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matwith1t · 4 years ago

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A/N: A part two!! As much as I love angst…I couldn’t leave the first part like that 🥴 You don’t have to read the first part to understand this fic, but you’ll definitely catch some little call backs!! If you have any feedback, I’d love to hear it all!! I hope you’re all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening !

Summary: Nearly a year since the break up with Mat, your life slowly started to revert back to life before him. But all of that progress goes away when you keep crossing paths.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂 | Mat Barzal x Reader

Warnings: swearing, drinking // WC: 15K // Angst & Fluff

With the sun shining down, and no clouds in the sky to cover up its hard rays, it felt a bit warmer than the usual October day in New York. It was neither an excruciating humid day like the summers, nor a brutally frigid winter day. It just felt…average. But something in the air made the average day feel abnormal.

Maybe forgetting to set your alarm, and rushing to get ready, had something to do with why you felt on edge. Or maybe it had something to do with finding a crinkled polaroid picture of you and Mat––him laughing and you looking up at him––that you found in your sock drawer last night.

Maybe it was the picture.

But you definitely knew your sour mood could be traced back to this morning––seven minutes ago to be exact––when you ordered a coffee and the barista informed you that they were out of an ingredient for the drink you wanted.

��It’s not that bad,” your friend, Kennady, came up to stand beside you after she finished ordering her drink, “Worse things could happen.”

With a deep breath through your nose, you crossed your arms over your chest, “I know…”

And you knew things could be worse. There had been days in the past ten months that were definitely worse than a coffee shop being out of an ingredient to send you into a spiral. But this minute detail in the beginning of your day felt too mundane compared to everything you had felt in the past. And for some reason, it bothered you more than it should have.

Was it a sign that you were getting over him?

With a quiet laugh to yourself and a slight shake of your head at that thought, you quickly buried the idea. Not a chance, you thought to yourself.

When a barista called out your name for your americano, you politely excused yourself around other customers until you got to the counter. With a tight smile, and a small thanks, you picked up your coffee and went over to a little station where you could fix the drink to your liking.

You were in the middle of opening a sugar packet when you heard someone questionably call out your name.

It was an accent you hadn’t heard in quite sometime…A friendly French-Canadian accent that always reassured you of Mat’s feelings whenever he wasn’t in the room. After all, it’s what any best friend would do.

Not expecting to run into anyone during your little outing, your hand jerked back in surprise––sugar flying out of the packet––as you spun around in shock.

“Oh, I––Wow, Tito––I’m so sorry,” you tried to laugh, tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest as you met his blue eyes, but you hadn’t seen him––or a picture of him––since you unfollowed him on every social media platform you had him on.

Like every time you found yourself in his presence, he smiled, “Don’t worry about it, really,” he brushed off the sugar from his sweatshirt, “Shouldn't have snuck up on you.”

You shook your head and waved him off, a ball of anxiety slowly brewing in the pit of your stomach. Because you knew if Tito was here, then Mat would be too. The two of them always traveled in a pair; you learned that they were a package deal early on in your relationship. And you could pray all you wanted that Tito was on a solo coffee run, but by his freshly showered look and Islanders athletic wear…You knew he had just come from a practice.

“It’s okay,” you closed the lid on your americano, forgetting all about adding sugar or creamer in it, “How’re you?”

“I’ve been good,” He smiled, eyes glancing down to your foot tapping against the hardwood floor, “Yeah, just busy playing a lot of…Hockey.” His voice trailed off at the end of his sentence, as if he thought hockey might still be a sore spot for you.

And in a way, it was.

Tito cleared his throat, “And you?” He politely turned the question to you, “How…How’s the job?”

Relieved he didn’t ask you how you’ve been, you smiled softly, “It’s really great, I’ve had a lot more time to concentrate on it.” You looked over his shoulder to see if you could see Mat anywhere in the coffee shop, “I’ve been given more responsibilities.”

“That’s great to hear,” Tito sounded genuine, “I don’t want to hold you up, but it was really great to see you.”

Tito had always been very emotionally intelligent with identifying others feelings, and you had no doubt he picked up on your uneasiness.

You offered him a smile, “It was good to see––“

“Did you grab my coffee?”

The smile dropped from your face and instead of feeling the anxiety in your stomach churn, you felt nauseous.

Tito looked at Mat with the same hung open mouth and wide eyes that you had. Mat came up next to him so nonchalantly––so casually––as if he didn’t know he was in front of the person whose heart he knowingly wrecked nearly a year ago.

Still unable to form a sentence, Tito’s eyes briefly glanced over at you, standing frozen, “Yeah I––yeah.”

As if Mat sensed some tension in the air, he followed Tito’s vision. He had to do a double take, seemingly not trusting his vision that you were right in front of him. And in an instant, just like you and Tito, his eyes slightly widened and his mouth hung open. You knew that he was thinking the same thing as you…that you had gone nearly ten months of living in the same city and had not run into each other once.

But now that streak was broken.

Your breathing stopped as you looked at him for the first time since that unfortunate day in December where the air felt a little colder than the rest of the month.

As usual during the season, he was clean shaven, but you saw a few small pimples littered on his chin. He looked more tired than usual, but had a slight glow to his skin from a recent shower. The ends of his hair flicked out under his baseball hat, just above his ear. You always used to tell him how cute those flecks of hair looked as he tried to push them behind his ear.

But the one thing that made your heart shatter was the sweatshirt he was wearing. It was the navy blue Islanders sweatshirt from a few seasons ago that you had found stuffed away in the back of your closet last year.

The one you broke down into as your mother held you.

The one that Kennady took away when she saw that you still held on to it after you said you’d donate it. It caused quite the argument between the two of you…You wanted to keep the sweatshirt because––while it was delusional for you to think––maybe Mat would notice it was missing, then he would reach out, and you would talk again. Kennady didn’t think that was very healthy and said she would pass it along to Tito.

And pass it along she had.

With a shaky breath, and one last look at the man who you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with, you spun around with your coffee and walked away.

You had only gotten a few steps away when you felt a burning hand catch onto your elbow, “Y/N…”

His hand hadn’t left your elbow, and you stood stiff in the middle of the coffee shop,“I have somewhere to be,” you said to him without turning around.

“Can we talk?”

His voice was barely audible––a plea––a whisper that should’ve easily been lost in the chaos of the coffee shop, but whenever he was around, all you did was solely pay attention to him.

You gulped, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Not here,” he was quick to follow up, knowing he shouldn’t be this lucky to get this much time with you, “I just––I want––How’re you?”

With an irritated sigh through your nostrils, and clenched jaw, you spun around to face him. Half of you melted at his wide and pleading eyes, a mix of uncertainty and care, but the other half of you wanted to leave him standing alone without an answer; much like he did with you when he broke your heart.

“Do you need something?”

He looked taken aback by your bluntness, “I…” Nervously, he took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair, “I scored a hat trick last week.”

You despised the way your heart fluttered with pride at his accomplishment.

Instead of focusing on the unconventional feeling of your heart soaring with pride, but simultaneously feeling crushed in his presence, you tried your best to respond with a monotone voice.

“So, a start to a good season?”

Again, he looked confused at your short phrases and general disinterest in what he had to say, “We…Yeah, looks like a good season. Last season was good too..” His eyes briefly left yours to look at your slightly shaking hand that was holding the coffee cup, “Did you…Have you caught any games?”

“I don’t watch hockey anymore.”

Unlike his sentences that wavered with doubt, your sentences were sharp and unremorseful.

But you knew your stoic demeanor came closer to breaking with every second you stood in front of him. It had been ten months since the break up, you should be fine, you kept telling yourself. But seeing him and not being able to mutter an inside joke under your breath and hear him gently laugh, not being able to reach across the inches between you two and give his hand a squeeze, and not being able to muster up the smallest of smiles in front of the one person who could coax a smile out of you with just their presence…You felt the exhaustion catch up to you.

And like everyone else who asked if you watched any hockey lately, he looked stunned at your answer. Because when you were together, you never missed a game. While you weren’t always physically at a game; you either kept up with it by following social media updates, watching it on television, or listening to the radio broadcasts of the game while walking to the subway or in a cab.

