Greeting new people usually comes with his gloved hands folded behind his back and a gentle nod, his wings are always tucked tight and elbows kept close to his sides so as not to brush elbows with anyone. Even his brothers—centuries spent in close proximity to one another—seem to know precisely when they can push it, and when they ought to steer clear. 

The closest thing she’s ever gotten to a hug from the male was the gentle brush of his shoulder against hers in thanks during a gift exchange last Solstice; she had known him for years at that point. 

Nesta—the nosey busybody—once asked Cassian how that (being Azriel’s aversion to touch) works when he used to come home smelling like a female in the mornings following a night at Rita’s. 

Rhysand and Cassian shared a knowing look before Cassian mumbled something about Az “running a tight ship” and then offered absolutely no follow up information (not for a lack of trying on Nesta’s part). 

So, it’s safe to say that none of them knew what to expect—how to react—when Azriel came home smelling like a bond and announcing—more like reluctantly admitting—that he met his mate. 

While Feyre and Nesta can hardly be considered having experienced a normal mating bond (whatever a normal mating bond may be), they’ve heard stories about perfect strangers meeting by chance in a market and embracing each other like…well…like two halves of a lost soul finally reuniting. 

But Feyre’s only seen Azriel hug his own brothers a handful of times over the years she’s been here, so she definitely couldn’t imagine Azriel wildly embracing his new mate on a whim in public. 

Needless to say, they were all on the edge of their seats, awarding Azriel with the privacy he needed, wanted, and deserved as he navigated his new mating bond while simultaneously itching to see how it might look. 

Tonight was finally their chance. 

“Does my hair look okay?” Cassian asks the room, running fingers through his wild locks in a show of insecurity rarely ever seen from the brute. 

“Why does it matter? It’s not like you’re meeting your mate for the first time,” Amren hums judgementally around the rim of her wine glass. 

Cassian narrows his eyes at the ancient being. “This is important, alright? I want to make a good first impression.”

Nesta snorts. “Well I wouldn’t worry then. You’ve never once made a good first impression.” 

“You guys are very mean,” Cassian huffs, giving up on the tugging of his hair. “I hope she’s nicer, maybe I’ll finally have a godsdamned friend in this house.”

“Hey,” Feyre laughs. “Come now.” 

Cassian softens. “Okay, fine; another friend besides Feyre.”

“Thank you,” she concedes. 

The room stills when boots sound on the terrace of the House of Wind, and it’s clearly an effort for the entire family not to stand simultaneously and rush the door to get a peak of you. 

The two of you appear in the doorway; Azriel’s wing extended behind your back like a gentle guide keeping you close to him. 

“This is my family,” Azriel explains softly, eyes travelling over the group of fae currently holding their breath. “Family, this is my mate.” 

Somehow, Azriel’s voice softens around the syllables of your name, making it sound like a note of a song or the gentle hum of a breeze. 

“Hello,” you greet quietly, nerves obvious though so is your excitement. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Rhysand welcomes first. “We’ve been wondering when Azriel might deign to share you with us.” 

“I…I feel like I should bow, but Azriel told me it was very important that I keep you humble,” you admit, knees clearly itching to bend when being greeted by the notorious High Lord of the Night Court. 

“Oh, thank the Mother,” Cassian sighs in theatrical relief. “I don’t think the rest of us will survive if his head gets any bigger.”

“My head is perfectly sized, thank you,” Rhysand huffs at his brother, softening his gaze when he turns back to you. “But there’s certainly no need to bow; we’re family.”

Your chest rises with relief and pride, and the corner of Azriel’s lips lift in time with it. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you all,” you state as your gaze drifts over the entire group, and Feyre can understand why Azriel seems to have a hard time peeling his gaze from you; you’re magnetic, your eyes so soft and so kind that you make every person feel like the most important person in the room just by looking at them. “I’ve heard so much about you all, it feels like I’ve already known you for centuries.”

Mor breaks first.

“Oh, I am so happy to meet you,” she all but squeals, racing towards you.

Feyre isn’t entirely sure what she expected to happen, but she certainly wasn’t expecting for you to step away from Azriel and meet Morrigan in the middle of the room in a tight embrace.

“You must be Morrigan,” you hum happily into her shoulder. 

“I’ll be whoever you want me to be, sweetheart,” Mor laughs, pulling away from you. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Alright, my turn,” Cassian announces, all but shoving Mor out of his way to bring you in for his own embrace, though his involves lifting you off of your feet and eliciting a surprised oof out of you. Azriel’s wings twitch in subtle agitation. 

“Cassian, I assume?” you giggle.

“You’d assume correct, beautiful. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Alright, out of the way, you big bat.” Feyre swats at Cassian’s arms to release you, only for you to be transferred into her own. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Thank you for having me,” you murmur, quieter now, as though meeting her holds some extra weight.

She looks over at Azriel and his soft gaze confirms it: you were worried about meeting her. 

“The honour is really all mine,” Feyre assures you, pulling away only to hold you by your shoulders. 

She nods her head, really liking you for her brother-in-law. “As I’m sure you know, this is my husband Rhys. That there is my sister and Cassian’s mate, Nesta, and that’s Amren, Rhys’ second in command.” 

Azriel finally fully enters the room, moving to step up behind you as though a quiet anchor. Your shoulders subtly loosen at his proximity. 

“So, how has it been being mates with Azriel over here?” Cassian asks jovially, returning to his seat in the living room. 

“He’s perfect, really,” you tell them earnestly, smiling up at the Shadowsinger who’s turning a beautiful shade of pink. “I truly couldn’t have asked for better.” 

“Ah, so you’re a liar too,” Amren drawls with a roll of her eyes. 

Azriel looks like he’s trying not to do the same before gesturing for you to take a seat. “Ignore her.” 

“I hope she doesn’t lie to you anywhere else, brother,” Cassian continues, smiling when his quip is met with a lethal glare from said brother. “You know, like in the bedroom.” 

“Yes, thank you, Cassian,” Azriel deadpans.

“Oh, don’t worry Cassian, he’s perfect there too,” you respond quickly, surprising the room into silence as Azriel joins you on the—rather cozy—loveseat. “If you’d like some tips I’m sure I can convince him to let you watch.” 

Rhysand bursts into unrestrained laughter. 

“Mother above, where did you find this female?” Cassian sputters. 

The corner of Azriel’s lips turn up. “What? You think I warned her about Rhys and not you?” 

With this Azriel lifts his arm and places it along the sofa behind your head; Feyre holds her breath as you lean your head back on it.

Except Azriel doesn’t pull away. 

He doesn’t straighten, he doesn’t grit his teeth, he doesn’t make a quick excuse to get a drink. 

In fact, Azriel’s gloved hand drops from the back of the couch and onto your shoulder where he lovingly caresses the exposed skin near your collarbone. 

You turn at the touch, smiling up at him warmly which finds his shadows blooming with joy.

And then your hand lands on his knee. 

Feyre braces for impact again. 

It doesn’t come.

Well I’ll be damned, Rhysand drawls in Feyre’s mind. He’s a changed man. 

But Feyre’s not so convinced; she doesn’t think the softness of his eyes or the adoration in his smile or the dedication of his attention are necessarily new attributes, just largely unseen. 

I think she must just have a way of bringing it out in him, Feyre counters thoughtfully. 

“Who the fuck is this male and what have you done with Azriel?” Cassian hollers then, not nearly as subtle as the rest of his family. 

And who’s responsible for bringing that out of Cassian? Rhysand sighs silently. 

Mother only knows, Feyre sighs in return.

you absolutely should not be doing this.

you know you shouldn’t be doing this.

and yet you’re lying on your stomach on your bed, feet kicking in the air, doomscrolling through the nhl follow tracker twitter account like it’s your part-time job.

the new updates are right in front of your face.

@mackcelebrini followed @kaitlyngeorgia_ @mackcelebrini followed @carterbbyxo @mackcelebrini followed @averymcallister

you click their profiles. bikini pics. bottle-blonde. perfect lashes. fake tan. sorority sweetheart. you swallow hard. you shouldn’t care. you and mack are just friends — very good friends, yes, borderline inseparable, yes, but he’s mack. he’s nineteen. he’s stupid hot and stupid famous and stupid unaware of the destruction he leaves in his wake.

your phone buzzes.

MACK u said u were coming over did u die helloooooo are u mad at me lol

you tuck your phone under your pillow.

because yeah. maybe you are mad. maybe you’re spiraling. maybe you’re disgustingly jealous of every girl he follows. maybe you hate that you care.

you force yourself up, grab your hoodie, and head to his house. the second he opens the door, he gives you this soft grin that ruins you.

“finally. i was starting to think you didn’t love me anymore.”

you blink too fast. “don’t joke.”

he tilts his head. “hey. what’s up with you?”

“nothing,” you lie.

he steps aside so you can walk past him. “you’re being weird.”

“no i’m not.”

“yeah,” he says, closing the door behind you, “you definitely are.”

you blow out a breath and toss yourself onto his couch. “can we not do this?”

“do what?” he asks, following you in, eyebrows furrowing.

“talk,” you say too quickly. “just—watch a movie or something.”

he stares at you for a beat. “you’re always the one who wants to talk.”

“well i don’t now.”

he sits beside you, knee brushing yours. and when you stiffen at the touch, his whole face shifts.

“okay,” he says quietly. “something is wrong.”

“nope.”

he nudges your leg with his. “come on. tell me.”

you swallow. “you’ll get mad.”

“i won’t.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you absolutely will.”

he rolls his eyes. “just tell me.”

you take a breath.

and then you make the worst possible choice:

“why do you keep following all these blonde sorority girls?”

the silence is immediate.

mack blinks. “what?”

“you heard me.”

he laughs — short, confused. “why do you care who i follow?”

you look away. “i don’t.”

“you clearly do.”

the heat in your cheeks gives you away. “i just think it’s stupid.”

“stupid?” he repeats. “for me to follow people on instagram?”

“yes. no. i don’t know.”

“they’re just girls,” he says, shrugging. “they’re hot. they follow me. i follow back.”

your chest tightens.

“right,” you say quietly. “because they’re hot.”

“well, yeah,” he says, like it’s obvious. “i’m nineteen. sue me.”

you clench your jaw. “and you don’t think that’s hurtful?”

he stares at you harder now, eyebrows pulling together, confusion twisting into frustration.

“hurtful to who?”

“to me!” you snap. “god, mack, are you seriously this clueless?”

his jaw drops.

“why the hell would it hurt you?” he shoots back.

you look away — the first sign he’s ever seen that he actually got you. and he hates it.

“okay, what the fuck?” he says, voice getting sharper. “why are you mad? why do you care who i follow?”

“because you flirt with them.”

“i do not flirt with them, oh my god.”

“you do!” you practically shout. “liking bikini pictures? following every girl who posts a thirst trap? replying to stories—”

“i replied one time!”

you cross your arms. “okay, and that girl was literally licking frosting off her finger.”

he groans loudly. “why are you keeping track of this?!”

“i’m not—i didn’t—” you snap, flustered. “the follow tracker just… shows up.”

he scoffs. “you’re checking it.”

“okay, yeah!” you yell. “i check it!”

you shouldn’t have said that.

mack goes quiet. dangerously quiet.

his voice lowers. “why.”

you shake your head. “forget it.”

“why,” he repeats, more intense this time.

you swallow, eyes burning despite your best effort. “because i like you, okay?!”

the words explode out of you louder than you meant. you immediately regret them.

mack recoils slightly — not in disgust, but in shock. genuine shock.

“you… like me?”

you force a laugh. “forget i said anything. seriously. just—forget it.”

you stand up, grabbing your bag, but mack is on his feet instantly.

“wait—hey—stop—”

you shake your head, wiping your cheek. “i shouldn’t have come. i’m being stupid.”

“no—no you’re not,” he says quickly, stepping in front of you. “i didn’t know. you never said anything.”

“because you don’t like me back,” you say, voice cracking. “and that’s fine. it’s fine. it’s just embarrassing.”

“when did i say i don’t like you?” he fires back.

you look at him, raw and exhausted. “you follow girls who look nothing like me. you like girls who look nothing like me.”

his expression softens painfully.

“hey,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “don’t say that.”

you try to move past him again, but he gently blocks you — not grabbing, just standing there, eyes full of something you can’t read.

“let me go,” you whisper.

“not until you talk to me.”

“mack—”

“no,” he says, voice breaking. “i don’t want you leaving like this.”

and before you can argue, the tears spill.

you turn your face away, covering your eyes. “god, this is humiliating.”

“no,” he breathes, instantly softening. “no, hey—don’t do that—come here—”

you shake your head helplessly, but he steps closer anyway — slowly, gently — hands hovering like he’s afraid to touch you without permission.

“please,” he whispers. “just look at me.”

you do.

big mistake.

he looks gutted. absolutely gutted.

“i’m sorry,” he says, voice barely there. “i didn’t know you felt that way. and i’m sorry if anything i did made you think you’re not… enough.”

your breath catches. “mack—”

he swallows hard. “i follow those girls because they’re pretty. yeah. whatever. i’m nineteen. i’m dumb.”

you huff out a wet laugh.

“but,” he continues—his voice steadier now—“i don’t want them.”

your heart freezes.

he steps even closer, forehead almost touching yours.

“i want you.”

your lips part, stunned.

“you… what?”

he nods, cheeks pink, vulnerable in a way he’s never shown you.

“I didn’t realize I was jealous until now,” he admits. “i didn’t realize i was checking my phone constantly to see if youtexted. i didn’t realize i hated the idea of you liking anyone else.”

your chest swells. “mack…”

“i didn’t know,” he whispers. “but i know now.”

he lifts a hand — slowly, carefully — and wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“i don’t give a shit about those girls,” he murmurs. “i never did.”

your breath shakes.

“then why follow them?” you ask quietly.

he blushes again. “because i thought… you’d never want me. and i was trying to convince myself i didn’t want you either.”

oh.

oh.

his forehead finally presses against yours, warm and steady.

“i’m sorry i hurt you,” he whispers. “i swear i didn’t mean to.”

your voice cracks. “i know.”

“and i swear,” he continues, softer, “if i knew you liked me… i never would’ve followed a single girl.”

you sniff. “that’s a lie.”

he laughs — a soft, barely-there sound. “okay, yeah, i’m nineteen. but i still would’ve tried.”

the first real smile curls on your lips.

he mirrors it.

“hey,” he murmurs, nudging your nose with his. “are we okay?”

“yeah,” you whisper. “we’re okay.”

he gently cups your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek again.

“can i hug you?”

you nod.

he pulls you into his chest instantly — tight, warm, protective — like it’s the only place he wants you.

you melt into him, arms circling his waist, face pressed against his hoodie.

he lets out a shaky breath into your hair.

“you scared the hell out of me,” he murmurs.

“you were yelling first,” you mumble.

“yeah, because i didn’t know why you were mad,” he laughs softly. “turns out it’s because i’m an idiot.”

you laugh into his throat. “kinda.”

he tilts your chin up gently.

“i’m gonna try to not be an idiot,” he says. “like… starting now.”

“starting now?”

he nods, lips inching closer.

“starting with this.”

the kiss is soft. slow. careful. like he’s finally letting himself do something he’s been avoiding for months.

your hands slip into his curls. he smiles into the kiss — warm, breathy, relieved.

when he pulls back, he presses his forehead to yours again.

“you really like me?” he whispers.

“yeah,” you breathe.

he grins, embarrassed and thrilled at the same time.

“good,” he murmurs. “because i really like you too.”

Your legs were curled under you on the big couch in Mat’s apartment.

You couldn’t help yourself.

You watched the video again. And again.

You have wanted to work in sports for as long as you could remember. You landed your dream internship in college at NBC Sports in New York and have been working your way up ever since.

It wasn’t uncommon to be the only woman in the room, the only person with heels clicking, the only person with a purse on their shoulder, but you had grown to love it. You let that make you stand out and used it to your advantage.

You had gotten the job at MSG Networks as an Islanders correspondent a few years ago, and you haven’t looked back since.

You worked besides Shannon, learning everything you possibly could from her. And you thrived in a working environment where you felt valued.

