mar .ᐟ

Being friends with Macklin at Boston University meant that you absolutely hated Boston College. Not the school itself, necessarily, the campus was fine, and the parties were decent but more specifically, you hated their hockey team. And more than anyone on that team, you hated Will Smith.

You couldn’t even remember the exact reason the hatred had started. Whatever it was, Macklin remembered and told you, and that was enough for you. He was one of your closest friends so obviously you were on his side.

Anytime there was an upcoming game where BU was playing against BC, you two sat in your dorm room and complained about him. “He’s just a pretty boy..” Macklin grumbled, scrolling through his phone with a scowl. “He literally thinks he can just flash that stupid smile and the refs will hand him the game.”

“Right? God forbid he actually works for it instead of relying on those baby blues and flowy hair.” You agreed. You didn’t even notice you knew that information about Will, but Macklin didn’t think much of it so neither did you.

Macklin laughed. “Exactly. I don’t know, he just thinks he’s God’s gift to the sport..”

So when the notification lit up your phone _willsmith2 started following you. you nearly dropped it.

You were in the dining hall between classes, when the little heart icon appeared. Why the hell was he following you?

You didn’t follow him back right away. You even considered showing Macklin the notification just to laugh about it, but something stopped you. Instead, you closed instagram and went about your day like it hadn’t happened.

That resolve lasted until you were back in your dorm room, lights dimmed, your roommate already asleep. It was a little after 11pm when boredom and curiosity finally won. Your thumb hovered over the button for a long second before you clicked Follow Back. The blue button turned gray instantly.

Not even a full minute later, your phone buzzed with a new message.

Will Hey👀

You stared at the message, this was a terrible idea. If Macklin ever found out you two were even following each other after all the shit talking.. you didn’t want to think about it.

Before you could overthink it more, your fingers moved on their own.

You Hi?

Will Are you this petty without Macklin around too?

Your eyebrows shot up. The audacity.

You How do you know I’m not with Macklin right now?

Will It’s 11pm

You And?

A small laugh escaped you before you could stop it. You quickly pressed your lips together, glancing at your sleeping roommate.

Will And Macklin doesn’t strike me as the type to let his attack dog stay up late texting me

You I’m not his attack dog but ok

Will Isn’t that why you don’t like me?

You bit your lip, equal parts annoyed and.. entertained? You knew you were wrong, but why did you like this..?

You I never said I didn’t like you

Will Is that right?

By the time you finally put your phone down, it was almost 1am. A heavy wave of guilt settled in your chest. You should tell Macklin. You knew you should. But what would you even say? “Hey, so Will followed me and now we’re texting, but don’t worry, I still hate him.. mostly”?

The next time Macklin tried bringing up Will, you forced a smirk and said something that wouldn’t give anything away, but now the words just tasted a little sour. You didn’t know if you could just go on talking about Will, when you have been in his dms for the past couple of days. So you changed the subject quickly.

Will knew one thing you didn’t like: when he brought up Macklin.

After two weeks of texting that had somehow become the highlight of your days, he finally worked up the courage. The message came through while you were halfway through a lecture: Want to get dinner this weekend?

You’d stared at your phone before typing back a simple Yes.

He was more surprised than he let on. Part of him had been convinced you’d say no because of Macklin. You didn’t tell many people. Just one of your close girlfriends, who immediately raised an eyebrow and said, “Macklin isn’t going to like that.” You rolled your eyes and shrugged it off. One day he’d have to accept it, whether it was Will or anyone else.

Will picked a nice restaurant well outside the usual BU-BC radius for obvious reasons. He insisted on paying for everything despite your protests. He was funny, quick witted, and genuinely curious about your life outside of university. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have fun.

His baby blues really were distracting up close, and his smile was charming too. You wouldn’t be surprised if hockey didn’t work out and he became a model instead.

After dinner, he drove you to the beach to watch the sunset. You two sat on his jacket spread across the sand, the waves gently rolling in. You told him about your major, the classes you were taking, and how much you’d learned so far. “Me and Macklin are studying the same thing.” You said, hugging your knees. “I’m scared if he gets drafted he’ll leave and I’ll be stuck here alone.”

Will was quiet for a moment, staring out at the pink sky. He couldn’t lie, he was starting to really like you so hearing you say this wasn’t nice. He realised how close you two were and what if you liked Macklin? “You can always visit him if he gets drafted.” he offered.

“Yeah, I hope so.” You glanced over at him. “I honestly don’t even understand why you two don’t like each other. You’re so much alike. You’d probably be great friends.”

Will’s jaw tightened slightly. Is that why you’re hanging out with me? he thought. Because I remind you of him?

He shrugged. “Are you two dating?”

You burst out laughing, the sound bright and unrestrained. You held your stomach, trying to calm down as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. Will raised an eyebrow. “Alright, it’s not that funny..” he muttered, but his lips were twitching.

You finally caught your breath, still giggling. “Macklin and I? He’s like a brother to me. You think I’d be here right now if we were dating?”

“You’re right.” he conceded, a small smile breaking through. “Does he know you’re with me right now?”

Your smile faded. “Why do you keep asking about Macklin? I’m not going to hang out with you if you keep bringing him up.”

Will smirked, leaning back on his hands in the sand. “Is there a next time?”

You looked at him, the sunset casting a warm glow across his face. You nodded. “Thought you’d want there to be a next time?”

The next hangout escalated faster than you expected. You found yourself in Will’s dorm room at his campus, straddling his lap as the two of you made out like you couldn’t get enough of each other.

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer against his body. The kiss was heated and a little desperate.

When he finally dropped you off near your BU dorm later that night, the car idled at the curb. You leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the lips, smiling softly.

Back in your room, you quickly texted Macklin: Hey, I’m finally back. You can come over now

A few minutes later he strolled in, flopping down on your bed like he owned the place. “Where were you?” he asked, scrolling through his own phone.

“I was hanging out with a friend,” you said casually, turning to your desk and pulling out your notebook.

“Can you pleaseeee get me some snacks? I’m starving.” Macklin changed the subject.

You groaned dramatically. “Mack, you’re so annoying-”

“Okay fine, I’ll get it..” he cut in, starting to stand.

“It’s fine, I’ll get it.” you said quickly, waving him off. You left the room, leaving your phone on the bed where you’d been sitting.

At first, Macklin didn’t think anything of it. But when your phone buzzed once, then again shortly after, curiosity got the better of him. He glanced at the door, then picked it up. The screen lit up with two new messages from “Will”

Will: the hangout was so nice this time

Will: maybe next time you should come over again

Macklin’s eyebrows furrowed. Will? No. There was no way. This couldn’t be the Will he was thinking of, right? Were you seriously hanging out with THE Will? As in Will Smith? The same guy you both had spent months complaining about? And right after being with him, you came back and acted like nothing happened?

He stared at the messages, mind racing with questions. How long had this been going on? Did you actually like him? After all you said, you were in his dorm?

The sound of your footsteps coming back down the hall snapped him out of it. Macklin quickly locked your phone and set it back exactly where it was, trying to keep his face neutral even as betrayal and confusion churned in his chest.

You and Macklin did your project together, you were halfway through outlining the next section when Macklin suddenly spoke. “Someone also texted you while you were getting snacks.” He said, pointing at your phone.

“Oh, thanks.” You picked it up and unlocked it. Will’s messages glowed on the screen, a smile tugged at your lips. You closed the app and set the phone face down, figuring you’d just answer later.

“You aren’t going to answer?” Macklin asked, his tone deceptively casual. “I think it was important.”

“Nah, I’ll just answer later.” You replied lightly. “It can wait.”

Macklin let out a short, humorless chuckle. “Is that why you were hanging out with Will?”

Your stomach dropped. You cursed yourself internally, he knew. You forced your expression to stay neutral. “Yeah, but I’ll just answer later.”

“It’s not the Will I’m thinking of, right?”

You shrugged, pretending to focus on the project. “Nah.”

“But it’s the only Will we both know.” He pressed.

“Well, I can know other Wills without you knowing..” you shot back, tapping randomly on your keyboard. “There are plenty of people named Will in the world.”

“Yeah, right.” Macklin’s annoyance was clear now. He closed his laptop with more force than necessary.

“Macklin, what is your problem?” you asked, frustration creeping into your tone.

