Jas

The sound of a soft chuckle makes your eyes fly open. Standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with an adoring smile on his face, is Macklin. His hockey bag is slung over his shoulder and he's clearly just gotten home.

Your cheeks flush crimson as you rip off your headphones, the music suddenly silenced. "How long have you been standing there?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Long enough to know you have the voice of an angel," he replies, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward you. "Seriously, that was incredible."

You turn away, focusing on rinsing the dish in your hands. "It's really not. I just mess around sometimes when I'm alone."

Macklin's hands find your waist, turning you back to face him. "Are you kidding me right now? That was beautiful. Why have you never sung for me before?"

You shrug, avoiding his gaze. "Because I'm not that good and I didn't want you to make fun of me."

His expression softens. "Make fun of you? Baby, I would never do that. And what do you mean you're not good? You sounded like a professional just now."

"I'm not," you insist. "I can hear all the mistakes when I sing."

"We all make mistakes," he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "But your voice... it's special. It's warm and it has this... this quality that makes me feel things. I can't explain it."

Tears prick at your eyes as you look at him, seeing nothing but sincerity in his expression. "Really?"

"Really," he confirms, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "You have to promise me something."

"What?"

"Promise you'll sing for me again. Not when you think I'm not home, but on purpose."

You hesitate, your old fears creeping back in. "I don't know..."

"Please?" he asks, his voice dropping to that soft tone that always melts your resolve. "I'll be your biggest fan. I'll cheer for you after every song. I'll throw flowers at your feet."

Despite yourself, you laugh. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm your ridiculous hype-man," he corrects, grinning. "Come on, just one song. Right now. For me."

You look around the kitchen, then back at his hopeful face. "Okay," you finally agree. "But if I'm terrible, you can't laugh."

"I would never," he promises, leaning against the counter opposite you. "I'm ready to be blown away."

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and start to sing again, softer this time, more tentative. But as Macklin watches with that adoring expression, your confidence grows and soon you're singing with the same passion as before.

When you finish, he's silent for a moment, just looking at you with awe. "See?" he finally says. "Absolutely incredible."

He crosses the space between you in two strides, lifting you into his arms and spinning you around the kitchen. "My girlfriend is a superstar!" he exclaims, making you giggle as he sets you down.

"I'm not a superstar," you protest, but you're smiling now.

• bf!sid who - wears your old cord headphones knotted around his neck like a necklace because tugging on them reminds him exactly who he is

• bf!sid who - wakes you up with his thumb playing with your sleepy pout just to go and shower before you can register what happened

• bf!sid who - has a pair of your panties hooked up like a flag on your at home sauna

• bf!sid who - spent all night drilling into you and then had you sit in Geno’s lap when there were no seats left because he knew you would try not to squirm on another man’s cock

• bf!sid who - does the dishes before you even thought about doing the dishes every time (this is very important to me idk why)

• bf!sid who - does the dishes shirtless and then wipes his clean hands on his shorts whilst every back muscle in evers existence ripples under the kitchen lighting

• bf!sid who - forces your feet under his thigh when you’re cold no matter where

• bf!sid who - spent all night making you squirt into the Stanley Cup like having it for hockey was just a beneficial reason

• bf!sid who - gets your morning smoothie delivered to the house whilst he’s a practice cause he knows but the time he gets home you’ll have worked out and be ready to shower

• bf!sid who - spent three days working under the car in summer because he checked on something once and nearly passed out when you put your foot up his leg to tell him you made lunch and he’s addicted to the idea it’ll happen again

• bf!sid who - says “oh she’s cute” when your hips lift off the bed when he’s eating you out because his biceps around your thighs mean your going exactly nowhere

• bf!sid who - leaves his water bottle around always full because he knows you’ll wanna drink more if it’s something of his

• bf!sid who - bought you to a summer family barbecue and barely said a word to his family because he was to focused on you and everyone let him just to see what would happen

• bf!sid who - had you carried around his hips and almost sat you down on the grill at the family barbecue

• bf!sid who - does the two finger cmere signal without looking back when he’s walking ahead of you and wants you to hold his hand

• bf!sid who - gets you flowers every week and gets you a second bouquet if he’s been away enough for all of your hickies that he gave you before he left have faded

• bf!sid who’s - favorite thing to say he gets if he wins a bet between you two if for you to sit on his face - like strait up y/n: “if I win we go look at another puppy” vs Sid: “if I win you sit on my face for two hours”

• bf!sid who - goes to train in the dark one night after he upset you in the early stages of your relationship because he needed to clear his head but couldn’t justify feeling like a cool enough guy to play with the lights on

• bf!sid who - fingers you slowly after an argument because watching hour juices flow down his wrist is easier than crying because he knows then you’ll cry too

• bf!sid who - will leave for golf early just to make sure he comes back wearing tighter shorts if he knows you’ve been cleaning just because now there’s more surfaces to pin you on

it was almost if he was waiting for the "right" person to say something that would make him decide that it was too much and everybody was right.

and it happens on a saturday night when you're out with friends. it's late, later than you usually stay out but Sid said it was no trouble to come pick you up. you've been so busy with work that it's been awhile since you've been out so you maybe had a few too many drinks. you're nowhere near blackout drunk but you fell into the social pressure of taking shots and they are usually what ends your night. so you text Sid that you're ready to be picked up and wait outside the bar with a couple of your friends.

one friend of a friend in particular is a little too handsy tonight, which is unusual because everybody in your friend group is respectful and you don't have to worry about those kind of situations. but maybe because you don't really know him, and for good reason, he doesn't know or just doesn't care that you're in a relationship. you're about to tell him that no, you're not interested in going home with him tonight when your best friend, Hannah, beats you to it.

"fuck off, Jeremy," she says, elbowing him out of the way and wrapping an arm around your shoulder, directing you away from him. he grumbles something under his breath that you can't hear but she gives him the finger and swears again.

"he's a fuck boy," she tells you when the two of you are away from him. "he's probably slept with all of Pennsylvania."

"i don't think that's possible," you laugh, letting her pull you into a warm hug. she’s been your best friend since you can remember and never judged your relationship with Sid, unlike some of your friends.

“it is,” she mumbles and then presses a kiss to your cheek before pulling away. “your uber is here.”

you look to see Sid just getting out of his truck, and for a second you worry that he saw Jeremy hitting on you. it wouldn’t matter, because you clearly weren’t interested and would never cheat but you’re always worried he’s going to get the thoughts in his head that you should be with someone closer to your age. he’s voiced them before, in the very beginning on your relationship but hasn’t brought it up since then.

“hey,” he says as he approaches you, hands in his pockets and looking out of place. his eyes are darting around, looking at your friends and you can see the moment that something in him shifts.

“ready to go home?” he asks, offering a hand to you which you accept after bidding hannah a goodbye with promises to get coffee soon.

you can hear some booing coming from the group at your early departure but you ignore it. clearly Sid doesn’t because his shoulders tense but you drag him to the truck before they say anything else.

but it bothers him the entire drive home because he barely says a word to you besides asking if you want the heat turned up. so you’re understandably pissed off by the time you get home and confront him the moment the front door closes.

“what’s your problem?” you demand and maybe it’s partly because of the alcohol that’s making you so forward and angry but you can’t help it.

he ignores you at first, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it up. you follow him into the kitchen where he pours a glass of water and digs a granola bar out of the cupboard, handing them to you.

crossing your arms, you ignore his offering and he sighs, placing them too gently on the island.

you realize that you’re standing on one side and he’s on the other and it adds a physical barrier to your already mental one.

“sometimes i just think that maybe you should be with someone closer to your age. like maybe i am holding you back from being able to enjoy your youth and have fun.”

his words don’t register at first and your half drunk brain thinks, this is a conversation we should have sober, but you can’t. you have to have it now, because you know you’ll just spiral if you don’t.

“you’re joking, right?” you say, blinking back drunken tears. if he’s planning on breaking up with you right now, the last thing you’ll do is cry.

“i’ve just been doing some thinking-” he begins but you cut him off.

“oh, you’ve been thinking,” you scoff. “because your thoughts are the only ones that matter in this relationship.”

he sighs in frustration. “don’t put words in my mouth. that’s not what i meant.”

“do you really think i would stay in this relationship if i didn’t want you? when are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours that i love you, you idiot!” you snap, suddenly so frustrated because damn everybody who made him feel like this. all the comments from friends and family about the age gap. you knew that one day it was going to cause a problem.

he looks at the floor, quiet for a moment before he looks at you. there’s hesitation in his eyes that you wish you could erase from his mind.

“i know you don’t understand, but i just worry that one day you’re going to look back and realize you wasted your time on an old man.”

“jesus Sidney. you’re thirty-eight, not eighty-three! you don’t even qualify for senior discount yet.”

that brings a small smile to his face but you know this isn’t the last time he’s going to have doubts like this. people are always going to have opinions on your relationship and you know that eventually, they won’t bother him as much.

for the time being, you’ll do your best to convince him to ignore them like you do and hopefully that will be enough.

so when you make your way to him, he doesn’t hesitate when you wrap your arms around him and he kisses the top of your head.

“why does your hair smell like vodka?” he mumbles and you can’t help but laugh.

He didn’t see it happen.

FRASER

Not the shot, not the exact moment the puck left the ice. For him, everything was still normal, until he got to the bench.

He pulled his helmet off halfway, breathing heavily, listening to instructions he wasn’t really processing until someone said your name.

He looked up immediately.

“What?” It didn’t sound calm, it sounded tense.

“The puck went out…”

“And?” he cut in, impatient.

There was a brief pause. “…it hit her.”

He didn’t need anything else.

He looked toward the stands almost immediately, searching for you in the crowd. It took him a second to find you and head in your direction.

CONNOR

It was a couple of hours before the game, so the atmosphere was calmer, skates scraping against the ice, a few loose passes, voices echoing in the distance without really making out what was being said.

You had taken a seat near the rink, watching quietly. He noticed you almost immediately.

He didn’t say anything at first, just skated over while pulling one of his gloves off with his teeth, leaning in front of you.

“How long have you been here?” His voice sounded normal, a little breathless from the warm-up, but relaxed.

“I just got here, my last class ran late.” You talked about simple things. Every now and then, he glanced back at the ice, like he was about to go back at any moment, but he always ended up looking at you again.

Then someone called him. He rolled his eyes, slightly annoyed, and pulled his glove back on. Before leaving, he leaned in and gave you a quick kiss.

Practice went on as usual, everyone adjusting details before the game. Until a shot went wrong.

At first, no one reacted, those things happen.

But then there was a slight shift, a murmur that shouldn’t have been there. He frowned, taking a second to figure out where it was coming from, and when he did, he looked straight toward where you were.

Then, slowly, he moved closer to the boards, pulling his helmet off halfway, trying to get a better look at you.

“Are you okay?” It wasn’t loud. But you could see it on his face.

LUKAS

The game had already started when you arrived. You settled in as best as you could, the noise surrounding everything.

It was one of those fast games where there are barely any pauses, where no one loses focus for even a second. He was completely locked in.

He didn’t even look toward the stands this time.

Everything happened in a moment that didn’t seem important. Just another shot, a strange rebound, the puck went flying over the glass, but he didn’t follow it.

He kept playing, until he noticed something off. It wasn’t immediate. Just that shift in the atmosphere, like when people react before you do.

“What happened?” he asked as he moved toward the bench. Someone answered, not very clearly.

“Someone got hit by a puck.”

He nodded slightly, like it was something normal.

“Who?”

No one answered right away.

That’s what made him look toward the stands.

At first, he didn’t see you. There were too many people, too much movement. Just figures shifting, people leaning in, something out of rhythm.

But when he finally found you, he went still.

“…oh.”

His expression changed completely. He kept looking in your direction, watching every small movement carefully.

WILL

The game had already gotten intense by the second period.

He hadn’t looked toward the stands in a while. Not because he didn’t want to, there just hadn’t been time for it.

The puck came back off a messy rebound. A blocked shot, a strange deflection, nothing clean. It lifted higher than it should have, completely out of control.

The whistle blew, but not for the play.

He frowned, looking around, confused. “What happened?”

“Someone got hit by a puck.”

His attention shifted toward the stands almost automatically. At first, he couldn’t find you, there were too many people moving, too much happening all at once.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, trying to focus better, like that would help. His gaze moved across rows, faces, movement too fast, too scattered.

“Where?”

He didn’t get a clear answer.

That only made him tense up a little more.

He didn’t go to you right away. He hesitated for a second, like he wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking for, until Mack passed by him and that was enough to make him move.

He made his way a little closer to the boards, leaning slightly to try and get a better look at you through the crowd.

And when he finally found you, he went still.

Like he needed an extra second to process it.

“…hey.” It was the only thing he could think to say. He didn’t know why he said it.

He wasn’t even sure if you could hear him.

But he didn’t look away.

Like, somehow, that would be enough to make sure you were okay.

And the moment he saw them moving you to get you proper medical attention, that’s when he reacted.

He stepped off the ice without thinking.

And went straight after you.

MACK

He was too focused on the game to notice anything else.

The puck was moving from side to side in a matter of seconds, bodies crashing against the glass, the crowd’s noise constant, almost uniform. Everything else faded out.

He didn’t even look toward the stands, not until someone on the bench lightly tapped his shoulder.

A simple “What?” was all he said. He thought it was a line change or some kind of instruction, but when he looked up, he saw the expression on the staff member’s face, and something about it didn’t feel right.

The man hesitated for a second before speaking. “They just said someone got hit by a puck.”

He frowned, impatient. “Who?”

“I think it was her.”

He turned toward the stands almost immediately, searching without really knowing what he was looking for. Too many faces, too much movement, until he finally noticed your empty seat.

He just stared.

He didn’t say anything else, but his grip on his stick tightened slightly, like he needed something to keep himself grounded.

“She’s okay… right?”

He didn’t get a clear answer.

And that was enough for him to not go back into the game.

You and Lukas had been inseparable since you were kids growing up in the same small town just outside Nuremberg. Back then it was scraped knees on the playground, secret hideouts in the woods, and endless hours talking about dreams—his of skating in the NHL, yours of whatever path life would take you. The years stretched on, but the friendship never faded. Even when he left for North America at eighteen, chasing the hockey dream that eventually landed him with the Chicago Blackhawks, you stayed in touch. Late-night calls across time zones, voice notes from hotel rooms after games, photos of snowy Chicago streets compared to your German summers. He was home for good now that the 2023-24 season had ended, and the old crew—six of you total—had decided a long weekend in the Bavarian Alps was the perfect way to celebrate his return.

The booking had been last-minute and chaotic. Three small wooden cabins clustered together on a quiet mountainside near Garmisch-Partenkirchen, each meant for two people. By some twist of fate (or playful group vote), you and Lukas drew the one with the single king-sized bed. “It’s fine,” he’d laughed when the others teased, his eyes crinkling the way they always did. “We’ve shared worse. Remember that tent in the Black Forest when we were fifteen?” You’d rolled your eyes but agreed, heart fluttering in a way you tried to ignore. Years of friendship had built an easy intimacy, but lately—especially since he’d come home looking broader, stronger, with that quiet confidence that came from proving himself on the ice—you’d caught yourself noticing things. The way his shirt stretched across his chest when he hugged you at the airport. The low rumble of his laugh. The way his hand lingered on your lower back a second too long.

The drive up had been full of music, snacks, and the kind of laughter that only old friends share. The Alps rose around you in jagged green peaks, summer wildflowers dotting the meadows, the air crisp and smelling of pine and distant snow. By the time you reached the cabins, the sun was dipping low, painting everything in gold. Your cabin was the farthest one, tucked against a slope with a tiny porch overlooking a valley. Inside it was cozy—polished wood walls, a stone fireplace already stocked with logs, a small kitchenette, and one large bedroom with that massive bed covered in a thick duvet and fluffy pillows. A single bathroom with a rainfall shower. No TV, just the sound of wind through the trees and birds.

The group spent the evening together at the middle cabin—grilling sausages and vegetables over an open fire, passing bottles of local beer and wine, telling stories until the stars came out. Lukas stayed close to you the whole night, his thigh brushing yours on the bench, his arm draping casually over your shoulders when someone told an old joke. There was a new tension in the air between you, something electric that neither of you named. When the others started yawning and heading to their own cabins, he turned to you with that soft smile.

“Ready to call it a night, schatz?” The old nickname slipped out naturally. You nodded, and the two of you walked the short path to your cabin under a sky full of stars.

Inside, the air was cool. You both changed into sleep clothes in the bathroom—him in loose gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt that hugged his torso, you in an oversized sleep shirt that hit mid-thigh and soft cotton shorts. The bed was big enough that you could have stayed on opposite sides, but the mountain chill made you both gravitate toward the center. “Just like old times,” he murmured as you slid under the duvet. You lay on your side facing away from him at first, but his body heat was magnetic. Eventually you both shifted until you were spooned loosely, his chest to your back, one of his arms draped over your waist in comfortable familiarity. His breath was warm on the back of your neck. You fell asleep to the steady rhythm of his breathing and the distant hoot of an owl.

Morning came softly. Sunlight filtered through the half-open curtains, painting stripes across the wooden floor. The cabin was quiet except for birdsong and the occasional creak of the old structure settling. You were still deeply asleep, warm and relaxed under the heavy duvet, when Lukas stirred first.

He woke slowly, the way he always did after a good night’s sleep—body heavy, mind drifting. Then he felt it: the solid, insistent press of his morning erection straining against the front of his sweatpants. It was the usual biological response, but this morning it was worse—throbbing, almost painful—because of the body curled perfectly against him.

You.

Your ass was nestled right against his hips, the thin fabric of your shorts doing almost nothing to separate you. In your sleep you’d shifted closer, seeking warmth, and now every slow breath you took made your curves press more firmly into him. Lukas froze, heart hammering. He should move. Roll away. Take care of it in the bathroom like a normal person. But fuck, you smelled so good—your shampoo, your skin, that faint sweet scent that was just you. And the way your shirt had ridden up, exposing the smooth skin of your lower back where his hand rested…

He told himself it was innocent at first. Just a tiny shift of his hips to relieve the pressure. But the second his cock brushed against the soft give of your ass, a low groan almost escaped him. Heat flooded his veins. He did it again—slow, careful, barely a rock of his pelvis. The friction through two layers of fabric was maddening. His hand on your waist tightened just slightly, fingers brushing the bare skin under your shirt.

You murmured something in your sleep, a soft, breathy sound, and pushed back against him unconsciously. Lukas bit his lip hard. His cock twitched, leaking pre-cum into his boxers. He couldn’t stop. He started a slow, deliberate rhythm—grinding the thick length of his erection along the cleft of your ass, dragging it up and down in tiny movements that made his head spin. His free hand slid higher under your shirt, palm flat against the warm skin of your stomach, then higher still until his fingers brushed the underside of your breast. He didn’t dare go further, but even that was enough to make him throb harder.

Minutes passed like that. The cabin filled with the quiet, wet sound of fabric moving and his controlled breathing. He was so hard it hurt, the head of his cock catching on the waistband of his sweatpants with every slow thrust. He buried his face in the back of your neck, inhaling you, his lips brushing your skin in what could have been accidental kisses.

You began to wake.

At first it was just sensation—warmth, pressure, a delicious ache low in your belly. Something hard and insistent rubbing against you in the most intimate way. A dream, maybe? But no… the feeling was too real. Slow, steady drags of something thick and hot along your ass. A large hand splayed possessively on your stomach. Hot breath on your neck. A low, almost inaudible groan that vibrated through your back.

Your eyes fluttered open. Sunlight. The wooden wall. And behind you—Lukas. Pressed tight. His hips moving in that careful, rhythmic grind. You could feel every inch of him through the thin layers: the rigid length, the flared head, the way he was rocking it right between your cheeks like he couldn’t help himself.