You had returned from Milan last night, you reported on the USA women’s team for the entirety of the journey at the Olympics.

It was an honor to work with them and support them through that time. So that’s part of the reason you felt so sick watching the men laugh at the presidents joke.

The other part of it was just feeling personally offended and angry at these men.

Your phone was pinging, all your group chats of friends and peers blowing up with how disgusting the video was to watch.

Your chest was aching by the time Mat came home from his morning game day huddle with the team.

“Babe, I’m home!” He shouted from the front door, kicking his shoes off and dropping his bag.

You didn’t trust your voice to respond.

He came through the house and found you on the couch, you must’ve looked wrecked because his smile faded into a look of concern as he approached you on the couch.

“What’s wrong?” He asked sitting next to you.

“Did you see it?” You asked softly.

His brows furrowed, he has been with the team all morning and then came right home to you, of course he hadn’t seen it yet. You passed him your phone.

The phone call played again, and you nearly flinched when they all laughed on behalf of the women’s team again.

“What the fuck…” Mat said as he turned your phone back to you.

You locked it and threw it onto the cushion besides you, sighing in frustration.

He ran his hand down his face, trying to figure out how to handle the situation, hating that you were upset by it.

“It’s just that the women’s team worked so hard, and I’m not saying the men didn’t, but they’ll never understand.”

He slowly sat down next to you, tentatively taking your hand into his.

“Do you know how often I walk into a room at work and I’m the only woman? If Shannon’s not with me, there’s no one. And I’ve dealt with it my whole career, being mocked, being spoken over. But it always felt like it was worth something,” you took a shaky breath, letting a tear fall, “and then this fucking team has to go and laugh at his joke, that wasn’t even funny by the way. And it’s so fucking hurtful.”

You threw your head back onto the couch cushion, “I’m so mad.”

He sighed, still looking at you like he would take the pain away if he could, but not sure what to say.

“You’re allowed to be upset, and feel all the things you’re feeling right now,” you met his eyes, still trying not to cry, “you just have to keep doing what you’re doing, keep speaking out, don’t let them see you fall, and keep showing other girls that they can do it too.” He spoke with a softness you rarely saw, and you knew he was hurting just by watching you hurt.

“Not to mention they’re a bunch of fucking idiots,” he added, “nothing about it was funny.”

You gave him a sad smile, “I love you.”

“I love you, and I’m always here to be your biggest cheerleader,” he pulled you into his chest, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

“Now I have to go get ready,” you mumbled against his chest, you pulled back and looked up at him, “I’ll see you there tonight?”

He smiled down at you, “always.”

He placed a kiss on your lips before releasing you to go get ready for the day.

~

You thought being at work would make you feel better, but the pit in your stomach only grew.

You thought seeing the team you work beside would make you feel better, but they were just as upset as you. You felt hopeless, like there was nothing you could do.

You turned the corner to make your way to the media office you shared with your coworkers, seeking out a moment of peace while you knew everyone was preparing for the game tonight.

You closed the door behind yourself and stopped in your tracks.

There was a ridiculously large bouquet of roses sitting on your desk.

You were suddenly extra thankful you were alone so no one could see you blushing.

You picked up the small note that the top:

I know I can’t fix it, but I hate when you’re sad. Just know I love you and you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.

Your #1 fan, M

Although it didn’t fix the problem, he always knew how to put a smile on your face.

You took a deep breath, smelling the roses, and decided to focus on work.

You snapped a quick picture to send to Mat before you went back down to the chaos.

You: I don’t even want to know how much it cost to send THIS many roses on such short notice

You: I love you, good luck tonight 13

Mat: money isn’t real anyways

Mat: love you always, can’t wait to see you do your thing tonight 🔥

~

You slipped your phone back in your pocket and went to meet Shannon downstairs for a debrief before fans started coming in.

She greeted you with her usual bright smile and shiny blowout.

“Did you see?” She asked immediately.

You blushed, “the flowers?”

She laughed, “not what I meant, but I saw those too.”

She passed you her phone, showing you the Islanders latest instagram post.

mbarzal13 and 200,716 others liked this post.

ny.islanders A shoutout to the women that are the reason this team stays WINNING! And a special shoutout to our very own @yn.ig for covering Milan! The women on our team are nothing to laugh about! #everyonewatcheswomenssports

View 13,891 comments

mbarzal97 🔥🔥🔥 my girl

shannonhogansports who run the world?

~

You handed her phone back to her, “well that’s something,” your lips twitched up in a smile.

“Rumor has it Mat has been harassing the social media team all day.” She smirked at you.

You felt the heat creeping up your neck at her words.

“And, there is a special post just for you,” she tapped on her phone before handing it to you again.

ny.islanders, shannonhogansports, and 451,981 others liked this post

mbarzal97 nothing funny about how badass you are, love you always❤️

Tagged: @yn.ig

View 26,316 other comments

ny.islanders power couple alert

shannonhogansports 💪❤️

barzalfan1 not the shade to then US team 😂😭

~

You handed the phone back to her, your blush now in full swing.

“I was actually having a break down this morning, I think this is his way of making it better,” you said sheepishly as you shrugged.

Shannon clicked her tongue, “well I’ve known him for a long time now, and I’m proud to say you make him a better person.”

If you could have blushed harder you would have.

“Now that’s enough of that, before we all start crying, let’s go finish prep!” She started walking and you fell into step beside her.

You pulled your phone out as you slipped into your chair for the pregame show.

You: I’m not sure what I did to deserve you, but god I love you.

Mat: I hope you remember how amazing you are

Mat: and also I can’t stand when you’re upset

Mat: warm up time, love you

You: love you❤️

You locked your phone and tried to hide the smile on your face. You came to the realization that what the men did was disgusting, but it doesn’t discredit you or any of the women in sports hard work. If anything, their laughter fuels you to be better and work harder.

liked by _willsmith2, urbestie, eklund_72, mackcelebrini, and 1.9k others

yrusername last few days in san jose :(

urbestie come back to meeee

↳ yrusername soon i promiseee

user27 is that a 2 on slide five..?

↳ user7 we’re reaching hard launch territory people

user83 is that mack on slide four?

↳ user37 imagine getting to hang out with both will smith hockey AND macklin celebrini

↳ user84 so we all agree she’s with mack right?

↳ user73 nah it’s definitely smitty

liked by mackcelebrini, urbestie, _willsmith2, eklund_72, and 2k others

yrusername waiting for summer

eklund_72 no tag??

↳ yrusername ehhh no <3

user82 the 71 omg they’re so cute

↳ user36 still confused on if she’s with wsh or mack

_willsmith2 i like the shirt

↳ yrusername yeah you would

mackcelebrini summer needs to come faster

liked by urbestie, tofff73, mackcelebrini, _willsmith2, and 2.3k others

yrusername practicing…

mackcelebrini next time call me instead

↳ yrusername bro you were sat NEXT TO HIM THE WHOLE TIME

↳ mackcelebrini :(

↳ yrusername you’re lucky you’re cute

urbestie LOMLL

↳ yrusername MWAH

_willsmith2 please just let me and mack teach you how to skate

↳ yrusername okay pretty boy

user8 toff in the likes hello father

↳ yrusername hello dad

↳ tofff73 please stop you’re making me feel ancient

user93 willmack calling their gf iktr

↳ user19 ohhh my god they’re not dating each other

liked by _willsmith2, michaelmisa_, mackcelebrini, tofff73, and 2.6k others

yrusername hot girl summer loading

mackcelebrini i miss you pretty girl

↳ yrusername i miss you more pretty boy

_willsmith2 lucky in love you say?

↳ yrusername i think you’re the lucky one🤨

↳ _willsmith2 oh definitely

michaelmisa_ who is that loser on the last slide

↳ mackcelebrini BE QUIET??

↳ yrusername apparently he’s some big shot hockey player

user73 they’re all so cute together

↳ user48 the more she posts the more i can't deny that there's something with the three of them

yrusername has posted to their story!

caption: counting down the minutes❤️

liked by mackcelebrini, _willsmith2, urbestie, eklund_72, and 3.2k others

yrusername reunited with my two favorite players

tagged _willsmith2 and mackcelebrini

urbestie okay hard launch

↳ yrusername i fear it was time

user27 okay but WHAT is going on in the third slide

↳ yrusername they were trying to kill me i think

↳ michaelmisa_ lowkey i was kinda scared they’d smother you

mackcelebrini I’M SO GLAD YOU’RE BACK

↳ _willsmith2 okay bud let’s tone it down a little

↳ mackcelebrini as if you aren’t just as excited

user26 okay so they’re all together?

↳ user84 yes babe she’s been trying to hint at it for MONTHS now😭

liked by sanjosesharks, yrusername, tofff73, mackcelebrini, and 164k others

_willsmith2 back to the shark tank

tagged sanjosesharks

sanjosesharks welcome back will smith hockey

user36 we got this season in the bag

user27 the way they love y/n is so cute

yrusername mack is jealous i stole his passenger princess title from him

↳ mackcelebrini i’m only giving it up because it’s you

liked by sanjosesharks, yrusername, _willsmith2, tofff73, and 102k others

mackcelebrini see you at the shark tank

tagged sanjosesharks

sanjosesharks our 71 is back in action is everyone ready?

user83 our future captain🫡🫡

yrusername my superstar😋

↳ _willsmith2 OUR* superstar

You didn’t stop what you were doing. Didn’t look up. Just shrugged, like it was nothing.

“I don’t have any plans anyway,” you said lightly. “Might as well stay busy.”

The words were easy. Practiced. You’d said them before.

Penny’s pen hovered above the paper for a fraction of a second too long. She knew the difference between fine and fine. But she also knew when not to press. She nodded once, a quiet agreement, and wrote your name in.

“Alright,” she said gently. “I appreciate it.” You smiled, bright and polite, and reached for another glass.

Behind you, the door creaked open.

Jake hadn’t meant to stop walking.

He’d come in laughing, jacket half off his shoulders, the day’s ease still clinging to him. The Hard Deck was familiar territory — noise, beer, you behind the bar rolling your eyes at him. Comfort in routine.

But your voice cut through it all.

I don’t have any plans anyway.

He slowed, boots scraping softly against the floor, his grin faltering before he could catch it. He stayed near the entrance, just long enough to hear Penny confirm the shift. Just long enough for the meaning to settle heavy in his chest.

Christmas. No plans. Alone.

Jake exhaled through his nose and forced himself to keep moving. Took a seat farther back instead of his usual place at the bar, fingers drumming absently against the tabletop. He told himself it wasn’t his business. That he didn’t care.

That was a lie.

Phoenix slid into the chair across from him, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. She set her beer down and studied him with narrowed eyes, already suspicious.

“You look like you just lost a dogfight,” she said.

He scoffed, gaze still fixed on the bar. “Hardly.”

“Mhm.”

Silence stretched, filled with the clink of glass and low conversation. Then, like he was testing the ground beneath his feet, Jake spoke again.

“She got family around here?”

Phoenix didn’t answer right away. She leaned back instead, arms crossing, watching him like a scientist observing a long-predicted reaction. A slow smile tugged at her mouth.

“Oh,” she said. “So that’s where we are now.”

Jake grimaced. “Don’t.”

“I knew it,” she continued, clearly enjoying herself. “Months of denial, and all it takes is one holiday schedule.”

He finally looked at her, jaw tight. “Nat.”

That got her attention.

Phoenix followed his gaze to where you moved behind the bar, laughter soft and unguarded as you handed someone a drink. When she spoke again, her tone was quieter.

“She doesn’t really have anyone,” she said carefully. “No family close. That’s all you get.”

Something shifted in him — a dull ache blooming beneath his ribs.

Jake nodded once, stiff. He didn’t ask follow-up questions. Didn’t need to. The picture was already forming in his mind, uninvited and vivid.

His mom’s house in Texas, too warm and too loud. The smell of cinnamon and roasting meat. His dad’s voice carrying from the living room, his sisters already complaining about the playlist, his nieces running around. Familiar chaos. Annoying. Comforting.

Unavoidable.

He couldn’t imagine Christmas without it, couldn’t imagine choosing not to have somewhere to be.

Phoenix watched the realization settle into his expression. “You gonna do something about it,” she asked, “or just sit there brooding like a sad country song?”

A faint smile tugged at his lips — gone as quickly as it came. “She’s not gonna be alone.”

Phoenix arched an eyebrow. “That wasn’t the question.”

He stood, decision already made. “It’s the answer.”

Later, when the crowd thinned and the sun dipped lower, Jake approached the bar — not you, but Penny.

She looked up the moment she saw him, recognition flickering across her face. Penny noticed things. Always had.

“She won’t be working Christmas,” Jake said quietly.

Penny studied him for a long moment, then glanced toward you — laughing, unaware, completely unprepared for the way your world was about to shift.

“I wondered when you’d say something,” Penny replied softly. “Alright. I’ll cover it.”

Relief loosened something in his shoulders.

“She deserves better than another shift,” Penny added. “I’m glad someone agrees.”

Jake watched you for a beat longer than necessary.

You didn’t know it yet.

But you weren’t spending Christmas alone.

Not this year.

—

The bar was caught in that quiet in-between hour, when the sunlight poured in low and honeyed through the open doors and the ocean breeze slipped lazily across the floor. The bar smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and salt, the wood warm beneath your palms as you stepped behind it, already reaching for the schedule board without really thinking about it.

Routine was comfort. Knowing where you were supposed to be, when, had a way of grounding you.

Your eyes skimmed the list once, then again, slower this time. Monday. Tuesday. Christmas Eve. The space where your name should have been on Christmas Day stared back at you, blank and wrong, and a small frown tugged at your mouth as you leaned closer, as if proximity alone might make it reappear. You traced the line with your finger, checked above it, below it, then stepped back, confusion settling in your chest.

“That’s… odd,” you muttered.

You were just about to turn and call for Penny, already forming a casual explanation in your head — something light, something easy, like it didn’t matter — when the familiar weight of someone else’s presence registered behind you.

“Studying the wall now?” Jake’s voice drawled, warm with amusement. “Careful, it might flirt back.”

You closed your eyes briefly before turning, already bracing yourself. He stood a few feet away, leaning against the bar like he owned the place, confidence worn as effortlessly as his dog tags. The sight of him sparked the usual mix of annoyance and reluctant fondness, the kind you’d never admit out loud.

“Don’t you have literally anyone else to bother?” you asked, gesturing vaguely around the bar. “I’m busy.”

He tilted his head, eyes flicking from your face back to the schedule, then back again. “Looks like you’re not, actually. What’s got you so worked up?”

You sighed and pointed at the board, irritation slipping into your voice despite yourself. “I was supposed to work Christmas. Guess Penny forgot to write me in.”

Jake followed your finger, his expression unreadable for a moment as he took it in. Then his mouth curved into something like satisfaction. “That’s a win,” he said easily.

“Not really,” you shot back. “I had a plan. Now I don’t.”

“Well,” he said, pushing off the bar and closing the distance by a step, hands sliding into his pockets like he was trying very hard to look casual, “since you’re free, what are you doing instead?”

You shrugged, feeling strangely defensive all of a sudden. “Nothing. That was the point.”

Something flickered behind his eyes, but he smoothed it over quickly. “Perfect,” he said, far too confidently. “You’re coming to Texas with me.”

You stared at him, disbelief blooming into a short, incredulous laugh. “You cannot be serious.”

He smiled, broad and unapologetic. “Dead serious.”

“No,” you said immediately. “Absolutely not. I am not crashing your family’s Christmas like some stray you picked up at a bar.”

He waved the comment away like it was nothing. “You wouldn’t be crashing anything.”

“Hangman.”

“You’d be invited.”

“You didn’t even ask me,” you pointed out, crossing your arms. “You just decided.”

“Yeah,” he said lightly. “I do that sometimes.”

You shook your head, already backing away. “Plane tickets alone would be insane this close to Christmas. I’m not letting you spend that kind of money on me.”

“I already checked,” he replied, far too quickly. “I’ve got miles.”

You blinked. “You what?”

He shrugged. “Occupational hazard.”

You pressed on, stubbornness flaring. “I have responsibilities.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“I—” You hesitated, then said, “I have to feed my cat.”

