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aleskie-hischier · 17 days ago

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Summary: Tasked with eliminating the government spy Nico Hischier, you arrive in Paris prepared to do what you’ve always done: obey Father’s orders without question. Unexpectedly, you get closer to Nico and he shows you a glimpse of a life beyond the underworld. Torn between your present and the possibility of a future free from darkness, you make a choice that changes the course of your life.

Word Count: 15k Warnings: fluffy angst!! there's a swear word somewhere there and there's a scene that leads to something spicy but there isn't any actual smut!! also there are inaccurate descriptions of advanced technology and chemicals...don't come for me, i'm not a stem student and i don't actually know how that shit works

READ PART TWO HERE

You first meet him at a gala somewhere in Germany. It’s the birthday of some socialite, celebrated in the only way these people seem to know how—a garish display of lavish opulence. The mansion is dripping in gold, with polished marble floors that gleam under crystal chandeliers, and an endless fountain of champagne that flows throughout the night. Around you, guests float about in grand clothes, laughter echoing through the hall. And, from the corner of your eye, in the dimly lit corners, you spot couples slipping away for moments of…private intimacy.

In a perfect world, you’d join the festivities—join in the dancing and drinking, maybe you’d even find someone who catches your eye, flirt for a while, let the champagne make you bold. But you aren’t here for any of that. No, your attendance tonight is strictly for work, and you’re eager to make a good impression. After all, ‘Father’ had chosen you personally for this assignment, this chance to prove yourself by approaching The Target.

The honor wasn’t lost on you. Out of all your ‘siblings,’ it was you he’d chosen—‘Father’s’ quiet, watchful shadow. You almost let a smile slip at the thought of them fuming, quietly seething that you had been singled out as his best. Still, you keep your gloating hidden deep inside. You keep your expression composed, calm, your mask perfectly in place. Just like what you were trained to do.

One by one, ‘Father’ takes you through the crowd, introducing you to guests scattered throughout the hall. There are socialites wrapped in silk and jewels, politicians with their fake and steely smiles; There are actors who prance around with perfectly practiced charm and singers who cast secretive glances at one another—everyone who matters, the pillars of high society, are all here.

You’re cordial, polite, doing exactly as you were trained: standing straight with your head high, giving a subtle smile, letting ‘Father’ do most of the talking while you speak only when directly addressed.

This is why you’re his favorite. You’re a shadow, a seamless extension of his will, your own desires tucked away beneath the polished surface.

Your gaze occasionally sweeps the room, catching every flicker of movement, every momentary lapse in composure. You’re waiting, watching, until finally, you see him: The Target. Standing across the room, just beyond ‘Father’s’ line of sight, and yet right within yours.

The cold and calculating Agent Heart. Real name: Nico Hischier. One of the top operatives the Swiss government had ever produced—usually, anyway. He’d unknowingly made a crucial mistake at his last job, leaving just enough of a trace to reveal the man behind the code name. And now, he would die by your hands.

It was almost a pity to end the life of someone so...well, so pretty, with that sharp jawline and those doe-like brown eyes. But a job was a job, and Nico Hischier had been a thorn in your client’s side for far too long. His audacious infiltration schemes and the false information he’d planted across organizations had finally backfired, landing him in the crosshairs of nearly every intelligence agency in Europe. The bounty on his head was astronomical. And very soon, you’d be securing a piece of it.

You quietly excuse yourself from the current group of guests as ‘Father’ continues talking, stepping away with a smooth, practiced grace that goes unnoticed amidst the swirl of laughter and clinking glasses. Moving through the crowd, you feel the thrill of anticipation quicken your heartbeat—not nerves, but the pure, cold excitement that only missions like this can give.

You’d studied him meticulously, learning everything from his birthplace to his weapon of choice to the peculiarity of his movements. By all accounts, he’s one of the deadliest targets you’ve ever been assigned. But here, under the shimmering lights and surrounded by Europe’s elite, he almost seems ordinary. Unsuspecting. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Carefully, you make your way to him with a calculated grace, cutting through the crowd with subtle purpose until you find yourself near the champagne tower where he stands, engaged in polite conversation but always surveying the room. In these few seconds, your mind runs through the best approaches. This first contact would be critical—too bold, and he’d suspect something; too subtle, and you’d be ignored.

As you near him, you make a choice. You pass close enough to him for a brief, delicate brush of your arm against his, subtle enough to seem accidental yet deliberate enough to catch his attention. The spark of contact makes him look down at you, his gaze as sharp as you expected. You meet his eyes, letting a faint smile tug at your lips, mysterious and inviting.

You let the moment linger just a second longer than usual before drifting away, casting a fleeting glance over your shoulder as you head towards a nearby balcony. A silent invitation, daring him to follow.

It works. Just moments later, you sense his presence behind you, following you closely. And when you step onto the quiet balcony overlooking the gardens, he’s there, closing the doors softly behind him. For a brief moment, you both stand in silence, the sounds of laughter and music now muffled by the thick glass. The night air is cool, and he takes a step forward, his posture casual but his eyes sharp, assessing.

“Didn’t think I’d see someone like you out here,” he says smoothly, his voice low and slightly amused.

You arch a brow, leaning against the stone bannister, feigning a casualness you don’t entirely feel. “And what is ‘someone like me,’ exactly?” you ask, letting a slight challenge slip into your tone.

He chuckles softly, his gaze trailing over you with an interest that’s as analytical as it is intrigued. “Someone who seems a bit out of place among all the gold and glitter.” He pauses, a smile touching his lips. “Though I suppose that’s part of the charm.”

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze with a smile of your own. “Maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

He hums, studying you with a spark of intrigue. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

You smirk, crossing your arms loosely in front of you. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He chuckles, mirroring your smirk with one of his own. “Don’t you want to know who I am?”

You shrug lightly, keeping your gaze steady. “It’s not that important. We won’t be meeting after tonight, anyway,” you reply, your tone coy, almost daring.

He tilts his head, clearly amused, and leans in just a fraction closer. His hand rests on the bannister, his fingers nearly brushing against yours. “And what if I wanted to meet again?”

A playful smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “I think I could make that happen.”

He opens his mouth, about to respond with some new flirtation, but he’s cut off by a familiar voice.

‘Father.’

“Ah,” he says, his tone measured, assessing, “My child, here you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

You turn, adopting a soft, slightly apologetic smile, and gesture toward Nico. “I found some lovely company tonight. I’m sorry for slipping away like that.”

‘Father’ shifts his gaze to Nico, then back to you, a look of subtle satisfaction passing over his features as he realizes you’ve made contact with the target. “I see.” He extends his hand to the spy. “Thank you for looking after my treasure.”

The air shifts as Nico straightens, his previously casual demeanor giving way to a guarded coolness. He accepts the handshake, meeting ‘Father’s’ gaze with a measured look. “It’s my pleasure,” he replies smoothly. “She’s been…lovely company.”

‘Father’ gives an approving smile that, even to you, seems convincing. “Well,” he says, glancing between the two of you, “I hate to cut this meeting short, but our chauffeur is here to take us back home.” His tone is warm, but there’s no mistaking the command in his words.

Nico’s eyes flick from you to ‘Father,’ assessing, before he nods. “Of course.” Turning back to you, he reaches for your gloved hand, lifting it with unexpected gentleness to his lips. “Thank you for your company tonight.”

You give him a warm smile, your heart skipping just slightly under the guise of composure. “It was no trouble at all.” Then, slipping your hand free, you take ‘Father’s’ arm, feeling Nico’s intense gaze burn into your back as you leave the balcony.

Once in the car, the silence is weighted, yet you can sense ‘Father’s’ satisfaction without needing to see his face. He finally speaks, his voice brimming with a rare touch of pride.

“My Shadow,” he says, almost tenderly, “To have made contact with a target even I did not see is nothing short of impressive. I knew you were the right choice for this assignment.” He leans back, a hint of a smile ghosting across his face as he watches the city lights flicker past the window.

A subtle warmth blooms in your chest, a swell of pride that you rarely allow yourself to feel. You’ve made ‘Father’ proud—exactly what you’ve been trained for, the purpose he’s molded you into. And tonight, you’ve once again proven yourself worthy of his trust.

You allow yourself a brief, quiet smile as you reply, “Thank you, Father.”

Suddenly, ‘Father’ turns to you, a faint glint of scrutiny in his eyes. “I must ask, however,” he says, his voice sharp and questioning, “Why did you allow him to kiss your hand goodbye? You don’t often permit targets to make contact with you.”

Caught off guard by his intensity, you pause, then offer a calm, practiced smile. “Oh,” you say, feeling the weight of his gaze, “I left him with a small gift, is all.”

‘Father’ raises a brow, his silence an unspoken command to elaborate.

With a slight, mischievous smile, you hold up your hands, drawing his attention to the delicate gloves still clinging to your skin. “I laced these with poison.”

For a second, ‘Father’ stares, his eyes widening as he processes your strategy, before he lets out a hearty, genuine laugh that seems to echo in the dim car. “Oh, my dear Shadow,” he says, mirth evident in every syllable, “This is why you are my greatest investment.”

He shakes his head, almost in awe, and pats your shoulder as if to say, well done. “Brilliantly done. Precise, discreet, and utterly poetic. I knew I was right to trust you with this.”

The pride in his tone washes over you, and you lower your eyes, feigning humility even as satisfaction hums beneath your skin.

Right now, in this moment, you’re more than just his tool—you’re his masterpiece, a testament to his power, and his most prized creation. The night around you darkens as the car glides down empty streets, but you feel only the steady glow of triumph.

You don’t see Nico Hischier for another five years.

After that night, he vanished as if he’d never existed, leaving no trace, no sign, not even a whisper in the underworld. Informants scrambled and came up empty-handed, unable to find the faintest clue of his survival. For all intents and purposes, Nico Hischier was dead and Agent Heart was wiped from the face of the earth—yet his memory lingered, nagging at the edges of your mind. A shame, really. He’d been charming, a master of his craft, and more than easy on the eyes with a lovely accent to match. But business was business, and you’d pocketed a handsome payday from his supposed demise.

Life moved on. You took new assignments, completed them, and then went on a shopping spree with the bounty you collected from each person’s demise.

And then, just as you’d almost forgotten him, a report surfaced: Nico Hischier, codename: Heart, was sighted in Prague.

The message left you cold, gripping the paper so tightly your knuckles turned white. Somehow, he’d managed to reemerge five years after you’d assumed him dead. It could only mean one of two things: either he’d somehow already developed an immunity to your poison, or he’d anticipated your move that night and carried an antidote. Either way, he’d outplayed you.

When ‘Father’ found out, his reaction was…uncharacteristic. You almost expected him to explode in fury, yet he remained unsettlingly calm, though you could feel the chill radiating off him. “Lay low,” he commanded, his voice edged with a steely calm. “Do nothing reckless. We will let him think he is safe.”

You nodded, as did the others. Defiance wasn’t an option—not against ‘Father.’ You were his creations, his most prized agents, trained to bend to his will, to serve as extensions of his power. But as reports trickled in of Nico’s movements—Italy, Spain, then Germany, and now, most recently, Paris—a restlessness began to simmer beneath the surface.

It was infuriating. This job should have been finished years ago, with your flawless record kept unblemished. Instead, Nico Hischier was hopping across Europe as if untouched, while your high-profile clients grew increasingly frantic, demanding answers.

What was his plan? He hadn’t been stirring up trouble, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was biding his time, collecting information, plotting something. Five years of his survival meant five years for him to watch, learn, and scheme. Who knew what kind of leverage he might hold now?

The insult burned, a taunting reminder of your one unfinished task. This was personal now.

With a calculated calm, you start packing, your room a messy whirl of preparation. You move quickly, gathering clothes and essentials, disguises folded neatly alongside your dark ensembles. The commercial airport would be a nightmare for weapons and the more, shall we say, experimental items you’d usually pack, so you strip down to the essentials—your laptop, and hard drives and USBs loaded with data on ‘Father’s’ warehouses, contacts, and safehouses in Paris. You weren’t about to leave anything to chance this time. You were going to get the job done.

“What do we have here?” Hyacinth drawls as he strolls into your room, that infuriating smirk playing across his lips. “Shadow, breaking Father’s orders? Never thought I’d live to see the day! Maybe the world really is coming to an end.”

His laugh grates against your nerves, adding fuel to the fire of your frustration. You clench your fists, willing yourself not to snap.

“Shut up, Hyacinth,” you snap, your tone ice-cold.

He lifts a brow, feigning shock. “Touchy, touchy. What’s the matter? Can’t handle the thought of being like the rest of us disappointments?”

Your glare sharpens. “You don’t know a damn thing.”

“Oh, maybe not,” he shrugs with feigned nonchalance, though the glint in his eyes says otherwise. “All I know is that Father’s perfect little lap dog has her first big failure and can’t handle it. Didn’t even get a scolding for it, either. Let it go, Shadow. Shit happens.”

“Not to me!” The words are out before you can stop them, the heat in your voice betraying the tight hold you’ve tried to keep on your emotions. “Shit isn’t supposed to happen to me. He should have been dead five years ago. Something is clearly wrong here, and I’m not about to wait around to see what it is.”

Hyacinth leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Don’t you think by going after him, you’re just putting us all at risk? Maybe you’re the one digging our graves.”

You set your jaw. “I’m making sure it doesn’t come to that. Someone has to, and if that means going out there myself, so be it. I won’t let him compromise us.”

He snorts. “That superiority complex of yours is showing again. Newsflash, Shadow: you’re not any better than the rest of us. We can handle ourselves, you know.”

“Then do that.” You meet his gaze, refusing to waver. “I’m going to end this, for good this time.”

Hyacinth shakes his head, letting out a scoff as he gives you a mock salute before flipping you off on his way out. Once he’s gone, silence falls, leaving you alone with the simmering anger and resolve that’s been building inside you since that first sighting in Prague.

You turn back to your preparations, each item you pack a step closer to reclaiming your spotless record. If Nico Hischier thought he could walk back into your world without a consequence, he was in for a rude awakening. This time, you’d make sure he didn’t walk away—no matter what it took.

The first thing you do when you touch down in Paris is seek out a café where you can start tracking down the location of the warehouse without raising suspicion. You drag your suitcase through the bustling crowds, winding your way to a small café tucked in a quiet corner off a narrow street. It’s the kind of place tourists overlook but locals appreciate, which suits you just fine. Settling at a corner table, you pull out your laptop and hard drive, your eyes flicking discreetly around before focusing on the screen.

Phase one: gathering supplies and resources. It’s essential to be meticulous here, covering your tracks as you hack into the security systems guarding the warehouse. ‘Father’ couldn’t know, not until Nico was back under control, one way or another. Hyacinth was a wild card, as always. But you know your ‘brother’ well enough—he wouldn’t risk his neck tattling to ‘Father’ when it could mean he’d get burned for letting you slip through in the first place. No, the only way you’d get caught would be if you made a mistake. But you don’t make mistakes. Not often, at least.

Steeling yourself, you quickly hack into ‘Father’s’ network, bypassing the high-grade security systems with a practiced ease. You knew every firewall, every code embedded in his system—hell, you’d helped create a few. Within minutes, you’re inside, scanning inventory lists, security schedules, and surveillance layouts. The target warehouse isn’t far, just on the outskirts of the city, and you catch a hint of satisfaction at the minimal security—surely an oversight on ‘Father’s’ part. A clean entry and exit should be more than manageable if you stick to the plan. This was your element. It’s what they trained you for, why they called you Shadow: no one saw you coming, and no one would see you go.

Hours later, with a mental map of the warehouse in place, you check into your hotel—a high-end spot tucked away in the heart of the city. You present your fake ID and passport with the same confidence you’ve honed in every mission. The upscale surroundings are a deliberate choice. Tourists flood hotels like these, and with so many faces coming and going, no one would remember one more guest. Plus, you think, casting a glance around the pristine lobby, it’s a definite improvement over some of your previous hideouts.

Your room is a large suite with a view overlooking the Seine, but there’s no time to enjoy it. By nightfall, you’re ready. Dressed in sleek, dark clothing, a mask fitted snugly over your face, and your bag packed with the essentials, you slip silently into the shadows outside the hotel. Your path takes you through side streets and alleyways, every step calculated as you make your way toward the necessary location.

The warehouse looms ahead, tucked in an industrial sector where only the hum of distant traffic breaks the silence. You slip into the shadows along the building’s side, blending in as you’ve always done. You double-check your tools, each one a lifeline in your hand. There’s no room for error tonight. Not this time.

When you arrive, the warehouse looms ahead in the darkness. It’s surrounded by high fencing, security cameras rotating from their posts like watchful sentries. For most, this would be intimidating, but you’ve faced far worse. The thrill kicks in once more, sharpening your senses. You take a slow, steadying breath, then melt into the shadows, silent as smoke. This time, you’d finish the job you’d started years ago—no matter what it took.

The sunrise has always fascinated you. It’s a signal of beginnings, fresh starts—a promise of new opportunities. You find it poetic that it’s the first thing you see as you slip out of the warehouse, your mission complete and a cold, gleeful satisfaction filling you.

Breaking into the place had been more challenging than anticipated. The exterior’s casual security had lulled you into a false sense of ease, making you believe the rest would be a simple infiltration. But inside, the game shifted. Lasers crisscrossed the halls like webs, ready to alert ‘Father’ at the faintest touch. You’d navigated through them with a mix of agility and nerves of steel, carefully calculating each movement. Then, hacking into the security system to loop the cameras—well, that had demanded an even steadier hand.

Each door you encountered was a new puzzle, a metal barrier locked with outdated ciphers that even the finest digital decoders couldn’t solve alone. Finally, you resorted to an old cipher-decoder tucked away in your bag, the kind you’d almost forgotten about, to get you through. Each second felt stretched, every click and buzz echoing louder in the silent warehouse, but you refused to let it fluster you. You were trained for this—methodical, composed, and ruthless in your precision.

The challenges only fueled you. They reminded you of the spies you’d watched over the years, their sneaky maneuvers and meticulous planning. Spies and assassins weren’t all that different, you thought wryly. Both had to be intelligent, inventive, and constantly three steps ahead. You’d taken notes, refined your approach, and now, standing here at the brink of success, you see it paying off.

Once inside the warehouse’s main sector, you located everything you needed: small vials of acids and chemicals with potent effects, needles to inject them into precise targets, and, of course, your preferred daggers. You recognize the risk of bringing such conspicuous weapons; the daggers would leave a clear mark, something easily traced to you. But they were your final line of defense if all else failed. A contingency. You liked to be prepared for every possibility.

With your haul secured, you slipped out as silently as you’d come, setting everything back to how it was before you’d entered.

Back at the hotel, a wave of exhaustion hit you, the adrenaline finally draining. You collapsed onto the plush bed, relishing the soft linens and the contrast of comfort after the tense operation. As your eyes drifted shut, the golden light of dawn filtered through the window. In the back of your mind, a voice whispers that this time, things will fall into place. The sun feels like a premonition—a promise of victory.

When you wake up, it’s just about time for lunch, and the day outside is sunny, practically inviting you out to explore. After a quick shower, you slip into a simple outfit, throwing on a light cardigan, and head down to the lobby. You tell yourself it’s to grab a bite to eat while you figure out how to locate Nico—if he was even still in Paris. A grimace crosses your face at the possibility he’s already vanished, but a quick spark of determination flickers. You’re prepared to follow him to the ends of the earth if that’s what it takes.

Lost in thought, you walk briskly toward the lobby’s exit, but you’re jarred back to the present by an unexpected bump into someone. Instinctively, you’re ready to apologize—until you look up and see him. Nico, in the flesh, his expression caught halfway between surprise and something else. He’s as handsome as you remember, wearing a casual pair of jeans, a sleek knit sweater, and a trench coat that perfectly frames his sharp build. Jackpot.

His eyes first widen when they see you, a flash of recognition, but they don’t show any signs of him connecting you with a failed assassination plot, so that was working in your favor. Then he gives an amused smile.

For a split second, his eyes widen, a flicker of recognition lighting up his face. But he doesn’t show a trace of suspicion; if anything, he looks amused. It’s almost funny how little he realizes who you truly are or that you were ever tasked with ending his life.

“When you said you’d make our meeting happen again,” he says smoothly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I didn’t think you’d keep me waiting for five years.”

You recover quickly, letting an amused smile play on your lips. “Good things take time,” you reply, matching his tone with ease.

“Well then, I guess it’s about time we do this properly." His smirk deepens as he extends a hand, offering a more formal greeting. "I’m Nico.”

“Y/N,” you say, your smile widening as you take his hand, giving it a light but confident shake.

He studies you for a moment, his gaze both amused and appraising. “So, Y/N,” he says, the casualness in his tone belied by the spark of curiosity in his eyes, “What brings you to Paris?”

“Oh, just a bit of business,” you reply, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. “But I don’t mind having a little fun on the side.”

“Funny,” he replies, the amusement in his eyes intensifying. His gaze lingers, assessing, as if you’re a puzzle he’s suddenly intent on solving. “I could say the same thing.” There’s a spark of intrigue in his eyes, a quiet challenge, like he’s not quite sure what he’s getting into but is curious enough to find out. “How about we continue where we left off and get lunch? My treat.”

There’s a quiet thrill in how easily he’s letting his guard down. “I’d be glad to,” you say, your voice warm and laced with charm. You place your hand lightly in the one he’s offered as he leads you out of the hotel lobby, and a strange feeling of satisfaction blooms in your chest.

As you step out into the Parisian sunlight, you feel his gaze drift over you from time to time, like he’s trying to piece together the mystery that is you. In a way, it’s thrilling—the careful dance, the unspoken tension between you. For now, you’re both just two strangers, meeting by chance, sharing a meal in the city of lights. But beneath that veneer of normalcy, you know exactly who he is. And soon, he’ll find out exactly who you are, too.

The walk to the restaurant is mostly silent, save for the sounds of cabs and people on the street, though his hand remains firmly laced in yours, grounding you in a way that’s both strange and unexpectedly steady. You’re not sure if he’s doing it to ensure you don’t slip away—not that you would—or if it’s simply his way of staying connected, holding onto this chance encounter as long as possible.

He leads you to a cozy little bistro just a block away from the hotel. It’s the sort of place that’s swarming with locals, with warm wooden tables and waitstaff bustling through the crowd, balancing plates with practiced ease. You’re seated by a window, the afternoon light filtering through as the hum of Parisian life passes by outside. He lets go of your hand to pull out your chair, a surprisingly old-fashioned gesture, before taking a seat across from you. You’re handed menus, and after a quick glance, he orders a steak. You, in turn, order ratatouille—a choice that earns you a look of amused surprise.

“Ratatouille?” He raises an eyebrow, the grin on his face both intrigued and playful as the waiter collects your menus.

You can’t help but smirk back, rolling your eyes a bit as you explain. “I saw the movie last year and figured I should try the dish, see if it lives up to the hype.”

He laughs, the sound warm and relaxed, making him seem momentarily less like the man you’re here to kill. “So, you’re into those kinds of things? Movies?”

“Not really. Just curious.” You give a small shrug, keeping your tone light. “I figured that if I was gonna eat in Paris I might as well go for something classic.”

He nods, eyes never leaving yours, his gaze intense but inviting. “I suppose you just don’t strike me as the type to follow a…classical path, so to speak.”

You tilt your head, intrigued. “And what exactly do you think my path looks like, then?”

“Something more mysterious.” His smirk returns, laced with a deeper curiosity, as though he’s trying to peer through whatever mask you’ve chosen to wear today. “You’ve got this air about you...like you’re here, but not entirely. A bit like a cat. Sneaky, quick,” he says, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that feels both measuring and teasing. “Elusive.”

You laugh, letting out a genuine sound. “A cat? That’s a first.”

It is a first. People in your world were more likely to call you names like “Golden Girl,” “Father’s Shadow,” or “Lap Dog” when your so-called ‘siblings’ wanted to get under your skin.

“Well, you are hard to pin down, aren’t you?” He leans back, still watching you, and the playful energy from before shifts. “People like us—those who can walk in and out of rooms unnoticed—we tend to be running from something, or toward it. Which one is it for you?”

The question catches you off guard, the subtle implication making you wonder if he knows more than he lets on. You lean in, matching his intensity. “Maybe both. Or maybe I just like the thrill of new places and new faces.”

He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, as though filing the answer away with real interest. You notice the warmth in his curiosity, and for a brief moment, it almost makes you feel guilty, like he genuinely wants to know the truth about you.

“Besides,” you continue, a smile tugging at your lips, “I’m the one who’s hard to pin down? You’re the one who’s been quite hard to find these past few years.”

The words slip out before you realize how they might sound, and for a brief second, you see his expression flicker from amused to alarmed. Most people wouldn’t catch it, but you do, and you pivot quickly.

“I just…” You let out a breath, recalibrating. “I thought you’d stay in Germany longer. I tried looking for you after the gala.” It’s the truth, in a way—you had tried to track him down, though for different reasons entirely. “But you were gone. Just…vanished.” The words carry a hint of something unintended, something softer. You sound almost sad, like a lover abandoned or a child denied a favorite toy.

His expression shifts, easing into something more open, though there’s a guarded look in his eyes you can’t quite place. “Oh,” he says simply. “Had some business to take care of.” Then, his lips curve into a smirk, casual and inviting. “If I’d known you were looking for me, I would’ve found you first.”

You return his smile, allowing the flirtation to flow easily between you. “Well, lucky for you, you didn’t have to try too hard this time.”

“Lucky for me indeed.” His gaze sharpens with interest, as if he’s thinking of something more he’d like to say but chooses to leave it unspoken.

As the light shifts, bathing the restaurant in a soft glow, you realize just how naturally the conversation has fallen into place, how seamlessly you’ve slipped into the part you need to play. It’s dangerous, how easy it feels, how perfectly he responds to every cue. For a moment, you wonder if he’s doing the same—if he’s playing a role, hiding motives of his own behind that smooth smile. But the real danger, you know, is how much you welcome it—yearn for it—how a part of you longs for this illusion of normalcy.

You let yourself drift for a second, thinking about a quiet cottage somewhere in the mountains. You imagine waking up next to someone you love, sharing breakfast and laughter in the early morning light. You picture spending your days apart, coming home to one another at night, swapping stories about the small things, the safe things, the little moments of joy. In this little dream, you hold children of your own—kids who’d grow up safe, untouched by the world you’d grown up in.

You look across the table at Nico, studying his face, his easy demeanor. And for a brief, painful moment, you think that if things were different, if he truly was just a man sitting here with genuine interest, the two of you might have been a good match. But that world, that life, feels as distant as the sunlit street outside, just out of reach and fading as quickly as it appeared.

The food arrives, interrupting the charged silence, and you focus on your plate, cutting into the colorful layers of ratatouille. The flavors are rich and earthy, a surprising comfort, and for a moment, you lose yourself in the meal. The flavors are unexpectedly comforting, earthy and rich, a pleasure you can savor for once, without wondering if it’s laced with some new toxin or if a hidden blade will come flying at you as you take your next bite.

‘Father’ had a way of turning even meals into exercises in survival, leaving you perpetually on guard, reminding you, every time you sat down, that you belonged to him. The absurdity of it all isn’t lost on you—the idea of “family” twisted into something you’ve learned to navigate but never fully accept.

As you eat, Nico occasionally glances up, a hint of curiosity in his gaze, and you realize he’s studying you, reading you as if you’re some puzzle he’s intent on solving. His careful attention puts you on edge, yet you find yourself playing into it, letting him look, letting him think he has the upper hand. But under the surface, you’re calculating, assessing how best to keep him close. After all, you have a job to finish, and the more he thinks he’s reading you, the more you can quietly prepare.

“So,” you say, dabbing the corners of your mouth, casually probing, “How long have you been in Paris?”

“About two weeks now,” he replies, his voice a low hum.

That aligns with the information you received, so you press a bit further. “Work?” you ask, giving him a look of mild curiosity.

“Something like that.” His gaze drifts, thoughtful, as if his mind is somewhere else, somewhere you can’t follow. “Just needed to get away from everything for a while.”

You nod thoughtfully. You understood completely. The life you both lead and the secrecy, the horrors that come with it aren’t for the weak. There are times you’ve dreamed of disappearing yourself, slipping out from under ‘Father’s’ iron grip, but fear keeps you rooted. The thought of ‘Father’ discovering an unsanctioned trip would lead to more than just fury; it would likely spark consequences you can’t afford.

You glance at Nico, taking a sip of water to mask the tension creeping into your thoughts. This job has to go as planned—flawlessly. If it doesn’t, you know you’ll be dragged back to face ‘Father’s’ wrath, and Paris, Nico, all of it, would be nothing more than a dangerous, haunting memory.

“I get it,” you say finally, a hint of wistfulness creeping into your voice. “I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here.”

“Not even your dad?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You shake your head. “No one knows.” A pause, then you add, “Well, except my brother. But he won’t tell.”

“You have siblings?”

“Three older ones, one younger,” you say with a small smile. “They’re annoying, but they’re mine.” It isn’t exactly a lie. There may be rivalry and threats and a constant competition for ‘Father’s’ approval, but there’s also a silent bond, a certain understanding that only comes from surviving the same relentless environment together. In some twisted way, you protect each other.

He chuckles, a soft, genuine sound. “I’ve got two older ones. A brother and a sister.”

“Yeah?” you ask, leaning forward with genuine interest, surprising even yourself. “What are they like?”

“They’re fun,” he says, his eyes softening as he talks, affectionate in the way most families are with each other. “We’re close—we talk all the time, take trips to the beach or the lake. We play sports together, laugh about stupid things. Just…normal stuff.”

You can’t help the pang that tugs at you, the unfamiliar ache of what you’ve missed. “What about your parents?”

A smile spreads across his face, warm and fond. “My mom makes the best food. Seriously. She’s always trying new things, always spoiling us.” He laughs. “And my dad, well, he’s your classic dad. Quiet, but caring. You should’ve seen him when I graduated university, got all choked up—I’ve never seen him so emotional before.” He pauses, a nostalgic look in his eyes. “They used to drive my brother and me to a whole different town just so we could play hockey—never missed a game or a school event.”

You feel yourself drawn in, pulled by the mundane beauty of what he’s describing. The picture he paints is a world away from what you’ve known, yet there’s something so alluring, so...possible about it that it stirs something in you. A strange longing, a memory of a life that could never be, echoes faintly through your mind.

“What was that like?” you ask softly, not even sure he’ll answer, but he surprises you.

“Safe,” he says, looking right at you, as though he knows you need to hear it. “It felt safe. Like no matter what happened out there, there was always a place to come back to.”

