#a.burakovsky

There was one major problem in your personal circumstance. Your soulmate was much, much further away than you would like. As early as pre-school you remembered getting feelings of your soulmate’s emotions before dawn. Excitedness at breakfast. Boredom while you brushing your teeth in the morning. Sometimes you would even be woken up as early as three in the morning with exuberance and for hours you would be too jittery to get back to sleep. 

Around the time you started school ou had begun receiving messages from him. You were forced to the conclusion at just six-years-old that your soulmate was a complete idiot. The messages he was sending you were in utter gibberish. Your first real encounter with your soulmate consisted of him waking you up early with his words that made no sense. It was annoying and you had to go to school tired. In the car, there was more and you sighed. But by the time of your spelling test, you had had enough. You were trying to focus and there was a voice in your head interrupting your thoughts. No one had ever officially taught you how to send communications but you couldn’t sit back and let him bother you any longer. You closed your eyes tightly and focused as hard as you could. 

“Could you please shut up!” Yes, you had been taught not to say things like that to anyone let alone your soulmate but drastic times called for drastic measures. Luckily for you, your soulmate finally stopped talking. You did feel a wave of… something, but while it was odd and made you feel slightly shaken it was now time for recess, and all of your soulmate problems were soon forgotten as you ran for the swingset.

Later, as you grew up and learned how to articulate the millions of emotions that encapsulated your life, you would be able to classify that feeling better. Apprehension.

The next day was a Saturday and the weather was nice enough that you got to color outside. You sat criss-cross applesauce on the grass even though it made you a bit itchy. As you were deciding which shade of pink to use you felt a tumbling in your belly that you usually associated with the first day of school or singing a song at camp all by yourself. Nerves.

That’s when it came through. The stuttered, “hi.” The word didn’t sound like you had ever heard it before. Not clear like your teacher or confident like the boy who sat across from you in class. But whether or not it sounded like he was eating saltwater taffy, this was an improvement to you. So you squared your shoulders and sent back a hi of your own. Unlike the first time, the feeling that washed over you felt good. This time it felt… cheery. The feeling egged you on so you sent another message.

“My name is (Y/N).”

His response came, still not clear but slightly less timid, “‘m Andre.”

—

Over the years your Andre had become more and more fluent in English. After you’d grown up a bit you had asked him enough roundabout questions and done enough research that you had determined that what he was speaking was not gibberish but rather Swedish. While the difference between the two wasn’t that big to eight-year-old-you, it was still an improvement. 

It was when each student in your class had to do a report on a country of their choice that you had to come to terms with the logistics. When the teacher announced the project you had been quick to raise your hand and request Sweden. But when you sat down to do the research you discovered the startling fact that you were about five thousand miles away from the country. For Andre, it was around dinner time when he must have felt your thunderstorm of emotions. Disappointment. Frustration. 

“What is wrong?”

You sighed and replied sadly, “you’re far away.” His response was slow and when it came back it was just a solemn, “very far.” For a minute you just sat and stared at the wall. Before Sweden had seemed like this fun, magical place where your soulmate would live until the day you were both ready for him to appear on your doorstep. It wasn’t until this random Monday that it occurred to you that it might not be that easy. That you were separated by oceans not streets. That you may very well never be able to find him.

That’s when his words came, “It is very far. But we are soulmates and I will come to you.” He sounded more certain in those big plans than he ever was before and you genuinely felt like if anyone could make something like that happen it would be Andre. 

You tried your best to transmit all of those feelings and hopes to him and thousands of miles away, on a completely different continent you knew he would sense it. Reassurance.

When you were in your teenage years it was a definite fact that Andre was your best friend. He had always been your soulmate and you’d always had a certain affection towards him with his goofy jokes and dumb ideas. But over time he had become your confidant and he had become yours. You’d become decently proficient at Swedish- enough that he could complain to you about his parents or his totally unfair and definitely rigged penalty. It had also become your party trick at school to teach everyone the Swedish swear words that you had learned from Andre. 

You knew that he played hockey and that it dominated his time and his thoughts. You’d felt waves of excitement, disappointment, and pure adrenaline throughout his games. But it was in 2013 that, together, the two of you came to terms with the fact that he was going to be drafted. While you were so proud that he was going to be living out his dream, another part of you was full of nervous excitement because not only would he be playing professionally… he would be playing professionally in North America. 

