#we72

He gently plucks the sweater from your hand and puts it back like it personally offended him. Then he spins you, actually spins you, toward another rack.

Cropped tops. Fitted dresses. Things that absolutely, definitely do not hide anything.

You stare at him. “William.”

He grins, wide, boyish, completely unbothered. The same grin that makes fans adore him on the ice and teammates roll their eyes in the locker room of the SAP Center.

“What?” he says, already flipping through hangers. “These are better.”

“Better for what?”

He pauses, looks at you like the answer is obvious, then gestures vaguely at your stomach.

“That.”

You cross your arms. “There is barely a that.”

“There is,” he insists immediately, stepping closer. His hands settle gently at your hips, thumbs brushing just under your shirt like he’s mapping something only he can see. “I can see it.”

You snort. “You’re making it up.”

“I would never lie about something this important,” he says, dead serious for half a second, before his lips twitch. “This is my favorite thing right now.”

Your heart does something soft and inconvenient. Still, you try one more time.

“Normal husbands don’t do this. They tell their wives to be comfortable.”

“I am telling you to be comfortable,” he says, grabbing a soft, stretchy dress and holding it up to you. “Comfortable and also… showing off my child.”

You stare at him. “Your child?”

He shrugs, completely shameless. “Our child. But I helped, so.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m charming,” he corrects, nudging your chin up with his finger. “Big difference.”

⊱ —————- °.•　⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅　•.° —————— ⊰

It becomes a pattern after that.

You reach for something loose fitting, he intercepts.

You try to hide the bump, he gently redirects.

Every single time, he’s smiling like he’s in on some secret the rest of the world hasn’t caught up to yet.

And the thing is…he never makes it feel like pressure. It’s never about how you should look. It’s about how much he already loves what is.

⊱ —————- °.•　⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅　•.° —————— ⊰

A few weeks later, he does something that actually makes your heart flutter.

You’re getting ready to go out, just a casual dinner, and you come out in one of the fitted tops he picked for you.

You hesitate in the doorway. “Too much?”

He looks up from his phone. Freezes. Then slowly, dramatically, sets the phone down like this is the most serious moment of his life.

“No,” he says, standing up and walking toward you. “Perfect.”

You narrow your eyes. “William.”

“I’m serious,” he says, stopping in front of you. His hands settle at your waist again, always there, always touching you, and his gaze softens in a way that makes your chest ache. “You look… perfect.”

There’s no teasing in it this time. Just quiet awe. His thumb brushes over your stomach, still small, still easy to miss if you didn’t know, and he smiles, softer now.

“My girls,” he murmurs.

You stare at him.

“You don’t even know what it is.”

He shrugs, pressing a kiss right over your shirt anyway.

“I have a feeling.”

Then, just as quickly, the softness breaks, because of course it does. He pulls back, grinning again.

“Also, if we go out and no one notices, I will personally tell every single person in the restaurant.”

You laugh, pushing his chest. “You would not.”

“Try me.”

“William Eklund—”

“I’ll stand on a chair.”

“WILL.”

He’s already laughing, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the door.

And as ridiculous as he is, as loud, and teasing, and completely incapable of being normal, you realize something as he laces his fingers through yours:

He’s not showing you off because of how you look. He’s showing you off because he’s proud.

Of you. Of this. Of everything you’re building together. Even when it’s barely visible. Especially then.

⊱ —————- °.•　⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅　•.° —————— ⊰

Later that night, when you catch your reflection in the glass of a store window, you pause.

For the first time, you don’t see “bloated.” You see what he sees. And before you can overthink it, his arm wraps around you again, pulling you close.

“There it is,” he says softly, like he knew the exact moment it would click.

You lean into him, smiling a little.

“Okay,” you admit. “Maybe… a little showing off is fine.”

He beams like he just won something.

“Finally,” he says. “You’re learning.”

You roll your eyes, but your hand finds your stomach again, gentle, protective.

And this time…

The day you found out you were pregnant started like any other day in San Jose: gray sky, the faint smell of salt air drifting in through the cracked balcony door.

