#fm93 fluff

Boston summers were known to be beautiful, and this might have been your favorite summer yet. Since moving to the historic city, you’d made hundreds of memories, friendships that would last lifetimes, and got together with your boyfriend.

Growing up, you were always aware of the boy who played hockey with your twin brother. You had to be.

Connor was a star player from a young age, so the other players that could match his level? They were memorable. 

Fraser was one of them. 

When Connor and Fraser began playing together, you started seeing him around a lot more often. 

But Connor had always made one thing very clear. He didn’t want his teammates and you mixing. 

“I know what they’re like,” he would say. “You should hear them in the locker rooms.” 

This was hard enough, because–being twins–your friends were Connor’s friends, and Connor’s friends were yours. It was almost impossible to not be around the hockey boys Connor played with. Especially when you spent a good chunk of your time traveling for his games. .

Now years later, Connor had been drafted to Chicago, and this was still a principle he lived by. 

But, what Connor didn’t know didn’t hurt him.

In your defense, you hadn’t planned on falling in love with Fraser Minten. In fact, you hadn’t planned on falling in love with anyone when you first moved to Boston. Because the move was supposed to be temporary. You were there for a year, maybe two, for a big time internship. You hadn’t expected it to lead to a job offer that cemented you as a permanent resident of Boston. 

And you certainly hadn’t expected Fraser to reach out to you once he’d heard you had moved to town. 

But he did. He’d messaged you on instagram, offering to show you around Boston as a mutual acquaintance since you didn't know anyone in the city.

And it was true. You knew absolutely no one, so you took him up on his offer.

Now, over a year later, you were completely in love with him. 

And—perhaps unfortunately?—Connor was visiting for a week. 

You were excited to see your twin, especially after only getting to see him briefly the last time he was in town to play the Bruins. But it also meant a week of no Fraser.

The week had been going well. You’d been having a blast taking him around Boston. He even trained a bit with Fraser, getting to see your boyfriend even though you didn’t. 

But then, disaster struck. 

The two of you had gone out to try a new restaurant. Your meal had tasted a little funny, but Connor seemed to be enjoying his, so you didn’t question it. 

Until that night, when you were bent over the toilet, heaving up your dinner. 

“What the fuck?” Connor asked, shoving the door open. You turned your head slightly from where you were collapsed in front of the toilet bowl, hair in your eyes. “Are you sick?” 

“No, Connor,” you said dryly despite the burning in your throat and the tears pricking at your eyes. “I’m peachy.” 

You were sweating despite shivering, your teeth nearly chattering together. 

“I think–” you gagged. “I think I have food poisoning.” 

Connor made a face, jumping back as your bent over the toilet once again. 

When you straightened, chest heaving, tears streaming down your cheeks, he took a tentative step forward. “Do you need anything?”

Yes. 

I need Fraser.

But could you really just tell your twin brother that you went against all his wishes and started dating one of the guys he’d always warned you about when you were teenagers? 

“Uh,” you sucked in a breath. You had never felt so ill in your life. This? This fucking sucked. 

You couldn’t even get your next words out before another round was hitting. 

“Hair tie,” you managed, gesturing over your shoulder to the bathroom counter. 

“On it,” Connor nodded, beginning to rummage through your drawers until finding a pink, fuzzy scrunchy. “Do you want me to do it or–”

“Yes.” You wanted to kill him. 

With rough fingers, he scraped your hair back into probably the messiest, loosest bun to ever exist at the nape of your neck. 

“There.” He said, pulling back when he was finished. 

By now, your shivers had turned to full body trembles, your sweat drenching every inch of you. Connor was treating you like a hazardous chemical, and all you wanted was your boyfriend who always knew just what to do. 

You rested your head on the rim of the toilet, letting the cold sensation seep into your skin. A choked sob escaped you. 

“Y/n?” Connor asked gently. At least he was trying to be a good brother. 

“I need–” you swallowed, your throat burning. “Call Fraser.” 

Silence. 

Your shoulders hunched, your muscles spasming. 

“Uh, are you dying or something?” Connor asked, his voice low. “Because I think you just told me to call Fraser Minten.” 

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks. 

“Why the fuck would I–”

“Connor, fuck, just call him!” You were openly sobbing now, your body seizing with nausea. Your stomach twisted and then you were leaning over the toilet again. 

“Fuck, fine.” Connor huffed, stepping out while raising his phone to his ear.

You heard him mumble something and then he stepped back in, a funny look on his face.

“He says he’s on his way?”

Thank god.

Your eyes squeezed shut in relief.

“What is going on here?” Connor asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why did I call Fraser?” 

You shook your head as best you could. “Not now.” 

Because your body was tense and shaking, your head was pounding. You were collapsed on the bathroom floor, your hair sticking to your skin, and all you wanted was your boyfriend. You slumped into the wall, bringing up a shaking hand to scrub the tears from your face. The small movements caused your head to spin. 

Nearly fifteen minutes later, you heard the front door of your apartment click open. 

“Baby?” Fraser’s voice cut through the haze, your eyes opening slowly. 

Connor straightened, eyes bouncing between the two of you. 

“Baby?” He asked slowly. “What the fuck is happening?” 

That was then Fraser rounded the corner, appearing in the bathroom doorway. His eyes immediately went to you, ignoring Connor.

“Hey,” Fraser moved towards you, crouching in front of you and bringing a hand up to your forehead. “Hi, baby.” His hands were warm, strong, familiar. 

Everything. 

You groaned, leaning into his touch. 

Fraser’s brows were pinched in concern as he felt your temperature. 

