LOGAN

“Hey.” He says gently, muting the tv as he tunes fully into you.

“Hi.” You say, your voice sounding flat, hollow even. The tone making Fraser’s gut twist.

“Bad day?” He asks, standing up and beginning to make his way to you.

“I’m sorry.” You say with a shrug, and Fraser’s demeanor seems to change as he realizes how close to braking you are.

“Hey, there’s nothing for you to apologize for.” He states, and his heart breaks as he takes in your glossy and tired eyes.

They meet his, and that’s all it takes for the flood gates to open. Your shoulders start to shake, and Fraser pulls you into him as soon as the broken sobs escape your lips.

“I’m so tired, Fras.” You sob, your hands grabbing the back of his hoodie.

“I know, angel.” He says, rocking you slightly and holding you so tight against him. He knows because he has watched this place drain you month after month. He knows because he’s seen you stop doing the things that used to make you feel like you. You don’t bake on Sunday mornings anymore, don’t sing in the shower, don’t dance around the kitchen when you’re making coffee, don’t ramble about books or recipes you want to try. You just come home, curl into him, and go quiet.

Fraser pulls back so he can see your face, and he wipes your tears away with his thumbs before kissing your lips so gently.

“I’m drained, and so miserable.” You say as if you’re expecting Fraser to be scared off by this.

“Let me help. Please, please let me.” He says with a whisper, and it breaks something in you.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

“Then quit.” Fraser says, and you look up from his chest, looking into his eyes at what he just said.

“I can’t quit.” You whisper, and you almost laugh as he makes a confused face.

“Why not? You said it yourself you’re miserable. This job is killing you, you don’t have to stay anywhere that is making you feel like this.” He states, and you almost laugh again at the absurdity of it.

“I’d have no money, I’d-“ you start to say, but he stops you.

“I’d take care of you.” He says quickly, scanning your shocked and wide eyes. “I want to take care of you.”

“Absolutely not.” You say quickly, eyes welling up with fresh tears.

“Why not?” He says, his voice still calm, still that strong comforting presence.

And a bitter laugh slips out. “That’s not how real life works.”

“It can be.”

“No.” You say, stepping back and wiping your cheek quickly. “I’m not going to be a leech, Fras.” His expression changes instantly at your words.

“Don’t.” He says, quiet but firm. And the pain in it makes you look away. “Do not call yourself that.” He says again, stepping closer.

“But that’s how it would feel. Every time you’d pay rent, or buy groceries or if I want something stupid, like coffee or shampoo. I’d think about how it isn’t really mine.” Fraser’s eyes soften, and he tucks a piece of your hair back that probably fell out sometimes throughout the day.

“You help me breathe.” He finally says, like that is a casual thing to say. “You make me a better person, you give me room to grow, and you give me the sunlight to as well.”

You whimper at the words that melt your heart.

“Let me do the same thing for you.”

—

The very next day you quit your job.

You’re sitting in your car, the fall leaves in Boston turning colors as you call Fraser. He’s in Florida now, having to catch a criminally early flight for the game tonight.

“I did it.” You say first thing after he answers the phone.

“I’m so proud of you.” He says, a little laugh at the end of his statement. And you laugh as well, tears sliding down your cheeks at the feeling of freedom. Fraser stays on with you as long as he’s allowed, and you hang up as you leave the parking lot, taking the scenic route home.

As you stop at the red light, you read the sign you must have passed on occasion coming home from your now old job. The animal shelter. You smile, and something comes over you then. Before you know it, you’re switching lanes, and parking in the parking lot.

A kind older woman sits at the desk as you open the door, she smiles and asks how she can help you today.

“Do you guys need volunteers?” You say, so excited for a fresh beginning that you forget to say hello back. You learn her name is Dana, and the shelter does in fact need volunteers.

As she leads you through the facility and gets you all set up to start in two days, you leave the shelter with something you haven’t had in months. A spark of hope.

—

You text Fraser as you sit in the parking lot before your first volunteer shift. It’s two days into his four day road trip, and you both are starting to get a little deprived of one another.

Fraser 💛: I should be driving you

You: You are literally in Nashville

Fraser 💛: This was bad planning by the NHL

You laugh out loud at his text, and you can just imagine him on the other side of the phone, smirking as he watches the three dots appear as you text him back.

You: I miss you

Fraser 💛: I miss you too, angel. You’re going to do great today

You: I’m just going to be folding laundry and cleaning

Fraser 💛: You’re helping out animals that need it. Don’t downplay that

Fraser 💛: I’ve got to go, call after the game?

You: knock em dead, Fras ❤️

He loves your message, and stops responding. So you take a deep breath in, and a deep breath out before walking through the doors yet again and starting your first day.

The building smells like disinfectant, kibble, and something comforting you can’t place. It’s loud, but not in the way your old job was loud. Dogs bark from the back kennels, the phone rings at the front desk, the laundry machine beeps.

“You ready?” Dana asks you as you nod with enthusiasm.

The work is not glamorous, but it’s important. You fold towels, refill water bowls, sweep fur from the corners of rooms. But you also meet everyone. Nala, the old pug who lives behind the front desk, Skittles, the three legged yorkie, Cleopatra, a sleek black cat.

All of them important, all of them now fed, looked after, and cared for until they find their forever home. Then Dana brings you into a quieter cat room.

“That’s Peanut,” she says. Peanut sits on a fleece bed in the corner, mostly grey with a small white patch on her chest. Her fur is sleek, her eyes sharp and assessing. And curled into her side is a tiny kitten. He’s white with gray spots, one clear blue eye and one cloudy.

Your heart cracks open at the sight of them.

“That’s Cashew,” Dana says softly. “He’s mostly blind in one eye due to an old infection. He also has a chronic condition from it, so he’ll need medicine for the rest of his life.”

“Oh my God,” you whisper as Dana smiles sadly. But you notice how attached they are, so you ask, “Bonded?”

“Completely, yes. Peanut came in with him, she’s young herself, but she protects him like he’s hers.”

“How have they not been scooped up by now?” You question, watching as Cashew makes his way over to you on stumbling legs.

“My guess is the medication.” She says motioning to the white kitten now rubbing his head into you. “People hear that and they think of the time and the money, and they turn away.” Dana says with a sad look on her face.

Your gaze moves towards Peanut, like she’s assessing you. She blinks strategically at you, and you only hope she can see that you have nothing but love to give the kitten, to give them both. So she too comes by you, and they sit with you all afternoon.

—

By the time your volunteering shift ends, you have cat hair woven into your t shirt, you have a scratch from an excited dog, and you feel fulfilled. And that night, after Fraser gets back to his hotel, he FaceTimes you.

His hair is damp from his shower, curly around the edges of his neck, and he’s propped up in bed wearing a Bruins sweatshirt. He looks tired in that travel way, but the second your face appears on his phone, he smiles.

“There she is.” He says with a smile, his glasses moving a bit on his face.

“Hey you.” You say back, your heart lurching as you see the man you love through the phone.

“You’re glowing.” He states, sounding so content with that.

“I am not.”

“You totally are.”

“I smell like litter.” You say and he lets out a loud laugh. Smiling as he rests his head against his fist.

“Tell me everything.”

And you do. He learns of sad backstories, of adoptions and the wall that their pictures go on after these animals have found their forever home. You tell him about animals having preferred blankets, and the cat who has learned to open kennels and doors and escapes.

And Fraser listens, listens so intently. But occasionally he finds himself drifting, not because he doesn’t care or is bored, but because it’s been so long since he’s seen you so energetic, so happy, that Fraser’s eyes well up just a bit. And it’s then and there that for Fraser, this is it. After a few hours of talking, and Fraser telling you how much he loves you and is so happy for you, you guys hang up, and a Fraser lays the phone across his chest. And he vows to himself that he’ll never let you go to some soul sucking job ever again, not when he’s witnessed you like this. So he smiles, wiping a stray tear that slips out, and Fraser Minten just laughs.

—

Over the next few weeks, Fraser has watched you come back to yourself.

You still have rough nights. One where you ordered two books and panicked because you didn’t want Fraser to feel like you were using him. One where your shampoo ran out and you bought a crappy cheap one instead of your normal salon one because you don’t need to keep splurging on shampoo. But Fraser thought this was ridiculous, and went to the salon after practice the next day and bought two bottles for you.

It took some getting used to, but Fraser didn’t care if he would have to tell you every day for the rest of his life that he can support you. That he wants to support you. That for him it’s not about the money, it’s about your happiness.

And as you go to the shelter, which started off as two days a week and has quickly turned to five days or more depending on if Fraser was on a travel week, he notices how badly the animals need you, but also how badly you needed them.

He notices when he comes home from practice and hears you singing in the shower. Quiet at first, but there. It causes him to freeze in the hallway, his gear bag slung over his shoulder as he smiles to himself at the sweet sound of your voice.

He notices when the apartment smells like banana bread on a Tuesday afternoon. He walks into the kitchen and finds you in plaid shorts and one of his sweatshirts, and he leans against the counter and takes the sight in.

“You’re baking.” He states as he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.

“Yeah, I’ve been craving this all week.” You say with a hum.

“I missed this.”

“The banana bread?”

“You.” He says, and the softness and truth in his voice cause you to lean back into him, and he kisses your temple, then turns you around to kiss your cheek, then finally your lips.

—

Then, one night you come home with your brows furrowed. A little sliver of worry in your face.

Fraser sees it immediately, and sits up a bit from the couch, asking what was wrong.

“It’s Cashew.” You say, going into the bedroom to change and Fraser follows you.

“Is he okay?” Fraser asks, and he finds himself genuinely worried for the kitten.

“Yeah, but he needs this new round of shots and it’s just a big ordeal.” You say, throwing your dirty clothes into the hamper.

Fraser comes up behind you and slowly moves your hair off your back. His hands land softly on your shoulders, and he rubs your muscles carefully.

“Can I come with you tomorrow?” He asks, and you look back a little to see him.

“They’d love that.” You say with a whisper. “So would I.”

Fraser smiles as he continues rubbing your shoulders, planting small kisses from the back of your neck to the edge of your shoulder.

“Thank you.” You whisper, and Fraser chuckles before saying of course. But you turn to him, and you shake your head. “No.” You say firmly but lovingly. “Thank you for all of this.”

Fraser freezes for a second before he understands.

“I love you.” He says, looking deeply into your eyes as he pulls you into him. Kissing your lips gently but with passion. You hum against his, kissing him back with fire. And as you pull him into the shower with you, washing his hair for him as you laugh at his stories from the day, it’s the first time you use the shampoo he bought you without a little tinge of guilt.

—

The next day as you both get ready to go to the shelter, Fraser throws a bag in the back of his car before driving you both over there.

“What is that?” You ask, but Fraser grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles as he drives through Boston.

“Just something for Cashew.” He states, and your eyes brows raise at the words.

“You brought something for the cats?”

“You said he was getting shots today. I just want him to have something comfortable. For them to both have something comfortable.” Fraser says, including Peanut in there too.

You grab the bag from the backseat and peak in, the familiar colors and logo of the Bruins printed on the blanket.

Your eyes look to him, wide and flooding with emotion. He shrugs, like it’s nothing.

“Everyone deserves something comforting after shots.”

“Fraser Minten.” You say, and that grabs his attention. “The world does not deserve you.”

He laughs softly, and shakes his head. “No, it doesn’t deserve you, angel.”

And you lean across the center console and rest your forehead against his arm, not moving it until he pulls into the now familiar parking lot.

—

Fraser watches in awe and in love as you show him around. Everyone and everything here seems to orbit slightly around you. Dogs calm down when they see you, volunteers ask you where things are, but it’s the two cats that really hit it home for Fraser.

He watches as you lay the Bruins blanket out, Cashew immediately going towards it as Peanut watches with more skepticism.

And it doesn’t take long for Fraser to sit on the floor and have the white fluff ball in his lap.

“Hi, buddy.” Fraser murmurs, stroking one careful finger over Cashew’s head. Cashew fully leans into it, eyes half closed.

Peanut rises then too, she steps off the blanket and comes closer, but not all the way. Her eyes flick from Cashew to Fraser, then to you. And she stares at you, almost like she’s asking, can I trust this guy?

But you smile, and she seems to take that as a yes. So the four of you sit together, purrs filling the room, as well as small laughs from Fraser as Cashew bats at his sweatshirt strings.

Eventually, Fraser breaks the near silence and says, “I’m really proud of you.”

“For quitting?” You joke, and he shakes his head.

“For choosing yourself.” He says, his gaze holding yours.

“I was lost.” You say.

“I knew you’d find your way back.”

You glance over at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I just didn’t know it would involve a kitten, his bodyguard, and my Bruins blanket.” He says with a chuckle. And you laugh, resting your head against his shoulder as Fraser kisses your hair.

“Thank you for not giving up on me.”

By a week into the trip you are exhausted, but that good kind of exhausted where you feel so at peace and so happy. But, that’s what you think triggered it. Not that you could blame anyone else for your lack of sleep. After all, it was you who chose to stay up every night around the fire with Will and his sister Grace, and it was you who insisted on sneaking out in the dark for a midnight lake runs with Will.

So tonight, the family also equally exhausted, all turned in early. After your shower, washing off a mix of sunscreen, tanning oil and lake water, you walk into the room you and Will are staying in, drop your towel, and pick up his sharks t-shirt. It fits you in that perfect way, coming down to mid thigh. So again, it was you who chose to stay up with Will as he showed you just how much he loved the look of you in his clothing.

But now, it is past 1am, and Will is sprawled out over the bed, his arms reaching out like they are searching for you, only your side of the bed is cold.

—

Colleen walks slowly down the stairs to the kitchen, slowly blinking sleep out of her eyes, but she freezes as she hears a faint clicking coming from downstairs. Clicking which sounds like the door lock on the sliding glass doors that lead to the patio.

She frowns, walking fully up. And as she slowly looks around the corner, she sees you.

You’re standing in front of the doors, your hand pulling uselessly on the lock. Your hair is curly from all the lake water, but plopped in a huge bun on your head, pieces falling down on the sides of your face. Will’s Sharks t-shirt covers your frame, but it’s large enough on you that it leans off one of your sun tanned shoulders.

“Honey?” She says, squinting a bit as she walks closer to you.

But you don’t look towards her, it’s almost like you didn’t even hear her. You just keep pulling on the lock, your breathing labored, panicked sounding almost.

“Sweetie.” She says, a bit more firmly but still coated in softness and comfort.

Your head moves towards her at that. As Colleen takes in your appearance her heart hammers. You look… different. Your eyes are glassy and slightly squinted. Your body is stiff and you seem like you’re floating somewhere else.

That’s when it hits her, she remembers it clear as day. A phone call she had with her son a long time ago when she asked how you were doing. Will had told her about this.

“She’s okay. Work’s been taking a lot out of her recently, she actually started sleepwalking occasionally.”

“Sleepwalking?” Colleen parroted back to him.

“Yeah, it’s rare. She only does it when she’s overly tired. Freaked me out the first time, I honestly didn’t know she was asleep.”

So Colleen makes sure her expression is soft and loving, her normal expression when she is talking to you, and she listens as you finally manage to speak.

“I have to get him.” You mumble, your voice so soft she could have easily missed it.

“Get who, honey?” Colleen asks you.

“Rigney.” You say, turning back towards the lock.

Colleen’s eyes flick to the chair in the living room, where Rigney is lying, perfectly safe, and still asleep. She glances back to you, wanting nothing more than to show you the family’s dog is inside, but it seems evident that you’re not abandoning the door without some persuasion.

“Rigney’s inside already, sweetie.” Colleen says very gently, trying not to startle you. “He’s in his normal chair in the living room.”

“No. He’s cold. Colleen he’s out there.” You say, a slight panic starting to rise in your tone. Your glossy eyes get glossier as you beg her to hear you, beg her to listen to you.

“Okay, okay.” She says, stepping closer and noting the shaking of your hands, and the way your chest moves rapidly. “Why don’t you sit down quick and I’ll go grab Will. He’ll help us look okay?”

“Will?” You question, and for a second she swears she can see the fully awake you at the sound of her son’s name.

“That’s right.” Colleen says, leading you so carefully that you think it’s your choice to sit down. “You stay right here while I grab him, alright?”

You only nod in response, but your eyes stay locked on the doors. “Tell Will to hurry, he’s all alone out there, I don’t want him to be scared.” You whimper, and Colleen’s heart cracks at how upset you sound. She’s a mother after all, she wants to fix this, wants to protect you from this, but she knows it’s not her that you need. So Colleen moves quickly, trying to stay silent so she doesn’t wake the rest of the house. She opens the bedroom door, and goes to the side of the bed that Will is sleeping on.

“Will.” She says, setting her hand on his shoulder, but he doesn’t budge. “Will.” She says again, a bit louder as she shakes him lightly.

Will opens his eyes, and takes only a second before he’s looking at his mom in worry. That’s when he notices you’re gone, and the sheets are cold enough to tell him you’ve been gone for quite some time. Will’s heart leaps out of his chest, you missing, his mom looking a bit panicked.

“Mom-“

“She’s alright. She’s downstairs, I think she might be sleep walking.”

Will didn’t need to hear anything else, he didn’t bother with a shirt or shoes as he starts going down the steps. He knows not to startle you, so as he walks into the kitchen he does so as calmly as possible.

“Baby?” He asks, as he sees you. Sees the way you’re stiff, and as if you’re not really here. You turn your face towards his at the sound of his voice.

“Will, he’s out there.” You say, standing up in panic as Will makes his way over to you. He’s crouching a bit, trying to stay eye level with you.

“Who’s out there?” Will asks you, and it kills him to not reach out and tuck your curly strands of hair behind your ears.

“Rigney.” You say, and you choke on the name.

Colleen looks at Will, and he tracks her eyes over to the chair where Rigney is still sound asleep.

“Okay, well let me sit down and put my shoes on and we’ll go look.” Will says, secretly trying to lead you into the living room. You follow him blindly, like you always do.

But then your brain freezes when you hear the familiar shake of metal dog tags, and all of a sudden a wet nose comes and pokes your shin.

“See baby? He’s inside, he’s safe.”

“But he was-“ you start to say, pointing to the doors. “He was out there, and he was cold.” You try to justify.

Rigney jumps on the couch, and Will watches as you reach your hand out and touch the soft fur of the dog.

“He’s warm, he’s here with us.” Will comforts you as tears leak from your eyes. “Hey, hey.” He says, and even in your sleeping state you throw yourself against his chest. The warmth of his skin grounds you, just as much as the familiar smell of his body wash.

Colleen smiles sadly and looks away as Will comforts you. His hand on the back of your head, while one runs up and down your spine through his t-shirt. He waits, while throwing small comforting words in here and there until your cries soften.

“He’s safe?” You ask one more time, and Will smiles at you, your glossy eyes shining in the light of the moon that’s filling the living room.

“He’s safe. Just like you.” He says. “Do you want him to sleep with us tonight? That way we can watch him?” Will asks, and you just nod, tears back in a steady stream down your cheeks. His wipes them away with his thumb, and your eyes stay glued to the dog like he might vanish if you look away.

Getting you to believe Rigney was in the house wasn’t very challenging, but getting you back up the stairs proved to be more difficult than he thought. Rigney of course bolted straight up, making a beeline for the room. You took the steps slowly, Will next to you the entire time. Halfway through you just stopped, and he quietly and calmly reassures you that Rigney is probably sitting on your pillows waiting for you.

Colleen stayed behind you the entire time, far enough away so you don’t feel crowded, but close enough that if for whatever reason you fell backwards she was there to catch you.

But most importantly, they didn’t rush you. They took each step one at a time, and in your hazy fog and confusion, you let Will guide you. By the time Colleen made it to the top step, she wished you both a goodnight, and unknown to you looked at her son, quietly asking if he’s got you. He nods, and turns your body slowly to get into the bedroom.

Sure enough, Rigney has taken over your side of the bed. His head is resting on your pillow as if he’s using it, and for a smaller dog he manages to take up a lot of room.

Will walks you to his side of the bed instead, pulling back the covers and helping you get tucked in. Will slips in next to you, keeping you in the middle while he was dangerously close to the edge. But he pulls you flush against him, your back on his chest, your legs finding comfort tucked under his.

You don’t speak, you just close your eyes, listening to the soft words from your boyfriend. Little “sleep baby” or “you’re safe” or kisses on the top of your head.

To no surprise of Will, it didn’t take long for you to completely pass out, but Will stayed up for a little longer. Almost afraid that you’d manage to slip out again without him knowing. The thought of you getting outside in the dark, alone, with no shoes on, and near an open body of water was enough to scare him senseless. But he reminds himself too, that you’re right here.

He finally drifts off with the image of you sleeping in his chest burned into his brain, not that he’d ever want to forget it anyway.

—

As morning came, Colleen makes her way up the stairs to knock on the door. She didn’t tell anyone else what happened last night, not knowing if you’d be embarrassed or not. As she’s faced with the door it’s cracked slightly, Will must have left it open last night only a sliver in case Rigney needed something.

She opens it a tiny bit more, just enough to poke her head in to wake you guys for breakfast. But she stops, and nothing comes out of her mouth as she takes in the sight before her.

The three of you are curled into each other. Rigney spread out but pressed against your chest, and Will pressed up against your back. The three of you completely sound asleep. The dog and Will guarding each side of you like neither of them wanted you to slip away.

“I’m good.” You say, smiling up at him.

“You sure?”

“Yes, mom.” You joke, scoffing at him.

He grins, bumping his shoulder into yours. “Just checking.”

“Please.” Grace groans from a few steps ahead of you. “You two are disgusting already, and it’s not even seven.”

“Get used to it.” Will rolls his eyes at his sister and squeezes your hand tighter.

—

By the time you exit the airport in Florida, for a wedding of a friend of the Smith family, the warm air hits you like a wall. The sun beats down, and even in your shorts and tank top you feel overheated and overwhelmed. You can tell his family feels the same, everyone wincing as you get into stuffy cars to take you to the hotel.

By the time you make it to the hotel room you and Will are sharing, you are both uncomfortable. Your cheeks are pink, and even from standing in the sun for a short while your skin feels hot to the touch.

“Shower?” Will asks, setting both of your bags down on the bad as he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“We’ve only got an hour and a half.” You say, watching him as he walks over to you, brushing your now humid frizzy hair behind your shoulder.

“I’ll be quick.” He says, and he waits for your word. If you say yes, you know he’ll likely throw you over his shoulder or carry you to the big walk in shower. If you say no, he’ll kiss you softly and make no thing of it. But his eyes bore into you, making you feel hotter than the sun. So you don’t say anything, only pull the tank top off slowly, throwing it at his face before walking past and into the bathroom. He was right behind you, clothes already coming off.

—

Your hair drips down your shoulders as you plug your hair dryer into the bathroom outlet, your towel wrapping around your body.

“Let me.” Will says behind you, spraying your hair down with whatever product you handed him, as he starts the dryer.