His grin turned knowing. “You don’t have a cat.”

You narrowed your eyes. “How do you know that?”

“Because you’ve never talked about a cat,” he said, voice softer now, less teasing. “And because I pay attention.”

That gave you pause, something warm and uncomfortable settling beneath your ribs, but you pushed past it. “Even if I didn’t, it’s still a terrible idea.”

Jake’s smile faded just enough to matter. He straightened, hands dropping from his pockets, presence suddenly heavier, more grounded. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, steadier.

“I’m not letting you spend Christmas alone.”

The words hit harder than you expected, your breath catching before you could stop it. You stared at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his eyes, by the absence of his usual bravado. This wasn’t flirting. This wasn’t teasing.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you said quietly.

“No,” he agreed. “But I get to offer you somewhere to be.”

Silence stretched between you, filled only by the soft clink of glasses and the distant rush of the ocean. You searched his face for the joke, the punchline, and found none.

“I don’t want you alone,” he said again, gentler this time. “Not when you don’t have to be.”

Your defenses wavered, the weight of the season pressing in all at once — the empty apartment, the quiet nights, the way you’d already resigned yourself to pretending it didn’t hurt.

You exhaled slowly. “You’re impossible.”

His mouth curved into a small, victorious smile. “I’ve been told.”

“…Fine,” you said after a moment, voice softening despite yourself. “But if your family hates me, this is on you.”

His grin returned, bright and genuine. “They won’t.”

You weren’t sure you believed him.

But as he stepped back, satisfaction radiating from him, one thing was suddenly, undeniably clear.

You weren’t going to be alone this Christmas.

—

Jake showed up on the twenty-third like the decision had been settled for weeks, not days. You spotted his car from your apartment window first, parked crookedly at the curb like it didn’t quite fit the narrow street, and the sight alone made your stomach flutter with nerves you hadn’t fully acknowledged yet.

By the time you made it downstairs with your bag slung over your shoulder, he was already out of the vehicle, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky, posture relaxed in that infuriatingly confident way of his.

“You know,” you said as you locked your door behind you, “I told you I could meet you at the airport.”

Jake didn’t even pretend to consider it. He reached for your bag without asking, fingers closing around the strap before you could protest, and lifted it easily. “Yeah,” he replied, already walking toward the car. “But then I wouldn’t know you actually showed up.”

You huffed, trailing after him. “I said I was going.”

“Mmm,” he murmured, popping the trunk. “You also said this was a terrible idea about fifteen times.”

He slid your bag in beside his — like it belonged there, like it had always been part of the plan — and shut the trunk with a decisive thud before opening the passenger door for you. The gesture caught you off guard enough that you paused, then climbed in without comment. He grinned like he knew he’d won a small victory and went around to the driver’s side, starting the engine and pulling away from the curb with easy confidence.

The drive to the airport passed in a strange, suspended quiet. Jake filled the space with low music and occasional commentary about traffic or the weather, and you answered when necessary, but your thoughts were already miles ahead. Four hours in the air. Four hours trapped with your own nerves. Flying had never been something you enjoyed — too much time to think, too little control — and you hadn’t done it often enough to pretend otherwise.

You kept that part to yourself.

The last thing you needed was Jake Seresin clocking your anxiety and turning it into ammunition.

By the time you reached the airport, the tightness in your chest had settled into something familiar, a low hum of anticipation and unease. Jake grabbed both bags this time, slinging his over one shoulder and tugging yours along beside him as if this, too, was just how things were done. You followed him through the automatic doors, the air inside cooler and smelling faintly of coffee and disinfectant, voices echoing overhead in a constant stream of arrivals and departures.

You lingered near the gate once you’d checked in, fingers twisting together as you stared out at the planes taxiing along the runway. The reality of it all — Texas, his family, the holidays — pressed in on you again, and you turned toward him with a sigh.

“This is still a bad idea,” you said quietly. “We can turn around. It’s not too late.”

Jake glanced up from his phone, unimpressed. “You’ve already said that.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he replied, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “You’ll survive.”

You frowned. “Have you even told your family?”

That earned you a shrug, casual and infuriating. “I always bring friends home.”

“Friends,” you repeated, incredulous. “Jake, we barely tolerate each other.”

“That’s your version,” he said lightly. “Mine’s different.”

You opened your mouth to argue — to point out that this wasn’t normal, that families asked questions, that holidays came with expectations — but the overhead announcement cut you off, boarding call echoing through the gate. Jake stood immediately, grabbing both carry-ons without hesitation, then paused when he noticed you still rooted in place.

He turned back to you, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face, eyes warm and steady in a way that made your pulse skip.

“Well,” he said, holding out a hand, “ready for a Texan Christmas, darling?”

You stared at him for a beat longer than necessary, nerves and doubt and something dangerously close to excitement tangling together in your chest.

Then you sighed and took his hand.

“God help me,” you muttered.

His grin widened as he led you toward the gate.

The plane smelled faintly of recycled air and coffee as you stepped into the narrow aisle, Jake moving ahead of you with easy confidence. He glanced down at the boarding passes in his hand, then lifted his chin toward the row on the right.

“Here we are,” he said, already reaching up to shove his bag into the overhead bin. “Looks like we lucked out.”

You followed his gaze to the seats and felt your stomach dip when you realized what he meant. The window seat waited at the far end, the curved wall of the plane already pressing in on the space like a quiet warning. Jake motioned toward it without thinking, stepping aside to let you pass.

You shook your head immediately. “Nope. You take it.”

He paused, frowning slightly. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Suspicion flickered across his face, but he didn’t push it — not yet. He slid into the window seat, long legs stretching out as he settled in, and you took the middle seat beside him, already focused on grounding yourself. The familiar click of the seatbelt felt louder than it should have as you fastened it tight, pulling the strap snug across your lap like it might anchor you.

You inhaled slowly through your nose, then exhaled, intertwining your fingers together in your lap to keep them from fidgeting. The cabin filled around you with quiet movement — bags shifting, seats creaking, voices murmuring — and you fixed your eyes straight ahead, determined not to let the nerves show.

You became aware of his stare before you saw it.

Jake wasn’t subtle when he was curious. His attention had weight to it, and you felt it settle on you like a spotlight. You turned your head, meeting his gaze.

“Can I help you?” you asked dryly.

He blinked, like he’d been caught mid-thought, then a slow grin spread across his face. “You’re afraid of flying.”

You scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I fly all the time.”

He tilted his head, eyes flicking briefly to your still-clasped hands, the tight line of your shoulders. “Sure you do.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but it was already too late. Recognition softened his expression in a way that caught you off guard, the teasing dialed down just a notch.

“Hey,” he said quietly, leaning back in his seat. “Planes are basically just buses with wings. Statistically safer than driving.”

“That’s not helping,” you muttered.

He smiled anyway. “I could explain how lift works, if you want.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please don’t.”

“Suit yourself,” he said lightly. “I could always take you flying sometime. Show you how it’s done.”

You shot him a look. “There is no universe where I get into a tiny plane with you in charge.”

He laughed at that, real and unguarded, shaking his head. “Your loss.”

The cabin lights dimmed slightly as the doors closed, and the shift in atmosphere sent another wave of unease through you. As the plane began to taxi, your leg started bouncing on its own, nerves leaking out in restless energy. You rubbed your palms against your thighs, trying to will yourself into calm.

Jake noticed immediately.

Without a word, he reached over and took your hand in his, fingers warm and steady as they curled around yours. The gesture was so unexpected it stole your breath, and before you could react, he squeezed twice — firm, reassuring — then kept his hand there like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Tell me something,” he said softly, like this was just another distraction. “What’s the worst drink you’ve ever served at the Hard Deck?”

Despite yourself, a laugh slipped out. “You, ordering anything with umbrellas.”

“Ouch,” he said, mock-offended. “That hurts.”

The engines roared louder, vibration humming through the cabin as the plane picked up speed. When it finally lifted off the ground, your fingers tightened reflexively around his hand, eyes squeezing shut as your stomach lurched.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, leaning closer, his voice low and sure. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

The words anchored you more than you wanted to admit.

When the ascent leveled out and the seatbelt sign blinked off, you slowly opened your eyes. Jake loosened his grip and let go, the contact ending as gently as it began. When you looked at him again, the softness was already fading, replaced by that familiar glint of mischief that lived permanently in his eyes.

“Well,” he said, smirking, “for someone who’s definitely not afraid of flying…”

You groaned. “Don’t even, Seresin.”

He grinned wider, clearly pleased.

Once the initial tension of takeoff faded into the steady hum of cruising altitude, your body slowly followed suit. You kept your seatbelt fastened out of habit more than necessity, the strap a quiet reassurance across your lap, but the restless energy that had been buzzing under your skin finally eased. Your leg stilled, your hands resting calmly now instead of gripping at nothing, and the tight knot in your chest loosened just enough for you to breathe normally again.

Jake noticed, of course. He always did.

He leaned back in his seat, stretching slightly, a satisfied look crossing his face as he glanced sideways at you. “You want me to put on a movie for you?” he asked, tone deliberately teasing. “Something animated, maybe?”

You shot him a look. “I am not an iPad kid.”

He laughed, head tipping back against the seat, the sound easy and genuine. “Could’ve fooled me. You were gripping that armrest like it owed you money.”

“Very funny,” you muttered, though the edge was gone now, replaced by something lighter. Familiar. Comfortable in a way that surprised you.

The plane settled into its rhythm, the cabin lights dimmed slightly, and the world outside the window stretched into an endless canvas of clouds. For a while, you sat in companionable quiet, the kind that didn’t demand filling. Then, almost without thinking about it, you turned your head toward him.

“So,” you said softly, hesitant in a way you hadn’t been before. “What’s your family like?”

The effect was immediate.

Jake’s expression shifted, the perpetual smirk softening into something real as a genuine smile spread across his face. Not cocky, not practiced — just warm. He looked forward as he spoke, like he was picturing them as he went.

“My mom’s… a force,” he said fondly. “Loud, opinionated, will feed you until you physically can’t move. My dad’s quieter, but he’s the kind of guy who fixes everything with his hands. Always has some project going.”

You listened intently, surprised by how easily the words flowed from him now.

“I’ve got two sisters,” he continued. “Older. Both of them think it’s their life’s mission to keep me humble. Didn’t work.” He smirked briefly, then softened again. “And three nieces. They run the house now. I’m basically just their personal jungle gym when I visit.”

Despite yourself, a smile tugged at your lips, growing wider the more he talked. You could picture it so clearly — Jake in a loud kitchen, a child clinging to each arm, someone scolding him for tracking mud through the house. It felt… impossible. And yet, it fit in a way you hadn’t expected.

You’d always known him as infuriating, endlessly confident, ego first and feelings somewhere far behind. The man who flirted shamelessly, who never seemed to take anything seriously. You’d never once imagined him in a domestic setting, surrounded by family, soft around the edges.

Yet here he was, eyes warm as he talked about them, voice carrying an affection that felt deeply ingrained.

“They’re… everything,” he finished quietly. “Holidays especially.”

Your smile lingered, unguarded now, and you realized that there was so much more to Jake Seresin than the version he showed the world.

—

Two hours into the flight, the cabin had settled into a steady, subdued rhythm, the low hum of the engines blending with the occasional rustle of movement and muted voices. You pulled the book from your bag and opened it on your lap, fingers resting against the worn edges of the pages as you tried to focus on the words in front of you. The letters blurred together more often than they should have, your eyes skimming lines without absorbing their meaning.

Beside you, Jake had put on a movie — something loud and action-heavy, punctuated by explosions and dramatic music that filtered faintly through his headphones. You glanced at the screen briefly, a corner of your mouth lifting despite yourself.

Of course he’s into that.

You turned back to your book, but your thoughts refused to cooperate. They drifted, unmoored, pulled away from the page and toward everything waiting for you on the other side of the flight.

Your nerves had changed shape.

It wasn’t the plane anymore — the metal shell carrying you thousands of feet above the ground — that made your chest feel tight. It was Texas. Jake’s family. The weight of walking into something you hadn’t belonged to in a long time.

You hadn’t spent Christmas with other people since you were twenty.

After your parents passed, there hadn’t been anyone else to fill the space they left behind. No crowded living rooms or overlapping conversations, no shared meals or traditions carried forward. Holidays and birthdays had slowly become quieter things, marked by routine instead of celebration. You’d learned to make peace with it — or at least something close enough.

Most years, Christmas meant sitting alone in your apartment, the city outside your window moving on as usual. Sometimes you lit a candle, the soft flame flickering in the dim, and let yourself think about them for a while. About how it used to be. About how quickly it had all slipped away.

Family, to you, had become an abstract idea.

Something that existed in memories, and in movies you avoided because they hurt more than they healed. Scenes of people decorating trees together, of kitchens filled with warmth and noise, of gifts wrapped and unwrapped with laughter — all of it felt foreign, like a language you used to speak fluently but had forgotten over time.

You wondered what the next few days would look like. What Jake’s family would say when they met you, how they’d greet you, whether they’d ask questions you didn’t know how to answer. You wondered how they celebrated, what traditions they held onto, what expectations you might accidentally step into without realizing it.

You swallowed, eyes drifting from the book to the clouds passing slowly beyond the window.

More than anything, you hoped it would be kind. That it would be gentle. That it would feel less like an intrusion and more like… something you were allowed to be part of, even just for a little while.

Beside you, Jake shifted slightly in his seat, still absorbed in his movie, unaware of the quiet storm unfolding in your thoughts.

And for the first time since you’d agreed to come, you let yourself hope — cautiously, carefully — that this Christmas might be different.

Two more hours passed in a blur of cloud cover and steady descent, the captain’s voice crackling softly over the speakers as the plane began its approach. The shift in pressure made your ears pop, your stomach dipping slightly as the ground drew closer, and without thinking about it, you tensed again.

Jake noticed.

He didn’t say anything this time. He just reached over and took your hand in his, fingers closing around yours with the same quiet certainty as before, offering it without comment or expectation. You accepted it just as silently, squeezing his hand when the turbulence bumped the cabin, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of his grip.

The wheels touched down with a jolt, followed by the familiar rush of deceleration, and relief washed through you so quickly it left you lightheaded. You laughed softly under your breath as you finally unbuckled your seatbelt, tension draining from your shoulders in one long exhale.

Jake squeezed your hand once more before letting go. “Told you,” he said lightly.

You shot him a look. “Don’t.”

The cabin filled with movement as passengers stood and reached for their belongings. Jake grabbed both of your carry-ons without hesitation, slinging them easily over his shoulder, and waited for you to step into the aisle before falling into place beside you. He guided you down the narrow walkway and off the plane, one hand hovering at your back as if to steady you through the press of people.

The moment you stepped into the terminal, the air felt different — warmer, heavier, carrying a faint hum of familiarity you couldn’t quite place. You slowed your pace, eyes drifting around as you took it all in: the wider corridors, the drawl in overheard conversations, the subtle shift in atmosphere that made it unmistakably Texas.

Jake disappeared briefly to grab the rental car, leaving you to linger near the exit, your arms wrapped loosely around yourself as you watched families reunite and travelers hurry past. When he returned, keys in hand, he led you through the parking structure and to a car waiting beneath the harsh glow of fluorescent lights. He popped the trunk, stowed the bags in the back, then rounded the car and opened the passenger door for you.

You paused, hand resting on the doorframe. “You know,” you said carefully, “you can drop me off at a hotel. I’ll meet you at your parents’ later.”

He straightened slowly and looked at you like you’d just suggested something wildly unreasonable.

“A hotel?” he repeated.

“I don’t want to impose,” you said quickly. “And what if your parents get the wrong idea? What if they think we’re… a thing?”

Jake chuckled, shaking his head as he closed the door behind you once you finally sat. He leaned against the roof of the car, arms crossed, completely unbothered.

“I’ve told you,” he said easily. “I always bring friends home.”

“That doesn’t make this normal.”

“It makes it fine,” he replied, already moving around to the driver’s side. “Relax.”

You watched him settle behind the wheel, the confidence in his movements both comforting and unsettling. As the engine started and the car pulled out of the lot, you glanced out the window, the unfamiliar roads stretching ahead.