“You’re burning up,” Fraser’s voice was soft as he tilted your head so that he could look into your eyes. “How long have you been feeling like this?” 

You tried to shrug. “An hour?” 

Your boyfriend pushed the hair off your face that Connor had missed, smoothing it behind your ear. 

“Why does Fraser know where you keep the spare key?” Connor’s voice cut in, sounding terrified. 

“Shut up, Connor,” both you and Fraser muttered at the same time. You sounded exhausted while Fraser just sounded irritated. 

Before you could answer, another wave of nausea hit and Fraser's hand was immediately on your back.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, his hand warm against you. “Let it all out.” 

When you pulled back once more, the tears were back in full force. Your throat burned, the tip of your nose feeling funny like you hadn’t gotten enough air. 

The next hour passed in a miserable blur. Fraser sat beside you, never once leaving your side. Connor bounced in and out, bringing water and crackers, but your stomach refused to keep down either. You were so tired you couldn't even keep your eyes open.

“I’m dying,” you muttered, your body completely drained. For the most part, you had stopped shaking. Now, your body just jerked every once in a while, as if your muscles were complaining. Fraser had shifted so that you could rest your head in his lap. Your body felt wrung out, every muscle aching as you slumped against Fraser.

“Do you want to go to bed?” Fraser asked softly, brushing a thumb over your cheek. 

You nodded, your cheek pressed against the fabric of his sweatpants. Fraser did some maneuvering so that he could stand and then lifted you into his arms. The movement caused your head to spin and you groaned. 

“You alright?” 

“Mhm,” you hummed, squeezing your eyes shut. 

Moments later, Fraser was laying you on the mattress in your bedroom, climbing in next to you and pulling the blankets up to your chin. 

“Don’t leave,” you begged, looking up at him from where your head rested on the pillows. 

“I promise.” Fraser's voice felt like a drink of fresh water in a desert. He was everything you needed. 

The bedroom door pushed open and Connor peeked in. 

“Is he good to you?” Your twin asked you, jaw clenched. 

“The best,” you whispered, saying everything with your eyes that you couldn’t say outloud.

Connor seemed to understand, nodding once before backing out again. 

“Does that mean I passed the test?” Fraser asked, chucking softly. It was the first time all evening that you cracked a smile.

“Yeah, I’d say he approves.” 

“That’s a relief,” Fraser said. 

From somewhere in the apartment, Connor shouted, “I didn’t say that!”

You’re completely passed out now, not even the buzzing of your phone or the chattering of your teeth able to wake you.

Fraser:

Hey sleepy head, you awake yet?

Fraser:

Practice got moved up, so I’ll be done earlier, I’ll still plan on picking you up for lunch ❤️

Fraser:

Everything okay?

Fraser:

You’re starting to freak me out a bit

Fraser:

Baby, can you answer the phone?

Fraser:

I’m on my way

Fraser:

Y/N?

You miss all of these, completely dead to the world until knocking finally wakes you. At first you don’t think it’s real, and you try ignoring it as you cuddle back into your pillow.

Then you hear the muffled sound of someone calling your name, but that voice. You know that voice. Even in whatever sickness fogged evil you’re in, that voice wakes something in you.

“Y/N?” You hear your name again, and you walk to the door. You run into one of your walls, barely able to pick up your feet and it feels like it takes you five minutes to get to the door. As you finally unlock it, your knees buckle, and Fraser catches you before you can hit the ground.

“Holy shit.” He says, pulling you into him as you cry out. Your skin is on fire as Fraser holds you, noting how it’s also sickeningly warm. “Jesus baby, you’re burning up.”

“I don’t feel good.” You say with a whisper as that’s all you could muster.

“I know, I know. I’ve got you now.” He says, and he doesn’t even give you the option of walking back to your bed. Instead he picks you up swiftly, trying not to move you fast just in case you’re nauseous.

As he gets you back to your bedroom, he sits you on the big chair in the corner of your room. Your sheets are crumbled and sweat soaked, and he refuses to put you back in them.

“Do you have a thermometer?” Fraser asks, tucking a sweaty strand of your hair back behind your ear.

“Bathroom. Second drawer.” You mumble out, and he watches as your head rests against the chair like you couldn’t even hold it up on your own.

He hurries to your bathroom, grabbing fresh sheets out of the hallway closet on his way back.

“Open up, baby.” He says as he returns, and you open your mouth weakly, waiting for the beeping to come.

When it does, and Fraser checks it, the look on his face goes from worried to slightly horrified.

104.1

“Fraser.” You groan, your face immediately crumpling.

“Hey, hey.” Fraser says, setting the thermometer down and gets both hands on your face. “Look at me. I’m here, I’ve got you.” He comforts you, rubbing away tears that are leaking from your eyes.

“I feel weird.”

“I know. But first we’re getting you out of these clothes, then clean sheets, and then medicine.” He says, and you give him the tiniest nod as he goes to grab a new t-shirt. “Arms up baby.” He says, and he helps take off your damp shirt and put on a fresh one. Then he moves fast, stripping off the old sheets and replacing them with fresh ones as he helps you into them. You whimper softly, overwhelmed by the relief of it.

“Better?” He asks, moving your hair out of your face. You mumble a ‘mhm’, and nod slowly. Your eyes close as he whips out his phone and orders everything he thinks you could possibly need. Medicine, electrolytes, crackers. He clicks on rush delivery, and moves his gaze back to you as you’re drifting in and out of sleep. He smiles, telling you to sleep, that he’s going to be right here for you when you wake up.

True to his word, Fraser stays by your side. You wake a few times, once to take medication, once to shove the sheet and light blanket off of your body, and once more because you were shivering so bad.

