willow

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masterlist

How could a grocery store be so overwhelming? You stood in the produce section with a shopping basket hanging from one arm, staring at the wide variety of assorted vegetables.

You'd been living in your new apartment for exactly two days. You'd been there long enough to get sheets on your bed, appliances in your kitchen, and that was about it. You hadn't even gone grocery shopping yet, choosing instead to survive off of takeout meals until you felt brave enough to leave your apartment.

You picked up an orange, then put it back. A bag of clementines. Not quite. You sighed, disappointed, then set it back with the pile of others.

"Catch," said someone to your right.

You looked up just in time to see a citrus fruit flying towards your face. Thankfully, you reacted fast enough to catch the orange before it hit you in the forehead. The assailant was a guy about your age, standing a few feet away from you with one hand on the handle of his cart.

He was tall, easily at least a foot taller than you. He was wearing a Boston College hockey shirt and shorts, a baseball cap sitting backwards on his head.

You looked down at the orange in your hand and back up at the guy.

"Do you throw oranges at every girl you see?" you asked.

"Just ones who look like they've never been grocery shopping," he said.

"It's not that I've never been," you said. "I've never had to shop for just myself. And I'm new to town, so I've never been to this store."

You looked at the selection of citrus before looking back up at the guy.

"What do you recommend?"

The guy stepped closer. "Well, for one, the Valencia oranges are pretty good. That's the kind I tossed to you."

"Threw at my head," you corrected.

He shrugged. "I missed. Anyway, the Valencias are cheaper than the Navels, so there's that. You look like a college student, so I assume you're on a budget."

You nodded in agreement. "I just transferred to BC," you said.

"That's where I go!" said the guy, a grin lighting up his face.

"I know."

"How?" You pointed at his sweatshirt, which displayed the name of the school in large letters. "Right. What year are you?"

"I'll be a junior," you said.

"No way! Me too! I'm Dean," he said, offering you a hand to shake.

You dropped the orange into your basket and transferred the handle into your left hand so you could shake his.

"Y/N," you said.

"Nice to meet you," said Dean. "I'll see you around?"

'See you around' turned out to be two aisles over when you couldn't reach a box of granola bars because they were too high on the shelf. You stretched onto your toes anyway, arm raised over your head. Your fingers barely grazed the metal shelf.

Thankfully, Dean appeared out of nowhere, stepping beside you and effortlessly grabbing the box of granola bars. He carefully set it in your basket.

"Anything else?" he asked.

You shook your head. "Thank you."

That turned into a conversation in the pasta aisle about the best shapes, and then flavors of tomato sauce. And somehow you two ended up walking through the store together, pointing out food items you liked or wanted to try.

You were about to put a container of vanilla Greek yogurt in your basket, but Dean stopped you before you could.

"This one's my favorite," he said, swapping it with a different container of the same brand: the honey vanilla flavor. "They taste pretty much the same, but the honey vanilla one sounds fancier."

You put it into your basket without asking any questions.

"You trust strangers pretty easily," observed Dean.

You frowned. "I don't usually, actually. You just seem trustworthy, I guess."

"Hey, I'll take it," said Dean.

As you kept wandering the store, you and Dean continued to get to know each other.

"So you're new here, where did you go before?"

"I was out in California," you said. "But I was really close to home and I needed something different. When I was looking at colleges, it was my second choice after my old school, so it felt natural to end up transferring here."

"I think you'll like it here," assured Dean.

"Really?" you asked.

He nodded. "Yeah."

You found yourself smiling. You weren't sure why hearing that from someone you'd met twenty minutes ago mattered, but it did.

"And what brought you to Boston?" you asked. "Hockey?"

Dean nodded again. "Third year on the team."

"Isn't this school like D1 or something?" you asked. "So you must be really good."

He smiled, a blush creeping to his cheeks. "You could say that."

"Are you going to the NHL after college?" you guessed. You could tell by his latest statement that there was something he was hiding.

Dean's face became even redder. "That's my plan. I got drafted to the Bruins two years ago and their affiliate team in Providence offered me a spot this season," he said softly, as though hoping none of the other store patrons could hear him.

Your eyes widened. "That is so cool! But why are you still here if you could have gone there?"

Dean lowered his head so he could speak even quieter. "Between you and me, Providence isn't great for development. So I'd rather stay here, get a little bit of learning in, and then play professionally a little later on. I've got my entire career ahead of me, no need to start too early. Besides, I like it here, my teammates are cool, I have friends from classes and stuff like that."