The silence between you feels heavier now, carrying words unspoken, secrets untold. But for a fleeting moment, you let yourself imagine—just for a little while—what it might feel like to have that too.

The conversation settles into a comfortable silence, both of you focused on your plates as the weight of his words lingers in the air.

“So,” he says after a while, setting down his knife with a thoughtful expression. “How long do I get to enjoy your company here in Paris?”

You meet his gaze, a slow, amused smile forming. “Well, that all depends on you, doesn’t it? How long are you here for?”

He leans back, his expression light but his eyes intent. “I’ll be around for the next couple of weeks,” he says, fingers tapping idly on the table. “Exploring, finding the hidden corners of the city.” There’s a pause, and then his smile shifts, turning almost playful. “You should come with me. Two tourists, no plans. Let’s explore together.”

“A bit eager, aren’t we?” you say, tilting your head with a raised brow.

He grins, leaning forward just a little. “What can I say? Don’t wanna lose sight of you again.”

There’s something layered in his words, a glint in his eyes that suggests he may be speaking more truth than he lets on, but you can’t quite pin down what it means. He’s either a very convincing actor or just naturally this mysterious, and you can’t decide which one makes him more dangerous.

You take the final bite of your meal, letting his invitation sink in as you weigh your options. A simple "no" would be easy. Safe. But something inside you is intrigued, drawn to the thrill of the unknown he represents—a thrill so rare for you it’s almost intoxicating.

Finally, you set down your fork and look up at him with a slight smirk. “All right,” you say, voice casual but steady. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

His face brightens, the guardedness dropping ever so slightly. “Perfect,” he says, looking genuinely pleased. “Let’s see where the city leads us.”

The city, or rather Nico, leads you through winding streets and narrow alleys, his arm still linked with yours, his steps unhurried as though he has all the time in the world. There’s an ease to his movements, his glances at you are light and almost boyish, as if you’re both just a pair of tourists enjoying a quiet afternoon. Yet, beneath it all, there’s a tension that winds between you—a silent ache that pulls tighter with every look and every laugh.

You pause by tiny cafés and quaint kiosks, sampling pastries and sipping espresso from delicate cups. At one stop, he takes your picture in front of a flowering tree, snapping a few from different angles until he gets the best shot. At another, he buys you a small trinket from a street vendor—an inexpensive little charm shaped like the Eiffel Tower. You murmur a thank you, clutching it in your hand, the warmth of the gesture somehow surprising.

Yet, in the back of your mind, you can’t shake the thought of the vial of poison and the small dagger nestled in your purse, waiting for the moment you’re supposed to make your move.

You imagine your life after he’s gone.

The assignments will continue, the wealth will accumulate. And then every so often, you’ll look on your shelves and see these small ornaments and think of your time walking the hidden streets of Montparnasse. You’ll look at your phone and see these pictures from Paris and they’ll remind you of him snapping the photos as he bent into different angles until he got the best shot. You’ll see the cheap hair clip in your dresser, tucked away in the back amidst other jewelry and accessories you have, and think of how he noticed you wanted it and got it without needing to ask.

Slowly, these mementos will gather dust, hidden in corners of your room, little souvenirs of the man who saw you. Nobody had ever seen just you.

It’s startling and strange, this feeling—this gentle awareness of being seen, of being considered. Until now, you were always someone else’s shadow, ‘Father’s’ instrument. You were trained to be invisible, an extension of his will and no more. But Nico isn’t like that. His gaze lingers, soft and genuine, as though he’s curious about what lies beneath the surface.

You shake off the thoughts and try to focus on the moment. There’s still time before you’re meant to make your move, time enough to let yourself enjoy the rest of the day. Just for now, you decide to let yourself exist in this quiet, stolen happiness.

Eventually, Nico leads you up a tower to a viewing deck where the city sprawls beneath you in an endless expanse of rooftops and streets. The Eiffel Tower rises in the distance, a towering symbol of the city, so far away yet it feels within reach, as though you could stretch your hand out and touch it. The evening light casts long shadows, painting the Paris skyline in shades of amber and rose, the kind of beauty you’d only ever seen in your dreams.

"So," Nico murmurs as you approach the edge of the deck, his voice low, almost reverent. "What do you think?"

You glance at him, taking in the slight, an almost vulnerable expression that flickers over his face as he watches you, waiting for a response. The view, the quiet intimacy of the moment, all of it makes the silence heavier. And for a split second, you allow yourself to forget who you are, who he is—to forget the guilt that’s rising inside you. Right now, you’re just Y/N, a girl seeing Paris for the first time, with someone who—if things were different—might have become a part of your life in another way.

“It’s beautiful,” you reply softly, though your words feel too simple, too small for everything swirling inside you.

He studies you, his gaze lingering with a weight that makes your heart beat just a little faster. “I figured you’d appreciate it. It seemed…fitting.”

“Fitting?” you echo, glancing sideways, a faint smile on your lips.

He shrugs, his hands slipping into his pockets as he steps closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. “For a girl who seems to belong everywhere and nowhere all at once.” He smirks, and there’s that gleam again, that sense he’s peering through the walls you’ve so carefully constructed. “You don’t stay still, do you?”

“No,” you say softly, the words falling from your lips with ease. “I travel a lot for work.” You pause, the silence thickening before you add, “The family business.”

He nods, his gaze steady, as if processing your words with more attention than you expected.

“My Father can be…strict about leaving, about staying in one place for too long,” you continue, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Says it can be dangerous. It’s his way of showing he cares.” You say it, but even to your own ears, it sounds hollow, like you’re trying to convince yourself of something you’ve never quite believed.

His expression shifts, an intensity in his eyes that almost feels like he’s seeing right through you. For a fleeting moment, you wonder if you should tell him everything. Lay it all out in the open, be honest for once in your life, and admit the truth: I’m here to kill you. It feels almost tempting, the release of that burden, especially after the small kindnesses he’s shown you. But as you look at him, something inside you twists. The idea of telling him what you really came for feels like a betrayal, one that goes deeper than the job at hand.

You tilt your head slightly, meeting his gaze with a quiet challenge. “You seem to be running too.”

The smirk fades, replaced by something solemn, almost haunted. “Maybe I am,” he admits, surprising you with the vulnerability in his tone. “But Paris feels…different. Nice.” He hesitates, glancing down at the city below before meeting your gaze. “It’s good to feel grounded, even if it's just for a little while.”

The simplicity of his words catches you off guard, and something within you softens, cracking the thin armor you keep in place. In another life, you might have wanted this—the city, the warmth of his hand, the glint in his eyes. A life where you’re not constantly looking over your shoulder or running from the darkness that’s haunted you since childhood.

“So you’ll stay, then?” you ask, the question falling from your lips before you can second-guess it.

Nico chuckles softly, but it’s a sound tinged with something sad, something fleeting. “Long enough, I hope,” he replies, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though he’s already aware that time is running out for both of you.

You look back to the skyline, your gaze lingering on the Eiffel Tower glowing faintly in the dusk. You should be thinking about logistics, about his weaknesses, about how you’ll manage to complete this mission without the complications he’s bringing out in you. But instead, your attention is elsewhere, caught in the warmth of his proximity, in the fleeting tenderness of this moment. His hand brushes against yours, just the lightest graze of fingertips, and a strange pull stirs deep inside you.

The silence between you stretches out, heavy with the weight of things neither of you dares to speak. It’s fragile, this connection, and it feels like it could shatter with a single word, a single choice. But for now, neither of you makes it. Neither of you dares to break the fragile calm.

“In another life,” he says after a beat, his voice quieter now, as if mulling over the thought, “I think I would have played hockey.”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. “Hockey?” You laugh softly, amused, but the intrigue lingers.

He glances at you, his expression wistful. “Yeah. My brother and I played growing up. It’s what he’s doing now—he plays professionally.” He turns back to the view, his gaze distant, as if lost in the memory. “I think I would’ve liked that too.”

You hum, your mind wandering to your own past—those moments you never allowed yourself to think about too deeply. “I don’t know what I would’ve been,” you admit.

His gaze sharpens, sensing the quiet weight behind your words. “No?” he asks, his voice soft but probing.

You shake your head, feeling the familiar tightness in your chest. “Father always told us not to dwell on impossibilities. Said it was a waste of time. So, I don’t.”

There’s a brief silence, a gap between you, as Nico processes your words. His eyes flicker to the horizon, but his attention never strays too far from you.

“Well,” he pressed, the question gentle yet insistent, “What did you enjoy as a kid? Surely there’s something—something you loved, even for just a moment?”

You close your eyes, the memories swarming, distant and fragmented. The orphanage, the cold walls of ‘Father’s’ estate, the endless missions, the calculated steps you were taught to take. They blur together in an unbroken chain, all leading you to the person you are now. But there’s little more than blood and monotonous days.

“I don’t know, actually.” Your voice is soft, almost a whisper, as the weight of the realization settles over you. “I just…did what I was told to do.” It sounds hollow, even to you. A life spent living by someone else’s rules, devoid of anything truly yours.

“You can always start now,” he says quietly, turning to face you fully, his eyes intent and unwavering. “I mean, you came here on a whim, didn’t you? Surely, that counts for something. It was a choice, even if a small one.”

You chuckle, the sound escaping softer than you intended, and meet his gaze. “It might be too late for me,” you murmur, feeling the weight of your words settle between you. Part of you wonders if he can see past your deflection, to the fear simmering beneath it.

He shakes his head, a flicker of resolve crossing his face. “My dad used to tell me that people change as often as the wind changes directions.” His eyes meet yours, piercing yet gentle, holding a challenge you didn’t expect—or maybe a plea. “It’s never too late,” he says, his voice dropping, the sincerity clear. “Not even for you.”

You don’t get a chance to kill him that day—or the days that follow. Somehow, time keeps stretching between you, days folding into nights and back into days. You still carry your bag, its hidden arsenal of a dagger, poison, and an anesthetic always on hand if the right moment arises. But each day, that moment slips further out of reach.

In the days after that first encounter, you and Nico drift through Paris, claiming the city as if it’s yours alone. Together, you cover every iconic landmark—standing in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower as its lights sparkle above, wandering the vast halls of the Louvre, where he teases you about different statues and their poses, and insists that he point out and then mimic every half-smiling portrait you come across. He surprises you with his knowledge of art, the Renaissance, and even Latin, which he learned in school and continued through university. When you reveal you also know the language, it becomes a game, a shared secret as you converse exclusively in Latin for hours, drawing amused looks from strangers and fits of laughter between you two.

He takes you to hidden corners of the city he’s uncovered on his own—the quiet Canal St. Martin, where you dangle your feet over the edge, watching swans glide past as you sip wine together. You learn a lot about him from your day here as he regales you with stories of his childhood: mischievous pranks with his brother, run-ins with strict teachers, and wild nights from his university days. You don’t have many anecdotes to share, but you do tell him carefully curated pieces of a past filled with botany and gardening, though you omit the lessons in toxicology and the purpose behind knowing which plants to avoid—or harvest.

One afternoon, you wander through the ancient arches of the Musée de Cluny, and he spins a story of a different era, playfully declaring you both a lord and lady sneaking away from the prying eyes of nobility, relishing the thrill of being together in secret. For a fleeting moment, you feel swept away by the fantasy, nearly forgetting the truth as you and him find solace in making playful and risqué conversation in hidden corners of the museum, your faces getting dangerously close to one another’s.

He brings you to unassuming cafés, bustling markets, and winding streets that all seem to have stories of their own—each location now carrying traces of you and Nico, building memories you never planned to make. You rate the coffee and croissants with mock seriousness, shop for souvenirs and trinkets neither of you need, and get hopelessly lost trying to find your next destination, only to laugh when you end up exactly where you started.

And every day, the armaments in your bag grow heavier as you begin to wonder when, or even if, you’ll ever use them.

You find yourself unwinding in his presence, relaxing into the rhythm of the city beside him where even the smallest, most ordinary parts of Paris feel enchanted. His hand often brushes against yours as you walk, or he catches your gaze and holds it a beat too long, a subtle invitation hidden within each glance and touch.

Today, he brings you to the Wall of Love in Montmartre, where countless couples gather, drawn by the allure of seeing “I love you” written in over 250 languages. The blue tiles shimmer with red letters scattered across the wall, each phrase a declaration whispered across the world and etched here—a universal symbol of love and longing.

He pauses in front of the wall, his gaze soft as he reads a few of the phrases. As they often do these days, his fingers brush against yours, light and unhurried, as if savoring the contact. When he speaks, his voice is low, reverent, as though the moment demands a quiet respect.

“Look at this,” he murmurs, tracing one of the lines with his eyes. “So many ways to say the same thing. Even if people don’t understand each other, they understand…this.” He gestures to the wall, his hand grazing yours in a way that sends a shiver up your spine.

You look up, taking in the mosaic of languages and emotions woven together on the wall, words you may never fully understand yet somehow feel, even here, in the silence between you. You wonder if he’s trying to tell you something with his own actions, if he’s hinting at something deeper beneath his words. The moment feels suspended in time—a fragment of connection forever binding you to this place and each other.

For that brief, fragile moment, you’re just two people in Paris, a part of the world where love and connection persist against all odds. The weight of the dagger and vials in your bag fades, his presence anchoring you to the present. It’s enough—almost too much.

Yet, even as your heart flutters, there’s a part of you wound tight, like a coil ready to spring. You tell yourself it’s because you need to stay focused, that letting your guard down even slightly could cost you everything. But every time he meets your gaze, the edges of your resolve blur, replaced by something nameless and terrifyingly real.

“Have you ever felt that?” he asks, his tone almost tentative, as though he’s not used to letting anyone in. “A feeling you don’t even have to translate. It just…is.”

His question catches you off guard, slicing through whatever shield you’re still trying to keep intact. You look at him, unsure of what to say, and then, with a carefully neutral smile, you reply, “I wouldn’t know.”

He looks at you for a long moment, as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “Maybe it’s not too late to find out,” he says softly, as though he’s suggesting something that has the power to change everything.

And for a moment, you wonder what could happen if you could let yourself feel, let yourself know what it means to be more than just a weapon. What would your life look like then?

The question lingers between you, silent and electric, and you feel it—your heart beating too fast, filled with a hope that you’d be able to stay in this moment just a little longer.

That night, he takes you to dinner at the hotel restaurant where you’re seated at a cozy, dimly lit corner. It’s the kind of place where the music is soft and the waitstaff almost invisible, giving you the sense that this moment belongs entirely to the two of you. You share a perfectly seared steak and a rich pasta dish, complemented by a bottle of red wine that he insists on pouring for you since there is apparently a ‘proper’ way to pour wine. The food is delicious, but the real highlight is the conversation—sharp, teasing banter that’s layered with the kind of teasing that’s come to define your time together.

“Superpowers are supposed to come with weaknesses,” he huffs, swirling his wine as he gives you a mock-serious look. “Yours, though? Too overpowered.”

You smirk, slicing off a piece of steak and savoring it slowly before answering. “Time control isn't as powerful as everyone makes it out to be,” you counter with a casual shrug. “I mean, have you seen the people who have these powers? Most of them are absolute idiots.”

“See, that’s exactly what I’m saying. You’re smart. Tactical. Absolutely stunning.” He leans in, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart skip. “You’re dangerous.”

His gaze holds you captive, his eyes twinkling with that strange mix of admiration and mystery that you’ve come to recognize. There’s a glimmer of something in his expression, something that suggests he sees you more clearly than you’d like—an unsettling thought, yet one you can’t seem to shake. You smile, hoping it masks the way his words make you feel, the faint warmth that they stir against your better judgment.

“If you only knew,” you reply lightly, reaching for your glass to steady yourself.

Before he can answer, his phone buzzes on the table, its screen lighting up with a notification. He glances down, and his expression shifts—serious, as though the world outside your bubble has come crashing in. He looks back at you, and there’s an almost apologetic look in his eyes.

“Work,” he says simply, pushing his chair back as he stands. “Give me a few minutes?”

You nod, watching as he steps away from the table, disappearing through a side door to take the call. As soon as he’s out of sight, the warmth and playfulness of the evening evaporates, leaving you in silence, alone with the untouched glasses and the low hum of the restaurant around you.

You glance down at his glass, still half-full, a perfect vessel for the vial of poison you carry in your bag. It’s as if the universe itself has laid this moment out for you, a seamless opportunity wrapped in the elegance of the night. The decision lies before you, chilling and familiar, and you reach into your bag, fingers brushing the cool glass of the vial.

Your heart races, your pulse pounding against the quiet that’s settled around you, and you feel the weight of the past few days hanging in the air. You tell yourself this is just another assignment, that you’re here to do a job—but you can’t shake the look in his eyes from moments before, the way he seemed to see you as something more than just a stranger passing through his life.

The guilt seeps deeper, harder to shake than ever. And it’s not just guilt now; it’s something more—a gnawing certainty that you’ll regret this moment forever if you follow through. You’ll live with the memory of Paris, with his laughter and the streets you wandered together, haunted by the lingering, unanswerable what-if.

But you also know what needs to be done, and you steel yourself, feeling the familiar resolve settle in, as cold and unyielding as the vial in your hand.

As you twist open the vial, preparing to pour the poison into his glass, your resolve falters. The weight in your hand suddenly feels unbearable. And then, almost involuntarily, you snap the vial shut and tuck it back into your purse, just as swiftly as you’d pulled it out.

Not tonight. You still have a little more time. There’s no need to ruin this evening; you’ll let yourself have this, one final night untouched by duty.

When he returns to the table, his expression is tinged with disappointment, and he slips back into his chair with a sigh. “Looks like we’ll have to cancel our trip to the gardens tomorrow morning,” he says, a faint apology in his voice. “There’s something I need to take care of.”

You nod, feeling an odd relief flood through you. “It must be important,” you say, the words coming out with a quiet, unexpected understanding.

He watches you for a moment, something warm in his gaze. “Yeah. But meet me in the lobby at 10 p.m.” He leans forward, that familiar spark lighting up his eyes. “I’ve got something I want to show you.”

You smile, feeling the tension begin to loosen. “It’s a date, then.”

And in that moment, it feels like it really could be.

After dinner, with the warmth of the wine still buzzing in your veins, he offers you his arm for the short walk to the elevator. You’re both a little giddy, leaning into each other as you talk about small things—favorite flowers, favorite colors. Mundane details that you usually wouldn’t think twice about sharing, but now they feel oddly significant, like small secrets passed between you in the quiet of the evening.

Neither of you realize you’ve stepped off on the wrong floor—his floor—until you’re standing at the door to his room. You pause, staring at the unfamiliar numbers on the door, a surge of nerves rising in your chest. You could laugh it off, step back and blame it on the wine, let the moment slip away. But instead, you find yourself rooted in place, unwilling to pull back, unable to let go of him just yet.

When you look up, you find him already watching you, his gaze heavy, something unnamed flickering behind his eyes. The silence thickens, and the air between you crackles with a tension neither of you are willing to break. You’re close enough to see the way his eyes linger on you, as if he’s caught in a moment he doesn’t want to end.

Then, as if in silent agreement, he turns to face you fully, leaning down. And you, almost instinctively, rise onto your toes to meet him halfway. The kiss is tentative at first, soft and searching, but it quickly deepens, growing heated as his hands slide to your hips, pulling you against him. Your arms wind around his neck, and he holds you closer, the kiss turning into something heady and electric, filling you with a rush that’s terrifying in its familiarity.

It’s as if you’ve been here before, in another life where things were simpler, where there were no secrets and no deadly consequences. And in that moment, you can’t help but let yourself sink into it, feeling everything you’ve ever felt in the safety of his embrace.

By the time you finally break apart, your back is pressed against the wall beside his door, his hands framing your face as he stays close, his breath warm against your skin. You’re both breathing heavily, the quiet hum of the hallway the only sound around you, as if the world itself has faded to give you this stolen moment. His eyes flicker over your face, studying every detail as if trying to memorize it, and you feel an ache settle in your chest at how vulnerable he seems in this dim light.

He leans in again, his lips ghosting over yours, hesitant, as if he’s asking for permission that neither of you should be giving. His hands shift, sliding to the small of your back, pulling you against him once more, and you’re keenly aware of every point of contact, of the warmth radiating between you that seems to make time stand still. It’s almost too much, and yet, it’s not enough at all.

You close your eyes, your resolve blurring like mist, as he presses a trail of soft, lingering kisses along your jaw, down to your neck, each one more deliberate than the last. A shiver runs through you, and you clutch his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to this fleeting reality.

“Nico,” you whisper, barely audible, as if saying his name out loud might break whatever spell you’re under. He pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, his own eyes darkened with something unspoken, something that feels just as dangerous as the feelings swirling within you.

Without another word, he turns and, still holding you close, reaches for the keycard. The door clicks open, and in a quiet invitation, he leads you inside, his hand never leaving yours. Inside, the room is dimly lit by the streetlights filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow over everything, lending it a dreamlike quality. You step in, and he closes the door softly behind you, a final barrier between you and the outside world.

For a brief moment, you stand in the center of the room, facing each other, as if testing the reality of this moment. His hand remains on yours, his thumb tracing slow circles over your skin, and you feel the weight of all the words you haven’t said, all the truths you’ve hidden. But right now, they feel so far away, overshadowed by the nearness of him, by the quiet intensity that draws you closer still.

You’re both silent, the tension between you simmering just below the surface, until he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek. It’s a simple gesture, but it sends a rush through you, and before you can overthink it, you find yourself leaning forward, closing the space between you once more.

The kiss quickly spirals into a whirlwind of sensations, a chaotic blend of tongues and breathy moans that echo softly in the dim light enveloping the room. His hands, warm and confident, glide down your waist, finding their way to your ass, fingers curling around it with a firm squeeze that sends a shiver coursing through you. As his lips trail from your mouth to the curve of your neck, the intoxicating way he devours you leaves you gasping for more.

He lifts you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, drawing him closer as if the distance between your bodies could somehow separate the energy pulsing between you. In one swift motion, he throws you onto the bed, the soft mattress cradling you as it folds under your weight.

For a brief moment, he breaks the kiss, his deep-set gaze searching yours with a mix of urgency and desire. As he peels off his shirt, the dim light casts a glow over his chest, revealing scars—stories etched into his skin—that tell tales of battles fought and survived. You reach out, letting your fingers wander over the uneven terrain of his torso, tracing the outlines of those marks as though they hold a significance only you can understand.

He captures your hand in his, planting a soft, lingering kiss on the inside of your wrist, the touch conveying a tenderness that starkly contrasts the fervor of the moment. It’s a gentle reminder of the man you’ve come to know, the complexities beneath the surface that lie just beyond the heat of desire.

As he positions himself above you, his arms forming a protective barrier on either side, the intimacy of the moment grows palpable. Every part of you ignites under his watchful gaze.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathes, his voice low and barely above a whisper.

Your heart races as you reach up, cupping his face with your palm, and you draw him down for a tender kiss, soft yet electric, filled with unspoken promises. “I want you,” you murmur against his lips, surrendering to the impulses that have plagued you since you’d reunited.

A spark ignites in his eyes, darkening with desire that mirrors your own. In that moment, the world outside fades away, and there’s only the two of you, lost in a dance of want and need and maybe something more, something unspoken.

Tomorrow you’d blame all this on the wine and the Paris atmosphere, but tonight? Tonight, he’s all yours.

By the time you wake, the room is drenched in the light of a quiet morning, and he’s already gone. You’d expected it, but the emptiness of the vast hotel room lingers, a reminder of the intimacy that filled it just hours ago. Your body aches, the dull soreness a vivid reminder that what happened last night was no dream. You run your fingers over the faint marks he left on your skin, each one like a silent promise, a testament to your night together that bled into the early hours of the morning.

You turn and find a neatly folded bathrobe on the chair beside the bed, a bowl of fruit, a pitcher of water, and a note. You unfold it, catching your breath as you read:

Thank you for last night. You were amazing, the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

A quiet laugh escapes you, and you shake your head. Of course, he’d thank you for something you both wanted, as if last night had been some favor you’d done for him. Your eyes skim the note, the faintest warmth creeping up your cheeks as you read the next line.

Stay as long as you want. Just remember to meet me at the lobby at 10 p.m. I have a surprise for you.

His signature trails off at the end, barely legible, a scrawl that feels both intimate and endearing. You find yourself tracing the curves and edges of his handwriting, as if somehow it can hold you here, hold you to him, even as reality waits for you on the other side of this door. You clutch the note to your chest, swallowing hard against the feeling building inside—a quiet, sinking ache that whispers of the inevitable.

For just a moment, you let yourself fall into the delusion that this could somehow become part of your life beyond this moment, this city, this tangled web of secrets you’re both keeping. But deep down, you know better. Whatever this was, however fleeting or real, it was doomed from the start.

The softness of his touch, the laughter that lingered through the night—all of it will eventually be filed away as just another memory, another ghost from another life.

You close your eyes, clutching the note just a little tighter, feeling the weight of all that’s left unsaid between you. He’d left marks on you, physical and otherwise, reminders that would remain long after you’d finally carried out your mission. You were meant to be unbreakable, and yet here you were, on the edge of something that threatened to pull you under completely.

And as the morning sunlight filters through the curtains, it hits you fully—you are utterly, royally, and completely fucked.

At 10 p.m. on the dot, you’re waiting in the lobby, the anticipation almost unbearable.

And then you see him, standing by the entrance, his silhouette softened by the warm glow of the lights. When he sees you, his face lights up, his smile tender as he steps closer, reaching out a hand to caress your cheek. His thumb brushes against your skin, and for a moment, the world narrows to the warmth of his touch.

"Hi," he murmurs, his gaze steady, warm. “How was your day?”

The gentleness in his voice and the easy way he looks at you tells you everything he can’t say outright—that he doesn’t regret a thing. There’s still a tension between you, but it’s softer now, more grounded, something that feels like it’s become part of the air you share.

“It was good,” you reply, lifting your hand to cover his, savoring the warmth that seeps from his skin to yours. “Thank you for the fruit.”

"Just wanted to make sure you were taken care of,” he laughs softly, the sound warm and familiar, “Come. I wanna show you something nice." His fingers slip between yours, his grip firm but unhurried as he pulls you towards the door.

You give him a playful smirk as you follow, feigning skepticism. “Something nicer than what we’ve seen already? You’re setting the bar awfully high.”

He chuckles, glancing over his shoulder with a glint in his eye. “It’s my favorite spot around here,” he says, a note of something deeper lingering in his tone. "I wanted you to see it, too."

The streets of Paris are quieter at this hour, the hum of the city softened as the evening deepens. Hand in hand, you walk through winding alleys and past dimly lit cafés, his fingers laced with yours grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. The conversation is light, snippets of dreams and half-whispered thoughts, but you both feel the weight of the silence between words, the unspoken sense that this night means more than either of you dare to admit.

Eventually, he leads you to an inconspicuous building, old stone framed by wrought-iron accents, the kind of place you’d pass by without a second thought. He releases your hand for a moment to unlock a side door, glancing back at you with a mischievous grin.

“Are you bringing me somewhere I won’t be able to find my way out of?” you tease, the words playful but carrying the faintest edge, as if part of you is still wary, still on guard.

But he just laughs, a low, reassuring sound as he steps inside, gesturing for you to follow. “You’ll have to trust me on this one.”

He guides you up a narrow, winding staircase, the only sounds your footsteps echoing off the stone walls. With each floor, you feel a faint thrill building, your pulse quickening as the city outside draws farther and farther away, until finally, he opens a door and you step out onto the rooftop.

The view is breathtaking.

Paris stretches out before you, the city unfolding in all directions, a sea of lights glistening under the deep indigo sky. The Eiffel Tower shimmers in the distance, its glow a warm, steady pulse against the night. The Seine snakes through the city, its surface reflecting the light like a thread of silver weaving through shadows.

He comes up beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours, and the silence that falls between you is comfortable, heavy with something unspoken. He doesn’t say anything, letting the view speak for itself, and you find yourself grateful for the quiet, for this moment that feels somehow suspended from everything else, a stolen piece of time that exists only for the two of you.

You glance at him, catching the way he’s watching the skyline with a reverence that tells you this city means something deeper to him, something that goes beyond words. When he finally turns to look at you, there’s an intensity in his gaze, a softness that makes you forget, for a split second, all the reasons you’re here.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, as if the quiet could somehow protect this fragile peace, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever spell holds you both here.

He nods, his gaze drifting out over the city before shifting back to you, his eyes unreadable. “It is,” he murmurs. Then he pauses, his gaze softening but sharpening all at once, layers of unspoken thought flickering there. “Some things are more beautiful when you see them for what they truly are.”

His words settle between you like a dare cloaked in careful phrasing, wrapped in a fragile honesty that you aren’t sure you’re ready to unfold.

You don’t answer him. A part of you is afraid of what he’s implying—what he’s already begun to see. So instead, you simply stand next to him, your shoulders brushing, as you take in the Paris skyline. The world below is a vast glittering sea of lights and lives, yet everything you care about in this moment is standing right beside you.

The silence between you feels heavier now. The night air is cool, a breeze brushing past, yet the weight of his words clings to you, pressing in. This moment feels more fragile than anything else so far, as if it could fracture at the slightest touch. The weight of the armaments resting in your purse suddenly feels unbearably heavy, its presence inescapable.

“So,” he says finally, breaking the silence, his voice lower, rougher, edged with a tension that matches your own. He turns to you fully, his eyes piercing in a way that’s almost challenging yet laced with something like hurt. “When are you gonna kill me?”

You freeze, his words cutting through the delicate peace, a shocking confirmation that he’s known, maybe all along. You snap your head toward him, eyes wide with disbelief, the weight of what you carry crashing over you.

His gaze is unrelenting, holding you to the spot, as if daring you to answer.

“You knew,” you say quietly, as if speaking louder might unravel you entirely.

"I've known since Germany," he admits. His gaze sharpens, but his voice is calm, almost careful. “You’re not going to deny it?”

You swallow, the weight of being caught pressing down on you, but nothing can dull the ache settling over your heart—the pain of knowing that somehow, you’ve brought him to this. Your hand drifts toward your purse, fingers grazing the cold metal of the dagger. You started this dance, and now you’re bound to finish it.

The familiar sound of the blade flicking open doesn’t startle him; he remains perfectly still, his expression calm, almost resigned, but there’s a flash of hurt beneath his steady gaze. He looks at you as if bracing himself for what you’ll do next, yet refusing to flinch, like he’s known this would come and decided to face it head-on.

“You should start moving,” you murmur, your voice barely steady as you raise the blade, the tip just inches from his chest. “I could kill you where you stand.”

