A🫐

Garrett always said thank you like he meant it. Tucker stacked empty baskets at the end of the table without being asked. Dean tipped well enough to make you forgive almost anything, even when he flirted with half the bar out of boredom. And Logan—

Logan noticed things.

Not a problem, necessarily. Just an inconvenient one when you were trying to get through a shift without thinking too hard about the way his attention felt when it landed on you.

He was sitting near the middle of the long table tonight, shoulders relaxed, one arm hooked over the back of his chair while he listened to Garrett say something over the noise. The team was out celebrating the newest freshmen, which meant the table had the strange energy of older guys trying to be welcoming and younger guys trying way too hard to prove they belonged there.

You had already been warned by one of the bartenders.

“Rookies,” Maya had muttered as she slid a tray of draft beers toward you. “God gives them varsity jackets and suddenly they think they invented testosterone.”

You snorted, lifting the tray. “If I don’t come back, tell my mother I died doing what I hated.”

“Serving men?”

“Pretending not to hear them.”

Maya laughed, and you carried the drinks toward the back.

The table erupted when you arrived, not at you specifically, but in that loud, pack-like way guys did when someone put alcohol within reach. Garrett reached automatically to help pass the glasses down, and Tucker shifted a basket of fries away from the edge before you could knock into it. Dean was mid-story, grinning at someone across from him, but he still glanced up long enough to say, “You’re a saint.”

“I know,” you said, setting down the last beer. “Tell your friends. Saints get tipped twenty percent.”

A couple of the older guys laughed. Logan’s mouth curved around the rim of his glass, his eyes flicking up to yours before he took a sip.

You had known Logan as a Malone’s regular before anything else. He came in with the team, sometimes with Garrett and Dean, sometimes alone after a game with damp hair and tired eyes. He was never difficult. He never waved you over with two fingers or called you sweetheart in that way that made your skin crawl. He looked at you when you spoke, remembered when you said you hated carrying hot plates without warning, and once, when a man at the bar had snapped his fingers at you, Logan had gone completely still.

He had not even said anything that time. He had just stared until the guy lowered his hand.

Tonight, though, his attention kept drifting.

You told yourself it was because you were his waitress, and he was probably waiting on wings.

That was easier than admitting you liked it.

The first hour was normal. Loud, messy, manageable. The freshmen drank too quickly and laughed too hard at jokes that were not funny enough to deserve it. You refilled waters they were not going to touch, brought out a mountain of baskets, and dodged elbows while people made room for plates.

Then one of the freshmen at the far end knocked a basket of fries off the table.

Not bumped. Not clipped with his sleeve by accident.

Knocked.

You saw his hand move too deliberately for it to be anything else, saw the way his eyes flicked to the guy beside him before the basket hit the floor and fries scattered under the chairs.

“Oh, shit,” he said, far too loud. “My bad.”

The other freshman laughed under his breath.

You stared at the fries for half a second, then at him. He gave you a look full of fake innocence.

It was not the first time someone had treated you like the job made you part of the furniture. It would not be the last. Malone’s had taught you a lot of things, but mostly it had taught you how to swallow irritation in public, how to smile with your teeth, and how to decide which battles were worth your manager pulling you aside later.

This one, you decided, was not.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, voice flat enough that Garrett glanced over.

You went to get the broom.

By the time you came back, the freshmen had moved on, already laughing about something else. You swept the fries into a pile, trying not to focus on the heat creeping up your neck. Your uniform skirt suddenly felt shorter than it had ten minutes ago. Every bend of your knees, every shift of your weight, felt watched.

Most of the table had gone quieter.

Not silent, but aware.

Garrett’s expression had tightened, his eyes moving from you to the freshmen. Tucker had stopped eating. Dean’s grin was gone, replaced by a look that made him seem sharper around the edges.

And Logan was looking right at the freshman who had dropped the basket.

Not with anger, exactly.

With restraint.

You finished cleaning, dumped the fries, and told yourself that was the end of it.

Twenty minutes later, you returned with another round of drinks. The table had loosened again, but the freshmen were still buzzing with too much confidence and not enough sense. You set a beer in front of Logan, then moved toward the far end with two sodas and a basket of onion rings.

“Thanks,” Tucker said quietly as you passed him.

You gave him a small smile.

The freshman who had spilled the fries watched you set down the basket. His friend, sitting beside him, shifted in his chair and let his phone slide off his thigh. It landed near your shoe, face-down on the floor.

The timing was too perfect.

So was the grin he tried to hide.

“Oops,” he said. “Could you grab that?”

For one second, nobody moved.

You looked down at the phone, then back at him. He was waiting for you to bend. He wanted you to bend. He wanted his friends to laugh, wanted the moment to turn into a story he could tell later like you were not a person standing in front of him with aching feet and a tray burn on your wrist.

Your hand tightened around the empty tray.

Before you could decide whether losing your job would be worth it, Logan’s chair scraped back.

“Pick it up yourself.”

The freshman blinked, his smile faltering. “What?”

Logan did not raise his voice, which somehow made everyone listen harder. “Your phone. Pick it up yourself.”

The guy let out a nervous laugh and looked around, probably searching for backup from someone older, someone cooler, someone willing to turn this into a joke. He did not find it. Garrett had leaned forward with his forearms on the table, eyes cold. Tucker was staring down the other freshman like he was memorizing him for later. Dean sat back slowly, all traces of amusement gone from his face.

“It’s not a big deal,” the freshman said, but his voice had thinned.

Logan stepped out from behind his chair. “Then you should have no problem doing it.”

The freshman’s ears went red.

You could feel half the bar watching now, the conversation closest to the table fading as people caught the shift in the air. You hated scenes. You hated being in the middle of them more. But Logan was not looking at you like you were a problem to fix. He was looking at the freshmen like they had embarrassed themselves, and for some reason, that made it easier to breathe.

The freshman grabbed his phone with an awkward dip, then sat up too quickly.

Logan waited until he was seated before speaking again.

“You’re here because the guys wanted to welcome you to the team,” he said, still calm, still controlled. “That does not mean you get to treat the staff like they’re props in whatever little performance you’re putting on. She’s working. You’re sitting here eating food she brought you. Try being less pathetic about it.”

One of the freshmen opened his mouth.

Garrett cut him a look. “Don’t.”

Dean reached for his beer, eyes never leaving the far end of the table. “Bold choice, making enemies with the woman who controls whether we get fed.”

The comment eased the pressure just enough for a couple of guys to shift, but nobody laughed at the freshmen.

Tucker glanced at you, his expression apologetic in a way that made your chest pinch. He moved his chair a few inches, giving you space to get out from between the tables without having to squeeze past anyone.

You took it.

Your heartbeat was still too fast. Your face felt too warm. You wanted to say something clever, something that made it seem like you were fine and unaffected, but the words would not come. So you looked at Logan instead.

He was already looking at you.

His jaw was tense. His hand flexed once by his side, like he had more to say and was forcing himself not to make the moment bigger than it already was. The anger was still there, contained but obvious. Because he was genuinely furious on your behalf.

You swallowed, then mouthed, thank you.

Something in his face shifted.

Softened.

You turned before it could undo you completely and headed back toward the bar.

Maya caught your eye as soon as you rounded the corner. “I was two seconds from coming over with the soda gun.”

“You would’ve sprayed me by accident.”

“Collateral damage.” She looked past you toward the hockey table, then back again. “Logan?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out thin. “I hate when people notice.”

“I know,” she said, a little gentler. “But sometimes it’s nice when the right person does.”

You did not answer that, mostly because you were afraid your face would say too much.

The rest of the night went easier, at least on the surface. The freshmen behaved like someone had stapled manners to their foreheads. They said please. They said thank you. One of them even tried to stack plates before Garrett looked at him like he was not allowed to earn redemption that quickly.

Logan did not make another scene.

He did not hover, either.

He watched you in small, quiet ways. When you passed the table with a heavy tray, he shifted his chair before you had to ask. When someone from another table tried to flag you down while you were already carrying six drinks, he told them you had seen them and would get there when you could. When the freshmen left with the rest of the group, he stayed near the back, pulling on his jacket slower than everyone else.

You were wiping down the bar when the team finally cleared out. Garrett clapped Logan on the shoulder on his way out, saying something low enough that you could not hear. Dean tossed cash onto the table and added more when Garrett gave him a look, which made you roll your eyes despite yourself. Tucker was the last of the others to leave, carrying two empty baskets to the bar.

“Sorry about earlier,” he said, not making it a production. “They were being assholes.”

You took the baskets from him. “Appreciate it.”

His gaze flicked toward the door, where Logan stood with one hand on the frame, pretending not to wait. “He means it, you know.”

You looked at Tucker. “Means what?”

Tucker’s mouth twitched like he knew better than to answer fully. “All of it.”

Then he left.

By last call, Malone’s had emptied into a quieter version of itself. The kind with chairs flipped onto tables, damp floors, and the lingering smell of fried food that clung to your hair no matter how many times you washed it. Maya counted the drawer while the last bartender hauled trash out back. You were sweeping under the hockey table, finding fries in places fries had no right to be, when the front door opened again.

You looked up, ready to tell whoever it was that you were closed.

Logan stepped in, hands half-raised like he knew he was trespassing on sacred post-shift territory.

“Before you throw something at me,” he said, “I come in peace.”

Your grip eased on the broom. “That depends. Are you ordering food?”

“No.”

“Then your survival odds are better.”

He smiled a little, but it did not quite reach his eyes. He let the door fall shut behind him and glanced around the bar. “You still closing?”

“Usually what happens after closing.”

“Right.” He nodded once, looking down at his shoes before looking back at you. “That was a dumb question.”

“A little.”

He took it without flinching, which you liked more than you wanted to.

The room felt different with Logan in it now. Earlier, he had been part of the noise, one guy at a table full of them. Here, with the lights half-dimmed and the music low behind the bar, he was impossible to ignore, his hair messy from the cold and his jacket unzipped over his Briar hoodie.

“I wanted to apologize again,” he said.

You leaned the broom against the table. “You already did more than you had to.”

“That’s not the point.” His gaze flicked toward the spot where the fries had scattered earlier. “You shouldn’t have had to stand there and decide whether saying something was worth risking your shift. They were being gross. I should’ve shut it down the first time.”

You picked at the towel tucked into your apron. “I’m used to it.”

His expression shifted. “That makes me want to go back outside and yell better.”

A laugh slipped out before you could stop it, small but real.

Logan’s shoulders eased a little, and somehow that made you look away faster.

“You don’t have to hang around out of guilt,” you said, reaching for the broom again. “I’m okay.”

“I know you are.” His voice softened. “That’s not why I came back.”

You swept beneath the table, waiting, but he did not rush to fill the silence. He just stood there, close enough for you to notice the crease between his brows.

“I came back because I hated leaving you here thinking that was the only reason I noticed you tonight.”

Your hand stilled.

The bar hummed around you, all old refrigerators and low music and Maya pretending very hard not to look over from behind the counter.

“You noticed me tonight?” you asked.

His mouth curved, more nervous than teasing. “Yeah. Terrible habit. Been happening for a while.”

That landed low in your stomach.

You glanced toward the bar, where Maya suddenly became fascinated by clean glasses. Subtlety was apparently dead.

You looked back at Logan. “Is this the part where you tell me you’re secretly here all the time for the burgers?”

“The burgers are good.”

“Logan.”

“I’m here for the waitress who judges my wing orders,” he admitted, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. “And because she remembers I hate celery but still brings it to me because she thinks it’s funny.”

“It is funny.”

“It’s bullying.”

He smiled, and some of the heaviness from earlier loosened between you.

“Mostly,” he said, “I’m here because of you.”

You hated how much you liked that. After a night of being looked at in a way that made your skin feel too tight, Logan’s attention felt completely different. It did not make you feel small. It made you feel seen.

You swallowed. “That was a really good apology.”

“I had time to work on it outside.”

“You waited outside?”

“For a bit.”

“In the cold?”

He winced. “Sounds worse when you say it like that.”

“That’s because it’s weird.”

“Probably,” he said. “I was trying not to make your night harder.”

“And then you came back into my closed bar.”

“Yeah, the plan had flaws.”

This time, your laugh came easier.

You still had closing to finish, so Logan helped without making a big deal out of it. He flipped chairs while you swept, quiet and steady, like making your night shorter mattered because it mattered to you. By the time Maya disappeared into the back with a look you chose to ignore, the bar was nearly done.

You untied your apron and set it behind the counter. “You really didn’t have to help.”

“I know.”

“And yet.”

“And yet,” he repeated, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “I guess I’m trying to make a good impression.”

You looked over at him. “By doing unpaid labor?”

“By making your night a little less awful.”

That quieted you more than it should have.

Logan’s smile faded, but he didn’t look away. “I’ve wanted to ask you out for weeks,” he admitted. “Tonight just made me realize I was running out of excuses not to.”

You stared at him, your chest doing something soft.

“I don’t owe you anything,” you said.

“I know.”

“And you’re not getting a date because you yelled at a freshman.”

“Good,” he said immediately. “He doesn’t deserve that kind of power.”

A smile tugged at your mouth. “But I might give you one because you waited in the cold and admitted the wing thing was about me.”

“It was fully about you.”

You laughed, and the way he looked at you afterward was what got you. Not the protective part. Not even the apology. It was the quiet relief on his face, like making you laugh after the night you had was enough.

You grabbed your coat. “I’m done here.”

Logan walked you to your car, matching your pace through the cold. When you stopped beside the driver’s door, the silence stretched between you in a way that felt awkward only because it mattered.

“Can I take you out?” he asked. “Somewhere you don’t have to carry anyone’s food or pretend rude people are funny.”

Your throat went a little tight. “Yeah. You can.”

His smile came slowly, warm enough to make the cold feel less sharp.

Logan did not move in right away. He waited, giving you every chance to tell him goodnight. Instead, you reached for the front of his jacket and tugged lightly.

He stepped in, one hand settling against the car beside your shoulder while the other brushed your waist. His mouth met yours softly at first, almost asking, and when you kissed him back, the hesitation disappeared.

When he pulled away, he stayed close, his breath visible in the cold.

“I’m trying really hard not to say something stupid right now,” he murmured.

You smiled. “Save it for the date.”

When you finally got into your car, Logan waited until your headlights came on before stepping back.

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you said, this time out loud.

His expression softened under the parking lot light. “Anytime.”

0. Begin again

Breakups are hard, you've been through your fair share of them, all the way back to middle school when you dated Tommy B for four whole days, although you're not sure the weekend when you didn't talk to each other counted, all the way to just a few months ago when you had the worst breakup you could ever imagine.

You've never hated your status more than you have in the last three months. It seems like everything is trying to remind you that the life you had planned for yourself will never come true, social media is filled with headlines about your breakup, talk shows are questioning what happened, even the newspapers had an article about how you'd gone from talking about getting married to getting dumped, which technically is not true.

You didn't get dump, you broke up with him after you caught him cheating for the second time. The first time it happened you'd heard from a friend, one of his friends' girlfriend technically, she'd warned you about one girl who ran in your circle who she'd heard talking about sleeping with your boyfriend. When you confronted him he admitted to it and said it had been a lapse in judgement, a one time thing that he felt extremely guilty about. A week later you were back together. This time around you'd found him in bed with her when coming back to your shared home earlier than planned and you couldn't find it in yourself to forgive him and go through it again.

So you packed a bag, flew to New York City where you had an apartment and left both him and the dreams of a life you no longer recognized behind. Then you spent the next three months hiding away from everyone, Alyssa, your assistant and one of your best friends, had picked up the rest of your stuff from your shared apartment in LA and brought it back to you.

You realized how deep you were and how much you needed to get back to reality one night after setting the table for dinner on autopilot and putting out two placement mats and two sets of cluttery as if you were still with him and expecting him for dinner and then burned the placemat over your kitchen sink in a blur of rage.

Two weeks later Alyssa couldn't take seeing you like that anymore. Shejust walked into your apartment one day and announced she was setting you up with one of her best friends' brother, a hockey player named Dean who she swore was a real good guy and also, in her own words, really fucking hot. You of course objected against the date immediately, you were still not over your breakup and in fact, a blurry picture of your ex and his, apparently, new girlfriend AKA the girl he cheated on you with had left you crying again just yesterday.

But, if there's one thing about Alyssa, it is her perseverance, it was partially the reason you'd hired her in the first place. Alyssa was the kind of person who could get a yes out of the most difficult asks, you'd seen it over and over again from getting you booking some of your dream venues, to a table at an extremely popular new restaurant with a six month waiting list for the next day. So she didn't relent, she nagged you until finally you accepted.

"One date, and I am not promising you anything will come out of it" You'd said, she'd nodded with a big wide smile and mumbled something about you eating your words before texting her best friend and letting her know the date was on.

The date happened next Wednesday, because hockey players have weird schedules, in a hidden coffee shop in the West Village. You showed up ten minutes earlier than your agreed time expecting him to show up late, like your ex boyfriend always did, which would give you time to pick a spot and calm your nerves. He was already there when you walked through the door looking just like he had in the pictures Alyssa had shown you.

He got up to greet you as soon as he noticed you, your name coming out in a nice smooth voice accompanied by a warm smile "Hi, I'm Dean, it's nice to meet you"

"Nice to meet you Dean" Your voice came out shaky but if he noticed he didn't say anything, just pulled your chair out inviting you to sit.

"Would you like to order first? I'm not sure what you like but they seem to have some good pastries that my trainers would probably disapprove of" You took the small menu from the middle of the table as he spoke and felt thankful he didn't seem to be shy when making conversation.

"These do sound good" You agree scanning the names on the menu.

You ordered and started talking, he led the conversation for most. ofit, not because he was the kind of guy who just liked to hear his own voice but because he noticed it was what you needed, still, he made sure to always ask about you about whatever topic you found yourself in.

"You know" He took a sip of his cappucino "When Summer, my sister, first told me about this date I said no"

You chuckled into your own cup "I also told Alyssa no"

"But they are as stubborn as the other" He nodded "She enlisted Alyssa's help and they had me on a call for about an hour until I relented"

"You broke too easily" You said "It took Alyssa like three whole days"

"You're stronger than me" He joked "But to be fair, I've been resisting against them since we were kids"

"The first time Alyssa convinced me to do something it was camping" You shared, he raised an eyebrow and leant in ready to hear the story "I love the outdoors, but only when I get to go inside at bedtime. She insisted it would be fun, it was back when she'd just started working with me, the first year probably, and she made this whole plan, invited some other friends, told me she had it all figured it out and I just needed to show up"

"Oh no" He had a playful glint in his eye like he knew whatever you were about to say next would be good.

"She got us a child sized tent, for both of us" He cackled "We fit, made it work, but that's when I discovered Alyssa loves to cuddle" You looked at him, waited for the interruption, for the moment he'd hijack the story and turned it to one of his that diminished yours, but it never came, he just smiled and waited for you to continue "I had to pee at some point, there were porta potties thankfully, but then when I finally made it out of the tent I saw something moving where we'd stored our food and of course I was convinced it just had to be a bear"

"Naturally" He nodded, his body was still leaning towards you as he showed you you had his undivided attention.

"So I went back in and woke Alyssa up, we armed ourselves with the only thing we could think of, our flashlights" He nodded again, you chuckled "It was pocket flashlights, the kind that are smaller than your hand" He let out a laugh "Thankfully it was just one of our friends who'd gotten hungry and was looking for a midnight snack, safe to say I never went back camping with her"

"Hey, I don't know about you, but I've seen Alyssa fight and I think you two had a chance with your pocket flashlights" He joked.

You spent another hour talking and getting to know each other, the date went so good you forgot about the hearbreak and your ex for the first time in three months, when your Uber arrived, a street over because of construction, he walked you to it and when you passed a poster that was up in a store with your ex boyfriend's face in it you almost stopped and said something about it. Almost, Dean beat you to it, distracted with another store that had Christmas decorations, Christmas was still a few months away, he launched into a story about the movies his family watched every single year.

When you finally stopped in front of your Uber your smile was an easy one, the kind that hadn't shown up in a while "Thank you for today, it was fun"

He smiled too, full dimples showing "Thank you, this was great, I'm glad I'm weak against Summer and Alyssa"

"I'm glad too" And with one last hug you said goodbye and hopped into the car.

Dean had already pulled his phone out and opened up the groupchat with the two matchmakers, he sent two words to it, blocked it and walked away with a big smile feeling like this was just the beginning of something good.

'you win'

1. Peace

Three months of quiet down time with your boyfriend felt better than years in therapy, but that wasn't something you planned on sharing with your therapist. You and Dean had just passed your three month anniversary and your time together had been nothing short of bliss, you had both decided to keep everything as provate as possible with it being new and the media that was still talking about your breakup, so most of the time spent together was in your apartments, Dean's mainly since you thought it had better security and less chances of the media catching you, but also because of his practice and game schedule.

Privacy was great, you loved being able to have something that was just yours without anyone to criticize it and pull it apart, but it also meant that you had't been to any of his games or met any of his teammates or friends.

"It's just not fair" You complained to Alyssa through the phone, Dean, who had gone to get dinner for the two of you to share before he left on a roadie, walked in "Dean just got here, I'll call you later"

"You ok?" He asked dropping the food on the table and pulling you up into a hug that you melted into.

"Just another article about how I'm a heart breaker because Theo's been underperforming" You mention the article you saw earlier where sports analysts, who were supposed to be professionals, blamed you for your ex-boyfriend's team losing streak "And also Gia's been liking and making shady posts"

"Are you planning on speaking out?" He asked, you'd thought about it and gone through the pros and cons with Alyssa before ultimately deciding it would probably go worse for you if you did say something, so you shake your head no and he nods understandingly "I got us subs from that place you like"

"Oh thank god" You mumble against his chest where your head's been resting "I'm starving"

"So…" He said mid bite "My family's coming over on Friday" You'd met Summer before, but his parents you'd only said hello to once or twice when he's been in a call with and you hadn't met his brother yet either "I mean, my parents are going to be here for the weekend and Nick's taking the weekend off so Summer's flying in too"

You nod already making plans to pass the time off while they are around "Okay, I'll probably book some time in the studio then, finally try and get something out"

He frowns, confused "What? No, I… I want you here, to meet them"

"Oh" You let out, you hadn't expected that, usually when Theo's family was around you'd make yourself scarce to let them have their family time so this was new territory for you.