You close your eyes smiling, letting him dry your hair. You watch him a few times during the process, his eyes never straying from his task. By the time he’s done, and done distracting you, your dress hangs from the closet door, makeup spread across the counter along with the curling iron heating up. Will is adjusting his shirt in the mirror, hair still a little damp and falling soft over his forehead, and god, he looks unfairly good. And everything is perfect for a split second, until it’s not.

“Shit,” you murmur, and Will glances over at that.

“What?” He questions, fingers long since forgetting the buttons. You dig through your suitcase, pulling out a shirt, a pair of sneakers, but not what you need, not the only pair of shoes you brought that are wedding appropriate.

“No, no, no.”

“What happened?” He asks, coming to stand beside you as you stare into the suitcase like your shoes might magically appear if you look hard enough.

“I forgot them.”

“Forgot what?” He asks, running his eyes over everything you’ve got set down in the hotel room.

“My shoes.” You look up at him, sadly. “Will, I forgot my shoes.” You make a miserable sound and sit down on the edge of the bed. “I packed everything else. Literally everything else. I even packed two lip glosses, why did I pack two lip glosses and not shoes?”

Will straightens, trying so hard not to laugh that his mouth does that twitchy thing it always does when he’s about to lose it.

“Don’t laugh at me.” You exclaim, his reaction sparking a smile on your face even during your moment of stress.

“I’m not laughing.”

“You’re about to.” You claim, pointing at his smile.

“I’m really trying not to.”

That does it, and you cover your face with both hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

He steps between your knees and gently peels your hands away from your face. “It’s okay baby, it’s fixable.” He comforts, a softer smile now on his face versus the teasing one he had only a few moments ago.

“We’re going to a fancy wedding, l can’t show up barefoot.” You grumble, but before Will can say anything else there’s a knock on the door.

He walks over and opens it, finding Grace standing there already dressed, earrings in, her phone in her hand.

“Mom wants to know if-“ She stops when she sees your face. “What’s wrong?” She asks you, stepping past Will like he didn’t matter. Which causes him to scoff, but smirk because his sister adores you.

“She forgot her shoes,” Will says.

Grace’s eyes widen. “Oh no.”

“I know.” You say, resting your hands on your face.

She looks at your dress, then at you, then at the clock. “Okay. Okay, that’s fixable. I’ve got this.”

“It is?”

“Probably.” She points at you. “What color?”

You hesitate, taken back by the question.

“Black.” Will answers for you, and as you’re still in a daze, she leaves in a flash, yelling about texting her your size.

You stare at the closed door as Will leans against it with a helpless smile.

“That’s my sister for you.” And the thing is, Grace actually comes through. Because half an hour later, when your hair is done and your makeup is nearly finished there’s another knock. You hurry to the door this time, and Grace stands there looking slightly flushed from the heat, shopping bag looped around her wrist.

“I have good news and bad news,” she says as she steps inside.

“Tell me the good news first.” You say, looking between her and the bag.

“I found shoes in your size.”

“Grace, I love you.” You say, sagging in relief.

“The bad news,” she says carefully, “is that there were basically no options.” She reaches into the bag and pulls out the box, handing it to you to open. Inside is a pair of beautiful, elegant, but absolutely terrifying shiny black stilettos. And the thing is, you love them, except you don’t know if you can walk in them. You look up at her slowly.

“I know.” Grace says with a wince. “But everything else was white! And I just panicked.” She admits sheepishly. Will actually lets out a laugh this time, then tries to hide it when you shoot him a glare. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

The apology catches you off guard, because it isn’t Grace you’re upset with, frankly you’re not upset at all anymore. You’re just in shock and a little nervous about how high and skinny these shoes are. So before you say anything, you hug her without even thinking about it, one heel dangling from your fingers.

“Thank you Grace, seriously you just saved my life.”

She hugs you back just as tightly. “You are so welcome. I am also so sorry.”

Will, hating to break up the sight in front of him, clears his throat. “I hate to be a pessimist, but can you walk in those?”

“Yes,” you lie, but that’s your biggest concern now. He arches a brow at you, knowing that you’re not telling him the truth. “It’s only like eight hours, plus I’ll be sitting and standing, I’ll be okay.” You say to him.

—

That turns out to be a terrible thing to say. Because at first, it’s fine, really. The ceremony venue is gorgeous, all white flowers and warm air. Trees sway in the distance, and the late afternoon sun turns everything gold. Your dress feels pretty, your hair sits right, your makeup hasn’t melted off in the humidity, and for the first hour, the shoes don’t seem like they’ll kill you after all. But also for that first hour, you had quite the distraction.

Will notices you looking at him during the ceremony and smiles, giving you a wink and reaching for your hand. He looks stupidly sexy in his suit. Every time he glances over at you, there’s something warm and private in his eyes, like even in a crowd full of people he knows, he’s still tuned into you first.

“You okay?” he murmurs as people begin to stand, clapping as the newlyweds walk back down the aisle. You only nod, as he glances down at your shoes and hums like he doesn’t believe you for a second.

Cocktail hour is where the trouble starts. The venue lawn is riddled with uneven stone paths, stretches of grass, and the constant need to stand. You smile through introductions, laugh as people tell you stories of young Will, but by the time you’re deep into circulating, a hot ache starts in your feet.

By the time everyone moves toward the reception space, your smile is getting harder to maintain. Will notices as you’re standing near the bar while he talks to one of his dad’s old friends. He watches you shift your weight from one foot to the other, watches as even though you seem relaxed, you have a slight purse to your lips.

“Your feet hurt.” He says, no question in the comment, and it would do you no good to lie at this point.

“A little, but I can manage.” You say, as Colleen waves her hand at you, wanting you to meet more people.

He gives you a look as you smile, kiss the corner of his mouth, and walk towards his mom. His gaze stays locked onto the shoes, which complimented you perfectly, but he could see the redness of your heels where they had probably been rubbing since the moment you slipped them on.

As you finally find a moment to slip away, you return to the bar, leaning all your weight on the bar top to try to give some relief to your aching feet.

You could sense him before you could see him, and his voice coming out soft behind you. “Are they rubbing? Pinching? Both?”

“Both.” You say, thanking the bartender before turning to face him.

“Can you take them off for a minute?” He asks, face tightening with sympathy.

“In the middle of the reception?”

“I don’t care.” He says, and he might now care, but you care very much. You care about how elegant this is, and although you know Will would gladly have you walk around barefoot, you were determined to not embarrass him. So you just shake your head and straighten.

“I’ll survive, plus dinner is soon, then I’ll get the chance to sit more.”

“Come on.” He says, not giving you the chance to keep telling him you’re fine. He locks his hand in yours, pulling you away, but slow enough that you could keep up.

“Where are we going?” You ask, head turning to see if anyone was noticing your departure.

“To sit down before I decide to carry you out myself and embarrass you in front of these people, who would all tell you to take these off if they knew you are in pain.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” You say, squinting your eyes at him.

He looks offended, but smugly responds. “Come on baby, you know me better than that. I absolutely would.” You roll your eyes as he guides you to the balcony, finding a secluded table in the back corner. Will motions for you to sit in the chair, and as you do he crouches beside you, hidden enough by the huge flower displays that most people can’t see him.

“Let me see.” He whispers, and he looks at you in that sorrow filled comforting way that you have come to love. Without another word, you nod, and he slips one hand to your ankle. He’s careful, absurdly gentle as he eases one heel off your foot, then the other. The second the pressure disappears, you nearly melt into your chair.

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah?” He asks, laughing silently at you.

“You were right.”

“I know.”

You nudge his shoulder with your knee. “Don’t be annoying.”

It doesn’t take long for Grace to find you guys, and when she does she looks guilty as ever.

“That bad?” She asks, and she slides two plates to you guys. Dinner must have started, but the three of you didn’t seem to care.

Will thanks her for the plates, and you shrug at her, not wanting to make her feel bad.

“I am so sorry.” She says anyways.

“It’s not your fault, you saved me.” You say, wanting to make her feel somewhat better.

“Tell that to your feet.” She says, and you just laugh, starting to eat the plate she brought out.

—

Dinner helps, as does sitting. But then the dancing starts, and your disappearance at dinner went mainly unnoticed, but dancing was something everyone looked to the younger crowd to start. So with a few hushed swears, and Will’s unanswered pleas for you to just take them off, he helps you stand back up, and you guys make your way back to the reception.

The first slow song is fine because Will barely lets you put weight on your own body. He pulls you close, and sways with you slowly. Your arms loop around his neck, his hand spreading warm on your lower back.

“You okay?” he murmurs near your temple.

“Mhm.” You mumble, but you continue. “Just keep holding me up and you and I will get through this night with no problems.”

He grins at your words, spinning you slowly, carefully, making you laugh before drawing you back in. But the slow songs don’t last, not that you expected them too. And before you know it, people are dragging you guys into the middle, and you have no choice but to fight through it.

—

Will keeps an eye on you the entire time, and as the minutes pass, the songs getting louder and the people getting looser, he’s finally had enough. It’s gone on too long for him, too long watching you pretend you’re not hurting.

“Sorry guys,” he announces to a group of people he’s known since he was a kid, his hand wrapping around your waist from behind. “I’m going to steal her away for a bit.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you really are a saint?” You ask, no longer being able to hide the limp.

“No, but I’ll gladly listen to you call me that from now on.” He jokes as he gets you back onto the balcony. “Sit.” He says, watching you lower yourself into the same chair as before. Your legs shaking a bit until your back hit the back of the chair. The second you sit, he kneels in front of you.

“You really love making scenes.” You tease, but you think you could cry at how sweet he’s being.

“I really love you. And if I have to make a scene because of that, then so be it.” He reaches for your ankle again, and this time you don’t protest. He slides one heel off, then the other, his expression going almost pained on your behalf when he sees the reddened and cut open skin.

“Baby,” he says softly, and you only shrug. “You should’ve told me sooner that it was like this.”

“I didn’t want to keep complaining.” You say, and you think that’s the most honest you’ve been since you guys have arrived at this wedding.

“It’s not complaint when it’s like this.” He states, and before you can respond he’s speaking softly again. “Stay right here.” He says, kissing you before turning away.

“I doubt I could walk away even if I wanted to.” You say, and you hear his chuckle before he walks back into the reception.

It doesn’t take long for him to return, and when he does you look at what he’s got.

“Oh my god.” You whisper, watching as he smiles at the face you’re making, bandaids are in his hand along with a bottle that read LIDOCAINE SPRAY.

“Who did you rob to get that?” You joke, and he chuckles before reading the directions on the back.

“The bride.” He says, his eyes still scanning the tiny lettering.

“THE BRIDE?” You ask, sitting forward slightly.

“Yeah. I told her your situation, and she told me that she would take her shoes off to join you if you wanted.” He says; his face bursting with a smile, and you throw your head back in a groan.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ve got quite the reward for you later.”

“Reward for me?” He arches a brow.

“Yes.” You say. “After all of this, you deserve it.”

He laughs, ducking his head for a second. “Your feet are killing you and you’re still flirting? That’s commitment.”

“That’s love.” You say, and you can tell his breath hitches at that.

“Love is spraying you down with lidocaine?”

“Love is this, Will.” You say motioning between the two of you. “Love is you noticing, you fixing, you just … being you. And trust me, I am so lucky to be in love with you.”

“Ask Aiden.” He says, and you chuckle as you feel him pull you even closer.

“He told me to ask you.”

“Tell him to go first, I’ve got to warm myself up for tubing.” Mack says, and you nearly let out an obnoxious laugh.

“Warm up? You’re twenty years old.” You say with a bit of sarcasm.

“And if I sleep funny my back hurts for three days.” Mack counters, and you roll your eyes.

Your gaze slips to RJ, the youngest sibling full of hope that someone will go tubing with him.

“I’ll go with you if you want.” You say, and RJ basically lights up as he nods going to tell Rick who is sitting at the wheel.

“You don’t have to.” Mack says immediately, watching as you grab a hair tie out of your bag.

“I know.” You say, smiling at him. “I want to.”

“Stop trying to talk her out of it.” RJ scolds his older brother, as he goes to the back of the boat.

“I’m trying to spare her.” Mack says, watching RJ.

“From fun?” RJ asks.

“From you.” Mack retorts, and RJ shoves him slightly.

“Alright, alright.” You say, leaving Macklin’s sun tanned chest and making your way to the back of the boat.

You and RJ joke around as Rick gets everything set up, and as you plop down on the tube with your boyfriend’s little brother, you catch Mack’s gaze. You give him a questioning look, but he just stares at you. Mack had continuously told you to please be careful, which you told him you will be, and you can still see the slight concern in his eyes. But you trust Rick, and you know he won’t let his son get injured.

“Oh my god she’s fine!” RJ yells, and Macklin secretly flips him off in that older brother way. You chuckle lightly as you give Rick a thumbs up.

Cold lake water sprays up, hitting you and RJ as you both laugh. Rick, to RJ’s dismay, is driving carefully. You guys still whip side to side fast enough to crash into each other, but your hands stay gripping the handles, and your bodies are snug against the back of the tube.

You can see Mack’s face, and his smile, and as he watches you, you feel electric. He laughs as RJ bounces high enough that he loses contact with the tube for a moment, and he smiles as he can hear your laugh.

“He’s disgusting with you!” RJ exclaims as Rick swings you guys to the right, and you scoff as you reach over the side of the tube and splash a small handful of water at him. He just laughs and laughs.

“I’ll remember this when you bring somebody home.” You say, and RJ smirks in a ‘I know something you don’t know’ way. And your ability to read people cause you to gasp. “RJ Celebrini…. what are you hiding, or should I say who?” You say, and he just shakes his head.

From the boat, Mack can’t hear that you two are talking about, but he leans near the back watching intently. RJ has always welcomed you from the second he met you, and honestly sometimes Mack believes he prefers you over him. Not that Mack minds much, but all of his family loves you. His brothers, who tease him relentlessly, his sister who texts you probably more than three times a day about everything, and his parents who now see you as a daughter.

So when a boat came ripping around the lake, it wasn’t only Macklin’s heart that freezes, it’s the entire families.

One second you and RJ are laughing together, and the next a speedboat is coming close, way too close.

“Dad.” Mack says, his eyes focused solely on the tube with two of his favorite people on it. Two of his favorite people, who for some reason aren’t wearing life jackets. What had happened that nobody noticed it? What had happened that in all his worrying before you got on the tube that he didn’t notice you didn’t have that extra layer of protection?

Was it because he knew his dad wouldn’t flip you guys? Was he so distracted by you that he just completely forgot?

But he watches as you notice the boat, he watches as his dad goes straight spined and he listens as his mom starts repeating his dad’s name over and over again.

“Dad!” Macklin shouts again, but he knows there’s physically nothing his father can do. There’s no way to avoid the waves the speedboat is making, and if Rick tries to swing you guys out of it he’s going to make it worse.

“I see it Macklin.” Rick says, not trying to scold his son but he is nervous as well.

Then, Mack notices you noticing, and Macklin finds himself yelling at you both. He doesn’t know what he says, but he can only watch in fear as the tube hits the wake, and flies.

“RJ.” You say, knowing there’s only a couple of seconds before you guys are going to hit the waves.

“What’s-“

“RJ hold on!” You yell, right before you both get launched high, both of your grips slipping as you plummet into the water.

—

Macklin watches as you both crash into the water, the sound making him want to vomit over the side of the boat.

“RICK!” Robyn yells, her hands flying over her mouth.

But his dad is already turning the boat, immediately heading to where you both fell.

“Mom.” Aiden says, as the tube is settled back on the water, but there is no sign of either of you.

“THERE!” Charlie yells, pointing to you, and Mack wheezes as he sees you. You’re coughing, you’re frantic, and you’re scanning. Scanning the water for his little brother. You’re not responding as the entire family yells at you to stay there, it’s like you don’t even notice them.

“Oh my god.” Macklin chokes, and he starts yelling both of your names. The fear of how long you’ve both been under the water making him reach for his shirt and ripping it off as he’s about to jump in.

“Y/N!” Macklin screams at you, and he sees the way you’re swimming, sees the way something is wrong. But then relief floods his veins as he sees another head surface. His little brother looking to the sky as you yell for him, and immediately start swimming towards him.

—

For a moment, you’re not sure which way is up. Ice cold water covers every inch of your body, and you choke as water fills your lungs.

But you finally surface, and your training as a nurse kicks in immediately. You gasp as your head is finally above the surfsce, and you cough up water as you tread water.

In this moment there are a million things happening at once, but your only concern was RJ. Your eyes scan the water around you, but you don’t see him. You know he couldn’t have landed too far away from you, and as you continue to tread water, looking around in all directions, the fiery pain in your shoulder hits hard.

You cry out, and instantly sink down a bit in the water as you stop using it. And just when you’re about to start screaming, a head pops up, and you immediately start moving.

Your shoulder be damned, the screams and yells of the rest of the Celebrini family be damned. The way your lungs burn and the way the left side of your body basically feels frozen be damned.

You just swim.

RJ is floating on his back, you can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, but even from here you can tell how pale he is.

“RJ.” You say, as you finally make it to him. You are careful not to move him as you scan his features.

His eyes are look tired, and his entire face looks sluggish.

You know immediately from your time in the ER that he has a concussion, but your next steps are to figure out how bad.

“RJ, RJ can you hear me?” You ask him, your hand going under his arms to keep him up.

“Yeah.” He says after a long moment, and the relief of that doesn’t stay long as his voice is sluggish as well.

“You’re okay.” You say instantly, your nurse voice slipping out. “Can you tell me what hurts?” You ask him.

He groans slightly before saying, “Everything.”

“Your head, RJ.” You say as the boat finally gets close enough to the two of you. “How’s your head?”

“Hurts.” He says, and you just nod, your gaze flying to the boat.

Macklin is immediately jumping off, Aiden and Rick rushing to the back of the boat. It takes almost no time for Macklin to reach you both, and when you finally look at him you see the fear in his normally light eyes.

“He needs to go to a hospital.” You say, trying to keep your voice calm.

You can tell Macklin’s mind is going a thousand miles a minute. You can tell that he’s flying in between his very pale and off looking brother and you who is barely using your left side.

But Mack nods, carefully bringing you both into him.

“Okay, I’ve got you guys.” He says, and he’s never been so thankful for hockey in his entire life as he uses the muscles in his legs to get you guys closer to the boat.

“RJ first.” You say, and Rick and Aiden nod on the boat as you slowly unlatch your arm from the boy, and help hand him over to Mack. “Keep him as still as you can.” You say, hissing slightly as one of RJ’s arms hits your shoulder.

Mack’s eyes immediately jump to you, and you shake your head because how you’re doing is on the bottom of your priority list.

But it’s not on the bottom of Mack’s. With one arm he pulls you into him, with the other he presses on RJ’s back as Aiden and Rick pull him on the boat.

You watch as Robyn covers him with a towel, and they get him laid down on the seats of the boat.

“Baby, baby look at me.” Macklin begs, and you do. Your wide eyes staring into his. He can almost see the one half of your brain panicking, while the other half is in nurse mode. That calm collected state you get into.

“Can you move your shoulder?” He asks, noticing how limp your left arm now is.

“It hurts.” You say, and Macklin’s heart seizes as the sound of the pain in your voice. “I think it’s dislocated. But I think RJ has a concussion. We’ve got to get him in as fast as we can.” You say, and of course you are more worried for him than you are for yourself. It’s one of the many reasons Macklin loves you as much as he does.

“We’re getting you both in.” Mack says, looking up as Rick and Aiden make it back to the edge of the boat.

“Pull from her right side, don’t touch the left.” Macklin says to his family, and they both nod while readjusting.

Macklin turns you so you’re facing them, and he apologizes over and over as you whimper at the movement.

“I’m so sorry.” He continues to say. “We’ve got to get you up there, hold on for just a second, I’m sorry baby.”

When he finally gets you situated, Aiden reaches down for your right hand, grasping it and your elbow tightly.

“Mack.” He says, because he knows it’s going to hurt to get you up here.

“On three, are you ready?” Macklin asks you, and you nod, bracing yourself.

“One, two, three.” Mack and Aiden say together.

You bite down on a yelp as Aiden pulls you at the same time Macklin pushes you up from the water.

Rick immediately throws a towel around you as he carefully places a hand to your back to help haul you up.

It takes extra time due to the fact no one is willing to touch your left side, and when you are finally kneeling on the boat you cough and gasp.

The pain in your lungs from the water and the pain in your shoulder however are nothing compared to your worry for RJ.

Mack is immediately back on the boat, pulling you gently into him as he gets you to the seats.

“Let me see.” Mack says, and you nod but your eyes go straight to RJ. Mack lightly takes the strap of your bikini and tries to move it off your shoulder and more towards your neck. And although it hurt, your eyes stay transfixed, and you refuse to just sit there as Rick runs to the wheel and you guys are hurrying back to the dock. “Baby-“ Mack says, but you don’t turn.

You move towards Robyn, who is leaning over her youngest son. You’re careful not to push, careful not to interrupt, but you give her a look that has her immediately shaking her head, silently asking for you to help.

“Do you think you can answer some questions for me, bud?” You ask RJ, feeling Mack’s hand on your back to keep you steady against the boats rocking.

“Do I have to?” He asks quietly, and you nod, sniffling slightly. Mack’s hand goes to your back, and it’s killing him knowing he can’t do anything right now to help either of you.

“Please.” You beg him, your voice cracking on the word.

“Ok.” You says, closing his eyes.

“Can you tell me your full name?” You ask him, and he nods but winces, and your hand immediately goes to steady his head. But your left hand barks in the pain at that movement as your left side continues to burn.

“RJ Celebrini.” He mumbles, and you nod.

“Good, good.” You say, watching as Robyn takes over keeping him steady. “Do you know where you are?”

“The lake.”

“What day is it today?”

There was silence for a second, which can be normal, but then it stretched.

Robyn clenches her lips to try to fight back emotions, Charlie grips onto Aiden for comfort, and RJ just look at you.

“Thursday.” He finally mumbles, but the air on the boat shifts.

It’s Monday. In fact RJ was so excited for it to be Monday because that means he has a whole week to relax and hang out.

“Fuck.” You hear Aiden mumble somewhere behind you, and Mack’s hand freezes on your back.

“Is it not?” RJ asks, panic in his voice more than before.

“It’s Thursday today, bud.” You say as calmly as possible. You see the fear flash in his eyes, but Robyn is quickly there to make it better.

Everyone knows he’s got a concussion, after all they are a family filled with sports players. So you smile at him, deciding to give him some space before he’s surrounded by doctors and machines. But as you go to stand up, Mack taking your good side, RJ reaches out.

His hand grips your wrist, his eyes begging you not to go. So you sit back down and let Robyn fuss over the two of you.

“Are you okay?” RJ asks quietly, and you shrug, which was a mistake but you play it off.

“A little banged up, but nothing that can’t be fixed.” You say.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and you instantly frown. Robyn scoots back a bit, allowing you to sit closer to RJ. Mack follows suit behind you. He keeps his body pressed into your back, allowing you to lean backwards.

