Blondervoi

The camp was quiet for once. Quiet with a lack of urgency to become loud. As they neared Baldur's gate their march became a lulled stroll. In no rush to face the things that lay before them. There was still talk of course, plans, but they were calm. Like you had all the time in the world. 

You approached the rock he was sitting on. By the peaceful creek that ebbed and flowed with the birds' chirps, Astarion sat, hands behind him as he practically leaned into the golden sun. Eyes closed in bliss with warmth. His pale skin glowed with luminescence as his shoulders relaxed back ever so slightly. You smiled softly, creeping up so you didn’t disturb him. A twig snaps underfoot. 

“I know you're there Darling.”

Astarion calls out, his eyes remaining closed. You smile sheepishly, sitting next to him. 

“Just didn’t want to disturb you.” 

He hums in reply, opening an eye to glance at you.

“Come to keep me company?”

You nod quietly as his lips crack into a routine smirk.

“What? Gale boring you with his plans?” 

You lightly shoved his arm as he laughed. He’s shed his usual regalia for a plain aged shirt; you can’t help but smile at how it looks on him. It makes him look homely, domestic, and it makes your heart flutter with silly ideas of a future. 

“Oh shut up, Gale’s fine.” You hum. Eyes tracing over him again. “You really like the sun, huh?” You smile, but it straightens a little when his expression turns serious.

“I’ve spent so long without it. The shadows have felt like home for as long as I can remember. But this… I can’t lie, I’ve missed it.” He says quietly, with an introspectiveness you rarely hear from, only kept for quiet, savoured moments when the two of you are alone, and the stars reflect a net of safety. You don’t reply, just drop your head on his shoulder, feeling the softness of a man whom everyone thinks is hard. He tenses; it's automatic, and you don’t blame him. But he relaxes eventually. Shifting an arm behind you, not around, but behind. Closing his eyes and seeping in the tranquillity again. The two of you sit in silence for quite some time. You watch the creek trickle, the bugs float, and the animals skitter. It’s the most peaceful you’ve felt in weeks. 

You hear him try to form words, a vulnerability in his throat as you raise your eyes to him, he’s already meeting them. 

“Now don’t let this get to your head.” He teases, but his smile softens as he looks down at you.

“But… I like this… the sun… the breeze… the birds… you.” He hums quietly, his voice barely a whisper by the end. “I like you.” He admits. His eyes are soft circles of something he’s repressed for far too long. “And that’s all you're getting from me, so don’t push it.” He playfully warns, trying to regain his banter. But the moment is still soft as you turn to look at him. Smiling softly at his increasingly rose-stained face. 

“I like you too, Astarion.” You smiled softly. He smirked.

“Who wouldn't, darling?”

“Oh hush.”

You chuckle. He wouldn’t tell you, but he thought your laugh lit up the skies. A melody to rival the birds. He leans in, he’s practiced at this, he’s kissed many men, women and people in his years. But when it comes to kissing you, it feels so different. What started as a twilight rendezvous, one designed to get you to trust him the only way he knew how, had turned into something so delicate. Delicate yet soft and filled with a warmth he couldn’t remember ever seeing. These moments when he leaned in, when he pressed his cold lips to yours, it was like all of his experience went out of the window. All the times he’s kissed another, forgotten on your lips. Every joining feels new, like he’s reborn with your blessing. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him fall for you even more, from a gradual slip to a tumble as you pull him closer and stroke his cheek with a thumb. It turns to a hurtling fall as you press your forehead to his and smile that goofy grin, he’s learned could heal all of his wounds. The smile that makes him realize maybe it wasn't the sunlight he missed, but you. You lean in,  capturing his lips again like it's casual, like the two of you were made to do this. He doesn’t let his guard down, his smile still a smirk, but his eyes are round with a devotion he used to fake, one that is now so natural on his eyes with you that he doesn’t know when he’s doing it. 

“God’s your beautiful.” He mumbles, kissing you again.

And maybe, just maybe, this could be the thing that lasts.

During the long trip to Baldur's Gate, finding ways to keep your mind occupied when you stopped became a necessity. Thankfully, pretty early into your travels you managed to get your hands on a (mostly) empty drawing journal after finding it abandoned along with some helpful supplies. It didn't take long for you to find that you had some sort of muscle memory for drawing, even if you couldn't consciously remember ever being an artist, your brain seemed to. You started out just drawing what you saw. Flowers, buildings, landscapes, etc. But pretty soon you drifted to drawing your campmates as well. At first it was a little mix of everyone, but as your trip carried on you couldn't help but be drawn (hehe) to a certain fluffy haired rogue. As your mind lingered on him more and more, so did your pencil. You had filled numerous pages with sketches and doodles of him. Sometimes he'd catch you staring at him while trying to get a good reference, and he'd of course smirk and say something like "Enjoying the scenery, darling?" To which you would flush red and bury your face back into your sketches.

Every now and then, someone would glance over your shoulder to see what you were scribbling (usually Karlach) and tease you for how full your sketchbook had gotten with just him. You didn't mind them watching you draw, sometimes it felt nice to have someone admiring your skills.

This however, was not one of those times.

"My, who is that handsome devil?" Astarion's voice rings out from behind you. You squeeze your eyes shut as you realize you've been caught and curse yourself for not hearing him sneak up behind you. Astarion is now leaning against your shoulder, studying the pictures in front of him. "Now darling, I know I say this about every gorgeous stranger but would." He lazily flips the page and lets out a little giggle "And you would too by the looks of it," He returns back to your current page and sits beside you. "So, will you tell me the story or will you make me beg? You know I'm an expert on romance." It's only then do you realize he genuinely doesn't realize that you are drawing him. You thought before he was just being smug, but it does make sense. When was the last time he saw himself? 300 years ago? Surely the memory is a bit fuzzy. You try to act as nonchalant as possible as you mutter "Mm...Maybe some other time..." Astarion scoffs and you pray to any god willing to listen to help you out. Your prayer is answered when Gale makes the call for dinner being done. You quickly shove the book into your pocket and (perhaps a bit too swiftly) walked over to the fire.

The topic is seemingly dropped by Astarion until Shadowheart remarks that "Your face is redder than Karlach's," Astarion is quick to interject. "I caught them drawing some shirtless man and they're being a big baby about it." He rolls his eyes dramatically before adding "Trust me darling, I've seen worse." Gale chokes on his stew, Halsin's brows raise and Shadowheart lets out a small gasp. The camp is deadly quiet, save for Astarion making snarky comments about how the man looks like something a 13 year old would find incredibly romantic. Karlach is the one to break the silence, "Fangs, do you really not know who that is?" He raises a brow "Of course not. What, is he famous or something?" Lae'zel lets out a scoff. "Chk. It is a wonder how you survive being so clueless. That is you, you k'chakhi."

-----

It’s off, Astarion finds, to be cared for after so many decades of pain. To have come to not only anticipate your nightly check ins, but to expect them. To see you leave your seat at the fire just before the sun begins to sink past the horizon and start checking in on each of your companions - giving each of them a few minutes of your undivided attention before you move on to the next.

He can’t remember ever being treated like this - doesn’t recall anyone making the effort to routinely ask him how he’s doing or if he needs anything. And he knows you’re not just talk - he’s witnessed time and again your willingness to part with things to help others. To find little ways to take care of them. Infernal iron for Karlach, magic items for Gale, weapons for Lae’zel, and armor for Shadowheart. You’d stood up to a devil for Wyll and regularly sit with Halsin to learn more about medicinal herbs so you can help patch up your friends after a rough fight.

You arrive as he’s ruminating and sit quietly across from him, taking care not to disrupt his thoughts. He hates how such a small action makes him feel warm, how the look in your eyes makes his chest feel tight. His tongue is heavy, thick and useless in his mouth under the weight of your gaze. 

