translation:

media: "your plane ride home has been cancelled?"

mini: "it's been cancelled! heheh! i think! heh!" (slurring)

media: "how do you feel about that?"

mini: "eh… ya? i don't know"

frondell: "we are looking forward to going home, but a few more days with the team won't hurt. we're going to eat popcorn and drink milk."

media: "pretty nice group to hang out with?"

frondell: "yeah. and we're very happy now so- oh, these popcorn are delicious!"

media: "you guys don't mind staying here in this bubble for a little while?"

"i'm sorry i couldn't get away before now," will called out from the hallway, followed by the thud of his duffel bag against the floor. "coach had like three hours of extra tape to watch, and then some of the guys kept fooling around just to waste time, and…"

your boyfriend trailed off after walking into the bedroom, taking in the sight of your tear-rimmed eyes and red nose. his expression faltered.

"hey," he started, tossing his jacket in the direction of his desk chair before stepping up to the bed. "what are you doing?"

you chuckled weakly, putting on a little smile as you waved the letter in your hand once. when his eyes locked in on the paper, he realized that it was not just any letter. it was the letter.

the birthday letter.

as in, the letter you wrote for yourself 365 days ago and haven't looked at since.

birthdays have never really been your thing. or, at least not your own. you have no problems with celebrating birthdays of friends or giving them the love they deserve. but when it comes to your own birthday, it's a bit of a different story.

for most of your life, you've been battling all kinds of emotions regarding your birthday. anxiety the days leading up to it, disappointment the day of it. resentment, not specifically at the people around you but at the situation in general. talking about this always made you feel misunderstood or ungrateful, because no one ever cared enough to actually listen to what you meant. you're silly, they'd say. of course you want to celebrate a birthday, it's your day. everyone likes their birthdays.

so why didn't you?

the guilt sat like a heavy rock in the pit of your stomach every year. it felt like people saw you as spoiled, as someone who couldn't appreciate the things they were given – being told to just be happy and thankful and move on.

if everyone else can enjoy their birthdays, why can't i? the question haunted you for years, and eventually, you searched for a way to ease the tension. a way to take out the guilt, to smooth the surface of your otherwise rocky emotions.

a therapist recommended writing birthday letters. little notes to yourself, written on your birthday and opened only exactly one year later. she suggested it as a way to blow off just a little steam, recommended to keep it light and easy, to write about current happenings and hopes for the future.

you found your own way with it. a lot of the time, you poured your heart out into these letters. more often than not, the letter-writing sessions ended in a steady flow of tears down your cheeks, and the letter-reading sessions were no different.

thus, the state in which will found you now was hardly surprising.

"it really is that way, huh?" he asked, expression soft as he slipped down onto the edge of the bed. he had never yet gotten to actually experience your reaction to a birthday letter, only heard you talk about them, so this was a new thing to him.

"i'm okay," you told him, swatting in the air with the letter still in your hand. "it's just... emotional, you know?"

he tilted his head to the side. "i don't," he answered. his brutal honesty was one of your favorite things about your boyfriend, the way he never pretended and played nice just for the good of it. he wanted to understand, to know you in a way no one else had even attempted to. it was refreshing and infuriating at the same time; having to explain your emotions was never an easy task for you, but somehow, he made it worth it. "tell me."

"i, uh... it's interesting to... see how far i've come. how much has changed in one year." you took a deep breath before swallowing down the lump in your throat. "and yet, how much i'm in the same place."

"the same college? weird."

you slapped his arm playfully, yet he didn't even flinch. "i mean, how many of my emotions still remain." you looked away. "how much of the same i still am." how terrible i still feel about something as trivial as a goddamn birthday.

"well, i'm no expert in this," he started, shrugging his shoulders. "but that sounds reasonable to me. it seems fairly normal to have the same feelings and thoughts as you had just one year ago. we don't go around becoming brand new people in such a short time."