“You…You don’t watch hockey?”

You could’ve given him the long answer. How you unfollowed everyone and everything related to Islanders hockey, blocked every variation of the Islanders team name from social media to keep any news from popping up, muted his name on Twitter, deleted the NHL app, and if you were at a restaurant with friends and a television had a hockey game on, you always requested to sit at the furthest table away from the game.

Instead, you shook your head, “No.”

The longer you stood in front of him, the more you felt your composure slip. You didn't like feeling out of control of a situation, and standing so close to him only reminded you of what you didn’t have anymore.

“I have to go.”

But again, he took a step forward and tried to stop you from leaving, “Please, can we just––”

If only he had fought this hard ten months ago to keep your relationship alive; you wouldn’t be running away and he wouldn’t be begging for a basic conversation.

You could feel the tears well up behind your eyes and the familiar sting as you shrugged off his touch, “Mat, I really can’t do this right now––”

“It doesn’t have to be now––”

“Mathew,” Kennady’s harsh voice ripped through Mat’s desperate one.

His arm fell to his side, accepting defeat, as he kept his pleading eyes on your frame, “Ken, hey––”

“We’re late for something,” she took the shaking coffee cup from your hand and looped an arm around your bicep, “We’re leaving.”

And with her direct tone, and guidance of turning you around to exit the coffee shop, she kept a strong hold on your arm for support. Your breathing became more irregular, because out of all the coffee shops in the area, how did you manage to run into him. Maybe you were meant to run into him…Maybe it was the universe’s way of telling you that maybe you should talk to him.

“Don’t turn around,” Kennady whispered in your ear as you came up to the door, “I know you want to, but don’t.”

The first tear fell when she opened the door and you so badly wanted to get one last look at him. One more look at the one person you would still love no matter how much time passed. The second tear fell when you were waiting for the light to change at a crosswalk, as Kennady whispered encouraging words. The third tear fell when the two of you made it to a park and sat down on a bench.

She handed your coffee back to you, “You did great,” and gave your shoulder an encouraging squeeze, “So great.”

You tried to take a sip of coffee, but your hand shook too much. You tried to swallow down the scratchiness at the back of your throat, but it only came back stronger, “Why…” Another single tear fell as your voice cracked, “Why wouldn’t you let me turn around?”

She offered you a sympathetic smile, “Because I know how much you still love him.”

A small pathetic laugh escaped your lips at her honest answer, and you tried your best to mirror her smile, but it was as everything had just caught up to you. You had felt his comforting touch on you again. Heard his soothing voice again. You were with him again.

With how persistent he was to talk with you, it felt like he wanted to be with you.

The tears welling up in your eyes caused your eyebrows to pull together as you cupped a hand to your mouth and over your nose. Slowly, you leaned your head onto Kennady’s shoulder as she placed a comforting arm around your shoulders that shook slightly.

––––

The next time you saw Mat was another coincidence.

You were in the living room of a house in Garden City, softly chatting with friends in the corner, when a sudden roar of cheers from the front of the house interrupted your conversation. You and your friends laughed it off as more drunk antics of other guests, but then you heard his name.

“The person who absolutely crushed tonight’s game and that we’re forever grateful is an Islander; Mat Barzal!”

More cheers of agreement.

The plastic of the red solo cup in your hand easily cracked under your grip.

Deep breath in, he won’t come into this room…Deep breath out, who does he even know here…Deep breath in, did he come alone…Deep breath out, or was he here with teammates since it was after a game…Deep breath in––Oh my God, Tito just walked in.

He caught your eye immediately, and just like at the coffee shop, his eyes widened along with yours. But unlike the coffee shop, he didn’t come over to greet you. Instead, he offered you a slight nod of his head and turned around on his heel. Vaguely, you heard him speak over the music and talk of the party, but all your ears could pick up was ‘let’s go to the kitchen…’

A sigh of relief passed through your lips as you felt your shoulders relax. The small group you had been part of for the better portion of the night all gave you knowing looks, eyebrows raised high.

“I’m alright,” You took a sip of your drink. None of them looked convinced, Kennady specifically, but you stifled out a laugh before you took another, much longer, sip of your drink, “Really! I’m alright. It’s been over a year…” You gulped and locked eyes with Kennady, “I’m alright.”

She didn’t look convinced, but restarted the previous conversation, diverting the attention away from you.

It was January, three months since you saw Mat at the coffee shop, and you were fine. At least you thought you were capable of not breaking down in front of him. While you still were without much––if any––closure after your relationship ended, seeing him at the coffee shop felt like turning a page. Not necessarily a whole chapter, but just enough to start feeling a little better.

You both lived around the same area and still had a few mutual friends. To think you would never see him ever again would be foolish, so you had to make the best of this situation. Although, part of you hoped not to run into him ever again.

There had been times where you overhead a ‘Barzy’ or a ‘Beau,’ an Islanders chant, or someone complimenting Mat on his goals of the game. But for the most part, it felt as if he wasn’t there. You enjoyed the rest of the night, but a few hours later, his laugh caught your ear and you saw him tilt his head back from your peripheral vision.

You hadn’t even realized he was in the same room.

Progress, you smiled into your red solo cup as you went to take a drink, small steps of progress.

But your tiny smile disappeared when you saw you were all out of alcohol. With a frown, you quietly excused yourself from your group and walked into the kitchen. You waved at people you recognized, and felt great up until this point of the night. With every genuine smile you offered a friend, they returned it with a sympathetic smile, assuming you were overcompensating happiness by being in the same place with your ex-boyfriend.

And in turn, it caused doubts to float through your mind.

Were you really feeling alright being so close in proximity to him? Were you really starting to feel the process of mending your broken heart, or were you lying to yourself? Would you break down if he were to cross paths with him?

Repeating your breathing exercise from earlier, you calmed yourself down as you weaved through more people to get to the kitchen. You weren’t sure if you wanted to have the same drink, or something different, so you stood still for a few moments debating in your head. You were far from coming to a decision, but when you heard a familiar voice say your name, you quickly came to a decision that you needed to be sober.

You spun around and came face to face with Mat.

Unlike the athletic wear you saw him in the last time, he was currently dressed in a white button up shirt tucked into a pair of navy slacks. The top two buttons of his shirt undone, his sleeves cuffed up, and a small wisp of hair rested against the side of his forehead.

You felt your heart erratically beat against your ribcage as you stood in front of him. He looked as if he didn’t expect you to turn around for him, and the two of you stood in silence. His brain failed at forming a thought, so you said the first thing that came to your mind.

“You got a haircut.”

Mat’s cheeks went red as he ducked his chin into his chest, letting out a small laugh, “Yeah,” he looked up at you with the faintest of smiles, “I did.”

Silence.

He brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, “Uh…What’re you drinking?”

Snapping back to reality, and to why you were in the kitchen in the first place, you blinked your eyes a few times, “Water.”

“There’s some––I can, here,” Mat stumbled over his feet, like he did with his words, as he walked past you and to the fridge. You followed him toward the fridge, and watched him lean forward to grab a water from the back. You only had a few seconds to admire his side profile before he stood up straight and uncapped the water bottle for you.

“Thanks,” you uneasily said as you took the water from him, making sure you didn’t brush your fingers against his.

Mat took a deep breath, looked away from you, and ran a hand through his hair. You could now hear your heartbeat in your ears, knowing exactly what he was about to ask.

“Can we talk?”

This was exactly why you wanted water.

You took a long sip of water, and watched as Mat anxiously fiddled with his fingers. You brought the bottle away from your lips and offered him a tight lipped smile, “Not now.”

He looked like he wanted to say more; like he wanted to push you to your limits in order to get any type of reaction from you, but he knew that you wouldn’t play into that, especially in public. So he took your words as a cliffhanger––not an outright no––that you would revisit the topic of conversation he wanted to discuss.

But in actuality, you planned to dodge the conversation if he ever brought it up again.

Mat stuffed his hands in his front pockets and rocked back on his heels, still not knowing how to direct the conversation, even though he was the one who approached you.

As you stood in silence with Mat, little by little, you began to overthink.