He can smell blood. Your blood. When he forces himself to look, he can see where it still seeps from your split knuckles. For once, the smell has him feeling sick to his stomach.

“Hello, dear,” he forces himself to purr after what has certainly been too long. “Come to see me at last?”

“Of course,” you say, smiling at him. He pointedly ignores the squeeze of what used to be his heart at the sight. “Saved the best for last,” you tease.

“Well,” Astarion says because his mind has quite suddenly gone blank. “I won’t argue on that. Though if you’ve come to offer yourself as a late night snack, I’ll have to decline - you’ve lost a bit more blood than you should’ve if you wanted a nibble.”

You laugh and Astarion hates himself for how much he wants to hear it again.

“I’m fine,” you say, waving off his concern and pulling out your bag, “Anyway, you lost a dagger earlier so I wanted to bring it back to you.”

Astarion blinks, fingers closing gently around the cool metal of the dagger he’d assumed was long gone. That you, tired and injured as you are, had sought it out and returned it to him just because it was his and you thought he’d like to have it back?

“And besides,” you continue, like he isn’t in the middle of a crisis, “I noticed the shirt you were wearing yesterday had a snag in the shoulder. Figured I’d ask if you wanted me to mend it for you?”

“When is the boyfriend reveal tho?” Started the conversation between races. You were preparing for the 24 Hours of Nürburgring by running in an open lobby with some of your teammates, plus a couple of your iRacing buddies.

“Why do you wanna know?” You replied cheekily to your chat as you cracked open another energy drink. “It’s not all that interesting. He’s busy, so it’s not like he’s gonna come on here with me.”

“That’d be funny if he did,” Max laughed as the race started loading.

“Like you know him,” You chuckled back, glancing at the chat. “‘Does your team know him?’ No, not really. They know he exists, but that’s about it.”

“He could be fake for all we know,” Layne added, and you could hear the amusement in his voice. “Delulu is the solulu.”

“He’s literally not,” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “How about this, for every stream leading up to Nürburgring, I’ll give you a hint, and if we win, I’ll make him join for a full stream.”

“You’re putting a lot of pressure on us to win,” Inez muttered as you all virtually started the race.

“If my threatening to tell you who my boyfriend is pressures you to win, you needed the motivation,” You scoffed, going about your race. A few hours later, you were wrapping up the stream, and one of your mods reminded you of your earlier promise. “Oh, right, uhhh. He’s taller than me.”

“Oh come on! That’s not hard! I’ve met leprechauns taller than you!”

“Tune in next time for another hint!”

A couple of nights later, you were casually streaming. Not really training on iRacing, more just having fun with some of your viewers when the topic was brought up again. 

“If one of us wins, can we get an extra hint?” Someone asked over the voice channel.

“More than the one I’m already doing at the end?” You chuckled, glancing to the side as the man of the conversation was literally sitting right off the camera angle, drinking a Red Bull. “You’re sounding greedy, but I’ll give it to you anyways. He is always drinking from my stash, and while I’m saying that, oh dear boyfriend of mine,” you teased, causing him to look up and meet your eyes, “can you throw me one of those?”

He didn’t answer you verbally but threw an unopened can of Red Bull at you, to which you also caught it.

“‘Nice catch’ thanks, I’m a Red Bull athlete for a reason!” You replied in a cheery voice. “I will add this about the hint, you may not know that he’s always drinking from my stash. He’s very secretive about it, not about drinking an energy drink per se, but from my stash specifically, he’s not outward for his love of Red Bulls.”

“Dude, and the servers are down now,” One of your iRacing buddies groaned.

“Great,” You dragged out, “So I guess that’s gonna do us for the night. Anyways should probably log off anyway since I haven't eaten dinner yet and it’s already like 9 PM here.”

“Oooo, whatcha gonna have?” Layne laughed, “Chipotle?”

“Nah, not really feeling it,” You said, scrunching up your nose before looking over to your boyfriend, who side-eyed you. The two of you had a conversation with your eyes before you sighed, “We’re going to Chilis, probably.”  

The next night, you were back with the gang (plus a few iRacing friends) for a charity stream, and this time, chat was unrelenting.

“‘Each race you lose, you tell another hint,’ bro you are joking!” You groaned after yet another random car crashed you out. “How am I supposed to live laugh love in these conditions? I don’t even stand a chance!”

“Sounds like avoidance,” Inez replied in a sing-song voice.

“I’m not avoiding anything!” You defended. “How am I supposed to drag this out for another week? I’m running out of niche hints!”

“They just want you to spill the beans already,” Cleetus teased, and you could almost see his smirk despite not having his camera on.

“Fine, you guys wanna play it that way! Fine, we’ll play it that way,” You complained, full screening your face as the lobby loaded. “You wanna know some details so bad, let me tell you all about it!”

“None of this 'he’s taller than me’ and ‘he drinks my stuff’ bullshit!” Max mocked you before shouting into his microphone, “Give us juicy details!”

“You want juicy, fine. He never finishes first,” You said in a matter-of-fact tone before you could actually think about it, as everyone in the call made disgusted noises (well, all but one). “Wait, actually that one time, he finished first, but other than that, generally not. I’m usually the one who finishes first.”

“You’re disgusting!” 

“And that’s all you're getting for this week. That’s what you get for trying to make me share more hints, so I’m leaving you with that. Think about what you’ve done.”

“You’re not streaming the rest of the week,” Carson muttered after a second.

“Don’t tell them that,” you groaned, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, so anyways guys, yeah I’m not streaming the rest of the week anyway since Carson had to spoil it, but it’s because I’m going to be at Charlotte! IRL meetup with Carson and probably Cleetus, so I’ll have a vlog appearance or something for that.”

“You’re abandoning us in our time of need, wow,” Layne complained, but Layne, Max, and Inez all knew you would be online for your normal practices, just you wouldn’t be streaming it. 

It was the last week before the 24-hour race, and you would rather lock in than have your chat pestering you the whole time about your boyfriend. Plus, you just wanted to step away from the digital racing for a bit before you’d be starting at your screen for at least 12 hours.

~

Charlotte was lively. Nothing beats it, except maybe the Indy 500, but you’ve never been there. Maybe you just liked sitting on the couch while you watched the race from your boyfriend's air-conditioned hauler more.

“Y’know,” Carson piped up as Newgarden passed O’Ward for the lead, “Your last hint was foul.”

“It’s not my fault you decided to win Dega!” You laughed, sitting up from your spot against his side to send a look at him. “I thought I had a couple more weeks!”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t win?” He gasped incredulously.

“Not when I made the promise!” You defended. “Yeah, you were doing good up until then, but we’d made the joke about you never finishing first multiple times! I didn’t think a play track would be the one you take the win at.”

“Where did you think it would happen?” He asked curiously as the Indy 500 faded from his mind completely. Well, almost completely.

“Charlotte or Michigan,” You answered honestly, leaning back into his side. “I wanted you to have redemption in Charlotte or win your home track. I thought you got screwed over in the 600 last year and deserved a good showing. Then again, Indy has always been your favorite, so that would’ve been a good one, too.”

“So that’s why you made the bet,” He chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “You knew you guys were predicted to win your race, and you wanted to have all this lead up so you could finish first.”

“Of course, I always finish first,” You joked back, turning your head so you could kiss his lips instead. Then you muttered, “Except that one time.”

“You two are disgusting, by the way,” Cleetus groaned after a beat from the other side of the couch with his camera pointed directly at you two. “I’m making sure we put this in the video first, so everyone can see how gross you are.”