“You know what my problem is.” He snapped, standing up from your bed.

You crossed your arms. “I really don’t.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the betrayal in his eyes hurt more than you expected. “Maybe we should finish this another day..” he muttered, already grabbing his stuff.

You wanted to stop him to explain everything, because he deserved to know the truth. You wanted to tell him it wasn’t that simple, that Will wasn’t the villain you both had painted him as. But the words stuck in your throat. Macklin gave you one last disappointed look before heading toward the door, leaving you alone.

Two days went by without you and Macklin talking. You understood where he was coming from but you also wanted him to understand that it wasn’t that simple. You wanted him to see the side of Will you’d gotten to know.

You’d talked to Will about it the night before. “How would you feel if I just told Macklin about us?” you asked. You didn’t want to lose your best friend, but you also didn’t want to lose whatever this was with Will.

“I’m not gonna lie, I’m not thrilled. But if it’s that important to you, then do it. Just, make sure he doesn’t kill me, yeah?”

On saturday afternoon, Macklin finally texted you: I’m sorry I overreacted. And I’m sorry I thought you were lying.

You replied quickly: It’s fine but I think we need to talk.

You met up at the small park near campus, sitting on a bench under the trees. The air felt thick with awkwardness as you started. “First off, I’m sorry I didn’t explain everything that night when I should’ve.”

Macklin nodded. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have just assumed it was Will Smith you were talking to. And you’re right, there are plenty of Wills in the world.”

You cut him off gently. “No.. you were right. It is the Will you’re thinking of. But I need you to-”

“What?” Macklin’s eyes widened.

“Macklin, it’s not a big deal. You two are-”

“It’s a big deal to me.” he interrupted. “Does that matter to you? No!”

“It does matter.” you said quickly. “But he’s literally not the person you think he is. And you two might even get drafted to the same team one day, so you should warm up to each other. I just want you to get to know him first and then make your own judgment.”

Macklin stared at you. “How do you even know where we both might get drafted?”

“I’m not stupid..” you replied. “And he told me that.”

“Whatever.” Macklin rubbed his face, clearly frustrated. “Are you two dating?”

“No, we’re not dating.” you said honestly. “At least not yet.”

He didn’t want to accept that his best friend was talking to Will of all people. But looking at you now, he could tell you actually liked him. And as much as it annoyed him, he knew he couldn’t talk you out of it. Once your mind was made up, it was made up.

He let out a long sigh. “This is weird as hell.”

“I know.” You said softly. “But can you at least try? For me?”

About two weeks later, someone from BC was throwing a party and a few people from BU were invited too. Will had asked if you wanted to go, and you saw it as the perfect opportunity to finally introduce him to Macklin properly. You’d texted Macklin the address and told him you’d meet him there.

When you arrived, you met up with Will near the entrance. You felt a little shy as he introduced you to a couple of his teammates. They were friendly, handing you a drink before you and Will found a spot on the couch to talk.

Macklin texted that he’d be there in a few minutes. You quickly sent him a picture of where you were sitting. Will smiled at you, reaching over to gently push a strand of hair off your shoulder, his fingers lingering for a second.

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the noise. You looked up to see Macklin standing right in front of you. You stood up quickly, and Will followed.“Macklin, this is Will,” you said, gesturing between them. “Will, this is Macklin.”

They shook hands. It was stiff and awkward at first, both of them clearly sizing each other up. But after a few minutes of small talk, the conversation started to flow more naturally. To your relief, they actually seemed to be getting along.

When Will excused himself to go to the bathroom, leaving you and Macklin alone, you turned to him excitedly. “So? What do you think?”

Macklin shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “I mean.. he’s fine, I guess.”

“See? I told you!” You grinned, unable to hide your excitement. “You’ll spend more days together and you’ll be like best friends!”

“Okay, hold on,” Macklin said, raising an eyebrow. “Who said I’ll be hanging out with him?”

You laughed, lightly shoving his shoulder. “Come on, you know what I mean. It wasn’t that bad, right?”

Like Will had mentioned, he and Macklin ended up getting drafted to the same team. It was bittersweet. They both moved away for the new chapter in their careers while you stayed behind at BU, finishing your degree. You and Will officially became girlfriend and boyfriend, and Macklin was actually happy for the two of you. And you also visited them whenever you could.

It had only been a couple of months when they bit started sending you pictures together, whether it was after practice, in their shared apartment or just an silly picture of them hanging out. And you were really grateful they got along like you’d hoped they would.

You quickly typed out a group text to both of them answering to the picture: I’m jealous rn of you both.

Will replied almost immediately with a laughing emoji, while Macklin typed back an get used to it.

TAGLIST: @alliwritespuck @bouncedatahhh @cheerymints @ill-uminati7 @behindthescreenobsessed @lemsies25 @definitelynotdomanique @lcvlyhughesy @sh1ft1ng1234 @willsmiths2 @iknowtonystark @mintbrini98 @kazansky-slxt @val413 @wherethezoes-at @macka @beckieepicaz00 @carlottawllms @blankenbirks @mcelebrini @probably--possessed @celebrinigf @postgamevibes @icetimedreamer @misslivinglegend @alexxavicry @sohhh09 @goaldengay @umm-ok-fine @idkwhatthisis2009 @luckylzclerc @miyasfatass @downtownjulie @feellikeimphoebe @lilfreakjez @astrolatrism @smittylovr @asteria33 @cccassiopeia @mrsbedard @valintheafterlight @itzlexa @hyunjinvoid @sxphmarny @hockeyromanceclub @sony @sjujus @icedupbaby @moonlitcozies @kitnootkat @aemreads7

Join the taglist here!!

For years, you had been proud of being easy to love.

At least, that was what you told yourself.

You were understanding. Patient. Flexible. The kind of girlfriend who never made a scene when plans changed last minute, who smiled through phone calls that started with I’m so sorry, baby, who learned the difference between a optional skate and mandatory practice before most people even learned the names of Connor’s teammates.

You knew what his life demanded from him.

You knew hockey wasn’t just a job for Connor Bedard. It was the thing he had chased since he was old enough to hold a stick. It was early mornings, aching muscles, ice baths, media scrums, flights at ungodly hours, trainers, coaches, expectations, pressure. It was the sound of an entire city placing its hope on his back before he was even old enough to rent a car.

And you loved him for it.

You loved his dedication. You loved the boyish focus that came over his face when he watched game tape on the couch, one arm wrapped around you like holding you was muscle memory. You loved the way he lit up after a win and the quiet, hollow way he folded into himself after a bad game. You loved that hockey was part of him.

You just hadn’t realized, until much too late, that you had started becoming the part he could afford to forget.

At first, it was little things, dinner reservations canceled because practice ran long, movie nights delayed because he wanted to get extra shots in, your calls going unanswered until close to midnight because his phone was buried somewhere in his stall, his mind still stuck on a bad shift from the second period.

He always apologized.

That was the thing.

Connor was never cruel. Never dismissive on purpose. Never the kind of boyfriend who snapped at you for wanting his attention or made you feel stupid for missing him. When he remembered, he loved you with this almost startling softness. He brought you coffee without asking. He memorized your comfort shows. He kept your favorite blanket on his couch even though it didn’t match anything in his apartment. He kissed the top of your head when he passed behind you in the kitchen, like his body naturally looked for yours.

So you forgave him, again and again and again

“It’s okay,” you would say, even when it wasn’t “I understand,” you would promise, even when the disappointment sat heavy in your chest “After the season, things will be calmer,” you told yourself.

Then the season ended, and training started, then summer came, but there were sponsorship shoots and charity events and skills work and development camps.

Then the new season began, and everything repeated, you became good at making yourself smaller inside his life, you stopped asking for Saturday mornings because those were for recovery, you stopped suggesting dinners on game days because he liked to keep a routine.

You stopped calling when he was on the road unless he called first, you stopped telling him when you were upset because he always looked so tired, and there was something guilt-inducing about adding your hurt to the weight already on his shoulders.

The worst part was that Connor never noticed the difference, he still thought you were happy because you were still kind, he still thought you were fine because you were still there.

Your birthday fell on a Friday that year.

Connor had known about it for weeks. Months, technically, since your birthday had been marked in his phone calendar since the first year you dated. He had asked you what you wanted to do in that sweet, distracted way of his, chin resting on your stomach while you played with his hair on the couch “Nothing big,” you had said. “Just dinner. Maybe cake with everyone after.”

