#nhl opening night

[oscquinn]

i like hockey cause they js straight up fist fight on the ice. and then get put in time out. and that's normalized and sexy and everyone loves it!!!!

[angelsuecult]

strangers in the night | s. crosby

warnings: none? Maybe the age gap but its not crazy

summary: you and sidney first meet at a bar in the summer but where can it go from here

request description: older sid x younger reader (not controversial), dancing around lingering tension

wordcount: 3.3k

a/n: hi guys, a little late but another for you to chew on. so here is part one of a request i got, part one is build up to their actual story. idk i just wanted to give u guys a little bit more of a story with this one.

___

It wasn’t Sid’s first choice of bar–not by a long shot. He wasn't even sure why he’d let his buddies drag him out tonight. Training had been brutal, the kind of day that left his body aching and his mind spinning in desperate need of rest. But there he was, slouched into a creaky wooden chair, a pint of beer in front of him, trying his best to tune out the off-kay rendition of some popular song wailing from the karaoke stage across the room.

The place wasn’t packed, but it was loud. Groups were scattered around mismatched tables, most laughing and belting out songs as if auditioning for American Idol. Sid’s friends seemed just as unimpressed as he was, though they made a decent effort to mask it.

“Who chooses a bar on karaoke night?” one of them muttered, tipping back his drink.

“Apparently, we do,” Sid replied dryly, taking a sip of his beer and letting his gaze drift lazily across the room. He caught glimpses of people crowded near the karaoke section—bright lights, a DJ with headphones slightly askew, a group of people huddled around the stage. It was another story. He tried his best to ignore the off-key renditions of pop songs that echoed through the dimly lit bar, but it was hard to drown out the sound entirely. The occasional burst of laughter or particularly passionate singers pierced through their conversation.

“Didn’t think karaoke was your scene, Sid,” one of his buddies teased, smirking as clinked his class against Sidney’s bottle.

“Not exactly,” Sidney said, shaking his head. “But I’m here for you guys, not the music.”

“You're a good man.”

Sid smiled faintly but was already feeling the itch to move. The atmosphere, the noise–it was all a little too much. He excused himself almost as quickly as they sat down, murmuring something about needing to find the restroom.

Navigating the dimly lit space was a task in itself. The bar seemed like it hadn’t been renovated since the late ’90s, with its sticky floors and peeling paint. The closer he got to the karaoke stage, the louder the music seemed to vibrate through the air. He ducked past a group of people holding neon-colored cocktails and nearly collided with someone walking in the opposite direction. He wove his way through the people and the tables, keeping his head down to avoid the stage’s flashing lights. The music only grew louder as he neared the karaoke section, each note pounding in his skull. He focused on weaving through the crowd, not looking up until–

“Whoa, sorry–”

Sidney’s shoulder bumped into someone, and he instinctively reached out to steady you, his hand brushing your arm. He looked up ready to apologize, but the words caught in his throat.

“Oh, no, it's fine!” you said, smiling up at him. Your voice was warm, tinged with laughter, and it sent a spark straight through him. You smelled faintly of something sweet–vanilla, maybe?--and for a second, all Sidney could do was stand there, frozen in your presence.

What the hell just happened?

“Uh, yeah,” he finally managed, stepping aside to let you pass. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries,” you shrugged, already moving on. You disappeared into the crowd before he could even think to say more.

Sidney stood there for a moment, rooted to the sport. He felt ridiculous. One accidental run-in, and he was already hooked? It was such a brief interaction that Sid didn’t have time to really take you in—just a fleeting impression of soft features, bright eyes, and a warm energy that lingered after you’d disappeared into the crowd. He shook his head, muttering to himself as he continued to the restroom. Get a grip, Crosby.

But when he came out, the music had shifted. The crowd near the stage was buzzing with energy, cheering louder than before. When he glanced toward the source, his breath caught in his throat once more.

There you were.

You were on the small stage now, mic in hand, with a friend by your side. Laughing as the opening notes of a cheesy pop song played. You swayed slightly, clearly tips but making everyone around you smile. Your friend gestured dramatically toward the crowd, and you laughed again, your head tilting back as if you didn't have a care in the world. He'd usually roll his eyes, but somehow, you made it impossible to hate. You weren’t singing to impress. You weren’t holding back either. You were just…you.

The way you moved, the way you gestured for your friends to join in, the way your voice, slightly off-key but full of energy, filled the room—Sid couldn’t breathe. You commanded the stage effortlessly, even if you were just there for fun.

“Sid, are you coming back?” One of his friends called from the table, but he barely registered it.

For the first time all night, the music didn’t annoy him. He wanted it to last forever because it meant he could keep watching you.

Your outfit was simple—shorts and a t-shirt, nothing flashy—but on you, it might as well have been runway-worthy. Your hair fell in perfect disarray, catching the light as you turned. You looked like someone who belonged in the center of a room, not because you demanded attention, but because you simply had it.

The way you grinned when your friends cheered, the way you twirled the mic cord absentmindedly, the way you swayed in time to the music—Sidney couldn’t take his eyes off you.

The crowd was eating it up, cheering and singing along. Even people not in your group were clapping in time with the beat. You spun once, your laughter ringing out, and Sid found himself smiling without meaning to. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had caught his attention like this, Sid’s lips parted, as if he might say something—though he didn’t even know what. Not that it mattered. You didn’t notice him at all, too caught up in the whirlwind of your friends and the high of your performance.

When your song ended, you laughed into the mic, thanking the crowd with a mock bow. Your voice was still in his ears as you handed the mic back, disappearing into the crowd again, and Sid realized something unsettling.

He didn’t even know your name, and yet, he wanted to know everything about you.

Suddenly, karaoke didn’t seem so bad.

“Hey, Sid, you good?” one of his friends called as he returned to the table, snapping him out of his trance.

“Yeah,” Sid replied, shaking his head as if to clear it. But even as he sat back in his seat, he couldn’t stop glancing over at you, watching the way you lit up every corner of the room you entered.

He tried to focus on the conversation at his table, but it was useless. His mind kept drifting back to you—your laugh, the way your cheeks flushed from the heat and the drinks, the effortless way you’d captured everyone’s attention, including his. He didn’t even know you, and yet it felt like you’d already become the most significant part of his night.

Sidney tried to shake the thought of you as the night wore on, but it was proving harder than he’d expected. His friends, thankfully oblivious to the turmoil in his head, pulled him into a game of pool. They laughed and traded jabs, and for a while, he managed to focus on not making a fool of himself on the table. But every now and then, his eyes drifted toward the karaoke section of the bar, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

He didn’t see you again for a while, and he hated how disappointed that made him feel.

“Alright, Sid, this one’s for the win,” one of his friends challenged as Sidney lined up his shot. The stakes weren’t high—just drinks for the table—but somehow, the pressure still felt real. He missed the shot by a hair, the cue ball bouncing off the edge.

“Damn it,” he muttered as his friends erupted into laughter.

“Looks like you’re up, barkeep,” one teased, clapping him on the back.

Sidney rolled his eyes but didn't argue. “Yeah, yeah. What's everyone drinking?”

A deal was a deal. With an exaggerated groan, Sidney made his way toward the bar. His focus was on the task at hand until, halfway there, he saw you again.

You were leaning over the bar, animated, your laughter carrying over the buzz of the room. The young bartender leaned toward you, shaking his head in mock exasperation as you gestured towards him.

Sidney slowed without realizing it, caught off guard by the sight of you again. You were lit from the warm glow of the bar lights, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you spoke.

It took him a second to snap out of it. He forced himself to move forward, moving to the bar but keeping a bit of distance, not wanting to interrupt.

“I’m telling you,” you insisted, pointing at the bartender, “your wife sent me over here. She said she needs another round. Are you really going to say no to her?”

“My wife?” the bartender shot back, folding his arms.

You tilted your head, feigning disappointment. “Yes, your wife,” you teased, gesturing vaguely toward a group of people behind you. “She’s over there. And what am I supposed to tell her, huh? That her beloved husband denied her? She’s going to be heartbroken.”

The bartender rolled his eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “You’re out of your mind.”

Sidney’s chest tightened at the word wife. The idea hit him like a sucker punch, a wave of irrational disappointment. Of course, you were married. Why wouldn’t you be? You’re too much of a catch.

But then the bartender groaned, shaking his head. “You’re full of it. I don’t even have a wife!”

You gasped in mock indignation, placing a hand over your chest. “Are you saying I’m lying? That’s a bold accusation, my friend.”

But then the bartender motioned toward Sidney with a nod, cutting through his spiraling thoughts.

“Ask him. You think she’s my wife?” the bartender teased, smirking.

You laughed so hard you nearly doubled over, and Sidney’s chest burned at how effortlessly the sound tugged at him. “Oh, God, no! Please!”

Sidney blinked, relief washing over him so fast it left him a little lightheaded. Not his wife?

The bartender rolled his eyes, motioning toward Sidney. “You’re lucky I’m working. Otherwise, I’d throw you out for spreading rumors. Ask him if he’d believe a word you’re saying.”

Sidney froze as both of you glanced his way. You smiled, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

“Oh, please,” you laughed, turning back to the bartender. “If I were married to you, you’d probably throw yourself out of the house. There’s no way you’d survive me.”

Sidney couldn’t help it—he laughed. It was quiet, almost under his breath, but enough to catch your attention. Your eyes flicked to him again, and this time, they lingered.

Sidney watched as the bartender filled the order. You drummed your fingers on the bar and hummed under your breath, completely at ease. The bartender sighed dramatically, throwing up his hands. “Fine. One more round. But if she kills you, it’s not on me.”

You grinned triumphantly. “That’s the spirit.”

When he returned with a tray loaded with drinks, you thanked him with a beaming smile, carefully arranging the glasses. Sidney watched as you handled it like it was nothing, balancing the tray with practiced ease.

“You’re a saint,” you said, carefully arranging the drinks on the tray like you were setting the table for a fancy dinner.

“Yeah, yeah,” the bartender said, wiping the counter. “Tell my ‘wife’ she’s cut off for the night.”

You laughed, “I’ll let her know. But don’t expect her to listen.”

As you balanced the tray, you caught Sidney’s gaze. He realized too late that he’d been staring, but if you noticed, you didn’t let on. Instead, you motioned to the platter and said, “You know, you could probably convince him to give you one of these bad boys. Just drop the word ‘wife,’ and he’ll fold like a lawn chair.”

Sidney couldn’t help but smile, your humor so disarming it made him forget himself.

“Is that the secret?” he asked, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

You nodded solemnly. “Works like a charm. Just make sure to bat your lashes for good measure.”

The bartender, overhearing, groaned. “Don’t encourage him. I don’t need two of you on my case.”

As you started to walk away, you paused one more time, looking back at him. “And if you’re nice to him,” you said, nodding toward the bartender, “he might let you order one of these bad boys. They’re worth it.”

Sidney smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You gave him a quick wink before disappearing into the crowd again, leaving him standing there, his chest tight and his heart racing.

The bartender turned to Sidney, raising a brow. “You want the usual or whatever she’s on?”

Sidney chuckled, finally snapping out of it. “Just the usual,” he replied.

Sidney lingered at the bar, waiting for the bartender to return with his friends’ drinks. He couldn’t help himself. The more he thought about you—the way you laughed, how you seemed to carry the energy of the room with you—the more he wanted to know. He wasn’t usually like this. Sidney Crosby wasn’t the type to get lost in someone he hadn’t even spoken to properly. But you weren’t just anyone.

The bartender returned, setting the tray of drinks down in front of him. “Here you go, man,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel slung over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Sid said, but he hesitated before picking up the tray. His curiosity got the better of him. “So, uh… congrats on the marriage.”

The bartender looked confused for a moment before chuckling. “Oh, no. Not yet. Next summer.”

Sidney nodded, pretending to be casual even though his heart raced. “Who’s the lucky one?”

The bartender smirked and motioned toward the group you’d come from earlier. “That one, over there. The brunette in the green dress.”

Sidney followed his gaze and spotted a woman chatting animatedly with some friends. Relief washed over him. Not you. He wasn’t sure why he cared so much, but he couldn’t deny it was a weight off his chest.

“Oh,” Sid said, trying to sound polite. “That’s great. She seems nice.”

“She is,” the bartender said with a grin. “Keeps me in check. She’s the brains behind this whole place, honestly. I’d probably run it into the ground without her.”

Sid chuckled, then took a shot in the dark. “So, uh, what about her friend? The one you were just arguing with?”

The bartender glanced at him, amused. “Y/N? She’s a handful, isn’t she?”

Y/N. The name hit him like a punch to the gut. Of course, it was perfect. Why wouldn’t it be? It sounded as magnetic as you seemed to be. He repeated it silently, letting it settle.

“She’s something,” Sid admitted, keeping his tone light. “You’ve known her long?”

The bartender leaned against the counter, clearly happy to talk. “Oh yeah, she’s part of the crew. All 25, all college grads, all trying to figure life out.” He nodded toward the group again. “That’s her circle. They’re like family.”

Sidney glanced over, pretending to scan the crowd. “You own this place?”

“Yeah,” the bartender said proudly. “Got it a couple years ago. It was a dive back then, but my fiancée and I spruced it up. She’s the business brains—has a degree and everything. Y/N helps too, though. She’s great at coming up with ways to get people in here. Karaoke night? Totally her idea. I just go along with it, but it works.”

Sidney smiled, genuinely interested now. “It’s a nice setup. I noticed the corkboard by the pool table—lots of events.”

“Her and my fiancée,” the bartender said with a laugh. “They’re like a force of nature. Always cooking up something. Y/n’s got a knack for drawing people in. She’s pretty good at it. Makes my life easier. I’m just here to pour the drinks.”

Sidney nodded, amused and impressed. He was starting to picture you more clearly: vibrant, creative, the kind of person who could walk into a room and change the energy without even trying. “Y/n, huh?” Sid repeated, more to himself than to the bartender.

“Yep,” the bartender said, nodding toward the corner of the room where you’d disappeared earlier. “That’s her. And if you think she’s a handful sober, you should see her after a couple of margaritas.”

Sidney hesitated for a moment before asking, “So… what does she do?”

“She’s between jobs right now, but she’s got something lined up. Big opportunity, actually. She’s moving to Pittsburgh soon.”

That caught Sidney off guard. “Moving?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah,” the bartender said, wiping down the counter. “Got a job with one of the sports teams.”

Pittsburgh. Small world. Sidney’s heart raced. Maybe it was fate, or maybe he was just desperate to believe it. “What team?”

“Pretty sure it’s the baseball team,” the bartender said. “The Pirates, right?”

Sidney’s shoulders sagged, but only slightly. Baseball wasn’t hockey, and The Pirates were not the Penguins but it wasn’t the end of the world, either. “Yeah, The Pirates”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” the bartender confirmed. “She’s always been into sports—something with fan engagement, marketing or something like that. She’ll kill it, no doubt. She’s great with people. Always has been. We’re gonna miss her though. She’s kind of the glue that keeps everyone together.”

Sidney nodded slowly, his mind already racing. Pittsburgh wasn’t exactly a stone’s throw away, but it wasn’t impossible, either. And the Pirates… maybe he’d start going to more baseball games. It felt like fate didn't it? A city he already knew so well.

“Small world,” Sid said, almost to himself.

The bartender laughed. “Yeah, man. Who knows? Maybe you’ll run into her again.”

Sidney raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

“Why not?” the bartender said with a shrug. “It’s Pittsburgh. Not like it’s New York.”

Sid smiled but didn’t say anything. The idea of running into you again—at a baseball game, maybe, or just around town—settled into his chest like a quiet hope.

“You a baseball fan?” the bartender asked, pulling Sid out of his thoughts.

“Not exactly,” Sid admitted. “But Pittsburgh’s a small world. Maybe I’ll catch a game sometime.”

The bartender grinned. “You should. And hey, I’ve gotta say—I’m a fan. Didn’t want to bug you earlier, but it felt wrong not to say it.”

Sidney’s lips twitched into a modest smile. “I appreciate that. And, uh, thanks for not making a big deal out of it.”

“You got it,” the bartender said. “We get a decent amount of sports guys in here, but it’s not every day we have someone like you around.”

Sidney nodded, trying not to let the conversation linger on him. “It’s a nice spot,” he said, gesturing to the bar.

“Thanks,” the bartender said, he leaned back, crossing his arms. “Anyway, you let me know if you need anything else. Drinks are on me tonight.”

Sidney smiled, grateful but distracted. “Thanks. Means a lot.”

As he carried the tray of drinks back to his friends, he couldn’t shake the feeling that meeting you tonight was just the beginning. Pittsburgh suddenly seemed a lot smaller, and a lot more promising.

He didn’t know what it was about you, but Sidney Crosby had a feeling he wasn’t done with you.

[atwhughesversion]

the full oilers lineup against a team w like 4.5 actual nhl players…my poor boys

[reavenedges-lies]

[calgarybill96]

sound on One of my favourite things since I was a kid was the opening montages of Hockey Night in Canada. 12/07/2024

[kiskatminetas]

With work and school, life’s been a little too crazy lately, and I think I started to burn out. It was nice to do some traveling and see some minor league hockey this weekend.

[pierremcguire]

HAPPY OPENING NIGHT !

[rafesteddy]

𝓒𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓭 💕

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 + ℕ𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘 - 𝓝𝓸 𝓢𝓹𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓯𝓲𝓬 𝓞𝓻𝓭𝓮𝓻

ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥 | 𝓢𝓶𝓾𝓽

ℕ𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥 | 𝓕𝓵𝓾𝓯𝓯

❄️ 𝓕𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷’ 𝓛𝓾𝓬𝓴𝔂 | 𝙷𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚢!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟚𝟝 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

When you're getting hit on by a random guy at your local college bar “boyfriend” Rafe comes in to save the day.

❄️ 𝓐𝓹𝓻è𝓼 𝓢𝓴𝓲 | 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙶𝙵’𝚜𝚂𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟚𝟜 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

Your sister’s boyfriend is so hot… A family trip to Breckenridge leaves plenty of tension between you and Rafe

❄️ 𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓷 𝓘𝓬𝓮 | 𝙽𝙷𝙻𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚆𝙰𝙶! 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟚𝟛 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

NHL!Rafe gets caught smiling at the Ice Girl after scoring a goal on his way back to the bench; his winning night just turned into a loss—now he needs to make it right

❄️ 𝓣𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓵𝔂 𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 | 𝙽𝙷𝙻𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙶𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟚𝟚 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

Rafe is always very private about his job and business dealings. After being gone on a trip, he wants nothing more than to spend the night with you. The two of you go on a date, looking at Christmas lights and discussing the future.

❄️ 𝓢𝓹𝓲𝓷 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 | 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚂𝚘𝚛𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤t

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟚𝟙 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

The premise is you and Rafe had been flirting for a while, but between obligations, Greek life, and finals, you haven't been able to get together until tonight ♥️

❄️ 𝓑𝓻𝓪𝓽 𝓒𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓼 | 𝙳𝙸𝙻𝙵!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 & 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔𝙱𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟙 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

Hooking up with your best friend’s dad only to flirt with Topper at the holiday party, what could go wrong? Rafe will let you know (<- part of the “mr cameron” au but it will be written to be read alone)

❄️ 𝓜𝔂 𝓖𝓲𝓻𝓵 | 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙿𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟞 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

Ward and Rose aren’t your fans, but Rafe puts them in their place.

❄️ 𝓐 𝓝𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓮 𝓒𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓼 | 𝙱𝚘𝚍𝚢𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙿𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟙𝟘 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

I got the idea for this story after watching Sabrina Carpenter’s Christmas Special! ♥️ The premise is a popstar!reader who wants the attention of her handsome bodyguard, who seemingly has one interest: keeping her safe.

❄️ 𝓖𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓖𝓲𝓻𝓵 | 𝙷𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚢!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙶𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟙𝟛 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

After a few drinks at a hockey party, Rafe gets teased about what a good girl you are, but Rafe knows the truth 💋

❄️ 𝓤𝓷𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓭 | 𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝙳𝙸𝙻𝙵!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟛 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

Rafe catches you stressed and cramming for a test at the end of a long night babysitting his kids, and he wants to help you unwind

❄️ 𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓕**𝓴 𝓲𝓼 𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓶𝓪𝓼, 𝓐𝓷𝔂𝔀𝓪𝔂? | 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚃𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚛𝙶𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟡 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

Rafe catches a buzzing in your nightstand and he can't help but take a peek

❄️ 𝓐𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓮 | 𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔𝙽𝙷𝙻!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙰𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚛!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟙𝟜 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

Journalist!Reader, Rafe’s ex, interviews him and the other captain ahead of Friday night's big game. Rafe can't help but see the spark between them, and he wants to let her know who she belongs to

❄️ 𝓒𝓪𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽 | 𝚃𝚘𝚙𝙶𝚞𝚗!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙼𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚔!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟟 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

You’re missing your boyfriend, Rafe, so you open one of your favorite videos of the two of you while you play with yourself, but you can’t quite hear it…

❄️ 𝓚𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝓜𝔂 𝓗𝓪𝓽 𝓞𝓷 | 𝙲𝚘𝚠𝚋𝚘𝚢!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟙𝟟 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

After a messy breakup with a bartender at a rival bar, Cowboy!Rafe needs to find a new place to grab a beer. Turns out you were the sunshine he needed all along. This is also loosely based on my favorite TikTok edit LINK ♥️

❄️ 𝓔𝓷𝓰𝓪𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 | 𝙽𝙷𝙻𝙵𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚌é!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙵𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚌é!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟚 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

Celebrating your engagement with fiancé Rafe

❄️ 𝓑𝓮𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓑𝓪𝓻𝓼 | 𝙼𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙾𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚛!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟜 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

You know it’s wrong, you’d break Shoupe’s heart, but who can deny Rafe Cameron?

❄️ 𝓣𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱 𝓛𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓼 | 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟚𝟘 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

Professor!Rafe has been distant and now after cancelled plans you want to know what the hell is going on.

❄️ 𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓓𝓪𝓽𝓮 | 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟙𝟚 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

Rafe Cameron is nothing but trouble in class. When you see he’s up for a date night auction for his frat house; you can’t help but make a large anonymous donation, stealing him away for the night so you can have him all to yourself. Maybe he’ll finally learn his lesson.

❄️ 𝓡𝓲𝓿𝓪𝓵𝓼 | 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝙷𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚢!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙰𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚂𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚛!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟝 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

Lovers to enemies to lovers… A rough week between you and Rafe gets rougher after he catches you talking to someone else.

❄️ 𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓢𝓾𝓰𝓪𝓻 | 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙱𝚎𝚜𝚝𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟠 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

Baking cookies with Rafe. You and Rafe have been best friends for a while, and your relationship has become more romantic, blurring the lines between

❄️ 𝓒𝓪𝓼𝓾𝓪𝓵 | 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙿𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟙𝟙 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

Today you learned you were “casual,” those words never left Rafe’s lips before until your back was turned; you also learned Ruthie can't fight worth a shit. Now, you and Rafe need to have a little talk.

❄️ 𝓖𝓲𝓯𝓽 𝓔𝔁𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮 | 𝙾𝙵!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟙𝟝 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

You’ve always had a crush on your neighbor rafe but were too shy to make a move. When his package is dropped off at your door by mistake, you decide to make your move and learn a little more about the hot man next door.

❄️ 𝓕𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 | 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚃𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚛’𝚜𝙶𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

*part of the “Sorry, Top” AU — writen to be read alone.

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟙𝟠 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

You are dating Topper but hook up with Rafe secretly. You and Rafe had agreed that you mean nothing to each other, using one another to get off only, but the more time he spends with you, the more his feelings have grown. You have no idea because he’s so adamant about the fact that he’s using you. So, how would you know? Topper let Rafe know that the two of you had finally had sex, and between that and seeing you together at the Island Club Christmas party, he’s about ready to crash out

❄️ 𝓒𝓸𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓾𝓽 𝓒𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶 𝓟𝓲𝓮 | 𝙾𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚟!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙱𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

*part of the “Milkshake” AU — writen to be read alone.

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟙𝟡 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

You hooked up with your best friend Rafe a few months back. He admitted to being obsessed with you and was even willing to pay for you to be intimate because he was so desperate. Since then, you have been hooking up, and he promised he would leave Sofia, but he hasn't yet, and you're getting impatient. When you show up for Christmas dinner at the Camerons with your ex Kelce, you can't help but smile while Rafe squirms.

❄️ 𝓕𝓵𝔂𝓫𝓸𝔂 | 𝚃𝚘𝚙𝙶𝚞𝚗!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚊!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ℕ𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝜗𝜚 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝟙𝟚/𝟙𝟞 | 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕜

TopGun!Rafe x Ballerina!Reader have been dating for years. Rafe is stationed across the country on the West Coast, and the reader has landed her dream role in the New York City Ballet, playing The Rose Queen in The Nutcracker on the East Coast. A running joke between the two is Rafe asking the reader if she’s ready to get married yet… that joke is starting not to feel like such a joke anymore. The reader isn't ready to give up her dream.

𝓑𝓸𝓷𝓾𝓼: 𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓒𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝓟𝓛𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓛𝓲𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓻𝔂

made with @rafesthroatbaby 🩷

[toonice113]

The jacket ⋆ ★ L.Hughes

part 2

Pairings: Luke Hughes x Fem!reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: You weren’t expecting anything in return for your support, especially not this early in your relationship, but Luke had other plans.

Warnings:  brief mentions of drinking, 

Word count: 1.2k

⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ I thought this was shorter lol, I can’t wait to see all the wag jackets this year also, new challenge drink every time you see the word ‘wag’ in the story (no seriously, how tf did i end up using the word so much and for what?). It’s my first time watching the nhl playoffs and im excited (also hope the devils make it far so we get bearded Nico for a while)

You’d met Luke on a dating app. You and your friends had decided to apply to Raya on one drunken girl’s night in, at first it was just a competition, seeing who would get accepted, then it just became a fun place to snoop around all together when only you and another one of your friends had gotten accepted.

When you got Luke’s first message you hadn’t thought much about it, replying to it with your friends’ help and then moving on, but then it became more messages being exchanged even when you were on your own. Your first time meeting had been really sweet, just a coffee date where you got to know each other, and at first you were hesitant because why would this professional athlete want more than just a hookup? But at the end of the date, once your coffees had been finished and the conversation had faded, he walked you to your car, asked for your number and wished you a good night with only a peck on your cheek.

You’d been dating for only a little over two months when the devils clinched playoffs. During those two months you had met his teammates, you’d met his brother accidentally before you had even started officially dating, and their partners a couple times, but nothing formal had happened. You knew about the WAG groupchat and the WAG fee and honestly, way more than you needed or wanted to know about WAG life, from your friends insisting you needed to study the world you were about to enter. 

When you and Luke first started taking things a bit more serious than just random dates here and there he had began inviting you to his games, giving you a seat in the family section for every game that his parents weren’t there for, a mutual agreement as you both felt it was too early for you to meet his parents, but recently that seat had been changed to one in the same section as the rest of the wives and girlfriends who had immediately taken you in as a part of their found family.

Still, with your newfound friendship during games with the WAGs, you were not really involved in anything outside of the game hangouts, you weren’t necessarily bothered by it, you had school to worry about and you knew your relationship was new and the state of it did not depend on whether your boyfriend payed a fee for you or not.

The first two playoffs games for the devils were to be played in Raleigh, so you were planning on inviting your friends over and watching the games with them, but those plans had changed when Nicole Laud messaged you asking if you would like to join the rest of the WAGs and their kids at the Markstrom’s where they were watching the first game. That’s how you had found yourself here, outside of the house balancing two big boxes of custom ordered devils cookies you had gotten from one of your friends who owned a bakery. 

“Hi! Come in, come in” Amanda welcomed you into her house “Let me help you with that” You thanked her as she grabbed the boxes from your hand so you no longer had to balance your purse, the boxes and your phone that you had forgotten to put back into your bag before.

“Oh, I’m so glad you could make it” Nicole approached you 

“Oh my god these are so cute!” Emma Dillon exclaimed once the cookie boxes were opened and put out with the rest of the food and snacks, the designs of the cookies was simple but cute, one of the design was a white frosting with the player numbers, another one was based on their Jersey jerseys, another one was red frosting with the white NJ logo and finally your favorites, the ones of NJ’s head, yes the mascot, no you had no idea how your friend had managed to pull it off in such short notice but she’d done it. “Where did you get these? I might have to order some for the girls’ birthdays” 

“A friend made them actually” You say with a smile “She owns a bakery, I can give you her contact later if you want”

“Oh absolutely” 

Then came the awkward moment when the girls began talking about the WAG jackets, one that you were sure you were not going to receive, again, not that you were expecting one or were bothered by the lack of.  Nicole brought in a box from her car, pulling each jacket out with care and hanging them all in a rack Amanda had set up. You tried to distract yourself from the interaction by getting up and helping one of the kids get a juice refill while their mom enjoyed the moment with the other women.

“This is from Luke” Nicole approached you with a box while the rest of the girls gushed over their jackets on the other side of the room, she winked at you before retreating back.

Confused, you set the box on the table in front of you, pulling at the ribbon holding it closed and then opening it, on top of something wrapped in red paper there’s a note.

Wear this for good luck? 

The messy handwriting and lopsided heart makes you smile, you put the card down and unwrap the present underneath, your mouth falling open at the jacket in front of you, an identical version of the ones the women across from you are now trying on with the name ‘Hughes’ and number 43

“Y/N come here let’s get a few pictures” One of the WAGS calls for you, none of them make a fuss about you getting a jacket, all of them knowing from Nicole filling them in on Luke’s surprise, not wanting to make you uncomfortable by making a big deal of it, instead choosing to include you on their celebrations.

You send Luke a picture Nicole took of you wearing the jacket, clearly showing his name and number wishing him a good luck on the game, getting back a message telling you how beautiful you look and how they are surely winning now that you are wearing the jacket, that you are not really wearing anymore since you all took them off after finishing the pictures so they won’t be ruined before the home games but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Okay how do we feel about me posting this one” Aly asks the group when the game goes on commercial break, her phone is passed around with the girls agreeing and you grimace at it.

“Um I don’t know if I should be in the picture, I mean Luke and I are still pretty new and no one really knows about us so…” You speak apologetically at the fact that you seem to be the only one with a problem with the picture being posted 

“Oh honey, I think everyone knows” Reanne pats your shoulder and you look around the room at all the women smiling at you

“What do you mean?” You ask, confused

“Check your boyfriend’s instagram story” Reanne tells you 

And there, on Luke’s public instagram story, is the picture you had sent him before the game, a red heart emoji accompanying it, loud and proud for everyone to see that Luke Hughes is officially out of the market.

[hischierhoney]

Just Friends

Jack Hughes x Best Friend!Reader

summary: You’ve been best friends with Jack for ages. He’s also been in love with you for ages, but he’s got that completely under control. Really, he does. Right? 5.2k words

warnings: alcohol/intoxication, non graphic mentions of surgery/blood/stitches, hospital stay, reference to Jack’s shoulder surgery :(

Jack finds you in his apartment kitchen, a black tie in his hand. He’s already dressed in his suit pants and shirt, and for once, he feels like hair looks almost presentable. You take the tie from him without a word, and you loop it around his neck, underneath the collar of his shirt. Meanwhile, he grabs your necklace off the counter and fiddles with the clasp.

You hum to yourself as you start to tie the tie. “Ready for the game today?”

He shrugs. “I’m always ready.”

Luke is there, too, shoveling cereal into his mouth and watching the two of you warily. As you loop the tie around your fingers, Jack slips the necklace around your neck, your skin soft under his fingers. He latches it, blindly, with expert precision, muscle memory. He’s done it a million times now.