“Post it during my race. They’ll get a kick out of it.”

~~~

Main MASTERLIST // NASCAR // HITLIST

~~~~~

Max Verstappen

The concept of someone being poorer than him isn't really foreign to him

Most people are

He shrugs off how you get uncomfortable when he mentions what his rent costs, or whenever he brings you on his private jet as just something you aren't used to

But once you guys are in a committed relationship, and he invites you to live with him he finally actually goes to your house for the first time

Your moving gets delayed by a few days because Max needs to sit down with you to understand why you wouldn't tell him

He instantly begins buying you lavish gifts, and spoiling you half to death, in order to make up for how you'd been living

Charles Leclerc

Charles figures it out pretty fast

He notes how you check prices 20 times before choosing the cheapest one, even if it's the worst option

And how you convince him out of fancy dinners, or nice vacations, opting for movie nights and staycations

It's all things that break his heart, as he watches you chose survival over comfort

He doesn't confront you about it, but he'll start buying you nice groceries with brands that you actually like

He'll never take receipts, just so that he can hide the cost from you

He buys you new clothes whenever you start getting stressed about the work jeans you wear almost every day wearing down

He also leaves at least one piece of clothing everytime he's at your place

He likes seeing his boyfriend in his clothes (and in more than a paper thin shirt when it's the dead of winter)

Oscar Piastri

Oscar finds out without you knowing

He puts your address into your contact, and saves it in his Google maps as home (despite having never been there)

When he sees it he's just confused

He double checks the address 20 times

He doesn't bring it up, but it's easy to tell when he finds out

He strategically surprises you with movie nights that include complete dinners, gotten from restaurants so fancy that they don't let you do take out, and that he has to pull up his wiki page to get special treatment for

The moment you move into his apartment in

George Russell

Whenever you complain about stress from your job, George always tells you to quit

He doesn't understand why those jokes always annoy you until he finds out how many jobs you have

He instantly goes into planning mode

How can he manage to wittle down these 3 jobs to just 1?

Can he pay you to be his boyfriend?

Can he find a job for you at Mercedes?

Or any other F1 team? He'd even settle for you working for redbull

When you finally actually sit down together and talk about it, you agree to let him get you interviews, but draw the line there

You still managed to get hired by a team pretty fast, and he's very pleased with himself

Not only do you have more time to yourself, but more time with him, across the world!

F1 Taglist: (Comment or DM to be added)

the moment your blades touched the ice, you glided forward effortlessly. there was a rhythm to your movement, a natural ease in every stride, and your turns were sharp yet smooth. connor's brows lifted almost immediately. he was good -- he was really good -- but the sight of you weaving across the ice like it was second nature made him pause.

he followed you cautiously, trying to keep up, but there was a slight hesitation in his steps. you spun lightly on your feet, a motion so fluid it was almost mesmerising, and he caught himself staring more than skating. you didn't slow down or falter; the ice seemed to bend around your movements, and for a second, it felt like watching a professional perform a piece they had perfected over years.

connor's usual confidence felt challenged -- not in a competitive way, but in a way that made his chest tighten with quiet admiration. he was used to being the one who surprised everyone, the one who impressed, but now he was witnessing a side of you he hadn't expected. the way your skates sliced cleanly through the ice, how your balance was flawless, how your posture was impeccable -- it was like you were born to do this.

he attempted a sharper turn, trying to mirror your movements, but you had already floated past him, laughing softly to yourself. that laugh echoed lightly across the rink, warm and effortless, and connor felt an unfamiliar urge to match your lightness with his own. he couldn't help the small grin tugging at his lips, though he tried to mask it.

the ice beneath your feet wasn't just a surface; it was a stage. you spun, glided, and dipped, and connor became hyperaware of every detail -- the way your skates hit the ice, the tilt of your head, the precise way you shifted your weight. there was a precision in your motion that even he, a young prodigy used to being in the spotlight, couldn't ignore.

by the time the skate session was halfway through, connor had stopped attempting to keep up with you. he drifted behind, letting himself take in the sight, letting the awe settle in without saying a word. he had always been quick to notice talent, quick to assess skill -- but this? this was something else entirely. this was natural, effortless.

at one point, you paused near the boards, your breath visible in the cold air. connor skated up beside you, pretending to check his laces, but his eyes couldn't leave you.

"you...weren't kidding," he muttered, voice low, more to himself than you.

you shrugged casually, brushing off the compliment like it was nothing. but connor caught that small spark in your eyes, the subtle pride you didn't feel the need to flaunt. it made him grin wider than he expected, the kind of grin that started at the corners of his eyes and spread until it was impossible to contain.

for the rest of the session, he found himself more relaxed, letting go of the usual competitive edge. he watched, he learned, and he was quietly amazed. every time you made a move that looked impossible -- he was reminded of why he had fallen in love with hockey in the first place. only now, the aw was directed at you.

by the time you both left the rink, cheeks flushed, skates off, and hands warmed on mugs of hot chocolate, connor couldn't quite stop replaying the memories of you on the ice in his head. and somewhere, deep down, he knew he would never forget the first time he had seen you skate like this -- like the ice itself had belonged to you.

"And how to fuck your mom," Mack bites back, seeming a little embarrassed about the hit but fine enough to squabble.

You take it in stride. "Oh, I'm sure you learned plenty about your dick from watching him."

Then, of course, he pulls off a deke to show off what he actually learned from the Olympics, putting the Sharks a point ahead in an otherwise pretty well-tied game.

Mack's not a bragger by any means, but something about playing against each other makes you both chatty. The next time you're at the dot, he teases, "Forgot you were on shift, you been sleepin' on the job, bud?"

"This game's a charity write-off, actually," you snark back. "Thought your defense could use it."

And that earns you a hard hit from Klingberg that sends you to you knees and him to the box.

"You looked pretty comfy on your knees," Mack grins when you get to your feet. At least he waited to make sure you weren't actually hurt, the cheeky shit.

The only thing that comes to mind to chirp back is, "You wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid."

Will laughs so hard he almost trips as he skates by.

Your team ekes out a win in the SO, which is great because you're starting to get distracted by the way sweat makes Mack's hair start curling where it sticks out from under his helmet. When you walk through the handshake line, you and Mack playfully shoulder-check each other when you clap hands.

After, you get snagged by a reporter who says, "You looked chatty tonight with Macklin Celebrini — is there some history there?"

"He's fun to play against for sure," you answer. "I love the guy. Love beating him even more."

Little do they know how true it is.

Little do you know, on the Sharks side, a reporter is simultaneously asking Macklin, "You seem to get really riled up by Y/LN — is he a guy that gets under your skin?"

"I love him to death," Macklin laughs, wiping sweat from his nose. "It's all banter, you know, just chirps. Playing against him is always a good time."

You only find out about your matching answers a couple hours later, when you and Y/BSF are in the WillMack hotel room eating post-game cookies and milk. Will's TikTok feed is up on the TV screen, and as soon as the first edit of the soundbites spliced together pops up, Will and Y/BSF lose it, teasing you and your boyfriend relentlessly.

Mack giggles all cutely about it, and you can feel yourself blushing about it.

"Fuck off," you complain weakly.

"I hope someone caught the kiss chirp," Will cackles. "That'll really make the RPF'ers go wild."

"Do you think they'd leave us alone if we started making out," Mack whispers to you mischievously, not even making it sound like a question.

Firstly, it's a roadie in Canada, and tonight specifically being in Alberta means that the drinking age is 18, so all of you can join in without hoping a bartender looks the other way. Secondly, as a treat, the team's booked Will this massive suite in the hotel: California king, a galley kitchen, and—

"Yo, this shower is huge," Will grins from the bathroom.

"You mean we don't have to pack in there like sardines?" you joke, stepping in behind him. Sure enough, there's a Jacuzzi tub big enough for like, six people, even hockey-player-sized people, and multiple shower heads from above and from the walls.

