𝑊𝑟𝑒𝑛

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.

The afterparty is in full swing at the rental house - teammates everywhere, their plus-ones, random celebrities who somehow convinced their way through the door, all of it bathed in that particular kind of chaos that only exists after a championship win.

You've stationed yourself on the edge of the kitchen island with a drink you made thirty minutes ago and forgot to finish, mainly because AJ keeps appearing at your side like he's been pulled there by an invisible string. And he keeps appearing constantly, like a beautiful, six-foot-six homing pigeon.

"Baby," he says now, somehow finding you again even though you're in the same spot you've been for the last forty minutes.

He pulls you into his chest with the kind of determination that suggests this is vitally important information he's about to share. His dress shirt is mostly unbuttoned, his tie is somewhere in the living room (you watched him throw it earlier), and his hair is doing this thing where it's sticking up on one side. "Baby. Listen to me."

"I'm listening," you say, because you are, and also because you've learned over nearly seven years of dating that when AJ gets to this stage of drunk (the emo, clingy stage), it's easier to just let him get it out.

"I wouldn't be here without you," he says, and he says it with the weight of absolute truth, like he's just invented philosophy. His dark eyes are shiny, very serious, and completely alcohol-logged.

"Like, I wouldn't be-" he gestures vaguely toward the living room where his teammates are howling about something "-this. Any of this."

"Okay," you say softly, running a hand up his arm because that's what you do. That's what you've always done.

"No, like, seriously," he continues, and he's gripping your waist now like you might float away. "Without you, I'm just... I'm just some dude. But you-you made me..." He loses his train of thought, frowning at your face like it might contain the answer. "You made me...better. Like, Super Bowl better."

It's genuinely sweet, in a way that would be completely devastating if he weren't absolutely wasted and currently breathing beer fumes directly into your face.

"You won because you're talented," you tell him, but he's already shaking his head, adamant.

"No. No, no, no." He pulls you closer, and you have to grab the edge of the counter to steady yourself. "You. I wouldn't be here without you. I know I say it all the time, but like-" he pauses, his expression becoming very intense, very sincere "-I really mean it."

Before you can respond, one of his teammates calls from the living room. "AJ! Get in here! We're celebrating!"

AJ turns toward the sound, and for one hopeful second you think he's going to let you have a moment of peace. Instead, he grabs your hand and starts pulling you along with him.

He settles on the couch and immediately positions you against his side, his arm around your shoulders, his chin resting on top of your head. Someone shoves a shot glass in his hand - obviously, he takes it, but he doesn't let go of you.

"Seriously though," he says into your hair, and you can already feel what's coming. "I wouldn't be-"

"If you say 'I wouldn't be here without you' one more time," you interrupt, but you're fighting a smile, "I'm going to need another drink."

"But it's true," he insists, with the kind of earnest desperation that only drunk people can muster. "It's like, the truest thing. I wouldn't be-"

"AJ."

"-here without you," he finishes anyway, completely unbothered by your warning. He squeezes you tighter. "It's just facts, baby."

One of his teammates starts laughing. You bury your face in your hands.

This is going to be a very long night.

The pattern becomes obvious around 11 PM.

AJ will disappear into the living room, swallowed up by a crowd of teammates who want to relive specific plays from the game - there's a lot of animated discussion about the fourth quarter, several dramatic re-enactments, and what you're pretty sure is someone trying to convince everyone that they could've been a professional athlete if they'd just tried harder. You stand there on the kitchen island stool, nursing a drink that's getting dangerously watered down, and you give him approximately seven minutes of peace.

Then there's a commotion from the living room, someone shouts something about the playoffs and through it all, you hear AJ's voice rising above the chaos: "Wait, where did she-" followed by the sound of him extricating himself from the couch with all the grace of a newborn foal.

He materializes in the kitchen doorway thirty seconds later, his expression shifting from mild panic to pure relief when he sees you sitting exactly where he left you. It's almost funny, the way his face changes.

"Oh my god," he says, walking toward you with the careful precision of someone who's very aware he's had too much to drink and is trying very hard not to show it (he's showing it). "There you are. I lost you for a sec there!"