"sure, but... it would make sense to change at least a little bit, right?"

the sound of his sigh met your ears. "hey, look at me," he commanded, yet his voice was more gentle than firm. your eyes flickered over to his in an instant. "you have changed, i know it." one of his hands came up to cup your jawbone. "i think that... maybe you just don't see it yourself, because to you, the changes feel small. but a million small things will still make a lot of difference in the end, you know. you're doing good."

you closed your eyes, tipped your head back slightly, and took a deep breath, before allowing the words to fully settle.

i have changed.

i'm doing good.

a certain type of warmth filled your stomach. it wasn't just the regular giddiness that usually came with having your drop-dead gorgeous boyfriend near. no, this was something different; feeling seen, known and accepted was so uncommon to you that whenever will spoke to you like this, it made your heart want to jump out of your chest.

even though it would likely only worsen the situation with your overly excited heart, you opened your arms wide for the sweet curly-haired man in front of you. he wasted no time throwing himself into them, draping his own arms around your body as he held you tight. after a long moment of silence, he said your name once, and when you hummed as an answer, you were already sure of what was about to come. "i know you don't really want to hear this-"

you couldn't help but cut him off. "and i know you can't help yourself."

"true. nonetheless." he parted ever so slightly, brushing a kiss to your temple before looking into your eyes. "happy birthday, gorgeous."

another habit – routine, ritual, tradition – you'd picked up over the years was making sure you were extra busy on your birthday. volunteering at a festival in town, stacking up on extra shifts at work, organizing your closet; anything to distract your mind.

if you had time to stop and think about what day it was, you were more likely to break down. therefore, eliminating all breaks in your schedule, you reduced the risk of a panic attack by a mile.

this year, your distraction of choice was an eagles hockey game. unfortunately, the game didn't start until late, which meant that you had several hours to fill before puck drop. then again, you'd already had your birthday schedule filled out for many days.

ten am – phone call with your parents. yes, the ones who just happened to be out of state today. again. what a coincidence! not only did they spend most of the call talking about their holiday activities without asking about your plans for the day, but they also only mentioned your birthday once towards the end, in a way that felt more like a box they needed to check before they could hang up rather than something they genuinely wanted to talk about.

noon – lunch date with that friend of yours from your organic chemistry course. the one who knew about you wanting to keep your birthday 'lowkey', and who stayed away from mentioning it, up until she offered to pay for your food to honor the day. you declined, a bit too quickly, and realized after the conversation moved on that you'd been sitting there braced like something might break.

two pm – studying for that physics final in two weeks. formulas and sample questions never were as interesting as when they were used to distract you from other thoughts. at least until you looked through your lecture notes and found an assignment due today; you already handed in your answers a few days ago, so you weren't worried about it. however, reading today's date still made your heart drop to your stomach. and then, the one time you let your eyes wander, you caught the notification of a text on your phone. another happy birthday message you wanted to ignore from an old friend. you shoved the phone face-down on the desk, tightened your grip on the pen, and forced yourself back into the formulas. the day was still chasing you, but you weren't about to let it catch you yet.

five pm – finally starting to get ready for the game. you followed your usual ritual; makeup first, hair second, outfit third. you went for one of will's old team usa jerseys, immediately finding comfort in the familiar feeling of the fabric against your skin. then you laced up your boots and pulled on a jacket, the final parts of your armor.

the schedule barely gave you any time to think, and that was how you liked it. it's just like any other day. that way, you only winced slightly when someone strolling past called out, "hey, isn't today your birthday?" without stopping.

the walk to conte forum in the evening was as lively as ever. the chatter of students heading the same way, the school band marching energetically, the hollers of street vendors selling coffee to help you escape the cold. entering the rink, your heart finally softened; it no longer threatened to jump out of your chest at the mere thought of what day it was. and still, even when you did think about it, all of the commotion made you remember that this day doesn't have to be about you.

it was clear to anyone walking into the building that today was battle of boston day, nothing else. the air was always different when BU came to visit; colder, sharper, tenser. it fit you perfectly. the lights in the ceiling were too bright, the sound of pucks slamming against the boards was too loud, and everyone was too up in their own business to notice or think anything about you.

you sat in your regular seat, with the same friends as always, and discussed all of the usual topics. did you hear what jacob did in the locker room after last week's game? did you see jamie's new haircut? how many fights do you think we'll see tonight? just how it always was.

just like any other day.

the team skated out on the ice, and in the midst of the maroon-gold ocean was will. your eyes followed him as he made his way around the ice, until he slowed down right in front of your section. his eyes found yours with practiced ease, and he held your gaze for a few moments before his focused expression turned into a grin. he shot you a sweet wink before making his way back to the team just in time for the national anthem to be played. for a second, you felt seen – it bought you a breath, a moment's reprieve – before the day caught up again as the moment disappeared and the arena started singing. not that you minded, though.

