Anna

“me?” she mouthed in his direction.

“yes, you!” jude said with the biggest grin while nodding, “here, this is for you!” he said while extending his freshly worn jersey in her direction.

confusion downed over y/n as she tried to rethink in what moment of the match she could’ve possibly implied that she wanted jude bellingham’s match worn, sweaty jersey.

“for me? but i didn’t ask for it! i thought players gave them out to people who kind of begged for them!” she was a hundred percent sure that she didn’t ask for it.

jude’s smile was captivating as he looked at her like she hung the moon and the stars for him, “well, i saw the pretty girl in the stands and i needed to get a reason to talk to her, so i guess this was my best bet!”

while she appreciated his efforts, y/n couldn’t help but think about how disappointed he’ll be by her reaction.

“that is actually very sweet of you jude bellingham,” with a growing smile in her face, y/n couldn’t help but poke a little fun at him, “but i can’t accept it.”

jude’s smirk fell of his face at her simple rejection, “why? is it because it’s dirty? if you want i can run back inside quickly and get a clean one for you!”

the poor boy was being the sweetest thing ever, but she was having a whole lot of fun while messing with him.

mimicking jude’s previous actions, y/n moved her finger, telling him to come closer to her, “i can’t take the shirt because i would be betraying my club.” she whispered in his ear.

surprised by her words, he pulled away with a confused expression, “your club? aren’t you a madridista?”

“no, i’m actually a very passionate barcelona supporter,” said while giggling.

how could he have this effect upon me so quickly? we’ve been talking for what, 3 minutes? i can’t be giggling and getting flustered by his presence alone in such a short period of time, she thought while looking at jude.

“a what? culer? sorry, but why? then why are you here?” the words spilled out faster than he could register.

y/n chuckled at his response, “hey, don’t say that too loud! do you want me to die? look around and you’ll see that i’m in the lions den!” she said with a smile on her face, “i’m visiting a friend here in madrid and since i love football, he invited me to watch the game, and you know, you never turn down free tickets!”

jude was completely enchanted by her, he was in a trance with her since he saw her in the stands before the match started. never in a million years he would’ve thought that the pretty girl in the stands would be the enemy.

he chuckled at her words, “i guess you’re right, but nonetheless, i still want you to have it, let’s say it’s a little souvenir from your trip”

“and i still won’t take it, jude please, there’s many fans here who really deserve this shirt and they would love to receive it from you, please don’t waste it on me.”

y/n & jude probably would’ve kept going for a long time with how stubborn they both are, even if they won’t admit it.

“c’mon, i’ve been thinking about getting this to you during the whole game, pretty girl. just take it, i insist.” jude said with pleading eyes.

with blushing cheeks, y/n took the shirt from him, accepting all of his efforts to get to her. the thought of him thinking about her during the game made her heart beat faster. she felt special, in a sea of people, he only had eyes for her.

leaning forward, y/n delicately kissed his cheek, and with a sweet smile she said, “thank you jude, i promise i’ll take care of it with my heart.”

she looked at him one last time and walked away in the direction of the nearest exit.

jude stood there, mesmerized by her. while looking in the direction where she disappeared to, jude realized he never learned her name.

to him, all she’ll ever be is his pretty girl in the stands.

omg hi, hello! this is my first ever piece of writing, i had this idea while i was watching the pre-show for today’s game! thought it was kinda cute and was desperate to write it, as the story and the ideas were bubbling in my brain!

i hope you enjoy it, it’s not a lot, nor something very elaborate, but it’s my first lil thing so it’s especial to me!

psa english isn’t my first language, so please, discredit any errors! (if you see any mistakes, please tell me so i can edit them out!)

anyway, thank you so much for reading, sending you so much love!

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Years later, you still think about that moment sometimes.

After his entire career took off you really really realized that this is how it will be forever. 

Boston University, by some miracle (if you believe in those) is where you both end up. You for a degree, and Macklin for collegiate hockey. 

He instantly becomes one of the best in the NCAA, not only because of his skill but because of his age. Being the youngest person ever to be named best player in the NCAA for ice hockey really puts his name on the map, and then immediately being drafted number one in the NHL definitely sets that in stone. 

