#bedard!reader

and he's one of connor's best friends. that's where the weight comes from. at first, it feels manageable. you tell yourself you'll figure out how to say it eventually, that there'll be a right moment -- after a game maybe, or during one of connor's relaxed moods. but then days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months, and suddenly "eventually" starts feeling like something you're actively avoiding.

fraser never pushes you to tell him. "you don't have to rush it," he tells you, his voice low, thumb brushing over your knuckles. "we'll tell him when you're ready."

you nod, because it sounds reasonable, because he makes it sound easy, but your stomach still twists anyway.

you know connor. you know the way he gets protective, how he always told his teammates and friends to never bat an eye toward you. you don't know if he'll be mad, or weird about it, so you wait it out.

however, waiting it out meant you started leaving evidence without realising.

it's small things at first. a hoodie is draped over your chair, the fabric that smells faintly like fraser's cologne. connor notices it one afternoon when he leans against your doorway, arms crossed, scanning your room like he always does.

"isn't that fraser's?" he asks, nodding toward it.

you shrug, trying to keep a casual tone. "yeah, he left it here the other day."

connor hums, not reading into it. "i see him soon, i'll give it back to him then."

you let out a small nod, maybe a little too quickly, but he doesn't question it, not then.

after that incident, you become more careful. you fold the hoodies he leaves for you and tuck it away. you double-check your room before you leave it. you start thinking one step ahead of him, trying to stay ahead of anything that might give you away.

you convince yourself you've got it under control. until the day that you don't. you're out running errands, not being gone for too long. connor texts you that he'll be stopping by to grab something he left in your room, and you don't think much of it. he's done it a hundred times before.

you thought you hid it well. it's not obvious, not being another hoodie this time, or being anything in plain sight. it's tucked away in your drawer, buried under loose items you haven't sorted through in a while. in your drawer was a strip of photobooth pictures you forgot you even had.

you remember taking them on a random night where nothing was planned. fraser had insisted that you two should try out the photobooth you walked past. the booth had been cramped, the camera flashing too fast, both of you laughing in between shots.

the first photo is harmless -- just the two of you, shoulders pressed together, smiling.

the second is closer, your heads tilting toward each other, the space betweeen you narrowing without either of you really thinking about it.

the third photo-

the third is the one where you and fraser share a kiss. it's nothing dramatic, just something soft, and natural. it wasn't something that needed to be planned, and just happened in the spur of the moment.

you don't think about the photos again after that night. that was until connor finds them.

he isn't looking for anything important, moving through your room naturally. when he opens the drawer, trying to find whatever he was originally looking for, his hand brushes through everything a few times before he notices the strip.

he pauses. at first, he just picks it up, expecting it to be something random. but then he looks closer, and the first image makes him slow down.

you and fraser, sitting close together in the booth. connor's expression shifts slightly as he registers fraser's face, connecting it to something familiar but out of context,

he moves to the second photo. you're closer now, more relaxed, your posture leaning into his without hesitation. it looks comfortable in a way that isn't casual, in the way he's used to seeing between teammates and friends. that's when the relisation starts to settle in.

he looks at the third photo. you and fraser are kissing. connor doesn't react outwardly right away, but the grip he has on the strip tightens slightly. his eyes stay on that frame longer than the others, the details clicking into place as the full meaning of the sequence becomes clear.

by the time he reaches the end of the strip, he understands what he's looking at.

later, your phone buzzes while you're out.

we need to talk.

you stare at the message for a moment, your stomach dropping as the realisation hits fully. you don't need to ask what it's about. you don't respond immediately, you can't. your thoughts are already moving ahead, filling in the blanks, connecting the dots in a way that leaves no room for doubt.

by the time you get home, connor is already there. he's sitting on the edge of your bed, the photobooth strip in his hand. he looks up when you walk in, and the atmosphere in the room shifts immediately, the weight of the situation settling between you.

