile peeks through before it disappears in a flash. “Thought you might. You’re not gonna like it.”

“Will.”

“I was scared, okay?” His hands fly into his hair and he actually looks frazzled for once. Will Smith rarely looks like he doesn’t have his shit together. “I-I loved you so much, Trin. And we lost and everything felt like it was caving in on me and the decision to sign or not to sign felt suffocating so I did the only thing that I thought was right.”

“Ignoring me? Cutting me off?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and softens. “I know it sounds bad. I know. But I thought that maybe if I just cut clean and let you go that it would be less painful.”

“For who?” She snaps. “Less painful for who, William? For you? You know, you’re a lot of things, but I never thought you were selfish.”

“I know that,” he fires back. “I know that now. But back then? Y-you still had two more years of college and you knew what you wanted and it scared me, Trin. The way I felt about you? 19-year-old me didn’t know what to do with that. So I just pushed it away and tried it make it disappear, thinking that it would just be better for both of us in the long run.”

Trinity feels like she’s living in a rom-com in the worst way possible. Exasperated, she asks. “And was it? Was it better?”

He snorts. “Obviously fucking not. I had to hear from Gabe that you got the gig with the Kraken and I had to pretend I wasn’t proud of you because I did that to myself. I pushed you away. I came every reunion, at the off chance that you’d come as well. When we play Seattle, I force my head down and play my ass off just so maybe you’ll notice me and I’ll catch your eye.” His voice cracks. “I’m so sorry, Trinity. There’s nothing else I can say except I’m sorry. And I know it’s six years too late. I know. But even if it’s late, you deserve an apology.”

She takes a deep breath, noting Will’s bright eyes and crease in his eyebrow. At 25, he’s just as pretty as he was the day they met, when he walked into the meeting room at Conte and his eyes went immediately to her. 

She had come back for her second year, knowing that she would be bestowed with more responsibilities this time. She always knew she liked being behind the scenes of a process. Being on the equipment team for a hockey team wasn’t something she thought she’d be doing, but like many freshmen, she was bouncing around booths during the Fall Student Involvement Fair. Something pulled her to the athletics section, and then eventually on an interest form, and then a meeting, informal interview, and then the first game of the season arrived. 

And she fell in love. With the job. But also, stupidly, with the freshman star with his green eyes and his blonde curls during her sophomore year. She fell in love and he left without an explanation. So she became the best she could be at her job, which paid off. And then tried to forget about the boy who broke her heart. She thought she had forgotten, but now that he’s sitting right next to her, she’s not so sure.

Will clears his throat. “I’m not expecting you to accept my apology or anything.”

“Then what do you want?”

He blinks. “Huh?”

She looks over at him, suddenly tired. “What do you want?”

He chuckles softly. Trinity’s chest tightens. “I don’t think I really have the right to ask for anything from you anymore.”

“You don’t,” Trinity can’t help but laugh a little. “But in an ideal world, what would you want?”

He shrugs. “Just to talk to you again. I’ve missed talking to you.”

A genuine smile peeks through her lips. “Yeah,” she says. “You were always so easy to talk to. It was one of my favorite things about you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“It was all real,” he swallows. “What you said earlier or whatever. None of what happened that year was in your head.”

“I know that now,” she responds softly. “I wasn’t quite sure at the time. Or right after. But I figured it out eventually.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. Trinity’s both amused and a little tired of all these apologies. He puts his head in his hands. “You shouldn’t have had to figure that out yourself. I should’ve never let you guess how I feel about you.”

“I kinda like this apology tour you’re going on,” she says lightly. Will laughs into his hands and Trinity laughs with him. They both look out at the ice again. 

He looks at her and knocks his knee against hers. She doesn’t flinch. “I’m so proud of you. Just. So fucking proud. You enjoying it? You like Seattle?”

“It’s no Boston,” she chuckles. “But yeah. I love it. Seattle and the job. You? You like San Jose?”

“Love it.”

“Good,” she says, meaning it with her whole heart. “And I accept. All the apologies.”

“You don’t have to. You probably shouldn’t.”

“You’re probably right,” she shrugs. “But it’s fun seeing you so frazzled.”

Will scoffs, shaking his head with a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“You like it.” She takes a deep breath. “Thank you. For apologizing. Even if it’s way too late.”

“Thank you for not taking a stick from the equipment room and beating my ass with it.”

She laughs loudly. “You’re welcome.”

He clears his throat. “I should go. Leno will probably think you killed me and Gabe will be sad you didn’t.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It very much is,” Will says. “They, uh, they both gave me a lot of shit for what I did to you.”

Her heart surges with love at Will’s old linemates who ended up becoming her friends the year after he left, even when Trinity was reeling over heartbreak. The first month or so of being back at Conte without Will was really hard, but Ryan and Gabe, being themselves, were very helpful. Probably more helpful than they both realize. 