On the flip side, to Macklin, you’ve always been there. You’ve been his constant. The easy person in his life he trusts with anything and everything. 

His person without the complications attached to it, and to you that’s the problem. This tie to him that you can’t get out of, and of course he means the world to you too, but your perspective comes with some extra, unwanted complications. 

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Boston so far this year feels colder. Not physically, but emotionally. 

You notice the distance much more now, because of how different things are without him here with you but also because it makes your feelings hurt more. 

San Jose feels impossibly far away on nights like this, when the campus is loud and your dorm is quiet and your phone sits face-up beside you with no new notifications lighting up the screen, even though you’re expecting them.

He’s busy, always busy, you know that, you think. Which is the truth, you can’t think of the last time in the past year that Macklin hasn’t been busy. 

You’re staring at your sociology reading, desk lamp illuminating the room, papers scattered over your desk. You’ve been staring at it for the past twenty minutes and have made zero progress. 

Just as you’re about to give up for the night and get ready for bed, your phone finally buzzes: 

Mack: You awake?

Another message follows immediately after: Stupid question actually you’re literally always awake

Despite yourself, you smile, grateful to hear from him after a long day. 

You: You just got out of the game?

Mack: Media took forever

Mack: Also Smitty almost broke the speaker in the locker room, had to fix that

You laugh softly under your breath, ridiculous stories, as always. 

Your phone rings before you can type out an answer.

FaceTime incoming...

You accept it, and suddenly there he is sprawled across what’s very obviously the floor of his hotel room, hair damp and messy from a shower, hoodie pulled over his head.

“You’re on the floor?” you say immediately.

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious that he for some reason should be on the floor. 

“Why?” you ask. 

He shrugs, “I’m tired.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It answers it…partially.”

You laugh. And it’s easy, like always. You poking fun at him for something stupid, him blindly defending himself for said stupid action. Normal. 

“How was the game?” you ask. You feel bad for not watching the whole thing, but you’ve been so busy this week you just couldn’t, just this once you skipped out on watching it. 

His face brightens immediately in the way it only does when he talks hockey, and you think about how much you love that look on him, you always have. There are very few things that make him light up like that, but hockey is number one on the list. 

“We won,” he says, “I got an assist.”

“Only one?” you tease. 

He narrows his eyes, “Okay relax, would’ve been more if you’d been watching but—”

You grin, “I know, I know, I’m sorry. Next time, I swear.” 

“Yeah yeah yeah, whatever you say,” he says, smiling. 

For the next hour, you talk about everything and nothing. Your classes, his current road trip, the weird guy in your econ class who always chews ice during the lecture, the rookie dinner horror stories he and his teammates have experienced. 

Talking with him is effortless, always has been, and that’s part of the problem.

You don’t think this is very normal for “just friends,” or maybe you’re overthinking it. You know Macklin doesn’t think twice about this, he thinks this is as normal as can be. 

The constant calls, falling asleep on FaceTime, the fact that you’re the first person he talks to after every game. 

For him, it’s just a habit, but for you it’s something else entirely, he just doesn’t realize that. 

⊰══════════════════════⊱

The worst part about being in love with your best friend is that nobody warns you how embarrassing it is. Not outwardly, but internally. 

If he says he misses you, you think about it for days. He sends you pictures of random things and says “this reminded me of you,” or, “thinking about you,” and you let that run around in your mind for days. He calls you after losses, sounding completely exhausted, but you’re the only person who really understands how he needs to talk things out after a loss or a bad game. 

Meanwhile, you’re sitting in your tiny BU dorm for all of this, pretending your entire heart doesn’t belong to him already.

You feel like it’s pathetic, being so hung up on this. Truly. Because by now you know better, you do. Mack belongs to a completely different world now, headlines, interviews, fans waiting outside arenas, the insane world that is the NHL. 

Sometimes you’ll be walking across campus and hear someone mention him behind you.

“Did you see Celebrini’s goal?”

“Celebrini’s insane.”

“Celebrini’s literally the future of hockey.”