You tug the tie into place and then smooth it out on his chest. He hasn’t put his jacket on yet, but you’ll fix the lapels of it, too. You take a half a step back and give him a once over. He stands, waiting for your approval with his breath held in his chest. It shouldn’t mean this much, you making sure he looks good, but it does. You reach up and tuck a lock of hair back into place atop his head, and he smiles happily.

“All good,” you say, dusting your hands together as if you’ve just finished a hard day’s work.

Jack squints at your face, spotting something, and he brings a finger up to brush against your cheekbone. “Eyelash,” he explains, and you hum, closing your eyes as he brushes it away. “Got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Come on, don’t wanna be late. And no cereal in the car, Luke.”

Jack rushes off to grab his jacket. When he comes back, Luke is dumping the last of his cereal into the sink, and Jack grimaces. You’re in the hallway, stepping into a pair of shoes. Luke turns to him with a smirk, and Jack shakes his head before his brother can even open his mouth.

“Don’t,” he whispers.

Luke rolls his eyes. “I just think you guys are-“

“You thinking is dangerous,” Jack says. “Save all that energy for the game.”

He walks away, down the hallway to find you. You reach up to fix his jacket for him, and then you reach for the car keys and hand them off to him. He grins and nudges his elbow against your side.

“You’re such a passenger princess,” he teases.

You shrug. “I’m very good at it!”

He’s not complaining, really. There’s nobody he’d rather see in his passenger seat than you. Your jersey hangs proudly from your shoulders, his name and number on the back, and it makes his chest feel warm. You’re his good luck charm. He just hasn’t told you that yet.

…..

Jack’s spent so much time convincing his brothers and his teammates and his parents that he’s not in love with you, that he can’t pinpoint when it actually happened. He’s not sure there was some big moment, some realization, some day where he looked at you and everything changed. You’ve just been so present in his life that maybe it was a sort of gradual thing. Maybe it’s always been there, and he’s been in denial since he was eleven and Quinn was teasing him on the playground near their house.

Now you’re in New York, closer than you have been in years, both distance wise and friendship wise. You have season tickets, because he’s playing in the NHL and he wants you at every game possible. You spend half your nights at his place when he’s home, and he ignores the funny looks Luke gives him about it. Honestly, he’s a bit tired of denying it all. He thinks maybe if someone just asked point blank he’d let it all spill out.

He reads the text from you and smiles- you’re on your way to the Rock, one of your friends in tow. He’d gotten you two seats for the season, so you wouldn’t have to sit alone. He sort of dreads the day you decide to bring a date, but then he wonders what guy would be stupid enough to go along with that. Jack’s cocky, he’ll admit it. He knows he’s good at hockey. He laughs at the thought of you dragging a date along to see him play.

Someone announces they’re ordering food before the game, from the deli down the street. Jack listens as his teammates put in their orders. Luke goes with his usual. Timo changes things up. When the assistant gets to him, he grins. He orders his go to, and then another, and asks for a can of Coke, too, for good measure. Luke gives a knowing roll of his eyes.

When the guy brings the food in, Jack takes his bag, fishes his sandwich out of it, and hands the other sandwich and the can of Coke back. “Can you get this to seat B322?” He asks, grinning widely. He knows your seat number by heart.

Luke sighs heavily next to him. The guy agrees, of course. Nico, who’s standing nearby, cocks his head in confusion.

“She’s coming straight from work,” Jack defends. The ribbing he gets from the guys will be worth it when he sees you after the game. “She’s gonna be hungry.”

“It’s a hockey arena,” Luke says drily. “There’s so much food here.”

“But she loves Krauszer’s,” Jack says, and Nico rolls his eyes. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t order her some?”

“Friend,” Nico says, drawing out the word. “Sure.”

Jack ignores him. He ignores Luke’s smirk, too. He eats his sandwich and finishes getting ready, and then he heads out onto the ice, knowing you’re there somewhere, probably sipping on a can of Coke.

…..

The issue, Jack finds, is that it’s getting harder to ignore the fact that he’s in love with you.

It was easier, before, when you were younger and he was more dumb and less aware of… everything. He could convince himself it was just puppy love, just absence making the heart grow fonder, when post high school saw the two of you split apart. But now you’re here, close, and yet not close enough. Jack wants more, and he can’t really ignore that feeling these days.

He’s out at a bar, team bonding, as Nico put it. Except that half the team is drunk, including Nico, and the only bonding Jack’s doing is the brotherly kind, trying to keep Luke from sneaking drinks, or worse, getting caught sneaking drinks. Sometimes he hates being an older brother. He’d wanted to come out, maybe talk to a girl, maybe take said girl home, or get her to take him back to her place so he wouldn’t have to worry about Luke overhearing. But it’s not really working, not with Nico hanging off his shoulder like a leech and Luke sneaking another shot, and god, Jack’s going to kill him. If you were here, you’d be keeping an eye on Luke, too. He wishes you were here.

He has a shot to take the edge of the annoyance off. Then he has another, and another, and then there’s a girl across the bar, smiling at him, and- she sort of looks like you, is the thing, but not quite. The sort of uncanny valley of it all is freaking him out. For a moment he wonders if hooking up with her would make it better- would get it out of his system, would scratch the itch. The sane, more sober part of him thinks it might just make it all worse. To have some girl under him and hear a voice that isn’t yours. Jack used to do this all the time. The thought of it makes him feel sick now. That’s new.

He downs another shot and passes his leech of a captain off on his problem of a brother, hoping the two of them will keep each other in line. Then he pulls his phone from his pocket and gets an Uber.

It’s only when he’s standing at your apartment door that he realizes he probably should’ve called first. You might already be asleep. You might be out. Maybe you have a guy over. His stomach does a somersault at the thought. He raises his hand to knock anyways- he’s come all this way.

You open the door with a smile on your face. “Nico called to ask if I knew where you went. Thought you might be headed here.”

Jack lets his shoulders drop. “They were annoying me.”

That’s not the real reason he left, but he can’t exactly tell you he saw the uncanny valley version of you and decided to leave. That would be… a lot. You seem to take his answer as the truth, because Luke is annoying on a night out, and Nico can be, too. Jack still probably should’ve told them he was leaving. He’ll get an earful about it. Oh well. The way you step aside to let him into your apartment makes it worth it.

He heads for the couch, and you laugh when he flops onto it, facedown. He likes your laugh. It sounds so much like you. He remembers the years when you were in college and he was far, far away from you, when he’d crack jokes on the phone calls just to hear you giggle. He presses his face into a pillow and hopes you don’t see the blush on his cheeks, or that you’ll attribute it to his drunkenness.

“Want food?” You call out, from the kitchen, he thinks. He groans loudly in response. “I have mozz sticks.”

He turns his head to the side and says, “fuck, I love you.”

He can say it here, in the comfort and privacy of your living room, in the relative safeness of the fact that he’s been drinking. You won’t think anything of it. You won’t realize how much he really means it.

The sound of your laugh is music to his ears. “Love you too, Rowdy.”

You don’t mean it the way he wants you to. That’s okay. He came to terms with that a while ago, listening to you say it over staticky phone calls. But you’ll make him mozzarella sticks, and you’re not upset that he’s here, so he’ll take it. He’ll take anything, really.

You come into the living room a few minutes later, plate full of food in hand, and make him roll over. He sits up slightly, leaning against the arm of the couch, and you lift his legs to sit under them. He doesn’t complain when you turn on some stupid reality tv show he hates- there are mozzarella sticks for him to eat, and the warmth of you under him, the weight of your arm where it’s draped across his calves. He can put up with the host’s annoying voice for this.

He falls asleep on your couch, half a mozz stick in his hand. When he wakes up, he’s tucked in with the quilt you’ve had for years now, a pillow under his head, and water waiting for him on the coffee table. You’re probably at work by now. He’ll send you a text to say thank you, later, unless he decides to just wait here until you come home. That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea, really.

…..

It’s a Saturday, and Luke is out for lunch with some of the other younger players, so Jack’s fending for himself. Trevor, knowing this due to what he would call their cosmic connection, has seen it as an opportunity to talk Jack’s ear off over FaceTime. Jack has his phone propped on the kitchen counter, half listening as he cooks.

He loves Trevor- really, he does, but the guy could talk for hours upon hours and never run out of things to say. Jack lets him, because he knows Trevor likes talking, so he’s not going to be mean. He just chimes in with noises of agreement or disagreement at the right times. Then Trevor says your name, and he zones back in.

“I fucking knew you weren’t listening!” Trevor cackles, wide grin taking up most of the phone screen. “But the second I mention-“

“Shut up,” Jack groans, rolling his eyes. “I’m listening. I’m just also making lunch.”

“Right, right,” Trevor snarks. “Just for you?”

Jack knows what he’s insinuating. Honestly, as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad idea. You’re not working today, and he could probably convince you to come hang out with him in exchange for free food. He’s bored enough to listen to Trevor go on and on. You could save him from it.

“Yeah,” he says, and immediately contradicts himself by picking up his phone and sending you a text.

He tries to listen this time, he really does. He cares about Trevor, he wants to hear what he has to say. He finishes cooking lunch, and then Trevor has to go, shouting something to someone in the background, and he hangs up. Jack sighs at the empty, quiet room. He thinks about texting Luke to see when he’ll be back, but that feels pathetic. Maybe Nico’s not busy.

His heart leaps when his phone buzzes with a text from you.

Lunch sounds good. I’ll be over soon.

He can’t wipe the grin off his face the whole rest of the day. You come over, and eat the rest of the food happily, sitting at the kitchen counter. He watches fondly and tells you all the drama Trevor just told him- screw you, Zegras, he was listening. You smile brightly up at him.

“Got plans for the rest of the day?” He asks, hoping desperately that you don’t.

You shrug. “Nope. I’m all yours.”

God, he wishes.

…..

Jack thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can’t really be blamed when it all comes crashing down on a Wednesday afternoon in April. It’s been coming for a while. He’s had time to prepare. It shouldn’t take him out the way it does, because he’s seen it coming from miles away. It shouldn’t, but it does anyways.

They pull him from the games and finally, finally, ship him off to Colorado to have surgery. He gets an email with the flight information, another with a hotel to stay in the night before, and instructions on how to book his flight back to Jersey after he’s released. They don’t want to book it now, for fear of something going wrong in surgery. Hockey teams are superstitious like that, even their travel management.

There’s another set of emails, too- ones from the surgeon, about his prep and things he needs to do and bring and what to expect from the healing process. He hasn’t bothered to open it. That’ll make it real. He just packs up some of his clothes, shuts himself in his room, and waits. He ignores Luke, then he ignores Nico, who he’s sure Luke has brought over. He ignores Quinn’s phone calls, too, and everyone else’s.

When you show up, though, knocking on his bedroom door and calling out his name, he can’t ignore it. He makes a noise that isn’t a go away, and you take it as an invitation in, which he supposes it was. You make a soft noise of disapproval when you see him, curled up in his bed, hood pulled up around his head to block out the world.

“Hey, J,” you murmur, padding your way across his bedroom. “What’s going on?”

He sniffles and presses his face into the mattress. “The surgery.”

You sigh and sit down on the edge of his bed. “Yeah.”

Jack’s not afraid of having surgery, really. He’s never been very squeamish, never one to shy away from blood draws or stitches or IVs. You know this. Everyone knows it, which is probably why they’re all so worried about his reaction to this. He doesn’t want to admit it really, but it’s you, so he finds the words slipping past his lips.

“Mom can’t come,” he says, voice raw and scraping. “Or dad. Too short notice. And- and Luke and Nico and Quinn are gonna be busy, obviously, and I just… all this talk about surgery all this time and I didn’t think I’d have to do it alone, you know? It couldn’t wait till after the season so I could-“

He breaks off into an embarrassing, breath stealing sob. You make a soothing little noise and lean down next to him, scooping him up into your arms. It sort of helps and sort of makes it worse. The tears flow freely now. It’s just you. All his walls are down.

“You won’t be by yourself, Jack,” you murmur, and he waits for the reassuring words, that you’ll all be with him in spirit, that he’ll be home in no time, that he’s never alone. Instead, you say, “I took some time off. I’m gonna fly out with you, be there for the surgery.”

He pries one eye open, waiting for the punch line. There isn’t one. Just you, watching him carefully, holding him close. He knows how hard it is for you to get time off right now. It’s your busy season at work. And yet, here you are. Tears start running again. The whole world goes blurry. You just brush them away, one by one.

“Oh, honey,” you soothe, voice low and soft. “You didn’t think I’d let you do it alone, did you?”

God, he loves you. And he thinks this might be the final straw, the last puzzle piece. There’s no denying it now. You brush stray hairs from his face and press warm kisses to his forehead while he admits that he’s scared, not of the surgery but of what comes after, of the healing and the rehab and everything involved in it. You draw soothing patterns on his skin and just listen, because you know him well enough to know he needs to get it off his chest. He thinks about telling you how much he loves you as he starts to drift off, but he thinks better of it. There’ll be a better time than this, tear stained and curled up in his bed like a little kid. For now, it’s enough to know you love him, in any way, shape, or form.

…..

Jack wakes up in a hospital bed in Vail, Colorado, utterly disoriented and freezing cold. The ceiling is this ugly grey color, just like the rest of the ceilings in the building have been. He’s spent a lot of time staring at them in the last 24 hours. He blinks, and the tiles blur and swirl, and he hears his name in your voice. He tries to hold on, but he’s so, so sleepy, so he closes his eyes.

He wakes up again with no idea how long he’s been out. He’s warmer now. There’s an extra blanket laid over him, and a hand holding his. Hm. It feels nice. He squeezes his fingers experimentally. He hears movement to his left. A plastic cup appears in his field of vision, and he suddenly realizes how thirsty he is. He turns, slightly, and finds you.

“You’re here,” he says, quietly.

Your face is a little out of focus, but he thinks you smile. “Yeah, of course I am. Told you I would be.”

He knows that. He knows you flew out here with him, eating snacks on the plane before he hit the 12 hours before surgery mark and he had to stop. You checked into the hotel with him, got all the supplies ready for after the surgery, got him here, promised you’d be waiting when he woke up. But now he’s here, post surgery, and you’re holding his hand, and his chest hurts in the best way.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” you murmur, lifting the cup to his lips. He takes a sip. “Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head gingerly. He’s a little achy, but nothing that would make him cry normally. He can’t help it, it’s probably the meds. He remembers crying when he got his wisdom teeth out, too. He tries to tell you as much, but it comes out garbled and teary and raw. You shush him, smoothing your hand over his forehead and pushing his hair out of his face. That feels nice. You’re warm.

“Okay. It’s okay,” you soothe. “Take a breath. It’s alright.”

He does his best. You help him take little sips of water, and eventually the tears dry up. He’s left sitting there, your hand running through his hair, and he suddenly feels so, so sleepy. He turns his head and blinks at you. You’re clear in his vision now, beautiful as ever.

“You’re pretty,” he mumbles.

He thinks it all the time, he may as well say it. Nothing’s holding him back now. You laugh, and your face gets blurry again. He sighs.

“You’re pretty,” you say back.

He rolls his eyes, but he smiles anyways. “Hmm.”

“Are you sleepy?” You ask, thumb brushing against his temple. He nods. “You can go to sleep, okay?”

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” He asks, feeling a little vulnerable, suddenly.

“Yeah, Jacky,” you murmur, and when he closes his eyes, he thinks he feels your lips against his temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The third time he wakes up, you’re sitting next to him, eating ice cream out of a little plastic cup with one of the tiny wooden spoons. The tv in the room is playing that same stupid reality show. The host’s voice would piss him off if he wasn’t so focused on how adorable you look. He inches the fingers of his good hand towards you, towards where your knee is pressed against his bed. When he makes contact, you jump nearly a foot in the air. He can’t help but giggle.

“Jesus,” you mutter, shaking your head at him.

“Nah, just Jack,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “Someone’s feeling better.”

If he’s being honest, he still feels a little loopy. Your face is in focus, but everything feels a little softer around the edges. His fingers scramble against your knee, and you laugh, leaning close. You set down the ice cream and reach to tangle your hand up in his. That’s nice. He doesn’t get to do that a lot- hold your hand. Maybe he should have surgery more often. You smooth his hair out of his face again. It’s such a caring motion that it sends his heart stuttering.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, quietly.

You shrug. “What kind of best friend would I be if I wasn’t?”

And. That’s nice, but it’s not really what he wants to hear. He wants you to be here because you love him. He probably wouldn’t spend hours in a hospital waiting room for Nico, probably wouldn’t sit and wait for him to wake up. He’d bring him food after, when he got home, would help him however he needed. But to fly halfway across the country just to be here? He’d do that for you in a heartbeat, but he’s not sure there are many others he’d do the same for.

You seem to notice the way he’s staring, and you wave the wooden spoon at him. “You want some ice cream? The nurse said to call when you actually woke up. I’m sure she’ll give you one if you turn on the charm.”

He blinks slowly. “I love you, you know that?”

It’s past his lips before he can take it back. It should be terrifying. He should feel sick to his stomach. Maybe it’s the hospital drugs, or maybe it’s just that he’s been holding it in for so long, but it doesn’t feel scary. He sort of just feels relieved.

You smile brightly. “Yeah, I love you, too, Jack.”

He huffs. “No, you don’t get it-“

Before he can get another word out, the nurse comes in. He wonders if you pressed the button when he wasn’t paying attention, or if hospital staff just have comically bad timing. He lets out a groan. You give him an amused smile.

“Welcome back, Jack,” the nurse says. He reads her nametag- Nancy. “I’m just going to do a little checkup, alright?” She turns to you. “If you want, you can step out into the hall.”

By the time he’s squeezing your hand to keep you there, you’re holding onto him tightly, too. Huh. That’s interesting.

“She can stay,” Jack says.

You nod. So does Nancy, a knowing smile on her lips. Jack wonders if she sees this a lot. Guys with friends who sit by their bed, oblivious to the fact that said guy is hopelessly in love with them. Maybe it’s a common thing in hospitals. Maybe it’s not just Jack. That’s a nice thought.

He gets his blood pressure taken, and his pulse, and he gets asked to take a few deep breaths for what seems to be just the fun of it. She asks his pain level- a 3, at which point you break in and tell the nurse that his three is more like a five. She smiles at the two of you. When she goes to leave, Jack speaks up.

“Could I have some ice cream?” He asks, hoping the way his voice cracks on the words makes her sympathetic.

Ice cream does sound good. His throat feels raw, and his mouth is dry. And he’s starving.

Nurse Nancy smiles and looks at you. “What do you think? Has he been well behaved enough?”

Normally, Jack would take a little offense to it. But he turns to you, and you’re smiling bright, lighting up the whole room. His stomach does a somersault. He wonders if the way he feels about you is visible on the heart monitor, if his pulse picks up every time he looks at you.

“He’s the best,” you answer, and he melts. “Give him all the ice cream you’ve got.”

Ten minutes later, you sit there, holding a container of chocolate vanilla swirl. He’d been ready to eat it on his own until he remembered his arm, the surgery, the whole reason he’s here. He’d had to settle for letting you feed it to him. Maybe settle is the wrong word, really. It’s nice to be taken care of, even nicer when you’re the one who’s doing it for him.

He thinks maybe he’s still loopy, because in between bites, he pauses, looks at you, opens his mouth, and puts his foot directly in it. “I meant it, you know. I love you.”

You nod. “I know.”

He’s too far into this to stop now. “No, I-“

You interrupt, dropping the spoon in the cup to place your hand over his. “Jack, honey. Tell me later, when you’re not high off anesthesia, okay?”

Oh. He cocks his head, slightly. His mouth tastes like chocolate and vanilla. You smell like flowers. Like the lilacs in the backyard of his childhood home. There’s a light and warmth in your eyes that makes everything feel a little bit better.

“And if I tell you later,” he says, feeling braver than he ever has before, “are you gonna tell me something back?”

You laugh. It’s still music to his ears. You pick up the spoon again, scooping up a bit of ice cream. His gaze stays locked on you.

“Yeah,” you say with a nod. “That I mean it the same way you mean it.”

That’s enough for Jack, for now.

He tells you again the next day, waits a full 24 hours because a part of him is worried it was all some sort of drug induced dream. But you’re packing up the suitcases, that same stupid show on the TV, and he turns to you where he sits on the edge of the bed and says it.

“I love you. Like, really love you. As more than a friend.” His heart is in his throat.

You drop the hoodie you’d been holding into the bag, walk across the room to him, and come to stand between his legs. He’s holding his breath. You hook your finger under his chin and pull his face to yours. He thinks he recognizes the look on your face, from the kitchen when you helped him tie his tie, from the living room with a plate of mozzarella sticks in your hand, from every moment he was feeling all his feelings for you.

“Yeah,” you say, kissing his cheek. “I really love you too.”

When you kiss him on the lips, soft and sweet and everything he’s wanted for ages now, he thinks that maybe the whole mess has been worth it.

…..

He sits in a wooden chair on the back deck of the lake house. It’s mid summer, the week of the 4th of July. The heat is nearly unbearable, heavy and sticky and inescapable. Trevor and Luke are on the grass, throwing a football back and forth. Jack’s trying not to check the time obsessively.

Quinn, who’s sitting next to him, gives him a look when he picks up his phone again. “She’ll get here when she gets here.”

Jack rolls his eyes and sinks further into his seat. “You’re a dick.”

“Jesus, I know she’s your friend but…” Quinn is shaking his head. “You’re being obsessive.”

He hasn’t told any of them. Not about the hospital bed confession, or the kiss, or anything that came after it. The flight back to Jersey, his head on your shoulder. The way you took care of him before he flew to Michigan for the off season. The late night calls the two of you have shared since then. He’s itching to see you. It’s been far too long. He’s been scared to tell them because he’s scared you’ll get here and it won’t be real. He’s being ridiculous, he knows it, but he can’t help it. It’s you.

He hears it when your car pulls up in the driveway. He stands up, ignoring the look Quinn gives him. He’s not quick enough- you must’ve parked and ran inside immediately. You come racing out onto the back porch, eyes wide, smile even wider, and he could melt into a puddle right there in the hot summer sun. You’re brighter than all of it.

He pulls you into a kiss right there, in front of everyone, earning a series of surprised yelps and gasps and cheers. He doesn’t care about anything else. You’re here, and you’re kissing him back, and that’s more than enough.

“Fucking called it!” Trevor yells, and Jack laughs.

“We all did,” Quinn says. “Glad you two finally figured it out.”

You won’t be here forever. You have work, and a life in the city. But for now, for this little slice of time, he gets to have everything he’s always wanted. That’ll hold him over for the rest of the off season. Or, more likely, until he caves in and gets an early flight back to Jersey to spend more time with you. From the way you smile when you stare up at him, he thinks it probably won’t be long.

a/n: thanks for reading! have been wanting to write about Jack for a bit & he’s just so best friends to lovers coded. so here we go!

[bratbarzal]

The Secret of Us (LH43) 2/3

aka the sequel to let it happen

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

>PART ONE<

it felt like something old, it felt like something holy, like souls bleeding

WC: 28k (I once called this part short I just laughed for 15 minutes alone when the wc loaded)

General Warnings: bed sharing, hand holding, a lot of leaning and longing looks, just a bunch of friendly antics between two friendly friends. platonic pals. aromantic amigos. fluff galore between these two honestly. slight comeback of the banter from lih. jack and ellie win the joint award for worst advice givers on the planet. individual angst - reader lives in struggle city with her senior year of college and the nhl horrors persist for luke, and then an angsty ending (pls forgive me lol) - also mentions of four nations/team usa tw

A/N: sorry this took a little longer, I had a lot of notes and a lot of figuring out what to put where and what to leave for the last part!! I know you all know by now how precious these two are to me, and I really wanted this to show a real progression from how they were in lih!! again, biggest thank you ever for all your feedback on the last part, there's nothing I love more than seeing the reaction to these two and talking about them with everybody, it really ends up being this collaborative yearning for them to work out and inspires so much of what I write so thank you thank you thank you!!!!

Luke feels like he’s floating.

He feels like he’s living in some sort of dream - as sunlight filters in through his windows, and cast you in a surreal glow - he feels like he’s on cloud nine.

It’s all so peaceful, laying beside you - the two of you probably having been awake for maybe fifteen minutes, neither of you talking yet, just basking in the intimacy of being in each other’s arms.

He’d half expected you to shove him off as soon as your eyes opened - as soon as you saw what the two of you had gotten yourselves into, last night. Half expected snarky quips and narrowed eyes.

He hadn’t expected you leaning into his touches, laying on your side and and resting on his chest as he watches five millions thoughts pass slowly through your brain. 

“This might be what I missed the most,” he hums, too lost in the way the pads of your fingers tickle softly against his chest to think about what he’s saying, “First thing in the morning, when you’re still fogged up with sleep and your mouth isn’t moving yet.”

You smile softly at the dig, eyes still trailing the ministrations on his skin before you pinch at his flesh. “You’re not supposed to miss anything, now that we’re friends, never mind have a list.” The way you say it is quiet, distracted, even, and Luke likes to think he can read between the lines by now when it comes to your tone and inflection. You’ve missed it, too.

You’d gone straight to doing it as soon as you opened your eyes, cuddling up to him and drawing mindless shapes into his body as he held you close - it’s what you always used to do before you shot up and left him on his own, rushing back before Ellie ever woke up and pretending like you were never gone. 

Except this time, neither of you have anywhere to be.

“I don’t think you understand how impossible that’s gonna be.” He chuckles breathily, coming out more like a huff as he presses his head back into the crook of his arm and stares at the ceiling, the tips of his fingers still playing with your hair.

“I understand,” you sigh after a beat, eyes glancing up at him when he angles his neck down to look at you. “But that’s what last night was for, right? Closure?”

It doesn’t entirely feel like closure, not to Luke, but saying that out loud makes him feel like an asshole. You had agreed to last night in order to close out the chapter dedicated to the two of you, and saying that he wants to carry it on feels wrong, especially knowing that’s not what you want. 

“Right,” he agrees, noncommittally, wondering if you feel the deep thud of his heart against where you rest beside his ribcage. “Uhh-,”

“Oh my God,” you groan, shuffling up until you’re sat on your ankles, glaring down at him, and swatting the back of your hand where you’d just been tracing lines on his chest,  “You want to do it again!”

He leans up on his elbows, trying to level his gaze with yours. “Is that so bad?”

“You said one more time!” You huff, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, “I thought I was being generous stretching last night out to three,”

“Alright, easy on the stretching,” he watches as you look around for your underwear, “I was the one who thought you could have done three, there was no stretching on my behalf, I have the stamina of a horse-,”

“You could barely stay upright,” you throw back over your shoulder as you fasten your bra, Luke’s eyes trailing down the expanse of your back. “I could have easily done four, even.”

“Prove it,”

“No.”

“Come on,” he chuckles, “One more time, I mean it. We’ve never had a morning with no one else around, it would be a shame to waste such a perfect opportunity,”

“Such a shame,” you mock him, your voice comically low as you reach  down to retrieve the rest of your underwear.

“I swear I’ll behave after,”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” You scoff, hopping into your panties as you send a sceptical look toward him. “You have no self control.”

“Me?” He jabs a pointed finger into his chest with widened eyes. “You folded like a lawn chair last night, you have no self control.”

“That was last night,” you shrug, looking around for a shirt that you can throw on - he watches you pout a little at your dress discarded on the floor, eyeing it up like you’re considering the shame of throwing it back on, and he pushes himself up to go to his closet. “I’m a new woman today.”

“I rocked your world that hard, huh?” He smirks as he passes, letting you shove him on his way past and barking out a laugh when he turns to look back at your now-scowling features.

“You’re not being very friendly.”

He pulls the t-shirt he’s about to hand you back just as you reach for it, your footsteps stumbling before you snatch it from his grip and pull it over your head. 

“We got back here after midnight, I’m pretty sure,” he recalls, watching you get dressed, “So when I said tomorrow, I meant the day after today.”

“That wasn’t very clear,” you huff, pulling your hair out of the neck of the shirt and to one side, leaving the other bare for his eyes to fall upon, “You duped me.”

“Can you blame me?” He asks, stepping a little closer into your space, eyes still on the slope of your neck before they drift up slowly to meet yours. He likes the way you have to angle your head to gaze up at him, only intensifying the more he closes the distance between the two of you. “I never got to spend the morning with you, we never had time together, not like this.”

“All the more reason that we shouldn’t have any now.” 

“I disagree.”

“Of course you do.”

He smiles, fingers reaching out to pinch again at the soft ends of your hair. “I’m always gonna feel like I missed out if we don’t,” he pouts, “And we can’t start a new chapter without finishing the other one, right?”

He thinks your eyes roll by instinct now, whenever he uses analogies like that to try and convince you, but he can see the cogs turning.

He’s right. You know it. You’ll both always be left wondering if you don’t try it now. 

“Plus,” he sings a little, “Some things are better to wean off slowly right? Stops the chance of relapsing.”

“Are you comparing me to a drug?”

“If it walks like a drug,” he drifts off, distracted by the strands of hair he’s twirling in a soft pinch. 

“You’re not making this easy, Luke,” you sigh, reaching up to stop the distracting ministrations of his fingers in your hair. “The longer we drag this on the harder it’s gonna be to let it go.”

He doesn’t tell you he doesn’t want to let it go, because what good would that do? Your mind is set on being friends, and he would be pushing his luck to try for more, no matter how much he wants it. Instead, he laces his fingers through yours, flexing until your palms are clasped together, and he has a bit of leverage over the way your arm moves - can tug and pull you any way he likes, which is, of course, closer.

“I promise I’ll be good after,” he maintains eye contact as he leans down a little, voice low to draw you in, “You’ll go back to Michigan and I’ll let the whole thing go.”

He holds his other hand up, pinky extended to you, and you keep your eyes on his for a good few seconds before you let them drift to where he’s holding it, a flood of memories washing straight through your pretty irises.

“C’mon,” he purrs, head tilting teasingly as he nods toward the digit, “For old time’s sake?”

Your eyes roll, as expected, but he still catches the way your lips curve before you quickly reach out and link your pinky around his. It takes him back to summer, to that night by the fountain, when something between you changed for the better. Just before you pull away, he tightens his grip, clenching his pinky and pulling until your chest bumps into his, leaning to capture your lips in a clumsy kiss.

It’s tame, especially compared to what happened between the two of you last night, and your hands stay clasped together to avoid the risk of them wandering, but he loves it all the same. Loves the way your eyes flutter closed, and your chest slowly deflates of all tension against his. Loves the way you seem to give in, almost immediately, and accept your fate, losing yourself in the way your mouths move together. He uses that to his advantage, slowly and carefully moving forward, guiding you until the backs of your knees are hitting his mattress. 

Even when he lets your hands go, you don’t use them to push him away - instead hanging your arms over his shoulders and playing with the curls at the nape of his neck, deepening the kiss, increasing the pressure of your touch to stay attached as he lowers you back onto the bed. 

Everything feels so fluid with you - so foreign to what this sort of thing is usually like, not that he’s even looked at any other girl since the beginning of summer - and the thought of giving it up makes his gut twist in discomfort, a feeling he’s just going to have to push down if he wants to bask in this one last time.

So he pours his heart into it for as long as you let him - large hands tracing down every soft curve of your body, mapping them out, slipping beneath the back of your panties and gripping at the soft flesh of your ass until your hips buck up into his.  

“You’re making this so hard,” you mutter into his mouth.