He had looked up immediately. “Everyone?”

You smiled. “My friends. My parents. A couple of your teammates if they’re free. Nothing crazy.”

“I’ll be there,” he said, you raised an eyebrow. “You sure?” His face softened like the question hurt him. “Of course I’m sure. It’s your birthday.”

And because you were still trying, because some tired, hopeful part of you still wanted to believe that all you had to do was wait for the right moment and Connor would come back to you fully, you believed him.

You bought a new dress.

Not an expensive one. Not flashy. Just something soft and pretty that made you feel like yourself when you tried it on in the mirror. You made a reservation at a restaurant you loved, the kind Connor always said he wanted to take you to but never found time for. Your friends offered to help decorate your apartment afterward for cake and drinks, and your mother called twice to ask whether Connor needed her to save him a parking spot.

“He’ll be there,” you said, you said it so easily the first time, the second time, when your best friend Maya glanced at Connor’s empty chair fifteen minutes after the reservation started, you said it with a laugh.

“Practice probably ran a little late.”

At thirty minutes, you checked your phone under the table, No message, at forty-five, your dad leaned toward you and asked quietly, “Everything okay, honey?”

You smiled so fast your cheeks hurt “Yeah. He’ll be here.” at an hour, the waiter asked if you wanted to wait a little longer before ordering dessert.

Your friends looked at you, your mother looked down at her lap, Maya looked angry enough to break something, you looked at Connor’s empty chair and felt something inside you go terribly still.

Because you weren’t surprised.

That was the moment, not the missed dinner, not the unanswered texts, not the fact that your birthday candles were waiting at your apartment and your boyfriend was nowhere to be found.

It was the quiet, devastating realization that some part of you had expected this.

Some part of you had known, from the second you put on the dress, from the moment you fixed your hair in the mirror, from the second you told everyone he would come, that there was always a chance Connor would forget to choose you.

And you hated how unsurprised you were, you hated that your heart didn’t even break loudly anymore, it just sank, like it was tired.

When dinner ended, everyone tried too hard to be cheerful, your friends sang loudly. Your dad hugged you longer than usual. Your mom kissed your forehead and whispered, “You deserve to feel special today.”

You almost cried then.

But you didn’t.

You waited until everyone left your apartment after cake. Waited until Maya lingered by the door, holding her coat in her arms, staring at you like she knew you were one soft word away from falling apart “Come stay with me tonight,” she said.

You shook your head. “I need to talk to him.” Maya’s mouth tightened. “He doesn’t deserve a conversation tonight.”

“Maybe not,” you whispered. “But I deserve one.”

She hugged you hard before she left, the apartment was quiet afterward, too quiet.

There were balloons tied to the backs of chairs. Half a cake sitting on the counter. A bottle of champagne unopened because you hadn’t been able to pretend that much. Gifts stacked neatly near the couch. Your shoes abandoned by the door after your feet started aching.

You sat on the sofa in your birthday dress and stared at the clock. 23:47. your birthday was almost over.

Connor arrived at 00:18.

You heard his key in the lock first, then the door opened slowly, carefully, like he already knew.

He stepped inside with his hair still damp from a shower, a black hoodie thrown over his shoulders, and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Not gas station flowers. Not something thoughtless. They were your favorites. The exact ones. The kind you had once pointed out at a market two years ago, surprised he had remembered.

His face crumpled when he saw you sitting there “Baby.”

You didn’t move, Connor shut the door behind him, the flowers trembling slightly in his hand “I’m so sorry,” he said immediately. “I’m so, so sorry. Practice ran late, and then media wanted extra stuff, and my phone died, and I swear I thought I could still make it. I was going to call you from someone else’s phone, but then—”

“Don’t.”

The word came out soft, that made it worse, Connor stopped like you had shouted, you looked at him then. Really looked at him.

He looked exhausted. Guilty. Panicked. Younger than he usually did under the harsh kitchen light. His eyes flicked around the apartment, taking in the decorations, the cake, the gifts, the proof of everything he had missed “I messed up,” he said. “I know I did. I’ll make it up to you. Tomorrow. Anything you want. We can go away on the next break. I’ll take you wherever you want. I’ll—”

“This isn’t about my birthday.”

His brows pulled together. “What?”

You swallowed, your throat hurt “This isn’t about tonight. Not really.”

Connor took one step closer. “Then what is it about?”

You let out a shaky breath and finally said the thing you had been avoiding for months “I don’t feel chosen by you anymore.”

The flowers lowered slightly in his hand, the apartment felt colder “I choose you,” he said quickly. “Of course I choose you. I love you.”

“I know you love me.” Connor looked thrown by that, as if he had expected the fight to be about whether he loved you or not, you wished it were that simple.

“You love me,” you continued, voice trembling. “But you don’t show up for me. And I have spent so long telling myself that those are the same thing because I didn’t want to be unfair to you.”

His face went pale “I know hockey matters,” you said. “I know your career matters. I’ve never asked you to choose between me and the thing you’ve worked your whole life for. I would never do that to you.”

“I know,” he whispered.

“But somewhere along the way, you started acting like because I understood, I didn’t need anything. Like because I’m patient, I don’t get hurt. Like because I’m always here, you don’t have to make sure I still feel loved.”

Connor’s eyes filled, he shook his head once, almost violently. “No. No, that’s not what I think.”

“But it’s how you act.” That silenced him, you looked down at your hands because looking at him made it harder.

“I kept waiting for it to get better. After the season. After the road trip. After the next game. After the next stressful week. But there’s always something next, Con. There’s always going to be hockey. There’s always going to be pressure. There’s always going to be someone who needs you.”

You forced yourself to look at him “And I can’t keep being the person who gets whatever is left.”

His lips parted, but nothing came out, the flowers slipped lower until they hung uselessly at his side “I’m sorry,” he said, voice breaking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

You nodded, tears finally spilling over “That’s the problem.”

Connor flinched, you stood slowly. Your legs felt unsteady, but your voice stayed calm, and somehow that made his panic worse “I think we need to end this.”

“No.”

It came out instantly, he dropped the flowers on the table and crossed the room so quickly you stepped back on instinct. He noticed and stopped, hands lifting slightly like he wanted to reach for you but knew he had lost the right “No,” he said again, quieter. “Please don’t say that.”

“I’m tired, Connor.”

“I can fix it.”

“You always say that.”

“I mean it this time.”

Your laugh was tiny and broken. “I think you meant it every time.”

That hurt him, you saw it land, Connor dragged a hand through his hair, breathing hard, eyes shining. “Tell me what to do.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Tell me and I’ll do it.”

“I have been telling you,” you whispered. “For months. In every way I knew how without begging you to love me properly.”

His expression collapsed.

“I don’t want to beg,” you said. “I don’t want to compete with your career. I don’t want to spend every important day wondering if you’ll remember that I matter too.”

“You do matter.”

“But I don’t feel like I do.”

Connor’s tears finally spilled over, he wiped at them quickly, almost angrily, like he didn’t have the right to cry when he was the reason you were breaking.

You walked toward the bedroom, he followed one step behind, voice cracking “What are you doing?”

“Packing a bag.”

“No, baby, please. Please don’t leave tonight. We can talk. We’ll talk all night. I’ll call the guys, I’ll call Coach, I’ll—”

You turned around “Connor.”

He froze, the way you said his name destroyed him. Not Con. Not baby. Not the soft, familiar version of him that lived only in your mouth.

Connor.

“I’m going to Maya’s,” you said. “I need space.” He looked like he wanted to fall to his knees, maybe he almost did.

“Can I call you?” You wiped your cheeks. “Not tonight.”

“Tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.”

His jaw trembled, you packed in silence while he stood in the doorway, helpless and shattered, watching you fold pieces of your life into a bag.

When you walked past him, he whispered, “I’m sorry I made you feel alone.”

You stopped for half a second, then you kept walking Connor didn’t try to stop you, but when the door closed behind you, you heard the broken sound he made through the wood.

And that almost made you turn back, almost.

But not enough.

The first night without you, Connor didn’t sleep, he sat on the floor of the apartment surrounded by birthday decorations and stared at the bouquet he had been too late to give you.