To everyone else, he’s this massive thing. But to you he’s still the boy who steals fries off your plate, the person who calls you to hear your voice when he can’t sleep, you know him too well to fully understand the version the world sees, and maybe that’s why it hurts so much. 

You’ve become comfortable in the position of “best friend back home” for him, because you think that the more his world grows, the smaller your place in it becomes. 

⊰══════════════════════⊱

By November, you stop letting yourself imagine things and stop replaying little moments in your head that, at the end of the day, probably meant nothing.

You decide something quietly one evening while watching one of his games alone from your dorm bed, something you’ve tossed around in your head but now you really settle on it. 

You would rather keep him as your best friend forever than ruin everything wanting more.

Even if it breaks your own heart a little, because you can’t keep driving yourself crazy like this. 

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Winter break is the first time you see him in person again, and the second he spots you at the airport his entire face changes. A smile grows across his face and his eyes soften as he sees you at the arrival gate. 

“Mack!” You barely get the word out before he’s wrapping you in a hug so tight your feet nearly leave the ground.

“There you are,” he says into your hair immediately.

“You’ve become noticeably muscular,” you mumble against his hoodie.

He laughs loudly. “What does that even mean?”

“It means hockey doesn’t get any simpler, huh?”

He grins when he pulls back, “Nope.” 

And then you make the mistake of really looking at him. God, he’s changed. Not entirely, but enough for it to be noticeable. His features seem sharper now, like he’s grown into himself more. His shoulders are broader, he seems more confident, and only in the matter of a few months. 

But he’s still sporting those warm eyes and the soft smile you love so much. Still him, still Mack. 

The NHL looks good on him, you hate that realization a little because all you’ve wanted since you saw him last was for him to come back to Boston, but you know that clearly the NHL has been so, so good to him. Unbelievable support and unbelievable achievements. 

“You good?” he asks suddenly.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you say. 

He squints, not believing it. “Liar.”

You force a smile, “Shut up, I just missed you is all.”

⊰══════════════════════⊱

His teammates love you immediately, and you realize suddenly that maybe you fit into more than one box in Macklin’s life, even though you’ve convinced yourself you’re the hometown friend that eventually fades away. 

During a team dinner, Alex Wennberg gestures toward you and asks, “So how long have you two been together?”

You nearly choke on your drink, and Macklin answers before you can; “We’re not together.”

And that’s the right answer, that’s always the answer.

Wennberg looks genuinely confused, “Really?”

“Yes,” both of you say at the same time. The table erupts into teasing immediately.

You laugh along with everyone else because you’re good at this by now, good at all the pretending. 

But later that night, lying awake in the guest room of Macklin’s place, you stare at the ceiling and feel stupid for the tiny flicker of hope you’d had for half a second. You hoped he would at least hesitate, maybe go along with a joke, but the answer from him is always immediate. 

⊰══════════════════════⊱

You’re in the kitchen making coffee a few days later when Will Smith wanders into the kitchen too.

“Morning,” he says.

You smile politely, not really in the mood for a morning conversation, “Morning.”

He leans casually against the counter, “Can I ask you something?”

“Depends on what it is, it's too early for complicated questions.”

He grins, “You and Mack seriously aren’t dating?”

“No,” you answer, almost quicker than Macklin the other night at dinner. 

“Huh,” Will says, his posture relaxing a little more. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, confused as to where this is coming from and where this is going, “What?”

He shrugs, “Was just wondering if that meant I could ask for your number…maybe?”

Your brain short-circuits for a second, “Oh.” You don’t think anyone has ever formally asked for your number. You consider it, Will’s nice, he’s funny from what you can tell, he seems like a good, genuine person. You open your mouth to say sure, but before you can, another voice cuts in sharply behind you, 

“No.”

Both of you turn around to see Macklin standing in the doorway, staring daggers at Will. 

The room goes quiet.

Will blinks, caught off guard by Mack’s reaction, “Dude.”

“What?”

“You literally just said you weren’t together,” Will says. 

Macklin shrugs, “We’re not,” he says, like that somehow correlates to why he said no. 

“Then why do you care?”

Mack opens his mouth. Shuts it again. 

That’s when he realizes he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why he said no. You and Will are some of his closest friends shouldn’t he be okay with the two of you going out a few times? 

