soleil

who i write for (nhl):

ben kindel

cale makar

cole caufield

connor bedard

fraser minten

juraj slavkovsky

lukas dostal

macklin celebrini

matthew schaefer

michael misa

nathan mackinnon

nico hischier

sam dickinson

sidney crosby

will smith

william eklund

if there are any other players you want me to write for that aren't listed on here, just let me know and ill consider it! note that i do not write for any players of the 2026 usa men's olympic team, or any wildly problematic players in general.

The first time Matthew met you, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Yes, he knew Sydney Martin had a younger sister around his age. Yes, he knew said sister was a popstar. He’d seen enough press about you online to know that you existed, but Matthew had never met you in person before. To be fair, he had only been living with the Martins for a few months, while you had been out touring the country.

He’d heard plenty about you though. Mostly about how Winnie and Alice absolutely adore you. They’d told him countless stories about how you play dress up with them, how you have movie nights together, even how you bought them mini instruments because they want to be just like you. In the eyes of Alice and Winnie Martin, you’re their entire world.

So when the Martin girls said they wanted Matthew to go with them to your New York show, he knew he couldn’t say no,

Standing in the crowd with the Martin family, Matthew stood holding Winnie, Matt holding Alice. As every second passed, the boy became even more amazed. While he wasn’t too familiar with concerts, as most of his childhood has been focused on hockey, he knew enough to know that the show in front of him was incredible.

The way the lights flashed an array of colors before his eyes, the way the set pieces changed, the way the instruments filled the atmosphere: it was all incredible. But most importantly, you were incredible.

In Matthew’s eyes, it was undeniable. The power behind your voice as you glided effortlessly across the stage was captivating. You never second guessed a step, never missed a note. You were perfect on stage, and Matthew couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

After the show, Matthew followed the Martin family backstage, where you had told them to wait when the show ended. He had sat himself down on a small sofa when he heard the excited shouts of Alice and Winnie.

Matthew looked up, and you were there, walking down the hallway towards them. Hair and makeup still looking pristine, it appeared that you had just gotten offstage.

Alice and Winnie ran to your open arms. You picked them up and spun them around a couple times, the action eliciting giggles from them, before setting them back down on the ground.

“I missed you both so much,” you tell them as you kneel to their level, tucking a strand of hair behind Winnie’s ear. “My favorite girls, I’m so happy to see you,” you whisper softly, pulling them back into a tight hug.

The three of you swayed back and forth before you pulled back, pressing a kiss to each girl's cheek. You stood up and walked to your sister and her husband, engulfing the two in a quick hug.

“Thank you guys so much for coming, it means the world to me, seriously,” you say as you pull back to catch your breath.

As you do that, you notice a fifth figure standing awkwardly towards the side of the Martin family. He looked to be around your age, and he was extremely cute. Immediately, it clicked in your mind: Matthew Schaefer.

Your sister had mentioned that the rookie defenseman was living with them. You didn’t know too much about him, but Sydney had told you that he was around your age and that the girls adored him.

“You must be Matthew,” you say, smiling as you walk over to him, extending your hand outwards. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

As Matthew is shaking your hand, he swears his brain short circuits. He tries to come up with a clever response, but can only muster up a meek “You too.”

He realizes he’s still holding your hand, and immediately drops it, trying to cover up his awkwardness with a quick compliment to the show.

“Great show by the way,” he says, pausing as he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I don’t know how to describe it but it was really good.”

The second the words leave his mouth, he wants to physically launch himself into the nearest wall. Really good? That’s what he came up with?

You don’t seem to mind though. If anything, your smile grows, and Matthew swears his heart skips a beat. “Really good?” you reply teasingly.

He lets out an embarrassed laugh, relieved that you’re joking about his awkward mishaps. “Yeah, okay that sounded really stupid now that you said it.”

He hears Sydney try and cover up a laugh and he knows he’s beyond saving. He’s only known you for maybe two minutes and he’s already made a fool of himself.

