#hiiapl

It’s crazy to think so, but it’s true. Had you not met him nearly five years ago at a bar in New York, you’d be in a totally different situation – probably married to the Wall Street douchebag you were with at the time and struggling to find your sense of self. Instead, you’re happy in St. Louis with the best chosen family you could ever dream of. Colton is a lighthouse in your storm, keeping you steady and providing hope.

Marriage has never been off the table, but it hasn’t exactly been on it either. Both you and Colton are young, barely into life itself, and you know he wants to enjoy his youth. Tyler tells you that you’re being ridiculous, that Colton is more than ready to settle down, but you’re scared to broach the topic. You’ve never handled rejection well, and Colton wielding that sword would be too much for you to bear. It doesn’t stop you from fantasizing about what your wedding would be like – you want it to be small, just close family and friends, and maybe on a lake. One day you’ll gather the courage to ask him what he thinks about spending the rest of his life with you.

“Babe, have you RSVPed to Scandella’s wedding yet?” Colton asks you as he slips his dress shoes on. It’s early May, and the Blues are trying desperately to make it out of the first round.

“No,” you draw out, slightly confused. “We didn’t get an invitation.”

“It’s on the fridge, under the grocery list. I put it there like a week ago.”

You roll your eyes and laugh. “How was I supposed to find it, Colt? I’ll do it as soon as you leave. Have fun in Denver.”

He kisses you gently, promising to score you a goal, and pats your dog on the head before wheeling his suitcase out the door and into the trunk of Tyler’s car. You wave to your boyfriend’s teammate and watch as they turn the corner. Once inside, you dig around on the fridge until you find the invitation. It’s a little crumpled, a clear indication Colton shoved it in his pocket after practice and left it there for a while, but it still looks gorgeous. Celeste, Marco’s fiancée, has a timeless style that is perfect for the wedding she’s no doubt deep into planning. Flipping the card over, you see the deadline to RSVP is in two days, so you rush to pull up the website and input your details.

Not even five minutes after saving your seats you get a text from Celeste. Cutting it pretty close to the wire, wouldn’t you say? followed by Please know I’m kidding, and I’m ecstatic you and Colton can make it.

You laugh, typing out a reply that explains your lateness. He never told me about it, just put the invite on the fridge after letting it sit in his jacket for a week. We can’t wait to be a part of the big day :) x

The two of you chat for a while longer, exchanging details about the wedding, before you take Perseus on his long walk and comfortably fall into the routine you keep when Colton isn’t around. Despite trying your best to dream of other things, you spend the night picturing what your boyfriend’s face will look like if you ever walk down the aisle.

☼☼☼☼

It’s chillier than you thought it would be, but with Colton’s suit jacket wrapped around your shoulders the warmth will soon return to your body. Marco and Celeste elected to have an evening wedding, and the setting sun makes the venue even more beautiful. Montreal is a beautiful city, with a wonderfully rich history, and the distant sound of boats on the St. Lawrence provide serene background noise.

The arm that is resting comfortably on the back of your chair shifts slightly to pull you closer to Colton. “When can we start drinking?” he whispers as you wait for the bride to make her entrance. “You look exceptionally good in that dress, and I need an excuse to have my hands all over you.”

“Colton Parayko,” you chide, “We’re in public!”

“When has that ever stopped me?”

Before you can reprimand him the music starts and the crowd rises. You follow suit, peering over Colton’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of Celeste. She looks stunning, all smiles as she makes her way towards her soon-to-be husband. The ceremony leaves you both in tears, with Colton’s teammates laughing hysterically at you. It’s the first time you don’t hear Colton defend himself when chirps are thrown.

The drinks flow freely throughout dinner, and by the time the dance floor opens you’ve consumed one too many gin and tonics. You can’t convince Colton to participate in the silly group dances so you’re with the group of wives, dancing up a storm and having the life of your life. Eventually he makes his way to the floor, stealing you away for a slow dance to some overplayed Ed Sheeran song. You rest your head on his chest as he sways you in small circles, sealing it with a kiss as the music fades into a song he can’t resist bopping along to. Both of you spend the rest of the night dancing with your friends and making memories you hope to duplicate as more of the team gets married.

It’s after midnight when the remaining guests send the newlywed couple on their way in a flurry of applause and bubbles. The hotel you’re staying at is only a short walk from the venue, so you and Colton make your way there at a leisurely pace. Much of it has to do with your inability to walk fast. Despite your boyfriend’s suggestion to wear a comfortable pair of sandals, you wore the highest pair of heels you own, and the pain you feel makes the journey longer than it needs to be.

“Hold up for a sec,” you whine slightly when Colton gets too far ahead of you for your liking, “‘M gonna take my shoes off.”

He looks at you like you’ve grown three heads. “Don’t do that Y/N, you’ll tear your feet to shreds. This isn’t even a real sidewalk.” He has a point – the path you’re on has you walking on a gravel shoulder.

“Don’t care. ’M tired and want to get home faster,” you mumble, bending over to undo the ankle straps.

A deep sigh rumbles from his chest, but Colton backtracks to stand in front of you. “Hop on.”

You do so with little protest and spend the rest of the walk clinging to Colton’s back. The hotel staff don’t bat an eye when the two of you enter the lobby, no doubt having encountered stranger things than a piggyback ride. It takes him a second to open the door but the latch eventually clicks, and Colton tosses you playfully on the bed. The two of you work quickly to complete some sort of nighttime routine, exhaustion hitting both of you hard. You want nothing more than to curl into Colton’s chest and sleep for at least fourteen hours.