“There is nothing to be sorry for.” You say kindly but firmly.

You could cry thinking RJ wants to blame himself for this.

“I wanted to go, I forced you to go.”

“Hey.” You say, stopping him. “I wanted to go with you. You didn’t force me, RJ, none of this is because of you. I need you to know that.”

“This isn’t your fault.” Mack says, and you watch as the brothers look at each other. And it’s like they have a silent conversation, but RJ finally settles a bit more.

Mack sits down next to you, bracing your body against his and the boat speeds towards the dock. Every jostle has you clenching your teeth so hard you’re surprised they don’t crack.

But you tell Robyn to keep talking to RJ, Aiden jumping in too and promising his little brother anything he wants to do. Ice cream for dinner? Check. Video games? Check.

But the boy refuses to let you out of his sight, and Mack refuses to let either of you out of his.

“I don’t know whether to try to yell at you or thank you.” Mack says, holding you into him to try and keep you steady.

“He was out there, and I thought,” you start to say, but you find yourself choking on the words. “I thought for a moment he wasn’t going to come back up.”

Tears slip down your eyes, and you can feel the adrenaline crashing in your body.

“When he finally came up, I just, I had to get to him Mack.” You say, and Mack nods. Nods because if that was him he would have done the same thing. Nods because after all this time he knows RJ might as well be your little brother too.

“You are never tubing again.” Mack says, and you chuckle but wince at the movement. “Careful baby.” Mack says quickly, noticing the pain that crosses your face.

“Give it a few months and this whole thing will be a distant memory.” You say, trying to joke instead of cry.

But Mack doubts he’ll ever move past this. Doubts that this is going to be something he’ll forget in the matter of months. How could he? His little brother, the woman he loves, the sickening smack of both of your bodies against the water. And the fear, the chest tightening fear as it took you both too long to surface.

“Y/N?” You hear your name, whispered from RJ.

You turn more towards him immediately, instantly forgetting your own injury as you move, causing Mack to reach out to try and keep you still.

“What’s up, bud?” You ask, giving him a small smile as Robyn uses her hand to block the sun from his eyes.

“I would have swam for you too.” RJ says, and you clench your lips together so hard to keep yourself from crying. The words cause emotions to rise in every member of the family.

And in case Mack needed the incentive, which he really didn’t, but that would have been enough to tell him that he wants to marry you one day. But, being him, he already knows that. In fact, it was RJ who stood in front of him not two days ago and told him that if Mack didn’t marry you that RJ would never speak to him again.

Call you crazy, but your morning showers with your phone propped up on the shower shelf with New Girl playing is one of your favorite things. The cozy lighting of your bathroom, the way your coffee maker brews in the kitchen, and the way it smells of eucalyptus as soon as you pump out your body wash.

Except this morning, things don’t go as normally planned. They did of course, New Girl is playing as you half watch half scrub your hair. But it’s the clumsiness of you that makes the whole thing horrible.

It’s the glob of shampoo you didn’t realize you dropped, and it’s the foot you just stepped down on, causing you to slip, and slipping in the shower has never proven to be a good thing.

You try to catch yourself, grabbing out for anything, but with everything being slippery tile, it doesn’t work. You go down hard, your ankle twisting painfully, your shoulder hitting the tub, your phone making a mockery out of you as it lands at the bottom of the tub. Thankfully in your shock you at least immediately grab it out of the spray of water still barreling out of the shower head.

The sound of Nick Miller’s voice and the water now hitting your body at the bottom of the tub are the only sounds in the bathroom.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, trying to move but instantly noting how bad of an idea that is. Your ankle screams in pain, and your shoulder throbs a bit too. “Oh my god.” You state, realizing the predicament you’re in.

You’re stuck, your ankle already bigger than normal, your shoulder telling you there’s no way you’re using upper body strength to get yourself out. And the cherry on top? You’re in the shower, naked.

There are two blatantly obvious choices. And you choose option number two, because calling 911 just isn’t in the cards for you today.

Your thumb hovers over your best friend’s number. And before you can talk yourself out of it, you call.

—

Mack and Will are still arguing over cereal when your name and picture flash across Macklin’s phone. The familiar photo of you and Mack in the Toffoli’s backyard capturing his attention.

Mack smiles as he goes to answer, knowing you’ll back him on the cereal debate. But Mack stills as he answers the phone because your voice, normally loud and full of laughter is quiet, it sounds wrong.

“Mack?” You whisper, but it sounds like you’re underwater.

“Y/N?” He asks, his tone instantly making Will drop the argument and freeze. “What’s wrong?”

“I-“ you start to say, and you suck in a breath before continuing. “This is so embarrassing but I don’t know what else to do.” You say into the phone, trying to adjust but the pain makes you suck in a breath.

“Are you hurt?” Mack asks, and he’s already grabbing for his shoes.

“Yea.” You say, and the simple word causes Mack’s brain to become blank.

“Okay, okay. What happened? Where are you? I’ll come and get you.” He stutters out, cursing at his shoes for not slipping immediately on and almost tempted to go without them.

“I slipped in the shower.” You say, the embarrassment evident in your tone. “I can’t move my ankle, and maybe my shoulder? I don’t know I’m kind of just… stuck here.” You say.

“Are you bleeding?” Mack asks, and his eyes are frozen on Will who’s grabbing his phone and wallet.

“I don’t think so, but I’m cold and I can’t reach to turn the water off.” You say, and for the first time your voice slips and the words come out as a sob.

“I’m coming right now okay? I’ll be there in ten minutes sweetheart, I promise.”

But Mack’s words go unanswered, and as he pulls the phone away from his ear he sees the call dropped. He tries again, straight to voicemail.

“Fuck!” Mack exclaims, befitting shoving his phone in his back pocket and eyes are frantically scanning the countertops for his keys. “Where the fuck are my fucking keys?” Mack asks, and Will grabs them from the entryway table and throws them to his best friend.

“Let’s go!” Will says, and Mack books it to the passenger seat, Will knowing it’s not the best idea for Mack to be driving right now.

And as they high tail it to your place, your skin covers itself in goosebumps, and you shiver, but you wait, knowing Macklin is trying like hell to get to you as fast as possible.

—

“Y/N?” You hear your name being called from the front. The familiar voice of your best friend, before a knock comes on the bathroom door.

“Mack!”

“I’m coming in, okay?” He asks, and you say okay, yelling over the sound of the water still spraying.

You hear the bathroom door open, and you can hear movement in the living room, who you can only assume is Will. The curtain is closed, but you can see the giant outline of Mack as he enters the bathroom.

“I’m stuck.” You say, biting your lip because of the pain.

“I’m going to turn the water off.” He says, and you nod even though he can’t see you. But you watch as his hand comes through the edge of the shower curtain, blindly fumbling around until he finds the knob and turns it off.

The silence is thick, and without meaning to you let out a little sob. You aren’t an idiot, you know Mack is going to have to pick you up from the bottom of the tub. And while you’ve been in love with him forever, this wasn’t exactly what you envisioned.

“Okay, where exactly are you hurt?” His voice asks, softly and without its normal expression.

“My ankle is the worst.” You say, not even daring to look. “But my shoulder too, I don’t know what’s wrong with it but it hurts to move.”

The sound of your voice cracking breaks Macklin’s heart.

“Alright, I’m going to help you out.” Mack states, his eyes scanning around for a towel.

“Mack.” You state, and he pauses. “I’m not wearing anything.”

In any other situation Mack’s racing heart wouldn’t be a bad thing. But you’re hurt, you’re scared, and Mack would rather step into traffic than make you uncomfortable.

“Do you trust me?” He asks softly, and your voice answers with a yes. His heart cracks even more as he finds a fluffy green towel in the closet. “Here’s my plan.” He says, standing outside of the curtain. “I’m going to hand this to you, cover yourself as best as you can, I’m going to open the curtain, figure out the best way to pick you up, and then I’m going to close my eyes and set you on the counter until you can wrap the towel around yourself.” He says, surprised he was able to get through all of that without stuttering.

It takes a second for you to respond, but then you whisper back the smallest, “your eyes will be closed when you pick me up?”

“Until you wrap yourself up, I promise.” He says, and you sniffle a bit from the other side.

“Okay.” You say, and Mack nods, before going to put the towel past the curtain, turning his head towards the door just in case. But he feels the towel being pulled from his fingers, and he waits until you say you’re ready.

“I’m covered.” You say, and for the first time since he picked up the phone you let out the tiniest laugh. He feels just a little weight come off of his shoulders at the sound.

“Ready for me to open the curtain?” He asks, wanting to hear your confirmation before anything.

“Yeah.” You state, and he does.

You look pitiful, not that Macklin would ever say it. But he keeps his eyes on yours, only moving them to scan your shoulder and your ankle. The towel is laid over the top of your body, but he knows when he goes to wrap his arms around you he’ll be met with bare skin on your back.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He says, and your chest gives a jump with the sob you’re holding in.

But Mack doesn’t want to prolong this any longer than he has to, so he bends down, knees on the floor as he looks into your bloodshot eyes.

“Mackie.” You say, wanting nothing more than to launch into him but you can’t.

“I know, I know.” He says, scanning you trying to figure out the best way to lift you without knocking into your shoulder and keeping your foot steady. “I’m going to get you out now, okay? We’ve got to get you out” He says, and you nod, biting your lip.

And before Mack can question himself, he gets his arms into a good position before keeping his word of closing his eyes. One arm of yours, which he can only assume is your good arm, goes around his neck, and he reaches under you. His hands are met by your freezing cold skin, and he has to bite his tongue to not make a sound. One arm slips under your knees, the other wrapping around your back as you’re pulled into his body.

Your head rests against his shoulder as he carries you. Making small steps so he doesn’t trip and make this worse. And you try to force yourself to focus on how good it feels to be in his arms versus the pain of your ankle and shoulder.

Macklin forces his eyes to stay shut, he wants to make sure you’re okay, wants to see your wounds and fix them. But your comfort comes first, so he follows your voice as you lead him to the counter top.

“Okay, I’m situated.” You say after you adjust the towel to go completely around your body. And still, when Mack opens his eyes, he’s looking towards the top of the mirror. “I’m covered.” You whisper, and the sound of your voice makes him look back to you. His eyes focusing in on you. You’re covered, yes, but water still drips from your soaking wet hair down your exposed shoulders. And as he goes to look at your ankle, water also drips down your legs and falls to the tile floor below.

“We’ve got to take you in.” He says to you, his voice so soft, so sweet that new tears appear in your eyes. You just nod your head, a shiver racking through you. “I’m going to go grab you some clothes okay?” He says, and you nod.

“Mack? Can you grab me another towel?” You ask as he’s reaching for the door.

“Yeah, of course.” He says, handing you a second fuzzy green towel.

“Do you think you can-“ you start to ask, but Mack doesn’t need you to finish. He opens the towel up, and like he’s seen you do a million times when you get out of a pool, or the lakes and oceans in the summers, he wraps the towel around your hair, getting it off your shoulders. He twists it, and you laugh lightly as he stands back to eye his work.

“You look beautiful.” He says, his eyes so loving as he looks at you. But he leaves before you can respond, the anxiety of what he just said coursing through his veins.

Mack moves swiftly through your room, finding all the clothes he needs for you to go to the ER. He blindly grabs at for a bra and underwear, like even this he wants to be respectful of. Then he moves to grab you pants, before opting for shorts since they’d be easier to slip around your ankle. Then last, a sweatshirt. But he pauses, before pulling his off of his body, fixing his black t shirt that rides up a bit.

You have a thing for taking Mack’s sweatshirts. Especially ones off his back. And he lets you, no matter where you are, no matter who you’re with. You tell him it’s because they are warm, which is partly true. The other part is that they smell like him. As he makes it back to the bathroom, he sets your things down on the counter top, before realizing this too may be a bigger challenge than he thought.

“Maybe I’ll just go naked?” You ask him, shrugging your good shoulder.

In any other situation this would have Mack laughing, have him looking at you like he always does. Have him so close to cutting the shit and admitting his feelings. And while he does crack a smile, a snort also coming out, Mack shakes his head.

“I can help,” he states, before quickly finishing it with, “if you want.”

You eye him for a second, before nodding. And like before, Macklin’s heart races as his eyes are back to being slammed shut, and he helps you put bottoms on. Your bra, however, is his undoing.

“You’re going to have to clip it.” You say, and Mack’s hands freeze, and he must have been making a face because you let out a pained laugh. “You’ve seen me in bikinis, Mack.” You say, and he nods.

“Yeah, yeah, bikinis.” He says, shaking his head like that is going to help the thoughts of you in a bikini leave his head. The thoughts of your skin golden after spending hours in the sun, the thoughts of your laugh at something stupid he or Will decided to do. And especially the thoughts of that stupid teal bikini you bought insisting on wearing it for ‘Sharks support’.

“Macklin?” The sound of his name pulls him back to the present, and he turns red as he realizes he just completely zoned out while you’re waiting for him to clip your bra.

What the fuck is his life? He thinks as he clears his throat and reaches behind your back. His fingers stumble over the hooks, and apologies spill from his mouth. But he gets it finally, and next holds up his sweatshirt to help over your head.

Your eyes catch on it, noting the fact he came in wearing it, and now he’s not. But that’s the thing about you and Mack. You know each other, maybe too well, but you do. Mack knows how much the small things he does mean to you. Giving you sweatshirts, bringing you coffee, how when he’s with you he’s so invested in you that half the time he forgets anything and anyone else exist.

To Macklin, it’s just you. He wouldn’t notice if the world was ending, so long as you’re breathing the same air as him.

It takes a second to get the sweatshirt on, and you cry out as he bumps your shoulder funny.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He says, and like it it’s nothing, he plants a kiss to your temple.

You turn red, you can feel the heat all throughout your body. But you just rest your head against his chest. Your bad shoulder and arm are sitting loosely under the sweatshirt, with no point in putting your arm in the sleeve to have them take it back out at the hospital.

“Thank you.” You say, your head still tucked against his chest.

“You don’t have to thank me.” He says with a small shrug, you can feel it against your head.

“Yes.” You say, closing your eyes. “Yes I do. You came here and you saw me like this and-“

“I’ll come,” he says, voice softer now. “Every single time. Whether you need me to kill a spider, sit with you in silence, bring you coffee, or pick you up off the bathroom floor. I’ll come as soon as you call.”

“Mack.” You whisper, tears leaking down your cheeks.

His hand is on the side of your face, thumb carefully wiping the falling tears away. His face is flushed, and his hair messy from how fast he runs his hands through it.

“After.” He says, and you lean the side of your head into his palm. “We’ll talk about all of this after, I promise. But please, please I need to get you to the hospital.” He says, and you nod, preparing yourself for the pain of the jostle into his arms. “I’ll go slow.” He says, reaching around you to be able to pick you up.

“I trust you.” You whisper, and you swear you hear a sharp inhale at your words.

But he picks you up, careful to try not to move you so much. You scrunch your face, your eyes shutting tightly in pain.

“God, I’m sorry.” He says, carrying you out to the living room where you can tell Will has been anxiously waiting.

He looks at you, giving you a sad little smile.

“Hey there, disaster.” He says, his normal nickname for you never fit as perfectly as it does now.

“Sorry for ruining your day.” You say, but Will cuts you off before Mack can.

“Absolutely not.” He says, waving his hands in front of him. “Go get fixed up, I’ll take care of everything here.” He says, and Macklin nods his appreciation at his best friend.

“You don’t have to-“

“Too late. I’ll see you guys when you get back.” Will says, already starting to build what looks like a makeshift bed on your couch.

You smile, the overwhelming feeling of love spreading through you as Macklin carries you to the car.

—

The hospital wasn’t as horrible as you thought. You get discharged with a cast on your foot, and a bruised shoulder you’re told not to over extend.

But Macklin was there the whole time. He stayed plastered by the bed, the nurses even told you he wouldn’t stop pacing while you got your x-rays. And as he nodded, listening and asking questions about your recovery, you couldn’t even listen to the doctor. All you could focus on was him.

So when you finally returned home, Will having stocked your entire place with necessities, you look to Mack, and blurt the words you’ve felt since you laid eyes on him for the first time.

“I love you.” You say, and you watch as Mack freezes. His hand stills on the pillow beneath your cast, his shoulders lock, his eyes flick up to yours completely stunned.

But it’s the the silence that follows that is horrible. You let one second pass, then two before you’re back pedaling like mad.

“Oh my god,” you say, panic flooding your chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just say that. I mean, I did, but I didn’t mean to say it like that. Not while I’m in a cast and high on pain meds and you’re just trying to be nice because I fell in the shower like a fucking idiot-“ But your rambling ends as Mack stands.

For one second, you think he’s going to step back. You think he’s going to put space between you or that you’ve ruined everything in the exact way you always feared you would.

“Mack,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

But he doesn’t say anything, instead he just leans down. One hand bracing himself on the back of the couch beside your head. The other coming to your face, so slowly and carefully.

And before you could process it, Macklin is kissing you. His lips warm, touch still light but lips firm and steady. And you make the smallest sound and lift your good hand to his hoodie, your fingers curling into the fabric.

That’s all he needs as he kisses you deeper. It’s still gentle, but there’s something underneath it. Relief, want, months and months of almosts and words neither of you were brave enough to say. And as he finally pulls away, he doesn’t go far. His forehead rests against yours, and his breathing is uneven.

—

When Mack pulls up, you’re standing outside the restaurant like you’ve been kicked out. The place behind you glowing warm in the dark. People were laughing, glasses clinking, someone opening the door and letting out a burst of music.

Mack leans across the center console and shoves the passenger door open. “Well, this looks promising.” He states, trying to gauge your feelings.

You slide in quickly, shutting the door before whispering a quiet, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” He questions, but he knows the answer.

“Make jokes yet, I haven’t recovered.”

He glances at you as he pulls away. “Yet? So jokes are back on the table later?”

“Give me five minutes,” you say, closing your eyes and resting your head back. “Or snacks.”

“I didn’t bring snacks.” Mack whispers to you sheepishly.

“Worst pick up service ever.” You joke, even though you’re well aware you just told him to please refrain from joking.

“You’re right. Next time I’ll bring the pantry.”

That earns him a small smile, but it fades from your face too fast.

“You okay?” he asks you, speaking softer than before.

“Yeah,” you say automatically. Then, “No. I mean…yeah, I’ll live.”

Mack nods, jaw tightening. “What’d he do?”

You exhale, debating whether or not to tell him about your horrible night. “Have you ever sat across from someone and realize that they think they’re the best person alive?”

Mack shakes his head, waiting for you to continue.

“He said-“ but you cut yourself off, groaning. “God, I can’t believe I stayed as long as I did.”

“What did he say?” Mack presses you, and you swear you can see his knuckles tightening around the steering wheel.

Yet, you turn your body to face him, sighing as you say, “He said I could be really pretty if I tried a bit harder on my looks.”

The air in the car goes very still, and Mack swears he stops breathing.

“He said that,” he repeats flatly, stealing glances at you.

“It’s fine.” You say, embarrassment piercing you as your best friend gazes from you, to the road, then back to you.

“No. It’s not actually, it’s not fine. That’s-” He exhales sharply. “That’s-“ Mack is at a loss for words.

“I know.” You say.

“I mean, the nerve, the complete lack of survival skills. Does he know who I am?” Mack asks you as a joke, but as his anger continues to rise the joke becomes less of a, well, joke.

You laugh again, a little more this time. “Oh right, because he would have loved hearing that Macklin Celebrini now has him on his shit list.”

“Please tell me you at least threw your drink at him?” Mack all but begs.

“I thought about it.” You confess, smirking at how badly Mack wanted you to.

“Well, I guess I’m proud of you for showing restraint, but you should have totally threw one, he would have totally deserved it.” Mack says, the anger not going away.

“He was such a tool, and he absolutely deserves it.” You say, wishing you could put this whole awful night behind you.

“Let’s turn around, I’d like to have a word.”

You shake your head, smiling. Then it slips again, your gaze drifting to the window and the streets you pass as Mack continues to drive. “I shouldn’t have gone.”

Mack frowns, hearing the depth in your voice. “Why did you?” He asks, but he’s not sure he wants to hear the answer.

You only shrug before saying, “Because you told me to.”

Mack blinks, mind firing a million miles a second. “I said you should get out there. Not walk into… that.”

Silence settles in again, heavier this time. Streetlights pass in slow motion. You wait a while, unable to bring yourself to admit it, but then you do. You say what you wanted to say all evening.

“I kept comparing him to you.”

“That’s a low bar. I’m barely functional.” Mack chides, but a heat rushes over his cheeks.

“Shut up. You know what I mean.” You huff, as you stare at your best friend.

“Do I?”

“Yes. It just… didn’t feel right. The way he talked, the way he laughed.” You shrug, “I’m used to something else, I guess.”

“Yeah?” Mack questions, trying not to seem nervous. “What’s that?”

You. You want to say it, the one little word. But you don’t.

“Something better, someone better.” You whisper instead. His chest tightens, but he covers it with a crooked smile.

“You deserve better.” Mack says, and the words make your heart beat faster.

“Yeah well,” you say quietly. “I’m not all too sure about that.”

The words hang in the air, heavier than you intended. But Mack notices. Of course he notices. The light turns red, and he stops, fingers tapping once against the wheel before going still again.

“You shouldn’t compare people to me,” he says after a second.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m-” He stops himself, exhales. “I’m not exactly a fair standard.”

You turn toward him slightly. “Why? Because you’re secretly terrible and I just haven’t figured it out yet? Or because you’re an NHL superstar?”

“Both. I’m awful, truthfully. Deeply flawed, that’s at least what Will likes to tell me.”

“I knew it,” you say, nodding at his words and with a lack of better judgement, you find yourself speaking again.

“I just want something that feels easy. Like I don’t have to second guess everything I say. Or wonder if I’m being too much or not enough.”

He swallows. “Yeah.”

“I want someone who knows me.” you say, wincing at the vulnerability.

As the light turns green. He doesn’t move right away, he doesn’t know if he can. But a car honks behind them, and Mack takes his foot off the break.

“Right,” he mutters to you, his jokes from before gone as you turn onto the familiar street that you’ve lived on for a few years. Mack slows in front of your house, but you don’t move. Neither of you make a move actually. But you couldn’t do this, not here, and not now.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” you say.

“Always, Y/N.” Mack replies to you.

You look at him then, really look.

“Hey,” he says.

“Yeah?”

The words die in his throat, because was he really going to say it? Don’t go out with anyone else. It’s you. It’s always been you.

Mack feels his chest tighten. Screw it. He finally thinks, and before he can second guess himself, he says, “Stop going on these dates with men who obviously can’t see how amazing you are. Stop,” his voice cracks. “Stop dating, Y/N.”

“Why?” You ask, taken back by his worlds.

“Because I don’t want to see you with someone else.”

There it is, the confession he’s kept silent since getting drafted to San Jose. The confession he’s wanted to tell you every night.

“You don’t get to say that.” You say with a scoff.

“Why not?”