Whatever waited for you at the end of the drive, it was happening now.

And there was no turning back.

The road stretched on longer than you expected, the airport fading far behind as open land took over. The drive to his parents’ ranch was quiet in the best way — the kind of silence that didn’t ask anything of you. The radio played softly, a steady stream of Christmas music filling the car without demanding attention. Jake hummed along under his breath, fingers drumming against the steering wheel in time with the song, relaxed in a way you rarely got to see.

You pulled your phone out briefly, more out of habit than necessity. A single unread message from Phoenix waited on the screen.

Have fun with Hangman 😏 Try not to fall in love or whatever.

You scoffed quietly, rolling your eyes as you typed back something dismissive and vague before turning the screen dark again. You set the phone aside and looked out the window, watching the land open up around you. Wide fields, fences stretching into the distance, ranches spaced comfortably apart like they needed room to breathe. Your chest tightened slightly as you realized you were probably close now.

You inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly, willing your nerves to settle. You didn’t want to be awkward. You didn’t want to stand out for the wrong reasons. These people were opening their home to you for the weekend — for Christmas — and the thought carried a weight you weren’t sure how to hold anymore.

Jake turned off the main road, gravel crunching beneath the tires, and suddenly his family’s ranch came into view. The house sat wide and warm against the land, lights strung along the roofline and wrapped around the porch railings, glowing softly against the early evening sky. A few cars were parked out front, and people moved easily in and out of the house, laughter drifting faintly through the air.

Jake parked the car and glanced over at you, something gentle settling into his expression. “You’re gonna love them,” he said quietly.

You managed a small smile, your stomach fluttering as he stepped out of the car. He walked around to your side and opened the door for you, offering his hand as you climbed out. Before you could even fully straighten up, movement caught your eye.

A woman came hurrying across the yard toward you both, her pace quick and purposeful, arms already lifting. Jake barely had time to laugh before she reached him and wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug. It was almost comical — how small she was next to him — but Jake bent down instinctively, folding himself around her and returning the hug without hesitation.

When she finally let him go, she didn’t miss a beat.

Her attention snapped to you, and before you could brace yourself, she was pulling you into her arms too. “Oh, you must be,” she said your name warmly, squeezing you tight. “You’re even prettier in person. I’m so glad you’re here.”

The suddenness of it caught you completely off guard. You tensed for half a second, breath hitching in your chest — and then something in you gave way. You softened into the hug, resting your chin lightly against her shoulder and closing your eyes for just a moment longer than necessary.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” you said quietly. “Thank you for letting me crash your Christmas.”

Jake watched silently from beside you, noticing the way your shoulders had stiffened before relaxing, the way you seemed to melt into his mother’s embrace like it was something you hadn’t felt in a very long time.

She brushed your words off just as easily as Jake had earlier, pulling back only to keep her hands firmly on your arms. “Oh, honey, nonsense. You’re more than welcome here,” she said, smiling brightly. “I’m just glad Jake finally brought someone home.”

Jake huffed a laugh under his breath, but you barely noticed.

All you could feel was the warmth of the lights behind you, the steady presence beside you, and the unfamiliar — almost overwhelming — realization that for the first time in years, you weren’t arriving somewhere alone.

Jake’s mom barely gave you time to take another breath before ushering you inside, one hand warm and firm at your back. The house greeted you all at once — overlapping voices drifting from the living room, laughter echoing down the hallway, the hum of something baking in the kitchen. It felt lived in, full in a way that made your chest ache just a little.

You had just stepped fully into the entryway when the sound of small, hurried footsteps came thundering down the hall.

“Uncle Jake!”

Three little bodies barreled into him with zero hesitation, crashing into his legs and wrapping around his waist as if they’d been launched. They chanted his name between giggles and excited shrieks, climbing him like little monkeys determined to reach the top. Jake laughed, loud and unguarded, arms coming up automatically as he accepted his fate as a human jungle gym.

You didn’t realize you were staring until a voice behind you pulled you back.

“Alright, girls, give your uncle a break,” a woman laughed, amusement clear in her tone.

You turned to find Jake’s oldest sister watching the scene with a fond smile, clearly used to this chaos. She met your eyes and stepped forward, greeting you warmly, and you returned it — your smile softer, a little shier, but genuine.

Before you could say much more, another woman appeared at your side. Jake’s middle sister wasted no time before wrapping you in a hug, squeezing you like you were already part of the family. You laughed softly, returning it as best you could.

Once the girls were finally coaxed off Jake, they turned their attention to you instead. Three pairs of curious eyes studied you carefully, whispering among themselves before one of them asked, blunt and unapologetic, “Who are you?”

You crouched down slightly to meet them at eye level, introducing yourself with a small smile. Whatever answer you gave must’ve passed their internal test, because within seconds they decided they liked you — and promptly attempted to climb you next.

You laughed, surprised, hands hovering awkwardly as you tried to keep your balance. The tension crept back into your shoulders before Jake stepped in.

“Alright, alright,” he said gently, peeling one of them off with practiced ease. “Let her breathe, monsters.”

He guided you farther into the house, his hand resting briefly at your back as if grounding you. The walls were lined with framed photos — childhood snapshots of Jake and his sisters, crayon drawings proudly signed by the girls, old concert tickets preserved like treasures. It felt like a timeline of love, memories layered on top of each other.

The living room opened up around you, anchored by a tall Christmas tree glowing softly in the corner. Perfectly wrapped gifts sat beneath it, neat and patient, waiting their turn.

The back door opened then, letting in a rush of cooler air along with Jake’s dad, followed by two men you assumed were his brothers-in-law. Another round of greetings followed, easy and warm. Jake’s dad hugged you too — not as tightly as the Seresin women, but steady and sincere all the same.

Before you could get overwhelmed again, Jake’s mom swept you toward the kitchen, eager to show you what she’d been working on. Trays of cookies covered the counters — Christmas trees, gingerbread men, stars, every festive shape imaginable. The smell alone was enough to make your mouth water.

“Want to help decorate?” she asked.

You nodded without hesitation, and she guided you to one of the tall stools at the kitchen island, calling for Jake over her shoulder. When he appeared in the doorway, she immediately pointed upstairs.

“Sweetheart, take the bags out of the car and put them upstairs.”

You stood up instinctively. “I can help—”

She waved you off without even looking at you. “Sit.”

Jake smirked. “Yes, ma’am,” he said easily, sending you a quick wink before disappearing back outside.

You rolled your eyes, lips twitching despite yourself.

Soon his sisters joined you around the island, each grabbing a cookie and a handful of frosting. The conversation stayed light — where you were from, what you did, little things that felt safe. When one of them asked if you had a boyfriend, heat rushed to your cheeks and you shook your head.

“No,” you said softly.

You told them about your master’s program, about working as a bartender at a local Navy bar to support yourself — and how that was how you’d met Jake.

They exchanged knowing looks, smiling to themselves, while you focused very hard on piping frosting onto a cookie, hoping it would distract from the way your heart was suddenly beating just a little too fast.

One of his sisters looked at you thoughtfully as she smoothed frosting over the edge of her cookie, then smiled like she’d just connected a few dots.

“So,” she said lightly, “you must be a pretty special friend for Jake to bring you home for Christmas.”

You paused, piping bag hovering midair. Your brows knitted together as you tilted your head, genuinely confused. “What do you mean?” you asked. “Doesn’t he bring friends home all the time?”

The question hung there, soft but heavy. The sisters exchanged looks — subtle, quick, loaded with meaning — eyebrows lifting, smiles turning knowing in a way that made your stomach flip. One of them finally spoke, her tone gentle but certain.

“Actually,” she said, “you’re the first person. The first woman he’s ever brought home.”

Your mouth parted, words lining up that never quite made it out. The thought hit you all at once, disorienting and strange, and before you could ask anything — before you could even process it — footsteps sounded behind you.

Jake appeared in the kitchen doorway, tall and relaxed, leaning casually against the island as if he hadn’t just walked into the middle of something important. He reached for a cookie, fingers already stretching toward the tray.

“Don’t even think about it,” his mom said, slapping his hand away with practiced precision. “Those are for Santa.”

You laughed softly with the others, the moment dissolving into easy chatter as Jake joined in, stealing a cookie anyway the second his mother turned her back. The conversation shifted, flowing around you, and you nodded and smiled where appropriate, trying to stay present.

But the words lingered at the back of your mind.

The first woman.

Why would he tell you he brought friends home all the time if that wasn’t true? The thought felt strange, almost unsettling, and you didn’t know what to do with it yet. You pushed it aside, focusing instead on the warmth of the kitchen, the laughter, the way you didn’t feel quite so out of place anymore.

Once the last of the cookies were set aside to cool and the kitchen settled into a quieter rhythm, you wiped your hands on a towel and excused yourself, asking where the restroom was. Jake’s mom pointed you down the hall with a warm smile, and as soon as you disappeared around the corner, the atmosphere shifted.

His sisters wasted no time.

“Well,” one of them said, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed, “she’s gorgeous.”

“And completely your type,” the other added, grinning. “Sweet, too. We like her.”

Jake scoffed, reaching for a glass of water like he hadn’t heard them. “You’re reading into it. We’re just friends.”

His sisters laughed in unison, clearly unconvinced. One of them nudged him with her elbow. “Then why have you been glued to her side all afternoon like a lost puppy? You usually disappear outside with Dad and the guys by now.”

He rolled his eyes, irritation creeping into his voice. “Oh my god, will you both fuck off.”

“Jacob Seresin,” his mother snapped immediately, shooting him a look that could stop him in his tracks. “Language.”

He raised his hands in surrender, muttering an apology under his breath while his sisters smirked, entirely pleased with themselves.

By the time you returned, the interrogation had dissolved into casual conversation again. You paused near Jake, suddenly aware of how tired you felt, the long day finally catching up to you.

“Hey,” you said quietly, tugging at the strap of your bag. “Can you show me where you put my things? I just want to change out of my airport clothes.”

Before he could answer, his mom clapped her hands together softly. “Of course. Take her upstairs, honey. Go freshen up.”

Jake nodded and motioned for you to follow him. The stairs creaked faintly underfoot as you climbed, the house growing quieter with every step. He led you down a short hallway and stopped at a door on the right, pushing it open to reveal a neatly made guest room, soft light filtering through the curtains.

“That one’s the bathroom,” he said, pointing across the hall. “Take your time.”

You thanked him, and he hesitated for half a second before closing the door gently behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet space. You stood there for a moment, listening to the muffled sounds of the house below, your heart still doing that strange, unfamiliar flutter.

Whatever this weekend was turning into, it already felt different.

You changed into something softer, slower, letting yourself linger as you folded your clothes with care and set them neatly over the back of a chair near the door. In the bathroom, you washed your face and lifted your eyes to the mirror, pausing when you noticed the expression looking back at you. You looked… calm. Peaceful in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time, the kind of quiet ease that usually only showed up in fleeting moments before disappearing again. You held that version of yourself for a second longer, then turned off the light and headed downstairs.

Laughter drifted up from the living room, light and bright. When you stepped into the space, you found Jake’s three nieces sprawled on the rug, dolls scattered around them in colorful disarray. Emma, the oldest, looked up first and immediately pointed at an empty spot on the floor beside her.

“Sit,” she said, not so much asking as deciding.

Lily and Nora echoed her demand, patting the carpet enthusiastically. You laughed and obliged, lowering yourself cross-legged onto the floor and picking up one of the dolls. You smoothed its hair between your fingers, easily slipping into their game as if you’d always belonged there.

Emma watched you carefully for a moment, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Are you Uncle Jake’s girlfriend?” she asked, barely holding back a giggle.

You smiled softly and shook your head. “No,” you said. “We’re just friends.”

“Too bad,” Lily muttered, still focused on fixing her doll’s dress.

Nora nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Anyway,” she added casually, glancing up at you, “would you like to be?”

You laughed, startled and entirely unprepared for the interrogation. “You’re very direct,” you told them, earning a chorus of proud grins.

A moment later, a familiar voice sounded from behind you. “Well,” Jake said, stopping just inside the living room, “looks like you made some friends.”

You glanced up at him with a small spark of mischief in your smile. “I like them better than I like you.”

He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Wow. That hurts.”

Still smiling, he dropped onto the couch nearby, stretching his arms along the backrest as if settling in for the long haul. Not long after, the rest of his family filtered into the living room, conversation blooming easily around you. One of his sisters handed you a mug of hot chocolate piled high with marshmallows, and you thanked her before taking a careful sip, warmth spreading through you instantly.

The room filled with overlapping voices and laughter, the kind that felt lived-in and real. Jake leaned forward, lowering himself closer to your level on the floor.

“You doing okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, smiling up at him. “Yeah. I’m great,” you said, then gestured toward the dolls. “I’ve been promoted to Barbie hairstylist.”

He chuckled softly and leaned back into the couch, but neither his mom nor his sisters missed the way his gaze lingered on you, steady and unguarded, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to look away.

Dinner passed in a blur of shared dishes and easy conversation, the kind that lingered long after plates were empty. You insisted on helping with the dishes despite being waved off more than once, rolling up your sleeves and working alongside his mom and sisters while laughter echoed through the kitchen. By the time everything was clean and put away, the girls were already rubbing their eyes, yawns slipping through their excitement.

Jake’s sisters gathered their things, promising they’d be back first thing in the morning. The girls hugged Jake tightly, then you, their arms warm and sticky-sweet from dessert, before they were ushered out the door amid soft goodbyes.

And just like that, the house grew quieter.

It was only you, Jake, and his parents now, the hum of the heater and the faint crackle of the fire filling the space between words. Jake glanced at you from across the living room.

“Movie?” he offered. “Or something?”

You shook your head, exhaustion finally settling into your bones. “I think I’m going to head to bed, if that’s okay.”

He nodded immediately, no teasing this time. You stood and said goodnight to his parents, thanking them again for welcoming you into their home. His mom squeezed your hands warmly, telling you how happy she was that you were there, while his dad smiled and wished you goodnight.

Jake led you upstairs, one step behind you, ignoring the pointed look his mom sent his way from the bottom of the stairs. When you reached the guest room door, you turned to face him.

“Hey,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re not as bad as I thought, Seresin.”

His face lit up instantly, pride and something softer flickering across his features. “I’ll take that as a win.”

“I’m glad you came with me,” he added after a beat.

You huffed quietly. “It’s not like you gave me much of a choice,” you teased. “You practically dragged me to Texas.”

Then, more sincerely, “But… I’m glad you did.”

The moment stretched, comfortable and charged all at once. You held each other’s gaze for a second longer than necessary before you finally looked away, reaching for the door handle.

“Goodnight, Jake.”

“Night,” he said, watching as you slipped into the room and closed the door gently behind you, leaving him standing in the quiet hallway, a small, satisfied smile lingering on his face.

—

You woke to the low murmur of voices and the steady rhythm of movement downstairs, the house already alive in a way you weren’t used to this early. For a moment, you stayed still beneath the covers, listening, letting the sound of it all settle around you. Then you sat up, changed out of your pajamas, and pulled on something soft and comfortable, still unsure what the unspoken rules were for Christmas Eve. You paused, wondering if today was meant for dressing up or if that waited until tomorrow, then brushed your teeth and splashed cool water on your face before heading down.

The smell of coffee and something warm filled the air as you reached the dining room. Everyone was already gathered around the table, plates half full, conversation flowing easily. You hovered in the doorway for a second before offering a quiet, slightly shy, “Good morning.”

Jake looked up immediately. “Hey,” he said, smiling as he slid a chair out beside him. “Sit.”

You did, settling into the seat next to him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Breakfast passed slowly and comfortably, the kind where no one was in a rush to finish. You listened more than you spoke, absorbing the way his family talked over one another while planning the day ahead — grocery runs, food prep, wrapping the last of the presents, small traditions mentioned so casually you could tell they’d been part of this routine for years.

Jake leaned back in his chair at one point and glanced at you. “Tonight we’ll have a bonfire out back,” he said. “We do it every year.”

You nodded, picturing it already — firelight, bundled layers, voices carried into the cold night. It sounded simple and warm and impossibly far from the way you usually spent Christmas Eve.