"I mean, only if you are comfortable with it"

"Of course but… I don't want to intrude in your family time, I know it's not often you all have time off like this" You told him.

His expression softened "Honey, you wouldn't be intruding" He captured your hand into his "They have actually been wanting to meet you for a bit, Summer wouldn't shut up about how he'd find me my perfect girl and- what?" He asked when he noticed the look you were giving him.

"Your perfect girl?" You asked with. araised eyebrow and a tiny smile threatening to break through.

"Well, yeah" He scratchd the back of his neck "She's not wrong, and well everyone's excited to meet you and hang out with you"

"Okay" You nodded

"Okay"

He left for his roadie the next day after making plans for you to meet him at his apartment on Saturday for brunch. So naturally, Friday night you ended up pacing your apartment with a glass of red wine and Alyssa lounging on your couch with an amused smirk "What if they see me and think I'm not pretty enough for him? And then I speak and they hate my voice? And if they don't like what I bring? Oh my God are the pastries enough? should I have bought more? What if they are allergic? What if they think I'm trying to kill them?"

Your rant is enough for your best friend as she bursted out laughing and you finally stopped "You're being stupid" You scoffed "No, seriously. I've known the Di Laurentis for most of my life, trust me they are not as shallow as everyone makes them seem, they are probably some of the nicest people ever and Summer said her mom was already planning her christmas gift list for you, apparently she's been researching what you like"

"She researched me?" Your face blanched at the thought knowing that, especially recently, your reputation hasn't been the best so God knows what she found.

"Not you" Alyssa realized your panic "Your likes, she always does this thing where she goes all out for christmas, and I mean at least five or more full presents plus a stocking of 'mini' gifts that can range anywhere from a piece of candy to a cartier ring"

"That actually doesn't make me feel better, it just makes the pastries seem like not enough" You dropped into the couch in dramatics that would've sent your wine flying if your cup hadn't been empty already.

"Oh my god" She groaned "Stop overthinking it babe, you'll be fine"

"Have you ever seen them with one of Dean's exes?" You asked, Alyssa laughed.

"There was exactly two girlfriends before you" Your ears perked at the comment "One in high school who we don't talk about and one in college who's still in the friend group, Allie Hayes, you know? The broadway actress?" You nodded, you'd seen her in one of her plays last year and she'd been brilliant "She's great, and her and Dean were good but ultimately decided they were better as friends, the Di Laurentis liked her" She shrugged.

"Oh my god I hadn't even thought about ex girlfriends" You groaned and threw your head back "I can't compete with her, she's perfect"

"There is no competition" Alyssa pointed out "Allie's just a friend. Anyways, the point is, the Di Laurentis trust their kids and their judgement, so if Dean's crazy about you then of course they'll like you too"

Dean offered to pick you up from your apartent on Saturday, you obviously denied saying it was silly for him to drive to your apartment just to drive back to his, so instead you took an Uber there. The doorman already knew you and just nodded with a smile when you walked in, the usual elevator ride that you'd done countless times felt way too long this time around, you took one last nervous look at your reflection in the mirror in the elevator, your outfit casual enough to not look like you're trying too much but something that you had crafted carefully with Alyssa the night before. You carried a tote bag full of baked goods that you'd picked up from that one coffee shop you had your first date with Dean months ago, a wine bottle, charcuterie board items and your essentials, your other hand held a bouquet of flowers, lilies, since Dean said that was his mom's favorite.

You took one last big breath and stepped out, the walk between the elevator and the apartment door not enough to help your nerves. You usually just walked in knowing that Dean rarely locked his door anyways,a habit you'd tried to break him out of with no results, but this time you knocked.

"Why are you knocking?" He asked confused.

"Because that's what a regular person would do?" You replied as if it was obvious, because it was.

"But you're not a regular person" He declared.

"Are you calling me weird?" You argued.

"No! I'm just saying, you never knock and that's perfectly fine by me because you're my girlfriend and I want my place to also feel yours but-" He got cut off by a familiar voice.

"Stop hogging her Dicky, we wanna see her too" Summer appeared behind him, sent you a wink and bumped her brother out of the way "Please, ignore this brute I call my brother and come in"

"I was literally telling her to come in" Dean huffed.

"Oh you're here!" His mom exclaimed as soon as she saw you, she placed the bowl she'd been holdng down on the table and rushed to you "Dean, help the poor girl out"

He raised an eyebrow at you and took your tote bag letting you keep the bouquet "Hi, it's so nice to meet you, these are for you" You handed the lilies to her.

"Oh these are wonderful! Thank you dear, I'm so happy you could join us today you have no idea how much we've been pestering Dean about meeting you but you know our schedules are impossible right now" She pulled you into a side hug and guided you to the kitchen with her keeping her arm around your shoulders.

"She's stolen your girlfriend" Summer told Dean.

"Honey" Dean's dad gave you both a smile "Don't hog the girl, we want to meet her too"

His mom swatted him away but let go of you to let you greet him and his other son officially "Nice to meet you" You shook his hand.

"You too" He smiled.

"Good to finally meet you" Nick who was Dean's older, more serious version of a man shook your hand too "Sorry we haven't been introduced before, work's been crazy lately"

"And that's where the work talk is ending" Summer jumped in winking at you "We don't want to bore her before we get to dessert"

You set up the charcuterie board you'd brough over alongside Dean's mom as she finished prepping brunch, you learned that although her job had always been demanding, she always enjoyed cooking to destress and even though most of the time they had cooks in their staff she liked cooking for her family whenever she had the chance.

Brunch went by nicely, your nerves dissolving before the table had even been set and by the time you had finished the lunch part and moved to the pastries you'd brought over you'd already heard every childhood story the Di Laurentis parents could remember about their kids. You and Dean had ended up doing the dishes after everyone was done after a small fight with the whole family who tried to stop you "They really like you" He admitted while washing a plate "Dad told me I better not mess this up while you were fighting mom about doing the dishes"

Your expression melted and your heart fluttered "I really like them too, I was real nervous they'd hate me"

"Baby I'm not sure anyone could ever hate you"

You chuckled "So you haven't checked twitter recently then?"

He moved closer to you "They don't know you" His voice was even softer than what it usually was when he talked to you, and Dean knew that should've frightened him, how you melt him completely, but it doesn't, it feels right "They just know a version of you they created. If they truly knew you, if they saw the you I get, they'd love you"

You ended the night with a few rounds of Mario Kart against the Di Laurentis siblings, Summer and you absolutely demolishing the brothers while their parents watched fondly from the side. When you left it was with a promise to get together again before they left and your number in both Dean's mom and Summer's phone, the older woman already making plans for the upcoming holidays.

The next morning you had a meeting that left you completely drained. It was with your pr and media team to decide how you wanted to proceed with the headlines about the breakup that still circulated but in the end it really was just a lot of looking at articles that trash talked you. One in particular stuck in your head, the one that had called you 'the nightmare-in-law', there were a few reasons why it bothered you so much but the main one had been the 'in-law' title.

Theo and you had spent many nights talking about your future, he'd always said he'd propose when you least expected it, you two talked about your dream wedding and on those ocassions that you did hang out with his family, they too joked about having you join the family officially.

Then there had also been the nightmare part of the headline. You'd never been extremely close to his family, they didn't live locally and your schedules didn't always coincide, but when they did you'd always had a good relationship, you'd been at his brother's wedding and his sister's graduation yet now there were comments about you being difficult to get along with from them?

"You can't spiral like this" Alyssa spoke out pulling you out of your thoughts, you'd been in the back of a car on your way back to your apartment and you hadn't spoken more than two words the whole ride "Not about this, you know better than to pay this much attention to people who don't know you and whose whole job is to shit talk people they don't know"

"They had an inside source" You mumbled "And we all know what that means"

"That they know how to sell?" She asks "Babe half the time their inside sources are interns who are specifically tasked with coming up with the most outrageous shit they can"

You looked at her "What if this is an actual inside source? What if his family truly hated me the whole time?"

"Who cares?" She let out bluntly "You are not with him anymore, if his family actually is that two faced then good ridance, you're never dealing with them ever again"

"They hated me, were together for four years and I was blind the whole time" You knew you were spiraling but you couldn't stop.

"Why are you obsessing over this right now?" Alyssa questioned "Normally you don't care to read those articles, you've been in the industry long enough to know not to pay attention to the noise, so why this reaction now?"

You sighed, you knew exactly why "Because… what if Dean's family read them and realize I'm not a good person? What if Dean reads it and realizes he deserves someone better?" You felt the familiar sting of tears in your eyes "I'm in trouble Lyss, I really really like him, I think I might be falling for him, I want this… no, I need this to work out because I can't go through that kind of heartbreak again and I'm not sure if something went wrong with Dean I could pull myself out of it that easily"

Alyssa's face read full understanding "Oh babe" She scooted over and hugged you, you finally let the tears fall.

"I don't want to lose him Lyss, especially not because of this" You sobbed into her shoulder.

"I think you should tell him how you're feeling about all this" She said, you shook your head "Babe, no matter how much I, or anyone, reassures you that this will not break your relationship, it will never mean anything unless it comes from him"

"We haven't even been together for that long, I don't want him to think I'm crazy" You sniffled "Which I clearly am because I mean, look at me, I'm a mess"

"You're not crazy" She reassured "You're human, you feel things, you go through emotions, he'll understand that and I'm sure he'd like to be able to be there for you"

You let that conversation with Alyssa and your thoughts simmer for a few weeks, the headlines too loud when you had a moment to think. You tried to ignore it as best as you could, to convince yourself that you could deal with it on your own, until you couldn't anymore. Alyssa's voice telling you to talk to him finally broke through.

It happened at night as you laid on his chest while he drew mindeless shapes on your bare back "Dean?" He hummed, he'd clearly already been drifting off but woke up when he felt you sit up.

"What is it honey?" Just like that he'd woken up again, concern etched into his face.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about this for a bit but I didn't know how to approach it" You let out quietly.

Dean being Dean, can't help but to jokingly interrupt you "Oh shit, is it my hands? I swear I do wash them but the smell of the gloves linger and I can't really do anything about it"

Some of your nerves dissipated and you felt thankful for the absolute idiot your boyfriend was and the way he always knew how to calm you down "It's not your hands, you know I like your hands"

He nodded suggestlibly "Oh yeah, I know"

You smiled softly "It'a about the articles" You admitted and he shifted to sit up too "A couple weeks ago there was this one that talked about an inside souce who claimed Theo's family hated me through all the relationship. They called me the 'nightmare-in-law" His jaw clenched at the title "And I guess I just got to thinking and… I really, really like you, like, a lot" His jaw unclenched, a soft smile replaced the scowl "But those articles, they'll never stop coming and as much shit as they make up, sometimes there will be some truth to them and maybe sometimes it will be difficult to pick up what's real and what's not" You couldn't look at him anymore, instead you looked down at a loose thread in the blanket as you played with it out of nerves "Sometimes I can't make out the truth from the lies, it's a lot, and sometimes I feel like maybe they are right when they say I'm not a good person. And you already live such a hectic life and I can't imagine you wanting to come home to more shit, you probably want to come home to peace but my life is pretty hectic too, you haven't even seen the half of it because I haven't given people any sightings to pull apart and overanalyze but I will have to go out there to the real world again soon and… I guess what I'm trying to get at is I don't know if I will ever be able to give you that peace you deserve"

You finished your rant with your gaze locked on the loose thread you played with, you didn't want to see his face when he processed your words and decided you were right, when that recognition that he didn't want to live his life like this hit but that never came.

"Honey" He called out, and when you didn't look up he softly grabbed a hold of your chin and turned you to face him while calling your name "I'm going to talk now and you're going to listen to every word I say without interrupting okay?" You nodded "You are all that I want. I don't care about any articles and their headlines, I don't care about all the outside noise from people who didn't know how to appreciate you. I want you and our quiet nights , I want the loud karaoke sessions, the crying over movies that aren't even that sad, the videos of you celebrating my goals that will one day turn into you celebraring at the arena, I want the waking up in the middle of the night scared that there are creepy ghosts in here only to find you playing a melody on the piano instead because a chord progression was revealed to you in your dreams" You let out a watery chuckle at that "I want all of that and more because I love you and as long as you are here then I am in peace. You are my peace honey"

"I was trying really hard not to cry" You wiped your face "And you just had to go and ruin that for me" He chuckled "I love you too" His smile went impossibly wider and he pulled you into a kiss.

"Say it again" He mumbled into your lips.

"I love you Dean Di Laurentis" You kissed him again "And I'm sorry for making you think there's ghosts haunting you, I promise to stop playing the piano at 3 AM"

"Deal" He nodded "Any other time is okay, 2 AM? good, 4Am? Great, done, but 3 AM is spooky hour honey, you gotta keep all your limbs under the blanket so the ghosts don't get you"

You jus tlaughed and shook your head before you climbed on top of him and kissed him again, he immediately followed deepening the kiss.

2. But Daddy I Love Him

You'd been making dinner at Dean's apartment when your mom's call came through "Hi mom"

"Hi sweetheart, how are ya?" She asked in that warm mom voice she always got when she went more than a few days without talking to you.

"I'm good" You replied "What about you and dad?"

"We're good, it's getting real busy around here, your dad's been cooped up in his office all day" You put your phone on speaker and continued preparing your food "What about you? Anything new or exciting? Any new music coming out soon?"

"Nothing yet, I've been writing and had a few sessions at the studio but nothing much" You considered telling her about Dean but ultimately decided that you weren't ready for the innevitable interrogation that would come from both her and your dad if you did. You knew it wouldn't come from a bad place but you still didn't want to deal with that yet.

"Oh, well, everything on its own time" Your parents have always been your biggest supporters in everything in your life, your music included. "I was over at Aunt Lisa's today and she wanted to know if you were making it to thanksgiving, I said most likely but that I'd ask you and confirm"

There were two big events that happened in your family that were a non negotiable family reunion, a summertime reunion at your grandparents' beach house and thanksgiving at whoever's house was drafted that year. The events usually ended up becoming a whole weekend thing with at least 30 people showing up to them.

"Uh" A knock on the door distracted you so you took your phone off of speaker and went to open it "Give me a sec, someone's at the door" Dean had previously asked you to get some package he was waiting to get delivered so you assumed that was what it was.

Boy had you been wrong because when you opened the door instead of a mailman or the building courier, because Dean's apartment was fancy like that and their mail often got delivered by the building's mail office, but instead two men you recognized from Dean's pictures and college stories stood in front of you.

"You're not Dean" Logan pointed at you then turned to Garrett "But this is still Dean's apartment right? He didn't move and forget to tell us?"

"He didn't mention it but maybe he did?" Garret told his friend.

You chuckled "You're at the right place, Dean's out but should be back soon"

Your mom's voice came through your phone reminding you she was still there "Dean? Who's Dean? Why are you at his apartment and where is he?"

"Mom I'll call you later okay?" You winced a bit at the slip up but hung up and turned back to the men "Do you want to wait for him inside? I was just finishing dinner" You offered.

"Fuck yeah, I'm starving" Logan squeezed past you into the apartment, Garret behind him mumbling an apology "So what are we earing?"

"I was making burrito bowls" You shrugged and followed them to the kitchen.

"That sounds amazing right now" He sat on a stool while you finished the last details "So, how did you find yourself cooking dinner for Dean? Are you his new chef?"

Garret shook his head in disappointment "Dude there's no way you don't recognize her" When Logan gave him a weirded out look he said your name, Logan still didn't recognized you "Jesus dude, you need culture in you, she's like a pop princess"

"Eh, I wouldn't go that far" You joked "I loved Hannah's new song"

"You know Hannah?" Logan asked.

"Not personally, but I've heard her stuff, she's really good"

"She's gonna freak out when I tell her you said that" Garrett pointed at you "She's a big fan"

"Well I'm a fan of hers"

"So where is Dean anyways?" Logan changed the subject "Isn't practice done by now?"

"He had some errands to run" You plated up the food and passed them to each of them "Should be back soon, did you guys need something?"

"We're here for a game, decided to stop by and say hi to our buddy" Garrett explained, you nodded

"Baby I'm home!" You heard Dean walk through the door.

"In the kitchen!" You yelled back "Does he know you're around?" They shook their heads no.

"Hey did my package sho-" He stopped himself when he noticed his friends sitting at the counter "What are you guys doing here?" He moved to greet them, you smiled at the sight.

"We're playing the Islanders" Logan shrugged "Had to come say hi"

"And instead of finding you, pop princess opened the door for us and offered us dinner" Garrett added making you laugh "Logan thought she was your new chef"

"Hey, if the singing thing doesn't work out you could switch careers" The first man pointed at you with seriousness.

"I'll keep it in mind" You nodded

"I'm sorry about them" The blonde turned to you pulling you for a quick kiss.

"Eh, they're okay" You joked.

"He's not wrong though , this smells heavenly baby"

You sighed at yet another buzz of your phone, your mom had been asking if you were going home for thanksgiving, you were, but you hadn't been able to reply yet because you knew as soon as she had you she would interrogate you nonstop about Dean and that was not something you were particularly excited about.

You decided though, that you had to face her sooner rather than later and it was better to just bit the bullet and FaceTime her already, the phone couldn't have rang more than twice when before she'd answered the call "Oh baby! So glad you called, hold on let me just-" She grunted, the screen went dark as she moved around "Okay sorry, I was in the middle of doing laundry"

"All good, just calling to confirm I am coming in for thanksgiving" You said.

"Wonderful, I'll let Aunt Lisa know, do we just put you down for one? Or maybe you're bringing a plus one?" You gave her a look, of course she was going to try and find out one way or another.

"Mom" You warned.

"What? I'm just saying, Alyssa is more than welcomed to come around, or anyone else for that matter"

"No Alyssa, just me" You answered knowing damn well she was fishing.

"Honey, have you seen my keys? I think I left my charger in my car" Dean, who as far as you knew had been napping on your couch, walked into your bedroom.

"Yeah, you dropped them off on the kitchen counter, I put them by the door I think, check the pink bowl" He nodded and thanked you before he walked out.

Your mom had that expectant face, the one she often gave you when you were a teenager and she'd caught you lying about something "You spilling yet?"

"There's nothing to spill" You groaned.

"There's a man calling you honey and asking you where he left his keys in your apartment, that doesn't sound like nothing to me" She raised an eyebrow.

You sighed "That was Dean… my boyfriend"

"Your boyfriend?" She looked behind the phone and you knew your dad had been listening too.

"Yes, my boyfriend" Then you added "Hi dad"

"Hi doll" Your dad popped into frame.

"So, how long has this boyfriend been around?" Your mom asked.

"Not that long, about five months" She gasped "Mom…"

"Five months is long, you introduced us to Theo way earlier than that" The name of your ex irritated you.

"And what good did it do huh?" You were aware your tone had gone snappy, but the mention of Theo had a way of souring your mood nowadays.

"We want to meet him" Your dad said, you scoffed "Is that really such a crazy ask?"

Your mom nodded alongisde him "Bring him over for thanksgiving"

"Can't, he's working" You replied.

"Well can't he ask for the day off? It's Thanksgiving for God's sake"

"He has a game the day after" You said "He can't travel"

"A game?" You saw your dad's face contort as he pieced the conversation together.

"Hockey" You nodded.

"Another athlete?" Your mom looked disappointed, after the breakup one of your mom's biggest contention points against Theo had been that he was an athlete and those guys barely ever took anything other than their sport seriously.

"Oh my God" You groaned "I'm not dealing with this, I'll see you on thanksgiving" You hung up and when you looked up Dean was looking at you like he had caught part if not most of the conversation.

"Honey" He took three long steps and dropped on the bed next to you to pull you in a hug "I'm sorry"

"For what?" You asked into his chest.

"For being something that comes between you and your parents" He mummbled into your hair where he placed a kiss.

"It's not on you" You told him "They're just overreacting"

"They are worried about you"

"Well, I don't need their worry, not when it comes to you" He nodded understanding that you were done with the conversation "We're playing Boston right before Thanksgiving, like the day before, I know you're visiting family, but the Briar guys and I were planning on having a friendsgiving dinner and I was wondering if you wanted to come with. I mean, if you haven't bought your ticket yet maybe you could fly from there?"

"Mmm maybe" You said "I'll ask Alyssa to see what she can do, she's kinda in charge of my traveling schedule"

"Okay" He nodded "It's gonna be a real private thing, just my college crew, the two goofs you already met and their girls plus Tuck and his girl and daughter"

"That sounds nice, I'd like to meet your friends"

Alyssa probably deserved a raise from how often she ended up with your doomspiraling, but she'd always said that was the friend part of your relationship instead of her being you assistant, so the morning before thanksgiving you found yourself on the phone with her while you dug through your entire closet as you looked for an outfit to wear to the dinner with Dean's friends', your suitcase for your trip home had already been packed and was waiting by the door.

"You've passed on like 5 different perfecly good sweaters" She rolled her eyes, you'd been on a call for almost two hours and your closet had been turned around "Wear the blue one with those jeans that make your ass look good"

"Is that good enough though?" You asked, she rolled her eyes again, you worried they'd stay stuck like that.

"Yes" She deadpanned "He said it was just a casual dinner"

"With his best friends from college, including two of the best young hockey players, a grammy nominated singer, and possibly his really cool broadway star of an ex" You listed out.

"Do you forget who you are?" Alyssa asked "Babe, the whole world knows your name, Taylor Swift said your last album had been on repeat for two weeks, Niall Horan did a cover of your song, Hozier-"

"And what if they think I'm lame? Like they meet me and realize I'm nothing like they expected? Or worse, I'm exactly like they imagined and they hate it? Hate me?"