You sat on the edge of the bathtub with the little white stick balanced on the sink like it was radioactive. Two pink lines. Then a second test, because the first one had to be lying. Two pink lines again, darker this time, that said it’s impossible to misread.

Your first coherent thought was not joy. It was panic: He was just twenty two. He’s having the best season anyone dared to dream. He’s finally healthy after his hand, finally trusted on the top line, finally hearing his name in conversations. A baby right now could feel like a hand brake on everything he’s worked for.

You spent the rest of the day rehearsing how to ruin William’s life.

By the time his key turned in the lock that evening, you’d run through every version of the conversation. You’d even googled “what to do if your boyfriend doesn’t want a kid” and then immediately closed the tab because the thought made you want to throw up more than the hormones already did.

William walked in smelling like the cedar body wash he’s used since you’d gotten together. He kicked off his sneakers, dropped his backpack by the door, and the second he saw your face he stopped smiling.

“Alskling?” One word, already worried. “What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t speak. You just held out the tests like evidence in a trial.

He took them carefully, the way he handles pucks on his backhand when the game’s on the line. His eyes flicked down, then up to you, then down again. You watched the breath he sucked in, the way his shoulders lifted like someone had punched him in the chest, but gently.

“We’re..?” he asked, voice cracking on the single syllable.

You nodded, waiting for the but, the we’ll figure it out, the I need time to think, the I’m not ready.

But none of those words left his mouth.

Instead, William dropped the tests on the counter, closed the distance in two strides, and kissed you so hard your knees buckled. When he pulled back his eyes were glassy and his hands were shaking against your cheeks.

“We’re going to be parents?”

The relief hit you so fast you almost slid down the cabinet. “You’re happy?”

“Happy?” He laughed, a bright, stunned sound. “Baby, I’m-” He kissed you again, softer this time. “I’m freaking out a little, yeah. But the good kind. The best kind.”

You started crying and William held you.

The next morning he called his agent before you even got out of bed and told him to clear his schedule for every single prenatal appointment. “Doesn’t matter if it’s practice, doesn’t matter if it’s anything, i’m going to be there.”

The ultrasound was on a Thursday.

William wore the same nervous smile he has before a game, except his leg was bouncing so hard in the waiting room that the elderly woman next to him finally patted his knee and told him, “Honey, it’s going to be okay.”

When the tech called your name he jumped up like he’d been shocked. He held your hand the entire time, thumb rubbing circles over your knuckles while the wand slid over the gel on your stomach.

And when that rapid flutter filled the room, William’s face crumpled. He didn’t even try to hide it. He just leaned over and and you could see the tears almost falling.

“Strong heartbeat,” the tech said kindly. “Everything looks perfect.”

William lifted his head. “Are we, like, going to get the pictures?”

You both agreed you wanted to find out the sex together, no party, no balloons, no gender reveal cake, just the two of you.

So when your doctor handed you the sealed envelope two weeks later, you tucked it into the glovebox of William’s car and didn’t touch it for four whole days.

Finally, on a quiet Sunday night after a home win, you came home to takeout food and the apartment lit only by the Christmas lights you didn’t get to take down.

You both changed into comfortable pjs, you climbed into bed, propping pillows behind you, and unbuttoned the bottom three buttons of the shirt so your stomach was bare under the fairy lights.

William crawled in beside you with the envelope, holding it like it might explode. “Ready?” he asked.

You nodded, throat thick.

He tore it open carefully. The card inside was simple cream stock with pink block letters: CONGRATULATIONS! IT’S A GIRL! There was a little teddy bear in a tutu in the center.

You stared at it, brain short circuiting.

William made this soft, broken sound and said, “It’s a girl. Oh my gosh, älskling, it’s a girl.”

And then his hand was on your stomach, palm spread wide like he could already hold her. He leaned down until his lips brushed the skin just above your belly button.

“Hej, lilla flickan,” he whispered in Swedish, voice rough. “It’s your pappa. I’ve been waiting my whole life for you.”

You watched his blond hair fall across his forehead, watched his eyelashes clump with tears, and you felt something settle inside you that you didn’t know had been rattling around.

William looked up at you, grinning through the tears. “She’s gonna have your eyes,” he said.

You laughed. “She’s gonna have you wrapped around her tiny finger before she’s even born.”