But the next time you wake, that’s when you see it. A black figure, a tall and horrifying black figure lurking behind Fraser.

You gasp, your eyes going wide and your weak hand trying to point behind him. Fraser is asking you what’s wrong immediately, and you whisper a few words that have him whipping around so fast.

“Who’s that?”

Fraser checks, before returning his gaze back to you.

“There’s no one here, baby. It’s just you and me.”

But you don’t listen, you can’t listen. Because you see it, the thing is right there, and you’re too weak to protect him from it.

“Make it go away.” You sob, voice cracking and breaking. And Fraser could feel his stomach twisting from how terrified you look.

“Hey, hey baby look at me.” He says, gently grabbing your face. “Just at me, there you go, good job.” He says as your eyes stay on his. “I promise there’s no one there, it’s your fever, baby. It’s messing with you. You’re safe, I promise.”

“But you-“ You croak. And Fraser understands then, it’s not that you’re terrified that someone is there, it’s that you’re terrified because you cannot protect him.

“I’m safe. I’m real, whatever you’re seeing isn’t.” He says, taking your shaking hand and pressing it to his heart. “Feel that?” He asks, and you nod slowly. “I’m alive, I’m here with you. And we’re both safe. I won’t let anything or anybody hurt you, ever. Okay?”

“Okay.” You say, calming down just a bit as your eyes droop shut once again.

“Sleep baby, I’m right here.” He says, and you drift off once again.

—

This time when you wake up, your head is in Fraser’s lap. His hands running through your hair, which makes you cringe at the thought of how disgusting it must be.

But that’s before your stomach rolls, you sit up, your face must be conveying how you’re feeling because Fraser helps you to the bathroom immediately.

You almost don’t make it, but at the last second you’re leaning over the open toilet, emptying the little contents in your stomach into it.

“Shhh, breathe baby.” Fraser says, kneeling next to you as one hand is pulling back your hair, the other rubbing soothing circles on your back.

You sob between heaves, embarrassed and miserable, but he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t make a face, he just stays there. And when it finally stops, you slump against him.

“I hate this.” You whisper.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” He says, flushing the toilet and letting you fully lean into him. “I love you, this isn’t going to scare me away.” He says, your head going against his neck, and he purses his lips feeling how hot your forehead still is.

“How about a shower? It could help bring the fever down.” He says, and you both crave and despise the thought of one.

“I don’t think I can stand.” You say, and he nods, like he’s already thought of this.

“I’ll get in with you. I’ll do it all, if it’s willing to help you I’ll do it.” He says, and hot tears leak down your red cheeks.

Fraser gets up, grabbing clean clothes for you and throwing a towel down on the bathroom counter top.

The water is cool when he helps you step in, not freezing, but not hot either. The instant it hits you, you let out an embarrassing whine. Fraser’s chest vibrates with a small chuckle he holds in, and as you lean against him fully and close your eyes, Fraser gets to work.

He washes your hair first, scrubbing the shampoo into your scalp deeply, the familiar salon smell clouding all of your senses. He’s careful when rinsing it out, making sure to keep any water or suds out of your face, making sure to cover your ears as he rinses with the handheld shower head. Then he moves for the washcloth, your body wash cool as he helps wipe off hours of sweat.

Every few minutes he mumbles, “Are you okay?” Or “Is the water too warm?”

You respond only with small yes or nos. And as Fraser turns the water off, immediately grabbing your towel to wrap you in, you just lean fully into him. The smell of your body wash on his chest, and through hooded eyes you watch as droplets of water cascade down it as well.

“I got lucky.” You mumble, but your voice is so quiet Fraser misses it.

“What’s that, baby?” He asks, pulling you off his chest but still holding you up.

“I got lucky.” You say again.

“I wouldn’t exactly call getting sick lucky.” He says, helping you out of the shower and sitting you down on the closed lid of the toilet. He grabs another towel, wrapping it around his waist before coming to help dry you off.

“You.” You say, wishing he could get it without you having to explain yourself right now. And he looks at you in confusion for only a moment before it clicks. His eyes soften, so do the rest of his features.

“If anything, it’s me who’s lucky.” He says, kneeling down so you guys are almost eye level. He’s still got some height on you, and you’d make a comment about it any other day. But now you’re still so tired, still so weak.

But you don’t miss how your words have broken some anxious layer in him. And before you know it you’re dressed in a big t-shirt, Fraser braiding your hair so the wet strands don’t stick to your neck, and helping you back to bed.

He helps you down slowly, a shiver going through you at the coolness of the sheets. Your fingers squeeze your pillow, and you let Fraser adjust your blankets, then grab the thermometer and take your temperature again.

102.3

“It’s going down, baby.” Fraser says, and he’s so relieved that he lets out a small laugh with it.

“Good.” You say, your eyes already closed as your head rests on your pillow. His hands come to your face, feeling your forehead again, and humming contentedly at what he feels. “Thank you.” You say, sleep taking you before you could hear his response.

The slam of the bedroom door echoes in the small apartment, a final punctuation mark to the ugly words that passed between you. You stand in the living room for a long moment, your chest tight with unshed tears, the silence pressing in on you. Going back in there feels impossible.

Without making a conscious decision, you find yourself pulling a throw blanket from the back of the armchair. The couch is lumpy and uncomfortable, but it's neutral territory. You arrange the pillows just so, creating a small nest away from him, away from the tension that still crackles in the air. You lie down, facing the back of the sofa and curl into a tight ball, willing sleep to come and rescue you from the ache in your chest.

