#smitty

part one can be found here!!

PAIRING ▸ will smith ws2 x reader 

GENRES ▸ fluff, lowkey crack fic, reader is a d1 impatient hater she also lowkey cray, it’s like wills first day on earth…plz like hes my friend

SUMMARY ▸ standing in line for will smith’s autograph was supposed to be a favor for your best friend. instead, you accidentally insult his handwriting to his face…and somehow end up leaving with his number.

WORD COUNT ▸ 4.7k words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ HIIIIII after a few requests, here's a part two to this fic!!! i am currently facing extreme wsh post season withdrawals rn also i am fiending for literally any crumb (even if that means whatever he was doing in boston last week) hope everyone is doing good and did well on finals if they had any!!!

also again just an extremeeeee thank you for all the love on the fics: 2k likes, 140 followers OH EM GEE NEVER WOULD I HAVE BELIEVED THIS!! i have a very self indulgent will post season summer fic soon also and maybe fraser fic pt 2 so more to come! LOVE AND APPRECIATE ALL OF U

you stare at your phone for a good solid five seconds after sending will your last text. then ten. then fifteen.

because now that it’s out there, now that you’ve actually agreed to dinner with him, the reality of the situation finally settles in:

you are going on a date.

with will smith.

nhl player.

“oh my god,” you whisper to absolutely no one, flopping back on your bed and giggling like you're fifteen again and you had a bad middle school crush. 

was this too much? probably.

but suddenly your phone buzzes, and you quickly bring it to your face.

will: tomorrow?

your stomach flips immediately, but you smile at your phone.

you: bold of you to assume im free on such short notice

the typing bubble appears almost instantly.

will: i feel like i have a pretty good shot :)

you press your lips together, trying not to smile like an idiot at his cockiness. he was a hockey player after all.

you: maybe

will: i’ll take a maybe

will: 7? dinner?

you stare at the message. 7? seven pm?

as in less than 24 hours from now. as in you have approximately no time to mentally prepare. as in you are absolutely going to spiral. 

you: ok :)

you: but you're picking the place

will: consider it done

will: ill try my best to make sure the menu handwriting meets your standards

you huff out a laugh, as you set your phone down on your chest and stare up at your ceiling.

"i’m going on a date. with will.” you say slowly, speaking to yourself yet again.

your phone buzzes again, but this time, with her personalized ringer, you don’t even need to look to know who it is.

y/f/n: SO?????

you groan. you: bye im blocking you

y/f/n: DID HE ASK YOU OUT ??? R U GUYS IN LOVE YET

you: maybeeeee

y/f/n: Y/N.

you: yes!!!!! tmrw at 7 IM FREAKING OUT

three dots appear. then disappear. then reappear.

y/f/n: OH MY GOD

y/f/n: I DID THAT

y/f/n: YOU’RE WELCOME!!!! IM EXPECTING THE INVITE TO THE WEDDING AND FOR U TO SET ME UP WITH MACK AS A THANK YOU

you: remember how you exposed my instagram to the entire internet

y/f/n: AND LOOK WHERE IT GOT YOU

you drop your phone onto your face, “she’s insane, clinically.” you mutter. your phone buzzes again against your forehead.

y/f/n: what are you wearing

you: rn? pajamas

y/f/n: FOR THE DATE

you pause.

then sit up.

"oh shit.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

the next day arrives far too quickly. like, offensively quickly.

one minute you’re falling asleep in your bed thinking maybe this is all some elaborate joke and you were about to be on some twisted version of "jury duty," and the next you’re standing in front of your messy closet like it personally wronged you.

“why do i own absolutely nothing?” you say, staring at your clothes laid all across the floor.

your phone is propped up against your mirror, your friend on facetime, fully invested.

“you literally have so many clothes.”

“none of them say ‘effortlessly cool girl but also not try hard, but also still hot enough to impress a professional athlete,’” you shoot back.

she rolls her eyes. “you insulted him to his face.”

“that was different!” you say immediately.

“how?”

"i wasn’t trying to impress him then. i was just mad, overheating, and trying to defend your honor.”

she squints at you through the screen. “and now you are.”

you open your mouth. close it. clocked you.

“ok…maybe a little.”

she gasps like she’s just uncovered state secrets. “oh my god, you like him.”

“i do not like him,” you say quickly. maybe too quickly. “i only had one conversation with him. he's just cute.”