“Because we’re friends.” But the word feels wrong in your mouth. “That’s all we are.” Mack stares at you like that’s the worst thing you could’ve said.

“Is it?” he asks. “Is that really all it is when you look at me?”

You look away first, because if you catch his eyes you won’t be able to shut this down. “It has to be.” You whisper into the car and the rain is pounding now, loud enough to fill the space.

“I’m tired of pretending I’m okay with this,” he says. “I’m not. I hate it. I hate watching you go out with someone else, like it doesn’t kill me a little each time.”

Your heart stutters, and you can swear Macklin can hear it beating.

“Don’t, Mack.”

“Why? Because it makes it real?” His bright eyes are wide, and he runs his hockey worn hands through his hair.

“Because it ruins everything!” You finally snap, turning on him. “You think I haven’t thought about this? You think I don’t know what happens if we cross that line?”

“Maybe it becomes something better.”

“Or maybe it destroys us!” Your voice breaks, and you hate that it does. “You’re my best friend. I can’t lose that, I can’t lose you, Mack.”

“Fuck.” He says, stress oozing off his body. “You won’t Y/N, I swear-“

But you cut him off before he can finish. “You don’t know that!” You yell, tears mixing with the frustration in your voice. “What if it doesn’t work? What if we mess it up? Then what?”

Mack exhales a breath, shaking his head. “You won’t lose me, I’m here for the long haul. I’m here for you.”

That confession hits harder than anything else. And for a long second, neither of you move. But you’ve had enough, a shit date, followed by an argument with Mack? No, this is more than you can handle, so you reach to open the door, you need to get out of this car, you need to get out of this situation.

“Where are you going?” Mack asks you, but you only shake your head.

“Out,” you say, voice trembling. “I can’t—” but you don’t finish, you just open the door and step into the rain. It’s cold, soaking you in seconds.

“Y/N!” Mack exclaims, but he’s already throwing his own door open, chasing after you. “You’re just going to walk away?”

You turn on him, rain plastering your once curled hair to your face. “What do you want me to say?!” You all but scream.

“I want you to be honest!” Mack fires back.

“I am honest! I’m trying to protect what we have!” You say, hand motioning between the two of you.

“By pretending you don’t feel anything?” he shoots back, stepping closer, rain dripping from his nose. “Because I don’t believe that. Not for a second.”

Your chest rises and falls, fast, uneven. “Stop,” you say, but there’s no strength behind it.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” Mack says to you. “Look me in the eye and say it.”

You wait a second, opening your mouth, but nothing comes out. Rain rushes around you both, loud and relentless.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

At this, his expression shifts, hope evident on his face. “Then why are you fighting this?”

“Because I’m scared!” You admit, raising your arms up with the confession. “Because you matter too much. Because I don’t,” you stutter over your words. “I don’t know who I am without you.”

Mack steps closer to your soaked body, just inches between you now. “You’re not going to lose me.” He whispers.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Mack says. “Because I’d rather risk everything with you than spend the rest of my life watching you be with someone else. Y/N, I love you.” He says, so quiet you’re not sure you heard him correctly over the downpour.

Rain streams down your face, indistinguishable from your tears.

“You’re an idiot, Macklin Celebrini.” You whisper.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Yeah, I know.”

You shake your head, stepping closer to him. But you studies his face, every familiar line, every piece of him you’ve come to love over years.

“I love you too,” you admit, voice barely audible over the storm.

For another moment, neither of you move, the confession hanging between the two of you. But then Mack laughs, sounding almost disbelieving as he pulls you into him. And fuck, you doesn’t hesitate this time.

“Mack-“ you start to say, but the words barely leave your mouth before he’s kissing you.

It’s not careful, it’s not hesitant or nervous. It’s everything that Mack has dreamed of. Messy, needy, and a little desperate.

Your hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer like you’re afraid he might disappear. His hand slides up to your face, steadying you. Rain soaks through everything, your hair, your clothes, your skin. But how can that matter when you’re kissing your best friend?

You break apart just enough to breathe, foreheads pressing together, both of you laughing a little.

“I think your car might be ruined.” You say, nodding your head to the two open doors that are getting soaked with rain.

You tell yourself it will be fine. This is just one flight, only a few hours in the air. People do this every day, this is safe. You repeat it like a mantra as you buckle your seatbelt, hands already trembling.

You didn’t even notice who sat next to you at first. You were too busy gripping the armrest like it might disappear.

“Hey,” a voice said gently beside you.

You glance over, forcing a polite smile, and then blink. Because sitting next to you was Macklin Celebrini, like famous hockey guy Macklin Celebrini.

“Hi,” you manage to speak, voice tight, and trying to keep the shocked look out of your eyes.

He gives you a small, easy smile, soft before saying, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie immediately. “I just don’t love flying.”

“Same,” he said, like it wasn’t a big deal at all.

You almost laugh at that, because there’s no way, hockey players travel all the time. There’s no way he really hates flying. But before you could respond, the plane begins to taxi, and your stomach drops.

—

By the time you are in the air, your fingers are numb from how hard you are gripping the armrest.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s-

The first jolt shakes the plane, but it’s small. Probably nothing, most definitely nothing. You try to convince yourself, but your breath stutters anyway.

Then comes another shake, drinks on trays shifting slightly, liquids sloshing around in the cups. By the time they settle, the aircraft is rattled again.

Get me off of this thing, you think, squeezing your eyes shut.

The seatbelt sign dings on, and suddenly the plane dips just enough that your heart slams in your chest. This is your hell, because what is going on?

Every sound catches you off guard. The rattle of overhead bins, the rumbling of engines, oh my god you’re going to pass out.

“Oh my god.” you whisper, not even sure what you’re saying.

Your hands are shaking now. Your chest feels like it’s caving in. But then you hear it, a voice breaking through all of your anxieties.

“Hey.” But you don’t respond, so, you hear his voice again, sounding a bit closer this time. You don’t realize you’ve squeezed your eyes shut again until he gently taps your arm “Look at me.”

Look you him? Hell no. You’re not going to cry in front of Macklin Celebrini.

But with another jolt you can’t help yourself. You snap open your eyes and catch his gaze. Macklin’s expression is calm. Not dismissive, not judgmental, but steady.

“You’re okay,” he says quietly. “It’s just turbulence. Feels worse than it is.”

The plane jolts again as he tries to reassure you, causing you to flinch hard. You instinctively grab the nearest thing, his sweatshirt sleeve.

Once you realize that you immediately try to let go. “Sorry, sorry, I-”

“No, it’s okay,” he cuts you off softly as he shifts slightly so you’re not twisted in your seat. “You can hold on.”

Your brain short circuits a little at that. But the next drop hits, the sound making everything worse, and you don’t argue.

“Alright,” he says, tone changing like he’s switching into distraction mode. “We’re just not gonna focus on that.”

“How do I not focus on that?” you choke out.

“Easy,” he says. “You focus on me instead.”

You huff out a shaky, disbelieving breath, but he keeps going.

“What’s your name?”

You tell him, voice shakier than this stupid plane you’re on. And he introduces himself, not realizing you do know of him.

“Okay,” he nods. “Good. See? We’re talking. That’s step one.”

Another bump, and your stomach clenches. You tense, but he’s already talking again.

“Where are you headed?”

You tell him the city you’re traveling too, wondering what is bringing him out this way as well.

“Important trip?” He asks, eyes scanning your face.

“Kind of,” you admit, swallowing hard.

“Scale of one to ten, how worth it is this flight?” His joke helping break away the nervousness.

“Right now?” you say, voice thin. “Like a two.”

He grins a little. “We’ll get it back up to at least a six.”

Despite everything, a small, very shaky laugh escapes you, but somehow this helps.

—

Macklin keeps asking you questions, just random ones that come to him in the moment. Things like your favorite movies, worst food you’ve ever had, whether you’ve ever tried skating. He tells you a story about a teammate falling during practice, exaggerating just enough to make you smile.

Each time the plane shakes, your grip tightens on his sleeve, but now there’s something else to anchor you. His voice, his steady presence. The way no matter how hard your grip, he doesn’t pull away.

At one point, when the turbulence gets a little worse, if that’s even possible, he notices your short breaths and says, “Hey, breathe with me, okay?”

You nod, not trusting your voice enough to respond.

“In for four,” he says quietly. “Out for four.”

Your heartbeat slowly starts to come down from a quick pulse to something more manageable.

Seconds pass, then turn to minutes. And eventually the shaking eases, the engine not sounding like it was about to fall off. And to your surprise, the seatbelt sign dings off.

And just like that, the world stops feeling like it’s about to end. But you realize two things at once:

One, you’re still holding onto him. And two, he hasn’t moved.

“Oh my god,” you say, immediately letting go. “I’m so sorry-“

“Y/N,” he says again, softer this time. “You’re good. Seriously.”

Your cheeks burn bright. “I totally just used you as a human stress ball.”

He chuckles slightly. “Trust me, I’ve had worse roles.”

You look at him properly now, really seeing him for the first time, not just as the guy next to you, not even as the hockey player everyone knows. But just as the person who kept you grounded when you thought you were going to fall apart.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. You were a little embarrassed, you’re sure this isn’t what he wants to be doing right now, but he shrugs, and there’s a small, genuine smile there.

“Anytime.”

There was a quiet moment after that, but it didn’t last long as Mack continues to talk.

“You feeling better?” he asks.

You nod. “Yeah. A lot better, actually.”

“Good,” he says, leaning back slightly in his seat. “Would’ve been awkward if you passed out on me after all that effort.”

You snort. “Wow. So supportive.”

“I try.” He says with a shrug.

You glance at him again and something about the way he was watching you made your breathe hitch. He was relaxed, a little amused, but still checking you were okay, and it made your stomach flip in a very different way than the turbulence did.

“You know,” you say, “for someone who ‘also hates flying,’ you handled that suspiciously well.”

He grins, knowing he’s been caught. “Maybe I had a good distraction.”

Your heart did that annoying little stutter again, and the rest of the flight passed easier. You and Macklin talk more, about more random things, about hockey, about your trip. Every now and then, a small bump would make you tense, but now you had something to ground you.

Him.

The plane lands smoothly, tires hitting the runway with a soft thud. And you actually laugh a little in disbelief. “Okay, that wasn’t so bad.”

“Told you,” he says.

As the plane taxis and people start gathering their things, you felt that weird, quiet disappointment settle in. Like something you didn’t expect was slipping away.

You turned to him, offering a small smile. “Well… thanks again. For, you know… saving my life.”

He shakes his head, clearly amused. “Pretty sure the pilot did that.”

“Debatable,” you chide and he laughs.

There was a brief pause as people start filing out into the aisle. You both stood, a little awkward now and you catch his sweatshirt sleeve with your gaze, the fabric wrinkled from your tight hold.

“Y/N,” he says suddenly, ripping your eyes away from the sleeve. And he hesitates, just for a second, like he was deciding something. Then he says, “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah,” you say, a little curious.

He rubs the back of his neck, almost shy now in a way that felt completely different from his earlier calm confidence.

“Would you maybe… want to go out sometime?”

Your brain short circuits.

“…What?” You stutter out.

He huffs, glancing down before meeting your eyes again. “Somewhere nice, no aircraft’s involved.”

You stare at him for a second, heart racing for an entirely new reason now. “You’re asking me out?” you ask, just to make sure this was real.

“Yeah,” he says simply. “I mean, we survived turbulence together. Feels like a solid foundation for something.”

You laugh, a little breathlessly saying. “That’s your reasoning?”

“It’s working, isn’t it?” he shoots back.

You bit your lip, trying, and failing, not to smile.

“Yeah,” you admit. “It kind of is.”

His expression softens, looking hopeful. “So, is that a yes?”

You nod, in shock for a million different reasons. “It’s a yes.”

As you stepped off the plane together, you realize one last thing, maybe flying wasn’t so bad after all.

It happens so naturally now, that nobody really comments on it anymore. If you sit down, he drifts that direction. If you get up for a drink, he somehow follows you in two minutes later. If you laugh from across the room, his head turns before anyone else’s does.

You notice him constantly, and he notices you just as much. Though neither of you are smart enough to understand what that means, everyone else is.

You’re sitting on the couch with your legs tucked under you, half listening to Ty tell some story while Will heckles him from the chair, when the inside seam of your jeans starts bothering you.

You shift.

Ignore it.

Shift again.

The tiny plastic piece from the tag is still stuck in there somewhere, and every time your jeans move against your hip it catches your skin in the most irritating way possible.

You try to subtly fix it without making a whole thing out of it, but that only seems to make it worse. You tug a little at the fabric, pressing your hand against your side which does nothing, so you try crossing your legs the other way.

Sitting across from you, Mack notices immediately.

“You okay?” He asks, brows pulling together in worry.

“Yeah.” You say, glancing up to him.

He gives you a look that says he does not believe you for one second, and he doesn’t. Because a moment later he’s asking, “What’s wrong?”

“There’s something poking me in the seam of my jeans and it’s driving me insane.” You say, leaning toward him so nobody else hears.

“Like what?” His asks, his face softening right away.

“I think the stupid piece of plastic from when I ripped the tag off.”

He glances toward your hip, then back at your face. “Can you get it?”

“Clearly not.” You chide, making an unimpressed face. But without another word, he stands. “What are you doing?”

“Come here.” He says, your stomach doing that dumb little flip it always does when he gets all quietly demanding with you.

“Mack-“

“Come on,” he says, softer this time, nodding toward the hallway. “I’ll help.”

You hesitate for only a second before standing up, Mack just lightly catching your wrist and tugging you up from the couch. It should not affect you as much as it does, but around him you know no bounds. He’s one of your best friends, you cannot feel these things with him you think as you follow him down the hall, trying very hard not to think about the warmth of his hand around your wrist or the fact that he noticed your discomfort before you even said anything.

The bathroom door clicks shut behind you, cutting off most of the noise from the rest of the house, and for a second, neither of you say anything.

“Show me.” Mack says, nodding his chin towards your jeans.

You laugh under your breath. “That sounds bad.”

“You know what I mean.” He jokes, a grin pulling at his mouth.

You turn slightly and hook your thumbs into the waistband on one side, rolling your jeans down just enough near your hip to show him where the little plastic piece is stuck in the inside seam.

Mack immediately goes pink, and so do you.

“There,” you mutter, the flush getting worse as you look down, seeing the top lace trim of the underwear you had on currently exposed to one of your best friends, the one best friend you just happen to be a little in love with.

Mack crouches a little to look closer, careful and focused in a way that does nothing good for your heart.

“Okay,” he says. “Yeah, I see it.” His fingers brush lightly over your hip as he grabs the plastic bit, and your breath catches before you can stop it.

Mack stills, his eyes flicking up to yours for half a second. But neither of you says anything about it, and he looks back down and tugs at the plastic piece. It doesn’t move.

He frowns and tries again, wrapping it around his finger to give himself more leverage as he pulls harder this time. Still nothing, in fact you’re convinced that the piece is just part of the jeans at this point.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters.

“This is so embarrassing,” you say, staring at the ceiling, not wanting to keep looking down to him.

“It’s not embarrassing.”

“You are crouched in front of me in Ty and Cat’s bathroom because my pants are trying to maim me.”

That gets a quiet laugh out of him, and in that moment he can’t help but breathe in the scent of your exposed skin. The lotion you use daily filling his senses, and he tries to shake it off. Shake it off so you don’t realize he is kind of losing it down here.

His hand stays braced against your side, warm even through the denim. “I’ve got this.”

“You say that like this is a regular service you provide.”

“Only for you.” He whispers it, all joking leaving his tone for a second as the words come out easy, but they hang in the room anyway.

Mack seems to realize what he said about half a second too late, because the tips of his ears go even redder. He clears his throat and focuses harder on the situation.

You should say something, you think as you look down to the top of his head, but you don’t. Maybe because his face is too close to your hip and his fingers are too gentle and the whole thing feels strangely, and very stupidly intimate in a way you don’t know what to do with.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, then, before you can ask what he means, he leans in closer and uses his teeth on the little plastic bit.

“Mack!” You jerk in surprise.

“It’s fine.” He says, laughing against the denim. “Just hold still.”

“You are not doing this with your mouth.”

“It’ll be faster.” He argues, cheek still pressed into your skin.

“This is deranged.” You whine, but he just keeps trying, one hand steady on your thigh to keep the seam in place, and now your entire face is hot because this is ridiculous, completely ridiculous, except his mouth is right there and he’s so close and-

The door swings open, Will stepping in. But he freezes, totally freezes. Because from where he’s standing, all he can really see is Mack bent low in front of you, one hand on your hip, his face buried way too close to the inside of your rolled down jeans while you stand there flushed and wide eyed in the bathroom.

Silence is heavy as Will’s jaw drops, his eyes get so wide it’s almost impressive. And still, nobody moves, the shock gripping you and Mack too tightly to try to begin to explain that this isn’t what it looks like.

“OH my god-“ Will says, making a horrified choking sound.

Mack shoots upright so fast he nearly smacks his head on the sink, and you stumble back and yank your jeans up. Will is still standing in the doorway, staring at both of you like he discovered a new planet.

“I-“ Will says, pointing wildly. “I- wow. Okay. Just, wow.”

“It’s not what-“ you start, but he cuts you off immediately.

“Nope,” Will says, holding up both hands. “No. I do not want details.”

“Will-“ Mack starts, his whole face is red.

“I said no details!” Will repeats, his voice cracking. “Jesus Christ.”

“Nothing was happening.” You say, staring at him. But Will looks between the two of you, deeply unconvinced.

“Mhm.” Will says.

“Mhm?” you repeat.

“Mhm,” he says again, nodding like the most insufferable person alive. “Sure. Totally. You guys just happened to be alone in the bathroom with Mack on his knees between your legs for like, super innocent reasons.”

Your mouth falls open as Mack covers his face with one hand. “Kill me.” He whispers.

Will takes two steps backward into the hall like he’s physically removing himself from the scandal. “You know what? I’m gonna pretend I saw absolutely nothing. Do whatever weird- no. Actually don’t. Stop it. Get out here in like thirty seconds.” And with that he closes the door.

You and Mack just stare at it, then at each other.

“Macklin.” You whisper, but then you both start laughing. Not really because it’s funny, but because it’s so horrible it loops all the way around into being funny. “Oh my God,” you say again, covering your face. “He thinks we were-“

“I know what he thinks,” Mack says, still bright red.

“This is awful.” You say, dropping your hands just enough to look at him.

He is still standing way too close, one hand still half lifted toward your waist like he forgot what he was doing when Will opened the door. But now that you’re both laughing, now that the initial shock is passing, something else starts to settle in. Something warm and awkward in a very different way.

Mack looks at you, still smiling a little. “I should probably finish helping before he sends Ty in as backup.”

“I am never recovering from this.”

He crouches again, slower this time, and says, “I’m really sorry.”

“For what?”

“For making it weird.” He says, his fingers brush your hip again, and your heart squeezes.

“You didn’t,” you say softly.

His eyes flick up to yours and you don’t know why that makes the room tip on its axis a little, but it does. But he clears his throat, and gives the plastic piece one last sharp tug.

It snaps, and as your pants pop back into place, gone is the uncomfortable scratch against your hip. He stands and holds it up between two fingers in victory.

“Got it.” He says, his face smug as he looks at you.

“You are my favorite person.” You say, relief evident in your voice and you’re sure on your face as well. But Mack goes still at your confession, and as you realize what you said, so do you. The air in the bathroom suddenly feels thinner.

“Yeah?” he asks smiling, small and crooked.

You nod, because it’s true in about a hundred different ways. “Yeah.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, but instead, he opens the door for you. Will is waiting in the hallway like a vulture, the second he sees your faces, he folds over laughing.

“Oh, you poor idiots,” he says.

“We are not idiots,” you say.

“Dude.” Will straightens and looks at Mack.

Mack groans out, pointing at Will. “Don’t.”

“No, because seriously.” Will says, putting a hand over his chest. “I open a bathroom door and find you fully about to risk it all.”

“I was not risking anything!” Mack says.

Will looks at you, hoping you’ll confirm his suspicions. “Was he risking it all?”

“He was fixing something, you ass.” You say, shoving your best friend.

—

Back in the living room, you pray maybe Will will let it go, he does not. For the next half hour, he becomes the single most unbearable human being on earth.

Every time Mack gets within three feet of you, Will notices.

Every time you look at Mack, Will notices that too.

If you hand Mack a drink, Will makes a noise.

If Mack sits beside you, Will grins too widely.

Ty catches on almost immediately that something happened, even if he doesn’t know what. Cat definitely knows something happened, mostly because Will is visibly vibrating with the effort not to say anything.

At one point, Cat asks if anyone wants more to drink. Before you or Mack could politely decline, Will answers.

“Mack? Need anything? I’ve heard you’re super thirsty.”

You choke, and Mack goes to pat your back lightly and pushes your water in front of you for you to grab.

“William.” Cat closes her eyes, trying to hide her smirk from you.

Ty, now instantly alert, looks between all of you. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” you and Mack say at the same time.

Will just beams.

—

Across the room, Mack is glaring at Will while Will looks unbearably pleased with himself. Ty is now openly invested, throwing glances around like he’s trying to piece the story together.

And through all of it, every single time Mack gets flustered, every single time you catch him blushing or looking away or rubbing the back of his neck, something tugs tighter in your chest. Because Will is being ridiculous, but he’s also seeing something. Maybe something you’ve been trying very hard not to. Maybe something Mack has seen too.

—

You’re in the kitchen pouring another drink when Mack appears beside you, not too close to where it would raise an eyebrow, but you and Mack had always been close. Always pushed bounds, always crossed lines.

“Sorry about him,” he says quietly.

You glance over. “He’s going to be like this forever, isn’t he?”

“Probably.”

“Great.” You say with a laugh.

“You okay, though?” Mack asks, leaning against the counter.

The question is simple, but with him, it never feels simple. Because he means it, he always means it. Because even now, embarrassed out of your mind, you still feel steadier the second he’s beside you.

You turn your eyes to meet Mack’s, and you really look at him. At the flush still lingering high on his cheeks, at the way he keeps glancing at your face like he’s checking for damage, at the way he showed up the second you were uncomfortable and quietly took care of it without making it a thing.

“Yeah,” you say. Then, honest before you can stop yourself, “Mostly.”

His brows lift slightly. “Mostly?”

You should let it go, should let it be in the past and move forward. But how could you?

“Did he really think we were…” you ask, feeling hot all of a sudden.

Mack lets out a short breath, half laugh, half groan. “Yeah, yeah I think so.”

“That’s so humiliating.” You say, staring down at the cup.

“Maybe.” He says with a shrug. The word makes you look up, surprise coating your features, and you find his eyes are on you already. His throat moves as he swallows, continuing before you could ask. “But I think it’s maybe more humiliating that part of me didn’t hate the idea.”

Everything in you goes very, very still. The kitchen suddenly feeling too small for this conversation.

“Mack.”