He kept replaying your words.

I don’t feel chosen by you anymore.

At first, his mind tried to defend him, practice had run late, his phone really had died, media had been unavoidable, he hadn’t meant to miss dinner.

He loved you.

He loved you so much that he had imagined every version of his future with you in it. He had saved money for a house one day and pictured where your shoes would go by the door. He had thought about rings more than once, quietly, nervously, scrolling through photos and then closing the browser because he was terrified he’d pick the wrong one. He had imagined kids with your eyes. He had imagined summers away from the city, mornings where hockey wasn’t screaming for his attention, a future where everything was calmer and he could finally give you all the time you deserved.

But then your voice cut through every excuse.

Love isn’t the same as showing up.

By three in the morning, Connor understood the ugliest part, he had been loving you in the future, someday, he would buy you the house.

Someday, he would propose, someday, when the schedule got easier, he would take you on the trips he had promised, someday, when the pressure settled, he would be more present.

Someday.

Someday.

Someday.

And while he was busy building a future in his head, he had left you alone in the present, the next morning, he texted you once.

Not a paragraph, not a desperate flood.

Just:

I know you asked for space. I’m going to respect that. I’m sorry. I love you. I’m here when you’re ready.

Then he put his phone down and cried in the shower where no one could hear him, at practice, everyone knew.

Connor wasn’t the kind of person who could hide devastation well. He was quiet on normal days, but this was different. His face was hollow. His movements were sharp and mechanical. He missed a pass he could have made blindfolded and slammed his stick against the boards hard enough that Nick Foligno skated over and stared at him “What’s going on?”

Connor shook his head. “Nothing.” Nick’s expression didn’t change, Connor lasted three seconds.

“She left.”

Nick didn’t ask who, he already knew.

After practice, Connor sat in his stall with his gear half-off and told him everything, not dramatically. Not with excuses. Just the truth, stripped raw “I missed her birthday,” Connor said, voice low. “But it wasn’t just that. I’ve been missing everything.”

Nick leaned forward, elbows on his knees “You love her?”

Connor looked up, offended by the simplicity of the question “More than anything.”

“Then stop thinking love is something she’s supposed to just know.”

Connor looked down, Nick’s voice gentled. “You’re young, Bedsy. And you’ve had hockey demanding everything from you since you were a kid. But relationships don’t survive on intention. You don’t get credit for the version of yourself you planned to be later.”

Connor shut his eyes “She said she got whatever was left.”

Nick sighed “Then don’t try to win her back with big gestures. That’s not what she asked for.”

Connor swallowed hard. “What do I do?”

“You become someone who doesn’t make her ask twice.”

So Connor tried, at first, you didn’t answer him, he didn’t blame you, for one full week, he sent one message a day. Not begging. Not pressuring. Not asking when you were coming home.

Just small, accountable things.

I spoke to the team about adjusting my post-practice media when possible. I should’ve done that before.

I started using the shared calendar again. Not because it fixes anything, but because forgetting things that matter to you can’t happen anymore.

I passed the bakery you like today. I didn’t stop because I know showing up uninvited isn’t respecting your space. But I thought of you.

I’m sorry for all the nights I made you feel like you were waiting for me to remember you.

You read them, you didn’t respond, Maya hated him on principle for a while “He sounds miserable,” she said one night, sitting cross-legged beside you on her couch while you stared at your phone.

“He is.”

“Good.” You gave her a look, she shrugged. “What? I’m on your side.”

“I know.”

“But?”

“But I miss him.” Maya softened, of course you did.

Missing Connor was the worst part. The apartment smelled like him when you went back to collect more clothes. Your favorite mug was still in his cabinet. The blanket on his couch still held the shape of every night you had curled into him after games. His hoodie sat in your overnight bag, packed by accident, and you cried into it so hard one night that Maya quietly took it and washed it because she couldn’t stand seeing you break over cotton.

You missed him but missing him didn’t erase the ache of being forgotten.

Two weeks after you left, Connor called your dad, your father told you because he had never lied to you, not even when you were little and asked if the family dog was going to die “He asked if he could come by,” your dad said carefully.

You stiffened. “What?”

“Not to see you. To talk to me and your mom.”

Your stomach twisted “What did he want?”

Your dad paused “To apologize.”

You almost laughed because it hurt too much “He apologized to you?”

“And your mother.”

“For what?”

“For making us watch you make excuses for him.” you went quiet, your dad’s voice softened “He cried, honey.”

You closed your eyes.

“I’m not telling you that to make you feel bad,” he said. “I’m telling you because I think he finally understands that love doesn’t just hurt the two people in it when one of them stops showing up.”

Your mother told you later that Connor had stood in their living room with shaking hands and red eyes, looking nothing like the confident young man the world praised every night “He didn’t ask us to convince you,” she said. “He didn’t ask what he should say to get you back. He just said he was sorry for making your birthday a night you had to survive.”

That was the first crack in your resolve, not because it fixed anything, but because Connor had gone to the people who loved you and taken responsibility without making himself the victim.

The second crack came three days later, you had a terrible day at work.

The kind of day where nothing catastrophic happened but every small thing scraped against your already bruised heart. By the time you reached Maya’s apartment, you were exhausted and cold and trying very hard not to cry in the elevator.

There was a paper bag waiting outside the door, your favorite soup with your favorite bread next to a small container of the chocolate mousse from the restaurant Connor had missed.

No note asking you to call him, no dramatic apology, just one sticky note.

You forget to eat when you’re sad. No pressure. Just dinner.

You stood in the hallway and cried, Maya opened the door, saw the bag, and sighed “I still hate him,” she muttered.

But she took the soup inside and warmed it up for you, Connor kept showing up in careful ways, not loud ones.

Not ones designed to be seen.

When your car needed an oil change, he didn’t offer to take it in like he normally would have. Instead, he texted you the number of the place you trusted and said he had already checked they had an appointment open Saturday, but he wouldn’t book it unless you wanted him to.

When your younger cousin had a school play, Connor sent a message the morning of.

Good luck to Lily tonight. I know she was nervous about her solo.

You stared at that one for a long time, you had told him about Lily’s play weeks before your birthday back when you thought he wasn’t listening.

He had been listening, he just hadn’t acted like it mattered, that realization hurt in a different way because it meant the love had been there.

It meant the problem had never been absence of feeling, it had been absence of effort, a month after the breakup, you finally agreed to meet him.

Not at his apartment.

Not at yours.

A coffee shop in the middle of the city, during the afternoon, when there was no risk of the conversation getting blurred by nostalgia and soft lighting.

Connor was already there when you arrived, he stood too quickly, nearly knocking his knee against the table “Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

He looked thinner. Tired. Still beautiful in the unfair way that made your chest hurt. His hair was hidden under a beanie, his hoodie plain, his eyes fixed on you like he was afraid you might disappear if he blinked.

There was a cup waiting across from him, your order, he noticed you looking “I asked before ordering,” he said quickly. “They said they could remake it if you came later and it got cold. I didn’t want to assume.”

That almost undid you, you sat down, for a moment, neither of you spoke, then Connor said, “Thank you for coming.”

You nodded.

He took a breath. His hands were wrapped around his cup, knuckles pale “I wrote a whole speech,” he admitted. “Then I realized it sounded like I was trying to talk my way out of something I acted my way into.”

Your throat tightened “So I’m not going to do that,” he said. “I’m just going to tell you the truth.”

You looked at him, Connor’s eyes were wet, but steady “I thought loving you meant building something for us later. I kept telling myself the hard parts were temporary. That if I worked hard enough now, I could give you everything someday. A house. Stability. A life where you never had to worry. And I convinced myself that made the missed things okay because I was doing it for our future.”

He swallowed “But you were alone in the present. And I didn’t see it because seeing it would’ve meant admitting I was failing you.”

Your eyes burned.

“I don’t want to be the guy who only knows how to love you when it’s convenient,” he continued. “And I don’t want to be the guy who makes you grateful for crumbs because he’s busy.”

You looked down at your coffee, Connor’s voice cracked “I hate that I became that guy anyway.” A tear slipped down your cheek, he didn’t reach for you, that mattered.

“I’m not asking you to come back today,” he said. “I want you to. God, I want you to. But I know I broke something, and I know me being sorry doesn’t put it back the way it was.”