“yeah just cute…and you're going on a date with him.”

“that does not mean i like him.”

“you’re spiraling over an outfit.”

you pause. “…that’s unrelated.”

she snorts. “put on the black top, the one that makes your boobs look good, yet still tasteful.”

you glance at it, scoffing. “tasteful my ass…you don't think it's too much?”

“it’s exactly enough.”

you sigh, grabbing it. “if this goes horribly wrong, i’m blaming you.”

“if this goes well, i’m taking full credit.”

“you already have been.”

“as i should.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

7:02 pm.

you’re pacing.

you’ve already checked your phone twelve times in the last minute, not because he’s late. (because he's not).

because you’re extremely nervous. which is ridiculous.

you’ve been on dates before, both good and bad. you are a normal person, and this is a totally normal situation. right?

your phone buzzes.

will: outside i think

will: im trying to do the gentlemany thing and go to your door but your doorman is looking at me like he wants to hurt me so im as close as i can be sry

you freeze, nervous, but of course like this, he still makes you laugh.

"oh my god.”

you glance at yourself in the mirror one last time, smoothing your top unnecessarily and taking more deep breaths. “it’s fine,” you tell yourself. “you’re fine.”

you grab your bag, walk out the door.

but walk back in, grab your lip gloss, then leave again. 

like you're going into war. it's go time.

when you step outside, he’s leaning casually against his bronco like this is the most normal thing in the world and he's picked you up hundreds of times before.

unfortunately for you, he looks even better than he did yesterday. which feels extremely unfair.

jeans, a navy button up, curls slightly messy like he didn’t try but still somehow got it exactly right. extremely handsome. dangerously handsome.

he looks up when he hears the door, and his face immediately breaks into a toothy smile. not just polite, or not a fan-interaction. but that same one, the same one from yesterday he gave to you when you walked away.

"hey,” he says, breaking the spell.

and for a second, your brain forgets how to function.

“hey,” you manage, once you get it working again.

you walk over, trying very hard to be normal.

he opens the passenger door for you, and you pause a little in surprise. “oh, and he's a gentleman too.”

he shrugs a little. “trying to make a good first impression.”

you raise an eyebrow as you slide into the seat. “a little late for that, don’t you think?”

he laughs, closing the door. “i’m working with what i’ve got.”

he walks around to the driver’s side, gets in, and glances over at you. you revel in it. “you look nice.”

your stomach flips again, which is getting extremely inconvenient.

“thank you,” you say, softer now, more girlish. “you clean up okay yourself.”

he grins. “only okay?”

“i’m trying to stay humble for you.”

“i appreciate that.”

he pulls out of your complex, and for a moment there’s a small, almost comfortable silence.

then: “so y/n,” he says.

you turn toward him slightly, bemused. “yes?"

he glances at you briefly, smiling. “you always this mean to people you just met or am i still special?”

you smile back. “you’re definitely still special.”

“good,” he says. “i was hoping.”

you shake your head, looking out the window to hide your smile.

this is dangerous.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

for a second, during the drive, neither of you say anything.

the car hums softly as he drives, the city lights slipping past in streaks through the window. it’s not awkward, not really. just new.

music starts playing, some don toliver song that of course a twenty-one year old athlete would love, and it settles between you, smoothing over the silence.

you sneak a glance at him, wanting to look at his gorgeous face just for a second more.

his hand rests loosely on the wheel, long fingers tapping lightly to the beat. his other arm is draped casually along the center console, close enough that you’re suddenly very aware of the space between you.

like it’s smaller than it was before. you look back out the window.

then, without meaning to, back at him again.

he catches you this time.

just a quick glance, nothing dramatic, but the corner of his mouth lifts, like he noticed and doesn’t mind.

your stomach flips. again.

“what?” he asks playfully, not taking his eyes fully off the road.

“nothing,” you say quickly, turning back toward the window.

“you were looking at me.”

you huff out a quiet laugh. “you’re driving. i was just….checking you for safety reasons.”

“right,” he says, amused. “very responsible.”

you glance back at him, narrowing your eyes slightly. “exactly.”

he nods like he believes you, but he’s smiling.

the music shifts into the next song, and another stretch of quiet settles in, but it feels different now. warmer. easier.

you rest your elbow against the center console, chin in your hand, now looking at him shamefully. 