He exhales hard and scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No,” you say quickly. “No, it’s just…” You can’t seem to get the rest out, but he waits. And because it’s him, because he always waits, because he always gives you room to find your words, you do. “It’s just that I didn’t hate it either.”

Mack freezes. The sounds from the living room seeping in, laughter and conversation and the clink of dishes, but they all feel far away now.

“You didn’t?” he asks quietly, and you shake your head. His stare drops to your mouth for the briefest second before coming back to your eyes. “Oh,” he says.

And then, because apparently the universe hates you, Will’s voice rings out from the other room.

“Why are you two alone in the kitchen now? Should I be concerned?”

You both jolt apart like you’ve been shocked, and Ty starts laughing immediately. Will appears in the doorway a second later, grin wicked and knowing, and stops short when he sees both your faces.

His expression changes, not dramatically, but enough for you both to clock it. He looks from you to Mack and back again. Then he says, much too casually, “Huh.”

“What does that mean?” You ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing.” He says with a shrug, even though it means everything. He lingers in the doorway a beat longer, then says, “Ty wants help with dessert.”

“I did not say that.” Ty’s voice booms back, but Will ignores him.

“Anyway. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Will just laughs and disappears again.

But the moment is broken now only in the sense that it has to become something else. Mack looks at you, and you look at him.

Then, softly, you ask three words that make Mack’s heart stop. “Is he right?”

“About what?” He asks, taking one step closer. And now that you’ve asked, there’s no point pretending you don’t know.

“This,” you whisper. “Us.”

His eyes go soft in a way that almost undoes you on the spot.

“Yeah,” he says. “I think he is.” Your heart pounds so hard it almost hurts.

“Since when?”

He laughs under his breath, nervous and fond and wrecked all at once. “I don’t know. A while.”

“A while?”

“A long while.” Mack confirms, inching closer yet again.

You stare at him, and then because you couldn’t help yourself, you start laughing a little.

“What?” he asks, smiling despite himself.

“We’re so stupid.”

“Very.” He confirms.

“You’ve liked me this whole time?”

He nods once. “Yeah.”

You feel shy suddenly, which is absurd because this is Mack. This is your Mack. Your best friend. The boy who notices everything, the boy who just got caught with his face way too close to your hip and still asked if you were okay afterward.

“I like you too,” you say as his whole face changes. It is small, the shift in his features, almost like the world just tilted.

“Yeah?” he asks, almost like he can’t believe it.

“Yeah.”

He steps closer again, close enough that your breath catches.

“Good, because that means I won’t feel guilty doing this.” He says, his hands settling on your waist, careful at first, like he still can’t believe he gets to touch you like this. Then he kisses you, and all the tension of the night, all the confusion and near misses and stupid obliviousness, melts away instantly. He kisses you like it’s a relief. Like he’s wanted this for so long that once he starts, he can’t quite keep the softness from turning hungry.

Your hands clutch at his shirt, and he makes a quiet sound into your mouth that has your whole body lighting up. When you finally part, you’re both breathing harder than you should be from one kiss.

Then Will walks by the kitchen, again. He stops. He backs up, seeing you and Mack standing there wrecked and flushed and close.

And Will absolutely loses his mind.

“I KNEW IT,” he shouts, his face in awe and excitement.

You jump so hard you nearly slam into the counter, but Mack shoves his hand between your back and the marble countertop, as if to brace you from smacking into it. Ty appears behind Will instantly, Cat right behind Ty. The three of them crowd the doorway like the world’s nosiest audience.

“Oh my God,” Ty says, delighted. “Finally.”

“Do not ruin this moment for them-“ Cat says, pointing at Will.

“Ruin this? I made this happen.” He says, moving his hands to point to the two of you.

“You did not make anything happen,” Mack says, though he is laughing now, one hand still at your waist.

Will stares at that hand, then at Mack’s face, then at yours.

“You two are unbelievable,” he says. “Actually unbelievable. I walk in on what I think is an x-rated bathroom situation, spend an hour trying to bully the truth out of both of you, and all you needed was five minutes alone near the silverware?”

“Please stop talking.” You say, hiding your smile.

“Do you know how exhausting it is to be surrounded by people this repressed?” Will says to Ty and Cat, motioning again to the both of you.

“Repressed?” you repeat.

“Yes,” Will says. “Do you know how many times I’ve watched the two of you stare at each other like idiots in a rom com and then do absolutely nothing about it?”

Mack laughs helplessly. “Idiots?”

Will ignores Mack’s comment. “And let’s be so clear right now, I deserve credit.”

“You deserve to be banned from opening doors without knocking,” Mack says.

Will presses a hand to his chest. “I cannot believe this is the thanks I get after witnessing something traumatic.”

“It was not traumatic,” you say.

“It was for me,” Will insists. “I’m young. I’m sensitive.”

“You’re neither.” Ty says squinting at him.

You laugh despite yourself, and Mack’s hand tightens just a little on your waist at the sound. It makes heat bloom all over again, even with everyone standing there staring.

“Take your feral child and go.” Cat says, nudging Ty with her shoulder

“I’m not feral,” Will says.

“You absolutely are,” Ty tells him, steering him backward out of the doorway.

Will lets himself be herded, still talking. “I just want it on record that I was right. And that I’m a hero, and when they get married I expect to be making a speech.”

“You are not getting a speech,” Mack says.

Ty slings an arm around his shoulders and drags him toward the dining room while Cat laughs and follows. “Come on, super spy. Leave them alone for ten seconds.”

When the kitchen finally clears, you and Mack are left standing there in the quiet aftershock, both smiling so hard it almost hurts. He looks down at you, softer now.

“You okay?” he asks again, but time you laugh.

“Yeah,” you say, stepping a little closer. “I’m really okay.”

“Good.” He says, his forehead dropping lightly against yours. He presses one quick kiss to your mouth, then he takes your hand and leads you back out to everyone else.

But the Friday afternoon was about to take a turn you didn’t expect. Your parents and siblings flew in this morning, and you know they spent most of the day with Mack and Will. And everyone is going to eat dinner at their place tonight. It was all planned, times set, food picked out. But sometimes in this field, plans don’t matter.

Not as the 10 year old sits in front of you, and admits the one thing you’ve feared was happening. But you’ve trained, you know how to handle it. So as the session wraps up, you explain the next steps.

Living with grandparents whom you have already called, calling people whose job it is to make sure this little girl stays in a safe home.

As she cries, you do everything in your power to help her. You remind her how much she loves her grandparents, but she tells you that’s not in her normal environment. You give her the tools to express herself in drawings and writing. And she takes full advantage. So as you wait for the grandparents who cried on the phone when you called, you go to your desk and open up your computer to text Mack and Will.

The groupchat already had a few missed texts in it, as you were supposed to leave your office at 5pm, and it’s now 6pm.

4:58pm

Mackerel: Everyone got here, Aiden is already annoying. Have you left yet?

Mackerel: It’s past 5, you alive?

Will: Hey, just checking. Are you okay?

After those texts went unanswered, you read a few more frantic ones.

Mackerel: Okay I get you’re older or whatever, but I’m starting to worry

Will: You can call me if something’s going on

You try to ignore the hit of emotion while reading Will’s texts. Because he knows exactly how to get to you. Mack doesn’t know it, but after hard days of the office, Will calls you on your drive home. He understands you can’t tell him details, but he’s there. He lets you sit in silence if that’s what you need. He talks about anything and everything if that’s what you ask for. And somewhere along the lines Will, who started just as your little brothers best friend, turned into something more.

You: Sorry, work got hectic. I just have to wait for a pick up. Start without me, I’m really sorry

Mackerel: Don’t apologize

Will: Are you alright?

Will: Are they alright?

You: I’ll text you when I’m leaving here

You send the message just as a knock sounds on your office door. And you let the child’s grandparents in, watching the young girl cry into her grandpa’s arms.

“Thank you.” The grandmother says to you, resting a warm hand on your arm. “God, thank you.” She says again, and you only nod.

Being a therapist means learning the time and place to show your own emotions, and right now you shove them behind that wall. Showing empathy and understanding, but making sure the need to cry stays locked up tight.

You go over procedures, and as another half an hour passed you wave goodbye to the girl as she walks hand in hand out of your office with her grandparents.

“Thank you for believing me.” She says quietly, and you whisper a quick, of course, as she leaves.

You shut the door behind you, and cover your mouth immediately as you hold your eyes closed. As good as it feels to help the children you see, the pain of them being so young and handling things so difficult breaks you.

And this case was no different. This case was one of the worst you’ve seen in a while.

Mackerel: Keep us updated. We don’t care about dinner or anything

Will: We just care about you, I can come and get you if you need

You: I’m leaving in five minutes. I’ll be there soon

Mackerel: Are you okay?

Will: Can you drive?

You: Leaving now. Be there soon

You know they are probably pulling at their hair as you avoid most of their questions. But you can’t fall apart right now, and you repeat that as you get into your car, throwing it in reverse and then driving out of the parking lot.

Only when you hit the streets, and your office is so far behind you that you can no longer see it in your rear view mirror do you let the emotions get you. Tears flood your vision, and you furiously wipe them away, knowing your makeup is running with them.

But you don’t care. You don’t care because it’s your family you’re walking into. Your family, and Will. Will, who has seen you like this before. Will who has never balked, only helped piece you back together, although he always tells you that you’re not broken.

So as you pull into the driveway of the place Mack and Will share, you close your eyes.

“You’ve got this.” You whisper, nodding your head like that will help you believe this. You pull the visor down, and get a load of what you look like for the first time.

It’s not good.

But that’s okay. You can’t focus on the makeup running, or your puffy eyes. You can’t focus on the sweater that feels like it’s suffocating you, or the boots that are squeezing your calves. You just need to get in the house, and then everything will be okay.

So that’s what you do. And as you open the door, the smell of garlic and herbs hit you all at once. The house is warm, but not temperature wise. Instead it’s warm with laughter and love. Just like it always is when your family comes to visit.

But as you shut the front door, setting your purse and keys down, you turn around for the first time and see them all. Aiden stands to your left next to Mack, both of them stopping mid food preparation. Your mother and father are sitting on the couches, but they both sit up as they take you in. Charlie and RJ freezing as well from where they sit around your parents. But it’s Will that you look at the longest. Will, who is by the dining room table with a handful of forks he’s setting out. Will, who takes one roaming sweep of you and knows that you’re a second away from falling apart. Will, who your brothers be damned, is the only person you want right now.

“What happened?” Aiden asks, the brotherly instinct taking over his body. The urge to help you, to protect you.

“Y/N.” Mack says, turning towards you but not coming close. Knowing he needs to let you make the first move.

The entire first level of the house seems to still. Everyone waiting for you. Your parents, brows heavy with concern slowly standing, as if they are preparing to run to you. Charlie and RJ both wide eyed taking in the person they run to when they are upset. Aiden and Mack, who are ready to pick you up should you falter. But it’s Will you continue to look at.

And he does the one thing that gives you enough confirmation to know that he wants to help you. That he’ll drop everything and everyone in order to hold you.

Will sets the forks down, staying by the table, and opens his arms. His head nodding slowly as if silently telling you, ‘come here’.

It doesn’t take more than that for a hopeless sob to escape your lips and for you and Will to take a few steps towards each other before you crash into his body.

Your brothers are wide eyed as you breeze past them, and Will doesn’t dare stagger as you throw yourself into his waiting arms.

They wrap instantly around you, and with how much muscle he’s been putting on, he all but covers your body with his. Your forehead presses into his chest, your hands on his back gripping his sweatshirt tight. And the first real sob breaks out.

“I’ve got you.” He whispers into your hair, one hand planted protectively on the back of your head, the other thrown around your shaking body.

And hearing his words, knowing you’re in his arms only makes you cry harder.

“You’re safe, you’re okay. They are safe now. You did that. You’re here with me.” He continues to soothe, and nobody moves as they watch Will hold you. Watch him as he talks you down from deep sobs, as he, so slowly you could almost miss it, rocks your body side to side.

“I’m sorry.” You say, but that’s instantly stopped.

“Don’t be sorry. You’ve done nothing to be sorry for.” Will says.

At the same time your mom makes a pained noise, and Mack shakes his head even though you can’t see it.

“Dinner, and everyone-“

“Hey.” Will says, and you instantly listen. “The only thing anyone in this room is concerned for is you.”

Mack watches this from across the room. Watching as Will rests his cheek against the top of your head. Watches as you both melt into each other. And as Mack stands there with his arms crossed, it’s not in anger. Because he’s known for some time that you both like each other. What the man was not aware of however, was just how instinctive it was.

You moved right past them all, and Will caught you because he knew that’s what he needed to do.

Aiden’s eyes move to Mack’s, as if silently asking him if this was normal. And Mack shrugs with a yes, moving back to watch the two in front of him.

Will manages to help calm your breathing, but the tears still slip down your cheeks.

“This is so embarrassing.” You say to him, but Will is quick to reassure you.

“No it’s not, sweetheart.” The nickname slipping out, but not one member of the Celebrini family thought it was strange. “You see sad and impossible things all day long. You are allowed to grieve them.”

“But my family.” You say, like said family isn’t seeing and hearing all of this.

“They love you.” Will says for you. “So let them…. let me.” He finishes, pulling you back just enough that he can wipe the tears from your cheeks.

You nod as you look up to him, and he wishes he could erase the pain he sees in your normally vibrant green eyes. Will looks down at you, but not in pity. Instead with that you can only assume is love.

And you almost tell him something you’d regret doing in front of your entire family, but you’re saved by the bell. But in this case, the bell being your itchy sweater and boots that you need to kick off.

“What’s wrong?” Will asks, noting the change in your body.

“I need… I just need to get out of this.”

And Will nods, looking over your shoulder before saying, “Come with me, you can borrow something of mine.”

“Thank you.” You say, your voice breaking slightly as you step out of his hold.

But Will doesn’t let you go far, not as he holds his hand out to you. But before you take it you turn your gaze to Mack, and the gentleness you see there shocks you.

“Go.” Your brother says, motioning for you to go with his best friend.

So you just nod, slipping your hand into Will’s as he carefully leads you up the stairs and into his room.

He makes sure to keep you close, as if it would pain him to be apart from you right now.

He helps you sit on the edge of his bed, turning towards his closet and grabbing some clean clothes out of the drawers.

“These will be huge, but we’ll make them work.” He tells you as he hands you a pair of sweatpants and a tshirt. “Do you want socks?”

And you nod a yes as he reaches for those as well.

But it’s his next moves that surprises you the most so far this evening. Will leans down in front of you, hands going to the zippers on the sides of your boots.

“What are you doing?” You ask him, and he answers without stopping his actions.

“I’m helping you with your boots.”

“Will you don’t have to.”

“I know, but I guess it’s a good thing I want to then.”

“You want to take boots off my feet as I embarrass myself in front of you and my entire family down there?”

Your question causes him to pause, and his eyes meet yours as he responds.

“I want to take your boots off because I think you give so much love and support to these kids, that you keep none of it for yourself. So yes sweetheart, I want to take off your boots. Because I want you to feel just a sliver of love and warmth I know you give them.”

You don’t say anything to his confession, because you currently have no words that are fit to give as a response. So you just nod, letting new tears fall at how attentive and kind he is.

“Hey hey, what’s going on?” Will asks, noticing your new tears. “Tell me what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours.”

“I don’t deserve this.”

“I don’t know why on earth you think that.” Will says, and even with him being kind you could tell he was genuinely shocked at your words.

“Because if I deserve this, I think I’ll let myself believe I deserve you.”

“Who says you don’t deserve me?” He asks, your boots now abandoned on the floor, but he’s still kneeling in front of you.

“Me.” You finally whisper, and Will’s heart seizes at your words, but also at the truth written all over your face. He sees that you genuinely believe the words you speak.

“You truly believe you don’t deserve me?”

Your answering nod was enough to want to make Will laugh in disbelief.

“Y/N.” He says, and he notes how much the nickname causes you to relax. “You’ve got it backwards, because I’ve spent every day since I met you wondering how the hell I deserve you.”

“Will-“

“No listen to me for a second.” He says firmly, but not rudely. “I get to watch you care for children, and protect them and help them. And I know you’re strong enough to do the same for yourself, but if you’ll let me, I want to do that for you too.”

You lean forward, a wave of emotion hitting you that is different from the one swallowing you when you walked through the front door. And as you look into his blue eyes, you see the truth he’s telling you.

“I’ll let you change, come down whenever you’re ready.” Will says, standing up, and planting a kiss on your forehead. Your eyes close, and you focus on how good it feels to have his lips on your skin.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

He turns around for a moment, smiling at you. “Always.” He says, before closing the bedroom door gently behind him.

—

Will wasn’t nervous to walk back downstairs, in fact he’s kind of on top of the world right now. But he pushes that aside because he wants to know you’re okay more than anything.

The kitchen goes quiet as he reenters it, and he is met with the stares of the Celebrini family.

No one speaks for a second, and Will half expects Mack to be the first person to say something. But instead, it’s RJ. The youngest Celebrini clears his throat before breaking the silence.

“Are you guys always like that?”

“Basically.” Mack answers for Will, rubbing at his face.

“We are not-“ Will starts, but Macklin shoots him a look.

“Are you guys dating now? RJ asks again, and Will looks around before answering.

The question was enough to peak your families interest, but Will looks to his best friend first before answering. And like he owes Mack an explanation, he starts word vomiting his truth.

“Look, I haven’t really told her for a fact yet. But yes, I like her, and yes I’d be so lucky if she even gives me the chance.” Will admits, and Rick and Robyn try to hide little smiles at his words. “But I’m not going to push anything on her, especially not tonight. Tonight she needs her family.”

“And you.” Aiden pipes up, shrugging as Will looks at him in confusion. “Clearly she needs you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so comfortable with anyone before.”

Nobody responds right away, and you freeze on the stairs when you hear their voices, not wanting them to know you just heard their tail end of the conversation.

But Mack and Will still don’t really look away from each other. And Will is waiting for a yell, a shove, a threat on how Will shouldn’t be in love with his best friend’s sister, how she’s off limits. But Mack doesn’t do any of that. Instead, a calm wave washes over him.

“You’re my best friend.” Mack starts, and Will prepares himself for a lecture.

“I know.”

“And that’s my sister.”

“I know.” Will confirms again. “And maybe it’s messed up, but I can’t help the way I feel Mack. I’ve tried to shove it down for years, but I can’t.” Will confesses.

From the kitchen, Macklin’s eyes shine only slightly.

“Mack… I love her.” Will says, and the whole house seems to freeze once more. Like everyone and everything is waiting for what Macklin has to say.

But your brother doesn’t get the chance to say anything, not as you finally make your presence known. You descend the final steps and stand there in front of everyone.

Will watches you the way he always does, because to him nothing else matters as much.

So with your misty eyes, and your slightly shaky hands, you do something you have only ever imagined.

You walk towards Will, step up to your tippy toes, and pull his face to yours.

While the kiss is gentle, it’s telling. It’s every time both of you almost told the other, it’s for everytime Will has carried your sleeping body from the couch to the bed. It’s everytime you’ve come to a game and screamed with excitement for them. It’s every time Will has brought lunch to your office, or just sat with you on the worst of days. It’s for the love you have, and the love you never thought you’d be able to show.

So as you guys finally pull away, remembering where you are, you both smile so widely at each other.

“Well now I’ve lost my appetite.” RJ complains.

“Oh hush.” Your mother scolds him.

“I love you too, Will.” You whisper while you rest your forehead against his.

Learning that the man you’d had a crush on for a while was just using you to complete some sick assignment pact he had made with another woman? Yeah, that definitely makes the top of the list of shitty things that’ve happened to you. It hurts like nothing else ever has, and you wanted it to be real so badly, but it was never that for him.

And sure, many girls would love to have one night with Dean Di Laurentis, but you’re not most girls. You wanted it to be real. You wanted things with Dean to blossom into something special, but that was a very deluded mistake.

One you will never make again.

“I’m not sure… It felt so real.” you whisper, throat clogged with emotion as more tears well up in your eyes.

Blinking them back, you lift your chin and grab your phone off the nightstand. You quickly open up the Fifth Line social media page. “Dean won’t get off this easily.” you say, tone firm and holding loads of hatred towards the defenseman.

“What do you mean by that?” your best friend asks, nervously moving to sit beside you on your bed.

You click the little DM button, opening the very empty message thread between you and the hockey’s gossip page.

You: Hi, just wanted to reach out and say I have some information about a very beloved defenseman on Briar’s hockey team… Dean Di Laurentis is a snake, he can’t be trusted. This needs to be put out there so no girl goes through what I had to. Dean is in love with Allie Hayes, they have some ongoing pact they’re calling “The Assignment” where they sleep with other people to keep the feelings they have towards one another watered down. If Dean approaches you after a game, at a party, after class, anything, DO. NOT. TRUST. HIM. Trust me, save yourself the embarrassment and pain of being part of their sick little Heartbreak Assignment.

You read the message over again, smiling to yourself as you hit send.

“What I mean by that is, Dean is about to be exposed by Fifth Line. He wants to do me dirty? Two can play at that.”

TWO DAYS LATER…

DEAN’S POV

“Dude, you truly fucked up…” Logan says, taking a seat beside me in the locker room.

I continue lacing up my skates, laughing at the dramatics of my friend. “I know, but I’ve learned from that mistake, and it’s not like she’s going to-”

“Before you finish that sentence, you might want to take a look at fifth line…”

Brow furrowed, I reach behind me and pull my phone out of my bag, quickly opening the app and finding their newest post.

My heart picks up in pace, thundering against my chest, the blood rushing in my ears as I read what was posted about me.

More specifically, me and Allie..

“Dude… what the fuck, why did Jules publish this?”

Logan shrugs his shoulder, knocking his knee into mine. “No clue,” He stands, placing his phone into his bag and shoving it into his locker before turning to help me up as well. My phone is still stuck in my hand, squeezing at it tightly as I continue to read the post over and over again.

FIFTH LINE: Dean Di Laurentis, The Heartbreak King. Ladies, based on recent events, it would seem our University heartthrob and most eligible bachelor is no longer single as there’s talk that he’s secretly dating Allie Hayes. Be careful girls, don’t let yourself get hurt by Dean and Allie’s games like someone already did.

Logan places a hand on my upper arm, jerking my attention away from my phone and the very shitty post. “Dude, don’t dwell on it, no one truly listens to these posts on here. Just, maybe try and fix things with Y/N.” he pats me on the back twice, “Now let’s go, we’ve got practice.”

THREE DAYS LATER…

It’s been three days since that post was made. Three days, and contrary to what Logan said, everyone had seen the post, and everyone on campus, namely females, were avoiding me like the plague.

“You really fucked up didn’t you?” Garrett jokes, nudging me with his shoulder as he joins me in the halls.

I roll my eyes. Yeah, I fucked up, but this? This is taking shit too far.

“This isn’t funny Gar-”

“We need to fucking talk!”

I’m ripped away from my conversation with Garrett, Allie gripping my arm tightly and pulling me down the halls.