"I've been sitting here," you say, but you're already opening your arms because you know what comes next and sure enough, he folds himself down - well, "folds" might be generous; it's more like he's melting - pressing his face into your neck. He smells like expensive cologne mixed with beer and that particular AJ-sweat that you've come to recognize as "just ran around celebrating winning the Super Bowl."

"Don't leave me again," he mumbles into your skin, and he sounds so genuinely distressed that you can't help but laugh.

"You left me," you point out, but you're already running your fingers through his hair, already settling into this particular version of your boyfriend.

"I...what?" He pulls back to look at you, confused. "No, I just went to...I was just..." He trails off, realizing the absurdity of his own statement. A slow grin spreads across his face. "I went to hang out and forgot that I left you."

"Yes," you confirm. "That's what happened."

"That's so stupid," he says, but he's laughing, and then his teammate is calling from the living room again, something about needing to get more shots, and AJ's looking torn between the siren call of his teammates and the gravity of your presence.

"Go hang out," you tell him, because you know he wants to, and because you also know exactly what's going to happen in about ten minutes.

"You sure?" He's already standing up, but he leans down to kiss the top of your head, lingering there for a moment like he's trying to memorize the exact position. "Don't go anywhere."

"I won't," you promise.

He's gone before you can change your mind, disappearing back into the living room with a whoop that makes someone cheer in response.

You've moved from the kitchen island to the couch, wedging yourself into the corner opposite where AJ's friends are gathered. The game highlights are playing on one of the TVs - they've looped back to it three times already, everyone wanting to see their own moments of glory. You're on your phone, scrolling through Instagram pictures people are posting from the afterparty, when you hear it: "Wait. Wait, where's my-"

He appears from around the corner like he's been shot out of a cannon, his eyes doing a quick sweep of the room before landing on you. The relief on his face is almost comical.

"There you are!" AJ says like you haven't literally been in his line of sight this entire time, like you haven't just been sitting on a couch fifteen feet away. He's already moving toward you, and you helpfully swing your legs up to make room for him.

He plops down beside you with absolutely no grace, immediately draping himself across your lap like 250 pounds of pure muscle is nothing. Which, to be fair, he probably thinks it is when he's sober. Right now, drunk AJ operates under the impression that he weighs approximately twelve pounds and is made entirely of down feathers.

"I missed you," he announces, pressing his face into your thigh. "It's been like...hours."

"It's been ten minutes," you say, but you're already running your hand along his back, your fingers tracing the line of his spine through his partially unbuttoned shirt.

"Ten minutes is like..." He pauses, doing math in his head that you can visibly see him failing at. "That's like ten thousand minutes in drunk time."

"That's not how time works."

"It is when you're in love," he says, with the kind of absolute conviction that only alcohol can provide. He tilts his head to look up at you. "Did you know that?"

"No," you say softly. "I didn't know that."

"It's science," he informs you seriously. Then: "I can't believe we won. Like, actually won. Did you see that last catch I made?"

You did. You'd been sitting in the stands, screaming your throat raw, watching him haul in that pass in the fourth quarter with defenders dragging at his jersey. It had been one of the most beautiful and terrifying moments of your life.

"I saw it," you tell him.

"I was thinking about you," he says, and somehow he manages to sound both drunk and sincere. "Like, right before the play. I thought about you and then I just knew I was gonna get it, like you gave me luck."

"That's not how luck works, either."

"Everything's different when you believe," he says, and honestly, at this point you're not going to argue with drunk philosophy AJ because it's kind of sweet, even if it's also making no sense. He's quiet for a moment, then: "I wouldn't be-"

"Don't," you warn.

"-here without you," he finishes anyway, grinning at you like he's very clever.

You throw a pillow at him and he catches it with one hand, somehow, which is impressive given his current state, and he just looks so pleased with himself that you can't actually be mad.

One of his teammates notices him and starts waving frantically. "AJ! AJ, come look at this replay!"

By 1am, you decide to wrap it up

He's gotten progressively drunker, progressively more emotional, and progressively less aware of the fact that he's 6'6" and 250 pounds of dense muscle. He's also apparently decided that you leaving him to hang out with his teammates is a personal tragedy of epic proportions, because when he finds you this time, he actually looks hurt.

"You were ignoring me," he says, and he sounds genuinely betrayed.

