#moritz seider

Old flames – Moritz Seider

summary: Moritz and you were the biggest "what never was" when he was playing for the Adler Mannheim and you were doing an internship with the team. He moved to Detroit before anything could ever happen. Now, many many years later you meet again at the hockey world championship in Switzerland wondering if there might be a second chance in the cards for you.

pairing: Moritz Seider x female!reader

word count: 7k

warnings/tropes: second chance romance, almost teenage sweethearts, minimal heartbreak, hockey player x team employee (german national team), minimal nsfw mentions, little bit of angst, long distance relationship

authors note: finally the long awaited mo seider story that I promised forever ago. For story purposes they´re all speaking english, I obviously now they´re not speaking english with each other on team germany haha

----

THEN

The thing about Moritz Seider was, everyone usually noticed him before they officially met him and so did you.

He was impossible not to notice really.

Eighteen years old, broad shoulders that already looked like he was made for North American hockey, and confidence that somehow never crossed into arrogance.

Coaches loved him. Fans adored him. journalists kept circling his locker like sharks already sensing a first-round pick.

You mostly noticed how tired or overwhelmed he looked with all the attention on him.

The first time you spoke to him, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor outside the media room at SAP Arena with a laptop balanced against your knees while trying to upload some postgame clips before midnight.

Your supervisor had already gone home, the Wi-Fi kept cutting out and you were one failed upload away from crying.

Then a shadow fell over you. “You know there are chairs inside, right?”

You looked up and found Moritz leaning against the wall, still in his suit after media availability. His tie was loose, dark hair combed back and hidden under an Adler hat.

“The chairs unfortunately don’t have functioning internet.”

He stared at you for a second. “That´s tragic.”

“It´s a hard life.”

He grinned then, quick and crooked. “Need any help?”

“You know social media?”

“No,” he admitted with a shrug. “But I´m tall, that’s usually useful.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself.

That was the beginning of it really. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that happened instantly. Just small moments that kept happening until suddenly they weren’t that small anymore.

You were one of the social media interns for the Adler Mannheim fresh out of high school and waiting to he accepted into University for a degree in communications.

You filmed player arrivals, edited clips, posted graphics and followed players around with a camera while apologizing for getting in their way.

Most players barely remembered your name for the first weeks, but not Moritz, he always remembered.

----

He started stopping by your desk after practice. Asking questions like “Did I look stupid in that interview?”

You replied with a teasing “Yes.”

“Delete it.”

“No.”

“Traitor.”

You learned quickly that he hated standing still. He bounced his leg during video sessions. Tapped his stick against the boards during drills. Fidgeted with hoodie strings before bus rides.

But around you, he seemed to slow down.

You started eating lunch together after practices when schedules lined up.

At first other people joined, then somehow it became just the two of you most days.

He stole fries from your plate constantly; you took pieces of his fish to “try” because you usually didn’t like it.

“You have your own,” you argued every time.

“Yours taste better,” he argued back.

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Exactly.”

You pretended to be annoyed. He pretended he didn’t notice when you smiled every time he walked into a room.

----

By November everyone around you had started noticing something.

Not dating or officially flirting, just something that tested the boundaries of friendship more than you liked.

Your coworkers teased you whenever he appeared near the media room.

One of the equipment managers once muttered, “Jesus Christ, just kiss already,” when Moritz leaned over your shoulder to look at footage on your laptop.

Neither of you acknowledged it, because there was always the draft.

It hung over everything.

Scouts attended games constantly that season. NHL logos appeared in the stands every night. Detroit. Vancouver. Colorado. Buffalo. Tampa. Teams you only associated with video games suddenly became real because their people were drinking coffee ten feet away from you.

Moritz never brought it up first and you never asked, but you could feel it sitting between you every time he looked at you too long.

One night after a home win, you stayed late clipping postgame content while the arena slowly emptied.

You finally packed your bags close to midnight and found him sitting alone in the hallway outside the locker room scrolling on his phone.

“You missed the bus?” you asked.

“My dad is picking me up.”

“You´re eighteen.”

“Exactly, never turn down a free ride.”

You sat beside him, and for a while neither of you spoke.

The arena was quiet in a way that felt strange after games. Distant cleaning crews and the hum of lights overhead the only sounds in the usual loud place.

“There were six NHL scouts tonight,” he said quietly after a few minutes.

You looked at him but he kept staring ahead.

“I know.”

“My agent thinks I´ll go high in the first round.”

“You probably will. You´re so talented, Mo.”

He nodded once, then finally looked at you. “That´s weird, right?”