"When you put it that way, that's kinda smart," you said.

"Only kinda?" Dean teased.

You pinched your pointer finger and thumb together. "Maybe this much," you laughed.

Dean rolled his eyes, but followed you to the bread aisle anyway. Your basket had become noticeably heavier, and when he noticed you switching it from hand to hand to give your arms a break, Dean took the basket from you and placed it in his cart. You looked up, smiling at him gratefully.

"I guess now we have to finish our shopping trip together," you said with a shrug.

"What a shame," he said, sarcasm lacing his voice.

"Okay, let me take my basket back then," you teased.

Dean maneuvered the cart so you had to step past him to get to your items. And there was now way you were getting past that brick wall of a man. "You said we're finishing our shopping trip together, so that's what we're doing," he said. "Let's go check out the flowers. I think I'm going to need a suggestion from you this time."

He led you back to the front of the store, near the produce section, where a display of flower bouquets was visible.

"What's your favorite flower?" asked Dean.

You blinked. For some reason, the question felt unexpectedly personal. You thought for a moment, before settling on one.

"Lilies, maybe," you decided. "What about you?"

"I haven't really thought about it," admitted Dean. "But these are nice, don't you think?"

He picked up a bouquet of a variety of flowers, orange lilies notably sticking out. Little sprigs of white baby's breath were tucked between them.

"Those are pretty," you complimented.

You wondered who the flowers were for. Dean mentioned his family lived in Canada, so they couldn't be for his mom. He hadn't mentioned having a girlfriend, but why else would a college athlete be buying flowers if they weren't for a girl? You hoped that wasn't the case; you found Dean easy to talk to you, and you secretly hoped that there was some chemistry there that wasn't just friendly.

Both of you were done shopping, so you made your way to the registers. You grabbed your basket and split to a neighboring checkout line from Dean. Unfortunately, the person in front of you took forever to pay for their items, so your new friend was finished checking out long before you. But he waited for you anyway, smiling at you as you fumbled to get your card out of your wallet.

Dean insisted on taking your heavier bags, even though you assured him you could manage.

"I've got them," you argued as Dean's hand brushed yours.

"I know you do. But we're walking in the same direction, and maybe I can count this as a warmup for afternoon lift," he joked.

You really didn't want to argue with him, and your bags were a little bit too heavy, so you let him take the two heaviest bags back to your car.

Together, you loaded the bags into your trunk, hands touching occasionally. When you were done, you closed the door gently. There was a brief silence.

"Well," you began, smiling at Dean. "Thank you. It was nice meeting you."

"It was," he agreed.

Neither of you moved. Dean glanced down at the bouquet sticking out of one of his bags. "Oh, wait." He picked it up. You watched curiously as he held them out to you. You looked from the flowers and back up to him.

"What?" you asked, a little confused.

"You said lilies were your favorite," he said.

You nodded. "I did."

He smiled, suddenly looking a little nervous. It was cute, the way his cheeks flushed just slightly pink. "I thought you should have them."

You narrowed your eyebrows. "You bought these...for me?"

Dean nodded. Your heart skipped.

"I thought you were getting them for a girl."

"Yeah, you," he said.

"No, like a girlfriend," you corrected.

Dean laughed quietly. "Nope, no girlfriend. I just thought I might get you a welcome gift. It's probably hard to start a new life halfway through college and not knowing anyone."

"But I know you now," you said.

He beamed. "You do."

You looked down at the flowers in your hands. The orange petals of the lilies were bright against the paper wrapping.

"They're beautiful, Dean," you said.

"I'm glad."

You glanced back up, a smile slowly spreading across your face. "I don't tend to accept flowers from strangers."

"Y/N, are we really still strangers?" Dean asked lightly.

"I suppose we aren't," you agreed.

You reached into your purse for your phone. Dean's expression brightened. You unlocked the device, opening up your contacts app, and holding it out for him.

"Would you put your number in?" you asked sweetly.

Dean accepted your phone and typed his information in, then handed it back to you.

"I'll text you," you promised. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear with your free hand, the one that wasn't holding the bouquet. "I guess I'll see you around campus."

Dean hesitated slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe before then?"

"I'd like that," you said with a grin.