Across the kitchen you’re still standing next to the coffee pot, completely confused. The look on Macklin’s face was almost angry, you’d never seen him react to that kind of question that way before. 

Against your better judgement and what all you promised yourself about stopping the overthinking; that look on his face sticks with you for weeks afterwards. 

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Macklin gets weird after that. It starts off tiny, like asking about more details when you tell him about your day than he used to. 

But now it’s become impossible to ignore. He starts asking who you’re texting when you’re on a call with him and get a little distracted, why certain people are commenting on your Instagram, what guys from class you’re studying with when it comes up in conversation. 

At first you think maybe you’re imagining it, but then it becomes obvious when you’re on FaceTime one night and he asks casually, “So are you, like… seeing anybody?”

You look up from your laptop slowly, “No?” you say, confused as to why he even asked. 

He nods once too quickly, “Okay.”

“Mack.”

“What?”

“Why are you asking?”

His expression changes to something more guarded, and he shrugs, “Just asking.”

You know that’s not true, and that he must be avoiding something, but you also know better than to push, so you don’t say a word. 

⊰══════════════════════⊱

By February, you’re exhausted. From school and from him. From endless assignments and stress and exams and projects, and from trying to survive being emotionally tethered to someone who doesn’t realize what they’re doing to you.

So you decide to move on, actually move on. 

So when a guy from one of your classes asks you out, you say yes before you can overthink it. 

The date is good, like really good, it went much better than you thought it might. 

Ethan. He’s funny, and he’s kind, easy to talk to. For the first time in a long time you leave your date thinking, Maybe this is what normal is supposed to feel like. 

You like liking someone who likes you back, and you realize that maybe loving someone shouldn’t feel like grieving them in advance.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

You don’t plan on telling Mack, but after your third date he calls you halfway through your walk back to campus. 

“Hey,” he says immediately, “What’re you doing?”

You hesitate, not wanting to tell him right now but lying would be even worse. “I just got back from a date.”

Nothing but silence comes from his end of the call. Then, quietly, “Oh.” Like he’s trying to process what he’s just heard, almost like he doesn’t believe it. 

You keep walking, deciding to tell him a little about it, even if he hasn’t asked, “It was actually really nice.”

The second the words leave your mouth, something changes. Macklin goes quiet in a way he never does, it’s too quiet. 

“How nice?” he asks finally.

Your steps slow, “What?”

“The date.”

You laugh awkwardly, “Why are you interrogating me?” You hope the attempt at humor would make him joke back, but his tone remains serious, “I’m not interrogating you.”

“You kind of are,” you argue. 

“Did you like him?”

Your chest tightens strangely, “Yeah, I like him.” It’s an honest answer, you do like Ethan, but it’s different than how you’ve ever liked Macklin. 

Mack doesn’t say a word, and you really don’t know what to do with the silence. He always has something to say, something to ask, something to make a joke about, silence like this from him is very rare. 

A thought crosses your head and you think surely you’re insane for thinking it, but for a second, you think Macklin might be jealous. 

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Macklin doesn’t sleep that night, because for the first time in his life he imagines you with someone else. 

Not theoretically, but actually, fully with someone else. Someone else making you laugh, someone else going out with you to do simple things like get coffee or just go on drives around the city. He thinks about someone else learning things about you that he thought only belonged to him. 

The realization hits him slowly and then all at once, and he absolutely hates it. He also hates te fact that he was so cold to you on the phone and didn’t even consider that this guy you’re seeing makes you happy, that should be the most important thing. But then he realizes he likes being the person that makes you happy, and knowing someone else is filling in that slot…it hurts. 

Suddenly he’s thinking about every moment from the last few years, and they start to rearrange themselves in his head, into something new. Every FaceTime, every airport hug either goodbye or hello, every late night “I miss you” mumbled while you were falling asleep, every instinct in him always telling him to call you first, tell you first, tell you everything. 

Oh. Oh. 

⊰══════════════════════⊱

The next few weeks are awful. For both of you. But from each perspective, the other person never finds that out. 

Something between you exists silently that didn’t before. Awareness. 

Once it’s there neither of you know how to act normal anymore. 