Hours later, Fraser stirs in bed. The space beside him is cold, empty. He reaches out, his hand patting the mattress in search of your warmth, but finds only rumpled sheets. Panic, sharp and sudden, pierces through him. He sits up, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. "Babe?" he calls softly, but there's no response.

The apartment is quiet as he slips out of bed, his bare feet silent on the cool floor. He checks the bathroom first, then the small office, a growing dread tightening in his stomach. Then he sees it, a familiar blanket peeking over the arm of the couch.

He finds you there, curled up, your breathing soft but uneven in sleep. Even in the dim light from the streetlamp filtering through the blinds, he can see the tension in your shoulders, the tear tracks glistening on your cheeks. His heart clenches painfully. The fight replays in his mind—the careless words, the stubborn pride, the way he'd watched your face crumble. It all seems so stupid now, so meaningless compared to the sight of you sleeping alone, seeking comfort anywhere but with him.

He sinks to his knees beside the couch, his hand hovering over your hair, wanting to touch you but afraid to wake you, afraid you'll flinch away. "Hey," he whispers, his voice thick with regret.

Your eyes flutter open, and for a moment, confusion clouds your gaze before memory returns. You shift away from him slightly. "Fraser?"

"What are you doing out here?" he asks, his voice barely audible. He reaches out, his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw. "The bed's empty without you."

You sit up, pulling the blanket around you like a shield. "I just... I needed some space."

His expression crumbles. "Space? From me? In our own home?" He looks around the small living room, at the inadequate couch, the thin blanket. "I hate this. I hate you being out here. I hate that we fought and this is where you ended up."

"Well, I wasn't exactly welcome in our bed," you retort, the hurt still fresh.

"That's not what I meant," he says quickly, his voice desperate. "I don't care if we're fighting. I don't care if you're so mad at me you can't even look at me. I still need to know you're there. I need to fall asleep knowing you're next to me, even if we're not touching. The bed feels wrong without you. The whole apartment feels wrong."

His words chip away at your anger, revealing the raw emotion beneath. "Fraser..."

"I'm sorry," he continues, his eyes pleading. "I'm sorry for what I said. It was stupid and I didn't mean it. But I'm even more sorry that I made you feel like you had to sleep out here, alone. I can't... I can't do this. I can't be in a fight where we're in separate rooms. It feels like you're already gone."

A tear escapes and rolls down your cheek. He catches it with his thumb, wiping it away gently. "Don't cry," he murmurs. "Please don't cry. I can't stand it when you cry because of me."

"I'm not crying because of you," you whisper. "I'm crying because I didn't want to be out here either."

His shoulders slump in relief. "Then come back to bed. Please. We don't have to talk. We don't have to touch. We don't have to solve anything right now. Just... come back to bed. Let me hold you, even if you're still mad at me. I need to hold you."

You look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity, the love, the desperate need for you that transcends the anger of a few hours ago. You nod slowly.

He stands up, holding out his hand to you. You take it, letting him pull you to your feet and lead you back to the bedroom. He doesn't let go of your hand as you both slide under the covers. He turns to face you, gently arranging the pillow under your head.

"I love you," he whispers, his hand finding yours in the darkness. "Even when I'm being an idiot and we're fighting, I love you. That never changes."

"I love you too," you whisper back, the tension finally leaving your body. "Even when you're an idiot."

A small smile touches his lips. "Fair enough." He tugs you closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. You rest your head on his heartbeat, steady and reassuring beneath your ear. The fight isn't forgotten, but it no longer matters. What matters is this, this space between you, filled not with anger, but with love.

"Better?" he asks softly, his lips brushing against your hair.

That was the part you kept repeating to yourself afterward, as if it somehow made the ache in your chest less humiliating.

You hadn’t followed Fraser into the hallway. You hadn’t pressed your ear against the door or deliberately hidden around a corner, waiting to hear something private.

You had simply been looking for him.

The apartment was louder than usual, crowded with Fraser’s teammates and a handful of their girlfriends, everyone gathered for a casual dinner that had quickly turned into drinks, cards, and heated arguments over which movie should be playing in the background.

You had spent most of the evening beside Fraser, your thigh pressed against his on the couch while his fingers absentmindedly traced circles against your knee.

He had been affectionate, normal, he had kissed your temple when he got up to refill his drink and squeezed your shoulder as he passed behind you.

Nothing about him had suggested that anything was wrong, that was why the words hit so hard.

You were walking toward the kitchen when you heard his voice coming from the small hallway near the laundry room. You slowed automatically, thinking you had found him “I don’t know,” Fraser said quietly. “Sometimes I think everything would’ve been easier if I hadn’t gotten into a serious relationship so young.”

You stopped.

Completely.

Your hand remained suspended near the kitchen doorway, one of his teammates replied, but his voice was too low for you to understand.

Fraser gave a humorless laugh “It’s just complicated now. Everything I do affects someone else. Every decision. Every move. I can’t only think about myself anymore.”

Your stomach dropped, you should have kept listening, you should have stepped into the hallway and asked what he meant, you should have trusted him enough to hear the entire conversation.

Instead, your brain latched onto one sentence.

Everything would’ve been easier if I hadn’t gotten into a serious relationship so young, you backed away before either of them could notice you.

The room seemed unbearably loud when you returned to it. Someone laughed from the couch. A glass clinked against the counter. The television played a scene no one was watching.

You sat down in the same spot you had occupied before, pressing your hands between your knees so nobody would notice them shaking.

Fraser regretted you, maybe not you specifically, maybe he still cared about you.

But he regretted the relationship, he regretted the responsibility, he regretted having to consider you when he made decisions about his career and his future.