“i do have to ask…are you usually this calm?” you ask after a minute.

he glances over. “what do you mean?”

“i don’t know,” you say. “i feel like if i had four hundred people watching me sign things and then someone told me my handwriting looked like shit, i’d be a little more traumatized. im not sure i'd exactly ask them on a date.”

he laughs softly. “i think i handled it pretty well.”

he looks over at you as you hit a red light. “for one, i had to defend myself,” he says. “you came in very strong.”

you hum, locking eyes with will. “fair.”

“and you were funny,” he adds, quieter this time.

you blink, turning your body toward him slightly. “i was bullying you.”

“yeah,” he says, glancing at you again. “but it was funny.”

there’s something softer in it now. less teasing. you look at him for a second too long.

then back out the window again. “good,” you say.

but you can feel his eyes on you for a second before he looks back at the road.

by the time you get to the restaurant, the nerves have settled into something steadier. he pulls into a spot and turns off the engine, the music cutting with it. for a second, neither of you move.

then he glances over.

“you ready?” he asks.

you nod. “yeah.”

the air between you crackled with something unspoken.

will stepped around the car, his movements smooth and deliberate. 

when he reached your side, he opened the door, chivalrous, gentlemanly, all of it, and for a second too long, you just stood there facing each other in the dim glow.

no words exchanged. just breathing. existing in close proximity like magnets not quite touching yet.

he closed your door softly after you got out and fell into step beside you toward the restaurant entrance, not arm-in-arm or anything overtly romantic.

but his presence was heavy. 

every half-step he took brought him subtly closer to you without actually closing the tiny gap between your shoulders.

he gives your name to the host, and while you wait, you stand next to each other in that same almost-space. the almost touching, warm contact, but not just yet.

“you picked this?” you ask, quieter this time.

he nods. “yeah.”

you glance around, taking it in, then back at him. “it’s nice.”

he watches your reaction for a second, but the look on his face is fond. “you sound surprised.”

“i just didn’t know what to expect.”

“is that a good thing?”

you tilt your head slightly, a small smile forming. “so far.”

his smile softens a little at that. “i’ll take ‘so far.’”

your table is ready a minute later, and he lets you slide in first before taking the seat across from you. for a moment, you both reach for the menus at the same time, fingers brushing lightly.

you pull back slightly, a small smile tugging at your lips as you look down.

he does the same, but you can see it, the way he glances at you again before opening his menu.

the conversation throughout dinner comes easier now, but it’s different from before.

slower.

you talk about small things at first, how your day was, how he's liked san jose so far, and you banter about things that don’t feel too heavy.

but every once in a while, it shifts. he asks you about school or family, and actually listens, leaning forward slightly with his blue eyes blinking like he’s paying attention to every word.

you ask him about hockey, and he shrugs it off at first playing nonchalance, but then opens up a little, just enough.

and as you both sat across from each other at the small, candlelit table, there was this... awareness. 

maybe it was the glass of red wine, but it seemed like every tiny movement carried weight now. 

when he reached for his water glass at the same time as you did, your pinkies brushed, just slightly, and neither of you pulled away immediately.

a pause. a slight glance up through your lashes to see if he’d noticed too (and he definitely had).

he smiled, a little sheepishly this time.

 you thought it was a little uncharacteristic for someone usually so self-assured on camera or in interviews, but it was extremely charming.

you ducked your head back down after that brief eye contact exchange like nothing happened, but your cheeks warmed anyway.

you look down at your glass, smiling to yourself.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

one thing you learned about will through dinner, was how extremely endearing he was.

and it wasn’t even anything big. it was the small things.

it was the way he thanked the server every single time they came by, like he actually meant it.

but through your conversations,  it was just will being will too. how he was clearly a big family man, how he loved to golf, how he seemed to speed run every single hobby in the sun.

it made something in your chest feel different. a good, warm different.

at one point, you’re mid-sentence, talking about a class, something small, something that shouldn’t matter that much.

but he’s looking at you like it does.

like you do.

and it throws you off just enough that you pause. “what?” you ask, a little self-conscious now.

he blinks, like he didn’t realize he got caught. “nothing,” he says, but there’s a small smile tugging at his pink mouth.

you narrow your eyes slightly. “you’re doing that thing.”

“what thing?”

“staring.”

he huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “i wasn’t staring.”

“you were.”