"I was standing by a window," you point out.

"Exactly." He's nodded his head like this confirms his entire point. "You were by the window instead of with me. That's ignoring me."

The logic is so flawed that you'd laugh if he didn't look so genuinely upset about it. Instead, you grab his hand.

"Hey," you say softly. "Come here."

He follows you like you're pulling him by an invisible leash, and you guide him to the nearest chair, gently pushing him into it. He goes without resistance, which tells you exactly how drunk he is. AJ's not usually this compliant.

"What's happening?" he asks, looking around like the room might've shifted while he wasn't paying attention.

"You're very drunk," you tell him, running a hand through his hair. "And we're going to the hotel."

"No," he says, but there's no real conviction behind it. "I'm fine. I'm having fun. I-I'm celebrating, I won the Super Bowl."

"Yes," you agree. "And you're going to feel like you got hit by a truck tomorrow if you don't get some water and sleep. Come on."

You don't give him time to argue further. Instead, you pull out your phone and order an Uber, keeping one hand on his shoulder the entire time. He leans against your legs like they're the only thing keeping him upright, which, given his current state, might actually be true.

"I don't want to leave," he mumbles, but he's also standing up when you tell him to, following you toward the door when the Uber arrives. One of his teammates tries to convince him to stay for "just one more shot," but you give the teammate such a look that he immediately backs down. There are benefits to being the long-suffering girlfriend of a professional athlete: people generally respect your authority in these situations.

The Uber is a mistake, in retrospect not because the driver is bad - she's lovely, actually, and pretending very hard not to notice that the extremely large drunk man now leaning entirely on you is currently playing for the Seattle Seahawks. But AJ, freed from the responsibility of standing under his own power, apparently decides that this is the optimal time for a full emotional unload.

"Did you see that catch in the fourth quarter?" he asks again, to no one in particular. His head is on your shoulder, his arm is around your waist, and he's leaning approximately 80% of his body weight on you. You're pressed against the car door, your ribs probably doing something they shouldn't be doing, but you're not about to make him move.

"I remember," you say.

"That was for you," he announces, like this is breaking news. "I was thinking about you and I just knew. I was like-" he gestures vaguely, nearly elbowing you in the face. "I was like, she's up there in the stands, she's probably nervous, she's probably worried I'm gonna mess it up, and I can't mess it up because what if she thinks I'm not..." he stops, losing his train of thought.

"Not what?" you prompt, because apparently you're a glutton for punishment.

"Good enough," he finishes quietly. Then, immediately: "Wait, no, that's not what I mean. I know I'm good. I caught a touchdown in the Super Bowl but like, what if I'm not good enough for her? What if she realizes that she could do better and she leaves and then I'm just a guy who plays football but doesn't have-"

"AJ," you interrupt gently. "I'm not going anywhere."

"That's what you say now," he says mournfully, "but what if... like, Jacob Elordi moves to Seattle? What if you meet him at a concert and you fall in love?"

The Uber driver makes a noise that might be a laugh disguised as a cough.

"Jacob Elordi is not moving to Seattle," you assure him. "And I would not fall in love with him."

"But you like his shows," AJ argues.

"That doesn't mean I'm going to run away with him."

"But what if," he presses on, "what if he came to Seattle specifically to meet me, and he was like, 'Hey man, great catch,' and we became friends, and he introduced you to all his famous friends, and one of them was like, the most interesting person you've ever met, and-"

"AJ."

"-and you decided that my life was boring compared to his life..."

"AJ."

"-and you left me and I'd have to learn Spanish all by myself-"

"AJ." You grab his face, forcing him to look at you. "I am not leaving you. I'm not running away with Jacob Elordi or any of his friends. I'm here, I'm always here."

He stares at you for a long moment, his drunk eyes very serious. "Promise?"

"Promise," you say.

"Because I wouldn't be here without you," he says, and you can hear the sincere emotion beneath the alcohol. "Like, none of this would be here without you. Not the win, not the-the achievement or whatever, none of it. You're like the thing that makes everything work. You're like the-" He gestures again, searching for the word. "The framework. Or the foundation. Or like, the good luck charm that's also a person."

"That's very sweet," you say, "but you're also very drunk and you're crushing my ribs."