You answer texts much later now. Not intentionally, but you’re trying to create boundaries before you drown in him completely. 

You have new things you want to focus on. School is getting intense again, you’ve been seeing and talking to Ethan a lot and you think it’s going somewhere, and you’re taking a lot of time for yourself. You’re doing things for yourself you wouldn’t normally do, and it feels amazing, but something always feels like it’s missing now. 

Macklin notices all this immediately. You two stop falling asleep on FaceTime, hell, you hardly even call him anymore, and he’s lucky to get consistent texts from you. 

One night, after a couple of weeks of dry, almost non-existent communication between the two of you, he has a terrible game. Not because he got hurt, not because he didn’t have any points, but because the whole night was just off. The whole team felt off, it was one of those games that puts the entire team in a rut. 

His first instinct is to call you. At first, he hesitates because he’s very aware that things aren’t exactly how they used to be, but at the same time, he knows you’re the only person who really gets him when he’s like this. And he really, really needs that right now. 

He calls. Except this time, you don’t answer.

You’re out with your friends, phone stashed away in your purse, completely unimportant to you. 

By the time you get back to your dorm a couple hours later, you notice the missed call. You feel bad for missing the call, especially since he doesn’t really call you anymore, so you call him back once you’ve settled from the night out. 

“Sorry,” you say quietly, “I was out.”

“With him?” He sounds strange, he sounds sad. You know he had a rough game but he never sounds like that after games, at least not this long after they’re finished. 

Your stomach drops, “Mack.” Your voice is stern without you really meaning for it to be. 

“What?” he asks, he sounds pissed off but you don’t care, so you continue. 

“You don’t get to sound upset about that.”

“I’m not upset,” he protests. 

“You are.”

“No I’m not.”

You close your eyes, this is exactly why you tried to move on in the first place, because this thing between you has never had rules. No labels, no clarity, just years of being closer to him than anyone else and at least a hundred moments of “almost.” 

“You know what?” you say tiredly. “I can’t do this tonight.”

He lets out a humorous laugh, “Do what?”

“This.”

“What does that even mean?” he asks, his voice becoming harder. 

You laugh once, sharp and disbelieving, “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously,” he says. 

The frustration that’s been building for months finally cracks open, and your thoughts start pouring out, “You don’t get to act weird every time another guy looks at me and then pretend it means nothing to you.”

“I’m not pretending anything, you can go out with or see whoever you want, that’s not my business.”

“Then what are you doing? Because you getting upset that I was with someone else and doing things with people I care about seems like you’re making it your business.”

“I don’t know!” he snaps.

He regrets it immediately, he’s never snapped at you, and he wants to take it back but it’s way too late to do that now. 

Silence crashes between you for a few seconds. Then, quieter, he manages, “I don’t know why this feels so bad.”

Your eyes sting immediately, because you know exactly why it feels bad. You’ve known for years, and now you think he’s known too. He's just been ignoring it better than you have. 

You feel like you got your feelings validated but hurt at the same time, and suddenly you’re too tired to keep protecting both of you from it.

“You wanna know what I think?” you say softly.

“What?”

“I think you didn’t notice me until you thought somebody else might.”

The second the words leave your mouth, you wish you hadn’t said anything. You almost wished you hadn’t even called him back. He doesn’t say anything, and you know those words hurt him the way his words hurt you. 

“That’s not fair,” he says in a voice so small it makes you feel worse. 

“Maybe not,” you reply, short. 

“Then why would you say it?”

Your breath catches, and you don’t know what to say. You’re angry and sad at the same time, you could be honest and make all this worse, or you could lie but that would also make this whole situation worse. 

Before you can stop yourself you give him the honest answer, “Because I’ve been trying to get over you for months.”

Silence. Complete and utter silence.

Then his voice again across the line, “…What?”

You feel sick instantly. Too far, all this went too far. But it’s out now and you have no way to take it back. You can’t tell him you’re not serious, because that would be a lie and that would make the hole deeper than it already is. 

You take a deep breath, and continue, “I can’t keep doing this,” you whisper. “Being your person when I’m not actually your person.”