Lying in bed all morning was not the way you had planned on starting your day. But alas, when your alarm had gone off earlier, everything felt wrong. Your joints ached, some feeling too loose, others too tight. Your shoulders were unstable and a dull pain settled in your hips. Even your fingers hurt when you picked up your phone to turn your alarm off. You had class today, and you really should have been studying for an exam you had the following week, but you couldn’t seem to get your brain into focus long enough to even think about your coursework.

So instead, you lay on your back, staring up at the ceiling, hoping the flare-up would go away. You hated the silence, the stillness. You were always doing something. If you weren’t in class, you were on a jog or a walk through Boston Common, studying in a coffee shop, or experimenting with a new dinner recipe. But now, even rolling over had felt like work. You couldn’t even get out of bed to find your boyfriend an outfit for his hockey game tonight, much less think about actually going to the game.

The front door to your apartment opening made you tilt your head in the direction of the noise. It was your boyfriend, Fraser, who had just gotten home from an early morning practice. The sounds of Fraser shuffling around the living room, then the kitchen, were audible from down the hall. A few minutes later, your boyfriend wandered into the bedroom, peanut butter slathered bagel in hand. His eyes fell on you, expression morphing to concern as he realized you were still in bed.

“Hi baby,” he said softly. He crossed the room without hesitation, setting the bagel on his bedside table before climbing carefully onto the bed beside you. The mattress dipped gently beneath him. “No class today?”

You didn’t need to answer; Fraser already knew. After dating you for as long as he had, he recognized the signs that your body was upset with you for some unknown reason. So he reached for you, one hand cupping your cheek. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, then the bridge of your nose, then your temple.

“I missed you,” he murmured into your hair, even though he’d only been gone a few hours.

“I missed you too,” you said, even though you’d been asleep through most of his absence.

Fraser pulled back enough to look you in the eyes, his thumb stroking gently across your cheek. “Have you been here all morning?”

You nodded. “I tried getting up,” you said. “I got a glass of water and used the bathroom, and that was it. My body vetoed anything more than that.”

Fraser smiled sympathetically at you. “I figured.”

You looked away, focusing on a spot on the ceiling instead of your boyfriend’s face.

“I’m sorry, Frase.”

Fraser’s hand instantly left your cheek, taking both of your hands instead. “Stop it. No apologizing,” he insisted. “Look at me.”

You did.

“You didn’t choose this. You never have to apologize to me for something out of your control.” He brought one of your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently.

Your eyes burned. “I just feel like I’m wasting the day,” you said, swallowing a lump in your throat. “And I don’t think I’ll be up to going to your game later.”

“Don’t worry about the game. I know you’ll be cheering hard for me, whether that’s here from bed or at the arena. What’s important is you resting so you feel better. And if that means writing off one day to take care of yourself, that’s not a waste.”

“I love you,” you said, holding out your arms for Fraser.

He leaned down, slipping his arms underneath you and resting his head on your chest. His touch was gentle, as though he was handling something breakable. “I love you too,” he said. “Now are you going to let me take care of you?”

“But what about your pre-game routine?” you asked.

Though he wasn’t nearly as superstitious as some hockey players, Fraser still had a strict routine he followed to get ready for home games, one he rarely deviated from. You quickly learned to just get used to it, not questioning his extremely specific schedule.

“I’ll risk it for you,” Fraser said, kissing your neck. “Now hold on a few minutes; I need to think.”

He sat up, brushing his fingers through your hair quickly before grabbing his bagel and a tiny notebook from his nightstand. One important thing to note about Fraser was his lists: he kept a notebook with him at all times so he could keep track of various things in his life. That notebook held shopping lists, reminders, doodles, books to read, everything. To read even a few pages from it was to know the deepest parts of Fraser that no one else knew.

Fraser opened the notebook and flipped through it for a moment to find a rare blank page. Then, pen in hand and bagel sticking out of his mouth, he thought for a few minutes before jotting down a few notes. You smiled at his look of concentration, the seriousness evaporating every time he looked over at you. When he was done, he triumphantly presented you with his list.

Your heart melted. Fraser looked so proud of his master plan you wished you could skip the first steps and go straight to nap time, which you assumed would include plenty of cuddling.

“Fraser, this is too sweet,” you said, trying not to cry.

Fraser took the bagel out of his mouth so he could speak. “It’s nothing, babe. You’re having a rough day, and this is how I plan on helping.”

You opened your arms, wincing as your shoulder moved painfully in its socket. Fraser leaned forward, allowing you to pull him into a hug. “I love you,” you said.

“I love you too,” said Fraser, kissing your cheek.

