ligaya’t luha

Anthony’s hand connects with the wooden door of your apartment, knocking in gentle but rapid succession.

Again.

And you still aren’t answering.

That was reason enough for Anthony to realize that his concerns might have some level of truth to them. That he wasn’t overreacting. There had been a nagging feeling that something was wrong forming in the back of his mind for a few days now.

Even though he was busy – with both the continued efforts to meld with his new team and the end of the regular season – he wasn’t blind his best friend pulling away. It had started small; the circles under your eyes growing darker, which turned into absences from his games, which then turned into shorter and shorter text messages shared. It wasn’t until you didn’t respond to Washington’s playoff-clinching win that the quiet nag gave way to genuine fear.

From an outsider perspective, the lack of congratulations being the catalyst for Anthony standing outside your apartment might have seemed selfish; like he was upset that you weren’t giving him enough attention. But if those outsiders really knew the relationship you two shared, they’d understand. The two of you always celebrated each other’s accomplishments. It was one of the foundations of your friendship.

He was the biggest supporter at your college graduation back in New York. You screamed with joy over the phone when he told you he was traded to Washington, happy to share a city with your best friend since his departure from Long Island. That was why the radio silence from you led him here.

He knocks again, hoping that maybe this is the time you’ll answer. Fifth times the charm, right?

From the gap under the door, he can hear muffled voices on the other side, but none of them have your clear cadence – a sound Anthony memorized ages ago. Which meant the noise was most likely the TV. You never left the television on when you weren’t home so, you had to be in there. But there is still no response.

The nerves that had been steadily growing over the weeks finally reach their peak as Anthony reaches into his pocket, pulling out his keyring. He flips through the collection of metal until he finds the spare key you had given him for emergencies – something he’s had since he first stepped foot in DC. He holds the key between his fingers, hesitating for a moment, wondering if this situation really constituted as enough of an emergency to warrant entering your apartment without permission. But he rationalizes that this utter lack of communication – something he never experienced in the nine years of friendship you shared – was enough.

The key is inserted into the lock, the doorknob now turning with ease and Tito enters your studio apartment.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the space, your shades are closed tightly, blocking out the afternoon sun. The only solid light in the room came from the glow of the laptop screen perched on your nightstand. The voices that he had heard previously were indeed coming from the device, currently playing a series that he knew you had seen a thousand times. Once his eyes get used to the darkness, Anthony’s gaze rakes over the room, attempting to locate you. Waiting to see if you are indeed at home or if he was about to be the biggest idiot in the world. But his eyes finally land on your bed, noticing the texture of your hair peeking over the covers, and when he wanders over for a closer look, he notices the way your body rises and falls with your gentle breathing.

Anthony can’t stop the small smile that plays at his lips when his eyes find your face, nestled against your pillow. Your hair is disheveled, most likely tangled, some of the strands obscuring your features but apart from that you seemed fine. Anthony let that knowledge flow through him, relaxing his body.

You were okay.

You were, however, still asleep in bed at almost 2pm on a Wednesday, which caused a little bit of concern to linger in his body. Finally, Anthony’s eyes tear away from your sleeping form and return to glance around your apartment, fully taking in the space.

It was a disaster. Anthony knew that you were not a neat-freak by any means but this… it was worse than he had ever seen it. Dirty clothes piled on your couch and scattered around the floor, trash on multiple surfaces: your coffee table, your mantle, your bookshelf. Curiosity and worry continue to pull at him as he walks towards the kitchen and when he peeks inside, he sees your small trash overflowing, a pile of take-out bags sitting next to it, before his eyes connect with the sink and the counter next to it, filled with dirty dishes.

Tito can feel his eyebrows furrow, body turning to once again take in your sleeping form. You look peaceful, deep in slumber. Anthony’s gaze rakes over you, the rumpled sheets, and your nightstand. That’s when he spots the pill bottle. His heartrate increases as his hand reaches for the container, fearing the worse. The relief that he feels when he sees that it is just melatonin boosters is incomparable.

But the presence of sleep aids causes more questions to form in Anthony’s head. You were the type of person that could fall asleep anywhere, so much so that it became a recurring inside joke between the two of you. You never needed help sleeping so why did you need it now?

Anthony’s eyes dart around the room again, taking in the disarray.

You were in a bad place. He didn’t know why or what caused it. But that was what all the clues lead him to believe. You were going through something, something that caused you to disappear into your apartment, into your bed, into the reprieve of slumber.

You needed help. You’d never admit it, a personality trait Anthony noticed when your friendship first began, a trait that he instinctively knew could turn destructive. But he never thought it could lead to this.

You needed someone. You needed a friend.

And here he was.

Anthony sets down the bottle, his eyes glancing over you, a pang appearing in his heart at your distress. He wanted to take care of you. He would take care of you. It’s all he could do.

He leans in, pressing his lips against the crown of your head in a gentle kiss before he steps back, figuratively rolling up his sleeves before getting to work.

You are awoken by the sound of running water.

The initial instinct that moves through your body is to just bury yourself deeper in the sheets. Part of you nags that the sound could mean a leak in the kitchen or bathroom. Just your luck if it was. Another thing piled on top of literally everything else.

You’ve had rough patches before – you wouldn’t deny it. But this one… this one felt worse than all the others combined. Finances, career, friends, relationships. Every aspect of your life seemed as if it was imploding. Granted, you knew that you held the blame for some of those things – you shouldn’t have bought so much take-out, you should’ve been more proactive in finding a job you actually enjoyed, you shouldn’t have pulled away from your friends no matter how shitty you felt. But it was difficult.

You wanted to relax but how could you when the problems would still be there the next day? You wanted to clean and cook but how could you when every day you came home, your energy was completely drained?

It felt like a never-ending deluge of awfulness. And now, water was running somewhere in your apartment.

With a groan, you lift your body upright, hands pressing against your face as you prepare for the worst. But when your eyes open and your gaze darts around the space, the first thought that passes through your mind is that you must still be dreaming. Because your apartment – something that once looked like the wreckage of a tornado – looked… better.

It wasn’t perfect but the trash was gone, the pillows on your couch and knick-knacks on your shelves a little neater. And once your mind fully comes to, you can still hear water running but underneath the sound was the clink and clang of metal and ceramic.

Your gingerly remove yourself from the bed, your hands keeping a hold of one of your blankets. You wrap the fabric around your body for a sense of security as you gingerly walk through the threshold of your kitchen. Your eyes first notice the absence of trash once again before connecting with the tall frame of someone standing in front of your sink. The panic of a random man in your apartment never has a chance to fully sink in, recognizing the chocolate curls of your best friend Anthony with a quickness that could only be contributed to your long friendship. A sigh escapes you, thankful that some weirdo didn’t break into your house to clean… but it was still odd that Anthony was here.

You aren’t sure if he heard your soft sigh or if Tito just managed to sense your presence because his head turns to look behind him, his eyes meeting yours. You watch the small smile tug at his lips before his voice sounds out over the running faucet.

“Go back to sleep. I’m almost done.”

Your only response is a nod as you turn around. You aren’t sure if it’s just what your body automatically wanted to do or if you were in such a fugue state that you couldn’t help but comply or if you were actually still dreaming. Whatever it was, you do end up returning to your bed.

You don’t follow Anthony’s orders completely, however. Instead of burying yourself into your sheets and falling back asleep, you sit on top of the mattress, blanket still around your shoulders and eyes still glued to the kitchen entrance. Waiting for Tito to come back or waiting for this entire thing to dissipate, confirming that you were indeed dreaming.

Turns out the first possibility prevails, Anthony appearing in the doorway, wiping his hands on one of your towels. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even acknowledge you sitting there bewildered. Instead, he walks straight to your closet, fishing out your overflowing laundry bag and lugging it over. He stands at the foot of your bed, hands fishing out bunches of clothes and placing them on the mattress.

“I was doing to do this first but I know you’re particular about your clothes so I decided to wait until you were awake so you could help,” he explains as cooly and as casually as if he were discussing the weather.

“Tito,” you say, your voice not as sharp as you wanted but perhaps the mere sound of it was enough for him to pause and look up at you. “What are you doing?”

The jovial grin tugs at his lips before he returns his attention to the pile of dirty clothes.

“I told you: we’re doing laundry. These don’t get dried, right?” he asks, holding up a pair of your leggings.

“Anthony,” you say again, using his actual name instead of his nickname, indicating both your confusion and your seriousness. “What is going on?”

“I was worried about you,” he replies with a shrug, as if it wasn’t a big deal but you can hear the genuine concern lacing his words. “Came in using the key you gave me just to check on you – sorry about that by the way – but then I saw this and figured you needed help. So, here I am helping.”

The flood of emotions that hit you was far too much and far too conflicting for you to fully register with the haze of sleep and the cloud of confusion still hanging over you.

You felt happy to see him after a long period of no contact. You felt guilty that you made him worry that much about you that he felt he had to check on you. You were peeved that he felt so comfortable waltzing into your apartment and rummaging through your things. You were grateful that he was willing to do all this for you. You were mortified that he was seeing you at such a low point.

Anthony doesn’t seem to notice the storm of warring emotions within you. Instead, he just continues to lift clothes out of your laundry basket – some of which you recognize had been laying on your sofa previously – until a practical mountain forms at the end of your bed. The sight of it makes another pang of shame surge through you, your body scooting forward as you reach out to grab Anthony’s wrist, temporarily halting his movements.

“You don’t have to,” you say, trying to keep your voice casual even though you can feel the heat flooding your cheeks. Anthony just playfully flicks your hand off him, his hands reburying themselves in the pile of laundry.

“Of course I do. What else are friends for?”

“Ugh, this is so embarrassing,” you mumble, your head finding a place in your upturned palms.

“Why?” Tito teases. “Do you have a little lacy number in here that you don’t want me seeing?”

His quip – a quintessential bedrock in the foundation of your friendship – makes you lift your head to connect your eyes back to his, a wry smile on your face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The bright smile that twists onto Anthony’s lips makes your heart soar, happy to see him so happy. Happy in yourself that you had managed to dig out a little playfulness from the abysmal black hole that had currently taken up residence in your life.

However, the joy is short-lived when your eyes dart back to the pile of dirty clothes – a reminder of just how bad it had gotten. And at the fact that Anthony was almost elbow deep in the mess.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just… this – it’s so… I don’t know. Embarrassing!” you attempt again, still not quite able to succinctly put your emotions into comprehensible words.

“Really?” Anthony asks, one of his eyebrows raising. “More embarrassing than the time you got food poisoning in Vancouver and I held back your hair as you puked your guts out at 2am? Or that one time your bikini bottoms got launched from your body when you failed at wakeboarding? Or the time, in Nashville when we went to that karaoke bar and - ”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you cut him off, a hand lifting to cover your face. In annoyance or embarrassment, you weren’t quite sure.

Anthony stops his rummaging for a moment, reaching out to grasp your hand, pulling it away so your eyes reconnect with his. You can see the care expressed so clearly on his face, his eyes soft and a gentle smile on his lips.

“Hey, it’s alright. We’ve both seen each other in much more embarrassing situations than this one, yeah?”

You nod your head in agreement, the memories of nine years of friendship flipping through your mind like an old film reel.

“I just want to help. That’s why I’m here,” Anthony continues, hand still holding yours. “But if you’d like me to leave, I’ll respect that.”

You let yourself sit with his offer. You allow all the emotions to run through you, trying to organize and catalogue them. There was still a hefty amount of guilt and chagrin that existed within you; at both yourself for letting it get this bad and for dragging Anthony into your disaster. But above all of that, there was a stronger sense of relief and appreciation. Relief at having someone who cared for you so deeply that they took the time to check on you. Appreciation that Anthony was here wanting to help you – that he wasn’t doing this out of some sense of obligation or anything like that.

This was just Anthony – your Anthony – proving to you yet again why you were best friends.