“Are you going to the football game tomorrow?” She asks. 

He nods. “Yeah. Are you?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

He stands up, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Well, if you are. I’ll see you then.”

“And if I’m not?”

“Then I’ll see you later. And I mean it this time.”

She shouldn’t believe him, but she does. With a nod and a smile, she says, “Okay.”

~*~*~

When someone knocks on Trinity’s front door, she immediately thinks she’s hearing things. Everyone she’s close with in Seattle who would knock on her door without telling her in advance that they were coming can be counted on one hand, and she knows all of them are at their jobs. Because it’s a Monday afternoon. And practice already finished, so she knows it’s not work related.

She covers her yawn as she paddles to the door. Whoever is knocking is eager and won’t stop. 

When she opens the door, she lets a small gasp out. It’s Will. In Seattle. 

He swallows as the side of lip quirks up into a smile. “Hi.”

She blinks. “How did you-”

“Beniers told me. I mean, I had to bribe him, but he gave me your address. Nothing illegal, I promise.”

“That traitor,” she says with little bite. “When did you get here?”

“We just landed, like, an hour ago, maybe?”

“And you came here,” she says softly, crossing her arms. 

He nods. “I came here.” He shifts on his feet, suddenly nervous. “I’m not expecting-I can leave if you’re busy or-”

Trinity doesn’t let him finish. “Do you wanna come in?”

The smile that comes onto Will’s face is worth it. “I’d love to.”

[writingonleaves]

i’m just mad as hell cause i loved this place (for so long) - will smith

pairing: will smith x original female character

warnings: swearing, angst (or as much as i can do)

inspired by + title: so long, london by taylor swift

word count: 3.9k

author's note: something short that came up in my mind on a long airplane ride!! and i always am trying to improve my writing and this time i tried to focus on arguments. hope you enjoy and let me know what you think <3

Three years. Three years since Trinity Scarafone has walked through the Boston College campus that she spent four years at. 

Part of it is because she just simply hasn’t been here a lot since then. Her job as part of the equipment management team with the Seattle Kraken only has her in Boston once a year, and in the summers, she spends them in her hometown in upstate New York. 

The campus itself is still incredibly beautiful. Gasson Hall is still worth standing still for a second to admire, especially if there’s a clear blue sky behind to compliment it. She can feel her past self in various crevices along campus, whether it’s a particular bench or a grassy spot under the tree that she always liked to read at. She doesn’t take the time to walk inside any of the buildings, unsure if she’d be able to get into some of them anyways without a valid student ID. 

There’s only one building she’s required to walk into today. 

Conte Forum hasn’t changed much on the outside. Unassuming and shaped a bit weirdly, almost like a kid was given Lego blocks and someone took that as architectural design. She became accustomed to the gray skies, with specks of snow over the dead grass during the season. But seeing Conte at the start of a school year makes it look untouched. Like a building of promise and fresh air, the shadows of the previous season fading. 

She didn’t tell anyone that she’d be back for Homecoming. In a way, she’s still a bit confused how she convinced herself to come. It’s not like she didn’t like her time at BC. She owes a lot of who she is now professionally to her experiences during the three years when she was on the equipment team at Boston College. She owes them everything, in a way. 

Every year, a bunch of alumni — players and staff — come back for Homecoming and the day before the football game, there’s an informal skate at Conte. It’s mostly just an excuse for people in the hockey program of all generations to come together. This year, something in Trinity stopped when she saw the invite in the email two months ago. And instead of clicking “will not attend” in the RSVP like she had done the last three years, she clicked yes. She had then texted Adam, her old boss, who was ecstatic and then Hayley, her former partner in crime who was now in the hockey operations department with the AHL and who Trinity knew had been coming every year since graduation. She had proceeded to forgo the texting formality and called Trinity instead, talking a million miles a minute about how excited she was. 

“Everybody’s going to be so excited to see you,” Hayley had exclaimed. “Seriously. The other times I’ve gone, the first question people ask me is where you are.”

Trinity hadn’t asked more than that, just merely humming and assuring Hayley she’d text her the travel plans when she made them. 

She opens the back door into Conte, surprised that it’s unlocked. There’s no fanfare, which is how Trinity likes to remember Conte. While she loved how filled the stands got for game days and the thrill of being behind the bench during a game, it was in the everyday low buzz where Trinity really fell in love with this building — first when she was 18 at her first BC hockey game, then at 20 when she interviewed for the job. 

As she’s walking to the main concourse, where the email told them to meet, it starts becoming louder. Suddenly, Trinity’s hands start clamming up and she wipes them on her long skirt to try to compensate. There’s no reason to be nervous. She has the right to be here just as much as everyone else. 

“Trinity Scarafone?”