Garrett laughs, standing in his spot and watching as I’m dragged down the hall by a five-five fireball. “Good luck!” he shouts, letting out one final laugh before turning and disappearing in the opposite direction.

“Al, chill out!” I shout, trying to halt our movements but she doesn’t stop until she reaches the women’s restroom at the end of the hall we’re on.

She shoves the door open, pushing me inside before following behind and slamming the door shut, locking it.

“Allie, I’m not one for fucking in a school bathroom, but I’m down if you-”

Allie slaps me in the chest, shoving me back a step. I can’t contain my laughter, and that only makes her more irritated.

“This isn’t funny, Dean! I tried to let this pass, but you fucked up and now there’s a post about us dating on Fifth Line, and everyone is fucking avoiding me, the girls that go here are looking at me as if I’m a horrible person too, all because you weren’t open and honest about what that night was with Y/N.”

I open my mouth to respond but she holds a hand up, cutting me off again. “Fix this. Now, Dean. Fucking fix it.”

Without giving me another chance to speak, she reaches behind me and unlocks the door, making her way out and leaving me standing there alone.

I let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through my already messy hair before turning to exit the bathroom as well.

The second I swing the door open, I come face to face with her. The girl who has my life in shambles at the moment.

“Hey, Y/N, I was actually wanting to talk to y-”

She ignores me, turning and giving me her back before she storms off down the hall, once again leaving me alone.

A WEEK LATER…

YOUR POV

“Hey!”

The sound of Dean’s voice has you picking up your speed, hands tightly gripping at the strap of your shoulder bag.

It’s been a week since you ran into Dean coming out of the women’s restroom, no surprise you’d seen Allie come out of that same bathroom just a minute earlier.

Neither of them seem to care that there’s a post about them on Fifth Line, so maybe you just gave them the shove they needed to finally come clean about what they were, to finally stop toying with other people’s feelings because they were so unsure of their own for one another.

Finally reaching the door that leads outside, you place your hand on the long metal push bar, but you’re quickly stopped from moving any further when a large hand curls around your bicep, pulling you backwards.

“Dean, stop fucking touching me.” you shout, trying to fight him off of you, but it’s no use, he’s ten times stronger than you.

“Stop, can you just stop, please?” Dean asks, his voice gentle, almost pleading with you.

You stop your fight, letting out a frustrated sigh before turning your head back to look at him.

Those blue eyes. They still make your body have a visceral reaction, even when your brain is screaming at you to hate him.

“Can we please talk?” Dean rasps, finally letting go of your arm.

With his hands finally off of you, you take a step back, squeezing your eyes shut as you mull over his request to have a conversation with you. You know you shouldn’t. There isn’t anything he can say or do to fix what he’s done.

Right?

What he did is inexcusable. It was disrespectful and distasteful, so why should you hear him out?

That’s the logical answer, don’t give him the time of day. But your stupid lover girl heart has a different idea when you say, “Fine. Meet me at Malone’s. Nine tonight.”

Dean’s lips lift into a small smile, a relieved breath escaping those damn kissable lips. “Thank you, I promise, I’m going to fix this.”

You roll your eyes, gripping the strap of your shoulder bag once more before pushing open the door. “This better not be a waste of my time, Di Laurentis.”

“Never that.” Dean replies, a hint of teasing in his tone.

Letting that be the last words spoken between the two of you for now, you allow the door to slam shut. You really hope this won’t be a waste of time. You don’t know what Dean could say or do to fix things, but the least you can do is hear the guy out.

To say Allie and Hannah were delighted at your find would be an understatement, but the three of you quickly realized that there would be no way the three of you could keep her in your shared dorm. Naturally the three of you formed a plan.

Right on time the front door bursts open, revealing four very tired hockey players. One of which being your handsome boyfriend John Logan.

“I’m telling you,” Dean said, chucking his hockey bag onto the floor, “Coach has officially lost his damn mind.”

“He made us skate herbies after practice,” Tucker complained. “I almost saw God.”

Garrett wandered straight toward the kitchen.

“Is there food?” He asks Hannah, hopeful that she’s been cooking.

The three of you were sitting on the couch but before the boys got home you made a dash to the other room with the sweet little puppy. Far too still. Far too innocent. Dean stopped mid-step, crooking an eyebrow at the three of you and your sudden silent nature.

“Why do you all look like toddlers who colored on the wall?” Dean asks.

“We don’t,” Hannah answers immediately.

“You do.” Dean replies. Allie smiled a little too brightly. If anyone can get her boyfriend to be on board it’s her.

“So…” Allie trails off. Dean groans.

“This doesn’t sound promising. Dean says his gaze flicking ti the three of you.

“Hypothetically…” Allie begins.

“No.” Dean answers.

“You don’t even know what I’m asking.” She pouts.

“I don’t need to.” He laughs.

Garrett pokes his head out of the kitchen.

“I kinda wanna hear the hypothetical.” He shrugs.

Allie grins. “I knew I liked you for a reason hockey man.” She beams at Garrett.

“Hypothetically,” she begins “if someone came across a puppy that needed a home…” Dean points toward the front door.

“Hypothetically, it can keep walking.” Dean says sassily.

“Dean! You monster.” you hiss. Six heads snapped toward the entryway from the laundry room. Logan frowns at your distraught comment.

“Baby?” He asks. Before spotting the fuzzy golden bundle in your arms. “Oh.”

Deans eyes narrow. “Apparently you don’t understand the definition of hypothetically.” He says as his eyes land on the puppy in your arms.

You step into the living room the tiny golden retriever puppy tucked against your chest.

Her little pink tongue hangs out of her mouth, and she chews lazily on the string of your hoodie. Well Logan’s hoodie. You look at Logan with the guiltiest smile he’s ever seen.

“So this is hypothetical the dog?” Dean asks. Garrett laughs, shitting up as soon as Dean glares daggers at him.

“I couldn’t leave her.” You say innocently. Logan’s expression softenes instantly.

“What happened?” He asks.

“There was this old man by the bookstore.” You scratched behind the puppy’s ears. “He was giving away puppies. She was the last one.” You say.

“She was just sitting in a cardboard box by herself.” You say. “And she looked so sad.” You add. Logan walks over.

“You’ve been carrying her around all afternoon?” He asks, petting her head. You nod.

“I didn’t know what else to do.” You shrug. He looks at the puppy. Then at you.Then back at the puppy. A grin tugs at the corner of his lips.

“C’mere.” He coos to the little dog. She pants at him. You carefully transfer the puppy into his arms. The little traitor takes exactly two seconds to climb onto Logan’s shoulder. She licks his cheek. Then promptly curls up against his neck like she’s lived there her entire life. You gasp in mock offense.

“Excuse me?” You say to her. Logan looks unbearably smug.

“I think she likes me.” He says happily.

“You’ve had her for six seconds!” You say.

“I’ve got a way with women.” He says winking at you. Garrett snorts.

“That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said.” Dean reasons.

“Wait what’s her name?” Logan asks. You grin.

“Well Hannah and Allie and I decided since she’s going to be the lady of this house full of hockey guys her name should be Bunny!” You say.

“Bunny? Like a puck bunny?” Dean says raising his eyebrows.

“Okay that’s actually clever.” Tucker says.

“Right!” Allie exclaims.

“And she’s fluffy!” Hannah adds.

“She looks like a Bunny. You’re the only puck bunny allowed in this house.” Logan coos at the little dog. Bunny responds by licking Logan’s jaw. The room erupts in laughter.

“Oh, she’s a Daddy’s girl already!” Hannah laughed. Logan looks down at the puppy curled against him before looking back at you with the cockiest grin imaginable.

“You hear that?” He says.

“No.” You say. That puppy was yours. And yes you would fight your boyfriend for affection of the tiny golden creature.

“I think our fur baby picked her favorite parent.” Logan teases.

You smack his arm.

“We’ve had her for an hour, Logan!” You say.

He laughs. “Relax, Mama.”

Dean makes the loudest fake gagging noise in human history. Garrett points to the puppy.

“House vote.” Garrett says.

Dean sighs. “On the puppy?” He asks.

“Yes. All those in favor of Bunny staying with us?”

“Aye!” Logan says waving Bunny’s little paw in the air.

“Aye!” Tucker calls out.

“Aye, as well.” Garrett says before turning to Dean.

“Fine.” Dean says with a sigh, he stares at the puppy.

“I guess she’s kind of cute, but she better not get fleas.” Dean warns.

“Well, congrats, Daddy.” Garrett says patting Logan on the back and giving Bunny a little pat.

“Shut up.” Logan says playfully.

Hannah grins. “Good thing you two are moving in together after graduation.” She says.

Allie nods seriously. “Yeah, Bunny deserves both her parents.”

Logan looks over at you. Then down at the sleeping puppy. Then back at you. A slow smile spreading across his face.

“Our first apartment’s gonna need a fenced backyard area.” He says seriously. You roll your eyes.

“You’re impossible.” You giggle. He leans down and kisses your forehead.

There’s was a small, sleepy whine. Causing everyone to look down. Bunny shifted in Logan’s arms, her tiny nose twitching. Then, like she’d suddenly remembered something, she wriggled. Logan frowns at the small dog.

“Hey, hey, where you goin’, kid?” Logan asks.

Before anyone could react, Bunny clumsily climbs down his chest, nearly face planting onto the couch.

“Whoa…” Logan reaches for her, but she’s already toddling away. Straight toward Dean who’s sitting at the opposite end of the couch. Dean froze.

“No.” Dean says putting his hand up. Bunny plops down right on his lap. She looks up at him with her big brown eyes and her tiny tail wagging. Dean stares at the little creature, as she lets out a tiny little sneeze.

“Absolutely not,” Dean says, shaking his head.Bunny yips. “You’ve got allergies little miss ma’am.” He says pointing his finger at the puppy. She paws at his finger.

“You have allergies too babe, I put up with you.” Allie says in a sing song voice.

“She is pretty cute,” he reasons, scratching behind the little puppy’s ears. “She better not get fleas in this house.”

“How dare you insinuate my baby would have fleas!” John says, taking Bunny from his lap and holding her like a baby. You laugh, pulling your phone out to snap a picture of them. Dean rolls his eyes before sighing.

An annoying, warm body slides next to yours Tuesday morning. You curl your fingers tighter around your pencil like the action might actually stop you from stabbing it into the tan hand now crowding yours.

“You seem tense,” is what tickles your ear seconds later. “Little man couldn’t take care of you this weekend?”

You stick your tongue into your cheek and say nothing, scribbling furiously into your notes. Neither of you mention that your chicken scratch handwriting no longer makes sense with what is happening at the front of the classroom. You barely hear the droning of the professor past Garrett’s woodsy cologne, the scent mixing in with the earthy rain he undoubtedly walked through. If you were to look at him, you’d see his damp curls and want to tug at them to incite pain.

“Come on,” he hums, mouth wet and warm beneath your earlobe. “Admit that was funny. I could barely see him past the puck bunnies.”

“That’s because your neanderthal brain short-circuits when you see anything you can nail,” you hiss under your breath.

Garrett only lets out a soft chuckle at that, finally leaning back into his seat. Your brain defogs only marginally. The fact he says nothing else at your poor argument irritates you worse than him showing up late. You hate when he doesn’t spar back.

“Seriously, Garrett?” You drop your pencil to your notebook with a thud and begin turning to him with heat in your mouth and on your ears. “You missed our presentation and you can’t even say sorry?”

The rest of the words leave to die somewhere when you catch the fresh bruising underneath his left eye. They revitalize deep in your chest when he licks at the dried blood on his bottom lip, all too aware of your gaze on him.

The brute in front of you shrugs nonchalantly. His hair is slicked back from the rain and perhaps a shower after morning practice, if that’s where the spurt of violence came from. “You were always better off alone.”

It’s hurtful in ways he surely can’t know, with enough force behind the words that you can’t help but think of Cole on Saturday night after the game when he, like so many others, failed to put you out.

You don’t let the feeling fester. “You were late because you started a fight,” you deadpan, and it’s not a question.

The darkness that clouds Garrett’s eyes lasts a beat too long; you catch every bit of the storm.

“Don’t pretend to be concerned on my behalf,” he grumbles.

“It’s my grade, too, Garrett.”

“Yeah? Daddy couldn’t buy your way through school?”

“That’s rich coming from a Graham.”

He snarls. “Don’t bring my father into this -”

You push. “ - how dare you mention mine -”

“Excuse me.” The professor slaps both hands onto her desk. You flinch, and Garrett’s jaw tightens like he’s equally annoyed that someone broke up your tiff and had the audacity to make you jump out of your skin at the same time.

Garrett hadn’t unpacked his bag because he’s the most impractical man you have ever met, so it only takes him seconds to push back from the desk he swallows whole with his size.

“Fuck this,” he mutters bitterly.

The rest of the class seems to shrink back when he rises to his full height. You do not; instead, you calculate every tense bunch of his shoulder blades and determine something is not quite right. While bickering with him has become a normal, almost welcomed routine, the darkness underneath his eyes has worsened.

He didn’t flash you that little competitive grin when something landed.

He hadn’t nodded encouragingly when you ribbed him back.

He couldn’t care less that he had let a teammate down, even if it was one that he begrudgingly accepted for a course credit.

He had bled. He didn’t clean it up. He wanted a reminder of the feeling.

You briefly close your eyes with the realization that you are worried about him. That feels worse than the guilt that spreads when a joke goes too far.

“Garrett,” you try, a private little whisper just between you and him. “Please sit down.”

Garrett’s neck flushes with something like shame, and he takes two of the stairs at a time. He slams the door behind him without a glance back.

He’s still not himself that evening.

“Dude,” Logan starts after a silent conversation with Dean above Garrett’s head. “What’s up with you today?”

Garrett goes hot, then cold, and then burns brighter than before. All he can see in front of him is the hockey house littered with red solo cups and short denim skirts despite the weather outside. He does not catch a glimpse of you, which fucking stings. He swallows the last bit of his beer and resentfully considers breaking his one drink rule.

Dean analyses his same sight line, nodding with understanding when he doesn’t see you either. “He’s like fucking Gatsby throwing these parties,” he tosses to Logan.

Logan’s brows furrow. “You actually read that book?”

“Fuck no, LoLo. I watched the movie. Daisy’s hot.”

Garrett would have normally laughed by now. He does not. Logan throws another bewildered look over to Dean, who catches it with his own grimace.

“G,” Logan tries again, a little softer than before. “Talk to us, man. Is this about bag skate? Coach isn’t mad at you. It was that fuckin’ freshman’s fault.”

That’s the thing - Garrett hadn’t swung first. He didn’t have to. He welcomed the pain like a punishment for seeing you with him Saturday night, and the self-inflicted wound only bled redder when you had assumed he was the rocket that went off.

Garrett brushes something invisible from his shirt and stands. The leggy blonde he finally gave into locking eyes with beckons him with a crook of her finger. He nods once at her, but the usual cocky smile he would give you instead doesn’t quite sit right on his face. He wonders if it’s the impending bruise.

“I’m fine,” he supplies to his friends.

Dean pulls a swig from his bottle to hide his frown. “Getting your dick wet with someone else won’t fix it, y’know.”

Something mean shifts over Garrett’s face before he blinks it away. “Nothing to fix,” he says, blasé. “But if there was, I wouldn’t take your advice.”

The next morning, the freshman with a nasty right hook skates towards Garrett sheepishly.

“Hey, Graham,” he mutters. Garrett fucking hates his last name. “Sorry again… for yesterday. I - sometimes something else gets to me and it only comes out during hockey. I’ll work on it this season. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

Garrett genetically understands that more than he admits aloud. He merely nods and offers a forgiving hand.

He throws another party that night. Your friends show up. You do not.

On Thursday morning, he’s in his seat before you get there. The ring around his eye is a pale blue, but he’s wearing his omnipresent smirk. You sit uncertainly slow, wondering if that can be considered a win.

Until he murmurs in that infuriatingly deep voice, “Good morning. Glad I got you a coffee. You look like -” He waves a hand over your appearance, drenched from head to toe from the rainfall. “- a wet rat.”

Something blossoms deep in your chest. It’s so much better than him frowning.

“Thank you,” you volley softly. “You look like shit, too.”

Garrett’s lips twitch. He pushes the steaming styrofoam towards you with two of his long fingers in a silent apology. You take it. Garrett doesn’t say anything when your fingers meet his rougher exterior, but he catalogues the softness of your skin to long-term memory.

He tries one more time that night. The rain hasn’t let up. You stumble into the hockey house five minutes before he gives up on watching the door completely. Dean and Logan notice how his thighs tense before he starts pushing himself up from the couch, gravitating towards you like fire and oxygen, only for every part of him to still like a waiting predator when he notices who peruses in after you like he owns the place. Garrett watches on, horrified and pissed and something even angrier, when those grubby hands start to slide over your waist.

He wonders which nearest kitchen utensil could be used as a weapon to get them off of you forever.

You quietly pull away from Cole without even noticing Garrett yet. Garrett only releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding when you head towards the kitchen without looking behind you to see if you’re being followed by legs much too short for you.

“G,” Logan says in quiet warning when the two of you are separated. “Don’t engage him.”

Dean, finally the voice of reason, eggs him on. Logan groans and puts his head in his hands when Garrett leaves the couch with purpose.

He catches the guy, still unnamed to him, before he can get access to you in the kitchen. He blocks the path easily with his body.

“Garrett Graham,” he breathes a little pathetically, eyes full of wonder and admiration for his last name, which Garrett hates even more than before. “Dude! I saw you play on Saturday. You won me a parlay.”

Garrett feigns civility for a moment while silently calculating how much taller he is than him. “Thanks, man. Hey, what’s your name? Do we know you around here?”

“Oh, um. I’m Cole. I’m here with a date, she, uh - you probably know her better. She’s your age.”

Garrett grasps Cole’s outstretched hand probably harder than he should. “Yeah? Good for you.”

Cole, mistaking Garrett’s attention as genuine and wanting to impress him, slides into what someone else might call locker room talk and what Garrett loathes entirely. “Between you and me, man, she’s hot, but she’s not an easy lay. Been making me work for it. But I’m not putting in all this effort for nothing.”

Garrett forces his grin wider. “Oh, yeah? What’s the game plan here?”

“Younger pussy is so much easier, man. She’ll give in eventually.”

“Right.” Garrett swallows unsteadily, the anger rising. “Then you can get rid of her and move onto the next. Maybe you’ll never have to see her again. I wouldn’t want to.”

“Fuck, yeah. You get it.”

Garrett lets that sit somewhere in his gut for a moment, rearing its ugly head. When he speaks a beat later, his voice is dangerous, deceptively low so only Cole hears. “Actually, why don’t you just fuck off right now?”

Cole’s smile vanishes instantly. Garrett fixes his posture so that he’s towering over him and hunched into his personal space at the same time, opening his mouth to defend you, when a “Garrett?” comes from behind him.

The voice is too small, too hurt. It’s not at all how you sound when you’re thinking of ways to get him back while stubbornly holding a laugh in while Garrett pretends not to notice.

Cole is the first to move, outstretching a hand towards you that Garrett glares down at. “Babe! Hey! We were, just - we were just talking about -”

Garrett can’t talk at all. He has suddenly lost access to his personal dictionary, because one glance at you betrays him entirely. You blink up at him with a wobble in your bottom lip you would much rather not talk about and tears that you will never admit to burning your eyes.

“You’re an asshole,” you whisper, and Garrett can’t be sure if you’re talking to him or Cole or everyone who watches on with comically wide eyes. “How dare you.”

Garrett murmurs your name in anguish, making an inaudible move to gather you. You raise a hand to stop him, hovering just above his chest before either of you can touch. You turn to Cole, one fat tear skidding off your cheekbone. No one mentions it, but Garrett feels it all the way to the floor.

“And you.” You point to Cole with an imperceptible tremble of your finger. Garrett is the only one who notices it. “I will never, ever, touch you with a ten-foot pole again, you dick. You didn’t even - you didn’t even - try to make me feel good.”

Even if Garrett is the one in trouble, he shoots a glower so dark to Cole that he simpers back without another word. You don’t thank him for being a hero; he isn’t one to you right now. You push past them both without grabbing your coat and Garrett’s heart folds faster than your tears.

Cole doesn’t flinch when the wind slams the door shut behind you, but Garrett does. He thinks about how cold it is out there.

Cole laughs something hideous under his breath, a comment about sluts that makes Garrett have to will his feet to stay planted to the floor after hearing, and Garrett doesn’t laugh. He thinks about your tears.

Garrett turns to Dean with a tilt of his head, a quiet Will you please take care of this for me? Dean stands with a crack of his knuckles without question. Logan looks up to the ceiling for guidance before taking the spot next to Dean.

The rain is frigid against Garrett’s back when he flies out the front door with your jacket gripped tightly in his fist. His stomps are louder than the clouds as he descends the slippery staircase, cursing loudly when he thinks back to your little heels and you walking in them against this storm. He sees them not even twenty feet away, barely illuminated in the dark, and his chest squeezes thinking about cars flying down the road and you struggling to see past the night and your crying.

He yells your name, elongating his stride. You throw your middle finger to him behind your shoulder, quickening your pace. You would both find it amusing if your heart wasn’t squeezing painfully and his wasn’t left somewhere inside.

A heel gets caught in a divot of the old pavement and your ankle feels every bit of it. You manage a weak protest to the universe before a strong arm wraps around your waist from behind you, easily hoisting you out of the ground. The band of steel is wet with water and sticks to your skin like a protective layer.

“Fuck,” Garrett grunts, turning you and simultaneously draping your coat over your shoulders with his other hand. His movements are rushed, panicked, and his curls are dripping rain.

You shove both hands into his chest when he starts to deposit you against a parked car for balance. You screech out a frustrated sound that’s muffled by the rain. Garrett stays stock-still when you push him again, then again, and again, not once reacting or budging to your fit of rage. He allows it, much like he allowed to be hit the other day, because at least you’re touching him.

He says your name in a plea. He brackets you against the car with his arms on either side of you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “So sorry. I didn’t mean it. I wanted him out of the fucking house, and I -”

“I get that we fight,” you cry. “I get it. It’s our thing. We say stupid shit. We piss each other off. That was - that was so much worse. I couldn’t even look at you.”

“I know. I know. I’m so sorry.”

“No, you don’t know! You let me be humiliated in front of everyone. We don’t - we don’t do that to each other, Garrett, we can’t.”

You make one more feeble attempt to create distance between you two, but you aren’t sure you really want it. Garrett doesn’t know if he could actually let it happen at this point. Your forehead falls to his chest and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, tingles of lightning shooting to your hippocampus from where you touch.

Behind your next whimper, you realize it feels better than any other touch any man has given you before him.

Garrett can barely hear your next words with how shyly you share them, but he feels them everywhere from where your lips are pressing into his pectoral over his hoodie. “I know you’ve been mad about something. I’m sorry. Please don’t take it out on me.”

If Garrett could go back in time and fight himself, he would.

“No,” he breathes, pushing his mouth into your drenched hair at the crown of your head. “I’m not mad. Never at you.”