“You—” he stops, like he’s still processing your words, “You liked me?”

You laugh wetly, “Jesus Christ.”

“No, I just—”

“For years, Mack.”

He goes silent again, and all you hear is a very shaky exhale. 

“You never said anything,” he says. 

“You never gave me a reason to.”

You saying that somehow gives him the whole picture. You loving him quietly while he leaned on you for everything, you trying to survive being apart for so long. You watching him become this international sensation while convincing yourself you’d never fit into a world like that. 

“Oh my god,” he says softly.

You wipe at your face angrily, “Forget it.” Your voice breaks and that’s when he realizes you’re crying. 

“No, Y/N wait a second.”

“Mack—”

“No, don’t do that.”

His voice cracks slightly. “I think…” He stops to breathe. “I think maybe I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

Your heart stutters painfully.

“No.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re just saying that now because there’s distance between us now and I have new people in my life.”

“I thought that too,” he says immediately. “At first.”

The honesty in his voice makes your chest ache, and you’d wish he’d just stop talking. But he keeps going, “It’s not just that.”

“Macklin—”

He interrupts you again. “You’re the first person I call after everything.” His voice is shaking now, emotion breaking through obviously, “Good games, bad games, flights, interviews, all of it…it’s always you.”

You feel like you can’t breathe properly, and you want to hang up, but your body won’t let you do it.

“I don’t even think before I reach for my phone anymore,” he continues quietly. “I just want you.”

Your eyes close, and tears fall down your face silently.

“You’re my whole life outside hockey,” he says. “And I think somewhere along the way you became my whole life inside it too.”

Your tears come harder after that, because this is everything you wanted, but now you aren’t even sure it’s real. The timing of this all, you can’t bring yourself to think this is real, and you tell yourself he’s just doing this so he doesn’t lose you more, which makes you even more upset. 

“I don’t know when it happened,” he admits. “Maybe it was always there. Maybe I was too stupid to see it.”

You hear him inhale sharply on the other end of the line, like he’s finally saying something he should’ve figured out years ago.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he admits. “Maybe it was always there. Maybe I was too stupid to see it.”

Your chest aches so badly you almost can’t stand it, because you don’t believe him. 

You want to believe him, but another part of you, the louder part that’s spent years protecting you from exactly this, won’t let you believe him. 

You shake your head even though he can’t see it,“No.”

“Y/N—”

“No, Macklin.” Your voice cracks harder this time. “You don’t get to do this now.”

“What does that mean?” The hurt in his voice makes you feel terrible, but you can’t completely change your mind on this now. 

“It means,” you say shakily, “you don’t get to realize you love me the second I finally start trying to move on. It’s not fair to me that the second I start seeing other people you suddenly realize how you feel about me when I’ve been here for years, waiting on you to say something.”

He protests the idea immediately, “That’s not what this is.”

“How do you know?” you ask immediately. “How do you know it’s not just because you don’t like feeling replaced?”

Silence. The silence isn’t because he doesn’t care, but because the question really makes him think. Now he doesn’t know what to feel. 

You swallow hard. “You said it yourself. At first you thought it was jealousy.”

“Yeah, at first,” he says quickly. “But it’s not just—”

“So why is it not? Because I’m having a really hard time understanding the timing of all this. You had years to say something.”

You hear him exhale shakily.

“I know I did.”

“Now suddenly I’m supposed to believe this isn’t because somebody else likes me?” Your voice wavers, “That this isn’t just you panicking because things are changing?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither was treating me like I was something more than a friend and not doing anything about it. I made that mistake too.”

The second the sentence leaves your mouth, everything goes still. You cover your eyes with your hand, breathing unevenly. You just want this conversation to be over. On the other end, Macklin sounds devastated.

“Y/N…”

You can’t do this anymore, at least not tonight, not over the phone.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Please don’t hang up.”

Your heart nearly breaks at how small he sounds, but you force yourself to say, “I need space.”

Then you end the call.

⊰══════════════════════⊱

Macklin stares at his screen for a long time after you’re gone. His hotel room is completely silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the sound of his own breathing.

He feels awful, like sick kind of awful. Not because you rejected him, but because you actually believed that he would only care about you, only love you, if somebody else wanted you too, and he thinks maybe he deserves that. 