In the weeks leading up to the draft, there seemed to be a constant flurry of nervousness coming through your connection. You did your best to take deep breaths to send back as much calm energy as you could muster. There were times when you knew he was sitting awake. Trepidation. 

“It’s going to be fine, ‘Dre,” you would tell him, “you’ll go where you’re supposed to be.” 

“But what if no one takes me,” you would hear in his nervous whisper. 

“From everything you’ve told me about yourself you’re really good so unless you’ve been lying to your dear and beloved soulmate, someone will pick you,” you were trying to come off as cheeky, trying to make him smile even if you couldn’t see it for yourself. His anxiety was starting to diminish but your own mind was filling up with something else… something that you spurred you on to say more. To make him understand.

“Andre. At the end of the day, if all else fails, just know that I will always pick you.”

Both of you were swimming in emotions. There was a crushing weight of something in your chest that almost brought tears to your eyes. The feelings were all new and unfamiliar and it made you feel too overwhelmed to try and categorize. So you chose one of the simpler ones. Bliss.

The day of the draft you had practically glued yourself to the TV. You swore you could feel Andre’s nausea. As it was all gearing up you made sure to tell him how proud of him you were no matter what happened. You sat through most of the first round chewing your lip before the twenty-third pick came up and with absolutely no preamble you heard it.

“Washington takes Andre Burakovsky.”

The camera panned to the player and his family. Your jaw dropped as you practically drowned. Disbelief. Glee. Euphoria.

You knew but asked anyway, “is that you?” You swore you saw him laugh before he said “yeah.” The voice in your head was full of happiness and tears sprung your eyes as you laughed. Anyone watching would think you were deranged but there he was. Still not with you, though you chose not to dwell on that, but he was real. And you had to say it, “you’re so hot.” Through the screen, he shook his head jovially while the wide smile seemed unable to leave his face. As the Canucks took the stage for their pick you were still stunned. Andre was chattering to you happily but you couldn’t quite focus. “It’s you,” you were interrupting his rambles and he paused. While you had already established that the Andre on the TV screen was your Andre, he knew what you meant.

“It is me… and it’s always been you.”

—

During his time on the Otters you let him focus on hockey while simultaneously teetering on the edge of Something. He was on the verge of making it and you didn’t want to complicate that, but you were both acutely aware of each other. For as long as you could remember Andre was yours and him being in the NHL didn’t change that. Over time you’d gone from kids who could barely conceptualize that the voice in their head was a real person to teenagers who were friends and now you were adults who were a bit more. You were falling for your soulmate. 

On the night of his debut with the Caps, you were bubbling over with delight. You were sitting on the floor in front of the same TV that you watched him get drafted on. The camera followed him as he did his first lap on NHL ice and like the first time your mind went blank except for Andre. You were enraptured watching him during the anthem and when the game started your eyes didn’t follow the puck, instead they stayed trained on number sixty-five. 

Suddenly there was a turnover by the Canadiens and there was Andre with a one-timer and you actually screamed as you watched your soulmate score his first goal just six minutes and forty-three seconds into his NHL debut. As he jumped the boards you did your best to focus enough to send him a clear message. He was tackled by his team so you weren’t even sure if he got it until he emerged to high five everyone on the bench. That’s when you heard him. Short and tooth-rottenly sweet. 

“For you.”

Pride.

—

Not every day was as rejoiceful as that one. His upper-body injury during their 2018 Cup run hit him hard. He had missed time due to injuries over the last two seasons and he had been hoping to prove himself. Healing during the playoffs gave him far too much time to overthink. Every time he told you about a pass that missed or a shot that was saved you did your best to talk him down and convince him to focus on healing. The trouble came when he was finally back in the lineup but seemed to psych himself out of every scoring chance. You watched as he went back to the bench after barely five minutes of ice time. Anger. Desperation. Normally you avoided communicating with him during games but you could tell he needed more than even Nicke or Tom could give him. 

“Andre, don’t beat yourself up. Just focus on the team.”

“You’d pick me?”

“I will always pick you.”

Later that night, even though Andre hadn’t scored, the game was one to remember forever. Your jaw hung open as you listened to John Walton cheer, “The demons have been exorcised! Good morning! Good afternoon! And good night Pittsburgh! We’re going to Tampa Bay! The Capitals have done it!”

Shock. Thrill.