A soft gasp left your lips before you could stop it.

Lukas froze instantly. His whole body went rigid behind you. For a long second neither of you moved. Then his hand on your stomach twitched, like he was about to pull away.

“Don’t,” you whispered, voice still thick with sleep. Your own boldness surprised you, but the heat pooling between your legs was louder than any hesitation. You pushed your ass back against him deliberately, feeling him twitch hard in response. “Lukas…”

He let out a shaky breath against your neck. “Fuck… I’m sorry. I woke up and you were right there and I—shit, I couldn’t stop. You feel so good.” His voice was rough, deeper than usual, laced with guilt and pure need. His hips gave one involuntary little thrust, like his body was betraying him. “I’ll go to the bathroom, I swear. Just… give me a second.”

You reached back, fingers finding his hip, holding him in place. “Don’t you dare move.” You rolled your hips experimentally, grinding back against the hard ridge of his cock. A moan slipped out of you at how good it felt—even through clothes. “I’ve been wanting this too. Longer than you probably know.”

That was all it took.

Lukas made a broken sound—half groan, half your name—and suddenly his restraint shattered. His hand slid up under your shirt fully, cupping your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until it peaked. His mouth found the side of your neck, open-mouthed kisses turning into gentle bites. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you,” he rasped between kisses. “Every time I came home… every call… I’d lie in bed thinking about this. About you.”

You turned in his arms, facing him now. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, cheeks flushed. The morning light caught the stubble along his jaw and the way his hair was messy from sleep. He looked wrecked already. You cupped his face and kissed him—soft at first, then deeper, tongues sliding together as years of pent-up tension finally broke.

Clothes came off in a messy rush. Your shirt over your head, his t-shirt yanked off to reveal the sculpted chest and abs you’d only ever seen in photos or quick glimpses. His sweatpants and boxers shoved down in one motion, his cock springing free—thick, long, flushed dark at the head and already glistening with pre-cum. You wrapped your hand around him and he hissed, hips jerking into your fist.

“Jesus, schatz…” He kicked the rest of the covers away and rolled you onto your back, settling between your spread thighs. His mouth moved down your body—kissing, licking, sucking at your collarbones, your breasts, the soft skin of your stomach—until he reached the waistband of your shorts. He peeled them and your panties down slowly, eyes never leaving yours, then tossed them aside.

The first touch of his tongue between your legs made you cry out. He licked you like a man starved—long, slow strokes from entrance to clit, circling the sensitive bud before sucking it gently into his mouth. Two thick fingers slid inside you easily, curling just right, fucking you in time with his tongue. You arched off the bed, one hand fisting in his hair, the other gripping the sheets.

“Lukas—oh my god—” Your voice broke on a moan as he added a third finger, stretching you, scissoring gently while his tongue worked your clit in relentless circles. He moaned against you like the taste of you was the best thing he’d ever had, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

You came hard—thighs shaking, back bowing, a broken cry of his name echoing off the wooden walls. He didn’t stop until you were whimpering from oversensitivity, then kissed his way back up your body, lips shiny with your release.

You reached for him, pulling him into a deep kiss so you could taste yourself on his tongue. “I need you inside me,” you breathed against his mouth. “Now.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Lukas lined himself up, the thick head of his cock nudging against your slick entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by careful inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch. The burn was perfect—full, deep, exactly what you’d been craving without even realizing it. When he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, you both groaned. He stayed still for a long moment, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

“So fucking tight,” he whispered. “So perfect. Like you were made for me.”

Then he started to move.

Long, deep strokes at first—pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in to the hilt. The wet sound of skin meeting skin filled the cabin, mixed with your gasps and his low, filthy praise in a mix of English and German. “So good… fuck, you take me so well… mein Schatz, ich liebe es wie du dich um mich anziehst…” (baby, I love how you squeeze around me)

You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, urging him deeper. He picked up the pace, hips snapping harder, the headboard tapping rhythmically against the wall. One of his hands slid under your thigh, hitching your leg higher so he could hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.

You came again—sudden and intense—clenching around him so tightly he cursed and had to slow down to keep from finishing too soon. He pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach with surprising ease (hockey strength showing), and hauled your hips up. Doggy style. His favorite view, apparently.

He slid back in with one smooth thrust and set a punishing rhythm, one hand gripping your hip, the other reaching around to rub tight circles on your clit. The new angle was devastating. You buried your face in the pillow to muffle your cries as he fucked you harder, deeper, the slap of his hips against your ass loud and obscene.

“Wanted to do this for years,” he panted, leaning over you, chest to your back. His teeth grazed your shoulder. “Every time you smiled at me… every time you hugged me goodbye at the airport… I wanted to bend you over and fuck you until you screamed my name.”

You pushed back to meet every thrust, lost in the pleasure. “Then do it—fuck me like you mean it, Lukas—”

He did.

The orgasm that ripped through you this time was blinding. Your whole body seized, inner walls pulsing around him in rhythmic waves. Lukas followed seconds later with a guttural groan of your name, burying himself to the hilt as he came hard—hot pulses of cum flooding deep inside you, his hips jerking with aftershocks.

He collapsed half on top of you, both of you sweaty and trembling, breathing like you’d run a marathon. For a long minute neither of you spoke. He stayed inside you, softening slowly, pressing soft kisses along your spine and the back of your neck.

Eventually he pulled out gently and rolled you onto your side so you were facing each other again. His hand came up to brush damp hair from your face. His expression was soft now—vulnerable in a way you’d never seen from the confident hockey player.

“I love you,” he said quietly, the words hanging in the sunlit air between you. No hesitation. No joking tone to soften it. Just raw honesty. “I’ve been in love with you for years. Since before I left for the NHL. I tried to tell myself it was just friendship, that I was being stupid, but every time I came home it got worse. Seeing you with other people… hearing about your dates… it killed me. Last night, lying here with you, I thought I was going to lose my mind. And this morning… fuck, I couldn’t hold it back anymore.”

Tears pricked your eyes—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming rightness of it. You reached up and traced his jaw with your fingertips. “I love you too,” you whispered. “I think I always have. I just… I was scared of ruining what we had. But this—” You gestured between your naked, tangled bodies. “This feels like it was always supposed to happen.”

A slow, relieved smile spread across his face—the same smile that had made your stomach flip since you were teenagers. He leaned in and kissed you, slow and deep and full of everything he’d just confessed. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“Stay with me,” he murmured. “Not just this weekend. For real. I want to come home to you. I want late-night calls to turn into waking up next to you. I want to tell the others today if you’re okay with it. Or we can keep it between us for a while. Whatever you want. Just… be mine.”

You answered by kissing him again, pouring every year of unspoken feelings into it. Outside, the Alps were waking up—sun climbing higher, a breeze carrying the scent of pine and wildflowers through the open window. Inside the cabin, the bed was warm, your bodies still slick and joined at the hip, hearts finally beating in the same rhythm they’d been circling for years.

He made love to you again—slower this time, face-to-face, with whispered “I love you”s between every kiss and thrust—until you were both spent and glowing. Afterward you lay tangled together under the duvet, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare back while you listened to the world outside.

Eventually the sound of the others laughing and calling your names from the path drifted in. Lukas groaned playfully and buried his face in your neck. “They’re going to know the second they see us. I can’t stop smiling.”

You laughed, the sound bright and free. “Then we tell them. Or we don’t. Either way…” You kissed the corner of his mouth. “I’m yours. And you’re mine. That’s all that matters.”

He pulled you closer, strong arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go. The weekend in the Alps had just begun, but already it felt like the start of something much bigger—something that had been waiting in the spaces between years of friendship, finally given room to bloom in the quiet of a one-bed cabin under the mountain sun.

You and Lukas had been together for about four months now, but it felt like so much longer in the best way possible.

You’d met around Christmas time, being introduced through mutual friends at a holiday party in Vancouver. The spark had been instant , you both couldn’t deny it. A few weeks later, he asked you out properly, and from that first date, everything just clicked.

Now, the two of you had grown so comfortable with each other it was crazy and amazing at the same time. Some couples were still shy at this stage, tiptoeing around each other with polite touches and unsure kisses.

But not you and Lukas though, you’d already fallen into a rhythm that felt natural, like you’d known each other for years. You two spent mornings tangled in his sheets, his arm draped heavily over your waist as he pressed lazy kisses to your shoulder.

You were convinced his love language after physical touch, was teasing you. It didn’t matter what the situation was, he’d do it to cheer you up after a long day until you dissolved into giggles, or he’d do it just because he felt like it.

Lukas was ready to introduce you to his parents barely a month into dating. To him, it felt like it was the most natural next step because his mom had already been excited from the first time he mentioned you. It gave him even more reasons to push for it, his enthusiasm bubbling over like he couldn’t wait to show you off to the people he loved.

It would’ve been that easy if the timing had worked out. But with hockey games, travelling, practices, and him getting traded made any trips to Germany not realistic. You were honestly thankful for the delay, because it bought you time to breathe.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to meet his family, you did want to meet them eventually. The energy on face time calls always made you smile, and his parents seemed warm and genuine, asking about your job, your hobbies, even teasing Lukas about how smitten he sounded.

But the thought in the back of your mind stayed, what if they didn’t like you once they saw you face to face? What if his mom had always pictured him with someone from Germany with someone who understood the language fluently, fit seamlessly into their world?

Anytime Lukas brought up the fact that you’ll eventually have to meet his family in person, you groaned dramatically and buried your face deeper into whatever pillow or blanket was closest. “Do I have to?” you’d whine. “What if she doesn’t like me? Why can’t we just keep living like this, just the two of us? I’ll never have to be scared wondering if they will or won’t like me.”

“You’re just being delusional, babe” he said, chuckling at your complaints. “My mom already loves you. She asks about you every time we call, there’s nothing you have to worry about.”

“I’m not delusional.”

“Even if they didn’t like you, there’s nothing they could change. At the end of the day, you’re the one for me so it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.” He paused, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “But I’m still sure they’ll love you.”

“But it does matter. They have to like me, or I’ll literally die from the embarrassment of not being liked by them.”

“No you won’t die.” Lukas convinced you. Lukas had no issue with dealing with your nervousness, it was totally normal, but he wanted you to know that there was nothing to worry about.

You almost managed to dodge the topic every single time Lukas brought it up. You’d change the subject or distract him with kisses until he laughed and let it go.

But now there was no escaping it and you knew deep down it had to be done, and the faster you ripped off the bandage, the sooner the anxiety might finally ease.

The plane from Boston had touched down in Munich a couple of hours ago. After collecting your luggage, Lukas called an uber, and the two of you climbed into the backseat of the car headed toward his childhood home.

Lukas reached over and laced his fingers with yours, thumb brushing soothingly across your knuckles. “I don’t know if I told you,” he said casually, “but my brother’s wife and their baby will be there too, of course.”

“Oh wow, great,” you muttered, leaning your head against the seat. “Now I have even more reasons to be nervous.”

“Relax” he chuckled, squeezing your hand. “It’s going to be fine.”

You turned to look at him. “Lukas, are you sure they’ll like me?”

He paused for a second, pretending to think it over with exaggerated seriousness. “Hm.. I don’t know. I think my mom is going to haaate you. Maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore, if I’m being honest.”

You knew he was just being annoying on purpose because he loved winding you up like this but your mouth still fell open. You shoved at his chest lightly. “Shut up, you’re so stupid!”

“No, for real,” he insisted, flashing a wide, toothy grin that made his whole face light up. He was clearly fighting back laughter.

You groaned, laughing a little despite yourself. “You know, I always thought my boyfriend would make me feel better in situations like this, but I guess not.”

“I can make you feel better later if that’ll make me a good boyfriend?” His eyebrows wiggled suggestively.

You laughed and swatted his arm. “Just stop talking.”

You pulled up in the driveway of the charming house just as the sun was beginning to set. The uber came to a gentle stop, and Lukas quickly hopped out, grabbing both suitcases from the trunk with ease. You thanked the driver softly before stepping onto the gravel path beside him.

The front door swung open almost immediately, revealing a small group of smiling faces. His mom spotted you first, stepping forward with open arms, her expression warm and inviting. “Hi, darling! Come here,” she said, pulling you into a hug. “You’re even more beautiful in person. Lukas didn’t do you justice at all.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. “Thank you so much,” you hugged her back. Her being so inviting, instantly calmed some of your nerves.

She moved on to hug her son tightly. Lukas grinned, then slipped right back to your side, his hand finding yours. “Everyone, this is y/n,” he said proudly. “Y/n, this is my dad, Martin.” You shook his dad’s hand politely. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Reichel.”

Next came his older brother Thomas and his wife Sarah. They both greeted you with easy smiles and hugs. Then his sister Theresa, who immediately pulled you into a side hug.

Inside, the house was cozy and lived in, with family photos lining the walls. “Your home is lovely,” you complimented, glancing around. They waved off the praise modestly and ushered everyone into the living room.

The evening unfolded better than you had dared to imagine. Conversation flowed naturally over dinner, as they asked about how you and Lukas had met from your perspective, you shared bits about growing up in Vancouver, your job, and what it was like adjusting to Boston.

After dinner, you and Lukas settled on the couch in the living room, his arm draped comfortably around your shoulders as you talked quietly about tomorrow’s plans. The house was peaceful now, the baby asleep upstairs and the rest of the family scattered.

“Oh, there you two lovebirds are! I was looking for you,” his mom said with a bright smile as she entered the room. She was holding a thick, well loved photo album and a blue folder tucked under her arm.

“Hi,” you replied warmly, sitting up a little straighter.

“We’re here,” Lukas answered, already sounding suspicious.

She settled on the couch right next to you, ignoring her son’s wary expression. “Gotta show y/n a few stuff,” she said, opening the album with clear excitement. Lukas’s facial expression immediately went in “oh no”, his eyes widening as he recognized the book.

The first pages were filled with baby pictures, round cheeks, messy hair, and the biggest toothless grin you’d ever seen. “Aww, Lukas” you cooed, unable to stop yourself. “You were so cute as a baby!”

His mom beamed and flipped to more pages. “Look at his first day of kindergarten,” she said, pointing at a photo of tiny Lukas in a bright backpack, clutching his mom’s hand. Another picture of him on the ice, in tiny skates, hockey stick almost bigger than he was.

She launched into an embarrassing story about how he once tried to impress a coach at the rink by skating backwards and fell right on his face. “Mom!” Lukas groaned.

“No, no, tell me more,” you laughed, patting his leg. “Lukas wanted to be funny this morning by joking with me, so go on.”

His mom laughed delightedly and kept turning pages, showing more photos while sharing sweet stories. You were completely charmed. “Could I get copies of a few of these?” you asked at one point, pointing to your favorites.

“Of course, darling,” she said, opening the blue folder which held even more prints. “His kindergarten teachers always said he was the most talkative child in class.”

“Oh, I bet he was.” you grinned, glancing at Lukas. “He still might be the most talkative person I know, but I love listening to him, so I don’t mind at all.”

His mom nodded. “Exactly! There was this one time-”

“Okay, Mom,” Lukas cut in quickly, standing up and gently pulling your arm softly so you rose with him. “I’m getting pretty tired. You want to go upstairs now?”

You smiled apologetically at his mom. “Thank you so much for showing me these. Goodnight.”

She waved you off with a happy smile. “Goodnight, you two. Sleep well.”

Lukas kept his hand on your lower back the whole way up the stairs, muttering about “can’t believe my family’s betraying me” while you tried not to laugh.

When you made it to his childhood room upstairs, Lukas closed the door behind you with a soft click. He didn’t waste a second and pulled you gently against his chest, one arm wrapping around your waist while his other hand tilted your chin up.

Being taller, he always made you look up at him like this. “So.. do you like my family?” he asked, hazel eyes searching yours.

You nodded, warmth spreading through your chest. “Mhmm. I really do, they’re amazing.”

You rose up on your tiptoes to press a quick, sweet kiss to his lips. But as you started to pull away, Lukas chased the kiss, capturing your mouth again. Then another and another. Soft, playful popcorn kisses scattered across your lips, the corner of your mouth, and your nose until you couldn’t hold back a bright smile.

"Shouldn't have hurt me then, baby." You cooed.

"What's this one even about this time?" He asked.

"I can't tell you," You booped his nose.

Lukas rolled his eyes. "Sure, you can. I can keep a secret."

"I mean," You bit your lip. "It's about you, us, and how I can't leave you because it'll hurt."

His face softened at your words, the relationship the two of you were in

"You're the one who doesn't want to commit." Lukas countered. "I asked you out officially numerous of times."

And it was the truth.

You'd always make an excuse of the busy schedules.

That a 'real' relationship could never work.

But the two of you were basically in a relationship.

You don't see anyone else. He also don't see anyone else.

Sensing the avoidance from you on the topic.

Lukas mumbles into your neck. "The offer will always stand, if you want this fully, I'll be here. Even if you don't, I'll still be here."

"But you shouldn't be," You shifted to face him. "This isn't healthy."

He caressed your cheek. "I'll always want you, nothing will change that."

You pecked his lips. "You're weird."

"I'm your weird though," Lukas grinned.

He captured your lips and reeled you in for a much deeper and passionate kiss.

Your tongues danced in sync in a way that left you speechless everytime.

You tugged on his brown locks, making him groan in pleasure.

He leaves kisses that lie in your wake, sending a rush of euphoria through your veins.

That was bad.

He was only meant to be a distraction.

Not to consume your every thought.

You sat up suddenly. "I should get going."

Lukas looked at you, confused. "But today's our day off-"

"See you later!" You rushed out the door.

Singergossippage just posted!

Liked by ynfan123, bigbrainloser, and 27k others...

Singergossippage: grammy award winning artist, yourusername seen leaving the studio yet again this week, might they be preparing that new album?? 👀

Comments

User1: omg finally its been too long

User62: user1 it's only been two years, calm down

User45: AHHHHHHHHH OMG OMG OMG

User78: maybe they're making happy songs lmao

User21: user78 girl now you know that ain't true

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Datinggossip101 just posted!

Liked by bruins458, gossipgospel61, user23, and 57k others...

Datinggossip101: just a day after their tour ended, yourusername is seen going out with a mysterious man...

Comments

User73: Okay now this makes sense why they were so happy last night lmaooo

Bruinshockey29: Stranger and it's hockey player, lukas reichel

User11: maybe some love songs ARE on the way

Hockeysingerfan: my worlds are colliding omgg

User33: idk who they are but they seem happy together

User88: user33 and that should be a main goal for any relationship

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To say you've been avoiding Lukas would be an understatement.

You've just been throwing yourself into your music and wrapping up your album.

Purposely ignoring his texts and calls.

Not wanting to get thrown back into the vortex that he is.

Tonight, the two of you were at a restaurant.

After an encounter at the bar, he wanted to see and talk to you properly.

"Still mad at me?" Lukas asks.

You shook your head. "No, we're not in a relationship... you have a right to see other people."

"And you got mad when I did and she thought I was a cheater." Lukas remarked, amusement evident in his voice.

You huffed in embarrassment. "I was tipsy."

"Looked stone cold sober to me." He teased.

"She was standing too close to you." You

Lukas raised an eyebrow, "So you were jealous,"

"Not jealous," You shook your head, "just... observant."

"You're cute when you're jealous," He placed his hand on the table.

"Doesn't matter," You sighs.

The two of you sat in silence once more.

The tension slightly eased up.

"We're making quite the headlines," Lukas comments.

You placed your hand over his on the table.

"Yeah, sorry bout that." You glanced out the window.

"Don't apologize, it's not your fault." He reassured you.

"They're such creeps, can never have a moment with my family in public." You rolled your eyes.