Sleep has almost overcome you when Colton whispers a question into your hair. “Do you think we’ll have as much fun at our wedding?”

You try hard not to let your surprise be visible, but your heart is racing. “You want to get married?”

“Of course,” he says. “I knew you were the one a long time ago.”

A smile makes its way onto your features, though he can’t see it due to the position you’ve situated yourselves in. “I’d like to marry you one day,” you whisper back. The hum he emits reverberates in your chest, and you go to bed with your mind made up. You’re going to propose to Colton as soon as possible.

☼☼☼☼

It’s unconventional, you proposing to your boyfriend instead of the other way around, but your relationship has always been like that. Colton’s never been one to do things on other people’s timelines and neither are you, so many moments have been ‘too rushed’ for some family members’ liking. However, you do spend the rest of the summer debating on whether to go through with your plan or not. What if he says no because it’s too weird? The thought plagues you throughout your vacation to Alberta, and when Colton notices how off you are you chalk it up to feeling under the weather. He buys it and never brings it up again. Life has returned to normal, the season is underway, and you’ve finally committed to asking Colton to marry you.

Tyler points out how unorthodox the situation is when you pick him up to go ring shopping.

“In any other relationship I’d be doing this with Colt, not you.”

You laugh as he settles in your passenger seat and buckles up. “Since when has this been any old relationship? I moved across the continent for him.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugs. “Do you know what you’re looking for?”

The two of you spend the ride to the jewellers discussing what you think Colton would like. You argue that he’d want something simple – relatively thin and plain gold. Tyler insists that his friend wants an intricately carved ring that takes up a great deal of space on his hand, but you know he’s only doing so in an effort to make Colton look ridiculous. The bickering only stops when Tyler kindly opens the storefront door for you.

“Hi! Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” the salesperson asks. He’s charming in the way salespeople usually are, all perfectly placed hair and dazzling smile.

“We’re just looking for rings,” you explain, eyes scanning for the display case that holds rings large enough to fit Colton’s finger.

The employee smiles, undoubtedly glad he’ll be making a nice commission off the sale. “You’re a smart man sir,” he nods to Tyler, “Bringing her in to make sure she likes it. Congratulations.”

The brunette looks at you in confusion for a moment before clueing in. “Oh,” he mutters, “We aren’t together. I’m just here for moral support.”

You nod. “Could you please point us in the direction of the men’s rings?”

Though more than a bit embarrassed, the employee leads to that section of store before leaving you to your own devices. Clearly it isn’t a common request, and Tyler chuckles a little before turning his attention to the elegant rings in front of him. There are a lot more options than you thought there would be and you feel a little lost. You know what Colton likes, so you whittle out anything you know he would hate. Tyler tries to sneak in a few rather garish choices but settles down once he sees how overwhelmed you are.

“Don’t stress so much. Colt’s going to love it regardless because it’s from you, and it means the two of you are getting married,” he insists.

You aren’t convinced. “What if he hates it?”

Tyler scoffs. “That’s going to be damn near impossible. He practically worships that ground you fucking walk on.”

The nerves settle enough for you to actually be productive and eventually you settle on one that looks strikingly similar to what you were describing to your friend in the car. Unsurprisingly they don’t have Colton’s size in store, but let you know when you place the order that it should be in by the end of the week. On the way home you pick up some dinner before dropping Tyler off in front of his house. “Thanks for coming with me today,” you say sincerely to which he just nods his head.

Colton’s back from his physiotherapy session when you slip through the front door. “How was your day with Bozak?” he asks as he takes the bag of takeout from your arms and sets it on the counter.

“It was fine,” you sigh, “But I’m glad to be home.”

“What did he need help with?”

You freeze. Though you assumed Colton would ask about the details of your day, you never actually cobbled together a white lie to tell him. “Uh, he wanted a second opinion of some art he wants to buy,” you stutter, “And I took that art history course in college. He just needed me to tell him it was a replica and that the seller was overcharging him.”

He buys it, and you feel a little bad about lying. It’s one of the few times you’ve ever done it throughout your entire relationship but you really don’t want him figuring out your plans. The rest of the night is spent pressed comfortably against his side on the couch, eating Chinese food and laughing at the contestants on the reality show the two of you are currently obsessed with.

☼☼☼☼

The ring box is burning a hole in your pocket. The jeweller called while you were at work, so on your way home you stopped by to pick it up. It’s perfect, just as beautiful as you remember when you picked it out a few days ago. You don’t have a plan, no elaborate yet endearing way to ask, but you know you won’t be able to keep the secret for long. Every fibre of your being wants to be engaged to Colton.

Your house is empty when you arrive home, save for the large dalmatian that comes bounding towards you at the sound of the door opening.

“Hi Perce,” you coo, letting the animal jump a few times in greeting before settling him down. Perseus soon becomes bored of watching you take off your shoes and wanders off, no doubt to find a toy to chew on.

The Blues have a game tonight, and it’s one of the few Friday night home games you can actually attend. Your office has a terrible reputation for scheduling mandatory team dinners on Fridays to ‘improve work flow and connection’. It’s mostly bullshit, but you can never get out of them for fear of getting reprimanded – your bosses take them very seriously. However, more than half the office was away at a professional development conference this weekend, meaning the rest of you were off the hook. You got home with just enough time to eat a quick meal and change into more comfortable clothing, including a much too large Parayko jersey. Perseus follows you to the door and whines as you say goodbye, but stops when you mention Colton returning in a few hours. The dog may have been yours originally but there’s no way anyone would know if you didn’t occasionally bring it up – Perseus is attached at the hip with your boyfriend, possibly soon to be fiancée. They do everything together and Colton is the one he drags out of bed in the morning to go to the bathroom.