As she whips around at the familiar voice, her lips instinctively raise into a genuine smile. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Ryan Leonard.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” he walks briskly up to her as she lets out an involuntary oof when he thumps her into a tight hug. “You act like we haven’t seen each other in years.”

“Twice a season where we exchange maybe three sentences tops isn’t the same,” Trinity mutters into his chest before backing away. Ryan’s dressed in an old BC sweatshirt paired with black shorts, sneakers on his feet that probably cost more than what Trinity makes in six months. He’s 25 now, with a fresh A stitched on his Washington Capitals jersey, but he’s still baby Ryan to her. She thinks he always will be. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s even better to see you,” Ryan replies with ease, falling into step with her as they continue to the lobby. “And now I get to brag to everyone that I got the first hug.”

“Who blabbed?”

“No one blabbed,” Trinity just gives him an unimpressed look. Ryan rolls his eyes. “Okay, Hayley may have mentioned it to Jimmy that you were coming and you know Jim.”

She can’t even pretend to be surprised. “The baby freshmen always did love Hayley.”

“It’s cause she always snuck them candy. With you, on the other hand, we were lucky if we ever got a smile out of you.”

“You know that’s not true,” she lightly scolds.

Ryan bumps his hip with hers. “I know. I’m just playing.”

“So James is here?” She asks, trying to appear casual. 

If Ryan knows she’s trying to fish, he doesn’t show it. “Yeah, showed up with Dean and Gasser. I think I saw Rammer and Forter running around too. The Powells. Fowler. Gabo’s showing up at some point. Oh, and some of the guys from your first year on the team.” He smirks. “I know you have a soft spot for them.”

“I loved you all equally,” she says diplomatically. But he’s right. She’ll never forget the first roster she worked for. The one that planted the seed in her brain that this could be something she wanted to do for the rest of her life. 

Ryan hums. “He’s also here.”

She doesn’t need to ask him to specify who he’s talking about. “I figured. He loves a reunion,” she says evenly. 

“You going to be okay?”

She smiles thinly. “Wouldn’t have come by if I wasn’t going to be.” He hums again, and she’s once again thankful that he doesn’t press. “And it was so long ago anyways.”

Ryan gives her a major side eye. “Sure. But I also love holding a grudge, so I wouldn’t blame you.”

She barks out a laugh at that. Ryan was always extremely stubborn, on the ice and off it. It drove Trinity up the wall sometimes, as someone who had to work with him a daily basis. She just leans into him briefly, squeezing his elbow. “It’s good to see you, Ryan.”

“Sap,” he says, before they turn the corner. And suddenly, a flurry of voices call her name in excitement and Ryan just pushes her forward with a smug grin. Her throat is filled with sudden emotion as Hayley runs to embrace her, and then Cutter’s arms wrap around them both. She’s seen a lot of these guys playing on various NHL teams, or with Hayley, running around the same hockey professional circles, but it doesn’t compare to having everybody together under this roof again. It makes the uncertainty of being back at BC a bit duller. 

She’s overwhelmed at how enthusiastically she’s being passed around into hugs. Even Coach Brown catches her and shakes her hand warmly. It isn’t until the end when she has her senses again when she’s face to face with a painfully familiar set of eyes. 

Will Smith. Still the darling of BC hockey all these years later. A backwards cap sitting on top of his curls and dressed in a BC branded maroon quarterzip. His blue eyes have somehow gotten bluer with age and Trinity kinda wants to throw a drink at his face. 

Instead, she tries to muster out a smile. Part of it is genuine. “Hi Will.”

The grin that’s always on his face settles down into something smaller. No less bright, but something softer and more bittersweet and longing. Good. She’s vindicated that she still has that effect on him. “Hey Trin,” he says softly. “It’s good to see you.”

“Is it?” She tries to joke, but there’s an edge to it. 

“Yeah. It is.” 

She hates how sincere he sounds. She hates that she has to be the first one to break eye contact.

Luckily for them both, the flurry of activity around them tears their attention away from each other. Trinity settles back in with the people she knows the best, exchanging stories with smiles and laughter that bounces off the walls. It’s weird to walk around these halls again. It feels like walking back into your childhood home after years. She has tried her damn hardest to push the BC years away from her brain, or at least make peace with them. She’s done pretty well, but being back here is both exhilarating and heartbreaking, just like she knew it would be. 

The big event of the day is an informal skate and scrimmage for the players. and for old times sake, she finds herself back in the gear room, fiddling with machines and handing out practice jerseys. She’s lucky that she does this full time with an NHL team now, but when Gabe comes by and asks her with a twinkle in his eye if she can sharpen his skates, the grin almost breaks her face from how wide it is. 

People on the outside don’t quite realize how much the equipment management team is integrated into a hockey team’s everyday routine. She was often in at least an hour before the guys were, whether it was early morning practices to Friday night gamedays. After games, Trinity was always one of the last ones out of the building, though part of that became personal preference, as she developed her own little routine. Part of that became ending the night sitting in the stands for five minutes. 