Maybe he deserves every second of this for being too blind to see what had been right in front of him his entire life. He starts replaying every moment over and over again, from the past few years of the two of you. 

You at sixteen, shoving his shoulder in that coffee shop while he joked about you wishing the two of you were together. Every FaceTime call when he’s not with you, every airport hug, the happiest of hellos and the saddest see you soons.

Every single time you looked at him like he was your entire world and he was too stupid to ask himself why it always felt different with you.

That’s when he realizes you were right. He realized that he did treat you like you were already his, like you were together. He never realized what that meant until he thought he might lose you to someone else. And now you think that the fact that he’s realizing this because of someone else’s feelings for you, cheapens his own feelings. 

If anything, it finally made him understand the truth. He wants to tell you how he feels the right way, not some few minute conversation over the phone that ends in an argument, not a text message saying he really meant everything he said, but tell you in a way that would make you believe his words. 

Macklin sits there for maybe three more minutes before abruptly standing up, making a decision. He grabs his laptop, and starts looking for the soonest flight to Boston. 

⊰══════════════════════⊱

You don’t sleep very much after you hang up on him. You spend most of the night curled up in bed staring at your wall while your phone sits face-down beside you.

Macklin doesn’t text again, and at that, part of you is relieved. The other part hurts because you wish everything had gone differently, and you wish you could find it in yourself to believe him. 

By morning your eyes feel swollen and they burn from your late-night tears, and your head is pounding from lack of sleep. 

You drag yourself through classes in a fog, and you barely concentrate throughout all of your classes. 

Your friends notice something’s wrong immediately, but you brush it off with exhaustion and stress and too much homework.

By late afternoon, snow has started falling outside. Boston looks gray and frozen in the mid-March air. 

You’re halfway up the stairs to your dorm when your phone buzzes.

Mack: Can we talk?

You stop walking immediately. You don’t know what to say, so you stand on the stairs staring at the message, not answering. You can’t do this again, now is really not the time, while your emotions still feel open and raw. 

You make it down the hallway toward your dorm room, exhausted and emotionally drained, digging through your bag for your keys, and then you see something that feels like a hallucination when you look up towards your door. 

Macklin is sitting on the floor outside your dorm room door. He’s wearing a black hoodie and sweatpants, one knee pulled up toward his chest while the other rests across the hallway. A baseball cap shoved backwards over his messy hair, and there’s a duffel bag next to him. Snow has melted into damp patches across the shoulders of his hoodie. 

To top it all off he looks absolutely exhausted. Not hockey exhausted, but exhausted in every way a person can be. His eyes look drained of emotion and there are dark circles underneath them, he’s sitting so still he almost looks frozen. 

“Macklin?”

His head lifts immediately, and the second he sees you standing there, something in his expression softens so much just by seeing you, probably not sporting a much better shape than he is. 

“Hi,” he breathes. 

You stare at him. “What are you doing here?”

He stands up, but doesn’t take a step towards you, he just stands right in front of your dorm door. “I took a flight.”

“I can see that,” you say weakly.

“I didn’t want to do this over the phone.”

“Mack—”

“No, just…” He exhales shakily, “Please let me say this in person. Because saying it in person might be a better way for you to get that I mean it.”

You don’t answer, because you don’t think you can. Your mind is still processing the fact that he flew across the country in less than 24 hours for you, just to talk to you. 

His eyes search your face carefully before he says quietly, “I know why you don’t believe me. And honestly?” he continues, “If I were you, I probably wouldn’t either.”

The honesty in his words catches you off guard. Macklin rubs nervously at the back of his neck before continuing. “You’re right that I didn’t fully understand what I was feeling until things changed, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

You look away, eyes fixed on a bulletin board down the hallway. He steps closer carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he moves too fast.

He keeps talking, “I think I got so used to you being there that I stopped questioning why you were the most important person in my life.”

Your jaw starts to hurt while you try and keep tears from forming in your eyes. You still don’t look at him. 

“You were just…mine,” he says softly, then immediately shakes his head. “Not mine like that, I just mean…”

“I know what you mean,” you whisper, your voice cracking. 