By the time you get to the arena the stands are packed. There’s no way you’re getting down to the glass to possibly spare a moment with Colton, so you continue on your way, weaving through people and giving the occasional wave when someone recognizes you enough to call your name. Warmups are finished by the time you make it to the family and friends box and you settle in beside some of the other girls to watch the game unfold. The ring box sitting on the kitchen counter is all you can think about, especially when someone mentions how they recently had a sister get engaged and pass around pictures of the ring. You know you won’t have one, that it will be Colton with something on his left hand, but you don’t care. You just want to spend the rest of your life with him.

The game passes in the blink of an eye. Truthfully you didn’t pay any attention, too focused on imagining a future with Colton. All you know is the Blues won, and that knowledge is in your brain only because everyone else in the box screamed about it. Colton put up four points, meaning he has to speak to the media, and he sends you a text not to wait for him. You drive home listening to a top-forty station tapping absentmindedly at the wheel. Something in your gut tells you that you have to propose tonight. It doesn’t matter that there’s no plan that there’s a chance Colton could say no. You’ve kept it inside long enough and now that you have the ring in your position you’re only going to become more spaced out waiting for the ‘perfect’ time to propose. Life is messy and unconventional, and you’ll be damned if you go through one more moment of it without being engaged to Colton.

Things move in slow motion as you wait for Colton to get home. Perseus is upset when you return sans large blonde man, but perks up when you give him a treat and take him outside to let off some steam. It’s warm enough that you don’t need a jacket, and you perch lazily on a patio chair. Your mind is moving a mile a minute, wondering what you’re going to do if you even do anything at all. Despite your haste to propose, you find yourself wondering if you’ll be able to vocalize those feelings. So many things could go wrong that you’re debating if the whole idea was good in the first place. You’re so caught up in your internal monologue that you don’t hear Colton come home, and only recognize his presence after he lets out a grunt when Perseus runs at him with full force.

“Perce, come on man. You know you’re too big to charge me like that,” Colton laughs, turning to press a kiss to your temple. “How was work today babe?”

You smile at his enthusiasm and give in, detailing the monotonous work you had gotten up to at the office and mentioning how nice it was that everyone was out of town. Colton agrees, saying it was nice to see you at a game without the worry on your face of missing important work-related things. The two of you converse in hushed tones, not wanting to wake the neighbours because it’s well past midnight, until Perseus decides he’s had enough of running around and heads to the door. You follow him inside but stop in the kitchen, Colton nearly running into you because you stop so suddenly.

On the counter, beside the sink and in plain view, is the box housing Colton’s engagement ring. You must have left it there in your rush to get to the game, and forgot it was even out to begin with. How he didn’t see it when he came home is beyond you.

“What’s wrong?” Colton asks, concern lacing his voice. You aren’t one to freeze up and the fact that you did is unnerving for him.

You shake yourself out of it, not wanting to alert him to the presence of the foreign object in the room. “Nothing,” you sigh, “Just tired and sore from the game. You know those seats hurt my back.”

He doesn’t buy it and is quick to let you know. “I call bullshit. The patio chairs bother you more and you were fine. Just talk to me baby, I just want to help.” You’re sheepish, knowing you’ve been found out, and just keep staring at the box in silence because you don’t know what else to do. Colton scans the kitchen to figure out what has you so spooked and eventually lands on the black box that nearly caused you to have a heart attack. “What’s that?”

It’s as if a dam breaks inside of you. “It’s a fucking ring box, with a ring inside it. For you. I want to get married and I know you’re not pressed because we have all the time in the world but I love you and I want to officially spend the rest of my life with you as soon as possible. So I went and bought a ring with Tyler the other day because I decided I was just going to propose to you because fuck tradition you know? I love you so much that it hurts and I want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me. And I was going to think of a cute way to ask but I left the stupid thing on the counter when I got home and here we are.”

Shock, followed by amusement and wonder, take shape on Colton’s face, but he does a good job at recovering for your sake. You can’t believe your emotions came out like that, and want to curl into a ball and never see daylight again. “I’m just gonna go to bed,” you mumble, but Colton stops you from leaving with a gentle hand on your wrist.

“Wait babe, let’s talk about this.” That’s truly the last thing you want to do, but know it’s the adult approach. You sigh and turn back to face the man you love more than life itself.

Colton immediately pulls you into a hug, providing reassurance that what you said and how you feel is valid. You clutch the back of his t-shirt tightly, not wanting to ever let go because it means you have to face the gravity of the situation. Though it’s obvious Colton wants to talk he doesn’t push, which you greatly appreciate. Minutes pass before you pull away, pulling at the hair elastic on your wrist out of nervous habit.

“You want to marry me?” The question tumbles from Colton’s lips in a rushed manner like he can’t believe it. You nod while giggling, finding it funny that he could be so shocked. “Well then,” he smiles, “Let’s see the ring.”

With a bit more encouragement you leave his side and pad around the island, grabbing the box and making your way back to Colton. You hand the sleek black box to him, and cover your eyes while he opens it. If he hates it you’d rather not know, considering you poured your heart and soul into this decision. It’s silent for a few moments and you know Colton has opened the box. Going against yourself, you peek through your hands to see him crying.