“Ew,” you giggled, wiping your face. “You got peanut butter on me.”

Fraser laughed. “Sorry, my love. How about a snack?”

“I’m not that hungry,” you said.

When you had flare-ups like this, usually the last thing you wanted to do was make food for yourself or even eat anything already made for you. When you had briefly gotten out of bed, you had grabbed a protein bar for breakfast, only to eat half of it before leaving the rest on your nightstand.

Fraser shot you a pleading look. “I know, baby. But you need to eat. Please, I’ll make you something better than that protein bar. Which, speaking of…”

You smiled affectionately at your constantly hungry boyfriend. “Take it.”

Fraser grabbed the remaining half of your breakfast and took a bite. “Thanks, Y/N.”

You laughed as he got up and tucked you back into bed, running his fingers gently through your hair and gazing at you lovingly before disappearing into the kitchen. When he returned, he carried a tray balanced in one hand, a steaming mug of tea in the other. He set the tray on your nightstand, then helped you sit up, supporting your back until he had propped up enough pillows behind you so you could eat comfortably. Then, he set the tray on your lap, sitting next to you on the bed.

“Plain Greek yogurt with berries and honey. That’s avocado with lemon, pepper, and a tiny bit of salt on a rice cake. The salt’s not good for you on days like today, but it does make it taste better,” said Fraser, pointing out each item he had procured. “And those are just almonds. Sorry, they’re the gross plain kind, but they’re good for you. All anti-inflammatories.”

Your eyes filled with tears again. “How did you know about all of this?”

“I asked the team nutrition staff,” he explained. “They’re really helpful.”

“Frase, you didn’t have to do all of this.”

“I do,” insisted Fraser. “Because I love you and that’s what you do for someone you love. You’d do the same thing if roles were reversed.”

“I would,” you agreed.

“I know,” said Fraser. “Now eat up.”

He wrapped both arms around you. Not too tightly, just enough that you felt completely surrounded by the warmth of his body. He rested his chin on the top of your head. You melted against him, though you were careful to keep the contents of the tray upright. The last thing anyone needed was an emergency laundry load.

“You comfortable?” asked Fraser.

You nodded. “Mhm.”

He kissed the top of your head. “Good.”

You slowly worked through your meal while Fraser held you the whole time. If you paused for too long, he’d simply brush his fingers through your hair or rub slow circles against your arm.

He didn’t rush you or force you to eat anything. Instead, he quietly kept you company, eating the last few bites of your avocado rice cake and the entire dish of almonds when you decided you’d had enough to eat.

“That was delicious,” you said.

“But not the almonds,” said Fraser.

“Not the almonds,” you agreed with a laugh. “But the rest of it was amazing. Thank you, I can tell you put a lot of thought into this.”

“Anything for you, my love,” said Fraser. “What was the next step on my list?”

You huddled together over his notebook as you consulted his ideas. Next was a hot bath with Epsom salts. And studying.

“What do you mean ‘help study?’” you asked.

“You have an exam next week, don’t you?” asked Fraser. When you nodded, he added, “I thought I could help you study if your brain fog isn’t too bad. If it is, we can just chat. Or you can relax by yourself, whatever you need.”

You smiled. “We can try the studying. No guarantee I’m going to know anything.”

“And that would be just fine. I know on a normal day you’re practically a genius,” said Fraser.

“Stop flattering me,” you said, feeling your face get hot.

“You’re right, your head’s going to get even bigger if I do that,” Fraser teased.

He yelped when you playfully swatted at his arm. “Just go get the bath ready. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Fraser got up and went into the bathroom. You could hear the sound of the bathtub beginning to fill with water. Cabinets opened as Fraser dug around for the giant bag of Epsom salts you kept hidden under the sink. Slowly but surely, you got up, wincing as you put weight on your aching knees.

Fraser met you halfway to the bathroom and slowly walked with you the rest of the way. His hand lingered on your lower back, patiently offering support if you needed it.

The bathroom was warm with steam, your favorite scent, lavender, filling the air.

“Your favorite,” said Fraser, watching as your lips pulled into a smile.

“Yeah, it is,” you said. “Thank you.”

Fraser helped you strip off your clothes, wincing along with you when your shoulder pulled painfully. Then he helped you into the bathtub. Every movement was slow and careful. One hand was steady at your elbow, leaving the other free in case you needed to take it for extra balance.