She finds herself behind the bench as some of the alumni scrimmage each other, chatting with Hayley and Adam and taking it all in. She’s really glad she came back, even though there are moments when she catches herself and her stomach ties in knots. 

After the scrimmage, people are planning to disperse into various other homecoming activities, formal and informal. It’s all leading up to the homecoming football game tomorrow. Trinity takes a deep breath as she says goodbye to people. This was the hard part. And it’s over. 

As she’s walking past the rink again, she halts. She looks around and thinks for a moment before deciding, fuck it. 

She heads to the home bench, where she used to stand behind every Friday and Saturday night. Now, she gets to do it for a living in NHL arenas across the continent, but this is where it all started. She mutters under her breath, something like an apology to this arena, this place, this college, for not coming back all these years. Call her crazy, but in the hum of the arena, she feels like the ice is telling her it’s okay and that it forgives her. 

Trinity hears footsteps, and she suddenly shifts. “Yeah, I’m leaving in a second!” She calls out, grabbing her bag from the bench. She hears no reply and the footsteps stop. She slowly turns her head to the doorway to see Will, hands shoved in his khakis, teal gear bag on his shoulder, rocking back and forth on his feet nervously. She swallows. “How’d you know I was here?”

“You used to always linger after games.” She just stares at him. “Leno also told me he saw you coming out,” he admits. 

“I’m going to kill him,” she mutters under her breath. Will drops his gear bag and starts walking towards her. She sighs. “Will. I really don’t wanna do this.”

“It’s been six years. If we’re not going to do this now, then when?”

She scoffs, crossing her arms and fully shifting herself to face him on the bench as he stops in front of her. “That’s incredibly fucking rich coming from you,” she snaps.

His shoulders shake slightly as he lets out a deep breath. He looks torn and Trinity can’t really bring herself to care. “I know,” he says lowly. “I know. I-I-” 

He trails off and she turns away, facing the empty ice. She flinches as he slides on the bench next to her. He’s close, but not close enough to touch. That’s good, she thinks. He knows better. 

“I’m surprised you came.”

“BC isn’t just yours,” she says coolly. “I have good memories here too. It’s not about you, which may be surprising.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Will backtracks quickly. “I’m glad you came. Everyone was really excited.”

She hums as silence falls over them again. Until Trinity, who hates that she doesn’t have the self control, breaks it first. “If you’re here to actually say something to me, then say it. If not, then I’ll see you when we play the Sharks.”

“That’s the thing, though.” he chuckles, even though there’s no humor. “You act like we don’t even know each other when we play each other.”

She cocks her head. “I mean, it’s pretty similar to how we left things off, no?” And Trinity knows. She knows she’s being petty. But he’s right here and she might as well be completely honest with him and say how she feels. 

“Trin-”

“And you know what? It sucked, sure. But I got the hint. And I kept showing up here at Conte because I had no other choice and I grew up love it again. I loved being at this rink and working, despite the fact that the person who made me really fall in love with BC hockey in the first place came back from losing in the national championship and proceeded to pretend I didn’t exist.” 

“Trinity-”

It feels like a dam has broken and she can’t stop as her voice cracks. “And that would’ve been all fine and dandy if you hadn’t made me think that whole fucking season that we actually had something.”

“We did,” he swallows roughly. “We did.”

“Then why do it?” She whispers. “Why ignore me and literally ghost me and not give me an explanation? Did you lose feelings for me? Did I become too clingy? Was it all just in my head? Did, fuck, I don’t know. Whatever. It doesn’t even matter anymore. Time’s passed. But it was shitty, and for you to try and finally talk about it with me six fucking years later is also really shitty.”

One long second of silence, and then Will shifts. “You done?”

She scoffs, staring back out at the ice.  “You have some nerve, Will Smith.”

“I do, because I didn’t six years ago and that’s why we’re here.” That gets Trinity to shut up. She feels him shift closer and she bites her tongue. He sighs. “I’m sorry. For all of it. I’m so sorry. For cutting you off after that game and ignoring you and not giving you any sort of explanation.”

“Well, do you have one?”

“What? An explanation?” She nods and he shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter now, I guess, why I did it. It’s been so long.”

“I’d like to hear it anyways,” she says with her chin up. 

He blinks and a small smile peeks through before it disappears in a flash. “Thought you might. You’re not gonna like it.”

“Will.”

“I was scared, okay?” His hands fly into his hair and he actually looks frazzled for once. Will Smith rarely looks like he doesn’t have his shit together. “I-I loved you so much, Trin. And we lost and everything felt like it was caving in on me and the decision to sign or not to sign felt suffocating so I did the only thing that I thought was right.”

“Ignoring me? Cutting me off?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and softens. “I know it sounds bad. I know. But I thought that maybe if I just cut clean and let you go that it would be less painful.”