"I'm not that heavy," he insists.

"You're 250 pounds."

"But I'm soft," he says, patting his own chest like this is an argument. "I'm fluffy, like a cloud."

The Uber driver definitely laughs this time.

You manage to convince him to shift slightly so that you can breathe, but he doesn't actually move away. Instead, he just repositions himself so that he's leaning more on the seat and less on your lungs, his arm still around you, his head still on your shoulder. He's quiet for approximately thirty seconds, which feels like a miracle, but then:

"I'm gonna learn Spanish though," he says. "I'm serious about that. Like, I'm gonna download an app and everything. I'm gonna be like, fluent by next year."

"That's a good goal," you tell him, patting his knee.

"I could talk to Bad Bunny," he muses. "Like, in Spanish. 'Hola, Bad Bunny, I love your music" but like, in Spanish, so it would be way more impressive."

"Very impressive," you agree.

"Gracias," he says proudly. "I know that one. It means thank you. I'm already learning."

You press a kiss to the top of his head and try very hard not to laugh. He takes this as encouragement and continues his dissertation on Spanish language acquisition and Bad Bunny appreciation for the remainder of the ride, occasionally throwing in tangential comments about how much he loves you and how he wouldn't be here without you and how the halftime show was "literally the best thing he's ever seen besides you."

Getting him out of the Uber is a production. He's gone completely boneless, the way drunk people do, and his long limbs are folded into the back seat like he's a very large pretzel. You have to basically drag him out, one arm around his waist, your other hand gripping his arm. The Uber driver actually gets out to help, which you appreciate because AJ is heavy and currently unhelpful.

"I can walk," he insists, immediately proving that he cannot walk by nearly tripping over his own feet.

"Yeah, yeah, very athletic," you say, keeping him upright. "Come on, big guy."

The hotel lobby is relatively empty, which is good because you don't need anyone seeing one of the Seahawks' newly minted Super Bowl heroes being carried through the lobby like he's a sack of potatoes. You manage to get him to the elevators without incident, though he does spend an inordinate amount of time staring at the elevator buttons like they're the most fascinating things he's ever seen.

"These are so high up," he observes. "Like, so high. They're just there, on the wall, where any tall person could just push them without even reaching."

"You're not that tall," you tease.

"I'm 6'6"," he says proudly.

"Yes, and that's tall, but it's not so tall that you're having existential crises about elevator buttons."

He considers this. "Fair point," he finally concedes.

The elevator ride up is mercifully quiet. He leans against you, his forehead pressed to your head, his arm heavy across your shoulders. You rest your head against his arm and try to mentally prepare yourself for the next part: getting him into his hotel room, out of his clothes, and into bed without him either passing out or continuing his stream-of-consciousness commentary but you're not very optimistic.

You get him into the room and immediately guide him toward the bathroom, which is the first step of your well-rehearsed drunk AJ protocol. He needs water, he needs to brush his teeth, and he needs to put his retainer in, which is a battle you've fought many times before because drunk AJ does not believe that a retainer is important.

"I'm not brushing my teeth," he announces, flopping onto the bathroom counter like he's just run a marathon. "I don't care. I've already won the Super Bowl. My teeth don't matter anymore."

"Your teeth are going to matter tomorrow when you regret all of your life choices," you say, grabbing his toothbrush and grabbing a water in the mini-fridge. "Here, drink this first."

To your surprise, he actually does. He sits there on the counter, in his unbuttoned shirt and expensive suit pants, drinking water like his life depends on it, which gives you at least a small amount of hope.

"Okay," you say, handing him the toothbrush. "Brush."

He looks at it like it's a foreign object. "Why?"

"Because you're not supposed to go to bed with beer in your mouth."

"I'm not in bed yet."

"No," you agree. "And you're not going to be until you brush your teeth."

He grumbles, but he actually does it, leaning over the sink and making a complete mess in that way that drunk people do. Toothpaste is somehow on his shirt. Water is on his face and in his hair. But miraculously, he does brush his teeth, and he doesn't try to argue when you hand him some mouthwash.

"I should floss," he says suddenly, like this is a revelation.

"You're not flossing."

"But what if I have plaque buildup?"

"You're going to sleep. Floss tomorrow."