It was in a kitchen where you and Mat had first met. You were at a different mutual friend’s house, but it was eerily similar to how you met the first time…talking over drinks. Except this time, there was so much history between the two of you that it was hard to find some common ground to talk about without feeling like you were walking on eggshells.

The first time you met him, you had only heard his name in passing from occasionally tuning into Islanders games or hearing your friends talk about their friend Mat. The conversation flowed easily, laughter was present nearly every minute the two of you talked, and he slowly moved toward you thinking you didn’t notice him trying.

But you noticed everything.

Like now; you noticed there was no conversation, no laughter present, and how Mat leaned slightly away from you. There were too many memories that couldn’t be forgotten. Too many nights where the two of you were at a friends house like this, but would ride home together with fingers intertwined, instead of leaving separately which would happen tonight. Too many nights where there was an extra set of clothes on his bedroom floor that looked like they belonged.

Too many feelings involved.

You wanted to believe that you were strong enough not to break down in front of him again. You wanted to think that you were alright; wanted to think that you weren’t moments away from shutting down and having your heart wrecked all over again. But you didn’t want to leave his presence just yet. You weren’t at your tipping point yet.

“You had a game tonight?”

Mat nodded his head rapidly, taking in any interaction and conversation he could get with you. He seemed to also not want to leave your presence just yet.

“It was a good game,” he easily smiled with a shrug of his shoulders.

You let out a small laugh and rolled your eyes, “Stop being modest,” if you were closer to him, and felt more comfortable, you would’ve shoved his shoulder, “People were cheering your name when you arrived.”

His eyebrows rose with excitement, “You heard all of that?”

“Now tell me how you really played,” you tilted your head back slightly to take a sip of water.

There was a smile toying on your face, but the grin on Mat’s face stretched from ear to ear, “Really fucking good,” he let out a breathy laugh, “I scored twice, had some really nice plays, a couple of assists…” his eyes held a certain gleam to them whenever he talked about hockey, something you never saw even when he talked about you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled, “That’s amazing. Only one short of another hat trick.” Both of you let out a small laugh at the attempt of your joke. There was more silence, and you could tell you were about to hit your tipping point soon, no matter how many times you scolded yourself not to cry, but you spoke up.

“If you keep playing this well I might have to watch a game.”

The way his face lit up was different than anything you had seen before, even with what you saw just seconds ago when he was talking about hockey. There was a difference in the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, his eyebrows arched in an excited way, his smile showcased all of his teeth, and there was a different spark in his eyes.

“Yeah that’s––You should,” he cleared his throat, but still had a grin on his face, “If you watch you’ll have to let me know.”

“I’ll do that––”

“Barzal!”

Both of your attentions were pulled away by the shout of his name. And when you saw that the person who called out his name held up a ping pong ball, and Mat turned his head to look at you with a small smile––one similar to the night you first met, but a little less devilish––you knew that this was your tipping point.

While it would be fun to pretend like you barely knew Mat, partner up with him for beer pong, and relive the moment how your relationship first started…It was too much.

You smiled apologetically, clenching your jaw tight to keep your chin from wobbling, “My sister texted saying she needs a little motivational talk.”

He hid his disappointment well, but you saw that spark in his eyes fade away when he nodded his head in understanding. But he still held a small smile on his face for you, “You were always the best at those.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, not trusting yourself with words as memories of you motivating Mat before a game or cheering him up after a hard loss came flooding into your mind. You silently sniffled and picked your water up, “I’ll see you later, Mat.”

“Yeah…” he sounded like he was in a daydream, “See you later.”

You kept your eyes glued to the floor and texted Kennady asking if she could meet you out back, as you weaved through people. This time as you made your way through the crowd, you didn’t smile at anyone.

The first tear fell when you heard someone cheer Mat on by saying he should play basketball instead of hockey. The single tear slowly slid down your cheek as you heard his laughter echo around the house. The second tear fell as you replayed the similarities of the night you first met in your head compared to tonight. Everything almost lined up the same way, everything almost felt like that night.

Except this night…there were less smiles, more silences, and instead of your heart fluttering with butterflies because a boy you thought was cute talked to you at a party, you felt your heart drop down into your stomach like a broken elevator.

Your phone buzzed when your hand reached out to open the back door; Kennady saying she was making her way to you.

And the third tear fell when you turned your head to look back at Mat one last time.

You should’ve known he was already looking at you.

His eyebrows were pinched together in concern, head slightly tilted to the side, as he looked straight at you and mouthed “are you okay?” Sometimes you forgot that he knew you just as well as you knew him. And this moment made it clear to you that he didn’t believe the lie you told to get out of being his beer pong partner.

Your chin wobbled as you tried your best to smile––which you were sure looked more like a grimace––and you mouthed back, “I’m fine.”

You didn’t wait for him to either repeat his question or ditch the game to comfort you. And in a matter of seconds, you were out the door, the cold January air prickled your scorching hot skin, as you saw Kennady already waiting outside.

She looked up from her phone, and when she saw the deep frown on your face and silent tears falling down your cheeks, her shoulders dropped as she opened her arms. Hastily, you made a few long strides over to her and collapsed in her arms. She held you tightly as one hand trailed her finger tips up and down your spine to sooth your quiet cries.

“I––I still love him,” you hiccuped.

“I know.”

––––

January passed slowly as ever, and you didn’t see Mat for the rest of the month.

You tried to watch an Islanders game, but when the camera panned to Mat, and the announcers praised him for how amazing of a season he was having, you shut it off. You had a plan to watch the game, send him a text after, and then maybe it would lead into a conversation…but it was too soon for you. Even after over a year of not seeing him play, it was too soon.

So you tried again in the first week of February. It was an away game, and while Mat rarely ever showed it, you knew from previous experience that he was always more nervous playing those than a home game. And to hold yourself accountable to actually watch the game, you texted Mat a few hours before puck drop.

He never claimed to have any superstitions about looking at his phone before a game, but you knew he always kept it away to lessen distractions. So, after composing a few different variations of a message, you sent a small good luck tonight!! And then set your phone face down on the coffee table.

Your heart was beating more than it should have for just sending a simple text. You felt bile churning in your stomach as you buried your face into your clammy hands. It’s a text message, you scolded yourself, no need to overthink everything. But overthinking was what you did best.

Maybe you shouldn’t have used two exclamation marks. Maybe you should’ve said your name in case he deleted your number. Maybe you shouldn’t have prematurely sent a text message, because what if you couldn’t make it through a whole game? What if your text messed up his pre-game ritual? What if he lied when he told you he wanted to know if you watched a game?

What if he changed his number and didn’t tell you?

But your phone vibrated against the coffee table, snapping you out from your inner-turmoil. And with a deep breath, you flipped it over and saw his contact name: Mathew Barzal.

And from his message, you knew that he knew it was you; Are you watching tonight?!

A small laugh escaped your lips as you sent back a simple, yeah!

Stop using exclamation marks, you scolded yourself.

But before you could overthink the one word you sent him, he responded instantly: Guess I’ll have to step up my game.

You bit your bottom lip to conceal your smile as you typed a message back to him. And for the next half hour, the two of you messaged back and forth about your days, Mat expressed his nervousness, you sent him a little motivational message, and then he said he had to go put his uniform on for warm ups.

There was still some time before puck drop, so you tried your best to busy yourself with tasks. You cleaned the kitchen, made a grocery list, and reorganized the books on your bookshelf. But no matter what you did, your thoughts circled back to Mat. And this time, you didn’t try to block them out, because you came to peace that he would always linger in the back of your mind.

He was there when you put away a mug––one that never rested evenly on a flat surface, due to a chip on the bottom, caused by Mat accidentally dropping it when hot water spilled over the top and burned his hand. There when you made the grocery list––because he would always leave it behind when you two would go to the store together. And there on your bookshelf––when you moved the hockey book he got you for your birthday.

His presence would always be tangled with yours, like a stubborn knot in a necklace that was impossible to disentangle.

You busied yourself by making tea, using the chipped mug, and turned on the game. The players were in their starting positions, and you saw Mat at the face off. Holding your breath, you said a little prayer, because you knew how nervous Mat got during a face off. He always said that he would turn the nerves into excitement to give him adrenaline, but you knew there was a tiny white lie in that.