He takes a quick breath and clears his throat. “I meant,” he tries again, “that the whole thing was kinda insane. Like, the lights, and the dancing, and the singing, obviously. You sounded really good.”

You hold his gaze for a second longer than necessary. “Thanks, Matthew.”

Before Matthew can think of another painfully awkward thing to say, Winnie tugs on your hand.

“Did you see me singing?” she asks excitedly.

“Of course I did,” you say, shifting your attention towards your niece. “You were the best performer in the crowd.”

The girls giggle and cling to your side while you talk to them, and Matthew can’t help but watch the interaction quietly. The way you speak to the girls is so natural, like there’s no place in the world you’d rather be than with them.

After several minutes of being with your family, you announce that it’s time for you to head back to your dressing room. After bidding your family farewill, you turn to head back in the direction you came from. You take several steps before you turn around with a quick “bye Matthew,” before you disappear down the hallway.

Matthew feels the heat rise to his cheeks and hopes none of the Martin family members notice. He thinks he’s in the clear, as he can hear Matt talking to his daughters. Unfortunately for him, Sydney Martin has always been too observant for her own good, especially when it comes to her younger sister.

***

A couple weeks later, your tour had just wrapped up. You were staying at the Martin house for the next few weeks, per Sydney’s request, to unwind before you needed to start working on your next album.

Matt and Matthew were gone when you arrived, but your sister and the girls were thrilled to see you. Winnie and Alice immediately pulled you into the living room to show you the game they were playing.

When Matthew walked through the door a few hours after your arrival, he heard an extra voice that didn’t belong to Sydney, Alice, or Winnie. Upon walking further into the house, he was met with the unexpected sight of you sitting on the couch with the girls, decked out in a baggy t-shirt and sweats, bare face and hair in a messy bun. Matthew swears you somehow look even more beautiful in this form than when he saw you all glammed out at your concert.

He had no idea you were gonna be here. He had no idea how long you were gonna be here. Hell, he had no idea why you were even here, not that he minded, of course. It wasn’t until Sydney shot him a playful look, silently gesturing with her head to talk to you.

When Matthew approached the living room, your face immediately lit up in recognition.

“Hi,” you say, smiling up at him from your spot on the couch.

“Hey,” he says, trying his absolute best to sound normal despite the way his brain completely blanks for a second. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Suprise,” you joke lightly.

Winnie tilts her head up to look at Matthew. “Auntie’s staying with us!”

“Only for a few weeks,” you add.

Matthew nods slowly, trying to cover up the fact that this information throws him completely off balance. “Oh, cool,” he says before silently cringing to himself.

From the kitchen, Sydney has to bite her cheek to stop herself from laughing.

“Matthew, sit,” Alice says as she suddenly pats the empty spot on the couch next to you.

“Auntie Y/N can do your hair too!” Winnie exclaims, her face lighting up with excitement at the thought of getting to hang out with her two favorite people. 

The girls continue giggling while Matthew finally gives in and sits down beside you, careful not to crush the pile of ribbons, clips, bows, and rubber bands that has accumulated on the couch.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him, glancing over briefly. “I’ll spare you the makeover.”

“Thank you, truly,” he says with a laugh.

“Although,” you add thoughtfully, “you could totally pull off wearing some Islanders colored bows to your games.”

Before he even has the chance to respond, you continue. “Do you know how to braid hair?” you ask, shifting your body to face him.

Matthew shook his head.

“Here, I’ll show you.”

You shift slightly on the couch so you’re facing him more directly, gesturing Alice to climb into your lap. 

Matthew watches as you begin separating Alice’s hair into three even pieces.

“It’s actually pretty easy once you get the hang of it,” you explain. “You just take one piece, cross it over the middle, then do the same thing on the other side.”

Matthew stares at the braid magically forming between your fingers. “I think you lost me already,” he says, puzzled at how easy you’re making it seem.

You laugh softly before undoing the braid in Alice’s hair. “Come here,” you say as you reach over to grab one of Winnie’s larger dolls.