Suddenly, every conversation from the past few months replayed itself differently, the times he had discussed where he might be playing next season, the nights he had worried about being sent somewhere new, the way he had hesitated when you mentioned that you could potentially relocate your work if necessary.

You had thought he was concerned about uprooting your life.

Now you wondered whether he simply didn’t want you following him, maybe he wanted the freedom to go wherever hockey took him without having to worry about a girlfriend waiting at home, maybe you had become an obligation.

A complication.

Someone else he was forced to think about “Hey.” you jumped when Fraser sat beside you, he frowned immediately “You okay?”

“Yeah.” the response left your mouth too quickly.

Fraser’s eyes moved across your face, studying you with the same focus he usually reserved for game footage “You sure?”

You forced a smile “Just tired.”

His expression softened “We can leave soon.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re having fun.”

“I’m having fun because you’re here.” the words made your throat tighten, you looked away before he could see your eyes beginning to sting, Fraser rested his hand on your thigh “You want me to get your coat?”

You wanted to ask him, you wanted to turn toward him and say, Do you regret me?

But there were people everywhere, and your pride refused to let you break down in front of them “I think I might head home,” you said instead. “You should stay.”

His hand stilled “Without me?”

“You don’t have to leave because I’m tired.”

“I’m not letting you go home alone when something’s clearly wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

Fraser leaned closer “You haven’t looked at me once since I sat down.”

You finally met his eyes, the concern in them nearly broke you “I just have a headache.” he clearly didn’t believe you, but after a brief pause, he nodded “Okay. Let me grab our stuff.”

“You don’t have to come.”

“I know.”

His answer was gentle “I want to.”

The drive back to Fraser’s apartment was painfully quiet, he kept glancing at you from the driver’s seat, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel every time you turned your face toward the window.

Usually, you filled the silence.

You talked about something funny someone had said, complained about the song playing on the radio, or rested your hand on his thigh while he drove. Tonight, you folded your arms over your stomach and stared at the lights passing outside.

Fraser didn’t push, that almost made it worse.

He waited until you were inside the apartment, until the door had closed behind him and the quiet had settled around you then he placed the keys on the entry table and turned toward you “Talk to me.”

“I told you, I have a headache.”

“And I told you I know when you’re lying.” you flinched, Fraser’s face softened instantly “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

He stepped closer, but you moved away before he could touch you, the hurt that crossed his face was immediate “Did I do something?”

You looked down at your shoes “No.”

“Did someone say something to you?”

You swallowed “No.”

“Then what happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Something happened.” His voice remained calm, but the worry underneath it was becoming more obvious. “You were fine, and then I came back into the room and you looked like you were trying not to cry.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You are now.” you wiped at your cheek quickly, frustrated when your fingers came away wet, Fraser took another cautious step toward you “Please.”

The quiet desperation in his voice made it impossible to keep pretending, you drew in an unsteady breath “Do you regret being with me?”

Fraser froze, for a moment, he said nothing at all, then his eyebrows pulled together “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I did. I just don’t understand why you’re asking.”

You laughed weakly, but there was no humor in it “You don’t have to pretend.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“I heard you.” Fraser’s confusion slowly shifted into realization, your chest tightened as you watched him piece it together “In the hallway,” you continued. “You said everything would’ve been easier if you hadn’t gotten into a serious relationship so young.”

His lips parted “You heard that?”

“I wasn’t trying to listen. I was looking for you, and then I heard my boyfriend telling someone that his life would be easier if he was single.”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“It was exactly what you said.”

“It’s part of what I said.”

You shook your head and turned away “I don’t want you to explain it just because I caught you.”

Fraser stepped in front of you before you could walk past him “I’m not explaining it because you caught me. I’m explaining it because you left before hearing the rest.”

“I heard enough.”

“No.” His voice sharpened slightly, not with anger, but urgency. “You didn’t.”

Your chin trembled despite your efforts to remain composed “You said being with me made everything complicated.”

“It does.” the honesty felt like another blow, you stared at him, Fraser immediately reached for your hands, but you pulled them back “Let me finish,” he pleaded.

You blinked rapidly “Fraser—”

“Being with you does make things more complicated.” his voice softened “Because I love you.” you stopped breathing, he moved closer, slowly enough to give you time to step away, you didn’t “When I was younger, every decision was mine,” Fraser said. “I could go wherever I was told. I could change teams, change cities, change everything, and the only person who had to deal with it was me.”

He rubbed a hand over his face “But now I have you. And I don’t mean that like you’re a burden. I mean I have someone I want to build a life with.” you looked at him uncertainly “The conversation wasn’t about whether I regretted you,” he continued. “It was about how scary it is knowing my career could affect your entire life.”

“Then why did you say it would be easier if you hadn’t gotten into a relationship?”

“Because it would be easier.” your eyes dropped, Fraser gently lifted your chin before you could turn away again “Easier isn’t better.”

His eyes searched yours “Being alone would be easier. I wouldn’t have to worry about whether you’re happy in a new city. I wouldn’t have to wonder if you’re sacrificing too much for me. I wouldn’t have to think about apartments with enough space for both of us or whether you can find work nearby or how long I can stand being away from you.”

His thumb brushed beneath your eye “But I also wouldn’t have you.”

Your lips trembled “What did you say after I left?”

Fraser’s expression broke “I said I wouldn’t change it.” the room went silent “I told him that, yeah, my life was simpler before you,” Fraser said. “But it wasn’t half as good. I said you’re the best thing that’s happened to me and that every complicated part is worth it because I get to come home to you.”

A sob escaped you before you could stop it, Fraser immediately wrapped his arms around you, this time, you let him, you buried your face against his chest, gripping the back of his shirt as the panic and shame of the past hour finally spilled out “I thought you wanted me gone,” you cried.