“It’s beautiful,” Colton breathes, the words catching in his throat from the tears.

Unsure what to do you reach up to wipe the tiny water droplets from his face. “Don’t cry Colt,” you whisper, but your words are watery because you’re crying too. Before you can speak again he’s filling the silence with the one word you wanted to hear more than anything in the world.

“Yes.”

Tears flow freely from your eyes now, and if someone were to see the two of you through a window they’d be concerned. You know you look a mess but the only thing that matters to you is putting that ring on Colton’s finger and making it official.

“Yeah?” The question barely makes it past your lips before Colton is picking you up and slamming his lips against yours. You return the kiss instantly – giggling and trying your hardest to show him just how much you love him. It’s messy, all teeth as excitement gets the better of you both.

It feels like hours pass while you kiss Colton, legs wrapped around his waist as he supports the two of you. Eventually you pull away, too excited to see the ring on his finger, and jump down. Wordlessly he passes you the box and you slide the gold band onto the fourth finger on his left hand. The sight of it shining takes your breath away and a giddiness fills your soul.

“We’re getting fucking married,” you squeal, wrapping your arms around Colton again because you can’t contain your joy.

He laughs, big and loud and hearty, and meets your gaze with a fondness that is indescribable. “I think it’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”

You hadn’t expected much when you met the Swede – after all, you were serving at the annual Canucks charity gala and he was the rookie poised to win the Calder trophy. There were a million other things you would have rather done than spend a Saturday evening walking around in sky high stilettos and passing out flutes of champagne, but the catering company paid generously, and you needed to come up with the funds for your next tuition installment. Vancouver may be beautiful, but it’s incredibly expensive.

So you spent the night with a kilowatt smile plastered on your face, staying silent in the background and making sure no one’s glasses were ever empty. You were barely legal to handle alcohol, freshly nineteen and waiting for an opportunity to experience the city’s nightlife for yourself. There was no way you should be regulating the alcohol consumption of adults but you were doing it anyways. The tips were very generous, more than you should have probably been receiving, but you accepted them with a smile because the athletes making millions could certainly afford it.

No one paid you any attention, but you didn’t mind. The night was beginning to wear on you and the event didn’t plan on stopping for another couple of hours. You debated on what to do with your tray while you tried to work out the knots that were forming in feet from standing for so long.

“Let me hold that for you,” a gentle voice sounded from behind you.

When you turned around you were face to face with Elias Pettersson. “That won’t be necessary,” you stated, tone kind but firm. If your supervisor caught you, you would have been fired immediately.

He didn’t take no for an answer. “Please,” he urged, thick accent ringing out in the space between you. “Your feet are going to cramp. Take your shoes off for two minutes.” The English was broken, but you appreciated the sentiment. He really wanted to help.

After a little more insisting from the blonde you agreed, and he diligently stood watch to ensure you wouldn’t get in trouble. It was a relief to be out of the torturous constraint of your shoes for a few moments, and you thanked him profusely.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, a small smile on his face. Shouting erupted from some other players then, looking for him.

“You better get back before they miss you too much.” You nodded in the direction of the voices, to which he begrudgingly agreed. Elias handed you back the tray of champagne flutes before taking one for himself.

He was about to fade into the crowd when he turned to face you again. “I never caught your name,” he stated.

“It’s Y/N.”

“Elias.”

With that he disappeared into the throng of people. You never expected to hear from him again, chalking it up to a kind interaction with a stranger, but a day later he had messaged you on Instagram after searching through the countless profiles that shared your name and were located in the general Vancouver area. Conversation flowed easily between the two of you, and you became fast friends.

☼☼☼☼

That first meeting was nearly four years ago, and countless memories had been made since then. You treasure your friendship with Elias, and truthfully it’s the one you hold closest to your heart. This could be because over the years you’ve developed a small crush on the lanky blonde, but it’s a secret you’ll take to the grave. No one knows of your true feelings for Elias, and no one ever will.

“E? I’m home,” you shout into the quiet apartment, wondering if he’s home from morning skate yet.

After you completed your undergraduate degree and your lease ended, Elias insisted you move into his spare bedroom. The offer was too tempting to resist – you got to live with your best friend and continue your education in a city you adore. Moving your stuff had been a bit of a pain, but your life fit seamlessly into Elias’s. The two of you worked well as roommates, and over the past few months the space began to reflect not just Elias, but you as well. Hair ties were randomly thrown on counters and the bookshelves began to fill.

You’re setting the few groceries you picked up from the local market on the counter when he comes down the hall.

“Hi sunshine,” Elias says softly, voice riddled with sleep. He must have returned home earlier than you thought and had a quick nap.

You smile at the nickname. Elias had gifted it to you early in your friendship when you were in a terrible mood. He had meant it sarcastically at first, but it stuck. Now he hardly calls you by your name.

“How was practice?”

“Really tough,” he admits, moving behind you to place the apples in the fridge. “Coach is being hard on us because we aren’t performing well.”

You frown but hold your tongue. Your degree in sports psychology tells you that isn’t the way to improve players’ morale, but Elias doesn’t like it when you lecture him on what the Canucks staff are doing wrong. He knows things aren’t perfect within the organization and hopes desperately the situation will improve when they start winning again.