From out in the bedroom, from where he's flung himself onto the massive bed, Mack makes a kicked puppy noise and mumbles into the pillows.

"What was that, Celly?" you ask, leaning back out of the bathroom.

"I kind of like doing that," Mack repeats himself, slightly louder and only a little less muffled. You can see his neck turning red with a blush.

Oh, yeah. The hotel room was meant to be Will's big solo birthday treat. The org doesn't need to know that you and Mack will be leaving your own room vacant for the night.

"Did he just say he likes cramming into small showers?" Will snorts, but it's undercut by the horribly fond tilt of his mouth. "You're cute, Celly."

"Shut up," Mack grumbles, rolling over.

You can't help but pounce on him— literally, throwing yourself on top of him with a grin and a laugh as he squawks. "The cutest. We should be packed like sardines all the time, even."

"We'll link arms during games, even," Will teases, flopping down next to you both on the bed.

"They could make a big, five-XL jersey that has all three of our numbers on it," you continue.

Mack starts wiggling to try to throw you off, but that just leads him right into Will's side, who immediately snipes him with kisses. You join in, peppering kisses to Mack's neck and shoulders.

"You're both the worst," Mack complains, but he pulls your arm around him and catches Will's mouth with his own, so he can't be too embarrassed about it, really. You lace your fingers with Mack's and watch them kiss for a few moments, because that'll never not be hot, but you do get impatient to be involved. When you make an annoyed little whining noise, Will pulls back from Mack to lean over Mack's shoulder to kiss you, too. Having Mack pinned between the two of you while you kiss— his eyes have blown all wide when you look down at him, and you can't help but grin.

"I wish kissing two people at once was easier," Mack sighs wistfully, adorably, sugar-sweetly.

Just for that, you have to kiss him, too.

"You know, just because the shower's big doesn't mean we have to be far away from each other," Will points out, his hand warm on your hip. "Just won't be fighting over standing under the water."

"You'd think Jumbo's guest-house would have a better bathroom," you grumble, a complaint that Will and Mack are both used to hearing by now. Mack's only response is to pinch your arm.

Then Will's alarm goes off— the reminder that you guys were just supposed to be dropping off your bags, and a game awaits.

"That Jacuzzi is gonna be so nice when we come back drunk," you muse as the three of you step onto the elevator.

"If we can figure out how it works," Will snickers.

Mack gives you both a betrayed look. "You… didn't do that already? Guys!"

"We got distracted!" you pout. "See, we have this really cute boyfriend—"

Will continues, "—and he wants to be attached at the hip to us at all times—"

Nothing captured the energy quite like a night race, but dang, Formula 1 was a lot more boring to watch in person than you were expecting.

Since Carson was an affiliate for Cadillac, he and the rest of Spire, and by association, their plus ones, were invited to attend the Las Vegas Grand Prix this year to meet the drivers. They weren’t officially on the grid yet, but most of the team that had already been decided was in attendance.

You were perched in the paddock club, watching the action almost exclusively from the screen since cars passed by every few minutes. You were also on a straight, so it’s not like you saw them for long, even when they did pass.

Thankfully, the club had some cards and stuff, so you roped Carson into playing a couple of card games with you. Cans, speed, bullshit, go fish, and at one point, you even tried to make him play solitaire, even though neither of you knew how to play.

That’s when you switched over to dice. 10,000, shut the box, Yahtzee, and then you started your own version of craps.

Instead of betting on the outcome, you would call a number and an action. If it was rolled, the other had to do the task.

“Roll for getting me a new drink,” you chucked, shaking the cup a couple of times before flipping it over, keeping your hand on top. “5.” You lifted the cup, and it was a four.

“Dang, so close,” Carson teased, taking the die and shaking it in the cup. “Roll for let me buy another car while we’re here, 3!”

“It’s your money, I don’t really care,” you shook your head as he lifted the cup, and it was a six. His face dropped, and you snapped your fingers and sarcastically said, “Oh, shucks! No more random marketplace cars for you. How sad.”

“You guys need to up the stakes,” Justin interrupted. “You’re in Vegas, for god’s sake. Go big or go home.”

“Fine, roll a 2, and you have to buy me a marketplace car of my choosing,” you emphasized your words as you quickly slammed the cup down and lifted it slowly, revealing a two. “Oh! No way!”

“You’re kidding me!” Carson exclaimed in disbelief

“I get my own Dale truck or something now!”

“Roll for moving to Portage permanently,” He smirked

“That would be really inconvenient,” You noted, but thankfully, it didn’t roll.

“Damn, I just miss my couch,” He sighed, pushing the cup and dice over to you.

“Then we bring it to Charlotte? It’s not that hard.”

“But then we wouldn’t have one in Portage,” he pouted as he crossed his arms.

“Then we buy another! It’s not like we don’t buy new cars every other week. We can buy another couch. Anyways, roll for a vacation to Italy.”

“That would be fun even if it doesn’t roll,” he added, and unfortunately, it didn't roll. “Dang, well, we still have a long off-season. Maybe we still do it.”

“Taking notes, I see you, Hocevar,” you smirked, passing the cup and dice.

“Roll for a new sim rig.”

“I kid you not, you have six at this point.”

“I’m running out of things to roll for!” He shouted, lifting the cup, and sure enough, he didn’t roll it.

“Fine, roll for getting married tonight in Vegas,” you said, and it felt like time slowed for a second as you watched Carson’s face slowly smirk as he registered what you said.

“Woah, that’s a step,” he chuckled nervously. “What’s the number?”

“I feel like we should both pick this one,” you said, looking to him, and you both were already on the same page.

“One.” It was in sync, but you still hesitated to shake the cup. You wanted to get married, you both did, but this wasn’t the exact way you imagined it happening.

“Roll the dice,” Carson dragged out before covering his eyes. “I can’t take the suspense!”

You slammed the cup down on the table before slowly picking it up.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Justin muttered, looking over your shoulder at the dice.

“What is it?” Carson asked, still not peeking through his hands.

“One,” you breathed out, looking at him as he immediately dropped his hands to look at it with his own eyes.

“My parents are going to kill me,” Carson muttered, but still, less than an hour later, you were standing in a chapel with an Elvis Presley impersonator. You wished you could say this was the stupidest thing you’ve done, but alas, there’s been worse.

You two stood in the registrar after signing your official marriage certificate. Justin was there as a witness to both the ceremony and the signing. Thankfully, he had taken the liberty of taking all of the pictures, videos, and played both best man and man of honor.

“Did we actually do that?” You sighed as you collapsed on the hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling as Carson loosened his tie. “Like this doesn’t feel real. Mr. and Mx. Hocevar don’t sound real to me yet.”

“Probably won’t for a while,” He chuckled, lying down next to you and pulling you into his chest. “I like the sound of it, Mx. Hocevar.”

“Oh, I love it,” You replied quickly as your hands came up to undo some of the buttons on his shirt. “I’m just saying it’ll take some getting used to on my end. You’ve always been Mr. Hocevar.”

“Oh, please. Mr. Hocevar is my dad,” he scoffed, causing your hands to freeze.

“Do not ever bring your dad into a conversation when I am in the process of taking your shirt off.”

“Noted, but what if I do this?” He said before flipping you, so he rested on his forearms above you.

“You are so lucky you look nothing like your father.”

~~

Pulling up to Carson’s family home for the holidays was not something you expected to be as big as it was. Carson hadn’t even put the car in park before his mom was running out with a shocked look on her face.

“Are we really that early?” You asked Carson as you slowly undid your seatbelt. ”I know the GPS said 5:40, but it’s still 5:26. We said Tuesday evening, or am I missing something here?”

“When were you going to tell us you got married?” She shouted through the window, holding up a picture that someone had taken. Your head slowly turned to Carson with your jaw dropped.