The morning slipped easily into afternoon as you helped wrap gifts at the dining table, folding paper carefully and smoothing down edges with more focus than strictly necessary. When the last ribbon was tied, you offered to help in the kitchen, and without much discussion you were handed a peeler and a cutting board, stationed at the counter with a small mountain of vegetables in front of you.

You worked quietly at first, listening to the low hum of conversation around you, chiming in now and then when something caught your attention. It felt comfortable, natural, the kind of shared space where no one expected you to fill every silence. Jake drifted in and out of the kitchen throughout it all, grabbing water, leaning against the counter for a moment, then disappearing again — only to return minutes later.

One of his sisters noticed first.

“You know,” she said, glancing between the two of you, “this is the most time Jake’s ever spent in the kitchen during the holidays.”

The other laughed. “It’s like he can’t leave you alone.”

You shook your head, smiling as you kept working. “He’s just making sure I don’t burn the house down or slice my hand off,” you said lightly.

Right on cue, Jake walked in.

“Oh, no, that part’s actually accurate,” he said, grinning. “You should’ve seen her at the bar. Cut her finger on a lime and nearly passed out at the sight of blood.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks instantly. “Jake, shut up,” you groaned, mortified.

He only winked at you, entirely pleased with himself, as his sisters laughed and you tried very hard to focus on chopping vegetables instead of the way your heart had started racing for no good reason at all.

The rest of the afternoon drifted by in that unhurried way that only holidays seem capable of. As dusk settled in, the men took over the backyard, stacking logs and coaxing the fire to life while laughter and the scrape of boots against gravel filled the air. You claimed one of the chairs closest to the growing bonfire, watching the flames begin to dance as the sky darkened above you.

Jake appeared behind you without a word, draping a blanket over your shoulders before disappearing back into the house as quietly as he’d come. You pulled it closer around yourself, the simple gesture warming you more than the fire ever could.

Before long, Lily, Nora, and Emma joined you, armed with sticks and a determined seriousness about their marshmallow roasting. You helped them hold their sticks just right, laughing as one caught fire and another slid straight into the embers. Around you, stories flowed freely — tales from past Christmases, inside jokes, memories so well-worn they’d clearly been told a hundred times before.

Emma turned to you suddenly, eyes bright in the firelight. “What do you usually do for Christmas?”

You hesitated, the question landing heavier than you expected. There was no way you could tell her the truth — about the quiet, the half-decorated tree, the way the day usually passed in silence. So you smiled instead, offering something vague and gentle, steering the conversation toward something lighter, something easier.

She accepted it without question and went back to her marshmallow, satisfied.

Jake, however, didn’t miss it.

From where he stood across the fire, he watched the way your shoulders dropped, how your gaze lingered on the flames a beat too long. His expression shifted, the teasing ease falling away as he studied you with quiet attention, the firelight catching in his eyes as if he were committing the moment to memory.

You lingered outside long after the others had gone in, the cold night air slowly driving them back toward the warmth of the house. One by one, goodnights were said, promises made to be back early in the morning to open gifts. Eventually, it was just you and the dying fire, embers glowing softly as the flames settled into something quieter.

You stared into it, lost somewhere between the present and memories you hadn’t meant to revisit. You didn’t hear the back door open, didn’t notice Jake until he took a seat beside you, close enough that his presence registered as warmth at your side. He didn’t speak. He didn’t rush you. He just stayed.

You weren’t sure what prompted it, but after a moment you broke the silence, your voice softer than you meant it to be.

“Your family is really nice,” you said softly. “It’s… been a long time since I’ve been around this many people during the holidays.”

Jake stayed quiet, afraid that if he interrupted, you might stop. He turned slightly toward you, listening.

You swallowed and glanced at the fire. “My mom used to do this,” you continued. “Roast marshmallows with me until my dad came outside and told us we were going to freeze.”

You let out a quiet, almost breathless laugh. “He was always the one who put the tree up too. Super particular about it. Colors had to be balanced, ornaments placed just right. None of us were allowed to touch it once he started.”

You shook your head gently. “But it didn’t matter. It always looked perfect.”

Jake’s chest tightened as he listened, the past tense impossible to miss. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. “They sound like great people.”

You turned to him, a sad smile on your lips. “They were.”

He scooted closer, slow and careful, and reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours the same way he had on the plane. “I’m really sorry,” he said quietly.

You shook your head. “It was a long time ago,” you replied. “But… this time of year still hurts. It opens the wound.”

He nodded, squeezing your hand gently. “I understand. And I’m glad you’re here — even if it brings stuff up.”

You looked down at your joined hands. “I am too. If you hadn’t insisted, I’d be working my shift at the Hard Deck tonight. Then I’d just go home and be alone, lighting up the same candle and thinking of them.”

He hesitated for half a second before teasing crept back into his voice, softer than usual. “What? I thought you had a cat to feed?”

That did it. You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “You’re impossible, Seresin.”

The heaviness eased just a little. Jake didn’t let go of your hand, his gaze lingering on you as you turned back toward the fire, his feelings still sitting there between you — unspoken, waiting.

That night, Jake lay awake in his childhood bedroom, staring at the faint cracks in the ceiling he’d memorized years ago. The house was quiet now, the kind of quiet that settled deep into your bones. Somewhere down the hall, a door creaked softly as it shifted with the cold, and outside the wind moved through the trees like a hush.

His mind, however, was anything but quiet.

It kept circling back to you.

To the way you’d looked sitting by the fire, the glow catching in your eyes. To the way your voice had softened when you spoke about your parents, like the words themselves were fragile things you hadn’t meant to take out into the open. His chest ached at the thought of you spending so many years alone, of holidays reduced to survival instead of celebration. He’d always known you as strong — fierce, sharp-tongued, unafraid to call anyone out on their bullshit, especially him. Seeing the tenderness beneath that armor hadn’t made him think less of you. If anything, it made the feeling settle deeper.

He’d been drawn to you from the moment he first saw you behind the bar at the Hard Deck. You’d slid a beer across the counter without even looking at him while he leaned there, cocky grin in place, fully expecting you to melt like everyone else did. Instead, you’d rolled your eyes and muttered something about Penny warning you that pilots couldn’t keep it in their pants, then turned away to help the next customer.

He’d been hooked immediately.

At first it was a game — flirting, teasing, trying to get a reaction. But somewhere along the way, months in and completely against his will, it stopped being a joke. He stopped noticing other women at the bar. Stopped taking anyone home. The only person he ever tried to flirt with was you, and even then, it felt different. Less like a performance. More like hope.

You never gave him much back. A sarcastic smile here, an eye roll there. And still, he stayed.

Jake Seresin was a lot of things — arrogant, stubborn, infuriating — but he was also patient. And tonight, lying in the room where he’d grown up, listening to the quiet hum of a house full of people he loved, he made himself a quiet promise.

He would wait.

After tonight, after seeing you here, wrapped in his family’s warmth even while carrying so much of your own hurt, he knew one thing for certain: he’d make sure you were never alone again. No matter how long it took. No matter what it cost.

He turned onto his side, a small, determined smile pulling at his lips as sleep finally claimed him — your face the last thing on his mind.

—

The morning came sooner than you expected, sunlight spilling into the living room as Jake’s entire family gathered around the tree. Wrapping paper crinkled and ribbons flew as Emma, Nora, and Lily tore through the pile of gifts with unfiltered excitement, their laughter filling every corner of the house. Jake’s dad hovered nearby with a camera, capturing everything — the chaos, the smiles, the inevitable mess.

You sat beside Jake on the couch, knees almost touching, a fond smile tugging at your lips as you watched the girls. Every now and then, you felt his gaze on you, quick glances he thought you didn’t notice, his smile soft in a way you’d never seen before.

Nora reached for another present, this one smaller than the rest, wrapped neatly in navy blue paper with a little note taped to the top. She held it up proudly. “Uncle Jake,” she announced, “this one’s for you.”

Jake leaned forward and took the box from her hands, pausing the moment he saw the handwriting on the tag. His eyes flicked up to you instantly. You were already looking at him, your hand lifted to your mouth as you tried — and failed — to hide your smile.

“Sneaky,” he murmured, shaking his head as he started to unwrap it.

Inside the box was a polished brass aircraft compass, small enough to fit in his palm, the glass catching the morning light. The kind pilots used to keep close — a reminder of direction, of home. He turned it over slowly, clearly taking it in before lifting his gaze back to you.

“Thank you,” he said, voice sincere.

You shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “I just found it online and thought it fit your… never-ending obsession with planes.”

The blush creeping into your cheeks didn’t go unnoticed, especially not by the Seresin women, who exchanged knowing looks from across the room. Jake smiled and shifted closer to you on the couch, his knee brushing yours as he kept the compass in his hand.

He stayed there until the last gift was opened and the excitement faded into contented exhaustion. Soon enough, his mom and sisters headed into the kitchen, leaving you and Jake behind to gather torn wrapping paper and empty boxes.

While you were distracted, Jake disappeared briefly and returned with a small, rectangular box of his own. He cleared his throat, suddenly nervous as he held it out to you.

“For you,” he said.

Your brows lifted in surprise as you took it from him, carefully opening it. Inside lay a delicate gold necklace, simple and elegant, catching the light in a way that made your breath hitch.

“Jake, this is too much,” you started, but he waved you off immediately.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted.

Before you could argue further, he took the necklace from the box and stepped closer, fastening it around your neck as you lifted your hair out of the way. His fingers brushed the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the closeness heavy and unmistakable.

He said your name softly, eyes flicking between yours and your lips, leaning in just a little closer.

You opened your mouth to speak—

“Uncle Jake!”

Emma, Nora, and Lily burst into the room, calling out for him to come play. You both pulled back at once, the moment breaking as quickly as it had formed, leaving something warm and unresolved hanging in the air between you.

At some point in the afternoon, once the kitchen had been cleaned again and the house settled into a quieter rhythm, you slipped upstairs to shower and get ready for dinner. The door to your room closed softly behind you, and almost immediately, Jake found himself surrounded.

His mom and sisters wasted no time.

“That compass,” one of them said, crossing her arms. “Don’t pretend it didn’t mean something.”

“And the necklace,” another added, nodding toward the staircase. “You think we didn’t notice that?”

Jake groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s Christmas. People exchange gifts.”

They laughed, entirely unconvinced.

“You two looked adorable on the couch,” his oldest sister said, smiling. “All cozy. Like you belonged there.”

His mom sighed dreamily. “Just imagine how cute your babies would be.”

“Mom,” Jake muttered, horrified. “Please stop.”

She only waved him off, unfazed. “I’m just saying.”

His oldest sister leaned closer. “It’s obvious, Jake. You’ve been glued to her side since you walked in the door. You’ve had heart eyes the entire time.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You’re all reading into it. She’s just a friend.”

His middle sister raised an eyebrow. “Sure she is.”

Then she grinned. “Honestly, what better time to confess undying love than Christmas? It’s practically a Hallmark movie.”

Jake groaned again, but his silence said more than his words ever could.

Later on, Jake stepped out of his childhood bedroom, fingers busy with the last button of his dress shirt, his attention fixed on getting it just right. At the same time, you opened the door to your room across the hall, towel-damp hair falling loose around your shoulders, dress soft and carefully chosen. You nearly collided with him.

“Oh—sorry,” you murmured instinctively, already stepping back.

When you looked up, he was staring.

Jake’s hands stilled at his chest. His breath caught so quietly you might’ve missed it if you hadn’t been so close. His gaze dragged over you, slow and reverent, taking in the dress, the way it hugged you, the faint glint of the necklace at your throat. Heat crept into your cheeks before you could stop it. He’d flirted with you a hundred times before—lazy smirks, teasing remarks—but this was different. There was nothing playful in his eyes now. Just softness. Fondness. Something that made your chest tighten.

“You look… beautiful,” he said, voice lower than usual.

You smiled, shy despite yourself. “You clean up okay too.”

That earned you a grin, smaller than his usual one but warmer. “Shall we?” he asked, offering his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You slipped your hand around it, your fingers resting against his sleeve, and together you made your way down the stairs. The house was already full of voices and laughter. Jake pulled your chair out for you at the table, waited until you were settled before taking the seat beside you, close enough that your knees brushed.

Dinner passed easily—plates piled high, glasses refilled, stories traded back and forth. You laughed more than you expected to. Jake leaned in now and then, murmuring context when his sisters launched into stories from his childhood, his shoulder warm against yours. Every so often, you caught him looking at you, and when you did, he didn’t look away.

Somewhere between bites and laughter, something shifted. You realized you hadn’t rolled your eyes at him once. Instead, your pulse jumped every time he leaned closer, every time his knee nudged yours beneath the table, every time his voice dropped just for you.

After dinner, you wandered outside, ignoring the way the cold immediately sank into your skin. The air was sharp enough to sting, but you welcomed it. You leaned back against the wall, tilting your head up, letting your gaze drift across the sky. The stars looked impossibly bright out here, scattered like someone had been careless with glitter.

You heard the backdoor open behind you.

You didn’t need to turn around to know it was him.

Jake stepped outside and closed the door quietly, the sound soft and deliberate. You felt him stop beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned back against the wall the same way you were. When you finally looked over, you noticed the candle and lighter in his hands, the small glass catching what little light there was.

He didn’t say a word. He just flicked the lighter, shielding the flame with his hand until the wick caught. Then he turned and held the candle out to you.

Your breath hitched. Your chest tightened, eyes burning before you could stop it. You took the candle carefully, fingers trembling just a little.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick as you fought the tears.

Jake leaned closer, his voice low, meant only for you. “I don’t ever want you to forget them,” he said gently. “But I never want you to be alone again.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you rested your head against his shoulder, your cheek warm against him as you stared at the small, steady flame in your hands. It danced softly, stubborn and bright.

After a moment, you breathed out a quiet, “I have a feeling you’ll have something to do with that.”

He smiled, the kind that you felt more than saw. “I’ve been trying, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You just make it very hard for me.”

Something shifted then. The air felt heavier, charged. You lifted your head, slowly, until you were only millimeters apart. His breath mingled with yours, warm against the cold night. You smiled, understanding blooming between you.

“Someone has to, Hangman,” you teased softly.

He chuckled under his breath and leaned closer, noses brushing. “Do you believe in Christmas miracles?”

“Depends what you’re wishing for,” you whispered back.

He bumped your nose gently, once, twice, like a secret. “Baby,” he said, voice barely there, “there’s only one thing I’ve been wishing for.”

“And what’s that?” you asked, eyes locked on his.

“For you to let me kiss you.”

Your lips curved into a small, knowing smile. His pupils were blown wide, the green in his eyes almost swallowed whole. He looked at you like you were everything — like you’d hung the moon and the stars and somehow convinced the universe to follow suit.

You didn’t overthink it. You closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in a soft, careful kiss that carried everything neither of you had said. He kissed you back like he’d been waiting for it, like it was something he’d imagined and never quite believed would happen. His body relaxed into yours, warm and sure.

You lifted a hand instinctively, then laughed softly as you remembered the candle still between you.

Pulling back just enough, you giggled. Jake laughed too, leaning in to blow the flame out gently before smiling down at you. “Don’t want you burning down the house,” he said lightly. “Or worse — my hair.”

You rolled your eyes, setting the candle aside before wrapping your arms around his neck. “Now that,” you said, tugging him down toward you, “would be a tragedy.”

You kissed him again, surer this time.