Your hands brush as you hand the doll off to him, and for a second, neither of you move. As you look into his eyes, you notice how normal you feel with him. He doesn’t feel threatened by you, he doesn’t put up an act to impress you, he doesn’t try to demean you with the hyper-feminine dumb blonde jokes you had grown used to. There’s something so refreshing about him. Nobody outside of your family has ever really treated you like a normal teenager until now, and in this moment, you never want this feeling of normalness to go away.

“Auntie,” Alice whines from in front of you, eyeing you impatiently, “My hair.”

You immediately pull your hand back, laughing as heat creeps up your cheeks. Beside you, Matthew is settling the doll in the space in front of him, awkwardly fiddling with it to cover up how flustered he is.

“Right. Hair lesson,” you say as you take hold of Alice’s hair, using her as the example for Matthew to follow. “You just need to section it off in three pieces.”

For the next several minutes, you patiently walk him through each step while he creates what can only be described as the most atrocious braid you’ve ever seen. It makes you glad you had him practice on the doll instead of one of the girls.

When he finally finishes, he holds the doll up proudly. “There.”

The two of you stare at Matthew’s attempted braid, neither of you able to string together the words to describe it. Matthew is the one to break the silence. “It doesn’t really look like yours.”

You let out a loud laugh at that, and the sound pulls a smile to his face as he turns his attention towards you. 

From the kitchen, Sydney peeks around the corner to catch a glimpse of the scene. Her younger sister is curled into the couch laughing harder than she has in months, and Matthew is grinning despite his poor attempt at a braid.

When Matt walks into the kitchen, he is immediately met with a look from his wife, as she gestures with her eyes towards the scene unfolding in the living room.

He raises his eyebrows at her, and Sydney nods her head slowly. The pair remain silent throughout the entire interaction, as to not disrupt the moment between the two teenagers.

Meanwhile, neither you nor Matthew notice the silent conversation unfolding behind you guys. You’re too focused on reaching over to grab the doll from Matthew’s hands in an attempt to fix the disaster of a braid he created.

“Here,” you say softly. “Let me show you again.”

Matthew watches as your fingers work through the doll’s hair with steady movements, and for the first time since being drafted, since moving away from home, since navigating playing in the NHL as a rookie, everything feels surprisingly simple. 

***

You’ve been staying with the Martins for nearly 4 weeks now, and it’s been the best 4 weeks of your life. You’ve enjoyed spending time with your sister and her husband and admiring the beautiful life they’ve created for themselves. You’ve also enjoyed spending time with Winnie and Alice, who have made you play countless hours of princess games and dress up.

But the most surprising thing you’ve enjoyed these past several weeks has been getting to know Matthew Schaefer. Not that you expected him to be poor company or anything, but you never expected life to feel so easy around him. It surprises you how even the most miniscule moment with Matthew can turn into hours of laughter, how being in his orbit makes you want to come out of your shell. 

It’s not that you were shy, or anything. That would make your job as a popstar a lot more difficult. But after finding out that most of your ‘friends’ only wanted to be in your orbit for your fame and your money, you’ve become a lot less willing to leave the comfort of your bed to meet people.

But with Matthew, it’s different. When you’re with him, you want to go out and create fun memories together. The two of you find yourselves going on walks around the neighborhood at night or buying cheap fast food to eat in his car. He’s even tried to teach you hockey once, something you swore you’d never do because of how unathletic and uncoordinated you can be.

All of these moments you’ve had with Matthew swirl through your head as you sit on the floor of your room, strumming your guitar. You weren’t supposed to be writing right now. You swore you were gonna take a well deserved break after your tour, and for the most part, you had stuck to that promise, until three nights ago.

The melody appeared out of nowhere, and you had been humming it around the house all day. Then, as you were trying to fall asleep, came a lyric.

‘You take my hand and drag me headfirst, fearless.’

You had immediately scrambled for your phone on the nightstand, adding the new lyric idea to your notes app so you wouldn’t forget it.