You sniffle, burying your face further into him, and he shields you from the rain above by wrapping both arms around your shoulders and dropping his head on top of yours.

“Never at you,” he repeats softly. “I would never.”

“Logan told me.” You hiccup. “Logan found me after class today and I said something - Garrett, I said something so stupid and I’m so sorry but he told me you hadn’t fought, and I was so wrong to assume, but then I thought - what if it was me that upset you and set you off, and -”

Garrett braces you closer to the door when a car hurtles down the hill, sending a wave against his back. He absorbs it with a grunt. You grapple at his hips and pull him closer when it’s just you two again, shivering from the cold that seeps into you.

He rubs his hands over your arms, which are still not fully covered by your jacket. “Put that on,” he murmurs instead of answering you fully.

You listen without a fight or a jab and he almost smiles.

“I think my ankle is broken,” you whisper with another little hiccup a moment later. You’ll admit it’s a somewhat dramatic telling, but the noise still goes straight into his chest labeled as something he needs to fix immediately.

“Probably just a sprain, sweetheart.” The name comes out before he can stop it. “I’ll get you back so we can look at it.”

You peer up at him, embarrassed again, and Garrett hates every bit he contributed. “Do you think Cole will still be there?”

He’s shaking his head vehemently before you’re even done asking the question. “No. I’ll make sure of it.”

When he slips both arms underneath your knees, the rain has just begun to die down. He starts up the hill.

Not even an hour later, when everyone else has been cleared from the house, you’re propped up on Garrett’s bed with an ice pack on your ankle. Dean leans in the doorway with one bruised fist and a shit-eating grin. Logan can be heard cleaning up glass downstairs, every so often calling up to Garrett with another favor he’s cashing in for whatever Garrett asked him to do when you left in tears tonight.

“So,” Dean drawls. “You’re who the parties have been for. Pretty.”

Garrett, mid-fluffing the pillow beneath your foot, turns to scowl. “Dude.”

Dean shrugs. “What? It’s true. You’ve been a grump ever since you last saw her at the game. I’m a man with eyes. I get it now. I’d be mad, too.”

You still. Garrett feels it beneath his hand, which is warming your calf beneath the sweatpants you burrowed. He slowly turns to look at you with a blush crawling up his neck.

“Oh,” you whisper.

Dean doesn’t know it, but he has just handed you collateral to tease Garrett with for the rest of the semester.

The two of you had originally agreed to keep things casual, because he swore that he wasn't the relationship type and you thought that you could handle that. Well, you thought wrong. Super fucking wrong. Somewhere between the late night calls and the in between class hookups, you started developing feelings for the Hawks' star defenseman.

You never mentioned your feelings to him, because you weren't fucking stupid and you knew exactly how things would end if you did. He would give you a pitying smile, remind you that he was a perpetual whore, then stop responding to you completely. So, you started doing whatever you could to avoid him. Well, as much as you could avoid someone who was in half your classes. Why did you have to start hooking up with someone in the same major as you? Anytime he tried to meet up with you for a hookup, you'd come up with some lame excuse, like how your roommate needed your help studying or how you had to help tutor some freshman in college algebra. You suck at college algebra.

You'd think that by now that Dean would've taken the hint that you didn't want to see him anymore, but he didn't. He started showing up out of nowhere, almost as if he had some sort of sixth sense—or a tracker— for where you would be and when you would be there. Did he get ahold of your schedule somehow? How he found the time to trail you in between his classes, his hockey schedule, and whatever frat events he was apart of, you had no clue. But it's kind of hard to get over a crush when the subject is just around every corner. Maybe if you start running like a bat out of hell every time you run into him, he would get the hint and leave you alone.

And yeah, being at a party that was being thrown by his frat probably wasn't the best way to avoid Dean, but your friends had dragged you here and they would not take no for an answer—something about not wanting you to become a hermit, whatever that's supposed to mean. So here you were, grinding against some guy to the beat of the music while he held you against him.

He wasn't the worst looking guy in the world; in fact, if you weren't so hung up on Dean at the moment you probably would've given him a real chance. Floppy brown hair, eyes that match your favorite brand of chocolate, and just the right amount of muscle to not be intruding or bothersome—but he wasn't him. Everything about him was wrong, and his touch… it wasn't repulsive, but it was a far cry from the safety that Dean's hands on your body brought you. His cologne was too strong—he smelled like someone who was trying too hard to be noticed, which was far from the way Dean effortlessly drew attention from everyone the moment he stepped in the room. He was a far cry from Dean Di Laurentis, and therefore a far cry from anything your mind and body craved. So he would just have to settle for this little dance tonight, and when he eventually asked for your number or for the two of you to get a room upstairs, you would politely turn him down and walk away.

Although, your friends have been telling you that the best way to get over Dean was by getting under somebody else. But your heart wasn't in it, at least not for tonight.

"Excuse me, you don't mind if I cut in, do you?" A familiar voice rings out from behind you. You whip around to see Dean standing behind the guy you were dancing with, all charming smiles and tight sweaters. A very nice, very tight sweater that showed off every hard earned muscle throughout his chest and arms.

"No problem, man." The guy says before walking away, probably off to find some other girl to sleep with tonight. On second thought, maybe you should have offered to sleep with him sooner or something. Anything to get you out of your current situation.

"You know, if I were a more insecure or paranoid man, I'd think that you were avoiding me or something, baby." He says as his hands slide into place on your waist, pulling you in so close you could smell the expensive cologne he had already begun to sweat off. "Good thing I'm not either of those things though, right?"

You don't respond right away, sucking in a deep breath to try and figure out what exactly it is you want to say to him. If you just went ahead and told him the truth, all of this could be over. He'd reject you, you'd run out in tears and spend the next couple days holed up in your dorm stuffing your face with whatever junk food you could get your hands on. Sure, it might be humiliating to get rejected in front of all these people, but at the moment it seems more worth it than having to be so close to him, yet unable to truly have him as you wish to.

On the other hand, you could try and keep up this web of lies. Tell him that you've been really busy lately, or that you had to pick up extra shifts at the cafe or something. But these lies you were telling clearly weren't working anymore, or else you wouldn't be standing face to face with the man who's been haunting your dreams as of late.

"Come with me." Dean says before you can make up your mind, tugging you by your hand to one of the rooms upstairs. He shuts and locks the door behind the two of you before turning to you, his arms crossed over his chest.

Fuck, that sweater is really doing numbers for him. Under different circumstances, right now you would be peeling it off of him while your lips melded together. "What's up?" You ask, ignoring the way your voice cracks slightly. As if this situation couldn't get anymore embarrassing for you.

"I don't know, baby, what's up with you? It seems like you spend all your time avoiding me these days." The way he says this almost makes it seem like he doesn't care, but there's this undercurrent of something else, something almost forlorn about his words. The smile on his lips doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Did I do something to piss you off? Why are you acting like I'm some dorky freshman who hasn't figured out how to talk to women properly yet?"

"I'm not ignoring you, Dean, I've just been a little busy lately." The words taste like ash on your tongue, and you wish so badly that you could take them back as soon as you see the hurt flash across Dean's face. But you're a little bit inebriated, and you're panicking, and you just keep fucking talking. "Sorry if I'm not at your beck and call like all your other puck bunnies."

The way that Dean's jaw clenches should be even more reason for you to take back everything you just said, but you don't. Maybe this is the way to go; insulting him and the people around him until he decides he wants nothing to do with you. Who would've thought all those months ago that you would ever be so desperate for a man—this man in particular— to be the one to break your heart?

Dean says your name with the same reverence one might call their loved one, which makes no sense. He's not in love with you—in fact, you would put good money on the fact that he just might be incapable of such a powerful feeling. And even if he was, it certainly wouldn't be directed towards you. Dean Di Laurentis was not in love with you, and you were not the kind of girl he would ever love, no matter how many nights you sat on your bed and wished that things were different.

"You know what, I can't do this anymore, Dean. It was insane of me to think that the two of us hooking up could end any other way than this." You make sure to interrupt him before he can get another word in, before he could sweet talk you into changing your mind about what you were about to say. Because you were a weak woman, and even the simplest of words from the mouth of Dean Di Laurentis would crumble what little resolve you had to end this. "This was a mistake, I never should have slept with you in the first place."

There was no mistaking the hint of truth in your words; it was a mistake for you and Dean to sleep together. But not because of him or anything he'd done, but because you were a fucking idiot who walked through life with your heart on your sleeve. And that was a dangerous way to live when dealing with the campus' biggest self proclaimed commitment-phobe.

The silence hung between you like heavy rain clouds, just before the pressure became too much and all the rain came crashing down on everyone.

When Dean speaks, his voice and face were devoid of any of the emotion and warmth you had grown used to and begun to crave. "Alright."

The door shut behind him, the sound echoing through your brain like the final nail in the coffin. For a second there, you could have sworn that there were tears threatening to fall down his cheeks, but you must have been imagining things.

Dean Di Laurentis was not a crier, and he most certainly would never be crying over a girl that he was just hooking up with. So why did you feel like you were the worst person in the world right now, and why was there a pit in your stomach the size of the Grand Canyon?

You would think that after finally breaking things off—or would severing with a rusted butcher's knife be a more apt description?— between you and Dean, you would finally be able to move on.

Oh, how wrong you were. Silly you, for thinking that anything involving getting rid your feelings for Dean would come easy.

If anything, you were worse off now than you had been when you were just straight up ignoring him. You spent most of your time outside of class and work in your bed, scrolling through Dean's Instagram page obsessively like a crazy ex girlfriend. What exactly were you looking for? And why were you even looking in the first place? Things ended between the two of you because of what you said to him, so you really shouldn't be so enthralled with what may or may not be going on in his life.

After another long day of pretending not to notice him in your classes, you were once again curled up under your blanket, cyber stalking the man who you just couldn't seem to forget. He hadn't been posting to his story much lately—maybe he was busy? Yeah, he was probably just busy, or something. There's a fleeting thought in the back of your mind that he could have already found another girl to fuck, but you push it and it's bitter taste deep into the chest that is your brain.

Since there was nothing new to check out on his story, and there certainly weren't any new grid posts, you decided to just scroll through his old posts for a bit. Most of the ones at the top were him and his teammates doing stupid shit, or clips from post game interviews analyzing just how well he played that night. You smiled softly as you listened to what was being said about him; you didn't know much about hockey, but you could still tell just how good he was at the sport, and hearing the well deserved praise be directed at him made you happy.

You fall into a familiar rhythm, giggling softly at your screen as you watch Beau hold Dean upside down for 2 minutes as part of some dumb dare. Your finger moves on autopilot before you can even think, liking Dean's post.

"Shit!" You exclaim as you shoot up, quickly unliking the post and throwing your phone on the other end of your bed with a little too much force. "Shit, shit, shit!"

As if the past couple weeks hadn't been bad enough for you, you just went and liked one of Dean's posts. A post from 3 months ago, making it quite obvious that you were stalking him—and still thinking of him— like some weirdo.

"Oh my fucking god." You groan as you aggressively rub your hands over your face. "I can't believe that I just did that, what the hell is wrong with me?" The words are whispered in shock as you look at your phone.

There's always the chance that he didn't see the notification. He could be in bed with some other girl, his phone on his nightstand while he did things to her you could only wish for now. You quickly ignore that resurfacing thought and the conflicting emotions it brings, grabbing the offensive device from atop your covers and reopening Instagram. You hesitate for a moment, biting your lip before blocking Dean's account for your own safety and sanity. Clearly you couldn't be trusted with unlimited access to it, or the man behind it.

Tonight, you would push the last of Dean Di Laurentis and the whole ephemeral affair out of your mind once and for all. Tonight, you would pretend like you didn't still dream of all the nights you spent tangled in his sheets as if you belonged.

Getting over Dean Di Laurentis was hard. Really fucking hard, despite your consistent effort to never come face to face with the man ever again. But the universe was a cruel mistress, and she seemingly had other plans for you.

Of course you knew that there was a partnered project coming up in your Mass Media and Politics class, you'd spent an absorbent amount of time studying it to make sure you wouldn't fall behind in your work. But you had mistakenly assumed that you'd be able to pick who you partnered up with for the project. What a huge fucking mistake that was on your part.

Not being able to pick your partner was less than ideal, but you could make it work. You were a pleasant person to be around, and you could work with almost anyone when it was important enough. And 15% of your final grade was pretty fucking important to you, so were determined to not fuck this up, no matter who you got partnered up with.

Until you walked to the front of the classroom and saw who your professor paired you up with for this assignment. "You have got to be fucking kidding me." You muttered under your breath as your eyes went over the name beside yours.

Of all people in this class you wanted to work with, Dean Di Laurentis was at the very bottom of your list. Not because he was a bad student—no, annoyingly enough he was great in this class, with the two of you competing for that coveted top spot all semester. But how were you supposed to spend the next 3 weeks working beside him when the last time the two of you were face to face, you shattered your own heart into a million little pieces and treated him like the gum at the bottom of your shoe?

"Looks like me and you will be spending a lot of time together for the next couple weeks, sweetheart." Dean whispers into your ear from behind. You flinch at his sudden appearance, clutching a hand over your chest as you spin around to face him.

There was nothing different about him, at least not physically. His hair was still perfectly styled, his jaw was clean shaven, and there was not a single piece of lint on his shirt. Anyone who didn't know him would think that there was nothing wrong. But you knew better than that. There was something missing from his eyes—a warmth or a feeling, maybe?— that you used to look forward to when you met up with him. Now he reminded you of an old broken sculpture; beautiful in every way imaginable, but cold, dull, and somewhat lifeless. It was unnatural for him, but why? What could have sucked the life out of the most energetic man you've ever known?

"Yeah, looks like it." You say casually, clearing your throat as you readjust your grip on your bag. There was no reason for you to be so nervous about this; the two of you could act like civil adults around each other for a bit. Especially considering the fact that the two of you were never anything serious, and your grade depended on the two of you getting along for a while. "Look, I can figure out a schedule so that you don't have to take too much of your time to meet up with me. I know you're probably pretty busy with hockey and, like, everything else."

There's a flash of something in Dean's eyes at your words, but it's gone almost as quickly as it came. "Yeah, sure, whatever. But you know, for this project to actually work, you need to actually respond to my messages."

Your breath catches in your throat when he says this, your mouth opening and closing as you try and come up with a response. What could you possibly even say to something like that? Should you even respond to his little dig about you ignoring him? "I'm sorry." Is all you can manage, your voice so soft you can barely even hear it yourself.

Dean's jaw clenches as he studies you, taking in the way your shoulders have tensed up and you seem to have shrunken in on yourself. "It's whatever, it's not like we were in a relationship or anything. It was just your good old, casual sex, right? Because that's all I'm good for, according to you."

Your eyebrows furrow at that, your mouth parting from shock. It wasn't like Dean at all to get angry, and especially not because of a girl he used to hook up with. But hadn't he been the one to insist that the two of you kept things casual? Why was he acting like all of this was your fault, when he's the one with commitment issues?

"Dean, I didn't mean any of it like that—"

"Just forget it, forget that I said anything. I'll text you whenever I'm free next." He says, turning and practically flying out of the classroom before you even get the chance to finish your sentence.

In an ideal world, you'd like to say that things between you and Dean weren't awkward at all. You would love to be able to say that you and him worked together on your project with no problems, and that the two of you even managed to become friends again. But that would be a lie, because ever since you and Dean started meeting up again to work on your project, the two of you have been bickering like school children. Or an old married couple, a voice in the back of your head declared.

You knew that his schedule was packed, but finding time for the two of you to meet was turning into one giant headache. At this point, it would be easier for you to pull someone's teeth out with your bare fucking hands. And whenever you did manage to find time for the two of you to meet, it always had to be at his place because it usually fell in between classes and his hockey practice. Once again, everything in your world revolved around him, and his needs, and what it was that he wanted.

The only upside to this was that one of his roommates seemed to be some sort of aspiring chef, and was always looking for new recipes to try out. Who were you to turn down a free home cooked meal?

"So, what class is this project for again?" Tucker asks as he stirs some red sauce in a pan.

"Mass Media and Politics, it's a requirement for all Poli Sci majors." You explain as you steal a cherry tomato from the cutting board, ignoring the glare Tucker shoots your way.

"I thought you were majoring in journalism?" Tucker asks as he moves the cutting board out of your reach, much to your dismay.

"Because I am, I just also happen to be a political science major as well." You grin at the look Tucker gives you, the look that most people give you when you share that piece of information. "Yes, I know, double majoring is an insane thing to do. But I want to be a journalist who reports on politics, and I figured that it would be better to kill two birds with one stone."

"Wow, you really are insane. It's no wonder that Dean is so obsessed with you, you two are the same brand of crazy." The last part of his sentence is muttered under his breath, almost like a secret, but you still manage to catch it. There isn't a chance for you to get clarification though, because Dean chooses that exact moment to come down the stairs. In only a towel, and still dripping wet from his shower, steam still radiating off his body.

You didn't trust yourself to not stare and say something ridiculous and embarrassing, so resigned yourself to staring solely at the countertop. He had to be doing this shit on purpose to mess with you, right? There was no way that he normally walked around the house in just his towel.

"I should be ready in a couple minutes, don't worry. You won't have to sit here and listen to Tucker much longer." He says as he casually waltzes over to the fridge for a bottle of water.

From the way Tucker doesn't even spare his teammate a glance, you can tell that this is a common occurrence. You wait until he is fully up the stairs and in his room before even thinking about lifting your head in the direction he just came from.

"What did you mean by him being obsessed with me?" You ask once you're sure that the coast is clear and Dean can't hear the two of you.

"Hm?" Tucker hums innocently, but you can see straight through his act. His shoulders are tensed up, and he's moving slower than he was before.

"You made a comment, something about Dean being obsessed with me, what did you mean by that?" You ask as you lean closer, staring him down in hopes that he would crack. Tucker was clearly a very sweet boy and somewhat of a people pleaser, which means that you probably wouldn't have to apply much pressure to get what you want.

"I don't remember saying anything like that, what do you mean?" Tucker is avoiding your gaze entirely, suddenly very focused on the dish he was making. You narrowed your eyes at him, but Dean was calling your name and he wasn't the most patient man in the world.

"This isn't over, John Tucker!" You call over your shoulder as grab your bag and walk upstairs to Dean's room. When you push the door open Dean is already sitting at his desk, thankfully fully dressed, his notebooks and laptop arranged carefully in front of him.

You and Dean were about halfway through the research part of your project, which meant that soon enough you could go back to pretending that the other person didn't exist. But you weren't quite there yet, so you perched yourself on the edge of the bed and started taking out your own supplies.

"Did that article from the New York Times help at all?" You ask after a few moments of awkward silence. There was no reason for the two of you to be completely miserable while working on this project, and a little small talk never hurt anybody.

"Yeah, it did." Is all that Dean says in response, causing you to frown. The two of you had gone from arguing every few minutes, to him seemingly ignoring your presence all together. The two of you just sat there quietly, each working on your part of the project. There were no more funny jokes, no more suggestive looks or flirtatious comments that used to make you blush, or comments about how your days have been. It was almost as if the two of you were strangers, not people who had shared the very bed you were sitting on right now.

"Okay, look, I can't fucking take this anymore." You say as you slam your laptop shut, ignoring the way the loud noise makes Dean jumps in surprise. "Could you please just, like, talk to me, or something? Hell, you can even yell at me if it's what makes you feel better, but just please say something because the silence makes me feel like I'm losing my goddamn mind!"

For a moment, there is no response from Dean. He's just staring at you—actually, staring through you might be a better description. It's been impossible for you to read his face lately, and it's especially frustrating to not have that skill right now when you would give anything for the tiniest hint of emotion from him. But the silence just drags on, and you refuse to embarrass yourself in front of Dean even more than you already have.

You've packed up your stuff and have walked out the door before Dean can even fully process what you've said. There's a moment where you think you could've heard Dean say something like "I'm in love with you", but you know that you're just imagining it. Because someone who loved you would not be treating you like Dean is treating you right now.

Fuck this stupid fucking Mass Media project, and fuck Dean Di Laurentis and his stupid fucking charming nature. If he was more of a dick, you never would've fallen for him and you wouldn't be sitting on the edge of your bed contemplating if 15% of your grade was really worth it. How and when did things in your life manage to become so messy, and why had you let it get this way?

Your laptop is open in front of you, the draft for your presentation open and mocking you. You've been trying to work for 2 hours now with no luck, because all you can focus on is Dean Di Laurentis. You slam your laptop shut and push it away with a frustrated groan, flopping back onto your bed. You weren't getting anywhere with this project tonight, so there was no point in trying to force words onto the document.

It was too late in the semester to drop the class, but failing it and taking it again next semester was not an option for you. Maybe you could talk your professor into letting you do the project by yourself instead of with a partner? Without Dean as a distraction, you're certain that you could do everything yourself, even with only a week left until the due date. The all nighters might kill you, but anything would be worth it at this point to get away from him.

You're pulled out of your spiral of useless self pity by a loud knocking at the door. Did your roommate leave her keys in her room again? You push yourself up with a groan as the knocking grows even louder and more insistent. "I'm coming, I'm coming, don't rush me! You can't get mad at me for taking too long to open the door when you're the one constantly leaving your keys in your room."

But when you open the door, it's not your roommate standing across from you; it's Dean, and to be frank, he looks like absolute shit. There's a small part of you, a very small part, that takes joy in the fact that he looks almost as bad as you feel on the inside. "Do you mind if I come in for a bit? We need to talk."

You nod, stepping aside wordlessly and opening the door more so that Dean could step inside. He'd been in here a few times before, but now he looked awkward and out of place just standing in a space that was yours. He was wearing a Briar U Athletics Department hoodie with regular—probably old—grey sweatpants, looking around the room like he had never been there before.

"What is it that you wanted to talk to me about?" You ask as you toy with the hem of your shirt, unable to meet Dean's gaze. God, this was so fucking awkward.

"I came here to apologize to you, for, you know, acting like a dick these past couple weeks." Dean's words are blurted out, and they're too jumbled together for you to decipher what was said at first. He clearly takes the prolonged silence as a cue to keep talking, so he does. "It's not fair of me to be mad at you the way I have been, especially when you don't know what you did wrong—not that you did anything wrong, of course! It's completely valid for you to decide that you don't want to hook up with me anymore, and you are under no obligation to reciprocate my feelings for you, no matter how shitty it makes me feel."

Dean and you stand there for a few moments after he finishes speaking, looking at each other but neither of you daring to speak a word. Of all things to happen to night, Dean Di Laurentis coming into your dorm was already at the damn near bottom of the list, but him seemingly admitting to having feelings for you? Never in a million years did you think that you'd be in this position right now, and what's worse is that you don't know how to feel about it.

"Are you saying that you're in love with me, Dean?" You whisper as you look up at him, your hands flexing from nerves. Dean scoffs at your question, shaking his head and stepping closer, as if you had just said the most unbelievable thing in the world.