But you watched the game, with your cup of tea to try and lessen the anxiety you felt, but it was of no use. While Mat was playing a fantastic game; you still cringed when he got smashed into the boards too rough, bounced your leg whenever he had the puck and an opposing defenseman came up on him, and shut one eye when he brought his stick back to shoot a goal.

Sixty minutes of hockey went by excruciatingly slow, but it was worth it, with the Islanders winning by two.

You shut the TV off, placed the mug on its side in the sink, and went to grab your phone off the charger. The game had not even ended fifteen minutes ago but there was a text from a Mathew Barzal on your screen.

With a deep breath, you unlocked your phone and read his message: Did the game meet your standards?

You let out a chuckle as you walked into your room while typing out your message; Nice goal.

The comment was going to inflate his ego, you could picture his wide smile and raised eyebrows in the locker room reading your message. And like how you messaged before the game, it lasted for quite some time; with Mat admitting he was more nervous with you watching, and you reassuring him he played an excellent game. When he finally had to shower, you wished him a safe ride home and he wished you a good night sleep.

While you still tossed and turned under your covers, you managed to get more sleep that night than you had in the last year.

–––

Two weeks later, Mat called you.

It was after a home game, one that the Islanders lost, and a game where Mat wracked up a few penalties. Like every hockey game of his you’d watched since you promised him that one night, he texted you not even fifteen minutes of being off the ice.

Can I call you?

You paced around in the living area of your apartment thinking of what to respond. You wanted to talk to him…You felt ready to talk to him, but there was still some hesitation. The two of you had branched out to texting each other even when there wasn’t a game scheduled, and he had yet to bring up wanting to talk about your relationship again. So part of you had an inkling he would try it over the phone if you agreed. But then there was the other part of you that knew he just wanted cheering up.

To have a little more time to psych yourself up for a phone call with him, you responded: Sure! But why don’t you shower and head home first.

He sent you––sounds good. I’ll call you––And you prepared yourself for Mat to take the fastest shower possible and to maybe break a few traffic laws to get back to his place.

The assumption you made turned out correct, because in just under an hour of Mat officially off the ice, there was an incoming call from a Mathew Barzal.

The phone vibrated in your hand a few times as you breathed in and out. But before his call went to your voicemail, you clicked accept, “Mat…” you started off slowly, “Hey.”

“Hi,” his voice was low as you heard his door shut. Neither one of you said anything, but you heard movements from his end. You heard him put his keys in the bowl by his front door, fling off his shoes, open another door––presumably his bedroom door––and heard the sound of blankets shifting. You imagined he was sitting on his bed, as he let out a deep sigh, “I played like shit.”

“No you didn’t,” your automatic instinct was to reassure him, ��Everyone has their off days, it doesn’t mean that you’re a shit player.”

He groaned, and you heard a soft thump. You imagined he fell back on his mattress, staring up at the ceiling, “I just––Some of those calls they made on me––and how I tripped over my skates and ate shit with no one around me?” He let another deep sigh, “It was embarrassing.”

Thankfully, you had done your nighttime routine during the second period intermission. So while you listened to Mat list out all of the things he thought he had done wrong during the game, you slipped under the covers of your own bed.

“And then when I thought I scored a goal, but the puck hit the crossbar, and it came back to hit me in the face––”

“Mat, that’s an honest mistake––”

“But it was embarrassing!” He raised his voice out of irritation. And this time, you knew for a fact he wasn’t irritated with you…He was irritated at hockey, the one thing he loved most in the world. “I swear I could hear people laughing at me. And I just know that the media is going to write how I should be a better player because I was a first round draft pick and with how much money my contract is––”

“Mat,” his sentences were strung along, and you don’t think he took a single breath during his rant, so you cut him off, “You can’t always be a perfect player, but you were a first round pick for a reason. It might not have been the outcome you wanted, you played the best you could tonight.”

“But it wasn’t good enough.”

His negative self talk sounded eerily similar to the thoughts that swirled around your mind after the break up.

“How many other twenty-three year olds do you know that play professional hockey?”

“There’s Beau, Mitch Marner, Carter Hart, Matthew Tkachuk, Tyson––”

“Stop,” you harshly cut him off as you sat up in bed, taking a pillow and hugging it to your chest, “They don’t count because they’re like the one percent of people who make it to the NHL.” You tried to stress your point, “Like you, they’ve trained an insane amount to get where they are. But how many other people do that? And how many people do train for most of their life and still don’t get to play in the league you do?”

He was silent.

“The average twenty-three year old isn’t playing professional hockey,” you shut your eyes, because no matter how great of a hockey player you thought Mat was, he never had the same faith in himself, “The average person isn’t playing professional hockey. Mat, you’re an incredible player; honestly one of the best in the league right now. And it’s not just me saying that to make you feel better, just look at the Islanders stats from before and after you came along.”

Again, he stayed silent.

“You came into this league so young, but so talented. Sure, you still have things to learn, but you’re the best version of yourself you can be right now. And there’s still so much time for you to grow to be an even better player,” you let out a small breath, “It blows my mind how good you are. And some people might talk shit and say you played poorly, but if they were to be on the ice with you?”

You waited to see if he had anything to say, but when he stayed mute, you let out a soft chuckle, “If they––an average person––was on the ice with you they wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Mat let out a small laugh, and you imagined that he had one hand covering his eyes as he still laid on his back on top of his duvet, “Thank you.”

Unclenching the pillow you hugged closely to your chest, you slid down your headboard, and made yourself comfortable under the covers. You laid on your side, staring out your window at the same night sky he was under, and whispered, “I just wish you saw yourself the way I see you.”

You imagined he sat up, elbows resting on his knees as he pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, as his interest piqued, “And how’s that?”

“As someone who’s great at everything they do.”

It was silent on his end. But you expected that with how honest and instantaneous your answer came.

He cleared his throat, “Are you in bed?”

“Yeah,” you answered as you pulled the sheets up under your chin.

“I…” he let out a shaky breath, but whatever he wanted to say, he didn’t say it, “I still have to get ready for bed.”

“I won’t keep you.”

“We…” he started off slowly, and you imagined he stared at the wall in full concentration, and this time, he said half of whatever he wanted to say, “We should do this again.”

A small smile tugged the corners of your lips upward, “Talk?”

“Yeah, um, talk,” he let out a nervous laugh, and you imagined him rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “On the phone…In person…”

You reciprocated his nervous laughter, but it wasn’t the bad kind of nerves you had felt in your stomach over the last year…this feeling reminded you of the excited nerves you had when you first met him, “You must really need more motivational talks,” you joked with him. But his answer, his honest and instantaneous answer, was not a joke.

“I feel like a better person around you.”

You were the silent one now.

“I’ll let you get to sleep,” his voice was soft and light, yet he sounded like he didn’t want to let you go, “Night, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Mat.”

After he hung up, you imagined he slept with a smile on his face, just like you.

–––

February might be the shortest calendar month in the year, but it felt impossibly long.

Between late night phone calls with Mat after a game and texting whenever you had a free chance at work, your nerves never disappeared. They were a mix of an excited spark with a dash of anxiety that festered in the pit of your stomach, and only intensified when you saw his contact name pop up on your phone. Yet, the more you communicated with him, the more relaxed you felt. Laughter came more easily between you two, awkward pauses were few and far between, and you smiled more.

But part of you was still hesitant that he would leave unexpectedly like he did nearly a year and a half ago.

After phone calls and texts, March was the month you saw Mat in person for the first time since January. It was in a group setting, but it was planned with the intention of seeing each other. It was a group lunch––you sat next to him––and he occasionally knocked his knee against yours. He apologized every time, but you didn’t think his movements were an accident.

March had more group outings, more texts, and a lot more phone calls randomly throughout the day.

April was a little more different.

The spring air sent a chill down your spine as you walked toward the entrance of a sports bar with Kennady and a few other friends. It was another group outing, another pre-planned meeting where you would see Mat. Weaving your way through tables and standing patrons, you finally got to the high rise table your group was at. A mix of average twenty-something year-olds and hockey players; but Mat caught your eye first.