And somewhere deep in your chest, you realized something warm and steady had finally taken root— you’d never be alone for the holidays again.

yourbestfriend who needs cold milan when we have sunny san jose -> (Y/U/N) bffr if mack asked us to go you would've -> _willsmith2 if there were plus one's it would be for ME before YOU -> yourbestfriend me before you? sounds like the movie the two of you were in -> (Y/U/N) no way ur shipping my boyfriend on MY instagram page -> mackcelebrini just to clarify, will is the paralyzed guy, right? -> _willsmith2 kys ❤️ -> (Y/U/N) actually...that's ur job per the movie

(Y/U/N) tagged mackcelebrini and _willsmith2 Liked by _willsmith2, eklund_72 and 78,413 others

(Y/U/N) what the fuck is an elevated cupcake experience? view all 659 comments

_willsmith2 I think it's whatever this is -> mackcelebrini you literally are the one who signed us up? -> _willsmith2 yeah for charity 😊 -> (Y/U/N) after losing to the USA -> mackcelebrini don't remind me -> yourbestfriend that's what the cupcakes are for!

mackcelebrini guys I did the mixing! -> yourbestfriend all ur good for btw -> (Y/U/N) he's good for plenty of others things ;) -> _willsmith2 YUCKKK -> mackcelebrini made with love :) -> willmackcore the cupcakes or (Y/N)? -> mackcelebrini the cupcakes, obviously. I make love to her -> _willsmith2 YUCKKKK x2 -> (Y/U/N) alright no more iPad time for you -> mackcelebrini :(

mackcelebrini tagged (Y/U/N) and _willsmith2 Liked by sanjosesharks, yourbestfriend and 439,557 others

mackcelebrini celebrating silver my own way 🍻 view all 2,924 comments

yourbestfriend (Y/N) feet reveal? -> (Y/U/N) stfu I have socks on -> mackcelebrini only I get to see her feet 😡 -> _willsmith2 yo... -> (Y/U/N) mackie baby that is not how you want it to sound -> mackcelebrini NOT IN A WEIRD WAY -> yourbestfriend I fear there is no "not weird way"

sanjosesharks should we rename the team to the titanic? -> _willsmith2 YES -> mackcelebrini that's an option? -> sanjosesharks no

ilovecelebrini71 does (Y/N) know she's a third wheel in her own relationship? -> (Y/U/N) who do you think took that photo? I stand by my gay husband -> mackcelebrini thanks? I think...

_willsmith2 tagged mackcelebrini and (Y/U/N) Liked by logancooley18, redbullusa and 323,763 others

_willsmith2 guys did we eat with this view all 1,428 comments

yourbestfriend uhhh I think you mean WOULD we eat this and no -> _willsmith2 rude

(Y/U/N) why the fuck did you chose elmo 😭 -> mackcelebrini do not disrespect our lord and savior elmo -> (Y/U/N) are we sure that's even elmo -> _willsmith2 haters gonna hate

redbullusa guys we're scared -> yourbestfriend me too 😀

willsmithhockeyfan have they ever seen elmo? -> mackcelebrini THIS IS SO OBVIOUSLY ELMO??

user284381 this might be what haunts that one hughes guy -> _willsmith2 THEY LOOK GOOD STOP -> (Y/U/N) it probably is -> mackcelebrini that one hughes guys and it's literally quinn hughes

aiden_celebrini is this a threat? -> mackcelebrini no, it's the ELEVATED CUPCAKE EXPERIENCE

(Y/U/N) uploaded an Instagram story!

❤️ _willsmith2 liked your story! ❤️ mackcelebrini liked your story! ❤️ sanjoseshakrs liked your story! ❤️ nhl liked your story!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

nhl

liked by yourusername, mackinnon29, and 1.1M others

nhl @yourusername is our 2024 all star game intermission performer!! and she's gonna be gearing up to coach team mackinnon as their celebrity coach ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

view all 15.8k comments

fan1 this is such a random crossover and i love it

fan2 celebrity coach???

mackinnon29 This is going to be unreal. Welcome!

fan3 imagine being benched by a popstar

yourfriend1 she’s about to make hockey sexy

↳ yourusername @yourfriend1 its been sexy but okay

yourusername i know what offsides is i promise

↳ yourfriend1 @yourusername its true she's a hockey fan

❤️ by nhl

fan4 there is NO way this ends normally

fan5 calling it now she leaves with a hockey player

fan6 i know at least one 20-year-old center is sweating

load more comments

nhl

liked by yourusername, mackinnon29, and 1.8M others

nhl all-star weekend just leveled up ⭐🎤 thank you, @yourusername for an unforgettable performance

view all 17.3k comments

fan1 okay nhl stepping up

fan2 she just converted the nhl

mackinnon29 Arena was LOUD

fan3 this is random but i’m not mad

yourfriend1 SHE RUNS EVERY INDUSTRY ACTUALLY

❤️ by yourusername

yourusername i told you i knew what offsides was.

❤️ by nhl

fan4 someone’s about to get a popstar girlfriend

fan5 if a hockey player fumbles this opportunity i swear

fan6 why does this make so much sense

load more comments

yourusername

liked by _willsmith2, nhl, and 2.4M others

yourusername so…when do i get drafted?

view all 19.8k comments

fan1 she's glowing

fan2 put her on a line immediately

_willsmith2 Been a fan for a while. That was sick.

fan3 didn’t expect to like this but here we are

yourfriend1 mama a toothless man behind you

❤️ by yourusername

fan4 this is such a weird crossover but i love it

fan5 respect

fan6 okay this was actually a good performance

You and Finn had known each other for years. Two awkward tweens when you first met on the set of the first season of Stranger Things, and you’d somehow latched onto each other. That bond only tightened over the years. By the fifth season, ten whole years later, you couldn’t picture your life without his dark and perpetually unruly hair and tall frame draped across your living room couch. There were snacks stolen between takes and clothes migrating from his closet to yours. The comfort of growing up side by side. Best friends was the obvious label. However, the internet had other ideas.

The shipping had started when you were young. You’d always been aware of it, and honestly, you’d found it more funny than anything. (Once, you and Sadie had gone on a deep dive through fanfiction websites with no shame and several shots of tequila. In hindsight, it was one of the best nights of your life. Some people were alarmingly creative.) Still, for reasons completely beyond your comprehension, the intensity of said shipping had skyrocketed in recent months. The onset of season five promo hadn’t helped. Every so often, a TikTok would ambush you, a solemnly narrated analysis of the way Finn looked at you on a red carpet, or the moment you’d collapsed in his arms laughing during an interview. Undeniable proof you’d been married for two years and owned a dog.

Okay, fine. Maybe you did act a little over the top sometimes, but you were both just clingy people. That was just… your thing.

Finn stayed blissfully unaware. You still weren’t sure how someone could be so offline, but one glance at his phone, bereft of social media and needless notifications, told you everything you needed to know. The shipping between was your own little secret (and the rest of the cast and staff, apparently… everyone except his.) You weren’t sure why you kept it that way. You just did.

So it was three in the morning, and yet another edit of you and Finn had crossed your recommended, and tiredness had enough of a hold on you to give you an idea that planted itself as the funniest thing you ever thought of.

After Stranger Things wrapped, it would take an absurd trick of fate for you and Finn to ever land on the same set again. Putting aside the idea twisted your stomach unpleasantly at the thought, the shippers would surely be in mourning, grasping at straws and the last blurry screenshots they could get. You wondered, what better way to thank them for years of unintentional entertainment than to just… fan the flames a little? A simple playful lean into the rumor mill as a send-off?

Honestly, it sounded hilarious.

You’d sent a text to Sadie then. hey, remember the Vanity Fair interview? i’m gonna need us to swap seats during that.

Her reply came fast. what are you plotting, and you could only grin at that.

The day of the interview came. The night before, Finn had slept over like he so often did with his dedicated toothbrush in your bathroom cup and pajamas folded at the end of your bed. It was basically your, plural, apartment. He’d left earlier this morning to get ready, and in his wake he’d forgotten the sweater he’d worn the day before slung over the back of your couch. A sweater you distinctly remembered being photographed on him. Your stylist had not been convinced, but gave up after a bit of verbal wrestling even though she questioned your insistence. You slipped the sweater on, paired it with a nice skirt, and headed off to hair and makeup. 

When you arrived at the interview set, Sadie was already seated beside the spot she’d given to you. She zeroed in on the sweater immediately before she looked up at you with amusement dancing across her face.

“Oh, so you’re really doing this,” she laughed.

You nodded with a self-satisfied smile. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. The rest of the cast filtered in soon after, settling into their seats. Caleb shot you a knowing look. “Nice sweater.”

Finn arrived last and sat down beside you without second thoughts. That is, until he glanced over. You could practically see the gears turning in his head as you did your best to keep in your laugh.

“That’s mine,” he intelligently noticed, leaning closer and running the tip of his fingers against the familiar sleeve in disbelief. “That’s the one I left this morning.”

The touch made you shiver, but you masked it with a composed smile. “It is, actually. My stylist thought it’d go well with the outfit. What do you think?”

Either it was a trick of the light, or his pale complexion flushed a darker red. Lips pursed, he nodded. “It looks good. It suits you. You should—uh—you should borrow my stuff more often. The oversized thing, and all, it’s… it’s nice. Y’know.”

“Guys, focus, please! The cameras are rolling!” 

The bubble burst and both of you snapped out of it as the interviewer launched into her first question.

Two days later, the interview dropped, and you and Sadie cackled like Salem witches sprawled  on her couch as you scrolled through the corner of Twitter dedicated to you and Finn. You tried very hard to ignore the pleasant tug in your chest when someone pointed out how Finn’s gaze seemed fixed on you, and his sweater, the entire time. You quite liked the way he looked at you.

Your little scheme dragged on for a while—months, to be precise, filling the gap between Volume One and Volume Two with ideas you devised during sleepless nights. Sadie contributed when boredom struck her. The next hit was a picture taken at your local coffee shop, one fans had noticed you often went to. Sadie came with you that day, and she just so happened to have a trenchcoat that looked a lot like Finn’s brown one. Like a pair of middle-schoolers, you spent ten minutes arranging her hand just right so it could be his. You posted it to your story with a Beabadoobee song. Subtlety was not the goal. Your notifications blew up right after.

Surprisingly, a reply came from Gaten’s account. whos that lol, the text read. it’s finn btw. i stole gaten’s phone.

You couldn’t help but feel more than a little delighted.

Purely because of the fans’ reactions, of course.

Even though Finn and you had always been touchy, at least with each other, you turned the dial all the way up. In the middle of interviews, you’d lean over to fix his collar or pluck imaginary lint out of his hair. You took an unreasonable amount of pleasure in watching him flush, stumbling all over his words to scroll through the carnage online afterward. According to the internet, you were official now and dropping hints for the fans to pick out.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for Finn deciding to play right back, though.

All of a sudden, he was everywhere in your space. A hand resting casually on your thigh, an arm slung over the back of your chair, his shoulders brushing yours just enough. He started handing you his jackets, teased you more boldly during interviews, his eyes lingered longer… There was the panel incident too, in California, when—

“If I was El,” you’d said into the microphone, emboldened by Millie’s enthusiastic finger-clapping beside you. “I’d totally have broken up with the guy.”

Finn shot you an affronted look while Sadie and Caleb, who shared the panel with you, burst into laughter. He reached over and practically yanked the mic from your hands. “You’re totally exaggerating. Mike’s isn’t that bad, he’s a teenage boy! He’s just confused!”

“All teenage boys are assholes Finn. I’ve been around you wayyyy too much during that part of your life. I’d know.”

“You’re all conspiring against him,” he accused, shaking his head. “That’s what you’re doing.”

“We are not! You’re the one exaggerating now,” you argued back. Sadie leaned forward and cupped her hand around her mouth. “We are!”

Finn turned to you. “Baby, I—”

He couldn’t go any further as the audience erupted into cheers and scandalized oohs. You stumbled over air, your elbow slipping off the armrest and your mouth falling open in shock. Heat rushed up your neck, blooming across your cheeks all the way to the tip of your ears as Finn dropped his gaze, smiling bashfully at the ground. You didn’t miss the quiet laugh he let out when he looked back at you. Mortified, you shot a glance at Sadie, who was wearing the biggest, most unapologetic grin you’d ever seen.

Had she told him about your plan? He would’ve told you… right?

Or did he just want to make this a competition?

Whatever it was, you decided not to let it destabilize you. You swallowed down the blush, placed a hand on his arm as you laughed it off, and pretended you didn’t notice the way Finn’s eyes stayed trained on your fingers.

And it just kept on going. The little touches and comments, the condescending pet names when one of you messed up, or when you’d jokingly fight on set, during events and interviews. What had once been occasional became frequent, so frequent it began bleeding into your private life.

Finn started draping himself over you during movie nights, his arms winding around your waist, his head resting comfortably on your chest while your fingers carded through his hair. You found yourself rummaging through his shirts to wear at home, which he noticed and always complimented your choice. You’d cling to his arm while crossing the street even when you knew there were no paparazzis around. He fixed your hair without asking. You sat next to each other in every interview. The pet names slipped out during breaks on set.

There wasn't anyone to document those domestic instances. And for reasons unknown, you realized you liked it this way. Enjoyed the new pace your relationship with Finn had taken.

Until the wrap-up party.

Ten years of your life. Ten years of care poured into a character sealed shut with the click of a camera. The final day had tasted bittersweet to everyone. Many tears were shed, and your mascara had definitely stained Finn’s sleeve as he held you close. But that could only mean the party, two days after, would be all the more fun—which it was! That was how you all ended up lounging across the floor of Gaten’s apartment, a half-empty bottle of white wine sweating between you. You drank straight from the bottleneck, passing it around in a circle. When the bottle reached Finn, he waved it away, mindful that he was driving you home.

You smiled at him when he handed it to you, holding his gaze as the wine burned sweetly down your throat.

“Man, I’m gonna miss this,” Caleb sighed, staring at the ceiling.

Millie snorted. “It’s not like we’re never going to do this again. We’re not dying.”

“Yeahhhh, but it’s not the same, you know? We were up to so much shit on that set.”

Laughter rippled through the room as memories bubbled up, old and new. You were practically draped against Finn by then, your head near his shoulder as he leaned back against Gaten’s coffee table.

“You’re telling me,” you said fondly.“Remember when Sadie tripped over cables on her first day and fucked up the entire lighting system?”

Sadie gasped in mock outrage, glaring at you while everyone else howled. It took less than two seconds for the group to spiral into recounting every Sadie mishap from the last nine years she’d shared with you. Eventually, she raised her hands, silencing all conversations under amused eyes and pointed directly at you.

“I cannot believe you’re talking all high and mighty,” she started, her eyes gleaming, “when you’ve been doing fan service for the past few months.”

You froze. Behind you, you felt Finn straighten. You shot Sadie a frantic look, slicing a hand through the air in a silent stop, but she only met your gaze with an expression that told you, very clearly, that she knew what she was doing. Or at least, you hoped she did.

“What do you mean?” Finn asked, chuckling nervously.

“Oh, she’s been playing up your friendship because the fanbase has been shipping you two like crazy,” Sadie explained breezily, waving a hand as if she’d been asked about the weather. “It was mostly because we thought it was funny. Also, I gotta say, the fanfictions have really improved since you two started. Huge step up in quality.”

Your stomach was in your feet.

“The fanbase ships us? Together?” Finn asked, incredulous. then turned to you. You had to force yourself to lift your eyes to meet his, but the confusion in them only made you more embarrassed.

“Yeah. Yeah, they do.” You tried to sound as bright as you could as you quickly looked away.

“You didn’t know? Dude, you’re the opposite of chronically online. It’s like you live in a cave,” Gaten laughed, shaking his head. “Reminds me of that whole Sillie thing back in 2019.”

Millie barked out a laugh, brandishing the bottle of white wine. “Oh, that was a fun era.”

The night carried on with the rhythm of stories, but there was now a subtle tension threaded between you and Finn, pulled taut but still refusing to snap. It followed you all the way outside. You’d sobered up by then, the cold night air biting as you tugged your coat tighter around yourself. Finn’s car waited at the curb. You reached for the passenger door handle.

“Hey.”

You turned to see Finn had stopped, his eyes fixed on you.

“Something wrong?” you asked.

He shifted his weight, eyes flicking down and back up again in a shadow of hesitation. “So, all that… you know. The hoodies and the holding hands, that. That was a joke?”

“No,” you said immediately. “It wasn’t—it wasn’t a joke. I just thought it’d be fun to… to kind of pretend that something more was going on for the fans. Give them something, since we won’t really be seen together like this anymore.”

Quieter, you added. “And we won’t be on set together, not like before. If you know what I mean.”

“So you didn’t mean it.”

Confusion twisted your guts as you stared at him. The streetlights cast shadows across his face, blurring his expression far too much for you to make out what it was.