it was ironic, in a way; how during the one day that's supposed to be for you, you felt the most at ease when the attention was anywhere else. you melted into the chants, the stomping, the chaos, until your birthday wasn't yours anymore – it was swallowed whole by the roar of conte forum.

winning at home was always celebrated. and today? winning against BU? obviously, that meant the kind of celebrations you couldn't avoid even if you tried to.

the bar, the eagles' regular one, was alive in every corner – pitchers clinking, fans discussing plays and penalties passionately, music loud enough to make the floor shake. hockey jerseys crowded the booths, the tables, the barstools; maroon and gold spilling into every inch, and combined with the hollers of happy fans, the whole place felt like an echo of the rink.

at your table, though, it was softer. fries going cold on the plate in front of you, half-finished drinks sweating rings onto the wood, will's cap tossed onto the table. your boyfriend's knee pressed into yours under the table, steady and unbothered, like a quiet anchor in the noise.

the guys who knew about your birthday – gabe, ryan, a few others – had already dropped by. just a clap on your shoulder, a quick 'happy birthday, hope it's been a good one' tucked between jokes about the game, before they were gone again. no singing, no spectacle. no candles or bartenders making a scene. just simple nods of recognition, easy and light, like they understood without you needing to explain.

the conversations at your table spun fast, mostly about hockey – recapping goals, chirping about missed calls, arguments over who's actually carried the game. you didn't mind sitting there in silence while they went back and forth; this was their world, their language, and you liked seeing will in it. he laughed along and answered with his laid-back style, his voice cutting through the noise in that easy way of his.

but even with his attention pulled into the circle, he was still with you. his arm stayed draped along the back of your chair for a while, fingertips brushing your shoulder every so often, before he shifted to rest a hand on your thigh, thumb drawing little circles into your skin. when will caught you fiddling with the hem of your – his – jersey, he made sure to instead sneak his own hand into yours, to give you something else to focus on.

it was enough to remind you that you weren't invisible here, not to him. and for the first time you could remember, the day didn't feel like it was chasing you. it wasn't a weight or a spotlight or something to outrun. it was just this: a corner table, a few subtle smiles, will's skin against yours.

maybe this was also how birthdays could go. no overwhelming attention, no forced smiles; they could mean quiet togetherness, a love found in the smallest of gestures, and safety in chosen company.

"i have an idea. but if you think it's completely wrong, i won't get upset, i promise."

the words intrigued you as soon as they left will's mouth, and you couldn't help but sit up a bit more straight against his headboard. "tell me," you said, watching him step out of his bathroom and over to the foot of the bed. "it can't be that bad, can it?"

"it could be, you never know." he stayed frozen in place for a few seconds before walking over to your side. he sat down on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath. "i'd like to join in on the letters."

you shook your head instantly. "i've already told you, i don't like anyone to read them-"

"no, i didn't mean it like that!" he explained, turning his entire body towards you. "i meant that... i want to write a letter, too. for you."

you blinked up at him. "for me?"

he nodded. "i think there are things i want you to know in a year from now, too." the little smile on his lips felt hopeful. "if you think it's a bad idea, though, i totally understand and respect it."

you pretended to think for a moment, but you couldn't torture him any longer. "it sounds like a great idea."

his eyes lit up. "really?"

"really." you reached up to cup his cheek with one hand, thumbing away some toothpaste from the corner of his mouth, before giving his cheek a pinch. "come on, scoot closer and i'll give you a paper."

a blanket of serenity lay over the bedroom as you sat there, both completely immersed in your own letters. you knew will was an emotional guy, but you'd never expected him to write this much; he filled out the entire page you ripped from your spiral notebook in mere minutes, as if he'd been pondering what to write all day.

"will i overdo it if i draw a bunch of heart?" he asked once he had the letter all folded up. "is just one enough? i feel like i want to do more."

you folded your own paper in half as you turned to look over at him. "i want to read it," you blurted out, the curiosity getting the best of you. "now."