You saw him sitting on the barstool, hands wrapped around his beer glass as his index finger anxiously tapped the sweating glass. While he softly laughed along with friends who boisterously laughed, he didn’t look too enthralled with the conversation around him. But then he picked his head up and saw you.

A wide grin slowly spread across his face as he straightened out his slumped shoulders.

Everyone greeted each other with hugs, while you settled for waving. When people took their seats, coincidentally the only open seat was next to Mat. Easily, you slid in as he slid a drink in front of you.

“When you texted saying you were almost here, I ordered you a drink,” Mat whispered with a small smile, “I hope that’s alright.”

You picked up the glass with a tight lipped smile, “Yeah, of course, thank you,” you took a sip as he let out a nervous breath through his nose. You set the glass down on the table and angled your body in the chair to face him, “How was practice?”

“Got my ass handed to me,” he let out a breathy laugh, head hanging low as he shrugged his shoulders, “It was alright.”

While Mat had played excellent hockey since you started tuning in again, the past few games were rough. He kept missing easy plays, his shots went wide, he talked back to the referees more than usual, and had more penalties called on him. From your phone calls, you knew he felt uneasy––he admitted that to you––but whenever you pressed the topic further, he brushed it under the rug.

His avoidance of communicating his feelings gave you a sense of deja vu.

You picked a french fry off his plate, “You scored a nice goal last game though, surely Barry couldn’t have beaten you down that much.”

“I just need to get out of my head,” his eyes were far off, staring off into the distance over your shoulder. You wanted to press him further, wanted to know what was causing him distress in his head, but he changed the conversation. He completely changed his demeanor with a smile, as he swatted your hand away from his plate, “Stop stealing my fries.”

As a few fries dropped from your hand, you successfully managed to keep hold of a single fry. And with a proud smile, you popped it in your mouth, “You could’ve ordered me fries, but instead you bought me a drink.”

He gently laughed next to you as he inched toward the edge of his seat, his knees knocking against yours. “Sorry.” he lied with a smile he couldn’t contain.

You raised your eyebrows and purposefully knocked your knee against his in retaliation, “No you’re not.”

He picked up a fry and threw it at you.

The night continued as it had, conversing with friends, and also going back into your own little world with Mat. Throughout the evening, while he held steady conversation with people from across the table, he occasionally knocked his knee into yours. And when you bumped him back, a smile stretched across his face as he maintained eye contact with whoever he talked to.

Everything about the night felt easy until the first hiccup happened.

You and Mat were off in your own little world again, facing each other on your barstools, knees knocking against each other, as he talked about an article that reminded him of you.

“I have to send it to you,” he shook his head with laughter, as he scrolled through his phone, “Just by the title I knew I had to show you, but wanted to wait until I saw you in person to see your reaction.”

You felt your stomach flip at his admission. He wanted to see your reaction. And based on how giddy he looked as he searched for the article to text it to you, he thought your reaction would be similar to his. He wanted to see you smile.

Your phone vibrated on the table as it lit up with his contact name; Mathew Barzal.

When you opened your phone, you let out a laugh when you saw the article populate with an image. It was definitely an article you would enjoy, and when you brought your gaze back up to Mat, a smile wide on your face, you noticed his giddy look was gone. It was replaced with a more contemplative look with his eyes locked in on your phone screen.

Your smile slowly faded away as you knocked your knee against his, “What’s up?”

He left you unanswered as he kept his stare on your phone until the screen turned black. He picked his head up to look at you, a frown on his face, “You changed my contact name,” you sat frozen in your seat, “and took away the picture.”

His words registered with you, but all you heard was ringing in your ears.

Because yes, you changed his contact name and removed the picture of him. His name went from just Mat, with a hockey stick emoji, to his full name after the breakup. And his contact picture, one Tito took of him in lounge wear in a hotel room at an away game on the phone––talking to you––with his head tipped back in laughter, was now just MB in a gray circle.

Did he still have your contact name and picture the same in his phone?

“I––”

“It’s no big deal,” he shrugged his shoulders and tried his best to smile. But the corners of his lips barely turned upward, “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You didn’t know how to respond to his observation, so you stared at him with your lips slightly parted and eyes wide. Mat tried to show another smile, but his lips just formed a straight line. You wanted to tell him you were sorry; that you had to change those details or else you would cry whenever you looked at your phone. But you didn’t know how to verbalize that without breaking down in front of him as the painful memories of stripping Mat away from your life replayed in your mind.

This was the longest silence you sat in with him since January.

Mat slowly shifted his knees away from yours and as you continued to stare at his side profile. He joined in on a conversation with Tito and someone else, but you had no idea what they were talking about. All you thought about were Mat's forehead creases, his glossy eyes full of despair, and the frown still present on his face.

Reluctantly, you turned away from him and found yourself listening in to a different conversation, but all you could pay attention to was Mat’s slumped posture in your peripheral vision.

An hour later, another round of drinks were bought, and everyone was still having a good time with lots of laughter and smiles present. Except your smile was forced and you couldn’t hear Mat’s laugh.

But then you felt someone knock their knee against yours.

You dropped your vision down and saw Mat’s knee an inch away from yours. Thinking that this time, he knocked his knee against yours on accident, you kept quiet. But then you saw him knock his knee against yours again, with his knee resting against yours for an extra few seconds, you looked up at him.

A small hopeful smile was on Mat’s face.

Mirroring his shy smile, you ducked your chin into your chest as you felt butterflies in your stomach.

You knocked your knee against his.

Both of your smiles brightened, and just when Mat opened his mouth to say something, someone clapped a hand on Mat’s shoulder. He looked surprised at the contact, but when you heard the TV behind your table report on the top hockey highlights of the week––with the announcer commenting on Mathew Barzal’s goal––the table erupted into obnoxious cheers. Mat’s face went beet red as he shied away from the praise his friends offered.

After the rowdiness at the table calmed down, you knocked your knee against Mat’s as he picked up his beer. He raised his eyes up to look at you, a small smile making its way onto his face as he took a sip of his drink. When he placed his glass back on the wooden table, he knocked his knee against yours.

“Why are you acting so shy,” you let out a small laugh, because in all of the time you’d known Mat, he craved the attention and praise that came with being a hockey player.

He shrugged his shoulders, tapping his fingers against the table, “The compliments get to be too much sometimes.”

You shut your eyes tight as you tilted your head back in laughter. And when you opened your eyes, Mat was looking at you with gentle eyes full of fondness, “Stop lying.”

There were still some small laughs coming from you, but when Mat took your statement literally, your laughter ceased.

“I like the compliments more when they come from you,” he said with a serious facial expression, “Your words mean the most to me.”

You looked into his eyes; ones that were full of regret as it looked like he was retracing the steps of how your relationship came to this point. How it went from two people who were so in love with each other, in the most idyllic relationship…to people who painfully avoided each other for nearly a year, people whose voices wavered with skepticism when they spoke to each other, and to people who still loved each other but didn’t know how to reconcile.

Sometimes you thought it would be easier not to know him, in turn that you could forget about the heartbreak he caused you. But that thought was always easily diminished; the love you felt when you were with him were the most joyous moments of your life that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

Well…Maybe one thing.

If you could trade those early days of happiness to fall in love with him all over again––and not experience any heartbreak––you would do it in a heartbeat.

Mat cleared his throat, “You don’t…” he offered you a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted to let you know how I felt.”

With a nod of your head, you bit the inside of your cheek as you felt your throat tighten up. To alleviate some of the tension in the air, you took a sip of your drink. And when you tore your eyes away from Mat to look at the table, you saw that the table was empty, save for you and Mat.

You didn’t know the last time just the two of you sat at the same table alone.

“Where did everyone go?” You turned your head to face Mat with a tilt of your head.

He shrugged his shoulders, “I think they’re off getting more drinks.”

You chuckled and faked offense, “And they didn’t ask us what we wanted?”

Again, he shrugged his shoulders, as he turned his head over to look at the bar where everyone stood. When he turned back to look in your eyes, you could see the wheels turning behind his head as he thought.