“Already does,” he said, and kissed your stomach again, then your lips, slow and reverent. “We’re gonna have a daughter.”

He laid his head on your chest after that, ear pressed just below your collarbone, hand never leaving the bump. You ran your fingers through his hair and felt the baby kick like she was saying hello back.

William’s voice was barely a breath. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

You stayed like that until the food got cold and the tv blinked off automatically at midnight, his hand on your stomach, her foot pressing back every so often like she was already playing games with her daddy.

The day your daughter was born, the California sky finally decided to turn the exact shade of blue that William always said reminded him of home. July 12, 3:47am Lana Olivia Eklund came into the world screaming.

Eight pounds, one ounce, a shock of blond hair, and the same stubborn little chin her dad has when he’s protecting the puck in the corner.

William didn’t cry when they placed her on your chest: he sobbed. When they handed her to him the first time, he looked so impossibly young and impossibly ancient all at once. He cradled her like she was made of spun glass, whispering “hej, little one” over and over until his voice gave out.

He didn’t put her down for the entire golden hour.

By the time Lana was six months old, she had decided her father was the sun, the moon, and the entire solar system.

It happened gradually, then all at once. One day her eyes could finally track across a room properly, and from that moment on, if William was in it, nothing else existed.

You’d be nursing her on the couch and he’d walk past the doorway: her little head would whip around so fast you had to support her neck. She’d stare at him with those big denim blue eyes until he noticed, and then her whole face would break open in a gummy smile.

And William became ridiculous in the best way.

He bought her things she absolutely did not need for her age, he bought her tiny Sharks jerseys before she could hold her head up. He bought her a miniature hockey stick “for when she’s ready.” He bought her noise canceling headphones in newborn size.

He was fiercely protective in a quiet way. When a stranger wanted to see the baby, he’d smile politely but angle his body so Lana’s face stayed hidden against his chest.

If she cried in anyone else’s arms, he was there in half a second, reaching. “She wants her pappa,” he’d say softly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And nine times out of ten, the crying stopped the moment she was against his heartbeat.

At ten months, Lana discovered that her father was the funniest person alive.

Everything he did was apparently comedy gold. He’d fake a sneeze: she’d cackle. He’d blow a raspberry on her tummy: she’d lose her tiny mind. He’d pretend to drop something and go “oopsie”: she’d laugh so hard she got hiccups.

Then William decided her first word for her.

William decided, with the single minded focus, that her first word was going to be “pappa.” He started with little things: every diaper change, every bottle, every time he lifted her into the air, he’d lean in close and say, “paaa-pa.”

Lana thought this was the best game ever invented. She’d kick her legs and squeal, drool bubbling at the corners of her mouth, while he repeated it.

You tried to be the voice of reason.

“William, she’s going to need English too, you know. Daycare isn’t going to understand if her only word is Swedish.”

He’d grin, not even looking guilty, bouncing her gently on his hip. “I know, I know. She’ll learn. We speak English all day, every day, but she should know who her pappa is first, yeah? It’s important.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you’re surprised they didn’t fall out, but secretly you loved it. Loved how he tucked Swedish lullabies into her bedtime routine like secrets. Loved how he called her “lilla hjärtat” when he thought you weren’t listening.

One morning, when it was a rare day off, late May, sunlight pouring gold through the kitchen windows. You were at the island slicing strawberries while William sat in the high chair with Lana on his lap, feeding her mashed banana with the patience of a saint. She was wearing onesie and had banana in her hair and on his shirt.

He scooped up another spoonful and made airplane noises. She opened her mouth obediently, then paused, banana dripping down her chin. She looked up at him, eyes huge and serious, and opened and closed her mouth a few times like she was testing the mechanics.

Then, clear as morning birdsong, she said: “Pah-pah.”

William froze, spoon halfway to her mouth. You immediately turned to look at them both.

Lana, oblivious to the seismic shift in the room, tried again, louder and prouder: “Pah-pah!”

William’s face did something indescribable. His mouth fell open, and the biggest, most boyish smile you’d ever seen split across it.

“Y/n,” he said, voice cracking like he was thirteen again. “Y/n, did you- did you hear that? She said it. She said pappa.”

