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777bae · 5 days ago

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THE MISSING PIECE WILL SMITH

Summary :: You and Will grew up together, sharing everything from street hockey games to late-night skates. But as the years passed, something shifted, and Will started looking for love in all the wrong places. It takes him years—and a few broken hearts—to realize that the one he’s been searching for was right there all along. (REQUESTED :: prompt 13)

Warnings :: angst with eventual comfort/fluff, unrequited love, childhood friends to lovers, two idiots in love

Word count :: 15.9k (i got very carried away lol)

The town you grew up in was small, the kind of place where nothing ever really changed. The streets were lined with old maple trees whose leaves turned the sidewalks gold in autumn, and whose branches stood bare and elegant against the sky in winter. The houses were familiar, most of them passed down through generations, and the people—even more so.

Everyone knew everyone. The local diner had the same waitresses taking the same orders year after year. The corner store was run by a man who still remembered what kind of candy you liked when you were seven. Summers smelled like fresh-cut grass and barbecue smoke, the air thick with the sound of cicadas and the occasional crack of a baseball bat from the little league field down the road. Autumns came with crisp air and the crunch of fallen leaves beneath your boots, the excitement of Halloween lingering in the air even after the candy was gone.

And then there was winter.

Winter belonged to the ice.

It started in December, when the temperature dropped low enough that the ponds froze solid and the snowbanks grew taller than you. The town came alive in a different way then—driveways filled with kids playing street hockey, backyard rinks lit up under the glow of porch lights, the sharp sound of skates carving across ice. It was cold, sometimes too cold, but it didn’t matter. Not when there was hockey. Not when there was him.

Will had lived next door to you since the day you were born. His house sat close enough that if you stood on your tiptoes at your bedroom window, you could just barely see into his. Between your houses was a stretch of grass that might as well have been neutral territory—claimed by both families, but really, it belonged to you and Will. It was where you played tag in the summers, lying in the grass afterward, staring up at the clouds and making up stories about the shapes they formed. It was where you built snow forts in the winter, perfecting your defense strategies for the inevitable snowball fights that followed.

Your mothers loved to tell the story of how, at three years old, you and Will had wandered into each other’s yards like you had already decided you belonged together. There was no awkward introduction, no hesitation—just a mutual understanding that from that day forward, you would be a pair.

It had been that way ever since.

If one of you was outside, the other one would be too. If Will was climbing a tree, you were right there beside him, scraping your knees and daring him to go higher. If you were building a snow fort, Will was already planning the perfect snowball attack, laughing as he ducked behind his defenses and waited for the perfect moment to strike.

When the two of you started school, it became obvious to everyone else what you had always known—you and Will were a package deal.

You sat next to each other in class, passing notes when the teacher wasn’t looking. You shared your lunch when Will forgot his, and he stole bites of your food even when he didn’t forget. You rode your bikes home together in the afternoons, tires skidding over the cracked pavement as you raced down the street, the wind tangling in your hair.

Everywhere you went, it was just expected that the other would be close behind.

And then, of course—there was hockey.

Hockey wasn’t something you played on a team. It wasn’t about winning, about rules or coaches or referees blowing whistles. Hockey was what you and Will did when the world outside your little town didn’t matter. It was the thing that belonged to just you two, carved into the hours spent on frozen ponds and backyard rinks.

The first time you put on a pair of skates, you were four.

Your parents had taken you and Will to the pond behind his house, where the ice stretched wide and smooth under the pale winter sun. You had been bundled up in layers so thick you could barely move, your mittens too big for your hands, your skates laced up loosely because your mom didn’t know how to tie them tight enough yet.

You still remembered the way your tiny fingers fumbled with the laces, how the cold nipped at your cheeks as you stood up, wobbling on unsteady legs.

“I don’t think I like this,” you said, your skates sliding against the ice. Your knees wobbled, and for a second, it felt like the ground wasn’t beneath you at all—just a slick, unforgiving surface that wanted to see you fall.

Will, standing just as shakily beside you, had turned his head, his missing front teeth making his grin even more lopsided than usual.

“We’ll get better,” he had said confidently, as if there were no other possibility.

And somehow, that was enough to keep you from giving up.

At first, skating meant clinging to the wooden fence in Will’s backyard rink, your tiny hands grasping the frozen wood as tightly as possible while you tried to move without slipping. It meant falling—a lot—until bruises formed on your knees and elbows, until your gloves were damp from the snow. But you never quit, and neither did Will.

And then, one day, you didn’t need to hold onto the fence anymore.

One day, you let go, and when you wobbled, Will reached out and grabbed your hand, steadying you.

“See?” he said, his face bright with excitement. “Told you we’d get better!”

It became a ritual after that. Every winter, the moment the temperature dropped low enough for the ice to freeze solid, you and Will would be out there, bundled up in too many layers, your skates laced up tight. You never played a real game—there were no teams, no rules, no official scores. It was just the two of you, racing each other across the ice, passing a puck back and forth, seeing who could do the best spin without falling over.

By the time you were six, the ice wasn’t something to be afraid of anymore—it was yours. It was familiar, a second home, a place where you and Will spent hours, long after your parents had called you in for dinner, until your fingers were too numb to lace up your skates properly.

And now that you weren’t afraid of falling, now that you had learned to move without stumbling, there was only one thing left to do—go faster.

The pond behind Will’s house was perfect for it. The ice stretched wide and smooth, framed by a ring of bare trees whose branches looked almost black against the winter sky. It was quiet, except for the occasional caw of a crow in the distance or the way the ice creaked beneath your blades.

Most of the time, you and Will would pass a puck back and forth, or you’d make up imaginary teams, calling out plays like the two of you were starring in the Stanley Cup Finals. But some days, like today, it was all about speed.

“I bet I can go faster than you,” Will said, his breath curling in the cold air, the tip of his nose red from the wind.

You scoffed, adjusting your mittens. “No way.”

Will grinned, flashing the gap where his front tooth had fallen out. “You’re scared.”

You straightened, eyes narrowing. “Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Fine!” you huffed. “Race me!”

His grin widened, and that was all the confirmation you needed.

The two of you skated to the edge of the pond, right where the ice met the frozen, snow-covered grass. It was an unspoken rule—this was the starting line.

“To the other side and back,” Will declared. “First one to touch the tree wins!”

You nodded, determination settling in your chest. The tree he was talking about stood at the far edge of the pond, a tall, leafless thing with thick, twisting branches. It had always been your marker—whether you were racing or pretending it was the goalpost in a make-believe game of hockey.

“Ready?” Will asked, crouching slightly, like he had seen real hockey players do.

You bent your knees, copying his stance. “Ready.”

“One… two… three—GO!”

The two of you took off, the ice hissing under your blades.

The cold air bit at your cheeks as you pushed forward, your legs pumping, each stride growing stronger. Will was just ahead of you, his dark coat billowing slightly as he leaned forward, using his arms for momentum.

But you were close.

You dug in, pushing harder, your skates cutting across the ice in smooth, precise strokes. The wind howled past your ears, the world around you blurring until it was just you and him and the race.

Will reached the tree a second before you did, his glove smacking the bark triumphantly before he turned sharply, already speeding back toward the starting point.

But you weren’t going to lose that easily.

Determination burned in your chest as you mirrored his turn, pressing your weight into your skates just like he did. You felt the ice shift beneath you, the sharp edge of your blade slicing cleanly through the surface. For a moment, you thought you might fall—your balance wobbled, the world tilting—but then you steadied, and suddenly you were flying.

Will glanced over his shoulder, his eyes going wide when he saw you gaining on him.

“Hey!” he shouted, laughing. “No fair!”

“Just ‘cause I’m faster than you!” you called back, breathless.

He let out an exaggerated groan, pushing harder, trying to reclaim the lead.

The finish line was only a few feet away now—the spot where you had started, just beyond the pond’s edge. You were side by side, your skates practically in sync, your mittens brushing once, twice, as you both reached out toward the invisible finish line.

And then—

Will slipped.

It happened in an instant—his skate caught on an uneven patch of ice, and before either of you could react, he was falling.

His arms flailed, his body twisting as he tumbled sideways, his momentum sending him skidding across the ice—right into you.

You barely had time to yelp before you went down too, your skates flying out from under you as you crashed onto the frozen surface, your breath whooshing out in a sharp gasp.

For a second, everything was silent. The ice beneath you was solid and cold, your limbs tangled with Will’s as you both tried to process what had just happened.

And then—laughter.

It started with Will, a breathy little chuckle as he lifted his head, his beanie lopsided, his face scrunched up in amusement. And then you couldn’t help it either—you started giggling, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably as you lay there, staring up at the gray winter sky.

“You totally knocked me over!” you accused between laughs.

Will gasped, pressing a mittened hand to his chest. “I did not! You ran into me!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“You just couldn’t handle losing,” you teased, sitting up.

Will groaned dramatically, flopping back down on the ice. “I almost won,” he muttered.

“But you didn’t.” You grinned, nudging his arm.

He turned his head toward you, his blue eyes still shining with laughter. “Rematch tomorrow?”

You pretended to think about it, tapping your chin. “Hmm… maybe. If you think you can keep up this time.”

Will gasped again, more dramatic than before, and before you could react, he scooped up a handful of snow from the ice, tossing it at you. It hit your coat in a puff of white, and you shrieked, scrambling to retaliate.

Within seconds, the race was forgotten, replaced by an all-out snow fight.

And maybe you would have a rematch tomorrow.

Or maybe you would just end up laughing and tumbling over each other again, limbs tangled, faces flushed from the cold.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

Because you would always be out here, together.

By the time you were eight, hockey had become an undeniable part of your rhythm, just as much a part of you as the air you breathed. Will had his hockey stick in his hands more often than not, carrying it around like an extension of himself, a trusty companion as familiar as the jacket on his back. And wherever he went, you were sure to follow—skates laced, stick in hand, trying your best to keep up with his ever-growing skills.

One afternoon, you were out on the ice behind Will’s house, the backyard rink gleaming in the late afternoon sun. The frost hung thick in the air, and your breath came out in puffs of steam, drifting upward as if it too was eager to get in on the action. The rink was a wonder—built just the way Will’s dad always did it, smooth and perfect, a sheet of glass that stretched across the yard. The perimeter was lined with snowbanks you’d created together, little mountains of white that were as much a part of the rink as the ice itself.

“Okay, ready?” Will asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet, the excitement in his voice a telltale sign that this was one of those important training sessions.

You nodded, tightening your grip on the stick, the leather worn in your hands from all the years of practice.

“Okay,” he said, his tone turning serious. “You have to bend your knees more.”

You nodded, watching him carefully as he demonstrated. His knees bent low, his body leaning into the motion as he glided across the ice like a real hockey player. The speed with which he moved amazed you—how effortlessly he zipped from one end of the rink to the other. Will always seemed to have a natural gift for it, a fluidity that made you wish you could keep up.

“Like this,” he repeated, showing you again, his brow furrowing with concentration.

You bent your knees, mimicking his movements, but the truth was, it felt strange at first—like you weren’t fully in control of your body on the ice. But you weren’t one to give up easily. You pushed forward, trying to master the stance, to get the feel of it, to match his speed.

But just as you started to get into the rhythm, there was a sudden whoosh, and you blinked in surprise.

A snowball.

Will had swung his stick, flicking a perfect snowball off the blade. It hit your jacket with a soft thud, breaking apart on impact, but the message was clear.

“Hey!” you shrieked, laughing. “What was that for?”

Will shot you a mischievous grin, his eyes alight with challenge. “You look too serious. I thought I’d make it more fun!”

Before you could protest, he took off, his skates slicing across the ice as he raced away from you. The snowball fight was on.

You grabbed a handful of snow from the edge of the rink, packing it into your mittens, and gave chase, laughing so hard your sides ached. You dodged and weaved, trying to catch him as he weaved back and forth on the ice, always just out of your reach. His laughter echoed in the air, high-pitched and free, as he taunted you with mock shouts.

“You gotta be quicker than that!” he called over his shoulder.

“No way!” you shouted back, your voice a little winded, but you were determined.

Your skates slid in a fast arc as you closed the gap, finally launching your own snowball at him, the icy mass hitting him squarely on the back. Will let out a dramatic gasp and spun around, mock offense written all over his face.

“Hey! That’s cheating!”

You grinned, knowing that the rules of this game didn’t matter much to either of you anyway.

Hockey wasn’t something you played for the glory of scoring goals, or the thrill of victory. It was never about winning for you and Will—it was about the joy of being together, on this patch of ice that was yours and his alone.

The years had a way of blending together, and yet every winter felt like it was the first one all over again. Every time the backyard rink was built, every time the plastic sheets were rolled out and water was sprayed over them, it was like the world was starting fresh. The ice would form overnight, as if by magic, and the moment it was ready, you and Will were out there, eager to skate, to challenge each other, to share this simple joy.

“First to five wins!” Will called, his voice slicing through the quiet, his stick tapping rhythmically against the ice.

Your heart gave a little jolt. The thrill of the game was in the chase, in the way Will’s grin spread wider every time he won—but not too wide, because he always made sure to give you another shot, to make sure you were never left behind.

It was just a game, sure. But it was your game. Yours and Will’s.

You dug in your skates, pushing off from the snowbank, racing across the rink toward the makeshift goal. You dodged him with a quick flick of your wrist, making a break for the other side of the ice. You could hear Will’s laughter behind you, could see him chasing after you in your peripheral vision, his stick slapping against the ice.

“I’m gonna win this time!” you shouted.

“No chance,” he teased, the competitive glint in his eyes showing that he meant it.

But in the end, just like every other time, even if you lost—he’d always find a way to make it a tie.

He would pause, panting, hands on his hips, looking at you with that goofy grin of his that made everything feel okay.

“We’ll call it a draw this time,�� he’d say. “Because I’m feeling generous.”

You’d roll your eyes, grinning back. “You’re so full of it.”

But there was never any argument. There didn’t need to be. You were happy just to be out there, skating under the fading light of the winter sky, your breath rising in visible clouds, your body buzzing from the cold and the joy of the game. And for you, at least, the outcome didn’t matter as much as the moment you shared with him.

You had never been part of a real team, but it didn’t matter. This was your team—the two of you. And it was all you needed.

It was a secret world, one only you and Will knew. The rink, the cold, the game—it was yours. No one else’s. Just the two of you, racing, laughing, and skating together forever.

At ten, you knew that the bond between you and Will wasn’t just something casual or fleeting. It was something different. Something unspoken, yet undeniably there. You didn’t need anyone to tell you that—because in every small moment, it showed.

It wasn’t unusual for you and Will to exchange gifts. Simple things. Things that didn’t need to be wrapped or adorned with bows, because the meaning was always there, inherent in the gesture. But one winter afternoon, as the two of you stood out on the frozen backyard rink, Will handed you something different.

It was a small, round hockey puck. The edges had been worn down with use, its black surface slightly scratched from countless games. But it wasn’t the puck itself that made it special—it was what Will had done with it.

“You’re always losing your stuff,” he teased, his breath visible in the frigid air, his dark hair tousled from the wind. “So, I figured you’d need this.”

He grinned as he held out the puck, and you stared at it, puzzled for a moment. Then you saw it—the black marker scrawl on the surface. Your initials, hastily written but clear enough for you to read.

You felt a warmth spread through you as you took the puck from his hand, your fingers brushing his as you accepted it.

“Don’t lose it,” he said, his tone playful but with an underlying sincerity. “That’s your puck. Only yours.”

You nodded, holding it close, feeling a strange sense of pride. “I won’t,” you promised, your voice quieter than usual.