“We could get our own drinks…” He said slowly, eyes shining full of hope as he leaned in toward you, “Somewhere else…” and the next word he added, voice dangerously low in a whisper, sent more shivers down your spine than the spring breeze, “Alone.”

It wasn’t the first time Mat took your breath away, and without thinking of any possible consequence, you nodded your head once, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow at you, the signature grin on his face was contagious as you smiled back, nodding your head even more rapidly. He quickly looked over his shoulder to see where your friends were, and then when he turned back to you, he smirked, “I think we have less than thirty seconds before they come back.”

As if the two of you communicated telepathically, you jumped off the barstools at the same time and walked at a brisk pace toward the doors. Once the two of you were safely outside and at the street corner, both of you doubled over in laughter.

“Did we ditch our friends?” You looked up at Mat who clutched his stomach.

He nodded his head, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Instead of painfully remembering all the times the two of you would duck out early from a party to spend time together, you remembered them with a smile and a laugh.

Once your laughter subsided, you straightened your posture and slid your hands in to your jacket pockets, “Where to?”

“Hadn’t thought that far ahead yet,” he apologetically smiled, “There are some bars a few blocks down.” He suggested as he raised his wrist to look at his watch. His eyes widened slightly, “Shit, it’s late. We’ll either make it right before last call or miss it entirely.”

You stood in silence as you saw the wheels behind his head turning in thought again. It looked like he had come up with another place to walk to, but he looked uneasy as he suggested it, “There is…another place.”

Your curiosity sounded too hopeful, “Where?”

Mat looked down at his shoes, scuffing them against the pavement, before looking back up at you in uncertainty. He took a deep breath, “My apartment.”

Your eyes widened at his suggestion.

His apartment.

The apartment where you had your last moments as a couple right before he broke up with you. Were you ready to go back? Did you want to go back? Because there was no doubt in your mind that going there would unlock more memories of when you were the happiest with Mat. But if you wanted to progress in anything––in a friendship––with Mat, you needed to get over the little fears you overdramatized in your head.

“We don’t have to,” Mat was quick to backtrack the offer of his apartment, “I know that’s where we––But I––I have drinks there. It’s not a far walk, and we won’t have to worry about getting into a place. But I understand if you don’t want to––”

“Let’s go,” you sucked in a deep breath and nodded your head the same time Mat’s eyes widened with shock, “It’ll be easier.”

“Are you sure?”

You took another deep breath and lied, “Positive.”

Mat didn’t look convinced, but he wasn't going to press you any further. So, with a nod of his head, he gestured toward the way of his apartment like you didn’t already know, “This way.”

The walk to his place wasn’t far at all, in fact, it was most likely closer than any of the bars you would definitely not make it to in time. So his apartment was a safe option as the two of you walked in silence. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but the two of you were replaying the last time you were both in his apartment.

Once you arrived at the building, Mat waved at the doorman––whose eyes brightened at you with recognition––as he hit the up button on the elevator. The ride up was just as silent as the walk to his place, and when you stood in front of the door to his place, your palms began to sweat.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

But you stuck it through, and when Mat unlocked the door and let you in first, a wave of nostalgia hit you like a ton of bricks. Everything was the same, albeit a bit messier, but it felt almost like you were back in a home again.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone to come over,” Mat let out a nervous laugh as he walked past you and picked some of his belongings up that were strewn across the floor.

You waved him off, heading over to the living room area, and folded a blanket for him, “Don’t worry about it.”

You heard Mat let out an anxious deep breath as you watched him turn around and head into the kitchen. He seemed just as nervous as you. When he was out of sight, you set the unevenly folded blanket down on the ottoman and walked over to the couch. You sunk down and let out a shaky breath that you had been holding in since you walked through the front door.

You didn’t have much time to dwell in your thoughts, because you heard Mat’s footsteps, and sat up straight on the couch. He came around the other side of the couch with a beer bottle in one hand for him, and then a wine glass and a wine bottle, for you. He set his beer and wine glass down on the coffee table as he took a seat next to you.

“As your bartender for the night,” he sarcastically said as he took the wine opener and screwed it into the cork of the bottle, “I expect a very nice tip for bringing your drink to you.” You laughed at his comment to lighten the mood, but all you could focus on was the way his arms flexed when he twisted the corkscrew around a few times, “I even provided you with a whole bottle of wine just for yourself.”

You let out a small laugh, “Lucky me,” you whispered just as Mat looked up at you through his eyelashes.

He offered you a small smile, and then went back to concentrating on opening the wine. When the corkscrew was in the center of the cork, he pressed his hands down on the miniature levers, and the bottle opened with pop.

He looked up at you with a proud smile and eyebrows raised proudly, “Eh?” He asked you as he poured you a glass, “You should be impressed.”

You snorted, “That you opened a wine bottle?”

“Mhm,” Mat hummed as he handed you the glass. You offered him a smile as a thanks, as he grabbed his beer and rested an arm on the back of the couch, “And that I didn’t spill any of it.”

With a roll of your eyes, you took a sip of wine, as your mind pieced together that you were drinking your favorite type of wine. That led to a flurry of questions in your mind because why––after all this time––would he still keep your favorite bottle of wine at his place?

But Mat asked you about how your presentation at work went before you were able to bring it up.

Much like the time spent at the sports bar earlier, it was all laughter and smiles, except this time you weren’t under the scrutinizing gaze of Kennady or the hesitant glances of Tito. It was just you and Mat, alone in his apartment, as if no time had passed. With every twenty minutes that went by, it felt as if Mat would move a tiny bit closer to you. You didn’t mind at all, and when he was close enough, you knocked your knee against his.

It was well past midnight, and you were still enjoying yourself the same as you did when you first walked in. The bottle of wine was nearly empty; Mat joining in on the wine drinking after he finished his beer.

Everything about the time spent at Mat’s place felt easy until the second hiccup of the night happened.

Mat placed his empty wine glass down on the coffee table and let out a deep breath through his nose. His face looked serious; eyebrows pinched together that caused a crease to form between his eyes, mouth pressed in a straight line, with his eyes firmly concentrated on you. The look made your stomach uneasy, so you finished off the last of your wine, and sat it down next to Mat’s empty glass.

You let out an apprehensive laugh as you leaned your side into the back of the couch, just below where Mat’s hand rested, “What’s on your mind, hockey player?”

With his hand so close to your shoulder, he stretched out his fingers and lightly grazed your shoulder. He gently moved his fingertips along your shoulder blade a few times before he gulped, “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” you breathed out as a chill ran down your spine.

Both of your bodies were facing each other as he moved an inch closer to you. While his fingertips withdrew from your shoulder, he knocked his knee against yours. But instead of retracting it like he had done all night, he kept his knee against yours. With another deep breath through his nostrils, he inched closer to you again, his thigh pressing against yours.

You held your breath as you stared into his yearning eyes, and like he was telling you a secret, he whispered, “Sometimes you feel like a stranger.”

Your eyes widened, stunned at his confession. You were at a loss for words, but luckily you didn’t have to respond, because he expounded upon his admission.

“And it…It’s so frustrating,” his voice was low as he maintained eye contact with you; his soft eyes full of longing stared into your wide and timid eyes as his fingertips reached back down to touch your shoulders. But instead of just staying in one place, his fingertips trailed down to your collarbone, “I know how you relax after a stressful day,” his fingers slowly moved to the side of your neck as he let out a soft chuckle, “I know how you organize a closet.” HIs fingers moved painfully slow up your neck, “I know the facial expressions you make when you’re nervous…”

You clenched your jaw, as your breathing hitched, and you slightly tilted your head to the side to give his fingers more room to wander.

Mat traced his fingers along your jawline as he leaned his face closer to you, “I know what makes you happy,” you felt his breath fan against your face as his fingers caressed your cheek, “What pisses you off.” He kept his mouth in a straight line, jaw slightly clenched, as he moved his fingers to the back of your neck, cupping your cheek. He kept quiet, the only noise in the apartment that could be heard was your own heartbeat and Mat’s breathing.