He looked down at Lana like she’d just handed him the Stanley Cup. “Say it again, baby. Say it for Pappa.”

“Pah-pah-pah!” she babbled happily, smacking her little hands on his chest.

William laughed, a bright, wet sound, delirious sound, and pressed his forehead to hers. “That’s right, baby. I’m your pappa. I’ll always be your pappa.”

He looked over at you, eyes shining.

You rounded the island and wrapped your arms around both of them from behind, kissing the top of Lana’s sticky head and then William’s cheek.

“I heard it,” you said. “Her first word was pappa. You win.”

He turned his head to catch your mouth in a soft, banana flavored kiss. “We win,” he corrected gently.

Lana, sensing she was the center of attention, squealed “Pah-PAH!” at the top of her lungs and then shoved a fistful of banana into William’s mouth like a victory toast.

He ate it without hesitation, grinning around the mess. “Best breakfast ever,” he declared, voice thick with joy.

When Lana finally took her first real steps, the entire apartment erupted. William scooped her up, spun her around until she shrieked with laughter, and declared, “That’s it, you did amazing. Now you should do that on the ice.”

He waited, though. Patient in a way only William could be when it came to her. He let her master walking, then running, then climbing the couch like it was Everest.

He let her chase pucks on the hardwood in socks first, giggling every time she slid into the cabinets. Only when she turned two and a half, did he decide it was time.

The first day on ice was a Saturday morning public skate at Sharks Ice. William had booked the entire small rink for an hour so it would just be the three of you. He dressed her in the tiniest black practice jersey with EKLUND 72 on the back, pads that swallowed her whole, and skates because “we’re not crazy.”

You sat on the bench with a thermos of coffee and your phone ready to record every second.

William stepped onto the ice first, then turned and held out both hands. Lana grabbed his fingers like they were lifelines and took one brave, awkward step onto the ice. Her ankles wobbled and her eyes went huge.

And then she laughed.

William dropped to his knees in front of her so they were eye level. “You got it, Lana. Just like walking, but slippery. Pappa’s right here.”

She fell on her butt approximately forty seven times in the first ten minutes. Every single time, William was already there, arms under her armpits, lifting her back up before the tears could even form.

“Again?” he’d ask, softly.

“Again!” she’d shout, fearless because he was holding her.

By the end of that hour she could shuffle ten whole feet without falling. William looked like he’d won the lottery, the Cup, and a Nobel Prize all at once.

Three weeks later he handed her a miniature graphite stick and a bright orange foam puck. She whacked it and fell backward in shock. William caught her before she hit the ice, laughing at his own daughter.

From then on, every free morning that wasn’t taken by practice or road trips, they were on the ice. You’d sit in the stands, watching your husband teach your daughter how to glide, how to stop, how to hold her stick like she meant business.

Every time she scored on the tiny net he set up, she’d throw her arms up and yell “Goal!” exactly the way she’d seen Daddy do on tv.

He’d skate over, tap her helmet twice, and ask the same question: “You gonna be a Shark one day, Lana?”

And every single time she’d nod solemnly, curls bouncing under her helmet. “Yes, Pappa. Big Shark.”

You’d press your mittened hands to your mouth to hide how hard you were smiling.

By the time Lana turned three, she kind of spoke in full, hilarious sentences with a slight Swedish lilt on certain words, because William still spoke to her half in Swedish when it was just the three of you. She could skate forward without holding anyone’s hand. She could say “herregud” when she dropped her juice cup. She was, without question, the happiest kid on the planet.

One February night after a home win, the three of you had a “family night” in the big bed. You’d made chocolate chip pancakes for dinner, and now you were all in pajamas under the covers, fairy lights on, Lana wedged between you like a tiny starfish.

William propped himself up on one elbow, hair messy, looking unfairly beautiful. He tapped Lana’s nose. “Important question, Lana Olivia.”

She giggled. “Are you Mommy’s girl or Daddy’s girl?”

Lana scrunched her face like this required serious scientific consideration. Then she beamed and flung one arm around your neck and the other around his.

“No. Dadas, Mama.”