When Washington won the Cup final against Vegas you were overpowered by Andre’s triumph and ecstasy. You couldn’t even tell where his excitement ended and yours started. While he spent the rest of the summer drunk on happiness and an unbelievable amount of alcohol you found yourself oddly jealous. The two of you had never really discussed a plan for meeting. But now you were selfishly upset that he had gone through this momentous life event without you. That he had gone so much of his life without you by his side. You told yourself it was because you didn’t want to distract him. You told yourself it was because you had to make your education a priority. But Andre was out there. 

When the season started again with the team affected by their Cup hangover, you could feel Andre’s stress. And though you were wallowing in your own cowardice, you pushed it aside to support him and let him focus on hockey. You did your best to congratulate him on every goal and reassure him about every loss. Even though the team was doing well, even clinching their division title, it was a tough time for your soulmate. He only had twenty-five points through seventy-six games. While you were so proud of him and content with the progress he was making with his sports psychologist, you could feel how heavily it weighed on him. Everyone was telling him that he was supposed to be on the first line besides Ovi. Andre was invaluable on the rush but the constant pressure seemed to do nothing but push him further and further away.

It wasn’t until July that everything changed. You were calmly stirring honey into your tea when it hit you right in the chest. Dread. It felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs. Something was clearly very, very wrong. Worry settled in your stomach and you took a moment to steady yourself before reaching out.

“Are you okay?” 

“I got traded.”

You felt vaguely hollow. Another major life event that you weren’t there for. And this time it wasn’t jealousy that you felt but sadness. He needed you and you weren’t with him. 

“I’m terrible. The Capitals dumped me because they knew I wasn’t good enough.”

“Andre, could you please shut up,” you said, quoting the first time you ever spoke to him, “you’re fucking amazing, I know it, and maybe now you’ll finally get the chance to show everyone else.”

His grief dispelled a bit and he replied, “I miss you.” Your eyes stung as you tried to contain your emotions so he didn’t feel the need to worry about you. 

“You can’t miss me, you don’t even know me.”

“I do know you, though.”

Heartache.

You composed yourself enough to ask him where and when his voice replied Colorado it felt like the decision was made for you. 

—

As soon as the Burakovsky number ninety-five jersey appeared for sale you bought it. When the dates for the pre-season came out you sprung to buy a ticket out to Denver. The travel website asked you when you would like your return flight to be and without even thinking you clicked one-way.

Your knee shook as you sat on the plane, waiting for takeoff. The cabin was tight and full of chatter but you were too busy imagining what it would be like when you finally met your soulmate to care. Eagerness.

“Everything good with you?” Andre asked. He could feel your nervous energy, but you wanted to keep the surprise. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just excited about your first game as an Avalanche,” it wasn’t untrue and you hoped he wouldn’t press for more. 

“When I score it’ll be for you,” he replied. It mirrored his first-ever goal and you laughed lightly, “I have a really, really good feeling.” Giddiness.

You dressed in his jersey and spent longer than usual on your hair wanting everything to be perfect. Standing outside of Pepsi Center hours before the game you took a deep steadying breath as you thought about how your life was about to change. Your soulmate was somewhere in that building and holy fuck this was really happening. 

“I’m here,” you told Andre after you had willed yourself inside. Despite your best efforts, your voice shook on the words. 

“What,” his shocked reply was immediate, “no… where?” You looked up and communicated all of the signs you could see, just hoping that he had learned enough of the building to know where you were. Within minutes you heard the sound of someone running. The door flung open and there was your Andre. Amazement. 

For a minute the two of you just stared at each other. He was dressed in a crisp game-day suit with his usual swoopy, messy hair and he looked so tall in person. You took one step towards him and that seemed to wake him up enough to hurriedly get over to you. Right before he actually reached you, with just a few inches distance between your bodies he stopped again. Looking up at his astonished brown eyes that were so clear even in the harsh fluorescent lighting you saw everything going through his head. It felt different than when you felt his emotions through your connection because there he was right in front of you.

“Hi,” you whispered. Andre smiled and if you weren’t absolutely gone for him before you definitely were then. “Hi,” he murmured back.

Joy.

You reached out and tangled your fingers with his. They were warm and calloused from years of hockey. Andre tightened his grip on your hand and squeezed your hand as if to check if it was really there.

“It’s you.”

“It’s me… and it’s always been you.”