“You being good at hockey?”

“You know what I mean.”

You did.

If he got drafted high, he would leave Germany soon. Maybe immediately, maybe after another year, but soon enough he would be gone to the US or Canada while you stayed in Mannheim finishing university and trying to turn an internship into an actual career.

The future already had an ending written into it and that was the reason neither of you ever crossed the line.

Not that you didn’t come close. You actually came close all the time.

On road trips he always sat beside you on the bus if seats were open. His knee pressed against yours for hours while movies played overhead and teammates chirped each other across the aisle.

During Christmas market content shoots he stood too close while you filmed him trying roasted almonds for a challenge video.

“You´re terrible at this,” you told him while laughing behind the camera.

“You´re distracting me.”

Your stomach flipped. He noticed immediately, you could tell by the way his expression changed for half a second before he looked away.

Nothing happened.

Nothing happened when he walked you to your car after games.

Nothing happened when he hugged you too long after wins.

Nothing happened when you sat together at team dinners and everyone else slowly disappeared until it was just you talking in empty restaurants after midnight.

Nothing ever happened because he was leaving and because somehow that made everything feel dangerous.

----

Detroit drafted him sixth overall.

You watched from your apartment with your laptop balanced on our knees while ESPN butchered the pronunciation of Mannheim and analysts called him mature beyond his years.

He texted you immediately after even though it was in the middle of the night in Germany.

Mo: holy shit.

You laughed through tears before replying.

I congrats future nhl star

Mo: don’t call me that

I too late

He called you that night three hours talking while he sat in a hotel room in Vancouver still overwhelmed and exhausted.

At some point his voice softened. “I wish you were here.”

The silence afterward stretched too long, then he laughed quietly like he regretted saying it.

You changed the subject shortly after.

----

After that summer things shifted.

Not immediately but still fast enough to be noticeable.

At first, he still came back to Mannheim. Still stopped by the office and still teased you during practices, but there was suddenly an expiration date stamped across every interaction.

Then Detroit happened.

Training camp. Them sending him to Sweden. Grand Rapids. The NHL.

New teammates, new schedules, new timezone.

For the first little while you texted constantly, the occasionally, then barely at all.

There was no fight or a dramatic ending to whatever was going on between you and him. just distance growing quietly until one day you realized you hadn’t spoken to him in several months and from that point on reaching out felt impossible.

So, you didn’t.

----

Years passed.

You built your career properly. Moved between teams and media jobs and tournaments. Learned how to manage players twice your age while pretending you weren’t intimidated and eventually people stopped calling you the newbie.

Meanwhile Moritz became exactly what everyone had predicted for him.

Detroit adored their number one defenseman. Germany adored him for bringing the same energy to the national team.  

Every year during international tournaments his face appeared everywhere again and every year you considered texting him before deciding against it.

----

NOW

In spring of 2026 you got hired as the new social media coordinator for the German national team ahead of the World Championship in Switzerland.

The first time you saw his name on the roster sheet, your stomach dropped so hard you had to sit down for a second.

You told yourself that it had been years, that you were both grown adults now and that none of what happened in Mannheim mattered anymore.

Then Germany´s players started arriving at the hotel in Zurich and suddenly your heart felt like you were eighteen again.

You were standing in the lobby organizing arrival content when someone behind you said, “You still hate airports?”

Your entire body froze.

His voice was deeper now.

Then you turned slowly.

Moritz stood a few feet away wearing a Team Germany hoodie and a backwards cap with some Detroit branding, one hand resting on his suitcase handle.

For a second, neither of you moved.

He looked older. Broader. More defined. The years in the NHL visible everywhere in him now, but his eyes were exactly the same.

You managed a, “You still remember that?”

“You had three panic attacks in Frankfurt airport once, that´s hard to forget.”

“They were not panic attacks.”

“You cried because security took your water bottle.”

“It was an expensive bottle.”

He laughed and just like that, seven years collapsed and the tension hit immediately. It wasn’t awkwardness, it was familiarity.

----

By the end of the first day it already felt dangerously easy to fall back into old rhythms.

He lingered near you during media shoots. You mocked his terrible attempts at the TikTok trends you forced him to do. He stole food from your plate at dinner again like no time had passed.

Other players noticed quickly because of course they did.

“You two know each other from Mannheim, right?” Lukas asked during dinner one night.

You answered too fast and before Moritz had even time to swallow his bite. “Yeah.”

He looked down and hid a smile.

----

The tournament started worse than everyone expected.

Germany opened with a loss against Finland, but the mood around the team stayed light.