The soft squeeze of his calloused hand around yours, him patiently waiting for your answer, is the final nail in the coffin, your eyes darting up to meet his. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you playfully shrug your shoulders.

“I guess you can stay,” you mumble, the hint of a chirp in the words letting Anthony know you were being serious and not just resigning yourself to whatever fate he had planned. A grin appears on his face, giving your hand another squeeze before releasing his hold on you, turning his attention back to the laundry piled between the two of you.

“Awesome. Now help me organize this stuff.”

You roll your eyes at his playful demand before helping him sort your clothes into two piles of ‘can go in the dryer’ and ‘has to air dry.’ It goes quickly with two pairs of hands helping sort through the mess. Anthony shoos you off as soon as the laundry is sorted, saying he found your detergent when he was looking for your dish soap. You let him lug the clothes back into the kitchen where your machine was located and you finally find the strength to unfurl yourself from the bed.

You arms lift over your head, stretching your body as you fully observe your apartment. Anthony did a damn good job. Some of your knick-knacks were a little askew and the blankets thrown over your couch were haphazardly folded but it looked miles better than it did before. It truly felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders.

The sound of your washer rumbling to life draws your attention back to the kitchen doorway, seeing Anthony step back into your main room.

“Alright, now that that’s started, you can… I don’t know. Sleep some more if you want? Take a shower? Help me clean some more?”

“What else do you have left to do?” you question, looking around. He already did the heavy lifting with the dishes and laundry. Plus, the trash was taken out and surfaces were picked up.

“Thought about wiping down your counters and tables. Changing your sheets if you aren’t using them anymore. Stuff like that.”

“Tito,” you sigh, shaking your head. “You’ve already done so much.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to be,” Anthony replies, shrugging off your dismissal.

“Do you even know how to use a bottle of Clorox?”

The tease comes easily from your lips and makes Anthony laugh, his eyes playfully rolling at your insinuation.

“I haven’t lived like a bachelor for seven years without learning how to do basic cleaning tasks, you know?”

“Whatever you say, Tito,” you hum, another chuckle coming from your best friend. You take a deep breath, your hand lifting to comb through your hair. The movement is halted by your fingers catching tangles, a small grimace crossing your face at both that and the oily feeling of buildup that had now transferred from your strands to your fingers.

“Now that I think about it, I really do need a shower.” You turn to face Anthony, your head cocked to the side in an expression of resignation. “You know where the cleaner and rags are?”

“Same place as your detergent.”

“And replacement sheets?”

“Top shelf of your closet.”

You nod your head, turning to walk to the bathroom before you are halted by Tito’s voice ringing out.

“I’ll take everything off your body.”

Your body spins back to face him, your eyebrows furrowed even as the playful grin twists your lips.

“I’m flattered Tito but I don’t think we have that kind of friendship.”

The confusion passes over Anthony’s expression and you can practically see the gears turning as he processes your response and recalls his previous words. The potential innuendo hits him suddenly, his cheeks flushing making you let out a cackle – the first genuine unfiltered laugh that had escaped you in what felt like ages.

“I meant for the laundry. Like, you can throw them out here before you get in the shower so I can add them to the next load,” he mumbles, the embarrassment still clearly flowing through his body. You just let out another soft chuckle before resuming your path towards the bathroom.

“If you wanted to see me naked that bad, Tito, you should just ask,” you call out to him, closing the bathroom door before he has a chance to respond.

It takes for the sound of the shower starting to snap Anthony out of whatever trance he found himself stuck in. He was still 100% embarrassed about the way he phrased his previous words, the innuendo being entirely unintentional. But there was another glimmer of something underneath all that.

A flash of hope brought on by your departing words.

Part of him was ready to chide the voice of his boyish crush surging forward, saying that you were just joking – a similar joke he made about the possibility of lingerie in your hamper. But that logical reasoning would fall on deaf ears. He told himself that so many times, every time your playful banter tiptoed over the line into something potentially more.

It was stupid really; falling for his best friend. He knew that. The biggest cliché found in every Hallmark movie and BookTok romance. But it was easy. You made it easy.

It wasn’t just your looks – although he would have to be blind to not notice how attractive you were. But it was all the little parts of you, parts that he got to see and discover and grew to love in the multiple years you’ve known each other. If anything, your long-term friendship contributed to his feelings for you developing from platonic to romantic. A friendship that lasted nine year, two countries, and multiple cities didn’t just happen without both work and natural chemistry. Hell, he knows married couples that had been through less than you and him have.

He never acted on these feelings though. It was harder when you were both living in Long Island and he saw you almost every day but when he was traded to Vancouver, the distance helped him keep a hold of his emotions.

He did think about confessing to you the night he left, though. If it blew up in his face and he ruined the friendship you shared by doing something stupid, it would be easy to leave it all behind and get over it. Couldn’t get further away than an entirely different coast.

He didn’t do it, however, and now with hindsight, he’s glad he didn’t. Your friendship spanned both time and space. And his crush on you never diminished. Every time you visited him or vice-versa, those feelings resurged with the strength of a thousand suns. Turns out distance really did make the heart grow fonder.

And when he got the news that he was traded again but this time to the city you called home, it felt like fate. Much like it felt like the universe’s hand that kept both of you single this long; like some higher power was conspiring for the two of you to get together.

Anthony shakes his head, fully snapping himself out of his reverie. It was just a silly crush. Would he ever get over it? Who knew? But he told himself long ago to just let things progress naturally. If it was meant to happen, then it would happen.

He had to believe in that. It was the only logic that kept him sane.

So, instead of continuing to wallow in his feelings, he turns back to the kitchen, fishing out the multi-colored rags and Clorox bottle from underneath your sink before turning his attention to the still dirty marble countertop.

This shouldn’t take him that long: he only had the kitchen, coffee table, mantle, nightstand, and bookshelf to do. And when the laundry currently tumbling in the washer had finished, he would hang those out to dry and start another load before he stripped and made your bed with fresh sheets.

That’s what friends did for each other.

That’s what he would do for you.

Because he cares about you.

Because he loves you.

The shower was much needed. You had felt your body relax as soon as the steam filled the room and stepping into the warm water just multiplied that feeling. You took your time, slowly pampering yourself after a multitude of quick in-and-out showers you had forced yourself to take to maintain a base sense of hygiene. The conditioner in your hair felt heavenly and the subtle vanilla of your body wash helped the entire experience feel luxurious even though you weren’t adding any major steps to your routine.

You had even managed to find the energy to go through your entire skincare routine and deep clean your teeth. Standing in front of your sink, your body clad in your fluffy bathrobe and your hair still damp, you allow yourself the opportunity to take a deep breath.

The mere fact that you were able to slow down, to take a moment to enjoy this reprieve in the shitshow that currently your life was a blessing. Part of you knew all your problems weren’t instantly solved by a shower and a clean apartment. But it helped. It definitely helped.

And you had Anthony to thank for that.

You owed him. Big time. Hell, in nine years of friendship, you were probably indebted to him already but this… this was different. He didn’t have to do what he did.

He didn’t have to come over to check on you. He didn’t have to stay. He didn’t have to spend his time and energy helping dig you out of your sadness when he could’ve been doing much more exciting and productive things. But he did. He chose to.

That part. The fact that this was his choice… that meant so much to you.

You stretch again before grabbing the fresh pair of pajamas that Anthony had brought to you while you had been applying lotion to your face. The soft, still somewhat warm cotton against your now clean skin increased your happiness and you hang your robe back up before pushing out into your living room.

The smell of lemon and linen greet your nose as your step from the tile to the hardwood, your eyes perusing the space. It didn’t look much different but your nose tells you that Anthony did indeed keep his word about cleaning the surfaces and you can see the color of new sheets stretched across your bed. The man in question was currently perched on your couch, hunched over and scrolling through his phone, your laundry hamper sitting next to him.

His attention lifts as soon as you clear your throat, shooting you a grin.

“Feel better?”

“Much. Thank you.”

“Of course. Clothes are on your drying rack and I just put your old sheets in the dryer,” Anthony explains, vaguely gesturing to the wall behind him that separated your kitchen from the main room.

“Awesome. What’s with the hamper?”

“Oh, I didn’t really know what to do with your other clothes. I found your pajamas but I didn’t know what was hung or folded or anything else like that,” he tells you, a hand raising to scratch the back of his neck – a telltale sign of his nerves.

“No problem,” you reply with a hum, silencing any of his anxiety before grabbing your hamper and dumping the clean clothes onto the newly made bed. “I can put these away.”

“Are you sure? I can help.”

“Tito, you’ve already helped so much. I’ve got the energy now, thanks to you, so let me do this while you finally relax,” you laugh. “Besides, I have a whole system that I know you would just mess up.”

“Figures you have a system for clean clothes as well as dirty ones,” Anthony quips, to which you reply by throwing a coupled pair of socks in his direction. He catches the fabric with ease – damn his hockey reflexes – and places the bundle on the coffee table. “Fine, then I’ll order pizza. You want your usual?”

“Yes, please.”

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you work, Anthony only interrupting your flow with little quips and comments that you return with ease. The relaxed atmosphere coupled with the bliss that natural came when you hung out with Anthony lifted your spirits indescribably higher. He was like a breath of fresh air, the sunlight in the lazy days of June. He was just what you needed after feeling like you were trapped in the gloomiest Mondays of a never-ending January.

You managed to completely put your clothes away right as Anthony came back from picking up the pizza from the cute little shop down the block. He even had the foresight to grab paper plates and napkins so the two of you didn’t immediately dirty a pair of dishes.

You and Anthony come to settle on opposite ends of the couch, a blanket thrown over both your legs and pizza in your hands, the two of you eating in silence. Eventually, Anthony finally clears his throat, wiping his hands off on a napkin before fixing his blue eyes on you.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He didn’t have to elaborate what ‘it’ was. You’d be an idiot to pretend like you hadn’t seen the concern and question hanging over him ever since you woke up, even though he hid it well. You respond with a sigh before putting your own plate down on the coffee table.

“I’m not sure what to say,” you confess, the statement being as close to the truth as you could get. “It was just one thing after the other, all of them effecting each other until it became too much, y’know?”

The silence falls again as you sigh. Some of your problems still weren’t solved; your job still sucked; you didn’t suddenly inherit a million dollars. But this was a start. You look back to Anthony, his own eyes distant as if he was going through the past weeks, wondering if he could’ve done something different. You reach your leg out, nudging his thigh with your foot, bringing his attention back to you.

“I’m sorry for not telling you. Making you worry.”

Anthony’s first reply is a gentle shake of his head, those eyes softening with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

“No need to apologize. I’m kind of glad you didn’t.”

Your brows furrow, not fully understanding his logic, leaving Anthony to explain it to you.

“Would I have liked for you to tell me? Yeah, of course. But you could’ve just as easily lied to me and then I might have never known something was wrong. I wouldn’t have known you needed help.”

“You don’t have to rescue me, Tito. I’m not some damsel in distress.”

“I know. But I’ll always be here if you need me. That’s what friends are for.”

You smile, his genuine words continuing to melt your heart. How you managed to survive before Anthony Beauvillier came into your life, you’ll never know. You were insanely thankful that the two of you were once again in the same city. A wicked smile appears on your face and you can see Anthony’s eyebrows quirk in a question as he takes in your change of expression, even though a similar smile appears on his lips.

“Yeah,” you say in response to his statement. “That is until you get traded again.”

The teasing lilt of your voice makes it obvious that you were poking fun at him, something that Anthony reads with an ease and responds to immediately, his hands lifting to his chest to press against his heart like you actually wounded him.

“Ouch,” he says, the sarcastic whine falling from his lips making you laugh.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re probably right. But hey,” you continue, nudging him with your foot again. “Congrats on making it to the playoffs with your brand-new team!”

“Thanks. We all know they never could’ve made it without me.”

“Oh, of course.”