His lips twitch in the faintest hint of a smile, a mix of defiance and sorrow as he takes a step forward, so close now he could almost lean into the blade. “You could,” he says, voice steady. His hand reaches out, wrapping around your wrist, pulling it—and the blade—down to your side with a gentle but unyielding strength. “But I don’t think you will.”

Your grip on the dagger tightens, but his words unravel something in you. He studies you intently, his face inches from yours, his voice low. “You could have killed me at any time—probably should have. I gave you every opportunity to finish this. So why am I still breathing?”

The question slices through the silence between you, barbed with challenge but tinged with something else, something that sounds heartbreakingly like hope.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, unable to meet his eyes as the blade dangles uselessly from your grip. It’s close to the truth, but you know he’s not satisfied with it.

He steps closer, his hand still firm on your wrist. “I think you do, Y/N.” His voice softens when he says your name, like it’s something precious, something he’s been holding close all this time.

“I don’t,” you say, shaking your head, even as the words feel hollow. “I don’t.”

“You do. I know you do.” He leans in, lifting his other hand to cup your face, tilting it so you’re forced to look at him, his touch gentle against the raw tension hanging between you. “Tell me I wasn’t wrong about this. Please.” His eyes search yours, pleading, as if he’s hoping that whatever truth you have left to give will be enough to make sense of this chaos.

The weight of it all—the tension, the longing, the fear—crashes over you like a wave you can’t fight. The dagger slips from your hand, clattering uselessly to the ground as you sink to your knees, your shoulders trembling. “You aren’t wrong,” you murmur, unable to look up at him, unable to face the full force of what you’ve confessed.

Silence settles as he watches you, his expression softening, and for the first time in as long as you can remember, you feel utterly exposed, stripped bare beneath the weight of his gaze. And, impossibly, he kneels down beside you, his hand brushing yours, wordlessly reassuring you that he’s still here.

“Then come with me,” he says quietly, his voice barely a whisper, as if afraid to break the fragile trust that’s woven between you, “Run away with me and we can leave this all behind.”

You don’t miss the desperation in his voice, the way he’s so set on leaving the underworld, as if he already knows exactly how he’ll escape it.

Then it hits you like a wave crashing to the shore—he was always going to leave. One way or another, Paris was going to be his last stand, his final act before he vanished. For good.

“You were never going to stay, were you?” The words leave your mouth in a rush, sharp with the sting of your realization. Tears well up in your eyes as you lift them to meet his.

He nods, his expression unwavering. “These past few months have been my last mission for the government.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small, cylindrical remote with a red button on top. “I infiltrated the warehouses from your father’s organization, taking what the government wanted me to and leaving behind…a present.” His gaze locks onto yours, filled with an intensity that cuts through the night. “Paris was my last stop.”

Your heart drops as the weight of his words sinks in. He’s going to destroy them all. Every warehouse from Prague to Italy to Paris, every asset, every last piece of ‘Father’s’ empire—all of it was going to blow to pieces at the push of a button. The very thing you’ve spent your entire life in service of, your family's empire, your future—all of it gone in the blink of an eye.

You should have been furious. Should have attacked him in that moment, fury and vengeance bubbling up inside you. Instead, something else surfaces. A soft laugh escapes you, one that’s equal parts incredulous and impressed. You smile at him, a genuine expression that seems to surprise even yourself.

“You outplayed me. All of us.”

He doesn’t respond at first, just looks at you with a mixture of regret and admiration. The tension between you has shifted. He knows what he’s done, what he’s about to do, and yet—there’s something about the way he leans into your touch when you reach for his face that makes you hesitate.

For a split second, you wonder if there’s still a chance for both of you. Or if everything you thought you knew was simply another game, one you didn’t even know you were losing.

“Ask me a question,” you say finally, your voice low and steady as your hand moves to gently tangle in his soft hair. “Anything. And I’ll answer it.”

He looks at you, a mix of amusement and confusion flickering across his face, before he nods, settling into the moment. “Is Y/N your real name?”

The question isn’t what you expected, but it’s also exactly what you needed. You smile, a tear slipping down your cheek that you quickly wipe away, a quiet laugh escaping your lips. He could have asked about anything—your work, sensitive details of ‘Father’s’ organization that only you were privy to, any of the secrets you’ve carried for years. Instead, he wanted to know about you.

It’s then that you realize the depth of what you’re willing to do for him. You make a choice. One that saves him. Even at the cost of yourself.

“It’s what they called me at the orphanage,” you tell him, your voice softening. You take his hand in yours, grounding yourself in the warmth of his touch. “The one I stayed in before father took me in. It’s who I was before I became father’s Shadow.”

He furrows his brows, looking at you with a quiet curiosity. “That’s what they call you, right? Shadow?”

You smile, the corners of your mouth lifting faintly. “I’m not as strong as Punch or as quick as Lightning,” you explain, your fingers tracing patterns on the back of his hand. “But I’m sneaky. Agile. Unassuming to most people. No one ever sees me coming until the last second.” You inhale deeply, the weight of your next words pressing heavily on your chest. “But they call me Shadow because I was the most obedient. I did everything he asked of me, never questioned him, even when I knew something wasn’t right. I followed father everywhere. I was…his shadow.”

A look of concern crosses his face, the sadness in your voice not lost on him. He leans in, his hand tightening around yours, and there’s a softness in his eyes that makes the sting of your past feel like it might just be bearable. But the moment is fleeting. You know what’s coming next.

“Thank you for believing I can change,” you whisper, your heart heavy with the unspoken truth. Even when you thought there was no way out, when you saw no escape, he believed in you. He wanted to believe in you, wanted to have you leave this all behind with him. And that belief stirs something deep inside you.

You pull away from him gently, reaching into your purse. The soft rustle of fabric sounds loud in the silence of the room as you retrieve the remaining arsenals—a vial of poison and a syringe of anesthetic.

You take both of his hands in yours, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. The taste of regret and longing lingers on your lips.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you say quietly, your voice breaking ever so slightly. A second kiss follows, this time slower, lingering just a moment too long. “Let me take care of you now.”

His eyes soften, his trust in you so complete that he doesn’t notice the quick movement of your hand as you grab the syringe with the anesthetic. You press it into his arm with practiced precision, the needle sinking into his skin. His gaze remains on you for a moment longer, confusion flickering across his features as the drug takes hold.

He loses his grip on the remote, it falling from his hand as he slumps back, the weight of the anesthetic bringing him near unconsciousness. You don’t hesitate. You pick up the remote and sit beside him, watching as he fights the sleep that crawls steadily toward him, his breath shallow and labored.

“Y/N,” he chokes out, his voice thick with the confusion and panic of fading consciousness. “What are you doing?”

“It’s okay,” you smile, though the fear in your eyes is undeniable, “I’ll take care of myself. So, you go out and live on. Be happy, okay? For me?”

“Don’t do this,” he slurs, his words starting to lose coherence. “We can leave together.”

You shake your head, tears welling up again, blurring your vision as they escape down your cheeks. “It’s too late for me.” You gently caress his face, fingers lingering on his skin, tracing every curve of his jaw and the line of his cheek. You commit the image of him to memory, knowing it will be the last time you ever see him like this. It was a shame this wasn’t the last thing you were going to see when this was all over, but at least you could remember it.

A small sob escapes you, but you continue, your voice barely a whisper. “Just so you know, I think I could have loved you more…liked you even more than I do now.” His hand reaches out to grab your wrist, trying to stop you, but you shake it off. The tenderness in his eyes breaks something inside you, but you don’t let it stop you. “I think…we could have had a very happy life together.”

“Y/N, don’t!” His voice is filled with desperation, but it’s too late. He tries to reach for the remote, but the drug has already taken hold of him, and he doesn’t have the strength to stop you. You stand quickly, turning your back to him as he weakly tries to move toward you.

Before he can reach you, you press the button. The room is filled with a sudden, deafening silence that only amplifies the heaviness in your chest. The sound of an explosion rips through the night air, just a ways off in the distance, a harsh reminder of the irreversible decision you’ve just made.

His eyes widen in realization. He’s awake long enough to understand what’s happened, the realization of your fate when you return back to ‘Father’ settling over him like a weight he can’t escape. His gaze flickers, searching your face as the truth sinks in.

Then, his eyelids flutter, the anesthetic pulling him under as the last traces of consciousness fade from his eyes. His body goes limp, his hand falling from his chest, and the last sound you hear from him is a quiet exhale before his eyes close.

You don’t know how exactly how long you sit there, staring at him, the weight of everything you’ve done crashing over you. But there’s no going back. You’ve made your choice.

You chose him.

READ PART TWO HERE

#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier fic #nico hischier au #nh13 #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl #nhl x reader #new jersey devils #✩ allie's writing ✩

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writingonleaves · 6 months ago

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don't wanna scrape you off the pavement (i can't be your savior) - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x original female character (reckless driving au)

warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, hopeful ending (bc its me), possibly inaccurate dynamics of the 2020 - 2024 umich hockey squads but i tried, some biphobia (not from any main characters), an awful lot of talking about michigan for someone who’s never been there (the college or the state)

inspired by + title: "reckless driving" by lizzy mcalpine and ben kessler

word count: 23.7k

author's note: after about 7 months in the making, it’s Finally here lol. this piece means a lot to me, and not only because it took so long. a labor of love, if you will. i'm very proud of it, so i sincerely hope you all enjoy it as much as i loved writing it! please do let me know your thoughts <3 takes place the summer of 2024

~*~*~

day one - amelie

Amelie Fishel has a love-hate relationship with the state of Michigan.

She loves it enough that she stayed in the state she was born and raised in for college. But even she knew she would’ve been an idiot if she denied the offer four years ago when University of Michigan offered her an academic scholarship that ended up covering her full tuition. She enjoyed her time at college enough, making a smattering of friends that she really does want to keep in contact with for the rest of her life and developing a solid foundation academically with various experiences that will hopefully help her out to get her dream job, which is on the horizon.

It’s a dream job because it falls in line with what she enjoys doing. But it’s also a dream job because it’s taking her the fuck out of this state. That’s the only request she’s had when trying to close in on an NHL photographer offer — it can be in any state except for Michigan.

But despite her feeling that she’s outgrown this state, she’s sticking around for one more summer. One more summer of no internships or responsibilities before she has to be a working adult for the rest of her life. A few more months to enjoy the few perks this state does have before getting to leave.

Currently, she’s sitting in the backyard of her grandparents’ new lakehouse. It’s admittedly beautiful and in a wonderful location that offers the tranquility that they’ve been searching for. The lake in their backyard glistens under the sun and the sunsets are stunning.

It’s a hot day in mid-July and she spent her first full day catching up with her grandparents in the backyard. After she had graduated, she splurged on a trip to Europe with some friends that definitely made a dent in her bank account. When she voiced getting a job for the summer, her parents and grandparents immediately said no. Enjoy the summer, they said.

After dinner, when the sun’s rays are barely peeking out, she volunteers to walk Susie, her grandparents’ golden retriever that is far too energetic for Amelie’s liking. Amelie grabs the leash, beckons Susie over, and they’re on their way to a walk around the neighborhood.

She forgoes her Airpods for whatever reason and shoves both her hands in her sweatshirt, walking leisurely behind Susie. She’s so lost in her own head that she almost misses the sound of her own name.

“Amelie?”

She blinks, stopping at the end of someone’s driveway. Susie trots happily to the guy who’s holding his hand out to pet her. “Luke?”

“Yeah,” Luke clears his throat and bends down slightly to pet Susie, who is loving the attention. “Hey buddy. What’s your name?”

“This is Susie.”

Luke chuckles as Susie’s tail wags crazily. “Hey girly. What a cutie.”

Amelie gently tugs the leash. “Easy, Suz. We don’t wanna kill him.”

She watches for a few seconds as Luke keeps petting her. Yankees hat atop his head and wearing a white t-shirt and swim trunks, it’s been over a year since Amelie’s seen Luke Hughes. The last time she saw him was after the devastating loss against Quinnipiac at the Frozen Four. He had jetted out to Boston that night, but not without giving Amelie an unexpected but genuine hug goodbye.

As a photographer for the Michigan Athletic Department during her entire college career, she became at friendly with many athletes, especially the guys on the men’s hockey team, since her boss put her on assignment with them a good amount. But she hadn’t expected Luke to remember her or recognize her.

“You live around here?” Luke asks, standing back up as Susie calms down.

“My grandparents just bought a place a few houses down and I just got here. You live here?”

“Kinda,” he gestures to the house behind him. “My brothers bought this place a few years back.”

“Small world,” she remarks.

He nods with a small smile. “It sure is.”

“Who’s your friend, Moose?”

She turns her head to the open garage to see a shorter, tanner version of Luke. This guy is wearing a black t-shirt with sweatpants, his hair less curlier than Luke’s. He must be one of his brothers, and even if Luke didn’t just tell her it was his brothers’ place, she would’ve put it together. They both have the same half-smile.

He’s also beautiful. Almost annoyingly so.

(If her sisters were here, they’d immediately point out that Jack is exactly her type. Well, Charlotte would point out that he smiles similarly to Cooper and Colette would immediately scold Charlotte.)

The guy walks over and Susie gets excited at a new presence. He also bends down to pet her. “This is Amelie,” Luke says. “She photographed a lot of the games back at Michigan.” He turns back to Amelie. “Did you just graduate? Or do you have one year left?”

“I just graduated.”

“Congratulations,” the guy stands up and sticks out his hand. “I’m Jack. Luke’s brother. Well, one of them.”

She shakes his hand with a polite smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Jack. And thank you.”

“You said you’re gonna be here for the summer?” Luke asks.

“Most of it, yeah.”

“Where do you live?” Jack asks.

“My grandparents are a few houses down. 118.”

Jack perks up. “Stanley and Ruth are your grandparents?”

“Yeah,” she narrows her eyes. “How do you know them?”

“They ran into our parents golfing last week. And I’ve waved at them a few times driving down the street.”

“That sounds about right,” she chuckles. “They love their golf and they love sitting on the front porch.”

Luke straightens up, and with Amelie’s previous interactions with him, that means that he’s about to suggest either a great or horrendous idea. “You should come over for dinner this week. You and your grandparents. Our parents are still here for a few days and we’re going a bit stir-crazy with each other, I think.”

So it’s a horrendous idea this time. She immediately tries to deny the offer politely. “Oh no, that’s okay. I wouldn’t wanna intrude your-”

“We’d love to have you. And your grandparents,” Jack says with an air of finality. “And I know our parents would say the same. They’re sick of also just having us around.”

“I still have your number from when you used to send me pictures after games,” Luke says. “I’ll text you details and we’ll find a time that works?”

“Okay,” she says after a few seconds. As if Susie understands, she barks.

Jack gives her one last pet with a grin. “This floofer’s welcome as well.”

After one last smile, she and Susie are on their way as the brothers head back into the house. Once they’re out of earshot, she sighs.

She has no idea how she feels about this.

day three - jack

Jack Hughes is convinced he’s going insane.

Well, that’s not exactly true. He’s perfectly fine, great, even. Recovery is going well. He’s back with his family in one of his favorite places in the world. Even in July, the season still seems so far away. Some days he itches to get back to The Rock in front of the fans. But most of the time, he’s enjoying his off-season rehab and training, being on the water and being on the golf course.

But Amelie – which first of all, an incredibly beautiful name — and her just as beautiful dog Susie have been at the back of his mind for two days straight now. That’s weird. Jack doesn’t usually think about girls like this, especially girls he’s barely met.

All he’s gotten from Luke so far is that she’s a year older than him, which makes her a year younger than Jack, she photographed a bunch of the Michigan games during Luke’s two years there and she’s a bit quieter than some of the social media team’s counterparts Luke knows she worked with.

And she’s so, so cute. But Luke didn’t tell him that one.

A few hours before she’s supposed to come over with her grandparents, Jack’s lounging on the boat, as Quinn, who’s in the driver's seat, and Luke are talking about…something. But he’s deeply focused on his phone, trying to do what every Gen Z person does when they see someone cute. Find their Instagram. The fact that he’s held off for over 48 hours is already impressive.

He finds it relatively easily, as some of Luke’s former teammates who Jack follows follow her, and Amelie isn’t a common name. She’s private, but linked in her bio is her photography account, which is public. While there’s no pictures of her on there, it proves to him that she’s an insanely good photographer. Not just hockey, either. There are some beautiful shots of divers, gymnasts, soccer players, etc. You name the sport, it seems like Amelie’s photographed it.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Quinn asks.

Jack quickly locks his phone. “Nothing.”

Luke, like the pest he is, narrows his eyes. “Sure.”

“Don’t make me push you into the water, Moose.”

An empty threat, Jack knows, but he starts leaning forward and Luke yelps. “Quinn!”

Quinn rolls his eyes, “You’re both annoying. We gotta head back though. I wanna shower before dinner.”

Dinner. Right. Amelie. Coming into him and Quinn’s home. Great.

Something must change on his face, because a shit-eating grin grows on Luke’s face. “Oh. That’s what this is about.”

“What?” Jack feigns cluelessness.

“Amelie’s pretty, isn’t she?” Luke says. Jack just shoves him and Quinn chuckles, catching up.

“If you think she’s pretty, why didn’t you make your move first?” Jack retorts back. “You had two years.”

Luke shrugs. “Just because she’s pretty doesn’t mean I’m interested. She’s cool though. Way too cool for you.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Luke rolls his eyes, “For once, no.”

“Was she friends with the guys?” Quinn asks. And Jack’s silently grateful that he doesn’t have to be the one to dig for more information.

“I don’t know if I would say friends, but definitely very friendly with everyone,” Luke says. “I think she was a TA in one of Rut and Adam’s classes or something. She seemed to get along with them the best. And I feel like she had a soft spot for Eddy, for some reason. I think it’s that thing where we just all are around each other all the time and the more we saw of her at the rink, the more we got to know her.”

Huh. Interesting. He doesn’t know anything about Rutger McGroarty except that he went to the program a few years after Jack did and was drafted to the Jets. Ethan Edwards is one of Luke’s closest friends from Michigan and could be signing with the Devils organization this upcoming season, and Jack likes him. Adam Fantilli trains with the guys in the summer so Jack’s gotten to know him decently well. That one might say the most.

Luke gives him a pointed look. “I’m serious. Don’t mess with her. She’s too nice for that. And she can put you in your place.”

And Jack’s downright offended that Luke would even insinuate something like that. But as Quinn guides them home, he thinks. Luke’s never given an opinion on any girl Jack’s dated or had a thing with. He’s spoken maybe three sentences to Amelie, didn’t even directly express his interest and Luke is already all up in his ass.

He hears when Amelie arrives hours later, Susie barking and the sounds of Stanley and Ruth talking with his parents. He tries to be nonchalant as they all come out into the backyard, when he sees her conversing with Luke, instead making himself busy by introducing himself to Stanley and Ruth.

But her pink linen pants match her headband and her smile is dripping with gold and Jack is going insane.

They have dinner outside surrounded by the sound of the rippling lake, the view of a cotton-candy sunset, the feel of light breeze and the warmth of easy laughter. Jack sneaks a few small pieces of chicken to Susie and Amelie catches him, glaring at him from across the table. Jack just smirks as she rolls her eyes, chomping away at her corn and tuning into whatever conversation is going on.

His parents ask about her background and her time at Michigan and he can’t help but smile when she talks about her double degree — communications and design — and how going to an activities fair turned into working as a photographer for the athletics department. She talks about her first time photographing a hockey game and how hockey is the fastest and in a way, hardest sport she’s ever photographed. But it’s become her favorite. That puts a smile on the faces of the entire Hughes family.

She gets asked what her plans are post-grad, and she just breezes through it casually, saying that she’s been talking to US Soccer and the NHL but nothing finalized yet. She says it so casually that Jack’s almost in awe.

Jack never believed in love at first sight, and still doesn’t, thank you very much, but the sound of Amelie’s laughter has him feeling so nervous and stupid and ridiculous.

Whatever. He’ll unpack this later.

day six - amelie

Amelie’s cameras and her camera equipment are her babies, which, duh, considering her passion and career. Which means she’s very excited to take out the vintage 35 MM film camera she got for a graduation gift from her parents.

After lunch, she takes one of the many outdoor chairs her grandparents have, plopping herself decently close to the lake to fiddle with some of the settings. She has her trusted DSLR camera next to her as well, the sounds of the birds and a Michigan summer her soundtrack. One of her neighbors must be playing the guitar outside and Amelie finds herself at peace.

The peace is slowly shattered as she hears a motor coming from the lake. She rolls her eyes to herself. Fucking boats and boatowners who think they’re the shit.

She does point her camera towards the boat though. It’s a cool shot.

She doesn’t realize it’s slowing down until it practically stops. She squints and sees someone waving their hand maniacally. She tentatively walks a bit towards the lake.

“Luke?”

He nods enthusiastically and Amelie kinda finds it endearing. She quickly takes note of Quinn at the helm and sees Jack’s head popping up from behind Quinn. The boat slows to a stop and she comes to the edge of the lake.

“Morning. Or afternoon, I guess.”

“Hey,” Jack says with a friendly smile. “What are you up to?”

She holds her camera. “Testing this out. I actually just got a pretty cool shot of the boat.”

“Is that a special kind of camera?” Quinn asks.

She nods. “Mmhmm. It’s a vintage 35 millimeter film camera, which is the exact opposite of what you want when photographing any sport. What are you guys up to today?”

Luke shrugs. “The usual. Probably gonna be on the boat for a few hours.” He lights up. “Do you wanna come on?”

She opens her mouth to say something but Jack pushes on before she can get a word out. “Yeah, come on!”

“If you don’t already have plans, that is,” Quinn adds.

She closes her mouth and thinks. She doesn’t have plans today and hasn’t ever been on a boat. Plus, even though she partially chose to spend time out here to reflect on herself and be by herself, she knows it’s good for her to be talking with people that aren’t her grandparents. And, they’ve been nothing but nice to her so far.

“On a few conditions.”

Jack tilts his head. “Which are?”

“I don’t have to get in the water and I get to bring my cameras.”

“Deal,” Jack says quickly.

Amelie gives a close-lipped smile. “Give me two minutes.” She sets her cameras down carefully by the chair side and jogs back into the house. She grabs her favorite Michigan crewneck in case it gets cold and grabs her tote bag which has sunscreen, sunglasses, her keys and wallet. When she comes back out, the boat is docked as close to the edge as possible. Without hesitation, Amelie takes off her flip-flops, wades into the water and hands Luke her bag and cameras carefully before Jack pulls her up into the boat.

She wobbles a bit and Jack’s hands hover behind her back in case she falls. “You ever been on a boat?”

“Not in awhile,” she says, settling down in a seat next to Luke. “I prefer having my feet on the ground.”

Luke’s eyebrows furrow. “You can swim, right?”

“What?” Amelie jokes quietly. “Are you planning on pushing me in?”

“No one is getting pushed in,” Quinn assures, sending a light glare at his two brothers as he starts steering them deeper into the lake. “Especially with those expensive cameras on board.”

“Are you really the one responsible for every photo of Luke playing hockey taken at Michigan?” Jack asks.

She blinks, absolutely taken aback. “Not every photo, I’d say.”

“Definitely a good amount though,” Luke says. “I feel like you were always at every game.”

She shrugs, “Well, my boss started putting me on hockey more because I’m pretty sure I was the only one who could do it well.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Hey, it’s a tough sport to photograph. It’s fast and unpredictable and you have to have a sense of where the puck is going before it gets there.”

Amelie internally cringes at that last part. She sounds like a coach.

“Did you like hockey before?” Quinn asks.

“Not really, to be honest. The first game I ever watched was at Michigan when I was shadowing.”

“You must’ve figured out pretty quickly where the puck will go, then, if you didn’t know much about hockey before,” Jack says with something like respect in his eyes.

Amelie smiles. “I guess.”

Quinn nods to the film camera that Amelie had picked up the second she got on the boat. “Can we see the picture you took of the boat?”

“I wish. I’m gonna get the film developed at the end of the summer and that’ll take a few weeks.” Quinn hums in understanding. She takes out her regular camera and pops off the lens cap, shoving it in her back. Luke’s eyes light up in recognition and she can’t help but chuckle. “You recognize this one?”

“How could I not?”

She points it at three of them. “Smile. All of you.” She snaps a couple before putting down her camera and playfully glaring at them. “Geez. At least act like you guys like each other.” She looks quickly at the photo with a satisfied nod, before turning her camera towards the brothers so they can see.

They continue chatting, talking about various things from Michigan (the state and the school) to one of their cousins who just got engaged to where Amelie’s parents are (they also live in Michigan, though further south, but are currently visiting family in France that Amelie had seen last year when she studied abroad in France) to the upcoming season. Amelie mostly keeps quiet on that front, because she doesn’t need to let them know that she got a call yesterday with news that the NHL is closing in on a job offer that will determine where she spends the next few years.

The thought that she could be seeing these three multiple times throughout the season when she’s currently on their boat right now is just downright weird. She just met Quinn and Jack six days ago. She hasn’t seen Luke in two years.

This whole thing is just weird.

But whenever she feels too much in her own head, she just picks up her camera and points it at one of them or out at the lake, fiddling with lighting and focus settings. Sometimes she forgets that photography isn’t just going to be her career and that she can love it differently with no pressure and in a different light, no pun intended.

With time, she gets more comfortable, sunglasses perched on her nose, chin tucked on her knees and laughter flowing out lighter and easier. It’s easier to pick up her camera when they start taking turns wakesurfing, her eyes widening when Jack jokingly tries to drag her out, and she’s either semi-impressed at their ability to make it look easy or laughing her ass off when they flail and fall.

As she’s shutting off her camera — contrary to popular belief, she does need to put it away after a certain amount of time — Jack plops down next to her. Quinn and Luke are entranced in their own conversation towards the front.

Jack runs a hand through his damp hair, “Do you mind handing me my shirt next to you?”

She hands it over with a weary look. “It’s boiling out.”

“Oh, so you want me to keep my shirt off.”

The smirk on his face has Amelie rolling her eyes. Boys. “You’re gonna wanna take it off again in like, 5 minutes. I just think you’re being dumb.”

Jack puts a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Ouch. That might be the harshest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I met you six days ago.”

“And my point still stands.” She scrunches her nose a bit when Jack shakes out his hair and some water droplets land on her. He just smiles that half-smile that she’s not sure if she likes or hates. “Are you sure you don’t wanna get in the water?”

“I’m not wearing a bathing suit. And even then, I’m not a huge fan of being in the water.”

“Well, then, what are you a huge fan of? Besides being behind the camera.”

She tilts her head so that it’s leaning against her seat, turning to face him completely. “I used to dance competitively and continued dancing a bit in college. I read a lot. At school, I used to love just camping out at a cafe for hours for the vibes.” She shrugs. “Nothing much else though.”

He nods, before looking at the cameras in her bag. “Why photography?”

She smiles, like she always does when talking about photography. “Taking photos is really cool, I think, because you’re the middle man. You frame the story. And if you frame it well, people will look at the photo and know exactly what’s going on. With sports, it’s all about the timing and the moment. You can write an article describing a game with quotes from the players or whatever, and no disrespect to that. I have a good amount of friends who are journalists. But photo is different, because you can see it, you know?”

Jack nods. “I think I get what you mean. You got a boyfriend waiting for you somewhere? Or a significant other?”

Her eyes widen and a sharp laugh erupts out of her. That’s random. “What?”

Jack just shrugs like he didn’t just completely throw her off. “It’s a valid question, no? Don’t wanna assume or give off an unwanted vibe if we’re gonna be hanging out all summer.”

“Well, uh, no. No boyfriend or partner of any sort like that.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know why that surprises you.”

“Because you’re pretty. Nice. Talented, clearly. Surely the guys and gals and pals at Michigan aren’t stupid enough to turn you down.”

She bypasses all the compliments because that’s too much to think about right now, instead focusing on the latter half of his sentence. She wraps her arms around her legs to clasp her fingers together. “I dated a girl for a bit freshman year. Nothing happened. It just fizzled out. We’re still decent friends. And then I dated this guy for about a year. But that fell to shit pretty extraordinarily.”

“Most of them do, don’t they?”

Amelie unintentionally chuckles. “Oh yeah? And what about you? How’s your love life looking?”

Jack looks out into the distance, breaking eye contact for the first time this whole conversation. “Was in a relationship around two years ago. It didn’t work out because of distance. Nothing much since then.”

Amelie highly doubts that, but she keeps her mouth shut, leaving it alone. “Fair enough.

“So why Michigan? Anything in particular draw you in?”

“Well, I think Michigan is on anyone’s radar who grew up in this state,” she twists her ring around. “And then, uh, when I got offered a full ride, I knew I would’ve been an idiot to turn that down.”

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “A full ride? You serious?”

“Yeah. Academic scholarship.”

He lets out a low whistle. “Jesus. You’re smart smart. Even I know full academic scholarships aren’t given out easily.” Amelie ducks her chin down. She can feel herself blushing and she hates it. “Was it your first choice? Going to Michigan?”

“No,” she admits softly. And she knows she’s talking to someone who may not have gone there, but who might as well have. He might love the college more than she does and she’s the one who actually is an alum. “NYU was my top choice. And I got accepted, but I couldn’t afford it.”

He nods, and then Quinn asks Jack to take over so he can go on the water and the moment passes. She does move closer to the front partially so she’s under the sun again, mostly so she can be closer to everyone. Luke tosses her a bottle of water and she chugs a good half of it, shooting him a thankful smile.

Amelie’s missed this, to be honest. Despite deeply cherishing her alone time, she’s always enjoyed being around a small group of people, observing them and their dynamics to evaluate what kind of people they are. It reminds her of when she used to tag along with her two older sisters and their friends.

And these three are easy-going. They don’t allow Amelie to get in her head because they’re always talking about something and asking for her two cents. In Amelie’s 22 years of life, she’s become quick to notice if people are being nice to be nice or being nice to be kind.

The Hughes brothers are being nice to be kind. And Amelie hates herself a bit for thinking it would be the other.

She sits back and relishes in their company.

day seven - jack

Jack’s had a great day.

Practice this morning went well, he beat Quinn at ping pong (though that’s not hard to do) and the three brothers have confirmed who’s coming to the lakehouse in a few days after they’re back from their mini trip to visit their grandma for her 90th. There’s gonna be quite a few of the guys and Jack’s pumped. He always likes combining different groups of friends.

After dinner, he’s feeling a bit restless, so he decides to go out on a drive. Maybe he’ll grab some ice cream, though if he comes back with ice cream and none for Luke or Quinn, they’re gonna bitch about it. He puts on his summer playlist, which is filled with country, and rolls down the windows before backing out.

