seth jarvis x fem!reader // bit the bullet and tried to write about real life fuckboy Seth
description: the whole of Raleigh knew Seth Jarvis was a player - not just the hockey kind, the other kind too. His relationship status remained a mystery because there never seemed to be enough time for anyone to figure it out before another woman appeared beside him. Everyone knew it and almost everyone talked about it but unlike most people, you had front row seats, because you happened to live directly across the hall from him.
The whole of Raleigh knew Seth Jarvis was a player. Not just the hockey kind, the other kind, too.
The kind whose face appeared on dating apps often enough that half the city could probably identify his profile from memory. The kind who somehow always seemed to have a different girl on his arm whenever somebody spotted him downtown. The kind whose relationship status remained a complete mystery because there never seemed to be enough time for anyone to figure it out before another woman appeared beside him.
Everyone knew it. And almost everyone talked about it but unlike most people, you had front-row seats, because you happened to live directly across the hall from him.
At first, though, you thought it was fate. Or at least the beginning of a really cute story. Not necessarily a love-at-first-sight story. You weren't completely delusional after all.
But you also couldn't deny that it had all the ingredients of the kind of meet-cute people wrote romcoms about.
The first time you met Seth Jarvis was on your moving day, which already wasn't exactly your finest moment. You had spent five straight hours carrying boxes up and down elevators, assembling furniture using instructions that had clearly been written by somebody with a personal vendetta against logic, and trying not to cry every time you looked at the giant monstera plant you'd impulsively bought years ago despite having absolutely no business owning a plant that large. Which kept getting larger and larger every single summer.
By seven o'clock in the evening, your entire body hurt and your hair was sticking to the back of your neck. Your new apartment looked less like a home and more like the aftermath of a natural disaster. And you were standing in front of the elevator, desperately trying to drag the monstera inside without snapping half its leaves off or permanently ruining your lower back.
The elevator arrived with its usual metallic ding. The doors slid open and there he was.
You recognized him immediately.
Anybody who followed hockey would.
The Carolina Hurricanes' unofficial golden retriever. As talented as he was, he still somehow smiled during interviews like he'd accidentally wandered into the NHL one day and remained pleasantly surprised they continued letting him stay. Everyone loved Seth Jarvis. Honestly, how couldn't they?
His gaze landed on you first, then on the monstera, then back on you and finally on the monstera again. A laugh escaped him.
"Pretty sure that thing weighs more than me."
"Yeah," you sighed. "I'm starting to realise that, too." That earned another laugh. "I'm your new neighbour, by the way."
Without hesitation, he stepped forward and before you could protest, he'd already grabbed one side of the pot.
The elevator ride lasted maybe thirty seconds. The conversation afterward lasted over an hour. One elevator trip became two. Two became four. Boxes turned into furniture and the furniture somehow turned into takeout eaten on moving boxes because neither of you could find your dining chairs.
And somewhere between assembling a bookshelf and arguing about whether pineapple belonged on pizza, you found yourself thinking:
Wow. He's actually exactly like his media persona.
Funny, easy to talk to, genuinely kind. The sort of person who made you feel comfortable five minutes after meeting him, the sort of person who carried half your apartment upstairs and acted like it was no big deal.
When he finally stood in your doorway later that night, the hallway lights casted a warm glow behind him, he hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the apartment across the hall.
"Well," he said, "if your giant plant ever needs to move again, you know where I live."
"I'll keep that in mind, neighbor."
His smile widened and for one brief, ridiculous moment, standing there surrounded by unpacked boxes and the smell of takeout containers, you could've sworn your life was starting to look suspiciously like the opening scene of a romantic comedy.
Unfortunately, reality lasted approximately forty-eight hours.
Two days later, you stepped into the elevator carrying an iced coffee in one hand and a grocery bag in the other. The doors were already closing when you slipped inside and immediately froze.
Seth was standing in the corner - one arm rested casually behind a blonde woman wearing an oversized burgundy Hurricanes jacket. She was laughing at something he'd just said, her head tilted toward him as though the rest of the elevator didn't exist.