You worked nonstop – filming practice, editing clips, coordinating everyone else on the social staff, even chasing players around with microphones.

Moritz somehow always found you when he had free time.

One night after a late get together because of an off day, you sat alone in the empty conference room the social team had set up in editing footage when he dropped into the seat beside you.

“Do you ever sleep?”

“Not during my first tournament as the coordinator.”

“You looked exhausted today.”

“You look annoying every day.”

“Wow,” he chuckled.

He leaned closer to watch your laptop screen and you immediately became painfully aware of his shoulder touching yours.

“You still do that thing,” he said quickly.

“What thing?”

He pointed at your cheek, and you were realizing you were chewing the inside while concentrating.

Heat rushed to your face. “You remember that?”

“I remember lots of things.”

Your eyes met and for one horrible – or incredible – second neither of you looked away, but then someone called his name from the hallway and the moment shattered.

You hated how relieved and disappointed you felt after.

----

The tournament got harder after that.

The shootout loss against the United States wrecked the locker room mood completely.

Germany had fought back from two goals down. Moritz played nearly half the third period and then they had still lost in the shootout.

The locker room felt heavy and sharp-edged afterward.

Players tried hard not to snap at reporters, coaches avoided eye contact and equipment staff tried hard to move as silent as possible.

You were standing outside the media room uploading postgame interviews when Moritz walked past, jaw clenched hard enough that you thought it must hurt.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He stopped.

For a second he looked like he might keep walking, but then he leaned against the wall beside you and dragged both hands through his hair. “That was bullshit.”

“I know.”

“We should´ve won.”

“I know.”

Frustration radiated off him as you watched him breathe hard trough his nose before his shoulders sacked. “Sorry.”

You frowned. “For what?”

“I snapped at you earlier.”

“You didn’t.”

“I kinda did.”

“You yelled at a trash can, not me.”

“That trash had it coming.”

You laughed, his shoulders loosening slightly at the sound, then he looked at you the same moment you realized how close he was standing to you.

“You still laugh the same as back then,” he mumbled.

“Mo-“

A PR manager opened the media room door, “You´re needed for mixed zone.”

He stepped back immediately and the moment disappeared as quickly has it came.

----

The Latvia game was worse.

Germany played terribly from start to finish and got shut out 2-0.

The atmosphere afterward was miserable.

Players disappeared onto the bus without speaking. Coaches looked ready to murder someone.

You stayed behind trying to finish uploads before leaving when someone sat beside you on the bench.

You didn’t need to look over to see who it was.

“You should probably be on the bus,” you said quietly.

“So should you.”

Neither of you moved, then he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I hate losing like this.”

“I know.”

“You know what the worst part is?”

“What?”

He looked sideways directly at you. “I played like shit and somehow all I could think about during the third period was whether you were mad at me.”

Your breath caught. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“You´ve barely looked at me all day."

Because every time I looked at you it felt dangerous, you thought.

Instead, you said, “I was working, Mo.”

“Right.”

The silence stretched but you could feel the tension winding tighter between you with every passing second. Then his hand brushed yours accidentally and both of you froze.

It was barely contact, just fingers, but neither if you moved away immediately.

Your pulse thundered so loudly you were sure he could hear it, then voices echoed down the hallway and you both pulled apart too quickly.

The bus ride back to the hotel was torture.

----

After that everything even got worse. Or better. Depending on how honest you wanted to be.

Germany won three straight games after Latvia but still missed advancing because of the earlier losses.

The mood around the team became strangely conflicted – pride mixed with disappointment – and through all of it, the thing between you and Moritz kept building.

Stolen glances during meals. Late-night conversations in hotel hallways. His hand settling briefly against your lower back while squeezing past you in the crowded locker room.

Your entire body reacted every single time but neither of you acknowledged it, because what was the point? At the end of summer he would return to Detroit and you knew long distance – especially such a long distance – wasn’t some magical solution no matter how much movies pretended otherwise.

You both ad careers. Real ones and demanding ones that weren’t worth risking for something that may or may not work.

So, you stayed friends. At least officially.

----

The last Germany game ended with a win that somehow still felt like losing because a small miracle would need to happen for the team to move on.

After media obligations wrapped up, several players decided to go out in Zurich one last time before everyone flew home.

You almost didn’t go, too tired from the weeks past, but then Moritz appeared outside your hotel room while you were changing. “You´re coming.”

“That sounds mildly threatening.”

“It is.”

“I´m tired.”

“You´re always tired.”

“You´re always annoying.”

“You´re still coming, it´s out second to last night here.”