Now, three days later, you were still trying to piece together a song you don’t even know the meaning of.

Your fingers absentmindedly strum the same chord progression again. “You take my hand and drag me headfirst, fearless,” you sang quietly. The words hung in the air for a moment before you let out a sigh. You liked the one singular lyric you had, but you had no idea what direction this song was even going in.

Your gaze drifted towards the window, where you watched two raindrops racing towards the bottom. All of a sudden, another memory with Matthew surfaced.

Three weeks ago, Matthew had somehow convinced you to go for a walk despite the fact that it was pouring rain. By the end of the day, both of you had been completely soaked, and it had been one of the most thrilling times you’d had in years.

Your fingers stilled on the strings as you got lost in your thoughts.

When you were with Matthew, nothing extraordinary ever happened. You weren’t attending award shows or red carpets or after parties with him. Most nights, you found yourselves eating greasy fast food in his car or watching Disney movies on the couch. It was moments like these where you noticed that the world felt brighter with Matthew, and you didn’t think life could get any better.

An idea popped into your head, and you immediately grabbed your notebook.

‘And I don’t know how it gets better than this.’

You stared at the words for a moment before a grin spread across your face. Excitement filled your chest as you repositioned your fingers on your guitar. You played the chord progression, sang the new line, and then followed it with the line you had already written.

“And I don’t know how it gets better than this. You take my hand and drag me headfirst, fearless.”

You smiled to yourself as you finally saw the pieces of the song come together.

Without thinking, your mind drifted back to Matthew once again. You thought about how he could always convince you to do things you normally wouldn’t. All of a sudden, your nights didn’t consist of isolating yourself in your room, rejecting people’s offers to go out. With Matthew, you wanted to be spontaneous, have fun, and that truly felt freeing.

All of a sudden, your pen moved before you could stop it. 

‘And I don’t know why, but with you…’

You paused. With you… what?

Your eyes landed on the raindrops against the windowpane. A smile tugged at your lips as you got your answer. 

‘I’d dance in a storm…’

You quickly scribbled your thoughts, adding the rest as fast as you could.

‘In my best dress, fearless.’

Silence filled the room. You looked down at the completed chorus, then played through it once, then twice, then several more times. 

You leaned back against your bed, unable to stop smiling. The song was supposed to be about falling in love with someone who made you feel brave. Someone who made ordinary moments feel magical. Someone who made you want to take chances. Someone who made you fearless.

You stared down at the lyrics, then immediately groaned because unfortunately for you, there was only one person in your life that fit that description. And that person was currently downstairs eating leftover pizza, completely unaware that he’d managed to weave his way into your next album.

***

The Martin house felt strangely quiet for a Saturday afternoon. Normally, Winnie and Alice could be heard tearing through the hallways, finding ways to rope everyone into whatever elaborate game they had created. But today, the girls were downstairs waiting by the door, ready for their long awaited play date they had been begging for.

You were sitting cross legged on your bed when you heard a quick knock on your door before it opened. You glanced up to find Sydney in the doorway, car keys dangling in hand.

“Matt and I are about to drop the girls off at Emma’s,” she said. Then, we’re gonna run a few errands afterwards.”

You nodded absentmindedly. “Okay.”

You turned your attention back towards your phone, expecting Sydney to leave. When she remained still, you looked up, confused. “What?”

“That’s it?” she asked, almost as if she was appalled by your lack of interest. “You know, most kids would be thrilled to have the house to themselves for a few hours.”

“I’ll keep myself busy, don’t worry,” you say, setting your phone down to look up at your sister.

As Sydney sits on the bed, ready to lecture you on how important it is to live your teenage years to the fullest, something catches your attention that gets your heart racing. There on the foot of your bed, right next to where your sister was seated, was your open notebook with the lyrics of Fearless on full display.

You try to sit up and grab it before your sister notices it, but you’re too late. You watch as the most horrifying chain of events unfold. Her hand brushes it, she looks at it, she picks it up, and worst of all, she reads it, and you feel like your life is over.