He’s probably driving too fast for what’s acceptable in a residential neighborhood, so it’s at the last moment does he stop when he recognizes Amelie in front of her grandparents’ place walking Susie. He slows down, and she looks behind her as he rolls up.

He leans his head out of his window just as he hears her say, “Hey Char, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Yeah. Bye. Love you.” She takes her phone away from her ear and shoots him a small smile. “Hey Jack.”

“Hi. Was that one of your sisters?”

“Yeah, that was Char. Or Charlotte I guess. The middle one.”

Susie paws up to the window and he scratches her head. “Hey cutie. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?”

“She’s been off the rails the whole day, so she actually hasn’t been.” Amelie says dryly, making him snort.

“You up to anything right now?”

She narrows her eyes. “Why?”

He nods to his car, “Get in.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.”

“Gimme a second to let Susie back in. Pull into the driveway.” Jack obeys, idling the engine and unlocking the doors as he waits for Amelie to come back.

While he’s waiting, he thinks back to yesterday, being on the boat for hours with Amelie, learning more about her. Jack’s been told that he can be pretty excitable and eager, which is probably how he has acquired so many friends throughout his life. But, despite what a lot of people may think, he isn’t that stupid. He’s been around Amelie the last week enough to know that she’s a tougher nut to crack. And he knows there’s more to her than what she’s shown so far.

So he’ll take every chance, every moment, to get to know her better. Because September will come around sooner than he thinks. It always does.

She comes back out and climbs into the passenger seat, buckling her seatbelt as he backs out of the driveway. She’s thrown on a Michigan Hockey sweatshirt over herself, settling her small bag on her lap. “You’re not gonna kidnap me and bury me in the woods, are you?” She asks.

Jack turns down his music with a chuckle. “No. I don’t have the brainpower for that. Have you eaten?”

“Yeah.”

He nods, starting to navigate them towards his favorite ice cream place around here. “Where’d you get the sweatshirt?”

She looks down at herself, as if she didn’t realize what she threw on. “Oh. I don’t remember, to be honest. Either it was given to me or one of the guys let me borrow it and I never gave it back.”

“Luke mentioned you were a TA in some of the guys’ classes?”

She leans back in the seat, leaning her head on the seatbelt so that she’s facing him. “Yeah. I was a TA my junior year for one of Adam, Rutger and Gavin’s classes. Senior year Luca and Nick, who I think came in after Luke left so you might not know him, took the class.”

“Were they good students?”

Amelie snorts. “Good enough. Though one time Rut tried to bribe me into extending an assignment since they had a big game away that weekend — I think it was Ohio State. I also had to go on that trip and I had to grade all of their stuff plus deal with my own classes, so I told him, in polite words, to fuck off and submit his fucking paper on time.”

Jack laughs. He can picture it in his head, Rutger with his good looks and childish smile turning on the charm to 100 to a skeptical Amelie, bored but amused eyes as she watches him plead his side. Maybe she’s wearing a headband. Maybe she’s not.

(She’s wearing one right now. A tiny white one that you’d miss if you weren’t looking)

“Those boys…were they good?”

“You’re the hockey player. Shouldn’t you know?”

“No. I mean, like, were they good to you? Nice to you? Because if they were dickheads…”

“No!” Amelie is quick to assure him. “They were great. Honestly. During my entire four years working with the team, I never really had a problem with any of the guys. And I can’t say that about every team I had to photograph.”

“Oh?” Jack sneaks a look over to her as she’s looking at her hands.

“Yeah.”

Jack wants to dig, but he doesn’t. He just doesn’t like the idea that people could be outwardly rude to Amelie when she’s just doing her job. He doesn’t like the idea that people could be outwardly rude to Amelie at all.

They climb out of the car and he locks it with a click as they walk side by side to the counter to order. He smiles to himself as he lags behind a few steps, watching her bounce on her toes to try and see the flavor options.

His attention is brought back into the moment as he feels Amelie tug the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “Is the Chocolate Delight good?”

“That’s Quinn’s favorite. It’s super chocolatey.”

“Perfect.” They both step up to the window. Jack orders himself a small Strawberry Cheesecake in a cup. Amelie orders a small Chocolate Delight in a cup and before the girl at the window can even finish listing out the total price, Jack practically shoves his credit card into her hand.

Amelie gives him a scathing look. “Jack. Come on. You didn’t even give me a chance.”

“Precisely.” Her glare stays on her face. “It’s not a big deal. My treat for kidnapping you on our boat yesterday and kidnapping you tonight.”

“So you are kidnapping me,” she says, referring to her earlier comment. She relaxes and Jack calls it a win as they’re given their ice creams. They snag a high-top table that’s a bit away from the other crowded tables. He watches as she digs in, a small satisfied smile on her face, turning sideways to look at the sunset.

He’s not the photographer, but he wishes he could take a picture of her right now.

They eat their ice cream in relatively comfortable silence, and he feels satisfied when he plays with her foot under the table and it causes her to chuckle. She does kick him back hard enough to make him flinch though.

20 minutes later, they’re sitting in the back of Jack’s car at a lake lookout catching the last streaks of the sunset when he pipes up. “Colette. Charlotte. Amelie. Very French.”

“Well, that’s what happens when your mother is French.”

“What do they do?”

“Col’s doing some cool stuff with fashion merchandising in New York. Just got engaged and getting married sometime next year. Char’s at Stanford getting her PhD in…something that involves physics and is over my head.”

Jack chuckles. “I feel that. My sister’s doing her residency at NYU and no matter how hard I want to understand, when she gets on her tangents, I can never follow.”

Amelie’s eyebrows furrow. “Sister?”

“Oh, well, not actually. It’s Clementine. One of us must’ve mentioned her yesterday,” Jack says. “She’s not my sister by blood, but our parents have been best friends since forever and we all grew up together, so she might as well be. Went to UCLA and then, also Stanford, actually. So for eight years, I didn’t really get to see her that often.” Jack digs out his phone and flickers through his photos before clicking on the one his mom took of him, Quinn, Luke and Clementine in New Hampshire earlier in the summer.

“She’s pretty,” Amelie remarks softly.

Jack smiles. “I don’t think I’d be the same if I didn’t have her growing up. We actually live together in Jersey now. Me, her and Luke. It’s a fun time, even if she pretends it’s not.”

“She’s doing her residency, you said?”

“Yeah,” he takes his phone back. “This I do know. Combined residency with pediatrics and the ER. Just finished her first year out of five.”

Amelie whistles. “Good for her. So she’ll be in New York and Jersey for the near future?”

“Yup,” Jack’s smile seems to always be permanent on his face when talking about Clementine. “Though now she’s dating Hisch so that’s a whole thing.”

“She’s dating your captain?” Amelie chuckles, eyebrows raised in amusement. “I sure hope you like him.”

“I love Nico,” he defends himself. “I was rooting for them to get together. They were tiptoeing around each other all of last season. But now that they’re actually dating I just like being a bitch about it to give them a hard time.”

Amelie shoves her hands in her sweatshirt. “That’s what siblings do.”

“I can’t imagine you being a bitch to your sisters’ significant others they’ve brought home.”

She shrugs, “I don’t think I am. I’ve been told I can be a bit closed-off when you first meet me though.”

“Hey. Nothing wrong with taking time to feel people out.”

“Some people don’t have the patience for that, though.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. A lot of people just assume people who aren’t outwardly charismatic aren’t worth their time.”

Jack blinks, thinking about her words over and over again like a broken record. “Well, then they’re missing out.”

She looks at him and he’s momentarily distracted by the way her white headband creates a sort of halo around her. She lets out a small smile. Jack wants to frame it and put it on the wall of his room back in Jersey. She chuckles, and Jack feels defensive all of a sudden.

“What?” He asks, trying not to sound indignant.

“Nothing, it’s just…I don’t know. That’s such an interesting thing coming from someone who I imagine is exactly just that.”

“Just what?” He’s not doing a great job today at keeping track of where a conversation goes.

She huffs. “Outwardly charismatic. You’re telling me you’re not?”

Jack’s hands suddenly start to sweat. “I mean, I guess. But that doesn’t come easy to everyone. I still don’t think it comes easy to me. I’ve just been forced to be okay at it because of what I do.”

She starts swatting at bugs so they hop out of the trunk and start driving back. She doesn’t miss a beat in their conversation. “That’s another reason why I love photography. No one expects anything out of me or pays attention to me.”

Jack can’t help but laugh, thinking back to his rookie year and all the damn expectations that were placed on him that he didn’t surpass. It’s water under the bridge now, but he would be lying if he said that he doesn’t think about it once in awhile, especially when the draft bust comments come back after a stretch of bad games.

“I don’t know what that’s like, having no one expect anything out of me,” he admits, carefully pulling out on the main road.

“Do you like that? Having a chip on your shoulder?”

“Yeah, in a way. Definitely lights a fire under your ass and motivates you. But, I don’t know, it can get to be a lot, I guess. But I’m used to it. People have been expecting things out of me since I was 16. Younger, even.”

Amelie hums, adjusting her headband. “Must be a lonely place to be at times.”

“Where?”

“The top.”

Jack mulls over her words in his brain. Once. Twice. A third time. He clears his throat. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”

When he’s about to sleep that night, he replays their conversations in his head until he finally drifts off.

day twelve - amelie

Amelie’s a bit glad to have had a few days away from Jack — from any of the Hughes brothers — as they went on a mini trip to Canton to celebrate their grandmother’s birthday. She’s been filling her time by taking walks with Susie, tagging along to help Ruth with groceries and humoring Stanley when he wants to go sit at his favorite diner for hours to talk. Retirement’s pretty nice, Amelie thinks, but even she’s starting to get a bit restless.

So when she gets a text from Jack after finishing her morning coffee — she forgets when they exchanged numbers or if they ever even did. Luke could’ve given it to him — she’s actually excited.

Weird. When’s the last time Amelie has felt excited to get a text?

Jack Hughes

amelie my amelie

we just got back last night

and a bunch of your boys are here for a few days

you should come by and say hi

Amelie furrows her eyebrows as she responds.

Amelie Fishel

my boys?

Jack Hughes

beniers, briss, blankenburg, fants, brindley and eddy

i might be leaving someone out but you get it

Amelie blinks. She hasn’t heard some of those names in years. And they’re just all over the house right now?

Hockey players are weird. Their friendships and circles and how they overlap are even weirder.

Amelie Fishel

that’s a lotta boys

Jack Hughes

yeah and that’s not even all of them

luke mentioned that you’re nearby and they’re kinda harping on me to get you to come over

i also just wanna see you

“You should go,” Amelie jumps out of her seat. Luckily, Ruth isn’t directly behind her. She doesn’t particularly want to be nursing her grandma’s injuries.

“Don’t eavesdrop on my conversations, Grandma.”

“You should go,” Ruth repeats. “Those boys were sweet and polite over dinner. And you know their friends?”

“Yeah. Photographed quite a few of them at college throughout the years.”

“Then you should go.”

“Aren’t we about to go to lunch with some of your friends?”

Ruth tuts. “They’d perfectly understand you ditching us old gossips to hang out with your friends.”

“I’m going to lunch with you. I haven’t seen them in awhile either and I like your friends,” Amelie says firmly. One look from Ruth and Amelie relents. “I’ll go see the guys after dinner. If they even want me.”

Amelie Fishel

won’t be around until after dinner

dunno if that changes your invite

Jack Hughes

see you after dinner 🫡

i’ll try to hold off your fan club in the meantime

(As Amelie goes upstairs to change, Ruth chuckles to herself. She remembers the middle Hughes brother unable to keep his eyes off Amelie at dinner that night.)

After dinner comes, and she shuffles through her dressers before reminding herself that it doesn’t matter what she wears. She throws on her favorite pair of jean shorts and tosses on a Stanford sweatshirt she stole from Charlotte ages ago. She grabs her tote bag, kisses her grandparents goodbye and pats Susie on the head before walking out the door.

As she approaches the Hughes home, she rolls her eyes at all the cars parked in their driveway and lining down the street. Exactly how many people are here?

She hears voices coming from the back and decides to forgo the front door and paddles over through their side yard into the back. Amelie pauses at the sight, taking in what must be at least ten people by the firepit. She tries to be discreet, figuring out where or who she should head to first. But a voice calling out loudly stops her.

“Mimi!” Before she knows it, Adam Fantilli crashes into her body. She grunts into his chest as he lifts her up.

“Call me that one more time and you won’t have a season to get back to in Columbus.”

Gavin chuckles from behind Adam, before reaching out for his much tamer hug. Good. “Nice to know some things don’t change.”

She huffs, but her heart does feel lighter. “I saw you, like, three months ago, Brinds. No one changes that much in three months.” She lets the two boys each swing an arm around her shoulders and gets smushed in the middle, both simultaneously talking her ear off. She’s not really catching what they say, and she thinks they don’t actually care, but it’s nice to be around them again. Really nice. Familiar.

She’s led to the fire, and feels her smile grow as Nick Blankenburg, Brendan Brisson and Matty Beniers all bounce over and give her enthusiastic hugs and greetings. God, it’s been so long since she’s seen them. Even though she was younger and more naive when photographing them her freshman year, they were on her first roster. And there’s always something special about the first one.

“The fact that you decided to stick around the boys for four years says a lot,” Nick says with a smile. “Did you like them as much as the guys during your first year though?”

“You never forget your first!” Matty chimes in and Brendan throws his head back in laughter. Amelie’s sick of them already, rolling her eyes as she greets Luke with a tight side hug.

She beams at Ethan, whose smile is just as big. “Hi Eddy.”

“Hey Ami,” She lets out a laugh as the smiley Canadian smothers her in a hug. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you so soon. I’ve missed you.”

“Me neither,” she mumbles into his chest before pulling away. “Missed you too.”

“Well, we obviously know who the favorite is.” Someone pipes in and her eyes track toward the voice. This guy definitely didn’t go to Michigan, but has one of the most contagious smiles she’s ever seen. “I’m Trevor. Friend of Jack’s. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Ah, yes. She remembers Jack mentioning him a few times. “Nice to meet you, Trevor.” She turns to the last person she doesn’t know. Dark brown, curly hair and pouty lips. “You must be Alex.”

Alex’s eyebrows shoot up and Amelie kinda likes that he doesn’t hide his surprise. “Yeah. Jack talk about me too?”

“Yeah. Mostly Ellen though. Said that you’re the favorite.” Alex grins as Trevor howls in laughter.

“He is,” Jack grumbles from behind her. “Even to this day, It’s quite annoying.” Jack shoots her a quick smile and Amelie smiles back before thanking Quinn quietly as he passes her a cider.

She looks around to see that all of the guys have beer in their hands. She had mentioned off the cuff on the boat that she hates beer. She’s touched that they remembered. She takes a seat in one of the adirondack chairs, Jack on one side and Adam on her other.

“I saw Luke’s story. How was golfing?”

“Good,” Quinn says.

“You a golfer, Mimi?”

Again, Amelie glares at the young Blue Jacket. “I think I’d rather do anything else.”

Brendan chuckles. “I recognize that glare. I’ve almost missed it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Amelie says, sipping her drink and wrapping her arms around herself. Jack tosses the large blanket over both their legs and she nudges his foot with hers as a thank you.

The boys are loud and talk over each other and Amelie can’t remember the last time she’s rolled her eyes this much. She takes the bag of chips that Ethan passes her and finishes it off, much to Luke’s dismay. And of course, true to herself, she takes out her camera to snap a few photos. As the sky darkens and fire blazes, Amelie feels warm, chiming in occasionally when she sees fit but mostly listening.

Amelie’s attention is pulled back to the present with Ethan asking her a question. “You mentioned at the end of the season that you were looking at jobs with some different sports leagues.” She doesn’t remember telling him that, but if there’s anyone she would tell, it would be him. “Did any of that, you know, go anywhere?”

Amelie smiles. “I’m in the final stages of, uh, figuring out something with the NHL.”

Jack’s eyes widen. “No US Soccer anymore?”

Amelie shrugs. “Maybe in the future. But no, not right now. Least not full-time.”

“Wait,” Ethan pushes with wide, excited eyes. “Ami. Are you gonna be-”

“I don’t wanna jinx it,” Amelie says with her hand up, but a smile peeks through. “It’s not a sure thing yet. They’re trying to figure out with what team or area of the country. Or that’s what they told me.”

Cheers erupt and she kinda wants to hide her face behind her hands. Popcorn is thrown at her and she swats it away. She turns to look at Jack, who smiles and picks a kernel out of her hair.

It’s a beautiful smile. She wishes she saw it more often, instead of the half smirk half smile he always does.

“Any chance you’d be in Jersey?” Luke asks as Ethan grins and Jack nudges her elbow.

“Columbus also works!” Adam calls out, high-fiving Nick and Gavin.

“California sunshine is nice,” Trevor sings out.

“Just the west coast in general,” Quinn adds as Brendan, Alex and Matty all nod emphatically.

“Your pitches all need some work,” Amelie snorts, before shrugging. “Honestly, I’ll be fine anywhere. Just not Michigan. I need to get out of here.” Everyone laughs, but she catches Jack’s inquisitive look. She quickly lets herself get dragged into a conversation with Quinn, Nick and Adam instead.

She eyes the pool table through the window of the sunroom and Jack catches her, challenging her to a game. She, along with Jack, Adam and Ethan decide to go in for a quick game. They split up into teams, her and Jack on one, Adam and Ethan on the other.

She eyes the chalkboard and grimaces at Jack’s less-than-desirable record. “Do I really want you on my team?”

Jack follows her eyeline and rolls his eyes. “Ignore that.”

“Kinda hard to,” she squints. “Damn, I should’ve dragged Quinn in here.” Jack pouts as Ethan snickers, her waving at Adam to break.

What Amelie failed to voice when she saw the pool table is that she is pretty damn good at pool. During the few times she went out in college, it’s how she and her friends liked to get free drinks. She would challenge a few of her overconfident guy friends or acquaintances and bet a free drink or two. Though actually, she remembers she played against Adam at least once and absolutely destroyed him. She’s surprised and amused that he doesn’t remember, if his wide eyed indignation at her sinking a seemingly-impossible shot says anything, much to Jack’s amusement.

“Holy shit,” Jack says, impressed. “Who taught you to play? Can you give me their number?”

Amelie shrugs with a small smirk, watching Adam take his turn. “There was a diner I grew up nearby that had a table. I honestly can’t remember who taught me. I just played against my sisters a lot.”

“We should’ve placed a bet on this. You two didn’t know about this secret talent?” Jack says, directing the question to the former Wolverines.

“Yeah, Adam,” she eggs on, laughing as his shot misses. “You should remember. I got you and Truscott to buy me a drink out of it once.” Adam curses in realization as Ethan cackles.

“Wait, I remember that,” Ethan says. “I was even shocked that you were out and about, considering all the times you turned our invites down. Imagine me hearing that not only are you out, you also just single handedly took down the two best pool players on the team.”

“Turning down invites to parties, huh?” Jack chuckles.

Amelie rolls her eyes, watching Jack take his shot. “No. They were all just up in my business when I was trying to be professional.”

Ethan scoffs. “Professional? Yeah, okay.”

“Professional,” Amelie repeats. “I was working for you guys, technically.”

“Ew, no you weren’t,” Adam says, crinkling his nose. “Don’t say that. God. You were just as much part of the team as we were.”

“I don’t know about that,” she watches Jack mess up his shot and just rolls her eyes. “All I did was take pictures of you all.”

“Part of the team,” Ethan emphasizes, also messing up his shot. God, Amelie thinks. These boys are bad at pool. “Stop pretending we weren’t your favorites to photograph.”

“Yeah, admit it!” Adam chimes in. “You were easier on me when grading papers too.”

“I was absolutely not,” she says. “The fact that you treated pre-game as office hours made me grade you harder.” They just wave her off and Amelie huffs.

“Look where being professional got you,” Ethan smirks. “Some fun friendships, eh?” She smacks his shoulder.

“You’re lucky I like you,” Amelie warns, before sinking in the 8-ball with a smirk. Adam and Ethan groan as Jack cheers, placing an overzealous kiss on her cheek before going to the chalkboard. “You’re welcome for the win.”

When the fire starts to die out and more people start yawning an hour later, Amelie decides to call it a night. She gives everybody a hug, promising more than once that she’ll see everyone at least one more time before they leave in five days. Jack offers to walk her home and she doesn’t even bother fighting.

They start walking. Amelie flips her hood up and Jack shoves his hands in the pockets of his shorts. “You lied to me.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “Huh?”

“Said the guys were just nice to you. They love you.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“And you love them.”

Amelie stares down at her shoes with a shrug. “Like I said, they’re good guys.” She looks back up and tugs at his sweatshirt sleeve. “Thanks for the invite.”

“Of course.” Jack says. “You’re always welcome.”

“I don’t think you mean that.”

“I never say things I don’t mean,” he says lightly. “Waste of time and energy.”

Amelie swallows, Jack’s woody cologne filtering through her nose and all of a sudden, it feels like he’s too close, but she can’t pull herself away. “Thank you though. Seriously. You’re right. I-I’ve missed them.”

She lets him pull her into a side hug and doesn’t say anything when he keeps his arm swung around her shoulder. “Do you have any plans tomorrow?”

Amelie chuckles. “What are you thinking?”

“Well, turns out some of the guys want a rematch because they’re mad I beat their asses so we’re golfing again tomorrow, but we’re starting early.”

“I’m not going golfing. Even the best bribe couldn’t bring me out there.”

“I’m not asking you to come golfing,” Jack laughs. “It’s just, contrary to what you may believe, I’m kinda annoying in the morning and need caffeine and fuel to deal with that many people, especially before going on the course.”

“Jack, what are you-”

“Do you wanna grab breakfast tomorrow? Just the two of us? Those fuckers never get up in time.”

“So you’re gonna let them starve?”

“They can figure themselves out.”

They stop at her front door and she turns around. Him being on the step below causes them to be at the same height. “Sure.”

The left side of his lips quirk up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Though subjecting me to your pre-caffeine self seems like you’re trying to sabotage me.”

He rolls his eyes. “Does 9 work?”

Despite herself, Amelie grins. “See you then.” She reaches behind her to twist the doorknob. “Thanks for walking me home. Goodnight Jack.”

“Goodnight.”

She watches through the window until he walks out of sight. She then looks at the lone light still on in the kitchen and has an idea.

day thirteen - jack

Jack’s not an idiot, despite what his brothers and teammates may tell you. He knows this isn’t a date.

But it sure feels like one.

Jack’s looking at the suitcase he probably should’ve fully unpacked by now, figuring out what to wear. It’s literally just breakfast with a girl he met not even two weeks ago, so he shouldn’t really care what he’s wearing.

Breakfast. With a girl he met less than two weeks ago. A girl whose company he really, really enjoys.

He shakes his head at himself, pulling out a black t-shirt and khaki shorts. He decides to clasp on a watch before he can overthink himself out of it.

At 8:57, he quietly paddles downstairs and grabs the keys off the hook before jumping into his car. He barely pulls into her driveway before her front door opens. A smile spreads across his face at Amelie, her floral pink dress flying behind her as she rushes out, quickly checking she has what she needs in her tote bag before opening the car door.

“Good morning,” he says.

“Hey,” she breathes out. She scans him up and down really quickly. It makes him swallow. “You look nice.”

He backs out of the driveway. “You do too.” When he gets to look at her again, he notices the matching hair scarf hanging from her ponytail. “I like the thing in your hair. You look like a fairy.”

“A fairy?”

“Yeah.”

She blinks. “Oh. That’s…really nice, I think? Thank you.”

“Definitely a compliment.” He bites his lip to stop his smile from growing too wide. She hums along to the song on the radio and looks out the window. He rolls it down for her and watches her lean her elbows at the edge, her head peeking out.

Jack has to drag his eyes back to focus on the road. The sight of Amelie sitting shotgun while he’s driving brings a feeling in his stomach he’s never felt before. At least not to this depth.

She turns to him. “Where are we going?”

“Sunny Side Up right off Beecher Ave.”

She chuckles. “That’s Grandpa’s favorite place. We might catch him come in as we leave.”

He freezes a bit as he slows the car down with a stop at the light, at the thought of Stanley coming in to see him with his beloved granddaughter, both semi-dressed up on a Wednesday morning, just the two of them.

When they arrive, he holds open the door for her, and breathes in the smells of coffee and eggs and everything good coming out of the kitchen of Sunny Side Up. The place is emptier than he expected, but he also knows the typical brunch crowd rolls in a bit later. The hostess tells them to sit wherever they like and he follows Amelie to a spot by the window. They barely slip into their seats before he hears a familiar scratchy yet comforting voice.

“Amelie!” The woman then turns her head and doesn’t even hide her surprise as her grin grows. “And Jack Hughes. What a nice surprise.”

“Hey Sherry,” Jack nods with a grin.

He sees Amelie’s eyes light up, even if it’s subdued. “Hi Sherry.”

The older woman that Jack has seen here every summer since he moved here sets two menus down. She offers Jack a pointed look that looks awfully like his mother’s. “I haven’t seen you here this summer as often as past summers. You cheating on us with some other cafe?”

“I’m a loyal guy, Sherry,” he charms. “I would never.”

Sherry narrows her eyes, “Mmhmm. I’ll get you two some coffee while you decide what you want.”

Amelie nods and flashes a warm smile. “Thank you.” They watch Sherry scurry away. The sound of Amelie’s gentle laugh pulls his attention back to her. “You come here often, huh? Well, clearly not often enough this summer.”

“Hey, you can’t even say that,” Jack whines. “Clearly you come here often too.”

She shrugs, “Like I said, it’s Grandpa’s favorite place. I come here with him at least once a week.”

“Do you have any friends around the area?” Amelie’s eyebrows shoot up and Jack immediately backtracks. “Not that-I didn’t mean it like that. I just-”

Amelie snorts, leaning back in her seat. “Chill Jack. I know what you meant. The ones who are in Michigan aren’t close by and the rest are spread out across the country. I came to my grandparents’ knowing that I wouldn’t see a lot of my friends. Kinda purposeful on my end, in a way. But then Luke saw me walk Susie and now here we are.”

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t enjoyed our company.”

“It’s definitely made my summer more eventful.” Their coffees come and neither of them look at the menu before ordering. Jack orders the french toast with strawberries and blueberries and she gets the house omelet. Jack ignores the pointed look that Sherry gives both of them, because he’s right with her and kinda has no idea what to make of this but is trying to enjoy it while he can.

He feels her nudge his feet under the table. He snaps his focus back to her as she nods to the cup of creamers next to him. “Pass me two?”

He nods, obliging. “Sugar?”

She shakes her head. “I’m good. Thanks.”

Jack watches her stir the creamer in before a sudden thought pops up. “Yesterday, when you said that you don’t care where you went as long as it wasn’t Michigan, what did you mean by that?”

Amelie, to her credit, doesn’t seem surprised by the sudden question. “Exactly what I said. It’s nothing against the Red Wings. I just need to get out of here.”

“Why?”

She stares at him for a few seconds, and Jack gets nervous. Before he can take back the question, she answers. “When you haven’t really gotten the chance to travel or live anywhere your whole life and a job offers you to go anywhere, you take the chance.”

Jack nods slowly. He’s gotten to travel to a lot of places through hockey, but he still considers Michigan his home and often feels an urge to come back during the season — as much as he thoroughly enjoys living and playing in New Jersey. It’s hard for him to wrap his head around the fact that someone could want out of Michigan.

She smiles and chuckles a bit suddenly. Jack raises an eyebrow in question. She just shakes her head. He thinks she’s adorable. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I just thought of something.”

“Do share with the class.”

“I’ve been so excited at the prospect of leaving Michigan, but it’s so clear you and your brothers love it and I don’t know. It’s nice to be reminded of the good parts of this state.”

He shrugs, “I don’t know. I guess throughout the season I don’t really get to be around Quinn or my friends and family that often, so when all of us have the off-season, we all naturally gravitate towards home, which nowadays, is here.”

“You don’t have to defend yourself about why you like this state, Jack,” she says with a small chuckle. “I get it. My family’s technically all here too, so I can’t escape it completely.”

Their food arrives soon after and they spend a few silent minutes just digging in. He cuts a piece of his french toast for her and she in turn cuts him a portion of her omelet. He’s hoping that she’s not catching the fact that he can’t keep his eyes off of her.

When they finish, Jack shoves his card into Sherry’s hand when she grabs the check, they’re walking out of the diner, full and content. The sun is beating down but not too hard that Jack feels gross. Hopefully it stays that way when he and the boys go out golfing in an hour.

“Do you have a second to come inside?”

Jack’s eyebrows immediately shoot up his forehead, killing the engine. “Yeah. Why?”

“Just come inside,” Amelie rolls her eyes. “I’m not gonna kill you.”

“Reassuring,” he deadpans, following her through the front door and immediately bending down to pet Susie and prevent her from running out. He watches Amelie disappear into the kitchen for a moment before she comes back out with a tupperware container filled with…cookies?

“For you,” Amelie hands him the tupperware. “And the other guys.”

“What are these?”

“I kinda got a burst of energy after I came home last night and wanted to do something with my hands. You’re gonna tell me you guys are gonna turn down fresh cookies?”

“No,” he says, looking back at her. “Thank you.”

She smiles. “You’re welcome.”

Jack opens his mouth and then closes it. He wants to ask why she made the cookies. Why she’s giving a large container of them to him and their friends. If it means anything.

Instead, he backs towards the door. “See you around?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Have fun golfing with the boys. I don’t want to hear a single thing about it.”

He laughs. “I won’t subject you to that. Promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it. And thanks for breakfast.”

“Of course.”

“Stop paying for me though.”

“Never.”

She playfully shoves him out the door with an eye roll. He thinks he could see that eye roll for the rest of his life and feel content.

day fifteen - amelie

As she’s pouring herself a second cup of coffee, she hears someone knocking on the front door. Ruth’s out walking Susie and Stanley’s out golfing with friends the day, so Amelie trudges over to the front door.

It’s Quinn, in a Canucks sweatshirt and basketball shorts, his hands shoved into his pockets.

Amelie smiles easily, albeit confused. “Hey Quinn.”

“Morning.”

“What’s up?”

He shifts on his feet. “Are you busy?”

“Not really,” she opens the door wider for him to come in. “I was just editing some photos. Coffee?”

“Please.”

“Anything in it?

“A bit of milk if you have some.”

She hums, preparing his coffee and carefully sliding it over to him as he rests his forearms on the island. “Where are the rest of the guys?”

He shrugs. “Either asleep or just hanging out. We had a tough practice this morning.”