"You have a flight to catch in two hours, snap out of it, pick out a sweater out of that pile, put on some jeans and get your ass to the airport or you'll miss your flight" She hung up after she finished talking because she knew if she stayed on call you'd keep spiraling and eventually miss your flight and just not make it to the dinner.

A couple hours later you arrived at the address Dean had given you, a nice brownstone loomed over as you texted Dean to let him know you were there, you'd landed thirty minutes ago and Dean's game had ended about ah hour ago but you knew he'd arrived at his friends' a few minutes ago.

"Honey! I'm so glad you've made it!" He opened the door with a big smile and an ease that you had only seen him have in the private of your apartments "Come in come in, let me take that"

"Hi baby" he pulled you into a kiss once you were inside.

"Hey pop princess! You're here!" Logan who had apparently kept the nickname Garrett had called you before in mind exclaimed from the end of the short hallway "Dean don't hog her bring her in"

Dean gave you a look and led you deeper, your luggage stayed by the door "You've met the two idiots" He introduced once you walked in, Garrett and Logan both raised their beers "These are Hannah, Gracie, Sabrina and Tucker"

"Welcome to our home, we're glad you could make it" Tucker gave you a smile, he'd been holding an adorable little girl in his arms.

"Thank you for inviting me" You smiled at the whole group.

"We're big fans" Hannah mentioned, you thanked her.

Dean led you to a seat on the couch with the group and the conversation continued, it flowed easily between the friends, retells of stories from their college days and the past few years since they graduated, you stayed quiet for the most part not knowing how to integrate yourself into the conversation which left you to just smile at the foreign memories.

"I should check on the turkey" Tucker grunted dropping his daughter, Jamie you'd learned, down on the seat he'd just left, the guys followed behind, Dean placed a kiss to your forehead and went with them.

"Did Allie have a show tonight?" Sabrina asked Hannah who nodded into her glass of wine.

"Yeah, she would've been able to make it if we kept the plan to tomorrow but couldn't get out of it tonight" The brunette replied and you felt the room shift, had they changed their plans so you could make it? Were they annoyed at you making them change their plans even though you had no idea about it?

"Tuck was running around all morning like a headless chicken trying to get things to be perfect" Sabrina added "Luckily the amount of people didn't change or he would've gone down a spiral"

"Right, the great junior year thanksgiving" Hannah nodded "None of us were there and none of us will ever forget about it"

They didn't offer any more information about it, they just laughed and moved on to another topic. Grace noticed Sabrina and Hannah had found themselves in a deep conversation and decided to approach you "Hey" She smiled, real and soft.

"Hi" You smiled back.

"I'm sorry if we seem clicky, it's not you, we've just… I mean, it's just been us for so long sometimes we forget when someone new joins us" She explained.

"I get that" You nodded "I apparently also changed your plans suddenly so I'm sorry about that, I had no idea"

She waved you off "Dean was really excited about you making it, we were more than happy to shift things around, plus he's the one traveling and we're technically home so it's no problem moving some things around"

"He didn't tell me he'd asked you guys to switch the dates"

Grace nodded "It's no big deall. So, tell me, how did you and Dean meet?"

"Oh, my best friend and his sister have been friends since they were little and they kinda set us up" Grace smiled more to herself than for you because she'd accomplished her mission, to get you into a conversation.

By the time Tucker called for you for dinner you and Grace were well on your way to becoming friends. Dean sat next to you with his thigh flush against yours the entire time and this time around the conversation shifted to more of their present lives as well as them asking about you, the awkwardness you'd felt before still there but less now.

When you were done eating you found yourself not knowing what to do again as Sabrina, Hannah and Grace offered to do the dishes and didn't let you join since you were the guest. Dean kept you close still as you settled into the living room again to watch the football game, you'd just gotten comfortable when you felt a small tug on your sweater, when you looked down Jamie stood there with wide eyes and a crayon she offered to you in hand, when you took it she smiled and gestured to the coffee table in front of you where she'd been coloring.

You smiled back and shimmied down to sit on the stop next to her, she passed you a sheet of paper and went back to coloring, you did the same doodling a lobsided orange cat "Uncle Dee" She screeched and pointed at your paper, you chuckled.

"Think this looks like your uncle Dean?" You asked, she nodded enthusiastically.

"What are you two plotting about?" Dean slid down behind you bracketing you between his legs.

"You!" The little girl pointed at your paper.

"Oh is that me huh?" Jamie nodded "Okay, then I think I need someone by my side" He took the black crayon and drew his own messed up cat "There, that's you" He poked your side, you scoffed in fake indignance.

"Jamie!" She plopped herself on your lap and drew her own rendition of a cat, a purple ball with a tail and shaky ears.

"That you?" you asked, she noddded enthusiastically "Yeah, prettiest of the cats" You watched. asshe hijacked your drawing and added every color available to her.

Dean and you didn't notice, too enthralled by the little girl on your lap and her babbles about the drawing, but all of his friends stared at you in complete awe.

"He looks gone" Hannah whispered to the two girls by her side.

"I never tought I'd see Dean like that" Grace added.

"He looked at her like that the entire night" Sabrina nodded "He's really in love"

On the other side of the living room, the guys had stopped their banter about the game, their attention now on you three.

"Think she's the one?" Tucker, ever the romantic, asked his friends half expecting them to throw out jokes but found agreement instead.

"Yup"

"Oh, absolutely"

When it came time for you to leave, having yet another plane to catch tonight, you said goodbye to Jamie who'd stayed up later than usual and pouted when she realized you were leaving before her dad took her upstairs to her room and then got surprised when Hannah hugged you and mentioned hanging out again. Sabrina approached you last, hesitant at first.

"Thanks for coming tonight, I hope you enjoyed it, I know we can be a bit much sometimes" She said "But I'm glad you came"

You smiled "Thank you for inviting me" It hadn't been much, but it had been enough for both of you to understand that there was no hostility there, that you'd enjoy your time and that maybe there could be a friendship some day.

"Have so much fun, call me when you land, be safe, I love you" Dean had wanted to walk you all the way to your gate, for safety reasons and because he just wanted the extra time with you but with the airport being as full as it was because of the date you'd both decided it was better this way, with him dropping you off and staying in the car.

"I'll try, I will, I'll do my best and I love you too" You kissed one last time and you left.

The perk of flying home the night before thanksgiving had been that by the time you'd arrived home you'd gone straight to sleep without having to spend too much time with your parents who you'd yet to have a full conversation with since the call where they found out about Dean and the next day everyone had been extremely busy with prep that you hadn't had to really talk to anyone until later into the night when everyone got together for the actual dinner.

You often joked to your manager that you didn't need media training because you'd grew up with a nosy family who would not stop trying to pry information out of you until you gave them an answer that satisfied them, thats where you found yourself during dinner. Your aunts had been rapid firing questions your way since you'd sat down "Sorry, need her, cousin emergency" Your cousin pulled you away from the conversation with a sweet smile he'd definitely put on for show and steered you to another table where the rest of your cousins your age sat.

"You could've done that a bit sooner" You smacked his chest playfully "They almost convinced me of getting them all tickets to see Coldplay because they're convinced I can just text Chris Martin and get them, I have never even met the guy!"

He laughed and shook his head "I'm still waiting for the Kendrick ones"

"I am not a ticket machine, I can't get you all concert tickets for people i don't know" You slumped into a chair and stole some chips from your other cousin's plate.

"Does that mean I can get tickets for Sabrina?" You have her a dirty look "You said no tickets for people you didn't know, you know Sabrina" She shrugged.

"No tickets, period" You told them.

"So when you go on tour, does that mean we have to buy our own tickets?" Another cousin asked.

"When is the new tour?"

"Whenever I write a new album" You grumbled accepting a beer someone passed you "If i ever write again"

"I thought devastating hearbreak was a pretty good thing to happen for songwriters" One of your cousins said, someone else gasped.

"Hey!" Greg, the one that had saved you, pointed at them "Too soon"

You chuckled "No no, I thought the same, turns out it's not that easy"

"That doesn't surprise me" Daisy, one of your cousins you practically grew up with shrugged "You've always been a romantic, most of your songs are about love and heartbreak is like that but not"

"So what you're saying is she needs to find a new lover" Jax, her brother, wiggled his eyebrows.

The whole table erupted "Ew" "Stop" "Never say the word lover again" "I will shave your eyebrows when you fall asleep" He scoffed.

"I can so write something that's not a love song" You said indignantly.

"Show us your notes" Greg put his hand out for your phone, you stared at him "You are always writing stuff on your notes, I assume you have at least a line or two, show us"

"Have you not been writing at all?" Daisy sounded surprised, she couldn't remember a day since you learned how to write that you hadn't scribbled down something that rhymed down, when you were kids that meant a lot of poems about whatever bug you'd seen while playing outside or the sandwich you ate during lunch break at school, then as you grew so did the topics, but you still wrote "There's just no way"

The truth had been you'd written stuff, more than just a few lines, you had almost a whole song and at least three more ideas that could turn into something, the problem? They'd all been love songs, all written for Dean or about Dean, and while you'd slipped up and let your parents know, you didn't really want to add more people to the list of those who knew.

"You have been writing" Greg accused "Look at your face! What are you hiding?"

Daisy who noticed your hesitancy jumped in "Okay, she doesn't have to show us anything, you guys are acting like our parents" That'd been enough for everyone to shut up and move on, you mouthed a thank you to her, she winked at you.

Later, when everyone had been distracted with enough alcohol Daisy and you found yourselves on the swingset outside, close enough to the party that no one thought to go and find you but far enough from prying ears.

"So who is he?" She asked.

You sighed, of course she knew "His name's Dean, we've been together for five months, he's a hockey player and my parents haven't met him yet but somehow already don't like him"

She tilted her head "Why?"

"Because he's an athlete and Theo was an athlete and they're convinced that means Dean's not serious about us"

Daisy nodded "And is he? Serious about you, I mean. Do you feel he is?"

You nodded "Yeah, I… it's stupid, Alyssa set us up, I didn't even want to go on that stupid date, but I'm so grateful I did, the whole time he just… was there, present" You turned to her, she'd been looking at you curiously "And I know that's like the bare minimum but… after Theo that was really refreshing and these past months? God Dais, I'd been ready to give up on love and then he came up out of nowhere and boom"

"You're in love"

"Yeah" You whispered "I really am"

"And he loves you back" She pointed out, you hummed in agreement "So then why not show that to your parents?"

"Because" You said "I don't think he has to prove himself to them, he already did that for me and that should be enough but apparently it isn't"

"So this is not really about your relationship with him but your relationship with your parents" Your cousin concluded.

"What?"

"You seem like you have no doubts about Dean" She declared "And what's bothering you is that your parents are stubborn about who you date, worried, you're mad about them not trusting your judgement"

"They're treating me like a little girl" You mumble "Like I can't make my own decisions"

"So tell them that" She shrugged "And then tell them exactly what you told me about your relationship, I'm sure once they see how in love you are they'll be okay"

You did, that night when you got home you'd sat your parents down and explained all your feelings to them, you'd put extra emphasis on how much Dean meant to you and how you wished they could see that and accept it. And two days later you'd gotten on a plane with them and flown home to New York City where you planned on introducing them.

Your mom had insisted on cooking dinner even though you repeatedly told her you could just order something or that Dean had offered to pick something on his way to your apartment, so when your boyfriend rang the doorbell your mom was elbows deep in whatever she'd been cooking up on the kitchen while you fought with your dad over UNO rules because even after you'd forced him to play the game with you for years he still couldn't grasp them.

"You just can't put a yellow card on top of a red one, that's simply not the way the game works" You huffed getting up to open the door, your cards stayed in your hand because you knew if they didn't he'd take a peek at them.

"It's a plus two though" Your dad argued.

"Still doesn't work like that dad" You walked away and left him on the couch mumbling about you being scared of taking the cards and losing to him or something like that.

"Am I late? I feel like I'm late, I got here like 10 minutes ago but Summer had me hostage over the phone because apparently she's planning a whole renovation of her apartment, I had to remind her that she rents said place and therefore cannot legally just demolish a wall because it doesn't fit the feng shui" Dean rambled when you opened the door.

You gave him an amused look "You're not late stop freaking out"

"Easy for you to say" He mumbled.

"You're going to be okay" You pulled him in for a kiss but he dodged you "Excuse you?" You asked with raised eyebrows.

"I don't want your parents to think I'm a derranged pervert"

"For kissing your girlfriend hello?" You questioned "Don't be a prude Dean"

"Well forgive me for wanting to be a gentleman" He defended.

"Is that what the flowers are for?"

"Come on, don't act like I don't get you flowers at least once a week" It was true, ever since you started dating and probably even before, a bouquet of flowers showed up at your door without missing weekly. Sometimes he'd deliver them himself when he came to visit, but if he was on a particularly long roadie, or he knew your schedules would not line up that week then he'd schedule a delivery service to get them to you.

You rolled your eyes playfully "Come in"

"You sure?" He asked nervously.

"Unless you want to have dinner on your first time meeting my parents in the hallway" You shrugged, he whispered a 'fair enough' and walked in.

"So I know you said no to my plus two but how about a reverse?" Your dad asked when you walked back in.

"Is it red?"

"Blue"

"Then no"

"You just don't want to see me win"

You rolled your eyes "Dad, this is Dean, Dean, my dad"

"How are ya son?"

"Nice to meet you sir" Dean nodded back at your dad.

"I heard our guest" Your mom emerged from the kitchen, her apron still on and hands dusted with flour.

"Yeah, mom, Dean, Dean, my mom" You pointed back and forth.

"A pleasure" Dean spoke, then remembered he'd been holding flowers "Oh, these are for you" Your mom took the bouquet he extended her way and thanked him "And these are yours honey" He handed you the other one, a mix of wildflowers just like you preferred, you usually got these ones, with whatever combination of flowers that were growing that season because you once told him that although you thought roses were pretty, you'd always loved mismatched wildflowers better.

"Thanks" You smiled taking them.

Your mom saw it then, the glint in your eye she hadn't seen in a while, the way your smile was relaxed and free, like the kind that adorned your face when you were younger, back when your life didn't consist on camera flashes and music videos and perfectly curated social media posts, back when you were just a girl who liked music and enjoyed writing her thoughts and dreams in journals. That's when she realized not only how much Dean meant to you but how good he was for you too.

"Dean" Your mom spoke, Dean immediately stood up straighter, he remembered the conversation he'd overheard the week before, he knew your parents weren't sure about him, and he'd be damnned if he was going to give them another reason to dislike him, she however had done the unthinkable in that moment, your mom took a few steps forward and wrapped the man in her arms "We're so glad you could make it tonight"

Dean froze for a second before he returned the hug "I'm glad to be here too"

When your mom let him go and instructed your dad to go into the kitchen and help her and you two had been left alone you spoke "That was…" He exhaled a surprised 'yeah' "You have flour all over you now" You dusted away some of it.

"That's okay" He waved you off "She hugged me…"

"Yeah"

"She didn't seem to hate me"

"No she did not"

"And your dad didn't punch me"

"Why would he…?"

"I came mentally prepared to be punched by him, maybe by your mom too, I don't know, is your mom more of a punch or slap kind of person?"

You had looked at him like he'd lost it "Neither? Where is this coming from?"

"I don't know" He admitted "I just… I mean I thought they hated me"

"They didn't hate you, they just weren't thrilled about me dating another athlete, but even if they hated you they would've not punched you what the hell?"

He shrugged "Just to be cleared, I would've totally taken a punch for you"

"Good to know, let us hope it never comes to that"

Dinner went well, your parents, as promised, gave Dean a chance and asked about him with an open mind. By dessert you were all laughing at Dean's stories about his time ocaching a little league in College and your mom had pulled you aside to apologize and tell you how much she liked him when you were doing the dishes.

"I count that as a win" Dean said later when you were standing in the hallway after he'd said his goodbyes to your parents "Your dad asked when our next home game was, he said he wanted to come watch"

"Mom said, and I quote 'I can even look over the fact that he's blonde' so yeah, I think they liked you" You told him.

"What is that supposed to mean?" He frowned.

"You know… blonde guys are usually not trustworthy"

"That's a thing?"

You shrugged "To some people, don't worry blondie, we stand by you in this household"

"Thank God for that" He rolled his eyes playfully "Hey, I've gotta go, early media day tomorrow"

"Okay, drive safe, text me when you get home" He nodded and pulled you in for a kiss "Thank you for tonight"

"No need to thank me honey" He held you close "I love you"

"I love you too"

"We owe you an apology" Your dad said when you walked back into the apartment, both your parents were sat on the couch now.

"It's okay" You waved them off, you didn't need a verbal apology, the whole night and how they treated Dean had already felt like one.

"We do, we couldn't see it before, how we were diminishing your decisions" Your mom continued "But seeing you with him tonight made us remember that you're not a kid anymore, you're a grown adult who is completely capable of making her own decisions, and good ones at that"

Your dad nodded "And you have good judgement, you surround yourself with good people because you are a good person. And of course we're not all perfect so there will be times when the people you meet and bring into your life won't be the best, but we need to let you find that out yourself and just be there for you if it goes wrong in the end"

"Thank you" You sat down in between them the way you used to when you were a kid on Sunday mornings and woke up to them watching the tv on a low volume while having breakfast in the living room couch "I love you guys"

"And we love you too baby" Your mom brushed away your hair as your dad pulled you into his side.

"Now, I believe we have a game of UNO to finish"

"Nope, I'm way too tired to keep arguing about the color of the cards with you, no more UNO"

"Dean would've played UNO with me"

"Dad, you're not allowed to team up with my boyfriend against me" You mumbled "Knowing him, he'd charmed his way into changing the rules so you two would win every time"

3.Slut!

"That's it" You smiled at your producer, you'd spent the last two weeks practically living in the studio trying to get your ideas transformed into actual songs and you'd finally gotten one perfectly how you'd imagined.

"Did you decide on the name?"

"Peace" You announced with a nod.

You'd decided to visit Alyssa after getting out of the studio with the plan of going out to celebrate finally finishing a song and having a few more real close to being done.

"Oh! Hi!" Summer greeted you at the door instead, pulled you into a hug and then to Alyssa's room before you could ever react.

"Hey! I didn't know you were around"

"Yeah, I finally got my landlord to agree to let me take that wall down so I'm staying here until that's done" She explained.

Alyssa came out of the bathroom with a towel on her hair then "Hey! I thought you were at the studio"

"I was" Your smile widened "Great news, I finished a song, like fully done, ready to drop finished!"

The two women in front of you looked at each other before launching into you with shrieks of excitement, you three ended up on the bed as you told them all about your session and the other songs you had that still needed some work but looked promising.

"I was thinking we could go out and celebrate?" You asked and saw them make a face.

"We were kinda getting ready for Dean's game" Summer said, right, the rangers were playing the Devils today, a big rivalry that always made for a great action packed game.

"Oh, right"

"You could always come with us" Alyssa suggested.

"Yes! Dicky got the whole family season tickets, he does that every year, Lyss is taking Nick's, you could take mom's"

"I don't know if that's a great idea" You hesitated "I mean, if someone catches a glimpse of me they'll turn it into a full story, especially if they notice you're Dean's sister"

"So we play it off as if you're just one of my friends" Summer shrugged "You don't have to wear his jersey or anything, just come and watch, I'm sure he'll love the surprise"

"Yes! Let's surprise him! Come on, we'll wear disguises, I actually think if we deck up on team merch no one will even realize who you are"

You knew it had been a bad idea since Alyssa said it, but you'd also been excited about finally getting back into the rythm of making music and you wanted to celebrate, plus you'd wanted to go see your boyfriend play ever since you'd started dating so you'd said fuck it and gone with it.

Your seats had been on the family stands, not an official place but somewhere all the players families usually sat when they watched the games, it was not front row and unless you knew who you were looking for, it was kind of impossible to single people out of the crowd, so it was a perfect place for you to sit in, or so you'd thought.

Everything had been fine at first, you'd stayed with Alyssa while Summer went down to the glass during warm ups to say hi to Dean, but while down there Summer had also told Dean about you, you'd seen the exact same moment where his eyebrows had gone up in question, then his eyed widened in recogtition before he looked up at your seats and the sweetest smile broke in his face, Summer had quickly banged on the glass to bring him back when she realized his lovesick look that would get you caught if he kept for too long.

Then he'd scored his first goal of the game during the first period, he'd done his uual celebration but thrown a look your way too, the second period hadn't been too interesting with neither team scoring but Dean had come into the third one with like an unstoppable force. he'd zoomed around the other team, stolen pucks easily, gotten himself into what you liked to call 'time out box' for a penalty and then came out, taken the puck and shot straight into the net scoring his second goal of the night, you'd cheered loudly with the crowd in between Summer and Alyssa.

And then, just a few minutes later he'd done it again, he'd scored his first hat trick of his professional career, the whole arena had gone crazy, and in the heat of the celebration you'd joined throwing your hat too, that had gotten people's attention and somehow landed you in the jumbotron as you jumped with the two women you'd been with. The jumbatron had also caught Dean looking up at it showing you celebrating proudly.

A few people around you had asked for pictures once the game had been over, you'd obliged before the arena's security stepped in and escorted you, Alyssa and Summer down and into the tunnels where you waved to the few lucky fans who'd been there too.

Dean had practically ran your way when he noticed you were there, but thankfully Summer had stepped in front and intercepted him into a hug before he reached you "There's lots of people and cameras around you idiot" She's whisper shouted into his ear while she hugged him "Act like she's my friend instead of your girlfriend, hug her like you would Alyssa"

He'd tried, really, he'd hugged Alyssa first and left you for last, but then the moment you were in his arms he felt all the tension leave him, usually he'd be pretty wound up from the adrenaline of the game, but getting to hold you straight off the ice felt like heaven, you'd also forgotten about where you were until Summer and Alyssa spoke making you separate.

"Dicky you should go take a shower you stink" His sister said.

"Yeah" He let out, eyes still locked on yours.

"We're going out and celebrating twice as hard now" Alyssa said, Dean raised an eyebrow.