She looks over at you with a grin on her face. “This is sweet”

“It wasn’t meant to be read by anyone yet,” you reply sheepishly.

“Then don’t leave it open.”

“It was in my room.”

“It was in my house.” 

That earns a glare from you. The woman was married with kids. Surely, she had better things to do than to torment her younger sister.

The teasing smile on her face softened slightly as she looked at you. She closed the notebook and moved a couple inches closer to where you were sitting.

“You know he likes you too, right?”

You shook your head. “Sydney…”

“Y/N.” The two of you stared at each other for a moment before Sydney continued. “I’m serious. I’ve watched that boy for weeks now. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you aren’t paying attention. I’ve seen him try and find every possible excuse to hang out with you. I mean, seriously. The kid sat through three hours of that baking show you like just so he could sit next to you.”

“He likes the baking show.”

“No, he doesn’t. He likes that you like it because he likes you.”

You sat with that statement for a second before you shifted your gaze towards your notebook.

“Can I ask you something?”

You nod slowly, preparing for the impending doom of Sydney wanting to know the nitty gritty of your feelings for Matthew.

“What’s the song about?”

For a moment, you consider lying. That the song was just a fully fictional scenario you made up in your head. Or maybe it was written through the lens of a character in a TV show you like. But then you remember that you’re talking to the girl who knows you like the back of her hand.

“It’s about liking someone who makes you feel brave,” you explain quietly. “Like they make everything feel less scary. They make you do things you normally wouldn’t.”

Sydney was silent for a moment before a smile took over her face. “Like they make you fearless?”

You groaned immediately. “Please stop quoting my lyrics.”

“I can’t help it,” she says while laughing.

After a moment, Sydney’s expression turned gentler.

“Y/N,” she started. “You wrote a song about how love makes you brave.”

You look down at your hands and fiddle with your blanket.

“Maybe it’s time you actually listened to it.”

Knowing where this conversation was headed, your chest tightened.

“If Matthew inspires you to write a song named Fearless, then be fearless. Tell him.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, Matt’s voice rang from downstairs. “Syd! We gotta go.”

“Coming!” Sydney then stood up and grabbed her keys. Before she left, she paused in the doorway and looked at you. “Just think about it, okay?”

Then she was gone, leaving you alone in your room.

It was funny. You’d written an entire song about finding courage because of someone else, but the mere thought of walking downstairs and telling that person how you felt made your stomach twist in knots.

You thought of every way out. You could pretend the conversation with Sydney never happened. You could wait until you actually feel fearless to talk to him. You could release the song and lie about its origins. 

But there was a nagging voice in your brain telling you that if you didn’t do it now, you’d never do it.  So, before you could lose your short burst of courage, you began rehearsing everything that you would say, trying to perfect it to the best of your ability on such short notice. When you were somewhat satisfied with what you’d come up with, you stood up and made your way downstairs.

Matthew was exactly where you expected him to be, seated on the couch watching an old hockey game. He looked up when he heard your footsteps, his expression quickly turning into a gentle smile.

“Hey,” he said as he patted the empty space next to him.

The two of you sat in silence for the next several minutes, eyes glued to the hockey game. Silence between you two wasn’t uncommon, nor was it ever uncomfortable, but knowing what conversation was about to unfold made the silence feel agonizing on your end.

Matthew seemed to notice how your eyes are glued to your hands, something he’s learned you only do when you’re too nervous to say something.

“You okay?”

You looked up to find him studying your face with gentle concern. You considered lying to him. To tell him that you’re just tired, or just stressed about writing a new album, or literally anything else. Instead, you let out a nervous laugh.

“Not really.”

At those words, his smile faded lightly.

“What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, forgetting everything you’d rehearsed upstairs. Sydney made this whole ‘being fearless’ thing sound a lot easier than it actually was.

“There’s something I wanted to tell you, actually,” you quietly admitted.