“And you decided to come here?” She teases. She doesn’t want him to think he’s not welcome, because she actually really likes Quinn, despite spending the least amount of time with him compared to his brothers.

“Kinda wanted some peace and quiet, to be honest, which is hard to find in the house when there’s so many people,” he admits, before nodding to her open laptop. “You said you were editing photos? What for?”

“Partially to update my portfolio. Partially to brush up on my skills.” She moves the laptop so he can see it. Pulled up is a picture she took last year at a Michigan swim meet. “See how it’s a little too bright here?” She clicks on the dodge tool in the open Photoshop tab and quickly edits. “There.”

“Do you do this with every photo?”

“Sometimes I switch between different softwares, but it’s generally the same process. The big differences that I have to be aware of are lighting and composition when editing.”

Quinn nods. “This is sick. Like, super cool.”

She quickly saves her work before turning her full attention back to Quinn, smiling. “Thank you.”

“Do you have any photos you’ve taken of us the last few weeks?”

With that, Amelie scoots herself closer to him and slowly scrolls through a bunch of photos, starting from that day onto the boat and then to the fire the other night and other miscellaneous ones inbetween. Quinn lingers on a picture that’s one of her favorites, one that makes her smile everytime she sees it. It’s of Jack the night of the fire. The light from the fire is illuminating the front of his face while the dawn of the Michigan sky behind him casts him in a subtle light.

He’s looking away from the camera — at Gavin, if she remembers correctly — in the middle of laughing. His hair is all tousled over his forehead, some loose strands going over his eyes. His blue eyes are bright and if she showed this photo to anyone who didn’t know Jack Hughes, she’s sure they would be able to hear his laughter anyways.

He looks radiant. Everything like the bright and intense first-overall draft pick he was projected to be. As she watches Quinn’s eyes flicker over the photo, she thinks there’s something incredibly intimate about the way the camera captures the middle Hughes brother.

(“The subject of the camera makes up less than one percent of the photograph,” Professor Yang, one of her most trusted mentors said to her once. “The majority of the beauty of a photograph comes from the photographer themself and how they see the subject.“

It’s always at the most inconvenient times does Professor Yang’s voice ping through her head.)

She watches Quinn click through other photos, some edited, most of them raw. He makes small comments here and there asking about the mechanics of photography and how she knows when and what to shoot her lens at. She tries to explain in a way that would make sense to someone who knows little to nothing about photography and Quinn, to his credit, is keeping up the best he can. She goes to pour Quinn another round of coffee as Ruth comes back in through the side door, Susie trotting over to Quinn happily, who pets her. Ruth merely smiles as she’s sliding off her shoes at the sight of the eldest Hughes brother.

“Good morning, Quinn.”

Quinn grins. “Good morning. Sorry for interrupting.”

Ruth waves him off, coming to kiss the top of Amelie’s head. “Not at all. I see Amelie here has offered you some coffee. Would you like some chocolate chip cookies? Also courtesy of Amelie.”

“Not on the meal plan, I’m sure,” Amelie comments dryly.

Quinn laughs loudly. “No, but it is the summer.” He reaches into the container in Ruth’s hands. “Thank you. I actually had some of the ones you gave Jack last night. They’re really good.”

Amelie ignores the look she knows her grandmother is giving her. “Thanks. I could teach you how to make them, if you’d like. My, uh, an old friend of mine taught me a trick his mom taught him that make it extra gooey.”

She, again, ignores the look her grandmother is giving her. Quinn doesn’t need to know that old friend is her ex-boyfriend.

(Humans are interesting in the way that they’re mosaics, made up of the pieces — people, in this case — they’ve encountered in their lives. Amelie hates what Cooper did to her, but she will never forget the methods he taught her about making the perfect chocolate chip cookie)

Quinn grins. “I’d love to know, actually. I’ve been wanting to figure out how to bake simple things to, like, bring to events and stuff. I should, right? Being captain and all.”

Amelie snorts as she starts getting ingredients. “If you say so.”

Quinn and Ruth start chatting inbetween Amelie telling Quinn what to do. She can tell her grandmother is absolutely charmed by Quinn’s politeness and overall presence. And to be honest, she is as well.

It makes sense that he’s captain, in the way he speaks, listens and guides. Amelie thinks if she were on a sports team, she’d ride into battle with, for and alongside him.

Quinn spills a bit of flour on the counter and Amelie just snorts, waving away his apologies and telling him to crack the eggs. She just eyes him to make sure he isn’t fucking that up while listening to Ruth talk about something Charlotte told her on a call the other day.

“You know,” Ruth starts and Amelie immediately doesn’t like where her tone is going. “My granddaughters are pretty great people, present company included. Colette’s engaged, but Charlotte’s single.”

Amelie bursts out in laughter as Quinn starts blinking, no doubt trying to think quickly about how to respond to that. “Grandma, at least try to be subtle about it.”

“Why? I’m too old for that.”

“With all love, I don’t think Quinn is Char’s type. Char only dates assholes, remember?”

Quinn laughs in surprise as Ruth taps her chin with a small smile. “I suppose that’s true. The boy she brought back last summer wasn’t too bad.”

“He told me photography wasn’t a real career and that I was wasting my time,” Amelie deadpans as the oven beeps. She nods at Quinn to put in the trays. “I get that he’s in academia like Char, but what a shitty take.”

“Maybe introducing Quinn to her will break her streak,” Ruth suggests.

Amelie rolls her eyes to humor her. “How do you even know if Quinn is single?”

Ruth eyes him. “Are you?”

Quinn clears his throat, “I am. Newly single though.”

Amelie didn’t know that, and it’s not her place to pry. She grimaces as she pulls him into a side hug. “That settles it, then. I’m keeping Quinn to myself.” Luckily, that gets him to smile.

Just as the oven beeps and Ruth moves to start preparing lasagna, (“Sit down, Quinn. You’re not going anywhere.” Ruth had said with a firm voice as Quinn was trying to leave, not wanting to intrude for lunch), the doorbell rings. Amelie blinks. She has a feeling she knows who’s on the other side of the door.

It’s a slightly smaller group than the night by the fire. Jack, Luke, Adam, Ethan, Alex and the sweet smile of a guy who wasn’t here last time. But Jack has shown her enough pictures and he’s talked about Cole Caufield enough that Amelie is 99% sure it’s him.

“Hey Mimi!”

“Don’t call me that,” she automatically responds to Adam. “You all here for lunch?”

“Ruth invited us,” Luke pipes up. Well, that explains why she was taking out such a large portion of lasagna sheets. “Susie saw Jack getting the mail and kinda mauled him.

“Of course she did,” Amelie steps aside as one by one, they greet her with a quick hug. She hugs Cole for a bit longer. “Cole, right? It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Cole beams. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

She chuckles softly as they follow everyone else. She tries to ignore Jack behind them, knowing he’s listening in. “Anything Eddy says about me is 100% true. The others you can take with a grain of salt.”

“Even when Jack tells me he thinks you’re one of the prettiest and talented people he’s ever met?”

Amelie’s eyebrows jump up as she looks at Jack, who doesn’t even look ashamed. He even shoots her a quick wink and she’s for sure blushing. She turns back to Cole with a shy grin. “I don’t know about that.”

They walk towards the kitchen, where Ruth is shooing everyone out with the plate of cookies Amelie and Quinn just made. Amelie leads them all outside, squinting against the sun as she quickly grabs a few chairs so everyone has a place to sit. She leans her head on her chin as she focuses on what seems a continuation of a previous conversation about relationships, or lack thereof. She rolls her eyes. Typical. She’s honestly surprised this didn’t come up at the fire the other night in the Hughes backyard.

She munches on a cookie and merely smiles as Jack finds his way to the seat next to hers. He nudges her knee with hers and she bumps him back.

“Hey,” he says softly so that only she can hear him.

“Hi.”

“I like your bow. You look pretty.”

Amelie reaches up to touch the black sheer bow clipped atop her ponytail. “Thank you. Sorry Suz attacked you earlier.”

Jack shrugs, the sunshine painting his cheeks an endearing rosy pink. “Gonna get lunch out of it, aren’t I?”

“You flash your smile at Grandma and I’m pretty sure she’d bake you a cake everyday.”

He only smirks before they both tune back into the conversation. Though from where Jack is sitting, Amelie has a perfect peripheral view of him. He has a Yankees cap on backwards, his curls peeking out at the ends. His summer tan is obvious against the white t-shirt he’s wearing with light-washed jeans.

It’s not the first time that Amelie has noticed how attractive he is. It’s the first time that she has to swallow and force herself to focus on Adam’s voice because she wants to…kiss him. Shit, she really wants to kiss Jack Hughes.

Horrible.

“What do you think, Amelie?” Her head whips at the sound of Luke’s voice.

“What are we talking about?”

Luke smirks and Amelie wants to slap him. “Past relationships, to sum it up. Mostly Adam’s.” And Quinn’s, Amelie fills in in her head, because it’s true, even if it’s unspoken.

“What about them?”

The air suddenly feels a bit heavy, the most solemn it’s been since Luke saw her at the end of his driveway two weeks ago.

“Do you think it’s a thing to lose feelings for someone? Like is it real?”

Some sort of noise erupts out of her mouth before she can stop it. If the guys weren’t intrigued before, they are now, as they fall silent, waiting for her next words. She chooses her next words carefully.

“I think it’s more of an excuse that people use when they don’t want to justify or dig into the real reason why they’re feeling the way they are.” Someone whistles. She thinks it’s Alex, but she’s not 100% sure. Amelie winces. “Sorry, did I just attack someone?”

“Just my ex,” Adam says.

“Oh good. No one here then.” Amelie offers him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry though. I know how much that sucks to hear.”

“It does.”

“I had to learn that it’s rarely your fault that they supposedly lost feelings. It took me awhile to figure that out, but I did.” She turns to Adam and tries to give him a reassuring smile. “It sucks. Agonizing over everything you could’ve done better and asking yourself why you weren’t enough for them to stick around. At least that’s how it was for me.”

“That’s…kinda exactly how it felt,” Adam admits. “Feels, even now, sometimes.”

Amelie shrugs. “There’s no set timeline for the process of moving on. And it ebbs and flows too. Also no fault in that.”

“You seem awfully knowledgeable about breakups,” Luke states. Amelie catches Ethan’s subtle but pointed glance. How much does she want to tell them about that part of her life?

“A story for another time,” she says with a dry smile. Cooper Volt and his douchebag ways are not a conversation she wants to have before noon. Or really ever. “But I’m serious, Adam. And whoever else needs to hear it. Feelings can shift and feel and look different overtime, but losing them completely? I don’t know. It’s heartbreaking to hear from someone who used to be such a big part of your life.”

“Commitment is scary,” Cole pipes up. “And it’s hard. Especially, I feel like, with what we do.”

It’s like getting a bucket of ice cold water dumped on her when she suddenly remembers who exactly she’s surrounded by.

“Do you even want commitment?” Amelie blinks. “Sorry, that’s harsh. That’s not fair of me to ask.”

“It’s a fair question though, I think.” Jack says. Amelie suddenly feels her hands clam up. “I mean, for me at least, I think it’s changed throughout the years. You know, at the start, like five years ago, when it was still chaotic and still an adjustment period, a relationship probably wasn’t on my mind.”

“But now?” Cole presses.

Jack shrugs. “I think so. But you can’t force it, you know?”

“A relationship would do you well, Jacky.” Luke says, taking a sip of his water. “Don’t know who’d want to deal with you though.” Jack throws his half-filled water bottle at him and Luke squeaks as everyone laughs. Jack nudges Amelie’s knee with a light smile and she has absolutely no idea what to make of that.

“I didn’t know you were dating someone, Adam,” Amelie comments.

Adam shrugs. “It was for most of last season. Met her through a mutual friend of a mutual friend. I thought it was going well. Clearly it didn’t work out.”

“But you tried your best?”

“Of course I did. Well, what I thought was best at the time.”

“Then that’s all you can do,” Amelie curls up in her chair. “Sometimes our best isn’t enough. It sucks to hear, but it’s true. And that’s not on you.” She avidly avoids Jack’s eyes that she can feel boring into the side of her head. She should probably stop talking before she reveals more than she wants to.

Luckily, the conversation steers elsewhere with courtesy to Jack. “Well, what do you look for in someone, Amelie?”

Amelie snorts. “You trying to matchmake for me, Hughes?”

“Maybe.”

Everyone laughs and she puts her chin on her hands in thought. “I mean, tough question.”

“One thing. That shouldn’t be hard.”

“It’s not. Just give me a minute to think. I wasn’t prepared to be talking about our love lives today.” Amelie bites her lip, staring out at the lake in thought. But in reality, it’s an easy answer. “I think, honestly, the biggest thing for me is someone who’s just, kind. Kind to the point where they care about the people around them and how they treat others and the world and….I don’t know. It sounds dumb.”

“It’s not,” Jack says. “Being kind and considerate is underrated, I think. It’s hard to find people like that.”

“Or maybe you’re not looking in the right place,” Alex adds.

“That too.”

Amelie summons some courage. “Well, I’ll flip the question back to you then. And anyone else who wants to answer. What’s one thing you look for in a partner?”

It’s like Jack makes sure she doesn’t break eye contact before answering. “Honestly? Someone I can have fun with and feel completely comfortable around. Which I know isn’t a real trait, but I think if I feel like I don’t have to pretend at all with somebody then they’re worth keeping in my life.”

“That’s quite sweet, Rowdy,” Quinn comments, Jack just shrugs, her eyes still on hers.

Okay, yeah. Amelie needs space. Or water. Or three shots of vodka.

The universe listens to her, because Ruth is suddenly calling them all in. Amelie bolts out of her seat and rushes in to help set up utensils. Thankfully, no one outwardly calls her out on it as they all trickle in after her. The conversation shifts to easier topics, and she relishes in being more of an observer than a contributor.

Along with the delicious lasagna, Ruth somehow found time to make some brownies which Amelie is almost sure is not allowed in any of their diet plans. Nonetheless, she watches them devour the gooey treats and shower Ruth in praise. She herself has one before standing up to put dishes away. She and her grandmother stop any of them, either with their eyes or words, from getting up and they all reluctantly sink in their seats and continue their conversations. Ruth asked them about going to Michigan a few minutes ago and they’re still on that, with Cole and Alex talking up Wisconsin even though no one asked.

Amelie’s putting the last dish in the dishwasher when someone’s voice in the kitchen causes her to yelp in surprise. She whips around to see Jack’s wince. “Jesus, Jack. Warn a girl next time.”

“Sorry,” he comes around the counter. “I just wanted to see if you needed any help, but it seems like you got it covered.”

“Grandma let you get away?”

“I might have told her I was gonna use the bathroom,” he admits.

Amelie snorts, shutting the dishwasher. “Why lie?”

“I wanted to see you without everyone’s eyes on us.”

When someone just says that, so honestly, almost rushed out as if he wasn’t thinking of saying it in the first place but it just slipped out, how is she supposed to react, really?

She resorts to what she knows best. Apathy. “Well, here I am.”

“Here you are. Quinn told me you taught him how to make those cookies.”

“I did,” a smile peeks out at that. “He did pretty well. And we made a lot, so please take them with you when you guys leave.”

“Kicking us out so soon?”

“No,” she sighs. “But as much as she’s gonna pretend not to, Grandma doesn’t have as much energy anymore, so I will at some point in the near future gently kick all of you out so she can rest.”

“No worries,” Jack says. “We have plans to head out on the boat anyways. You wanna join?”

She actually does want to, but she already had her own plans to have a day for herself, and those days are important. “I think I’m good. I’ll leave you boys to it. But thank you for the offer.”

“Anytime.” They’re practically touching now, but Amelie doesn’t mind. She doesn’t ever feel like Jack is encroaching on her space. “Earlier, outside, when we were talking about relationships…”

“What about them?”

If he catches her clipped tone, he doesn’t take note. Instead, he tilts his head to the side in curiosity. “You mentioned wanting someone that’s kind.”

“I did.”

“A bit of a low bar, no?”

She scoffs, leaning her back against the kitchen counter. She crosses her arms and looks him straight in the eye. “Well, maybe I’ve just dated some shitty people.”

He holds the eye contact steady. She’s not sure why it surprises her. “Maybe you have.”

Despite herself, she’s amused. “You’re awfully nosy sometimes, you know that?”

“Not the first time I’ve heard it.”

“Does it usually work for you? Being nosy?”

“I call it just being interested.”

She swallows, deciding if she wants to push. She takes note of the voices in the other room. If she wants to push, she needs to do it fast.

Amelie’s 99% sure this is where her and Jack are the most alike. They’re stubborn and can never back down from a challenge.

She steps even closer to him where she thinks she catches a whiff of his deodorant. Jack’s eyes are still trained on her, passive, but with something in them that she can’t quite read. “I did, by the way.”

“Hm?”

“Date someone shitty.”

“I’m sorry about that.” He sounds sincere about it.

“Not your fault.”

“Not yours either.”

She chuckles, “Debatable.”

“Nah,” a smile curls at his lips and she thinks it’s beautiful. “Don’t think you’ve done anything wrong in your life.”

“Does the charm usually work for you?”

He lets out a loud laugh. The sound of it spreads warmth on her skin. “You tell me.”

Oh. That’s a challenge if Amelie’s ever heard one. But even with his close proximity, this building tension of sorts that’s been present ever since they’ve met and his watchful but kind eyes, waiting for the next move, she’s still not sure.

Fuck it.

She kisses him anyway.

Jack responds immediately, his hands finding a home on her hips in a way that has her smiling into his lips. She thinks he’s smiling too, but she pulls away too quickly to really know. He is grinning when she pulls away though, a sparkle in his eye she hasn’t seen quite yet.

He pouts playfully and she wants to kiss him again. But she restrains herself and glares at him instead. “What’s the pout for?”

“What’s the glare for?” He shoots back, squeezing her hips lightly. “You kissed me yet I feel like you’re about to accuse me of killing Suzie.”

“Suzie would probably kill you first,” she replies absentmindedly, before stepping away. Mostly so she doesn’t lose control again and kiss him.

Amelie might be starting to question her decision, but Jack’s smile is easy. Light. “You gonna let me kiss you again?”

She snorts, but it’s more fond than anything. “Next time.”

He sticks his bottom lip out in displeasure, but he backs away. “I’m holding you to that.”

She follows him back to the kitchen with a light pep in her step paired with an alarm bell in her mind.

day twenty - jack

Jack automatically smiles when Clementine Sandoval’s face appears on his phone screen. “Hey Clee.”

“Jacky!” She exclaims. “You look tan.”

He gasps in delight. “Really? Thank you.”

His pseudo-older sister rolls her eyes, “Nevermind. I take it back. How are you? What’s up? How’s Michigan? Where are Q and Lukey?”

He chuckles at her onslaught of questions, a pang of guilt in his heart because he hasn’t called her that much since he left New Jersey mid-June. To be fair, he didn’t want to interrupt her trip to visit her new boyfriend in Switzerland — Jack still has to remind himself sometimes that his captain is dating someone who he’s considered a sister ever since he can remember. He loves it, but the fact that Nico could basically become his brother-in-law is a fact he still hasn’t wrapped his head around.

But that pang of guilt washes away quickly, like it always does, as he looks at her warm smile. “I’m good. Michigan’s great. Quinn’s out getting groceries and Luke’s probably still napping. Are you busy?”

“Not at all. I’m just making dinner. I actually do miss you guys at the apartment a lot.”

Jack grins. “We miss you a lot too, Clee. Wish you were here.”

“So what’s up?”

“Hm?”

“You’re chewing on your drawstrings. You only do that when something’s on your mind.”

He lets the drawstrings fall from his mouth as he narrows his eyes. “How do you know that?”

She snorts, “Because I know you, Jack. What’s going on?”

The sound of her sink water running fills the air as Jack takes a deep breath. “I met a girl.”

He snickers as Clementine, with her back towards the camera, freezes. Slowly, she turns back around. “You met a girl?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” she starts chopping some garlic. “Tell me about her.”

“Her name’s Amelie. She’s a year younger than me. Just graduated from Michigan. She knows Luke, actually, used to photograph the hockey games.”

“She knows Luke?”

“Yeah. Her grandparents just bought a place two houses down from us and she was walking the dog one day and…yeah.”

Clementine hums, clearing the chopped garlic off her knife and into a small bowl. “What’s she like?”

“She’s a bit quieter, but quick and sarcastic as hell when you get to know her. She’s creative, because, you know, photographer. She’s really pretty. Hang on, I’ll send you a picture,” Jack does just that, sending one he took of her and Adam the other night, waiting for Clementine to look at it before he continues. “She’s always saying something really interesting and cool. I don’t know. We’ve been hanging out a lot the last two weeks and she’s just, really great.”

“You met two weeks ago?”

“More or less.” Jack bites his lip, trying to read the abnormally-unreadable look on her face. “What?”

“Nothing. She just graduated? Any plans after post-grad?”

“Said she’s talking to a few NHL teams for a photographer gig.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “For real?”

“Yup.”

“Damn,” Clementine says. “That’s awesome. So what? You like her?”

“I think so?”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

“Fine. Yes. I do.”

She smirks. “That wasn’t so hard, was it now?” Jack glares at his phone as she giggles. “Okay. Does she like you back?”

“She kissed me the other day.”

“Oh,” Clementine’s eyes sparkle and Jack feels bashful for some reason. “Did she now? So she must.”

“Hopefully.”

She gives him a look. “Jack.”

“What?”

“You’re being annoying on purpose.”

“I’m not being annoying,” Jack responds instinctively. Okay, maybe he is. “I just, I don’t know. I haven’t felt like this in awhile. Maybe ever.”

“Felt like what, exactly?”

And this is why Jack called the older brunette. She pushes him in a way that isn’t overbearing, but just the right amount where she’s not gonna take getting brushed off. Sometimes, Jack thinks he gets away with brushing things off too easily. Blame it on growing up with two brothers. Luckily, Clementine doesn’t let that happen.

“Felt this excited about someone.”

“That’s a good thing, Jack.” She says.

“Yeah.” Suddenly, it’s like a dam breaks. He hasn’t really talked to anyone about how exactly he feels about Amelie yet. “She’s…..I think I really like her, Clee. Like, I just want to be around her all the time. When I’m around her, I just, I don’t know. I can’t stop smiling.

“She must be some girl.”

“She is,” he responds confidently.

“So now what? You two have kissed. What’s next? Labels or no?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

“No. I don’t.” Silence. Clementine stops the movement on her end and looks at Jack. He swallows. It’s the kind of look that she only pulls out when she’s about to say something he might not want to hear. “What?” He says defensively.

“Nothing. Well, that’s not true. It’s okay to not know. You guys literally just met. Really. Just…be careful. I’m sure she’s lovely, but I don’t..you seem to really like her. I’d hate to see you get hurt over this.”

“I won’t,” Jack says confidently. “Clee, you know me. I don’t get my heart broken.”

“You also don’t get like this about girls,” Clementine points out. “And you know how I know that? You’ve known Amelie for two weeks and you’re already telling me about her. It took you three months for you to even mention to me that you had a girlfriend last time. Just…be careful, okay? You’re only in Michigan for so much longer.”

“I will,” Jack says.

Clementine only nods, before they switch the conversation back to her trip to Switzerland. But the rest of the conversation, Jack can’t help but keep seeing Clementine’s worried look in her mind.

Clementine’s usually right. He hopes she’s wrong this time.

day twenty three - amelie

Amelie takes a deep breath before accepting a good luck hug from her grandparents and shutting the front door. She smiles at the sight of Jack’s car and slides over into his passenger seat with practiced ease.

“You really didn’t have to do this.”

“We’re literally going to the same place.”

“Still.”

Jack backs out of her driveway with an easy smile. “You nervous?”

Like, yeah. But she shrugs. “Even if I am, nothing I can do about it now.”

“You’ll get the job,” he says confidently. “I know it.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she chuckles. “Where are Quinn and Luke? Don’t you all practice together?”

“Yeah. I forced them to take another car.”

“You didn’t have to kick them out.”

“I think I did.” She just gives him a look. Jack smiles easily. “Don’t worry about it. Remind me of the address again?”

She wordlessly connects her phone to his car and puts in the address of the cafe she’s meeting Heather at. 47 minute drive and she has to be there at 10 a.m. sharp. She’ll have around ten minutes to spare.

It’s clear they both woke up not long ago, content to spend most of the drive in comfortable silence with her occasional humming to whatever song she has playing from her phone. It’s mostly softer tunes to accompany the earlier hour, Maggie Rogers, Lizzy McAlpine and Noah Kahan appearing the most frequently. She’s 99% sure this isn’t close to Jack’s style of music at all, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

As he turns off the highway, she takes a deep breath, smoothing down her silk navy short-sleeved blouse she’s deemed her good-luck shirt — she wore it during her first interview with the NHL months ago. Luckily, it’s different people this time.

“I’m serious,” Jack says. “You’re gonna be great and you’re gonna get that job and get the fuck out of Michigan.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” They pull up to the cafe and she turns to face him with a grateful smile. “Thank you for driving me.”

“I’ll come by as soon as practice is done.”

She waves him off. “Take your time.”

He leans in to kiss her cheek sweetly. “Good luck. You’re gonna kill it.”

Her stomach is flipping now for a whole different reason. She quickly opens the passenger door and looks at Jack’s sweet smile one more time before shutting it.

The interview goes…so well. So well that she has a job by the end of it, with a promised contract being sent to her email within the next hour. But she barely has to answer any questions before they’re asking her if she’ll take it. It catches Amelie by complete shock and happiness that it takes so much for her to keep her cool in front of Josh, her possible future manager, and Sasha, the recruiter she’s been in touch with this whole time.

All of her hard work has accounted for something? She wants to pinch herself as she shakes both of their hands and watches them walk out.

But something settles in her stomach when she looks down at the notes she took. In her cursive-like handwriting.

Main coverage teams: Rangers, Islanders, Flyers, Devils

Staring at the last word on the page, she swallows. The Devils. She’s gonna be photographing Jack.

Realistically, she knew that this always would’ve been a possibility. But she never let herself entertain the idea.

But now it’s real. And it’s terrifying. And she kissed Jack eight days ago. She wants to throw up.

With shaky hands, she texts Jack that she’s done. He doesn’t respond right away so she takes a deep breath, tapping her fingers against her coffee cup, her brain going a million miles an hour.

She’s responding to her family’s texts before Jack’s name flashes through with the alert of a call. “Hello?”

“Well?” Jack’s voice echoes through her ears. “Did you get it?”

“Come pick me up and find out,” she tries to tease. She hopes he can’t detect her shaky voice over the phone.

“Amelie,” he whines. “Come on. You can’t leave me hanging like that.”

She lets out a quiet chuckle. “Do you think I’d be this happy if I didn’t get it?”

A pause. And then, “Let’s fucking go, baby! I knew you had it in the bag.”

“Come pick me up so I can tell you more about it,” she mutters

“You got it.”

11 minutes later, she sees Jack park by the curb and she walks out of the cafe, willing her hands to stop sweating. He quickly comes around the car and gives her a giant hug. She laughs as he lifts her up.

“So,” he sings as he starts the engine. “Do you know with what team? Or teams?”

Amelie hopes her poker face is intact. “Actually, not yet. That’s the only thing they haven’t fully settled on yet. And I might not know until, like, a month before I start.”

He tuts. “That’s a bit annoying. They just expect you to move to wherever on such short notice?”

She swallows roughly, hoping he doesn’t notice. “I guess. They said they can help me find housing though, which is helpful.”

He hums, before shaking her thigh with a laugh. “Amelie. This is amazing. You should be so proud of yourself.”

“Thanks, Jack.” Instead of turning onto the highway, Jack takes a right. “Where are we going?”

“Do you have anywhere else to be today?”

“Not until like, 4.”

“Perfect.”

She has to laugh out loud when the USA Hockey arena comes into view. “You forget something?”

“No,” he says simply. “Have you ever skated before?”

“I photographed your younger brother at Michigan.”

“But that doesn’t mean you’ve skated.”

Fair. “I have. I’m not very good though.”

He kills the engine and flashes her a charming smile. “Come on. To celebrate.”

Amelie lets Jack charm the person working the rentals and watches him tie the skates on her feet, smiling softly as he does it carefully, making sure they’re tight enough. She takes his hand as she steps onto the ice, wobbling a bit but quickly gaining her balance. There’s no one else at this particular rink, which she’s thankful for. People would have questions, and she doesn’t have any of the answers.

She lets herself laugh and have fun as Jack spins them around. She takes a deep breath, letting the smells and sounds of an empty hockey arena fill her senses again.

This is gonna be her future for the next while. If she thinks too hard, she can picture herself in Newark, in the Prudential Center, with Jack across from her, just like this. She swallows at the sight of Jack’s bright eyes.

Main coverage teams: Rangers, Islanders, Flyers, Devils

“You’re amazing,” Jack says a bit later, as they’re gliding in the middle of the ice, her hands in his, facing each other. “I’m serious. You’re going to crush it.”

She tries not to tear up, looking down at their skates. “I’m really excited,” she says. “This is, kind of, everything I’ve been working towards.”

“I know,” Jack smiles, tugging at her hands lightly. “You nervous at all?”

“A bit. Is that weird?”

He snorts. “No. I was scared shitless my rookie year, despite trying to act like hot shit.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“But you’re not me, because you’re healthily humble and you have the talent to back up your skill. It’s okay to be nervous, but it’s all gonna work out just fine.”

She hums, hands boldly reaching out to cup his face. She only has so much time left. She swears he softens into her touch. “Quite good at the pep talks, huh?”

“Not usually,” he murmurs, leaning closer as his lips ghost hers. “But, I don’t know. You seem to bring out a different side of me.”

“That’s sappy as shit.”

“I can be sappy.”

“Sure you can.” She hums as he presses a delicate kiss on her lips. She chuckles airily as he pulls away only to start peppering kisses on her cheeks.

For a bit, Amelie squashes her overthinking and just breathes in everything Jack Hughes.

(Unbeknownst to both Amelie and Jack, Jim sees them from the offices upstairs. He smiles to himself, as he watches his son spin the brunette girl around the ice, the joy palpable on both their faces)

day twenty five - jack

He doesn’t even bother to come up with an excuse anymore when he shows up on Stanley and Ruth’s front door the next morning. He accepts a cup of coffee when Ruth tells him Amelie’s in the shower, chatting casually with them both about the weather, golf, his family and the upcoming season.

When Amelie comes down the stairs, she doesn’t even look surprised, simply waving before tossing her hair up and grabbing her bag. She mentioned over text that she just had to run some “boring” errands today. He jumped at the chance to join her.