Fraser frowned when he noticed two bruises on your bare skin: one on the ridge of your hip bone, one on your thigh. “Where did those come from?” he asked, concern in his voice.

You looked down, tracing your fingers over the discolorations as you tried to remember. “Um, this one’s from bumping into a table the other night when I had to get up to get some water. Not sure about the smaller one.” You tilted your head, studying the blemish. “Wait, I got it.”

You took Fraser’s hand and placed it over your hip, his thumb right over the bruise. Sure enough, it was the exact size and shape of his thumbprint.

“Last night,” you confirmed, remembering how his large hands had gripped your hips as he thrust into you.

Fraser went pale. “Shit, Y/N, I am so sorry.”

You covered his hand with yours. “It’s okay, baby.”

“Is that why you’re in pain today?” Fraser asked.

You shrugged. “Maybe. But I also went on a longer walk than usual and worked out at the gym. I should have taken things a little easier.” Fraser opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off with a finger to his lips. “But it’s not your fault. I’d tell you if something was too much, and it wasn’t, okay?”

Fraser nodded.

“Now can you give me a hand?” you asked.

When the warm water finally surrounded you, you let out a relaxed sigh. Fraser smiled.

“Better?” he asked.

“So much,” you said.

“Good,” he said, running his fingers through your hair as you sank a little deeper into the water, your eyes fluttering shut. “Want me to sit here with you?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“And do you want to try studying for psych?” he asked.

“No,” you sighed. “But I should.”

“Your textbook has practice questions, right? Or should I grab your laptop?” asked Fraser.

“Textbook is fine,” you said.

He started to leave, but you reached for his hand, water sloshing against the side of the tub as you moved. “Thank you.”

Fraser squeezed your fingers gently. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said. “I’m your boyfriend, it’s my job to be there for you when you need me. Just like you’re there when I need you.”

He leaned down and kissed your forehead before quietly leaving the room.

Fraser came back with your book and the mug of tea that you had forgotten by your bed. He took a seat right next to the bathtub and flipped open to the chapter you had marked for your exam. You groaned and leaned your head back against the tile wall, sinking a little further into the warm water.

“I really don’t want to,” you complained.

“I know, baby.”

“I just want to sit here.”

“Then sit,” said Fraser calmly. “You don’t have to study.”

“But I have to,” you said. “If I don’t, I’m going to feel even worse tomorrow. I’m already skipping classes, I can’t skip studying too.”

“How about I quiz you?” asked Fraser. “So you don’t have to read anything.”

“And what if I don’t know any of the answers?” you asked.

“I’ll give you hints,” he assured.

“And what if I can’t even remember with a hint?” you asked.

“Then I’ll give you the answer,” said Fraser. “And before you tell me that doesn’t count as studying, you’re hearing the information again. Therefore, you will be more likely to remember it later.”

“How do you always read my mind?”

Fraser kissed your cheek. “Honey, I know you better than I know myself sometimes.”

You smiled up at your boyfriend. “Yeah, you do,” you agreed.

“You ready?”

You were quiet for a moment. Then you sighed. “Okay.”

Fraser looked down at the page of sample questions, reading everything before he got started. You closed your eyes, already feeling the frustration building in your body.

“First question,” Fraser began, his voice soft. He reached over to stroke your hair, the strands tangling in his long fingers. “What are the three major types of behavioral learning?”

Nothing. Your mind was completely blank. You knew you’d heard the answer in lecture. You knew you had written down the three types. You’d reviewed them just yesterday. But right now there was nothing. Your brain was fully occupied by the pain in your limbs.

“I don’t know,” you said quietly.

“That’s okay,” soothed Fraser. “Want a hint?” You nodded. “One of them has to do with a dog.”

“Operant conditioning?” you questioned.

Fraser grinned. “Not the one I was hinting at, but that is one of them.”

You beamed, causing Fraser to smile even wider.

“Remember that time last semester where you wore the same perfume every time you wanted to have sex? And now whenever I smell that scent I get turned on? Even in public when you are nowhere around? You used a type of behavioral learning when you did that.”

You giggled at the memory of Fraser frantically texting you on a road trip telling you about an unfortunate situation encountering a woman wearing a similar perfume to you. He had begged you not to be mad at him for it. Obviously you hadn’t, as it was your fault it had happened in the first place. After that, you promised you wouldn’t classically condition him again. That was it!

“Classical conditioning!” you exclaimed.

“Yes!” said Fraser, meeting your energy.

Your face fell. “I don’t know the last one.”