“I don’t know.” You took a deep breath. “Did you want it to mean something?”

A little voice in your chest you didn’t know existed was pleading. Please say yes, please say yes. Finn stepped closer, closing the distance until there was but the smallest space left between your bodies.

“To be honest, I didn’t really know people saw us like that,” he started, burying his hands deeper in the pockets of his jacket. “What I do know, though, was that I had this really stupid crush on you ever since I was, like… twelve. And when you started doing all that, I thought maybe you finally liked me back. Now, I don’t know if you meant any of it, but I—” His lips curved in a nervous smile. “I kinda hope you did.”

Your heart leaped in your chest, as if you’d just jumped off an airplane and your parachute had been delayed. Finn opened his mouth again, probably to backpedal and to reassure you it was fine, that nothing had to change if you didn’t reciprocate, but you didn’t let him. You did reciprocate.

You shut him up before he could speak—grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and kissing him.

His hands found your waist instantly, pulling you closer as he kissed you back, hard and soft all at once. Your arms slid around his neck, fingers tangling in his curls, and you laughed into the kiss when he smiled, which only made him kiss you again, and again, and again.

You finally stopped when your back hit the passenger door, Finn standing in front of you, both a little breathless as you stared at each other with starry eyes.

“And that only took us…. what? Ten years?” you teased.

Finn laughed, dropping his forehead to your shoulder, not forgetting to press a kiss to your neck as he did so. “I’m forever grateful to whoever decided to write fanfictions about us. You have to show them to me now. You’re obligated.”

“And under what obligations?”

“Uh, the fact that I’m literally your boyfriend?”

You chuckled. “Wow. You’re upgrading fast. I can’t believe you—”

He kissed you again, cutting you off, and you forgot whatever you’d been about to say. You liked it better this way.

Your phone buzzed in your jacket pocket, long forgotten, with a text from Sadie you wouldn’t see until the next morning. so are yall together yet me and caleb have a bet going. it’s been nine years.

And a week later, Finn posted on Instagram—not his social media manager, himself, guys! That’s big! It was a grainy film photo of you in his shirt, hair a mess, standing in his kitchen with two coffee mugs and the brightest smile flashed at the camera.

The caption was nothing but a heart.

You must have been the one who made the joke, based on the way everyone is looking towards you as they laugh. You’re grinning widely, and Jack thinks it might be his favorite thing in the world.

You’re beautiful, firstly. There’s something about the glint in your eye as you grin that entirely enchants Jack. It’s also the way you walk with such bright confidence, like your happiness is enough to make even the saddest person grin, which Jack is sure it is.

Second, you’re an Olympian. On top of being beautiful, this also means that you’re the best in the world at whatever it is you do. Jack can’t help but be immediately attracted to your competence and skill. He doesn’t even know what you compete in. You’re not wearing team gear so it’s not even like he could figure it out by looking up the country you’re from.

He watches as Laila and the two people in the yellow jackets peel off from your little group, waving as they go. You and the guy in the Canadian jacket keep walking in Jack and Quinn’s direction.

Speaking of Quinn- “Are you even listening?” Quinn slaps Jack’s shoulder.

Jack turns wildly, shushing his brother harshly and turning back just in time to hear your voice as you and the other guy pass by.

“Elle est tombée pendant le lutz-”

French. Jack can work with that.

“What is wrong with you?” His brother asks, eyebrows stitched in confusion.

Jack turns, “I think I’m in love.”

Quinn blinks, “Okay. Why?”

Jack glances over his shoulder but you and the Canadian guy must have turned a corner or something because you’re both completely gone. He turns back to Quinn, “Did you see her, Quinn? She was the most beautiful girl ever.”

Quinn blinks again, “Jack.”

“No, Quinn, I’m serious!” Jack sighs, smiling just at the lingering thought of you, “She was so pretty, and she’s an olympian, and she was friends with Laila, and I think she was perfect even though I only saw her for ten seconds.”

“Jesus Christ,” Quinn mumbles, holding the door open for Jack and him to walk out into a courtyard.

“I need to find her,” Jack says suddenly, stopping, feet skidding on the frozen ground.

“Okay,” Quinn replies, nodding, eyes very clearly wary of this situation, “Why don’t you just ask Laila?”

Laila. She would know, she was walking with you. That’s easy. The women’s team’s housing was right next to the men’s team and they actually ate dinner next to each other the night before. If that pattern continued, he would just ask her at dinner and find you the next day.

Easy, right?

—

Laila has no idea who you are.

They’re in the cafeteria, their respective teams across the room, huddled around their own tables to eat dinner. Jack is trailing behind Laila in the pasta line.

“Sorry, Jack,” she says kindly, moving down the line to scoop some spaghetti onto her plate, “I didn’t know them. We just happened to be walking the same direction and they were being nice to me.”

Jack sighs, deflating further.

“Sorry again, Jack,” Laila replies, grabbing a breadstick, “Do you know what country she was from? You could probably start there.”

Jack chews at his lip, sliding his empty plate down the counter. He doesn’t blink when Laila notices the plate and scoops some pasta onto his tray. He’ll thank her later but, for now, he’s busy in his thoughts.

“I think she was speaking French.”

It’s a hint. Not much of one, but it carries enough fleeting hope for Jack to tune in and grab a tiramisu from the end of the Italian station as he and Laila both exit the line.

“That’s a start, right?” Laila asks, smiling kindly, “I think she mentioned one of the girls on the French hockey team? They have a game tomorrow, you should go.”

That’s even more of a hint. Men’s hockey doesn’t start for five more days so Jack has nothing but time. He almost hugs Laila from how helpful she’s being. He doesn’t, though.

Instead, he just holds out a hand for a fist bump as he thanks her, “Thanks, Laila. This was really helpful.”

“No problem, dude,” Laila grins, bumping him back, “Good luck!”

Jack laughs, making small chatter as they both walk towards where their two teams are eating. When Jack sits next to Quinn, the older man turns to him with a curious gaze, “You look happy. Laila tell you who your mystery girl is?”

“Nope,” Jack replies, though he’s grinning while he shovels pasta into his mouth, “But we have a lead.”

“Mhm,” Quinn hums, clearly amused.

“On an unrelated note,” Jack says, coming up for air from his pasta, “Do you want to go to a hockey game with me tomorrow?”

—

Jack and Quinn have been at this game for an hour and there’s been no sign of you.

He doesn’t know what he expected, everyone in hockey games has helmets on. There are a couple of women on the ice who vaguely look like you, even from how far away they’re sitting.

It’s the end of the third period now. Earlier in the game, someone from NBC had noticed them and asked if they wanted to talk to the player after the game. Jack was sure it was a part of the NBC “athletes supporting athletes” thing that broadcasters like them loved to do even if for no other reason than to push visibility.

Whatever. Jack doesn’t mind as long as it gets him to find you.

The third period ends and France loses. He gets nauseous while walking to the tunnel. Jack honestly feels really bad that he is inserting himself in this moment of national disappointment. Maybe he should try again another day? This doesn’t feel like the best time.

He’s half-way through turning around to walk back when Quinn shoves him back forward and he hears an accented voice call out.

“The Hughes brothers!”

Jack turns back around with a tight smile, “Hi.”

He had googled the team while he was sitting in the stands. He couldn’t find a solid roster that had pictures but he had memorized a few names and faces. He recognizes the woman standing at the edge of the ice as Estelle Duvin.

“Bonjour,” she smiles, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Jack suddenly panics, freezing too long to answer.

Luckily, Quinn is standing behind him to answer, “We’re actually looking for someone.”

“Ah,” Estelle grins, “I was wondering why American hockey players were at a French game. Who are you looking for?”

Jack logs back in to give her a quick description of you, your image still very much fresh in his mind.

Estelle frowns, glancing behind her at her teammates before turning back to the brothers, “We don’t really have anyone who looks like that. Why did you think she was French?”

Jack deflates at the rejection, sighing, “She was speaking French when she passed by.”

Estelle thinks for a few moments, shifting on her skates, “Do you remember what she said?”

Of course he does. He has been replaying the whole “interaction” in his head over and over since it happened. He knows he’s going to butcher the pronunciation but he says it anyway.

“Elle ay tombay pondont lay lutz.”

Estelle bites back a grin, shaking her head and thinking for a moment, murmuring to herself, “Elle est tombée pendant le lutz.”

“Yeah, that,” Jack mumbles, cheeks turning tomato-red. Quinn snickers from behind.

“It means ‘she fell during the Lutz’”, Estelle translates, looking up at the two brothers, “It is a figure skating term. You should go check there.”

“Thank you!” Jack grins, stepping forward to shake her un-gloved hand, “Good game today!”

“Merci,” Estelle nods, shaking Quinn’s hand as well, “Good luck Hughes brothers. I hope you get beat by France.”

Quinn snorts.

“I hope we don’t!” Jack grins, already ready to sprint to the figure skating complex.

Estelle laughs, “Hope you find your mystery girl.”

“Thank you,” Jack laughs, waving slightly as he turns to leave, Quinn trailing behind.

“Oh-for two,” Quinn says simply as they walk out of the building.

“Shut up,” Jack replies, bouncing slightly on his feet, “We’re close. I can feel it.”

—

For the amount of time Jack has spent in hockey rinks, he is honestly surprised he has never ended up watching figure skating before.

It’s nice, in a way. Jack isn’t sure if knowing what was going on would make it more fun or more stressful.

Once again, he is yet to catch a glimpse of you. It is much easier to tell, though, when nobody is wearing helmets.

The rink is more open than hockey rinks. The ice is cleaner, free of paint and lines. The crowd is more polite, the energy more reserved. More…arrogant. Jack isn’t particularly fond of it.

He’s not sure what event he’s even watching.

It’s a solo women’s event, he knows that much. He figures if you were to be in any event, it would be this one. He keeps glancing up whenever he hears a name that sounds like it might be French but, alas, no sign of you yet.

Macklin Celebrini is on Jack’s left, watching the event with as much confusion as Jack is.

“So,” Mack starts and Jack knows his upcoming question is gonna be a knock-out, “Is the spinny thingy, like……hard?”

Jack blinks, not looking away from the ice, “Yeah, Mack. I think it is.”

“No, like-” Mack continues, sending Jack’s flatness, “I know it’s hard but the crowd gets a lot louder after that one specific spinny thingy.”

Now, Jack doesn’t know much about figure skating. But, after Estelle had told him that the “Lutz” you mentioned was a figure skating term, he had googled it. He has also watched enough videos to recognize it just in case he saw you do it.

“That’s a Lutz,” Jack supplies, his annoyance at how long this event is taking causing him to shift in his stadium seat, “Don’t ask me what it is because I don’t know.”

“Wow,” Mack replies with a small laugh, “You’re googling shit for this girl. That’s commitment.”

“Shut up, Mack,” Jack huffs, standing up from his seat.

This isn’t going to work. He could sit here all day and he might not even catch a glimpse of you because he doesn’t know if you’re competing in this event in the first place.

He’s decently well-known. He’ll walk around and figure something out.

It doesn’t take long for someone to recognize him.

Someone who looked official had noticed him as he approached the bottom of the stands and let him through, Mack trailing vaguely behind, with a nod. That was easy.

He only takes about six steps before someone is calling out his name.

“Jack Hughes?”

Jack spins around, coming face-to-face with who he is pretty sure is Ilia Malinin.

He hopes that that’s who he’s looking at, at least.

He had seen the kid a few times before, seen his face on billboards and ads all across Milan. Seeing him now, though, he’s only 95% sure. His guess is helped by the Team USA jacket stretched across the younger man’s shoulders, though.

“Hi!” Jack replies, still not confident enough to greet him with a name.

“Ilia Malinin,” Ilia introduces himself with a grin, “What is a hockey player doing here?”

“I know who you are,” Jack nods with a smile. He vaguely notices when Mack comes to a stop at his side, “We were actually just looking for someone?”

Ilia cocks his head, eyebrows furrowed, “A figure skater?”

If Jack knows anything, it is how much coverage figure skating gets. He’s sure this interaction is being filmed by one of NBC’s five thousand cameras. He can’t wait to explain this conversation to Brady later.

“Maybe?” Jack replies, scratching abashedly at the back of his neck, “I just saw this girl with some friends walking past and she mentioned some figure skating term so we thought we’d check here.”

Ilia laughs and Jack thinks he wants to die. It seems good-spirited, though, so Jack stops himself from curling into a ball.

“You know who she was with?” Ilia asks after a few moments, glancing around the arena in thought.

“Uh, I’m not sure,” Jack shifts on his feet, “Laila Edwards, but she wasn’t helpful. She was also with a Canadian guy. Dark hair, tall. Then another brunette girl in a green and yellow jacket, and a taller guy with brown hair, a green and yellow jacket and a…uh- a wedding ring, I guess?”

Ilia thinks for a moment, chewing at his lip, his hands on his hips, before he offers, “The last guy could be Scotty James? He’s definitely Australian, kinda tall, recently married?”

“Australian?” Jack asks. This could be helpful.

“Yeah, yeah, definitely,” Ilia nods, “That’s what the green and yellow probably is.”

Jack smiles tightly, “That helps a lot. Thanks, Ilia.”

Ilia nods, smiling as Jack begins to turn away, “Good luck, Hughes! On and off ice!”

“You too, Ilia,” Jack laughs half-heartedly, his smile almost forced as he walks away from the figure skater.

Mack looks wide-eyed at Jack as he begins to walk away, “Where are we going?”

Jack shakes his head, glancing at his friend, “To find the Australians.”

—

The Australian delegation is very…yellow.

Luckily for Jack, the housing in Milan is more individual so it’s not like there’s some big Australian housing building he has to break into to ask around for you. But, there is the issue that it seems pretty difficult to locate all the Australians. He doesn’t even know how many winter athletes Australia has. Not that many, right? It’s hot there. But that fact makes it all that harder to spot them all.

Him and Mack are walking through one of the villages, cold nipping at their faces, eyes searching for any glance of bright yellow. Jack had already accosted one of the poor cross-country skiers who, in fact, did not know where Scotty James was nor of any girl who fit the description Jack had given.

They’re stopping at any sight of bright yellow.

So far, they’ve spotted twelve Swedes, a pair of skis, and one particularly bright golden retriever.

Rarely any Aussies, though.

“You would think they would be easier to find,” Mack offers, shrugging his Canada-clad shoulders, “They’re very loud.”

Jack snorts, despite his aggravation.

His eyes search the snow-laden lodgings, trailing past the multitude of Americans and Canadians and Swiss people that cover the space.

Suddenly, Jack spots a swath of yellow that he deduces must be Australians. There’s pep in his step as he bounds over to the group. He practically abandons Mack in his haste.

Luckily, the athletes look up when the two large dumb hockey players practically jog up to them. Jack spots the Australian logo on their jackets.Thank god.

“Hello?” Even confused, Jack has never been more grateful to hear the Australian accent.

“Hi!” Jack says cheerfully.

The Australian in front, a tall man with brown hair, tilts his head, “How can we help you, mate?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jack realizes he hadn’t supplied any information since he walked up, “We were trying to find someone.”

“Well, first off,” the brunette guy laughs, “My name’s James. What’s you guys’s?”

“Jack,” Jack replies, face burning at his forwardness, “This is Mack.”

He sees Mack wave politely out of his periphery.

“Right, well,” James chuckles again, “Jack & Mack, who are you looking for?”

“This girl,” Jack supplies, jumping right in, “She was walking with Scotty James? We figured this was the best place to go?”

“Scotty?” James asks, eyebrows furrowed, “Where’d you run into him?”

“Over by where we’re staying,” Jack replies, preparing himself for the disappointment of this conversation, “Taller, brown hair, wedding ring?”

James shrugs, “Yeah, that was probably Scotty. Who was the girl?”

Jack gives a quick description of you. He gets more and more down as he continues to describe you and the Australians in front of him look less and less knowing.

“We’ve not got too many athletes here and there isn’t anyone like that,” James says once Jack is done describing you, “Sorry, mate.”

Jack visibly deflates.

James continues, “Half the village walks with Scotty. He talks to everyone.”