Lukas rubbed his thumb across your knuckles. "Got a game tomorrow, you coming?"

"I'll wear my best disguise." You nod slowly.

"You don't need to," He shook his head, "I want to see you."

You looked at him. "Are you implying what I think you're implying?"

"I want to be with you, officially." Lukas admits.

You've been in this situation countless of times before.

He'd ask you out, to be his in every sense of the word.

And with every no, his heart shattered just a bit.

Everytime he hopes it'll be different.

When Lukas sees the small smile adorning your face, he already knows the answer.

Bostonbruins just posted!

Liked by madisonbeer, nhlfanpage819, lukasreichel, and 53k others...

Bostonbruins: resident superstar in the building tonight to watch some playoff hockey!

Comments

User59: practically their hard launch right here

User46: Lukas liking this post? he's down BAD

User4: fav celeb couple now

Ynfan63: Just mogging everyone in every pic

Ynhockeyfan: ynfan63 Like a baddie

Ynfan63: ynhockeyfan exactlyyyy

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After the game, you waited by the locker room.

Some the wags stood with you, waiting for their partners.

They didn't hesitate to strike up conversation.

It feels as though you have known them forever.

"I know your tour is over," She adjusted her coat "But if you don't mind me asking, what are you still doing here in Boston?"

"I'm just here for-" You started.

"Lukas," Her friend finished with a knowing smile.

It was just then you felt an arm wrap around your waist.

"You guys talking dirty on my name?" Lukas grinned.

You leaned into his touch, "Always."

He chuckled at your words. "Ouch,"

"Let's get you home," You waved at the wags.

The two of you walked out of the arena and to his car.

"They totally know, don't they?" Lukas started the car.

You put your seat belt on, "Oh definitely, are wags usually this smart?"

"All the time," He chuckled. "Yours or mine?"

"Let fate decide," You adjusted your jacket.

"So mine then," Lukas rested his other hand on your thigh.

The drive to his apartment was quick.

The time flew by and the conversations were easy to make.

When he unlocked the door to his apartment.

You couldn't help but the love the man a bit more.

"You're thinking about something," Lukas took off his shirt.

You followed him to the bedroom. "I'm not,"

"You so are," He changes. "Tell me."

"Why do you keep coming back to me?" You sat on the edge of the bed.

Lukas looked at you. "Because I love you."

He says it like it's the simplest explanation.

"You shouldn't," You scoffed. "All I did was treat you like shit."

He sat down beside you. "And why did you?"

You rested your head on his shoulder, Lukas pulled you closer.

"I was scared," You confess.

He rubbed your back soothingly. "Nothing wrong with being scared."

"It still gave me no reason to treat you like you were nothing," You explained. "I'm sorry. I'll get better at communicating."

Lukas glanced down at you. "I accept your apology, for what's it worth... I'm sorry too."

"Sorry, for what?" You looked at him.

He shrugged. "For flirting with that girl and making you jealous."

You gasped and shoved him playfully. "So it was on purpose!"

Lukas pulled you back towards him, the two of you fell onto his bed.

"It got you back to me though," He pouts. "So it was good in a way."

"I can't believe you," You shook your head with a grin.

"Yes you can, because you love me just as much as I love you." Lukas nods.

"I do, yeah." You caressed his cheek.

His gaze on you softened.

"I love you, Lukas." You kissed his nose.

His nose scrunched on instinct from the feather-like touch of your lips.

"I love you too," He kissed you softly.

The moon outside can only shine so bright.

But it will never shine brighter than love.

Macklin likes to joke that you’re a witch, which of course you immediately threw your slice of apple at him as he said it.

“Not the scary kind!” He amended as Will gave him a ‘did you really just call my girlfriend a witch’ look.

“You’re lucky I like you.” You chirp back to the younger player, as Will gives your side a squeeze.

—

Really, Will doesn’t know how these things keep happening, but they do.

First it was Macklin in the summer, he was walking down to the dock, the wood squeaking under his bare feet. He was rambling about something, Will couldn’t really remember because he was entirely too focused on you.

The breeze through your hair, the deep brown color of your bikini against your skin, the smell of pine wafting off you from your body wash that Will tells you smells like Christmas.

But then he noticed the switch, noticed your skin grow goosebumps, the slight shiver that racked through you. At first he thought you were cold, even with the warm sun beating down on the July day. But then it was the paleness of your skin, and the shaking of your fingers. And then.

“Mack.” You say, all teasing and lightness dropped from your tone. But Macklin wasn’t paying attention, which was not out of the ordinary. “Macklin.” You say again, voice stern. Yet, his best friend still didn’t stop walking. “MACK.” You finally yell, your hand going up to Mack’s t-shirt. You tightened your fist around the fabric and yanked him backwards. His body crashing into you, which then crashed into Will.

“What the fuck!” Mack yelped more out of suprise than anything. And the very next second the board Mack was just about to step on cracks, the old wood falling into the lake, and three of you stare at the spot that definitely would have made Macklin fall through if he stepped on it.

Not that the boys weren’t convinced, but the second time made them agree never to question you at all. What you say goes now. So, at dinner with the team, Will and Mack both agreed to listen to you.

A dish was getting passed around, but as soon as you saw it you questioned it. Then that all too familiar feeling crept in, and you whispered quietly to Will not to eat it. He looked from you to the food, and he nodded. Macklin agreed too with no hesitation, and once again, you were proven to be correct. Half of the team got food poisoning.

“You’re basically magical.” Mack told you while you and Will were dropping him off that night. And you shrug your shoulders, trying not to get freaked out by whatever it is that makes you feel these things.

—

Will has been on the road for three days. Which isn’t long by hockey standards, but you’re definitely missing him being around. So when Mack plans for you to surprise Will in the hotel after their game, you jumped on the opportunity.

Mack:

It’s room 130

You:

Okay, I’m just up the street

Mack:

Hurry up

You:

Oh my bad, I’ll make sure to tell my driver that. I’m sure he’ll listen

Mack:

Wow, you must really be missing Will

You:

And you’re implying what exactly?

Mack:

Nothing. Just try to hurry

By the time you make it there, Macklin is already waiting half in the hallway half in the room. You roll your eyes with a smirk at his impatience as he ushers you in.

“My god woman you’re so slow.”

“It’s been three minutes since you texted me last!” You whisper exclaim, not wanting Will to hear your voice over the shower.

As you throw your bag on the bed Macklin looks at you, before hugging you quickly in greeting before the shower shuts off.

You instantly sit on the foot of the bed Will is going to be sleeping in and as Will opens the door he sees Macklin standing there.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Will asks, walking out of the bathroom but not yet seeing you. He’s got a Boston shirt on, and a pair of black sharks shorts. This golden hair is damp, wet curls stuck to the back of his neck.

“Nothing. Move.” Mack says, getting defensive.

“You’ve been weird all-“ But then Will stops, stops because he turns to see you, sitting on his bed, a goofy smile on your face.

“2 goals tonight? That’s pretty impressive.” You say, a sultry little tone in your voice. You make sure to keep it in check because you know Macklin will complain otherwise.

But Will doesn’t say anything, doesn’t say anything until his arms are around you, picking you up and spinning you around a few times.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He asks, your feet back on the ground as his hands move to your face.

“I missed-“ But you’re cut off by the press of his lips. Like he couldn’t even wait for you to get your sentence out.

“Oh my god.” He says with a laugh.

“Your best friend did some planning.” You say with a small shrug. And at that Will turns to Mack, who’s standing sheepishly by the door like he’s trying to give you guys privacy in the smaller hotel room.

“You did this?” Will asks, and Mack also gives a small shrug.

“You’ve been a mope since we left, plus she’s been no better.”

You and Will both laugh, and Will goes back to you, pressing his forehead against yours and planting small kisses to your face.

“I dreamed about you the last couple nights, so this better be real.” He says.

“It’s real.” You whisper.

“I figured. If it was a dream Macklin would not be here.” He says, and you let out a laugh, your shoulders shaking in his arms.

“Hey, I brought her here!” Macklin says, but you see the bright smile on his mouth.

“Thank you man, really.” Will says, before pulling you into him once again. The smell of him washes over you, some musky woodsy calming smell, reminding you as well that this is real. You lean up on your tip toes to kiss him once more, before you fall into the familiar pattern of your boyfriend and his best friend.

—

A few hours later the three of you are still up, still laughing together and eating the room service Will called for.

You’re leaning into Will’s chest, his thighs and legs bracketing you, and you couldn’t lie that his size compared to you makes you blush.

Macklin was retelling some story from the game, and Will chimes in every once in a while to add something Mack forgot.

Everything was good. Everything was happy and safe and warm, until it wasn’t.

You think you fake it for a second, but then the feeling hits again. That cold, bone chilling feeling that slithers up your neck. You freeze against Will, your heartbeat picking up as your eyes scan the room.

“Baby?” Will says, a bit concerned, and Mack immediately shuts up as he notices what’s happening. “What’s wrong?” He asks, but you stay still, color draining from your face as you wait for the sense, that weird voice to tell you what is happening.

And then it hits.

You fly off the bed, yelling at them to stay there as you race to the door, using your shaking fingers to use the chain to lock the door shut.

“Y/N.” Will says, getting up with Macklin directly beside him.

“Don’t.” You say, and then you hear it.

Three soft knocks on the door. The three of you freeze.

“This is maintenance, we have to check on your bathroom. The room beside yours flooded.”

“Y/N.” Will says, taking a step forward.

“Stay away from the door.” You say, your voice comes out in more of a whisper than anything.

The knocks happen again, and Will steps forward again. But not for the door, instead for you. But he freezes again as the knocks are now pounds. Angry. Loud. Violent.

“Will Smith!” The voice bellows outside the door. And instantly you shove your back against Will’s chest, like you’re ready to protect him if this man gets through.

“Macklin!” Will calls, and Mack flies towards the phone. Dialing quickly for the desk before holding it to his ear. The pounding sounds again, even louder and more aggressive this time. And Will like he’s now realizing where you’ve placed yourself, says “Absolutely not.” And shoves your body behind his.

“Yeah, room 130. Someone is banging on the door trying to get in.” Mack says quickly, the pounding continuing, the yelling of Will and Mack’s names making your hands shake violently. Mack steps in front of you both, the three of you in a single file line. You shoved behind Will, because he will always protect you, and the two of you behind Macklin, because Macklin wouldn’t let anything or anybody hurt the people he loves.

But that’s when it happens, the beeping of a hotel key being swiped, and the door opens a half an inch. You swear, one hand gripping Will’s shirt, one hand reaching around to grip Macklin’s.

“They have a fucking key!” Mack says urgently into the phone, his left arm coming around to shove both you and Will farther against his back.

But the door doesn’t budge past that half an inch, because you locked it. Because somehow, something told you to do it. And as the gold metal lock holds strong, you know deep down you were able to protect them, just like they protect you.

“Will.” You mumble, and he tightens you further into his back.

“It’s going to be okay, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Your chest rises and falls fast, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you shove your head as deep into his muscled back as you could get it.

But then finally, after what feels like hours, you can hear the yelling of security, what sounds like a scuffle outside the door, and the confirmation from Macklin that security has taken someone away.

There’s a knock on the door, and you go wide eyed until you hear the voice of a man, he states his name, how he works for the hotel, and tells whoever is on the phone to confirm this information with the front desk. Mack relays it, and he hangs up with a thank you as he goes to unlock the door for the security guard.

You hold out a breath you don’t remember holding. And as Macklin talks to the man, Will whips around to you, holding your face in his hands as he tells you over and over that you’re safe, that everything is okay now.

“Breathe, baby.” He soothes, unable to stop touching you, like he’s got to prove to himself you’re safe. “You’re doing so good, just like that.” He says as you following his breathing.

And once everything has calmed down, and Tyler Toffoli has checked in on you guys, the three of you sit on the same bed. You can tell they want to say something, anything about how you basically flew for the door, but both of them know it’s not the time.

Will only keeps his arms around you, keeps you pressed into him as he takes a deep breath in and out.

“I thought he was going to get you.” You say, and you meet Will’s worried eyes. “I didn’t want him to hurt you. Either of you.”

“He didn’t, because of you.” Will says, kissing your temple for a long moment. “But this doesn’t mean that once we get out of this fucking hotel that I’m not going to lecture you about trying to stay in front of me.” Will says, and you roll your eyes with a small smile.

“That’s just what you do when you love someone.” You say.

But you and Will both think back to it, think about how Mack was the one to step in front of you both. How Mack reached his arm around to hold onto both of you as the man tried to breach the door.

“He wouldn’t have gotten to you.” Mack says. “You either.” He says looking at his best friend.

“Yeah?” Will says, still anxious, still on edge, but giving Mack his normal teasing tone and face.

“I’m Macklin Celebrini.” Mack says, with a wave of his hands. “I would have figured something out.”

And even though you can tell behind the jokes that Macklin is serious, that if it came down to it he would have thrown himself in the line of fire for you and Will, you both decide that something more light hearted is in store.

“You mean like how you got into a fight early because someone hit Eky?” You question, eyebrow raising.

And that seems do to the trick, because next thing you know Macklin has jumped into the detailed story, and you lay back against Will, his thumbs rub small circles into your skin. Like he needs to remind you he’s here.

“I love you.” He says into your ear.

“I love you more.” You whisper back, careful not to interrupt Mack as he’s deep in acting out what occurred on the ice.

it's spills over the low hum of conversation and the crackle of the grill in front of him, cutting through everything else like it belongs at the center of it all. it bounces off the wooden fence, carries over the clink of bottles and the thud of a cooler lid slamming shut, and somehow manages to shoot right through nathan's chest.

he exhales slowly through his nose and forces himself to not look around like a lost puppy until he can spot you. because that would just be...obvious. the air smells like charcoal and something sweet—barbecue sauce, probably—thick and warm under the late afternoon sun. but when nathan takes a deep breath in, he swear he can only smell your perfume.

fruity, clean, and light. he'd never admit it, but one time he smelt almost 30 bottles in a marshall's, trying to find something that remotely resembled you.

but don't get it twisted, nathan mackinnon isn't a freak—or a pervert or anything else in that realm. he's just...no, he can't think of that right now.

someone's playlist hums in the background, bass low and steady, and just loud enough to fill the quieter moments. if there were anyway. but erik is yelling in the pool as he plays marco polo with the kids, and kadri is going crazy at corn hole. and you're still laughing.

"...and then I tripped," you're saying, voice animated. surely, your hands are moving as much as your words. like windmills. "like fully tripped—no recovery, no saving it—just straight down in front of everyone."

a chorus of reactions follows—laughs, groans, someone who sounds suspiciously like mikko mutters no way.

nathan keeps his composure, smashing some more burgers on landy's black stone like he's not actively yearning to catch even just the smallest glimpse of you. but he doesn't need to look because he can picture it anyway—your expression, the way your eyes go wide, and the inevitable grin that would follow like embarrassment is just another thing you turn into a joke.

he can't help but smile down at his feet just as the thought.

"you're lying," a different voice sounds. definitely ashley kadri, he thinks. it's confirmed when you briefly start cooing at nylah. always easily distracted.

eventually, you continue. "I swear! there was, like, a full second where I thought I could play it off, and then—nope." you clap your hands together once, sharp. "gone. and so was my popcorn, all over the floor of the theatre."

more laughter follows, and nathan's got to press his back molars together. god, who even is he?

it all started on a summer evening the year after their stanley cup winning run. everything smelt like sunscreen and chlorine. ice coffees melting faster than they can be drank. and the team, still high from winning the whole damn thing, decided to have some sort of celebration—a big lunch thing for friends and family at a local denver spot.

cale introduced you in passing. his kid sister, fresh out of college, coming out to denver to live closer with who you called your sibling turned best friend. nathan can relate, he feels that close with sarah as well.

he barley noticed you at first. well, that's technically a lie. because obviously he noticed your yellow sundress, and the way your smile lit up the entire restaurant, and how everyone seemed to gravitate towards you without knowing more than just your name.

but it was just a quick glance, a tight nod and a clipped—hey, nice to meet you—as nathan put out his calloused palm for you to shake. but you didn't shake it. no, you brushed it off with another smile and claimed you were a hugger, before pushing up onto your toes to embrace him.

you should've been his worse nightmare...so why for that entire evening could he not stop looking at you? and it's not like you didn't notice it—he wasn't exactly subtle from across the long table, wedged between EJ and melissa landeskog. how his eyes would keep flicking back to you when he thought you weren't looking, how he went unnaturally still when you laughed—like he was trying to memorize the sound without letting himself react to it.

he didn't ask you questions, didn't lean in, never smiled the way everyone else does—but he listened. it was easy to think he didn't like you. hell, at one point melissa turned to him, voice all hushed and straight up asked what his deal with you was.

but nathan didn't have an answer, which only made him look guiltier. but he was blushing and melissa knew. then landy, and then all of his teammates had this sort of suspicion that even they don't believe half the time.

even to this day, it would be easy to think he doesn't like you—he kind of makes sure of that, all distance and short answers and carefully controlled indifference—but there's something just slightly off about it.

too deliberate and too practiced like he's trying not to give himself away. and over the past few years, it seems to have worked at getting his teammates off his back, but it doesn't change the fact that deep down, ever seen you walked into the restaurant in that yellow dress, nathan has been obsessed with you. adores you. wants you.

wants you in every way he shouldn't want someone that much younger than him. someone who's related to one of his closest teammates. someone who is the complete opposite of himself. but he does—he wants all the late night pillow talks, the arguing over what colour to paint the living room walls, the sweet kisses and babies and everything in between.

but if someone was to ask? deny, deny, deny. sure—he'd say, acting indifferent—y/n is nice but she's just not my cup of tea. nathan mackinnon will lie through his perfect teeth before ever admitting to one of his insufferable friends that he has feelings for you.

the sound of your laughter breaks nathan out of his own thoughts. he curses to himself as one of the burgers starts smoking—blackened and charred. whoops, that's what he gets for thinking about you like that. your laugh, your mannerisms, your scent....no!

he turns away from the grill and grabs a drink from the open cooler by his feet. maybe a little harder than necessary when a few ice cubes shoot up and over the edge. the cold beer can seeps into his palm, a nice distraction from his own racing mind.

nathan exhales as he straightens, slow and measured, willing himself to chill the fuck out.

without wanting to burn anymore food, or get an earful from his captain, nathan turns heel back towards the grill. only, he's momentarily stunned when he sees you making your way over to him.

fuck.

your eyes meet and you're already grinning, expression brightening like seeing him is the best part of your day. maybe it is. and you weave through people with an ease that feels practiced and natural. effortless even.

he straightens slightly without meaning to. he still hasn't blinked by the time you stop in front of him, close enough that he can catch that faint citrusy scent. the long, white sleeves of your top are pushed up, some lacy, frilly thing that probably costs too much. you've paired it with jean cut offs and sandals, looking like a dream.

"hi nate," you say, slightly breathless from the heat and your trek across the yard. you reach up and tuck some of your hair behind your ear, passing your neck.

he gulps, burger press and can of beer still in hand. "y/n, hi."

there's a pause that follows, and in that you take the time to study him. and you're not shy about like he would be. it's open, and curious like you're trying to figure something out.

you hum, light a breezy, stepping impossibly closer. if you shifted an inch to the right, the knuckles that have gone white around his beer can, would brush your boobs. jesus.