“You have a guaranteed ticket to the first game,” he tells you, those beautiful blue eyes sparkling at you, the sight of which makes you smile soften, your next words holding a stronger sense of sincerity.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Anthony just grins again before the two of you focus back on the pizza in front of you. When you were done, the leftovers wrapped in foil and placed in the fridge, Anthony lays down on the couch with you snuggled into his side as he turns on a generic romantic comedy to fill the now evenings quiet. About halfway through the movie, you look up to him, your eyes taking in his strong side profile, letting your heart swell with affection and appreciation for the man next to you. He must feel the weight of your stare, his eyes turning to connect with your gaze, a silent question painted on his face.

“Thank you,” you whisper into the low-lamplight of the room. “Again. For doing all this for me.”

You just watch a gentle smile wash across Anthony’s face, the genuine expression of utmost care and… love he was directing to you making a small part of your heart – one you had kept under lock and key – flutter. Anthony doesn’t speak immediately, instead choosing to lean his head down and press a soft kiss onto your forehead. The action causes you to melt further into him, your body moving impossibly closer to his warmth. Your sunlight, your joy, your Anthony.

It isn’t until the two of you a proficiently tangled in each other does Anthony’s voice finally fill the space.

“Always.”

taglist: @laurenairay @fallinallincurls @solros-world @svexhenthusiast @jjgsunflower

~

I've found a reason for me, To change who I used to be, A reason to start over new, And the reason is you.

~

“Oh wow, Val and Jim have really outdone themselves this year, haven’t they?”

Lucy glanced around at the Christmas decorations surrounding them, smiling at her mom’s words.

“Full of holiday cheer, as always!” she nodded.

She took off her thick coat and gloves, glad to be out of the icy air, hanging them up on the rack put out for guests.

“Now honey, if it’s too much, you can slip out back and head home, okay?” her mom said seriously, albeit quietly.

“You said that last year. And the year before that. For the last five years, actually,” Lucy mused.

“And I’ve meant it every year. They might be our neighbours, but you are my baby. And my priority, always,” her mom said seriously.

Not for the first time, Lucy was thankful to have the mom she did.

“And I appreciate it. But I’m going to be fine,” she said, smiling fondly.

“Alright, if you’re sure. You just send me a sneaky text if you change your mind though, yes?”

“Yeah, thanks mom,” Lucy beamed.

The Christmas Eve Party thrown by her neighbours was a tradition she’d attended her entire life, and even though she hadn’t dated their grandson in half a decade, Val and John had always insisted that she still came along. A lingering effect of being childhood sweethearts, she supposed.

“Amy! Gary! Lucy!”

The welcome from their neighbours was warm and effervescent as it always was, and soon enough Lucy found herself swept in by conversation and catching up. She may have gone to college in UBC Okanagan in Kelowna for both her degrees, barely away from home, but she’d lived in campus residence for all four years of her bachelor’s degree and moved out of her parents’ house properly into a small apartment near campus for her master’s degree. It would’ve been easy to move home after guaranteed accommodation ended, but Lucy had wanted to keep the independence she had grown to love, and it wasn’t as if she didn’t visit her parents at least every other weekend.

But it was still nice to be able to talk about her accomplishments with the people that she’d grown up alongside, especially now that she was in the final year of her master’s degree and looking like she was on track for starting the PhD she’d always aimed for.

After a couple of hours, she escaped the crowds in the living and dining areas, grateful for the sanctuary of the kitchen. There were a few plates of cookies and other Christmas treats laid out, and Lucy couldn’t resist reaching out for a snickerdoodle…

…at the exact time as someone else.

She jumped in surprise as a large hand rested on top of hers, not realising anyone was next to her, but as she looked up, she couldn’t but to freeze despite the warmth of his touch. Tyson. It was Tyson’s hand touching hers.

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry, I…Lucy?”

“Hey Tys,” she managed to breathe.

The familiar curls, the big beautiful eyes, the sweet smile, and now a little bit of stubble? He looked good. Of course he looked good.

Tyson quickly drew his hand away from hers, breaking her out of her thoughts.

“Uh, you have it, I shouldn’t be eating baked goods too much anyway,” Tyson said, rubbing the back of his neck a little sheepishly.

Lucy pursed her lips and broke a third of the snickerdoodle off, handing it to Tyson with a raised eyebrow. Tyson huffed out a laugh but accepted the offered treat, sending her a small smile of thanks. Fuck, it may have been five years since they broke up, but he really hadn’t changed, had he?

“So, uh, you still come to these parties?” Tyson asked.

Lucy bit her bottom lip but nodded.

“Yeah, your grandparents insist. I hope that’s okay,” she winced.

“Of course it is,” Tyson said quickly, “They always loved you.”

Well that was something at least. Why did this feel so awkward? Sure, it had been five years since she’d seen Tyson, but they dated from eight years – surely they had more than this?

“I don’t usually come to these. Well, I guess you already know that, if you come every year. I, uh, I have the 24th to the 26th off this year, so I didn’t want to miss another Christmas with my grandparents,” Tyson explained.

“I bet Val and Jim were over the moon when you told them,” Lucy mused.

Tyson laughed softly, nodding. “They were. Mom and Kacey didn’t hesitate to come to Kelowna to join us, so it’s a big family Christmas this year.”

“That’s great, Tys. Really. Spending Christmas with your loved ones is important,” she said softly, smiling.

His smile dimmed a little, but he nodded.

“How’s, uh, how’s your degree going? Gramps said you’re doing a master’s now?”

He knew that? Did he ask? Or did Jim just tell him?

“Uh, yeah. I graduated my bachelor's degree magna cum laude back in 2020 and went straight into starting my graduate program there. I’m a paid teaching assistant for my supervisory professor too.”

“That’s incredible, Luce. Still doing Earth and Environmental Sciences?” Tyson prompted.

He remembered? After all this time?

“Yeah, yeah it is. Focusing in on environmental impact assessment for my master’s thesis,” she nodded, a little stunned, “I didn’t think…I didn’t think you’d remember.”

“Of course I remember. You were always so passionate about your studies – it was one of the things I loved most about you,” he said softly.

“Tyson…” Lucy said faintly, trailing off when no words would come.

He smiled sadly at her, shaking his head.

“Sounds like…it sounds like everything was worth it for you,” Tyson murmured.

~

2019

“So you can’t make it over?”

“No, Tys, I can’t, I have labs to do,” Lucy sighed.

“We haven’t seen each other in so long!”

“I can’t just not go to my classes because you want me in Denver! You know this!” she groaned.

“I know, I know, but it sucks.”

Lucy frowned, even though he couldn’t see her. “You’re the one who didn’t come home for Christmas, remember?”

“The schedule didn’t make sense, and I offered to fly you down?”

“Tyson!” she groaned.

He stayed silent on the other end of the phone, a silence that sent an ominous shiver down her spine.

“So where do we go from here?”

“W-What?” she said, confused at the dull tone of his voice.

“Your priority is college, my priority is hockey, and neither of us can compromise. I would never ask you to compromise, just like you wouldn’t ask me. We have different priorities, clearly. So where do we go from here?”

“Tyson, are you really saying what I think you’re saying?” she whimpered.

“Yeah, I think we should break up.”

“We’ve been together for eight years! You’re the only boyfriend I’ve ever had, the only guy I’ve ever wanted. And you want to break up, just like that?”

“I don’t want to break up, Luce. But what other option do we have? Neither of us can give the other what we need right now. We have to focus on ourselves, don’t we? For our own careers? You have so much ahead of you and I can’t be there to celebrate it. And you can’t be by my side cheering me on from the stands. I love you, Lucy. But this isn’t working anymore.”

~

“Tyson, why would you say it like that? You think it’s been easy for me?” Lucy asked, throat a little choked.

“No, no, of course not,” he groaned.

“Then what do you mean?”

“Look, forget I said anything, okay? It was really good to see you, Luce.”

Before Lucy could say a word, Tyson walked away, leaving her alone in the kitchen with her head spinning. What the hell was that?

For the final few hours of the party, Lucy indulged in a couple more glasses of wine than she intended, sticking solidly by her parents’ sides. She did her best to keep a smile on her face and ease into the Christmas festivity, even when Laura and Kacey said their hellos, but her mind just kept going back to Tyson.

“We’re going to start saying our goodbyes, okay honey? Why don’t you find all our coats.”

Lucy just nodded at her mom’s suggestion, grateful for the opportunity to escape the crowd. Well, she was grateful, until she saw Tyson sitting on the bench next to the coat rack, face flushed and eyes glassy. He was drunk, at least moderately so.

“Ah, fuck, I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he said, voice slurring.

What did he mean by that?

“I’m just getting our coats. We’re heading out,” she murmured, trying to ignore the whoosh in her stomach.

“Already?”

“It’s nearly midnight, Tys,” she said, smiling wryly.

“Well, fuck. Time flies when you’re having whiskey, I guess,” he groaned, putting his empty glass on the bench next to him.

She huffed out a laugh, unhooking the coats when she finally spotted them.

“You look good, Luce,” he murmured, looking up at her through his eyelashes.

“I do?” she blurted.

Damn it.

But Tyson just grinned. “Yeah, you really do. You always looked good, but damn you’ve really settled into your own skin, eh?”

“I love who I am, yeah,” she nodded.

She wasn’t lying, or even placating. Her studies in environmental impact had opened up a whole new side of her she hadn’t even realised was there, and she loved everything about the person she’d become through it. She just hadn’t realised it was obvious on the outside.

Then again, if anyone was going to notice something like that about her, it was going to be Tyson, wasn’t it?

“You’re too good for me.”

Oh fuck.

“That’s not true. Not even slightly,” Lucy said, frowning.

“No? I can barely get a team to keep me, and you’re soaring ahead with your academic career, just like you deserve,” Tyson scoffed.

This was just the alcohol talking. It had to be.

“Tys, those teams are the ones missing out. You’re amazing,” she said softly.

He paused for a moment, before shaking his head.

“If I’m so amazing, why did we break up?”

Because he had to put hockey first.

Because she had to put college first.

Because neither of them were each other’s first choice.

“That’s not fair, Tyson. We were kids when we first started dating. Barely 13 years old. And we were together for eight years! We had an incredible relationship! It just…we wanted different things. Our priorities were different, our passions were different – we might have grown up together, but we’d also grown apart. Your life is hockey and my life is academics, and that’s okay! That doesn’t mean we didn’t have love, yeah?”

The way that Tyson’s eyes filled up with tears made her own eyes water, dangerous lump rising in her throat.

“If I could go back and change it all, I would. I’d choose you. I’d always choose you.”

His soft words tore a sob from her throat and she shook her head. How could he be so cruel?

“Don’t say that. We made the right decision five years ago and you know it,” she whimpered.

Tyson’s face fell at her devastated expression, and he staggered to his feet.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry,” he said sadly.

And yet here she was, broken hearted all over again.

“I should go. I need to go,” was all she could manage to choke out.

“Lucy, baby, please…”

But Lucy just shook her head, clutching the coats in her hands, shaky smile on her lips as the tears finally fell. “Merry Christmas, Tyson.”

~

“So what happened at the Christmas Eve Party that has you all torn up like this?”

Lucy flinched at her mom’s voice, turning her head to see her standing in the doorway to her bedroom.

“Nothing,” she said quickly.

“Uh huh, and I’m a fairy princess,” her mom snorted.

Lucy couldn’t help but giggle, earning a fond smile as her mom walked into the room and sat down next to her on her bed. Lucy placed a bookmark in the book she’d been reading to give her mom her full attention. She’d needed a little respite from all the preparations to hold her dad’s family for a late lunch, after all the intensity of having her mom’s family over yesterday on Christmas Day, but she’d found herself reliving her conversation with Tyson over and over.

“Sounds like…it sounds like everything was worth it for you.”

“You’re too good for me.”

“If I’m so amazing, why did we break up?”

“If I could go back and change it all, I would. I’d choose you. I’d always choose you.”

So really, her mom coming up to talk to her was a welcome break from all of that as well.