"I finished a song" You anounced and he looked ready to dive straight back into your arms.

Instead he settled with a big smile "Really? I'm so proud of you!"

"Are you kidding? You just scored a hat trick!"

"We're pretty great you know that?"

The club had been full of life by the time you made it there. Half of Dean's team had decided to show up and in the dim lights of it the blonde had decided he had enough of pretending not to be completely in love with you and instead had pulled you straight into his lap as soon as you'd arrived at the VIP area.

"No one's paying attention to us" He'd whispered in your ear "Let's stop hiding just for tonight"

And you had, you'd drank, danced,kissed, he'd held you the entire time, his hand always on your body. By the time you decided to leave it was probably around 3 or 4 AM and you were all so tired nobody cared to worry about what could've been waiting for you outside the club.

You'd been not just tired but also drunk enough to not care about the cameras flashing when you stepped out with Dean's hand on yours, your lipstick smudged and hints of it on his face, you just walked with your head slightly down and let your boyfriend lead you, his sister and your best friend to his car.

The next morning you knew that day would be a full headache regardless of if you took a hangover remedy or not as images of walking out of the club with Dean flashed in your head, you groaned and pushed your face deeper into your pillows dreading getting out of bed and having to deal with life.

You'd almost fallen back asleep when Alyssa started knocking on the door "Make her go away" Dean mumbled into your neck where he'd burried his face into.

"Trust me I wish nothing more than to go back to sleep" Alyssa called from behind the door "But I have like 5 people on a conference call right now and I need you"

"Ugh" You complained and datached yourself from your whining boyfriend "Coming!"

"Don't go" Dean asked and you almost gave in and tucked yourself back into his arms, but you knew you had to deal with this now rather than later.

"I'll be right back"

"So what exactly are you saying right now?" Your agent asked after a long call about last night.

"Well there's not much more we can do really" You said "It's pretty obvious we left together"

"We can just play it off as if it was a one night thing, not say anything, you two stay inside for a couple days" Someone from your pr team suggested.

That would've been the easy option, a way to keep living your life the same you've been until now, keep your relationship a secret, your private life private, but you're not too sure you want that anymore. You obviously still want your privacy, but you don't want to keep living the rest of your life hiding your relationship in your apartments, you want to be able to go out with him, support him in his games, have dates, holidays, celebrate your love freely without constantly worrying about slipping up accidentally.

"I don't think I want to do that" You finally replied "I mean, I'm not saying I want to do a formal statement but maybe we just I don't know, live or lives normally, if people see us then so be it"

"You'll probably recieve some backlash" Your agent told you "You know how people are, they will talk"

"Yeah, but they will do that regardless, this way at least they'll have something to talk about" You shrugged even though they couldn't see you, on your side Alyssa smiled proudlyshe'd wanted nothing more than for you to love freely.

"Okay" Your agent accepted "If that's what you want"

The internet had been a war zone for the following week, there had been all kinds of comments, from supportive fans being excited about your relationship to haters who criticized everything and called, mainly, you rude names.

"I'm sorry you're the one taking most of the hate" Dean apologized one quiet night as you laid in bed.

You had looked up at him and said "It's okay, for once I feel like it's all worth it because at the end of the day that's just noise and being here in your arms mutes it all"

"I love you" He kissed you slowly "Always"

dean loved getting you off. 

watching your lips form that pretty little ‘o’ shape and your brows furrow as you come undone underneath him — because of him. he was fucking addicted to it.

so here you were. in his bed. needy and compliant for him. riding out your fifth orgasm of the night, and sobbing into his pillow as he pounded into you from behind. 

“you like feeling me all up in your guts, baby?” he groans, slamming into your bruised cunt and smacking your ass cherry red. “turns you on?”

fuck yes, you wanna say. yes, yes, yes. but your brain is teetering off the edge of a cliff, and the only thing grounding you to reality is dean’s huge cock splitting you open. 

“you were fucking made to take my cock, baby,” he groans, reaching his hand under you to toy with your puffy, aching clit. 

you wail, and before you even realize it you’re cumming again. hard. 

“fuuuuuck yeah,” he smirks, pushing you down into prone bone. almost his entire weight is on you now, and all you can feel is dean.

his huge arms caging you in. the musky, heady smell of sex and his cologne. it overpowers you. 

“you’re such a dirty girl, letting me fuck you like this. fucking impaling you on my cock,” he reaches up to run a hand through his hair, one hand splayed across your back to keep you down. 

“you with me, baby?” he hums, brushing his lips between your shoulder blades. 

“uh huh,” you choke out, fisting his comforter in a white-knuckled grip. 

“you gonna be good and cum again for me?” he nips at your ear and you're squealing.

it’s a pretty, breathy sound that feels out of so body. you’re nodding furiously into his pillow, soaked through from pearly tears and drool. 

“use your words for me,” he’s nothing if not a sweet talker. nothing if not a man who wants you to feel good.

“yes! yes, i’ll be good,” you’re pleading now, forcing your head back to look at him.

big, fat tears well up in the corner of your doe eyes, and dean swears they twinkle like little stars as they drop down your cheeks. you're beautiful like this.

he slides his palm under your ribs and pushes you up against his chest, arching your back into him.

Damn him and his gaze. Even after 6 weeks of dating — and pining for a lot longer than that — he sure could still make you feel like a puddle.

You're only able to speak once he turns to his phone again. “Uh, excuse you, I'm a very fun person, thank you very much. Yesterday, I put a fake ‘your computer is down’ screen on Shen's laptop,” you tell proudly. 

“Dear god. He did not go into a cardiac arrest from your…prank?” Jack's voice caught on the word “prank” as if it deeply amused him.

You narrowed your eyes at your boyfriend (still hard to say that), shifting close enough to him on his couch that your knee knocked against his thigh. Your entire body faced him, while his faced the front — a tiny whine left your lips.

Jack turned his attention back to you as you spoke again. “You know it's the loss of control I hate. Don't you think I also feel like getting all loose-lipped and dancing on top of tables and flirting with strangers?”

His eyes softened a fraction when he saw the small frown on your lips. He sets his phone face-down on the arm of the couch, before shifting so his upper half faced you too. “Okay, what brings this on? You know I just like teasing, I don't think there's anything wrong with being an alcohol virgin.”

You rolled your eyes at his choice of words. “I want to know what it's like. It makes everyone so…” your hands do a weird dance in front of your chest, trying to find a proper word. Your attending swiftly moves his cup a bit to the left, so your hands wouldn't knock it all over yourself. 

“Joyful,” you finished.

“Okay, but let's not dance on table tops and flirt with strangers,” he takes off his reading glasses and perches them next to his phone. When his eyes find you again, they're equal parts amused, and that softness that only seems to show up when you're in the room.

“I would never, I'd feel bad for giving you stress at your age.”

He lightly smacks your hip that's not smushed against the couch, “Brat.”

You grin widely, “You'll be there, right?”

“With a camera and a mic. My beautiful, sensible, nurse, looking like an absolute fool,” he tugged at a loose strand of your hair, his eyes shining with endearment.

Your little baby blue sling looks absolutely ridiculous hung over his shoulder. “What did I tell you before leaving?” His voice strains with the effort of all the workout he got in today. He's struggling with unlocking the door, because your purse keeps slipping down his arms.

You were a disaster. While your favourite doctor made sure you only stuck to fruity drinks that gave you a pleasant buzz and not regrets — you still managed to outdo yourself in terms of being a mess.

You challenged a man twice your size in an arm wrestle. You advised 3 different women to break up with their boyfriends, “Mine's handsome and kind. You guys stay safe, though.” And, finally, broke the heel of your left boot making you even more unbalanced than you already were. 

“That Dr. Robby is a little shit with no self-preservation inst-”

“The other one, honey.”

You went silent for a moment, searching your hazy brain as the door opened in front of you. Jack gently guided you in, before locking the door with a sharp click. His rough hands sneak up your arms, tugging the jacket at your shoulders, and shrug it off you to safely hang it on his coat rack.

“That I shouldn't carry my bag if I couldn't keep it safe?” you say, looking down at him, as he sets his knee on the floor. His hands that cut and heal skin with such precision, are deftly working the zipper of your boots. He gently helps your feet out of the pair, patting your calf, before rising to his full height again with a groan.

Without your size boosters, your head was once again leveled with his chest. Jack nodded, leaning his head down so you didn't have to crane your neck as much.

“But I had my ID and pepper spray in there,” you justified, your lower lip jutting out in a pout.

Jack's hand pats the right-side pocket of his hands, “ID,” his voice rumbling as if coming straight from his chest. “And you don't need pepper spray. You have me.”

But you're not registering a word he says, not when he looks like this. His salt and pepper curls are all ruffled from your bar visit. His simple black tee is pulled taut across his biceps, making them look just as delicious as they do in his SWAT uniform.

His fingers snap in front of you, “Eyes up here, sweetheart.” You look in his honeyed eyes again. God, why haven't you guys had sex already? You seriously can't remember why.

“Why haven't we fucked?” You blurt out. Oh, the alcohol doesn’t make you Joyful. It makes you blunt.

Your boyfriend freezes for a second, before letting out a deep, throaty laugh. His hands settle on your shoulders. With a slight bend of his knees, he manages to stare completely and directly into your eyes. “Wow, thought we went to the bar, not to a seminar for clear communication.”

You capture both his hands and slide them down, so they're firmly on your hips. After humming in satisfaction, you take a step closer to him, your chest brushing his. “Answer me.”

As if suddenly realizing you both are still standing in the entryway, Jack starts walking you backwards, swiftly maneuvering you so you don't hit the kitchen counter. “I'm your attending, honey, I don't answer to you,”

You furrow your brows, staring up at him with irritation. You press yourself even closer to him, your palms settling on his hard stomach. “Like hell you don't. I want to know why me and my gorgeous boyfriend haven't made good use of every room in this too-big-for-you house.”

Jack sighs deeply, his fingers unconsciously tightening around your hips. He takes a seat on one of the low kitchen counter stools, so he doesn't have to keep looking down at you. His arms completely wrap around your waist, pulling you in until you're standing between the hard muscle of his thighs.

“Because we work at a hospital, we're either busy or tired. And…it's hard to find a footing with sex. You tense up whenever my hand slips under your shirt, you've talked about how insecure you get. And me…well, I'm not what I used to be.”

Your eyes soften, “But do you want me?” Your lips graze his jaw, your hands palming the hard plane of his chest.

Jack shifts in his seat and takes a deep breath, “What do you think, baby?” his right hand moves an inch lower with exaggerated slowness, settling on the top curve of your ass, his thumb stroking the curve.

You let out an entirely pathetic whimper at his breathy voice, his lips brushing your temple. You move back your face, so you can watch him again. His eyes look darker than they actually are.

“I see this as a good opportunity that we should seize, doctor.” His throat catches at the ‘doctor’. Oh, you are not a fair player.

“Well, I don't like my medical staff being inhibited. Perhaps, sometimes when you're horny and sober, we can continue the procedure.” His breaths are coming in shallow, his hard thighs squeezing around you to completely lock you in. His hands have not stopped moving, the one on your waist has moved north to tangle in your hair at the nape of your neck.

A petulant whine leaves your lips as you bury your mouth in the crook of his neck. “But-”

“No buts. I have no intention of being between your legs in a state you won't even remember anything in.” The rasp in his voice so close to your ear directly travels to the your belly, already coiling tight with tension.

The imagery makes you groan: His mouth working between your legs, his jaw shining under the dim lights, stopping for a moment to say, “Louder, baby. Your doctor can't hear you.”

Your lips slip from his neck, replaced by your forehead. His lips brush against your hair, the gentleness so different from what his body is suggesting.

“Kids and their hormones,” he teasingly says. That makes you pull yourself back. Because that's rich coming from a man whose pants are getting visibly tighter.

“Is that so, grandpa?” Your eyes are entirely fixated on his lips. Your own bottom lip has caught between your teeth.

His thumb comes up to free your lip so you don't hurt it, “Careful, brat.” His hand stays on your face, and you lean heavily into his palm, blinking at him. The strap of your top has conveniently fallen off from its place, and Jack is staring like a man who's just discovered shoulders, tracking the soft curve of it, following the slope of your neck, where your pulse thrums rapidly.

Leave it to him to have a gaze that weights at least a 300 pounds.

Your palms drop from his chest to his waist, brushing your fingers against the waistband of his pants. A soft “uh-uh” leaves his mouth as he slowly shakes his head, though he makes no move with his hands to push you away.

“You're palming at me like you're a little girl, and I'm your favorite barbie doll.”

“You are my favorite barbie doll, Dr. Abbott,” it leaves your mouth in a soft, needy, whine.

His shoulder shake slightly from laughter, the comforting rumble filling the room, subsequently reaching every tensed part of your body, and taking its place there too, perfectly fitting every crook and corner.

“I am a 50-year old man with a military background, who spends his nights managing an entire floor of medical staff. My day hobbies include being a buddy to SWAT and getting shot at.”

You look at him, as if to say “so?” and hearing the adoration — despite the choice of words — in your voice completely decentres him. “Glad to be your favourite barbie doll, honey.”

He finally freezes when your wandering palm brushes against the hard ridge in his pants, practically begging to be freed. You let out a little gasp as you feel his size, even with a barrier of rough fabric.

A low groan leaves him, his hand sharply capturing your bold wrist against his own chest, heaving up and down. For someone just talking about being 50, the man's heart is sure beating with a fast thump-thump-thump, like a teenage boy catching his crush in a 2-feet vicinity. Your name leaves his mouth, dirty and like a prayer at the same time.

“Let me help you, doctor. Please” you say sweetly, voice coated in silk and need and whatever poison this man mixed in your drinks.

A pause.

He gets off the stool in a sudden motion, his hands grip your forearms, and starts walking you backwards in the general direction of the bathroom.

“You are a pain in my ass. And, frankly, a horny mess.”

“Speaking of horny and my ass-”

He doesn't let you complete the sentence before turning you around, his broad chest hovering over your form from the back. “Nope. You have lost the privilege of looking at me before you've taken a cold shower.”

You tilt your head back to look at him, excitement glinting in your eyes, “together?”

“No, you pervert.” Your boyfriend opens the door to the bathroom and lets you both in. Before you can even complain, his rough palms are gripping the back of your thighs, swiftly lifting you up on the counter. You let out a little squeal, squeezing your thighs at the display of his strength.

Show-off.

So fucking hot, though. It's like he was made by Lana Del Rey's mind.

Jack doesn’t stop, though. He finds his way behind the glass that separates the shower from the rest of the bathroom. His practiced hands mess with the settings until he's satisfied, and comes back.

He stands in front of you again, crossing his arms over his chest. His muscles strain at the motion, trying to escape their way from the tight shirt. You pout at his slut-ishness. A walking, talking, thirst trap. If he was an actor, he would surely have his fare share of editors.

“How am I supposed to not get wet when you manhandle me?”

“Jesus,” he mumbles, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes to lull some of his composure back into him. He silently thanks his military discipline, or you would currently be spread on the soft sheets of his bed, waking up his neighbours.

He takes a deep breath, eyes scanning you again. His fingers come up to pinch your chin in a soft embrace, “Shower. Clean. Mind and body both. And then, we will sleep. Got it?”

Heat pools low in your belly at his authoritative voice. God, how did you land this man?

“Sir, yes, sir.” You watch his gaze get heavy at the word. He leaves his hold on your chin, pats your hip, and exits the bathroom.

Guess you know what you'll be calling him, when he finally lets you do what your body is begging you to do.

You find him on his bed, wearing only a pair of low hung worn-out sweatpants. His back is slumped against the pillows, fingers locked behind his head as he stares at the ceiling.

He finally looks at you, crawling on his king-sized bed, trying to make your way over to him. It seems the shower un-possessed you. You look soft, sleepy, tired, and utterly his.

He holds out his arm and you immediately curl up into him, your icy-cold nose finding the hollow of his neck. “Hold me,” you murmur.

“One second, honey.” Before he can properly embrace you, he pulls up the thick duvet and arranges it to cover both of you. His left arm is trapped under your body, fingers pressing against the small of your back to pull you closer. His other hand brushes the hair back from your face, watching your heavy eyelids.

“There you are,” he softly rumbles before pressing the softest, most lingering kiss on your temple. A low sigh of satisfaction leaves you. You're still inhibited, but the tiredness has caught up.

“You didn't like the freaky me?” You ask, your jaw cracking with a yawn right after. 

“I like every-you, unfortunately. It's a weakness in the ED.” His fingers are still moving in your hair, scratching your scalp in a way that turns your brain to mush. You push your face even deeper in his neck. Hell, you would live inside his ribcage if he ever allowed it.

You let out a soft giggle, hiking your thigh over his hip so no part of you is separate from him. “Can we have a proper conversation about sex tomorrow?”

Your boyfriend murmurs a “yes, baby,” against your forehead. 

“Okay, goodnight. Gonna have some good wet dreams.”

“Shut up, and go to sleep, sweetheart.”

“Been wanting to do this for so long.” He’s muttering, moaning into your mouth.

“But Rock’s always listening.” His words are slurred, and he whines when you pull at his hair, when your fingers tangle into his messy tufts. “Never get the chance to have you like this.”

Finally, he pulls back, parted mouth and glazed eyes flickering from your shirt to your face. “Can I take this off, baby?”

There’s a tug on your shirt when he asks, and Ryland is eager to throw it away when you nod your head at him. He places his hands back where they’d been on your hips, then slowly, he runs his hands over your stomach and your tits.

“So beautiful.” He says, breathy, lips parted and staring unashamed. “Couldn’t believe it when I first woke up.”

He presses his lips back on yours, quiet groans and whines leaving his lips, and he’s completely unrestrained because he can finally be loud. His lips start following a trail down from your mouth, to your neck, before latching onto your breast.

You moan out at the sudden feeling in his mouth, at how his tongue moves over your nipple, at how he sucks so well. He switches to the other, giving each breast equal attention. “Such pretty noises. Wanna hear more.”

The way he mumbles against your tit sends vibrations all over your body, makes you clench your thighs around him, makes you roll your hips against his when you feel a persistent poke on your thigh from where you are atop of him. And the more you move, the deeper and drawn out his moans start to become.

He’s hard and harsh on any skin he can latch his mouth onto, the sensation of you dragging yourself against him feeding him enough to continue pressing kisses on your collarbones, your neck, your chin, your ear.

He’s gripping your hips tighter the more you grind on him.

“Fugggg—“

His eyes are shut close, and he’s squeezing your hips to slow down your movements because he’s afraid he might come already.

He doesn’t want to yet.

“Want your fingers in me. Please.” You pull your lower lip between your teeth, and you’re ill-prepared for the way his hand slips through the fabric of your bottoms, one finger tracing over your wet cunt before moving to rub slow circles on your clit.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he slips a finger inside of you, and then two, until you’re grinding on his fingers, head lolling back and forth as his fingers continue to fuck you until you’re shaking and whining from the sensitivity. “Fuck, yeah, just like that. Ryyyyy.”

Rocky is still asleep, so unaware of the way you’re moaning and panting and fiddling with his hair with your back arched. It’s such a filthy sight.

“More, more. Want you.”

“Want me in you?”

“Mhmmm… mhmm. Please.”

He’s so obedient, so eager to fuck you. Because in less than a second, your bottoms and panties are discarded, way too close to where your friend lays motionless, and Ryland moans louder than he ever has when he slips the head of his cock inside of you.

It’s immediately overwhelming. He was already having a hard time lasting when you’d fucked with clothes on, but with his cock inching and pushing into you as you sink down on him, he doesn’t think he’ll last more than a minute. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to hold off.

As soon as his entire length is in you, Ryland feezes because fuck, he’s already so close to cumming. If he moves even just the slightest, he’s going to release. It’ll be game over for the poor man.

“Baby, ‘m not gonna last. Fuuuuuh, you feel so good. Wait, wait, wait.”

Ryland has to take his time, build a bit of confidence before he finally starts to move. Deliberately slow, for his own sake, before allowing you to take control and move at a steadier pace.

He’s moaning and chanting your name, staring at how your tits bounce as you’re progressively moving harsher and harsher, and suddenly he’s fighting a losing battle against the pleasure that’s creeping into him.

Ryland doesn’t let the overwhelming feeling of his nearing orgasm stop his hand from reaching down to finish you off, hands working hard and rubbing on your clit so he can hear you finish. So he can see the way your face clenches.

And when you do, when you moan out his name, he finally lets himself unravel.

“Baby, baby, pull out. ‘M gonna cum, uhgh. Baby.”

He’s desperately warning you, face scrunching as he whimpers. There are tears forming in his eyes from the pleasure. His legs are shaking when you remove yourself from him, and his hips stutter one final time before hot white shoots everywhere.

It’s a mess, even coating a bit of the xenonite where Rocky is still peacefully sleeping.

Not the heavy kind from the night before, but lighter now. Cleaner. Like the building had exhaled and decided to behave.

For a moment, she just lay there, listening.

No traffic in her immediate thoughts. No unpacked emotional mess demanding attention. Just stillness and faintly, something else.

A creak in the hallway.

She sat up slowly.

Then another sound. A cupboard closing. Careful. Controlled. Like whoever was making it was trying not to disturb the idea of morning itself.

Y/N smiled to herself before she even knew why.

Harry.

Of course.

She got up, pulling on a hoodie and stepping into the hallway barefoot, the floor cool under her feet. The flat smelled faintly of tea and something toasted burnt at the edges, but in a way that suggested effort had been made.

When she reached the kitchen, she stopped in the doorway.

Harry was there.

He stood in front of the toaster like it was an unpredictable machine he hadn't yet earned the right to trust. One slice of bread had already popped up slightly too dark. Another was still inside, as if refusing to commit.

He looked mildly stressed.

Not in an obvious way. In a quiet, internal way that seemed to sit in his shoulders.

He noticed her immediately.

"Oh," he said.

Then, after a pause, as if remembering basic human function “Morning."

Y/N leaned against the doorframe. "Good morning, apartment ghost."