With some argument, she relents and lets him drive. He has to stop himself from looking over at her, overwhelmed at…her. Just her.

The grocery store first to get groceries for Stanley and Ruth, which causes Jack to swallow because God, the way Amelie takes care of the people in her life reminds him of Clementine, who always saw the best in Jack before he was anything.

Then a stop by at a farm to table place for lunch where Amelie says she’s been dying to try. Then Target, then CVS, then the bank. They never really hold hands, but they’re always in each other’s orbit comfortably. That’s enough for him.

Before being done for the day, a quick detour to a small beach that Amelie claims has “incredible sunsets.” He follows her obediently as she jumps out of the car with her film camera. The sunset is beautiful, but, and it’s so cliche and gross and he would get chirped to hell if his friends could read his mind, Amelie’s prettier.

He can’t help but take out his phone to take a picture of her back against the cotton candy sky. He always posts some sort of a summer dump on his Instagram. Maybe this picture will go in there.

day thirty two - amelie

“Who’s gonna be there again?”

“Honestly, who knows at this point?” Jack’s voice floods her ears through her airpods as she takes Susie on a walk and Jack’s driving back from who knows where.

“And this is tonight?”

“Yup. Because it’s someone’s birthday? Ethan’s, maybe?”

“Not Eddy,” she responds automatically. “His birthday’s in June.”

“I forget how close you two are.”

“To be fair, the only reason I remember is because he’s like, five days older than I am,” Amelie shushes Susie, who’s barking at a squirrel. “And you’re all gathering at some sort of sports bar at fucking Ann Arbor of all places to… celebrate? Reminisce?”

She can practically hear Jack’s pout. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she chides gently. “I, just, I’m just confused about-”

“Confused about what?”

“About why you’d want me there.”

“Why wouldn’t I want you there?” Jack says softly.

She swallows, playing with Susie’s leash. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Awesome,” she knows Jack’s smiling through the phone and she can’t help but smile as well, even though she feels a pit forming in her stomach. “I’m DDing because I lost a bet against Luke on the course yesterday, so you can go as hard as you’d like.” A rustle on his end of the phone. “I gotta go, but I’ll see you later?”

“What time are you coming?”

“Around 7:30?”

“Perfect.”

“See you soon.”

Amelie hears him pull up at 7:23 as she’s scrolling on her phone. A deep breath before opening the door and she doesn’t expect Jack to be walking up her steps.

“Oh,” she blinks. “Hi.”

Jack smiles up at her. “Hey.”

She looks beyond his shoulder and sees some movement in the backseat of the running car. “You didn’t have to step out.”

“Feels impolite just honking.” She lets him wrap her in a quick hug before she slips into the passenger seat. She turns around immediately to smile at Ethan, Luke and Dylan. “Hi boys. You sure none of you wanna take the front seat?”

“We are under strict orders from Jack that as long as you’re in the car, we will be banished to the back,” Luke snickers.

Jack blindly reaches back to smack his brother’s leg. “I’m already driving you losers. Don’t make me regret it.”

Luke gasps. “I’m not the one who lost the bet.” Another slap to the leg from Jack and another yelp from Luke.

Once they reach the bar and Jack somehow finds street parking, the boys pile out quickly and head to the bar. Her and Jack stray behind, and he locks the car before swinging an arm around her shoulder, sneaking a kiss to her temple.

She shouldn’t, but she leans into it. Leans into him. The bustling bar is coming into view and she’s getting nervous.

He pokes at her side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He offers her a skeptical look but lets it go. “You’ll know most of the people there. No need to be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” she lies.

He snorts, but doesn’t respond. He does pull her closer to his side though.

Immediately when they walk in and Amelie realizes she has been here before. Not many times, maybe only three or four, but enough for the environment itself to not be unfamiliar. She surveys the scene while letting Jack steer them both towards a corner where both people she knows and doesn’t know are gathering. The first person she makes eye contact with happens to be Carina Scholl, a girl she went to high school with. Because of course. This state is so damn small. Before she can spiral over it, Amelie’s quickly distracted by the sound of Mark Estapa’s voice.

And then it’s like a floodgate opens. Members of the Michigan Men’s hockey team, present and past, greet her, standing in a sort of messy line, almost like they’re queuing to hug her. It starts with Mark, then Rutger and Kienan and Luca. Then Mackie and Nolan, who she hasn’t seen in far too long and didn’t realize she missed until now.

She feels quite touched that they all seem so excited to see her, wrinkling her nose when Rutger pulls her ponytail lightly. When everyone calms down, Jack slides her favorite cider towards her. She smiles at him in thanks and he just winks before being pulled into a conversation about hockey that honestly has Amelie immediately tuning them out.

She ventures to familiar territory — a booth housing Ethan and Luke — and they happily let her slide between them, introducing her to the faces she doesn’t recognize as she politely nods. She does brighten up when one of the girls, Sarah, she notes, says she recognizes her from her photography. (“I was on the gymnastics team. My family might have one of your photos framed in the house.”).

Photography and Michigan. Those are topics Amelie can talk about.

After a bit, the boys slide out and she finds herself gravitating towards Sarah and two of her friends Amelie doesn’t know, content with sitting back and listening into their conversation, with some comments here and there. She spots two more girls she went to high school with — Shannon and Abby — and swallows roughly. She’s pulled back in the conversation with a call of her name from Madison.

“I saw that you came in with Jack Hughes,” Madison says. Immediately, Amelie wants this conversation to end. But Madison’s smile is curious, not malicious. “Are you two…you know?”

Amelie blinks, stomach suddenly dropping. “Are we…”

“Together,” Sarah finishes with a teasing eye roll. “I don’t know why you didn’t just say it, Maddy.”

“I didn’t want to be impolite!” Madison exclaims as Ellie, the third girl, laughs. “I mean, we just met. It’s none of my business, really.”

“We’re not,” Amelie says, softly but firmly, even though she wants to crawl under the table right now. “Friends through Luke, I guess. Found out my grandparents live by him and Quinn’s place just a few weeks ago.”

“You hadn’t met beforehand?”

“Nope.”

“Huh,” Ellie says. Amelie follows Ellie’s eyeline to where Jack is talking to Adam. With a High Noon in one hand, the other shoved into the pocket of his jeans and that stupid backwards cap on his head, Amelie can’t look away. “I wouldn’t have predicted that. It seems like you’ve known each other forever.”

Amelie laughs shakily. “He’s like that with everyone.”

The girls let it go, but Amelie can’t. Is it that obvious to people? Should it be? Is he like this with everyone? It wouldn’t surprise her if he was. Just because they’ve kissed, doesn’t mean she’s anything special.

After a bit, she excuses herself to go grab another drink. If Jack is also at the bar as she approaches, that’s just a coincidence.

It’s interesting. She simultaneously wants to be away from him, especially because it seems like “Main coverage teams: Rangers, Islanders, Flyers, Devils” is flashing through her mind at all times. But she also wants to be around him because he makes her feel at ease

She nods at Luca, who Jack was talking to, with a wry smile. “Luca.”

“Amelie,” he sings in the same tone. Amelie considers herself closer to the younger Fantilli, but Luca’s constant positive energy was always a welcome sight when she entered Yost. “You look beautiful.”

“That’s kind of you to say.”

“I feel like you’re about to yell at me for not answering the question again.”

“That was one time,” she says dryly. “Let it go.”

Jack looks between the two of them with interest. “Amelie being a strict TA? That doesn’t surprise me.”

“She wasn’t strict, perse,” Luca teases. “Just didn’t want to deal with our shit.”

“Because I dealt with it enough at the rink,” Amelie says. She brightens up momentarily when Jack shoves another cider in her hand. Without thinking, she presses a quick kiss on his cheek as a thank you. Luca, to his credit, just raises his eyebrows before Gavin beckons him elsewhere.

She pokes at Jack’s chest. “You trying to loosen me up? You didn’t have to buy me another.”

“I told you to go crazy, didn’t I?”

“I think I’ve spotted three people here who went to my high school.”

Jack just raises an eyebrow casually. “No shit. Did you say hi?”

Amelie snorts. “No.”

“Why not?”

She gives him a look and realizes he doesn’t understand. She doesn’t want to get into it. “I just don’t feel like it.”

“You sure?” He nods at something behind her and she turns around, making eye contact with Carina.

She turns back around to face Jack again. “I’m sure.”

(She’s not. She’s not sure about anything all of a sudden. It’s starting to feel like too much for her. But that’s not Jack’s problem to deal with)

“Okay,” he stops pushing. “Who should we tackle talking to next?”

“Didn’t know this was a team effort,” she teases lightly, the weight on her shoulders deflating by the second.

He readjusts his hair under his hat with a roguish grin. “Hey. I dragged you here. And these are mostly Luke’s friends. Of course we’re in this together.”

She rolls her eyes. Because he’s a liar. But she humors him, nodding over to a group consisting of Rutger, his girlfriend Kayleigh, Nolan, Mackie and Mark. “They seem safe.” Jack snorts, but obliges, letting her lead the way.

More time passes, and Amelie’s buzzed. Jack mutters in her ear that they’re probably gonna head out within the next 20 minutes or so, which she could’ve predicted, as their crowd is getting smaller and smaller. Adam already smacked a kiss on her cheek as a farewell. She figures she should probably go pee before the drive back.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, she walks out and pauses suddenly in her tracks. She watches a girl blatantly flirt with Jack, which is fine, it is. The frog she has in her throat isn’t anything. The prickling she feels in her spine is because of the heat, not because of the girl’s hand placed on his bicep. She can’t even let herself feel any sort of satisfaction when Jack casually shifts himself a bit away from her politely.

It suddenly all hits her in the face. It’s like the bubble she’s been living in for the last however many days has immediately popped.

Of course he’s being flirted with. This probably happens everytime he goes out. How could she be so stupid?

Jack’s never going to be anything more than a friend. He’s based out of New Jersey for most of the year — which, to be fair, Amelie might also be in a few months, which he still doesn’t know — and Amelie’s 99% sure it just wouldn’t work. They’re too…he’s him and she’s who she is and this isn’t how it all works.

Sure, she kissed him first. But she didn’t mean for it to go this far. And sure, he kissed her back. But he’s one of the biggest up and coming superstars in the league that she’s about to work for. To some degree, she knows how this is gonna end. She’s lived through it.

(Sometimes, she’s relieved that MLB never got back to her. The idea of having to photograph Cooper almost makes bile creep up her throat._

She has to stop this before it crashes at their feet.

Amelie takes a deep breath and straightens her shoulders, before making her way back to Jack. He looks towards her and brightens up, excusing himself from the girl before jumping off his stool with her jacket she asked him to hold while she went to the bathroom.

“Ready to go?” He mutters.

Amelie nods stiffly. “Where are the others?”

“I told them to wait by the car. Do you need to say goodbye to anybody else?”

She looks around. “No. I did my rounds before I went to the bathroom.” He hums and she follows him out of the bar. ignoring his outstretched hand.

(She misses the flash of hurt that passes by Jack’s eyes. But it’s gone as quickly as it came)

“Thanks again for coming with me,” Jack says, his voice suddenly sounding so loud contrasting with the quiet Ann Arbor air. “Really. I know it’s not your scene but I appreciate it anyways.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, hoping he doesn’t pick up on her sudden change of mood.

He does, furrowing his eyebrows. “Is everything alright?”

“Fine. Everything is fine.”

“You’re lying to me.”

She doesn’t quite snap back, but it’s close enough to it. “How would you know that?”

He blanches slightly, but they’re at the car. So he just wordlessly opens the door for her. She smiles softly at Ethan, who ruffles her hair from the back and snorts at Dylan and Luke, who are sleeping with their mouths wide open.

The drive goes by extremely quickly yet painfully slow at the same time. Amelie actively avoids eye contact with Jack, busying staring out her window and making mindless conversation with Ethan. If he feels the tension. he ignores it.

Jack pulls up to his place first, rolling his eyes as Luke, Dylan and Ethan clamber into the house. As soon as the door shuts, Jack turns to her. She reluctantly turns to him.

“Are you okay?” His eyes hold so much concern. It makes Amelie bite her lip. “And please be honest with me.”

“I’m fine, Jack,” she croaks out. She’s a bit tipsy. She’s very tired. Her resolve is crumbling fast. She feels like she’s running out of time. “I think I’m just overstimulated.”

“I’ll drive you home,” he says softly. He places a gentle kiss on her forehead and it takes everything in Amelie not to let her eyes tear up.

He’s barely backed out of his driveway when she can’t take it anymore. “Rangers, Islanders, Flyers, Devils.”

Silence. “What?” He says.

“Rangers, Islanders, Flyers, Devils,” she repeats, trying to keep her voice steady. “Those are the teams I’m covering.”

He parks in her grandparents’ driveway, killing the engine. “Did you just find this out today?”

She squeezes her eyes shut. “No. I’ve known since I got the official offer.”

The silence washes over her like the most destructive tidal wave. “You lied to me?” He whispers.

“I’m so-”

“Why did you lie to me?” He asks in a hurt voice.

“Jack-”

“Were you ever gonna tell me?” She snaps her mouth shut. That gives him his answer. He swallows roughly, running a hand through his hair. “So what? You were gonna just walk in during media day and pretend we haven’t met before?”

“That’s not fair,” she manages to get out.

“Pretend we haven’t kissed before?” Jack presses on.

That makes the fire in Amelie’s stomach flame. “We’ve known each other for like, a month, Jack. I don’t owe you anything.”

He scoffs. “You don’t think so?” She flinches at his harsh tone and he softens a bit with a sigh. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”

There’s plenty of reasons why. Many of which Amelie doesn’t want to say out loud. She settles for: “I mean, would it have mattered?” Her voice cracks. “You were always going to go back to Jersey and I was always gonna leave Michigan and whatever this was would’ve only lasted for so long.”

“Whatever this is?” Jack repeats, tilting his head back against the headrest in frustration. “So what? You thought that we’d go back to our regular lives and all of this would just…be forgotten?”

“I don’t know,” she says, frustrated.

“But you clearly thought about it.”

“Of course I did,” she squeezes her eyes shut. “Jack, you’re…you’re Jack Hughes. I don’t necessarily care about it like that but I know you have a franchise on your shoulders and you’re the best of the best and we met under weird coincidences and I’m glad we have, believe me, but this always had a timer on it.”

“What exactly is ‘this?’” The roughness in his voice has Amelie simultaneously feeling like she wants to cry and scream. Jack laughs humorlessly. “And it’s funny you bring up all that shit now, considering you never for once cared about who I was and all of that since the day we met.”

“I don’t care,” Amelie insists. “In fact, it’s probably the thing about you I care the least about, in the nicest way possible. But whether we both like it or not, it’s a huge part of who you are. And I don’t know if I…”

“If you?”

“If I have a place in your life when it comes to that.”

“Because of what I do? Because of my job?”

Amelie scoffs. “Stop trying to underplay what you do and the impact you have on the league, Jack. I may have just met you a month ago but I, in some way, work in the same fucking industry you do. I’m not stupid.”

“I know you’re not stupid,�� he rolls his eyes. “You’re probably one of the smartest people I’ve met in my life. I’m not trying to underplay anything. At the end of the day, hockey is just my job. LIke photography is yours. I don’t see how that has anything to do with us.”

“Well, maybe that’s exactly the problem.”

Jack huffs. “It’s my life. Shouldn’t I have a say in if I want you in it or not?”

And sure, Amelie thinks, Jack has a point, but so does she, even if she’s not explaining it well. She turns in her seat to fully face him and tries a different angle. Tries to get him to understand. “Have you thought about this at all? Like, sat down and really thought about what’s gonna happen when we both leave Michigan? Jack, you know I don’t want to come back unless I have to.”

“What does that have to do with us at all?”

“Jack,” she deadpans. “You love this place. You feel the most comfortable here, you told me that yourself. All I want to do is get out here and all you want to do is stay.” She deflates. “You really didn’t think about the future of any of this?”

“Yes! No. Maybe?” Jack raises his voice in frustration. “I just-I enjoyed, enjoy, spending time together. You kind of make me forget how to think when I’m around you in the best way possible. And I want to be around you all the time. Isn’t that enough?”

“I still don’t even know what we are! Friends? Friends who kiss sometimes? Dating? Hooking up because it’s convenient?”

He blanches. It’s the most hurt he’s looked this whole conversation. “Amelie-” he whispers.

“I know I’m being unfair, but please try to understand my reasoning,” she wipes her tears with the sleeve of her top. “I was already up for this job before I met you. And then I met you. And then I thought, oh, maybe I do care about where I end up. Wouldn’t that be nice and convenient? But we’ve known each other for a month. And I’m not gonna let someone I’ve only known for so long dictate the start of this really important moment for me.”

“I wouldn’t have ever asked you to do that,” Jack says meekly. “I know how important your career is to you.”

“And I believe that,” Amelie softens with a swallow. They’re not getting anywhere productive. “I-I’m sorry, Jack. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“But you did,” he says. He runs his hand roughly through his hair again. The curls are beginning to become very unruly. “Was this whole month just, I don’t know, were we not on the same page?”

“Maybe we weren’t,” she bites her quivering lip. “I like you, Jack. I do. But I can’t…I can’t do this. Us. Whatever this is.”

Silence, before his voice cracks. “Now or ever?”

“I don’t know,” she sniffles. “I’m sorry.” She cries, rubbing her eyes roughly with the palms of her hand. She knows this is all her fault. She knows this isn’t the only thing he kept from him. She knows that she’s been cautious telling him important things about herself this whole time, where he’s been nothing but fearless and honest. She knows she fucked up.

But she can’t say any of that out loud. He wouldn’t get it. And maybe she doesn’t really want him to. Isn’t ready for him to

She feels his hand on her cheek, which causes her to cry harder, her tears falling cascading onto his fingers. Through blurry vision, she can see him swallowing roughly. “Can I say one last thing?”

She can’t help but let out a weak laugh. “Sure.”

“A few weeks ago, you asked me if the top was a lonely place to be. And you know, it can be a lot,” he admits. Her heart aches at how vulnerable he’s being. “My brothers and teammates and friends understand mostly, but it’s not the same. Y-you’re the first person in a long time who's made me feel like it doesn’t have to be lonely.”

That causes Amelie to cry even harder. Every part of her is fighting her to fight for him. To keep groveling, even though it doesn’t even seem like he wants that, which is somehow even more heartbreaking. To fill in the gaps for him about why she can’t fully let go and let him in. But she can’t. “I-I’m sorry I lied to you. And I’m sorry it had to be this way,” she croaks out.

“Me too,” he says, backing away slightly. She misses his touch instantly. “I-I’ll give you some space and n-not contact you for awhile. Um, you have my number. When…if you ever wanna reach me, you know how to.”

Her heart splices in half completely. She’s the one who lied to him and he’s the one offering space. Amelie knows she’s selfish for asking her final question, but she does it anyways. “And you’d pick up?”

Jack laughs with a watery smile, “Every time.”

It takes all her willpower to not kiss him one last time. She unbuckles her seatbelt and rushes into her grandparents house. She closes the front door and leans her back on it, sliding down and muffles her cries into her hand.

day thirty three - jack

Everything hurts.

That’s the first thing Jack thinks when his eyes blearily open with the sun. His eyes hurt from crying too many freaking times the last few days. His ribs hurt from where Luke checked him into the boards yesterday. It wasn’t even a particularly hard hit, but Jack’s head was anywhere but the ice and he didn’t see it coming until it was too late.

And his heart just…hurts.

Luckily, they have the day off today so he can sulk without feeling too guilty. Maybe he’ll take the boat out into the water by himself and just lay there. He hears some voices downstairs and squeezes his eyes shut to try and decipher them. Quinn, Luke, Dylan and Ethan. The latter two obviously don’t know him as well, but Jack knows them well enough that they’d probably actually be really nice about Jack’s situation. Especially because Ethan’s close to…yeah.

Jack launches himself out of bed, quickly brushes his teeth and splashes some water in his face before stumbling downstairs, his pace faster once he smells a fresh pot of coffee.

“Mornin’” Jack croaks out, nodding at Dylan and Ethan who are sitting around the island with Quinn, who just slaps his shoulder in greeting. Luke wordlessly pours out a mug for him and Jack smiles at him gratefully.

“You look like shit,” Luke says bluntly. Jack would face wash him for that if he had the energy. And if he was wrong.

“Luke.” Quinn chastises.

Jack waves his older brother off. “It’s fine. He’s right.” His eye catches the sight of an envelope at the end of the table. “What’s that?”

It’s silent for a few seconds too long until Ethan clears his throat. “Uh, Amelie said she developed the shots for her film camera. Dropped some by that she said you guys might want.”

Jack swallows with a curt nod, chugging the whole cup of coffee in one go. He nods at Luke to pour him more.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Quinn asks tentatively.

Immediately, Jack wants to shoot that down. But then he looks up, and he sees all four of them looking at him with varying degrees of worry in their eyes. Jack shoves down the instinct to avoid — like he’s been doing the last few days. “I don’t even know where to start.” He whispers.

“Anywhere that makes sense to you.” Quinn suggests, because Quinn’s always been the one who directs. Who guides.

So Jack lets it all out. He talks about how he purposefully didn’t want to cling to her all night because he didn’t want to come off that way but how he couldn’t take his eyes off her no matter where she was in the room. He talks about how beautiful she looked (“I mean, you guys aren’t stupid. That top with her eyes? Lethal combo.”) and how he had a moment where he felt like all was right in the world. He talks about that subtle shift in her mood after he lost her for a bit and how quiet she was in the car ride home.

That’s the easy part.

Jack inhales a muffin from a box that someone must’ve gotten this morning from the local bakery before continuing to recall him and Amelie’s conversation in the car after he dropped off everyone. When he drops the revelation that Amelie’s actually going to be around the Tri-State area covering the Rangers, Islanders, Flyers and the fucking Devils, all four of them look shocked, but don’t say anything. He talks about how his initial reaction was that he was hurt that she hadn’t told him because he thought that they had something going on between them. He talks about how he felt like the conversation escalated so quickly but also calmly because Amelie doesn’t raise her voice and Jack is not a yeller and how it almost would’ve been easier had they been screaming at each other. He talks about how he can’t really remember when Amelie started crying but how he can remember how he felt his stomach dropping to his feet when she did. He can barely remember how they fucking got there in the first place.

Jack sniffles, hastily wiping his tears away before they can fully fall. “All I know is that I fucking made her cry and whatever we had is probably ruined, which is extremely fucking convenient considering I’m gonna be seeing her around during the season.”

“It’s not ruined,” Ethan speaks up after a few seconds of silence.

Jack snorts. “No offense, man, But how would you know that for sure?”

“I know you two have gotten close in the last month or so, but besides that, I would argue that out of everyone here, I’m the closest with her.” And Jack swallows, because shit, Ethan has a point. Ethan continues. “Despite her lying to you and everything falling to pieces, it’s not ruined. Amelie isn’t like that. You have to really fuck up for her to cut you out.”

And like, yeah, Jack knows that, to a degree. But, “I don’t think she’s ever gonna wanna see me again.”

“Well, did you say anything that was particularly horrible?” Luke asks.

Jack swallows. “No? Maybe I was snappy at some points, but I don’t think so”

“I mean, it’s fair,” Quinn says. “Even though it’s harsh, you were right to be mad about her lying to you.”

“Did I give off that impression that she couldn’t talk to me? Like yeah, we practically just met, but I feel like, I don’t know. I just don’t really get why she’d hide that from me.”

“I might have an idea,” the guys turn to Ethan as he swallows and debates something in his own head. “Uh, this is random, but hear me out. Did she ever tell you about her ex?”

“Which one?” Jack asks.

“Cooper Volt. Baseball player at Michigan. Drafted to the Mets, I think.”

“A bit but not much. Why?”

“Look, I’m not trying to, like, spill her secrets or anything. I think it just might put things in context.” Jack nods and Ethan sighs. “So basically, she was dating him, right? Pretty serious. Lasted for a little over a year. Anyways. I don’t know the details, but I know that the break-up wasn’t pretty. Or, I just assume it wasn’t, because I only found out they broke up after I saw Cooper with another girl on his arm and was confused and literally asked Amelie about it. Apparently, it had only been two weeks since they broke up and he had already gone out and found someone else?”

“What an asshole,” Dylan says, his first verbal participation in the conversation. He’s been munching on cheerios, intensely listening. Quinn’s eyebrows are furrowed in a way that only appears when he’s concerned or really pissed off and Jack’s kinda fuming that someone put her through that.

“Right? Yeah, so that’s that. And typical Amelie, you know, said she was fine and I knew that she had her own friends checking up on her.” Jack’s nodding, following on to his every word, even if a bit confused on where Ethan is going with this. “Okay. So, this is, our sophomore year, so her junior year. The seniors are hosting a party and we convince her to come for once. You know how those parties go. They get big. People are filtering in and out. I just remember coming to the kitchen to refill my drink and seeing Amelie looking so fucking dejected as Cooper and his new girl are talking to her.”

“Did you hear what they said?” Luke asks.

“No, but I didn’t need to, not with that look in her eye,” Ethan scoffed. “I caught the tail-end of their conversation though, which, like, I don’t even wanna repeat, but it was basically Cooper just saying shit about how he never liked her anyways and he took a shot at her being bi? I don’t think I remember it quite accurately to be honest because the second I heard him say that shit I just saw red.”

“He threw the fact that she’s bi to her face?” Jack asks sharply. He’s trying his best not to throw his cup at the wall.

“Something like it,” Ethan says. “Yeah, I know. Absolute piece of shit. I kicked him and their friends out of the party, because, like, there was no fucking way they were staying.”

“How did I not know about this?” Luke asks. “I’m pretty sure I was at that party.”

“You were. If they had refused to leave or whatever or put up more of a fight, I would’ve gotten backup. But they didn’t. And you know Amelie. She begged me not to make a big deal out of it. So I just kept an eye on her for the rest of the night.”

“That’s so shitty,” Quinn says softly. “Putting that against her. With his new girlfriend there too.”

“Yeah, but…anyways. The point is, a week or so after that I kinda caught her after a game or something and I drove her back to her place and she kinda exploded. Went on a whole rant about athletes and sports culture from what she’s observed and all that, which I’m not saying isn’t true, but basically, I think the situation with Cooper was kind of the nail on the coffin.”

“That what?” Luke asks. “All athletes suck?”

Ethan clears his throat. “I think getting fucked over by Cooper, and then meeting Jack and realizing she has feelings for him then thinking back to the last time this happened and how it ended…can you blame her for being a bit scared?”

“She should’ve told me she was covering the Devils when she found out where she was gonna be placed.” Jack says firmly, and he stands by it.

“Probably,” Quinn agrees. “But Jacky, think about it. Even just some of the guys we’ve played with. Not saying they’re all assholes like this guy…it’s just, even if it’s unfair she might place you in the same category, that might be how she feels.”

“She should’ve told me,” Jack repeats. He squeezes his eyes in frustration.

“But did you tell her you were serious about her?” Luke says. Immediately, Jack wants to snap back at his younger brother, because he’s a pest and who is he to doubt Jack about his own fucking relationship, or lack thereof. But then, Jack realizes and a whole new pit appears in his stomach.

“She kept interrupting me,” he whispers. As he puts his head in his hands, he misses the sympathetic looks the other guys exchange. “Fuck. I never-I should’ve been clearer.”

“Jack-”

“I should’ve made that clear from the start,,” Jack says as Luke immediately shuts his mouth. “She had to have known. She had to.” Jack swallows roughly. He’s not the smartest, but he knows now. She didn’t know. And he never clarified what she meant to him.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Ethan says softly. Jack just waves his apology away. This is all on him. He excuses himself, putting his dish and mug in the sink.

“We’re heading out on the water later. You should come,” Quinn gently urges. Jack just nods, before clamoring up the stairs to take a shower or do something, anything to get rid of the feeling in his stomach.

The feeling that he’s fucked it all up.

day fifty six - amelie

Amelie’s at the Prudential Center by 6:30 a.m. The players start rolling in just after 8, while she’s finishing up helping to set up equipment and lighting. She has two cameras on either shoulder and one hanging by her neck and she has a headband in her hair and she feels happy. She feels at home.

She gets introduced to the guys that she’s been researching for a month now. All of them are pleasant and patient. She does let out a genuine smile when Luke reaches out for a hug in greeting. What happened between her and Jack has nothing to do with him, and she hopes he knows that as she gives him an extra squeeze before pulling away.

When she introduces herself to the captain, she swears there’s a spark of recognition that flashes through Nico’s eyes, but it leaves just as quick as it came. Within their first few minutes of conversation, she concludes that Nico is almost unfairly kind. No wonder Jack loves him.

It’s 10:19 a.m., and she still hasn’t seen Jack yet. She knows he’s scheduled in for his on-ice media shots sometime in the late morning. She purposefully didn’t grab herself a second cup of coffee after finishing her first one. She can’t be shaking when she’s trying to get pictures of him.

Jack comes in and shakes everyone’s hand. He just waves at her with a polite smile and she waves back, her stomach dropping. They can play it off as Amelie being across the ice and too far, but in reality, she’s not sure if she would try to fake a handshake and pretend they’ve never met, hug him and never let go, or do something incredibly fucking stupid like kiss him.

He looks so handsome. He must’ve cut his hair recently, in a shorter style that makes him so carefree and young.

His stuff takes around 20 minutes, and she doesn’t really have to talk to him, instead just taking direction from Mira, head photographer / videographer.

He’s not directly interacting with her, but she feels her stomach swirling and her palms sweat, causing the camera to almost slip out of her grasp multiple times. She wants to smile at the comfort he brings her just from being near him and wants to cry at how they left things in her grandparents’ driveway. At how bad she still feels for lying to him. At how much she’s missed him, as pathetic as it sounds.

It’s neither of their faults that things fell to pieces the way they did. But now, as she snaps a silhouette shot of Jack, she’s deathly afraid that this is just what it’s gonna be.

Jack’s the last one before lunch, so while everyone is taking their lunch break, Amelie takes a few moments to head to an empty room. She braces her hands on a table and takes three deep breaths. Her heart is beating fast. Her mind is starting to get away from her. She needs to focus. She cannot fall apart at work.

“Amelie?” She whips around to see Jack, dressed back in his Devils hoodie and shorts, looking at her in concern.

She wipes her sweaty hands on her jeans. “Jack. Hey. Can I help you with something?”

“No,” Jack shuffles into the room. “I just heard your sighs. I- I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

It feels like she has molasses in her throat, but she manages to respond. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Okay. Good.”

He’s about to walk out of the room but her brain thinks before her mouth. “Jack!” He turns back around and she takes a breath.