William pretended to clutch his heart. “Both? You can’t choose both! That’s cheating.”

Lana just laughed and snuggled deeper. “Okay, okay,” he said, unable to stop smiling. “Who made you smart?”

Lana didn’t even hesitate. “Pappa!”

William pumped his fist. “Thank you, thank you. Very correct.”

You snorted. “She gets her humility from you too, clearly.”

He ignored you, eyes sparkling. “Who made you beautiful?”

Lana bounced on the mattress, pigtails flying. “Mama!”

William turned to you, expression suddenly soft. “That’s right, baby. Mama’s the most beautiful.”

You felt your cheeks burn. Even after years together, the way he looked at you sometimes still made your heart trip over itself.

He leaned across Lana to kiss you gently, tasting like chocolate. Lana squealed and tried to wedge her face between yours for her own kiss, which turned into a pile of giggles.

When you finally all settled again, William tucked a curl behind Lana’s ear. “Are you going to be a hockey star one day?”

Lana sat up straight, eyes shining. “Yes!” she squealed, throwing both arms in the air. “Big Shark! Like Pappa!”

William’s smile could have powered the entire room. He pulled her into his chest and kissed the top of her head over and over until she was breathless with laughter.

Later, after Lana finally passed out sideways across both of your pillows, thumb in mouth, one foot kicked out from the blanket, William reached over her sleeping body and laced his fingers through yours.

“I still can’t believe this is our life,” you whispered.

He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles one by one. “I can,” he said quietly. “From the second you showed me those two pink lines, I knew. I knew I’d follow you anywhere, I knew I’d love her like breathing.”

His thumb traced your wedding ring. “I’m so glad we’re doing this together. She’s everything.”

Outside, the night was quiet. Inside, your daughter’s tiny snores filled the space between your heartbeats, and your husband’s hand stayed wrapped around yours like it had since the very first day.

You thought about the panicked girl on the bathroom floor years ago, terrified she was about to lose everything.

You looked at the man beside you, still twenty something, and the perfect little girl you’d made together.

You had built the happiest family.

not only was it nice to get away from the hustle and bustle that is being a professional hockey player, but nobody noticed him. he was a rookie player at the time, so unless you were a fan of the san jose sharks especially, the likelihood of someone knowing him out in the world was pretty low.

it was awesome.

when he came to your city, he'd been feeling especially down.

but then he saw you.

you were working as a barista in his favorite coffee shop of your city. he'd been there lots of times before, so much so that he recognized a lot of your co-workers, but not you.

you were so bubbly and kind, even suggested a change in his usual order. a creature of habit, william was hesitant, but you were just so excited about it, and he wanted to see you smile more, so he agreed.

turns out, it was amazing. now that's how he orders his coffee everywhere.

the two of you talked a lot that first time he saw you, but then they had to leave for their game in the next city.

when they came back to your city, william rushed to your cafe. you just so happened to be working.

by the third trip, he asked for your number. and then the two of you were talking constantly. texting, calling, facetiming. pretty much, if will wasn't actively on the ice playing a game, he was talking to you in some way.

you got together pretty quick after that.

you couldn't figure out how you'd gotten so lucky. not only were you dating a pro hockey player, but he's an amazing guy. he always texts you good morning and good night, asks how your shifts were, literally everything that you ever dreamed of your perfect guy doing, william did without thinking, without having to be asked. he did it because it made him happy, and that made it ten times better.

it's been around two years since the two of you got together, and even though you love each other so much the long distance doesn't affect you very much, it still sucks that you can't be together.

you don't live in san jose, and you can't move there right now, because you're still in college. you're getting close to being done, to finishing your major, but until then, you're stuck in your hometown. that means that you can only see william in person if he's on a break, or if he's playing in your city. which happens, yes, but not very often. and even when he does come to your city to play a game, it's always hard to find time to actually spend together. usually he stumbles into your apartment after a game, and the two of you watch a movie and cuddle. any time spent together is good time spent together.

but you're sick of it. you want to go on a date with william, a real date. you've been on dates before, obviously, but it's been a long time.

so you decide to surprise him.