"were you just not going to tell me?" he asks.

you close the door behind you, heart beating harder than you'd like. "connor-"

"how long?" he cuts in, not raising his voice, but not letting the question sit unanswered either.

you hesitate, and that's enough for him to read into it.

connor exhales, running a hand through his hair before looking back down at the photos. "it's him," he says, more to himself than anything else. "fraser. my childhood friend."

you nod. "yeah."

silence follows, thick but not hostile. you step closer, then stop, unsure of how to close the distance that suddenly feels larger than the room itself.

"i was going to tell you," you say, quieter now. "i just didn't know how."

connor glances up at you, something softer cutting through the initial surprise. "you thought i'd freak out, didn't you."

"a little," you admit.

he lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. "you're not wrong." that reaction loosens something in your chest, even if only slightly.

he looks back at the photobooth strip one more time before setting it down beside him, as if accepting that it's real and not something that will disappear if he looks away.

"well, out of all my friends, i'm glad it's fraser," he admits. connor looks up and studies you for a bit, the leans back slightly, exhaling as he processes everything. the tension in the room doesn't vanish, but it shifts into something more mearsured.

"okay," he says finally.

relief settles in quietly, easing the pressure you've been carrying for longer than you realised.

connor glances at you again, a hint of something lighter returning. "i'm still going to talk to him," he adds.

you nod, a small breath leaving you. "yeah, i figured."

he huffs faintly, almost amused. "and i'm probably not going to be subtle about it."

you let out a small laugh at that, the first real break in the tension since you walked in.

connor looks around your room briefly, then back at you. "he's left more than just a hoodie in here, hasn't he?"

you pause, then admit it. "maybe…"

he shakes his head, a faint smile finally tugging at his mouth. "unbelievable."

as soon as connor left, the door clicking shut behind him, the silence that follows feels different. lighter, in a way that's almost disorienting at first. the pressure you've been carrying doesn't disappear all at once, but it shifts, loosening its grip enough that you can finally take a full breath without thinking about it.

you stand there for a moment, just letting it settle. then your mind jumps to fraser. your phone is already in your hand before you fully decide to reach for it. you don't want to wait, not with something this significant still fresh.the message comes together quickly, your thumbs moving faster than your thoughts can fully organise.

he knows

it's simple, direct, and enough to say everything without needing more explanation right away. you send it, then immediately feel the quiet anticipation that follows, that small pause where you wait for his response. it doesn't take long before fraser's reply comes through.

yeah? how?

there's a steadiness to it, even in something that short. no panic, no overreaction -- just a check-in.

he found the photos we took in the photobooth that one time. we talked, and he wasn't mad.

there's a slight delay this time, just enough for you to picture him reading it, processing it in his own way before responding. you can almost imagine the way his expression would shift, subtle but present, the way he tends to take things in quietly before saying anything.

when the reply comes, it's simple again.

okay, that's good to hear.

another pause follows, then a second message appears.

are you okay?

you let out a small breath at that, something in your chest easing further at the fact that his first concern is you, not the complication itself. you lean back slightly against your pillows, your shoudlers relaxing as you respond.

yeah, i am now.

there's a short silence before fraser replies again, and when he does, it's with the same calm tone he's had throughout all of this.

i'll come over in 20 mins. i'm sure connor would want to talk to me aaand i want to see you again :)

you smile at his messages, and you set your phone down beside you. your room is quiet around you in a way that no longer feels heavy. it's not that everything is solved, but the part that mattered the most -- the secrecy, the uncertainty, the weight of keeping it contained -- is no longer something you have to carry.

it happens gradually the more you attend connor's games. at first, it was just remembering the number he played with. then it was taking mental note of "minten" on his jersey. suddenly, whenever connor's team takes the ice, your eyes search for fraser before anyone else.

the moment you realise you're looking for fraser each game, hockey all of a sudden becomes a lot more interesting.

you start paying attention during games instead of daydreaming and getting lost in your own thoughts. you ask questions about plays and strategies.