“You didn’t tell your family?” You gasped, side-eyeing him, “Are you crazy?”

“I forgot!” He defended, putting his hands up. “I got caught up in the honeymoon phase!”

“It’s been over a month, Carson!”

~~~~~

The next morning at the rink, you’re sitting in the media room again editing photos from yesterday’s practice.

One of them is the picture Will edited. You ended up tweaking it just a little more after he left, but most of it is actually his work.

You’re halfway through exporting files when your phone starts blowing up with notifications.

TikTok. You open the Sharks account and immediately see why.

The “What time will players show up” video you posted last night has absolutely exploded. Hundreds of thousands of views. Thousands of comments.

You scroll.

“THE BLUSH???”

“he brought her a drink at 6am that’s a husband move.”

“y/n x will smith hockey slow burn.”

“MACKLIN IN THE BACK SMILING LIKE HE KNOWS SOMETHING.”

“this is the best sharks content ever.”

You rub your face with one hand.

“Oh no.”

Your boss walks by the doorway at that exact moment.

“Great engagement on that video from yesterday,” he says casually.

You look up slowly.

“…thanks.”

“Keep doing whatever you’re doing.”

He walks away. You stare back down at your phone. You’re not sure whether to laugh or panic.

⊱ —————- °.•　⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅　•.° —————— ⊰

Practice starts soon after, so you grab your camera and head toward the rink.

You’re crouched by the glass snapping photos during warmups when someone skates up and taps the glass.

You look up. Will. He lifts his visor slightly.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You posted that video.”

You grin innocently.

“What video?”

“The one with the drink.”

“Yeah.”

“You left the part in.”

“You literally handed it to me on camera.”

“You could’ve cut it.”

“Why would I cut good content?”

He shakes his head, but he’s smiling. Then he glances toward the bench.

“Have you looked at the comments?”

“Yes.”

He groans.

“Macklin read them out loud in the locker room this morning.”

You burst out laughing.

“No he did not.”

“He did,” Will says. “Word for word.”

“Oh my god.”

“He kept saying ‘y/n x Will slow burn’ in this stupid voice.”

“That’s incredible.”

“It’s horrible.”

You raise the camera again.

“Okay get back to warmups before your coach thinks you’re flirting with the social media team.”

Will laughs and skates away. But as he turns, you notice his ears are bright red again.

⊱ —————- °.•　⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅　•.° —————— ⊰

Later, after practice ends, you’re walking down the hallway toward the locker room area to grab a couple quick interview clips.

You stop short when you hear a voice. Macklin.

“…I’m just saying,” he’s telling someone. “It’s obvious.”

You peek around the corner. He’s sitting at a table with a few teammates. Will is across from him.

“What’s obvious?” Eklund asks.

Macklin gestures dramatically.

“Will is in love with y/n.”

Will immediately chokes on his water.

“WHAT?”

The table erupts in laughter.

“Shut up,” Will says.

“You brought her a drink.”

“She was tired!”

“You stared at her like a Hallmark movie lead.”

“I did not.”

“You literally blushed.”

“That was the lighting.”

“Lighting doesn’t make your ears red.”

You decide this is the perfect moment to walk in.

“Hey guys, quick interview clips?”

The entire table goes quiet. Will looks like he might pass out. Macklin grins.

“Oh perfect,” he says. “Speak of the devil.”

You tilt your head.

“What are we talking about?”

“Nothing,” Will says immediately.

“Will’s crush,” Macklin says.

Will drops his head into his hands.

“You’re the worst.”

You try very hard not to laugh.

“Alright,” you say, raising your phone. “Who’s first for a clip?”

Macklin immediately points at Will.

“Him.”

Will looks up.

“I hate all of you.”

You start recording.

“Alright,” you say casually. “Today’s question: what’s your favorite thing about the Sharks social media team?”

The entire table starts laughing again. Will stares at you.

“You planned this.”

“Answer the question.”

He sighs dramatically. Then he looks straight at the camera.

“They work really hard,” he says.

You nod.

“Good answer.”

He glances at you behind the phone and adds quietly,

“…and they take really good photos.”

Macklin falls out of his chair laughing.

⊱ —————- °.•　⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅　•.° —————— ⊰

That afternoon, you’re uploading photos from practice when someone knocks on the media room door.

You look up. Will. He leans against the doorframe.

“So,” he says.

“So?”

“Did my photography skills improve your photo?”

You grin.

“A little.”

“I knew it.”

“But you’re still in training.”

“Good thing I’ve got a great teacher.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Partially.”

“What’s the other reason?”

He hesitates for a second. Then he shrugs.

“…I was wondering if you wanted to film another TikTok later.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind?”

He smiles slightly.

“Maybe something where I don’t get bullied in the comments.”

“No promises.”

He laughs.

“Fair.”

Then he glances at the camera on your desk.

“Or… you could show me more photography stuff.”

You lean back in your chair.

“Careful, Smith.”

“Why?”

“You’re starting to sound like you’re using photography as an excuse to hang out.”

He pauses. Then he smiles again.

“…maybe I am.”

⊱ —————- °.•　⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅　•.° —————— ⊰

Another afternoon you’re standing in the hallway outside the locker room setting up for a TikTok idea.

Your phone is clipped onto a little tripod, the Sharks logo wall behind you, and a handful of players are milling around waiting to see what ridiculous thing you’ve come up with this time.

“Okay,” you explain, “today’s TikTok is ‘Sharks players teach me a hockey skill.’”

A few guys immediately start laughing.

“To be clear,” you add, pointing the camera toward yourself, “I have absolutely zero hockey experience.”

“Yeah we know,” Misa says from the side.

You glare at him.

“Thank you for the confidence.”

You hit record and start filming a few quick clips with different players.

Ekky tries to teach you how to tape a stick. Macklin shows you how to do a faceoff stance. Toff tries to teach you how to properly chirp.

“Step one,” he says, “you have to look confident.”

“I am confident.”

“You don’t look it.”

After a few clips you’re about to wrap up when Macklin suddenly appears beside you like he’s been waiting for this moment.

“Wait,” he says.

You already think this is suspicious.

“What.”

“You need someone to teach you a real hockey skill.”

“I thought we just did that.”

“No no,” he says, waving that off. “You need someone elite.”

He turns dramatically.

“Will.”

Will is standing about ten feet away talking to another teammate. He looks up immediately.

“…what.”

Macklin grabs his shoulder and physically pushes him toward the camera.

“He’s teaching you.”

Will digs his skates into the floor.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“I did not agree to this.”

You’re trying not to laugh.

“Will Smith,” you announce into the camera, “will now be teaching me a real hockey skill.”

Will sighs like a man who has been betrayed by his entire team.

“You guys are unbelievable.”

From behind the camera someone says, “Don’t mess this up, Romeo.”

Will turns around.

“I’m going to fight all of you.”

You clap once.

“Okay coach, what are we learning?”

He looks around the hallway like he’s searching for an escape route.

“…stickhandling.”

“Perfect.”

Someone tosses him a stick. He grabs another one and hands it to you along with a puck.

“Okay,” he says. “Just hold it like this.”

You grab the stick awkwardly.

“Do I look professional?”

“No.”

“Great.”

He crouches slightly in front of you and taps the puck with his stick.

“You’re just gonna move it side to side.”

You attempt it. The puck immediately shoots away across the hallway.

Off camera Mack yells, “ELITE.”

You laugh.

“Okay wait, that was a warmup.”

Will shakes his head, smiling.

“Here.”

He steps closer.

“Your hands are too far apart.”

He gently moves your top hand up the stick.

“Like this.”

Then he adjusts your other hand. Your shoulders brush when he leans in slightly to show you the motion.

For half a second neither of you says anything.

Behind the camera someone whispers loudly,

“Ooooooo.”

Will immediately steps back like something electrocuted him.