“No.” his arms tightened around you “Never.”

“I thought I was holding you back.”

“You’re not.”

“You said every decision affects me.”

“Because it does,” he murmured into your hair. “And because I care about how those decisions affect you.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him “What if you do get tired of it?”

Fraser frowned “Of what?”

“Having to consider me. Having to worry about me every time something changes.”

His hands settled against your cheeks “I’m not being forced to consider you. I choose to.” he wiped away your tears with both thumbs “I want to know what you think. I want to know what you need. I want my decisions to include you because I want my future to include you.”

You looked at him for several seconds, searching for any hesitation, there was none, only fear, not fear of being trapped, fear that you still didn’t believe him “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I should’ve asked you instead of assuming.”

“You were hurt.”

“I didn’t even give you a chance to explain.”

Fraser shook his head “I probably should’ve explained this to you before discussing it with someone else.”

“You’re allowed to talk to your friends.”

“I know, but you should know how I feel too.” his fingers slid gently into your hair “I’ve been worried about next season, about where I’ll be and what that means for us.” you tensed, Fraser noticed immediately “Not because I’m questioning us,” he clarified. “Because I don’t want you constantly changing your plans for mine.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I know you don’t. That’s what scares me.”

You blinked.

“You would follow me anywhere, wouldn’t you?”

You hesitated “Yes.”

Fraser gave you a small, sad smile “And I love you for that, but I never want you to wake up one day and realize you gave up everything you wanted just to fit into my life.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“But we still need to talk about it. Together.” his thumb stroked your cheek “I don’t want you following behind me, i want us making decisions side by side.”

The tears returned, quieter this time “You really don’t regret us?”

Fraser stared at you as though the question physically hurt him, then he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours “I regret that you heard the one sentence that could make you believe that.” his nose brushed yours “I regret not noticing you were there.”

He kissed one tear from your cheek “I regret that you spent even one minute thinking I didn’t want you.” another kiss, this time near the corner of your mouth “But I have never regretted loving you.”

You closed your eyes, Fraser kissed you gently, it wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was soft, lingering, and careful, like he was trying to pour every reassurance he couldn’t articulate into the space between you.

When he pulled away, he kept his forehead against yours “You’re not a complication,” he whispered. “You’re the reason the complicated parts matter.”

You let out a watery laugh “That was disgustingly sweet.”

“I’ve had a stressful night.”

“You had a stressful night?”

“My girlfriend looked at me like I broke her heart, wouldn’t let me hold her hand in the car, and then asked if I regretted her.” his arms tightened around your waist “I nearly died.”

Despite everything, you laughed again, Fraser’s shoulders relaxed at the sound “There she is,” he murmured.

“I’m still upset.”

“You’re allowed.”

“And embarrassed.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I almost cried in front of all your teammates.”

“You did cry in front of me.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve seen me cry over a dog food commercial.”

“That dog looked hungry.”

“He had an entire bowl of food.”

“He looked emotionally hungry.”

You gave him a disbelieving look, Fraser smiled, but it faded after a moment “Promise me something.”

“What?”

“If you ever hear me say something that hurts you, don’t leave before I can explain.”

You looked down “I’ll try.”

He gently tipped your face back toward him “And I’ll try not to have life-changing relationship conversations in hallways during parties.”

“That would help.”

“Deal.”

He kissed your forehead “Come sit with me?”

Fraser guided you toward the couch, sitting down before pulling you carefully into his lap. You curled against him, your head resting beneath his chin while his hand rubbed slowly up and down your back.

For several minutes, neither of you spoke, the apartment felt different now, not perfectly repaired, perhaps, but safe again “What exactly were you talking about?” you asked quietly.

Fraser exhaled “Someone asked whether I was nervous about not knowing where I’ll be long-term.”

“And you are?”

“A little.” his fingers traced a line along your spine “I can handle uncertainty when it’s just hockey. It’s harder when I’m trying to plan a life with you at the same time.”

You lifted your head “You’re planning a life with me?”

He looked almost offended “Obviously.”

“You’ve never actually said that.”

“I assumed the drawer full of your clothes and the fact that you know my mother’s coffee order made it clear.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

Fraser studied you before reaching for your left hand, he played with your fingers, his thumb brushing over the empty space below your knuckle, your heart stumbled “I’m not proposing tonight,” he said quickly.

You stared at him “I wasn’t—”

“You looked terrified.”

“I looked surprised.”

“You looked like you were about to fall off the couch.”

“I’m sitting on you.”

“Exactly. Very difficult to fall from this position.” you lightly shoved his shoulder, Fraser smiled before becoming serious again “I’m not proposing tonight,” he repeated. “But when I picture where all of this is going, that’s what I see.”

You looked down at your joined hands “Marriage?”

“Eventually.”

“Kids?”

His cheeks turned faintly pink “If you want them.”

“A house?”

“With a kitchen you’ll complain is too small even if it’s enormous.”

“I need counter space.”

“I know.”

“And a dog.”

“Now you’re getting demanding.”

You narrowed your eyes “Fraser.”

“Yes, a dog.”

You settled back against his chest, warmth replacing the cold ache that had consumed you earlier “Maybe things would be easier alone,” you admitted, his arms tightened instinctively “But easier isn’t better,” you added.

Fraser kissed the top of your head “No.”

You listened to his heartbeat beneath your ear, steady, familiar, home “I don’t want easy if it means I don’t get you,” you whispered.

His breath caught slightly, then he tucked you closer, until there was barely any space left between you “You won’t have to find out what that’s like.”