You wiped your cheek.

“What are you asking for?”

“A chance to earn your trust again.” He inhaled shakily. “Slowly. However you want. And if the answer is no, I’ll respect it. I’ll hate it, but I’ll respect it.”

You studied him for a long moment “I don’t know how to trust you anymore,” you whispered.

Connor nodded, tears falling freely now “I know.”

“I don’t want to be someone you schedule because you’re scared of losing me.”

“You’re not.”

“But how do I know that?”

His face twisted with pain “You don’t,” he admitted. “Not yet.” that honesty hurt more than a promise would have, he looked down at the table “I started talking to someone,” he said quietly.

Your brows pulled together. “Like a therapist?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “A sports psychologist, but also just… about life. About how I treat everything like if I work harder, I can fix it. But I can’t outwork hurting you. I have to actually change.”

You stared at him.

“I should’ve done it before,” he said. “I know that.”

You both sat there in the quiet noise of the coffee shop, surrounded by people living ordinary lives while yours felt split open on the table between you.

Finally, you said, “I can’t come home yet.”

Connor nodded immediately “Okay.”

“And I’m not promising we’ll get back together.”

His breath hitched, but he nodded again “Okay.”

“But…” You looked at him, heart pounding. “We can talk. Sometimes" for the first time in weeks, something like hope moved across his face, not joy, he knew better than to look joyful over the bare minimum, just hope.

“I can do sometimes,” he whispered, so that was where you began, soometimes.

Sometimes Connor called after practice, and when you didn’t answer, he didn’t spam your phone. He left one voicemail telling you about his day, asking about yours, and reminding you that you didn’t have to call back unless you wanted to.

Sometimes you met for coffee, sometimes you walked together through cold Chicago streets with space between your hands where there used to be instinct.

Sometimes it felt easy, and that scared you, sometimes it felt impossible, and that scared him.

Connor learned.

He learned to tell you when his schedule changed before you had to ask, he learned not to make promises until he had checked whether he could keep them, he learned that “I’ll try” meant nothing if it wasn’t followed by action.

He learned that flowers were nice, but remembering your presentation at work mattered more.

He learned that you didn’t need grand vacations as much as you needed him to sit across from you at dinner and not check his phone every five minutes, he learned that choosing you was not one dramatic decision.

It was hundreds of small ones, it was calling you before he watched game tape, not after he was too exhausted to speak, it was telling his trainer he had somewhere to be and leaving when practice actually ended.

It was showing up at your apartment with groceries and asking if he could cook for you, then leaving after dinner because you weren’t ready for him to stay, it was apologizing without making you comfort him.

It was accepting that some days, you were still angry, one night, two months after your birthday, you finally snapped.

He had come over to help you put together a bookshelf. It should have been simple. Domestic. Safe.

Instead, halfway through sorting screws, you looked at him sitting on your floor in sweatpants, tongue caught between his teeth as he frowned at the instructions, and you were suddenly furious.

“Why now?”

Connor looked up. “What?”

“Why now?” you repeated, voice shaking. “Why did it take me leaving for you to become this version of yourself?”

He set the screwdriver down slowly, you stood, pacing because if you stayed still, you would cry “I asked for you before. I needed you before. I was lonely before. And now you’re here, and you’re trying, and that’s good, but it also makes me so angry because you could have done this the whole time.”

Connor’s face crumpled “I know.”

“You could have loved me like this when I still felt safe with you.”

His eyes shone “I know.”

“And now I’m the one who has to figure out if I can trust you again. I’m the one who has to heal from what you didn’t notice.”

He nodded, wiping at his cheek with the heel of his hand “You’re right.”

“I hate that you’re agreeing with me.”

A broken laugh escaped him, wet and miserable. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“Fight back,” you said, crying now. “Make an excuse. Tell me I’m being unfair. Give me a reason to stay mad.”

Connor stood, but kept distance “I can’t,” he whispered. “Because you’re not being unfair.”

Your face crumpled.

He looked destroyed by it “I wish I had a better answer,” he said. “I wish I could tell you I didn’t understand or that I was too young or too busy or too under pressure, but none of that changes what it felt like for you. I did have reasons. But I used them like excuses. And you paid for that.”

You covered your mouth.

Connor’s voice broke “I hate that I hurt you into needing proof that I love you.”

That was the first time you let him hold you again, you didn’t plan to, one second you were crying in the middle of your apartment, and the next Connor was there, arms around you, holding you like he was afraid to hold too tightly but more afraid to let go.

You sobbed into his hoodie, he cried into your hair “I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over. “I’m so sorry. I’ve got you. I’m here. I’m here.”

And for once, he was.

The first game you attended after the breakup was in January, you didn’t sit with the WAGs.

You bought your own ticket because you weren’t ready for the questions, the looks, the assumptions. Connor didn’t know you were coming. You told yourself it was better that way. Less pressure. Less expectation.

Chicago won in overtime and Connor scored the winner.

The arena exploded, you stood with everyone else, heart lodged in your throat, watching him get swallowed by his teammates against the glass.

Then his eyes found you, you didn’t know how, there were thousands of people there, all screaming, all moving, all wearing the same colors.

But Connor found you, for one suspended second, the entire arena seemed to blur, his face changed, not into surprise exactly.

Into something softer, something like gratitude, he didn’t make a scene. Didn’t point. Didn’t turn it into a moment for the cameras, he just pressed his glove against his chest once, small, private, yours.

You left before he could ask you to wait, by the time you got home, there was one message on your phone.

Thank you for coming. I know you didn’t come for me to know, but I’m really glad I saw you. Get home safe.

You stared at it for a long time, then you typed back.

Good goal.

His reply came almost instantly.

Thanks. I was trying to impress this girl.

You laughed, actually laughed, then cried because laughing with him still felt like coming home.

The night things truly changed wasn’t dramatic, no storm, no hospital scare, no grand confession in the rain.

It was a Tuesday, Connor had a rare evening off. Weeks earlier, he had asked if he could take you to dinner. Not somewhere expensive. Not somewhere that screamed apology. Just the little Italian place near your apartment where you used to go before everyone knew his name.

You agreed.

Part of you expected something to go wrong, a late meeting, a surprise interview, a call from the team.

Some reminder that hoping was dangerous, but at six exactly, there was a knock at your door, Connor stood on the other side in a dark coat, cheeks pink from the cold, hands empty, no flowers, no gifts.

Just him “I thought about bringing something,” he admitted when you opened the door. “Then I thought maybe being on time was the thing.”

Your lips parted, then you smiled, it was small but real “Good choice.”

Dinner was quiet at first, then less quiet, then almost normal He told you about a prank in the locker room. You told him about Maya’s disastrous date. He listened with his whole face, laughing in the right places, asking questions that proved he was paying attention.

Halfway through dessert, his phone buzzed.

You saw it, so did he.

His eyes flicked down,for one awful second, your body remembered, the waiting, the empty chair, the excuses.

Connor reached for the phone, your stomach dropped, then he silenced it without looking and turned it face down on the table “My agent,” he said. “I told him I’m unavailable tonight unless something’s on fire.”

You swallowed “You can answer if you need to.”

“I don’t need to.”

“But what if it’s important?”

Connor looked at you “You’re important.”

The words were simple, no drama, no speech, just the truth, your eyes filled with tears, Connor’s expression softened, but he didn’t reach across the table. He waited.

You were the one who slid your hand toward his, he stared at it like it was something sacred, then he took it, his thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and careful “I’m scared,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“I’m scared I’ll come back and everything will be good for a while, and then one day I’ll look around and realize I’m waiting again.”

Connor’s jaw tightened “That’s my biggest fear too.” You looked at him in surprise.

He nodded “Not because I think I’ll stop trying. But because I know I’m capable of hurting you when I’m not paying attention. I didn’t think I was before. I do now.” He took a shaky breath. “So I don’t want you to just trust me blindly. I want us to keep talking. I want you to call me out. I want to keep seeing someone. I want to make sure I don’t only change because I’m afraid of losing you.”

Your tears slipped over “I loved you so much,” you said.

Connor’s face crumpled “Loved?”

You squeezed his hand “Love,” you corrected softly. “I love you so much.”

His eyes shut, for a moment, he looked like the words physically hurt him, like relief could be painful when it came after starving “I love you too,” he whispered. “I never stopped.”