His eyes widened slightly. "I'm not ... I'm not a ghost."

"That's exactly what a ghost would say."

That earned her a very small, reluctant exhale from him. Almost a laugh again. Almost.

"I tried to make toast" he said, gesturing slightly toward the toaster like it had personally betrayed him.

Y/N stepped inside. "Bold first move for someone who hasn't been vetted by the kitchen yet."

“I thought it would be simple."

"Ah," she said seriously. "That was your first mistake."

Harry watched her approach, then shifted slightly to the side like he was giving her full ownership of the kitchen by default.

That habit already stood out to her.

He didn't take up space unless he absolutely had to.

She reached past him, popped the toaster up, and rescued the second slice.

"Congratulations," she said. "You've successfully created breakfast."

"It's a bit burnt" he admitted.

"It's character building."

He gave her a look. "That's not how toast works."

"It is now."

He nodded slowly, as if deciding this might be one of those new flat rules he would have to accept whether or not it made sense.

Y/N placed the plate down between them like an offering.

"So. How was your first night in emotional isolation chamber number two?"

Harry blinked. "Is that what this is?"

"Depends," she started, pouring herself tea

“Did you hear your own thoughts too loudly at any point?"

A pause.

"Yes," he admitted.

"Then yes."

That made something in him soften slightly, the way his posture loosened like he was realizing she wasn't going to judge him for existing incorrectly.

He sat down at the small table near the window. Carefully like the chair might react.

Y/N followed suit, curling her legs under her.

For a while, they just ate.

Not in silence exactly. More like a shared pause that neither of them felt the need to rush.

Outside, the light had turned pale gold. It made the kitchen look warmer than it was.

Harry spoke first, quietly.

"I heard you tip toeing around last night."

Y/N glanced up. "That's because I was trying not to disturb the ghost."

A faint smile. "Right."

“You didn't sleep well?" he asked, almost hesitant.

It wasn't intrusive. Just careful. Y/N considered lying. Then decided against it.

"Not badly," she said, “Just new place sleep. You know?"

He nodded like he did know. "Yeah."

That single word held more agreement than conversation.

Then after a moment he added, "I usually play guitar when I can't sleep."

Y/N perked slightly at that, "That's your coping mechanism?"

"It's not a coping mechanism," he said quickly, then immediately looked uncertain, "I don't think it is."

"It sounds like one."

He hesitated. "It's just, noise I can control."

That landed differently.

Y/N didn't push it. Just nodded slowly. "Fair."

Harry looked down at his toast again like it might offer him a safer topic.

Then he said softer, "Did it bother you?"

"The guitar?" she asked.

He nodded.

Y/N shook her head. "No. It was kind of nice."

That made him go still for a fraction of a second. Like he wasn't used to something he considered private being described that way.

"Nice?" he repeated quietly.

"Yeah," she said simply. "It sounded honest."

His gaze dropped to the table again, but this time it wasn't avoidance. It was processing.

"That's not usually what people say," he admitted.

"Well," Y/N said lightly "most people don't get the full emotional soundtrack of their flatmates at 2 a.m."

A small breath from him, something like amusement, but softer.

"I didn't mean for you to hear it," he said.

"I know."

A pause, then Y/N tilted her head slightly. "But I did. So now I get to have opinions."

That earned her a proper smile this time. Small. Slightly embarrassed. Real.

"Go on then," he said.

She leaned forward a little, pretending to think seriously. "I think you stop too soon."

Harry blinked "What?"

"In your music," she clarified. "It feels like you're about to say something and then you change your mind."

His fingers tightened slightly around his mug.

"That's intentional," he said, though it didn't sound convincing.

Y/N raised a brow "Is it?"

He didn't answer immediately. The silence stretched, but this time it wasn't uncomfortable, It was just open.

Finally he said "It feels safer that way."

Y/N's expression softened, just slightly. Not pity. Just understanding.

"Yeah," she said gently. "I get that."

That was the first moment he looked at her properly without flinching away from it.

Like he was realizing she wasn't trying to fix him. Just hear him.

——————

By midday, the flat had started to develop rhythm.

Not a perfect one. Not yet. But something was forming beneath the surface of their separate movements.

Y/N unpacked properly this time, books stacked on shelves, clothes folded into drawers that still stuck slightly. Harry moved between his room and the kitchen in careful intervals, like he was mapping out safe routes through shared space.

At one point, she caught him standing in the hallway holding a plant.

It looked, questionable.

"Is that alive?" she asked.

Harry looked down at it. "I think so."

"That's not very confident."

"I'm not a plant expert," he said defensively.

Y/N smiled. "What is it called?"

"I don't know."

She laughed softly. "So you adopted a mystery organism."

"I rescued it," he corrected.

"From what?"

"A shop," he said, as if that explained everything.

That made her laugh properly this time. Harry watched her for a second longer than he realized he was allowed to.

Then he cleared his throat. "It looked sad."

Y/N softened at that, unexpectedly.

"Yeah?" she asked. He nodded.

"Like it needed somewhere quieter."

Something in that answer lingered between them longer than it should have.

Y/N stepped a little closer, peering at the plant.

"It's very lucky then. Landing in this emotionally stable household."

Harry huffed a small laugh. "We're not emotionally stable."

"Speak for yourself," she said. "I am thriving."

He looked at her like he didn't fully believe that, but also didn't want to argue. Instead he carefully placed the plant on the windowsill.

"It doesn't have a name yet," he said.

Y/N considered it. "That's because it's waiting for you to commit emotionally."

He glanced at her quickly. "That's not what I'm doing."

"Sure," she said. "You just casually adopt unnamed plants and don't assign meaning to anything."

A pause. Then he says quietly "It's easier that way."

Y/N didn't tease him this time. Instead, she leaned lightly against the counter and said,

"Maybe. But it also gets a bit lonely."

Harry didn't respond immediately. He just looked at the plant.

Then, very softly, he said "Yeah."

Not agreement. Recognition.

——————

That evening, something shifted again, but smaller this time.

Less dramatic. More subtle. Harry played guitar.

Not hidden behind walls. Not accidentally. This time, he left his door slightly open.

Y/N noticed immediately.

She paused outside the hallway, listening for a second. The music wasn't fully formed yet, but it wasn't uncertain either. It had shape now. Intent.

She didn't announce herself.

Just walked closer, slowly, until she was leaning against the doorframe.

Harry was sitting on the edge of his bed, guitar resting on his knee. When he noticed her, he stopped mid chord.

"Oh," he said, again, softer now. Less startled each time.

Y/N smiled gently. "Don't stop."

"I didn't think you'd-"

"Stay?" she finished for him.

He nodded slightly.

She shrugged. "You left the door open."

A beat. Then, carefully, he resumed playing. This time, he didn't stop as quickly.

Y/N stayed where she was. Listening.

Noticing how the music felt less like something unfinished now, and more like something learning how to continue. And for the first time since moving in, the flat didn't feel like two strangers sharing space.

It felt like something beginning to sync.

——————

The change didn't announce itself.

It didn't slam doors or arrive with conflict or clear, dramatic words that could be pointed to later as the moment everything shifted. It was quieter than that. Easier to miss. The kind of distance that only becomes noticeable once you realize you've stopped stepping into the same rhythm.

Y/N noticed it first in the kitchen.

Harry was already there when she walked in.

He stood by the counter with a mug in his hands, shoulders slightly hunched forward like he was trying to take up less space than the room required. The kettle had already clicked off. The toast sat untouched on a plate.

"Morning," Y/N said automatically, softer than usual.

Harry looked up.

"Oh, hi" he replied.

A pause. Then, like an afterthought he almost forgot to include yet again, "Morning."

It wasn't wrong. It just wasn't him from a few days ago.

Y/N moved toward the counter anyway, refusing to let the space between them grow without resistance. "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep," he said.

She nodded. "Yeah. Flat's still doing that thing where it feels like it's not yours yet."

Harry gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Yeah."

Silence settled between them. Not comfortable this time. Just present.

Y/N opened a cupboard, pretending to search for something she didn't actually need. "Did you play last night?"

"No," Harry said.

That was it.

No explanation. No follow up. Just the answer sitting there, slightly too final.

Y/N closed the cupboard slowly. "Oh."

Another pause. She turned toward him, leaning lightly against the counter. "Everything okay?"

It was casual. Light. Safe. Harry's fingers tightened slightly around his mug.

"Yeah," he said again.

Same word. Different weight.

Y/N studied him for a second longer. He wasn't looking at her properly. Not like before. Not like he was trying to figure her out anymore.

More like he was trying not to be figured out at all.

She softened her tone. "You're allowed to say if it's not."

A beat. "I know," he said quietly.

But he didn't say anything else.

And that was the problem.

The rest of the day didn't fix itself. It didn't get worse either. It just, stretched.

Harry stayed in his room more than usual. Y/N heard him moving around sometimes, small sounds, footsteps that stopped abruptly, the occasional drawer opening and closing. But no music.

No guitar.

The flat felt different without it. Not empty. Just quieter in a way that felt deliberate.

Y/N tried not to think too much about it. She told herself people needed space. That not every change meant something was wrong. That sometimes quiet just meant quiet.

But it didn't feel like that. It felt like something had been pulled inward. By evening she'd convinced herself it was nothing serious.

It was the kitchen again that broke that illusion.

Y/N walked in expecting nothing, just tea, maybe a quick meal, maybe the usual shared silence that had started to feel normal.

Harry was there, but this time, he wasn't at ease.

He stood by the counter with his phone in his hand, thumb hovering like he'd forgotten what he was meant to be doing with it. The light from the screen washed over his face in a way that made him look sharper than usual. Tired in a different way.

He didn't notice her at first as she slowed in the doorway.

"Harry?"

He flinched slightly.

"Oh, sorry," he said quickly, locking the phone and putting it down too fast, like it had burned him. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Yeah," she said gently. "I noticed."

That earned a faint, tense exhale from him.

He turned toward the kettle instead of her. "I was just making tea."

"You've been making tea a lot today," she said lightly.

"I like tea."

It came out sharper than he meant it to. The words hung there.

Y/N didn't react immediately. Just watched him carefully now, her earlier ease replaced with something more attentive.

"Okay," she said after a moment. "You don't have to talk, you know."

Harry shook his head quickly. "I'm not I- I can talk."

"You're just not right now," she corrected softly.

That made him stop. Properly. Like he hadn't expected her to see the difference so clearly.

The kettle clicked on. Too loud in the quiet.

Harry stared at it like it was easier than looking at her.

"I'm fine," he said.

Y/N let out a small breath through her nose, not amused, not frustrated. Just understanding the pattern forming in front of her.

"You keep saying that," she said.

"I am," he insisted, but it didn't land with conviction.

A pause. Then, quieter, almost like he didn't mean to say it out loud, "It's just, easier today."

Y/N softened slightly. "What is?"

He hesitated. Everything about him hesitated.

"Being like this," he said finally. "Quiet."

That word felt heavier than it should've.

Y/N leaned against the counter slowly. "You don't have to disappear to be allowed to have a bad day, Harry."

His jaw tightened slightly, "I'm not disappearing," he said.

Awhile later, they met again in the kitchen, their usual meeting spot as it seems to be, but this time it was different.

The tea was made in silence. This time, it didn't feel shared. It felt parallel.

Two people occupying the same space but not quite meeting inside it.

Harry handed her a mug without looking at her properly. Their fingers didn't brush this time. Y/N noticed that too.

She took it anyway.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly.

Harry stared into his tea.

"No," he said, after a pause.

Then, after another pause, quieter, "Not really."

Y/N nodded once. She didn't push. But she didn't let it drop completely either.

"Okay," she said. "But I'm still here."

That made him glance up at her. Just briefly. Like he was checking if she meant it. She did. He looked back down again almost immediately.

Later that night, the flat felt split in two.

Y/N stayed in the living room longer than usual, pretending to read, pretending to scroll, pretending not to listen for something that wasn't coming anymore.

No guitar. No unfinished melodies slipping through walls.

Just silence that felt too structured to be accidental.

At some point, she stood and walked down the hallway.

Harry's door was closed. She stopped in front of it and listened. Nothing.

For a moment, she considered knocking.

Her hand hovered, then dropped back to her side. Not yet.

Instead, she said quietly, just loud enough for the space between doors to carry it, "You don't have to be okay all the time."

There was no answer. But she stood there for a second longer anyway. Then turned and walked back down the hall.

And behind the closed door, Harry didn't move, but he listened, and for the first time since moving in, the silence didn't feel like absence.

It felt like distance.

Something that could grow if neither of them reached for it soon enough.

——————

Y/N barely slept.

She blamed the rain that had started sometime after midnight, tapping steadily against her bedroom window.

She blamed the unfamiliar mattress.

She blamed the radiator that clicked every twenty minutes like it was trying to start a conversation.

She blamed everything except the truth. She couldn't stop thinking about Harry.

Not in the embarrassing, teenage school girl way she refused to acknowledge, but in the quiet, worrying way.

He'd looked exhausted. Not physically. Emotionally.

Like he was carrying something too heavy to set down.

She rolled onto her side and stared at the ceiling.

The flat was silent. Too silent.

No guitar. No absentminded humming through the walls.

Just rain.

——————

The next morning arrived grey.

The kind of morning where the sky looked undecided, threatening rain without fully committing.

Y/N wandered into the kitchen in one of Harry's old university hoodies she'd accidentally picked up from the laundry pile the night before.

She froze halfway through making coffee.

"Oops." She looked down at herself.

It was definitely his. Slightly too big.

The sleeves swallowed her hands, and it smelled faintly of cedarwood and whatever washing detergent he used.

She laughed quietly to herself, "this is awkward."

Before she could retreat back to her room, the front door opened. Harry stepped inside. He looked surprised to see her.

Then his eyes dropped, to the hoodie. He stopped walking altogether. "Oh."

Y/N looked up. Then followed his gaze. Then groaned.

"Oh my God."

"I'm so sorry," she laughed, tugging at the hem. "I grabbed it from the laundry basket without looking."

Harry blinked "It's okay."

"I can go change."

"You don't have to."

"I promise I wasn't secretly stealing your clothes." She rushed out, embarrassed.

"I didn't think you were."

"You looked horrified."

"I was just," He rubbed the back of his neck "Surprised."

She smiled sheepishly "It does smell nice."

Harry looked away.

"Thanks."

She disappeared into her room a minute later to change anyway. When she came back, Harry had already made coffee.

Her mug was waiting beside the kettle. He hadn't asked. He just knew which one she'd started using. She smiled to herself before picking it up.

“Thanks." She smiled, he nodded.

"No problem."

It was a tiny thing. So tiny it almost didn't matter. Except somehow, it did.

That afternoon, the rain finally came.

Heavy.

Relentless.

The windows rattled under the wind, and the sky darkened hours before sunset. Y/N had settled on the sofa with a book she hadn't turned a page of in twenty minutes.

Harry emerged from his room wearing headphones around his neck. He hesitated when he saw her.

"You alright?" she asked.

"Yeah."

She raised an eyebrow. He sighed quietly.

"Yeah."

“There you are," she smiled.

"What?" He asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

"You used the real 'yeah.'" She laughed softly.

"I have different 'yeahs'?" He laughed a little.

"Oh, loads."

"I don't."

"You absolutely do."

He looked genuinely concerned.

"I do?" She laughed at this.

"There's your 'leave me alone' yeah."

"I don't have one."

"You do."

"And then there's your 'I'm embarrassed' yeah."

He folded his arms "No."

"And my personal favourite-" She pointed at him dramatically.

"your 'I'm pretending I'm okay because I don't want anyone worrying about me' yeah."

Harry's smile disappeared. Not because he was upset. Because she'd gotten it exactly right.

Y/N's own smile softened. She hadn't meant to hit quite so close to home.

"I'm not trying to call you out," she said gently.

"I know."

He sat down in the armchair opposite her. Rain filled the silence. After a long moment, Harry spoke.

"You're very observant."

"I like people." She said with a shrug.

"I've noticed."

"And I notice them."

He nodded slowly "That sounds terrifying."

She laughed "Only if you're hiding."

His eyes drifted toward the rain soaked window before he said "Maybe I am."

Neither of them said anything after that as the storm outside only grew louder.

And somewhere beneath the sound of the rain, the distance between them began to feel less like a wall and more like something waiting to be crossed.

Neither of them spoke for a while after that.

The rain carried the conversation instead.

It drummed steadily against the living room window, washing the world outside into streaks of grey. Cars hissed through puddles below, their headlights smeared by the rain-soaked glass. The radiator ticked every so often, old and stubborn, never quite deciding if it wanted to heat the room properly.

They never spoke about that day again, leaving it up to emotions being high over a new move, a new place and also trying to navigate life alongside someone you've never met before.

It wasn't long until things went back to somewhat normal (or what they assumed normal was, between two strangers)

The flat felt less tense in the days that followed.

The flat had its own language, it was slowly beginning to show.

The bathroom door that refused to close unless someone lifted the handle.

The kitchen tap that squealed every morning before settling into a steady stream.

Harry noticed things too.

Like how Y/N never drank the first cup of coffee she made.

She'd always leave it on the counter until it went cold while she wandered around opening curtains, watering the little herb plant she'd bought for the windowsill, or dancing absentmindedly to whatever song happened to be stuck in her head.

Then she'd make another.

"You know that's ridiculous," he'd said one morning.

She'd looked over her shoulder "What is?"

"The first coffee."

"What about it?"

"You never drink it."

She'd frowned down at the forgotten mug "I forget."

"Every day."

"I know."

He'd stared at her for a second before quietly sliding the cold mug toward himself. She'd watched him take a sip.

"Are you drinking my abandoned coffee?" She asked with a laugh of disbelief.

He'd shrugged "It seemed lonely."

She'd laughed so hard she'd nearly dropped the spoon she was holding, "You rescue coffee now too?"

"It was going to waste."

"You are impossible." She joked.

"I've been told."

It became routine after that.

Every morning she'd accidentally make two coffees. Every morning Harry would drink the forgotten one without either of them mentioning it

The flat slowly began collecting evidence that two people actually lived there.

Y/N's books spread from her bedroom onto the shelves in the living room, stacked horizontally because she'd run out of space. Harry's records appeared beside the television, organised alphabetically with almost concerning precision.

Her trainers ended up kicked carelessly beside the front door. His sat neatly underneath the coat rack, perfectly aligned.

She bought colourful tea towels because the plain white ones felt "depressing."

Harry didn't understand how tea towels could be depressing. He used them anyway.

She filled the windowsill with little plants she'd convinced herself she could keep alive. Harry quietly watered them whenever she forgot.

She never told him she'd noticed. He never mentioned that he knew she had.

Evenings soon became their favourite part of the day. Not because they did anything exciting. Because they didn't.

Sometimes Y/N would sit cross legged on the sofa reading while Harry worked on his laptop at the dining table, the only sounds in the flat being the turning of pages and the occasional tapping of keys.

Other nights she'd cook while he dried the dishes. He was surprisingly meticulous about it.

Every plate had to be completely dry before it went back into the cupboard.

"You know it'll dry eventually, right?" she'd teased once.

He'd looked genuinely confused as he said "But I can dry it now."

"I know."

"So why would I leave it wet?"

She'd laughed. "I don't know."

He'd smiled to himself. "You laugh a lot."

She'd looked up from the saucepan she was washing “Is that a complaint?"

"No." A tiny shake of his head.

"I think-"  He'd hesitated.

"It makes the flat feel-"  He searched for the right word. "Lived in."

Y/N hadn't replied straight away. Because somehow that simple sentence had settled somewhere beneath her ribs.

Instead, she'd nudged his shoulder gently with her own "You're getting sentimental, Styles."

"I am not."

"You absolutely are."

He'd rolled his eyes but he was still smiling.

There were dozens of moments like that. Small enough that they didn't seem important on their own.

Harry knocking on her bedroom door before leaving for work just to say, "See you later."

Y/N buying an extra pastry because she'd started assuming he'd want one too.

The way he'd automatically move her favourite mug closer to the kettle after washing it.

The way she'd unconsciously lower the volume of the television when she heard him practising guitar.

Neither of them talked about these things. Neither of them noticed when they stopped asking permission.

Can I borrow the milk?

Do you mind if I put the heating on?

Would it be alright if ...

Those questions slowly disappeared. Replaced by an easy certainty. A quiet understanding.

A rhythm. Harmony.

It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't romantic.

The walls were off white. The carpet had clearly given up years ago. The window let in pale afternoon light that made everything look slightly softer than it really was.

It wasn’t much. But it was hers now.

The key turned in the lock, Y/N looked up quickly.

The door opened slowly, like whoever was on the other side wasn’t entirely sure they were allowed to exist in the same space as her.

He stepped in first, Harry.

That was all she knew, name on the lease, scribbled neatly beside hers. He froze the second he saw her, one hand still on the door, the other holding two worn suitcases that looked like they had traveled more than he had.

“Oh,” he said.

Like he hadn’t expected another human being to be part of the deal.

Y/N blinked, then smiled immediately, easing the moment on purpose. “Hi.”

A pause.

He nodded a little too fast. “Hi. You’re Y/N?”

“That’s me.”

“Right,” Another pause. He looked like he was mentally checking a list no one had given him. “M’ Harry.”

“I figured” she said lightly.

That earned a flicker of something on his face almost a smile, but like it didn’t know if it was allowed to fully exist yet.

“Okay,” he said quietly, as if confirming reality.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward exactly. Just unpracticed.

Y/N decided to fix that immediately.

“So,” she said, gesturing vaguely around the flat, “This is it. Our glamorous new lifestyle.”

Harry let out a small, surprised breath that might’ve been a laugh if it had been braver.

“Yeah, pretty luxurious”

“That’s the spirit!” she said.

He looked at her then, like he wasn’t used to people filling silence on purpose.

It made him even more interesting.

Harry picked up his bags again.

“I’ll take the room at the end of the hall, if that’s okay?”

Y/N nodded instantly. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’ve already mentally claimed the other one anyway.”

That got a real reaction, just a small one. His mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.