“And you’re letting me,” he mutters back, “Kissing me back, pushing your hips up, scratching at my hair like you know I like it.”

Those movements don’t even cease as he points them out, and he pulls away just to look at you panting beneath him. 

“You can admit it you know, just one time. Maybe then I won’t carry on chasing it.”

“Admit what?” You whisper, breathless and hesitant.

“That you want me just as bad.”

You look up at him for an extended moment, then, lips parted with unspoken words and chest rising and slowly falling with bated breath. Your eyes flicker between his, pupils dilating as if they’re trying to say what your mouth won’t.

He doesn’t need you to say anything, though - you tell him everything he needs to know with the way your fingers curl back around the nape of his neck, pulling him down until your lips collide.

Your body arches entirely until it’s pressed to his, the curve of your back slotting perfectly into the stretch of his torso, and defying the hold he has on your waist.

You’re too far past the point of no return to push him away now, as evidenced by the soft little noises you hum in between his lips when his touch wanders somewhere beyond where you’ve given him access so far in the morning.

And despite how much he wants to take it further, he also wants to drag it out, so he kisses you for what feels like forever until his lips trail to the side, pressing into the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, your jaw, the side of your neck, the sensitive column of your throat - and the whole time your fingers stay clutched in his hair, pinching and clenching around the over grown curls as your body writhes beneath him. 

If the two of you had been doing this back in the summer, he’d have never let you go - would have kept you between his sheets the whole time, everybody else be damned. 

And you’d have let him, he knows it.

He tries not to get in his head too much about the what-ifs, tries to think about the now, about how you’re clutching onto him and giving in to his persistence, but it’s hard - knowing it’s the last time.

Last night, he’d had the aid of intoxication to drown out those thoughts, but now there’s pressure.

And you must sense it - he must stall in his ministrations, or hesitate somewhere along the way - because you pull him from your neck with two hands grasping at his head, and lift until you’re face to face again. 

Your lips are swollen when he takes you in, pupils blown, skin flushed, and all he can feel when he looks at you is pride - pride that he got you into that state, pride that you even let him. Pride that he’s the kind of person you don’t want to lose completely, that you still want to be his friend.

Which is why he leans in to kiss you - short but sweet, pulling away with his eyes screwed shut and his brows sinking in frustration. And then he kisses you again, and it’s brief, but he can’t really drag it out any more.

And then one last time, because the second just wasn’t enough to be the last ever kiss he gives you. And this time, it’s slow. It’s ardent and loving and he hopes somehow that you feel the meaning deep in your bones, that he’s finally giving in. It’s a kiss so intense that he hopes it bruises, hopes you feel the pressure of his lips around yours later when you’re flying home, and you press your fingertips to the ache there and think of him. Think of doing more, of being more.

Your eyes flutter open slowly when he pulls away - when he’s hovering over you, trying to put his weight on his good side, and watching as you start to realise why he isn’t kissing you anymore.

“You were right,” he sighs, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest beneath him. “Dragging this on is just gonna make it harder.”

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes flickering across his features until he finally meets them, your gaze softened and crinkling in the corners a little. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, dipping his head to avoid the lure of your pretty eyes, “I don’t usually start anything I can’t finish."

“That’s okay,” you tell him, a hand lowering to cup at his jaw, stroking gently and pressing your thumb a little into his cheek until he looks back up. “Knew you didn’t have a fourth in you.”

He flicks playfully at your nose as it scrunches when you smile, and rolls off of you, laying on his back beside you as you turn onto your side, resting on an elbow and looking down at him.

“Do you really think we’re gonna be friends?” He asks, head tilting until your eyes meet, and he can gauge the sincerity in your answer. He’s just given up what he’s pretty positive is a sure thing, and if you’re not going to put the effort in to keep up at least a friendship, he’s gonna start to hate himself for it.

You nod, though, not breaking eye contact. “I do,” you assure him, honesty swirling in your irises and assuredness in your tone. “I really did miss you. And not even just this,” you gesture between the two of you, “Although it wasn’t half bad-,”

“It was incredible,” he corrects, lips turning up to match your smile.

“Okay,” you giggle, “I don’t feel like I have to be anybody else when I’m with you, you know?”

Of course he knows. He’s spent his entire life morphing himself into what’s expected. To be more professional around his coaches, more responsible around his brothers, more easygoing around his friends.

But with you, he could be himself - can be himself - and the thought of being able to keep that makes his chest feel a little lighter. 

“Friends,” he holds his pinky out again, waiting for you to loop yours through it, although you just eye it with scepticism. “For real this time.”

“Friends,” you agree, hooking your finger around his and squeezing. 

No kisses, this time, but that’s probably for the best, he thinks.

The look in your eyes and the smile that tugs at your lips will have to be enough to seal the promise in place.

Luke Hughes refuses to lose you again.

If someone had told you this time last year that you’d be making the trip out to Detroit on a random Thursday night in late October to watch a hockey game, you’d have laughed in their face. 

You barely leave Ann Arbor anymore, at least you haven’t this year, already stormed under with assignments and study groups, and riding out to Little Caesars arena with Ellie and a couple of the Michigan hockey guys to watch the Devils had been the last thing on your agenda - but that was before you became friends with Luke. Before you became privy to his recovery schedule, and his return to the league just so happened to fall in time for a game nearby.

You could hardly miss his first game of the season - especially not if it was just to bury your head in your books and hate your life.

That’s not what a friend would do.

And that’s how you find yourself nestled between Ethan and Ellie, in the tenth row behind the away end net, waiting for the team to come out for warm ups.

Ellie’s been talking your head off all day about coming, excited to see Jack on the ice again, excited for you to be with her so she can be excited without being shot down by the hockey geeks at the other side of you, and you’re getting a little overwhelmed by it all.

You don’t know why you’re nervous.

It’s just Luke. Your friend.

Who you haven’t seen since you left his apartment a couple weeks ago, trying not to blush as he hugged you goodbye in front of Ellie and his brother, trying not to let your touch linger and give anything away or drag it out.

The two of you have been texting a little. He’s been busy with his rehab, you’ve been busy with school, but it’s still been working out. He sends you dumb jokes, you’ve now used the eye roll emoji so much that it’s at the top of the list whenever you open them up, and your friendship is slowly but surely blossoming.

Ellie keeps trying to press you on it, though. Teasing jabs of her elbow when his name pops up on your phone, little comments about her plans to visit Jersey, and how you should tag along.

You should have known when her and Jack came back from the hotel the morning after the halloween party that she was onto you. Little shared looks between the two of them in the car to the airport, and side eyes from beside you on the plane.

You wish she’d just come out and say something so you can shut her down, though - set her straight on what is now very strictly platonic between you and Luke.

You’re thankful that when the boys come out on the ice, she’s off getting you guys some drinks - because if she saw you craning your neck just to try and figure out which one is number 43, she’d never let it go. 

When you do catch sight of Luke, you’re pretty much glued to him - watching him round up pucks and practice his handling around his teammates, skating in somewhat graceful circles around the ice, forming a mesmerising pattern that you can’t look away from. 

You almost forget that only Ellie and Dylan went to the concessions until you see a figure shift out of the corner of your eye and snap back into some semblance of nonchalance. 

“So,” Ethan angles his body a little more toward you, like he’s trying to block anyone else from eavesdropping, as if the seats around you aren’t empty for now, “You and Luke, huh?”

You turn your neck slowly to face him, levelling him with an unimpressed glower - narrowed eyes meeting his as he raises a brow in question. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how I spent half of last year trying to get you out to watch a game at Yost, and you told me that hockey interests you about as much as collecting pennies would.” 

Funny how he remembers that, verbatim, you think.

You’d like to think Ethan is a friend - you share a lot of classes, he often saves you a seat when it’s busy and you’re undoubtedly cutting it close, and you let him look at your notes when he dozes off mid-presentation — a transactional relationship, mostly, but he’s not a complete asshole like a lot of the other guys you know. You kind of run in the same circles, go to the same parties, and bump into each other too often to be anything less.

He had been trying to convince you to go watch a game last year, especially after the two of you had worked on a project together in your fall semester, only because of the development in your own friendship, and the fact that you had other kind-of friends on the team. He was adamant you’d have fun - but you knew better.

And the sole reason had really always been Ellie.

She spent your entire freshman year trying to convince you to go with her to watch the team. You’d gone a couple times, and then never again. If you started going to hockey games, she would have tagged along, and you would never hear the end of her prolific yapping about Jack.

And now here you are - sat in the stands, an empty seat beside you with her name on it, and Jack Hughes on the ice below. That worked out so well.

“I’m here for Ellie,” you lie, because that seems reasonable, “The penny thing still stands, I don’t understand a single thing going on down there.”

“Except for the fact that Luke keeps looking up to check on you.” 

And sure enough, when you peer back down at where the guys are warming up, Luke is glancing up in your general direction. It’s a little too far away to meet his eye - obstructed too, by his helmet - but you know Ethan is right. He’s been doing it ever since they came out.

“Maybe he’s looking for Dylan,” you shrug, “The guy’s a liability, Hughes is probably worried he’s gone and got himself lost.”

“Is that why you’re blushing?” Ethan jabs playfully at you with his elbow, smirking when you glare back at him. “You worried about Duker too?”

“Shut up.” 

“I’m just callin’ it like I see it,” he shrugs, dark eyes gleaming with mischief as he smirks knowingly at you, knuckles pressing into your shoulder as he gives a playful shove. “You’re into him.”

“Am not.”

“He’s into you.”

“We’re friends,” comes out by default, and you’re kind of surprised by just how quick, considering it was only ten days ago that you were in his bed back in Jersey. Less than two weeks since he was pressing teasing kisses into your giggling lips and and you were drawing swirling patterns into his bare chest as you both tried to fight sleep, neither of you wanting to succumb to your own exhaustion and end up waking up in a world where you couldn’t be this close again. 

Or maybe that was just you, you don’t know - Luke seems pretty happy to casually text and pretend everything is fine. 

“Did he say he was into me?” You turn a little more toward Ethan as you ask, hips shuffling in your seat to fully angle your body toward his, tilting your head in question and holding your breath in anticipation of his response.

Luke said he only ever talked to Brett on his team about the two of you - and while Ethan saw the two of you in the summer, probably witnessed you acting a little more than friendly around each other, you didn’t think either of you had said anything to him.

But him and Luke are close. They always have been. Maybe Luke has shared a little more than you thought - and maybe that’s not such a bad thing, having a little insight as to where his head is at.

Ethan’s smirk only widens though, amusement evident in the crinkles that form beside his eyes, like he takes pleasure in how easily you fold.

“Luke said the same as you, that you’re friends.”

Damn.

“There you go, then,” you force a sardonic smile, turning back to face the ice, “Hope that helps you sleep a little better at night, I, for one, won’t miss your short-lived attempt at being a professional gossip”

He chuckles from beside you, raising a hand to wave at Luke when he looks back up again, the weight of his distanced gaze already sitting heavy on your chest. 

You don’t know why it bothers you - thinking he’s so content in your agreement. It’s your agreement, after all. You assumed that you would be content too, it’s why you’d suggested it in the first place, but you can’t help it, can’t stop thinking about him, and can’t stop wondering what if?

You thought you’d shut that door at the end of summer - thought your mind was set and your heart was safely kept under lock and key - but of course he’d find a way to weasel straight beneath all your defences. You don’t know how you didn’t see it coming - too consumed by your want of him, too caught up in the familiarity of his longing gaze - considering it was exactly what he’d done in the first place, weakened your resolve with a flash of his crooked smile and caustic charm. 

And that’s exactly how you feel, now - every time you find yourself smiling a little too hard at your phone when he texts you, or checking a little too often when he doesn’t - weak.

When you look down at the ice and see him glancing back over his shoulder in your direction, wondering if he really is seeking you out or if he normally scans the crowd like this - weak.

When your phone buzzes in your pocket after the team retreat to the locker room, and you angle it away from the nosey neighbours sat at either side of you, your lips twisting to mask a smile as you read, If I fall please don’t laugh at me - weak. 

When the team end up losing, and you want nothing more than to go find him - comfort him somehow in the limited time you have before they leave to fly back to Jersey, knowing how amped up he had been to return to the ice - but only end up with a few minutes of his time, in the company of Ethan and Dylan beside you, sharing a brief, noncommittal hug and soft smiles just between the two of you - weak.

Thanks for coming, he texts you when you’re on the way back to Ann Arbor in the back of Ethan’s car, Ellie on the other side, head against the window asleep, and the boys up front, yapping to each other about the game.

You chew on the corner of your mouth, face aglow in the dim reflection of your phone, and watch the little three dots appear, waiting for whatever else he wants to say.

You picture him buckled into his seat, legs too long for any plane to comfortably accommodate him - although you’ve never flown anything other than economy, so what would you know - and regretting not getting any other moment alone. You wonder if you’re the first person he’s messaged since settling in for his flight, if any of the guys have a text waiting for them.

It means a lot that you were there. 

You lean your elbow onto the door at the side of you, pressing your smile into your fist to conceal it in case you catch Ethan’s curious eye in the rear-view mirror. 

I had fun, you text back, sending before you can overthink adding an emoji, fingers itching to tap on the little heart beside the eye-roll in your most used. You’d add it in a message to Ellie - to any of your other friends. Why not to Luke? Thanks for inviting me.

Anytime, he replies almost immediately. I get 2 tickets for every game if you ever want to come again.

You hold on the message and press the heart to react, which will have to be enough, for now, you think.

It’s been 10 days.

Maybe you need to wait until the mere sight of his name doesn’t cause your stomach to do somersaults. Then you can progress to heart shaped emojis. 

Time seems to be escaping Luke, passing quicker than he can even comprehend - November ends up being a blur, 14 games in 30 days and he can barely remember his own name by the time it’s done.

One thing he does remember is you, though, a constant presence throughout the month, even if he didn’t physically see you once.

After the game in Detroit, the two of you took up a new routine, texting one another throughout the day, every day, and when it turned out that texting very quickly didn’t fill the void, he would call you. 

It started on the first, a shutout loss in Calgary left him in a pretty shitty mood - the team piling back to their hotel in almost silence, splitting into their rooms to sleep off the result, and he found himself needing someone to actually talk to.

You had answered almost immediately, despite the time difference, way past midnight in Ann Arbor when he called, and had managed to talk him down without even knowing you were doing so.

He knows he has a reputation for talking, but he was finding it hard to speak, and you seemed to pick up on that fact, unprompted.

It was like some weird version of ASMR, you whispering to avoid detection in an otherwise unconscious house, him humming back similar-toned responses even though there was no one around for him to wake up, and it took maybe ten minutes for him to feel normal again.

The two of you stayed on that call for two hours, though, until your responses slowed down, and you fell asleep with him on the other end. Listening to you breathing felt creepy, to say the least, and he ended the call with a text saying, thank you, waking to a text the next morning that just said, thank you too.

He realised then that maybe you both needed each other, and the calls became FaceTimes, which became daily. 

You congratulated his wins, consoled his losses, kept him occupied on his days off, and he tried to return the favour - celebrating your finished assignments, comforting you through the stress of school, or your family, or life in general, and giving you an escape just like you gave him one.

The two of you even start watching movies together again. Admittedly, through a screen, with a couple second delay on either side - but every Sunday, you both take turns to pick something, setting a random theme the week before and judging each other on how well the film fits.

And it’s weird, having this almost constant contact with you, access he’s never had to anyone other than his family in his entire life, but still missing you.

He feels like he would have been able to get a handle on this whole friend thing, if he could see you in person. If he wasn’t melting at the mere sound of your voice, or staring when the connection lags on your pretty face. Too many times now he’s been caught smiling down at his phone in the locker room, chirped to holy heaven about the lovestruck grin on his face, and having to swallow down the urge to laugh along, because he knows they’re right.

But he had been right, back in Michigan - this is so much better than nothing at all. Having you in his life in whatever capacity you’re willing to be in it will always be enough, and he values your friendship more than most other relationships in his life. 

Which is why, when it comes time for him to return to Michigan, he finds himself in a slump thinking you won’t be there. 

It’s the holiday season before he’s even aware, and thinking of going back to the lake house, and you going back home at the same time, fills him with disappointment.

He puts on a smile in front of his parents, relishes in the time spent with Quinn, but he finds himself checking his phone more often than he should, wondering if you feel like you’re missing out too.

It comes to a head during the Christmas Eve party his parents have thrown for the last couple of years, inviting all their local friends and family to catch up and celebrate the year together while they have the rare chance.

He slips out the back, isolates himself on the deck chairs by the pool, despite the freezing cold, and twirls his phone between his thumb and fingers, wondering if calling you on a day like today is crossing some unspoken friendship barrier.

His brothers know better than to bother him when he gets like this, and this sort of disposition is a new thing for his parents to navigate, so when he hears the back door open, and the soft patter of footsteps come towards him, he holds his breath in anticipation of some awkward conversation, probably with his dad, where he’s berated for bringing the mood down.

He heaves out a big sigh before straightening up, expecting a, you’re going to freeze out here, or, come inside, Luke, you’re being rude.

“Are you avoiding me, Hughes?”

He shoots up then, spinning on his feet at a dizzying pace, and catching sight of you, bundled up a thick, fluffy jacket with your hands in your pockets as you wait for him to acknowledge you.

“No, I,” he watches you step closer, approaching the deck chairs with your eyes on him the whole time. “I didn’t know you were here, I’m sorry.”

“Since when are you such a hermit? Why aren’t you inside?”

“Just needed a minute of quiet,” he shrugs, “Don’t know if you noticed coming through, they’re all insanely loud.”

“Oh, I noticed,” you chuckle, the subtle shyness in your demeanour sending some warped tingle down his spine, “Do you want me to catch you inside?”

“No,” he says before you even finish speaking, reaching out to grasp at your arm despite the fact you’re not turning yet, “You don’t count.”

You hum, lips twisting into an astute smile before you take the final steps to stand in front of the seat beside his. The smile deepens the closer you get, and he doesn’t miss the way you huff out a small laugh as you look at him.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, head tilting as he takes in the playful gleam in your pretty eyes, your attention flitting around his face with a knowing twist to your lips.

“What’s this about?” You ask, shuffling forward and biting back a smile as you point to the patch of skin between your nose and mouth, still staring at him.

He rolls his eyes, thinking, not you too. He’s had enough chirps from just about everyone else, his own mother included. You’d been the one to tell him you liked him with a moustache back when it was fake, you of all people should have his back. “I’ve become an esteemed gentleman,” he snarks, “Some may say it makes me look rugged and handsome.”

“Was it your mom that said that?”

“Others said sexy and mysterious.”

“Others?” You snort, matching his position as the two of you stand closer, now, looking up at him to meet his height.

“Why,” he asks, narrowing his eyes your way, “You jealous?”

“Of what?” You giggle, pointing teasingly at the feature in question, “Someone mistaking the caterpillar that’s taken residence on your top lip as sexy? I’m absolutely beside myself.”

“Ha ha,” he swats at the finger you point at him, and shuffles back into the deck chair, “Did you come out here just to rag on my facial hair? Thought I suited a moustache.” He figures the next best way to gain some semblance of control over this conversation is to reference that night - most times he’s a little more subtle about it, never missing the flush that rises to your cheeks, but this time you don’t bite.

“I’d hardly call that a moustache,” you roll your eyes as you fall down into the chair next to his, painted Michigan blue next to Devils red. “Was just hard to resist, it’s so easy to rile you up. But I’m here because I brought you a gift.”

“A Christmas present?” He asks, straightening up, “I didn’t get you anything,” he pouts as he watches you reach into your bag and pull it out, a bigger-than-he-expected rectangular box wrapped in red paper, a black bow tied neatly around it. 

“I wasn’t expecting anything,” you tell him as you hand it over, the tips of his long fingers grazing against yours as he takes it. “Just saw it and thought of a conversation we had once, it’s no big deal. It’s kinda dumb, actually.”

“Doubt it,” Luke mutters as he shakes the box close to his ear, a brow furrowed as he tries to make sense of what’s inside. He doesn’t think anything you give him could be dumb, but he’s kind of at a loss as to what it could be at all.

“Jeez, don’t break the damn thing,” you chuckle, your hand instinctively going out to grasp at his forearm to bring it down, and his eyes darting to the point where the two of you touch. 

You haven’t touched him since he last saw you in person, in October, and while distance has helped a little with the whole strictly friends thing, he feels like the mere heat of your skin against his has washed away all the hard work he’s done over those arduous weeks apart.

It takes him back to the middle of October, to that night in his room in the apartment in Jersey. Brings back visions of your heated gaze and your soft lips, the way you’d so easily fold to him - your biting remarks sizzling into amorous moans and sweet nothings. Sends his thoughts spiralling to how your body felt against his - to lips pressing fervently into the column of his throat, to fingers clutching at curls at the nape of his neck and legs hooked around his waist - and at the thought of legs, his gaze wanders. 

You’re quite bundled up, up top - a thicker coat, a higher neckline than he’s used to seeing you in for your sweater, very appropriate for the brisk late December air, but you’re still wearing a skirt, and tights that are probably a touch too sheer to properly keep you warm. And the tiny ladder above your knee piques his interest almost immediately, a voice in his head from he-can’t-even-remember-when regaling him with the analogy of ladders in tights being dubbed, the stairway to heaven. 

He swallows, thickly, eyes darting back up to meet yours. 

“Can I open it?” He asks, and he swears he sees your pupils dilate after watching his wandering gaze. “The present.”

“No,” you shake your head with a small smile as soon as he frowns.

“I didn’t think you’d be the wait until Christmas morning type.”

“I’m not, I’m just lousy at watching people open presents. It makes me nervous. You can open it when I’m gone.”

Luke doesn’t quite believe that anything he could possibly do could ever make you nervous, but he lets it go with a nod of agreement, placing the box precariously on the arm of the deck chair.

“You got a late flight home or something? What are you even still doing in the state? I thought you were going back yesterday,”

“I’m spending Christmas with Ellie’s family,” you shrug, “My mom got called in to work last minute so it would have just been me at home, anyway. Gonna go back in time for New Years Eve.”

Luke’s chest aches a little at the thought of you being alone, but it makes him feel better to know you have Ellie. Makes him feel less inclined to do something ridiculous, like ask you to stay - to wake up next to him in the morning, eat dinner with his family, and stay by his side all day.

He can’t spend his whole Christmas dwelling on that kind of rejection. 

Although he feels even worse now, that he hadn’t thought to get you anything. He should have asked, when you became the type of friends who text each other everyday, if birthdays and holidays should be taken into account. 

If you’re the kind of friend who he can watch movies with from over 600 miles away, and who understands his humour enough to send stupid memes that he actually finds funny, and who is the only person he can even communicate with after a bad game - who seems to understand what he means when he says just want to feel nothing for a while, and FaceTimes him just for him to watch you study with your headphones on until he feels calmer - then surely you’re the kind of friend he buys a gift for Christmas. 

“When are you leaving?” He asks, trying to do the mental math on if he’ll be able to get you anything by then - something to take into the New Year, maybe.

“In 3 days. The 27th.”

He goes back to Jersey on the 26th. Maybe he can figure something out. 

“No doubt Jack’s gonna want to see Ellie in the morning before we go back. Maybe I can save you from third wheeling?”

“My white knight,” you place a hand to your chest with a dreamy smile, and he rolls his eyes with a scoff to mask just how much that still gets to him - the easy way you so quickly jibe back at anything he says. 

It’s easier to water it down through a text. Especially when there’s a delay in response, when he’s in practice or you’re in class, and it doesn’t serve to remind him of summer - of bickering from his passenger seat, prodding your feet into him from the other side of the couch, or splashing him with water in the lake. 

“Are you guys gonna stay for a drink?”

“Nah, we gotta get back to help sort all the Santa stuff out for her siblings. They do the whole snow boot-print and half-eaten carrots set up, it’s a whole thing, apparently.”

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, a sudden distance in the way your eyes drop, like he’s losing you to something heavy and hard. 

“Are you still down for movie night?” He asks, your Sunday ritual only having occurred a couple nights ago, where the two of you had watched While You Were Sleeping - Luke’s still trying to get his head around how you always somehow pick romantic films while actively rejecting the concept of romance, but if he thinks too hard about it, he’s worried it might fry his brain. You’d said it was your favourite Christmas movie, and he had debated just how festive it really was after watching, but he was in no position to deny you when it was, in fact, your turn to pick.  “I’m free on the 30th. I’ll be in California so the time might be a little off, but we can make it work.”

“I’m down. It’s your turn to pick, though, so you better make it good. And you can’t pick New Years Eve, that’s cheating.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he rolls his eyes, his heart fluttering pathetically at the soft way you smile back at him. He’s been asking pretty much everyone he knows what the best New Years themed movie is, and he still hasn’t found anything he’s sold on, yet. But he hates ensemble movies almost as much as you do - Love, Actually not included, because that’s a Christmas classic - so he wouldn’t go near one, not for movie night. “I’m still doing my research.”

“Yeah, well,” you push yourself back up onto your feet, leaning over and ruffling your hand through his hair, “Don’t think too hard or you’ll hurt yourself. You’re kind of the only person I like doing this with, if you give yourself a headache and become unavailable, I’m gonna be really upset.”

He stands too, watches you glance through the window behind the two of you and sigh, and he has to ball his hands into fists by his side to stop himself reaching out to give you a proper goodbye.

He still isn’t sure what kind of boundaries being friends incurs, but some switch deep within him flips - a sudden wave of courage washing over him at the thought of letting an opportunity slip away.

“Are we the kind of friends who hug?” He asks, head tilting as he watches the shy smile slowly break out on your face. Illuminated only by the light through the window, you look so soft that it makes him nervous, this new twinkle in your eye glinting just for him.

It’s so different to how you used to look at him. So much gentler and warmer - so much friendlier, and he knows that shouldn’t make his gut churn, but it does. He still misses the way you used to bite, but he might like this just as much.

“We can be,” you shrug, taking a small step forward, “If that’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want,” he nods, taking a small step, himself, until he’s all up in your space, wrapping his arms around your shorter frame, pulling you straight into his chest and hooking his chin over the top of your head. 

Your arms circle around his torso, and he feels the press of your cheek to his front, his own hands rubbing up and down your back as the two of you stay in the embrace for an extended moment.

He’ll be the first to admit he’s been struggling with the whole just friends thing, but this is so much better than the alternative - being able to  hold you to him like this will always be better than nothing, he thinks. 

The want to kiss you will probably dwindle with time, and maybe that’s better than taking a cold plunge into the murky, icy waters of you wanting nothing to do with him, entirely. 

It still doesn’t stop that small part of him wishing for a christmas miracle. 

He sways you a little as he checks back in the house, most people distracted by their own conversations, but he meets Ellie’s eye from where she stands with Jack, the two of them watching the two of you through the window with scheming smiles that only serve to confuse him.

That is, until Jack points his finger upwards.

Luke unhooks his chin to glance up, his heart hammering in his chest at the sight of the small decoration above the two of you. 

“Thanks again for the present.”

“Like I said, it’s no big deal,” you shrug as the two of you finally part, Luke all of a sudden feeling the chill in the air when you take a step back. “I’m really happy that we’re friends, Luke,” you tell him, voice thick with vulnerability, a subtle shine in your eyes when your features soften up at him, and it all only serves to quicken the rampant beat of his heart. “These last couple months have been really weird for me, and I don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t have you.”

Luke feels his throat seize up, a dryness that spreads into his chest, and cracks like plaster along the cavity, crumbly and weak.

God, you surprise him, sometimes - a conversation that started off with you hazing his attempt at a moustache turning into this, turning into you opening up and letting him in. Baring a fragility to him that you would never have dared to show, all those months ago in the summer. 

And, as is the same as most feelings he develops when it comes to you, he had thought it was just him - finding solace in your computerised company, in texts and FaceTimes and voice notes where you ramble on a little too long and always apologise for doing so. When he aches all over, and the noise elsewhere is too loud to bare, seeking comfort in whatever way you’re willing to give it to him has gotten him through a couple pretty rough patches since October, and he’d struggle without you, too.

“Same here,” he tells you, and because it never will feel like enough, adding, “I don’t know how I ever survived without you.”

You smile, slow and sacred, the kind of look in your eye that he’ll picture when he closes his later tonight, and lean in to hold him again.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper into his chest.

“Merry Christmas,” he echoes back.

And then he watches you leave - watches you slip through the back door into the house, and watches you through the window as you say goodbye, wishing his brothers a happy Christmas as you pass them, and Jack seeing you and Ellie out. 

He falls back down into the deck chair once you’ve gone, throwing his head back with an exaggerated groan. His face is tense, his eyes scrunched shut, and when he opens them, looking straight up to the mistletoe tied to the wooden beam above, he feels like the universe is playing one giant, cruel joke on him. 

Friends, he tells himself, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. Just friends.

He waits a few minutes before pushing himself up, grabbing at the gift and making his way through the house mostly unnoticed, sneaking off to his bedroom to rip the damn thing open. 

The box inside is pretty nondescript, a plain brown with a bit of writing at the top that pretty much just says lamp in warehouse jargon, and his brows furrow as he hooks a finger into the cardboard and opens it up.

He assumes you’ve done some level of assembly already, evidenced by the way it sits on top of the plastic it’s supposed to be wrapped in, and there’s a small note attached. The cord is untied, and wound back up, but he doesn’t have to fiddle with those annoying wires that usually come with it.

Plug this in when you wanna feel like nothing.

He pulls out the device, looking for a clue as to what conversation could have possibly sparked you buying this for him, and pushes himself up from his bed to plug it in as requested.

He’s expecting the warm hues of one of those sunset lamps, a round glow of orange and yellow to wash over his walls. It’s the sort of thing he pictures you having in your room, reminiscent of all those times he’d picked you up from work in the golden hour back in summer, rushing from the club over to his car, skin bathed in radiant warmth.

He isn’t expecting to turn it on to constellations being projected across the entire room. Stars and planets and moons orbiting slowly and serenely across the ceiling. Probably unrealistic in their alignment, but immersive all the same.

His lips turn up into a slow, firm smile, your words from the beginning of summer speaking so clearly into the back of his mind. 

“Do you ever think about how big the universe is, Hughes? It’s humongous! If I ever feel anxious or panicky I think about just how big it is and how I’m not even a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things. If I’m so tiny, how big can my problems actually be?”

Maybe that’s the feeling he’s been chasing this whole time, coming back to his apartment from crappy games and going straight to his phone in search of your name. Asking you to sit in silence with him, until he doesn’t feel the crushing weight of expectation anymore, until he starts to forget all the reasons he feels like crap in the first place.

Luke: best

Luke: christmas

Luke: present 

Luke: ever!!!!!

You: it’s a $20 lamp

You: and you grew up rich

You: so I highly doubt that

Luke smiles at the way you triple text back almost immediately, and sinks back into the pillows at the top of his bed, taking a deep breath and experiencing just how small he is in comparison to the rest of the solar system. 

Luke: I feel microscopic

You: only because I’m in the festive spirit I won’t say I told you so

You: merry christmas luke ♥️ 

Luke: merry christmas 🎄❤️ 

He tries not to overthink a single emoji. It’s the holidays, you’re in the spirit, like you said, and a red heart doesn’t mean anything more than you spreading the love.

Friends, he reiterates to himself as his eyes trace the constellations on his bedroom ceiling, wondering if maybe there’s a universe out there where you could ever be more, again.