your parents think that you're finally taking an interest in hockey, and seeing why connor loves it so much. but only you know the truth.

as the years pass, it becomes almost embarrassing how often you find yourself looking for opportunities to talk to him. if he's lingering around the rink for a bit after games, you find yourself making excuses to stay back a bit. if connor invites some of his teammates over, you spend far longer downstairs than usual before retreating to your room.

you never push yourself into conversations, just hoping that they would happen and occur naturally. and whenever they do, they stay with you for days.

the worst part of it all is how he is always nice to you. he remembers things you tell him. he asks how school is going. he waves at you whenever he sees you at the games. all small gestures that probably mean nothing to him but would become the highlight of your week.

by the time you're old enough to realise you have a crush on him, it feels less like a discovery, and more like accepting the feelings that have always been there.

everyone at the rink cheers when connor scores, and you do too of course. but whenever fraser scores, your voice carries just a little farther, and your applause lasts a little longer. and if anyone looked closely, they'd notice the way your smile seems slightly bigger after one of fraser's goals than anyone else's.

even though you may have grown up around hockey because of connor, somewhere along the way, fraser becomes the reason you keep showing up.

however, since the moment he saw you tag along with connor when he went to play street hockey with him and some other neighbourhood kids, you immediately caught his attention. he so badly wanted to really get to know you; to know you more than just being connor's younger sister.

his wishes came true the moment he saw you walk into chess club. he saw the way your eyes glanced around the room, trying to find someone you knew. that was until you locked eyes with fraser. the both of you gave each other a small smile from afar, signaling to you that you could sit with him.

"hey, i didn't know you played chess." his heart started to beat faster, finally having his chance to get to know you. and even better, to get to spend time with you without connor nearby.

"yeah, i've always loved chess. i guess i just never knew we had a club here. i would've joined sooner if i knew you were here though." you gave him a soft smile.

for as long as you could remember, connor always warned you to stay away from hockey guys, his teammates and friends especially. the moment you saw fraser playing with connor on the ice during one of his games, he caught your attention. from that moment, you begged connor to let you come with him to play street hockey. as an excuse, you told him how he always complained about them not having enough players, and how you'd join. but in reality, it was because you wanted to see fraser again.

"did you want to play together?" you asked shyly.

without hesitation, "yeah of course. you can play white, i don't mind playing black."

fraser did mind playing black. he always preferred playing white, and being able to make the first moves; to feel like he has a bit of control and advantage over the game. but with you, he didn't mind giving up that little bit of advantage he always loved having, he wanted to give it all to you.

your eyes narrow slightly, "are you sure?"

"yeah, go ahead."

you pushed your pawn forward two spaces. a classic, confident opening, made with no hesitation. you saw the way fraser's lip twitched. since he rarely played black, he felt like he was in new territory. he mirrored your move, slower in response. you started taking space on the board, making him feel like you're dictating the board and the game. you were playing like you had something to prove.

it was only a few moves in, when you were already trying to set up an attack on the king.

"that's bold," he says.

"it's not bold if it works," you say in retalliation.

fraser had never seen this side of you. you played very boldly and loudly on the board, quite the opposite whenever he saw you joining in street hockey. you weren't as familiar with hockey as connor was, not sharing that similar passion for the game. of course, you loved watching hockey, but playing it on the streets was something else.

"you don't know if it'll work though."

you finally looked up from the board, meeting his eyes. "it will."

that's when he notices it. not the move -- you. the way you leaned over the board when you're calculating your next moves. the way your lips press together when you're trying not to smile the moment you think of what to do. the way you tap the edge of the table when you're setting up a trap.

he almost misses it. a knight tucked near the edge of the board. quiet. waiting. he saw the pattern a second too late. his fingers hovered over his rook.

"you've been planning that," he says softly, realising his blunders.