“For who?” She snaps. “Less painful for who, William? For you? You know, you’re a lot of things, but I never thought you were selfish.”

“I know that,” he fires back. “I know that now. But back then? Y-you still had two more years of college and you knew what you wanted and it scared me, Trin. The way I felt about you? 19-year-old me didn’t know what to do with that. So I just pushed it away and tried it make it disappear, thinking that it would just be better for both of us in the long run.”

Trinity feels like she’s living in a rom-com in the worst way possible. Exasperated, she asks. “And was it? Was it better?”

He snorts. “Obviously fucking not. I had to hear from Gabe that you got the gig with the Kraken and I had to pretend I wasn’t proud of you because I did that to myself. I pushed you away. I came every reunion, at the off chance that you’d come as well. When we play Seattle, I force my head down and play my ass off just so maybe you’ll notice me and I’ll catch your eye.” His voice cracks. “I’m so sorry, Trinity. There’s nothing else I can say except I’m sorry. And I know it’s six years too late. I know. But even if it’s late, you deserve an apology.”

She takes a deep breath, noting Will’s bright eyes and crease in his eyebrow. At 25, he’s just as pretty as he was the day they met, when he walked into the meeting room at Conte and his eyes went immediately to her. 

She had come back for her second year, knowing that she would be bestowed with more responsibilities this time. She always knew she liked being behind the scenes of a process. Being on the equipment team for a hockey team wasn’t something she thought she’d be doing, but like many freshmen, she was bouncing around booths during the Fall Student Involvement Fair. Something pulled her to the athletics section, and then eventually on an interest form, and then a meeting, informal interview, and then the first game of the season arrived. 

And she fell in love. With the job. But also, stupidly, with the freshman star with his green eyes and his blonde curls during her sophomore year. She fell in love and he left without an explanation. So she became the best she could be at her job, which paid off. And then tried to forget about the boy who broke her heart. She thought she had forgotten, but now that he’s sitting right next to her, she’s not so sure.

Will clears his throat. “I’m not expecting you to accept my apology or anything.”

“Then what do you want?”

He blinks. “Huh?”

She looks over at him, suddenly tired. “What do you want?”

He chuckles softly. Trinity’s chest tightens. “I don’t think I really have the right to ask for anything from you anymore.”

“You don’t,” Trinity can’t help but laugh a little. “But in an ideal world, what would you want?”

He shrugs. “Just to talk to you again. I’ve missed talking to you.”

A genuine smile peeks through her lips. “Yeah,” she says. “You were always so easy to talk to. It was one of my favorite things about you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“It was all real,” he swallows. “What you said earlier or whatever. None of what happened that year was in your head.”

“I know that now,” she responds softly. “I wasn’t quite sure at the time. Or right after. But I figured it out eventually.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. Trinity’s both amused and a little tired of all these apologies. He puts his head in his hands. “You shouldn’t have had to figure that out yourself. I should’ve never let you guess how I feel about you.”

“I kinda like this apology tour you’re going on,” she says lightly. Will laughs into his hands and Trinity laughs with him. They both look out at the ice again. 

He looks at her and knocks his knee against hers. She doesn’t flinch. “I’m so proud of you. Just. So fucking proud. You enjoying it? You like Seattle?”

“It’s no Boston,” she chuckles. “But yeah. I love it. Seattle and the job. You? You like San Jose?”

“Love it.”

“Good,” she says, meaning it with her whole heart. “And I accept. All the apologies.”

“You don’t have to. You probably shouldn’t.”

“You’re probably right,” she shrugs. “But it’s fun seeing you so frazzled.”

Will scoffs, shaking his head with a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“You like it.” She takes a deep breath. “Thank you. For apologizing. Even if it’s way too late.”

“Thank you for not taking a stick from the equipment room and beating my ass with it.”

She laughs loudly. “You’re welcome.”

He clears his throat. “I should go. Leno will probably think you killed me and Gabe will be sad you didn’t.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It very much is,” Will says. “They, uh, they both gave me a lot of shit for what I did to you.”

Her heart surges with love at Will’s old linemates who ended up becoming her friends the year after he left, even when Trinity was reeling over heartbreak. The first month or so of being back at Conte without Will was really hard, but Ryan and Gabe, being themselves, were very helpful. Probably more helpful than they both realize. 

“Are you going to the football game tomorrow?” She asks. 

He nods. “Yeah. Are you?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

He stands up, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Well, if you are. I’ll see you then.”

“And if I’m not?”

“Then I’ll see you later. And I mean it this time.”

She shouldn’t believe him, but she does. With a nod and a smile, she says, “Okay.”

~*~*~

When someone knocks on Trinity’s front door, she immediately thinks she’s hearing things. Everyone she’s close with in Seattle who would knock on her door without telling her in advance that they were coming can be counted on one hand, and she knows all of them are at their jobs. Because it’s a Monday afternoon. And practice already finished, so she knows it’s not work related.