Finally, he rested his forehead against yours as he slightly brushed the tip of his nose against yours. You kept your eyes wide open in anticipation, as Mat closed his eyes for a moment. He let out a shaky breath before slowly opening his eyes to look at you with an amount of adoration you’d never seen before, “How to love you.”

“We’re friends.”

“No we’re not,” his voice was strained with irritation. But this time, the irritation in his voice wasn’t directed at either you or hockey…his irritation was at himself, “All I want is to love you again but you’re so far away.” He let out a self-deprecating laugh and muttered, “You’re a stranger who I know better than anyone else.”

You brushed your nose against his, eyes glancing down at his lips, before looking back into his wistful eyes, “I’m right here.”

With your lips parted and breath shallow; the tone of your voice hinted at what you wanted to come next.

“If I were to kiss you,” Mat’s low voice murmured as he laid out his intentions, “Would you stay?”

“Yes.”

There was no wavering hesitation in your voice, only desire for the person in front of you who you’d spent too much time without. But Mat…Mat blinked a few times as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, staring at you as if he didn’t believe this was real life. The pull you felt toward him was stronger than any pull you felt toward anyone else. There was something in him that made him irresistible, he felt it in you as well, and he couldn’t wait any longer.

Eyes closed, Mat pressed his lips against yours, desperate but chaste as you tasted the wine off him, both of you holding yourselves back for each other's sake. He rubbed his lips against yours, urging you to tip your head back. You leaned into his direction as your fingers carefully crept toward his stomach, clutching his shirt into a small fist.

The tip of his tongue peeked out in a quick stripe across your lower lip, and a strangled whimper in the back of your throat involuntarily left your lips. With his nose against your cheek, he took his hand that cupped your cheek, and ran it down your back. His palm and the tips of his fingers gliding across the expanse of your back; feeling every ridge of your spine, every bone, every dip, and every curve.

Ever so slowly, his hand trailed up your back, over your neck, as he cupped your cheek again. He deepened the kiss, tongues meeting with soft strokes, mouths hot with anticipation and need.

You had kissed Mat more times than you could count, but both of your movements were timid. While he had a hand on your cheek, his other hand laid stiff on the couch. And while your hands gripped his shirt, they weren’t physically touching him. There were so many thoughts circling your mind; how you never thought you’d be in this position again with Mat––having him want you again.

That’s when the first tear fell.

It had officially been a year and a half since your break up with Mat. A year and a half since you felt any sort of honest affection from a person. And it had only been about three months since you started to openly communicate with him again. It had taken you longer to watch a hockey game than it took for you to speak to him regularly again; longer to gain the courage to watch him skate in circles with a smile on his face because you knew he was happiest on the ice.

Happier there than he could ever be with you.

You broke away from his kiss with a sniffle.

Mat delicately pecked your lips one last time before pulling away. Your eyes were still shut tight, but you felt his burning stare on your face as his thumb wiped away the single tear from your cheek.

The second tear fell when he repeated the sentence that you didn’t know held any truth.

“You know I’d do anything for you.”

As if you were transported in time, you smelled the April air of two years ago seeping through the open car windows as Mat whispered that promise to you as he kissed your hand. But the other memory…The cruel and poignant memory that overshadowed the good memory of that sentence took over. Instead of the sweet April air, your mind fast forwarded to the month of December where the air was frigid and eliminated your relationship.

You sucked in another deep breath as you opened your eyes to get you out of the headspace of that bitter December day. Mat’s eyes were desperate––silently begging you not to go––as if he knew you were planning an escape.

“I can’t do this,” you dropped your hands from his shirt and moved away from him on the couch.

“Will you ever be ready to do this?” Mat’s voice shook, but he was withstanding from surrendering. You could now see the athlete in him––the dedication he used to train to attain all of his goals––coming out as he fought to mend your relationship, “I want to talk.”

Your hands shook just as bad as your voice, “I can’t.”

For the countless time tonight, Mat let out an irritated breath through his nostrils, “When will you be ready?”

“I don’t know.”

Mat leaned his head against the back of the couch as he rubbed his temples, “Don’t you miss this?” He turned his head to look at you, his bloodshot eyes noticeable in the dim lighting of his living room, “Don’t you miss us?”

“You broke up with me,” you reminded him as you flared your nostrils in annoyance, “You gave up on us.”

“I was confused!” Mat sat up and angled his body toward you as he threw his hands in the air, “I wanted to be with you––Still want to be with you––But something was off and I had to––”

The deja vu of Mat listing off reasons why something in the relationship wasn’t right––and how his judgement convinced himself that getting away from you would solve everything––caused bile to churn in your stomach.

You placed both hands on the cushions as you pushed yourself up, “I’m not doing this again.”

With your back to him, you itched the bridge of your nose as you sniffled away your runny nose. But even with your back to him, you could still hear the desperation and utter heartache behind his wavering voice.

“You told me I would end up alone and unloved,” you heard him inhale a shaky breath, all the confidence from his previous tone of voice gone, as he choked out his next words, “The one person who I love most in the world told me that––The person who I thought loved me––”

“I do––”

“Told me I would be unloved? That not even you could love me again if I didn’t put more effort into the right things?” You spun around on your heel to see a silent path of tears easily falling down his face, “Do you know how much that messed me up?”

“You told me I wasn’t enough,” you counteracted with just as desperate of a voice, “You told me––”

“We just didn’t see each other enough,” Mat’s words continued to cut you like a knife, “But I never said you would end up alone and––”

“Because I don’t want anyone else to love you!” your devastated tone matched his raised voice. His mouth slowly dropped open, “I loved you so much and you tore me apart.” You felt your throat tighten up, but you held back your tears as your voice cracked, “I wanted to be the last person to love you.”

Mat sat in silence on the couch as you stood a few feet away from him. Silences were never common in your relationship, but they were definitely more common now. Coming to terms in your head that he wasn’t going to say anything, you were about to turn around and make your way out of his apartment for the final time.

“Stay,” Mat stood up from the couch. His hand barely raised from his side, as if he wanted to reach out to keep you from leaving him, but his arm stayed stiff at his side, “It’s after two in the morning, I’ll take the couch and you can sleep in my bed.”

“I’m not far from here,” you crossed your arms over your chest, “I can get an Uber.”

“Then I’ll take the Uber with you to your place.”

You let out a deep breath at his persistence, “That’s unnecessary––”

“Believe it or not,” Mat started his sentence out strong, but he took a pause and let his shoulders deflate as his tone softened, “I still really care for you and don’t want you in an Uber alone this late or walking up to your place alone. So please,” you hated the way your heart melted at his words, “Stay.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you thought about his proposal. He had a point…Ubers alone at night in New York wasn’t the most ideal situation in the world. And you knew he would hop in the car with you; he always held your safety high on his priority list.

With a defeated sigh, you nodded your head, “Okay.”

Mat let out a relieved breath, “You can…You know where everything is,” Mat awkwardly rubbed a hand behind his neck, “Everything’s the same.”

Except us, you thought to yourself.

You asked Mat if he had to get anything from his room, but he said he had some stuff stored in the spare bedroom where he would get ready for bed. And for what may be the last time, you wished each other goodnight as the two of you walked to separate ends of his apartment.

You blocked out every memory that swirled around your head as you entered his room and got ready for bed. Everything was going fine until you opened the cabinet under the sink and saw that he still had an unopened bottle of your shampoo that you always kept at his place. But you were done crying. Done crying over Mat. So you closed the cabinet, regretfully changed into one of Mat’s oversized t-shirts for pajamas, and slid under his covers.

With the sheets pulled up right under your chin, you laid on your side in a fetal position, as you stared out his window. There weren’t any stars in the sky, but instead of being in your bed and thinking about what Mat was up to when you couldn’t sleep, all you had to do was walk down the hall.

You tried everything you could to fall asleep, but none of the methods you usually used worked. Even when you stayed in separate bedrooms when Mat met your family for the first time, similarly down the hall from each other, you didn’t have any trouble sleeping like tonight. But back then, you and Mat were together in love. And this time…you and Mat were somehow still in love, but further apart than ever.