Being back home in Chicago for New Years was never really going to be at the top of your list when it came to ways you wanted to kick off 2025. Last year you’d gone back to college a couple days after Christmas - had spent New Years Eve with your sisters back at the house, like one big sleepover; an abundance of rose wine and DIY charcuterie boards with all your favourite snacks. 

It had been perfect, all of you gathered out on the street dressed in about 5 layers so you didn’t freeze to death, watching the fireworks set off by one of the fraternities and ringing in the new year with your closest friends.

This time you feel isolated. 

You love your mom, and you can’t hold her work against her - but you don’t know why she asked you to come back and spend this time with her when she was just going to accept every call in to take another shift.

You got back on the 27th after a couple days with Ellie’s family, and you had to get a cab back to the house because she was at work when your flight landed. There was a note on the counter in the kitchen, and leftovers in the fridge, and when you woke the next morning, it was the exact same.

An apology written on a post-it and a wad of cash for you to go out and get groceries. 

Luke has been a good enough distraction.

He texts throughout the day, enough so that you never feel like you’re waiting on him, and FaceTimes whenever he has a good chunk of time to spare. You almost feel guilty for just how much of his energy you’re taking up, but he seems invested enough in what’s going on with you to never make a comment about it. 

He’s out on a roadie in California - due to play a game on New Years Eve, and despite how much he had tried to convince you he wants to be on FaceTime with you when the clock strikes midnight, you arrange for your movie night to be the night before.

So, on the 30th, you settle into your room - your mom working, again - with enough snacks and drinks that you won’t need to pause the movie, and set up When Harry Met Sally on your laptop, Luke’s face taking up the entirety of your phone where it rests against the screen. 

“Is this the one where she fakes an orgasm in the middle of a restaurant or something?” You ask as you get yourself comfy on top of your bed, a nice thick blanket around your shoulders and your snacks nestled safely in your lap.

“I think so,” Luke responds absentmindedly, his face focused, probably setting up the film for himself. “I had to ask around for recommendations for movies set around New Years, Pesch said this one was perfect. Have you seen it before?”

“No,” you smile as you watch him, brows furrowed and eyes narrowing at whatever is going on with the hotel TV, “But if it is the one with the deli orgasms, Brett might be a little bit of a freak.”

“He’s definitely a freak,” Luke chuckles, “Curtis backed him up, though. Apparently it’s a classic.”

“Oh, well if Curtis said then it must be true.”

“Glad you agree,” he smiles, eyes glancing to his phone and softening when they land upon you. “Are you good to go?”

You give an affirmative hum, and he counts the two of you down to try sync up your streams - which never really works, but Luke seems to find some weird sense of joy in putting on a dorky voice and announcing the numbers like he’s sending a ship off to space. It’s cute, and you’re hardly going to stop him.

Luke never really does a bad job when it comes to picking a movie - even when it’s something you don’t like the sound of, or you hate an actor, or you’ve heard bad things, he encourages you to give it a shot and try something new, and it usually pays off.

Only this time, it takes a mere 10 minutes for this movie to send you into some weird spiral.

You’re a little distracted by Billy Crystal, at first, trying to figure out what you’ve seen him in before - and then something he says seems to stop you in your tracks.

“Because no man can be friends with a woman that he finds attractive.” Harry says from the passenger seat of Sally’s car, a bunch of stuff packed into the backseat behind them. “He always wants to have sex with her.”

It swirls around your head until a couple lines later, when Sally asks him about how a woman’s opinion might factor into the dynamic.

“Doesn’t matter because the sex thing is already out there,” he replies, “So the friendship thing is ultimately doomed and that’s the end of the story.”

You daringly glance at your phone, the smaller screen resting against the corner of the bigger one, and are relieved to see that Luke is too intent on watching to notice you - looking at him, wide eyed and panicked, a million thoughts racing through your brain, enough to work up a physical sweat.

You feel clammy, your throat feels dry, your mouth feels itchy, your fingers are throbbing and your chest is pulsing.

And Luke’s throwing popcorn into his mouth.

You keep casting glances his way throughout the movie, only to see him completely unaffected, and you start to wonder if he really doesn’t see the resemblance. The banter, the bickering, how they understand each other on a deeper level than anybody else, the way they watch movies with each other over the phone - it’s uncanny, even, especially when their friends end up together, just like Ellie and Jack, and Harry and Sally are tethered together forever from then on out. 

His teammates have played some sick, cruel prank on him and he hasn’t even noticed.  

Your thoughts unravel as the film plays on - as Harry sleeps his way through New York to get over his ex, and Sally lets joyless men take her on boring dates to pretend that she’s over hers, all the while the two of them ignoring the growing tension between each other. You watch as Sally finds out the ex who swore he never wanted marriage gets engaged to his new girlfriend, and the meltdown that ensues - how Harry becomes her comfort, and years of pent up feelings unravel between the two of them in calamitous fashion - and you feel like you’re about to have a meltdown, yourself.

The palpitations persist as Harry does with trying to gain back Sally’s attention - relentless, and determined - and as the movie draws to it’s end, it seems like your heart has beat itself so far out of whack that you can’t even feel it anymore. Just a bunch of white noise inside you - a buzzing, insistent nothingness that just won’t go away.

This character that even you were annoyed by in the beginning somehow morphed into the man on the other end of the phone - someone who doesn’t give up, who keeps calling despite getting nothing in return, who puts on dorky voices and makes dumbass comments and turns himself into someone worthy of Sally’s time. 

Not that Luke was ever not worthy of yours, but it fits - the way he gives so much of himself to you, now, despite how busy is life is otherwise. 

“So, what are your thoughts?” Luke asks once the credits have rolled, and you almost have to shake yourself out of your reverie, your throat dry and your face flushed.

“I uhm,” you start, blinking hard to try and gather your thoughts, “I liked it. It was good. Very New Years-y.”

The way he smiles is slow, and you hate how much your chest burns at just the sight of it. 

“What about you?” You dare to ask, holding your breath as you await some sort of reaction.

“I was a little distracted, to be honest,” he admits, and your eyes widen, not entirely expecting him to be so open. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “Took me a while to get over Mike Wazowski constantly talking about sex.”

Oh.

“That’s who it was!” You say instead, face crumpling at the picture it paints in your head. “I couldn’t figure it out!”

“Surprising,” Luke comments, his lips twisting mischievously as he watches you through his phone. “I know firsthand how much you like a guy in green.”

Even with the lag over FaceTime, the way he playfully winks at you makes your chest burn a little, and you hope, for once, that you’ve somehow frozen on his end so that you can hide your wide-eyed reaction.

He isn’t supposed to bring halloween up - neither of you are, despite how often you find yourself thinking about it - and so him just casually throwing out a comment like he’s testing the waters throws you off your game, your usually quick-witted retort fizzling out on the tip of your tongue, a prolonged silence spreading between the two of you.

Is that where the two of you are, now, in your friendship? Dropping joking references to the last night you spent together?

“Must have been a phase.” You finally retort, sending him a tight lipped smile when he tilts his head in question, a gut-wrenching, knowing look in his eyes.

“Must have been.”

He has to go before long, an early morning skate ahead of him, and you figure you should probably get some sleep too, while you can - without a busy house and endless amounts of studying to do - so when he hangs up, you throw yourself back onto your bed and stare at the same spot for what feels like hours.

You have plenty of guy friends. 

Granted, you aren’t as close with them as you are with Luke, but that doesn’t really matter. You have the capability of just being friends with them.

Just because you and Luke have slept together you-don’t-even-know how many times, and he kind of made out that he loved you that one time in Michigan, and you spent the better part of 2 months in a catatonic break up spiral after you broke things off with him, doesn’t mean you can’t be friends.

He was the one who stopped whatever the hell the two of you were doing the morning after the halloween party - and you know for sure you would have carried on if he hadn’t.

So that rules out the whole constantly thinking about sleeping with each other thing. If he was constantly thinking about it, he wouldn’t have given up the last opportunity he had to actually do it.

But then where does that leave you?

And why does the thought of him not wanting you all of a sudden seem worse than if he did?

Luke watches When Harry Met Sally a grand total of 8 times throughout January. 

The first time after New Years had been to actually focus on the movie, laid up on his own back in his room in Jersey, without the distraction of your pretty features taking up his phone screen, and not having to keep up the poker face he worked so hard to maintain the first time. 

He really lets the whole story sink in - lets the horrors flash through his eyes as he absorbs just how much of the two of you are in the story.

Sally has your defiance - he sees your unwavering confidence in the way she reacts to Harry’s chirps and remarks, and sees you in her resilience to his persistent charms. 

He wonders if this could have been the two of you years down the line, if you never made up after summer, and he would run into you one day in an airport, or a bookstore, and you’d pass each other by like ships in the night until one day something changed. He’s pretty thankful that isn’t the case - that the two of you have progressed past the longing and avoiding and have become something tangible and real.

He really doesn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have you.

Most people say he’s one of the lucky ones, having his brother by his side whilst juggling his ever-chaotic career - with parents in the business his whole life, and having Quinn be the blueprint for him to follow - and for as much of his life that he has spent striving to be where he is, he’s managed to surround him with people who understand.

But sometimes he feels like they don’t really understand him.

They don’t understand how he tries to ease the tension with dumb jokes, or how sometimes he can’t help the snappy comebacks and the prolonged eye-rolls that follow what he believes to be stupid questions directed at someone who really isn’t in the mood.

They don’t understand that sometimes he really just needs to shut off - that, whilst he has somewhat of a reputation for being a talker, when shit hits the fan, he doesn’t want to speak at all. He wants to shut himself away, and just sit with his thoughts until he convinces himself that none of it matters.

You get it. You support it - sit with him in the silence, albeit on the other end of a phone call, but you’re there nonetheless. You don’t take his biting remarks to heart, you roll your eyes straight back, and you even get whatever dumb movie reference he makes. 

You mean a lot to him, and the thought of screwing it up in any way starts to mess with his head - which is how your weekly Sunday movie ends up on the back burner for the rest of January.

You don’t put up much of a fight, either, which Luke finds weird, but then again, you’re pretty snowed under with school work. The two of you still talk - texting, mostly, but calls when needed, too - and he doesn’t really feel a divide until the third Sunday rolls around.

January feels like the longest month he he has ever lived in his life - and after a home loss to the Sens, the team’s 4th in a row in one week, Luke shuts himself away on the Sunday night, projection lamp casting constellations around his darkened room, and When Harry Met Sally playing for maybe the 6th time on his TV.

“Are you stuck in some weird Groundhog Day thing I don’t know about?” Jack asks after a while, leaning against the door jamb and craning his neck to watch Harry and Sally walking through Washington Square Park. “I swear you watch this movie every day.”

“Keep falling asleep, I’m determined to watch it all the way through.” Luke lies with ease, eyes never leaving the screen as they speak to each other in dorky voices, and Harry finally asks her out.

“Right,” Jack drags, “Well you’re gonna have to try again some other time, we’re going out.”

“I don’t want to go out.”

“Good thing I wasn’t asking, then.” Jack snarks, pushing himself away from the door and narrowing his eyes at Luke. “You’re really not gonna tell me what’s got you all mopey and weird?”

“Can’t a guy watch a movie in peace?” He scoffs, reaching for the remote to pause the film and straighten up on his bed, “I’m not being mopey and weird, I’m just beat. Been a shit week if you didn’t notice.”

“You were weird before this week, though.” 

“Jesus, what’s with the third degree?” He pushes himself off the bed completely, gesturing for his brother to flick the light on as he turns off the projector. 

“Maybe I’m worried about you.”

“Yeah, right.”

Jack watches as Luke stalks toward his closet in search of a jacket, rifling through a couple until he pulls out something he knows should keep him warm. 

It’s the jacket he gave you to wear on Halloween, and Luke wonders for a fleeting second if there’s a chance your perfume might still linger.

Jesus Christ, he is being weird, he thinks.

Jack calls your name out like he’s reading Luke’s mind, a brow raised when he turns to face him. “Did you two fall out or something?”

“No, why would you think that?”

“Just asking,” Jack shrugs casually, although the way he’s eyeing Luke makes him nervous. Did Ellie say something? Did you say something to her? “So the whole friend thing is holding up?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Luke knows he’s putting the D in defensive, but he can’t help it. It’s technically his job, Jack should expect it by now, he thinks.

“I don’t know, I just think once you’ve crossed that line with someone, it’s kind of hard to just pretend you never did. I can’t imagine just being friends with Ellie again.”

“We’re not you and Ellie,” Luke frowns, a bitterness crossing his features at the comparison. He just about bites his tongue from lashing out, saying something stupid like how you and him are way more mature about your feelings.

“No shit, the two of you are much harder work.” Jack scoffs out a humourless laugh, “She’s batshit crazy and you’re way in over your head.”

“She isn’t crazy,” Luke argues, “You don’t even know her.”

“Luke, she literally broke things off with you for saying one dumb comment,” he huffs back, and Luke doesn’t even question how he would possibly even know that. He never spoke to his brothers about the two of you after things fell apart, but Jack no doubt got his intel from Ellie - morphed and twisted it into his own narrative after the fact, because that’s just what Jack does. “It’s not insane to think she’d do the same with your friendship.”

It is insane to think that. 

Partly because Luke would never be so stupid as to speak about you like that again, and partly because what the two of you have now can’t simply be broken off. Not again. Not on Luke’s watch.

“We’re solid, you don’t have to worry about it.”

The tensing of his jaw is probably what gives him away, he thinks, and he tries to relax all his muscles as his older brother watches him with a scrutinising glare. 

“You’re still into her.”

“Whatever,” Luke sighs, shouldering past Jack into the hallway. He’ll take his brother’s advice for a lot of things - looks up too him even, when it comes to being a player, being a functioning human being somewhat - but the last thing he’s taking Jack’s advice on is dating. Not when it took him like 3 years to ask Ellie out.

“You’re not denying it.”

“Would you believe me if I did?”

“Luke,” Jack grabs at his elbow to stop him storming all the way through the apartment, tugging until Luke turns, avoiding eye contact and shifting on his feet. “You might think you’re doing the sensible thing, but this whole being friends mess while you still have feelings isn’t good for you.”

“This conversation isn’t good for me,”

“You need to move on.”

The words send a spike of anxiety straight to Luke’s gut.

Move on to what? He’s barely been able to look at another girl without thinking of you lately, even in a platonic or professional sense. He’d stopped to get gas last week and had to run inside to get a drink, and the girl behind the counter gave him this disinterested, irritated shake of her head when he’d tried to make small talk while she was ringing him up. He’d laughed to himself going back to his car - had texted you, just been served by your twin at the gas station, and you’d replied straight away with the eye roll emoji yourself.

Moving on doesn’t really seem like an option.

Not until Jack says, “She’s probably dating again by now.”

He says it so off the cuff that Luke starts to feel like he’s reacting in slow motion - a gradual turn of his body to full attention and a delayed, curious tilt of his head.

“Is she?” He asks, dumbly, wondering if that’s another thing Ellie might have filled Jack in on in their catch ups. 

“How the hell would I know?” Jack scoffs, although the way his eyes widen momentarily is a dead giveaway that he’s hiding something. “But it’s been like 6 months, it’s pretty much expected.”

Would you tell him if you were dating?

He’s pretty sure you would. You tell him everything else.

Hell, he even knows your cycle by now, as much as he probably doesn’t want to. 

“I’m just going off what they say, you know, about getting over somebody.”

“What do they say?” Luke asks, teeth clenched, jaw aching and throat all prickly at just the thought of what Jack is going to come back with.

“That you have to get under somebody else.”

He feels like he’s about to throw up.

Absolutely not.

The thought of you giving the same parts of yourself to someone else that you’ve already given to him makes his skin crawl - the late night FaceTime calls, the soft, pretty smiles when it’s just the two of you, the way you’ve given up all resilience when it comes to laughing at his jokes.

Those things are his. They’re only his.

But this is the kind of warped possessiveness that made him fuck everything up in the first place - when the thought of you with Cole Caufield sent his head spinning so far off his body that he couldn’t control his mouth. He feels the exact same panic as he did back in the lake house, hanging balloons and hoping he could stop anybody from taking you away.

It wasn’t healthy then, and it isn’t healthy now. He has to let you go, if that’s what you really want. He has to let you move on. 

And if he’s going to do that, he has to move on, too.

February is supposed to be your favourite month of the year.

You’re a February baby, your birthday falling a couple days after Valentines Day, and the way you end up surrounded by hearts and flowers in the days leading up always puts you in a good mood.

Only this year, you’re getting your ass kicked with assignments and studying for your finals - and the fact that you’re still waiting to hear back about your graduate programme application.

Most evenings are spent in the library because it’s a lot less distracting than being back in your sorority - constantly playing catch up to all the things you feel like you’re falling behind on - and you barely even notice the passing of time, or what month it is at all, until you’re on your way out of the library one night and there’s a poster by the exit for Michigan Hockey Senior Night - saying, This Saturday, Feb 15th!

This Saturday?

How did you get almost two weeks into a month without even realising it?

You feel like you’re spiralling the whole way home - like time is running away from you. You’d just about remembered to apply for graduation before the deadline last month, and now it’s only 3 months away, and you still don’t know exactly where you’re gonna end up. 

And you haven’t even organised anything for your birthday. You’re usually so on top of that sort of stuff, too. It’s probably too last minute now to get everybody together - people will have made plans, you’re pretty sure, and the thought of not celebrating it makes your stomach turn, like your whole year has gone to waste.

It takes you 20 minutes to get back to the house, pretty much walking in a trance, and it’s only when you’re at the end of the street that you realise you just want to call Luke.

He usually talks you out of these moods without even knowing it - calms you down with some dorky joke or a story about how the guys on his team all grouped together to pull of some stupid prank on him. 

It’s like he knows when you go catatonic. Knows when everything is getting a little heavy, and he does his best to lighten the load. 

But he’s been busy too, lately. Down after a tough run of games, a drop in form, and he’s taking on a lot more responsibility with his team - the last thing he needs is you burdening him with your problems.

You just need to sleep it off, you think, as you sluggishly heave yourself up the stairs toward the front door of your sorority house, then the next time you talk to him you can be the kind of friend that he needs.

A soft exclamation of, “Finally,” pretty much gives you a heart attack as you close the door behind you, your hand shooting to cover your chest as your pulse thuds all the way up to your ears, “I’ve been waiting for you for like an hour!”

Ellie shoots up from where she had been sat toward the bottom of the staircase and comes toward you, an assessing tilt to her head as she looks you up and down.

You’re bundled up pretty thick, sweatpants on top of leggings on top of tights, and about 4 layers on top - and you’re hoping you can get away with using the cold as an excuse for how manic you probably look. The last thing you want right now is an Ellie interrogation. 

“I was at the library,” you tell her, “I told you earlier that’s where I’d be.”

“It’s dark, babe, if I knew you’d be there this late I would have come and got you. Everyone’s setting up for a movie in the lounge, Danica is convinced you’ve been kidnapped.”

“Oh, sorry,” you frown, peering past her to try and get a look through the doors into where the rest of the girls are. “I didn’t realise how late it was. Do you think she’d mind if I just went straight up to bed?”

“You’re fine, I figured you’d be out of it so I told her you were feeling sick, she’ll probably avoid you until Wednesday.”

You smile, tired and soft, but thankful, nonetheless. What else are best friends for if not to get your dictator sorority vice president off your back when she’s on a power trip about group dynamics and bonding nights?

“I love you,” you tell Ellie with a relieved sigh as she smiles back.

“I know,” she replies, “You’re gonna love me even more because I left a gift up in your room for when you got home.”

“A gift?” You ask, narrowing your exhausted eyes her way, frowning as you try to think what sort of gift she might have gotten you. “You know my birthday isn’t until Sunday, right?”

“Yes, I know when my best friend’s birthday is,” Ellie rolls her eyes dramatically as the two of you ascend the staircase together, your legs still aching after your walk home - your entire body wanting nothing more than to collapse atop your bed and sleep for 12 hours straight. “You’ve been down, wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Thanks El,” you offer a tired smile, “I’m sure I’ll love it.”

“I’m sure you will,” she winks, “I’m gonna change and then join the others before Danica thinks I’ve been kidnapped, too.”

“Have fun.”

She disappears to her room a little closer to the stairs as you carry on down the hall, shoulders slumped and steps lethargic as you finally push your way into your room, planting your bag to the side of the door and slowly rounding the corner.

You didn’t really have any intentions of seeking out whatever gift Ellie had left for you until the morning with how exhausted you are, but it’s a little hard to miss when your bed comes into view - a long body sprawled out on top of your sheets, head resting in the crook of his own elbow and soft snores falling from his slightly open mouth. 

You just about stop yourself from rushing toward him, dropping your bag off to the side and unzipping your jacket, still stuck in a few more layers that you need to shed.

The need to laugh is a little harder to fight, the sight of him asleep in your bed, the picture of Ellie somehow sneaking him up here and having him wait for you to get home, and he couldn’t even stay up - it’s funny. It’s endearing and sweet, and you can’t really blame him. You’d watched his games over the last week, knew how relentless his schedule had been, so the thought of waking him up to talk doesn’t even cross your mind.

Despite how much you had wanted to talk to him before, and after having a mini-meltdown when you left the library - you think that maybe finally being in his actual presence might be enough. Plus, if he was awake, he’d probably see straight through you, and you’re far too exhausted and frustrated to talk it out right now. Ellie hadn’t noticed when you got home, that your eyes were red raw and your cheeks were all puffy. Luke would, so it’s probably for the best that he’s out like a light.

You grab something warm to change into for the night, slip into your bathroom and go through your usual routine - wash your face, brush your teeth, put your hair up and out of your face so it doesn’t get all frizzy and knotted in your sleep - before making your way back to your bed. 

You grab a thick blanket from your closet and crawl up on your bed beside him, throwing half over his long body before tucking yourself under the other half, shuffling up next to his sleeping form.

You settle pretty quickly on your half of the bed, figuring he must have remembered from the summer which side to sleep on himself, and bend your body in line with his, laying on your side until your muscles melt into the mattress.

And then you pull the arm he isn’t resting on over yourself, getting comfortable with your back to him, but still needing to be held. All the anxiety you’ve been dealing with over the past few weeks seems to seep away when you feel the press of his chest to your tense shoulders, and even asleep, his fingers spread so that you can lace yours through them - hands clasped together until you can feel the steady beat of his pulse below your knuckles, or maybe it’s yours, you don’t really know at this point. With his body moulded to yours like this, limbs bent into the spaces you leave for them, it’s hard to tell where he ends and you begin.

It’s probably how you fall asleep with miraculous ease - weeks of borderline insomnia catching up to you as you drift off within what feels like seconds, safe in the warm embrace of your only escape.

When Luke wakes in the middle of the night, he’s pretty sure he’s in the midst of some weird deja vu dream. 

His arm has gone dead beneath his head, pins and needles shooting from the tips of his fingers all the way to his shoulder as he readjusts himself a little, and he can’t feel the fingers on his other hand.

He still hasn’t opened his eyes, too conscious of the fact that it isn’t morning yet - because he just doesn’t possibly feel rested enough for it to be morning, yet - and too focused on zeroing in on his other senses. The sound of soft breaths from beside him, the smell of marshmallow-y shampoo, and the warmth of a body laying beneath his other arm.

He slowly blinks himself into consciousness when the familiarity of it all sinks in - the clutch of your fingers between his, the way your breaths fall in line with his own, your shoulder blades pressed firmly to his chest - and peers over to assess your sleeping form.

You definitely weren’t there when he fell asleep. He probably wouldn’t have been able to get to sleep if you were - too in his head about having you in his arms again. 

He’s been in his head all day, though - coming over from Jersey to spend his bye-week in Michigan, he knew as soon as he landed that he wanted to see you first, and when he got to the house, and Ellie answered the door, he had been a little bummed that you weren’t home.

And then she pulled some mission impossible level sneaking skills to get him upstairs - told him you’d be back soon, and to wait around, and that if he made a single sound, she’d run upstairs and murder him, herself.

And what else was he supposed to do when it was his first time in any space that was solely yours, just sit there twiddling his thumbs?

He’d only ever seen your room in the background of your video calls - walls lined with mismatched frames and prints, pictures of you with your friends, and with your family, one even from the summer, of the whole group back at the lake house, the two of you stood side by side, back when your brewing feelings were a strict secret that nobody else knew about. He remembered when it was taken, his hand lightly pressed on the small of your back to keep you close - remembered the way you leant on him a little while everyone smushed together, and the soft smile you gave him when everyone broke apart.

There wass another picture that catches his eye - you as a kid, sat between both your parents, wearing the kind of smile only a kid could wear, a smile he knows he hasn’t seen on you since. You must have been like 6 or 7, a gap in your front teeth and a sun burnt nose, and he thought for a second that 6 or 7 year old Luke would have had the biggest crush on you if he knew you when you were kids. You probably would have broke his heart, then, too.

Your desk was cluttered, but still somewhat neat, little trinkets littering the shelves above - figurines, a Lego Wall-E missing a couple bricks, a stack of notebooks, a little vase of fake tulips, and a familiar beat up orange Mets baseball cap hanging precariously from the edge. 

Your bed was made, and it looked way too inviting once Luke had taken a brief tour, so he sat on what would usually be his side - and had somehow ended up falling asleep while he waited, your mattress plush and your pillows firm just how he always likes them. 

He hadn’t exactly put much thought into it at the time, but the last thing he expected was to wake up to the fact that you had just gotten home and crawled straight into bed beside him.

He’s hardly complaining, though - aside from the way he still can’t feel his arm, and your fingers are locked pretty tight around his, even in your sleep. When he tries to pull them free, just to try and ease the ache in his knuckles, your body follows, shuffling to face him and cosying straight up to him, your hands falling between the two of you and clutching limply at his hoody. 

He notices as he’s looking down at you that even something as routine as breathing feels easier when he’s with you - he doesn’t feel that crushing weight on his chest that has followed him for the last month, doesn’t feel the sharp pain in his ribs that hits sometimes when he’s too in his head, like a sudden jolt to bring him back to the present.

His torso just moves in tune to yours, deep, heavy breaths that lull him back to sleep so quick it all feels like a dream.

That is, until he wakes up again.

This time he knows it’s morning. He opens his eyes slowly to a brighter room, the sun seeping in through the crack in your curtains, casting your pretty features in a soft, ethereal glow that makes him feel warm all over. 

You’re still just as close, nuzzled right into him, your knees nudged between his thighs, and your arm thrown lazily over his figure, the other curled between you both. His arm is over yours, slung beyond the curve of your back, enough that he can play with the ends of your hair in your ponytail as he takes you in.

“I can feel you watching me.” Your voice is thick with sleep, croaky and low, and he still gets the same feeling in the pit of his stomach that he did back in summer when you’d talk to him first thing in the morning - like it was a tone made just for his ears to hear.

“Been a while since I’ve seen you in person,” he mutters back, his voice equally as croaky, “Trying to memorise what you look like without the glow of a screen reflecting on your face.”

“’S’creepy,” you reply, pushing your face into his chest so that he can’t see you anymore - the rumblings of his hushed laughter causing your head to shake a little. 

You stay laying against him for a moment, your head rising and falling in time with his slow, heavy breaths, and his fingers mindlessly twirl at a strand of your hair. 

“Don’t you have to be up for class?” He asks after a few minutes, no more than a whisper - still feeling the weight of Ellie’s threat from the night before about alerting anyone in the house to his presence.

“No class on Tuesdays,” he just about makes out as you mumble into his chest, tightening your hold around him.

“What do you usually do?”

“Sleep.”

And as good as going back to sleep sounds - the rumbling of his stomach, as always, gets the better of him.

“You wanna go get breakfast?”

He leans back a little so he can look down and catch your eye, your brow raising incredulously as your gaze narrows up at him.

“Of course your first thought of the day would be about food.”

You roll your eyes as you push yourself up and away from his body, the sudden influx of cold running straight through him, and he watches as you stand from your bed and stretch your arms up, the gesture revealing a small slither of skin between where your sweatshirt ends and your pants begin. His eyes trail slowly back up before you can catch him looking, and shuffles up in your bed until he’s sat against the headboard, watching as you disappear into your bathroom.

He retrieves his phone from his pocket as he waits for you - checking the time and for any missed messages, and then putting your address into postmates just to check what is around. “Will it give us away if we order food to eat here?” He asks when you come back, toothbrush hanging out of your mouth as you lean against the entrance to your bathroom, hip pressed into the door jamb. 

“That depends, what time is it?”

“Around 8:30,”

“If you can survive another 30 minutes without starving to death, everyone else should be gone by then.” You tell him before disappearing back into your bathroom. He hears a little movement before you shut the water off and come back into your room.

“If I order breakfast will you go get my bag from my car so I can change? I’ve been in these clothes since I left Jersey yesterday.” He doesn’t specifically mention how he’d let himself onto your bed in clothes he wore on a plane, but he sees the way your eyes narrow as you must realise it.

He’s quite surprised you don’t kick him or something.

“You didn’t change when you went home?” You ask, instead.

“I didn’t go home,” he shrugs, “Came straight here from the airport, hence my bag in the car.”

“Don’t hence me,” you kick lightly at his shin when you come closer, and he’s thankful he had just been expecting the attack, because it somehow hurts less when he knows it’s coming eventually. “How long were you waiting in here?”

“I wasn’t snooping if that’s what you’re thinking,” he defends, although the speed in which he does so causes you to raise a brow in disbelief, crossing your arms over your chest and glaring at him. “I think I fell asleep within like 15 minutes. Surprised you didn’t wake me when you got back.”

“Was too tired to deal with your yapping, to be honest.”

There you are. 

“I’ve missed you,” he says, feeling his cheeks go tight as he smiles like an idiot, leaning back onto his hands on your bed and looking over at you. He doesn’t even really think before he says it, but doesn’t regret it either.

Not when you smile back, stepping closer until you’re almost standing between his legs - and it’s just as he starts to spread them to accommodate you that you reach out and press your fingers into his forehead, pushing playfully until he falls back into your mattress - too in the moment to care about how loud he laughs in response.

Luke coming back to Michigan for his bye-week had been somewhat of a surprise. When he’d told you about the break - about how his brothers had been chosen to represent the country in some sort of national tournament - you’d half expected he’d somehow end up going to support them or something, tag along with his parents, maybe, and watch from the sidelines.

Him turning up in your room the other night had been a more than welcome shock - him spending pretty much every day taking up whatever of your time was free, even more so, and you’re even more dumbfounded that you’re not tired of him, yet. Or that he’s not tired of you.

You spent all of Tuesday morning in your room - eating breakfast bagels and sipping on smoothies and catching up on all the things you’ve been too busy to talk about for the last few weeks. 

He tells you about Quinn and his injury that kept him from playing in the Four Nations, how Jack’s excited to play in the tournament, about how he’s excited to watch him. He tells you about Jersey, and all the cool things he’s been doing with the organisation out there - the sessions he gets to do with all the kids, and all the things he learns when he does them.

He tells you about all the cooking he’s been doing, shows you pictures of poorly plated meals that you try to encourage him on, because he swears they were delicious, and who are you to crush his dreams when he’s trying his best. 

He tells you how all the other guys are off vacationing in hotter climates, and you promise him you know a couple people majoring in psychology if he thinks he needs an evaluation for choosing frosty Michigan over the sun. 

You tell him little bits too - about school, about some of the things you’ve been doing with the girls from the sorority - but your life feels so stagnant in comparison that letting him talk feels like the safer option, and you like listening to him anyway. 