"you look like you'd rather be literally anywhere else."

he swallows. puts down the beer. very careful to avoid touching your covered nipples or anything else just as incriminating. "i'm fine."

there's that hum again. unconvinced or something similar sounding at the back of your throat. your eyes dance over his features softly, and nathan has to force them to stay stoic. "scale of one to ten?" you prompt.

of course you're asking him that. it's just so you—so much so that it gets him to crack a smile. a barely there thing, half upturned lip that resembles a smirk more than anything. but a smile nonetheless. because you're the only one who could be asking him to rate his experience on a scale and nathan get all giddy about it.

however, he keeps his composure, getting back to the smokey grill and burgers. "i'm not doing a scale."

"okay," you drawl out, sliding in closer. "but if you were—"

"i'm not." he cuts in, sending you a look over his broad shoulder that says if you ask me one more time i'll totally rate it.

but you don't push. just grin—immediate and unfiltered. like that was exactly the response you wanted.

"landy come tell you how to properly do this yet?" you muse, all mock innocent, looking between nathan's tan face and the darkened, greasy stone.

"what?" he half bristles, stopping mid press. "I am doing it properly."

your grin only widens. "you're not, i've been watching and cringing for like, 10 minutes." it's an exaggeration, because nathan knows you've only been here for maybe 6.

"you're so full of it. there's no wrong way to smash a burger."

your mouth falls like he's just declared something catastrophic. like pineapple belongs on pizza. or that new moon is the worst movie in the twilight franchise. he can't help but roll his eyes at your dramatics, but he's also obsessed with them so he can't help the grin splitting his face again.

if someone was to look over, they'd think he's having a stroke. because there's no way that nathan fucking mackinnon would be having a good time with y/n makar—who is unarguably his complete opposite. if your personalities were powers, yours would be his kryptonite.

"there absolutely is," you tell him, "and you're butchering it." not waiting for a response, you push your way between him and the grill, and nathan is immediately hot with two things. your scent up close, expect now there's also something vanilla-y about it—a shampoo or something. and the second is that your ass is pretty much against his crotch, which is a whole new territory.

he swears lowly, so quiet that you don't hear it. or maybe you don't hear it because you're too busy trying to grab the burger press from his hand.

"i'm serious. let me do it." you say, looking at him over your shoulder. it shouldn't be so sexy because you're surrounded by everyone and there's kids running around with snotty noses and popsicles. but somehow it is.

nathan tries to put some distance between your bodies, but it only ends up with him bumping into a chair, which then sends him jumping back into you.

"you've never even grilled before." his protest is weak, because he can't even fucking concentrate properly.

"that not the point—give me the pressy thing."

and he does. of course he does. and you smile triumphantly like it's more than just a burger press.

with your bodies still an inch from being together in a way that would be indecent, nathan watches over your head as you start pressing against the balls of raw beef, flattening them and all their inter-webbed seasoning against the stone.

"see," you slightly grunt, putting real strength into it. but you're also laughing, joyful and happy. far too much enthusiasm for cooking burgers, but nathan feels proud like you're accomplishing something greater.

grease pops, making you flinch and yelp back into his strong chest. his warm palm settles on your torso—right on the sliver of skin between your shorts and top—meaning to steady you, but as soon as he's touching your bare skin, nathan’s forgotten how to breathe like a normal person.

you laugh at yourself, shaking out your hand. the grease must've made contact.

he blinks, "are you okay?" his eyes then asses you at the speed of lightning. fingers, palm, wrist. then briefly over the rest of your exposed skin, checking for grease related injuries. he finds none.

you spin, still pressed close. a smile on your face. "i'll be better when you let me do the next round as well."

"do I really get a say if you continue?"

"nope." and then you're back at it, grabbing more meat from the blue and white patterned bowl beside the blackstone, dropping it down with a splat (which makes you snort and make some comment about it looking like plankton from spongebob on the bottom of a shoe).

but he forces himself to look away from you. because you're too much in the best, most overwhelming way possible.

thankfully, gabe comes over and immediately starts telling you that your smash burgers are better than nathan's—which has you fucking floating. it's good, because he's sure if he was alone with you and your smell and your pretty lips and annoying laugh a minute longer, he would've done something stupid like kiss the shell of your ear. or tell you how he feels.

but he knows he just...can't.

PART TWO: reel it in

the line to the downtown nightclub curls halfway down the block. a slow moving, impatient thing made up of heels on concrete, low conversations, and the distant thud of bass leaking through the club doors. the night air is warm for september, but in that sticky, city way—perfume and exhaust and something sweet drifting from somewhere nearby.

every few seconds the line shifts forward just enough to make it feel like progress. nonetheless, you're practically vibrating in the spot.

"okay, no, but this was a good idea," you insist for what has to be the third time, turning halfway around to face the group, hands uselessly flailing around as if gesturing to it. the club. the line. who knows. "like, objectively, this is fun already."

you're already tipsy. borderline plastered and already in that state where it's a gamble whether you'll remember from here on out in the morning.

"it's a line," erik mutters behind you, hands tucked into his jacket.

you shoot him a pointed look. "and you're old."

he snorts.

"besides, it's the anticipation," you correct, grinning. "very exciting."

nathan stands just off to the side, adjacent to your bare shoulder. he's close—close enough that if you leaned back even slightly, you'd bump into him. he lets himself think about that for only a second. wrapping you up, forearm around your collarbones.

he hasn't said much since you all got here, which was about 15 minutes ago. actually—he hasn't said much since you told him the plan earlier in the week.

because...clubs aren't his thing. their loud, crowded and unpredictable and everything he tries to avoid. in other words, they're exactly like you. everyone knows that, and when you mentioned wanting to do this for your birthday, you said that you didn't expect him to come because of his hatred for the party lifestyle.

and yet here he is. black button down open to reveal his white t-shirt, sleeves pushed up just enough to show his forearms. jaw tight like he's already over it, eyes scanning the street instead of the line. instead of you.

in all honesty, he hasn't been able to properly look you in the eye without going through an internal crisis since he pulled up to landy's, where you had already been getting ready with mel, tracey and ashley.

he had walked in and could already smell you, which was a whole thing in itself. but then you came waltzing down the stairs, glittery and dressed like that. a tight complicated looking dress that looks painted on—paired with a birthday sash and crown. even though your birthday wasn't technically till midnight.

nathan tried to look unaffected when you hugged him, drunk and loud, but erik had caught on. and nathan knew that he did—so he's been avoiding both erik and your eyes since then to save some face.

it's not until you spin, unsteadily, to face him that nathan looks at you properly again. mostly because he's scared you're going to fall on your face, so he's already got his hands out to steady you.

but you don't fall, only giggle when the crown stars to slip. you shimmy closer to him through the packed line, which hasn't moved since the last time, and blink up at him like a doll.

"you're gonna hate it in there," you say.

he avoids breathing through his nose when he replies, because you smell like fucking heaven. tequila as well, but that's not even a problem.

"I won't." he lies. just then, a couple of drunk frat guys come stumbling out of the club, yelling something about their greek affiliations that make nathan pull a face.

you squint, teasing and accusing all the same. "you already do."

he looks back at you and forces his features back to that unaffected, neutral look that he uses in every interview. "I don't."

"you're scowling."

"i'm not scowling."

you lean in slightly, still peering up at him. like you're inspecting the evidence. the crown slips down again, sitting against your eyebrow, but you don't notice. "you definitely are."

"i'm not."

you hum, unconvinced. "we'll fix that."

nathan not sure who we entails, but his mouth twitches despite that.

just then, erik just has to squeeze between where you're standing and gabe, meaning that you’re forced to shuffle closer into nathan's orbit to make room for the giant defender.

obviously, you don't care. practically snuggling up to nathan and all his warmth. meanwhile, he's freaking out. naturally.

and it's like you know that when you look back up at him, because your grin widens like you've just won something.

he, once again, has to immediately look away. jaw tightening to stone, composure snapping back into place. because maybe if these were different circumstances and nathan wasn't such a weirdo, he'd wrap his arms around you and keep you against his chest. press kisses to your jaw and neck until you're laughing at the feeling of his stubble—attempting to escape his hold but also not trying at all.

"you didn't have to come, you know," you say, nudging his chest lightly with your elbow, snapping him out of his thoughts. he blushes like he's been caught. you continue, "I wouldn't have been offended. I know you don't like all this stuff."

"I know." he shrugs. like...that's that. so simple.

"but you did anyway." you note, already half way back to grinning. the line inches forward. someone up ahead laughs too loudly, the bass inside the club pulsing stronger now every time the door opens. erik is still babbling on about something irrelevant with gabe.

nathan exhales, gaze still fixed somewhere over your shoulder. "it's your birthday...thing," he says eventually, like that's explains why he's like, abandoned his morals. and then like you don't know what he's talking about, he pokes at your lopsided crown.

you raise a brow.

then, ever so timidly and only after making sure all your friends weren't watching him with the eyes of a hawk looking for its dinner, nathan's knuckle hits the bottom of the crown and then pushes it back up. into place.

once he drops his hand, you tilt your head slightly, studying him. "yeah, it is."

he swallows the golf ball sitting in his throat. fingers itching to reach back up and graze your hair. or your forehead. frankly, any part of you would do. a beat passes, before he says anything more, eyes still locked with yours.

"so happy birthday," he adds, quieter.

your smile should be illegal. "thanks nate." then you add, tone almost conspiratorial. "although, it's not my birthday quite yet."

catching that comment behind you, erik makes a noise, now invading your bubble of space. "by the time we get in there it will be."

—

considering that the music sounded loud outside of the club, it shouldn't come as a surprise that when you, nathan and the rest of the group finally get inside, it becomes deafening—loud enough that it stops feeling like sound and starts feeling like something physical. settling in nathan’s chest and rattling his ribs with every beat.

the lights flash in quick bursts—neon blues and pinks and whites—catching on faces, on moving bodies, on raised hands and spilled drinks and everything in between. it's too much for nathan, and he's scowling again.

but all the reason he hates it are the exact reasons why you love it.

you're immediately wrapped up into the crowd with ashley, tracy and melissa. once again, you've all already been drinking and getting pumped up for this, so nobody can blame you. the guys kind of just hover at one of the tall tables that line the floor and bar, looking out for you all while also just…chilling before the season really begins, and nathan stars jumping on their asses for even thinking about beer.

he can't keep his eyes off of you, because of course he can't. and in the dark of the club, nathan isn't worried about being caught, so he lets his eyes roam over your figure freely. your dress, your legs, the glitter sash sitting between your boobs. it's ethereal. and then you smile, laugh, and nathan feels like he's ascending to the clouds.

you're enjoying yourself, that much as clear. and he thinks he's starting too as well.

it's only about 45 minutes after arriving that you seem to remember the guys even came with you, and when you manage to spot them through the crowd and squeeze through dancing sweaty bodies, you're gone. unsteady on your feet, and warm and light and giggly in that way that makes everything feel softer.

"nate!" you beam, appearing in front of him like you've been dropped out of nowhere. you practically fall into him, between the table and his torso. your front to his. "I missed you!"

the drinks you'd been nursing (and spilling) are long gone. nathan is sure you've been sneaking shots that he hasn't noticed, because he can smell them on your breath.

"you okay?" he asks like an idiot, completely ignoring the admission on purpose. gabe snickers at that from beside you, and nathan is sure to shoot his captain a look.

he looks back at you, eyes scanning your face—the too bright smile, the way you're bouncing a little on your toes without realizing it, the glassy, dazed look in your eyes.

"yes," you slur a little. "i'm great. this is the best night ever."

erik and naz snicker from across the table, finding humour in the way you’re drag your words and stumble into nathan's chest without evening meaning to. then, naz the little shit, calls your name with a teasing twinkle. "hey y/n, want another shot?"

and you gasp, like its the best idea you've ever heard. nathan groans like it's the worst. "no," he tells you and his way too amused teammate. "no more shots."

"but i'm thirsty," you all but pout, fisting the material of his shirt in your palm.

once he stops shooting daggers at his friend, he looks back down into your eyes. fuck, that damn pout. nathan keeps his hand at his side uselessly, even though he wants nothing more than the slide the pad of his thumb over your petruding bottom lip.

"that won't help," he tells you, gentle but firm. if nathan was a better man, he'd be embarrassed about how controlling and possessive he sounds over a girl that's not even his. but the other part of his brain, the one that can register the feeling of you pressed against him and the way you’re now playing with the fingers he's got wrapped around his beer bottle, doesn't think about how it looks.

in his moment of distraction (or weakness) you manage to take the bottle right out his hand and press it to your lips. he opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out when you begin to promptly down the entire thing without breaking his gaze.

jesus—

"I hate beer," you grimace, then hiccup in a way that almost makes you gag.

he takes the bottle and puts in on the table with an empty clink. "you didn't have to drink it," nathan reminds you, a hint of a grin on his face that you don't catch because he's dropped his head down next to your ear, so you can hear him over the roaring bass.

warm breath fans over your cartilage as he continues. "it was also mine."

you giggle at that, like you know that despite his authoritative tone, he's full of shit. pulling your head back just enough, you look back up at him, full of mischief and something else equally as belly swooping. "come dance with me."

nathan almost hesitates in telling you no. because you're just so beautiful and smiley, peering up at him like he's the best part of your night. but at his core, nathan is anything but submissive. especially when it comes to dancing in public.

"i'm not dancing." he tells you through a laugh.

you stare at him for a second—like you're trying to process that answer. just a second. "please," you say, drawing the word out. even go as far to tip your head back, giving him your most exaggerated, over the top pleading look. "it's my birthday."

and despite himself and all his best efforts, nathan mackinnon lets you drag him onto the dance floor.

—

by the time you all make it back to gabe and mel's place, the night has tipped fully into that blurry, disjointed kind of late. nathan doesn't even want to look at the clock above the fireplace because he knows it's way passed the time he usually sleeps. meaning his routine will be all fucked up tomorrow. but his heart tells him the way you're leaning all your weight onto him makes it worth it.

multiple pairs of heels are kicked off at the front door in uneven piles, erik is laughing too hard in the kitchen all things considering, and ashley is already halfway collapsed on the couch with her arm thrown dramatically over her eyes like she's been personally victimized by the evening.

your groan next to him, now considerably shorter with your shoes discarded. the smell of leftover takeout and sweet caramel candle wax mix together in a nauseating way. because despite nathan's best efforts, you managed to sneak a shot, or three, off of ej and naz when nathan wasn't paying attention.

and to your credit, you held on for a long time, including the ride home in the back of an uber—which is just a pukey nightmare. you had been squished between mel and nathan, gabe yapping away in the front to the driver about the upcoming season—because of course the driver was a fan. that's probably why he let you guys in the car, even though you looked like one stomach roll away from throwing up all over nathan's lap.

you manage to make it two steps into the living room before the level of your alcohol intake finally catches up to you.

you sway, lost of all colour and your grasp on reality. "oh no," you whine, sticky crown falling off your damp head and onto the floor.

cale looks over from the kitchen immediately, pausing his water chug. "what?"

"I don't feel—" you swallow, face scrunching as the room tilts just slightly. "I don't feel good."

that's all it takes. there's a chorus of uh ohs and yep there it is from your friends—minus ashley because she's already snoring on the couch. someone snorts (erik definitely), and someone else mutters something about it being inevitable (melissa probably), and before you can even properly complain, you're being gently yet firmly redirected down the hall.

"bathroom," your brother says, steering you towards the powder room at the front of the house.

"I know where the bathroom is," you mumble half heartedly, deeply offended for no real reason other than being drunk.

cale snorts when you walk into the door frame. "clearly."

you try to glare at him, but it doesn't stick as the bathroom light flickers to life. it reflects off the mirror, making everything feel worse.

you drop to your knees with significantly less grace than you'd like, bracing yourself against the edge of the toilet like it personally wronged you. "this is the worst day of my life," you declare after a violent, spitty dry heave.

the door clicks closed softly, shutting out most of the noise from the rest of the house.

"you're fine," a familiar voice that definitely doesn't belong to your brother says. nathan's voice is low and steady, like he's intentionally keeping things calm.

you don't even bother asking him what he's doing, because it's obvious enough. he's taking care of you, undeterred by your bile or the perspiration lingering by your hairline.

"i'm not fine," you argue immediately. "i'm dying."

he grins behind your back, "you're not dying."

"you don't know that." you whine, cheek dropping to the toilet seat until it's pressed flat. you can’t think about the germs, or else you'd start gagging again.

there's a soft huff—almost a laugh—as he moves closer. a second after he appears as a blur in your line of sight, you feel his hand on the side of your face, fingers gently pushing tangled hair back behind your ear. gently, not tugging.

"stay still," he murmurs.

"I am still," you protest, even though you're shifting and rubbing your hot cheek against his rough palm.

he almost throws up himself at that, simply because the feeling of you nuzzling against his skin is enough to send him on a roller coaster.

"oh my god," you mumble suddenly, voice muffled. "I feel like kat in that scene from 10 things I hate about you."

nathan's hand stills for a half a second against the side of your head. "what's that?"

your head snaps up—almost smacking his nose in the process—enough to look at him, completely scandalized. "you've never seen it?" you gasp, much to his amusement. "oh my god, nate, please watch it with me."

and then you gag over the toilet bowl again. nathan runs his hand up the nape of your neck without thinking, and takes ahold of your hair in a makeshift ponytail as you continue to heave.

"maybe when your head's not in a toilet bowl." he reminds you, firm yet gentle.

you blink at him when you've calmed down, tears in your eyes. then, despite everything—the nausea, the spinning, and the general state of your existence—you laugh.

it comes out a little weak, a little breathless and stinky, but neither of you seem to care. you because you're hammered, and nathan because he fucking, like, loves you.

"you're funny," you muse, like you've just discovered something shocking.

"i'm not." he breathes a laugh of his own.

"you are," you insist, turning your head slightly so you can look at him better. "you just pretend you're not when everyone's around."

he doesn't have a response to that. he just watches you for a second, expression unreadable but softer than it usually is, like the edges have been smoothed down by the privacy of the bathroom. and you. always by you.

"you hate this," you add suddenly, a little quieter now, wiping at your runny nose with the back of your hand. "tonight, I mean."

"I didn’t hate it."

"you hate clubs." you remind him.

he hums, "I do."

"and you came anyway."

he exhales lightly, gaze dropping for a moment before coming back to you. "yeah." his grip on your hair adjusts again, thumb brushing lightly near your temple like he's making sure everything stays out of the way.

and you're looking at him all fuzzy and sweet—nathan doesn't even care that you're all clammy and there's a little bit of puke on the toilet seat, because to him, you're still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

it's too much all at once, and he's on the brink of telling you thing he shouldn't—not only because you're drunk and gagging, but because he knows he can't.

"focus on not throwing up," he tells you instead, pushing away all mushy thoughts of kissing you and feelings and confessing out of his head.

"bossy." you mumble, smile faint as your eyes begin to flutter closed. exhaustion slowly creeping its way into your bones.

—

nathan isn't surprised when he walks downstairs and sees that you haven't woken up yet.

it's all decorated, courtesy of melissa who's smile changes when she sees it's him coming into the kitchen and not you. a big glitter birthday banner hags from the ceiling, along with balloons and a matcha drink with a candle on top—because you don't like cake.

the guys and tracy and ashley are scattered around the island, some noticeably worse for wear. erik groans like he's been shot when the toaster pops.

"it's bread," gabe snickers in the direction of his oldest teammate. "relax."

"you relax," erik hisses, heels of his palms pressed so deep into his eye sockets that it must be painful.

nathan sits down on one of the empty bar stools, looking like he didn't even go out last night. to be fair, he only had like two beers. and despite the time on the clock when he finally got you into bed and the went to sleep himself, nathan still managed to get up at the crack of dawn. where he then promptly took an hour in gabe's home gym to get his muscles moving, and then took a long hot shower.

because he kind of smelt like your perfume and your bile, which wasn't the most ideal. neither was staying up an extra hour once all the chaos has died down because he couldn't stop thinking about you. or your tiny dress, or how you looked at him while chugging his beer. or your drunk smile—especially that smile.

the stairs creak, and before he can be chill about the idea of seeing you this morning, nathan's head whips aorund so fast it's a shock that his neck doesn’t snap.

but it's not you, just the dog.

with a sigh, he faces forward again, gaze landing on the ice matcha with the pink candle melissa shoved into the straw opening. he itches to get up and put it in the fridge, because the ice is starting to melt and you hate when it's watery like that.