“I know.”

This time, when you said it, it didn’t feel like an excuse, it felt like a beginning, you didn’t move back in immediately.

Connor didn’t ask you to.

That mattered too, you kept your apartment. Kept your space. Kept rebuilding a life where he was wanted, not required, but slowly, carefully, he became part of it again.

He came over on off nights and cooked badly until you took pity on him and taught him how not to burn garlic, he remembered your friend’s promotion party and arrived with you, not three hours later.

He called from the road before bed, sometimes tired, sometimes quiet, but always present, on nights when he couldn’t talk long, he told you that instead of disappearing.

On days when you felt old hurt rising, he sat with it, he didn’t punish you for needing reassurance, he didn’t rush you into being okay.

He loved you in the present.

And little by little, the future stopped feeling like a place where you had to wait to be happy, your next birthday came quietly.

You didn’t plan a party, part of you didn’t want to give the day that kind of power again, Connor didn’t push, he simply asked what you wanted.

“Something small,” you said. “No surprises.”

“No surprises,” he promised.

That morning, you woke up to a text.

Happy birthday, baby. I’m already grateful I get to show up for this one.

You stared at it in bed, heart aching, then came another message.

Door in ten minutes. Coffee first. Then breakfast. Then whatever you want. My phone is off unless you tell me to turn it on.

You opened the door ten minutes later in pajamas, hair messy, eyes suspiciously wet, Connor stood there holding two coffees and a paper bag from your favorite bakery.

He smiled softly “Hi.”

“Hi.”

He stepped inside and set everything on the counter, no balloons, no crowd, no overcorrection.

Just coffee. Warm pastries. Your favorite flowers already arranged in a vase he must have dropped off with Maya the night before because he knew showing up at your door with a bouquet might remind you too much of the night everything broke.

You noticed, of course you noticed, Connor watched you notice “I didn’t want them in my hands this time,” he said quietly.

Your throat tightened, you walked toward him and wrapped your arms around his waist, he froze for half a second before holding you back “I’m here,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes against his chest “I know.” he breathed out shakily “I’m going to keep being here.”

You pulled back enough to look at him, there were still things to heal. You both knew that. Love did not erase history just because it wanted to. Trust did not return fully grown. It had to be rebuilt, piece by piece, choice by choice, ordinary day by ordinary day.

But Connor had learned the thing he should have known all along, love was not just the future he imagined for you.

It was the morning coffee, in the answered call, in the kept promise, in the empty chair that would never be empty again if he had any power to reach it.

It was choosing you when no one was watching, it was showing up not because he almost lost you, but because you deserved to be loved by someone who came before the breaking point.

Connor brushed his thumb over your cheek “Happy birthday baby” he said softly, you smiled through your tears, and this time, when you looked at him, you didn’t feel like you were waiting for him to choose you.

you grabbed your phone and checked your unread messages as the man behind the wheel cursed under his breath at an old man driving ridiculously slow, or so he seemed to have said. you scrolled mindlessly through the hundreds of messages that had built up in your friends’ group chat: goodbye texts directed at you, pictures of them smoking blunts in the bathroom of your saturday brunch designated restaurant, addresses of new spots to go try like you'd be back after the weekend.

knowing you wouldn't, at least for a while, was nearly your breaking point. it was so mundane, but that had been your entire life for the past couple of years. you weren’t entirely sure you were doing the right thing by fleeing the scene, but you couldn’t bear to walk through the streets you once walked through with your ex boyfriend, not after he’d betrayed you and thrown every little piece of your heart in the garbage.

jeremy’s low, warm voice distracted you from your thoughts, mostly revolving around the man you swore you never wanted to see again.

“i know it’s hard,” he mumbled, voice a little rough from not speaking for a while. “but you got this. you’re smart, you’re funny, it’ll take no time for you to get new friends.”

“i don’t want new friends, i just want him to disappear off the face of the earth.”

he chuckled quietly, head shaking as his gaze stayed fixated on the road ahead. he didn’t need to ask who ‘him’ was referring to, he knew. he’d known it since you’d found out about the cheating, about the lies, about everything that had gone wrong with your relationship.

the first number you’d dialled, before your parents’ or your friends’ or anyone else’s, had been jeremy’s. the same jeremy that had been calling you daily ever since he moved away from home, the same jeremy that nearly threw hands at you middle school’s principal when you told him a teacher was making your life miserable, the same jeremy that always took your side when you argued with your parents, even when you were in the wrong.

“do you remember shay?”

your ears perked up at the mention of his ex girlfriend’s name, the one you hadn’t heard of in at least ten years. you nodded slowly, brows furrowed in confusion.

“we broke up because she cheated on me.”

“what?!” you nearly gasped, shifting in your seat to take a look at his face. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“well, first of all you were ten years old,” he started off, finally bringing the first smile of the day onto your face. “and then i just didn’t want to think about it anymore. talking about it would’ve brought back all the bad feelings.”

“i’m not sure that’s a very healthy coping mechanism, jer.”

“that’s not the point. you come talk to me about whatever you want whenever you want,” he turned his head for a second, just enough to catch a glimpse of you. “i’m just saying i think it’ll be good for you to stay away from the city, see new faces, a new place and everything.”

“if you say so.” you shrugged defeatedly, falling back against the seat.

“i sure do. you’ll come to me one day and say ‘mighty and wise jeremy, you were right as per usual’. you just wait and see.”

you called him ridiculous among giggles, but he couldn’t bring himself to care: the only thing jeremy wanted was to make you laugh, and you finally gave him your best wholehearted, sincere laughter, much like the ones he elicited out of you when he bursted into your room after he came home from school and started his usual tickle wars, or when he rolled you around into the snow during wintertime when you were little.

you would never admit it to him, maybe not even to yourself, but a small part of you was genuinely happy to be moving to boston, at least for a little. you’d enjoyed the city whenever you’d visited your brother, and knowing his soothingly calm presence would be there by your side was a breath of fresh air.

for the first few days of your stay, you cradled yourself in whatever remaining feelings of heartbreak the recent events had caused. afterall, everyone always said to just let yourself feel things and not push them away and pretend nothing had happened, not like your brother had done.

that was all it took for you to find a brand new light, something that despite being surrounded by friends and in an allegedly happy relationship, you never seemed to have in new york. whether it was because you finally got to live close to a family member for the first time in years after moving away from anchorage, or because jeremy wasted no time before getting you into the bruins circle, you didn’t know.

it felt nice to be introduced to people that played such a big role in your brother’s life, and you managed to meet all of them within the first couple of days, or so you thought.

one week into your bostonian vacation, the encounter came casually. alessandra, your soon-to-be sister-in-law, sent you off to deliver to jeremy the lunch he’d forgotten at home in the morning, when he left hurriedly for practice. you were walking across the arena with the tupperware in your hands when your steps came to a halt in front of the brown door that said ‘locker room’.

you weren’t overly familiar with hockey etiquette, but a big part of you was fairly sure barging into a locker room filled with potentially naked men wasn’t the wisest decision. so, that left you with one plausible option.

“jay!” you called out at the top of your lungs, praying nobody would pass by.

you balanced yourself on the balls of your feet, hands fidgeting with the glass container as you debated whether or not phoning your brother instead would work better than yelling his name in the hallway.

“i don’t think i’m jay, but maybe i can go call him for you?”

the sudden, unknown masculine voice startled you at first. he appeared like a spark in the dark and you were too distracted to realize someone had even made his way to you. you looked up with inquisitive eyes, and was met with the same expression painted over greyish irises and a clean, polite face.

“you must be sway’s sister.” the man in front of you spoke up, eyes lighting up with the sudden realization.

he looked rather disheveled: hair messy and sticking up in odd directions, a couple of sweat droplets trickling down his forehead, cheeks rosy. yet, being in front of him still sent a wave of self-consciousness your way. your brain short-circuited for a moment, and you hoped he wouldn’t notice your dumbfounded expression.

“hope it’s not the nose that gave it away.”

he smiled wide, showing off the cutest dimple under his right eye. you might’ve said the first thing to come to mind without even thinking, but at least you got to bask in the sight of him laughing.