"In love with you? Baby, I would worship the fucking ground that you walk on if you would just let me. In fact, I would do any and every little thing that you wanted me to, without a moment of hesitation, just because it was what you wanted. And believe me, I know how fucking crazy I sound—the guys told me as such when I told them what I was coming over here for—but I just can't bring myself to give a shit. I'm in love with you, sweetheart, and the worst part of it all is that I don't even care if you tell me you feel the same way! But I couldn't just keep walking around, knowing what I know and feeling what I feel, without at least trying to tell you about it."

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sheer intensity of Dean's words. They've floated through your head and settled in your brain, taking root there like they never planned on leaving. This was everything you'd been hoping for these past couple weeks, and more, because Dean Di Laurentis of all people was standing here in front of you, professing his love to you. So why was it so hard for you to think of a response to his confession?

"Fuck this was a crazy idea—I'm sorry for springing this on you, I should go." Dean mumbles under his breath, rushing towards the door. You grab the sleeve of his hoodie before he can get too far away from you, tugging his body towards yours and bringing him down for a kiss. There's a moment where his body tenses from shock, and you worry that you've made a mistake, but he quickly melts into the kiss, one arm wrapping around your waist while his other hand gently cups your cheek. The kiss is electric, more than any kiss the two of you have shared in the past. This isn't just a kiss born out of passion, it's a kiss born from a want, a need, a desperation for each other that was not there before, and that would not be understood by most others.

Because before this, the two of you didn't understand each other as well as you thought you did, but you do now. Dean's eyes are a bit unfocused when the two of you finally pull apart, the both of you taking shallow breaths from such an intense kiss. "Is that enough of an answer for you, Di Laurentis?" You ask with a small smile as you look up at him, your hands resting on his shoulders.

"I don't know, I think that I might need another kiss or something; you know, to see if I really get your answer." Dean says with a smirk, hooking a finger under your chin to bring your lips together again. You giggling softly against his lips, standing on the tips of your toes just so that you could be as close to him as possible. He pulls away with a groan after a moment, resting his head on your shoulder and inhaling the scent of your shampoo. "Fuck, sweetheart, you're making it really hard for me to be a gentleman right now."

"And who said that I wanted you to act like a gentleman right now?" You asked with a raised brow, trailing your finger down his collarbone. Dean's jaw ticks, his eyes roaming slowly down your form before coming back up to meet your heated gaze.

"All you had to do was ask for it, sweetheart." He murmurs, hoisting you up by your legs as he carries you to your bedroom. You waste no time wrapping your legs around him, trailing kisses and nibbling on his neck as he gently lays you down on your bed.

"Did you lock the door?" You ask as you gently push Dean away. He pouts softly, glancing between you laid out in front of him and the door behind him. It seems like it physically pains him to walk away, but he gets up nonetheless and locks the door to make sure no one would walk in on the two of you. "You're killing me here, baby, did you know that?"

"Oh please, you've waited this long to have sex with me again, the 5 extra seconds it took you to get up and lock the door is not going to kill you." You say as he climbs back on top of you, your hands immediately reaching to pull his hoodie over his head.

"Are you kidding, have you seen yourself? I'd be a fool to not be crazy about you, sweetheart." He says with a chuckle as he leans down to kiss you once more. Each kiss grows more and more desperate, as if he cannot live without touching you in some way, and you can't live without being close to him. His hands trail a familiar path down your sides, his touch leaving a heat in their trail as he makes his way to the waistband of your shorts. "Can I take these off of you, pretty girl?"

"Fuck yes." The words are out of your mouth before your brain can even catch up, and you choose to ignore the smug grin on Dean's face as he pulls down your shorts and underwear at once, leaving hot kisses along your thighs and down your legs as he goes. He nips your ankle as he sits up straighter, throwing your shorts and underwear over his shoulder.

"I have an idea, baby—you trust me, right?" The question is paired with the feeling of his thumb tracing circles on your ankle as he settles himself between your legs. When you nod, he hums disapprovingly and shakes his head. "No, I need words, baby. I can't have kissed you stupid already, can I?"

"Yes, Dean, I trust you." You whisper, making sure to look him directly in the eye as the words come out your mouth. There's a beat where neither of you say anything and nothing is done, before Dean is laying down and pulling you up on top of him. "You want me to ride you? We've done that a million times before, why'd you ask if I trust you?"

"Because you won't be riding me, baby—at least, not in the sense that you're used to." Dean says, tilting his head back to look in the mirror across from your bed. You can tell that he's getting another idea, but he tucks it away for now to look back up at you as he rubs the bare skin of your thighs. "You're gonna ride my face, sweetheart."

Your heart drops to your stomach as you look at the man underneath you, your mouth falling open in shock. "I'm going to do what now? Dean, I'm not sure that that's a good idea, what if I like, suffocate you or something?"

"Then I'd die a very, very happy man, baby." He says with a snort, that smile of his a little too happy at the prospect of being smothered to death by your pussy. "Just trust me, okay? I've got you, I'll make sure that this is a pleasurable experience for both of us."

You hesitate, biting down on your lip as you take a moment to think this through. On the one hand, this is something that you've always wanted to try, and the thought of Dean being the one you were doing it with excited you more than you'd like to admit. But on the flip side, there were about a dozen things that could go wrong with this swirling around in your head, making it hard for you to relax and fully enjoy this.

But you trusted Dean—way more than you probably should, if you were to be honest with yourself—and if he said that this was safe and that he'd take care of you, then who were you to doubt him? And you knew that if things became too much for you and you started to freak out, all you had to do was tell Dean and he would put an end to it immediately. There was no way you were letting that stupid voice in your head get in between you, and some of the best head you were ever going to experience.

"Alright, but if I tap you on the shoulder it means I want down, got it?" You say, adjusting slightly in Dean's lap.

"Of course, of course, all you have to do is ask me. Whatever you want, sweetheart." He says as he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. "Now, come sit on my face."

You roll your eyes at his phrasing, but you still scoot until you're hovering nervously over his face. He gives you a small reassuring nod, his hands gripping your hips as he brings you down so that you're fully sitting on his face. He takes a moment, allowing you a moment to get comfortable in this new position before giving that first, tentative lick up your slit. It feels good, like it always does with Dean, but it's taking you a bit longer to get used to the new position than you would like.

"You're thinking too deeply about this, pretty girl." Dean whispers as he presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh. "You just need to relax a bit, and let me do all the work. Think you can do that for me, sweetheart?"

You give a soft hum of acknowledgement, allowing Dean complete and total control over your body right now. He squeezes your thigh reassuringly before bringing you down almost impossibly closer onto his mouth. You moan softly as he sucks and nips at your clit, leaning back slightly and resting your hands on his chest to help you keep your balance.

The only way to describe Dean's skill at eating you out is by calling him a natural born talent; he knows just how and when to suck, when to nip, and just how much pressure to apply to drive you crazy. You don't even realize that you're doing it, but your hips are moving on their own to meet Dean's lips. Your head is tipped back and your eyes are fluttering shut and Dean is holding onto you like you might roll off him at any second—which you honestly might from how good this feels if he keeps this up—and it's all so much all at once.

"Dean." You whine as you grind your hips down against his lips, your hands gripping onto him just a little tighter.

"Yes, beautiful?" He whispers as he nips at your clit, the vibration from his words inching you closer and closer to the edge. "Are you gonna cum for me, is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"Fuck, yes! Yes, please, just—for the love of god, don't fucking stop." Your voice already starting to get hoarse from all the moaning you've been doing since Dean decide to suck your soul from inside your body. You can feel the smirk on his face—you'd curse him out for that later—as he doubles his efforts, sucking and licking your clit so hard that you cum with a shout, your vision blurring around the edges.

He works you through your orgasm, kissing along your slit and your thighs as you come down. You slide backwards onto his lap, your chest rising and falling with each deep breath you take. "You okay, baby?" He asks softly, rubbing his thumbs along your hips to soothe you.

"More than okay." You say with a snort as you smile down at him. "How long have you been thinking about doing that?"

"If I'm being honest, I've been thinking about that since the first time we slept together." Dean says with a smirk, sitting up and wrapping his arm around your waist. "And it seems like you enjoyed yourself very much, so if anything you should be thanking me for having such a brilliant idea, sweetheart."

"Don't get too full of yourself, Di Laurentis." You say as you glare at him, but it doesn't reach your eyes. It's hard to be annoyed with him when you know that he has a point.

"I bet that you'd love to be full of me right now." Dean wriggles his brows at his stupid joke, rolling the two of you over so that he was hovering over you. "I can make that happen for you, baby, all you have to do is say the magic words."

His words are whispered between kisses down your jaw, which turn into nibbles along your collarbone that are sure to leave a mark in the morning. An impatient hum is all the warning you get before he's pulling your shirt off of you and moving his kisses slowly down your torso.

"Don't think I've ever seen someone so fucking beautiful, sweetheart." Dean mutters as he brings one hand up to cup one of your breast, wrapping his lips around your nipple and sucking gently. Your whole body is sensitive from the first orgasm he gave you, making it hard for you to do anything but gasp and moan as he swirls his tongue around your nipple.

He moves his attention to your other breast, giving it the same love and care that the first one got. The great thing about Dean Di Laurentis is that he got off on giving you pleasure, and he didn't really expect anything from you in return. Well, he expected you to cum more than one time, but who were you to complain about that when he took it as a challenge to make it happen?

"You look so gorgeous underneath me like this, pretty girl. Would keep you here forever if I could, make you cum until you can't take it anymore." It's becoming clear to you that Dean has reached a point of delirium, where he just says any and every little thing that comes to his mind. "Fuck, baby, you're killing me here."

"Then why don't you do something about it, Di Laurentis?" As soon as the words leave your mouth, you regret them. Because that was a challenge, and if there was one thing Dean Di Laurentis didn't back down from, it was a challenge.

"All you had to do was ask, pretty girl." Dean says with a smirk, holding you down with one hand while using the other to remove his sweatpants and boxers. "You're such a fucking brat when you're needy, did you know that? What am I to do with someone so impatient and demanding?"

"Would you just shut up and fuck me already, or do I have to do everything myself around here?" Maybe it wasn't the best idea to snap at him right now, but you've waited long enough to have him inside you again, and he's taking forever. Perhaps he was right, you are a bit of a brat when you're not getting your way.

"Alright, but just remember that you asked for this, pretty girl." Dean whispers in your ear, biting down on your earlobe gently and tugging before flipping you on your stomach. You let out a yelp, your hands reaching out to grip onto the edge of the bed as Dean drags you onto your hands and knees.

Dean holds onto your hip with one hand, using it to pull you closer to him while the other runs his tip along your entrance teasingly. The head notches against your clit, causing you to suck in a sharp breath and move your hips back in attempt to get him inside you. He pulls away from your attempt, causing a groan of frustration to fall from your lips.

"Dean, come on, stop being such a fucking tease." You whine, bringing your hips back once more to attempt to get his dick inside you.

"I thought you liked it when I teased you, sweetheart?" Dean say mockingly as he continues running his tip up and down your slit. You open your mouth, an impatient insult on the tip of your tongue, but before you can even get it out Dean is slowly sliding inside of you.

A curse falls from your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut and your grip on the sheets tightens; after weeks of the two of you barely even speaking to one another, getting used to the size of him again is worse than you'd thought it'd be. The stretch of him is a familiar and welcome one, but you don't have it in you to wait a bit longer for your body to adjust.

"Stop it, you're going to hurt yourself." Dean warns, using his grip on your waist to hold you in place when you try and thrust yourself back onto him. "Just need you to be a little patient with me, baby. Come on, I know you can use that pretty little brain of yours to wait a bit. Besides, I might be a little bit bigger than you remember."

"You are so fucking full of yourself—" A sharp moan cuts off your retort as Dean sinks in another inch, and you can't see him but you just know he has that smug smile on his face.

"Actually, it seems like at the moment, the only one who's full of me right now is you." He says as he pulls out, taking a moment before sinking in only slightly deeper than he was before. He repeats this process for the next couple minutes, muttering soft praises and words of reassurance while rubbing your sides until he's worked himself up to the hilt. "There you go, good girl."

You let out a whimper that could only be described as pathetic, your pussy clamping down on Dean at the nickname. If Dean feels the movement he doesn't say anything, focusing instead on rolling his hips into yours to find that special spot inside of you.

Once he finds that spot inside of you—thanks to a very loud moan that you're glad no one else is around to hear— he puts a little more speed and intention behind his thrusts, his fingertips leaving indents in your skin.

"Oh my god, Dean, fuck!" You whine as his hips slam into yours, nearly knocking the breath out of your lungs. Your head is resting against the mattress, your ears filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Am I fucking you so good that you've gone stupid?" Dean's words only serve to make the experience better, your eyes fluttering shut once more as you slump against the bed. "Don't run away from me, pretty girl, I thought we were having fun?"

One of Dean's arms slides under and around your waist to pull you flush against him, the other wrapping around your neck to put you in a headlock—not to cut off your air, but to make you aware of just how in control of you he was right now. From this position you can see you and Dean's reflection in your mirror, your eyes immediately drawn to where his cock is drilling into your hole. The sight is something of a work of art; the way Dean's muscles are straining as he holds you up against him, the fucked out look in your eyes, and the way your tits bounce from each of Dean's powerful thrusts. It's all too much, and you have this need to do something, and Dean's arm is right there, so naturally you sink your teeth into his arm, hard enough to leave a mark but not enough to draw blood.

"Did you just fucking bite me, you brat?" Dean growls, but from the way his hips stutter and his dick pulses, you'd say he was into it more than he's willing to admit. "Look at you, so drunk from being split open on my dick that you bit me."

He uses the arm that's wrapped around your throat to force you to keep looking in the mirror, making eye contact with you through it. "Now you see what I see, hm? A pretty little slut who'd spend the rest of her life like this if she could."

"Don't stop, Dean, please don't stop." There are tears beginning to well up in your eyes from the feeling of Dean hitting that spot inside of you over and over again, and if Dean keeps speaking to you like this, they would certainly fall.

"Are you gonna cum, baby?" Dean asks, the hand around your waist moving down to your clit and beginning to rub tight circles on it. "Come on, pretty girl, cum on my cock for me. You always look so pretty when you come apart for me, did you know that?"

The attention on your clit is just the thing you need to send you over the edge, your eyes rolling back as you cum all over Dean's cock. He fucks you through your orgasm, keeping a firm grip on you so that you don't fall over from the sheer intensity of your release. When you've finally come back into your body, you can't help but slump against the bed, whimpering at the feeling of Dean sliding out of you.

"Come here, baby, I'm not done with you yet." Dean's voice is gentle as he rolls you over onto your back, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder and holding it there by your thigh.

You're too fucked out to even say anything, allowing him to manhandle you into the position he wants you in. Every point of contact between the two of you is simultaneously too much and not enough, your body trying to move towards him while also trying to shrink away from him. He taps his tip on your clit, smirking at the way you whine and roll your hips up towards him.

"Stop teasing me." You complain, finding just enough strength in yourself to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. He chuckles into the crook of your neck, the breath warm against your skin as he sinks back into you.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I just can't help myself when you get all needy and pliant for me like this." He whispers, gently nipping at your collarbone as he buries himself to the hilt with a groan. "Has anyone ever told you how amazing you feel, pretty girl?"

"You have, quite a few times." You say with a smile, tilting your head back as Dean starts kissing up your jaw to give him more access. He hums softly, kissing from you jaw, to your cheeks, then to your forehead and to your nose, before finally slotting his lips against yours. The kiss is softer than the ones before, because now neither of you are in a rush to have each other. You already do, and there's no way that either of you will be letting go any time soon.

He begins thrusting again—slower this time, because he knows that you're sensitive from your previous two orgasms and wants to draw this out a bit more. "It's because it's true. And you're so fucking gorgeous like this; it should be a crime to be so fucking sexy when I'm ruining you."

With this position, Dean is able to focus more on hitting that sweet spot inside of you with more precision, causing weak moans and whimpers to fall from your lips. You dig your nails into his back, dragging them down his back as he picks up the pace with his thrusts. You've lost yourself and the ability to form proper sentences, only able to beg and plead for him to keep going and to never stop. The way he rolled his hips and brushed against your clit, the feeling of him on top of you, the scent of sex in the air—it was overwhelming and all consuming, and you weren't ready for it to end.

"Baby, if you keep clamping down on me like that I'm not gonna be able to last much longer." Dean says through gritted teeth as he slides an arm under you and pulls you up slightly so that you're arching off the bed. Dean rests one knee on the bed for better leverage, fucking up into you even harder like this. Your moans have become animalistic at this point, tears falling down your cheeks as you cum one last time with a shout. Dean only gets in a few more shallow thrusts before he's spilling inside of you with a loud moan, his grip on your hips tightening as he fucks his cum deep inside you.

The two of you collapse onto the bed, Dean rolling off to the side so that he doesn't crush you with his weight. He takes a moment to catch his breath before kissing your temple and getting out of the bed, grabbing a tissue from your desk. You whine when as he cleans up the mess between your legs, trying to push him away.

"I know, I know. But we need to get you cleaned up, okay?" He whispers, continuing to wipe you down with gentle motions. Once he's done he tosses the tissue in the trash can by your desk, climbing back into bed and pulling you into his warm embrace. "You did so well for me, pretty girl."

The two of you lay there in silence as you come down from your high, Dean tracing patterns on your back to help calm you. It takes a few minutes but your breathing finally evens out, and you lift your head up from it's spot on his shoulder. "Sorry for biting you, I hope it didn't hurt too badly." You say with a sheepish smile.

"Are you kidding me, sweetheart? That was the hottest thing you've ever done." Dean says with a snort as he tugs you closer. "No need to apologize, baby, I clearly enjoyed it very much—more than I should have, if we're being honest."

You giggle at that, shaking your head. It was good to know that you were helping Dean discover new things about himself, in more ways than one. "Sorry for like, freaking out on you and ignoring all your calls and texts, by the way. When I realized that I was developing feelings for you, I panicked because I didn't think that you would feel the same way—guess I was wrong, huh?"

Dean smiles at that, a resigned one that doesn't fully show off his dimples. "Yeah, I can't really blame you for that when I'm known on campus as the guy who will never commit to anyone." He says softly as he runs his hand along your arm. "But I promise you, I meant everything that I said earlier; I want to be with you, and I will do everything in my power to prove it to you."

"You don't have to prove a single thing to me, Dean." You say with a frown, shaking your head as you place a hand on his cheek. "I don't want you to feel like you have to put on some sort of act to be with me, I just want you to be yourself."

Dean's gaze softens, as if those were the exact words he needed to hear from you in this moment to absolve him of his insecurities. Despite the fact that he tries to act all tough and like he doesn't care if people like him or not, you know that he needs a bit of reassurance from time to time.

"Careful, if you keep being so nice to me, I won't be able to keep my hands off of you." Dean says as he nips at your earlobe again. You roll your eyes at that, because you had foolishly forgotten just how fast Dean could recover after sex.

"Are you trying to kill me or something?" You ask teasingly, squealing when Dean rolls you over onto your back.

"Kill you? I wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart—but I do plan on making you feel very good for the rest of the night." He says with a smirk before diving in to leave more hickeys along your neck and collarbone. Fuck, you were in for a treat tonight.

Y/N POV: Having fun to me is exactly what this is. Hanging out with my boyfriend and friends is 100% my favorite pastime. We are ending the night at the bar closest to the hockey house. A day that originally started with mimosas has turned into a full day drink-fest. We don’t do it often so it’s nice to see. The boys are on a strict diet during Hockey season and are now free for the next couple of weeks to do whatever before conditioning starts. We have crawled every bar within walking distance to Briar at this point but this place is such a vibe and the perfect ending to the night. Well almost perfect.

The DJ is playing a few songs requested by Allie, one of which happens to be my favorite and as I rotate on the dance floor I look up to see my boyfriend, John Logan, sitting at the table beer in hand looking at me. My eyes meet his beautiful brown ones and his crooked smile as he looks to me while I am full on Shakira-ing on the dance floor happens to be my favorite. I motion for him to come and dance with me and he signals me to go ahead and enjoy myself. But I want him, OH do I want him. I go over to tell Allie and Hannah that I am going over to sit with Logan and make my way to him. The DJ changes the song to something a bit hype, LOVER GIRL by Megan Thee Stallion. I saunter my way to him swaying my hips and he grabs my hand as I mouth the words to him looking at me lovingly.

“Babeeee, come dance with me please!” I beg to him and he stands to accommodate. I pull him a few steps from the booth and begin to slow dance with him. He spins me around to face away from him. He pulls my hips to his with his large hands and nudges his face in my neck placing a kiss right at the base of it. We continue to dance through the song, and I rap the lyrics to him. “This is your song I guess, you know allll the lyrics” he says making me giggle. The song ends and he guides me back to the booth to sit. He seats me on his left leg facing the dancefloor and wraps his arms around my waist. The DJ switches the song to a sensual slow jam, Nice and Slow by Usher, and I start to wind on his lap, the alcohol clearly putting me in the mood. His hands grip my waist, firm, and he pulls me back into his lap. John sings the lyrics in my ear making me swoon as I wind on him, his hands not budging. “Baby, if you keep doing that I won’t be able to handle it” he says lowly in my ear. A surge of excitement hits me. He doesn’t stop it, my hips moving sensually on top of him. I feel his mass begin to poke into me through our clothes but I don’t stop. The heat between us is hot as I hear John gruffly behind me. “Fuck, Y/N. Baby you gotta stop.” My hips are active on top of him. I lean back to whisper to him, “And what if I don’t?” I respond teasingly. He kisses my shoulder which is exposed due to the outfit I am wearing. I love getting him worked up like this.

John Logans POV: Good God I love when we’re like this. It feels like there's no one else here and all I see is her. She has all of the control here, clearly, because I can’t make her stop. She has worked me up to the brim and if she doesn’t stop here, I swear, I will come right here in my pants. I can feel her heat on the front of my pants, and its so hard to handle. The jump in my heartbeat changes with every move. Y/N is absolutely mesmerizing. She looks back at me her back arched and her teeth biting her lip as she smiles at me devilishly. What is she doing to me, we are 100% in public and this is not the way I want her but fuck, she is absolutely perfect. I guess we’re doing this forreal, I give her one more warning to heed. “Baby, you have to stop, I can’t” I am begging at this point but my pleas are mute to her ears. All it takes is one more hip rotation and I buck my hips up and grab her harder to pull her into me. My right hand pulls her left arm to flush her upper body to mine and I nuzzle my face into her neck, my groans vibrating against her neck as I release into my underwear. I have never come so hard in my life, my vision disappears and I hold on to her for dear life as I come down. Oh now she stops.

“We need to leave. Now.” I say to her huskily as I help her stand and grab her hand to head to the door. Its my turn now.

The end.

I hope you liked this ANON! Send me more requests, I’d love to write for y’all! <3

Also, for those of you looking for it, I will finish “Quite the charmer pt.2” by EOD tomorrow so stay tuned!