You end up with him all of Tuesday. He comes over Wednesday night, takes you out to the mall and the two of you spend the whole night sat in his car eating sandwich subs and talking about anything and everythin, and watch Jack’s first game of the tournament with him and some of the guys from the hockey house on Thursday - smushed up beside him in a booth at one of the watch bars on campus, sharing a bunch of appetisers and getting him to try all the fruity drinks you ordered. 

He never makes you feel like a tag along or an inconvenience - includes you in conversations with the guys, asks for your input on what to do, even just hangs while you study, and doesn’t huff or puff or complain about any lack of attention if it isn’t directed his way.

It’s almost like you’re meant to be by his side - like he’d have it no other way. It’s seamless, no matter where you are or who you’re with, that where one of you goes, the other will probably follow.

It’s why you’re surprised when he takes you to Yost on the Friday, and you’re just immediately granted all the same access that he is. He takes you on a tour before the arena fills up - walks you through his own history there, regales you of stories from when he, himself, was a Wolverine, and how much he misses it. And the two of you sit alone a little higher in the stands, still for some reason smushed together despite the vacant spaces around you, until you start to get thirsty.

“I’m gonna get us some drinks,” you decide, casting a quick glance down to the ice where it looks like the puck drop is about to happen. He’s been paying for you all week, and you want to give him something back - even if that something is a flat coke and an almost-cold hot dog. “Do you want anything to eat, too?” You stand from the bench, losing the warmth emitting from the side of his leg onto yours.

Luke tugs you back down by the end of your sweatshirt, and you stumble back into the safety of his hold, large hands catching you and guiding you back into your seat. “I can order it over.”

“Oh, look at you, Mr Special Treatment,” you gasp, “Too good to go get your own snacks now, huh?”

“It’s convenient,” he rolls his eyes, “Means we don’t have to juggle a load of food back.” We, like he would never let you go on your own, anyway. 

You wonder for a brief second why the thought of it all of a sudden doesn’t suffocate you - why you welcome it with open arms. 

“Someone else just has to do it for you,” you jibe, and he just shrugs in response - not that you take it to heart, he’s playful about it, and you know first hand that Luke is a good tipper - despite all the times you’d told him not to tip you when he came to the restaurant, all your friends back at the club in the summer had always said as much. “Do you always just miraculously get what you want?”

He tilts his head slowly, eyes flickering down as he thinks about his response. “Not always,” comes out a little quiet, a little pensive, and you try not to shudder at the way he looks back up. He smiles, then, innocent and unassuming, holding out his phone for you to type your order down. 

You can’t quite pinpoint when you lost all resistance when it comes to Luke, but it’s probably too far gone to really do anything about it now, you think.

He’s surprisingly interactive during the game, just as he had been in the watch bar the night before - answering your probably incessant questions with an amused tilt to his lips, eyes on the action but words astute, like he’s truly listening and not just entertaining your attention, stealing sips of your drink when he’s finished his too quick. 

“What even is icing anyway?” You ask after maybe the 6th call, “Like why do they even call it, why not just let someone come get the puck and carry on?”

“Game would be boring if it was just everybody shooting the puck out of their own half,” he tells you, “Needs to be some kind of stakes.”

“I’m gonna bite my tongue about how boring the game might be anyway.”

He juts his knee into yours, your joints swinging together like a pendulum as you bring it back into place, levelling him with a glare. 

“You asked.”

“I actually didn’t,” he chuckles. “How many games have you been to now and you’re only just asking about icing?” He stretches his legs awkwardly to fit into the stands, the touch of his knee removing itself from yours as he leans into his seat. “What have you been doing when my games are on? You can’t have been watching them.”

“Hey, I do watch!” You swat at his bicep, shuffling to give him a little more room, something you seem to do by instinct now, adjusting yourself to better fit him, almost like a puzzle piece, “I watch you, I don’t need to know what’s going on with anybody else on that ice, that’s not my business.”

“Thought you wanted to know more about hockey.”

“Thought you wanted to be the one to teach me.”

“I know you know some things, we’ve talked about it before.”

“When?”

“Back in the club, that time we were spying on Jack. You mentioned a couple Michigan games.”

“Oh,” you pout, a weird flutter in your chest when you realise how long ago that was - almost like another lifetime has passed in the time since - you barely even feel like the same person. “You remember that?”

“You don’t?” He asks, brows furrowing as he gives you a little more of his attention. 

“I do, I just didn’t realise you retained information like that,” you snark back, reaching out to ruffle at his hair playfully. “You’ve taken a couple hits to the head, since.”

“I remember everything when it comes to you.” He says, undoing your poor attempt at lightening the growing tension a little within a matter of milliseconds. God, he’s good at that. “Plus, Ethan said you’ve been to a couple games this season, I figured you’d have gotten the hang of it all by now. You come with Ellie, right, she doesn’t teach you all this stuff?”

“Nah, she lost interest this year,” you reply, leaning a little into your own seat, your posture mirroring his as you get a little more comfortable. “Got a boyfriend in the NHL, she doesn’t need to be scouting for prospects anymore.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing? Scouting?”

“God no,” you scoff, sipping at what’s left of your diet coke as you watch the guys on the ice below, absentmindedly extending the cup over to him as you say, “Hockey boys are too whiney and needy,” 

“Oh really?” You can hear the grin without even looking at him, seeing him lean in to take a drink in your peripheral.

“Mmhm,” you bite back your own smile. “Dorky, too.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“We both know I’m hilarious.”

“You don’t come with anybody else?” He asks, nudging at you to keep you focused.

“Like who?” You frown. You’d been to the Jersey game with Ethan and Dylan, but you can hardly come to their own hockey game with them. Who else would you possibly go with?

“I don’t know, a date?”

You turn to face him, then, pushing your brows together in confusion as your eyes meet his. “You think that I would come to a hockey game on a date?” 

You don’t even remember the last time you went on a date, or what any of that would even entail, anymore - but it probably wouldn’t be a hockey game of all places. 

You’d probably go to a bar, or something. Or grab food together. Maybe go watch a movie.

Or none of that, at all, because the thought of dating kind of makes your stomach turn, all of a sudden. Where would you even find the time, between school and spending half your life on the phone to the idiot beside you. 

“You’re already here on Valentines day,” he smirks, “You’ll probably be here tomorrow for senior night, come back the day after and spend your birthday here, just for kicks, I’ll tell the guys to come in and practice just for you, if you want.”

“I will not be spending my birthday watching hockey, thank you very much,” you huff, “Not coming to senior night, either, my dad’s taking me out to dinner tomorrow, so you’re gonna have to sit in your high tower without me.”

Luke straightens up a little in his seat, losing the playful glint in his eye as he looks back at you. “You’re dad’s gonna be in town?”

“Allegedly,” you shrug, because you feel like it’s one of those things that if you act like you’re indifferent, the universe won’t cruelly rip it away from you. He’d promised when he called around Christmas that he’d come - when you told him that you had stayed behind in Michigan while your mom worked, and a part of you has known since that it’s an attempt to one-up her, prove that he can show when it matters, but you’re not putting any money on it.

“Can I meet him?”

“No.”

“You’ve met my parents.”

“Because I technically lived in your house,” you scoff, remembering the few times you’d spoken to his mom and dad - mostly polite exchanges with his mom, brief but friendly, enough. You and Luke hadn’t really been much at the time, and you had no reason to want to impress them, but the thought of running into either of them now almost terrifies you - the need to leave a more positive impression almost causing your entire body to buzz with anxiety. “You have no reason to meet my dad.”

“I’m literally your best friend.” He says it in such a classically caustic way - bottom lip jutted out and eyes rolling - that it makes you laugh.

“You wish.” You snort, ignoring the familiarity of the way he smiles back at the remark, turning back to the game and trying to focus despite the ringing that’s all of a sudden occurring in your ears.

Luke can’t remember the last time he’s spent an entire week in somebody’s company - someone who isn’t family, that is, or on the very rare occasion, some of his teammates, even though he usually manages to bag a day for a break and some sort of isolation most times he’s on the road.

But since he came back to Michigan, he’s probably seen you more than he’s seen his own reflection. 

And it isn’t even like summer, when you’d spend all that time together - watching movies up in your room when no one else was home, driving to and from the club, sneaking around doing god-knows what to try and figure out what the hell was going on with his brother and your best friend - this time, it just feels a lot less mercurial, a lot less like it’s going to slip from his fingers if he does something slightly wrong. 

Everything that was light and airy back then feels heavier and sturdier now - much more secure, weighed down by months of built trust and appreciation of one another. And for the first time since everything fell apart, he doesn’t find himself wishing he could go back. 

You give so much of your time to him now, so much of yourself, that he doesn’t for a second doubt how much you appreciate him, or want to be around him. He doesn’t sit in your company and constantly crave more.

He sees more too, he thinks - not just in terms of seeing you, but actually seeing the things about yourself you’re trying to hide. Like how you’re stressed about school, and hiding yourself away, and probably not eating as much as you should. He tries to get you out of the house where he can, tries not to be obvious about it, or controlling or pushy.

And by the time the weekend rolls around, there’s glimpses there of something brighter, even if you’re still not fully talking it out - maybe that’s just not how you cope with things. He’s starting to think he understands you a little more these days.

Saturday is the first day he spends on his own, with no plans to even meet you in the evening, because you’re supposed to be spending it with your dad, and he starts to wonder how he’s even gonna be able to go back to Jersey if this is how it feels not being with you for just one day. 

He’s bored. All day.

He trains with a few of the guys in the morning, calls Quinn around lunchtime, his parents in the afternoon, shovels all the fresh snow from their drive and just flits around their house until it’s time to watch the game in the evening, making himself some pasta and kicking back on the couch until there’s a loud knock on the door while he’s watching the highlights from the other game in the tournament.

He’s half expecting his mom to have ordered some sort of food over, not trusting that he could make himself something to eat without burning their house down.

He’s not expecting you on the other side, wearing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes and cuddling at a big back of chips. 

“Let me in, already, I can’t feel my hands,” you huff, edging through the gap he leaves for you when he opens the door a little wider, brushing past him in a dizzying blur of vanilla perfume and spearmint gum. 

“Why aren’t you wearing gloves, it’s like 4 degrees out?”

“The Uber driver had the heat cranked up all the way, I thought I’d be alright until you left me out there knocking for 20 whole minutes.”

He figures you must feel the heat in the house instantaneously, because you’re shrugging off your giant coat and hanging it beside his in the hall as he watches you, still pretty sure you’re a figment of his imagination until you’re pressing the chips into his chest so that you can take off your boots. 

“You knocked once, you were maybe out there 1 minute before I opened the door,” he defends himself, “Plus if I knew you were even coming, I could have picked you up myself, then you wouldn’t have had to knock.”

“You got a vendetta against surprises or something?” You scoff, trailing into the living room like you already know the way, with him following you like you’re pulling him on a leash. 

“Just wasn’t expecting to see you today,” he frowns, blinking slowly as he watches you sink down onto where he was sat in the couch, tucking your feet beneath your body and getting yourself comfortable. Something about it makes his heart skip a couple beats. “Thought your dad was taking you for dinner for your birthday.”

“He bailed,” you shrug, reaching out for the bag of chips that he hands straight over, “Thought I’d keep you company, we both know you can’t enjoy hockey anymore without me yapping in your ear about it the whole way through.”

You might actually be right. Who else is going to ask stupid questions like, do the refs take figure skating lessons to be able to jump like that all the time?

“He bailed?” He asks, sitting down beside you, not letting you distract him with any other casual remark. Your dad bailed on you, for your birthday dinner, and you’re here opening chips and pretending like you aren’t at all phased?

“Apparently one of the boys felt sick or something,” you wave it off, “He could have told me before I sat around the restaurant waiting for him like a loser for 30 minutes, but I guess it’s all hands on deck over there, he texted me as soon as he could apparently.”

Fuck. 

Your dad lives out in Philly, he knows that - would take him almost 2 hours just to fly out, never mind however long to get to and from the airport. He could have text you way earlier in the day, if he knew he wasn’t going to make it out. Could have done so much to make it up to you, to not have you get ready, get all the way to be seated for your reservation, get your hopes up entirely, just to text that he wasn’t going to make it.

He forgot. He probably never even bought a ticket. 

Double fuck. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks, assuming your sudden silence is some sort of prompt.

“Not really,” you huff, slumping down into the corner of the couch, the movement sluggish and defeated, “I’m over it, already, it doesn’t matter."

Luke frowns as he watches you, avoiding eye contact and shrugging it off with indifference, and your words take him straight back to the night of Ellie’s birthday. 

It doesn’t matter.

You’d said the same thing back then, over and over, like you were trying to convince yourself it was the truth - that none of it ever mattered - and he thinks he sees it, for the first time, as clear as day; that this is what you do when you’re really hurt. You play it all off like it’s nothing, let it eat away at you without anyone ever really seeing the damage.

He’d seen a glimpse of it that night after the halloween party in Jersey, when he’d asked if you could ever be more - this glassy, unsure look in your eyes, like you were fighting everything in you that wanted more, shielding yourself from the potential hurt, and the subtle, hesitant shake of your head. It’s what drove him to take things further - to push at your boundaries until you let him back in, even if it was for one last time - because he knew there was something there to cling onto.

He wonders for a second just how often you deprive yourself of more, with anything. How you won’t talk about NYU, because it isn’t a sure thing. How you don’t put up a fight with your dad, and how he constantly lets you down, directing all the paternal energy that you’re owed to his other kids - or your mom, and how she gives you just as little of her time, but it’s somehow different because it’s under the guise of work. 

He wonders if maybe this friendship he’s been cursing the limitations of for as long as you’ve blessed him with it is all you’ll let yourself have, because the uncertainty of how more could hurt you is worse than the feeling of depriving yourself of it - and his chest all of a sudden feels like a vast, empty cavern that his heart just ricochets painfully around, bouncing from surface to surface and trying to steady itself through the pain.

“C’mere,” he mutters, extending his arm out for you to crawl under, and he’s almost surprised by how quick you do - laying your head on his chest and letting him hold you, fingers again playing with the ends of your hair to try and ground himself. 

He’s sure you can feel the rampant beat of his heart, can probably hear the blood rushing throughout his entire body as you rest on him, but you stay quiet for a while after, wrapping your arms around his torso and breathing slowly in tandem with him. 

You stay there for what feels like forever, and he’s almost positive you’ve fallen asleep, until all hell breaks loose at the puck drop, and he feels you shift when players start dropping gloves.

Your tense up until the fighting’s over, and the game gets underway, and you’re quiet again until you ask, “Do you ever get in fights like that?”

“Nah,” he breathes out, his fingers drawing absentminded shapes into the arm of your sweatshirt. “I’m a pacifist.”

He sees recognition flash through your irises when you push yourself up to look at him, lips twisting into a knowing smile, and he smiles too - a feeling of familiarity settling deep into his bones when he notices you pick up straight away on the reference. He can see, too, that you’re thinking about how far you’ve both come since that first day in the club back in summer, when he’d sat across from you in a booth and you’d said you could never see yourself warming up to him. 

And look at you now, eyes softened whenever your gaze is cast in his direction, a pretty flush to your cheeks, and an almost ever-present upturn to your lips whenever he’s around. 

Despite all the things you refuse to tell him or talk about, you’re open to him in more ways than you’ll ever know. 

He reaches to push a stray strand of hair back behind your ear, noticing how you lean in a little to the touch before he pulls back away, and your hand goes immediately to hold his before you settle back against his chest.

How stupid could your dad possibly be to hurt you like he did - to give up any chance to be around you, to break any promise he ever made to you.

Luke vows, then, that he won’t ever do the same. 

He’s gonna be your friend, be in your life, for as long as you’ll possibly let him. When Harry Met Sally can go fuck itself - meaningful relationships with someone of the opposite gender don’t have to be clouded by the murky waters of sexual attraction - what the two of you have goes so far beyond that, now.

And tomorrow, because you deserve nothing less, he’s going to make sure you have the best birthday of your life.

When you wake up on your birthday, your senses are flooded with everything distinctly Luke.

You’re dressed in his clothes - beat up old pyjamas pants that are rolled up at the hips and one of his shirts - laid in his bed, cuddling at his pillow, and surrounded by all of his things - laid on your own in his bedroom despite knowing that he’d fallen asleep beside you last night. 

You can hear him clattering around in the kitchen downstairs, so you aren’t that upset that you don’t wake up next to him, and you’re kind of open to the reprieve, all too conscious of your messy bedhead and sleep-swollen face. 

And it gives you a chance to look around once you’ve fixed yourself up - the space a lot different to his room back at the lake house. It feels a lot more personal - pictures from his childhood littered around, movie posters on his walls, little trophies lining the shelves and medals hanging beneath them. It’s endearing.

And so damn cute.

Framed images of little Luke with blonde curly hair and jerseys two sizes too big, or matching outfits with his brothers, or dorky costumes with painted faces. 

“If it isn’t Mrs Snoopy, herself,” he scoffs when he comes in, juggling two plates of pancakes on a tray with glasses of fresh juice, a flower laid in the middle that he probably just plucked from one of his mom’s decorations downstairs. “You having fun looking through all my stuff?”

You press your lips together to fight laughter, pointing back at the pictures you were just observing when he places the tray down on his bed. “You were adorable,” you tell him.

“Were?” He scoffs. 

“Yeah, were,” you snicker, “You have at least 4 hairs growing out of your chin, now, all cuteness has been thrown out the window.”

He rolls his eyes, gesturing for you to sit down on his bed, “You better eat that before I take it away. I’m never making you breakfast in bed, again.”

He watches fondly as you sink back down onto your side of his bed, and he joins you on his, handing you some cutlery before he leans over, pushing a single candle into your pancake stack. They’re a little lopsided, misshaped and deformed, and the candle kind of leans a little dangerously to one side, but none of that deters your chest from seizing at the sight of it all.

“Do you want me to sing?” He asks as he lights it, looking up at you with a playful smile on his face.

“No I do not,” you scoff, tucking your hair behind your back so there’s no risk of it falling into the candle when you lean toward the open flame. 

“Happy Birthday,” he says, his voice deep and velvety, and the last thing you see before you close your eyes to blow it out and make a wish is his soft smile as he watches you. “What did you wish for?”

“A box of bleach for your hair,” you lie, smiling back sardonically when he shakes his head with exasperation. 

“Maybe next year,” he scoffs, “I already got all your gifts for this birthday, I’m not going shopping again.”

“Gifts?” You ask, frowning a little. When he’d first mentioned your birthday, he’d said he was going all out - that he felt bad he didn’t get you anything for Christmas and wanted to make it up to you. You’d told him you didn’t want anything big, and you didn’t want him spending a lot of money on you, and you’re starting to worry that he didn’t listen. 

Luke is the last person on Earth who makes you feel like you’re mooching off of him - you really don’t want to start, now.

“You’ll see later. We’re still on for movie night, right?”

Your first together since summer. You have plans to sneak him into your house later, after your birthday brunch with your sorority sisters, and you’d agreed to let him keep his turn to pick. 

You nod, a little hesitant, a little unsure.

“I promise you’ll like them,” he assures you. “I don’t mean to brag but I knocked it out of the park.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you tell him, taking your first bite of one of the pancakes, the taste reminding you of the ones you used to eat back at the lake house. “Oh my god, these taste just like Quinn’s!” You say around your mouthful, covering it with your hand as you look back up at Luke with wide eyes.

“He talked me through making them,” Luke chuckles, “I had to FaceTime him for supervision.”

“Just now?” You ask, “Isn’t he like 3 hours behind us or something?”

“He’s an early bird,” he shrugs, taking a bite of his own. “And he said it was his gift for your birthday, I’m not allowed to take credit for them.”

“Yours are better,” you tell him, watching the way his body shifts through the compliment, eyes widening, lips parting, shoulders straightening. Adorable. “You can take credit.”

“Maybe I will make you breakfast in bed again.” 

He drives you home not long after - bundles you up in some old sweatpants and one of his hoodies, and you don’t tell him that you keep his shirt and pyjama pants, too, stuff them beneath the hoody to conceal them before you zip yourself into your coat - and promises to text when he’s on his way, later.

You think it might be the excitement of seeing him again that carries you through the rest of the day. You’d have probably enjoyed brunch with the girls anyway, but it waters down the minor disappointment of them gifting you the same bracelet everybody in the house gets for their birthday, and the fact it sort of just feels like any other meeting outside of the house rather than a celebration of you. 

You really only have yourself to blame for that, though. You’d told them earlier in the week you just wanted to do something chill, that you had a test on Monday and were going to head in early on Sunday night - but that was after Luke had suggested keeping up your weekend tradition and coming over. If they’d arranged anything beforehand, you would have gone ahead with them.

And even though it’s your birthday, you stock your room with all of Luke’s favourite snacks when you get home. You put on fresh sheets, and put back on the hoody he’d given you earlier, and check your phone every few minutes until he texts you that he’s parked down the street.

You text Ellie, who’s gonna distract the rest of the girls downstairs while you sneak him in, and grab him by the hand when you pull him inside the front door, rushing straight up the stairs and pushing him into your room, biting back a smile when you see him chuckling at the whole charade.

He swings the backpack off his arm as he kicks off his shoes beside your own, heading further into your bedroom and throwing him and his backpack down onto your bed. 

“Movie first or presents?” He asks, unzipping the top of the bag and pulling out the folded back of chips the two of you didn’t finish last night.

“Presents, please,” you tell him, sitting down cross legged on your side and clasping your hands together as you wait. 

“Alright, well, you’ve got to let me talk you through them before you come for me, alright, they’re not exactly traditional presents.”

Now you’re nervous, again.

“Like my first thought was that I was gonna buy you a star,” he says, “‘Cause apparently you can do that, and name them after you, you get a certificate and everything. But then I figured you’d have something to say about the colonisation of space or something, so I thought I’d save myself the grief.”

“You’d be right,” you snort, wondering if he would seriously fall for that kind of thing. You can’t just buy a star. Even if you earn as much as he does. “I also think that whole thing is a scam, but carry on.”

“Then I was trying to think well what’s something that you really need?”

“Lukey, you got me a car?!” You gasp, mouth agape as you try to make it obvious that you’re poking fun at him.

“What? No,” he pouts, brows furrowing as he looks back down into his backpack, disappointed with what’s in there. “Wait, do you want a car?” 

“I was messing with you.“

“Obviously.” He scoffs, shaking his head a little as you bite back a smile, “You said nothing big or expensive, I can’t get you a car. Anyway, your Wall-E is broken,” he hooks a thumb toward the little figure you keep on the shelf above your desk - the lego version of the character that you had knocked off the surface one time when cleaning and accidentally vacuumed up a couple of the tiny pieces. He must have noticed when he was in here on his own the other day. When he was supposedly not snooping around your stuff.

Luke reaches into the bag and pulls out a stuffed version of the robot - a cute soft toy that he immediately hands over to you, it’s big eyes all droopy and adorable. You can’t help the grin that breaks out as you look at it, with its chunky yellow body and soft grey treads - cute enough to forget that he may have potentially taken himself on his own private tour of your belongings.

“I know he’s your favourite, but they don’t sell that Lego anymore, so I had to get you the next best thing.” 

“He’s perfect.” You beam, looking back at Luke as he watches you with bated breath. “Thank you,”

“That isn’t everything.”

“Oh.” He hands over a white box, and when you turn it over, you realise it’s AirPods. “Luke, I can’t-,”

“I didn’t spend any money on them,” he argues, “They were gifted to me, I’m supposed to wear them walking in to games but I already have a pair.”

“Still-,” AirPods aren’t exactly cheap - you’d know, you’ve been saving up to buy a new pair ever since you dropped one of yours into a puddle walking home from class one day.

“It’s technically a selfish present, too, ‘cause the microphone on your pair now sounds like shit when I call you, so you need them.”

“Fine,” you huff, not entirely bothered - feeling seen in a way no one else seems to manage to do. “Thank y-,”

“Still not finished.” He smiles, guilty but persistent, and pulls out something folded before he hands it over. You unravel the black bundle of fabric, Jersey, written on the front, and turn it over, 43 and Hughes on the back.

“I’m pretty sure these jerseys cost more than the earphones.” You tell him, lips still twisting when you look at the little scribble at the bottom of the 4. 

“Perks of it being game used, technically free. I even signed it for you. You can wear it when you come watch me again. Or when you watch me from here.”

“Oh God, yeah, it stinks,” you joke, your face curling when you bring it up to your face. 

“Give it back,” he scowls playfully, reaching as you pull it above your shoulder.

“No, I’m kidding.” You pout, “Hey, stop it, it’s mine.” You swat at his hand as he tries to grab it from you, practically wrestling him as he gets a hold of it. `You end up shuffling your legs out from their crossed position to kick him, swiftly leaning over him to cover his mouth when he barks out a laugh. “Are you done now?”

“One more.” He speaks against your fingers, nodding over to his backpack as you glare suspiciously at him, reaching into the bag and pulling out a little envelope. 

You pick at the folded edge until it tears, pulling it open until you can look inside and pull one of the many little cards out.

“Metro cards?” Turning it between your fingers, because what the hell do you need metro cards for?

“For when you’re at NYU.” He answers the question before you even get the chance to ask. “Should get you where you need to be for classes and stuff. They all have 30 days on them, so you’re pretty much set for a year.”

“Luke, this must have cost like at least a thousand dollars.” 

“I have a bad habit of not checking the price when I put my card in, so I wouldn’t know.” He shrugs, although you can tell by the way he’s looking at you that that isn’t the case. He’d put thought into this, had gone out of his way to get you something that actually meant something to you - beyond getting you around a city you’re not even certain you’ll be in after you graduate.

“That’s not funny,” you breathe out, frowning at how he’s downplaying such a sweet gesture. 

“Doesn’t matter anyway, they’re non-refundable, and I’m not gonna use them, so you have to take them.”

You wait for a few seconds, looking back at how many cards are in the envelope, before looking back at him. “Do they work on the PATH?”

“Should get you to Jersey and back if you need ‘em to.”

Your lips twist at the thought of it - commuting across the river to visit Luke as much as you want, no longer having to wait until he’s in town or either of you get a break. Seeing him on a whim, watching movies in person. 

“I’d pick you up from the station.” He tells you, like he’s already thought of it, too. “So yeah, no need for a car, actually. You might have gotten a discount being a student and all, but this way you don’t have to worry about it at all. I know you said that when you move out there you’d want to explore, so now you can.”

You can. When.

There’s no if or could or if you want. 

Luke is more certain of your potential than you’ve ever been.

“What if I don’t get in?” You ask after a beat, afraid to even utter the thought into existence after having poured all your energy over the last couple months into your application.

Your future is so murky that it’s all you can think about at the moment, and you’re trying not to get too attached to any one plan - but this one has a hold on you that you can’t quite shift.

The thought of living so close to Luke - being just across the river, less than an hour, if you have to get the train, and potentially quicker than 30 minutes if you can get a ride - and getting to see him so often makes your chest feel like it’s splitting at the seams, and you don’t know if it’s anxiety or hope that’s causing the ache.

“You will,” he shrugs, like he hasn’t even considered any other option, “but if you for whatever reason decide it isn’t for you, then I’ll just fly you out against your will every weekend and we’ll go ride the subway for fun when I’m free.”

You smile at the thought, even if you know he’s not serious, imagining him sprawled on one of the benches, gangly legs getting in everyone’s way, trying to figure out if he needs to switch lines by squinting up at one of the maps instead of checking his phone like a normal person. “They have a When Harry Met Sally tour.”

“If you think I’m faking an orgasm in Katz’s Deli for you, you can think again.”

“Damn, there goes my master plan.” He slaps his knee, pouting mockingly as his eyes follow your every move.

You look back down again, taking in all your gifts, the meaning of them all settling in and filling up a vast hole left behind by everyone else in your life.

Luke sees so much more of you than you realised. He sees fixes for the little things, the things that accepting his help on doesn’t make you feel like anything less than a whole, he knows what you like, what means something to you, what would make you happy because it’s your favourite. He knows about your ambitions, and your wants, and the things you only let yourself dream about, too afraid to say them aloud. Luke listens to the things you can’t even bring yourself to say. 

“This is crazy.”

“Yeah, well, I’m kind of serious about this whole friend thing.” He tells you, wearing the kind of smile that makes you feel warm all over - and it’s the kind of warmth that makes you realise that you didn’t even know you were cold, before. 

“What if you get tired of me?” You ask, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you wait out his response.

“Won’t.” He smiles, an almost child-like certainty to the way his lips curve. 

Your own lips start to tremble as you watch him, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as you start to feel the tell-tale sting of oncoming tears.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks, fingers reaching tentatively to swipe at the salty droplet that falls before you have the chance to stop it, “What is it?”

“I think this whole thing with my dad really got to me,” you admit, probably for the first time to anyone, that you’re not as okay as you try to make out. It’s pointless keeping up the act when Luke sees straight through you, anyway, you think. “It’s like no matter how much I try to prepare myself that he’s gonna let me down, there’s this stupid part of me that thinks it’s gonna be different every time.”

“That’s not stupid,” he tells you, his voice firm and his gaze convincing. “It’s okay to want more from people, it doesn’t make you an idiot. He’s the stupid one.”

You know he’s right, but it’s so hard to let go of the idea of your dad that you grew up with - the man who would pick you up from school every day, would blast music the whole way home and sing at the top of his lungs, and would dash a smiley face on every plate with sauce. The dad who was home with you while your mom worked crazy shifts, and would tuck you in at night telling you that you were his world. The thought of him doing that for your brothers now, and not even caring about something as important as your birthday - it just hurts. The stretched out, aching kind of hurt that hangs over you like a dark cloud - the constant threat of rain hovering above. 

“He ended up just sending money over, said to get myself whatever I wanted, which is exactly what my mom did. It probably sounds really ungrateful but I just got really in my head about how no one really showed up for me, or got me something that was personal.” Your last hope after brunch had been Ellie, who had given you a purse she’d gotten at Christmas that you said was cute - you were grateful for all of it, the money, the bracelet, the purse, but the lack of thought and effort sort of lingered like a sour taste in your mouth. “But here you are.”

The way Luke looks at you is enough that you don’t need him to say anything in response - his irises gleam with affection and a softened, slow smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“I think you were right the other night at the game. You might be my best friend.”

“And that makes you want to cry?” He comes back almost immediately, lips upturning into a smirk.

“Well, I’d scream but it might give us away,” you retort, smiling straight back. “The girls are really funny about having visitors in the night.”

“There’s always your pillow,” he nods over to the top of your bed, “Might muffle the noise.”

You laugh, a huff of air from your nostrils that slowly turns into more, until your eyes are crinkling in the corners and your cheeks start to ache.

“I think you might be my best friend, too.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He affirms, serious and straight, like he’d already realised it long before you.

You smile slowly before you push all the gifts gently into a pile by your side, shuffling past them and wrapping your arms straight around Luke’s middle. He reacts fairly quick, his own arms making their way around your shoulders, swaying softly as you stay in his embrace for a good minute or two, just holding onto him as you let all the emotions wash through you. 

You bury your face into his shoulder to save yourself from saying one of them out loud - that you love him, because you’re pretty sure you do.

You’re pretty sure that’s the feeling twisting in your gut.

But you’re can’t quite grasp the extent of it.

You know what love is. You love your family, love your friends - love being outdoors in the spring time, love the colour yellow, the taste of strawberries, and swimming in the lake when the sun is out and the water is warm. 