“Good,” he said. Then after a beat, “I mean, not good. Just, efficient.”

Y/N grinned “We love efficiency.”

He nodded again, like he was relieved there was a system to this conversation now.

Then he disappeared down the hallway.

———————

The flat changed once Harry started moving through it.

Doors opened and closed softly. Fabric shifted. The low thud of belongings being set down carefully echoed through the walls like he didn’t want to disturb the building too much.

Y/N unpacked slowly, but not because she was overwhelmed, more because she kept pausing to listen to the soft hum of a melody that carried through the air.

There was music coming through the wall.

Faint. Uneven. A guitar, maybe.

It started simple, uncertain chords, like someone testing whether sound was safe in this new space. Then stopping. Then trying again, slightly different each time, like he was searching for something without knowing what it looked like.

Y/N stopped folding a shirt halfway through.

She listened properly now.

It wasn’t polished. It didn’t feel meant for anyone else. It felt like it was just, happening. Private, accidental honesty.

Then it stopped. The silence afterward felt heavier than before.

Y/N frowned slightly, then shook it off and kept unpacking.

———————

Later, they met properly for the second time in the kitchen.

Y/N got there first this time. She was already opening cupboards like she had a right to them, because she did and discovering they were mostly empty except for the bare minimum to keep them alive.

Behind her, she heard a careful pause in the doorway, causing her to turn around.

Harry stood there holding an empty mug. He looked like he had stopped moving the second he realized she was in the same room.

“Oh” he said again, softer this time.

Y/N smiled at him immediately, like it was her job to make this easier. “Hi again.”

“Hi” he replied, still standing in the doorway like it might be safer there.

She nodded toward the mug. “Tea again? That’s impressive for day one.”

“I uh, I didn’t really plan on having another.” he admitted.

“That tracks” she said warmly.

That got another almost smile from him.

He stepped inside slowly, as if the floor might have opinions about him.

Y/N leaned against the counter. “So, Harry are you always this quiet or am I just lucky?”

His eyes widened slightly. “I’m not, I mean, I can talk!”

“That’s good,” she said. “I was starting to worry I’d accidentally moved in with a very polite ghost.”

A pause. Then very quietly, he said, “I’d be a terrible ghost.”

That made her laugh, genuinely.

“Why?”

“I’d probably apologize too much” he said then immediately looked like he regretted saying it.

Y/N tilted her head. “That’s actually kind of adorable.”

His ears went slightly pink. “It’s not.”

“It is” she insisted.

He looked down at his mug like it had betrayed him. Y/N decided to ease off, just a little.

“So, Tea? Or is this more of a standing in the kitchen, being mysterious kind of thing?

He blinked at her before replying “Tea. Definitely tea.”

“Perfect,” she said “I approve of your life choices so far.”

That earned her a small, real breath of laughter from him this time, short, surprised, like it escaped without permission.

Harry placed her mug down carefully in front of her, fingers brushing the handle, then immediately retracting like it had burned him.

Y/N noticed. She didn’t comment. Not yet.

Instead, she just said “You know, you look like someone who apologizes when a chair makes a noise”

He glanced at the chair he was sitting on.

“I don’t do that”

Then, a few seconds later, more quieter he mutters “I might have done that once.”

Y/N smiled into her tea “I like you already.”

He looked up quickly “You do?”

“Yeah,” she said simply “You’re interesting.”

That seemed to unsettle him in a way he didn’t know how to process.

“I’m not really” he said.

“That’s exactly what interesting people say.”

He shook his head slightly “I don’t think that’s true.”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, studying him properly now.

He wasn’t confident. Not in the loud, obvious way in the careful way. Like he moved through the world trying not to take up too much space, even when he clearly had it.

“So” she says gently, “what do you do when you’re not apologizing to furniture?”

That got a real pause, before he speaks again.

“I work”

“Wow” she said. “Revolutionary.”

A small smile threatened again.

“I play guitar sometimes,” he added after a second.

Y/N perked up slightly. “I heard that earlier.”

He froze. “You did?”

“Yeah” she says casually. “Through the wall. It sounded kind of beautiful, actually.”

That made him go still in a different way, like he hadn’t expected that version of himself to be heard.

“It’s not finished” he said quickly.

Y/N tilted her head at him “So?”

He hesitated, then shrugged a little. “It’s just noise until it is.”

“That’s not true” she said softly.

He looked at her then, properly, like she’d said something that didn’t fit inside his usual way of thinking.

Y/N didn’t push. Just smiled a little and took a sip of tea like this was normal.

Harry looked down at his mug again, turning it slightly in his hands.

After a moment, he said, quieter than before.

“I usually don’t let people hear it.”

“Well,” Y/N said lightly “good thing I’m not people, then”

That earned her a startled look. Then finally, a proper smile, small, shy, real.

“Right” he said.

Breakfast was the same as usual. Avocado toast and an overeasy egg. You ate by yourself at the wooden dining table in the nook of the kitchen. The last time you’d had breakfast with another human might’ve been when you first moved into this house eight months ago with your husband. There was a short week before he started his new job at Briar, conducting marine science research for Briar’s College of Life Sciences. It was a celebratory breakfast for buying your first house and the new life you were starting. 

Now that he had a tenured position, things would be different. He would have more control over the classes he taught and the places he would travel for research. No more busywork or covering topics he didn’t care about. He’d be able to make more time for you. He promised it would be a matter of time before you were pregnant, and that would finally give you something more to focus on. Except, he chose research expeditions further away than he promised, and the two of you hadn’t had enough sex in the past eight months to make a baby. 

There were a few other housewives on the street you lived on. A lot of them still seemed to be warming up to you, but you did everything in your power to get close to them. You attended the Pilates classes, you brought homemade pasta salads to their barbecues, and you were even in the process of joining the local Rotary club chapter. Most of them wanted to talk about their marriages and seemed to dislike that you had little to offer on that topic of conversation. Your husband never attended their parties, he didn’t make friends with their spouses, and he was never home longer than a weekend. 

You’d married him because he was smart and passionate about his career. These days, you wonder why exactly he married you. 

Besides the housewives, a lot of college students lived on your road. Houses bought by rich parents that they either rented out or let their kids stay in. 

Your doorbell wakes you out of your daydream. The floor of your 19th-century cottage creaked under your bare feet as you made your way through the kitchen, past the living room, and towards your front door. You’re not expecting a package, and your first instinct tells you that it’s another door-to-door salesman. You peek through the cream curtains that cover the door’s sidelights. He’s a little younger than you, his skin tanned, his hair long and dark. He’s wearing a Carhartt sweatshirt, work jeans, and a toolbox hangs at his side. 

You debate opening the door for a moment, until he catches a glimpse of you peeking at him. Mentally cursing, you take a step back, take a deep breath, and then open your front door. 

“Hey, I’m Logan.” He smiles, teeth white, and you fully get to take in how handsome he is. It’s almost comical. Like you’re in a cheesy porno where he’s a handsome stranger, and you’re a lonely, bored housewife. Not far off, actually. “Your husband said I could come by around this time and take a look at your bathroom sink upstairs.”

“Oh,” You realize then how crazy you must look. Looking down at your hands, you realize you have paint splattered all over your arms and your apron. You smile politely back at him, as if to appear less insane, but you’re almost sure it has the opposite effect: “He didn’t mention…”

Before you can even finish that sentence, your phone pings in your pocket. You reach into the pockets of your house dress and fish out your phone. 

Rick: Handyman coming at 11:30. 

Your husband sends you that text at approximately 11:35. You try not to let the frustration you feel instantly show on your face. Logan seems kind, and you trust your husband enough to find a decent, non-serial-killer handyman. “I’m Y/N,” You introduce yourself. “Come in. Sorry, I was painting this morning …I don’t usually look like this.” 

Unfortunately, you realize too late that you’ve invited him to look you over. Your dress shows entirely too much of your chest and arms because you prefer to be comfortable when you’re home. And you had exactly no warning that you’d be meeting a stranger. You let him inside, closing the door behind him. 

“No, no, don’t worry about it. You look …” He coughs awkwardly, and you cringe, assuming he was holding back a lie, “I live right next door, actually, so I’ve seen you…”

“More put together than this,” You finish. “That’s good, at least. So you’re one of the hockey players.”

His face starts to feel more familiar, although, from your perspective, there’s usually a million college kids coming and going from that house. 

“Yup, one of them. Hope we’re not too loud for you.”

“Oh, no. I’m asleep by eight and a heavy sleeper.” You answer honestly, a little too genuinely, and worry for a moment that he’ll find your response strange. 

“A great combination.” He chuckles, and you don’t expect to feel so weird about someone else thinking you’re funny. You don’t get much out of Rick, usually, probably because he’s so tired when you see him. “That’s what I look for in a neighbor.”

You laugh together for that short moment until you realize you’re probably holding him up: “Anyways, um, let me show you upstairs.” Logan follows you up the staircase to the second floor. Your house is smaller than the hockey boys’, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms in total. Still, much too big for you and your husband. If things turned around soon, you’d be making one of these rooms a nursery. 

You lead him to the upstairs bathroom, which thankfully isn’t too messy. You had so much free time on your hands that it wasn’t hard to keep your house clean. You grab a bra and a pair of Rick’s underwear that’s strewn haphazardly on the floor and tuck the items behind your back.

Logan sets down his toolkit on the bathroom counter as you start to explain, “It seems like it’s getting clogged almost every week. We’ll snake the drain, and it’ll get better for a few days, and then it happens again.”

“Hmm, clog is probably deeper than you think,” He says, wheels seemingly turning in his mind, “I got it. Shouldn’t take too long.” 

“Great, um, I’ll be downstairs. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do.” He smiles at you, and it genuinely makes your body feel warm. You have to force your feet to move past him. 

You clean up the paint on your hands in the kitchen sink, scrubbing a little too hard, as if that will get rid of that warm feeling. 

“Goddamn, man.” Dean groans as he looks out the dining room window. Logan is doing his best to concentrate on fixing a wobbly dining room chair. Well, it’s more than wobbly given the fact that Beau had attempted to use it as a weapon against Dean after an intense game of chess. “You have to see this. I think she’s about to get into downward dog. That’s it, baby …a little further …just like that.” 

Dean’s nose is practically against the glass now as he spies on you working out in your backyard. Logan doesn’t blame him for looking; he himself had gotten a look at that butter-yellow matching set you were wearing, but he knew better than to look longer than a few seconds. 

So he attempts and fails to ignore Dean.

“Oh fuck,” Dean continues, and Logan rolls his eyes. “Her ass is perfect. Genuinely. And she’s pretty flexible. Oh yeah, I gotta have that.”

“Dean, please,” Logan warns. 

“Maybe I can go over and give her some tips. You can be the handyman. I’ll be the personal trainer.”

“You’re being creepier than usual,” Logan says, tightening the leg on the chair before he flips it back over. “You don’t have a puck bunny you can call or something?”

“I get it. You think you’ve got some sort of claim on her,” Dean surmises. “You’d tell me if you got any action, right?”

“You’d be the last person to know, actually.” Dean turns around in response to Logan’s remark, and his face turns into a pout. 

He walks over, plants his hands on the table, and leans closer. “Don’t joke, dude. What was she like? Does she sound as sexy as she looks?” 

Logan keeps his face straight, pretending as if your voice hadn’t been on replay in his mind, and that most of his thoughts weren’t consumed by you. “She sounded, I don’t know, cute.”

“Cute, not sexy, hmm …I like that more for some reason. Did she seem into you?”

“She’s married.”

Dean laughs, “Ha! Who gives a fuck?”

“I do, and she definitely gives a fuck,” Logan answers, his head shaking in disapproval. “Why would she hook up with one of us? We’re her neighbors. And we attend the same college her husband works at.”

“Because she’s so obviously touch-starved. A woman needs her release, John. I can see it in her eyes; he’s not fucking her. And if he is fucking her, she’s not finishing.”

“There’s no way–”

“You saw her up close. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Logan’s lips open to argue back, but he closes them after only a short moment. Dean claimed to be a “sex whisperer,” and Logan was nowhere close to that level of delusional, but thinking back on it, you did seem kind of …lonely. 

“Exactly,” Dean smirks, turning back around and walking over to the window, “She barely leaves the house, and he’s never there. His very own angel on earth, and he doesn’t give a shit. It’s a shame.”

Logan doesn’t disagree with Dean. It’s the first thing he’s said today that makes sense. 

“I can’t see her tits as well from this far. If you were to describe them in terms of size, how many handfuls would you say?”

Tucker’s voice is the one that responds this time, appearing from the kitchen, a tray of mini sandwiches in his hands: “Dean, what the fuck are you talking about?”

A motivational speaker talks to you in your earbuds as you finish your post-dinner walk around the neighborhood. The podcast is focused on increasing your confidence and independence. The middle-aged woman tells an inspirational story about how she found herself again after raising her children. How she turned her life around, got healthy, and started her own small business. It’s not the first of these podcasts that you’ve listened to. Based on your previous history, you often let yourself get motivated for days at a time before you fall back into your old habits. 

You were more determined this time; that’s what made it different. The past weekend set your new mission in motion. Rick got home from a trip to a laboratory in New Jersey, and you’d spent almost the entire weekend together. You planned two home-cooked meals to make him each day and picked a local restaurant to go out to every night. He promised you that the two of you would actually explore this new town months ago, but when it came time again to be a man of his word, he failed again. 

He was too tired to do any of it. You’d even planned a hiking trip with a huge lake and lovely scenery, but he’d made an excuse about wanting to lie in bed with you all day.

It was time for you to find some more satisfaction in doing things by yourself. 

“If you want to change your life, you have to speak that new life into existence. Say it to yourself. I am going to change my life.”

Whispering to yourself, you repeated, “I am going to change my life.”

“I do not live for other people. I live for myself.”

“I live for myself–” You took a step off the sidewalk, a couple of blocks from your house, when a speeding car decided to blow through a stop sign. You’re a split second from a painful death when strong arms suddenly wrap around your torso and lift you off the ground. 

Your back against their chest, you go from being scared for your life to being frightened that you’d been grabbed by a predator. Luckily, the possible predator sets you back down on your feet. You whip around, panicked, to find yourself staring back at a sweaty, sculpted chest. 

“Jesus,” You whisper, reaching to take out one of your earbuds, as your eyes trail up to meet Thor’s himself because that’s exactly who grabbed you. Blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and sweat dripping down his brow that somehow still makes him look better. 

“Your music might be a little too loud.” He pops out his own earbuds, and you realize you’ve interrupted his run. 

“Right,” You stare at him, breathless, and then realize his hand is still on your waist, “I’m sorry, um, thank you.”

You step back from him, “Anytime. Dean, I live next door.”

Another handsome hockey player, obviously. The hockey gods had been smiling upon you lately. 

“Y/N.” You introduced yourself. “You’re one of Logan’s roommates.”

“Yeah, best friend, teammate, practically brothers, taught him everything he knows.”

You smile awkwardly, “I should let you finish your run.”

“I was just about to cool down, actually; let me walk you home.” 

You figure that he’s already held you tonight; walking you home wouldn’t be much more intimate. 

As you accept the polite offer from Dean, you wonder if Logan talked about you to him. Maybe they collectively felt bad for you. Like you might care for an elderly neighbor. You weren’t much older than them, having married Rick young, but marriage makes you feel like you’ve lived a longer life. 

“Your husband gone already?”

“Uh, yeah, there’s a big conference in New York. He goes every year.”

“Cool,” He says, although he sounds completely bored, and you find yourself wanting to be more interesting for him, “You ever go with him?”

“No, not really.” He’s never actually asked you to come, you realize. “I’m such a homebody.”

“When did you meet him?”

“Four years ago. I was in undergrad for veterinary science, and he was finishing his doctorate at the time.” 

“You graduated?”

“Yeah,” You say, “Then we got married, and we had to move a few times so he could get a good position as a researcher.”

“But you wanted to be a veterinarian, right? When are you gonna go back to school?”

“I’m not sure. We’ve been trying for a ….” You pause when you realize you’re sharing a little too much information. “I’m just still figuring things out. 

“Gotcha,” Dean replies, his voice seemingly free of judgement. You come upon the hockey house a few moments later. There are several cars parked out front, and you can hear rock music flowing from an open window and out onto the street. “I mean, I hear Briar’s veterinary program is pretty good.”

“There’s always time.” You hear Rick’s voice in your head as the words leave your lips. “What about you? Logan is obviously good at fixing things. What’s your talent? I mean, other than hockey.”

“I mean, I’m pretty good with my hands too.” You look up to see Dean has a devilish smirk on his lips. You get that warm feeling again. This time, there’s a bit of fear inside of you too: “I could show you some time. Maybe tonight?”

You laugh nervously, and you don’t want to assume his meaning, but he continues to stare down at you before he licks his lips. You should be offended, you should feel angry and tell him off, but all you can feel is nervous. 

“I think that …you should get to your party, Dean.” 

“We can have a party of our own.”

He reaches to touch your hip again, and on instinct you place your hand on top of his, to remove it. Except you don’t move his hand. You feel how large his hand is, and then your mind starts to wander to bad, bad things.

“I have to go.” You turn and almost trip as you start to skitter away. “Um, thanks for walking me.”

“I’ll see you around, honey,” He calls after you, but you don’t dare turn around. 

What the fuck was that?

The power went out last night after a big thunderstorm. Which is great; you’re already a ball of anxiety, and you weren’t getting any sleep anyway. You tossed and turned in your bed, thinking about Dean and how he was obviously flirting with you last night. 

By the time early morning comes, you start to worry, because you can look out your window and see the hockey house has power. You decide to text Rick. 

Y/N: Power went out last night. Still not back on. 

You wait for a reply for an hour and a half. 

Y/N: Hello?

You start to worry all the food in your fridge will start to spoil, and now your phone is close to dying. 

Another hour passes; you’ve called Rick three times to no avail, and your battery is at five percent. 

You finally get a text back. 

Rick: I’m in a meeting. Something wrong?

Did he even read your message? 

At that point, you know what you have to do. 

Unfortunately, a shirtless Dean is the one who answers the door when you show up at the hockey house. 

“I knew you’d be back for me.”

“I’m looking for Logan.”

“Ouch,” Dean feigns jealousy, “And you’re pissed about something.”

“I’m not!” You raise your voice higher than you have in maybe…years. That only seems to make Dean smile harder, “Is Logan here?”

Dean debates something in his head that doesn’t allow him to answer your question. Moments later, Logan appears, bandana holding back his curls and his clothes giving you the impression that he’d been working out. “Dude, go away.” He pushes at Dean’s muscular chest, and Dean finally relents. He winks at you before he walks away, which again gives you that scared, warm feeling. “What’s wrong?”

The look of concern that Logan has for you is new. “My power’s still out. I tried flipping the breaker. I don’t know what’s wrong. Rick’s not answering his phone; he’s busy, and I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay, I got you.” He steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder, and you hadn’t realized how bad you wanted to be comforted. “Let me go grab my tools. I’ll take a look.” 

You nod and let out a breath. “Thank you.”

Unbeknownst to you, your house has a backup generator in the backyard. 

It takes approximately ten minutes for Logan to fix your issue. You’re waiting in the kitchen, lights starting to flicker back on, when he comes through the back door. “Good news, powers on. Bad news, how long have your gutters looked like that?” 

“Like what?”

“Like completely detached from your roof. You’ve got rainwater pouring down on the foundation.”

You sigh, a little defeated, “Shoot, I hadn't noticed. I’ll text Rick.”

“No worries, I’ll fix it. You shouldn’t have to worry about this stuff, anyway.”

“I seriously can’t ask you to do that.”

He only grins in response, as if it’s no big deal. “I like fixing things. And this place needs some work.”

For a long moment, you consider it. You’re not sure how Rick would feel about you getting a bunch of work on the house done and him inevitably having to foot the bill. It needed to be done, though, and he was never here enough to notice anything was wrong. 

“Now that the power's back on, I’m gonna make you lunch. And cookies. Do you like chocolate chip?”

He’s gorgeous, you think, when he looks kindly at you, “I love chocolate chip.” 

It starts with the gutters and spirals into much more. There are lights on the exterior of the house that need replacing.

“I’ve been meaning to go to the hardware store.”

You hate going into places like that alone. 

The chains that hold up your porch swing are rusting. “These would’ve snapped soon,” Logan says.

“Rick’s been meaning to replace those.”

All of your trees in the backyard are overgrown. 

Your smoke detector has been chirping for so long that you’ve been tuning it out for at least a month. 

You spend most of the day in the kitchen, cooking food from your fridge that had thawed to prevent any of it from spoiling. The bay windows in your kitchen allow you a great view of Logan’s handiwork. You take special notice of his exposed biceps and how the muscle flexes with his heavy lifting. By the late afternoon, Logan had completed several projects and he’d laid out plans for fixing about ten other things. 

You insist he stop for the day and take a break to try your chocolate chip cookies. You sit next to him at your kitchen table, a spread of food before him, and wait patiently as he takes a bite. 

“Wow, that’s good.” He compliments your baking, which you’re also not used to. “You really didn’t have to make all of this.”

“It’s my way of saying thank you. I mean, I’ll have Rick send you money for everything, but until then. And you can share with your roommates, of course.”

“Where’d you learn how to cook?”

You shrug, “Just practice, I guess. I’ve had to cook for myself since I was little.”

He nods, a shared understanding in his eyes: “Well, I appreciate it.”

He reaches out to touch your hand, and the two of you seem to have a conversation with your eyes. You feel like you’re in high school again with butterflies in your stomach. Even if the feeling is temporary, you’re relishing it. He must feel so bad for you. How desperate did you look right now?

Then, like a magnet, something pulls you together. You both feel it at the same time. You lean in. Logan leans in further until your lips are together. 

Fuck. 

Your chair skids across the tile, loudly, as you force yourself up and away. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Logan, wordlessly, stands up after you. His eyes are intently focused on your lips. He closes the distance between you, arms wrapping around your back, and his head dipping low to kiss you again. 