“You can’t promise that nothing will ever change.”

“No,” Fraser said. “But I can promise that I’ll talk to you when it does.”

You nodded “And I promise I’ll stay long enough to hear the whole conversation.”

“That would be appreciated.”

You tilted your head back “Even when you’re saying stupid things in hallways.”

“Especially then.”

He leaned down and kissed you again, later, after the tears had dried and the two of you had changed into pajamas, Fraser refused to let you sleep on your usual side of the bed. He pulled you directly against him, one arm tucked beneath your head and the other wrapped firmly around your waist “You know I’m not going anywhere, right?” he whispered into the darkness.

You traced the seam of his shirt with your fingertip “I know now.” He was quiet for a moment, then he pressed a kiss to your hair “For the record, I don’t regret getting serious young.”

“No?”

“No.” His hand moved slowly along your back. “It just means I get more time with you.”

Your eyes burned again “You’re going to make me cry.”

“Happy tears?”

“Maybe.”

“I can live with those.” You shifted closer, pressing your face against his neck, Fraser held you until your breathing slowed and the last pieces of fear finally loosened their grip.

Life with him might never be simple.

There would be trades, travel, distance, hard decisions, and conversations neither of you knew how to have yet, but as you fell asleep in his arms, you understood what Fraser had been trying to say.

"Morning, beautiful," he murmurs, voice still rough with sleep. "Last day of paradise."

You lean back into his embrace, watching the sun paint streaks of gold across the water. "We could always extend. I hear the off-season lasts a while."

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your neck. "Tempting, but I think my team might notice if I don't show up to training camp."

The week has been perfect, secluded beaches, candlelit dinners, long nights tangled in crisp white sheets with nothing but the sound of waves and each other's breathing. No hockey, no schedules, no interruptions. Just Fraser, completely yours.

"I'm going to miss this," you say softly, turning in his arms to face him. "Having you all to myself."

His eyes soften. "Hey, just because we're heading back doesn't mean I'm not still all yours."

His lips meet yours, gentle at first, then deepening with a hunger that makes your knees weak. His hands slide down to your hips, pulling you closer as the morning sun warms your skin.

"Last chance for a morning swim," he murmurs against your mouth.

"Who said anything about swimming?" you reply, taking his hand and leading him back toward the bedroom.

Two weeks later, you're dropping Fraser off at the arena for his first practice back. He's been quieter than usual this morning, a mix of excitement and reluctance to return to the team environment.

"Text me when you're done?" you ask, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

"Always," he promises. "Love you."

"Love you too. Try not to kill any rookies on day one."

He grins. "No promises."

As you drive away, you're already counting the hours until he's home again, even knowing the bubble of privacy you've enjoyed for weeks is about to burst.

"Look who decided to join us," Viktor calls as Fraser enters the locker room. "Was wondering if you'd remember how to skate after all that… rest."

Fraser rolls his eyes, grabbing his stall. "Ha ha. Someone's feeling funny today."

"Someone's feeling well-rested," Michael chimes in from across the room. "Unlike the rest of us who actually trained this summer."

"Trained my ass off," Fraser defends, though he knows where this is heading.

"Sure you did," James pipes up. "If by 'trained' you mean 'practiced making babies' with your girl."

A few guys hoot and whistle as Fraser feels his face heat up.

"Got a postcard from your little love shack," Mark adds, appearing behind him with a grin. "Something about 'paradise found' and 'private beach access'?"

Fraser freezes. "How the hell did you..."

"Your mom posted it on her Facebook," Mark reveals. "My wife showed me. Very romantic. Very… secluded."

"Very expensive-looking," James adds. "Must be nice being a rising star with all that endorsement money."

Fraser starts taping his stick with more focus than necessary. "Can we talk about hockey or something?"

"We could," Viktor agrees, "but this is way more interesting. So, tropical getaway, huh? Bet you two really… connected."

The emphasis on "connected" draws another round of laughter.

"At least someone got connected this summer," James mutters good-naturedly. "My girlfriend dumped me because I 'smelled like hockey' too much."

"That's because you never shower," someone calls back.

Fraser tries to stay out of it, really he does. But then Michael leans closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

"So those private beaches… are they really private?"

Fraser looks up, meeting his eyes. There's genuine curiosity there mixed with amusement.

"Define 'private beach'," he finds himself saying, which is apparently the wrong thing to say.

The locker room erupts in cheers and whistles.

"Oh my god," Mark cackles. "They did it on the beach! Like in the movies!"

"Sand everywhere," James shakes his head. "Brave man. Very brave."

"Or very stupid," Michael adds. "Ever heard of chafing, kid?"

Fraser is definitely regretting not staying in bed with you this morning.

"Okay, that's enough," he says, standing up. "We're here to practice hockey, not discuss my sex life."

"Sex life?" James grins. "So there was a sex life to discuss?"

"Jesus Christ," Fraser mutters, heading toward the ice.

Practice is brutal, not because of the drills, but because the chirping doesn't stop on the ice. Every time Fraser makes a good play, someone yells something about "practicing those moves off the ice too." When he misses a shot, it's "must be tired from all that… swimming."

By the time they're doing laps at the end, he's ready to snap.

"Okay, seriously," he calls out, skating over to the group huddled by the bench. "One more comment about my vacation and I'm fighting every single one of you."

Mark grins. "Threats? That's not very romantic, Fraser. What would your girl say?"

The guys howl with laughter as Fraser skates away, shaking his head but smiling despite himself.

"Longest practice of my life," Fraser groans when he finally collapses onto your couch that evening. "They wouldn't let up."