Fraser deflated. “That’s okay, baby. It was observational learning.”

“Oh.”

“You’re doing great,” promised Fraser.

He kept going. The next few questions were all over the place. You got one right, then missed the next two completely. The one after that was correct with prompting.

“I’m awful at this,” you groaned as your answers got worse and worse.

Fraser immediately put the textbook down. He cupped your face with one hand, tilting it so you could look at him fully. “No, you are not.”

“I can’t remember anything.”

“Because your brain is focusing on a lot of other things right now,” Fraser finished. “You’re tired. You’re in pain.”

“You don’t have to make excuses for me,” you said.

“I’m not,” he said. “They’re explanations, not excuses. How about we finish the last two questions and then take a break?”

You liked the way he said ‘we.’ With Fraser, everything was a team effort. When he was around, you knew you’d never be alone. He was a constant, steady presence, a rock in your life.

“That sounds good,” you said.

Fraser started again, making sure to slow down a little more. He gave you time to think, and when you couldn’t, he gave you hints. And when the hints didn’t even work, he just told you the answer without making you feel like you’d failed.

When you were finished with the final two questions, Fraser closed the textbook and set it on the ground next to him. He passed you your mug of tea.

“Drink,” he ordered. “You need to stay hydrated.”

“You’re very bossy,” you teased, but you took a sip anyway.

“You like bossy,” Fraser said.

You shrugged. “I never said I didn’t.”

You set the mug down. Fraser leaned his arms against the rim of the bathtub, taking both of your hands in his.

“I’m proud of you,” he said.

You eyed him skeptically. “I got a four out of ten. With help.”

“You did great,” said Fraser. “And you’ll do better tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” you said. “For making me try even though I didn’t want to and then not making me feel stupid.”

Fraser’s expression softened. “Because you’re not stupid, babe. You are one of the smartest women I know.”

You looked away, eyes stinging. Fraser squeezed your hands, coaxing you to look back at him.

“How about I read to you or something? Or are you ready to be done with your bath?”

“Can you read to me?” you asked.

Fraser kissed your forehead. “Of course I can. What book?”

“The one I’m reading on my Kindle,” you said. “But can you only read the smutty parts? You always get all flustered when you read those, and it’s really cute.”

Your boyfriend rolled his eyes. “Absolutely.”

Fraser read to you until the bath ran cold. Then he helped you stand and wrapped you in a fluffy towel. You returned to your bedroom and changed into a fresh oversized t-shirt from Fraser’s dresser.

Then you sank onto your bed with a tired sigh. Fraser watched you for a moment, his lips pulling into a small smile. Then he disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a bottle of your favorite lotion in hand.

“Lie down for me,” he said.

“Why?” you asked, frowning.

“Just trust me, baby,” said Fraser.

You did without hesitating. You rolled carefully onto your stomach, resting your head on your hands. Fraser tugged at the hem of your shirt.

“Can you take this off?” he asked.

You shot him a sidelong glance, but did as he asked, struggling to remove your shirt. Eventually, Fraser stepped in to help get your arm through the sleeve, but you did it. Then Fraser was squeezing some lotion into an open palm, rubbing his hands together, then applying gentle pressure to your shoulders.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” he said softly.

You turned your head to look at him. “Everything already hurts.”

Fraser smiled sadly at you. “Tell me if something hurts more.”

You agreed, then rested your forehead against the backs of your hands and tried to relax.

Fraser’s thumbs barely applied any pressure at first. His touch was slow, careful, tender. You let out a tiny breath as he had you lift one arm to prod at some knots beneath your shoulder blades.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Mhm.”

His hands continued to work patiently across the muscles of your neck before settling between your shoulder blades. He avoided the joints themselves, instead focusing on easing the tension in the muscles that had built up from compensating for the pain in each junction.

Every few moments he’d stop just long enough to kiss the back of your shoulder, the top of your head. He would brush the hair away from the back of your neck, pressing kisses to your spine.

“You know,” he murmured softly, his fingers trailing over your neck, “you carry a lot of tension here.”

“Where’d you learn this anyway?” you asked. “Your hands are like magic.”

In more ways than one, but you left that part out.

“The massage therapists on staff love me,” said Fraser. “They give me tips. Perks of being a professional athlete and having a girlfriend with problems. I have a lot of people in my life that know how to help.”

“‘Girlfriend with problems?’” you asked skeptically. “This is why I’m constantly tense, Fraser. I have a boyfriend who stresses me out.”