From that moment on, that puck became one of your most prized possessions. It wasn’t just a piece of equipment—it was a token, a symbol of the way Will saw you, the way he treated you. It was his way of telling you that you mattered to him, in a way that words couldn’t fully explain. You kept it in your nightstand for years, tucked away under a pile of old journals and scraps of paper. And every time you opened that drawer, you’d run your fingers over the puck, remembering that day, that moment, and the unspoken promise that came with it: You are important. You belong here.

Two years later, when you were twelve, Will handed you something else.

It was a friendship bracelet, woven together with blue and white threads. It wasn’t just any bracelet, though—it was the colors of his favorite hockey team, the Toronto Maple Leafs. Even at twelve, he had big dreams. He swore, without hesitation, that one day he’d play for them, that one day the Leafs would be his team.

“I made it for you,” Will said, his voice gruff but with a playful edge as he shoved the bracelet into your hand.

You stared at it, taken aback. Will had never been the type to give out handmade things, much less something so personal. But the moment you saw the familiar blue-and-white pattern, it made perfect sense. This was his way of telling you that even if you never played on the same team, even if you never made it to the ice in the same uniform, you were still a part of his world. He wanted you to have this, something that tied the two of you together. Something that bound you to his dreams.

“You sure you want me wearing this?” you asked with a grin, trying to mask the knot forming in your chest. “You know, it’s kind of like a team thing. Maybe I’ll jinx you or something.”

Will snorted, clearly unimpressed. “Please. If anyone’s gonna jinx me, it’s not you. Besides, it’s not like you’re gonna get rid of it. You know you’ll wear it every day.”

He was right, of course. The bracelet became a part of you, a constant presence on your wrist as you went about your daily life. Even when it started to fray around the edges, when the blue and white threads began to look worn and faded from constant wear, you couldn’t bring yourself to take it off. It was more than just a piece of thread—it was a reminder. A reminder of Will’s promise, his belief in his own future, and the way he had always included you in his dreams.

But not everyone understood that. Not everyone saw what Will saw, what you saw.

One day at school, when you were walking together down the hallway, a kid—one of those kids who always seemed to have something to say—decided to make a comment. He snickered, tossing his backpack over his shoulder as he walked past, his eyes flicking between you and Will.

“Why don’t you play on a real team?” he sneered, his voice loud enough for others to hear. “You don’t even play. Just hanging out with him like it’s some game.”

For a moment, you froze, your gut twisting. You had never been the type to stand out, to let people make you feel small. But this—this stung in a way you hadn’t expected. The kid’s words felt like an attack, like a judgment on the way you and Will had always spent time together. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it before. Sure, you didn’t play for a real team. But that didn’t matter. Hockey wasn’t just a sport to you. It was your thing. Yours and Will’s.

You tried to brush it off, pulling your shoulders back and pretending the words didn’t hit their mark. But Will didn’t let it slide.

You saw the way his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face the kid. There was a fire in his gaze that sent a small chill down your spine, but it wasn’t a bad kind of chill—it was the kind that made you feel like nothing could touch you when Will was around.

“She doesn’t have to play on a real team,” Will said, his voice low and steady. His tone was cold, but there was a warmth there too—a fierce, protective edge. “She’s still better than you. And she’s out here, playing with me, every day. So what does that make you?”

The kid blinked, taken aback, his sneer faltering as Will’s words sank in. He didn’t say anything else, just muttered something under his breath before walking off.

But you didn’t care about the kid anymore. You cared about Will.

You could feel your heart swell in your chest as you met his eyes. The loyalty in him was so strong, so unwavering, that it was impossible to ignore. And you couldn’t help the way it made you feel—like you belonged to him, and he to you.

Even when you argued, even when you drove each other crazy, there was never any doubt about it.

You were his. And he was yours.

It was more than just friendship. It was something deeper, something that didn’t need words to be understood. It was a connection that didn’t have a name, not really—but it didn’t need one. You had always been there for each other, and you always would be. No matter what.

Because that was just the way it had always been.

And, somehow, it always would be.

By the time you were fifteen, the changes in Will weren’t just noticeable—they were impossible to ignore. At first, you couldn’t quite pinpoint when it started. The shift in him was so gradual, so subtle, that you might have convinced yourself it was always there. But one day, it hit you—everything about Will was different.

You tried to hold onto the old version of him, the one who was still your best friend, the one who had grown up beside you. He was still the boy who biked to your house every morning, the one who never missed a birthday or a summer adventure. Will was still the same guy who had spent hours building snow forts with you, who had stayed up late telling ghost stories around a campfire, the boy who once stole the last slice of pizza only to end up stealing your heart in a way you never fully realized.

But that boy—your boy—was slipping away, bit by bit, and no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, you couldn’t.

Will was changing, and you couldn’t stop watching it happen.

The most obvious change, of course, was in the way he looked. You couldn’t deny that Will had grown taller over the summer. One minute, you were teasing him for being shorter than you, and the next, he was towering over you, with a frame that was leaner, more athletic, as though he had filled out with strength and purpose. You had always known he was athletic—had known that one day he might play for a real team—but seeing it all come together in a way that made him look more like a man than the boy you had always known was startling. The softness of his face had begun to harden, his cheeks no longer round but sharp, his jawline taking shape. There was something undeniably handsome about him now, but the thought of it made something in your chest tighten.

And then there were his eyes. Those gorgeous, familiar eyes—eyes that had always been the easiest to read, eyes that once reflected the way he felt about you without question. But now? Now they seemed to linger longer than they should, following you with an intensity that made you feel exposed, like he could see every unspoken thought in your head. There was a depth to them now, something in his gaze that made your stomach flip, something that made it impossible to pretend like everything between you was the same.

It wasn’t just his appearance that was changing. Will had become more aware of the way people—girls, especially—were starting to look at him. You couldn’t help but notice the way they noticed him. At first, it was subtle. Just a glance here and there when he walked through the hallways at school, a soft giggle when he said something funny in class. But it didn’t take long for it to grow more obvious. At lunch, girls would sneak glances at him from across the room. You’d catch them whispering, eyes darting away quickly when they realized you had seen.

It was almost like a domino effect. One girl would mention something, and before you knew it, the whole school was talking about him. “Did you see Will in gym today?” one girl would whisper. “I heard he’s totally into Sarah.” You’d hear the same thing in passing, when you tried to get to class, when you went to your locker—everywhere you went, you’d hear his name, spoken with a level of admiration that you couldn’t ignore. Will was becoming something more than just the guy who lived down the street, more than just the boy you spent your entire childhood with.

And then it happened—something so small, so subtle, that you almost missed it, but it cut deeper than anything you could have imagined.

You were standing in the hallway between classes, chatting with a few friends, when you saw him. Will was standing by his locker, leaning against it with his usual relaxed posture. His back was slightly turned, but you saw her. A girl you didn’t recognize—one of the newer students who had transferred that year—was standing a little too close to him. She was laughing, and Will, who usually didn’t entertain the girls who tried to flirt with him, was actually laughing back. And then, just like that, she reached up and brushed a strand of hair out of his face, lingering a little longer than necessary, her fingers grazing the side of his cheek.

For a moment, time seemed to stop.

Your stomach twisted, a tight knot of jealousy building in the pit of your stomach. You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal—he was still your Will, your best friend. He was just being nice, just joking around, right? But the feeling that spiraled inside you told a different story. The way his smile was a little too soft, the way his gaze lingered on her just a little too long, made something inside you sting.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if girls liked him now. He was still your Will. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t true. Something was changing, and it wasn’t just the way he looked. It was the way he acted, the way he seemed to be pulling away from you without even realizing it.

The girls weren’t the only thing that had changed, though. Will had started noticing them. You could tell by the way he carried himself now, more confident, more aware of his effect on people. He no longer had to sit on the edge of your bed after a fight with his mom, making you laugh to lift your mood. He no longer called you at midnight just to talk, just to pass the time, just to hear your voice. He was always busy with something else—another game, another practice, another girl. It wasn’t that he was pushing you away—it was just that you were starting to realize, slowly but surely, that he wasn’t just your best friend anymore.

You tried to hang onto the old versions of things, the versions where Will would drag you out to the rink on those cold winter nights, and the two of you would skate until the stars above the icy lake disappeared, and the sky was light with the first hints of dawn. You tried to hold on to the memories of the two of you sitting on the porch steps, swapping stories of your days, or sneaking into the kitchen to raid his fridge while pretending his mom wouldn’t catch you.

But Will was slipping through your fingers, and you couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t stop him from becoming someone new, someone who didn’t need you in the same way anymore. The more he changed, the more you realized that you were the one who was holding on.

And the worst part? You had no idea what to do with that feeling.

One Friday night, after a huge game, the house was alive with energy. The party had spilled out onto the porch, with laughter and music vibrating through the walls, the air thick with the smell of cheap beer and fast food. Red solo cups were scattered across every surface, along with half-empty bottles and a haze of smoke that hung in the corners. You could barely hear your own thoughts over the deafening music, the bass thumping in time with the pounding of your heart as you stepped through the door.

It was one of those nights—the kind that only came around once a season. The big end-of-year party, where everyone, no matter what their social status, came to celebrate the victory or drown their sorrows after a tough loss. It didn’t matter who you were or what clique you belonged to. This was the night where everyone came together, and no one really noticed if you didn’t belong anywhere at all.

You found yourself standing in the corner of the living room, a cup of something far too sweet and syrupy in your hand, surrounded by the noise and the chaos. Your friends were laughing nearby, chatting about whatever drama was going on at school, but your mind wasn’t really with them. It was lost somewhere in the sea of voices and flashing lights, and more than anything, it was focused on him.

Will.

Of course, he was everywhere. It was his night. The hockey team had just won their final game, and it was like the whole town was celebrating with them. He was surrounded by a group of guys, all laughing and joking, their voices loud and boisterous. Will’s laughter rose above the others, that familiar sound that you’d always associated with home—like the sound of snow crunching underfoot on a cold winter morning, or the taste of something warm when the world outside was frozen.

But tonight, something was different. You couldn’t explain it at first, couldn’t figure out why your stomach felt twisted in knots every time you saw him, but you couldn’t shake it.

And then, in a flash, you saw it.

You had been talking to a friend near the punch bowl, trying to ignore the heavy, suffocating weight of your own thoughts. You didn’t want to be one of those people who stood off to the side, avoiding the fun, but that was exactly how you felt. Every laugh, every joke, every passing glance seemed to make the weight in your chest grow heavier.

And then you saw him.

Will was standing in the middle of the room, talking to a girl. You didn’t know her name, but she was pretty, with hair that cascaded down her back in soft waves and a smile that seemed to light up the room. She was laughing at something he’d said, and before you could even process it, he leaned in, his hand brushing the side of her arm. In one smooth motion, they were kissing.

It wasn’t a long kiss. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t like something out of a movie. It was a brief, casual thing—just a quick, light peck on the lips after some teasing comment that had them both laughing. But in that moment, it felt like the world had stopped. The music, the chatter, the whole party—it all faded away.

Your heart skipped a beat. Your breath caught in your throat.

Everything inside you froze.

You didn’t even realize you were staring until you felt the heat rise to your neck, and then your face, like your whole body was suddenly on fire. You tried to turn away, tried to look anywhere else, but your eyes kept drifting back to them. Will, his lips still curved in that easy smile, his arm casually draped around her shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The girl’s hand was resting on his chest, and it looked so effortless, so right, that it made your stomach lurch.

You didn’t know why it felt like you’d been punched in the chest, but it did. Your fingers tightened around your cup, the cold plastic biting into your hand as you tried to ground yourself, to make yourself breathe. It wasn’t anything big. It wasn’t even a kiss that meant anything—at least, that’s what you told yourself. It was just Will, being Will, doing what he always did.

But it wasn’t just the kiss.

It was what it represented. The subtle, inevitable truth that had been hanging in the back of your mind for months, but that you had been too afraid to face.

Will wasn’t just your Will anymore. He wasn’t the boy you had spent every winter skating on backyard rinks with. He wasn’t the one you’d stayed up with late into the night, making up stories and sneaking out for midnight snacks. He wasn’t the same guy who used to laugh at your dumb jokes and crash on your couch after a long day. That part of him, the part that had always belonged to you and only you, was slipping away, slowly but surely.

And now, you were just… there. A shadow in the background, standing on the sidelines, as the boy you had always loved started looking elsewhere.

You swallowed hard, trying to push the bitter taste that had suddenly filled your mouth. But it didn’t go away. The jealousy you had felt in passing—when girls would whisper about him or throw flirtatious glances his way—had been nothing compared to this. Watching him kiss someone else, even so briefly, felt like a gut punch.

You weren’t ready for it. You weren’t ready for the truth that your place in his life was changing, that the way he saw you wasn’t the same anymore. That you might not be the one he would choose.

Still, you tried to act like it didn’t matter. After all, you and Will had been through so much together—years of memories that no girl could take away, no kiss could undo. You tried to tell yourself that it didn’t change anything, that this was just one fleeting moment, something trivial.

But as the night stretched on, you couldn’t shake it. Will spent the rest of the evening surrounded by his friends, laughing louder, joking with the girls who fawned over him, bouncing from one corner of the house to another like he belonged in every space. It was like he was at the center of it all, while you stood off to the side, nursing your drink, trying to pretend you didn’t feel like your whole world was quietly unraveling around you.

The music blared on, the conversation never slowed, but you were alone in the crowd.

You didn’t know how to feel. You didn’t know what to do with all the emotions that had suddenly bubbled to the surface.

But you knew one thing.

You weren’t ready to let him go. Not yet.

But nothing had truly changed.

Will still came over after his games, sweaty and exhausted, his jersey clinging to his chest as he collapsed onto the couch. He still stole the remote from you and made you watch whatever ridiculous action movie he was obsessed with at the time, even if you hated it.

You still went on those late-night skates, just the two of you. You’d meet in the dead of night, when everyone else was asleep, and lace up your skates in the cold darkness. The world felt empty and small, the only light coming from the streetlamps casting long shadows across the frozen rink in his backyard. As you skated circles around each other, the air sharp against your skin, the sound of your blades cutting into the ice was the only thing that filled the silence. And in those moments, when it was just the two of you, it was easy to forget that anything had changed at all.

But you couldn’t ignore the quiet shift. The growing distance that had started to bloom between the two of you. Maybe it was in the way he’d look at his phone more often now, scrolling through texts from his teammates, or how the quiet nights you used to spend together were now filled with more people. Maybe it was the way his laugh seemed to carry a little further when he was around his friends—friends who didn’t know you the way he did. The way he’d sometimes get that far-off look in his eyes, like he was thinking about someone—or something—that wasn’t you.

And then there was the truck.

It was one of those quiet, rare moments when Will and you found yourself alone. You’d been driving around the small town after a game, just the two of you in his dad’s truck (one that you had snuck out into), the soft hum of the engine the only sound as the night stretched out before you. The trees lining the roads were bare, their limbs stretching toward the sky like skeletal hands, and the air smelled crisp, clean, piney—a scent you would always associate with him, even when you were older.

You’d reached the lake by the edge of town, the usual place where you’d stop to talk about whatever came to your minds. Will parked the truck at your favorite spot, where the water stretched out in front of you, calm and dark under the blanket of the stars.

He killed the engine, and the silence between you two felt heavier than usual. You didn’t know why, but for some reason, tonight, everything felt more like a question than an answer.

“Do you think we’ll always be like this?” you asked, your voice quiet, almost swallowed by the night.

Will turned to look at you, his brow furrowing slightly, as though he hadn’t even considered it before. It wasn’t the usual playful grin he wore—it was something else. Something thoughtful. He paused for a moment, letting the question hang in the air like smoke, before finally nodding, his voice steady.

“Like what?”

“You know… us.”