“Okay that’s good,” he says quickly.

“You barely taught me anything.”

“I taught you enough.”

“Do I get another try?”

He hesitates.

“…fine.”

You move the puck side to side again. This time it works slightly better. You grin.

“Wait I’m actually doing it.”

Will laughs.

“Look at that.”

You accidentally flick the puck too hard and it slides straight into Macklin’s skate. He kicks it back toward you.

“Great progress,” he says sarcastically.

You point at him.

“You’re banned from coaching.”

“I made this moment possible.”

“You made this awkward.”

Will rubs the back of his neck.

“We’re ending the video.”

You lean toward the phone.

“Final review: Will Smith is a very patient teacher.”

Behind you, Macklin yells,

“Because he has a crush on-”

Will immediately lunges toward the camera.

“END IT.”

You’re laughing too hard to hold the phone steady. The video ends up being the most chaotic TikTok you’ve posted yet.

And the comments absolutely lose their minds over the moment where Will adjusts your hands on the stick.

⊱ —————- °.•　⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅　•.° —————— ⊰

A couple weeks later the team is heading out for a road trip. It’s a shorter trip, so everyone is taking a coach bus together.

You’re traveling with them to film content and take photos. When you walk toward the bus with your backpack and camera bag, a few players are already climbing on.

Mack is near the door.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

“You excited for the road trip?”

“I’m excited to not wake up at five in the morning.”

“Fair.”

You step onto the bus behind him. And immediately notice something weird.

Normally Macklin always sits with Will. Everyone knows it. They’re basically attached at the hip.

But today…Macklin walks past Will’s seat and sits somewhere toward the back with another teammate.

You pause in the aisle. That’s weird. Then you keep walking down the bus looking for an open seat. And that’s when you notice the second weird thing.

Every single seat is somehow taken. Or at least… looks taken.

One row has a giant duffel bag sitting on the empty seat. Another has someone’s feet stretched across it. Another has two guys spread out like they’re guarding territory.

You keep walking down the aisle slowly. Looking at the seats.

“Taken,” Toff says quickly.

You glance at the bag.

“…by your backpack?”

“Yep.”

You move to the next one.

“Is this—”

“Taken.”

The next row has a hoodie draped across the seat. You stare at it.

“That hoodie does not look like a person.”

“It represents someone,” Ekky says.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. From somewhere in the back of the bus you hear Macklin coughing to hide a laugh.

You keep walking. Until you reach Will’s row. The window seat is open. He’s sitting in the aisle seat, scrolling on his phone.

He looks up when you stop beside him.

“Oh, hey.”

You glance back down the aisle. Every other seat is mysteriously occupied. You look at him again.

“…did the team stage a seating conspiracy?”

He looks genuinely confused.

“What?”

You gesture behind you.

“There are zero seats left.”

He glances down the bus.

“Oh.”

He shrugs slightly.

“You can sit here if you want.”

You hesitate for a second. Then you sit down beside him.

“Okay.”

Behind you, several players immediately sit up and reclaim their “taken” seats.

The bag disappears. Feet move. The hoodie gets put back on.

You turn slowly to look at them. They all suddenly look very interested in their phones. From the back of the bus Macklin leans into the aisle and calls forward,

“Everybody comfortable?”

Will throws a neck pillow at him.

“Shut up.”

Mack grins.

“Just checking.”

You laugh and lean back in your seat.

“This team is insane.”

Will shakes his head.

“They’ve been like this all morning.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you know about the seating conspiracy?”

He pauses.

“…maybe.”

You stare at him. “You did.”

“I didn’t plan it.”

“But you knew.”

He smiles slightly.

“I had a feeling.”

You bump his shoulder lightly.

“You’re all ridiculous.”

He shrugs.

“…worked though.”

You try not to smile. As the bus pulls onto the highway, Macklin calls from the back again,

“Y/n, are you comfortable up there?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Because that seat was strategically selected.”

Will groans and drops his head back against the seat.

“I’m switching teams.”

You laugh.

“You’re stuck with them.”

He glances over at you.

“…I don’t mind this part though.”

And for once, Macklin stays quiet.

⊱ —————- °.•　⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅　•.° —————— ⊰

The road trip ends with the team staying overnight before heading back to San Jose.

You’re not technically required to go to the team dinner, but your boss had said something along the lines of:

“Good content opportunities.”

So now you’re sitting at a long restaurant table with half the Sharks roster, trying to look normal while holding your phone, ready for potential TikTok material.

The night is loud and chaotic. Players talking over each other. Someone arguing about a missed call from the game. Macklin chirping everyone in a ten-foot radius.

At some point people start drifting outside the restaurant to wait for the bus back to the hotel. You step outside too, leaning against the railing and scrolling through the photos you took during the game.

A minute later someone stops beside you. Will.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

He glances at your phone.

“Already editing?”

“Always.”

You tilt the screen so he can see. It’s a photo of him from the game, skating hard through the neutral zone, the arena lights bright above him.

He leans closer.

“That’s sick.”

“You say that about all my photos.”

“No I don’t.”

“You literally do.”

He laughs quietly.

“You just take good ones.”

You’re about to respond when someone suddenly gasps behind you.

“Oh my god.”

You both turn. Two girls are standing a few feet away staring at you. One of them is holding her phone.

“Are you…?” she says, pointing at Will.

Will smiles politely.

“Yeah, hi.”

The other girl’s eyes widen when she looks at you.

“WAIT.”

You freeze.

“You’re y/n.”

Will looks at you. You look at him. The girl is already whisper-yelling to her friend.

“I told you it was them.”

Her friend nods frantically.

“Can we get a picture?”

Will nods immediately.

“Of course.”

You step aside to let them take a photo with him. But then one of them asks,

“Can she be in it too?”

You blink.

“…me?”

“Yeah! You guys are our favorite part of Sharks TikTok.”

Will laughs beside you. So you end up squeezed into the picture too. Afterward the girls thank you both repeatedly before leaving. But right before they walk away, one of them turns back and says,

“You guys are really cute together.”

Your face gets hot instantly. Will scratches the back of his neck.

“Uh, no, that’s… thanks.”

They leave. You both stand there in awkward silence for a moment. Then Will mutters,

“…the internet has ruined my life.”

You laugh.

“A little bit.”

⊱ —————- °.•　⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅　•.° —————— ⊰

The next day you’re back at the rink. You’re walking down the hallway toward the media room when you hear Macklin call your name.

“Y/n!”

You turn.

“What.”

He’s sitting on the bench outside the locker room.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“That never ends well.”

He grins, brushing off your comment.

“Do you like Will?”

You choke.

“WHAT?”

“Simple question.”

“Why are you asking me that??”

He shrugs.

“Curiosity.”

You point at him.

“You’re a menace.”

“I’m a matchmaker.”

“You’re definitely not.”

He laughs and waves you off.

“Alright fine.”

You shake your head and walk away. But the second you disappear down the hallway, Mack immediately turns to the locker room.

“Okay.”

Will looks up from tying his skates.

“…what.”

“She didn’t say no.”

Will stares at him.

“You asked her?”

“Yep.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because someone in this situation needs courage.”

“There’s nothing at stake for you, of course you have courage.”

“There’s so much at stake for me.”

Will throws a roll of tape at him.

“Shut up.”

Macklin leans forward, lowering his voice dramatically.

“Dude.”

“What.”

“You like her.”

Will sighs.

“…yeah.”

Macklin throws his arms in the air.

“FINALLY.”

“Keep your voice down!”

“You’ve been obvious for months.”

Will rubs his face.

“I know.”