“But I take good care of you, you have to admit.”

“Yeah,” you said with a smile. “And I am so very lucky.”

Fraser’s palms moved lower, carefully working at the muscles around your hips without putting pressure in areas that would cause you pain. He gently smacked your ass, earning a teasing glare from you. Then his fingers made their way to your thighs, and after that, your calves.

When he was done, he helped you slip your shirt back over your head, then had you lie on your back so he could tackle the constant problems that were your quadriceps. The muscles in your thighs were constantly tight from trying to stabilize your knees, making them incredibly painful. And Fraser knew that, so he used even less pressure than he had with the rest of your body.

As he worked, the soreness in your aching muscles made you want to flinch away from it, even though you knew the pain would be temporary, and you would be left feeling a lot more relaxed once it was all over. So you stayed still and quiet, knowing Fraser would stop as soon as he discovered he was causing you any discomfort.

Fraser pressed slightly into a particularly bad knot. Your leg twitched involuntarily. Your boyfriend immediately stopped, looking up to meet your gaze.

“You okay?” he asked, concern in his expression.

“Mhm.”

Fraser waited for you to stop him. But you didn’t, so he carried on. You tried to relax. Though the longer it went on, the more pain you were in. And when Fraser moved from your left leg to massage your right one–

A pathetic whimper escaped your lips.

Fraser’s hands immediately left your skin. “Shit! Oh my God, I’m sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay,” you said.

But Fraser wasn’t convinced. “Nope, we’re done with that. Are you alright?”

He ran his hands over your bare thighs, not adding pressure anymore. Just warm hands and soft movements.

“I’m fine,” you said. “My thighs are just really bad today.”

Fraser’s brows knitted with concern. “Yeah, I noticed. Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?”

You struggled for a second to sit up, then lay a hand on top of Fraser’s. “That wasn’t your fault, Frase. You didn’t make it any worse than it was before.”

Fraser flipped over his hand, so your palms rested against each other. His thumb traced circles on the back of your hand. “I just wish I could take away your pain. You shouldn’t have to deal with this all the time.”

“I wish I didn’t have to either,” you said. “But you’re being so helpful. I think I’d be in rougher shape if I didn’t have you to love me through this.”

Fraser pressed his lips to yours. “Always a pleasure, sweetheart. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you murmured.

“Are you feeling up for some KT?” asked Fraser. “Or are we completely done?”

You smiled up at your boyfriend. “KT would be nice.”

“Shoulder first?”

You nodded. “And both knees.”

“Shoulder and both knees, coming right up,” said Fraser, peppering your face with a few kisses before getting to work.

You watched as he carefully cleaned your skin and then measured each strip of tape. He squinted as he concentrated on making sure they were all the right lengths.

Fraser had learned the proper techniques for kinesiology taping from your old physical therapist. He was incredibly diligent, asking questions, practicing until he could do it without having to ask anyone for help. And it was never because you’d asked him to. Sure, it was easier to have someone help you with it, especially when it came to your shoulder and neck, but Fraser had decided to learn because he wanted to be there for you.

Fraser’s fingers smoothed each strip gently against your skin, then rubbed the tape to activate the adhesive.

“How’s that?” he asked.

You lowered your arm from where you had it positioned above your head. It was like a weight had been lifted from your back, your shoulder no longer feeling like it was going to fall out of its socket.

“So much better.”

Fraser sighed with relief. “Good.”

He did your knees simultaneously, mirroring the process on both sides. Then he leaned forward and kissed your knees. Just a tiny kiss to each side, as if that could make them feel better. And even though you knew it did absolutely nothing, you felt the tiniest bit better.

Once Fraser put the tape away, he was back in bed, lying on his side to face you. He pulled you close to him so your cheek rested against his chest. One of his hands moved slowly through your hair while the other traced lazy circles across your back.

You wished time could freeze, so you could stay in this moment forever. Because Fraser had to leave for his game soon. And you really wished he didn’t have to go, but you could tell his diversion from his routine was making him antsy.

“You should probably go get ready,” you suggested.

Fraser’s fingers didn’t stop their gentle caress of your skin. “I’ve got time,” he murmured into your hair.

“Frase,” you said, looking up at him. “You’ve already done enough.”

“No, I haven’t,” he said.

“But you should be thinking about the game.”

“I am,” he said. “I can think about that and still take care of you.”

“What about relaxing?” you asked. Part of Fraser’s pregame routine always included a nap.