“if that can help, yours and his don’t really look alike.” he shook his head, still beaming, before extending his hand towards you. “i’m fraser.”

fraser.

the name rolled around in your head like there was nothing else in there, occupying your thoughts throughout the entire day. or, days. you felt totally insane.

the way you'd felt when your eyes had first met his engulfed you completely, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t exciting to feel your body tingle whenever he was around, for your heart to skip a beat whenever he flashed that dreamy smile at you. but it did feel wrong. you probably shouldn’t have been able to move on so quickly from a breakup that had nearly consumed you.

you kept to yourself for the following days, hiding the light in your eyes whenever jeremy threw his name around at home, talking about his latest chirp that had the whole team laughing or the prank charlie and nikita had played on him in the locker room.

it felt like it was working; instead of thinking about him all day everyday, his face only appeared into your mind sporadically.

that new arrangement, obviously, was short-lived. it lasted until a friday night that had started like any other, when mason reached out to invite you over to his house, where he was hosting an event that was somewhat of a small party with some teammates and their partners, and some people outside of their hockey world. there was no point in staying at home, you could’ve used the distraction.

yet, despite all the intriguing, fascinating people that stood in the redhead’s living room and that you would’ve liked to talk to, all you could focus on was fraser. you were mid-sentence, talking to this stunning blonde girl about your college careers, when he walked in. he showed up with an unbuttoned shirt over his graphic t-shirt, his hair still partially damp. he’d completely stolen your attention.

you looked at the girl in front of you, at how nonchalant she was, at how she was not drooling over a guy in the corner of the room, and you felt a slight hint of envy.

all you could do afterwards was sit awkwardly on the couch and steal glances at him, mind racing with the thought of him coming closer, calling your name, talking to you about anything at all. it was ridiculous, and you knew you had to stop yourself before you got in too deep.

“so, you already know what you’re going to wear next month?”

the sudden voice brought you back to earth. you looked around yourself to try and spot the source of the sound. then, your eyes fell on kiley, charlie’s wife, standing in front of you with a warm smile.

“where are we going next month?”

“girl,” she sighed, chuckling at your naivety. “the team gala. don’t tell me you forgot.”

“well... uh, i don’t think i’ll be there. i don’t want to third wheel jer and al all night long, i already do that all the time.”

the woman looked at you like you’d suddenly grown three heads, much to your own confusion. then, she took a seat next to you on the couch and shifted slightly to face you.

“you don’t have anyone to come with you?” she asked, and you shook your head. “you could always ask fraser.”

you nearly choked on your saliva, heart fluttering in your chest as you coughed. the sole mention of his name was enough to have your hands feel tingly, like a thousand ants were walking across them.

“what? why him?”

“i don’t know, you guys are about the same age, no?” she shrugged, fortunately not scrutinizing your behaviour. “and he’s also a good kid, he’d definitely do you the favour.”

part of you wanted to scream that you didn’t want it to be a favour, you wanted it to be real. you wanted fraser to want you even half as much as you wanted him, to feel the need to be close to you at any possible moment. instead, you swallowed those feelings back before their fight grew too strong, nodding slowly towards kiley.

“yeah, i might.”

but you didn’t, not that night. you couldn’t bring yourself to find enough courage to bring it up, even when him and mason approached you to ask for your opinion on the last text the homeowner had sent to his romantic conquest of the moment, and whether or not it could’ve been the reason why she’d ghosted him for two days.

“fraser said you’re a girl and you should know.”

fraser’s eyes rolled, an exasperated breath left his lips. “i didn’t say that. i said she might be able to help you better than i can.”

then, he turned towards you, still jokingly annoyed at the man next to him. “it’s not because you’re a girl, it’s because you’re much more emotionally intelligent than him and i put together.”

“you are putting a lot of faith in someone who’s straight up ignoring the fact that her boyfriend of two years just cheated on her.”

“good riddance!” mason yelled, raising his beer bottle in a cheering manner.

“he’s drunk,” fraser whispered, leaning closer to you and nearly making you faint. “but he’s right, it is good riddance. even a day spent thinking about that idiot would be too much.”

mason's smile widened, his gaze met yours as he pointed at him with his thumb. "he's shooting his shot at you."

"did i already say he's drunk? he's rambling on."

you knew, of course you did, but you wished he wasn't. you wished his words were honest, you wished fraser would just wake up one day and confess his undying love for you. you swallowed the gigantic lump that had formed in your throat, forced a smile on your lips and mindlessly nodded. your delusion would have had to wait until the end of the night.

like clockwork, the moment you laid on your bed, the ceiling started shifting and changing colours, until all you could see was the brown-haired, charming and soft-spoken boy you'd known for a handful of weeks, yet was infesting your thoughts like the most stubborn vine clinging to your walls.

from then on, you spent nearly every single night sleepless, tossing and turning. your thoughts kept flying to the gala that was closer and closer everyday, and the missing partner that was supposed to be fraser. what if he said no? what if he had a girlfriend he'd already invited? what if he wanted nothing to do with you?

on one particular occasion, you woke up earlier than usual and feeling under the weather, restless after spending the night caught up in that vortex of fraser and your ex and the ghost of your life in new york. you tiptoed your way out of the house, to avoid waking someone up. you needed some fresh air.

you had no idea where you were headed, but you let your feet wander around in the early lights of day, painting boston in bright yellow and soft orange.

you roamed the dimly lit streets unhurriedly, basking in the chilly air that reminded you of home and childhood and times when your greatest concern was a fifth grade science test. while you distracted yourself with all kinds of memories, you passed by a college campus filled with guys that slurred their words after having one too many and girls who stumbled around and muffled their laughter.

there were times where that used to be your life, light-hearted and carefree. each day that passed, you felt yourself shift closer into that older version of you. your time in boston was helping you infinitely in that sense, but putting you through the tough challenge of having a middle school-like crush after years of not having to worry about unspoken feelings and stolen glances.

your steps came to a stop when, as you entered your favourite park in the area, a voice that had grown way too familiar reached your ears like the sweetest melody known to man.

“hey, baby sway.”

your eyes buzzed at the sound. ‘baby’. you rotated on your feet, eyes falling onto the easily recognizable figure. fraser was standing a few inches from you, water bottle in his hand and running attire on. he’d just called you ‘baby’, and there wasn’t a single part of you that was acting normal about it.

the shirt you were wearing suddenly turned into lava, burning every inch of your skin and becoming unbearable. you weren’t too sure it was a standard thing to feel at the sight of someone, especially when said someone was your own brother’s teammate.

“well, boston isn’t so big afterall.”

“your brother did recommend this neighborhood when i was looking for a place, so…”

so, it wasn’t fate that had decided to make your paths cross on a fine tuesday morning. it was actually none other than jeremy, clearly. the need to get your head out of the clouds was more urgent than ever, but you knew every attempt would be useless.

“hey, listen,” you started, hands playing frantically with the edges of your phone as you tried to find the right words to not sound like a complete fool. “i need to ask you a favor. you don’t have to do it, of course, i just figured i’d try.”

“that sounds serious, go on.”

“i was talking with jer the other day and he mentioned the gala, and i… uh-“

“you need a partner?” he interrupted you like he was reading your mind, lips barely quirking upwards.

“i don’t need one, but it would be nice.”

“i’m honoured you thought of me first.”

“i actually asked mason, marat and andrew before, but they were all taken, so…”

“oh, is that how it is?” he laughed it off, shaking his head with fake disappointment. he then looked at you with a sincere smile, one that showed off his dimples perfectly. “of course i’ll come with you.”

any type of restrain you'd given yourself so far, for futile reasons and still anchored to your past, was fully gone. you couldn't rationalize something so sudden and forceful like your feelings for fraser, and you were sick of trying. you were going to head into it like a car with no brakes, whatever the outcome might've been.

the clacking sound of your high heels on the marble floors was the only thing keeping your head from floating away. your arm was carefully draped over fraser's, and you walked side by side like a well-polished couple of actors from old hollywood.

you'd cracked a joke about how he put in minimal effort and obtained maximum gain with his "boring black suit". what you'd left out was that said suit fit him like a glove, and the way his hair curled at the ends and looked slightly less tousled than usual wouldn't allow you to look away and at the lavish crystal chandeliers or the tasteful floral arrangements, eyes too fixated on the man by your side.

nearly the entire night was a whirlwind of introductions, conversations completely out of your area of expertise and forced smiles. none of it mattered when you glanced around the room, somehow always meeting fraser's eyes. they carried something different, something deeper than the usual 'please come save me' silent request, but you didn't want to get too ahead of yourself with your wishful thinking.

after your social battery had run out, you'd found a secluded area in a different room, with a hard wooden loveseat and a bunch of old, dusty matching armchairs scattered across the space. your heels were disregarded somewhere on the floor, you were scrolling on your phone when the sound of the heavy door opening shot you on your feet.

then, your vision focused and you recognized your companion for the night, who had not only noticed your absence from the main hall, but had gone out of his way to come find you.