The two of you put the rest of the food away in comfortable silence and then unwind by watching numerous episodes of House. You had recently decided to give the medical drama a rewatch, and Elias’s interest was piqued by the snarky physician who always saves the day. It’s become your favourite way to relax and it seems that both of you need it today.

“How does Wilson do it?”

You’re perplexed. “Do what?”

“Put up with House,” Elias sighs. “He’s an asshole.”

Laughter tumbles from your lips. “The same way I deal with you, grumpy.”

“No,” he scoffs, tossing a pillow in your general direction. “You’re House and I’m Wilson, sunshine. Being an asshole is how you got that nickname in the first place.”

You couldn’t argue with Elias’s point – he was right. Between the two of you, you’re the one most likely to be snarky with your anger and he’s more likely to shut himself off from the rest of the world. “Fuck off,” you giggle. 

When Elias crawls on top of you and drops his weight you don’t flinch. You’ve become accustomed to his casual yet spontaneous displays of physical touch, and by now the two of you can frequently be found with your limbs tangled together. 

The rest of your afternoon passes in the blink of an eye. You fall asleep a few episodes in, and you assume Elias did as well because when you wake up his body is still pressed against yours. Once your eyes adjust to being awake, you notice it’s well into the evening. Your stomach rumbles and you decide you have to get up. 

“E,” you say softly, not wanting to completely disrupt his rest. The season is off to a rougher start than everyone hoped for, and he hasn’t been sleeping well. 

There’s no response from the boy on top of you so you try again, voice a decibel or two louder. “Elias, please let me up. I’ve gotta start dinner.”

“Mhmm,” Elias murmurs, not opening his eyes. “Or you could just stay here. You’re so warm.”

You roll your eyes. “Dude, we’ve got to eat. Come on.”

He doesn’t move. In fact, he presses more weight on you, effectively trapping you on the couch. “We can just order food in a bit,” Elias suggests. “Please just stay and nap a bit longer.”

That’s all it takes to convince you, and you let your eyes flutter shut again. In the comfort of your best friend sleep comes easy, and neither of you move far from the couch for the rest of the night. 

The next few days are incredibly busy, and you don’t see Elias much. School is heating up and you’re struggling to stay afloat. In an effort to get the team to put up a few wins, the Canucks organization is holding extra practices and development workshops in between games, so Elias is barely home. When he is he’s exhausted and spends most of his free time in his room, chatting with friends at home or playing video games. 

You do your best to not let the distance bother you, but not being able to have a conversation that lasts more than fifteen minutes before one of you is running out the door is wearing you down. You miss your best friend. 

Elias is set to go out with some of the younger guys on the team this evening, and though he invited you, you’re in a graduate student society meeting until well after they’re supposed to be leaving. He deserves the time to unwind, but a part of you is jealous he actually gets it. Both of you have been running around like chickens with your heads cut off and it seems like Elias can finally slow down. You on the other hand cannot. 

Approximately twelve million things go wrong throughout the course of the day. First, you left your lunch and wallet at home, leaving you unable to eat. Then your advisor was late to your meeting and insisted it was your fault. To top everything off, the graduate student society dismissed your proposal for more funding into public outreach programs. You really, really wanted to be at home.

The door to the apartment is unlocked upon your arrival home, which you find strange. Elias isn’t one to forget to lock it on his way out the door. Brock was terrible about remembering that sort of thing, so you assume he was the last one out. You open it with a sigh and kick off your sneakers. It has been a long day, and you’re looking forward to opening the bottle of wine you picked up with groceries last week.

It doesn’t dawn on you that Elias’s shoes are still by the door or that the living room light is on. You’re so preoccupied with getting comfortable you don’t realize you aren’t alone until you hear a voice from down the hall. 

“Rough day sunshine?”

Elias is standing at the end of the hallway, staring at you intently. It’s as if he can sense the tension rolling off your shoulders. 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I thought you were going out with the guys?”

He just shrugs. “Didn’t really feel like it. Besides, I knew you were having an off day because you didn’t text me on your lunch break so I wanted to be here for you.”

You nearly tear up from his words. Elias is a lot of things, and kindhearted is certainly one of them. “Go have a shower,” he insists, “And I’ll start dinner.”

“Thanks E.”

A hand comes up to ruffle your hair on his way by. “Don’t mention it.”

The two of you spend the night tucked against each other, eating pasta and telling stories. You never make it to the fridge to get that bottle of wine, but you don’t mind because during your shower Elias made hot chocolate for you both. Conversation flows into the early morning, and by the time you head to bed you can’t remember why you were upset in the first place. 

☼☼☼☼

The season drags on. The Canucks still aren’t playing well, and it’s beginning to wear on Elias. He’s spending more time in his room, reviewing tape and tweaking his workout regime to achieve maximum results. You worry he’s beginning to isolate himself and that it won’t be good for his mental health. 

“Do you want to go hiking tomorrow?” you ask him at dinner. The team has a rare day off, and the coaching staff want them to decompress before leaving on a long road trip. 

Elias shrugs, not looking up at you as he continues to cut his vegetables. “Not really sunshine. I have some clips I need to watch.”

You sigh loud enough to make him feel bad, and his eyes meet yours. “E, you need a break. Let’s go to that trail you like and just relax for a while. I’ll pack a lunch and we can just go slow.”

Whether or not he’s just appeasing you or genuinely wants to go you aren’t sure, but Elias agrees. He places a hand on your shoulder in silent thanks before loading his plate into the dishwasher and retreating to his bedroom. You take it as a victory, however small, and are glad he didn’t completely shut down the idea. The rest of the night is quiet, with you finishing a book and falling asleep on the couch. 