Your stomach dropped, which was extremely stupid, since you had known him for exactly two days. Still, it dropped.
"Oh." You forced a smile. "Hey."
That was it. Then his attention drifted right back to the woman. Their conversation resumed. You stood there holding your groceries while the elevator slowly descended, feeling like you'd somehow walked into the wrong movie.
Or maybe the right movie. Just not the one you'd thought you were watching.
By the time you got back to your apartment, you were thoroughly annoyed with yourself. Because really? What exactly had you expected?
That Seth Jarvis - professional hockey player, local celebrity, and apparently Raleigh's favourite heartbreaker - had spent one afternoon carrying your boxes and immediately decided to dedicate the rest of his life to you?
Exactly as ridiculous as it sounded.
Twenty minutes later, music was blasting through your speakers while you aggressively unpacked kitchen utensils. If there happened to be a noise complaint that evening, well...
That would be a matter between the building management and God.
The following week somehow managed to get worse. You'd just finished one of those workdays that felt at least three days long. Your eyes hurt from staring at screens, your shoulders hurt, even your brain hurt. Also you were fairly certain that if one more person sent you an email markedΒ urgent, you were legally entitled to bite them. The only thing keeping you alive was the knowledge that Chinese takeout and a new Netflix show were waiting at home.
The elevator doors were already closing, freedom of doing nothing was less than five minutes away. Then -
A shoe appeared between the doors and the elevator reopened. And there he was again. Seth. With another blonde woman. A different blonde woman. You knew because this one was taller and had darker highlights woven through her hair. Definitely not Tuesday's blonde. Your eyes widened before you could stop yourself. Seth noticed immediately. For one horrible second, your gaze traveled from him to her and then back to him again.
Judgment. Pure judgment written all over your face.
The woman didn't notice, cause she was too busy looking at Seth. Seth, unfortunately, noticed everything - a corner of his mouth twitched, like he knew exactly what you were thinking, like he was actively trying not to laugh about it.
The elevator ride lasted thirty seconds. Thirty very long seconds. Thirty very uncomfortable seconds.
The next morning, you started taking the stairs. Not because of him, obviously. Duh.
You told yourself it was healthier - more steps, more cardio. A responsible adult lifestyle choice. The fact that you lived on the eighth floor was apparently no longer relevant.
Unfortunately, the universe refused to cooperate, because even without the elevator, Seth Jarvis somehow remained everywhere.
You'd leave for work and there he was, jogging back toward the building with headphones around his neck.
You'd come home carrying groceries and there he was, holding the front door open before you could reach it.
You'd open TikTok during lunch and somehow find yourself staring at yet another video of some girl telling a story about her fling with Seth Jarvis back in 2022.
You'd head downstairs to grab a package from the lobby and there he was again, laughing with a woman you'd never seen before.
It was always somebody different.
And every single time, the exact same irritation settled beneath your skin. Not because he owed anybody anything or because dating around was some terrible crime. He was single. He could totally do whatever he wanted. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that you'd liked him. At least initially. As a person. You'd met this funny, thoughtful guy who spent an entire evening helping a stranger move into her apartment. And then somehow that version of Seth existed alongside this other version - the one who seemed to collect dates the way most people collected loyalty cards from the takeaway shops.
The contradiction drove you insane.
And while you did your absolute best to avoid him, Seth Jarvis appeared to have absolutely no intention of avoiding you. Every time your paths crossed, he acted exactly the same way he had on moving day - friendly, easygoing, occasionally flirtatious. As though nothing had changed. As though he couldn't see the judgment written all over your face. As though he didn't realize you'd already decided exactly what kind of man he was. Or maybe he realised it perfectly, maybe he saw it every single time and simply didn't care.
Somehow, that possibility irritated you even more, because if there was one thing you were learning about Seth Jarvis, it was that he had an incredibly annoying habit of refusing to become the villain you'd already cast him as.
The first time Seth confronted you about it happened on a random Thursday night in late October, which, in hindsight, was incredibly unfortunate timing, because you were already in a terrible mood by the time you got home.