"you look like you're waiting for someone to throw you a lifeline." fraser mumbled as he stepped closer, and you couldn't help the muffled giggle that escaped your lips. "you also look gorgeous."

"i know, it was the first thing you said when we met earlier."

"that's how you know i mean it."

"maybe that's how i know you're a good actor."

all of a sudden you realized just how quickly the distance between the two of you had reduced to a couple of inches. you took him in, staring intensely at all the details you'd never noticed from afar, like the barely visible scar under his eye or the mole on his temple. his cheeks had a light pink tint, probably from the champagne glass you'd seen him holding earlier.

you hoped he wouldn't feel the weight of your look, but that hope vanished as his lips quirked upwards.

"what's up with you?"

"nothing, what's up with you?"

he jokingly scoffed, head shaking. "oh, then i'm the actor?"

"allegedly."

he hummed quietly, feet barely moving as he took one more step closer to you. you could feel his hot breath fanning against the tip of your nose. your heart was pounding so hard you could feel it vibrate in your ears. there was no reasonable explanation for such closeness, at least not according to your overly-conscious self.

fraser's hand moved slowly, almost uncertainly, inching closer to your face until his large, warm palm rested softly over your cheek. his gaze dipped down to your lips for a second, redirecting far too quickly for your liking.

"i can assure you i'm not acting."

"mhm, if you say so."

"what, you'd rather i showed you?"

your throat dried up before you could profess another word. you moved almost mechanically, hand coming up to grab the collar of his shirt. you wanted him closer. needed him, even. each breath meant inhaling the scent of his cologne, and you were certain it was messing with every single part of your nervous system.

his face leaned closer, making the air around you thick and heavy with desire. this time you were completely sure, there was no reason for him to be getting so close to you, if not to fulfill your dream and finally press his lips to yours.

the tension was palpable as you let yourself lean closer as well. your eyes fluttered shut, anticipation creeping up inside of you so much you could already feel the softness of his lips on yours and the slightly bitter and fruity taste of his champagne.

then, that very same old wooden door that had led fraser to you opened with a heavy sound.

"shit!" you and fraser whispered simultaneously.

both of you jumped away from each other like you’d just been electrocuted, breath hitching in your throats as you leaned forward to try and take a look at whoever the intruder was. you were about to ask, when the overly familiar and unmistakable head of auburn hair came into view.

mason stopped abruptly in his tracks when he saw you two stand awkwardly next to each other, you staring down at your nails and fraser tugging on the wrists of his shirt.

"am i... interrupting something?"

"no!" the two of you spoke up at once yet again, far too quickly to be reliable.

the older boy shrugged, eyebrow arching with doubt. then, he cleared his throat. "we're all about to head home, i'm pretty sure sway was looking for you."

you and fraser nodded quietly, stealing one more glance of each other. you slipped back into your shoes, grabbed your purse and followed them back into the main hall you'd escaped earlier, finding it already half empty.

you were barely there during the ride home, zoning out in your brother's backseat while him and his fiancée discussed salmon tarts and someone's gender reveal party. you felt like you'd been thrown back in time to the car ride that took you to boston in the first place, except you weren't holding back tears because of a boy, your mind kept going back to the almost-kiss with another one instead.

when you did get home, the mental fatigue was so strong you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of your clothes, throwing yourself on your bed and drifting off immediately. your thoughts lulled you to sleep, filled with scenarios that involved you and fraser finally managing to kiss and, god, so much more than that. you felt your skin heating up even in your half-conscious state.

you woke up to the vibration of your phone, mindlessly and carelessly resting on the mattress instead of the bedside table. after all, you were laying there in a gown and high heels, the phone had been the least of your concerns.

yet, the text that lit up the screen was under a name that suddenly erased every ounce of sleep still in your system. you sat up almost immediately, hands running through your hair as you gathered enough courage to actually open the notification from fraser.

'got a minute? i'm walking around the block and i wanted to see you'

that was it. he was going to tell you that what nearly happened the previous night was a mistake. maybe he'd been drunker than you thought, maybe it had just been the heat of the moment. every apocalyptic scenario forcefully materialized in your brain.

you were quick on your feet, shooting a text back and sprinting towards the bathroom to change into regular clothes. you caught your reflection in the mirror as you approached the front door to leave, taking in your frizzy hair and the overbearing dark circles surrounding your eyes.

hoping fraser wouldn't notice and you wouldn't have to admit that you were restless because you'd been thinking about him way too much, you left the house and squinted at the bright daylight attacking you.

fraser was right there, sitting on the steps of the apartment building with his phone still in his hands, screen showing your recent messages. hearing your footsteps from behind him, he turned around and your eyes locked. his lips moved immediately into a grin.

"good morning. rough night?"

you rolled your eyes whilst his laughter filled your ears. "so now you're making fun of me?"

"i would never, i'm simply concerned about your sleep schedule."

"told you, you're such an actor."

he stood up slowly, giving you just enough time to take the sight in: the sun made his eyes look an even lighter, icy shade, his muscular legs peeked out from his shorts and it was way too early for you to be thinking rationally.

"so, since you brought it up..."

he was most likely waiting for you to chime in with some silly remark, but the words never came out of you. you felt nervous, your palms were sweating with something between anticipation and pure fear, because you had no clue what route he was going to go down. the silence felt so thick you were sure a knife could cut through it.

he cleared his throat and beckoned for you to follow him, and you did. you weren't sure how that was helping the situation, but you two strolled along the sidewalk side by side, arms occasionally brushing and turning your stomach upside down.

"about last night, i-"

"we don't have to talk about it."

"i wish mase didn't interrupt us." he spoke up at the same time as you, cheeks heating up slighty.

suddenly, you felt like the dumbest person on the planet and hoped the earth would open up and swallow you whole. your panicked words caused his face to tense up: the shift was small but you watched clearly as it happened. your lips parted and you spoke again before your brain could process it.

"what would've happened?"

his expression seemed to soften and even his steps slowed down as the two of you reached the very same park you'd met at before, crossing the threshold through the open gate.

"come on, you know." he nervously chuckled, looking at your amused demeanor. "you're going to make me spell it out?"

"i'd rather you showed me." you quoted his words from the previous night, wide smile that mirrored his own.

"gladly."

he wasted no more time, he felt like the two of you had already wasted too much. one of his hands hovered your waist for a second, unsure of what to do, before finally settling on your body and using it to pull you closer. his other hand found its spot back on your cheek, feeling already familiar, like that was its rightful place.

he leaned in, you leaned in. every breath you took mixed with his own. then, after what seemed like a lifetime of waiting and yearning and longing, you closed your eyes and finally felt the softness of his lips slot perfectly against yours.

the kiss was messy, with bumping noses and restless hands all over your backs, but you wouldn't have wanted it any other way. you only managed to pull back once you both were breathless, heaving and foolishly smiling at each other.

"so, was this what you were about to do last night?"

he took his bottom lip between his teeth, uselessly trying to suppress a grin threatening to come through. his hand moved swiftly across your face, taking ahold of a stray strand of hair and carefully tucking it behind your ear.

"pretty much, yeah."

"and was it up to expectations?"

his arms circled your waist and he pulled you closer into him, pressing a quick kiss on the corner of your lips.

"i'd say it exceeded all expectations."

"you're infl-"

a car drove by with all the windows rolled down, the radio blasting the chorus of 'i want you back' by nsync abruptly interrupted your words. romantic lyrics about wanting someone echoed around you with peak comic timing.

"seems fitting." fraser chuckled at your irritated expression, which softened right after.

you shook your head, beaming while your arms wrapped around his neck. you stood there, ridicoulously close to each other and surrounded by chirping birds and shining rays of sun kissing your skin.