“okay,” he admits, softer now.

“you just—” he stops himself, like he’s deciding whether to say it.

you wait. he leans back slightly, exhaling through a small smile. “you’re easy to talk to.”

you look down for a second, fingers tracing the edge of your glass. "you are too,” you say.

and when you look back up, he’s already looking at you again.

a few moments later, your plates get cleared, and your conversation slows. not because there’s nothing to say, but because neither of you seem in a rush to fill the nervous space anymore.

eventually, the check comes.

and of course, 

(of course because he's a gentleman,)

will picks it up without hesitation.

you watch him for a second, then tilt your head slightly playfully. “can i see that?”

he looks up, already smiling like he knows exactly where this is going. “why?”

“i just want to check something.”

he slides it across the table anyway.

you take it, scanning it for a second before your eyes land on the bottom. the signature line.

you hum thoughtfully. “okay.”

he leans forward slightly. “okay what.”

“it’s better,” you admit.

he lets out a small, victorious laugh, leaning back in his seat in a way that shouldn't be as attractive as it is. “thank you.”

“but-” you add.

he groans immediately. “there’s a but?”

“it’s still a little rushed.”

he stares at you. then shakes his head, smiling like he can’t believe you. “you’re impossible.”

“i’m consistent.”

“that’s one word for it.”

you slide the check back to him, and your fingers brush again, this time a little more deliberate, a little less accidental.

neither of you pulls away right away.

and this time, neither of you pretends it didn’t happen.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

time with will moves weird after that.

not all at once.

just in small moments that start to stack on top of each other until one day you realize you’re not at the beginning anymore.

once a few nights later, it’s late, your room dim except for the glow of your phone and a small lamp in the corner.

you’re on facetime this time tonight, not texting like you two usually do.

he’s sprawled across his bed, hair messy, sharks hoodie slightly wrinkled like he didn’t bother fixing it before answering. you've already been talking for hours: about nothing, about everything.

“you’re lying,” you say, narrowing your eyes at the blond man on the screen.

“i’m not, i swear.” he laughs.

“you are. there’s no way you actually bake.”

“i do.”

“name one thing.”

he pauses. “chocolate chip banana bread.”

you stare at him.“groundbreaking.”

he grins. “mine is the best.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. and neither of you hangs up when the conversation slows. 

you just stay.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

another time, it’s a sharks game will's invited you to, a couple of days later.

you’re in the stands, unfortunately way more aware than you expected to be: of the ice. of the crowd. maybe of him.

he’s faster than you thought he’d be, more serious and focused.

and for a second, you forget this is the same person who sat across from you at dinner, listening to you talk about stupid things like it mattered.

but then, he looks up past the boards, and your eyes meet. just for a second.

but it’s enough. his expression shifts, just slightly, and he taps the glass twice looking right at you.

and your stomach flips like it did the very first time.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

the week after, it's sitting in his car after he drops you off, the engine's idle, the soft hum of will's aux filling the silence. 

the moon is a sliver in the night sky, casting just enough light for you to see the gentle curve of his smile. neither of you are in any rush to get out, the moment stretching out, comfortable and warm.

"you're staying," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"seems like it," you reply, a soft laugh escaping you.

 you turn slightly towards him, your knee brushing against his. the air between you feels charged, electric, like the world outside the car has become silent around you.

he mirrors your movement, turning towards you. his eyes, dark and deep, hold your gaze. "i like it," he admits, his voice steady, sure.

"me too," you confess, your heart pounding in your chest. you can feel the heat of his hand resting on the center console, so close to yours. you want to reach out, to touch him, but you're frozen, caught in the moment.

he then reaches up, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. his touch is soft, tender, sending shivers down your spine. 

you lean into it, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

when you open them again to blink, you find him closer, his face inches away. you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the slight part of his lips. 

your heart is pounding, your breath caught in your throat.

"can i...?" he asks, his voice barely audible, his eyes searching yours.

you nod, a small smile playing on your lips. "please," you whisper.

he leans in, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. you meet him halfway, your eyes closing as your lips touch. 

it's soft, tentative, a question asked and answered in the same breath. his lips are warm, gentle, and you find yourself leaning into the kiss, deepening it.

the world outside the car fading away completely: it's just the two of you, lost in the moment, in the sweetness of a first kiss.

when you finally pull away, your breaths are ragged, your hearts pounding in sync.

and you both sit there for a minute longer than necessary, just because you can.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

even publicly throughout the weeks, it’s your name popping up more often than you’d like online.

clips of you two out in san jose on twitter, comments on tumblr, people speculating on everything in between.