"you gonna bring that up to her?" gabe suddenly asks, leaning on the island directly across from him.

nathan blinks in suprise. "no?"

"why not?"

"she's probably still asleep." he huffs, and when gabe's knowing and all too pleased smirk starts to grow, nathan can't help but scoff. "don't you have food to cook?"

his captain laughs, bright and too loud, making nathan's scowl deepen. "and?"

his jaw tightens slightly. "and i'm not waking her up."

gabe tilts his head, studying him in that way that feels a little too perceptive. the eggs sizzle un-attended on the stove, and he briefly leaves nathan to flip them.

"you sat with her last night." he notes, looking over his shoulder at him.

nathan stills for half a second.

"cale told me," gabe adds easily. "said you didn't leave until everything settled."

he shrugs, like it's nothing, even though his stomach suddenly feels queasy at the prospect of his friend being able to read him so well. because if gabe knows, then melissa knows and then you'll know.

jesus, he needs to like go home or something.

"she wasn't feeling good." nathan answers like that all there is to it.

"right." gabe can only muse, but its layered. because he knows that nathan doesn't do this kind of shit. go to clubs, take care of drunk girls. fucking hold their hair back while they puke. its easy to see that nathan is down bad for you, no matter how much he tries to hide it from you, his friends, and himself.

thankfully, gabs doesn't add to that, only sliding a mug of decaf coffee across the counter until it sits between nathan's clenched fists.

and all the nova scotia native can do is pick up the mug and takes three scolding gulps.

PART THREE: 99 sonny angels on the wall

the next few months of nathan's life continue the exact same way they have since the moment he met you—switching between watching you from afar with his heart in his ass, and watching you up close, lightheaded from your scent, your smile, your laugh, and everything else about you.

at this point, it's more obvious than it's not. because nathan is almost giving up on try to hide it more so than he is trying to come across indifferent. he just can't with you.

it starts ramping up in the way all good things do, two weeks before the season is supposed to really start. cale and tracy are hosting an intimate engagement party that nathan just so happened to be invited to. and knowing you'd obviously be there—in the wedding party and the sister of the groom—he made sure to dress up as nice as he could with his lack of nice yet casual fashion knowledge, spray on cologne and prepare to spend an unknown amount of hours with you.

you'd been wearing some flowy and butter yellow. that's the first thing nathan noticed when he arrived halfway into the afternoon. you'd also been fluffing about a long desert table, telling one of tracey's college friends all about how the count bites were to die for. he had gravitated towards you without even realizing he was doing so.

up close, he could see that you were a little glassy eyed and flushed. but smiling so wide. always smiling. and the second your eyes landed on him, you gasped and skipped right up to his chest.

"nate!" you had beamed, tugging at the open collar of his linen button down. "I made you something." and nathan let you pull him around the backside of the table, a little dazed and totally not watching the way your hips swayed under your dress.

"cookies." you brightened when his eyebrows raised a fraction. "I looked up your whole, like, superstar diet thing," you explained, waving a hand vaguely. "and I made them with all the stuff you're allowed to have. less sugar, more...whatever it is you eat. they actually turned out really good."

he almost wanted to tell you everything in that very moment—seconds and one half bitten cookie away from dragging you further into the garden to kiss you silly.

but he didn't.

and then the season started, and where nathan should've been completely focused on hockey and his own high performance schedule, he was focused on you.

your name brought up in passing in the locker room? nathan's head was snapping up to listen in. cale mentioning his family coming down to watch a game? nathan's wondering if you'll be with them. a dinner at a teammates house? nathan's all nonchalant (no he's not) wondering if you'll be attending.

then there was that one dinner party at the kadri's, where you were sat next to nathan. he'd been trying not to look at you because he was trying to remain composed, but you laughed at something ej said and put your hand on nathan's thigh—and he almost choked on his steak, leaving him a coughing blubbering mess while you thumped on his spine and ej just laughed at the ordeal.

and he couldn't even be mad about it, because you were so concerned, and so sweet and made some little joke about not choking for you again anytime soon. nathan almost said something back about that, but he bit his tongue.

because it isn't just the fact that you’re cale's sister—though that alone would make things complicated. it's that, in his mind, you and him exist on completely different wave lengths. you're soft where he's sharp. impulsive where he's careful. open in ways nathan's never quite learned how to be. and the thought of trying—of actually letting himself have you, let himself feel what it would like to call you his beyond the walls of his mind—sort of scares him.

because if it falls apart, if the differences between you nathan is so sure will break you actually do, then he doesn't just loose the possibility of you, but he looses you entirely.

and nathan knows, deep down, that once he crosses that line and even has a piece of you, going back to pretending you're nothing to him won't just be hard—it'll be messy and impossible.

so once again, once he just can't. or rather, he's trying really hard not to.

—

nathan's barely out of the locker room post game, still half in that post win haze—adrenaline not fully settled, teammates talking over each other in the background—when he hears your voice mixed in with some of the WAGs and lingering teammates.

you're leaning on a wall next to melissa, baby luke cuddled in your arms like he's yours. you're rambling about something that based on the twinkle in your eye, clearly feels urgent to you and absolutely not to anyone else.

he laughs through his nose at that, a breathy little sound only for his own ears. and the closer he gets, the easier your words are to make out.

"...and it's literally just been on my floor for, like, a week," you huff, exasperated. "because I thought I could build it myself, which—clearly—was a mistake."

nathan glances over, just as tracy snorts. "how hard can a bookshelf be to build?"

the sound of you pressing a loud kiss on the baby’s cheek sounds before you answer your sister-in-law. "you tell me, trac. seriously, damn you ikea and your minimalistic instructions."

truly, nathan meant to just walk past you. swear. sure, if you noticed him and said something, nathan would've obviously said hello. he's trying to be respectful, not an asshole. but that just goes straight down the drain the second your eyes lock.

"nate," you smile, sliding next to him like a magnet. "good game."

he tickles under luke's chin—because how else are you supposed to great a smiley baby?—and then looks back at you. too blinded by your pretty face to form a response that's not stupid, he just mumbles—"you watched?"

then his eyes fall closed because immediately he wants to take it back. obviously you watched the game because here you are, standing in front of him with a family & friends pass hanging from your neck.

but you only laugh and bump your elbow against his arm. "always," you say instead.

nathan is sure you're trying to kill him with that. he watches, a little dazed, as you pull down luke's little jersey, dividing your attention between the baby and your friends who have moved on from the whole book shelf debacle he overheard.

then before he can think better, nathan gently gets your attention, this time by brushing his elbow against your torso. it's subtle, but it works and you peer up at him, pretty.

"I can help," he swallows, then continues, "with your book shelf."

at first, you just blink at him, but as the words register, a big grin splits across your face. "you can?"

he nods. "yes."

you breath a sigh of relief and almost sag into him. "please, yes. a million times yes. there are too many screws and the instructions are like, aggressive but also lacking."

"aggressive?" his smirk is full of amusement, and you mirror it.

"don't judge until you see them."

"alright," he holds up a hand in surrender, "not until I see them."

—

a few days later, nathan mackinnon finds himself standing in your apartment and is instantly overwhelmed. because he's never been in your space before. sure, he's imagined every single corner, but his imagination pales in comparison to the real thing. it's just so...you.

colourful with big open windows, curtains that are nothing but beads. it's cluttered, but not messy. never dirty. and it smells like you, so much so that when you first opened the door for him and the scent wafted out, nathan had to hold himself up on the door frame.

and it didn't help that you looked like a dream. hair pulled back into two twisty braids. wearing a open button down with a paint mark on the cuff, paired with sun coloured dungarees.

even now, sitting on a fuzzy area rug that resembles a cat more than anything else, instruction sheet held in his calloused hands, nathan can't help but to keep stealing quick glances at you.

wood panels are scattered all around like they've been there since you unpacked them. knowing you, they truly have. nathan hums, flipping a page.

"well?" you ask, sitting crossed legged beside him, gesturing to the instruction.

"these are fine."

"they're not fine," you argue, handing him something that may or may not be the right piece. "they skip steps."

he smiles down at the papers. "they don't skip steps."

you frantically move your finger between two of the steps. you definitely think they don't make sense, but they totally do. "see this?" you look at nathan, exasperated. "they imply steps."

he exhales, but there's no real bite to it. instead he puts them down and reaches for two of the wood panels. "hold this."

and you do. for the most part. your attention drifts every few seconds while you loosely attempt to assist nathan in the bookshelf endeavours, bouncing between him, your phone and the pile of things that still haven't been put away—books, yes, but also a concerning number of stuffed animals that have somehow migrated into the construction zone.

it takes less than an hour to build, which is kind of disappointing because nathan doesn't want to leave you in your element so soon. so he lingers purposefully. not that he needs to make an excuse though, because you're grabbing at his wrist like a kid and asking him to help you put everything on the new shelves.

obviously, he tried to play it nonchalant and like, pretended he didn't want to stick around. "I just built it." nathan had reminded you, secretly hoping you'd keep pushing.

"and now you help style it," you replied, like it was obvious and thank jesus.

it started somewhat normal considering he is always one second away from loosing it around you. books get stacked together and sorted by author and series. apparently it's a system, at least that what you told him when you stepped back for the 10th time to admire the aesthetic.

it makes absolutely no sense to nathan, but he doesn't complain. just offers appropriate hums and nods when you ask him if the boys of tommen series looks good next to the chestnut springs series. whatever that means.

it's not until you start asking him where the stuffed coffee cup should go that he raises a brow. "you've got more stuffies than books." it's not true, but he can't resist teasing you in his own, awkward way.

and it works—you gasp, offended but also not at all. "that's just a lie! and they add decorum anyways."

"right," he mutters, clearly unconvinced, picking up a small figure from the pile. he turns it over in his hand, frowning. "are these...naked babies?"

you immediately grab it back. "they're called sonny angels, you wouldn't get it."

"that's doesn't answer anything."

"they're cute." you pout, holding a baby dressed like a strawberry up to your cheek.

nathan has to swallow back his initial reaction. because you look so fucking cute, all pouty and big eyed like the baby figurine you're holding. instead of leaning down and kissing the pout off your mouth though, he just plucks the figurine out of your hand.

"they're weird." he muses, turning it and flipping it over. his frown deepens when he sees it's actually fucking naked.

"they're collectible," you correct, snatching it right back and then placing it carefully on the shelf in front of some brightly coloured books.

for a moment, it's like his body forgets that you're you—the biggest infatuation of his mind, and the blood pumping through his veins. the reason he considers forgetting his entire moral system.

nathan smiles behind your back. before he gets too distracted looking at your pink painted toenails or the exposed nape of your neck, he reaches for another book apart of one of the many stacks sitting on the rug.

you watch him over your shoulder as he flips it, scanning the back. "what are these about?"

"romance."

he glances up. "all of them?"

you shrug and take it from it. "mostly."

there's a pause—one of those quiet, suspended moments where you can practically see the gears turning in his head. his eyes narrow just slightly, like he's trying to piece something together, and then—"...do they have... sex stuff in them?" he asks, the question coming out slower than expected, cautious in a way that almost feels studied.

you freeze. just for a second. and then the realization hits in a blinding flash. a slow, dangerous grin spreads across your face—bright, delighted, a little bit wicked.

nathan sees it happen in real time, and immediately regrets everything.

"oh my god," you breathe, like you've just uncovered something priceless, waving the book between you like a toy.

"what?" he mutters, defensive already, even though he's not entirely sure why.

"you don't know?"

"I didn't say I don't know."

"but you asked."

"I was asking like—generally," he insists, crossing his giant arms like that somehow solidifies his point.

"yeah," you nod, already turning toward the shelf, fingers skimming over the spines like you're browsing for something specific now. "they do."

nathan watches you, dread settling low in his stomach as he clocks the way you're enjoying this. "don't—"

but the protest comes too late because you've already pulled a different book free, flipping it open with an ease that suggests you've done it a million times. your thumb slides along the pages, scanning quickly, eyes darting—and then you stop, whole face lighting up.

"oh, this is a good one," you say, barely containing your excitement.

"don't read it out loud."

you clear your throat dramatically anyway, because of course you're not going to listen. nathan's stomach already feels tightly coiled, and he exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "seriously—"

you start reading, way too happy. "his tongue licks up her dripping folds, lapping up her sweet and sticky arousal," you quote, unaffected as you continue. every word lands clearly, every implication slipping into the space between you, every line getting a little more suggestive, a little more pointed the longer you go.

nathan goes still at first. like if he doesn't react, it won't register to the part of brain that controls his dick. then he stiffens—subtly, but noticeably—because obviously he's getting hard. how can he not when the girl of his dress is reading him porn. her own book with porn!

so he gets busy. very deliberately busy. he reaches for a stack of books beside him, shifts them, straightens them, picks one up just to put it back down again. his movements are controlled, purposeful—but his ears are turning red now.

then quickly the color spreads, creeping down the back of his neck.

and you notice of course, because now you're giggling, making your voice wavers like you're trying not to. you keep going, dragging out a line just a little longer than necessary. "and as he pushes his rock hard length into her tiny entrance, they both let our guttural sounds."

"okay," nathan cuts in finally, sharper than he means it to be.

but you don't stop because that's just not in you're nature. because you're enjoying this.

you push through another sentence, then another, eyes flicking up just in time to catch the exact moment it clicks for him—that you're not stopping.

"you're unbelievable," he mutters, but there's no real bite to it. just tension. something tight and coiled underneath.

you snap the book shut with a soft thud, grinning up at him like you've just won something. you eye his flush. "oh, you loved that."

"I didn't."

"you so did." you move closer, and he swallows. "maybe you've just found your new favourite form of porn."

"I don't..." he stops himself, laughing once. "you're so—"

"you're blushing." you snicker, poking his cheek.

"i'm not."

"you are," you insist, stepping even closer—enough to close some of the space between you. enough that he has to look down slightly to meet your eyes. "it's cute."

and that doesn't something, deep in his stomach. right between his ribs. everywhere. nathan mackinnon feels those two words, and the way you’re gazing up at him, everywhere.

his jaw tightens, shoulders shifting like he's trying to reset himself—like he's trying very hard to stay in control of whatever is happening.

"put the books away," he says instead, voice lower than possible.

you hum, clearly pleased with yourself, turning back to the shelf. your fingers trail along the spines again, slower this time, like you're considering your next move. but you're still smiling.

mostly because you can feel his eyes on you, tracking every step. and he doesn't even care that you're aware. he's not avoiding, or trying to distract himself from your smile or scent. instead, nathan is basking in it all.

he steps towards you without thinking just as you reach for another book with the cartoon cover—how can something so innocent be so filthy, nathan wonders.

you didn't hear him move, but suddenly he's right there, just behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the faint brush of his arm near yours. and your breath catches—just slightly.

slowly, you turn your head, and find he's already looking at you. the air has shifted now, and not just because of the smutty words exchanged between you. it's because of your proximity. proximity that for the first time since you've met, he’s initiated.

your hand is still on the book, but you've forgotten about it entirely now.

his gaze drops—just briefly—to your mouth, and then back up again. it's subtle enough, but also not at all because he's physically unable to hold himself accountable anymore.

obviously you catch it, because how could you not? your heart stutters, just once. "what?" you murmur, soft like the teasing edge has slipped into something else entirely.

he doesn't answer right away. instead, his eyes search your face, like he's trying to decide something. like he's right on the edge of it—the edge of really doing it this time.

you don't move. don't breathe. don't dare break whatever this is.

nathan lifts his hand, a little hesitant, then settles it lightly against the shelf beside your head, caging you in without quite touching you.

your lips part slightly, anticipation curling low in your stomach, your pulse loud in your ears as he inches closer. is this it? is the moment that, unbeknownst to everyone else including nate, you've also been wanting. needing.

but then—he huffs out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh, and shakes his head just slightly as he pulls back. nathan pushes off the shelf, "we should finish up."

you blink, still caught halfway in the moment. your body a step behind your brain. you watch as he turns away, picking up a stack of dark romance books you've never read because they kind of scares you.

you take them from his hands. the knowing look in your gaze shouldn't surprise him, but it does. "you were gonna kiss me," you state, narrowing your eyes at him.

despite the blush that's been adorning his face for the greater part of the evening, nathan pales.

"I wasn't."

"you were."

"I wasn't."

you stare at him for a beat and then grin. and that's when nathan knows he's ultimately screwed. instead of doing what he should—throw those books to the floor, grab your face and kiss you until you're both dizzy—he’s backing down. he's incapable of committing to you. because he can't no matter how badly he wants to.

instead, he scoffs, not looking at you now. he reaches past you to grab the book from your hand and shove it back onto the shelf.

"put. the books. away." nathan reiterates.

you just laugh softly, leaning back just a little. still entirely too close for his hearts sake. "yeah," you murmur. "okay."

you don't let it get awkward. in all honesty, you pretty much allow the space for nathan to forget it even happened. which he can't decide if he hates or not yet. easy conversation flows between you as you finish putting away all your books and trinkets, and soon enough, the red hue leaves his cheeks and everything goes back to how it was.

nathan watching wishfully from a distance and you pretending you don't realize.

—

cale makar

to nathan mackinnon

heard you helped my sister build her bookshelves. and apparently she read to you? whatever that means

cale makar

to nathan mackinnon

bro you're so whipped

PART FOUR: a love like that

by the time 7:30 rolls around, the movie night you planned with your friends seems to be unraveling. on your phone screen, a list of sorry's and babe i'm gunna have to reschedule's sit. ashley can't come cause nylah is running a fever, and when one kid gets sick, so do the others, meaning melissa and gabe are also out. and tracy got her dates mixed up, and she has to be up early for a flight, so there goes that. cale said he'd come, but you waved him off.

now you sit cross legged in the middle of your couch, staring at the wall like it might change everything. you're not mad per say, it's just—you bought all the good snacks and wine and we're gunna order a pizza and just chill.

but now you're alone, lights dimmed just right, throw blankets ready for people who won't be occupying them, and a big glass of wine you've already polished off.

fuck, you even vacuumed. which is crazy.

"i'm so tragic," you groan to yourself as you flop back against the cushions dramatically. the tv glows painterly across from you, sitting on the netflix home page.

you can't help but sigh wistfully and reach for another slug of wine, this time right from the bottle. once again, you're not mad, but you've just been looking forward to it all day and ugh! for the first time ever, you're feeling truly upset you don't have a husband and family like your friends do.

it's just you and your snacks and wine.

you're mid tying your hair back when a knock sounds at the door. and for a moment, you freeze. because who changed there mind? who's kid miraculously got better?

wait.

the sound comes again, softer this time, like whoever's out there knows you're home. and remembering who you invited know, you know there's one person who didn't cancel—one who would never.

you're off the couch in seconds, nearly tripping over one of your carefully placed blankets on the way before you yank the door open—and there he is.

nathan is standing there like he belongs on your doorstop, a soft blush on his cheeks like he's remembering exactly what happened last time he was in your place. you let your eyes briefly wander over his outfit—a dark hoodie and sweats. he looks comfy and ready for a movie. and maybe it's because you thought everything went into the toilet tonight, but the idea that he came prepared makes your heart swell.

you're completely at odds with the way your brain short circuits for a second. "you came," you say after a beat, a little breathless.

and knowing nothing about the evening besides everyone getting together for a movie, he just looks down at you like that's a strange thing to say. "I said I would."

