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you glance up slowly.

"trevor."

he pauses mid-sentence. “yeah?”

“…what are you even talking about?”

“the play from practice earlier,” he says, as if that clears everything up.

“you started this story about a dog you saw this morning.”

he blinks, like he can't recall what exactly he was on about, head tilting in confusion.

“oh, right. okay, yeah," he tries again, pacing a couple steps across the living room, “i’m leaving the coffee place this morning and this dog just bolts across the street out of nowhere.”

you raise an eyebrow.

“like, i'm talkin' full sprint,” he says, mimicking the motion with his hands. “and i’m standing there thinking i’m about to watch the worst thing ever happen because there’s cars everywhere.”

you nod, stifling a smile.

“but then this guy runs out of the café yelling the dog’s name,” trevor continues.

“and?”

"the dog's name was meatball."

there’s a beat of silence.

then,

“but it reminded me of practice because jamie tried this move and I swear the puck popped up just like that dog—"

"trevor!" you groan, burying your face in the nearest pillow.

“hey,” you mumble, voice still sleepy.

kk looks over at you and her expression softens instantly. “hey, baby. sorry, didn't mean to wake you.”

“you didn’t,” you say, even though she clearly did. you push the blanket off and stand, making your way over to her. you can practically feel the frustration radiating off her. “rough one?” you ask gently.

she shrugs, pulling the hoodie over her head. “yeah. just… one of those games, y'know?”

you nod a little. you’d watched it. you know exactly how hard she played. how she'd battled along the boards for puck possession, laid major hits, blocked shots like it were easy.

without another word, you wrap your arms around her. kk tenses for half a second, then melts into it, her arms sliding around your waist as she buries her face into your shoulder.

“you played so hard tonight,” you murmur.

she shakes her head slightly against you. “didn’t feel like it mattered.”

“it did,” you say quietly.

after a minute she pulls back just enough to look at you.

“you stayed up waiting?” she asks.

you shrug. “can't sleep without my favorite hockey player.”

kk snorts softly, the corner of her mouth lifting. the tension visibly eases from her shoulders.

“your favorite hockey player missed a wide-open net in the third tonight,” she says depreciatingly.

you reach up and gently push a strand of hair back from her face with a soft grin.

“still my favorite.”

her expression eases again, and she leans down to press a slow kiss to your forehead.

“c’mon,” she murmurs.

you let her pull you back toward the couch, where she immediately drags you into her side, one arm wrapped around you as you both sink into the cushions.

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