Matthew immediately muted the TV, giving you his full attention. He didn’t try to rush you, didn’t try to interrupt you. He just waited for you to talk on your own terms.

“I had this whole speech planned,” you tell him. “I practiced it in my room like five different times.”

He smiled, waiting for you to continue.

“These past few weeks…” you began, voice quieter now, “have been some of my favorite weeks in a really long time.”

Matthew’s expression softened upon hearing this.

“I know I don’t talk about this a lot, and I know I should be grateful for the life I have, but it can be really difficult. I constantly have people telling me how to look, how to talk, how to just exist, because my authentic self isn’t what people want. I never know if the people in my life like me for me or if they like me for my name.”

You looked down at your hands before continuing.

“So, when I came here after the tour, I was ready to take a break. I figured I’d spend time with my family, hide from the world, and then eventually go back to work.”

You paused, searching for the right words. Somehow, this part felt more difficult, more vulnerable than admitting you liked him.

“But, then I met you.”

You looked up and locked eyes with him. You took a grounding breath before continuing.

“You never expected anything from me. You never cared whether I was dressed up, or if my hair and makeup were done. You never treated me like this… famous entity that people just want to look at and be near. You’ve always treated me like a normal person.”

You broke the eye contact the two of you had been holding, opting to look back down at your hands.

“I don’t think you realize how rare that is.” The words came out much softer than you intended.

“I’ve spent so much of my life wondering if people actually like me, or if they just like the benefits that come with having me around. It’s exhausting never knowing the difference.”

You glanced back up at him.

“But with you, I’ve never had to wonder.”

Matthew swallowed, his expression becoming unreadable.

“I can sit in sweatpants eating fast food in your car, I can make fun of your hockey skills-”

“My hockey skills?” he interrupted with a laugh.

“You know what I mean.”

He smiled sheepishly, gesturing for you to continue.

“With you I can be tired, I can be quiet. I can just exist. And somehow, that’s enough for you.”

You paused to look at him again before continuing. 

“I don’t know exactly when it happened, but somewhere between our fast food runs, and our neighborhood walks, and our really unsuccessful hockey lessons, I started looking forward to every day because I knew I’d get to spend it with you.”

Matthew smiled.

“I still think you could’ve made a decent defenseman.”

“I managed to high stick myself,” you say as you laugh off your nerves.

“Only twice,” he replies.

“That’s two times too many.”

The joke momentarily settled some of the tension in the room. You looked down at your hands before continuing.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is…” you paused, gathering every ounce of courage you had left. “I like you.”

Matthew didn’t move. For a second, he simply stared at you, as if he hadn't processed your words yet. Your mind immediately assumed the worst, fearing that you ruined one of the best things in your life.

“You… what?”

You let out a nervous laugh, panic coursing through your veins now. “I, uh, like you?”

Another beat passed before Matthew let out a laugh, his hand going to cover up his face.

“Oh my God.”

Your stomach dropped at his words.

“What?” you ask, absolutely terrified for your life now.

“I thought I was imagining all of this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I kept thinking that you were just being nice.” He laughed softly, shaking his head. “That all the late night drives and walks and everything… that they were just something you would’ve done with anyone.”

You smiled and shook your head. 

“They weren’t,” you assured him, the words coming out far easier than you expected. “I wanted them to be with you.”

“I’ve liked you since your concert,” he tells you through the largest grin.

Immediately, your eyebrows shot up.

“It’s true,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, the show was great, don’t get me wrong. But I think it happened when I met you backstage, and you weren’t anything like what I expected.”

You tilted your head. “What did you expect?”

He thought about it for a second. “I don’t know… a popstar I guess? You know, media trained, knows what to say, where to look, how to pose for the camera. I figured meeting you would feel rehearsed I guess. Like a photo-op.”

“And instead?” you asked.

“You were just… normal.”

You laughed. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said that about me before.”

“I mean it in the best way. You talked to me like a normal person. You laughed at my terrible jokes. Being with you just felt natural. It felt easy.”