But the way you love Luke seems different. It isn’t defined by any season, or time, or place. It’s all consuming, all the time. It’s in the stuffy heat of the passenger seat in his car in the summer, in front of the blazing fire in the backyard of the hockey house in the fall, and here, in winter, with the evidence of his love in a dedicated heap behind you on your bed.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, the thought of it doesn’t entirely terrify you. 

The end of Luke’s bye-week arrives quicker than you can really comprehend, and you’re grateful the guys had taken it upon themselves to throw him a little goodbye party at their house, because you don’t have the mental capacity to throw anything together, yourself. 

Ethan had been the one to tell you about it - lowkey, he’d said - the guys and a few people who were close with Luke before he left for Jersey, and he said you could bring whatever of your sisters you wanted.

With it being mid-week, most of them are busy, but Ellie is always happy to tag along, and she even says she’ll do your hair and makeup. There’s a backhanded compliment when she does offer, but you’re too in your head to really let it sink in or affect you. 

It feels nice to do this again, anyway. You’ve been in too much of a slump to really go to any sort of party lately, but what better occasion than anything dedicated to Luke?

It was probably last year that you and Ellie did this, sipped on way too strong homemade cocktails while some pop music played in the background, and you’re convinced not to let the little comments she keeps uttering get to you.

“If I’d have known it would only take Luke to get you out, I’d have got Jack to ship him out months ago,” she says as she runs a thermal brush through your hair, smoothing out the frizz and curling it at the ends. “Should have known after the halloween party that you’d follow him anywhere.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, frowning despite your conviction to ignore her when she gets like this. The mention of halloween triggers something deep within you though, and you immediately smooth out your features when you meet her eye in the mirror, aiming for nonchalance, although you’re pretty sure the abrupt palpitations you feel at the mere mention of his name are visible from where Ellie stands behind you.

“You slept with him in October,” she says, like this is somehow common knowledge, like the two of you have ever even spoken about that, or anything to do with the developments in yours and Luke’s relationship since the end of summer. 

You turn in your seat, mouth agape as you stare wide-eyed back at her, thankful to avoid the hot end of the hair tool. “No I didn’t,” you scoff, figuring denial is your safest bet. Admitting anything to Ellie last time hadn’t worked out too well for you, whether it was the fault of that conversation or not, and you don’t really want to put your heart on the line for her to watch it shatter again. “Why would you even think that?”

“Because Jack said his bed hadn’t been slept in when we got back from the hotel.”

“That’s because Jack’s never heard of making the bed,” you try to argue, but she claps back almost immediately.

“He’s actually weirdly neat. It’s almost annoying.” She shrugs, “I believe him when he says it was untouched, which means you slept in Luke’s bed, and that means you fucked him.”

“Why does it automatically mean I fucked him?”

“Because the two of you can’t stay away from each other,” she rolls her eyes, “Plus, you were avoiding him like the plague, and then all of a sudden you guys were FaceTiming each other every day. And now he’s come back and you spent the entire week with him. I’ve never had to sneak a guy in here for you before, so you can’t tell me you guys weren’t fucking up here.”

“We weren’t,” you say, trying to convey the honesty in your tone. “We were justing hanging out. We’re friends.”

“Right,” she scoffs, motioning for you to turn back around with her fingers before she picks up another strand of your hair. “Probably for the best then, ‘cause I was starting to worry.”

“Why would you worry?”

“Because I don’t want my best friend to get hurt again,” she says, like it’s obvious. “I know you think you’re friends, but he’s gonna crush you when he starts seeing someone and you get left behind.”

“Why would you even say that?” You turn again, this time all attempts at nonchalance thrown out the window. 

She stares back at you, holding the hot brush out to the side as she levels you with a glare at how close you were to making her burn you again. 

You glare back. She’s being a bitch for the sake of it, now. Why would she even bring that up? Where did that even come from?

She huffs, yanking at the wire so it extends and putting the brush down on the heat proof mat on your dresser. 

“Promise me you won’t go all crazy when I tell you this,” she sits on the edge of your bed, hands splayed out by her sides, “Because Jack told me something pretty crazy a couple weeks ago, and I’ve been debating whether or not you need to know.”

“Just say it, Ellie,” you snap, tired of the theatrics. If it’s something you need to know, she should have told you when she found out - weeks ago, allegedly.

“He’s seeing somebody.”

You blink slowly, your eyelids feeling like they weigh 90lbs each. 

No he isn’t. If you don’t have the time to be seeing anybody between your class schedule and being available to him, he sure as hell doesn’t have the time, being in the NHL and all. 

“I’m sorry?” You ask, shuffling uncomfortably in your chair.

“Or speaking to her, at least.” She corrects, shrugging like it isn’t a big deal.

“Speaking to who?”

“Her name’s Yasmin,” Ellie says, and you don’t know why hearing some random name makes your throat go dry - the fact that there even is a name, and it’s not just some bullshit nothing story Ellie is running with. “Jack says she’s a friend of one of the other wags, they met at some bar when they went out a couple of weeks ago and hit it off, he’s texting with her all the time apparently.”

You try to think back on the week, on all the times he’s been on his phone - that first morning, when he’d told you he was checking for nearby restaurants, at the hockey game, when he’d said he was ordering concessions straight to your seats, all the times you thought he was texting the boys - could he have been secretly messaging Yasmin and not telling you?

“He would have told me,” you say, more to reassure your self than defend Luke, if you’re honest. He would have told you, right? You guys tell each other everything. You’ve told him more than you’ve told even Ellie about yourself, about your life. 

He’s your best friend.

He would have told you. 

“I think Jack has his wires crossed or something,” you say, feeling like your throat is closing up on you, or like the walls are closing in. “He isn’t seeing anybody.” And just as she opens her mouth, “Or speaking to them.”

“Would it matter if he was? Even if it’s not Yasmin, if it’s somebody else, is that a problem? Could you watch him just move on?”

You just about stop yourself from biting back, of course it would matter, or, of course I couldn't watch that, your lips staying parted and gaping back at her like an idiot as you try to think of any other response. 

“We’re friends.” Is all you can come back with, but it feels like a lie when you say it, this time. 

“Okay then,” Ellie shrugs, pushing herself up and reaching back for the brush. “Can you stay still while I finish your hair please, I can’t deal with the guilt of burning your neck.”

You feel catatonic, after that, so it isn’t hard to stay motionless, staring blankly at your reflection as you try to compute the information she’s just spewed at you. 

Yasmin, who he hit it off with weeks ago, who he texts all the time, who he hasn’t told you a single thing about. 

You replay those facts over and over in your head, somehow managing to get ready in a zombie-like state, somehow managing to walk with Ellie all the way to the hockey house, integrating yourself into a group in the corner as everyone moves around you, people talking and music playing, and everything just blurs into noises and shapes until your phone buzzes harsh in your pocket.

You don’t know what you’re expecting when you check the notification - mindlessly scanning the words until you’re shocked back into reality, and you have to read it again for them to register. 

It’s an email, and your settings allow you to read the sender and first line only.

From: NYU Office of Admissions

Congratulations! On behalf of the admissions committee, I’m delighted to-

You gasp, and you don’t even open the whole thing up to read it before you’re pushing yourself away from the group you’re with, shouldering past a mass of bodies and trying to catch a glimpse of brunette curls as you crane your neck into every room.

“Hey, have you seen Luke?” You grab Ethan as soon as you see him, who responds with wide eyes and catches you as you stumble.

“I’m pretty sure I saw him in the kitchen with-,”

“Thanks!” You yell, rushing off in the other direction before he can finish, until you finally get there, pushing straight into the room before you can think anything of it.

Luke is in the kitchen. He’s leaning against the counter in the far corner, a playful smile on his face, the kind he gives you when he’s trying to make you blush or something. And you’d recognise who’s stood in front of him anywhere, even by the back of her hair. 

Victoria Anderson, reaching her chicken claw hands up and pushing Luke’s curls out of his face. 

You feel a little like the world is spinning around you - like you’re stuck in the middle, and everything else is flashing by in a dizzying blur. You don’t even think your heart is beating anymore, the blood draining from your head as you watch what’s happening in front of you. 

And before he can see you in such a pitiful state, you turn on your heel and push your way back out of the door, slipping through the same bodies you’d passed before until you’re out the front door, the shock of the cold air bringing you back into consciousness. 

Would it matter if he was? It it’s somebody else, is that a problem?

Ellie’s words from before ring like a warning bell through your skull.

Of course it fucking matters. 

All Luke needs to see is a flash of your hair as the door to the kitchen closes to know he’s fucked everything up, once again. He doesn’t know why it takes him a minute to register just how bad the situation is before he makes a move, though. 

Victoria had cornered him a while ago, had been clinging to him for a good 20 minutes or something, and she had been relentless with her questions and attempts at conversation. It had been a little suffocating, even more so when she told him that her and her boyfriend had broken up before the new year, and he’d tried to excuse himself for a drink, but she had followed. 

He’d tried to let her down gently, had told her that he wasn’t interested anymore, and she had pushed her luck, cornering him against the counter, and asking, “Not even for old time’s sake?”

Hooking up with her in the first place all those years ago had probably been a mistake - he’d known it back then, never pursuing anything serious, and he knows it now, when she just can’t take no for an answer. “I’m into somebody else,” he had smiled, pitifully, wincing a little as she ran a hand through his hair to try convince him. “I’m not interested.”

And that had been about as plain as he could say it - thankful for the distracting creak of the kitchen door as it swung shut that he could look away from the way her face turned into a scowl, and then immediately panicked by the sight of you leaving. 

All he could do was blink, wondering if it had been a figment of his imagination. And then he figured that even if it was, he doesn’t want to be in this kitchen with Victoria Anderson. He wants to spend his last night in Michigan with you.

He edges out from where she has him trapped, and rushes out of the kitchen in search of you, looking over all of the heads in the larger space to try and find you.

Ethan catches him by the elbow as he passes, and asks if he’s looking for you.

“Yeah, have you seen her?” He asks, feeling a little breathless as he still tries to scan the room. 

“Uh, she walked past a few seconds ago, looked pretty upset. She was looking for you, before.”

“Why didn’t you go after her?” Luke frowns, watching as Ethan’s brows furrow in response. 

“She’s grouchy when she’s upset, starts getting all mean and bitey, I’m not getting in the middle of that.” He scoffs, crossing his arms, defensively.

“You’re supposed to bite back.” Luke sighs, knowing then that you hadn’t been a figment of his imagination at all. “Where did she go?”

“Think she’s outside.”

“Great,” Luke snaps, figuring he can apologise later for blaming Ethan of all people. He storms off, heading straight for the front door, relieved to find you outside when he bursts through it, ignoring the bite of the freezing cold as he takes you in - leaning against the rail on the porch, wiping at your face before you turn to fake a smile his way - a smile that makes his gut churn when it’s flashed alongside the tears you hadn’t quite managed to hide.

“Hey,” you say, voice small and weak, “Was looking for you.”

Okay. You’re not mad.

You’re upset, which is probably worse, but he can explain things if you’re willing to listen. 

“Ethan said,” he tells you, moving to your side and leaning on the rail, too, his body facing yours. “That wasn’t what it looked like, in the kitchen,” he swears, and you nod, the movement short and subtle. “I swear, I’ve been trying to get her to leave me alone for the past 30 minutes.”

“It’s fine,” you shrug, and his heart plummets at the way you seem to close yourself off to feeling any type of way about it, again. “You can do what you want, with whoever you want.”

“I don’t want to do that,” he frowns, “Not with her.”

“Okay,” you pretty much whisper, your eyes barely meeting his before they dart away, your body turning back to lean against the side. 

He watches you for a minute, trying to gauge how best to handle this, how best to make sure you understand that this is important, that this is something the two of you need to talk about, especially before he leaves for Jersey, tomorrow. The two of you have come too far to let something as stupid as this ruin what you’ve made for yourselves. 

“Hey,” he calls out, reaching to swipe his thumb at the little trail left behind by your previous tears, using the leverage to turn your head until you’re facing him again, and he leans in. “I don’t want to be with anybody but you tonight, I promise.”

Your smile is small, but there’s something there to cling to this time, the soft crinkle of your eyes as you lean into his grip. 

“Okay,” you repeat, blinking up at him as he tries to level his breathing. 

“You gonna come back inside with me before you freeze to death?” He asks, taking his hand away and sliding it slowly down your arm until he can grip weakly at your fingers, hoping they open to let him slide his own through the cracks.

“Wait,” you grip back, your smile growing a little. “I have something to show you.”

“Yeah?” He asks, holding your hand between the two of you, “Did you get me a going away gift?”

You wordlessly hand him your phone from your other hand, and he takes it in the one that’s free, frowning as he looks down at it. “This is your phone.”

“Duh,” you scoff, “Look what’s on there.”

He taps on your screen until it lights up, eyes squinting to read the tiny text - having to read it twice until it registers in his still-a-little-panicked brain. 

“You got in,” he mutters, like he can’t quite believe it - and it isn’t that he wasn’t expecting you to get in, but the excitement feels like a bucket of ice water thrown over his head, shocking and exhilarating all at once. “You got in!” He repeats, this time louder, prouder and the intensity of the smile that breaks out is almost instantaneously achey.

He drops your hand to grab you by the face, holding onto your own smile like it’s the most precious gift you can give him, jumping as he caresses you and letting the sound of your giggle seep into his skin. 

“Yeah,” your voice comes out a little like a whine, tears prickling at your eyes as they almost close with how big your smile is. “I’m going to NYU!”

It’s the first time you’ve said it - the first time you’ve known it for sure - and he’s so lucky he’s the first to hear it, he thinks, that he’s privy to you letting yourself have one more good thing without the fear of it being taken away or falling apart.

“You’re going to NYU,” he tells you, prouder than he’s ever been of anybody else in his life, probably. 

You’re gonna be across the river - a mere 30 minutes away on a good day - and he’s gonna get to see you all the time. Movie nights can be in person, you can come to his games, you can taste all the food you’re convinced isn’t as nice as he’s making out - and all of those things seem selfish to be the first to come to mind, but he can’t help it, he’s so happy he could cry, himself. 

He’s so distracted by the thought of crying that he doesn't realise you’re reaching up - that your fingers are curling around the back of his neck and you’re pulling him down, your lips colliding and moving together until his body turns to autopilot.

His hands grip at your waist, his mouth deepens the kiss until he can swipe his tongue against yours, and his feet shuffle clumsily until he’s guiding you away from the rail, toward the house, and pressing you gently into the cold brick wall. Your back arches until your chest presses to his front, and you kiss and kiss him until you both run out of breath, relying on muscle memory to guide you to all the places you know each other likes.

He’s in a daze when you part, panting and blinking rapidly and trying to form any single coherent thought.

That is, until you say, “I don’t want to watch you move on.”

What?

“I don’t understand,” he mutters, trying to make sense of what the hell you’re talking about. He’d explained the whole Victoria thing. Is that seriously the only reason you kissed him? Because seeing him with her made you feel a certain way? “I thought you wanted to be friends.”

“I did,” you respond, blinking back, “I do, but I-,”

“You don’t want anyone else to have me either?”

He doesn’t even know why he’s getting agitated, it’s probably the drinks he’d had before you got to the party - but he kissed you because he loves you. He kissed you because he’s proud of you, and happy for you, and excited to show you how much of himself he can give when you’re finally in the same place for an extended period of time. He kissed you because he’s spent the last week trying not to, the last 6 weeks convincing himself that he shouldn’t want to, ever since fucking Harry met Sally, and the last 8 or so months trying to fight the need to. 

And you kissed him because you were upset somebody else might have gotten there first.

“You tell me that we can’t ever be more, and when I try move on, you keep reeling me back in,” he huffs, “Like you don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me, either!”

“That isn’t true,” you frown, trying to grasp at a hand that he pulls away.

“Which part?” He asks, head tilting as he waits for you to figure it out. “You don’t even know what you want,” He sighs, tired all of a sudden and hurt that after all this time, you still aren’t sure on him. You still don’t want the same things, for the same reasons - still won’t let yourself believe in something good, even after the the universe just proved to you that it’s possible. “I don’t even think I know what I want out of this. I think about you all the time, you know, think about us. What we were, what we are now,” He had convinced himself only days ago that he could be your friend, if that’s what you need him to be, but now he can’t help it - not when you dangle the idea of more so carelessly in front of him like this. “What we could be, if you just let me all the way in.”

“I want to,” and because he knows you too well, he doesn’t get his hopes up at how quick you are to tell him that. “I promise you, I want to. I just don’t know how.”

Luke scoffs out a humourless chuckle, breaking eye contact as he clenches his jaw - thoughts working overtime to try and understand again where you’re coming from. 

“It’s been 8 months,” he sighs. “I don’t know how long I’m supposed to wait for you to figure it out.”

He doesn’t see the way your lips tremble, or your eyes well with tears, again.

“If all you want to be is friends, then I’ll be your friend,” he tells you. “But we both have to find a way to move on. It won’t work otherwise.” 

He doesn’t want to move on - the thought of being with anybody that isn’t you honestly makes him feel a little sick, but if it’s what he has to do to make sure he doesn’t feel like this again, maybe he should. 

Your lips stay parted, and you don’t argue back this time, blinking back tears as you stare at him, wide eyed and unsure.

“It isn’t fair to either of us to keep blurring the lines like this.”

You nod, pressing your mouth closed, averting your gaze until you’re not looking at him anymore, you’re looking past him, all the joy from before draining from you like sand in a timer. You stay silent, and he figures a nod is all he’s gonna get, because it’s another minute before he finds the words to say, himself.

“Let’s go back inside, yeah?” He asks, your hand slipping behind your back just as he thinks of reaching for it, the action causing his stomach to twist with guilt. “C’mon, we’ll get you a drink to celebrate the good news.”

“I think I’m gonna go home,” you mutter, so quiet that he almost doesn’t hear it, and you look back up and give him that same small, forced smile that made his gut churn when he came outside, looking at his cheek instead of his eyes. “I have class in the morning, so I should probably go to bed or something.”

“Alright, I’ll walk you-,”

“No, uhm,” you step back, and all he can do is watch as you slip away one more time, “This is literally a party for you. It’s just around the corner, I’ll be fine.”

And if he had thought he fucked up before, this feels a thousand times worse, now. 

“I’m sorry,” you squeak out, and the joyous tears that were teasing his lashes earlier turn somewhat sour, stinging until they gather in a thick pool in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“You didn’t.” He’d reach for you again if he didn’t think you’d flinch away - if the sight of you retreating from him once again wouldn’t make him want to curl up and die. “I’m gonna get one of the guys to walk you, alright? Please don’t go on your own.”

“It’s fine-,”

“It isn’t fine,” he doesn’t mean to snap - just wants to be firm, just wants you to feel that he cares - but it comes out harsh, because this can’t be another thing that you sweep under the rug to pretend you don’t care. “Please just wait.”

“Okay.”

He rushes inside then, and he grabs the first of his friends that he sees - thankfully, Ethan, who he knows cares about you enough to make sure you get home safe.

“Hey man, did you find her?” Ethan asks, his face twisting with concern as he takes in what must be sheer panic on Luke’s face. “Is she alright?”

“I need you to walk her home, she’s waiting outside, I need you to go before she goes on her own,” he drags Ethan towards the closet by the front door, where he’d discarded his jacket when he arrived earlier. “Give her this and text me when she’s inside, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” his best friend frowns, confused as he takes the coat from his shaking grip “Are you sure you don’t want to do it?”

“I don’t think she wants to be around me right now.”

“Oh,” Ethan huffs, shoulders straightening as he understands the gravity of the situation. If you don’t want to be around Luke, you probably shouldn’t be on your own. “Right, sure, I’ll take her now.”

“Just make sure you text me when she’s safe.”

“Yeah, I’ve got it, man,” Ethan chuckles nervously, “I’ll text you.”

And all Luke can do again is watch - watch as Ethan rushes out the front door, watch through the little sliver of window as you let him shrug the coat around you, as you accept the grip to both your arms as he tries to warm you up, watch as the two of you disappear from what the small rectangle allows him to see.

Watch as he, once again, lets go of the one thing he wants more than anything else in the whole world. 

[yvaineseleneposts]

Brother's best friend

A/N: Sometimes I know where I want the story to go but I cannot really start the story. So I am very sorry for the weird beginning...

Requested: no

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Reader

Words: 9k

Warning(s): none

It started with laughter from the basement.

I was home for winter break, curled up on the couch with a book and a blanket, when I heard my brother’s unmistakable voice. It was followed by another, deeper one—smooth, with a Swiss accent that never quite disappeared.

Nico.

My brother’s best friend. New Jersey Devils’ golden boy. And the boy I told myself I’d never fall for.

He had been around for years—quiet, respectful, funny in a dry sort of way. He always smiled at me in that polite, friendly way guys smile at their best friend’s little sister. And that’s all I was. The sister. The one who had braces for too long, who stole the remote, who tagged along to dinners when our parents forced him to include me.

But somewhere along the way, I grew up. And so did he.

He walked into the kitchen that night like he owned it, hair slightly damp from the snow, Devils hoodie slung low on his hips. He smiled when he saw me.

"Hey," he said. Just that. Simple. Like it didn’t flip my stomach every time.

"Hey, Nico."

“You’re home.”

“Yeah. College is off for the holidays.”

He opened the fridge like it was his. It always had been, really. He’d been eating our leftovers since he was sixteen.

"You want tea?" he asked, already boiling water. That was Nico. Kind without asking why.

I nodded, and we stood in silence for a beat. Not awkward. Just full.

My brother came in then, joking about some guy from high school who still hadn’t moved out of his mom’s basement. I laughed, but I watched Nico more. And he noticed.

Later that night, I was brushing snow off my jacket by the door when I heard the creak of footsteps behind me. I turned—and there he was. Nico, jacket half-zipped, cheeks flushed from the cold.

"You heading out?" I asked, trying to sound normal. Just normal.

"Yeah," he said. "Got practice in the morning."

I nodded, tightening my grip on the doorknob like it would ground me. “Don’t let my brother drag you into another midnight NHL binge-watch.”

He grinned, that crooked, easy grin that undid me every time. “He already tried. Told him I needed sleep. He accused me of getting old.”

I laughed softly. “He’s not wrong.”

Nico smiled, then looked at me—really looked. “You’re different this year.”

My heart paused. “Different?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “College suits you, I guess. You seem… older.”

“Time does that,” I said, my voice lighter than I felt.

He gave a small nod, like he wasn’t sure what else to say. Then, he reached out and gave my shoulder a brief, friendly squeeze. The kind of touch that meant nothing and everything.

"Goodnight, kiddo."

Kiddo. That stupid nickname he hadn’t used since high school. It landed like a stone in my chest.

“Goodnight, Nico.”

He left without looking back.

The door clicked shut, and the quiet came rushing in. I stood there in the dim hallway, jacket still in hand, heart a little heavier than before.

He didn’t know.

Of course he didn’t. Why would he? I had become a master of hiding it—smiling too casually, looking away too fast, pretending his touch didn’t burn through my sweater sleeves.

He still saw me as his best friend’s little sister. And I had no idea how much longer I could stand it.

The cabin was already warm by the time we arrived, logs crackling in the fireplace, the smell of pine and cinnamon filling the air. My parents were unpacking in the master bedroom. My brother was already knee-deep in a snowball war with our younger cousins. And me? I was pacing by the window like a girl waiting for something she swore she didn’t care about.

Nico was supposed to arrive today. He and his family had been coming to this ski lodge with us every winter since we were kids. It was tradition. Familiar. Safe.

And yet, this year, I felt anything but.

I kept checking the driveway. Every time headlights passed down the snow-dusted road, my pulse jumped. Every sound outside made me glance up. I’d even redone my braid—twice.

Pathetic.

“Someone’s antsy,” my brother teased as he passed through the kitchen. “You gonna throw yourself into the snow when Nico gets here?”

I rolled my eyes, too practiced to flinch. “Please. I’m just excited to beat you at Monopoly later.”

But inside? Inside I was a storm. Because no matter how hard I tried to shove my feelings down, they kept rising. Swelling. Tightening like a scarf too snug.

When the knock finally came at the door, my stomach turned over. I rushed to open it before anyone else could.

And then I froze.

There he was—Nico—his hair tousled under a beanie, cheeks flushed from the cold, grinning that easy grin.

But he wasn’t alone.

She stood beside him, wrapped in a perfect cream coat, sleek brown hair tucked behind her ears, boots too clean to have touched a snowbank. Her arm brushed his, her smile soft, confident. Like she belonged there.

“Hey!” Nico said, stepping forward. “Long drive, but—made it.”

I swallowed. “Hey. You’re here.”

He turned slightly. “This is Clara. She’s… uh, she came with me.”

Clara. Of course she had a name like that. Light and graceful and elegant in a way I never was.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, reaching out with a gloved hand. Her voice was honey and warmth.

“You too,” I said, somehow smiling even as the words cut my tongue on the way out.

My brother came barreling past me, pulling Nico into a one-armed hug. The mood shifted, laughter rising, bags being hauled inside, introductions being made. The energy buzzed around me like static, but I couldn’t move. I stood rooted in the foyer, watching the way she leaned into Nico’s side like she’d done it a hundred times before.

And the worst part?

He let her.

That night, while everyone played cards and passed around mugs of mulled wine, I sat in the corner chair, nursing hot chocolate that had gone cold. Watching Nico laugh at something Clara whispered in his ear.

He didn’t look at me once.

But I couldn’t stop looking at him.

He still didn’t know. And now, maybe he never would.

They were heading into the city—Nico, Clara, my brother, a couple of their mutual friends who had driven up for the weekend. There was talk of a club, a new place with velvet walls and overpriced cocktails. Laughter echoed down the hallway as they pulled on jackets, sprayed perfume, laced boots.

I lingered in the kitchen, hoping someone might say, You coming?

But the question never came.

Instead, Clara turned to me with a too-bright smile. “We’ll probably be back late. Don’t wait up.”

“Yeah,” my brother added, barely glancing up from his phone. “You’re not really a club person, right?”

I nodded like it didn’t sting. “Right. Have fun.”

The door closed behind them. Silence settled.

I ended up in the den, cross-legged on the carpet with our parents, playing card games and half-listening to stories I’d heard a dozen times. I smiled and laughed when I was supposed to, but it all felt muted. Distant. Like watching someone else’s life through a frosted window.

Eventually, the adults drifted off to bed, the house quiet again, save for the soft creaks of wood settling in the cold.

I stayed downstairs.

Curled into the corner of the couch with an old blanket and a book I couldn’t focus on. The words blurred as I kept glancing at the clock.

12:41 AM.

1:09 AM.

At 1:42 AM, the front door creaked open.

I heard them before I saw them—tipsy laughter, the clumsy shuffle of boots on hardwood. My brother first, grumbling about the cold and heading straight upstairs. Then Clara, giggling as Nico tried to unzip her coat, both of them flushed and close.

“Shhh,” she laughed, swatting at him. “You’re going to wake everyone.”

He murmured something back in Swiss German, low and soft, and she pulled him into her, hands tangled in the collar of his jacket.

I froze.

They hadn’t seen me yet—tucked in the corner of the dark living room. I could’ve said something. Cleared my throat. Let them know I was still awake.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I sat there, the book limp in my lap, watching the boy I loved wrap his arms around someone else.

She kissed him. Long and slow. And he kissed her back, hands gentle at her waist like they’d done this a thousand times. Familiar. Easy.

They whispered something I couldn’t hear, then stumbled upstairs together, laughing all the way.

When the silence returned, it was deeper than before.

I looked down at the book in my hands—half-read, forgotten. The words were still blurred, but this time, it was from something hot and heavy burning in the back of my eyes.

It hit me then—not just the jealousy or the sadness, but the space between us. The years. The life experience. The way they belonged in that world, and I was still here in mine.

The cabin looked like a postcard. Strings of lights framed the windows, candles flickered on the mantel, and snow drifted lazily outside like it had nowhere better to be.

Inside, everyone was dressed up for New Year’s Eve. Clara wore a deep red dress that made her look like she belonged in a magazine. My brother had on a pressed shirt and an old gold party hat. Nico—he wore black. All black. His sleeves rolled up, collar open, wristwatch catching the light.

And I?

I wore a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

It was the kind of night I used to look forward to. Champagne, cheesy countdowns, the glow of a fireplace and the people I loved around me. But this year, I felt like a prop in the background of someone else’s story. Like I was just… there.

They all played games, passed drinks, told stories from the past year. I sat beside them, nodding, laughing at the right moments, but something was slipping. I could feel it. I didn’t want to be bitter. I didn’t want to be that girl.

But when Clara leaned into Nico and whispered something in his ear, and he grinned like it was the best thing he’d heard all night, I looked away so fast my neck ached.

Around 11:40, I stepped out onto the back porch, away from the heat, away from the noise. The snow was still falling, soft and steady. I pulled my coat tighter and let the cold bite my cheeks. It felt… better. Real.

The door creaked behind me. Footsteps. I didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“You okay?” Nico’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

I forced a smile and glanced at him. “Yeah. Just needed some air.”

He stepped beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him. We stared out into the trees, lit faintly by the lights inside.

“You’ve been kind of... quiet,” he said.

I shrugged. “I guess I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

He studied me. I could feel it, even though I didn’t look at him. “Anything you want to talk about?”

Yes. You. Her. Me.

“No,” I said. “It’s nothing, really.”

He didn’t press. He just nodded slowly and looked back at the snow.

But I could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” he asked suddenly.

That caught me off guard. I looked up at him then—really looked. His brow was furrowed, eyes uncertain. Vulnerable, even.

“No,” I said, quietly. “Of course not.”

He let out a breath, his shoulders easing. “Okay. Just… wanted to make sure.”

I nodded, then turned back toward the trees.

It was almost midnight. I could hear the countdown beginning inside.

“…10…9…”

“Happy New Year,” he said gently.

“Happy New Year,” I echoed.

And then he was gone—back inside, back to her. Back to everything I couldn’t say.

I stayed out there a little longer, the muffled cheer from inside slipping through the windowpanes, the sound of a kiss I didn’t see echoing in my chest like a missed note.

The heat in Spain was different.

It clung to your skin, slow and syrupy, curling into your clothes and hair until it felt like you were wearing sunlight. The villa our parents had rented sat on the edge of a quiet coast, white stone walls and terracotta tiles, lemon trees blooming by the pool. It was beautiful. Picturesque.

And I didn’t want to be here.

Not because of Spain. Not because of the sea or the food or the lazy afternoons where cicadas hummed like background music. But because I knew who else would be here.

Nico.

It had been six months since New Year’s.

Six months since I’d watched him kiss someone else.

Six months since I’d promised myself I was over it.

I hadn’t seen him since. I buried myself in coursework. Internships. Projects. Friends who didn’t know his name. And it helped—kind of. The sharp edge of it dulled. The ache faded into a quiet kind of ache, one I could live with. Mostly.

Until now.

I arrived at the villa first. My parents were already relaxing by the pool, wine in hand, sunglasses on. His family was due that afternoon. I told myself I didn’t care. That I wouldn’t look for him. That it didn’t matter who he brought with him this time.

But when the front gate creaked open around sunset, I still peeked through the slats of the balcony shutters.

It was him.

No Clara.

Just him.

He looked the same, but also different. Tanned. Relaxed. His hair longer, pushed back from his face. A canvas bag slung over one shoulder, sunglasses tucked into the collar of his shirt. He was laughing at something my brother said as they hauled luggage up the stone steps.