Your younger brother made you come to the home game the Hurricanes ended up winning. The arena had been loud enough to make your ears ring and your feet were killing you, mostly because your friend had somehow convinced you that wearing brand-new boots to a hockey game was a completely reasonable decision.
You were limping slightly by the time you stepped into the lobby of your apartment building, seriously considering kicking the boots off right there and walking the rest of the way barefoot. Even the quick drink after the game couldn't numb the pain in your feet.
It was just after eleven. The lobby was nearly empty, the polished marble floors reflected the warm yellow glow of the overhead lights. Somewhere near the front desk, a television played quietly. The security guard glanced up from his phone and nodded at you. You nodded back and pressed the elevator button. A few seconds later you heard the familiar mechanical hum.
You watched impatiently the little digital display above the doors. First the elevator dropped all the way down to the underground parking garage, then it finally started climbing back up to the lobby floor. The doors slid open. And of course - of fucking course - Seth Jarvis was standing inside. The scoring hero of the night and your annoyingly attractive neighbour. This time alone, though. Which, honestly, was refreshing. No blonde and no brunette, no other mystery woman wearing a Hurricanes jacket and laughing at everything he said. Just Seth, fresh out of a game.
His suit jacket was slung over one shoulder, his tie long gone. The first few buttons of his beige shirt were undone, revealing the gold chains he always seemed to wear. His hair still looked slightly damp, probably from a post-game shower, and despite having spent the last three hours skating against professional athletes, he somehow looked unfairly good.
The elevator doors closed. You stared at the floor numbers, he stared at you. Or more specifically, at your jersey. A grin appeared instantly.
"I didn't know you were a hockey fan."
You glanced down. You'd completely forgotten you were still wearing it - Aho's name stretched across your shoulders.
"What made you think I wasn't?"
"Oh, I don't know." His eyes drifted back to yours. "Maybe all the judgmental looks you've been giving me for the last four months."
The bastard. The absolute bastard. Because apparently he'd noticed every single one.
"Okay." His smile somehow got worse, then he pointed at your jersey. "You voluntarily came to watch me play, though."
"I came to watch your team play."
Seth immediately made a face.
The elevator continued upward.
The silence lasted exactly six seconds until Seth spoke again.
You groaned before he could continue.
"To earn the permanent look of disappointment every time you see me."
You let out a laugh because the audacity was genuinely unbelievable.
"You really want me to answer that?"
You studied him for a second. He did look completely serious and definitely curious, which was unfortunate, because now you actually had to answer.
Seth leaned casually against the wall, definitely entertained and probably expecting something harmless. Unfortunately for him, you had bad news.
"And then every single time I see you, you're attached to a different woman."
His expression shifted slightly - not defensive, just more attentive. You shrugged.
"I don't know." You looked away for a moment. "Maybe it's none of my business..."
"It isn't," Seth replied a little too quickly but you continued anyway.
"..But I think the way somebody treats people matters."
"And from where I'm standing..." You looked directly at him. "It doesn't exactly scream respect or accountability."
The silence that followed stretched longer this time. The elevator finally reached the eighth floor. Your floor.
The doors opened with a soft ding but neither of you stepped out immediately. For a moment Seth simply looked at you, like he was turning something over in his head, then he laughed quietly.
"You're literally the only person in Raleigh who talks to me like that."
You adjusted the strap of your purse.
That made him laugh again. A real laugh this time. The loud kind. The kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look younger.
You hated that laugh, mostly because it was dangerously charming.
"You know what's funny?" he asked.
"I think you've completely misunderstood me."
You stepped out into the hallway before the doors could close and Seth followed. The hallway was quiet, the thick carpet muffled every sound. The two of you stopped in front of your apartments, facing each other across the narrow stretch of floor that suddenly felt much smaller than usual.
His grin returned, smaller this time. Less playful.
"You've made a lot of assumptions about things you don't actually know."
You pulled your keys from your purse.
You unlocked your door but didn't go inside. Something about the certainty in his voice bothered you. See, he wasn't defensive, wasn't angry. If anything, he sounded weirdly calm.