"I know, but—" you wave a hand vaguely, stepping aside to let him in. "everyone else canceled."

"oh." he hums, almost freezing at the revelation that you're about to be alone. together. again. thankfully, he manages to move his cement filled feet and slip off his shoes—without being asked, of course.

and then he's moving like he knows the space, which is a way he does. h nathan walks into the living room, huffing what sounds like a laugh as he looks over your snack filled coffee table.

you follow. "you don't have to stay."

but much to your surprise, he just shrugs, easy, like it's nothing. "It's fine."

something warm and steady settles under your ribs. "okay," you say, breezing past his ridged body to plop back into your favourite spot. middle cushion, duh. you purse your lips and look up at him, "then you're stuck with me."

he glances between you and the cushion next to you warily before settling down beside you. thigh pressing into yours, arm too. it's nice. he's nice. and warm and big and smells like a clean shower.

your grab a blanket to distract yourself from like, grabbing him.

"what are we watching?" he asks.

the grin you give him is involuntary. "it was going to be that new action movie, but know that it's just us...i'm thinking something more, light hearted."

nathan exhales through his nose, already bracing. "what?"

"10 things I hate about you, obviously. you said you've never seen it," you tell him, pointing at him with the remote like you've just caught him in something incriminating. "it's perfect."

"perfect for who?"

"for me," you reply shamelessly.

he snickers under his breath, but there's no real bite. only adoration.

the movie starts, filling the room with familiar dialogue and the soft glow of shifting scenes. instantly, you're locked in—quoting under your breath, reacting before things happen, occasionally glancing over to gauge his response like it's a test.

at first, nathan doesn't give anything away. arms crossed loosely, posture relaxed but not fully sunk into the couch. eyes on the screen in that deliberate, observant way—like he's studying it instead of watching it.

"you're analyzing it," you accuse quietly about 30 minutes in.

he looks over at you, momentarily dazed at how you look under the glow from the tv. "i'm watching it."

you only laugh, nudge him once and then return to your attention back to the screen. but nathan? he lets his gaze linger on your profile for a moment longer than he should.

it's not soon after you pause the movie because you're hungry. nathan's immediate reaction is to make a comment about the food on the table, in which you respond with a almost slurred need for pizza. he orders it on his phone because you get distracted explaining a scene that hasn't even happened yet.

the door bell rings soon after because he paid extra for express delivery. he also gets up before you can even blink, which is just hot for no reason.

when he walks back into your living space, holding a pizza box in just one hand, the smell of warmth and grease and saucy immediately invades your senses.

"ohmygod," you exclaim so quick it all blends together into one word, "smells like sex."

he shoots you an amused look as he puts down the box next to the wine bottle and the untouched popcorn, but you don't notice because you're too busy flipping open the cardboard lid and sniffing like a mad woman.

"dinner," he says before sitting back down.

you grab a slice and it hits your wrist, which only makes your mouth water. nathan raises a brow as your eyes meet, but instead of answering with words you just take a messy bite—grease and sauce smearing on your cheek.

"you having some?" you ask him through a mouthful.

he shrugs, "I don't eat that stuff during the season."

"boooooo!" you chant until he laughs. but you're not done being a slim, because you dance the slice in his direction, as if trying to tempt him. it doesn't. "don't think about it," you tell him, mouth still unattractively full. "just experience joy."

he pushes your hand away. "I experience joy."

"you observe joy from a distance," you correct, eyebrow quirked knowingly. "do it for my shit movie night."

nathan sighs, a little reserved, but when your pleading eyes don't waver, he's already got his mind made up. there's a long second where he just looks at you, but then—like he's making a conscious decision to ruin his own reputation—he reaches forward and grabs a slice.

a slow grin covers your face as you chew, and before you can think otherwise, you grab your phone and start recording. because this is like, unheard of.

"oh my god, is nathan mackinnon about to eat something with grease?" you whisper dramatically, camera pointed at him.

he pauses, looking between your eyes and the lens. "put your phone down." he says, but he's already grinning.

"no, I have to record this for the future. this is gold."

"oh my god."

you grin, unwavering, holding your ground.

nathan takes a bite then, because it'll make you happy. he chews thoughtfully, enjoying the flavour, because let's be honest, it's been so long since he's eaten something this unhealthy.

and you gasp. naturally.

he keeps chews, expression carefully blank, but you can see it—the flicker, and the split second shift when he realizes grease can be good.

"say something," you urge quietly.

"i'm not saying anything."

"you love it."

"I didn't say that."

"you love it." you beam, "admit it. grease is fucking delicious. maybe not for the gut, but for the soul."

nathan exhales something that sounds suspiciously like a laugh as he drags a hand down his face. "you're so stupid." but he says it with so much softness that you want to kiss him.

you eat almost half the pizza, and nathan only manages to polish off one slice. but you'll take it. the movie keeps playing, beating the climax of the plot.

you've shifted closer to him without realizing it—if that was even possible. the blanket you'd been using has somehow started to spill onto his lap, and your shoulder is practically in his armpit. your legs are tucked under you now, angled slightly toward him, like your body's made the decision before your brain has.

and nathan doesn't move because of he wouldn't dream of it.

the sven plays out, and instinctively you turn to look at nathan, wanting to catch his reaction. but when you do, you find him already looking at you.

the moment stretches like molasses. the movie plays on, familiar lines and voices filling the room, but it all fades—background noise to something quieter and fragile. because neither of you look away.

"watch the movie," he says quietly.

"you're not watching it."

"I am."

"you're not." you challenge, voice barley above a whisper.

the only answer he can manage is to look back at the movie, but it says enough.

when the movie ends and the familiar credits roll, it's probably late enough for it to be concerning. you're both completely sunk into the couch, and you've toed the pizz box away so nathan has somewhere to rest his sock covered feet.

"...I want that," you murmur suddenly—wishfully—almost to yourself.

nathan's attention shifts immediately. he lazily looks over at you. "want what?"

you don't meet his gaze right away. for a beat, your attention stays on the screen, following the moment as it unfolds. "love," you clarify, quieter now. "I want a love like that."

you're not sure why you tell him that. but it's the kind of honesty that slips out when you're comfortable. when your guard is down. when you're not thinking about how it sounds. and maybe it's lingering longing from earlier about feeling alone, or maybe it's something else entirely.

it's all the same when you watch nathan go still. it's subtle enough, but you're still pressed together, so even if it was just a hitched breath, you would've felt it.

he holds your gaze. his hand, resting near yours on the couch over the throw, flexes once—like he's about to reach for you but can't quite get there.

"you will."

your voice goes soft. "you think so?"

nathan swallows down the lump in his throat. he could say it then. tell you, right here. right now. tell you that he knows you'll get a love like that, because he already feels that way for you, and whether you know it or not, you have it.

and just for a second, the admission is on the tip of his tongue.

and you can see it. clear as anything. it's in the way his expression changes, and in the way something deeper pushes past the usual control he keeps locked in place.

his gaze drops briefly to your mouth, then back to your eyes, like he's weighing something, like he's standing right on the edge of it.

"I—" but he stops, words hanging in the space between you like a vice.

your heart stutters with disappointment.

nathan exhales as every fear and doubt about telling you how he feels climbs up his throat. no matter how badly he wants to say it, he can't risk it. can't risk the possibility of loosing you.

the moment folds back in on itself, the walls snapping back into place like they were never down to begin with.

"you will," nathan says instead, quieter this time, like he's settling on something safer. "you deserve that."

not knowing what to say without telling him exactly how you feel about another failed kiss, you just study for a moment. and as you do, underneath the shadows cast from the tv and the hard exterior he blankets his face with, you can see there something there. making him hold back.

"okay," you say finally, just as soft.

he doesn't stay much longer after that. muttering I should go while the credits nears the end—because you'd been too dazed to stop them from rolling—already standing from the couch and leaving you feeling cold. and you had just nodded, and instead of asking him a million questions like you want to, you walk him to the door.

there's a moment there—of course there is—where you both linger a second too long. nathan's hand brushes yours as he reaches for his shoes. your breath catches for no good reason. and he looks at you like he's about to say something again. but you already know he won't.

"thanks for coming," you mumbled, leaning against the wall.

he pauses, and then—"goodnight y/n."

the second the door closes behind him, it all hits you. from the moment you met all those summers ago with the season looming around you, to all the barbecues and birthdays and every quiet moment in between.

you stand there for a moment, staring at nothing, back against the door now—the quiet of your apartment pressing in loud.

what the hell was that?

you replay it instantly—the couch, the way nathan looked at you, the almost. the very obvious, very real almost. the way he started to say something and then didn't. the way his eyes dropped to your mouth like—god.

why didn't he kiss you?

It wasn't just in your head, you think you know that much. because It couldn't have been. because if you felt it—he felt it. that kind of moment doesn't just happen for no reason. people don't look at each other like that and then just...leave like it's another day accomplished.

unless you've read everything wrong. because maybe this entire time you thought you've discovered who the enigma that is nathan mackinnon, and what makes him tick. but maybe—just maybe—you've been mistaking every snear for a smile. every awkward laugh as a pleased one.

your stomach twists at the idea that you've been sitting here for years building something up that was never actually there in the first place.

"no," you mutter, grabbing your phone, pacing once across your living room before turning sharply back. "no, i'm not doing this."

it won't be another night of wondering. not another week of overanalyzing every look, every word, every almost until you drive yourself crazy. if you've been wrong, you need to know now.

if he's going to confuse you—whether it was accidental or on purpose or you're just going crazy—he can deal with the consequences.

"okay," you say to yourself, already pulling on your shoes, barely even thinking about it. "fine. great. perfect."

and then you do something any slightly insane girl would do—call and uber and give him nathan's address.

—

by the time you're standing outside his place, your heart is beating so hard it feels ridiculous. because this is insane. you know that. but you also know you're not one to brush this kind of shit under the rug, if there's something that needs to be said, you're ready to hear it. no more pussy footing around.

you knock before you can overthink it. and then you're immediately holding your breath, panicking while your hand is frozen in place mid air.

then the door opens.

nathan blinks in surprise, obviously not expecting to see you all things considered, hair slightly messier than before, hoodie swapped for a t shirt now. he looks soft, but also more off-guard than you've maybe ever seen him.

"y/n? are you okay? what are you doing here?"

his eyes roam over you, looking for injuries or an answer you haven't given him. he steps out into the porch, eliminating a foot of space between you.

you don't give yourself time to hesitate, words coming out firmer than you intended. "do you hate me or something?"

his brows pull together immediately. "what?"

"I mean," you huff a laugh, hands slapping the sides of your thighs as you drop them, "I thought you liked me. I thought that I made you nervous or something—but it's been years and i'm starting to think I got the wrong impression."

he just stares at you for a second, like his brain is trying to catch up to the fact that you're here. now. saying this. because how could you ever think that? sure, nathan thinks, he has never been forthcoming with your about his feelings, but he's sure he's never given the impression that he hates you. right?

"do you...want to come inside?"

you blink. "do you want me to come inside?"

a beat. he swallows, fingers twitching like he's trying not to touch you. "yes. I do."

your chest tightens, even though you're trying to remain neutral. you tilt your chin up, "then yes."

nathan steps back without another word, gesturing for you to go ahead.

you walk past him, heart in your throat, door clicking shut behind you with a finality that makes everything feel suddenly, terrifyingly real.

there's a moment of silence. mostly because you don't have a plan and you're already regretting it.

"I don't hate you, y/n."

you turn to face him, arms crossed like a shield. "no?"

he shakes his head, stepping a little closer, voice quieter now. "never."

the word lands between you, steady and certain, and it does nothing to calm the way your chest is rising and falling like you've just run all the way here instead of taking an uber.

"okay," you breathe, but it comes out thinner than you mean it to. "then you can't just—" you gesture vaguely between the two of you, frustration bleeding through now that you're here, now that you've started, "—do that and then leave."

his brow furrows. "do what?"

"you know what," you insist, stepping closer without really deciding to. "the couch. the looking at me like you were about to—" you cut yourself off, exhaling sharply. "you almost said something."

and based off the look in your gaze, nathan knows you don't just mean tonight. his jaw tightens slightly. "I didn't."

"you did. you do," you push. "and then you just...shut it down. like always."

"that's not—"

"It is," you interrupt, softer now but more certain. "you get right up to the edge of something real and then you just—pull back. like it doesn't even matter."

"It does matter," he says immediately, stepping closer.

"then why have you never kissed me?"

at that, the room goes silent. your breath catches, eyes never leaving his. there's no taking it back. not that you would, but the idea is almost suffocating. alan or as much as the way he's looking at you.

his eyes bore into yours—like the question physically hit him. like he wasn't expecting you to say it out loud even though it's been sitting there for god knows how long now, obvious and unavoidable.

your heart is pounding, loud enough you're sure he can hear it. "well?" you press.

he exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, pacing once like he needs the movement just to think. "it's not that simple."

"then explain it to me," you fire back. "because for me, it is."

the quick pace he'd been doing comes to a stop as his eyes meet yours again. there's something less guarded about his gaze now, but it comes with a rise of concern. "you want me to be honest?" he asks.

your stomach flips and then flips again—because like usual, you're not sure what to expect from him. "yeah," you swallow, nervous, and continue, "I came all the way here, didn't I?"

a beat passes between you, and then he takes a step closer. "I didn't kiss you," nathan says, voice low, and rough around the edges, "because if I did, I wouldn't be able to stop." the air leaves your lungs as he continues, "and I don't trust myself to do that halfway. I can do that with you."

"why not?" your pulse stutters, heat rushing up your neck.

"because it won't be just a kiss for me," he admits. and as he continues, a weight begins to ease off his rigid shoulders. "It wouldn't be something I could just walk away from after. It wouldn't be something I could pretend didn't change everything. because for me it would be more."

you swallow. "and that's a bad thing?"

"yes," nathan says—too quickly and it makes you flinch. at that, his expression shifts immediately—because he doesn't mean it that way. he could never.

"no," he corrects, softer. "not bad. just—" he exhales, frustrated now, searching for words he clearly doesn't like having to say out loud. "complicated."

"complicated how?" you almost whine, defeat weighing on you now. and it hits nathan right in the gut—because how can he make you understand when he barley knows himself.

"you're—" nathan stops himself after a pause, then shakes his head once like he's trying to recalibrate. "you matter too much."

"that doesn't make any sense."

he moves towards you, stopping so close that you're almost pressed together. "It does to me." he admits, voice so quiet it's almost impossible to register.

"then help me understand," you say, meeting his gaze as you take that final sliver of space and crush it. chest to chest. "because right now it just sounds like you're scared of something that hasn't even happened."

"I'm not scared," he snaps, automatic, that media trained side of the best atheist in the world coming to the surface. it makes your raise almost a playful yet knowing brow. nathan huffs, quieter this time. "okay. maybe I am."

you soften, just a little. "of me?"

his gaze drops to your mouth again—quicker this time, like he doesn't mean to, like it's instinct. maybe it is. "of what happens if I let myself have you."

that does it. you can't help the laugh that bubbles out of your mouth. because hearing that has everything in your chest just—clicking into place.

"nate," you start, placing your palm on his stomach. "the only things what happen is that i'd let you."

nathan blinks at you like he's fighting something—like every instinct he has is telling him to hold the line, to keep things where they are, safe and controlled and unchanged. but he's losing. you can see it.

"y/n—"

"tell me you don't want to kiss me," you interrupt him gently.

there's a choking, thick beat before he closes the small distance left between you, one hand coming up—hesitant for only a fraction of a second before it settles at your jaw, thumb brushing lightly along your cheek like he's testing something fragile.

"I can't tell you that because it wouldn't be true."

your nose brushes his, a smile beginning to take its way over your face. "so maybe you should stop lying to yourself...and just let this happen."

"yeah," he says, voice dipping lower as he finally closes that distance and kisses you. it's not tentative, or unsure. it's everything he's been holding back all this time. yet it's controlled, but only barely, like he's still trying to keep a grip on it even as it slips.

nathan's hand tightens just slightly against your jaw, tilting your head as he pulls you closer—he's been thinking about this for a long time, and he's finally giving himself permission.

your hands bunches in his shirt without thinking, gripping, grounding, and pulling him in like you're afraid he might disappear if you don't.

but he doesn't, because of course he doesn't.

if anything, he deepens it—just a fraction. just enough to make your head spin. just enough to prove his point of you being more to him than just this.

when nathan pulls back, it's only far enough to properly peer down at you. breathing uneven, and forehead almost brushing yours.

"that's why," he says quietly.

and you don't have to ask him to explain.

PART FIVE: the kat stratford ending

1 year later

you're wedged into the corner of cale's sectional that's definitely too small for the number of bodies currently occupying it, one of nathan's hoodies swallowing your hands, socked feet tucked under his thigh like it's second nature.

because now, it is.

the tv is on, but no one's really watching it. someone—probably mikko—has the remote, flipping channels with zero commitment while a half finished debate about something stupid unfolds in the background.

nathan's barley paying attention, to be honest. he's beside you, an arm slung across the back of the couch, fingers idly tracing patterns against your shoulder like he doesn't even realize he's doing it. every so often, his thumb will hook into the fabric of your sleeve, tugging you just a little closer without looking.

this close, he can smell that citrusy sweetness that used to haunt him. now, he craves it more than anything. nose brushing against your head as if trying to find the source.

a year ago, this would've short circuited his brain. you lean deeper into him, humming contently as you drop your head back to look at him.

"you're not even listening," you murmur, smiling.

"I am," he says automatically, but there's a familiar twinkle in his eyes that tells you he's totally lying.

"you're not."

"I know exactly what's happening," he insists.

"okay," you hum, amused. "then what are they arguing about?"

that has him pausing before taking a very educated guess. "hockey?" you just stare at him, brow quirked, and nathan shrugs, pressing his lips to your temple. not a kiss, just an absentminded brush. tender.

"that's usually a safe option." nathan says.

you huff a laugh and nudge him with your shoulder. his hand slides down your arm in response, settling warm and steady at your elbow.

across the room, your brother is watching. which is never a good sign because he likes to annoy you at the best of time. he leans back in his chair, eyes moving between the two of you with the kind of slow, knowing look that immediately makes you suspicious.

"what?" you ask in a way only a sibling could, narrowing your eyes.

he shrugs, way too casual. "nothing."

"that's not a nothing face."

he almost scoffs, "it's absolutely a nothing face."

"It's not," you say flatly. "you're about to say something annoying."

"I'm just saying," he starts, already grinning and you groan out a here we go. cale continues, "this is exactly how I pictured it."

nathan's hand stills slightly against your arm as he listens in.

you blink. "what is?"

"this," he repeats, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. "you. him. the whole—" he waves again, like the concept is too obvious to need words. "being in love thing."

in the past year, your relationship with nathan grew into something he used to have doubts about. being with each other has been easy and undeniable. he's still steady and guarded, while you're definitely still too bubbly to digest. but instead of how he feared that would pull you apart, it's made you both blossom.

whatever the odds felt like at the start, the two of you were always going to make sense. thinking about it now, nathan almost feels stupid for thinking your lack in similarities would be your demise.

mikko, from the other end of the couch, snorts. "took you guys long enough anyways."

now it's nathan turning to look. "excuse me?"

"I'm just being honest," the finland native muses, holding his hands up like he's not about to stir the pot anyway. "we all knew."

"you did not all know," nathan argues immediately.

gabe raises a brow from where he's sprawled out on the rug, luke between his thighs playing with a toy. "we absolutely did."