you decide to fly into san jose, since the two of you rarely spend time at william's apartment. you've only been there once or twice, and the few times you have, you've only been there for a few hours. usually he comes to you, and you spend the night in at your apartment. you've never spent the night at william's place, and you want to change that for this trip.

you fly in before a home game. they'll play the game tonight, and then have a day off tomorrow, perfect time for the two of you to spend together.

when you arrive in san jose, you have about an hour before the game starts. you change in the airport bathroom, putting on your "eklund" jersey and his favorite skirt of yours, something tiny and black, then uber to SAP center in time to see some of warm up.

you made sure to buy the best tickets, right behind the sharks bench.

he doesn't notice you right away, busy shooting pucks at the goal and doing his stretches. you're sat by yourself, smiling excitedly at will and macklin as they see you. they'd agreed not to tell william, or to alert him when you arrived. you thought it would be best if he noticed you organically.

it happens right before the game starts.

you're sitting behind the bench, looking at your phone, when something in you tells you to look up.

he's in the bench area, standing up and turned around, eyes on you. there's a soft look on his face, cheeks pink, and starting open-mouthed at you in shock.

you smile and raise a hand in a soft wave, which he immediately returns.

william knows in that moment that the sharks have to win this game. for you.

he gets a hat trick. he's playing harder than he probably ever has, his mind switching between thinking about you and hockey every other second.

with every goal he makes, you stand up and cheer louder than anyone else, banging on the plexiglass that separates you from your boyfriend, your heart filling with pride, smiling so wide your face hurts. every time, he comes off the ice and looks straight at you, blowing you a kiss and placing his hand on the glass for a few seconds.

after the game, you rush to the family room. he comes out of the locker room faster than usual, having rushed through a shower and getting ready.

he practically runs out, the two of you colliding so hard you fall back a little bit, but he's there to catch you.

william wraps his arms around you and picks you up off the ground, swinging you around a few times. the two of you laugh together, holding onto each other tight, both of you so, so glad to be together again.

a few of the other wags around "awww" and make cute faces at the two of you, but you barely acknowledge them. the only thing you and will can think about right now is finally being able to hold each other in your arms.

"you surprised me!" he says as the two of you walk out together, hand in hand. "i didn't think i wqas going to see you again until we play in your city next month!"

you giggle. "i know!" you lean into his side, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne. every time the two of you part, you exchange something drenched in the other's perfume or cologne. the sharks hoodie you requested from him was fading, so being this close to the scent in person makes you smile. "i just couldn't wait any longer to see you,"

"i'm so happy," he says, sounding like he's on cloud nine.

william opens the passenger side door for you to climb in, then gets in the driver's side. it doesn't take long for his hand to settle on your thigh, the weight comforting after so long apart. he doesn't want to be not touching you for even a second, a feeling you relate to heavily. you place your hand over his, caressing the back of his hand with your thumb.

when he stops at a red light, you lean over and kiss his cheek. "i'm really happy, too,"

you two spend that night cuddling and watching your favorite movies. you talk a lot, catching up with each other. he tells you about everything going on with his teammates, all the games they've played, how they've gone good or bad. you tell him about all the drama at the cafe, how you have a new manager and he's being too nitpicky about everything, and how it's frustrating you to no end.

you also mention about how one of your co-workers found out you were dating him, and told everyone else.

"it was a chaotic few days," you say. the two of you are laying on his couch, you're cuddled into his chest, fidgeting with his fingers. "everyone was asking me questions, and people were acting weird around me. it kind of sucked, but it's blown over,"

william's heart squeezes. he hates the thought of you struggling with anything, especially if it's directly related to him. "i'm so sorry, alskling," he murmurs, kissing your hairline. "i wish i could fix everything for you,"

you smile. he says this a lot. probably 30% of what william says to you is him wishing he could solve every problem you ever face, get rid of everything you've ever struggled with. he hates seeing you upset about anything, and has even offered to fly out immediately after a game when you had a bad day.

of course, you didn't let him, saying he needed to go back to the hotel and rest, but said that you guys could facetime.

your favorite song right now is the song "stateside" by pinkpantheress, because of one specific lyric that reminds you of you and your boyfriend's relationship.