I didn’t go down to greet them.

Instead, I waited until dinner was already underway, then slipped into a seat on the far side of the long table. I smiled when I needed to, passed bread, nodded when someone brought up university. But I didn’t look at him. Not once.

Not until I had to.

“Hey,” Nico said softly, leaning toward me as our parents dove into a story about the last time they'd been to this town.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my eyes on my plate.

He tilted his head, like he was trying to catch my eye. “Been a while.”

“Yeah. School’s been… intense.”

“You disappeared,” he said. There was no accusation in his tone—just curiosity. And something quieter. Wary.

I shrugged. “Life gets busy.”

He studied me for a moment. “You look different.”

“Spain’ll do that.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I finally met his gaze. His eyes were searching. Familiar. Still brown and soft and too kind. I didn’t like what they made me feel.

So I smiled—polite, distant. The kind of smile people give to old classmates they don’t really want to reconnect with.

“Well,” I said, reaching for the wine, “cheers to reunions.”

He clinked his glass against mine, his eyes never leaving my face.

But I looked away again, pretending not to notice the way his smile faltered. Pretending not to feel the questions he wasn’t asking.

And for the rest of the night, I made sure to keep a safe, sunlit distance.

The night air in Spain was thick with music.

Laughter spilled from open doors. Streetlights buzzed faintly above cobblestone roads. Somewhere in the distance, someone was playing guitar, badly, and it somehow made everything better.

I hadn’t planned to go out.

They had asked — my brother, Nico, some of the locals they’d met at the beach. Tapas, maybe a rooftop bar, some dancing. I'd made excuses. Homework. Headache. Something that sounded reasonable enough to hide the real reason: I didn’t want to spend another night watching Nico be charming under dim lights.

But when Nico had stopped at the door and looked back, eyebrows raised, and said, “Come on — you need this,” something in me cracked. I grabbed my bag and followed them into the warm Spanish night.

And it was fun. At first.

Sangria in glass pitchers. A rooftop with views of the dark ocean. String lights over the terrace, laughter rising into the stars. I danced with strangers, let the rhythm pull me out of my head, smiled until I forgot why I didn’t want to come.

But then I had one more drink than I should have. And another.

And suddenly everything was too bright, too warm, too Nico.

He’d been beside me for most of the night — teasing me gently about my moves, offering sips of his drink, making sure I had water. He was always like that. Kind. Attentive. And totally, infuriatingly unaware.

We ended up leaning against a stone wall near the beach just after midnight, a little away from the rest of the group. The waves crashed nearby. His arm brushed mine.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

“Fine,” I said. Then laughed. “A little more than fine, maybe.”

He smiled. “You’ve been different lately.”

“That a bad thing?”

“No. Just… different.”

I didn’t say anything.

“I missed you,” he added, almost hesitant. “You just vanished after the holidays. I get it if school was crazy, but I thought we were friends.”

I turned to him, the alcohol swirling in my chest like smoke.

“That’s the problem,” I said before I could stop myself.

His brow furrowed. “What is?”

“I can’t be your friend.”

The words dropped like stones between us. Heavy. Loud. Irrevocable.

He blinked, trying to make sense of it. “Wait, what—what do you mean?”

But I just shook my head, suddenly dizzy. “Forget it. I shouldn’t’ve said that. I’m—just drunk.”

He reached out, touched my arm gently. “Hey. What’s going on?”

I pulled away, not harshly, but enough. “I can’t do this. Be near you. Laugh with you. Pretend like I’m fine.”

His expression twisted — confused, hurt. “Why?”

I met his eyes for a second too long.

Then looked away.

“I’m going back,” I mumbled, pushing off the wall.

He didn’t stop me. Just stood there, hands clenched at his sides, watching me walk back into the blur of music and strangers.

And I didn’t see the way he kept staring after me.

My parent’s had allowed me to have my best friend join us on during our holiday in Spain. Her name was Lila — bright, bold, loud in the best way. She showed up three days after the night out, suitcase in hand, sunglasses on, tossing her arms around me like we hadn’t just last seen each other a few weeks ago back home. The house instantly lit up with her energy. My parents adored her. Her tan lines and oversized beach hats became part of the scenery.

And I clung to her like a life raft.

Because being near Nico had started to feel like drowning in silence.

Since that night, we hadn’t spoken about what I said. He hadn’t asked. I hadn’t offered. But I knew he remembered. I could see it in the way he looked at me sometimes — unsure, like he was trying to read a map in a language he didn’t speak.

The more he watched me, the more I avoided him.

With Lila around, it was easy. She pulled me into plans, took up my time, shielded me with laughter and inside jokes Nico wasn’t part of. We sunbathed by the pool while the others played volleyball. We took photos at the market and wandered through little coastal towns. I only ever saw Nico at meals, where I made sure to sit at the far end of the table, always between Lila and someone else.

But he noticed. I could feel it.

One evening, as everyone got ready for a dinner out, I passed Nico in the hallway. Just the two of us. My breath caught before I even looked up.

He paused. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I said, still walking.

He stepped in front of me before I could slip past.

“Are we okay?” he asked, voice careful. Too careful.

I blinked. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Because it doesn’t feel like it.”

I shrugged. “I’ve just been busy. Lila’s only here for a week.”

He hesitated. “Did I do something wrong?”

I looked up at him then, and it physically hurt to see the confusion in his eyes. The guilt. He was trying. He just didn’t know why it mattered so much.

“No,” I said softly. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then why won’t you even look at me?”

That nearly broke me.

I shook my head. “I can’t do this now.”

He stepped back, nodding slowly, jaw tightening like he was biting back something sharp. “Okay.” And that was it.

He let me walk past him, and I hated how much I wanted him to follow.

The house was quiet, save for the hum of the fridge and the distant sounds of waves crashing against the shore.

I couldn’t sleep.

I’d tried. Tossing and turning, pulling the blanket higher, pushing the pillow into a different shape, but the truth was, I couldn’t escape it. The knot in my stomach, the way my chest tightened every time I saw him — every time he looked at me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.

So I slipped downstairs, hoping the cool night air would clear my head, my mind, even just for a few minutes.

The kitchen was dark except for the soft glow from the streetlights outside, casting long shadows across the counters. I moved quietly, reaching for the water bottle in the fridge, then poured myself a glass.

I was too lost in my own thoughts to hear the footsteps at first.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

His voice came out of nowhere, making me freeze mid-sip. The glass was cold against my lips. I hadn’t even heard him approach.

I set it down on the counter and slowly turned around.

Nico stood there, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes searching my face like he hadn’t seen me in a hundred years. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up. The air around him was heavy, thick with tension.

“I didn’t think I’d find you here,” he said softly, but I could hear the hurt in his tone, the way it caught on the edges of the words. “But I was hoping it was you.”

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught, stuck somewhere between my throat and my heart. He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Why are you avoiding me?” His voice was barely a whisper, the question coming out like a plea. “What did I do wrong?”

I wanted to back away. To put distance between us. But my feet stayed rooted to the floor. And before I could think, before I could move, he reached out, placing his hand on the counter next to me, trapping me in the space between his body and the marble.

“I don’t get it,” he said, his breath warm against my skin as he leaned in. “I’m your friend, aren’t I? But you won’t even look at me anymore. What changed?”

The way he said it… like he was searching for an answer he couldn’t find, something that had slipped through his fingers and now hovered between us like an unspoken confession.

I swallowed, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Nothing changed.”

“Then why are you so distant?” he pressed, his voice growing more frustrated now, though he was still gentle. “You keep pushing me away, like I’m a stranger. I’m not just some guy, you know?”

I wanted to scream at him. You’re not just some guy. You’re the one I’ve been in love with for years, and it hurts to be near you when you’re in love with someone else.

But instead, I just stared at him.

His hand was still on the counter, his other hand fisted at his side, and he was so close now. Too close. I could feel the warmth of his body, his pulse, the tension in his muscles as if he were holding himself back from something — from me. I couldn’t breathe.

“You’re hurting me,” he said, his voice softer, almost hoarse. “I don’t understand what I did, but you’re hurting me by acting like this.”

I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell him everything, to beg him to understand. To stop pretending that I could just be his friend when my heart was screaming something else entirely. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let him see how broken I felt.

“I can’t talk about this,” I whispered, the words trembling on my lips.

“Why not?” Nico asked, his voice urgent. “Why can’t you just talk to me? I hate this silence between us.”

I finally looked up at him, and the hurt in his eyes knocked the wind out of me. I felt so selfish. But I couldn’t say it. Not yet.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice raw, the quiet desperation in it making my chest tighten. “I can’t just pretend everything’s okay anymore.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, squeezing them shut as if I could keep the tears from falling. When I opened them again, his face was inches from mine, his breath mingling with mine.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered.

I should’ve said something. Should’ve told him how it hurt to be near him, how I couldn’t keep pretending that I was fine. But I couldn’t. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I’d lose the fragile thread holding me together.

So instead, I pulled away, stepping back slightly, breaking the moment.

“I… I’m sorry,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I just need some space.”

Nico stared at me, his expression a mix of hurt and confusion, but he didn’t argue. He let me slip past him, retreating into the stillness of the night.

The air in the kitchen was thick with unspoken words, but there was no escaping it anymore. Not for me, not for Nico.

I thought I could walk away, slip past him and retreat back to the distance I’d been keeping. But when I turned to leave, I felt him — his presence at my back like a magnet, pulling me back, stopping me in my tracks.

His hand landed gently on my wrist, just enough to make me pause.

“I’m not letting you go without an answer,” Nico said, his voice calm but insistent. “Not without understanding why.”

I tried to breathe. Tried to steady the wild thudding of my heart. I wanted to run. Wanted to go back to the way things were — where I could pretend I wasn’t completely falling apart inside. But I knew I couldn’t. Not anymore. Not when he was standing there, looking at me like I was the answer to a question he couldn’t solve.

“I can’t keep doing this,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I can’t keep pretending, Nico.”

He stepped closer, crowding me in the small space of the kitchen. My back pressed against the counter as he closed the distance between us, trapping me in place. My breath hitched, the weight of him so close, the scent of him—his cologne, fresh air, the salt of the ocean—overwhelming.

“What do you mean?” His voice was almost desperate now, low and rough, like he was holding himself together by the thinnest thread.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure, but the words were slipping out faster than I could stop them.

“I can’t do this. I can’t be your friend anymore, Nico,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “It hurts too much. Watching you with other people. Pretending that everything is okay when it’s not.”

His hand moved from my wrist to the counter beside me, his knuckles pressing against the marble as he leaned in just a little closer.

“Why? What’s going on?” He was searching my face, his gaze so intense I felt exposed, like every hidden part of me was laid bare. “Why does it hurt?”

I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breath. This was the moment. The moment I either ran from everything I felt, or I told him the truth.

I took a step back, trying to gather my courage, but it wasn’t enough to push him away.

“I can’t watch you with Clara,” I said, the words falling out in a rush. “Or anyone else. I can’t pretend that it doesn’t break me inside. I can’t act like we’re just friends when I—when I’ve been in love with you for so long.”

The words were out, and for a moment, there was only silence between us.

I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t meet his gaze. But I felt his eyes on me, waiting, and I knew I couldn’t take it back now.

“You’re in love with me?” His voice cracked, and I felt it in my chest — that raw, vulnerable sound that cut through the air like a knife.

I nodded, my throat tight. “I have been for years.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t say anything at first. I could feel the weight of his silence pressing down on me, and I wanted to hide from it. But he wasn’t letting me go.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Nico finally asked, his voice softer now, but there was still that edge to it — like he was trying to understand something that didn’t make sense.

I met his gaze for the first time since I’d spoken. “I didn’t want to lose you. I thought if I told you, it would ruin everything. I didn’t want to risk our friendship. And I… I didn’t think you’d feel the same way.”

He took a breath, letting it out slowly, like he was processing everything I’d just said. And then he did something that made my heart stop — he reached out, gently cupping my face in his hand, as though I were something fragile.

“God,” he whispered. “I had no idea.”

I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hand against my skin. I couldn’t believe this was happening. After all this time, after everything I had kept inside — he was here. And he was listening.

“I’ve been so stupid,” Nico said, his voice thick with regret. “I didn’t see it. All this time, I didn’t realize.”

My chest tightened as I fought to keep my emotions in check, but it was impossible. “It’s not your fault,” I said quietly. “I never gave you the chance to see it. I didn’t want you to.”

He shook his head, a small smile pulling at his lips. “You should’ve told me sooner,” he said softly. “I could’ve made this easier for you.”

“You couldn’t have,” I whispered. “I had to figure it out on my own. I had to realize that I couldn’t keep pretending.”

And then, without thinking, I stepped forward, closing the final gap between us. His hand was still on my face, and I leaned into it, closing my eyes as if that single touch could make everything make sense.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Nico asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid the answer would break something inside him.

I reached up and took his hand, holding it against my cheek for just a moment longer before pulling it away gently. “Because I was scared,” I said. “Scared of losing you. Scared that you’d never feel the same.”

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. Then, finally, Nico took a step back, and I felt a pang of regret at the distance. But then he looked back at me, his eyes softer than I’d ever seen them.

“You’re not going to lose me,” he said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

My heart raced, hope and fear battling inside me. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Nico began, stepping closer again, his voice steady now, “that I’m not letting you walk away this time. Not without us trying to figure this out. Together.”

I didn’t know if it was a promise or a question, but either way, it was the answer I had been waiting for. And I couldn’t help but smile.

The silence between us had shifted. No longer heavy with the weight of unsaid words, but filled with something else. Something tentative and raw.

Nico was standing in front of me, his gaze searching mine, as if trying to find something — an answer, a sign, something that could assure him this was real, that we were real.

We were real.

I could feel it in the air around us, in the space between us that no longer felt cold and distant. But it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t the kind of confession that magically fixed everything. There was still so much left unspoken, still so much to understand.

I wanted to reach out, wanted to close the gap between us, but the words hung heavy in my throat. The uncertainty wasn’t gone, even if the fear was beginning to fade.

“So, what now?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper, unsure how to move forward.

Nico took a deep breath, his gaze softening as he stepped closer again. The warmth of his presence sent a flutter through my chest, but this time it didn’t hurt — it felt like something else entirely, something new.

“I think…” he paused, his lips curving into a small smile, “I think we take it one step at a time. No rushing this. We’ll figure it out, together.”

The simplicity of it took me by surprise. It wasn’t complicated. It wasn’t some grand gesture. It was just him, speaking to me with that same honesty I’d always known him for.

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight in my chest lift, if only a little.

“What happens if I’m still scared?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

Nico’s smile widened, and he reached for my hand. For the first time in a long time, I let him, my fingers intertwining with his.

“Then we take it slow,” he said softly. “No rush. No pressure. We take it however you need it. And if that means we go a little slower, then we do that. But I’m not going anywhere.”

I felt something inside me shift — a kind of relief that I hadn’t even known I’d been waiting for. He wasn’t pushing me. He wasn’t demanding answers or making things difficult. He was giving me space to breathe. To be.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whispered, looking up at him, suddenly more vulnerable than I had ever felt. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You haven’t,” he reassured me, his thumb brushing the back of my hand gently. “You’ve been hurting in silence, and I couldn’t see it. I’m sorry for that.”

I shook my head, the tears I’d been holding back threatening to spill. “It wasn’t your fault. I didn’t let you see it. I couldn’t.”

Nico’s other hand came up, gently cupping my cheek. He tilted my face upward, and for a long moment, we just stood there, staring at each other. The warmth of his touch was the only thing that felt certain in that moment.

“I know now,” he whispered. “And I’m not going to make you carry this on your own anymore.”

For the first time in a long time, I let myself believe it. I let myself believe that maybe — just maybe — we could make this work.

We stood there in silence for a while longer, and for once, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was peaceful. Real. The kind of silence that speaks louder than any words ever could.

“Do you think we can be something more than just friends?” I asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

Nico’s eyes softened, and he smiled. “I think we already are.”

And in that moment, everything I’d been holding in — all the fears, the doubts, the uncertainty — melted away.

We didn’t have all the answers. We didn’t know where this was going. But we knew that for once, we were both willing to try.

I took a deep breath, a smile tugging at my lips.

“I think I’d like that,” I whispered, the weight of the words more freeing than I could have imagined.

Nico pulled me closer then, and I let him. For the first time, I didn’t pull away. I let myself feel what I had been too afraid to admit — that this was real. That we were real.

His lips brushed mine, soft and tentative, like a promise. Like something new that we were only just beginning to explore.

The world outside the kitchen still felt uncertain. But for the first time in a long time, standing in his arms, I felt like maybe everything would be okay.

And as I pulled away, just enough to look at him, I knew we had taken the first step.

The days after that night felt like a new beginning. Nico and I still didn’t have all the answers, but everything was different — in the best way possible. We weren’t just friends anymore, but we weren’t rushing into anything either.

We took things slow. And I realized, more and more, that I was grateful for that. The pressure was gone. I didn’t need to force anything to happen. Nico wasn’t asking for anything more than what I could give, and that was exactly what I needed.

But navigating this new dynamic was trickier than I’d imagined.

It was different to look at him and know I wasn’t just seeing my brother’s best friend anymore. I was seeing someone who meant so much more than that. Someone I had silently pined over for years, someone who had become even more important to me than I’d ever realized.

The way he looked at me now was different, too. His eyes no longer carried that same casual warmth that came from years of friendship. There was something deeper there now — an unspoken promise of more, of us, of the future.

But sometimes, that look made me nervous. It felt like I was standing on the edge of something I didn’t fully understand yet.

The first week after our conversation was peaceful, a quiet kind of understanding settling between us. We spent time together with my parents and his, casually hanging out, no pressure. Nico would catch my eye across the table, offering me a soft smile, and I’d return it, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. We hadn’t talked about anything beyond that first confession — the kiss, the feelings — but there was something unspoken between us that felt more real than any words could express.

But then, one afternoon, as we sat on the balcony overlooking the ocean in Spain, the stillness between us broke.

“You know,” Nico started, breaking the silence as he leaned back in his chair, gazing out at the horizon, “I’ve been thinking a lot about that night.”

I glanced over at him, my stomach tightening. We hadn’t really talked about what had happened since. I didn’t know what he was going to say, but the fact that he was bringing it up meant he had been thinking about it, too.

I nodded, my voice a little unsure. “What about it?”

He turned to look at me, his eyes serious now. “I think… I think I’ve been an idiot.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. “What do you mean?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his expression conflicted. “All these years, I didn’t realize how much you meant to me. I kept brushing it off, telling myself that we were just friends. But the truth is, I’ve always cared about you. I’ve always felt something. I just… I didn’t know how to handle it.”

My heart skipped a beat, the words coming out of his mouth echoing in my chest. It felt like everything was coming full circle. But I didn’t know what to say.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Nico stopped me with a raised hand.

“I don’t want to rush this,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “But I just needed you to know that. I needed you to know I’m not just here because I feel sorry for you or because I think I should be. I’m here because I want to be. And I don’t want to let you go. Not again.”

I felt my breath catch in my throat. This was different. This wasn’t the Nico I had known for years. This was the Nico who had finally admitted what he’d been holding inside. The one who wasn’t afraid to be honest with me.

“You’re not going to lose me, Nico,” I whispered, my heart racing as I looked at him. “I just… I don’t know what this means. I don’t know how to be with you in this way.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at me with an intensity I hadn’t seen before.

“I think we both need to figure that out,” he said gently. “But I’m willing to try, if you are.”

I felt a rush of warmth spread through me — a mixture of relief and excitement.

“I’m scared,” I admitted, finally voicing the thing that had been lurking in my mind. “I don’t know how to navigate this with you. I’ve spent so long keeping these feelings inside, and now everything feels so... different.”

“I get that,” Nico said softly. “It’s a lot to take in. But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

We sat there in silence for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air. The breeze from the ocean ruffled my hair, but I didn’t move. I didn’t want to move. I wanted to stay right there, in that moment, with him.

The next few days were filled with more quiet moments between us — long walks along the beach, quiet dinners with our families, and those stolen glances across the room. We were learning how to be around each other in this new way, navigating the line between friendship and something more.

But the moments that felt the most real were the ones when we didn’t talk. When we just were together — a gentle touch on the arm as we passed each other, the casual way he would smile at me, like we were sharing a secret.

It was the little things. The quiet gestures that made me feel like everything was slowly coming into focus.

One evening, we all went out for a late dinner at a small restaurant along the coast. The atmosphere was warm, and the lights glowed softly against the fading light of the day. As the night went on, our families laughed and talked, but Nico and I stayed on the edges, watching everyone, talking in quiet voices.

“Do you think this is crazy?” I asked him suddenly, a smile tugging at my lips.

He looked over at me, his expression thoughtful. “It feels like a dream, honestly. But I don’t want to wake up from it.”

I laughed softly. “Good. Because I don’t either.”

And for the first time in a long time, I truly believed it. I didn’t know where this was going, and I wasn’t in any rush to figure it out. But for now, I was content to just be here — with Nico. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

It felt surreal, almost like I was waiting for something to shatter — some moment when I’d wake up and realize this was all just a fleeting dream. But with each day that passed, the more real it became. Nico and I weren’t just tiptoeing around what we both felt anymore. We were moving forward, slowly, steadily.

The moment we got back home from Spain, everything felt familiar again, the steady hum of life going on as usual. It should’ve felt like we were back to normal, but things between Nico and me were different now.

It was subtle, in the way we exchanged glances, in the way we leaned a little closer when we spoke, in the gentle touches we shared when no one else was looking. But mostly, it was in the way our connection felt stronger, deeper. I didn’t have to question whether Nico was in this with me — I felt it in every word he said, in every smile he gave.

Tonight was supposed to be a low-key evening. Nico had suggested a movie night, but I wasn’t prepared for how different it would feel — just the two of us, lying on the couch, watching a movie, while the world outside seemed so far away.

We started off sitting side by side, just as we had before — the same comfortable silence that had always marked our friendship. But now it felt… different. Every time I shifted slightly, our legs brushed together, and I couldn’t ignore the electric spark that traveled up my spine.

I caught Nico glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, a playful grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, though I knew full well why he was looking at me.

He shook his head, his grin widening. “Nothing. Just thinking about how everything’s changed.”

I smiled, trying to keep it light. “Yeah, it’s kind of weird, huh?”

“Yeah,” Nico replied, his voice soft but warm. “But in a good way.”

His words sent a warmth spreading through me, and for a moment, we both just stared at the screen, lost in the quiet of the room. But the silence felt comfortable now. Natural. There was no tension, no awkwardness. Just us, together, sharing a moment.

I shifted again, this time allowing myself to get a little closer, and before I could stop myself, my head had found its way onto his shoulder. Nico tensed for a second but didn’t pull away. Instead, he relaxed into it, his arm slipping around my shoulders, drawing me closer.

“Is this okay?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, even though I was certain I knew the answer.

He let out a quiet chuckle, his breath warm against my skin. “More than okay.”

We settled into a comfortable silence again, watching the movie, but it was hard to focus on anything else but the way his arm was around me, the way his body was so close to mine, the way he was so completely present. Every small touch, every shift in position felt like something more — something I wasn’t quite ready to admit but couldn’t deny either.

My heart was racing, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to pull away. Nico didn’t rush it. He didn’t try to do anything — he just let me be, letting me get used to the idea of this. Of us.

The movie had long since faded into the background, our attention fully on each other now. Nico’s thumb was tracing small circles on my arm, sending a shiver down my spine with each movement. I could feel his steady breath, warm against my cheek, and the soft pressure of his arm around me that made my chest tighten with something I couldn’t name.

I lifted my head slightly to look at him, and he met my gaze almost immediately, his eyes dark and intense. There was something new in them — something more than just affection. It was the look of someone who was in tune with me, who understood what was happening between us.

“Nico,” I murmured, my voice barely audible, “are we really doing this?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against my forehead in a gentle, tender kiss. “I think we already have,” he whispered back, his lips brushing my skin.

I closed my eyes, my heart skipping a beat. Every word he said made it clearer — we were already here. There was no turning back, no more hesitation.

When I opened my eyes again, he was closer, so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my lips. For a moment, everything else faded away. There were no doubts, no fears — just the two of us, here, together.

I reached up, my hand finding its way to his cheek, and I pulled him toward me. Nico didn’t hesitate. He kissed me softly, at first, like he was testing the waters, unsure but wanting to be sure.

The world around us seemed to melt away. His lips were warm against mine, gentle but full of promise, and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning into him, deepening the kiss. There was no rush, no urgency — just the quiet, knowing feeling that this was exactly where we were supposed to be.

Nico’s hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me even closer as our lips moved in sync. My chest tightened, my heart racing as the kiss became more than just a kiss — it became everything we hadn’t said. All the words we had been too scared to speak, all the feelings we had buried under layers of friendship, now unfolding in this one moment.

And when we finally pulled away, breathless and a little dazed, I couldn’t help but smile.

Nico chuckled, his forehead resting against mine. “Well… I guess this movie night just got a little more interesting.”

I laughed softly, my fingers lightly tracing his jaw. “Yeah, I guess so.”

His smile was playful, but there was something more in his eyes. Something deeper. Something that told me we weren’t just two people caught up in a moment. We were building something real, something we both wanted.

The movie was long forgotten. But in that moment, as I lay against him, his arm around me, I couldn’t think of anything else I wanted more.

[amourquinn]

NO MORE HIDING ; quinn hughes ( short fic )

pairing : quinn x fem!reader wc. 1k

genre : fluff friends to lovers no warnings

summary : in the warmth of a late winter night in vancouver, your friendship with quinn teeters on the edge of a change

vancouver was unusually warm for late winter. the city was bustling with the energy of the holidays, twinkling lights reflecting off the gentle ripples of false creek. you stood outside rogers arena, waiting for your best friend, quinn, who had just wrapped up practice.

you had been friends with quinn since his days at the university of michigan, where you’d both studied. while quinn’s life had taken him to the nhl, yours had remained grounded in academia, finishing your graduate degree in vancouver. you’d always supported his career, proud of every achievement, but somewhere along the way, your feelings had grown complicated.

the sound of the arena doors opening jolted you from your thoughts. quinn appeared, duffle bag slung over his shoulder, wearing that familiar, shy smile that always made your heart skip a beat. his dark hair was slightly damp from the post-practice shower, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold.

“hey,” he said, his voice soft. “sorry i kept you waiting.”

“no worries,” you replied. “ready to grab some food?”

“definitely. i’m starving.”

the two of you headed toward a cozy diner you often frequented together. quinn’s popularity in vancouver sometimes made it hard to go out without being recognized, but this spot was your little secret—quiet, low-key, and unbothered by fans or reporters.

as you settled into the booth, quinn glanced at you, his blue eyes studying your face. “you okay? you’ve been kind of quiet lately.”

you hesitated, not sure how to respond. the truth was, you’d been struggling with your growing feelings for him. spending time with quinn was both a blessing and a curse—his kindness, humor, and quiet intensity drew you in, but you didn’t want to risk ruining the friendship you cherished so much.

“i’m fine,” you lied, forcing a smile. “just busy with school stuff.”

quinn didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press further. instead, he launched into a story about practice, his face lighting up as he described a prank one of the guys had pulled on elias. you laughed, grateful for the distraction, but you couldn’t stop your gaze from lingering on him a little too long.

after dinner, the two of you decided to walk along the seawall. the city sparkled around you, the air crisp and filled with the faint scent of pine trees from a nearby holiday market. quinn walked close beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat.

“i’m glad you’re here,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

you looked up at him, surprised. “what do you mean?”

“i mean… i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he admitted, his gaze fixed on the water. “you’ve always been there for me, no matter what. even when i screw up or get in my own head, you’re just… there. i don’t think i say it enough, but it means a lot.”

your heart ached at his words, and you struggled to find the right response. “you don’t have to thank me for that. that’s what friends are for.”

quinn stopped walking, turning to face you. his expression was serious now, his brows furrowed in thought.

“i know we’re friends,” he said slowly, “but sometimes… i think about us being more than that.”

your breath caught in your throat. “quinn—”

he held up a hand, cutting you off gently. “just let me say this, okay? i’ve been trying to figure it out for a while now, and i can’t keep pretending it’s nothing. i think i might be in love with you.”

the words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your mind racing.

“i—” you started, but your voice faltered.

quinn’s face fell, and he quickly shook his head. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to put you on the spot. forget i said anything.” he turned away, clearly embarrassed, but you reached out, grabbing his arm to stop him.

“quinn, wait,” you said, your voice firm now.

he looked back at you, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reassurance.

“i’m not good at this,” you admitted, your words tumbling out in a rush. “i’ve been trying to bury how i feel because i didn’t want to mess up what we have. but hearing you say that… i think i’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

a slow smile spread across quinn’s face, and the tension between you seemed to dissolve. “you really mean that?”

you nodded, feeling the weight of your confession lift off your shoulders. “yeah, i do.”

quinn stepped closer, his hand brushing yours hesitantly before he intertwined your fingers. “so… what do we do now?”

you smiled, your heart racing as you looked up at him. “i guess we figure it out together.”

for a moment, quinn just stared at you, as if trying to memorize every detail of your face. then, without hesitation, he cupped your face gently, his palms warm against your cheeks.

“can i kiss you?” he asked softly, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the city.

you nodded, your breath hitching. “please.”

his lips met yours in a kiss that was somehow both tentative and certain, a blend of nervousness and years of unspoken emotion. the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you standing under the glow of the holiday lights.

when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, a quiet laugh escaping him. “i can’t believe that just happened.”

“me neither,” you whispered, smiling despite the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

quinn pulled you into his arms, holding you close. “i promise i’m going to do this right,” he murmured. “no rushing, no pressure. just us.”

you buried your face in his chest, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne. for the first time in months, the knot of anxiety in your chest eased. you didn’t know what the future held, but as quinn held you in the glow of the city lights, you knew one thing for sure: whatever came next, you’d face it together.

and as his hand found yours again, lacing your fingers together like they’d always belonged that way, you couldn’t help but think that maybe this was the beginning of something beautiful.

© amourquinn

[lightsoutmatthews]

protective auston has me feeling some type of way lol can you do something similar for willy? something like they are already an established couple and he never had to be protective before so she’s never seen that side of him? thanks!!!

Oh Annon you got my creative juices flowing with that one because I was debating between this and what I wrote for Auston and I was HOPING someone would send in another request. 🙏🏼

I got you – William Nylander

You weren’t used to this side of William.

He wasn’t exactly a hothead, never had been. If anything, William was calm to a fault. He didn’t raise to bait, didn’t snap back when people ran their mouths in interview or chirped him on the ice.

At home, with you, he was easygoing. Chill. Unshakably steady and calm. That was one of the first things you loved about him. He made you feel like you could relax. No drama. No big emotional explosions.

So, when it happened, it caught you off guard.

The two of you had been dating for multiple years at that point. You weren’t still in that careful stage where you pretended things didn’t bother you.

You lived together, shared grocery lists, fought over whose turn it was to do laundry. You knew his morning coffee order by heart. He kept a drawer in the entryway just for your keys because he said you always lost them in your bag.

You had been through quiet nights and loud ones. Road trips. Boring errands. Injuries. Post-game slumps. Summer lulls.

But you had never seen him like this.

It started at a team event. A charity dinner. You were used to those, dressed up, made conversation with executives, sponsors, teammates and smiled for the photos.