“You were my first call. My favorite person. The person I wanted around after every good thing and every bad thing.” His voice shakes slightly now, “And I think I got so comfortable loving you that I stopped realizing that’s what I was doing.”

Tears sting your eyes immediately, “Macklin…”

“When Will asked for your number a while back,” he says quietly, “I thought I was gonna throw up.”

Despite everything, a tiny laugh escapes you through your tears. His expression softens instantly at the sound.

“I’m serious,” he says. “Then you started pulling away and going on dates and suddenly every part of my life felt wrong because I thought you were supposed to be doing those things with me, even though we weren’t technically together.”

He takes another step closer, and you finally look up at him. 

“I know the timing sucks,” he says. 

“That’s not the only problem,” you whisper.

“I know.” He looks terrified to be this open with you. 

“I hurt you,” he says quietly. “Without even realizing I was doing it, and I hate that I did it.”

You don’t answer because that’s the worst part.

He really didn’t know.

“I can’t change that,” he continues. “I can’t undo years of you thinking you weren’t enough for me.”

A tear finally slips down your cheek, and his expression crumples slightly when he sees it.

“But you are,” he says immediately. “You always were the best person for me, Y/N. I don’t care about any of the other stuff when it comes to you.”

“The hockey stuff?” you ask quietly, knowing that it’s his priority, always has been. 

His voice is firm now, “All of it. You think I belong to some different world, but you’re the only thing that’s ever made any of it feel normal. I wouldn’t even be in the position I’m in if it wasn’t for you.”

All you can do is stare at him.

“I mean it,” he says. “You’re home to me.”

Your tears fall exponentially harder after that. Macklin notices instantly and moves without thinking, stopping just in front of you, unsure if breaking another boundary right now is okay. 

“Can I touch you?”

You nod once, and the second he wraps his arms around you, you break. Your face presses into his chest and his arms tighten around you immediately, holding you so carefully it makes you even more emotional.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair, “I’m so sorry everything made you feel like this.”

You shake your head against him. “No,” he says softly. “You were right to be angry.”

Your fingers tighten weakly into the back of his hoodie.

“I hated watching you move on,” he admits shakily. “Not because I didn’t want you happy.” His hand slides into your hair gently, pulling you back to look at him, “I hated it because I wanted it to be me making you happy like that.”

You cry harder at that, and Macklin pulls you back in just to hold you tighter, in the middle of your dorm hallway, while snow falls outside the windows and students pass by pretending not to stare.

Eventually you pull back again just enough to look at him. You notice his eyes are red too, but he’s not quite crying, but a few tear tracks shine on his cheeks. He doesn’t move to wipe them away when you notice them. 

“You really flew to Boston for this?” you ask quietly.

He gives you a watery little smile, “You hung up on me.”

You laugh through your tears again, “I was panicking. I didn’t want us to keep talking to each other like that, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I noticed,” he says softly. 

A silence settles between you, then he says softer than anything else, “I love you.”

Your breath catches. Not because of panic, you aren’t panicking anymore. It’s not confusion, it’s not because of any distance that might exist between you two now. Just because of how honest he sounds, and how honest he looks when he says it. 

“I think I’ve loved you for a really long time.” And at that your eyes burn all over again. This time when you look at him, you finally believe him.

You reach up carefully, fingers brushing against his cheek, wiping away the tear tracks on his face.

“I love you too,” you whisper. The relief that floods his face is almost unbearable to witness. It looks like he was bracing for heartbreak and got handed something so precious to him instead. 

Then, very quietly, he says, “Can I kiss you? Is it too soon to ask that?”

You smile shakily, “I don’t think so, I think right now is a good time to ask.”

He laughs softly, forehead dropping against yours, “I’m trying to do this properly.”

Your heart feels like it might burst, because he’s being so sweet. He’s always so sweet and you love that about him. 

So without saying another word, you kiss him first, and Macklin immediately melts into it like he’s been waiting years for permission.

a/n: "I Knew It, I Know You" by Gracie Abrams came on while I was looking for pictures to add to the top of this, and I feel like it fits the vibe of this, minus the sad ending.