“If you know it was the Christmas Eve Party then you can take a guess,” Lucy said, shrugging.

“I’d rather hear it from you, when Tyson’s involved,” her mom mused.

Well at least her mom was blunt about it.

“We had a couple of conversations, and it stirred up old emotions, old drama. He…mom, he said he’d go back and change it all if he could. That he’d always choose me. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Her mom blinked a couple of times, lips parted in a surprised, before she coughed out a laugh.

“Well I could never accuse Tyson of being subtle.”

“Mom, seriously. This is stressing me out. I can’t stop thinking about it,” Lucy groaned.

“I think that’s an answer in itself, sweetheart,” she said softly.

“What?”

Her mom stayed silent, just nudging Lucy with her shoulder, and Lucy nudged back out of habit. What did she mean, that was an answer in itself?

“Lucy, honey, if you can’t stop thinking about Tyson choosing you above everything else, that means something,” her mom eventually said with a huffed laugh.

“But how can it? He still has his hockey, and I still have academics. Neither of those are going to change any time soon,” Lucy said sadly.

Because at the end of the day, that was the bottom line of it all. Their priorities haven’t changed.

“Just because your both still have your passions doesn’t mean that they have to be your only love. You can have both,” her mom said firmly.

What?

“How can I have both?” Lucy asked, confused.

“Do you love him?” was all she said.

“What?” Lucy said, surprised.

“Do you love him?” her mom repeated.

Lucy opened her mouth, shutting it again before huffing out a laugh. There was only one answer to that.

“Yeah, I never stopped,” she replied.

“Then you can have both. You spent the last five years missing him, and I know damn well that that boy missed you too - neither of you deserve that for another second. You can have both,” her mom said decisively.

She could have both?

How could she have both?

“You love him.”

“I love him,” Lucy whispered.

“Go get him.”

Lucy whimpered as she looked into her mom’s eyes, but she only saw warmth and encouragement. Her mom was right. She loved Tyson. She loved Tyson and if seeing him again this Christmas had taught her anything, it was that she was stupid if she tried to deny how much she missed him. If she didn’t tell him now, when would she?

“He leaves today. I need to go now,” she said suddenly.

“Well damn, okay then. Put on a sweater and I’ll find your snow boots,” her mom grinned.

Lucy felt like she was in a haze as she walked as quickly down the street as was safe, heart pounding as she spotted Tyson loading bags into his grandpa’s car.

“Tyson!”

His head whipped around at her shout, eyes going wide as he saw her walking towards him. Tyson shuffled down the driveway, missing Jim’s fond smile as he himself went back into the house, and the moment that she was standing in front of him, Tyson cupped his hands over her elbows to steady her.

“What are you doing here?”

“I love you,” she breathed.

Tyson whimpered, but Lucy wasn’t discouraged, not when she saw the wonder that filled his expression.

“You love me?”

“I love you. I love you so much and I can’t stop thinking about everything you said the other night,” she blurted out.

“Luce, I’m sorry, I know I upset you but…”

“No, Tys, it’s okay,” Lucy said, shaking her head as she interrupted, “While I stand by what I said, that we made the right decision at the time, maybe we could make a different decision now?”

“What are you saying?”

She could understand his hesitation, really she could. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t coming out with this out of the blue, after five years of nothing at all. After five years of heartbreak and heartache. But her mom was right – she missed him so fiercely and she couldn’t bear the thought of him not knowing that.

“I want us to start over new. I never stopped loving you, not for one moment. We could have both. We could have our passions and our love, and I hate that it’s taken me this long to even consider that? I miss you and I love you and I know you’re heading to the airport to fly back to Raleigh, but tell me I’m not crazy for thinking we could do this?”

Tyson’s jaw dropped as he processed her long rant, and it was only his firm grip on her elbows that stopped her from giving up hope.

“That was a lot,” Tyson said.

She winced. “I know, but…”

“And you poured out a lot of emotion there,” he interrupted.

Lucy kept her mouth shut this time, as much as she wanted to beg him to say more.

“It’s been agony for five years, for so many reasons, but hearing you say that you love me and you want to give our relationship another shot? I just…”

Tyson trailed off, letting out a long breath.

“I understand if I’m too late,” she murmured.

But Tyson huffed out a laugh, raising one hand from her elbow to cup her face in a gentle motion that had her breath hitching in her throat.

“There is no world in which you’d be too late,” Tyson said softly.

“Really?”

“I love you too, Lucy. I never stopped either,” he murmured.

She couldn’t stop the incredulous laugh that tumbled from her lips, smiling back up at Tyson as he smiled at her.

“We’re really doing this?” she asked, giddy.

“Yeah, baby, we are. I don’t know how we’re going to do this, or what it’s going to look like, but we’re both adult enough to know how to put in more effort this time round right, yeah? I’ll fly home for the all-star break, and I’ll fly you out for spring break, and we’ll have video calls that neither of us are going to miss. And everything else. We’re going to make it work this time,” he said, tone serious but face grinning.

“And we’re going to communicate, yeah? When one of us is finding it hard? We’ll find little compromises, as we can’t do the big compromises. We’re worth it,” Lucy added, not caring that her cheeks were aching with her smile.

“Yeah, we are. I love you, so much Lucy,” Tyson grinned.

“I love you too.”

Despite the holiday season, there were (thankfully) not many people around to see Mat in all his pathetic and embarrassing glory. Most people were probably sane inside their warm homes, enjoying dinner with the people they cherish the most. It felt stupid to be envious of a city full of people but that is exactly what he was.

Because as Mat sat on that bench, staring out at the near empty beach, he felt like he was choking. 

On his feelings. On his memories. On his bitter resentment that, once upon a time, he was like those people.

That Mat used to have a warm home where he ate dinner with someone he fucking loved and cherished more than anyone or anything else in the world, but now he had lost that person. 

That he didn’t know where his person was or what they were doing, but they were doing much better than him as he sat on the same fucking bench where he first met them.

Where he first met you. 

…

August 2021

“You insist on this every year!” 

“Because it’s fun every year!” 

“And yet you still get pissy when you get beaten by a carnival game.”

Mat glared at him from over his shoulder, not faltering in his steps as he shot his cackling friend a look. “It doesn’t beat me—”

Beau snorted, giving the boy a fond shove as he pushed his way through the crowd to catch up until they were shoulder-to-shoulder again. “Dude, it’s a stupid game that you try every single time. And you fail every time.” 

“It’s rigged,” Mat huffed.

“Yeah, that’s the whole fucking point,” Beau deadpanned. “They are all rigged.”

“But I’ve beaten them all,” Mat whined, sounding young and bratty. “The ring toss is rigged more. It’s made to torture one’s mind—”

“Your mind.”

“—until they are driven insane and haunted by those stupid rings,” he continued to grumble, muttering an apology after he almost walked straight into a lady pushing a stroller.

“All for an arcade ring,” Beau mused, shaking his head. “Dude, you need to let it go.” 

Mat turned to glare at the boy. “No. I have won every single one of these stupid games. I am gonna win this one too.”

Beau opened his mouth. “Mat, dude—”

“And I am gonna get that stupid ring and I will wear it every single day of my—” 

The noise that left his mouth cut him short, something between a scream and squeak of surprise as he found his body hitting someone else instead of the clear path down the pier like he had assumed. He managed to stay on his feet, considering he was a six foot hockey player whose job revolved around being slammed into by other six foot hockey players. 

His victim? Not so much.

“Fuck.” 

It came out like a wheezed, as though the person was winded. Mat quickly spun around, the apologies already leaving his lips as he offered his hand out before he even took a look at the person he accidentally knocked over. And when he did, the apologies died on his tongue as he stared at you, his expression stuck between awe and something else that Beau would spend the better part of the next few years teasing him for.

“Do you even watch where you are going?” 

“Yeah,” Mat replied dumbly, staring at you like he was lost in a daze.

“Clearly not,” you murmured but still took his hand, giving him an odd look when it took longer than a few seconds before he realised and helped you up.

“I’m Mat,” he blurted out before he even let go of your hand. “And I’m sorry.” 

Your lips twitched. “I accept your apology, Mat.” 

“And your name?” He asked, not even trying to be subtle about it (if Beau’s snort was anything to go by). 

Mat feld winded himself when you smiled as you told him your name. 

…

February 2022

“So, let me get this straight.” 

“I am tired of repeating myself.”

“You’re taking her out on Valentine’s Day—”

“Not for Valentine’s Day!”

“Yeah, sorry, my bad. You are taking your friend who you are desperately in love with out on Valentine's Day. How silly of me to take that the wrong way.” 

Mat rolled his eyes, even if Beau couldn’t currently see him. He tucked his free hand into his jacket pocket, the other one curled around his phone as his eyes continued to wander over the pink and red decorations dotted all over the place. It made his nose scrunch up.

“It was the only day we both had free,” Mat insisted, his cheeks tinting pink for a whole different reason other than the cold, nipping weather of winter in New York. 

“No denial about the ‘in love’ part.” 

“Shut up,” he gritted through clenched teeth, as if anyone else could hear Beau except him.

“It’s just a little pathetic—”

“I didn’t ask,” Mat deadpanned, trying to ignore how hot his face now felt. “I don’t even know why I called you.”

“Because you needed a pep talk to finally make a move.” 

“I’m hanging up now,” Mat grumbled, ignoring whatever protests he received on the other side as he quickly pressed the red button before shoving his phone into his pocket with a huff. He was so lost in muttering to himself under his breath that he hadn’t noticed you approaching.

“Woah,” you laughed, hands up in mock defence at the way he jumped out of his skin. “You good?” 

“Yeah, I just—” He waved it off, an easy and genuine smile on his lips as he took in the way you were bundled up, an Islanders scarf around your neck. “Ready to have your ass kicked?” 

Your lips twitched. “Ready to cry over the ring toss again?” 

He did not, in fact, cry over the ring toss but he was undoubtedly grumpy by the time the two of you settled down on one of the benches looking out towards the beach, huffing as he took an aggressive bite from the pretzel that definitely didn’t fit his diet plan.

“C’mon,” you laughed, nudging your shoulder against his. “It’s just a game.” 

“It’s a stupid game,” Mat retorted.

“Beau was right, you take it way too seriously,” you commented, playful and lighthearted with a gleam in your eyes. Like you were so unaware that the comfort you shared with his friends made his chest tighten in the best way possible.

“You have a little—” He cut himself off, gesturing to the side of your lip.

Your brows furrowed, your thumb attempting to swipe the brown sugar away just to miss completely. “Did I get it?” 

“No, I—here, let me,” Mat murmured, reaching over to gently swipe the brown sugar away. But his thumb lingered, his eyes locked on your lips before glancing up at you. He waited for you to pull away but you just stared back.

For a moment, Mat wondered if you were going to suddenly pull away and pretend the small moment never happened.

For a moment, Mat’s stomach dropped at the thought this would be as far as he got with you.

And then you were leaning forward, your lips pressed against his and the pretzels long forgotten.

His body reacted faster than his brain did, kissing you back as the sweet taste of cinnamon and sugar overwhelmed him. The pretzel was left on the bench between you, his hands cupping your face as he sunk into the kiss, as he sunk into your embrace.

And only when you pulled back to smile at him did his brain seem to realise what had just happened. 

And only then did he grin right back at you. 

…

May 2022 

“God, hockey is brutal.”

Mat paused, raising his brows. “Just realised that?”

“Sorry, I know you didn’t want to talk about hockey after—” You cut yourself off, wincing a little as you stood in his kitchen, just dressed in one of his shirts (ironically, an Islanders one with the number thirteen above your heart) with a mug of coffee in hand. “Ignore me. Watch the eggs don’t burn.” 

Mat snorted. “What has made you realise hockey is so brutal?” 