"You know," you said slowly, "most people would probably try harder to defend themselves."
"Most people probably care more about what strangers think."
The answer landed somewhere unexpectedly deep. You hated that too. Ultimately he was right - you were nothing but strangers. So you decided the conversation was officially over.
You started closing the door but then his voice stopped you one last time.
His eyes dropped briefly to the jersey, then back to your face.
"If you're gonna watch hockey..."
You already knew you weren't going to like whatever came next.
"You should probably stop wearing the wrong jersey."
For a second you just stared at him and then just shook your head. The door closed before he could see the smile that slipped onto your face. Unfortunately, that smile stayed there a lot longer than you wanted it to.
The huge Amazon package had been sitting in your hallway for approximately three hours.
You'd successfully ignored it for the first thirty minutes. Then you'd walked past it on your way out for an afternoon jog. Then again when you went to grab a sparkling water. Then once more when you came back because you'd forgotten your AirPods.
And now, at nine o'clock on a Wednesday night, it was still sitting there in front of your apartment door like some kind of cardboard crime scene. Unfortunately, the victim appeared to be your patience and the suspect was Seth Jarvis.
The package was enormous. Worse, it was unbelievably heavy. Someone at Amazon had apparently felt the need to warn the entire world about that fact because bright yellow tape covered every side of the box.
You stood in the hallway staring at it and debating whether to leave it outside Seth's apartment or knock like a normal person. Realistically, nobody was going to steal it. The thing probably weighed as much as a small child. Still, leaving it in the hallway felt irresponsible.
You glanced across the hall toward Seth's door. He probably wasn't even home. Or worse. He was home and one of the many blonde women you'd seen over the past few months would answer the door. Honestly, you weren't sure which option was worse.
The decision was eventually made for you when the cardboard began digging painfully into your forearms and your fingers started losing circulation.
You shifted the box higher against your chest and marched across the hallway before knocking on the door with your knee.
Then the lock clicked and the door swung open.
Seth stood there wearing gray sweatpants and an old Hurricanes T-shirt, looking exhausted enough to fall asleep upright. His hair stuck out in every direction. Dark circles lingered beneath his eyes. Somewhere behind him, hockey footage played from a laptop sitting on the kitchen counter, the commentator's voice faintly echoing through the apartment. For the first time since you'd met him, he looked less like a professional athlete and more like a guy who desperately needed eight uninterrupted hours of sleep.
You adjusted your grip and the cardboard immediately bit into your palms again. Seth's eyes dropped to the package.
"Oh." He blinked. "My package."
One corner of his mouth twitched.
"I was wondering where that went."
You rolled your eyes and finally noticed what he was holding. A cereal box with a spoon sticking out of it.
No bowl. No milk. Just cereal.
You stared at the cereal and then back at him. Seth followed your gaze.
"You're eating dry cereal straight out of the box."
"As if you've never done that."
"Not as an entire meal." You narrowed your eyes. "Aren't you missing milk?"
Seth looked genuinely confused.
"Cereal's better this way."
You stared at him for a full second and then shook your head.
"That might be the most concerning thing I've learned about you."
You immediately corrected yourself.
A laugh escaped him and made his shoulders shake slightly. God, it was attractive.
"Anyway," you said quickly, before your brain could spend too much time acknowledging that fact. "Here's your package."
You attempted to hand it over.
Attempted being the important word.
Because the stupid thing weighed at this point approximately the same as a compact SUV. Your fingers had already gone numb. The cardboard kept sliding lower and lower in your hands. Unfortunately, Seth chose that exact moment to turn around and set the cereal box on the kitchen counter.
"Seriously," you muttered. "What even is in this thing -"
Your grip gave out and the box dropped directly onto your foot.
For one glorious millisecond there was silence.
Pain exploded up your leg so quickly your vision blurred and you immediately hopped backward.
"FUCK. FUCK. FUCKITY FUCK."
You looked up to find Seth genuinely horrified. Which, honestly, felt appropriate.
"What is in there?" you demanded, grabbing the wall for support. "Bricks?"
Seth rubbed the back of his neck.