It wasn’t a question you’d ever thought to ask before, not in those exact words. But now that it was out there, you couldn’t stop wondering. You couldn’t stop questioning whether this thing between you two—this unspoken, unsaid bond—would still exist in a few years. Would it always be us? Or would you end up like everyone else in town—watching from the sidelines, as Will moved on to something bigger, something different?

His gaze softened, and for the briefest moment, the world seemed to slow. He looked at you like he was weighing something, like he was searching for the right words, but then he just shook his head, as if the answer had been right there all along.

“Yeah,” he said with a half-smile, almost as if he were trying to convince himself more than you. “You and me, right?”

And for just a moment, just long enough for you to let your heart settle in your chest, you let yourself believe it. That it would always be you and Will, like it had always been. That no matter how much things changed around you, some things—some people—never would.

But deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder if the way you felt about him was changing too, and if maybe—just maybe—things would never be quite the same again.

At seventeen, everything had shifted again, and you could feel it in the way things no longer felt as simple or effortless as they once did. Will had a girlfriend now, and that fact alone made the air around you seem thicker, heavier. It was hard to ignore, impossible to pretend it didn’t matter, even though you told yourself a thousand times it shouldn’t bother you. But it did. It really, truly did.

Her name was Emma, and she was everything you weren’t. She was exactly the kind of girl who seemed to fit seamlessly into Will’s life, like the final puzzle piece clicking into place. She was the kind of girl who looked like she belonged in a hockey locker room as easily as she belonged at a school dance. Emma had that effortless charm, that natural grace that you could never quite pull off. She could wear one of Will’s hockey hoodies—too big for her frame—with such ease that it almost looked like it was made for her, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders in soft, tousled waves that framed her face like she belonged in some magazine spread. She wasn’t just in his world—she was the kind of girl who blended into it, who fit so well that it was like she had been handpicked for him. And, in a way, you started to wonder if that was true.

You had never been the girl in the hoodie. You’d never been the one waving at Will from the bleachers with your eyes glowing, cheering him on like it was the most natural thing in the world. You were the girl who stood in the background, the one who shared quiet moments with him in the shadows, away from the spotlight. And the more you saw Emma standing beside him, smiling at him with a kind of ease you could never replicate, the more you realized that she was everything you weren’t and, maybe, everything Will wanted.

At first, it didn’t seem like such a big deal. After all, you had always known Will liked girls—he had kissed a few at parties, flirted with others at school—but it wasn’t like it ever interfered with your bond. You were still you and Will, right? You were the ones who had spent hours on the rink together, the ones who had been inseparable for years. Nothing had ever been able to shake that, right?

But now, things were different. And as much as you tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter, that it was just a phase, that Emma was just another girl in the long string of faces Will had been with, you couldn’t help but feel the growing distance between you.

Will started pulling away, bit by bit. It wasn’t obvious at first—just small things that were easy to ignore. It was the way his texts became less frequent, how the responses you used to get immediately now took longer. At first, you told yourself he was just busy—he was juggling games and school, his life becoming more complicated. You didn’t want to be the person who complained about something so trivial. But then there was the subtle shift when he didn’t come over as often, didn’t just drop by after practice to grab a drink or hang out on the couch like he always had. Those small moments—the ones you thought were unbreakable—started to fade, as if someone had quietly drawn a line between you, a line that you didn’t even notice until it had already split the space between you.

It wasn’t just the way he started showing up less, though. It was in the way he acted when he was there. He seemed distracted, less present, like a part of him was always somewhere else. He didn’t drag you out for late-night skates anymore, those quiet moments where it was just the two of you, skating until your legs felt like they’d give out, laughing at nothing and everything. You missed those times so much that the thought of it almost made your chest hurt. The easy conversations you used to have seemed to disappear with the last snowstorm, leaving nothing but awkward silences in their wake. When he came over, it was like you were strangers sharing the same space, both too scared to acknowledge how much things had changed.

But it wasn’t just Will pulling away. You were changing, too.

There were moments when you felt like you didn’t know how to be you around him anymore. You could see how effortlessly he blended into Emma’s world, how at ease they were together, and it made you question everything. You used to be his everything—the girl who knew every little thing about him, the one who understood his every gesture, every laugh. But now? Now, you felt like an outsider in your own friendship, as though you were watching someone else take your place. You didn’t know how to fix it, how to bridge the growing gap between the two of you, and you didn’t even know if it was possible to. There was a part of you that wondered if you should just walk away, stop pretending like things were the same, stop holding onto something that had already slipped through your fingers.

But you couldn’t let go—not yet. You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words you were too afraid to even whisper. You were scared of what that would mean. Would it mean losing him for good? Would it mean he would never be the Will you used to know?

You didn’t have the answers. All you had was the growing weight in your chest every time you saw him laugh with Emma, every time you saw them together, and the aching feeling that no matter what you did, no matter how hard you tried, nothing would ever be the same again.

One cold evening after a game, you found yourself outside the rink, waiting for him like you had so many times before. The air was crisp, biting, the kind of cold that made your breath visible in the darkness. There was a sharpness to it, the smell of frozen earth and icy metal mixing with the faintest trace of sweat from the locker rooms still lingering in the air. The rink was quiet now, the roar of the crowd from the game fading into the background as you stood alone, arms crossed over your chest for warmth. The tip of your nose was red from the chill, your breath clouding in the air as you watched the other players pack up and head to their cars, the scrape of skate blades against concrete echoing in the distance.

Everything felt still and frozen in time, yet somehow, everything around you seemed to move in fast forward. You could hear the murmur of voices in the parking lot, the sound of keys clinking, the doors of cars slamming shut. But you were focused only on him—on Will.

There he was, standing by his truck, talking quietly with Emma. You didn’t have to look closely to see how comfortable they were together. She was standing close to him, laughing softly at something he’d said, her hand resting lightly on his arm as if it belonged there, as if she had always been there. Will was smiling at her in that way you hadn’t seen him smile at you in months, his eyes crinkling in a way that made you feel suddenly out of place. She was with him in a way you never could be—no awkwardness, no history, no years of friendship between you to complicate things. She fit in his world, while you felt more like a stranger trying to fit into something that no longer made sense.

Your stomach twisted painfully as you stood there watching them. It was like everything you had been denying for so long came rushing to the surface—the way Emma had slipped so easily into his life, the way he looked at her in a way he had stopped looking at you. You could feel a lump forming in your throat, a tightness in your chest, but you didn’t move. You just stood there, frozen, watching as they shared a quiet moment that seemed to last forever, the world moving faster around you, but you stood still in place.

Finally, Will turned his head and saw you standing there, still and quiet in the growing dark. He frowned, the familiar crease between his brows appearing like it always did when he sensed something was wrong. You hadn’t said anything yet. You hadn’t let the frustration, the confusion, the hurt that had been building inside you spill out. But you didn’t need to say anything. He already knew. He always did.

“You’re avoiding me,” you said, your voice sharper than you meant it to be, carrying in the quiet night air.

Will blinked, taken aback by your directness. He ran a hand through his damp hair, clearly caught off guard. “What? No, I’m not,” he said, his voice confused, like he couldn’t understand where this was coming from.

“You missed our skate this morning,” you pointed out, each word slipping from your mouth with more force than you intended. Your arms tightened around yourself in an effort to hold back the wave of frustration that threatened to crash over you. It wasn’t just about the skate. It was everything—the way things had changed so slowly that you barely noticed until it was already too late.

Will’s eyes flickered over to Emma, who was talking to someone else now, probably one of her friends from the team. Then his gaze shifted back to you. “I had plans,” he said, his tone distant, almost dismissive, like it was no big deal.

“Right,” you muttered, your voice bitter. The words tasted sour in your mouth as you forced them out. “Emma,” you added, making it clear, like it should explain everything.

You watched Will’s jaw tense at the mention of her name. His eyes narrowed slightly, and for the first time in the conversation, you saw a flash of irritation cross his face. It wasn’t like the easy, carefree Will you had known all your life. No, this was someone different, someone who was starting to push back. His voice came out low, defensive, “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” You couldn’t hold it back anymore. The words escaped before you could stop them, slipping out of your mouth in an angry, almost disbelieving laugh. “You’ve changed, Will.”

His eyes widened, as if he hadn’t heard you right. He looked at you like you were speaking a language he didn’t understand, his gaze flickering from your face to the truck, then back to you, like he was trying to piece together what you meant. For a moment, his expression softened, the defensiveness replaced by something else—guilt, maybe, or confusion. But it didn’t last long. He let out a sharp breath, his hand running through his hair again, the familiar tension returning to his body.

“I didn’t change,” he muttered, his voice thick with frustration. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

There it was—the wall. You felt it hit you, the invisible barrier that had been slowly growing between you both for months. You wanted him to understand, wanted him to see what was happening, but it was clear that he didn’t get it. Or worse, maybe he didn’t want to. The idea that he didn’t even notice the distance between you, the way he had stopped being there for you the way he used to, made the knot in your chest tighten.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t hold his gaze as the words spilled out of you. “I’ve been here the whole time, Will. And you’re slipping away from me. You’re slipping away, and I can’t stop it.”

There was a long pause, the words hanging heavy in the air between you. Will didn’t say anything at first. His eyes dropped to the ground, like he was processing what you’d said. You wanted him to say something—anything. You wanted him to reach out, to tell you it wasn’t true, to fix everything with a few words, but instead, there was just silence. The cold air wrapped around you like a physical weight, and you could feel the finality of it—the way the space between you had stretched too far to ever go back.

He exhaled sharply, glancing away, his gaze drifting toward the distant horizon like he was done with the conversation. Done with you.

You wanted to scream at him, to tell him everything that had been building inside of you for months—the way it hurt to see him with someone else, the way it felt like he was slipping through your fingers, the way your heart ached with every moment he wasn’t there for you. But you didn’t. You stood there in the cold, a lump in your throat, fighting back tears, fighting to keep your composure.

After what felt like an eternity, Will finally shrugged, his posture stiff as he gave you a tight, almost apologetic smile. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t enough.

“I’m not changing. You’re overthinking this,” he said, like the whole thing could be solved with a few words. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

It wasn’t just overthinking. It was the reality of everything that had been slipping through your fingers, and the sharp ache in your chest that made it impossible to ignore.

You swallowed, trying to force down the lump in your throat. He didn’t understand. Maybe he couldn’t. Or maybe he didn’t want to.

You nodded, your lips pressed tightly together, keeping everything you felt locked inside. There was nothing left to say.

And with that, you turned and walked away, the sound of your boots crunching in the snow the only thing you could hear, the emptiness in your chest growing with every step.

The months that followed were a blur of fleeting faces and empty promises. Emma, Sophie, Maddie—each name slipping into Will’s life like they had always belonged there, only to leave again, as if they had never truly mattered. It was a constant cycle of faces and names that you barely had time to learn before they were replaced by someone new. And yet, somehow, Will threw himself into each relationship like it was the answer to all the questions you had left unspoken between the two of you. He smiled, he laughed, and in those moments, he looked like he was truly happy. But you could see through it. You could always see through it. The cracks were there, if you looked closely enough. The way his smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes anymore, the way his laugh sometimes sounded hollow, like he was trying to convince himself of something that wasn’t true. You could see that he was still searching for something, but it wasn’t in the girls who came and went.

He never let anyone in the way he had let you in. There was something between you—something deep, something real—that no one could replicate. It had been easy, once, to believe that no one could ever take your place. That your bond was unbreakable. But now, with each new girl, with each fleeting relationship, it was becoming clearer: You were being replaced, whether you liked it or not. And still, no matter how many times he started over with someone new, he never looked at you—not the way you wanted him to.

It was like living in a perpetual loop of half-answers and unasked questions. The same faces, the same routines, the same emptiness. It wore you down. At first, it had been a sharp sting, a pain that you couldn’t ignore. Every time you saw him holding someone else’s hand, every time he laughed with someone new, it felt like a part of you was being carved away. But eventually, that pain dulled, bit by bit. It became less sharp and more like a dull throb that you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. You tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter. That you were fine, that you were okay with him moving on, with him finding someone else, because that was what you were supposed to do. You were supposed to be happy for him. After all, he was your best friend, and you were supposed to want him to be happy.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? You weren’t just his best friend anymore. And as much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise, the truth was undeniable: you wanted more. You wanted him to look at you like he used to, to see you like he had when everything had been simple and uncomplicated. But he didn’t. Not anymore. And the worst part was that, deep down, you could see the way your place in his life was slipping further and further away. You were fading into the background, becoming something that he once cared about but no longer had time for. A footnote in a story that was no longer yours to tell. And you didn’t know how to rewrite it. You didn’t know how to fight for something that was already slipping through your fingers.

The late-night skates—the ones that used to feel like a tradition, like something just for the two of you—were now few and far between. The easy banter that used to flow so effortlessly between you both had been replaced by uncomfortable silences, the kind that lingered long after the conversation had ended. The secrets shared in the dark, whispered between the two of you in the quiet hours of the night, had turned into distant memories, fading with each passing season, each new girl who came and went. Those moments, once so vibrant and real, now felt like fragments of a dream—a dream that you couldn’t quite hold onto, no matter how hard you tried.

And still, somehow, there was something in the air between you and him that kept you tethered to him, even though you knew it was all slipping away. It was as if an invisible thread still connected you, pulling you back in every time you tried to move on. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was the faint, stubborn belief that everything could return to the way it had been. Or maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of something that had always been yours, something that had been a constant in your life for so long. You tried. God, how you tried to let go. You tried to move on, to stop caring, to tell yourself that you could be happy without him in your life the way he had been. You forced yourself to let go of the idea that he would ever look at you the way you wanted him to. You buried the feelings deep, locked them away, and told yourself that you could live without them.

But it was like you were living in a dream—a dream where you weren’t supposed to have a happy ending. You were stuck in a story that didn’t make sense anymore, one where you could see the ending coming but didn’t know how to stop it, where you couldn’t bring yourself to wake up. And so you kept going through the motions, pretending that everything was fine, pretending that you were okay with the way things were, even though your heart was breaking with every girl he brought into his life. Even though you were silently watching yourself become a shadow in the background of his world.

The truth was, you didn’t know how to stop caring. You didn’t know how to stop waiting for him to see you, to realize that you had always been right there. That you could have been everything he was searching for. But he never did. And that was what hurt the most. It wasn’t that he had moved on, it wasn’t that he had found someone else—it was that you weren’t even in the running anymore. You were a part of his past, something that had been left behind, and you didn’t know how to be anything else.

And yet, the thread that tied you to him still pulled you in. Every time you saw him with someone else, every time you caught a glimpse of the way he smiled with another girl, it was like a dagger to your chest. But you couldn’t let go. Not yet. Even though you knew, deep down, that the longer you held on, the more it would hurt. The more you would fade into the background, lost in the shadow of a love he would never return.

The cycle continued, and you couldn’t find a way out.

Then, one night, after yet another one of his breakups, the weight of it all settled on you like a storm cloud you couldn’t outrun. You had grown so accustomed to this routine—the girls, the breakups, the emptiness—but tonight, it felt different. Tonight, you could feel the ache in your chest, the heaviness of it, the reality of everything you had been avoiding for so long. Will wasn’t just distant anymore. He was somewhere else entirely.

It was well past midnight when you found yourself sitting beside him again, just the two of you in his truck. The night was colder than usual, the chill seeping in through the cracked windows, sending a shiver down your spine. The world outside was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the distant flicker of a diner sign, casting an eerie glow over the empty streets. The hum of the truck’s engine was the only sound, a steady, rhythmic thrum that seemed to match the pulse of your own heart. Time slowed down in those moments, but everything around you remained still, frozen in a space that felt both too familiar and impossibly foreign.