“Just kinda thinking about it,” you shrugged, your gaze on the rim of your mug rather than his face. It made him frown a little. “Like, I know it’s a part of the sport but, fuck, all it takes is one bad hit and—”

“Woah, hey,” Mat’s frown deepened as he reached for you, the stove turned off, the eggs forgotten and his hand reaching to place the coffee mug on the counter. He took your face in his hands, his thumbs smoothing over the apples of your cheeks. 

“Sorry,” you laughed, but it sounded a bit wet and weak to his ears. He tilted your head up, his lips pressed together when he noticed how glossy your eyes were. “I guess I just never realised how brutal the sport was until I met you. And you guys play through so many injuries and I know your season is over now but the idea of you pushing yourself even more is just—”

“Come back home with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Come back home with me for the summer,” Mat repeated, a soft smile on his lips. 

You blinked again, your confusion only growing. “Did you not just hear me—” 

“I did,” Mat interrupted, nodding his head with the look of adoration still written plainly across his face. “And all I could think was, ‘wow, how lucky am I to have this amazing girl care about me so much’ and I just…I am lucky. So lucky. And I wanna show other people how lucky I am. I want to show my family how lucky I am.”

Your face softened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mat murmured. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered before leaning in, a soft and lingering kiss left on his lips before you pulled back. “And I’m lucky you care about me too.” 

“I’m really glad I bumped into you that day in Coney Island,” Mat confessed, something warm and comforting bubbling in his stomach at the sight of your smile. 

“Yeah, me too,” you hummed, a glint of mischief in your eyes. “And I love you even if you can’t win the ring toss—”

Mat groaned, his head dropping to the crook of your neck. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

…

March 2023

“You don’t have to hide it from me.”

Mat blinked, his thoughts torn away from him as he turned to find you settling down onto the bench next to him, two pretzels in your hand. He murmured a small ‘thanks’ as he took one of the pretzels from you, staring at the sugary cinnamon sticks with little appetite. 

“Hide what?” Mat asked. 

“Mat,” you said his name in a way that made his chest tighten, so soft and gentle, like he was some scared animal you were slowly approaching. “Baby, I know you miss him. You don’t have to pretend.” 

His eyes dropped back to the pretzel in his hands. 

Because it was true. He did miss Beau. He missed Beau more than he cared to admit. And it was stupid because he knew this was how hockey worked, he had friends traded and sent away multiple times before. It was a part of the sport. 

But he just didn’t think it would ever hurt this bad, even weeks after the trade had happened. His focus should have been the season and the playoffs approaching. He should have been focused on the team. 

But every time he went on the ice, he couldn’t help but feel like a part of him was missing when he lifted his head and didn’t see Beau there, ready to accept his pass.

“There was this small part of me that just thought—” Mat paused, letting out a heavy sigh. “That we would be on the same team forever, you know? That it would always be me and him. That we would win the Cup together and…yeah.”

“I know,” you whispered, soft and soothing as you placed your head on his shoulder and let him lean his head against yours. “You never know. You two will find your way back to each other.”

His lips twitched into a sad smile. “Maybe.”

“You were always meant to find each other in this life,” you told him, sounding so sincere and genuine over the distant cheers and screams and buzzing noise of the amusement park behind you. “Just because you don’t live minutes away anymore, doesn’t mean that ends. He is always gonna be there for you, just like I am.”

Mat pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Thank you.”

“Always, Mat. Always.” 

…

July 2023

“Home, sweet home!”

Mat winced a little as his voice echoed through the empty apartment, the walls bare and the place a little dusty. But it was yours and it made it perfect, it made the keys in his hand feel heavier and more special than his last set. 

“Fuck, we have so much to unpack,” you commented but you sounded happy. You both did, despite the state of exhaustion the last few days left you, attempting to pack up both of your apartments and moving into your new shared place. 

“That is a later problem,” Mat waved you off, reaching towards you so he could wind his arms around your waist and pull you closer. “We have a mattress and takeout menus, what else do we need?” 

“Preferably some sheets,” you teased, not even attempting to pull yourself out of his hold. You were content exactly where you were. “I’m, like, ninety percent sure you put them in the wrong box.”

“Blame the pretty one,” Mat huffed, cackling when you playfully pinched his hip. “Kidding, baby, you’re obviously the pretty one in the relationship.”

“We can both be pretty,” you rolled your eyes before laying your head on his chest, smiling when you felt him lean his chin on top. “Can’t wait to make this place ours.” 

“It’s gonna be so pretty so it can match us,” Mat murmured, grinning when you laughed in response. 

“It looks so plain right now, it’s freaky,” you commented, half-hearted with no real heaviness to your words. It would take a few days for you both to make it feel homely and you were looking forward to it. 

But Mat was already untangling himself from your hold, grinning as he began tugging you towards the kitchen. “We can put our first proper decoration up!” 

Your brows furrowed together in confusion. “What? But the boxes are—” 

You cut yourself off as you watched Mat reach into the pocket of his sweatpants, grinning widely as he pulled out a small magenet and slapped it on the middle of the very bland fridge. He looked at the magnet with great pride before turning to you, his smile only growing.

You let out a laugh at the sight of the Coney Island magnet on the fridge. “Perfect.”

“Our first home,” Mat grinned, pulling you back in so he could smack a kiss on your lips. “The first of many.”

“I’m not moving for at least another few years,” you joked, smiling against his lips. “This whole thing was exhausting.” 

“As long as it’s with you, I don’t really care.”

…

January 2024

“I need your help.” 

“Oh god, what have you done?” 

Mat frowned at his phone for a moment, forgetting about the bundling nerves that had left him on edge for the last week. He was sure you were starting to pick up on it, even if you hadn’t mentioned as much—thankfully. But after a week of waiting, he finally had the perfect opportunity to call his sister whilst you were out of the house. 

“I have done nothing. Yet.” 

His sister sighed. “Mathew—”

“No full names needed,” he murmured, his cheeks burning as he leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling with determination that was quickly dwindling the longer the call went on. “I just…I need your help.”

“With?” 

“A ring.” 

His frown deepened when Liana laughed. “If this is about that arcade game Beau told me about—”

“What? No,” he sighed, his blush only deepening. “I need help picking a ring. A real ring. An engagement ring.”

His sister was silent for a few moments before she spoke. “Holy shit. You’re really gonna do it?” 

Mat couldn’t even bite back his smile. “I want to. This summer, maybe. But I need a ring and I was thinking you could help while we’re up for All Stars and—” 

“Sold. Done. I’m not letting you pick an ugly ring for my future sister-in-law.”

“She might still say no,” Mat reminded her, even if his stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought. 

“Of course she won’t,” Liana retorted, sounding so confident that Mat almost wanted to believe her wholeheartedly. “Especially if you let me help pick a ring.” 

Mat pressed his lips together. “I really want to find the perfect ring.” 

“We will. She is going to love it, Mat. She is going to say yes.” 

“Good,” he murmured, grinning. “Because she’s it for me. She’s the only person I wanna give a ring to.”

“You’re such a sap.”

“Shut up.”

…

October 2024

He couldn’t even remember what started the argument. 

If he was being honest, the tension had been brewing for a while. It had been a combination of things and none of them had made the atmosphere around the apartment much better. Small, silly things that shouldn’t have been that bad but felt like the end of the world as they were thrown at you both, one after the other.

Mat knew it was bad.

He just didn’t think it was this bad.

It felt like the two of you had been at it for hours, and maybe you had. He couldn’t tell anymore, he didn’t know if it had been minutes or hours the two of you had stood on opposite sides of the living room, yelling and screaming and crying. It all felt too much, like it was getting bigger and bigger, just waiting to pop. 

And then it fucking did. 

“I-I can’t do this anymore.” 

And Mat felt like a deflating balloon, the air escaping his lungs as he found himself staring at you, his mouth unable to voice any of the thoughts he wanted to say.

“Maybe,” you let out a bitter laugh, pained and hurt and weak. “Maybe we just aren’t forever, Mat. Maybe you’re not ready to let anything but hockey be your forever.” 

And you were wrong. 

Deep down, Mat knew you were wrong and his brain was screaming for him to tell you just how wrong you were. Because the fight had escalated and spun out of control and he should have grabbed the wheel with both hands to stabilise you both.

But he was hurt and he was petty and he felt his mouth saying the exact opposite of how he felt. 

“Maybe you’re right.” 

The way your whole body deflated and your face fell would haunt his nightmares for nights to come, along with the sound of the apartment door slamming shut as you left and never looked back. 

…

Present – November 2024 

Once upon a time, the biggest challenge Coney Island provided him was the damn ring toss game. It had been like that for years. 

But now, he sat on the bench, the plastic ring between his fingers feeling as heavy as the other ring in his pocket. He didn’t feel victorious, he didn’t feel anything but emptiness. Because neither ring meant anything when he was here alone, when he had failed to give you both.

The ring toss was barely a challenge compared to returning to this damn bench almost every day since he had pulled from the lineup with an injury that just felt like a mockery on top of everything else. 

But he did it. He came back every single day because it hurt and he deserved it. He deserved to sit there and think about just what he lost. Because he had no idea where you were, he hadn’t heard a single word from you—not even Beau would tell him if he had heard from you.

Mat had let pride and something else just as stupid get in the way of his forever.

The least he could do was bear the cold, winter weather on that stupid bench until his fingers were too damn numb to hold the stupid arcade ring. 

The least he could do was spend the rest of his days wondering if there was a universe where things were different, where he still had you, where he was able to see you one more time.

The least he could do was let his own thoughts about losing you forever haunt him. 

The least he could do was hope the universe would give him one more fucking chance to fix everything with you, to at least give you the stupid arcade ring he once promised he would win for you.

The least he could do was apologise for not making you his centrefold like he knew you deserved.

Mat stared down at the phone in his hand, pressing your contact before he could talk himself out of it. He had to try. For you, for him, for the forever he knew you two could have. 

He had to try. 

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello?”

💚 = Debut 💛 = Fearless 💜 = Speak Now ❤️ = Red 🩵 = 1989 🖤 = Reputation 🩷 = Lover 🩶 = Folklore 🤎 = Evermore 💙 = Midnights 🤍 = TTPD

MASTERLIST:

Anthony Beauvillier

I Almost Do by @comphy-and-cozy (Song: I Almost Do ❤️)

Jack Hughes

red by @hockeyboistrash (Song: Red ❤️)

I Know Places by @hischierhoney (Song: I Know Places 🩵)

this love makes you come running by @jostystyles (Song: I Wish You Would 🩵)

Jamie Oleksiak

don’t forget, don’t forget about me by @laurenairay (Song: Superman 💜)

wildest dreams by @jxmieoleksiaks (Song: Wildest Dreams 🩵)

Jeremy Swayman

if you only knew by @wyattjohnston (Song: I Can See You 💜)

The Girl by @couldawouldashoulda50 (Song: Getaway Car 🖤)

can this be a real thing? can it? by @senditcolton (Song: Snow At the Beach 💙)

Jordan Kyrou

you all over me by @realf-ckinlegacy (Song: You All Over Me 💛)

Mat Barzal

Where Did My Baby Go? by @theemporium (Song: Coney Island 🤎)

The Moment I Knew by @fallinallincurls (Song: The Moment I Knew ❤️)

Nico Hischier

What I Didn’t Mean To Say by @puckology101 (Song: The Other Side of the Door 💛)

Quinn Hughes gave you too much but it wasn’t enough by @snoopyhughes (Song: Death By A Thousand Cuts 🩷)

It’s Nice to Have a Friend by @ceces-obsessions (Song: It’s Nice to Have a Friend 🩷)

Sam Malinski

let it once be me by @mendeshoney (Song: The Prophecy 🤍)

Trevor Zegras

i can fix him (no really i can) by @luke-hughes43 (Song: I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can 🤍)

Teuvo Teravainen

You’re So Gorgeous by @kurlyteuvo (Song: Gorgeous 🖤)

Vince Dunn

All Too Well by @cellythefloshie (Song: All Too Well (10 minute version) ❤️)

William Nylander

All The Roads, They Lead Me Here by @thewintersoldierdisaster (Song: The Last Time ❤️)

Will Smith

wrap your arms around me, baby boy by @writingonleaves (Song: Paper Rings 🩷)

Wyatt Johnston

forever & always by @jarmorie (Song: Forever and Always 💛)

The players filed off the ice at their own pace, some of them off of the ice the very second practice finished while the others hung around for a little extra ice time.