"What kind of psychopath gets kettlebells delivered?"
"The kind that doesn't want to carry them home."
The throbbing intensified.
You attempted one step and instantly regretted it. Tears immediately burned behind your eyes. Seth noticed it and the amusement vanished from his face.
"Okay." That tone was concerning. "Come sit down."
"No thanks. I'd rather go home."
To prove your point, you took another step. The pain shot through your foot again and you hissed. Seth raised an eyebrow.
You sighed dramatically and hopped your way toward his couch.
The living room looked exactly like the brief glimpse you'd caught through the doorway - game footage still played on the laptop, a half-empty Celsius sat abandoned on the coffee table, a pair of hockey sticks leaned against the wall.
You collapsed onto the couch while Seth disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later he returned holding a frozen bag. You squinted.
"They're still chicken nuggets."
The shrug he gave was completely unapologetic.
You hesitated but eventually nodded. Seth carefully reached for your foot. His hands were warm and somehow it made the entire situation feel far more intimate than either of you wanted to acknowledge. He slowly pulled down your fuzzy sock, then immediately grimaced.
"That doesn't look great."
You looked down. It really didn't look great - the top of your foot was already swelling. An impressive shade of angry purple was beginning to spread beneath your skin. You dropped your head back against the couch.
"Fantastic. Love that for me."
For the second time all evening, Seth looked genuinely concerned. And that was kinda unexpected? Because you'd spent months convincing yourself he wasn't the type of person who cared very much about anything. Or anyone. Yet here he was, kneeling in front of the couch with a bag of frozen chicken nuggets pressed against your foot like it was a medical emergency. Which, admittedly, it kind of was.
You immediately disliked that tone.
"We should go to urgent care."
"You dropped forty pounds of kettlebell on your foot."
"There are literal tears on your face."
You wiped them away immediately.
Finally, he grabbed his keys off the counter.
"You can either walk to the car yourself.." His eyes dropped meaningfully to your foot. "..or I can carry you."
The grin appeared instantly.
"Oh." He jingled the keys. "Try me."
And somehow, that was the exact moment you realised you were, in fact, going to urgent care.
The drive to the hospital was awkward for approximately five minutes. Then your foot started throbbing again, then Seth started apologising and somehow, against all logic, you ended up arguing about cereal.
Which was how you found yourself twenty minutes later sitting in an emergency room waiting area wearing one fuzzy sock, an oversized hospital ice pack strapped to your foot, and listening to Seth Jarvis passionately defend eating dry cereal as if it were a constitutional right established back in the days by The Founding Fathers.
"It's literally the same cereal you eat too."
"It is not the same experience."
Seth looked genuinely offended.
"Because milk is part of the experience."
"Yeah? Well, you sound twelve."
The waiting room smelled faintly of disinfectant and burnt coffee. A television mounted in the corner played some late-night sitcom nobody was actually watching. Every few minutes a nurse appeared through a set of swinging doors and called another name. Around them, people sat slumped in plastic chairs, exhausted and half-asleep.
You shifted slightly and hissed.
Seth looked over instantly.
"No, I'm screaming for fun."
His expression tightened. The guilt radiating off him had become almost embarrassing.
"You know it was an accident, right?"
You looked at him - he genuinely looked upset, not performatively upset. Like actually upset. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers loosely clasped together, shoulders tense. Like he was somehow personally attacked by the fact you were in pain.
"Because you've been looking at me like I committed a felony for the last forty minutes."
You considered that and then nodded.
"You did commit a felony."
"You dropped a forty-pound kettlebell on my foot."
"I dropped nothing. You dropped my package."
"Your package contained kettlebells."
"It wasn't supposed to hit you."
"That's exactly what someone guilty would say."
For a second he stared at you and then laughed. The tension eased immediately.
"That's rich coming from the grown-up man who voluntarily eats dry cereal for a dinner."
Before he could respond, a nurse appeared in the doorway. Your name echoed across the waiting room.
The X-ray itself wasn't particularly complicated. The problem was that every time the technician asked you to move your foot, your soul briefly left your body. Eventually the images were taken.