[willmack324]: wait will bagged a BADDIE

[wshheart]: wsh girl era who knew this would be possible

[sharksss71]: mack how will u respond ?

which also meant your friend sending you screenshots like it’s her full-time job.

y/f/n: THEYRE LITERALLY OBSESSED WITH YOU

you: they need hobbies

y/f/n: YOU ARE THE HOBBY

you: ok blocking you again

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

it was weeks.

but it didn'’t feel like weeks.

and then, all at once, it happens on a night that isn’t planned.

it starts at a bar you didn’t even mean to stay at that long after dinner. just one drink, you both had said. then maybe another.

then maybe something stronger that you definitely didn’t need but drank anyway because will kept laughing and the night felt easy and you didn’t want it to end yet.

the music is loud inside, people pressed shoulder to shoulder, but you’re both tucked into a corner booth, closer than usual. closer than necessary.

your knee is pressed against his.

neither of you moves it.

you’re both a little flushed, a little slower, words coming easier, slipping past whatever filter you usually keep up. you're inches away from each other, impossibly close.

“you’re staring again,” you say, but there’s no bite to it.

he doesn’t even try to deny it this time. “yeah,” he says simply, smiling stupidly.

your stomach flips. “why?”

he shrugs, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “i like looking at you.”

and for a second, you forget how to respond.

so you just smile stupid back, look down, and take another sip of your drink even though you don’t need it.

eventually, you leave, not because you have to. but just because it feels like the night is better outside.

it’s cooler out, the air hitting your skin and grounding you just enough, but not completely.

you’re walking side by side down the street, a little slower than usual, a little closer too. your shoulders brush once, twice, then stay.

“you’re kinda quiet,” he says after a minute.

you glance up at him, smiling a little. “am i?”

“yeah.”

you shrug. “just thinking.”

“about?”

you hesitate, but then laugh it off lightly. “nothing important.”

he doesn’t push and just hums, like he doesn’t believe you but won’t force it out of you.

your hand swings slightly at your side as you walk. his does too. seconds later, they bump. just barely. and then, slowly, his fingers hook around yours: first, a little tentative, like he’s still asking.

in reponse, your heart stutters, but you don’t hesitate, and you lace your fingers with his.

and just like that, it fits.

later, you don’t even realize you’ve stopped walking at first. somewhere along the sidewalk, under a dim streetlight, the city quieter around you now.

will stops and turns toward you fully.

your hands are still linked, your heart is beating a little too fast and your mind spins a bit like you're tipsy, but you can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or him.

probably him. most definitely him.

“what?” you ask softly.

he shakes his head, but he’s smiling. not teasing, or playful. but just something else.

“nothing.”

your breath catches just a little.

and suddenly, everything feels still. like the moment is waiting for something: for you, for him, for both of you.

you take a small step closer without really thinking.

he notices.

of course he does.

his hand slips from yours, but only so he can bring it up, resting it lightly at your waist to center your spinning mind. warm and steady. you can feel it everywhere, on every nerve ending that is screaming his name.

“i like you,” he says.

your chest tightens in that soft, steady way you’ve started to recognize.

“i know,” you say, quieter now.

he smiles a little. “you know?”

you nod, stepping closer again, closing whatever space was left.

“good thing i like you too.”

and this time, when he leans in,  you don’t hesitate. not even a little.

will's hand at your waist pulls you closer, his fingers splaying gently, as if he's trying to commit the feel of you to memory.

 you can feel the rough calluses on his fingertips from his hockey gloves, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of your thin shirt.

his lips are soft, but firm, moving with a confidence that belies the careful, almost reverent way he's holding you. he starts slow, exploring, as if he's tasting something he's been dreaming of for years. 

his mouth fits perfectly against yours, like two pieces of a puzzle clicking into place. you can feel the slight blond stubble on his jaw, a contrast to the smooth skin of his lips, sending a shiver down your spine.

you lean into him, your hand sliding up his arm to rest on his shoulder, your fingers curling slightly to grip the fabric of his shirt.