You laugh, handing him a beer. "Poor baby. All that chirping must be so hard."

"You have no idea," he says, pulling you down beside him. He kisses your forehead. "Worth it though."

"Even with the endless teasing?"

"Especially with the endless teasing," he corrects. "Means they're jealous."

"Jealous of what? The sand in uncomfortable places?"

"Jealous they don't have someone to take to paradise," he says softly, his fingers tracing your jaw. "Jealous they don't have you."

Your heart melts as always. "Well, they can't have me. You're stuck with me."

It had to intentional at this point. The way your boyfriend wandered the shared apartment, curly hair tousled, glasses perched on his freckled nose, grey sweatpants hung so low on his shirtless torso you could see that he wasn’t even wearing boxers.

He was still on the phone, over an hour after the call had woken you both up, chatting away with Connor as they planned their summer training together. He appeared to be in absolutely no rush to end the call, despite your gaze burning through his skin. His abs flexed as he laughed, face scrunching up in delight. Your mouth watered at the sight. Muscles contracting the same way they did when his fingers pressed on your scalp and your nails dug into his thighs.

How could a man as sweet as Fraser be so entirely unaware of your staring and fascination? For the love of god, if he would just notice what he was doing to you maybe that would persuade him to put a shirt on. The thoughts racing through your mind were dangerous, and as badly as you wanted him right now, you were not going to subject Connor to that.

So you sat, patiently, like a decent person. Flopped on your stomach, breasts pressed together, ass tastefully raised, pretending to scold on your phone. Fraser entered the living room again, still pacing in circles. From the corner of your eye you saw him flop down on the other couch.

You toyed with the idea still brewing in the back of your lust fogged mind. You couldn’t in good conscience work him up real bad while he was trying to catch up with his friend. But curling up in his lap isn’t that bad, right?

Crossing the small space between couches, Fraser’s blue eyes trained on you. His brows furrowed as you climbed onto his lap, head resting on his bare chest. A large hand, the one not holding his cell to his ear, slid down your side, cupping your ass.

You sigh, nuzzling your face closer to, and eyes fluttering shut. Your right hand traveled to his nape, nails grazing his scalp, left hand grazing the band of his sweats with the lightest touch.

“Yeah, alright man,” his voice rumbled. “Okay, yeah, we’ll figure it out. Okay, yeah, you too. Yeah, bye.”

His phone dropped the cushions and his other hand brushed your hair from your face. “Someone’s cuddly right now.”

You groaned. “Sorry, my boyfriend was just walking around the apartment looking so fucking good, and I just wanted him to hurry up and es the call.”

He laughed. “I’m sorry baby. Next time I’ll put more clothes on.”

“Don’t you dare!”

The two of you laughed, faces a few centimeters apart, before Fraser closed the gap.

“Let me make up to you?” He whispered as you separated.

You pretended to toss the idea around before agreeing. “I guess you could try.”

“Practice bad?” You ask.

“Mm.” He hums, indifferent. He steps closer until his chest is pressed against your back. “Just kept us forever.”

You nod and go to rinse your face while he reaches for your cleaner bottle next. At first, months ago, he’d brushed it off when you’d offered to do skincare with him, a little embarrassed. But now you know he steals your products constantly.

“You’re using my stuff again.” You accuse, smiling.

Fraser glances over, already unscrewing the cap of the little bottle.

“…maybe.”

“That bottle was full last week.”

“I have dry skin. I spend all day in the cold.”

“Sure, whatever you say.”

He laughs quietly and you give in too. God, he’s cute. His curls are a little damp still from his post-practice shower. He’s staring in the mirror with the concentration of a surgeon while he rubs the moisturizer into his face.

“You missed a spot.” You murmur.

“Where?”

You step closer and smooth your fingers over his cheekbone. The tips of his ears turn pink instantly. 

“You’re staring at me.” He says without looking at you. 

“Can you blame me?”

His mouth twitches as he tries to hide a smile. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Oh, but you love me.” You say, poking his chest.

He can’t deny that. By the time you both end up in bed, even you’re sleepy now. Fraser is propped up against the headboard in an old Bruins shirt and grey sweats, his glasses rested a little low on his nose while he has a book in his hands. You’re almost sprawled across him, cheek pressed to his stomach. Neither of you talk for a while, just resting in the domestic sounds of pages turning and both of you breathing. 

“Whatcha reading?” You finally mumble, wanting to hear his voice again.

He glances down at you. “The Hobbit.”

“For what, the thousandth time?” 

“Hey. Only the fifth time.”

“Nerd.” You mutter playfully.

“It’s interesting!”

“You’re interesting.”

You feel his stomach tighten under you with a silent laugh while he reaches down and runs a hand through your hair. You melt immediately and he notices so he keeps doing it, fingers slow and careful.

“You know, I kissed this today.” He says after a minute, his voice barely above a whisper.

“This?”

“Coming home to you.” He shrugs a little. “Practice kinda sucked and all I could think about was getting back here.”

Your chest aches at that. You lift your head to look at him properly this time. His curls are falling into his eyes again, and he’s so sleepy and pretty and gentle with you that it makes your heart feel almost too full.

“You’re really cute, Fraser Minten.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t say my full name like that.”

“Fraser Pierre Minten.” You repeat, sweeter this time.

He tries to hide his smiles by looking back at the book, but it doesn’t work. You reach your hand up and push your fingers through his curls now, and his entire body softens beneath you. His eyes close for a second.

“You tired?” You whisper?

“Mhm.”

“Wanna sleep?”

“In a minute.”

He slides down the bed so he’s laying now, and sets the book on his nightstand. He pulls you back into him.

“I love you.”