So, you went.

----

Zurich at night blurred into music and crowded bars and teammates shouting over each other in German.

Everyone drank too much because disappointment felt easier to handle that way.

At some point you ended up separated from the group with Moritz while walking along the river.

“You remember Mannheim?” he asked suddenly.

You laughed softly. “That´s a random thing to ask.”

“Answer,” he urged.

“Of course, I remember Mannheim, Mo. How could I not.”

“What do you remember?”

You looked over at him. It was a dangerous question. Too dangerous for your states and the time of the night.

“Work,” you lied.

He snorted immediately. “Bullshit.”

“What do you remember?”

He went quiet for a second before an almost silent “you” left his mouth.

Your chest tightened painfully but he kept walking like he hadn’t just said something capable of running both of you.

You stopped moving. “Mo…”

He turned.

Streetlights reflected off the water behind him and for another second neither of you spoke before he walked back toward you slowly.

“We should go back,” you tried quietly.

“Probably.”

Neither of you moved.

“You´re leaving again,” you whispered.

His jaw tightened before he replied. “Yeah.”

“And I´m staying.”

“Yeah.”

The look in his eyes made your entire body ache.

“I tried not to think about you,” he admitted softly.

You laughed once without humor in it. “That worked out great for both of us.”

He stepped closer, close enough that you could feel warmth radiating from him in the cool night air.

“And you know what the first part is?” he asked.

“What?”

“I don’t think this ever stopped.”

Your breach caught and right in that moment every smart thought disappeared instantly.

You kissed him first. It happened messy and sudden, like both of you had spent years trying not to do exactly this.

His hands found your waist immediately, pulling you closer so fast you nearly stumbled into him.

You grabbed the front of his jacket and kissed him harder because seven years of tension crashed through you all at once.

He made a quiet sound against your mouth that nearly destroyed your remaining self-control.

When you pulled apart both of you were breathing hard and smiling.

“We should have done that in Mannheim,” he murmured.

You let out a breathless laugh. “Probably.”

----

After that there was no stopping it.

Back at the hotel, everything felt frantic and uncertain and overdue.

Kissing in the elevator. Stumbling down hallways trying not to laugh too loudly.

Inside your room things slowed down. Not because the tension suddenly disappeared, but because suddenly everything became so much more real.

Moritz rested his forehead against yours briefly while both of your caught your breath.

“You sure?” he checked quietly.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

The rest of the night felt less like some dramatic explosion and more like finally giving into something both of you had carried his years.

His hands shook slightly the first time he touched your face like he still couldn’t believe this was happening.

You kissed slowly at first, then not slowly at all.

Every brush of skin felt overwhelming because you knew him too well already. Knew his laugh, his habits, the shape of his hands and the way he looked at you after games.

Crossing that final line changed everything instantly.

Afterward, you laid tangled together in silence while Zurich glowed faintly outside the curtains and his hands traced lazy circles over your naked shoulders.

----

Reality arrived slowly.

He would leave again.

Detroit waited for him. Your jobs waited for both of you. Complications waited.

You felt him tense beside you at the exact same moment your stomach dropped, but neither if you spoke then.

Eventually he sat up. “I should probably go.”

The words hit harder than expected, still, you forced yourself to whisper a “Yeah,” that hopefully didn’t sound too heartbroken.

He got dressed quietly.

You wanted hi to say something.

I want to stay.

This doesn’t change things.

I want more.

Anything, but he stayed frustratingly unreadable.

At the door he hesitated briefly, like he almost turned back but he still left.

The second the door closed, regret flooded your chest. Not because of what happened, because of everything that went unsaid after.

----

The next morning was agony.

You saw him at breakfast surrounded by teammates, but neither of you approached each other.

Every glance felt loaded and you became convinced that he regretted the entire night completely.

Meanwhile Moritz spent the entire morning convinced you were just waiting to tell him that it had all been a mistake.

So, both of you stayed silent.

Cowards.

----

The day dragged horribly.

Packing equipment. Organizing final content. Preparing travel schedules back to Germany.

Every room somehow contained him. Every hallway felt tense.

Once you nearly collided near the elevators and both froze.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” you replied equally as quiet, but neither if you knew what else to say and before either had the chance to stop overthinking, someone called his name from down the hall and he stepped away again.

You wanted to scream.

That evening players started gathering in hotel common areas before departures the next morning after the elimination of Germany had been confirmed throughout the day.

You avoided most of it by hiding in your room pretending to finish edits.

When you were halfway through packing chargers someone knocked on your door. Your stomach flipped instantly because somehow you already knew who was on the other side.