You looked down at your hands before laughing quietly. “I can’t believe we’ve spent the last month convinced that the other didn’t feel the same.”

“We’re kind of idiots,” Matthew added.

“Just a little.”

He hesitated a moment before looking back at you.

“So…”

“So?”

“Would it be okay if I held your hand?” he asked.

You smiled before reaching over and intertwining your fingers with his.

***

Nearly two years ago, Matthew had stood in a sold out arena wondering what it must be like to be you. He watched bright flicker across the stage and listened to fans sing every lyric back to you. He thought you looked larger than life itself beneath the spotlights, untouchable and flawless.

Now, as he stood in the crowd again, he stood there knowing the real you.

To everyone else, you were a popstar. But to him, you were the girl that stole fries off of his plate because they tasted better than her own. The girl who laughed until she cried when she was with her nieces. The girl who sat on the kitchen counter while he made grilled cheeses in the middle of the night.

The arena erupted as the final notes of a song faded away. Matthew watched you leave the stage for a quick change as the lights dimmed. A few moments later, the sounds of an acoustic guitar echoed through the arena.

When the lights came back on, Matthew’s breath caught.

Instead of coming out in one of the glittery dresses you usually wore for this song, you stood onstage wearing an Islanders jersey. His jersey, to be specific, with his last name on the back being showcased on the big screen.

Matthew buried his face in his hands as laughter escaped him. He could hear the fans in the room get noticeably louder, he could feel Matt Martin clap him on the shoulder. But most importantly, he could see you looking in his direction from the stage.

You laughed into the microphone, waiting for the cheers to settle. “I figured some of you might recognize the name,” you said as you adjusted your guitar.

“I wrote this next song during a time when I swore off writing. I was supposed to be taking a break after my last tour, but sometimes, life has other plans.”

The arena fell quiet as you began to talk.

“I met someone who reminded me what it felt like to be myself. Someone who never expected me to be anything other than who I am.”

Matthew could feel his heart pounding against his ribs as he listened to you talk.

“So…” you continued, smiling as you adjusted the sleeve of the jersey. “I’d like to dedicate this next song to the person whose name is on my back.”

Your eyes met his one last time as the crowd began to roar.

“Thank you for making me fearless.”

With that, the sounds of your guitar filled the arena.

Matthew had heard this song dozens of times before. He’d listened to this song at every stage. He heard it in the Martin house when you were first writing the song. He’d heard the countless demos in your apartment. He’d heard the final recording of it when he went to the studio with you. He even listened to the song when he was travelling for games.

But nothing compared to hearing it live. Every lyric brought him back to your time at the Martin house. To rainy walks around the neighborhood, to late-night fast food runs, to the afternoon you finally admitted that you liked him.

After the show, the familiar backstage hallway felt strangely nostalgic. It was the same hallway where he’d met you for the very first time. The same couch he’d sat on awkwardly while waiting for you. Same walls, same dressing rooms, same everything.

But this time, things couldn’t be more different.

“Matthew!”

He turned just in time to see you hurrying down the hallway, still wearing the Islanders jersey over your stage outfit. The second you reached him, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

His arms instinctively found your waist. “You wore my jersey,” he said while laughing.

“I did.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him.

“So… what’d you think?” you asked your boyfriend.

He pretended to think for a second, pressing his lips together dramatically.

“It was really good.”

You stared at him for exactly one second before dissolving into laughter.

“Matthew.”

“What?” he asked innocently.

“You’ve had nearly two years to come up with a better compliment.”

“I mean, I’m not wrong. The show was really good. You were really good.”

“You know,” you said quietly, reaching up to smooth a loose strand of hair from his forehead, “I think ‘really good’ might be my favorite compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

Matthew laughed at that.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Upon unlocking the door, you’re immediately hit with the steady sounds of music filling the space. Fraser is sitting at the piano, his entire focus directed towards the intricate movement of his hands as they span across the keys to produce a simple yet calming melody.