 he responds by deepening the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, asking for entry. you open for him, and the kiss becomes something else entirely. a few days ago in the car it was sweet, but it's hungry now, passionate, a dance of give and take. and you let him take all.

his hand moves from your waist to your hip, then up to your side, his thumb brushing the underside of your chest.

 you gasp into his mouth, the touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. he pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours, checking in. you nod, your lips swollen and wet from the kiss, and he smiles, a slow, satisfied curve of his mouth that makes your heart flutter.

he leans in again, this time his kiss is slower, more deliberate. 

he takes his time, exploring your mouth, learning the shape of your lips, the way you respond to his touch. his hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin, a tender, intimate gesture that makes your eyes flutter closed.

you can feel his heart beating against your chest, fast and steady, matching the rhythm of your own. 

you press closer, your body molding to his, your hands finding their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands. he lets out a low groan, a sound that vibrates through you, making your knees weak.

when he pulls back this time, you chase his lips, not ready for the kiss to end. he chuckles softly, his breath warm on your mouth. "patience," he murmurs, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

you smile, your fingers still tangled in his hair. "i've been waiting for a kiss like this for weeks," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

he leans his forehead against yours, his eyes closing briefly. "me too," he admits. "me too."

you laugh softly. “you took your time.”

“i didn’t want to mess a kiss that caliber up.”

your expression softens at that. “you didn’t.”

then he exhales, “can i ask you something?”

you nod. “yeah.”

he looks at you for a second longer than usual, like he’s making sure. like he already knows the answer, but still wants to hear it.

“will you be my girlfriend?”

your heart flips, but it settles just as quickly.

you smile, soft and more sure of anything in your entire life.

“yeah,” you say. “i’d really like that.”

his hand tightens slightly at your waist, like he doesn’t want to let go just yet. 

everything was absolutely perfect.

you smile, then laugh softly to yourself.

your friend is never going to let you hear the end of this.

a/n: hope u enjoyed! <3 tbh ive never really wrote a spicy scene but it was getting a little hot ;)

fluff.

wills sick.

Will’s alarm went off at 9:00 AM for his 11:00 AM practice, but instead of him waking up, it was me. I turned it off and shook him softly.

“Baby, wake up. You have to eat breakfast,” I kissed his face. His eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head. Will always woke up early; he was a morning person. When his eyes finally opened, instead of that bright, toothy smile he usually wore, it was replaced by a frown.

“What’s wrong?” I immediately worried. He coughed instead of speaking and his hands reached for his stomach; I noted he was sick.

“Don’t feel good?” I asked him, placing my hand on his forehead. He felt warmer than usual, but not hot enough to be a fever.

“Sick,” he pouted, whining. Will hated being sick; it was so out of his nature.

“Let’s get some medicine, okay?” I suggested, getting up with Will following. We walked into the bathroom and he washed his face. I grabbed the water from the sink as he put some in his hair, combing it back.

I grabbed the medicine and he dropped onto the couch, curling up in a ball. He took the pill with some water and I covered him with a heated blanket, turning the TV on and playing Home Alone to try and cheer him up. Christmas was long over, but that was his favorite movie, and I was honestly just trying to make him feel better.

I went back to our room to make the bed and text Macklin that Will was sick and wouldn’t be coming into practice today. When I walked back out to the living room, Will had the blanket half on and half off him, sprawled on his back. I went over to the corner of our living room, opening the gated area to let Will’s childhood dog, Rigney—who was now mine as well—out.

He came running out and I petted him, opening the patio door to let him do his business before he ran back inside and cuddled into Will.

“Baby, let’s eat something, hmm?” I suggested to him, but he declined. It was now noon and Will was sleeping with Rigney at his feet. I made him some soup and fed it to him slowly until it was all done.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling. Even when he was sick, his smile always made me happy. We lay cuddled on the couch for hours until I noticed Will kept dozing off.

“Come on, baby, let’s go to bed,” I kissed his cheek, helping him up.

“I’m dizzy.” He held his head and closed his eyes. I waited, sitting beside him and rubbing his back, before we got up and walked to our bedroom with Rigney following. We all got in bed and I gave Will some more medicine before he fell asleep.

“You okay, baby?” I asked, laying next to him while Rigney cuddled on me.

“I love you,” Will kissed my stomach, since his head was laid on it.

“I love you more,” I smiled, falling asleep.

•lowkey had no motivation to finish this and gave up half way through.