Moritz stood on the other side of the door in sweatpants and a hoodie; hands shoved nervously into pockets.

“I think we´re being idiots,” he said immediately.

You stared at him.

He exhaled hard. “Can I come in?”

You stepped aside silently and he walked inside fully before turning toward you.

For one second you thought he wouldn’t say anything but then the words spilled out of him all at once.

“I left last night because I thought you regretted it.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “What?”

“You were so quiet suddenly.”

“So were you.”

“Because I thought you wanted to tell me it could never happen again.”

Your mouth fell open slightly. “That´s exactly what I thought you were going to say.”

“We´re idiots.”

Relief hit so hard it almost hurt.

“You seriously thought I regretted it?”

“You seriously thought I did?”

You stared at each other for one long second before laughing helplessly, but after a few seconds the laughter faded and the tension returned immediately.

Moritz stepped closer slowly, grabbing your hands. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted.

“Me neither.”

“I spend the better part of the year in Detroit.”

“I know,” you whispered, looking down onto the rooms floor.

“You´re in Germany.”

“I know.”

“But I also know I spent seven years trying to get over you and apparently that didn’t work at all.”

Your chest tightened.

When you looked up again, he looked nervous now in a way you had almost never seen before. “I don’t want this to end because we got scared before even trying.”

You swallowed hard. “What would trying even look like?”

“I don’t know yet.”

That honestly somehow mattered more than any perfect speech could have.

He reached for your hands again, like he wasn’t entirely sure if you would let him this time, but you did.

His thumb brushed across your knuckles. “I can fly,” he said softly. “You can fly too. Germany camps happen; tournaments happen. Summers exist. Phones exist.”

You laughed quietly through sudden tears. “That´s your bug romantic speech?”

“I play hockey for a living. This is my best work.”

You shook your head while smiling, then he kissed you again.

This one felt different from the ones the night before. Less desperate and more certain. Like neither of you was running anymore.

----

Later you sat together on the floor beside your half-packed suitcase talking until nearly three in the morning.

About Detroit. About Germany. The missed years. Mannheim. All the almost moments neither of you had imagined at all.

“You know what still annoys me?” he said at one point.

“What?”

“The equipment manager was right.”

You laughed. “Which one?”

“The one who told us to kiss already.”

“Oh my God,” you laughed, burying your face in your hands.

“He saw this coming long before we did.”

“I feel like everyone saw this coming before we did.”

“Good point,” he chuckled.

You leaned against his shoulder comfortably and for the first time since seeing him again, the future didn’t feel like an ending already waiting to happen.

It felt uncertain and complicated. Long distance and timezones and airports and careers, but not impossible.

And somehow that was enough right now.

----

The next morning the lobby buzzed with departures and luggage and exhausted players saying goodbye to people they would probably not see until the next tournament.

You stood near the buses checking final equipment lists when Moritz appeared beside you carrying his bag.

“Will you sleep on the flight?” you asked.

“Probably.”

“Poor person sitting next to you, you snore.”

“I do not,” he argued.

“You do, Schatz.” (Treasure, most common nickname for partners in germany)

He grinned at the nickname.

Then, without caring who noticed, he leaned down and kissed you briefly. The gesture felt strangely intimate after everything else.

“See you in a few weeks, okay?”

It wasn’t goodbye, it was see you soon.

You smiled. “Yeah.”

 And this time, when he walked away, it didn’t feel like losing him again.

----

YEARS LATER

Detroit looked gray the first time you seriously considered living there.

Not visiting. Not surviving out of a suitcase for ten days during Christmas or squeezing in two weeks together during the off-season before one of you had to leave again.

Living there. Actually building a life there.

With Moritz.

You stood outside Little Caesars Arena in February of 2028 with your hands shoved into your coat pockets while snow drifted lazily onto the sidewalk.

Your flight back to Germany left in fourteen hours.

Moritz was still inside finishing up meetings after a home win against Tampa.

You should have been thinking about your schedule waiting for you back home. About social media campaigns that were due over the next weeks, about the national team meetings you still hadn’t prepared for.

Instead, you stared at the glowing red DETROIT letters across the arena entrance and thought “I can´t keep doing this.”

Not because you didn’t love him anymore, because you loved him too much to hurt both of you time and time again.

Long distance lasted almost two years somehow.

Two years of airports and countdowns and timezone math.

Two years of “good morning” texts arriving while the other person slept.

Two years of falling asleep during FaceTime calls.

Two years of trying.

You had thought wanting each other this badly would make things easier, but it hadn’t. it just made every goodbye worse than the last one.