When you limped back into the hallway, Seth immediately stood up from his chair. The speed at which he got to his feet was honestly concerning. But then again, that might have something to do with him having a professional career in the NHL.
You held up the paperwork.
His face immediately fell.
"You didn't permanently disable me and I might consider not suing you this time."
The relief that washed across his expression happened so fast it was impossible to miss. Completely unfiltered. And for some reason, that made something uncomfortable settle in your chest.
"The doctor said nothing's broken," you continued. "Just badly bruised. I've got a protective boot, several days of rest, ice, elevation, and strict instructions to avoid running, gym workouts, and unnecessary walking."
"Apparently I'm also not allowed to have a life."
Seth took the paperwork from your hands and scanned it.
The ride home felt quieter. The adrenaline had finally worn off, leaving both of you exhausted.
Outside, Raleigh glowed beneath the late-night sky. Streetlights slid across the windshield in soft golden streaks as Seth drove through mostly empty roads. For once, neither of you felt particularly motivated to fill every silence. Your injured foot rested awkwardly on the dashboard while you stared out the window. Somewhere around midnight, the city seemed softer. Slower. Like everything had finally exhaled.
By the time Seth pulled into the apartment complex, your eyelids felt heavy. You were already reaching for the door handle when he walked around the car and opened it for you.
"I can open my own door."
You immediately stepped down and the pain shot through your foot. You winced. Damn, the doc said the painkillers would work by now.
Seth simply looked at you.
Unfortunately, he wasn't wrong.
Despite your repeated objections, Seth walked you all the way to your apartment. The elevator ride was quiet, the hallway was quiet and everything felt strangely calm compared to the chaos of the last few hours.
When you finally reached your door, you pulled your keys from your purse and turned toward him.
The word surprised both of you. Mostly because it came out completely genuine this time. No sarcasm. No teasing. No eye-roll attached.
Seth looked momentarily caught off guard but then he smiled.
"Yeah." His eyes dropped briefly toward the protective boot. "Try not to carry any more kettlebells."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
You unlocked your apartment. For a second neither of you moved, then Seth nodded toward the door.
"Get some sleep, neighbour."
He started walking toward his apartment across the hall.
You watched him for a moment longer than necessary before stepping inside. The door clicked shut behind you. And as you leaned back against it, kicking off your remaining shoe, an annoying realisation settled somewhere in the back of your mind.
For the first time since meeting him, Seth hadn't felt like the hockey player from across the hall or the guy who always seemed to have a different woman on his arm.
Tonight he'd just felt like Seth.
Which was probably the beginning of the problem.
Next day, you started suspecting that Seth Jarvis had accidentally launched some sort of injury-related charity initiative and somehow selected you as the sole recipient. Because every single day, there was something. Monday it was groceries. Tuesday it was snacks. Wednesday it was coffee and a cinnamon roll from the bakery downtown. Thursday he showed up holding a pharmacy bag and casually informed you that he'd noticed you were running low on ibuprofen.
By Friday, you had stopped questioning why he kept appearing. Mostly because questioning it required energy. Partly because - annoyingly -you had started looking forward to it.
The foot still hurt. Not enough to be unbearable anymore, but enough to keep you from your usual routines. No gym. No long walks. No spontaneous trips downtown when you got bored. Just your apartment and an increasing amount of free time you had no idea what to do with. And somehow, Seth had slowly inserted himself into those days.
Sometimes only for five minutes. Sometimes for an hour. Occasionally for an entire evening. Usually carrying food and always carrying conversation, which turned out to be the dangerous thing about Seth Jarvis. Because once he stopped being the guy you occasionally judged from across the elevator and started being the guy sitting cross-legged on your couch arguing that cereal absolutely tasted better dry, it became inconveniently difficult to keep disliking him.
By Saturday afternoon, you could finally move around your apartment without wanting to launch something across the room. You were carefully testing your foot in the kitchen when three familiar knocks sounded against your front door.
Three quick taps. You already knew who it was.
The door opened and Seth stepped inside.
This time, instead of groceries or coffee, he was carrying a small package tucked beneath one arm. Without a word, he handed it to you.