You had sat in silence for what felt like hours, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down on you. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you had been holding back, but for once, you didn’t know how to begin. The easy silence that had once defined your time together was gone. Tonight, there was nothing easy about it. There was only the quiet hum of the truck and the thick, suffocating space between you.

It was you who broke the silence, your voice soft and hesitant in the cold, empty air. “You ever think maybe you’re looking in the wrong places?”

The words left your mouth before you had time to fully understand what you were saying. You hadn’t even planned on asking him that—maybe it was just the frustration of watching him chase something he could never find in anyone else. Or maybe it was just your heart, speaking the words you’d been keeping buried for so long. But even as the words left your lips, you knew they were about more than just his failed relationships. You were asking him about you, about the space that had grown between you, about all the things neither of you had dared to say.

Will didn’t answer right away. His gaze remained fixed on the windshield, his fingers drumming absently on the steering wheel. He was somewhere far away, his mind tangled in something you couldn’t reach. You could feel the distance between you growing, an invisible barrier that neither of you seemed capable of crossing. But then, after what felt like an eternity, he murmured, “Maybe.”

The word hung in the air, brief and unconvincing. It wasn’t the answer you had hoped for, but you weren’t sure why you had expected anything different. Will had always been distant in his own way, closed off even when he didn’t mean to be. He had always kept a part of himself hidden, like a secret he was too afraid to share. But tonight, something felt different. Tonight, there was a tension in the air, something heavy that had been building for years and was now finally coming to a head.

You swallowed, the words catching in your throat. You had been avoiding the question for so long, but tonight, you couldn’t stop yourself anymore. “What are you looking for?” you asked, your voice small, almost trembling.

The silence stretched again, longer this time, as if Will was still searching for an answer he didn’t know how to give. He let out a sigh, glancing briefly at you before turning his attention back to the dark road ahead. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, the words almost swallowed by the hum of the engine. “Something that feels like… home.”

Home.

The word hit you like a punch to the gut. It was simple, yet so layered with meaning. Home was everything you had once been together—the late-night skates, the shared secrets, the quiet companionship. It was a place of safety, of belonging. And now, hearing him say it, you knew he wasn’t talking about you. You weren’t his home anymore, not in the way you had been. He was searching for something he thought he could find elsewhere.

And yet, even as the weight of that realization settled in, a small part of you couldn’t let go. “Maybe you already found it,” you whispered, the words coming out softer than you intended, as if saying them out loud would make them too real. You didn’t even realize how much of yourself was wrapped up in those words—how much of you had always been his home. How much you had always wanted to be.

Will’s hand tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. His gaze flickered to you, his expression unreadable, but then his eyes drifted back to the road. His lips pressed together in a tight line, as if he were holding back something he couldn’t bring himself to say.

“Maybe I have,” he said finally, his voice low, almost reluctant. And in those three words, everything that had been left unsaid between the two of you hung heavy in the air. He knew. You knew. But neither of you were brave enough to say it.

It was there, in the silence that followed. The thing you had both been avoiding for so long—the thing that had stood between you, unspoken, for years. He had already found it. And it was you. But the moment slipped away, unacknowledged. The thread that had once tied you together remained, but the words were never spoken. The space between you remained, just as it had always been. And you weren’t brave enough to make him say it.

The silence in the truck grew thick, suffocating, as the unspoken things hovered around you like a heavy fog. You had both let too much go unsaid, let too many years slip by in the noise and distractions of everything else. You were both stuck, paralyzed by the fear of what saying it might mean, of what the truth would do to the fragile connection you still shared.

For a moment, it felt like you couldn’t breathe, like the words were caught in your chest, too big and too painful to release. You had spent so many years hoping, wishing for him to see you, to choose you, and now, in this moment, you realized something: you weren’t the one he was looking for anymore.

The cold crept in, curling around you both as the night stretched on, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say another word. Neither of you did.

And in that silence, you finally understood. He wasn’t ready to face it. He wasn’t ready to see what was right in front of him, what you had always been. And you weren’t brave enough to make him.

So, you sat there, together but apart, both too afraid to take that final step toward something that might break everything you thought you knew. And all that was left in the stillness was the hum of the engine and the weight of everything left unsaid.

The cold air cut through you as you glided across the ice, the chill a sharp contrast to the warmth you had carried with you all day. You leaned into the rhythm of it—the scrape of your skates against the smooth, solid surface, the almost hypnotic glide of the blades. The pond in the back yard had always been your place, the one you’d come to when you needed to escape, when the world felt too loud or too heavy. Here, it had always been just you, the ice, and the cool stillness of the night. It was the only time you could breathe, the only time the chaos of life faded into the background, replaced by the quiet hum of your own thoughts and the freedom that skating had always given you.

The ice was perfect tonight. Smooth and crisp, a perfect reflection of the moon overhead. You hadn’t been back here in weeks, months even. Life had moved on, pulling you in different directions—other responsibilities, other distractions. But tonight, as the chill of the air sank deep into your bones, it was as if something had drawn you back. It was the pull of memories—memories that always seemed to be tied to this place, to the pond, to him.

Your breath came in puffs, mingling with the air, rising in the cold night, before disappearing into the vast expanse above you. The world around you was quiet, as if even the trees along the edge of the pond had stopped moving. The sky stretched out above you, dark and expansive, with just a thin sliver of a moon casting pale silver light over everything. It was beautiful in its stillness. The ice was dark underfoot, marked only by the faintest streaks of light, guiding you along its endless surface. For a brief moment, you felt like time had slowed, like everything was suspended in the silence of the night. And in this frozen moment, you allowed yourself to just be—just to skate, to feel the wind rushing against your face, to forget everything else that had been pressing down on you for so long.

But then, as you came around the curve of the pond, you saw him.

It was like everything in the world came to a halt. The rhythm of your skates faltered as you slowed, instinctively, despite yourself. Will stood at the edge of the ice, the moonlight casting long shadows across the ground, making him seem distant, almost unreachable. He was framed by the dark, skeletal branches of the trees lining the pond, his figure stark against the icy glow. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his jacket, shoulders hunched slightly against the cold, but he wasn’t moving. He wasn’t skating like he used to, wasn’t calling your name, wasn’t laughing as he tried to race you down the ice the way he had so many times before.

No, this time, he was still. Watching you.

The sight of him, standing there like that, caught you off guard. It wasn’t just that he was here, in this familiar place—it was the way he was there. He wasn’t part of the moment, not part of the fluid motion of the pond, the rhythm of your skating. He was apart from it, separate, as if a gap had grown between you that neither of you had been able to cross for a long time. His gaze was fixed on you, his eyes watching with an intensity that felt different—more knowing, more weighted than before. Something in the way he stood there sent an unexpected chill through you, one that had nothing to do with the freezing air or the icy ground beneath your feet.

There had always been a distance between you two lately. It was more than just physical space—it was the silence that had stretched on for so long, the way things had changed over the months, the years. It was the unsaid things between you, the things neither of you had been brave enough to confront. And now, in the stillness of the night, with the moonlight spilling across the pond and the ice stretching out in front of you like a wide-open horizon, it felt like that distance had grown even more. Like it had solidified into something real and permanent, something you could feel deep in your chest every time you looked at him, and yet couldn’t touch.

But still, he stood there, waiting for something. You didn’t know what. Maybe he was waiting for you to speak, maybe for you to skate toward him, maybe for you to keep pretending everything was fine. You wanted to ask him why he wasn’t moving, why he wasn’t on the ice with you, like he had been all those times before. But instead, you just skated, slowly, cautiously, like you were afraid that something would break if you made too much noise, too much motion.

You couldn’t help but feel the weight of the situation—the pull between you, the old ache in your chest that never quite seemed to go away, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. You tried to focus on the cold air again, on the rhythm of your skates, but your mind kept drifting back to him, to the figure standing there, watching, waiting.

You slowed as you approached him, your heart giving an unexpected jolt. You hadn’t expected to see him here tonight. But then again, maybe you should’ve known. This had always been your place—the place where you and Will had spent countless hours skating together, laughing, talking, and being… just being.

When you stopped in front of him, he didn’t immediately speak. He just looked at you, his eyes tracing the curves of your face, like he was trying to find something he’d lost.

The air between you both was thick with unspoken words, the kind that had been left lingering for too long. Will’s gaze was unwavering, intense in a way that made you feel exposed, as if he could see right through the walls you’d built around yourself. He didn’t say anything right away, but the way he was standing there, frozen like a part of the night itself, told you everything you needed to know. This wasn’t just about the pond, or the ice, or even the simple act of being together. It was about everything that had come before it—the shared years, the moments you had both tucked away, the distance that had quietly crept in without either of you acknowledging it.

You swallowed, trying to steady your breath, trying to force the words out, but they felt stuck in your throat, as if they were caught in a knot that had been tightening for months. The question that had sat heavy on your chest, the one you had wanted to ask him for so long, finally slipped out, and you immediately regretted it. “What are you doing here?”

You could hear the way the cold air wrapped itself around the words, how it made them sound small, insignificant. But there was more to it than just that. You weren’t just asking where he was, why he was here on the edge of the ice after everything that had passed between you two. You were asking why, after all this time, he was still here at all. You were asking why you were still here, standing in front of him, when everything had gotten so tangled and messy.

Will shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but he didn’t move closer. He wasn’t standing with the same easy comfort that had once come so naturally between the two of you. This wasn’t the same Will—the one who would have spun you into a laugh, dragged you around the pond as though the world was an endless game. No, now he was distant, locked behind something you couldn’t reach.

He finally spoke, and his voice, rough with the kind of weariness that comes from too many thoughts left unsaid, sent a shiver down your spine. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said, his words a little softer, like they were trying to break through the cold of the night and reach you. “We used to come out here all the time. I guess I just wondered… why we stopped.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and your chest tightened, a dull ache settling in where your heart used to be. It was like hearing the echo of your own guilt, that hollow feeling that had been quietly growing inside you ever since you’d stopped coming here, stopped showing up. The pond had once been yours together, the place where you both went to forget everything else. But somehow, it had become a place of silence. A place of absence.

You looked away, taking in the moonlit stretch of the pond, the same stretch that had once felt like home, like a part of you that belonged only to him and to the two of you. Now, it felt impossibly far away, like something you didn’t know how to reach anymore. “I don’t know. Life, I guess,” you said, and the words tasted empty in your mouth. They felt like an excuse, like a half-hearted answer to something that wasn’t simple enough to explain away.

Will nodded, but the gesture felt heavy, like it meant more than just acknowledgment. His eyes dropped to the ice beneath his boots, and for a long beat, the silence between you thickened again. It was as if neither of you knew what to say next, but you both knew that something had to be said. That something had to break through this endless back-and-forth of silence, of pretending everything was fine, when it had never been. Not really.

“Yeah, life,” Will echoed softly, his voice carrying a note of bitterness that wasn’t there before. “Funny how it pulls you away from the things you thought mattered.”

The weight of his words pressed against you, heavier than the cold that surrounded you both. They hung there in the air between you, suffocating and yet too fragile to touch. It wasn’t just about the pond anymore. It wasn’t even just about skating, or your shared history. It was about everything that had happened after—everything that had shifted, the years that had slipped away, and the space that had grown between the two of you that neither of you had bothered to fill. You wanted to say something to ease the hurt in his voice, to give some kind of response that would make it better, but the words felt inadequate, and the silence stretched on like a chasm you couldn’t cross.

You could feel the old ache rising in your chest, threatening to choke you. That familiar knot of longing, of pain, of knowing that something had been lost but never being able to put it into words. The last few months had felt like you were drifting, trying to stay afloat in a world that felt more and more like a memory. You knew that what Will was saying was more than just about the pond, more than just about why you stopped coming out here. It was about everything that had been unsaid, about the love that had never really gone away, but that neither of you had been brave enough to face.

His gaze flickered toward you then, just for a second, before he looked away again. You couldn’t tell if it was hesitation or if it was simply that he didn’t have the words, but the look on his face made it clear that he, too, was trying to figure out how to say what had been left unspoken for far too long. There was a furrow between his brows, his lips pressed together like he was fighting against something, like he was trying to decide whether to speak or stay silent.

The silence stretched out, thick and charged, as Will stepped forward, closing the gap between you with slow, deliberate movements. His boots creaked on the frozen ground, the sound sharp in the stillness of the night, each step echoing like a beat of your heart, steady but with an undercurrent of tension. The world around you seemed to shrink, leaving only the two of you, the cold air between you both swirling in invisible waves, and the pond beneath your feet, the same one that had held your memories, your secrets. The weight of everything you’d been avoiding pressed in on you from all sides, but for some reason, standing there in the quiet of that frozen world, it felt more real than it ever had before.

“I’ve been an idiot,” Will said, the words coming out in a rush, like he had to force them past the tightness in his chest. His voice sounded rough, strained, as if every syllable was a weight he had carried for far too long. “I’ve been running from this—running from you—for so long, and I’ve always told myself that I was looking for something else, something… better, I guess. But the truth is, I’ve always known. I’ve always known what I was looking for.”

The air seemed to stutter around you, a breath held in time, and everything inside you froze. The words he spoke felt like a door creaking open, revealing the things you’d buried, the things that had always been there, hidden in plain sight. His gaze, dark and heavy with something you couldn’t quite name, was locked on you now, pulling at you, tugging at everything you’d spent months trying to avoid. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but no sound came. The words were lodged in your throat, a lump too big to swallow, too fragile to touch.

Will didn’t move away. He didn’t retreat like he used to, back when things were simpler, back when running felt like the only option. Instead, he took another step forward, his eyes still on yours, his expression so raw, so unguarded that it felt like you were seeing him for the first time in a long time. You felt your pulse race, your heart beating harder now, like it was trying to escape the cage of your chest. There was no way to stop it—not now, not after everything that had been said.

“I’ve been stupid,” Will repeated, the words heavy, full of regret and the weight of years lost. His voice cracked on the last syllable, as if he couldn’t carry the burden anymore. His words wrapped around you like a warm, bitter ache, and something inside you unraveled, something you hadn’t realized was so tightly wound. “I’ve been looking for something that felt right, something that could fill the hole, but the whole time, I’ve been blind. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

The air seemed to thin, as if the world had paused, holding its breath in the face of his confession. You stared at him, speechless, the words hanging between you like fragile glass, too delicate to touch, too powerful to ignore. Everything you had buried deep inside you—every memory, every whispered promise—rose up in that moment, flooding your mind, too much to hold. The hurt. The longing. The hope you had hidden away because it had seemed too painful, too impossible. And now, here it was, all of it spilling into the space between you, raw and undeniable.

Will stepped closer, his movements slow, cautious, like he was afraid you might disappear if he moved too fast. His hand stretched out, tentative, reaching for yours. For a heartbeat, you wondered if you should pull away. If you should hold back, protect yourself from the collision of everything that had been left unsaid. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The moment was too big, too important, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to run from it. You didn’t want to hide.

His fingers brushed against yours, just a gentle touch, hesitant and searching. But when you didn’t pull away, when you didn’t retreat, his hand slid into yours, warm and firm, and the world seemed to shift again, like something heavy had been lifted.

“You and me,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if the words themselves were fragile, like they might shatter if spoken too loudly. The weight of the sentence hung in the cold air, shimmering like ice beneath your feet. “Right?”

The question hit you like a wave, flooding over you, sweeping away the last of the doubts, the last of the confusion. It wasn’t just a question—it was a promise, a revelation, a return to something that had never truly disappeared. His words were everything you had been waiting for, everything you had hoped for, buried under years of missed chances, misunderstandings, and broken silences.

Your heart skipped, then raced, and finally, after all this time, the knot that had been twisted tight in your chest loosened, unraveling like a story that was finally being told the right way. The ice beneath your feet seemed to hum with life, the air around you still and electric, charged with the weight of what had just passed between you.