Neither of you are quick to rise in the morning but it doesn’t matter. There’s no timeline for your upcoming adventure so long as you’re back before dark. You make it to the kitchen before Elias and take it upon yourself to make breakfast for the two of you. It’s nothing fancy, just oatmeal, but your best friend appreciates it when he finally makes an appearance. Elias looks like he slept for a maximum of three hours, and you have half a mind to tell him you’ll take a rain cheque, but you know he needs a change of pace. 

The two of you chat idly throughout the meal but it isn’t tense or awkward. Neither of you are completely awake, and both like time to reflect in the morning. It’s nearly an hour later when you meet Elias at the door. You grab your keys, much to his surprise. 

“What?” you shrug.

Elias cocks a brow in your direction. “You hate driving on the highway.”

He’s right – you have no issues navigating the traffic riddled streets of Vancouver, but as soon as you get out of the city and onto the freeway you freeze up. 

“Gotta get over my fear at some point. Come on superstar.”

There’s no complaint from Elias, and you suspect he’s secretly relieved. Driving isn’t his strong suit either but you know he does it so you don’t have to. The ride is quiet, and once you hit the city limits the car feels lighter, as though Elias left all his stress behind. Some lo-fi playlist trickles through the speakers as you get closer to your destination. It isn’t your kind of music, or Elias’s for that matter, and you’re pretty sure Brock gave him the link. The parking lot is empty when you arrive, and you back into a spot with ease. 

Usually Elias would comment on your driving quirk, teasing you because ‘no one under the age of sixty-five backs into a parking space’, but he’s quiet. You wonder if he even noticed. Nerves about the possibility of a far-away look in Elias’s eyes subside when he scrambles to get out of the car. 

“First one to the top wins,” he shouts, metres ahead of you as you double check to make sure the car is locked. You let out a full laugh but don’t try to catch up – he’s going to win anyway so you might as well enjoy yourself. 

The hike does wonder for Elias. Just being outside, in the fresh air that doesn’t hold any expectation of who he should be, is enough to lighten his mood considerably. You trail behind him the entire time, allowing yourself to marvel at his beauty from afar. The longer you live with Elias, the harder it’s becoming to mask your feelings. A couple of times he pauses to wait for you to catch up, and once at the top of the small summit he lifts you into the air in triumph.

“Alright E, put me down,” you giggle, squirming out of his grip. He obliges and places you back onto the rocky surface as though his previous act was the easiest thing in the world. 

The two of you marvel at the view from the top of the mountain for a bit longer before making the trek back down to the car. Halfway down the trail you fall behind significantly, exhausted from not only hiking up a mountain, but worrying about Elias and stressing over some school deadlines that are rapidly approaching. Elias slows his steps so you can catch up, and insists you jump up to piggy-back the rest of the way. You try to protest but he isn’t having it. Eventually you give in and doze off with your face tucked into the crook of his neck. 

You let Elias drive home, too worn out to think about the traffic you’ll inevitably hit. When you get home you allow him to tuck you into bed, and don’t tease him when presses a kiss to the crown of your head. 

The road trip both flies by and drags on. At home, you're busy with school, work, and taking care of Brock’s dogs. Coolie and Milo have become a welcome responsibility, and truthfully you love having them around. They make the absence of Elias less apparent. Each night you curl up on the couch, a dog on either side, and watch the game intently. The Canucks seem to be on the up, winning the first three games with ease. It’s like something has clicked between them and on-ice communication is no longer a problem. However, that changes quickly, and they lose the entire back half of the trip. 

You do your best to comfort Elias from afar – sending him periodic text messages of encouragement, random memes you find on instagram, and calling after every game. The streak of misfortune is getting to him, and it’s beginning to affect his play. He adds only one point the entire trip, an assist that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things since they were blown out of the water. When you talk to him it’s easy to hear how upset he is, and you imagine he’s hearing a lot worse than what you’re telling him from the coaching staff. It makes your blood boil – how they’re treating him – but you’re helpless. Nothing you can say will undo the potential damage. 

The Canucks get back late, and you’re tucked into bed with the dogs, nearly asleep. You’ll return Brock’ pets in the morning. If you hadn’t had a disastrous meeting with your advisor you would’ve met them at the airport, seeing as it’s Friday and you often don’t go to bed until well into the morning, but your body is thoroughly exhausted. 

You don’t hear the door open and are only alerted to a new presence because the dogs perk their ears. Footsteps echo through the silent apartment, and you think you can hear Elias grumbling in Swedish. He makes no attempt to find you so you assume he thinks you’re sleeping. You should be. Up until three minutes ago you were on the verge of sleep, but now you wait with baited breath to see if you can hear any indicators to Elias’s mood. 

A door closes and seconds later the shower turns on, so you assume he’s feeling alright. Most certainly not great, but well enough to maintain his normal routine. You don’t try to move, knowing you’ll talk to him in the morning, and finally allow yourself to commit to sleep. There’s a few minutes of bliss where you’re almost unconscious, but your slumber is disrupted by a quiet knock at your door.

“Sunshine?”

Elias’s voice sounds like a different type of exhaustion that you’ve never heard, and you know right then that you won’t deny him entry to your room.

“I’m awake E,” you mumble, praying he can hear you because you spoke so softly. The door creaks open and you can just make out his facial features in the dark.