Abby didn’t mind waiting, capturing photos as they passed her that would probably never see the light of day. They were all friendly with her, despite her presence almost guaranteeing a camera being shoved in their face whether it be for a still photo or a TikTok video. Frankly, she didn’t know why they were still happy to see her.

The hulking figure of Jeremy Swayman in his goalie pads stepped towards her, his helmet tucked under his arm and his head tilting as he approached. Abby picked a spot behind him to look at so that she didn’t have to make eye contact.

“No question today?”

“I couldn’t think of one, so just the photos,” she said, smiling as she held up the DSLR to his unsuspecting face and held the trigger for a few seconds. “Logan has one for next practice that I think you’ll like.”

Jeremy didn’t look convinced, shifting from foot to foot—though he barely even seemed to register the camera or the many photos she’d just taken. He suggested, “You should ask us who our favourite social media person is.”

Abby lowered her camera completely, her shoulders sagging a littler. She refuted, “No. That’s mean and I don’t want you guys to all say Logan; I know he’s more fun.”

“Not a chance anyone says Logan over you,” he said emphatically. “Logan would agree it’s you, too, if you asked him.”

“That’s just not true. I’m not asking questions that will hurt someone’s feelings.” Her words were final, and she imagined that the hurt my feelings was implied.

“Fine,” he conceded, though the slight roll of his eyes showed he wasn’t happy about it. He added, “But you do ask better questions. You’re also way hotter than he is.”

Abby rolled her eyes back at him. The beating of her heart became louder in her ears, harder in her chest, despite her desperate attempt at nonchalance when she took the opportunity to greet Pasta as he wandered through the tunnel behind Jeremy.

“I didn’t mean that in an inappropriate way,” Jeremy said, glancing back over his shoulder to watch Pasta leave. “I just—I have eyes, you know? But like… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine,” Abby said, shrugging. “It’s far from the most degrading thing a hockey player has ever said about me.”

Tension suddenly overcame them, and Abby froze in place. She couldn’t work out what she’d said that could have caused the sudden shift between them and found her shoulders curling in to try and get away with it.

“Here?” Jeremy asked after a few, long painful seconds. “One of the boys?”

A loud guffaw left her mouth entirely involuntarily and she gestured back to the ice to ask incredulously, “Those boys? No, they would never. Not where I can hear anyway. Just guys in college.”

The returning question was immediate and gruff: “Where did you go to college?”

“That’s not—Sway.”

Any and all tension dissipated as quickly as it had come, Jeremy somehow standing even taller than he had been, and a broad smile overcoming over his face, “Just making friendly conversation and trying to get to know you, Abs.”

Jeremy’s winks always disarmed her. He dealt them out so freely, so regularly, that she was sure they were just an unconscious behaviour whenever he was coming to or going from a conversation. And yet, even if she didn’t think he meant them, they still rattled her to her core.

In the same way his weeks were unintentional; Abby never meant to watch him for so long as he walked away. If anyone ever caught her—and maybe they had and were too nice to say anything—she wasn’t sure she’d ever get over the embarrassment.

That didn’t stop her, though. She didn’t look away until he was out of sight.

Abby posted up in her usual spot at TD Garden, waiting for the boys to arrive for the game. They were all painfully consistent, so she knew exactly how long she had between arrivals to quickly edit photos and post them in small groups. It was such a to-the-minute routine that she could have done it on autopilot—did do it on autopilot. A lot.

They all filed in as normal, nothing disrupting her routine until Jeremy’s arrival time came. Abby knew his arrival time just as well as she knew anybody else’s, but nervous energy always took over when it came to him.

She had her phone positioned and ready for the next group to come in, filming whether they acknowledged her or pretended she didn’t exist. The younger boys were more likely to say hello, she found, mostly because they’d come into the league when social media was already a big part of it. The older the player was, the more set he was in his routine and superstitions—even if they refused to call them superstitions.

Jeremy was always good for a greeting, oblivious to the damage his smile and wink did to her, but Abby steeled herself for him to step towards her.

She couldn’t have been prepared for the casual speed at which he reached into the inner pocket of his suit and pulled out his phone, holding it up in her direction. The shutter went off and he was walking past her before she could even work out what had happened.

Abby didn’t always stay late after games. She had to stay around for media, but on a normal day she was posting the post-game interviews and promptly jumping on The Orange Line before posting some game recaps from whatever corner of the subway she was crammed into. That all changed when Logan was hanging around and she was able to convince him to drive her home.

While it saved her a sardine packed trip, it did mean she had to hang around longer than she normally would to as he packed away videography equipment. She found herself a chair to sit on in the hallway near the Bruins’ family room, trying to make herself disappear into the brickwork.

It didn’t take long for Abby to run out of things to post, and for her eyes to grow heavy. She still didn’t know exactly what she had to wait for Logan to finish, but the sudden end to her busy day was enough for her body to realise she could relax—normally that end was when she was flopping onto her bed.

The players started to file out, crossing in front of her on their way to their families and their cars. Those she made eye contact with said goodnight, although most of them were on a mission to get out and only had eyes for the exit. She couldn’t blame them.

A shadow appeared over her lap where she’d turned back to her phone to respond to some people on the socials. When Abby looked up, Jeremy was looking down at her with head slightly tilted.

“Why’re you still here?”

His towering figure would never get old. It would have a hold on Abby until the day she died, she was sure of it, especially when he was in his suit.

“Getting a ride home. Would rather sit here than jump on the subway,” she told him, keeping her words and breathing measured. “Something must have happened because Logan’s taking ages.”

“You sure he didn’t forget?” Jeremy asked. “I’ll take you home if you need.”

Multiple things were wrong with that idea—primarily that she was positive that he did not live anywhere remotely close to Roxbury, but also that being alone in space as confined as a car was sure to ruin her life.

Abby assured him, even if she didn’t totally believe it, “He wouldn’t have forgotten. Thanks, though.”

“See you at practice, then. Hope you have something good planned.”

She did, and she would have told him if his wink hadn’t left her speechless.

Jeremy’s retreating figure was still in view when a text came through, Logan telling Abby that he had forgotten he was taking her home and he was already halfway gone. He would come back and get her if needed, but it didn’t take a genius to work out that he was hoping that wasn’t the case. He would have called if it was.

“Sway!” Abby shouted, not allowing any time for another possibility to come to mind.

He stopped instantly, yet his turn back to face her was slow. He didn’t say anything, just waited for her to gather her bag and rush in his direction.

“Can I get that ride, please?”

With a simple nod, he took her camera bag without being asked and led her to the player parking lot.

Even half empty, it was clear to Abby that she didn’t belong. She didn’t even own a car let alone the six figure vehicles she was being confronted with. One of them, if sold, could probably pay off her student debt.

There were many thanks, most embarrassed, while Abby sat in the passenger’s seat and tried not to touch anything except for the chair. Even then she was worried about all the potential damage she could do to the leather.

“Why are you so tense?” Jeremy asked. “Just relax a little.”

His words were accompanied by a large hand on her thigh. In what world that was supposed to relax her, Abby did not know, because even through the denim of her jeans she could feel the warmth and size of his hand. Looking down at it made her dizzy.

There was no way he was oblivious to what he was doing to her, she knew that for certain when she caught the smirk on his face after he finished talking. She didn’t know what he was talking about—it may have been about the game, or it could have been a question about the best way to get to her house. Abby would never be able to repeat what he said because the only thing playing in her mind was the feeling of his hand moving higher and higher up her thigh.

Never before had she wished she lived further away from the arena, but Abby was desperate for it to never end because by the time she could see that they were only a few turns away, Jeremy’s hand was pressing right into the crease of her hip. Squeezing her thighs together was really the only thing she could do because Jeremy was driving, and Abby did want to make it home.

A lot of the wanting to make it home was because she was desperate to find the words to ask him inside.

She didn’t need to find those words, though, because they were stopped on the street, and Jeremy hadn’t even killed the engine before he was asking, “Are you gonna invite me in?”

“Sorry!” a voice called, accompanied by the loud squeak of sneakers on concrete. “One of the cameras was fucking up and it needed—”

“It’s fine, Logan. Let’s just get out of here.”

“Sway’s looking a bit worse than I remember?”

“What? I haven’t noticed anything different.”

“Might want to proofread what you post to Twitter.”

Abby instantly reached into her pocket, her heart racing at the thought of having posted anything to the team socials that wasn’t absolutely perfect. The notifications were more out of control than normal, only adding to the sinking feeling in her stomach.

When she finally looked at the tweets coming from the Bruins’ official account, it was clear what Logan was referencing because staring up at her was a picture of their beloved captain—with Sway being the one mentioned.

She would claim it as a way to boost engagement and vowed to herself that she’d do it a few more times with other players throughout the week. Anything to stop the replies asking if Admin had the hots for Sway.

Finding a coffee shop on the road was something Abby did every road trip; sitting in a hotel room editing photos or TikToks or thinking up (or responding to) tweets was lonely, and sitting in the practice arena of the day was normally too loud to be in for longer than strictly necessary. The coffee shops weren’t always much quieter, but there was at least natural sunlight shining through the windows and some fresh air entering when the door opened.

On a normal day, Abby was able to work uninterrupted. Logan never followed her, just as she never followed him, and she was left to read through the mind-numbing analytics without losing concentration. She could count on one hand the number of times someone she knew had found her hiding spot which is why she was not at all expecting a hotel key and pair of sunglasses to be placed right next to her mouse and for someone to ask her what it was she was drinking.

Looking back over her shoulder, she made eye contact with Jeremy Swayman.

“Do you want one?” he prompted after being met with silence, gesturing to the empty coffee mug.

She considered whether she needed another entire coffee, before conceding, “a flat white with oat milk, please.”

He sat down on the empty stool beside her, pushing his sunglasses out of the way and resting his elbows onto the table. He looked exhausted, which wasn’t a great sign for it only being the middle of the season. Abby never knew what to ask the boys when she wasn’t holding a camera to their faces—not that she was regularly put into a position where she had to make conversation. It was so rare that she was certain that most of them didn’t even know her name. Jeremy didn’t seem bothered by the silence, instead opening up his phone and opening his Messages app with a red notification showing a very high number and responding to a text seemingly at random. Abby went back to her laptop, deciding to take a break from trying to work out what type of content needed to be scrapped in favour of opening up Indeed.

“What’s that website? Is that where people look for jobs?” Jeremy asked, peering over to her screen.

“Uh, yeah, most of the time.”

Her scrolling was half-hearted; it was nothing she hadn’t already seen before, and nothing she hadn’t already compared to what she was currently doing. Or making. The jobs she had the perfect set of skills for were few and far between because people didn’t tend to be leaving sports teams, and she hasn’t quite yet worked out how to transition out of that job yet.

“You want to leave the Bruins?” Jeremy asked after a few minutes of silence, leaning in just a little closer. His presence in her space was always hard to miss, and even more so when he was actively moving closer.

“No, not really. I’m just seeing what’s out there.”

“But what’s the point if you don’t want to leave?”

“You went to college; you have to have some understanding of what it’s like in the real world.” Abby, picking up on the ever so slight shrug in his shoulders, and the hint of embarrassment, continued in a gentler tone, “I have to check the market. It’s to see if there are similar jobs paying more, or if there’s a really good opportunity out there to get into marketing or something.”

“Check the market? Like testing it in free agency?”

“Yeah,” Abby nodded. “Except I don’t have an agent. I just have to do it myself.”

“Sounds really boring.”

“Boring and exhausting,” she admitted. “But hardly anybody gets any career progression by staying in the same job. I will have to leave the Bruins at some point.”