"no, you didn't," you say now, looking between all of them—which now includes mel, tracy and susanna who are nodding along knowingly. traitors. you practically squawk, "because if you did, someone could've maybe said something instead of letting me think I was insane for—" you cut yourself off, gesturing vaguely. "—for years."

"you were just as bad as each other," your sister in law speaks up, sending you a sheepish smile when you send her a baffled look. "we were just letting you two figure it out."

gabe hums, "don't lie tracy," the blonde directs his attention towards you then, "if it's any consolation, y/n, nathan was like immensely worse."

your boyfriend sits up. "hey, I wasn't that bad."

"you used to run away when she walked into a room."

melissa snorts, "one time you texted me trying to figure out what perfume she wears."

"you held her hair back when she puked."

"you built her a bookshelf dude."

"alright," nathan grumbles, cutting of his friends attack. but there's no bite there.

across the room, someone says something else because they can't help themselves from bugging you. mikko argues, cale throws a cushion at him, and the tv keeps playing something no one's watching—

But here, in this small space carved out between all of it nathan leans down just enough to press another quick kiss to your temple.

absentminded and certain. like it was always going to end up this way.

Sid:

Leaving with the guys, did your dinner come?

You:

Yes, it’s me, Chinese, and my show

Sid:

Maybe I’ll just come by you instead

You:

Go out with your team, captain

You smirk at the nickname, knowing it normally makes his face red when you call him that. And even in your crop top and shorts you feel hot at the thought, and you groan while trying to shove images of your best friend far from your mind.

It takes less than an hour for Sidney to text again, and you smirk when you read the messages.

Sid:

Not sure how well whiskey and the guys mix

You:

You sure it’s the guys it doesn’t mix well with? Or is it you

Sid:

Maybe a bit of both

Then, you’re just throwing away empty Chinese cartons when another text comes through.

Sid:

You’d tease Geno about his shirt tonight

You:

Why’s that?

You reply back, and laugh when you read his response.

Sid:

It’s got little penguins all over it

You smirk, laughing a bit as you type out your response.

You:

A bit on the nose, don’t you think?

Sid:

Maybe I’ll borrow it sometime

You:

That shirt is not allowed in my house

Sid:

So what happens if I come over wearing it?

You:

Who are you and what have you done with my stoic best friend?

Sid:

He’s me

You:

Well captain if you did, I’d make you take it off

Sid:

I’m going to borrow it

You bite your lip for a second, the flirting making your chest tighten in the best possibly way. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for you guys to do this, actually, it was very much in the ordinary. And each time you both get a bit less nervous about the things you say.

By 10pm, you’ve missed a few texts.

Sid:

This place is so loud, I’d much rather be watching you fawn over that guy in your tv show

Sid:

They have those fruity drinks you love

Sid:

Geno’s being an ass

Sid:

I’m definitely not being needy

You:

You? Needy? Never!

Sid:

Don’t make me come over there

You shake your head, sending Sidney a picture of yourself looking very unamused by that threat.

Sid:

Fuck

You:

You okay?

This response took a second, the bubble appearing, disappearing and appearing again before he responds with,

Sid:

Not after that picture

You:

Sid?

But he didn’t respond, not for a long while anyway. And you stare at the picture you sent, looking over your makeup free face, your black crop top, your shorts, the shine of your belly button piercing evident under the kitchen lights.

And it’s not until almost midnight that your phone lights up from him.

Sid:

Okay. Leaving

You:

Heading home?

Sid:

Home, yeah

You laugh, able to tell he’s obviously drunk, but you set your phone down on the counter top as you go to make tea. You’re deep in your own head when the doorbell rings. 12:16am, your stove tells you, and you furrow your brows at who the hell is at your house at this hour. But then your phone once again lights up.

Kris:

It’s us. Please open the door he’s getting heavy

You set everything down immediately, rushing towards the door as you unlock it and swing it open.

In front of you, on your front step, is Geno, Sid, and Kris. Both Geno and Kris’s arms holding Sidney up.

“Oh my.” You say, eyes widening at your best friend.

“Hi.” Sidney says, his eyes latching onto yours as he gives you a very drunk smile.

“Hi, Sid.” You say with a laugh, immediately moving to the side so Geno and Kris could bring him in.

“We tried.” Geno says, grunting as they haul him in and set Sidney onto your couch. “I say, Sid, we take you home now. He says no. Kris says, come on, you need sleep. He says no. Then he gives your address.”

Your gaze turns to Sid, who’s looking very flushed and very sheepish on your couch.

“I know it.” He says, tapping his temple, and Geno and Kris both look down so they don’t outright laugh at their very drunk captain.

You roll your eyes, walking towards the kitchen to grab him a glass of water, as you return his eyes travel from your face, down to your stomach. And they stay there.

“Sidney.” You say, and he moves, but his eyes stay glued in place. “My eyes are up here.” You say, and that breaks his concentration. “Were you just staring at my belly button piercing?” You ask with a laugh, and Sidney opens his mouth to respond, but it takes a second for words to come out.

“Yeah.” He finally says, no embarrassment behind it.

“You’ve seen it before you know.” You joke, thinking back to all the times you’ve been in a swimsuit or in a crop top during blistering hot summer days.

“Yeah.” He says, very seriously. “But usually I notice it and then I have to pretend I didn’t.”

The truth slips out and the three sober people all freeze. You bite back a laugh before turning to the two penguins players.

“Thank you for getting him here safely.” You say, and you follow Geno and Kris to the door.

“Text if he become worse.” Geno says, and you just smile and nod, closing the door gently behind them and locking it once more.

You head back to Sidney whose head is thrown back on your couch, his eyes closed.

“Sid.” You say gently, and he opens his eyes, blinking slowly trying to focus his vision.

“Let’s get you to bed.” You say, and he nods, before you reach out to help him stand. He stumbles almost immediately, and you plant your hand across his chest as you help steady him.

“Sorry.” He whispers, and you smile lightly, motioning for him to lean into you as much as he needs as you both slowly make your way to the bedroom.

He stares into the room as you make it past the door, and he gives out a heavy sigh.

“What?” You ask him, and he gives you a drunk smile.

“Smells good in here.”

“Smells like what?” You ask, helping him sit down on the edge of your bed.

“Home.” He says, his eyes so drunk and sparkly as he stares up at you.

Your heart squeezes, and for a second you want to lean down, to kiss his lips. But then you remind yourself that he’s drunk, and he’s your best friend. So you bite back your smile, hoping he doesn’t see it.

“Alright, you.” You say, motioning to his outfit. “Jacket off let’s go.”

He groans with a smile, but slowly starts removing his arms, he gets them stuck for a moment, and you hold the jacket still so he can fully pull his arms out.

“Shirt next.” You say, happy that the lights are dim in your bedroom so he doesn’t see the blush on your cheeks at your words. But you know there’s bound to be some sort of alcohol on his shirt, so it’s next to go.

His fingers fumble over the buttons, and he grunts in frustration.

“Y/N.” He says, looking at you again.

“Alright superstar, let me.” You say, your fingers moving down his chest, unbuttoning it carefully. You try your hardest to keep your eyes off of his chest, off of his abs, off of the chain you fantasize about more than you’d like to admit.

But you can tell Sidney is fully aware of you. Aware of your breathing, aware of your tongue wetting your lips as you work, aware of how his legs bracket you. And Sidney is so painfully aware that the person he’s in love with is undressing him, the shine of your piercing that he longs to kiss on his way down between your thighs is right in front of him.

“Arms.” You say, motioning for him to unfurl his grip from the edge of your bed so you could take the shirt off.

He listens to you, and you’re careful as you slide it off.

“Think you can manage your jeans?” You ask him, grabbing a spare set of shorts he left here one day, and handing them over.

“What if I say I can’t?” Sidney says, drunk confidence radiating off of him.

“Then I guess Geno can turn that car around and come help you.” You say in a teasing tone, one eyebrow raising in challenge.

Sidney laughs deeply, swaying a bit as he stands, and you turn around. You hear the shuffling, the unzipping of his jeans and the sound of soft swears as he gets the shorts on.

“Decent.” He says, and you turn around and blush instantly. The black shorts are tilted on his body. The hem pulled up high on his left side, while the right side sits very .. very .. low on his hips. His abs move as you stare, and your eyes trace the v-line leading down into his shorts.

“Jesus.” You say, and before you can even tell him to fix it, you find yourself doing it for him. You pull up one side, while lowering the other just a touch so the shorts sit horizontally on his hips.

“Sweetheart.” He mumbles, and you flush even worse at the nickname.

“Bed.” You say, only able to say one word due to how distracted you are. You pull down the comforter and sheet, and watch as Sidney slides in like he’s done it a thousand times. His face pressing down into your pillow, and a silly smile covers his lips.

“Smells like you.”

“So you’ve said.”

He hums, and you sigh.

“You need anything else?” You ask, pulling the comforter up a bit more.

“Where are you going?” He asks, sounding sad and panicked.

“The couch?” You respond with a question.

“No you’re not.” He says, and you laugh in a teasing way.

“Oh yes I am.”

“Stay.” He says, and the softness makes your knees buckle.

“Sid-“

“Please. Please stay.” He begs softly, and finally let out a sigh as you nod. Turning off one of the lights and crawling into your bed on the other side.

The sheets are cold, but you can feel his body heat radiating from where he’s laying. Sidney lasts all of five seconds before he’s pulling you towards him. One arm around your waist, the other curling into you along with the rest of him. This head lands on your chest, his legs beside yours under the sheets. And like you’ve done this a thousand times, like it was second nature, your arms go around him. One hand planting itself in his dark curls, the other stroking up and down his back.

Sidney shifts, cheek pressed against the soft fabric of your crop top, his hair brushing your chin.

“Your heart is beating fast.” He mumbles.

“That’s because you’re heavy.”

“No.” He says, calling you on your lie immediately. “You’re nervous.”

“You’re drunk and shirtless in my bed, Sid. I think I’m allowed to be a little nervous.” You say, and he is quiet for a moment. Before his body relaxes as you run your fingers through his curls slowly, scratching gently at his scalp.

“There you go.” You whisper, and your best friend melts further into you. You keep going, your other hand moving to rub into the muscles of his bare shoulder. And Sidney groans deeply into your chest. “Feels good?” You question, and Sid nods against your chest.

“Thank you.” He mumbles, his grip tightening slightly on your waist.

“Of course, superstar.” You whisper, and his shoulders shake once lightly before his breathing gets deeper, his fingers still holding you but a bit more relaxed than a few moments prior.

you're being snippy, you know you are, you can hear it in the way you answer questions and the look on people's faces around you.

the people around you love you, but they don't know. they don't know how the last three weeks has crept up on you, day after day slogging it at work, every evening spent in decision paralysis over the most basic of tasks because your head is left both exhaustingly full and totally empty.

sid see's it though. has been watching it happen since his season ended and yours properly began. summer is always busy for you, but it feels like this time you've run out of road earlier than you normally would, like you've no time to breath and regroup before the next big day demands you to run yourself ragged at the expense of every other facet of your life.

he's been trying to help too, but you won't let him of course, that stubborn part of your brain still refusing to accept help. you've only been together six months, and there's a part of you—one larger than you'd like to admit—that still doesn't trust that once he really sees you, burnt out and snippy and argumentative, that he'll see all that and disappear.

he doesn't though. isn't.

instead he's stood in front of you, having twirled you around from the group of people demanding more attention than you have the capacity to give at this party you didn't even want to go to, and he's pulling you into his arms, all soft linen and warmth and that all encompassing calm he seems to radiate.

"home?" he asks quietly, lips close enough to your ear they're almost touching.

you barely manage the nod of confirmation before he's squeezing you a little tighter before turning to make the rounds to say goodbye, slipping his car keys into your unclenched fist.

you take the irish goodbye option and slip out, finding his car in the small parking garage and sliding into the passenger seat.

you slide you arms through your bra straps, sloughing it off and sighing in relief at the now no longer constructing garment.

sid appears not long after, slipping into the drivers seat and backing out of the space.

by the time you get home, your brain has fully switched off, the only thought circling the drain is that you want your bed and you want sid with you.

he bends down as you step through the door, untying your shoes and placing a kiss just above your knee.

and then he's lifting you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms over his shoulders, head tucked into that soft fleshy bit below his neck and before his shoulder.

he walks you to your room, not bothering to flick any lights on other than his bedside lamp.

he lays you down, smiling softly as you reach for the t-shirt he left on the bed before you both left earlier, somewhat carelessly shucking off your clothes and letting the soft material settle over your shoulders.

you can't really explain it, how his smell calms you down, settles that part of your nervous system that demands everything to be a certain way.

once he's changed, he rests against the headboard, legs spread just enough that you can climb on his lap, wrap yourself around him just like before and finally relax.

"i love you" he says gently, pressing his lips to the side of your face.

"i love you too, thank you for getting me out" you reply, feeling a flicker of guilt for making him leave early, only smoothed over by the weight of his hand gliding up and down your spine with just the right amount of pressure.

_____

Max Verstappen has always been known for his temperament. The world of competitive racing seems tailor-made for someone like him. Someone who thrives on speed, the passion for racing, and the rush—a mixture of adrenaline and victories. But with every win, there seems to come a burden. The pressure when a race doesn't end as expected, when an overtake results in damage, or anything else that can set his short temper ablaze and make him snap. His temper causes problems, not only for himself but also for those around him who need to fix the damage. Sometimes, Max's emotions bubble up like a storm that can't be tamed, and those around him become the target.

Acting as the polar opposite of him is something only a few people on the Red Bull team manage: his race engineer GP, his PR Vicky, and others close to him, like his trainer and the bosses of Red Bull. Max likes his team as it is, but when Vicky has to step away due to illness, the team faces the bitter reality of figuring out who can accompany Max to his interviews. In the end, they settled on me. And while I would usually be happy with the promotion, given how Max Verstappen currently behaves, I'd rather be anywhere but close to him.

I've been working around the paddock for a few years now, usually keeping a close eye on the Red Bull juniors. They might have their PRs in the junior categories, but for certain duties, they want me there as well. Usually, I handle the pressure in the paddock easily, getting along with a few interviewers, joking with the drivers, and staying calm no matter what happens. Until I was ordered to work with Max.

The start of the season wasn't easy for Max or the team. Instead of winning by 20 seconds, they had to fight just to get onto the podium. It stirred tension, not only within the team but also making interviews harder. The interviewers obviously love the "downfall" of Red Bull, as they like to call it, while everyone wearing dark blue works on changing that direction. Working with Max during that time wasn't a pleasure—interviews were tense, he snapped at them more than once, and he'd already accumulated a few fines. Luckily for him, no race bans yet. Then, finally, Max made it back to the top step, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he was grinning brightly.

He even hugged me, and I thought that would be the turning point—the moment he evolved from the snapping, hunting lion to the leader of the pride again. But oh, I was so wrong. Even though Max managed to win with great overtakes, the interviewers still found a way to turn his happy energy into a storming one.

"Max, you had quite a few rough patches this season," the interviewer starts, and I tense up. Hopefully, this is just a review of the season and how he managed to turn things around today, but luck isn't on my side these days.

"Do you think you finally got past the issues, including your temper and the car in general?"

I take a deep breath, close to snapping at the interviewer myself, but I keep a blank expression, hoping Max will remember what we talked about. That he has to keep it low with the anger, especially around cameras. That he can snap when he's in hospitality or anywhere else where only people from the team can see him. I quickly glance at Max, hoping he'll get the hint to stay calm, but the storm is already brewing behind his eyes.

"What does this have to do with me winning?" Max asks, his shoulders tense. That would have been enough, but of course, Max isn't finished yet. "I won, haven't I? That's all that should matter, not the kind of problems you project on me." His voice is cold, and before I can even try to step in or the reporter has a chance to continue, Max just walks away.

I mutter an excuse before hurrying after him. Great, there goes the happy Max. Back comes the one with the stormy personality. A thick skin is something everyone around Max needs at the moment, and even though I know he won't react positively, I still decide to give him a lecture.

"Max, you can't talk to them like that," I hiss at him when we're back in hospitality, shielded from the journalists who love to take pictures of a fuming Max just to fuel their stories with proof.

"Excuse me?" he asks, arching his eyebrow. There's a storm in his eyes, one that can't settle due to the constant reminders of how bad his season is going.

"You can't let your temper define you and overshadow your victories. If you snap at them like this, all they're going to write about is your temper issues, not your win." I explain to Max, and for a moment, he just stares at me, like he's debating whether this is worth discussing. Then, he just huffs and leaves. This time, I don't follow him. This is the first time I want to scream at him to calm down, my anger building, but I know it wouldn't make a difference if he isn't ready to listen.

Max doesn't talk to me during the next media day. He follows me to his interview but cuts his answers short. Not ideal either, but still better than him yelling again. During my break, I met up with one of my friends on the team who works for the social media department. She knows my struggles with Max and is one of the few people I can gossip with about him.

"Why do I have to keep working with him?" I groan at one point, placing my head in my hands and sighing, feeling like working with Max is giving me grey hair. I'd need at least two wellness holidays to cope with it.

"You're the only one he tolerates right now," she shrugs, and I know she's right. They tried bringing in other PRs to give me a break, but it was even worse with them. Max didn't even follow them. Instead, he stayed in his room until I got there and brought him to his interviews.

"Great," I mutter, rubbing my eyes. Looks like I'm stuck with him for longer.

By the next weekend, Max seems to warm up towards me, but in the media pen, his expressions are still dark, jaw clenched, and eyes storming. As soon as we finish the last interview and leave, he still looks upset by the questions he was asked, but it seems like he's trying to keep his emotions under control.

"I tried, you know," he speaks up quietly, his voice unsteady and anything but confident—not like the usual Max, but a broken one.

"Hm?" I ask, not sure what he means.

"Holding my temper down." His eyes are locked on the path in front, and I'm pretty surprised by his words.

"Really?"

Max sighs, frustration starting to show, and I'm almost sure I'll be yelled at. "I'm not perfect, never said I was," he says, before another sigh leaves his lips.

"No one is," I try to reply gently. "But you can still choose how to react." There's a long pause, and for a moment, it seems like the storm in Max's eyes settles down. It's not gone, but it's more controlled, like he's slowly getting a hold of it.

From then on, we kind of clicked, spending time together even though we didn't have to because work was finished. We made each other laugh, and the tension at Red Bull seemed to lessen with every day Max smiled instead of frowning or wearing an ice-cold expression. But after one particularly hard media day, I'm back with my friend again, whining about how hard it is to work with Max.

"I thought you two got on pretty well? Didn't you say you liked him last week or so?" She teases me, and she's right. We did get along well, and I did say I liked him. But spending more relaxed time with Max also led to more than that.

"My problem is that I like him a little too much for my sanity," I huff, blushing at my words and kind of regretting saying them out loud—especially when my friend laughs softly.

"Oh, so that's the problem."

"That, plus the fact he'd like to rip apart the reporters who dare speak up around him." I manage to say with a slight laugh. Liking Max and working with him sometimes clash, and I still need to figure out the right way to balance it.

"Give him time," she says, her voice gentle and reassuring. "He's getting much calmer with you around. Even Vicky struggled with doing that."

"Maybe because all he did was win last season," I reply with a dry laugh. Working with a winning Max is easier than working with one who's losing podiums on track.

"That could have been a positive benefit for his temper."

The next media day comes, and slowly, I want to curse the person who decided that letting the drivers answer the same question over and over again is an okay concept. Max is tense; I can see it in the way he stands, his fingers twitching, his eyes wandering. Then one of the interviewers seems to overstep a boundary because Max snaps again, drawing all the eyes on him. Before I can react or get over to him, he hurries to my side.

"You need to get me out of here," Max mutters, his voice pressed, eyes looking everywhere but at me.