“So just tell her.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“It literally is.”

Will shakes his head.

“What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

Macklin shrugs.

“Then at least you tried.”

He stands up and pats Will’s shoulder.

“But I’m pretty sure she does.”

“How would you know?”

Macklin grins.

“Because I’m a genius.”

⊱ —————- °.•　⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅　•.° —————— ⊰

A few nights later the Sharks win a big game at home. The arena is loud. Fans cheering. Players celebrating on the ice.

You’re near the tunnel snapping photos as the team skates off. Will passes you and taps the glass lightly with his glove. You grin and hold up the camera. He laughs and heads into the locker room.

Later you’re in the hallway outside the room waiting to grab some post-game content. Players start filtering out one by one.

Eventually Will steps out too. His hair is still damp from the shower and he’s carrying his bag over one shoulder.

“Good game,” you say.

He smiles.

“Thanks.”

“You looked good out there.”

“Was that a compliment or a photography observation?”

“Both.”

He laughs. Then suddenly Macklin appears from behind him.

“Alright. I’m done waiting.” He says.

“Oh no,” you say immediately.

“Yes,” Macklin says.

“No,” Will says.

“Yes.”

He claps his hands once.

“Smith, tell her.”

Will stares at him.

“Tell her what.”

“That you like her.”

The hallway goes completely silent. You feel your mouth open, trying to say something.

“…what?”

Will looks like he might actually die.

“Mack…I’m going to kill you.”

“That’s fine. After you confess.”

You look between them. Will sighs heavily. Then he looks at you.

“…he’s not wrong.”

Your heart jumps.

“I do like you,” he says quickly.

Macklin pumps his fist behind him. Will ignores him.

“I’ve liked you for a while actually,” he continues. “I just didn’t want to make things weird since you work with the team and everything.”

You stare at him for a second. Then you laugh softly.

“You know what’s funny?”

“What.”

“I thought you were just being nice this whole time.”

Will blinks.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head.

“I brought you a drink at six-thirty in the morning.”

“I thought you were being polite!”

Macklin groans. “You two are unbelievable.”

You look back at Will.

“…I like you too.”

Will laughs in disbelief. Then he glances at you again.

“…can I do something?”

“What?”

Instead of answering, he gently pulls you a little closer and kisses you. It’s soft and quick. But when he pulls back he’s smiling.

Behind him Macklin throws both arms in the air.

“MY WORK HERE IS DONE.”

You laugh. Will shakes his head.

“I hate him.”

You bump his shoulder.

“You love him.”

“…unfortunately. I do owe him for this.”

The first time you noticed the noise, you tried to ignore it.

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch of your San Jose apartment, laptop open, psychology textbook spread out beside you, half a granola bar set on a napkin. It was close to midnight and your brain already felt like mush. All you wanted was to finish the last page of notes and go to bed.

Then—

BANG.

You froze.

A second later something scraped violently across the ceiling above you.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” someone yelled upstairs.

You stared up at the ceiling.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT AM I DOING? YOU STICKED ME!”

Another crash. Something hit the floor hard enough that your light fixture rattled.

You blinked up at it.

…What the hell?

You shook it off and tried to focus on your laptop again.

The biopsychosocial model suggests that—

THUD.

“THAT DOESN’T COUNT!”

“YES IT DOES!”

“YOU MOVED THE NET!”

The sounds just got louder. Stomping footsteps. Something sounded like it was getting slammed into a wall.

You slowly set your pencil down.

For a moment you wondered if maybe it was just… someone enthusiastically rearranging the furniture.

Then someone shouted, “GET OFF ME!”

You sat up straight. Okay. That did not sound like furniture. You listened carefully.

More banging. Heavy stomping. Something skidded across the floor.

“YOU CAN’T JUST CHECK ME!”

“I DIDN’T CHECK YOU!”

You stared at the ceiling again, eyes wide. For all you knew someone was getting murdered up there. You grabbed your phone and checked the time.

12:18 AM.

You tried to ignore it. You really did.

You typed half a paragraph of notes. Deleted it. Typed another sentence.

Above you, something crashed loudly.

“OH COME ON!”

“THAT WAS CLEAN!”

“YOU ALMOST TOOK MY HEAD OFF!”

You rubbed your face. Maybe they'll stop.

Ten minutes passed.

They did not stop. If anything it got worse. Now there was stomping. Sliding noises.

You dropped your head onto your desk.

“Please,” you whispered to the ceiling. “Please stop.”

Another shout.

“BEST OF THREE!”

That was it.

You exhaled slowly and reached for your notebook. If you had to go upstairs and politely commit a crime, so be it.

You tore out a sheet of paper and wrote in large, very deliberate handwriting:

Hi. I live in the apartment below you. I’m a college student trying to finish homework and the noise is extremely loud. I understand accidents happen, but it’s past midnight.

Please keep it down.

You stared at it.

Then added one more line.

Please.

You slipped on your shoes, grabbed the note, and marched upstairs. The hallway was quiet except for the chaos coming from the apartment above yours.

You slid the note under their door and knocked quickly. Then immediately turned and speed-walked back to your apartment before anyone could open it. Your heart pounded like you’d just committed a Class A Felony.

Back inside, you sat on your couch. And waited. Silence. Complete, glorious silence.

You nearly cried.

You finished your homework in peace, brushed your teeth, and crawled into bed.

⊱ —————- °.•　⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅　•.° —————— ⊰

At exactly 9:02 AM, there was a knock on your door.

You groaned into your pillow. Your first thought was: They’re here to yell at me. You shuffled to the door, preparing for confrontation.

You opened it.

Two guys stood there. Both looked… extremely sheepish.

They were both tall with athletic builds, and they looked like they hadn’t slept much. One has messier hair and was slightly taller than the other.

The one with messy hair held out a Starbucks cup like a peace offering.

“Hi,” he said quickly. “We’re really sorry.”

You blinked. This was not what you had expected.

“…For?”

“The noise,” the other one said. “Last night.”

“Oh.”

You looked down at the cup.

“Is that…hot chocolate?”

“Yeah,” the first guy said. “Everybody likes hot chocolate.”

His friend gave him a look.

“That was your apology strategy?”

“It’s a good one!”

You tried not to laugh.

“You didn’t…poison it, right?” you asked cautiously.

The messy-haired one looked horrified.

“What? No!”

“We just felt bad,” his friend added. “We didn’t realize how loud it was. I’m Macklin though, this is Will.”

You studied them. They looked vaguely familiar. Like you had seen them somewhere before. But you were too tired to figure it out, thanks to the lack of sleep the night prior.

“Well,” you said slowly, accepting the cup, “thank you. I appreciate the apology.”

They both visibly relaxed.

“Sorry again,” the first guy, Will, said. “We got a little… competitive.”

“Competitive?” you repeated.

Macklin rubbed the back of his neck.

“…Mini hockey.”

You stared at them.

“…Inside the apartment?”

“Yeah.”

“With sticks.” Will added.

“…Yeah.” Macklin muttered.

You sighed.

“Okay, that explains a lot.”

They laughed nervously.

“Well, uh,” Will said, stepping back. “Have a good day.”

“You too.”

They left. You closed the door. Took a sip of the hot chocolate. Not poisoned.

⊱ —————- °.•　⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅　•.° —————— ⊰

Three days later, there was another knock. You opened the door.

Will.

“Hi,” he said.

He was holding a bag.

“…Why are you here?” you asked cautiously.

“I just wanted to make sure we didn’t wake you up again. We haven’t played mini hockey since,” he added quickly. “Promise.”

“…Good.”

He held up the bag.

“Also I brought cookies.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“Why?”

He shrugged.

“Guilt.”

You sighed and stepped aside.

“Come in.”

⊱ —————- °.•　⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅　•.° —————— ⊰

That was the beginning of it. Will started showing up occasionally.

Sometimes he’d bring Macklin.

Sometimes he’d bring coffee.