“Don’t be sorry,” He says huskily, your lips vibrating from the timbre of his voice. 

Pushing you against the counter, he kisses you harder. His hand grabs hold of your neck, pulling your face into his. He kisses down your chin, and then he tilts your head to have better access to your neck. Passionate kisses against the sensitive skin of your neck leave you trying to suppress your moans. 

“We can’t. Please stop.”

He lifts you onto the counter in response. With a grunt, he roughly pulls at your dress, lifting until he can feel the seam of your underwear.  You reach forward, trying to grab your panties, to keep him from pulling them down.

“Logan, please–” 

His determined brown eyes stare back at yours. “You need this. I know you do, baby.”

One thing leads to another. Just how a quick house call led to a whole day being spent together. Your panties end up on the kitchen floor, your thighs are spread wide, and Logan’s head is between your legs. 

“I’ll take care of you,” He moans against your center, “Don’t worry.”

Your head tilts back, and your chest heaves as Logan leads you to the first orgasm you’ve had from oral sex. And the first orgasm you’ve had in months. 

It’s now Logan’s turn to stare out the window. This time, it’s his bedroom window that faces out towards your garage. He catches a glimpse of your husband returning. You greet him barefoot, lavender colored dress flowing as he lifts you into his arms and spins you around. 

You’ve been radio silent since he left your house last week. You said you’d text him the next time he could come over to help you with the house. That text never came and now your husband was back now for who knows how long. And you looked excited to see him. 

“If your goal was to make her hornier for her husband, I think you’ve succeeded.” 

Dean says from Logan’s doorway. 

“Shut up.”

“You still haven’t told me the details.”

“Because I’m not an asshole, unlike you.”

Dean walks in, shuts the door, and then makes himself comfortable on Logan’s bed. 

“Whatever you did, it obviously wasn’t enough. So let’s brainstorm together on how we’re gonna fix this problem.”

“We?” Logan scoffs, “Fuck off.”

“So you’re saying you don’t want to hear my idea?”

Logan goes quiet as he watches you again from the window. You wrap your legs around Rick and let him carry you inside. 

“I don’t get it,” Logan whispers. 

“Tell me, I can’t help unless you tell me.”

Fist hitting the wall in frustration, Logan groans. “Dean, I’m serious; this has to stay between us.”

“I promise.” Dean says, holding out his pink, “Pinky promise?"

Coming towards the bed, Logan pushes his hand away. “Okay …um, we hooked up. After I did all that shit for her house, we made out and then I … uh…I ate her out.”

“She came?”

“Yes, she came. And then she felt horrible for cheating on her husband, and it kind of killed the mood, to be honest. I just thought if she let me in a little bit more, then we could move past that.”

Dean nods his head, taking in the information. “This is going to stay between us, I promise. But I need you to hear me out.”

Logan takes a seat beside Dean on the bed, elbows against his knees, as the weight of the situation starts to press down on him. 

“What’s your big idea?”

“After her husband leaves again, you go back over there again. Seduce her again, but this time you’re gonna fuck her. No gentleman shit. Caveman sex.”

“She doesn’t seem like the type.” Logan starts to brush the idea off immediately. 

“Oh, she’s definitely the type. She just needs coaxing. And, of course, I can come for moral support.”

“Dean–”

“Hear me out. You said you would hear me out. Imagine you go over there and just lay all your cards out on the table. She loves her husband, but it’s so goddamn obvious he’s not right for her. She wants you; she’s already shown you that. Then she has to face the fact that you know how she really feels.”

Logan hates when Dean makes a good point. Maybe he really does know more about relationships than he lets on. 

“Think about what you want, Logan. If you want to run into the sunset with her, that might not be what she’s ready for. Take the situation for what it is. Our beautiful, sexy fucking neighbor wants you, Logan. So take her.” 

The Briar U Hawks win their game Saturday night, which leads to a huge party at the hockey house. The largest of the entire semester. The starting line is drinking beers on the back porch when Logan catches a glimpse through his neighbor's window. 

You're alone, eating dinner at your dining table. Logan downs the rest of the beer before he decides, “I’m gonna go over there.”

“You got this, man.” Dean taps his shoulder, “No gentleman shit.”

Dean watches from the porch as the whole scene plays out. For moral support, of course. You’re wearing one of those cute dresses you always wear. This one is floral printed and milkmaid style. God, Logan’s a lucky man, Dean thinks. He’d give anything to lift that dress and fuck you as you deserve. 

Logan knocks on your back door, and Dean brushes off a few puck bunnies before he leans against the wooden porch railing. 

You open the door for him, and Logan doesn’t make it past the threshold. Dean imagines the conversation in his head, taking hints from your body language. 

Logan probably says something lame like I can’t stop thinking about you. 

You have to stop thinking about me. I’m married.

That’s not what you said the last time I was here. 

I was lonely, and I wasn’t thinking straight. 

Logan stuffs his hands in the pockets of his Carhartt jacket. He’s being quiet now. 

He’s fumbling. What kind of wingman would Dean be if he let that happen?

The rowdy party fades into the background of his mind, and he decides to slip out while no one's watching. He walks around the hockey house towards the fence line that separates the two properties. 

Sneaking through your gate, Dean slowly walks towards the back of your house. He can hear your conversation now. 

“I think you should go. I took advantage of you. You should be someone more like you.” 

“You didn’t. I like you. Like a lot.”

“I’m married, Logan. I’m sorry if I got your hopes up.”

“Logan!” Dean appears, interrupting your conversation. Beer swinging in his hands, he walks up the back porch. Up close, he can see that slutty fucking dress. You’re begging to be fucked wearing that. “You disappeared, man. Now I can see why, though. Holy fuck, you look good, honey.”

“What are you doing?” You and Logan seem to ask simultaneously. 

“Came to check on you guys. I’m thoughtful like that.” Wrapping his arm around Logan’s shoulder, Dean fills your back doorway, “So, Y/N, Logan tells me your husband fucking sucks.”

“Logan?” She shoots him an accusing look, “Why would you–”

“It’s pretty fucking obvious to like the entire neighborhood. And my friend here has so kindly stepped up and taken care of business for you. You’ve been nice to him up until this point, and I think he deserves better.”

“Dean–”

“I’m serious. Why don’t you show him a little more fucking gratitude?”

You stare back at Dean with wide eyes. Part of you seems to genuinely understand his point. Why were you, all of a sudden, you were acting like Logan was nothing to you? “And do what?”

“You can start by getting on your knees.”

Your eyes swirl emotion, lust, and fear, mixing. 

“Dean–” You interrupt Logan’s protest. 

Something has clearly shifted inside of you because you say, “Both of you, come in and close the door.”

Dean and Logan exchange glances. It’s a quick- are we doing this? They nod at each other before following your instructions. Dean enters your house for the first time and follows your lead as you walk towards the living room. 

“I am grateful, Logan.” You don’t turn to face them as you say this. Dean’s eyes are busy raking over you, “I feel like I don’t know what I need sometimes. But I really needed you last week. I haven’t felt like that …ever.”

You're hugging yourself, hands making comforting strokes down your upper arms. Dean urges Logan forward, finishing off his beer before he makes himself comfortable in the armchair that sits perpendicular to the couch. 

Dean’s length is already hard and struggling against the fabric of his jeans. Your voice is so desperate. Dean was right all along, of course, and you were clearly touch-starved. Pleasure starved. When you finally turn around to face Logan, he dips his head down to kiss you. 

The two of you push and pull, hungry, before Logan falls against the couch, you on top of him. Logan lifts the fabric of your dress, grabbing your ass, which Dean is grateful for. He’s more than happy to be the onlooker in the corner. It’s like his favorite porno is playing right in front of him. 

Much to Dean's surprise, Logan groans out the words, “Get on your knees.”

It takes you back, but not enough for you to ignore his command. You climb down between his knees and your eyes wander over to Dean’s. Dean leans forward, his jeans straining even more, “Show him how grateful you are, honey. Show him how much of a dirty girl you are.”

Dean can’t help it; the look you give him in response pushes him to free himself from his jeans. You’re much better at sucking Logan off than Dean expects. Grabbing a handful of your hair in his hands, Logan forces your mouth up and down.

“Lift that dress up, honey,” Dean requests, and you oblige even though you’re struggling for air. “Fuck.”

Dean enjoys how messy it makes you. Your hair is tangled, your eyes are watering, and spit is dripping down your face. “You can’t come in her mouth, John. I bet she’s so grateful she’ll let you come somewhere else.”

“Crawl over to Dean, baby. I’m gonna take you from behind.”

And crawl you do. Dean swears he hears angels singing above.

“Messy girl,” Dean breathes heavily, happy to take Logan’s sloppy seconds, “You wanna make me feel good too?”

You nod, teary-eyed, “Please?”

“So polite,” Dean pulls you forward, “Of course you can, honey.”

Logan fully takes off his jeans and kneels behind you. Palming himself, he feels how wet you are. He doesn’t even need to spit. You’re starting to take Dean in your mouth when he pushes inside of you. 

“She can handle it. She hasn’t been fucked hard in so long. Even if it hurts, she’s so grateful; she won't mind.”

After the first few strokes, Logan doesn’t waste time easing you into it. 

The grip on your hips is tight and unforgiving. The deeper Logan goes, the deeper you have to take Dean. You’re choking and moaning at the same time. 

Dean finishes first, down your throat, but he doesn’t let you rest. Logan isn’t done, and the last thing Dean wants is for you to lay your head down in his lap. Grabbing your face, he forces you to keep looking forward. “Almost there. You’re doing so well. Dirty fucking girl.” You reach your peak with Logan behind you and Dean’s fingers in your mouth. 

Logan grabs onto your shoulder, pulling you back towards him, as he makes his final and deepest thrusts. 

“Fuck, honey.”

“Fuck, baby.”

Breakfast was the same as usual. Avocado toast and an overeasy egg. You ate by yourself at the wooden dining table in the nook of the kitchen. The last time you’d had breakfast with another human might’ve been when you first moved into this house eight months ago with your husband. There was a short week before he started his new job at Briar, conducting marine science research for Briar’s College of Life Sciences. It was a celebratory breakfast for buying your first house and the new life you were starting. 

Now that he had a tenured position, things would be different. He would have more control over the classes he taught and the places he would travel for research. No more busywork or covering topics he didn’t care about. He’d be able to make more time for you. He promised it would be a matter of time before you were pregnant, and that would finally give you something more to focus on. Except, he chose research expeditions further away than he promised, and the two of you hadn’t had enough sex in the past eight months to make a baby. 

There were a few other housewives on the street you lived on. A lot of them still seemed to be warming up to you, but you did everything in your power to get close to them. You attended the Pilates classes, you brought homemade pasta salads to their barbecues, and you were even in the process of joining the local Rotary club chapter. Most of them wanted to talk about their marriages and seemed to dislike that you had little to offer on that topic of conversation. Your husband never attended their parties, he didn’t make friends with their spouses, and he was never home longer than a weekend. 

You’d married him because he was smart and passionate about his career. These days, you wonder why exactly he married you. 

Besides the housewives, a lot of college students lived on your road. Houses bought by rich parents that they either rented out or let their kids stay in. 

Your doorbell wakes you out of your daydream. The floor of your 19th-century cottage creaked under your bare feet as you made your way through the kitchen, past the living room, and towards your front door. You’re not expecting a package, and your first instinct tells you that it’s another door-to-door salesman. You peek through the cream curtains that cover the door’s sidelights. He’s a little younger than you, his skin tanned, his hair long and dark. He’s wearing a Carhartt sweatshirt, work jeans, and a toolbox hangs at his side. 

You debate opening the door for a moment, until he catches a glimpse of you peeking at him. Mentally cursing, you take a step back, take a deep breath, and then open your front door. 

“Hey, I’m Logan.” He smiles, teeth white, and you fully get to take in how handsome he is. It’s almost comical. Like you’re in a cheesy porno where he’s a handsome stranger, and you’re a lonely, bored housewife. Not far off, actually. “Your husband said I could come by around this time and take a look at your bathroom sink upstairs.”

“Oh,” You realize then how crazy you must look. Looking down at your hands, you realize you have paint splattered all over your arms and your apron. You smile politely back at him, as if to appear less insane, but you’re almost sure it has the opposite effect: “He didn’t mention…”

Before you can even finish that sentence, your phone pings in your pocket. You reach into the pockets of your house dress and fish out your phone. 

Rick: Handyman coming at 11:30. 

Your husband sends you that text at approximately 11:35. You try not to let the frustration you feel instantly show on your face. Logan seems kind, and you trust your husband enough to find a decent, non-serial-killer handyman. “I’m Y/N,” You introduce yourself. “Come in. Sorry, I was painting this morning …I don’t usually look like this.” 

Unfortunately, you realize too late that you’ve invited him to look you over. Your dress shows entirely too much of your chest and arms because you prefer to be comfortable when you’re home. And you had exactly no warning that you’d be meeting a stranger. You let him inside, closing the door behind him. 

“No, no, don’t worry about it. You look …” He coughs awkwardly, and you cringe, assuming he was holding back a lie, “I live right next door, actually, so I’ve seen you…”

“More put together than this,” You finish. “That’s good, at least. So you’re one of the hockey players.”

His face starts to feel more familiar, although, from your perspective, there’s usually a million college kids coming and going from that house. 

“Yup, one of them. Hope we’re not too loud for you.”

“Oh, no. I’m asleep by eight and a heavy sleeper.” You answer honestly, a little too genuinely, and worry for a moment that he’ll find your response strange. 

“A great combination.” He chuckles, and you don’t expect to feel so weird about someone else thinking you’re funny. You don’t get much out of Rick, usually, probably because he’s so tired when you see him. “That’s what I look for in a neighbor.”

You laugh together for that short moment until you realize you’re probably holding him up: “Anyways, um, let me show you upstairs.” Logan follows you up the staircase to the second floor. Your house is smaller than the hockey boys’, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms in total. Still, much too big for you and your husband. If things turned around soon, you’d be making one of these rooms a nursery. 

You lead him to the upstairs bathroom, which thankfully isn’t too messy. You had so much free time on your hands that it wasn’t hard to keep your house clean. You grab a bra and a pair of Rick’s underwear that’s strewn haphazardly on the floor and tuck the items behind your back.

Logan sets down his toolkit on the bathroom counter as you start to explain, “It seems like it’s getting clogged almost every week. We’ll snake the drain, and it’ll get better for a few days, and then it happens again.”

“Hmm, clog is probably deeper than you think,” He says, wheels seemingly turning in his mind, “I got it. Shouldn’t take too long.” 

“Great, um, I’ll be downstairs. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do.” He smiles at you, and it genuinely makes your body feel warm. You have to force your feet to move past him. 

You clean up the paint on your hands in the kitchen sink, scrubbing a little too hard, as if that will get rid of that warm feeling. 

“Goddamn, man.” Dean groans as he looks out the dining room window. Logan is doing his best to concentrate on fixing a wobbly dining room chair. Well, it’s more than wobbly given the fact that Beau had attempted to use it as a weapon against Dean after an intense game of chess. “You have to see this. I think she’s about to get into downward dog. That’s it, baby …a little further …just like that.” 

Dean’s nose is practically against the glass now as he spies on you working out in your backyard. Logan doesn’t blame him for looking; he himself had gotten a look at that butter-yellow matching set you were wearing, but he knew better than to look longer than a few seconds. 

So he attempts and fails to ignore Dean.

“Oh fuck,” Dean continues, and Logan rolls his eyes. “Her ass is perfect. Genuinely. And she’s pretty flexible. Oh yeah, I gotta have that.”

“Dean, please,” Logan warns. 

“Maybe I can go over and give her some tips. You can be the handyman. I’ll be the personal trainer.”

“You’re being creepier than usual,” Logan says, tightening the leg on the chair before he flips it back over. “You don’t have a puck bunny you can call or something?”

“I get it. You think you’ve got some sort of claim on her,” Dean surmises. “You’d tell me if you got any action, right?”

“You’d be the last person to know, actually.” Dean turns around in response to Logan’s remark, and his face turns into a pout. 

He walks over, plants his hands on the table, and leans closer. “Don’t joke, dude. What was she like? Does she sound as sexy as she looks?” 

Logan keeps his face straight, pretending as if your voice hadn’t been on replay in his mind, and that most of his thoughts weren’t consumed by you. “She sounded, I don’t know, cute.”

“Cute, not sexy, hmm …I like that more for some reason. Did she seem into you?”

“She’s married.”

Dean laughs, “Ha! Who gives a fuck?”

“I do, and she definitely gives a fuck,” Logan answers, his head shaking in disapproval. “Why would she hook up with one of us? We’re her neighbors. And we attend the same college her husband works at.”

“Because she’s so obviously touch-starved. A woman needs her release, John. I can see it in her eyes; he’s not fucking her. And if he is fucking her, she’s not finishing.”

“There’s no way–”

“You saw her up close. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Logan’s lips open to argue back, but he closes them after only a short moment. Dean claimed to be a “sex whisperer,” and Logan was nowhere close to that level of delusional, but thinking back on it, you did seem kind of …lonely. 

“Exactly,” Dean smirks, turning back around and walking over to the window, “She barely leaves the house, and he’s never there. His very own angel on earth, and he doesn’t give a shit. It’s a shame.”

Logan doesn’t disagree with Dean. It’s the first thing he’s said today that makes sense. 

“I can’t see her tits as well from this far. If you were to describe them in terms of size, how many handfuls would you say?”

Tucker’s voice is the one that responds this time, appearing from the kitchen, a tray of mini sandwiches in his hands: “Dean, what the fuck are you talking about?”

A motivational speaker talks to you in your earbuds as you finish your post-dinner walk around the neighborhood. The podcast is focused on increasing your confidence and independence. The middle-aged woman tells an inspirational story about how she found herself again after raising her children. How she turned her life around, got healthy, and started her own small business. It’s not the first of these podcasts that you’ve listened to. Based on your previous history, you often let yourself get motivated for days at a time before you fall back into your old habits. 

You were more determined this time; that’s what made it different. The past weekend set your new mission in motion. Rick got home from a trip to a laboratory in New Jersey, and you’d spent almost the entire weekend together. You planned two home-cooked meals to make him each day and picked a local restaurant to go out to every night. He promised you that the two of you would actually explore this new town months ago, but when it came time again to be a man of his word, he failed again. 

He was too tired to do any of it. You’d even planned a hiking trip with a huge lake and lovely scenery, but he’d made an excuse about wanting to lie in bed with you all day.

It was time for you to find some more satisfaction in doing things by yourself. 

“If you want to change your life, you have to speak that new life into existence. Say it to yourself. I am going to change my life.”

Whispering to yourself, you repeated, “I am going to change my life.”

“I do not live for other people. I live for myself.”

“I live for myself–” You took a step off the sidewalk, a couple of blocks from your house, when a speeding car decided to blow through a stop sign. You’re a split second from a painful death when strong arms suddenly wrap around your torso and lift you off the ground. 

Your back against their chest, you go from being scared for your life to being frightened that you’d been grabbed by a predator. Luckily, the possible predator sets you back down on your feet. You whip around, panicked, to find yourself staring back at a sweaty, sculpted chest. 

“Jesus,” You whisper, reaching to take out one of your earbuds, as your eyes trail up to meet Thor’s himself because that’s exactly who grabbed you. Blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and sweat dripping down his brow that somehow still makes him look better. 

“Your music might be a little too loud.” He pops out his own earbuds, and you realize you’ve interrupted his run. 

“Right,” You stare at him, breathless, and then realize his hand is still on your waist, “I’m sorry, um, thank you.”

You step back from him, “Anytime. Dean, I live next door.”

Another handsome hockey player, obviously. The hockey gods had been smiling upon you lately. 

“Y/N.” You introduced yourself. “You’re one of Logan’s roommates.”

“Yeah, best friend, teammate, practically brothers, taught him everything he knows.”

You smile awkwardly, “I should let you finish your run.”

“I was just about to cool down, actually; let me walk you home.” 

You figure that he’s already held you tonight; walking you home wouldn’t be much more intimate. 

As you accept the polite offer from Dean, you wonder if Logan talked about you to him. Maybe they collectively felt bad for you. Like you might care for an elderly neighbor. You weren’t much older than them, having married Rick young, but marriage makes you feel like you’ve lived a longer life. 

“Your husband gone already?”

“Uh, yeah, there’s a big conference in New York. He goes every year.”

“Cool,” He says, although he sounds completely bored, and you find yourself wanting to be more interesting for him, “You ever go with him?”

“No, not really.” He’s never actually asked you to come, you realize. “I’m such a homebody.”

“When did you meet him?”

“Four years ago. I was in undergrad for veterinary science, and he was finishing his doctorate at the time.” 

“You graduated?”

“Yeah,” You say, “Then we got married, and we had to move a few times so he could get a good position as a researcher.”

“But you wanted to be a veterinarian, right? When are you gonna go back to school?”

“I’m not sure. We’ve been trying for a ….” You pause when you realize you’re sharing a little too much information. “I’m just still figuring things out. 

“Gotcha,” Dean replies, his voice seemingly free of judgement. You come upon the hockey house a few moments later. There are several cars parked out front, and you can hear rock music flowing from an open window and out onto the street. “I mean, I hear Briar’s veterinary program is pretty good.”

“There’s always time.” You hear Rick’s voice in your head as the words leave your lips. “What about you? Logan is obviously good at fixing things. What’s your talent? I mean, other than hockey.”

“I mean, I’m pretty good with my hands too.” You look up to see Dean has a devilish smirk on his lips. You get that warm feeling again. This time, there’s a bit of fear inside of you too: “I could show you some time. Maybe tonight?”

You laugh nervously, and you don’t want to assume his meaning, but he continues to stare down at you before he licks his lips. You should be offended, you should feel angry and tell him off, but all you can feel is nervous. 

“I think that …you should get to your party, Dean.” 

“We can have a party of our own.”

He reaches to touch your hip again, and on instinct you place your hand on top of his, to remove it. Except you don’t move his hand. You feel how large his hand is, and then your mind starts to wander to bad, bad things.