Most people were nice. Some were fake-nice. A few were a little too into the whole girlfriend of an NHL player thing, but you learned to brush that off.

The guy who crossed the line didn’t start off as a problem. He was older, some kind of donor or sponsor of the team. He wore a watch that cost probably more than your car and looked like he lived on red wine and bad decisions.

He was talking to you and a few other people near the bar. You didn’t catch his name, just his business card when he slipped in into your hand.

“You should call me some time,” he said, his tone light but with a weird edge. “I do consulting. Media stuff. You´ve got a great look, could be good on camera.”

You gave a polite smile and stepped back half an inch. Not rude, not obvious. Just enough to signal you weren’t interested in his offer. You figured he would take the hint.

He didn’t.

“You with someone tonight?” he asked, like he hadn’t noticed the very obvious fact that you were standing less than ten feet away from your boyfriends table.

William had been stuck in a conversation with a couple of board members, his eyes flicking to you every few minutes like a clockwork. He was watching. Not hovering, just being aware.

“Yeah,” you replied making your voice sound as flat as possible. “I´m here with my boyfriend.”

“Let me guess. One of the players?” he chuckled, like it was a cliché.

“Yeah,” you repeated, less amused.

He laughed some more, leaning in a little closer. “That´s fun. Bet he gets jealous real easy.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. You felt it before you even saw him.

William´s presence sliding in between you and the guy like a wall. Not loud. Not even rude. Just there.

“Hey,” William opened the conversation, resting his hand lightly on your lower back, eyes on the man in front of you. “Everything good here?”

The way he said it was casual, but something in his voice was different. Tighter. Like a string pulled taut.

You turned towards him instinctively, he looked at you first, not the guy. You nodded. “Yeah, we´re just finishing up.”

But William didn’t move. Didn’t smile like he usually did with sponsors. He looked at the man, quiet for just a beat too long. Then, still calm, he said, “She´s with me.”

“I gathered,” the guy huffed, like William was being dramatic for stepping in. Still, he looked at him a little more carefully now. “Maybe you shouldn’t leave your girl alone in a room full of men eying her up and down in that dress,” he added regardless.

Now it was William that huffed. “Maybe you should take a hint when a woman is clearly not interested and taken.” He paused for a second. “I remember you seeing us walk in.”

The guy raised his hands in defense. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Sure,” William replied, still even.

The hand on his back never moved, it anything, his fingers curled a little tighter around the fabric of your dress.

It was a short exchange, a minute tops, but it changed something.

The man backed off, chuckled something under his breath, and walked away without another word. Then it was just you and William.

You looked up at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, features softening. “You?”

“I´ve had worse,” you nodded carefully.

He nodded too, but he didn’t say anything else. His jaw was tight. Not really angry, but protective in a way that felt new.

You didn’t say much about it first. He stayed close the rest of the night, never smothering but definitely within reach. His hand found yours often and you caught him glancing around more than usual.

It was weird, seeing him like that. Not because you didn’t like it, if you were honest with yourself, you kind of did, but because it was different. Like you had unlocked a version of him you had never needed before.

Back home later that night, your brought it up.

“You dint usually do that,” you opened, slipping out of your heels. “Get, I don’t really know what to call it, protective, I guess?”

William, who was changing out of his dress shirt on the other side of the bed, looked over at you, “No?”

You shook your head. “I mean, you´re not the jealous type. You don’t get weird when people talk to me.”

“I´m still not jealous,” he argued, walking over and dropping onto your side of the bed next to you. “That guy just sucked.”

“He did suck,” you chuckled.

William tilted his head a little, thoughtful. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you. Especially, knowing you were taken.”

“He was a creep,” you offered.

“It wasn’t just that,” he muttered, much quieter than usual. “He didn’t respect you.”

You looked at him, there was something serious about his voice that made you sit up straighter.

“He didn’t listen when you said you were with someone,” he continued. “Didn’t take you seriously because you were with a player on the team. I know you can handle yourself, but I just…” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair.

“What?” you asked gently.

“I just didn’t like it,” he summed it up. “I didn’t like the idea if you feeling like you had to be polite to someone like that. I know it happens more than I probably realize.”

You were quiet for a moment. “It does.” He exhaled loudly. “Yeah.”

Your reached for his hand. “You were good, though. You didn’t cause a scene.”

“I wanted to,” he admitted. “Like, just for a second, I felt like, I guess possessive. Which really isn’t me.”

“It´s okay,” you hummed. “It didn’t feel like you were trying to control anything. You just showed up. That’s all.”

He laid back on the bed, letting out another loud exhale while staying quiet for a second. “I don’t ever what you to think I don’t care,” he muttered, looking up at you, instinctively grabbing your hand. “Sometimes I worry I come off too chill. Like I don’t notice that stuff.”

You laid down next to him, carefully curling into his side. “You notice plenty,” you mumbled into his bare chest. “And I like that you´re not the type to get into a fight or argument over nothing.”

His glaze softened and he carefully wrapped an arm around you before placing a soft kiss to your head. “But if it’s not nothing?”

You smiled, squeezing his hand that was still resting in yours. “Then I´m glad to know you´ve got my back.”

[jo-speaks]

PLAY WITH ME

KINKTOBER DAY 1: QUINN HUGHES AND SEX TOYS

IN WHICH..

fem! reader finds a way to get Quinn's attention.

WARNINGS: MDNI!! 18+ READERS ONLY. sex toys (vibrator use), dom!Quinn, fem! masturbation, choking, overstimulation, etc.

note: kinktober day 1!! i know i'm technically five days late, but i hope this makes up for it :) <3

That stupid game.

Ever since he got early access to NHL 25, Quinn had been practically glued to his gaming console, even going as far as buying a monitor in order to move it from the living room to his desk in your shared bedroom. At first, you didn’t think too much of it. He had claimed he just wanted to play while keeping you close, but why he couldn’t have just left it outside was beyond you. 

So here you were, laying on the bed, reading a book your friend had recommended, hearing him laugh and yell at Brock and Elias through his headset as they missed an open goal.

“Dude you’re actually ass!” He yelled, causing you to roll your eyes at his volume. 

You didn’t want to disturb him, so you just reached over to grab your headphones resting on the bedside table. Slipping them in, you laid back and opened your book yet again. You had unknowingly reached a point in which the book shifted into something a little more spicy. It hadn’t been your intention to read such vulgar, descriptive words, but your eyes simply couldn’t stop shifting from left to right as you imagined the scenario in your head.

Quinn’s full-throated laugh brought you back down to reality once again. Letting out an irritated sigh, a damp feeling between your legs as you set the book down, walking over behind his chair to wrap your arms over his shoulders. 

He hummed as you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, “Hey, babe. What? No, not you, Petey. Hang on.”

His finger pressed down on a button which you assumed muted his microphone as he shifted the headset behind one ear before he spoke again, “You alright?”

“You’re just really loud. How ‘bout you call it a night, hm?” You mumbled, pressing soft kisses to his neck. 

You could feel the rumble in his chest as he let out a soft groan as you began to suck on a sensitive part of his skin. He said nothing, making no effort to stop you, until a moaning sound came through his headphones, effectively ruining the moment. 

“Oh! Huggy!” Brock moaned jokingly, Elias’s laughter in the background. 

Quinn groaned at the interruption that had caused your lips to part with his neck. You sighed, beginning to walk back to the bed, but your boyfriend quickly grabbed your arm. 

He looked up at you, darker eye bags beginning to form under his eyes from the lack of sleep and excessive bright lights entering his eyes twelve out of the twenty-four hours of the day. “I promise just one more game. Then I’m all yours.” 

You gave him a smile, not wanting him to sense your desperate need to have him between your legs. He returned the reaction before returning his eyes to the enchanting screen. 

“As if.” You mumbled as you refound your comfortable spot on the bed. You didn’t even bother picking up your book again, feeling too hot and bothered to focus on anything else other than the view you had of Quinn’s shirtless figure, his fingers moving quickly against the controller in his hands. 

Letting out a soft grumble of frustration, you rolled over in a feeble attempt to calm yourself and let him finish the last round. However, your lack of self-control and increased horniness didn’t allow you to do that.

Instead, you found your hand sliding up the shirt you were wearing. Ideally enough, it was Quinn’s shirt that covered you, so the lingering scent of his body was enough to get you going. You pinched your nipples gently, the cool temperature of your fingers causing them to peak. 

The sensation alone was enough to keep you occupied for the next few minutes, but you wanted more. 

Quinn had become so entranced by that game that the two of you hadn’t done anything remotely sexual, other than a make out here and there, in over two weeks. 

So naturally, the lack of a release had you antsy and impatient. You fought the urge to walk back over, shut off the game, and practically beg him to fuck you. However, you decided to beg him in an even more obvious way.

You peeled your hands away from your body, rolling back over to reach into the bottom drawer. You pulled out the light blue wand you had purchased prior to moving in with Quinn, the necessity of the toy becoming practically non-existent other than when he was on a roadie.

Your eyes shifted back to Quinn, his back turned to you, eyes trained on the screen in front of him. Rolling your eyes yet again, you set the vibrator down on the sheets, sliding your panties off and letting them fall to the ground.

Laying back down, you shot one last glance toward your boyfriend before pressing down on the button, the object in your hand buzzing to life gently. You upped the speed slightly before guiding it in between your thighs.

Your body shifted away from the intense feeling before quickly pulling itself closer like a magnet. A soft moan escaped your lips as you pressed the toy impossibly closer to your core. 

As the intensity of the vibrations increased, your volume did too. You muffled your moans, closing your eyes as your forearm came up to give you something to bite down on. 

Surprisingly, Quinn’s ears perked up at the faint buzzing he figured was just his console acting up due to overuse. He glanced to the side, noticing the light was indeed flashing, and decided to restart it. 

“Give me a second guys, this shit’s being weird.” He announced, cutting the call and restarting the device. He let out a sigh, taking off his headset and setting it down on the desk.

“Hey babe? What did you-” He turned around in his seat, cutting himself off as he drank in the sight in front of him.

Your hips were rocking down onto the toy, trying to get the most use out of it. Your eyes were shut tight as you cried out Quinn’s name, muffled by your hot skin. 

He felt frozen, his eyes trailing down your body as it trembled gently at the stimulation. You blinked your eyes open, wanting to look over at your boyfriend, not expecting to catch his sight. Once you did, your arm came down to rest across your torso, knitting your brows together in a silent attempt to get him to come over. 

Thankfully, he took the hint. He stood up, walking the short distance to kneel next to the bed. He didn’t lay a hand on you, opting to just watch you instead.

“Quinn,” You began, cutting yourself off with a moan, “Please touch me.”

He smirked, “You want me to touch you?”

You nodded vigorously, seeking out the warmth of his hand or any part of him at this point. 

“Cum for me first. And then maybe I’ll consider it.” 

A whine escaped your lips before the words did, your mind too foggy to beg for him to at least come onto the bed with you as you chased your release. Quinn simply stayed in place, his self-control being surprisingly strong as tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes.

Quinn let out a quiet groan, his hand coming down to palm himself over the cloth of his athletic shorts. You were close enough to the edge of the bed to be able to see his desperate actions, the sight spurring you on even more. His patience grew thin, his cock growing harder and harder as he watched you. 

He had enough of waiting. 

Your eyes followed his hand as he wrapped it around the wand, clicking the button and effectively turning up the speed. The moan that escaped your mouth could only be described as sinful. Quinn pressed the vibrator harder against your clit, effectively pushing you toward your first orgasm of the night.

His ears were blessed with the volume of the cries of his name that slipped out past your lips, mesmerized at the sight of your open mouth. He couldn’t help himself, his index and middle finger coming up to fill the void. You instinctively wrapped your lips around them, sucking on them as you came down from your blissful state.

You whined at the vibrations still going on in between your legs, shutting it off and throwing it off to the side as you continued to practically drool all over Quinn’s hand. 

“Already fucked out from that stupid little toy aren’t you? Couldn’t even wait for me to finish my game.” He whispered, pulling his fingers out of your mouth and resting them on your abdomen. 

“Not like I had much of a choice.” You retorted.

Quinn’s eyes widened, “You’re saying I don’t give you enough attention?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” 

He smacked his lips together, not saying another word before he stripped himself of his remaining clothing, his cock bright, and throbbing for attention.

You couldn’t even get a word out before he turned your body over to the side and thrusted into you swiftly, a guttural moan coming out of both of you. He reached one hand to your neck, his grip making you go dizzy. The other pressing down onto your stomach, the feeling of his length buried deep inside your pussy making you cry out. 

“Is this enough for you?” He questioned, groaning as your walls clenched around him.

Words weren’t an option for you at this point, your second orgasm already forming yet again. You shook your head, causing Quinn’s eyes to widen, clearly not expecting that to be your response. He chuckled, leaning down to kiss your warm cheeks.

“I’m giving you everything I got and it’s still not enough for you, huh? My greedy girl.” He whispered, the warmth of his breath against your ear causing shivers to run throughout your body.

Your moans rang in his ear as he thrusted into you impossibly quicker, tears slowly spilling out of your eyes due to the immense pleasure. His eyes wandered, thinking of ideas on how to give you more than he was already giving you.

Once his gaze met the abandoned toy sitting next to you, his mind began to spiral with filthy thoughts, some of which he’d have to save for another day. 

He reached over, picked it up, and turned it back on. You couldn’t even begin to process why he had removed his hand from your throat until you felt the buzzing against your clit yet again. 

You screamed out in pleasure, the overstimulation becoming too much for you. Quinn could feel the vibrations against his cock as he fucked you senseless, the toy doing to him what it was doing to you. He groaned, removing his free hand from your stomach and taking your fingers in between his instead, placing them next to your head. 

“Quinn!” You cried, the knot in your stomach quickly beginning to come undone. 

He nodded, his eyes shutting tightly, “Hang on, sweet girl. Wait for me.” 

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to do that, but you sure as hell were gonna try. 

Your grip tightened on your boyfriend’s hand, the other coming up to grip at his now-dampened hair. He let out a whine at the small, unintentional tugs against his scalp, his eyes opening just enough to make eye contact with yours. 

“Look at me.” He groaned, his thrusts getting sloppy. “Wanna watch that pretty face when you cum for me.” 

He moved the toy around in circles around your clit, causing your orgasm to hit you hard. The waves of ecstasy washed over you as you screamed his name, tears spilling and skin blazing as you came. Quinn whined, letting himself become engulfed in pleasure as well. Thick ropes painted your insides white as he shut off the vibrator, letting it drop into the space next to you. 

You felt the weight of him come down onto you, nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck. The only sound in the room being the heavy gasps of air from the both of you. He kissed your skin softly, sucking a small love bite as you caught your breath. 

“Did that make up for it? Or do I have to keep saying I’m sorry for ignoring you for that stupid game?” He teased, causing a small, broken, laugh to come from you.

You squeezed his hand, “I don’t know. Might have to keep making it up to me.”

Quinn smiled against you, his kisses trailing down from the nape of your neck, all the way down your upper body until he reached your thighs.

“I can make it up to you as many times as you want.” 

[huggybug]

red flags - ryan leonard

word count: 4.0 words

note: oh hi, remember me?? it’s been a minute but i’m back! my first time writing in a LONG time so go easy on me <3 manifesting big things for the caps with this one🙂‍↕️

One week.

It had been a week since you watched your boyfriend lose to Denver in the Frozen Four. Well, he was your boyfriend. As of 6 days ago, he was your ex.

You weren’t surprised when Ryan texted you the morning after the game. He had returned to Boston the night before but you were already asleep so waking up to a text from Ryan reading ‘I need to focus on hockey right now. I’m sorry’

You didn’t even bother with a response. It wasn’t necessarily a complete surprise but you also weren’t thrilled. Ryan knew he was moving on to the NHL after this season, it was more a matter of when that would happen. And while you figured long distance might be a bit of a strain, you hadn’t expected your relationship to be ended through a text on a random Monday morning.

Over the past two years, you were known among your friends to have a tumultuous relationship. You were both easily jealous and it caused constant fights. It was never the same thing, it would go back and forth and neither of you were one to back down from a fight. You had to admit it was toxic but despite knowing that, you’d be right back with him within the week every time.

They were playing Michigan State and were there for the whole weekend. You had watched his game in your dorm and as Ryan scored his first goal of the season. When the game ended in a 4-3 loss, you sent your boyfriend a text congratulating him on the goal and condolences on the loss. He only heart reacted to the message but you chalked it up to the loss and let it slide. Ryan usually will call you after a game but you didn’t expect anything after that so you put your phone away and went to sleep.

A couple hours later, you woke up to your phone buzzing and open it to see text after text from a friend from high school who just so happened to go to Michigan State. ‘Isn’t this your boyfriend??’ Followed by a blurry photo of guy standing at a bar. You have to zoom in to see the girl who’s trapped between his arms, facing him with her back to said bar. You sit up in bed, flicking through the other photos your friend sent. One of Ryan bending down to hear whatever the girl is saying, one with him tipping his head back in laughter, and finally one where he’s leaning in for what looks like a kiss. While they’re not actually kissing, it’s not hard to assume that’s what’s about to happen.

Your heart is pounding against your chest as you try to figure out what to do. It’s not like you can do much. Ryan’s 12 hours away, making out with a mystery Michigan woman while you’re stuck in your dorm. You quickly answered your friend before switching over to your thread with Ryan. Staring at the message he’d basically ignored from four hours earlier, you’re hitting the call button before you even register it.

“Y/n?” You can barely hear him when he answers but then it gets quieter so you assume he’s stepped outside of whatever bar they’re at. “What’s going on?”

You’re at a loss for words. After a minute of silence, you realize you have nothing to say to him so you hang up. Instead, you copy the photos you were sent and send them to him. Then, you shut your phone off and go back to sleep.

When the team got back to campus the following day, Ryan beelined it to your dorm and when you opened your door to him with lunch from your favourite place and a bouquet of pink tulips, begging for your forgiveness, of course you let him in.

You weren’t sure if you wanted it to stick this time. The past two years had been building up to the excitement of Ryan making to the NHL and you feel like you’d been a small part in that journey so not getting to experience it with him was a little disappointing. However, if that’s what was better for him, so be it. You decided to distract yourself the way you knew best, partying.

Your friends made it their mission to not let you stay home when there was opportunity to go out. You went to bars, frat parties, you name it. And if Ryan happened to see you through peoples stories or posts on social media, that just made it all the better.

Ryan made his NHL debut on the Tuesday and you didn’t watch. You went to a friends house for a games night. He scored his first goal on Friday night, you were at a frat party. The Capitals clinched their playoff spot on the following Tuesday while you were at your favourite bar to watch the Bruins game with your friends.

It had been 8 days since you last spoke to him when the text came through.

Can you be here on the 20th?

You had to check the name three times before you believed it. Ryan Leonard.

You didn’t answer at first, not exactly knowing what to do. Then your phone started to ring. You slid your phone off the table and excused yourself from your friends. Stepping outside of the restaurant, you took a breath before sliding to answer.

“What do you want Ryan?” You answered with an attitude.

“Did you see my text?” He puffed out quickly.

“Yes” You sighed, “Again, what do you want?” You weren’t exactly upset but you were frustrated.

“Well the girls were asking when you’d be able to get here because I guess they want some group picture in the outfits…” Ryan trailed off and left you confused.

“What girls?” You felt like this was a practical joke being played on you. There was not a single hint of your understanding in what he was talking about.

“The fucking wives Y/n. What do you mean what girls?” Ryan huffed and you almost laughed at the fact that he sounded so put out by your confusion.

“Ryan what the fuck are you talking about?”

“The jackets Y/n. They ordered them and now they want to know when you’ll be here to get yours” That made your head spin. First of all, how did they know to order one for Ryan and also why was he now expecting you to come collect it.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Y/n. Just answer the question” He was getting mad but you didn’t care.

“No Ryan, tell me what the hell is going on. Did I just imagine you breaking up with me in a text last week? Are you really coming back and pretending nothing happened? You can’t blame me for being confused right now”

“Look, I shouldn’t have blown you off like that, I’m sorry. I was stressed about leaving and I know that’s not an excuse but I promise I’ll be better. I just need you here for playoffs, please baby” You took a deep breath, taking it in. He sounded sincere but Ryan always had a knack for that. You never doubted his sincerity and usually that led to your own demise.

“If I get you a flight on the 20th, can you be here?” He asked after a moment had gone by without you saying anything. You can't believe the words until they're spewing out of your mouth.

“Fine. Send me the ticket” You said quickly before hanging up the phone, dropping your head and wondering why the hell you just agreed to that.

…

As soon as you stepped out of the doors at Dulles International Airport, your eyes locked on Ryan. He was leaning against what you would imagine was his rental car, a sleek black Range Rover, with a huge bouquet of pink flowers in hand. One thing about Ryan is while he knows how to cause a fight, he sure as hell knows how to fix one.

“Hi baby” He immediately pulls you into his arms and you melt right into him. “I’m so sorry, I missed you, I love you so much”

You take a step back and accept the flowers as he takes care of your luggage. “Missed you too Ry”

Last summer you went to see Ryan when he was staying at his family’s house on the Cape with a few of the guys on the team. Ryan promised you a week of drinking, going out on his boat, and hanging around with friends and you were excited. That was until you spent the first two days in the house alone while all the boys went golfing. You could have gone with them but when Will had been the one to ask you to come instead of your boyfriend, you opted to stay back and sulk.

When Ryan came home from golfing the second day, you were in a bad mood and he was the perfect target to take it out on.

"Hey babe, we're going to go out for dinner, you almost ready?" Ryan asked as he walked into your shared bedroom for the week.

"Oh I'm invited?" You scoffed and he paused, shirt halfway over his head, turning to look at you.

"What are you talking about? Of course you are" Ryan tosses his shirt onto the floor near the laundry hamper.

"Well you haven't exactly cared to have me around so far, how am I supposed to know tonight's different" You huff and you can hear Ryan sigh as he turns to head into the bathroom.

"I'm not doing this right now. Come or don't, I don't give a shit" Ryan rolls his eyes, clearly frustrated with you but you continue to push at him.

"You invite me here and for what Ryan? To have me wait around for you while you're out with your buddies? Great way for me to spend my time"

"God forbid I go golfing with the boys" He holds his hands up in surrender, mocking you.

"You know it's not just that Ryan" He had barely spoken to you over the past couple days, coming home after dinner at the club last night and leaving this morning before you woke up.

"You're acting ridiculous right now, I'm going to shower. Either be ready when I'm done or stay home" He flings the door shut behind him and you're left alone in the bedroom once again.

Needing some fresh air, you head to the backyard but stop in your tracks when you run into Will as you're stepping outside. "Hey, are you okay?" You laugh dryly, knowing that the look on your face is answering his question itself. "Leno's an idiot, I'm sure he didn't mean whatever he said" The fact that he knew that you two were fighting without you having to say anything spoke volumes about your relationship. Sometimes you thought about what your friends or family members think about your relationship. How many more times your best friend will let you crash at her place at 2 am after Ryan had ran you out of his dorm, when you’re crying on her couch and she has to reassure you everything is going to be okay. You think about how much time and energy this relationship takes from you yet you still decide to go back each time.

"You know I love you Will but if you're just going to defend him, I really don't want to hear it" You brush past him and move to the edge of the deck, looking out at the water and taking a few breaths.

“Look, you know I love you both but give him a chance to apologize for whatever it is, you know he will, he always does” Will says and hesitates for a moment, “You guys always figure it out, this time won’t be any different” You hear the door to the house open and close again behind him.

“That’s the problem though, isn’t it?” You mumble to yourself. You let Will’s words sit with you for a moment before heading back up to your room where Ryan is just finishing getting ready.

“You’re not ready?” He asks through the mirror as he fusses with his hair.

“I was just talking to Will and-” He abruptly cuts you off.

“Oh? Fucking around with Smitty now are we?” He asks and you’re frozen in your spot, jaw hanging at his insinuation. While he had had his moments, you were not a cheater.

“Stop talking out of your ass you know that’s not true” You roll your eyes, almost mad at yourself that you had come back up here to make up with him.

“Wouldn’t put it past you”

“You know what? Fuck you. I’m done” Grabbing your bag from the closet, you start throwing your things in, collecting whatever you can find of your stuff before moving onto the bathroom.

“Oh you’re gonna run away now?” He wasn’t even looking at you, he was on his phone and that only made you more angry.

“Yeah I am because I’m so over your shit. You act like a child and I’m not putting up with it anymore”

Once you’re in the car, it’s like nothing even happened. Ryan spends the whole time talking about the team and how great everyone’s been at helping him out. He explains how he’s living with one of the guys and it’s been nothing short of a dream. Pulling up to the house, it’s absolutely gorgeous. Ryan gets your bags out and is up to the door before you can even process it. He introduces you to his teammate and his girlfriend, Maddie before ushering you towards his room, leaving your bags by the closet doors. You wait until he’s finished fiddling around with things before you burst the bubble of happiness he’s created.

“Ryan, why am I here?” He sets the puck down that he had picked up to show you, his first goal puck you’re assuming, and turns to look at you.

It’s the first time you’ve really gotten to look at him, to take it all in. He looks tired. His usual bright blue eyes are dimmed and are matching with the dark bags under his eyes. His shoulders are slightly hunched like he’s holding more weight on them since you’d last seen him.

“I needed you” He says simply. It’s quiet but you can hear the hesitation in his voice. He takes a deep breath before continuing, “I fucked up leaving you like that, I know. I thought it would be for the best but I think I forgot how much I fucking need you in my life”

You don’t know what to say to that so instead you close the distance between the two of you and pull him down for a kiss. This is how it always goes with you two and well, who were you to ruin the cycle.

…

Capital One Arena was absolutely electric for the Captials’ first playoff game. You follow close behind Maddie, the only girlfriend on the team that you know however you’re all in a group. 20 girls in matching jackets charging through the arena and you’ve never felt more out of place. The girls are all talking to each other and while they all introduced themselves when Maddie introduced you to the group, you had been left out of the conversation ever since. You didn’t blame them though, they’ve all spent the year together, their husbands or boyfriends were all friends and you were just a random 20 year old following them around. At least back at BC, all the girls were so similar it was easy to hang out as a group.

You tried to keep up the facade of being Ryan’s girlfriend. It wasn’t a total lie of course, but the reality of your relationship seemed too intricate to explain to the group of women you had just met. You spoke when you were spoken to but aside from that, you kept to yourself which nobody seemed to mind.

“So Y/n, this is your first time here? You didn’t come for Ryan’s debut?” One of the girls asks and you smile sheepishly.

“I couldn’t make it because of school” You lie, “I couldn’t miss this though” That part was more true.

Then, the lights dimmed and the conversation was dropped, everyone’s attention turning to the ice where the team was coming out of the tunnel as the crowd roared.

You spotted Ryan as soon as he stepped onto the ice. This is what you were comfortable with. Watching Ryan’s games over the past couple years became one of your favourite memories, you loved watching him excel in his passion and a wave of pride rolled over you as the in-arena announcer said his name, prompting the crowd to get even louder.

The game eventually got started and you watched intently as you toyed with the sleeve of your jacket. The jacket with the 9 patches on the sleeves, Leonard stitched into the collar. It made you feel a certain type of way, it was like Ryan had accepted you into this part of his life. Like by giving you this jacket, he had decided you weren’t going to be a part of his college life, you were going to last longer than that. You’d assume that after two years you wouldn’t need a silly jacket to tell you that but Ryan always kept you guessing.

The game ended up going to overtime but luckily the Capitals pulled off the win. The girls celebrated with the rest of the fans before heading down to the family room. You of course just followed along, not knowing where to go and suddenly very grateful you had a group of people with you so you didn’t have to figure it out yourself. The family room was pretty full once everyone was there, some kids running around while the younger ones were falling asleep on the couches. Guys trickled out one by one from the big double doors at one end of the room, which you assumed led to the locker room. You waited for probably 30 minutes before Ryan emerged, wide smile on his face and eyes searching for you in the small crowd that was left.

“Congrats on the win” You say as he hugs you tightly, pulling you close.

“Thanks for being here baby” He says quietly and you smile, squeezing him even tighter.

It was the moments like this that made you forget all the red flags. Ryan was the sweetest, most loving guy most of the time. The not so great moments, those were only a fraction of what you experienced with him. You went easily as he slung his arm around your shoulders and started walking you out to his car.

…

Game two was here and it feels like the energy had multiplied from last game. You went out with the girls before and surprisingly, you felt more at ease. As you all headed to the arena, you found yourself thinking that you could get used to this.

This game wasn't nearly as close as the last one but the fans fed into the excitement and you cheered as the Capitals won again, going 2-0 in the series. It was the best possible outcome and you knew Ryan would be excited. The team was all happy with the wins but most, if not all of them, have experienced it before. Ryan wasn't new to playoff hockey but the Stanley Cup Playoffs were a whole thing entirely, or so he told you.

The night went similarly to last time, you waited for him in the family room and once he finally emerged, you walked hand in hand to his car.

"So you leave tomorrow?" You ask him once you're out of the parking garage.

"Yeah in the afternoon I think" He pauses, trying to remember the schedule that they had just gone over in their meeting. "There's probably a flight to Boston in the morning" You nodded, sinking back into your seat. Of course you had to go back. You had school and there was no reason for you to stay here while Ryan was in Montreal.

"I should pack then" You say more to yourself than to him.

"You didn't expect to stay here did you?" He asked and the question hit you like a knife in the chest. You were at a loss for words for a moment, feeling stupid for ever expecting anything different from him.

"So is this it then?" You decide to ignore his question and ask one of your own instead.

"What?" He looks over at you with wide eyes.

"Well I'd rather get it out of the way rather than land in Boston to another text from you" You say coldly, staring straight ahead at the road in front of you.

"Y/n... I said I was sorry for. that" He replied, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"I just don't know if I can trust you to not do it again" You don't want to start a fight but you had to ask.

"Are you serious?"

"Look at our track record Ry, and it's not just you. Trust me, I know I've caused a lot of it too. We just can't seem to figure it out"

"I have figured it out. I need you Y/n. I need you in my life, in Washington. I don't know how you got the idea that I don't but we can figure it out, I know we can" He flicked the turn signal on a little more aggressively than necessary, his frustration ringing out.

"Why can't you see it Ryan? You shouldn't need me here. You should want me" You sigh, "And you don't, that's the problem" Ryan's number one priority was Ryan and right after that it was hockey. You didn't fault him for it but with that being said, it just didn't seem like there was a space for you in his life right now.

"No- I can't-" He had pulled into the driveway now and turned as much as he could to face you in the car. "I'm sorry, just tell me what to do"

"Look, we both have our shit we need to figure out. We break up and we make up but nothing ever changes. Just cause we want it to work doesn't mean it should, some things just aren't meant to be"

...

You watched the airport get smaller as the plane pulled away and you felt it deep in your chest. You were leaving a part of you behind in Washington. He was going to get on a plane himself and you hated that he would probably be laughing and joking around with his teammates while you're by yourself, pressed against the window.

When Ryan dropped you off this morning, walking away from him was the hardest thing you have ever done. It wasn't the first time but it did feel like the last time. In your previous break ups, it typically was a result from a fight. It was immature and silly but that's what made you fall right back into it days later. This time, it was stemmed from a more mature place, you had a conversation and while it wasn't necessarily what either of you wanted, but it was what was needed.

However, that didn't mean the door was closed forever. And if he messaged you when they made it to the finals, asking if you could come back to the city for the series, part of you knew you'd be looking for flights before you even finished reading the text.