"no way!" he exclaimed, holding the paper out of your reach when you started pulling at it. "you know the rules. write a letter today, open only in one year."

you crossed your arms over your chest, letting out a little huff. "okay, compromise." you offered him your strongest puppy-eyes-and-pout-combination. "i get to read one line? because it's my birthday?"

his gaze flickered over your face as he tried to make up his mind, before he let out a resigned sigh. "okay, then. first line only."

you held your breath as if the moment itself was fragile, like speaking too loudly might shatter it. it was nothing but a scrap of notebook paper with a couple of words, but the way will looked at you made it feel like way more.

your thumb stilled at the crease as if stalling could protect you. birthdays had always been a mirror you didn't want to look into, a reminder of what felt missing.

but this? this felt like something else entirely; a reflection of how he saw you.

after you'd unfolded the paper, as your eyes fell over that first line of the letter, your hands trembled. for the first time all day, the tears felt different – not sharp or bitter, but warm.

jack merely laughed from beside you, head shaking as a few of his friends began to hype up the idea. he'd already had enough shots to leave any normal person past drunk – but then again, he wasn't just anyone. he was a tall and muscular hockey player, and he was used to the alcohol, so he wasn't too far gone yet.

one of his childhood friends – someone you couldn't recognize or remember the name of, even though he introduced himself no more than an hour ago – pointed a finger in jack's direction. "since it's your birthday," he started, words slurred and hand unable to hold still, "you get to choose the shots."

"gee, what a lucky guy," jack chuckled, shifting slightly in his seat. the two of you sat tucked into a booth in a private corner of the club, surrounded by his teammates, brothers and closest friends, all eager to celebrate your boy. his arm was draped across your shoulders, fingers drawing little circles onto the bare skin where your dress ended in a way that seemed far too casual for how the two of you had been acting recently.

it was like an unspoken agreement between you; act normal in front of his friends and brothers. don't let them suspect anything.

at first, there had been a certain stiffness in the way he acted around you. when he held your waist, his fingers were a little too tense. he barely met your gaze. his kisses to your temple were too fleeting.

but the further along the night went, the more alcohol he drank, and the more relaxed he grew. he was carefree, soft and loving in a way that didn't feel like he was just acting. he was touchy, almost showing off, and you reciprocated every little thing.

you were good at pretending. you'd been practicing it for years.

"come on, bud," quinn spoke up, nodding off towards the bar. the place was packed – far too packed for a random wednesday – and the music, though good, was probably loud enough to break a couple of eardrums. "go pick out the shots, or t's going to get pissed."

"we're not in a rush, are we?" jack asked his brother, giving your shoulders a squeeze. the oldest hughes's eyes fell to you, rolling his eyes at jack's drunken words, and you merely shrugged with a smile.

it was hard to read quinn, you thought. you hadn't yet really established a relationship with him, which made sense since you'd only first met him a few hours ago, but there was something else about it. you weren't sure how much he knew about you, or about your relationship with jack, or about what your current status was.

your introduction had been brief; once you arrived at the club, jack had taken you around to greet all of his guests, and when it was time to say hi to quinn, you were barely even allowed to look at him before being pulled away to the next person. both you and quinn had said that it was lovely to meet the other, but there had been something specific about the way he looked at you – like he knew something. it frightened you a bit, to be honest. however, you'd only ever heard good things about him from anyone you spoke to, so there was a part of you that really wished you'd get to know him more closely someday.

someone else spoke up then, some teammate of jack's you almost remembered the name of. "get your girl something alcoholic!" he complained, eyes glued to the glass of coke in your hand. "she's too boring like this!"

this wasn't the first time tonight that you'd been teased for that. while most of jack's friends were supportive and understanding of you staying off the alcohol tonight, a few of them had just not accepted it. your excuse that you 'weren't feeling it' wasn't enough, apparently.

however, you were sure that if they'd seen the positive test hidden in your bathroom counter, they'd be much more understanding.

jack, though unaware of your situation, had not made any comments or said anything that would insinuate that he found it strange that you were staying sober. your heart grew warmer when he leaned down to where you were sitting, lips grazing your ear as he whispered to you. "you sure you don't want anything to drink?" he asked. "not even non-alcoholic?"

you shook your head when he leaned back. "i still have some coke left, so i'm all good," you told him, placing your glass on the table.