The arena doors slid open behind you. “There you are.”

You turned.

Moritz walked toward you wearing a black hoodie beneath his winter jacket, hair still damp from the shower.

At twenty-seven he looked even broader than he had in Zurich two years ago. More settled into himself somehow. NHL captain material written all over the way he carried himself now.

But he still smiled exactly the same when he saw you.

“You disappeared,” he muttered, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Your meeting took forever.”

“Because our video coaches are evil.”

You laughed softly.

“Are you cold?”

“A little.”

“You should have stayed inside with the others.”

You rested your head briefly against his shoulder. Neither of you mentioned the flight tomorrow, you almost never did until the last possible second now. Because after two years, departures had stopped feeling temporary and every goodbye carried exhaustion with it.

You still remembered the beginning though. The beginning that almost felt too easy.

----

FLASHBACK

Summer 2026 passed in a blur after Zurich.

Moritz stayed in Germany longer than usual that off-season and every memory from Mannheim that once felt unfinished got replaced with new ones.

You went swimming with his friends near Heidelberg and watched him nearly drown trying to impress you with a backflip off a dock.

“You´re such an idiot,” you laughed while he resurfaced coughing dramatically.

“You screamed.”

“Because I thought you were close to dying.”

“So, you care.”

“I´m leaving,” you chuckled, already moving to get up.

“No wait!” He grabbed your ankle before you could escape the dock and dragged yon into the water with him while you shrieked loud enough to startle nearby families.

You still remembered kissing him in parking lots afterwards because neither if you could stop touching each other now that you finally could.

You remember the first time he left for Detroit after Zurich too.

The airport, you crying in the security line despite swearing you wouldn’t. Moritz cupping your face with both hands while people walked around you.

“Hey,” he said softly, rubbing a thumb over your cheek. “It´s okay.”

“No, it´s not.”

His expression cracked slightly at that because he knew you were right. You hated seeing it because he already looked miserable too.

“We´ll figure it out, okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that I love you.”

The words stunned you silent. His eyes widened slightly like he realized he said it out loud without planning to. “I really do,” he added quieter after.

You kissed him hard enough that someone behind you groaned impatiently about blocking the line.

He laughed against your mouth.

----

The first few months somehow worked despite everything that was going on. Maybe because both of you were trying to hard.

FaceTime calls every night if schedules allowed. Watching movies simultaneously while texting reactions.

Sometimes he would prop his phone against a pillow in Detroit while you edited content late at night in Germany, neither if you speaking much, just existing together quietly across an ocean.

“You´re staring again,” you told him once while working.

“I´m literally just looking at my girlfriend.”

“In a creepy way.”

“You love it,” he laughed and unfortunately you did.

During Christmas you visited Detroit properly for the first time and discovered that he owned approximately three pieces of furniture despite making millions.

“You live like this voluntarily?”

“It´s minimalist.” He tried to argue.

“Mo, this is depressing.”

He grinned while wrapping his arms around your waist in his kitchen. “Move in and fix it then.”

Your stomach flipped at the time, not the memory hurt a little, because back then it still sounded easy.

----

The first real fight happened a year in.

You were in Prague covering a tournament, he was in the middle of a brutal road trip through western Canada.

Neither of you had slept properly in days when the call started.

“You forgot,” you said quietly.

Moritz frowned through the screen. “Forgot what?”

“Our anniversary.”

His expression shifted immediately. “Oh.”

That tiny reacting hurt more than if he had yelled.

“You seriously didn’t remember?”

“I knew it was this week…”

“This week?”

“I´ve been traveling nonstop.”

“So have I.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

His jaw tightened, the connection glitched briefly before stabilizing again. “You think I don’t care?”

“I think I´m tired of always having to be the one that understands.”

The seconds the words left your mouth, you regretted them, because his face changed instantly. “What´s that supposed to mean?”

“It means every time this gets hard, I´m the one saying it´s okay.”

“That´s not fair.”

“You forgot our one year anniversary, Moritz.”

“And you think I wanted to?”

You rubbed your eyes hard. “I´ve had a long day, I don’t think I can´t do this.”

“Well, apparently we are.”

Silence. Then quietly, dangerously calm: “You know that? I have practice in six hours. Goodnight.”

The screen went black before you could answer and you stared at your own reflection for several seconds afterwards, before bursting into tears alone in your hotel room.

He called back thirty-seven minutes later, and when he did you answered immediately.

Moritz sighed heavily when you picked up, then: “I´m sorry.”

You wiped at your face. “Me too.”