For a long, eternal second, you just stood there, your hand in his, your heart in your throat, waiting for the world to catch up to the truth. And when you finally spoke, your voice was soft, trembling, but certain, like you were giving life to something that had always been there, something that had never really died.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Right.”

Will’s eyes softened in a way you hadn’t seen in so long—like he was seeing you for the first time again, like everything that had been lost was suddenly found. There was something unspoken in his gaze, something deep and knowing, as if this moment had always been inevitable, as if it had been waiting for you both, just out of reach.

His thumb moved slowly over the back of your hand, tracing a pattern, steady and sure, as though he was grounding himself in the reality of the moment. It was like he was reassuring himself that this wasn’t a dream, that you weren’t a figment of his imagination—this was real. This was happening. He was here. You were here. And this time, you weren’t going anywhere.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You just stood there, hand in hand, as the silence stretched between you, full of unspoken understanding, full of the quiet recognition that this was the beginning of something you both should have embraced long ago. The night around you seemed to hum with a kind of electricity, as though the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for you both to take the next step.

And then, just as the tension became almost unbearable, Will stepped closer. His chest brushed against yours, the warmth of his body mingling with the crisp cold air, and it felt like everything inside you shuddered in response. He hesitated for only a heartbeat, his face hovering just inches from yours, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, any sign that you might pull away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

The space between you disappeared as if it had never existed. And then, as though the universe itself had given its blessing, Will leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, tentative kiss that sent a jolt of electricity through your veins. It was a kiss that felt like the culmination of everything that had been building for years—every look, every touch, every moment of longing, of doubt, of waiting for something to change. It was all here, now, in this kiss, gentle and full of promise.

You felt your breath catch as his hand moved to cup your face, his fingers cool against your skin, and you couldn’t help but melt into him, your own hands reaching for the warmth of his jacket, pulling him closer. His lips moved against yours, slow and deliberate, as if he was trying to savor the moment, to make sure this was real, that this wasn’t just a dream.

Everything felt alive in that moment—the night around you, the ice beneath your feet, the beating of your heart. You could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, through the warmth of his body, and it made you realize how long you’d been holding onto something that you were finally letting go of. The past, the doubts, the fear—they all disappeared in the heat of the kiss, leaving only the present, only the undeniable truth that had been waiting for both of you.

As he deepened the kiss, you felt a rush of emotions flood through you—relief, happiness, longing, everything you had kept locked away for so long now flowing freely between you. Will’s lips were soft, urgent now, as if he, too, was realizing how much time had been lost, how much he had been denying, how much he had been running from. His hands moved to your back, pulling you even closer, and you felt the warmth of his embrace spread through you, chasing away every trace of the cold night air.

For a moment, nothing else mattered. The world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, standing there on the ice, kissing like you were the only two people in the universe. The kiss was a promise, a vow—of what had been, of what was, and of what would come next. You knew, in that moment, that this was just the beginning. You had both been lost, but now you had found each other again, in the most beautiful and unexpected way.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, your forehead resting against his, you couldn’t help but smile, your lips still tingling from the intensity of the kiss. Will’s eyes were bright, filled with something you couldn’t quite place—joy, relief, wonder—but there was one thing you knew for sure. He wasn’t going anywhere. Neither of you were.

“I’ve been waiting for that,” you whispered, your voice still soft, but full of everything you had been holding back.

Will smiled, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as he looked down at you, his gaze tender. “I know. Me too.”

And then, with a final lingering kiss, you both stood in the moonlight, on the ice, with the silence of the world surrounding you both, it felt like everything had finally clicked into place. The pieces of the puzzle, scattered and jagged for so long, had come together, and you could see it now—what you had both been searching for, what you had both been too afraid to face.

It had always been you. And it had always been him.

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cailinsblog · 2 months ago

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Protecting Her Hear | macklin celebrini

Macklin celebrini x reader

It was a crisp December evening in San Jose, and the SAP Center was buzzing with excitement as fans filled the stands for the Sharks’ home game against the Chicago Blackhawks. Among the sea of fans in the lower bowl, one face stood out. Y/N, wearing her favorite Macklin Celebrini jersey, was settled into her seat, a smile lighting up her face as she watched her boyfriend skate out onto the ice. The young NHL star was having an incredible season with the Sharks, and every game felt like a new chapter in their story.

Macklin had grown close to Y/N ever since their high school days, and even though his hockey career had launched him into the public eye, he always made time for her. She was his constant, the calm in his otherwise hectic life. They had spent so many nights at games, watching his teammates and feeling the rush of the crowd, but tonight was special. It was their first time attending a Sharks game as an official couple, and Y/N couldn’t have been more proud.

As the game progressed, Y/N found herself engrossed in the action, her eyes glued to Macklin, who had already made a couple of incredible plays. She was cheering and clapping along with the rest of the crowd, completely unaware of the man who had stumbled to her seat.

The man was probably in his late twenties, and from the faint smell of alcohol, Y/N could tell he had been drinking for a while. At first, he lingered in the aisle near her, watching the game without much attention to her. But then, he began leaning closer, and Y/N noticed him trying to strike up a conversation.

“Hey there, you enjoying the game?” he slurred, his voice far too loud for the crowded arena.

Y/N gave him a polite smile, not wanting to cause a scene. “Yeah, I’m here with my boyfriend. He’s playing tonight.”

“Oh? You’re with him?” The man seemed to squint as if it was hard for him to fully process the information. “Which one is he?”

“Macklin Celebrini,” Y/N replied, gesturing toward the ice where Macklin was skating along the blue line.

The man’s eyes flickered toward the ice, then back to Y/N. He leaned in closer, his breath heavy with the stench of alcohol. “You know, you’re way too pretty for a guy like him. You could be with someone better. What are you doing with a hockey player? They’re all the same.”

Y/N’s smile faltered, her discomfort starting to rise. She wasn’t sure what the man was getting at, but his presence was beginning to feel overwhelming. She shifted in her seat, trying to subtly create space between them. “I really don’t think that’s something I want to talk about,” she said firmly, hoping he would take the hint.

But the man, clearly not catching on, continued to stand too close, his words becoming more inappropriate. “You don’t have to be so uptight, sweetheart. It’s just a game. No need to be all serious.”

At that moment, Y/N felt her anxiety spike. She could feel her hands tense up, and her heart began to race. She didn’t want to make a scene, but she also didn’t want to just sit there and take it. She stood up, trying to move toward the aisle, but the man blocked her path.

Before she could say anything, she felt a presence behind her.

“Macklin, please!” The man said, raising a hand in a dismissive manner. “I’m just talking to your girl.”

But Macklin’s face was a picture of intense focus as he skated toward the bench for a quick line change. His eyes immediately locked onto Y/N and the man in front of her. He could see the discomfort in her expression. He had been scanning the crowd between shifts and had noticed the scene unfolding. In an instant, his protective instincts kicked in, and he pushed off from the bench, his skates slicing through the ice as he rushed toward the exit.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she saw Macklin’s figure approaching the stands. She felt a wave of relief wash over her, but she also didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. However, Macklin had already seen enough.

The moment he reached the barrier separating the stands from the ice, he hoisted himself up effortlessly, his hands gripping the railing. He made his way directly to Y/N, his gaze laser-focused on the man who was still standing too close to her.

“Hey,” Macklin’s voice was calm, but it held an unmistakable edge. “Back off. Now.”

The drunk man blinked, his brain taking a moment to process the situation. But when he saw Macklin’s face, his expression changed. He had clearly recognized the player, but the alcohol still clouded his judgment. “What? Are you gonna tell me what to do now? I’m just talking to your girl,” he sneered.

Y/N could feel the tension in the air, but she was grateful that Macklin was there. She took a step back, not wanting to escalate things further, but also not wanting to be in the middle of it. Macklin’s gaze softened as he turned toward her.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently, his hand reaching out to hold hers. His eyes searched hers, full of concern. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone with him. I should’ve been more aware.”

Y/N nodded, a small, shaky smile on her face. “I’m fine, Mack. Thank you for coming over, though. I… I didn’t know what to do.”

Macklin squeezed her hand, the warmth of his touch grounding her. He turned back to the man, who was now visibly shrinking under Macklin’s glare.

“I don’t care what you’ve had to drink, but if you don’t leave my girlfriend alone, we’ll be having a much bigger problem,” Macklin said, his tone firm and unwavering.

The drunk man staggered back, his bravado faltering as the reality of the situation set in. Without another word, he turned and stumbled away toward the exit.

Macklin turned back to Y/N, and his expression softened. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

Y/N nodded, her heart still racing but now filled with gratitude. “I’m okay. I’m just glad you were here.”

Macklin smiled, his hand still holding hers. “I’d never let anything happen to you, Y/N. You mean the world to me.”

They shared a tender moment, the chaos of the situation fading into the background as Macklin pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Let’s go back to our seats. The game’s not over yet, and I think we could use some popcorn,” he said with a wink.

As they made their way back to their seats, Y/N leaned her head on Macklin’s shoulder, feeling safe and cared for. The rest of the game continued, with Macklin playing as if nothing had happened, but Y/N knew better. She knew that her boyfriend would always protect her, no matter what.

And as the final buzzer sounded, signaling a Sharks victory, she felt a sense of warmth, not just from the win, but from the love and protection that Macklin had shown her. She was lucky to have him in her life, and she knew that no matter what challenges they faced, they would face them together.

#hockey #nhl #nhl x reader #fanfic #macklin celebrini x reader #macklin celebrini #san jose sharks #san Jose #nhl x y/n #nhl x oc #nhl x you #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl players #nhl fluff #nhl hockey

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meazalykov · 5 months ago

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on top of the world

alex morgan x actress!reader

summary: 2019 was the biggest moment in your career, and hers.

2019 is a busy year. endgame, the film you've poured your heart into for the last couple of years, is about to hit theaters, and it’s set to be one of the biggest movies in history.

the buzz around it is insane—press tours, interviews, red carpets. you’ve barely had time to breathe, but there’s something, or rather, someone, constantly on your mind. alex morgan.

your relationship with alex has always been something special. it's been private, quiet—at least as much as it could be, considering you’re both public figures. her, one of the biggest stars in women’s soccer, and you, one of the biggest actresses in hollywood.

the rumors about you two have been swirling for months, ever since that time the media caught you at one of her orlando pride games, but you’ve both kept things under wraps. still, it’s getting harder to hide how deeply you care for each other.

alex is about to head to france for the world cup, and you’ve promised yourself you’re not going to miss a single one of her matches, no matter how crazy your schedule gets. she’s been laser-focused on the tournament, and you’ve been equally invested in your work, but that doesn’t stop the late-night texts, the phone calls after her training sessions, the video chats where she shows you around their team hotel.

“are you nervous?” you ask her during one of those late-night video calls, your phone propped up on your pillow as you lay in bed.

“a little,” she admits with a small smile. “but mostly excited. it’s the world cup. we won last time and i have confidence that we will win again.”

“yes! and you’re going to crush it,” you say confidently, leaning in closer to the screen as if that could somehow bring you closer to her. “i know you will.”

“i wish you could be here,” she says, her voice soft, a little wistful.

you feel the same ache in your chest. “me too.”

the group stages kick off, and despite your packed schedule, you make time to watch every game. sometimes, you’re in a hotel room in new york after a bunch of press interviews; other times, you’re sitting on the couch at home, gripping a cup of coffee as the u.s. takes the field.

your heart races every time alex touches the ball. she’s brilliant—strong, fast, lethal in front of goal. you scream when she scores her first goal of the tournament, jumping off the couch like a little kid, and immediately text her afterward.

“did you see it?” she asks later, when she had a few minutes back in the hotel room before she went to sleep.

“i saw everything,” you reply. “you are incredible. i’m so proud of you.”

you’re glued to the screen through each stage of the tournament. when the u.s. faces france in the quarter-finals, you find yourself on the edge of your seat, heart in your throat.

it’s a tough game, and alex looks exhausted, but when the final whistle blows and they’ve won, you exhale a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

then comes the semi-final against england. by now, you’ve memorized every corner of your living room, pacing nervously back and forth.

it’s a tense match, but when alex scores that iconic goal, raising her hand in that cheeky tea-sipping celebration, you burst out laughing, pride swelling in your chest.

“i can’t believe you did that!” you text her after the game, still grinning.

“had to,” she later replies with a wink emoji. “for the drama.”

the u.s. wins, and with that victory, they’re headed to the final. and that’s when you make your decision.

no matter how packed your schedule is with the upcoming premiere of endgame, you have to be there for alex. you clear a few days, book a flight to france, and don’t tell her a word about it.

when you land in lyon, your heart is racing. you can hardly believe you’re here, sitting in the stands with alex’s family, her sisters beside you, chatting excitedly about how well she’s been playing.

the fans around you are buzzing, and a few of them notice you, pointing and whispering. the rumors about you and alex have never stopped, and your presence here only fuels the fire.

“you think she knows you’re here?” her sister, jeni, asks, a smirk playing on her lips.

“nope,” you reply, feeling a thrill run down your spine. “it’s a surprise.”

the stadium is electric. the u.s. faces off against the netherlands, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. you sit on the edge of your seat, fingers crossed, your eyes never leaving alex.

she’s a warrior on the field, pushing through exhaustion, chasing every ball, and leading her team with that fire you fell in love with. when megan rapinoe scores the first goal from the penalty spot, you leap to your feet, screaming with the crowd. then rose lavelle seals it with a second goal, and that’s it.

the u.s. are world champions again.

tears prick your eyes as the final whistle blows. you watch alex drop to her knees, overwhelmed, before being swarmed by her teammates.

the celebration is wild, but you’re still holding your breath, waiting for the moment you’ll finally see her.

and then, there she is, searching the stands, her eyes scanning the crowd. when she spots you, her face lights up like the fourth of july. without hesitation, she runs over, her smile wide and tears of joy glistening in her eyes.

“you’re here,” she breathes, pulling you into a tight embrace, her hands gripping the back of your neck.

you laugh, your heart racing in your chest as you cling to her. “of course i’m here. i wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

she pulls back slightly, her forehead resting against yours, her breath shaky. “you’re supposed to be in l.a. for the premiere.”

“i’ve got a few days,” you say, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “you were worth the trip.”

her eyes fill with emotion as she cups your face with both hands, her thumb gently stroking your cheek. “i can’t believe you did this.”

“you’ve done so much for me,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “this was the least i could do. you’re my world, alex.”

“i love you,” she says, her voice barely audible over the roaring crowd.

“i love you too,” you reply, and the kiss you share feels like the perfect ending to the perfect day.

four days later, you’re back in los angeles, decked out in a designer dress for the endgame premiere. the energy is electric, the press is everywhere, and fans are lining the streets, eager for a glimpse of the stars.

you’ve done the red carpet, given interviews, posed for countless photos with your co-stars. but now, as you wait in the hallway for the theater to open, you’re chatting with scarlett, trying to keep your nerves at bay.

“you nervous?” she asks, grinning as she adjusts the hem of her dress.

“always,” you admit, laughing softly. “no matter how many of these i do, it never gets easier.”

then, you feel it—those familiar hands resting on your shoulders. your heart skips a beat, and you turn around, a huge smile already forming on your face.

there, standing in front of you, dressed in a sleek black suit, is alex.

“alex?” you gasp, eyes wide with disbelief. “what are you doing here?”

she grins, her eyes sparkling with that familiar mischievous glint. “i couldn’t let you have one of the biggest nights of your life without me. you came to france for me, so i had to be here for you.”

you throw your arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug, the world around you fading away. “you didn’t have to do this.”