"okay." he stood still and just took you in for a moment, a smile making its way to his lips. "promise me you'll dance with me when i get back?"

you answered without hesitation. "anything for the birthday boy."

he let out one of those wholehearted laughs that made your stomach flip, one that you hadn't heard in far too long, and his hand reached over to cup your jaw. "aren't you a saint, eh?" he said with a shake of his head, before leaning down to quickly lace his lips with yours. "wish it was my birthday every day."

one kiss turned into two, which turned into three and then four. a simple lip-lock developed into tongues meeting and teeth clashing, and even when all of his friends around you began to cheer and the kiss was suddenly just two smiles pressed together, he stayed close. it wasn't until trevor tugged on his arm that he parted from your lips, shooting you a wink as he was pulled away towards the bar.

just as you thought you'd get a moment to just relax, someone slipped into the seat that had previously belonged to jack. "do we really think he's going to handle another round of shots?" quinn asked, slumping down properly and crossing his arms over his chest.

you chuckled at this, your gaze following the back of jack's head as he dove through the crowds, a few friends stumbling along behind him. "as long as it's not fireball, he might be okay," you said, which drew out an instant cackle from quinn.

"jeez, he should be banned from ever ordering fireball again," he said with a shake of his head. "too many nights ended badly due to that obsession of his." he paused for a beat. "i'm actually a bit surprised you knew that about him."

you turned your head to look up at him. "well, when we first met, it was his go-to whenever we went out. it didn't take long before i found out that he doesn't handle it too well."

"fair," he added, bringing his bottle of beer to his lips and taking a sip.

when he relaxed back in the seat, he looked over at you in a certain way. a way that said something you weren't quite able to interpret. it was strange, really, especially since it was the way luke had been looking at you all evening.

the three brothers had gone out for a birthday dinner prior to coming to the club, and now you were certain jack had let something slip. sure, it was your first time seeing quinn, so maybe this was just his normal way of acting. but luke and you have hung out more than a couple of times by now, and something was definitely off.

quinn cleared his throat before speaking up again. "so… what do you think about tampa?"

you furrowed your brows in confusion at the question. "never been," you started. "seems warm. all of florida is very hot, right?"

"sure," he said with a chuckle. "i was only, like, two years old when we moved out of orlando. but i've been told it was very humid."

"i've seen some pictures of the riverwalk," you added after thinking for a bit. "it looks pretty neat."

"neat enough to move there?"

you took a long sip of your coke, before setting the glass down again and turning your body more properly towards quinn. "never thought about it like that. i mean, there are thousands and thousands of cities in the us..."

his following words slipped from quinn's lips a little too quickly, like he wasn't able to stop them before most had already escaped. "yeah, well, i just assumed you and jack would have discussed-" then, something in his gaze shifted, like something had dawned upon him. he tried not to let it show, but even the slightest widening of his eyes was easy for you to catch on to.

he knows something.

you hadn't just imagined it before; now, he pretty much confirmed it. he was keeping a secret, and you wanted to know.

"sorry," you started, putting on a little smile. "what was that?"

quinn's shoulders tensed visibly, and he shook his head. "nothing. forget i even said anything."

you frowned, trying to think of all of the possible scenarios – but in your mind, you could only see one. "he's... moving away, huh?" you asked, voice quiet yet just loud enough to carry over the music. "is that it? he's going to florida?"

staring right back into his eyes was one of the hardest things you've ever done, but you couldn't back down now. you needed to hear this. "he... it isn't a done deal yet, but there has been an offer. i-" quinn scratched the back of his neck, clearly not finding this conversation easy either. "shit, i'm sorry. you should talk to him about it, not me. i thought you knew already."

he looked sincere enough – eyes pained, cheeks flushed, eyebrows knotted – but that didn't fix the fact that your world had suddenly been turned upside down. your heart was about to beat out of your chest, and yet it felt like it had stopped working altogether since it was smashed into a million little pieces.

nausea rose to the top of your throat then, and you pushed your hands onto the table in front of you, rising from your seat. "i have to use the restroom," you told him with the best smile you could muster, before turning on your heel and storming off. quinn called out your name, but there was no way you were looking back now.

going the exact opposite way of the bathrooms, you made your way out through the front door, only stopping once you were out of sight, a few meters away from the doormen. there, you helplessly dropped to the pavement, pulling your knees up to your chest and burying your face in them.