kissing my swedish boy over facetime

that lyric always makes you smile, because it's something you and will do. at the end of every facetime, you both lean in and make loud, exaggerated kissing noises to each other. it's not actually kissing, because you're not together, but it makes you both laugh and makes you feel a little bit better about the situation. at least, for a minute.

tonight, the two of you fall asleep in each other's arms. you're cuddled in william's bed, his thick comforter over the both of you. falling asleep together has always been one of your favorite things, and william's even happier, because this was completely unexpected.

tomorrow, the two of you will go out and have a day with each other. probably go for a walk in the park, have lunch at a cute place, then dinner at a fancy restaurant. he loves spoiling you, and does it every chance he gets.

he'll probably surprise you with a trip to the lego store, and buy you something you've wanted for a while. his favorite thing to spoil you with is legos, because you have trouble justifying that purchase with yourself, so he buys them for you.

but tonight, the two of you are focused on each other, in the comfort and privacy of william's apartment.

he's thanked you a million times since reuniting with you after the game today. every time you tell him that he doesn't have to thank you, that you did it because you want to. and it's true.

william does so much for you. every once in a while, it will hit you like a truck how lucky you are, how amazing he is and how you have absolutely no idea how you managed to convince him to date you (even though he was the one who asked you to be his girlfriend).

the two of you are nearly asleep, the movie you put on fading into the background as you drift off.

right before you slip into sleep, you hear him murmur, "i'm so lucky to have you. you're the best thing that's ever happened to me,"

you smile wide as you're consumed by unconsciousness.

he has no idea how lucky you are.

You were excited, mainly because you had managed to make it into the Utah Mammoth's arena to surprise William. You took your seat immediately getting recognized by a few Mammoth fans, you were popular on Instagram and Tiktok everyone knew you were dating William and honestly they loved you more than him sometimes.

As the game starts you cheer loudly for the sharks, when Mack scores you cheer along with some of the other sharks fans in the arena.

During a TV timeout the camera scans the crowd before landing on you, the crowd gets louder when they see who's on the screen. You smile and wave unaware of the chaos on the bench.

"Ekky is that your girl?" Mack asks

Ekky looks up at the Jumbotron and sees you smiling and waving.

"No way" William says as his face lights up seeing you.

"Oh boy he's gone now" Will says.

"This is tough to watch, so sappy" Toff says.

"My eyes" Dickinson says jokingly.

"Shut up" Ekky says, and he smiles as he looks back at the ice knowing that he wants to score since your there watching him. Midway through the third Ekky gets a breakaway and scores, he finds you in the stands and points before celebrating with his teammates.

After the game, you meet him in the tunnel and he hugs you.

"I've missed you baby" he says.

"I missed you too" you say, "now go shower your sweaty, I'll be here when you get back."

"Good" Ekky says before kissing your forehead and then walking away to shower and change, he comes back about 15 minutes later.

"We have time to go on a date before we leave for the next city, and I got permission" Ekky says.

if there was one thing you hated, it was being sick. you wouldn’t consider yourself a germaphobe, but you went out of your way to avoid anyone who even had the slightest bit of a cough. waking up with a stuffy nose and a throat that felt like sandpaper was your personal hell, which is why you were about two seconds away from a nervous breakdown. 

you gripped the handle of your glass of water, chugging it so frantically you might choke. a silent prayer was on repeat in your mind, as you wished that the jaggedness in your mouth would disappear with the liquid.

your husband, william eklund, stirred beside you, a rumble reverberating through his body as he stretched his arms out like a cat, eyes blinking blearily to clear up his vision. “good morning, sötnos,” he purred, face nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder. “did you sleep well?” 

“get away from me,” you batted him away, removing his arm off of you. “i don’t feel well.”

his face fell instantly. “oh no, y/n. jag är ledsen.”

“not your fault.” you flopped down on the bed, resisting the urge to tear out your larynx with your fingers as a cough bubbled in you. you had to be cursed – you had to fall ill now, right before your husband’s next game. this was your worst nightmare come to life. “i just wish it weren’t happening.”

will sighed. “let me make you some tea and bring you some medicine, ok?”

“yeah, that sounds good. thank you.”