Suspicious. Very suspicious.
Still, you peeled back the packaging and immediately froze. Inside was a Carolina Hurricanes jersey. His jersey. Number 24.
"This feels like recruitment."
His grin widened immediately.
"My home game's next Wednesday. You're welcome to come and.. "
You looked back down at the jersey.
"And I reserved a seat for you."
Your stomach did something deeply irritating, that you decided to ignore for now.
"You do realise I already own Canes hockey jersey."
You stared while Seth pointed at the jersey in your hands.
"Now you have the right one."
Despite yourself, a laugh escaped.
"That's your sales pitch?"
Unfortunately, he wasn't entirely wrong. The fabric felt soft between your fingers.
The worst part was that hockey had always been your thing. You genuinely loved it. The crowds, the noise, the ridiculous emotional investment in grown men chasing a puck around frozen water.
And despite everything you'd thought about Seth during those first months in the building... you'd still watched every Hurricanes game. Which unfortunately meant you'd watched a lot of Seth.
"You know," he said casually, leaning against the kitchen island, "most people would be excited."
"Most people didn't have their foot crushed by your kettlebells."
"Technically, it was your - "
The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator. Late afternoon sunlight spilled through the windows, casting long golden stripes across the floor. You looked down at the jersey one final time before sighing dramatically.
"I hate that you're winning."
Seth's smile appeared instantly.
And somehow, despite every assumption you'd made about him when you first moved into the building... despite every judgmental look you'd given him in the elevator... despite the fact that a month ago you would've happily avoided him for another six months...
you found yourself already wondering what you'd wear with his jersey.
The game turned out to be annoyingly fun. That was the first problem. The second problem was the jersey. Because somehow wearing Seth Jarvis' jersey while sitting in an arena packed with nearly twenty thousand people felt significantly more personal than it should have.
You had spent twenty minutes debating whether to wear it at all. Then another ten convincing yourself you were only doing it because he'd specifically brought it over. Then another five refusing to acknowledge that it smelled faintly like his laundry detergent.
The game itself didn't help. The Hurricanes were flying. Every time they scored, the building practically shook and the crowd roared so loudly your chest vibrated with it. Red rally towels spun through the air like miniature hurricanes, kids pressed against the glass, beer got spilled somewhere behind you... The entire arena felt alive.
And unfortunately for your peace of mind, Seth was having one of those nights. The kind where everything seemed effortless, fast, confident and electric every time he touched the puck.
By the third period, you'd stopped pretending you weren't enjoying yourself. Your foot still ached occasionally, but it was manageable now. And every now and then, without meaning to, you caught yourself forgetting all the reasons you'd spent months disliking the guy who lived across the hallway.
The Canes won. The arena exploded as the final horn sounded - people were hugging strangers, beer cups flew into the air, somewhere behind you, a grown man was crying. Normal hockey behavior.
A few minutes later, your phone buzzed.
Just that. No hello. No question. No please.
You immediately typed back:
You rolled your eyes. Unfortunately, you were also smiling while doing it.
Nearly an hour later, you were standing outside the players' exit when Seth finally appeared. His hair was still damp from the post-game shower, the suit jacket had somehow magically disappeared in the locker-room. He looked entirely too pleased with himself.
His grin appeared immediately.
"That was almost likable."
"Don't say things you can't take back."
You started walking toward the parking garage and Seth effortlessly matched your pace.
"You should not be driving."
"You're unbelievably annoying."
The answer came far too quickly.
The ride home felt easy. Comfortable, even. Seth had insisted on driving, which meant you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat while the two of you laughed about a fan whose sign had read:
SETH PLEASE SIGN MY TAX RETURN
"I swear to God, he was serious."
The city lights blurred past the windows, music played softly through the speakers. And before you realised it, the familiar entrance to your apartment garage was already appearing ahead.
For the first time in months, the ride home didn't feel long enough.
The elevator arrived almost immediately. The doors slid shut behind you and, for a moment, silence settled between you. The kind that wasn't awkward anymore. Then, suddenly, you started laughing. Seth glanced over.