She covers her yawn as she paddles to the door. Whoever is knocking is eager and won’t stop. 

When she opens the door, she lets a small gasp out. It’s Will. In Seattle. 

He swallows as the side of lip quirks up into a smile. “Hi.”

She blinks. “How did you-”

“Beniers told me. I mean, I had to bribe him, but he gave me your address. Nothing illegal, I promise.”

“That traitor,” she says with little bite. “When did you get here?”

“We just landed, like, an hour ago, maybe?”

“And you came here,” she says softly, crossing her arms. 

He nods. “I came here.” He shifts on his feet, suddenly nervous. “I’m not expecting-I can leave if you’re busy or-”

Trinity doesn’t let him finish. “Do you wanna come in?”

The smile that comes onto Will’s face is worth it. “I’d love to.”

[incloudcity]

slow down | ws2

requests are open | navigation

a/n: i lowkey feel like i've been writing in circles lately but here's something sort of kind of not good but not bad i think

The thing about loving someone who plays hockey is that the calendar becomes your enemy.

You learned this slowly, in pieces, each one small enough to ignore until you can't anymore. A missed birthday here. A FaceTime that cuts out at 11 PM because he has a 6 AM practice and you're three time zones away and neither of you want to be the one to say goodnight first. A weekend that was supposed to be yours, quietly swallowed by a road trip to Minnesota.

You never said it would be easy.

You just didn't think it would feel like this — like you were always reaching for each other across some invisible distance, your fingers almost touching, the gap never quite closing.

It started around February.

It started with you looking at your planner on a Sunday morning and realizing you couldn't remember the last time you'd had a full, uninterrupted day with Will.

Not a day where his phone buzzed every twenty minutes.

Not a day where you could feel him half-somewhere else even when he was right next to you.

Just — a day.

You tried to think back. Thanksgiving, maybe? But even then, his parents had been there, and there had been a game two days before that he was still quietly processing, and you'd spent most of the drive home talking about his linemates instead of anything real.

You put your planner down and sat with that for a while.

Then you picked up your phone to text him, and there was already a message waiting from him — just got out of film session, going straight to the gym, talk tonight? — and you looked at that question mark for a long time before you typed back of course. Because what else were you going to say? No, don't go to the gym. Stay on the phone with me and tell me what's going on in your head. You couldn't ask that. He had a job. You had a job. This was life, and life didn't pause because you were lonely.

Talk tonight became 11:30 PM. It became him sitting in a hotel room in Columbus, still in his suit, tie loosened, voice low so he didn't wake his roommate in the next bed. It became you curled on your couch with the lamp on, a cup of tea gone cold beside you, listening to him talk about the power play scheme they were running and whether his shot had felt off that game.

"It just didn't have the same pop," he said. "I don't know. I can't figure out what I'm doing differently."

"Maybe you're in your head about it."

"Maybe."

A pause. The kind that had been happening more often lately — not uncomfortable exactly, but full. Like there were things sitting in it that neither of you knew how to reach for.

"How was your day?" he asked.

And you opened your mouth to answer, and for a second, you thought about saying it. Thought about telling him that your day was fine but that you were tired in a way that sleep wasn't fixing, and that you'd looked at your planner this morning and realized you couldn't remember the last time you'd really had him, and that you were scared — not of losing him, but of this, of slowly losing the shape of each other in each other's lives.

Instead you said: "Long. But fine. Nothing interesting."

"Get some sleep," he said, gently. "You sound tired."

"Yeah. You too."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

You hung up and stared at the ceiling for a while.

The problem was that nothing was wrong.

That was the thing you kept circling back to, the thing that made it hard to name. He wasn't pulling away. He wasn't cold. He still texted you good morning most days, still sent you stupid videos he thought you'd like, still lit up when he talked about seeing you. When you were together, it was good — it was so good, easy and warm and everything that had made you fall for him in the first place.

But you were together so rarely now.

And in the spaces between, something had started to calcify. Some quiet distance. Not between your feelings — those were fine, those were solid — but between your days. Your lives. The ordinary texture of knowing someone.

You didn't know what he'd had for breakfast yesterday.

He didn't know that you'd been anxious all week about a project at work.

These seemed like small things. They were small things. But small things, accumulated, start to add up to something.

You were both so busy. Always chasing the next thing. He had games and practices and travel and film sessions and media obligations and the million invisible demands of being a professional athlete that people didn't see. You had your own full life — work and friends and the regular maintenance of being a person in the world. Neither of you had been reckless with this relationship. Neither of you had done anything wrong.

You just kept running out of time.

March came and went. Then most of April.