“I remembered yesterday,” he admitted quietly. “Then today got insane and I lost track of time and suddenly you were angry and I just…”

“I know.”

“I hate fighting with you.”

“Me too.”

The relationship survived, but after that, things became more real. Less romantic montage, more effort.

----

There were stretches where scheduled liked up perfectly and you felt unstoppable.

Like summer 2027 when he rented a place in Italy during the off-season and spent two weeks pretending you were normal people instead of constantly exhausted travelers.

You remembered one night in Florence, sitting on a tiny apartment balcony while he cooked pasta inside.

“You´re burning it,” you called.

“I´m multitasking, babe.”

“You´re committing crimes against the Italian cuisine while in Italy.”

“You´re so judgmental.”

Then he appeared in the doorway holding two wine glasses while the sunset painted everything gold.

You looked at him and thought with terrifying certainty, I´m going to marry this man someday.

But then there were the bad stretches.

Like November 2027 when you were busy with Germany games and he with the NHL season and your schedules were the opposite of each other entirely.

You went almost twelve days without a proper conversation beyond rushed texts.

Morning, have a good day.

Night.

I miss you.

I love you.

Sorry I´m exhausted, call tomorrow?

One evening you called him after a terrible day at work hoping hearing his voice would help. Instead, he answered distracted while unlacing his skates in the Red Wings locker room.

“Hey, baby.”

“Hi.”

“You okay?”

You hesitated, debating if you should really tell him. “Not really.”

His attention sharpened immediately. “What happened”

You started explaining the disaster of your day – technical failures, angry supervisors, travel problems.

Halfway through, someone in the background shouted his name and he looked away from the screen briefly. Then another voice interrupted and another.

You stopped talking after the third interruption.

Moritz looked back immediately. “Sorry, it´s the guys, keep going.”

“No, it´s fine.”

“No, what happened after the upload issue?”

You suddenly felt ridiculous for complaining about such small things. Tired and too far away. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Hey, don’t do that.”

“It´s okay, Mo. You´re busy.”

“I´m listening.”

“But you shouldn’t have to do this right now.”

His expression tightened. “Do what?”

“Balance me into your schedule.”

“That´s not what it is.”

You laughed once. “Sometimes it feels like it.”

The hurt in his face appeared instantly. “You´re really thinking talking to you is a chore I have to fit into my schedule?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you meant it.”

“No, I meant…”

“Jesus Christ…”

He stood abruptly, grabbing his bag.

“Mo…”

“I have to go.”

The call ended.

This time he didn’t call back immediately, or after thirty-seven minutes, or at all that night.

You laid awake until nearly four in the morning staring at your ceiling while panic slowly crept into your chest.

What if this stopped working?

What if love really wasn’t enough?

He finally called the next morning while you were getting coffee before work.

You answered on the second ring. He looked exhausted.

“So, we´re really good at this communication thing,” he said dryly.

You laughed once, then immediately started crying.

His face crumpled. “Hey, hey, don’t cry sweetheart.”

“I´m so tired of this, Mo,” you whispered.

“I know, me too.”

“I miss you all the time.”

“I miss you too.”

“And sometimes I don’t know how we´re supposed to keep doing this.”

The honesty hung heavily between you.

“Me neither sometimes.” But then he said. “But I´m not giving up on us.”

And somehow that mattered, so, you kept trying.

----

Airports became part of your relationship language.

Detroit arrivals. Frankfurt departures.

Rushed kisses at security checkpoints.

You learned exactly how his face looked twenty minutes before you had to leave. Quiet and slightly distant, like he was already bracing himself for missing you.

He learned you always became clingier the night before flights.

“You´re holding onto me like I´m dying,” he teased while you were wrapped around him in bed.

“You´re dramatic.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

He kissed the top of your head. “Move here.”

The words came out casually, but neither of you laughed afterward, because by then, the possibility had started to become real, you just didn’t know if either if you was brave enough yet.

Your career mattered deeply to you; you had worked for years building it. Meanwhile his entire life existed in Detroit and neither of you wanted the other sacrificing everything.

So, instead you stayed suspended in between.

At least, until February 2028.

Until the gray Detroit sky outside Little Caesars Arena and until the exhaustion finally outweighed the fear.

That night after the game, you ended up back at his apartment eating takeout on the couch while snow hit the windows softly.

Moritz kept glancing at your strangely.

“What?” you asked eventually.

“You´re quiet. Everything okay?”

“Tired.”

“We´ve been in a constant state of tired for two years.”