Sometimes with muffins.

Once with a bag of chips and salsa.

Each time claiming he still felt “really bad about the noise.”

You learned more about both of your neighbors. They were…weirdly nice. And extremely competitive about literally everything.

One afternoon Will was leaning against your kitchen counter while you worked on homework.

“So what are you studying?”

“Psychology.”

He nodded thoughtfully, thinking, then—

“Can you psychoanalyze Mack?”

“I already have,” you said.

“And?”

“He has a severe case of Competitive Idiot Syndrome.”

Will burst out laughing.

“Yeah that tracks.”

Weeks passed. One evening Will and Mack knocked on your door again. This time they looked oddly nervous.

“Hey,” Will said.

“Hi.”

He held out two tickets.

“To the Sharks game tonight.”

You looked at the two of them.

“…Why do you have Sharks tickets? And why are there only two? There’s three of us.”

Will and Macklin exchanged a glance.

Then Mack said carefully, “You… don’t know who we are.”

You frowned.

“…Should I?”

Will rubbed the back of his neck.

“We play for the Sharks.”

You stared at them. Then at the tickets. Then back at them.

“…Oh.”

Pause. It all started making sense, the mini sticks game, their semi-familiar faces.

“…OH.”

Mack started laughing.

“Yeah.”

“That’s where I recognized you from,” you muttered.

Will looked hopeful.

“So… you wanna come?”

⊱ —————- °.•　⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅　•.° —————— ⊰

You did go. You sat behind the bench. You watched Will score a goal.

After the game he found you in the hallway outside the locker room. Hair wet from a shower. Smiling.

“Did you have fun?”

“Yeah,” you said. “You’re pretty good at hockey.”

“Thanks,” he grinned. “It’s kinda my job.”

You laughed at that. Will hesitated.

“Hey…do you maybe…want to get dinner sometime?”

You tilted your head.

“Is this another apology?”

“…No.”

You smiled.

“Okay. Dinner sounds nice.”

From down the hall Macklin yelled:

“HEY! I KNEW IT!”

==================================================

sanjosesharks

Liked by KOyn, mack.celebrini, eky.will and 78,942 others

sanjosesharks Shoutout to @KOyn for opening their boxing gym to some of our young players to teach them to fight!

KOyn They'll probably forget it all in the morning, but it was a pleasure

= mack.celebrini oh ye of little faith

= will.smith2 definitely

= eky.will I won't

user1 so when do we get the boxer on skates?

= user2 literally! Teach em to fight on those skates!

ty.toffoli can't believe they got the pacifist, the cinnamon roll, and whatever eky is there

==================================================

eky.will

Liked by will.smith2, mack.celebrini, KOyn and 64,253 others

eky.will My attempt vs. the professionals vs. smitty's vs. macks

KOyn They're not the best, but by far not the worst I've seen.

will.smith2 Mack didn't even do his

= mack.celebrini yes I did!

== KOyn pretty boy hands

user3 the aesthetic of the 2nd slide to the 3rd slide 🤣

user4 pretty boy hands! Im dyinggggg 🤣🤣🤣

= KOyn Not a callous on those hands

==================================================

will.smith2

Liked by mack.celebrini, KOyn, cat.toffoli and 85,487 others

will.smith2 fun and facinating

user5 bro got the action shot

mack.celebrini I take photo credit

KOyn why you taking pictures of my feet

= eky.will bro got called out

== will.smith2 IT WAS FOR THE ACTION NOT THE FEET

=== user6 Will Smith Hockey into feet confirmed?

==== (comment deleted by author)

user7 so which of the Sharks gets the boy?

= user8 for real!!!

= KOyn 👀

==================================================

mack.celebrini

Liked by will.smith2, eky.will, KOyn and 94,555 others

mack.celebrini they switched me to baby gloves ;-;

= KOyn couldn't mess up the pretty boy hands

== user9 best part is there not even boxing gloves

=== KOyn that's the point

==== mack.celebrini 😭

user10 mack really be giving the pretty boy vibes by sitting off to the side.

eky.will will fight will fight will fight

= will.smith2 fight will fight will fight will

== user11 is that who's fighting in the last slide?

==================================================

KOyn

Liked by ty.toffoli, bearyoliver, mack.celebrini and 32,114 others

KOyn I''m a proud man.

user12 awww, he went to the practice and game 🥹

mack.celebrini we did it!

= KOyn it wasn't pretty but you did

== mack.celebrini does that mean I can take off the baby gloves

=== KOyn No.

will.smith2 beat that old man!

= ty.toffoli I got double teamed and they still didn't win

== KOyn ooooooooo drammmaaaaa

= mack.celebrini we beat you and there's no footage that says otherwise

eky.will he's too tall for his own good

user13 the vibes are real. I don't know what they are, but they're real.

= user14 righttt?

= user15 is it brotherly or lovey?

= KOyn 😏

==user13 OH GOSH WHAT DOES THE SMIRK MEAN

==================================================

All done. At least for now. Let me know if y'all would want more of this. Requests open. Anyways, have a good one. Duck out o7.

He leaves you on read.

You swap over to Twitter just in time to see:

It's true: the most recent photo dump on Will's Insta feed has you in it just as much as Macklin, including a blurry candid Will had taken of you when the two of you had gone out to dinner a couple nights ago. The restaurant had been nice, an Italian place with actual candles on the table, so of course half of the internet immediately assumed it was romantic.

Despite the fact that, as far as you or anyone else knows, Will Smith is straight as an arrow.

And yet lately, he keeps doing things like this — the soft launches, the group photos where his hand is a little too low on your waist, finding ways to talk about you when he gets asked about his personal life, adding specifically your love songs to all his posts and playlists. You've been best friends since you were children. It's easy to wave it all off as nothing more than a lifetime of closeness. At first it was even funny, watching Twitter and Tumblr melt down over the most random platonic touches, feeding into the RPF machine for fun.

It was supposed to be a joke. A running gag. You make references to your relationship in lyrics here and there, he points to you when you're in the crowd at a game.

Then you found yourself actually writing a song about him, and it turned into the lead single off your upcoming, highly anticipated third album, and now every time you accidentally turn your car radio from Bluetooth to FM, you hear yourself yearning for an ocean-eyed blond.

The joke has turned very, very real for you in the past couple months.

Not like you can tell Will that.

Your phone buzzes in your hand again.

Right. The IKEA shark video idea. Hubert is the name you picked when you got your first one, back before Will was even thinking about college, let alone an NHL team.

This time it's your turn to leave him on read. Maybe you've been stalking too many Y/N-Will accounts. There's no way he means it as anything other than a joke.

Instagram notifies you moments later that "willsmithhockey2 followed you back!"

Wedding. Jesus. You want to throw your phone across the room. Instead, you type back a shaky, "take me to dinner first," and he responds with a slew of pictures he'd taken at the Italian restaurant. You want to tell him to get checked for a concussion, but you're starting to feel like you're the one with some sort of head trauma; you grab Hubert the Blahaj and scream into his worn-soft white belly.

Who can you even talk to about this? The only person who comes to mind is Grace. After practically growing up in the Smith household, she's more or less as much a big sister to you as she is to Will.

So, what, call her up and be all, "Hi Grace, can you tell me if your little brother, my lifelong best friend, the professional hockey player, is maybe flirting with me for real and it's not just a gag anymore? Thanks!"? As if.

The upcoming album is already done with production, but you sit down at your keyboard anyway. Nothing helps you sort through your feelings like music does.

It's how that stupid love song for Will got written to begin with.

An hour later, you've got an intro and a bridge written for a slow pop ballad about weddings and missed chances. You don't feel any better, really, but you now know for a fact that you won't be able to ever watch Will get married without your heart tearing in two.

You shove the song to the back of your WIP folder. Maybe you can just sleep it off.