You saw him for four days over Easter when the schedule gave him a gap, and those four days were wonderful — you barely left his apartment, cooked together, watched three movies in a row on a rainy afternoon, slept in. You felt yourself exhale in a way you hadn't in months. You felt like you again, like you two again.

And then you drove to the airport and held on a little too long at the drop-off curb, and he pressed a kiss to your temple and said I'll call you tonight, and you watched his car pull away and felt the distance already beginning to rebuild itself around you like weather.

On the plane home, you wrote in your notes app, not really meaning to, just because you needed somewhere to put it:

I'm not sure we know how to be together when we're not together anymore. I'm not sure we're talking about the right things. I think something is slipping and I don't know how to say it out loud without making it into a bigger thing than it is. I don't want to make it a bigger thing. I just want more time. I want time to just be stupid and boring and normal with him. Is that too much to ask for.

You deleted it before you landed.

The call happened on a Thursday in late April, somewhere around midnight.

He called instead of texting, which meant something was either wrong or he just needed to hear your voice, and you were in bed half-asleep when your phone lit up. You answered on the second ring.

"Hey." His voice was different. Quieter. A little rough at the edges.

"Hey." You sat up, the lamp still off, darkness around you. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." A pause. "I don't know. I just — I needed to call you."

You waited.

"We lost tonight," he said. "Which I know. I know it happens. But it was one of those games where I just felt like I couldn't do anything right, and we got back to the hotel and everyone went their separate ways and I was just sitting there and I—" He stopped. "I just really needed to hear your voice."

Your chest went soft. "I'm here."

"I know." He exhaled slowly. "Are you okay? I feel like I haven't actually asked you that in a while. Like actually asked."

The question landed somewhere tender.

"I'm fine," you started automatically, and then stopped, because he'd called you at midnight to actually ask, and you owed him an actual answer.

"I'm a little…" You searched for the word. "I'm a little tired. Not physically. Just — I feel like we're both always running, you know? And I'm always trying to keep up with your schedule and you're always trying to keep up with whatever's happening with you, and somewhere in the middle of all that we keep almost getting to each other but not quite."

Silence.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, I know."

"I'm not upset," you added quickly. "I'm not — this isn't an accusation or anything. I just miss you. I miss you when we're apart and sometimes, honestly, I even miss you a little when we're together, because we're always so tired or distracted or—"

"Hey." His voice was low, careful. "Don't do that. Don't make it smaller than it is because you don't want to make me feel bad."

You closed your eyes.

"Okay," you said. "Okay. I'm scared that we're both so busy that we're forgetting how to just — be. Together. Without an agenda. I feel like every conversation we have is about logistics or your games or my work and I can't remember the last time we just talked about nothing. I miss talking to you about nothing."

He was quiet for a moment.

"I miss that too." His voice had dropped even lower. "I think I've been — I think I've been waiting for things to slow down. Like some part of me keeps thinking okay, after this road trip, after this stretch, after the season ends — and then it doesn't slow down. It never slows down."

"I know."

"And I think maybe I've been using that as an excuse. Like if I just keep going, keep my head down, keep working — I don't have to deal with the fact that things feel a little—" He paused. "Off. Between us."

The word hung in the air.

"Not in a bad way," he said quickly. "Not in a — I love you, I want to be with you, I haven't changed, none of that. Just. Off. Like we're slightly out of sync. Like we've been out of sync for a while and neither of us wanted to say it."

"Yeah," you admitted. "Yeah."

Another silence. This one different — softer, somehow. More like breathing space than distance.

"I don't want to wait for things to slow down," he said. "Because I think I've figured out that they probably won't. Not on their own. I think if we wait for it, we'll be waiting forever."

"So what do we do?"

You heard him shift, the rustle of sheets. You pictured him in some hotel room — Calgary, maybe, or Vancouver, you'd lost track — lying on top of the covers still in his suit.

"I don't know exactly," he said. "But I think — I think I need to stop letting the schedule be the thing that decides when I'm present. Because I can be here and still be present with you. If I'm trying hard enough."

"And I can stop pretending I'm fine when I'm not," you said. "Because that doesn't help either of us."

"No," he agreed softly. "It doesn't."

"Will."

"Yeah."

"I'm really glad you called."

You could hear the exhale of something releasing in him. "I was scared you'd be asleep."

"I almost was."

"Sorry."

"Don't be." You pulled your knees up to your chest in the dark. "I'm always going to pick up. You know that."

"I know." A pause. "I just — I didn't want to be another thing you had to deal with at midnight."

"You're not a thing I have to deal with. You're the person I love." You said it plainly, without fanfare, the way you'd say something you knew to be true. "There's a difference."

He was quiet for a beat.

"I don't deserve you," he said, and he meant it as a small thing, an offhand warmth, but something in his voice made it land a little heavier.

"Stop," you said. "Please just — stop thinking that way. You're not lucky to have me in some way that implies you're getting away with something. We chose each other. That's what this is. We keep choosing each other."