"Tomorrow I'm going to be hungover and probably regret that decision," he says, with the kind of sad wisdom that only drunk people possess.

"Probably," you agree. "But that's future you's problem."

You manage to shepherd him out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where the real battle begins: getting him out of his clothes. He's cooperative, which is good, but he's also very talkative, which is not good.

"Can you believe we won?" he asks as you're unbuttoning his shirt. "Like, actually won? I still don't believe it."

"I believe it," you say, peeling the shirt off his shoulders. He's warm, his skin is flushed, and he smells like sweat and cologne and championship win. "You were incredible out there."

"I was thinking about you," he says, seemingly needing to repeat this fact multiple times. "Like, the whole time. Every play, I was just thinking about you up there in the stands."

"I know," you say softly. You're working on his pants now, trying very hard not to think about how these moments always make you feel weirdly tender toward him. "I was thinking about you too."

"You probably weren't thinking about Bad Bunny though," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice even if you can't see his face.

"No," you confirm, gently pushing his pants down. "I was not thinking about Bad Bunny, except during the halftime show."

He's down to his boxers and socks now, and he plops back on the bed with the kind of dramatic finality that suggests he's about to pass out. But then you grab his retainer case from the bathroom counter, and he opens one eye.

"Don't," he says.

"Don't what?"

"Make me wear that thing. I don't need it. My teeth are fine."

"Your teeth are not fine if you don't wear your retainer," you say, walking back over to him. "Come on. Open."

"No."

"AJ."

"I'm serious," he says, but he's already opening his mouth anyway, because despite all his protests, he knows that you will literally sit on him and force the retainer in if necessary, and he's too drunk to put up an actual fight. He's tried this before. It hasn't ended well for him.

You slide the retainer in, and he immediately looks miserable. "This is oppressive," he mumbles.

"This is dental hygiene," you counter. "Now you're going to lie down and go to sleep."

"Will you lie down with me?" he asks, and his voice is softer now, less drunk, more just... tired.

"Yeah," you say, already moving to get out of your own clothes. "Of course I will."

He rolls onto his side as you slide into bed, and you immediately tuck yourself against him, your head on his chest, your arm across his waist. He wraps an arm around you, pulls you closer, and you can feel him relax against you.

For a moment, it's quiet, just the sound of his breathing, the ambient noise of the hotel, the distant hum of traffic from outside. You think maybe he's finally going to pass out, that you're going to get to sleep without any more drunk declarations of love or random facts about Bad Bunny.

Then he speaks, his voice muffled by the retainer:

"I shove be hersh without you."

You lie there for a moment, trying to decipher this through the retainer-speak. Then you realize: "I...should be here without you?"

He shakes his head, still muffled. "I shhouldn't be shersh without you."

"I know," you say gently, running your hand across his chest. "I know, baby."

He's quiet for another moment, and then: "I'm gonna learn Spanish."

"Yes," you say. "You're going to learn Spanish."

"And talk to Bad Bunny."

"Okay."

"And never leave you."

Despite the retainer-induced speech impediment and the fact that he's saying this like it's a revelation, your heart still kind of melts. "You're not going to leave me," you agree.

"Promise?" His arm tightens around you.

"Promise," you say.

He's quiet after that, his breathing gradually evening out, his grip on you loosening as sleep finally claims him. You lie there in the dark, listening to him snore softly (the retainer makes it sound weird), and you can't help but smile.

This is the thing about drunk AJ that most people don't understand. Yes, he's emotional. Yes, he's clingy. Yes, he repeats the same sentiments over and over again until you want to scream. But underneath all of that is genuine sweetness, genuine love, genuine earnestness. He means every word of it, even if he forgets he's already said it seventeen times.

You press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart, and settle deeper into his embrace. Tomorrow, he's going to wake up with the hangover to end all hangovers. He's going to regret the shots, the beer, the whiskey, and probably the entire conversation about Bad Bunny and Spanish lessons. He's to swear he's never gonna drink again, then he's goig to drink approximately a gallon of water and complain about his head.

But tonight, in this moment, with his arm around you and his breath evening out and his retainer keeping his teeth perfectly straight, he's exactly where he needs to be.

