#maf29

the first few weeks pass in a blur of paperwork and long hours. you stay mostly tucked away in the medical office, organising rehab plans, reviewing scans, and trying to memorise names fast enough to avoid embarrassment when players walk in. some are quiet, others are cocky, and then there's marc-andré fleury.

you notice him before you really meet him, mostly because he's impossible to ignore. his laugh carries through the training facilities at all hours in a contagious way that always seems to be followed by some new form of chaos. sometimes you hear him before practice, sometimes after games, sometimes down a hallway right before someone groans dramatically, which usually means he's done something irritating.

you officially meet him on your third day when the head trainer introduces you in the locker room.

"guys, this is our new pt," he says. "be nice to her. we'd preferably like to keep her."

a few players greet you normally, but marc looks up from his stall and freezes. you notice it immediately -- his tape stops mid-motion in his hands, and he just stares.

one of the defensemen waves a hand in front of him. "flower... you alive over there?"

he just blinks. "uhh..."

the room erupts into laughter.

you smile politely. "nice to meet you."

"yeah," he says quickly, still slightly dazed. "you too."

his voice cracks just enough that the laughter gets worse. he mutters something in french under his breath while the teasing continues, and you assume that's the end of it.

you don't realise he'll spend the next month inventing reasons to come see you, and at first, it's believable.

"my shoulder hurts," he says one afternoon, sitting on the treatment table.

you glance at him. "after what exactly?:

"practice."

"well that narrows it down to everything you do."

he grins. "so you fix everything?"

"that's not how this works."

on another day, he comes in: "my neck is stiff."

you don't look up from your notes. "from what?"

he pauses, trying to come up with some sort of plausible excuse. "umm... goalie things."

"not a medical term."

"well it should be."

and then he stars showing up for less convincing reasons.

he leans against your doorway while you organise files. he wanders into conversations halfway through and somehow takes them over. he talks with his hands when he gets excited, which is quite often. he also smiles at you constantly.

you catch it more than you mean to -- across the room, down the hallway, during practice. every time your eyes meet, he looks briefly startles, then breaks into a grin like he can't help it.

one afternoon he sits on the treatment table swinging his legs slightly. "do you actually like it here in pittsburgh?"

you glance up. "i've only been here a month."

"so?"

"so i haven't decided yet."

"that means no, doesn't it."

you exhale a small laugh. "it means i'm still adjusting to everything."

"i can show you to the good places," he says immediately. "not the tourist places. the real ones."

you raise an eyebrow. "are you trying to recruit me into going to the city?"

"yes," he says without hesitation. "we need you to stay." behind those words, he really means that he wants you to stay.

something warm settles in your chest when he says that, and you ignore it too quickly to examine it. there's something so direct about it that you don't answer right away. you just go back to your notes, pretending your focus hasn't shifted at all even though it most definitely has.

over time, you notice that marc is everywhere. not in a way that feels intrusive, but in the sense that he's just always there whether it be leaning in doorways, drifting into and joining conversations, and laughing too loudly at things that are only mildly funny.

and somehow, he always happens to be looking at you. you start noticing it more than you mean to. he just always seems to find your gaze and it's distracting in a way you try very hard not to examine too closely.

then, on a random day after practice, something feels wrong. it's not quiet exactly, just that something's off and your suspicions are raised. it's the kind of suspicious you've started associating specifically with marc.

you finish up paperwork later than usual and head out to the parking lot, already exhausted enough that you barely notice the players lingering nearby. a few of them are standing around strangely casually beside the row of cars, hands shoved into pockets, and expressions a little too interested in absolutely nothing.

however, the second you spot your car, you stop walking. there are flowers scattered everywhere on the hood of your car. a whole garden with dirt and flowers of all sorts, and even the tyres of you car taken off.

you stare in complete silence whilst half of the team loses their composure. someone's doubling over laughing, another physically needing to walk away because they can't hold it together. and standing near the front of the group, looking deeply pleased with himself, is marc.

that's until he realises whose car it is and his grin disappears instantly.

"oh no."

the laughter somehow gets louder.

you cross your arms. "oh no?"

"i thought this was someone else's car," he says immediately, horrified. "i swear... you two have the exact same model car."

you glance back at your car. "you covered my car in dirt."

"i didn't know it was yours!"

"my tyres are gone."

his eyes follow your pointing hand, and somehow he looks even more distressed. by now he's already hurrying toward you, nearly tripping over in the process. "i'll fix it," he promises quickly. "i'll clean everything up... this was funny like five minutes ago..."

the team erupts again. you try to stay annoyed but he genuinely looks devastated standing beside your mess of a car, hair a mess from dragging his hands through them while he apologises over everyone else's laughter.

"i am so sorry," he says again, reaching over to start taking off the flowers. "i would never prank your car on purpose."

"that's a very specific sentence."

"i mean- okay, maybe eventually, but not like this."

you just stare at him.

he winces immediately. "that sounded worse out loud."

it's the complete sincerity on his face that ruins your ability to stay angry. a laugh escapes you before you can stop it, and his reaction is immediate.

relief floods his expression so fast it's almost ridiculous. "okay, good."

"good?" you repeat.

"you laughed. that means maybe i survive."

"you're still cleaning this up."

"yes. absolutely."

"and if there's dirt in my seats, i'm billing you personally."

"that feels fair."

you shake your head, trying not to smile while he starts dismantling the ridiculous display as quickly as possible. around him, the team is still laughing, still chirping him for targeting the wrong car, but he barely notices anymore.

every few seconds, his eyes flick back toward you like he's checking to make sure you aren't actually furious. unfortunately for you, that might be the most charming thing he's done yet.