"Even when we're bad at it?"

"Especially then." You paused. "I'm going to keep choosing you, Will. I just — I need you to actually show up. Not just be present in theory. Actually show up."

"I know." And then, quieter: "I will. I promise."

You believed him.

Not blindly — you'd been together long enough to know promises were easier to make at midnight than they were to keep in the grinding ordinary of February and March and April. But you believed the intent behind it. You believed he meant it right now, and that was somewhere to start from.

"Okay," you said softly.

"Okay," he echoed.

Outside your window, the street was quiet. You lay back against your pillow, phone still pressed to your ear, and just breathed for a second.

"Tell me something," you said. "Something that has nothing to do with hockey."

A small surprised sound from him. And then, after a moment: "My mom called me last week and spent twenty minutes telling me about a documentary she watched about competitive dog grooming. I don't even think she has a dog. I think she just wanted to talk about it."

You laughed — a real one, sudden and warm.

"That's amazing."

"She sent me follow-up texts. With photos. I don't know where she got the photos."

"I love your mom."

"She loves you too. She asked about you, actually. She wants to know when you're coming to visit."

"I want to come visit."

"Yeah?" There was a smile in his voice now, tentative and warm. "I'll talk to her. We'll figure something out. Something real on the calendar, not just — when things slow down. Actually on the calendar."

"I'd like that."

"Me too." He paused. "I'm really—" He stopped. Started again. "I don't say it enough. I know I don't. But I'm really glad you're mine. Like genuinely. You don't have to — you put up with a lot of this, and I know it's hard, and you never make me feel bad about it even when you probably should, and I just — I love you. A lot. I love you a lot."

Your eyes stung, a little, unexpectedly.

"I love you too," you said. "So much."

"I'm going to be better."

"I know." You smiled at the ceiling. "And I'm going to actually tell you when something's wrong instead of saying I'm fine when I'm not."

"Good. I need that. I need you to tell me things."

"Okay."

"Okay."

You stayed on the phone after that — not talking about anything important, just drifting in and out of easy conversation, the way you used to. He told you about a terrible restaurant his teammates had picked in Columbus. You told him about a coworker who had been microwave-heating fish for three days in a row and the minor office crisis it had created. He laughed, low and warm. You told him about the book you were reading. He told you he'd been trying to finish the same three chapters of his book for two weeks and couldn't seem to make progress.

Small things.

Normal things.

But they felt, that night, like the most important things in the world.

At some point, his voice got slower and you could tell he was falling asleep, and you didn't say anything, just listened to his breathing even out, and when he finally murmured a half-asleep goodnight, I love you, you said it back quietly, and stayed on the line just a little longer.

Then you hung up, and set your phone on the nightstand, and lay in the dark with something settled in your chest that hadn't been settled in a while.

He called at midnight because he needed you.

You told the truth because he asked.

That was it, maybe. That was what it actually took. Not a grand gesture. Not a perfect stretch of open calendar. Just — the choice, over and over, to keep reaching. To not let the distance become a habit.

Wherever you like, you thought. I'll go. I'm not leaving you alone in this.

You fell asleep with the lamp still off and the room quiet around you, and for the first time in months, you didn't feel like something was slipping.

You felt, instead, like something had been caught.

He flew in six days later.

It was only two nights — a gap between an away game and the next home stretch, twenty miles of driving through airport traffic, a Tuesday that didn't mean anything.

He brought groceries and made you dinner in your kitchen, and you sat on the counter while he cooked and talked about nothing: the documentary his mom had recommended, the book neither of you were finishing, what you wanted to do over the summer if the schedule cooperated. At some point you ended up with his hoodie on over your pajamas and he kept reaching over to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear while he was in the middle of sentences, just because he could, just because you were there.

After dinner you fell asleep on the couch together watching something you'd both seen before, and when you woke up it was past midnight and the TV was still on and he was warm and solid beside you.

You looked at him for a moment.

He had a practice in nine hours. You had a meeting at eight. You were both going to be exhausted.

You didn't care.

You reached up and turned off the lamp.

Outside, the city hummed. The calendar was already filling up again — it always was, it always would be. March would come back around eventually. Another long road trip. Another Thursday at midnight with one of you in a hotel room somewhere.

But you'd figured something out on that phone call that you were going to hold onto: the answer wasn't the open calendar. The answer was the reaching. The choosing. The midnight calls and the honesty and the stupid grocery store dinners in the middle of a Tuesday.

The answer was this. Just — this.

You closed your eyes.

He was already asleep again.

You stayed.

[elovesya]

no words honestly

[solarsthoughts]

listen i may take 4 weeks to write a 3k word chapter, and i may take 45 minutes to decide whether i should use “laugh” or “chuckle”, but at least i don’t use ai and whatever you’re getting is pure chaos from a human brain