You quietly set your bag on the kitchen floor as you kick your shoes off, making your way towards the living room where Fraser sits in the dim lamp lighting, completely unaware of your presence. 

You stand in the doorway, just watching your boyfriend be so caught up in a moment of peace, where nothing else concerns him except the melodic sound of his fingers pressing against the keys. From here, you can see that the tension he usually holds in his shoulders is gone, the stoic expression he’s learned to wear through years of hockey has been taken over by a look of pure relaxation.

When he finally glances up, his hands stop moving, but don’t leave the keys.

“Hey,” he says quietly, shifting slightly on the bench, inviting you to join him.

You walk over to join him at the bench, sitting close enough for your bodies to be pressed against each other. Before he can say anything, you interrupt him. “Keep playing,” you tell him as you begin to lean into his side.

“Are you sure?” he asks while looking down at you, slightly hesitant to continue playing. One of his hands leaves its resting position on the keys to squeeze your thigh gently. “You’re not, like, interrupting me or anything. We can head to bed if you’re tired, I don’t mind.”

“No, I like watching you play,” you say as your fingers trace small shapes down his arm until they reach his hand, slightly nudging it back towards the instrument, encouraging him to continue. “Please?” you add with one final nudge, “It’s relaxing.”

He looks to you one last time before he starts playing a new melody. It’s slower than the song he was playing when you arrived home, somehow even more calming. You pull back slightly from his side to look up at him. Immediately, you see the way his face changes when he becomes lost in the music. His eyes focus on the slow movement of his hands, and a small smile paints his lips as he plays through the song. 

By the time he reaches the end of the song, you’re full on staring at him. He ducks his head shyly, his cheeks beginning to turn a slight shade of red. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks with a slight nervousness before looking up to face you.

“I’m just admiring my extremely handsome and talented boyfriend,” you respond, smiling as you lean back into his side.

“It’s just a few chords,” he says coyly as he rests his head on top of yours, trying to cover his blushing cheeks from you. 

“Teach it to me.”

His eyes widen, looking to you for confirmation before he softly begins explaining the different chords in the piece, trying his best to make it easy for you to grasp.

“Alright,” he says as he turns slightly towards you. “Put your hands here.”

When your hands find their tentative spot on the piano, he reaches over slowly, and adjusts your fingers one by one. His touch is light, guiding you rather than moving you. 

“No, this one,” he murmurs. “Yeah, that’s it.”

You try to focus on what he’s saying, but it’s difficult when you can feel his breath on your neck and the warmth of his side pressing into yours. 

“Okay,” he says. “Now press those together.”

You do as he says. The chord rings out, some notes coming later than others as you adjust your fingers.

“Hey,” he says with a small hint of approval in his voice. “That was good.”

You smile, slightly surprised from the not-horrible sound of the chord.

He shifts again, his arm brushing yours as he moves to the next chord. “Now, you’re gonna move these two down.”

You try to match what he does just an octave lower than you, but the keys all look so similar. You truly have no idea how he can just know where to put his fingers. Nonetheless, you press down, attempting to replicate what Fraser did mere seconds ago, creating a horrid, crunchy sound that has you and Fraser wincing.

“That wasn’t right,” you say with a quick laugh as Fraser readjusts your hands.

The next few minutes turn into an endless cycle of setting up the right notes, immediately getting them wrong, and Fraser fixing your hands while you laugh it off.

You eventually give up entirely, laughing as your hands drop from the keys, your shoulder knocking into his as he laughs with you. 

When your laughter dies down, the two of you are left in a comfortable silence. Your shoulder stays pressed to his, warm and steady. For a moment, you just sit like that.

You’re close enough to feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Without thinking, you place a kiss on his shoulder before leaning your head down on the surface your lips just graced.

“I love you,” you murmur tiredly as you take his hand into yours, toying with his fingers before bringing them up to your lips. “So much,” you say against his fingers before placing a delicate kiss on the surface of his skin.