Jeremy’s eyebrows pulled together in the middle, but he nodded like he understood—Abby wasn’t wholly convinced that he did.

With his pre-game nap calling, Jeremy didn’t stay for much longer. He apologised for annoying her, and she hastily assured him that she was always happy to talk to him and left her with another coffee that he ordered for her on his way out.

He was long gone by the time Abby noticed a piece of paper he’d left behind where his hotel key had been. She lifted and flipped it to see it was important, expecting it to be the sleeve they were all given with their room keys, and did a double take when she saw something hastily handwritten instead of the hotel logo.

Room 914. See you soon.

A warmth that could only be brought on by Jeremy rose in Abby’s cheeks. She slammed her laptop shut, held her bag beside the table and swiped all of her belongings into it. It wasn’t anything she had expected, especially on the day of a game when she knew how specific a goalie’s routine was, but she wasn’t going to ignore such an obvious invitation.

The café was, thankfully, closer to the hotel than almost any other she’d found in other cities, so it was a short, fast-paced walk back. Her focus was so intense that she would have stepped out in front of a car if it weren’t for a woman grabbing her by the wrist to keep her on the sidewalk. It wasn’t one of Abby’s proudest moments, certainly, but she was on a mission and needed to make sure she was able to reach her destination before the rules changed.

Nobody else was in the lobby, that Abby noticed anyway, and her ride to the ninth floor was unimpeded—which was for the best because there was no way she would have been able to hold an intelligent, or intelligible, conversation had anybody tried.

Jeremy must have been waiting at the door with how fast he answered it after Abby’s first and only knock. He pulled her inside quickly, the door shutting heavily behind them as he crowded her against the door. She dropped her bag to the floor, the thud only causing a slight concern about her laptop, before his hands were curling into her hair and his mouth was drawing closer.

“Don’t leave,” he said, his breath moving over her lips. “Don’t find a new job.”

Abby wrapped her arms around his neck to stop herself from melting to the floor. She pressed her mouth to his, a silent promise that she wouldn’t go anywhere if he didn’t want her to.

His knee moved between her thighs, helping to keep her lift her further off the ground—closer to him—and added friction it gave to her jeans caused a breathy moan to leave her mouth.

“Are you done here?”

The moonlight casts a silver glow over Princess Patrycja Berezovsky’s room, overpowering the small golden light emanating from the dying embers in her hearth. It cascades over the new gown hanging on her wardrobe, dancing over the jewels resting on her vanity. Everything glitters and shines in the light, flawless and beautiful and perfect. Just like she was.

But in the silence of the early winter night, the princess’ eyes remain open, sleep evading her even now. In this moment, Patrycja felt like she might shatter into a million pieces. Like she was the embodiment of the crystal swan – the emblem of her country of Roslindale – perched on her nightstand. False and fragile. All because of what tomorrow would bring.

Tomorrow was the reason for the brand-new gown on her wardrobe. The reason for the royal tiara on her vanity. Tomorrow, she would be boarding a boat and sailing down the coast to be married to the crown prince of Carolyna. A marriage that Patrycja had no say in.

She knew this moment was coming. She had known it from the moment she turned fifteen. That was the first year that the scrolls had started arriving from all across the land, when she was fitted for a new dress every month, when she was paraded into the throne room and forced to meet the suitors that came to offer their hand in marriage.

Back then, it had been exciting. She had been giddy, her mind swimming with the songs that she heard played in court and the stories passes down from folk tales; stories of beautiful maidens meeting handsome princes, of knights rescuing damsels, of lovers whose romance brought about magic and overcame every obstacle.

But she had quickly learned that life was not like the songs.

She couldn’t pinpoint a precise time when that realization hit her, if there ever was an exact moment. It felt more like a slow build, a chain reaction of events leading her to that conclusion.

The first time she met one of the suitors in her father’s throne room who happened to be thrice her age.

The times her father refused to talk to her about her choice of suitors, instead looking towards the councilmen around him as if she weren’t even in the same room, as if she didn’t have an opinion in these negotiations.

Every time she was asked what she felt about one particular suitor or another, her concerns of age or cruelty or just general dislike were brushed off as vanity, glossed over because that prince or lord had a kingdom that yielded good crops or commanded a strong army.

Marriage was a political arrangement. And it was arrangement in which she hastily learned she had no say.

It had been three years since the first scroll arrived, her marriage to whatever eligible man her father and his council chose delayed. Mainly because of their focus on the war against Her father and his council held off for three years, their focus more on the war against Vizcaya. But when the opposing countries army had secured their claim to the lands surrounding the Stanley River Valley in the west, the council’s focus shifted from winning the war to recovering their losses. And the easiest recovery for the kingdom of Roslindale was by securing the engagement of Patrycja to the crown prince of Carolyna. A man that Patrycja had met only once before – two years ago.

The entire situation – her entire life – had turned from a fairytale into one giant tragedy. Her path had been planned out since she took her first breath. Her fate was sealed, the prophecy was written. Now, the weight of her future was locked onto her like a ball and chain, dragging her down. Something that she could not fight no matter how hard she tried. It felt ironic: here she was, princess of a great country whose name carried great power but she herself, had none.

There was nothing she could do.

That was the thought that had been twirling in her head, the image of her dancing in a strange ballroom, trapped in the arms of a man who did not care for her. A man who could bed a hundred other woman without penalty. A man who she would essentially be sold to for what? His country’s naval power?

There was no escape. She had no power to stop it, to change anything.

There was nothing she could do.

Patrycja can feel the panic rise in her chest, her ribcage rising and falling at a rapid pace. In a haste, she throws off her bedcovers, her body lifting from the plush mattress. The moonglow is still flooding into her chambers, casting a ghostly silver light over everything. She rises from her bed, her bare feet hitting the cold stone floors as she walks towards the glass doors, pushing them open and walking onto the balcony overlooking the ocean.

The early winter chill hits her skin, causing goosebumps to rise, helping to slow her panicked breathing, if only slightly. Her blue eyes stay fixed on the horizon, watching as the waves crash onto the shore, the beat of the ocean slower than the beat of her heart. The cold air stings her lungs with every inhale and she can feel the scream perched just below jaw, begging to be released. But she doesn’t let it fall.

It was a skill that she had perfected long ago. Hide every ugly, raw, uncouth emotion behind her polished façade. Never let them see you crack. Accept your fate with a demure smile and a graceful curtsy. It was what was expected. It had been expected of her from the moment she was born. It would be expected of her till the moment she died.

There was nothing she could do.  

She felt fake. Part of her wondered if she was even a real human anymore or if she had been transformed into the crystalline swans embroidered onto tapestries, engraved onto the palace doors, embossed into the castle walls. That she had turned from a person with emotions and needs into something monetary – something beautiful and valuable and disposable.  

Patrycja knew she hadn’t faded entirely because she could feel the pure want build inside of her body. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted… to have a say in how her life was plotted. But there was nothing she could do.

The crash of the ocean waves draws her back to the present moment, her eyes refocusing down the cliffside the castle was perched on to the dark blue almost black ocean, the darkness broken only by the white foam on the waves. And the sight of that sea, so far below her, pulls a story from England into the forefront of her mind. A story that whispers through her thoughts in a voice of a young maiden so much like her. A maiden who, driven to despair over the lack of control and agency in her life, chose to meet the waters and drown.

Patrycja Berezovsky had no power in this life. Except one.

She had the power to say when it ended.

The clarity settles into her bones, as cold as the air around her, freezing any panic that once existed in her veins, replacing it instead with a chilling acceptance.

Patrycja spins away from the stone railing of her balcony, crossing her bedchamber to the door. The heavy oak gives way with the push of her hand and she pokes her head out of the small crack, eyes glancing around the silent hallway. It is abandoned, the moon the only light and the sheer luck of being able to slip out of her bedchamber unnoticed seems like a sign from the universe urging her on. She doesn’t hesitate to leave, not even grabbing a cloak or candle or slippers.

She knows that her current fortune would not last to the seashore. The night patrol would be walking the halls, guard would be posted outside every exit. But Patrycja knew the secrets that the palaces stone wall held, secrets that most guards were not privy to.

You see, there were tunnels that wound their way through the bowels of the castle and led directly to the cliffside overlooking the ocean. Her uncle Brajan had showed her these passages when she was a child, excited to share his hidden playground with his niece. Patrycja wondered if he saw something of himself in her. He had always been the black sheep, willful and wild and never tied down. She shared a similar desire. Maybe that was why he showed her a way to escape.

However, she knows that her current plan, one to not only escape the castle but escape the trappings of her life was not the form of freedom he had in mind. She sends a silent thank you to him anyway, hoping that when the news reached him, he would understand. Pressing on a painted panel a few paces down the hall, the entrance whooshes open, reveal a staircase to Patrycja.

The tunnels are cold but comforting, a labyrinth that she knew like the back of her hand. Her body naturally moves her around turns and corners, the steeled resolve never wavering in her veins.

The chilled ocean breeze is the first thing she can feel, even before the world appears to her, the exit a small silver box promising her a getaway. The cacophony of waves is louder down here than from her chamber’s balcony, only increasing in sound as she walks closer.

Finally, her bare feet hit the delicate grass of the cliffside, the wind ruffling her pale blonde hair. The edge of the outlook is within sight. Patrycja moves forward, her eyes fixed on the line where the earth ends and the sky begins until she is near enough to the edge to see the ocean waves crashing beneath her. She watches the water break against the rocks below, the waves beckoning to her with their steady ebb and flow, the foam retreating back into the darkness, seemingly begging her to follow their path. The wind picks up the edge of her long nightdress, the hem fluttering in the breeze, her long flowing sleeves cascading behind her.  

She is sure she looks like a character from a song, ready to meet her fate. She is sure that her life will be reduced to a tragedy. What kind? Of that she isn’t sure. People will either whisper about the princess who went mad and killed herself or she will be an archetype in a folk tale, a tragic heroine that took control of her life in the only way she could.

There was no way of knowing what she would become once she was gone. There was only the going.

A small slip of the rocks beneath her lurches her body, the surprise pausing her forward momentum briefly. She takes a small breath, steadying herself again, before taking another step forward. She could do this. There was nothing stopping her but her own fear and hesitancy.

That is, until she feels the tight grip of a hand on her shoulder.

The mere touch stops her in her tracks. She was supposed to be alone. This was supposed to be her escape. Her entire body stays frozen in place, waiting. For what, she wasn’t sure. She just keeps her gaze focused on the beach below, the waves still kissing the sharp rocks. Then, a voice sounds out, rising above the crash of the sea.

“Princess?”

Patrycja recognizes its tone and timbre. Her own surprise accompanied by the press of the hand on her shoulder forces her to turn around. And her blue eyes land on the concerned brown ones of Ser Jeremy – her knight, her sworn protector.

The moonlight glints off his armor, the black metal looking even darker in the night, the only color on his body coming from the gold of the cloak clasped around his shoulders. Patrycja watches as his gaze dances across her face, glancing down at her thin nightdress, her bare feet.

“What are doing out here?” he asks, the concern lacing his question. The query demands an answer, an explanation – one that Patrycja is hesitant to give. So, she stands frozen, her eyes still distant and stare blank as Jeremy continues to look at her.

His hand falls from her shoulder, tracing down her arm to loop around her wrist. The hold around the joint is delicate, as is the pull of it on her arm. Jeremy’s gentle urging makes her walk a few steps forward, at least until they are away from the edge of cliff. Patrycja watches as he reaches behind him, tugging the golden material of his cloak. Above the ambient noise of the ocean, she can hear the clasps holding the material click, the fabric releasing. He twirls the material around her, quickly and efficiently wrapping it around her frame, the soft cotton descending upon her own shoulders. Jeremy pulls the fabric tight around her, willing the winter chill away.