“yes, i did,” she says softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “you’re my world too, you know.”

you pull back just enough to look into her eyes, your heart swelling with so much love it feels like it might burst.

“we’re really doing this, huh? the whole “on top of the world” thing.”

alex laughs, nodding. “yeah, we really are.”

and as the theater doors open, the lights flashing and the crowd cheering, you know in your heart that nothing will ever break what you have.

masterlist

#alex morgan #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #uswnt players #uswnt x reader #san diego wave

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peachhcs · 4 months ago

Text

a trip to van

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

samy spends a weekend in van with her two favorite people

4.5k words

hiii here's this that i've been working on for a few days. i thought this idea was super cutie and wanted to write more quinn and samy dynamic. also lowkey predicting that sjs vs. van game in a week so lol this won't be accurate but anyways let me know if u guys like these longer fics or not bc i think they're fun to write sometimes!! (also i imagine samy taking these pics of quinn and will)

au masterlist

"i actually can't believe you convinced me to let you stay for a whole weekend," the oldest hughes brother teased samy as they climbed into the car once her stuff was in the back.

"oh shut up. you've been begging to spend more time with me. plus, i haven't been to van in years," the younger sibling countered as they shared a laugh.

"yeah, you're right. you're right. it's good to see you, squirt," quinn squeezed her arm across the armrest as they pulled out of the pickup line.

it was thursday night and samy was in vancouver for the weekend to watch her brother and will play one another on saturday. she was ecstatic to say the least to be spending some time with quinn and getting to see will. it wasn't often that the oldest and youngest sibling spent 1 on 1 time together—in the summer if they were lucky, but even then, quinn had things keeping him busy and so did samy.

"mom told me you need to take me to a hundred different places while i'm here. she sent me a whole list," the brunette chuckled.

"oh really? like where?"

"apparently this bakery that sells really good bagels. there's an italian restaurant in downtown mom really liked that she wants me to try. i dunno, i'll send you the list," samy clicked around to add quinn to the note.

"alright, i'll have to check it out. is she expecting me to pay for all your meals this weekend?" the older boy hummed, amusement on his features.

"i mean i won't complain if you do. i am a broke college student," the younger brunette grinned.

"good thing i make millions," samy hit her brother's arm for that comment making quinn laugh out loud.

"you better stay humble for someone making 8.6 million a year," the girl mumbled, still unbelievable that her brothers were that rich for doing something they genuinely loved doing. she knew she'd never make anywhere close to that even if she did put in the same amount of work.

either way, she secretly enjoyed bugging and asking her brothers for things knowing how much money they had and that they could definitely swing helping her out with groceries here and there.

"plus, you got your boyfriend making a good couple hundred thousand. you're in good hands," quinn added and samy just flushed, rolling her eyes slightly.

"don't worry, i know. i've been told many times that i should just drop out of college and move to san jose because will can support us," he poked at her every time about it and sometimes samy also still couldn't believe her childhood best friend now boyfriend was rich enough to support her and she didn't have to do a thing. "don't worry, i got you, squirt. welcome to luxury for the weekend," quinn grinned as he leaned back in his seat and really embraced his millionaire status inside his expensive car and fancy sunglasses atop his nose.

—

later that night, samy sat in quinn's apartment on facetime with their parents plus jack and luke so they could see she made it in safely.

"i'm so happy you had a safe flight! how is it so far?" ellen wondered with a bright smile while quinn slipped into frame.

"it's been really good. quinn's been a really great host," she pinched her brother's cheeks making him push her hands away.

"damn, i'm so jealous i'm not in vancouver right now. it could've been a reunion!" jack exclaimed.

"hey you get to see will in like a week when he plays you guys in jersey," samy smiled a bit, sad that she couldn't fly out for that reunion.

"yeah, i guess. how's quinn's? has he made you his weird protein shake yet?" the middle hughes wondered while luke snickered.

"dude, it's not that bad, i swear. it gets me up in the morning," quinn rolled his eyes.

"oh it's bad, don't try gaslighting yourself. if he does make it, don't drink it. it had me on the toilet for an hour," jack mumbled while samy laughed and ellen and jim just shook their heads.

"well, i'm glad you've been having a good time so far. it's rare that i see my kids getting along on their own," ellen chimed in.

"hey! we get along! what are you taking about?" luke defended himself.

"mhm, yeah, sure you do," jim chuckled.

"we do! i swear. at least jack and i kind of get along better," the second to youngest sibling patted jack's arm and the two boys gave their most convincing smile.

"key word: kind of," samy chirped.

"oh shut up," luke rolled his eyes at his sister.

"there it is," quinn mumbled, concealing his laughter so their parents or luke wouldn't see.

"well, anyway, it's good to see my kids sort of together. you two have fun in van this weekend! i want lots of pictures and tell will we said hi!" ellen cheered, breaking up the bickering before it got worse. her kids smiled, all nodding.

"will do. love you guys," samy waved before disconnecting from the call.

quinn jumped up from the couch to continue making dinner. the siblings sat in comfortable silence for a moment until the older boy decided to keep talking, "so how have you and will been doing? okay?"

"yeah, we're good. we talk like every night. it's good," the brunette nodded.

"good, i'm glad. i'm happy you guys worked things out," quinn nodded in approval.

"yeah, me too. we're still..readjusting, but it's been easy i think now that will's had time to settle into california and the team."

"that's good. i mean it'll take time, but i'm glad to hear it's been easy," samy appreciated her brother's words knowing some may think she took him back way too soon and way too easily.

"thanks. what about you? have you found anyone or been seeing anyone?" she loved poking into her brothers' lives. it wasn't easy with quinn considering how closed off he was and how easy it was for him to hide things because he lived in a different country.

"funny, but no. i haven't really been seeing anyone," the older boy hummed.

"lameee, we need to get you someone. i mean don't you have like girls lined at your feet?" samy giggled, thinking about all the edits she saw about her brothers on tiktok.

"very funny. i'm just trying to work on myself. is that a crime?"

"of course not, but i feel like mom's looking for another daughter," the younger brunette teased a bit.

"she'll find one in jack's girlfriend. i have a feeling he's getting married first out of all of us," it wasn't too out of character for jack since he was the middle child and all.

"you think so?"

"i mean i don't know, but yeah. he likes jumping into those things," quinn chuckled.

"yeah, i could see it. i think it will be jack, you, me, then luke. or luke and i are switched and i'm last."

"you last? that's surprising."

"well will and i aren't getting married anytime soon. we wanna live a bit and establish ourselves before anything serious," samy nodded. she wasn't too big on getting engaged so soon anyways. it was probably the only thing she wanted to take her time with other than having kids. that was a way later thing.

"alright, fair. i guess i could say the same. i'm not looking for anything," quinn shrugged. he wasn't huge on any of those life milestones knowing he'd find his person when he was ready.

"do you think you're gonna stay in van forever?" samy changed the subject, leaning her arm across the back of the couch and resting her head down.

"i mean probably. i've got a good few years left in me. plus, i like it here. it reminds me of being a kid and growing up in toronto," the older brunette smiled.

"i kind of miss living in toronto. i basically grew up there, you know?" a good 12 years of samy's life was spent in toronto and they were probably some of the best years.

"yeah, i know. they were good years for sure. you could always go back, you know. move back up there," it was definitely something quinn thought a lot about whenever he did decide to retire from the ice. even though he loved michigan, those times in toronto would always call back to him.

it called back to all of the hughes siblings.

"yeah, maybe when i'm like forty and will's retired," the girl grinned and quinn nodded in agreement.

the rest of the night, the two watched some hockey highlights and then a movie before calling it a night. samy excitedly awaited will's arrival tomorrow afternoon where he was able to pull a few strings and fly out early to spend a bit more time with her and quinn.

—

the two siblings rode back to the airport to gather will while samy continuously checked his flight to see if he had landed yet.

"the plane's not getting any closer every minute you look at it," the older boy laughed, watching the way his sister constantly looked at the website.

"i know, i'm just excited," the genuine happiness was a good look on samy that quinn enjoyed seeing. he hated seeing her so sad this past summer, so he was glad her spirits were back up and she was her usual, bubbly self.

"does this mean i'm gonna be third wheel for the rest of the weekend?"

"no, i promise. we'll just be all gross and kiss when you aren't looking," the girl laughed to herself while quinn rolled his eyes.

"great, great. thanks for having some decency," the boy mumbled but he was secretly smiling.

they pulled back into the airport pickup line where quinn started getting serious deja vu from yesterday. the two of them sat in comfortable silence on their phones and listening to the soft hum of the radio in the background. a few minutes passed when samy began hitting her brother's arm repeatedly, her face glowing.

"his plane landed! he should be coming out," she squealed, jumping out of the car. quinn followed after, the two of them leaning against the side waiting for the blonde.

the younger brunette was bouncing on her heels, scanning every face that came through the doors knowing will was bound to walk through them any second.

finally, will came through, his big hockey bag slung over his shoulder, backpack strapped to his back and sharks hat to cover his messy hair. samy jumped up, running to greet her boyfriend in the middle where quinn couldn't help the smile on his lips.

will dropped his bag so he could lift samy into his arms, the couple spinning around in their bone crushing hug. "missed you," the brunette hummed, pulling back a bit once her feet were back on the ground.

"i missed you, too. its so good to see you," will's hold on her waist drew her in closer, admiring all of her features up close after only seeing them through a screen for months.

"i'm so excited you're here. this is gonna be so fun," samy grinned and pulled her boyfriend down for a kiss, not caring that they were in public or who was watching.

they melted into one another, lips and bodies molding together. quinn, who was watching the entire exchange, pretended to act disgusted which pulled the two apart.

"sorry to break up this reunion, but maybe save that for back at the apartment?" he raised his eyebrow. samy rolled his eyes while will flushed, letting the girl go.

"good to see ya, smitty. it's been awhile," quinn opened his arms for a quick hug.

"it's good to see you, too, quinn. thanks for letting me stay for the weekend," the blonde smiled.

"my apartment is your apartment. although the ice will be a different story tomorrow," the older boy teased a bit, laughing when he saw will pale a bit.

"just kidding. it's gonna be a good game tomorrow. i'm excited to play you and see what you got," quinn smacked will's shoulder and a bit of a nervous chuckle left the blonde's lips.

"alright, don't scare him. let's get back," samy broke them up, tugging them back to the car so they could stop taking up a spot.

—

once quinn and samy helped will get settled in, the oldest hughes brother let the couple have some time to themselves. they sat out on the balcony curdled up together enjoying the nice weather and city below. it was nice de-stressor for will before the game, too.

"so how do you like it so far? be honest," samy wondered, referring to will's time in the nhl so far.

"i really like it. it's like a dream come true," will said honestly which made the girl smile.

"i'm really glad. you look like you've been thriving."

"i do miss boston and the guys and my family and michigan and you though. it's not the same not having all of you an arm's length away," the blonde frowned briefly, thinking of the boys and his parents on the other side of the country from him.

"i get it. we miss you, too, but i'm glad you've been loving it so far. you've got a pretty big name to yourself now," samy giggled while will rolled his eyes a bit.

"just so you know, i'm only thinking of you when i do those press interviews," his words made the youngest hughes blush, burying her face into his shoulder.

"i actually can't believe all of you are in the nhl now. it still feels like yesterday listening to you guys talk about that dream in our living room, or pretending you were playing a real game back on our rink in toronto," all of those memories were still so fresh in their minds, it was hard to believe it was nearly 10 years ago.

"wow, i remember those days. i was always so excited to fly to canada to visit you guys because i knew i'd get to play hockey," will chuckled.

"back when you were more interested in seeing my brothers than me," samy teased.

"only because we were like nine and thought we were gross and had cooties," the blonde countered and the two shared a laugh.

"i was telling quinn yesterday that i miss being out there. i spent my whole childhood there."

"yeah, toronto holds a lot of good memories for us. i miss it too. maybe we can go back one day?" will raised his eyebrows while a little grin appeared on his girlfriend's lips.

"i had the same thought. i said maybe when you're retired and we're like forty or something," they both laughed again.

"forty? i don't know if i'll be playing for that long. i'll probably be done at around 30 or so."

"so thirty. we'll set our plan now," samy determined and will squeezed his arm tighter around her torso, kissing the top of her head.

"sounds like a great plan."

—

the next morning the apartment was buzzing with excitement mixed with nerves and adrenaline. quinn had to be at the rink in the late afternoon and will needed to meet up with his team, so the three spent the morning getting themselves ready. samy was a bit torn trying to figure out what to wear, wanting to support both will and quinn.

"what do you think?" she stepped out of the bathroom to show off her outfit—a jean mini skirt paired with one of will's sharks shirts that had his name on the back and one of quinn's many canucks hats.

will fell silent as he took in her appearance when she did a full spin. the gears in his head started turning and a feeling he hadn't felt in a while bubbled in his chest.

the whole idea of playing in the nhl was something will dreamed of forever. dating his best friend was another unimaginable dream and now the two were colliding and knowing samy would be in the arena wearing his number and his name so everyone would know she was his...the blonde's brain nearly stopped working.

"will?" samy snapped will from his daze.

"huh? sorry. you look..wow.." he mumbled, losing his train of thought as he snaked his hands around her waist, drinking in her outfit even more.

"what's that mean?" the girl chuckled, noticing her boyfriend's lustful expression.

"i just..i'm so lucky. you look good wearing my name," will dipped his head down to place a kiss to samy's lips.

he pulled her flush against his chest, hands wandering with a mind of their own. samy fiddled with will's loosely buttoned undershirt and other hand dancing into his curls. the hockey player's hands drifted further down her hips until he grabbed ahold of her ass and squeezed. she giggled at the action.

they pulled back for a second, panting into one another's mouths. will wanted more. he craved more and so did samy, so they reattached their lips. a soft moan escaped will when samy pulled particularly hard on his hair. her lips felt so good against his own.

"god, you're so gorgeous," will pulled back, lips tinted from samy's pink lip gloss.

"right back at ya, hot stuff," the brunette winked and will couldn't stop himself. he dove back in for more, the desire burning from his head to the tips of his toes.

he backed her against the wall of the bedroom where his lips started dipping further down onto her neck. samy moaned when will found her sweet spot almost immediately, tugging harder at the base of his curls.

"will...people are gonna see," she said but she didn't make any move to pull him away.

"good, let them see," he said, the possession clear in his voice and fuck, if samy didn't find that super attractive.

"we should stop. you have to go soon," she tried knowing he was due to see his team in thirty minutes.

"how soon?" the blonde mumbled, still attacking samy's neck.

"like thirty minutes."

"i can do it in ten," his words sent a rush of heat down the girl's spine, but she knew they couldn't. not now anyways.

"will, not now. later, i promise," she finally found the courage to pull him away from her. he looked back up, breath heavy and lips swollen in pink. he was such a sight to see that had samy wishing they didn't have to go.

"i'm keeping you to that promise then," will smirked.

a quick knock on the door caught their attention, the two of them tensing slightly. "yeah?"

"leaving in fifteen!" quinn called.

"be out soon!" samy yelled back, returning her gaze to her boyfriend's burning stare, placing one last kiss to his lips.

"you're gonna do amazing out there. don't be nervous. you know how quinn plays."

"i know, i know. just scared he'll rip me to shreds," the blonde mumbled with a low chuckle, samy going to help him get himself together as she buttoned up his shirt.

"even if he does, know he's trying to push you and help you get better," samy knew quinn wasn't going easy on will tonight, but she also knew he was gonna use all the tactics he knew that would push the blonde out of his comfort zone a little to get him to play harder.

it was how luke played on will too whenever they went head to head back in michigan.

the two finished getting ready, slipping out of the bedroom as quinn was making sure he had everything and everything was turned off before they left.