Standing tentatively in the doorway, Elias looks at you with tear-rimmed eyes. “Y/N, I think I’m going to get benched.”

☼☼☼☼

His suspicions were, unfortunately, right. The decision to bench Elias had apparently been made on the plane ride home, but he wasn’t informed until the team meeting after practice the next morning. You knew something bad had happened because when he came home there was no conversation. He slipped through the door like a ghost and disappeared into his room. You knew better than to go after him right away – Elias is the type of person who needs to process his emotions alone before sharing them with others.

You busy yourself with editing the chunk of your thesis proposal that has occupied your brain for the past few weeks. It’s getting closer to the end of your first year of graduate school, and you need to get approval for your topic soon. You hope to research the effects of locker room speech on athletes’ mental health. The focus group will be the Vancouver Whitecaps, and you’re excited to work with them. Your advisor has some personal connections and pulled a few strings to get you the gig and you’re extremely thankful.

An hour or two passes before Elias pads his way into the main living area. Wordlessly he flops onto the couch and holds his arms up in the air. You can read Elias like a book – you know he wants you to stop working and lie on top of him. The action brings him comfort, which he desperately needs in this moment, so you don’t have an issue with it. On your way over you grab a banana from the fruit bowl and offer it to him. He takes it, but sets it gently on the coffee table.

Once you’re settled, Elias wraps his arms around your body, holding you to him like he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers otherwise. You absentmindedly trace patterns on his forearms for a while, letting the silence soothe him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

It’s a shot in the dark, you know, but you try anyway. Elias doesn’t answer, instead asking you what you did while he was gone. You indulge him, knowing it’s the only way to take his mind off the heartache, and narrate the menial chores you did in painstaking detail. It seems to help, and eventually Elias brings his own anecdotes into the conversation, telling you something dumb Brock had whispered in his ear at practice.

Eventually Elias has to get ready to go to the rink. Though he isn’t playing he’s expected to be there, dressed sharply and watching from the press box. You help him as best you can – ironing his favourite tie and filling his lucky mug with just the right amount of coffee.

He gives you a short hug in thanks before bending down to tie his dress shoes.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” you ask. “I can easily get a press pass and we could sit together.”

Elias shakes his head. “You have work to get done. I’ll be fine sunshine,” he says, doing his best to convince himself along with you that everything will be alright.

You watch him open the door and gingerly blow him a kiss as he turns to wave goodbye. It’s a silly ritual the two of you started a few years ago, before you’d moved in with Elias. He insisted you spend time with him before each home game, which meant you wound up cooking dinner and making sure he drank enough water. To annoy him you started blowing him kisses as he left, and the tradition continued once his place became yours. Elias catches it with his left hand and blows one back.

Not much work gets done while Elias is gone. You’re too worried about him to focus on your proposal and end up with your eyes glued to the television as you watch the game. The Canucks desperately need a win, something you hope they can get so your best friend can be put back into the lineup. Your eyes zero on Elias every time the camera pans to him sitting in the rafters, and your heart breaks each time you see the defeated look in his eyes. It seems to have worsened since he left home.

The game does not go well for the Canucks. It’s as if the team isn’t communicating with one another on the ice, and a lot of passes don’t connect. Shots aren’t on goal either – you know Elias is fuming from within the press box. He feels responsible for the team’s deterioration even though he isn’t playing. You watch the rest of the game with furrowed brows and think of ways you could support Elias. 

After sharing a space with him for almost an entire trip around the sun, you know Elias doesn’t like ‘grand’ gestures. He’ll hate if you draw him a bath, and besides, that’s not something roommates or best friends do for each other. That’s strictly reserved for romantic partners – something you’re sure you will never be to Elias. Ordering food is out of the question because he refuses to eat after nine-thirty, and sure it’ll be past ten before he walks through the door. You settle on warming up his favourite blanket in the dryer and making the both of you a cup of tea. If he wants to take them into his room to spend time alone and decompress that will be okay with you. 

Your phone chimes from its resting place on the kitchen counter. Wondering if it’s a friend wanting an explanation to Elias’s absence from the game, you grumble on your way to the device. The notification is from Elias himself, and you open it with baited breath. You know he’s devastated and pray he’s only letting you know he’s on his way home, not sharing bad news. 

Heading out now. Probably going to get stuck in traffic, got any sad song recommendations?

The message makes your heart break, but you respond with a playlist link that features your favourite songs to cry to. A short message is tacked on to the end to let him know you’re always ready to support him. 

Hopefully this fits the mood. I’m here for you. 

Elias’s response fills you with a small bit of hope. 

I know.

You set your plan into motion, and finish pouring the boiling tea into your favourite mugs as the door opens. 

“Hey,” you say tentatively, not sure what Elias’s mood will be like now that he doesn’t have to have his guard up. “I made you a cup of tea and there’s a blanket in the dryer that should still be pretty warm.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles, but it doesn’t make his words any less sincere. You can tell Elias is drained in every sense of the word by looking at him, and you decide you aren’t going to push him to talk tonight. The communication can come a bit later. 

The blonde trudges down the hallway to the small room where you keep the laundry and reappears moments later wrapped in the plush navy blanket you had prepared for him. Elias doesn’t even bother to change, too exhausted to get out of his suit. You blow some of the steam away from his mug before picking it up and padding over to where he’s sitting on the couch. Elias takes the mug gratefully, and tries to smile at you in thanks. It comes out more like a grimace. 