Jeremy’s voice sounds again as his hands move against her arms in an attempt to both warm her and shake her out of the fugue state she was in. He repeats his prior question, the syllables still laced with confusion and the silent request for any response lingered in the air.   

“Isn’t it obvious?” Patrycja finally speaks, her voice quiet and humorless. She watches his eyes look over her before flicking to the where the earth gave way to the sea and then back to her. She can see the realization settle in his dark irises and she can feel a strange ache in her heart at the sadness that seems to spark in his eyes along with that understanding.

“Why?”

His question is a genuine one, she knows this. But his ignorance at the position she was in, the choices made without her consent, choice that drove her to choose this path, ignites a righteous anger in her. That fire flows through her veins and all that bottled rage and anguish that she had been holding back for years finally bursts forth.

“Why? Why?! God, Jeremy, why do you think!?” Patrycja says, her voice rising with every sentence.

She throws his hands off her with a sharp shake of her body, the anger forcing her to move, even if it is only to pace side to side in front of him. Part of her knew that she couldn’t go further even if she wanted to, not with Jeremy’s eyes following her every step.

“I am about to be married off to someone I met two years ago, a marriage that I have no say in in a life that I have no say in! I have no control, no power. I might be a princess but I am not awarded the agency that every man around me is given freely. I am an item: a brood mare, a diamond to auctioned off to the highest bidder. Percious cargo to be shipped off to another country. Forced to be tied a man that I do not know and do not love. At the worst, he could be cruel – at best, indifferent. Regardless, I will belong to him for the rest of my life. And there is nothing I can do to stop it except walk off that precipice, let the rocks meet me and the waves take me.”

Her final declaration is emphasized with a point of her finger towards the cliffside. Jeremy’s eyes follow her gesture and Patrycja sees the dark brown irises harden in a rocky determination before returning to her, locking with her hysteric gaze.

“I can’t let you do that,” he says, his voice steady in its resolve.

“Yes, you can,” Patrycja replies, stalking towards him, the finger that had been pointing to ocean now pressed against his breastplate. “You are sworn to me. So if I demand you to return to the castle and let me die, you have to obey.”

“I cannot obey you in this, Princess. You are right, I am sworn to you. I took an oath to guard your secrets, to defend your name and honor, to give my blood for yours and protect with all my strength and – ”

“Then protect me!” Patrycja screams. Her hand reaches for the hilt of the sword hanging at his side, her hand stopped by Jeremy’s own calloused palm wrapping around her wrist. She can feel the tears that are tracking down her cheeks, her blue eyes gazing up at him as her voice breaks.

“Please. Jeremy, please. Save me from a fate that I do not want, from a life that I cannot control.”

“I can’t let you die!” Jeremy exclaims, pulling her body to his, his hands turning to grip her waist as he meets her pleading gaze. The close proximity forces Patrycja to keep his steady gaze. She had never noticed how the moonlight turned them from their normal dark umber to a brighter chestnut color.

“I can’t let you die. Even if it is by your own hand,” he declares, quieter this time, one of his hands reaching up to brush away her windswept hair from her cheek. “Not if I can stop it.”

This was dangerous. The thought passes through Patrycja’s mind before she can help it and she quietly scoffs at its absurdity. Of course this was dangerous. It would be that way even if her and Jeremy were twenty paces apart from each other. The two of them shouldn’t be out of the castle, alone together, at this time of night. But standing here in her thin nightgown, her sworn protectors’ cloak around her shoulders, his hands on her body, their frames close enough that Patrycja can feel his breath fanning across her cheeks, the warmth a sharp contrast to the chill around them… it was compromising.

Very compromising, in fact.

The realization seeps into her bones faster than the realization that she could jump from the cliffside if she wanted to. Here was another way to escape that wouldn’t cost her life. There were few weapons in a princesses’ arsenal but one was their virtue. And if that was sullied, she would be shunned, most likely disowned. She would be free.

So, without hesitation, she lifts her body up to press her lips against Jeremy’s.

It was an impulsive decision, not even entirely thought out. She didn’t know if anyone had already discovered them standing on the cliffside together, if there even was a witness to this indiscretion. It was reckless and rash. But all thought: her original plan to throw herself into the ocean, her reasoning behind the kiss, her anger, her anguish, her desperation, her hysteria… it all disappeared with the touch of Jeremy’s lips.

And in its place… a peace.

The feeling of his lips against hers was indescribable. The sensation was… magical. It felt similar to the emotions that used to fill her body when heard tales and songs of true love, an emotion that she had hoped to experience for real when she kissed her own prince charming; warm, beautiful, and all encompassing.

And it certainly didn’t hurt that Jeremy was kissing her back. The hand that had been on her waist had tightened around her, pulling her impossibly closer to his body, the cold metal of his armor pressing against her front. His other hand had fallen from behind her ear where he had so tenderly tucked her hair to cup her jaw, guiding her deeper into the kiss. The way his fingers rest on her skin is delicate, touching her with a reverence that she had never felt so personally, holding her like she was about to shatter into a thousand pieces. Which, considering the position he had found her in only moments ago, might have been true.

The sensation of Jeremy’s kiss is gone as swiftly as it came. He pulls away from her, his head ducking down. In regret? In embarrassment? In disgust – at her or himself? She didn’t know.

The two stand there frozen and it only then that Patrycja notices the snow falling from the sky. The white flakes land on Jeremy’s dark hair and armor, covering him with a natural silver glitter that sparkles in the moonlight. He looks even more like a hero in the songs – the melancholy knight, honor bound to his king… to his princess.

“Why did you do that?”

His question is slightly muffled by the tilt of his head and the gentle snowfall but Patrycja can hear the sharpness of his words, a small undercurrent of anger painting the syllables. She stands frozen, unsure on what to say in response, much like when he asked her a question earlier that night. But unlike before, the reason she does not answer is not because she was caught in a catatonic state. It because she wasn’t sure of the answer now.

“Was that your newest escape plan?” Jeremy continues, his dark eyes finally reconnecting to hers. “Kiss me and be shunned? It is clever – your father would most likely disinherit you, send you away to a convent or some other institute where you would never be seen again. But I would be killed for besmirching the Princess’ honor.”

The guilt crashes Patrycja with the strength of the ocean waves beating on the cliffside. She should’ve realized that her choice would affect Jeremy. Even before the kiss and the feeling that it brought forward, she had always cared about him. He was kind and noble and brave. He had always kept his oath, preformed his duty as her sworn protector. Tonight was no different. He stopped her attempt to end her life and how had she repaid him? By trying to implicate him in an action that would not only undo the honor that he had worked so hard to achieve but would force him to meet the hangman’s noose.

“So did you?” he asks, his voice pulling Patrycja back, her blue eyes meeting his hardened gaze. “Did you kiss me in the hopes that someone was watching and would report back to your father?”

The shame thrumming through her body forces her to respond.  

“I did. At least, that was the plan. But now…”

Patrycja’s voice trails off and she can see Jeremy’s eyes soften in understanding. He must’ve felt it too, that force, that magic between them; rarer than a comet or the aurora borealis. It had enveloped both of them, covered them like the snow now covering the beach… unlikely, strange, but beautiful.

“Why did you kiss me back?” Patrycja questions, her head tilting ever so slightly in confusion. “Even if it would mean death for you?”

The change of expression on Jeremy’s face is almost imperceptible, just a small lift of one corner of his mouth in a subtle smirk.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he responds, an echo of the first words she spoke to him that night. “I’m sworn to you. I am willing to die for you. In every way.”

Oh. Oh.

It had always been Jeremy. He had always been there, by her side and not just because duty demanded it. It was because he felt something towards her – something more than just the devotion of a knight to his princess. It couldn’t be real. This was impossible… as impossible as the snow falling around them. Jeremy… loved her? At least, he cared about her – deeply.

Patrycja watches Jeremy’s head drop, the smile disappearing from his face.

“I apologize. I shouldn’t have said anything. Not now, at least.”

She knew what Jeremy meant with those words. There was never a time or place for him to confess his feelings towards her. Their positions simply didn’t allow it. But his confession coming out now, mere moments after she was planning to end her life, the night before she was to be married off… it was jarring to say the least. But a small part of Patrycja doesn’t care.

“Would you ever have told me how you felt?”

“It is not my place to ask for the affection of a princess,” Jeremy replies, the smile returning to his face but this time it was laden with sadness.

The reasoning behind his melancholy seems to hit Patrycja slowly. Of course he wouldn’t have told her. Even if he had confessed to her before tonight, they would’ve never been able to explore their feelings, safely. It would be forbidden, dangerous. One misstep could spell the end for them both.

These emotions existed in a space that they could not survive in. This could never exist. All they could only have this moment – in the peace and calm of snowfall on the cliffside, the moon as their only witness.

“I’m glad you told me,” Patrycja whispers, her gentle confession drawing Jeremy’s attention back to her. “At least I know that there is someone out there who sees me as more than just my title and my inheritance. It’s a comforting thought.”

Jeremy only offers her a subtle bow of his head, the action of a knight proud to serve his princess. Nothing more. Patrycja can see the rise of his chest is response to his deep inhale, his head lifting, shoulders straightening and she heartachingly watches as his own mask – one of a  duty-bound knight – falls back into place.

“We should get you back inside, Princess.”

The words aren’t meant to be cruel but Patrycja can feel the cut of them in her heart, the pain of which shocks her back fully to the present. She registers the numbness in her fingers and toes, feels the dampness of her now snow-ladened hair, and a shiver wracks through her body. And finally, the wave of exhaustion sweeps over her, brought on by the lack of sleep and every choice, plan, secret that had been revealed.

There is no arguing from her, no fight. Instead, she just nods her head and walks back towards the castle. She can feel the familiar comforting presence of Jeremy trailing closely behind her, an energy that meant so much now, after the revelations of tonight. Patrycja walks back through the hidden tunnels, turning the opposite directions that she had mere hours ago until she was climbing the staircase that would lead to the secret entrance a few paces down from the door of her bedchamber.

Before they walk out into the hall, Jeremy steps in front her, his head poking through the crack in the wall, checking to see if anyone was lingering the corridors. It was only when he confirmed the coast was clear did he step forward, allowing Patrycja to walk into the hallway before he clicked the panel back into place. He escorts her to her chambers, standing a few paces behind her as her hands grasp the iron doorhandle. But before she can pull open the carved oak, Jeremy’s hands once again stop her.

In a move that was laden with every ounce yearning, every impossible desire, his hands gently grasp the edges of his golden still thrown over her shoulders. The fabric falls from her, exposing her skin to silver moonlight. Patrycja can only let in a shuddering breath, brought on by the intimacy that was a whisper of what she now knew they could’ve shared… if only they were different people. 

“Good night, Princess,” Jeremy says, his whisper echoing down the hallway and Patrycja desperately holds onto warmth that his devotion provided her, if only for a moment, before she steps back into her gilded cage.

She walks into her bedchamber, ready to lay her head down on her pillow and let herself fall into what she hopes is a deep and dreamless slumber. But as she is about to pull the door close behind her, a tremor of fear runs through her. She turns, her gaze now landing on Jeremy’s back, his golden cloak once again secured to his shoulders.

“Jeremy,” she says, her voice calling his attention back to her. She swears she can feel her heart skip a beat when his gentle brown eyes fall on her. “You aren’t going to tell anyone anything? About tonight?”

She can see the understanding cross over his expression, knowing that she meant her sneaking out, the hidden tunnels, how she had been on the cliffside, ready to jump into the waves, their kiss, everything. A soft smile tugs at his lips before he speaks.

“I swear to ward the Princess. With all my strength and give my blood for hers. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side, and defend her name and honor.”

His words were verbatim to the vow that he took in the throne room, kneeling in front of both her and her father while the rest of the court looked down on them. That day where he became more than a knight from the Rosalind ranks, when he turned into her sworn protector. It was his promise to her.

“That was the oath I took,” Jeremy says, his voice filled with the sincerity that Patrycja had only dreamed of receiving. “My first and only duty is to you.”

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