"since move six."

he looked up at you again. you're trying to act casual, but there's pride in your eyes. it wasn't arrogance, but an earned confidence.

fraser thought to himself after making a move. maybe he could block that attck maybe if he sacrificed one of his pieces on his next move. he weighed the pros and cons, trying to calculate three moves ahead of you.

and then-

he doesn't.

two moves later, you leaned back in you chair.

"checkmate."

there's a small crease in his brows as he studies the board, still believing that surely there was a mistake. surely you might've overseen something, and he could save himself. instead, he exhales.

"yeah, good game," he said quietly, reaching his hand out to shake yours.

you took his hand in yours, giving him a firm shake, proud of your win. the moment your hand left his, he could still feel the tingles in his hand. he could still feel the lingering touch of your hand, realising that this was the first time he actually got to spend time with you.

fraser offered to walk you home since connor was still at practice, and he wanted to spend just a slightly bit longer with you.

"we should play against each other more often. i can't let my only game against you be me losing terribly."

"don't say that. you're really good, you know. even though i won, you really had me thinking carefully about what moves to make. plus next time, you can play white." a grin tugged at your lips, already thinking about the next time you'll play with him.

your shoulders brushed against his on the walk to your house, the light touches making both of your hearts flutter. a small flush was starting to make your cheeks warm with the close proximity between you two.

by the time fraser dropped you off at your house and made his own way home, his mind never left the thought of you. the thought that you two now had chess. in hockey, you were always connor's sister -- someone to always stay away from unless he wanted to get on connor's bad side. but in chess, you were far from just being connor's sister, and he could have no say in what you two would build.

connor thought hockey was the only thing that tied him and fraser together. what he didn't realise was that somewhere between opening moves and quiet victories, you and fraser had built something entirely of your own.

however, it was the little things you missed the most. walking beside him with the way your arms would brush against each other, stealing his hoodies like you didn't have your own, the way he'd nudge you shoulder whenever you got too quiet, and wanted to know what was on your mind.

now, facetime became your new normal. propped up phones while doing homework, him going to sleep before you even ate dinner.

sometimes, the distance would get to you guys. tensions would rise some days. it wasn't always big arguments, sometimes it was days filled with silence. the both of you were exhausted -- fraser with practice and training, and you with assignments being due.

the distance from each other, the timezones, and you two dealing with your own troubles, would build up and eventually lead to tough conversations with some tears streaming.

but despite the hard times, you two got better at getting through the long distance -- your communication got better, your patience grew, and slowly, you two learned about each other in a new and different way.

you learned he would need some space after long days on the ice. he learned that your short replies meant you were feeling a bit overwhelmed, not that you were upset with him.

you two found a bit of comfort in the routine of it all. his good morning texts, even if you read them hours later. your late night calls, even if he was already half asleep. planning what to do whenever he got to stop by in vancouver for a bit.

it definitely isn't easy. there are are days where the distance between vancouver and toronto felt too big, where you wished you could just reach for him instead of your phone. but there were also days where it felt like you two could do this. like no matter how far apart you were, it didn't really change what mattered.

and even after he got traded to boston, the change didn't affect you guys too much anymore, learning from the mistakes you guys made when he first had to go to toronto.

by the time you finish your degree, you got the chance to move in together in boston, finally getting back to the rhythm of how things were before he had to leave vancouver. just the two of you, finally in the same place, learning that after everything you'd been through, being together in person was the easiest part of all.

after that one night of studying, you both slipped into a rhythm. there were days when you sat together in the library during free periods, pretending the textbooks mattered more than the way your knees brushed under the table, the way your elbows bumped just enough to make contact. he leaned slightly toward you when he whispered the answer to a problem, voice low and just for you. and when connor was in earshot, fraser became extra careful, eyes flicking to the hall or the window as if expecting him to appear at any moment.

even when you were apart, fraser was always present. your phone buzzed with tiny, mundane messages -- "did you eat yet?", "don't forget your notes.", "i'm on the bus, see you later." You answered carefully, feeling the thrill of secrecy, knowing that anyone else would never see the way your relationship threaded itself into everyday life.