“close your eyes and try to rest. i’ll be back in a minute.” he placed his palm on your forehead to gauge your temperature, and he let out a low hiss. “you’re warmer than usual. i don’t like this.”

“mmph,” you responded, squirming under his touch. “i don’t want you to be near me. you’ll get sick and blame me.”

“it doesn’t matter. i need to take care of my wife.” will stood up, eyes darkening with concern. “stay there, don’t move. i’m serious.”

you groaned. “i can barely speak and you think i’m going to get up? you’re funny.”

“shhh, älskling,” he murmured. you shut your eyes, sniffling loudly, and you could hear his quiet footsteps as he padded over to the kitchen. a few minutes later, will patted you gently on the shoulder. you cracked one eye open, the blurry image of your husband floating in front of you. in his hands was a chipped blue mug, steam emanating from it. “i made you your favorite tea. now drink it. and take the pill, so your fever goes down.”

“so bossy,” you chirped, but you listened to him anyway, drawing a long sip from it. the warmth radiated in your hands as you swallowed the capsule. “thank you, eky. i love you.”

“love you too,” he said instantly, the words uttered without a hint of hesitation.

“don’t you have practice today?” you asked once you’d drunk enough to satisfy your husband. “you need to go, baby. i don’t want you to be late.”

“i already texted the group chat saying my wife was sick and i couldn’t make it.” his lips thinned with worry. “i can focus on hockey when you are feeling better, ok?”

“noooo,” you mewled, irritated. “i don’t want you to cancel. you need to…”

he raised a hand up to stop you from continuing. “it’s done, y/n, i don’t want to argue with you, especially when you’re not well. drink.” he nodded his head towards the mug you were still clutching.

you glared at him. “tell them you changed your mind.”

“y/n,” he warned, but you shook your head, aggravated.

“i can take care of myself. go to your practice.”

“no, y/n, that’s not happening.” will brushed a strand of hair off your face. “i want to stay here.”

“mmm, you shouldn’t, though,” you countered, your voice a deep rasp. it hurt to talk, but you refused to let your husband win the argument – you were way too stubborn for that. “you’re in the nhl, you need to do your job. you can’t just drop out because i’m sick.”

“when i married you, i vowed to love you in sickness and health. not to play hockey when you’re burning up,” will pointed out heatedly.

you rolled your eyes. “whatever.”

“go to sleep, y/n. that’s not up for you to argue with.” will’s tone brokered no argument. with a heavy sigh, you handed him the mug and curled up on the bed, immediately sinking into a hazy, dreamless sleep.

you didn’t know how long you’d been knocked out when you slowly rose back to consciousness. your body felt heavy, as though you were run over by a truck and then crushed under a ton of bricks. it was terrible, and you hated how disgusting you felt. faintly, you heard the sounds of television, and occasionally, the deep rumble of your husband’s voice as he talked to somebody you presumed was over the phone.

“how are you feeling, min kärlek?” will questioned you, the beep of a thermometer clicking above your head. “you have a fever, maybe you should take more medicine.”

“i’m fine, eky, you need to go…” you shifted your position, eyes fluttering. “i’m…”

“don’t talk, just listen to me,” he protested. “i’m going to give you another pill and you’re going to take it. and if your fever doesn’t come down by tomorrow, i’m taking you to the doctor. i don’t care if i miss practice, or my game.”

“you can’t do that,” you shot back.

will cocked his head to the side. “can’t i?” 

“you’re going to be kicked off the team.” you pouted.

“worth it if it means i can watch over you.” the weight of the bed sunk as your husband moved closer. “how many times do i have to tell you that i’ll do anything for you?”

“but i don’t want you to,” you answered him honestly, tilting your head up to face him. “you don’t need to sacrifice your career for me.”

will waved you off. “i won’t.”

“why aren’t you listening to me,” you grumbled. of course your husband had to be chivalrous and risk getting the flu during the height of hockey season, when everyone’s eyes were on the playoffs.

“i’m not leaving you, y/n, so you can save your breath.” will’s mouth twitched, a smile spreading on his face. “even when you’re all sweaty and you haven’t brushed your teeth and you feel like you might pass out, i’m going to be by your side. forever.”