“I have to go.” You turn and almost trip as you start to skitter away. “Um, thanks for walking me.”

“I’ll see you around, honey,” He calls after you, but you don’t dare turn around. 

What the fuck was that?

The power went out last night after a big thunderstorm. Which is great; you’re already a ball of anxiety, and you weren’t getting any sleep anyway. You tossed and turned in your bed, thinking about Dean and how he was obviously flirting with you last night. 

By the time early morning comes, you start to worry, because you can look out your window and see the hockey house has power. You decide to text Rick. 

Y/N: Power went out last night. Still not back on. 

You wait for a reply for an hour and a half. 

Y/N: Hello?

You start to worry all the food in your fridge will start to spoil, and now your phone is close to dying. 

Another hour passes; you’ve called Rick three times to no avail, and your battery is at five percent. 

You finally get a text back. 

Rick: I’m in a meeting. Something wrong?

Did he even read your message? 

At that point, you know what you have to do. 

Unfortunately, a shirtless Dean is the one who answers the door when you show up at the hockey house. 

“I knew you’d be back for me.”

“I’m looking for Logan.”

“Ouch,” Dean feigns jealousy, “And you’re pissed about something.”

“I’m not!” You raise your voice higher than you have in maybe…years. That only seems to make Dean smile harder, “Is Logan here?”

Dean debates something in his head that doesn’t allow him to answer your question. Moments later, Logan appears, bandana holding back his curls and his clothes giving you the impression that he’d been working out. “Dude, go away.” He pushes at Dean’s muscular chest, and Dean finally relents. He winks at you before he walks away, which again gives you that scared, warm feeling. “What’s wrong?”

The look of concern that Logan has for you is new. “My power’s still out. I tried flipping the breaker. I don’t know what’s wrong. Rick’s not answering his phone; he’s busy, and I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay, I got you.” He steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder, and you hadn’t realized how bad you wanted to be comforted. “Let me go grab my tools. I’ll take a look.” 

You nod and let out a breath. “Thank you.”

Unbeknownst to you, your house has a backup generator in the backyard. 

It takes approximately ten minutes for Logan to fix your issue. You’re waiting in the kitchen, lights starting to flicker back on, when he comes through the back door. “Good news, powers on. Bad news, how long have your gutters looked like that?” 

“Like what?”

“Like completely detached from your roof. You’ve got rainwater pouring down on the foundation.”

You sigh, a little defeated, “Shoot, I hadn't noticed. I’ll text Rick.”

“No worries, I’ll fix it. You shouldn’t have to worry about this stuff, anyway.”

“I seriously can’t ask you to do that.”

He only grins in response, as if it’s no big deal. “I like fixing things. And this place needs some work.”

For a long moment, you consider it. You’re not sure how Rick would feel about you getting a bunch of work on the house done and him inevitably having to foot the bill. It needed to be done, though, and he was never here enough to notice anything was wrong. 

“Now that the power's back on, I’m gonna make you lunch. And cookies. Do you like chocolate chip?”

He’s gorgeous, you think, when he looks kindly at you, “I love chocolate chip.” 

It starts with the gutters and spirals into much more. There are lights on the exterior of the house that need replacing.

“I’ve been meaning to go to the hardware store.”

You hate going into places like that alone. 

The chains that hold up your porch swing are rusting. “These would’ve snapped soon,” Logan says.

“Rick’s been meaning to replace those.”

All of your trees in the backyard are overgrown. 

Your smoke detector has been chirping for so long that you’ve been tuning it out for at least a month. 

You spend most of the day in the kitchen, cooking food from your fridge that had thawed to prevent any of it from spoiling. The bay windows in your kitchen allow you a great view of Logan’s handiwork. You take special notice of his exposed biceps and how the muscle flexes with his heavy lifting. By the late afternoon, Logan had completed several projects and he’d laid out plans for fixing about ten other things. 

You insist he stop for the day and take a break to try your chocolate chip cookies. You sit next to him at your kitchen table, a spread of food before him, and wait patiently as he takes a bite. 

“Wow, that’s good.” He compliments your baking, which you’re also not used to. “You really didn’t have to make all of this.”

“It’s my way of saying thank you. I mean, I’ll have Rick send you money for everything, but until then. And you can share with your roommates, of course.”

“Where’d you learn how to cook?”

You shrug, “Just practice, I guess. I’ve had to cook for myself since I was little.”

He nods, a shared understanding in his eyes: “Well, I appreciate it.”

He reaches out to touch your hand, and the two of you seem to have a conversation with your eyes. You feel like you’re in high school again with butterflies in your stomach. Even if the feeling is temporary, you’re relishing it. He must feel so bad for you. How desperate did you look right now?

Then, like a magnet, something pulls you together. You both feel it at the same time. You lean in. Logan leans in further until your lips are together. 

Fuck. 

Your chair skids across the tile, loudly, as you force yourself up and away. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Logan, wordlessly, stands up after you. His eyes are intently focused on your lips. He closes the distance between you, arms wrapping around your back, and his head dipping low to kiss you again. 

“Don’t be sorry,” He says huskily, your lips vibrating from the timbre of his voice. 

Pushing you against the counter, he kisses you harder. His hand grabs hold of your neck, pulling your face into his. He kisses down your chin, and then he tilts your head to have better access to your neck. Passionate kisses against the sensitive skin of your neck leave you trying to suppress your moans. 

“We can’t. Please stop.”

He lifts you onto the counter in response. With a grunt, he roughly pulls at your dress, lifting until he can feel the seam of your underwear.  You reach forward, trying to grab your panties, to keep him from pulling them down.

“Logan, please–” 

His determined brown eyes stare back at yours. “You need this. I know you do, baby.”

One thing leads to another. Just how a quick house call led to a whole day being spent together. Your panties end up on the kitchen floor, your thighs are spread wide, and Logan’s head is between your legs. 

“I’ll take care of you,” He moans against your center, “Don’t worry.”

Your head tilts back, and your chest heaves as Logan leads you to the first orgasm you’ve had from oral sex. And the first orgasm you’ve had in months. 

It’s now Logan’s turn to stare out the window. This time, it’s his bedroom window that faces out towards your garage. He catches a glimpse of your husband returning. You greet him barefoot, lavender colored dress flowing as he lifts you into his arms and spins you around. 

You’ve been radio silent since he left your house last week. You said you’d text him the next time he could come over to help you with the house. That text never came and now your husband was back now for who knows how long. And you looked excited to see him. 

“If your goal was to make her hornier for her husband, I think you’ve succeeded.” 

Dean says from Logan’s doorway. 

“Shut up.”

“You still haven’t told me the details.”

“Because I’m not an asshole, unlike you.”

Dean walks in, shuts the door, and then makes himself comfortable on Logan’s bed. 

“Whatever you did, it obviously wasn’t enough. So let’s brainstorm together on how we’re gonna fix this problem.”

“We?” Logan scoffs, “Fuck off.”

“So you’re saying you don’t want to hear my idea?”

Logan goes quiet as he watches you again from the window. You wrap your legs around Rick and let him carry you inside. 

“I don’t get it,” Logan whispers. 

“Tell me, I can’t help unless you tell me.”

Fist hitting the wall in frustration, Logan groans. “Dean, I’m serious; this has to stay between us.”

“I promise.” Dean says, holding out his pink, “Pinky promise?"

Coming towards the bed, Logan pushes his hand away. “Okay …um, we hooked up. After I did all that shit for her house, we made out and then I … uh…I ate her out.”

“She came?”

“Yes, she came. And then she felt horrible for cheating on her husband, and it kind of killed the mood, to be honest. I just thought if she let me in a little bit more, then we could move past that.”

Dean nods his head, taking in the information. “This is going to stay between us, I promise. But I need you to hear me out.”

Logan takes a seat beside Dean on the bed, elbows against his knees, as the weight of the situation starts to press down on him. 

“What’s your big idea?”

“After her husband leaves again, you go back over there again. Seduce her again, but this time you’re gonna fuck her. No gentleman shit. Caveman sex.”

“She doesn’t seem like the type.” Logan starts to brush the idea off immediately. 

“Oh, she’s definitely the type. She just needs coaxing. And, of course, I can come for moral support.”

“Dean–”

“Hear me out. You said you would hear me out. Imagine you go over there and just lay all your cards out on the table. She loves her husband, but it’s so goddamn obvious he’s not right for her. She wants you; she’s already shown you that. Then she has to face the fact that you know how she really feels.”

Logan hates when Dean makes a good point. Maybe he really does know more about relationships than he lets on. 

“Think about what you want, Logan. If you want to run into the sunset with her, that might not be what she’s ready for. Take the situation for what it is. Our beautiful, sexy fucking neighbor wants you, Logan. So take her.” 

The Briar U Hawks win their game Saturday night, which leads to a huge party at the hockey house. The largest of the entire semester. The starting line is drinking beers on the back porch when Logan catches a glimpse through his neighbor's window. 

You're alone, eating dinner at your dining table. Logan downs the rest of the beer before he decides, “I’m gonna go over there.”

“You got this, man.” Dean taps his shoulder, “No gentleman shit.”

Dean watches from the porch as the whole scene plays out. For moral support, of course. You’re wearing one of those cute dresses you always wear. This one is floral printed and milkmaid style. God, Logan’s a lucky man, Dean thinks. He’d give anything to lift that dress and fuck you as you deserve. 

Logan knocks on your back door, and Dean brushes off a few puck bunnies before he leans against the wooden porch railing. 

You open the door for him, and Logan doesn’t make it past the threshold. Dean imagines the conversation in his head, taking hints from your body language. 

Logan probably says something lame like I can’t stop thinking about you. 

You have to stop thinking about me. I’m married.

That’s not what you said the last time I was here. 

I was lonely, and I wasn’t thinking straight. 

Logan stuffs his hands in the pockets of his Carhartt jacket. He’s being quiet now. 

He’s fumbling. What kind of wingman would Dean be if he let that happen?

The rowdy party fades into the background of his mind, and he decides to slip out while no one's watching. He walks around the hockey house towards the fence line that separates the two properties. 

Sneaking through your gate, Dean slowly walks towards the back of your house. He can hear your conversation now. 

“I think you should go. I took advantage of you. You should be someone more like you.” 

“You didn’t. I like you. Like a lot.”

“I’m married, Logan. I’m sorry if I got your hopes up.”

“Logan!” Dean appears, interrupting your conversation. Beer swinging in his hands, he walks up the back porch. Up close, he can see that slutty fucking dress. You’re begging to be fucked wearing that. “You disappeared, man. Now I can see why, though. Holy fuck, you look good, honey.”

“What are you doing?” You and Logan seem to ask simultaneously. 

“Came to check on you guys. I’m thoughtful like that.” Wrapping his arm around Logan’s shoulder, Dean fills your back doorway, “So, Y/N, Logan tells me your husband fucking sucks.”

“Logan?” She shoots him an accusing look, “Why would you–”

“It’s pretty fucking obvious to like the entire neighborhood. And my friend here has so kindly stepped up and taken care of business for you. You’ve been nice to him up until this point, and I think he deserves better.”

“Dean–”

“I’m serious. Why don’t you show him a little more fucking gratitude?”

You stare back at Dean with wide eyes. Part of you seems to genuinely understand his point. Why were you, all of a sudden, you were acting like Logan was nothing to you? “And do what?”

“You can start by getting on your knees.”

Your eyes swirl emotion, lust, and fear, mixing. 

“Dean–” You interrupt Logan’s protest. 

Something has clearly shifted inside of you because you say, “Both of you, come in and close the door.”

Dean and Logan exchange glances. It’s a quick- are we doing this? They nod at each other before following your instructions. Dean enters your house for the first time and follows your lead as you walk towards the living room. 

“I am grateful, Logan.” You don’t turn to face them as you say this. Dean’s eyes are busy raking over you, “I feel like I don’t know what I need sometimes. But I really needed you last week. I haven’t felt like that …ever.”

You're hugging yourself, hands making comforting strokes down your upper arms. Dean urges Logan forward, finishing off his beer before he makes himself comfortable in the armchair that sits perpendicular to the couch. 

Dean’s length is already hard and struggling against the fabric of his jeans. Your voice is so desperate. Dean was right all along, of course, and you were clearly touch-starved. Pleasure starved. When you finally turn around to face Logan, he dips his head down to kiss you. 

The two of you push and pull, hungry, before Logan falls against the couch, you on top of him. Logan lifts the fabric of your dress, grabbing your ass, which Dean is grateful for. He’s more than happy to be the onlooker in the corner. It’s like his favorite porno is playing right in front of him. 

Much to Dean's surprise, Logan groans out the words, “Get on your knees.”

It takes you back, but not enough for you to ignore his command. You climb down between his knees and your eyes wander over to Dean’s. Dean leans forward, his jeans straining even more, “Show him how grateful you are, honey. Show him how much of a dirty girl you are.”

Dean can’t help it; the look you give him in response pushes him to free himself from his jeans. You’re much better at sucking Logan off than Dean expects. Grabbing a handful of your hair in his hands, Logan forces your mouth up and down.

“Lift that dress up, honey,” Dean requests, and you oblige even though you’re struggling for air. “Fuck.”

Dean enjoys how messy it makes you. Your hair is tangled, your eyes are watering, and spit is dripping down your face. “You can’t come in her mouth, John. I bet she’s so grateful she’ll let you come somewhere else.”

“Crawl over to Dean, baby. I’m gonna take you from behind.”

And crawl you do. Dean swears he hears angels singing above.

“Messy girl,” Dean breathes heavily, happy to take Logan’s sloppy seconds, “You wanna make me feel good too?”

You nod, teary-eyed, “Please?”

“So polite,” Dean pulls you forward, “Of course you can, honey.”

Logan fully takes off his jeans and kneels behind you. Palming himself, he feels how wet you are. He doesn’t even need to spit. You’re starting to take Dean in your mouth when he pushes inside of you. 

“She can handle it. She hasn’t been fucked hard in so long. Even if it hurts, she’s so grateful; she won't mind.”

After the first few strokes, Logan doesn’t waste time easing you into it. 

The grip on your hips is tight and unforgiving. The deeper Logan goes, the deeper you have to take Dean. You’re choking and moaning at the same time. 

Dean finishes first, down your throat, but he doesn’t let you rest. Logan isn’t done, and the last thing Dean wants is for you to lay your head down in his lap. Grabbing your face, he forces you to keep looking forward. “Almost there. You’re doing so well. Dirty fucking girl.” You reach your peak with Logan behind you and Dean’s fingers in your mouth. 

Logan grabs onto your shoulder, pulling you back towards him, as he makes his final and deepest thrusts. 

“Fuck, honey.”

“Fuck, baby.”

his eyes on you, fixated on that little pout of your lips. “f—fuck, i’m trying— i can’t.” you stammer, hands clutching onto whatever is there for moral support as your soft walls choke around jack’s cock.

“fuck… you gotta at least try, baby.” he groans at the pressure overwhelming his length, his hips never halting as he feeds you thrusts after thrusts. “mmph— i am!” you break into a moan, feeling yourself unravel as a knot of pleasure builds near your pussy.

“yeah?” jack breathes quietly, watching you break underneath him before ducking down to peck at your lips. his damp, short-curly locks sprinkled with silver and brown brushing against your forehead gently as he whispers against your plush lips, “‘m sorry…” he says, rising up, and parting your thighs wider as his eyes flicker down to where you two are one.

your bud is plump and swollen, completely on display as the breeze hits your clit which makes you twitch a bit. jack releases one of your thighs and runs the flat side of his hand down your pelvis to your clit, slightly lingering on it with his thumb to hear the noises you make.

“gotta give this, pretty pussy a few love taps.” he fauxes a disheartened look as if he didn’t want to — though the way he’s swelling inside your pussy, and the absent twitches say otherwise before he’s raising a free hand. causing your pulse to race at the quick anticipation before he’s cracking a palm flush against your swollen clit with a wet whack.

“mmgh— j—jack!” you yelp, hands flying around his forearms when you jolt at the sting spreading in between your legs. “i know, baby ‘m sorry.” he apologizes before going for another blow making your spine arch further from the bed.

“please…” your fingers digging into his skin, and biting your lip with teary eyes. “shh— just one more.” he murmurs softly, but you’re one away from cumming for the second time. “you liar.” you bite, voice all trembly it makes jack’s cock jump.

jack lets out an amused, breathless chuckle at you labeling him as a liar because those hits were everything, but love taps.

“promise you won’t hate me?” he rasps, giving your abused clit a second to recover before showing her some more love.

Which is exactly why standing in front of Professor Tolbert’s podium on a Tuesday morning felt like a personal hate crime from the universe.

"Y/N and Logan," Tolbert announced, his voice droning over the rustle of notebooks. He tapped a heavy, realistic plastic infant resting on the desk. "You’ll be co-parenting Simulator Number Four. It’s set to high-acuity demands. Colic, erratic sleep cycles, the works. If it drops below a ninety percent care rating, you both fail the class. Happy parenting."

I didn't even have to look up to know who was standing over me. The smell of clean laundry and mint gave him away instantly. Logan leaned against the edge of my desk, wearing that slow, annoying smirk that usually works on everyone else.

He was wearing his gray Briar Hockey hoodie, the sleeves pushed up just enough to show his forearms. He looked painfully at ease.

"Well, hey there, partner," Logan murmured, his dark eyes gleaming. "Looks like we’re playing house."

Immediately, I was irritated. Logan had a unique talent for getting under my skin in under ten seconds. I didn't smile back. Instead, I unclicked my pen, aggressively dragged a notebook out of my tote, and forced myself to look him dead in the eye.

"First of all, don't call it playing house. Second of all, we need to set some ground rules, because I am not letting a giant jock tank my GPA."

Logan blinked, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second. Clearly, he wasn't used to girls who didn’t immediately fold for him. He let out a low chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest. "Ouch. Harsh. I’ll have you know I’m great with kids."

"It’s a high-tech computer disguised as a nightmare," I said, lifting the plastic car seat before his hand could even touch the handle. "Anyway, my apartment has a strict noise rule. It has a vibe to maintain, Logan, and that vibe definitely doesn't include a screaming robot"

I walked out of the lecture hall without waiting for an answer, the plastic baby clicking heavily against my knee. I could feel his eyes on the back of my neck the entire way down the hall.

Logan's POV

I stared at the empty doorway for a solid ten seconds after she left.

Jesus.

I’d noticed Y/N around campus before, obviously. You’d have to be blind not to notice the girl who looks like she has her entire life figured out by 8:00 AM—perfect hair, outfits that look straight off a Pinterest board, always surrounded by people. But the second I stepped close? She looked at me like I was a rowdy frat party that needed to be shut down by the cops.

I kind of loved it.

"Man, she is going to eat you alive," Garrett laughed, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder as he packed up his notes. "Good luck with the baby, Daddy-O."

"Shut up, G," I muttered, but a grin was already tugging at the corner of my mouth. I grabbed my gear bag and headed off-campus toward Malone’s.

When I walked into the bar, the afternoon rush was in full swing, smelling like grease, stale beer, and fried food. Y/N looked completely out of place sitting in a corner booth, the weak daylight filtering through the neon beer signs. She’d already ordered—a Shirley temple sitting beside her laptop. In the center of the sticky table, sitting right next to the plastic doll, was a pristine, typed sheet of paper.

I slid into the booth opposite her, stretching my legs out under the cramped table. My knee accidentally brushed hers. Her relaxed expression disappeared immediately.

"You're late," she said smoothly, sliding the paper toward me. "Three minutes."

"Traffic on the quad was brutal," I teased, leaning forward and resting my chin in my hand. "What’s this? Our marriage certificate?"

"It’s a Co-Parenting Custody Agreement," she corrected, tapping the top of the page. "Section One: Time Management. We split the day into twelve-hour shifts. I take 8:00 AM to 8:00 PM because of my class schedule and sorority duties. You take 8:00 PM to 8:00 AM because you’re a night owl anyway."

I glanced down at the paper. She’d literally formatted it with bullet points and bold headers.

"Section Two," I read aloud, letting my voice drop a bit just to see if I could rattle her. "The baby remains in a neutral, sound-proofed environment during crying fits so as not to disturb the peace of Y/N’s apartment. Wait, if it cries at 3:00 AM on my shift, where am I supposed to take it? The rink?"

"You can take it to your massive, chaotic hockey house," Y/N replied, taking a delicate sip of her drink. "But if it glitches, or if you lose the digital key-fob that registers the feedings, you owe me. And honestly, Logan? I don't trust your roommates not to try and feed it beer."

I let out a loud laugh, drawing a few looks from a couple of guys at the bar. "Fair point. Tucker would probably try to teach it how to brew kombucha. But look, there’s a massive flaw in your perfect little contract."

She arched an eyebrow, her guard dropping just enough to look genuinely puzzled. "Oh really? Enlighten me."

"The syllabus says the baby has a proximity sensor," I said, leaning closer across the table. Her eyes flicked down to my mouth for a second before snapping back up.

"If it cries for more than ten minutes without both parents scanning their fobs during the designated crisis windows, we lose points. It’s a group project, sweetheart. We have to be together for the night shifts."

Y/N stared at me, her eyes tracking my face as she realized I was right. A faint flush crept up her neck—the first time she actually looked rattled.

"You have got to be kidding me," she whispered.

"Nope," I said, snatching her pen right out of her hand. I scribbled my signature at the bottom of her flawless contract, leaving a bold, messy scrawl right under her neat handwriting. I slid it back to her and gave her my best grin. "Looks like I’m moving in for the semester, roomie. Hope your couch is comfortable."

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NEXT

Internal Thoughts: lol i highkey don't remember what position Logan is!! internally crying bc i'm not sure if he was a right wing or a defenseman (sorry i have absolutely ZERO knowledge about hockey). I also i think his position was different in the book vs. the show .ᐣ.ᐣ (correct me if im wrong)

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(NOTE: i do overall fandom master taglists, not seperate ones for individual series/fics! Feel free to send me a message if you'd want to be added or removed)