It’s silent as the two of you sit side by side, staring out the large window at Vancouver’s skyline. The absence of noise isn’t as unsettling as you feared but it still puts you on edge. You can tell Elias’s emotions are beginning to boil over, and you aren’t sure what to do about it. 

“It’s my fault,” he says, voice small and fragile. 

When you turn your head to see him, you’re met with two ice blue eyes brimming with tears. Your heart breaks for what feels like the hundredth time that night. “Elias, listen to me,” you urge, grasping his hands in yours. “The game wasn’t your fault. You not being on the ice did not cause the team to lose.”

Elias scoffs and rolls his eyes. For a split-second, hurt seeps into your bones, but you dispel it because you know he’s upset and didn’t mean to be so abrasive. 

“Not the game!” he shouts, anger clearly winning the mental battle of what emotion to present. “The entire fucking season. We’ve played like shit all year and it’s my fucking fault.”

“Elias,” you say as calmly as possible, knowing it’s important for one of you to be rational. “You’ve consistently put up points all season, and you’re only going through a short dry spell. You pick up the slack where needed and try your hardest to succeed. You’re a damn good teammate and the best hockey player I know. Please don’t be so hard on yourself.”

It’s then he breaks, collapsing into your wide open arms and sobbing. You hold him close to your chest, afraid that if you let him go he’ll disappear in front of your eyes. The sounds of his ragged breathing and your gentle encouragement bounce off the walls until all you can focus on is his heart rate returning to something in the ballpark of normal. Elias cries for an unknown amount of time and you don’t even bother to calculate it. He needed to let everything go – hopefully he can now turn the page on the past couple of months. 

When he seems like he’ll respond again, you speak. “I know they put a lot of pressure on you, and I know that you’re a professional athlete, but what they’re doing to you isn’t right. E, you don’t deserve to feel like this, regardless of how you’re playing or where the team is in the standings.”

“I just don’t know what to do,” Elias hiccups. “Everything has become a lot lately, and it keeps piling up. It’s affecting my play, and I just want the team to be successful. I want to be successful.”

You wrap your arms around him tighter and card your hands through his hair. “You are successful, and don’t you dare let anyone tell you otherwise. I’m always available to talk, but if you’d like I can book you an appointment at the clinic and you can talk to someone who’s actually qualified.”

“You’re so close to being fully qualified,” he encourages, always wanting to make sure you matter too. “But that would be really nice. Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

That phrase had first confused Elias when you first directed it towards him, but he now understands it’s your way of saying ‘Of course. I’d do anything for you’. You rarely use the phrase with anyone else, and it makes him feel special inside. 

Eventually you untangle your limbs from Elias’s, getting up to refill your mugs and insisting he change into clothing that’s more comfortable. He’s gone a lot longer from the couch than you are, and you begin to worry he won’t be reappearing. The creaking of a hinge wrangles you free from your thoughts. Elias pads back into the living room, dressed in a pair of ridiculously patterned pyjamas you had bought him two Christmases ago. 

“Hey,” he practically whispers. “Can I tell you something?”

You do your best to keep the alarm you feel from appearing on your face. After the conversation you just had, his mind could be going in a million different directions. “Always,” you reply, volume matching his. 

“If it weren’t for you, I don’t know if I’d still be playing hockey.” You make a sound of protest, but Elias doesn’t let you form it into a thought. “I’m dead serious. The night we met? I was a wreck. Sure, I was in the middle of a rookie season most players dream of, but I was so miserable. I cried every night on the way home from the rink and felt completely alone. You were the first person in Vancouver that didn’t expect anything of me, that still doesn’t. I’m so fucking thankful for you. I love you.”

Tears flow freely from your eyes and you raise the sleeve of your sweater to wipe them away. Elias isn’t one for heartfelt confessions – that’s much more your style. He shows his appreciation through random acts of kindness, so you deeply treasure his words. 

“I love you too E.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand,” he insists. “I really love you. I don’t mean it platonically, and I never have.”

You’re sufficiently shocked. “Don’t say something you don’t mean,” you mumble, pushing off the couch to go hide in your room. 

It’s Elias’s turn to grab your hand. His grip is gentle but still firm enough to let you know he isn’t going to drop the conversation. 

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?”

“Because,” you sigh, “You’re Elias fucking Pettersson. You’re the star centre of an NHL team and there’s a million other people better suited for you than me! Sure, I might be head over heels for you but we aren’t on the same level. I’m your best friend E, and that’s okay. I can live with that. What I can’t live with is you letting emotion get the better of you and confessing something that isn’t true. You’re grateful for my support, and I think we should just leave it at that.”

He shakes his head fervently. “This isn’t a spur of the moment decision Y/N,” Elias says. “I’ve been debating telling you for months, but the season kind of derailed my plans and got in the way. I love you.”

Before you can process the gravity of his words, Elias is pressing his lips to yours in an effort to show just how sincere he is. You falter for a split-second, shocked that this isn’t a dream – your best friend, who you’ve had a crush on for years, is in love with you and you’re in the process of kissing him – but you recover quickly. Kissing Elias feels like a long awaited homecoming. It’s as though you’ve found true peace, and nothing will ever be as good as your lips connecting. You lose yourself in him quite easily, and only focus to your surroundings when he pulls away to look in your eyes.

“So,” Elias sheepishly tucks a misplaced strand of hair behind your ear. “Think I could take you out, like on an actual date?”

You beam at him, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss to his lips. “That can most certainly be arranged.”

☼☼☼☼