"What's wrong?" I ask him, trying to figure out what could have put him in this state. There are many curious eyes and cameras on us, but Max is ignoring them all.

"Please," he whispers, his eyes so desperate that it pushes me into action.

"Okay, okay," I mutter, already thinking about a safe spot to take us. "Come with me." I take Max by the sleeve of his jacket and pull him with me, knowing these pictures will be everywhere in a few hours. I manoeuvre us through the paddock, walking between the hospitality areas, until I reach a spot where no one from the media is allowed. Max sits down, shoulders shaking, and I crouch in front of him.

"Max, breathe," I instruct, and he takes a hasty breath. Even though I wonder what brought him to this state, I need to focus on calming him down first.

"I tried to stay calm, to remember what you told me, take a deep breath and not snap at them." He rambles, his eyes wandering from left to right, not really focusing on anything. "But I failed. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. You tried." I reassure him, and this time, he looks directly at me.

"I couldn't stay calm, and now I'm fully relaxed. I just want that to work during the interviews." He sounds frustrated, and I understand him. The pressure makes him snap, but being away from the media makes him calm. It does make sense.

"Can you think of anything that would help?" I ask, trying to figure out a way to make things better for him.

"Not doing interviews anymore?" he asks, a bit of humour in his voice, and it makes me laugh softly.

"Not possible."

Max is silent for a moment before whispering, "You staying close to me."

My mind goes blank, and I don't know what to say. "What?" I still don't know how to answer, but luckily, Max speaks again.

"You're the calm to my storm, the peace I didn't know I needed. When you're with me, I can stay grounded, calm." He explains, his voice still so soft it makes my heart ache.

"Max..." I try to say something, but he interrupts me.

"I need you, okay? I know I haven't been easy to work with, but I promise I want to try," Max admits quietly, his voice softer than I've ever heard it before. "To make things easier for you," he adds, lowering his head.

I feel the weight of his words sink in—how much he struggles with everything coming down on him, but that he's trying to change. Not for the sake of his image or balance in his bank account, but to make my work easier.

"I like your stormy personality a little too much, but you're right. Having a soft wind instead of a storm would make my job easier." I tell him with a soft laugh, trying to ease the tension bubbling inside him.

"So, you like me being a hot-headed idiot?" He asks, his face softening, and suddenly, he looks really young—like a boy craving the love of someone.

"Mostly the idiot part," I tease him, knowing that even though he's difficult sometimes, I wouldn't try to change him if he doesn't want to.

"I deserve that one." Max says, grinning at me.

"We'll figure this out together," I tell him, carefully taking his hand in mine. In return, I get the happiest smile.

Studying while sitting outside in the sun makes it more bearable. Not that I have fun during it, but it still makes it slightly better. Sitting on an old picnic blanket, some books scattered around me, marker and pen in my hand, scribbling down notes, highlighting the really important things and groaning when something doesn’t make sense. I take a different-coloured highlighter and mark something I really don’t understand, making sure to remember what I want to ask my friend. She took the exam last semester, and this usually comes in handy for me when I need some deeper explanation of something I don’t understand. 

My routine is broken off by a little whirlwind of fur approaching me, paws clumsily patting on my legs and I just have to laugh at that little golden dachshund ripping me out of my thoughts. “Well, hello.” I greet him and get an excited bark as an answer, making all the stress wash away from me. Setting my notes down to pet him while he wriggles and can’t seem to stand still for a second. “Who are you?” I ask, as if the dog is going to answer me, but then I see a little tag on his collar. While holding on to his leash, preventing him from running away again, I look at the little tag, reading his name out loud. 

“Leo.” I say and immediately his attention is on me, still insisting on pets, showing me his belly for some rubs and I need to giggle. Leo, golden dachshund in Monaco, could it be…no, that would be too much of a coincidence, there are probably many dogs like that here. “Where is your owner, Leo?” I ask and then look around, trying to spot someone who looks like they lost a dog, but no one is around currently. Frowning, I debate what to do. He is definitely lost, has run away with his leash still attached. Maybe just wait for a bit? Probably for the best. So, I decided I will continue my study session for a bit and if there is still no one coming, I will have to bring him to a shelter. 

I pick up my notes again, Leo settling beside me like he has done nothing else in his life and he is suddenly really calm after his previous outburst of energy and joy. It takes around five minutes until I hear someone call “Leo?” and I lift my head, looking around to see someone searching for that little dachshund beside me. But he is probably not able to spot him from where he is. Then again, he calls out Leo’s name, but the dog doesn’t move away from its spot beside my leg. “Go on.” I encourage him, but Leo just thumps his tail once and then places his head on his paws, making me frown. 

When the man calls for Leo again and the dog still doesn’t move an inch, I decide to help. “Over here.” I call out, waving my hand to get the man’s attention. He walks over and Leo sits up beside me, tail wagging, but he still doesn’t trot to his owner. “Didn’t know my dog could talk.” The man smirks, looking at his little dachshund, like he isn’t sure if he wants to scold him or cuddle him happily because he is back again. And now I know for certain that Leo is indeed the Leo of Charles Leclerc. 

“Though if he doesn't listen, I'll help out.” I say with a shrug of my shoulders. “Thanks for that.” Charles says, but I just wave it off. “No problem.” I hand him over Leo’s leash, but then my eyes fall on his knee, which is scraped open, a little blood trickling down his leg. 

“Oh god, your knee.” I say and he looks down at the bloody skin with a sigh. “When he sprinted off, I tripped and had a very gracious fall.” He explains and I can feel my lips twitching upwards, not wanting to laugh about him, but imagining him falling because a little creature like Leo decided to bolt is slightly funny. “I can imagine.” I say, trying to sound serious, but I am sure he has seen the slight smile on my lips before I was able to put on a straight face again. 

“Want me to patch you up?” I ask him, already rummaging in my backpack to get out my emergency kit. “You have an emergency kit with you?” He asks, sounding something between amused and horrified. “I might be a certified clumsy person.” I tell him with a laugh and can see him smile back at me. He has a nice smile. 

“Oh, if I should let you care for my knee.” He says, but then he sits down and gestures for me to start. “As if I am going to hurt the Ferrari prince.” I huff while spraying some antiseptic on his knee to get it cleaned of blood and any debris that might be in it. Then I realise what I just said, blush slightly and groan on the inside. Great, thinking before speaking is something I might need to work on. 

“You know who I am?” Charles asks, voice sounding somehow reversed now. “Technical yes, but to be honest, I didn’t want to say anything.” I say while cleaning the wound on his knees, looking up to him before adding. “It is your free time, and you should be able to enjoy it because in the end you are just a normal person like we all.” I explain my point of view. Of course, they are persons of public interest, but sometimes it would be nice for them to enjoy some privacy. 

“Nice of you to say that.” Charles says with a hum, and I finish the cleaning of his knee before putting on a plaster. Then it is silent for a moment, both of us not knowing what to say and then Charles stands up. 

“Well, we are going to leave now. Stop disturbing you.” He says, grabbing tightly on the leash of Leo, not letting his dog sprint off another time. “Don’t worry, there was never a better distraction from studying before.” I reassure him, because cuddling with a cute dog is the best distraction I can think of.

“I will remember that.” Charles says with a laugh, gently tugging on Leo’s leash to get him to move. The dachshund hesitates but then follows his owner with little taps of his paw. “Bye.” I wave at them, before a sigh leaves my lips, let's continue studying. 

It takes a few days for me to return to that learning spot again. Classes and my part-time job have kept me busy, but today is a free day and because the weather is beautiful, I set up my camp again. Picnic blanket, books and notes and I am nose deep down into my work when I have a deja vu. A golden dachshund is almost jumping on me, pawing at my attention and I just have to drop my things and laugh. 

“Hello Leo, it’s nice to see you again.” I say while brushing my fingers through his fur, his tail wagging excitedly and then I notice something attached to his back. It’s a bag filled with little goods and a note hanging on it. I quickly detach it from Leo’s harness, and then I read the note.

A little thank you and some snacks for studying.

A smile comes to my lips and I look up, trying to spot Charles, who is waiting just a few meters away. “Are you going to come over or do I have to keep talking with your dog?” I ask him, one hand finding Leo again to keep patting him and Charles comes over at my words. 

“Hi.” He says and I greet him as well “Hey.” Charles then gestures to the stuff he got me “Thank you again.” He thanks me, but I wave my hand dismissively, “It was no problem at all.”

“Want to share some snacks with me?” I then ask him, because if he got me some snacks, he deserves some of them as well. “I don’t want to disturb.” He hesitates and I decide to be dramatic. “Please rescue me from learning.” I plead and Charles snorts out a laugh. 

The Monaco race weekend not only means Charles' home race, but at the same time it is the first race I am able to attend. The first time arriving with Charles together, instead of watching from home. The first time being around him while he does what he loves. It's different, it's thrilling and it might be a little scary as well, but I have looked forward to this moment for weeks now. My own job doesn't allow me to accompany Charles as often as other girlfriends might be able to, but as much as I want to support him my own career is also important. 

So, we walked into the paddock together this weekend and it feels kind of surreal that the race track is just around the corner of Charles' apartment. The place where we usually spend time together is now in the middle of this chaotic energy the city is producing due to the race here. The paddock was already busy on Friday during the training session and even more on Saturday. Qualifying was loud, nerve wrecking and when Charles crashed into the barrier my heart almost stopped. I knew he was going to beat himself up about that, crashing in Monaco, again, something he experienced slightly too often in his career already. Little did we know that it wasn't the last time this weekend. 

Sunday and everyone and everything around us are buzzing with excitement, me included. Even though the loudness of everything was a little overwhelming over the last few days, I am still more than ready to watch this race and cheer for Charles. Monaco stands for chaos often and some chaos it brings. Verstappen being out right by the start, others retiring due to failures of their cars, but in the beginning, they manage to race through the streets without any damage. I chat with the people around me, eyes always flickering to the screen, eagerly watching Charles position, keeping my fingers crossed, but all the hoping doesn't work out. 

Just after the marshals have cleaned up the remains of Lance Stroll's crash and the restart comes up, another yellow flag is displayed. At first, I didn't worry, but then Charles' name was dropping in the leaderboard. Then his red car is on the screen, planted into the protective wall at the same spot Strolls race just ended a few laps before. 

“Oh no!” I can hear someone say beside me and someone else adds “Poor Charles.” And poor Charles it is, because he is the unluckiest guy when it comes to home races. Everyone thought he finally broke that Monaco curse but looks like it got him right back. I step back from the balcony, leaving the other people there to chat about Charles' crash while I just want to see him, make sure he is all right, even though it wasn't a hard impact at all. More like checking on him emotionally. 

And there he is, hiding away in a corner where the cameras can't catch him which is a really hard thing to archive during the Monaco weekend. “Charles.” I speak up and his head immediately shoots up. “Love.” He says, voice barely above a whisper, sounding absolutely broken. “Come here, I got you.” I invite him into my arms and he takes it without hesitation. Fling his arm around me, head burying in my neck and then he just leans into me. I hold him, hands rubbing over his back, trying to bring him at least some comfort, even though I know he is devastated. 

“I am sorry.” Charles then whispers and I try to pull back slightly to look into his face, but he doesn't let me move away from him. “No, don't apologise.” I mumble, because he doesn't have to apologise to me or explain anything, so I add that. “There is no need for you to explain.”

“I feel like I have to.” Charles sighs and I tighten my grip slightly before saying “You don't. I promise.” Then softer, but with the same truth behind the words “Not with me.” Charles would never have to explain to me why he crashed, why a race didn't work out, why he didn't archive a podium. I am here to support him and not a reporter wanting to write something about him or his team poking him for a statement. 

“Thank you.” Charles sounds genuine and I can feel his shoulders sinking slightly like he is finally allowing himself to relax at least a little bit. Then he tries to pull away and I let him, but not fully, just enough to look into his eyes. 

“Sorry, I am all sweaty.” Charles mumbles, trying to get away further from me, but this time I am the one tightening the grip around him. “I don't mind.” I say with a soft smile and Charles tries to give one back, but he doesn't get his lips to curl up for longer than just a fraction of a second. “Can you hold me for a little longer?” He then asks me, voice sounding so broken that I can't do anything but pull him back into a tight hug. It hurts me deeply that he is so destroyed by this race he loves so much and the only thing I can do is help him when he asks me to. 

Look, it was never the plan to fall in love with an F1 driver during my time at the magazine Curbs and Curves, but it happened, and I feel like nothing could have stopped me from falling for Daniel. Destiny set us up on my first day of work at the track instead of in the office where I used to be and then we have seen each other over and over again. Shared interviews, the laughing and the difficult ones, and in the process I fell for him, hoping he is feeling the same, but with Daniel there is no hint of whether it is true interest or just his usual charm. Still, when he first texted me, I felt like the stars were aligning and every weekend I look forward to interviewing him or just catching a glimpse of him when he is working with someone else. Looking back at our first meeting is a frequent thing I do and like so often I slip into a daydream.

It's my first time at an F1 track and I would be lying if I said I am not nervous about it. But Curbs and Curves finally gives me the opportunity to interview the drivers myself and not write the articles about it later, which I do enjoy as well, but being right at the track fills me with so much excitement I can't even explain. And my first interview ever will be with Daniel Ricciardo, who should be one of the easier ones to talk to.

When he is in front of me, I feel starstruck for a second, can't believe I am really here, but he greets me with a grin and I shake mentally and go back into working mode. Do my little intro, before adding “I am here with Daniel to talk about the first day of testing.” From there on, it feels smooth, Daniel answers my questions, laughs and avoids giving real answers to some of them. So everything is working out as expected. Of course, the driver doesn't always give straight answers to questions to avoid saying too much. When we close up the interview, Daniel stays in front of me, instead of straight going to the next one.

“You looked terrified.” He tells me, voice hushed because there are many microphones around and I look at him, surprised “Huh?” Daniel leans a little closer, hip casually against the barrier and arms crossed in front of his chest. “At the beginning of that interview, you looked like I was about to murder you.” He tells me, a smirk on his lips and I feel myself blush. Looks like I was more nervous on the outside than I hoped I would be.

“I didn't look like that.” I still protest, but Daniel's grin just gets wider “Pretty sure you were.” He says and his look gives this Don’t lie to me I know the truth anyway vibe and I just sigh, maybe it is better to admit to it.

“Just the first time at the track, first interview.” I tell him with a shrug and there is a glint in his eyes when he says “I feel honoured.” After that, he was hushed away by his PR to the next interview and I deemed it to be a good start to my days in the paddock.

Today I am no longer nervous, easily interviewing the drivers, adjusting my style slightly for the different personalities and most of the time it works. Sometimes it isn't easy to get any answer from a driver who is frustrated, angry or just mentally done with the media, but I still have to tickle something out of them. And with Daniel it still feels natural and I am drawn to him in a way I can't quite explain, but he comes to me with happiness most of the time as well. Well, searching for him is never really necessary because I hear him before my eyes can even start to look for him, his laugh echoing over the place.

It feels warm in my chest when he laughs like that and it always lightens my mood as well. Just as that one chaotic time he was stealing the interview spot with me from Max, just skipping the line to be first to talk with me.

The media pen is crowded today and it's more of a rotation of drivers instead of them wandering around in their preferred order. Well, until Max Verstappen is about to step in front of me, only to be shoved to the side by Daniel. Of course it is Daniel.

“Hah, my spot.” He cheers while Max looks somewhere between amusement and annoyance, being used to the shenanigans of his friend. “Mate.” Max huffs, but Daniel shakes his head “Nope. First comes, first serves.” Daniel insists and for a moment Max looks like he is about to argue, eyes looking at me for a moment, before he lifts his hands in defence and takes a step back, searching for a free spot with the media instead.

“First overtake of the weekend.” I grin at Daniel and get one of the brightest ones in return. “And many more to come.” Daniel promises and we casually start the interview about the last training session of the weekend.

Daniel and I settle for one of our longer interviews, a series we started at Curbs and Curves. Him being micked up, sitting opposite me in a lounge chair while we yap about different things. His farm, racing, growing up, stupid late-night decisions and things he would like to do and archive in the future. We talk for longer than intended, but surprisingly his PR doesn't say a word, maybe she already set a longer time for this interview, because Daniel and I tend to drift off during normal interviews as well.

“And that's it.” I wrap the conversation up, can see the light of the camera flickering off and then I get out of my chair, stretching slightly. “Thank you Daniel.” I look at him, genuinely thankful that he took the time for this, making his media day slightly longer than it usually would have been.

“Not that I have a choice.” Daniel shrugs with a grin and gets out of the armchair as well.

“I know, let's unclip that microphone so that you can go to a more pleasant thing to do.” I gesture for him to come closer and he leans slightly down so that I can reach for the clip on the edge of his shirt. “Hm, there was one good thing about today already,” Daniel states, making me look at him curiously.

“Yeah?” I say, getting the microphone off his shirt and look up at him before adding “Care to share?” Daniel looks from left to right, leaning further down and I freeze, not wanting to move away from him when he mumbles “You are my favourite part of media day.”

I feel a blush rising on my cheeks and my heart starts racing. “Daniel…” I mutter, eyes flickering around, but no one seems to be looking at us.

“Sorry, I shouldn't have said that.” He immediately takes a step back, but I reach out, fingers brushing his wrist, before saying softly “It's…I like the time with you too.” There is the brightest smile on his lips and I feel mine curl up as well, but then the bubble is popped by his PR yelling him over.

“Bye.” Daniel says with a hushed voice and walks away, leaving me with a racing heart and a warm feeling in my chest. I help the crew to pack up and then make my way to the media building where I want to work on some drafts I still have to finish. Halfway through the article, my phone pings with a message from my coworker who is working on the video interview.

A little warning would have been nice

A frown appears on my lips, I have no idea what she is talking about.

For what?

Daniel and you!

She immediately responds and the frown just deepens. The interview went smoothly and I can't think of anything why I should have warned her, so I text her that.

I can think of nothing I should have warned you about in that interview.

As a response, she just sends a link and I click on it. The video is slightly dark, but I recognise it immediately because I was there earlier. Daniel towering over me and this low voice, still recorded by the microphone “You are my favourite part of media day.” And for a second I can't do anything but panic “Fuck.” I curse, there has been a second camera and it looks like someone decided to leak the footage. Quickly I click onto the comments, which are still mostly civil.

He is down so bad

Isn't she from Curbs and Curves?

They look so in love

Closing the app, I switch back to my messenger, seeing that more people have texted me, including my siblings, my best friend and Daniel. Daniel, I sigh and decide he is the first one I am going to answer, just need to write one last message before.

I didn't know they were still filming with that second camera.

I quickly text my coworker and as reassuring as she tries to sound with her answer, it doesn't help to calm me down in the slightest.

Well, we figure something out.

Then I switch to the chat with Daniel, just one simple question waiting for me.

Can we meet?

Behind the media building?

I suggest and he is quick to answer like he had the chat open.

I'm already waiting for you.

I make my way down the stairs and turn to get behind the building, Daniel is already waiting for me in the dim light. “I am so sorry.” He says as soon as he sees me and steps closer, hands finding my upper arms and it kind of has a calming effect on me. “You don't have to apologise." I say because it isn't his fault someone put this online.

“At least it forces me to be honest now.” Daniel says, takes a step back and I can see him taking a deep breath. “Daniel?” I ask, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but he gets straight to the point.

“I really like you.” He tells me and I let my shoulders sink. As much as I want to hear those words, they still come with so many problems. “You know we shouldn’t…” I mutter, but instinctively close the distance between us, arms finding a way around his waist and he wraps his arms around me as well. “I was never good at following rules.” Daniel laughs softly and I look up at him, seeing nothing but honest admiration, making me sigh.