this situation wasn't comfortable to begin with, and when you realized the similarities to that team party just over a week ago, a shiver rolled down your spine. the memory of the guy who'd approached you last time was nearly enough to make you go back inside again – until you remembered what was waiting in the club.

jack and his secret.

why did he keep this a secret? did he not think you'd be supportive?

even the thought made your head spin. to think that you were the person he didn't feel like he could confide in when it came to this...

who else knew? was there anyone inside that club who didn't know? were you the only one, walking around blissfully unaware of how the birthday boy was going to be moving away? to tampa?

tampa was several hours away by plane. you didn't even know how long it would take to drive, or go by bus, or-

the anxiety clogged your airways then, and you had to force down a couple of deep breaths to make sure you wouldn't just black out. you pressed the heels of your hands to your eyes, you shook your head, you even let out a scream into your knees – anything to stop your mind from buzzing with catastrophic thoughts. what if you can't see him anymore? what if he goes away and never comes back? what will you do when he forgets about you?

you didn't even realize you were crying until the fabric of your dress was soaked, the fabric clinging to your thighs.

you weren't sure what hurt the most; the fact that he had kept it all secret, or that you weren't really surprised. it all made too much sense now – the lack of communication from his side, the half-assed attempts to fix things. the fact that it felt like he had stopped trying completely.

if he was planning to leave, then maybe your body had somehow known before your mind had caught up.

your stomach twisted again. not from the shock, but from the weeks of trying to hold everything in: the fear of losing him, the confusion about where you stood, the pressure to act like everything was just fine so you wouldn't scare him off even further.

you weren't sure how much longer you could take it.

you pressed your face into your knees, trying to breathe through it, but it felt like the night was folding in on you. the darkness took over, everything grew silent-

then came the footsteps. quick and familiar, stopping right by your side. you didn't have to look up to know who it was.

hastily, you wiped your eyes with the back of your hands, before turning your head up towards jack. "hey, birthday boy," you forced out, putting on a weak smile. "you having a good night?"

he let out a humorless chuckle, shrugging his shoulders. "i was," he replied, tapping one shoe against the ground restlessly. "until i realized that my girlfriend is sitting out on the cold sidewalk, crying her heart out, and i have no idea why."

his words felt like a knife to your chest.

you opened your mouth to apologize, but he cut you off with a dismissive noise. "i heard quinn told you about tampa."

your tone wasn't sharp, just tired. "do you have any idea how it felt to hear that from him instead of you?"

jack sighed. "he shouldn't have said anything. it's not... it's nowhere near done. it's all talk so far. a maybe-call from my agent. i didn't want to hand you a maybe and make it a whole problem when we're already..." he broke off, searching your face. "when we're still finding our footing.

"that's the point, i guess. i think..." you hugged your arms around yourself, a shiver rolling through your body. "i think i want to be in the maybe. even if it sucks."

you were sure it must make zero sense to him – it didn't make much sense to you, either. you knew you'd been acting like you weren't fully invested in this relationship, like you were just looking for an out. but now that said opportunity finally presented itself, you were terrified.

jack joined you on the ground then. "i was scared that if i brought it up to you, you'd start pulling away to prepare. like... pre-hurting, so it wouldn't hurt as much later."

a watery huff escaped from you. "i'm trying," you whispered. "i don't know how to stay without bracing for impact."

"i get that." his voice softened. "i didn't want to keep it from you because it doesn't matter. i kept it because i didn't want you spending two months panicking over something that might die in a voicemail."

you let his words sink in. they helped; not entirely, but somewhat. maybe, at least for now, enough.

a moment of silence followed, with you unable to focus on anything other than your pulse thrumming in your throat. jack slipped his jacket off his shoulders, wrapping it around your trembling frame. "are you going?" you asked eventually.

"i don't know," he answered honestly. "but i don't want to go anywhere you're not."

your breath got caught in your throat. "i'm not going to stop you from leaving," you forced out, because it was true and it needed to be said.

"i know." he inhaled a deep breath. "i'm the one stopping myself."

"i can't be your priority," you found yourself saying – automatically, like a familiar reflex.

"but you are," he said, almost smiling now. he leaned in to brush his lips against your forehead. "no matter what you think."

you shook your head, letting out a half laugh/half sob. "you should go. test your wings."