"You literally laughed. So?"
You leaned back against the wall of the elevator.
"Some things don't change."
You gestured vaguely between the two of you.
"After a hockey game, you're going home in an elevator with some new woman."
For half a second, he looked genuinely confused then realisation hit.
"That's what we're doing now?"
"The difference is this woman doesn't actually get to come to my apartment."
"Yeah," He nodded. "Our ways separate in approximately two minutes."
You pressed a hand to your chest.
"Well, that's comforting to hear."
"Absolutely." You nodded with complete seriousness. "Your apartment is the last place on Earth I'd want to end up."
"Shitty things happen there."
The elevator dinged. Your floor.
The doors slid open and both of you stepped into the hallway, still smiling. Still somehow standing there despite being less than twenty feet from your respective front doors.
"You might genuinely be the only woman who's ever told Seth Jarvis she doesn't want to go to his apartment."
You immediately pointed at him.
"Well, being the only woman sounds hella nice."
"You should try the concept. I know it's new to you."
"I walked right into that one."
"And here I thought we were making progress."
You unlocked your apartment.
Then you pointed the key at him.
"And stop referring to yourself in third person. It's cringe."
Seth opened his mouth to argue but eventually stopped. For the first time all evening, he looked strangely uncertain. Not nervous exactly. Just... less polished?
Like he was actually thinking about what he wanted to say before saying it. Which, considering you'd never seen Seth Jarvis at a loss for words, was concerning.
"You know..." he started.
You immediately narrowed your eyes.
"That sentence never ends well."
A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
The hallway had gone quiet around you, except of the distant hum of an air conditioner somewhere down the corridor and the soft buzz of one of the overhead lights.
Seth rubbed the back of his neck and then actually looked at you. uddenly you realised he wasn't joking anymore.
"...Seth Jarvis would really appreciate it if you'd go to dinner with him sometime soon."
For one very embarrassing second, your brain stopped functioning.
You recovered immediately. Or at least pretended to.
"Because that's a terrible way to ask somebody out."
He took a step closer to his door.
"There isn't anybody else."
This time his voice was quieter. Not teasing. Not playful. Just honest.
Your gaze flickered back to him.
And for the first time since you'd met him, there wasn't a joke hiding behind the words. No blonde girl. No mystery date. No casual flirting for the sake of flirting. Just Seth, standing in a hallway and looking unexpectedly hopeful.
Your stomach immediately betrayed you.
His smile returned, smaller now.
"Be a good neighbor and go to dinner with me."
You laughed because the alternative was acknowledging how fast your heart had suddenly started beating.
"That is genuinely the least romantic way anybody has ever asked me out."
"It absolutely did not." You pointed at him. "I still don't understand what all those other girls see in you."
Seth smiled slowly. His eyes never leaving yours.
"Well..." His voice softened. "They definitely don't see what you see. That's for sure."
And there it was - the thing neither of you had really talked about, the reason he kept showing up with groceries and snacks and kept coming back. Because somewhere along the way, this had stopped being about changing your mind. At least for him.
"At this point," he added quietly, "it's really just you."
You smiled despite yourself and took a step backward into your apartment.
A groan escaped him immediately.
The door started closing.
The door shut. Silence. One second. Two. Three.
Then the door flew open again and you leaned back into the hallway and pointed at him.
"Eight o'clock. Pick me up here."
His entire face lit up. The reaction was so immediate it almost made you laugh.
You pointed a warning finger at him.
"Don't make me regret it."
The answer came entirely too fast. You smiled and disappeared back inside before he could see how much.
This time, the door stayed shut.
Seth stood alone in the hallway for several seconds. Then another. Then another. A grin slowly spread across his face.
Because for the first time since you'd moved into the building, he wasn't getting into an elevator with a different woman.
And strangely enough, that felt a whole lot better than he'd ever expected.
Turns out sharing the same elevator with the same woman wasn't so bad.
It was pretty great. If this woman was you.
And for the first time in a very long while, Seth Jarvis found himself looking forward to tomorrow a lot more than the next game.