“I am so relaxed right now,” said Fraser.

Your voice was quiet when you next spoke. “But you could be doing more important things right now.”

Fraser stilled beside you. He tipped your chin up gently with two fingers. “Y/N, there is nothing more important to me than you.” His thumb brushed lightly across your cheek. “Obviously I love my job, but I love you more. And I want to be here spending time with you because I know you’re having a rough day. So stop feeling guilty for things you shouldn’t feel guilty about. Okay?”

Fraser leaned forward and kissed your forehead tenderly. Then your temple, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“If I walked out that door knowing you thought you were being a burden, I’d spend all three periods and the team meeting afterward thinking about that instead of hockey,” he said gently. “I’m not going anywhere, baby.” His arms wrapped a little more securely around you. He kissed the top of your head. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

You buried your face against his chest. Fraser’s hand returned to your hair, slowly combing through it.

“Thank you for letting me love you,” he whispered. “And I’m proud of you.”

“For what?” you asked, frowning.

“For getting through today,” said Fraser.

“But I haven’t done anything,” you said.

“You got out of bed. You ate. You told me what you needed. And I know that doesn’t feel like much, but I know how hard it is.”

“I love you so much,” you said, feeling tears sting your eyes.

“I love you too,” said Fraser. “Now try to get some rest, my love.”

You were really tired. You could feel sleep creeping in and you tried to fight it.

“What if I’m asleep when you leave and I can’t wish you luck?”

“Then I’ll kiss your forehead and tell you I love you,” said Fraser, kissing you to demonstrate. “And you’ll probably smile in your sleep.”

“I do that?” you asked, tipping your chin up to look at him.

“You do,” he confirmed. “Every time you’re already asleep when I get home. Like you know I’m there.”

“That’s cute.”

“It really is,” agreed Fraser.

“I’m going to wish you luck now, just in case,” you said. “Good luck, I’m so proud of you, I’ll try to wake up and watch the game on the television. And if I don’t, I’ll be cheering for you in my dreams.”

“Thanks, baby,” said Fraser.

He occasionally kissed your forehead, your temple, anywhere he could reach. Your eyelids grew heavier. His heartbeat beneath your cheek was comforting, lulling you to sleep.

But before you could slip away completely, you spoke one more time.

“Fraser?”

“Hmm?”

“We’re getting married someday, right?” you asked, your voice slurring from tiredness.

Fraser pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “Someday.”

“Soon?”

“We’ll see,” said Fraser gently, though he was already thinking of the page of his notebook that contained all of the details you said you liked in an engagement ring. The day he asked you to marry him was coming sooner rather than later, and days like this only solidified that for him.

When you eventually fell asleep, and Fraser eventually slipped out of bed to leave for the stadium, you didn’t wake again. He tucked the blankets carefully around your shoulders, placed a pillow between your knees to prevent any further hip pain, kissed your forehead exactly as he’d promised, and whispered that he loved you. After that, he stood in the doorway for an extra moment, just to make sure you looked comfortable before finally forcing himself to leave.

Hockey could wait another minute.

When you woke up, just in time for puck drop, you had a handful of text messages from the other Bruins wives and girlfriends. They were wishing you well and expressing their sadness that you weren’t able to join them at the game. One of the wives even said they all were making sure to cheer extra hard for Fraser on your behalf. The messages were all very sweet, but a notification from your text thread with Fraser was the one that caught your eye:

fraserminten happy to help!

fraserminten I love you so much!

fraserminten aren’t we just the cutest (mostly you) your.username we are so cute! but it’s actually mostly you your.username i just made that first slide my wallpaper so i can always see your cute sleepy face 🫶

_connorbedard you two are sickening your.username you’re just jealous bc you’re single _connorbedard and what about it?

user1 aww the list 🥹 your.username just a quick glimpse into that beautiful brain of his! your.username you should see the whole notebook, he’s kind of insane (in the sweetest way possible)

kileymcavoy hope you liked your dinner! your.username it was fantastic! tysm for looking out for me <3 your.username and the flowers were lovely!

_connorbedard i hope you’re feeling better y/n! your.username okay so now you’re nice? your.username @/fraserminten come get your friend fraserminten idk what’s going on

user2 did you cross everything off your list? fraserminten you bet i did all of that and more your.username i’ll vouch for him!

user3 babes you are so loved by that man your.username i truly am so lucky to have such a thoughtful boyfriend <3