Jack finds himself waiting for something. Another clue. Another little hint on this wild goose chase they had been on. But nothing comes.

Mack pats a hand down on Jack’s shoulder. It brings little comfort.

“Alright, thanks guys,” Jack sighs, waving slightly at the Australians, “Good luck this week.”

There’s a chorus of, “Good luck JackMack,” back from the Australians. Not even the name-themed word-play is enough to cure Jack’s hurt.

He turns away, dragging his feet across the snow that had melted into slush from all the people walking over it.

Mack trails slightly behind him, “It’s okay, Jack. I’m sure you’ll find her.”

Jack shakes his head, sighing, “It’s no use. I can’t look forever.”

They walk quietly back to the US lodgings, the silence melting away when Mack starts talking about hockey.

Ultimately, Jack isn’t any closer to finding you. He knows nothing that he didn’t before.

He does know one thing, though.

He has to give up. He’ll never find you.

—

Jack is tired.

Ultimately, he had been to twelve sports, searched through athletes from twenty-three countries, and accidentally started some pasta-fueled hatred between himself and the Swiss bobsledding team…long story.

Now, he’s laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling of his room and day-dreaming about a universe where he had enough confidence to talk to you the first time he saw you. Or, at least, a universe where he had figured out your name and he could quell his curiosity by getting to look you up.

He’s wallowing in his own self-pity when there’s a knock at his door.

“Who is it?” he groans out, rolling over to go face-first into the mattress.

The door opens and Jack knows who it is immediately because there’s only one other person who can open his door.

“Me and some of the other guys are going to go watch Sidney Crosby’s friend compete. You should come if you want.”

Jack turns his head, blinking his eyes open to stare blankly at his brother. He doesn’t want to go. Quinn knows this. He knows Quinn knows this.

Quinn rolls his eyes, reading through Jack’s silence. He steps in, closing the door behind him, “You’re gonna come. Because it’s a fun thing to do and you can’t spend your whole time at the Olympics wallowing over a girl you saw for ten seconds.”

Jack turns his face back to the mattress, “She was the one, Quinn.”

“I’m sure she was,” Quinn replies. Jack feels the end of the mattress dip, “But you’re not gonna find her wallowing in here. Come have fun. The Olympics only come once every four years.”

Jack groans, rolling over onto his back with a thump.

He thinks for a few moments, staring up at the ceiling that he had memorized during his wallowing.

He doesn’t want to go.

But Quinn wants him to go. He doesn’t want to disappoint Quinn and his older brother has always had a pretty good track record on being right about things so Jack is pretty sure he should take his advice on this too.

“Fine,” Jack mumbles into the air. He doesn’t have to look to know Quinn is grinning.

“Get ready,” Quinn says, throwing some random hoodie at Jack’s face, “Dress for snow.”

Jack deflates the second Quinn is out the door.

—

The snow is cold.

Jack knows that this is always true but it is still the first thing he notices after the trek up to whatever event they’re at. He still doesn’t know. He hasn’t asked.

Speaking of, “What event is this?” Jack turns to Quinn with a confused glance.

“Uh,” Quinn begins, tongue darting out to wet his lips, dry from the cold air, “Women’s snowboarding. Halfpipe, I think.”

“Oh, cool,” Jack replies. He had already been to a snowboarding event this week in his attempt to find you. Slopestyle, he’s pretty sure it was called.

“Yeah, it’s cool,” Quinn replies, glancing around and waving when he spots the other hockey players huddled around, “The men are competing tomorrow. Scotty James is the gold medal favorite.”

Jack knows that name.

“Scotty James?” Jack asks.

“Yeah,” Quinn replies, “The snowboarder.”

Jack knows who he is. Not that this was his event, but whatever. He lets it go as they reach the other guys, Jack immediately going back to his reserved demeanor, not fully into the overly-excited demeanor exuding from the other players.

The event is interesting, at least.

It’s his favorite of the sports he had dragged himself to over the past week in his futile attempts to find you.

Great, now he’s thinking of you and he’s even more annoyed than he was before.

He watches vaguely as the snowboarders go one-by-one, doing impressive tricks and twists in the air down the halfpipe. Jack thinks he’d break an ankle if he even attempted to go down the hill to begin with, no tricks involved.

Snowboarders pass by, scores racking up, fans cheering along.

Though, Jack can tell there’s a barely-contained energy thrumming in the crowd. Jack isn’t sure what it is. He wants to know, though. It’s electrifying even from the outside.

Towards what Jack assumes is the end of the event, he notices Sidney turning around and saying something to the other guys. He’s too far away to hear so he leans closer, uncrossing his arms.

“This is her!” Sidney is laughing, gesturing toward the top of the hill.

Jack glances up.

They had arrived at the event half-way through, though Sidney had already been there when they got here.

Even then, he had seen this snowboarder ride once before, earlier. He had been too deep in his stupor to really pay attention at the time, though.

But, as soon as she steps up to the top of the halfpipe, the energy in the crowd shifts.

It feels like the start of a powerplay. When everyone in the buildings knows that this is a chance for greatness. Like something is about to change, and everyone can tell. It’s a barely-constrained thrum, intense like a racing heartbeat, electrifying the very bones of the mountain they’re standing on. It’s making Jack nervous.

If the air wasn’t so thin up here, Jack would probably be trying to take deeper breaths than usual. He can barely breathe to begin with, though, so the elevation isn’t helping.

“Our last rider, dropping in-”

Jack can see her grin even from where he’s standing. It’s all bright white teeth and smile lines and the energy of someone who lights up every room they’re in.

“Representing Canada,” the announcers are continuing, Jack flinches when they say her name, “Currently sitting in second place. Our last run of the day. For gold.”

Jack glances sideways, noticing the Canadian flags waving through the crowd and the bright grin on Sidney’s face.

Jack looks back to the snowboarder, watching her strap in, her coach brushing some snow off the edge of her board.

Jack can vaguely hear the intercom say something that she nods to. There’s a quiet countdown.

Upon hearing the countdown, Jack realizes how quiet the crowd had gotten. Maybe it’s bated breath, maybe it’s out of respect, maybe out of reverence, Jack isn’t sure.

Then, she drops.

Jack is underwhelmed for a split-second but is quickly wide-eyed as the snowboarder rides up the side of the wall, hanging in the air in an almost gravity-defying way before she flips sideways twice, coming back down the wall with a spray of snow.

The crowd reacts accordingly.

The wall of quiet is broken after her first trick and the crowd is now loud and cheering, Sidney seeming the most rambunctious of the cheerleaders.

She rides up the wall again, shifting her legs in a way that is more coordinated than Jack has ever been. This time, she spins again. Jack has never been the best at counting but he knows it’s somewhere between two and three rotations, her hand moving to grab the board through the move, coming back down cleanly once again.

It’s amazing how the crowd seems to breathe with the movement of her board. Up and down. In and out.

Jack watches the next trick with rapt attention. He’s waiting for the spin. It doesn’t come. Instead, she flies high, higher above the lip of the halfpipe than he’d seen anyone go all day. She reaches for the board, almost horizontal with the slope, before she tucks back in and rides cleanly back down the wall, barely even moving the snow beneath her as she does so.

Jack isn’t very well-versed in snowboarding lingo but he’s pretty sure you do a similar trick to the first one, just facing the opposite direction. Apparently, the crowd is impressed so Jack finds himself cheering along.

This energy continues through the next two moves, where she spins for what Jack counts as three full rotations twice in a row consecutively. Sidney is shouting something about “triple corks.” Jack is just happy to be there.

The energy wells and Jack can tell this is the last move.

He watches, eyes glued, as she rides up the wall for the last time, flying into the air like a soaring eagle. Though, Jack reckons that isn’t the best metaphor to use for a Canadian.

She soars, turning and flipping completely upside down, rotating as she does. Jack doesn’t think he’s ever been so impressed by someone. Jack doesn’t breathe for a few moments.

Then, her board touches back down and the crowd cheers wildly. Nailing your routine as a gold-medal favorite tends to do that, Jack presumes.

Now, Jack isn’t well-versed in snowboarding but he’s pretty sure that that was pretty damn impressive. He’s impressed, at least.

She continues through the pipe exit, cheering with her hands in the air, sliding through what Jack had figured was the slow-down zone, her board gradually coming to a stop. She’s immediately swarmed by coaches, friends, fans, teammates. Jack is pretty sure he spots Scotty James, and was that Ilia Malinin?

Losing her in the crowd, Jack turns back to see the guys cheering along with Sidney at the conclusion of his friend’s run. Despite himself, Jack grins at their unadulterated joy.

Jack glances back when the screen lights up, the snowboarder from before coming into view. The camera pans over from where Scotty James had been standing just off screen, the camera focusing just on you instead. She’s staring up at the scoreboard. Though, Jack can’t see her eyes past the helmet she still has on.

The broadcasters are discussing the run, speculating on her score, though Jack isn’t listening. He’s watching her.

“Score coming in…”

A moment of quiet. Of waiting.

The score flashes on screen.

97.27

Gold.

Her name and the Canadian flag slot into the scoreboard in first place, just ahead of Chloe Kim.

The crowd reacts immediately. Canadian flags wave, cheers echoing at the unchallenged first place. The final run. The gold medal.

She’s cheering, obviously screaming, grin bright.

Jack doesn’t have time to think about why that grin is familiar before she’s pulling her goggles up and Jack feels like he’s been punched in the stomach.

It’s her. It’s you.

The girl from the hallway. The girl he had spent all of his time in Milan searching for, smiling brightly on the big screen, lighting up the entire mountain like he figured your smile could.

When he couldn't find you, he figured you were just some girl he would never see again.

But no, you’re not some girl. You’re the best snowboarder in the world. A gold-medal champion. Someone Jack is 100% sure he is going to fall in love with, if he hasn’t already.

He’s so fucked.

His heart is racing so fast that he doesn’t even process Quinn patting him on the shoulders.

“You saw her too, right?” Quinn asks with a grin, having to shout over the crowd noise.

Jack just nods passively, his breath caught and his eyes wide.

He doesn’t have time to log back in before Sidney is shouting from a few yards away.

“Make way! Make way! Champion coming through!”

“Shut up, Sid!” You’re laughing loudly. Jack hears it clearly through the noise, like it was a special pitch only he could hear. He wishes it was.

He finally looks in your direction, eyes landing on you, helmet off, jacket unzipped, Canadian flag wrapped around your shoulders. You’re grinning. Jack could melt. He thinks he probably would if it weren’t for his being on the side of a snow-covered mountain.

Jack can do nothing but watch as Sidney introduces you to the players he had brought along, the hockey players treating you just like another bro, clapping your shoulder or giving you a “bro-hug.”

Jack almost dreads the moment where Sid gets to him, you in tow. He’s almost too nervous to notice that Ilia Malinin, Laila Edwards, Estelle Duvin, and James Johnstone (who Jack had googled upon leaving the Australian delegation), among other athletes from various sports and countries had been intermingled in the crowd, cheering you on as you walked.

Sid’s endless goofing around comes to a pause when he reaches the spot where Jack and Quinn are standing, Quinn with his hands on his brothers shoulders as well as a shit-eating grin plastered over his smug face.

“Jack, Quinn,” Sidney starts, gesturing between you and the brothers, “This is my friend, Yn. Yn, these are the Hughes brothers. American hockey players.”

“I know about the NHL, Sid,” you laugh brightly and Jack is entranced, “I know the Hughes brothers.”

You know him. You. Know him. He’s gonna throw up.

When you finally turn your gaze to latch onto Jack’s, there’s something more than recognition in your eyes. Seeing someone on tv and seeing them in person must be a very disconnected thing, if the glee in your eyes is anything to go off of. You’re not looking at him like someone you’ve seen on the TV. No, you’re looking at him with a small smirk and a twinkle in your eyes, like you’re sharing a secret only you and him are in on.

Which, in some ways, he guesses is true. Well, just the two of you and athletes from twelve sports, twenty-three countries and half of Milan, including his brother, Macklin, and Brady Tkachuk, oddly enough, but who’s counting, really?

You’re certainly not as you let out a small chuckle upon seeing him, “You’re the guy from the hallway!”

Oh god. He really is going to die now.

“Yeah,” he laughs awkwardly, trying to cover up the embarrassment on his face, “I guess I am.”

Sidney seems to be loving this, if the unbridled excitement on his face is anything to go by. Jack is sure Quinn has a similar look on his face behind him.

“I heard you were looking for me?” You laugh, but it doesn’t feel like you’re making fun of him. Instead, it feels like you’re laughing with him, a feeling he wasn’t particularly used to while being a younger player in a professional sport.

“Yeah, yeah, I was,” Jack’s eyes trail to the mix of athletes and countries over your shoulder, “I mean, I asked all of them but they said they didn’t know who you were.”

You glance briefly behind you to see who Jack is gesturing at.

For the few seconds you’re not looking at him, Jack finds himself missing the pressure of being watched for the first time.

“They didn’t know me before,” you shrug, smiling widely, “But I’m pretty good at making new friends.”

Jack is sure that’s true. Who wouldn’t want to be around you? Your energy is like a magnetic sun, pulling people in and brightening every particle of them.

“I can tell,” and he means it. He can tell. The words roll off his tongue smoothly, like he doesn’t have to think much about them. It just feels natural to talk to you, despite his nerves.

You cock your head, grinning. Sidney is making faces at Quinn over Jack’s shoulder.

“Are you gonna be my new friend, Jack Hughes?” You ask, looking like Jack imagines a siren would look, if sirens lived and snowboarded on mountains and lured defenseless hockey players into their clutches.

Jack doesn’t know what possesses him to say his next words. Probably you, based on how much he had felt out-of-his-body since you’d walked over.

“Hopefully more than that.”

Sidney Crosby has never grinned so wide. Him and Quinn are immediately fanning the fire, laughing and wooping at Jack’s attempt at flirting.

He’s going to kill them both.

Now, Jack is laser-focused on you and your reaction.

Luckily, you smirk.

“You’re off to a good start,” you wink, picking up your board from where you had dropped it on the ground, “I’ve gotta go kiss some more asses and shake some more hands.”

You turn, pressing a kiss to Sidney’s cheek, the gesture clearly familiar and broken-in, something you had done a ton of times before, “Bye, penguin.”

Sid smiles warmly, “Bye, fishy.”

Jack doesn't question the nickname. He’s just trying to savor every moment of you standing in front of him before you’re gone.

When you turn to say bye to the brothers, it’s clear that Quinn thinks that you’re going to go for the handshake but you’re still wearing gloves and you don’t seem like the shy type, so you hug the older brother instead.

Quinn, usually the more reserved and awkward one, just laughs and hugs you back. Your energy is infectious like that.

Jack lifts his arm like you’re going to hug him. You don’t.

He’d be offended if you didn’t lean in to kiss him on the cheek.

“Bye, Jacky,” you pull away slightly, looking at him through your lashes with a grin, “Come find me before dinner. I’d love to discuss your adventures over some American food.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, stupidly, “I will. Promise.”

“Cool,” you nod, pleased.

You lean back to stand flatly on your feet, boots crunching against the snow. You wave slightly at the men around you, moving away to talk to someone else. Jack watches you go. He recognizes Scotty James again. He seems much easier to find than he had been a day ago. Whatever, Jack had finally got to talk to you. And you had talked back. And kissed his cheek. And offered to eat dinner with him.

Jack is so lost in his thoughts about you that he forgets to turn back around. He’s sure he’s staring after you with a dopey expression, based on the way Quinn laughs as he moves back to stand at Jack’s side.

“You’re totally gone,” Quinn says simply.

Jack watches you laugh at something Chloe Kim says, your face lighting up.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low and laced with wonder, “I am.”

He doesn’t mind, though. Not one bit. Not when him being gone means he’s gone for you.

Later that night, he’ll watch your medal ceremony while standing next to Sidney Crosby and Ilia Malinin. Then, he’ll walk you back and discuss the Swiss-bobsledding pasta incident with you over burgers while you both ignore the lingering stares of American hockey players and Canadian snowboarders.

You’ll go to all his games. You’ll kiss him after they win the final. You’ll wear your gold medals with hoodies and sweatpants, giggling like little kids.