there were moments when the secrecy pressed against the both of you, a quiet guilt that settled in your chests like a weight. fraser's hand lingered in yours under the table, and for a fraction of a second, you both remembered connor's voice from years ago -- him warning his teammates to stay away from you, and him warning you to stay away from all his friends and teammates. you shouldn't be here. you shouldn't be doing this. the thought nagged at the edges of your mind, a silent remember that each laugh, each touch, each stolen glance was layered with betrayal.

but fraser had a way of grounding you. even with the guilt threading through every moment, his presence felt like safety. he leaned just enough toward you in the hallway, a fleeting touch to the small of your back, and the tension between desire and fear hung in the air. you didn't speak the guilt aloud. you didn't need to. the weight was understood in the brush of fingers, the stolen smiles, in the shared awareness that connor would never forgive you guys if he knew.

the nights felt electric. he walked you home slowly, hand brushing yours, an excuse to linger. you didn't need words; the quiet spoke for both of you. in the dim streetlight, with connor's absence making the world feel wide and empty, fraser's eyes found yours with that same careful weight they always carried. there was trust in it, and tension, and the unspoken acknowledgement of the 'rules' you were breaking.

and yet, in those moments -- on a bus ride, in an empty classroom, under the streetlights when no one else was around -- fraser let himself be reckless just a little. a hand lingered, a cheek brushed yours, a shoulder nudged softly. he didn't do it for show. he did it because he wanted you, because he had been holding back for years, and now there was no one to stop him but the unspoken truth of your guilt, the very thing that made every glance, every brief touch, every soft "i missed you" in a text feel enormous.

you knew the risk, and it thrilled you. you knew the reward, and it terrified you. and when fraser looked at you -- calm, deliberate, steady, and completely present -- you understood that all of it, even the guilt was worth it.

connor didn’t notice it all at once.

it was just little things at first. the way you always seemed to have your phone in your hand more often, a small smile tugging at your lips when no one else was looking. he caught you glancing down at it in the cafeteria, cheeks coloring faintly before you quickly looked up, pretending to read the back of a napkin.

then there were the study sessions. fraser seemed to appear more often than usual, always casually offering to help, lingering by your house just a little longer than necessary. connor didn’t see anything outright suspicious at first; after all, fraser had always been reliable, helpful, and calm. but the frequency of his presence, paired with the way your behaviour started to change began to pull at the edges of connor’s attention.

he watched quietly, trying not to let it bother him. he told himself it was nothing -- two people working together, that was all. but there was a rhythm developing that connor couldn’t ignore: the way fraser leaned in slightly over your notes, the quiet shared glances across the table, the way your laughter softened when fraser said something only you two seemed to find funny.

one afternoon, connor leaned against the doorway of the library, pretending to look through a bulletin board. he could see you from the corner of his eye, head tilted down at your phone, fingers moving quickly. then fraser leaned just a little closer to explain something, and your knees bumped under the table. you didn’t pull away. connor’s jaw tightened for a fraction of a second, though he told himself it was just coincidence.

later, he noticed the small changes. sometimes he thought he caught fraser hovering near your locker longer than necessary. nothing obvious, nothing he could call out. just subtle shifts that made the hair on the back of his neck prick.

connor didn’t comment. not yet. he couldn’t. he told himself he was imagining it. after all, fraser had been around for years. maybe you were just working harder on homework. maybe you were texting a friend. that had to be it.

but every time he passed by the two of you -- heads bent close over books, shoulders brushing, laughter barely above a whisper -- a small knot tightened in his chest. he didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but there was something different now. something connor couldn’t quite name, but couldn’t ignore either.

and all the while, fraser remained calm, steady, patient. the way he had always been, just now under a new, unspoken tension. he didn’t make a scene, didn’t overstep, didn’t even seem aware that connor was watching. but connor noticed. he always noticed. but for now, he just tells himself it's all in his head. there was no way you two would do this behind his back.