“Yeah?” His face is unreadable.

She forces herself to keep eye contact. “Would you wanna maybe grab dinner or something?”

Jack blinks. Amelie wonders if he’s ever been rendered speechless. His voice doesn’t give anything away either. “Like, on a date?” She nods. Her stomach is dropping and she feels shame cripple up her spine until-”

“Yes.”

Her stomach drops, but for an entire different reason. “Really?” She asks in a small voice

“Of course,” His eyes glow and the light smirk on his face doesn’t feel arrogant. It feels light. Fond, even. “That sounds..perfect.”

“Oh, okay.” She whispers and her throat closes up as he steps closer.

“I’ll text you?”

“I’ll text you.”

He smiles brightly, and she can’t help but smile back. She’s missed that smile so much. “Okay,” he whispers. “I can’t wait.”

“Thank you,” she croaks out. “I’m sorry about…well. I’m sorry.”

Jack chuckles, and it makes her heart feel a bit lighter. He gingerly grabs both her hands, looking right into her eyes as he brings them up to his lips and kisses them softly. She bites her lip, overwhelmed. “Nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “Promise.”

“Jack,” she whispers.

He walks backwards shyly, but his eyes stay on hers stubbornly. “You know, with you, it’s always gonna be a yes.”

“Jack.”

He just winks. Amelie’s breath hitches. “I’ll see you later, Amelie.”

She smiles as he walks out of her sight.

~*~*~

tag list (lmk if you wanna be a part of it!): @ru-kru

#k writes #hockey fanfic #hockey writing #hockey fic #nhl #nhl writing #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #hockey blurb #nhl blurb #jack hughes x oc #jack hughes x ofc #jack hughes #new jersey devils #luke hughes #reckless driving au

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trevuorzegras · 9 months ago

Text

━╋ MY RIGHT TO BE HELLISH, part two

jealous by nick jonas

summary: In which Quinn Hughes has been liking some very interesting comments, and post’s recently regarding actress y/n y/l/n. (part 2/4)

pairings: quinn hughes x actress!reader

platonic!jack hughes x reader. social media au

faceclaim: dove cameron

prev part

next part

y/nfanpage

y/nfanpage: y/n in her most recent photoshoot! my girl looks good in purple! #y/n @yourusername

liked by _quinnhughes, username, and others

user1: am i the only one seeing quinn in the likes?

↳ user2: i thought i was tweakin 😭

↳ user1: you most definitely are not user2

_quinnhughes: oh wow.

*this comment has been deleted*

user3: was that a fanpage or actually quinn? i couldn’t tell, it was deleted too fast

↳ user4: pretty sure it was a fanpage! (:

↳ user3: oh okay thank you! user4

user5: she looks so good??

user6: yourusername

user7: why do you guys care about this puck bunny anyways??

↳ user8: in order to BE a PUCK BUNNY she would have to have slept with more than one hockey player, which she hasn’t done. you people call anyone a puck bunny. move along.

liked by _quinnhughes

user9: the way he liked the comment defending her 😭😭😭😭 i am ILL

↳ user10: my PARENTS

yourusername

yourusername: been so super sick recently, so here’s a camera roll dump of my past few days 🫶🏼

liked by _quinnhughes, kyliejenner, and others

user11: the way she’s still beautiful when she’s sick is actually beyond me

liked by _quinnhughes

user12: how are you angel?

↳ yourusername: im quite alright! been in bed feeling icky the past few days, but i’m alright. how are you sweetheart?

↳ user12: OMG you responded!! im okay, i hope you feel better!! yourusername

njdevils: feel better y/l/n 🫶🏼

canucks: sending you virtual hugs!

user13: canucks & devils being here 😭😭

trevorzegras: jackhughes lhughes_06 is this her???

↳ lhughes_06: now why the HELL would you comment. 💀

user14: wait if trevor is here.. someone talks to him about y/n. who is it. fess up NOW

↳ user15: gotta be one of the hughes’ right???

↳ user16: that’s the only thing that makes sense i think cause no one else has commented user15

user17: my bets on quinn yappin about her, especially after everything he has been liking 🤷‍♀️

liked by trevorzegras, lhughes_06, jackhughes, and others.

user18: that liked comment answer all our questions LMFAOO 💀💀

_quinnhughes: feel better 🖤

↳ yourusername: thank you quinn (:

jackhughes added to their story!

story replies.

_quinnhughes: ??

_quinnhughes: what the hell jack

lhughes_06: oh so THIS is why quinn just called me and went on a thirty minute rant. got it!

yourusername has added to their story!

story replies.

_quinnhughes: fun.

_quinnhughes: if you needed company, should’ve just asked.

jackhughes: oh he’s mad mad

lhughes_06: WHAT IS HAPPENING

next part

sorry this is so short but, part two! i’m actually enjoying this book so far. we’ll see how it turns out. don’t be afraid to send requests!

check out my navigation, here!

check out my nhl masterlist, here!

taglist | @literatureluster @wnderify

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bqstqnbruin · 4 months ago

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Jack Hughes Teacher AU

hehe

Teacher AU Series

Warnings: implied sex, drinking

WC: 794

_____________

“What about him?” Heather points across the bar to a guy skulking in the corner, very similar to what Viv was doing in that moment.

“What about him?” Viv repeats, a little more snark in her tone than her friend had initially given her.

Heather sighs, taking Viv’s wrist and dragging her toward the mystery man. “He’s cute, he’s not talking to anyone, and you need to get laid.”

Viv scoffs, trying to break free from her friend only to fail. “I do not.”

“You haven’t done more than text a boy since Justin,” Heather points out, the mention of Viv’s ex causing her to visibly flinch. “I’m sorry, but you always use the excuse that your school year stops you from doing anything with anyone, and you haven’t started the year yet.”

“I start on Monday.”

“You start your in-service on Monday,” Heather corrects, “Which, yes, I understand, means you have a lot of work to do because you’re only let into your classroom a week before the school year starts, but, I can in theory come help you set up if you need me.” Viv stares at her a little longer, trying to telepathically tell her friend that she wanted to go home, not talk to some guy who also clearly didn’t want to be in the bar.

Her attempt at mind control fails as Heather continues to bring her through the bar. “My friend thinks you’re cute,” she tells the mystery man, shoving Heather towards him and spilling her drink down her hand before disappearing back into the crowd.

“I’m so sorry,” Viv spits out, a mortified look on both their faces.

“You don’t actually think I’m cute?” he asks, a smile on his face.

Viv lets out a laugh that matches his. “I do, I’m just sorry about my friend being so blunt.” The guy nods, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “I’m Viv, by the way.”

“Jack.”

They start talking to each other, slowly getting closer to each other as the night goes on.

“What do you do?” he eventually asks, Viv explaining that she’s been a teacher for a couple of years now, starting the new year on Monday. “Me, too.”

“You’re a teacher?”

“I will be.”

Viv laughs, noticing the stress on his face. “You’re scared.”

Jack lets out a long breath. “Yeah. I’m going to be horrible at it.”

Viv shrugs. “No teacher is great their first year.”

The night goes on, Viv wanting to keep talking to him, hopefully do something more despite the fact that it would give Heather the satisfaction of knowing that Viv listened to her for once.

“Hey, are you heading out?” Heather comes up behind her, scaring both her and Jack.

“I think we’re going to,” Viv tells her friend, both of them trying to hide the squeals they wanted to let out as Jack’s hands found their way around Viv’s waist.

Viv tried not to think too much about her night with Jack, especially because she never got his number and didn’t know his last name to try to find him on social media. Not that she had it, so her students wouldn’t be able to find her, but in cases like this, she wishes she did. She could ask Heather, but that would lead to some very detailed conversations about her night that she didn’t want to share with anyone but him.

Viv walked into her classroom, the fresh wax on her floors, the whiteboard actually clean for once, the pencil marks from the notes she wrote directly on her desk gone. The tables were clean, even if they were out of place and needed to be moved around, her counters were clean, and her walls ready to be decorated with everything she had to take back down at the end of the year.

She gets to work, knowing she had about an hour before her meetings were going to start, connecting her phone to her speakers and playing her playlist while she climbed up on the counters to start hanging things up. She loved her classroom, but only once it felt like her classroom, with everything back in its place for her students to see when they came in next week.

“Hey, sorry,” she gets interrupted, the voice she hears nearly knocking her off the counter. “I’m the new history teacher in the next room-”

“Jack?” she asks, the color draining from her face to see her hook up that she didn’t want to admit to herself that she still wanted to see, standing there in her doorway looking just as good to her while she was sober compared to when she was drunk like the other night.

“You teach here?”

“Yeah.”

“In this classroom?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Fuck.”

#jack hughes #jack hughes fic #jack hughes au #nhl #nhl fic #nhl au #hockey #hockey fic #hockey au #new jersey devils #new jersey devils au #new jersey devils fic #devils #devils fic #devils au

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lovecla · 1 month ago

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TEACH ME (HOW TO MAKE HIM COME) | jack hughes.

୨୧ ‧₊˚ pair: jack hughes x fmc (sarah, lili hamann face claim)

୨୧ ‧₊˚ word count: 14.9k

୨୧ ‧₊˚ synopsis: in order to make her university crush like her, sarah zegras needs to learn a thing or two (or more) about how to please a guy. thankfully, her brother’s best friend is the best teacher she could ever ask for.

୨୧ ‧₊˚ what to expect: porn with a little bit of plot because duh, best friend’s sister, nsfw, friends-to-lovers, rushed pacing, jack fell first and harder, reader is trevor zegras’ sister, fuckboy jack, kinda shy reader.

— author’s note: for all my girlies who once had a crush on their brother’s best friend too.

nhl masterlist.

— theme song: kiss land by the weeknd.

main female character:

Sarah Zegras

— “sign my petition to abolish mint chocolate chip ice cream forever”.

— world’s biggest rambler ever!!

— >>very<< persuasive.

— summer girlie through and through.

— marketing student.

chapters.

i | one

ii | two

iii | three

iv | four

v | five

#TM(HTMHC)#jack hughes #jack hughes x you #jack hughes x oc #jack hughes au #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes smut #jack hughes insta edit #jack hughes x sister!reader #kinktober #jh86 #new jersey devils x you #new jersey devils #new jersey devils fic #hockey fic #hockey smut

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leaentries · 11 months ago

Text

The Captain’s Girl

♡. fics!

↳ i want you to give in

↳ sauna (nsfw)

↳ claim (nsfw)

↳ don’t worry, i’m here

↳ shield

↳ absence and tension (nsfw)

↳ out of line

↳ riding high (nsfw)

↳ let them eat cake (nsfw)

↳ addictive (in progress)

↳ surprise (in progress)

♡. blurbs!

↳ late nights

↳ pretty girl (nsfw)

↳ pretty girl | part two (nsfw)

♡. anon thoughts!

↳ why does she have nightmares?

↳ her thoughts on nico’s hands

↳ jack & mrs.cap

↳ do they argue?

↳ are they kinky?

♡. extras!

↳ social media posts 1

♡. author’s note!

↳ welcome to my first interactive series/au! this is a full compilation of fics featuring nico hischier and his girl!

↳ please do not hesitate to send in any thoughts, asks, or requests between them! i love to hear from yall!

↳ this au DOES include 18+ content, so please be aware of what you’re reading. with that being said, there are pretty much no rules or limits (be smart) when it comes to thoughts or requests! if i do not feel comfortable answering, then it will simply be deleted or i will talk about why it was removed.

↳ i hope you all will enjoy reading about the captain and his girl as much as i enjoy writing them!

#the captain’s girl au!#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier smut #nico hischier angst #jack hughes #luke hughes #dawson mercer #njd #new jersey devils #leawrites💋

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verycoolusername1 · 3 months ago

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Angel Boy

Summary: In which Luke gets a partner to call his own, making him your angel boy.

Social Media AU(fc is Olivia Rodrigo) - Luke Hughes x Singer!reader

Genre: Fluff

Warning: hate comments(they get cleared tho ofc), swearing,

A/N: I love Luke, and I love Olivia(and Louis, loved him since Enola Holmes). And yes, I did make a cameo in this fic cause why not??

And I made y/n friends with artists I like so enjoy their cameos too. And the podcast I wrote in here is not real(I wish it was) and James does not exist either, Amelia and James are lovely tho I have you know

And for the sake of this fic imagine that Louis is Luke in the photos that goes along with this please!

Also... IT'S LUKE BIRTHDAY SO YOU KNOW I HAD TO DO SOMETHING

Yourusername just posted!

Liked by conangray, verycoolusername1, and 12,854,876 others...

Yourusername: Life lately

Tagged: conangray

Comments

Conangray: Are those my glasses??

Yourusername: @/conangray I have no idea what you mean 😁

Username1: AHHH Y/N REMEMBERED THEIR PASSWORD GUYS!!

Username2: WE WANT NEW MUSICCCC

Username3: Y/N AND CONAN'S FRIENDSHIP>>>>

Tatemcrae: my favorite girl <3

Yourusername: @/tatemcrae my favorite gal <3

Username4: WE GOT TATE AND Y/N CONTENT BEFORE GTA 6 😭 (liked by yourusername)

Username5: Y/n looking as wonderful as ever!!

Laufey: missing you more than ever now 😞

Yourusername: @/laufey I'll visit you soon promise!

Billieeilish: AHHHHH WHY ARE YOU SO HOT 🔥 🥵 😍 😫 😩 😳

Yourusername: @/billieeilish: YOU THINK I'M HOT?? 😍

In real life

"Hello everyone, and welcome back to My Life is a mess podcast, I am your host, Amelia. And today we have a special guest. We have the lovely and talented Y/N Y/L/N." Amelia introduced.

"Hi guys." You spoke into the microphone.

"I wanted to be the first to say welcome back to the podcast. I missed you tons!" Amelia told you.

"I missed you too." You smiled at her. "It's great to be back."

"So, Y/N, I heard that you're a hockey fan, and you're a fan of the New Jersey Devils. And you know I was just wondering who your favorite player was." Amelia wondered.

"Favorite player? Oh gosh!" You chuckled. "Uh, I would have to say um number forty-three, Luke Hughes. We're close in age, and he's good, really good. I think if I ever met him, I would embarrass myself."

Amelia laughed at your words. "You embarrass yourself? There's no way!"

You shook your head as you laughed. "Anyways, yeah, Luke Hughes is my favorite, and all his haters can just leave at this point."

"I have never heard more truer words." Amelia agreed. "Is there anything you wanna say to Luke if he's listening or watching this?"

You scratched your neck as you came up with a reply. "Uh, hm, I'm single? And I would love to write a song about you if I'm given the chance. A happy song not sad, I could never do that."

"Why did that come out as a question?" Amelia busted out into laughter. "Oh and yeah I'm single? I think."

You joined her in the laugher. "I didn't know what to say!"

3 days later...

Luke was just about to get on the ice before he was stopped to do a tiktok.

James, the interviewer looked at him. "What music do you listen to in your spare time?"

"Oh uh recently I've been listening to uh Y/N Y/L/N." Luke answers.

"Y/N Y/L/N? now that is definitely a shocker coming from you." James eyes widened in shock.

"I mean what can I say? Their voice is soothing and just perfect in contrast to what their lyrics are in their songs." Luke chuckles.

"How do you feel if they wrote a song about you?" James asked.

"Uh I would definitely feel great if it wasn't a sad song, can't be crying to a sad song about me you know." Luke shrugged.

"Yeah I see what you mean." James agreed. "Now get on the ice, you're done with this today."

Comments

Username6: Luke listening to Y/N Y/L/N is definitely a shocker from my little country boy

Username13: @/username6 little?? THAT MAN IS HUGE

Username7: Pushing the Luke and Y/N agenda to a 100

Username8: Hey so um this is actually crazy!

Username9: ONLY THREE DAYS AFTER THE PODCAST HE'S LIKE RETURNING THE FAVOR

Username10: If they don't date I'm gonna riot

Username11: Y/N changed him and they haven't even met yet 😭

Username12: Luke Hughes turning into a pop girlie was not on my 2024 bingo card

Username14: @/username12 I don't think it was on anyone's 😭

Username15: Y/N is gonna freak when they see this

Username16: @/username15 oh for sure lmaooo

2 months later...

Gossippage101 just posted!

Liked by ynfan101, thatshouldbeme, and 145,763 others...

Gossippage101: Singer Y/N seen out recently with their mysterious man... could we see a love album come out of this?? 👀👀👀

Comments

Username17: dare I say that's Luke Hughes?

Username18: @/username17 WAIT NO YOU MIGHT BE ON TO SOMETHING

Username19: @/username17 FROM THE PODCAST TO THE INTERVIEW THIS CANNOT JUST BE A ONE TIME THING

Username20: Already with a new man? Haven't even been a year. 😒

Username21: @/username20 Yeah, and Luke hughes? He stooped so low. He could do so SO much better.

Username22: they seem like a weird fit but if they're both happy then...

Username23: @/username22 who cares if they're happy yn is going to break Luke's heart and make him the villain like they always do with their albums

Username24: @/username23 I know damn well you ain't talking, Y/N doesn't sing about their exes all the time so just shut your mouth cause you'll never be as successful as them or Luke for that matter

Username25: @/username24 WHAT'S THE SQUARE ROOT OF 64 CAUSE YOU ATE AND LEFT NO CRUMBSSS

username24: @/username25 thanks queen <3

7 months later...

Yourusername just posted!

Liked by: lhughes_06, junialin, and 11,478,952 others...

Yourusername: Game day!!

Comments

Tatemcrae: FIRSTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Yourusername: @/tatemcrae you were literally here with me you hockey nerd

Username26: IS ANYONE GONNA TALK ABOUT LUKE HUGHES BEING IN THE LIKES?!???

Username27: @/username26 OR HOW THE HUGHES BROTHERS FOLLOW THEM NOW

Username28: it's y/n's world we're just living in it

Username29: MORE YN AND TATE CONTENT!!

Username30: I absolutely live for their friendship

Trevorzegras: the devils<<<<the ducks

Yourusername: @/trevorzegras I hate you

Username31: Y/N AND TATE CONTENT Y/N AND TATE CONTENTTTTTT

Two weeks later...

lhughes_06 just posted!

Liked by: yourusername, _quinnhughes, and 564,437 others...

lhughes_06: What's nine plus ten? 21 😝

Comments

Yourusername: Welcome to the club, angel boy!!!! ❤️🖤 (liked by lhughes_06)

Verycoolusername1: Ik luke would never say this but I saw the opportunity and took it

Jackhughes: He's growing up 🥲

lhughes_06: @/jackhughes Can't stop, won't stop 🙂

Nicohischier: happy birthday :] (liked by lhughes_06)

Trevorzegras: well someone's getting old 🤣

Lhughes_06: @/trevorzegras Haha.

Edwards.73: Welcome to the club! (Liked by lhughes_06)

lhughes_06: @/edwards.73 we need to hang out soon!!

Comments on this post are limited.

3 months later...

Yourusername posted on their story!

Vera - To be continued???

#luke hughes #nhl #nhl imagine #jack hughes #new jersey devils #nhl hockey #nhl players #nico hischier #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes fic #luke hughes fanfiction #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes oneshot #luke hughes x reader #social media au #singer!reader #lh43 #njd #nj devils

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qrrieterisunnq · 3 months ago

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Devils vs Canucks - Nico Hischier

nico!hischier x ainsley!hughes SUMMARY: Ainsley meets Nico for the first time at the game Canucks play against the Devils. WARNINGS: none WORD COUNT: 1,8K AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know this took a little too long but we're finally there! I finally finished the second part! I hope you will like it! It's probably not the best fic I wrote but I think it's great after my block! PART OF THE SWISS LOVE CHARM AU

the swiss love charm au

The sound of the horn sounds through The Rock signaling the end of the second intermission for the Devils vs Canucks game. The score is tied 3:3, with two Devils goals and one for canucks in the second period. Both the Devils and Canucks make their way down the tunnel to their locker rooms as they breath heavy and talk about the game.

“Thank you so much for the interview, Quinn!” the reporter says with a wide smile as she checks Quinn from head to toe.

“Yeah me too.” He coughs and moves from the camera right into his sister's side, who looks at him with amusement written all over her face.

“She was so flirting with you Quinny!” Ainsley giggles as they make their way down the tunnel to the canucks locker room.

“No, she wasn’t. You’re just seeing things.” Quinn shook his head, but he knew his twin was right. He saw the reporter's look and felt her burning gaze on him, but she was not his type. She has too much makeup on her face to his liking and doesn’t look like a wifey type.

“Sure buddy, whatever makes you sleep better at night.” She nudges him with a playful grin.

“Yeah, whatever.” He says with a grin nudging her back, causing her to stumble slightly.

“Okay, guys! Listen up!” coach Tocchet’s voice sounds through the locker room when Quinn and Ainsley enter. “You’re doing amazing! Demko, you made a lot of important saves so, good job. We’re moving to plan B –attacking more than in the first two periods.”

Coach speaks for more minutes, while Ainsley takes pictures of the guys on her phone so she can post them lately on the team's Instagram.

She closely listens to what Coach Tocchet and the boys have to say while she texts Elen asking how Freya is doing. Elen and Jim are looking after Freya in the family longue watching her uncles play a first game against each other.

“How’s she doing?” Elias nudges her leg with his stick, grinning up at her. She smacks his head before a wide smile forms on her full lips.

“Oh she’s enjoying so much, says that ‘Uncle Petey is rocking it’ and that she wants to kiss him for the goal,” Ainsley rolls her eyes at him when she sees the grin on his lips. “And that she can’t wait to see Quinny, Lulu, and Jacky.” She giggles when she looks at Quinn who’s grinning ear to ear.

“Oh, I can’t wait to see the little pumpkin too, even though I see her almost every day.” He smiles wiping away the drops of sweat on his forehead.

The buzzer sounds through the arena announcing the beginning of the third period, with all three of Hughe’s brothers on the ice. The last intermission was aggressive from both teams. Five penalties were called in the first eight minutes, two from the Devils and three from canucks. In the tenth minute, the Devils scored a goal getting them in a lead but not for a long time. Two minutes later Canucks answered with a beautiful goal scored by Miller.

The next six minutes were spent skating across the ice with no goal or penalties, only a few attempts at scoring a goal. There are ticking last seconds on the clock with the score tied 4:4, leading the game in over time.

That is until Nico gets a puck and elegantly skates through the Canucks defense getting an amazing chance to score. All eyes are on him, even Ainsley’s who’s watching him while holding her breath as he swings his stick, hitting the puck and sending it straight into the net. The buzz sound comes a second after the puck hits the back of the net.

Jack, Jesper, Luke, and Timo skate towards Nico, wide grins on their lips as they jump on him patting his hands and cheering, just like the other who are slamming their sticks against the boards.

“Nico the Captain!” Timo yells shaking, Nico’s shoulder almost knocking him on the ground.

“Fucking yes! Captain!” Jack and Luke shout at the same time, as they skate toward the center of the ice, to make a last face-off.

“Okay! Calm down, boys. We still have a second of the game,” he grins at them, but his hands shake with excitement and adrenaline, too.

On the way to his spot, his eyes roam the arena with a big smile on his lips, his eyes linger on the Canucks bench for a little longer eyeing one person standing in the corner and filming the canucks guys on the bench.

“Uncles!” a high-pitched voice sounds through the hall where the hughes siblings are already waiting for their parents and the little two-year-old girl to reach them.

“Oh, pumpkin!” Jack shrieks, running to the little girl who laughs so hard that Ainsley is worried about her falling as she runs towards her uncle.

“Uncle Bear!” she giggles as soon as Jack reaches her, pulling her in a tight hug, and peppering her face with kisses, causing her to laugh even harder. “Tickles!” she yelps out trying to snuggle away from his grasp, but her other uncle saves her as he almost rips her away from his brother's arms snuggling her to his chest.

“Hi there little Monkey!” Luke whispers in her ear, kissing her cheeks.

“Uncle Giant, I mwissed you.” She whispers in his ear playing with his hair on the nape of his neck.

“Oh, I missed you too, monkey, so fucking much.” He says back smiling widely as he watches her childish features. “We have to Facetime more often.” He grins at her before she wiggles out of his grasp, running to her last uncle Quinn who scoops her up resting her on his hip.

“So how did you enjoy the game, pumpkin?” he asks her swaying with her on the place.

“Yes, I did!” She smiles, showing her beautiful teeth. Quinn grins at her, kissing her forehead before he hands her to his sister, who willingly takes her daughter to her.

Freya immediately snuggles in her chest, yawning. Ains smiles gently at her, running a hand down her back to get her asleep.

“Oh, Quinn, Ains, I want you to meet our captain, Nico Hischier!” he points at the person who steps out of the locker room. His hair is wet from the shower he took, a black suit hugs his body, and a bag hangs from his shoulder. Nico whips his head in the direction the Hughes family is standing and an awkward smile forms on his lips as he slowly approaches them.

“Nico! This is my brother Quinn and my sister Ainsley.” He grins when Quinn pulls out his hand to shake with Nico’s who gladly takes it.

“Nice to meet you, man! Heard a lot about you.” Nico smiles excitement bubbling inside him. He admires the Hughes brothers. He loves their loyalty and love for each other. Plus Quinn is his idol. He admires how he moves on the ice, the way he steals pucks from the opponents and the way he can shoot a goal from everywhere.

“Pleasure is on my side. Finally meeting the guy my brothers can’t stop talking about.” Quinn sends a smirk in the direction of his brothers.

“Mommy, I’m tired.” Freya's voice interrupts Quinn and Nico from their small talk, diverting their attention to the small girl.

“I know baby, and I promise we’ll leave a few okay?” Ainsley says, pushing away a few strands of hair from the little girl's face. Nico watches their interaction with an unknown feeling forming in his chest. Even though he never met Ainsley in person till today, he feels like he knows her and her daughter so much.

“We can take her to the boy’s place if she wants to sleep,” Ellen offers with a soft smile lingering on her lips as she caresses her granddaughter's back. “We’ll crash in too.” She adds quickly when she sees the look on her daughter's face.

“Are you sure mom?” she still asks looking between her mom and dad. She doesn’t want to bother them even though she knows they love their little girl so much.

“Positive, A. Enjoy the rest of the night with your brothers. Go have some fun.” This time it’s Jim, who steps forward taking half-sleeping Freya in his arms.

“Thank you.” She kisses her parents' cheeks quickly before they leave with a goodbye. She then turns to face her brothers and Nico. “It’s nice to meet you, Lukey talks a lot about you.” in response to that Luke mutters quietly ‘I do not’ causing you all to laugh at the blushing boy.

“Oh Lukey, you don’t have to pretend, I know you have a crush on me.” Nio teases him before he shifts his attention back to you. “Anyway, nice to meet you. Hear a lot about you. Luke and Jack can’t stop talking about you.” He smiles at her extending his hand towards her. Ainsley takes it shaking it firmly.

“Hope it were a good things, only.” She blushes under Nico’s intense look.

“The best.” Luke wiggles his brows laughing with others.

“Anyway I’ve gotta go, my sister’s in town and we’re going to have a sibling reunion,” He smiles softly at the thought of his sister. He loves Nina so much and he would do everything to protect and make her happy. Even watching Gossip Girls with her all night and letting her do a skincare on him. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Quinn, you too Ainsley,” he smiles before he leans closer to her whispering, “You are the prettiest Hughes from the four!” he says quietly but loud enough for her brothers to hear.

“Hey! Hischier! That’s my little sis, watch your mouth!” Quinn says in a serious tone but a smile lays on his lips. Nico just laughs before he leaves with a goodbye.

“So you ready for a sibling night?” Luke asks, jumping on a place.

“Oh, Luke! Chill out!” Jack nudges his shoulder, trying to calm si little brother down. “We have a lot of time to get there!” he laughs nudging him again.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Quinn asks wrapping his arm around Ainsley and bringing her closer to him as they slowly make their way to the garages to Jack’s car.

“Oh, just a Chinese restaurant I and Luke spend a lot of time in,” Jack pulls Ainsley away from Quinn pulling her in his body as he hands her the keys from his car. “You’ll love it, I promise!”

“And you will love the spring rolls and kung pao!” Luke ads, saliva forming in his mouth at the thought of his favorite Chinese food.

#the swiss love charm au #nh13 #nico x ainsley #ainsley!hughes #nhl #jh86 #nico hischier #nj devils #new jersey devils #nhl fanfiction #nico hischier imagine #nico hischer x reader #nico hischier x reader #quinn hughes #qh43 #lh43 #jack hughes #luke hughes #vancouver canucks

172 notes · View notes

mikkomacko · 2 months ago

Text

Him and I - Soul Bound

Mob!Nico x reader

Warnings: some angst, but mostly cute. Mentions of death, of heartbreak.

Previous part

A/n: I apologize for how long this took me! I really really hope it was worth the wait haha. I’ll be editing and proofing later but wanted to get it out for y’all. Enjoy!

————————————————————————

Blinking softly, Nico breathes in the scent of your shampoo, the soft strands of your hair warm with each puff of air he exhales. Snowflakes scatter the streetlights coming in the bedroom window, the night clouds dumping snow on the ground. He thinks of you, contemplates waking you up so you can see it for just a moment. You love the snow, love how soft and quiet everything seems during the winter.

You’d love this storm. The flakes are big and fat, building up on the windowsill like something out of a movie.

Nico buries the tip of his nose further into your hair, restraining himself from rousing you. You need to sleep, need to get better so he can take you home. So that you’ll both get your normal lives back.

His thumb rubs circles over your hip, trying to soothe you while also lull himself back to sleep. He’s not sure what woke him. It could be the two wedding rings he has hidden in this bedroom, one that you’re very aware of. It could be the lingering bruises and cuts on your skin, marks that taunt Nico. Or it could be the fact that this entire trip has derailed his relationship with you.

He expected to leave here with a fiancée. Now he’ll be lucky if he leaves here with a girlfriend that still wants the pendant around her neck.

Swallowing heavily, Nico closes his eyes and pushes the thought out his head. You’ve picked him a million times over, he shouldn’t be scared that suddenly you wouldn’t do it again.

“Nico,” you murmur, voice just a whimper and it startles him. His body goes rigid, arms tightening around you and he cranes his neck to look down at the top of your head.

“I’m here darling, what’s wrong?”

Fingertips trail over your forehead, brushing out of place baby hairs away. You stir, heavy eyelids fighting to flutter open as his palm settles on the side of your neck, fingers lightly squeezing in encouragement. Fingers that can cause so much damage but touch you like you’re a precious pearl.

“I had a bad dream,” you finally whisper, shaken. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, guilt settling like a stone in his gut. Unable to look at you, he focuses back on the bedroom window.