Fed up with not being able to get a decent night’s sleep in over a year, you flung the covers off and stepped out of bed, because you knew the cure to your insomnia was just a few feet away. Slowly, you opened the bedroom door and snuck out. You quietly closed the door and made your way to the living area where Mat said he was.

And in a few seconds you saw Mat, whose face was illuminated by his phone from above head as he scrolled. The single blanket he had only came up about halfway to his bare stomach.

As if he sensed another presence in the room, he turned his head. With an empathetic smile, because you imagined he had the same trouble falling asleep in this past year as well, he shut his phone off and placed it on the coffee table. Without a word, he lifted the blanket up, inviting you to sleep next to him.

You crawled in next to him, the side of your face pressed up against the crook of his neck. You let out a silent, uneven, breath as you felt his warmth spread across your body. And when he lowered the blanket, he curled a tight arm around waist, drawing shapes on your back as he held you close to him.

And the third tear fell when Mat pressed a firm kiss to your forehead and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

A year and a half of sobbing didn’t compare to the flood gates that opened up in this moment. Your senses were in overdrive, everything screamed Mat, and that one little forehead kiss paired with a simple apology tipped you over the edge. He held you tight as you cried into his chest, taking responsibility for the suffering he had put you through the past year and a half.

One of your arms was tucked under you, but your other arm was stretched across Mat’s chest as you clung to his bicep. Your shoulders violently shook as you muttered incoherent words out through choppy breaths.

You hurt me, you said. I know, he answered.

I never wanted to see you again, you said. I know, he answered.

I missed you so much, you said. I know, he answered.

I still love you, you said. And as your cries began to soften, he cradled you into his chest more as he pressed another gentle kiss to your forehead; I still love you too, he answered.

It was the first night both of you slept soundly through the night, missing all of your alarms.

–––

New York in August was unbearably hot.

Between the larger than life gray skyscrapers and dark concrete that paved the city, the heat of the sun always got trapped in the most unpleasant way. With crowded sidewalks of people pressed shoulder to shoulder, the heat attached itself to sweaty bodies. With sewers that always smelled, but reeked even worse in the summer, the heat attached itself to the polluted water.

But if you paid close enough attention, there was a certain aroma in the air that always drew people into the city. And like how the skyscrapers and concrete trapped the heat in the most unpleasant way, the sweet smell of new beginnings that New York offered trapped people in the same way.

Walking down the sidewalk, with your fingers intertwined with Mat’s, you breathed in the captivating smell of New York.

The smell of new beginnings.

“Are you nervous or is the heat getting to you,” You looked up at Mat’s side profile with a smile as you pointed out his sweaty hand.

With black sunglasses covering his eyes, he kept his head forward as he chewed on his bottom lip, “It’s your family.”

You rolled your eyes as you came to the end of the sidewalk, waiting at the corner for the light to change, “You know them already.”

“Yeah, but––”

His words were cut off when the light changed and a mass amount of people crossed the street. You tugged him along with the crowd, “No buts,” you squeezed his hand, “They still love you.”

Mat shrugged his shoulders.

He knew the pain he caused when he broke up with you. And he knew that your mom, dad, and sister all witnessed the aftermath of what he put you through. There was part of him that would never forgive himself for acting so immature, and he was still working through his insecurities. But after that night of confrontation where you slept peacefully in his arms, he promised to always be upfront with his feelings.

You had been officially back together for four months, and made changes from the first time you were in a relationship, but Mat’s nerves surrounding your family were still present.

Your sister was the first to find out that you and Mat were back together. You hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell her before she figured it out not even a month into your rekindled relationship. She called you out of the blue, and before you could greet her, she went straight to the point; Are you back together with Mat? You were a stuttering mess, not prepared to tell your family; You liked Tito’s most recent Instagram picture, your username came up next to the heart, and I know you unfollowed him after you weren’t with Mat.

Her sleuthing wasn’t that impressive, but you couldn’t lie to your sister. She warned you that a few more jokes would come at his expense to turn him red.

You told your mom in June. You had let it casually slip that you were going out with Mat for the day, and she was silent on the other end for a few moments. Like any mother who held their child as they openly sobbed after the end of a relationship, she was skeptical. But you reassured her that changes were made, and continue to be made, so it wouldn't end like the last time…So your relationship wouldn’t end at all.

She said as long as you were happy, she was happy.

You also told your dad in June, a week after you told your mom, because you knew she wouldn’t be able to hold onto that secret for long. It took a bit more planning and practicing on your end to tell him. You saw the way his jaw clenched and eyes full of hurt whenever he saw you cry. And when you told him, he sounded stiff, and reminded you that you were too good for him. But like your mom, you reassured him that things had changed; Mat had changed.

He reminded you that he never liked Mat that much to begin with.

When you and Mat reached the restaurant you were set to meet your family at, Mat opened the door for you. A breeze of air conditioning and the smell of clean air brought you out of your thoughts.

"Your dad’s already glaring at me and we’re not at the table yet.”

You let out a laugh and rested your forehead against Mat’s bicep briefly as you looked up at him with a smile, “Don’t worry, I talked to him plenty before this and told him to be on his best behavior.”

Mat took his sunglasses off, and as he stared down at you, you finally caught a look at his hazel eyes that shined bright with admiration for you, “Surprisingly, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

You dropped his hand and elbowed him at his sarcastic comment.

“Finally, you’re here,” your sister was the first one up from her seat to greet you with a hug.

You hugged her back tightly, “We’re on time, you guys got here early.”

She held you at arms length away and gave you a knowing look saying that of course they were going to show up early. It was the re-meeting the boyfriend lunch. She slightly gazed over your shoulder at Mat, who was politely talking with your mom, and you rolled your eyes silently telling her he was more nervous than the first time. She deviously smirked.

With a stiff handshake and a curt, Mathew, from your dad, you knew Mat felt as if he was drowning.

Appetizers and a bottle of wine were ordered for the table before you and Mat were present, so they arrived shortly after the two of you were seated next to each other. Like the first time Mat was around your family, he sat with perfect posture as he rapidly tapped his index finger against his thigh.

You discreetly scooted your chair closer to his.

Mat had just finished his first glass of water when your mom brought up hockey, “How did this season go, Mat?”

“It went well,” he answered as he took the water pitcher from the center of the table and poured himself another glass, “There were a few times we went up and down in ranking, but all in all, it was a strong season.”

“I watched a few highlights,” your dad said after he finished swallowing an appetizer, “You played well, especially towards the end of the season.”

Mat shyly smiled, his eyes glancing at you, because toward the end of the season was when you started communicating more, “Yeah, the end of the season was the best.”

You knocked your knee against Mat’s.

“And almost made it to the Cup again,” your dad shook his head with a light smile, “How’s the team looking this season?”

Mat took a sip of water, “We’re looking good. A few changes to the roster, but all for the best.” He fiddled with the white cloth napkin on his lap, “If you guys––I don’t know the next time you’re in town, but just let me know if you want to go to a game.” Mat smiled at your dad, and then turned to your mom, “I know my family wants to come down for a game.”

Your mom’s eyes lit up, “Oh, that would be wonderful!”

“Thanks, Mat,” your dad easily smiled, “I appreciate that.”

Mat shrugged his shoulders, a smile slowly growing on his face as your dad called him by his nickname, “I know how much you all like hockey, might as well use me for what I’m good for.”

Your parents laughed at his comment right as the waiter came up to take everyone’s order for their main course. You, Mat, and your sister had ordered, so your parents weren’t paying attention to your little trio.

“So, Mat,” your sister stretched out the lone vowel in his name, “Looks like you won the girl back before your franchise could win the Stanley Cup.”

Your eyes widened at her bluntness. It was always hard for a team to be so close to clinching that championship title––and well deserved praise as they lifted the Cup above their heads––only for it to be ripped away from them. And for the Islanders to be in that position another year, losing in the final round, it only aided in more salt to the wound.

Mat’s face still turned red at her unapologetic comment, but he recovered quickly, and wasn’t nearly as blindsided by her words like he was the first time. Instead, Mat offered your sister an easy smile, as he quickly made eye contact with you. His smile widened, “I think I won something better.”

Mat knocked his knee against yours.

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