"nice touch," the older boy noticed his sister's hat, smiling a bit as he flicked it up.

"don't worry, i didn't forget about you," she cheesed as the three of them headed down to the garage.

quinn dropped will off around the back of the rink where the sharks were gathering in the locker room. the siblings wished the blonde luck before they drove back around to the front and the cameras and media were waiting for them.

"good luck, quinn. i'll see you later," samy smiled as she climbed out of the car.

"thanks, squirt. text me if you need anything before we get on," the two departed as samy headed to the doors and quinn headed towards the cameras to capture the player's game day outfits and walk up.

—

rogers arena was electric leading up to the game. samy had her spot just behind the canucks bench behind the glass where quinn wanted her incase she needed his attention or something—always looking out for his baby sister even during the game. the two waved to one another before samy searched for will doing his warmups. the black and dark teal was a nice addition to the away game jeresey's and she spotted her boyfriend a little bit further down.

the fans were excited for this matchup, canucks fans loud and eager to get the game underway against the two newest rookies on the sharks. macklin skated by, quickly waving to the brunette. she grinned, waving back and giving two thumbs up indicating good luck.

the game revved up quickly as quinn took to the ice against will in the first period. samy saw how much the sharks were improving with each game, but she knew the canucks still had the upper hand with their older players and more experience. she was on the edge of her seat watching her boyfriend and bother race towards the puck sliding across the ice.

quinn was up in will's business, pushing and shoving the younger boy for the puck, so will pushed back harder. the two were basically dancing with one another, the older hughes brother making will work for it.

some of the other canucks players bumped against the blonde and then in the next second, he was on the ground from a hit. the whistle blew, but will bounced back up, a little flustered but okay. it was a clean hit, so no penalties. samy sighed and then made eye contact with her brother as he skated towards the bench. cool off a bit her look said while quinn just shrugged, but he understood.

at the end of the first, canucks were up 2-0. samy texted her parents updates even though they were also probably watching. she sent quick messages to gabe and ryan as well as hannah.

gabe

ur brother's got killer aim

samy

tell me about it

he's making will work for it

ryan

figures

during every intermission, the cameras always panned to the players' family members if they were in the stands. when the jumbotron showed samy she quickly waved and pointed to her canucks hat. the fans cheered, always excited to see quinn's siblings or parents in attendance.

the second and third periods played out almost the same as the first. the guys were fast on the ice for the puck and scoring goals. canucks led now by 5-3 and samy knew this would be another loss on the sharks side. she knew it'd discourage the boys, but there was definitely improvement from last game. will got his stick on the puck a few times, passing to his line, but still not enough to over power the older guys on the canucks team.

when the game ended the fans cheered loudly for quinn's team. samy cheered for her brother too while also giving will and macklin a smile for trying their best. she knew press would take some time, so the girl mingled with fans as they left the rink and back into the lobby.

she enjoyed getting to talk to girls who looked up to her and parents who congratulated her on having a good soccer season so far, asking questions about conference games and the national title coming up soon.

will came out before quinn now showered and back in his suit. samy made her way over to him, giving him a loving hug and kiss on the cheek, "sorry you lost, but you played well."

"thanks, it's okay. i knew we would against quinn. he definitely pushed me though," the blonde chuckled.

"see, i told you. not too bad," samy grinned, squeezing his arm as the couple waited for quinn.

he came out a few minutes later, waving to the two. "press wants some pics of all of us around back. is that okay?" the older boy wondered while samy and will nodded.

they followed the older boy around the back where the media snapped a few pictures of the siblings and will together to share online later. once those were done, the three climbed back into the car to head back to the apartment, feeling exhausted from the long night.

quinn's ringtone started playing through the car as ellen's name lit up the screen. the older brunette answered, "hi mom."

"hey quinny, great game! you guys back at the apartment in once piece?" the older woman said.

"we're on our way back right now. samy and will are here."

"hi mom," the younger girl called.

"hi ellen," will said too.

"hi guys. sorry you guys lost, willie. you played really well, though. it can be tough with these big, old nhl players," ellen chuckled.

"mom, are you calling me old?" quinn cut in as samy giggled too.

"yeah, i am. just wanted to check in with you guys and make sure everyone had fun. any plans for tonight?"

the three exchanged a glance, the silence taken as probably nothing since the late game tired all of them out. "probably a movie or something. kind of beat," quinn answered.

"i bet. well, have fun guys! i'll talk to you soon. love you."

"love you too, mom," samy and quinn said in unison, giggles escaping both of their lips.

once they got back into the apartment, samy collapsed onto the couch, glad to be back in a warm temperatures and not on a frozen metal bench. will copied her movements, falling down beside her while quinn chuckled at their behavior.

"you guys can pick out whatever movie. want anything to eat?" the older boy wondered as he started shedding himself of his tie.

"whatever you wanna make, we'll eat," samy said.

"got it," quinn disappeared into his room.

"so one day this really could be our life," will hummed, breaking the small silence that had filled between the couple.

"it really could," the brunette agreed as her eyes flicked around her brother's apartment.

"only...2 more years?" the blonde raised his eyebrow.

"possibly depending on what career path i choose," samy reached up to mess with some of the misplaced curls hanging off will's forehead.

"sounds like a dream," the boy smiled warmly, moving so their heads were touching.

"yeah, for real."

will went in to press a sweet kiss to samy's lips, all the love in his chest feeling full and abundant. they pulled apart knowing quinn would come back out any second.

"also i think ryan and gabe wanted to facetime to say hey and talk about the game," samy giggled while the blonde playfully rolled his eyes.

"of course they did. don't forget about that promise you made to me earlier," the boy grinned as samy stood up to change into something more comfortable.

"oh, don't worry. i didn't forget," she winked, heading into the guest room leaving will to quickly follow after her.

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liliallowed · 1 year ago

Text

day 4: free space

friend or foe: truce

tw: eyestrain and a a lil creepy

#sansxyouweek2023 #it's both for the sansxyou week and the aus debut!#fiend or foe #dusttale au #dusttale #player x sans #sansanomoly #self insert #frenemies #forced truce #enemies to temporary partners

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toasttt11 · 6 months ago

Text

good luck

prompt- putting their chin of the other's shoulder.

She walked into her boyfriend’s hotel room seeing his younger siblings playing a game together on the couch and Aiden talking with family members, and his parents looking worried at the closed bathroom door.

Robyn and Rick shared a relieved look seeing their son’s girlfriend knowing if anyone could talk to him and make him feel better it is her.

“He’s inside.” Robyn told her, making her nod.

“I’ve got him.” She reassured Macklin’s parents making them nod believing her and they gave her one more thankful look before walking away to continue to get things ready for Macklin’s draft.

“Mackie?” She knocked on the door of the bathroom gently, “Can i come in?”

She heard the door unlock and opened the door closing it behind her knowing Macklin wants privacy from everyone right now.

She saw him standing in front of the sink looking at the mirror fiddling with his tie, she walked behind him resting her chin on his shoulder wrapping her arms around his waist, “Hey you.” She softly spoke her thumb gently rubbing at his hip.

“Hi.” Macklin softly spoke back to his girlfriend.

“What’s going on in that brain of yours?” She softly asked encouraging him to talk to her.

“What if,” Macklin licked his lips looking nervous and anxious, “What if i don’t live up to all the hype and i am a totally bust.” Macklin knows he is a good hockey player or he wouldn’t be about to be drafted the number one like but he was worried he wouldn’t be as good as everyone thinks he is and end up just a below average player.

“That will not happen Macklin Celebrini.” She firmly told him spinning him around and cupping his face, “You are an incredible hockey player and you’re gonna have good and bad games throughout your career but trust me you are never gonna be bust. You’re gonna do amazing things in the league.” She firmly but softly told him her thumb rubbing his cheek softly as she spoke to him.

Macklin slowly nodded swallowing softly believing her words a bit more than he would anyone else, “How did i get so lucky?” Macklin asked softly, He only very recently had the courage to ask out his long time best friend and he’s still getting use to how lucky he feels having her as his girlfriend.

“I happen to like you.” She teased back happy that she made him feel a bit better and saw him smile.

“That makes me very lucky.” Macklin softly teased back his hands resting on her lower back.

She fondly rolled her eyes while her cheeks turned a light pink, “Come on you have a draft to get too.” She dropped her arms from his neck and turned to walk away but Macklin grabbed her arm gently and spun her back around to him.

Macklin cupped her face pulling her into a soft but slow kiss before eventually pulling back, “For good luck.” Macklin softly said making her smile fondly at him.

#toasts700celly!#macklin celebrini #macklin celebrini x reader #nhl x you #nhl #nhl blurbs #nhl blurb #nhl x y/n #nhl x reader #nhl fic #nhl players #nhl hockey #san jose sharks #bu hockey #boston university #nhl 2024 draft

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magicalbunbun · 12 days ago

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PLAYER!Sans!!!

And inside his head:

#undertale player #sans undertale #undertale sans #undertale genocide #undertale #undertale x player #undertale x reader #sans x reader #chara

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susartwork · 7 months ago

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<- Previous

Kiss - Pass | @parniathedevil

Pass - Kiss | @au-mashup-party

Kiss - Kiss | @skydreamplayzz

Kiss - Kiss | @silvashapeshifter (submitted by @unknowntalesbymiles)

Pass - Pass | @liliallowed

Pass - Kiss | @ask-dcf

Kiss - Kiss | @mumder

Kiss - Pass | @axmoth

Pass - X | @the-excellent-papyru

Kiss - Pass | @yanair25

30 images limit. I'll add the others in a reblog 💦

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howlsofbloodhounds · 2 months ago

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I’d imagine cross and killer would have a lot of stuff to work through in a chromatic crew ending.

especially if cross seems to be adjusting better to this new environment, this freedom, than killer is—frequently acting as if they haven’t truly escaped, as if they aren’t really free, and talks about nightmare as if it wasn’t hell to be trapped beneath him. as if it really wasn’t that serious.

the things they did to others and with nightmare as if it wasn’t that big of a deal or anything to blink at. as if killer can’t understand or trust or allow himself to trust that they’re actually free and safe—or as if he doesn’t know what ‘free’ means anymore.

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777bae · 2 days ago

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STAY WITH ME WILL SMITH

Summary :: After a heartbreaking dinner with your parents, you come home exhausted, desperate to be alone. But Will sees right through you. He knocks on your door, his quiet presence breaking down the walls you’ve built. As you let yourself fall apart, he stays—listening, understanding, seeing you in a way no one else ever has. And when you finally whisper, “Stay,” he doesn’t hesitate. Because he was never planning to leave. (REQUESTED :: prompt 25)

Warnings :: parents arguing, mentions of parents having a bad marriage and it’s affect on reader, kissing

Word count :: 4.8k

It was supposed to be a simple day off. A break from the relentless grind of work, a brief respite you’d been craving for weeks. You’d dreamed of this day, imagining it as one of those rare moments where you could sit back, relax, and breathe without the weight of responsibilities hanging over your head. It was meant to be a time to recharge, an opportunity to escape the constant buzzing of your phone, the demands of your job, and maybe, just maybe, catch a little peace in your own thoughts.

But life had other plans, and as usual, those plans didn’t involve giving you any peace at all.

Against your better judgment, you had agreed to join your parents for dinner. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see them — no, you loved them, despite everything. But there had always been something… off. Every time you went over, it was like walking into a war zone disguised as family. They seemed to have an uncanny ability to sense when you were the most vulnerable, when your defenses were down, and that’s when they would call, acting as though they were innocent bystanders in their own drama. But deep down, you knew the truth. They wanted you to visit, not because they missed you, but because they wanted to drag you back into the emotional chaos that had been their marriage for as long as you could remember.

You didn’t know why you agreed this time. Maybe you thought things would be different. Maybe, just maybe, you could all pretend to be a normal family for a few hours. Maybe they would be civil with each other, maybe the silent rift between them would finally be bridged. After all, you were an adult now. Things had to be different, right? You couldn’t remember a time when things hadn’t been tense, when your mother and father weren’t at odds, but perhaps you were still holding on to a faint, naive hope that one day they would fix whatever was broken between them.

But that hope shattered the second you stepped through the front door.

The house, which should have been a sanctuary, felt like an iron trap closing in around you. The moment you crossed the threshold, the air thickened. It didn’t hit you all at once — no, it was gradual, like a slow suffocation. The house was quiet, too quiet, as if the walls were holding their breath, waiting for something to explode.

And explode it did.

Your mother’s voice sliced through the silence, her words sharp and clipped, like a knife being dragged across glass. “I told you, Harold, we’ve talked about this before!” The words were familiar, too familiar. The fight had already begun long before you had even arrived, and you knew this wasn’t going to be a peaceful dinner.

You stood frozen in the doorway, your stomach sinking as you took in the scene before you. Your father sat at the kitchen table, his hands wrapped around his mug, his jaw clenched tight. His eyes flickered from the table to your mother, but his face was a mask — one you had seen countless times, one that never cracked, never let you in. His silence was always louder than any words he could speak. He’d learned long ago that saying nothing was easier than engaging in the same argument over and over again.

“You never listen to me! Every time I bring something up, you brush it off like it doesn’t matter!” Your mother’s voice shook with the venom of years of built-up resentment. “You think I’m just going to keep pretending that everything is fine? That I’m okay with you just ignoring me, day after day?”

Your father’s shoulders tensed, but still, he didn’t respond. He just stared down at his coffee, his silence a shield he had perfected over the years. But that silence only made her angrier, like an open wound being left untreated.

You hesitated, your hand gripping the doorframe as if it could somehow anchor you to something solid, something real. You had seen this before, many times, throughout your childhood. The words had changed, the issues shifted, but the pattern remained the same. They would argue, yell, and then it would fall silent. Only to repeat itself over and over, like an endless loop. No resolution, no answers. Just the same bitter repetition.

You tried to slip in quietly, to avoid drawing attention to yourself, but it was impossible. As always, they noticed the moment you entered. Your mother’s eyes flicked toward you with a mixture of frustration and pleading. “Don’t just stand there, Y/N, come sit down,” she said, her voice forced and tight, as if she were trying to maintain some semblance of civility. But the tension in her tone betrayed her.

You sat down, the clink of your chair against the floor louder than it should have been in the fragile atmosphere. You could feel the weight of both their gazes, but you didn’t know what to say. What could you say? You had long ago given up on trying to fix their problems, trying to make them listen to each other, trying to make them see the damage they were doing. It was too much to bear. Too much to ask of yourself.

Dinner was a half-hearted affair. The conversation, or rather, the lack of it, was suffocating. Your parents exchanged sharp glances across the table, avoiding each other’s gaze like two strangers forced into proximity. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to talk to you, but they were too consumed by their own unresolved pain, their own silent battles. The weight of it pressed down on you, making your chest tight with discomfort.

You pushed your food around on your plate, barely tasting it. You could feel your mother’s eyes on you, her lips set in a hard line as she watched you eat. Your father, for his part, seemed to pretend you weren’t there, his eyes glued to his half-empty glass as he took long, slow sips. You tried to pretend it didn’t bother you, tried to eat and smile and be the good daughter who didn’t make waves. But the silence screamed in your ears, drowning out everything else.

The argument came and went, like a storm that would not pass, and by the time dessert was served, your mother’s lips were tight with frustration and your father’s mood had darkened, if that was even possible. You could feel the knot in your stomach tighten with every passing second. It wasn’t long before you made an excuse to step away, to escape the suffocating tension, telling them you needed to use the bathroom.

You didn’t go straight to the bathroom, though. Instead, you hovered near the door to the hallway, your hand gripping the doorframe tightly as you listened. You tried to block it out, tried to focus on your own breathing, but their voices carried through the walls.