“Got you,” he swears “I’ve got you baby, you’re ok.”

Your back shifts under his hands, ribs expanding as you inhale deeply and blow out a rattled breath. Then you do it again, the puff of air hot on his bare chest. Finally, you settle.

Not for long though. Shuffling, you push yourself up until you’re straddling his waist, weight heavy on his stomach and thighs but welcome. Knuckling at your sleepy eyes, you blink sluggishly at him.

“Why are you up handsome?”

He shrugs, smiling softly at the sweet name. Your fingers reach out for him, gentle and tickling as you push a strand of hair off his forehead.

“Was watching the snow fall and thinking about you.” Nico admits, voice just a whisper. Like a bolt of electricity has gone through you, you perk up, eyes brightening.

“Snowing?”

Pursing his lips to keep from laughing, Nico nods against the pillow. You duck your head down, rolling your lips inwards and trying to hide that beautiful smile from him. His heart swells with love, thumping painfully in his chest. Hands running up and down either side of your waist, he finally gives.

“Come on, let’s go outside.”

~~~~

It’s like a dream. The buttery glow of the street lights on the fresh snow, reflecting off your smiling cheeks that have turned pink in the cold.

The fabric of your snow pants swish as you waddle away from him, snow crunching loudly under both of your boots.

Clouds of fog dance in front of Nico’s eyes, thickening as he huffs and puffs after you. Stumbling after you, Nico lazily tosses the snowball in his gloved hands. It smacks you square in the back, and you squeal dramatically.

Nico stops as you whirl around, scooping up your own snowball and he hides behind his arms as you throw it into his chest. Flakes of snow drift up to his chin and cheeks, biting cold but he laughs anyway.

“Right in the heart baby?” He gasps, clutching at his pec. “Ouch.”

You pout, locking your hands together under your chin. “Oh no poor baby Nico.” You tease, a wicked grin morphing on your lips as you quickly scoop up more snow and run at him.

Tossing the half formed snowball into his stomach, you laugh evilly and try to duck around him. Luckily Nico has quick reflexes and manages to wrap his arms around you, lifting you up and swinging you in a circle.

Clutching at his hands and arms, you squeal and giggle, snow boots and legs drifting through the air. Nico keeps swaying you back and forth until his biceps burn from holding you and his stomach and cheeks ache from laughing.

“Cold?”He asks after your feet are back on the ground, the ice cold tip of his nose nudging your cheek.

“Yeah,” you pant out, still trying to catch your breath. The two of you haven’t gone far from the house. You’re still close enough that if any of the boys are light sleepers they definitely heard you laughing and play fighting. Not that Nico cares.

This is his house and he can do as he pleases on the property. Hell if he wanted to walk around buck naked he’s more than welcome to do so.

However, it is getting late (or early, he supposes) so he nudges you back towards the house with two hands on your waist. You move in silence alongside him, kicking snow off your boots on the porch before huddling into the entryway. Like a well oiled machine you seamlessly strip out of your snow clothes and layers, leaving them abandoned in heaps in front of the door to be dealt with in the morning.

Nico’s gotten down to his socks, a pair of boxers, and his shirt when you suddenly crowd into his chest, hands holding his face tenderly as you guide him down into a kiss. Like its second nature he holds you, arms snaking around your torso and lifting you to your toes so he can kiss you back.

It’s then that he realizes you’ve taken off almost everything, the only piece of clothing left on your body the soft pair of cotton underwear that brushes against his pinky finger.

Your skin is warm and soft, soothing against his thawing fingertips as he runs a hand up your spine, fingers gripping your hair.

Head fuzzy, Nico groans when you push your chest tight against his, sweetly nudging at his bottom lip with your tongue.

“Baby,” he murmurs gently, every part of him aching to just lay you down on the stupidly soft fur rug just across the way and have his way with you. But he can’t bring himself too, even if his dick is starting to thicken up in interest.

You must be able to tell by his tone, eyes fluttering open and swollen lips brushing against his. Gaze switching between his eyes, you stroke at the scruffy hairs of his beard.

“Are you ever going to stop looking at me like I’m hurt?”

It’s not accusatory. Or angry. Or even disappointed. Your tone is curious, like you’re simply asking him if he still likes coffee ice cream.

“You’re all healed up, I know.” He assures quietly, but earnestly. “And as badly as I want to make you feel good on me, I can’t until I’m certain that you’re all healed up inside too.”

Something warm and tender settles in your features, lifting the corners of your lips in a bittersweet smile.

“I know,” you whisper, slowly stepping back from him. He’s sure you’ve lost your top somewhere in the mess clothes beneath your feet, so he tugs off his own t-shirt, straightening out the sleeve. You duck your head down when he holds it open to you, helping you pull it down over your shoulders and torso.

Nico holds you again, desperate to feel you against him. His favorite thing in the world is getting to hold you close to him.

You lay your head on his shoulder, left arm squished between your two bodies and right hand innocently fiddling with the waistband of his boxers.

Bashfully, you say, “I don’t know how to be, though. I’m so mad at Timo, and I’ve never been mad at him before. And then I feel bad because I’m not mad you but I should be if I’m mad at him. But I don’t even know why I’m mad.”

Nico hums, swallowing thickly. You maybe should be mad at him. He knows he didn’t handle the situation well, knows he let his fear get ahold of him and he shut you down to protect you. Instead of using this as a chance to make you stronger and smarter, he put you in metaphorical bubble wrap.

“Yes you do,” he finally responds. “You just won’t say it because you don’t think it justifies how upset you are. But it does baby, and you have every right to feel that way.”

You sniffle. “Ok.”

He shakes his head fondly, amused by your lack of response and knowing that it simply means you’re really listening to him.

“But Timo has his own justifications for what he did and until you hear his side of it, you’ll both just be angry at each other.”

Your hand runs up his stomach, fingers cold on his skin and you teasingly pinch at the fat on his lower belly. “When did you get so smart?”

Looking up at him with twinkling eyes and an amused grin, Nico presses a soft kiss between your eyes.

“When I met you.”

~~~~

Nico’s arm is heavy on your shoulders as the two of you descend the stairs. It’s obvious that last nights snowy adventure has left you two exhausted if the dragging feet and yawns are anything to go by.

Chatter, the noisy clattering of pans and silverware travel from the kitchen. Sharing a curious look with Nico, you stop in the entryway and blink twice to make sure you’re not still sleeping.

Mercer is standing over the stove, a pan of bacon popping and sizzling in front of him. Luke is looming over the toaster, a loaf of bread in hand and a pile of toast stacked on a plate. At the bar top, Timo is elegantly slicing through tomatoes, carefully watching Alex in front of him who is doing his best to replicate Timo’s technique. And Jack sits with them, nimble fingers tearing apart a head of lettuce and laying the leafs out on a platter.

Mouth parted in shock, Mercer turns around, a spatula with greasy bacon in hand. He freezes when he spots you two, eyes wide and caught. You realize he’s wearing a white apron that reads “I ♥️ fondue” and wonder if it’s Timo’s or Nico’s.

“Morning sleepyheads.” He greets, bacon dripping grease onto the floor. Beside you, Nico sighs and drags a hand across his face.

“Mess, Merc.” He grumbles, more tired than annoyed or angry.

Mercer makes a noise of surprise, rushing to the island counter and laying the strips of bacon out on a platter. Nico removes his arm from you, grabbing the dish towel off the oven rack and moving to clean up the mess.

“Thanks boss,” Mercer grins, going back to his post at the stove. Nico grunts in acknowledgment, haphazardly throwing the rag into the sink as he heads towards the corner where the coffee pot is nestled.

One track minded for his morning caffeine, Nico putters around silently, dipping in and out of cabinets.

Rubbing your eyes, you look at the other boys. Jack is still going about his business of arranging lettuce pieces but he’s got a shit eating grin on his face, watching Nico intently. You already know he’s waiting for his boss to perk up so he can make some crude remarks or guesses at why the both of you slept in today.

Avoidant, Timo is locked in on the task of slicing tomatoes but you can tell he’s distracted. He’s slowed down, hands moving like molasses as if he’s putting more effort into not looking around than he is cutting vegetables.

Alex however, is watching you. He’s still holding his knife and half cut tomato in his hands, but they sit limp on the counter top. He angles himself towards you, gaze hesitant.

“I tried to make your matcha for you. It’s in the fridge. Not sure how good it is though.”

As usual, he just warms your heart. They couldn’t even make a cup of coffee for Nico, they’re boss, and yet Alex took the time to make you matcha before he started on breakfast BLTs with the rest of them.

“Thanks,” you smile, “M’sure it’s fine. If Nico can make it, anyone can.”

Now leaning against the counter next to Luke, Nico glares at you over the rim of his coffee mug. Even so he looks cute, all puffy eyes and messy hair, thick eyebrows pinched together.

You clear your throat, smiling drooping as you soak in how awkward it feels to be around all of them. How Luke still hasn’t said a word and that’s weird of him. Neither has Jack, and that’s so out of character it’s detrimentally concerning.

And poor Alex who looks like he’s just swallowed a buzzing alarm clock, who has never been holy at handling conflict between those he loves. Guilty, you’re moving before you can even think about it.

Timo must see you coming though because he drops everything in his hands, turning just right that you fit perfectly into the seam of his shoulder when you throw your arms around him.

He’s bigger than Nico, just a hair taller and a bit thicker, but the two of you are like pieces of the same puzzle. Different than you and Nico, but just as perfect.

The hug doesn’t say everything you need it to, but it says enough. You can tell by the way he sighs in relief, breath hot on the top of your head and he melts into you. Your fingers cling to his back, holding him tightly and desperately and it feels like the more you cling to him the tighter he squeezes you around the shoulders.

Closing your watering eyes, you puff out a weighted breath. “Please tell me you helped him make that matcha?” You whisper, just loud for Timo to hear. You can feel his laugh on your skin.

“Of course I did.”

~~~~

Picking at the sleeve of your cable knit sweater, you look from Nico to Timo, lips pursed. Your sat on the freshly made bed, legs crossed over each other in front of you and that teddy bear from Nico’s childhood bedroom resting by your feet.

Timo clears his throat uncomfortably, sat in the large windowsill across from the bed. The sky behind him is bright and blue, showing off after a night of dumping snow in the town. It hurts your eyes a bit to look at it, stabs at the tender spot behind your right eye.

Nico is slowly pacing by the side of the bed. Not anxiously or uneasy, but in a way that makes you feel both of those. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, the string of his hoodie bitten between his teeth.

Every once in awhile he looks up from his feet, looks at Timo like he can’t really decide what to do with him. Then he looks at you, and his eyes go all gentle and soft, and his lips lift just the slightest bit. Then he looks back at his feet and paces.

“Um Schoa?”

He stops, looks up at you expectantly. “Hi, wanna sit for a second?” You ask politely, patting the bed next to you. His brow furrows.

“Why?”

Laughing, you say, “So that I can hold your hand when I tell you that we don’t need a mediator.”

Across the room Timo chuckles. Nico’s head snaps over to glare at him and Timo hides his smile behind his hand, pretending to scratch above his lip.

Climbing to your knees, you shuffle to the end of the bed until you can reach Nico, taking his hands in yours. Your touch pulls his attention from Timo, gaze going tender as it falls on you. You almost melt at the way his head tilts ever so slightly and his thumbs rub at the back of your hands.

“I know that I just…”

“Just what?” You encourage.

His next breath comes out slow and calculated, eyebrows pinching ever so slightly as he thinks. “I’m trying to decide if I should make you two wait to do this and take you with me to Luca’s.”

The investigation (and subsequent interrogation) that had taken place after Lena and Marcello abducted you was officially completed a few days ago. Luca has been waiting for you to heal before he wanted to go over the run down and findings with Nico.

You know why Nico is so torn up about making you and Timo go. He’s trying to open the work side of the family to you, just as you’d asked him to do. He wants you to feel included, to know that he’s not trying to hide this.

But at the same time, you’re relationship with Timo is more important to you than knowing why and what happened that day in his grandfathers old house.

Besides, it makes your skin crawl thinking about having to watch security footage, hear stories and records taken during interrogation with Luca and the rest of the boys around. Probably Nina too, and whatever men they have tailing them.

Embarrassing, you decide. It would so embarrassing to look them in the eye after they’ve seen you at your weakest.

“I want to hear it from you,” you say, fingers tightening around his palms. “Just you, please.”

He reads you so well. Can tell immediately why you don’t want to go, that you only trust him enough to relive that day with him. No one else.

“Ok,” Nico agrees easily, right hand letting go of yours to cradle the back of your head. He ducks down and presses a comforting peck to your forehead. “I promise I’ll tell you everything we find, show you whatever you want after ok?”

He straightens out, smoothes his hand over the top of your head and looks to Timo.

“You’ll be updated too,” Nico tells him. “As long as you keep her safe and happy today, deal?”

Your best friend scoffs. “That’s literally my job description. Along with being hot.”

His words make you giggle, the sound so unexpected you press into Nico’s stomach to stifle the sound into his hoodie. You know better than to laugh when Nico is talking business, but sometimes those boys get the best of you.

And as much as Nico pretends it annoys him, you know he likes to see how happy the family makes you. You can tell by the way he softly tugs at the roots of your hair, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you look up at him. He’s fighting back an amused grin when you do.

“Come on Schao,” you mumble. “Get outta here, it’s Timo time.”

~~~~

Snow crunching under your boots, you sip at your latte, wincing when the foam burns the tip of your tongue, but too impatient to wait for it to cool.

To the left of you, Timo has popped the lid off of his drink, swirls of steam billowing up into the frigid air and he’s cautiously blowing to cool the liquid down.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye, the two of you strolling lackadaisically through the streets of town. After a moment he takes a deep breath, gloved hand shoving the lid back on his latte. He takes a sip.

“I’m sorry that I left you in the hospital that day,” he finally says, voice quiet like he’s unsure of what to even say. “I should’ve told Nico that you could handle it.”

“Do you really believe that?” You ask, “or are you just saying that now?”

He frowns, lips pursuing. He looks like he’s fighting himself on what to say and you’re unsure if that’s a bad thing or not.

“When Nico came me to that day and told me he lost you, it was like the ground fell out beneath me,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know how Nico kept his cool, but I mean he’s always been good at knowing what to do and when to do it.

“So when he said it wasn’t the best idea to let you at Lena and stuff, I trusted him-“

“You should’ve trusted me.” You cut in, the reminder of him picking Nico over you making your temper flare.

“I know I know,” Timo concedes, holding a hand out to stop you at the streets crosswalk. He checks both ways before nodding you along. “But I was scared and I just-I couldn’t-I didn’t trust myself.”

The sidewalk under your feet feels slick, and you reach out to link your arm through Timo’s. He’s sturdy, locking your arm under his bicep and slipping his hand into his pocket.

“What do you mean?”

Timo sighs heavily, breath shaking with the weight of it. “It was my job to train you, to prepare you to be Nico’s prinzessin and I failed. Somewhere along the way, something you were supposed to know didn’t click and I didn’t make sure that it did. And then all of this happened.

“I did this to you and Nico!”

He’s stopped walking now, angled himself towards you. His eyes are wet and red when they meet yours, the sadness in them colder than the winter temperatures.

“I had to side with him. It was the only thing that felt right after I screwed up so badly. You know Nico, he can fix literally anything.”

You wrench your arm out of his hold, rising to your toes and throwing it around his neck into a bruising hug.

Timo tucks his face into your shoulder, shoulders hunching down to meet your height. Blinking away the tears in your own eyes, you look up at the bright blue sky and focus on the puffy clouds drifting by.

“I had a panic attack,” you murmur weakly. “At the party. Nico and I were fighting, it felt like he was so far away and I just freaked. It was like I was on autopilot, I just went outside to catch my breath.”

You swallow thickly, choking back tears. “As soon as the world around me came back I realized what I did and tried to go back but-“

“Don’t say it,” he cuts off, voice strained and broken. “Don’t tell me how they hurt you.”

“I should’ve been ready,” you continue instead. “Everything they did I went over with you a million times. At least everything I can remember them doing. B-but it was like my head was exploding. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t see.

“My head hurt so badly. I could feel the instructions and lessons right there but nothing was clicking. All I could think about was Nico, how much I wanted him there.”

The air is colder on your cheeks now, and you realize it’s the wet trails of tears that burn. You tuck into Timo shoulders, wet eyelashes fluttering shut to hide from the world.

“I failed Timo. You and Nico prepared me, I just couldn’t do it.”

The arm around your middle squeezes, so tightly it takes your breath away. “That’s not true,” he utters, earnestly. “You didn’t fail. You showed all of us up, you got Luca to side with you. You got the boys out here.

“You showed me and Nico that you know how to lead, all on your own.”

His assurance is like warm water trickling on your head, trailing down into your bones. It’s soothing, calming to hear. Especially from him, from your best friend in the entire world. And he’s a people pleaser, he’ll tell anyone anything they want to hear. This, however, is sincere.

You can tell by the way he looks down at you after you’ve released him from your hug, baby blue eyes certain and steady.

He holds his arm out to you. “M’sorry I didn’t listen to you before.”

“I’m sorry I shut down on you,” you apologize, taking his arm like before. He nods down the street.

“Come on. I want to show you something.”

~~~~

The room is so silent, Nico thinks he could hear snowflakes hitting the roof of the building if he really listened. If it weren’t for the sound of Holtzy breathing so shakily, angrily.

Nico knows the feeling.

The large display screen in Luca’s conference room has gone dark, reflecting a distorted image of them gathered around the table. Nico doesn’t really see that picture. No, he still sees Marcello tying to the chair, how harshly your limo body was thrown down and manipulated with rope. He can still see the way your head lulled, even after you woke up. The way you tried to move and he’s not sure if the bindings stopped you or the fact that you looked like you couldn’t even identify your own limbs.

He can still see the blood that smattered the floor when Lena hit you. Can see and hear the way you cried when Marcello touched you.

Nico never got the footage of the warehouse in Philly when you taken the first time. He had no way of accessing it, especially after he lit the place on fire. He’s thankful for that now.

If he can’t stand to see this, he would’ve died seeing that.

“All of that because she wanted Nico?”

It’s Luke who speaks up first, lips curled in disdain as he looks away from the screen to Luca. The older Hischier sibling looks guilty as he nods, bringing a fist to his mouth as he clears his throat.

“She wanted the business. And the only way to get that for her was through Nico.”

The phones they’d taken and unlocked from Marcello and Lena lay on the oak table in front of him, message threads pulled up. Nico doesn’t need to read them again. Doesn’t need to see another video, hear anymore audio. The story is clear cut.

Lena convinced Marcello that you were using Nico, that you wanted to infiltrate the family from the inside where’d you’d be able to take over both Luca and Nina’s territory.

Marcello believed her, spurred by the fact that they never saw you in a Devs pendant or with a ring. Because in the states, those marks are subtle and hidden. Yours is always tucked under your shirt.

Unlike in Switzerland, where a pendant is always flaunted, every outfit centered around the piece of gold.

And then they devised a plan. One carefully laid out in a text thread between the two the same night Nico took you to Luca’s bar. The same night that you had a run with Lena, apparently. Her friends said something to Luca about it, his camera picked up the moment in front of the bathroom, and Nina confirmed it.

Nico had no idea about it. Hadn’t even known his ex-whatever was even back in town. He can’t believe he didn’t notice. He’s usually so attentive, so analytic of his whereabouts. He’d let his guard down that night too. Because he was so happy to see his siblings, to see you fit right into that booth in the bar with his sister and at the pool table with Luca.

He remembers holding you that night in the bar. Loving and kissing on you in a way he doesn’t normally do in public. How he swayed you to his favorite song and held your waist when helping you line up the queue ball. The way he whispered stupid little things into your ear just to get you to giggle and curl into him, give him a reason to press sweet kisses to your neck and cheeks.

Lena most of noticed. Must of seen how fucking in love he is with you. He never took her to his family’s places, never played her any songs he liked, never tried to make her laugh.

It makes him nauseous to think that someone took that love and used it to hurt you. That she saw him with you and decided that was reason enough to put you in the hospital, to articulate a plan that would take you out of his life forever.

Because that was the intention.

It’s written out in front of him. Kidnap you, use you as bait to get a private meeting with Nico. And when he’d get there by himself, Marcello would have the barrel of his pistol to your temple and Nico would barely get to say your name before he’d pull the trigger.

And Lena would throw herself at him, threaten to turn him in for treason if he didn’t agree to get back with her. She’d tell his whole family how you were using them, say Nico was in on it, and that would be it.

“She should’ve killed her,” Holtzy mutters, and Nico can’t say he disagrees with him. There was a reason he was saving Marcello and Lena after their interrogation. He wanted to have the whole story before he decided what to do.

You took matters into your own hands though, and Nico now thinks that was merciful of you. Because he’d hurt them in ways they could never imagine if he had the chance to now.

All of this because Marcello couldn’t think to check around your fucking neck for a ring or pendant before he strangled you with Nico’s scarf.

“Alex,” Nina breathes in disappointment, lips parted like she wants to scold him or defend you letting Lena live.

“She should’ve,” Nico agrees, so angry it burns his skin, claws at his throat. “She should’ve fucking killed all of us. When we left her at that hospital, when we lied to her.”

He looks over at his boys, at Holtzy who’s always been so fiercely defensive and protective of you it rivals Nico. At Luke and Jack who tease the two of you, who tell you that you can do better and love to drive the two of you crazy but still flew out here last minute because they believe in you. And Mercer who’s always so immature and playful, goofing off and acting like he’s still the 17 year old kid Nico brought into Jersey.

Mercer who worked with you and Luca to execute your plan of revenge. He stepped up lead, got them all together on that flight, was your second in command. The boys took orders from him that day, same as you.

He’s proud of them. Nico is so fucking proud of this group of kids that you turned into men.

“But she did what she thought was best, not what she wanted,” he tells Holtzy. “And we have to trust and accept that.”

The room goes quiet again. Luca takes his seat at the head of the table, running his hands through his hair. Nico locks the stolen phones, stacking them on top of each other and putting them in his hoodie pocket. In case you want to see them.

“I’m retraining,” Luca sighs. “All of my men. In phases every section is going through boot camp again. So that this never happens again Neeky.”

Nico nods, flashing a quick but grateful smile at his brother. He doesn’t blame Luca for this. He knows how Lena is -was- how conniving and controlling. She was so good at always playing the victim.

“We want to have a party kind of thing for you all before you head back to Jersey,” Luca nods towards the younger boys. “End on a happier note. I’ll shut down the bar for a night, have security still but it’ll be safer. Better.”

Nico takes a deep breath, tries to shake off how exhausting this meeting was. “We’ll be there.”

Nina is tapping her fingers on the table top, gaze burning into the side of Nico’s head. He looks over at her, raises an expectant eyebrow.

“When are you gonna do it?”

It. Propose. Nico winces.

“Do what?”

“What are you doing boss?”

Nico thinks the Hughes brothers could be twins with how in sync they always are, how they seem to have the same thoughts. He could kill Nina for bringing this up in front of them.

“Not here,” Nico mutters, looking away when Nina groans in frustration.

“You fought to get her back just to bail! Come on Nico, I saw you that day! You can’t let this scare you off.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenching as he tries to keep his tone in check. He didn’t want to talk about this, didn’t want to be reminded that the whole purpose of this trip got hijacked and now he’s returning to the states with not just one, but two engagement rings. Neither of which are on your finger.

“M’not gonna do this to her here, Nina.”

“Why not?” She presses. “What could be better? She loves it here, you heard her.”

His temper flares, exploding out of him like boiling oil. “No I heard her screaming and crying as she was tortured!

“I watched her fight for her life in a place she was supposed to be happy. So no I’m not pulling out a ring, and looking her in the eye and explaining that the picture perfect proposal she asked for was lost because I left her alone for five minutes, but please marry me anyway. Sorry I’m asking in my brother’s sticky bar.”

Nico’s chest heaves, angry puffs of air rattling out of him as he sinks back into his chair. He rakes a hand through his hair, tugging on the strands painfully for some kind of release.

He can feel the eyes of all them, watching him like he might start yelling again.

“Boss,” Mercer mumbles cautiously, “she’d still marry you, you know that.”

Nico sighs, nods. “Yeah I know. She told me she still wants to. I just-I have to do it right. And it’s not right anymore.”

“Neeky, you could pull out a ring pop in the bathroom of the bar and that girl would still say yes to you.”

Nina is right. He knows she’s right. You told him that as long as he had the ring and was on his knee, you’d say yes.

But that’s not the point. The point is that he wanted it to be a big deal. Something he planned out, put thought into every detail. He wanted you to see the intention. That way you know he’s doing this because he wants to. Because he wants you.

“I know,” he mutters, the sound of you calling yourself a Hischier on that tape echoing in his head. The last name isn’t officially yours yet, but it’s yours in every sense of the word. “It’s not about her saying yes, I know she’ll say yes. It’s about me…”

Showing her.

He has to show you. Because he’s not great at saying things. He’s better with actions.

“It’s fine,” Nico dismisses, “I’ll figure something out.”

~~~~

Kids laughing and chattering fills the air, echoing around the large skating rink. Timo had bypassed the skate rentals desk when you came in, instead guiding you straight towards the upper stands.

You don’t know why he’s bringing you here, or why he’s staying so far from the actual ice, but you follow him anyway.

The sound of skates scraping the ice flitters up into the rafters, and you glance over to find a group of excited kids skating messily around the rink.

Timo sits dead center in the row, holding down your seat for him and you gladly take it, propping up your half-drank latte on your thigh. You look down, watch the kids skate and notice a woman among them. Beautiful red hair in a thick and loose braid, a black and white skating costume on, the sleeves and pants glittering with gems under the bright lights.

“Nico and I learned to skate here,” Timo says, crossing his foot over his knee and relaxing back into his seat like muscle memory. You wonder how many times he’s come here, probably sat in this exact same seat for some reason.

“It’s a nice rink,” you say, looking over. He’s looking at the ice so intently you think his gaze might magically melt it, create little pools of slush. No, he’s not looking at the ice, you realize, he’s looking at her. At the beautiful red head that’s now gathering the children in a circle for stretches.

“When we were about 13, this girl moved here. Went to our school and everything. She got on well with Nico. We would come here after school everyday, when we were putting off assignments especially. Luca would buy us tickets for the train and we’d come with him because he skated better.

“One day she was here too. And it was like nothing, the way she’d just join us. Never hockey, but she’d skate with us. And she was so beautiful, that way she moved, the way she opened up when she got on the ice…”

His voice has gone soft, distant like he’s lost in this vivid memory of this old friend. You take in the lovesick look on his face, so clear even from just his side profile, and it clicks. He brought you here because that girl on the ice right now is the girl he’s telling you about.

The girl he’d left here. The one Nico briefly mentioned to you once, a few years back when you asked him why Timo, with his beautiful blue eyes and his sweet smile, never went out on dates.

“Timo’s heart is back in Switzerland,” Nico had explained. “His girl is still there, I think.”

You reach over, lay your hand over his in his lap and he blinks, his fingers relaxing under your hold. “Her parents didn’t like us. They knew about Nico and his family, about how I was training with him too. Nico’s grandfather wasn’t the nicest person, hell Rino and Katja are like saints compared to his grandfather.

“So they told her to stay away from us. But she didn’t. Everyday she got on the train with us, sat right next to me and would pull out this cucumber snacks her mother made. She always had them for me. And I started bringing her stuff too. Chocolate and sweets from around my house. She has a sweet tooth but her mother never let her have it. Said it would make her unhealthy.”

Timo laughed quietly to himself, like he still can’t believe her parents were like that. Or maybe at his own rebelliousness, how he went directly against them to make her happy.

“That’s really sweet Timo,” you murmur, smiling to yourself. You’ve known he was a big softie, could’ve guessed that he’d be even worse when in love.

“Yeah, it was. We dated for a long time after that. Snuck around behind her parents back, even though we know they knew. But it was fun. And I was like a puppy in love…”

Something sad settles over his features, glosses over his eyes and he sighs softly.

You fill in the next part for him. “And then you left to Jersey with Nico.”

Timo puffs out his cheeks, nods just once. “I asked her to come with. Told her I’d marry her as soon as we got there. And she agreed, was ready to give up everything, even her figure skating career to come with me.

“But she wasn’t 18 yet and her parents could use that to stop her visa. They told her she couldn’t go with, they forbid it. And they threatened to disown her too.”

You laugh humorlessly, familiar with the abandonment of family. It makes you sad to think of her not even getting the chance to pick. Yeah it broke you to have to make a decision between Nico and your loved ones, but at least you had the agency to make that pick. Her parents never gave her that.

“Every time I’m here I come see her. Beg her to come with me. She’s not close to her parents anymore, but she never got over that teenage fear. And she has a career and a life here now. One without me.

“How am I supposed to ask her to give that up?”

He’s looking at you now, eyes glossy and begging, and it breaks your heart. You had no idea how tormented by love Timo has been all these years. That every year when he makes his annual trip home he tears open old wounds just to see his teenage sweetheart that he never got over.

Answers. He wants answers from you because you had been her before.

You swallow thickly, frowning sympathetically at him. “Tell her that,” you advise. “Tell her how much it hurts you to ask her to give that life up. And if she really loves you, it won’t matter.

“It’s not exactly a sacrifice if what you’re getting in return is far better in the end.”

“Is that how it was?” He asks. “For you and Nico?”

It’s not even a question you have to think about, nodding as your lips curl into a loving smile. “Yeah it was. Nico told me he’d never want to make me choose, but my family wanted me to. And no one who really loves you would make you choose.”

Timo sniffles, blinking back his tears and turning back to the rink. “I don’t want her to pick, I just want her to be happy. And I know she loves me still. Every time I’m home we fall back into who we were when I left. Like no time has ever passed.”

You can’t help but ache for him. So you lean your head against his shoulder, hold his hand to let him know you’re here for him, always.

“You know, for being my best friend, you kept this from me for a long time.”

Timo chuckles, squeezing your fingers in acknowledgment. “I wanted her to myself for a bit longer. And I knew if I told you you’d come flying over here in that jet to get her to come to Jersey.”

On the ice, the beautiful red head looks up from her lesson, immediately finding Timo in the stands. You were right, this must be his spot in the rink, some seat of significance.

Timo lifts his free hand, waving at her and she effortlessly skates a little flourish, wiggling her fingers back at him with a smile so wide you can see it from all the way up here.

You and Nico have your love story, you decide, and now it’s time for Timo to have his too. Whether it’s convincing him to stay here with her or convincing her to come home with him, you’ll do whatever it takes.

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