You smiled weakly while he studied your face for another second. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You looked down at your food, your heart hammering. “I think I want to move here.”

Silence. Complete silence.

You looked up immediately and were met with Moritz staring at you like he genuinely thought he misheard you. “What?”

“I said I think I want to move here. To Detroit.”

He blinked once, then again. “You mean…like actually? Permanently?”

“Yeah.”

His fork clattered softly against the plate as he set it down too fast. “Wait.”

You almost laughed nervously because he looked more shocked than excited in that moment.

“I´m not saying that it will happen tomorrow,” you added quickly. “I need to figure things out back home, with work and visas and everything but…”

“You´d move here?”

You nodded slowly.

For a second he just stared at you, then suddenly he was moving. Crossing the couch so quickly you barely had time to react before his hands cupped your face.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

Something in his expression broke open completely then. Relief, then disbelief. Hope so intense it almost looked painful.

He kissed you hard. Messy and emotional and overwhelming and when he pulled back his eyes looked suspiciously bright. “You have no idea how long I´ve wanted you to say that.”

Your chest tightened. “Why didn’t you ask?”

“I did ask,” he reminded.

“Not seriously.”

“Because I didn’t want you thinking you had to give up your career for me.”

“I wouldn’t be.”

“You love your job.”

“I can still work in media here.”

“You´d be leaving your whole life.”

You smiled softly. “You´re my life too.”

His eyes closed briefly at that like the words physically hit him, then he rested his forehead against yours. “Are you really sure?”

“No,” you admitted honestly. “Actually I´m terrified.”

“Good. Me too.”

----

The next few months became chaos.

Meetings and paperwork and job negotiations.

You cried after telling your parents and your coworkers.

You cried packing up your apartment because apparently your body handled every major life event through an emotional collapse now.

Moritz tried helping from Detroit, which mostly meant nightly calls while you sat surrounded by boxes looking stressed.

“You don’t need six jackets.”

“I absolutely do.”

“You own twenty-three mugs.”

“They all have emotional value.”

“You´re a hoarder, baby.”

“You live with one chair; someone has to fill your life with stuff.”

“It´s a great chair.”

Despite the stress, something between you felt lighter already, like finally choosing the same place changed the shape of your future entirely.

----

The final breakdown happened three nights before your move.

You sat on your kitchen floor in Germany after a horrible day of logistics and visa issues while FaceTiming Moritz.

“I can´t do this,” you whispered suddenly.

His expression sharpened instantly. “Hey.”

“What if this is a mistake?”

“It´s not.”

“What if it´s too early?”

“Then we figure it out.”

“What if my work visa doesn’t get approved?”

“We will figure that out too.”

Tears burned in your eyes. “You say that like everything is easy.”

“I know it´s not easy.”

“You don’t know what it feels like leaving everything behind.” Regret hit immediately after saying it, because his face changed.

“You think leaving Germany at eighteen was easy for me?”

Your stomach dropped. “That´s not what I mean.”

“No?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

Silence.

Then quietly: “Sometimes it feels like you forget I gave things up too.”

You stared at him, because suddenly you realized he was right.

He left home at eighteen, left family and language and familiarity behind because hockey demanded it.

You had spent years sympathizing with that distance without fully understanding it.

Now, you finally did.

“I´m sorry,” you whispered.

Moritz exhaled slowly. “I know you´re scared.”

“I really am.”

“I am too.”

You laughed weakly through tears. “Great. We´re thriving.”

“We´ve never thrived,” he laughed.

That startled a real laugh out of you too. “There she is.”

You looked at him through your phone screen and suddenly the fear eased slightly. It wasn’t gone, just got more manageable in that moment, because every terrible part of the last two years had still someone led you here.

To choosing each other despite everything.

----

The morning you landed in Detroit permanently, Moritz nearly caused an accident sprinting through arrivals to reach you.

You barely had time to drop your suitcase before he wrapped both arms around you hard enough to lift you slightly off the ground.

“You´re insane,” you laughed.

“You´re here permanently.”

People stared openly, but neither of you cared.

When he finally set you down, he kissed you quickly before pressing his forehead against yours. “You´re actually here.”

“Yeah.”

For the first time in two years, there was no return flight waiting. No countdown to a departure. No goodbye scheduled already.

Just Detroit stretching ahead, uncertain and messy and real.

Moritz grabbed one of your suitcases with one hand while lacing your fingers together with the other.

“Ready for this?” he asked softly.

You looked at him, at the man you almost loved too late in Mannheim. The man who spent two years fighting through distance and exhaustion and tears with you because neither if you knew how to quick each other anymore.