And so are you.

febuary 2026

youruser added to their story

march 2026

youruser

🎵 Endgame - y/n l/n

liked by tatemcrae, oliviarodrigo and others 

youruser  surprise!! my new single endgame is out now on all streaming platforms ! i’ve been having so much fun recording some new music for you guys in the last few days, so keep an eye out👀

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user1  NEW ALBUM???!!?!!

user2  who is this about hello👀

oliviarodrigo  im obsessed  liked by author ♥️

↪ user3  olivia being a y/n fangirl since the beginning🙏

user4  I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAMEEEE I WANNA BE YOUR FIRST PICK

↪ user5  I WANNA BE YOUR A TEAMMMM

tatemcrae  so good😭  liked by author ♥️

april 2026

transcript of the featured video

*tate and y/n finish performing ‘running for the hills’, hugging as the crowd cheers. y/n picks up an acoustic guitar as tate leaves the stage*

y/n: how are we feeling tonight pittsburgh!

crowd *cheers*

y/n: for those of you who don’t know me, my name is y/n l/n. *she laughs as the crowd cheers*

y/n: im so so so excited to be here and so thankful that tate invited me on stage tonight to perform with her! if you guys are okay with it, there’s another song i'd like to perform for you tonight.

*the crowd cheers again*

y/n: *laughs* okay, good! *she starts strumming the guitar* because this is a very special song to me. this is going to be on the next album, and even though it's not going to be a single, i just couldn’t wait to share this one with you guys, so tate suggested i should just come on here and sing it acoustic for you guys. i hope you like it. this is called ‘wish list’.

*y/n performs ‘wish list’*

may 2026

youruser

🎵Elizabeth Taylor - y/n l/n

liked by mackcelebrini, zaralarsson and others 

youruser  my new single Elizabeth Taylor is yours today <3

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user1  she has outdone herself as always

user2  MACK IN THE LIKES 

↪ user3  who’s mack

↪ user2  hockey player for the san jose sharks

user4  im loving the aesthetic for this new era/album

user5  wait this song sounds so familiar??

↪ user5  i think it sounds like 2026 SOTY 

↪ user6  EXACTLYYYY

user7  i just know this album is going to be everything

youruser

🎵invisible string - Taylor Swift

liked by taylorswift, e.malkin71geno and others

youruser  there’s no place like home :)

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user1  the soft launch hello??👀

user2  geno in the likes ???? wtf  

↪ user3  no cause thats so random??

↪ user2  i feel like this means something   liked by author ♥️

↪ user2  wait why did y/n like this?????

user4  who is that MAN

↪ user5  especially with the song choice

june 2026

youruser

🎵The Alchemy - y/n l/n

liked by zaralarsson, charles_leclerc and others

youruser  im so excited to tell you that my brand new album ‘Hometown Hero’ will be yours august seventh <3 for now you can enjoy one more song off the album, The Alchemy, now streaming on all platforms

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user1  oh my god FINALLY

user2  claiming honey and so high school immediately

↪ user2  and slut! actually

↪ user2  and delicate

↪ user3  bro’s just claiming half the album atp😭

user4  what’s with all the sports references in this song

↪ user5  rumors have been saying shes dating a hockey player👀

user7  album of the year incoming

user8  i need this song injected in my veins immediately

user9  the title being hometown hero the sidney crosby rumours are starting to sound less ridiculous by the minute

user10  the way every song on this album so far has been a love song im so happy

user11  AUGUST 7TH U MEAN SIDNEY CROSBY’S BIRTHDAY??????

↪ user12  wait ur actually on to something

↪ user11  AND ALL THE HOCKEY REFS IN THE ALCHEMY TOO???!?!? I WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG?!?!?!?!?

july 2026

youruser

liked by penguins, tatemcrae and others

youruser  yall know i’m canada down

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user1  OH MY GODDDD

user2  literally canada’s royal couple HELLO

user3  that one girl on twitter who called this months ago is probably freaking out so bad rn

↪ user11  I AM NEVER GOING TO SHUT UP ABOUT THIS EVER  

tatemcrae  ♥️

↪ youruser  ♥️

user4  am i the only person here who doesnt know this man lmao😭

↪ user5  yeah probably😭

↪ user6  how does one not know sidney crosby