“We’re never going to get through this, are we?” Your mother’s voice was small now, quieter, resigned. It broke your heart in a way you hadn’t expected. There was no anger now, no venom. Just a raw, tired sorrow that dripped from every word.

Your father didn’t answer right away. And when he did, it was barely a whisper. “No. I guess we won’t.”

Your heart dropped. You wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but what could you possibly say? What could you offer when you had never seen them truly work at their marriage? What could you say when everything between them felt broken beyond repair?

You excused yourself, slipping out the front door without another word. You couldn’t take it anymore. You couldn’t sit through another night of pretending, of silence that weighed more than any argument ever could.

As you stepped outside, the cool air felt like a blessing against your flushed cheeks. You breathed deeply, letting the crisp evening air fill your lungs, trying to push away the burning sensation that had settled deep inside your chest.

You needed to get out. You needed space to breathe. To think. Because the weight of their unresolved pain — of their failure to communicate, to understand each other — was suffocating. And it was becoming unbearable to watch.

You didn’t need to hear anymore. You didn’t need to witness the last remnants of their love crumbling away, unable to be salvaged. You just needed to escape.

And so, you left.

When you finally got home, the door clicked shut behind you with a heavy finality. The sound echoed in the quiet house, and for a brief moment, you stood still in the hallway, letting the silence wrap around you like a blanket. You exhaled deeply, a sigh of relief that felt like it was escaping from somewhere deep within you, a weight you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying lifting ever so slightly. The house was always quiet when you came back from your parents’ place, but today, it felt different, almost too quiet. The stillness seemed to echo the weight of everything you’d just left behind, the invisible knot that had tied itself tightly in your chest.

You had never quite gotten used to the idea of sharing space with other people as an adult — it was strange, at first. The arrangement with your roommates was practical, nothing too personal. Will was just someone you lived with. He was friendly enough, easygoing, and while you had become accustomed to each other’s presence, you had never imagined it would be the comfort you needed. But today, you found yourself grateful for it, even though you couldn’t put your finger on why.

You stepped further into the living room, and there he was: Will, sprawled comfortably on the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, sneakers kicked off to one side. He wore his usual easygoing expression, one that always seemed to carry an unspoken promise that things didn’t have to be complicated when he was around. His presence was a relief in its own way, but at the same time, it made your chest tighten with the awareness that you weren’t ready to talk about what had happened.

“Hey, you alright?” His voice broke through the silence, casual but laced with that ever-present concern that always made you feel like he saw more than you were willing to show. It was like he could read your every mood with alarming accuracy, a talent he’d picked up after months of living together. You hated how easily he could do that, how effortlessly he seemed to understand when something was wrong. But today, you didn’t want to be seen. You didn’t want to explain why your heart felt bruised, why your entire body felt as if it had absorbed the tension from the dinner table, the anger, the pain, and the frustration that had been swirling in the air all night.

You nodded without speaking, hoping the non-answer would suffice, but the words stuck in your throat. The truth felt heavy, too heavy to articulate. You didn’t want to say it out loud, didn’t want to admit to him that you had felt small again, like a helpless child caught in the middle of your parents’ endless war. The disappointment, the heartache, the frustration… it was all too much. You had spent a lifetime wishing they could just fix it, could talk, could be together the way they were supposed to be, but every time, it ended the same.

You tried to shake it off, hoping he wouldn’t pry. You couldn’t bear to see the sympathy in his eyes, to feel the weight of his gaze on you, knowing he would understand — maybe even too well. But he was Will, and he always noticed, always paid attention. You had become good at hiding things, but with him, you were never quite as good as you wanted to be.

“I’m fine,” you said, the words slipping out in a half-hearted attempt to push him away. The response felt too shallow, too empty, but it was the only armor you could muster right now. You couldn’t let him in. Not yet.

You turned toward your bedroom, your feet dragging as you walked, the weight of the day’s events still pressing down on you. You needed to be alone, to retreat into the small, safe space where you could try to untangle the mess inside your mind. You needed to put distance between yourself and everything that had happened, but it wasn’t going to be that simple. You knew that, deep down.

But still, you pulled the door to your room shut behind you, the soft click reverberating through your mind like a final plea for solitude.

You stood there for a moment, just inside the doorway, letting the quiet of your room settle over you. The familiar hum of your own space was supposed to feel comforting, but it didn’t. The moment the door closed, the loneliness hit you. It wasn’t the kind of loneliness that came from being physically alone. It was the kind that gripped your chest, a cold, uncomfortable sensation that curled up inside of you and refused to let go. You didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to let anyone in, but you couldn’t silence the ache either.

You wanted to lie down, to curl up under the covers and shut out the world. But as you sank onto your bed, your thoughts still raced, replaying every word from dinner, every harsh tone, every glance between your parents. You could hear them, even now, the echoes of their frustration and sadness swirling around you. You felt like a vessel for their pain, carrying it with you even when you left.

Not even ten minutes had passed before you heard the soft knock on your door. It was almost imperceptible, the kind of knock that was more of a question than a sound — like whoever was on the other side was waiting for you to decide if you wanted company. You didn’t want to deal with it. You didn’t want to face anyone, least of all him. All you wanted was the comfort of your bed and the solitude to wallow in your thoughts, to pretend for just a little while longer that the world outside didn’t exist, that nothing had happened, that you didn’t feel broken from the dinner table confrontation.

Another knock, more persistent this time, but still gentle. The quiet rhythm of it made your chest tighten.

“Y/N?” Will’s voice filtered through the door, soft and patient, like he was trying to gauge whether you were even listening. “Can I come in?”

For a moment, you considered staying silent, refusing to let him in. It was easier that way, wasn’t it? To just keep everything locked inside, to bury the ache and the frustration. To push him away and be alone with your thoughts. You almost did it. You almost snapped and told him to go away. But something in his voice, something about the way he said your name, made it impossible to stay silent. It wasn’t pity, or even the soft press of concern — it was the quiet care, the way he always seemed to know when you were hiding something, and yet he never forced you to share if you weren’t ready.

You bit your lip, steeling yourself against the wave of vulnerability that was threatening to rise, but in the end, you couldn’t keep pretending. “Yeah, sure,” you managed to say, barely above a whisper.

You heard the door creak open, and then Will was there, standing just inside the threshold. His eyes scanned the room before finding you, perched on the edge of your bed, your back turned slightly so he couldn’t see the full weight of your expression. His brows furrowed, and you could tell he was trying to figure you out, trying to pick up the pieces of what you weren’t saying. He always did that, had this ability to see through your walls, to notice the things you tried to hide. And in that moment, you hated it, even though you knew it was his way of caring, his way of making sure you didn’t bottle everything up.

He didn’t sit down right away. Instead, he just stood there, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, looking at you with a mixture of concern and patience. He wasn’t rushing you. He wasn’t pushing. He was just there, and for reasons you couldn’t explain, that alone made the lump in your throat grow even tighter.

“Talk to me,” Will said quietly, his voice rough around the edges, like he was afraid you might pull away or close off entirely. There was no judgment in his tone, no demand — just an invitation, a plea to let him in, to share the burden you were carrying.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the words caught in your throat. “There’s nothing to talk about, Will,” you muttered, the sentence slipping out more harshly than you intended. You hated the way you sounded. It was as though you were pushing him away with every syllable, but you didn’t know how else to respond. You wanted to be left alone. You wanted to shut down, to bury the pain, but Will wasn’t backing off. He never did.

He didn’t budge from his spot at the door, though. His eyes softened, just enough for you to see the care in them, but there was no pity. No impatience. Only that quiet understanding. “I can tell something’s wrong. You’ve been quiet since you walked in.” His words were gentle, yet persistent, like he wasn’t going to let you bottle this up for long.

You had to fight the instinct to snap at him, to tell him to just leave you alone, but the frustration was building — the weight of your parents’ unresolved issues, their constant cycle of fighting, and the years of your own personal exhaustion. You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill. But they came anyway, one by one, as if your body had reached its breaking point. You could feel them gathering at the corners of your eyes, the pressure of them unbearable, and you didn’t even have the strength to fight them anymore.

Will was still standing, but his gaze softened even more, like he understood, like he knew what was about to happen before you did. He didn’t try to fix it, didn’t try to say anything reassuring that would make you feel better. He just waited. And that was enough.

Slowly, he moved toward the bed, his steps cautious, but steady. He didn’t sit down right away. No, Will didn’t crowd you. Instead, he perched himself on the edge of the bed, maintaining just enough distance so that you didn’t feel overwhelmed, but close enough that his presence was a steady warmth next to you.

The tears came then, quietly, in a slow, unrelenting stream, and you hated that they were spilling. You hated how vulnerable you felt, how exposed you were. But Will didn’t look away. He didn’t try to console you with empty words or meaningless promises. Instead, he let you cry. He let you express the frustration and the hurt that you’d been holding in for so long. The weight of the years, the years of listening to your parents fight and never fix anything. The weight of being trapped in the middle of their mess, trying desperately to fix them when they didn’t even care enough to fix themselves.

“I hate it,” you said, your voice breaking, cracking under the strain of it all. The words were like a confession, a long-held secret that you’d never dared to share. “I hate how they’re always fighting. How they’ve been like this for as long as I can remember, and they never fix it. They never talk about it. They just keep fighting, and it’s like… it’s like they’re both stuck in this endless loop, and they don’t even see me anymore.”

The dam had broken. The flood of frustration, hurt, and disappointment washed over you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t holding it in. You weren’t trying to be strong for anyone else. You were just… feeling.

Will’s gaze softened even more as he watched you. He didn’t speak for a long time, just letting you release everything you’d been holding inside. And then, slowly, gently, he shifted closer, his arm brushing against yours as if offering a silent promise that you weren’t alone in this. His presence was so steady, so grounding, that you felt the smallest bit of relief, like maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to bear this on your own.

“I’m so tired, Will,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now, strained with exhaustion. “Tired of always being the one in the middle. Tired of trying to fix them when they don’t even want to fix themselves. It just feels like… like no matter how hard I try, I’m never enough. I can’t fix them. I can’t fix anything. And I just don’t know how to deal with it anymore.”

You weren’t sure if you were looking for answers, or if you just needed to say it out loud, but Will’s response was quiet, gentle, and absolutely perfect.

“You don’t have to fix them, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was reminding you of something you had forgotten. “You’re not responsible for them. You’re only responsible for you.”

His words settled into your chest like a balm, soothing the sting of years spent trying to hold everything together. You blinked and glanced up at him, your eyes brimming with tears that still hadn’t quite stopped. And in that moment, something inside you shifted. It was as if the walls you’d built around yourself over time had cracked just a little, and in that small crack, you realized how much you needed him. How much you’d always needed someone like him.

Your voice barely a whisper, you asked the question that had been echoing in your mind since you walked through the door.

“If I asked you to stay, would you?”

Will’s eyes softened, a warmth behind them that made your heart stutter. He didn’t need to say anything — the answer was already clear in the way his hand moved to brush a stray piece of hair from your face, his touch lingering for a beat too long.

And that was when you knew. You didn’t have to ask him twice.

The question lingered in the space between you, delicate yet heavy, like the world had come to a standstill and all that existed was that one moment. The words tumbled out before you even realized you’d spoken them, your heart pounding in your chest with the weight of what you were offering — and what you were asking for in return. You hadn’t meant to say it aloud. But in that vulnerable, raw moment, it felt like the only thing that made sense.

Will’s gaze softened even more, his eyes fixed on you like he could see all the turmoil inside, all the things you had buried deep within. There was no judgment, no rush, just the quiet understanding that he had always offered you. He didn’t flinch or hesitate. Instead, he leaned in slowly, just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, like a soft promise hanging between you.

You didn’t know when it had happened — when the line between friends and something more had started to blur. Maybe it had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to reveal itself. All those quiet evenings spent talking about everything and nothing, the way you had always found comfort in his presence, how his laughter had felt like a balm on your worst days. Somewhere along the way, it had shifted. Maybe it had been the way he’d always been there for you, never once pushing you to open up but always ready to listen. Or the way you’d caught yourself thinking of him in ways that went beyond friendship. But whatever it was, the unspoken connection had finally broken through.

Without thinking, without hesitation, you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft at first—tentative, like the first brush of fingertips against something delicate, something fragile. It was a question neither of you had spoken aloud, yet had been lingering between you for so long. A quiet exploration of emotions too big to name, too dangerous to acknowledge.

His lips were warm against yours, a contrast to the chill still clinging to your skin from the outside world, from the weight of the evening that had settled deep in your bones. He tasted like mint and something uniquely him, familiar yet thrillingly new. Your hands hesitated for a fraction of a second before reaching for him, your fingers finding the fabric of his hoodie, curling into it as if holding on for balance. Because, for a moment, it felt like you were falling—falling into something unknown, something terrifyingly real.

Will exhaled sharply through his nose, his breath ghosting against your cheek as he responded, the kiss deepening just slightly, as if testing the waters. And that was all it took.

The tension in your body, the exhaustion, the frustration, all of it began to melt away, dissolving in the heat of his touch. The rhythm of your pulse, once erratic and uncertain, found its match in the steady thrum of his. You could feel it—his heart racing just as fast as yours, the silent confirmation that he felt this too, that this moment had shaken him just as much as it had you.

Then, as if drawn by some unseen force, Will’s hand slid up the curve of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair, tilting your face just enough to pull you even closer. The deepening kiss was slow, deliberate—a quiet promise wrapped in warmth and tenderness. His touch wasn’t hurried, wasn’t desperate. Instead, it was grounding, like an anchor holding you steady in the storm that had been raging inside you all night.

A soft, involuntary sigh escaped your lips as he moved against you, the kiss deepening in a way that made your breath hitch. It was as if everything you had been holding back—every unsaid word, every lingering glance, every moment of unspoken longing—was pouring into this one connection, into the way his lips pressed against yours like he was memorizing the feel of them.

The world outside of this moment ceased to exist. The argument with your parents, the years of frustration, the exhaustion pressing down on your chest—all of it faded into the background, insignificant compared to the warmth radiating between you. It was as if Will had single-handedly quieted the noise inside your head, replacing it with something steady, something certain.

And yet, beneath the softness of the kiss, there was urgency—an unspoken fear that if either of you let go, even for a second, this might slip away. That maybe this was fleeting, a moment you could never get back. So you held on tighter, your hands sliding up to cup his face, feeling the roughness of his jaw beneath your fingertips. He let out a low, almost imperceptible hum against your lips at the contact, and the sound sent warmth flooding through you, setting your nerves alight.

The air between you felt charged, thick with something unnameable, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for longer than either of you had realized. When you finally pulled back, breathless, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the silence that followed.

The quiet wasn’t awkward, wasn’t filled with uncertainty or regret. It was thick with meaning, with understanding. It was the kind of silence that only came after something real had been acknowledged, something irreversible.

Will’s thumb brushed softly against your cheek, his touch featherlight, as if he was still grounding himself in the reality of what had just happened. His gaze searched yours, dark and unreadable, but his lips—still parted, still tinged with the ghost of your kiss—were curved just slightly, as if he, too, was trying to process the shift that had just occurred between you.

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper when you finally spoke. “Will…”

He exhaled softly, his breath warm against your skin. “Yeah?”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of everything pressing against your chest—the fear, the vulnerability, the absolute certainty that nothing between you would ever be the same after this. But then you remembered the way he had kissed you, the way he had stayed, the way he had always stayed.

So instead of answering, you whispered the only thing that felt right. “Stay.”

A slow, knowing smile spread across Will’s lips, and he didn’t hesitate. Didn’t waver.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, his voice steady, full of quiet certainty.

And in that moment, you knew he meant it.

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