#nhl!chowder

sharks gm: if you bring the jam, you're in the squad

chowder: what?

sharks players: and pie? do we get pie as well?

Charmer Heartflower AU!

Cait woke up one morning, four months into dating Chris to find a sprig of holly on the forearm opposite the cherry blossom.

Oh.

[<3<3<3 Awww yissss, NHL!Chowder lighting up ice!]

After his sixth blocked shot of the night, Eric cracks his stick on the ice and lets loose a string of curses so vile the ref gives him a verbal warning. It’s been like this for the last four games against San Jose, and no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t pull it together.

At least when they go up against the Falconers Eric knows he has a fighting chance, but here? He might as well be sitting in the stands since DeBoer realized his backup goalie played with the Schooners lead scorer for three years in college.

“You seem tense,” Chris says as Eric circles around for the reset. “Maybe we should do some drills, I can tell you’re having trouble with your aim.”

If Eric could go back in time he’d slap himself silly for all the encouragement he gave Chris, because his frog literally became a Shark. Christopher Franklin Chow knows everything about how he plays. Everything. And it’s a god damn waking nightmare.

Eric’s a good person. He doesn’t deserve this.

“No, I’m serious, we’ll pick up some food and you can try to get one past me all night long. And technically you won’t even be cheating on Jack because you’ll never actually score.”

@chowderweek | day 7: birthday 

the name on the back (jerseys in real time) [ao3]

Chris stands alone in the tunnel, shifting back and forth on his skates to work off the nervous energy that’s followed him from the dressing room. He knows from years, years, of experience that he won’t feel settled until he’s skated around his crease and gotten comfortable between the pipes. The movement helps a little bit though.

He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, taking comfort in the artificial ice smell that all arenas he’s ever played in have. The sound is different here though. The roar of the crowd is muffled but loud, almost drowning out the music and the announcer’s voice. It wraps itself around him, tightly enough that the rest of the walk down the tunnel feels like a dream.

“…and now, your 2022-2023 San Jose Sharks starting goaltender. From San Francisco California, CHRISTOPHER CHOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.”

Chris steps on to the ice and it’s like the volume of the crowd has been turned up all the way finally. He raises his stick in acknowledgement, does the half lap that he was told to do, and skates over to join his teammates where they’re lined up at the blueline after their home opener introductions. Chris bumps shoulders with Petrov, his backup, who grins and knocks his blocker into Chris’s helmet, knocking the mask down. Chris rolls his eyes and push it back up. Petrov elbows him again. This time when Chris looks over, Petrov jerks his chin towards the jumbotron so Chris looks up, and his breath catches in his throat.

The cameras pan over the crowd. Chris remembers being in that sea of turquoise, white, and black when he was a kid, but it’s even more impressive from this end. He never saw people wearing a #55 San Jose Sharks jersey though. Chris can’t keep count of how many he sees now. Like the one he’s wearing, CHOW is stretched across the shoulders of the jersey, and everyone wearing it looks as proud as Chris is to be wearing it on home ice in the Shark Tank.

Chris tears his eyes away from the screen and looks out through the glass, wanting to see the jerseys in real time just to make sure they’re real. He’s distracted trying to spot one that he doesn’t hear it at first, but after he spots a young girl wearing a Chow jersey and right against the glass, what he thought was just thousands of voices shouting to their own tunes comes together in one cohesive sound.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,” the crowd sings.

Chris’s jaw drops.  

“Happy birthday dear Ch-ow, happy birthday to you!” They finish with another loud cheer and Chris’s teammates all bang their sticks on the ice, hooting and hollering and adding to the cacophony. Chris knows there’s a camera on his face, and knows that it’s probably picking up the tears that have sprung to his eyes.

He doesn’t care.

Chris raises his stick again, this time in thanks, and he didn’t think it was possible for the crowd to get louder, but they do.

It’s a hell of a birthday gift.